kill merely for the sake of inflicting death, for the deep gut thrill
of it.
If they intervened now, cutting into the flank of the widespread and
disordered column, they might save the lives of many of the frantically
fleeing horsemen. But the Italian column was not yet fully enmeshed in
the trap that had been laid. Swiftly, Jake traversed the glasses
across the dust-swirling and heat-distorted plain and for the first
time he noticed that a dozen trucks of the Italian rear guard had not
joined the mad, tear arse helter-skelter stampede after the
Ethiopian horsemen. This small group had halted, seemingly under some
strict control, and now they had been left two miles behind the
roaring, dusty avalanche of heavy vehicles. Jake could spare no more
attention to this group, for now the slaughter was being continued, the
wildly flying horsemen being cut down by the crack rifleman from the
Rolls.
The temptation to intervene now overwhelmed Jake. He knew it was not
the correct tactical moment, but he thought, 'The hell with it, I'm not
a general, and those poor bastards out there need help.' He shoved his
right foot down hard on the throttle and the engine bellowed, but
before he could pull forward and run at the bank, he was forestalled
by
Gareth Swales. He had been watching Jake, and the play of emotion over
his face was plain to read. At the moment he revved the engine, Gareth
swung the front end of the Hump across his bows, blocking him
effectively.
'I say, old chap, don't be an idiot,' Gareth called across the narrow
space. 'Calm the savage breast, you'll spoil the whole show.'
'Those poor, Jake shouted back angrily.
'They've got to take their chances. 'Gareth cut him short.
'I told you once before your sentimental old-fashioned ideas would get
us both into trouble.' At this stage the argument was drowned by the
Ras. He was standing tall in the turret above Gareth. He had armed
himself with the broad, two-handed war sword, and now the excitement
became too much for him to bear longer in silence. He let out a series
of shrill ululating war cries, and swung the sword in a great hissing
circle around his head both the silver blade and his brilliant set of
teeth catching the sun and flashing like semaphores.
He punctuated his shrill war cries with wild kicks at his driver,
urging him in heated Amharic to have at the enemy, and Gareth ducked
and twisted out of the way of his flying feet.
'A bunch of maniacs!' protested Gareth as he dodged.
'I've got myself mixed up with a bunch of maniacs!'
'Major
Swales!' shouted Gregorius, unable to stay out of the argument a
moment longer. 'My grandfather orders you to advance!'
'You tell your grandfather to-' but Gareth's reply was cut short as a
foot caught him in the ribs.
'Advance!' shouted Gregorius.
'Come on, for chrissake,' yelled Jake.
