balance.
The sheet of bullets from the swinging Vickers passed mere inches ahead
of the Rolls, and Giuseppe swung the wheel to hard opposite lock,
released the brakes and trampled hard on the throttle. The Rolls
kicked over hard, wheels spinning for purchase, then bounded ahead with
such impetus that the Count was thrown backwards again, crashing into a
sitting position on the rear leather seat, his helmet falling over his
eyes.
'I'll have you shot,' he gasped, as he struggled weakly to adjust the
helmet. Giuseppe was too busy to hear him. His duck and swerve had
beaten the Ethiopian gunner, and the superior speed of the Rolls was
carrying it swiftly out of harm's way. just a few more seconds then
the ancient but splendidly toothed head of the gunner appeared once
more in the turret, and the bows of the armoured car and the questing
muzzle of the Vickers swung back. The gunner dropped back behind the
gun and the roaring clatter of bullets sounded high above the bellow of
straining engines.
Once again, the dust storm of bullets tore up the earth, swinging
rapidly towards the Rolls.
Slightly ahead of the two vehicles, another growling, labouring
troop-carrier loomed out of the dust on a parallel course with them,
but travelling at only half the speed under its heavy load of terrified
troopers.
Giuseppe touched the wheel, swaying out slightly away from the stream
of bullets, then he swung hard the opposite way and as the armoured car
turned to follow him he ducked neatly behind the troop-carrier,
screened by its high unstable bulk from the deadly machine gun. The
Ethiopian kept firing.
As the solid hose of fire tore through the canvas hood of the truck,
ripping and shredding the men crowded shoulder to shoulder beneath it,
the Rolls was pulling away swiftly in its lee. Suddenly,
it was out of the dust clouds into the crystal desert air, with a vista
of open land stretching away to the horizon a horizon which was the
passionate destination of every man in the Rolls. The lumbering troop
carriers were left behind, and the Rolls could make a clean run of it.
The way the Count felt at that moment, they would only stop once he was
safely into his defensive positions above the Wells of Chaldi.
Then quite suddenly, he was aware of the guns on the open plain ahead
of him. They were drawn up neatly in spaced-out triangular batteries,
three vees of three guns each, with the gunners grouped about them and
the long fit barrels covering the approaching mass of fleeing
vehicles.
There was a parade-ground feeling of calm and good order about them
that made the Count blubber with relief after the nightmare from which
he had just emerged.
'Giuseppe, you have saved us,' he sobbed. 'I am going to give you a
medal. 'The threat of capital punishment made a few minutes earlier
was forgotten. 'Drive for the guns, my brave boy. You have done good
work and you'll find me grateful.' At that moment, emboldened by talk
