'It seems that everybody is awake, and jumpy as hell,' Jake remarked

drily. 'This is about as close as we can go.' He crawled out of the

driver's seat and went back to where the prisoners were still piled

upon each other like a litter of sleeping puppies. One of them was

snoring like an asthmatic lion, and Jake had to put his boot amongst

them to stir them back to consciousness. They came awake slowly and

resentfully, and Jake swung open the rear doors and pushed them out

into the darkness. They stood dejectedly, clasping their naked trunks

against the chill of the night and peering about them fearfully to

discover what new unpleasantness awaited them. At that instant another

star shell burst almost overhead, and they exclaimed and blinked

owlishly without immediate comprehension as Jake made shooing gestures,

trying to drive them like a flock of chickens towards the ridge.

Finally Jake grabbed one of them by the scruff of the neck,

pointed his face at the ridge and gave him a shove that sent him

tottering the first few paces. Suddenly the man recognized his own

camp and the lines of big Fiat trucks in the light of the star shell.

He let out a heartfelt cry of relief and broke into a shambling run.

The other two stared for a moment in disbelief and then set out after

him at the top of their speed. When they had gone twenty yards,

one of them turned back and came to Jake, seized his hand and pumped it

vigorously, a huge smile splitting his face; then he turned to Vicky

and covered both her hands with wet noisy kisses. The man was

weeping,

tears streaming down his cheeks.

'That's enough of that,' growled Jake. 'On your way, friend,' and he

turned the Italian and once more pointed him at the horizon and helped

him on his way.

The unaffected joy of the released Italians was contagious. Jake and

Vicky drove back in a high good mood, laughing together secretly in the

dark and noisy hull of the car. They had covered half of the forty

miles back to the Sardi Gorge, and behind them the lights of the

Italian camp were a mere suggestion of lesser darkness low on the

eastern horizon, but still their mood was light and joyous and at some

fresh sally of Jake's Vicky leaned across to kiss him on the soft pulse

of his throat beneath his ear.

As if of her own accord, Miss Wobbly's speed bled away and she rocked

to a gentle standstill in the centre of a wide open area of soft sandy

soil and low dark scrub.

Jake earthed the magneto, and the engine note died away into silence.

He turned in the seat and took Vicky fully in his arms,

crushing her to him with sudden strength that made her gasp aloud.

'Jake!' she protested, half in pain, but his lips covered hers,

and her protests were forgotten at the taste of his mouth.

His jaw and cheeks were rough with new beard, the same strong wiry

growth of dark hair which curled out of his shirt front, and the man

smell of him was like the taste of his mouth. She felt the softness of

her own body crave the hardness of his and she pressed herself to

him,

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