wanted neither the demanding company of the breeding cows, the
importunate noisy play of the calves, nor the single-minded pursuit of
the men who hunted him. He had come into the desert, to the burning
days and coarse vegetation to find that solitude, and now he was moving
slowly down to the Wells of Chaldi, water which he had last tasted as a
young breeding bull twenty-five years before.
He watched the buzzing growling things creeping in towards him,
and he tasted their rank oily smell, and he did not like it. He shook
his head, flapping his ears like the crash of canvas taking the wind on
a new tack, and he squealed a warning.
The growling humming things crept closer and he rolled his trunk up
against his chest, he cocked his ears half back and curled the tips but
the tank Captain did not recognize the danger signals and he kept on
coming.
Then the elephant charged, fast and massive, the fall of his huge pads
thumping against the earth like the beat of a bass drum, and he was so
fast, so quick off the mark that he almost caught the tank. If he had
he would have flicked it over on its back without having to exert all
his mountainous strength. But the driver was as quick as he,
and he swung away right under the outstretched trunk, and held his best
speed for half a mile before the bull gave up the pursuit.
'My Captain, I could shoot it with the Spandau,' urged the gunner
anxiously. He had not enjoyed the chase.
'No! No!' The Captain was delighted.
'He is a very angry, dangerous and ferocious animal,' the gunner
pointed out.
'SO' the Captain laughed happily, rubbing his hands together with glee.
'He is my very special gift to the Count.' After the fifth approach by
the tanks, the old bull grew bored with the unrewarding effort of
chasing after them.
With his belly rumbling protestingly, his stubby tail twitching
irritably, and the musk from the glands behind his eyes weeping in a
long, wet smear down his dusty cheeks, he allowed himself to be
shepherded towards the west by the following line of cavalry tanks but
he was still a very angry elephant.
You're not going to believe this,' said Gareth Swales softly. 'I'm not
even sure I believe it myself. But it's an elephant, and it's leading
a full squadron of Eyetie tanks straight to us.'
'I don't believe it,' said Jake. 'I can see it happening but I don't
believe it. They must have trained it like a bloodhound. Is that
possible, or am I going crazy?'
'Both,' said Gareth. 'May I suggest we get ready to move.
They are getting frightfully close, old son.' Jake jumped down to the
crank handle, while Gareth dropped into the driver's hatch and swiftly
adjusted the ignition and throttle setting.
'All set,' he said, glancing anxiously over his shoulder.
The great elephant was less than a thousand yards away.
Coming on steadily, in that long driving stride, a pace between a walk
and a trot that an elephant can keep up for thirty miles without check
