handfuls over the drivers' and gunners' visors. The tank crews were
helplessly imprisoned and the attackers pranced and howled like
demented things. The din was such that Jake did not even hear the
approach of the other car.
It stopped on the crest of the dune opposite where Jake stood.
The hatches were flung open, and Gareth Swales and Ras Golam leaped out
of the hull.
The Ras had his sword with him, and he swung it around his head as he
charged down the slope to join his men around the crippled tanks.
Across the valley that separated them, Gareth threw Jake a cavalier
salute, but beneath the mockery, Jake sensed real respect.
Each of them ran down into the trough and they met where the gallon
cans of gasoline were buried under a fine layer of sand and cut
branches.
Gareth spared a second to punch Jake lightly on the shoulder.
'Hit the beggars for six, what? Good for you,' and then they stooped
to drag the cans out of the shallow hole, and with one in each hand
staggered through the waist-deep scrub to the tank carcasses.
Jake passed a can up to Gregorius who was already perched on the turret
of the nearest tank where his grandfather was trying to prise open the
turret hatch with the blade of his broad-sword. His eyes flashed and
rolled wildly in his wrinkled black head, and a high-pitched incoherent
'Looloo' keened from the mouthful of flashing artificial teeth for the
Ras was transported into the fighting mania of the berserker.
Gregorius hefted the gasoline can up on to the tank's sponson, and
plunged his dagger through the thin metal of the lid. The clear liquid
spurted and hissed from the rent, under pressure of its own volatile
gases.
'Wet it down good!' shouted Jake, and Gregorius; grinned and
splattered gasoline over the hull. The stink of it was sharp, as it
evaporated from the hot metal in a shimmering haze.
Jake ran on to the next tank, unscrewing the cap of the can as he
clambered up over the shattered jockey wheels.
Avoiding the stationary barrel of the forward machine gun, he stood
tall on the top of the turret and splashed gasoline over the hull,
until it shone wetly in the sunlight and little rivulets of the stuff
found the joints and gaps in the plating and splattered into the
interior.
'Get back,' shouted Gareth. 'Everybody back.' He had doused the other
steel carcasses and he stood now on the slope of the dune with an unlit
cheroot in the corner of his mouth and a box of Swan Vestas in his left
hand.
Jake jumped lightly down from the hull, laying a trail of gasoline from
the can he carried as he backed up to where Gareth waited.
'Hurry. Everybody out of the way,' Gareth called again.
Gregorius was laying a wet trail of gasoline back to Gareth.
'Somebody go get that old bastard out of the way' Gareth called with
exasperation. A single figure pranced and howled and loolooed on the
nearest tank, and Jake and Gregorius dropped the empty cans and raced
