spot in the unwieldy slow-moving column. It was classical shifta
tactics, the age old art of ambush, of hit and run, a few throats slit
and a dozen rifles stolen but it slowed the retreat slowed it
drastically while close behind them followed the Italian horde, and
across their rear lay the mouth of the Sardi Gorge.
Lij Mikhael roused himself and leaned forward in the seat to peer ahead
through the windscreen. The wipers flogged sullenly from side to side,
keeping two fans of clean glass in the mud-splattered screen, and
Lij Mikhael made out the railway crossing ahead of them where it
bisected the muddy rutted road.
He grunted with so tis faction and the driver pushed the Ford through
the slowly moving mass of miserable humanity which clogged the road. It
opened only reluctantly as the sedan butted its way through with the
horn blaring angrily, and closed again behind it as it passed.
They reached the railway level crossing and Lij Mikhael ordered the
driver to pull off the road beside a group of his officers. He slipped
out bareheaded and immediately the rain de wed on his bushy dark hair.
The group of officers surrounded him, each eager to tell his own story,
to recite the list of his own requirements, his own misgivings each
with news of fresh disaster, new threats to their very existence.
They had no comfort for him, and Lij Mikhael listened with a great
weight growing in his chest.
At last he gestured for silence. 'Is the telephone line to Sardi still
open? 'he asked.
'The Gallas have not yet cut it. It does not follow the railway line
but crosses the spur of Ambo Sacal. They must have overlooked it.'
'Have me connected with the Sardi station I must speak to somebody
there. I must know exactly what is happening in the gorge.'
He left the group of officers beside the railway tracks and walked a
short way along the Sardi spur.
Down there, a few short miles away, the close members of his family his
father, his brothers, his daughter were risking their lives to buy him
the time he needed. He wondered what price they had already paid, and
suddenly, a mental picture of his daughter sprang into his mind Sara,
young and lithe and laughing. Firmly he thrust the thought aside and
he turned to look back at the endless file of bedraggled figures that
shuffled along the Dessie road. They were in no condition to defend
themselves, they were helpless as cattle 'Until they could be
regrouped, fed and re-armed in spirit.
No, if the Italians came now it would be the end.
'Excellency, the line to Sardi is open. Will you speak? Lij
Mikhael turned back and went to where a field telephone had been hooked
into the Sardi-Dessie telephone line. The copper wires dangled down
from the telegraph poles overhead, and Lij Mikhael took the handset
that the officer handed him and spoke quietly into the mouthpiece.
Beside the station master's office in the railway yards of Sardi town
stood the long cavernous warehouse used for the storage of grain and
other goods. The roof and walls were clad with corrugated galvanized
iron which had been daubed a dull rusty red with oxide paint.
The floor was of raw concrete, and tire cold mountain wind whistled in
