‘The whole British empire fell on us,’ the driver said as he came alongside. ‘They’re still hammering it out. So far we’re holding them but they’re chewing up the armour like a mincing machine.’
As they headed into town, it was decided to commandeer the warehouse where 64 Light Vehicle Repair Unit had first been thought of.
‘We can put everybody inside and post guards outside in Italian uniform,’ Rafferty suggested. ‘It’ll look like a temporary POW compound.’
‘There’s just one point,’ Dampier said. ‘What do we do about food?’
Morton smiled. ‘Scarlatti’s dump’s still here,’ he said. ‘And there’s always Clutterbuck.’
Chapter 8
Zuq seemed strangely empty as they drove in. As usual the civilians had taken their cars and lorries and donkeys and camels and headed into the desert to camp out among the dunes until the fighting they were expecting had finished and they could return. Several Arabs stood by the side of the road as they arrived, but there were few soldiers.
The Italian uniforms they had acquired were prominent as they established themselves in the ruined warehouse once more. Clegg, Jones and Rafferty, clad in the tunics of Italian privates, appeared at the doorway as guards, with Morton strutting up and down behind as their officer. Coffin’s men, their vehicles hidden round the back of the warehouse, preferred to prowl round the town but one or two of the Australians, entering into the spirit of the thing and wearing the tunics of their late custodians, added to the appearance of a well-guarded column of prisoners.
They had barely established themselves when Barbieri vanished. He returned later in his car with Rosalba, who looked as though she didn’t know whether to be frightened or furious. She had locked the Bar Barbieri and spent the three days while Caccia and Barbieri had been away with Teresa Gelucci, whose father had persisted in trying all the time to get her in a corner away from the light. She was overjoyed to have Caccia back, but nevertheless, as soon as she saw him, she went for him with both hands swinging.
‘So!’ she yelled. ‘After two hours of marriage and the grandissima fornicazione, it has succeeded that you didn’t want me!’
‘It’s not true,’ Caccia yelled back. ‘They shoved me in a car and drove off!’
‘But you didn’t fight back, eh, soldato? You wooed me – ravished me as if I were a whore – but you didn’t fight to the death to rescue your Rosalba.’
Watched by grinning Australians offering encouragement, Caccia managed – not without difficulty – to convince her of his good intentions and she finally burst into tears.
‘You are not crossed with me? I thought wrong things about you because I awaited too long.’
Then she saw Morton and promptly went for him instead. ‘Porca miseria!’ she stormed. ‘You do a wrongness! You take away my husband! You leave me to be shot by the Germans!’
‘Oh, you little beaut’.’ McBean grinned. ‘Give it to him, girl!’
Though Barbieri went back to his bar, claiming that he was hoping for a few customers when the British army arrived, Rosalba was clearly determined not to permit Caccia out of her sight again. Still muttering in flashes of angry fire, she allowed herself to accept a pair of khaki drill trousers and a blouse from the Ratbags’ property basket.
Taking a lorry, with Clutterbuck, Caccia and Clegg, Morton headed for the dump. Scarlatti looked nervous and hardly listened as he explained that they’d been taken off repairs and told to feed two hundred-odd prisoners of war.
‘It isn’t my job to feed prisoners!’ There was a mounting hysterical note in Scarlatti’s voice. ‘Faiani’s disappeared and I’ve been warned that there’s a possibility of defeat and that my job will be to destroy the dump.’
‘It’s my job,’ Morton said coldly, ‘to keep the prisoners under control until we can get them away to Europe. If they starve and I’m asked why, I shall tell them that Major Scarlatti, of No. 7 Base Stores and Resupply Depot, refused to provide rations. There’ll be enquiries by the Red Cross at international level.’
Scarlatti threw up his hands and gave in. A shed was opened and cases of rations were handed out. The food they contained was spartan enough but nobody complained.
‘It’s only for a few days,’ Dampier pointed out loudly.
McBean looked at Clegg. ‘Who is that bloody Pom?’ he asked. ‘Wearin’ an Italian private’s uniform and always tellin’ us what to do.’
They tore down a few doors to make fires and as it grew dark they noticed that the noise to the east seemed nearer. The following morning a whole string of ambulances appeared in the streets, heading for the hospital. Scarlatti gave Morton the news.
‘Our army suffers terribly,’ he said, tears in his eyes. ‘An attempt at a counter-attack ended in complete failure and the Germans have refused to help. The British armoured divisions still keep coming and they say the desert’s full of burning vehicles.’
As the battle continued to rage, there were mutinous sounds from the Australians, but then they heard that the Italian army was beginning to crack.
Scarlatti was in a panic. ‘They’re going to make a stand here in Zuq!’ he told Morton. ‘The Ariete Division’s been pulled out of the line and they’re heading for Zuq to throw a defence round the town!’
When Morton passed on the news to Dampier, the old warhorse started smelling battle. ‘They’ve got to take it off us first,’ he said. ‘Possession’s nine points of the law and it seems to be – er – up for grabs.’
‘We’re not exactly over-supplied with weapons,’ Morton pointed out.
‘I can get you summat,’ Clutterbuck said. ‘I’ve still got me pass into the dump and there are ’undreds of British rifles in there what was captured
