Harkaway's Sixth Column (18 page)

Yussuf stared at him for a long time then, with a movement that was like a shrug, he turned away and began to limp back towards Eil Dif. Harkaway’s eyes were on Danny.

‘Christ,’ he said, ‘the things they say.’

‘Yes.’ She stared back at him boldly. ‘The things they say. Am
I
so ugly that the idea’s ridiculous?’

Harkaway eyed her for a long time, then he too turned away. ‘No,’ he said shortly. ‘You aren’t ugly. And it isn’t ridiculous.’

The shootings at Eil Dif seemed to stir the Somalis to anger more than anything that had happened so far. Up to that point, everything had been fun, a joyous killing that was more like hunting than war. Now, however, among the Habr Odessi and their associated clans, hatred had entered into the conflict.

A dozen of them slipped away from the camp in the hills to avenge Abduruman. He meant little to them personally and was related to none of them but they were a difficult, quarrelsome people and war was in their blood. They even went so far as to recruit several of the Harari to their cause and, finding a patrol of Italians camped by their lorry in the bush near Gugubi, fell on them and butchered the lot. Most of the Italians were killed in their blankets. The officer, in his pyjamas, emerged from his tent, to find himself face to face with a tall grave Somali, with a blue-black handsome face who drew back his arm, bared his teeth and lunged with the spear he held. Two Somalis from Hargeisa who had been acting as guides were held down and had their eyes cut out and their arms hacked off before the bodies were slashed and stabbed.

The Italians had not died without taking the lives of four of the tribesmen, however, and when the Somalis reported what had happened Harkaway was livid.

‘Ma’alish’
the leader said, unconcerned. ‘It is the will of Allah. He orders all things and writes each man’s fate in the book of life.’

‘He doesn’t write mine,’ Harkaway snapped to Danny as she translated. ‘So tell them that from now on they do as they’re told. They haven’t been trained to get killed in piffling little skirmishes. They’ve been trained for battle. They’re soldiers and soldiers do as they’re told.’

‘You can’t push them too far, George,’ Danny protested.

‘I can push them as far as I like,’ he snapped. ‘And it doesn’t require a mewling woman with a Bible to tell me so!’

Despite Harkaway’s fears, the raid had done less harm than he thought. Down in the south, the news had reached Colonel Charlton and as he appeared in his commanding officer’s tent, the general looked up testily. His army was on the move and he had a lot to think about.

They had already run into the scorched summer plains where there wasn’t a leaf or a blade of grass, the wind-flattened earth bone-white or a burning red that stung the eyes, the termite mounds like grotesque towers, the thorn trees with their skeletal branches grey and brittle alongside the shrivelled aloes. Outside his headquarters the wind was stirring up dust as fine as face powder, the discouraging landscape almost entirely the same colour, the sun beating down vertically to create distant mirages among the waste of rocks, and plaster the dust into masks on the sweaty faces of the struggling soldiers.

‘I’m busy, Charlie,’ the general said shortly. ‘Is it important?’

Colonel Charlton smiled. ‘It might be, sir. It seems I was wrong about the natives of Somaliland.’

‘You mean they’ve turned on the Italians?’

‘Hardly that, sir. Not yet. But something’s stirring. I got it through the navy in Aden via Berbera. Boats still sneak across.’

The general frowned. He was impatient. British forces had crossed the border of Africa Orientale at five main points - near Mount Belaya, from Kassala in the Sudan, and from Wajit, Bura and Garissa along the Kenyan border.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘What have you heard?’

Charlton’s manner was cheerful. ‘We’ve been hearing reports of Italian patrols being butchered and convoys being attacked,’ he said. ‘Chiefly along what they choose now to call the Strada del Duce - the road from Jijiga to Berbera via Bidiyu and Hargeisa.’

‘Well, that’s a help,’ the general said. ‘Who’s doing it? The natives?’

‘Reports say they’re well organized, whoever they are. But there’s another curious report. Of an Italian brigadier kidnapped at Gura. Right outside his own headquarters.’

The general began to show more interest. ‘Kidnapped? That’s a new one.’

‘By white men, sir.’

The general put down his pen. ‘Renegade Italians? Anti-fascists?’

‘That’s something we haven’t come across in this part of the world, sir. The report’s vague but it says they’re British.’

‘British? Have Cairo been sending people in without informing us? They’re forming raiding parties in England. I know. Commandos, they’re called. Churchill’s idea. Have they sent some out here?’

‘Aden knows nothing, sir. Neither does the navy.’

‘Could they be a party left behind in the retreat last August?’

‘I’ve been through the returns, sir. No large groups were left behind.’

The general reached out for his pen. ‘Handle it, Charlie,’ he said shortly. ‘Try to find out more about them. If there
is
somebody there operating behind the Italians’ lines, it’s up to us to get in touch with ‘em. We might be able to help. Get the air force to land arms or something. Let me know how it shapes up.’

When Yussuf next appeared, he said that Di Peri’s men had left Gura to head back towards Jijiga, and it began to seem important to find out what was happening in the world, because the small group of Somalis they’d gathered round them had suddenly begun to increase.

It was clear the word had gone round and more seemed to be arriving every day. Not only Habr Odessis and Hararis, which were septs of the Aidegallas and Habr Yuris, but also men from other areas - even Rer Ibrahims, who were Ogadens from Abyssinian Somaliland - men of every shade and colour, men from the sub-tribes and restless nomads who had spent their lives scanning the horizon for the rain that rarely came. Inter-tribal fighting and raiding had once constituted the Somalis’ national sport and a life devoted to looting seemed irresistible to them. Victory meant riches and wives, death a paradise peopled by houris. They were far from averse to fighting the Italians, especially now the Italians were being defeated.

There were Warsanglis and Dolbehantas, Abr Awals and Habr Toljals from the north-east. With them came men of the sub-tribes, Mahmoud Gerads, Esa Mahmouds, Illas, Illaloes, Hawiyas, Diris, Yahellis, Gadabursis, Issas and Esas. They came in ones and twos and groups, all looking for the chance of killing someone. War had been stamped out in the Somalilands since the death of the Mullah and they had grown weary of peace.

Abdillahi grinned as he watched them arrive, his evil smiling eyes wrinkling. He had the simplicity of a child, a wide-eyed, wicked, handsome child. ‘Praise be to Allah,’ he said to Harkaway. ‘The lord of the world, the compassionate, the merciful. He has given us armies.’

Some of the Habr Yunis from the Tug Argan area had British rifles picked up after the battle there, but for the most part the Somalis had little else but spears, pangas and curved swords, and a few museum pieces kept hidden from the days when the Mullah had rampaged through the country. The rifles they received - though they were only Martinis - made them dance with joy.

They armed all they could. They were remarkably quick on the uptake and, with Gooch to watch over them, became surprisingly skilful in a matter of days. Those who understood the sights explained to those who didn’t, while spearmen, noted for their ability to throw, were encouraged to throw stones which they hurled for incredible distances, and these men, though they were not allowed to touch them, had the little Italian grenades explained to them.

Then Gooch assembled the mortars and showed how they could be packed on the backs of mules or camels. With the assistance of Grobelaar, who over the years had also picked up a smattering of Somali dialects, Danny had to be everywhere at once. Among their recruits they picked up a few who had served with the British along the coast or worked on British ships and they even found an ex-interpreter from the Royal Navy, so that the spreading of the word became easier.

By this time the camp in the hills was a great sprawling area of men, women, children, camels, mules, horses, sheep and goats, because many of the men had brought their families and their flocks with them. Occasionally there were disputes over ownership and a few fights, but on the whole they were settled with little blood being let. Harkaway raged through the camp, swinging his fists and feet to separate the brawlers, and curiously they accepted his word as law. Most of them had brought their own food but, with the great bawling mass of animals and people, eventually it was clear something would have to be done. Either they would have to disperse or set about the Italians.

With Eil Dif emptied of Italians, the Free British thankfully dug out their vehicles again and Tully set up the radio. The news staggered them. The South Africans from Bura in Kenya were advancing at a tremendous speed towards Mogadiscio. A second column from Garissa had joined up with them and, meeting at the Juba River, had defeated the Italians to take Jelib and Margherita. In the north heavy fighting was still going on round Keren.

In British Somaliland, there appeared to be no Italian activity at all beyond obvious preparations to retreat. Yussuf s spies reported that the Italians were burning paper in Bidiyu, and if they were burning documents in Bidiyu, they would certainly be burning them in the more distant Hargeisa and Berbera and other places to the east. And burning documents could only mean that they were preparing to retreat, though for the moment there was no movement, and certainly no aggressive forays into the wilder areas of the countryside. Once more the Duce’s writ ran only where his soldiers were gathered in numbers and the Italian commanders were making sure of their safety by sticking to their bases.

Harkaway had become curiously distant from the rest of them. He listened regularly to the radio reports, both from London and from Kenya, Rhodesia and South Africa, and he seemed particularly interested in the news of British air raids.

‘Have any of you,’ he asked unexpectedly, ‘seen any Italian aeroplanes lately?’

They stared at him for a moment, then looked at each other. Nobody appeared to have seen anything of the Regia Aeronautica for some time and it seemed to please Harkaway.

‘They’ve got none,’ he said. ‘That’s why. They’ve all been destroyed on the ground. If they’d had any, you don’t mean to tell me they wouldn’t have come looking for us. We’re big enough to see now and they know we’re here. Yet we’ve twice hit at them and we’ve kidnapped one of their senior officers but they’ve sent nothing after us. I think we can afford to take a few more risks. It’s time for the Free British to take the field.’

‘I’d rather slip down to Mombasa,’ Gooch growled. ‘And see the war out there.’

Harkaway studied him for a moment then he shrugged. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Shove off.’

Gooch growled. ‘I can’t go on me own.’

‘Why not? Kom-Kom’s taught you to drive. Take one of the lorries and a rifle and go.’

‘What about my share of the silver and the dollars?’

‘Take that, too,’ Harkaway said offhandedly. ‘I hope it lasts a long time. Three months from now you’ll have spent it. You’re the type. Perhaps it’s best. You were never totally reliable.’

‘I’m a trained soldier!’ Gooch exploded.

‘The only thing you were expert at was persuading housewives to provide you with suppers and their daughters to lower their knickers for you.’

‘You
said
we were going south!’ Gooch persisted.

‘For God’s sake, man!’ Harkaway snapped. ‘You wanted loot, didn’t you? What you’ve got so far’s not worth a damn. But now we’ve got the whole of Italian East Africa to go at. Not just native silver. But what the Italians had too! Good European gold watches. Trinkets. Italian money.’

‘Which will be worth nothing in no time,’ Danny said dryly, ‘if they’re kicked out of the war.’

Harkaway gave her a sharp look but he didn’t argue. ‘Italian lorries and cars,’ he went on. ‘Yours for the taking. Italian silk shirts and suits. Italian wine and brandy. You can make your fortune.’

Gooch was clearly tempted. He was far from being a quick-witted man and Danny could see him being manoeuvred in a way that drew her sympathy. Her intelligence made her want to warn him because she suspected Harkaway was manoeuvring them all in the same way, but her heart was now entirely Harkaway’s and she couldn’t bring herself to protest.

‘When do you reckon it’ll be over?’ Gooch asked.

‘Month or two,’ Harkaway said. ‘No more. After North Africa, nobody can come to their help. They’re as good as out of the war.’

Gooch nodded. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll stay on.’

As he moved away, Danny edged closer to Harkaway. ‘That was cheating,’ she said quietly. ‘Suppose you’re right? Suppose he
does
pick up loot. He can’t sell it here and he couldn’t carry enough south to make a fortune.’

Harkaway’s hand touched hers. ‘It’ll dawn on him eventually,’ he said. ‘Until then, let’s make use of him.’

‘Do you make use of everybody, George?’

Harkaway stared at her. He was a tall man but she was tall, too, slender and angular, especially since their exertions in the heat had removed some of the flesh. For a long time his eyes held hers then he moved away without saying anything.

The following day they learned that Moyale had been captured by the Abyssinians and that the South Africans had entered Mogadiscio. Bardera, inland on the Juba River, had also been captured and one wing of the advance was already heading north, so that the Italians were being swept into a net. Then they learned that, terrified of being cut off, the Italians in British Somaliland were beating a retreat back up the Strada del Duce from Berbera towards Hargeisa. The capital’s ancient streets and white houses were being left for the British navy from Aden and they were expected any day.