Harkaway's Sixth Column (8 page)

‘A charge under that rock there,’ he said, pointing, ‘and it’ll bring the lot down.’

He looked up as a car approached, trailing its cloud of dust. As it passed, he lifted his hand and waved - in the Italian manner the Somalis had been quick to learn, with the back of his hand to the recipient, the fingers moving slowly.

There was a small recess at the side of the road where the hills lay back and where convoys had been in the habit of halting. Its surface was covered with powdery dust criss-crossed with the marks of tyres. At one end, where the camels of nomad tribesmen stopped, the surface was composed of trodden dung and the heavy smell of the animals hung in the air. With a stick, Harkaway prodded the camels forward and persuaded them to kneel. Then they squatted down by the rocks, waiting, watching the traffic. There were no guns and few troops.
They
had passed through long since. Now it was only lorries bringing up supplies, or an occasional car containing an officer.

‘You sure them explosives are safe?’ Tully asked.

‘Perfectly.’

Tully eyed the sack on the nearest camel. ‘It’s bloody near,’ he said. ‘Suppose it fell of?’

‘Do no harm,’ Harkaway assured him. ‘You could burn it and it’d only fizz. It has to be put in a hole and tamped down, with a fuse attached.’

‘You sure?’

Harkaway smiled in the quiet way of his that irritated the other two so much, then as a car approached, heading at full speed through the pass, he stiffened and did his Italian wave again.

As dusk came, the reds and greys around them died into blues and purples and the sky was full of wild vermilion fires. The traffic stopped and a hot wind came through the pass from the plain, blowing the dried dust of ancient camel dung and lifting the surface of hard fine shale from the earth until little ridges appeared like bones in the reddish sand.

‘We’d better get on with it,’ Harkaway said. ‘Get the crowbar.’

Tully began to unfasten the heavy iron bar they’d found in the cave at Shimber Addi.

‘That ought to make a hole big enough,’ Harkaway said. ‘We’ll find a crack and work on that. Get up the slope, Paddy, and keep a look out. Give us a whistle when the petrol lorry comes. If we’re ready first we’ll whistle to you to come down.’

As Tully began to scramble up the rocky slopes, Harkaway began to jab with the crowbar at a crack in the rock beneath one of the huge pillars that held back the cliff.

‘Christ,’ Gooch said disgustedly. ‘Gimme that! You’re poking about like a tart with a knitting needle.’ His great shoulders working, he jabbed at the rock with the heavy iron bar. ‘How deep do you want it?’

Harkaway held up one of the packets of explosive. ‘Big enough and deep enough to get one of these in,’ he said.

‘How much fuse?’

‘Enough to give us time to run.’

There was only one alarm. A soft whistle stopped them as they worked and, tossing the crowbar behind the rocks, they squatted down alongside the camels.

‘These buggers niff a bit, don’t they?’ Gooch said. ‘You ever smelt their breath? I had one belch straight in my face once.’

A car rushed past at speed. The men in the rear seat didn’t even turn their heads to look at the two men with the camels. As the car disappeared, Gooch got to work again.

‘It’s big enough now,’ he said. ‘Shove it in.’

Harkaway stuffed in the explosive. ‘Better give it an extra one to make sure,’ he said.

Gooch grinned. ‘Why not an extra two,’ he said. ‘Make no mistake.’

Stuffing in the last of the explosive, Harkaway attached the fuse. Packing earth round it, he looked up.

‘Better shift the camels,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t want the poor sods to go sailing over the hill there.’

Leading the disgruntled animals down the road, they manoeuvred them info the recess among the rocks.

‘Okay?’

As Harkaway nodded, Gooch put two fingers in his mouth and gave an ear-splitting whistle.

‘Could never do that,’ Harkaway commented. Always envied chaps who could. So bloody useful when you want a taxi in London.’

Almost on top of the whistle there was an answering signal from the dusk and they heard the clatter of stones as Tully began to scramble down the slope towards them. Walking back to where they had planted the explosive, Harkaway paused until he saw the figure of Tully appear, then he lit a cigarette, took a couple of puffs and applied the end to the fuse. Immediately, it began to burn, moving swiftly in short jerky runs.

Tully was coming towards him, waving his arms.

‘Run,’ Harkaway shouted.

As he set off towards Gooch, he was aware of Tully yelling but he ignored him and they ran together towards the bend in the road. As they fell into the recess where Gooch waited, Tully was fighting for his breath. ‘There’s a -’

‘Keep moving,’ Harkaway snapped.

Gooch picked up the heavy iron crowbar and Harkaway the sack of explosives and they began to scramble among the rocks.

‘Listen -’ Tully panted, struggling along behind them. ‘Save your breath,’ Harkaway said. They scrambled part-way up the slope, the stones and shale slipping beneath their sandalled feet. ‘Listen -’

‘For Christ’s sake, man,’ Harkaway snarled. ‘Dry up!’ Reaching a ridge, they threw themselves over the other side.

‘We’ll be all right here,’ Harkaway panted. ‘Listen -’ Tully was still fighting for breath. ‘What the hell’s the matter with you?’ ‘Somebody’s coming up the pass.’ ‘What?’

‘I whistled. Didn’t you hear me?’

‘I thought that was to indicate you’d heard
our
signal.’

‘I saw ‘em just as you whistled. They’ll be coming round the corner any minute.’

‘I hope they’re not too bloody quick,’ Harkaway said, frowning. ‘I wouldn’t want the petrol to go up with the gorge. That’d be a waste of time and effort.’

‘It isn’t the petrol lorry,’ Tully gasped. ‘And it isn’t an Italian. It’s somebody on a camel.’

Gooch and Harkaway exchanged glances then they stared at Tully.

‘A Somali?’

‘I’ve never seen a Somali wearing a topee.’

For a moment they were silent again, then they stared down into the pass. Just as Tully had warned, a solitary camel was just rounding the bend and on its back was a figure wearing a topee, a Somali blanket decorated with flowers wrapped round its shoulders.

‘It
might
be an Italian,’ Gooch said.

‘Here?’ Harkaway said. ‘Alone? At this time of night? Not on your bloody life!’

‘Well, if it’s not an Eyetie, who is it?’

‘A civvy. Trying to get to the coast. You’ve got to stop that bang!’

‘How, you bloody fool?’ Harkaway snapped. ‘It’s just about there now. I’m not going near it!’ ‘Well, we’d better warn him.’

Together, they started to scramble down the slope, yelling. The rider looked up. The face was shadowed in the grey dusk by the brim of the topee but they caught the glint as the last of the light touched the lenses of a pair of round spectacles. Clearly the rider thought their approach was an attack and they saw a hand fish under the blanket then there was a crack and they heard the whine of a bullet sailing over their heads. Automatically, they flung themselves down. The rider spurred the camel into a lope and it began to approach the spot where the pass narrowed.

‘Oh, Jesus!’

As Gooch spoke, there was a tremendous roar and a flash that lit up the pass. They saw the camel smash down, legs asprawl, then the pass was full of clouds of dust and billowing brown smoke.

For a moment they stared, then they became aware of soft plops and clicks around them and realized that they were being bombarded by falling stones thrown up by the explosion. Flattening themselves against the ground, their arms over their heads, they waited until it had subsided, then they rose, covered with dust, and began to scramble down the slope again.

The camel was on its side, blood coming from its nostrils. The rider was huddled by its side.

‘The bugger’s dead,’ Gooch said.

But the rider stirred. A shaking hand pushed a pair of steel-rimmed, dust-covered spectacles straight, then the figure was on its feet, its face contorted with rage. Immediately their jaws dropped. The topee and the blanket had been snatched away by the blast and the shirt beneath had been blown open to the waist. And what they could see underneath clearly didn’t belong to a man. It was a woman, tall, slender as a sapling, her skin covered with sandy dust, her dark hair, blown into a mop by the blast, looking as if it had had an electric shock. ‘Who in the name of Christ,’ Harkaway said, ‘are you?’

The woman was tempestuously angry, unable to get her words out in her fury.

"Those wretched Italians,’ she managed at last. ‘Catholics every one of them! Slaves to the credo of Rome! Speaking peace even as they make war!’

Clearly she regarded them not as her attackers but as her saviours and was venting her spleen on the invaders as the sole cause of her disaster and discomfort.

‘My camel’s dead,’ she raged on, her hands busy wiping the lenses of her glasses. ‘And everything’s ruined! I hadn’t much, Heaven knows! And look at me! Look what they’ve done to me!’

She was still dazed and seemed unaware of what had happened to her clothes and they were indeed looking at her, and, now that it was clear she wasn’t much harmed, were thoroughly enjoying the sight.

‘Look, ma’am,’ Tully said, ‘what in the name of Christ are you doing here? There’s a war on, didn’t you know?’

She became aware at last of their stares and that her blouse was flapping open. Hurriedly she drew it together and stood with her hands across her breasts holding it in place. Her hair, covered with dust, still stood out like a mophead round her face.

She gazed at them for a moment as it suddenly dawned on her that there was something a little odd about meeting three English-speaking men dressed as Arabs in the middle of Italian-occupied territory.

"Who are -?’

Harkaway waved her to silence. His mind was still occupied with the reason for their being there. He had been standing with his head cocked as they talked and now he gestured abruptly. ‘Listen!’

They stopped arguing at once and immediately became aware of the grind of gears as a heavy vehicle slogged slowly up the slope in the dusk towards them. There were only two men in it, an African askari driver with an Italian soldier as guard and they were both eager to be in Bidiyu. Like many of the Italian vehicles, their lorry was past its best. It had been among those which had been driven into Abyssinia in 1936 and since then four hundred thousand kilometres had appeared on its clock. Because they were cut off from home by Egypt, however, there had been little chance since war had been declared of its being replaced and since Taranto there was none at all, and it was held together by wire while the Italian mechanics in Jijiga daily performed miracles on its ancient engine to keep it going. When it had failed to start, they had left behind schedule, the last vehicle on the road, and the corporal was anxious to be where it was safe before darkness.

As it approached, Harkaway grabbed at the woman and began to drag her among the rocks. Imagining he was about to assault her, she began to scream. Harkaway clutched her close to him and as he forced her down out of sight, clapped a heavy hand over her mouth, so tight it made her cheeks bulge.

The approaching lorry had its headlights on and they could see the light playing on the stony verges as it swung round the corners.

The woman in Harkaway’s arms was still struggling. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Will you be quiet if I let you go?’

She nodded and he took his hand from her mouth.

‘Who are you?’ she said.

‘Never mind who we are.’

She made no attempt to move and Harkaway realized he was still clutching her to him. In her state of semi-nudity, it was far from unpleasant and he made no attempt to release her.

‘Who’s in that lorry?’ she whispered.

‘Italians.’

‘How many?’

‘Two, we hope.’

The lorry was drawing near now and as it laboured round the last corner, Harkaway became aware that there was a second vehicle behind it, its headlights throwing it into silhouette.

His voice was touched with alarm. ‘There are
two
of the buggers!’

They raised their heads a fraction.

‘It must be Kom-Kom,’ Tully said. ‘Come to pick up the loot.’

‘He’s not
that
daft,’ Harkaway snapped. ‘He’d never follow that close behind. It must be one of theirs.’

‘The one behind’s a car,’ Gooch pointed out.

‘With two swaddies in it,’ Tully said. ‘One of ‘em’s got what looks like a Tommy gun.’

‘We can’t tackle four of ‘em!’ Gooch sounded alarmed. ‘There are only three of us.’

‘Four,’ the woman said.

‘Kom-Kom’s a mile away.’

‘I don’t mean this Kom-Kom, whoever he is. I mean me.’

They turned to look at her. Then Harkaway shook his head. ‘We’ve only got three rifles.’

‘I have a pistol,’ she reminded him. ‘If you recall, I used it to shoot at you. It’s not very big but it works.’

They stared at her for a moment, then back down the slope. The lorry and the following car were drawing closer.

‘Can you use it?’

‘Of course I can.’

‘You didn’t hit any of us.’

‘That’s because the camel was moving.’

‘Would
you use it?’

‘I once shot an Abyssinian in the leg when he tried to rape me.’

Harkaway studied her for a second. ‘Okay,’ he said briskly. ‘Tully, you and Thingy here take the car. Gooch and I’ll take the lorry.’ He glanced at the woman. ‘Stick your pistol up the driver’s nostril, and tell him not to move. That’s all you have to do.’

The lorry was almost on top of them now and as its headlights fell on the mass of rocks and earth blocking the road ahead, they heard the squeak of brakes as it slowed to a stop. The Italian soldier alongside the driver opened the door of the cab and stood with his foot on the step, studying the rocks.

‘Una frana,’
he said.

‘What’s he say?’ Tully whispered anxiously.

‘He says it’s a landslide,’ the woman said.