The Secret War

by Dennis Wheatley

  Lovelace nodded. “It seems that your Intelligence Service keeps you pretty well informed.”

  “Why certainly,” the General laughed. “As ninety-nine out of every hundred Abyssinians would shoot their own brothers in the back for a handful of thalers they’ll part with any information our agents require for the price of a drink. Besides, all the subject races, who form the bulk of the population, detest the Amhara and regard us as liberators. We know everything that goes on and every trench in their “Hindenburg line” is already marked out on our maps.”

  “D’you mean the line Ras Nasibu is holding?”

  “Yes. It is about a hundred-and-thirty miles south of Harar and he is banking on it holding us up. It won’t, because it’s only an absurd travesty of its namesake; sand trenches connecting a chain of ancient mud forts, instead of reinforced concrete strongpoints linked by fifty-yard belts of barbed wire. General Graziani’s troops are already concentrated in front of Sasa Baneh; he is certain to break through there within the next week or so. But that, please, is not for the Press.”

  “Of course not,” Lovelace agreed quickly, “and however brave Ras Nasibu’s men may be they couldn’t possibly stand up against your massed machine-guns or a concentrated bombardment by artillery using high explosives. Besides, you have unchallenged supremacy in the air and must be able to break up their masses anywhere, quite easily, before they get to the point of charging.”

  “That is true,” the General concurred, “but the mastery of the air does not give us the same advantage that it would in Europe. Great tracts of Abyssinia are covered by dense jungle. The enemy uses them in which to concentrate his forces and our airmen are often completely baffled. During the day time, too, these blacks have the sense to go to earth; the whole front appears desolate and there’s not a figure to be seen for a hundred miles along it. Then at night, when the planes are unable to help us, they come out by the thousand; stripped of their white shamas, stark naked and greased all over their bodies. They sneak up to our pickets and massacre them; often before an alarm can even be sounded.”

  “That sort of thing must prey on the nerves of your men pretty badly.”

  “It does; almost as much as the attacks of the hyenas.”

  “The hyenas,” Lovelace repeated with surprise. “But surely they don’t molest human beings.”

  The General laughed. “Evidently you have not met the Abyssinian variety. Like the human inhabitants of this miserable country, they far surpass in ferocity the normal members of their species.”

  “They prowl at nights, of course. I’ve seen them even in the streets of Addis Ababa, but I didn’t think …”

  “Oh, there, offal would keep down their ravenous hunger, perhaps, but outside the towns packs of them have to be driven off by rifle-fire at times. All our wounded that we fail to get in before nightfall are devoured by hyenas, and often they get the better of little bands of stragglers too. They’re much more dangerous than the lions with which the country swarms, or even the tribes of baboons which set upon anyone who crosses their path.”

  Lovelace made a grimace. “Knowing so much fine Italian manhood would have to be sacrificed in such horrible ways it’s difficult to understand how Signor Mussolini ever brought himself to the point of engaging in this war.”

  “For you, perhaps—but not for us.” The General leant forward earnestly. “You are an Englishman of some standing; it is pleasant therefore to have the opportunity of putting the real facts before you. Listen, I will tell you why Italy had no alternative but to advance into Abyssinia. It is this: we did our share in the Great War but got practically nothing out of it. If Mussolini had been present when the Treaty of Versailles was drawn up things might have been different—but he was not. We received no colonies where our population might expand or from which we could secure vital raw materials. Afterwards, for a year or two, everything was anarchy; then Mussolini accomplished the March on Rome and proceeded to clean up our country. He was faced with Bolshevism, graft, indifference, and every kind of roguery. I tell you this—I who am an Italian.” The General thumped his chest and Lovelace nodded.

  “Good! For ten years Mussolini performed the most incredible labours; then he sat back to take stock of the situation. Order has been brought out of chaos; the great bulk of the people are the better for his reforms and, after years of doubt, now have unquestioning faith in his leadership. He has infused a new spirit into our nation and placed it once more among the leading powers but, in spite of all his efforts, he is faced with the cold, hard fact that our country simply cannot support our population. France has 60,000,000 people and Italy 40,000,000, yet France has more than ten times the area of cultivable land that we possess. Unless all that Mussolini had done was to go for nothing, he had to find some outlet for our surplus millions. Before the war our people could emigrate to the United States, to all parts of your British Empire, and to most other countries, freely. Since the war all that has been altered. Unemployment problems have forced nearly every nation to restrict or prohibit the immigration of aliens in order to protect such jobs as are going for their own nationals. Where could Mussolini turn without coming into conflict with the other great powers? We had two pieces of seaboard in Africa, both abutting on Abyssinia, with frontiers which have never been clearly defined. If he could advance those frontiers his problem was solved.

  “Italy had already claimed and disputed that territory in the war of 1896. The Abyssinians only conquered it themselves in living memory and their title to it is extremely dubious.

  “We made a treaty of friendship with them and for years it was our hope that we might assist them in the development of their country. Haile Selassie’s authority has never existed, in fact, outside the comparatively small area of Abyssinia proper and in a few of the principal towns. We would have made him and his dynasty paramount throughout the whole Ethiopian Empire. All we asked in return was that he should allow us free immigration and the control of the police in order that we might protect our settlers. Surely, that we sponsored Abyssinia’s entrance to the League in the face of Britain’s opposition is proof of our honourable intentions. Yet this ill-advised little man has never treated our overtures with anything but prevarication and ill-concealed contempt. Worse, he has not even honoured his own agreement with us. Swiss, Belgians, Swedes are selected for the advisory posts which were promised to Italians. No special facilities which were promised for the development of trade have been given. Our people are singled out for insult and outrage whenever they venture into Abyssinian territory. The position has long been intolerable.

  “In addition, the lack of law and order in the country is an open scandal and the native population would fare better under our protection than they do at present. We seek no war with any other European country. We are only proposing to do that which Britain and France have done on innumerable occasions in the past.”

  Lovelace smiled. “I’ll grant you, sir, that you’ve put up a good case; just the sort, in fact, that Britain has used time and again to justify her own annexations, but honestly, is the country worth it? These miles of waterless desert, dense jungle and barren rock can offer nothing to colonists.”

  The General shook his head slowly as he lighted another cigarette. “At the moment no; but certain portions of them, in the hands of Italy, could be made to offer much. I give away no state secrets, but look at that map.”

  Glancing over his shoulder Lovelace saw a big map of Ethiopia pinned up on the wall. “Yes?” he said.

  “You see Italian Somaliland to the south of Ogaden?” the General pointed with a thick finger. “That is a good country. It is hot but healthy and it has no disease-carrying insects; on the other hand, it has little water. Only certain sections of the river Juba flow all the year round and the Webi-Shebeli, which is much longer, becomes a mere trickle during the great heats. Look at the Webi-Shebeli again. It is nearly two thousand miles in length. If modern engineers could get to work upon it that river could be turne
d into another Nile and made to fertilise great tracts of territory; but two-thirds of it lie in Abyssinia.”

  “You need the upper reaches before you can build your dams and power stations?”

  “Exactly. The whole of the Ogaden must come under the Italian flag. It is not only a question of the people we can settle on the land once it becomes fertile, but towns, roads, villages will need to be built and all the innumerable services necessary to a great modern community installed. At one stroke Italy will have solved her unemployment problem for two generations.”

  Lovelace nodded. “I see. The campaign in the north from Eritrea is only a feint then?”

  The General smiled. “National morale demanded that we should avenge the catastrophe we suffered at Adowa as early in the war as possible. That naturally necessitated considerable concentrations of troops on the frontier of Eritrea.”

  Lovelace noted the smile and returned it. “The opinion of the experts among the neutrals was that you had decided to engage and defeat the trained army of the Emperor there in order to break his personal power, but that strategically those battles in the north were only staged to exhaust the enemy while your southern army advanced through the comparatively easy country of the Fafan Valley, gradually subdued Ogaden, captured Harar, and penetrated to the Jibuti-Addis Ababa railway.”

  The General’s smile broadened into a grin. “The so-called experts said many things. For example, that our first action would be a terrific bombing raid on the railway where it crosses the Awash river in order to smash the bridges and cut Addis off from the outside world. Could any suggestion be more foolish? It would cost us millions of lire to build those bridges again and we shall need the railway for our own use immediately we have conquered the country.”

  It was obvious to Lovelace that the Italian did not mean to answer the really interesting question as to whether the Higher Command intended to attempt pushing their northern flying columns through from Dessye to the capital or if they would gradually subdue the country from the south as had always been predicted. He returned to wider spheres.

  “I think it’s a pity, sir, your real intentions about the Webi-Shebeli are not more widely known. Few people could fail to sympathise with your wish to turn a great slice of Africa from useless desert into fruitful farmlands but, from what you tell me, the troops are having a very bad time of it in spite of their victories. D’you think they’ll stay the course?”

  “There is no doubt of that,” the General replied firmly. “The rains, which are due to start any day now, will mean further delay, of course, and conditions are appalling. Our soldiers fight, not only against a merciless enemy, who does not observe the decencies of war, but against heat-stroke, fever, sunburn, dysentery, shortage of water and even the wild animals which seem to be the allies of the Abyssinians; but our organisation is sound and they have confidence in their leaders together with the inspiration of a great national ideal. There has never been any question of our failing to achieve complete and final victory.”

  Christopher and several officers joined them at that moment so the talk became general. Orderlies carried round trays of Asti-Spumanti and the aromatic, sparkling wine made them disinclined for further serious conversation. A young officer began to strum upon an upright piano; soon a group was gathered round him singing the old songs of Italy and the newest importations from the States.

  More Asti-Spumanti—more singing; for a little the war and its horrors were forgotten. The thought of that anxious hour at sundown, when those who were off duty gathered on the aerodrome each evening to count the chickens as they came home to roost and tried to thrust out of their minds the terrible fate which had probably overtaken the missing, was submerged in gaiety.

  At one o’clock Valerie declared that if she was to make an early start in a few hours’ time, so as to avoid the heat, she must really get to bed.

  As she left with Christopher and Lovelace she carried away with her the hearts of a dozen handsome young exiles who might never see Italy again, and the sounds of a last, tremendous ovation followed them nearly back to the hospital.

  Only Lieutenant Count Dolomenchi, for once bereft of his usual gaiety, saw them off as the dawn was breaking. He told them that the great attack of the southern armies had just been launched against Sasa Baneh which lay a little above the fork of the all-important Webi-Shebeli. Four and a half hours later they arrived at last in Addis Ababa.

  CHAPTER XX

  THE LAST BLACK EMPIRE

  If the irregular row of hangars which constituted the aerodrome at Addis Ababa seemed a toy by comparison with the great Italian base at Assab it certainly did not suffer from lack of personnel.

  As the four-seater plane came to earth at least three hundred people ran across the open space towards it. Some were in the dirty white shamas of the country and others in khaki uniforms of European design, but nearly all were barefooted.

  At first Lovelace would not let Valerie leave the plane because, although many of the uniformed men were driving back the crowd with hippopotamus-hide whips, the mob showed a sullen and, at times, vociferous hostility.

  A white man arrived on the scene, however, and introduced himself as Henrick Heidenstam; a Swedish pilot in the Emperor’s service. He told them that the war with Italy had caused the Abyssinians to develop an intense distrust of all Europeans—particularly those who came in planes, on account of the way in which the population had suffered from air-raids—but that they had no cause to be frightened. It was his duty to meet all arrivals at the airport and he was personally responsible to the Emperor for their safety. He then introduced a bearded, copper-coloured man as Ato Habte Worku; a chief of Customs.

  Ato Habte Worku demanded fifty thalers landing-tax and, while Christopher paid him, sent his apparently numberless assistants to rummage the contents of the plane. Valerie handed over a cardboard box containing the clothes she had worn the previous night and Lovelace another which held their united washing and shaving tackle purchased in Assab. They were charged five thalers on the dress but the rest of their things were let in free. When the Customs men returned to report that there was no baggage in the plane, however, there ensued a most excited discussion in Amharic.

  Lovelace told Heidenstam that they had been forced to come down in the desert and that robbers had made off with their luggage.

  The Swede expressed surprise that they had succeeded in getting away with their lives but Ato Habte Worku was neither sympathetic nor interested. He said that since they had no luggage which he could tax they must pay another fifty thalers landing fee.

  Christopher was about to protest at this flagrant injustice but Lovelace nudged him and told him to pay up; knowing that in Abyssinia there was no appeal against such arbitrary decisions on the part of government officials.

  The passport officer, a one-eyed black, presented as Ato Wolde Rougis, now asked for their papers. He also had numerous assistants, and these, having glanced at the three passports, said that they were not in order.

  What was to be done? Having visited Abyssinia before Lovelace knew the answer and promptly slipped five thalers into Ato Wolde Rougis’s hand.

  The black official took the bribe but shrugged and shook his head, evidently hoping to obtain a larger sum.

  Lovelace knew there was nothing wrong with the passports and considered the tip enough; so he resorted to a trick and produced a document from his note-case which he carried for the purpose. It was a piece of thin vellum with Arabic characters inscribed upon it and a red ribbon attached from which dangled a large seal. The seal was actually a tin plaque lauding the virtues of a brand of Turkish cigarettes but the characters on it looked not unlike those on the vellum, which he had written himself.

  “This,” he said solemnly, “is the sealed warrant of Ibn’ Saud, King of Arabia. The possession of it places myself and my friends above all suspicion. We are people of considerable importance.”

  With a far more respectful expression on his face Ato Wolde
Rougis took the piece of vellum and pretended to read the characters, although it was obvious that he did not understand them. It was the red ribbon and the fine, tin seal which impressed his native mind and made him feel that it might be dangerous to blackmail such people in case, later, they did him some injury.

  After a moment he said: “Why did you not show me this at once? It is all in order. I will not delay you further.” But he did not offer to give back the money he had taken.

  A third man now appeared. They did not catch his name but noticed that he did not rejoice in the title of Ato, or Mr. He had the plane run into a hangar and had to be given ten thalers for his trouble. Then, it seemed, they were free to leave the aerodrome.

  Henrick Heidenstam took them over to a rickety car with a black chauffeur and, while the airport police kept back the sullen-looking mob, they drove off.

  Three minutes later the car stopped outside a petrol station. Heidenstam smiled ruefully.

  “I’m awfully sorry,” he said. “This fellow’s evidently run out of juice and you’ll have to buy some if you want to go any further. This is a government car, you see, and one of their methods of getting petrol is to play this game on strangers. I’d buy some myself but I haven’t been paid for months so I’m pretty hard up at the moment.”

  “Please don’t worry—it’s not your show.” Christopher assured the Swede; but the man at the petrol station refused to supply him with less than a tonika of four-and-a-half gallons which cost another thirteen thalers, roughly one pound, and he was angered by this further imposition.