by John Harris
‘That’s what I thought, Yussuf,’ Harkaway said. ‘When?’
Yussuf lifted several fingers then lowered them one after the other. ‘Two days, perhaps. The marketplace at Bidiyu is filled with lorries and soldiers.’
‘Where are they going?’
‘Jijiga, effendi. Where else can they go?’ The Ingresi are coming north across the border. And they cannot go into Eritrea because the Ingresi are coming south. The news comes from Berbera itself. I also hear that the Italian general, Guidotti, has sworn to catch you and make you beg for mercy.’
Harkaway’s eyes narrowed. ‘He has, has he?’
Yussuf chuckled. ‘That was some time ago. I think it is now too late. They are defeated, effendi.’
Harkaway was silent a moment, staring back down the black ribbon of asphalt towards Bidiyu.
‘Yussuf,’ he said, ‘how many camp followers have we with us? How many women and young boys and old men?’
Yussuf shrugged and spread his hands. ‘Many, effendi.’
Harkaway pointed. ‘I want them to roll rocks to the side of the road back there. When Barracca’s passed and the gorge’s been blown, they’re to roll them across the road. The bigger the better. So that Guidotti has to clear them. Every one. Understand?’
Yussuf smiled. ‘I understand, effendi.’
That night Grobelaar edged their vehicles off the road and down the slope to the scrubland below. For safety, he attached ropes to their rear springs and teams of Somalis lowered them gingerly because a wrecked lorry would be investigated. When they had them all down, Harkaway directed them into the scrub until they were out of sight beyond the crowding thorn trees and euphorbias. There were protests from the Somali drivers as they realized they were not to take part in the killing that was being planned and it required all Danny’s tact to persuade them to remain with their charges.
That night the rest of them took up their positions overlooking the road. Where they had blown the gorge before Christmas there was now a small wired-in post containing a pill-box. Harkaway smiled as he studied it through the binoculars. Defences of that kind helped nobody, he knew. They could only defend their immediate locality and not really even that.
Siting his machine guns where they could be most effective and lining the crests with the Somalis, he stared about him. He had placed some of the weapons at the end of the gorge, the rest a few hundred yards further on. Gooch and Tully were busy, nagging at their black teams and clearing a path along the crests so they could move easily between their weapons.
Di Peri, incongruous in his braided uniform, breeches and Somali sandals, watched what was going on with a weary expression, exhausted as the sun rose on the dead lingering heat of the previous day. Like the rest, he was plastered with a mixture of dust and sweat, his lips cracked, his tongue when he opened his mouth seeming more pink than normal against the uniform greyness of the rest of him.
‘What are you planning, Colonel?’ he asked Harkaway.
Harkaway turned. ‘I’m not a colonel,’ he said.
‘You have the manner.’
Harkaway’s eyes became chilly. ‘I have the manner all right,’ he agreed. ‘But I’m not an officer.’
Di Peri gave a bleak smile. ‘As a brigadier, I could claim that I have the right to be escorted by someone of equivalent rank.’
Harkaway’s smile in return was equally as bleak. ‘You’d be pushed to find a brigadier here,’ he said.
Di Peri studied him for a while. ‘What are you expecting?’ he asked. ‘It’s clear you’re planning a coup de main. But then what?’
‘Then,’ Harkaway said, ‘the Italians will be out of East Africa and right back where they should be – selling ice cream up and down the Via Roma in Naples.’
Di Peri looked up. ‘You know Naples?’
‘I’ve visited it. Come to that, I’ve visited Florence, Rome, Capri.’
‘You liked Italy?’
Harkaway’s eyes were faraway. ‘I did then,’ he admitted. ‘I wasn’t old enough to know about Mussolini.’
Di Peri smiled. ‘Mussolini has done many things,’ he said. ‘He made the trains run on time.’
‘If he’d stuck to that,’ Harkaway said, ‘he’d have done better. Because that empire of his that he said was going to last forever seems to be falling apart a bloody sight more quickly than he cobbled it together.’
The road remained empty. The Italians were all too concerned with their future to be aware of the swarm of men waiting in the hills. Fires were lit and the women who had accompanied the Somali warriors bent over the cooking pots. Water was handed out sparingly, but no one quibbled. Water had always been handed out sparingly in Somaliland.
In the afternoon, Harkaway had the scout car loaded with explosive and, taking Grobelaar and Danny, he sent off two of his young Habr Odessis with a donkey and followed them along the narrow tracks through the hills parallel to the Strada del Duce until they could rattle and lurch down to the tarmacadam.
It was dusk as they unloaded the explosives by the gully under the road. Great drainage pipes had been sunk beneath the asphalt for when the monsoon came and Harkaway carefully buried the explosive inside them, then the whole lot of them began to scoop up sand, stones and rocks to fill the pipes and tamp it down. Finally, he inserted the detonator and led wires back among the rocks, covering it with sand as he went. Edging down the slope from the road towards the scrubland below, he ran it among the bushes and indicated the scout car.
‘Think you can drive that down the slope, Kom-Kom?’ he asked.
Grobelaar put the car in low gear and swung it to the lip of the slope, then, edging it over slowly, let it grind down to the scrubland. As he brought it to a standstill, Harkaway indicated the engine. ‘We’ll need the battery,’ he said.
Watched by Danny and the Odessis, Grobelaar disconnected the battery and carried it to Harkaway, who connected one of the wires to it.
‘All you have to do now,’ he said, ‘is touch the other wire to the other terminal.’
‘Who has?’
Harkaway smiled. ‘Well, it isn’t going to be one of the Odessis,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t trust the inquisitive bastards not to try it beforehand to see if it works. It’s going to be you. When you hear the bang of mines going off you do your stuff and up she goes.’
Grobelaar studied the battery. ‘When?’
‘After the convoy passes.’
‘And until then?’
‘You camp out.’ Harkaway gestured. ‘I’ll be camping out up there.’
‘It’s going to be hot.’
‘It’s going to be hot up there, too. There’s going to be a lot of sweating done before we’ve finished, in fact.’
Grobelaar studied the battery again. ‘And after it goes up?’ he asked.
‘We shall have the convoy trapped between the gorge and this spot. They won’t be able to move either forward or back.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of the bleddy convoy, man,’ Grobelaar growled. ‘I was thinking of me.’
Harkaway gave him his pitying smile. ‘You disconnect the battery, wind in the wires, put the battery back in the car, start the engine and drive away.’
‘Where to?’
Harkaway pointed south-west into the scrub. ‘There. We pick you up when we’ve finished. You won’t miss us. There’ll be so much traffic it’ll raise a dust cloud a mile high.’
Grobelaar frowned. ‘Suppose something goes wrong,’ he said. ‘I’ll be out there–’ his arm lifted, pointing ‘–on my own.’
Harkaway gave his cool smile. ‘If something goes wrong,’ he said, ‘you won’t be the only one.’
Leaving Grobelaar, Harkaway slung the remaining explosive across the donkey’s back, helped Danny up behind and began to head into the hills. When they reached the Sixth Column it was already in position round the Wirir Gorge.
‘Machine guns?’ he asked.
Gooch gestured. ‘There, there, there and there. Two at the other side of the roa
d.’
‘Good. Pack guns?’
Gooch gestured again. ‘There and there. You can’t see ’em. But they’re there. The road curves a bit. They’ll have a head-on shot.’
Harkaway squinted about him, staring at the high sides of the defile. He was still studying it when Tully appeared.
‘Some of the bastards are complaining that they have no weapons.’
‘They’ve got pangas.’
‘You can’t chop a man down with a panga at a thousand yards. They want guns, long-distance weapons.’
Harkaway frowned then turned to Danny and gestured at the hills. ‘Go and tell ’em they’ve got long-distance weapons. Up there. Rocks.’ He gestured at the skyline. ‘Half those things only need a good shove. There are plenty lying about they can fling down. That’ll bring more down. They can put up a barrage that’ll stop anything if they try. When it’s over they’ll have all the guns they can carry.’
It was evening when she returned. He smiled.
‘We’ve bottled ’em up behind,’ he said. ‘Now we’ll bottle ’em up in front. It oughtn’t to work again because they ought to be looking for them. But they won’t, you know. They’re such careless sods.’
With the help of Gooch, he laid mines across the road, then stood back, examining his handiwork. ‘Now for the real stuff,’ he said. ‘I’ll need a hand.’
He looked about him at the Somalis who loved to see the explosions he made and were always eager to help. He rejected them all and turned to Danny. ‘It’ll have to be you again.’
She didn’t object, wondering why he had kept her by his side all this time, and they began to climb back to the crests, Harkaway carrying a heavy battery in an Italian backpack, Danny carrying the explosive. It was heavy and he seemed indifferent to her struggling, making no attempt to help her, except once when he turned to reach down and drag her up to him. His pull almost yanked her arm out and brought her close to him, her body against his.
For a moment they stood like that, each aware of the other’s shape pressing against their own, then Harkaway smiled, turned and began to walk away. She stood for a second, staring after him, then she hitched at the pack on her shoulders and set off after him. Eventually, he stopped and stared down at the road. In the distance, they could just see the tiny spot of colour made by the Italian flag over the outpost Di Sanctis had erected.
‘Poor stupid sods,’ he observed cheerfully. ‘They’re not doing a scrap of good.’
At the other end of the gorge, there was a stark sun-blasted spire of red rock that hung over the road like a fang and Harkaway had had his eye on it for some time. In the heat of the sinking sun, he moved along the crest towards it. From its shelter he stared down on the road, patted the rock and began to work.
Little digging was required and he scraped away at the bottom of the rock until he had made a small deep cleft, into which he placed the explosive. Inserting the detonator, he ran the wire back to a point where he could see both the road beneath and the men lining the crests, then he took the battery from his pack and connected one of the wires.
‘Done,’ he said, dusting his hands on his shirt.
Danny studied him. ‘What now?’
‘We stay here. It’s too dark to go back. You’d probably break your neck.’
‘Would that matter, George?’
He didn’t answer and she persisted. ‘Why did you bring me up here?’ she asked.
He still said nothing, a smile flickering over his lips and she eyed him in the semi-darkness, uncertain what he intended.
‘It’s not a habit of mine to spend the night on mountains alone with a man,’ she said.
‘You’ve been dreaming of it for years,’ he said. ‘All that time when you were with those psalm-singing wets at the mission. Isn’t that right?’
She said nothing because there was more than an element of truth in what he said. She had dreamed more than once of being carried off by someone more manly and virile than the missionaries with whom she’d been surrounded.
‘What’s going on between you and Kom-Kom?’ he asked unexpectedly.
‘Nothing. Why?’
‘You seem to be leaning on each other a lot.’
She realized he was jealous and her heart leapt. ‘He’s a kind man,’ she said. ‘And he’s been driven pretty hard.’
‘That all?’
‘That’s all.’
He nodded. ‘I’m not surprised,’ he said. ‘After all, what is he? A half-educated South African jaap with one eye and fingers greasy from poking in the innards of too many lorries.’
The sheer arrogance of the comment irritated her but then, again unexpectedly, he leaned over and kissed her on the lips. ‘You’ve been splendid,’ he said. ‘You deserve a change.’
He made a small fire in a cleft in the rocks and they sat in front of it.
‘It’s going to be cold,’ Danny said, watching him curiously.
‘Better come a bit closer,’ he suggested.
‘Just what are you hoping to get out of all this?’ she asked him warily.
‘All what?’
‘All this killing?’
He was silent for a long time. ‘There are a lot of things I hope to get out of it,’ he said.
‘Wouldn’t you like to tell me?’
‘No.’
Already she had an idea. The way he spoke, the way he held himself, the way he behaved, everything about him told her he was trying to prove something to himself and she had long since guessed what it was. Somewhere in his past he had made a mistake and ruined his chances. Somewhere, she suspected, his hope of being an officer in the army had disappeared with something he’d done and this was his way of proving to the authorities what they’d missed.
‘Are you hoping they’ll commission you?’ she asked. ‘When we get back to civilization, I mean.’
He was silent a long time. ‘They probably will,’ he said. ‘And that’s the best way to get a commission, isn’t it? In the field. Without all that bull of going to officers’ training school. There wouldn’t be much they could teach me, anyway.’
‘What happened?’
He looked up. ‘What happened?’
‘Something happened, didn’t it?’ she said gently. ‘In the past. What was it?’
He looked up and smiled back at her, but made no effort to enlighten her.
‘Won’t you tell me? It sometimes helps to tell people your troubles.’
‘It’s not a trouble,’ he said.
She told him of her own background and how she felt her life had been wasted.
‘I don’t now, though,’ she admitted. ‘I feel I’ve been part of something at last. Largely thanks to you.’
He touched her hand and kissed her again. Their faces close together, lit by the flames from the dying fire, he raised his other hand to touch her cheek.
‘Has anybody ever told you you’re beautiful?’ he said.
‘No,’ she said frankly. ‘And nobody ever will. Because I’m not, and from now on, at my age, I’ll grow progressively less so.’
‘Why did you become a missionary?’
‘Because I couldn’t think of anything else.’
‘Not because of a profound belief in religion?’
‘No. I was just at a loss.’
‘Why didn’t you ever marry?’
‘Nobody ever asked me.’
‘Have you ever been in love?’
‘No,’ she said. But she didn’t add that for some time now she had been entertaining a few hopes.
‘Will it be tomorrow?’ she asked.
‘Probably.’
‘I hope you pull it off, George. I hope everything turns out right for you. I hope–’ she paused ‘–I hope you achieve your ambition.’
He didn’t answer. She caught his eyes on her and returned his gaze without blinking.
‘George–!’
She stopped dead, the unspoken words dying in her throat, and slowly he pushed their belongings aside and
reached out to her.
For a long time she clung to him, a great warmth flooding over her as she leaned against him, content merely to feel his hands on her, responding eagerly when he kissed her, his fingers in the short cropped hair that made her look like a youth, both of them sinking in the darkness of the passion that overwhelmed them.
After a while, she sat up, shivering as the fire died, holding on to him, touching his features with her fingertips, unable to take her eyes off him, crying occasionally, quietly and ashamedly, as she hadn’t cried for years. Her life had taught her not to cry and the sufferings of the black people with whom she’d worked, their sicknesses, their dead babies, their festering illnesses, had toughened her.
‘George,’ she said. ‘What’s happening to me? I’ve not done this since I was a child.’
He pulled her closer, stroking her forehead with the back of his hand.
‘Wind up?’ he suggested.
‘No, it isn’t wind up.’ She stirred, faintly scared, nevertheless. Chiefly for herself because she had a feeling that she had no need to fear for Harkaway.
‘There’s nothing to be afraid of,’ he said.
‘I’m not so sure.’
On her face there was the look of woman throughout the whole of the world’s history, loathing conflict, wanting only love and roots deep in the earth, a look to which there was no reply.
‘You and I,’ she said slowly, ‘just happened to fall on the wrong side of life.’
‘Not any more,’ he said. ‘When this lot’s over it’ll be all right. We’ll make it all right. Unless, of course, you’re too tied up with your religion.’
She suddenly realized how little her religion really meant to her. She shook her head.
He said nothing, not pushing the idea any further, but it set her thoughts racing along lines she’d not considered for years, wondering if she had enough of her woman’s skill left to give him the roots he so obviously needed.
Forgetting her discomfort and the increasing cold, she occupied herself with thoughts she’d never dwelt on before. In her heart of hearts she didn’t really believe in them, and, looking round at him, she realized he had moved away from her, restless as ever, to the edge of the rocky ledge and was staring down into the darkness. The moon had risen and they could see the road below like a silver ribbon.
