And so it must be. You will be an example to my men. This evening, as the sun is about to set, you will be led before the assembled battalion and stripped of your badges of rank, of the beloved insignia of this proud command, and then you will meet your just deserts before the rifles of the firing squad It was a longish speech, but the Count was a trained baritone and he ended it dramatically with arms spread wide.
He held the pose after he had finished and watched himself with gratification in the full-length mirror before which he stood. He was alone in his tent, but he felt as though he faced a wildly applauding audience. Abruptly he turned from the mirror, strode to the entrance of the tent and threw back the flap.
The sentries sprang to attention and the Count barked, "Have Major Castelani summoned here immediately."
"Immediately, my Colonel," snapped the sentry, and the Count let the flap drop back into place.
Castelani came within ten minutes and saluted smartly from the entrance of the tent.
"You sent for me, my Colonel?"
"My dear Castelani." The Count rose from his desk; the strong white teeth contrasted against the dark olive-gold tan, as he smiled with all his charm and went to take the Major's arm. "A glass of wine, my dear fellow?" Aldo Belli was enough of a realist to see that without Castelani's professional eye and arm guiding the battalion, it would collapse like an unsuccessful souffle, or more probably like a dynamited cliff upon his head. Passing sentence of death on the man had relieved the COUnt's feelings, and now he could feel quite favourably disposed towards him.
"Be seated," he said, indicating the camp chair opposite his desk.
"There are cigars in the humidor." He beamed fondly, like a father at his eldest son. "I would like you to read through this report and to place your signature in the space I have marked." Castelani took the sheaf of papers and began to read, frowning like a bulldog and with his lips forming the words silently. After a few minutes, he looked startled and glanced up at Aldo Belli.
"my Colonel, I doubt if it was forty thousand savages that attacked us."
"A matter of opinion, Castelani. It was dark. No one will ever know for certain how many there were." The Count waved the objection aside with a genial smile. "It is merely an informed estimate read on. You will find I have good things to say of your conduct." And the Major read on and blanched.
"Colonel, the enemy casualties were 126 dead, not 12,600."
"Ah, a slip of the pen, Major, I will correct that before sending it to headquarters."
"Sir, you make no mention of the enemy possessing an armoured vehicle."
And the Count frowned for the first time since the beginning of the meeting.
"Armoured vehicle, Castelani, surely you mean an ambulance?" The encounter with the strange machine was best forgotten, he had decided.
It reflected no credit on anybody particularly none upon himself It would merely add a jarring note to the splendours of his report.
"It would be quite in the normal course of things for the enemy to have some sort of medical service not worth mentioning. Read on! Read on!
Caro mio, you will find that I have recommended you for a decoration."
eneral De Bono had summoned his staff to a lunchtime conference to appraise the readiness of the expeditionary force to commence its invasion of the Ethiopian highlands. These conferences were a weekly affair, and the General's staff had not taken long to understand that in exchange for a really superb luncheon, for the reputation of the General's chef was international, they were expected to provide the General with good reasons which he might relay to the Duce for delaying the start of the offensive. The staff had fully entered into the spirit of the game, and some of their offerings had been inspired.
However, even their fertile imaginations were now beginning to plough barren land. The Inspector General of the Medical Corps had tentatively diagnosed a straightforward case of gonorrhoca contracted by an infantry man as "suspected smallpox" and had written a very good scare story warning of a possible epidemic but the General was not certain whether it could be used or not. They needed aj something better than that. They were discussing this now over the cigars and liqueurs, when the door of the dining room was thrown open and Captain Crespi hurried to the head of the table. His face was flushed, and his eyes wild, his manner so agitated that an electric silence fell over the roomful of very senior and slightly inebriated officers.
Crespi handed a message to the General, and he was so disturbed that what was intended as a whisper came out as a strangled cry of outrage.
"The clown!" he panted. "The clown has done it!" The General, alarmed by this enigmatic statement, snatched the message and his eyes flew across the sheet before he handed it to the officer beside him and covered his face with both hands.
"The idiot!" he wailed, while the message passed swiftly from hand to hand, and a hubbub of raised voices followed it.
"At least, your Excellency, it is a great victory," called an infantry commander, and suddenly the entire mood of the assembly changed.
"My planes are ready, General. We await the word to follow up this masterly strategy of yours," cried the Commander of the Regia Aeronautica, leaping to his feet and the General uncovered his eyes and looked confused.
"Congratulations, my General," called an artilleryman, and struggled unsteadily upright, spilling port down the front of his jacket. "A mighty victory."
"Oh dear!" murmured De Bono. "Oh dear!" "An unprovoked attack by a horde of savages" - Crespi had retrieved the message and read the memorable words of Count Aldo Belli aloud "firmly resisted by the courage of the flower of Italian manhood." "Oh dear!" said De Bono a little louder, and covered his eyes again.
"Almost fifteen thousand of the enemy dead!" shouted a voice.
"An army of sixty thousand routed by a handful of Fascist sons. It is a sign for the future."
"Forward to the ultimate victory."
"We march! We march!" And the General looked up again. "Yes," he agreed miserably. "I suppose we shall have to now." The Third Battalion of the black shirt "Africa" regiment was paraded in full review order on the sandy plain above the Wells of Chaldi. The ground was neatly demarcated by the meticulous rows of pale canvas tents and neat lines of white stones. In twenty-four hours, under the goading of Major Castelani, the camp had taken on an air of permanence. If they gave him a day or two more, there would be roads and buildings also.
Count Aldo Belli stood in the back of the Rolls, which, despite the loving attentions of Giuseppe the driver, was showing signs of wear and attrition. However, Giuseppe had parked it with the damaged side away from the parade and he had burnished the good side with a mixture of beeswax and methylated spirits until it shone in the sunlight, and had replaced the shattered windscreen and the broken lamp glass.
"I have here a message received an hour ago which I shall read to you," shouted the Count, and the parade stirred with interest. "The message is personal to me from Benito Mussolini."
"II Duce. 11 Duce. "Duce,"roared the battalion in unison, like a well-trained orchestra, and the Count lifted a hand to restrain them and he began to read.
"My heart swells with pride when I contemplate the feat of arms undertaken by the gallant sons of Italy, children of the Fascist revolution, whom you command'-" the Count's voice choked a little.
When the speech ended, his men cheered him wildly, throwing their helmets in the air. "The Count climbed down from the Rolls and went amongst them, weeping, embracing a man here, kissing another there, shaking hands left and right and then clasping his own hands above his head like a successful prizefighter and crying "Ours is the victory," and "Death before dishonour," until his voice was hoarse and he was led away to his tent by two of his officers.