‘And if they get through, our friend back there gets clear?’
‘Yes, and worse, the pass is useless to Ras Kassa’s forces, not that I think it’s as good an opportunity as he does.’ Seeing the need to say more, Jardine added, ‘Anyone with a brain will have already sealed the other end with artillery and machine guns.’
‘Which they are struggling to overcome elsewhere.’ As they moved, Alverson explained what he had already witnessed, adding the work Corrie Littleton was doing. ‘She is one resilient dame.’
‘I never doubted that, Tyler.’
Given that terse response, it seemed churlish to add what had happened with de Billancourt; that could wait.
‘Hear that?’ Jardine asked.
Alverson had to listen for a while before he picked up what was being alluded to, the growling sound of tank engines. Jardine had broken into a run again, though at less than the previous pace, while behind them came a stream of Yoannis’s warriors, with Jardine shouting out to Shalwe to tell them not to show themselves until he could assess the situation. It made no odds: the sound of cannons being fired was the next thing he heard as the Italian tanks put rounds into the hillsides just for safety.
Jardine stopped and called forward Shalwe, telling him to pass on the message to take cover and do nothing. ‘And tell Yoannis I will personally put a bullet in him this time if he does not do as I ask.’
If the young interpreter nodded, it was not with the kind of emphasis which implied he was going to accurately pass on that message: whatever, the fitawrari would either obey or see his men suffer, because the cannons on the Fiat 3000s could be deadly, either through direct contact or through ricocheting rock splinters, and the Ethiopians had nothing that could lay a finger on them. The last thing Jardine wanted was for Yoannis to try to really engage, for if he did that nothing would be achieved but dead warriors. Also, if they were coming, there had to be significant infantry support.
The sound now was of four roaring tank engines and regular cannon fire. Looking out from behind cover, Jardine saw the more powerful Fiats either push boulders aside or, because they were vertically sprung, just go over them, the front of the tank rising to a seemingly impossible angle, protruding out from the obstacle being crossed, until the nose dropped with a bone-jarring crunch onto the angled front track.
Using his field glasses he could see the pass behind them, and, by some way too far back to be of effective support, the Italian infantry making their way cautiously down the central track. Somebody should have been out of the upper turret of one of the Fiats so they could set their pace to the foot soldiers, but no one was.
With the tank drivers again only able to see forward, that separation presented opportunity. He had to get his head down as another shell hit a nearby boulder, breaking off a good portion of it to fly in all directions, spattering against rock faces all around the places where Yoannis’s men had sought cover; at least the sod was doing what Jardine suggested, no doubt chastened by his earlier mistakes.
‘So what now, Horatio?’
‘You still here, Tyler?’
‘Am I, and composing news of your stunning victory in my head.’
‘Hold the front page.’
Jardine had to get on his belly to get back to Shalwe, and his message was plain: wait. Then it was back to his position to keep an eye on the Italian infantry support, which, if anything, was moving even slower than he had previously observed. Looking down into the pass, he was now level with the back end of the last of the four tanks, not that such a thing made for safety: the turret was swinging round so that it could fire to its rear if a target presented itself.
‘You know, Tyler, if I was Badoglio, I would shoot whoever is in command of that infantry.’
‘What infantry?’
‘Use your binoculars. They’re way down the pass, too far away to do the job they have been given. Which opens the way for us to do the necessary.’
‘Which is?’
‘Stopping those tanks.’
‘Should we throw stones at them or is it to be spears?’
‘Maybe,’ Jardine replied enigmatically.
‘You are a military genius, should I get away from you?’ Seeing Jardine grin, he added, ‘Even I know you can’t stop tanks with rifles, and your guys have precious few of those.’
‘You might want to tell your readers armour is only good for exploitation, Tyler. It takes boots to secure ground, and that idiot coming down the pass has left his mates in trouble.’
‘I await this trouble with interest.’
‘What’s the bet we can beat the tanks without even using rifles?’
‘I’ll put ten dollars on that being impossible.’
‘Taken, but make it thalers.’ Then Jardine shouted, ‘Shalwe, to me!’
The interpreter scrabbled over and Jardine outlined his latest suggestions: the first carried back to Yoannis, the evidence that they were accepted clear, as those warriors with rifles went past Jardine at a crouch, heading to cut off the infantry he suspected would not be hard to interdict. Shalwe was then told to send someone back to their main position for grenades.
By now, the last tank was well away from them — not out of cannon range, but that could not be helped. Jardine hand-signalled to Yoannis that it was time, and the remaining warriors came to join Jardine, their spears at the ready. He took one, shoved the long hardwood haft under a big rock, lifted, strained and pushed, sending it down to the valley floor, turning to see eager nods.
He had no need to tell them which boulders to lever — the biggest ones they thought they could shift. Several spears were jammed under one rock after another, which saw them begin to shift on a hillside that in the first place held them only precariously; such boulders had, at some time, come to rest where they were from a point higher up the hills. There were others further below, and as soon as one got moving, the odd spear shaft breaking in the process, they hit those, sending into the pass a cascade of rocks in a thunderous roaring and increasing avalanche.
The turret hatch on the last tank swung open, so great was the sound even in a noise-filled compartment, while from the north came the sound of the rifle fire Jardine hoped would hold the infantry long enough for him to achieve his goal, and still the boulders were being levered, bounding down the slope to create a wall of increasing size, filling and blocking the valley floor.
The tanks must have had some kind of radio contact, because their progress stopped abruptly and the rearmost tank began to reverse to a point where it could easily turn round, with its cannon firing towards the straining and now obvious warriors as fast as the loader could manage, though at a range which made accuracy difficult. That was a policy repeated by its consorts: the idea of being trapped did not appeal.
‘Ten thalers you owe me, Tyler.’
‘Not yet, Cal. Let’s see what our friends do.’
Now it was a bit of a race: boulders were still being dislodged and the wall below was growing, but at some point the firepower of those cannon would reverse the advantage and the Ethiopians would begin to take serious casualties. Jardine was relieved to see the now-lead tank had stopped and was waiting for his fellows to make their turn: they would come back down the pass as a unit to maximise their firepower; another error, in his view, given time was their enemy too.
‘Best pull back, Tyler, and get out of here. It’s going to get very hairy.’
‘You staying?’
‘I have to keep observing.’
‘I’m staying too, I have a wager on this.’
Another shout from Jardine brought Shalwe, and the advice was for Yoannis to get his men under any deep cover they could find, a suggestion driven home by the increasing number of shells coming their way. The Italian gunners knew which side the rocks were coming from, and where, so, stationary, they had concentrated their fire and taken more time over their aiming. As soon as they saw the cascade had been stopped, they began to move.