‘And you have?’
‘The effect, yes, on the men who faced it on the Western Front, but I have never experienced it myself.’
Ras Kassa held up the mask Jardine had shown him, one of the number he and the Frenchman had brought back, enough to protect his command but not his warriors. Others had gone to the casualty station doctor, the two Americans, Vince, and naturally one each for the men who had come across them, this at the insistence of the Ethiopian leader.
‘Perhaps it would have been better if you had brought us these and protective capes rather than guns.’
‘Can they be got anyway, perhaps by an appeal to the democracies? Surely they will not embargo those.’
‘In the quantity and time required, even for just the fighting men? I think not, and I fear, if you are right, my people are going to suffer a great deal. The only way to stop that is a complete victory over the Italian forces and, as I think you have already come to suspect, that is not happening as we hoped.’
‘I wondered if you were deluding yourself.’
‘No, Captain Jardine, but sadly, it is necessary to delude the nation and keep up the hopes of my people. The Italian corps we hoped to trap have evaded encirclement and are now part of a continuous defensive line of some strength.’
‘You won’t break through?’
‘Only if there is a miracle, and much as I love and respect my God, that I cannot see happening. However, we must try, and the invasion of Somaliland is progressing well.’
‘The cost, sir?’
‘How will this come, if it comes?’ the ras asked, holding up the mask again, unwilling to respond to Jardine’s question.
‘Ground canisters on the right wind were the normal method of delivery, but I believe the Italians used artillery shells in their North African provinces.’
Jardine was sure he could see the ras trying to calculate the potential effect; artillery argued it would be local and it was a gas that dispersed reasonably quickly, which might mean the effect would be contained. Conscious that he was inclined to think the man callous in his view of human life, he also had to remind himself that he was not responsible for the alternatives.
Reports of what the Italians had done in their Libyan provinces did not provide a happy prospect for Ethiopia: mass deportations, murderous concentration camps in which thousands of rebellious tribesmen and their families had perished, as well as summary executions. When it came to mass killing, the Fascist generals had what Vince would call ‘form’, and there was no reason to suppose they would not employ the same methods here.
Yet there was no way the front-line troops could be kept safe from the effects of mustard gas burning; rarely fatal, it was, however, totally incapacitating on exposed eyes and skin, while it was almost as if, in the shamma, the Ethiopian peasant army had come up with a garment providing less protection than even an army uniform, and that was useless.
‘Ask Mr Alverson to come and see me, Captain Jardine. This, whatever the other leaders say, is a story that must be got out to the world and quickly, without embellishment.’
What had not been calculated for was the use of science to improve delivery, and it was the troops pushing back the Italians in Somalia who were the first to suffer from a cloud of mustard gas dropped on them from the air, a much more effective way to deploy the instrument of terror than had previously been known. From advancing with gusto, the troops of the eastern front were first stopped, then thrown into headlong retreat, unable to face what they said was the terrible rain that burnt and killed.
For weeks the Italians had been preparing a second offensive on the main northern front — Badoglio had been reinforced with more regular troops. It was also obvious by the increased air activity and the relentless bombing of Addis Ababa — as well as the road to the front — to interdict both men and supplies, and it was a fair assumption that having used gas once, they would do so again.
How much the spear- and bow-carrying warriors knew of what was coming Cal Jardine did not know; what he was aware of did not bring peace of mind. There was to be no withdrawal by the imperial armies to the high mountains, but at least they had given up useless assaults and were now waiting to be attacked. What reconnaissance could be undertaken showed the steady build-up of armoured units at the front, and the lines of attack could be in little doubt.
Finally, under pressure from his field commanders, Haile Selassie had ordered his troops pulled back from where the blows would fall, and allowed them to disperse to save lives. Yet it was only half a cake to Cal Jardine, given he also hoped the emperor would allow them a flexible ability to respond in the counter-attacks he was already envisaging.
As they had dispersed, so had Corrie Littleton: she was now in a new field hospital well back from the front, nearer Gondar, while Alverson was toing and froing to there, now he had his Rolls back. Cal Jardine and Vince Castellano stayed with Ras Kassa’s forward HQ, now leading a very tightly controlled group of a dozen young warriors in raiding, striking the Italian lines in different places and gathering intelligence.
They had, of course, to bow to the wishes of the ras: the job of their natives was to instil fear into their enemies by slitting the throats of the Italians, men who never left their front lines to raid themselves, while their British leaders sought prisoners who could be brought back for interrogation; to stop them being subsequently tortured and killed they were being passed back to Addis, ostensibly as presents for the emperor.
‘They might still pull it off, Tyler,’ Jardine insisted, when they got together for a meal — on a night of a full moon and a clear starlit sky, raiding was out of the question. ‘Scattered troops make them hard to find and bomb, and he has taken steps to keep secret where they are going to be concentrated.’
‘I’m no soldier, but as soon as Fatso’s boys attack they will have to concentrate, and in the open, yes?’
Jardine nodded. ‘That’s when they will get to see what Badoglio intends.’
‘You know, I don’t like the odds, guv.’ Vince insisted, having made no secret of his view that, even owning a mask, and now with an impermeable cape as well, he did not fancy mustard gas.
‘If he looks like he’s winning he’ll hold off, I think.’ There was no need to add what would come were the Italian assault to be held up.
‘Nightcap before I hit the sack?’ Alverson suggested, proffering yet more whisky. ‘I’m going back up to Gondar in the morning. I’m running out of film and my slaver has been asked to bring some in.’
‘I’m for that,’ Vince said, nodding to the bottle, ‘it’ll help me get a good night’s sleep.’
‘Don’t kid me, Vince,’ Jardine joked. ‘You love being up all night.’
‘Depends what I’m up, guv.’
There was no proper night’s sleep: the Italian artillery barrage started before dawn and it was ferocious, churning up the ground in front of their positions, sending earth and rocks skywards but killing few men — their enemies were no longer there. Virtually all that had been left out front, to fool the air reconnaissance the Italians relied on, were shammas supported by triangular sticks, backed up by a piquet; as a barrage it was mostly wasted.
By the time the sun came up Cal Jardine and Vince had been out observing for an hour, finally able to use field glasses to assess what was coming, though given the rate and density of shell there could be little doubt. They also knew exactly when the enemy were going to move, as the barrage lifted and crept forward. Ras Kassa Meghoum had been up as long as them, and they could see the vehicles he had kept back getting ready to pull out.