“I’m afraid not.”
Vivian asked, “Where’s our Jeep?”
Gann replied, “Last I saw it, there were a dozen Royalist soldiers in it, headed south toward the jungle valley.”
Vivian said, “Everything we own was in that Jeep.”
Mercado added, “Including our chance to get out of here.” He asked Gann, “Where is Prince Joshua?”
“Last I saw of him, he and six of his staff were on horseback, also heading south.”
Purcell remarked, “I hope he remembered to take his crown.”
Vivian said, “This is not funny, Frank.”
“Look at the bright side, Vivian.”
“And what is that?”
“The Gallas can’t castrate you.”
Colonel Gann interjected, “The Provisional government forces are to the north. I would advise you to try to reach their lines and show your press credentials. However, they apparently have allowed the Gallas to have some fun before the army advances. So that puts the Gallas between you and the government army.”
No one replied, and Colonel Gann continued, “But you can give it a go if you’d like.”
Vivian asked, “And will you come with us?”
“No. I’m a known advisor to the Royal Army. The government forces would probably shoot me.”
Purcell said, “So let’s all head south and catch up with the retreating Royalists.”
Colonel Gann informed them, “I’m afraid they don’t fancy me much.” He explained, “I was a strict disciplinarian. You understand?”
Purcell observed, “It seems no one likes you, Colonel.”
“I’m not here to be liked.”
Vivian said, “Well, I like you. So come with us.”
Mercado inquired, “Where are we going?”
Colonel Gann suggested, “We can follow the rear guard of the Royal Army, keeping our distance from them, and staying a few steps ahead of the advancing Gallas.”
“Between a rock and a hard place,” said Purcell.
Colonel Gann also suggested, “You three can probably join up with the Royalist rear guard… though I’m not sure they’d treat you well.” He explained, “The prince is on the run and discipline has broken down.”
“And,” Purcell reminded him, “you’re no longer in a position to enforce good order and discipline.”
“Correct.”
“Well…”
In the distance, to the north, they could hear a man scream.
Colonel Gann said, “The Gallas have arrived.”
Mercado, without a word, began moving quickly downhill toward the goat trail.
Vivian snapped a few quick pictures of the prince’s tent and the deserted camp, then she and Gann started to follow, but Purcell said, “I’ll look for water in the tent and catch up.”
Gann informed him, “We looked. There is no water.” He added, “Whiskey’s gone, too, I’m afraid.”
They caught up to Mercado and headed south, retracing the route they’d taken from the spa to Prince Joshua’s headquarters. They passed the open area where the bloated bodies lay and found the small, ravine-like goat path, then took it downhill, continuing south toward the jungle valley. Purcell noted that their tire marks had been completely obliterated by the sandal prints and bare feet of Royalist soldiers fleeing toward the jungle.
The sun was hot and bright, and the rocks radiated an intense heat. Behind them, they could hear the war cries of the Gallas, and Purcell guessed that they had reached the prince’s deserted camp.
Mercado was having difficulty breathing so they stopped to rest. Colonel Gann pulled an old Italian survey map from his pocket and studied it. Purcell lit a cigarette and studied Henry Mercado. Mercado had seemed to be in good physical shape, but his age was showing now.
Vivian was patting Mercado’s face with a handkerchief, and she said, “We need some water.”
Gann looked up from his map and replied, “There are a few mountain streams close by, but probably dry now.”
Purcell noticed that Vivian had left her bush hat in the Jeep and her cheeks were bright red.
Colonel Gann climbed out of the ravine and surveyed the terrain through his field glasses. He called softly down to his companions, “Some of the Gallas on horseback have actually gotten in front of us—between us and the rear guard of the Royal Army. In fact, they are all around us.”
Purcell climbed out of the ravine and took a look through Gann’s field glasses. Down the hill, on both sides of the ravine, he saw the mounted men picking their way carefully but skillfully down the rock-strewn slopes.
Farther up the slope, coming toward them, were more horsemen, dressed in black robes, their heads and faces swathed in black scarves. They carried scimitars, and they looked to Purcell like Death.
At the top of the hill where they’d come from, Purcell could see dust clouds that meant more horsemen.
He looked across the ravine to the west. A high, razorback ridge of rock ran up to a neighboring peak.
Purcell lowered the field glasses and pointed to the ridgeline.
Gann nodded and said, “Yes, almost impassable for horses…” He consulted his map and said, “If we can get onto that ridge, it will take us up to that peak.” He showed Purcell the map and pointed. “A descending ridge will take us to this plateau below the highlands where the government forces are dug in.” He asked Purcell, “Can you read a terrain map?”
“A little. And I can climb mountains.”
“Good. If we should become separated, just follow the ridgelines—west, then north.”
Purcell and Gann scrambled back into the ravine, and Purcell said, “Okay, there seems to be a route out of here, but it’s a lot of uphill.” He looked at Mercado and asked, “Can you make it, Henry?”
Mercado nodded, but Purcell noticed he wasn’t springing to his feet. Purcell gave him a hand and pulled him up.
Vivian asked Mercado, “Are you all right?”
“Yes… can’t wait here for the Gallas.”
Gann took the field glasses from Purcell and climbed up the west side of the ravine. He scanned the area, then waved everyone up.
Purcell and Vivian helped Mercado out of the ravine, and they all crouched around the jagged boulders, looking for signs of Gallas between them and the base of the ridgeline about three hundred yards across a rock-strewn slope that was covered with chest-high brown brush.
There were dust clouds upslope and downslope, but no visible horsemen.
Gann led the way, followed by Vivian and Mercado, and Purcell brought up the rear, urging Mercado on. They dashed in a crouch, keeping below the brush, from boulder to boulder.
Now and then, Purcell caught a glimpse of the Gallas and saw that some were dismounted, leading their horses, while others remained mounted. They were proceeding at a leisurely pace, like the scavengers they were, he thought, more interested in fallen men and abandoned equipment than engaging the rear guard of the prince’s army.
Gann called for a rest among high, jagged rocks, and commented, “When the Gallas have picked the field clean, they will regroup, then decide if they are strong enough to attack the Royal Army.” He added, “They would very much like to get the prince’s crown and his head with it.”
“Not to mention the prince’s family jewels,” said Purcell.
On that note, Mercado rallied a bit and said, “Let’s get moving.” They covered the remainder of the three hundred yards in a few minutes and stopped at the base of the ridgeline.
Purcell looked up the narrow ridge. It was a steep rise, comprised of large jagged red rocks, and between the rocks was more brown scrub brush.
Gann said, “Good cover and concealment, not passable on horseback.” He asked, “Are we ready?”
Purcell looked at Mercado, who nodded without enthusiasm.
They began the climb, picking their way up the ridge between the large rocks. Now and then they had to squeeze sideways between close rock formations, which assured them
that Gallas on horseback could not follow—though Gallas on foot could.
About halfway up the ridge, they stopped for a rest and sat in the shade of a large rock formation.
Gann, noticed Purcell, seemed okay, though he wasn’t a young man. But he had been hardened by a few wars and he’d probably pushed himself harder than this the night before, trying to rally the prince’s army.
Purcell looked at Mercado. He, too, had experienced hardships, but those hardships had taken their toll.
Vivian was wiping Mercado’s face again, but Purcell noticed that Mercado was barely sweating, which was not a good sign.
Vivian herself seemed in decent shape, but her arms and face were burning red from the sun. Purcell took off his bush jacket, leaving him in a sweat-soaked T-shirt. He pitched the bush jacket toward her and said, “Drape that over your head.”
She hesitated, then picked up the khaki jacket and threw it back to him.
Colonel Gann had climbed onto a tall rock and was scouting the terrain through his field glasses. He said, “The Gallas are coming together… perhaps two or three hundred of them… heading down into the valley. They’ll harass the remnants of the Royal Army… and if they think the army is very weakened, they’ll go in for the kill.”
No one had anything to say about that, but everyone felt relieved that the Gallas had shifted their attention to the retreating army.
Purcell was hoping he’d see some signs of the Provisional Revolutionary government army in pursuit of the Royalists. That would save them a long hike. He asked Gann, “Do you see any signs of the army?”
Gann kept scanning as he replied, “No. They’re letting the Gallas do the work. Lazy beggars.” He added, “Bunch of damned Marxists.”
Vivian said to Gann, “If we reach the Provisional Army, we can pass you off as a journalist.”
Purcell added, “But you need to take off your royal insignia, and get rid of that gun and lose the riding crop.”
Gann replied, “I appreciate the offer. But my presence will endanger you.” He added, “They’ll know who I am, even without the royal insignia on my uniform, and then they can shoot me as a spy instead of as a Royalist.” He informed them, “I’d rather be shot as a soldier.”
Purcell didn’t see what difference it made, but Colonel Gann did, and he made a good point—about him endangering them all. Also, their safe-conduct pass from the Provisional government in Addis had only three names on it, and one of those names wasn’t Colonel Sir Edmund Gann.
Purcell looked at Mercado, who hadn’t said anything on the subject. “What do you think, Henry?”
Mercado replied, “We should cross that bridge when we come to it. We’re still in a bad situation.”
Gann agreed, and said, “I’ll try to get you as close as I can to the army lines, then I’ll scoot off.”
Vivian asked him, “To where?”
He informed them, “Most of the Amharic peasants around here are loyal to the emperor, and I’ll look for a friendly village.”
No one replied, but Purcell didn’t think much of Colonel Gann’s plan. In fact, Purcell thought, Colonel Gann probably didn’t think much of it either. Most likely he would die of thirst, hunger, or disease in the hills or in the jungle. But the Gallas would not get him. Not as long as Colonel Gann had his service revolver and one bullet left. Purcell said to Gann and to Mercado and Vivian, “I think we should stay together. Maybe we can find this Prince Theodore, or some other ras.”
Gann said, “Nonsense. You have press credentials and a safe-conduct pass. Your best bet is the Provisional government forces, and they are close by.”
Again, no one replied, but then Purcell said, “Let’s play it by ear. Ready?”
Everyone stood and they continued up the ridge. Within half an hour, they reached the summit, which gave them a clear view of the surrounding terrain.
The sun was almost overhead now, and there wasn’t much shade, but Mercado lay down in a sliver of shadow at the base of a tall rock. Vivian knelt beside him and put her damp, sweaty handkerchief over his face.
Gann was scanning the terrain with his field glasses, and he said, “I can see soldiers dug in on the ridgelines.” He passed the glasses to Purcell.
Below was a grassy plateau, like an alpine meadow, between them and the hills to the north, and rocky ridges ran from the hills to the plateau.
Purcell focused on the closest ridge, less than a kilometer away, and saw a group of uniformed men. They’d piled up some rocks to construct a safe firing position, and he thought he saw the long firing tube of a mortar protruding above the rock. He looked farther up the ridge at the next summit and saw more gun positions.
Gann said, “The bulk of the Provisional Army are in those hills.” He told them, “They attacked us in force last night, right there on that plateau, and we inflicted a good number of casualties on them. Unfortunately, they had heavy mortars and they pounded us through the night.”
Purcell nodded. That’s what they’d seen from the spa.
Gann went on, “At daybreak we expected another attack, and I was preparing for it, but panic had set in, and the troops started deserting. And once that starts, it’s impossible to stop.”
Purcell asked Gann, “Was the prince paying you enough for this?”
Gann thought about that, then replied, “A soldier’s pay is never enough. You must also believe in the cause.”
Purcell reminded him, “You’re a mercenary.” He added, “An honorable profession, I’m sure. But not one that believes in causes.”
Gann informed everyone, “I was here in 1941 with the British Expeditionary Force that drove out the Italians.” He added, “I developed a fondness for Ethiopia and the people. And the monarchy. The emperor. He’s a remarkable man… the last in a three-thousand-year-old line of succession.”
“Right,” said Purcell. “The last.”
Gann turned the question around and asked, “Why are you here?”
Purcell replied, “To cover the war.”
“Are they paying you enough for this?”
“No.” He suggested, “Let’s get moving.” He looked at Vivian, who was kneeling beside Mercado and blocking the sun from him. “Is he all right?”
“No.”
Purcell said, “Try to wake him, Vivian.”
“No. He needs sleep.”
“It’s all downhill to the plateau.”
Gann suggested, “Look, I’m not going with you into the army lines, so I’ll stay here with him and you two make contact with the government forces, then come back for him with an army medic and a few men to carry him.” He added, “I’ll scoot off before you get up here.”
Purcell thought that was a good idea, but Vivian said, “I’m not leaving him.”
Gann explained, “You’re not leaving him. You’re going for help.”
Purcell said to her, “You can stay here, too. I don’t need company.”
Mercado was awake now and he sat up with his back against the rock. He’d heard the discussion and said to Vivian in a weak voice, “Go with Frank.”
“No. I’m staying with you.” She knelt beside him and put her hand on his forehead. “You’re burning…”
Purcell looked at Gann and they both knew that Mercado was close to heatstroke.
Gann said to Purcell, “You’d better start off now.”
Mercado pulled a plastic wrapped paper from his pocket and gave it to Vivian, saying, “The safe-conduct pass… go with Frank.”
She took the pass and handed it to Purcell, but remained kneeling beside Mercado. Purcell put the pass in his pocket and said to Gann, “I won’t be seeing you later. Thanks for your help.”
They shook and Gann said, “Well, good luck.” He added, “The commander of the Provisional government forces is a chap named Getachu. Nasty fellow. Red through and through. Likes to shoot Royalists. Doesn’t think much of Westerners either. Your pass from the Provisional government should be all right, but be careful with him.”
Purcell replied, “I know who he is.” He said to Vivian and Mercado, “See you later.”
Purcell moved toward the descending ridge, then turned and asked Gann, “Have you ever heard of a black monastery in this area?”
Colonel Gann didn’t reply immediately, then said, “Yes. But not worth the side trip.” He added, “Maybe after the war is over.”
Purcell nodded, then started to pick his way down the rocky ridge.
Chapter 8
Below, the grassy plateau looked inviting, and Purcell thought there could be water there. Or Gallas.
Across the plateau was the base of the rocky hills, and in those hills was the victorious army of the Provisional government. But even if he made it to an army outpost, he wasn’t sure what kind of reception he’d get. Theoretically, his American passport and press credentials and the safe-conduct pass from the Provisional Revolutionary government would ensure a good reception—which was why he and his traveling companions were trying to reach the army forces to begin with. But theory, when it butts up against reality, sometimes produces unexpected results. Especially if he had to deal with General Getachu, who was notoriously cruel, and probably insane; the perfect subject for a press interview—if he didn’t kill the reporter.
Purcell heard something behind him, and he froze, then squeezed himself into a rock cleft. He listened and heard it again. Someone was coming down the ridge.
He waited, then saw her sliding on her butt down a long flat rock, holding on to her camera that was hanging from her neck. She jumped off the rock and he let her get a little ahead of him, then fell in behind her as she was scrambling over another large rock.
“Change your mind?”
She made a startled sound, then turned toward him. “God… Frank… you scared the hell—”
“Me too. Where you going?”
“To find you…” She took a deep breath, then said, “Henry gave you… he didn’t give you the pass.”
“Really?” Purcell took the plastic-wrapped sheet from his pocket and opened it. He smiled and said, “Looks like his bar bill from the Hilton.”