Ten minutes later, Captain Staley's grav-car leaped from behind a boulder and bore down swiftly on the dark garrison. Instantly the patrolmen began howling and blasting at the garrison, drawing a murderous return fire from the mildly-surprised Squeakers. The few B.D.s who were still capable of its added their voices to the din, and Staley's car lurched to a halt at the garrison wall, completely undamaged. The Captain jumped out and fumbled inside the car a moment. What the hell was he doing, Hallihan wondered. He watched the dark form move cautiously along the rampart and stop at a point where a good-sized upheaval in the ground raised him to within ten feet of the wall's top. The captain went through some strange motions. His hand dug in his pocket and then his arms snapped back like a baseball pitcher's. His hand flicked forward and came down to dig once more in his pocket. Again he went through the movements of throwing something. Hallihan scratched his head puzzledly, straining his eyes to see what Staley did next. That was all. Staley returned to his car and climbed inside, but the speedy little vehicle gave no indication of withdrawing from its position against the garrison wall. [Illustration: _Captain Staley's arms snapped back like a baseball pitcher's._] Things quieted down a bit then, and Hallihan nearly went mad waiting for something to happen. Now and then an atomic cannon blasted out at the patrolmen, but the intensity of the Squeakers' fire had diminished considerably from that of earlier in the battle. They had plenty of time. They would wait until morning, when the sun exposed the hiding places of the I.P. men, then it would be curtains for these hated invaders from another world. Hallihan wished he could sleep, but he knew if he did he might never wake up again. He waited.... A minute later, the sergeant's hair almost stood on end as a prolonged, hideous screech of terror beat against his ears, growing, swelling in intensity, and owning a note of stark, unreasoning fear. It came from the garrison; came from the throats of a thousand panicked Squeakers. Hallihan's jaw gaped ludicrously as the gates burst open and hundreds of screaming, scrabbling, sleek-boiled Squeakers spilled into the clearing, fleeing from the garrison as fast as their skinny legs could carry them. Hallihan recovered quickly from his surprise and drew a bead on the leading Squeaker. The creature crumpled under the heat-beam, shrieking in agony as his fellows trampled over him, making pulp of his thrashing, charred body. "Give 'em hell, boys!" Hallihan shouted exultantly. "Pour it to the rats!"