Hand grenades are of several kinds. That used at Camp Dixton was a variation of the Mills bomb, consisting of a hollow metal container, shaped like a lemon, but somewhat larger. It is made of cast iron and is crisscrossed and scored with a number of depressed cuts, which divide the surface of the grenade into lozenge-like sections. The grenade is filled with a powerful explosive, set off by a time fuse, and when the bomb detonates it bursts into pieces, along the scored lines, and the hundreds of lozenge-like pieces of iron become so many bullets, flying in all directions. The hand grenade is thrown with a motion such as a cricketer uses in “bowling” the ball. It is an overhand style of throwing, and this has been found best for accuracy and does not tire the arm as much as a straight throw. The arm is held stiff as the bomb is hurled. The time fuse can be set to explode the bomb as it reaches the other trench, or it may be made to explode in mid-air, and, also, the detonation can be made to take place after the bomb has landed. As long as the bomb is held in the hand it is harmless, for the fingers press down on an outside lever that controls the firing mechanism. But as soon as this hold is released, after the bomb has been made ready for firing, it is likely to explode. Consequently after a bomb has been hurled away from one, it is a good thing to keep one’s distance from it. “Lively work now, boys!” called the captain, as Ned, Bob and Jerry, with their chums, entered the trench for the hand grenade work. “Just imagine there are a lot of Germans in that other trench who need extermination.” The practice began, and for a time one would have thought a real battle was in progress, so rapid were the explosions of the grenades. A short distance down the trench, in which the Cresville friends were, stood Pug Kennedy. They had seen little of him during the last few days, as, owing to an infraction of the rules, he had spent some time in the guardhouse. But now he was out. “This way of throwing these lemons makes me tired!” exclaimed Pug. “Why can’t I throw one like a baseball? I can make a better hit that way, and I’m going to.” Before any of his comrades could tell him not to disobey orders this way, Pug suddenly threw a bomb. In making the underhand toss, his elbow struck the edge of the trench, the grenade left his hand and fell a few feet away, directly in front of a line of soldiers crouched in the depression. “Now look what you did!” yelled the corporal in charge of Pug’s squad. “That’ll go off in a second or two!” “Heads down, every one!” cried a lieutenant who had seen what had happened. The bomb, with the fuse set to explode it in a short time, lay on the ground just outside the trench that was filled with young soldiers. Pug’s recklessness had endangered all their lives. CHAPTER XXVIII THE STORM