Kinnison wanted to be sick again, but he had neither the time nor the contents. And damn! What _lousy_ throwing! He had never been any good at baseball, but he supposed that he could hit a thing as big as that gun-pit--but not one of his grenades had gone in. The crew would probably be dead--from concussion, if nothing else--but the gun probably wasn't even hurt. He would have to go over there and cripple it himself. He went--not exactly boldly--forty-five in hand. The Germans looked dead. One of them sprawled on the parapet, right in his way. He gave the body a shove, watched it roll down the slope. As it rolled, however, it came to life and yelled; and at that yell there occurred a thing at which young Kinnison's hair stood straight up inside his iron helmet. On the gray of the blasted hillside hitherto unseen gray forms moved; moved toward their howling comrade. And Kinnison, blessing for the first time in his life his inept throwing arm, hoped fervently that the Maxim was still in good working order. A few seconds of inspection showed him that it was. The gun had practically a full belt and there was plenty more. He placed a box--he would have no Number Two to help him here--took hold of the grips, shoved off the safety, and squeezed the trip. The gun roared--what a gorgeous, what a heavenly racket that Maxim made! He traversed until he could see where the bullets were striking: then swung the stream of metal to and fro. One belt and the Germans were completely disorganized; two belts and he could see no signs of life. He pulled the Maxim's block and threw it away; shot the water-jacket full of holes. That gun was done. Nor had he increased his own hazard. Unless more Germans came very soon, nobody would ever know who had done what, or to whom. He slithered away; resumed earnestly his westward course: going as fast as--sometimes a trifle faster than--caution would permit. But there were no more alarms. He crossed the dangerously open ground; sulked rapidly through the frightfully shattered wood. He reached the road, strode along it around the first bend, and stopped, appalled. He had heard of such things, but he had never seen one; and mere description has always been and always will be completely inadequate. Now he was walking right into it--the thing he was to see in nightmare for all the rest of his ninety-six years of life.