Jus' daydreamin', boss he said easily.Jus' daydreamin'. Mallory stared at him, slowly released his grip on the glasses, nodded several times in succession. The quiet voice was almost a prayer.That's all I ask. That inhuman bastard that sent these poor devils up that hill, Mallory said quietly.Make a wonderful pietare seen over the sights of your rifle, wouldn't he? But what in the universe that other weird looking contraption can be. He squinted again at the guns, forehead lined in puzzlement.That first one's a mortar, I reckon. I was only sayin' what Louki told me, he said defensively.Īh, well, mebbe I was mistaken, Miller said magnanimously. He shook his head in mortification.Itmust have been me, Andrea. All this started just after I had been on watch-and Panayis didn't have the glasses. He paused, remembering, then grinned wryly.It could have been myself. It would only require a single flash to tip them off. There was no other way, therecould have been no other way. Of course, of course I had been wondering. Miller studied the guns drawn up on the road behind the two trucks and cleared his throat. I have been thinking, and it can be nothing else. They will, Mallory assured him.Just as soon as we fire and they find out where we are. Almost three seconds had passed before the handful of those who still lived-about a quarter of the way in from either end of the line where converging streams of fire had not yet met-realised what was happening and flung themselves desperately to the ground in search of the cover that didn't exist. Only a couple stood still where they had been hit, vacant surprise mirrored in their lifeless faces, then slipped down tiredly to the stony ground at their feet.
Schmeissers-it was no war, as he had said, but sheer, pitiful massacre, with the defenceless figures on the slope below, figures still stunned and uncomprehending, jerking, spinning round and collapsing like marionettes in the hands of a mad puppeteer, some to lie where they fell, others to roll down the steep slope, legs and arms flailing in the grotesque disjointedness of death. With four machine-guns in their hands-two Brens and two 9 mm. His last words were caught up and drowned in the tearing, rapid-fire crash of the automatic carbines. Gawd help us, Miller muttered.Fragmentation bombs, you said He lapsed into gloomy silence. Mallory touched his arm.What is it, Dusty?Ībruptly Miller's smile vanished and he nodded. But he was grateful to the New Zealander for trying to take their minds off what they had to do.Why don't they use them? That's right, Miller gowled.Cheer us all up.
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