in' to figure out which way to duck. An' my
pants caught on fire. The bike was gettin' hot. I climbed off it an' it
blew up. My rifle was hot, too, an' I chucked it away. Then I saw a ship
go down, on fire. The Wabbly'd stopped still an' it didn't fire a shot.
I'll swear to that. Just my monocycle got hot an' caught on fire, an'
then a ship busted out in flames an' went down. A couple more eggs come
down an' three ships dropped. Didn't hit 'em. The concussion blew the
fabric off 'em. Another one caught fire an' crashed. Then another one. I
looked, an' saw the next one catch. Then the next. It was like a
searchlight beam hittin' 'em. They flamed up, blew up, an' that was
that. The last two tried to get away, but they lit up an' crashed."

* * * * *

The pilot's hand flicked up and down, interminably. There was the steady
fierce down-beat of the slip-stream from the vertical propellers. The
helicopter swept forward in a swooping dash.

"The whole east coast's gone crazy," said the 'copter man drily. "Crazy
fools trying to run away. Roads jammed. Work stopped. It leaked out
about the planes being wiped out to-day, and everybody in three states
has heard those eggs going off. You're the only living man who's seen
that crawling thing and lived to tell about it. I've sent your stuff
back. What's that about the thing on top?"

"I hid," said Sergeant Walpole, woodenly. "The Wabbly sent over
gas-shells where the ships landed. Then it went on. Headin' west. It's
got a crazy-lookin' dinkus on top like a searchlight. That moved, while
the ships were catchin' fire an' crashin'. Just like a searchlight, it
moved an' the ships went down. But the Wabbly didn't fire a shot."

The helicopter man's wrist flexed swiftly....

"Gawd!" said Sergeant Walpole in sudden agony. "Drop! Quick!"

The helicopter went down like a stone. A propeller shrieked away into
space. Metalwork up aloft glowed dully red. Then there were whipping,
lashing branches closing swiftly all around the helicopter. A jerk. A
crash. Stillness. The smell of growing things all about.

"Well?" said the 'copter pilot.

"They turned it on us--whatever it is," said Sergeant Walpole. "They
near got us, too."

* * * * *

A match scratched. A cigarette glowed. The Sergeant fumbled for a smoke
for himself.

"I'm waiting for that metal to cool off," said the helicopter pilot.
"Maybe we can take off again. The