among
the stray wires in the cabinet.

"That makes me mad," said the 'copter man grimly. "Lying for morale! The
other side murders our civilians to break down morale, and our side lies
about it to build morale back up again. To hell with morale!"

Sergeant Walpole reached in and pulled out the battery. Bissel batteries
turn out six hundred volts these days, and they make a fat spark when
short-circuited.

"For Gawd's sake!" said Sergeant Walpole. "If they can pick up sparks
from a motor, can't they pick 'em up from this? What the hell y'doin'?
Y'want 'em droppin' eggs on us? Say!"

* * * * *

He stopped short, his eyes burning. He began to talk, suddenly groping
for words while he waved the high-powered small battery in his hand. The
helicopter man listened, at first skeptically and then with an equally
hungry enthusiasm.

"Sergeant," he said evenly, "that's an idea! A whale of an idea! A hell
of a fine idea! Let's get some rockets!"

"Why rockets?" demanded Sergeant Walpole in his turn. "Whatcha want to
do? Celebrate the Fourth o' July?"

The 'copter man explained, this time, and Sergeant Walpole seized upon
the addition. Then they began a hunt. They roved the town over, and it
was not pleasant. When the Wabbly had gone into that town there had
still been very many living human beings in it. Some of them had
believed in the ability of the artillery to defend the town against a
single monster. Some had had no means of getting away. But all of them
had tried to get away when the Wabbly went lurching in among the houses.

For them, the Wabbly had spewed out deadly gases. Also it had simply
forged ahead. And the two living men in their gas-masks paid as little
attention as possible to the bodies in the streets, most of them in
flimsy night-clothing, struck down in frenzied flight, but they could
not help seeing too much....

In the end they went back to the artillery-positions and found
signal-rockets there. Two full cases of them, marvelously unexploded. A
little later two monocycles purred madly in the beaten-down paths of the
monstrous treads. Sergeant Walpole bore very many Bissel batteries,
which will deliver six hundred volts even on short-circuit for half an
hour at a time. The 'copter man carried some of them, too, and both men
were loaded down.

* * * * *

When dawn came they were hollow-eyed and gaunt and weary. It had started
to rain,