ing of the earth or
the faintest outside movement against the tank would precipitate them
over the edge. The brakes would not hold them for long. Then the
driver acted. Slowly he put his gears in reverse, keeping the brake on
hard until the engine had taken up the strain. Slowly she moved back
until her tail bumped on the ground, and she settled down. Neither
McKnutt nor his driver spoke. They pushed back their tin hats and
wiped their foreheads.

McKnutt glanced back at the men in the rear of the tank. They, of
course, had been unable to see out, and had no idea of what they had
escaped. Now that the danger was passed, he felt an unreasonable
annoyance that none of them would ever know what he and the driver had
gone through in those few moments. Then the feeling passed, he
signalled, "Neutral left," the gearsman locked his left track, and the
tank swung over, passing safely by the perilous spot.

They settled down now to a snail's pace, shutting off their engine, as
the Germans could not be more than one hundred and fifty or two
hundred yards away. Running at full speed, the engine would have been
heard by them. In a few moments, they arrived at their appointed
station. McKnutt glanced at his watch. They had only a few moments to
wait. The engine was shut off and they stopped.

The heat inside the tank was oppressive. McKnutt and James opened the
top, and crawled out, the men following. They looked around. The first
streaks of light were beginning to show in the sky. A heavy silence
hung over everything--the silence that always precedes a bombardment.
Presumably, only the attacking forces feel this. Even the desultory
firing seems to have faded away. All the little ordinary noises have
ceased. It is a sickening quiet, so loud in itself that it makes one's
heart beat quicker. It is because one is listening so intensely for
the guns to break out that all other sounds have lost their
significance. One seems to have become all ears--to have no sense of
sight or touch or taste or smell. All seem to have become merged in
the sense of hearing. The very air itself seems tense with listening.
Only the occasional rattle of a machine gun breaks the stillness. Even
this passes unnoticed.

Slowly the minute-hand crept round to the half-hour, and the men
slipped back into their steel home. Doors were bolted and portholes
shut, save for the tiny slits in front of officer and driver, through
which they peered. The engine was rea