"Any sign of Piacentelli yet?" Nef demanded.
"Not yet, sir," Hartford signalled.
"Feed a candle into every building, Lieutenant. We'll get these Gooks in the open and interrogate till we find our man."
"Done and done, sir," Hartford said, stepping out of the way of a little girl fleeing toward the village square with an even littler girl strapped to a pack-board on her back. He passed on the order. "Fire in ten seconds, nine, eight ... now!" Each man of first squad tossed a Lake Erie Lightning Universal Gas Candle through the window nearest him. A little over a second later a dozen grenades spit out a cloud of smoke with a hiss like a bursting fire-hose, and the outer air was filled with an eye-stinging gas. The Indigenous Hominids spilled out of their homes in all directions now; coughing, choking, children rubbing the smoke particles into their half-wakened eyes. Two camelopards, blinded like their masters, blundered into the square, tears streaming from their reproachful eyes, twelve feet above the pavement. Second squad's men danced clear of the beasts and hallooed them out the gate.
Somewhere back in an alley a first-squad trooper tapped his trigger, jetting steel against overhanging roof-tiles. "Nail that shot, Mister!" Nef demanded.
Hartford heard the squad leader: "It's Lieutenant Piacentelli, sir. He's here."
"Bring him out, man; bring him out!" Nef's excited voice triggered a new string of rifle bursts.
Hartford tongued his bitcher full-volume: "Cease fire, you idiots! Piacentelli, head for the square."