"Fire!"
The men worked as in a frenzy, loading, extracting, and loading again.
The shells, twelve to a minute, poured out of the flame-belching muzzle of the gun.
The gun-crew fell back to mechanical automatic speed, muscle and sinew moving with the precision of things of steel. Cartridge-cases littered the ground in irregular piles, smoking for a minute where they fell.
"Cease firing!"
The gunners drew their hands over their foreheads, black with dust and sweat.
"Hot work!" said one.
On the hillside, far away, the little dots who were men jumped up to run ahead and then fell to earth once more. Some never rose again.
"Is the enemy on this side of the hill?" Horace asked.