Phil had no technical knowledge of artillery, but he saw at once that the battery of this tank was heavy and of very destructive character. The three pieces sent forth their murderous messages almost as rapidly, it seemed, as the fire of a machine-gun. One of the gunners sat up in a revolving turret, while the other two were in swinging “half-turrets” at both sides.
“Count Topoff” forced his prisoner into a sitting position on what appeared to be a closed tool-chest near the starting crank and then sat down beside him. There they waited and watched and listened, both strung to the highest tension of eagerness, apprehension, expectancy.
Phil, of course, longed for victory to crown the efforts of the pursuing tanks, and yet he had to admit to himself that probably his own safety depended upon the escape of his captors. Their defeat could be effected only by crippling the caterpillar tread, or “chain-feet,” or by exploding shells in the machinery. The former was difficult to do because of the peculiar construction of the treads with many slanting surface-sections, and about the only kind of shell that could be thrown into the machinery was an explosive bullet about two inches in diameter, specially made to pierce armor plate.
Phil had no sure way of determining how near the British tanks approached to the fleeing boche engine, but he inferred from the sound of their guns that it would require a long and continued peppering away to put the big enemy tank out of business. He suspected, too, that this land-dreadnaught carried at least one anti-tank rifle capable of firing high power explosives through the armor of the attacking “fleet.” He gathered this suspicion from the one grim and gleeful remark that “the count” screamed into his ear “between shots”:
“We’ve knocked two of them out already, and we’ll fix all the rest the same way if they don’t keep a slanting front to that gimlet-twist up there.”
Phil was unable to figure out how Topoff could determine the number of British tanks that had been put out of commission, if indeed any had suffered such disaster, but he now observed for the first time the smaller gun alongside the heavy shell-piece in the revolving turret. He also watched the gunner in the turret more closely and before long he understood clearly that the fellow was constantly on the alert for an opening for an effective shot with the smaller piece.
The battle continued thus for half an hour, but the British tanks seemed to be unable to stop the big boche battler. At last the firing ceased.
“What’s happened?” Phil ventured to inquire of the boche of big circumference.
“It’s all over and we’ve won, as we always will do,” was the latter’s answer. “It was a stern chase for your British friends and we’ve sunk half their fleet and peppered the sails of the rest of them so full of holes that they won’t hold a cupful of wind.”
“I’ll admit you’ve got a good pair of sea legs and ran a good race for a tank, but I’d like to know how you can tell what your gunners did without being able to see much farther than the end of your nose,” Phil returned skeptically.