What the hell was he doing, Hallihan wondered. He watched the dark form move cautiously along the rampart and stop at a point where a good-sized upheaval in the ground raised him to within ten feet of the wall's top. The captain went through some strange motions. His hand dug in his pocket and then his arms snapped back like a baseball pitcher's. His hand flicked forward and came down to dig once more in his pocket. Again he went through the movements of throwing something. Hallihan scratched his head puzzledly, straining his eyes to see what Staley did next. That was all. Staley returned to his car and climbed inside, but the speedy little vehicle gave no indication of withdrawing from its position against the garrison wall.
Captain Staley's arms snapped back like a baseball pitcher's.
Things quieted down a bit then, and Hallihan nearly went mad waiting for something to happen. Now and then an atomic cannon blasted out at the patrolmen, but the intensity of the Squeakers' fire had diminished considerably from that of earlier in the battle. They had plenty of time. They would wait until morning, when the sun exposed the hiding places of the I.P. men, then it would be curtains for these hated invaders from another world. Hallihan wished he could sleep, but he knew if he did he might never wake up again. He waited....
A minute later, the sergeant's hair almost stood on end as a prolonged, hideous screech of terror beat against his ears, growing, swelling in intensity, and owning a note of stark, unreasoning fear. It came from the garrison; came from the throats of a thousand panicked Squeakers. Hallihan's jaw gaped ludicrously as the gates burst open and hundreds of screaming, scrabbling, sleek-boiled Squeakers spilled into the clearing, fleeing from the garrison as fast as their skinny legs could carry them. Hallihan recovered quickly from his surprise and drew a bead on the leading Squeaker. The creature crumpled under the heat-beam, shrieking in agony as his fellows trampled over him, making pulp of his thrashing, charred body.
"Give 'em hell, boys!" Hallihan shouted exultantly. "Pour it to the rats!"
The I.P. patrolmen needed no coaxing. The terrified Squeakers were already falling by the dozens under their withering fire. The rodent-like animals hesitated, not knowing where to turn. Some of them ran to the canyon walls and tried to scrabble up to safety, but the sharp-eyed soldiers nailed them before they could go a yard. An atomic cannon started banging away from the garrison, and Hallihan knew Captain Staley had plunged his grav-car through the open gates and taken over one of the deadly guns. After that, it was only a question of mopping up....