"Bombe," he said.
We got out. In the soft earth at the side of the road was a neat hole, four inches in diameter. Peering down we could see the steel handle of the unburst bomb. We next passed a smashed paling, in the garden behind a crowd were searching for relics. An old woman had been killed, they said. We turned into the main street and plunged into a large crowd. The pavement had been torn up, and people were grubbing in the mud; pieces of charred wood were passed from hand to hand.
"That's a bit of propeller," said one. "No; it's a bit of the frame," said another. A girl proudly held up a large piece of map scorched all round the edges.
"And the men?" we asked.
"Nemachke (Germans)," answered the crowd; "both dead; one here, one over there," pointing to the middle of the road.
We came into the Stobarts' camp, pitched up on the hill behind the Kragujevatz pleasure ground.
"Did you see the aeroplanes?" they cried, running towards us.
"No," we answered; "but we saw the shrapnel."
"One was hit—it was wonderful. They were flying just over here, and a shrapnel burst quite close; and then one saw a thin stream of smoke come from the plane; then a little flicker. It seemed to fall so slowly. Then it burst into flames and came down like a great comet."
"D——n!" we said: "if only that machine had been working right yesterday."