If was all over as soon as it had begun. The car cleared the pass and flashed along the road, still on its way to Penza.
How many men had been killed or horribly mutilated could not be told.
The detective kept his car going. This was war, and mercy was not to be considered.
Lieutenant Trenzini let loose a torrent of frenzied oaths. He was insane with impotent rage, and he shook his fist after the flying car like the maniac he had become.
Then he turned to his men, half of whom were groaning and writhing on the ground, while the remainder seemed to have lost their senses, courage and all.
“Fire! Fire!” he bellowed. “Curse you! Why don’t you fire?”
The habit of obedience is irresistible with the trained soldier. As the order came, those of the troop who were uninjured raised their carbines and pointed them at the fast-disappearing car.
They rapped out a scattering volley. It was wholly ineffective.
The bullets whistled and sung around the car, sending up flicks of dust from the road, or whining over the heads of the occupants. One bullet even struck a mud-guard, making a slight dent on the very edge.
Without aim, and in a condition of panic, how could men be expected to shoot straight?