The flesh under Landel's eyes was quivering.
He realized he could not weather out their rescue: frantically, he clawed at the jacket: an hour, another hour.
"I'll make it ... get help. Fire my gun!"
"Hell, they'll cut you down."
"No ... they don't return my gunfire ... when I fire ... nothin!"
"A trick," Dennison warned.
"No," Landel said
"Hell," Dennison yelled.
Landel was gone.
Dennison lined up the emplacement, arching and depressing the gun accurately: there was no return fire when he fired. He fired again. Five minutes. Ten. No return fire.