"Fritz has got the wind up properly this time," declared the Sergeant, as the sound of scurrying feet and cries and shouts of alarm rose on the still air. "Work's knocked off for the rest of the night, I reckon, even if our airmen don't pay Düren a visit."
He went to the door and peered cautiously down the roadway. Between the wire fences the watchdogs were barking furiously, adding to the din as the workers poured from the factories and rushed to their homes.
"The Boches are still on guard," he reported, "an' the dogs; but ain't they in a funk. I can see their bayonets shaking."
"The dawgs', Sargint?" asked a man facetiously.
"But no sign of our airmen," continued the non-com., ignoring the chartered funny man's question. "Hope they won't give the show a miss after all. All ready, you chaps?"
In the town the uproar was subsiding. The siren had ceased its two-pitched wail. The last of the powerful engines had stopped its belated purr. Even the watch-dogs were quieting down.
The night was dark but clear; overhead the stars shone resplendent; a soft north-easterly breeze rustled the leaves. In the distance the rumble of heavily-laden trains could be heard, but still no sound of approaching British aircraft.
A quarter of an hour passed in almost utter silence. The prisoners, assailed alternately by hopes and fears, strained their ears to catch the first faint purr of the aerial machines.
"By Jove, they're at it!" exclaimed one as a couple of vivid flashes, followed after a short interval by three in quick succession, lit up the south-western horizon.
"Shut up!" snapped the Sergeant, the while counting his pulse-beats between the first flash and the first report.