“Ha!” said the General. “Ha! Bombs, what?”
The bomber remained apparently petrified.
“What I always say about these bombs,” the General continued, turning to the Brigadier, “is that they’re so damn simple, what? A child can use them. You can throw them about, and, provided the pin is in, no harm will come of it. But”—looking sternly at me—“always make sure the pin is safely imbedded in the base of the bomb. That is the first duty of a man handling bombs.”
We all murmured assent, faintly or otherwise, according to rank.
“Give me that bomb,” said the General to the bomber, waxing enthusiastic. The man hesitated. The General glared, the bomb became his.
We stood motionless around him. “You see, gentlemen,” the General continued jocularly. “I take this bomb, and I throw it on the ground—so! It does not explode, it cannot explode, the fuse is not lit, for the pin——”
Just then the bomber leapt like a fleeting deer round the corner, but the General was too engrossed to notice him.
“As I say, the pin——”
A frightened face appeared round the bay, and a small shaky voice broke in:
“Please, sir, it’s a five-second fuse—an’ I ’ad took HOUT the pin!”