'All, even Henkel, glanced upwards.'
Ken, flat on his face, felt the blast of it, and covered his head with his arms. Earth, small stones, debris of all kinds rained upon him, then followed silence, broken only by the rapidly diminishing roar of the engine exhaust.
Ken ventured to roll over. This is what he saw.
Between him and the spot where the firing party had stood, but nearer to the latter, was a great cavity in the ground, a hole ten feet across and perhaps a yard deep. Beyond, half buried in the mass of rubbish flung up by the explosion, were the broken remains of the firing party. All but one were dead, and most were blasted to fragments. The one survivor lay helpless and groaning.
Farther away the three officers were prone and still upon the ground, but whether dead or merely damaged, Ken could not tell. He hoped the former. Farther still, half a dozen other Turkish soldiers lay, twisted in ugly fashion, covered with blood. They had been badly cut by the jagged fragments of stone flung up by the bursting bomb. The survivors, a score or so in number, were running in blind panic towards the village.
'Roy, Roy! Quickly! We've a chance still,' cried Ken, his voice tense with excitement.
He sprang up as he spoke, and Roy staggered dazedly to his feet.
'This way!' said Ken, and in spite of the hampering handcuffs he managed to scramble over the low wall into the vineyard.
Roy followed.