He switched on his mike. "Sabo, can you break their line?"
"Right. Allenby, attack the cars!"
A personnel carrier, sixty men standing on its deck, charged the enemy vehicles. MacFarland grinned when he heard the bagpipes wail.
The carrier headed toward the tiny space between the fourth and fifth vehicles in the enemy line. It swerved suddenly and half a dozen kilted troopers jumped from the deck and landed among the enemy vehicles. Fans screamed as drivers maneuvered to avoid running them over. A second squad jumped off. A third squad landed on their heels. Soon only the piper stood on the deck of the carrier, proudly erect as his mess mates risked their lives among rampaging machines.
The enemy line disintegrated. MacFarland picked out a hole eighty yards wide and led the convoy forward. As they passed the carrier, he threw the piper a salute.
"Well done," he told the mike.
"Thank you," Sabo said.
"It was a good job," Crawford Bell said, "but we had all the advantages. Wait until it's them on foot and us mounted."
The crowd had grown bigger. Now its roar could be heard for miles. A helicopter hovered over it, probably broadcasting the same kind of propaganda as the helicopter over the convoy.