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Major Greer emerged from behind the object, looked about, ran toward General Straut shouting. “... a man dead. It snapped; we weren’t expecting it....”

Straut jumped out beside the men, who had stopped now and were looking back. The underside of the gaping lid was an iridescent black. The shrill noise sounded thinly across the field. Greer arrived, panting.

“What happened?” Straut snapped.

“I was ... checking over that thin spot, General. The first thing I knew it was ... coming up under me. I fell; Tate was at the other side. He held on and it snapped him loose, against a tree. His skull—”

“What the devil’s that racket?”

“That’s the sound we were getting from inside before, General. There’s something in there, alive—”

“All right, pull yourself together, Major. We’re not unprepared. Bring your half-tracks into position. The tanks will be here soon.”

Straut glanced at the men standing about. He would show them what leadership meant.

“You men keep back,” he said. He puffed his cigar calmly as he walked toward the looming object. The noise stopped suddenly; that was a relief. There was a faint and curious odor in the air, something like chlorine ... or seaweed ... or iodine.