Artillerymen, their blouses off, their sleeves rolled, sweated in torrents8 as they wrestled9 with shells, throwing them into the breeches of their guns. Each gun was fired, and as it recoiled10 from the charge another shell was waiting to be thrown into the breech. The officers of the gunners, their muscles tense, their lineaments screwed up so that their faces looked like white walnuts11, made quick mathematical calculations, directing the shells unerringly to strike their targets. Orderlies hurried from gun-pit to gun-pit,[226] carrying messages from a higher officer which, when delivered to the battery commanders and passed to the gunners, would strike or spare a hundred men, an old church, or a hospital.
Wagons13 and heavy motor-trucks rumbled14 over the roads leading to the forests where the long-range guns were hidden, bringing always more food for the black, extended throats of the guns. The batteries in the centre had been drawn15 up in a thick woods a few miles from the present front line. There, from the height of a steady swell16 in the earth, they were able better to watch the effects of their pounding.
Between the inky mass of forest which concealed17 the guns and the jagged front line were the crumbling18 ruins of a village of which not a building now stood. The ruins were at the edge of the front line, which zigzagged19 unendingly in either direction. Barbed wire, rusted20 and ragged21, was strung from posts before the trench22. Chevaux-de-frise, inspiring confidence in their ability to withstand penetration23, were placed at intervals24, wherever gaps had been blown in the barbed wire.
The space between the front line and the German listening posts was a yellowish gray.[227] Its face was pockmarked and scabbed with tin cans, helmets, pieces of equipment. Bones, grayed in the sun and rain, were perceptible occasionally. A leather boot stuck grotesquely25 out of one of the unhealthy indentations in the lifeless ground. The flat chrome earth lay for several hundreds of yards and then was split by a strip of shadowy black woods.
Past the woods the barren earth continued, rising and disappearing at a distance, in a hill studded with trees.
Beyond lay mystery and a gargantuan26 demon27 who, taking whatever shape he chose, might descend28 with a huge funnelled29 bag from which he might extract any number of fascinatingly varied30 deaths.
The night before, out of a still, starlit sky, a sudden rain had fallen. It had drenched31 the trees and the grass and soaked the clothing of the troops who were lying in the woods awaiting the hour for the attack. The rain made a long, slimy, muddy snake out of the roads leading to the front line. Where the caisson tracks had bitten into the ground, hasty rivulets32 now ran. Water from the evenly plotted fields had drained into the ditch that ran alongside the road, overflowing33.
Bandoliers of ammunition34 slung35 over their shoulders, their pockets stuffed with heavy corrugated36 hand-grenades, carrying shovels37 and picks, the platoon followed along the muddy road in rear of a machine-gun company. Rudely awakened38 from an irresistible39 sleep beneath the trees, they had been marshalled before supply wagons, had been given articles of extra equipment to use in the attack. Now, whenever the body of troops before them halted, the lids closed readily over their sleepy eyes and their bodies swayed with fatigue40. The halts were frequent, for the machine-gunners carried their heavy rifles and tripods on their shoulders.
The road was slippery and the travel laborious41, and after innumerable pauses whenever the advancing line became clogged42, the men sat down, completely fatigued43, in the mud and water. Uneasiness could be felt in the tightly packed mass that waddled44 along the road. It lay on the tongues of the platoon, preventing them from showing their exasperation45 at the long delay. Curses would rise to their lips and die unuttered. A word spoken aloud, the jangling of metal, would infuriate them. From fear and habit, the explosion of a gun near them would cause them to stop, standing46 without a[229] tremor47. A distance of less than two miles, the platoon crawled along like an attenuated48 turtle. They felt that dawn would find them still on the road, their feet struggling with the clinging mud. The night was as thick and black as coal-tar. Progress through it seemed impossible.
Behind the barely moving lines the guns continued their boom, boom, like the sound of distant thunder. The shells whistled overhead, the report of their explosion only faintly to be heard. There was no retaliation49. The enemy seemed willing to take the brunt without a murmur50. But to the platoon their silence was suspicious. Accustomed to hearing the crashing reply to a bombardment, when the men did not hear it they grew fearful. They began to wonder if they were not being led into a trap. Fed too fully51 upon the German-spy propaganda issued by the Allied52 governments, they wondered whether the general directing the attack might not be a minion53 of the Kaiser, leading them to their deaths. Or else the Germans were planning some great strategic coup54.
The failure of the enemy guns to reply was so annoying that it became the absorbing notion in the minds of the men. Their ears were[230] strained, waiting to hear the familiar whine55 of a shell fired toward them. It made their nerves feel ragged and exposed. On the road sounded the decisive beat of horses’ hoofs56. It was deeply perturbing57. Stretching their necks, unmindful of the slippery road, the danger of sliding into the ditch, the men watched the horse and rider, believing it portentous59. The horse was turned back to the woods.
Like a latrine built for a corps60 of monsters stretched the slippery trench. Approaching it through the narrow communication gully, the men slid and stumbled from the slatted-board bottom into the mire61. They would withdraw their legs from the mud, the mud making a “pflung” as the foot rose above it.
The platoon filed into the trench, and crouched62 low against the firing bays their bayonets peeping over the top. After hours on the road the trench was warm to their bodies, despite its mud and slime. Their eyes staring into the black night, the men waited.
Hard, cold, and unfriendly dawn broke over the earth like a thin coating of ice shattering in a wash-basin. In the eerie63 light the tangled64 masses of wire, the weather-beaten posts from which the wire was strung, the articles of equipment[231] and clothing once worn by men looked unreal. The woods ahead, a grayish black, lay against the sky like a spiked65 wall.
Hicks, his face pressed against the muddy side of the trench, felt sick. Along the road his body had been shaken with chills. Now the muscles of his stomach were contracting, forcing him to gag. He thought of poking66 his soiled finger down his throat, but the thought of it was so revolting that he only gagged more violently.
Crouching67 there, he had no desire to leave the trench. Why should he leave it, he asked himself, and could find no reason. Possibly for an hour during his whole life he had hated the German army. Now he only disliked them. And for one reason: because they marched in a goose-step. He felt that for any people to march in that manner was embarrassing to the rest of humanity. Somehow it severed68 them from the rest of their kind. But that was little reason, he realized, to drag his weary body over a repulsive69 ground. He was conscious of a sensation of numbness70.
“Je’s, I’m sick,” he groaned71 to the man next to him. “I don’t know whether I can go over. I’m all in.”
“Why don’t you go back? Tell one of the officers. He’ll send you back.”
“Yeh. And have every one of you birds think I’m yellow? I will not. I’ll be all right,” he added.
The roar of the guns deepened. A heavy curtain of exploding shells lay between the platoon and the German lines. The barrage72 lifted and started to move.
Whistles were imperatively73 blown along the trench, commanding the men to rise and begin the advance. As if it were their last mortal act, the men clambered out of the trench and started to walk.
Bent74 over, like a feeble old man, Hicks walked abreast75 of the first wave. His respirator hung heavily from around his neck. He clutched at his collar, loosening it more freely to breathe. His legs were made of wood, they felt light, but hesitated to bend. His nostrils76 were being flattened77 against his face by huge, unseen thumbs. “Hell, Heaven, or Hoboken by Christmas,” he thought, adding “Probably hell for all of us.”
The day brightened, and as he approached the trees they became separate identities. The trees stared at him menacingly. They embarrassed[233] him by their scrutiny78. He found himself making excuses for advancing toward them. It was exasperating79 that no bullets were fired from the trees. He wondered why it could be. And then he was at the woods, entering with the rest of the men, and the underbrush parted with a crackling sound. He drew back, frightened.
Because of the thickness of the underbrush and the irregularity of the setting of the trees, he veered80 off to a path that led through the woods. On it other men had made their way and were stealthily tramping through, their eyes darting81 from one side to the other.
At a place where another path crossed, an ammunition wagon12 stood. The bodies of four horses lay dead on the ground, their hides mutilated, pierced by pieces of flying shell. The dead horses were a squeamish sight, lying there with large reproachful eyes and slender necks that seemed to have been broken. Their stomachs were inflated82 as if they had eaten too much fresh clover. Hicks grew more depressed83, his own stomach wanted to describe a parabola inside of him. Hicks gagged, engaged in a spasm85 of retching. The woods were covered with saffron, their trunks were gaunt, and yellow[234] splotches stuck out from the branches. The grass wore a bilious86 complexion87. He looked down at his shoes; they, too, were yellow, unfamiliar88, indefinable from the color of his puttees or his mustard uniform.
He tramped on through the woods, hoping that his sickness would overpower him, cast him to the ground where he could rest.
“If only I’d get so sick I couldn’t walk,” he thought, “how nice it would be.”
He walked on, thinking of the spot in which he would like to lie, judging with a discerning eye the softness and safety of various spots of ground. The sight of a small hollow, with breastworks of fallen trees thrown up on the dangerous side, was attractive to him. He was about to succumb89, but decided90 against it, thinking of the awkwardness of his position in case some one should pass. And they were sure to pass, some snooping lieutenant91 or orderly.
But he was supposed to be in an attack. Pugh and the rest were facing the enemy at this very moment. And here he was lagging behind! Choking with fright, he hurried out of the woods. The rest of the line had just broken through the trees and now he joined them as they marched steadily92 ahead.
The field over which they were advancing stretched like a gridiron for perhaps a mile, then it was lost in the thickly wooded hill that rose majestically93 and invincibly94. “God,” Hicks thought, “do we have to take that hill?” It was inconceivable that it could be done, yet inconceivable that it would not be done. There it rose—a Gethsemane—towering in the air, austere95 and forbidding.
Below, four waves of men with their bayoneted rifles held at high port, advanced along the flat field toward the hill. Hicks felt weak, as if he wanted to crumple96 up. Machine bullets clicked like keys on the typewriter of the devil’s stenographer97. Rifled bullets announced their swift, fatal flights by little “pings” that sounded like air escaping from a rubber tire. They seemed to follow each other closely enough to make a solid sheet of metal.
Slowly the men marched, trying to maintain an even line under the rapid firing. Silently and unexpectedly a whistle blew and the long lines dropped to the ground. For the distance they had advanced their losses were too great.
To lie down in the face of the firing was more unendurable than moving toward it. The bodies of the men felt to them more conspicuous[236] than when they were on their feet. They tried to hug the ground, to expose as little of themselves as they could.
“What the hell are we going to do? Go to sleep here?”
“No, they’re lookin’ for the Angel of Mons to tell us when to advance.”
“This is an awful way to win a war. Are they tryin’ to get us all killed?”
“Oh, one of these German spies is in command, that’s all.”
So ran the comment of the men, interspersed98 with cries of assistance from the wounded. At last the whistles blew again and the men rose to their feet, chafing99, half-frightened, half-angry, under the restraint of the regulated advance. One man started ahead of the line and an officer, raising his voice above the frightful100 racket, yelled:
“Come back here, you damned fool. Do you want to get killed by your own barrage?”
The barrage was falling short of its mark. Shells struck the fringe of the woods toward which the men already had closely advanced.
An avion sailed over the field, a serene101, self-satisfied dove of peace. The pilot fired a rocket when he was directly above the front line, and[237] wheeled back. The barrage lengthened102, the shells crashing into the trees. But if the barrage had delayed their progress on the field, it had hastened it in the woods. The coils of barbed wire which had been strung before the German front-line trench were blown to bits. Great gaps in the wire appeared all along the line. The men rushed through, fell into the trench, and scrambled103 out the other side. The German trench had been abandoned. The main body of their troops was withdrawn104 and the hill had been protected only by a heavy rear-guard.
Through the woods men were running like mad, beating small, inoffensive bushes with the butts105 of their rifles, and calling: “Come out of there, you damned Boche.” Wherever they saw a dugout they hurled106 a pocketful of hand-grenades down the entrance, following them with threatening exclamations107. They were the new men who had joined the platoon at the last village at which it had been billeted.
It was a night for love, a night for beautifully mantillaed women to rest their elbows on the window casement108 of picturesque109 houses and lend their ears to the serenade of their troubadours—a[238] night to wander listlessly through unreal woods and offer words of love beneath the benediction110 of a round moon.
Through a long, tortuous111 trench which, now and again, had been partially112 obliterated113 by the explosion of a large shell, Hicks tramped. He had been sent out by the platoon commander to find the French army, whose left flank was supposed, according to orders issued before the attack, to adjoin the right of the platoon. Picking his way through the barbed wire over the rough ground, he swung along with large strides. Importantly he adjusted the strap114 of his helmet more tightly about his chin. He girded his pistol belt tighter, until his waist was wasp-like. To his leg he buckled115 his holster until it interfered116 with the circulation of his blood. He liked the feel of the pistol against his thigh117. It made him feel equal to any danger. He was a Buffalo118 Bill, a Kit119 Carson, a D’Artagnan.
Progress, walking in the trench, was too dreary120 for his mood. He climbed out and commenced to stride along the field, his chest inflated, his chin high. He thought of the men lying along the trench, huddled121 together, three men under one blanket, and he felt motherly toward them.[239] He thought of the Allied armies waiting for the war to be over, so that they might return to their homes and children, and he felt protective toward them. He thought of President Wilson, bearing the burden of the saving of civilization on his thin, scholarly shoulders, and he felt paternal122 toward him. Hicks it was who had been ordered to find the French army, to link it up with the American army so that there might be no gaps in the ranks when the attack began on the morrow. He walked on and on and somehow in the dim light he lost the direction of the trench.
The blasted French army was not going to be as easy to find as he had imagined. He had now walked much farther than he had been told to walk, and still there was no sight or sound of them. A little farther on his attention became divided between the French army and the trench. If he lost the direction of the trench, how could he find the army, he thought.
Out of the stillness of the night a Maxim123 sputtered124. Hicks started, then ran as swiftly as he could. He fell into the trench, quite breathless. Feeling forlorn, he crept along the trench, with all his native cunning. After he had been walking he knew not how long, a form[240] was vaguely125 seen to move ahead. Hicks halted. “Fran?ais soldat?” he questioned. “Who the devil is that?” a voice answered. He had returned unwittingly to his own platoon. The platoon commander, hearing the voices, came up.
“Is that Hicks?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, where have you been? I told you to come back if the Frogs weren’t near here. They probably haven’t arrived yet.”
Hicks sought out Pugh and lay down beside him underneath126 his blanket. Their heads covered, they talked in whispers.
“Gimme a cigarette,” Hicks commanded.
“Now give me a match.”
After waiting a while Pugh produced a box of matches. Then with a sigh: “Ah doan mind givin’ you cigarettes, Hicksy, but I hate like hell to carry ’em around for you.”
Silence.
“Where ya been?”
“Oh, out tryin’ to find some damned Frogs.”
“When do we go over again?”
“In the morning, I guess.”
Hicks, having been in touch with the commanding officer to the extent of carrying out an order of the lieutenant’s, was expected to know these things.
The obverse bank of the large ridge128 was barren of foliage129. No trees reared their protecting heads, shielding the men who slipped quietly down the side. Nor did there seem to be any need of shelter. In the half light of the gray dawn men moved without the usual accompaniment of firing from the enemy. To the silently advancing men it seemed as if there were no enemy in front of them, nothing to hinder their progress into the town that rested in delicate contours on the near bank of the hill ahead. Warily130 they proceeded nearer to the lines of jagged barbed wire that ran like a gantlet, one near the low point of the ridge, the other several hundreds of yards away, where the hill rose to the town. The ground, with the deep green of long, untrampled grass, was springy under the feet of the men. Their mouths tasted as if they had eaten mud. Breathless, the blunt air lay against them. From the sombre purple trees on the hill, the unnatural131 stillness of the village, there was a portent58 of evil.
Carefully, as if they were dressed for inspection132, the men avoided the barbs133 of the wire that reached out to grasp and tear their clothing. There was no hurry. Every movement was made calmly and a trifle ponderously134. Under the silence the platoon had acquired a fictitious135 dignity.
The last man through the tangled wire, the platoon formed in line again, moving forward. And then, in the dim light, the trees shot sparks of fire. Bullets sizzled hotly into the pen. They struck with an ugly hiss136. In consternation137 the platoon stood for a moment, then fell to the ground. Their hearts flopped—and stood still. Inside their heads wings of mammoth138 windmills were revolving139. Bullets spattered on, demanding, screeching141 for, death. The whole sound was reminiscent of ivory dice142 being frantically143 shaken in a metal box.
Hicks, by sheer straining, tried to force his body into the ground. He felt that his helmet was a magnet for the flying pieces of steel. His shoulders felt bare, the flesh undulating over his body. A bullet struck at the right of him, throwing up a puff144 of dust in his face. Cautiously, counting every move, he unfastened his respirator from his neck and wriggled145 it in front[243] of him. He dropped his chin, letting his helmet fall from his head upon the respirator box. A group of bullets struck near his elbow. It hastened his piling his bandoliers of ammunition in front of him. Then he regretted his action. Supposing a bullet should strike the bandoliers and set off the cartridges146! How many? Two hundred and twenty. And what would be left of him? He threw the bandoliers to the side. The bullets hailed, beating fiercely like an early spring storm. He crossed his arms in front of him, hiding his head and shutting his eyes. But the desire to see, to witness, was strongest, and he guardedly twisted his neck.
Around him men were whining147 for stretcher bearers. Plaintive148 and despondent149, their cries reached his ears. He did not care. A dead man was a dead man. He grew sulky, restive150, at their repeated cries for assistance.
God, this was ticklish151 business, lying here like a bump on a log! Could nothing be done about it?
He crooked152 his neck, looking to the right, where the platoon commander lay. The platoon[244] commander was so still that for a moment Hicks thought he was dead. Then something in his tense position informed him that he was alive.
“Why doesn’t he do something? What the devil is he good for?” Hicks wondered.
Pugh was lying in a spot thoroughly153 without shelter. Around him the bullets spat140 viciously, covering him with fine dirt. Ahead of him a small hump of ground enticed154 him. It was small, not much bigger than the crown of a hat, but to Pugh it looked mountainous. He had watched it now seemingly for hours, afraid to move, believing that if he lay quite still the enemy would think he was dead and not fire at him. But ever the bullets came closer. He wriggled a few inches on his belly155, and stopped. He tried it again. If only the machine-guns would let up for a moment he was sure that he could make it. He twisted a few more inches, working his body snakelike. Now he could almost touch the mound156 of dirt. He reached out his hand and grasped at the hump. The fingers of his hand had been stretched out. Now they slowly crumpled, making a weak, ineffectual fist. His arm remained outstretched. His head flattened against the earth, his body relaxing.[245] From the left side of his head blood dripped, forming a little pool that was quickly absorbed by the dirt. Slowly his body stiffened157 out.
Hicks had watched him, fascinated, wanting to cry out warning, yet fearing that his effort to help would be a hindrance158. He felt himself, with Pugh, striving to attain159 shelter behind the absurd little mound. It was his hand that reached out to touch it!
“Pugh!” he called. “Oh, Pugh!” He was excited. “Can’t you make it, Pugh?” In his consciousness the thought pounded that Pugh was dead, but he combated it. “Why, Jack160 can’t be dead,” he argued with himself. “Why, he just gave me a cigarette last night!” There was total unbelief of the possibility of connecting death with Pugh in his tone. “Jack Pugh dead? Damn foolishness.” But he was dead, and Hicks knew it. It made him sick to think of it. “That’s right. It’s something you can’t fool yourself about.”
He rose straight as any of the posts from which was strung the fatal barbed wire. He stooped over and picked up his bandolier of ammunition. He looked around at the men lying there on the ground and a sneer161 came over his face. Methodically, as if he were walking[246] home, he started, toward the end of the barbed-wire pen. A bullet neatly162 severed the fastening of his puttee. He was unmindful of the fact that it unrolled the folds of the cloth falling about his feet.
Now, along the line, other men had got to their feet. They were all in a daze163, not knowing what was happening. They sensed an enemy in front of them, but they were not fully aware of his presence.
Whizzing past, the machine-gun bullets were annoying little insects. Hicks struck at his face, trying to shoo the bothering little creatures away. How damned persistent164 they were! He reached the strands165 of barbed wire which lay between him and the enemy and calmly picked out a place where the wire had been broken, and walked through. Now he had entered the fringe of the forest. Dimly he recognized a face before him to be that of a German. There was the oddly shaped helmet covering the head, the utilitarian166 gray of the German uniform. The face did not at all appear barbaric. It was quite youthful, the chin covered with a white down. He veered the muzzle167 of his rifle toward the face, and, without raising his rifle to his shoulder, pulled the trigger. The face disappeared.
Gray uniforms, with helmets like distorted flower-pots, fled through the woods, in front of the mass of men that now surged forward. Hicks followed after them, not particularly desirous of stopping them, but wanting to overtake them before they reached the crest168 of the hill.
Men poured into the woods, making a firm wall studded with bristling169 bayonets. On their faces was a crystallized emotion, presumably hate. Lying out on the ground but a short time ago they had been frozen with fear. They were hounds on a leash170 being tortured. The leash had snapped and the fear was vanishing in the emotion of a greater fear—the maddened fight for self-preservation. And so they scoured171 the woods, charging the Germans with a white fury, recklessly throwing hand-grenades in front of them.
Their cowardice172 made them brave men, heroes. Pushing on, they swung to the right toward the town. Through the open field they ran in little spurts173, falling on their faces, rising and rushing on. From the windows of the houses and beside the walls bullets zinged past, stopping men and sending them headlong upon the ground. A small number of them rushed into the town.
Bullets flew in every direction. Men toppled down from the windows of houses. Others raced up the steps of the dwellings174. Men ran through the streets, wild and tumultuous. They returned to the pavement, guarding their captives. Men poured the hate of their beings upon the town. They wept and cursed like lost souls in limbo175. All of their fear, all of their anxiety, all of the restraint which had been forced on them during the morning when they lay like animals in a slaughter-house and their brains numbed176 with apprehension177, came out in an ugly fury.
Once the Germans found that the town was invaded, that the men had broken through the woods and barbed wire, they offered a weak and empty resistance. They would readily have given themselves up to be marched in an orderly procession back to a prison camp. There was only a section holding the town. But the men did not know this. All of the stories of German frightfulness178, of German courage, of the ruthlessness of the German foot troops, made them battle on in fear.
At last two squads179 of worn, frightened Germans were assembled in the town square and, threats following after them, were marched back[249] to the rear. It was pitiful to see the Germans reaching in their breast pockets and bringing forth180 cigars which they cherished, and offering them to their captors as an act of amelioration. Some had bars of chocolate which they readily gave and which the men readily accepted. Some of the Germans tried even to smile, their efforts proving pathetic because of their fear.
The afternoon sun threw wan84 rays on the distorted bodies which fear and surprise had drawn out of shape. As had been the case with life, death had not fashioned their features identically. Some wore expressions of peace, as if they were about to enjoy a long and much-needed rest; others sprawled181 with sagging182 chins, from which a stream of saliva183 had flown; one face grinned like an idiot’s. The shadows lengthened, blanketing the unresisting bodies. The men marched out of the town, leaving it to the dead and the night.
The ground over which they were advancing looked stunted184, blighted185 by the incessant186 bursting of shells, the yellow layers of gas that, now and again, had covered it. The grass was short and wiry, with bare spots of earth showing. A desultory187 firing was being kept up by the artillery; every now and then machine-guns would[250] cut loose, spattering their lead through the air. But the front was comparatively quiet. In an hour at most the advancing line would have to halt. The sun already had made its retiring bow in a final burst of glory, and now dusk curtained the movements of the men.
Orderlies hurried wearily through the rough field, carrying messages which would affect the activities of the troops in the morning. Officers, indistinguishable from enlisted188 men, moved along, their air of command forgotten in the effort to keep spirit and flesh together. Their lineaments expressed a dumb horror, through which appeared an appreciation189 of the grim, comic imbecility of the whole affair. When spoken to, the men grinned awkwardly, trying to mask the horror of war with a joke.
Some of the more energetic among them attacked the hard ground with their shovels; the older and wiser men sought out shell holes large enough to protect their bodies in case of a counter-attack.
The front was still, save for a nervous tremor running through the opposing line and manifesting itself in the jerky firing of flare190 pistols.
Through the dull purple dusk three airplanes circled overhead, snowy angry geese. From[251] their present altitude it was not discernible which were engaged in the assault, which the attacked. The motors, which distinguished191 to the experienced ear whether the airplane was German or Allied, were not to be heard. Red streaks192 traced a brilliant course through the sky, forming a network of crimson193 between the fluttering planes. The airplanes drew near each other, then darted194 away. They revolved195 in circles, each trying to rise higher, directly over the other, and pour from that point of vantage volleys of lead.
Detached, the men lying on the ground watched the spectacle, enjoying it as they would have enjoyed a Fourth of July celebration.
Without warning, the airplane that circled beneath the other two rose straight in the air. Above, it volleyed streams of bullets into the backs of the others. The pilot of one of the planes beneath seemed to lose control. Wing over wing, it fell like a piece of paper in a tempered wind. The two remaining planes raced each other out of sight.
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1
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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2
salutes
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| n.致敬，欢迎，敬礼( salute的名词复数 )v.欢迎，致敬( salute的第三人称单数 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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3
sector
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| n.部门，部分；防御地段，防区；扇形 | |
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4
ferociously
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| 野蛮地，残忍地 | |
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5
detonation
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| n.爆炸；巨响 | |
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6
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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7
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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8
torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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9
wrestled
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| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
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10
recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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11
walnuts
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| 胡桃（树）( walnut的名词复数 )； 胡桃木 | |
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12
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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13
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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14
rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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15
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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16
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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17
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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18
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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19
zigzagged
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| adj.呈之字形移动的v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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20
rusted
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| v.（使）生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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22
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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23
penetration
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| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
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24
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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25
grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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26
gargantuan
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| adj.巨大的，庞大的 | |
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27
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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28
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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29
funnelled
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| 漏斗状的 | |
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30
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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31
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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32
rivulets
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| n.小河，小溪( rivulet的名词复数 ) | |
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33
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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34
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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35
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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36
corrugated
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| adj.波纹的；缩成皱纹的；波纹面的；波纹状的v.（使某物）起皱褶(corrugate的过去式和过去分词) | |
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37
shovels
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| n.铲子( shovel的名词复数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份v.铲子( shovel的第三人称单数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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38
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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39
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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40
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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41
laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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42
clogged
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| （使）阻碍( clog的过去式和过去分词 )； 淤滞 | |
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43
fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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44
waddled
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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46
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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47
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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48
attenuated
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| v.（使）变细( attenuate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）变薄；（使）变小；减弱 | |
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49
retaliation
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| n.报复，反击 | |
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50
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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51
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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52
allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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53
minion
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| n.宠仆；宠爱之人 | |
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54
coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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55
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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56
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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57
perturbing
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| v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的现在分词 ) | |
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58
portent
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| n.预兆；恶兆；怪事 | |
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59
portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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60
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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61
mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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62
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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64
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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65
spiked
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| adj.有穗的；成锥形的；有尖顶的 | |
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66
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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67
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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68
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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69
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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70
numbness
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| n.无感觉，麻木，惊呆 | |
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71
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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72
barrage
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| n.火力网，弹幕 | |
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73
imperatively
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| adv.命令式地 | |
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74
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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75
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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76
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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77
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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78
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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79
exasperating
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| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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80
veered
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| v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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81
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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82
inflated
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| adj.（价格）飞涨的；（通货）膨胀的；言过其实的；充了气的v.使充气（于轮胎、气球等）( inflate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）膨胀；（使）通货膨胀；物价上涨 | |
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83
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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84
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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85
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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86
bilious
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| adj.胆汁过多的；易怒的 | |
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87
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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88
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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89
succumb
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| v.屈服，屈从；死 | |
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90
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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91
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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92
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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93
majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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94
invincibly
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| adv.难战胜地，无敌地 | |
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95
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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96
crumple
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| v.把...弄皱，满是皱痕，压碎，崩溃 | |
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97
stenographer
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| n.速记员 | |
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98
interspersed
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| adj.[医]散开的；点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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99
chafing
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| n.皮肤发炎v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的现在分词 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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100
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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101
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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102
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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104
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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105
butts
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| 笑柄( butt的名词复数 )； （武器或工具的）粗大的一端； 屁股； 烟蒂 | |
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106
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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107
exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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108
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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109
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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110
benediction
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| n.祝福；恩赐 | |
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111
tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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112
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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113
obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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114
strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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115
buckled
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| a. 有带扣的 | |
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116
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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117
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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118
buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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119
kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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120
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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121
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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122
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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123
maxim
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| n.格言，箴言 | |
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124
sputtered
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| v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的过去式和过去分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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125
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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126
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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127
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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128
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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129
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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130
warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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131
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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132
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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133
barbs
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| n.（箭头、鱼钩等的）倒钩( barb的名词复数 )；带刺的话；毕露的锋芒；钩状毛 | |
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134
ponderously
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135
fictitious
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| adj.虚构的，假设的；空头的 | |
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136
hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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137
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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138
mammoth
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| n.长毛象；adj.长毛象似的，巨大的 | |
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139
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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140
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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141
screeching
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| v.发出尖叫声( screech的现在分词 )；发出粗而刺耳的声音；高叫 | |
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142
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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143
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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144
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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145
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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146
cartridges
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| 子弹( cartridge的名词复数 )； （打印机的）墨盒； 录音带盒； （唱机的）唱头 | |
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147
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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148
plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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149
despondent
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| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
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150
restive
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| adj.不安宁的，不安静的 | |
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151
ticklish
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| adj.怕痒的；问题棘手的；adv.怕痒地；n.怕痒，小心处理 | |
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152
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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153
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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154
enticed
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| 诱惑，怂恿( entice的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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155
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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156
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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157
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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158
hindrance
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| n.妨碍，障碍 | |
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159
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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160
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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161
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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162
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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163
daze
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| v.(使)茫然，(使)发昏 | |
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164
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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165
strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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166
utilitarian
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| adj.实用的，功利的 | |
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167
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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168
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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169
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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170
leash
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| n.牵狗的皮带，束缚；v.用皮带系住 | |
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171
scoured
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| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
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172
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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173
spurts
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| 短暂而突然的活动或努力( spurt的名词复数 )； 突然奋起 | |
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174
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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175
limbo
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| n.地狱的边缘；监狱 | |
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176
numbed
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| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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177
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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178
frightfulness
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| 可怕； 丑恶； 讨厌； 恐怖政策 | |
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179
squads
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| n.（军队中的）班( squad的名词复数 )；（暗杀）小组；体育运动的运动（代表）队；（对付某类犯罪活动的）警察队伍 | |
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180
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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181
sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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182
sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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183
saliva
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| n.唾液，口水 | |
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184
stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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185
blighted
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| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
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186
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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187
desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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188
enlisted
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| adj.应募入伍的v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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189
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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190
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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191
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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192
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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193
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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194
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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195
revolved
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| v.（使）旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 )；细想 | |
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