THE TUNNEL “MOVE!” CHISNALL YELLED. “MOVE!” HE GOT ONLY GROGGY stirrings from his team. The round shape of the battle tank blocked all the light, turning the day into twilight. The barrel of the gun rotated as it rose toward him. He tried to will his legs to walk, to run. But there was no time. The fifty-cal began to fire. Through the swirling clouds of dust, Chisnall saw Monster, sighting down the barrel, emptying his magazine at the Bzadian battle tank. An act of desperation. Machine-gun rounds would have no effect on a tank. It all seemed to be in slow motion: the rising of the tank’s gun barrel, the fire from the fifty-cal, the sparks from the end of the barrel as the rounds impacted. Now Chisnall realized what Monster was doing: He was pouring his fire right down into the barrel. Huge fifty-cal machine-gun bullets were spitting directly into the small black circle that was the mouth of the gun. There was a loud crack from the tank and the barrel of the tank’s gun bulged and then split as the shell detonated inside it.
