Stealthily they crept along the trail in the direction the monster had
taken, lying prone to peer with immense caution over the wave-crest of
each dune it had breached in crossing.
Beyond the sixth or the seventh crest, it was there. Lying still in
a hollow of the sand, its gray paint blending with the drab earth to
make it almost invisible from the air--and its radar alarms, no doubt,
keeping watch for any moving threat. Encased in armor almost to the
ground, over the great treads, and its three rounded turrets astare
with guns.
At first glimpse Torcred jerked his head back like the extinct land
reptile whose namesake he was. His palms grew sweaty and his insides
quivered. If he had been alone, he might have slid quietly down the
slope and stolen away, leaving his T-beam behind him. But he heard
Ladna's quickened breathing at his back, and knew she knew he had seen
the panzer.
Before he could check her she had wriggled up beside him and peered
over the edge. When she drew back her face was shades paler beneath its
peeling sunburn. Her lips framed words: "Are you going to try?"
Torcred nodded, jaw set. "You stay here," he hissed, and, gripping his
weapon, began to slither over the crest of the dune.
When he was on the far side and nothing had happened, he felt
reasonably sure he had passed below the horizon of its radar. But he
continued to crawl, eyes fixed on the giant enemy, watching for the
first stir of motion about it that would be followed by a smoky blast
of death.
Halfway there--Almost there--He reached the edge of the panzer's
shadow. Then he distinctly heard a low burring sound from inside it.
Alarm! A magnetic mine detector, probably, tripped by the metal beam;
Torcred realized that even as he flung himself forward in a scrambling
rush that carried him the rest of the way.
The driver must have been alert. Even as Torcred caught himself with a
hand against the gray steel flank, the muffled motor throbbed into life
and the great machine surged forward.
Torcred ran stooping beside it, eyes measuring the gap between armored
housing and racing tread. Seconds to live if he missed--already his
lungs were bursting and the great gray side was slipping past. With
both hands he drove the T-beam straight into that gap.
It was wrenched from his hands, its end snapped off and hurled spinning
with terrific force. Then a grinding shriek of tormented metal, and the
panzer's vast mass shook and wheeled half round in a storm of sand as
the jammed tread stopped and slid.
Almost before the machine had lurched to a full halt with a tremendous
clank and rattle, Torcred had snatched up the broken end of his bar and
was swarming up its side.
In a moment he was perched atop it within easy reach of the single
exit port, leaning against the smooth warm steel, feet braced solidly
against the tread housing. A quick glance assured him that there were
no vision slits giving a view of the panzer's back to those inside. He
set himself and waited, controlling his labored breathing.
The wait was not overlong. The panzer-men, seeing no attacker outside,
but having heard their alarm and found their machine inexplicably
crippled an instant later, had no choice but to come out and
investigate.
* * * * *
The port-cover swung aside, and a man's crash-helmeted head and
gray-clad shoulders emerged, back to Torcred. The Terrapin struck
viciously and dented the helmet; almost before its top slid out of
sight, he vaulted after it into the opening, disregarding the ladder.
[Illustration: _Torcred struck viciously, denting the man's helmet._]
He landed in a tangle of arms and legs--the man he had stunned sprawled
atop another who struggled to free himself. Torcred sprang clear and,
across the cramped central compartment of the panzer, faced a third
gray-clad man with a drawn knife.
Incredulity and fright were written large on the panzer-man's face. Out
of sheer desperation he lunged forward in a stabbing rush; but he was
no knife-fighter, and the two-foot length of steel in Torcred's hands
was a far superior weapon. The knife flew wide and its wielder stumbled
back, nursing a bruised forearm.
Another figure appeared in the narrow door forward and stared at the
scene with popping eyes--the driver, no doubt. Torcred greeting him
with a ferocious grin and swung his club whistling back and forth. He
looked and felt invincible.