Through a gap in the breastwork he saw then a tiny silver egg, with a flame, pure and steady, issuing from beneath, lighting the forms of men in suits, sweaters, overcoats, watching from bunkers or trenches. It was a rocket, in its stand : a static test.
The sound began to change, to break now and then. It didn’t sound ominous to Franz in his wonder, only different. But the light grew brighter, and the watching figures suddenly started dropping for cover as the rocket now gave a sputtering (...)