The major, red with excitement and impatience, still had a hand on the
machine-gun. He was patting it slightly, his face eloquent of longing
and regret.
"Still pinning your faith to steel-jacketed streams of bullets,
are you, as against ion-jacketed streams of vibrations?" the Master
rallied him. "We shall see, immediately, whether you're right or _I_
am! Bullets are all well enough in their place, Major, but electrons
are sometimes necessary. Vibrations, Major--I pin my faith to
vibrations."
"Vibrate all you want to!" exclaimed the Celt, irefully, his eyes on
the thickening swarm of flyers, some of them now plainly visible in
detail against the aching smears of color flung across the eastern
reaches of cloudland. "Vibrate away; but give me _this_!" He fondled
the gleaming gun as if it had been a pet. "I tell you frankly, if
I were in charge here, I'd let the vibrations go to Hell and begin
pumping lead. I'd have all gun-crews at stations, and the second we
got in range I'd open with all six Lewises!"
"Yes, and Nissr would go crumpling down, a minute later, a blazing
sieve fore-and-aft--wings, tanks, fuselage, everything riddled
with thousands of bullets.
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