, were sitting in a row by a wall on which had been tacked a large
and detailed map of the district.

In addition to their earphones, a loudspeaker had also been thoughtfully
set up, apparently to take care of any such curious visitors as
ourselves. The disadvantage, soon manifest, was that no plan had been
devised to unscramble the reports from the various tanks. As a
consequence, whenever two or three came in together, the reports
overlapped, resulting in a jumble of unintelligible sounds from the
loudspeaker.

"Brf brf brm," it was saying as we entered the room. "Rrr rrr about
three hundred meters khorof khorof khorof north by northeast. Can you
hear me, FHQ? Come in, FHQ."

There was a further muddle of words, then, "I think my motor's going to
conk out. Shall I backtrack, FHQ? Come in, FHQ."

"Rugged place to stall," commented captain Eltwiss sympathetically, "but
we can pull him out in halfashake soons we get things under control."

The loudspeaker, after a great deal of gibberish, condescended to
clarity again. "... about five hundred meters. Supposed to join SMT5 at
this point. Can't raise him by radio. What do you have on SMT5, FHQ?
Come in, FHQ."

I was still speculating as to what had happened to SMT5 when the
loudspeaker once more became intelligible. "... and the going's getting
tougher all the time. I don't believe these goddamned wirecutters are
worth a pissinasnowhole. Just fouled up, that's what they are, just
fouled up. Got further if theyd been left off."

His grumbling was blotted out. For a moment there was complete babel,
then "... if I can guess, it's somehow got in the motor and shorted the
ignition. Ive got to take a chance and get out to look at it. This is
SMT3 reporting to FHQ. Now leaving the transmitter."

"... stalled so I turned on my lights. Can you hear me, FHQ? Come in
FHQ, O K, O K, don't get sore. So I turned on my lights. I'm not going
to do a Bob Trout, but I want to tell you it's pretty creepy. I guess
this stuff looks pretty and green enough on top, especially in daylight,
but from where I am now it's like an illustration out of Grimm's _Fairy
Tales_--something about the place where the wicked ogre lived. Not a bit
of green. Not a bit of light except from my own which penetrate about
two feet ahead and stop. Dead. Yellow and reddishbrown stems. Thick.
Interlaced. How the hell I ever got this far I'd like to know. But not
as much as how I'm going to get out.

"I'm stick