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Updated: June 15, 2025
Five minutes later the battle was over. The last remnants of the Nationalists had been defeated and the green-clad troopers were herded into the streets like cattle. Strong and Connel, followed by Astro, charged through the building like wild bulls searching for Tom and Roger. "No sign of them," said Strong finally. "They must have slipped out somehow." "No!" roared Connel.
Tom and Major Connel stiffened and looked around, the unconscious form of Roger stretched between them on the litter. From the jungle around them, green-clad Nationalists suddenly emerged, brandishing their guns. "Put Roger down," muttered Connel quietly. "Don't try anything." "Very well, sir," replied Tom, and they lowered the litter to the ground gently.
Bill Watson quickly summoned some of his fellow clowns, and on a stretcher which two of the eccentric men had been using in a funny act of their own, Benny was carried from the main tent. The clowns so surrounded him that not a glimpse did the audience have of the stretched-out, silent, green-clad figure. "Pretend it's all a joke," whispered the ringmaster fiercely. "Sure," muttered Bill Watson.
There stood Rossiter grinding away on his handle, snickering green-clad Belgians lying strewn on the cobbles, a half dozen of them tense and set behind the barricade, leveling rifles at the piles of fish. Every one was laughing, and all of them intent on working out a picture with thrills. The enemy guns had been growing menacing, but Rossiter and the Belgians were very busy.
And I also thought I heard a green-clad man, like Robin Hood, say in some mixed Norman French, "But I saw the man dying." "I have felt like this a long time," said Father Christmas, in his feeble way again. Mr. Charles Dickens suddenly leant across to him. "Since when?" he asked. "Since you were born?" "Yes," said the old man, and sank shaking into a chair. "I have been always dying." Mr.
Astro was nowhere in sight when the major moved cautiously down a side alley, and he was beginning to think that Astro had not escaped from the base with Roger, when he saw the big cadet suddenly appear around a corner running as hard as he could. A few seconds later three green-clad Nationalist guards rounded the corner and pounded after him.
"By the stars, Astro, we forgot about their monitoring spaceship above the tower! When we knocked out the main station here in the canyon, it took over and warned the base of the attack!" From all sides the canyon reverberated with the roaring blasts of the Nationalist fleet blasting off. Around them, the green-clad rebels were running to their defense posts.
Romer coaxed so to go that I finally consented. We rode down the canyon, and presently came to a wide grassy park inclosed by high green-clad slopes, the features of which appeared to be that the timber on the west slope was mostly pine, and on the east slope it was mostly spruce.
After helping Tom to escape, Astro had returned to the prison building for Connel and was surprised to find the place surrounded by green-clad Nationalist guards. Rather than attempt to release Connel then, Astro hid and waited for the time set to wreck the radar communications of the enemy. During the second day, he had successfully eluded the many patrols looking for him.
She was a graceful, green-clad figure, with fiery red hair and a flavour of Bedford Park. "You have come, I suppose," she said mournfully, "to tax me about the hateful title-deeds." "I have come, madam," he said, "to know what is the matter. To know why my name is written across your garden. Not amicably either." He spoke grimly, for the thing had hit him.
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