The new rifles were black and shiny, the smell of machining lubricant remained and the slight sound of grease squelching as the mechanisms operated inspired a certain confidence. Yes, here were the machines that the men would come to depend on, lives held on a fine thread secured only by their machine's reliability. Now these machines, these implements of death and safety are rusting silent in the ground, the expansion of corroding steel, crumbling, like the knees and hips of the many who operated such machines.