1918.  The war in Europe is dragging on into its fourth bloody year.  A double line of trenches stretches from the North Sea to the Swiss border.  In between is a no-man's land of churned mud and barbed wire fences where the flower of a generation had fallen. 

Suddenly, there is a powerful electric whine and over the horizon rolls an electric Ferris wheel of death.  Or the napkin ring of poor planning, depending on how you look at it.  From its axle hang milk pails of destruction, inside the great wheel is the bread box of vengeance all dangling like targets at a turkey shoot. 

It also must be a bit confusing, as one chap in the right-hand pail is shooting his whatever-it -is back at the Allied lines!  As it rolls along, what will the Germans do?  Flee in terror?  Fight a valiant last-ditch effort to stop the invading machine?  Or just step aside and let the unsteerable contraption roll on until it bangs into a wall somewhere.

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