They had somebody else on the platform, bound. Who was that? My god, Jonnie's plan wouldn't work! He would be in there all but defenseless! Dwight gritted his teeth. His orders were to do his job only. He would. But he had a feeling of despair for Jonnie.

The Brigante tribe was noisy and cheering over there by the morgue. They were no problem. Dwight turned his attention back to Terl. The Psychlo pushed the firing button.

“Third alert!” said Dwight into the mine radio.

The weapons they would use would not interrupt the firing. They had tested them. They also had nuclear weapons in case Psychlos came in on the platform afterward from Psychlo.

Terl walked over to the center of the platform. He halted. The humming had begun, heard above the shouting and wind. Dwight heard Jonnie's voice in that enclosure. That was not on schedule.

Dwight would do his job.

“Action!” barked Dwight into the mine radio.

Thirty Scots threw off their coffin lids. Twenty-five hit their igniters. One made ready to rush for the crane. Four were up to form a reserve.

Flash! In a ragged outer ring, pointing in at the massed Brigantes, twenty-five Russian flame throwers spewed out their deadly orange spray.

Like twenty-five hoses the roaring inferno slashed into the Brigantes. “For Allison!" came a Scot battle cry.

“For Bittie!" “Scotland forever!”

Dwight hit the button of a planted loudspeaker. It was a recording of charging, trumpeting elephants, the sound that would bring terror to the Brigantes.

The mercenaries surged forward, trying to get their bows into action. Scything flame shriveled the bowstrings. The Brigantes were drawing bayonets to charge.

The tribe by the morgue screamed, adding to the din. They turned and ran with all their might out into the plain, trampling one another as they sought to get away.

A Scot had a flame out. A group of Brigantes were charging him with bayonets.

“Cover Andrew!” barked Dwight.

The Scots on either side of the dead flame thrower widened their arcs. Andrew had a claymore out. He cut down the Brigante officer and then he himself went down.

Two of the reserves hacked their way into the mess with lochaber axes and slaughtered the Brigantes stabbing at Andrew.

Dwight glanced at his watch. Fifty-eight seconds to go.

Flame throwers were sending boiling flame into Brigantes. Their buffalo coats and monkey-skin suits were balls of fire. Another attempted charge by them.

Dwight tried to see through the flame and snow. The crane. It should be moving now!

Yes, the operator had gotten to it. One of the reserves was protecting him with a flame thrower.

They had buried the dome cover for the console in the ground with the cable already attached. It was evidently frozen in. It was made of the armor from a discarded tank. The bottom of it was equipped with plane skids which would anneal to the metal on which the console sat and seal it.

Dwight could see the top of the crane dipping. The operator was rocking it to break the dome loose from the ground.

There it came.

It rose with a rush. It swung. The operator steadied it.

Brigantes were rushing the crane. The Scot there blasted at them with a roaring flame thrower.

The operator was coolly swinging the dome over to position. It could not go further than the atmosphere-armor screen. Dwight could see the operator throw the controls over to remote. Jonnie had the remote there in the cage and would have to do the rest of it if and when he shut off the current to the armor cable.

Dwight tried to see what was happening on the platform. Snow flurries, smoke, and roaring arcs of savage orange flame barred his view. He was sure Jonnie needed help. He gritted his teeth and did his job.

Here and there along the perimeter the flame throwers were now off. Changing bottles? No. The Brigantes within their reach were burning piles. Black, greasy smoke was rising up through the white snow.

Dwight glanced at his watch. They had time. His own cue to dive back into cover was when Jonnie turned off the cable and the dome began to lower. Then he was under orders to get back in protective cover in the coffin.

Scots were mopping up with flame throwers. Two of the reserves were speedily putting Andrew in his coffin. They were shoving wound pads hastily under the radiation suit.

A Brigante rose out of a pile of corpses. He had a bayonet. He charged. A thrown dirk hit him. A flame thrower erupted and he went forward as a spinning ball of fire.

The crane operator was out of his crane and running back to his coffin foxhole.

“Ten seconds to withdraw!” said Dwight into the mine radio.

It was suddenly quiet except for flame crackles and the wind. Nothing was moving in the Brigante ranks but smoke and small tongues of fire. Allison and Bittie had been avenged.

The fleeing remains of the tribe were way out on the plain, still running.

The smoke was very thick. Dwight could not see what was happening on the platform.

Numbers were coming back to him from his mine radio; a number was a signal that a man was back in his lead coffin in a foxhole and had fastened the lid down from within. Dwight was checking them off. All reported except Andrew and he knew he had been put inside his coffin. Dwight hoped it wasn't his coffin for real.

Dwight couldn't see the platform for the smoke.

He watched the crane.

Wires were still humming. They must all be under cover before the recoil, Jonnie had said.

Dwight looked at his watch. The armor curtain had not gone off. The top of the crane had not begun to move.

He was in an agony of indecision. But he could not get inside that cage with the atmosphere-armor curtain still on. He wanted to disobey orders. He knew Jonnie was in trouble for the curtain had not gone off on time.

But he had been chosen because he would obey orders. Time was up. The humming had almost ended. Dwight crawled back to his coffin foxhole, scrambled in, and fastened down the lid from within.

Chapter 4

When he heard, “Alert three!” from the mine radio in his belt, Jonnie had slid out of the coffin buried close by the platform and inside the atmosphere armor curtain. He was dressed in a camouflage radiation suit and wore an air mask under its face shield. His pouch was hanging from a wide belt. He was armed with three kill clubs, a dirk, and a flame thrower. He had a couple of other things for contingencies.

He had not expected the Brigantes to be inside on the platform. Six guards and General Snith! He hadn't thought even a Brigante would be crazy enough to let himself be fired to Psychlo. Money! They had bundles of money on the platform.

They were all looking at Terl. Terl was turning away from pushing the firing button. The Brigantes had not noticed Jonnie thirty feet away and slightly behind them.

Well, it would not matter. Jonnie started to ignite the flame thrower.

And then he saw a movement. They had something in a long bundle. The end of it was open. They had somebody there. A hostage they were taking to Psychlo? Gray hair, the scrap of a cloak.

Sir Robert!

Jonnie had to abandon any thought of using the flame thrower. It would kill Sir Robert as well!

Terl was walking easily and confidently back from the console to the platform center. The wires were humming. He halted, thunderstruck. Just a moment ago he had seen what he had thought was the animal, outside. Way over by the car.

And here he was inside the armor curtain!

Was the curtain off? No, he could see it shimmer through the snow. How had the animal gotten through it?

Just as Terl was about to charge, he saw the animal drop a long rod weapon he carried. The animal's hand darted toward a pouch at his belt.