ound it were Rumi,
thousands of them. The firing had slackened in the last few minutes
and now they could see why. The Rumi were assaulting and were at close
grips with the ring of defending Terrans.

"Now?" questioned O'Shaughnessy, "we fix bayonets now?"

"Yes," replied Terrence, "now we fix bayonets."

At his word three hundred big clumsy hands reached for three hundred
bayonets and fixed them to three hundred rifles.

"O'Shea, take O'Toole's squad and stand by up here with the Bannings.
O'Shaughnessy, take the left flank. Bill, you take the right. Let's
go!"

There wasn't a sound out of the Rifles as they started down the hill,
none of their usual croakings and bellowings, just silence and the
heavy thud of their feet. The Rumi had seen them. Many of those in
the rear of the attack were swinging about to face them. Spring gun
bolts began to whiz in their direction. One or two Narakans fell. They
were closer to the struggle now, closer to the tightly packed Rumi and
the hand to hand struggle about the _Sun Maid_.

Terrence was firing, throwing lead into the gray-bodied mass ahead of
him but his men were just thundering along with their little black
eyes fixed on their old oppressors, bayonets leveled in front of them
in approved training school method. They resembled nothing so much as
a regiment of tanks hurtling at an enemy. The momentum of their charge
carried them half way through the Rumi ranks, the terrific force of
the plunging amphibians bowling over the lighter catmen.

Bayonets, clubbed rifle and heavy webbed fist fought against claw,
teeth and knife. There was almost no firing, almost no sound save for
the cries of the Rumi and an occasional cheer from the Terrans.

Terrence emptied his Tommy gun, hurled it in the face of a Rumi and
reached for his knife and automatic. A Rumi knocked him off his feet
with the butt end of a spring gun but before he could do more,
Hannigan stepped over his lieutenant and plunged his bayonet into the
catman. The Irishman scrambled to his feet amidst the gray furry
bodies, thrust his .45 into a snarling face and pulled the trigger.
The face disappeared but another took its place and he fired again. A
Rumi with a knife grabbed at him from behind and he raised his pistol
again but the cat was already down with a bayonet between his
shoulders.

The Greenbacks were yelling now, lifting those great voices of theirs
in full throated bullfrog croaks. The Rumi, trapped and