"Hey!" Limpy's voice grated through the radio. "Come up to the lookout room!"
MacAloon rushed through the mud and climbed to the glass-walled chamber. He glanced questioningly at Limpy. The lookout man wordlessly handed him a pair of binoculars and pointed to the coast.
Swede and Al burst in, as usual, asked no questions. But Birchall was babbling at a terrific rate.
"Shut up!" Limpy said tensely.
Mac stared at the ocean. His jaw muscles suddenly bunched into hard knots. At wide intervals, six black waves were lapping over the shore and rolling down on the mine like a flood—a deluge with gigantic mandibles and fiendish cunning, a torrent miles long and spread far over the muddy plain.
"That's never happened before," Limpy whispered. "It was always one colony to a mine."
Swede and Al took turns at the binoculars. No change came over Swede's face. Birchall's, though, contracted in horror.
"They got together!" he yapped. "We're done for, Mac! We can't fight six colonies all at once, and without a boat!"
Scowling, Mac jammed his hands into his pockets. "They're using holding attacks on the other mines to tie up help from Adonis City. Meanwhile, they're concentrating their main force here."
"Smart little devils," rumbled Swede.