Behind the fire engines were jeeps, trucks, and cars, loaded with grim men who carried picks, shovels, anything to help still the holocaust.
Scotty arrived right behind the fire engines and ran to where Rick stood, still stunned by the shocking turn of events.
"What happened to it?" Scotty asked hoarsely.
Rick shook his head. He couldn't talk.
The firemen were already at work. Crews from the trucks, protected by asbestos and plastic, carried hoses to the very edge of the roaring propellant and began to smother it with mounds of foam. The men who had followed with shovels and picks were also at work, hastily digging a trench to prevent the spread of the fiery liquid.
Someone yelled, then another yelled. Rick looked up in time to see the rocket split wide open and most of the remaining tons of propellant gush out. The firemen saw it, too, saw that they would be engulfed. They turned and ran.
Horrified, Rick saw a fireman, clumsy in his protective suit, trip and fall before the oncoming flood of flaming boron hydride.
Scotty moved, instinctively, his finely trained body responding with perfect co-ordination. Straight toward the oncoming flood he ran, into the edge of the flames, leaping the rapidly widening trench. Rick ran, too, but Scotty's fast reaction had carried his pal beyond reach. He saw the husky ex-marine stoop into the flames, pick up the fallen fireman, and literally throw him across the trench to safety.
Then Rick was at his friend's side, slapping at the burning places on his clothes, rushing him away from the spreading propellant. But Scotty wasn't through. He helped the fireman to his feet and pulled at the protective suit. Rick saw instantly what had happened. The suit had been torn in the fall, and some propellant had gotten in through the rents. The fireman was burning under the protective cover!
Other hands came to help and they got the man out of his cover, out of his burning clothes. Then the first-aid squad moved in.