The radio power house had been destroyed first of all. Then the space ship had been wrecked. The outpost was cut off from communication with the earth. Reinforcements who could attack the Venusians from above and disperse them would not be due for two months. If Outpost 53 lasted three weeks, it would mean fighting to the last man.
Lieutenant Riley reached into his bag between coughs of the Amorg gun. He brought out a slender bottle and pulled the cork. He pressed the bottle into Captain Bonnet's hand.
"Martian Zingo," the lieutenant said. "A friend of mine gave it to me for a little service in the Canal campaign on Mars. I've been saving it for a special occasion and it looks like this is it. Here's to our short and merry lives, Captain!"
Night brought some relief, although the poisoned darts still rained on the outpost and the ground was lighted with flashes of the atom guns.
Major Rogers, his face drawn with weariness, stomped to the spacemen's battery.
"We've got to get a man through to earth, Captain," the major said. "Can't your ship be fixed?"
"We've got to get a ship through to earth, Captain," the Major said. "Can't your ship be fixed?" The Captain shook his head slowly.