The inspectors had taken up good defensive positions. In spite of their losses, they still had enough firepower to cover the area surrounding the station.
Read surveyed his sector of fire. About two hundred yards to his left, he saw the top of a small ditch. Using the ditch for cover, the Belderkans could sneak to the top of the hill.
Gas grenades are only three inches long. They hold cubic yards of gas under high pressure. Read unclipped a telescoping rod from his vest pocket. He opened it and a pair of sights flipped up. A thin track ran down one side.
He had about a dozen grenades left, three self-propelling. He slid an SP grenade into the rod's track and estimated windage and range. Sighting carefully, not breathing, muscles relaxed, the rod rock steady, he fired and lobbed the little grenade into the ditch. He dropped another grenade beside it.
The heavy gas would lie there for hours.
Sergeant Rashid ran crouched from man to man. He did what he could to shield the wounded.
"Well, corporal, how are you?"
"Not too bad, sergeant. See that ditch out there? I put a little gas in it."
"Good work. How's your ammunition?"
"A dozen grenades. Half a barrel of shells."