Below him, a Connie belt light sent its shaft parallel with the ground,
and he knew the second man was down.
The question was, had either of them shouted before their communicators
were cut off?
"Dowst," he called urgently. "All okay?"
"No," Dowst said grimly. "We got the Connie, but he got Dominico. Cut his
leg with a space knife. I'm putting a patch on it. You okay?"
"Yes. When you can, pull me down."
"Right you are."
Dominico spoke up. "Don't worry about me, sir. Nothing bad. I don't lose
much air."
"Fine, Dominico. Glad it wasn't worse."
But Rip knew it wasn't good, either. A cut with a space knife let air out
of the suit and created at least a partial vacuum. If it also cut flesh,
the vacuum let the blood pressure force out blood and tissue to turn a
minor wound into an ugly one.
They would have to bring this space flap with the Connies to a quick end,
Rip thought. He had to get his men into air somehow, to take a look at
their wounds. Bradshaw needed attention immediately, and now so did
Dominico.
Dowst reached up, took Rip's ankle, and pulled him down. Rip held on to
his captive. Then the private bound the Connie's hands, jerked his
communicator control completely off, and turned his air back on.
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