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Merlo Panoramic 28.8 - 32.6 - MF27.8 - MF29.7 Service Manual, Mechanic

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DiagramModel: Merlo Panoramic 28.8 - 32.6 - MF27.8 - MF29.7 Telescopic
HandlerContents:BedienungsanleitungenMaschineBA MF 27.8-29.6 AB SAV
C307313 (MF27-09).pdfBA P28.8-P32.6 L-PLUS-TOP ab SAV C105313
(PAN32-03).pdfBA P28.8-P32.6 L-PLUS-TOP ab SAV C329213
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(PAN32-11).pdfDiverseP32 Bilder Bauteile BhnevorbereitungElektrikElektrische
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(SISTJOY-04).pdfElektrofunktionsschemenEFS P28.8 -
P32.6.pdfElektrofunktionsschema P28.8-P32.6 2006 (40498_3)
mail.pdfElektrofunktionsschema P28.8-P32.6 2006
(40498_3).pdfElektrofunktionsschema P28.8-P32.6 2009
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(40498_3M).pdfElektrofunktionsschema P28.8-P32.6 2012-2013 (51730_3D - TF
+ P32 CIT&CDC;).pdfElektrofunktionsschema P28.8-P32.6 2014 (58368_3 - P32
CIT + KUBOTA) DEUTSCH.pdfElektrofunktionsschema P28.8-P32.6 2014
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(58368_3A - P32 CIT + KUBOTA auto idle up).pdfFahrantriebSauer
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Control_UM_09-2008_C.pdfHydrostatschemaHydrostatschema P28.8-P32.6
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(MAELSAU-02).pdfFahrantrieb Sauer Hydraulik (MAIDSAU-03N).pdfSauer
Susmic52 SOTGFahrantrieb Sauer SOTG Elektrik
(MASUS52-01).pdfHydraulikHydraulikschemenHydraulikschema MF27.8-MF29.6
AB SAV C307313.pdfHydraulikschema P28.8-P32.6 LPLUS-PLUS-TOP ab SAV
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(66683_2).pdfHydraulische AnlageHydraulische Anlage Load Sensing
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(GM-TRACAT.01).pdfMechanischer Antriebsstrang
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Feline Red
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FELINE RED ***

FELINE RED
 By ROBERT SAMPSON
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories
January 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

A shouting wave of men rioted through the engine room.

From the bridge above the hulking atomics, Chief
Engineer Durval vollied orders in a thunderous It was up to Jerill
to think fast ... to
voice. "You men—you!" he raged. "Use your heads, do something ...
not your feet. Drive them toward the door." before those
strange beasts
A scattering of Them—compact darting beasts the sucked away the
last purified ore
color of a poppy—scuttled into the shadow of an on the freighter
engine. Heavy Davison wrenches clubbed futilely Bertha.
behind them.
As Durval flew into new bursts of shouting, Scott Jerill, First Mate of
the freighter Bertha, grimly shook his head. His lean face was not
smiling now. "Call your men back," he commanded crisply. "We don't
have time to drive those cats out like this."
Durval turned on him with a snarl. "Take over then. Think of a better
way. If you hadn't hauled that load of space cats aboard in the first
place...."
"Look out," Scott snapped.
With a crisp smack, a red creature the size of a man's hand struck
the rail before them. It was all improbable angles, with no special
shape, no front or back. It teetered crazily over the ten foot drop to
the floor below. Then it settled, sputtering. It sounded curiously like
an angry cat.
"There's one," roared Durval. His wrench slashed down, crashed
shrilly on the rail as the cat skimmed effortlessly away. The wrench
shot off toward the floor.
Durval shook his hand and roared. The cat, some twenty feet down
the rail, cackled insanely. As Scott stepped slowly toward it, the cat
hissed, bounded off the rail, and down the steps to the engine room
floor.
Scott shook his head. "You're not going to catch them by hand.
Better let them settle down, Durval."
"Settle down." The Chief brought the palm of his hand down on the
rail. The rail trembled. "They've already settled down. On every
generator in the place. One of them crawled under the main relay
switch and shorted out half the board. Didn't hurt him a bit."
Scott interrupted gruffly. "We've got to get them out of here fast.
Captain Elderburg wants to blast off here day after tomorrow, and
we don't have half the ore cargo purified yet."
"And you won't have," Durval snapped. "If we blast off, we'll do it
with an empty hold. I can't purify uranium with fifty cats running
loose, getting caught in the machinery. It can't be done. Get these
cats out and I'll give you a hold full of the best grade uranium Earth
ever bought. But not till you get those cats out."
Scowling, Scott bit his knuckles. "We've got to get moving. The
skipper thinks IP Metals is going to jump our claim," he said
urgently.
"If you ask me, only a doddering fool would bring these things into a
space ship." He glanced sharply at Scott. "What's this about IPM?"
Scott shook his head slowly. "Nothing. Forget I said anything. But
get these cats out. And fast. Have you tried ultra-sonics on them?"
Durval's face slipped into new lines. "Maybe," he muttered. Leaning
over the railing, he thundered, "Masters. Forget those cats a minute.
Yes, forget them. Hook up an ultra-sonics sender and—"
The ship intercom over Durval's head clicked mechanically, hummed
into life. "Mr. Jerill. Report to Central Control. Mr. Jerill. Report—"
Scott jabbed the Acknowledgement button. As he swung around
Durval he glanced down into the engine room. Sweating men beat
after the scuttling red beasts.
"Report to me about the sonics," he told Durval. "If that doesn't
work, we'll scoop up those red kitties with our bare hands. But we
got to get started on that uranium ore purification. Faster than ten
minutes ago."
He slammed the engine room door, cutting off Durval's angry roar.
Striding rapidly through the bluish light of the corridor, an anger
bitter as Durval's throbbed in him. But he took pains to hold it down.
"Confound those cats," he thought. "The Kastil on top of us, and we
have to stop work to chase space fauna. And we have three days
left. Three days."
So engrossed was he in anger that he almost blundered head-on
into the grinning red-head who lounged up the corridor toward him.
"Hey, Scott." Second Mate Max Vaugn raised a lazy eyebrow. "Slow
down. Think of all your ulcers."
Scott spun impatiently on his heel. "Can't stop, Max. Got to see the
Captain."
"And you don't even stop to say hello to an old friend back from the
mines of a nameless asteroid." He grinned, slapped Scott's shoulder
lightly with an open palm. "What's all this scandal I hear about your
space cats?"
Scott grimaced. "I caught a few while we were scooping up ore over
at my pit. Thought the Extra-Terrestrial Life Division back on Earth
might be interested in them. They don't eat. They don't breathe....
Only their cage got smashed open, and they got into the engine
room. Nobody knows how."
"The good news has got around," Max said grinning. "You don't
know it, but there's twenty more sitting outside the main cargo
hatch right now. What gets rid of them?"
"If you think of anything," Scott said as he turned away, "tell me.
Got to go. Elderburg's waiting."
"Have you tried hitting them with strong light?" Max shouted after
him.
"No," Scott shouted back. He was very late, and the Old Man wanted
you fast when he wanted you. "Try light if you get a chance."
He broke into an effortless trot, his boots padding lightly on the
shining gray floor. "Three days," he thought. He forgot Max. He
forgot Durval and the cats. He thought, "Three days," and a fine film
of perspiration spread cold across his back.

"We have three days," Captain Elderburg said. He was a small neat
man with a prim voice. His bland eyes peered forward into some
middle distance, ignoring Scott.
And Scott, sitting tautly in his chair, felt glad those eyes were not on
him.
"In three days," the Captain said, "or probably before, the Kastil
should find us. The Kastil—the best ship Inner-Planet Metals ever
commissioned."
Scott nodded. In the savage, free-for-all world of the space-miner,
the Kastil was known as the big ship, the new ship. The ship that
could load its cargo hatches in a day, stuffing 100,000 tons of ore
down in its belly for the hungering plants of Earth.
"I've fought IP Metals for fifteen years," Elderburg said slowly. His
eyes were very far away. "For fifteen years they've grown bigger and
bigger, and the bigger they've got, the rougher they've played. You
know their record, Scott. Murder, claim-jumping. What they can't
steal with a blaster, they take by law."
Glancing through the open port behind the Captain's head, out into
the star-dappled dark of space, Scott asked: "Is there any way we
can set up a permanent claim here on this asteroid without going
back to Earth?"
"You know better than that." Elderburg's eyes turned full on Scott.
"Unless we bring a full cargo of reasonably purified ore to Earth, we
can't lay claim to these mines, or to any other mineral rights here."
His hands closed neatly, one inside the other. "And we've got to get
a cargo back. This is our last chance. A strike as rich as this one will
keep us going for a long time. But if we lose this claim to IPM, the
days of the independent miner are over. Done with. We might as
well sell the Bertha and get out."
"We'll be out of here in two days," Scott said eagerly. "If we...."
"If," said Elderburg very plainly. His eyes turned away from Scott and
his hands went all loose at once and spread out flat on the table.
"If we cannot load in two days, Mister Jerill. If your cats that you so
foolishly brought on board the Bertha delay us so much that the
Kastil locates us. And beats us home with a load of ore. If that
happens, Mister Jerill, I will see that you are black-listed from the
rolls of every space flight unit now operating. You will be completely
responsible for the failure of this cruise."
Slumping back in his seat, he grinned maliciously at Scott. "I realize
that our company was offering you a captain's position at the end of
the expedition...."
Scott stood up. Anger hammered powerfully at his temples. "All
right. I admit I made a mistake. And I take full responsibility for my
actions."
"You must admit, Mister Jerill, that only a fool would bring an
unknown space beast into a ship."
"Only a fool would deny that the cats are as valuable as uranium in
their own way."
"Now, Mister Jerill. Be very careful." There was no mistaking the
venom in Elderburg's speech. In his passionless black eyes,
viciousness lay coiled. "Your cats have stopped purification of the
crude ore for two days. Two days, Mister Scott. We might have been
Earth-bound by this time."
Scott leaned over the desk. In a voice quivering with anger, he said:
"Listen to me. If you...."
There was a shocking blast of light. Stunning volumes of white light
poured from the port behind the Captain's head. It blazed too
brilliantly for the naked eye.
With a strangled exclamation, Scott stumbled for the port, clutching
his eyes. His fingers clawed nervelessly for the light control.
There was a sharp snap as the port closed. They felt, rather than
saw, the light flick abruptly out. Elderburg tore at the door.
They lurched into the corridor. Green-yellow lights flashed before
their dazzled eyes. Scott located the wall and began to run, using his
finger tips as guides.
"A magnesium flare!" The Captain's words drove at Scott, hard as
fragments of metal. "What fool set off a magnesium flare with the
Kastil on top of us?"
They stumbled through the cool corridor to the second level air lock.
As they approached, the lock clanged open. A space-suited figure
waddled into the corridor. The helmet opened back, revealing the
vivid red hair of Second Mate Vaugn.
"Light don't bother those cats a bit," he announced. Then his grin
faded. "What's the matter?"
The Captain croaked, "You set off a flare—when—when the Kastil
has been hunting our claim for weeks. When they're right on top of
us!"
Max's face blanched. "The Kastil! Scott, you never told me...."
Sudden cunning swept his face. "Why didn't you tell me the Kastil
was so close, Scott? Why did you tell me to try light on the cats
when you knew—"
"Scott told you!" Elderburg snarled. But at that moment Scott cried
out sharply, pointing out through the port by the air lock.
Two miles beyond the Bertha, settled a black cigar. Blue-white fire
flared from its base. "The Kastil!" Scott gasped. Useless rage flooded
his chest. "The Kastil—and she's found us!"

Under the hurtling jet, the surface of the asteroid was a jagged
tangle of stone. Scott, staring tensely from the observation port, felt
a swift moment of wonder. Two hours since the IPM ship had
landed. And he was in trouble with a vengeance.
As he had left the ship with a party of picked men, he had felt
Elderburg's cold eyes on him. Eyes that thought—and threatened.
It was easy enough to read the Old Man's mind. An officer might
make one vital mistake. But not two—not introducing the cats into
the ship; not permitting a flare to be set off. Unless....
Unless he wanted the Bertha to lose time. Unless he wanted the
Kastil to find the precious claim.
Cold raced through Scott's veins. His hands locked white about the
space helmet he was about to don. He had to prove his loyalty. Had
to prove that the accidents were accidents. And little time was left,
as the Kastil could load completely in two days.
"There's the pit, Mister Jerill." The navigator's voice was strained.
"See anybody?"
"Not yet. Set her down."
The cargo jet dipped. The vast peaks of shattered stone sped up at
them with terrifying speed. Scott refrained from closing his eyes,
saw the razor-toothed surface of this shattered world streak toward
him. Ahead, the bulk of the Kastil loomed. They must have used the
ore pits as a landing marker, he thought. And—what was that?
Motion at the lip of the ore pit.
The jet grounded hissing on the burnt landing strip. "Watch it," Scott
warned. "We got visitors out there."
There was an ugly muttering among the men. As Scott threw open
the cargo doors and dropped to the rocky ground, he saw the
crewmen checking blasters and the slender polonium tubes that
could permanently blind a man.
He stepped away from the jet. And as he did so, seven men
detached themselves from the shadows about the mine's edge, and
strolled toward him. Seven men—two more than were with Scott.
The odds might be worse, he thought with a sense of relief.
Cautiously, he loosened the blaster in his belt. They were tricky
weapons to handle in space gloves, but he'd better be ready to use
it fast.
"Party from the Bertha?" The words came thin and metallic into
Scott's helmet.
"Right," he grunted. "You?"
"From the Kastil. Who gave you a clearance to land on our claim?"
"We have a prior claim on this pit," Scott flared. "We have it posted
and registered. If you're going to mine, find someplace else."
A giant figure, grimly grotesque in a cumbersome vacuum suit,
swaggered forward. "I don't see any of your claim posts."
Scott indicated a tall metal stake glittering somberly in the glare of
the jet's loading lights.
The tall man laughed easily, his voice thin and far away in Scott's
helmet. "Think of a better story. We just dug that claimer in
ourselves. Now suppose you people jet out of here. Ought to be
plenty of good claims someplace else."
Scott scarcely heard the sudden bitter burst of protest from his men.
His body felt light and cool. The blaster pressed hard against his
side. "There are plenty of good claims," he said. "You better go find
them."
He swung the blaster up in a single smooth motion.
The tall man stood very still. They were not close enough to see
each other's faces.
Then, high on a plateau of stone above the tall man's head, Scott
saw the stars blot out.
"Scatter!" As he shouted, he took a giant leap to the right.
A blast of energy seared from the darkness, gouging a vast hole
where Scott had stood.
From behind a boulder he could see the fire of the blaster sweep
across the upper edges of the rocks, just at the level where the stars
were cut off.
For a moment, the cold green line of his fire flicked harmlessly over
naked stone. Then a thick squirt of fire flared quickly. A still-born
scream died in his earphones.
The men of the Kastil had dodged away into the darkness.
Scott's voice rang out harshly. "I'll give you men two minutes to
organize and get out of here. If you're not out by that time, we'll
spin our jet around and burn you out."
There was a brief stir off in the shadows.
"You're in a blind alley there," Scott continued. "There's no way out.
And we'll blast any man who tries to climb out over the rocks. Is that
clear?"
A glowing flash of energy exploded against the rock protecting him.
There was no sound, but bits of stone lightly flecked his suit. Scott
braced himself on the rough face of the boulder and worked the
blaster around for an open shot.
"No more shooting," the heavy voice of the tall man growled. "You
Bertha people. Can you hear me?"
"Yes," Scott said coldly. His eyes probed the shadows for motion.
"We're willing to be peaceful about this. I'm Captain Randell of the
Kastil. There's no need for killing when there's plenty of ore for all of
us."
"Not in this pit," Scott answered. "You have one minute."
"All right." Randell's voice, distorted as it was by the tiny radio,
carried a sardonic edge. "We'll go—from here."
He sauntered out of the shadows, hands upraised. From the tangle
of stone, his men crept out to join him. Without haste, insolent in
their retreat, they crossed over the pit.
At the far side they paused. "This is the extent of your so-called
claim." Randell's voice purred in their ears. "Our claim extends from
this line. And if a man from the Bertha wants a quick blasting, he
can cross this line." His radio snapped off with crisp finality.
Scott stepped from his shelter.
"All right," he ordered. "You men know the story. The Kastil's down
here ready for work. And it's going to mean work if we're going to
beat her back to Earth. Now, let's go. But watch your step."
They worked. Eighteen hours a day they worked. From the steel-like
ground they scooped a dozen tons of the dirty black uranium ore
and sent it hurtling back to the Bertha.
But in spite of all their efforts, the more modern equipment of the
Kastil overtook them in a day. The blackness on their left was riddled
with the flare of digging torches and the slender fire-trails of the jets
soaring between the pit and the Kastil.
And now and again, Randell's drawling voice broke into Scott's ears.
"You're slowing up, Bertha. Seventy tons for us today. Are you poor
little men getting tired?" He clucked sympathetically, then burst into
a yell of laughter. "We'll have the ore cleaned off this rock before you
get half loaded."
But Scott and the men of the Bertha worked silently, with savage
haste, forgetting sleep and food to keep the tonnage flowing to their
ship. They had almost forgotten the cats....
But not for long.
Staggering with fatigue, Scott swayed into Central Control, and
sagged into a seat. He had been too long in a space suit. A dull
pounding beat behind his eyes. "I came as soon as you called the
pit, Captain Elderburg. You sounded pretty urgent."
"It's urgent," Elderburg said. "We're beaten."
Scott stiffened. Fatigue fell from him as he gazed closely at the
Captain, saw for the first time the bitter dullness of Elderburg's eyes.
"You better come with me," the Old Man said heavily. He rose stiffly,
led the way from the room.
In silence they shuffled down the corridor toward the engine room.
A tic worked at the corner of the Captain's mouth, but he did not
seem to notice it. "Durval held the cats off with ultra-sonics. He
purified about ten tons of the stuff and stored it."
They threaded their way along a chill black catwalk to the center of
the ship. In the engine room, men slumped sullenly among the big
atomics. As Scott and Elderburg passed a group of the black gang,
mutely dangling wrenches, there was a sudden stir.
"That's him!" One of the men had leaped up. The wrench whipped
back over his shoulder. He leaped raging toward Scott. "There's the
rotten...."
"Easy, Billy." He was dragged back, disarmed.
"How'd the Kastil know...."
The Captain tugged Scott's arm. "Don't bother with them. Come on."
Scott nodded numbly, followed, his head aching and a nameless
wave of apprehension sliding through him. "Where are the cats?" he
asked once.
Elderburg ignored him. "Put on a radiation suit."
They had stopped before a side door of the main hold. As Scott
struggled into the suit his mind swirled in a chaos of thoughts. When
the suit was adjusted he dropped the helmet shut and stepped
forward. Through the lighter gravity of the air lock they lumbered.
Then Elderburg spun the controls that opened the door.
"There you are," he said to Scott. He sounded completely deflated.
No sting remained in his voice.
Scott stepped forward into the hold, then froze. His body went cold.
The hold was a writhing mass of cats.
Their queer angled bodies darted in a great pile beyond the door.
Their red bodies glowed and twisted strangely. They flew about a
huge stack of lead containers—uranium cells secured for the long
trip home.
And Scott went sick with understanding. Through rigid lips, he
forced the words: "Energy-eaters!"
The Captain laughed oddly. "And you wondered how they lived on
this naked rock. They ate the raw ore, of course. No wonder they
hung around Durval's machines sucking up what free energy they
could. They broke through the air feeder system here. No wonder.
With cells of 80% pure uranium waiting for them." His voice broke.
"So we're finished," he continued. "The Kastil will be loaded before
we can even clean the cats out. We're done."
He swayed back against the bulkhead. Scott took his arm.
"Get away from me." Elderburg wrenched away, his loathing clear
even behind the bulky suit. "If what the men say is true. If you sold
us out—" His voice trailed off. "Call your men out of the pits, Jerill.
We're blasting off tonight."
"No." Scott leaned forward, his eyes mere slits behind the lense of
his helmet. "Is there any uranium left?"
"We saved two cells."
"It's enough," Scott snapped. His lean jaw lifted proudly. "It's a little
late, Captain. But I can promise to get rid of the cats in two hours.
With the ore deposits Vaugn and I have collected, we can still load a
good cargo and beat the Kastil out by at least a day."
Elderburg eyed him sharply. "How can you handle the cats?"
"Get me a lead-lined box about eight feet by...."
Static blasted shrilly in their ears. The voice of the ship's lookout,
strained with excitement, shouted. "Captain Elderburg. This is Main
Control. Get here fast. An explosion at Lieutenant Jerill's mine."
As Elderburg leaped for the door with a muffled roar, the lookout's
voice tautened. "No. No. Not an explosion. It's the Kastil. They're
attacking the mine. They're attacking the mine."
They crammed into the observation blister on the Bertha's nose.
Scanners swept smoothly over the wilderness of stone jutting up
between the ship and the mine.
"There's a fire fight going out there." Elderburg's square face
knotted with anger. "Scott, take a party. Blow that livid scum crew
off this rock."
"Right, sir!" Scott bolted from the observation port. The emergency
alarm howled through the ship. He buckled on a pair of blasters with
unsteady hands, a black fury sweeping him. He stabbed one long
finger down on the intercom.
"Masters," he yelled. "Get the cargo jet ready. With full battle
equipment."
"Right, lieutenant. What's up?"
"Piracy." He spun toward the door. Then jolted to a halt, hands
balling at his sides.
A picture was forming on the Master Communication Screen.
Elderburg pounded to his side. "Who is it?"
The picture on the screen was very definite now—a swarthy giant of
a man, cynically grinning down at them. "Gentlemen," the figure on
the screen said, and Scott needed no further introduction.
It was Randell, master of the ship Kastil.
"We've had a very entertaining two days," Randell said. His thick
hands rubbed easily together. "It's been a real pleasure watching
you work. But I'm afraid the pleasure is over. We're leaving you now.
Oh, that disturbance at your mine pit?" He laughed, but only with his
mouth; the close-set eyes remained unchanging, watchful. "It