Number Seven Hundred Sixty-three roared skywards as General Lloyd's men turned from their instruments in despair. Number Eight Hundred Fifty-seven left at the instant that General Lloyd asked for a volunteer to—die.
Number Eleven Hundred Forty-two left—
With Jason Charless as passenger, carrying a small portable radio transmitter, in place of two hundred pounds of atomic warhead.
The last—Number Two Thousand—cleared the cave before the white-faced General Lloyd succeeded in contacting Secretary of War Hegeman and telling him the unbelievable tale.
2
His nightmare forgotten, Harry Vinson drove swiftly towards his day's work—knowing it would be the greatest day's work of his life. The telephone in his car rang thrice before its urgent buzzing broke into his consciousness. He lifted the phone and spoke, giving his name and number.
"Vinson! This is Hegeman. Jason Charless reports that some agency is stealing our supply of guided missiles."
"Stealing?" stammered Vinson, a cold chill hitting him in the stomach.
Dream?