"Now?"
"Now!"
"I didn't think they were that close."
"Intelligence tells us they've modified a couple of T-3's—the big ICBM model. We just got a line on it ... almost too late." Gotch smiled bleakly. "So we've jumped our schedule, at great risk. It's your baby," he added.
Crag said simply; "I'm glad of the chance."
"You should be. You've hung around long enough," Gotch said dryly. His eyes probed Crag. "I only hope you've learned enough ... are ready."
"Plenty ready," snapped Crag.
"I hope so."
Gotch got to his feet, a square fiftyish man with cropped iron-gray hair, thick shoulders and weather-roughened skin. Clearly he wasn't a desk colonel.
"You've got a job, Adam." His voice was unexpectedly soft but he continued to weigh Crag for a long moment before he picked up his cap and turned toward the door.