Jeffrey released his trump—thirty-five hundred flying robot tanks.
They rocketed through the Marseilles screen and came on the city from the land side, firing eight-inch rockets and shooting flames out half a mile ahead.
But this was a feint, too. From the sea now rose a great armada of robot submarine carriers that spewed out tanks that were little more than armored tank-cars filled with jellied XPR, which exploded always down, toward the center of gravitation. They poured out the jelly on the surface around Marseilles for a distance of twenty miles until according to Jeffrey's figures the ground was covered a foot thick. The flame-throwers roared into it and Jeffrey stopped them there.
Then he fired his last salvo of atom-bombs from the Bahamas.
In the meantime, Forgacs' tanks had overrun Boston, searching for the American Chamber.
The lights began to wink out, and Hoshawk knew that Boston was being destroyed.
Orange lights, indicating bombers, were heading for Chicago, and Hoshawk knew that if Jeffrey's guess on Marseilles was bad, he had not much longer to live.
He looked at the Map. The atom-bombs were at Marseilles. A glow showed around the twenty-mile circle that he had covered with jelly, and Hoshawk knew the atom-bombs had landed.
He knew that on the other continent, the most tremendous explosion in man's history was taking place. And when it was over there would be a mile-deep crater where Marseilles had been, and anything, no matter how deep it was buried, would be destroyed by concussion.
Jeffrey still played the keys, but his eyes were on the orange lights approaching Chicago.