Wadsworth was calm. He was taking it like a man, anyway. He threw a lever and poised at the great keyboard, then his mutant fingers began to work in blurred movement.
Hoshawk watched the screen above. The Atlantic filled with long trains of red lights that arose from their American bases and streamed eastward.
Hoshawk blinked. "You're firing everything. And you've locked the controls."
Wadsworth didn't look up. "In five minutes," he said, "there won't be an ounce of explosive left in any emplacement in America."
"But that's—" Hoshawk started to say "foolish," but he changed it. "That won't help, Sire. Forgacs' equipment is all over here, now."
But Wadsworth leaned back. Their golden explosive screen showed no longer on the Map. Already some of the emplacements had ceased to spew out red lights, and the tail-ends of their trains were disappearing to the east.
Hoshawk shuddered as he saw that now America was completely defenseless.
But Wadsworth spoke into his transmitter. "Radio. Give me special frequency three-hundred-eighty-one thousand, six hundred kilocycles. Clear all air-lines."
"Yes, sire."