Above the red seething ring, where the opposing thoughts were meeting, I saw as he said, a haze. It seemed a dim purple. It was floating up and inward. Very tenuous, hardly to be noticed. An imponderable something.
Thone said, "A quality of our thought which they cannot combat since they do not know what it is—or realize perhaps its presence. But its influence will reach them in time."
He swung upon the attentive shapes near us. "Ohl—give orders not to hasten. Hold the deadlock. Keep them there. Do not hasten. We must drive up the others if we can. Brutar and the others—"
Brutar! His few picked men down there in New York working death and destruction! I had forgotten them completely. Thone issued other orders. "If thoughts of distress come from here—let the thoughts out. They may reach Brutar—bring him back to help his battle here. Let out their thoughts that way." He gestured toward New York. "And if we drive Brutar and his men up here, let them in."
Other orders. A hundred or two of our fighters withdrew from the line. One here and there, ceasing to fight, coming toward Thone, forming behind us. A picked force with which we were to descend into New York.
And soon, leaving the scene here, we sped under the grey shadows of Westchester, southward toward the city. And in time, came upon it. New York! Splendid giant. Like some great helpless lion standing harried. Cuffed, wounded, stricken. Unable to fight back. Amazed, bewildered, yet undaunted, ready to fight.
But helpless.
CHAPTER XIX
THE STRICKEN CITY
The little glowing bricks had been spread in scores of places. The acres of tumbled masonry which once reared aloft in proud splendor—the Woolworth Building—lay still smoking. Other buildings were down. Lower Manhattan—its pile of monuments to the engineering skill of man—was interspersed with areas of ruin. A smoke pall hung over everything. Through it as we arrived I saw another giant building come down....