Set in the revolving turrets at the bow and stern of each American dreadnaught were strange thick cylinders; at the end of each was a mass of glassy crystalline substance, looking like a staring ray. What was the purpose of these queer devices? Many Asiatics wondered. Why was it that they did not flash forth some new kind of dreadful death? Their silence was enigmatic.
Now the contending fleets were a hundred and fifty miles from Chicago, now a hundred, and now only twenty-five. "How much longer must we hold them?" the American commander queried anxiously by radio.
"Fifteen minutes," was the reply. "By then we think that we can be ready. There has been some unforeseen delay of operations at Whitley Park."
And so the Americans continued to fight for time with all the reckless pluck they had to offer.
Chicago stood as dead and silent as though the Asiatics had already dumped their poisonous vapors upon her. Her unlighted skyscrapers loomed up wanly under the blinking stars and her streets were gorges of Stygian shadow. Scarcely a speck of radiance was left to betray her location to the enemy. The inhabitants had shut themselves indoors. A few wept quietly, but otherwise there was no inordinate display of emotion. These people had lost much of their terror of war by constant contact with it.
The Crystal Ray
In the glow of floodlights, a thousand workmen were laboring like demons on some giant machine that gleamed dimly in the faint radiance. Far, far aloft, supported by four slender towers, was a vast network of wires.
Plainly the finishing touches to the engine were in progress. A hundred men were fastening cables to a two-hundred ton cylinder-head which would in a moment be hoisted into place by an electric crane. Other workers were inspecting and oiling the giant machine.
At one end of the strange titan was a control board bearing many levers, switches and dials; and before it stood the gaunt figure of a man who shouted orders through an amplifier system. It was Pelton; but how greatly changed from the plump young aviator of two months before! His hair was wildly disheveled, and sweat streamed down his shrunken face which, in the wan light, looked almost like a parchment mask hiding the visage of a skull. Lack of sleep and endless hours of labor had wrought this startling change. In spite of his worn condition, there was something magnetic about him that could not help but inspire confidence.