None had. The hills had absorbed most of the shock and apart from a welter of broken glass, the damage had been surprisingly slight.
The roar and flash of the explosion had lighted and rocked the surrounding countryside. Soon firemen and civil defense disaster units from a half-dozen neighboring communities had gathered at the still-smoking hole that marked the site of the vanished crafts building.
Within fifteen minutes, the disaster-trained crews had detected heavy radiation emanating from the crater and there was a scurry of men and equipment back to a safe distance, a few hundred yards away.
At 5:30 a.m., a plane landed at a nearby airfield and a platoon of Atomic Energy Commission experts, military intelligence men, four FBI agents and an Army full colonel disembarked.
At 5:45 a.m. a cordon was thrown around both the hospital and the blast crater.
In Ward 4-C, Thaddeus Funston slept peacefully and happily.
"It's impossible and unbelievable," Colonel Thomas Thurgood said for the fifteenth time, later that morning, as he looked around the group of experts gathered in the tent erected on the hill overlooking the crater. "How can an atom bomb go off in a nut house?"
"It apparently was a very small bomb, colonel," one of the haggard AEC men offered timidly. "Not over three kilotons."
"I don't care if it was the size of a peanut," Thurgood screamed. "How did it get here?"
A military intelligence agent spoke up. "If we knew, sir, we wouldn't be standing around here. We don't know, but the fact remains that it WAS an atomic explosion."