By the time the radar signal caught their eye it was too late to do anything. Planes traveling faster than sound were already inside the defense zone of the city.

Private First Class Jerry Conlon glanced from the radar screen to the other five members of his Atomic Gun Post team on the outer perimeter of the city. The look in their eyes was one of dazed alarm. Automatically he joined them in zipping shut radiation suits, and then they went for the gun controls, knowing it was too late.

A flash of intolerable brightness faded out the sun. One of the boys—Conlon saw him still struggling with his radiation suit—didn't make it in time. He paid for his slowness with his life.

In that instant of death before his eyes, Jerry thought of his wife and baby son. It was all he had time for. Just the image in his mind. An image of fear, because he wondered about them—were they dying even now?

With the great flash Jerry dropped into the prone position that he'd been taught. He was protected because the Gun Post had been holed into the ground and re-enforced with steel-mesh concrete all around. If you see the flash, it's too late, he'd been told. Well, he'd seen the flash all right. When he dropped to the concrete base, the floor rose to meet him halfway. A few seconds later, the suction raised him off the floor and set him down next to the big gun.

Jerry crawled back to the protection of the bulwark. He had a hazy glimpse of movement around him, but he couldn't see well enough out of his blinded eyes to make out what the others were doing. Things were beginning to rain down out of the sky now, and it continued to rain for what seemed to Jerry like five or ten minutes. It was fantastic how high some of the debris must have been blasted into the air, and he was afraid to move for a long time lest a rock or bit of metal should suddenly streak down.

It was mostly just the smaller pieces that got as far as the Post. The biggest chunks had either been completely disintegrated or splattered along the ground in all directions from the target area. It had been a direct hit. It only took one blast, but that didn't mean it was the only one in the country. When the attack came, every big city had probably been marked for destruction.

Every big city! The thought struck him with sickening force. His wife and little boy—Mildred and Billy! How about them? Had the blasts gone inland?

"Conlon, are you all right?"

The sound of the voice stabbed at Jerry. He studied the wavering dark form in front of his eyes, and recognition of the voice came slowly. The white blob of the face must belong to Lieutenant Blake. Ordinarily Jerry would have snapped to attention and saluted, but at the moment the formality seemed ridiculous.

"I guess I'm all right, sir."

"Good!" That was all Blake said as he passed from Jerry's view.

In Jerry's earphones it sounded like a strong wind was blowing. It could be the roar of a fleet of rocket planes. Was this the follow-up attack? Why wasn't the order given to man the gun? He groped forward and sprawled over a pile of debris. Where was everybody? Where was Blake? He called out.

"Take it easy, Conlon," a voice said beside him.

"Who—who is it?" Jerry asked, trying to determine the source of the voice.

"It's me—Adam Peterman. You'll be all right after awhile. What'd you do—look into the flash?"

"I saw the flash. Good God! Am I going blind?"

"I once looked at a test blast with a radiation suit on. They still haven't perfected these lenses to shut out all the glare. You'll be like that for a couple of hours."

"How many of the boys did the blast get?"

Here he was, Jerry thought, asking about the six men in the gun crew when there must have been thousands—maybe millions—dead in the city, or what must be left of it.

"There's just three of us alive so far," Peterman said. "The Lieutenant found Kroger, but he'd been crushed. The rest are either buried or blown away."

"How about you? I still can't see where you are," Jerry said. "Are you hurt?"

"My legs got messed up. I'm sitting on the ground. That's why you can't see me."

"What about the city? What's left of it?"

"From where I'm sitting I should be able to see the tops of some of the taller buildings over the concrete, but there's nothing there. I hate to think about it."

"If there is anything left, the rocket planes will bring 'em down."

"What rocket planes?"

"Can't you hear 'em? That roar in the air. It almost drowns out the geiger meter on my suit."

"Naw, Conlon, that isn't what you think! You're still hearing the sound of the blast."

"After this long?"

"It doesn't die out for a long time."

Jerry thought about Mildred and Billy. It was this bad even in a radiation suit with special lenses to protect the eyes; special braces to minimize the shock wave effects; special material perfected during the latter part of the century to deflect ultra-radiation. How would Mildred and Billy fare back home where they were unprotected? They might even be dead. But no! They couldn't be! They were all he had left in life. They just had to be alive!

The shadowy blob which was Lieutenant Blake, moved into Jerry's line of vision. Blake's form seemed to be getting smaller now; the haziness around the edges seemed to be dwindling.

"How are you Peterman?" Blake asked the man with the wounded legs.

"I'll make it all right, Lieutenant. I might even be able to sight the gun if you lift me into the seat."

"Good man, Peterman!" Blake turned to Jerry, "Well, Conlon, it looks like you and I are the only ones on our feet. That means we've got work to do."

"My eyes are bad, but I think they're clearing up now," Jerry said.

"Things are pretty rough," Blake said. "From what I've been able to determine, the whole nation's been blasted."

"Lieutenant—no!" Jerry cried. He moved forward toward the Lieutenant and clutched Blake by the shoulders. "I've got a wife and kid back home!"

"We all have relatives back home, Conlon. You're no different than anybody else. And it's just as bad for us as it is for you. You've got to get a grip on yourself. There's nothing you can do for them one way or the other."

"The hell there isn't! I'm going back to 'em!"

The Lieutenant's covered hand whipped out and slapped the front of Jerry's helmet below the vision lens. Jerry went backwards and dropped to the concrete floor.

"Sorry, Conlon," Blake clipped. "I didn't do that in anger. I merely wanted to snap you back to your senses! You're still in the Army, and I'm still your commanding officer. As far as the Army is concerned, none of us have any relatives."

Jerry got to his feet. There was no question that the Lieutenant was right. The Army was the big boss, and soldiers were not supposed to have personal feelings. There were several million soldiers protecting many millions of people and the only way that Mildred and Billy could be protected was through the combined and strategic effort of these soldiers. There were soldiers in the interior risking their lives to protect people like Mildred and Billy—soldiers with relatives in the city that Jerry was supposed to protect. It would be a sorry plight if, at the first sign of trouble, all the men would run home to their own little families.

It all seemed like a crazy nightmare to Jerry. No matter how big the catastrophe, human beings still worried about the little problems along with the big. It was a strange feeling to look over the top of the bulwark and see nothing but the dirty gray sky where the forms of big buildings should be. The shock was less horrible to him because by the time his sight returned, he was accepting the awful scene of destruction as an unchangeable fact.

It was several hours later before a small contingent of radiation clothed soldiers arrived in several jeeps. A Colonel of the Army stepped out. Blake and Conlon stood at attention as the officers introduced themselves. The Colonel's name was Harrison.

"I'm trying to find out what we have to work with. Not much, I'm afraid," the Colonel said. "The Government's gone. Communication is disrupted."

"Did you say there was no more government, Colonel?" Jerry asked.

The Colonel nodded. "That's what I said."

"Then there's no hope—nothing left to fight for any more?"

"Nothing to fight for?" the Colonel snorted. "Soldier, as long as we have our hills and valleys we'll have something to fight for!"

Lieutenant Blake said, "Private Conlon, no more of that defeatist talk! Please excuse him, Colonel."

"That's all right," the Colonel shrugged. "It's been a shock to all of us. Now, tell me, how are you fixed?"

"Two able, counting myself. One bad casualty. One dead. Three missing," Blake said.

"You'll have one man replacement."

"But, Colonel, that isn't enough to man the gun!"

"Apparently you don't realize what's happened to the country, Lieutenant! We're not attempting to hold back the enemy. When they come they're going to flow right over us as though we aren't here."

"Then what's the point of—"

"The point is this. We have not received an order to surrender. We probably never will."

Blake said, "We'll do the best we can, Colonel."

The Colonel gave an order and one man crawled out of a jeep and strode toward them. The soldier saluted.

"He is your replacement, Lieutenant," the Colonel said. Then he shook hands with Blake. "Goodbye, and good luck!"

The jeeps growled into life. It was strange hearing them, Jerry thought. Usually there was the hum of the city in the background, a sort of whispering that made you realize a throbbing community was nearby. Now it was only the silence broken by the raucous sound of jeep motors. Eventually even this sound disappeared.

"All right, men, start clearing up this mess," Blake snapped. "The gun has to have free traverse. After that, stay at your posts. It's going to be tough to handle this assignment short-handed, and when the secondary attack comes it's going to roll in like a tidal wave."

The replacement was hardly more than a kid. Jerry thought he looked as though he could be pushed over with a heavy breath. Not much of a replacement, but he pitched into work earnestly.

Jerry edged close to Peterman as he worked. The wounded man sat propped against a pile with his legs stretched out uselessly in front.

"They didn't even offer to give you medical aid, Peterman," Jerry said.

"I didn't expect it at a time like this," Peterman said. "The men that are left have their hands full."

"For what? You heard what the Colonel said, the Government is gone—possibly the whole country! What we're doing isn't even a delaying action. We're hardly going to harass the Enemy! What's the good of hanging on? Why doesn't the Army turn us loose? I've got to find out how my wife and kid are doing! Staying here only means one thing—one foolish, stupid thing!"

"You've got a point, Conlon," Peterman said through his pain. "I've got a family too. I'd be tempted to take off myself, if I had legs."

"Duty! Allegiance! What does it all mean now?" Jerry said bitterly.

"Not much I suppose, when they pull the curtain in front of you."

Jerry was breathing hard inside his radiation suit. "Peterman, I've got a notion to make a break!"

"That decision you've got to make yourself, Conlon. Only remember, that leaving your post gives the Lieutenant the right to shoot you in the back!"

"I'll take that chance. I've got to see Mildred and Billy. You think you'd do the same thing, Peterman, if you had legs? Would you?"

"I might. I don't know. I'm in no position to give it much thought."

"But don't you think this is stupid to wait for certain death when there's no hope—when I've got the chance to see the ones I love, maybe for the last time?"

"It's stupid all right I guess."

"You've got loved ones, haven't you, Peterman? You know how much it means?" Peterman clammed and refused to talk.

Jerry went to the storage which was built into the side of the concrete wall, opened the door, and brought out his rifle. He examined the automatic weapon and found it undamaged. He looked around. Lieutenant Blake was out of sight inside the dugout where he was still trying to pick up messages. The replacement was mechanically heaving debris away from the traverse frame of the big gun.

"Conlon." It was Peterman calling.

"What do you want?"

"There's only one thing I'd like you to do before you leave. You and the replacement lift me to the gunner's seat, will you? I have a bad dose of radiation on top of everything else. I don't know how long I can hold out, but I might as well be doing some good for the time I have left."

Jerry put the rifle down, called to the replacement. Together they hoisted Peterman into the seat. Lieutenant Blake came out just as they finished the job.

"That's what he wanted, sir," Jerry said. "You're so short-handed we didn't think you'd object."

Blake said, "Peterman, you should be keeping yourself quiet."

Peterman failed to answer for a long moment. Finally he said, "Damn the Enemy! Why don't they hurry up and get it over with?"

Jerry walked over to where he had stacked his automatic rifle. He swung it under his arm and turned to face the Lieutenant.

"I'm leaving, sir. Don't try to stop me! What we're doing here is plain stupid. I've got a wife and kid that I've got to see before I die! I'm leaving, and I'll shoot to kill if anybody tries to stop me! Got that, Lieutenant?"

"I'm not going to stop you, Conlon," Blake said quietly.

"I hope the rest of you can manage the gun while I'm gone!" Jerry cried.

"We'll manage all right until you get back."

A faint far-away roar sounded in Jerry's earphones. The sound became rapidly louder. "No sense in me coming back, Lieutenant, because from the sound of things, you won't be around much longer."

Jerry backed toward the concrete steps that would take him to ground level. He climbed up, kicking away litter so that he would have places for his feet. He kept the rifle pointed at the motionless, watching men. The roar became louder.

Lieutenant Blake called up to him. "You're from the inland area, aren't you, Conlon? I think the chances for your family were pretty good. Emergency stations are starting to come through from the interior. The guided missiles had a lot of near-misses."

Out of the corners of Jerry's eyes he detected a strange looking dark cloud appearing along the horizon. From the west, not the east! That was odd. The dark cloud spread across the horizon, coming closer. Rocket planes! Hundreds of them!

Jerry was at ground level now. Up here there would be no protection. A blast and shock wave could sweep across the flat ground unhindered. The roar became deafening. Now he could recognize the ships. They were Army Comets!

He wanted to leap with joy. His spine tingled with excitement. The cloud was roaring overhead now. The Comets flashed onward, bent on a purpose, a death-dealing, earth-shaking purpose! That's the way the Enemy had wanted it. The Enemy had chosen its weapon, and the Army was on its way to blow the Enemy so sky-high that its own attack on Jerry's homeland would seem insignificant by comparison.

Jerry tossed his rifle over the edge of the bulwark. The thunder overhead snuffed out the clatter of the rifle when it struck the concrete below. Jerry went down the steps holding his hands over his head. It was a full minute before he stumbled back to where he had started. "I changed my mind about leaving, Lieutenant!" Jerry shouted. He might as well have been trying to shout above the roar of a hurricane.

The Lieutenant waved Jerry's arms down, and Jerry was close enough to detect a smile inside the Lieutenant's helmet. Blake turned and walked away in the direction of the dugout as though nothing had happened.

Jerry pointed skyward, and the men wagged their heads understandingly.

"Hell," Jerry cried, "this war isn't over yet!"