man
has yet conceived. An explosive that can't be hurled in a shell and
can't be dropped in a bomb from a plane. A pound or so of it, man,
lays waste a square mile of anything! Even our scientists are a bit
afraid of it. They've been trying to think up a way of unleashing it
at the Slavs. And these flying torpedoes seem to be the answer.

"The torpedoes are purely mechanical. Therefore, they can soar to any
height whatsoever. Twenty, thirty, even forty miles. All right. Now,
picture a dozen or so of these torpedoes soaring over the most
important Slav bases and headquarters, thirty miles above the earth,
at night, of course, and absolutely invisible to the most powerful
search-rays. They fly without the slightest sounds. Get that? Well,
when this squadron of awful death arrives at the exact point over the
place to be demolished, the motive force switches off and down they
crash. Imagine what will happen when they collide with the ground!"
Douglas, with Lance's tense eyes on him, struck a clenched fist into
an open palm.

"Tons of glyco-scarzite, Lance! Unleashed, without warning, from miles
above! Thirty of these torpedoes, each a hundred feet long, dropping
down on the very heart of the Slav invasion! Killing, blowing to bits,
rather, every living thing, every fortification, every tree, every
tank, every gun, every flame thrower, every plane in a radius of
hundreds of miles!"

"God!" came from Lance's numb lips. "God!"

"_But_"--and the colonel held up a straight forefinger--"these
torpedoes must be guided from the place they raid!"

Into the silence Lance whispered: "And that--that is Hay's job?"

"That," Douglas confirmed levelly, "is Hay's job--and yours."

* * * * *

Their eyes met; held. And then Lance's clean young face smiled.

"Thank God, sir," he cried, "that I'm to help strike the blow that'll
free our country!"

Colonel Douglas answered his smile with a smile. "Lance," he said,
"it's because Washington has put this job into Hay's and your hands
that I know--_I know_--it will succeed."

"It will!"

Douglas lowered his voice again. "This is why those flying torpedoes
must be guided from the Slav's innermost base.

"In the first place, they fly too high for an accompanying plane to
guide them. In the second, the power that releases them to hurtle
downwards must come from the enemy base itself, to permit of no
possible error. This must not fail!"

"But," put in