The Thunder Never Sleeps

“This is the TR-7 Tiger.  It has a muzzle velocity of 186,000 miles per second.  The range is twenty miles for effective disintegration, another twenty-five miles for damage ray.  I’ll let you judge the power.”

With that, Lotz stepped to the back of the machine, pressed a button, and returned his eyes to the men in the observation bleachers.  His demeanor was matter-of-fact.  There was a noticeable glow in the tubes surrounding the barrel, a brief but intense humming sound, similar to the noise a ballast on a neon light makes, and the chain at the end of the 200 yard chamber flew apart with such force that particles of hot metal shot off of the concrete wall and flew, still molten, half way to the observers.

“That is the lowest setting,” Lotz said with a grin and flicked a switch with one of his long fingers.  The machine turned a few degrees to the right in the direction of the safe door.  Lotz turned a knob and again returned his finger to the button which had wrought havoc on the chain.  Again the tubes seemed to glow.  The safe door immediately lit up like the tip of a welding rod.  Within seconds it was nothing more than ash on the floor.  Smoke rolled to the top of the arena, and the heat emitted from the oxidation of the metal monster’s demise so warmed the giant atmosphere of the enclosure that a series of exhaust fans, computer controlled to regulate the temperature, came on to carry off the heat and smoke.  The brick wall was next.  It, too, disintegrated with an emission of heat more intense than the safe door.

Lotz paused.  “Gentlemen, your TRI-X tank, the best in the world, best against air attack.  No rocket can penetrate it.  Its shock-proof gun turret will protect the operator from radiation and the prolonged heat of a napalm attack.  It can intercept missiles fired at it or bombs dropped with it as their target.  It has an anti-missile missile and is equipped with the new FFSS, force-field security system.  Please observe that the FFSS is functioning.”

With that, Lotz walked to a large, metal table to his right and picked up a rocket launcher which lay on it.  He rested the long barrel on his shoulder, looked through a sighting assembly which was attached to the side and pointed the device in the direction of the tank.  He jerked a bit as the piece of pipe spit forth a small rocket which exploded some thirty yards from its target.  The observers had become so engrossed in the launch and ensuing explosion that by the time they decided to return their attention to Lotz, he was nowhere to be seen.  As the fans cleared the atmosphere of the smoke, they perceived Lotz, who was still kneeling behind a shield near the table.  Finally he rose and turned to address them.

“As you can see, the FFSS is functioning!”

He returned the launcher, still smoking, to the table, walked to the Tiger and made some adjustments.

“We might get rocked around a bit in here,” he said, “so I would advise you to fasten the belts you find on the seats.”

Slightly taken aback by the remark, those in the audience began looking at their seats.  To their surprise, they indeed found them equipped with seatbelts.

“OK!” Lotz said, signaling to a corner of the chamber the men could not see.

“We’ll also need the deflection canopy for this.”

As he spoke, a thick, clear canopy slowly descended from the high ceiling.  Lotz waited until it was in place, then picked up a microphone.

“Watch the tank, gentlemen!  And, oh yes, put on the glasses you will find in the seat pouches to your right.”

Again he walked to the Tiger, made some adjustments and returned to face the audience.

“The tank, in five seconds,” he said, “four, three, two, one--”

The tank went negative, as if it were being projected from a giant enlarger.  The room shook.  The fans turned up their rpm’s.  The chamber lit up for an instant, and a huge ball of white-hot boiling chemical lay in a pool where the tank had stood only a second or two before.