At NORAD, the Generals too had noticed the blast in China.

“All indication is it was an accident.” “An Accident?” “Jesus, Jesus. An Accident? Jesus,” said the man with four bronze stars on his epaulet. “Satellites are coming in line now.”

The men watched the satellites in real-time. Not fake time or delayed time. In real-time. A large black crater and billowing smoke and fire could be seen in the middle of the Chinese territories.


“Had to been an Asteroid for Godsake. Somebody get me the local info ASAP.”

“Nuclear Warhead Production Facility at Xing Ping Pau.” “Dumb Fuckers. Blew themselves to hell.” “Sir, were tracking an ICBM launch from the Sea of Japan.” “Two Tracks, sir.” “Three.” “I’ve got seven. Eight.” “Fourteen, sir. Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen.” “I count twenty-five.” “Thirty.” “We’ve got over forty tracks.” “Forty-Five. Fifty.” “Jesus.” “Seventy-Five, sir. Oh, my God. Oh, My God.” “Hundred Tracks sir. They’re breaking apart. Doubling. They’re doubling.” “Oh, my God!” “Where’s the President?” “Air Force One, sir.” “I can’t count them. I can’t count them.” “Call your wives and husbands. Tell your children to pray for Jesus.”