In the center of the American heartland the heavy oak table in the War Department's strategy room groaned under piles of telegraphs, blurry reconnaissance photographs, and urgent intelligence dossiers.
The atmosphere was electric with worry; a silent dread that no one quite dared voice yet.
A colonel ran a trembling hand through his hair. "Gentlemen, we have the latest aerial assessments. The coastal cities are... leveled. Not shelled. Not burned by ordinary bombardment. It's as if the very air ignited. Entire districts erased in a single concussion."
Across the table, a Navy attaché tapped the photographs with a rigid forefinger. "Our analysts can't even estimate the tonnage. They said it must be some new form of high-yield explosive. Look here; the shock patterns run for miles, the internal streets gutted by what they described as... as if a vacuum had torn through."