The _Yuen_, controlled by the master-pilot T’ang, rose up from beneath him, shot off the end of his left wing, and vanished into the mists of the smoke screen before the astonished Bearden was able to register a single hit. He had better luck with the _Tsin_. When this swooped down on the _Ariel_, he disabled its firing control. Then, when this plane rose from beneath, intending to ram itself into the _Ariel_, Bearden dropped half his machine-guns overboard. They struck the _Tsin_, which exploded immediately. Now only the _Ariel_ and the _Yuen_ remained! Master-pilot faced master-pilot. Bearden placed a lucky shot in the _Yuen_’s rudder, but only partially disabled it. Yuen threw more smoke-screen bombs overboard. Bearden rose upward; no, he was still safe and sound in America, but the _Ariel_ rose upward. The spectators in their helicopters blew whistles, shot off pistols, went mad in applause. T’ang lowered the _Yuen_ to within several hundred feet of the water. He was applauded, too. Bearden inspected his ship with the autotelevisation. It would collapse at the slightest strain. He wheeled his ship to the right, preparatory to descending. His left wing broke under the strain: and the _Ariel_ began hurtling downward. He turned his autotelevisation on the _Yuen_, not daring to see the ship, which carried his reputation, his future, crash. The _Yuen_ was struck by his left wing, which was falling like a stone. The _Yuen_ exploded forty-six seconds later. And, by international law, Bearden had won the war for America, with it the honors of war and the possession of the enormous Radiant Heat revenue. All the world hailed this Lindbergh of the twenty-second century. TRANSCRIBER NOTES Mis-spelled words and printer errors have been fixed.