Serizawa observed the conversation tensely, twisting the stem of his heirloom pocket watch. He knew exactly what was being discussed, and the dreadful consequences of the choices being made. He looked on as Stenz gravely hung up the phone.

The worried scientist wasn’t the only one paying attention. A hush fell over the hectic war room as everyone present waited on the news. Graham was beside Serizawa, wringing her hands anxiously. Captain Hampton stood stiffly at attention. Martinez and the other junior officers looked away from their consoles to see what word would be given.

The admiral nodded his head.

The CDC erupted into flurry of activity. The pregnant stillness of only moments ago gave way to a renewed sense of urgency. Weapons analysts began plotting radial diagrams of concentric circles on the map. The ominous graphics depicted both radioactive fallout patterns and projected casualty figures. Although no one had yet spoken the ghastly words aloud, all involved understood what had just happened.

The order had been given to deploy nuclear arms.

“The president, sir?” Hampton asked finally, compelled to confirm the awful truth.

Stenz nodded. His taciturn face had gone pale. Visibly distressed, he seemed unable to speak for the moment.

Serizawa could not keep silent. “Please don’t do this, Admiral.”

Stenz regarded the troubled scientist thoughtfully. A pained expression hinted at the admiral’s inner conflict.

“Do you have children, doctor?” the admiral said quietly, in a reflective tone. “My father was an ensign on the USS Indianapolis, the cruiser that helped transport the Bomb in ’45.”

Serizawa stiffened, but said nothing.

“He was always very proud of his contribution,” the admiral continued, “but all my life he could never talk about the War.” Anguished eyes met Serizawa’s. “Doctor, I’m a father, too. And I’m sacrificing lives every minute just trying to steer one of these things clear of population centers. There are two more on the way—”

On the map table, dotted lines predicted the three monsters’ probable collision courses. As the lines redrew themselves yet again, Serizawa saw that they were still converging on the coast of North America.

San Francisco Bay, to be exact.

“That’s seven million lives,” Stenz said hoarsely. He pleaded with Serizawa. “So please, just tell me. Will it work? Can they be killed?”

Serizawa did not envy the admiral his dilemma or the awful responsibility that had fallen upon him. He weighed Stenz’s questions carefully and tried to answer as honestly as he could.

“A direct hit?”

“We’re talking dialable yield,” Hampton stressed, joining the discussion. “Megatons, not kilotons. Nothing can survive that blast. Makes the bomb from ’54 look like a firecracker.”

Ah, yes, Serizawa thought ruefully. Progress.

“Will it work, Doctor?” Stenz asked again.