Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
"Got a bogey at three o'clock high. Range about six hundred miles." in the intercom was thin with tension. 33rd Fighter Wing, glanced up out "Never mind, Guns. A patch that big wouldn't be safe to hold air." They were about eighty thousand miles out. He set course for Earth at but the familiar starry backdrop, the about five and a half mps, which Johnson calculated to bring them in interphone crackled with the gregariousness on the other ship—whether any of them were still alive. Eighty thousand miles to fall. That was a little the paired tanks of oxygen behind of the cockpit. "Wish us luck, sugar." to use, called skip bombin'. They'd of these airplanes, and fly along the sky visible through the curving panels up with an A bomb or an H bomb the familiar procedure, readying the ship for combat, checking and re-checking the details that could mean life and death, but his mind watched these thirty caliber popguns by now, Nyloned knees, pink sweater, and but the odds say we've got to throw as many different chunks of iron as challenging eyes and tossing sky-black to one against us. You wouldn't have we can, to have a chance of hitting rocket that could chase them, with the bomb for a head. And there's no way we could carry that size rocket, or fire it if we could. Some day these grown up that night they watched and we'll have a place to carry something like that." "How big would a rocket like that "Five, six feet, by maybe a foot. Weigh at least three hundred pounds." It was five minutes before Guns The tension of approaching combat us pulling a trick like that, they'd have us on hydroponic duty for the us playing around with bombs, till the experts get all the angles figured out, and build ships to handle them. And besides, who do you think will rig a bomb like that, without anybody old face serene, as he puffed and thirty degrees high on two point one their mouths shut." bad idea, but we haven't any bomb." tremendous acceleration. Their kill made eight against seven ladies. more fuel they had than they needed to get home. When they were moving away from station, she dropped Mrs. RSF kept track of how much it. They were lightheaded with the rest of the squadron, and reveling in they were coasting, sneaked triumphantly for Doc Miller's crew, and they made steadily. He didn't blame the old of fuel at 5 G's, you didn't fire a single squirt unless there was a good fighting men have always known. Wish the Red was coming in across our course. It would have taken less fuel, and the chase wouldn't have taken them so far out. But then that sub-divided the men of the station. illogical but powerful distinctions He blessed the advantage of better radar. In this crazy "war," so like the dogfights of the first world war, the better than two hundred mile edge of American radar was more often than not the margin of victory. The American crews were a little sharper, a little better trained, but with their stripped down ships, and midget crewmen, with no personal safety equipment, the Reds could accelerate longer and faster, and go farther out. You had to get the jump on them, or it was just too bad. the cradle as the power died. Sixty-two combat missions but the government says there's no war. His fiftieth mission. He'd considered taking it several times, but the thought in the service. Intelligence tests. Physical months of emotional adjustment in the screep. Primary training. Basic and advanced training. The pride and excitement of being chosen for space fighters. By the time he graduated, the United States and Russia each had tests. Psychological tests. Six in 1979, the United States had won the race for a permanent station on the Moon. What a grind it had been, bringing in the supplies. A year later the Moon station had "blown up." No warning. No survivors. there. The service crew eyed them the new station, almost completed, went up again. The diplomats had buzzed like hornets, with accusations bombs stored at the station. The implication was clear ruled Earth. Or until the United States and Russia figured out a way far, getting along with Russia was their uniforms. the psych warfare boys had some uncombed heads as they walked. The Back on Earth, there was no war. The Neither side bothered the other's side couldn't have it, then the other side wasn't going to have it either. And meanwhile, the struggle was growing deadlier, month by month, each side groping for the stranglehold, give domination of space, or make all-out war a good risk. They hadn't found it yet, but it was getting bloodier out here all the time. For a while, it had been a supreme achievement just to get a ship out and back, but gradually, as the ships improved, there was a little margin left over for weapons. Back a year ago, the average Now, there were Reds around practically every mission. Thirteen missions to go, after today. pride and excitement were still That Red had they'd probably have been spotted, until they were well into their run, and lost the precious element of surprise. They glowed with admiration. The you tell us how you kill a Red, sir?" that dangled from the youngster's hawk, though you had to admit his they operated, remembering the blindfolded. When they tangled Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright by the enemy. There were times during a fight when he had no more could see of the Sun, the Earth, and again. Still, the service had had to concede on "right side up," in designing the ships, so there was something to be said for it. They hadn't been able to simulate gravity without fouling up the ships so they had something nagging at his mind all the time, as though the ships had they got used to it, it had turned out purple if he'd ever dreamed they'd final corrections in course, set the air pressure control to eight pounds, and pass—a maneuver inherited from the aerial dogfight—though it often turned into something more like the broadside duels of the old sailing ships—as the best and least suicidal his radar range. To come up his track at 2 mps relative velocity, firing six .30 caliber machine guns from fifty miles out. In the last three or four a few pounds of steel slugs out before them in one unbroken was the excitement. But each time clump of metal and flesh that was the enemy. Knowing the odds were twenty to one against their scoring slightly to center the pip. The momentary hiss of the rockets was a as Guns fired a short burst from the .30's standing out of their ship. They were practically recoilless, And suddenly the waiting was over. The ship filled with vibration as Guns opened up. Twenty-five seconds from target, a tiny blue light flickered the pip dead center. The guns hammered on. It seemed they'd been firing for centuries. At ten-mile range, the combat radar kicked the automatics firing cut out, as Garrity hung on with two, then three guns. He held it as long as he could. Closer than he ever had before. At four miles he poured 12 G's for two enemy ship flashed across his tail in out every detail—the bright red star, Was there something lopsided in the shape of that rocket plume, or was the automatics had started, bringing the plume told him the other ship that swiveled over the panel. As the field cleared, he could see that the plume was flaring unevenly, flickering red and orange along one side. to himself. "Blow! Blow!" And she blew. Like a dirty ragged bit of fireworks, throwing tiny handfuls of sparks into the blackness. Something glowed red for a while, and slowly faded. mixture of relief and revulsion. became aware that the red light was on for loss of air. The cabin pressure gauge read zero, and his as they passed the enemy ship. He

<question>:
What edge did the Americans have over the Reds in the air?

<options>:
A Faster and more efficient ships
B Rockets instead of guns
C Stronger radar technology
D More quantity of troops and ships

<answer>:

C