The Last Countdown
Mike Lynch 
 

"Incoming!"

The shriek of Katyusha rockets echoed even from within the bunker.  Lieutenant Forrester donned his helmet and grasped the edge of his console for support.  The ear-piercing roar sounded as the steel-lined structure jolted after each consecutive missile strike.  A support girder over Forrester broke free and slammed into the SRS terminal just feet away.

"Should we return fire?" he shouted.

Colonel McLowry braced himself against the doorway in the rear of the bunker, small pieces of concrete and dust raining down on him from above.

"Sir, your orders."

McLowry stood like an angry bronco ready to bust out of its pen, the ribbons pinned to his chest showing brightly in the focused glow of emergency lights.  "Hold your position," he barked back.  “It should be over soon.”

A moment later, an eerie silence descended on the bunker.

"Do you think it's over?"

The colonel brushed himself off as he straightened his uniform.  "You know the C-RAM was damaged in the last attack.  We're as blind as the proverbial bat."  His gaze lifted.  "Tell me we still have the ability to launch our missiles.”

"Give me a minute."  Forrester made a quick check of the main systems.  As he waited for the results, he took in the clock above the observation window.  Jagged cracks darted off at odd angles across all four panes.  "Only three hours until we initiate the firing sequence."

"Three hours and seven minutes," McLowry corrected.  “If we're still operational.”

The colonel had a penchant for precision, something Forrester had gotten used to since they were locked into the bunker thirty-one days before, the last six of which without a single message from Norad Command.  During that time, his commanding officer expected everything be done by the book:  when they got up, when they ate, and most important of all, when they performed their daily launch-key drills.

"Everything looks good here," Forrester said after the diagnostic program spit up the results. 

"There's 4 percent signal degradation in the central processing unit that arms the warheads, but after what we've been through that's to be expected."

"Will it affect our ability to launch the missiles?"

"I don't think so, sir.  We still have a cushion of ten percent."

"Well, at least we have that going for us."  He assumed his station next to Forrester's.

"Going for us, yes, sir."  Forrester sat back in his chair and cast his gaze upward.  Concerns about the morality of their orders seeped again into his thoughts, the same ones that had plagued him since he first set foot in the bunker.  "How many people do you think are left on our side?  A few million maybe?"

"It's been six days since we heard from NORAD Command.  What do you think?"

Forrester's attention drifted back towards the observation windows.  A brown lifeless world of dirt and rock filled his view.  "It's hard to believe that everything we've ever known is gone.  There used to be cities out there, and lakes, and panoramic views that defied description.”  He sighed heavily.  “In less than three hours, what's left of the Eastern Alliance will be nothing more than a memory.  Do you think it's right that we'll be…" He couldn't bring himself to ask the rest.

"You're not getting misty on me are you, Forrester?"  His tone hinted at contempt.  "Our standing orders are clear.  If we haven't received counter-orders from NORAD Command after seven days, fire all missiles at their primary targets."

Though he had wrestled against the terrible truth since communications had been severed, the fact that they were only hours away from launching an attack against the enemy's last remaining population centers carried with it a weight he could no longer ignore.  "I wish it didn't have to be this way."

McLowry pulled out a cigar from his pocket.  He lit the tip and puffed heavily several times.  "Whatever sympathies I had for the enemy died when that first barrage of nuclear missiles hit the eastern seaboard.  They murdered millions in those attacks."

"So the winner is the side that's killed the most people?"

McLowry's eyes narrowed.  "The reasons this war started don't really matter much anymore.  The important thing is that we'll be the ones who'll finish it."  A column of smoke wafted up to the ceiling.  "You and I have been trained for one job, and I expect you to carry out your duty without reservation."

Duty.  Forrester pondered the meaning of the word.  It seemed obvious enough when he qualified for this assignment after graduating from OCS.  Now, he wasn't so sure anymore.  "I think the one thing I've missed more than anything else since being here are flowers."

The colonel sat up in his chair.  "Flowers.  What do you mean flowers?"

Forrester regretted his words the moment he said them.  Someone as ruff and gruff as the man next to him had little interest in nature.  "Uh, well, there's a forgotten honesty that exists in the natural world.  You plant a seed and it grows."

McLowry stared back in reply.

"It's been my experience that people who have a connection to the land, people like farmers or gardeners, have an appreciation for life most of us don't.  I don't know.  It's like they have this..." He shifted his attention towards the observation window.  "We might not be in this situation if we had focused more of our time planting instead of plotting."

The proximity alarms bellowed out from every corner of the bunker. 

"Have our sky sweeps picked up another missile attack?” Forrester asked. 

McLowry flicked away his cigar.  "You know the C-RAM isn't working."  He peered deeply at his console.  "The unknowns are ground based.  I'm reading eighteen targets two kilometers from our position.  At their present speed they will reach the bunker in less than ten minutes."

Forrester looked back over his shoulder with trepidation.  "Are they friendly or hostile?"

A brief pause followed before he answered.  "It appears the Eastern Alliance has come to finish what it started.  Analysis indicates every soldier is carrying an AK-67 assault rifle."

A soft breath pushed out of Forrester.  "Well, that's it then."

"We have to launch our missiles before they reach this facility."

Forrester spun around and fixed his attention on the central display.  A white cursor blinked in the top left hand corner of the screen, the word "Enact" next to it.  "If we go by the book it will take thirty minutes to get through safety-launch procedures."

“We don't have that kind of time.”  McLowry's eyes lifted.  "We'll go straight for the arming sequence, which will start the countdown."

"You mean the last countdown."

The muscles at the base of the colonel's jaw tightened.  "You got a problem with that, Lieutenant?"  He reached over and grabbed the procedure manual next to him.  Flipping through the pages in a blur, he stopped at the end.  "Enter code:  AA-755-1138-Tango-Alpha-Circuit-Active."

"Roger that."  When Forrester punched in the code, the word "Enact" changed from white to red.  "Arming circuit is now engaged."

"Take your key and insert it into the 'go' slot.  After the count of three, we will turn yours and mine counter-clockwise in unison."

Forrester grabbed the key hung around his neck.  Just as he was about to lift it over his head, he held out the shiny piece of metal and watched it dangle in front of him.

"Ready for arming sequence."

Forrester snapped the chain with a single jerk and slipped the key into the red slot on the right side of the panel.  "Arming sequence is now set.  Three, two, one.  Turn."

The walls of the bunker pressed in on Forrester the moment his screen flashed green. All he had to do was push the “Arm-up” button and a battery of independent computers for each missile would start the ignition sequence.  No command in the world could stop it.

"You are now authorized to commence firing."  When Forrester did not reply, McLowry repeated himself.  "Lieutenant, I said you are authorized to commence firing."

Forrester's heart rate doubled, and his breaths grew short.  "But the three hour window hasn't elapsed.  We do not have authorization to fire."

McLowry pushed out of his chair.  "Those soldiers out there say otherwise.  If they succeed in keeping us from launching, then we've doomed every person in the Confederation."

"Sir...I--"

"I am giving you a direct order, Lieutenant.  If you do not fire those missiles now, I will relieve you of duty."

Forrester looked down at his console, and then at the observation windows.  A voice in the back of his head told him if he obeyed the order to launch, he would regret it for the rest of his life.  He typed in the code “countermand-alpha 6” into the terminal.  "Sir, I cannot in good conscience start the countdown."

McLowry barreled over to the console and shoved Forrester out of the way.  Finding the large red button in the middle of the display, he pressed it without reservation.  One second turned into two, which became three.  The colonel looked around when he realized nothing had happened.  "What did you do?"

"What I had to," Forrester replied, his tone unapologetic.

McLowry spun around and grabbed him by the throat, a fiery hate in his eyes.  "Unlock that terminal--NOW!”

“I can't,” he wheezed.  “You'll have to--” 

A second, louder claxon erupted in the bunker.

“They've breeched the outer perimeter.”  McLowry let go of Forrester's neck and pulled out the pistol from his holster.  "This isn't over between us."  He turned and hurried out the back entrance.

The sound of Forrester's racing heart pounded in his ears.  Not only had he disobeyed a superior officer, but he might have also singlehandedly doomed his country to extinction.  Perhaps he was a fool for doing what he did, or didn't do rather.

Several shots rang out from outside the bunker.

Forrester pulled out his sidearm.  “I must be crazy,” he said, and followed after McLowry.

Massive concrete blocks ringed the perimeter, though several of them had been blasted away, creating large gaps in their defenses.

"So you've decided to join the fight," McLowry groused as he crouched down behind one of the blocks.  He glared forward without emotion.  "Now we know why they used Katyusha rockets against us.  The enemy had intended all along to attack with ground forces."

Forrester pointed his weapon in the direction Alliance soldiers would most likely be coming from.  The Baretta 9mm handgun held fifteen rounds in its magazine, plus the three clips around his waist.  Not nearly enough against an assault team armed with automatic weapons.  He lowered his sidearm.  "Maybe there's room for negotiation, Colonel.  We might be able to hold out a while against them, but I see very little chance of us surviving a real firefight."

McLowry turned in his direction.  His cold gaze chilled Forrester to the bone.  "They may defeat us, but we'll never surrender."  He leaned around the corner and fired off two quick shots.

A single round came back in return, glancing off the side of the bunker.

"Throw down your weapons and come out with your hands up," a woman's voice called out with a distinctive Alliance accent.  "You have no chance of escape."

McLowry ducked back behind the block.  "I think that pretty much confirms their intentions."  He rose up slightly and pressed the side of his face against the concrete surface.  "We have orders to blow up this facility if it should ever fall into enemy hands,” he yelled back.  “If it does, this entire region will be a dead zone for the next million years."

A lengthy pause followed before the voice replied, "We've come to tell you the war is over.  There's nothing left to defend."

A cynical laugh pushed out of McLowry.  "Right.  What do you take me for, an idiot?"

"If the Eastern Alliance had any intention of destroying this facility, wouldn't they have used a tactical nuclear missile?"

The colonel got up on his feet, but kept his head behind the concrete block.  "Those Katyusha rockets you've used against us tell me you're lying.  If the war were really over, NORAD Command would have contacted us."

"They tried, but couldn't get a message to you because communications have been disrupted.  That's why we were sent.  Our orders were to damage this facility so you couldn't launch your missiles, not destroy it."

"Yeah, so you can get your hands on our technology." 

"I repeat, communications have been knocked out.  Our squad was the closest to your location.  Your commanders knew only hours remained before you started the launch sequence.  If I'm lying, how would I know that?"

The last part of what the soldier said resonated within Forrester.  He peered around the corner.  In the distance, a woman with a black beret and shouldered weapon appeared through the haze.  In her pocket, a flower with yellow petals tucked into it.  When you have flowers, you have life.

Forrester grabbed McLowry's arm.  "I think she may be telling the truth.  How else would she know about our launch window?"

A faraway gaze settled into the colonel's eyes.  "We have our orders.  This facility is not to fall into enemy hands." He cocked his weapon and fired a shot.  "And the only way that will happen is launching our missiles while we still have the chance."  He turned and started for the entrance. 

The fate of earth's last few survivors hung in the balance, and Forrester knew it.  If they had any chance at all, he had to keep the countdown from starting.  He jumped up and put the barrel of his gun against McLowry's head.  "You will surrender your weapon at once, Colonel."

"I don't take orders from sell-outs."

McLowry swung his fist and hit the side of Forrester's face.  Dazed by the unexpected blow, he fell back against the bunker.  The sound of a bullet being chambered echoed off the walls.  Reacting instinctively, Forrester swung his leg sideways, knocking McLowry to the ground.

Forrester scrambled back to his feet and ran straight for the Alliance position.  "I surrender," he shouted, his arms raised.

"Traitor!"  McLowry fired multiple shots in his direction.

Forrester dove to the ground as bullets whizzed by his head.

Five enemy soldiers jumped up and fired in return.  The deafening sound of machine guns rang out from multiple directions, the smell of spent cartridges filling Forrester's nostrils.  Tufts of dirt darted all around him in the crossfire.  He rolled out of the way and turned in the direction of the bunker.  McLowry reacted instantly and pointed his gun right at him. Their eyes locked.  A strange feeling of calm filled Forrester.  With a slight nod of his head, he prepared himself for the end, when a single round struck McLowry in the chest, and he fell to the ground, motionless.

After several tense-filled moments, everything fell quiet.

Forrester slowly got to his feet and stood in place, not sure what else to do.

A lone officer came out from behind a large boulder, a black beret tipped to one side of her head.  In her pocket, the yellow flower.  "Lt. Colonel Valerina Lemikov."  She extended her hand and the two shook.  "Not many people can say they've saved the lives of millions of people, just as you've done.  Thank God we got here in time."

Forrester slipped his pistol into its holster and looked back at the bunker. "Thank God, indeed." 

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Mike Lynch currently resides in San Jose, CA with his wife and two children. His first book, Dublin, was published by Arcadia Press in 2007. Mike has also published several short stories, including Surf’s Up, a story awarded Best of Show in the Residential Aliens 2007 flash fiction contest. In 2009 his short story, Beyond Horizon’s Edge, took 1st place in the Preditors & Editors Reader’s Poll, and his latest work, After the Cross, took 1st place in the Dead Robots Society’s writing contest. His first novel, When the Sky Fell, was released by Silver Leaf Books in May 2009, and his next novel, Midnight Over Midian, is scheduled to be released in 2010.