Bunker Blues

Deep in the underground nuclear-hardened bunker in Colorado, Clark Matthews and his chief advisors stared, enrapt. The lines denoting flight paths arced across the ocean toward the heartland. Who could have foreseen that China would take advantage of the conflict between the U.S., Europe, and Russia in such a horrific way?

”One minute to impact Mr. President.”

President Matthews looked at his Secretary of the Navy. Admiral Marcus Goodman was a lean man, 5’10” inches in height, 185 pounds of sheer guts. Goodman had more medals on his chest than Audie Murphy - every one earned. The man’s hazel eyes were darting across the virtual display on the screen, following the dotted paths of the missiles. “Two hundred nukes in the air sir.” Sweat runnelled down the man’s forehead. The admiral absentmindedly wiped at a salty drop edging toward his left eye. His normally relaxed features were set in a tense look of fear and determination.

‘Forty-five seconds Mr. president. You have to give the order. Strike back or not?”

“Are our nuclear submarines in place Admiral?”

“Yes sir, they’re awaiting authorization. Just say the word.”

Clark Matthews, once a farm boy from Kansas, wondered how he had come to this moment. How could he make such a choice? How could he not? Millions of people…, human beings…, men, women, and children…, were about to be obliterated in a nuclear blast. If he ordered a retaliatory launch, the entire world would most likely be thrown into nuclear winter. But, how could he fail to retaliate when his nation was about to be thrown into the Stone Age?

“Sir. You have to give the go ahead. Thirty-five seconds to impact.”

Clark Matthews glanced at his Secretary of Defense. He and Victor Deets had attended Harvard together and been roommates for two of those years. Victor was a natural intellectual. A quiet and studious young man who spent most nights studying until about 10:30 p.m. before drinking a glass of warm milk and going to bed. Clark, on the other hand, had partied on weekends, put off studying until the last minute, and scraped by with a 2.5 GPA. Clark wondered how it was that he had become President of the great nation instead of his arguably much better suited friend.

“Thirty seconds Mr. President. Are we go for launch?”

Clark Matthews tracked the moving dots across the digital situation map. His mind wandered to his wife and son. They should be safe in the DC bunker. He prayed they were okay while feeling guilty for doing so when millions of people were not so privileged. What kind of horror struck world would his ten year old son grow up in? Stuck in a bomb shelter for years while nuclear fallout made the surface unlivable.

Dear God, why me?, he thought. Harry Truman had it right when he put that sign on his desk stating “The buck stops here.” Clark had often thought that Harry Truman was actually a pitiable figure in American history. Stuck with the choice of dropping atomic bombs on Japan in order to end the horror of World War II, he had made the hard choice to kill approximately 200,000 people - civilians, women and children- in order to save the lives of millions. I wonder how he slept after that? Personally, Clark thought Truman had made the right call as hard as it must have been.

“Fifteen seconds to impact Mr.President. It’s now or never.”

“Thank you General,” he replied. Sitting in the computer chair he placed his hands on the keyboard. He began typing in the code that would destroy a large portion of the planet earth.

“Shall we play a game? Global thermo-nuclear warfare.” Praying the universe would forgive him he pushed the enter button. Around him the mountain shook. In the depths of the ocean hatches opened. As nuclear fire roared across the continent, four hundred harbingers of destruction flashed into the sky.