Launch Day

I’m one of the guys they trust to launch the nukes.

Just some random guy, plucked off the street by the government. I say “plucked”. I’m actually enlisted in the army.

I wanted to be a badass army soldier like the guys you see on TV, the ones I watched, looked up to as a kid. Instead, I practically live in an underground silo, sitting in front of a phone that never rings, and a computer that never turns on.

That is, until today.

At approximately 1140 hours, five minutes ago, the computer in front of me started to do something for the first time since I was shown the demonstration.

When the computer lit up, I was doing what I usually do - reading, drinking my morning coffee. There are two enlisted in the command centre of the silo at all times, plus the commander and the deputy commander. I was sitting in the main portion with the deputy commander. The others were upstairs, getting some rest.

The computer we have is basically a big grey box, the same colour as the rest of the silo. It has two square speakers on the left, and that is where all the magic happens. The cacophony of electronic beeping filled the room. The deputy and I look at each other for a split second as I grab the top secret Emergency Action Message booklet and start writing down the numbers that I heard come out of the crackly speakers.

I have never written anything as fast as I had there in my entire life. And neither did the deputy.

We’re all told that war is bad. Yet, here we are, about to launch a nuclear missile that will eventually result in our deaths.

The deputy swaps his booklet with me. We both got the same message. Now everything needs to happen fast. But we don’t panic. We’ve been trained to do this by people who know exactly what they are doing. But we still hope it’s a hoax. A not-so-funny prank.

Another message comes through eventually, thanks to the Sferics antenna. The much slower one. And we check the message against both our booklets. It’s a match. We look at each other with hard, solemn expressions. It is up to us to serve our country. It is in our oath. But as we’ve said to each other when we work here, nobody wants to be the one to launch the nukes. Nobody wants to be the one to bear the responsibility of killing millions of innocent human beings, just because some power-tripping grandfathers want to play a game of ‘Who Has The Shortest Temper?’

But it is our duty. And now, it is our time.

We cross the room to the safe, a little less calm than we both would have liked. My hands are shaking as I keep my own hands together. The deputy’s breathing gets heavier. The feeling in the air is dire. Grim. Terrifying.

At this point, down come the commander and my counterpart, the other enlisted.

My friend Jacob and I give each other a look that says more than words ever could.

The Missile Control Centre Commander regards us both with a curt nod. We both respond in turn. Both the commander and deputy commander turn their own dials on the big red safe. The commander, calm as ever, unlocks his first. The deputy takes another few seconds. It feels like minutes to the rest of us.

Out comes the cookie. A long code to decipher, but everyone knows what to do. All we can do now is watch as the commander selects one of the targets on the computer.

Target 1. I can’t remember what country that is. Russia, maybe? That would make the most sense, right?

The deputy enters the butterfly valve code from the cookie code. It reminds me of back in high school, thumbing the numbers to unlock my locker. It also reminds me of army training, and my locker there too. I try to keep my wits about me. Jacob doesn’t notice my breathing, and I assume it’s because he is thinking about the exact same thing.

The commander says my name and I turn around, looking at a set of switches for the circuit breaker. I flip them, powering up the onboard flight computer. My palms are sweaty, and my knees feel as if they are supporting 500-pound weights for the first time.

Now, I’m thinking that Jacob and I, we’re not really doing much. Usually, modern silos only need two personnel - the commander and deputy - but for some odd reason, we were also assigned, much to the commander’s own chagrin. I always suspected something was off with him. And why is he the only calm one in here with us?

I push the thought out of my mind. I don’t know what to think, and quite frankly, at this point, I very much do not care.

The deputy commander looks at us as he takes out his key - used for the very last step to launching the missile. But he doesn’t move to the console. His hand moves up to his forehead, and he quickly collapses.

The world is now a blur. The commander is shouting for the deputy to get up, Jacob and I are running over. He has fainted. But we can’t help with that. We don’t have time for that. This could literally be the end of the world as we know it. I follow the commander’s instructions.

I pick up the key.

He counts to three when I slot it in.

One.

My hands are shaking. I realise that I’m crying. I don’t want to die. And maybe I won’t today, but after this, it’s all over for us.

Two.

Jacob is sitting on the floor with the deputy, giving up trying to get him to wake up. Now his gaze flits between the commander and my face. I look up to the ceiling, and the fluorescent lighting that crosses overhead.

Three.

I gulp, and turn my wrist. The commander does the same.

It’s out of our hands now. We can’t stop it. There’s no coming back from this.

We can hear as down the corridor, the batteries on the missile activate. We can hear the scrape of the doors.

The commander tells us both to cover our ears, and we do, just before the deafening sound of the engines igniting makes its way over to us.

The missile has launched.

I imagine it as it climbs into the atmosphere, turns towards its target, and barrels down to end innocent lives. I lower myself down to the floor, and breathe slowly. I wipe my eyes too.

Jacob is having a hard time beside me. He knows what we’ve done.

Because in this day and age, once the nuclear weapons are launched, it is doomsday for us all.

War is coming.

And it isn’t going to last long.