He pulled off his spectacles and put them on a desk near the console. Rubbed his face wearily, squeezed his temples with a force, trying to expel the pain and thoughts that slowly have been driven him crazy the last days. The pain receded, giving a short break, but not completely gone. What is he hoping for, a middle-aged man, sitting here, a half a kilometre deep underground? Breathing recirculated tasteless air, day-by-day eating insipid food. Drinking water, which leaves chemical aftertaste… For a second month in a row, surrounded by ones like himself — an elderly folks, painfully squinting even at that parody of the real daylight, that bunker’s dim lamps can provide. And almost a week in complete silence from the surface, after communication lines were cut off by a sudden enemy strike. This silence worn nerves more than news from the frontline.
He put his glasses on and took a habitual gaze on the console. Everything was fine, or better to say: no changes. The man leaned back on a chair, gripped the armrest, with a such force that his fingers crunched, and stared at the concrete ceiling. Three months ago, they were standing under the bright sun shining from the deep blue sky above the base. Far afield, seen through the haze, were mountains, and the city close by. The base, hidden among hills, covered by radar towers and powerful air defense systems, seemed invincible. They smiled, looking at the sky, anticipating the quick, easy victory that would make them even more proud.
“Wise guys continue to claim that the war should be forgotten and must go into oblivion, — he thought, — the progress that the humankind made, the global economy, the worth of human life, and principles of humanism have changed the world…. But all these eggheads and idealistic youngsters always believe that they can predict and overcome every crisis. It is impossible to convey to them all the naivety of such an approach, until they themselves, along with the others, see enemy war planes in the sky above the city. And here all their theories collapse like houses of cards. War will always be among the mankind. No theories of “world peace” will survive for the five seconds that the bomb flies. Therefore, we started first.”
Someone knocked on the door. The man at the table, distracted from his thoughts, responded, his voice hoarse after a long silence. The door opened, and one of the cadets entered the room. He handed over the envelope, and quickly left, briefly saluting. After watching him go, the man smiled faintly. He was somewhat grateful for this brevity, bordering on impudence. “Everyone is afraid, shaking… Rudeness is a good loophole if you’re in fear”, he thought, and unexpectedly for himself, finished the thought: “and I’m scared… too”.
***
He swore, tiredly, almost whispered, so the guards at the door couldn’t hear. It was easy to imagine that your country was surrounded by barbarians, ignorant, albeit formidable enemies. Whom, however, it is easy to crush with bare hands. A little harder to convince those, who resisted even a thought of violence, that this was the only right way. But they made it. Unleashing this war, he, and his equals, thought that they would cope in a week. But here already their expectations turned out to be too far from reality. What remains, the pretentious and bravura marches on a radio, and invariably peppy voices of announcers, who continue to praise the strength of the troops, and the newest and unique technology, thrown against ‘almost losing’ enemy. Against the foe, who, as generals in a headquarters thought, won’t even understand what is happening. Against the obviously weaker opponent, who had nowhere to run, and had nothing to answer the aggression.
At first it seemed like they were right, but later they had to learn, from their own experience, that war can crush even the strongest theories of a peacetime. Even the war that they started by themselves. Especially this war.
They weren’t ready. What was supposed to flare up, quickly, and then go out, turned into a firestorm, which no longer spared anyone. The others, the enemy, now had the way out, the way to retreat, to run. And those who started the fire now found themselves in a blockade, where they were surrounded by and countries who didn’t want to stay aside from preventing this act of aggression. The unexpected alliance against the aggressor united those who had considered each other enemies for decades and gave rise to other alliances that were impossible in peacetime.
The bulletin was non-standard, delivered from one of the few remaining space comms outposts in the mountains. It was short, and carried only two words, which made him close his eyes for a moment. Just like in childhood when grandfather told him scary stories. “This is the end…”, he thought absently, “this is how our “little, victorious war” is ending. Victorious, but not for us…”. He picked up the intercom’s handset from the socket in the console, quickly, mechanically reconfigured it. Clearly, with the calm and firm voice, surprised himself, said:
“Gentlemen, the war is lost. The capital has been captured.”
***
He announced this and collapsed heavily into a chair. He was an exemplary military man, one of the best. The army and the state were his family, there was nobody of whom he could be worried. He thought so when he was gazing at the deep blue sky above the base, three months ago. And now he realized that he was completely wrong. Faces of the long-forgotten friends and girls from the neighboring street, children and relatives, made their way through darkness behind the closed eyelids. First time in many years, he suddenly felt himself too alive, too sensitive for this hour. Shouts and shots were heard back in the corridor, but he did not even turn to the doors. Then came more shots, and more ominously, silence.
There was no anger, no despair — he conscientiously served his country, did what was needed from him, no more, no less. Perhaps, if things had turned out differently, he would now be in a completely different place now. Maybe, he would be glad that that the treacherously attacked aggressor got what he deserved. Right here and now, that is exactly what happened. After three months of senseless war that brought the enemy — yesterday’s victim — to the threshold of the capital. And now he had only one directive that he must execute. The last order, which came as a code, right after words about the capital’s fall. Three letters, two digits. N-L-D. 4-8.
With stiff hands, he opened the safe, pulled out a metal cylinder from it. Turned its cap a few degrees clockwise, and the contacts emerged from the opposite side, forming a bizarre pattern. Taking a deep breath, clenching his teeth against a surge of pain, either real or apparent, he inserted the cylinder into the socket on the console and entered the code. The system made a subtle sound, and the screen started to glow green.
Missile bunker N05, the code 3455, has established the connection to the network.
That’s all. Some glowing dots appeared on the display, showing the scheme of the network, but he left the room, without looking closely. His job was done, the order was executed — he was no longer interested in what would happen next. He was not in the habit of discussing orders even with himself, as well as regretting their injustice. An order is an order. He walked through the dark hallways, gazing at the bodies lying on the floor. As he had foreseen, someone could not stand the message and couldn’t handle himself. Of course, he could not have talked about the fall of the capital, it would have saved the sanity of many, but this was also his duty and mission. Just like the mission to pay back the enemies for the lost war. Nothing personal. An order is an order.
He strode to the exit, to one of the hatches leading to the surface, mechanically noting the state of things around him. Someone, bitterly, like a child, sobbing, someone staring blankly at the wall. People parted in front of him, letting him into the elevator shaft. As in front of a leper. Let it be… Hardly any of them know about the last directive. That the final word in this war is their, despite all.
He rose to the surface and stared into the distance for a long time. The bunker was well hidden, and could have held on for a while, but now the enemy will most likely find it. It doesn’t matter anymore, soon all of them will be very busy with their own problems, their loss, which they confuse with a victory. He pondered, continuing to look at the clouds near the horizon with an unseeing gaze. For a fraction of a second, just like when he pulled the key from the safe. And just like the straw that broke the camel’s back, this split second brought down all his calmness, all his apparent indifference. He was not accustomed to discussing orders, and for thirty years this habit had never failed him. An order is an order!
What has changed now? Why can’t he find this joy in himself, that joy that should inevitably come, when you were able to outwit the enemy? After all, there’s no better feeling than to win the almost lost battle, to punish the enemy for his naivety and false pride, to outplay him at the last moment, to avenge losses! But, instead of expected, rude and simple, familiar, furious joy, an unpleasant weakness, spread through his body. And with the weakness came the fear. Not the familiar one, accumulated over the years, and not that which he felt when he knew about the capital’s fall. Another, which was darker than dark and infinite, like the void. Bottomless. Boundless.
Victory is good when there is someone to win. Losing can also be worthy. But why could he believe that the only way to lose the war with dignity was to take revenge on the whole world? Did he deceive himself for years or only when he made the final step? Did he truly understand what was really behind what he considered to be just retribution for a lost war?
He staggered and darted to the hatch leading to the elevator. Tried to open it, breaking his fingernails on metal, but a strange glint made him turn his head. Almost at the horizon, behind the cloudy haze, appeared the glow of a distant explosion, reflected in the sky, blooming onto the horizon like a giant flower. He froze, unable to move, and after a few seconds saw the next explosion appear a little further from the first one. Overcoming his consternation, he opened the lid of the hatch. Thoughts were confused, quickly replacing each other, as if recouping the previous detachment. “Who? Who could have done this?”. Questions, like an alarm, sounded in his head, as he ran back to his office, throwing people out of his way like cardboard. “We would know if someone could… if one of them had the opportunity… And why?! The capital has surrendered, the war is over, why? Or is it… us? A diversion? Ruled out… No one knew about the bunkers, except for those who gave the command to build them…” And then, at the moment when he burst into the office, at the second when he rushed to the console, realization came. Missiles launched at enemy cities would have been shot down by enemy forces — nuclear weapons were needed mostly like counterweight, a decisive word, argument that allows you to dictate conditions. Before it was too late. Another theory collapsed: they weren’t going to launch them. Not a single error on the monitor, not a single warning, and not a single signal about a successful launch — the program continued to execute the only command it was designed to perform — to turn the country into a scorched wasteland, to take as many enemy lifes as possible, to put even more innocent people on the altar of a senseless war…
There were a lot of dots on the screen, already three of them were red. Numbers glowed above the fourth, yellow one.
4…
3…
2…
1…
0….
The bunker shook — not much, but notably. The yellow dot turned red. Now the dot with the number 5 started to glow yellow.
Missile bunker N05, code 3455, received the command. Protocol NLD-48 initiated.
He tried to tear the key cylinder out of the console but couldn’t do it. Still not believing what he saw with his own eyes, he fell to his knees in front of the console. Digits were changing one another on the display.
5…
4…
3…
2…
1…
0.
Archive request, section NW-EX/22A. Eastern zone.
Document ID: 66501.39.22/31
Excerpt 5-9.
“…On the day of the capitulation, the aggressor’s government sent the last command to the 12 nuclear missile bunkers, situated over the whole country. The command initiated the so-called “Protocol NLD-48”. This protocol triggered the detonation process for all nuclear warheads, without the launch of the missiles themselves, within the interval of 5 seconds. This resulted in a series of catastrophic nuclear explosions (the estimate is given in the documents 22/09-21 and 22/08-24), which destroyed the bunkers, a large amount of critical state infrastructure facilities, and, in fact, wiped out several large cities. The allied forces on the aggressor’s territory suffered losses, but incomparable with the casualties among the civilian population. The government, which enforced the protocol, was also in one of the bunkers when the NLD-48 was executed. None of them survived. Of the 12 bunkers only one disobeyed the first stage of the Protocol, and thereby saved one of the biggest industrial and science centers of the state, situated right above the Bunker 11, as well as several million civilians. The war ended, but a big part of the aggressor’s country became inhabitable due to nuclear fallout and infrastructure collapse. The allied forces, a few hours earlier distinguished by locals as occupants, started to organize the evacuation of civilians from the zones that suffered from the nuclear blasts.”
Archive request, section NW-EX/22A. Eastern zone.
Document ID: 66501.39.22/31
Excerpt 7-9.
“…According to the survivors from the military, nobody knew about the real purpose of the Protocol, including the disobedient commander, who acted on his own principles in a fear of global nuclear conflict. The army of the aggressor country, who did not lay down their arms after the Capital’s fall, surrendered shortly after the Incident. The vast majority of high-ranked military officers, unrelated to the Incident, subsequently committed suicide. “
Archive request, section NW-EX/22A. Eastern zone.
Document ID: 66501.39.22/31
Excerpt 9-9.
“As a result of a nuclear catastrophe unparalleled in history, which happened on the aggressor country territory, most of the country officially declared as an exclusion zone”.
End of the document.
Now, there is a monument on a Bunker-11 site. The bunker remains here as well, but significantly deeper underground. It’s locked up, sealed, and no weapons, not a single person from the staff, was left in it. The one and only remaining from the “Firering”, the missile bunkers network, how it was called in an already non-existent country. It’ll continue to stand, just like the city above it. The city and a few kilometers around it remain, like an oasis in a desert, almost untouched and lifeless.
Bunker-11 and the city situated near the borderline, and there’s no need to cross the exclusion zone. Already now, the people, who can get all needed passes and permits, coming to the city, again. The scientists, mostly. And also, sometimes, here come the ones who survived, to look with their own eyes on a place, where the catastrophe didn’t happen at all.
The only person allowed to visit this place without the special permit. Not very tall, grey-haired man, with delicate features, once a year he appears near the checkpoint. He is always polite and benevolent, but never smiles, and never makes eye contact. More precisely, everyone around looks away as soon as they meet with his gaze. He waits, patiently, when all the fuss that constantly goes with his arrival subsides, talks a little — always quietly and briefly. He thanks, gets in a car that drives him a few kilometers to the bunker site, and silently looks at abandoned, extinct suburbs. Politely but adamantly refuses an escort and walks to the bunker and the monument nearby, alone.
Watching him is considered indecent, so the escort is waiting for him near the car, looking away. The man always stops at the concrete platform, as if gathering his strength, then he takes a step, approaches the monument at the head of the bunker.
He stands there for a few minutes, listening to the wind and the silence behind it. The wind that blows just the same as it did on the day, when he refused to follow the order. Every year, at the end of the summer, he comes here, not completely understanding why he is drawn here. And every time, when he raises his head, he sees a high deep-blue sky above him.
December 2021 — January 2022.
Translated in 2023.
