Bunker 759-Alpha

“Bunker seven-five-nine-Alpha, come in… Bunker 759-Alpha…”, a voice rings out from my walkie-talkie.

“Bunker 759-Alpha… This is Bunker 88-Charlie-Foxtrot-Oscar”, a young, boyish voice says again, “Come in. Are you there?”.

I rush to it on the nightstand next to my bunk bed and turn on the small lamp above it.

“Yes, yes! I’m here!”, I say as I turn the dial for better reception, “This is Bunker 759-Alpha. That’s a copy!”. Then I quickly crank the dynamo and see the red light on its power supply light up brighter.

“Ah, good! Reporting that we haven’t seen any suspicious movements from the enemy in a while. Just checking to see if you and your men are ok…”, the voice says with a very staccato rhythm.

I turn to look at the captain. He’s passed out on the wooden plank floor again sometime last night. The colorful medals above his shirt pocket are hidden in the folds of his shirt. He’s leaned up against the wall next to our Wurlitzer Jukebox. He’ll wake up later, I know. But I think our vault is strong enough to withstand an enemy attack. It was freezing cold last night and I can tell that it must be morning outside the bunker because there is condensation on all the steel walls.

Then I turn and look at the lieutenant. She is still on the top bunk of one of our bunker’s 6 bunk beds. The beds each have thin mattresses and are held up by a series of small, interlinking fence-like chains. She doesn’t move and I assume she is still asleep.

“Yes, we are ok, Bunker 88!”, I say, “Both the captain and the lieutenant are resting. I am in charge at the moment. Are there any signs that the enemy has changed position?”.

“That’s a negative, Bunker 759. But we are maintaining surveillance”, the voice says.

“Good! Keep us updated on any suspicious activity”, I say.

“Will do! Signing off now”, the voice says.

“Roger!”, I say.

ll talk to him again tonight or tomorrow… maybe. Or in a few days… or a few weeks. I never know. He’s a Five star general who has hundreds of troops in three battalions to oversee. None of us know how long this war is going to last. It’s been probably a year so far. I am just glad that I keep getting updates from him from time to time.

The captain and lieutenant told me how they spent 18 months loading up this place with provisions. They washed every can… every spoon… every chair… everything inside this bunker with soap and Epsom salt, so that there was no chance of the dreaded polio getting inside. Millions of people have died and memories of wars in Japan and Europe were still fresh in their minds. And more, people like us get rounded up, identified, and sent to detention camps. No one ever comes back.

My two superiors brought in everything they could think of so that we could stay here. They told me how dangerous it was outside. How it was filled with seen and unseen threats. How the war was on many fronts – and that only here is safe.

I stand and pull my khaki beige sweater tighter over my beige long-johns. Then I walk over to the captain. There is a half empty bottle of bourbon next to his hand. His back is hunched up against the steel wall and his head is slouched to the side. He snores lightly and slobbers profusely. I see that he has vomited on the floor again and know that he will not clean it up. So, I take the bottle to the table and then the circular 10-step metal staircase down to the kitchen area to look for a towel. There are large water and gas pipes shaped like huge pythons against the walls. A long neon light hangs above in the rounded ceiling. I turn the squeaky handle of the faucet and water slowly drizzles out. I know that it probably has snowed and that this water is in fact melted ice. I walk back up to the captain and clean off his shirt and wipe up the vomit. He moves, but only to shoo me away.

Before heading back down to the kitchen area, I look up at the lieutenant. Her body is laying in the same position – She faces the wall with her right leg bent over her left. She has been silent recently. I can remember many arguments between my two commanding officers. But lately, there are fewer… if any at all, between them. Especially not since the accident she had with the power generator.

All my life, these two have been my only companions – not including the general. But he’s just a faceless voice echoing throughout these thick, cold metallic walls and their 2,674 rivets and bolts.  

My other companions have been piles of magazines; LIFE, Popular Science, and The Saturday Evening Post – and the dozens of books that the captain and lieutenant have encouraged me to read. They’re all stacked in a row of numbered army lockers. “Patton”, “A Farewell to Arms”, “The Red Badge of Courage”… and so many other military novels have filled my activities during the day and my dreams at night.

I know every room of this bunker. It’s a 3-levelled fallout shelter with two ventilation shafts. Below this sleeping and living area, there is a kitchen with a large storage place next to it. And below that, there is a room for washing clothes and the bathroom.

I go down the metallic staircase again. My polished black leather boots clang on every step. I fill a steel pot with water and add Tide, Epsom salt, and the towel to it. Then I open one of the green metal drawers and find a box of matches. The drawer itself is nearly full of matchboxes. I then turn on the gas. The small gas tank next to the stove is almost full and is the third we’ve used since I started counting. There are at least ten more stored in the back. I take out a match and strike its sulfur head against the side of the box. I turn on the gas and the blue flame starts to heat up the water.

The captain often says that these walls are solid enough to not only keep the enemy out… but many other threats: Radiation. Viruses. Disease from bacteria. The End of Days. An Apocalypse and an Invasion from Mars. This bunker shelters us. It protects us and keeps us from harm.

“Jim!”, I hear from up in the living area. The captain is up! I put soap and the towel into the big pot.

“Jim!! Where are you!!”, The voice shouts out.

“Coming, Sir!!”, I shout back and run upstairs.

The captain has his eyes open and is hunched over on the floor. He’s looking around and tries to lift himself up – but he’s too fat. “… oh shit!”, he says before I get to him. “Where the hell is my –", he complains as I rush up to him and salute.

“Sergeant Kimsey reporting for duty, Sir!”, I say.

The captain doesn’t say anything. He just glares at me with a blank expression.

After a moment, he says, “Where the fuck did you put my bottle? It was right here”.

“Here it is, Sir!”, I say pivoting to the table and taking his bottle of bourbon.

I hand it to him and he snatches it out of my hand.

“Help me up”, he commands, raising his arms. I bend down and help him stand and then to one of the white formica chairs in the “canteen”.  His nearly empty bottle of sleeping pills are on the blue formica table I sit him down next to.

Although I helped him walk about 5 steps, the captain is sweating and almost out of breath when he finally plops down on the chair. His skin looks greenish. He opens the bourbon bottle and takes a swig.

“Should I wake the lieutenant, Sir?”, I ask.

“No! You leave her up there! She’s fine”, the captain says. Then for a moment, he gets lost in his thoughts… and then he starts to cry. Everyday, all day, sudden uncontrollable sobbing overcomes him for a few moments. I don’t know what to do. He calms down after a minute and then starts drinking again.

“Captain, is there something I can –“, I begin.

“Captain?!!!”, he retorts, “You leave her alone, okay? Just leave her the fuck alone!”.

“Ok”, I answer, “Are you hungry, Sir? Do you want me to make you something?”.

“Yeah. Make me some breakfast”, he demands.

“What would you –“, I start.

“I don’t care!”, he shouts.

I pivot towards the stairs.

“Wait!... Give me my bucket first”, he says.

I go to the corner and grab the large, white plastic bucket sitting there. I come back and hand it to him. I turn my back to him. He then unzips his pants and relieves himself into it. I am glad that it is just urine this time. It’s been quite a few months that going up and down the metal staircase has been too hard for him.

When he’s finished, I take the bucket and empty it in the basement toilet and rinse it out.

“Bring me another bottle while you’re at it!”, he yells. I go to the kitchen area level and take the last bottle of bourbon from the storage – something that for weeks I have been putting off telling him.

I hand it to him. He turns the bottle cap, cracking it open.

“Sir?”, I say.

“What?”, he says.

“This is the last bottle”, I say.

“Whhhaaat!!??”, he says angrily, “…and you’re just sayin’ that now? Fuck!”.

“I was afraid to tell you”, I admit.

He lets out a long, heavy gasp and shakes his head. He then looks up at me, “How old are you?”.

“15”, I say.

“Shit!”, he says.

We both know it’s been a while since we’ve gotten supplies. Every six months, the captain would go for food, water, and gas. He’d leave before I got up and be back after I fell asleep. But not anymore.

“Can I make breakfast, now?”, I ask.

He shakes his head. “Yeah. Go ahead. Make it”, he says shooing me away.

I come back with two plates of scrambled reconstituted eggs, coffee, and fried processed ham. The plates are for me and him. I know that the lieutenant never eats breakfast. The captain looks upset. Worried and anxious.

“I have a headache”, he says as I put his plate down.

“Do you need your pills, Sir?”, I ask.

“Yep”, he says. I go to the metal cabinets and find an almost empty box of Bayer aspirin. I hand it to him.

He opens it and looks inside the metal boxed container. He throws his head back and swallows the last four pills – washing them down with bourbon. He sweats and blinks as he looks at me. Then he cries again.

I don’t like when the captain is like this. I fear of what could happen when he is in this state. He has lashed out at both me and the lieutenant when he has drunk too much. I secretly hope he drinks enough to fall asleep for the rest of the day. I fight two enemies – one out there and one in here.

Thinking about what he has done paralyzes my body at times and has given me panic attacks to where I can’t breathe. More and more, I’m glad he cannot navigate the stairs anymore because the lower levels are my only sanctuary – My sanctuary within a sanctuary.

Now that he’s eaten and has drunk his bourbon, he’ll normally go back to sleep, read, write or listen to music. But, he’s still agitated and his bottle is already a third gone.

I get an idea. Something that usually works to cheer him up and me too. So, after breakfast, I get up and look on the front of The Jukebox… then I go to a stack of vinyl records next to it. I find what I’m looking for and place it on the Victrola.

“One, two, three o’clock, four o’clock rock…

Five, six, seven o’clock, eight o’clock rock…

Nine, ten, eleven o’clock, twelve o’clock rock…

We’re gonna rock around the clock tonight…”

Bill Haley and The Comets 1955 song starts playing.

“Stop!”, he screams. I don’t understand why he is upset. I look at him.

“This was her favorite song”, the captain says, “… and now she’s gone”.

“Bunker 759-Alpha… Come in. This is Bunker 88-Charlie-Foxtrot-Oscar”, a young, boyish voice says again, “Bunker 759, are you there?”.

I rush to the walkie-talkie.

“Yes, yes! I’m here!”, I say into it, “This is Bunker 759-Alpha. Roger!”. I crank the dynamo and its power light gets brighter.

“Be advised that we have seen reinforcements arriving at the enemy camp”, the voice says.

“You have?!”, I say, “I copy that and will be sure my men take precautions. If we see the enemy, we will contact you!”.

“Roger, Bunker 759. Over!”, the young voice says.

“Over!”, I say.

I look over at the captain. Deep creases show in his brow as he stares at me.

I worry that the enemy is planning an attack. Both on this bunker and on the general’s bunker. I am worried because we have no weapons. No arms to speak of. No grenades. I start making booby traps by tying ankle-high ropes at the vault door.

“What are you doing?”, the captain says.

“If they get inside they will trip and then you, me, or the lieutenant can ambush them”, I say, “I’ll put broken glass in front of the door so we can hear if they –“.

I look over at him and he has fallen asleep. With all of his drinking, it seems he is committing a slow suicide.

I place my ear to the cold steel of the bunker to see if I can hear the enemy approaching. I don’t hear anything. But the enemy is smart – they could have high tech military equipment that can disguise their movements.

I dress in my army fatigues. I put on my helmet and camouflage my face.

I remember how the enemy somehow got the lieutenant sick. They must have booby-trapped our power supply. Then one day the captain asked me to help put her up on the top bunk bed so she could rest… For weeks, the bunker had a foul, rotting smell.  And since we put her there, she has never come down. Eventually, the foul smell went away – but the captain has never been the same.

The bunker is empty without the happiness she brought. She loved dancing and singing. Elvis and The Andrew Sisters are her favorite singers.

“Jim…”, the captain whispers.

I go to him. He looks tired. Greenish.

“Yes, Sir?!”, I ask.

“Jimmy… I’m… I’m sick”, he says, “I think I’m dying”.

“Dying?”, I say.

“Yes, son”, the captain says, “You have to leave. Leave the bunker. Go out and find help”.

I don’t know what he means by… “leave?”… “find help?”.

“Your mother needs a proper burial, Jim!”, he says, “Don’t you understand?”.

I don’t.

“We were playing a game with you… to pass the time”, the captain says tearfully, “… but no more games now”.

I listen and try to understand.

“You have to find help… The lieutenant has to be buried… I may have to be buried too”, he says. He suddenly starts shivering. His mouth foams. His eyes roll back. He seems to be in so much pain. He then faints.

“Bunker 759-Alpha… This is Bunker 88-Charlie-Foxtrot-Oscar”, the boyish voice says, “Come in”.

“I’m here!”, I get up and say into the walkie-talkie, “This is Bunker 759-Alpha”. I crank the dynamo.

“The enemy has attacked us”, he says, “I am the only survivor”.

“Oh no! What happened? ...How can we help you?”, I say.

“We were under attack and they stole all of our documents, I think the enemy is moving closer to your location”, the voice says.

“We are advised, Bunker 88. We have a blockade set up! Over!”, I say.

“Good luck! Over!”, he says.

I look at the captain slumped over on the table. The bourbon bottle is half empty. I try to lift him. But he’s too heavy. He doesn’t respond.

So, I push a bunk bed against the door. He’ll be glad that we’re protected.

There is no more medicine for him. We used it all for the lieutenant.

There’s only food, water, books, magazines, and gas.

For 15 years, there’s always been enough… So, why did the captain ask me to leave? I can’t.

“Bunker 759… Bunker 759-Alpha…”, the walkie-talkie shouts.

“I copy, Bunker 88!”, I say.

“The enemy is on our radar. Be advised. They’re approaching you!”, the voice says.

“We are secured, Bunker 88!”, I say, “With a blockade and booby traps…”.

Then I hear something strange on Bunker 88’s end of the walkie-talkie. It’s music…

“Jeremiah was a bullfrog…

Was a good friend of mine…

Never understood a single word he said…

But, I helped him drink his wine…”

“Bunker 88? Bunker 88… are you there?”, I say.

“Bobby, dinner!”, a stern female voice says to the general.

“Yes, I’m here, Bunker 759”, the general affirms.

“I copy that there’s enemy troops approaching. Thank you!”, I say. The music continues…

“Joy to the world…

All the boys and girls now…

Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea…

Joy to you and me…”

“Good luck, Bunker 759!!”, he says hurriedly and quickly signs off.

I sign off and look at the captain. He hasn’t moved.

His eyes are closed.

I think he has finally found the peace he wanted for himself…. for me and the lieutenant.