Retaliate!

“It’s getting tense here. All trade with Argon has been cut off, and we have curfews now,” Willa Wisely says, her ordinarily placid features reflecting her concern.

“How are the girls holding up?” Ryan asks his wife.

Willa brushes her hair back. She always does that when she’s nervous.

“They’re scared. They want their father to come home safe.”

“My tour of duty is almost over. Tell them I’ll be home soon,” Ryan replies, adjusting the clarity of the video screen.

“But what if...”

“Soon, Willa.”

Willa squints. “By the way, I’m not too fond of the beard. It hides that cute dimple in your chin.”

Ryan rubs his beard. At thirty-eight, Ryan is happy that his beard grew sandy blonde to match his hair color instead of the mismatched salt and pepper whiskers that Brody Birdsong, his fellow Missile Operations Officer (MOO), sports.

Brody leans over Ryan’s shoulder, waving at Willa.

“Sorry, Willa. I’m going to have to cut your conversation short. We need the talents of our radar expert.”

Ryan and Willa blow kisses at each other as Ryan shuts off the screen.

Slightly stooped, with watery brown eyes, forty-eight-year-old Brody Birdsong’s once slim figure has recently ballooned as his appetite has increased through worry. The vein that sticks out on the side of his head seems to throb more, and his hair has become more decidedly grey since he, Ryan Wisely, and Holden Hitchcock were assigned to the Devers Gap Station four months ago. A long-standing border dispute between Moraz and the Argons over the ownership of the town of Covenant intensified soon after. The animosity between the two countries was fueled by a group of anarchists intent on bringing both governments down.

“What’s so important?” Ryan asks, following Brody to the radar screen.

Holden stands over the counsel, his mouth agape. At thirty-two, Holden is the youngest of the trio. His hook nose and shifty, inky eyes match his edgy nature.

The Dever’s Gap’s Station is located underground three hundred miles from the Moraz’s capitol of St. Etienne. It has eight silos for intercontinental nuclear missiles that can eradicate a target seven thousand miles away. The station’s state-of-the-art early warning system takes up half the control room and has multi-screens for radar, weather, communications, and weaponry.

The station’s warning bell sounds. Ryan immediately shuts it off, but a red warning light continues to burn brightly.

Ryan takes a glimpse at the early warning system’s central computer screen.

The words “MISSLE STRIKE. TARGET ST ETIENNE. RETALIATE!” are displayed in large red letters.

Ryan checks the system’s radar. Six blips are moving across the screen.

“Are those?”

“Yep. Half a dozen missiles aimed for the heart of St. Etienne,” Brody replies.

Ryan checks his readings.

The computer’s countdown system gives a jarring vocal warning.

“…Impact t-minus fifteen minutes...”

Gritting his teeth, Holden says, “That still gives us time to launch a counterattack. If my wife and parents are going to be blown to pieces, we can make sure the Argon’s homes are turned to ash, too.”

Moving to a nearby console, Holden vigorously taps in his launch code. Brody follows, the vein on the side of his head pulsing like a heartbeat.

Brody and Holden stare intently at Ryan.

“Well?” Brody prods.

“…Wait a minute…”

“That’s about all the time we’ve got, Ryan,” Holden says. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulls out an inhaler and takes two bursts of Ventolin.

“Be careful with that stuff, Holden. We need you clear-headed,” Brody says.

“Look at the radar screen, Ryan!” Holden rants. “We don’t have time for you to meticulously examine every detail like Confucious. St. Etienne is going to be destroyed. We have to retaliate!”

“But we haven’t received confirmation from Defense Headquarters ordering us to launch. We don’t even know what our target is.”

“I’d say they’re a trifle busy panicking and trying to evacuate right now,” Brody counters.

“There’s something not right about this,” Ryan insists. “Why would the Argon’s launch six missiles? Why not sixteen?”

“Maybe they’re really big missiles,” Holden replies.

“Why launch missiles at just one city? Why not destroy the entire country?”

“They’re Argons,” Holden snaps. “Nothing they do makes sense.”

Ryan studies the path of the approaching objects.

“It doesn’t add up. These objects are moving too slowly, and their pattern is too tight... The computer hasn’t even identified them as Argon missiles.”

“…Impact t-minus fourteen minutes…,” the computer announces.

“Just punch in your code, Ryan!” Holden urges.

 “We have to get approval from Defense Headquarters to confirm the computer’s command to retaliate,” Ryan says. Moving to the communication system, he picks up a microphone. “…Dever’s Gap Station to headquarters…”

Anxious seconds pass. “Nothing. Not even static.”

“Those six dots are all the approval we need! PUNCH IN YOUR CODE!”

“For the sake of world peace, please give me time to confirm the command to launch with headquarters.”

“…Impact t-minus twelve minutes, thirty seconds…”

Sitting in a lavish leather chair the size of a throne, Galvan Garrido watches Camilo Tovar pace back and forth across the thick carpet of the rebel stronghold.

The mousey second-in-command repeatedly mutters, “…What if?...”

“Stop jogging back and forth like a drugged monkey. You’re ruining the rug,” Garrido orders.

Galvan Garrido's appearance is the stuff of nightmares with his bronze skin, thick body, snaggled teeth, thin mustache, and thick, threatening eyebrows. His fierce disposition is enhanced by the two bandoliers he wears across his chest and the vintage revolver jammed in his studded belt. Garrido calls himself a rebel, but his actions have resulted in his being labeled an anarchist and a terrorist. He and his followers have derailed trains, blown up buildings, and executed men on both sides to stoke the flames of war. Half Morazian and half Argonian, his hatred of both countries is fueled by the racial persecution he endured as a child. Garrido owes allegiance to no one but himself, but the two hundred have-not men and women who follow him believe in his promise to make them the new wealthy ruling class.

“We’re playing a dangerous game, my liege. We shot down the Morazian president’s plane and blew up the Argon’s stock exchange building. That still wasn’t enough to start a war…”

“This will work,” Garrido replies confidently. The three men at Dever’s Gap Station are followers, not leaders. They were trained to take orders, not make them. I know Ryan Wisely. We grew up competing with each other as children. This time, I’m going to win. He’ll hesitate, measuring the full effect of his actions. But in the end, he’ll press the button.”

“What if your plan doesn’t work?”

Garrido cracks his knuckles. “Do you doubt my skills, Camilo?”

Camilo’s heart begins to race. “Of course not. You’re infallible.”

“I suppose every master plan needs a Plan B. Did you find them?”

“Yes. You were right; the Argons took them when they took control of Covenant. They had them in their detention camp. Our operative bribed one of the guards, who handed them over to us.”

Garrido snaps his fingers at a rebel soldier standing guard by the door.

“Bring in the prisoners.”

A bruised, sandy-haired man shuffles in. A wide-eyed woman follows. Two small, frightened boys cling to her skirt.

At the sight of Garrido’s fangs, the woman pulls her children closer.

“You are Wilford Wisely?”

“Yes.”

“Shame we never met growing up, but I suppose since you’re older, you were out riding horses while your brother and his friends were beating me up and calling me a half-breed animal.”

“Children can be cruel without realizing it. All we want to do is go home.”

“Your home is now a shell hole.”

Wilford bristles. “I’m an ambassador. I’m an important man in the Moraz government…”

“Yes, I heard you were negotiating with the Argons about their occupation of Covenant. How did that work out for you?”

“My government will negotiate with anyone who shows good intentions, but that doesn’t include terrorists,” Wilford replies sternly. “Our soldiers will use violence to extract us from this hell hole if they have to.”

Camilo clicks his tongue. “…Probably shouldn’t have said that…”

“I am a liberator, not a terrorist!” Garrido shouts. “My followers are poor, disenfranchised, like me. They’re the ones the rich curse at and call mud people.”

“If you want money, you’ll have all you could ever want if you send us back to Moraz. I can serve your cause. I promise I’ll speak out on your behalf.”

Garrido pulls out his revolver. “Oh, you’ll help my cause, all right. More than you’ll ever know.”

He shoots Wilford in the chest. Wilford grabs at his wound.

“Please! My wife… My children!”

Disgusted by Wilford’s cowardly plea, Garrido shoots him in the head.

Wilford’s wife turns to flee but is stopped by Camilo and the guard.

Garrido runs his tongue over his fangs. “It looks like you’ll be going home after all.”

Camilo paces back and forth across the dock, muttering sadly to himself as he glances in the boat at the four bodies.

“Stop that, or you’ll be walking on stumps,” Garrido commands.

“It’s bad luck to kill children,” Camilo says.

“Superstitious fool. We can’t leave witnesses.”

“So, this is our Plan B?” Camilo asks.

“If you were a fisherman in Moraz and this boat washed up on shore, what would you think?”

“That it’s a shame the Wiselys were murdered.”

“And who would you suspect killed them?”

Camilo surveys the boat. “They’re in an Argon boat. The lifejackets are from Argon…”

Garrido’s yellow fangs glisten with saliva as he smiles.

“If the destruction of St. Etienne doesn’t start a war, a dead ambassador and his family murdered by the Argons will.”

“…Impact t-minus four minutes …”

“It should never have come to this,” Ryan says.

“No offense, but it’s the fault of politicians like your brother,” Brody replies. “It’s an ego boost for them to play chess with people’s lives. President Harrington was different. He was moderate, too much, it turns out. He made the mistake of bringing the Argons to the negotiating table and trusting them. When they killed him, any chance of a peaceful negotiation died with him. Amyl Neville, his successor, is a hawk who wants the Argons wiped off the map.”

“He’s right. The Argons are to blame for this,” Holden says. “They killed a squad of our troops stationed at the border.”

“We don’t know for sure that the Argons killed them or if they’re even dead,” Ryan replies. “The rebels may have killed them, or they may have joined up with them. In return, we seized three of the Argon’s merchant ships and all their goods. Their crews are still on their ships. They’re virtual prisoners.”

“They would have been let go if the Argons hadn’t overrun our settlement in Covenant,” Brody says.

“That area has long been in dispute, and both countries have made claims to it.”

“If the Argons were serious about peace, they would have sent our people back to us, not put them in detention camps,” Holden replies angrily. “When they seized Covenant, they made a thousand men, women, and children walk barefoot a hundred miles to their detention camp. They weren’t given any food or water and marched non-stop for days. Half of them didn’t make it to the camp.”

“That’s what we’ve been told to believe,” Ryan replies.

“Are you implying it’s a lie?” Brody asks.

“I’m just saying the rebels may have exaggerated the facts to goad us into escalating into a war with the Argons. I’ve listened to the Argon’s broadcasts. They say our people were moved by trucks, and only a handful who were old or sick died.”

“Whose side are you on, Ryan? Listening to Argon radio broadcasts is forbidden,” Holden notes. “Are you a traitor? I thought I knew you.”

“I’m loyal. My brother, Wilford, his wife, and two children are among the refugees in Covenant being held by the Argons. But I’m not willing to throw their lives away on a whim. I won’t authorize launching our missiles without knowing who's telling me to do it. I need proof.”

“So, we watch our families get blown to bits while you wait for confirmation to retaliate?” Holden asks.

“We went through training together,” Ryan replies. “You know that in addition to a warning from the computer, which we’ve acknowledged, we must receive an order to retaliate from headquarters, and our radar has to identify who is attacking us. That hasn’t happened, so I feel like something’s wrong.”

Holden smacks himself in the forehead. “And because you have a gut feeling, I may never see my wife or parents again.”

“…Impact t-minus four minutes …”

Ryan continues to try to contact headquarters for confirmation.

“The radio’s dead.”

“So is everyone we know,” Holden comments. He gives himself two more shots from his inhaler. “The worst part of this is our families will only have a split second to look up at the sky and realize what’s happening before they die.”

“I think the worst part is I won’t be there with them,” Brody replies. “And then I’ll have to live without them.”

“Don’t try to guilt trip me, Brody. Not when millions of lives are at stake.”

“…Impact t-minus one minute …”

Holden pulls his jacket aside, showing Brody he’s armed.

“Don’t!” Brody pleads.

Holden pulls out his weapon.

“Okay, you stubborn mule, punch in your code, or I’ll punch out your lights!”

Ryan looks up from the computer screen.

“No conformation, no code.”

“…Impact t-minus thirty seconds …”

Holden squeezes the trigger. A bullet hits Ryan in the arm. He falls back into a chair.

“TYPE IN THE CODE OR THE NEXT ONE IS IN YOUR HEAD!”

The vein on the side of Brody’s head throbs as he knocks the gun out of Holden’s hand.

Brody points at the computer’s main screen.

“We’re receiving a signal from headquarters!”

“Why bother to answer? Everyone’s dead,” Holden laments.

Brody turns on the video screen. A terse-looking Major Butch Bolin appears.

“We’ve been trying to contact you. Do you confirm the order to launch?” Brody asks.

Major Bolin’s veiny eyes bulge.

“Negative! Do not launch! You didn’t…”

“We’re smarter than the computers,” Ryan says.

Major Bolin’s frown morphs into a look of surprise.

“Why are you bleeding, Officer Wisely?”

“Just a mishap, sir.”

“Get it taken care of,” Major Bolin snaps. “I assume you detected a threat?”

“Our early warning system detected six Argon missiles heading toward St. Etienne,” Ryan replies.

“Well, we’re still here. There were no missiles. I see that Officers Birdsong and Hitchcock entered their launch sequences and that you didn’t, Officer Wisely. By acting on your own instincts, you saved the world.”

Major Bolin quickly scans the report handed to him.

"We’ve analyzed your problem. The signal you received to launch was false. The anarchist, Garrido, broached your early warning system and sent a virus that made your computer think the Argons were attacking St. Etienne. They also jammed your radio, so you couldn’t communicate with us.”

Brody pats Ryan on the back as Holden rolls his eyes, groaning.

“You’re a hero, Officer Wisely, but our people can’t know a Trojan horse nearly started a war that would have killed millions,” Major Bolin says. “Officers Birdsong and Hitchcock, you’ll be transferred to our far north outpost in Potaskytown. Officer Wisely, you’ll be promoted to captain, and then we’ll accept your retirement papers. You and your family will become wards of the government. You’ll have your own island. You won’t be mentioned in history books, but you’ll live in blissful exile as long as you remain silent.”