Day 315

Writing exercise – For once, they slept right through the air raid siren

…

For forty days and forty nights, it was not a replay of the flood that took Noah on a voyage to save the world’s animals, but a constant barrage of drones, missiles and artillery fire.

The anti-missile, anti-drone, anti-artillery fire mechanisms had been partially destroyed in the first wave of day one, and they’d been struggling ever since.

And it was not as if they were not giving as bad as they received.  Both countries were reeling from the constant barrage.

Whole cities were destroyed, vital infrastructure was badly damaged, and some of it was beyond repair.

No one knew when it was going to stop, and on the dawn of the forty-first day, there was a strange sound coming from above the bunker, where tens of thousands of frightened civilians had made a temporary home for themselves.

That strange sound?  Silence.

Of course, the enemy had done this before, stopping the barrage for a few hours, lulling them into a false sense of safety, the people going up into the daylight, only to have bombs rain down on them.

It was a cruel trick and one that would not be forgotten.  And this time, because of that experience, no one had any inclination to go outside.  Everyone down in the bunker knew someone in the group of over a thousand who had been killed.

The commanding officer of the facility and the five thousand soldiers at his disposal sat at the top of the long table in the conference room, looking at a wall-sized screen that showed a map of the battle lines and the approximate positions of enemy guns, drones and missile launching sites.

It was a state of utter destruction.

It was a vibrant, liveable city with elegant historic buildings and large well well-organised parkland.  Now it was a little more than a wasteland of ruins and craters.

The organising committee filled the rest of the chairs around the table.  They were the government for this facility, one of fifty throughout the city.

They were linked by radio communications, but there hadn’t been enough time to build tunnels or completely finish some of the bunkers.

The commander had just delivered the briefing authorised by the provisional government housed in Bunker 1, those left that hadn’t been killed in the initial strike, which targeted vital infrastructure and government buildings of those inside.

A strike without warning.

Then came the inevitable question.  “When will it be safe to go outside?”

The commander had deliberately omitted that part because, in his opinion, probably best left to a direct question, if anyone asked.

He had been hoping they wouldn’t.

“Not today, nor tomorrow.  Central Command think that it will recommence tomorrow or the next day, or when they see us outside.  They have satellite imagery.”

It was suspected and now confirmed.  It was first thought there were spies from within, but that had been finally discounted. 

“Do we?”

“The rocket that was launched to put it into orbit was sabotaged, so no.  We didn’t find out until the war started.  We were caught unawares in just about everything.”

“Politicians sleeping on the job,” a voice from the back of the room said.

The commander knew it was and let it go.  Everyone had an opinion with the benefit of hindsight.  Not sleeping, but deeply divided political parties made it impossible to progress.

He wondered what the remnants of those parties were thinking right now.  How much they could blame the other side for the mess they were in now.  It certainly wouldn’t be about how to resolve the mess.

“We elected them, so it’s as much our fault as it is theirs.  But, everyone, if you have some idea that will get us moving forward, I will pass it on to the Central Command.”

There were no suggestions.

“What the hell…”

That person who ridiculed the politicians was pointing at the screen.

Everyone looked at the figures coming over the rubble, in formation, looking for survivors.  Enemy soldiers who were expecting people to flee their bunkers in the absence of artillery fire.

“What are they doing?”

“Looking for us.  Strange since they’re basically seeing what we’re seeing.”

Then, quite strangely, they started shooting in a manner that suggested they were firing at an enemy.

This went on for a minute, and then there was return fire, killing every person they could see on screen.  The commander counted about three hundred casualties.  Everyone but those who turned and ran also suffered the fate ,except they were shot in the back.

“That was dumb,” someone else said.

“Who was shooting back?  I didn’t see any of our men out there.”

There was a murmur of agreement around the table.

“What do you know that we don’t?”  The man who started the conversation.

“I assure you I am as in the dark as you are.”

On the table in front of the commander was a red phone.  It only rang when there was important news.

He let it ring three times before answering it, reciting his personal code, name and rank.  Then he listened for five minutes, said, “Yes, sir, thank you, sir.”  Then he replaced the receiver.

He looked around the table at the expectant faces.

“Apparently, what you just saw happened at every one of the fifty bunkers.  The enemy assumed we had come out and launched an attack.  A new technology was developed, but couldn’t be implemented until there was a respite.  It worked.  The enemy has requested a ceasefire and negotiated surrender.”

“Then we can finally leave this place.”

“When the Central Government verifies that the enemy is being truthful, which in the last hundred years has never been.  This could be another ploy on their part.  So, we’re staying inside until otherwise advised.”

No one was happy with that edict, but then, everyone knew the enemy could not be trusted.

…

The next seven days were of silence, and observing the empty landscape of what had been their city.

The enemy dead lay still, a reminder of a devastating waste of life, and to some a monument to the futility of war, fuelled by hatred.

People started considering what it was at the heart of the war, the ingrained hate instilled into every one of the two countries that used to be one nation and one lot of people.

A classic example of religion-fuelled hatred, the sort that divided families and eventually a nation.   There had been civil wars, but these were limited due to technology and a quickly depleted army.  Three times, nearly every male under the age of thirty on both sides had been wiped out.

Wives lamented the loss of their children, young women lamented the loss of viable husbands.  It was surprising that the population managed to grow after such events.

This time, the deaths of young men were way below those before, more because the current leaders had realised losing men was not an option, hence the remote weaponry.

It made the enemy’s hand-to-hand attack more of a mystery.  And not surprising that in losing so many, they would see the futility of such actions.

Enough lives had been lost.

…

There were daily updates.  The ridiculous demands, the negotiation tactics to get an unconditional surrender.

It was as if the losers honestly believed they were the winners.

And to the Commander, a peace that was too easily attained, and a capitulation that was far too quick.  He knew what the enemy could achieve if they tried harder, but for some reason, they were not interested.

For that reason, the Commander relayed his concerns, concerns that the Central Government ignored.

In the command room, he stood next to his 2IC, looking at the screen.  With the control unit in his hand, he switched views to each of the other 49 bunkers, and it looked the same.  Hundreds of dead enemy soldiers.

“It’s a trick,” the Commander said.  “I know it is.  Many years ago, there was a thing called the ‘Midnight Protocol’.  Few people were aware of it because it was believed to be folklore.”

“What is this Midnight Protocol?”

“If one side can’t win, everyone dies.  The leaders of both nations are cut from the same cloth, with the same beliefs.  We were once a single country and people who lived in peace.  That’s what they’re going to do.  Kill everyone.”

“How?”

“I don’t know the answer to that. We’ll have to wait and see.  Meanwhile, no one leaves.”

“They’re automatically unlocking the gates.  Everyone gets to leave.  They’ve all been celebrating.  They have no idea what’s going to happen to them.”

“I know you do.”

“I know I want to keep my people safe, and that’s what I intend to do.  Now, time to rejoin your family. It’s near curfew.”

Every night a ten, everyone was at home and ready for the end of the day.  Anyone caught out, without a good excuse, was punished.  It happened rarely.

This night would be different.  The end-of-the-day prayers were read, there was a short news bulletin, and then five minutes before the lighting was switched over to conservation mode.

Five minutes after that, the Commander pushed the blue button on the console in the small room to one side of the meeting hall.

Red was for self-destruction; if ever the bunker was overrun, a quick, painless death was better than the long, painful one the enemy would force upon the people. Blue, the one that put everyone to sleep for a specified period, in case the doomsday scenario was enacted.

Both sides had a doomsday scenario, one none ever hoped would be implemented.  It was this that the Commander knew the other side intended to adopt.

A fake peace.  Everyone is coming out to celebrate, and then everyone dies.

Not on his watch.

The button was pressed, then the black button was pressed, to double-lock the doors from the inside, so no one could get in or out.  It was two of three.  The last was for him.

He slept until the time the armistice was to be celebrated, going from bunker to bunker, watching the people emerge, join up with the enemy.  Families reuniting, the current government meeting their enemy counterparts, the shaking of hands.

Peace at last.

Until suddenly a single bomb fell on each of the bunker locations, or the evacuation areas outside the bunkers.  And, one by one, all the people were killed, the enemy and his countrymen alike.

He switched from bunker to bunker, all 49 of them, just as the air raid siren started.  A bit late, everyone was dead.  Even if it had gone off when the bombs first landed, it would have been too late.

His people had slept through it, not knowing what had happened.  Not knowing they were the last of both countries.

He pushed the last button.  The one that would suspend them all in stasis for a year.  A protocol very few knew about.

He had spoken about it with his other 49 bunker commanders, and none of the others believed it had been implemented.  They had searched for the control room and hadn’t found it.

Bunker 50, his bunker was the only one.  The last bunker to be built, and the one meant to house the government offices and politicians.  They had decided, very early on, to save themselves by taking the first bunker, not waiting until the end, and the irony of their selfishness was not lost on the Commander.

Sleep came slowly, and he was sure he was still laughing when he finally succumbed to that long and peaceful sleep.

…

©  Charles Heath  2025