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diff --git a/59561-0.txt b/59561-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e5aa321 --- /dev/null +++ b/59561-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,338 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 59561 *** + + + + + + + + + + + + + WAR GAME + + BY BRYCE WALTON + + _The playing of war games should not be forbidden; + but rather viewed as a natural outlet for emotional + tensions._--DR. L. M. STOLTZ, STANFORD UNIVERSITY + + [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from + Worlds of If Science Fiction, February 1957. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that + the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + +The Minister of Peace asked the United States President if he had heard +from the Secretary of State. "Yes," the President said. "I heard from +Mr. Thompson only a few minutes ago." + +"How's their final conference coming, Mr. President?" + +"Inevitably. Operation Push Button within the hour." + +The Minister of Peace blinked out the window at Washington, D.C. "So +they're going to blow up the world?" + +"Inevitably." + +"Shall we watch it?" asked the Minister of Peace. + +The President nodded, spoke to master control through the intercom +box on his desk, and switched on the TV screen. They had a special +pipe-line into the United Nations Cellar. They sat back, had martinis, +and watched the interior of the Cellar come to life on the screen. + +Three thousand miles from New Washington, under a natural camouflage of +tundra and wintry hills, the U.N. Cellar was thought by its occupants +to be thoroughly resistant to any offensive weapons. It was three miles +underground, protected by lead, concrete and steel. Its location was +known only to the U.N. Security Division that was supposed to be +strictly neutral in international affairs, or so the Cellar occupants +assumed. The engineers and workmen who had planned and constructed the +Cellar were supposed to have been brain-washed and therefore had no +memory of the great project. An occasional caribou drifted over the +Cellar with the North Wind, and wolves that always follow the caribou. + +In his suite, Chandler Thompson, Secretary of State, prepared himself +for the global diplomacy game's final hand in which it is never so +important what hand you play, as the way you play it. After years of +negotiation, full agreement on Operation Push Button had been attained, +and Thompson took some pride in having played a leading role in the +ingenious idea. + +Morten, his valet, finished shaving Thompson's pale face, helped him +dress in striped trousers, cut-away, and white gardenia. + +"Thank you, Morten," said the Secretary of State. + +"You seem calm enough, sir. Frankly, I'm ill at ease." + +"You may leave the Cellar if you wish," Thompson said, skimming through +his notes. "You've served graciously. I appreciate it. But it is your +privilege to return to your family outside now. I might remind you that +your chance of survival if you remain here is practically 100 percent." + +"It isn't that, sir. It just seems incredible that so many must die." +He felt of his wallet, the pictures of his family in it. + +"It's hardly a matter of principle," Thompson said. "Nor a question +of ideology. It's simply a question of firmness and realistic +practicality, and getting the job done once and for all. That has been +my stand from the beginning and naturally it cannot be changed." + +"But billions of people dying--" + +"Death before dishonor, Morten." + +"Yes, sir." Morten knew that in every suite in the Cellar every +diplomat was saying practically the same thing. Thompson looked up +from his neat notes. "People, Morten, have been properly prepared for +violent death. Indeed there has been a feeling of security in numbers. +The Ministry of Education working with the War Department has done such +a splendid job. Now every child has grown up fully prepared to die +in the holocaust. And every individual still a child regards violent +death as casually as a game of marbles. The required attitude has been +thoroughly conditioned in the populace. The idea was to make violence, +savagery, and sudden death, an every day affair. And we have done it. +Sad, but a necessary task." + +Morten said nothing. Thompson looked at the neon map coruscating on the +wall. "Our country is not unique in this, Morten. Annihilation will +come as a shock only to the misinformed anywhere in the world." + +Morten sat down. He remembered how his kids used to come home from +school laughingly playing war games, manipulating toy atomic cannons +and the like. They received additional marks in school for being +good and cooperative during atomic bomb drills and preparations for +thermonuclear disasters. They had been so proud of their dogtags that +came with boxes of cereal. In the evenings out back they used to have +bury-the-dead games. + +Thompson was saying, "Remember juvenile delinquency? It was necessary. +Millions had to be conditioned psychologically for Operation Killer. An +insensitive, fatalistic attitude had to be engendered. For their own +good." + +Morten flicked a speck of lint from Thompson's stooped shoulder. + +"Yes, sir," he said. "Maybe it will be humane, in the long run." + +"One must face the hard, materialistic facts," Thompson said. "Oh, +that reminds me." He went to his private switchboard and got a secret +outside line to the Office of Civilian Defense. "Hello, Donnelson. +Yes, I'm fine. I haven't talked with you for some time now, and I +was wondering about that suggestion of mine. Yes, the household pets +thing. That's right, particularly dogs. They're big morale factors in +the lives of children and there may be some survivors. Well, then, +issue another bulletin on that immediately. Things are reaching a head +here in the Cellar. Yes, dogs should be lashed firmly to heavy pieces +of furniture, away from windows. Put water where they can reach it. +Hysteria under the bombing attacks can be avoided by giving sodium +bromide tablets to the dogs. That's right. Survivors will need pets. +Morale...." + +After Thompson was through talking to Donnelson, Morten said. "You +know, sir, the end will be a relief to some people. They've been +blitzed by a non-stop barrage of fear bombs so long, I think they'll be +glad to get it over with." + +"Very perceptive, Morten. That has been one of Psychological Warfare's +primary aims in preparation." Thompson got another outside line. +Dawson, Civilian Defense. As he waited for Dawson to come in, he said +to Morten, "Get the dueling pistols out of the cabinet, please." Morten +nodded. + +"Hello, Dawson. Fine, fine, things coming to a head here. How much +distribution did you manage on the shrouds? Eighty percent? Excellent. +I haven't heard from Harry on the details for quite a while. Wanted +to check personally. As you say, I've never really lost my touch +with the grass-roots. My feeling from the start was that millions of +wooden coffins would be out of the question. The olive drab plastic +sheets seemed to be the only practical recourse from the start. The +psychological importance of getting bodies out of sight as rapidly as +possible cannot be overemphasized. Oh, Dawson, one moment ... yes, +I know about the public parks, playgrounds and vacant tracts in the +suburbs. But what about New York City? The only way is to send the +bodies up the Hudson River using piers as morgues. The problem of +where to put so many bodies, particularly when they will all appear +for disposal at the same time, is a considerable one. Allowing for +three-by-six grave-sites, with three feet for aisles, the whole +problem of adequate disposal acreage is primary." Thompson switched off +the connection. + +Thompson moved his fingers over the .38 caliber dueling pistols in the +velvet-lined case. His eyes mellowed with nostalgia. "Gift from the old +Secretary of War. My boy, Don, learned to shoot with this one when he +was only six years old. If he had lived to be an adult, he would have +been a tough fighter. But he was killed by a rival delinquent gang when +he was twelve. He only got there a little sooner. He had just finished +reading Niebuhr, so he knew the tragic irony of history." + +Thompson balanced one of the pistols in his hand. He looked at his +watch. "It's time," he said religiously. + +As Thompson entered the Hall of Ministers, the representatives of five +balance of power nations arose at once in deference to the sixth. +Morten sat unobtrusively in a far corner, holding the case of dueling +pistols on his knees. + +Thompson sat down. The minutes of the last conference were read by +a mechanical secretary. A summation of their final agreement on +Operation Push Button was briefly reviewed by the automatic translating +secretary. No changes were suggested. + +The surface of the huge conference table was somewhat like a gigantic +topographical map of the world. It covered perhaps a thousand square +feet and had been constructed by brain-washed artisans and engineers +and scientists in perfect electronic detail. It was so realistic +that it radiated a sort of sentience, seeming almost to breathe in +astonishing precision with the respiration of important strategically +located cities, ports, communication and manufacturing centers. Before +each Minister was a console containing several buttons. + +Each Minister arose, made a speech concerning the sovereign rights of +the particular nation or bloc of nations he represented. In each case, +the speeches seemed the same to Morten. He knew that if merely the name +of the country or bloc in each speech was changed, the rest would be +the same, and sound something like: + +"Gentlemen, a free such-and-such people can no longer tolerate a +militant rearming so-and-so. Every other possibility has been discussed +and rejected. I must say now that at this moment a state of war must of +necessity exist between such-and-such and so-and-so." + +Morten had been hearing variations of it for years. He knew it all +by heart. As each Minister made this implacable statement, he sat +down, and without further ceremony, pushed a button or buttons on his +private console. On the topographical map, as a button was pushed, some +important section of the map, an area, a city, a port, some significant +transportation, communication, or manufacturing industrial center, +would shoot out realistic sparks, smoke, and then crumble into lifeless +debris. + +Morten tried to control the flinching and twitching of his muscles. An +intricate network of electronic relays connected with thermonuclear +bombs went out all over the world, and were hooked in to the map on +the conference table. Millions of people were just blown up somewhere, +Morten thought. + +Another Minister finished his speech, sat down, pressed buttons. More +smoke and flashes shot up. Millions of others out there somewhere have +just been annihilated, Morten thought. It doesn't seem possible, he +thought then. It's not possible. It's some kind of final madness. But +it's happening. + +It had been decided that this was the simple direct way, avoiding long, +time-wasting programs of mobilization and warfare. If the conclusion +was foregone, had been the question, then why not go directly to it by +the shortest and most efficient route? And the answer was as inevitable +as the question. + +More Ministers stood up, made their final declarations, and pushed +buttons. Little puffballs and clouds of smoke drifted over the +conference table, obscuring distinctive facial outlines and turning the +ministers into shadow shapes as Morten watched. + +Only two of the Ministers had not yet pressed their buttons. Only +two sectors of the world remain alive, Morten thought. He coughed +as acrid smoke swirled about the room. He felt a kind of blessed +numbed paralysis. He could almost feel the whole world turning into a +radioactive hell all around him, mushrooms of gigantic size sprouting +fast and furiously in the last big aftermath of rain. Yet he could +scarcely imagine how it really was now, outside the Cellar. He thought +vaguely about the dogs, wondering how many of them had avoided hysteria +by having been tied to heavy pieces of furniture and given sodium +bromide tablets. The kids who survived would need pets. + +Morten sat there, trying to see through the thickening smoke. He tried +to feel grateful for having been in the Cellar. But in a few more +seconds America might also be destroyed. What then? And what if only +America remained--would that be any better? + +He had resisted such speculation, but how could he resist it any +longer? The Ministers had their wives, families, lovers in the Cellar, +and supplies enough to last indefinitely. But Morten's family was +outside. In a few seconds they might be dead. After that nothing. +Nothing at all. + +He heard Thompson say in a calm voice. "Morten, the pistols." + +He also heard the other Minister say in Russian that he wanted his +pistol. Morten had to respect the secret agreement that Thompson and +the Russian Minister had made yesterday. After the other Ministers +pushed their buttons, Thompson and the Russian would fight a duel then +the survivor of the duel would push his button. + +"Someone should win," Thompson and the Russian had agreed. "This way, +one will be the absolute victor." + +If the other Ministers knew what this secret agreement was they either +did not care, or did not care enough now. They got up from the +conference table and drifted out of the big spheroid room to their +families, wives--wherever they wanted to go. + +Now only Thompson and the Russian remained in the room. They walked +ten paces away from one another in the classic tradition of honorable +dueling, turned, and fired. They fell almost at the same time. Morten +rushed over to Thompson who was already dead, having died instantly +with a bullet in his heart. Morten saw that the Russian had a bullet +hole just above his left eye. + +Thompson, foreseeing this possible situation, had gotten a promise from +Morten that he would press the button that would annihilate Russia, in +case Thompson was dead or incapacitated. That would leave the United +States the sole victor in the last great global struggle to establish +once and for all, world wide, the true faith. + +Morten fought a brief struggle with his conscience, then ran out of +the room, leaving the console untouched. The United States and Russia +still survived. Morten's family was still safe. He ran toward the bank +of elevators to get out of the Cellar. He hadn't been out of the Cellar +for a long, long time. + + * * * * * + +The President of the United States switched off the TV, and poured +another martini. "You want another?" he asked the Minister of Peace. +"No, sir, Mr. President." + +For a while they said nothing as they looked out the window at the +peaceful sunshine, and watched birds settle in the trees. + +"They ran their own course," the Minister of Peace said. "Just the +same, it was an unpleasant thing to see." + +"Inevitable," said the President. "There wasn't any other possible way +to handle them." + +Psychiatry would never have altered their rigid mold, he knew. It was a +strangely funny thing, that spontaneous rebellion all over the world. +The people putting a stop to the whole damn vicious historical show. +But they had done it. The lie had been given to all the historical +pessimists like Spencer and Toynbee and Marx and all the others +who had said the same things, whether they really had admitted it +or not. The people, acting out of intuitive realization that they +faced annihilation, had reacted _en masse_ and taken things over for +themselves. Now you couldn't find even a water pistol anywhere in the +world. + +The U.N. Cellar had been walled off, turned into a kind of sanitarium. +Its occupants had never known the truth about the outside. Thompson and +that absurd Russian were dead. But what about the others in the Cellar, +living there still and believing they were the only few survivors left +in the world? + +Poor bastards, the President thought. And then he thought of that +statement by Sartre. The one about hell being a restaurant where you +served yourself. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of War Game, by Bryce Walton + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 59561 *** |