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Bunker Mentality

Pat Dixon

    Vibrations from the bombs of the Righteous Allies’ Coalition dislodged another array of glossy gray flakes of paint from the ceiling. The Leader closed his red-rimmed eyes protectively and held his breath while the flakes rained onto his ruddy tanned neck and into his slightly disheveled graying hair.
    Seventeen stories above him, on the surface, his enemies’ message was having a demoralizing effect on the inhabitants and the defenders of his capitol. “Shock and Awe” was what the Allies had termed this part of the attack, and its effect had lived up to its name—three of his most loyal generals had surrendered their divisions almost immediately, and six others had radioed the Allies that they would do so too, if only the bombardment would cease.
    A buzzer began to sound, and a pale pink light began flashing on the steel panel beside the foot-thick door opposite his desk. The Leader squinted at the light with puzzlement and vague interest, mildly curious about what it might signify.
    “Sir, the far end of the east tunnel has been breached by the Allies. They’ve found the secret entrance near the river and have captured your escape submarine,” a uniformed subordinate wearing earphones said hoarsely. “And I have just been informed that a very large team of their Marines has activated one of your railcars. It will reach us within seven minutes—unless we collapse the tunnel.”
    “Collapse—the tunnel?” said the Leader, squinting at the young man.
    “Yes, sir. The tunnel has been prepared with several tons of high explosives which we can activate with—with that yellow button there, sir—next to the red button, sir—the one for destroying the elevator shaft that comes down here—sir.”
    “Who has a plan? Anybody? What happens if the—the rail—that rail thingy gets here? Anybody?”
    “Sir, my information sources have surrendered, sir—and I can only surmise that either a team of Coalition Marines are on their way or else a railcar filled with some sort of powerful bomb. In either case, sir, you will be in grave danger if the railcar gets here—sir.”
    “And what can we do ‘bout that. What’s our defense? We always have a defense.”
    “Sir, we need to collapse the east tunnel very quickly—by pushing the yellow button, sir.”
    “Yellow—button. Yellow? That doesn’t symbollix cowardiceness, does it?”
    “No, sir. It’s just the color for that event. Each event has a different color button—sir.”
    “Just so long as it has nothing to do with cowardish—cowardish-ness of any kind. So—what are you waiting for, fella? An ingrated invitation?”
    The uniformed subordinate hurried across the glossy gray concrete floor, covering twenty-eight feet in four seconds. He gazed briefly up into his Leader’s eyes to be certain that the order was not being changed, then pressed the button. Three seconds later the room trembled, and a muffled series of distant explosions could be heard through the thick door.
    “Sir, I’ve just been informed that your advisors have agreed to surrender in return for having their lives spared. They’ve accepted a deal of life in prison—provided they testify against you—sir.”
    “Whoa! Hold on there, fella. I’m not a lawyer,” said the Leader, “not any kind of lawyer—but that would be ‘turning state’s evidence,’ wouldn’t it—and, since I’m head of the state of the Union, they can’t do that. ‘Sides, they’ve taken an oath to be loyal to me, and if they broke that deal, whatever they say wouldn’t count.”
    The uniformed subordinate said nothing. He glanced nervously at the Leader’s wife, who was sitting in one of the large leather chairs, humming “Just a Closer Walk with Thee” to herself and clicking the safety of a .45 automatic on and off, on and off.
    “I’m receiving word now, sir, that the other three escape tunnels have also been breached by Allied forces. Somebody, sir—somebody must have betrayed their locations to the Coalition. How else—? Sir?”
    “What do these other buttons do, fella? Is one of ‘em—y’ know—the button?”
    “Sir?”
    “The button. The button. You know! Is it?”
    “Uh—no, sir. No—sir. That button, sir, is—is in your—office—up top—sir.”
    “Hmm. I knew that—I did. I was just testin’ you.”
    The subordinate glanced at the Leader’s wife again. The Leader looked at her, too, and grinned.
    “Always did like that tune,” he said. “So what do these other buttons do, anyways?”
    “The violet one, the dark blue one, and the orange one blow up the other three escape tunnels, sir—which, pardon me, sir, we perhaps ought to do soon—sir.”
    “Whoa! An’ why’s that?”
    The uniformed subordinate, his mouth slightly agape and a small trace of bewilderment in his eyes, stared at the leader. “Because, sir—because—sir—either the Allies—or their explosives—are probably converging on this very room—even as we speak.”
    “Sir!”
    “Sir?”
    “You forgot to say ‘sir’ at the end of your—whatever it is.”
    “Sentence—my sentence, sir?”
    “Yup. You forgot.”
    “Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again—sir. But—sir—what do you want to do about the other three tunnels—sir?”
    The leader squinted at the subordinate for half a minute before speaking.
    “What?” he said.
    “Sir—the three tunnels that the Allies—or their explosives—coming towards us—through the tunnels—. Sir? Do you want me to blow up those tunnels—sir—so that the Allies or their bombs won’t get you—and the First Lady—sir?”
    “Tell me again—in your own words, fella—why is they’re comin’ here anyways.”
    “Sir—they claim that they are liberating your people—sir. They claim that you’ve got weapons of mass destruction—sir—and have used them against other sovereign nations—sir. And they claim they will restore the Constitution of our country and rebuild our nation and return its wealth to its people. Sir, about the tunnels—?”
    “That’s a crock o’ crap. Crap, crap, crap, crap, crappity crap-crap W-K-R-A-P Cincinnati crap. Ain’t it?”
    “Yes, sir. But what, sir, should we do about the three tunnels—sir?”
    “Don’t they know about my—my vision, fella?”
    “Sir—the tunnels—sir?”
    “Pay attention, son! Focus! If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you was jokin’ behind my head about—tunnel vision—or somethin’. That was a joke. Made it myself.”
    “Yes, sir. They know about your vision, sir. They are getting closer, sir. Closer, sir, even as we speak—sir. They reject your vision, sir. They are approaching in the tunnels, sir—or their explosive devices are—sir. They will kill or capture you—sir. Dead or alive—and your First Lady, sir. That’s what they promised our people—sir. And they—.”
    “Oh—horse fudge! Be a man, fella. Be a man! How do they—what do they say ‘bout my vision? My vision!”
    “Sir, they mock it and say you’ve been a urinator, not a defecator—sir.”
    “Huh? An’ what’s that s’posed to mean? Huh?”
    “Sir, the way it’s been explained to me, sir, is that you—you—you tend to pee on everyone and tell them it’s summer rain—sir—but that you’re full of—full of—stool, sir.”
    “Huh! That’s just a lot o’ crap! Bo-vine crap—if you get my drift. I’ve always been a—universalizer—a—an—untie-er! Not a—dividilator—defibrillator—divisifier—dividendilator—whatever. Vision! That’s what I have. That’s what the Lord hath gaveth unto me. An’ He hath spaketh unto me ‘bout how to proceedeth. I am-eth His instrumentation. An’ He will provideth in this, my hour of needeth. Damn! Will you just stop antsin’ aroun’ near them freakin’ colored buttons, fella?”
    “Sir—respectfully, sir—the Allies’ Coalition—or their explosives—will be here at any moment—sir! Do you want us to be killed—or captured—sir? Sir?”
    “Surely, fella, there is a third choice. So I say, ‘Neither one.’ Right? ‘Neither one’ is what I say.”
    “Yes, sir. I’ll just make that so, then, sir—by pushing these three buttons—sir.”
    “Whoa! Who’s in charge here, fella? You—nor me? I get to decide things like that. Go ahead—mash down on them buttons.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    The whole room shook violently, and the lights dimmed for ten seconds. The Leader squinted his eyes protectively as thousand of glossy gray flakes rained down from the ceiling onto the three occupants of the room.
    “So, fella—let me reaccess my options. That just took care of three of the excape tunnels?”
    “Yes, sir. Three—sir.”
    “An’ there was four in all?”
    “Yes, sir. Four in all, sir.”
    “So now there’re just one left?”
    “Sir?”
    “Focus, fella. Focus! Three, take away four, leaves one? Right?”
    “Sir? No, sir. All four of the tunnels are collapsed now—sir. We blew all four of them, sir. First the east tunnel, then those three. All four—sir. Gone—sir.”
    “So nobody’s gonna get in by way of those ways—am I right?”
    “That’s correct, sir. Nobody—those ways—sir.”
    “I thought so. So how—if at all—can they get in—huh?”
    “Sir—there’s only the elevator shaft left now—sir.”
    “An’ this red button destructs that—right?”
    “Yes, sir. It would be the red button that would do that, sir.”
    “Thought I didn’t ‘member details like this—didn’t you? Graced under pressure. Always had it—always will. The Lord’s Grace graces me.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Well, the Lord hath just toldeth me to keep them from gettin’ in here—them rump-rubbin’ heathenish san’ monkeys an’ all their other butt-covetin’ bastardish rape-room rapers! They’re not gonna deliver nothin’ to me nor the First Lady in our rear loadin’ docks—nor you neither, fella. My Lord hath His prohiscriptions ‘bout that kinda thing. Soooo—bingo!”
    Yet once more the room violently trembled. The lights went out totally for thirty-nine seconds and came on, much dimmer than before. Large cracks had appeared in the wall surrounding the elevator door, but mercifully no further flakes of glossy gray paint fell from the ceiling. The leader, his eyes wide and his lips grinning broadly, stared at the ceiling with satisfaction.
    “Let’s see them monkeys git in here now. Ain’t no way—no can do—am I right?”
    “Yes, sir,” said the subordinate in a hoarse whisper. He cleared his throat, twice. “Yes, sir. No way—in—sir.”
    “But there is a way out, ain’t there?”
    “Yes, sir. A way out—sir. Yes, sir.”
    “So show me—even though I’m not from Missouri. Let’s see it.”
    The subordinate walked over to where the First Lady was seated.
    “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said in a soft voice. “I need to borrow this for just a little mo—mo—moment—ma’am.”
    He took the pistol from her hand and placed it against his damp forehead.
    “Way out—sir. Way out.”
    The almost deafening blast was intensified by the flat surfaces of the concrete walls, floor, and ceiling. Skull fragments and brain tissue covered the First Lady’s hair, face, arms, and clothing. She rubbed her eyes and lips and then spat a couple times to clear her mouth. Then she leaned forward and took her pistol from the subordinate’s warm dead hand.
    “Sir,” said the Leader. “He forgot to say ‘sir’ at the end of his—whatever.”
    “His life? But he was a such nice young man, though,” said the First Lady. “I really do think he really, really cared ‘bout us. Don’t you, Archie?”
    “O’ course, I do! The Lord hath providethed me with many loyal fallovers. Yea, though I walk through the whatever-whatever whatsoever, I shall fear no evil. Never have—never will. Bring ‘em on. Right, Edith?”



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