by Ken Blowers
CHAPTER 7
THE BUTTON
Group Captain Rod Striker looked at the button again.
He had seen it many times before during his three-year tour of duty as Commander of No. 6 Intercontinental Ballistic Missile Squadron. The thought that one day he might actually have to press that button had troubled him quite a bit – even more of late!
He stared at it again, fascinated at the power behind it, in that strange way others might be both repelled and yet still held by the slow sway of an aroused cobra. Inherently he was the type of man naturally fascinated by brute power and it was inevitable and quite understandable that such a man would be chosen to command a deadly ICBM Squadron.
He fought hard for control of his emotions, it being important to ensure loyalty and duty prevailed, as he continued to stare at the button. There was nothing beautiful, attractive or in any way outstanding about it. It was totally utilitarian in appearance. But it had an aura of power about it nonetheless. A power which once activated would start a chain reaction that even a Group Captain like Rod Striker would find difficult, if not impossible, to stop!
The button itself, fire-engine red and about the size of a ten cent coin, projected from its mount by no more than ten millimetres.
Ten millimetres, he thought. Ten lousy millimetres! Was that really all one’s finger had to move to activate the button and unleash its power? The thought was chilling and as big a man as he undoubtedly was, the thought disturbed him deeply.
He had heard that some of these buttons had to be pressed hard, real hard, maybe even thumped! He shuddered at the thought, as he continued to stare at the button. It certainly didn’t look all that new. It could easily have been in for a service for a long while; but then it was also possible it could have been completely overhauled and modernized with maybe the very latest electronics inside! If that was the case, then like all modern switches, little effort would be needed to activate it. The lightest of touch would be followed by the shrieking sound of a bell. A sound that would chill his blood and almost stop his heart! A sound that could only be followed by pain and suffering and the shedding of blood.
Looking up for a moment he was surprised and startled to see his reflection in the window. He saw more than just a uniform and high rank. He saw a man, an Officer, with awesome responsibilities. As the most Senior Officer on the base he did not need to be told where his duty lay. There was to be no running away from it. He knew what had to be done and he knew he had to do it!
As he turned to focus on the button once more, his train of thought was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. He was clearly no longer alone. Thank God for that, he sighed.
Wing Commander Barry Jones presented himself smartly. There was a brief exchange of military protocol. Then the Wing Commander asked: ‘Have you…’
‘Oh, God, no. Not yet. I, I was just waiting for someone else to turn up. I feel happier knowing I’m not alone in this, you understand?’
‘Of course, Sir.’ Wing Commander Barry Jones turned away, hiding his look of disgust. ‘Gutless wonder,’ he thought. ‘These high ranking wimps always need someone present, someone they can blame if anything should go wrong!’ Nonetheless, he felt he must speak up. ‘Time’s getting away, Sir,’ he said.
‘I’m well aware of that, Wing Commander. Everything... under control?’
‘Yes, Sir. All systems go, as they say.’
‘Do you have to use such trite expressions,’ the Group Captain barked!
‘What’s got into him?’ the Wing Commander thought, very much resenting the way he’d been ‘put down’! ‘It’s, it’s got to be done, Sir.’
‘Yes. Yes! I know that. I don’t need you to tell me.’
Wing Commander Jones watched Group Captain Striker stretch out his shaking hand towards the button. Sweat was clearly breaking out across his brow. He was mumbling something, something about ‘It’s my responsibility’ and just as his hand made contact with the button, he appeared to slip or faint.
‘Steady on, Sir,’ said the Wing Commander, moving in quickly to support him. Then, ‘It’s all done now, Sir. You’ve done your duty. No going back,eh?’
The white faced Group Captain said nothing, as the two men moved to straighten themselves up, striving to regain their normal military bearing, as to their ears came the dreaded sound, of immensely heavy, massive old doors being slowly pulled open. They were the Senior Officers. They knew it. Everybody on base knew it. They were determined to show it!
When it became clear that the doors were fully open, it was still strangely quiet. It wouldn’t last though. That much they did know.
They struggled to look beyond the doors, to look into the cavernous interior and to see what lay there. Listening for any sign or sound of further activity and yes…yes, there was something moving now: It was large. It was blue and white and it was female.
‘Good morning, gentlemen. I’m Corporal Gumps, they call me ‘Gummy’! The base dental officer, Flying Officer I ‘Pullem’, will be ready for you in a moment. Oh, we really do apologise for that button on the bell. The thing hasn’t work since the Cadets came through last week. Probably jam packed with chewing gum, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Now, who’s first? Who’s the bravest? Either of you in pain then?’ she queried, as Group Captain Striker, exerting his authority to the full, quickly pushed Wing Commander Jones forward.
BEN URGLAR
My name is Ben Urglar and I live in your town. Well, I don't actually live in your town, but when I go there some people make me feel so welcome. I just feel like I'm sort of an honorary member of your town.
I like to go to your town and just cruise around the streets looking at the nice houses, the nice trees and the nice gardens and when I see a house with the garage door wide open and the car gone - wow! I just know I'm so welcome!
I can't resist such a warm invitation, to do so might be construed impolite. So I strolls up to the house and rings the bell or knocks on the door, whatever, as a matter of courtesy, you understand. I don't really expect anybody to be in. If anybody is in, I make a polite inquiry: ‘Have you seen a lost cat or dog? Have you lost a mobile phone? Do you have any antiques for sale?’ Anything that comes quickly to mind. It's not that I'm more interested in getting away than staying to make casual conversation. No, I just don't want to intrude, you understand.
But usually there's nobody in and that's nice. That's the way the game should be and usually is, played. People who play it, well, they just love to leave nice little gifts for me, they do! Lawn mowers, leaf blowers, hose-reels, wheelbarrows, you name it. Once I get into one of those garages it can be like a veritable Aladdin's Cave: I never know what treasures I'll find. It's so exciting. You know, one lady last week actually left me a nice dainty little wooden wheelbarrow, out on the front lawn it was too. So handy and simply loaded with pretty pot plants. She did, I tell you! I was able to wheel them to my van easy as wink. Then back, through the garage for the mower and a nice little wooden garden setting. I like that, it saved my back I can tell you.
Now if you'd like me to call, just to help you get rid of your bits of surplus, you understand, then leave your garage door open when you go out. I’ll take it as a sign that I'm welcome and I'll be round just as soon as I can. Can't promise exactly when: I mean there's so many doing it, but I'll get there eventually. I will! If you haven't got a garage door to leave open, don't fret; just leave your old newspapers strewn around the lawn, your windows open, that kind of thing. I'll notice. I've got a good eye for that sort of thing. Well, after all, it's me living!
Cheers!
Ben Urglar
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