Dr. Strangelove

by Peter George

  ‘Six minutes.’

  ‘Okay,’ King said. ‘Dietrich, you just stay right here.’

  THE WAR ROOM

  The President said, ‘Who was that, Buck?’

  Turgidson smiled, ‘Well now, Mister President, you know, all kinds of zany phone calls come in here. Ought to make it an unlisted number if you ask me.’ Turgidson’s phone sounded. He grabbed it, conscious that the President was watching him.

  He said, ‘No... no... well of course I know that... Look, I just can’t talk now... my President needs me... well, who do you think I mean? Sure, the President of the United States... Of course he is. So goodbye.’

  He replaced the phone.

  The President looked at him coldly. ‘Good news, Buck?’ he asked.

  Turgidson said, ‘Well, kind of medium, Mister President.’

  LEPER COLONY

  King picked up the triptych of fierce-looking warriors and studied it. He held it close to him and said, ‘Don’t you worry, ole buddies.’ Then he let the triptych swing back against the instrument board and said, ‘Lieutenant Zogg, arm the bombs for impact.’

  ‘Arm them for impact?’

  ‘That’s right. You set them bombs for impact, you hear?’

  ‘But we can’t get the bomb doors open.’

  ‘Lieutenant Zogg, I’ve given you an order. Arm them bombs for impact!’

  Lothar Zogg said patiently, ‘But, King, they’re already armed for impact.’

  Major Kong said, after considering Lothar’s remarks, ‘Awright, Lothar, awright, awright. I gotta lot to think about, don’t fergit that.’

  ‘I’m not forgetting it, King.’

  ‘Awright, so shut up an’ let me concentrate.’

  Lothar lapsed into offended silence.

  King said, ‘Sweets, how far are we from target?’

  Kivel replied immediately, ‘Four minutes.’

  King said, ‘Okay, I’m goin’ down to them bomb doors again. Got an idea I mebbe can open them.’

  THE WAR ROOM

  The President said, ‘No contact, Staines?’

  Staines said, ‘No contact, sir.’

  The President sighed. ‘You’d think their whole air defence could intercept one bomber.’

  Turgidson said, ‘Well now, sir, it’s not that easy. You got to remember that plane’s real low. Can’t get radar response at that height.’

  Everyone heard Turgidson’s speech. They looked at the Big Board.

  The Russian bomber threat was still building up over the Arctic.

  LEPER COLONY

  King pulled back on the controls and the bomber started climbing.

  Dietrich moved forward and tapped King on the shoulder.

  King turned his head. He said, ‘Okay, Dietrich, now you take her up to ten thousand while I go down to them bomb doors. You understand me?’

  Dietrich said, ‘Sure, King.’

  ‘And once she’s at ten thousand you level her out, okay?’

  ‘Okay, King.’

  Dietrich settled himself in the seat and concentrated.

  King moved toward the rear of the bomber and disappeared down the steps to the bomb-navigator compartment.

  Sweets said, ‘Well hi, King, what you doing down here?’

  King ignored him. He said, ‘Lothar, you know this happened to me once before?’

  ‘No, I didn’t know, King.’

  ‘Well it did,’ King said, ‘an’ we put it right. You know that?’

  ‘No, I didn’t know it, King.’ Lothar’s voice was apologetic.

  ‘Well you know it now,’ King said irritably. ‘You just help me down that goddam pipe.’

  Lothar moved forward immediately. He said, ‘Sure, King, I’ll help you.’

  ‘An’ you put those bomb-door switches to positive, you understand?’

  ‘Sure, King, I understand.’

  King descended into the bomb bay for the second time. He had remembered how the mechanism controlling the bomb doors had once before been affected by a broken wire. It was possible, he thought, that the same thing had happened.

  He quickly inspected the wiring in the roof of the bomb bay. He thought he saw the connection that had been broken. He patted Hi-There affectionately, then climbed onto Lolita. It was a difficult climb. He stood on Lolita and reached for the broken wires, connected them, then sat down on Lolita to throw the emergency switches on the side of the bomber.

  Lothar Zogg looked down at him anxiously. He said, ‘You all right, King?’

  ‘Sure,’ King said. ‘I’m awright.’

  He was sitting astride Lolita, ready to throw the final switch. He looked carefully at his watch. He estimated they were over their target. He reached across and threw the switch.

  Nobody would ever know what passed through King’s mind in the next few seconds. The bomb doors began to open and King was illuminated by the light from below.

  Lolita began to fall and King fell with her. Perhaps he thought in this ultimate moment that he could accelerate the bomb’s fall, or maybe even give it guidance. Nobody knows.

  King dropped with the bomb from Leper Colony. What happened after that is anybody’s guess.

  What is certain is that three minutes later Lolita detonated in a twenty-megaton explosion.

  THE DOOMSDAY MACHINE

  Under the perpetually fog-shrouded mountain in the empty arctic wastes of northern Siberia, seismographs, radio antennae, and computers analysed the material they had received.

  The memory banks clicked as they examined it.

  They arrived at their decision.

  For a few seconds there was silence.

  Then there was an explosion that made the bomb from Leper Colony look like kids’ firecrackers.

  And billions of tons of earth and debris rose into the air to begin their lethal journey around the globe.

  THE WAR ROOM

  The President put down his phone. He said, ‘In spite of all our efforts, gentlemen, in spite of all we’ve done, they’ve delivered their bomb. And apparently the Soviet bomb has detonated in retaliation. There it is. The Doomsday Machine has been triggered! God knows it’s not our fault.’

  General Turgidson said, ‘It’s wrong.’ He sighed, then said, ‘Totally wrong.’

  Admiral Randolph also shook his head. He said, ‘It isn’t right.’

  They were not really talking to each other. In fact everyone was walking round talking to himself.

  General Turgidson said, ‘I don’t care what anyone says, it just doesn’t seem to make sense to end all human life on Earth.’

  ‘It’s wrong.’ Admiral Randolph responded.

  General Faceman muttered, ‘It’s not right.’

  ‘It isn’t right!’ General Turgidson said bitterly, ‘It’s all so pointless. I mean, a man works his whole life fighting for something, and this is what he gets. You know, I can see twenty, forty, a hundred million dead, but everybody? It’s just a damned shame, and I don’t mind saying so.’

  Staines turned to the President, ‘Mister President, how are we going to break this to the people? I mean, it’s going to do one hell of a thing to your image.’

  The President irritably shrugged off Staines’s question. He said, ‘Mister Ambassador, how much time have we got?’

  The Ambassador’s voice was weary. ‘Four – possibly six months in the Northern Hemisphere. Perhaps a year in the southern latitudes.’

  ‘Perhaps not!’

  Everyone turned to the man who had spoken so emphatically.

  It was Doctor Strangelove.

  The President said, ‘What do you mean, Doctor Strangelove?’

  ‘Mister President, I would not rule out the chance to preserve a nucleus of human specimens.’

  The President looked at him. ‘You mean there’s a way? There’s a way to do this?’

  Doctor Strangelove moved his wheelchair back from the table. He was excited and again his right arm was jerking spasmodically. He said to the President, ‘There is.’
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br />   ‘How?’

  ‘At the bottom of some of our deeper mine shafts.’

  ‘At the bottom of mines? I don’t get you, I don’t get you at all.’

  ‘It’s easy.’

  Turgidson turned to his aide. He said, ‘What the hell is this guy talking about?’

  Doctor Strangelove said, ‘I repeat, Mister President, I would not rule out the chance of preserving a nucleus of human specimens.’

  The President said wearily, ‘Doctor Strangelove, do you think you could possibly explain?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then please do,’ the President said. He used his inhaler.

  Doctor Strangelove leaned forward enthusiastically. He said, ‘Mister President, you are aware of the basic facts concerning radiation and human life?’

  The President put his inhaler down on the table.

  He said, ‘Of course I am.’

  ‘So you can see, it’s simple.’

  ‘What’s simple?’ the President snapped.

  ‘The chance to preserve a nucleus of human specimens.’

  ‘You’ve already said that!’

  ‘Yes,’ Doctor Strangelove said, ‘and, Mister President, I meant it.’

  ‘Goddammit!’ The President exploded. ‘Just what do you mean?’

  ‘Mine shafts.’

  ‘What about mine shafts?’

  Doctor Strangelove said, ‘Oh, I thought you were with me, Mister President.’

  ‘I am with you. What about mine shafts?’

  Strangelove said, ‘Mine shafts? Why, the chance to preserve a nucleus of human specimens.’

  The President drummed his fingers on the table and looked at Strangelove.

  Doctor Strangelove smiled at him happily. He moved his chair closer to the President, conscious that everyone in the room was watching him. He did not object to this, indeed he found it gratifying. When his chair stopped near the President he said, ‘Well look, Mister President, I’ll explain.’

  The President said faintly, ‘Please.’

  ‘Of course! The radioactivity would not penetrate a mine thousands of feet deep.’

  The President looked at him blankly.

  ‘In a matter of weeks sufficient improvements for dwelling space could be provided.’

  ‘You mean people would stay in there for almost a hundred years? Impossible.’

  Doctor Strangelove smiled tolerantly. As he spoke he gestured with his gloved right hand. ‘Mister President, man is an amazingly adaptable creature. After all, the conditions would be far superior to those of the so-called concentration camps, where there is ample evidence most of the wretched creatures clung desperately to life.’

  The President seemed unconvinced, but around the table it was apparent that Strangelove’s proposal had not fallen upon deaf ears.

  The President said, ‘How?’

  MISSILE COMPLEX 69

  Nothing remained of Missile Complex 69 or of Major King Kong.

  He had hit his target and destroyed it. Now the particles which had made him a human being rose into the atmosphere to add their small contribution to the radioactive particles from the explosion of the Doomsday Machine.

  THE WAR ROOM

  Doctor Strangelove smiled. He said, ‘It would not be difficult. Nuclear reactors could provide power almost indefinitely. Greenhouses could maintain plant life. Oxygen of course can be supplied by selected plants. This would enable an efficient filtration system to be installed in the shaft. Animals could be bred and slaughtered. A quick survey would have to be taken of all the suitable mine sites in the country, but I shouldn’t be surprised if space for several hundred thousand of our people could be prepared.’

  The President said thoughtfully, ‘But only several hundred thousand saved. There would be panic, rioting, absolute chaos.’

  Strangelove said, ‘I am sure the armed forces could deal with any disobedience. Men cannot fight against tanks and machine guns, Mister President. This we have proved.’

  President Muffley shook his head. ‘But to take such a decision... who would choose the survivors?’

  Strangelove said, ‘A special committee would have to be appointed to study and recommend the method and criteria of choice.’

  The President observed the jerking of Strangelove’s right arm. Naturally he knew everything about Strangelove’s personal history. He knew also that Strangelove was sometimes erratic. But he had contributed a large amount to the defence of the country. He said, ‘How could anyone decide a thing like that?’

  Strangelove said, ‘Offhand, I should say that in addition to the factors of youth, health, sexual fertility, intelligence, and a cross section of necessary skills, it would be absolutely vital that our top government and military men be included, to foster and impart the required principles of leadership and tradition.’

  The arrow had not missed its mark, and around the table there was an outbreak of sober, nodding heads.

  Attention was concentrated more than ever on Doctor Strangelove.

  Strangelove went on. ‘Naturally they would breed prodigiously, eh? There would be much time and little to do. With the proper breeding techniques, and starting with a ratio of, say, ten women to each man, I should estimate the progeny of the original group of two hundred thousand would emerge a hundred years later as well over a hundred million. Naturally the group would have to engage in enlarging the original living space. This would have to be continuous. They would have to do it so long as they stayed in the mine shaft.’

  General Turgidson said quietly to his aide, ‘You know, I’m beginning to think this Kraut has really got something.’

  The President said, ‘How long would that be? What will there be left when they emerge?’

  Strangelove said, ‘When they emerge a good deal of present real estate and machine tools will still be recoverable, if they are moth-balled in advance. I suggest this should be put in hand immediately. I guess they could then work their way back to our present gross national product inside twenty years.’

  The President said, ‘But look here, Strangelove, won’t this, er, nucleus of survivors be so shocked, grief-stricken, and anguished that they will envy the dead and not wish to go on living?’

  ‘Certainly not, sir. When they go down into the mine, everyone will still be alive. They will have no shocking memories, and the prevailing emotion should be one of nostalgia for those left behind, combined with the spirit of bold curiosity for the adventure ahead. This will, I think, encourage them.’

  General Turgidson looked at Strangelove. He said, ‘You mentioned the ratio of ten women to each man. Wouldn’t that necessitate abandoning the so-called monogamous form of sexual relationship – at least so far as men are concerned?’

  ‘Regrettably, yes. But it is a sacrifice required for the future of the human race. I hasten to add that, since each man will be required to perform prodigious service along those lines, the women will have to be selected for their sexual characteristics, which will have to be of a highly stimulating order.’

  The Russian Ambassador, De Sadeski, said enthusiastically, ‘Strangelove, I must confess you have an astonishingly good idea there.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  General Turgidson said, ‘Mister President?’

  ‘Yes, General Turgidson.’

  ‘Mister President, I think we’ve got to look into this thing from the military point of view. I mean, if the Russkies stashed away some big bombs and we didn’t, when they came out in a hundred years they could take over.’

  General Faceman broke into the conversation. ‘I agree, Mister President. In fact they might even try an immediate sneak attack so they take over our mine-shaft space.’

  General Turgidson said, ‘I think we would be extremely naive, Mister President, to imagine that these new developments will affect the Soviet expansionist policy. We must be increasingly on the alert for their moves to take over other mine-shaft spaces in order to breed more prodigiously than us, and so knock us out
through superior numbers when we emerge.’

  ‘Us, General Turgidson?’

  Turgidson said loudly, ‘Mister President, we must not allow a mine-shaft gap!’

  EPILOGUE

  Though the little-known planet Earth, remotely situated in another galaxy, is admittedly of mere academic interest to us today, we have presented this quaint comedy of galactic pre-history as another in our series, The Dead Worlds of Antiquity.

  Some Notes on the Character of Strangelove including

  STRANGELOVE’S THEORY

  Slag was neither the oldest nor the largest of our seats of higher learning.

  Founded some fifty years previously by a drug manufacturer who promoted commercially a recipe stolen from the aboriginal inhabitants that had now largely disappeared, it was modestly but sufficiently endowed.

  The ugliness of the buildings was alleviated in some measure by the happy combination of mellow weather and fumes from the nearby chemical plant of the founder, which produced a great variety of chemicals rather than the one specific product for which it had been built.

  Slag Institute of Science was able to attract its faculty with salaries that were somewhere between the derogatory pittances offered by the colleges of the uncouth, illiterate North, and the fat sums offered by the Senior Six to scholars of real distinction. Consequently its faculty was sound enough, but so far had lacked among its numbers anyone with that spark of intuition – that ability for real creation that distinguishes the great thinker from the adequate.

  No Wigner or Shockley had graced its laboratories, no Santayana or Pauli its lecture halls. It was – and was content to be – a moderately good college, with a moderately good faculty, and an alumni who, while they would not deliberately seek to introduce the matter into conversation, could reply without actual shame, when directly asked, that they had graduated from Slag.