"Colonel Petrakov, missile status report," intoned the General.

Colonel Petrakov scanned the banks of video screens, which showed images of large dark painted missiles inside their silos. Numbers scrolled across the screens depicted each missile’s readiness. The video screens flickered as the dozen operators in the control centre updated information.

"Sir, all missiles operational," Colonel Petrakov recited.

"Excellent," remarked the General, as he stood erect with his hands clasp behind his back.

"Sir, I’d liked to conduct a systems faults test," suggested Colonel Petrakov. He wanted to keep the operators busy so as to alleviate some of the tension. They had been high alert since rebel forces had seize a missile base on Siberia’s Kamchatka Peninsular over a fortnight ago.

"By all means."

"Thank you Sir. Commerce systems faults check."

The Operators ran a series of test programs. Colonel Petrakov traced his finger down a clipboard ensuring every sub-system was covered. Each of the Operators answered in turn that systems were fully functioning.

"Colonel Petrakov would you be so kind as to order some tea. I suspect this is going to be a long watch."

"Yes, Sir. I understand that the Mess Sergeant has acquired a delightful Carmel Tea. Very soothing. Shall I ask the steward …"

"Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!" Sounded an alarm and a yellow light flashed above the centre consol.

"All stations, go to alert positions, emergency power on," barked Colonel Petrakov. "And turn off that alarm!"

Operators spoke earnestly into their handsets. Additional Operators, roused from slumber in the next room, slid behind their consoles. Technicians wearing white caps could be seen on the video screens closing service hatches in the missile silos.

Colonel Petrakov watched the flurry of activity, noting the updated information on the video screens. Then he turned to the General and came to attention.

"Sir, all stations manned and ready."

"Very good, Colonel." The General stood and walked towards the video screens. He could see wisps of vapour surrounding the impassive missiles.

"Thump." An operator accidentally knocked a bulky manual to the floor.

"Clumsy oaf!" chided Colonel Petrakov.

The General glanced at Colonel Petrakov.

"Try to be more careful, man," said Colonel Petrakov in a more conciliatory tone.

"We must be steady," remarked the General aloud. He went back to his accustomed chair.

A telex printer whirled and an Operator abruptly tore off a sheet, stood and strode over to Colonel Petrakov.

"Sir, Emergency Action Message from National Strategic Command."

Colonel Petrakov quickly scanned the message.

"Retrieve today’s code from the safe," he intoned.

The operator saluted and turned to a small safe wedge next to his consol. He proficiently rotated the tumblers, pull open the door and flicked through a bundle of envelopes, pulling out one marked by the day’s date. Colonel Petrakov grasped the envelope from the operator’s hand and tore off the perforated end. Inside was a series of random numbers and letters. He held them against a series of numbers and letters on the message. They matched. Holding them up to the Operator.

"Do you authenticated?"

"Sir, I authenticated the message."

Facing the General, Colonel Petrakov came to attention, "Orders to Strategic Missile Control Centre from National Strategic Command. Prevent firing of any missiles from Kalinkina Peninsular. Strategic Missile Force is releases to your discretion."

"Let me see that message," respond the General indignantly.

Colonel Petrakov handed over the message. The General took his spectacle from his tunic pocket, adjusted them and read the message. He read it again, then returned the message to Colonel Petrakov and sat in his chair.

"Colonel Petrakov, send an acknowledgment to National Strategic Command."

"Yes, Sir." Colonel Petrakov saluted and strode to the Signaller’s consol to dictate a response.

"Carmel tea you suggested, Colonel."

Colonel Petrakov looked up. "Arr, Yes, Sir. I don’t know how the Mess Sergeant got hold of any."

"I find it best not to ask our Mess sergeant too many questions."

"Sir, Shall I have some tea prepared."

"Perhaps later. As a contingency, I want you to uploaded the targeting package for Kamchatka Peninsular missile base."

"Yes, Sir."

Colonel Petrakov went over to one of the Operators and gave him instructions. The Operator was soon hunch over his consol typing rapidly.

A buzzer sounded and an Operator answered a telephone, and then pivoted in his chair towards Colonel Petrakov.

"Sir, Intelligence, Far East Command."

Colonel Petrakov snatched the receiver. "Da, Da," he could be heard saying at intervals. He finished and past the receiver back to the Operator. He walked over to the General and bent to his ear level.

"Sir, Intelligence, advised that they are observing the rebels by satellite and they have commenced fuelling operations. Intelligence assess the rebels will have launch capabilities in thirty minutes."

Colonel Petrakov straightened. The General stoked his chin.

"Sir, shall I order missiles to firing position," said Colonel Petrakov.

The General stared at the flickering video screens.

"Sir, shall I order…"

"I heard you the first time, Colonel."

The General continued to stare. The hum of the air conditioning was the only sound in the operations room.

"Conduct a systems faults check, Colonel Petrakov."

Sir, but shouldn’t we move the missiles to firing position."

"Colonel! I have given you an order."

"Yes, Sir. It is …"

"Don’t argue!"

"Yes, Sir." He looks towards the Operators. "Commerce systems faults check."

The operators repeated their earlier tests. Colonel Petrakov marked the responses off. The General merely nodded when the check was complete.

"Sir, may I speak with you," ventured Colonel Petrakov.

The General raised his eyebrows, then nodded.

"Sir, the rebel forces will very soon have launch capability." Colonel Petrakov paused. He knew he was skirting insubordination.

"Continue."

"The rebels’ may lunch their missiles unless their demands are met."

"They do not have access to the launch codes."

"Nether-the-less, the missiles have enough range to attack America. The Americans may not be satisfied with Moscow’s assurances."

"I don’t answer for America."

Colonel Petrakov took a breath. "The Americans will surely hit the rebels missile base to prevent them from launching."

"What are suggesting, Colonel?"

"Sir, we must destroy those missiles so the Americans won’t strike first."

"High Command has not ordered a strike."

"Sir, High Command has released the Missile Force to your discretion."

"I am aware of that," responded the General.

Colonel Petrakov moved closer. "If the Americans attack, we must initiate a full retaliatory response."

"You want us to attack our own people!"

"Rebels, Sir, who are courting nuclear holocaust."

The General ran his hand though his thinning hair. Colonel Petrakov pulled himself to attention.

"Sir, Moscow won’t order an attack on Russia soil. The political consequences. They have released the Missile Force to your discretion. They expect you to act."

"But what about us, Colonel?"

"Sir, we have our duty. To protect the Motherland."

"Colonel, we’d be put against the wall."

"That is not for us to consider."

"You are a hard man."

"I feel a coward, Sir."

"Yet, you challenge your commander." The General stood up and tugged his tunic. He then took his pistol from his holster.

"The Rules of War apply here and now, Colonel."

Colonel Petrakov stood rigid, feeling cold sweat.

"Colonel, take up your assigned position."

"Sir." Colonel Petrakov about-faced and marched to his consol on the far side of the room. The General stepped towards the central consol.

"Colonel, confirm the targeting package"

Colonel Petrakov anxiously typed at his consol.

"Sir, targeting Kamchatka Peninsular missile base, confirmed."

The General placed his pistol on top of his own consol and slid off the firing key that hung around his neck over his head

"Missiles to firing position," the General commanded.

Operators glanced about nervously as they keyed in commands. Colonel Petrakov retrieved his own key.

"I have been delegated with full authority by National Strategic Command," the General said firmly. Operators sat rigidly. On the video screens missiles could be seen lifting into firing positions under the power of heavy hydraulics. The General lifted the latch from the firing mechanism and inserted his key.

"Missiles in firing position, " said Colonel Petrakov as he inserted his own key.

"At my command, initiate firing sequence."

"Acknowledged," responded Colonel Petrakov.

"Fire!" The General twisted his key.

"Firing, Now." Colonel Petrakov turned his own key.

1 May 2002

Unpublished

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