“Was pushing the buttons a very difficult thing to do?” enquired one woman. I laughed and told her that it was the simplest job imaginable. A child could have done it. An imbecile. A trained monkey!
My answer to the woman’s enquiry provoked a question in my own mind: Why did I have such a long and intensive training? Was it really necessary? Or was it really training? What skill had I acquired? Enough to push the buttons! And I had learnt all sorts of technical things seemingly unrelated to this imbecile function. My guess was that the training staff introduced them to make me feel that I had an intricate and important job to do, and to camouflage the simplicity of my basic task. This sort of ‘training’ must have been the crafty invention of my wife’s colleagues—psychologists. They studied monkeys to learn about men, and then turned men into monkeys.
While I was brooding over this, someone called my attention to the screen. I wonder why I did not look at it as soon as I entered the room.
It was in its usual place, where I had seen it every day since coming down here. But when I left it at 11.21 hours on June 9, the enemy’s territory was covered with rather nicely-coloured spots and circles. Now it was completely black.
A4, B4 and C4 had done a thorough job. They had added over-all radioactive poisoning to the blast and heat damage. Not an acre of ground belonging to the enemy or anybody on his side had escaped. Not a single coloured spot, let alone white, was left.
It gave me a curious chilly feeling. Not so much the destruction, as the completeness of it. This may have been quite irrational; but the unrelieved black made me turn and leave the Operations Room hurriedly, determined not to go back there again.
I wonder how our map looks, down there in the enemy’s ex-X Operations Room. Are there still some coloured places on it—red, blue, yellow—even some white parts? Or is it all black?”
JUNE 13
At last—some news about the destruction outside.
It appears to be total. As complete as that over territory held by the enemy, if one can go by the message they broadcast today: that their ‘Offensive Actions Operations Room’ screen showed our country, and those of our allies, lying in ruins.
As far as anybody can ascertain, no one is still living on the surface of our country. Not one radio message has been received. Of course, nobody is going to peep out and check the situation just at the moment. The radioactivity would be fatal.
Moreover, there is no radio contact with any shelter on Level 1, though each of these was equipped with a shortwave transmitter and receiver. We have called them, but not a squeak has been got out of them so far. They must all have been destroyed by the underground-bursting bombs—though some were probably hit by the ground-bursting and even the air-bursting ones as well.
But what difference does it make how they perished? They perished.
It looks as if all our allies have suffered the same fate. Judging by the complete radio silence, they have been wiped out not only on the surface but even in their shelters; which is not all that surprising, since the shelters were of a rather primitive and inefficient sort. The Level 1 type.
This means that only a very small percentage of our population survived the war. And the same goes, of course, for our enemy. (His satellites were no luckier than our allies.)
The world is no longer over-populated. Hundreds of millions died in those three hours. Hundreds of millions in three hours!
There is full radio contact with Levels 6, 5, 4 and 3. The military levels and those of the civilian élite were deep enough to survive the terrible blast. The civilians—especially the VIPs—must be having a hard time, getting adjusted to the underground life they entered so suddenly, but they can count themselves fortunate to be alive at all.
The lot of Level 2 is perhaps the most interesting of all, because this level has proved to be just on the border of survival. Of the forty shelters, thirty-two were too near to underground explosions to survive. But eight shelters, with about 25,000 people in each, are intact. We have radio links with them.
I cannot think why, but they keep asking us for details about what is happening on the surface. Even after they have been given the correct answer (which boils down to ‘Nothing’), they go on asking such pointless questions as, for example, “Why weren’t better shelters built for more people?” As if anything can be done about it now!
It seems that under stress they are becoming more critical again. Some of them have been making abusive remarks about our government—accusing it of ‘negligence’, ‘stupidity’ and so forth.
It is good fun listening to these messages. They have real entertainment value.
That is one of the best things about these post-war days—the radio communication. For the first time since we came down here, we can hear the voice of people outside our own community. Not voices from the surface, admittedly, but voices from other levels. We communicate with the other military people on Level 6, we overhear what the politicians say on Level 5, we enjoy ourselves listening to the abuse from the cranks who survive on Level 2.
And all quite unrestricted, too. Since June 11 the general loudspeaker system has been relaying whatever messages have seemed of most general interest. As far as I can tell, the selection necessary in the circumstances (the alternative would be babel) is the only form of ‘censorship’ being used. There cannot be any other kind, or we should certainly not be allowed to hear the outrageous things said by the enemy and by Level 2.
Level 7, it seems to me, has been reborn. People are taking an interest in what is going on in the world—or rather in the underworld. There is a new sparkle in their eyes.
We are no longer isolated. We have contact with humanity again.
We are not underprivileged any more, doomed to live below while others enjoy the sunshine. Now we appreciate how privileged we are. Our deepest of shelters makes us the most favoured people in the world.
JUNE 14
P is very satisfied with my present mental condition. I am in a much better mood, and have almost forgotten the ordeal of my psychological therapy.
The activity, the feeling of having done something, does me good. I am through with my work now, admittedly, but since the end of hostilities there has been such a bustle on Level 7 that life here seems different.
P thinks it is the therapy which has made the improvement in me. She may be right, but I am sure the radio communication with other levels has something to do with it too. That is how it seems to me, anyway.
I think that if we had had the radio links all the time, from the very beginning, I would never have collapsed. I said so to X-107, but he had his usual sound argument against such an arrangement. “If we’d been able to talk to the outside world all the time,” he said, “we’d have longed to get out. That would have slowed down our adjustment to Level 7. But now that nobody in his right mind would dream of changing his privileged position down here, contact with other levels can only do us good.”
He was right, of course.
Today we heard some very interesting political news. The enemy denied our claim to victory and said that he had won the war. His arguments, and our politicians’ counter-arguments, were quite ingenious.
The enemy maintained that he had succeeded in destroying our country before we destroyed his. His last missiles were fired before 11.00 hours, whereas we pushed our last buttons at 11.20.
Our people admitted this, but interpreted it the opposite way. They said that he who fired the last shot was the victor. The enemy, they suggested, could not fire the last of his missiles at all, because his launching sites had been put out of order by our rockets.