8
8-Ball
Guest
Apocalypse
January 10th, 2077, Washington, D.C.
“Five weeks ago, war with China and the Sino-Soviet Coalition was declared. Our brave infantrymen have been risking their lives for control of key sectors along the Yangtze, while the red scourge attempts to overthrow freedom in the United States.” The newsflash then proceeded to display a group of eight asian-looking men grabbing an American man and firing a bullet into his brain, kicking the corpse onto the ground and laughing.
“Like it?” asked Jonathon Martin. “It’s our latest propaganda video. Check this footage—”
“That will be enough, Mr. Martin. We don’t need to see any more footage of your impersonators dressed in Chinese uniforms executing our own prisoners. We’ve had enough of that since the televised executions act was passed in 2073.” Came the ominous voice from the desk across from the room. It was the president. He didn’t take kindly to threats and was already escorted by a legion of elite bodyguards to protect him from corporations angry over the sanctions against China.
“Yes, sir. Should we air it? It could use a little bit more work on the colorization…” Martin started off, ready to give a rave about how it “wasn’t quite perfect.”
“It’s fine as it is, Martin. Will CNN take it? How about ABC? Hell, try and air it on everything and tell them that we’ve got armed SWAT troopers outside their executive offices if they don’t give in immediately. If they still refuse…”
“They won’t, sir. I’ll make sure of that.” And with that, Martin stepped out of the room and left the president to his paperwork.
* * * * *
January 11th, 2077, Norton Elementary, California
“Hey, Bob, can I have some of your sandwich?” asked Jim. He’d always wanted to take a huge bite out of something, having trouble getting by with his family’s low supply of food stamps.
“Here, take half of it.” Bob smiled. “Damn. Wish there was something else to do around here.”
“Yeah, I hear that,” Jim said, giddily grasping the ham-and-cheese sandwich and stuffing as much of it in his mouth as he could. “Too bad we’re only kids. Otherwise, we’d have graduated from Norton Elementary years ago and we’d be off kicking communist butt by now, eh Bob?”
“Yeah. Those grown-ups have it made.”
“ALL STUDENTS REPORT TO ROOM 13 IMMEDIATELY” Blared the intercom.
“Come on, let’s go!!!” Bob shouted as he grabbed Jim’s hand and dragged him to room 13, the A\V room.
As they stepped in, a teacher ushered the students into chairs in front of a large television set. Flipping it on, they heard the familiar calm, soothing voice of a newscaster.
“This footage of the war with China was captured today—” The newscaster’s face left the screen and she was replaced with a gruesome vision of large groups of U.S. and Chinese troops facing off, firing grenades and bullets at opposite trenches. The grisly warfare continued for about three minutes until all of the people in the U.S. trench were dead except the cameraman, whose camera revealed the image of three soldiers coming at him, grabbing him from the camera, two holding him and one grabbing the camera itself to view the reporter, who was kicked down to his knees and shot in the back of the neck by a fourth soldier, stepping into the trenches. This soldier proceeded to take a U.S. flag, hold it in front of the camera, then light it on fire.
The class lit up with hatrid for the evil Chinese who were encroaching upon U.S. borders and mercilessly killing the American people. Children threw everything they could at the image of the man on the screen, laughing maniacly as the flag was torched.
* * * * *
January 12th, 2077, 500 feet below Beijing, China
“Sir, we have our nuclear weapons ready, but we have to stop and reservice them every other Monday. We could fire them right now, if—”
“That’s alright, Wang.” Chen interrupted. “We’ll wait until the American bastards do something.”
“But what if they manage to surprise us, commander? We’d be doomed and the work of Mao Tse—”
“Enough of this Mao Tse Tung bullshit!” Chen yelled. “Wang, shut up and get back to work or we’ll have you be the next one executed in his honor. The only real person with any power is the Prime Minister and he’s got a lot more power than any deitized revolutionary! We’ll launch them next Tuesday. And if you tell any one of our workers—”
“I know, sir. You’ll have me shot. Should I inform the liason from Moscow?”
“Come on, that idiot’s power is about as strong as his nation’s economy. They’ve already lost half of the New Soviet Union to the yankee bastards, and because of their incompetence we’ve been forced to use the Great Wall of China as a defensive measure against U.S. troops! I’ll send the message to Moscow to empty their silos, and let’s just hope that the 150-year-old things don’t explode as they’re flying out. Now, do not disturb me again unless the Americans are launching.”
“Yes, sir!” Shouted Wang as he left the room.
* * * * *
January 12th, 2077, Somewhere along the Yangtze River
“Well, my friends? Are we ready to bring back the glory of Mao Tse Tung and the revolution?” Shouted Lieutenant Wei.
“No doubt about it, sir!” Shouted the rest of the regiment in unison.
“Then let us die for China!!!”
“For the revolution! For honor!” Echoed a cry throughout an army thirty thousand strong.
10 miles away, a similar cry was heard.
“Let’s crush the godless bastards and send them packing home to their whores of mothers!” Shouted Lieutenant Ansbury.
“You bet your money, LT!”
“Then let us die for America!!!”
“For freedom! For liberty! For honor!”
“GO-O-O-O-O-O! GOD’S ON OUR SIDE!!!”
And at that point, in the largest recorded battle in the “Freezing war,” 30,000 Chinese soldiers ran out of their trenches and into the front lines. They were accompanied by 30,000 American soldiers rushing at them from the other side of the field. This battle was to determine control of 50 square miles along the coast of the Yangtze river, and control would probably have been lost the next day if it were not for a very remarkable event. The 60,000 men and women who died in less than two hours would be forever forgotten and thought of as their governments only as “expendable.”
* * * * *
January 21st, 2077, Washington, D.C.
“Are you ready, sir?”
“Yes. We’re ready.”
“30 minutes for an ICBM launch. We have their major cities targeted as well as their main industrial and military zones locked on, Mr. President.”
“When historians of the future look back on this incident, will it be regarded as the 30-minute war, Mr. Martin?”
“Perhaps, sir…”
“Maybe I should have listened to the corporations…”
“Sir, are you crazy? They’d have bought you out like any other president, and the Chinese would sweep through the—”
“Enough of that bullshit, John! You’re the propaganda head and you know that all of the shit you’re feeding the proletariat is full of lies. I would have been like you, but think about it… do you have a dog, Martin? A pet? Wouldn’t it be—”
“Mr. President, are you insane? How dare you promote cowardice!”
“John, can I tell you something?”
“What?”
“You’re an idiot. But you’re a loyal idiot, so I’ll tell you my one secret before we end civilization.”
“What’s that one secret, Mr. President?”
“I didn’t get fairly elected. Randall got 5% more of the popular votes, and on top of my electoral college win, I put 30 million into hiring goons to rig the machines. The bastards have all since been falsely convicted of murder and executed.”
“Well, it’s a good thing that you did win, albeit unfairly, because that Randall could never have done a better job than you. He’d never had made such wise moves as installing the clo—”
“Shut up, John. Shut up! And if I can’t shut you up, a 50-megaton blast can. Come on, let’s go.” And with that the president stood from his seat and exited the room with secretary of state Jonathon Martin at his side.
As they stepped into the war room, the president picked up the “red phone of war” and dialed a message to the Silo Control Center in Nevada.
“Go to defcon one.”
“Defcon one, sir!” Came the voice of a lieutenant on the other side. The president could hear the sound of “THIS IS IT, EVERYONE! TIME TO CRUSH THE RED BASTARDS!!!” over the phone. Looking up at a calendar, the president examined the date that the world would end. It was Tuesday. It was midday outside and the children were playing in their sandboxes and going to school. A good a time as any, he thought.
The president pulled out a key from his pocket. Martin followed suit and did the same.
“Go to defcon two.”
“Our birds are in the air, sir. The Chinese will never know what hit them.” The president heard a resounding “DEFCON TWO!!!” in the background.
“Three.”
“Three.”
“Two.”
“Two.”
“One.”
“One.”
President William Protly and Secretary of State Jonathon Martin, at that point, both simultaneously entered their keys into sockets at opposite sides of a ten-foot room.
“Defcon three. Fire them in five minutes.”
“May God have mercy on us all!” replied the Lieutenant. And with that, the president heard the phone clap into place on the other side.
* * * * *
January 21st, 2077, 500 feet below Beijing, China
“Well, Wang? Why am I disturbed?”
“The Americans, sir—”
“You need say no more, Wang. You have been a good friend and a fine officer. I will miss you. Now go. Fire the missiles.”
“But the permission of the Prime—”
“Forget it. Now go, and launch! I’ll call the aging liason and tell him that their alliance with their enemies from the Cold War and their drastic change in government is going to pay off right now.” Chen shouted. As the door shut behind his friend, he picked up the phone in his room and sent a call to Moscow. Not fluent in Russian, he used the two words that he was taught.
“Launch. Now.”
Chen proceeded to place his hand on a DNA scanner, take out a key, insert it into the correct one of five slots, type in a 35-letter code grafted into his brain by many hours of practice, and press the activated red button that popped out of a panel on the wall.
“Wang, I sure as hell hope you weren’t lying.”
* * * * *
January 21st, Norton Elementary, California
“What’s that, in the sky? Bob?”
“Planes, I think…”
“But why so many?”
Their conversation was interrupted by a scream across the blacktop of their school’s yard. Three seconds later, the odd-looking and mysterious megaphones installed in the school five weeks earlier revealed their purpose with a distinctive noise.
They were air raid sirens.
“Those aren’t planes, Jim…”
“Then what are they?”
“Missiles. Russian or Chinese, who cares. They’re missiles.”
“Bob…”
“Yeah?”
“Why are they doing it?”
“I don’t know. They must, though. Maybe these missiles are just duds. Maybe you were right, and maybe they’re only planes!”
“Yeah, I suppose. Planes. Besides, our president wouldn’t have gotten fairly elected if he was stupid!!!”
THE END
hope you liked it!
January 10th, 2077, Washington, D.C.
“Five weeks ago, war with China and the Sino-Soviet Coalition was declared. Our brave infantrymen have been risking their lives for control of key sectors along the Yangtze, while the red scourge attempts to overthrow freedom in the United States.” The newsflash then proceeded to display a group of eight asian-looking men grabbing an American man and firing a bullet into his brain, kicking the corpse onto the ground and laughing.
“Like it?” asked Jonathon Martin. “It’s our latest propaganda video. Check this footage—”
“That will be enough, Mr. Martin. We don’t need to see any more footage of your impersonators dressed in Chinese uniforms executing our own prisoners. We’ve had enough of that since the televised executions act was passed in 2073.” Came the ominous voice from the desk across from the room. It was the president. He didn’t take kindly to threats and was already escorted by a legion of elite bodyguards to protect him from corporations angry over the sanctions against China.
“Yes, sir. Should we air it? It could use a little bit more work on the colorization…” Martin started off, ready to give a rave about how it “wasn’t quite perfect.”
“It’s fine as it is, Martin. Will CNN take it? How about ABC? Hell, try and air it on everything and tell them that we’ve got armed SWAT troopers outside their executive offices if they don’t give in immediately. If they still refuse…”
“They won’t, sir. I’ll make sure of that.” And with that, Martin stepped out of the room and left the president to his paperwork.
* * * * *
January 11th, 2077, Norton Elementary, California
“Hey, Bob, can I have some of your sandwich?” asked Jim. He’d always wanted to take a huge bite out of something, having trouble getting by with his family’s low supply of food stamps.
“Here, take half of it.” Bob smiled. “Damn. Wish there was something else to do around here.”
“Yeah, I hear that,” Jim said, giddily grasping the ham-and-cheese sandwich and stuffing as much of it in his mouth as he could. “Too bad we’re only kids. Otherwise, we’d have graduated from Norton Elementary years ago and we’d be off kicking communist butt by now, eh Bob?”
“Yeah. Those grown-ups have it made.”
“ALL STUDENTS REPORT TO ROOM 13 IMMEDIATELY” Blared the intercom.
“Come on, let’s go!!!” Bob shouted as he grabbed Jim’s hand and dragged him to room 13, the A\V room.
As they stepped in, a teacher ushered the students into chairs in front of a large television set. Flipping it on, they heard the familiar calm, soothing voice of a newscaster.
“This footage of the war with China was captured today—” The newscaster’s face left the screen and she was replaced with a gruesome vision of large groups of U.S. and Chinese troops facing off, firing grenades and bullets at opposite trenches. The grisly warfare continued for about three minutes until all of the people in the U.S. trench were dead except the cameraman, whose camera revealed the image of three soldiers coming at him, grabbing him from the camera, two holding him and one grabbing the camera itself to view the reporter, who was kicked down to his knees and shot in the back of the neck by a fourth soldier, stepping into the trenches. This soldier proceeded to take a U.S. flag, hold it in front of the camera, then light it on fire.
The class lit up with hatrid for the evil Chinese who were encroaching upon U.S. borders and mercilessly killing the American people. Children threw everything they could at the image of the man on the screen, laughing maniacly as the flag was torched.
* * * * *
January 12th, 2077, 500 feet below Beijing, China
“Sir, we have our nuclear weapons ready, but we have to stop and reservice them every other Monday. We could fire them right now, if—”
“That’s alright, Wang.” Chen interrupted. “We’ll wait until the American bastards do something.”
“But what if they manage to surprise us, commander? We’d be doomed and the work of Mao Tse—”
“Enough of this Mao Tse Tung bullshit!” Chen yelled. “Wang, shut up and get back to work or we’ll have you be the next one executed in his honor. The only real person with any power is the Prime Minister and he’s got a lot more power than any deitized revolutionary! We’ll launch them next Tuesday. And if you tell any one of our workers—”
“I know, sir. You’ll have me shot. Should I inform the liason from Moscow?”
“Come on, that idiot’s power is about as strong as his nation’s economy. They’ve already lost half of the New Soviet Union to the yankee bastards, and because of their incompetence we’ve been forced to use the Great Wall of China as a defensive measure against U.S. troops! I’ll send the message to Moscow to empty their silos, and let’s just hope that the 150-year-old things don’t explode as they’re flying out. Now, do not disturb me again unless the Americans are launching.”
“Yes, sir!” Shouted Wang as he left the room.
* * * * *
January 12th, 2077, Somewhere along the Yangtze River
“Well, my friends? Are we ready to bring back the glory of Mao Tse Tung and the revolution?” Shouted Lieutenant Wei.
“No doubt about it, sir!” Shouted the rest of the regiment in unison.
“Then let us die for China!!!”
“For the revolution! For honor!” Echoed a cry throughout an army thirty thousand strong.
10 miles away, a similar cry was heard.
“Let’s crush the godless bastards and send them packing home to their whores of mothers!” Shouted Lieutenant Ansbury.
“You bet your money, LT!”
“Then let us die for America!!!”
“For freedom! For liberty! For honor!”
“GO-O-O-O-O-O! GOD’S ON OUR SIDE!!!”
And at that point, in the largest recorded battle in the “Freezing war,” 30,000 Chinese soldiers ran out of their trenches and into the front lines. They were accompanied by 30,000 American soldiers rushing at them from the other side of the field. This battle was to determine control of 50 square miles along the coast of the Yangtze river, and control would probably have been lost the next day if it were not for a very remarkable event. The 60,000 men and women who died in less than two hours would be forever forgotten and thought of as their governments only as “expendable.”
* * * * *
January 21st, 2077, Washington, D.C.
“Are you ready, sir?”
“Yes. We’re ready.”
“30 minutes for an ICBM launch. We have their major cities targeted as well as their main industrial and military zones locked on, Mr. President.”
“When historians of the future look back on this incident, will it be regarded as the 30-minute war, Mr. Martin?”
“Perhaps, sir…”
“Maybe I should have listened to the corporations…”
“Sir, are you crazy? They’d have bought you out like any other president, and the Chinese would sweep through the—”
“Enough of that bullshit, John! You’re the propaganda head and you know that all of the shit you’re feeding the proletariat is full of lies. I would have been like you, but think about it… do you have a dog, Martin? A pet? Wouldn’t it be—”
“Mr. President, are you insane? How dare you promote cowardice!”
“John, can I tell you something?”
“What?”
“You’re an idiot. But you’re a loyal idiot, so I’ll tell you my one secret before we end civilization.”
“What’s that one secret, Mr. President?”
“I didn’t get fairly elected. Randall got 5% more of the popular votes, and on top of my electoral college win, I put 30 million into hiring goons to rig the machines. The bastards have all since been falsely convicted of murder and executed.”
“Well, it’s a good thing that you did win, albeit unfairly, because that Randall could never have done a better job than you. He’d never had made such wise moves as installing the clo—”
“Shut up, John. Shut up! And if I can’t shut you up, a 50-megaton blast can. Come on, let’s go.” And with that the president stood from his seat and exited the room with secretary of state Jonathon Martin at his side.
As they stepped into the war room, the president picked up the “red phone of war” and dialed a message to the Silo Control Center in Nevada.
“Go to defcon one.”
“Defcon one, sir!” Came the voice of a lieutenant on the other side. The president could hear the sound of “THIS IS IT, EVERYONE! TIME TO CRUSH THE RED BASTARDS!!!” over the phone. Looking up at a calendar, the president examined the date that the world would end. It was Tuesday. It was midday outside and the children were playing in their sandboxes and going to school. A good a time as any, he thought.
The president pulled out a key from his pocket. Martin followed suit and did the same.
“Go to defcon two.”
“Our birds are in the air, sir. The Chinese will never know what hit them.” The president heard a resounding “DEFCON TWO!!!” in the background.
“Three.”
“Three.”
“Two.”
“Two.”
“One.”
“One.”
President William Protly and Secretary of State Jonathon Martin, at that point, both simultaneously entered their keys into sockets at opposite sides of a ten-foot room.
“Defcon three. Fire them in five minutes.”
“May God have mercy on us all!” replied the Lieutenant. And with that, the president heard the phone clap into place on the other side.
* * * * *
January 21st, 2077, 500 feet below Beijing, China
“Well, Wang? Why am I disturbed?”
“The Americans, sir—”
“You need say no more, Wang. You have been a good friend and a fine officer. I will miss you. Now go. Fire the missiles.”
“But the permission of the Prime—”
“Forget it. Now go, and launch! I’ll call the aging liason and tell him that their alliance with their enemies from the Cold War and their drastic change in government is going to pay off right now.” Chen shouted. As the door shut behind his friend, he picked up the phone in his room and sent a call to Moscow. Not fluent in Russian, he used the two words that he was taught.
“Launch. Now.”
Chen proceeded to place his hand on a DNA scanner, take out a key, insert it into the correct one of five slots, type in a 35-letter code grafted into his brain by many hours of practice, and press the activated red button that popped out of a panel on the wall.
“Wang, I sure as hell hope you weren’t lying.”
* * * * *
January 21st, Norton Elementary, California
“What’s that, in the sky? Bob?”
“Planes, I think…”
“But why so many?”
Their conversation was interrupted by a scream across the blacktop of their school’s yard. Three seconds later, the odd-looking and mysterious megaphones installed in the school five weeks earlier revealed their purpose with a distinctive noise.
They were air raid sirens.
“Those aren’t planes, Jim…”
“Then what are they?”
“Missiles. Russian or Chinese, who cares. They’re missiles.”
“Bob…”
“Yeah?”
“Why are they doing it?”
“I don’t know. They must, though. Maybe these missiles are just duds. Maybe you were right, and maybe they’re only planes!”
“Yeah, I suppose. Planes. Besides, our president wouldn’t have gotten fairly elected if he was stupid!!!”
THE END
hope you liked it!
