A classic game of defense requiring quick reflexes, timing, and ammunition management that has aged like fine wine
They were under attack.
Her assigned post was one of three major Missile Command installations in the country charged with protecting every city in the nation. She smirked to herself as she popped off her pumps and jogged along the corridor, recollecting the opposition the politicians had towards a national missile shield. That same shield would be used today to save those very politician's lives.
She rounded the corner and took nary a step before falling backward onto her rump, her high heels spilling across the cement floors. She had just bounced backward off the General's portly form at a half-gallop.
"Lieutenant!" shouted the General, "What are you doing on the floor? Don't you realize we're being fired upon?" His medals and chevrons were absent, lost in the rush to duty. In their place was a red and black flannel shirt and jeans, the uniform of a hunter. He exuded an aroma of evergreen trees and gunpowder. A bit overweight and under-dressed, his face was still clean-shaven and hair combed. His shirt was pressed and tucked neatly. His casual outerwear appearance belied a strict adherence to procedure. Two subordinates followed in his wake.
"Sir!" she fumbled, saluting as she picked herself up off the floor, "I apologize, I was trying to find you, sir." She adjusted her blouse and balanced herself on one foot to put on each of her heels, supporting herself on one of the clammy pipes that ran along the hallway.
"Well, what do you have for me, lieutenant?" he demanded gruffly. She walked alongside him as she talked, a common destination drawing inevitably closer.
"Sir, we have three Missile Command posts at our disposal, protecting six cities. We have to time our missile launches so that their explosion intercepts incoming bogeys. We have never done this before outside of training simulations, so we are a bit concerned that everything will work as planned, sir."
"We're just going to have to trust the engineers on this one, lieutenant." The General walked briskly in a robotic, purposeful manner.
"Sir, you know the system, we can only launch so many missiles at any given time, so we need to time our responses precisely, and be careful with our limited ammunition-"
The General stopped for a moment and turned to look the lieutenant hard in the eyes with black eyes like daggers, "You treat the ammunition carefully, lieutenant. All we need is to run out of countermeasures under continued incoming fire and lose a city due to poor ammunition management. The mobs that follow that kind of devastation - if anyone is left alive - will look to point fingers, and those fingers will point at us. Make sure every shot meets an incoming volley, do you understand?"
"Sir, yes, sir. But, um-" the young lieutenant stammered.
The General resumed his pace, casually brushing aside the door to the deepest bunker in the complex. It was from here that the defense network was managed. "What is it lieutenant?" He asked as he took to the monitor of intercontinental ballistic missiles, crawling across the screen as if in slow motion.
She swallowed. "Sir, we should prioritize the survival of the command posts, sir."
"What was that lieutenant? What did I just say about our accountability? Our duty is to protect our civilian population, at our own expense if necessary. This is no game, you don't get bonuses for cities still standing. You get children without mothers and generations of radiation sickness." He turned his full attention to the suddenly tiny figure in front of him. The Missile Command went quiet as the scene unfolded, and the young lieutenant looked up to address her superior.
"Sir, I understand our- my duty. But if any of the three Missile Command posts are eliminated, it will cripple our ability to respond to current and future ICBMs. We need to preserve the defense network to maximize survivability over the long-term, sir." A rivulet of sweat arched across her brow and down her nose. She wondered if the General would notice.
The General looked at her, squinting slightly. His heavy breathing seems to fill the room, causing its walls to bow in and out with his lungs. "Lieutenant," he began slowly, "do what you believe is necessary to protect this country. I have seen your simulation scores. I've read your test results. If you believe this is the best course of action, I will back you up if and when it comes to trial. But remember, we need to survive to make it to that day." He clapped her shoulder.
"Sir, yes, sir." replied the lieutenant, half relieved and yet twice as worried.
She sat down at her post about twenty feet away, the shouting and frantic discussions around her becoming a dull, droning monotone. The fluorescent lights above cast an eerie green glow on the beige and cement room. As she looked down her screen flickered to life, with three crude icons at its base representing the Missile Commands and six icons representing the civilian cities. At the top of her screen she could see the first flickering light of an ICBM and its contrail.
Her clammy hands gripped the rubber of the controls. She breathed out a sigh slowly as her mind formed the words, "Here we go."