13th September – Judgement Day
It was ten minutes past twelve when Tom, Vladimir, Jenny, Duck, Etienne, Helen and I reached the Dog and Ferret. It was characteristically empty for a mid-week lunchtime.
‘You order,’ said Tom to me, handing me the list of dishes. ‘I’ll check if we have that message from Angela. We need to launch within the next five minutes.’
‘Hello, Swan,’ said Tony as I walked towards the bar. ‘Long time; no see. What was all that noise from the direction of the village?’
‘Just some tidying-up in the woods,’ I said breathlessly. ‘We’re on table 13, Tony.’ I continued without a pause: ‘Can we order straight away?’
‘Are you OK, Swan?’ he asked, ‘you seem a bit flustered and breathless.’
‘There isn’t really time to explain, Tony,’ I replied. ‘I think we just need to get on with this order.’
‘OK, OK,’ he said, ‘but calm down, it’s not the end of the world.’
‘Funny you should say that,’ I replied, looking at the order on Tom’s sheet of paper.
Tony entered table number 13 onto the electronic menu board.
‘Two portions of whitebait; one deep fried camembert and a soup of the day. …’
Tony pressed further keys on the board.
At Grand Forks Air Force Base, North Dakota, the engines of twelve nuclear missiles began their launch sequence.
‘One leek and potato soup. …’
Tony tapped the board again, and the covers of the missile silos withdrew.
‘Two homemade steak and kidney pies. …’
‘Two homemade steak and kidney pies,’ Tony repeated, entering the order.
Guidance data was transferred to the missiles.
‘A vegetable lasagne. …’
This further detail of lunch was entered into the pub’s computer.
‘And a venison burger.’
As I reached the end of the list, I looked anxiously at Tom. As he looked back at me, Joan’s phone rang.
Tom answered. ‘Hello, this is Joan’s phone,’ he said.
‘Judgement Day – capital J, capital D, and with a gap between the words.’ I heard Angela’s words. ‘Repeat: Judgement Day – capital J, capital D and with a gap between the words.’
Tom dropped the phone on the floor. He grabbed a menu from the bar, furrowing his brow in concentration as he undertook the encoding of the password. ‘A grilled sea bass with chips,’ he finally said.
Tony looked at me as if to ask if this was a continuation of the order. I nodded to indicate that it was, and Tony keyed-in the information.
‘A Dover sole and a roast beef lunch.’
As the final part of the order was confirmed on Tony’s computer, the presidential launch password was relayed to Grand Forks Air Force Base.
I subsequently saw film of the twelve missiles rising into the sky over Dakota, the fire from their engines drawing yellow lines on the sky – lines that changed direction at a height of ten thousand metres as the rockets corrected course for Orion.
Joan joined us. She looked at Tom.
‘I got the call from Angela,’ Tom said. ‘We’ve completed the lunch order – or should I say, launch order.’
‘Thank God,’ said Joan. ‘That’s all we can do. Now we need to leave before the police and army get here. They’d tie us up with complicated questions. Come with me. Christian’s got the engine running.’
‘Sorry about this, Tony,’ I said to the landlord as we all began to rush away. ‘I’ll pay you when I next see you.’
Outside, Amy was waiting. We all quickly boarded.
The starcruiser lifted skywards just as the black van of Rod and Crystal Dowsing pulled up in the pub car park.