Sunday, 27 June 2021

'Droning off' by J F King

 

A missile is merely a firework…until it lands.

I’d watched it take off many times, tests, the seaside firing range, a day out of the ministry.

The control room was an inverse pyramid, the deeper you went underground, the more important the people felt. At the lowest level the highest-ranking officer spoke:

‘Target, 3 minutes, Minister, point of no return. Your decision.’

‘Are you 100% certain there is no collateral. Children, civilians?’

The officer regarded me again. I’d always hated her tone, my impersonation of their jargon changed nothing.

‘Nothing is 100%, Minister, except your decision.’

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