This post was inspired by a writing prompt in the Worldbuilding Community - Worldbuilding Prompt #896 - Shelters
Enjoy !
Image created by AI in NightCafe Studio
The shortwave radio sitting on the small table crackled and hissed. Monsieur Ferache tapped it and twisted the dial slowly to try to find anything that made sense. Madame Ferache sat on the plastic chair opposite him, sobbing quietly into a white handkerchief.
Finally he found a station which was still broadcasting.
"This is KBN network with what we know. It appears war has escalated to a full nuclear exchange. Everyone who has any kind of strike capacity next is using it now before it is destroyed. We know that. fzzzzkkkkk kkkk .... Cholet, the oil terminals at Possen and Lisa-Ponte all.... brrrzzzt... fifty megaton warheads ..... uclear tsunami struck the Sheftan Islands ..... Sluga and most of Nord are a nuclear wasteland....."
Madame Ferache put her handkerchief down. "Marcel, make it stop. Wake me up, I must be having a nightmare. I want it to stop."
He looked at her with sadness in his eyes. "I'm sorry my love. I regret building this shelter now, the world is going to be a mess when we emerge. But at least we're safe in the mountains near the Italvini border, Marianne."
The radio spluttered to life again.
"... getting word from The United States of Democravia that President Raymond Gunn evacuated Driton before it was destroyed. He has made an announcement from his shelter beneath Shortleg that he has a Doomsday device set to trigger if any more missiles impact the States. Premier Bolokov of Tarkus has responded with his own ultimatum that his Doomsday device is bigger and will detonate if Democravia does not stand down within six hours. God help us all...."
Marianne and Marcel silently stood and clung to each other. It was all they could do.
The shelter lurched. Awful crashing and grinding sounds could be heard, deafening in their intensity. The couple fell hard against the side wall. They were pressed there by an irresistible force. There was a loud bang, and they blacked out.
When they woke, it was silent. They felt.... strange. Dizzy. As if they were spinning.
Marcel checked the dosimeter; radiation levels in the shelter were a little elevated, but not life threatening.
He activated the remote camera and looked into the periscope eyepiece.
Then he sat back, his face ghostly pale.
"My love, the world won't be a mess when we emerge. The world is gone, They did it. The two Doomsday devices together blew the world apart."
She came to look into the eyepiece. All she could see was a slowly spinning dark sky, filled with rocks and debris, most of it clearly red hot but cooling fast in open space. One or two had blasted remnants of buildings that could be seen slowly crumbling into the void.
They must be spinning inside a rock just like all the others. They had their shelter and as much air as it contained. That was all that was left of their world.
Note: this is a piece of fiction set in what we called "The World Game". The original game was a pure wargame with each country run by an entire wargames club, all across southern England. Below is an extract from the map (which I found in the loft the other day), poorly photocopied and with a slice missing around a large crease. I've got a better version somewhere, but it's been hiding in the loft for around 45 years, so it may take some effort to find it.... welcome to wargaming, 1970's style 😁
