the volunteer

by fred flynn

wing commander webb-gray was even more brusque and direct than usual. i have called you fellows together, he informed the assembled squadron, because we have received some distressing news. he paused. it seems that civilization - our civilization, that is, human civilization, is about to be destroyed. by which enemy, sir? young barlow blurted out. let me finish, please, barlow, then you may ask questions. as it happens, we are not threatened by any of out rival empires or known rebel groups, or by anything human, or by invaders from what is called outer space. rather, it has been determined by the scientific chaps that there is some sort of cack or fissure in reality, and that it is widening at greater than light speed. to get to the point, what we call the universe and everything in it will disappear - or be torn asunder, or whatever -in about seventeen hours, and - er - everything will be destroyed. and is there no possibility of error, sir? adams-hartley cried. i was just getting to that. according to the science chaps, there is one chance in five trillion, or maybe it is fifty trillion - that their calculations are wrong. and that is where you fellows come in. now, i know, that with only seventeen hours to live, most of you would like to be released to go into town - and, and , exercise your animal spirits, or - or whatever. but, on the one chance in fifty trillion that this is all a mistake, i am asking for two volunteers to not go into town but to stay here and man the fort. here it is, thought devlin, what a load of bollocks. of course all this is just a game, to see who will step up and volunteer. are the rest of these fools so blind that they can not see this? i will stay, sir, he spoke up loudly, before any of the others could. you, devlin? well, that’s damned white of you. anybody else? i will stay, sir, morseby stated quietly. this was more to be expected. moresby was the wet blanket of the squadron, a self-proclaimed follower of some blathering new cult, all about peace and love and all that rot. if anyone was to volunteer to stay, it was moresby. thank you, moresby, commander webb- gray nodded. well, then, i leave you two chaps to it. just follow the usual night duty drill. the rest if you are released. and now, devlin smiled inwardly, the game will be revealed, and i will have myself some damned overdue brownie points. but nothing was revealed. the commander and the rest of the squadron quickly dispersed, leaving devlin alone with moresby. moresby retired to the corner of the squad room, where he took out his little black book of prayers or meditations or whatnot, and began mumbling over it through his bushy prophet’s beard. devlin clicked on the screen which filled the back wall of the squad room. and there was the prime minister himself, lord salisbury, standing against a floodlit but bleak background, saying something about eternity and the book of exodus… i say, wasn’t this taking it a bit too far, just to play a game on a chap? and then it hit him, like a wagon load of red hot meteors rolling down the hill that would not go to mohammed… it was really happening… and he had missed his chance to go into town and have some fun. it was so unfair. he had never had any fun. he had missed all his opportunities. for fun or for anything else. he was the unluckiest fellow who had ever lived. and faced with a choice, he could never make the right one.