The Wind from Nowhere by J.G. Ballard

Author:J.G. Ballard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: For the Benefit of Mr. Kite
Published: 1961-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

SIX

Death in a Bunker

Pausing in the doorway to allow the shower of plaster falling from the ceiling to spend itself, Marshall stepped through into the Intelligence Unit. A skeleton staff of three—Andrew Symington, a corporal and one of the navy typists—sat in the dim light of the emergency bunker, surrounded by the jumble of teletypes, radio consoles and TV screens. The scene reminded Marshall of the last hours in Hitler’s führerbunker. Discarded bulletins and typed memos lay around everywhere, a clutter of unwashed teacups stood on the lid of a forgotten suitcase, cigarette ash spilled across the desks.

Above the chatter of the teletypes and the muted cross-talk of the R⁄T he could hear the sounds of the wind echoing through the ventilator shaft that reached up to the Mall 60 feet above. Almost everyone had gone now. The last War Office and COE personnel had left in their Centurions early that morning for the peripheral command posts. Admiralty Arch had collapsed half an hour later, pulling down with it the complex of offices that had housed COE for the previous three weeks. Intelligence was by now a luxury that would soon be dispensed with.

The wind had reached 250mph and the organized resistance left was more interested in securing the minimal survival necessities—food, warmth and 50 feet of concrete overhead—than in finding out what the rest of the world was doing, knowing full well that everywhere people were doing exactly the same thing. Civilization was hiding. The earth itself was being stripped to its seams, almost literally—six feet of topsoil were now traveling through the air.

He sat down on the desk behind Symington, patted the plump bald man on his shoulder, then waved at the other two. The girl wore headphones over her straggling hair, and was too harassed answering the calls coming in endlessly from mobile cars and units trapped in basements and deep shelters to have had any time to look after her appearance, attractive as she had once been (Marshall had deliberately kept her on at COE as a morale booster) but when she saw him she ran a hand over her hair and gave him a brave smile.

“How’s it going, Andrew?”

Symington sat back, massaged his eyes for a moment before replying. He looked exhausted and ashen faced, but managed a thin smile.

“Well, chief, I guess we can start getting ready to surrender. Looks to me as if the war’s over.”

Marshall laughed. “I was just thinking the place feels as if the Russians are two hundred yards away. How are the PM and the Chief of Staff?”

“They reached Leytonheath a couple of hours ago. The mine at Sutton Coldfield had been flooded by underground springs—water must have driven through a fault leading in from the North Sea—so they’ve been forced to dig into the shelters at the airfield. They’re OK there for three weeks, but after that there’ll have to be a general election.”

A wry smile crossed Marshall’s face. For a moment he looked reflectively at Symington, then

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