Goliath

“Hold on, now, I’m here today because I support your efforts, because I, like you, want to see change. I want to read something to you … a quote, from the International Court of Justice.” Jamieson removes a folded sheet of paper from his breast pocket. “On July 8 in the year 1996, the International Court of Justice, in its advisory opinion, confirmed the general illegality of nuclear weapons, concluding that all states are under an obligation to bring to a conclusion negotiations in regard to all aspects of nuclear disarmament.”

Cheers wash over the catcalls.

Jamieson holds up the paper. “Despite this, despite very clear mandates from the population of the United Kingdom and members of Parliament, our government continues to participate in the illegal proliferation of these weapons of mass destruction.”

Jamieson pauses, the crowd growing attentive. The turbulence of the brisk October breeze rumbles in the microphone’s speakers. “What will it take to change Parliament? What will it take to change the world? Another Hiroshima, another Nagasaki? How many innocent people must die before our leaders realize the destructive path they have placed all of us upon?”

The crowd chants, “No more nukes—no more nukes.”

David exits the barracks to join Gunnar. “Sounds like some of the rallies we had back in college. Next thing, they’ll be chanting about saving the whales—”

Gunnar shoots him a look.

Jamieson raises his hands for quiet. “Within these very gates floats a vessel, paid for by taxes on our labor. Within the bowels of this submarine is enough firepower to incinerate every man, woman, and child in the United Kingdom. The United States, Russia, and China possess enough nuclear weapons to murder all of humanity a thousand times over. Britain and France, Israel and Iran, India and Pakistan and North Korea … all participating in the nuclear arms race—a race toward Armageddon, all proclaiming their own selfish need for nuclear deterrence as they push our species to the brink of self-extinction.”

Gunnar glances at the faces of Jamieson’s flock. Caucasians and blacks, white collar and blue, men and women, schoolchildren and seniors—all united in fear.

“Fellow citizens, I join you here today because, I, like you, am concerned about our future, and our children’s future. These are desperate times, my friends, and though our numbers are growing, we are still but an infinitesimal few compared to the complacent majority who willingly allow themselves to be manipulated and led to the slaughterhouse by the policies of our elected officials. Desperate times require desperate solutions. I stand here today to tell you that change is in the air. Now, one man—one man aboard one powerful vessel commands the world’s attention. Now, one man on a mission of salvation sends the world’s combined nuclear naval forces cowering back to their ports—”

David shakes his head. “This guy’s waving Covah’s flag.”

“Now, my friends, it is up to us to rally around this man’s actions. Now we must demand change. Now we must demand nothing less than total global nuclear disarmament!”

A roar erupts as the crowd swells forward. Men leap onto the fence, their suddenly revealed bolt cutters and hacksaws tearing into the steel links. The outnumbered riot police toss canisters of tear gas, then back away as the fencing collapses under the combined weight of the masses.

Gunnar and David hurry back inside the barracks. “We need to go—now!”

They hurry back to the jeep. Captain Botchin guns the engine, veering away from the crowd, as flaming bottles fly and the recreational barracks becomes an inferno.

The gray bulk of the HMS Vengeance appears in the distance. Piggy-backed to its deck is a small minisub. Several sailors continue securing it in place while dozens of others scurry across the deck, preparing to make weigh.

The crowd at the southern gate pushes its way onto the naval base, torching everything along its path.

The jeep screeches to a halt, nearly tossing Gunnar facefirst over the windshield. Botchin hurries them aboard the nuclear sub as sailors on deck hastily toss mooring lines over the side.

The Vanguard’s engines hum to life, its propeller churning sludge along the bottom as it pushes the vessel away from the dock. The mob races toward them from the pier. Bear pulls his daughter to the deck as Molotov cocktails smash and ignite against the moving steel hull.

Air horns sound as the Coast Guard cutters move in. Within seconds the late afternoon is violated by hundreds of rounds of machine-gun fire. The thunderous warning scatters the protesters, forcing them to take cover as two of the cutters and a tugboat escort Vengeance into deeper water.

Gunnar watches from the bow as the rabble return to line the pier, several protesters firing pistols into the air. Captain Botchin wishes the general luck as he departs aboard one of the Coast Guard vessels.