The Weight of the World
by Dr. Joseph D. Di Lella © 2009
“Come on soldier, I don't see you contributing to this mission -- what's your take on the weapon?” the small general shouted across the desk at the bystander as the strategist banged the black marking pen against the heavily diagrammed green board that was sitting in the middle the office overlooking the campus quad that sunny morning.
“I'm not a mathematician, sir . . . I'm just a football player sitting on the sideline, waiting for my chance at the big game,” the helmeted one replied softly as it leaned against his usual place besides a set of tall math and physics college textbooks.
For a foot-tall, stuffed mascot of the Cal Bears lowly athletic team, Chuck was pleased that anyone had finally asked for his input on anything besides football games.
“My battalion just arrived this morning by messenger,” the one-inch metal soldier man replied as he waddled on his round platform towards the gold and power blue clothed doll who sat on the legendary professor's oak desk.
Chuck simply nodded no.
“Christ sakes, you're a tenant in this place, so you must have heard countless classified conversations between their kind.”
“Stop picking on him, he's just a dumb jock,” the rubberised likeness of the blonde bombshell, Veronica Lake, purred from atop a bookshelf from across the room. “If you were to ask me, I could throw my two cents in.” As she bent over with her skin-tight black swimsuit, the other eighteen figures shouted catcalls from their position in a small cardboard box meant for transport to the teacher's son later that day.
“Knock that stuff off!” the leader screamed at his inferiors. “Pardon their insolence, madam, they haven't seen a beautiful women since our last deployment. Anything you can add to this discussion, I'm all ears,” the general said calmly as he moved back to the board, ready to inscribe a noteworthy set of numbers that would lead to construction of a bomb needed to secure an allied victory.
Waiting patiently for over ten minutes, the leader finally spoke up. “Come on doll face, we can't end this war with only a pretty smile.”
“I'm sorry,” she sobbed. “This is just too complicated for a girl like me.”
“How's the annihilation of innocent men, women and children going to end this war?” the small Berkeley Bear asked as he huddled near the general.
“Don't tell me you're one of them?” he blurted out with laugh. “You've got to weigh the needs of the many against those of the few,” he replied firmly, tapping the marker on the desk. “Creating this weapon nor only protects our way of life here in America but across the world as well.” The metal man squinted, nose to nose with the taller toy. “Do you want those damn communists invading us? Well, they will unless we show a sign of strength and blow them and their allies straight to hell.”
“But isn't there another way?” Veronica lamented from her post high atop the conversation.
“Who are we to play God, Commander?” Chuck added. “I may have cotton for brains, but I know there's more to life than building the most powerful bomb the world's ever seen.”
The commander scratched his chin, motioned for the rest of his men with his a slight head nod, and up battalion was, ready for action. “I usually don't do this to my own kind, but this situation calls for immediate action, son.” Looking up to the fem fatal, the leader said, “Boy's – bring me the girl.”
“Keep her out of this,” replied the shaken mascot.
The commander moved towards the lighter at the ash tray. “ I most certainly will . . . if you tell me what I need to know.” When he practiced lighting the instrument, the puppet moved away.
“You wouldn't.”
“Hell, I'd use it on you if you didn't have something I needed.”
The battalion rested the squirming doll on the desk mat, holding her down by her curly plastic hair and skinny ankles.
“Tell me something that will inspire your mentor so we can win this war or Miss. Lake loses one of her pretty legs.”
Chuck looked lovingly at the doll who he had adored form afar for years, but knew he had to remain strong and call the monster's bluff. “I won't do it.”
Wobbling over to the taller doll, the military strategist clicked the lighter and set the pin-up's toes ablaze. The stench and screams were almost too much for his men to take, but they remained tall and held her down. After one leg completely seared off, the torso caught fire, too. In moments, nothing was left of Chuck's true love but a puddle of red and black rubber.
The general moved closer to the reluctant squealer. “Just give me one equation, one simple solution that will move this project ahead, and I'll spare you.”
As the commander lit the lighter, the littlest football player realized it was time for the Hail Mary even though it might start a state war that would never end.
“I overheard Professor P talking with a fellow researcher the other day . . . and he said that if a nuclear reaction could ever come about, it would need the nucleus to react with a deuterium core, but a proton would need energy to over come the Coulomb Barrier.”
“The equation, boy,” the leader pressed as he lit Chuck's stuffed finger.
“ 12 C(d,p) 13 C! – but he didn't feel Professor O was ready to hear this – not until they could talk it over with the rest of the team!”
“Good work – now was that hard, son?” the commander replied as he watched Chuck go up in flames in mere seconds – faster than Veronica.
After writing the equation on the board, the Japanese-made toy hurriedly jumped back in the box with the rest of his men when he heard Professor Oppenheimer talking with Melba Phillips from the Manhattan Project just outside the office door.