Big Gun

The white, organic-looking gun had been stolen from the enemy, and we’d placed it where the turning of the Earth would point it directly at their invasion fleet.

We had no idea how it worked; the enemy’s technology seemed to be based on mysticism more than science. But we knew it worked—against humans, at least. We hoped the enemy had used it against their own kind.

The Earth turned, and the barrel of the gun turned with it. I watched from the far side of the lake. My engineering team stood near the gun, at the entrance to the control chamber, watching and waiting.

The time was close. I looked at my watch. Five seconds. I looked up at the sky, with no idea what to expect.

There was a thump, and the distant sound of birds cawing as they were shaken from their trees. Then came a sense of hopelessness and defeat. It lasted just a moment, and I looked at the sky again. Up there, in the gun’s line of fire, the enemy would feel that hopelessness a hundredfold, and at that moment our ships would attack.

I sat, and waited.


This was written for a flash fiction contest. The inspiration was this image provided by the contest organiser:


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