“Have we been able to able to contact London?”
“Negative, Commander. All of our primary and backup channels remain down. We have also been unable to make contact with any other British submarines.”
“It’s been four days, now. I think it’s time. It’s safe to assume something catastrophic has occurred.”
The commander looked solemnly toward another senior member of the crew.
“Fetch the letter.” He said.
“Absolutely, sir.” The officer said, moving out of the submarine’s control room.
“You see,” the commander said, addressing the remaining crew. “Every Prime Minister prepares letters of last resort for British Submarines. It contains instructions on what we should do in the event that the government has fallen and we cannot make contact with them. No one has ever opened one of these letters, let alone had to follow the instructions.”
The senior officer returned with a sealed envelope, and handed it to the commander. The commander proceeded to open the envelope. He took out a folded piece of paper and paused.
“We are a family aboard this submarine, and we may be all we have left for one another. For that reason, I will read this aloud, so we all know the plan at the same time.”
He unfolded the paper.
“Here goes,” he said, taking a deep breath. “It reads, HP Laserjet P1102W Self Test and Device Configuration.”
The Commander stopped and looked up.
“I believe they may have put the wrong page in.”