Opinion of the winning entry in our Dynamic Dialogue Contest was performed under the musical influence of John Adams soundtrack, composed by Rob Lane and Joseph Vitarelli.

The Whale
D.B. Grady

"We did the right thing. I have no regrets."

"Mr. President, over-watch reports ten thousand massed along the North Portico fence. The Capitol Police barricade on Seventeenth at East has fallen." (And we have action! We have been dropped into the middle of something BIG!)

"Sir, I've got Marine snipers supplementing Secret Service on the rooftop." (Yikes! Most folks know the Secret Service protects the Chief Executive of the United States. So if they're on the roof, along with Marine snipers, it's a safe bet the White House in under siege!)

"Any word from the Pentagon?"

"Nothing yet."

"So they've chosen sides."

"Or it's been taken."

"They've chosen sides. What about Homeland?"

"Nothing since the Secretary landed in Newark. The plan was to convoy her into Manhattan, but the bridges have collapsed and Lincoln Tunnel is a free fire zone. We can assume Army Aviation has rotary wing support standing by. But without word from the Pentagon—"

"She's probably dead."

"Bill, let's not jump to—"

"She's dead and we're dead, sir. You need to—we all need to—consider the reality of this situation." (Dialogue is focused, snappy. It not only informs the reader, it perfectly matches the pace of the situation. Feel that chaotic sense of urgency?)

"Mr. President, over-watch reports Fifteenth at East is down. They're flooding in, sir. The perimeter is holding, but they're going to start climbing soon."

"Will your men do their duty?"

"To a point, Mr. President. But they can't fight a war from the rooftop."

"The Marines can, sir. All they need is ammunition and a go-order."

"Have you all gone mad? The city—what's left of the city—is storming the Bastille. Mr. President, do you really think we can fight our way out of this?" (Mr. Cranky Pants is ready to surrender.)

"We might be able to scare them, Bill."

"Sir, if they were scared the East Street barricades would still be standing. We need to consider the reality."

"We did the right thing. What would you have me do? Stand trial? Are you willing to stand trial?"

"Sir, there won't be a trial."

"All the more reason to—will somebody answer that damn phone?— (I hear a blaring phone. And no descriptive narrative in sight. Superb!) All the more reason to hold our position and wait things out. We did the right thing."

"Mr. President, we've electrified the fences. (Ouch.) Over-watch reports they're climbing."

"Will it kill them?"

"No, Mr. President. But it'll leave a mark."

"It's the State Department on the line, sir. You're not going to believe this."

"Put 'em on speaker."

"Kathy, you're on with the President."

"Thank you. Sir, we've gotten word from the Russian ambassador that the detonation was theirs, (So the US of A was attacked by Russians?) but it was not intentional—"

"Of course they'd say that—"

"Sir, in the late seventies a Soviet tactical submarine named The Whale (Love its name. So logical.) broke off contact after reaching Long Island Sound. The Soviets figured the crew defected or the vessel was lost. Either way, and for obvious reasons, they couldn't go public with the news." (Homage to Hunt for Red October.)

"What are you saying?"

"There's no record at Langley of a defection, sir. That sub was lost at sea, all hands aboard."

"So what happened?"

"The ambassador—his people, sir—conjecture that the sub's hull was breached. A rock, perhaps, or some other debris. And it's been rusting away for forty years."

"Get to the point, Kathy. The President doesn't have all day."

"The sub carried a full arsenal of torpedoes armed with nerve toxin. (Aha! Here's the culprit of our madness!) They finally rusted through, sir, causing a detonation that dispersed chemical agents. CIA confirms."

"So all of this—?"

"An accident left over from the Cold War, sir."

"Thank you, Kathy."

"Mr. President, I need a firing order. They're going to topple the fence."

"I—"

"Reality, sir. Don't do this."

"Do it."

"Charlie One, it's a go. Neutralize tangos."

"Sir, Moscow is gone. Los Angeles is gone. Saint Petersburg is gone—"

"Bill, I am well aware of—"

"New York is like a zombie movie. Half of the District is a crater. And we've still got missiles flying. And they've got missiles flying. (The images these lines conjure are heartbreaking.) Sir, we pushed the button and it's over. It's all over. There is no turning back and there is no redemption."

"I have no regrets, Bill."

"Of course you do, sir."

"I did—we all did—what we thought was right. It was an attack on American soil. A horrible, unfathomable attack, and we had no recourse."

"Sir, it is a tragedy and when the smoke clears, history may vindicate you. But those people out there won't. Agent, what's the perimeter status?"

"It's Mogadishu, Mr. Secretary. Most of them have radiation poisoning and they're not afraid of dying. We're piling bodies, but our defenses are broken." (Vivid. Either this author has a military background or he's certainly done his homework.)

"What do you expect me to do, Bill? Take your damn pill and make all of this go away?"

"Yes, Mr. President. I expect we should all do exactly that. Because when they get to us—"

"Let me go first."

"Sharon, you're the Secretary of Transportation. They'll—"

"Mr. President, they'll rape us and butcher us and parade our bodies down Pennsylvania Avenue. If I don't do this now I'll lose my nerve."

"Give it to her, Bill."

"Jesus."

"My God." (Our imaginations decide what this looked like.)

"Sir, that pill is the best end we can hope for. What about you, Mr. Vice President."

"We should do this all at once. Mr. President—"

"Mr. President, it's just going to get worse."

"God forgive us."

"Agent?"

"I've got to give the final withdraw order, but I can't do it until…"

"Until I'm dead. That's right, isn't it?"

"Yes, Mr. President. I took an oath."

"Bless you, son. Very well. So be it."

"Mr. President, over-watch reports they've entered the South Portico. The White House has been breached. (Brings a tear to the eye. Devastating.) Agents are regrouping to hold the Reception Room."

"Agent, have the snipers stand down. We did the right thing, Bill. I regret nothing. Let's do this. It's been an honor, gentlemen."

"Get up, Bill. They're all dead."

"And the Pres—"

"It's over."

"Then the plan's a go. Have your men hold their ground and get those snipers shooting again. I can have choppers on the rooftop in three minutes; we'll regroup at the Pentagon."

"I—what should I call you now? Bill? Mr. Secretary?"

"Agent, this is my house now. You should call me Mr. President." (Evil Mr. Cranky Pants gets his way.)

OVERVIEW
You'll notice I didn't add many comments within the text of this winning entry. That's because I was too busy being mesmerized. With nothing but breathtaking dialogue to concentrate on, there's little chance to stop and analyze the technique. Well-crafted conversation is always tight, aggressive, immediate and captivating. Not a single word is wasted. It grabs the reader by the throat and never lets go.

Here, we have a dire situation in the most powerful office in the world. In the beginning, the major conflict appears to be the attacking enemy. Will the President "neutralize the tangos" and save the White House? But by the end of the story, we see the real conflict is the continued existence of the President himself. Will he live or die? His conniving Vice President wants the President's job and isn't beneath killing him to get it. This forces a second read. And when we return to the first scene, we fully recognize the subtext lurking between the lines. There it was all along—Mr. Cranky Pants manipulating the situation, arguing with the President. Why didn't we see the end coming?

This is authority at its finest.

The author has created a complete, well-rounded story with a beginning, a middle and an ending. A story that contains believable characters, a gripping situation and an evil twist. A story with depth and texture and ambiance that easily stirs emotions. And he manages to reveal it all through the use of dialogue alone. A most difficult task, as any storyteller will attest.

Well done, D.B. Well done!

Elizabeth Guy