Castration for Peace

Castration for Peace

by

Kortpeel

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Not you again."

"Good morning Uncle Reuben. I trust all is well with my favourite uncle this bright sunny morning."

The fat man behind the dusty untidy desk in the Dickensian office didn't even look up from his tabloid paper. "Piss off Sid. I'm not your uncle. It's cats and dogs outside and you can see I'm busy.

"You just might be Uncle Reuben."

"I am not your uncle, you little shit. And what do you mean, I might be?"

"I got a gig at the Pig and Whistle. Me own group. We're gonna be big."

"Funny you should say that, Sid. Lots of people have stood there and told me that they was gonna be big. None of 'em was ever heard of again. Disappeared into a black hole I daresay. It must be a sort of password to oblivion."

Reuben continued still not looking up from the racing page. "And now me non-favourite, non - bleedin' - nephew is gonna disappear down the same 'ole. How very bleedin' sad."

"You'll be sad if you don't come and watch us."

"I'll risk it."

"Why turn down the chance to be another Tom Parker, or even Brian Epstein?"

"Yeah, yeah. That'd really break me 'eart. But Sid Nutley and the Turnips ain't ever gonna make it."

"It was Sid Nutley and the Torpedoes. And I've moved on from that."

"Well done Sid. Now be a good boy and go back to college like your mum wanted."

"You told me to get a gimmick. Well, we got the ultimate gimmick. Never been anything like this, Uncle Reuben."

"What gimmick?"

"Never been done before. Come and see us at the Pig this Friday."

"Bollocks. I've got better things to do on a Friday night."

"Never say bollocks, Uncle Reuben. They're going out of fashion."

"What the fuck are you talkin' about Sid?" Reuben actually looked up from his paper.

"Come and see. The Pig and Whistle this Friday."

"Fuck off."

"What was it again?" Sid pretended to think. " 'Can't sing, can't act, can dance a little.' Who was it said that?"

Sid walked out of the pokey little office before Reuben could reply.

The pub was packed that Friday. The audience was merry, rowdy and barracking. Four experienced bar tenders were going flat out to keep up with the orders. At last they'd got through the rush, everyone had a drink, the lights dimmed and a drum roll brought a slight decrease in the noise.

Johnny Flash the compere came on to the small stage. He carried a microphone but that was just a prop. The bar room wasn't that big and Johnny's voice was more than enough for him to be heard. "Evening drinkers. Welcome to the Pig and Whistle's Friday night entertainment."

A howl of jeers, whistles and catcalls greeted his words.

Johnny waited for it to die away. "As you know we scour the four corners of the globe to bring you the best in world class entertainment. We spare no expense -"

"Bullshit!"

"Get on with it."

"We spare no expense to bring you acts that-"

"Fuck off"

There was another outbreak of noise from the audience. It was all part of the fun and perfectly normal. Johnny knew that shouting and being rowdy got the crowd into a good mood and made them a better audience. He actually worked hard to encourage it. A quiet audience was deadly. Johnny sensed that tonight's audience was a really good one.

"…acts that will entertain you." Johnny shouted above the noise. "So tonight, just back from their fabulously successful world tour-"

"Lyin' bastard."

Another howl of jeers and barracking."

"Please give a big hand to: Sid Nutless and his Chinese Eunuch Band."

The curtain behind Johnny opened and there was a deafening thump of drum beats and guitar chords.

The singer, presumably Sid Nutless, was wearing black coattails and top hat, a dress shirt and bow tie. Instead of trousers he wore black tights which gave the audience a chance to judge whether of not he really was nutless. The band consisted of two guitars, a keyboard and a drummer. They wore identical Chinese robes, pillbox caps and black velvet slippers. Each one had a long pigtail.

The barracking and applause died away as the audience stared open mouth. Could this be for real?

A swirl of chords and they went straight into their first number. "I can't get no big erection," Sid sang in a parody of the old Rolling Stones hit. "Got no balls. Got no balls, Got no balls."

They did twelve numbers after that, all original and all the songs had a theme either of peace or castration or both. It was apparent they were real musicians. There were solo spots to give each of the Chinese Eunuchs a chance to show his skill and they were brilliant. At the end there was a standing ovation and cries of encore. Sid wanted to speak and the crowd went silent for him.

"Thank you. You've been a lovely audience. Remember: Castration for Peace."

Sid stepped back. The curtains closed and the crowd went wild. Cries of 'encore' and 'more' rang out.

Johnny Flash came on to try and calm the audience and it took him ten minutes to get order.

"You little goy shit," Reuben said when Sid walked into his office next morning.

"Good morning Uncle Reuben. Breaking the Sabbath again, I see," Sid replied cheerfully.

"I walked here. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what, Uncle Reuben?" Sid was all sweet innocence.

"Look." Reuben held up the newspaper he'd been reading. It was open at the showbiz page.

Sid was only able to read the big headline, "Chinese Eunuchs?" and the start of the piece: "A new phenomenon burst upon London's music scene last night …"

"Why didn't you tell me you got a decent act? That I should miss it is a crime."

"I did tell you and all I got was your shit about disappearing into black holes."

"Yeah. But if you'd told me about - . Anyway, Sid my boy, I got a nice contract all drawn up ready. Just put yer monicker on the dotted line and we got a deal."

Sid took the document that Reuben handed him, sat in the broken chair that Reuben provided for his clients and began to read it. It was a fairly standard contract and Sid knew most of the terms by heart.

He smiled at some of the clauses. At length Sid looked up. "Very nice contract Uncle Reuben. Yesterday you could have got me to sign that."

"What do you mean?"

"When I came to see you a contract like that was just what my heart desired."

"And now?"

"Well, I had this phone call see. I can get a better deal with Joe Wormwood. He's not so -"

"Joe Wormwood! My boy, how can you ever mention that name to my face? After all I done for you. Aren't we as close to blood kin as you can get? How can you go outside the family."

"That's almost true Uncle Reuben. But family is one thing and business is another. 15% is too much. Joe Wormwood only wanted -"

"All right. Twelve and a half. Sign it."

"Ten."

Reuben put a hand on his heart. "Sid, my boy, I got expenses. You don't understand what it'll cost to manage you boys properly."

"Joe Wormwood put on a concert last week at Highbury Stadium. I heard he sold 150 thousand tickets at fifty quid each. What's ten per cent of that?"

"Seven hundred and fifty thousand" Reuben replied without hesitation. "But there'd be expenses. "He'd be lucky to come out with a hundred thousand before tax."

"One hundred thousand quid. Just for a night's work. Now say we do five of those concerts a year … and there'll be television, records, royalties. We might even do a movie. Now what do you say to that Uncle Reuben?"

Uncle Reuben didn't reply. He was sitting in his chair, staring into space with a glazed look to his eyes. His jaw had dropped open and a trickle of saliva was making its way down his chin.

"Oh gawd!" Sid, genuinely concerned, ran around the desk and shook the older man. "Uncle Reuben, you all right?"

Reuben came to. "Sid, I can't stand it when you talk dirty like that. It's bad for me 'eart."

"Do you want your ten per cent or not?"

"Ok son. You gotta deal. Cor! Screwed by me own flesh and blood."

The following Tuesday there were CDs of the live gig at the Pig and Whistle in the shops. They were snapped up. They were played on the radio. People were humming the more popular of the tunes. The media besieged Reuben's office by phone and in person for more details. Reuben had to promise the media a press conference.

The Roxy was a cinema hastily knocked up in the twenties to take advantage of the popularity of early talking movies. Even in its day it was known locally as the flea pit and since then it had gone steadily downhill. After the advent of television it had been variously a bingo hall, a meeting place for a religious sect, a furniture storage depot and latterly just plain disused.

Now it was enjoying a brief revival. Reuben had sprung for fumigation, cleaning and painting and enough of the media had turned up to fill 300 of its five hundred seats.

Tv crews milling around gave it the illusion of being overcrowded. At the back of the auditorium there was a free bar and tables of snacks for the press. The bar was popular. Reuben who knew a lot of the people there mingled, exuding bonhomie and fielding the question thrown at him. He was thoroughly enjoying himself.

Over the sound system came a drum roll and an announcement: "Please take your places. We are ready to start."

Reuben, as a theatrical agent had enough of the performer in him to get onto the stage and address the press. "Thank you all for coming this afternoon. What we're going to do is let Sid and his Chinese Eunuch Band play you a number that they want to include in their next album and then they'll answer any questions you may have. Nothing is off the record."

Reuben walked off the stage, the curtains opened and Sid Nutless and his Chinese Eunuch Band performed what was to become their theme song: "A Sacrifice for Peace."

Then the house lights went up. "Any questions?" Reuben asked from the floor of the auditorium. All hell broke out as journalists shouted their questions.

"Please, one at a time," Reuben said and as he had the microphone he was heard. They went quiet and Reuben held the microphone to a woman who was seated close to him.

"Er, Angela Marchmont, Daily Tribune. Sid, are you really nutless?"

"No I am not nutless. My real name is Sid Nutley."

"So why call yourself nutless?" someone shouted.

Sid had stage presence and he'd given a lot of thought to the message they were going to put across this afternoon. He put up a hand to silence the babble of questions that the press started shouting, They could easily become a rabble.

"Why do I call myself nutless? It is in anticipation of the sacrifice I propose to make to promote peace on Earth."

Again the outbreak of questions, all speaking at once. By now the people of the press were excited. They knew that here was a story to tell and they were eager to get it. Reuben and Sid, working together, managed to keep a semblance of order and control so that questions could be asked and answered.

"By 'sacrifice' do you mean you will have yourself castrated?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I mean."

"How will that affect world peace?"

"In the past people have set fire to themselves and burned themselves to death as a protest measure. That seriously embarrassed the governments concerned and led toward peace. However we know that suicide is a sin. Castration is not a sin. We believe that public castration as a protest measure will attract attention and will seriously embarrass governments. Done at the right time it will tip the balance in favour of peace."

There were several seconds of silence as they digested that.

Reuben offered the mike to another journalist "Edgar Jones, Pop News. What about the band? Are they really Chinese eunuchs?"

"Well, there aren't any testicles in the band but our drummer is not Chinese. His name is Ben Staggers and he's a local boy." Ben gave a brief tattoo as an acknowledgement.

"Ben lost all his family jewels in a flying accident. After that he became our drummer."

"Can we see?" someone called out.

"Ben, do you want to show them?" Sid said to Ben.

Ben shrugged. He stood up, left his drummer's podium and walked to the front of the stage. He lifted up his robe and showed them his smooth, hairless pubic area.

A strobe of flashlights went off like lightning bolts.

It took a few moments to restore order. They had plenty of questions for Ben.

"How do you pee?"

"Sitting down, like a woman."

"Does losing your cluster bother you much?"

"Well, after the accident it was touch and go. I nearly snuffed out. I was a quadriplegic for a while and on life support. Right now I'm glad I'm alive and can walk again. After all that, no it doesn't bother me."

"So you don't miss it then?"

"No. I had plenty of sex before the accident. Without balls I don't have the urge any more. Mind you, not having a prick is inconvenient. It's very practical little gadget. Without it you tend to leak a bit and have to wear a sanitary pad like you're 'aving a permanent period. And you can't afford to fill up your bladder. Now I 'ave to drink scotch instead of beer.

Ben got a laugh and the press liked him.

"What about medication? Couldn't you take hormones?"

"Yeah you could. In fact there's a danger of thinning bones and the last thing I want to do is break any more bones. But also, without a prick any more I don't want any sexual urges. That'd be torment. So I take female hormone for me bones. That keeps the bones ok and I don't get the urge that testosterone'd give me."

They went on for almost an hour answering questions. They kept the Chinese eunuchs out of answering questions on the grounds that they were shy. However it emerged that they came from a primitive part of China that had largely been isolated from the communist revolution and which had conservatively stuck to the old ways. When the revolution did catch up with their area they'd fled and had been brought up in a mission school for girls. They'd been castrated before puberty and their voices hadn't broken.

Why weren't they on hormone treatment?

Sid answered. "They don't want it. We offered 'em testosterone and they wouldn't 'ave it. Like Ben though they have to have oestrogen for their bones."

There seemed to be no end to the questions. Most of them were extremely personal but Sid had been prepared for that. In the end Reuben took the microphone, thanked the journalists very courteously for their interest and told them the press kits were ready for them on the tables at the back of the auditorium.

The reaction was better than Sid and Reuben could ever have dreamt. Television covered it extensively that evening on news and current affairs programmes. It made the front page of many papers the next day with more on the story inside. Pictures of Ben Staggers' nullified pube were in every paper they looked at. The best report was the Workers Tabloid with the banner headline: "Chinese Deny Castrations." An enterprising reporter had got on to the Chinese Embassy to be told that no-one in China had been castrated since 1947. Luckily, he was looking for scandal rather than facts and he pointed out that though the Chinese Communists had put hundreds of thousands to death since 1947 they hadn't castrated anyone. Wasn't that decent of them?

Sid's 'castration for peace' bunkum received serious analysis in the broadsheets. There was a general agreement that voluntary castration in public as a peace protest would embarrass western governments and would therefore be effective as a protest measure. They agreed with Sid that timing of the event would be extremely important for its effectiveness.

Two days later there was a demonstration outside the Prime Minister's official residence. Several thousand girls wanted Sid Nutless to keep his balls on and held the Prime Minister responsible for maintaining peace so that Sid wouldn't need to be castrated.

"That's a master stroke Uncle Reuben. However did you manage to organise that?" Sid and Reuben had been watching the demonstration on the evening news.

"Reuben stared at Sid. "I bloody didn't organise it. They must have done it all by themselves."

"They couldn't have," Sid replied.

"I got a feelin' this could get out of hand," Reuben said. Lets 'ave a concert and sell more CDs before it does."

Next day the Chinese Eunuchs were in the headlines again. The Chinese government was seriously embarrassed by the claim that people had been castrated in China after the communists took over. They took it as an unpardonable insult and assumed that the government of the United States was behind it. They issued a public protest at the United Nations and demanded an unqualified apology and retraction from the US President personally.

Because, for once, the US government was completely innocent and not terribly interested in developments in the pop music world they were baffled.

"What the hell are those goddam Chinks going on about this time?" The Secretary of State was a man of great refinement and sensitivity, especially where fermented malt was concerned.

"Probably something to do with the missile defence system," an aide remarked.

That was a plausible suggestion. The missile defence system was now at a stage where 50% of an incoming missile assault could be stopped. Work was proceeding apace to make that 100% for the greater DC area and 90% for the rest of the mainland. Some of the remoter areas of the Union were "expendable."

There had been a considerable increase in tension in the Taiwan area as the Chinese had raised the ante regarding getting Taiwan into the Peoples' Republic. At the same time the Tibetans had started a resistance movement that was effective enough to create embarrassment in Beijing. There was tension between the Russian Federation and China because Moscow had accused the Chinese of supplying arms to Chechnya.

Meanwhile the Japanese were concerned by their stagnating economy, rising unemployment and the lack of respect that their younger generation was showing for the traditional customs and culture. Japanese children preferred hamburgers to sushi. "What can we do to get our economy moving again and to reimpose the traditional ways?" they asked themselves.

There was only one possible answer. Those wonderful folk that gave us Pearl Harbour (the real thing, not the movie) embarked on a programme of massive re-armament.

The first Chinese Eunuch concert in a soccer stadium had been a sell out and absolutely no-one had been hurt. There were a whole lot of new songs as well as the "classics" from the Pig Gig CD. Already there was a Sid Nutless fan club with its own theme song: "Sid, keep them on."

Ben Staggers was bemused to find that he had collected his own set of groupies. There were a whole lot of girls who wanted to comfort and mother him. The concept of a pet man began to grow; that it would be nice have a guy like Ben who was safe and "harmless." For quite a lot of girls the idea of being able to have a man around but without the hassle of sexual obligations was attractive.

The press, ever ready to push along a bandwagon, ran articles on castration and its effects, mainly along the lines of "What will happen to Sid when he makes his sacrifice?" They ran interviews with other eunuchs and it was surprising how many there were. More surprising was the eunuchs all claimed to be better off as they were and they even managed to sound quite smug about their status. They didn't want their balls back at all.

The State Department was unwilling to admit that it did not understand the protest that the Chinese had made regarding the alleged castration insult. It's attempt at a conciliatory reply read as follows. "The US Government takes the view that castration in China is purely the concern of the Chinese people and it is not a matter on which we would comment. However, the US Government is sympathetic to any population control measures which the Peoples' Republic may choose to adopt."

The Chinese government was so outraged that it promptly severed diplomatic relations with the US and evicted all Americans from China. For good measure it stepped up its plans to invade Taiwan. Unlike the castration protest, this was the kind of thing that the State Department understood perfectly.

Sid Nutless's fan club had over 8000 teen-age girls in its membership, all of them committed to persuading Sid never to make his sacrifice. For his part, Sid felt obliged to allow them the opportunity to persuade him and those girls put their all into it. In fact Sid had not the slightest intention of making any sacrifice but he loved the persuasiveness of his fans.

"Sid you ain't really gonna cut your balls off, are you?" fan number 2,781 said to him. Her name was Marjorie Jones.

"Oh Marjorie," said Sid, "How I wish I'd never made that stupid promise. But if it comes to it, what are one guy's balls against the lives, probably of millions? If I can prevent war, I will. I have to."

"Oh Sid …"

"But I promise you this, Marjorie, I will remember this time with you always."

"Sid darling, I love you so much. You fuck so beautifully. I've never had it that good before."

"Will you remember me?" Sid asked her.

"Of course I will Sid. How could I ever forget?"

"Thank you Marjorie. Now it's time for us to get dressed, I'm afraid."

They got dressed and Sid gave Marjorie her fan club badge of honour. It was a standard fan club badge but inscribed on it in gold letters was the monogram FbS. It had her name and fan club number on it too. To be able to wear the coveted "Fucked by Sid" badge was the ultimate status symbol in the fan club. There were members who would kill to own their own version of that badge.

Watching the huge military parade in Tokyo were old men unable to hold back the tears in their eyes. At last their nation was able to stand tall in the world and the decades of defeat, shame and humiliation were over. Even the younger men were beginning to feel something of the national pride that their elders had talked so much about.

In the Japanese corridors of power, just before the parade, some people at the highest level had been having a conversation.

"Re-armament programme has been very successful in reviving Japanese economy but what are we going to do with war machine we have created?"

There was a deal of puzzlement and shaking of heads. Then one very old man in an admiral's uniform said quietly "Gentlemen, Soviet Union declared war upon Japan in 1945. There has never been peace treaty so we are at war with Russian Federation."

There was a shocked silence in the group. One didn't speak of such things. The old admiral was unimpressed. "They still occupy Japanese territory. Why don't we recover South Kurile Islands before we sign treaty?"

"Sid, my boy, I've never seen you look so knackered. You all right?"

"I'm fine, Uncle Reuben."

"I bloody hope so. Next month you start your American tour. Six concerts in two months."

"Aww shit. I don't feel up to that. Can't we cancel?"

"No ways. What I want you to do is stop screwing the fans. It's taking too much out of you."

"Gee Uncle Reuben, I can't let my fans down. They've come to expect it of me."

"It's coming that's killing you. Lay off."

"But I got to keep my end in."

"Bollocks, Sid. You're talking shit. In any case the American tour is selling well. Think of all your fans over there. So rest and recover for a couple of weeks. Maybe write some new songs."

Radar operator Leroy LeGros on board USS Monica Lewinsky was bored to tears from staring at a featureless screen for hours on end. "When I get home I ain't never gonna watch television again."

"So what will you do?" his equally bored companion said.

"Write a book called 'East Pacific'. They might turn it into a musical one day. It'll be about a little green line that goes round and round on a glass screen and nothing ever - Hey what's that?"

A tiny blip had appeared on the port side of the screen. On the next sweep there were four more blips. War these days happened too quickly for the Captain on the bridge to make leisurely decisions. Able Seaman Leroy LeGros obeyed standing orders and pressed the button that summoned the crew of the giant carrier to action stations.

Private Leonid Satarin of the Russian Army knew he was going to be sick again. Whatever he'd eaten at supper had turned in his guts. There was nothing left in his stomach to vomit but he knew he was going to puke. He felt like death as he made his way to the bathroom, knelt with his head over the bowl, reached and felt the bitter taste of bile in his mouth. He was barely able to stand up afterwards. "Hell!" he thought. "This must be as bad as it gets."

He was wrong. As he turned to make his way back into bed he saw the most amazing apparition. "You are prisoner of war," the Japanese soldier told him.

It was a good day for newspaper sales around the world. "Japanese retake South Kurile Islands," was one headline. "Chinese missile attack on US Warship" was another. The sell out concert of Sid Nutless and his Chinese Eunuch Band was pushed back to page two.

Sid's songs of peace struck a chord with a good many people, especially women. With all the current sabre rattling and war talk that was happening just then, songs of peace were reassuring. The castration message rode on the back of that. Sid's "castration for peace" slogan began to be repeated, mostly as a joke, but suddenly with the rise in tension and a real threat of war, it wasn't quite so funny any more.

People in the west weren't as naïve as they'd once been. Once upon a time governments could sound the bugle and the boys would gallantly don their uniforms and march off to the glories of war. Now they knew about death and maiming, the suffering of the innocents. They knew too that war wouldn't necessarily be in some distant, far off land. For the survivors, if any, there probably would be no home to come back to.

USS Monica Lewinsky was in dry dock in Taiwan having her port side propeller shaft replaced and a new rudder fitted. There were other repairs around her stern where one of the incoming missiles had caused damage. The other four missiles had been destroyed in the air. Apart from her dry bottom she was, defence-wise, fully operational. Her crew was on full alert, all her weapons systems were armed and ready to fire and her reactors were critical. Her aircraft had transferred to an airfield and were flying constant reconnaissance missions. Repair crews from the States had been flown out and were working around the clock to get her back into the water.

Off shore, other vessels of the US Navy were on constant patrol. One of them, a fast torpedo boat suddenly blew up with out warning. It turned out that an innocuous looking sailing junk had been laying mines outside the harbour.

In Beijing a war council was in progress.

"We could take Taiwan quite easily if the Americans weren't present. In particular it is their carrier that presents a major threat."

"Another attempt with missiles?"

"We got away with it last time by claiming it was a mistake. The Americans didn't believe us but accepted it as a face saving measure. We couldn't do that again. Remember we do not want a war with America at this stage. Our objective is Taiwan."

"It will take another week before the carrier's repairs are completed,"

"Could we take Taiwan while the carrier is still in dry dock?"

"Yes. All our preparations are still in place. If the missile attack had succeeded we would have Taiwan by now."

The men around the council table felt an adrenaline rush. This was a moment that came once in a lifetime and then only to a privileged few.

"We will take a secret ballot," the chairman decided after a pause.

It was a beautiful summer day in Central Park. People were enjoying the park in exactly the way it was meant to be enjoyed. A small group of New Peaceniks were having one of their get togethers, making speeches about the evils of war. They were mostly in their mid twenties, men and women, heirs of the old hippy tradition. They sang the Sid Nutless theme song that had become popular, "A Sacrifice for Peace."

ENG cameras rolled as the sacrifices happened. Three guys in robes stood up before the group and the girl with the burdizzo, that she certainly knew how to use, helped them make their sacrifice for peace. The rest of the group continued singing the theme song. They sang it beautifully too.

The sacrifices beat the Chinese invasion of Taiwan into first place on the news that evening. Later, in live interviews, the three guys and their committed partners, made their point: Peace on Earth is too important not to make the sacrifice. The interview started off in a sneering, mocking tone but the quiet dignity and patent sincerity of those concerned commanded a respect that could not be ignored. The girls stood by their men and supported them in the sacrifice. In the end, the interviewer who had tried to get a cheap laugh from the castrates knew that here were people to admire. "Perhaps more of us should follow their example," he concluded. "Will their sacrifice bring peace?"

Ben Staggers, the drummer, who had the privilege of being the most famous eunuch in America at the time, was in demand for interviews. He repeated his story over and over that he was quite happy to be a eunuch and that given the choice he would not want to return to his original state. "I've come to terms with myself. I can have a warm and loving relationship with a woman but not a sexual one." And "No. I do not miss sex. My libido died with my loss. It's gone completely. I can enjoy a girl's company, I can laugh and joke with her but no longer do I have any desire to get into her pants. I am a happier person for that."

There was a warm, gentle, friendly quality about Ben. A lot of females, like their sisters in Britain, wanted to mother him and cuddle him. They'd like to have a guy like Ben around.

In Tokyo there was a feeling of confidence at the ease with which the lost territory had been recovered. The Russian Federation had made no response whatsoever. The Japanese had repatriated all the prisoners of war they'd taken even before the Russians could ask for them.

It happened that there were very strong trade links between Taiwan and Japan. The Chinese invasion was something of a threat to that trade.

"Japan will help brothers in Taiwan to defeat illegal communist rebel invasion" Tokyo announced at about the same time as their all out assault on the Chinese mainland took everyone by surprise.

"This is a day that will live in infamy," Chairman Hao said on Chinese television before the transmitters went down.

The hastily set up castration monitoring department of the FBI reported directly to the President. Castration for Peace ceremonies were happening in almost every state and were drawing huge crowds. There were at least three guys a week in each state making their sacrifice for peace. In California the number of sacrifices was much higher. "And they're not all fruit cakes either," the Agent reported. "A lot of them are serious responsible citizens. They have the backing of their wives too."

Whatever the President may personally have thought, he could not ignore public opinion. Behind every guy that had his nuts off there must be tens of thousands who supported him. Whatever was going on in the Far East and whatever the Pentagon wanted, Hometown USA did not want to be part of it. The USS Monica Lewinsky went back to sea with orders to stand off shore and monitor events. Take any defensive action necessary but try not to get involved.

Satellite Observer 4 was orbiting its way northwards over the Eastern Pacific coastline sending detailed images of the Earth's surface below it to Langley. in real time for analysis. It's sensitive infra red sensors and optical systems could spot a cat on the ground; such was its resolution. As the satellite was crossing the 43 degree North parallel something happened to overload its sensors. Observer 4 went blind.

"What the fuck was that?" exclaimed the Mayor of Kunshiri in the instant before he was annihilated.

"Japanese Get Nuked Again" was the screaming banner headline. "This morning at 04.30 local time the South Kurile Islands, north of Hokkaido suffered a nuclear explosion about ten times the size of the Hiroshima bomb. Japan recently recovered these islands in a surprise raid. They had been occupied by the Russians since 1945."

"Oh shit!" was the Secretary of State's first horrified reaction when he heard of the attack. His second reaction was heartfelt relief that America wasn't involved. "So who sent the fucking bomb?" he wanted to know as his brain clicked back into gear.

Some very bright people at Langley went through a lot of documentation to answer that question. They searched the satellite records of the skies over Eastern Russia and China and found nothing. They cast their net wider to look at all military aviation records in the area for the period concerned. There had been plenty of activity but no pointers.

The Sacrifice for Peace campaign was continuing and growing in numbers. The major tv stations covered the sacrifice ceremonies in detail and they were getting top ratings. There was a glow of respect for those who had made their sacrifice. They'd stopped using the burdizzo. Now there was a surgical procedure that was more elegant, less painful and safer.

Jane Andrews, 23, a librarian by profession and the honorary part-time cutter for Jarvis County, had nothing but respect for the men who volunteered their testicles in the cause of peace. She longed for a world in which armed forces would wither away. Jane had been a fan of Sid Nutless and the Chinese Eunuchs since she'd first heard their music. Sid's haunting theme song "A Sacrifice for Peace" struck a chord in her heart and she almost cried every time she heard it. She loved what Sid Nutless stood for.

She was watching the tv news showing her day's work of castrating three volunteers in the name of peace. It had become a simple, but moving ceremony. The men wore a gown to make their sacrifice. It was lifted up for the cutting so that all could see that the sacrifice was genuine. It was understood that an erection under the circumstances was involuntary and not a sign of arousal. The crowd, moved by the occasion, had joined in the singing.

And I look good, too, Jane thought, admiring the image of her petite, slender self with long brown hair resting on her shoulders. The simple sweater and slacks outfit showed off her shapely figure very nicely. Perhaps it was just a shade too sexy for the seriousness of the occasion? Maybe next time she should wear a dress. She could show off her legs.

Watching the footage Jane felt proud of how adept she had become at castration since her first fumbling effort a few weeks earlier. She made her incisions with confidence and expertly tied off the cords, dextrously manipulating the fine thread into a tight knot. The actual cutting, the highlight of the sacrifice was done with style and no hesitation. There was always a gasp from the watching crowd as the testicles dropped into the bowl that her assistant held. Her suturing was first class too and there would only be the almost invisible scar to show where the scrotum had once been.

It was so beautiful that a guy should sacrifice his manhood like that; surrender his masculinity and become a cuddly teddy bear like that Ben Staggers. There was something about removing men's testicles that appealed to her. Jane wouldn't admit even to herself that it turned her on. The only reason she always wore a panty liner when she did the castrations was … well, just in case.

How many eunuchs had she made? There must be about twenty of them now. Guys she'd turned into cuddly Teddy Bears. Most of them had been married and they'd been cut with their wife's approval and support. Perhaps, in some cases, at their wife's instigation. There were still guys out there waiting to be cut. Lovely normal healthy guys whose testicles she still had to remove. Some of them didn't yet know it. That was just such a sweet, lovely thought.

Jane put an arm around her husband who was on the settee beside her. "Darling, don't you think it's time you volunteered for the sacrifice?" The thought of castrating her husband made Jane feel so romantic. He hadn't wanted to be castrated but Jane knew she was bringing him around to it.

The Japanese Ambassador bowed politely to the Secretary of State who had to force himself not to return the courtesy. Otherwise it could go on for hours and time was of the essence.

They seated themselves in the comfortable conference room chairs and the small group of high level Americans and Japanese prepared for the Agency briefing. The man from the agency knew his stuff and he had all the documentation to support him.

He began. "First of all, we are satisfied that the device was not delivered by ICBM or any other type of ground or sea missile. We have been keeping a very close surveillance on the area and if there had been something like that we'd have seen it. Likewise with military aircraft. There was nothing in the area that could have delivered the bomb.

"The evidence all points to delivery coming from a civil aircraft."

"What civilian aircraft?" The Secretary of State just wanted to know who'd sent the damned bomb. He didn't need a detective story.

"It was an Antonov 225."

"The Russians?" The Secretary of State's voice betrayed the relief he was feeling that the bomb could be blamed on the Russian Federation.

"Most unlikely, Sir. The Antonov passed to the North of the South Kurile Islands where it probably launched the bomb using an air to air missile. There was a very short flight, just long enough for the Antonov to get clear of the explosion. That would also make for very good accuracy. They hit exactly what they meant to. The Antonov continued on down the Sea of Japan, turned westward south of Vladivostok, flew over North Korean airspace and landed at a military airfield near Kirin in Manchuria."

"So you think it was the Chinese?"

"Very probably Sir. The Antonov is still there."

"Please may I ask question?" It was a member of the Japanese Ambassador's party who spoke.

The agent nodded the subtlest bow.

"Where did Antonov 225 come from?"

"Los Angeles International Airport, Sir."

At that point the Secretary of State would rather he was still practising law back in Philadelphia. The Japanese contingent were inscrutable.

"We have done some investigating and have the following information on the plane's crew and stated cargo."

The agent produced copies of stills made from the extensive network of surveillance cameras at the airport. He also gave them copies of the surveillance camera tapes, bill of lading and flight plans. The bill of lading purported the cargo to be American machine tools bound for Kyoto. The plane was owned by a Japanese air charter company.

"The scheduled cargo is still at the Los Angeles freight terminal," the agent said. "Currently we are questioning the people concerned."

"Please I make phone call," the Ambassador asked after he had studied the documents.

"Please say you won't have them off," Betty Lou, 17, fan club number 18,243, said to Sid Nutless as they relaxed in the post coital glow."

"A promise is a promise, Betty Lou. I gotta stick to my word."

"But Sid that's such a waste. I never met a man who fucks like you do."

Sid shrugged. "War is a terrible thing, darlin'. People get killed and maimed, little kids burnt by Napalm. If I can prevent that …."

"Oh Sid! You are such a wonderful man. I can't help but love you."

"I promise you Betty Lou. I'll remember forever this time with you." Sid handed her the special FbS fan club badge with her name and number on it.

Sid was intrigued when Betty Lou reinserted her labia ring and attached the badge to it. That was a first in his experience.

Sid's third concert of the tour wasn't quite as kinetic as the first two but the music was better than ever and his fans appreciated him and how he was working for peace.

The Secretary of State was on the golf course when his personal hot line rang. "This had better be important," he growled.

"I think so, Sir. The Japs have just nuked China."

"Top Secret. For Your Eyes Only" the memo read. "At 4.30 am local time, exactly 24 hours after the nuclear explosion over the South Kurile Islands, the Japanese exploded a 20 megaton nuclear device at the Chinese military base near Kirin in Manchuria. The bomb was delivered by a mach 15, piloted Mitsubishi NX9 scramjet fighter, code named Photon Chaser.

"The Japanese nuclear capability was unknown to this intelligence service and …" There were a lot of technical details which didn't mean a damned thing.

"Nuclear War. The ultimate horror is happening NOW," began the reports in the press all around the world.

"North Koreans to aid Chinese Reds"

"Russia invades China. Bitter fighting in Mongolia."

"US bound by treaty to aid South Korea"

"Will US, Europe become involved?"

"Afghanistan to aid Chechan rebels"

"Islamic World to aid brothers in Russian Federation"

"I see the war is spreading westwards," murmured a very senior civil servant in Whitehall to a colleague.

"Hmm yes. But I think we should keep out for as long as we can."

"Of course. Makes quite a change for us, don't you think? All the other world wars, we've been in from the beginning."

"Yes. But it is such an expensive business these days. What are your people doing about it? Any plans?

"Oh yes. We're reassembling all those devices we dismantled. Be ready this Friday."

"Oh well done, old boy. Perhaps we'll get an innings after all."

"I should think so. Wouldn't do for there to be a world war without us. Now would it?"

Elsewhere in Europe: "Gott in Himmel! Ein world war and the Fatherland a part of it is nicht. What would the Fuehrer have said if he were here today?"

"Ach Fritz. If you can't beat 'em you copy 'em as das Englanders say."

"What do you mean. Herr Chancellor?"

"A military culture we no longer haben, Fritz. Today we are organised to create wealth."

"I don't understand Herr Chancellor."

"Fritz my boy, ask yourself: What do people want most in a war?"

"Er .. Peace?"

"That comes later after enough people have died. No, at this stage they want weapons. And we are making them available. For example I have asked Volkswagen to switch production from cars to missiles."

"Und they agreed ?"

"Of course Fritz. Isn't that what you'd expect from Volkswagen?"

Later, after he'd thought long and hard about it, Fritz confided to a colleague that he thought Chancellor Ira Cohenstein was lacking in the spirit of the Teutonic Knights.

A nuclear explosion in Moscow and the sinking of the USS Monica Lewinsky with over two thousand lives lost brought the war to Europe and the Americas. The prospect of total annihilation loomed for everyone. The whole world was on the brink of a war that no one could win.

A kind of madness had swept across the Earth and people in authority knew they'd got themselves into the most catastrophic no win situation. Yet they were all too proud to back down. "We'll fight on the beaches and on the landing grounds," leaders were saying. "We shall never surrender."

There was gloom and despondency in the Oval office as the Administration met to decide on a course of action. No, they couldn't give in to the terrorist act that sunk the carrier.

"But if we retaliate we'll be in a nuclear war"

"We can win it."

"No we can't. And if we were to lose we'd explode our doomsday weapon and split the Earth in two."

"We won't lose."

"The Chinese and the Russian also have doomsday weapons. For all we know India and Japan have them too."

"Oh shit!"

"Who the fuck started all this crap?" The President asked. "How did it begin?"

The Secretary from the State Department had a moment of revelation. "Balls!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah. We know that but what the fuck?"

"Mr. President, gentlemen, and er ladies. I have an idea that may save the world. Please clear your diaries for Thursday week. There will be a happening at the UN."

Someone was calling Sid out of a deep sleep.

"Sidney. It's time to make good on your promise."

Sid opened his eyes and saw the most beautiful woman in the world. She was tall and blonde and had the sweetest voice and she was totally, completely, absolutely nude. Sid thought it was all a beautiful dream.

"Castration for peace" she said.

"Castration for peace," replied Sid, happily as the woman walked toward him and got into bed with him.

"My name is Amelia. The time is coming Sidney. The world needs your sacrifice for peace."

Sid didn't reply. She was kissing his lips. Her soft gentle hand caressed his penis and Sid's mind gave itself over to sensations of pleasure.

Jane Andrews' cup of happiness was overflowing. Not only were there more volunteers than ever, willing and eager to make their sacrifice for peace, but her own husband had at last agreed to let her cut him too. It was all set for this coming Saturday. She'd even bought a new dress for the occasion. It was dignified and appropriate but it did show off her figure nicely and she certainly wasn't ashamed of her legs. She knew that her cuttings shown live on television were drawing record audiences. Guys were coming from all over the state to be cut by her. Jane knew that she was well on her way to becoming a celebrity castratrix.

People had even been coming to the Jarvis County Library, where she worked, to see her. There were such crowds that the Mayor, in response to a plea for help from the chief librarian, had just given her leave of absence until 'this all blew over.' And on full pay too. What more could a girl ask for?

She'd cleared her desk and was on leave for the duration. It was with a light heart and in near-holiday mood that she walked to where her car was parked. A big black limousine glided to a halt beside her and a back window rolled down.

"Mrs. Jane Andrews?

"That's me."

A woman, smartly dressed in a severe, tailored business suit in dark grey alighted from the limo. She was blonde, tall and probably about 30. She seemed pleasant enough.

"My name is Amelia Caldicott. I'm with the State Department." Amelia handed Jane her card.

To a young woman who worked in the lower levels of local government the State Department was somewhere up there near the Almighty. Jane's jaw dropped. This could be trouble with a big T.

"We need your special skills, Ms. Andrews. Please would you help us? It is very important."

"Er - Yeah, sure."

"If you come with me I'll explain on the way."

Jane got into the limousine, vaguely aware that she was being kidnapped, sort of.

The Security Council was deadlocked. The war raging across Asia had spread into Eastern Europe and all there knew that the Americans were preparing awesome vengeance for the loss of their carrier. The problem was that none of the belligerents could back off without losing face and possible military disaster. If only there could be some kind of breakthrough the world would be saved.

The Secretary General was chairing the session. A messenger discreetly placed a paper on his desk. He read it. The Secretary General waited patiently until the speaker had finished.

"Gentlemen, let us take a break. There is a happening in the auditorium which may help our deliberations. Please accompany me there."

There is a vast auditorium in the United Nations building. It is seldom used but is maintained at the highest standards. Today it was full. The delegates from the Security Council took the seats in the front row which had been saved for them.

The lights dimmed, the audience went quiet. Sid Nutless and the Chinese Eunuch band performed their theme tune "A Sacrifice for Peace." Upstairs In the circle Sid's fan club all knew the words and sang with him.

It was a haunting, echoing, beautiful song that extolled the loveliness of an Earth at peace. As the fan club sang those words one voice, a boy soprano rose above the others. Such was the beauty of that voice the others gradually fell quiet. From somewhere up in the circle that one boy carried the song. His voice filled the auditorium with the most glorious, evocative sound.

As the sound died away to silence Sid stepped forward. "I vowed to make my own personal sacrifice for peace when the time was right. And now …" Sid paused to take a deep breath. "That time has come."

There was a collective gasp from the circle. Sid raised a hand for silence and looked up to them. "Please. The lives of millions are at stake here. Just pray for me. Pray for peace"

There was a gentle, muted, wailing and sobbing sound from the circle. It was the sound of utter despair as if all the souls who'd ever lost their lives in war were crying for mankind.

Sid nodded to Jane Andrews who'd been waiting in shadow at the back of the stage. The tall blonde, Amelia, who was to assist came forward with her. Sid got on to a podium to put himself at a good working height for Jane. Amelia took off the robe he'd been wearing and it left Sid naked and bereft of dignity before that audience. Yet Sid somehow maintained his dignity. He transferred his humiliation to those in the audience, to those men of power whose decisions meant life or death for millions. They felt responsible for Sid's shame.

Jane got to work. The injections, a brief wait in total silence, then Jane made the incisions, the tying off, the cutting. As Amelia caught the testicles in a bowl there came again the soft sounds of despair from the circle. Finally Jane did the suturing and Sid's sacrifice was made. Television cameras observed the event and the pictures went live around the world to the biggest audience of all time.

Sid had something to say. "That for me was a moment of truth. I need to give you more truth about us." Sid nodded toward the Chinese Eunuchs. "The time for deceit and sophistry is passed."

Beads of perspiration were clearly visible on Sid's forehead. "You all know that Ben got the way he is from a flying accident. What we've never told you is that Ben was flying on lsd and made a forced landing onto some spiked railing from an upstairs window.

"The Chinese Eunuchs? Well, it is true they do not have testicles. That's because they are girls. And they aren't Chinese either. Show them girls."

The 'Chinese Eunuchs' removed their pill box caps and their wigs with the pigtails. They removed the gowns and all could see clearly that they were girls.

"They are all professional musicians from England who got made redundant when the Southern Counties Symphony Orchestra folded. They only came to the auditions when I started the band to maintain their status as job seekers."

Sid seemed to be having some difficulty remaining standing. Sweat was running down his face and his whole body glistening with perspiration. "Ok, take it away girls."

The band started playing the theme song and the curtains closed. The auditorium lights came up and people began silently to shuffle out.

"Peace Treaty Signed" "World War Averted" yelled the headline. And lower down the page: "Sid Nutless Passes Away in the Night. Sid Nutless, the pop singer whose sacrifice for peace may well have assisted the Security Council in its deliberations, died during the night only hours after making his sacrifice for peace. It is suspected that his death was caused by a heart condition that he'd been keeping secret. There is no family to grieve for Sid. The nearest Sid had to a relative is his agent, Reuben Bloom, an old family friend. A tearful Mr. Bloom said this morning that Sid was one of the greats who will be sorely missed."

Marjorie Jones was having troubles getting her life together. Sid's death six months earlier had upset her more than she would ever have imagined. A tear ran down her cheek as she put the FbS fan club badge into the bottom of her keepsake box.

"Goodbye Sid. Your fan number 2781 will remember you forever but I have to get on with my life."

Marjorie was really a down to earth girl who knew that her one night with Sid was just a memory. What she had to do was get on with the real business of life which was finding a husband and earning a living. She'd had to force herself to go to the dating agency but it hadn't been too bad and they had fixed her up with a date. He was, according to Mrs. Brown at the agency, a nice, decent young chap who'd specified a girl like her. He'd wanted someone brunette, slender and who had a practical nature. His name was Les Dunstin.

She was all ready and had to meet him outside the Leicester Square tube station at 7.30. Time to get going.

The date was late. So much for Mrs. Brown and her bloody agency. And who was this creep crowding her? She had a mind to put the boot in.

"You forgotten me already Marj?"

"Sid, you bastard!" she cried happily and fell into his arms.

End