by Eric Flint
"Phone shack. Who's this?"
"April, this is Deitrich"
"Deitrich? What the hell is going on down there? I was talking to Metzinger and he just took off and left the phone off the hook back on the west end. This phone was off the hook, now you're on it, and it doesn't appear that there's any phones active inby from you. And did you guys hear that bump down there?"
"One thing at a time. I have an injured miner, and a possible roof fall over by where Ernst is working. It sounds like you don't know about Willy?"
"Willy? No, I don't. What's up with Willy?"
"He's injured. Badly. I'm sending him topside with two men. We found him at the phone. Did you not talk to him? It would have been right after you talked to—wait, April. I need to think." Deitrich pushed his hard hat back on his sweaty forehead and tried to think clearly. He shook his head and made a decision.
"April. I don't know what the hell is going on down here. All I have is that Metzinger said that he heard Willy on the phone and there was a roof fall down there. And now I smell smoke. And we got no goddamn power down here. I'm going to take this crew and head down to the old working face and see if there's something we can do. You let Stacks know what we're up to, and I'll call as soon as I know something."
"Okay, Deitrich. But I know that they were talking about pulling you guys out until we got some power back."
"I'm wasting time talking to you. We're going to help Ernst. I'll let you know if everyone is okay." He hung up the phone and ignored it when it started to ring. He didn't have time to argue with April. Deitrich turned on his heel and began to walk down the passage toward the working face, where he knew that something was wrong. The smell of smoke grew stronger.
After another two hundred meters, they began to notice unusual damage. The seals had been damaged in the cross cuts. The further they went, the more damage they saw, until they were stepping over blocks and brick that had been blown out into the main passageway. Their pace slowed. The mine was now wide open on this end; all of the careful seals and brattices had been knocked down.
Deitrich began to think that what they were dealing with might be a methane explosion. Or maybe what was referred to as an "ignition," when gas would be coming out of the rock in a particular area and could form a standing flame, like the gas stove in the cafeteria. He had never seen one, but there were films. Normally an explosion would destroy an entire mine, or sector of a mine. But Willy didn't look burned. Willy had said a rock fall. Something wasn't making sense. They were still a ways from the working face when the smoke and dust started to become a visibility problem. Several men were coughing.
Deitrich looked back. "Guys, go ahead and put on your self-rescuers. They should have gone over that in class. If there's excessive carbon monoxide, this little thing—" He held up the belt mounted canister. "—changes the bad air to good." There was a rustling as the men put them on and tested them.
From the back, Zing spoke up. "Deitrich, we're not allowed to use these to fight fires; these are only for rescue, for us. If there's a fire, we're supposed to . . ."
Deitrich turned to him viciously. "Don't quote me rules, goddammit. Put it on and let's move. And keep an eye out for the injured."
* * *
Metzinger was limping badly from the cramp in his legs when he met the two men carrying Willy. Willy had been patched up when they found him, but hastily.
"Put him down, guys. Let me take a look." One of the men handed him a small first aid kit. "Scheiss, we need some light." He looked around. "Let's take him to the tool crib over there."
The tool crib was built into one of the cross cuts, and was generally locked. But there were extra carbide lights stored there, along with concrete blocks, mortar, plastic and cloth sheeting for brattices, and spares of all kinds. Even a microwave oven for heating lunches. It took them almost no time to open the gate and set Willy down on a workbench. Metzinger looked around at all the stuff in the tool crib, including the very valuable compressed air hoses for the tools.
He turned his attention to Willy. "I can handle it from here, guys. I think we just need to stop this bleeding and he should be okay. At least I hope so. He was bleeding through the old bandages." He lifted up Willy's shirt and pulled back the soaked bandages, exposing the gash in his chest that ran along the ribs. They could actually see one of the ribs. The two younger men stepped back. Metzinger pulled clean bandages from the kit and began to apply pressure, gently, to the area. Willy stirred and moaned.
"Now that's a good sign. It still hurts. If you guys want to go back and help Deitrich, I can handle this. It will take me an hour to get there at this rate. I think he needs you more than we do. Go on. I got this covered. If we move him any more, we could kill him."
The two apprentices looked at each other and headed after Deitrich. Neither of them looked like they could stand the sight of blood.
Must not be from around here, thought Metzinger.
* * *
"I need that goddamn gen-set now. We got a man injured down there and maybe a rock fall. We need the lift and the goddamn fan. We need it ten minutes ago. Do you guys copy?"
"Stacks, we'll give it a try. We've bypassed the safety controls on the generator and we're using a torch on the outside of the fuel line to try and make it flow. There isn't much more we can do that won't blow this—and us—sky-fucking-high." There was a pause. "Do you copy, Stacks?"
Stacks could clearly hear the implied "asshole" at the end of the last transmission. He didn't care. It comforted him. He knew that whatever those guys could do to get power flowing from the generator, they were doing. At their own risk, all for the guys in the mine. He responded. "Ten-four. But don't you guys get hurt. Do what you can, but. . . . Well, just do what you can, we're standing by."
Stacks opened the plant safety manual, and reviewed the procedures for an injury. Apply first aid and remove from plant. Call ambulance. If possible, continue production. That was the gist of it. Well, at least the phones had cleared up since that first bump, whatever that was. He dialed the fire department.
An operator with a pronounced German accent picked up. "Emergency services. What is the nature of your emergency?"
"This is Stacks at the mine. I got at least one injured miner down there and we're trying to evacuate him now. We're not sure of the extent of his injuries, but the information I have is that he's hurt pretty bad. We're trying to bring him out now."
"He's still in the mine?"
"Yeah, still down there. We have no power, so it will be a while before we can get him out."
"Do you know the extent of his injuries?"
"No, ma'am."
"Do you know when he will be on the surface?"
"Ummm. Not exactly, no, ma'am. But we're hoping pretty quick. Maybe an hour before we get him out, maybe less." He looked at the radio, hoping it would give him good news.
"Hang on, Stacks, give us a minute."
Stacks sighed as he heard the dispatcher cover the receiver on her end, and ask a muffled question. He looked at his watch. It was only nine in the morning. It seemed that this shift had already been on for twelve hours.
"Stacks, sorry, I'm back. We already have one ambulance out. Can you give us another call when you get closer to bringing him up? We don't want one just sitting there because if something else comes up, we won't be able to handle it."
"Okay. Let me log the call, and you do the same. There's always a safety review after one of these things." Stacks hung up the phone. Sometimes, doing this job, he still felt like he was up-time and everything was normal. It was a comfortable feeling. But he knew it was false. At times like this he realized how deeply in trouble they all were, and how very precarious things could be. He grabbed the radio.
"How 'boutcha, Fred and Fred. Are you gonna flow some electrons pretty quick, or am I gonna have to do it for you?" As soon as he took his finger off of the transmit button, he heard a large bang from the direction of the generator, followed by another, and then
quickly followed by two more. The generator caught, stumbled, stumbled again, and started. He heard it stumble again, and imagined the guys scrambling to control it, working the throttle, nursing it until it flattened out into a steady roar. Finally, something was going right. The radio came to life as he sat down, suddenly very tired.
"There's your goddamn electrons. Give us a minute for this thing to stabilize, and we can start putting loads on it. What do you want first?"
"Give me the lift first, then service power, then the fan, and air compressors last. Let me know when you hit the transfer switches, so I know what's coming"
* * *
Deitrich and his men had to slow to a walk, sometimes feeling their way inby. The smoke and dust were so thick that visibility wasn't much more than five or six feet. He kept chattering confidently to the men behind him, and they obeyed his orders. Deitrich was a leader, and he knew what he could expect of these kids. And he was asking them for a lot. So far, they had . . .
"Deitrich! Here is someone. Over here! I have found someone." There was a knot of men forming around a shape on the floor of one of the damaged crosscuts. It was one of Ernst's men; Deitrich recognized him, but couldn't remember his name. He wasn't breathing, but he had one of the "rescuers" in his mouth. And he was burned. Deitrich touched him and knew the man was dead. He clenched his jaw, and stood.
"There's nothing we can do for him now. Leave him."
Zing spoke up. "Boss, they tell us in class that we need to let them know topside ASAP when someone is—well, injured. Shouldn't we call for reinforcements from upstairs? They need to know what is happening, don't they?"
Deitrich turned on the young miner. "I'm in command here. I'll do the thinking." As Deitrich turned, he remembered the dead man's name. And his woman. And their son's names. He felt sick to his stomach. He hated indecision. Hated it in him and in others. He looked forward into the smoke, and back toward the safety of the center of the mine and the lift. Then back to the smoke and the dark. Indecision was over.
"If we go out now, there will be no chance for anyone up there to survive. By going in now and searching, there may be a chance we can rescue someone. We're going all the way to the working face, and look for survivors." He looked at the group. "Any questions?" The cap lights shook back and forth and it was quiet.
Deitrich spoke in the lowest voice he could. But the power was unmistakable. "To me, men. To me. Let's go."
* * *
"We're closing power to the lift breakers now. I don't want to lose the gen-set, so go easy. Run the cage down slow."
"Thanks. Okay, CC. It's on you, buddy. Send the cage down and see how many get on it, then start hoisting. We need to get these guys out of there and figure out what's going on"
"Stacks, the cage is going down. It will be 'bout three minutes before it gets to the bottom. When they pick up the phone and tell me, I'll haul them up."
"Thanks, CC. Fred, as soon as you can, and the gen-set is stable, give me service power so they can have some light down there."
"Ten-four, Stacks. You'll have it in a couple of minutes."
Stacks picked up the landline again, this time to call his boss, Larry Masaniello. It was Larry's day off, but he would be upset if someone was hauled away in an ambulance and he wasn't notified.
* * *
Deitrich was more and more worried that they wouldn't find any survivors. The closer they got to the working face, the worse the damage. Now they picked their way over debris piles, pieces of timbers, and finally . . . bodies. Whatever happened, some of the guys started to get away. Some of them had their shoes and miners belts blown off, and hard hats were scattered about. There was no doubt that there had been a methane ignition of some sort, and it had been powerful. They finally reached crosscut twenty-two, where Willy had said the roof fall had occurred. A large rock had fallen. He was afraid that all they were going to find was bodies.
"Check by the face, you three guys. See if there was anyone up there. Shout out for survivors, but don't forget to listen. If we don't find anyone alive, we'll head back." As he said that, some of the explosion proof lighting fixtures winked on. "Looks like we're getting power back. That's good. Hopefully, we'll get some ventilation going and clear this dust. . . ."
Deitrich paused.
He saw the layout of the mine in his head. The fan shafts where the air was pulled in and pushed out and all of the carefully-built stopping that had been blown out from the explosion. The fact that the fan was off had kept it from mixing any further, and probably limited the explosion. But if they started the fan now, all that mixing would happen again, on a much larger scale. There were still small fires burning and smoldering all around them.
The dread hit him like a ton of bricks. He swallowed and looked around. All these kids. He was going to try to get them out. It was the least he could do.
"Let's go! Everyone! Let's go! Out of the mine! Now! Fast as you can!" He took two steps backward and stumbled over some debris. "Let's go! Run, goddammit, run!" He caught his balance and ran inby, shooing the ones he had told to go to the face in front of him. "Move it! Let's go!" The group began to stumble away from the epicenter and began to run faster as their panic grew. Deitrich recognized it and let the panic have its head. It could only help.
They tripped, fell, cut themselves, got up again and kept running as fast as they could. All the while the panic gripped them, and they ran faster. They picked their way through the debris, trying to go as fast as possible, sometimes stumbling, sometimes falling flat. As one cap light fell, another would help it up and rejoin the other cap lights, bouncing and weaving down the passage. They were grunting and breathing hard, some making noises like children running from a nightmare, as if they were being chased by some terrible monster. There was no speaking, no conversation, only animal noises.
As they ran, the darkness once again closed silently and inevitably behind them.
* * *
"Okay, Stacks. Fan breakers are closed. Go ahead and start it"
"Good job, you guys. Here goes. I got a green light, the fan is starting up. How's the generator?"
"We're stable. Go ahead and put the compressors on and we'll be back in business."
"Compressor start . . . and I show a green light for them, too."
"You owe us a beer. You know that, don't you?"
Stacks looked at his radio, sat down and smiled. "Roger that. Beer is on me." He smiled again and called the fire department dispatcher.
* * *
The cold light of the January sun had barely begun to light the old Pence house. Marylyn Pence, a widow, had been renting rooms in her home. It was a way she could make ends meet. She was at the stove, boiling water, preparing to make breakfast. She felt the blast first through her feet. From there it traveled through the house, where glassware rattled, and then echoed off of the hills surrounding the valley. She froze as the echoes died away. She'd become a widow when she heard that sound, many years ago.
A baby cried upstairs. Marylyn sat at the kitchen table, pale and shaking. Her boarder—or rather, her boarder's wife—went to quiet the baby. She heard the footsteps upstairs. Soon the baby was quiet. A moment later, mother and child came downstairs. She was beautiful, Marylyn decided. As radiant as the sun that peeked through the window. Marylyn always liked the kitchen and the way the sunlight bathed it at breakfast. She gathered herself. Before she could speak, the German girl greeted her.
"Good morning Mrs. Pence. It will be a lovely, sunny day today. A little bit cold, ja?"
"Yes, a bit cold"
"What was that noise that woke the baby? It sounded like a cannon shot!"
Marylyn took a deep breath. "Maria, is your husband in the mine today?"
* * *
Peter felt the rumble beneath the ground. They were all out of the truck, standing in the field. They had used the phone at the house to call the police and request the rest of the equipment to pull the truck out of the frozen mess. The sparking had continued,
but the transformer had burned itself out.
The rumble grew and the wellhead erupted in a new flame, the hot yellow flame of natural gas. It was hot enough that they raised their hands to protect their faces. The muted colors of the frost-covered creek bottom, where the low winter sun wouldn't reach for hours, were turned into the harsh light of day. The flame shot above the trees, stayed for a moment, and then receded to a height of ten feet or so, and stayed there. The ground shook even more. The cab of the truck was scorched and the heavy vehicle swayed when the ground shook.
Peter looked at his companions. "What in the hell was that?"
* * *
Shackelton was knocked out of his chair by the force of the blast. Several windows shattered, letting in the cold air that slapped him in the face. He heard breaking glass and things shifting and falling in the shed. He jumped up, momentarily forgetting his knees, then winced. "What in the God damn Sam Hill was that?"
