“No Josh, Alice has to come with us,” Emily pipes up, the first words she has uttered in some time.
“Hold on, everybody,” Josh says. “I didn’t say she wasn’t coming. Lieutenant Winters is going to try and get her clearance, but he isn’t sure he will be able to. He is going to let us know as soon as he can. It could be a while until we know though.”
“He had better say yes,” Emily protests.
“We will have to wait and see, Emily, so cross your fingers,” Alice says. “What else did he say?”
“He thought to go to Devon was a good idea and he is sure he will be able to get us a car; he just needs a bit of time.”
“Anything else?” Alice prompts.
“He thinks they may have found some info relating to the virus, but they are still checking.”
“So, it looks like we are still hanging around here for the time being?” Catherine asks.
“I’m afraid so. It looks like we either hang around here or go back up to the First-Class Lounge,” Josh says.
“It’s better down here than being cooped up, up there,” Catherine states.
“Yes, I don’t like it up there,” says Emily.
“Okay, we wait for more news here then,” Josh confirms as he takes a seat next to his sister, wondering how they will pass the time.
Winters glances at his watch. Five minutes until Colonel Reed is expecting the Major’s report. More data and information about the virus have come to light in the fifteen minutes or so since he took his place in the naughty seat next to Major Rees, and more data is still emerging.
He has spent the last five minutes looking at some of the relevant data that have been discovered, trying to keep his mind busy and off Sam, who he can’t really see from where he is anyway. Winters has to admit that he doesn’t really understand what he is looking at. Science was not his strong suit at school and the complex scientific formulae and such contained in the files is like reading German. He recognises some words and phrases but piecing it together to understand the whole meaning is another matter. Winters places the file back in its place on the table.
“Are you ready, Sir? We had better go,” Winters asks Major Rees.
“Yes, Lieutenant,” Rees answers as he gets up. “Ready, Sam?”
“Sir,” Winters says. “I am not sure the Colonel will appreciate any newcomers at this stage.”
“I need Sam to handle the files and assist me. Unless you think you have a good enough understanding of the data to assist, Lieutenant?”
“I’m afraid I don’t, Sir.”
“Well, that settles it then. Sam?”
“I’m ready, Major,” Sam says, gathering the files together.
Major Rees addresses the remaining staff before he leaves. He tells them to stick to their tasks and double-checks they know where to put new related information if it needs further investigation.
He then leads Sam out of the conference room and to his meeting with Colonel Reed in the command room only a short distance away. Lieutenant Winters follows, retrieves his satchel and brings up the rear.
Chapter 8
Corporal Harris has his hands wrapped around a nice warm mug. He lifts it to his lips now and then to slurp some of the hot instant coffee into his mouth, where he lets it sit for a moment before he swallows it to warm his belly. Harris is normally a tea man, but after the last few hours of non-stop action, he needs the extra kick the caffeine in the coffee will afford him.
Half an hour’s bloody break; that is all his team has been given before they have to be back on duty. Hardly enough time to eat and get the hot drink down. It certainly isn’t enough time to dry out and warm his bones, let alone have ten minutes to close his eyes. There is hardly any point in trying to dry out anyway; he will be out in the cold and wet again before he knows it.
His intellect doesn’t understand that he is one of the lucky ones. He and his team have been tasked with a security detail. They secure four of the landing zones, where air transport brings back personnel who have been out on manoeuvres for Operation Denial. Once secure, they have to scan each arrival with the mobile phone scanner to check they haven’t been infected. The work is constant, and they have been unlucky with the weather but the most danger they have encountered so far was when a Lynx full of Special Forces landed and didn’t take kindly to being ordered around.
He doesn’t consider that it could have been him in central London, out in the open, fighting Zombies. All he knows is that he is cold, wet and tired. Or perhaps he does consider it but thinks it’s their tough shit for getting that assignment?
“Is it time yet?” Harris asks his team that sit around in the hangar with him, taking their break.
“Four minutes more,” one of the other five members of the team replies.
Harris doesn’t move to get back on duty, doesn’t set any kind of example to the rest of his team. He doesn’t even tell them to get ready for duty. He leans back into his seat, lifting his mug to his lips to slurp some more coffee down. He is going to make sure he takes every second of his break, and whether that means he is late for duty and holds up others from taking their break is none of his concern.
With a minute to go, two of his men get up and get their kit together, ready for duty. The other three are soon following suit, and all five privates glance at Corporal Harris. They all know they are going to be late, and that it will make them look bad and will be their Corporal’s fault. What can they do? He is in charge by virtue that he has been enlisted longer.
With their allotted half an hour up, finally, Corporal Harris drags himself out of his chair and picks up his rifle.
“Come on lads, move it,” Harris says as they roll their eyes.
Exiting the hangar, they go to the right, back towards the landing zones. Each of them is pleased to see that the weather has improved again whilst they were on break. The wind has died down and the rain has actually stopped completely. Standing water is still pooled all around, and they have to walk around the bigger puddles as they go. All of them know they can still expect to get wet on this duty. The helicopters will churn up the standing water, blowing it into the air in all directions as they come into land and take off again.
“Where the hell have you been?” a pissed-off Sergeant shouts as the team reaches the landing zone area.
“On our break, Sir,” Corporal Harris says in defence, standing to attention, as does the whole team upon being addressed by the Sergeant.
“Your break is thirty minutes, Corporal, not forty fucking five minutes!” the Sergeant shouts in exasperation, his face reddening.
“It has been less than forty minutes, Sir, and we have to get there and back,” the cocky Corporal retorts.
“Get there and back? Are you soft in the head, Corporal? Now get back to your assigned zones and don’t move until you are relieved!
“Yes, Sir,” Corporal Harris replies, totally nonplussed by the whole exchange. Which leaves the Sergeant even more infuriated as he stomps off.
Harris leads his men back towards their landing zones, the men all pissed off with their Corporal, just as much as the Sergeant is. They know his attitude is going to lead to an extra-long shift for the lot of them.
They finally get back to their station next to their assigned landing zones, ready for duty. One landing zone over, the relief team who were covering for them while they were on break are in the middle of securing and scanning a new arrival. Corporal Harris and his team look on and wait while four dishevelled, weary-looking soldiers disembark an old RAF Puma support helicopter. The relief team are going through the motions of receiving the new arrivals by the book, their team leader ensuring protocol is adhered to.
With the new arrivals scanned and cleared, they are sent on their way and the relief team march over to the station to be relieved themselves.
“About time,” the team leader announces as he approaches. “Where the fuck have you lot been, out for a curry?”
“Something like that
,” Corporal Harris says bluntly.
“Taking the piss, man,” the team leader says to himself. “Here is the latest roster and the scanner,” he tells Harris as he hands them over. “Next one in is a Chinook in five minutes, twelve on board.”
“Are you sure you can’t stay and do that one for us before you go?” Harris asks sarcastically.
The team leader looks at Harris as though he could strangle him for a second, before turning and walking away. Everybody hears him say ‘wanker’, as he leaves, without looking back. His team follow him, making their own comments and giving dirty looks.
“Okay, you heard the man; next arrival five minutes, check your weapons and get ready,” Harris says, acting like a Corporal for once.
Weapons checked, Corporal Harris’s team stand by for the Chinook to come in and land.
“Here it comes, Sir,” one of the team announces, his head turned up to the sky.
Harris hears the distinctive sound of the big twin-rotor helicopter before he looks up in the direction of the ever-increasing din it emanates, as its rotors chop through the air. Only the raised nose and the unique rectangle underbelly of the helicopter are visible as the airport’s bright ground lights start to catch it in their beam.
As the Chinook approaches, its twin engines are working hard, ready to land. Its thunderous noise starts to drown out the noise of the other, smaller helicopters on the ground that have either just landed or are waiting for clearance to take off.
Harris’s team, now fully alert, spread out, ready to take up position around LZ1, the Chinook’s allotted landing zone. They hang back farther than normal from the zone, however, in anticipation of the colossal downdraft the big craft will throw down.
At first, Harris thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him as the helicopter comes into sharper view on its approach. They aren’t; the helicopter is wobbling strangely.
“Standby; we may have a mechanical issue,” Harris states into his comms headset.
“Looks like the loading ramp is opening?” a team member on the far side of LZ1, says in confusion.
“Confirmed, loading ramp is opening,” another voice sounds in Harris’s headset.
“Covering positions,” Harris orders as the Chinook descends, now entering the landing zone area and moving over the helicopters below.
His team is now covering the incoming helicopter, all of whom have taken a knee with their rifle pointed up and following the descent.
Still, over one hundred meters out from LZ1, the helicopter is coming down too fast, and at this rate of descent, it will fall short of its landing zone. The wobble has deteriorated, the pilot is losing control, the Chinook’s nose has come down and it is swaying from side to side. A feeling of panic starts to take hold of Harris as he becomes convinced the helicopter is going to crash.
Something falls out of the back of the Chinook, out of the open landing ramp. Harris follows it down the thirty meters or so, his eyes gaping, with a look of bewilderment transfixed on his face. The flailing body drops down fast, and he sees it clearly in the bright lights and he sees where it lands.
As if in slow motion, the body drops onto the outer edge of the spinning rotors of a grounded, stationary Wildcat. The body fragments into pieces which are flung back into the air by the power of the rotors. Pieces of body shoot through the air in all directions too fast to follow, until Harris sees something travelling in their direction.
The severed arm and hand hit the ground inside LZ1. The whole team recoils as it tumbles in their direction until it comes to a stop just short of them. Harris is sure that the fingers of the hand still twitch where it lies.
There is no time to dwell on the limb, twitching or not, the Chinook is still coming in their direction and it’s only a matter of time before it crashes. Did the body fall from the landing ramp or did it jump before the helicopter crashes, Harris manages to ask himself?
Now low in the air and still a distance short of its LZ, the body of the Chinook suddenly swings around at speed and out of control. A shower of bodies is thrown out of the gaping landing ramp, this time away from the helicopters below. They fall the short distance down onto the tarmac and grass areas around the left side of the landing zones.
The body of the Chinook carries on its trajectory, putting the whole helicopter into a fatal spin. Like a pirouetting dancer, it impossibly spins across the top of the helicopters below. Panicked personnel on the ground scatter in all directions, desperately trying to escape the impending crash.
After what seems like an age but is only a few seconds, the Chinooks’ dance comes to a catastrophic end. The tail of the helicopter spins, sending the lowered landing ramp careering into the stationary rotors of one of the grounded helicopters below, as the Chinook loses height.
Harris sees the impact a second before the sound of the crash reaches his ears. The force of the crash sending the nose of the huge Chinook upwards and flipping it into the air, like a whale breaching out of the ocean. And like a whale crashes down into the sea on its back, so does the Chinook.
Spinning rotors first, the Chinook slams down into the hardware below. Two helicopters, both fully laden with fuel and ordinance, a fuel truck and other support vehicles are all in its path. A fierce bright white light flashes an instant before a massive explosion erupts near the centre of the landing zone area. Fuel tanks of the Chinook rupture as do the two helicopters in the crash area; the fuel truck’s resistance is futile, and it explodes along with the helicopters. A fireball blasts hundreds of feet into the air at the epicentre and rushes out horizontally, sending an immense shockwave with it. Surrounding helicopters are blasted off the ground and incinerated, their ruptured fuel tanks adding to the fireball and extending it to engulf the next helicopter or fuel truck. Each new explosion has a domino effect and engulfs the next piece of equipment to it.
A chain reaction now ensues as the heat rises. Ordinance starts to explode as the heat reaches new high temperatures. Hundreds of thousands of bullets start to fire without a trigger being pulled as their cordite reaches critical mass. Bullets fly in all directions and hit the first things in their path or shoot off into the air. Bombs and rockets explode as safety mechanisms and casings are melted.
This phase makes the initial explosion resemble the ignition of a gas barbeque. Gargantuan explosions follow one after the other as the heavy ordinance goes off and spreads out from the centre, each one causing the next. Mushroom clouds rise up in every direction and melt into one big continuous one in the middle, the smoke pushed together by air rushing in to feed the flames from the outside.
Each new explosion spreads the carnage further out, to new hardware, waiting to be engulfed. The chain reaction is out of control and won’t be stopped until there is nothing left to feed it.
Some helicopter pilots try to take the initiative before the destruction has spread to their craft. Those far enough away and with their engines already started hastily lift off and fly away from the danger zone, to save themselves and their helicopters. Other pilots who are either too close to the destruction or too slow to react either burn in their seats or are blown out of the sky, adding to the inferno and spreading the chaos to new areas of the landing zone.
Corporal Harris and his team were far enough away from the initial explosion to survive, and they looked on in shock and awe at the initial Chinook crash and the following fireball.
To Harris’s credit, he was quick to react, seeing that the Chinook’s crash would be the tip of the iceberg. He understood almost straight away what would follow that crash.
“We have got to get out of this area!” he shouts, desperately, at his men. “The whole area is going to explode.”
His men don’t argue; they see all the ground crews that have survived, so far running for their lives, away from the landing zone with panic across their faces. The only decision that needs to be made is which way do they go? The direction, from which they have just come back from their break, lined with more helicopters,
just waiting to explode. That path only leads to the hangars laden with ordinance, which could easily go up too.
“This way!” Harris shouts as he starts to run off in the opposite direction as the bigger explosions start to ignite.
Everyone is going in the same direction, as fast as they possibly can. Harris and his men join the stream of people coming out of the landing zones, from between the masses of stationary helicopters. Caught in the expanse between the terminal buildings and the erupting landing zones, they all run straight ahead, desperately trying to get to open ground.
A shock wave travels out into the expanse, knocking two people off their feet in front of Harris. They don’t stay down to lick their wounds, but scramble back to their feet straight away and are off running again, their fear driving them. The explosions are getting close to the outer edge, where lines of Apache Attack helicopters sit ominously waiting to detonate. The expanse is wide, but not wide enough; anytime now, it will be an inferno that will surely engulf the terminal building.
Harris leads his men as they try to outrun the impending disaster. The expanse narrows the farther they go, which bunches all the people up and their progress isn’t helped by airport transport equipment abandoned in the middle of the tarmac.
Harris barges past some of the slower people, their panic not making their legs carry them fast enough for him. Their protests and whimpers as he pushes past are disregarded; it’s not his problem they are too slow.
One panicked idiot of a man is scything his way in the opposite direction against the tide. The man’s eyes are wide with terror. He won’t find any escape down that way, Harris thinks to himself, bloody twat.
Progress slows as some kind of bottleneck forms up ahead. A massive explosion detonates behind, Harris doesn’t turn to look. The force of the blast and the heatwave feel like they are virtually on top of him, his desperation to get clear escalating. The bottleneck is getting worse, however; what the fuck are these people doing? “Keep moving,” he shouts. Suddenly, he starts seeing faces, frightened faces, coming towards him. More idiots going the wrong way; no wonder his escape is slowing down. Some people lose their minds at the slightest sign of danger, for fuck’s sake.
Capital Falling (Book 3): Resurgence Page 7
