‘I think we’ve made it, boy, I think we’ve bloody–well made it!’
Mike ran out of the room, leaving the window open letting cool but fresh air flood into the house. It smelled beautiful!
His son followed as Mike instructed him to rouse the family and get the duty chef to prepare breakfast PDQ. They all had a lot to discuss. Mike had planned for this day, and was not going to risk losing everything he had fought for at this critical stage of the battle against the snow!
Just under an hour later, the family was sitting in the kitchen at the large refectory table munching their way through ‘steak and eggs’ specially authorised by Mike as a mini-celebration.
Everybody had wide, beaming smiles on their faces. All had been up to feel the rays of sunshine which now started to spread through the deep blue sky overhead. They had all taken in deep breaths of cold, but wonderfully fresh air and sported rosy cheeks as witness to their wellbeing.
When they had all finished breakfast and the dishes had been cleared away, washed up and replaced in their respective storage cupboards, Mike called them to order.
‘Right, it's stopped snowing – just in case anyone hadn’t noticed!’
They all cheered and clanked tea mugs in joy and celebration.
‘Hang on, not so quick with the party preparations! There's lots of hard work ahead if we are going to consolidate our position. We've worked damned hard to survive this snow – many others won't have – and I'm buggered if it's all going to be thrown away now. We've got to act quickly and effectively. There are two main threats to our continued safe existence – one: melting snow, two: security! Other people will want to share our good fortune – which is all well and good – we’ll help all who we can; but, there will be unscrupulous people out there who will want to take away what we've achieved – probably by force.
And I'm damned if I'm going to let that happen!
We’ll be ready for them!
Now, let's get to work!’
Day 23
Monday 6th January
RNeth AF Volkel – Gymnasium
The audience in the gymnasium was in complete pandemonium. People were shouting, screaming and wailing in anguish.
‘No, it's just not possible!’ one exclaimed.
‘You're wrong, my family is still alive. I know it!’ shouted another.
‘You lying bastard!’ screamed a weeping female teenager.
Dr Brown sat down and Ms. Fletcher approached the front of the stage and waited for calm to be restored. It took some minutes and she didn’t even attempt to counter their emotive indictments and accusations.
When she had complete calm, she continued:
‘Please consider the situation carefully; what is the point of us lying to you? What can we possibly hope to achieve by adopting that course? We are merely putting the facts to you as clearly, concisely and honestly as we see them. Indeed, Britons all over the world are presently being briefed in a similar manner and all of them will have to adapt – like it or not. This situation is real. It’s not a novel or a dream or a bloody joke – it is reality and the sooner you accept it the better! We just haven’t got the time for grief at this juncture – that will have to come later. There are five million people stranded across the world and possibly up to five million people freezing, and shortly, starving to death back home. We are all going to have to fight to save them. This is no time for selfish behaviour. Our job is to make the best of a terrible situation and try to build a new society in our homeland. We really have no alternative’
The hysterical mob now sat motionlessness. The Ambassador had made her point.
Cruel and heartless?
Certainly, but entirely necessary and understandable in the dire circumstances.
Day 22
Sunday 5th January
Sandringham, Norfolk
The newly appointed Prime Minister touched down on the freshly prepared heli-pad at around noon.
The Royal Protection Force had not been idle and the Knighthood bestowed on their leader, Commander Robert Williams was well deserved.
He had saved the Royal Family by astute and convincing leadership, forging his men into an effective and powerful team. He had allocated duties to cover all eventualities and had handled the Royals with an iron fist covered in a velvet glove. They barely realised that they were being manipulated for their own good.
The Queen was calm, but clearly distraught when the news of casualties and the scope of the damage were revealed to her. She agreed to remain as the national figurehead and to freely permit men and women of substance and experience lead the Government of National Recovery. She, the Duke of Edinburgh and Prince Charles would remain at Sandringham for the time being, but would move to an alternative European Royal residence in due course. She didn’t want to be seen to be ‘deserting her post’. The minor Royals would move to differing Royal Palaces in Europe as soon as practicable.
Sandringham would be the temporary seat of government. The Houses of Parliament had been badly hit and even though Big Ben still stood – it's four faces poking proudly out of the snow, it was impractical to use the buildings in London. The use of any pre-snow building or office would require corpse removal and disposal – and there were not yet any procedures in place to cope with that delicate issue.
The Royal Protection Officers had ensured that the roof of Sandringham maintained structural integrity by clearing snow at regular intervals. There were several dormer windows in the attic roofs above the third floor bedrooms. Officers could access the tiles during quieter periods of the storm and had shovelled slabs of snow to the ground in mini-avalanches. This did nothing to improve the flow of natural light to downstairs rooms but prevented potentially catastrophic cave-ins. Men had already climbed up this morning and the roof was all but clear.
They had also cleared a patch around twenty metres square on the extensive lawns to the front of the impressive building. It was backbreaking labour, but everyone helped – including the Princes William and Harry – and when it was large enough for a helicopter to land, the new PM was flown in.
Sir Ian James bowed politely towards Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II and approached her grimly, as she stood stoically to greet him in her private ante-room.
‘We are immensely grateful for your contribution so far, Sir Ian, but you can be assured that your work has only just begun. We shall speak no more of the previous incumbent of your great office, only to say that some do not rise to meet the challenges set before them – but others must. The magnificent Mr Churchill was one of those great men, and we now look to you to emulate and exceed his powers of leadership and achievement.’
Sir Ian looked embarrassed but responded graciously.
‘Once again, I am honoured to serve you and my country and I will do whatever it takes to secure some sort of future for this proud and important nation.’
Her Majesty sat down and invited Sir Ian to join her. Sir Robert Williams was also in the room as was Prince Charles and his two sons. Her Majesty continued:
‘We are in communication with Brussels where the recovery operation is being co-ordinated at present. It may be that you wish to transfer to that location in due course, but perhaps a few days here to re-orient yourself and get fully briefed may suit you better?’
Sir Ian agreed and some small talk followed. The Queen asked about his family and he confirmed that there had been no news of his wife or children. She expressed her condolences and hoped for better news in the days ahead. Sir Ian was not quite so confident.
The Queen and Prince Phillip then took their leave, and Sir Robert led Sir Ian through to a suite of rooms set aside as his private office and conference room – where the PPS was waiting. The six men, including the Princes Charles, William and Harry, took their places at a large table set out with the usual conference paraphernalia. A stenographer brought by Sir Ian from London made a record.
‘Well,’ said Sir Ian, ‘Let's get on with it!’
There was little ti
me for pleasantries, so Sir Robert spent the best part of an hour briefing the new PM on the current situation. Sir Ian punctuated the brief with several searching questions, but Sir Robert was up to the mark. By the time a knock came on the door and a maid announced that ‘luncheon was served,’ Sir Ian was more or less up to speed.
‘How many experienced politicians, military men and police officers do you think have survived?’ asked Sir Ian during lunch.
‘It's difficult to say precisely, Prime Minister. Many MPs are caught in the snow, but dozens were abroad when the storm began and have reported to Brussels. However, what we do have is over two hundred very experienced Ambassadors and Consuls - and their staffs, dotted around the globe. In the final analysis, they may be of more use than politicians. They are professionals, after all.’
Sir Ian smiled and acknowledged the irony.
‘We also have almost the entire Armed Forces overseas, deployed on operations in the Middle East, and holding in Cyprus. They will be extremely useful for search and rescue duties. Police officers? Not many. I have those here at Sandringham on Royal Protection duty, and there are probably a few hundred amongst the stranded holidaymakers in Europe. We’re making enquiries to that effect as I speak. Firefighters – almost all will have perished, along with their equipment, trying in vain mostly, to dig bloody motorists out of the snow. My apologies, but I never fail to be surprised by the idiots who drive in such conditions! Doctors and nurses – we’re searching for those too. The SAS and SBS should be useful as well, so we are gathering them together at a base in Germany. Of course, the security services have managed to crawl out from behind their rocks and are sniffing about in Brussels – up to their usual nefarious shenanigans most probably.
There is a team of co-ordinators, ‘The UK Crisis and Rescue Commission’, already working out of Brussels. Her Excellency Dame Ann Fletcher is heading that.’
‘An uncompromising, but nonetheless capable and very effective operator,’ confirmed Sir Ian. ‘I’ve worked with her before. She’ll be laying the groundwork for the days ahead. Is Brussels sticking its nose in? And what about our American friends?’
Sir Robert continued enthusiastically.
‘It took the Americans a while to realise the severity of the situation, but once they did, the support has been marvellous. The way they have co-ordinated the relief work for the holidaymakers is nothing short of ‘outstanding’ – as they might say. Brussels is handling the financial issues via Zurich - we mentioned those during the briefing. Banking is a problem of huge significance. We can't go on borrowing indefinitely!’
Sir Ian laid down his knife and fork, looked up and spoke to the five important men around the table:
‘Like all of you, I'm in shock. This situation is completely unparalleled, so nobody knows how to react or what to do. Therefore, we need to re-write the rule book. We need to think laterally and most of all, we need good men and women to lead us out of this unholy mess. Gentlemen, Your Royal Highnesses, we are going to have to exceed our own meagre abilities ten-fold and there will be no room at my table for anyone who doesn’t pull his or her weight.
And now, the first job is to sort the wheat from the chaff and form this Government of National Recovery. Get Ambassador Fletcher on the first helicopter available – if she’s not too busy. I also need to speak to the President of the United States as soon as possible!’
Day 22
Sunday 5th January
Tamworth, West Midlands
Jeff and Lyndsey Hyne woke early and began their daily chores.
They had been marooned in the offices of their small company for three weeks and although they had ‘survived’, life was becoming extremely tedious. There was no contact with the outside world and the snow just wouldn't stop. It was a lonely existence and, to be frank, not surprisingly in the circumstances, they were beginning to get on each other’s nerves.
They were sick of playing card games and board games and darts on the improvised board Jeff had constructed. There was only so much reading that they could do, and in fact they had run out of fresh reading material. The food they ate was becoming ‘samey’ and Jeff desperately craved a great, big, juicy steak with French fries and pepper sauce. Lyndsey just wanted a visit to the hairdresser or to watch an episode of Coronation Street. However, it was not to be and relations were definitely strained – to say the least!
‘Right, I'm off to the food store to get todays nosh. Any requests?’ piped up Jeff.
‘Yeah, don’t bloody come back!’ shot back Lyndsey.
‘Charming,’ replied Jeff and set off down the stairs to their access tunnel which led him to the array of industrial units they had been plundering for supplies during the snow.
He ran straight back up the stairs.
‘Guess what?’
‘What, did the pizza man make a delivery?’ came the tart response.
‘No! The bloody snow’s stopped. There’s a blue sky and sunshine out there!’
Lyndsey didn’t believe a word of it.
‘Pull the other one – now just bugger off!’
Jeff grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the top of the stairs.
‘Go and see for yourself, smarty-pants!’
Lyndsey, half-believing it just might be true, pulled on an anorak and descended the stairs into the tunnel.
She screamed.
‘Fucking hell – it really has stopped. The sun’s out. We can go home!’
Jeff smiled and embraced her as she reached the top of the stairs. They held each other for a full minute, tears of relief in their eyes, and then went back downstairs, all animosity forgotten, to the tunnel – hand in hand.
‘Fresh air – isn’t it marvellous – no snow falling in your face and freezing your parts off,’ exclaimed Jeff.
‘We can go home now, can't we?’ pleaded Lyndsey.
Jeff was uncertain what to say. He didn’t want to break the mood but he had to be realistic. Getting back to their home would be a major trek. It was over ten miles away and even if they got home – what would they find? They were safe here, had plenty of supplies and could just wait to be rescued. However, Lyndsey was at the end of her tether and he had to consider the situation carefully – compromise might have to be an option.
‘Let's go inside and talk it over,’ he suggested.
They sat in their improvised shelter and Jeff outlined his misgivings, after which Lyndsey persisted:
‘But, we could be here for months. No-one knows we are even here? Just who is going to rescue us? Eh? Who? We have to make a break for it. Even if our house is trashed, we could just come back here. Couldn’t we?’ Lyndsey was adamant.
‘OK,’ conceded Jeff reluctantly, ‘we’ll start putting a plan together and set off for home tomorrow.’
Lyndsey was blissfully happy – but was unable to grasp that they might expose themselves to unnecessary peril by leaving the safety of their shelter.
Day 23
Monday 6th January
RNeth AF Base Volkel – Gymnasium
The Ambassador remained at the microphone, refusing to be intimidated by the survivors who seemed to be blaming her for the entire tragedy.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, please settle down. We have one more item to cover before we let you return to your accommodations. Will all military personnel and any police officers or medically qualified personnel please remain behind? Please take a copy of the hand-out as you leave the hall. Please take the time to read it before we assemble again, here, tomorrow at noon. Thank you for your attention this afternoon.’
She had ended the meeting abruptly, but there was nothing left to say and many of these people needed to get away and properly absorb the information she had provided.
Within fifteen minutes everyone was gone, barring eighteen people - male and female - Andrew Brady amongst them. There were twelve soldiers - all rankers; two doctors; three policemen and one RAF officer – Brady himself.
The General and the Ambas
sador approached the rear of the gymnasium, where the group had assembled and formerly introduced themselves to each one of the survivors.
Ann Fletcher cornered Andrew Brady.
‘I’ve heard some of your story Wing Commander – it seems that you almost didn’t make it.’
‘That's correct, Ambassador, but I did make it, and I am desperate to return as soon as possible.’
‘Have no fear, Andrew, I hoped that that would be your response and I have a use for you – please follow me,’ she replied, and strode from the room.
Brady, raised an eyebrow, but nonetheless followed Ms. Fletcher out of the gymnasium and joined her in the back seat of a waiting limousine. They drove in silence to the Station Headquarters block, where they alighted and walked briskly to an office on the top floor. The Ambassador instructed her assistant that she didn’t want to be disturbed and then closed the door behind herself, turning to face Brady, who stood quietly in the centre of the room.
He whispered only one word.
‘Annie?’
The Ambassador smiled, stepped forward and embraced Brady warmly.
‘Yes, Andy, it's me!’
Day 22
Sunday 5th January
A Campsite near Marbella, Spain
‘Did you have any luck, love?’
Jack Morris shook his head in frustration.
‘Nope! The queue was a mile long and the bloody bank wanted a Spanish NIE - National Insurance - number before they would even look at the application for short term funding. The British Consul has got to get this sorted out soon. We haven’t got much food left now, let alone cash – how are we going to pay the campsite fees – we are already five days overdue!’
Sarah Morris sighed and slumped onto the sofa in the 'van, head in hands, weeping violently.
She was terribly anxious – almost hysterical! They had three daughters and four grandchildren back home, plus her elderly and infirm parents.
Jack and Sarah had been on the campsite since early November. They habitually drove their 'van from the UK in early September, via France and Italy, to their winter resting place. This was their fifth year on the road and they had spent five wonderful seasons in the Spanish sun. They had gathered a great bunch of pals in and around the site and had planned to return to the UK, as usual, the following June.
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 48
