Sergeant Bryant thanked the PA, and Brady acknowledged her concern with a smile, a wink and a quip:
‘Don’t worry; we’ll be bringing Mr Townsend back safe and sound.’
‘Thank you both; I appreciate your sacrifice,’ she countered dryly.
‘Now, from here, proceed in the Ambassador’s private car to the Dutch Air Force ‘Levering Smaldeel’, who will fit you out with whatever kit and supplies you require. Then continue to the Armoury and they will issue weapons. Wing Commander, I suggest you take advice from your SAS colleague when choosing weapons – he has vast experience in these matters. When you are satisfied that you have the appropriate equipment, return to the Officers Mess, where two rooms have been set aside for you and Mr Bryant.’
Brady persisted.
‘What about transport into the UK?’
‘All taken care of, Wing Commander. Report to the front of the Mess at 0600 hours tomorrow morning, where a car will be waiting to transport you both to a hangar on the airfield. From there you will fly to your destination.’
Brady was puzzled.
‘Hang on, I'm supposed to wait for a code word from Dame Ann and her appointment with the PM is not until 0700 GMT. Has something changed?’
‘I have my instructions, Wing Commander. I can say no more. Oh, and Mr Bryant, this is for you - details concerning your wife.’
Brady shrugged his shoulders, picked up his paperwork and walked out of the office. Ross took his envelope and smiled at Eleanor, who nodded imperceptibly.
‘Come on, Ross, we’re going to be busy.’
‘Right behind you, boss,’ chirped Bryant.
‘No need for the Boss or Sir, Ross – I'm Andrew and my friends call me Andy. And I think we’re going to be firm friends before this is all over.’
Ross Bryant smiled – he might even enjoy this mission – this ‘Rupert’ wasn’t all that bad.
Day 24
Tuesday 7th January
Selby, Yorkshire
Josh was becoming progressively more alarmed. The warming effect of two days of bright sunshine was causing the exposed snow in his attic and bedroom to melt at a rapidly increasing rate.
Water was now literally pouring into the ground floor room and spreading throughout the house. There was more than three inches of water in their dining room HQ, and the couple spent most of their time squatting up on their comfy chairs, in wellington boots. Their penultimate wooden log was burning on the fire, which had persuaded Josh that his precious antique furniture might have to be sacrificed if they were to keep warm after today.
Josie had officially lost her sense of humour. She was cold, wet, hungry, tired and tearful. She was completely fed up with the whole situation and was trying to persuade Josh that it was time to go. It was time to strike out from their rapidly crumbling home and see what they could find on the outside. They should try to let somebody know that they were still alive and ready to be rescued.
Josh was of a similar opinion, but doubted their ability to survive in the snow. They had no skis or snowshoes – so the first problem was how to travel? He had no idea what consistency the snow was and whether it would support a human being without the appropriate skis or snow shoes. He suspected not.
Nevertheless, the constant subject of conversation was their pending departure, so eventually Josh agreed to test the strength of the snow to discover whether they could make progress on the surface.
They dressed warmly as Josh explained his plan. They would climb to the upper landing and Josh would enter the loft via the hatch in the back bedroom. He would test the integrity of the joists before allowing Josie to join him. Then, with a rope around his waist, he would creep over the snow and through the hole in the roof and onto the surface tiles. Josie would monitor the situation and if Josh got into difficulties, she would try to haul him back into the loft.
This all seemed fine in theory, so they made the attempt at around 9am. They climbed cautiously but safely into the loft and attached the safety rope to a rafter. Josh approached the gaping hole tentatively, one gentle step at a time. He peered through the hole and saw with relief that there was an area around the breach onto which he could clamber – and was relatively free of snow. So, after checking with Josie that she was ready, Josh stepped out into the fresh air.
It was warm and windless, so Josh stood still for a few moments taking in the experience, until he was jolted out of his stupor.’
‘What’s happening, Josh? Are you okay?’ shouted Josie.
‘I'm fine,’ he yelled, and turned to look at the snow lying some thirty or more feet thick around the property. He could step straight out onto it if he wished – but decided to exercise caution.
‘Right, get ready, I'm going to test out the surface now,’ he warned Josie.
Josh put one foot onto the surface of the snow, which appeared firm. The sun of the previous day had melted the surface slightly, but the cold night air had refrozen it into a hardened glaze. The surface held firm, so Josh transferred his weight from his back foot to the front and the snow maintained its integrity. His confidence building, Josh placed his back foot next to the front and stood stock still, offering up a silent prayer.
Nothing happened.
‘It’s holding, Josie, it's holding,’ he bellowed.
This shout was unfortunate, because the volume of his voice caused the layer of snow lying on the tiles above him to vibrate and loosen and start to slide towards the edge of the roof. Josh was directly in its path and as the mini-avalanche cascaded towards his position, he turned, lunged and tried to step hurriedly back onto the roof.
Too late!
The snow slid into him as he rotated and carried him bodily over the edge into the drift below.
He toppled and fell headlong into the snow and sank maybe five or six feet - essentially upside down - until the rope around his waist tightened and snapped straight.
Josie screamed.
‘Josh, Josh are you alright, Josh, Josh, answer me!’ she wailed.
There was no answer and there never would be. Josh had plunged sideways into the snow and was now completely buried - by the remainder of the roof avalanche, which had slithered slowly over the edge to fill in the space created by his body.
A deathly quiet pervaded the attic.
Josie cried out again and did so for several minutes. She didn’t know what to do – except tug maniacally on the taut rope fixed around Josh’s waist. However, after five minutes of hysterical panic and no reply from Josh, she calmed a little and decided that she must take a pro-active course. She did what anyone else would have done in the circumstances.
She tried to rescue her husband.
So, she quickly retraced Josh’s steps through the attic and up onto the roof, gingerly stepping onto the tiles. She looked around and could see nothing of Josh except the rope leading off the edge of the roof and into the snow. It took her several seconds to work out what had happened, and then, in her heightened state of anxiety and concern, Josie took an involuntary step forwards, slipped and lurched head-first into the drift.
She also sank into the mass but had no rope to restrict this fatal nosedive.
To make things worse, yet more snow lying on the roof slid into the cavity behind her, sealing the icy tomb.
Josh and Josie both suffocated within minutes.
As with many of the other survivors venturing out into what they believed to be safety and eventual rescue, this middle-aged couple were not fully prepared for the veiled danger now posed by the standing snow. Fatigue and desperation had overcome the need for caution and patience.
Thousands lost their lives in a similar fashion over those first few weeks of thawing conditions.
Day 23
Monday 6th January
RNeth Air Force Volkel
By 8pm, Brady and Ross were safely entrenched in their rooms in the Dutch Air Force Officers Mess. They were double-checking their kit prior to going down for dinner. However, being simple airc
rew Brady wasn’t completely comfortable with personal arms.
‘Can we just spend fifteen minutes going over the operation of these weapons, again? I'm not really that familiar with guns – so your expertise is going to be really useful, Ross.’
Brady picked up his rifle and went through the drills and Ross gave him a few tips, including pointing out the safety catch and getting the sighting correct. Brady was relatively familiar with his Walther PPK handgun, from his days in the RAF.
‘I think you’ll be fine Andy, and if there’s a drama and weapon fire is involved, I’ll take the lead. You keep your head down and follow my instructions. I'm used to fire-fights so it's best that I control any bad situation, mun – although I can't imagine any circumstances where we’ll need to fire these babies. We’re not going to be in enemy territory!’
Brady was obliged to contradict him.
‘I'm not so certain. There are going to be a lot of desperate characters out there – I’ve already come across a few during my trek to the coast from Grantham. Anyway, that reminds me, we’ve been so busy that I haven’t asked you about your escape to France or Belgium or wherever it was.’
Ross smiled and spent ten minutes relating the account of his journey to Holland.
‘I was in Roker, near Sunderland with my wife, on leave for Christmas after an Op in the Middle East. My mate – who you met in the gym - was with us. He’s unmarried but had a large and close knit family in Wales, near Carmarthen. Naturally, he was really worried about them, but by the Tuesday morning the roads were rammed and nobody was going anywhere, mun.
We discussed the ‘sitch’ and realised that although our families were probably in dire straits, there was little we could do to help them. Therefore, we planned our own escape. The only option by the Wednesday – especially after the Prime Minister’s bloody broadcast – was to head across the North Sea before it was too late. But ‘how to do it’ was the big question? Both Sam and I had some experience of boats – we have to in our line of work – so we decided to ‘borrow’ a craft of some kind from the port and head east till we hit land. It's a great little harbour, mun, with a load of rich-boys’ yachts and motor boats – so I didn’t think any of them would be needing them in December, like, – probably all swanning about in the bloody West Indies!
My wife, Sandra, wasn’t that keen about it, but quickly realised that we were determined to leave and didn’t want to be left alone, so she joined up, like! I wouldn't have left her, anyway.
We dressed up warmly, packed some haversacks with supplies and headed for the port. It was bloody hard work, mun, but we got there in a couple of hours and found it basically deserted. Although the harbour was relatively calm, like, the North Sea looked vicious.’
Brady could just about follow the strong Geordie twang.
‘Nevertheless, we broke into the Harbour Masters’ office and took the keys for several medium sized boats. We found quite a large motor cruiser – must have been a thirty-footer with an enclosed cabin, and just opened it up with the keys. It was easy – the boat was full of fuel and started first time. No-one stopped us or interfered, so we just cast off and sailed out of the marina and into the North Sea. The boat had a good satellite navigation system, so we programmed the nearest port in Holland – a place called Velsen-Noord, which had a big harbour – and set off.
It was bloody rough, mun, I can tell you and we were puking up all over the place, but the auto-pilot took us towards Holland whilst we hung on for dear life. It was about three hundred miles and at five knots it took us nearly three days to make it. We were knackered, mun, I can tell you! Sam was worst – he doesn’t like the sea and he puked his heart up good and proper, mun. Sandra was very poorly and dehydrated, like, and we spent the next two weeks in that Dutch hospital where you and me met. They transferred all ‘illegal’ Brits there for processing and treatment, like. I didn’t realise that over seven hundred others had the same idea. Incredible, really!’
Brady was impressed with the initiative and bravery displayed by Ross, which only served to confirm his opinion that he had selected the right man for this job.
‘That's a fantastic story, Ross. Do you think that most of the other illegals crossed in a similar fashion?’
‘Probably, Andy. I can't see how else they could have done it. There were no aircraft or ferries and they certainly didn’t swim!’
Brady was philosophical.
‘Doesn’t really matter, does it? They all showed a great deal of determination and courage to even try. Most people just let the snow overwhelm them without the slightest attempt at resistance. Well done, I say, and let's hope they all get resettled and eventually find their loved ones.’
‘Hear, hear,’ agreed Ross. ‘Let's go and get some snap,’ he interjected, ‘I’m bloody starving, mun. And I hope they don’t mind a fookin’ squaddie eating their grub!’
‘I’d imagine they’re far too busy to notice – much like we’ll be for the next few days. This could be the last decent hot meal we get for a while, let's make the most of it!’
Brady led the way out of his room, locked the door and they strode confidently and enthusiastically down to the dining room.
This was the start of his second big adventure and this time the incentive to succeed was even greater.
Day 23
Monday 6th January
Tesco Superstore-Brighton
Patric’s mouth opened in silent protest and shock as his summary death sentence was pronounced by the kangaroo court.
Before he could react a black hood was pulled over his head, and two pairs of rough hands manhandled him across the foyer, leading him towards a small dais. He was propelled up onto the platform and left to await his fate.
At that point, he heard a scream from off to his right, followed by an upswell of protest from the crowd of ‘‘inmates’’ to his left.
It all happened very quickly.
‘Everybody freeze – or I’ll kill him!’ shrieked an unseen male voice.
The ‘inmates’ fell silent as the threats continued.
‘I will kill him, unless you do as I say. I mean it!’
Another scream and Patric sensed a surge of movement from his left. Suddenly, a body crashed into his legs, sending him of balance and hurtling to the floor, on which he cracked his head and fell into unconsciousness.
With Joanie in a dead faint, they both missed the dramatic events which followed over the next five minutes.
The mass of ‘inmates’ used the distraction to turn on their gaolers. The guards were swiftly overwhelmed as one hundred and fifty enraged citizens, who could tolerate tyranny no more, finally did the right thing. Four of the ‘committee’s’ henchmen were clubbed into unconsciousness and the others restrained and tied up.
The ‘committee’ was in disarray. The two men that had left the table shortly before the sentence was pronounced had returned. The two remaining seated males had large kitchen knives held to their throats as the sole female had stood up in terror and screamed.
One of the captives was sitting quietly, not resisting at all, but the ‘voice’ was not for giving up. He stood up violently and pushed back against his captor. They both fell backwards to the floor, and in the short and violent struggle that followed, the kitchen blade plunged deep into the abdomen of the ‘committee’ chairman. His body slumped to one side as his assailant stood up, hands covered in blood. By the time he turned towards the melee on the other side of the entrance area, the ‘rebels’ were completely in control. Several men were approaching the ‘committee’ table and they grabbed the four remaining members and restrained them, encountering no resistance.
A couple of women were attending to Joanie as she came round. Patric was being released and a man was examining the bump on his head.
He was slowly regaining consciousness and began to take in the incredible transfer of power. He was shaking uncontrollably from the realisation of his near escape as Joanie ran over to embrace and comfort him.
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‘Dear God! That was a close shave,’ he whispered.
Joanie was so emotional that she was unable to reply.
‘Help him up onto a chair,’ someone shouted, and Patric was hauled into a small folding seat.
He surveyed the shop floor and it appeared that the massed throng were looking to him for a lead. He tried hard to control his emotions.
In one corner stood the four surviving ‘committee’ members. They had an ‘inmate’ holding each arm, firmly limiting any movement. The woman was crying and one of the men was looking extremely nervous. An ‘inmate’ was standing over the prostrate body of the ‘voice’ and drew a hand across his throat as Patric glanced in his direction. The traitorous weasel, Harry Kimble, who had betrayed the original uprising, was nowhere to be seen.
On the opposite side were the victorious rebels, some smiling and laughing, shaking each other’s hands and hugging, some weeping with relief. The thugs had been successfully overpowered and looked appropriately concerned for their own safety.
‘What happened?’ Patric requested of the man standing over the dead body.
The man described the brief surge of protest and outlined the demise of the ‘voice’ and the parts played by the other ‘committee’ members.
‘What shall we do with them, Patric?’ the man demanded.
Instantly, there were cries of:
‘String ‘em up!’ and ‘throw them out,’ from ‘inmates’ demanding swift retribution!
Patric stood up quickly, his head throbbing ferociously, and addressed the mob in no uncertain terms:
‘What do you mean? We can't behave like these people did. It would make a mockery of our victory here today. There will be no summary justice here! Yes, these people have taken unfair advantage of an extremely unusual but critical situation. However, we cannot afford to sink to their level – the rule of law must override all other considerations – otherwise we are no better than animals!’
The crowd fell into silence as they realised their folly spawned mainly by adrenalin.
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 53
