“I take your points, Tom. That’s why we wanted an outside opinion on this. We’re used to planning hostage rescue missions when there’s an obvious difference between the good and the bad sides, but there won’t always be a clear distinction here. Someone may be pointing a gun because he’s trying to protect his family. Captain Berry assures me that his men should be able to get close enough to spot the difference, just by watching how people behave.
When the time comes, hopefully they’ll be able to protect the people who need it by using sniper fire to take out the enemy, if they can identify them.”
Pausing, he added, “Anyway, he’s presenting his plan tomorrow and I’ll be interested to find out what, if anything, Pete and his panel come up with.”
I nodded and sat in silence for a while, contemplating what he’d said. In the end I decided that the plan was a good one and I was sure that Pete and the others could be trusted to help Paul improve it, where necessary. I asked what was going to happen to the prisoner we’d taken following the unsuccessful attack on Christmas Day.
“I’ve issued the order for him to be executed by firing squad at the earliest opportunity,” said Jon, calmly. Seeing the stunned look on my face, he added, “I have no choice; he attacked us without warning and he’s one of Gumin’s inner circle. I have to be seen to back up what I said yesterday about the new rules for rebuilding the country.”
I shook my head. He’d misunderstood me. “No Jon, I don’t disagree with you at all. In fact I admire the fact that you’re not delaying the tough decisions.”
The rest of the journey proved uneventful. Jon issued occasional requests or orders over the radio and listened to the odd incoming call.
In between we chatted about various subjects and got to know each other better. I could see why Fiona and Jerry spoke so highly of him. He was easy to get along with and had a keen mind and a wry sense of humour. Judging by the conversations I could hear, he was also very popular with the men under his command.
As I was still unable to see anything out of the windows and had no idea where we were, I was surprised when Jon ordered the drivers in the convoy to slow down. I turned to him and asked, “Have we arrived? That was quicker than I thought.”
Jon shook his head.
“Not quite. We’ve made good time, but there’s no point in drawing attention to ourselves. At low speed these vehicles are designed to run virtually silently, which is a great help in an urban situation. It’s the middle of the night, we’re emitting no lights and at this speed, apart from noise from the tyres, we’re making very little noise. Hopefully we’ll be able to pass unnoticed over the last ten miles or so. It’s still vitally important that the location of the base is kept secret until we can start the recovery plan properly.”
“But surely there are some people you could start helping now?”
“Yes, of course. Sorry, I’m not explaining things very well. My first priority is to get Private Eddy to hospital and I don’t want to jeopardise that with any unwanted stops. Before, when we were travelling at speed, even if we were noticed, we were probably long gone before anyone could intervene.”
He paused, “But in the countryside around here the lanes are narrow and twist back on themselves, so anyone with some local knowledge would be able to intercept us by cutting across a few fields.”
“Of course, I’m sorry. Private Eddy is why we came here in the first place,” I replied, feeling slightly ashamed. “But what happened on the way to us? Your convoy was so large that it must have been seen or at least heard by people in the area?”
“Oh it was, and we did plan for the possibility of coming across people. We had a few extra vehicles; lorries loaded with supplies and a couple of buses for passengers. The plan was that if we met people, we wouldn’t stop, we’d instruct them to wait, and the last vehicles in the line would stop for them.”
“How many approached you?” I asked, curiously.
“None! We saw no one! When we got as far as the motorway, I ordered the vehicles to return to base. The UAVs have picked up people in the area, so we were convinced that some of them would hear us and come to investigate.
We’d planned to offer them supplies or, if they seemed suitable or in desperate need of help, the chance to join us at the base. So either by some twist of fate no one heard or noticed us, or they were too scared or cautious to approach us.”
Thinking for a moment or two, I replied, “Probably the latter. Most of the people who have survived have probably been subjected to attacks from other groups or individuals wanting what they think they have. Look at the groups we met earlier today. Caution is the name of the game, and talking about today, I hope Captain Berry has some news on who he thinks attacked us.”
Jon thought for a second, then spoke in lowered tones so that no one else could overhear us. “Yes he has, and he’s requested a more discreet discussion with me when I get to the base. Even if the information he has is sensitive, I’ll tell you anyway if I think it’s important enough to affect your group.”
We continued in silence for the next thirty minutes or so until, after a few more turns, we were travelling down a long narrow lane. On the monitors I could see some people with weapons standing both in front of and behind a sturdy looking gate.
Jon spoke up. “This will only take a minute, they’ll have to verify that we are who we say we are and check the vehicles for stowaways.”
“That’s a bit much! You are their boss after all.” I replied indignantly.
Jon grinned. “I’m the one who made the rules and the point the army always likes to prove, is that no one is above those rules. Don’t worry, they know that one of their own is critically wounded inside one of the vehicles. They won’t waste time and jeopardise his chances.”
Jon was right. It took about twenty seconds for all the vehicles to be inspected, enough to carry out a quick search and to satisfy the standing orders, but certainly not enough time to put Private Eddy at any more risk. The gates opened and we drove through.
“Told you,” whispered Jon.
After driving for another half a mile or so up the track, we arrived at what looked like a large farmhouse surrounded by the usual outbuildings you saw in the countryside. The first thing that struck me as unusual, apart from the large crowd that had gathered, (most in uniform, but interspersed with some civilians), was the fact that the whole area was illuminated by low level lighting.
It wasn’t bright enough to be noticeable in the surrounding area, but was enough to light the area clearly.
Jon turned to me. “Tom, if you‘ll excuse me, I have a lot of people who all want a little piece of me, so I’ll be unavailable for some time. Could I get one of my men to show you to your quarters? I’m sure you must be beat after the day we’ve had, so shall I come and find you in the morning?”
I nodded and he turned and walked away, quickly surrounded by a group of subordinates. Jerry had supervised moving Private Eddy from the rear of the vehicle and I saw him rush off with the medical team that had appeared. I was standing to one side, watching the unloading of the vehicles and wondering where I needed to go, when a soldier approached me.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Hello sir, are you Tom?” he asked.
“Yes, that’s me.” I replied.
Saluting, he said, “Colonel Moore has ordered me to show you to your quarters. If you’ll follow me please?”
The soldier introduced himself as Lieutenant Turner, one of Colonel Moore’s aides. Shaking hands, we turned and I followed him into one of the large outbuildings.
As we walked along he asked me all sorts of questions about our community and conditions outside the base. The outbuilding turned out to be a huge, cavernous barn, containing all the farmyard equipment you’d expect to see. Combine harvesters and a variety of tractors were lined up against one wall and huge mounds of what I presumed were animal feed sacks were piled against another. Everything looked normal.
I noticed that we s
eemed to be heading towards a small door at the end of the building.
It was a normal sized, wooden door, slightly battered and chipped, and looked perfectly in keeping with the rest of the building.
As he opened the door for me and showed me into the room beyond, I realised that it was actually an extremely sturdy steel door, cleverly disguised. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I found myself in a small, bare room lined with concrete blocks, with a soldier manning a security desk, and a second very substantial looking door just beyond him. I blinked at the single strip light, which seemed very bright after the subdued lighting outside.
“If we could just sign you in, Sir, I’ll issue you with your ID card,” said the cheerful soldier behind the desk. Handing me a normal looking coloured ID card on a neck lanyard, he continued,
“This is a temporary one day card; we’ll issue you with the proper one tomorrow. Please keep it with you at all times so you can easily be identified. The card runs out at 1200 hours tomorrow. That’s midday to you. Please ensure you’re issued with the full one before then.”
“What happens after midday? I asked.
“Well, Sir,” he replied with a mischievous grin, “We change the colour of visitor cards daily. What should actually happen is that if one of our security guards spots you wearing the wrong coloured pass, you should be shot on sight as an intruder in a top secret military base. Seeing as most people know each other here, and to be fair, we haven’t had many visitors, we haven’t had to test that out yet.
I’d hate for you to be the first to try it out, Sir, as you’re our honoured guest.”
Smiling uneasily and not sure whether to believe him or not, I put the lanyard around my neck and followed Lieutenant Turner through the next doorway. It led to a stairwell.
Looking over the handrail of the stairs, they seemed to go down a long way. “No lift?” I asked.
“Oh yes, there are a few,” the lieutenant said vaguely, “but we like to bring first time visitors down this way. It helps you appreciate how far underground this facility goes.” As we descended the stairs he filled me in on the history of the base. The section he was taking me to had initially been started in the 1960s and had expanded to its current size over the decades, as each administration had made its own mark on the scheme.
The rock it had been excavated from had apparently been ideal for the purpose; stable and relatively easy to dig through if you had the right equipment.
He promised to show me a plan the following day, so that I could get an idea of the size of the whole base.
We’d passed a number of doorways on the way down the stairs and when I’d enquired about what was behind them, he’d explained that there were quite a few different levels containing accommodation, office and storage areas, but for now they were only using the bottom level.
“Why the bottom level?” I asked, wondering how much further I had to go.
“It’s the most modern. It was only renovated a few years back, so it was the obvious one to use. It can easily accommodate all of us for the moment, so we haven’t needed to open up the other levels yet.”
“Aren’t the stairs a bit of a pain?”
“Not really. We’ve been on lockdown, so only a few of us have had the chance to go ‘topside’. Tonight was the first chance for a lot of us. That’s why so many of us found an excuse to be up there.”
I looked up and down the stairwell and asked, “Where are they then?”
With a big smile, Lieutenant Turner replied, “Oh they all took the lift down. As well as showing you the depth we’re at, it’s a bit of a base tradition for all first timers to walk down the stairwell. Don’t get too upset, we even made the Prime Minister do it! We’re not sure who started it, probably the few full-time base occupants when they were on caretaking duty, amusing themselves at the visitors’ expense. It became a bit of a custom and the one thing the military likes is its customs, so we keep it going.
The only person we offered the lift to on their first time was Her Majesty, but when we gave her the option, she insisted on walking down the stairs to honour the tradition!”
I noticed there were only a few flights to go before we reached the bottom. Looking back up the stairwell, stretching above me into the distance, I asked, “How deep are we?”
“Over three hundred feet I believe,” he replied.
“I’ve been told that there were plans to go even deeper as new ‘bunker busting’ technology was developed in recent years which could have threatened the upper levels, but I imagine that won’t be happening now. Anyway, here we are.”
He punched a code into the keypad next to another heavy looking steel door and it swung open. I found myself in a corridor that stretched far away into the distance. The décor wasn’t utilitarian, but it wasn’t exactly opulent either. The walls were boarded and painted a light colour and the floors were carpeted. If I hadn’t known that I was three hundred feet underground, I could easily have believed I was in the corridor of a mid-level hotel or office anywhere in the world.
Lieutenant Turner indicated for me to follow. “My instructions are to show you to your quarters and make sure you have everything you need. I notice you haven’t brought anything with you, so do you want to go to the stores and get some toiletries and spare clothes first, or do you want to grab something to eat?”
I suddenly realised that in the excitement and the speed of our departure, I’d missed dinner, and was actually very hungry, so I asked him to take me to the canteen first.
The canteen was a huge space with rows of tables, cleverly divided into sections with screens, to give the impression of a much smaller area. Even at this late hour, there were a few people sitting and eating or just chatting.
“Sorry Sir,” said the lieutenant. “There isn’t much choice at this time of night because the nightshift only operates on minimum staff. There are pastries and pies, but if you want, the cook can easily knock you up a sandwich.”
It felt strange not queuing up for food from the covered area we’d created at home, with the smoking beast as the central point. It felt like a self-service restaurant in a motorway service station or airport. The only difference was the solid looking cook standing behind the counter wearing camouflage, and the fact that there was no till at the end of the line.
I helped myself to a Cornish pasty and a pastry, and after pouring myself a cup of coffee, walked over to where Lieutenant Turner was waiting, seated at a table. We chatted about various subjects as I finished my meal and when I’d put the dirty dishes in the correct area, Lieutenant Turner took me to a locked room where he issued me with a washing kit and some clothes I could use as pyjamas.
“Are you tired?” he asked, “Or would you like a quick nightcap?”
“Do you have a bar?” I asked.
“Yes. It was initially designed to be the senior officers’ mess, but it’s been opened up for everyone to use. We took a vote on what to call it recently and it’s now known as ‘The Duke of Edinburgh’.”
“Why?”
“Well, officially it’s because that name got the most votes. But unofficially, the joke is he’s their best customer, so it was only right to name it after him!”
“It would be rude to refuse,” I agreed. “Thank you, I would really enjoy a nightcap.”
Further down the corridor he led me through a set of double doors. There was a hand painted sign above them, a mock-up of a traditional pub sign, with a caricature of the current Duke of Edinburgh holding a pint in his hand and leaning against a bar. Stopping to looking at it, I glanced at Lieutenant Turner and raised my eyebrows.
“Oh, he likes it,” he replied, smiling. “He laughs at it every time he walks in.”
As we walked up to the bar, he explained that alcoholic drinks were rationed to a few drinks a day. This was standard procedure on active duty bases to ensure that in the event of an emergency, half of the occupants wouldn’t be too drunk to help.
We sat down on bar stools and
ordered two pints from the bartender. While we were waiting for them to be poured, I studied ‘The Duke of Edinburgh’. It was fitted out in a similar fashion to the rest of the facility, but the walls were decorated with military paintings and flags.
As well as the usual tables and chairs, there were a lot of sofas and armchairs scattered in groups around the room, which gave it a homely and welcoming atmosphere.
While I slowly savoured my first cask-poured pint since the event, Lieutenant Turner, (or Barry, as he now insisted I call him), informed me that they had quite a stock of beers and lagers. For some reason they’d received a lot of diverted deliveries from breweries as well as supermarkets in the days leading up to the event! I tried to ask him some questions about the base, but he said it would be best to wait until the morning, as a lot of the questions I had would be answered on the tour I could take if I wanted to.
We were interrupted by a Captain, (I was becoming accustomed to the insignias of rank by now, and was finding it easier to recognise what the officers were). “Hello, are you Tom?” he asked. “I’m Captain Hardy. I spoke to you over the radio when you first made contact.”
His name was Ian, and unlike most of the officers I’d met, he spoke with a broad Yorkshire accent. I remarked on this and he joked that he was their token northerner, whose job it was to remind all the posh kids who had joined the army that there was a world outside of the Horse Guards. He proudly showed me a Leeds United Football Club tattoo on his arm. At this point Barry interrupted to remind him about his family’s business interests in Leeds which, on the last Forbes rich list, had just squeezed him into the top two hundred richest people in England. So his poor downtrodden northern act might possibly work on me, Barry added, but in the meantime he should shut up and get the next round in!
Ian laughed, shook my hand and asked if he could join us as he’d just come off duty. He and Barry were clearly already friends and Barry dragged a bar stool across for him. I told them about the day’s events, from meeting the other groups, to the attack and the journey here so that Private Eddy could get the surgery he needed to save his life.
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