Bridging the Gulf (Aka Engulfed)

by Malcolm Hollingdrake

  On leaving the clinic he walked along the street that was now busy. There was a florist's shop on the corner with the most beautiful arrangements of cut flowers. He stopped to look. He chose twenty large yellow carnations for Joan, a sort of good-girl present for putting up with him. They would certainly make her day.

  Roy quickly found the car and put the flowers in the boot. He dialled work.

  "D.M. Business Machines, Emma speaking how may I help you?" How that now standard answer grated on his nerves. He must speak to Drew and work out a more original greeting.

  "Emma it's Roy. Is Drew free, please?"

  "Sorry to hear you were under the weather. You need another holiday." She giggled at her own joke. "The wine was lovely, thank you. I'll just try him for you." The earpiece filled with the sound of Jerusalem as if played on a Jew's harp. "He's on the other line but he says he'll call you back shortly. Are you on your mobile?"

  "Yes. Thanks Emma. See you later this week."

  He started the car and drove carefully towards the pay booth. As he handed his ticket over the phone rang. He paid before answering.

  "Roy, Drew. How did it go?"

  "Quite some man your Dr O'Brien." He was interrupted by the sound of a horn. The driver behind in the queue grew anxious that Roy was taking too long at the pay booth. "Shit!" He selected first gear and waved an apology to the guy behind. Pulling into the traffic he continued his conversation. "He certainly is aware. We seemed to get on well and he now has some background to the situation so who knows, he may turn out to be the tonic I need."

  "Let's hope so, my friend, let's hope so. I've cancelled any meetings you had arranged until Friday to give you some breathing space but only return when you feel up to the job."

  "I'll ring you at home tonight. Drew, thanks, I really appreciate your concern and support."

  Roy was soon out of the worst traffic. The weather was fine. Two more days, just two. He felt the tension in the pit of his stomach rise. Thursday would be the day.

  Joan was delighted with the flowers and everything stopped until they were arranged and placed on the table.

  "They're lovely Roy. You shouldn't have but I'm glad you did. She kissed him. Fancy a shower?" she quizzed hoping to draw him out.

  "Love one."

  The cool water flowed through their hair as they kissed. She soaped his body into a lather and then he hers. She raised a leg placing it being his back and they made love.

  Chapter Seven

  The next two days moved slowly. Even though Roy went into work, he could not believe how the clock seemed to stand still. It reminded him of when he was a child waiting for Christmas or a birthday. His nights were on the whole uninterrupted. He slept well.

  On the morning of the 7th, he was pleased to see the sunshine. Radio Four filled the room. Joan stirred and he kissed her. "You shower first and I'll sort out breakfast."

  He was keen to start, to get over the initial explosion. Once the ball was rolling he would, he thought, feel better, more in control knowing that his device had worked. The strange thing about a bomb was that there was no guarantee.

  He moved to the study and checked the details on his palmtop once more. There it was in green and black timed for 17.59. Could he remain normal, if ever he had been normal since the Gulf or at all for that matter? Could he mask his anxiety or was there a touch of excitement eager to erupt?

  He went downstairs and turned on the radio. No real news but how quickly that was going to change. Tomorrow morning would certainly be different and that would be all his doing. He, Roy Hanna, invalid, Gulf War veteran ignored by many, particularly the government, would begin to bring pressure to bear. Tomorrow's news would be his.

  ***

  Those days in February 1991 had been just the same; it was in the desert that he had felt these bursts of emotion, watching fellow soldiers writing home, maybe for the last time. It amazed him the thoughts that were juggled in the mind at moments like these. All personal photographs that might compromise the captured soldier were stored and left behind, only the mental images of girlfriends and wives floated in a mind that dimmed and blurred the edges of familiar faces. Fear, passion and anticipation had the power to do this. The night in the desert separated from the main group, the cold, the comradeship, the fear; the moment standing in the turret knowing that split second that something was wrong, the tingling in the body that overpowered movement, speech, and thought raced back into Roy's mind. He was sweating as he flipped closed the palmtop with the same ease the missiles had closed the chapter on fourteen young lives. He stared at the black cased computer as if it were his own coffin. He would see it through today. He placed it on the table and moved downstairs.

  ***

  The Subaru pulled up some way from the telephone box Roy had earmarked. It was situated in a quiet, isolated spot away from heavy traffic both pedestrian and vehicular. He sat quietly in the car for a while checking the area to ensure his first impressions of the site were accurate. His heart was beating and he felt as though its thumping filled the car. "This is it," he said to himself and broke into a whistle that naturally concealed his apprehension. He jumped out and again checked the free phone number of the breakdown service before strolling to the red telephone box. He went through his speech carefully in his head before picking up the receiver in his gloved hand and dialling, placing the suffix 141 to prevent the call from being automatically traced. The call was answered immediately by a request for a membership number.

  "Please listen, this is very important as your ability to relay this message could save lives. Bomb, Gathurst Bridge on M6. Timed to blow 17.59 today. Give them this code. GULF. If they think it's a hoax tell them to wait until they hear the bang!" It was now out of his hands. They had fifty-seven minutes to react.

  Sarah had worked as a telephonist with the breakdown service for just short of twelve months. Her training had been good; an extensive part of her risk assessment management had covered this very problem. At the time, like most, she thought it would never happen to her but today it had, today she had felt a chill run down her spine as this man, possibly a terrorist had spoken to her. Her action had, after, the initial shock, been one driven by instinct. She knew the message was recording as he spoke and she looked for the details of the call area and if possible, the call box. The system for locating a call to a specific box was not as yet complete but there was hope. No, the actual box was not noted but the dialling code area was shown. Her mouth was dry and sweat beaded her forehead. She called the supervisor. Her mind raced.

  "I've just taken a bomb threat, I'm sorry but he didn't give me any time he just spoke without gaps. There remain only fifty-seven minutes."

  The supervisor immediately called the police using 999 and played the threat to them, in turn they recorded the message. It took eleven minutes from the call being received to the motorway warning signals beginning to slow the traffic, issuing speed limits to traffic approaching the bridge in both directions. Police vehicles too were moving into position.

  Peter Jones had been sitting in his police Range Rover on a slip road off the motorway completing paperwork, he was due off shift within the hour. The traffic had been increasing and it astonished him how foolish drivers could be. He had his own equation: the greater the traffic, the more hazardous the conditions the faster the traffic. It also never ceased to amaze him the effect the distinctive livery of his vehicle had on the drivers' brakes, there was a distinct slowing when they noticed it waiting! He had seen it all. Large drops of rain mixed with the remnants of squashed flies on the windscreen when the call came through. "Shit, that's all I need! Lights, siren, action!" he shouted out loud as he selected both and swung the Range Rover onto the hard shoulder.

  As if by magic the traffic to his right slowed more in keeping with the electronic speed restriction signals. He moved into the inside lane and then the middle slowing the traffic in all lanes down to 30mph. The Pied Piper had nothing on this. It was obvious from the chang
e of traffic flow southbound that the same was happening further north on the opposite carriageway. Another Range Rover, all lights aglow, streamed down the hard shoulder and took up station to his left. Peter moved further to the outside lane. The line of traffic behind was going to leave the motorway at the next junction whether they liked it or not. "What a fucking time to explode a bomb, if there is a bomb," he thought to himself. He had one eye on the mirror. Up ahead was junction 26. They would hold the three lanes of snarling vehicles and then lead them away down the slip road whilst other police vehicles blocked the motorway. The speed was reduced to a walking pace and then a to a standstill. Both police vehicles held station. The passenger in the second vehicle climbed out and moved to the rear of the Range Rover. Peter took out a pile of cones and ran ahead placing them across the three lanes at an angle to lead the cars and wagons off. He then pointed to the cars in the inside lane to move toward the slip road. They obeyed his instruction. The rain continued to fall.

  It was obvious to Peter that the operation for the southbound track had been successful as no vehicles passed on the other side. It was going to be a long night. Another Range Rover travelled quickly up the opposite, now empty carriageway and dropped off three policemen, more reinforcements to help deal with the traffic as it snarled to a standstill at the bottom of the slip road. Soon it would be moving, if only very slowly.

  The bomb squad had been called immediately and were to be helicoptered in, landing on the empty carriageway ahead of the traffic. Further men and equipment would travel in Transac Bomb disposal vehicles up the now empty southbound carriageway. It would be impossible to move north now any other way. Each vehicle would carry all the necessary equipment to deal with any threat. If this were a hoax it would just cause a delay to traffic for a couple of hours; if it were for real, God only knew what the outcome would be.

  The Aerospatiale AS 355F Twin Squirrel touched down bringing spray up from the road surface. Its blades cut the air noisily sending out turbulence that rocked the very close central reservation lighting standards. Two men, dressed in waterproof high visibility police clothing climbed out. Peter's Range Rover was requested to move close. Some equipment was lifted from the helicopter and carried to the waiting vehicle. The helicopter lifted off. The men climbed into the Rover. They quickly introduced themselves.

  The helicopter travelled north, gaining height. Wispy grey cloud hung like tentacles.

  "He's going to check for any strange packages in deserted vehicles that might be on the bridge." The officer was linked with his own communicator and headset.

  "Paul, there's nothing visible here. Going around one more time. Be back on the ground in a minute."

  Out of the gloom came the white Squirrel which was put down expertly on the spot. A man jumped out, waved at the pilot and the helicopter lifted off. The running man came around the Range Rover and jumped in the back.

  The explosives officers knew from the coding of the threat that this was not IRA but the code GULF brought fears of fundamentalists. But why blow up a bridge in Greater Manchester? They all thought it the work of a rogue nutter who had seen too many Rambo films. The game plan was now simple. They would wait for the deadline, now only six minutes away plus thirty minutes before kitting up and going in for a look. It was clear from police reports that no vehicles were parked beneath nor were there any canal boats moored under it, so whatever the explosive device was, it had to be attached beneath the span of the bridge either to the legs or hidden within the structure.

  Traffic was now tailing back ten miles in both directions. The serpent was growing at an alarming rate; not only was it extending along the motorway but the slip roads were filling up and this had a knock-on effect, it was total confusion.

  The train from Wigan to Southport had left Wigan Wallgate station on time and was due to stop at Gathurst at 17.50 but was delayed due to signal problems. Although the motorway was sealed off the railway had failed to receive any information of the potential danger. The train was cleared and arrived at Gathurst station at 17.57. The old road ran parallel to the motorway but dipped into the valley, under the railway and over the canal before climbing through woodland, the same route Roy had taken on the evening he had set the explosives. This road had been closed, as had the road to the station. The few houses in the vicinity had been evacuated leaving only a patrol car by the hump-backed bridge, out of harm's way. The station was empty of passengers, the station house long since disused.

  The train pulled in momentarily. Nobody left nor joined. Rain ran down the windows smearing the dirt. Patterns caused by the airflow had almost obscured the clarity of view. A push on the throttle and the diesels belched smoke as they moved the two-carriage train away slowly gaining speed. It soon crossed the country road that led to the canal. The rain was coming down harder now. The driver saw the police car, lights flashing. Blue patterns smudged against the window and illuminated his cab. He also noted the motorway bridge ahead was unusually quiet. Normally at this time it was full of traffic. "Must have been some kind of accident … should take the train," he said to himself as he smiled. How prophetic in his innocence. The time was 17.58 and 40 seconds. This was a beautiful part of the run, the line bordered the valley side above the canal and the river and was flanked by woodland and fields.

  The Senior Expo, Sam Phelps checked his watch. "If this is no hoax it's going any minu ..."

  He never finished his sentence. There was a brilliant flash followed by an almighty bang as the sound waves echoed around the valley. Birds staggered into the air, flying haphazardly. Smoke and dust followed in concert; it all appeared to be happening in slow motion. The force had been huge.

  "Jesus H! Is everyone intact?" Sam enquired, obviously shocked. He had truly believed this one would be a hoax. "Learned a lesson there, boy," he said to himself.

  The Range Rover moved forward at the instruction of the senior officer. "Take it slowly, Peter."

  Small pieces of debris hit the roof of the vehicle. There appeared to be no major damage from that distance but there surely must have been. The view of the explosion from below was quite different. The bridge itself had cracked like an egg along its expansion joints leaving gaps similar to veins in the tarmac. Some gaping holes had appeared directly above the blasts. The bridge had sunk as the bearings on which it rested had been destroyed. The crash barriers were bent and twisted and many of the drainage covers had been propelled skywards. The central reservation lights along its entire length were haphazardly set at angles like drunken men.

  They called in the helicopter from its hovering position a safe distance away. It had recorded events on the video it carried. It soon landed. The Senior Expo climbed aboard and it took off quickly in case another bomb was set.

  "Bloody mayhem below the bridge," said the pilot as he brought his craft sideways to give all a clear view. "I've sent for emergency support but how they'll get there ..."

  Sam could not believe his eyes. The scene beneath the bridge was reminiscent of a war zone. The tranquillity had been destroyed. The lock-keeper's cottage was without roof tiles and windows, curtains flapping as if in surrender. The rain began to seep in. The underside of the bridge was blackened and pieces of steel and concrete hung, motionless. It was not these things their eyes focused on but the train that had caught the blast, it had been directly underneath. The force of the blast or some debris had jumped it off the rails. It had ploughed into one of the concrete legs as it turned over, twisting the first carriage under the second in a jack-knife motion. The driver had died as soon as his cab had hit the concrete, he did not even have time to think. The passengers were not so lucky. Death came more slowly in the tangled confusion. Although there were only twenty people, all probably on their way home, the jarring twisting metal and the ensuing fire had found each and every one. Those trapped by their arms and legs could only watch the light of the approaching flames through thickening acrid, choking fumes that tore at their throats and eyes. Those free to move b
ut cut and bloody were soon overcome, their breathing slowing and their anguish growing. They screamed and tore at the metal until their fingers bled but slowly, they died. The pall of thick smoke rose through the bridge giving an indication to Peter and those in the Range Rover that something was wrong, terribly wrong, down below.

  Sam transmitted to his team, the shock in his voice quite audible. "Major problems down below, serious damage to a train and there is an horrendous fire. I can't see there being any survivors. Did no one notify the railway of this problem? If not, someone better do it now in case there's another train on its way. What a fucking mess." Sam was more shocked than angry. "Has the backup arrived?"

  "Yes, they're just arriving now."

  "Kit up Paul, take Mike with you and check the bloody bridge." There was a pause but the transmit button was still down. The noise of the helicopter could still be heard "And Paul …"

  "Yes, Boss?"

  "Take special care, I've got a horrible feeling about this nutter. Things aren't what they might seem."

  "I'm always careful."

  Two Expo Officers moved to the rear of the bomb disposal vehicles and started to prepare for their walk. Their aim was to search for any remaining devices that had been set to explode during the checking process and to take a closer look at the damage caused to the bridge. Both men were dressed in lightweight bomb disposal suits which offered protection and flexibility. The suits' helmets contained their own de-misters, essential in the wet weather and transmitters. They also had their own cooling systems which were invaluable when things grew that little too hot. Each man also carried a bag in which were a number of search mirrors. The job would be to comb all the drains and around the concealed areas on the top of the bridge. The search took more than an hour and proved that there was only the one bomb. Both men returned, pleased to be back and relieved that the bridge was clear.