He sipped his coffee, realizing he was probably more fortunate than those around him, his losses back there in the past, the worst of his suffering carefully stored away, the lid shut tight. And though he had fought to survive that day, he wasn’t sure it really mattered so much to him.
Dealey was conferring with the doctor and the civilians on either side, all three keeping their voices low, conspiratorial. The blind man looked weary, the unhealthy pallor of his skin heightened by the harsh overhead lighting. Culver had to admire his stamina, wondering if he had taken any time at all to rest after their arduous and gut-wrenching ordeal. He must be in pain from the injury to his eyes, and the mental anguish of not knowing whether or not the damage was permanent must in itself have been draining. He seemed different from the frightened, disorientated man that Culver had dragged through the wreckage, almost as if his badge of office (whatever office that might be) had reaffirmed the outward shell, officialdom his retrieved armour. Dealey looked up at the assemblage, his head moving from right to left, as if picking up threads of conversation.
The man next to him stood. ‘Can I please have your attention?’ he said, his words calm, measured, a rebuttal of the pernicious hysteria that skitted around the room from person to person like some quick-darting gadfly.
Conversation stopped.
‘To the few who don’t already know me, my name is Howard Farraday, and I’m the first line manager or senior engineer of the Kingsway telephone exchange. At the moment, because there is no one of senior position here, that makes me the boss.’ He attempted a smile that was barely successful. He cleared his throat. ‘Since further excavation work, begun in the 1950s, Kingsway has had a dual role: that of automatic exchange, carrying some five hundred lines, and as a government deep shelter. Most of you will be aware that the first ever NATO transatlantic cable terminates here.’ He paused again, a tall man whose normal stature would have been described as robust had not the events of that day dragged at his shoulders and hued shadows of weariness around his eyes. His voice was quieter when he continued, as if his earlier confidence was fast draining from him. ‘I think you’ll also have been aware of the increased activity regarding Kingsway over the past few weeks; standard procedure, I might add, in times of international crisis. Although . . . although the situation was regarded as serious, no one imagined this . . . this . . . that events would escalate to such disastrous proportions . . .’
Culver shook his head at the jargonized description of the genocide. The coffee was bitter in his mouth and the wound in his thigh throbbed dully. His rancour, his deep-felt hate for those who had instigated the devastation, was frozen within for the moment with the rest of his emotions.
‘. . . because of the increasing hostilities in the Middle East, and Russia’s invasion of Iran, all such government establishments have been receiving similar attention . . .’
The man droned on and what he said meant little to Culver. Words, just words. Nothing could adequately convey the horror, the dreadful loss, the ravages of what was yet to come. Once more his eyes were drawn to the girl; her gaze was still cast downwards, both hands clasped tight around the coffee mug, oblivious to its heat. His fingers curled around her wrist and at first there was no response; then she looked his way and the mixture of anguish and anger in her eyes bored into his own steadied emotions. He exerted soft pressure and now her expression was one of confusion: she seemed to be silently asking him why had it happened, why had they been spared? Questions he asked of himself and questions to which there were no answers. Man’s madness to one, God’s will to the other. No real answers.
Farraday was gesturing towards the seated man on his left ‘. . . senior Civil Defence officer, Alistair Bryce. Next to me here, on my right, is Mr Alex Dealey who is from the Ministry of Defence, and next to him, Dr Clare Reynolds, who has been associated with this particular establishment for some time now, so many of you will already know her. Then we have two Royal Observer Corps officers, Bob McEwen and Sheila Kennedy, whom you may also have seen from time to time on inspection duty. There should have been several other, er, officials, with us today – a meeting had been planned for this afternoon. Regrettably, they did not reach the shelter.’ He swept back a lock of hair that dangled over his forehead, his upper body tilting backwards as if to assist the manoeuvre. ‘Perhaps, Alex, you would like to continue.’ The tall man slumped rather than sat, his hands clenched tight on the table before him, his shoulders hunched. Culver had the impression that Farraday’s address had ended not a moment too soon; the man was ready to crack.
Dealey did not rise. And there was something chilling about listening to a man whose expression was hidden behind a white mask.
‘Let me start,’ he said, his voice surprisingly filling the greyish-green-walled dining room without raising itself beyond conversational level, ‘by saying I know how each and every one of you must be feeling. You’re afraid for your families, your loved ones, wondering if they have survived the nuclear explosion. Afraid, too, for yourselves: is this shelter safe from fallout, is there enough food, water, what will be left of the world we know?
‘Two things I can reassure you of immediately: we are all well protected here, and there are provisions to last for six weeks, probably longer. As for water, those of you who are employed here will know that the complex has its own artesian well, so there will be no risk of contamination. I think it’s important to stress these factors to relieve your minds of just some of the terrible burden they are bearing.’
There was still an uncomfortable, unnatural silence around the room.
‘Mr Farraday has already mentioned that I’m from the Ministry of Defence. Actually I belong to the Inspector of Establishments division and I suppose you could call me a government shelter liaison officer – one of the chaps who sees that our underground defence units are in running order and in a permanent state of preparation.’
He leaned forward on the desk as if taking the whole room into his confidence. ‘It’s because of that specific role that I have full knowledge of every underground shelter and deep shelter, both public and governmental, in London and the surrounding counties, and that I can assure you that we are neither alone nor isolated.’
At last there were murmurs among the gathering, at last a reaction. Dealey raised a hand to bring the room to order.
‘Before I give you general details of these shelters and operations centres, I think it best we appraise our present position and, of course, I’m sure the questions uppermost in your minds must be what exactly has happened, and what is the extent of the damage to our country?’
He placed both hands flat on the table. ‘Unfortunately, we have no way of knowing the answers.’
This time the murmuring was stronger, and angry voices could be heard over the general buzz. Farraday quickly cut in.
‘Communications with other stations have temporarily been lost. For the moment we cannot even make contact with the underground telecommunications centre near St Paul’s, which is less than a mile away.’
‘But the tunnel network should have protected the system,’ a black engineer sitting close to Culver said sharply.
‘Yes, you’re quite right: the cable tunnels and deep tube tunnels should have afforded ample protection for the communications system. It would appear that the amount of damage nuclear bombs could cause has been badly underestimated and that vital sections in the network have been penetrated.’
Dealey spoke up. ‘From information gathered before communications failed, we believe at least five nuclear warheads were directed at London and the surrounding suburbs.’ He licked his lips, betraying the first signs of nervousness since the meeting had begun, and his next words came quickly, as though he were anxious to impart the information. ‘We’re not absolutely sure, but we think those targets were Hyde Park, Brentford, Heathrow, Croydon and the last somewhere northeast of the city. The nuclear weapons themselves would have been a mixture of one and two megatons, ground bursts and air
bursts.’
Culver was confused. ‘Wait a minute,’ he said, raising a hand like a child in a classroom. ‘You’re talking about a cable system being knocked out, right?’
Although their recent conversations had been fraught, mainly shouted, Dealey recognized the voice. ‘That’s correct,’ he replied.
‘Then why can’t we communicate by radio?’
Farraday gave the answer. ‘One of the effects of a nuclear blast is something we call EMP – electro magnetic pulse. It’s an intense burst of radio waves that can destroy electrical networks and communication systems over an area of hundreds of miles. Any circuits with sensitive components such as radios, televisions, radar, computers, and any systems attached to long lengths of cable – telephones, the electricity power grid – are subjected to incredible surges of current which overload and destroy. A lot of the military equipment has been EMP-hardened by putting sensitive circuits inside conducting boxes and laying cables deep underground, but it looks as though even that hasn’t been so effective.’
‘Jesus, what a fuck-up,’ Culver said quietly and those near him who heard nodded their agreement.
Dealey attempted to still the disquiet that was rumbling around the room like muted thunder. ‘I must emphasize that these conditions are only temporary. I’m sure contact with other shelters will be made very soon. Mr Farraday himself has assured me of that.’
Farraday looked at him in surprise, but quickly recovered. ‘I think we can safely assume that other such shelters have been left intact and are already trying to link up.’
Culver wondered if his statement was as dissatisfying to others as it was to him. He was startled when Kate, her voice dulled but clear to everyone in the room, suddenly said: ‘Why was there no warning?’
‘But there was a warning, Miss, er . . .’ Dr Reynolds leaned towards him and whispered the name ‘. . . Garner. Surely you heard the si—’
‘Why didn’t anybody know it was going to happen?’ This time there was an icy shrillness to the question.
There was a short, embarrassed silence at the top table before Dealey answered. ‘Nobody, not one person in his right mind, could imagine another country would be foolish enough – no, insane enough! – to begin a Third World War with nuclear arms. It defies all sensibilities, all logic. Our government cannot be blamed for the lunatic suicidal tendencies of another nation. When the USSR land forces invaded Iran with a view to overrunning all the oil states, they were warned that retaliatory steps would be taken by the Combined World Forces . . .’
‘They should have been stopped when they took total control of Afghanistan, and then Pakistan!’ someone shouted from the back.
‘I’m sorry, but political debate is useless at this time. Remember though, at the time of the Afghanistan conflict, there was no Combined Forces, just NATO and the Alliance Pact. Simply, the Western powers did not have the muscle to turn back the Russians; or at least we weren’t confident enough to exercise whatever strength we had. It was only when the Gulf States finally decided that the West was the lesser of two evils, that we were able to deploy our forces in strategic positions.’
‘But if we hadn’t starved Russia of grain and then oil in the first place, they would never have been desperate enough to invade!’ the same voice came back.
‘Mr Dealey has already said this is not the time for such a discussion,’ Farraday interrupted, fearing the meeting could so easily get out of hand. Hysteria was thick in the air; the smallest upset now could turn it into outrage and perhaps even violence.
‘It may not even have been the Russians who fired the first missile, so until we know more let’s not argue among ourselves.’ He instantly regretted his words, realizing he had just implanted a fresh seed of thought.
Dealey quickly tried to cover the mistake. ‘The point is that nobody imagined the situation had reached such a critical state. Our own government was making provisions for war, just in case, against all odds, it did break out.’
‘Then why weren’t we, the public, told that it was so imminent?’ Culver’s cold anger was directed solely at Dealey, as though he, the representative figure of government authority, was personally responsible.
‘And create nationwide panic? What good would that have done? And besides, nothing was certain; the world has had more than its share of false crises in the past.’
And the world had cried ‘wolf’ too many times before, Culver thought sourly. The girl was shaking her head, a slight, mournful movement that bespoke bewilderment as well as despair.
‘I repeat,’ Dealey went on, ‘the prime motive for us all is survival. We’ve managed to live through the worst, now we must cope with the aftermath.’ His eyes seemed to bore through the white gauze covering them, defying every man and woman in the room to deny the rhetoric. ‘Retrospection in our present circumstances can be of no constructive value whatsoever,’ he added unnecessarily.
The uneasy silence indicated reluctant agreement.
‘Now perhaps our CDO can advise us on what will happen over the next few weeks.’ Dealey sat back in his chair, his masked face inscrutable, only the quick darting of his tongue across already moist lips again betraying an inner nervousness.
The senior Civil Defence officer decided he would carry more authority if he stood. Alistair Bryce was a small, balding man, whose jowls hung in flaps on either side of his round face; heavy pouches under his eyes completed the impression of a face made up of thick, spilled-over liquid. His eyes were sharp, however, and never still, bouncing quickly from left to right like blue pinballs.
‘A few words, first, about what’s likely to have occurred above us. What I’m going to say will frighten you, will distress you, but the time for lies is long-gone. If we are to survive, we have to work together as a unit, and we’ve got to trust each other.’ His eyes took a more leisurely sweep around the room. ‘I promise you this: our chances for survival are good; only our own fear can defeat us.’
He drew in a long breath as though about to plunge into deep water, feeling, in a metaphorical sense, this was the case.
‘Anywhere between sixteen and thirty per cent of people in the Greater London area will have been killed outright. I know official figures lean towards the lower estimate, but as I said it’s time for honesty. My opinion is that the number of dead will be at least twenty-eight per cent, and that’s on the conservative side.’
He allowed a little time for the unsettling information to sink in. ‘Another thirty to thirty-six per cent will have been injured by the blast alone. Many will have been crushed or trapped in buildings, or cut by flying glass. The list of various types of injury would be endless, so it’s pointless to itemize. It’s enough to say that burns, shock and mutilation will be widespread, and many will have received permanent or temporary eye damage caused by retinal burns from the initial flash.
‘Blast pressure from each of the bombs will have damaged approximately seventy-five per cent of the Greater London area: most tall buildings and many bridges will have collapsed, and the majority of roads will have been blocked by rubble, fallen telegraph poles and lamp posts, and overturned vehicles. About thirty per cent of the houses in the city and suburbs will have been reduced to rubble, and over forty per cent too badly damaged to be repaired in the immediate future. I hardly need to say there probably won’t be an unbroken window left in the capital.’
Bryce’s face looked drained of blood, his overhanging jowls resembling empty money pouches. Perversely, he seemed to be taking refuge behind his own cold facts, as though the words had no real meaning, but were the considered statistics of an imagined war. It was a stance that enabled him to cope with his own emotion. ‘Fire damage will be extensive and I’m afraid our fire services will be little more than useless. It may be that most of London above us is in flames.’
The cries, the sighing moans of despair, could no longer be contained. Several men and women were weeping openly, while others merely sat grim-faced, staring straight ahead as i
f seeing something beyond the room, beyond the shelter. Perhaps the suffering that was out there.
Kate had slumped forward on the table and he drew her close, using soft pressure against her initial resistance. She, along with Dealey and himself, had probably gone through more horrors that day than anyone else in the room, for they had been out there in the destruction, running for safety with the crowds, taking refuge in the tunnels. Almost eaten alive by rats. He wondered how much more her mind could take without losing grip totally.
Bryce raised both hands to quieten them and said reluctantly, ‘There is still a consequence of the attack that must be dealt with. I know it’s difficult for every man and woman in this room, but the reality of what has happened and what is going to happen must be faced now. If we are all aware of the worst effects of nuclear war, then nothing will be unexpected, nothing more will further demoralize us. Hopefully,’ he added ominously.
‘The next problem for every survivor of the blast is fallout. Most of the city’s population would have had less than half an hour to get under cover before radioactive dust fell. Those still unprotected within six hours of the attack will have received a lethal dose of radiation and will die within a matter of days or weeks, depending on the individual dosage. And of course, anyone injured by the blast or its effects will be even more susceptible to radiation. Unofficial figures indicate that around four million people within the Greater London boundaries will be dead or dying within two weeks of the attack, from a lethal dose of more than 6,000 rads.’
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