by Nick M Lloyd
Specifically, Whaller was listening out for any signals from the three on-site liaison team members.
‘Anything?’ mouthed Martel to Whaller.
Whaller shook his head.
They flew onwards, Martel reviewing the plan of action. There were no magic answers. No solutions. The decision, led by the prime minister, was based on the assumption that even if the British army staged an assault on the Hot Zone, the Ankor would not explode all of the eighty-plus A-Gravs across the UK.
They’d discussed how many the Ankor would detonate. It could be none; the actions of the Ankor so far indicated an elaborate bluff, a level of misdirection they may not have wasted their energies on if they were intent on genocide.
There was also the possibility that only a very few of the A-Gravs were capable of exploding or leaking significant radiation.
But we just don’t know.
A calculation had been drawn up, barbaric and cold-blooded. The prime minister was prepared to risk one million people in order to save the remaining people in the Hot Zone. The remaining … current estimates were that forty thousand were still alive.
Martel was on his way to rescue the hostages and shut down SpaceOp. One serious issue being that the innocent civilians were incarcerated in a set of buildings specifically modified to be impenetrable. MacKenzie had armoured the Hot Zone to keep the plutonium safe.
They flew on, Martel reviewing and re-reviewing the plan.
As they crossed over the final part of Snowdonia National Park and over the Irish Sea, a flash to the north broke Martel’s train of thought.
Nuke!
The signs had been unmistakable. A bright flash over the horizon had been followed a split second later by a blast wave that shook the helicopter.
The helicopter dropped vertically as Richardson fought to control the descent.
Martel grabbed his harness. ‘Brace! Brace! Brace!’
Judging from the intensity and direction of the flash, the nuclear blast had centred on the Menai Strait.
His stomach lurching from the drop, Martel reviewed the flight paths of the other inbound helicopters. They would have been widely spaced, but only compared to conventional weapons.
How many will get through?
Martel looked at Richardson who was still fighting for control.
An acrid smell indicated some of the remaining electronics had not survived.
Martel felt pressure on his chest, a good sign; the helicopter was slowing its descent as Richardson regained control.
Beckoning to Private Hunter, Martel shouted above the whine of the struggling rotors. ‘Try to contact the others.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Martel was not hopeful. The timing of the blast had not been a coincidence. The SAS would have been passing into Anglesey as it happened.
Captain Whaller held up a small radiation counter. It showed a gamma pulse had passed through them, not in itself large, but confirming that it had been a nuclear blast.
It didn’t fundamentally change the basis for their decision. The Ankor had obviously already caused the limited nuclear explosion in Liverpool which had driven the Anglesey residents into SpaceOp. So Martel knew they were prepared to play the nuclear card to some extent.
How bad will it get?
The helicopter, now listing to the left, continued to whine at a much higher pitch than Martel knew was operationally normal.
‘Can we get there?’ Martel leant forward and shouted into Richardson’s ear.
Richardson, wrestling with the controls, nodded.
Martel turned back to Private Hunter. The nuclear blast would have created an electromagnetic pulse that could have fried all the electronics. However, it appeared Hunter’s radio was working.
The helicopter limped on, Richardson heading further west than the original flight plan to avoid the blast radius and unnecessary radiation.
‘Nothing from the others, sir,’ said Private Hunter, confirming Martel’s fears. Each helicopter was stripped of most electronics; every piece of communication equipment could only either send or receive. It had been set up that way, to make it harder for the Ankor to subvert them.
Five minutes later, they passed south over the Irish Sea, making a large detour before coming back in towards SpaceOp.
A little while later, SpaceOp came into view. As per the original briefing, Richardson headed for Mission Control.
Martel strained to look. From two hundred metres up, Martel could see that, to the north, the Hot Zone was lit up with floodlights.
Mission Control had minimal external lights.
From the ground came a flash of gunfire.
The windscreen of the helicopter cracked. Heavy machine-gun fire was coming from the Hot Zone.
Richardson took evasive action and pushed the helicopter steeply downwards, aiming to land with Mission Control between the Hot Zone and the helicopter.
Another hail of bullets hit the cockpit.
A splash of blood indicated someone had been hit.
Corporal Edwards.
With ten metres to go, the engine took a hit and gave out; the helicopter started to spin.
They hit the ground hard, but Richardson had done his job. Mission Control was blocking the line of sight from the Hot Zone.
Military training took over.
Whaller helped Edwards from his seat, whilst Richardson and Hunter readied weapons and formed a perimeter.
Martel took stock. Out of the darkness, to the west, a party of soldiers could be seen making their way towards him.
‘Contact,’ said Martel to the team, pointing.
As one, the remnants of the British force sighted up their assault rifles.
‘They’re not Leafers,’ said Whaller. ‘Orders?’
‘Wait,’ said Martel.
It was the Chinese team … with Tim Boston and Sam Turner.
To the north, the Leafers had stopped firing and did not appear to be pushing.
Probably under orders to hold the Hot Zone.
Martel turned to get a report on Edwards, but the look on Whaller’s face, although professional, said it all. Edwards was dead.
‘I’m Colonel Martel,’ Martel called out to the approaching Chinese soldiers. ‘Is one of you Major Chen?’
A soldier, carrying Sam Turner, came forward at a trot. ‘Major Chen.’
Martel stared past Chen; behind her were a few more Chinese commandos.
‘We need to get inside,’ said Chen. ‘The fallout.’
‘Agreed,’ said Martel, indicating for the British contingent to follow. ‘Your forces?’
‘We have three companies of commando, just off-shore,’ said Chen. ‘Subject to your orders.’
‘Thank you,’ said Whaller. They walked around to the main entrance of Mission Control. At ground level, because of the undulation of the land, the Leafers would not be able to shoot them from the Hot Zone.
The doors were shut.
Assuming that entering Mission Control would initiate a firefight with armed Leafers inside, Martel decided to take stock for a few moments.
A set of headlights approached from the direction of the Administration Zone. Richardson and Hunter readied their assault rifles, but it was Tosh driving the jeep.
Martel had met Tosh a few times and trusted him. He signalled for the soldiers to lower their weapons.
The main doors to Mission Control opened and Francis MacKenzie, flanked by two heavily armed Leafers, came out.
Martel indicated for his team not to raise their weapons.
The Leafers held their own rifle barrels pointing at the ground, albeit closer to the horizontal than those of the British forces.
‘I suspect you understand just how unwelcome you are,’ said MacKenzie. ‘Any moment now the Chinese population will be paying for their role in this.’
Martel did not flinch. ‘We are here on the orders of Her Majesty’s Government, of which you are a subject. Lay down your weapons and submit to a full searc
h.’
Francis MacKenzie looked to his left, towards the Hot Zone. ‘I’ve just ordered four jeeps full of Leafers. They are heading to the ring road. They will open fire on arrival. You have three minutes to lay down your weapons.’
Martel would not surrender without explicit orders from the prime minister.
He’d planned to land with ten helicopters full of special forces, sufficient to take and hold Mission Control. As it was, with a handful, he could not hope to survive a firefight against the full Leafer force.
But right now, it was he who had the numerical advantage. He could take MacKenzie hostage and negotiate.
He had three minutes.
CHAPTER 32
SpaceOp
Tim held his breath as Martel, with an icy calm expression on his face, walked to the foot of the steps leading up to the main door. There, he took off his beret and pocketed it. Then, very deliberately, he ran his hands through his hair and looked around before focusing his gaze back onto Francis MacKenzie.
‘Mr MacKenzie, until I receive direct orders to the contrary from the prime minister, I will not be surrendering. I am here to negotiate your surrender.’
MacKenzie whispered something to the Leafer on his right, who appeared to be receiving information through an earpiece. He turned back to Martel. ‘You’ve now got two minutes before my reinforcements arrive. If your weapons are on the ground at that time, they will not shoot.’
MacKenzie turned his attention to other members of the group.
Tim’s heart lurched as MacKenzie singled him out. ‘Mr Boston, I see you’ve become embroiled in some way. That is unfortunate. You can expect reprisals.’
Tim was intrigued. It sounded as though MacKenzie didn’t know exactly what his role had been.
How much do you know?
MacKenzie’s attention skipped onwards. ‘Tosh, if you don’t go now, then you will share the fate of the soldiers here.’
Tosh stared straight at MacKenzie. ‘Suits me.’
MacKenzie looked out towards the ring road. The Leafer jeeps were now less than a minute away. ‘I don’t even need the extra soldiers. A detonation in central London will suffice … perhaps fifty kilotons, and the prime minister will call you himself to surrender.’
Whether from pure hope or not, Tim wasn’t convinced that MacKenzie believed the threat he was making.
Bravado?
Martel turned to face the oncoming Leafers. He had less than one minute to give the order to fire.
Tim looked at the British soldiers. Even with their consummate training, they were all gripping their rifles nervously … just like the Leafers behind MacKenzie, who were now holding the barrels almost at the horizontal, rather than pointing to the floor as they had been.
Twenty seconds.
After coming around the final bend in the road, the jeeps stopped a few hundred metres away. Given the general darkness, and the fact the jeeps had strong headlights on full beam, Tim couldn’t see what was happening.
A few seconds passed.
Tim noticed that Sam, leaning heavily on him with one hand, now had Charlie’s pistol in her other.
Did they have any more time?
Probably; the Leafers would not open fire from the distance at which they had stopped. There was too much risk of them hitting MacKenzie and his own guards.
Maybe?
The headlights of the front jeep flared slightly and veered to the left. The next moment, the headlights were pointing away from them, and the Leafer jeeps were heading back towards the Hot Zone.
MacKenzie turned to his closest Leafer and talked urgently.
Again, the Leafer appeared to be taking orders from his earpiece.
The Leafer lifted his rifle, ejected the magazine, and laid it down on the ground. The other Leafer followed suit. Both knelt and put their hands on their heads.
Surrendering. What the …?
‘What are you doing?’ said MacKenzie, his face a picture of incomprehension.
Martel took three quick steps, drew a pistol from his belt, and hit Francis MacKenzie on the side of his head.
MacKenzie fell to his knees, clutching his head.
‘Lieutenant Richardson,’ said Martel, ‘secure the prisoners.’
Richardson stepped forward and applied hand-ties to the Leafers on the ground. He dragged MacKenzie off his knees and put him into a restraining arm-lock.
‘Tosh, would you put these two inside somewhere,’ said Martel, indicating the Leafers.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Tosh. ‘I can lock them up.’
Martel looked back at MacKenzie, stepping in close. ‘Where are Hardy and Briars?’
‘I have no idea,’ said MacKenzie, suddenly looking contrite.
‘We have Hardy marked down as in the Assembly Zone,’ said Major Chen, stepping forward. ‘We haven’t logged Briars for over a day.’
‘Thank you,’ said Martel. ‘Do you have layout information about the Hot Zone?’
Chen shook her head. ‘None of my team have got close.’
Martel walked over to Tim and Sam, addressing them both. ‘I understand you provided us with a critical service. I’ll need some more from you. Are you up to it?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Tim and Sam in unison.
Martel turned to Private Hunter. ‘Please help Miss Turner inside.’
Making quick introductions as they walked, the group entered Mission Control.
As they entered the main floor with MacKenzie clearly injured and restrained, there was uproar. No-one left their place, but frantic conversations sprung up on all sides.
There were no Leafers obviously present, but Martel still detailed Whaller and Tosh to search the main floor to check none were hiding amongst the technicians.
None of the news feeds on the walls were displaying the recent escalations. A few feeds were covering images of the Lincoln space shuttle, but most were dedicated to RL3.
RL3 was due to launch in nine hours.
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During the minutes that it took for Tim to follow Martel across the main floor and up to the mezzanine level, the noise quietened. Whaller and Richardson led MacKenzie over to his desk, whilst Martel pulled Tim and Sam to the back of the mezzanine.
‘I’m sorry to ask you two to give more, but I must,’ said Martel.
Tim, holding hard onto Sam’s hand, tried to stand a little straighter. ‘What do you need?’
‘I need to get MacKenzie to tell us the secrets of his systems,’ said Martel. ‘You’ll know considerably more than I do.’
‘We’ll need Sam’s crutches, and painkillers. They’re in the server room,’ said Tim.
‘I’ll send Tosh in a moment,’ said Martel. ‘Sam, why don’t you take a breather until they’ve retrieved your gear, and then you can join us.’
Sam shook her head. ‘I can help with MacKenzie.’
‘Thank you,’ said Martel, now turning his attention to the large screens streaming news.
‘It can’t be trusted,’ said Tim. ‘Anything could be faked.’
‘Agreed,’ said Martel. ‘But I suspect they’re not faking the mass panics.’
As Martel spoke, new screens opened. Broadcasts from most city centres were showing chaotic scenes as people swarmed away from the A-Gravs.
Sam tugged at Tim’s arm and pointed. A screen was showing a transcript of the long-wave radio channel – which the Ankor could not block. It was the full accusation from the People’s Republic of China, detailing murder, human trafficking, and obvious deceptions by the Ankor.
Moments later, an Ankor broadcast came through.
Continue with delivery of RL3.
China to receive punishment for interference.
Mission Control held its breath.
It didn’t take long for the Ankor response.
An explosion in China.
Shenyang received a thirty-kiloton blast.
Initial estimates indicated that four million died instantly, with millions more likely
to die from radiation sickness within a few months.
Nausea washed over Tim. China had been punished for broadcasting the pictures from the Hot Zone, and yet it had been he who had taken them.
Tim looked over towards Major Chen, who was now speaking rapidly with her communication lead, who in turn was speaking on the field radio.
Tim’s brain raced. How did this change things? Would the prime minister surrender?
The Ankor clearly placed less value on human life than Charlie had implied – or was this the Transcenders seizing their moment?
Tim looked at Francis MacKenzie.
MacKenzie’s face was ashen. For all his previous bluster, he had clearly not been expecting this.
Major Chen finished her own conversation on the long-wave radio. She approached Martel. ‘I have been ordered to lay down my weapons,’ she said, her eyes cast downwards. ‘I am sorry. The companies of commandos are also stood down.’ Turning to her own soldiers arrayed behind her, she gave the order.
The four of them unslung their assault rifles, removed the magazines, and cleared the chambers. They laid their weapons on the ground and removed their berets.
Chen turned back to Martel. ‘We will return to our rooms in the accommodation blocks under self-imposed house arrest.’
A moment later they’d left.
Colonel Martel walked to the edge of the mezzanine and turned to face the room.
The room went silent.
‘Until you hear differently from me, you will all remain here. There is no question of anyone leaving this building. The radioactive fallout from the explosion on the Menai Strait will reach here any minute. This building, fully sealed, will give us some protection.’
‘What about the Anglesey hostages?’ said a voice from the floor.
Tim suspected that Martel did not want to answer that question, since the Ankor would be listening. ‘We do not have the resources to storm the Hot Zone,’ said Martel.
‘They’re being slaughtered,’ shouted someone else.
‘Not at the moment,’ said Martel.
‘How do you know?’ Another pained voice.