Shino turned slowly, her expression darkened in terror, ‘I…I know what this is…’
Riaz placed a hand on her shoulder in comfort, Debra turning to her, ‘What is it?’
The scientist stepped closer in suspicion, his expression dubious, ‘You know what this is?’
Shino nodded, tears in her eyes, her breath coming in short gasps as her hand rose to point at the cloth on the table-top, ‘I think these are Russian uniforms…I studied some Russian at college…the lettering is the same…I don’t know much…’
The scientist stepped forward again, his eyebrows rising in amazement, ‘Please go on…there is nothing to be afraid of…’
Shino swallowed hard, looking back at the table, ‘Yes…these are Russian…’ Her voice tailed off as Riaz pointed to some of the boxes behind the tables. She looked round in response, ‘Yes, they are definitely Russian.’ She glanced around seeming to spot something at the end of the table, stepping slowly towards it as if afraid, Debra moving to the side to let her pass.
The scientist turned to the captain thoughtfully, ‘An interesting idea…although I do not know who this Russian race is.’ He looked back across at Shino, stepping forward as she reached to the table, ‘Best not touch those, we do not know what they are…’ He shook his head in despondency as Shino picked up the papers in front of her.
She turned slowly, tears flowing down her face as she looked across the paperwork, then her mouth curled as her eyes focussed on the top of one of the pages, ‘Oh my god…it can’t be true…surely!’
Debra stepped forward instinctively, placing her hand on Shino’s shoulder, ‘What have you found?’
Shino slowly raised the paper in front of her, staring at the group, ‘I-I can’t read much…it was a long time ago…but this is definitely Russian…I can read the date.’
Riaz stepped towards her in concern, his nervousness apparent, ‘W-What does it mean Shino?’
The smaller mixed oriental woman swallowed, ‘They have known about us…for decades…they have known about us! Studied us!’ She sniffled, sucking in air through her nose, her emotions breaking, ‘They have covered their tracks…so we would not know…they are already there.’ Tears were flowing freely down her face, ‘How did we not know?’ She stared teary eyed in desperation at Debra and Riaz.
Riaz stepped forward again, his voice uncertain, ‘For heaven’s sake, tell us Shino…what does it say?’
The young Philippine woman straightened up, her shoulders shaking, ‘The body parts you found…they were human, not Trevakian!’ She looked round at the wide eyed faces staring at her, as she pointed at the clothing, ‘Those were their uniforms…this is dated 25th April…Pripyat area newsletter…they have been there before…’ She glanced at the papers, ‘…it is from earth in 1986…the day before the Chernobyl explosion.’
Chapter Twelve: The Heathrow Battalion
Jozefina Kapralova stood impatiently by the lift, her index finger stabbing the button. At twenty eight, in her third year as an operational supervisor at Heathrow Terminal 3, her patience with the slow and unpredictable lift to the management suite had long since expired, the mechanism programmed to give priority to passengers on the floor below. Sighing, she stepped back, turning to the tinted window to her left and glancing over the terminal forecourt.
Used to seeing the four lanes full of vehicles, the cars and buses depositing their departing passengers before the terminal, her eyes opened in surprise at the virtually deserted roads. The terminal was now empty of passengers, most taken by bus away from what the authorities were classifying as a major incident scene. Having been near the airfield for most of the day, the unfamiliar sight at the front of the terminal caused her to stare in uncomfortable surprise.
She grinned at her reaction, pushing the blond hair from her face as she gazed over the empty lanes towards the multi storey car park virtually opposite. In the deserted lanes now sat three anti-aircraft missile batteries, their crews busying themselves unloading extra ammunition and electrical equipment. In a small marquee before the arrivals building, the targeting crews sat with their mobile radar screens, scanning the airspace and airport surroundings.
Staring towards the car park, she saw further mobile batteries on the roof of the structure, their targeting tubes pointing skywards. Flashes in the darkening sky above them showed the ferocity of the air battle as now military jets from many nations engaged the Morgon fighters in the fading light.
A ‘ping’ nearby broke her gaze, the lift having finally arrived. Stepping in, she scanned her ID against the keypad and pressed the button for floor two, the female pre-recorded voice announcing, ‘Doors now closing, lift going up.’
Exiting the lift, she turned right across the glass balcony above the deserted Virgin Airlines Check in, hesitating slightly at her surprise. Two soldiers in camouflaged uniforms stood at ease either side of the next door, both equipped with handguns. She nodded on approach, allowing the first soldier to inspect her ID, his voice demanding, ‘Purpose of visit?’
Shaking her head in frustration and indicating to her uniform indignantly, ‘I work here!’ Then her expression mellowed as she saw the determination in his eyes, ‘Ok, I am going to see the head of the terminal…I have an appointment.’
The soldier nodded, satisfied, indicating for her to pass, ‘Please proceed.’
Jo Kapralova shook her head in indignation, her voice a frustrated whisper, ‘Fuck sake, yesterday we were an operating terminal, now it’s a military camp.’ She pushed the door to the management suite open, the wide room full of military and RAF personnel where Personnel and HR had sat just a few hours earlier. Gasping in shock, she slowly stepped into the room, glancing into the small operations room to the left, the home of the Incident Response Team. Inside were two of the senior managers, one nodding a greeting, a conference call in progress. She hesitated as the voice on the intercom started to speak, ‘So everyone, we have the following 2000hrs update for Heathrow IRT. Damage sustained to infrastructure is quite severe, fuel towers bombed and burning out of control, considerable damage to Terminal 5 after a MiG crash landing, numerous commercial aircraft destroyed, damaged or burning on aircraft taxi-ways and stands. Power outages across the airport due to strafing, emergency lighting in subways malfunctioning. Cargo terminal and Hotel at Eastside sustained heavy damage after crash landings, some hangars burning across the airport.’ The voice drew breath sighing, the listening managers shaking their heads in despair.
The report continued, ‘Outside the perimeters, several hotels have received hits during the air battle with a number of casualties. We have responded by opening our Friends and Relatives Reception Centre facility and converting several of the Central Terminal secure areas into makeshift medical centres.’ The description paused as the narrator took a breath, ‘So that’s about the current situation on what we are calling the end of Day One people…now I will request the individual terminals report on their contingency stocks, number of passengers or ‘civilians’ remaining, etc. Once this is completed, it is with deep regret that we will collate the casualty figures from across the airport’ There was a brief pause, ‘….please proceed with Ground Operations first…’
Jo Kapralova turned away, her face solemn, heading for the next office. Passing a number of military personnel, she forced a smile at one of the duty terminal managers as he briefed an RAF officer, the woman nodding in response. Walking round a glass partition, she reached the office she required, knocking once on the door and opening it.
Opposite her behind his desk, the head of the terminal, Tim Morrison looked up, his face flushed with stress after working over fifteen hours without rest, ‘Ah, Jo…come in. I only have a minute before a conference call with the Chief Executive, so please be brief.’ He straightened in his chair, forcing a faint smile, his tie loosened round his neck, ‘What can I do for you?’
The supervisor stiffened, uncomfortable with what she was about to say. She shifted her stance nervously and cle
ared her throat, ‘I have come in to speak to you after talking to a number of our security staff.’ She glanced at the senior manager, seeing him nod for her to continue, her face becoming determined, ‘There are several of us who wish to be more involved. We see that things may never be the same again now, so want to be more proactive for the airport, Sir.’
Tim’s eyes widened, ‘Sir? What do you mean more proactive?’ He straightened in his chair, checking his watch.
Jo stared at the manager, her voice firm, ‘The world has changed, Sir. There is a strong rumour amongst our employees that a unit from the airport now exists.’ She looked past him through the window behind at the flickering lights from the flames in the distance, ‘At least twenty five of the staff have approached me by telephone or in person, well…they have all requested to have permission to join the Heathrow Battalion with immediate effect.’
Tim’s mouth opened in surprise, ‘Are you mad? You are security staff at the airport…I mean…what experience do you have? This now seems to be a war…’
Jo interrupted, her voice rising, ‘I am from Slovakia and my father and brothers were in the army. I served as a volunteer. Every security officer or manager that has volunteered has served in either the regulars or territorials. We intend to join, Sir. We wanted your…and the company’s blessing.’
The head of the terminal lowered his head into his hands, the manager physically and mentally exhausted, his voice low, ‘I do not believe in this…’ He looked up slowly, his hands dropping to the desk in resignation, ‘…but I will ask the Chief Executive for your permission.’ He stared at her, his eyes emotional, ‘The civil aviation industry may never be the same again so I understand the reasoning even though I disagree personally.’ He glanced at his watch again, ‘Please wait outside, I will speak to him now.’
Jo nodded, ‘Yes Sir.’ She hesitated, ‘Just one more thing…’ She looked defiantly at Tim.
The terminal manager nodded cautiously, ‘Yes?’
She stared determinedly, ‘We have a chance to show the world how we respond to threats and attacks against us now. It is what your staff wish to do. We will do it without your blessing, but would prefer to wear a uniform that represents what we have always believed in…we are here to protect the public from any threat!’ She turned and walked from the room, the senior terminal manager staring after her as the door clicked shut.
Jo walked round the side of the office as Tim punched the numbers for the conference call, her body shaking and yearning for a cigarette. She raised her hand slowly and leant against the thick explosive proof glass that looked south across the airport, seeing the distant flames and smoke plumes rising into the air as the hotel south of the airport at Hatton Cross burned out of control. Glancing down, she grinned to herself as she noted the nervous staff collected around the smoking area below her, most awaiting the decision she had come to get.
As the sky darkened across West London, she blinked as flares shot into the air either side of the southern runway, the counter measures now deployed for the very few incoming aircraft. Straining her eyes and squinting into the dim light, she gasped as she took in the massive size of the military transport lumbering into land. The six engine Russian Antonov plane broke through the swirling smoke from the hotel and disappeared behind the buildings opposite as it touched down. The first Russian military task force had just landed at Heathrow carrying paratroopers.
She spun round as the door behind her opened, Tim Morrison looking round, then stepping towards her, resignation on his face, ‘I have spoken to the Chief Executive…’
Jo’s eyes widened expectantly, her arms folding as she waited for him to continue.
He shook his head, ‘It seems there are also volunteers from the other Terminals and Ground Operations, all wishing to follow your lead…over sixty staff in all so far…’
Jo nodded smiling, ‘The texts and messages may have been going across Heathrow…well until they all stopped working, Sir.’
Tim nodded, grimacing, ‘The Chief Executive has advised that Ground Operations vehicles will drive you to the Trevakian vessel. He has granted your request, though has reservations, as have I.’ His expression lightened, ‘Please look after our staff. We have requested the Trevakians deploy you to reserve duties as support and they have agreed. David Bland is at the vessel and is awaiting you.’ He smiled weakly, ‘He is not happy either apparently.’
Jo grinned, thinking of the duty manager and his care for the staff, ‘I bet he is not!’
Tim expression became concerned, his emotions rising, ‘I have requested he speak to you all individually to ensure you all know what you are signing up to…he is rather stressed, apparently been helping with the wounded.’ Looking past her through the window, his eyes seemed bloodshot, ‘We also apparently have four missing staff from this morning. They are from this terminal…please try and locate them if you can, David is very concerned.’
Jo nodded slowly, ‘I will Sir. When do we leave?’
The manager placed his hands on his waist, glancing across the busy room, ‘Whenever you want to. We can have the vehicles ready in twenty minutes.’
The supervisor nodded, ‘Then we leave in twenty minutes.’ She indicated over her shoulder, ‘The staff are waiting at the smoking area for your permission.’
Tim shook his head in defeat, smiling broadly, ‘You have arranged everything it seems...’ He turned slowly towards his office, ‘I will ring Ground Operations now…get your staff ready.’
Jo stiffened, ‘Yes Sir!’
Tim looked back, emotion swelling in his eyes, ‘Good Luck Kapralova.’
Chapter Thirteen: Sleepless
Shino woke suddenly, the dust dropping onto her face from the roof of the cavern. Struggling to rise, she glanced around the other slumbering bodies in the small confined space, a side opening from the main tunnels.
She blinked several times, trying to awaken her senses as she gently brushed the dust from her face. The distant rumbling startled her, then the cavern seemed to shake slightly, more dust descending from the carved roof. Struggling to her feet, she picked up the assault rifle next to her and stepped carefully across the sleeping bodies, their slumbering breathing heavy.
As she reached the narrow passageway that led to the main tunnel, she spat the dust from her mouth, her throat dry. Squeezing through the confined space, she emerged into one of the main tunnels, the battery lights flickering as the rumbling sounded slightly nearer. The tunnel rose at a slight angle to her left and she could hear distant shouting as she wearily turned to trudge up the slope.
More dust descended from the roof as the tunnel seemed to shake again, her steps becoming shorter as the concern started rising within her chest. She spun round as voices emerged round the corner behind her, two marines running up the slope with a crate between them. The first soldier nodded to her, his breathing heavy, expression grim, ‘Get yourself up to the entrance, the Silaks are attacking in force!’
The marines jogged past, the heaviness of the box apparent with the strain on their faces. Shino reluctantly walked faster after them, her hands gripping her weapon tightly. She walked along the tunnel for about a minute, following the retreating shadows of the marines. Rounding the next bend, she saw the dim light extending across the tunnel walls from ahead, the shouting getting nearer. Her body jumped as the burst of machine gun fire echoed around her, then more bursts followed the first, the shouting becoming more desperate.
As Shino approached the last bend, she saw the fork in the tunnel from the night before. Glancing into it, she drew breath as her eyes took in the scene of the wounded lying on either side, some twenty soldiers and miners in all. Two medics were frantically moving from casualty to casualty, attempting to bandage the wounds and ease the suffering.
Another blast from outside shook the mine, some screaming filtering through the tunnels. Shino saw the fear rising in the eyes of the many wounded, one badly injured soldier reaching out for the medic, demanding he b
e transported further and deeper into the facility. Some of the critically wounded soldiers trying to shuffle further into the darkness, glancing back in terror as they tried to move their broken bodies.
Turning away, she stepped up the slope slowly, the fear rising within her small frame. As she reached the next corner, the shaft of dim light from the entrance was broken by shadows, the marines at the entrance frantically prizing open ammunition boxes.
Stepping into the light, she looked up towards the entrance. Four marines were carrying ammunition out into the light, their arms full with plastic sealed sets of assault rifle clips. Stepping gingerly upwards, two further soldiers ran past her towards the dim light, their weapons held across their chests. The shouts from outside were frantic, the sporadic bursts of fire echoing across the walls of the tunnel around her.
Another blast near the opening above made her jump, her fingers tensing against the cold metal of her assault rifle as the dust poured down on her from the roof of the tunnel. Gritting her teeth, she stepped more determinedly towards the light, seeing the soldiers outside crouched behind makeshift barriers. The boxes and rock emplacements providing cover from the incoming fire, the firing seeming to escalate.
Reaching the entrance, her body seeming to push her forward, she stared in awe at the scene before her, the adrenalin rising. Some Marines were running half-crouched across the flat expanse of land before the tunnel entrance, the makeshift emplacements placed around the clearing between rocks and patched snow on the entrance track as the defenders fired out at the enemy.
She ducked instinctively as a round flew over the emplacement on the track, exploding on the rocks opposite. The shouting was nervous and desperate, the marines glancing round for their comrades as they fired out, then ducked back again behind the barricades. The two soldiers ran crouched around the perimeter, depositing the plastic wrapped rounds at the feet of the defenders.
The Last Marine in the Galaxy (Galaxies Collide Book 1) Page 12