by John Lilley
‘Look, you really need to keep your feet away, they smell like a dead sheep,’ said Abdul.
‘Well, why don’t you sleep the other way around?’ retorted Joseph.
‘Yeah, and have to put up with Omar’s foul camel breath. I know we forgot the toothpaste, but he could make some effort. At least a quick swill out every now and then,’ said Abdul.
Omar was looking closely at the instrument array. It had been six days since the explosion. The pressure wave had been the worst thing for them. They all had perforated and bleeding eardrums. Several fist-sized rocks had also crashed into the tent on Omar’s side, and he was now nursing three cracked ribs as a result. Fortunately, the tent had not been punctured, and it only hurt when he laughed. The confinement of the tent had left them all with aching limbs, and the utter lack of privacy - especially when it came to bodily functions was getting to them all. Cabin fever had set in with a vengeance.
‘I’d say we can risk it now guys. If we put the suits on, we’ll absorb a bit more radiation than in here. What do you think?’ said Omar.
‘Give me the bloody suit now,’ said Joseph.
‘Sod the suit, I’ll chance it in my undies,’ added Abdul.
The levity was hard on Omar, but they all enjoyed the vision that Abdul offered.
‘OK, I’ve one suit in here the others are in the vehicle. With these ribs I think it would take me a long time to get the suit on, how about you doing the trip Joseph?’
‘Only too pleased to old chap,’ replied Joseph as he started to undo the suit bag.
His eyes took a while to adjust to the sunlight as he straightened out his stiff limbs. Everything was very still, no birds in the sky, no lizards sunning themselves on the rocks, no insects, nothing moving. The deserted town near the gully was completely flattened. No more than three bricks on top of each other. In the forced ventilation of the suit, Joseph felt in that instance, that he had just set foot on another planet and he had to catch himself from doing a parody low-gravity walk as he turned to approach the 4x4. The vehicle had taken quite a hit. The side facing Tehran was severely dented, but amazingly the windows were all still intact. Joseph’s attention was drawn to the rear tyre. It had a one-metre long piece of wooden fencing sticking out of it. He pulled the wood out, but the military run-flat tyre remained inflated.
There’s a lot more to this vehicle than Omar has admitted, he thought.
He returned with the two other suit bags and dumped them in the tent’s outer airlock, choosing to remain outside. Ten minutes later a suited Abdul emerged to join him. They could hear Omar wincing and groaning as he manoeuvred his tortured torso into the suit. Fifteen minutes later they were all stood at the top of the gully looking west towards Tehran.
‘Not much to see from here. It appears that the fires have gone out though. I’ll get the drone airborne and we’ll try to establish communications,’ said Omar.
‘The drone; I don’t suppose you have a cocktail bar in that bloody vehicle of yours?’ asked Abdul.
‘Only some medicinal navy rum I’m afraid,’ replied Omar. ‘Not quite Talisker, but if you feel like growing hairs on your tongue let me know, and I’ll give you a shot.’
The drone climbed to 400 metres with Omar at the controls, its high-resolution optics scanned the horizon. Where the ancient city of Tehran had been, there was now a blackened area. Small patches of recently solidified glass reflected the intense sunlight, giving the appearance of movement. Omar flew the small plane onwards 20 km towards the city. More details began to emerge. On one of the main roads, there was a convoy of vehicles, all blackened and charred. Omar thought this strange since the initial pressure wave would have inevitably scattered them to the winds.
‘They must have attempted some sort of rescue?’ commented Joseph.
‘Yeah, but what took them out?’ enquired Omar.
At that instance, the image from the drone spun wildly before going blank. The tiny plane was shattered into a thousand pieces as the 30mm cannon shells ripped into it. High above the autonomous military drone pulled out of its dive and returned to its holding pattern. It would be a short time before its gun camera images were relayed by satellite back to base for further analysis.
‘Shit, we’d better make a move. If it’s what I think it was then it will be tracking our drone back to here,’ said Omar grimly.
‘So what exactly are we going to do now? Are we trying to escape to somewhere? Surely we can just turn ourselves in at the nearest McDonalds and get the next diplomatic flight out of this hell-hole?’ asked Joseph.
‘There won’t be anyone at any of the American Embassies anywhere near here. They pulled their American staff out two days ago. That’s what tipped us off. I suspect that they are now being asked to pack their bags across the rest of the world as well.
‘Any joy on the sat-phone Abdul?’ said Omar.
‘Not a dicky-bird,’ replied Abdul. ‘The service light just doesn’t come on at all. I tried changing the battery and then plugged it into the vehicle, but still nothing.’
‘So what’s their next trick?’ ask Joseph.
‘Well, I expect they’ll already be in Ganaveh and will have taken control of the tanker terminals at Kharg, Lavan and Siri. Let’s hope that UMEA puts up a good fight. Of course, to stop the escalation, the Yanks will have pulled the plug on the nukes out here. Their propaganda machine will be in overdrive denying everything, while their Seals are cutting all the cables and blinding the satellites,’ said Omar.
‘So what about the rest of Iran?’ asked Abdul.
‘Without the central leadership, I guess the Yanks are hoping they start to fight amongst themselves, along their old tribal lines. They’ve all been starving for years, but some of their cities have more reserves than others, and you know what that will lead to. I’d expect that to keep them busy, if not then Kerman, Qom and Yazd may well be the Yanks’ next targets,’ replied Omar.
‘Shit, so how are we going to get out?’ asked Abdul.
‘We’ve got enough fuel for around 400 km. There is a good chance of some more from our desert friends 300 km north-east of here. I suggest we get moving now,’ said Omar.
‘OK, let’s get the stuff loaded,’ replied Abdul.
‘Just the food and water,’ said Omar.
In ten minutes they were on their way, bouncing over the rubble of the old town where it had spread across the desert road. Their exit route was steep, and even Omar was moving slowly to avoid a spill in the loose gravel. After a further 30 minutes, they were back on the vast plain and up to speed. There was no movement as far as the eye could see. The dust whipped up by their wheels stretched out hundreds of metres behind them.
High above, the drone was taking an interest. The pictures of the narrow dust cloud 30 km away had been identified by its rule-based (Re-Flex) target acquisition system as a possible unnatural phenomenon. The drone’s AI system took over and identified the movement as a vehicle moving at 95 mph, much too fast for a military vehicle, so it was unlikely to be heavily armoured. Downgrading the threat, the drone compared the vehicle’s profile with its mission statement. The vehicle was moving away from Tehran and would shortly reach the edge of the drone’s patrol area. It had no details of US vehicles operating in the area, and there were no other targets within its sensor range. So it decided to move in for a closer look.
The red light had reappeared on Omar’s sat-phone, accompanied this time with an audible message: ‘Drone warning, Drone warning’.
‘Oh shit man, what’s happening?’ said Joseph.
Omar pressed the OK button on the phone; ‘Sit tight, let’s hope this new piece of kit does the trick.’ He popped open a panel next to the steering wheel and took out what looked like an old hand-held video game. Tossing it to Joseph, he said: ‘Plug it into the cigarette lighter and switch it on. When the Drone starts its dive press the green button, but only when it's 1,000 metres away. The transmission range is limited.’
Abdul was now
leaning over from the backseat watching the small device in Joseph's hands. The 4x4 was depicted graphically moving along the desert road. A graduated green dome of lines spread out from the vehicle’s avatar, each line represented 500 metres of distance. Nothing else was visible on the display out to 6,000 metres in any direction.
‘There’s nothing there,’ said Joseph.
‘It’s out there, the sat-phone says 7,000 metres, keep watching, it’ll be moving in fast for a closer look at us,’ replied Omar.
‘There it is,’ said Abdul excitedly as he saw a blue eagle appear at the edge of the game console display. He immediately looked around in the direction suggested by the image, but the dust cloud behind them prevented him from seeing anything.
‘Remember, wait until it’s 1,000 metres away,’ said Omar as he accelerated as fast he could on the limited traction afforded by the gravel road.
The drone had identified the vehicle as privately owned and non-American, and therefore fair game within its mission parameters. So it began its decent while its targeting computers calculated the timings for firing the main cannon.
‘3,000 metres, 2,500 metres, 2,000 metres,’ Joseph was counting down.
The stream of 30mm rounds cut through the 4x4 starting at the passenger seat next to Abdul and continuing in a line towards its front right corner. Four bullets in all, it would have been more had Omar not jammed the brakes on.
‘Press that bloody button,’ he yelled.
Joseph had already instinctively pressed the button as the first bullet hit, but had dropped the device when the third round had nicked his left calf. The pain didn’t have time to register before he was pitched forward by Omar’s sudden braking manoeuver. The inertia-reel shoulder belt cut into his chest and held while his arms flailed in the air just inches away from where the console had lodged itself between his legs. He quickly slipped off the strap and lunged for the console. The burning pain from his leg was just beginning to overcome his adrenal response as he pressed the green button again. Omar had resumed their relentless acceleration.
‘It’s coming back,’ screamed Joseph.
‘I can see it,’ said Abdul. ‘Are you OK? Do you want me to press the button this time?’
‘No, I’m on it,’ replied Joseph.
‘It’s coming in a lot slower this time, much lower and head-on. It’s trying to finish us off. Just keep your finger on that button, for all the bloody use it might be,’ yelled Omar.
The blue eagle had just crossed the 2,000 metres mark on the console. Joseph had his thumb firmly on the green button. Abdul watched the small screen from over Joseph’s shoulder: 1,500 metres, 1,000 metres, then the white shape of the drone was briefly visible ahead. They all gritted their teeth and narrowed their eyes.
On its first pass, the drone’s sensors had recorded a hit on the vehicle, but a beacon signal had immediately identified it as American military. The friendly-fire protocols had kicked in, and it was now on a pre-programmed low altitude pass to collect the required photographic evidence. After flying over the vehicle, it climbed back to 7,000 metres and resumed its patrol pattern.
‘Shit, where’s it gone?’ said Abdul.
‘The sat-phone shows it climbing and retreating back towards Tehran. I think the green button thingy did the trick gents,’ said Omar as his sat-phone light turned to amber.
‘Excellent. OK, can you crawl over into the back Joe and I’ll take a look at that leg of yours,’ said Abdul.
‘So, Black Sea, here we come,’ said Joseph.
Deep underground somewhere in Utah, Lonnie Hansen had just returned from a comfort break. He was still getting used to his new prosthetic legs. They were much lighter than his last pair, but the joints were now gyroscopically controlled by computers. Sometimes he felt they had a life of their own. His cousin Jeff had joked that they no longer walked past bars, but he was determined that he was going to make them work for him.
He carefully manoeuvred himself back into his drone command chair and put the plate of doughnuts and large Americano on the console. He was not pleased; the drone had fired on two targets while he’d been away. Typical he thought, the only action during his shift and he’d missed it. He opened the log file and clicked the playback button on the cannon usage file. The first target was a short range drone of European manufacture. Obviously, something sent over from one of the global news networks. They needed to be kept out, so fair game. He would plot the target’s course and send his drone back to investigate. On the second target, even using slow-motion playback it was just a blur of dust but seemed to have been hit. His face screwed up as he read the friendly-fire report. How could a vehicle be identified as private one moment and then US military the next? Perhaps the vehicle’s radio beacon was faulty? Oh well, never mind, let someone else worry about that one, at least he would have something to tell Jessie when he got home. He picked up the first doughnut, took a sip of coffee and settled back into his chair.
2 CAR RIDE
The Discovery’s turbo-charged engine screamed raucously as the lack of traction sent the rear wheels spinning, pumping rooster-tails of liquid mud and stones out of the hollow. Earthy burning smells came in through the open window as the brackish groundwater hissed into steam on the red-hot exhaust system. Derek Hardman was breathing heavily as he fought with the vehicle’s complex gear system. This was his first drive, and the brief training session had left him with a lot to think about. None of it came naturally to him since his usual ride was so very different. Everything inside the vehicle juddered or rattled, and the glove compartment popped open spilling its contents into the passenger footwell.
‘I will make it out of this bloody hollow,’ Derek cursed out loud. ‘Why are there so many of these bloody stupid levers?’
He determinedly kept his foot solidly on the accelerator pedal and was rewarded when the wheels finally reached a denser layer and the vehicle lurched forwards, rocketing over the ridge at the edge of the hollow. With its front wheels airborne, the vehicle's steering became briefly lighter before its nose came down with a hard crash. Startled by the sudden appearance of the metal monster a muntjac (Muntiacus Reevesi), its eyes bulging with fear, propelled its fat little body into a nearby thicket as fast as its spindly legs could carry it. Derek’s feet bounced off the pedals, and his right knee crashed painfully upwards into the ignition key. The engine died yet again.
Bugger, I wasn’t expecting that, he thought, but what a rush. This is going well.
The now stalled Disco' needed some coaxing to bring it back to life. Taking it out of gear before starting was a lesson that Derek was slow to learn. Worrying metallic screeches emanated from beneath his feet, as Derek kangaroo jumped the vehicle from its grounded position. He reckoned the next section of track would be reasonably level Forestry Commission firebreak that should take him to the Twyford exit. Speeding up, he once again fumbled the gears, crunching heavily through them as he executed late changes at the wrong speed with insufficient clutch.
But hey, so what, it’s not my vehicle thank goodness, he though.
The ground rose sharply once Derek left the hollow and the rear of the Disco’ skidded and snaked on the wet mud as he attempted the ascent. The pine trees on either side of the track framed the blue sky above the approaching peak.
Although he was soaking up every aspect of the new experience, Derek realised that he was now completely lost. He'd expected the track to take him to the edge of the forest, but clearly, it would not. He tried to visualise the map that was shown when starting his journey, but could not make any connection with his current location, so pressed onwards anyway, desperately looking for familiar landmarks. At the top of the rise, he slowed the vehicle to a crawl. Yet again, he forgot to change down gears and the vehicle stalled. Cursing Derek fumbled with the keys and once again fired up the engine. Several lurches later he took it out of gear and tried again.
The track he was on cut through the dense forest but 100 metres ahead, on the left, he c
ould see the start of another track and had a good feeling about it. He coaxed the Disco' into first gear and slowly crept towards the turning. At the junction, nothing further jogged his memory, but he took the turning anyway. It was not long before his doubts began to set in. This track was certainly bumpier than the previous one and a lot more overgrown, suggesting that perhaps he should not be on it.
It grew darker as the dense pine canopy appeared to close in on him. Small birds flitted noisily from tree to tree as Derek ground his way through the gears and onwards. His new downhill route was rapidly becoming steeper. The seat harness cut into his chest and shoulders as the vehicle began to slide forwards and sideways churning up the heavy clay soil and ferns beside the track. In desperation, Derek stamped on the brakes, but this had no effect other than locking the wheels as the vehicle continued its slide down the hill. He pushed in the Diff-Lock lever, which had been heralded as the solution to most problems, a “get you out of jail card”, but it also had no effect. Derek’s eyes widened as he realised that the vehicle was now approaching, a large spruce tree (Picea Abies) head-on. He turned the wheel to full lock in the opposite direction, but it now seemed that the vehicle was committed to hitting the tree. With a few metres to go Derek braced himself for the impact. Just in the nick of time, the right-hand wheels dipped into a hollow forcing the Disco' to career away from the tree and continue down the hill on a new course. The vehicle now appeared to be following some old wheel tracks, and Derek could feel some control had returned to all the wheels.
Blimey, that was close, he thought, annoyed with himself since a crash like that would have surely ended his trip.