Ross locked bobble hat in a new car and warned him not to move. He wasn’t really bothered if bobble hat escaped – it would alleviate the need to feed him again.
The group settled down again and by 0100 Ross was the only one awake, patrolling the halls, on the watch for additional ‘bobble hats’.
However, the night passed with no other interruptions and Ross released his prisoner at 0700 – with another open tin of beans for company. Chloe was up early preparing breakfast as Brady sat quietly, feeling guilty and severely chastened.
‘Sorry about last night,’ Brady apologised to Ross.
Ross adopted a charitable tone:
‘Don’t worry about it, Andy. At least Chloe is still safe. That's the main thing. Anyway, we should be going now, but first we need to scout the area surrounding the car park carefully. We don’t want to get involved with any drama in the open. I’ll go outside and check the outside whilst you finish the packing.’
Ross marched towards the exit and stepped out onto the snow, after warily checking to ensure that neither Spud nor any of his oppos were about. He worked his way around to the other side, confirmed he was alone and out of earshot before extracting a hand-held radio from under his jacket:
‘Romeo Bravo calling Charlie Foxtrot control, do you read?’
Control responded immediately.
‘Loud and clear, pass your message.’
‘Departing Ilford 0800. Heading 085. Request pick-up at 1200, over.’
‘Understood, Romeo Bravo. 1200, out.’
Ross Bryant – Romeo Bravo – re-stashed his radio and re-joined the others.
Day 26
Thursday 9th January
Worthing, West Sussex
‘Shit,’ mouthed Patric.
‘Quick, Joanie, this way! There’s a group of people headed our way. They might be friendly, but you never can tell these days.’
Patrics paranoia was well entrenched by this stage. He didn’t trust anyone anymore – and he had an undeniable right to feel that way. He and Joanie had been through some appalling and incredibly frightening experiences since the snow started. He did not want to fail so close to the finish line. Surely a helicopter would come soon.
‘Keep going, Joanie, they’re catching us up,’ Patric urged.
The crowd of chasers was less than four hundred metres behind them now, and Patric was desperately scanning the landscape ahead for somewhere to take cover. He could see nothing as yet, so he pushed Joanie on even more relentlessly. However, he could see that she was flagging and would soon have to rest – at which point she missed her footing, slid and fell to the ground, grabbing her ankle.
‘Are you OK?’ he cried, as he stood over her prostrate form. But, before she could answer, Patric looked back at the chasing group, some two hundred metres distant. They had suspended their chase because a medium sized helicopter had overflown them and was hovering nearby. There seemed to be an altercation on the ground and Patric thought he saw a gun being brandished. The helicopter crew had also seen the weapon and immediately climbed away, turned and headed for Patric and Joanie – they had guessed correctly that the chasing group were after these two. Within twenty seconds it was hovering nearby with the crew signalling wildly for them to get aboard.
Patric didn’t need to be asked twice. He kicked off his skis and unclipped Joanie’s. He approached the chopper which was now about three feet off the ground. He flung the two rucksacks into the body of the aircraft, returned to Joanie, picked her up and carried her to the entrance and allowed the winchman to pull her in. He glanced back at the crowd, who were less than fifty metres away now, which motivated Patric into jumping up into the helicopter as it rose into the sky.
He was half-in, half-out of the door as a shot crashed into the metal above his head. The pilot whirled violently around and soared away as fast as he could. More shots rang out as Patric was dragged inside and one of the crew returned fire. This caused the mob to throw themselves to the ground, giving the pilot enough time to reach a safe altitude.
‘Bloody hell, mate, that was a close call,’ the winchman shouted above the noise of the rotors.
‘Not really,’ yelled Patric, ‘it’s a normal day at the office for us!’
The winchman looked puzzled as Patric and Joanie embraced.
They were safe at last.
Day 27
Friday 10th January
Brussels
‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the first Cabinet meeting of our newly formed government – the United Kingdom Recovery Alliance or UKRA.’ The National tag had now been dropped.
Sir Ian James took his seat at the head of a long, wooden conference table in a room that could not have resembled less the office of the Prime Minister in 10 Downing Street. Dame Ann took her seat next to the PM and opposite the Irish representative.
‘May I take this chance to introduce Paddy O’Connor, who will be representing Irish interests over the coming months? In addition, to my right is Her Excellency Dame Ann Fletcher, of late Her Majesty’s Ambassador to France, who has agreed to serve as my deputy at this difficult time. May I also take this chance to publicly thank her for the incredible work she has done on the country’s behalf since the crisis began. She was in Paris when the snow started to fall and took the reins when others faltered. Thank you Ann, your country owes you a huge debt of gratitude.’
Ann Fletcher reddened slightly but said nothing. She knew exactly when to keep quiet.
The PM then asked each new minister to introduce themselves, describe their backgrounds and outline their particular portfolio for the others. This took about an hour, after which refreshments were brought in and the PM was able to continue.
‘Tonight at 6pm, Ann has arranged a press conference which we will both attend. I imagine that it will be a challenging hour or two, but before we go into the lion’s den, I would like to outline my vision for the future.’
Sir Ian, paused, took a deep breath and continued:
‘It stopped snowing less than five days ago, and in that time we have come to fully understand the true extent of the disaster. The loss of human life, property and infrastructure is nothing short of catastrophic. The financial implications are immense – and at present I am unable to perceive a viable long-term solution. This is not just a short term crisis which will be forgotten in a few months. This is a world-shattering event and will take decades to put right – if ever. It affects every person on the planet, because whether they know it or not, the United Kingdom touches every country in the world every day. Imports and exports are just the tip of an enormous iceberg. Our job is to convince the world that they cannot ignore our problems – because they must realise that our problems are their problems, whether they are willing to recognise that fact or not.
The job before us is unprecedented.
We have three main immediate priorities:
One – search and rescue.
Two – resettlement of our citizens.
Three – financial recovery.
The military is dealing with Search & Rescue and doing it very well – over twenty thousand survivors have been picked up already. I know that each of you have relatives and friends back home, so you can appreciate that this must be our main concern. There is hope ladies and gentlemen; my own son and family were picked up by happenstance earlier this week. So, there is hope.’
His audience remained silent as he continued:
‘Now to look at resettlement. The United Kingdom has approximately five million residents who were abroad when it started snowing. These include holidaymakers, émigrés, servicemen and business people. Up to two and a half million of these will need permanent resettlement. I repeat: permanent! I remind you that the UK may not be habitable for years – no housing – no services – no food –no money. We cannot leave these displaced Brits in limbo. Therefore, we will have to insist that they resettle – after clearly explaining our reasons. Ann will be overseeing the resettlement
issues, which will mostly involve me going cap in hand to our friends around the world. Please read the files in front of you carefully if you doubt my assessment of the situation.
Finally, finance. We must find, haul out and transfer over three hundred tonnes of gold from the Bank of England vaults. I have allocated this task to Richard Castle, whose military background may assist him in the task. There are also billions of pounds worth of notes and coins lying in shops, homes and on bodies across the country, plus £2.5 trillion – yes, trillion - lying in British and Irish bank vaults. This presents two problems. Recovery and theft! This is the ideal chance for opportunists to make a killing. For example, we will need to take immediate steps to combat bank robbery. I can imagine that criminal gangs all over the globe are rubbing their hands with the prospect of freely accessing undefended caches of easy money!
I will have to think very carefully about implementing Martial Law.
However, as I speak the value of the £ is at rock bottom but is on the rise again – so cash may have little value until we re-establish Sterling as a viable economic tool.
Before I finish and go to meet my destiny with the worlds press, can I briefly mention the weather? How could I not?
You will note, from your folders, that we expect rain by tomorrow. Of course, we had hoped and prayed for the current high-pressure system to continue for another week at least, but sadly that is not to be so. Rain will be yet another straw cast upon our camel’s back. It will increase the rate of snow melt and the thaw will really begin. It will cause flooding and will impair the rescue effort. One minor benefit, however, will be that it should clear the coastline of snow, allowing troops and rescue services to gain a foothold ashore.’
The PM looked up until he found his subject.
‘Henry, I believe that the weather falls into your bailiwick. I shall expect twice daily updates at our meetings – that’s at 10am and 6pm every day until further notice. Don’t expect short working hours for some time to come. Well, I think I’ve covered everything I wanted to at this stage. We shall be spending a lot of time together and I expect everyone to pull their weight. Set high standards for your subordinates and do not tolerate mediocrity – I certainly won't! We can’t afford anything but the best. Please study your folders and we’ll meet again tonight at 8pm – due to my press conference. I’ll take questions and discussion then – good day and good luck!’
The PM rose and left the room, closely followed by Dame Ann, who turned and made one request of her audience:
‘Richard, will you drop by my office on your way out? Thank you.’
Ann Fletcher was laying the foundation for her next and most ambitious Machiavellian enterprise.
Day26/27
Thursday 9th and Friday 10th January
QEII Bridge – Essex
Ross had tried to lead the group out of the multi-storey car park near to Ilford train station at around 0830. There was no sign of the men who interrupted their sleep the night before, but Ross did notice many more tracks in the snow – skis, sleds, footprints – all criss-crossing at regular intervals. As a result he re-doubled his lookout regime. He really didn’t want to come across any more desperate survivors, who might summarily kill for a can of luncheon meat. He also had decided that he could not rely on Brady in a tight spot. Whilst Brady was fit, intelligent and enthusiastic, he was not used to combat. Three times now he had faltered when conflict revealed its ugly face. His clear priority was Chloe, and if necessary Brady would become expendable – as would Chris.
However, after they’d gone no more than two hundred metres Chloe toppled off her skis and screamed in pain. Chris scrambled to her side to help her to her feet again. This wasn’t the first time she’d fallen.
‘Chris, my ankle. I think I’ve broken it. It really hurts,’ she cried.
Tears were forming in Chloe’s eyes as Ross took in the scene. ‘What now?’ he thought to himself.
‘It's probably only a sprain,’ said Brady. ‘Let's get you back to the cover of the car park.’
They disconnected Chloe’s other ski, collected up her gear and Brady carried her back to the previous night’s rest stop. Ross was not a happy man – this was going to cause yet more delay and there would be some grumpy people in Brussels – one lady in particular.
They reached their old HQ and took a good look at Chloe’s ankle. Ross declared it a ‘possible sprain,’ and asked Chloe pointedly if she could carry on today.
‘I'm sorry, Ross, but it really hurts – I'm sure it's broken. It's so painful.’
Ross just turned away and fetched a great handful of snow and buried Chloe’s foot after Chris had removed her socks.
‘That should help – and I can assure you that it is not broken, Chloe. I have some experience of these things, and you’d really know it if it was fractured in any way.’
‘Steady on, Ross,’ countered Brady, ‘she’s in pain. Give her a break – she didn’t mean to fall over, and I'm sure she wants to get the hell out of this nightmare as quickly as we do.’
‘Okay, okay,’ conceded Ross, ‘we take today off. Rest the foot, eat drink and be bloody merry, because tomorrow at 0800 we are out of here! I'm off to scout the area. I just hope that bobble hat and his mates have fooked off, cos I'm just in the mood for a fookin’ punch up. You lot get the camp set up and some scran on – and Andy – keep you’re fookin’ eyes open this time will you.’ The angrier Ross became, the broader his Geordie accent.
Ross swung round and strode purposefully outdoors. Within five minutes he had reported this latest setback to an impassive radio operator and had arranged an alternative helicopter RV.
*********
By the next morning, Chloe’s ankle was much better and Ross’s diagnosis seemed to have been correct. Ross was tired after a night spent ensuring that Brady pulled his weight, but by 0800 the team were ready once more to shamble out into the snow. It was Friday the 10th of January.
Chloe’s ankle stood up well to the much reduced pace set by Brady, which irritated Ross, but he didn’t object, as ‘slow but sure’ was better than not at all. They plodded on remorselessly until another large helicopter buzzed close by.
‘There’s another helicopter,’ observed Chloe from the rear of the group. She had stopped to watch as it slowed over a building about half a mile away.
‘What’s going on?’ she yelled.
The other three also stopped skiing and looked towards the helicopter.
‘Looks like a pick-up. Yes, look, there’s someone being hauled up.’
They watched in frustration as about ten survivors were winched into the belly of the Chinook, which then turned and flew back towards the coast.
‘That's just what we need,’ said Chris.
‘Help will come,’ promised Ross, ‘there are dozens of these choppers flitting about all over the place. One will come to us eventually.’
Chloe wasn’t so sure.
‘I hope so, but it better be soon, I'm getting fed up of this snow. I want to be warm again!’
Chris smiled and shook his head. He knew that Chloe hated the cold and was a bit of a ‘Drama Queen’. She was a confirmed sunbird and this weather was definitely not her ‘cup of tea’. It's why she would never go on a winter sports holiday and had never learned to ski.
Ross sighed inwardly and got them moving again, scanning the skyline for the promised helicopter. It was due at noon and it was now 1215. Maybe control had trouble identifying their position. He knew that this was the approximate area of the shooting incident that the helicopter pilot who had originally dropped them off had reported. Perhaps it was still an ‘Avoidance Zone’ and they would have to clear it before a chopper would venture close. In any event, they had to plod on or the other three may become suspicious. Only Ross knew that rescue was imminent.
1300 came and went, and Ross now found it necessary to find an excuse to touch base with his radio contact. There was something amiss. They had been making steady progress towa
rds the Dartford Crossing and had spotted the bridge structure several hours ago and were heading straight for it. However, it was now getting to the stage when they should be looking for shelter for the coming night. The southern tower was only about half a mile ahead now, so Ross hatched a quick plan.
‘Andy, can I have a quick word?’ he called to Brady who was now leading again.
Brady stopped and let Ross catch up.
‘It's getting late, so I propose to check out the tower and see if we can use it as somewhere to stay. You take cover by the chimney here and I’ll whizz over and do a recce.’
Brady tiredly nodded his agreement, so Ross scooted off whilst the others took a break. Chloe was baffled.
‘Why haven’t any of the helicopters we've seen picked us up? They must have seen us, surely.’
Brady tried to reassure her.
‘They probably have pre-arranged rendezvous with other survivors. Our turn will come soon.’
Even as he spoke a mid-size helicopter cruised into sight and was heading straight for them. Ross must have spotted it, because he was skiing rapidly back to their position by the chimney.
Brady, Chris and Chloe dropped their ski poles and started waving excitedly at the oncoming craft. It had clearly seen them and began to slow down and came into the hover round to the northern side of the chimney.
This was their pick-up at last!
Ross was fast approaching the group as the chopper manoeuvred down to about five feet off the ground. The survivors on the ground started to dispense with their backpacks and skis, ready to board the rescue ship.
Then disaster struck!
Whether or not the pilot was fatigued, or he just didn’t see it because it was covered in frozen snow and blended in with the white background didn’t really matter. But as he slid towards the final pick-up point, one of the rotor blades came into contact with the brick chimney stack, in the lee of which they had been waiting for Ross.
It was rapidly followed by a series of other blades rat-tat-tatting into the unforgiving masonry structure until the aircraft flicked sideways away from the chimney. As the pilot struggled with the controls the helicopter rose about fifty feet, started to rotate so that it turned completely upside down and slammed into the snow with a sickening and terminal thump.
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 72