John’s family were virtually speechless. They had been through a tremendous amount of upset and resettlement over the past months, but they were a great deal better off than most. Eve chipped in, whilst sipping a large glass of German Riesling.
‘As I see it, we indeed have no choice in the matter. If we can't get to the States then we are far better placed in Brittany – sorry, Breton – than waiting to be overrun by bloody vampires or whatever they are!’
The family was in general agreement and had by now resigned themselves to a life of turmoil and constant change. One of the children had found their new home on his laptop, which was a huge house in a busy suburb of Quimper, which they discovered was a large town situated just about as far east in Brittany as one could travel.
The family used Google Maps to search the area and Google to research the general area around Quimper. It all looked fine. They couldn’t really complain.
‘When do we leave, dad?’ asked his daughter.
‘Well, this e-mail says Tuesday afternoon, on a flight from Brussels. Easy Jet no less, or Air Breton as it will become. In which case, we’d better get packing. One suitcase each and a carry-on bag plus PC. Our furniture and other household items will remain here and substitutes provided in France. In any case, none of it is ours anyway.’
John was left sitting on the sofa, gulping at a large glass of Glenfiddich and dry ginger, whilst the others sprang up and set about the task of yet more repacking. He suddenly realised how lucky they were – and a lot of that good fortune was due directly to Dame Ann Fletcher, who was now a fugitive from UKRA. He was wondering where she might be and was reliving that erotic episode in her office, when the front doorbell rang, disturbing his pleasure and growing erection.
‘I’ll get it,’ he shouted and put down his Scotch before walking to open the front door. To his great surprise an old pal was standing in the hall, carrying a suitcase. It was Bryan Wester, looking terribly nervous and unusually bedraggled.
‘Hello Bryan. Come in, come in. Take your coat off. Can I get you a drink?’
Bryan stepped through the front door, heaving his not inconsiderable suitcase into the apartment.
‘Yes, please, sir. Thank you. I'm exhausted after dragging that case around the city for the past hour. There are no bloody taxis to be had!’
‘Sit sown, sit down. Let me take your coat,’ beckoned John. ‘Eve, Bryan Wester is here.’
Eve came out of the bedroom and greeted Bryan with a kiss on the cheek.
‘What brings you here? Shouldn’t you be at the CSC, entertaining your customers?’
Bryan frowned.
‘Well, that's the point. The CSC is closed. And I’ve been sacked! They’ve given me no notice to quit – just a months’ salary and an hour to pack my bags and get out. Apparently, the CSC is being handed over to the Belgian Military tomorrow morning and I'm surplus to requirements. Out on my ear without so much as a ‘by your leave’.’
‘Oh dear, Bryan,’ squealed Eve, ‘that's terrible. What are you going to do?’
John handed Bryan a Scotch and sat down opposite. He had heard the conversation and was not really surprised.
‘You’ve heard that the UKRA is vacating Brussels Bryan. I suppose you are merely collateral damage. It's a real shame though. You had a nice little number going there.’
‘You're not wrong. I'm bloody furious, but what can I do. I'm just another civilian now, with no qualifications or connections. I'm just bloody zombie bait!’
Eve stifled a laugh and John smiled.
‘So what are you going to do Bryan?’ he asked again.
‘That's why I'm here. I hate to ask, but I'm desperate! Is there anything you can do to help me? What's happening to you?’
John’s demeanour suddenly changed. Bryan was putting him on the spot. Indeed, what could he do?
‘I don’t know what I can do to help you Bryan. We are off to Brittany on Tuesday to take up posts in a new hospital. I really don’t know what to say.’
Bryan was crestfallen.
‘You were my last hope. Mr Silver has disappeared and everyone else I know were just guests at the club. I'm homeless and have nowhere to go. I'm absolutely buggered – if you’ll excuse my French, madam.’
Eve interposed, brimming with authority:
‘Firstly, stop calling us ‘sir’ and ‘madam’ – you know our names! And secondly, you are not homeless and certainly not alone. John, get on the phone to your boss and tell him that your assistant, i.e. Bryan here needs a seat on the plane on Tuesday. Don’t take no for an answer. Just make it plain that if Bryan doesn’t go – we don’t. Call their bluff! They need you and one extra body is neither here nor there. Quickly, now, get on that phone!’
John was taken aback and didn’t react for a few seconds, but then realised the possibility of saving Bryan, so he jumped up, grabbed his mobile and went into the bedroom, whilst Eve poured more drinks.
‘He’ll sort it out Bryan. Don’t you worry about that!’
She'd had several glasses of white wine and by now was far more forthright that was her usual manner. It was Bryan’s turn to smile and he thanked her profusely.
‘Madam, sorry; Eve, I can't thank you enough. I was at my wits end. If he can get me on that flight, I’ll do anything at the other end. Gardening, driving, shopping, anything until I get a real job. You won't regret it, Eve. Thank you so much.’
‘You can live with us, Bryan. They’ve given us a bloody palace and yes, you can help us settle in, as John and I will be very busy I should think. And then, in due course, you can find employment. There's bound to be loads of work to do.’
John returned to the sitting room, looking glum.
‘I'm sorry Bryan, I've spoken to my boss and he's made his decision. It's not good news. It seems that you’ll be doing a lot of washing up and hoovering for the next few weeks ……..I've got you on the plane on Tuesday!
Bryan sank back in his armchair and necked the rest of his Scotch in one gulp.
‘Thank Christ for that. Thank you so much John – and Eve. I swear I’ll make this up to you. I owe you big time – and with what's facing us all in the coming months – you might well need someone watching your backs.’
Yes, Bryan Wester was indeed a lucky man.
Day 192 / Z-Day 157
Monday 24 June
Malaga / UK Mainland
By the time Ann Fletcher’s train slid smoothly into Malaga Zambrano train station, the carpet bombing of the mutants enclaves had started in earnest.
Six US Navy Task Forces, supplemented by warships from several European countries were stationed three miles offshore at strategic locations around the UK.
Although satellite intelligence had indicated that the vast majority of the mutant army was on the move, it had been decided that complete annihilation of their old assembly areas was essential. To that aim the barrage commenced at 0600 on that Monday morning.
CVN-71 Theodore Roosevelt stood off Swansea in the Bristol Channel. Its Air Wing launched wave after wave of bombing and missile attacks on the harbour and its environs. The vast majority of small shipping – speedboats and leisure craft remained in harbour, their crews now determinedly surging eastwards. Some of the boats had left anchorage, and were streaming down the Channel heading for Land’s End, and then to hug the coast towards Kent and onwards to France.
However, many, if not all of these tiny, undefended vessels were strafed, bombed and blown out of the water. Coastal patrol boats were watching for survivors and as they were encountered, specially adapted flame throwers were directed at the struggling crews to finish the job.
Four other carriers, CVN-73 George Washington, CVN-69 Dwight D Eisenhower, CVN-74 John C Stennis and CVN-75 Harry S Truman were similarly deployed off Brighton; in the Thames Estuary; in the Clyde and in Liverpool Bay, carrying out the same interdiction against the enemy. When aircraft returned to their carriers for re-fuelling and re-arming, other shipping pounded the targets with thei
r guns.
This went on all day. Relentless and merciless, but the barrage was not conclusive.
At 1800 hours it stopped. The smoke cleared and the debris settled. Satellite imagery was transmitted to overall mission control aboard CVN-76 Ronald Reagan, which was stationed in the North Sea off Lowestoft, and plans to deploy the huge blast bombs were finalised.
As midnight, five specially fitted MC-130H Talon Hercules aircraft simultaneously dropped a single GBU-43 MOAB onto the centre of each city target.
The explosive effect of eleven tons of TNT was second only in effectiveness to a nuclear weapon. The blast spread out to over a mile in all directions, destroying everything in its path. Nothing would survive -buildings, vegetation and people – even mutants would be vapourised.
The Ronald Reagan issued orders for all forces to stand down until 0900 the next morning, so that satellite photographs could provide an evaluation of the damage.
The imagery was spectacular.
What had remained of central Brighton, Swansea, Glasgow, Ellesmere Port near Manchester and Dartford to the east of Central London had gone. Each of the mutant gathering points had been obliterated and with it housing, infrastructure, port facilities and any human or mutant life which remained.
However, this was only the start.
It was clear that many hundreds of thousands had escaped. They had simply moved away just in time, directed to temporary safety by 'The Rook'. She had anticipated the attack by the humans and spread her assets widely and thinly.
Destroying them now would be far more difficult, if not impossible.
The attack on their landing craft was indeed a heavy blow, but a blow from which she could easily recover. She saw no reason to change her plans for invasion. Although many of the horde had been slaughtered, she had reserves aplenty. She concluded that there was now no point in delaying and allowing the humans the opportunity to destroy them before the crossing.
No, there would be no hesitation. The crossing would go ahead on the first of July, at the next new moon, when darkness would be her ally.
However, what she didn’t realise was that the Russians had a plan of their own. Although they were reluctantly resisting the urge to use nuclear weapons, they had another, possibly more potent Ace up their sleeves.
The Russian leader had an additional and more powerful weapon in his arsenal. They had developed a similar mega-blast bomb which was four times more powerful than the American MOAB. The aircraft capable of deploying these massive bombs were loaded and on quick reaction alert. He had decided – unilaterally – to use these weapons if he decided that it was necessary – or indeed, even desirable, when he considered the Russian homeland to be at unacceptable risk.
He would have no hesitation if he believed that the US led coalition was growing too cautious in seeking out and destroying this menace fast approaching his borders.
More dangerously, he had already decided that the bombs would be also used to disperse the mass off human detritus and misery streaming towards Russia.
He had absolutely no compunction.
He would happily murder thousands of refugees if they succeeded in crossing through Germany and Poland.
Russia would not be infected by this Plague!
***
As the huge MOAB bombs were launched and hurtling towards their targets, Ann Fletcher was taking a cocktail at Jorge’s Café after eating in the Da Bruno restaurant at Puerto de Cabopino.
She had enjoyed a superb meal at this trendy watering hole and little did she know that her daughter Chloe and her ex-husband Brady were less than a mile away, resting in their hired villa. She had made subtle enquires about an English couple – father and daughter – who may have visited the bar. No one of their description had come to Jorge’s mind, but of course Chloe and Brady had changed their appearance quite dramatically. Clo was a blonde now for a start!
In the morning she would continue the search and perhaps employ an agency to search for Brady.
It shouldn’t take too long.
Day 193 / Z-Day 158
Tuesday 25 June
European Mainland
The press conference designed to touch all corners of the earth had not reached the most important group of people – in fact the only section of society most affected by the crisis.
That is: the swarming mass of humanity attempting to escape from the mutant threat had come to a virtual standstill!
As is to be expected, the Swiss had tightened up entry to their mountainous country and no-one, except Swiss citizens or residents, was passing across their borders. It was locked up tight, and the refugees soon learned that the German border was a much easier option. For one thing, the Swiss Alps were a formidable obstacle even though they provided excellent protection from the mutants.
So, only the more determined headed south-east, but were prevented nonetheless from crossing into Switzerland.
The vast majority followed the main transport arteries through France, Belgium and Holland, but came to a grinding halt at the German border. From Mulhouse and Strasbourg in the south, through Cologne and Dusseldorf and up to the Dutch frontier on the North Sea, the German police backed up by the military were preventing further progress.
As a consequence, the refugees were concertinaring backwards for hundreds of kilometres. The Autoroutes in France were gridlocked and the trains had stopped running.
It was pandemonium, as food, water and shelter ran out. Public disorder was commonplace and people were beginning to die. Fighting amongst themselves, the refugees found themselves between a rock and a hard place. The German population supported their security forces and where the border went unprotected, civilians appeared in great numbers to repel invasion.
It wasn’t long before shots were fired and countless incidents were reported up and down the border describing confrontation and death. Riots at the main crossing points were met with tear gas and rubber bullets. It was clear that the Germans were not going to allow hundreds of thousands of desperate French, Dutch and Belgians into their country.
It was also becoming apparent to many that staying at home was a far better option than risking all to escape an enemy not yet on European soil.
To this end a slow trickle of refugees started to return home. Slowly, but surely, they realised that being trapped in a mass of human terror with no food or water was far worse than the fear of the unknown – the mutants. The authorities made no attempt to relieve or supply the waves of human misery heading east, so the exodus had eventually slowed and stalled.
Very soon they had nowhere to go.
Consequently, after the initial mass hysteria had subsided, common sense began to return and the flow stopped. Trains began heading west and carried the migrants free of charge; and the motorways were restricted to family cars and refuelling bowsers for petrol stations, so that vehicles could travel unhindered to their points of origin.
A sort of uneasy order began to reassert itself. It remained a crisis situation, but the surge eastwards subsided.
The refugees returned home.
The ‘Junta’ continued its policy of advising the population to stay put and by the middle of that week after the news conference, some signs of normality returned to Western France. The news of the wholesale destruction of mutants in their assembly areas brought great relief to the masses, and it seemed that the situation was coming under some sort of control.
Roads began to clear, railways re-established their normal timetables and supplies of food and energy recommenced.
For the time being, order was partially restored.
***
The bombing of the UK mainland continued.
Wave after wave of US, French, Dutch, Belgian, German and Russian bombers flew missions of destruction. Mutants were attacked wherever encountered and satellite imagery produced proof of the successes. And there were many. However, the mutants were keeping out of plain view. Wherever possible they travelled at night and under cover of w
oodland. There were over a million of the horde now flooding towards south-east England and there weren’t enough aircraft in the world to stem the tide.
'The Rook' remained in control of the mutant army. Her five lieutenants were in constant contact. Several tiers of command and control had been established to organise the masses. Each lieutenant had selected five subordinates to induct into the leadership, and they in turn had recruited five more each, and then five more, until there were layers of command with thousands of cadre leaders. These groups had only one aim – to reach Kent by the new moon.
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 132