by Stuart Slade
Rebecca clicked the microphone off, then pulled out her phone and punched the button for reception. The extension for reception was busy, of course. Cursing, she dived into the stairwell, pushing past the throngs of people that built up steadily as she descended. By the time she emerged into the lobby it was already packed with shouting and screaming patients.
“PLEASE REMAIN CALM” she shouted, in a tone that did not sound like a request. “THERE IS NO IMMEDIATE DANGER.” Not really true but it seemed to placate the crowd for now. “Non-critical patients, move in an orderly fashion to the car park. We don’t have nearly enough ambulances for you all so we’ll be using private cars.”
She finally made it to the reception desk. David was usually pretty competent but he seemed ready to have a nervous breakdown. “Rebecca, thank…” He caught himself.
“What the hell is going on?”
“Don’t know. Some sort of attack, massive fires. We have to get the patients out, that’s all that matters.”
“I tried to call Northern General but I couldn’t get…”
“Forget it. They’re probably in the same boat as us, or will be soon. Now take Tracy, Mark and anyone else you find on the way and get to the car park. I don’t want anyone leaving without a full load of patients. Tell them to go straight to Manchester.”
“Manchester? But…”
Rebecca grabbed the man’s shoulders. “There’s massive casualties out there. Everyone local will be overwhelmed. Now get moving.”
She grabbed the phone from David’s hand as he stumbled away and searched through the memory for the number she needed. “Whitworth? This is Matron Burdett at Royal Hallamshire. We’ve got a huge… explosion in Sheffield, we have to evacuate. I’m sending our intensive care patients to you… yes I know you don’t have the capacity… you’ll have to turn them out… no, listen, this is a gold-level disaster. No, I don’t know who… look, I’m sure they’ll contact you shortly. Meanwhile people are dying here. You are going to send every ambulance you have to Sheffield and you are going to do it now, understand? Good.”
MD 902 G-SYPS
“Control this is Sierra Yankee Nine Nine do you copy? Over.”
Sergeant Webster was still trying to get the radio working. Meanwhile Private Hughes struggled to find a position in which he could get a shot at the rear support strut. He could see the target clearly enough, it was buried in a tangle of metal half a meter beneath the door sill, but with his broken leg there was just no way to aim the heavy rifle at it from inside the cabin. He considered shooting through the airframe, the AS50 undoubtedly had the power to punch through, but he’d be firing blind and in any case he was pretty sure the main fuel tank was under the cabin. Bad idea.
“Control this is Sierra Yankee Nine Nine do you copy? Over.”
“Oliver! I copy. What the blazes is going on? First we thought we’d lost you, then we got a report you’d landed at Sheffield City Heliport. Everything has dropped in the pot here, nobody knows what is happening. Just what is your status, over?” The communications channels were clearing and the response from the command centre at Atlas Court included the alarms and a commotion of voices in the background.
“We were knocked down by the blast, my bird is seriously damaged. Can you see what’s happening out here? Over.”
“Confirmed, we’re seeing it over CCTV, hell we can see it out the windows. We’re preparing to evacuate, at this rate the lava will be here in less than half an hour. Are you airworthy over?”
“Negative control, we’re stuck in a roof, the lava is about to surround the building. Need a pick-up urgently, Over.”
There was a slight pause before the duty officer responded. “Sierra Yankee, army choppers are inbound but the closest is still ten minutes out. Over.”
“Acknowledged control.” Sergeant Webster hadn’t expected anything else. Every commander would be in triage mode now and plucking a helicopter crew off the top of a doomed building wasn’t a high priority. “Situation understood. Sierra Yankee Nine Nine out.”
Private Hughes had been listening to the exchange and cut in over the intercom. “Sir, I think I can free the helo but I’ll have to climb out onto the roof.”
Webster gave it only a moment’s consideration; there was no viable alternative. “Roger Private, we’ll hover until you’re back on board.”
Jamie unplugged his headset and clambered out onto the twisted girders, gritting his teeth at the pain that flared in his leg. The metal was hot to the touch and the blistering heat and swirling smoke was making it increasingly hard to see or breathe. Once he’d steadied himself he grabbed the heavy rifle from the helicopter and began to work himself into a braced position. The pilot was watching him through the cockpit side window; Jamie give him the thumbs up and the engine noise intensified, as the helicopter once more struggled to lift off.
There it was, the near-side support strut clearly visible now that the helicopter’s belly was clear of the corrugated iron roofing. He pulled the scope off the rail and lined up the AS50 with the iron sights, bracing it against a girder. Two sharp cracks and the job was done, the .50 caliber rounds shredding the aluminum alloy tube. The helicopter lurched upward again and shuddered, straining against the last remaining strut. Jamie struggled to maintain his balance as the roof started to collapse, chunks of metal tumbling down into the building below. A fresh wave of heat hit him and with horror he realized that the lava was already pouring into the building. Jamie swung the heavy rifle around and unloaded his last three rounds into the tangle of metal around the back of the remaining skid.
The recoil was the final straw for the critically weakened factory roof. With a shrieking groan the entire section collapsed into the burning interior. With both skids now sheered off the Explorer leapt upwards into the sky, climbing away from the collapsing ruin. The last thing Private Hughes saw was the underside of the helicopter vanishing into the sky.
South Yorkshire Fire and Rescue HQ, Central Sheffield
The screens in the control centre normally showed simple dots representing the incident sites. Only for the worst industrial fires did the staff have to draw rings around the affected area. Now the entire centre of the city was marked in red, and that stain was growing rapidly.
“…and a second line of firebreaks here, here and here. That should save most of Hillsborough and Stannington. The lower Rivelin valley is a write off, the best we can hope for is that it floods fast enough to save a few buildings. We’ll worry about Fullwood if we get time, industrial areas take priority. Now get to it.”
The sheer spectacle of the aerial volcano had convinced Chief Fire Officer Spurrier to dispense with the usual levels of escalation and go straight to damage limitation mode.
He turned to Assistant CFO Lloyd, who was coordinating with the other responders, category one and otherwise.
“Get anything out of Highways yet?”
“No sir, they just say they’ll call me back. We’ll probably have to send our own people out to the depots to get the moving.”
“Do it. I’ll have the authority sorted out by the time they arrive. Keep reminding the police that we need those construction sites stripped too. We’ll need every earthmover we can get if we’re going to box in that lava flow.”
A young firefighter burst into the room, still in full heat-resistant gear. “Sirs, we can’t hold it, there’s just too much, we solidify one stream and it comes at us from another direction. We’ve got to pull back.”
CFO Spurrier sighed. All that effort rebuilding the city centre into a something actually pleasant to look at, and now it was all going to be buried in basalt. Ah well. At least the EU had footed most of the bill. For brief second he pitied the baldrick who would have to explain to the bureaucrats in Brussels what had happened to their investment. Then his momentary glee faded; having to abandon his new state of the art command centre was too a hard a blow.
“Okay. Tell Scott to redeploy along the Moor and Arundel Gate. You’ve got to k
eep the southern ring road and the station open as long as you can.”
“Stephen, divert everything to Mansfield Road for now, then shut down. We’ll be going straight to the forward command post at the airport.”
MD 902 G-SYPS
Pete began to swing the helicopter around for a pass on the factory. Private Hughes had risked everything to save them and Pete wasn’t going to just leave him.
Sergeant Webster’s voice came over the intercom, barely audible over the screaming engines and still omnipresent roar. “Peter, what are you doing?.”
“Going back for him of course.”
“Peter, he’s gone. The entire building collapsed. I was watching as we took off, there was nothing we could do.”
There was no response from the pilot, so Webster took the opportunity to contact control.
“Control, Sierra Yankee Nine Nine, do you copy?”
“Sierra Yankee! I copy, what’s your status?”
“Airborne again, but we’ve taken a beating. Are you still receiving telemetry?” The camera pod on the helicopter’s nose had jammed in place, but it could still transmit a picture. “We’ve got some more stuff for you.”
“Ah… roger . Sierra Yankee. Bloody hell.”
The Explorer was circling slowly over central Sheffield, a position which afforded a fine view of the magma fountain, blurry but visible within the base of the rapidly forming mushroom cloud, as well as the rivers of lava consuming the town centre. Every few seconds another building would collapse, adding further haze to the scene below. “Oliver, we have to evacuate. The fires are getting close and the lava isn’t far behind. Pogo one seven seven, stay up as long as you can then abort to the airport, acknowledge.”
“Acknowledged. Switching to channel one seven seven. Sierra Yankee Nine Nine out.”
Taranaski’s voice came over he intercom and he did not sound happy. “We’ve got a seriously bent bird here, controls are wonky, port turbine is running very hot and I think we’re leaking fuel. We should get her down Ay-Sap.”
“Negative Peter. Unless you’re sure she’s going to drop out of the sky, we stay until we’re relieved. Command have to know what’s happening.”
“But Sergeant, the corporal needs a medic, hell we all need…”
“Pilot. As long as we can fly, we stay until we’re relieved.” Webster’s hard tone softened slightly. “It shouldn’t be long. Now bring us around, command will need an idea of how fast the fires are spreading.”
Owlerthorpe, South East Sheffield
The convoy of big Bedford trucks rolled onto the field and came to a halt one by one. As soon as each vehicle had stopped moving soldiers poured out of the rear, already in full combat gear. Overhead, the grim red column of the magma stream shone through the vast pall of smoke that surrounded it, lighting up the area in a confused, scarlet glow. Just like the descriptions of Hell that had been coming back from the troops that had entered that region. The smoke pall was spreading fast, the most obvious sign of the inferno that was devouring the city. Not the only sign of course, the constant vibrations that were running through the ground were another. They could be felt through the soles of the soldier’s boots and were enough to make hands that held binoculars shake enough to blur the image. Then again, there were other causes for hands to shake as well.
Sergeant Pottington had his orders and he knew how to execute them. He’d been a British soldier one, then he’d retired and set up a gardening business. There were plenty of houses around Sheffield where both husband and wife were working all day and didn’t have a chance to tend to the garden. There were also plenty of pensioners who were fit, healthy and bored stiff. Putting the two together had been an easy exercise for a man who’d effectively run a company of infantry. Grimly, Pottington wondered how many of his client list or workers were left. Looking at the vast pall of smoke that was covering Sheffield, not many.
“Right, you men, get the barricades across the roads. I want three volunteers, you, you and you, to get a GPMG set up to cover the blocks. Anybody who tries to run the roadblock, spray them.” Pottington looked at the stream of traffic that was building up as the population of Sheffield made a run for it. Understandable but not something that could be allowed. Men were needed to build firebreaks, construct barriers and dig ditches, try and divert the lava streams away from the industrial area to where they could do least damage. Women were needed to help the wounded and look after children. In a disaster like this there were no useless hands. He walked into the road and held up a hand in the traditional ‘stop’ sign. Traditional in the UK anyway, he’d seen films of American police giving stop signs by waving their hands around like demented organ-grinders monkeys. Hysterical load of spams Pottington thought.
A car was ignoring the ‘stop’ signal, instead it had picked up speed and was going to either intimidate him into getting out of the way or go around him. Pottington produced his pride and joy, an old Webley Mark V with a six-inch barrel. It had been his grandfather’s in the First World War and Pottington had kept it carefully hidden away during the long years of the handgun ban. Now, he had it out again and he even had the Mark III “manstopper” bullets to go with it, hollow-point rounds with a steel ball molded inside the lead to add to the effect. One round dealt with the windscreen of the approaching car very satisfactorily, shattering it and sending fragments spraying around. The car came to an abrupt halt.
“Hey what you done to me ride?” The young man driving was aggressive and aggrieved but both emotions faded when he heard the clicking of rifle bolts being drawn back.
“Commandeered it sir. Any other occupants? No? Then, Sir, we’ll have to ask you to wait here. The civil authorities will be forming work teams shortly and you’ll have the honor of being a founder member. Simmonite? Move this vehicle off the road, it’s a four-wheel drive so the Home Guard will be wanting it. Clegg, Dewhurst, move two-wheel drives off to that field over there. Park them neatly now, we don’t want to be slovenly soldiers. ”
Behind them, the traffic was backing up quickly. The soldiers quickly checked each vehicle, sending the ones likely to be useful off to one side, the rest into a field to be parked. With gasoline rationing in force, it was amazing how many vehicles were using this road, but Pottington guessed that fleeing lava meant more than conserving gasoline rations.
“Sergeant?” A new voice had spoken from behind him. “Lieutenant Batty, Home Guard. We’ve come to take over the road block when you’re ready. Midlands Command want your unit to join the rest of the regulars in case of the Baldricks trying to follow up this attack. Nobody knows what they’ll try next.
“Very good Sir. Quiet word sir, don’t hesitate to shoot if the situation demands it. It won’t take much for a panic to start here, we’ve got to keep this situation under control.”
“Understood Sergeant.” The ‘thank you’ was unspoken but there. “There’s coaches coming up to take the women and kids to a refugee center. Trucks will be coming for the men, take them back to the city. Every pair of hands needed there.”
Pottington looked at the red cloud surrounding the stream of fire and the pall that hung over the doomed city. “Did they save Park Hill Sir?”
Batty shook his head. “It’s gone. The firebreaks hung on long enough for the people to get out but the blocks have gone.”
“Ah well, suppose that’ll end the talk about what to do with them. Good luck Sir.”
“Thank you Sergeant, and the same to your men here.”
Chapter Forty Nine
Celestial Mechanics laboratory, DIMO(N), Yale, Connecticut
“…but that would still allow higher dimensional rotation of nanoscale structures, so clearly your topology cannot be correct.”
“Why is that a problem? The molecules are still confined to…”
“Chirality.” Dr Kuroneko regarded his colleague with a vaguely disappointed look. “Look it up. I am hardly a biologist, but I do know that if you flipped a significant fraction of the molecules
in a human body the individual would be dead or dying within hours. Too many critical enzymes operate on only on a specific stereoisomer.”
“Oh. Well… how about…”
The conversation was interrupted by the double doors flying open and admitting a very purposeful looking army officer. “Doctors, we have an emergency. Follow me please.”
The two bemused scientists were quickly escorted to the conference room, which despite the late hour was filling up rapidly. Dr Kuroneko’s gaze was drawn straight to the main screen, which was showing a lake of fire with a great glowing fountain shooting out of it. No, not fire… lava. A waterfall of magma was pouring onto an expanse of burning rubble.
“What on earth…”
“That’s Sheffield. It’s a city of half a million or so in northern England. Or was, I’d guess its quite a bit below half a million now.”
That flat, disinterested voice again. Kuroneko looked over his shoulder, and sure enough, it was the mysterious man who had gotten the whole Star Glider project rolling. The man was either an undercover demon with powers of personal teleportation or had an uncanny knack for turning up just as the excrement was about to hit the rotary impeller.
“The Baldricks found a way to dump magma on it… at something like a million tons a minute. As yet we don’t know why that target was chosen or when they might repeat the trick. Your team is our best bet for finding a countermeasure before we lose another city.”
“You were expecting this? And just let it happen?”
“We were expecting something Doctor. It is not the mark of an intelligent person to assume that he can administer what amounts to a historic ass-kicking and not get some form of come-back. The question was never whether something would happen but what and when. We knew that we had to be able to close a portal or one day, one of them would bite us in the ass. Put the two together and we have Project Starglider. Dumping magma through a portal is an interesting concept though, it has several advantages over the way we would normally address the problem of a city we didn’t like very much.”