by Gary Weston
'Not just that. We're losing fuel. A bullet must have hit the tank.'
Sandra leaned over and looked at the missile. Red ethereal numbers told her they had seven minutes remaining on the timer. the heavy missile had also slipped in the loops of rope. She could see people going about their business, looking up as they skimmed over the roofs and tree tops. She twisted over and got both hands on the rope and pulled harder.
'This thing's not staying put for much longer,' said Sandra.
Looking through the windscreen she could see the docks, several boats moored up, beyond that, the open sea.
'We're not staying up for much longer, either.'
'Steve. We're still over land. Keep going.'
The chopper did a wobble and it shook and dropped.
'Steve.'
The chopper lurched and Steve had to use will power to straighten up. Black smoke was billowing out behind them. Sandra could feel the missile slipping in the rope and she leaned out further. The missile had slipped off the boom and the rope wrapped around the fins was all that was holding it to the side of the chopper. She twisted completely around, and stretched out on the seat, her legs over Steve's lap, her head and shoulders hanging outside. Wrapping the rope around her right arm, she used her left hand to keep herself from falling out. The missile slipped further and she was taking the full weight on her arm. The pain would have defeated a lesser human.
'We're going down,' yelled Steve.
'What?'
'I love you, Sandra. I love you.'
'What?'
Sandra couldn't hear Steve's declaration. Below her the land ended and the sea began. There was a knocking noise and a small explosion from the chopper motor. The rope slipped down her arm and she used both hands to grab the rope, feeling the weight of the missile pulling her out of the chopper. She could see the timer tick away the last seventeen seconds and she let go of the rope. Steve hooked his hand into her belt and with the last of his strength, heaved her back inside. The rotor stopped spinning, the blades froze in space.
'I said I love you.'
'Steve, I...'
From the top of Monument Hill, Bernie had watched the chopper as it flew away, disappearing to become a speck on the horizon, taking his sister away from him. He saw the explosion. The mushroom cloud, miles away, told him all he had to know. His heart had sank the way he was sure the chopper, what was left of it, had sunk into the sea. He wiped a tear away and sighed.
Chapter 72
Bedlam didn't come close. Prime Minister Sinclair Carlisle felt two things almost simultaneously. The crashing of the first missile as it struck somewhere high above him in the International Conference Centre and the solid weight of Paul ”Rosy” Rose as the Chief of Internal Security reacted without thinking, flattening the Prime Minister to the floor, using his body as a shield.
'Are you okay?' Rosy asked.
'If you let me breathe, I might just make it.'
Rosy said, 'You can breathe later. I'm just making sure there are no more...' He was interrupted by another explosion and parts of the plasterwork of the ceiling falling on his back.'And there it is.'
'We have to get everyone out of here,' gasped Carlisle.
'Your job is annoying the citizens, my job is keeping you alive long enough to do it. You stay where you are.'
All around them, world leaders were being covered by human shields, relieved they had all been together on the ground floor in the lobby, giving the final press conference and not in the top floors where the missiles had blasted a huge hole in the fabric of Western society.
Carlisle said, 'That's it. You're fired.'
Which was when the third missile struck. The building shook, but not like before. Already loose plaster fell in a variety of sizes and shapes. A large chunk groaned free and landed on the Prime Minister's shin, the resultant yell of pain hurting Rosy's eardrums.
'You may wish to reconsider. I should get you out of here,' said Rosy.
'No shit.
'Sinclair. You know something? You're full of...gas.'
'Me?'
'All of us. Look. Green stuff. We gotta get out of here.'
'I sort of mentioned that already.'
Rosy got to his feet and took Carlisle's hand and tried to haul him to his feet, but Carlisle just crumbled, screaming in agony.
'You've a broken leg.'
'I noticed.'
Rosy pulled the man to his foot, hurled him over his shoulder and lumbered towards the open doors and freedom. The President of the United States was also limping along, his arms draped around two burly dust coated giants in shades.
'So. Sinclair. How's your day been so far?'
'Pretty bloody average, to be honest with you, Randy. Wanna swap agents?'
'I am here you know,' said Rosy, staggering under the weight of the man on his back.
'Then could you run a bit faster?'
'Remind me not to vote for you next time.' The media had fled the foyer, praying outside was a little less dangerous. Apart from two brave souls, one armed and dangerous with a camera, the other a middle aged, hat wearing man with questionable breath who could nail a story with his microphone from a hundred paces.
'Nigel Porter, The Daily Oblivion. Prime Minister. Mister President. Would you say this conference has been all you'd have hoped for?'
In chronic pain, Sinclair, never one to miss a photo opportunity, found himself grinning, and although he had noticed a cloud of thick green gas building up uncomfortably close behind them, said,'Nigel. It was very productive. Wouldn't you agree, Mister President?'
'Absolutely,' agreed The President. 'But Nigel, if you don't piss off, I'll personally shove that microphone right up your...'
Chapter 73
If inside the International Conference Centre was bedlam on a stick, outside took the meaning of the word surreal to new heights. Rosy's knees finally buckled, and as he folded, he remembered who was across his shoulders and carefully laid the man down. Two paramedics raced towards them.
'You,' said Rosy. 'This is...'
'The bloody Prime Minister,' said the woman. 'Got that. Sir. How are you doing?'
'Broken leg, bruised ego, and if I don't get to a toilet right now, I'll probably pee my pants. Whoops. And there she blows.'
'Probably the effects of the gas,' said Rosy, diplomatically.
'He has gas, too?' the paramedic asked.
'Him and us, no. In there, gas, people, bodies, lots of really important types, so I hope you ain't all we got.'
'They're trying to get through. The roads are blocked with the rubble. It could take a while.'
Randolph Milliner was sitting on the pavement, his back to the wall, picking plaster out of his hair, his two security men yelling into their phones, demanding this, insisting on that. Milliner reached out and grasped Carlisle's arm.
'Hey. We're alive. I'm guessing some in there ain't that lucky.'
Around them, sirens screamed, soldiers, police and paramedics were battling their way through and over rubble, with chunks of masonry still falling about their ears, determined to do what ever they could. The president and prime minister sat and talked as brave men and women in gas masks ran in and out with stretchers, carrying bodies in various states of life and death, mangled and broken, disfigured and maimed.
And perhaps in a far off land, candles would be lit, prayers would be said, for the brave fighters for the truth, or their version of it, who had caused the Western world to fall to its knees. And the two world leaders, sitting together on the pavement, propped up against the damaged wall, watched a pair of paramedics wearing gas masks, carry out a nineteen year old girl. One who had smiled so delightfully as she poured drinks for them, saving to pay her way through medical college, her brass name badge declaring her name to be Rebecca.
Her once pretty face was ruined for the rest of her life, assuming she would survive the injuries that would mean she would never walk again. Those saying their prayers in a far off land, lighting th
ose candles and boasting of the bravery of their sons, must be so proud, thought Carlisle.
One after another, ruined lives were carried out of the damaged building. Many families would be in mourning and be grieving that day; numb parents, brothers, sisters, husbands and wives would be in states of shock for lives so needlessly taken from them. Others, relatives of the survivors, would be coming to terms with how they could put together the scarred, the damaged, and the traumatised.
Even the physically unscathed would be forever affected, never to sleep a whole night for the rest of their lives. They would be waking up in cold sweats, the deep dark images locked in their minds, the second before they opened their eyes to face a new day, to give thanks that they had been spared. And even those so fortunate to be physically unblemished, would feel guilty for being chosen to survive, trying to live each day knowing so many had died and been maimed.
Yes, thought Randolph Milliner. Families so far away who would be lighting candles, saying prayers, boasting of their brave children. Oh, yes. They must be so proud. He wasn't so sure God, anyones God, would be smiling this day.
Chapter 74
Bernie stood by the rocks, with a heavy heart, staring in the direction of the sea. Thanks to his sister and a stranger, many lives had been spared. But it had been at the cost of their own lives. That Sandra had appeared in a helicopter, ready to put everything on the line once again, hadn't surprised him. His pride for her did little to bury his sadness. For some reason, he remembered the time in Bloomesberry Park, when Sandra was eight, and she'd fallen off her brand new bike, gashing her knee. She had hardly cried at all. Even then she was tough.
Bernie was brought back to reality by the cacophony all around The Hill. Below him bodies were being bagged up. Three officers had been injured but none had been killed. Forty two terrorist's were dead, the others were close to death.
Paramedics were working masterfully to cope with the carnage, a steady stream of ambulances making round trips to the hospital. Across the city, he could see smoke billowing from the International Conference Centre, more teams of the emergency services were evacuating people and ferrying them to the hospital. The armed forces were there on the scene, clearing rubble, shifting the damaged cars from the streets so the emergency vehicles could get through. These people were the best of the best, consummate professionals, going into places few others would dare to go.
'Are you okay, Chief?'
Ferret, Nick and the others had been held back by the police action. They had seen the Chief standing alone on the top of The Hill. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes spoke of sadness and grief.
'Fred. Come here my boy.' He crushed Fred in a bear hug.
Not understanding the relationship between the two men, Frank, Nick and the others stood back.
'Fred. I've bad news for you.'
'What is it?'
'Sandra's gone. She and that man, Steve.'
Frank stepped forward. 'Steve? What's happened to him?'
Fred explained. 'This is Steve's brother, Bernie.'
'I see. Then I am so, so, sorry.'
Hank said, 'Where's my uncle?'
'They...Sandra and Steve, took the missile. In the chopper. There was timer running on it, just minutes to go.'
Far off in the distance, the remains of the cloud was being blown out to sea.
'That's them?' Frank asked.
Bernie sighed. 'I don't see how they could have survived. I've organised a police launch to go and look for them. I'm not expecting to see my sister again.'
'I don't understand,' said Frank, his mind in a whirl. 'Your sister? I thought you said it was Sandra in the chopper with Steve.'
Bernie nodded. 'It was. Sandra's my sister.' He wrapped an arm around Fred. 'She gave you the news about Poppy, I assume?'
'Poppy? Is she okay?'
'Couldn't be in better health. She'll be even happier when we get you home. And the baby's coming along great.'
Fred was stunned. 'Poppy's pregnant?'
'My God. Sandra didn't tell you? I need to get you home.' They were about to make their way down The Hill when Bernie's phone chimed. 'Yes? That's me. Can you repeat that, please? Both of them? Understood. Got that. Thanks.'
'Bernie?' said Fred.
'I'm gob-smacked,' said Bernie. 'Sandra and Steve. They're alive. Badly bashed up, but alive. Both of them.'
Chapter 75
They were sharing a ward. Nurses and doctors ignored the maximum visitor number and even found a few extra chairs. Sandra Mitchell had had her right arm broken in three places, broken left leg, her head heavily bandaged, broken ribs and an assortment of cuts and bruises.
Steve Telford had two broken legs, left arm broken and the right side of his face had required thirty stitches from a long deep gash. Neither were complaining.
'I never thought I'd see you again,' said Bernie.
'I don't remember a thing,' said Sandra. 'I was trying to hold onto the missile until we were well over the sea. It fell from my grasp. Now I'm here.'
Bernie explained, 'The missile exploded just under the water. The police launch knew you were heading their way. Luckily, the breeze blew the radiation cloud away from you two, out to sea. Sorry, Steve. The chopper's had it.'
'We're alive. That's all that matters.'
Sandra squeezed her daughter's hand. 'How are you?'
'That depends. Are you staying around to see your granddaughter?'
'You're having a girl?'
'According to the scan.'
'We're thrilled about it,' said Fred.
'So am I,' said Sandra. 'And I've made a decision. I've officially retired. I'm going to get to know my family, if you'll let me.'
Poppy squeezed her mother's hand. 'That won't be easy. You know that, don't you? But I want a grandmother for my daughter. Don't you let her down.'
'I want to grow old gracefully. Thank you.'
A nurse entered the room. 'Can we make room for one more?'
Prime Minister Sinclair Carlisle was wheeled in, in a wheelchair. Like Sandra and Steve, he had suffered broken limbs or in his case, a broken leg and several ribs plus cuts and abrasions. 'Excuse me, butting in, everyone. But I heard there were a few heroes in here?'
'Got a whole roomful, so I heard,' said Paul “Rosy” Rose, pushing the chair between the two beds.
'Well. Don't we look like a beat up trio,' said Carlisle. 'I'll let you into a secret. I'd have been fine, but a certain Chief of Internal Security, namely Rosy here, decided to jump on top of me when the missiles were going off. Look at him. Not a damn scratch on him.'
'Nice to be appreciated,' said Rose.
'Let's cut to the chase,' said Carlisle. 'Because of you, Sandra Mitchell, and you, Steven Telford, none of the world leaders were seriously hurt. Regrettably, people died and others were injured, but if the H bomb had gone off, it would have been so much worse. Your actions may have averted a world war. So, not only does this country owe you a debt of gratitude; perhaps the whole world does. On behalf of the rest of the world, thank you.' Sandra and Steve beamed at each other. It had been high praise indeed. 'There's something else,' said Telford. 'It seems you had a little accident with your helicopter. You'll find a brand new one waiting for you at home.'
'Wow. Brilliant.'
'The least we can do. Sandra. I am well aware of the many sacrifices you have made over the years in the service of your country. Rosy?'
'Oh? Me. Of course.' From his pocket, he extracted two small jewel boxes and handed them to Carlisle.
Carlisle opened one of them. 'To Sandra Mitchell. I am proud to bestow on you our country's highest civilian award. The Civilian Cross of Courage. And to Steven Telford. Also, I am proud to bestow The Civilian Cross of Courage. On behalf of our nation, I salute and thank you both.'
All in the room cheered and applauded.
'Wait,' said Steve. 'A little hush, please. Prime Minister Carlisle. I'm overwhelmed. But I have a favour to ask you.'
'If I
can grant it, it's yours.'
'Sir. I'd be most honoured if you will be the guest of honour at mine and Sandra's wedding.'
Before Carlisle could answer, Sandra said, 'Excuse me? You haven't even asked me to marry you, yet.'
'Ah. Right. Sandra Mitchell. Will you make the happiest man alive, well, more or less alive, by doing me the honour of marrying me?'
Everyone held their breath and stared at the heavily bandaged woman.
'Hmm. Yeah, okay. Go on, then. I'll marry you.'
When the roaring cheer finally subsided, Carlisle said, 'In that case, I look forward to being a guest at your wedding. Rosy. Take me home, please.'
Chapter 76
Nine Months Later
The mansion was the perfect venue for the spring wedding. The garden was surrounded by pink flowering cherry trees; the huge ornate fountain had been scrubbed clean and was flowing. Large white marques had been erected to cover the guests from any weather possibilities, but the sky was a perfect blue, with just a few white sailing ship clouds gliding majestically across it.
The bride and groom were fully healed, and had complete mobility of their limbs. Steve Telford had gone for a light blue suit, rather than a hired penguin outfit, and the scar down his face only gave him a more rugged, action man look.
Bernie also wore a new suit, to walk down the aisle to give his sister away. Steve's brother Frank looked a little anxious in his role as best man, checking his watch every two minutes. A trio of a violin, cello and clarinet played light classical music.
Sandra Mitchell had a few more scars hidden below her floor length ivory silk dress. More than a hundred friends and relatives sat and chatted as they waited. At the front were Poppy, Fred and six week old Angelica, obliviously sleeping, unaware of the significance of the occasion. Morris, Crowe and Andersen had been told in no uncertain terms that cell phones were a no no.