Authors: Stuart Slade
The
Sea Jet’s Blue Vixen radar showed that the airspace around Sheffield was
extremely busy. At low level there were dozens of helicopters, both military
and civil, there was also a queue of transport aircraft waiting to land at
Sheffield airport. Higher up there were a pair of Jaguar GR.3As each fitted
with the Digital Joint Reconnaissance Pod, while above them were a pair of
Tornado GR.4s fitted with RAPTOR pods. Far above these aircraft was a single
Canberra PR.9 rescued from a museum, using its sophisticated recce fit to take
high altitude pictures of Sheffield and the surrounding area as part of the
efforts to predict where the lava flow would go next. Those on the ground would
certainly not want for aerial imagery. Just to cap it off a Sentry AEW.1 was
now also airborne over the area providing RAF Boulmer with assistance in
traffic control, and radar coverage.
“Boulmer,
Seafire One requesting permission to enter exclusion zone. Over.”
“Roger,
Seafire One. Please remain at your current altitude and avoid the airspace
around the city, also remain clear of the portal area.”
“Roger
that Boulmer. We are commencing our photo run; the pointy heads on the ground
should be receiving our imagery in a few minutes.”
“Roger
that, Seafire One. Please be aware that a water bomber flight is currently
inbound and will pass five hundred meters below you. Over.”
“We’ll
keep an eye out for them. Out.”
Incident
Command Centre, Sheffield Airport, United Kingdom.
“That
looks bad.” Brigadier Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart, late of the Scots Guards,
said as he viewed the screens showing the aerial imagery now coming in.
Lethbridge-Stewart had been sent in by Midland Command to take charge of all
military units being sent to assist the fire service, and to serve as senior
liaison officer. The ground stations that he had brought with him were normally
used in conjunction with the Sentinel R.1, but could also show imagery from the
DJRP and RAPTOR pods, though it was also showing pictures taken by the high
flying Canberra.
“Mr
Benton could you ask CFO Spurrier, and that vulcanologist woman…what’s her
name?”
“Mrs
McManus, Sir.” Warrant Officer Class One John Benton replied.
“That’s
a familiar name for some reason.” The Brigadier commented. “She’s not a large
Scottish lady is she?”
“That
would be Michelle McManus, Sir, almost a different species I’d say.
“I’ll
go get them, Sir.”
“Well
I certainly think that this will be a great help, Brigadier.” Chief Fire
Officer Spurrier said a few minutes later after taking in the various picture
feeds.
However
Lethbridge-Stewart could see that the vulcanologist, Keavy McManus was not
looking particularly happy.
“Is
there something else we can do for, Mrs McManus?” He asked, being especially
charming.
“Yes,
Brigadier, you can let the survey team through them military cordon. They’re
not doing us much good at the moment.”
“I’ll
see what I can do, Mrs McManus, though actual access to the danger area is at
the discretion of the fire service.
“Mr
Benton, could you ask Captain Munro to organize passes and an escort for Mrs
McManus’ survey team; it’s a top priority matter. If they need any engineering
assistance then Captain Price should be able to help.”
“I’ll
get right on it, Sir.
“There’s
a message from Midlands Command for you, by the way, Sir, Major General
Rutledge wants to speak to you.”
“If
you’ll excuse me, Mr Spurrier, Mrs McManus, I’ll leave you in the capable hands
of Colonel Mace.”
Captain
Marian Price, Royal Engineers, was tired and hot. She had spent the last twelve
hours supervising the unloading of heavy engineering and fire fighting
equipment which had been flown in by heavy transporters, such as RAF and USAF
C-17A Globemasters. The last thing she needed now was an additional commitment.
“I
presume, Private Jenkins, that at least we won’t be required to provide an
escort to this survey team?”
“No,
ma’m.” Private Ross Jenkins, the messenger from the Command Post, replied. “The
Red Caps will escort them in.”
“Well
that’s something at least.” Price said. “If they let me know what sort of
equipment they might need then I’ll see what we have around.”
She
glanced around at the concrete parking apron. It was a chaotic scene of
bulldozers, various pieces of heavy plant, fire service High Volume Pumps, and
various military vehicles, both armored and soft skinned.
“That’s
if I can find anything amongst this lot.” She muttered.
Tapton
Hall, Western Sheffield, United Kingdom
More
fire crews were arriving every hour, from increasingly distant parts of the UK
and even Europe, but they hadn’t been able to prevent the flames advancing up
the hill into Broomhill. The order had come to pull back to the Rivelin fire
break and that meant a last sweep for civvies trapped in the doomed buildings.
Constable Matthew Hillier was one of those detailed for that, something that
was a familiar duty by now. He moved briskly through the building, checking
each room for anyone left behind by the original evacuation. At least that was
improving; the chaos and confusion following the initial attack was diminishing
as fresh command staff were flown in and a strategic response plan developed.
Another
locked door. Hillier sighed and brought up the fire axe. Fortunately the
internal doors were weak and one good strike was enough to smash the lock
mechanism. The door splintered and shuddered open to reveal a crumpled female
form. He moved quickly to check for signs of life. Relieved to see that the
girl was still breathing, if only barely, he reached for his radio.
“This
is unit 523, found another casualty in the dorms…” The young woman let out a
horrible hacking cough and convulsed, revealing an inhaler grasped in one hand.
“…looks like a reaction to the smoke, any ambulances available? Over.” Hillier
already suspected what the answer would be, but he had to try. He pulled a
spare filter mask from a bag hanging from webbing and drew the elastic over the
girl’s head, before grabbing her by the waist and hoisted her up into a
fireman’s carry.
That
was enough to revive her a little. “Who are… where are we going…”
“Constable
Hillier. Stay calm lass, we’ll get you out of here.” He was listening to the
chatter on the radio; every channel seemed to be crammed. Finally there was
something relevant.
“Unit
523, no ambulances free for non-critical patients at this time. Is she
conscious?”
“Barely,
control.” Matthew had nearly reached the main entrance. The conversation was
interrupted by a report of looters in Walkley. The sound of shots fired came
over the channel as the transmission cut off.
“All
units be advised a dedicated field hospital for air poisoning casualties just
went operational at evac camp beta. 523, take your casualty there.”
Hillier
emerged into the car park, a surreal scene of dirty snow and drifting fireflies
- or rather ash and embers. The rear doors of the white police Transit van were
open and another three late evacuees were huddled inside, all wearing the same
cheap filter masks. One was rocking back and forth and crying; he’d been
hysterical and Matthew had had to call his partner to help drag him out of the
building. Another girl had broken arm an arm and several ribs and moaned
constantly with the pain. He set the new arrival down on the sill and spoke to
the single uninjured passenger. This man had merely been trapped in a kitchen
by the partial collapse of a section of the building. “She’s having trouble
breathing, I think she’s asthmatic. Try and keep her conscious.”
He
nodded. “I recognize her, nursing student I think, Anna was it?” The girl smiled
weakly. "I'll do what I can Constable."
Matthew
returned to the building, his thoughts returning to his wife. He still hadn’t
heard anything; even away from the city centre, his mobile wouldn’t connect,
and everyone at control was far too busy to handle personal requests. He tried
to push the worry out of his mind. At least the kids were safe, staying in
Northumberland this month… That was funny. Special Constable Amstead had been
making plenty of noise earlier, but now the only sounds were coming from
outside. Matthew reached for his radio again.
“Unit
523 to 3861, where are you Johnny?”
Fifteen
seconds passed, with another report on the looters (one shot dead, two
surrendered), but nothing from his partner. “Unit 3861, say location please.”
Constable
Hillier unslung his MP5 and chambered a round, clicking the selector from
‘safe’ to ‘auto’. No one on the force ignored the possibility of a surprise
Baldrick attack after the events in Belfast. It was probably nothing, but… He
made his way up to the second floor of the south wing, the last place he’d sent
John to sweep.
“Control
this is unit 523, lost contact with my partner, moving to investigate.” He
waited for the response before proceeding.
“Confirmed
523.” Now should anything happen to him, a response team would be dispatched
immediately. He made his way forward down the corridor, gun at the ready,
checking the rooms on each side. He made it half way down before glimpsing the
prone form of a police officer in the room to the left. There was no obvious
blood and the man’s pistol was still in its holster. A quick glance showed the
room to the right to be empty, so he stepped into the doorway and dropped into
a crouch. “John?!” Too late, he noticed the four thin bony spines sticking out
of the special constable’s back.
Constable
Hillier almost anticipated the sharp pain that hit him in the spine, though not
the strange sputtering crack. He whirled around, bringing the sub machine gun
up. His gaze was met by a nightmarish face surrounded by snaky tentacles, the
humanoid demon crouching low in the doorway opposite. The gun spat but the
burst went high, and before he could correct his aim the gun slipped from his
numbing fingers and clattered to the floor. Matthew collapsed, paralyzed and
helpless before the demon.
Lakheenahuknaasi
pulled herself upright and stared at the men for a few moments. When she spoke
it was a smooth and slightly sibilant voice.
“Two
little humanss, all for me. Now, what shall I do with you?”
Hunger
gnawed at the gorgon, her body desperate for materials to begin rebuilding her
smashed leg, but giving in to her instincts now would be suicide. She’d tried
to contact Euryale, but every time she began to summon psychic force she nearly
fainted again with the pain. No, emulating the tactics of her queen was the
only hope for escape. Lakheenahuknaasi brought up her tentacles and prepared to
loose her enthrallment darts.
Hellmouth,
Field of Dysprosium, South of the River Phlegethon
As
his car rolled out of the black oval, Dr Surlethe looked out the window in awe.
The long columns of tanks and other armored vehicles, which had stretched out
toward the horizon under the blue Iraqi sky, continued here as though there
were no break between dimensions. As the highway to hell continued, suddenly
the rows of tanks were flanked by buildings, and he was aware of the car
slowing down. Ahead was a squat, nondescript building with a thicket of
antennas sticking out the top. On the other side was a veritable forest of
flagpoles; each had a different flag flying in what looked to be a stiff
breeze. The colors looked positively gaudy against the dull, orange sky.
The
driver noticed what he was staring at, and commented, “That's the headquarters
building, and them's the flags of all the nations that've signed on in the war
against Hell and Heaven.”
“That's
a lot of them,” he said, half to himself. “Where's the science building?”
“Over
this way,” said the driver, and he turned the car to the right as the road they
were on fed into another maze of streets in front of the headquarters building.
Barracks and other buildings slid by them as they drove, weaving through heavy
traffic. People were everywhere – surveyors, construction crews, military types
– and the place was buzzing with activity.
They
passed an airstrip after a few minutes, the car shaking as some sort of jet
climbed over them and thundered off into the sky. As the driver edged over into
the left lane, he remarked, “F-111, Aussie bird. Must be off on another
reconnaissance mission. The diggers have been working right hard.”
Dr
Surlethe nodded, preoccupied. They had not veered to the left or right as far
as he could tell, which meant that they'd traveled through a right angle. That
meant the hellmouth – still close enough to be visible – should be behind and
to the right. Yet it was directly behind them; he could just see it if he
craned his head around the passenger seat. This was interesting. The surface
geometry here was very clearly non-Euclidean, but light still traveled in
straight lines. Very interesting.
The
drive pulled off the road into a parking lot and stopped in front of another
squat building. It looked exactly the same as the headquarters, except without
the flags in front of it. “Thanks,” said Dr Surlethe. He hopped out of the car,
grabbed his briefcase, and quickly strode into the building, noting the double
airlock doors that excluded the polluted atmosphere of Hell..