The General
by
Sam Worthington
Book 1 of the Aquitaine Trilogy:
The
story of the Peoples of the Earth
Copyright© Sam Worthington 2009.
The right of Sam Worthington to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patent Act 1988
Published by Sam Worthington at Smashwords to your copyright page
Other books by the same author
The Constitution (2nd book in Aquitaine Trilogy)
The War (3rd book in Aquitaine Trilogy)
Kelly: The bar girl who would be president
Hookers Hero: Thriller based in 1970’s London
A Superlative View (as Tim Randall)
Food reviews at www.samworthington.com
Blog: www.asiabugle.com
Acknowledgement.
I would like to thank the following people for their help and advice in writing this book: David Dean for editorial and telecoms advice, Anthony Ainsworth (military), David Hallam (pilot), Bill Fitzgerald (engineer), wikipedia.com (who always had information when I asked), Keith Fitzgerald and Peter Hill (editing) and many, many others who have exchanged thoughts and ideas.
Nature does nothing uselessly.
Aristotle
Greek critic, philosopher, physicist and zoologist (384 BC to 322 BC)
This novel is a work of fiction and the characters and events in it exist only in its pages and in the author’s imagination.
Preface
Needless to say, what would really happen after a nuclear cataclysm is unknown. For that, we can at least be grateful, but this book is not about the rights and wrongs of nuclear weapons; it is about the aftermath of a catastrophic event - a doomsday scenario - that would allow a group of people to create a new community. My research (see the notes at the end of the book) suggests that the almost friendly environment I have created would probably be far from the truth, but we really do not know.
I hope the French will forgive me for borrowing their delightful country. It is in the right place and it was the perfect place to go and do the research. Need I say any more? Geographically, I have tried to use the land as it is.
As to the personalities, they all have to be fictitious, as these events have not happened. I hope that as you read the book you will understand my motives in writing this book. The main intention was to write a different and interesting adventure story and within that story I wanted to challenge some of today’s accepted norms.
This is the first of three books which will cover the progress of the new Aquitaine, from its chaotic rebirth to its rise as a super state. The people (the characters in the novel) will examine the society that disappeared in a nuclear cloud and decide what society they would like in the future, thus learning from the mistakes of the past.
Many nationalities are mentioned, as this is a new society created by people from all over the globe. I have travelled extensively and know there are no valid stereotypes. We are what we are: created by our environment, our education and our society. Thus, the children of the peoples of the Earth are exactly that: a melting pot of races and creeds working together for the good of themselves and their fellow man.
Chapter 1 The flight
Ted Dennison woke up as the plane rocked and rolled. It was the unusual motion that pulled him out of a light sleep. He was lying on the so-called flat bed of his first-class seat, so-called because, as a helpful cabin service officer had explained on an earlier flight, airlines flew with the nose trimmed up. So in fact a flat bed is not flat but head-down. But that was not what was concerning Ted as he woke up. It was the plane’s motion. Planes at this altitude bounced; they did not yaw. Next, he sensed rather than saw a bright flash. Lightning at 35,000 feet was unusual. Then the plane yawed and bucked again. By now, Ted was out of his doze and wide awake.
Where are we? He glanced across at the screen in front of the opposite empty seat. He had set up the map with the little plane and flight details on it, but the screen was blank. Maybe some helpful cabin attendant had turned it off. But no, the screen flickered almost in unison with a flash that showed up forward. The windows of the cabin had been covered by the stewardess when he started nodding off, but even in the cabin some light came through the porthole covers. More yawing and more unnatural movement and then ding-dong as the Fasten seatbelts light came on. A bit late, thought Ted. Don’t they have weather radar that should spot this stuff way ahead of getting to it? Looking at his watch, Ted worked out they were about five hours out of Bangkok – somewhere over Pakistan and Afghanistan. Not that far from the Himalayas; that could maybe explain something.
There was no more abnormal movement and no more flashes and Ted’s mind went back to the thoughts he was having as he dozed off. He was flying back to London from his retirement home in Thailand. Ted was 60 years old and semi-retired. Not fully retired because he was still the majority shareholder and chairman of the pub company he had set up more than 20 years ago. His son was in charge of day-to-day affairs and Ted was on his annual tour of inspection, although this year it was different. Ted had never been sure about leaving his son in charge, but overall, Ted reluctantly conceded, he had not done a bad job. But this year that was no longer so. A couple of the pubs were underperforming and his son wanted to sell them off. And Ted was not persuaded that this was the right move. His son had managed to oust the managers that Ted had left in charge and replaced them with younger, brighter managers, as his son described them.
Ted was convinced that this had something to do with his son’s wife: pretty – yes, sociable – yes, but also always after more. Selling the crown jewels, she reckoned, would enable her to keep up with many friends whose husbands worked for multinationals, had bigger houses and were always off on shopping holidays. Ted was suspicious and this trip of his was deviously conceived. He had purposely delayed his annual departure until the moment his son had announced his two-week May break. And now he would arrive a week before the son and wife were booked on their overseas trip. One week to see his son and two weeks when he could effectively take over and find out what was really going on. He knew most of the support staff and suppliers well; with his son out of the way, all would be revealed. While Ted looked forward to getting back into the cut and thrust of day-to-day management, he was not sure he really relished the likely row with his offspring.
Now that Ted’s mind was once more active, he could not doze off. He started thinking about the rollicking motion and the flashes that woke him up; it was all very strange and what had turned off the flight information screen? Then inevitably he wanted to use the lavatory; he tried putting it off but the need would not go away. Nothing for it, he conceded, and then spent minutes fighting with the electric controls of his seat. Damn thing would not go down when he wanted and now it would not go up. Ted concluded that these seats seemed to be designed for the minuscule; he was the converse. On the tall side of average height for a European, he was invariably told by his doctor, on his annual check-up at Samitivej Hospital in Bangkok: “Khun Ted, it would be better if you could lose 15 kilos.” Ted had a feeling the electric motor that drove his seat upwards was using just that line as it struggled to get him upright.
When Ted came out of the bathroom, he found the captain and the cabin service officer in conversation in the crew area. The captain was a European about Ted’s height and, unlike Ted, he had a mass of grey hair. He was an attractive man with a neat moustache and slight devil-may- care look; he was, Ted estimated, in his early fifties, while the shorter cabin service officer was probably early forties and Asian. They both looked at Ted and the cabin service officer said, “Do you require anything, sir?”
“I think not,” replied Ted, then saying to the captain, “Strange to get lightning at this altitude.”
The captain hesitated for a second before saying “Yes, sir.”
Ted caught the hesitation so he immediately followed up. “Yes, and the aircraft movements were strange. It was almost as though we were in a gusting storm but I did not think you would get gusting winds up here.”
“Yes, sir, most unusual,” the captain replied and made to turn away.
But Ted now knew something was amiss and he was not about to be brushed off so easily. “And captain, the little airplane is gone!”
The captain was not sure what Ted was referring to. However, he could hardly ignore a direct question. “Sorry, sir, I do not understand your question,” the last word fading as the penny dropped. So, rather too quickly, he added, “Oh, we normally turn the tracker off at night.”
Ted had spent far too long as an employer in some tricky businesses to not immediately suspect the captain was tiptoeing around the real answer. Also, he himself had flown this route on numerous occasions and knew the claim was untrue.
To Ted, the captain seemed an honest and pleasant type of man – a man Ted would enjoy a pint and laugh with in a pub. Of course he had a duty not to alarm passengers and he was seemingly obscuring the truth. But Ted’s mind was working overtime and he was far too curious a person to let go once he suspected something. Fortunately, he was coming from the bathroom in the passageway to the cockpit and thus he effectively blocked the captain’s escape route.
There was a moment’s silence and the cabin service officer jumped into the captain’s breach. “If you would like to sit down, sir, I will get the cabin attendant to get you a drink.” He moved to make it quite clear that Ted should go back to his seat.
“Thank you,” said Ted as he thought about this situation. Then he decided to jump in with both feet. He looked straight at the captain, making certain he had eye contact. “I suppose the loss of GPS is no real problem to an old-school pilot like you. I am sure they never had that when you started out.”
The captain was no poker player and his expression told Ted that he had not guessed wrong. “Well, sir, you are right. GPS was not operating when I started flying, but what makes you think we are not using it?”
“The little plane,” said Ted with a slight smile, “You said it was turned off but the screen is still on, and I have never known it turned off on this flight before.”
The captain stared back at Ted, wondering what to say; he was clearly not a man to tell a blatant lie. So Ted saved him the problem of an answer. “Okay, I’m a smart arse! But I am also not stupid. I am not sure what has happened. I suspect it is nothing to do with the plane or you would not be standing here and would be heading for the nearest suitable airport. But I am sitting in 1A and if you need anyone to chat to, please feel free. I have been around the block. I might even be helpful. That is, assuming the problem is nothing to do with the aeroplane. That’s your speciality,” Ted smiled at the captain, who was clearly perplexed as to how to answer.
“Your seat, sir,” was the cabin service officer’s clear order to Ted to leave it alone. Ted wondered what this man knew. As the person responsible for cabin services, he had to have discussed with the captain what had happened.
Ted complied and sat down, more curious than ever.
The flight progressed smoothly and, after a while, Ted once again dozed off, though this time with the seat back rather than flat. When he woke up, he realised the captain was sitting in the window seat opposite him on the far side of the plane. The captain was nursing a cup of coffee. To Ted, the temptation was irresistible and he buzzed his seat upright and walked round the bulkhead to the other side, nodding at the stewardess as he passed her. He then dropped into the empty seat opposite the captain with now a single aisle separating them. He smiled as the captain looked up when he arrived.
The captain nodded at Ted and said, “I wondered how long it would take you to come and harass me.”
“Do you want me to go away?” Ted replied.
“No, it is okay. You might even amuse me for half an hour.”
Ted smiled and said, “You want my song-and-dance act?”
The captain chuckled. “I suspect not. So, before you mention it, what do you think is going on?”
Ted was about to say he had no idea but realised that the skipper might actually want to talk about it to somebody. “Well,” he started as he gathered his thoughts, wondering exactly how far he would own up to what he was imagining. “My only rather dramatic conclusion is that there has been some kind of nuclear incident involving at least three explosions. As far as I can figure, only that would explain what happened. If it had been cloud pillars with lightning in them, you would have seen them miles off on radar and you would have tried very hard to avoid them, and certainly you would have put on the seatbelt light when they got close. But apart from the lightning, the motion was wrong. This was sudden, high-gusting winds. I may stand corrected, but I am sure that does not happen at this altitude. And what killed the GPS system? A high-level electromagnetic pulse would. Or the Yanks could have turned it off, but somehow I doubt that. But you must know much more than I do.”
The captain gave a wry smile. “Just testing to see if you are as big a smart arse as you make out!”
“So, how did I do?” Ted countered.
“Not bad. Of course, we are not sure it was nuclear. But, whatever it was, at least three is right, but in the cockpit we saw some flickers a long way off on the far horizon, which would suggest a lot more than three. Even if, and I stress if, the first three were nuclear, they were all a long way from us. If they had been close, we would probably have not survived. And yes, that does seem to have killed the GPS system as well as all radio systems.”
Ted thought for a moment. “So you are flying blind? I think not.”
“No, my friend. As you pointed out, I have been around a long time and could use the stars if the worst came to the worst. For that matter, all pilots are trained to use the stars in an emergency, although I suspect most may have forgotten it all, whereas it was pretty well rammed into me when I started out. However, that is not required. When we took off, our course was in the computer with the bearings and run times calculated. Okay, this would have been checked against the GPS system, but if we have not got that, then the gyro compass and other instruments will do the job. And, needless to say, the job of us humans at the sharp end is to see we arrive where we are supposed to.”
“But,” asked Ted, “if other computers seem to have failed, why not yours? I mean, I presume lack of radio contact suggests that an electromagnetic pulse maybe the problem?”
The captain shook his head. “Be grateful for that – that if it was electromagnetic pulse, it passed us by – because if it had not, we would have fallen out of the sky.” Ted looked quizzical and added, “Everything on this Airbus is operated by computers. There is much built-in redundancy, which means several computers can fail. But if they all fail, well … put simply, nothing works. The engines would shut down and we would have no controls at all. So we were lucky?”
The captain thought for a moment. “Put that way, I suppose we were.”
“So, what have you done about ...,” Ted shrugged, “well, everything?”
The captain gave a small chuckle. “Apart from upsetting my crew, very little.” He realised that an explanation was required and he carried on. “I was off duty and trying to sleep when the first shock hit. I am, of course, still in charge of the aircraft, so I went to the cockpit when the aircraft motion was wrong. Yes, the pitching and yawing should not happen up here. We quickly realised that the GPS was down and tried to raise the local ATC. That’s air traffic control, which was Pakistan and soon became Afghanistan. We got no response. We checked everything on the aircraft and could find nothing wrong. All systems seemed to be working and, as you know, we were hit by other blasts. I had an immediate suspicion as to what had happened and, let’s be honest, I think and you think this is nuclear, but we are not 100 per cent certain. Anyway, that is a pretty dramatic conclusion. SOP – standard operating procedure – would suggest that, as we had a major instrument failure, we should divert to the nearest friendly airport, assuming there was no immediate danger to the aircraft, or to the nearest suitable airport if there was a danger. By friendly, we mean an airport which this airline operates out of. So, that meant diverting to the Gulf. The other option would be to return to Bangkok; we were just over one-third distance. Well, I took the view that, bearing in mind where we were, the nuclear exchange may be between India and Pakistan, and therefore going back over India might not have been a clever move, and if the problem is more global, one has to suspect that the Gulf could quickly become involved. My chief officer stated that we must follow SOP and either divert or go back. I overruled him and said that, as there was nothing wrong with the aircraft, we should go on, and we have ample fuel to reach Europe. I have provisionally agreed that if we have no more problems and are still without GPS or land contact, we will land in Vienna, which is a friendly airport, and we will arrive shortly after dawn, so we will have daylight.”
Ted thought for a moment. “Sounds fair enough to me. I mean, if there are problems on the ground, you need to have good visibility when you are landing. Presumably, there will be no ATC. I hope there is or this thing is bigger than I want to think about.”
A thought struck Ted. “You have radar. Have you seen any other aircraft and would you expect to?”
“I wondered when you would get to that. That is what I was thinking about when you appeared. The answer is that we have radar, we have seen nobody else, and we would certainly expect to see a few other aircraft.” The captain glanced at his watch. “In about an hour, we will be over central Turkey. We should fly virtually over Ankara and Istanbul. If the situation is still the same there, then I will start thinking the worst. Meantime, we can do little but carry on.” The captain then pointedly changed the subject. “This seems a regular trip for you, sir: Holiday or business?”
Ted immediately got the message and before long the two men were on first-name terms and telling each other about themselves. Ted learned the captain’s name was John Davidson; he was married with two young children because, as he put it to Ted, as a young captain he always had too good a time to settle down and it was not until his early forties that a scheming stewardess had dragged him to the altar. A decision, he hastened to add, he had no regrets about. Ted talked about his family and his career as an entrepreneur who had started several businesses – some with great success, others not so – until he finally lucked into pub restaurants, which had served him well, not just from trading in them but from the capital appreciation of the ones he owned freehold. He even revealed the impending problems of his trip ahead and said that he had been divorced many years ago – a divorce which he admitted had not been as expensive as it could have been, as it had happened when he was really struggling to make ends meet in the early 90s. “A couple of years either way and she would have cleaned me out,” he added. It was a happy, revealing chat, as Ted had expected it to be when he first spoke to the captain. They had even had a laugh about Bangkok and discussed its bars and nightlife. John had known Bangkok well over the years, quite often staying on two- and three-day layovers in the 80s and 90s when Bangkok was a major stopover destination on many Asian and Australian routes. They had common acquaintances among bar owners, as well as a few bar regulars. The time passed quickly and the stewardess kept the captain supplied with coffee while Ted drank water and a couple of cups of tea.
Abruptly, the captain glanced at his watch and jumped up. “I had better go and see what is happening. I presume nothing has changed, as they had instructions to let me know if it does. I’ll let you know what is happening.”
Ted returned to his seat and considered the situation; whichever way he looked at it did not bode well. As his new friend the captain had said, it was not necessarily a nuclear catastrophe, but the longer they travelled with no ground contact and no GPS, the more serious the situation looked.
It did not take long to get round to thinking about his family in England. Were they in danger or worse? On the whole, he liked his son, although he inevitably irritated him. He was very fond of the two grandsons he had and in many ways he enjoyed his daughter-in-law. She was always fun and chatty. He also had a daughter who was more career-orientated; she had never married but seemed to enjoy life as a solicitor, despite Ted’s general distrust of the legal profession. Ted knew they would have a few meals together and he would enjoy every minute, even if she would express concern about his living the Thailand. That got Ted on to thoughts of the press and the general negativity applied to Thailand. Some criticisms he may agree with, but on the whole it was a great place for him to live, and he did try to split his time between Asia and Europe, getting the best of both worlds.
Ted was slowly nodding off again when the stewardess appeared. “Excuse me, Mr Dennison. The captain has asked you go to the cockpit.” And then, as though she could not believe it, she added, “We are not supposed to let anybody but crew members in the cockpit these days. It’s the rule.”
Ted smiled and got up from his seat and moved forward. The stewardess knocked on the door and Ted was admitted. There were two pilots sitting in comfortable seats, side by side at the front, seemingly doing very little, and the captain was in a central seat behind the pilots. The lighting was low and rows of instruments glowed. As ever, Ted wondered what they all did.
“Come in, Ted, and sit down.” The captain moved out of his seat and offered it to Ted. He moved to the rear right corner of the small cockpit where he pulled down a jump seat. “Now, let me introduce you to my crew. Chris in the left-hand seat is a senior pilot and Mark is our co-pilot. This guy is Ted Dennison, who seems like a knowledgeable sort of chap who might just be useful as we sort this mess out.” Ted nodded greetings and Mark turned round and said “Hi”, though the other pilot barely acknowledged his presence.
“Now, Ted, look straight ahead and what do you see?”
Ted was perplexed and could only reply, “Not a lot.”
“Exactly. That is the problem. What you are looking at is Istanbul and the Bosporus. I have flown over this point literally hundreds of times and I have never seen anything like this. And, before you ask, there is little or no cloud, so we should be able to see masses of lights, and the line of the Bosporus is usually all lit up.”
Ted was still standing, so he could see clearly ahead. There was no moon but plenty of starlight and he thought he caught a glimpse of a reflection – from water, he presumed. He saw flickers on the ground and realised they must be fires. Some looked like big fires. “I can see what I presume are fires; some look quite big,” he said, “and I suppose from six miles away one would not see that much.”
It was Mark who answered. “Yes, I can see what looks like fires, but there should be lights, not fires.”
John was now standing and looking, “Exactly. It looks to me like part of Istanbul is burning, but not in one place. And there is clearly no power. Sit down, Ted.” He motioned to the seat already offered. “This does not look good,” he added.
Before Ted could reply, Chris interrupted from the left-hand pilot seat. “We should have gone back to Bangkok as I suggested. And, captain, I must protest that having a passenger in the cockpit is most irregular.”
Ted looked at the captain, who just raised his eyes and shook his head as Ted seemed about to speak. There was an uncomfortable silence.
John stood up and looked at Ted and they both left the cockpit together. He went to his seat and the captain followed but did not sit down. “That was all to do with the cockpit voice recorder. All Chris wants is to be a captain, so he is terrified that, if I am deemed to have got it wrong, he will also be blamed. Sadly, our Chris is first and foremost a by-the-book and SOP specialist and thinks that will ensure he gets his promotion. Ironically enough, if I have anything to do with it, that is exactly why he should not be a captain. Sometimes, you have to use your nouse and do what you think is right, even if it means bending the odd rule.” Ted nodded his agreement; he himself had never played by the rules. “Anyway,” added John, “I had better go back and make certain we get to Vienna as planned. But I fear this is by no means over. We are within radio range of Vienna and we are getting no response. More concerning is the lack of other aircraft anywhere, either visually or on the radar. I will call you when we get to Vienna.” With that, the captain hurried off.
Ted sat there and considered this eerie situation. He opened the window cover and noted that outside was getting lighter. Dawn was coming up behind the plane and would soon overtake it. Daylight would reveal much, although, peering outside, he sensed that the lack of any light on the ground was fuelling the little worm in the pit of his stomach – a feeling that only came at times of high drama.
Ted watched the light brighten outside and eventually the ground became visible as wispy clouds floated past. He closed his eyes and dozed for a few minutes at a time. As the sun brightened from behind, he suddenly realised he was staring at water. Lake Balaton, it had to be. The hills on the western shore were illuminated by the low sun, while the eastern shore still looked dark, although from this height it was difficult to indentify much more than one of the largest freshwater lakes in Europe. Vienna, Ted knew, was not far away. He realised the engine sound had fallen off and the plane was slowly descending. Maybe he would get a decent lunch in downtown Vienna; that was assuming they did not immediately go on to London.
“Ding!” the stewardesses’ phone went off. She answered and looked at Ted, who was already on his feet by the time she had put the hand-set down and turned to him.
As he entered the cockpit, he immediately sensed the tension and it was no longer between the captain and his senior pilot, who was now sitting in the central seat behind the two main pilot seats. He did not move when Ted entered, so Ted stood.
The captain, in the left-hand seat, turned as Ted entered. He pointed forward through the cockpit window and, for a few moments, Ted was not sure what he was looking at. It was the Danube that put the picture into perspective. The river was clear in the west but it then disappeared into a vast area of blackness. Blackness that smoked in places, blackness that was punctuated by bright flames of fire, blackness that seemed to have height in places, a height that was exaggerated by the low sun, and there was the blackness that seemed to fade on the edges where typical houses and roads appeared.
Ted did not know what to say, but realised a comment was required. “Is that … was that Vienna?”
There was a pause and finally Mark, still in the right-hand seat, spoke. “Yes, but what has happened? I mean, a whole city does not just disappear.”
More silence. “It does, I suppose, if somebody dropped a nuclear bomb on it,” Ted suggested.
Chris was looking positively white and frightened. “Who would do that and why?”
No answer.
The captain took over. “Okay, so Vienna is out. Plan B? Ideas?”
Nobody spoke for a minute and then Ted broke the silence. “Zurich.”
The captain thought for a few seconds. “Yes, that makes sense. Nice neutral Switzerland and not far away. Let’s work out a course. Chris, can you find an airport layout in the file?”
A few minutes passed while files and maps were found and a course calculated and the aircraft turned. Ted stood and let the enormity of it all sink in. Did that mean that Istanbul had been similarly hit? It seemed likely and where else? London seemed an obvious target. Had there been a full-scale nuclear war? Many questions and no answers.
The cabin service officer came into the cockpit after being summoned by the captain. His appearance and the refusal of the senior pilot to move created quite a crush in the small space that was available. Ted took the opportunity to navigate around the central seat and get to perch on the jump seat. He was amazed how little space there was in this area; certainly more coach than club, he surmised. In a few words, the captain explained the situation to the new arrival. The man was quite incredulous and seemed unable to accept what he was told. Then, almost as though he wanted to simply ignore the whole issue, he said that he would start the breakfast service.
Ted did not want to interfere but thought his new friend John had more than enough on his plate, so he suggested that maybe serving breakfast should be delayed. This earned him a furious look from the purser.
“Why?” asked the captain.
“We are not sure where and when we are going to land and, wherever we do, we are likely to be held up on the plane as the formalities are sorted through. Why wake everybody up and get them all agitated when most people will still be sleeping?”
“Let sleeping dogs lie, eh, Ted,” was the captain’s answer, and then he turned to the passenger manager. “What do you think, Mongkol? Seems a good suggestion to me.”
Mongkol gave Ted a furious stare. “Yes, captain, if you say so,” and stomped out of the cabin. Ted glanced at the captain, who gave him an almost-smile. The captain’s problems were mounting and Ted just hoped he was helping, not hindering.
He was staring ahead when he realised he was looking at another black patch with a pall of smoke over it. The aircraft had dropped to 20,000 feet over Vienna but was once again climbing and it was difficult to judge the size of the black area. But it was substantial and once again on the Danube. Ted had driven through this area and suddenly he remembered where it was. “Linz,” he said to nobody in particular.
“Linz?” The captain countered.
“Straight ahead,” answered Ted. Then the three pilots saw what Ted had seen.
“What the heck.” Mark was the first to react.
“I do not understand,” Chris remarked.
From his command position, John added his thoughts. “I have a nasty feeling that this may become an all-too-familiar sight.”
“But Austria?” Chris was simply disbelieving.
Ted had been thinking about it and tried to put everything into perspective. “We are all bemused, but I think I am right in saying that the USA and Russia have more than 10,000 nuclear warheads between them, with often four or five attached to the same rocket. If for some reason they both got spooked into pressing the button, then hey! I should think nukes have gone everywhere. And, of course, there are lots of other countries with a few bombs, including the UK, and France has hundreds. I have no idea what has happened, but it looks like it is clearly not the odd nuke here and there. But that is just a guess and is based on what happened six hours ago when all this started and on what we have seen since. There are no really big ground fires, so one can only assume they have burned out, which means it all happened hours ago.”
Chris was still trying to get to grips with the situation. “How big do you think the bomb was and why is everything black?”
Ted waited to see if anybody else had answers before saying, “The fireball is the explosion. How big, I have no idea. I think I read somewhere that most strategic nukes are over 100 kilotons and there are some at 20 megatons. At 100 kilotons, the fireball would cover about two kilometres and at 20 megatons it would be 30 kilometres. Fortunately, I do not think they have many that big. John, you were in the RAF, you should know all about this.”
“That’s a long time ago, Ted, and all I did was fly heavy metal. Not what I wanted, but it set me up for this job,” the captain answered. “Okay, guys, we need to think this through. We had better make a passenger announcement fairly soon. Just a question of what we say.”
Ted was about to jump in but thought maybe he had done enough for the time being, and to his relief, the young co-pilot came up with what he wanted to say. “Captain, maybe we should wait till we get to Zurich. Then we can announce that we have been diverted.”
“We really should keep the passengers informed,” interjected Chris.
“You’re both right,” was the captain’s tactful comment, “As soon as we know we are landing at Zurich, we will make an announcement. It is just what and how much we say that we need to think about.”
For a moment, Ted thought Chris was once again going to protest, but he held his silence, so Ted took the opportunity to try to make friends. The trouble was that Ted was thinking about one thing and trying to make light conversation. So, rather than a tactful enquiry, he said, “They don’t train you for nuclear war. No SOP!”
Fortunately, the senior pilot did not pick up the inferences, and he nodded before saying, “Certainly not. But what do you know?”
Ted had already kicked himself for a none-too-tactful question and therefore thought about his response. “Well, in my life, I have had to deal with a few crises. Situations where there is nothing in the book about what to do. And I have to say that, after each experience, I think I learned something. However, at the moment, there is no real crisis here. That is, assuming you can land at Zurich. Of course, what this will have done for us individually we have no idea at this stage. But we all have our fears.”
“Yes,” acknowledged the pilot. Then, as the plane moved on, they fell silent.
The next problem was the appearance of random cloud pillars that looked bad enough, to Ted’s inexperienced eye, from a distance. But from the weather radar, according to the captain, they were really bad news. “We need to avoid those pillars. I am not sure what they are, but from the radar they are not simple clouds and they are very high,” he announced to the cockpit in general. The other pilots nodded their agreement. “So much for simple point-to-point navigation. Mark, you had better keep a course plotted. You know what: course, run times and speed so we have at least a dead reckoning to where we are.”
Ted listened and watched as they weaved their way between the apparent storms; fortunately, they seemed a fair distance apart and not that numerous. Finally, he asked the question that was nagging him. “John, forgive my ignorance, but these storm pillars. Are they usual?”
John turned and looked at him. “No way. Never seen this kind of pattern before. Storm fronts, yes, but what appear to be localised storms a few miles wide, no way.” The captain paused. “I know what you are thinking.” He gave a wry smile. “So am I. These have got to be the remains of nuclear bombs. The firestorm has sucked in moisture and god knows what else. Those pillars are probably not only full of radiation but dust and dirt and anything the firestorm sucked up. But at the moment they are not difficult to go round. I suppose sooner or later they will all join up and then it will be no fun up here, especially as they seem to go way above our ceiling.”
The flight continued with no further drama until the next black city. It was Munich, they decided, and it looked as though more than one device had hit it. Of the airport there was no sign. They all just stared at blackness and fires and said very little. Everybody in the cockpit was now horribly aware that they were going to be touched, if not punched, by what had happened.
Ted had already had a bad premonition and was therefore not at all surprised when Mark said, “Oh my God.”
The captain turned grimly to Ted. “Looks like neutrality did not suffice. I fear we need a plan C, or is it D?”
Ted had already thought about the what-if, so he was prepared. “Okay, this is worse than our worst nightmares,” he began. Then he realised he was being puerile, but could not help from adding, “Let us think about the full ramifications.” Finally, he got to the point. “We have to assume that there have been multiple strikes all over Europe.” Pointing at the black hole that had once been Zurich, he added, “On the evidence of that, every major city is likely to have been targeted. Maybe one has escaped this fate. But we do not know which and where and we certainly do not have the fuel to search for it. All these strikes are, I presume, nuclear, which means radiation and I would think central Europe is awash with radiation, so we need to go west, mainly because the prevailing wind is westerly. Shannon in Ireland would be a good spot to head for, but do we have the range?”
He paused and, when there was no answer, he added, “I suspect not. So, I would head for Bordeaux; the airport is west of the city and not far from the coast. I would presume Bordeaux has been bombed, so the question will be whether we can land there” Nobody interrupted so Ted went on. “Bergerac is a small town not far inland from Bordeaux and has a small commercial airport. I am not sure if the runway is big enough for this beast, but I would suspect it would do in an emergency. Finally, the Gironde is flat and there is a motorway that runs down to Spain, I would think, if all else failed … it would do.”
Everybody thought for a while. The captain spoke first. “Well, it is a plan and there is an A, B and C. Although I do not like C, I think we have to accept that we may face that option, which is essentially a crash landing. We have the range and we would have some time in the area, so that is practical. I suppose the answer is: Has anybody any other ideas? Chris?” He looked at the senior pilot.
“Well, I mean it is all very wrong. I mean irregular. I think we should try some other main airports. Maybe we should just go for London.”
“I think Ted has answered that question,” the captain responded. Chris stayed unhappily silent.
“Well, skipper,” Mark jumped in. “I do not think we have many options and Ted’s plan seems to be sensible. We may see an airport on the way but we cannot keep descending and then having to climb back up to cruising height; we will just burn fuel.”
“I agree, Mark.” The captain had made his mind up. “Let’s get a course,” then, turning to Ted, he smiled and said, “I knew you would come in useful somewhere.”
“Is there a calling channel on the radio? I mean, I know at sea it is channel 16,” Ted replied.
“Yes,” replied the captain,” and we have it open and Mark has been sending out regular all- stations calls and getting nothing. And, before you ask, we believe the radios are working. Now, what do we tell the passengers? Chris?”
“Well, we should tell them the truth and tell them what we are planning,” was Chris’s immediate response. Ted grimaced as John looked at him.
“I am not sure of that; the last thing we need is panicked and wailing passengers. Ted?”
“I think we should say as little as possible. Because we really do not know. I would say something about terrorism, Heathrow being closed and our being diverted to Bordeaux to refuel and that we will continue to London as soon as we can. Whether you make that nuclear terrorism is up to you. But I would keep it short and light at this stage.”
Ted noted that the captain did not ask Mark and he had a feeling that the question to Chris had been a sop; he wanted Ted’s view but could barely ignore his senior pilot.
“Okay. I will make an announcement but first I had better talk to Mongkol and he can brief his team.”
The cabin service officer was looking far from happy and was even less pleased when he realised what was happening. When he had boarded the plane, he had a good job and respect in his community. Now he was in the hands of Europeans and had no reference back to his superiors. He had never been trained for anything like this and was terrified that he would somehow be blamed. But there was nothing he could do. He totally disapproved of the passenger in the cockpit, all the more because this man seemed to have the ear of the captain. It was all wrong. But what had happened? Was his home back in Asia safe or was Asia the same as Europe and covered in horrible black scars? This was beyond him and he hated it.
Ted excused himself from the cockpit and went back to his seat to do some thinking. He listened to the captain give a quick update over the PA – an announcement that seemed to cause very little comment.
The stewardess came and asked him if he needed anything.
“No, thanks,” said Ted, “I should have asked before, but what is your name?”
“Heather, sir.”
“From Oz, I think?”
“No. They all say that. I am a Kiwi.”
Ted winced. “Sorry, I should not have got that wrong.”
Heather was a good-looking dark-haired girl in her late 20s, Ted guessed, as she smiled her acceptance of the apology and then added, “I know I should not ask you, but what is really going on?”
Ted thought about that for a moment. “Have you been looking outside? I suppose not. But do not go stirring up the passengers or the other crew. It looks like several major cities have suffered what we presume is a nuclear strike. You heard the captain’s announcement that we are heading for Bordeaux in western France, where hopefully we can land and take stock. To be honest, nothing is certain and until we get down we know very little.”
“Yes, that is what we understood. But Mr Chasari is not a happy person.” She looked embarrassingly around to make sure that she had not been overheard.
Ted smiled, then used the classic southern hemisphere line “No worries” before asking, “What’s the rest of the cabin crew like? Do you know them?”
“I know Da. She is Thai, and then there is a Filipina, Alma. I know them quite well and they are both good girls. There are a couple of Chinese girls who I also know but not well, and an Aussie guy who is new. Name’s Grant, I think. Why?”
“Thanks,” said Ted with a smile, thinking that names are always useful and on the ground they would need the crew, however they might get there. “Heather, do not worry. I am sure it will all sort itself out and if I know anything I will tell you. Any chance of a cup of tea?” Heather hurried away to get his drink.
Ted had said earlier to the senior pilot that he had handled a few crises in his life and if he had got the answers wrong, it would have been a massive problem for himself, his family and maybe his employees, but not a tragedy or disaster for anybody. This was beyond anything he had dealt with. Thinking about family made him wonder if he had any left, and that was the question everybody on the plane would soon be asking. Assuming the plane landed safely, and that was a big if, then what would they find on the ground? A coach to whisk him off to a good hotel? He doubted it. He stared out of the window and saw another monstrous area of black. Then he closed his eyes tightly and blinked when he heard a voice say his name. It was the captain. “You all right?”
“Yes,” said Ted. “I was ruminating,” he added with small shrug.
The captain sat down and said, “Don’t go funny on me. I have a feeling we are going to need you once we get on the ground.”
“It’s all right, John. I was wondering about things I think I am going to have to ignore for a while.”
“Like your family? We have all got that problem. But I am worried about what happens after we get down. We could well end up on our own.”
“That was one of the prospects I was just considering. But I fear that, until we get there, wherever that is, we cannot do a lot. The main thing will be to keep control and organise the passengers as they get off the aircraft.”
“Yes, I agree.” Ted sensed that John was about to say more but had stopped himself. Instead, he added, “It is not pretty out there. There are black areas all over. It makes no sense.”
“I suppose it was as intended. MAD!”
“Well, from up here, it certainly looks mad,” replied the pilot.
“Not that kind of mad. Cold War MAD. Mutually assured destruction.”
The captain thought for a moment but, before he could answer, there was a ding from the intercom. Heather leapt to answer it and said, “Captain, they want you in the cockpit.”
John jumped up and hurried forward, saying, “Ted, join us if you want.”
Curious as ever, Ted followed the captain and found some excitement in the cockpit. Chris was now sitting in the right-hand seat and Mark was on the left side.
Mark was talking to the captain. “I’ve got an American Air flight on the radio. They are over London and have little fuel left. They want to know if you can suggest an emergency airport.”
“What about the London airports?”
“Sorry. He says Heathrow and Gatwick are basically not there. All black. Stansted has the runways blocked by destroyed aircraft and they cannot get in. They have had no ground contact and have used up fuel looking at the various airports. I think they are desperate.”
“Think, Mark! If I was them in that situation, I would be considering calls to a higher entity,” was the captain’s wry response. “Okay, where is a nice quiet airport they should be able to land at?”
There were a few seconds of silence and then a few suggestions – all of them seemingly too close to London. Finally, Ted decided he could make a suggestion about what was truly an aviation problem. “There are all those old World War Two bases in the Cotswolds. I mean, there is Enstone and others around there. Heyford. But one must assume that it may well have been targeted, as it’s still US Air Force. Oh, I know 'em. This is a recently closed RAF field near Burford, and I do not mean Brize.”
The captain reacted. “I know it. Rissington, I think. Yes, it is. That’s a good call. Let me put on some ears and I will talk to them.”
The captain sat in the central seat as he took Mark’s earphones and spoke to the aircraft over London. A bizarre point struck Ted, who was now once again in the jump seat. The mood in the cockpit had been miraculously lifted by the call from other aircraft. Ted could understand that; it was good to know they were not alone, but the information confirmed their worst fears and they all came from in or around London.
John climbed up from his seat. “Okay. We need to start descending towards Bordeaux. Mark, hop out of that seat and I will take over.”
There was some shuffling as the pilots changed seats so that the captain was now in the left- hand seat and his senior pilot was in the right. Mark sat in the central seat that had been vacated by the captain. The two front pilots were now talking quietly to each other whilst Mark had earphones clapped on his head. As a result, Ted was excluded from the conversation. He thought about going back to his seat in the cabin but decided to wait to be asked. He allowed himself a relaxing moment and stretched back, trying not to think too much. What did concern him was that there appeared to be a steady build-up of unbroken cloud coming from the west. He just hoped this was not the joining of all those nasty cloud pillars.
Mark tapped Ted on the shoulder and pointed. Ted looked in the indicated direction and there was another ugly black area on the ground – a blight on the river valleys and gorges of the Dordogne.
“Where is that?” Ted asked as Mark dropped his headphones to around his neck.
“That’s the point. It seems to be nowhere in particular. There may be a village there, but nothing big.”
“Hmm. Well, unless it is some secret military installation, it may just be a bomb that has gone off target. Potentially, thousands of nukes could have been unleashed. I would not mind betting that quite a few ended up in the wrong place.” Mark nodded as he put back on his headphones and said something Ted did not hear. Maybe he was repeating his comments to the captain.
The aircraft was slowly descending and objects on the ground were taking on firmer shapes and identities. The captain pointed ahead and Ted saw another ugly black scar and to the right the broad expanse of the Gironde estuary. Now, thought Ted, this is the critical point. Is the airport usable?
At that moment the clouds became a single intense front and the vast black scar that represented Bordeaux was suddenly hidden from view as the aircraft hit turbulence. Mark was holding a folder in his hand and was studying a layout which Ted assumed was Bordeaux Merignac Airport. More bucking of the aircraft and Mark buckled into a full harness seatbelt and looked at Ted, who quickly followed suit.
John turned to Ted and said, “It looks like a squall line so we are going to overfly and come back, hopefully over the airport so that we can see if the runways are clear.” Ted nodded and noted that they were still losing height, now quickly.
The plane levelled out and the ground once again became visible, this time much closer, and Ted could make out individual houses and pine trees. There was no movement he could see on the ground. The shoreline flashed into view and the breaking surf was quite clear. The plane started a steep turn, keeling over as it prepared to fly back where it had come from. The beach and dunes were back again and then fields flashed underneath. There was something wrong on the ground. Ted knew this, although he was not sure what it was, and then they flashed over a boat before coming to a row of broken pines. It came back to Ted in a flash: images, all too vivid for those who had lived in Thailand during Christmas 2004, of a boat stranded hundreds of yards inland. It had been swept in by the giant wave. Had the coast been hit by a tsunami? It seemed it had been. Ted was thinking about the implications of that when Mark once again dropped his headphones and pointed straight ahead. “The airport!”
Ted could now see it clearly. It looked like a cross from the air with the two main runways intersecting the middle of the airfield.
Ted stood up from the jump seat so that he could see better, but he had to hang onto the back of the senior pilot’s seat as the aircraft gently bucked as it darted in and out of the lowest clouds. The captain was keeping as high as possible to see, but also needed to stay under the cloud ceiling for visibility.
Even at this height, it was difficult to know what one was seeing. Ted captured certain features, including various aircraft deployed around the field. To the left he saw the passenger terminal identified by link-span air bridges and an aircraft pointing at the terminal. It appeared as a single terminal building with the control tower near the centre that fronted onto the runway. Glancing at the other side of the field, Ted saw a new hangar with an aircraft tail at an odd angle: an executive jet, he decided. Further down on that side was an old building that did not look in good shape. After that were three forlorn-looking passenger jets.
Ted’s eyes were directed forward to the runways when Mark shouted “No!” Near the runway intersection, there was a seemingly destroyed aircraft. On reflection, Ted decided it was certainly one, maybe two, aircraft and that made sense; the centre of the blast was to the northeast of the city. These aircraft appeared to be reasonable small. The blast would have rolled across the airfield, throwing these planes into the tangled heap they now were in. It was with relief that Ted realised they were roughly following the line of the northwest to southeast runway, and that seemed to be clear. These planes had not quite been blown that far.
“Ted,” said the captain, “It looks as if the northwest runway is clear. But the airport looks as though it has been badly affected by the blast. What do you think?”
“The terminal looks intact. Difficult to tell from up here. All in all, it does not look too bad. But it is your call. How much longer can we stay up here for? It’s a decent runway, I think.”
“Not much longer,” the captain paused, “I guess we have to land. I will turn again and fly back low over the airport to see if anybody responds, and then turn and land from the northwest. It is strange to land with no ground contact, but we have no option.”