Quite by chance the 80,000 tonne tanker, Scandinavia, had docked during the night at the jetty near Dead Man’s Point. Fully laden, she was low in the water, discharging refined Avgas, diesel and petrol to the Canvey Island tank farm. After releasing its submunitions the Granat dived into the Scandinavia, rupturing several tanks and releasing a highly inflammable cloud of vapour that the inshore breeze carried landward. The absence of oxygen in the tanks prevented an explosion despite the Granats still running engine in its bowels, and starved of oxygen the engine cut out after seconds.
The second missiles submunitions exploded two fuel storage tanks on land, scattering burning fuel onto surrounding tanks. The tank farms pumping system was also breached in three places by submunitions holing pipes and releasing their contents.
The Essex Fire and Rescue Service were alerted by automatic alarms and the call was passed to the Canvey Island Fire Station in Long Road, where Blue Watch were already running for the appliances having heard the explosions at the tank farm two miles distant.
The first appliance, with sirens sounding, was pulling out onto the icy main road when the escaping vapour from the Scandinavia reached the conflagration in the tank farm. The fire flashed back to the damaged tanker and the resulting explosion increased as it swept across the tank farm, adding each of the swollen tanks contents as it reached, and overwhelmed them. The Essex Fire and Rescue vehicles were swatted from the roadway by a blast wave that levelled half of the town of Canvey Island, including the Fire Station.
As mixed blessings go the colossal detonation of the Scandinavia’s cargo and the tank farm was classic. The Granats intended for the tank farm and refinery twelve miles upstream at Purfleet were passing just a half mile distant from the Scandinavia when she blew, sending one into the muddy water of the Thames and the second crashing into fields on the Kent side of the river.
The sound of the explosion outran the remaining Granats, being heard as far away as Birmingham in the Midlands. The shockwave reached London before the missiles did.
The Thames takes on a twisting and turning course upriver from Greenwich and as the Granats reached the Royal Victoria Docks they ceased to hug the rivers surface, cutting across the Millennium Dome, Isle of Dogs and the Rotherhithe loop at rooftop height.
The targets in the city of London were for the most part iconic, and the purpose was to demoralise the British and serve as an unspoken threat to all other European members of NATO.
The weapons that struck The Tower of London, Downing Street and St Paul’s Cathedral carried 410kgs of high explosive whereas napalm set a blaze that destroyed the West Gallery, Ballroom and the principle staterooms of Buckingham Palace.
The Houses of Parliament were spared by the same quirk of fate that caused the second highest death toll in London.
The blueprint for the missile attack had been drawn up in the early 1980’s; Cold War years, and on recent revision had used city plans purchased legitimately from the Greater London Authority before the war. The plans did not include ‘Temporary Structures’ such as the London Eye.
The Granat targeting Britain’s symbol of democracy struck the wheel two hundred feet above the ground. The left wing was sheared from the missiles body and the Granat tumbled from the sky to strike and detonate on a large building on the opposite bank to Parliament, St Thomas’s Hospital.
Janet gawped in horror as the missiles passed overhead and first crawled, then ran back toward the imagined safety of the tall buildings.
The next missile however did not pass overhead, it popped up and she saw it dive down in front of her, out of the low cloud and into the cluster of towering office blocks.
The bridge beneath her feet bucked, sending her tumbling, grazing knees and the palms of her hands. Smoke and debris blossomed from behind the lower buildings between herself and the one she had left such a short time before. The smoke continued to bellow out but the debris began to fall earthwards, much of it catching the light as it did so, twinkling as they tumbled down and Janet realised it was glass, shattered glass.
Regaining her feet she ran as fast as she could in the opposite direction, heedless of the dangers of slipping on the icy surface.
A lump of concrete struck the side of the bridge in front of her, carrying ten feet of guardrail into the water with a huge splash that drenched her, but she ran on regardless, ran as the glass landed like hail, shattering into smaller pieces that tore at her clothes or landed in the water with a plunking sound.
Another missile dived from the clouds into Canary Wharf as Janet reached the DLR station, which hardly qualified as an air raid sheltered but did have a roof to protect her from the rain of glass.
She was panting, partly from exertion and partly from shock. She turned back to look at Canary Wharf, her hand flying to her mouth as she could now see people moving around on almost all of the floors of the buildings. So much of the splendid glass was gone now that the buildings were open to the elements. Office workers, some obviously in panic, ran to and fro between the lift shafts and stairwells, all of which were choked with others trying to get out.
A third and fourth missile dived down to penetrate the lower floors of 1 Canada Square, the building most people associated with Canary Wharf, and exploded. A fifth missed, striking the flat roof of the HSBC building, travelling down five floors before detonating with a flash of orange light and black palls of smoke, propelling debris out into the void.
Janet could hear screams, snatches of cries on the wind. A body fell from the upper floors of her building, man or woman she could not tell.
Flames, fuelled by the wind, quickly took hold of the upper reaches of the HSBC building, the smoke rose up to curl around its taller neighbour.
She had been amongst the millions who had watched with a feeling of disbelief when the World Trade Centre towers had collapsed on live TV, and she now felt the onset on deja vu. Without realising it Janet began praying, a repetitive chant, a mantra for the safety of her friends and colleagues in the stricken building.
She heard a shriek; a tortured rending of steel and concrete, and her building began to shrink in height, slowly at first and then with increasing speed. Like a collapsing pack of cards the once proud building disappeared from view to be replaced by dust and smoke.
The younger Probert’s rushed to their Mother at the school gates. She had telephoned the school to tell them she was safe but there was something about her that made them stop, stilled the relief in their voices. She was as a waxwork, her face and eyes lacking expression and a coldness seemed to emanate. The journey home was made in absolute silence, Karen and Tommy looking at one another worriedly, not daring to speak.
There was a car outside the married quarter as they pulled onto the drive; the occupants alighted on seeing them. Relief written upon the faces of Annabelle Reed and Sarah Osgood but they too hesitated, and then hailed their friend.
Janet gestured the kids out of the car but there was no hint that she heard or was even aware of the other women but the firm manner in which she closed the door on the world said, “Stay away.”
Inside the house Karen and Tommy sat in silence, listening to their mother moving around in the kitchen. The sound of pots and cutlery continued for twenty minutes and for the entire they remained sat together on the sofa, still in coats and hats with their schoolbags at their feet.
It took a few moments before either child noticed it had gone quiet. The silence was palpable. By unspoken agreement they got up and went together, tiptoeing to the kitchen door before peering in.