"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.”