It was going to be a dangerous operation, particularly for the first four or five sorties which would be the most at risk when they jettisoned their loads in close proximity to the hot radioactive contents below. In theory, it would be best to use the biggest helicopters first, but in practical terms the colonel opted for a first-come-first-served basis. An added complication was getting the calculations right as to the maximum payload which each helicopter could carry.
The reaction time of the coastguard helicopters was far faster than anything the colonel could have hoped for. The first collected its hopper of concrete within forty-one minutes of the request going out. Having a modest lifting capacity, it was only able to take the hopper a third full, but it was a start.
The pilot and his two crew members were joined by the crane driver and took off with the hopper slung under the helicopter’s belly and headed for the plume of dark smoke which was clearly visible in the overcast February daylight. The pilot made his approach from the south-east – upwind. Half a mile from the train, the helicopter gained altitude and the hopper was lowered to the full length of its steel wires. Hovering over a specified spot was second nature to the pilot – even in a force eight gale. This time, it was different. The risks were unseen.
‘Bombs away!’ shouted the crane driver pulling the mechanical release cord. ‘Now comes the slow bit,’ he shouted. ‘I reckon we’ll be here for sixty to seventy seconds.’
‘Shout when we can scarper,’ yelled the pilot over the noise.
Seventy-five seconds later their task was completed. The empty tubular steel hopper and hawser were ditched; the helicopter banked and headed south.
The co-pilot called back to those behind him. ‘What were the readings?’
‘OK-ish,’ came the reply. ‘No more dentist’s X-rays for a while though, I reckon. But we’re still below the maximum limit and a bit more shouldn’t do us any real harm; just fry a few cells here or there!’
‘Are you willing do a second run?’ enquired the pilot.
‘If no one else is around and we can help stop the radioactivity escaping, do we have a choice?’ asked the crane driver.
The co-pilot radioed through to the Ops Room and spoke to the colonel. ‘Load safely deposited. Our radioactivity gauge shows that we can do another run. Where’s the next helicopter?’
‘It’s five minutes behind you, followed by two more shortly after that, then there’s…’ He hesitated, ‘A bit of a gap.’
‘Sign us up for that slot. Where do we get our next load of concrete from, please?’
The colonel studied the map. His adjutant beside him pointed at a mark on the map, saying, T suggest this one,’ and relayed the coordinates. The pilot moved on to the new course.
‘What did it look like?’ asked the colonel.
‘Devastation,’ replied the pilot. ‘There’s a river and a canal nearby. You’re no doubt aware of where the water goes?’
‘Yes,’ replied the colonel. ‘We’re working on how to stop the radioactivity getting into the water courses and then leaching into the water table.’
Multi-tasking was the order of the day. Kate was roped in by the colonel. ‘Find me a good location to set up a decontamination unit for the helicopter crews and where we can put the helicopters that have been exposed; ideally a small local airfield away from the public gaze. When you’ve found it, get the RAF command centre to set up a decontamination unit and field hospital there.’
‘Yes, sir,’ came the reply.
A private airfield and flying club was found at Stapleford, near the M25/M11 intersection and less than fifteen miles away. She passed the details on to the RAF Control Centre.
‘Let me look it up,’ said the voice at the other end of the phone. ‘Good choice – its main runway will take transport planes. Tell them to expect a couple of Hercules planes within the next forty-five minutes. Get them to clear the area to the west of their runway number 28/10. We will put the contaminated helicopters there.’
Kate phoned the flight centre, half expecting the phone to be answered by an unhelpful individual. It was answered by the manager of their Club House. Kate explained that the RAF needed to borrow their facilities.
‘No problem. We’ve been listening to the flurry of radio traffic for the past half an hour. Is it as bad as they say?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ replied Kate.
‘What can we do to help?’
‘You can expect two Hercules transport planes carrying medical supplies within the hour. They won’t be staying long, as they’ve other deliveries to make,’ said Kate, who went on to give details of their requirements.
‘We’ll clear out the student accommodation block. It’ll make a good medical block and decontamination facility. I’ve only one favour to ask: if you could ask the transport planes to land on the tarmac part of the main runway and not on the grass section, it would be much appreciated,’ said the manager.
Back at the train, the first five sorties flown by the lighter coastguard helicopters had started to cover the ruptured canisters with concrete.
‘Bloody pyramids!’ commented the adjutant. ‘The train line is on an embankment and the concrete pours down off the carriage on to the sloping ground. The base layer of the concrete gets wider and wider but the pile doesn’t get much higher.’
The crane driver in the back of the first coastguard helicopter overheard this conversation and shouted to the pilot, ‘Suggest they add salt to the concrete; it’ll speed up the setting time.’
The first heavy-duty Chinook helicopter did the sixth run and took almost two full hoppers. This was closely followed by eleven more Chinook sorties.
By midday, the ruptured canister and train were no longer visible, buried beneath a small hill of concrete. Phase One had been completed successfully.
Meanwhile, the irate junior minister had been let out of the interview room and was now en route to 10 Downing Street, where he had been summoned to attend a meeting with the head of PR at the Cabinet Office.
Phase Two, which had commenced simultaneously with Phase One, involved the establishment of the exclusion zone.
Four Apache helicopters were tasked with marking the thirtymile long boundary of the exclusion zone and the location of the fourteen decontamination centres. They used a combination of electronic and smoke beacons.
From listening to the conversations, Rafi had gleaned that the main problem was the large amount of radioactive material that the south-easterly wind had picked up and was depositing over a wide area.
The Kornet missiles had thermobaric warheads. These, it seemed, were different to conventional explosive weapons and used the oxygen in the air instead of carrying an oxidizer in their explosives. As one of the army officers explained, ‘They produce more bang for their bucks. Unfortunately there was water surrounding the spent fuel rods. The thermobaric explosion will have extracted the oxygen from the water and liberated hydrogen gas, which will have made the bang even bigger. The ferocity of the blast vaporised much of the radioactive material and blasted it high into the sky. The radioactive plutonium is heavier than lead, so thankfully it won’t travel far. It is the lighter and more highly radioactive isotopes in the spent fuel that will cause the problems. They will stay airborne far longer and are responsible for the unexpectedly large size of the exclusion zone.’
16 Air Assault Brigade, the army’s premier rapid reaction fighting brigade from nearby Essex and Suffolk, parachuted in 750 troops using Hercules transport planes. They were joined by soldiers from the 1st Royal Tank Regiment’s Nuclear Biological and Chemical Unit, stationed alongside RAF Honning-ton in Suffolk, who landed at London City Airport within fifty minutes of the first missile exploding. They were transferred by helicopter to the locations of the fourteen decontamination centres and were tasked with helping clear the ground.