“Alders, my children are there!” I press him.
“Okay, this is just a rumour, but last time I was on the ground at Northolt; something big was being prepared. I heard off an old colleague that he thinks it could be a tactical nuclear strike.”
I’m speechless, but not totally surprised. A tactical nuclear strike is designed to be used on the battlefield, to surgically aid friendly troops. The warhead is smaller than a strategic warhead, used to destroy a large area such as a city. The warhead is still nuclear though, one has never actually been used tactically on a battlefield, never mind in a city and now they want to use one in London!
“Any idea on a time frame?” I ask, pulling myself together.
“I only know if they are going to do it, it will be soon. I won’t be hanging about, let’s put it like that.”
“I appreciate the lift mate, believe me,” I tell him, my mind racing.
“The least I could do. They will divert all air traffic before they do anything,” Alders tells me.
“Shit!” I say urgently. “Where is the USB charging port?” I ask, quickly moving to get the two phones out of my front pocket. I should have tried the phones as soon as I boarded.
“There’s one,” Alders points out.
I plug the one end of Sir Malcolm’s charger in the port and quickly plug the other end into my phone. I wait, staring at the screen, willing it to show a sign that the phone is charging. Nothing happens, just as I suspected; my phone is fucked. I pull the lead out and stick it into Sir Malcolm’s phone. After a couple of seconds, the screen lights up to tell me the phone is charging. Patiently, I wait for a minute to let the battery draw some juice, then I press the power key. While the phone is starting, I pray that Sir Malcolm hasn’t changed his passcode. The phone starts, and I tap in six digits of his birthday backwards and the menu comes up. If only that number had logged into his computer at Orion, I wouldn’t be in this mess.
He won’t have Josh’s number; the only number I think he will have, is Lieutenant Winters’. I quickly scroll, find his name where it should be and press call. Eventually, the call connects, and I get a ring tone in my ear. I press the phone harder to try and cut out the din of the helicopter. Please answer, Winters, I think to myself.
“Hello,” Winters shouts down the line. “Who is this?”
I’m just about to answer him when gunfire echoes in the background and Winters starts shouting. I can’t make out what he is saying.
“Winters?” I shout into the phone.
He doesn’t answer. More gunfire erupts into my ear, much closer this time, as if it is Winters doing the shooting. The shooting stops and Winters shouts again, but it’s garbled, then I hear him shout Josh, I’m sure of it. Again, gunfire sounds, lots of gunfire and then the phone disconnects.
“Shit!” I say to myself.
Alders is silent next to me. I try to connect again but the call won’t connect.
“How far out are we?” I ask Alders in desperation.
“Five minutes, what’s happening?”
“Winters is in a fight, lots of gunfire and I’m sure he shouted Josh’s name.”
“Make that four minutes,” Alders says as he adjusts the throttle to increase the engine's output.
The whine from the engines surges as does Alders’ look of determination, his eyes fixed ahead. The Lynx flies farther out of the city and the atmosphere outside starts to clear of heavy smoke and the daylight increases. It is by no means crystal clear, but the visibility does improve, however. That enables Alders to point out the tall thick plumes of smoke rising from Heathrow in the distance. Fires at the airport must be extensive, the reprieve for my lungs is going to be short-lived.
“How do you want to play this?” Alders asks.
“Just find somewhere to put me down near Terminal 5, that’s where they have got to be,” I tell him.
“Finding somewhere safe to drop you off is not going to be easy,” he informs me.
“Just get close to the building and low enough so that I can jump down, that’s all I ask.”
“Rabids will be everywhere, Captain, I’ll have to find a clearing.”
“No, Flight Lieutenant, get me as close as you can safely, let me worry about the Rabids.”
“They will be on you straight away; I can’t do that.” He tells me earnestly.
“I’ve just yomped through London surrounded by Rabids; let me worry about them. Get as close as you can. That is an order.”
“Yes, Sir,” Alders says with a look of bewilderment across his face.
“Trust me, Flight Lieutenant and thanks for the lift,” I tell Alders more calmly.
“Don’t mention it,” Alders replies and offers his hand.
I clasp his hand, give him one last look and then whip off the headset. I glimpse Heathrow approaching through the cockpit window; the airport looks in dire straits. I don’t sit and ponder what I am going to do, it’s a waste of time. I have no idea what I am going to run into when I jump from the Lynx. All I know is I’ve got to find my children and the others, and fast.
Pressing the button at the centre of my seat harness, it releases, and I climb out of the co-pilot’s seat. I squeeze past Alders and give him a slap on the shoulder as I move into the helicopter’s hold and reattach the silenced M4 to my front. My right-hand curls around the rifles grip as my adrenaline starts to spike.
“One minute!” Alders shouts over his shoulder to me.
The hold door is in front of me and my left hand takes hold of its handle, ready to slide it open. Out of the door's window, the ground below rises up to show me Rabids dotted over the concrete below, their excitement growing at the prospect of
