Day Two
Lt. James brushed the hair out of his eyes, vowing to shave his head if he should survive this disaster. Auxiliary power had been cut back to only the absolutely necessary levels of output, which meant the air-conditioning units which sucked air into the installation and cooled or heated it at need, were only pulling air in from two of the subway located shafts, not from the ones located on the surface. When the towers above them collapsed, the surface vents were sealed off. Clouds of dust were sucked into the installation; causing a panic until some bright soul shut down the surface intakes and shifted to the subsurface ones. There was still air coming in through the subway intakes. At that point, Lt. James had made the decision to conserve energy as much as possible.
He had also come to the conclusion that something disastrous had happened on the surface and until they reestablished communications, they were on their own. His greatest fears were not for his current command, but for those they could not contact. Had the aliens finally launched the massed attack SHADO had feared for these years? Were the bases on the Moon and Mars gone? Was the platform gone? Were the underground installations in London, Sydney, Beijing and Northern Canada also buried beneath rubble?
Or were the personnel in New York the only target? He shuddered inwardly at the thought of what must have occurred to block their intakes with choking dust. Something must have happened to the towers of glass and steel above them. He knew a touch of sorrow then, but he did not give into it. He needed to be strong, and example to his people. Peripherally, he wondered how General Foster was doing.
He wondered, as they all did, how the Old Man and Freeman would have handled this. But Straker and Freeman were gone, six years dead and - well, hardly buried - the small experimental flying water wing was probably smashed flatter than it had looked when it was ready to be tested. Foster had muttered something about "what did you expect when you pattern it on something in a 1960's sci-fi program?" He had tried to turn down the leadership of SHADO then, had pointed out that since he'd been liaison to the Commission for several years, he was in no position to command. He'd tried to give the promotion to Gay Ellis, to Col Lake, to Ford.
James smiled to himself for a moment. For years, everyone had assumed that Foster still wanted command of SHADO. None of them had realized that the man had finally come to an understanding that he was better suited to field work and to the liaison work he did, that he enjoyed. Finally, Paul Foster had bowed to the Commission's decree and taken on the job of commanding SHADO. They'd even promoted him. Pointing out that the organization was large enough to warrant a General rather than a Colonel in charge of the place.
James hadn't been present for that blow up, he'd been a raw recruit - well, not too raw. He'd been chased by a spinner the night of his high school graduation in 1991. Now, he was showing a lot of talent and capability in the command fast track. He was happy about that. He'd heard that Foster had ripped into the committee for their treatment of Straker and SHADO for all those years. With Henderson gone, the Committee members had listened to the new Commander waxing eloquent and had not argued. Straker and Freeman got posthumously the recognition they'd deserved while they lived. Foster got the rank he needed to make things work, and the finances got a boost. All in all, it wasn't bad - except that that Old Man and Freeman were gone.