Chapter 11
Forgotten in the corner of the room, the radio played the end of the early afternoon news bulletin:
'There is still no news from the Turkish town of Salihli. Communications links were severed last night when a massive earth tremor, registering over eight in the Richter scale, hit the area.
The Turkish Red Crescent have appealed for help in reaching the eighty thousand inhabitants of the town.
American Scientists have claimed that a quake of this magnitude could not be a natural phenomenon and must be the result of underground nuclear testing. Turkish Authorities deny any such activities, stating that these are in breach of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty.
Scientists at the British Geological survey have confirmed the magnitude of the quake but refused to comment on the American findings.
NATO Forces have been placed on alert after Warsaw Pact forces moved towards the Turkish Border. The Soviet news Agency, TASS, has issued a statement from the Kremlin describing the American allegations as 'A Dangerous Provocation' and that the Warsaw Pact movements are a scheduled exercise.
In local news: There is still no news of the missing policeman, Constable George Wilkins. He was last seen when he went on patrol just after 8pm last night in the vicinity of Woodcock Wood. If you have any information, you are asked to contact Kings Lynn Police station. The public are advised to stay away from the area.
Official sources have dismissed claims of an Unidentified Flying Object over the county last night. A spokesman from the Ministry of Defence has stated that a number of parachute flares were used in a scheduled Night Firing Exercise.
In a separate statement, a spokesman from the Meteorological Office has stated that unusual
weather conditions caused the beam of the Southwold lighthouse to be reflected inland.'
On the walk back to the Main Gate, Kennedy had taken Freeman to the Print Room where, with Freeman's permission, a copy of the documents had been made. These would be passed to Masters, from which he would attempt to build a copy, which would then be tested to find out exactly what it did and how well it did it.
On reaching the Main Gate, Freeman and Kennedy shook hands.
"Remember what young Masters said? Whoever put that box together has a real talent. We could use those skills here.
"So can we." Thought Freeman, his face non-committal.
"When can you let me have the report?"
"Give us a week," Replied Kennedy.
"Fine."
"Take some advice from an old friend," said Kennedy "Find yourself a big heavy safe and lock those documents away. The Soviets would kill for that sort of technology."
"Don't worry" Replied Freeman.
The documents would be destroyed as soon they were of no further use.
West Raynham's Communications Centre, or Commcen, was always busy; routine radio and telex traffic meant that the room was a hive of activity. With a chime, a teleprinter burst into life. The Signals clerk strolled over and read the message as it scrolled upwards.
His eyes widened as the true gravity of the situation dawned on him. Evidently, the balloon had gone up; NATO Forces were being placed on full alert. The absence of the '***EXERCISE***' descriptor preceding the message indicated that this was no drill.
As a founder member of NATO, the United Kingdom's policy was to consider an attack on any of its allies as an attack on the United Kingdom itself. Up and down the country, military bases were being placed on alert. At nearby RAF Waddington, the crews of the V-Bomber force were placed on 'Readiness'; Within minutes of the 'Go' signal, nuclear-armed
Vulcan and Victor bombers would be airborne and heading for their targets.
Although they knew that running the gauntlet of Soviet air defences was likely to be a suicide run, the aircrews carried out their pre-flight preparations as assiduously as ever, vowing to complete their missions or die trying.
At Faslane, on the Clyde, Polaris nuclear submarines slipped their moorings and headed out to sea, their sleek black hulls disappearing into the dark icy depths of the ocean. On reaching their pre-arranged patrol areas, they would wait deep beneath the surface until they were ordered to launch their nuclear-tipped Polaris missiles at pre-designated targets within the Soviet Union.
United States' armed forces had been placed on high alert. From bases around the world, massive B52 bombers of the Strategic Air Command, each capable of carrying thirty five tons of conventional bombs or several multi-megaton nuclear weapons, lumbered onto the air, their wings flexing gently as they began to support the huge bulk of each aircraft's fuselage. Dark exhaust plumes stained the sky as each aircraft's octet of turbojet engines hauled it into the air. Like their allies, the crews' mission was a straightforward one: penetrate Soviet airspace, evade their defences then deliver their payload to the target specified in a sealed envelope, stored in a secure vault in the aircraft. Exactly which envelope to be opened would be revealed by a coded signal sent by the National Command Authority. For extra security, to prevent the enemy sending false signals to deceive the crew, each aircraft's radio had a discriminator fitted that would reject any message not preceded by the code of the day.
This special signal would only be sent if the President authorised the release of nuclear weapons. Until either that, or a recall signal, was received, the aircraft would proceed to their pre-arranged holding positions, just outside enemy airspace where they would wait in a holding pattern.
In Western Europe, too, preparations for war were being made; all along the border between Europe and the Warsaw Pact nations, troops were being mobilized, weapons issued and military units activated. The air over western Germany took on a blue haze from the exhaust of the many military vehicles as they moved from depots into pre-prepared dispersed positions, ready to ambush the Soviet ground forces as they rolled westwards. The sky was criss-crossed by almost constant patrols of combat aircraft, alert for any incursions into Allied airspace.
Pausing only to tear the sheet from the printer, the clerk picked up a telephone; "Get me the Station Commander…Well find him and tell him to expect Flash Traffic."
"So then Keith, what are you doing in this neck of the woods?"
Ford and Fairfax men were now comfortably ensconced in the saloon bar of the Fox and Hounds, a pint of the local brew and the famed Ploughman's lunch in front of them.
Before Ford could answer, he was interrupted: "Scuse me sir,"
The Landlord had walked over and now addressed Fairfax; "The Station have just called, sir. They need to talk to you"
Fairfax sighed; "Alright, tell them I'll be back after lunch"
"Actually sir, they said it were urgent"
Fairfax swore and rose to his feet. "Ok. Where's the 'phone?"
"Just this way sir"
"Sorry Keith," Apologized Fairfax. "Won't be long."
Ford sipped his pint and looked around. The pub was pleasant enough; a typical Norfolk hostelry; low beams and bare plaster. A log fire roared in the fireplace. A couple of locals were deeply engrossed in a game of cribbage. At the table next to him, a man seemed to be deeply engrossed in the Times crossword, his drink seemingly untouched. Ford looked at his watch; Normally, he'd be preparing for the evening news bulletin, polishing up his reports. With that thought, he drew out a notebook and began to write. Holiday or not, things were happening around him that he'd have to report to the world. He'd just finished the first page when Fairfax returned. His frown indicated something was wrong.
"Sorry Keith," he apologized. "I've got to go. There's a flap on at the station"
"Oh?"
"Probably nothing, but I have to go back." With that, he grabbed his cap; "Can I give you a lift back to the Station?
"It's OK, I'll walk"
"Well, it's been a pleasure." With that, Fairfax hurried out of the building. Glancing through the window, Ford saw Fairfax climbed into the Air Force Land Rover and the vehicle sped off at high speed.
His Reporter's curiosity was piqued now. He picked up his pencil and resumed writing.
The door to the Mortuary crashed open and Saxby strode in. "Right, Where's this freak of yours?"
"Right here, retorted Meakins, leading the way to the slab. As he approached the alien corpse, Saxby slowed. His anger subsided, to be replaced by mounting curiosity. Although the last traces of the earlier coloration had all but faded, there was still something different about the figure.
He gestured to Meakins' notebook; "May I?"
"Help yourself"
Saxby opened the book, turned to the requisite page and began to read.
"Time, Gentlemen, Please". The jangling of the bell raised Ford from his thoughts. He looked at the clock above the bar: Two thirty. In accordance with the Defence of the Realm Act, a law that dated back to the First World War, all licensed premises had to close in the middle of the afternoon, to reopen later in the evening.
"This is SO strange". Saxby was now fully absorbed in examining the alien corpse, In addition to blood and tissue samples, he also took samples of the skin and hair which, Meakins had noted, seemed to be covered in some sort of protective coating. He finally turned his attention to the eyes and recoiled for a moment as he thumbed the lids open; there were no irises. Then he looked more closely. He reached for a small pair of forceps. He tapped the eye gently; the forceps clicked against the convex surface. He reached toward the base of the eyelids and set to work. With a slight liquid pop, a translucent shell came free, revealing the eye underneath. Saxby held the shell in the forceps. "What d'you make of that?
"No Idea." Meakins had never seen anything like it in his life. It looks like some kind of scleral contact lens, but why would anyone wear an opaque contact lens"?
Saxby held it up to the light; "Not opaque. Look!"
Meakins peered more closely. Then he saw it; a small hole through the middle of the shell.
"Evidently, when worn, the pupil aligns with the hole, allowing some semblance of normal vision but what sort of eye condition would require such a lens?"
"I'm a pathologist, not an eye cutter." Replied Saxby. He dropped the shell into a stainless steel bowl and continued his examination. "Take it up to Barnes in Ophthalmology. See what he makes of it"