Before they close the door

[dr_dig]

Chapter 1.

He became aware of someone calling his name, this was irritating, like a fly buzzing in your ear, why couldn’t they leave him alone?

“Get up!”

The shout cut through his daze causing a sudden panic, he snapped his head up sending a spasm of pain down his neck, the apparition before him slowly formed itself into the bulldog like face of ‘Mr Whittaker’

“You disgust me” he leered, spittle flung out of ‘Mr Whittaker’s’ mouth from the over pronounced words landed on his hand.

“Pack up your things and get your sorry backside out of here, you’ve got ten minutes.”

He rubbed his hands across the four days of stubble on his face, stretched, causing his joints to crack.

“Twat”

He raised his finger at the departing back of his boss, sorry ex-boss, and his yes men and they waddled away from the shabby 60s glass and concrete cell that had been his home for eight hours a day for the past five years. Picking up his bag he shuffled along the utilitarian beige corridor towards the elevator that would deposit him onto the cold blustery streets of Portsmouth. Uncomfortably aware of the eyes that followed his departure he tried to hold his head up, but the rush of blood to his head caused him to reach for the wall for support. He slammed his hand into the button calling the elevator.

The doors groaned as they opened, empty, at least he wouldn’t be subjected to further humiliation or judgement from any of the automatons that wasted their lives here. He hit the button for ground floor and as the lift descended glanced at the reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror. Twenty five years old, unemployed, hung-over, and thoroughly sick of 2007 with 300 or whatever, days to go.

“Lazy bugger” he cursed as a lurch signified someone was getting on at third, the doors opened to reveal Daz the bodybuilding Goth security guard, black band t-shirt hanging out the bottom of his uniform jacket.

“Hey man” he said steeping into the lift “Sheee-it! It smells like nine tramps had piss up in here, what were you up to last night?”

“A party” he lied in reply, hoping Daz wasn’t in a chatty mood.

“On a Tuesday night” Daz asked incredulously raising an eyebrow. “What ya running off for, bin fired or somefink?”

“Yea” he paused then added “a word of advice Daz, don’t bother.”

“Don’t bother wif what?”

“Just don’t bother”

With that the elevator doors opened with a whine, fresher air met him as he shuffled out the main door onto the busy morning street, the weak February sun glared into his eyes.

At least it wasn’t raining he reflected, pulling his coat collar up higher, he wandered down the main shopping street avoiding the over earnest charity collectors imploring people to save the world. A large group of people gathered around the front window of an television store forced him to detour into the road, he cursed as a passing van blared its horn sending a bolt of pain into his forehead. He remounted the pavement and aimed for the off licence further on down the road.

The door of the shop jingled as he pushed it open, the warm smoky air came as a relief after the biting cold outside. He idly studied the six-packs on offer at the front of the shop as the shopkeeper finished his conversation with a customer.

“...........no but my wife’s family lives further inland in Gujarat, the phones are out but they are quite a way from the coast so she’s not too worried.” The shopkeeper wheezed.

“You’ll miss the trade I reckon when they all ship out.” The customer observed with a chuckle.

“Tell me about it, enjoy your evening.”

The customer took the circuitous route to the door to avoid the new arrival, who shuffled up to the counter.

“Bottle of Jack... no wait make it the cheap stuff.” he deliberated, straining to read the label of the whisky on the shelves.

“Blank week” he added using an old slang term of his fathers.

He waited on the side of the jetty for the small ferry to arrive, trying not to look at the rolling waves topped with little white crests whipped up by the wind in the harbour. The ferry bumped to a stop on the jetty which did nothing to help his hangover. Taking a swig to fortify himself he showed his ticket and walked to the rear deck of the unusually empty boat.

“Woah gyro failure” one of the older ferrymen said as he stumbled on the uneven floor.

With a shudder of engines the ferry pulled away from the jetty and turned towards Gosport, the captain, well practised in the art of traversing the narrow busy channel dodged around a destroyer as it headed out for the Isle of Wight and whatever crises demanded the Royal Navy’s attention. Looking up from contemplating his well worn shoes he noticed the berths usually filled with those ships in for refit were empty whilst there were Destroyers in position at the ammunition loading dock and the refuelling jetty. He took another swig of whisky and noticed that the dock housing the Navy’s mothballed aircraft carrier was a hive of activity, with luminous jacketed figures swarming across the flight deck.

 

[dr_dig]

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The fog horns blared through his fitful sleep, call and response, loud, soft, loud, slowly penetrating his consciousness, somewhere a banging echoed through the flat, each bang striking him an almost physical blow.

“Shut up” he groaned softly before a shudder of nausea pulsed through him, rolling out of bed and stumbling through the dark he somehow found the sink in the corner of the small bedroom, his passage sent piles of books and papers scattering.

Still the knocking continued, shakily he padded to the front door.

“Who is it?” he croaked.

“Jenny, open up you fool.” Came the muffled reply.

Groaning he unlatched the flimsy plywood door and pulled it open, Jenny stormed in then checked herself.

“Bloody hell, you’re a mess” she stated punching him good naturedly on the arm.

“I’ll put the kettle on then.” he sighed.

“No I’ll do it, you need a shower, like right now.”

“…and have a shave.” She added.

Slowly the warm water began to revive him, as he scraped at the beard on his chin with the razor he began to feel human again, well if not human at least less Neanderthal. He dried himself and routed around for his cleanest dirty t-shirt, the smell of bacon frying draw him into the small kitchen where Jenny had retrieved the ‘health grill’ from beneath a pile of dishes.

“You owe me for milk, bacon, and bread.” Jenny said looking over her shoulder.

“Daz called, he said you’d been fired?” Jenny questioned.

“Yea look,” he paused embarrassed “you know, um”

“Sure.”

That was why he liked Jenny.

Jenny turned with a plate of bacon in each hand when a flash from outside the window lit up the room, Jenny dropped the bacon, a look of confusion highlighted by the unnatural light, a second later a harsh crack followed by a long rumble shook the flat, a lightning like crack shot across the glass of the window.

“Jack” Jenny cried in alarm, cringing at the tortured sound of metal that could be heard over the rumble.

“Get away from the window” he commanded, his training surfacing through the dregs of the alcohol in his system. Adrenaline pumped through his veins focusing his mind as he pushed the table aside and pulled Jenny to the floor with him.

“Are you hurt?” Jack asked searching the room for further signs of damage.

“No, got ketchup on me though” she coughed, self-conscious after her outburst.

Jack grinned and looked around; the tearing squeal of metal could still be heard. Jack needed to see what was going on outside but daren`t look through the cracked window for fear of another explosion shattering it. He ran to the bedroom, the window had been wide open to ventilate the room. He crawled across the floor and sheltered behind the wall before cautiously raising his head above the sill.

The windows looked out from the 6th floor flat Jack rented, over Portsmouth harbour giving him a panoramic diorama of the dockyard, as well as the narrow channel at the entrance marked by Napoleonic fortifications. He saw the problem immediately, one of the Large P&O roll on-roll off ferries was in the process of negotiating the entrance when something had exploded somewhere in the hull, Jack could see the flames licking up the white paintwork.

The ferry was listing heavily, evidently holed on the waterline. The weight of the ferry had carried it forward and without ruder control the stern of the ferry was trying to push forward, this had slewed the ferry around, which from the sound and angle of the rear half, had probably broken the back of the ship.

Jack could see the passengers milling around on the dangerously sloping deck, some had climbed onto the sides of the superstructure. The large funnel at the stern had collapsed into the water and wreckage and people could be seen floating out into the Solent carried by the current of the falling tide.

He walked back into the kitchen trying to calm his breathing. Jenny was staring through the cracked window. Jack joined her, putting his arm round her shoulders.
Small coastguard and naval ribs were already motoring towards the wreck, the hum of their engines audible over the cacophony of car and burglar alarms set off by the blast.

“I`ve gotta call Daz, the Gosport ferry wont be running I`ll have to pick him up.” Jenny said ever practical. The little ferry Jack had used earlier had detoured, rushing to join the rescue effort. She turned away back to her own flat, Jack’s arm flopped to his side he sighed watching her go before bending to pick up the plates.

‘Was that an accident?’ he wondered, coincidence was not a word he liked to use, not since the death of his father a year ago. A naval man his entire working life Jack’s father had served wherever the government decided he should go. After returning from the tour that would have been his last active role, before a well deserved rest at the training academy, his father had fallen ill. Radiation poisoning according to the private doctor hired at his father’s expense after the navy had honourably discharged him ‘for health reasons’.

A medal and a pitiful payout had been exchanged for a mans life, and his silence. Loyal to the end his father had shown a grim determination that Jack let the issue go making him promise that he would not pursue it. Jack had agreed but the bitterness and grief of having his role model taken from him had been eating at Jack, torturing him for the last year.

 

[dr_dig]

Chapter 3

Jack was close enough to smell the diesel smoke as it drifted on the wind. Despite the darkness the wreck site was lit up by floodlights from the rescue ships, and others suspended by cranes above the site from the shore. Workers and naval divers were working to free those trapped in the wreckage, showers of sparks could be seen as twisted beams and girders were cut away. Searchlights from smaller ribs scanned the sea looking for any further survivors.
A knock at the door interrupted Jack`s study of the site.

“Turn on the TV.” Commanded Jenny.

“Sure.” said Jack as he peered around the door “Where did Daz get too?”

“The roads been closed to civilian traffic, I rang him, he`s staying with friends, he reckons the ferry will be running again tomorrow” The TV clicked on.

“......are getting reports of a large number of casualties, this video has been sent in by an eyewitness.”

A highly pixelated video of the wreck was on the screen, taken with a mobile phone, it was impossible to make out any details.

“The official line is engine failure” her expression told Jack that Jenny had a different idea.

“It`s all too much of a coincidence, the flare up in India, the United States and Britain saying we will reinforce our forces over there, the naval build up in the harbour, now this.”

Jack had just been thinking the same thing; the wreckage had effectively blockaded the British Navy in the harbour. How could a terrorist organisation plan and implement a scheme so quickly and successfully? Never underestimate your enemy, or, he will win who, prepared himself, waits to take the enemy unprepared. The security services had managed to stop everything any group had tried so far, hadn’t they?

“.......all cross channel ferry services have been suspended; the prime minister is unavailable for comment at the present time.”

“See” Jenny exclaimed pointing at the screen. “Just like the airport threat last summer.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, the problem with rolling news reports was the lack of useful information, everything was spun or edited at this stage the network would be trying to form a story out of rumours.

“......all communication with reporters from the area has been lost, there are unsubstantiated reports that the borders have been closed and shots exchanged in the Kashmir region. The US and Britain have offered further peacekeeping troops to both governments It is unclear what effect tonight’s events will have on the British troop deployment.”

“Bingo”

“Well I have more pressing needs to attend to” said Jack as the adrenaline wore off he felt too tired to think about conspiracy theories or international politics “Like the rent”.

“I don’t believe you sometimes” chastised Jenny “below your own window people have been killed, my brother is stuck over there somewhere” she waved her hand towards the other side of the harbour, now lit up with an array of flashing lights, search and floodlights. The naval vessels could only be seen as darker shadows on the almost metallic water.

“Why are their lights off? Something’s definitely going on.” wondered Jack, as much to himself as to Jenny.

“I don’t believe you sometimes” shouted Jenny on the verge of tears as she stormed from the room.

Had the UK just been hit by terrorists? Thought Jack as he checked the windows, the crack didn`t go all the way across so he just taped it up.
Jack felt a wave of helplessness wash over him, today was a day he didn’t wish to remember he looked at the half empty bottle on his worktop.