“Counter-attack, sir?” responded General Renshaw.
“The Soviets will be stretched, and we need to hit them before their 2nd Strategic Echelon gets to the front.” He turned to his aide again. “Start the preparation for a warning order for Four Div. They will be in action again sooner than they think. Oh, and one more thing: release one Helarm to 1st Division, but keep the second one back for the 24th Airmobile Brigade. They may well need it.”
“How will we retaliate, sir?” Major Archer asked the General. “To the chemical strike, I mean.”
“A good question, Major. The answer to that is being discussed by the powers-that-be as we speak. Right, Clifford, you have a Lynx to catch.”
Chapter 36
How do you protect your family from a nuclear attack?
Build a fallout room — You need to protect your family against the heat and blast of a nuclear explosion. Choose the right place. It could be on the ground floor, but a cellar or basement would be better. Keep as far away as possible from an outside wall or the roof.
How to strengthen your fallout room — Strengthen the weak points, such as doors and windows. One way is to fill bags with sand or earth and stack them outside your windows. If those materials are unavailable to you then push a large bookcase or a wardrobe up against the space you are trying to block off. If you have enough time, you could board up your windows on either side, filling in the gap with earth or sand, or, even better still, brick the windows up completely.
The core — Inside this fallout shelter build a ‘core’ to protect your family further. It could be a lean-to up against one of the walls, protected with sandbags. Or you could use a cupboard beneath the stairs, making sure you have a layer of sandbags on the stairs and the surrounding area of the cupboard.
The Prime Minister took her twice-daily walk through the main areas of the complex where she had spent a good part of her days and nights since the launch of the Warsaw Pact invasion of the Federal Republic of Germany. Her circuit of the underground bunker, followed at a distance by one of her close protection team, always started from Area 14, the Prime Minister’s office. It was also the home of the Cabinet Office, Chiefs of Staff and the War Cabinet. No one ever thought the day would come when the Government Emergency War Headquarters (GEWHQ), situated in between the village of Corsham and Lower Rudloe, would ever be used in earnest.
The Prime Minister walked down the corridor, Area 21 on her left, the home of the Government Communications Centre and, on her right, the British Broadcasting Centre studio, along with the Home Office and local government departments. The BBC studio was far from what the news presenters were used to back at Broadcasting House, now having a space no bigger than three-by-three metres. She turned right and was now walking underneath West Road, which was thirty metres above her head. She could hear the footsteps of her CP officer resonating on the solid floor of the large concrete, and sometimes brick-lined, corridor of the bunker. The sounds were not so hollow now as they competed with other sounds of activity as Britain’s Cold War underground headquarters had now come to life to meet the threat on the other side of the English Channel. The dank, mildew smell that had previously tainted the air had also changed. The odour now consisted of a mix of sweaty bodies, ablutions and machinery, mixed in with freshly baked bread and the smells of stale cooking. Although Harriet Willis still scrunched up her nose slightly on occasion, she, like the rest of the 4,000 occupants, was getting used to the environment and its nuances. She turned right onto Main Road, now with Area 15 on her right and Area 8 on her left, looking up as one of the fluorescent tubes above her head flickered. If she missed anything, apart from seeing her children naturally, although adults now, it was natural daylight. She didn’t think she would ever get used to this unnatural glow. Large conduits lined the ceiling, taking cables and pipes to various parts of the complex. New cables had been laid outside of the casing, quickly put into place to ensure that the site was fully operational.
She moved over to the left as one of the yellow battery-powered vehicles, carrying four people, whirred past. A red one came from the opposite direction, a driver taking supplies, piled on the platform at the rear, to another part of the bunker. She popped her head through a door, the buzz and clatter as the operators on the two General Post Office switchboards connected and reconnected numerous cable plugs, putting various departments in contact with the outside world. The two switchboards, set on a black and white tiled floor, backed by the clinically white walls, were fully manned. One was a huge forty-position oak unit, while the other had fourteen positions dealing primarily with international communications. In the background, a bank of teleprinters rattled noisily. One of the exchange supervisors started to get up, acknowledging the Prime Minister’s presence, but Harriet Willis waved her down and carried on with her tour. Her journey took her past the central stores, Ministry of Transport, Ministries of Power and Agriculture, and, finally, the kitchen and dining rooms before arriving back at Area 14.
Willis made her way into the conference room where a reduced War Cabinet was to meet. The demands of the war were pulling her ministers far and wide. Four men stood up as she entered. One was Lawrence Holmes, the Secretary of State for Defence, his shock of greying hair swept back at the top and sides looking lank. Finding the time to groom oneself was not easy. He attempted a smile, but the deep lines in his face barely moved. If he was lucky, he could snatch two to three hours of sleep a night, but the strain was now starting to show. “Prime Minister, we’re ready when you are. Your stroll highlight anything?”
“Thank you, Lawrence. Only the lack of daylight,” she responded. The Prime Minister had managed no more sleep than anyone else, but still contrived to look fresh and alert. Her pale blue, one-piece woolen dress was at odds with the surroundings, and she exuded confidence and command. Even Cabinet ministers who had often been at odds with their leader now found they welcomed her leadership, recognising that she truly was the person, if anyone, who could get them and the country through this crisis. Some were even glad that the full responsibility for running the country in a time of war hadn’t landed on their shoulders. She sat at the head of the conference table. Jeremy Chapman, her Home Secretary, a pearl of sweat running down his forehead, was sitting to her left on the other side of the Defence Minister.
She looked across at the two uniformed soldiers sitting to her right. “Thank you for joining us today, gentlemen. I know you have lots of other duties you feel you need to attend to. We shall be as brief as possible, but information is one of our greatest assets at the moment.”
Thomas Fletcher, Chief of the Defence Staff, the most senior uniformed officer of the British forces and Alistair Hamilton, Chief of the General Staff, were both dressed in disruptive combat uniform, but still with red tabs showing on their shirt collars beneath. The time for full dress uniform would have to wait until the time was appropriate.
“Will you start us off with an update, Lawrence?”
“Yes, Prime Minister.”
The Defence Secretary picked up the latest report he had been given and scanned it briefly. “The Soviet chemical strike has been confirmed as being launched across the full length of the German Federal Republic. The Germans are hopping mad and are calling for an immediate retaliation.”