He joined the Fukushima Power Corporation after graduating from Kyoto University with a master’s degree in nuclear engineering. Because of his imperturbable, analytical nature, Katashi progressed rapidly through the company and joined the CHMT as second-in-command, being promoted to team leader three years later, when his superior retired. He was trained to deal with all conceivable man-made and natural disasters; unfortunately, the magnitude of the earthquake that hit the plant, and subsequent tsunami which followed, were outside the conceivable boundaries that the safety systems were designed for.
The initial earthquake siren instigated the deployment of the six-man CHMT, whose first task was to evacuate all nonessential personnel from the plant. Roll calls were taken and employees were loaded onto waiting coaches, to be ferried to the designated ‘safe’ town of Yonezawa, some thirty miles away, which was protected from the plant by the mountain range of Nishi Agatsuma.
Katashi had been through these measures several times before, but only as a training exercise. It wasn’t exactly routine to him, but the constant enactments of ‘what if’ scenarios had ingrained the procedures into his, and his team’s, psyche. He was regarded as a firm but fair taskmaster, practising emergency drills over and over again, until each member of his team knew their role and what was expected of them.
Whilst the evacuees were being boarded, Katashi and a three-man detail donned white, all-in-one protective suits with full head visors and breathing equipment, and went to ascertain what damage had been sustained to the three operational reactors. Luckily, only two days before, reactors 2, 4 and 6 had been closed down for routine maintenance. He would have had a communiqué from the control room if there had been a problem, but it was in his nature to check and double-check.
They arrived at the first reactor building, a forty-foot high, pre-fabricated construction made entirely of corrugated iron sheets. The surprisingly flimsy structure was originally designed simply to keep the weather out and would offer no protection from anything generated during a nuclear reaction. Inside the building, the reactor core itself was encased in a thick steel vessel, capable of withstanding high pressures. This, in turn, was housed in a hermetically-sealed concrete and steel structure, known as the containment chamber.
After a thorough inspection of the outside of the building, Katashi was satisfied that there had been no external damage during the earthquake, probably due to the flexibility of the materials it was made from.
‘All clear, we’re going in!’ Katashi gestured to the small door at the side of the building. Putting on his mask and breathing equipment, he led the team through the entrance.
The reactor building itself had no windows and was wholly lit by florescent tubes. The air smelt of diesel from the generators, which were producing the power to perform the crucial task of pumping water, through a series of pipes in the reactor core, to cool it down.
The noise generated by the massive turbines made communicating in such a confined area very difficult. In front of them was the containment chamber itself, a massive conical structure, with walls over six feet in depth, resembling a giant white beehive. The only way in was through a two-foot thick, lead-lined steel door.
Tamotsu, the youngest member of the CHMT, held a Geiger counter out in front of him. Katashi had a soft spot for Tamotsu; he reminded him of himself. He had only been with the company six months, but he was eager to learn. Qualified in Engineering Science, this was his first job since leaving university and he was keen to make an impression. Unlike Katashi, who had spent time in every department on the plant learning the ropes, Tamotsu had applied directly to fill the vacant position that became available when Katashi was promoted. His psychometric and aptitude tests weren’t that outstanding, but it was down to Katashi to decide who he wanted in his team and, after interviewing Tamotsu for several hours, he had made up his mind. Tamotsu had the one thing crucial trait needed in this role: a cool head.
As Tamotsu surveyed the area around the outer building for radiation leaks, the others inspected the external surfaces of the containment chamber with flashlights for any damage.
‘No sign of any radiation leaks, so far,’ Tamotsu shouted to his superior.
The visibility in their masks was limited; not having full peripheral vision meant they had to turn their whole bodies in the direction they wanted to see, which slowed them down. Katashi was aware they had another two reactors to inspect after this one, but he wasn’t prepared to cut corners; the slightest crack in any of the walls of the containment chamber could spell disaster, not just for the people in the plant, but for miles around.
With a series of hand gestures and nods, Katashi indicated that the inspection of the outer area was complete and that he and Tamotsu should go through the reinforced door to inspect the containment chamber, whilst the other two waited outside. He walked up the few steps to the entrance and placed his chin on the shelf, just below the retinal scanner. Staring down the lens he heard a hiss as the heavy door parted a fraction, breaking the seal between the purified air of the chamber and the polluted air outside.
Tamotsu, who had followed Katashi up the steps, was the first into the chamber. The door opened with surprising ease, given its size and weight. Inside, the chamber was brightly-lit and clinically white. A panel on the side wall indicated the status, temperature, pressure and output capacity of the reactor, through a series of green, amber and red lights. At that moment, it indicated that the core was in shut-down mode, but the temperature and pressure were still about half of its normal operating levels.
Tamotsu panned the room with his Geiger counter, but again it did not register any radiation, other than the small amount expected as a background reading, which was no more than an X-ray would deliver in a hospital. The steel-encased core had withstood one of the most violent earthquakes in Japan’s history. Theoretically, the buildings were constructed to withstand twice the magnitude of the quake they had just experienced, a phenomena that, to date, had never occurred.
‘All clear in reactor one. No signs of damage.’ Katashi relayed the message to the control room via his walkie-talkie. ‘Moving on to reactor three.’ With that, he led Tamotsu out of the chamber, closing the heavy door behind them, to meet up with the other two members of the team who were waiting outside.
As Katashi stepped out into the open air, he was immediately struck by an eerie stillness. His first thought was that the loudness of the generators had dulled his hearing; however, as he strained, he could hear a low rumble in the distance, that grew louder and louder.
Thinking it was the aftershocks from the initial earthquake, he ordered his men out into the open, away from the building and any possible falling debris. As he turned, he could feel the air being sucked from around him; he had to brace himself against the unseen force for fear of it pulling him along, too.
And then he saw it. A huge wall of water came crashing into the compound, carrying with it remnants from its destructive path: uprooted trees and telegraph poles bobbed along like matchsticks down a storm drain; cars being driven remotely, turning, reversing and crashing into each other, like some macabre funfair ride; sections of houses, roofs, windows, doors and porches, all being swept along, incessantly, by millions of gallons of water. The perimeter of the compound offered no resistance to the sheer power of the wave, its walls dissolving instantly, like chalk, into the murky depths of the tsunami.