Andy Farman
The Longest Night & Crossing the Rubicon
DEDICATION
To my wife and son, Jessica and Edward Eric, with all my love.
Templar Platoon, Z Company, IJLB, Oswestry.
Guards Company, IJLB, Oswestry.
The Guards Depot, Pirbright.
2nd Battalion Coldstream Guards.
C (Royal Berkshires) Company, 2nd Battalion Wessex Regiment.
253 Provost Company, Royal Military Police.
‘B’ Relief, South Norwood Police Station.
Z District Crime Squad, Croydon.
Thornton Heath Robbery Squad (Temp)
4 Unit, Special Patrol Group.
4 Area Specialist Counter-Terrorist IED Search Team.
‘D’ Relief, Norbury.
A Team (North) Walworth.
The East Street Market ‘Dip’ Squad.
Peter O’Rourke, Steve Littel, John & Wendy Allen, the best CAD Operators in the business.
To everyone out there who gets up in the morning, and does good things for others!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Where to start? There have been so many who have helped and encouraged with the writing of this series. Time and advice given freely, but here we go, and in no particular order, and with added thanks to the several hundred of you out there who comment and contribute to the blog and online page regularly.
My Mother and Father, Audrey and Ted Farman, who taught me to enjoy books more than the goggle box (I hasten to add that it did not include any affection for text books, however.)
My Uncle Richard and Cousin David, (From the Farman’s colony in the Americas) for technical advice on matters maritime, nautical and the Chinook.
Jessica of course for putting up with it all, and an apology to little Edward for only playing with him before his bedtime because I was writing all day.
Bill Rowlinson and Ray Tester for inspiring two of the characters, and Bill’s bountiful knowledge of firearms and police tactics.
Friend, actor and author Craig Henderson has qualities recognizable in young Nikoli, the Russian paratrooper. It is inevitable that people we meet will rub off on characters who appear in our stories.
Jason Ferguson of the US Army and National Guard PSI for his sound advice on all things US Military, translating my Brit mortar fire controller orders into the US variety, and test reading.
The lovely and witty Irina Voronina for her advice on low byte sources for graphic tools (one of several of her current post-Playboy careers.) Another former glamour model, now turned TV Producer (when not partying) Tracey Elvik, for adding some wisdom to Janet Probert’s character, I almost made Janet a Mancunian too.
Nick Gill and Andy Croy for their invaluable help with the editing and waking me up to how bad my writing had become since leaving school. Adrian Robinson for invaluable help with the file size reduction problem for map insertions.
Paul Beaumont knowledge of radio communications and military ‘Sigs’.
Paul Teare for test reading, Brendan McWilliams for helpful suggestions which were predictably along the lines of ‘more paras.’
Chris Cullen, Paolo Ruoppolo, Tobi Shear Smith and Steve Enever, test readers extraordinaire.
Lynnard Mondigo for HTML indexing the book.
Prelude
“Mister President, the Missile Defence Agency confirms a nuclear detonation in the ten megaton range, one minute ago above Sydney, Australia.”
The President was still looking at the speaker, hoping that this was some communications error and that Commander Willis would continue.
“My God, what do I do now? How do I respond to that?”
The earlier heady feeling that all was going well following the report of the sinking of the Chinese ballistic missile submarine Xia, had evaporated.
“Henry?”
The President looked for the Chief of the General Staff but saw faces staring back at him, shocked and unbelieving despite the awful toll already racked up in the war, or they still stared at the wall speaker.
The incoming-call lights were still flashing on the telephones, and each of those calls was from an agency either with information for the people in the room, or they required information and instructions.
Terry Jones replaced the receiver he had been holding and clapped his hands, breaking the spell for some and having to raise his voice sharply to snap the others out of the unbelieving state they were in, back to the job at hand.
This was a job General Henry Shaw had fulfilled without effort. By professional inclination, Terry Jones, CIA Director and former field agent, was not naturally attuned to stepping onto podiums to take charge. He had not survived his first twenty years in the CIA by being high profile. Terry was most comfortable at the back of the crowd, and preferably stood behind someone taller. Henry, however, had walked out the moment he heard the sound of his daughter’s and his eldest son’s ships vaporizing in Sydney Harbour.
“Listen in people.” He addressed the room. “Game heads on, now!” Clapping his hands again for emphasis, he pointed to the telephones.
“You have jobs to do, so do them.”
“Where did General Shaw go, Terry?” the President asked him.
“I do not know sir, but I do not think that anything anyone says to him right now can be of any real use.” Terry said with concern. “However, I think you will agree that we do need General Carmine in here to represent the military because now is not the moment for a timeout.”
EPIGRAPH
“And gentlemen in England, now abed, shall think themselves accursed they were not here; and hold their manhood’s cheap whiles any speaks that fought with us upon Saint Crispin's Day.”
BOOK ONE
‘The Longest night’
CHAPTER 1
If not for the burning vehicles in the valley it would be as dark as a grave on the hillside, but silent it was not.