Ok so as Suzi has posted her first paragraph, This is the beginnig of my book. I have toyed with the start for almost a year now. Oh the characters are fictional, along with the views they hold this is fiction. The main character Is Ryan, you will get to hear more of him in the next part. As for the title it will become clearer as the start of the book unfolds.
Friday 17 July 20144:20pm Pembroke Dock, West Wales
Ironically it was the chore he hated most that saved Ryan’s life. His late wife always turned the mattress and made their bed the day he left, refusing to sleep in it until he returned.
The centre of the explosion was three miles away but it was of such ferocity, that Ryan’s house was blown in from the front to the back. The plate glass window in the main bedroom that over looked the bay was blown apart, the mattress that Ryan at that moment was holding in front of him shielded him from the frame and masonry that had been turned into shrapnel, but the shockwave still lifted him from his feet and slammed him through the ply door of the built in wardrobe in the corner of his bedroom. He was knocked out cold and lay crumpled in the corner of the room with the mattress, wardrobe door and other items burying him.
Friday 17 July 2014 4:10pm, West Wales
Clive now in his late sixties, had been not feeling to well for a few days. He was currently behind the yoke of his pride and joy an Aero Boero AB-180vr light aircraft. Not normally found here in the UK. He brought it in Brazil, and spent four weeks flying it back in short hops through North America via Greenland, and the outer Hebrides. He had been using it as a way of topping up his civil servant pension by giving chartered flights over the Pembrokeshire coastline, mainly for dolphin spotters, and photographers wanting a different view of the beautiful coastline. The pains he was feeling had worried him so he decided that he was cutting this solo flight short and had turned around to head back to the small airfield ten minutes away. The heart attack was sudden and instantly fatal. The small plane lurched in the air as he fell back into his seat his hands still on the yoke pulling it up. The plane Climbed from the 3,000 feet he was cruising, The planes ceiling height was registered at just over 19,000 feet as Clive’s plane went past 21,000 feet in stalled the nose tipped over and it dove straight down, Clive’s body fell forwards onto the yoke and instrument panel his arm fell forwards and knocked the throttle into the fully open position, the engine with the rush of wind past the two bladed Hartzell prop, roared back into life and accelerated the small plane with the help of gravity past its 225kmh rated speed.
Joseph was used to seeing small planes pull some aerobatics in the sky above the bay. He spent hours of the day bored while sitting in his small concrete gate house. Today he was looking forward to his two week holiday starting after his shift finished at 8pm. His family was at home now doing the finishing touches to the packing, it would only take him fifteen minutes in the car to travel the five miles to his house and then a cold beer form the fridge, listen to his wife coo over their newborn daughter they spent years trying for. His attention left his planned holiday and was now concentrating on the small plane climbing well above what he though was normal. He could only just see it as it tipped over and started to dive. It was then as if for the first time he realised that the oil refinery was there, He had worked for the company for nineteen years, everyday in this small gatehouse, or guard house as it once was, Most of the refinery was hidden from view behind the man made hills designed to help the place blend in with the view. The one area he had a perfect view off, was the holding tanks. Each cylindrical tank held 255,000 gallons of oil. He twisted on the spot watching as the small plane plumetted getting bigger the engines screaming.
Clive’s AB-180vr had only used 30 litres of its 270litre capacity as it slammed into the top of one of the holding tanks, it tore a hole straight through the steel rupturing the fuel tanks, the scrape of steel against steel sent a shower of sparks in every direction igniting the planes fuel in an instant, which in-turn set the crude oil alight. With a now gaping tear in the storage tank allowing the oxygen in the air access to the fuel the tank exploded, the force of which tore apart the three surrounding storage tanks, immediately exploding and sending a fire ball thousands of feet in the air. The shockwave travelled out levelling all within its path for the first half mile, everything not re-enforced was turned to dust. The other twenty plus storage tanks ruptured spilling fuel into the whole complex before igniting.
Pembroke dock town was two miles away across the open bay. Everybody turned around as they saw the flash of light as the plane hit. The new super market whose front wall was two thousand square feet of glass looked straight down the bay, as the shockwave hit the car park it turned cars over and then it hit the front of the building instantly turning the glass into shards travelling at over 800mph it shredded everything in its direct path. The road deck of the suspension bridge high above the bay, full of traffic going home early on a Friday evening was torn from its stanchions sending everything into the water hundreds of feet below. Behind the shockwave, came the blast of heat wave. This superheated blast was over two thousand degrees Celsius, travelling a little slower than the shockwave. It set fire to the parched ground, the water in the bay for the first two feet deep instantly evaporated. The forecourt garage exploded as the blast and heat ripped pumps from the ground and petrol and diesel poured out along the ground igniting with the heat. The propane gas bottles now rolling around the floor expanding in the heat blew the regulators and launched hundreds of feet into the sky, flying through air they became missiles, smashing into cars and buildings as they came down still with jets of fire coming shooting out the top spinning wildly setting fire to tyres and melting the paint used to mark the roads.
North London May 2014
Mohamed Abdul Afuw, left his Mosque angry, he had argued with his elders again. He believed that they had become to westernised and not true followers anymore. He knew his destiny and would follow it through without help from those he thought understood him. They taught love and compassion, yet he still remembered seeing his mother and sister burning in their home, as the west rained down missiles from planes. He knew them to be cowards they dealt death from many miles away and could escape back to the carriers, to an awaiting dinner. He was going to show them the true meaning of terror.
Abdul was a plumber worked for himself he travelled through London weekly and knew his target. For the next two weeks he brought a plastic petrol canister and filled it with petrol everyday. He stored them in the small shed at the bottom of his garden. He then brought a small 7 kg bottle of propane gas, he repeated this five times each one from a different garage in different areas of London. With the scrap parts in his van he rigged them together and put a hand operated vale on the one end. After putting all the petrol canisters back into his van he rigged the bottles and cut through the bulkhead to allow access the valve. On Tuesday 14 July he was ready, when a TV documentary caught his attention, he was reminded about the pipe bombs from the eighties and the damage caused by the flying debris. The local builders supply didn’t even question a regular customer stocking up on nails and screws, nor did the dozen or so others notice a builder buy 20kg of nails and screws. Many builders bulk buy their consumables to save a little here and there. Abdul arranged the gas bottles down the centre of his Sprinter van then he stacked the canisters of petrol around these, The nails and screws he emptied into plastic bags and stacked them on the shelving he fitted down each side. With the back doors locked he then pumped bathroom sealant around the edges of the back doors. Climbed out side door and sealed that from the outside. He sealed the hole he drilled through the bulk head and for good measure around the edges of that too.
On Friday the 17th July Abdul rose before sunrise. He prayed as normal then he just sat and waited. He had no one to phone and say goodbye to. His whole family were killed when he was just five years old within the first week of the war. At two O’clock he got into his van and drove through London By 4:30 pm he was sitting In Nutmeg Lane, two minutes away from the Blackwall tunnel. He Drove out of the road turned left and then left again, straight onto the Northern approach, he was behind a minibus and in front of delivery van. Abdul purposely slowed allowing the minibus to pull away a little, he needed the space in front of him. He then opened the valve on the gas cylinders In the lane alongside him was a small lorry carrying bags of cement and other building supplies, at the 600 yard point he accelerated forwards in front of the lorry and leaving the delivery van behind, at the 700 yard sign where he knew it was roughly middle of the tunnel, he turned sharply to his right and pulled on his handbrake bring the van to a stop sideways across the two carriageways he then looked out of his side window at the approaching lorry, the drivers face showing shock and anger as he was stamping on his brakes, Abdul then pressed the small button he had installed setting of his blowtorch in the back of the van igniting the gas that had been filling the back of his van.