Grantville Gazette, Volume I Page 8

  "Awwwww, crap." He grabbed his radio and stood up, then winced as his knees straightened out. Dawn was beginning to break over the hills. "Hey, Fred and Fred. You copy?"

  The radio popped and crackled in his hand for a moment, and he listened to the unusual quiet around him. Without the noise of machinery and the hum of the transformers it was eerily quiet. He chewed on his lip as he waited for the response. Fred and Fred—or, more properly, Fredric and Fredric—were the day shift maintenance electricians. Their job was to pull the manual switches that allowed them to start the massive backup generator and feed power to critical systems. It was something that would happen automatically back up-time, with lots of complex equipment kicking in during a power failure. But they didn't have the complex equipment. They had Fred and Fred.

  The radio came alive. "We're on it, Stacks. Gen should start in a minute. Are you ready to accept load?"

  While Fred—or was it Fred?—was talking, Stacks began throwing switches in the control room to shut down non-critical equipment and lessen the load on the generator. They were not totally comfortable with the mine operating this way, so the procedure was usually to contact the power plant and see how long they thought they might be down. Usually he got a call if there was a trip at the main plant, so Stacks figured that it might be a downed line. He would call when the generator started, and then call for more maintenance help to start the mine back up when the power came back on.

  Stacks smiled. "All set there, Freddy, my boy. You can hit the go button whenever you want to, over"

  "We're starting the generator now, hope it starts in this cold. Damn, it's cold out here. Are you warm in your chair, Stacks, you lazy up-timer?"

  "Don't you two boys worry 'bout me none. I'm nice and warm in here. You get the generator goin' and you can cuddle up to the big ol' exhaust and warm up just fine." Stacks looked over at the Franklin stove that kept him relatively comfortable and rubbed his left knee. It was really acting up today.

  * * *

  Ernst surveyed the damage. The loader was still in good shape, but the mine rib and support beams for the roof were knocked askew. Hans was apologizing profusely and was nervous as hell. It seemed he got the brake and the accelerator confused; the other unit he had trained on was slightly different. Ernst took advantage of the nervousness and proceeded to ream Hans up one side and down the other for his carelessness, all the while surveying the damage to the mine ribs and roof support structure. Dammit, Ernst thought, Deitrich grabbed my carpenters. We'll have to fix this next shift.

  The small scooploader weighed close to seven tons, and was driven from a low seat near the middle. It was a low, solid steel, box-shaped piece of machinery with a scoop on the front. Huge batteries powered it and it could load coal at a tremendous rate when handled by an experienced operator. Ernst knew that Hans had just passed his operator test the day before. As the consequences of his rookie error, he would go back to shoveling coal by hand or get to wield one of the vacuum cleaners that sucked up the coal dust. It was a toss up which was the worst job. Ernst finished his colorful lecture, then began looking at the damage. The loader had snapped a brace that held up the roof and torn boards off the ribs of the mine.

  The crosscut showed evidence of the rock "working," or moving around and possibly coming loose, so the carpenters had placed planks on the ribs and the roof for safety. Behind them, the concrete block "stopping" wall that separated the non-working—and possibly methane-filled—side of the mine from the ventilated and working side of the mine looked relatively intact. He looked the damage over and decided that it would be good enough for now.

  Four or five miners came around the corner of the crosscut to see what was going on and began to walk toward the loader. Ernst heard the noises from the roof first and his heart jumped into his throat. The rock was "working" above them. His hand went up to try to stop the miners coming down the crosscut. Before he could shout a warning, it was too late. The support gave way, and a twenty-foot long single piece of rock fell out of the roof. The shifting pressures caused the damaged rib to burst, and it added its own two tons of rock, crushing and trapping the men from above and the side. There were no screams when the rock stopped falling. It was silent, and black with dust.

  Ernst and Hans had been beyond the fall, past the rib failure, and were helpless to do anything except dive to the floor next to the loader for protection. They helped each other to their feet. The black dust was so thick they couldn't see more than a couple of feet in front of them. Behind them was the block wall; in front of them was the half-filled passageway with their fellow miners buried beneath the heavy rocks. They could hear the shouts of the other miners who had stayed on station.

  Ernst answered them. "How many are under there? Who is trapped?" He began a fit of coughing and stopped shouting. He saw some faint light, probably reflections from the other miner's helmets, above the pile of rubble. At least he and Hans were not trapped.

  Willy, the youngest miner, answered, "We think there are four or five under there. We're starting to dig."

  Ernst stopped coughing and caught his breath. The dust was beginning to settle. He noticed the there was some movement of air and assumed that the ventilation system had finally come back on. That was good. "Get to a phone. Tell them topside we got a fall and we have men trapped under the fall. Run to a phone. Now! The rest of you start digging." He began coughing again. Hans thumped him on the back until he finally stopped.

  "Look." Hans pointed. "I think we can crawl over the top. There's room there; we can get over it. Before there's another fall." Ernst nodded and pushed Hans ahead of him. The younger man scrambled over the top of the pile, paused to listen to the rock, and quickly squeezed through the opening above. Ernst could see the hands of his co-workers helping him from the other side.

  Ernst started up the pile. The breeze was blowing stronger as he neared the top. His dusty eyes narrowed. Something isn't right, he thought. This isn't blowing in the right direction. It should be blowing in my face, not from behind me. If there's airflow, then the wall must be . . . Once he was near the top of the pile, he turned to look. The concrete block wall that separated the abandoned and methane-rich part of the mine was damaged in the fall. It was nearly gone; only the two bottom rows of blocks were left. The breeze he felt was pressure from the abandoned side of the mine rushing into the occupied side of the mine, where his fellow miners now stood. Scheiss. The ventilation system is still down! He pulled his methane meter out of his pocket and turned it on.

  * * *

  "Hey, Fred and Fred. Come in, Fred and Fred. C'mon you two sparkies, answer me. Is your radio working or did you two freeze your asses off out there? Where'n hell's my generator?" Shackelton stared at the radio for a moment. "C'mon, you guys. I need that generator soon," he mumbled. He absentmindedly rubbed his knee again, and began to pace slowly. Finally, the radio crackled to life.

  "Stacks, we got a problem. This generator lost the heater, and the thing won't start."

  "What do you mean, it lost a heater? The thing is a diesel engine, what does it need a heater for?" Stacks looked at his radio again, and held it up to eye level. "Just get that thing running or we'll lose the whole shift and it will take us another shift to re-ventilate the mine once we get it running. C'mon, guys. We're depending on you."

  "A fuse blew for the heaters for the fuel and the oil. The whole thing is as cold as ice. Don't you know anything about a diesel? These don't like to start when the fuel turns to jelly. It don't flow too well. We got the circuit back up, but it's going to take a while to heat up. Why don't you send a couple maintenance guys over with a torch set? We can at least warm up the crankcase faster that way."

  Stacks smiled and pushed the transmit button. "Okay. That's one I owe you. Hey, maintenance. Did you copy the request from the sparkies?"

  "Ahyep," came the reply. "We was already goin' when we heard there was no power, Boss. You think we're a buncha dummies over here?"

  Shackelton made
a face at the radio. "Ten-Four" didn't seem like the right thing to say.

  * * *

  Ernst looked at the meter and his heart raced. The meter read five percent. He reached up and snuffed his cap light, plunging the area into darkness. Then he began to scramble over the top of the rock fall, shouting to the men on the other side. "Scheiss. Men. Run. Run as fast as you can. Out of the mine. Run!"

  "What did you say?"

  "What is it, Ernst? We'll come for you. Are you hurt?"

  Ernst tried to answer them but the dust choked him. He began coughing, the dust in his lungs burning and making his eyes water, but still he kept scrambling to the other side, hacking out the cry to run away, leave me, run. He was thinking it as loud as he could, trying to make his voice answer to his command, all the while battering, bruising and cutting himself as he scrambled up to the remaining few feet of the opening. Just a couple more feet.

  He could see the reflections of the flames from the carbide lights through the opening and realized that those lamps might ignite the methane and air mixture that was flowing into the work area. The readings on the meter indicated the percentages were correct. Now four men with flames burning in their cap lights were scrambling up the other side of the pile of rubble, trying to save him. He had no voice to tell them to go back, to snuff the flames of their lamps, or even to pray.

  The last face he saw was that of Marcus Schoenfeld. The light from Marcus's carbide lamp reflected off Ernst's own face, softly illuminating Marcus. Ernst remembered how he had helped Marcus at a meaningless skirmish when they were with Wallenstein; he had a scar across his forehead, another on his cheek, and no teeth. Even without teeth, Ernst could tell that Marcus was smiling at him, encouraging him to crawl forward. In his mind, he saw the day of their last battle together; it seemed like only yesterday.

  The last thing either of them saw was Ernst reaching for Marcus's cap light, trying to extinguish it to prevent the explosion.

  * * *

  Willy ran toward the phone. It was over three hundred meters away, in a crosscut. He knew the procedures: tell the command shack who you were, where you were and what happened. Don't tell them what was needed; they would decide that. Topside would decide what was needed.

  He was running that mantra through his head when he was hit from behind by a full-body blow, with an additional three or four sharp impacts in his back and legs. He was tossed forward violently, like a rag doll. He hit the floor hard and got caught in the in the tracks that the mules used to pull the coal cars. His shoulder and ribcage were burning with pain and he could smell horseshit. His hardhat was knocked off and the carbide extinguished. He was dazed, momentarily trying to figure out if he had tripped or been pushed. There was no light. Whatever happened, he had to get to the phone system and tell them topside. When he tried to stand, his ribs moved in ways that they were not supposed to and he fell to his knees. There was something wrong with his fingers.

  Willy tried to walk, and then to trot. He fell again, this time smacking his face against the ribs of the mine. The air tasted like dusty coal mixed with his blood. He gathered himself up and tried again, going slowly, feeling his way ahead. He touched something hanging from the wall. A cable for electric power had been strung along the wall. He followed that, using it as a guide, crying from the pain in his shoulder, ribs and face. He realized that he couldn't hear, and could only perceive a loud ringing sound in his ears. He needed to get to a phone. Who, where, and what . . .

  * * *

  Deitrich had his men spread out doing several different tasks. Some were preparing temporary electric power, some were moving supplies into position, and others were readying the temporary barriers that would divert important airflows from the main passages to the work areas.

  He noticed that the power had gone out but wasn't overly worried. The area they were in had no permanent power anyway, and they had prepared to work with only cap and hand lights. Later, as the cleanup on the other end was finished, they would begin to move all of the tracks, equipment, and materials to this end and resume mining as before. But he checked his methane meter every couple of minutes. This end of the mine wasn't as active as the other end and he wasn't worried about airflow. The plan said that it was up to him to pull his men out if he thought it was necessary.

  Most of the time the power would come back on in a few minutes. This time it had been at least a half hour, and there was still no power. Surely the generator must be started by now. He stared back at the main passageway, looking outby toward the center of the mine and the lift stations, when he felt the air move around him. The movement was odd, not like the fans had restarted, but as if all of the air in the mine had moved at the same time. The air moved forward, and then back. It was unusual.

  He felt his ears pop and shook his head. He looked around at the other men. Guys were shaking their heads and blowing their noses, trying to equalize the pressures in their sinuses and looking confused. Deitrich was confused, too.

  "What the hell was that, boss?"

  "I got no idea, Metzinger. I never felt that before."

  Metzinger made a face. "Wonderful. If you never felt it before, what are we supposed to—"

  It was then they felt the bump pulsing through the earth, and it raised some dust from the floor of the mine. The dust stayed in suspension as there was no airflow to sweep it away, and it hung in the air, lowering their visibility. All of the men stopped working and looked at Deitrich. He stared down the passageway and tossed the problem back in forth in his mind. There was a lot of work to do; maybe the bump had something to do with the power outage.

  He turned to his men. "Keep working, you guys. I'll tell you when to stop." He paused, turned to Metzinger, and spoke quietly. "The phones have not been strung all the way down here yet. You know where the nearest one is, don't you?"

  Metzinger nodded. "Almost all the way back to the lift. It will take me a few minutes. You want me to see if they know anything in the command shack?"

  Deitrich nodded back. "I want you back here quick. This better not be a leisurely stroll to the phone. Walk from here slow. I don't want to panic any of the new guys. Go."

  Metzinger strolled toward the telephone, but when he rounded the corner, Deitrich heard his footfalls increase their pace. He looked at his pocket watch. Should know something in fifteen or twenty minutes.

  * * *

  "Hey, Fred and Fred, come back on the radio. Did you guys hear that bump?"

  "Negative, Stacks. Didn't hear anything except this generator trying to start. What did you hear?"

  "I heard a . . . felt a . . . like a bump. Like someone dropped somethin' heavy, y'all know what I mean?"

  "Control, this is April on the phone shed. You copy?"

  "Sure do, sweetheart. C'mon back to me."

  "I felt it over here in the phone shed. And stop calling me sweetheart or I'm gonna tell your wife, and what she'll do to you is far worse than anything I could do." There was a pause. "Sweetie."

  Stacks looked at his radio and scowled. This wasn't shaping up to be a good day. "Thanks, April. Anyone else? How bout the lift? CC, you copy there, buddy?"

  "Yup, I heard it too, barely. Like a truck driving by. Hey, Stacks, you heard anything from the power plant about when we're gonna get some juice?"

  "They don't know. Said they think a line is down and they're checking it. If we don't get this generator working within the next half hour, we're gonna have to pull those guys out of there. A half hour is all I got left for time in the safety plan. Can't go beyond the time, no matter what. So how are you doin', Fred and Fred? Are you boys getting close? I reeely needs to know soon. Else there are gonna be a lot of pissed off miners having to climb all the way up and out of the mine."

  "Sorry, Stacks. It's gonna be another half hour before we can even try it. I got about eight tons of engine block to heat up, or we're gonna destroy the starter motor. Can we get another torch?"

  "You bet. Whatever you need. Maintenance, get over the
re with another torch, anything you got to help. My phone is starting to ring off of the hook. We must not have been the only ones who heard that bump. Just don't blow yourselves up over there."

  Stacks swiveled his chair around and picked up the first line that was ringing. "Control Shack, Stacks. . . . No, we don't know what it was either. . . . I have no idea. . . . Yes, calling the police might be a good idea. . . . Ma'am, I need to keep this line clear for emergencies. No, no. There's no emergency here. I need to keep this line clear. Ma'am, yes ma'am. No, ma'am. Please, I need to go. Goodbye!" He banged the phone down, and it rang immediately. All three lines were lit.

  "Shit, this isn't going to be a good day at all. Control shack . . ."

  * * *

  Willy stumbled in pain and darkness, blinking his eyes and trying to see. He knew that a working phone had a green indicator light on the base of the box. He kept looking for the green light, concentrating, wiping the sweat from his eyes, and focusing on taking another step.

  He tried to ignore his growing pain, push it to the back of his mind, but his eyes had nothing to focus on, so his mind went to his injuries and the pain increased. He tried to maintain focus, and gulped some of the dense air around him. He coughed, and his broken ribs tortured him. He fell to his knees, and then struggled to get up.

  He pushed off of the rib of the mine, clawing up the side with his good left hand. As he rose, he hit his head on something hard and metallic and he bit his tongue. More blood. He felt the object with his hand and found a telephone box. There was no green light. No light at all. The phone was dead, damaged by the blast.

  He found the cable that served the phone and began to follow it. One foot in front of the other, keeping the cable in his had. It helped to hold the phone cable, as it became his eyes and gave him more to focus on than the pain.

  * * *

  When Metzinger reached the phone, he was walking at a brisk pace and noticed nothing unusual. His crew was less than a quarter-mile behind him and the other work crew more than a mile away, through a labyrinth of tunnels. There were no signs of anything unusual. He picked up the phone and waited for April to answer. He liked talking to April when he had the chance, but it was unusual to do it over the phone.