The Sum of All Fears.pdf - Delta Force

en route to the Navy's munitions terminal at Oakland, California. The chief back
then had had the good sense to pull his men back when the tank ruptured, and
from a quarter mile away they'd watched a hundred tons of bombs go off in a
hellish firecracker series. There had been a mushroom then also. A large mass of
hot air rose, roiling as it went into an annular shape. It created an updraft,
drawing air upward into its donut-shaped center, making the stem of the mushroom
. . .
But this one was much larger.
He was behind the wheel of his red-painted command car, following the first
alarm, three Seagrave pumper units, an aerial ladder truck, and two ambulances.
It was a pitiful first response. Callaghan lifted his radio and ordered a
general alarm. Next he ordered his men to approach from up-wind.
Christ, what had happened here?
It couldn't be that . . . most of the city was still intact.
Chief Callaghan didn't know much, but he knew there was a fire to fight and
people to rescue. As the car turned off the last side-street onto the boulevard
leading to the stadium he saw the main smoke mass. The parking lot, of course.
It had to be. The mushroom cloud was blowing rapidly southwest towards the
mountains. The parking lot was a mass of fire and flame from burning gasoline
and oil and auto parts. A powerful gust of wind cleared the smoke briefly, just
enough that he could see that there had been a stadium here . . . a few sections
were still . . . not intact, but you could tell what they were had been only a
few minutes before. Callaghan shut that out. He had a fire to fight. He had
people to rescue. The first pump unit pulled up at a hydrant. They had good
water here. The stadium was fully sprinklered, and that system fed off two
thirty-six-inch high-pressure mains that gridded around the complex.
He left his car next to the first big Seagrave and climbed on top of the fire
engine. Some heavy structural material – the stadium roof, he supposed – was in
the parking lot to his right. More had landed a quarter mile away in the
mercifully empty parking lot of a shopping center. Callaghan used his portable
radio to order the next wave of rescue units to check both the shopping center
and the residential area that lay beyond it. The smaller fires would have to
wait. There were people in the stadium who needed help, but his firefighters
would have to fight through two hundred yards of burning cars to get to them . .
.
just then he looked up to see a blue Air Force rescue helicopter. The UH-1N
landed thirty yards away. Callaghan ran over towards it. The officer inside the
back, he saw, was an Army major.
'Callaghan,' he said. 'Battalion chief.'
'Griggs,' the major replied. 'You need a look-around?'
'Right.'
'Kay.' The major spoke into his headset, and the helicopter lifted off.
Callaghan grabbed a seatbelt, but didn't strap in.
It didn't take long. What appeared to be a wall of smoke from street level
became discrete pillars of black and gray smoke from overhead. Perhaps half of
the cars had ignited. He could use one of the driving lanes to get closer in,
but some of the way was blocked by wrecked and burning cars. The chopper made a