The truck gained speed and hit the bottom of the ditch nose first. The front bounced up, and then slammed down and through the ice in the shallow creek bottom. There was enough momentum still left to carry the truck out the far side of the creek bed and bounce up the other side. The truck began to slow in what appeared to be someone's side yard. Peter had a brief thought that they were going to make it without any major damage when he spotted the power pole dead ahead.
* * *
Ernst wasn't happy. "Willie. Get your head out of your ass." He liked many of the up-timer sayings, and that one was his favorite. It wasn't quite as crisp in German as it was in English, but Willie got the idea. Willie was twenty, and the newest member of the crew, having only just recently finished his safety training. He, too, was wearing the red hat of a new miner. He was daydreaming, gazing into the darkness. His coworkers smiled. Willie was newly married, and his wife kept him up very late. It was unusual for down-timers to get married so young, and Ernst didn't approve of this break with custom. He blamed it on the bad influence of the up-timers.
"Willie. Do you hear me?" Remove your head from your ass. Pay attention."
Finally Willie looked at Ernst and blinked. Ernst was standing on top of one of the battery-powered carts, which had a coal scoop on the front. When the coal was blasted away from the mine face, the cart acted as a small bulldozer, quickly scooping the coal into the waiting cars, which would be pulled to the exit by mules. It was the typical incongruity of the new and the old, the familiar and the unfamiliar, that his men had become accustomed to.
Ernst was finishing his start-of-shift methane reading. It was less than one half of one percent, well within safety limits. He eased himself off of the heavy battery compartment to the ground. Since methane was lighter than air, he tested it at the roof of the tunnel, where he could smell the fresh cut pine boards that formed parts of the roof of the mine.
"Time to get to work, gentlemen. Let's go. Willie, get the pneumatic hammer drills and the twenty-foot bits, and start to load everything into the coal cars. Next shift will haul it out.
"Schmidt and Fredric, pick up the undercutting equipment on the other face." Those two men grabbed the heavy pneumatic jackhammer that was mounted on a cart horizontally, right at the floor. Normally, they would cut along the floor into the face as far as the highly-modified tool would reach. When they blasted the coal out of the face, the undercut would make it easier to control the blast and to recover the broken coal. But tonight they were disassembling it and all of the support equipment that went with the tool, such as the pneumatic lines, braces, and wedges.
"Hans. You are the loader driver tonight; you passed your certification. Back it outby and put it in the next crosscut. I want it out of the way." He turned to the rest of the men. "When that machine finally breaks down, we go back to shoveling coal into the carts by hand, so we're all very careful of it, aren't we, gentlemen?" He smiled, and the rest of the crew responded with a friendly and half-satirical, "Yes, Herr Ernst."
"Very good. Now get to work" The work area erupted with activity. Hans backed the noisy battery-powered hydraulic loader away from the coal face. The noise of the loader could be deafening and only hand motions and signals with their headlamps could be used. They could communicate basic signals by facing their partner and nodding their head in such a way that the light formed a pattern. Ernst found himself once answering a man in the Gardens by using these headlamp signals. It was so natural that the other man immediately understood.
Ernst watched Hans closely and walked with him as he backed the loader down the tunnel. At the crosscut, Hans backed the loader around the corner. He did it rather fast, and looked to be accelerating instead of slowing down.. There was silence for a moment as the loader was put into an emergency shut down, but not soon enough. Ernst could hear the heavy impact of splintering wood as the loader began hitting something.
"Scheiss," is what Ernst heard from Hans.
* * *
Peter's truck hit the wooden power transmission pole squarely in the center of the hulking front bumper. The truck pushed the pole to the ground as if it were a sapling, and drove the top of it into the ground with a hammer blow. Darkness turned abruptly and prematurely to day as the wires hit the ground and the transformer mounted on the pole exploded. The truck continued to slide toward the transformer and its associated fireworks until it finally eased to a halt. It stopped just inches from the transformer. Peter re-fired the truck engine and put it into reverse to back away from the transformer fire. He stopped when there was no more traction; the back wheels now deep in the frozen creek bed.
Peter's three passengers were awake now. Wide-awake. They shielded their eyes from the bright blue light of the burning transformer and saw the sparks from the downed power lines. They all sat transfixed by the display. Peter saw that the transformer and the top of the pole had landed on a piping assembly that he knew to be a natural gas wellhead. This one appeared to have been abandoned, as there wasn't anything connected to it on the surface. Once they began to understand they were uninjured, they began to smile at each other, and then laugh the giddy laugh of surviving a close call.
One of the men opened the passenger door and started to step out. Peter shouted to stay in the truck, but it was too late, and the down-time laborer jumped out and onto the ground. Peter thought for sure the man would be killed with that much voltage flowing around them in the snow and ice. But he soon realized that the wellhead was acting as a grounding rod, pulling all of the high voltage current away from them. They were safe.
* * *
Ernst frowned. The small amount of electric lighting they had in the work area had gone out. "Double Scheiss," he thought. At least the air compressor, service power, and the large fan ran off of the emergency generator, so they could continue working for a couple of hours when the generator came on.
It grew very quiet.
Ernst wasn't pleased. it was a matter of honor that Ernst's shift was the most productive, and this wasn't shaping up to be a very productive day. He adjusted his carbide light up higher, and strode toward the crosscut where the loader had disappeared.
* * *
Stacks Shackelton had bad knees, the kind that hurt just because the weather changed. The kind of knees that had more than one large scar from surgery, and he was always pulling up his pant leg to show them off. Those knees were really hurting tonight. He sat in the control room topside, monitoring the large fan that supplied fresh air to the mine, watching the lift, and manning the emergency phone. His feet were up on the desk, and he was beginning to get comfortable, when the lights went out.
"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.