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"It's not a plane. It looks almost like a ... a meteorite!" Leonid suggested.
Ross shook his head, "There ARE no meteorites anymore."
"Whatever it is ... it's getting lower," said Tamsin uneasily. Sure enough as the object's trail scored a line roughly south west across the heavens, it appeared to be descending.
"Ohmygod," Ross gasped, "it's a fucking missile. And it's heading for Novaya Nadezhda ..."
Seconds later, it was as if a new sun had sprung into being where the city of Birmingham had once been. An impossibly bright flash of light, blinding white even from fifteen miles away, accompanied by a low rumble like thunder.
A pleasantly warm breeze, strengthening to a buffeting wind washed over them all, instantly melting what little snow had settled in Atherstone's streets as a boiling orange mushroom cloud climbed thousands of feet up into the evening sky.
Novaya Nadezhda was gone.
The resistance ...
... was gone.
COMING SOON ... CHAPTER FIVE: CONWY
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