gns.theplutopact-第27部分

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e　limit。　If　they　had　tried　to　do　so；　the　riots　would　have　begun　even　before　the　game　kicked　off。　The　old　firm：　Rangers　versus　Celtic。　Trouble　was　brewing；　and　it　had　to　e　to　the　boil。　A　Final　to　end　all　Cup　Finals。　The　ultimate　victors。　Only；　in　the　end；　everybody　would　lose；　teams　and　supporters　alike。
　　
　　At　Old　Trafford　safety…fences　had　a　frail　look　about　them；　with　sixty…five　thousand　King　Kongs　about　to　burst　their　chains　and　go　on　the　rampage。　The　hooligan　element　had　already　devised　a　human　ladder　by　which　followers　could　gain　access　to　the　pitch。　The　bottom　rungs　would　soon　be　crushed　beneath　the　clambering　stampede；　but　that　was　immaterial。
　　
　　Londoners　were　willing　to　spill　blood　at　Highbury；　where　an　influx　of　Spurs　supporters　had　infiltrated　the　home　terraces。　And　so　it　was；　nationwide。
　　
　　And　all　of　this　was　preceded　by　a　mad　Saturday…morning　shopping　and　drinking　spree。　Money　would　soon　be　useless；　so　spend　it　now。　On　anything。　To　hell　with　the　law；　too。　No　prison　sentences　would　be　pleted。
　　
　　A　total　breakdown　in　the　system　was　beginning…but　sport　must　e　first。　By　midday　Saturday　decisions　had　been　reached　about　a　coalition　government。　Canverdale　was　appointed　Prime　Minister；　although　it　would　not　be　announced　until　Monday　morning。　Meanwhile；　the　rest　of　the　world　just　watched　and　waited。
　　
　　Police　forces　throughout　Britain　were　stretched　beyond　their　limits；　even　with　help　from　the　armed　forces。　All　leave　was　cancelled；　and　tanks　occupied　the　entrances　to　Heathrow　and　major　airports。　Still　the　crowds　formed；　laden　with　suitcases　and　hold…alls；　huddling　together。　But　mechanics　had　rendered　the　huge　standing　aircraft　temporarily　immobile。
　　
　　Trouble　arose　at　Biggin　Hill；　when　an　angry　group　of　owners　of　small　private　aircraft　demanded　their　machines。　When　an　official　informed　them　from　a　distance；　by　megaphone；　that　all　flights　had　been　suspended；　this　provoked　outrage。　A　dozen　men　with　fully　qualified　pilots'　licences　marched　out　in　a　column　towards　their　silent　machines。　Suddenly　a　shot　was　fired　over　their　heads　by　a　young　soldier；　sweat　pouring　down　his　youthful　face；　praying　to　God　that　they　would　stop。　Fortunately；　they　did。　There　was　a　huddled　conversation；　some　arguments。　A　few　wanted　to　risk　it；　the　majority　decided　against；　so　they　returned　to　their　parked　cars。　There　had　to　be　other　ways。
　　
　　The　Royal　Navy　was　doing　its　best　to　close　all　seaports。　Their　task　was　a　much　more　difficult　one　than　that　of　the　Army　or　the　RAF。　Destroyers　formed　a　barrier　across　the　harbour　entrances　of　Dover；　Southampton；　and　Portsmouth。　Only　foreign　ships　were　allowed　to　leave。　This　meant　a　thorough　search　of　all　vessels；　but　no　doubt　a　few　stowaways　made　it　safely。
　　
　　But　some　smaller　boats　managed　to　leave　from　various　points　around　the　coastline　with　little　trouble。　Aberdovey　harbour；　carnival…like　with　its　multi…coloured　sails　throughout　the　summer；　now　presented　a　drab　picture；　one　or　two　crafts　bobbing　restlessly　at　anchor。　The　season　was　at　an　end；　and　most　owners　had　towed　their　boats　back　inland　for　the　winter　months…a　decision　regretted　by　those　enthusiasts　who　could　have　waited　another　couple　of　weeks。　But　some　had　fled　out　to　sea；　small　crafts　riding　low　in　the　water；　dangerously　overloaded　with　children；　pets；　and　valuables。　The　ining　tide　brought　many　of　them　back；　dozens　of　lifeless　bodies　strewn　amongst　the　debris　of　capsized　dinghies　and　driftwood。
　　
　　Small　parties　of　beachbers　ignored　the　corpses。
　　
　　Jewellery　and　rings　were　left　untouched。　But　occasionally　an　outboard　motor　was　discovered；　still　attached　to　the　remains　of　some　small　boat　which　had　failed　miserably　in　its　mammoth　task。　Then　eager　hands　seized　it；　angry　voices　quarelled　over　who　had　sighted　it　first。　Sometimes　there　was　a　fight；　before　the　victor　hurried　from　the　beach　with　his　prize。　A　hurried　rebuilding　would　occupy　his　next　few　days；　skilled　or　otherwise。　Then　another　attempt　at　crossing　to　the　Irish　shore。　It　was　a　continual　process：　fleeing　from　death；　dying　in　the　process。
　　
　　Britain　was　now　in　total　isolation　from　the　rest　of　the　world。　Messages　of　sympathy　flooded　in　from　all　parts　of　the　globe；　and　offers　of　help　were　unceasing…but　there　was　no　time。　A　whole　country　cannot　be　evacuated　in　a　matter　of　ten　days；　so　Canverdale　adopted　a　policy　of　total　impartiality：　nobody　would　be　allowed　to　leave。　He　and　his　ministers　would　remain　to　share　the　fate　of　the　British　people。　Perhaps　that　gauge　needle　in　Section　Eight　would　drop　back。　Canverdale　believed　in　facing　reality；　but　he　was　also　an　optimist。
　　
　　That　Saturday　the　towns　were　packed　with　a　Christmas…like　rush　that　lacked　any　atmosphere　of　festivity。　The　stores　exceeded　all　previous　trading　records；　but　there　was　no　gaiety。　It　was　indiscriminate　buying；　almost　in　silence　except　for　the　jostling　of　bodies　and　the　ringing　of　tills。　Wines　and　spirits　were　most　in　demand…for　alcohol　offered　oblivion。
　　
　　Football　fans　flocked　into　the　towns；　but　the　usual　pre…match　rampages　were　few　and　far　between。　Instead　there　was　a　tension；　a　hint　of　terrible　things　to　e；　a　build…up　of　frustration　that　would　explode　before　the　day　was　over。
　　
　　By　2。15　p。m。　almost　every　means　of　access　to　football　stadiums　throughout　the　country　had　been　officially　closed。　But　that　made　no　difference　to　the　crowds　still　queuing　in　the　streets　outside。　Officials　and　stewards　watched　helplessly　as　young　and　old　clambered　over　the　locked　turnstiles　or　crawled　beneath　them。　Police　made　no　move　to　intervene；　except　to　break　up　one　or　two　brawls。
　　
　　Some　early　trouble　began　in　the　stands　when　season…ticket　holders　found　their　seats　occupied　by　types　who　normally　stood　on　the　open　terraces。　Despite　'no　standing'　signs；　the　gangways　were　packed　with　long…haired　hooligans　determined　to　support　their　more　fortunate　panions　who　had　taken　over　the　seating。　A　well…dressed　man　with　a　large　cigar　was　bodily　thrown　from　his　customary　place　in　the　Waterloo　Road　stand　at　Molineux；　Wolverhampton…down　into　the　enclosure　below。　He　suffered　a　fractured　arm；　and　injured　two　young　children　in　his　fall。　It　took　the　St　John's　ambulance　men　twenty　minutes　to　force　their　way　through；　and　their　attempts　to　reach　the　ambulance　outside　were　hampered　by　an　unyielding　mob。　Cars　were　double…parked　everywhere；　and　in　his　frustration　the　driver　ripped　the　wing　off　a　Mini。　A　pack　of　chanting　hooligans　was　charging　down　the　centre　of　the　road；　waving　their　scarves　like　banners　of　victory；　as　they　anticipated　fighting　their　way　into　the　already　overcrowded　ground。
　　
　　This　mob　barred　the　path　of　the　ambulance；　ignoring　its　flashing　blue　light　and　blaring　siren。　The　driver　kept　his　foot　on　the　accelerator。　They　would　jump　aside　at　the　last　moment　。　。　。　But　they　left　it　until　the　very　last　second；　and；　the　driver　felt　a　bump　on　the　nearside　wing。　He　did　not　stop；　rage　welling　up　inside　him。　Gladly　would　he　have　run　over　the　whole　bloody　lot　of　them。　More　traffic　jams。　Forty…five　minutes　before　they　finally　pulled　into　the　hospital。　One　of　the　children；　a　girl　of　about　nine；　was　certified　dead　on　arrival。
　　
　　But　in　all　the　stadiums　a　kind　of　hush　prevailed　amongst　the　fans　as　coins　were　tossed　and　teams　lined　up。　Many　of　the　spectators　had　not　been　to　a　match　for　years；　and　for　some　it　was　a　totally　new　experience…an　involuntary　instinct　to　congregate。
　　
　　A　nationwide　blowing　of　referees'　whistles；　synchronised　for　3　p。m。；　was　followed　by　the　expected　roar；　as　frustrations　pent…up　during　the　preceding　week　were　relieved　at　last。　But　on　this　particular　Saturday　afternoon　this　roar　was　magnified　a　thousand　fold。　The　plutonium　threat　was　temporarily　relegated；　and　the　national　sport　took　over　for　a　brief　period。　Ninety　minutes　at　the　most。
　　
　　People　fainted　in　their　dozens　amongst　the　throngs。　Under　normal　circumstances　they　would　have　been　passed　over　the　heads　of　surrounding　fans　or　down　a　gangway。　But　today　the　fallen　bodies　went　unnoticed；　as　the　remaining　spectators　swarmed　over　them。
　　
　　A　multitude　of　voices　in　one　continuous　roar　as　the　football　matches　got　underway。　The　more　violent　fans　felt　increasingly　inclined　to　take　their　revenge　on　opposing　supporters；　as　they　might　never　get　another　chance。　They　were　determined　to　turn　this　into　the　bloodiest　clash　in　soccer　history　before　the　final　whistles　brought　it　al！　to　a　close。
　　
　　The　mode　of　play　was　noticeably　lack…lustre　that　day。　Packed　grounds　and　deafening　crowds　usually　lift　players；　spurring　them　beyond　the　normal　limits。　But　today；　this　was　not　in　evidence。　Passes　went　astray；　and　good　opportunities　were　missed。　Possibly　the　players　experienced　that　feeling　known　only　too　well　by　the　veteran　playing　his　final　match　before　retirement。　This　was　the　end。　After　today　they　might　never　kick　a　ball　again。　What　the　hell　did　it　matter？
　　
　　So　roars　of　encouragement　turned　to　hoots　of　derision。　There　began　a　monotonous　thumping　of　feet　throughout　Britain's　football　grounds；　regardless　of　the　bodies　of　the　fallen。　The　bower　boys　had　never　had　it　so　good。　Unprotected　heads　to　kick　in；　blood　trickling　down　the　stone　terraces…and　nobody　taking　the　slightest　bit　of　notice。
　　
　　Half…time。　Radio…mentators　conveyed　the　news　to　those　listening　in　the　parative　safety　of　their　homes。　A　host　of　draws；　game　after　game；　mostly　scoreless；　as　though　the　incentive　to　win　had　gone　before　the　players　had　even　taken　the　field。
　　
　　Bars　within　the　grounds　had　been　deserted　by　their　regular　staff。　The　drinks　were　simply　left　for　the　taking。　In　most　cases　everything　was　gone　before　the　kick…off；　the　regular　hooligans　helping　themselves　to　everything　in　sight。　Vandalism　was　only　slight　to　begin　with；　but　followed　in　earnest　during　the　interval。　Stalls　and　vending　equipment　were　smashed；　but　the　police　remained　unmoved。
　　
　　All　over　the　country；　when　the　players　emerged　for　the　second　half；　the　tension　went　far　beyond　football　itself。
　　
　　The　shouting　was　now　incessant…but　jeers　predominated。　More　bodies　lay　beneath　the　masses；　but　nobody　cared。　Tension　was　rising　fast；　and　the　explosion　was　bound　to　e　before　the　remaining　time　was　up。
　　
　　F