Century of Jihad (22 page)

On the ground floor the fire had really got hold and was spreading rapidly. It was now visible to the outside world. Flames and smoke were billowing out of shattered windows and doors, inside thick smoke permeated throughout most of the ground floor of the building. Staff were now alerted to the holocaust taking place in their midst. Some fled in blind panic, others started alerting and evacuating guests. Running from room to room on the upper floors of the five-storey hotel, pounding on doors, desperately imploring guests to leave immediately. There was no time to go into lengthy explanations as they had to keep moving. Guests hurried down the hotel stairwells and into the street, not daring to glance back. The survival instinct had kicked in.

Some were not so lucky, running into the sights of the terrorists as the killers methodically moved from floor to floor and room to room, issuing their passports to eternity. A guest or member of staff would occasionally fall into the terrorists’ clutches. They would be asked for their religion or nationality. If they accepted an individual was one of their faith, that person would be allowed to see another day. If they were American or British, no mercy was shown. Death was instant.

Desperate calls were made from the hotel to the outside world. Messages for help to the authorities and of love to dear ones on the outside. Some people clearly did not rate highly their chances of survival.

Molotov cocktails thrown by the terrorists on the upper floors of the hotel had now spread the flames throughout the building, and the fire was spreading rapidly. The flow of water in the sprinkler system was inadequate to cope with the demand. The entire hotel was filling with thick smoke. Passers-by gathered on the pathways outside the hotel, mingling with fleeing staff and guests; many of the onlookers obviously unable to take on board the full extent of the danger lurking within the blazing building. Fleeing guests and staff running from the building shouted warnings, but to many they went unheard. Onlookers had become mesmerised by the spectacle. Many were young foreign language students who came to Oxford in the Spring and Summer months, attending short courses in one of the city’s numerous language schools. There was much to see to satisfy their morbid curiosity. Flames were now licking from the windows of rooms on the upper floors of the five-storey hotel. Glass was shattering from the heat and desperate individuals trapped inside screamed, pleaded for rescue. The sound of gunfire from within, mingled with cries of anguish. Sirens could be heard in the distance. The terrorists now prepared to make their final stand against the forces of the ‘Little Satan’ before entering into paradise.

The white van entered the multi-storey car park at the Westgate Shopping precinct. The six young men left the vehicle and, with barely a sideways glance, headed at a fast walking pace into the shopping precinct. The men immediately levelled their weapons and opened fire. Bodies flew in all directions, as the tongues of fire spat their metal barbs. Some fell on the spot, people taken by surprise at these unbelievable developments in their midst. Others were brought down as they ran in blind panic from the unfolding horror. There were screams and shouts, people running into stores leaving the shoppers inside nonplussed by their behaviour. These people were soon enlightened as the terrorists randomly entered the stores, unleashing more death and destruction as they made their way out of the precinct onto Queen Street. There in the bright Spring sunlight, terror was unleashed onto the streets of Oxford. People ran in all directions in an attempt to evade the approaching death. The rattle of automatic gunfire resonated throughout the city centre, as did the wail of police and other emergency service sirens. The horror was unimaginable. Blood-stained bodies lay strewn over the city’s streets as the terrorists made their way unopposed. Panicking blood-stained and shocked individuals combined into one entity with only survival in mind. People were trampled underfoot as this entity expanded into a torrent of humanity, heading away from the scene of carnage not quite understanding the horror unfolding in their midst. Children, the elderly and infirm died where they fell; the life force squeezed out of their crumpled bodies. Still the hail of bullets kept coming, as the crowd of fleeing humanity continued to swell. The terrorists casually strolled along the street, firing their Kalashnikov assault rifles into the retreating mass of flesh. Occasionally a terrorist gunman would stroll into an open shop doorway and spray the cowering individuals within with bullets. Throwing the occasional nail bomb for good measure.

The dark blue transit van, having deposited its deadly cargo at Beaumont Street, proceeded at speed to St Aldates. The driver, a blank look on his face, was barely aware of the other traffic on the road. He constantly muttered to himself as he drove. Turning into St Aldates, he headed straight for the police station and came to a halt. He stared for a moment at the building, then closed his eyes, at the same time depressing the button on the small device in his hand.

The emergency calls routed to the control room at St Aldates Police Station were coming in thick and fast. Panicking, trembling, distressed voices at the other end of the line. The control room staff trying to calm the callers, glean as much information as possible from the terrified individuals. Suddenly a loud bang. The building shook to its foundations. The control room was plunged into darkness, no emergency lighting. The police sergeant in charge in the room carefully opened the door which led out into the corridor on the ground floor of the three-storey building. He stared in horror. Debris and collapsed walls everywhere he looked. A young policewoman stumbled towards him through the debris. Her face was covered in a mix of white dust and blood; her hands, held up to her face, were bloody; her uniform was torn and covered in dust and blood. The sergeant reached out and directed her into the control room, which had miraculously been left intact by the blast. He led her over to a female operator and then, leaving the control room, went back out into the corridor and the shattered remains of the police station. As he picked his way through the debris and fallen masonry, he became fully aware of a scene of utter devastation and horror. There were bodies everywhere. Tangled, broken, lacerated bodies. He saw movement in the debris. A trapped survivor stirred. There were screams of agony. Another police officer appeared, staggering towards him, the man’s face covered in dust and unrecognisable. As the man approached, he uttered:

‘What the hell happened?’

‘Some kind of explosion?’ replied the sergeant.

The two men stared for a second, then the sergeant said,

‘Help me clear the rubble from this guy. He’s still alive. I saw him move.’

The two men started to remove the debris covering the trapped and broken individual. The man reached out from under the debris and muttered something, then lapsed into unconsciousness. The sergeant looked at the other officer and spoke.

‘This is no good, we’ve got to get help. Get out of here somehow, and direct any rescue teams as they arrive. I’ll stay here with this chap until help arrives. There’s nothing we can do in this mess.’

The officer nodded in agreement and stumbled back through the torn building, picking his way towards what used to be the front entrance, eventually stumbling through a hole and out into the rubble-strewn street which was now filled with members of the public – some gawping at the scene, others attending to the many injured. The injured had been hit by flying glass and debris from the shattered police station and surrounding buildings, and by metal fragments from the exploding vehicle. The scene was one of utter carnage. There were bodies and body parts strewn everywhere. Pools of blood gathered on the pavement. There were mangled bodies lying on the road and people with blood flowing freely from facial injuries, others with objects protruding from their bodies. People were wandering around, pale with shock written all over their faces. A fire engine and a police car, sirens wailing, turned into St Aldates. A tremendous feeling of relief swept over the officer. The rescue effort would soon be underway. He was no longer alone.

The arriving Fire, Ambulance and Police personnel each assessed the scene from their own perspective and reported back to their control rooms on the devastation spread out before their eyes. Reinforcements were requested and the rescue operation got underway as soon as the Senior Fire and Police Officer at the scene had evaluated the situation and concluded that there was minimum likelihood of further explosion. Ambulance paramedics had already started to tend to the many wounded on the street outside the devastated building. There were many more casualties than the handful of paramedics now at the scene could handle, so they first assessed the condition of the injured souls – many screaming in agony, some with objects protruding from bleeding wounds, others lying unconscious amongst the debris which was scattered everywhere. The paramedics had immediately requested urgent assistance from the local hospital for medical teams to support their life-saving endeavours. Members of the public who had come to the assistance of the injured in the immediate aftermath of the explosion, prior to the arrival of the emergency services, were now enlisted by the paramedics to comfort and assist those suffering shock and lesser injuries in the initial phase of the rescue operation. The local Mental Healthcare Trust was contacted by the Ambulance Service to inform them of developments at the scene with a view to deployment of staff from that Trust to assist with the mental wellbeing of the anguished and bewildered witnesses and casualties. The response to this incident was being hampered by the continuing demands at the scenes of the other two terror incidents, ongoing not far from St Aldates, but thankfully presenting no additional threat to the rescue effort.

The Fire and Police Service rescue teams entered the wrecked building with extreme caution. This was going to be a hazardous operation for all concerned. The rescue teams carefully picked their way through the tons of debris. The shattered concrete scattered everywhere. The protruding twisted metal. Every move made with the awareness of personal danger and danger to survivors who may be trapped in the rubble. Fire Brigade personnel with thermal imaging equipment and police officers with dogs commenced their painstaking efforts to find survivors concealed under the rubble. Occasionally a sound would be heard. Silence as the rescuers listened for the sound of a survivor. Rubble would move and from beneath would appear a human limb endeavouring to escape the grip of death. The rescuers started to bring out survivors from the decimated building and the bodies of those not so lucky on this beautiful April day. The sound of sirens leaving the scene with the casualties, the sirens of emergency service vehicles arriving with reinforcements to deal with the rescue effort, filled the air. Doctors, nurses, police and ambulance crews, alongside many members of the public, struggled to offer succor to the survivors at the scene.

At the local hospital Emergency Department, a state of organised chaos prevailed as medics, nursing staff, support staff and managers struggled to cope with the onslaught from the city’s streets. There were blast and shrapnel injuries coming in from St Aldates. Bullet and crush injuries – a result of injuries sustained as people fled before the gunmen in the city centre maelstrom – and burn, shrapnel and bullet injuries amongst those who had escaped the horror at the Parthenon Hotel. Shocked and bewildered victims stumbled around the crowded Emergency Department. A bloody, horrific scene. Broken bones, lacerations, foreign objects protruding from bodies, blood oozing out of body orifices, damaged ribcages and diaphragms. Doctors and nursing staff worked furiously to sustain life. There were mixed emotions amongst the staff. The adrenalin was pumping through their veins. Sometimes a battle for survival was lost. Feelings of sadness, personal inadequacy, anger at the pointless slaughter. Anger at the lack of resources available in the department. Staff had been warning for years that the resources available in Britain’s emergency departments would fail in the event of a major catastrophe. It was no use saying, ‘I told you so’. They had to get on with the job in hand. There would be time later for reflection and recrimination. More experienced staff assisted their younger colleagues in their endeavours to deal with the incident, imparting professional knowledge gained from years of experience and helping them cope with their emotions.

In the thirty or so minutes since the first reports of shooting and explosions in central Oxford and the Police station at St Aldates being ‘taken out’, the scene in the control room at Thames Valley Police Headquarters at Kidlington had gone from one of quiet, and determined professionalism to one of organised chaos. The room was filled with the steady and ceaseless drone of voices and people charging around, coming and going. Instructions were being given out and then rescinded, some even before they could be implemented. Inspector Firth, who was in charge in the control room when the situation had started to develop and was now determinedly trying to maintain some kind of order, had initiated the Force’s first responses to the incidents. He had deployed resources to the scene and units were now reporting in. Thames Valley’s six, two-man crewed, armed response units had started to arrive in the centre of Oxford. The Force helicopter was airborne and reporting in from its vantage point over the city. The Chief Constable had been alerted and had taken over as Gold Command. Her first action, having been appraised of the situation, was to request armed officers to assist from neighbouring Forces and notify the Home Office in London, which immediately alerted the duty officer at the Prime Minister’s Office.

The Prime Minister instructed his staff that COBR should be called into session and asked for a conference call to the Home Secretary and Defence Secretary at their homes just outside the capital. The two Government Ministers were alerted to the Prime Minister’s bidding and dropped all other plans in order to respond. The Prime Minister requested an update on the rapidly developing situation from an obviously harassed Home Secretary.