Code Three Page 4
In the same instance, both Ben and Clay touched another plate on theircontrol seats. From kiosk-type columns behind each seat, pairs ofbody-molded crash pads snapped into place to encase both troopers intheir seats, their bodies cushioned and locked into place. Only theirfingers were loose beneath the spongy substance to work arm controls.The half-molds included headforms with a padded band that lockedacross their foreheads to hold their heads rigidly against the backsof their reinforced seats. The instant all three crew members werelocked into their safety gear, the bull horn ceased.
"All tight," Ben called out as he wiggled and tried to free himselffrom the cocoon. Kelly and Clay tested their harnesses.
Satisfied that the safety cocoons were operating properly, Benreleased them and the molds slid back into their recesses. The cocoonswere triggered automatically in any emergency run or chase at speedsin excess of two hundred miles an hour.
Again he kicked off the brakes, pressed down on the foot feed and Car56--Beulah--rolled out of the Philadelphia motor pool on the start ofits ten-day patrol.
* * * * *
The motor pool exit opened into a quarter-mile wide tunnel slopinggently down into the bowels of the great city. Car 56 glided down theslight incline at a steady fifty miles an hour. A mile from the mouthof the tunnel the roadway leveled off and Ben kicked Beulah up anothertwenty-five miles an hour. Ahead, the main tunnel ended in a series ofsmaller portal ways, each emblazoned with a huge illuminated numberdesignating a continental thruway.
Ben throttled back and began edging to the left lanes. Other patrolcars were heading down the main passageway, bound for their assignedthruways. As Ben eased down to a slow thirty, another patrol vehicleslid alongside. The two troopers in the cab waved. Clay flicked on the"car-to-car" transmit.
The senior trooper in Car 104 looked over at Martin and Ferguson. "Ifit isn't the gruesome twosome," he called. "Where have you two been?We thought the front office had finally caught up with you and foundout that neither one of you could read or write and that they hadcanned you."
"We can't read," Ben quipped back. "That's why we're still on the job.The front office would never hire anyone who would embarrass you twoby being smarter than either of you. Where're you headed, Eddie?"
"Got 154-north," the other officer said.
"Hey," Clay called out, "I've got a real hot doll in Toronto and I'llgladly sell her phone number for a proper price."
"Wouldn't want to hurt you, Clay," the other officer replied. "If Icalled her up and took her out, she'd throw rocks at you the next timeyou drew the run. It's all for your own good."
"Oh, go get lost in a cloverleaf," Clay retorted.
The other car broke the connection and with a wave, veered off to theright. The thruway entrances were just ahead. Martin aimed Beulah atthe lighted orifice topped by the number 26-W. The patrol car slidinto the narrower tunnel, glided along for another mile and thenturned its bow upwards. Three minutes later, they emerged from thetunnel into the red patrol lane of Continental Thruway 26-West. Thelate afternoon sky was a covering of gray wool and a drop or two ofmoisture struck the front face of the cab canopy. For a mile on eitherside of the police lane, streams of cars sped westward. Ben eyed thesky, the traffic and then peered at the outer hull thermometer. Itread thirty-two degrees. He made a mental bet with himself that theweather bureau was off on its snow estimates by six hours. His Vermontupbringing told him it would be flurrying within the hour.
He increased speed to a steady one hundred and the car sped silentlyand easily along the police lane. Across the cab, Clay peeredpensively at the steady stream of cars and cargo carriers racing by inthe green and blue lanes--all of them moving faster than the patrolcar.
The young officer turned in his seat and looked at his partner.
"You know, Ben," he said gravely, "I sometimes wonder if thoseold-time cowboys got as tired looking at the south end of northboundcows as I get looking at the vanishing tail pipes of cars."
The radio came to life.
"Philly Control to Car 56."
Clay touched his transmit plate. "This is Five Six. Go ahead."
"You've got a bad one at Marker 82," Control said. "A sideswipe in thewhite."
"Couldn't be too bad in the white," Ben broke in, thinking of theone-hundred mile-an-hour limit in the slow lane.
"That's not the problem," Control came back. "One of the sideswipedvehicles was flipped around and bounded into the green, and that'swhere the real mess is. Make it code three."
"Five Six acknowledge," Ben said. "On the way."
He slammed forward on the throttles. The bull horn blared and a secondlater, with MSO Kelly Lightfoot snugged in her dispensary cocoon andboth troopers in body cushions, Car 56 lifted a foot from the roadway,and leaped forward on a turbulent pad of air. It accelerated from onehundred to two hundred fifty miles an hour.
The great red emergency lights on the bow and stern began to blink andfrom the special transmitter in the hull a radio siren wail racedahead of the car to be picked up by the emergency receptor antennasrequired on all vehicles.
The working part of the patrol had begun.
* * * * *
Conversation died in the speeding car, partly because of theconcentration required by the troopers, secondly because alltransmissions whether intercom or radio, on a code two or three run,were taped and monitored by Control. In the center of the instrumentpanel, an oversized radiodometer was clicking off the mileage marks asthe car passed each milestone. The milestone posts beamed a codedsignal across all five lanes and as each vehicle passed the marker,the radiodometer clicked up another number.
Car 56 had been at MM 23 when the call came. Now, at better than fourmiles a minute, Beulah whipped past MM 45 with ten minutes yet to goto reach the scene of the accident. Light flurries of wet snow bouncedoff the canopy, leaving thin, fast-drying trails of moisture. Althoughit was still a few minutes short of 1700 hours, the last of the winterafternoon light was being lost behind the heavy snow clouds overhead.Ben turned on the patrol car's dazzling headlight and to the left andright, Clay could see streaks of white lights from the traffic on thegreen and blue lanes on either side of the quarter-mile wide emergencylane.
The radio filled them in on the movement of other patrol emergencyvehicles being routed to the accident site. Car 82, also assigned toNAT 26-West, was more than one hundred fifty miles ahead of Beulah.Pittsburgh Control ordered Eight Two to hold fast to cover anythingelse that might come up while Five Six was handling the currentcrisis. Eastbound Car 119 was ordered to cut across to the scene toassist Beulah's crew, and another eastbound patrol vehicle was held inplace to cover for One One Nine.
At mile marker 80, yellow caution lights were flashing on allwestbound lanes, triggered by Philadelphia Control the instant theword of the crash had been received. Traffic was slowing down andpiling up despite the half-mile wide lanes.
"Philly Control this is Car 56."
"Go ahead Five Six."
"It's piling up in the green and white," Ben said. "Let's divert toblue on slowdown and seal the yellow."
"Philly Control acknowledged," came the reply.
* * * * *
The flashing amber caution lights on all lanes switched to red. As Benbegan de-acceleration, diagonal red flashing barriers rose out of theroadway on the green and white lanes at the 85 mile marker and lanecrossing. This channelled all traffic from both lanes to the left andinto the blue lane where the flashing reds now prohibited speeds inexcess of fifty miles an hour around the emergency situation. At thesame time, all crossovers on the ultra high yellow lane were sealed bybarriers to prevent changing of lanes into the over-congested area.
As Car 56's speed dropped back
below the two hundred mile an hour markthe cocoon automatically slid open. Freed from her safety restraints,Kelly jumped for the rear entrance of the dispensary and cleared theracking clamps from the six autolitters. That done, she opened anotherlocker and reached for the mobile first-aid kit. She slid it to thedoor entrance on its retractable casters. She slipped on her workhelmet with the built-in transmitter and then sat down on the seat bythe rear door to wait until the car stopped.
Car 56 was now less than two miles from the scene of the crash andtraffic in the green lane to the left was at a standstill. A half milefarther westward, lights were still moving slowly along the whitelane. Ahead, the troopers could see a faint wisp of smoke rising fromthe heaviest congregation of headlights. Both officers had their workhelmets on and