Their Darkest Hour

<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><font size="3">Chapter Ten<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com
Near SalisburyPlain
United Kingdom,Day 2

“You know,” Chris Drake said, “I never thought I would bepleased to see a redcap.”

The Military Policeman smiled, a little weakly. “It’s been one of those days,” heagreed. “Name, rank and unit?”

Chris smiled. He’dallowed the Thames to push him out of London before climbing out and finding aconvenient place to dry himself. Therehad been a small charity shop nearby where he’d picked up enough clothes tokeep himself warm as he walked the long way around London and up towardsSalisbury Plain. He’d been lucky enoughto find a civilian Range Rover, which he’d borrowed to complete the rest of thejourney, but he’d been forced to stay off the main roads. The aliens, according to the radio transmissionshe’d picked up, liked roads. They would, he assumed, had shot him orcaptured him the moment they saw him.

He’d relaxed a little as he headed westwards, until he’drun into the military police unit. Hewasn't the only soldier who’d been separated from his unit and forced to travelalone to the rendezvous point, although as far as he knew he was the onlysoldier who’d escaped the Battle of London. The others had been supposed to link up in a disused warehouse andconsider either making it out by foot or carrying on the fight against theinvaders – God alone knew what had happened to them. He’d trained beside them, fought beside them– and now he was alone. Unless he wasvery lucky, he’d be pushed into a new unit to make up the manpower shortfall.

“You were in London?” The MP said asked, clearly impressed. “We’ve got orders to forward all survivorsfrom London to the RV point. It seemsthat some of our superiors will want to talk to you.”

Chris hesitated. There was a defence line beingconstructed that should slow the aliens down – he doubted that a force with airsupremacy could be stopped – and part of him wanted to join it, to get stuckinto the aliens who had killed so many of his friends and comrades. The rest of him knew that it was his duty tobrief his superiors, to tell them what had happened at London and to ensurethat the Household Division’s last stand went down in the history books. But would the people writing the historybooks be human – or alien?

“They’re going to be waiting to hear from you,” the MPsaid, a moment later. “I suggest youbrief them quickly. They’re going to hitus soon.”

Chris nodded and gunned the engine. He knew the area around Salisbury Plain fairlywell – a legacy of the time spent boozing after exercises in the Live FiringTraining Area – and it shook him to see so many deserted houses. The civilians would have been warned to leavethe area as quickly as possible, whatever the aliens might have had to sayabout it. They probably wouldn't care ifhuman civilians were caught in the crossfire. Everything they’d done suggested a certain lack of concern for humanlife. The sight of refugees headingnorth or south tore at his heart. Britain hadn't seen such deprivation since the Civil War – and that, by Europeanstandards of the time, had been remarkably civilised. He caught sight of a tank hidden undercamouflage netting and waved to the man standing beside it, clearly planning anambush. They should get in at least onegood shot before the aliens started dropping killer crowbars from orbit.

Two miles further on, he ran into a second group ofmilitary policemen who ordered him to abandon the Range Rover and proceed onfoot. The woodlands seemed crammed withhuman soldiers, including Royal Marines and RAF Regiment personnel, all forcedtogether by circumstances. Chris hadfought beside the Royal Marines in Afghanistan and while he thought – naturally– that the soldiers had the advantage, he had to admit that the Royal Marineswere tough, professional fighters. Themilitary policemen were sorting them out, sending some further away fromSalisbury Plain while holding others to join the defence line. It lookedas if someone was in command, thankfully. Perhaps everything he’d seen in London would be useful after all.

But the aliens controlled the high orbitals overEarth. They could bombard the planetinto submission, or hammer any human military force foolish enough to showitself openly. How could an insurgencyhope to win against such an enemy? Godalone knew if they could do more than sting the enemy...

“Down here,” a military policeman said. There was a hatch hidden in the woods,seemingly leading down to nowhere. Givenhow many other bunkers, bases and supply dumps were scattered around SalisburyPlain, it made sense to think that there was a government bunker hidden theretoo. “They’ll meet you at the bottom.”

Chris nodded and began to descend down the ladder.

***​

“Are you decent, Prime Minister?”

Gabriel snorted at Butcher’s mock-falsetto tone. He’d slept for several hours and awokefeeling as if he hadn't slept very long at all, but his watch told a differentstory. Butcher – who had apparently beenassigned as his permanent bodyguard – had pointed him at the shower and toldhim to take his time. Someone hadbrought in a spare set of clothes, allowing him to lose the suit and tie he’dworn during the mad rush from London. The military seemed to have maintained its sense of efficiency, he toldhimself, and wondered how long that would last.

“I think so,” he said, finally. He hadn't been able to shave and his cheeksfelt rough with stubble. “Have we beendiscovered?”

“I don’t think so,” Butcher said. “But there have apparently beendevelopments. I’ll leave it to the Brigadierto brief you.”

They walked down the concrete corridor and into theconference room. Most of the operatorshe remembered from last night were missing, their stations shut down and markedfor destruction. In fact, the entirebunker complex seemed emptier than he recalled – even though he could hear thesound of people talking in low voices down the corridor. He assumed that they hadn't been detected –they would have fled the bunker if they had even suspected that the aliens knew where they were – but it was clearthat something had changed. The Brigadier,when he made his appearance a moment later followed by as young soldier, lookeddeeply worried.

“Prime Minister,” he said. “I’m afraid that there have beendevelopments.”

Gabriel listened carefully as the story of the Battle ofLondon came pouring out of the young soldier. Two companies of British soldiers had fought and held the aliens fornearly an hour, before the aliens finally pushed through by brute force. London itself had been damaged in the crossfire,with at least one alien transport crash-landing in Central London. The thought was impossible to grasp – it justwasn't supposed to happen in Britain. Even the suicide bombers who’d killed far too many civilians on 7/7hadn't even dreamed of causing so much pain.

“it gets worse,” the Brigadier added. “I’m afraid that the aliens have foundthemselves a Petain.”

He tapped a console and the recorded radio message playedout, twice. Gabriel found himselflistening with growing anger as Alan Beresford – an MP who had been implicatedin a dozen scandals, yet nothing quite seemed to stick – recited the alienmessage to the British population. Godalone knew what the public would make of it. They’d be frightened, isolated from the rest of the world, unsure oftheir place...far too many would simply grasp the straw Beresford was offeringthem. And the aliens themselves...

If Beresford was to be believed, their social developmenthad not matched their technological development. But then, a case could be made thathumanity’s development hadn’t matched its technology either. The aliens...they’d come, they’d seen andthey’d conquered, with as little regard for the rights of mankind as JuliusCaesar had shown to the barbarians he’d crushed beneath the heels of hislegions. It was tempting to believe thatBeresford was a liar – Gabriel wouldn't have believed that the sky was blue ifBeresford had said it – but so far everything the aliens had done matched whathe’d said. But then...if Nazi Germanyhad won World War Two, everyone would have been raised to believe that Nazismwas right.

“My God,” he said, finally. “What do we do about it?”

The Brigadier scowled. “The last reports have the aliens massing forces here, here and here,”he said, tapping locations on the map. “I believe that they intend to advance westwards within the next fewhours and scatter our forces before we can regroup and take the offensive. I’m afraid that we’re going to have to putour emergency plan into operation before too long.”

Gabriel nodded. “What do we have to do?”

“You’re going to a secure location in the north – an oldestate that belongs to a family that has been linked with the BritishGovernment for centuries,” the Brigadier said. “It was always envisaged as the final resort – and so there haven’t beenany mentions of it on our computers or anywhere else. Butcher and his team will escort you thereand then take care of you, once you’ve recorded a message for the civilians. You have to tell them that there’s a governmentstill out there fighting...”

“But won’t that encourage them to fight themselves?” Gabriel asked. “Won’t we just be prolonging the agony?”

“I wish I knew,” the Brigadier admitted. “Back when I did a stint at Northwood, I sawsome of the contingency plans and scenarios dreamed up by civil servants. They all tended to change depending upon theunderlying assumptions, but I think we have to assume that the majority of thecivilian population will not resist the invaders. But there’s a fine line between not resistingand outright collaboration and...if they believe that there is a governmentleft out there, fewer people will collaborate. I think that the aliens have to have limits on their manpower. Whatever their FTL drive, shipping millions oftroops across interstellar distances cannot be cost-effective.”

“And the fewer collaborators they have, the harder itwill be for them to rule Earth,” Gabriel said. The Brigadier nodded. “But whatdo they want?”

“If we take that traitorous bastard at his word, theythink they have the right to rule everyone too weak to stand up to them,” the Brigadiersaid. “Or maybe they have some othergoal in being here that they’re keeping to themselves – perhaps because theyfear we could spite them in some way. Overall...we don't know what they want.

“The good news is that we managed to make contact withtwo of our missile boats,” he added. “The aliens hit our submarine bases pretty hard, but we had three of thefour boats at sea and two of them have been appraised of the situation. Using them may be tricky with the alienscontrolling space, yet we do feel that there are possibilities. We’ve also managed to pull most of thetactical nukes from their storage bunkers and I’ve given orders to concealthem...”

“They are not to be used without my express permission,”Gabriel said, sharply. The thought ofnuclear war on British soil was horrifying. “I want you to make that clear to your officers.”

“They know to keep them in reserve,” the Brigadier said,flatly. “Overall, most of our deployedsubmarines – the attack submarines as well – seem to have survived. They may be usable in the future, but for themoment we have no firm plans.”

He stood up. “We’ll make a stand when they come west and give them a bloody nose,then fall back to prepared positions,” he concluded. “And then most of the lads will gounderground and carry on the fight. Thealiens have ordered all military and police personnel to surrender themselves –they’ve clearly started putting the police to work, but no one thinks theyintend to make use of the soldiers! Itseems that they’re already establishing detention camps near the cities. Most of the lads would sooner die than gointo one of them.”

***​

“People of Britain,” Gabriel said, twenty minuteslater. It didn't sound good. Normally, back in Ten Downing Street, hewould have had a speechwriter, a make-up artist and a careful briefing on whowas expected to be in the media crowd and what questions they might ask. He’d spent so much time preparing forspeeches that it had often struck him that he’d done little else in his brieftime as Prime Minister. And now...halfthe population would probably curse him as a man who’d fled, leaving them toface the aliens. “Our nation has beeninvaded.”

He took a breath. “I won’t lie to you,” he continued. He’d wanted to be honest in his speeches, but the crowd of advisers hadwarned that too much blunt speaking could backfire. The public seemed to believe that politicianswere always liars, yet they elected men who made them feel good aboutthemselves – instead of telling them the truth. At least now he could go with his instincts. “The situation is dire. Many of our cities have been invadeddirectly; others have lost power and water supplies. Anarchy is threatening to grip ourstreets.

“Many of you will be frightened. Many of you will wonder if we can resist thealiens, or even if we should resistthe aliens. Others will seek to takeadvantage of the chaos for their own benefit. I know that many of you will be looking to safeguard your families andfriends, rather than thinking about the welfare of the country. I cannot blame you for worrying about yourown lives, or those of your friends and families. The entire country has suffered a devastatingblow. Our world has been turned upsidedown.

“But Britain has a long and proud history of resistingtyranny. It was us who stood aloneagainst Nazi Germany, though we were bombed and half-starved and suffereddefeat after defeat. We played a fullpart in the containment of Communist Russia, preventing general war fromengulfing Europe for the third time. Westood firm against Napoleon when he threatened to invade our shores. The situation is dire, but it is nothopeless. We can fight back against thelatest invaders.

“The British Government has survived and it will carry onthe fight as long as possible,” he concluded. “I will not order you to resist – I want you to decide foryourselves. If you wish to stand up andfight for Britain, for the freedom of our island nation, join us in resistingthe enemy. Take care of yourselves, plancarefully – and hit them as hard as you can. There will be many dark days ahead, days where we can assume nothing,but blood, toil, tears and sweat, but there will come a day when we live freelyin our own land once again.”

He tapped the switch, ending the recording. “Very good, Prime Minister,” Linux said. “I’ll have it online tonight, once thisbunker has been evacuated. The entireworld will hear your speech...”

Gabriel frowned. “But the aliens will try to wipe it from the internet,” he pointedout. Their jamming had certainlyprevented any attempt to reclaim the airwaves. “How can we stop them purging it before it reaches its intendedaudience?”

“Leave that to me,” Linux said. “There are thousands of people on theinternet who devised all kinds of programs to share files – despite the bestthat governments and big corporations could do to stop it. We’ll get your message to the world – afterthat, it’s all up to them.”

“Thank you,” Gabriel said. He wanted to ask what would happen to theyoung soldier, but the words wouldn't form in his mouth. How could he ask anyone to fight for Britainwhen he was going to run away and hide?

Butcher cleared his throat. “Prime Minister?” He said. “It’s time to go.”

“Understood,” Gabriel said. He hesitated for a moment, and thennodded. “Let’s go.”

The climb back up into the open air made him feel oddlyclaustrophobic. It was a relief whenthey finally reached the surface and emerged in the midst of a small group ofarmed soldiers. Butcher spoke to thembriefly, and then led the way northwards through the woods. Gabriel could hear the sound of birdschirping in the distance, ignoring the presence of human soldiers in theirhabitats. Their lives would go onregardless of who ruled the planet. Helooked up into the bright blue sky and shivered. There was something impossibly surreal aboutthe whole scene.

“The scouts reported refugees gathering to the north,”Butcher said, as they reached a civilian car that had obviously beencommandeered by the military. “We’ll tryto give them a wide berth. The aliensdon’t seem to care about civilian vehicles, but I think that will change oncethey realise that we've been using them to ship men around under their noses.”

Gabriel opened his mouth to ask why they were using a civilian car, before realising that there was noother choice. He couldn't have made itto the north on foot. The SAS men wereused to walking for miles in a single day, but he’d just slow them down. They had to rely on the car and hope that the aliens didn't startblasting vehicles at random.

He glanced over towards the east. No plumes of smoke marred the sky, but heknew that the aliens were present – and planning their offensive. He wondered how many people still didn'trealise what had happened, or what was going on – there had to be entirecommunities that hadn’t had any contact with the aliens. No matter how advanced they were, he couldn'tsee how they intended to occupy every last town and village on the planet. If he was in their shoes, how would he do it? Target America, Europe, Russia andChina...and let the rest of the world collapse into chaos?

And how long could Gabriel accept his people sufferingwhile he hid from their new masters?

 

Chapter Eleven<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />



Long Stratton

United Kingdom,Day 2



For a moment, Alex was half-convinced that she’d beenhaving a nightmare. She lay in acomfortable bed, so comfortable that she wanted to return to slumber. Instead, she opened her eyes and beheld an unfamiliarroom. It reminded her of the room she’dshared with her boyfriend back when they’d gone on vacation together, rightdown to the sunlight streaming in through the window. The presence of her pistol where she’d leftit within easy reach brought her back to reality. Her country had been invaded and it was herduty to report in to superior authority – or carry on the fight alone, ifpossible.



The scent of frying bacon from downstairs made herstomach rumble and she pulled herself out of bed. Smith had brought her back to the farm andconvinced her to remain for a day or two, just to see what happened. Who knew – perhaps someone would succeed infinding a way to drive the invaders away from Earth. Alex, who knew that such things only happenedin bad movies, was much less optimistic. The farmland surrounding her seemed too mundane to be touched by thealiens, but the fireworks in the sky told her that the world had changed. God alone knew what was going to happen next.



Smith’s wife – who’d turned out to be called Jean – hadloaned her a dress and a shirt that was only a size or two too big forher. Alex pulled it on anyway; heruniform had been growing increasingly rank and it would only attract attention when– if – she set out to contact higher authority. There was no way to know what the roads would be like, or how manypeople would be fleeing the cities for the countryside now that the world hadturned upside down. The modern RAF hadnever designed contingency plans for regrouping after an invasion of theBritish mainland. It had never even beena serious possibility.



She went to the toilet, splashed water on her face, andheaded down the stairs towards the kitchen. Jean was already hard at work, frying what looked like bacon, eggs and potatoesin a massive frying pan. It lookedwonderfully unhealthy, just the kind of food she’d eaten back home, when shehadn’t been worrying about her weight. Whatever else could be said about life in the military, it ensured thatsoldiers, sailors and airmen got plenty of exercise. There weren’t many fat personnel until onereached the higher levels of military leadership.



“Take one of the plates and pass it over to me,” Jeanordered. “I’ve pulled you some freshmilk, straight from the cow. You’ll haveto learn to milk her for herself if you live longer – it’s one of thoseexperiences no one ever tells the city-folk until they come out here and staywith us.”



Alex took the milk with some trepidation. “Is it safe to drink?”



“Of course it is,” Jean said. “Of course, those bureaucrats think otherwise– and they do have a point, if the milkman isn’t very careful. But no one here wants to go down in historyas the farm that got a few hundred people killed. If those aliens” – she pronounced the word witha snort, as if she didn’t quite believe it – “happen to kill all of thoseinterfering meddlers who know nothing, plenty of people round here will raise aglass in their honour.”



Alex frowned, sipping the milk. “But isn’t that a bit disloyal…?”



Jean snorted, again. “You seem to think that the government is always a good thing,” shesaid. “Do you know how much red tape wehave to jump through, every year? Government seems determined to bury us in red tape and endlesspaperwork. Dear God – there have beenyears where I’ve seriously considered just urging the man to walk away from thefarm. No one seems to want us to do anything, but fill informs. You can’t make a man a farmer bysending him to impractical courses run by people who aren’t farmers…”



She shook her head. “I won’t miss the government, young lady,” she added. “And I think that many people here will feelthe same way.”



There was a hiss as she turned a pair of rashers over,and then piled them onto a plate with potatoes and eggs. “Eat up,” she said, cheerfully. “As far as anyone knows, you’re one of thecity-folk who booked a holiday with us so you could experience life on afarm. You’re going to have a busy dayahead of you.”



Alex ate slowly, savouring the natural taste of the baconand fresh eggs. She didn’t mind workingon the farm – for all she knew, money was worthless right now – but she knewthat she couldn’t stay for long. Thefarm would probably soon be visited by the aliens, who’d want food forthemselves – if they could eat human crops. Alex was fairly sure that they’d like Earth as a new home; they wouldn’thave bothered to invade if Earth was useless to them. Unless they were just nasty bastards, ofcourse – and that was quite possible. They certainly hadn’t bothered to demand surrender before they startedshooting.



She tossed the thought around her head as she ate, tryingto guess what the aliens would do next. There was no way to know. Thelast messages she’d seen on the internet reported that the aliens were securingLondon, Manchester, Birmingham and a number of other cities. There had been clashes between their forcesand human mobs, clashes that had gone very badly for the humans. Somehow, Alex wasn't surprised. The aliens seemed to prefer brute force to anythingmore subtle and nothing stamped one’s authority on a situation like brute force– provided that there was enough brute force, of course. But the aliens controlled space. They could lose control of large parts ofEarth and still win the war. Hell, forall she knew, they were deliberately provoking humans to attack them so theycould wipe out potential resistance fighters before they could get organised.



“Ann and Sue dropped in this morning,” Jean said, as Alexwas chasing the last of the egg around her place with a slice of bread. “They left their home yesterday and campedout before making the rest of the drive here. Ann had to pay for petrol the old-fashioned war, damn it. Maybe the aliens can do something about theprice of fuel while they’re at it.”



Alex frowned. Theold-fashioned way? It took her a momentto realise that Ann had probably had to go down on the petrol station’s ownerto get fuel for her car. The thought wassickening, but it was probably only a taste of the future. If the aliens had blocked off supplies offuel as well as food, the civilian population would lose its mobility veryquickly – once the rest of the fuel ran out. The RAF had had stockpiles of aviation fuel for its aircraft, but thealiens might have destroyed it. And thatwould leave what remained of the RAF permanently grounded.



“Maybe they can,” she agreed. “What did they say about the roads?”



“The aliens have been broadcasting orders for people tostay off the main roads,” Jean said. “Speaking of which” – she clicked the radio and music started to echoout – “listen to this. Someone willstart speaking in a moment…”



“People of Britain, my name is Alan Beresford and I amthe sole remaining member of the British Government…”



Alex listened in disbelief as the message played out andthen started to repeat. She knew of AlanBeresford by reputation – no military officer could afford to be a virgin wherepolitics were concerned – and she knew that he wasn't well-regarded, butoutright treachery? The message playedagain and again, before music started to fill the airwaves once again. Maybe Alan Beresford believed that there wasno way to resist the aliens, or maybe he’d just seen a chance for advancementand taken it. There was no way to knowfor sure.



“That bastard,” she said, finally. “He’s sold us out to them!”



“So it would seem,” Jean agreed. She picked up Alex’s plate and stuck it inthe sink. “Go wash your hands and thenreport to the man outside. He’ll keepyou busy until lunchtime.”



Alex nodded and obeyed. The next three hours were an education. She’d never realised how much had to be done each day on a farm, frommucking out the pigs – who eyed her with disconcerting eyes – to rubbing downthe horses. Smith explained that theyalso made money by renting out their horses to a nearby riding school, whichhad ties to a college for young ladies that specialised in turning their brainsinto mush. Alex had never thought muchabout horses, but it seemed that the young girls honestly had no idea how totreat them when they finally got to ride on their backs. Some of the horses were very docile, evenwith young and inexperienced riders; others seemed nasty, including a big blackhorse that eyed her balefully.



“Stalin there won’t allow himself to be ridden,” Smithcommented. Somehow, Alex found itdifficult to turn her back on the horse. Stalin – a play on words, she realised after a moment – seemed to bewaiting for a moment to kick her or trample her into the ground. “Someone treated him very badly, poor thing,and he’s been good for nothing apart from breeding ever since. A couple of people have tried to ride him andalways come off worst.”



“I’m surprised he wasn't put down,” Alex said. Horses…but then, jet aircraft could betemperamental too. Too many missions hadhad to be aborted because multimillion pounds worth of equipment had failed atthe wrong time. “Isn’t he a danger toeveryone?”



“No kids around here,” Smith said, “and the wife and Iknow better than to relax around him.”



He shrugged. “After lunch, do you want to go see old Nathan Archer? He was saying that there’s something he wantsyou to see. The Parish Council meetinglast night rather impressed him.”



Alex looked at him, sideways. “ShouldI go?”



Smith snorted. “Nathan’s a harmless old man,” he said. “He used to run a large farm, but much of it got sold off in theseventies, leaving him with just a couple of fields. His wife died years ago and his kids nevervisit. I think he’d be glad of thecompany.”



“I’ll go then,” Alex decided. “Are we going to have lunch now?”



“Hungry?” Smithasked. He laughed. “I hear the same from everyone who stays here– and no, it isn’t lunchtime yet. We’vebarely begun to work.”



He was still chuckling as they walked over to the field. “But you’re not doing too badly, not likesome of the visitors,” he added. “We’llmake a farmer out of you yet.”

***​

Nathan Archer’s farmhouse looked older than Smith’sfarmhouse, although Alex wasn't entirely sure why she had that impression. It was a long low building, with a large doorand roses growing up the side of the house. Most of the windows looked too small for their positions, almost likeportholes in the side of a ship. A pairof heavy axes had been nailed above the doors, reminding her of some of thedecorations she’d seen in Afghanistan. They looked securely fashioned, but she nipped under them as quickly aspossible. She tapped on the door andwaited. It was several minutes beforeArcher opened the door and peered out at her.



“Welcome to my home,” he said. His accent was more rustic than Smith’saccent, suggesting that he didn’t spend much time watching the television. “Did you come alone?”



Alex tensed at the question, despite the pistol concealedwithin her jacket. “Yes,” she said,finally. “I only told Farmer Smith whereI was going…”



“Smith can keep a secret,” Archer said. He picked up a stick, closed the door andhobbled out around the house. Alex heardthe sound of dogs barking as they rounded the house and came up to a smallfence marking out the rear garden. Asmall army of dogs were yapping away, some large enough to make her glad thatshe was carrying the pistol. She didn’trecognise half of the breeds, but then she’d never been a dog fancier. Cats were far less trouble to keep. “Down boys, now!”



Alex watched in some amazement as the dogs sat down,their tongues lolling out of their mouths as if they were exhausted. “I used to be able to take them for walksevery day,” Archer explained, “but I can’t do that now and I can’t bear to givethem away. I just have to let them havethe run of the garden and hope that they don’t make too much of a mess.”



He led her over towards a barn, standing alone in themiddle of a field. “I was a young farmerof nineteen when the war started,” he said. Alex took a sharp look at him, realising that he was talking about theSecond World War – just like the person she’d met at the Parish Council. That would make him over ninety years old,surely. “I volunteered for service atonce, only to be told that I was in an essential occupation. The young men of the parish called me cowardas they marched away and I bloodied my fists on many of their faces.”



His mouth opened in a crooked smile. “We were all so much more vital back then,” he added. “None of this self-obsessed whining of themodern generation – we worked, we knew where we stood, we knew that we wereresponsible for ourselves. And there wasno embarrassment over fighting to defend our country from the Hun. A quarter of the map was coloured pink and weloved it. All those whiners who say weshouldn’t have had an empire never understood what it was like to havepride. Now, no one has any loyalty totheir country.



“But I’d registered when I’d volunteered and they found ajob for me,” he said. “Everyone knewthat it was just a matter of time before that little German Corporal led hisdragoons over to England. They startedpreparing for war – for a war that would still continue even if the Germansoccupied London and banished the King to Canada. And farmers like me were given a secret roleto play when the Germans had defeated the army and believed themselves secure.”



They reached the barn. Archer pulled an old set of keys out of his pocket and opened thepadlock, pushing the doors open wide enough to allow light to stream into theconfined spaces. It was empty, the floorcovered with decaying straw and pieces of animal waste. Alex wrinkled her nose at the smell, beforeArcher pushed her to one side and started digging through the piles ofstraw. It struck her that something wasconcealed under the barn, somethingthat might have lain in hiding for a very long time…



“They told us to keep it safe,” Archer said. There was a click as he found a hidden boardof wood in the floor and pulled it up. Afew moments of struggling revealed a hatch neatly hidden, one that he hadproblems lifting alone. Alex walked overand helped him to pull the hatch all the way up, revealing a darkened spaceunder the barn. Archer pulled out a smallelectric torch and shone it down into the darkness, revealing a number ofbundles that looked as if they hadn’t been touched for years. “First there was the Nazis, and then therewere the Communists – oh yes, we were worried about them. I always believed that they would come andrecover the dump’s contents, but the government never bothered to come pick itup.”



Alex stared at him, and then back down into thechamber. “How long has this been here?”



“Some of it has been here since 1940,” Archer said, withsome pride. “We had some changed during1944 when we got new equipment from America – and some more got changed duringthe 1950s. And then the officialsstopped visiting and we just kept on taking care of it. And it has never been touched.”



“My God,” Alex said. Now that he’d reminded her, she recalled a case where one such dump hadbeen discovered fifty-odd years after the war. The farmer who had been charged with taking care of it, knowing that hewas growing older, had contacted the police, who’d reported it to thearmy. Only in Britain could an entirerepository of weapons and explosives meant for an underground resistance havebeen forgotten through bureaucratic oversight. But of course they wouldn’t have wanted records. They would have led the Germans – who haddisarmed their subject peoples as a matter of course – right to the cache. “What…what are you going to do with it?”



Archer let the hatch fall back down. “I’m really too old to feel that I have muchto lose,” he said. “The country has beeninvaded, young lady, and I took an oath to carry on the fight even if thegovernment has been destroyed or forced to surrender. I intend to fight and I expect that you willfight with me against the bastards.”



There was no give in his voice. Alex nodded, slowly. He was right; there was little hope oflinking up with what remained of her unit, but she could carry on thefight. Maybe they were doomed, maybe thealiens could defeat them with ease…she shook her head. They had to fight.



It was the only hope of freedom.



“Very well,” she said. “How many others know about this?”



“Not many,” Archer said, “but enough to start a smallarmy. And then we can teach them thathumans don’t come cheap!”

 

<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><font size="3">Chapter Twelve<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com


Near SalisburyPlain

<?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1lace w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">United Kingdom</st1:country-region></st1lace>, Day 2



“Coming through clear as day, sir,” the technicianreported. “It seems that the Yanks wereright and the bastards can’t track microburst transmissions.”



Brigadier Gavin Lightbridge-Stewart nodded. They hadn't been able to pull muchinformation from the ongoing war in the United States, but the Americans hadapparently had some success with stealth aircraft and UAVs. The SAS had been loaned a Shadow Hawk UAV bythe CIA to support British troops operating in the Middle East and it hadsurvived the bombardment of British bases across the mainland. It was currently orbiting high over Basingstoke,watching the alien land forces heading west, and relaying what it saw to themobile command post.



A small alien detachment had apparently been ordered to lay siegeto Reading, with alien troops taking up positions on the roads and discouragingcivilians from escaping by firing over their heads. Despite that, a vast number of refugees hadmanaged to leave the cities and towns and were currently scattered all over thearea, often causing confusion and delays for the British military. The aliens seemed to have fewer problems, ifonly because their standard response to anyone trying to get in their way wasto open fire. Their hover-tanks – or sothe young soldiers on the front lines had dubbed them – seemed to combine thearmour of a Challenger tank with the speed and agility of a far lighter vehicle. It hadn't escaped Gavin’s sense of irony thatthey’d overrun Woking with terrifying speed. If their infantry hadn't been slower than their tankers, they might wellhave crushed the remaining British defences before they’d had time to regroup.



Part of his mind mulled over what the alien technology andobserved capabilities seemed to suggest about their motives. They’d come as an army of occupation and they’dobviously come loaded for bear, but they seemed to lack the flexibility thatevery Western army tried to drill into its personnel. They seemed to have poor coordination betweenthe armour and infantry, a problem that had caused many defeats in humanhistory. In fact, given a level playingfield – with no orbiting starships ready to drop rocks on their heads – he wassure that the 1^st Armoured Division would have hammered thealiens. Their coordination between theiraircraft, their ground forces and their spacecraft was surprisinglylimited. It all suggested book-learning,rather than actual experience – and yet they were clearly experienced at takingcontrol of their conquests. The speedwith which they’d found collaborators and pressed them into service proved thatbeyond all doubt. It was all very odd.



But I bet the armiesof Oliver Cromwell or King Charles would have had some problems understandingwhat we do as a matter of course, he thought, wryly. Maybe the logistics of an interstellar powerworked differently to those on Earth. There were seven billion humanson the planet, but for all he knew the aliens had seven billion soldiers andthe ability to deploy them to Earth. Herather hoped not, yet it remained a possibility.



“Contact the advance parties,” he ordered. At least they’d been able to set up somelimited signalling capabilities. Thealiens struck the source of any transmission very quickly, but his men had setup a series of expendable transmitters. “Tellthem that they are cleared to engage at will.”

***​

“I got the signal, boss,” one of the soldiers outside theChallenger II tank said. “The enemy areon their way.”



“Understood,” the Commander said. He’d never anticipated fighting an all-outwar in the heart of the English countryside, but he was damned if he and histank were to be found wanting when the **** hit the fan. “You lot had better scarper. We’ll be along presently.”



His tank and a handful of others had been involved in theexercises when the aliens had announced their presence by bombarding thegarrisons around Salisbury Plain. Shocked and horrified, he’d rallied his men and reported in to theremaining military command structure and had been ordered to take up a positionwatching the A342. They’d used theirremaining fuel getting there – it had been a nightmarish journey – but they’dmade it. He now scanned the horizon waitingfor the first alien tanks to come into view. They seemed to like human roads.



Absently, he patted the side of his Challenger. Pound for pound, the Challenger had a fairclaim to being one of the best Main Battle Tanks in the world – when tested,during the invasion of Iraq, they’d performed brilliantly. As they were unable to retreat, he’d had hisposition heavily camouflaged and the tank’s engine switched off, leaving them –hopefully – undetectable. If they werewrong – if they’d been tracked during the night – they’d probably die beforethey knew what had hit them.



Suddenly, much faster than he’d expected, he saw the firstalien tank heading up the motorway. He studiedit with considerable interest, noting that it didn't seem to have been designedto face a modern environment. Theirarmour hadn't been much better than anything in the human arsenal, according tothe reports from London, and it didn't look as if they’d designed it to deflectincoming fire. Maybe they only everfaced handguns, he considered, or perhaps they rarely had to go one-on-one withenemy tankers. Or maybe...he shook hishead. There was no time for speculation.



“Take aim,” he ordered, quietly. They’d get one shot, maybe two, and then they’dhave to run for it. Their escorts hadleft a few surprises down below for the alien infantry when they finally cameinto view, but they wouldn't be able to survive rocks dropped from orbit. “On my command, fire and then switch to thenext target.”



“Understood, boss,” the gunner said. The tank’s heavy main gun rotated as itlocked onto its target. “Ready when youare...”



“Fire,” the Commander barked. The Challenger shook as it fired a singleshell towards the enemy tank. “Reloadand...”



The enemy tank went up in a colossal fireball. “Good shot,” the Commander said,sharply. “Take aim...fire!”



A second enemy tank died, followed rapidly by a third. The fourth enemy tank returned fire, hurlinga shell that went safely over their heads and came down somewhere in thedistance. They ignored the chance totake out a fourth enemy target and climbed out of their vehicle, running fordear life. Another explosion shook theworld around them as the enemy tank zeroed in on its target. The Commander felt a moment of contempt. He understood the rationale behind firingback as quickly as possible, but a human forcewouldn't have missed so many times. Thealiens were out of practice...



He heard a whistling and then the world seemed to explodebehind him, the force of the blast picking him up and hurling him into theground at terrifying speed. His lastthought was the brief hope that some of his crew might have escaped...

***​

“Get moving, you idiots,” Tra’tro The’Stig shouted. The thrice-damned humans had shot up one of the infantry’s personnelcarriers and instead of disembarking and taking the fight to their foes, theinfantry unit inside was cowering. They’dnever been under fire before, even in the exercises, but that was noexcuse. “Get out before they hit youagain!”



He cursed the humans again as the infantry unit finallystarted to disembark, half of them forgetting their training and looking as ifthey wanted to retreat at once. Thehumans had shown a positive gift forpreparing the ground, with nasty traps and snipers scattered everywhere. If one of those human snipers happened to seea few dozen infantry without enough protection, he could wreak havoc withoutfear of retaliation.



“Get moving,” he yelled, again, pointing them towards thesmall cluster of large human buildings on the outskirts of a small town. The humans had hidden a small team there andif they moved quickly, they might manage to catch and kill the vermin beforethey escaped. Small human teams had hitthe advancing force, inflicted some kills and then broken off, obviously tryingto bleed the assault units without risking themselves unduly. “Kill the Karna-spawneddevils before they kill you!”



A streak of lights fell to the ground some distance fromtheir position, followed rapidly by a series of explosions that shook the worldaround him. The humans had made a stand –but in making a stand, they’d revealed their own location. At least they had no means to avoidbombardment from orbit, or the assault unit might have been chewed to ribbonsbefore it finally broke through the human defences.



He led the charge at the human building, relying on speed toprotect him from any human fire. Some ofthe infantry unit followed him, holding their own weapons at the ready, whileothers seemed stuck and unwilling to proceed further. The’Stig cursed their cowardice in the faceof the humans, even as he tried to restrain some of the others from chargingonwards. One of them ran through adoorway that seemed too large for mere humans, detonating a trap hidden withinthe building. His body was flungbackwards and he landed on the ground, torn to bloody ribbons.



“You can’t trust anything human,” he snarled, angrily. A human vehicle seemed to be heading awayfrom them, probably carrying the human soldiers who had stung his people sobadly. He pointed his weapon at the vehicleand fired off a long stream of bullets, watching as they slashed through thehuman vehicle and killed its passengers. “Keep an eye on where you’re walking – and don’t relax, ever!”



The fighting seemed to be slacking off, but he knew that itwas far from the end. They hadn't beatenthe humans at all, not really – they’d fallen back to new positions they’dprepared for the next engagement. Hewanted to know what was happening with the other assault units, but there wasno way to know – it wasn't as if the Command Triad was going to bother to briefan ordinary infantry soldier. Rumour,however, suggested that there was fighting going on all over Earth. At least the humans would burn through theirstockpiles of advanced weapons sooner rather than later. But of course they’d know that themselves...



He wanted to relax, but he didn't dare, not when so manyunits had been mangled together. Itcrossed his mind that he had probably shown that he deserved promotion – not thatanyone would have noticed. Thecommanders who should have been watching their troops for potential officerswere either at the rear or had gotten themselves killed heroically. He wondered, absently, if the humans had thesame problem. Maybe they weren't soalien after all.

***​

“Dirty murdering bastards,” Corporal Tommy O’Neill mutteredto himself. From his vantage point, hecould watch helplessly as an alien patrol stumbled over a group of humanrefugees – and murdered them in cold blood. The humans hadn't even tried to fight, but it hadn't mattered. They’d been shot down and their bodies leftabandoned on the side of the road. “Dirty****ing filthy murdering bastards.”



He hadn't known that the refugees were there either, untiltwo of them had started to run. No doubtthey’d thought that they were well-hidden, unaware that the war was about tobreak right over their hiding place. Hecursed his own oversight as he prepared himself for the coming engagement,promising to make the aliens pay for what they’d done. Civilians tended to shy away from soldiers,at least in his experience, but it was his duty to protect them. And if he couldn't protect them, he would atleast avenge them.



It had taken several hours to lay the trap and it lookedperfect, at least unless the aliens decided to start shooting human vehicles upat random. But even aliens from outerspace had to have logistic needs; the briefing they’d received on the battle inLondon and other brief engagements between human and alien forces suggestedthat there was nothing magical about their weapons. They shot projectiles, just like humanguns. Some of the troopers had wonderedwhy the aliens – who could clearly cross space with ease – would limit themselves,but Tommy suspected that he knew the answer. Their weapons would be far simpler than directed energy ray guns rightout of science-fiction. He smiled,feeling a moment of kinship with the aliens before it faded away. No doubt they’d had ‘wonder-weapons’ devisedby boffins and tested in laboratories that hadn't worked anything like so wellin the field too.



He reached for the detonator as the aliens passed the singleabandoned vehicle. Gambling that they wouldn'tknow how to inspect the human-designed car, he’d stuffed it with explosives andlaid a cord to the detonator, which he’d placed near his vantage point. Uncapping the safety, he waited until one ofthe alien tanks was right next to the car and jammed down on the button. The results surprised even him. A colossal explosion flipped the enemy tankright over and literally vaporised most of the alien infantry. The remainder looked stunned anddisorientated. Tommy allowed himself atight smile and picked up his rifle. Anew alien patrol was advancing towards their stricken comrades, watching carefullyfor any more traps. Tommy took aim andopened fire. The lead alien staggeredbackwards, inhuman blood flowing from its forehead, while the remainder openedfire in Tommy’s general direction.



Poor shooting, hethought, as he moved to the next target. The aliens seemed to be learning quickly, although they seemed oddlyreluctant to take cover. It took Tommy amoment to realise that they were scared of other booby traps, which was acrying shame – he hadn't had time to set up any more. He fired a final shot and started to crawlbackwards. He had already marked out anescape route back to the RV point and he intended to be gone before the aliensgave chase. And if they didn't...well,that was good too.

***​

“Go.”



Captain Danny Jackson knew that he was lucky to bealive. He and his wingman had been onexercises with the British Army when their base at Middle Wallop had beendestroyed by the aliens. As far as heknew, the two Apache helicopters they were flying were the last in Britain –perhaps the last in the world. There hadbeen some Apache helicopters in Afghanistan – although never enough – but thealiens had probably clobbered them too. Danny couldn't do anything for his mates who were either dead or tryingto fight their way out of a country that was probably swinging back underTaliban control, yet he could try toavenge them.



The two Apaches had been flown under cover of darkness to alocation where they’d been hidden under camouflage netting, awaiting theirchance to take the offensive. It seemedthat they were about to get their chance; the aliens were shipping in more groundforces as they attempted to push their occupied zone further to the west. They were also shipping in armour – the directfeed from the orbiting UAV reported that there were at least fifty hover-tanksheading west – but the pilots had been given clear orders. Their principle targets were the alien troopcarriers. If they were really lucky,they would kill a great many aliens who hadn't realised that the safety offeredby their vehicles was really nothing more than an illusion.



He took control of his aircraft and pulled her into thesky. There were no illusions about theirchances of surviving the battle, but they were going to be operating right ontop of the enemy forces. Surely, thealiens wouldn't call in orbital strikes that would be dangerously close totheir own forces. Or perhaps theywould. Humans had done all kinds ofhorrible things to other humans in their long history and why shouldn't thealiens do the same? What cause didhumanity have to complain?



Because they’re nothuman, he thought, wryly. And because we didn't pick a fight with them.



They flew low and fast, only coming up above the treetopswhen the alien troops came into view. Danny didn't give them any time to recover from their surprise; he tookthe Apache in a firing run right over the alien position, allowing his gunnerto unleash hell on the aliens. There wasno time to aim properly, but it hardly mattered – the only targets on theground were hostile. Hellfire missilesslammed into alien troop carriers, while the chain gun raked down entire columnsof alien soldiers. He yanked thehelicopter upwards as an alien-launched missile lanced by them with bare metersto spare. Part of his mind noted thatthe aliens hadn't keyed their missiles for proximity detonation, an oddoversight. Human missiles were capableof detonating close to their targets and taking them out with shrapnel.



An alien helicopter came into view, looking rather like alarger version of the Apache. It openedfire on the two British craft, launching a spread of missiles towardsthem. Danny retaliated by launching aSidewinder – the only one they had – and deploying flares in the hope ofdecoying the alien missiles. The alienmissiles were fooled long enough for him to take them low and fast away fromthe ambush sight, hopefully heading for a place where they could set down. They might not be able to rearm and resumethe attack – if there were any more Hellfire missiles in Britain, they wereprobably misplaced – but they might escape with their lives...



He cursed as his threat receiver lit up. An alien missile crew had fired a missilefrom directly below them and it was climbing right up their tailpipe. There was no time to escape; the alienmissile struck the Apache’s armour and blasted through into the compartment beyond. And the world went away in a blast of red-hotfire.

 

Excellent combat scenes, and very real reactions by the characters. Looks like another winner to me.

 

Chapter Thirteen<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />



London/NearSalisbury Plain

United Kingdom,Day 2



“What in the name of the seven hells is happening?”



Ju’tro Oheghizhstared down at his updating display. Thedamned humans simply didn’t know when they were beaten. Any sensible race would have sought to cometo terms with its new masters by now, but the humans kept fighting – eventhreatening to kill their fellows who didhave a modicum of sense in their heads. The advancing Land Force spearheads, convinced that they were mopping upthe remains of the human military force, were being ambushed and forced backwith chilling regularity. And the humansdidn’t even stick around long enough for his starships to pound their positionsinto dust.



“They don’t have many resources left to throw at us,” J’tra Mak’kat pointed out. He’d served with Oheghizh in previouscampaigns and didn’t bother to mince his words. The State didn’t approve of officers being too familier with theirsubordinates, but Oheghizh found it hard to care. “They’re burning up what they have leftrather than abandon it. And many of ourtroopers haven’t been in combat before. They’re making mistakes through simple unfamiliarity with the alien landscape.”



Oheghizh couldn’t disagree. In hindsight, it was clear that the humans –who hadn’t started uniting themselves, unlike almost every other race in theirstage of development – had plenty of experience fighting each other. The sociologists were still trying todiscover exactly why the humanshadn’t advanced into space, but it was clear that space-based forces hadn’tplayed a significant role in their internal struggling. They’d have had a much better appreciation ofhow badly they were outmatched if they had, he told himself, although it was acase of not being grateful enough for what they had. A space-faring race would have been a fartougher morsel to digest.



“Order our forces to take extra care,” he said,slowly. “And pass me the figures ontheir advanced weapons. Let me see whatthey have left.”



The planners were right about one thing, he thought, ashe studied the figures and compared them to their projections. It was clear that the humans were running out of advancedweaponry. Their tanks were holding theirground rather than falling back – as their own tactical doctrine ordered – andthe advancing spearheads were reporting fewer and fewer contacts with humanarmour. The aircraft backing up theground forces, after a handful of embarrassing losses, reported that the humanshad been reduced to deploying portable antiaircraft weapons rather than thesophisticated weapons they’d deployed in the opening hours of theinvasion. And soon enough they’d run outof those too.



He watched through a set of advancing sensors as yetanother human habitation was carefully explored. The humans had a whole series of unplesentsurprises for the troopers that first entered their dwellings – and a nastysense of humour. He didn’t want to thinkabout the hundreds of injured or dead troopers that would have to be reportedto the Command Triad. They would lookdown from high overhead, see the amount of castulaties he;d suffered taking arelatively small area, and draw unpleasant comparisons with the Land Forces inthe region the humans called the Middle East. It was hardly his fault thatthe terrain in the desert was far better suited for land warfare – and that thehumans there seemed to have no idea of how to fight properly.



It could be worse,he told himself, dryly. The Chinesehumans, after what looked like a successful opening strike to the invasion, hadfired nuclear rockets at their own cities to destroy as many Land Force unitsas possible. Most of their primitivemissiles had been knocked down by point defence units, but a handful had gotthrough the network – and several more tactical nuclear weapons had beendeployed by enemy ground forces. Theydidn’t seem to care about the suffering they were inflicting on their ownpeople, or the fact that they just couldn’t win. At least the humans in Europe and Americaseemed smart enough to refrain from using nuclear weapons. The Conquest Fleet had gone to considerabletrouble to decapitate the enemy command and control systems to prevent one orall of them authorising a nuclear strike.



Or they could bewaiting for us to get into position, he thought, grimly. Whoknows what these humans will do?

***​

Yunt Ra’Shawatched in astonishment as humans fled their habitations, swallowing down theurge to hurry them on their way with a few rounds from his cannon. They’d been told to try to avoid engaginghumans who weren’t part of their military, but how was a lowly Yunt meant to tell the difference? Some of the smaller humans were clearlyyounglings, yet they seemed willing to throw rocks at the invasion force – andtheir seniors had all kinds of nasty surprises up their sleeves. His unit was still reeling after the death oftheir commander – killed by a human who’d driven a vehicle right into hisposition. They’d killed the human, butthat hadn’t brought their commander back.



“Ugly creatures,” one of his fellows muttered. It was true. The humans seemed to half-run, half-walk wherever they went…and theywere covered in fur! At least they hadthe decency to wear clothing rather than show off their strange bodies, movingin ways that no civilised race could ever duplicate. “We should just kill them all and leave theirbodies piled up high.”



“Better not let Ha’She hear you say that,” Ra’Shasaid. Orders were orders – and the lowlysluggers who did most of the work weren't allowed to question theirorders. “He thinks he’s officermaterial, the fool. Just because hisfather has a medium-ranked position in an industrial combine he thinks he walkson water. Maybe the humans will kill himand that will be an end to it.”



He braced himself as they advanced on the first humandwelling, a two-story house surrounded by an oddly-shaped garden. The houses they built were too small for himto feel comfortable, even the rooms that were large enough to house afully-grown trooper. They just made himfeel claustrophobic, even restrained – while the damned humans had completefreedom of action. The beasts could nipdown corridors that were too thin for him and set up their next ambushes by thetime they finally reached their lair. And then they’d just keep falling back, and back…



They’ll run out ofcountry soon, he told himself firmly, trying not to think about some of theinjuries he’d seen on the other wounded. The humans seemed to prefer to wound rather than kill, although some ofthe wounds he’d seen would probably have killed a grown human. But then, they didn’t have any experiencewith other races. They were probablystill thinking in terms of killing their fellows, rather than bigger tougheraliens with excellent medical technology. He snorted at his own thoughts as he slipped up to the human house andpeered through the glass window. If hestarted thinking so deeply, he’d probably qualify for officer materialhimself. Not that there was any hope ofpromotion, of course. The officerslooked after their own first and foremost, with newcomers only accepted if theywere a cut above the rest. And all he wanted was to survive the war andreturn home in time for mating season.



The interior of the human habitation looked empty, but hethrew an explosive pack inside, just in case. It exploded with a satisfying flash and he leapt inside, holding hisweapon at the ready as he scanned for threats. There was nothing, apart from piles of smashed furniture and a handfulof fires. He ignored the heat andchecked the rest of the house, pushing his way up tiny staircases that creakedalarmingly under his weight, and allowed himself a moment of relief when hefound nothing. The remainder of thepatrol inched outside and waited for him. There was still the rest of the human village…



They checked two more houses before coming up on whatlooked like a human shop. Small piles ofcanned food lay everywhere, suggesting that the population had made a hastydeparture. He caught sight of a half-openedpacket of meat and had to resist the urge to taste it. The scientists swore blind that there wasnothing on Earth that could kill them – at least they could eat everything thehumans could eat – but it might have caused him to fall sick. And the penalties for rendering oneself unfitfor combat were severe…



“Look,” May’tha said, pointing to a large whitecontainer. It was smaller than thesmallest member of the patrol, but it was clearly large enough to hold an adulthuman – maybe two, if they were very friendly. Adult Eridian didn’t like being crammed so close together, yet thehumans seemed to enjoy it – at least if the sociologists’ interpretation ofsome of their videos was accurate. Ormaybe they were nothing more than the human version of sexual movies. He’d enjoyed watching many of them when hischildhood scales had started to fall off, revealing the adult skin below. “Do you think one of them could be hidingthere?”



Ra’Sha reached for the handle, lifting his weapon intofiring position. The reports from someof the other units had claimed that the humans were very good at concealingthemselves – aided by the fact that they were smaller than the averageEridian. It was quite possible that oneof their soldiers was hiding inside, waiting for the right moment to come outof hiding and attack them from the rear. He caught hold of the handle, pulled it open…



…And the world went away in a wash of fire.

***​

“Well, damn me,” Chris Drake muttered to himself, fromwhere he’d been watching events. “Iwasn't sure if that was going to work.”



The aliens seemed to be learning – and they were movingfaster as they realised that the British defenders were running out of tanksand antiaircraft weapons. They didn’tseem to be learning as quickly as British and American forces had done inAfghanistan – indeed, there was still an oddly-robotic aspect to theirperformance – but they were definitely learning. He smiled at the fire in the distance beforehe started to crawl backwards. Thatalien patrol would never have a chance to report its findings to superiorauthority. The aliens seemed to betougher than humans, but he doubted that any of them had survived theexplosion. He’d gone to some trouble toensure that the blast would be as nasty as possible.



There were no more aliens in the town, as far as he knew,but he kept to the shadows as he ran westwards. The RV point wasn't far away, yet there was no way to know how long itwould be before they pulled out, leaving anyone who hadn’t made it in time toget out on their own. If the alienspushed forward faster than expected, they’d have to leave, just to preservewhat was left of Britain’s fighting men. Upwards of five thousand men had fought on the defensive line. God alone knew how many had survived theexperience.



He saw the flash of light and hurled himself to theground as the world seemed to come apart around him. The aliens weren't taking any more chanceswith the town, even though they’d chased out the sole human defender. When he pulled himself to his feet and peeredback to the east, most of the town had been blasted into smoking ruin. Any remaining surprises – he didn’t thinkthat there were any, but they’d been operating on a strict need-to-know policy– would have been destroyed. The alienswould make one sweep through the wreckage and then continue heading west. Any humans caught up in their advance wouldbe lucky to escape with their lives.



Shaking his head, he started to walk west. They’d be waiting for him, he told himself,and if not he could probably make his own way to one of the dumps. And then he would carry on his part of thewar. He wondered, just for a second, howthe PM and Prince Harry – no, King Harry– were coping, before he pushed the thought aside. They’d all have to learn to cope in theforthcoming days.

***​

“They broke though the final defence line, sir,” MajorFoster reported. The tiny command posthad been carefully hidden, but his deputy’s command post had been equallywell-hidden – and the aliens had dropped a missile on their heads. “Colonel Bannerman is requesting permissionto start Exodus.”



Brigadier Gavin Lightbridge-Stewart hesitated. His instincts told him to keep fighting, tokeep bleeding the aliens – and they had bledthe aliens. It was difficult to be sure,but he was certain that they’d killed upwards of a thousand of the oversizedbastards, perhaps more. They’d certainlyadapted their tactics, he acknowledged. After several tries at engaging British troops in house-to-house combat,they’d pulled back and dropped rocks on the fighting positions. It was clear, no matter how much he wanted tohide it, that further open conflict was no longer an option.



The thought was a bitter pill to swallow. Ever since the development of moderncommunications, British commanders had been in control of their forces at alltimes – sometimes to excess. After all,performance in the field was rarely improved by having a distant superior withan imperfect grasp of the tactical scene issuing orders that were impossible toobey. But now the British Army – whatwas left of it – was going to fragment into a thousand tiny partisan groups,each one operating with minimal oversight from higher authority. God alone knew how it would work out. Outside of the Special Forces – the SAS, theSBS, the SRR and a handful of other units that were still highly classified –they’d never planned for insurgency warfare. The possibility of having to fight one in Britain itself had never beenenvisaged.



Clearly ourimagination was somewhat limited, he thought, sourly. It would be very difficult to produceweapons, or bring in supplies from overseas. God knew that many civilians were already starving, unable to feed themselvesor their families. Far too many of themwould start collaborating with the aliens if it was the only way to keep theirfamilies alive. How could he blame them,let alone start issuing orders for the cold-blooded murder of collaborators…?



“Pass the order,” he said. “All units are to execute Exodus immediately. And tell them I wished them good luck.”



The field support team was already stripping down themobile command post, removing all the sensitive equipment and preparing it fortransfer to hiding places in the north. They’d have to abandon the vehicles themselves – there was no way tohide them from prowling alien aircraft – but at least they could leave a fewsurprises behind for the alien soldiers. A handful of grenades had already been set aside for improvised IEDs.



“Brigadier,” Lieutenant-Colonel Jean-Luc Baptistesaid. Gavin hadn’t even noticed theFrenchman until he spoke, if only because he was lost in thought. There was no longer any point in givingorders. They’d have to rely on their ownmen in the field. “I think it’s probablytime for us to go.”



Gavin frowned. Hewanted to tell them to stay, but he understood their position. France had been invaded too, and they wantedto join the French Resistance – if there was a French resistance. They’d barely been able to make contact withisolated French units before the aliens had started their push west. Baptiste and his men would be risking theirlives walking to Dover – being careful to give London a wide berth – and thentrying to find a boat to take them across the Channel. And after that…? Baptiste had been honest enough to admit thathe didn’t know. France had been hammeredjust as hard – perhaps harder – than Britain. It was quite possible that no politicalauthority had survived the Battle of Paris.



“If we can’t convince you to stay,” he said, and held outa hand. Baptiste took it and they shookhands firmly. “Travel with one of ourdetachments heading towards London, at least at first. They’ll give you some cover if you need it.”



“We’d be better on our own,” Baptiste disagreed. Gavin didn’t really blame him. He’d had to detach a number of Londoners totry to slip into the city in hopes of producing up-to-date information, but heknew that the odds were stacked against them. Every man was a volunteer, yet that didn’t make it any easier. He’d never had to order men into a positionwhere he expected they would diebefore now, before the world had turned upside down. “We’ll meet again after all this is over.”



“I hope you’re right,” Gavin said. The last French Resistance had been aided byBritain – and it had never come close to forcing the Germans to leave Francealone. Now…Britain was invaded too, aswas America and the rest of the world. How long could they keep an insurgency going when there were no outsidesources of supply? “I wish you the verybest of luck.”

***​

“Time to pull out, lads,” the burly Royal Marine Sergeantsaid. No one argued with him. They’d expected nearly a hundred soldiers,but only thirty-seven had made it to the RV point. Some of the brief stories they’d exchanged inwhispers had been horrifying. No one wasreally surprised that higher command had finally ordered them to leave. “Let’s go.”



Chris marched with the others, hearing the sound ofthunder in the distance as the aliens continued their advance. If they were lucky, they’d escape the aliensand reach a place where they could build shelters and hide from theadvance. And then they’d return to thefight.

 

<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><font size="3">Chapter Fourteen<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com
<?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comffice:smarttags" /><st1:city w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">London</st1lace></st1:city>
<st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1lace w:st="on">United Kingdom</st1lace></st1:country-region>, Day 6

“You have to give the bastard credit,” Constable Richardsonmuttered to Robin. “How many people doeshe have here, do you think?”

Robin scanned the school’s assembly hall and frowned. Someone had definitely been busy; a set of tables had been lined up, withchairs, laptop computers and a handful of coffee machines bubbling merrily awayin one corner. The men behind the deskswere civil servants, the epitome of evil to most British citizens – which probablyexplained why so many had agreed to serve the aliens. Their families would be starving if theyrefused, Robin knew, but the cynic in him wondered if the civil servants cared. They certainly spent most of their timecreating red tape for the harassed coppers on the beat.

“Twenty here,” he said. They’d opened dozens of makeshift registration halls, convertingschools, gyms and warehouses into places for their collaborators to work. Robin had spent a few minutes puzzling overwhy they’d only used large buildings before realising that the aliens wouldhave problems in smaller human dwellings. But then, they’d certainly shown no reluctance to remodel humanbuildings with high explosive. Londonhad spent six days shivering on the edge of anarchy and only fear of the alienshad kept it in check. “There could bethousands in London alone.”

The thought was a chilling one. Hundreds of thousands of people had workedfor the British Government. Many wouldhave been killed in the fighting or the chaos that had gripped parts of thecity, but many more would have survived – and grown hungry. The aliens were offering them food and drinkand Robin couldn't blame many of them for agreeing to serve the aliens in anyway. Their families would have starvedotherwise. The thought kept mockinghim. His wife might starve if he refusedto serve the aliens. And yet...where didcollaboration end?

There were thirty policemen in the building with orders tokeep order – and use whatever force was necessary to removetrouble-makers. The aliens had convertedLondon’s stadiums into makeshift detention camps and – according to rumour –they’d established much larger holding centres outside the cities. Anyone who caused trouble was to be removed tothe detention camps and no one knew what would happen to them afterwards. The aliens had caused so much damage to Londonthat Robin suspected that one of the jobs assigned to prisoners would beclearing up the debris and clearing blocked roadways of ruined cars.

The policemen were unarmed. Robin cursed the Home Office under his breath, even as he silentlyremembered the weapons they’d hidden in the city. The aliens had insisted that all weapons besurrendered – and they’d had the records to see how many weapons wereunaccounted for. Robin was privatelyastonished that they’d accepted that several hundred pistols and rifles couldgo missing – or be reported destroyed – and it made him wonder if the alienshad already penetrated his little cell. Maybe they were only waiting for the policemen to be surplus torequirements before they dropped a hammer on their heads.

He felt dirty as the bell finally rang and they opened thedoors. The aliens had been broadcastingthe same message for days – using their so-called Prime Minister Beresford asthe speaker – ordering all of London's residents to present themselves for registration. Anyone who failed to register within the week,they’d warned the public, would be arrested when they failed to produce aregistration card and face indefinite detention. In truth, Robin had no idea just what thealiens intended to do with humanity in the long-term. Slavery seemed unlikely for a race that couldcross the interstellar gulfs of space. But unless there was a hope of victory, he didn't dare start to fightback.

“Form lines,” he ordered, silently praying that no one wouldstart anything. Many of the peoplewaiting outside looked desperate. Theywould be hungry; London’s shops had been looted and there hadn't been much ofanything brought in from outside the city. “Remain calm and form lines – you will all be dealt with in time.”

Some of the citizens were staring at the policemen withsullen, angry faces. Others seemed toonervous to care, or were perhaps even relieved that they were dealing withhuman police, rather than aliens. Someprobably didn't even believe in thealiens. The internet – what was left ofit – had included a conspiracy theory that suggested that there had really beena military coup and the whole story of aliens was intended to keep the British publicquiet while the Generals took over. Robin might have been tempted to believe the story if he hadn't seen thealiens. They were chillingly real.

The lines snaked towards the civil servants, who startedprocessing the citizens with bland indifference. They’d been told to bring ID – driving licencesor passports – which suggested to Robin that the aliens had managed to capturealmost all of the government’s records. There would be no chance for anyone to change their name and identity inthe chaos, not if the aliens – and their collaborators – had anything to sayabout it. Robin silently prayed thateverything would go perfectly, without him and his men having tointervene. God alone knew how the alienswould react if they had to run the city on their own. They could simply leave the civilian populationto starve...

“Here,” one oversized man bellowed, suddenly. “How am I supposed to eat this, you dozy cow?”

Robin started towards him, one hand dropping to the truncheonat his belt. The man was staring at apackage of food from the piles behind the tables, food produced by thealiens. Robin had had a taste andwondered if anyone could actually be induced to like the stuff – it tasted faintly of leather, at best. The aliens insisted that the semi-bread wasgood to feed a family for four for several days, but Robin knew better. If nothing else, eating the same bland foodfor more than a few days would be severely demoralising.

“You cut it up and you put it in your mouth,” the civil servantrepeated in the same bored tone. She’dbeen working for the Department of Transportation before the aliens hadarrived, just another pen-pusher in a department that had more pen-pushers thanit had drivers or engineers. “It’sperfectly simple...”

“It’s muck,” the man proclaimed, loudly. There was a murmur of agreement from severalin the crowd. The lines were starting tojostle. “I can't feed my family on thisshit!”

Robin caught his arm. “That’s enough, sir,” he said, trying to project a mixture of sternwarning and the promise of excessive violence into his voice. They’d been told that appearing confident andunmoveable would prevent people from trying to pick fights with thepolice. Personally, Robin would havepreferred a year of hard labour for each yob who thought he could get away withchucking a beer bottle at a hard-working policeman. “The lady’s just doing her job...”

The man swung around and threw a punch at Robin, who jumpedback automatically, whipping out his truncheon. A lady – a sad, beating-looking mother of two kids – tried to hold herhusband back, but he shrugged off her arm and came after Robin. Robin didn't hesitated; he carefully lashedout with his truncheon, hitting the man in the chest. He folded over and hit the floor with a terrificcrash. It would have been a media circusin the old days, with reports of police brutality hitting the airwaves fasterthan light, but now...he shivered as he realised that they could get away withalmost anything, as long as they obeyed the aliens. The thought was terrifying. He knew dozens of coppers who would haveliked to take the gloves off and just teach young hooligans some respect thehard way. What would they do withoutrestraints?

He pushed the thought aside as he used a plastic tie tosecure the man and then dragged him into a corner. “Don’t worry about him,” he said, to hiswife. She was on the verge of eithercrying or lashing out at him herself. Hecouldn't really blame her for either. “I’lltry to see to it that he gets back home ok.”

The lines moved quicker now that the police had shown thatthey were ready to deal with any challenge. It didn't get any easier. Cryingchildren constantly drowned out every other sound, despite the frantic attemptsby their parents to calm them down. Older children looked around, bemused by what they were seeing, whiletheir parents were clearly terrified. Robin understood just how they were feeling. The world – the world they’d grown up in –was no more. All of the old certaintieswere gone.

He caught sight of a dozen different ethnic groups andwinced inwardly. Indians and Pakistanis,Arabs and Jamaicans...some from communities that had a long history ofconfrontation with the police. He had towade in to stop a Pakistani man from attacking one of the civil servants,apparently outraged because he’d been told that his wife had to remove herveil. The mood in the building rapidlyturned ugly, but he resisted the urge to call for backup. An alien patrol with live weapons wouldarrive and probably shoot a few dozen innocent citizens to restore order. That was the last thing he wanted.

Another scuffle caught his eye, one that seemed to springout of nowhere – and then he saw the ID card. It was a military ID, one that identified its bearer as a serving memberof the Royal Navy. He didn't want toact, but there was no choice. Thepolicemen closed in rapidly and led the sailor away, leaving his wifebehind. They’d been given no choice inthe matter – all serving members of the military, whatever the service, were tobe arrested and handed over to the aliens. He told himself that the sailor would have a chance to escape – they’dcarefully not secured the holding area they’d made in one of the classrooms –but it was small comfort. The eyes ofthe sailor’s wife and baby child would haunt his nightmares for the rest oftime.

Dear God, heprayed, silently. Please let this be over soon.

He ran through the figures in his head. The population of Greater London wasestimated at around eight million. Somewould have died in the fighting, or in the chaos, or...maybe of simplestarvation. The remainder were allexpected to register within the week, or face arrest. How long would it take to register eightmillion people? It could take weeks, oreven months.

Silently, he damned himself. But what else could he do?

***​

Doctor Fatima Hasid had never liked crowded rooms, even as achild. She’d skipped classes at the mosquebecause there were too many girls crammed into the small room put aside forwomen – the boys had a far larger room, and a better teacher – and she’dstopped going to them shortly after she entered secondary school. The NHS had had its fair share of crowdedrooms, but as a doctor she’d been able to avoid them and see patients one byone. Entering the registry office was a foretasteof hell.

The lines seemed never-ending and she was silently relievedthat she’d managed to convince her superiors to give her the afternoonoff. London still had thousands ofwounded on its hands, but they’d finally managed to get the worst of thewounded into proper hospitals – even if they had had to distribute them overBritain. The remainder, the ones who hadn'tbeen seriously injured, had had to be sent home. It had broken her heart to do it, but there’dbeen no choice. Their supplies haddropped to dangerously low levels.

Ahead of her, some boys were pushing and shoving. She hated to think what it was going to belike when her stepmother and her overweight sons and their relatives came toregister themselves. Some of them weretalking about refusing to register – after all, they’d had as little to do withthe British Government as possible, except when it came to claiming benefits. Fatima suspected that if they tried to defythe aliens – the aliens they didn't really believe in – they’d find that thealiens hammered them into the ground. The stories she’d heard from some of her patients were horrific.

She pulled her arms around herself as the queue kept inchingforward, finally allowing her to catch sight of a desk. It was no surprise to see a human – a set ofhumans – standing behind it, trying to handle the paperwork. The aliens wouldn't have wanted to wastetheir manpower on such a piddling task. Whatever the claims that they were all-powerful – the radio had certainlybeen assuring the British population that resistance was futile – there had tobe limits on their manpower. Alien-power? She was stillmulling that over when she finally reached the desk and sat down in front ofthe civil servant.

“Name, address, proof of identity...”

The words rattled out and Fatima did her best toanswer. It seemed that no one else fromher family had registered yet, which was hardly a surprise. The amount of data the aliens were collectingpuzzled her for a long moment, before she realised that they probably had sophisticatedcomputers capable of mining through the vast datafiles and drawing conclusions ina way that no human could match. Itstruck her that they were experienced at invading and occupying planets – and ifthat was the case, who else had they fought? There had always been stories of UFOs flying around and kidnappingpeople, flown by little grey men with anal fixations. Maybe they were real after all...

“You’re a doctor,” the civil servant said. “You’re in one of the protected categories.”

Fatima frowned, leaning forward. “Protected categories?”

“They’re looking for people with certain skills,” the civil servantadmitted. “Doctors and nurses...they’reneeded right where they are, so they probably won’t send for you and put you towork somewhere else. Others...they’renot so lucky. The men who register todaywho aren’t in a protected category will probably find themselves ordered to dobrute labour in a week’s time.”

“I see,” Fatima said. “And you know this...how?”

“I don't,” the civil servant said, “but I think it’s areasonable guess, don’t you?”

Fatima couldn't disagree. A machine on the desk buzzed and whirred, and finally discharged an IDcard. Fatima studied it, trying to keepher consternation off her face. She hadn'teven noticed the camera, but therewas a picture of her on the front of the card. It seemed that there were limits to alien technology after all, part ofher mind noted. Every photograph she’dhad taken for official purposes had managed to make her look bad, mad, dead orsome combination of the three. The alientechnology was no better.

“Carry it with you at all times,” the civil servant warned. “There’s a hefty fine if you lose it – and failingto produce it on demand could mean arrest, or worse. I don’t think they have lawyers telling themwhat they can and cannot do to prisoners...”

Fatima thanked him and left. Outside, night was already starting to fall and so she hurriedhome. A curfew had been declared andthere were already terrible rumours about what happened to those caught outsideby the aliens. And her stepmother wouldbitch and moan if she was home late. They were supposed to be hosting guests soon and she was required tohelp. She would almost sooner have facedthe aliens.

***​

Alan Beresford stood in an office that had once belonged toa banking CEO and stared out over London. The city was finally coming back to life at nights, even though thecurfew meant that many who would once have been outside partying would betucked up safe at home, doubtless wondering when their world would shatteraround them once again. It was his world now...well, his and a fewaliens, but it seemed they didn't care about the perks he claimed for himselfas long as he did a good job. And he had done a good job. It had been his idea to put the civil servantsback to work, along with the men who ran the electricity and watercompanies. London was coming back tolife – and so was the rest of the country.

The aliens were ruthlessly pragmatic, but they clearly didn'thave the manpower to govern all of Britain, let alone the world. Alan was still unsure of what they actuallywanted in the long run, but he was confident that he would be able to find away to be useful to them. And he had hisown long-term plans. He’d put friendsand cronies in positions of power all over the country, laying a network thatcould be used in his own interests as well as those of his masters. It helped that the Prime Minister appeared tohave vanished somewhere in the chaos of the first few days. Apart from a single message which was provingalarmingly persistent on the internet, no one had heard anything from him. It was quite possible that he was dead.

Losing Prince Harry was equally annoying. Harry was King now that his father andbrother were both dead. Alan doubtedthat the population of Britain would rise in outrage at losing their King, butHarry could have made an excellent figurehead for a new Britain. Or perhaps not. He’d been a soldier and would probably haveold-fashioned ideas about loyalty and honour and service to his country runningthrough his veins.

Foolish, Alan toldhimself, and smiled. Loyalty and honourmeant nothing these days – and they’d meant little before the aliensarrived. All that mattered was what onedid for one’s own self – and if it meant stamping on a few toes...well, you couldn'tmake an omelette without breaking a few eggs.

He lifted his glass – an expensive wine, but it had beeneasy to obtain in starving London – and drank a silent toast. To power, he told himself...and to those boldenough to seize it.

 

Chapter Fifteen<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />



North England

United Kingdom,Day 8



Haddon Hall was one of the original stately Englandmanors, built before the English Civil War by a loyalist who had lost his lifefighting for Good King Charles. It was aregal building, although hopelessly impractical for military purposes,surrounded by gardens that regularly won awards in regional and nationalcontests. Some people would have foundit a paradise, a chance to play at being an English aristocrat. Gabriel Bryce found it maddening. It was a prison by any other name, a placewhere he could do anything – except leave. The handful of security staff – really soldiers wearing civilian clothes– were polite and friendly, but they wouldn’t let him leave. He was too important to risk falling intoenemy hands.



The thought made him snort in disgust as he paced themassive library. Two years ago, he’dbeen a junior MP with ideals, ideals that were being worn down by contact withreal-life politics. How could he hope toachieve anything without compromise – and by compromising, he was steadilyturning into a true politician, a man who compromised everything for the sakeof power and position. A man like AlanBeresford.



He snorted again as he picked up a book, glanced at itand put it down again. His host hadgiven him the run of the house, and the use of an extensive collection ofbooks, DVDs and even old-fashioned records, but it was still a prison. He couldn’t concentrate on anything, apartfrom his feelings of hopelessness. Hisposition as Prime Minister was meaningless, save in name only. The invasion that gripped the country provedthat, whatever he told himself; he could hardly command the aliens to leave,could he? Their forces held the entirecountry now, surrounding cities and trapping the civilian population withintheir homes. God alone knew what theywould do when the resistance went to work. They’d certainly shown no sign of any scruples when dealing with unarmedcivilians.



The television remained bland, with old movies and soapsbeing played regularly, rather than the BBC’s news programs. Gabriel knew some of what was going on allover the world, but it didn’t help his mood. The aliens were tightening their grip – Dear God, had it only been eightdays since they’d revealed themselves and descended upon a shocked andparalysed Earth? Gabriel almost wishedthat they would discover his hiding place and try to snatch him. At least running away would be doingsomething. Instead, all he could do waswait and hope that someone – somehow – found a way to hurt the aliens enough tomake them leave. The military hadn’tbeen too hopeful. As long as the aliensdominated space above Earth, they could call down strikes against rebel townsand cities – or, if worst came to worst, exterminate the human race. Gabriel remembered all the films he’d seenwith asteroids crashing into the planet and shivered. The aliens would have no trouble pushing anasteroid towards Earth and the human race wouldn’t be saved by a patrioticscriptwriter. It even made him long for Independence Day.



There was a cough behind him and he jumped, one handfalling to the pistol he’d been told to carry at all times – and save the finalbullet for himself, if the aliens caught up with him. Brigadier Gavin Lightbridge-Stewart seemedrather amused – Gabriel hadn’t even realised that he’d entered the room – butGabriel was pleased to see him. Hehadn’t been allowed an internet connection, not when the aliens might use it totrack him down. Outside news – accurate outsidenews – only came in fits and starts.



“Prime Minister,” Lightbridge-Stewart said, gravely. “I trust that you are well?”



“I’ve told you to call me Gabriel,” Gabriel said,impatiently. He didn’t know where Lightbridge-Stewarthad made his headquarters or even any operational details at all. What he didn’t know he couldn’t tell – and hehad no illusions about his ability to hold out under torture. Or perhaps the aliens had perfect liedetectors and truth drugs. “What haveyou heard from the…outside?”



Lightbridge-Stewart smiled. “Elements of the Royal Scots are preparingfall-back positions in the Highlands,” he said. “The aliens may control the cities, but they’ll find extending theircontrol into the Highlands a little harder than they’d prefer. They may even decide to abandon the Highlandsaltogether.”



Gabriel nodded, half-wishing that he could go north andjoin the Scots. There were plenty ofareas in England where humans could hide out from the aliens, but Scotland hada smaller civilian population at risk. But he knew that he could never take an active role in the fighting tocome. They couldn’t risk their PrimeMinister, even if the position was meaningless.



“King Harry isn’t adjusting well,” Lightbridge-Stewartadded. “He wants to fight back, not hideout somewhere in Scotland. But I’mafraid we don’t have much choice.”



“I can’t disagree,” Gabriel said. He hadn’t even been in politics when therehad been an almighty political struggle over deploying then-Prince Harry toIraq and Afghanistan. In the end, he’dbeen allowed to go – as long as it wasn't made public. It was ironic, really; the British Monarchyhad held mostly ceremonial roles, yet Harry hadn’t been allowed to be a publicsign that the Monarchy was willing to fight too. What made Harry any better than the hundredsof other soldiers who’d lost their lives in Iraq or Afghanistan? There had been no good answer, save that theenemy would have made capturing him a priority. His presence would have risked the lives of other soldiers.



Lightbridge-Stewart shrugged. “There’s some good news,” he said. “And some bad news as well, I’m afraid. We managed to recover a dead alien body inthe retreat from Salisbury Plain and get it to a…well, a covert militarymedical research establishment. Thedoctors there took some time to dissect the body and draw a number ofconclusions. I brought copies of theirreports, but the interesting detail is that they’re really not that differentfrom us.”



“They look like leathery dinosaurs,” Gabrielobserved. It still pained him that hehadn’t seen any of the aliens at first-hand, but his minders had beenclear. He couldn’t risk beingrecognised. “And yet they’re not thatdifferent from us?”



“Compared to what we were expecting, yes,” Lightbridge-Stewartsaid. “Which isn’t really good news inthe long run. They can make use of ourplanet and presumably eat our crops – although I don’t know if they’ll actuallylike them. However, the doctors believe that they cannotcatch our diseases – which rather puts the leash on any War of the Worlds scenarios we might have been hoping for.”



Gabriel frowned. “And can we catch their diseases?”



“They don’t think so,” Lightbridge-Stewart said. “But they don’t really have any samples ofalien diseases to study.”



“No,” Gabriel agreed. “They wouldn’t.”



He’d studied history, back when he’d thought aboutbecoming a historian. Back when Europehad discovered America, they’d brought their diseases with them – diseases thatthe Native Americans had had no resistance to. Smallpox alone had killed millions, leaving a void for the Europeans toexpand into and eventually control. Theempires built on native labour had collapsed; the empires based on settlers hadsurvived and prospered. And if an aliendisease got loose on Earth...



It might not even have to be natural, he realised. He’d certainly had enough briefings about thedangers of biological warfare, up to and including genetically-modifieddiseases that were resistant to every known vaccine. The aliens didn't have to reshape one oftheir own diseases to produce a monster that would exterminate humanity. They could simply rely on a simple humandisease, with a little modification. Britain had no – official – stocks of Smallpox, but if the aliens had capturedthe stores in Russia, or America...



He pushed the thought aside. There was no point in worrying about it. They were at the mercy of the aliens andwould be for years to come.



“The analysts think that the aliens will probably startgrowing their own crops on Earth sooner rather than later,” Lightbridge-Stewartsaid. “Unless they’ve somehow managed toproduce stable wormholes that reach from planet to planet, their logistics haveto be rather touchy. Growing their ownfood will allow them to send more weapons and military supplies instead...”



“And there’s nothing we can do about it,” Gabrielsaid. “I don’t suppose that anyone elsehas come up with a possible solution? Maybe hacking into their computers and shutting down their weapons...?”



“This is the real world, unfortunately,” Lightbridge-Stewartsaid. He frowned, suddenly. “What I can tell you is that there is acertain...crude nature to most of their technology. We’ve captured samples of their weapons andtaken them apart to study – in many ways, their weapons are actually lessadvanced than our own. That could bejust them being practical – the more complex a piece of kit, the greater thechance it will break in the field – or their overall technology level could beless advanced than we’ve assumed. Andfor that matter...”



He hesitated. “It’s hard to be sure, but their tactical doctrine sucks,” headded. “If they didn't have thosestarships in orbit, we would have beaten them – and so would almost every otherFirst World nation on the planet. Hell,even the Saudis would have given them a very hard time. I don't know who they’re used to fighting,but they clearly haven't learned much from the experience. The analysts have studied the problem, yetthey can't see any clear solution. It’spossible that someone else gave them their technology...”



Gabriel stared at him. “Someone else sold them theirtechnology...? Who?”



“There’s no way to know,” Lightbridge-Stewartadmitted. “Another alien race, wepresume – or maybe they captured technology from another alien race and somehowdiscovered how to duplicate it for themselves. We certainly didn't hesitate to sell tanks and guns to the Middle East,even though there was a strong chance that they would wind up being pointedback at us. For all we know, they stolethe starships they have in orbit – and the weapons they’re using against us onthe ground may be their own designs.”



“But there’s no way to know,” Gabriel said. He shook his head slowly. “Is there any good news?”



“Well, I’ve had a team of signals experts – very brightboffins, these lads – studying the alien communications system,” Lightbridge-Stewartsaid. “It really isn’t as advanced asour own – but then, we don't really understand their language yet so we mayhave problems unlocking some of their secrets.” He smiled, briefly. “But we dohave some idea of how their command-and-control network functions. It seems that their junior officers don’thave much independence of action. Theymay not even have the ability to call in strikes from orbit without permissionfrom higher authority.”



He looked down at the floor, shaking his head. “God knows we had enough problems withcalling in strikes while we were in Afghanistan,” he said. “It may account for odd delays in theirresponse times – we managed to get troops out of positions we knew would bebombarded before the hammer finally fell. Or we may be making a dreadful mistake because their system looks familiar to us. They’re aliens and their idea of logic maynot make sense to human minds.”



“They’ve been taking prisoners and registering the entirepopulation,” Gabriel said. “Doesn't thatmake sense from a human point of view?”



“I’m very much afraid so,” Lightbridge-Stewartagreed. “We have – had – politicalconsiderations in how we treated civilians caught up in occupied zones. It was never politically possible to imposeour control with an iron hand – and that cost us badly. The aliens, on the other hand, seem to beregistering our people with an eye to keeping them under firm control – andweeding out those who might be able to resist. Luckily we managed to get most of the TA and reservists called up andout of the cities before the aliens started arresting military personnel. God alone knows what they’re doing withthem.”



Gabriel shivered. The reports had all been the same, even though they’d come from placesas far apart as Southampton and Aberdeen. All civilians had to be registered – and military personnel were takenaway, along with police and other emergency service workers who refused tocollaborate. No one knew where thealiens had taken them, but Gabriel had no difficulty picturing them beingexecuted by alien gunfire...or simply tossed from alien shuttles into thePacific Ocean. The aliens had set updetention camps, but they all seemed to be for civilians. He could only hope that the militarypersonnel were kept alive, elsewhere. The alternative was too depressing to contemplate.



“And we don’t know what they have in mind in the longrun,” Lightbridge-Stewart added. “Perhaps they intend to isolate fatties and have them cooked for dinner– we believe they could probably eat human flesh.”



Gabriel felt sick. “I don’t think that any civilised race would want to eat human flesh,”he said – but then, what was acivilised race? He’d thought thathumanity, for all its faults, was making progress towards a better world forall, yet the aliens had knocked humanity down within two days of their arrival. The reports from Africa – where the alienshad almost no presence at all – suggested that mass chaos was spreading acrossthe continent. Was the inner savage asfar removed from the civilised man as he wanted to believe? “I’m sure they have something less...extremein mind for us.”



“I don't know,” Lightbridge-Stewart said. “I just don’t think we’ll enjoy it when thepenny finally drops.”



“I haven’t enjoyed anything since the aliens arrived,”Gabriel said, ruefully. Hehesitated. Even now, there were thingshe didn't feel comfortable discussing. “Isthere...anything we can do about their damned puppet?”



“You mean assassinate him?” Lightbridge-Stewart said. “I admit that we’ve been looking at thepossibility. But the aliens keep himunder very tight guard – it's almost as if they think we might take a shot athim.” He smiled. “We’re working on the possibility, PrimeMinister, but it may take some time.”



He hesitated. “Andwe have to decide if we’re going to wage war on collaborators as well as thealiens,” he added. “Some are joining upbecause they need to feed their families; some are joining up because theybelieve that it’s for the best...and some are joining up because they wantpower. And as long as the aliens havethousands of expendable humans to deploy against us, it will be a great dealharder to convince them to withdraw.”



Gabriel shivered. Western Governments had been alarmingly sensitive to casualties and badpublicity, something their enemies hadn't hesitated to use against them. The terrorists had targeted soldiers, intenton causing as many fatalities as possible, and done their best to provokeincidents that could be spun against the Western troops. Any civilian deaths were always blamed on theWest – and the fact that they’d been used as human shields by men who worecivilian clothes, or caught in bombs planted by their fellow countrymen, wasnever mentioned.



But they had no way of knowing what the aliens wouldconsider acceptable losses – or bad publicity. Perhaps their homeworld had protest marches, with thousands of young andidealistic aliens marching to ‘save the human,’ or perhaps they were a fasciststate, with all dissent ruthlessly suppressed. And if it was the latter, they might be prepared to endure terrifyinglosses to keep Earth firmly under their control – or blow up the planet if theyfelt that they had no choice, but to withdraw.



“So we go after the aliens first,” Gabriel said, “andonly go after the collaborators if they’re nasty bastards who abuse theirpower?”



“Sounds like a plan,” Lightbridge-Stewart agreed. “But there will be casualties, Prime Minister. We don’t even know how many civilians died in the last few days.”



Once, Gabriel would have been appalled – hell, he stillwas appalled. But there was nothing hecould do about it. The aliens couldn'tbe ordered out of Britain by the Prime Minister.



“We have managed to set up a reasonably securecommunications link with America,” Lightbridge-Stewart said, after amoment. “Most of the American personnelin Britain want to go home and fight there, although that will be tricky. The aliens aren't allowing big ships to leaveharbour – we can get them to Ireland, which hasn't been occupied, but I don’tsee how we can get many of them to the United States. It may be possible to use submarines...”



“But that would mean risking a boat,” Gabriel said,slowly. Lightbridge-Stewart nodded. The remaining submarines in the Royal Navy –as well as ones belonging to America, France and the rest of Europe – had beenordered to run silent, run deep. Thealiens didn't seem to be capable of tracking submerged boats from orbit, butthey could see a surfaced submarine and drop a rock on it. “Are the Yanks going to take the risk?”



“I don't think so,” Lightbridge-Stewart said. “They took higher absolute losses than we didand their country is much more heavily occupied. I suspect they can probably keep aninsurgency going for longer than we can, but...”



He shrugged. “Ifwe could just get them out of orbit, we could deal with their garrisons on thesurface,” he concluded. “But as long asthey’re in orbit, they can hold a gun to our heads.”



Gabriel couldn't disagree. They could hurt the aliens, but they couldnever beat them. And if they couldn’tbeat them, was there any point in fighting at all? And yet, if they surrendered, there was noway of knowing what the aliens had in mind for the human race.



“Thank you for coming,” he said, cursing his ownweakness. “Will you stay for dinner?”



“I have to link up with a couple of others,” Lightbridge-Stewartsaid, reluctantly. “We have plans tomake. And then we can start remindingthe aliens that we exist.”

 

<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><font size="3">Chapter Sixteen<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com


Long Stratton

United Kingdom,Day 10/11



The convoy looked like something out of Iraq, orAfghanistan. It comprised a handful oftrucks, each one carrying a dozen policemen, and a pair of alien ArmouredPersonnel Carriers. It was escorted by apair of helicopters, bristling with weapons, that flew elaborate patterns overthe vehicles. From her vantage point,hidden near the town, Alex wondered if the alien pilots were showing off, orgenuinely concerned about the threat of portable antiaircraft weapons. There was no way to know, but she suspectedthe former. The aliens, despiteappearances, didn't look as if they were expecting trouble.



She gritted her teeth as the aliens started to dismounttheir vehicles, weapons at the ready, followed by their tame policemen. The internet had been ranting and ravingabout collaborators – and so many rumours that it was difficult to know whatwas fact and what was fiction – but actually seeing collaborators in the fleshwas a different story. They looked as ifthey were confident, expecting no opposition – and they might be right. The BBC had been claiming that the remainderof the British military had been destroyed; looking down at the aliens, Alexstarted to wonder if they had been telling the truth. She might be the last surviving servicewomanin Britain.



No, she toldherself firmly. That couldn't betrue. She was isolated, but there wouldbe others out there somewhere, waiting for the chance to hit back at their newenemies. And even if she was alone, she still had her duty. All she had to do was wait until the rightmoment. Until then, she just had towatch and allow the memories to become burned into her mind. The aliens and their collaborators hadarrived in Long Stratton.



They’d developed their own procedure for securing townsand villages by now. The policemen usedloudspeakers to summon all of the townsfolk out of their homes and ordered themto wait on the green while the aliens searched the village. Looking at their big hulking forms, Alex felta chill running down her spine. Shewould have sooner believed in a rogue military officer launching a coup than inaliens, even though she’d seen their aircraft. The clattering of the helicopters grew louder as one skimmed over herposition, so low that Alex was convinced, just for a few moments, that she’dbeen spotted. There was no way to knowwhat the townspeople were telling the policemen down below.



She shuddered. Thealiens had made their instructions quite clear; everyone in the country was tobe registered, fingerprinted and given an ID card – no exceptions. And the internet had made it clear that themoment they discovered that she was a RAF pilot, they would take her away andno one would know what had happened to her. So she’d taken the risk of hiding, along with a handful of young men whowere willing to resist the aliens. Alexhoped that it wasn't all just mindless bravado. There was no way to know what someone was made of until the **** hit thefan, by which time it might be too late. It was one of the reasons why military training was so intensive, in thehopes of weeding out the unsuitable before it was too late.



And if her little band was caught...? There was no way to know. The aliens might simply execute them on thespot, or take them to one of their detention camps or...she shook her head,concentrating on the scene before her. One by one, the townspeople were being processed and registered. Smith and his wife had remained on theirfarm. They probably wouldn't beprocessed until later – she hoped. Andthey'd been warned not to breathe a word about her...



One hand touched the pistol at her belt as the hours woreon. Watching made it seem almostsurreal, with the aliens watching over their collaborators – their unarmedcollaborators. Alex found that a warmingsight; it was clear that the aliens didn’t trust the policemen with liveweapons. Perhaps the police hadn't beenso badly subverted after all. But shecouldn't count on anything...



Down below, a scuffle had broken out. She peered, wishing she’d dared bring a pairof binoculars, trying to make out what was going on. The policemen had pulled a man out of thecrowd, a middle-aged gentleman she didn't know. Why...she realised why a moment later, just as she saw his crying wifeand older children. He’d been in thearmy and returned to life as a civilian. It hadn't been enough to save him, or his son. The young man had lunged at a policeman, onlyto be knocked down and arrested by another. God alone knew what would happen to them.



She gritted her teeth again, forcing herself towatch. Whatever else happened, she wouldnot forget. And those who had beenkilled would be avenged.

***​

Night was falling as she approached the disused barn, onethat had once belonged to a farmer who had sold out and left the country. It had fallen into a dilapidated state, buther small team had done wonders to ensure that no light could be seen comingfrom the barn in the darkness. Thealiens didn't seem to patrol the country very effectively, yet there was nopoint in taking chances. They weretaking quite enough with the elderly explosives as it was.



“They used to put this stuff in flour,” Archer was sayingto his small group of students. “TheChinese would use it to smuggle gunk past the Japanese – it could actually bebaked and eaten without poisoning the poor bastard who actually ate it. We may have to use it the same way.”



Alex frowned. Thecollection of weapons and explosives from World War Two had been looked aftercarefully, but an alarming number had decayed badly. Some of the detonator pens – designed forearly IEDs – were unreliable. They’dbeen state of the art in 1940, Archer had assured her, but now...they wouldhave to be careful. There were some nastytricks that could be played with even disused explosives, yet...she hadnightmares where one of the students accidentally blew up the barn or theweapons store. At least they’d managedto scatter smaller dumps around the area. Losing one wouldn't cost them everything.



“I think it’s time for a break,” Archer said, as he spiedher. The young men stood up andscattered. They’d been warned to be verycareful – and avoid the aliens at all costs. “Did you find out what you wanted to know?”



Alex nodded, but waited for the barn to empty before shespoke. “They’re parked in a campingfield, some miles away,” she said, flatly. “I think they’ll have to leave the way they came, unless they intend togo cross-country.”



Archer nodded. “Ihave the surprise all ready for them,” he said. “I’m coming with you...”



“No, you’re not,” Alex said, flatly. “You know much more about these weapons thanI do. We can't afford to lose you – atleast not yet.”



Archer didn't look pleased, but he accepted hercomment. “Make sure you place itproperly,” he said, firmly. “I spent toomuch trouble making it to have you fail to blow up the right people.”



Twenty minutes later, Alex and two of the lads headed outover the countryside, heading for where the collaborators were parked. She was mildly surprised that the aliens hadchosen to stay with them, but it worked in her favour. Assuming that the aliens were jumpy and hadnight-vision gear, she kept her small force from going any closer than the gritbin she’d noticed by the side of the road. It took longer than she’d feared to empty the grit into the road andpack the bomb into the bin, but they made it. Her first IED didn't look very professional, yet it should do thetrick. Or so she told herself.



Sending the two boys back to their homes, she found ahiding place and settled down to wait. There was no way of knowing just when the collaborators would start tomove, but the aliens – according to the internet – were hard taskmasters. They might well decide to start when dawnrose above the horizon, whatever their human subordinates thought. Besides, it was almost traditional to attackat dawn. Any human force would be awakeand on guard at that point, at least if it was on deployment.



She was yawning when she heard two helicopters highoverhead, followed by the sound of vehicle engines rumbling into life. It wasn't quite dawn yet – perhaps the alienswere harder taskmasters than she had assumed. Or perhaps they were just bastards. It hardly mattered. A moment later,she saw lights in the distance, suggesting that the aliens were on theirway. She’d been worried aboutaccidentally blowing up civilians, but most civilian vehicles had run out ofpetrol in the last few days. Theremaining supplies were being carefully hoarded.



The lead alien vehicle came around the bend andaccelerated down the road. Alex wasmildly impressed by how it seemed to glide above the ground – it was almostsilent compared to the trucks carrying policemen – but there was no time tostare. She reached for the detonator andheld it in her hand, cradling it while running her finger over the button. There were no safety features, Archer hadtold her, with a thin leer. They’d beenless careful in those days. Of course,the planned resistance cells in Britain had also had more training than Alexhad ever received. If there was ever aday when the RAF returned to service, she made a mental note to insist thatground combat skills were included in what they taught their pilots.



Just before the alien vehicle reached the grit bin, shepushed down on the button. There was aheart-stopping pause – and then there was a thunderous explosion. The alien vehicle was picked up and flungright into the following truck, crushing a number of policemen under itsweight. An engine caught fire andanother truck went up in flames, just before two more trucks collided with thevehicles ahead of them. The second alienvehicle was untouched, but the alien infantry dismounted anyway. They moved with eerie grace as theysurrounded the scene, clearly expecting another attack at any moment. Alex silently cursed her own oversight. She could have had several men with huntingrifles in position to pick off most of the aliens – but then, they would havehad to risk remaining at the scene long enough for reinforcements to arrive.



She’d had time to plan her own exit and so she ran,keeping her head down and praying that she wouldn't be noticed. The alien helicopters had returned to theconvoy to hover menacingly over the ruined vehicles, no doubt looking for enemyinsurgents to target and kill. Shealmost fainted as she heard the sound of gunfire, before realising that thealiens were shooting at rabbits. Thenoise had flushed a number of the little beasts out of hiding and the alienshad thought that they were humans! Shewas still grinning at the thought when she headed further into the countryside,back to her hiding place. They’d neverfind her.

***​

“You hit the bastards,” Smith said, three hourslater. The aliens had visited their farmyesterday and given the farmer and his wife their ID cards. Alex had examined them and concluded that thealiens had actually encoded information into the cards – hardly an unfamiliarform of technology, but one with ominous implications for populationcontrol. “What do you think they’ll doin response?”



Alex shrugged. There was no way to know. She’dactually offered to leave, knowing that her presence would bring danger totheir house, but they’d refused to hear of it. Besides, as Smith had assured her, they needed help on the farm. The aliens had stated that they would beexpected to start expanding their yield and Alex suspected that failing toproduce food for the aliens would result in losing the farm. Their children were still lost somewhere inBritain, unable to return to their home.



She looked down at Smith’s ID card. The policemen had been very clear on what thefarmer could and could not do. Leavingthe country without permission would result in arrest. Failing to produce the card when requestedwould result in arrest. Their grownchildren and their families, if they ever arrived, would be expected to reportto the aliens through the local police station – or they would bearrested. It seemed that putting even asingle foot wrong would result in arrest. Alex could almost understand why they were issuing such edicts; it wasas demoralising as hell and it certainly kept humanity under foot. Given enough time, the aliens could startorganising the country to suit themselves.



The sound of helicopters – they had to be alien – nearbysent another chill down her spine. Howmuch could they mobilise to hunt her and her little band down? An entire army, a small force ofsoldiers...or would they bombard the nearest town purely for the hell ofit? There was no way to know, but shewould have to find out – somehow. Sherubbed her face, fought down a yawn, and headed outside. There was work to be done on the farm.

***​

“But the last time I fought was in Malaya!”



Major Terrence Smyth scowled at the aliens, who seemedunresponsive. For all he knew, theycouldn’t speak English. It wouldn't bethe first time that some conquering bastard had thought that keeping hissoldiers from speaking the native tongue would stop them from developing anyattachments to the locals. Of course,humans had always been able to communicate, even if by gestures alone. And they’d always wanted the same things – women,money, a chance to go home without having certain vital parts separated fromtheir bodies. The thought of the alienspaying attention to human women was sickening.



The policemen at least looked ashamed, when they botheredto meet his eyes. They’d taken his sonaway somewhere, purely for the crime of trying to defend his old man. Terrence had fought in Malaya before leavingthe British Army, decades ago. It seemedthat the aliens didn't give a damn about how long ago a person’s militaryservice was – if a person had military experience, he or she was to be arrestedand taken away.



He stared around the small holding pen. It was a simple fence of wire, holdingseventeen men and one woman, surrounded by the aliens. Escape seemed impossible; even if they’d beenable to cut or climb the wires, the aliens would shoot them down before theymanaged to run away from their base. Hell, he didn't even know what they’d done to the area – they’d set up ahandful of oversized buildings surrounding the holding pen. And he wasn't entirely sure of where he was.



Must be getting old,he thought, bitterly. And to think thathe’d been planning a comfortable retirement. He was in his seventies, after all, but still as active as ever...well,maybe not as active as he’d been when he’d been a young soldier in thetrenches. His wife wanted to travel theworld and he’d been happy to oblige her. But now...



He looked up as a heavy lorry roared its way into thecamp. The driver was a human, probablyyet another of the damned civil servants who’d managed to find a soft landingin the arms of the aliens. Terrenceglowered at him, before deciding that he was being unfair. The arsehole might have joined up to feed hisfamily. Not everyone in Britain lived ona farm.



The policemen opened the gates and waved the prisonersforward. They didn't bother to shacklethem, but what would be the point? Inside the lorry, they’d be prisoners just as much as they wereprisoners inside the holding pen. Heshuffled as slowly as he dared until it was his turn to climb into the vehicle,and then he pretended that his leg had failed, staggering down and collapsingon the ground. A moment later, apoliceman helped him into the lorry.



He found a place to sit as the doors were closed and thebig vehicle made its way out of the camp. There were no windows to allow him to see where they were going. A quick check revealed that they couldn'tforce open the rear doors to escape. Thesound of engines grew louder, suggesting that they had joined a smallconvoy. Or maybe it was a very largeconvoy. He found himself praying thatresistance fighters – or the remains of his old service – were still out there,ready to attack the convoy, but nothing happened. The hours wore onwards as the truck took themfurther and further away from the land he’d known.



It almost made him want to cry. His wife, his children...would he ever seethem again? Or would the grandchildrengrow up without knowing their granddad? Hetold himself that they wouldn't keep him prisoner forever, but there was no wayto know. For all he knew, he might begoing to his own execution. But theycould have killed him easily without bothering to transport him halfway acrossthe country. Maybe they wanted slavelabour, or maybe they just had a holding camp for former military personnelsomewhere isolated from the general population. They’d grow old and die there while the aliens took control of the restof the country they’d sworn to defend. His grandchildren would grow up in a world where the aliens were a factof life.



Shaking his head, he remembered the hills he’d onceclimbed as a younger man...and wondered, bitterly, if he would ever see themagain.

 

Chapter Seventeen<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />



London

United Kingdom,Day 15



“They’re doing it on purpose,” Aashif proclaimed,loudly. The small gathering of young menaround him murmured in agreement. “Theyare showing no respect for our religion at all!”



Seated halfway across the room, with the women and youngchildren, Fatima could still hear him voicing his anger. Aashif was twenty-one years old, born to afamily and community that was largely excluded from the mainstream population. A stronger person might have broken down thebarriers or carved out a career for themselves, but Aashif – like so manyothers – had chosen to fall back into his community and wrap himself in atissue of imaginary grievances. She’dheard it all before; the world was against him, no one liked or trusted himbecause of his religion, and he had rights. It never seemed to have occurred to him thathis failures were a result of his personality, or that he could have madesomething of himself if he tried. Hefound it so much easier to blame others for his failings.



She rolled her eyes. Men like Aashif were a persistent pain in the posterior. Deprived of the sort of wealth and power theythought the world owed them by rights, they turned upon the women in theirlives. Aashif’s sister was terrified totalk to strangers for fear that her brother would hear of it and beat her; hismother was a pale shadow of a woman, scared of the boy she’d brought into theworld. Only his grandfather had everbeen able to exercise any kind of restraint on the young man, and he’d passedaway two years ago. She listened to hisbragging and shuddered, inwardly. Therewas a new conviction in his voice that had been missing several months ago.



Not that she could really blame him. The aliens had taken over every buildinglarge enough to hold their oversized forms – and that included a number ofLondon’s mosques. Even the police hadbeen reluctant to just barge into the mosques, fearing the effect suchprovocative acts would have on the Muslim community. But the aliens had just taken the buildingsand evicted everyone who complained. They’d done the same to a number of churches, yet they seemed to havetargeted mosques deliberately. Given therumours coming from the Middle East – and spread over the internet, along withfar too much outright nonsense – it seemed as though they were attacking Islamdirectly. From what she’d seen herself,Fatima suspected that the aliens simply didn't care. Humans were their property now – and propertydidn't get a vote, or the right to complain.



“We’re going to do something about it,” Aashifcontinued. Bragging about hisconnections to the underground Jihad movementwasn't new either, but she’d always known that he was just a poser, someone whowould probably faint dead away at the thought of being asked to blow himselfand a great many innocent civilians up. There were too many girls out there who were prepared to allow suchclaims to overpower their common sense. “I’m going to see to it personally.”



Unseen, Fatima rolled her eyes. Of course he would – and while he was at it,he’d create the perfect Islamic State...never mind that such a state onlyexisted in the deluded rants sprouted by preachers with nothing better to do. There were times when she was tempted tobelieve that suicide bombers were God’s way of weeding out the unworthy fromthe Muslim community. The young foolswho died for a dream rarely got to spread their seed.



She shook her head, and then helped her stepmother andthe rest of the girls clear away the dishes and wash up. They knew their place, all right – and thefact that she was a doctor cut no ice with the men. Men like Aashif wanted women to stay in theirplace. It was the only way they couldconvince themselves that they were in charge. She smiled, in a moment of dark humour. The world could hardly be worse if women were in charge.

***​

Sergeant Abdul Al-Hasid was feeling dirty. Not the feeling he’d had when he’d firstdiscovered pornographic magazines, despite knowing that his God-fearing fatherwould thrash him to within an inch of his life if he’d been caught looking atnaked sluts. And not the feeling he’dhad when Salma – his first girlfriend – had allowed him to touch her barebreast. It was the feeling of knowingthat he was doing something utterly wrong – and the fact that the people he washelping to do it wanted him to help them didn't make him feel any better. He couldn't shake the feeling that he wouldbe called upon to answer to God and that no answer he could give, nothing hecould offer in his own defence, would help his case.



He’d grown up in a strictly Islamic environment – so ofcourse he’d rebelled. School hadn'tgiven him much in the way of qualifications, so the Army had seemed a logicalchoice. And it had been the making ofhim. He’d knuckled down at it and workedhard for the first time in his life, deploying to Iraq and then Afghanistanwith the Green Jackets. Along the way,he’d seen just what living under Islamic Law really meant – the only people whowanted Taliban-style rule were the people who had never had to live underit. He’d seen enough to convince himthat the rulers, for all their dedication to making others follow the rules,enjoyed breaking them every chance they got. Walking through a Taliban-run whorehouse had been enough to convince himthat they had to be stopped. They’dkilled the girls rather than risk having them freed by the British Army.



After the aliens had invaded, he’d volunteered to returnto London with several other Londoners. They’d known that it would be dangerous – no one could describe themilitary as a safe job in the best of times – but he’d known people who mightbe able to help them fight the aliens. Wearing civilian clothes, he’d wandered through the communities with hisears wide open, listening carefully. Finding the would-be suicide bombers had been depressingly easy. Like so many others, they had bad intentions– and no contacts with the underground world. Obtaining explosives on the black market wasn't exactly easy. He’d lost count of how many idiots seeking aquick death had tried to buy weapons and explosives off police informers.



He glanced around the garage, rolling his eyes. Like many other business in the area, as muchof the business as possible was done off the books – just to keep the taxmanfrom taking an undue interest in their profits. He found it hard to blame the struggling small businessmen for trying tokeep their profits for themselves, but the garage had clearly been involved inpreparing stolen cars to be released back onto the market. The tools to rig up a small van with enoughexplosive to really ruin someone’s day had been easy to find. God alone knew what had happened to the ownerand his family. They hadn't returned towork in the days since the invasion.



A tap at the door brought him to full alertness. He half-drew his pistol with one hand as hepadded over to the door and peered through the one-way glass that the previousowner had installed. The young fool wasstanding there, waiting for him. Abdulrolled his eyes, silently grateful that he wouldn't have to rely on such foolsforever, knowing that the man wouldn't have bothered to walk in a manner thatmight deter a shadow. His confidencethat God would protect him was grossly misplaced. In Abdul’s experience, God helped those whohelped themselves – although He probably wouldn't want to help suicidebombers. Part of him wanted to tell theyoung fool to go home and enjoy the rest of his life, but there was no realalternative. They had to remind thealiens that they existed before the aliens broke their determination to resist.



He opened the door and waved the young man into thegarage. The young fool had dressed forthe job, all right. He’d washed, cut hisbeard and then dressed in his finest white robes. If he’d paid as much attention to hisschoolwork as he had to his appearance, he might have made something of himselfwithout slipping into bitterness and paranoid conspiracy theories. Abdul shook hands with him firmly, and then noddedtowards the white van. It was ready toleave the building.



“I’ve been watching the alien guards,” he said. Quite why the aliens had bothered to takeover a technical college in London was beyond him, but it was clearly importantto them. They weren't using their tamepolicemen to guard it. Instead, therewere upwards of thirty aliens on guard duty and they weren't shy about urginghuman onlookers away from the scene. “Youshould be able to get into the parking lot if you leave in twenty minutes.”



One thing that had been hammered into his head time andtime again during the dreaded Combat Infantryman’s Course at Catterick Garrisonhad been that they should never be predicable. Any routine was dangerous because a watching enemy could pick the bestmoment to launch an attack, catching the defenders by surprise. But the aliens didn't seem to have realisedthat. Their guards patrolled in regular,easily predicable patterns, changing every hour. He could almost set his watch by theirmovements. It had taken him two days ofobservation to be reasonably sure that it wasn't a trap of some kind, althoughthey were definitely going to get more than they bargained for if he waswrong. The van carried enough explosiveto be fairly sure of totalling the college when it exploded.



He walked over to the van and opened the door. “When you turn the corner onto the road, pushdown on the switch there,” he said. “That arms the bomb. When youwant it to detonate, take your hand off the switch and it’ll explode. Don’t try to brake once you’re around thecorner – just drive for the gate as fast as you can.”



The young man nodded. He looked confident, at least. Abdul silently pitied him – and his family. It was rare to see a suicide bomber blessedby his family, at least in Britain. Their deaths tended to come as a shock to their friends and relatives,giving them the grief of losing someone while dealing with increasingly pointedquestions from the security services. Part of his mind pointed out that such a young fool would find a way toharm himself sooner or later, perhaps lashing out at a member of hisfamily. At least this way his deathwould count for something. He told himselfthat, time and time again, but the dirty feeling refused to fade from his mind.



He reached out and touched the young man’s sleeve. “You don’t have to go through with this,” hesaid, flatly. “If you want to backout...”



“I know what I’m doing,” the young man said. Abdul sighed inwardly at his tone. He’d heard it before from young recruits, thekind who needed to be broken down before they could be built up again. But that required dedication anddetermination – and the young would-be bomber had neither. “It needs to be done, for what they did tous. You have the video?”



Abdul nodded. He’dused a simple civilian camcorder to record a brief statement, a message to beuploaded onto the internet after the bomb exploded. The young fool would explain why he’d bombedthe college, stating that it was in response to the occupied mosques. He seemedto believe that the aliens had meant to insult and degrade Islam. Abdul suspected that they simply didn'tcare. Given their size, they neededlarger buildings – and mosque prayer halls were wide open, easy for them touse. A church would need to have thepews removed before it would suit the aliens.



“It’s ready for uploading,” he said. Actually, he’d moved the uploading laptopsomewhere else. He had no way of knowingwhat surveillance capabilities the aliens had in place, which meant that theymight be able to trace the van back to the garage. And if they caught him...he was sure thatthere were other soldiers operating within London, apart from his small cell,but he hadn’t been given any details. Hehad to assume that their death meant the end of resistance within London. “Remember; push down on the switch once youturn the corner, and then keep your handon the switch! You let go of itearly...”



“Understood,” the young man said. He turned the key and the engine rumbled to life. It was lucky that the garage owner had kept asmall reservoir of petrol under the building, or they wouldn't have been ableto fuel the van. Civilians had almost nopetrol in London these days. The air wascleaner already. “And thank you.”



Abdul watched him go, silently wondering if God wouldhear his prayers in the future.



He’d just sent a young man to hell.

***​

Aashif knew how to drive, but he’d never taken the formaltest and he had never tried to drive a van before. It felt heavy and unwieldy compared to hisfather’s car and if the roads hadn’t been almost empty, he was sure that hewould have crashed – or at least scraped off some of the paint – by now. His sweaty hands felt slippery against thewheel, forcing him to keep a tight grip. He could hear his heartbeat pounding inside his skull. A collaborator’s car pulled out ahead of himand he had to push down on the brakes to avoid a collision. He’d been warned that if he did crash, forany reason, he had to abandon the van and run. The moment they saw the explosives, the police would know what he had inmind...



His breath was coming in patches, leaving him feelingunwell as he turned the corner carefully. There were no traffic lights in London these days either. He’d been told that he would feel calm, thatthe peace of God would overwhelm him, but instead he just felt frantic, almostterrified. It would be easy to park thevan and just run...he could walk away from his own death. But there was nowhere to go. The people he knew were the ones he hadbragged to about his role in the Jihad. It had seemed so easy at the start to use hisinflated claims to gain power and influence – God knew that the younger Muslimshad had enough of older clerics telling them what to do. Pakistan was on the other side of the world –gone, if some of the more alarming reports on the internet were true – and itwasn't right that they should becontrolled by village elders who couldn't even protect them from racists or thepolice...



And then there were the temptations of the West. Women leaving the homes and working for aliving, instead of doing their duty as mothers, daughters and wives. Music, drugs...everything that polluted themind and wore away at faith. Andhomosexuality...how could anyone tolerate a world where men could lovemen? It was disgusting how the Westprided itself on its own tolerance. Eventhough it provided a shield for the faithful, for those determined to turn backthe clock...how could anyone stand tolive like that?



And then there were those who suffered while he lived inluxury...



It had been easy to pretend, until his dream had become anightmare. And yet he couldn't backout. He’d recorded the video, the onewhere he’d damned the aliens and their collaborators for what they’d done toIslam. If he left the van and ran, heknew what would happen. The video wouldbe released and everyone would laugh at him. He'd know that they were laughing, even as they pretended to besympathetic. How could he ever show hisface in their company again?



His heart beat faster as he turned the corner. The college was just up ahead, a place forsmarter kids who didn't want to spend the rest of their lives flipping burgersat McDonalds, or claiming benefits. Hereached for the switch and hesitated. Itwasn’t too late. He could park and runaway and maybe find a new home somewhere else. There were always possibilities for those with the determination...buthe’d lacked it. In a rare moment ofself-assessment, he realised that he’d never had the determination to makesomething of himself. Instead, someoneelse had made something out of him. Hewanted to run and yet he didn't quite dare...



He pushed down on the switch, hearing an ominousclick. His hand felt as if it weredrenched in sweat as he gunned the engine, sending the van forward faster. The aliens hadn't bothered to put up a gate,merely a pair of guards. He saw theirugly forms and pointed the van right at them, wondering if they had the senseto jump out of the way. It wouldn't savethem, though. There was enoughexplosives in the van to reduce the entire building to rubble...or so he’d beentold. Maybe they’d lied to him...



There was a popping sound. It took him a moment to realise that theywere shooting at him. A burst of painspread over his chest, sending him flopping backwards against the seat. It was suddenly very hard to think. His chest was warm...blood was pouring from ahole...he slumped forward, his hand falling off the switch. He had a second to realise that he’d releasedthe switch...and then the world went away in a flash of white-hot flame.

 

<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><font size="3">Chapter Eighteen<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com


London

United Kingdom,Day 15



Robin and Constable Riley had been parked in a police carwhen they heard the explosion. It wasthunderously loud in a city where most noise had dimmed away to almostnothing. The cars that had once produceda constant backdrop were silent; no massive jumbo jets flew in and out of thecity. Indeed, it had been so quiet thatRobin had wondered if the penny was ever going to drop. And the massive fireball rising up in thedistance suggested that it had. Someonewas striking back at the aliens...



“Start the car,” he ordered, grabbing his radio. The aliens had allowed them to use them,although Robin suspect that they intended to use them to monitor theircollaborators. “This is Zulu Bravo; weare heading to the incident site. I sayagain, this is...”



“Trouble,” Constable Riley commented, as he flung thepolice car around a corner. “They weredoing something at that college...”



Robin stared, not quite believing his eyes. There had once been a large building, home toa technical college producing graduates with degrees that should get them goodjobs in the computer industry. It hadbeen smashed by the explosion, along with several other buildings nearby. A number of cars were burning brightly – he keyedhis radio to summon the fire brigade – and an alien armoured vehicle had beentipped upside down. It was a weakness intheir design, he guessed; their hover-cushion gave an unexpected blast theleverage to throw the vehicle right over. He doubted that it would happen to a human-built tank.



“Dear God,” he breathed. There seemed to be hundreds of people caught in the blast. Most schools hadn't reopened in the daysfollowing the invasion, but the aliens had been very interested in thetechnical college. No one had quite beenable to figure out why. “How many peopledid they kill?”



“It really makes you wonder,” Riley said, as they climbedout of the car. The whole scene wasoverwhelming, worse than Buckingham Palace. “Which side are we supposed to be on?”



Robin glared at him. If he’d been alone, if no one else had been in danger, he might havejoined one of the resistance cells being talked about on the internet. But there was his wife...and there was thesimple fact that innocent civilians were going to be caught in the midst of thefighting. The police existed to protectcivilians...which didn’t change the fact that they’d effectively startedworking for the aliens. But if they hadn't,who knew what the aliens would do in response? If they used live ammunition to respond to broken bottles, what the hellwould they do in response to a bomb that had slaughtered upwards of twenty ofthem?



“Call ambulances,” he ordered. He wasn't sure where to begin. With the wounded – or with two bodies thatwere very clearly not human? The aliens didn'tseem to have survived the blast. Maybethey had some wonder-technology that could resurrect the dead, but he wouldn't counton it. “Call medics. Call everyone.”



He shook his head. Where the hell did they even start?

***​

Fatima had been trying to relax when her pager went off,alerting her to a medical emergency. Ithad come just in time. Her stepmotherhad been boring her again with more suggestions for suitable boys, even thoughthey’d lost touch with the old country. The internet said that India and Pakistan had nuked each other in thewake of the invasion and, despite her best hopes, she suspected that it wastrue. Too many sources were repeatingthe same claim time and time again.



She picked up her overnight bag and ran out of the door,glancing down at her pager to see where she was going. A massive plume of smoke was rising up over London,reminding her of the hellish first days when the aliens had arrived. At least they’d managed to get most of thewounded to their own homes, she told herself as she started to run. Five minutes later, she saw an ambulance andflagged it down, hoping that the driver would have time to stop. He did, allowing Fatima to climb onboardbefore he gunned the engine again, heading towards the plume of smoke. She felt sick as she realised where they weregoing. Gilmore Technical College hadplayed host to several of her friends, back when they’d dreamed ofcareers. And now it was just a pile ofrubble.



A number of Incident Coordinators had arrived and takencharge, thankfully. They’d been missedduring the desperate attempt to treat the wounded in Central London, during theinvasion. Fatima didn't even bother tothrow them accusing glances – they were collaborators, after all – as she scrambleddown from the ambulance and ran towards their position. Police and firemen were helping the woundedaway from the fires, trying to get them processed and into the queue formedical treatment. She closed her earsto their screams and pleas, knowing that there was little she could do tohelp. God alone knew if they had enoughmedical supplies on hand.



She rapidly found herself assigned to triage. It wasn't something they’d practiced before,outside of a pair of paranoid exercises they’d done before the invasion. She glanced at the first casualty, swiftlyassessed his condition, and marked him down as category two. He had a broken leg and was probably inshock, but he’d survive without immediate medical treatment. It broke her heart to leave him without help,yet there was no choice. The nextperson, a young girl barely out of her teens, was too badly wounded to livewithout immediate hospital treatment. Fatimamarked her down, knowing that she would probably never be taken to hospital andreceive the treatment she needed. Atleast she was too badly injured to be aware of her surroundings. If God was kind, she would pass away withoutever waking up.



The hours seemed like days as they tried to clear up themess. Over two thousand humans had beenin the building when the bomb exploded, along with a number of aliens. Most of them were dead, or so badly woundedthat the only thing the doctors could do was inject them with painkillers andwatch them slip away. One of the bodies,plonked down in front of her, was clearly inhuman. She forgot her fear and helpless anguish asshe stared down at the alien body. Theinner bone structure was very different from a human skeleton, as far as shecould tell; despite their great size, they seemed almost weaker than the average human. But the internet insisted that the aliens had an advantage inhand-to-hand combat...their leathery skin, far tougher than human skin, mighthelp hold them together. Perhaps theywere less used to trauma than humans.



A leathery hand pulled her away from the body. She jumped...and found herself staring upinto an alien race. The alien pushed heraside with casual ease, allowing two of his – she assumed that it was a male,although there was no way to tell – comrades to pick up the body and cart itaway to one of their floating trucks. They weren't bothering to tend to any of the human wounded, or even helpmoving away the dead. As far as shecould tell, they only cared about themselves.



“Don’t get angry at them,” a soft voice said. She looked up to see a policeman, staringdown at her. There was something damnedand suffering in his eyes. “Just begrateful they’re letting us handle this.”



Fatima opened her mouth to deliver an angry retort aboutcollaborators – and then she swallowed it, knowing that it would do nogood. What choice did they have? And what choice did she have? She had openedherself to charges of collaboration by coming to help the wounded, even thoughmost of the wounded were humans. And tothink she’d wondered why Iraqis had had so much trouble deciding which side tosupport during the war...



She pushed the thought aside and returned to work. There was an unending stream of casualties totend to, and hopefully save. And thenperhaps she might find something else to do with her time.

***​

From his vantage point, Alan Beresford watched as theplume of smoke slowly faded away. It hadbeen nearly four hours since the blast and the emergency services had workedlike demons to cope with the damage. There was no threat to any other building, at least as far as they couldtell, and they had a preliminary list of the dead. And as far as they were concerned, Alan knew,they’d done an excellent job. It was apity that there was nothing left of the bomber, but the blast had been powerfulenough to bring down a fairly large building. The bomber himself would have been reduced to atoms.



But that wasn't the important point, Alan knew. The aliens didn't share details about their security– or their long-term objectives – with him, but he did know that they had takena handful of losses recently. Small,compared to the casualties they’d suffered during the invasion itself, butirritating. And all the more irritatingbecause they’d trusted Alan to provide security for their people. They’d given him power and responsibility andall they’d asked was that he kept his word. What would happen to him, Alan asked himself, if they decided that theyno longer wanted him to control the country for them? Somehow, he had no doubt that the alienswould simply kill him and put an end to it.



The thought was intolerable. He’d risen high in pursuit of power – he wasn'tgoing to let it end without a fight. Andif the aliens decided that he was expendable...no, it was unthinkable. He wasn't going to look as ineffective as theBritish Government had looked against the IRA, or the more recent threat from Muslimfundamentalists. He’d show them that AlanBeresford was still a good investment. And if a few innocents got mashed in the gears, well...one couldn't makean omelette without breaking a few eggs.



He turned and faced his small Cabinet. And small it was. Many of the ministers who’d served PrimeMinister Gabriel Bryce – wherever the hell he was – were dead, or inhiding. It seemed unlikely that theywould be able to remain undiscovered forever, but that was small comfort. He’d had to promote a handful of his cronies,a number of men who owed him favours, and the senior surviving police officer inLondon. Some of them followed himbecause they believed in him, others followed because of the dirt he had onthem...and at least two were there because they had nowhere else to go. But that could change, Alan reminded himself,savagely. How long would it be beforeone of them realised that they could make their own deals with the aliens? And then how long would Alan last?



“We have a problem,” he said, addressing his MediaOfficer. Catherine Stewart knew wherethe bodies were buried, sometimes literally. Alan had once heard a joke about how many people would attend thefuneral of a world-famous columnist, just to make sure that the old bat withthe poison pen was finally dead. Itapplied just as much to Catherine, whose blonde good looks concealed arazor-sharp mind and a complete absence of scruples. “The scrum who did this killed innocent Londoners. They have to be found. I want you to make sure that that party linegets out there right away, without any dissent. Try and prevent the internet from taking anyother line.”



Catherine nodded. It hadn't taken her more than a week to start building her own empire –but then, she was the only source of employment for countless spin doctors andmuckrakers who no longer had anywhere else to go. They’d make damn sure that the media toed theline, or he’d have some of them shot to encourage the others. And he wasn’t joking either. Given enough time, he was sure that theycould shut down most of the internet in Britain, but it seemed different to dowithout taking down what remained of the government communicationsnetwork. The aliens had refused to allowthem to use the alien network.



“Of course, sir,” she said. “How do you wish us to proceed?”



Alan’s temper boiled over. “I expect your ****ing subordinates to dotheir jobs,” he snapped. “I wantpictures of the dead and wounded – the younger and sexier the better. I want sob stories on who died and how muchpromise they had in front of them before they were assassinated by the wretchedterrorists. I want total media coverage –interviews with the survivors and relatives, talking heads on how some peoplejust cannot forget the past, and tearful interviews demanding that the legitimategovernment do something about them. Doyou understand me?”



“Yes, sir,” Catherine said. She lowered her eyes, but Alan wasn't fooled. There was nothing submissive in hernature. “I shall see to it personally.”



“Now go do your damned job,” Alan snapped, and waited forher to leave the room. She was too smartfor her own good, at least in a world he controlled – as long as he pleased thealiens, of course. Given time, he wassure that she would be the one to challenge him. The woman was just too ambitious for her owngood. “Chief Constable – give me somegood news, please.”



Chief Constable Gerald Rivers hadn't been Chief Constablefor very long. His predecessor and his deputyhad been killed when the aliens took out Scotland Yard and Rivers’ only realqualification for the job was that he’d been the senior police officer to agreeto serve the aliens and keep the peace. He was a short man, inclining towards stoutness, but there was a hardedge underneath him that Alan had no difficulty recognising. It was a shame that he genuinely believedthat the only way to protect the public was to work with the aliens, ratherthan allowing ambition to drive him forward...Alan shrugged. One couldn't have everything and Rivers wasn'tlikely to try to unseat him.



“We did manage to repair most of the CCTV network nodesover the last few days,” Rivers said. London had had the greatest number of CCTV cameras per person in theworld – until the aliens had arrived and wrecked a few hundred when they’dtaken out Central London. “I’ve hadcrews working on the footage – we did manage to trace the van back to itsbase. And we got some good pictures ofthe bomber himself, but we think he had at least one accomplice. The explosives used in the blast were military-grade.”



Alan scowled. The HouseholdDivision had put up a vicious little fight in Central London – and the alienshad been certain that they hadn't rounded up all of the surviving soldiers. Some of them had been killed trying to getout of London, but others had clearly stayed inside the city – and had beenplanning to carry on the war against the aliens. He cursed them under his breath, even as hetossed a few ideas around in his head. Perhaps there was a way to escape blame for the disaster...no, thealiens wouldn't be interested in excuses. From what he’d heard, they were only interested in results.



“I assume the bomber blew himself to ****,” he said,flatly. The swearword felt good on hislips, even though he had been careful not to swear in public before allyinghimself with the aliens. The Leathernecks,as some were calling them. “What abouthis accomplice?”



“I’m afraid his ally was too careful,” Riversadmitted. “Our CCTV coverage near RegentsPark has never been what it should be – and whoever was behind the blast knewto stay out of the camera’s field of vision. The chances are good that we have some footage of the bomb-maker, but wedon't know it. At least, not yet.”



He shrugged. “Thebomber himself, we believe, was Aashif Shahid,” he continued. “He does have a file – he came to ourattention after a number of outspoken comments in the mosque about the need towage war on the Great Satan – but MI5 took a look at him and decided that hewas nothing more than a loudmouth. Noreal contacts with the radicals who could provide explosives or weapons – and nosign that he was trying to build his own. And as for why he decided to attack the aliens...?”



Alan shrugged. “Geta team out to the garage and see if you can pick up any clues that might leadto the bomb-maker,” he ordered. “Andthen draw up a list of his friends and family. I want them arrested and charged with harbouring a known terrorist...”



“With all due respect, sir,” Rivers pointed out, “thereis no evidence that anyone else knew about his plans...”



“Do it anyway,” Alan ordered, sharply. He glanced over at the alien communicator onthe table. God alone knew how it worked,but it was quite possible that the aliens were watching him at all times. Fear leaked into his voice as he spoke. “Do you want them to do it?”



Rivers met his eyes in shared understanding, if for differentreasons. The aliens could do it, allright, or they might bring in the heavy weapons. It was easy to imagine them calling downstrikes on London, blasting entire buildings to rubble just to teach theimprudent humans a lesson. And then they’dbe looking at thousands dead and God alone knew how many wounded. And it wouldn't give them a chance to trackdown the remainder of the resistance cell. And...



“See to it,” Alan ordered, quietly. “We can't risk losing control now, or wemight lose everything.”

 

Chapter Nineteen<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />



London

United Kingdom,Day 15



From a distance, the old garage looked harmless. Just another old business, struggling to stayafloat in the depression – and perhaps making questionable deals with criminalsor terrorists to keep the money rolling in. But Sergeant Terry Graves knew better than to relax. CO19 – the Central Operations SpecialistFirearms Command – had broken into terrorist bases before and, no matter howinnocent they looked, they often had unpleasant surprises waiting for unwaryarmed police officers. The irony didn'tamuse him as he beckoned the rest of the team forward, leaving two men behindto watch from a safe distance. They’dbeen sent into battle unarmed, at least without firearms. The alien ban on human firearms was stillfirmly in place.



Terry cursed silently under his breath as they creptcloser. In an ideal world, he and histeam would be fighting the aliens – and they’d had time to conceal a smallnumber of firearms around London in places they could reach them if the shithit the fan. But for the moment, theyhad no choice, apart from collaboration. And if they failed to catch the insurgents who had struck out at thealiens, the aliens would take steps of their own. Given their willingness to use indiscriminateweapons fire in the midst of the civilian population, he had no doubt just howbloody and violent their steps would be.



He held up a hand as he inspected the garage’s door. It was quite possible, judging by the blastthat had levelled an entire technical college, that they weren't dealing withwould-be terrorists at all. The moronwho’d driven the truck could have been told that he would have time to make hisescape, or maybe he’d known that he was going to die. And the person behind him, far from being aninternational terrorist, might be someone trained and armed by the BritishArmy. Terry had seen enough SAS troopersduring their cross-training sessions to dread the possibility that one of themmight have gone rogue.



The thought made him snort. From what they’d been able to pick up fromthe internet, the remains of the British military had been ordered to carry onthe fight for as long as possible. Theyweren't chasing a rogue, but someone intent on carrying out his orders andhurting the aliens until he was finally hunted down and killed. There might be an entire team of Regimentsoldiers waiting for them, or perhaps they had already vanished, leaving notraces behind. Terry envied them theirfreedom of action. His own family hadbeen moved to a place where they were being held – for their own good, ofcourse. And if he turned against thealiens, they would kill his entire family.



They seem to begetting an idea of what makes us tick, he thought, sourly. Godknows how long they were watching us from space. They don’t seem to be particularly subtle atall – do as we want or we will kill you. And if you vanish, we will kill your family...



The garage seemed deserted, but he clutched his batontightly as he pushed at the door. There wasa single click and then the door swung open, revealing a desertedinterior. It looked as if someone hadbeen busy – there were tools scattered everywhere – but they had clearlyabandoned the building. Judging from theskill shown by the bomb-maker, he’d probably assumed that the suicide bomberwould have been caught on camera and traced back to his base. Someone from the Regiment would have knownjust how the Met used the CCTV network to look backwards in time and try tolocalise a terrorist base. Or catch badparkers, for that matter.



He beckoned two other officers inside and they spreadout, checking for traps while carefully not touching anything that might carryfingerprints or DNA evidence. The pitbelow where the van had rested was deeper than he expected, suggesting that theoriginal owner of the garage must have been a very tall man. Or perhaps he’d just been an expert atscrambling out of pits. There was no signof a ladder or any other way back to the ground floor.



“In here,” one of the officers muttered. “I found papers.”



Terry followed his gaze. The back of the garage was a small office, stinking of half-eaten kebabsand burgers. Judging from the smell, thefood had to have been decomposing for several days, perhaps a week. London’s endless series of kebab houses hadbeen shutting down as supplies from outside the city tapered off, leaving thepopulation dependent upon the tasteless alien muck. It struck him as odd that an SAS soldier wouldleave contaminated food behind, but maybe it was intended to deterintruders. He certainly wouldn't have wanted to go into the office without agas mask and perhaps a flamethrower. Theforensic team were going to have to wear full NBC suits if they wanted to pullanything useful out of the room.



“Maybe they left something behind to tell us where theywere going,” the officer said. Terrydoubted it. It was rather more likelythat the garage’s owner had left the papers behind, wherever he was now. Teams of researchers were already lookingthrough the records to see what had happened to him – maybe he’d registeredwith the aliens – but Terry wasn't too hopeful that they would lead the Met tothe bomb-maker. It was far more likelythat it would be nothing more than a wild goose chase. “Or perhaps...”



He opened one of the drawers, a second before Terry couldshout out a warning. There was a secondclick, followed by a wave of fire that blasted out and into the garage. Terry yelled in pain as his skin burned, evenas he stumbled backwards trying to find the way out. The flames were spreading with terrifyingspeed, suggesting that the entire garage had been rigged to catch fire quicklyand efficiently. He felt as if he’dcaught fire himself...somehow, gasping for breath, he managed to find his wayout without falling into the repair pit. Another officer wasn't so lucky; Terry watched in horror as he fell,just before the flames roared into the pit. They seemed to be almost crawling across the ground towards thepolicemen. He heard a scream that cutoff seconds later.



Outside, he could hear the sounds of fire engines alreadyon their way. It was far too late. The flames had consumed much of the evidence,if there had ever been any evidence at all – it was, he realised grimly, a trapintended to kill a number of policemen as well as wipe the slate clean. It was clear that the bomb-maker had a nastysense of humour.



His skin still burning, he found a place to sit andwaited for the fire brigade. Somehow, hewas sure that they wouldn't find anything in the ruins of the garage. The bomber had gotten clean away.

***​

Robin glanced up at his small force of policemen. They were all wearing riot-control gear,which should provide some protection if the situation turned violent. And it might well turn violent – Londonersweren't used to seeing hundreds of people torn from their homes and transferredto detention camps, even during the terrifying days after suicide bombers hadstruck the London Underground. Peoplemight resist – and if they did, it was likely to get bloody. And they’d still been denied firearms. The aliens had promised that they would havea force on standby to help out the police if necessary, but Robin wasdetermined not to call on them. They’dkill civilians indiscriminately in the name of restoring order.



The vans pulled up outside the house and halted. Robin opened the doors and led the way outand up to the door, pressing down hard on the buzzer. A second team had been deployed to the backof the house, where it would snatch up anyone trying to climb out the rearwindow. There was a brief pause, andthen a middle-aged Asian woman opened the door, her dark eyes clearlyarmed. The police weren't very popularin this part of London, despite attempts to recruit more officers from ethnicminorities. And they were about tobecome a great deal less popular...



Robin grabbed her, frisked her with casual efficiency,and then spun her around and slapped on the cuffs. She let out a yelp of shock that became ascream when he shoved her into the arms of another policeman, who would put herout in the garden until they’d rounded up everyone in the house. Her yelp brought two teenage boys out to seewhat was going on; Robin barked at them to keep their hands where he could seethem, just before taking advantage of their shock to handcuff the leadyouth. The second tried to swing a punchat Robin, only to be sent falling to his knees when Robin slammed his batoninto his chest. He vomited, but Robinhad no time to see to his heath. As soonas the cuffs were on, he crashed onwards, into the next room. Two younger girls were cooking something thatsmelt hot and spicy; he gave them a moment to turn off the gas before cuffingboth of them and pushing them outside.



Five other policemen had clumped up the stairs, findingthree middle-aged gentlemen and an elderly lady who looked old enough to beRobin’s great-grandmother. Her ID cardclaimed that she was sixty. Thepolicemen cuffed her anyway, shouting at the men to keep them subdued as theywere hauled downstairs. Robin kicked hisway into the suicide bomber’s room, but saw little of interest apart from somepamphlets produced by radical fundamentalists calling on the Muslim communityto rise up and slaughter the infidel. Hepicked a new-looking booklet up and glanced at it, realising that thefundamentalist arseholes had demoted America from Great Satan to MiddleSatan. The aliens seemed to be the newGreat Satan, although he wasn't sure why. He’d heard that some fundamentalists were claiming that the aliens hadbombed Mecca, but as far as he’d been able to tell they’d largely ignored theMiddle East. The region was sinking intochaos after they’d smashed the military bases and left the rest of the regionto sink or swim on its own.



Outside, a crowd was already gathering. The policemen ignored them as the next set ofvans pulled up, ready to take the prisoners to the detention camp. Robin shuddered as the prisoners set off anawful racket, yelling and screaming for help from their fellow Muslims – andeveryone else in the area. He felt sickat what he was doing – the Nazis had done the same to the Jews, as well aseveryone else who’d incurred their hatred – but there was no choice. The looks some of the civilians were givinghim suggested that they wouldn’t accept his excuses, or hisself-justifications. They saw him as amonster serving an inhuman enemy.



But we’ve no choice,he wanted to shout. They can kill the entire human race.



A rock was thrown by one of the crowd, followed rapidlyby a small volley of stones, bricks and bottles. Robin ducked for cover as objects began tobounce off the side of the vans, or strike policemen. They were wearing armour, but no body armourwas totally perfect. Two of thepolicemen fell to the ground, bleeding. One of them was caught up by the advancing mob and stomped to death.



Damn you, Robinthought. Don't you know what the aliens will do to you?



He barked an order and the water cannons activated,spraying water over the advancing crowd. They staggered backwards, some of them choking for breath as the hosewas played right over their faces. Someof them seemed to have the sense to run, but others seemed far too aware thatthe police vans could only carry a small amount of water. A few minutes and they’d run outcompletely. And then they’d be forced touse the gas...



The engines roared to life and he barked orders. They’d have to leave the body of their fallencomrade behind, even though it tore at him to leave it. The only way to recover the body was to usegas – and he wasn't ready to use it unless they were in desperate straits. He watched as the remaining policemenscrambled for the vans, and then beat a hasty retreat. Absently, he wondered how the other teamswere coping. The aliens had designatedthree hundred relatives of the suicide bomber and his friends for capture. Some of them would probably be arrestedeasily, but the others...? The Islamiccommunity might hide them from the aliens.



He let out a breath he hadn't realised he’d been holdingas the vans lurched down the empty streets. They’d made it out without having to kill any of the civilians. But next time...



Next time, he was sure, it would be a different story.

***​

“I strongly suggest that you don't go any further,” aman’s voice said. “You’re already indeep ****.”



Fatima jumped. She’d been walking home from the bomb site, lost in her own thoughts –and yet surely someone should not have been able to surprise her. The streets of London weren't safe – hell,they hadn't been safe before the invasion. She had been asked to take up lodgings at one of the hospitals, butshe’d declined. There was no way toexplain it to her stepmother. Respectable girls lived in the family home until they married, whereuponthey moved to their husband’s home and found themselves slaving for theirmother-in-law.



“Don’t worry,” the man said. “I’m on your side. Call me Abdul.”



“Right,” Fatima said. She’d met men who thought that they were God’s gift to women before,brimming with unjustified confidence...but this man seemed to be more relaxedthan confident. “What’s going on...?”



She glanced around the corner and stopped, dead. There looked to be a small army of policemenoutside her house, and a growing crowd of friends, relatives and neighbourssurrounding the policemen. As shewatched, her stepmother was hauled out by two of the policemen and dumped inthe garden, her hands cuffed behind her backs. The rest of her extended family followed moments later. Fatima realised, in growing shock, that shewould have been arrested herself if she’d been in the house.



Abdul caught her arm. For once, she wasn't offended at a man touching her without aninvitation. “Walk with me,” hehissed. She could feel his breath againsther ear even though the scarf. “Pretendwe’re a married couple and walk slowly. We don’t want to attract attention.”



Behind her, Fatima heard the sound of angry shouting inthree different languages and the sound of hosepipes. She felt her heart clench inside her as theywalked away, nearly fainting when a row of police vans shot past them and downthe road at terrifying speed. Thedistrict was normally crammed with cars inching their way through the streets,but now it was empty, allowing the police to move fast. And they were taking her family away...shewanted to scream after them, but what good would it have done?



Abdul looked down at her. Oddly, she felt safe with him. “I’m afraid your...cousin managed to blow himself up earlier this morning,”he said. “The police – and theLeathernecks – identified him and marked your family down for retaliation. You’re a wanted woman now, I’m afraid. The moment you show that ID card of yours,they’ll snatch you up and put you in one of the camps.”



Fatima stared at him. “How do you know that?” Shedemanded. Something else crossed hermind. “And who are you?”



“My name is Abdul,” Abdul repeated. “And I’m part of the resistance. And now so are you.”



They reached a small apartment block, one that catered tostudents at London’s universities. Someof the students, Fatima had heard, had managed to get permission from thealiens to return home, while others had found themselves trapped in London. It seemed an odd place to hide a resistancecell, but it did make a certain kind of sense. The landlords would be used to people coming and going at all hours ofthe day and they’d turn a blind eye to certain activities. They walked up two flights of stairs andentered a small suite of rooms, clearly ones that had been abandoned in ahurry. Somehow, she was sure that Abdulhimself wasn't a student. He walked morelike a mature and experienced man of the world. The kind of man her cousins had wanted to become.



“But I can't,” she protested, finally. Her entire body was shaking. She had to be in shock, she realised. Her entire life had just fallen down aroundher. God alone knew what would happen toher family. “I can't just leaveand...I’ve got patients to see!”



“The moment you show yourself,” Abdul said, kindly, “theywill arrest you. There’ll probably be areward on your head before too long. Youcan't do anything for your patients now – the only thing you can do is getyourself arrested.”



He placed one hand on her shoulder. “We have this flat for the next fortnight, atleast,” he added. “Get a shower, have along rest – and I’ll see you tonight. You’re a doctor – the resistance could make use of you. Certainly better use than the alienscould...”



Fatima found her voice. “But what will happen to my family?”



Abdul looked, just for a second, uncharacteristicallyguilty. “I don’t know,” he admitted,“but I don’t think it will be anything good. It’s rather more likely that they will execute them – to encourage theothers, as they say. The only thing youcan do now is help us to avenge them.”



Fatima watched him go, her mind spinning. Her world had turned upside down...and shecouldn't even cry. What could she donow?

 

<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><font size="3">Chapter Twenty<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com
Near Gayhurst
United Kingdom,Day 20

“I just got the buzz,” Private Cole muttered. “The Leathernecks are on their way.”

“How unlucky for the Leathernecks,” Chris Drake mutteredback. The aliens were certainlypredicable, all right. It seemed oddthat they made mistakes that human armies had learned to avoid, but from whathe could tell, they might have good reason to believe that this particularalien routine wasn't dangerous. Therewere reports suggesting that, two days ago, several men armed with huntingrifles and shotguns had tried to take on an alien convoy. They’d been killed without harming a singlealien. “How long do we have?”

“Fifteen minutes, at most,” Cole warned. “Maybe less. They do seem to speed up from time to time.”

Chris shrugged. The alien hover-tanks moved at speeds that Challenger tanks would havefound flatly impossible. Even thesmaller armoured vehicles in the British Army – or the barely-armoured SnatchLand Rover – would have had trouble matching their speed. But human trucks and lorries were slower andthe aliens, it seemed, were willing to press human drivers into service to helptheir logistics. It stood to reason thatthey’d prefer to use human labour where possible, but it didn't seem to haveoccurred to their commanders that this meant that their convoys were slowerthan they might have preferred. Orperhaps their commanders simply didn't care. Chris had encountered a couple of senior officers who issued orders thatforced the soldiers on the ground to do more with less – and mistook the mapfor the terrain. And given that thealiens seemed alarmingly inflexible, they probably didn't give their troops onthe ground any latitude at all.

Of course, we hadto learn, didn't we? He thought tohimself. I wonder if we’ll be the lucky ones who run into an alien juniorofficer with the guts – or family connections – to do his own thing...?

The M1 motorway was one of the longest motorways inBritain, connecting London to Leeds. Ithad also been one of the busiest, at least until the aliens had arrived andmanaged to do what years of protest and campaigning by environmental freakshadn’t. Now, the motorways were almostdeserted, used only by the aliens and their collaborators. Indeed, a handful of shot-up cars signifiedthe dangers of using the motorways in a world where armed men were intent onwaging war against the occupiers. Mostfamilies were conserving what little petrol they had left for emergencies.

From his vantage point in Gayhurst Wood, he could see theeerily deserted motorway stretching away into the distance. The aliens seemed to be running regularconvoys up and down Britain’s motorway network, supplying their bases aroundBritish cities. In fact, Chris knew thata number of other attacks had been planned over the coming few days, althoughhe hadn't been given any specifics. Itwas strange to feel as if they were both isolated and connected to theresistance underground, but there was little choice. The aliens would presumably have no qualmsabout using torture to get information out of prisoners.

But we still don’tknow what they do to military prisoners, he thought, grimly. The resistance had attempted to trace theprisoners, using assets within the police forces that were serving the aliens,but they’d been unable to come up with any answers. All military personnel had been handed overto the aliens and taken away to an unknown destination. Given that the aliens ruled the entire world,it was quite possible that they’d been taken overseas, perhaps to the MiddleEast. Or maybe to Antarctica.

He pushed the thought aside as the sensor beside himstarted to bleep. They might not haveany active radars any more, but they could tell when the aliens were usingradar – and when one of their drones was heading towards their position. The aliens used drones to provide an outerlayer of security for their convoys, a trick that probably explained why they’dpicked off the civilian insurgents before they’d had a chance to spring theirambush. This time, however, things weregoing to be different.

“Get ready,” he muttered. The moment they revealed themselves, the aliens would try to cut themdown, perhaps by using something like a drone-mounted Hellfire missile. It was astonishing how advanced UAVs hadbecome in the years since 9/11. Even theTaliban hadn't been up to evading their unblinking gaze. “Engage as soon as they come into range.”

***​

Nr’ta Silick studied the live feed from the constantlyorbiting drone and relaxed, slightly. The humans were determined opponents, far tougher than anyone elsethey’d encountered at a comparable technological level, but they clearly didn'trealise how easily their movements could be monitored by the Land Forces. A handful of convoys had been hit byconcealed explosives and snipers, yet they’d never managed to take on a wholeconvoy – and never would. Their failureto develop space like any sane race left a gaping hole in their capabilities,one that a truly advanced race could use against them.

He snorted at the thought. The troopers who’d led the first landings onEarth had warned the reinforcement units that humans were sneaky, but he hadn'tseen any evidence of human sneakiness in the four days since he’d landed onEarth. Sure, they’d managed to usetreachery to kill many troopers, yet they’d also killed thousands of their ownkind. No race, even one as strange ashumanity, would carry one like that – their own kind would turn against them. And the humans who drove the trucks wereproperly loyal. They knew their place –and they also knew that any sign of disloyalty would result in their familiesbeing executed.

Earth itself was an odd world. It’s climate was rarely perfect, often beingtoo hot or too dry. The rainstormsthey’d had just after landing had been refreshing, but they’d really been toocool for proper enjoyment. It wasn't toosurprising that the local weather patterns had been screwed up – the LandForces had bombarded human bases and centres of resistance with KEWs, while theChinese humans had been insane enough to use nuclear warheads against their owncities – and the weather experts promised that it would get better soon. Indeed, they’d even pointed out thataccelerating the greenhouse effect would make the planet warmer, melt the icecaps and generally make it more habitable. He couldn't understand why so many humans seemed concerned about globalwarming. Didn’t they want a warmer world?

But the human opinion didn't matter, not now that theirworld had been absorbed into the State. They would learn to live on the reshaped world or die, while many oftheir fellows were shipped away to serve the State. And then...

He glanced down at the drone’s feed as it shrilled awarning. It was in danger! Someone was using a seeker head to targetit...he hesitated, convinced it had to be a malfunction, and then a flash oflight in the sky marked the end of drone coverage. And then the world blew up in his face.

***​

It had been surprisingly easy to gain access to the maintenancetunnels running under the motorway. Indeed, none of the soldiers could thinkwhy anyone would want thetunnels, but they’d come in handy. They’d loaded enough explosive into the tunnels to blow up half themotorway, while lurking in ambush and waiting for the aliens to respond. The destruction of their drone had been theonly risky part of the ambush Chris had planned; if the aliens had realisedthat they were driving right into a trap, they might have deployed or simplyturned back and called for reinforcements. But everything had worked perfectly...

He watched in delight as the lead alien vehicle – a tank,he suspected – literally vanished within the blast. Several human-built lorries were blown toatoms, their cargo picked up and scattered across the motorway. He heard the sound of brakes as the othervehicles struggled to come to a stop, but it was far too late. They crashed into the broken vehicles andcaught fire themselves. Two alienvehicles crammed with their soldiers managed to skim to one side and up theembankment, a display of initiative he wouldn’t have expected from theLeathernecks. Not that it was going tohelp them. He’d planned on theassumption that they wouldn't catch any of their escorts with the oversizedIED.

“Go,” he bellowed. Two Milan antitank missiles leapt towards their targets. One slammed into an alien vehicle before thealiens had a chance to dismount, blowing the vehicle and its passengers intobloody chunks. The other vehicle wasluckier, or perhaps its commander had already issued the order to dismountbefore the aliens realised that they hadn’t escaped the trap completely. Half of its passengers were already out whenit was hit and sent careering into the motorway. “Hit the bastards!”

He smiled as the two GPMGs opened fire with savageintensity, sweeping the alien positions down below. An alien tank, bringing up the rear, skimmedaround and opened fire, although it seemed that they were reluctant to riskcoming any closer. Chris couldn't blamethem. A Challenger II had been hit witha Milan and hundreds of RPGs in Iraq and survived, but few tankers would havebeen happy about driving straight up and charging into the teeth of antitankmissiles. The alien tank’s main gunfired twice, tossing high-explosive shells into the wood. Chris had to admit that it was an effectivetactic, assuming that the aliens didn't have any way to localise theirenemies. But why weren't they shootingback at the machine guns...

The alien infantry had responded with impressivespeed. Most of the survivors had takencover and were firing back, trying to force the insurgents to keep back fromthe remains of the convoy. A pair ofhuman bodies on the ground suggested that they’d killed their collaborators,perhaps assuming that one of them had betrayed them to their enemies. Or perhaps they’d been shocked and hadn'trealised that the collaborators were their allies. Chris waited long enough to be sure that allthe aliens were out and fighting, and then he barked a second order. The three L16 81mm mortars fired as one,tossing high explosive shells down into the teeth of the enemy position. Their cover was effective against bullets,but the mortar shells landed behind theircover, tearing their positions apart. The aliens appeared to be tougher than humans – they certainly hadtougher skin – yet they couldn't stand up to mortar shells landing far tooclose to them. Fire spread through theremaining vehicles as the second round of mortars was fired, just before themortar teams started breaking down the weapons. They’d been reluctant to leave ahead of the rest when the plan had beendrawn up, but Chris had been insistent. Moving a single mortar without a vehicle was difficult – artillerymenwere strong – and they'd slow the restof the unit down if they attempted to leave together.

He cursed as the alien tank reversed course and fled,denying him the satisfaction of a complete victory. Seeing it run puzzled him; whatever else onecould say about the Leathernecks, they weren't cowards. Perhaps the tank commander had thought betterof remaining close to antitank weapons, or perhaps his superiors had decidedthat it wasn't a good idea to risk losing another tank. It took far too long to produce ahuman-designed Main Battle Tank. Godalone knew how long it took the aliens.

Another series of explosions ran through what remained ofthe convoy, followed by an uneasy silence, broken only by the sound offire. Chris barked an order and his menheld fire, staring down at the wreckage. Most of them had seen action in Afghanistan, but even the Taliban hadn'tbeen able to wreck so much devastation on a British convoy. The training and equipment of Coalition forceshad given them an advantage. He lookeddown for a long moment, and then nodded to the rest of his platoon. Carefully, weapons at the ready, they headeddown towards the convoy.

Up close, there was something eerie about the alienvehicles, something that suggested that their designers worked from differentideas about how the universe worked. Their armour didn't seem to be quite up to human standards, althoughChris was uneasily aware that once they ran out of antitank missiles, it waslikely to be a great deal harder to inflict losses on the alien vehicles. He glanced inside one and saw a set ofcharred alien bodies, blackened and burned by the heat. The stench was appalling. He had to fight to keep himself from throwingup his lunch into the alien vehicle.

“Look for prisoners,” he bellowed, although he had nohope of finding any. The alien soldiershad been caught by the mortars and shredded. He moved from vehicle to vehicle, glancing inside and shaking his headat the carnage. Judging from the remainsof some of the human trucks, they’d been transporting food rather thanweapons. He couldn't blame the aliensfor being reluctant to arm their collaborators. Who knew when a collaborator might change his mind?

The final vehicle – an alien troop transport – had beentipped on its side. Most of the aliensinside were clearly dead, but one was alive – if badly wounded. A human wounded so badly would need immediatehospital treatment – he flashed back to waiting on Afghanistan’s plains for amedical chopper, knowing that the Taliban would shoot if down if they could –yet he had no idea if the alien could be saved. He met dark expressionless eyes and shivered, studying the alien’swounds as dispassionately as he could. Inky dark blood was leaking out of gashes in the leathery skin andspilling onto the ground. It didn't seemto be congealing like human blood.

“I’m sorry,” he told the alien, as he pointed hisBrowning at the alien’s face. It seemedto sigh and bow it’s head, an oddly-human motion that tore at his heart. He pulled the trigger once, putting a bulletright through the alien’s brains. Oddly,the alien skull seemed to take the shot better than a human skull. He hesitated for a moment, and then scrambledout back onto the motorway. The sound ofapproaching helicopters could be heard in the distance.

He glanced back at where they’d hidden the IED. There was now a colossal hole in themotorway, leaving a major problem for the aliens to solve if they wanted tocontinue sending trucks to London. Theirown hover-vehicles wouldn't have any problems navigating if they just shoved asmall pile of earth into the hole, but any human-designed vehicle would have tobe very careful. He scrambled up theembankment, hearing the sound of helicopters approaching from the west growinglouder. The enemy tank that had withdrawnfrom combat – although the statements on the internet would say that it hadfled – had clearly summoned reinforcements. He smiled as he saw the two helicopters finally come into view. They were moving slowly, dancing about as ifthey expected to run right into a trap of their own. Maybe they’d managed to spook an aliencommander...

“Time to go,” he said. Most of the unit had already bugged out, leaving only his platoonbehind. He did have a pair of soldierswith Stingers to cover their retreat if the aliens decided to forget cautionand come after them with everything they had. Hopefully it wouldn't be necessary. They had fewer Stingers than he would have liked. “We did good work today.”

***​

Tra’tro The’Stigdismounted from the transport and ran towards what remained of the convoy,hunting for survivors. At first glance,it seemed that there would be none, but orders from his superiors insisted thatthe effort be made. It didn't take agenius to realise that someone higher up was starting to wonder if there hadbeen too many casualties on Earth, even though it had only been a handful ofdays since they’d landed. Given a fewmonths or years, long before the first reports reached the State, they’d have poundedthe humans into submission.

Or at least forcedthem to expend their advanced weapons, he thought, ruefully. This part of the world didn't seem to be asheavily armed as some others. TheRussian humans seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of weapons, while theAmerican humans seemed to have scattered weapons everywhere. Some parts of America had been crushedwithout the need for further fighting, but other parts were too far from thepopulation centres to be brought under their control. At least Britain was small enough that thebases could support each other – although that meant less than it seemed. A planet was big.

His radio buzzed. “Report,” an insistent voice demanded. The’Stig snorted, quietly enough not to be heard. No doubt it was someone senior enough not tobe out on the front lines. “How manysurvivors have there been?”

“None,” he reported, after a moment. There was a long pause, allowing him a chanceto spy a couple of human bodies amid the wreckage. He tried to tell himself that they were humaninsurgents, but it seemed more likely that they were collaborators. The human insurgents seemed determined not toleave their bodies behind. “I cannotfind any bodies.”

“Understood,” the voice said. “Please stand by...”

The’Stig snorted again and started to issue orders to therest of his unit. They’d scout aroundand secure the area, maybe pick up on the human trail before they had a chanceto go to ground. And then maybe theycould extract a little revenge. Maybe...

Because if losing convoys became a habit, they were goingto start running short of supplies. Andif they had to start using shuttles again, they would risk losing them...

And then their ultimate victory would be in doubt.

And that wouldrisk bringing in other powers.

 

Comments would be nice...


Chapter Twenty-One<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />



London

United Kingdom,Day 21



“How many people are down there?”



“At least five thousand,” Gerald Rivers said. The Chief Constable looked uneasy. His policemen were out there, without anyweapons more dangerous than water cannons and CS gas. The aliens had forbidden weapons even forthose guarding their collaborators. “There will be more when people realise that the aliens aren’t going todo anything to stop them.”



Alan cursed. Downbelow, outside the security perimeter he’d had erected around his headquarters,thousands of protesters were gathering. The raids and arrests had galvanised large sections of London, bringingthousands of people out onto the streets. He couldn't help, but remember how crowds had toppled a number of regimesacross the Middle East – or how they’d pressured the British Government duringthe run-up to Iraq. And the crowd belowtranscended racial or religious borders. The first series of arrests might have been targeted on Islamicfamilies, but the next series had been equal-opportunity repression.



But there was nochoice, he told himself, desperately. The poorer parts of London were becoming hotbeds of resistanceactivity. Young men, men who had hadlittle hope of rising out of poverty before the invasion, were activelytargeting the police – and even the aliens themselves. A dozen had died only yesterday in the wakeof a failed petrol bomb attack on an alien patrol. And London wasn't even seeing the worst ofthe violence. Manchester had been consumedby a riot that had torn through Moss Side before the police had finally managedto restore order.



He shivered as the crowd’s chant grew louder. As an MP, he’d seen the reports from thesecurity services on radical trouble-makers who enjoyed infiltrating protestmarches and causing havoc. A number withties to London’s criminal underworld were down there, arming the protesterswith gas masks and even crude weapons. There might even be resistance fighters with the crowd, ready to takeout a handful of collaborators. And whatwould the aliens do, he asked himself, if the crowd broke into his headquartersand lynched him? Perhaps they’d simplysit back and drop rocks on the crowd, thrashing the survivors intosubmission. Or...there were too manypossibilities and none of them were pleasant.



“Give us back our children,” the crowd demanded. “Give us back our wives!”



The roar grew louder as the words spread. It was simple enough to understand; dozens ofwives and children, apparently innocent, had been swept up by the raids. No one knew what had happened to them, atleast no one outside the alien garrison where Ten Downing Street had oncebeen. Alan knew that they’d been takenoutside the city, but then...? Thealiens had refused to tell him anything, which suggested that they might simplyhave been killed.



But that didn’t make sense either, he tried to tellhimself. What was the point of punitiveexecutions if they didn't inform the country that they’d been carried out? But the aliens were aliens and something thatmade sense to them might appear strange to the human mindset...he looked downat the crowd again and shuddered. He’dwanted power, hadn't he? And yet he wasquailing at the thought of what he would have to do to keep hold of that power, to keep the population under control andthe aliens happy...



He looked up at Rivers. “Disperse the crowd,” he ordered, sharply. “Get rid of them. Now.”

***​

Robin felt sweat trickling down his back as the noisegrew louder. The crowd had blurred intoa single mass of humanity, screaming and shouting all along thebarricades. Robin knew that if theydecided to push forward, a lot of people were going to be hurt. Mobs lost all sense of proportion orcivilisation; if they caught a policeman, he was likely to be trampled todeath. And if individuals wanted to getaway from the mob, they would find it very difficult, almost impossible. The mob mentality sucked in individuals andturned them into mindless automatons.



And yet, part of him wanted to throw away his uniform andjoin them. The mob was right – they had arrested hundreds of people withoutdue cause. Sure, some of them haddeserved arrest – one firebrand preacher deserved worse, but the pre-invasiongovernment had been reluctant to take the political flak for arresting him –but others were innocent, their only crime being related to the suicide bomberand his friends. And some had beenscooped up for no reason that he could see. They’d become worse than the Nazis in a far shorter space of time – andto think that the Met had once prided itself on its ethics. How far were they willing to go tocollaborate.



He glanced behind him, seeing the same doubts written onthe faces of his fellows. Some of them,at least, had been reluctant to follow orders and even join the police forceblocking the way to the building housing the collaborating government. Others, on the other hand, seemed almostdelighted at the prospect of violence, the ones who had learned to hate protestmarches during the summers of rage, where it had been politically impossible tohand out the thrashing many of the protesters had deserved. They’d never done a day’s work in their life,they’d argued, and yet they deserved to be fed and clothed at taxpayer’sexpense. Many policemen had littlesympathy for protesters. If they put theenergy they put into their protests into bettering themselves instead, theywould actually find that there were other options than permanently living onthe dole.



But they had their orders. The crowd had to be dispersed. Even now, other policemen would be setting upbarriers, using them to push the crowd back and block off several lines ofretreat. They’d be forced away from thebuilding complex, pushed all the way back to where they’d come from – and anywho tried to fight back would be arrested. Or at least that was the plan. Robin knew that many of the protesters would have come armed, intent onpicking a fight – or merely intent on preventing a humiliating retreat. And the police had been denied firearms. The protest organisers might be better armedthan themselves.



He braced himself as the loudspeaker crackled on. “ATTENTION,” the speaker said, loudly enoughto be heard over the crowd. “THIS IS ANILLEGAL GATHERING. YOU ARE ORDERED TODISPERSE. YOU ARE ORDERED TO DISPERSE.”



The crowd started throwing objects towards the policelines. There had been no order, as faras Robin could see, merely a shared desire to hit back at thecollaborators. Some of them werethrowing rotten fruit and vegetables, others were throwing stones and emptybottles. Those made him wince,remembering the petrol bombs that had been thrown at the aliens had even somepolicemen. If they’d been filled withpetrol and set alight...no flames enveloped the police lines and he allowedhimself a moment of relief. A handful ofpolicemen had been injured, but their comrades were already helping them backtowards the emergency treatment centre they’d established in the corporategym. Robin hadn't been able to believejust how many amities they’d managed to fit inside their buildings. It was a wonder that they ever went home forthe night.



There was a hiss as water cannons came on, sprayingfurious gusts of water towards the protestors. The water was drawn from the mains, this time, providing a nearlyinfinite source of freezing cold liquid. Many protestors, drenched to the bone, would have thought better ofbeing in the protest moments after they’d been hit, but the ones behind themwouldn't let them retreat. The waterstarted to push them back, sending many protesters falling to the ground asthey tried to seek shelter from the water. He allowed himself to hope that they'd succeeded in breaking theprotest...



He saw the objects flying through the air before he quiterealised what they were, too late. Thegrenades detonated beside the water cannons, blowing them and their operatorsapart in brilliant explosions. A greatblast of water roared into the sky, leaving drops falling on police andprotesters alike....the protesters howled and roared forward like a singleliving entity. He caught sight of youngteenage girls caught up in the crush and felt a moment of pity, until theylunged forward at the police. Thepolicemen fell back as their lines fell apart; it wasn't until he happened toglance towards where the Captain had been that he realised that someone had shot him. There was a sniper on one of the surroundingbuildings, picking off the police commanders one by one. They hadn't even heard the shot over thesound of angry protesters scenting victory.



“Fall back,” Robin yelled. The police lines were wavering. Few had been really enthusiastic about facingthe protesters and it was clear that they were losing control. Several policemen with only a few monthsexperience had taken to their heels and fled. “Get back to the second lines, now...”



The mob surged forward and he found himself facing ayoung man with a shaven head and a pair of knuckledusters. He lashed out with his baton, sending the mancrumpling to the ground, before the protesters trampled over his victim andkept coming. It was all he could do toback away slowly, rather than turning and joining the others in flight. He'd never faced such a situation in hisentire life. Behind him, he heard thesound of gas being deployed and grasped his mask. He’d had one sniff of the gas during trainingand that had been quite enough. Butsomehow he doubted that it would be enough to stop the protesters...



His nerve broke and he turned, running for dearlife. The next set of lines might beenough to stop them, or it might fall...and then the protesters would be ableto pour into the buildings and rip the core of the collaborator governmentapart. And then the aliens would have togovern London on their own.



Somehow, he didn't think they would let it get so far.

***​

“Get everyone up to the helipad,” Rivers ordered. Alan barely heard him. The attempt to disperse the protesters hadfailed badly, not least because someone was clearing their way, picking offpolice commanders. He found himselflooking at the other buildings, wondering which one held the sniper – orsnipers. There might well be more thanone. “Sir, we have to evacuate thisbuilding.”



As a child, Alan had been frightened of heights andreluctant to enter tall buildings. Thatold fear came back to him as the building shook, suggesting that the protesterswere breaking in through gates that were supposed to be sealed. Perhaps the police had fallen backdeliberately, allowing the lynch mob a chance to gain entry and wipe out thecollaborator government. He looked overat Rivers, wondering if the Chief Constable had ambitions to take over, beforedismissing the thought. Rivers couldhave turned the police against him without needing to stage a riot.



“Come on, sir,” Rivers said, catching him by the arm andhalf-dragging him towards the door. TheCEO who’d owned the building had placed a helipad on top of the massiveskyscraper, allowing him to fly in and out each morning without having to drivethrough London. Alan’s government hadplanned to use it to keep certain movements out of the public eye. “We don’t know how long it will be beforethey get up here.”



Alan nodded, trying to remain dignified. It wasn't easy. “Where are we going?”



“The only place we can,” Rivers said. “One of the alien garrisons outside thecity. And pray to God that they’re notfeeling trigger-happy today.”



Outside, on the roof, a gust of wind almost sent Alan tohis knees. The entire building wasshaking, as if it was on the verge of being blown over. Somehow, with help from Rivers and one of hismen, he managed to climb into the helicopter and close his eyes. His entire body was shaking with fear. The sound of the engines grew louder and thenhe felt the helicopter lurch into life. Itseemed to hop into the air, falling back for a heart-stopping moment beforesettling out and heading away from the building. Alan opened his eyes and stared down at thecrowd below.



It struck him, suddenly, that the resistance might havehidden an antiaircraft team nearby, that they might have staged the entireprotest to catch him when he was vulnerable. He opened his mouth to insist that they landed at once, before realisingthat the pilot wouldn't be able to hear him over the noise of the engines. Instead, he stared out at London, feeling theold fear crawling through his heart. Ifthey were shot down, there would be no hope of survival...



London was burning. He could see plumes of smoke from where rioters were looting shops inthe richer part of town, while the crowd of savage humanity seemed to have noend. It was easy to imagine what wasgoing on down there, the frenzy of the lower classes as they worked out theirclass anger on defenceless targets. Andthen they would become savages, looting, raping and burning their way throughLondon. He felt anger pushing away hisfear as the helicopter banked away and headed westwards, up towards the alienpositions around the city. How dare they lift a hand against him?

***​

Tra’tro The’Stighad to fight down his fear as he dismounted, alarmingly close to the mob ofhumanity thronging through the area. There were thousands of thecreatures, yelling and screaming as they raged against their leaders, againstthe few who had been smart enough to realise that they were beaten. The whole idea of a protest march was aliento those who served the State – surely, even the humans could not be so foolishas to allow protests from their juniors to shape policy. The’Stig, still in command of the mixedremains of several units, felt nothing, but contempt. Didn’t these humans have the wit to know whenthey were beaten? Didn't they know thatfurther resistance would only result in a great many deaths for absolutelynothing?



Behind him, more troop transports and tanks had arrived,bringing a large and powerful force right to the heart of the collaboratorgovernment. From what they’d heardthrough the grapevine – officially, they were only told what they needed toknow, as determined by their superior officers – the rioting humans weretearing through the offices owned and operated by the collaboratorgovernment. The’Stig wasn't sure whatthey hoped to achieve. The computerrecords that detailed all of the registered humans weren't stored with thehuman government, but outside the cities at the Land Force Base. Even if they burned down the entire area,they would achieve nothing more than irritating the Command Triad. And they weren't even going to get that far.



He hefted his weapon and took aim into the mass ofhumanity. They seemed to become aware ofhim at the same moment, changing to lunge towards the troopers and theirarmoured vehicles. It was absurd. What possible harm could they do to armouredvehicles? Sure, some human antitankweapons could inflict harm on the tanks, but they had none. The only weapons they had were sticks andstones, which might harm the troopers on the ground, yet they wouldn't beenough to win. If they were smart, theywould have realised that they were beaten and surrendered.



The machine guns mounted on the tanks opened fire,directly into the mob. Bright red bloodseemed to splash everywhere as the bullets, designed to punch through thickerskin than humanity’s, tore through the mass of humanity. He saw human bodies disintegrate under theassault, coming apart and falling in a sickening pile of flesh. It wasn't war, but a bloody slaughter. In seconds, hundreds of humans had beenkilled. The few survivors were screamingin pain, abandoned by the few who were able to run for their lives. The’Stig winced as the orders to advance camein through his headpiece, sending him forward. His feet seemed to slip on the blood-stained pavement, blood splashingeverywhere. The handful of woundedhumans were too badly injured to help, even if the Land Force had been inclinedto assist humans too stupid to know not to charge tanks with sticks andstones.



Bit by bit, they cleared the human mob away. Panic was settling in, with thousands ofhumans running for their lives, abandoning others to the tender mercy of theadvancing forces. He saw a handful ofpolicemen, wearing the uniforms they’d been told to respect, staring at thetroopers, their faces pale with horror. Hadn't they realised what was going to happen? The’Stig slipped on another patch of bloodand stared down at the young human who had lost his upper body. A life had been wasted when he’d chosen tojoin a futile and pointless protest march.



He snorted in disdain. And it had all been so futile. Didn’t the humans have the sense to know when they were beaten? He couldn't feel proud of what they’ddone. They hadn’t fired on the deadlyhumans, the ones who had been ambushing convoys and sniping at Land ForceBases. Instead, they’d killed thousandsof humans who might have been useful, if they’d had some sense knocked intotheir heads instead of simply being slaughtered. The State would understand what they’d done,but would others? Even he didn't want togo through it again.



His radio buzzed. “Clear the plaza,” the order came from above. “We’re bringing in prisoners to clear awaythe bodies. Others will dig a pitoutside the city where they can be dumped.”



The’Stig snorted, again. Higher authority seemed stunned too. Who knew? Perhaps they would beso stunned that they’d change their tactics. Stranger things had happened.

 

<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><font size="3">Chapter Twenty-Two<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com


North England

United Kingdom,Day 25



“We can't go on like this!”



Gabriel couldn't face the television set. For the last four days, the BBC had beenbroadcasting images from the riot in London – and its bloody end. Alien tanks firing directly into the crowd,alien soldiers crushing human skulls under their armoured feet, hundreds oforange-suited prisoners clearing away the bodies and piling them into trucks,the bodies being dumped into massive pits outside the city...the images werefirmly burned into his mind. Nothing inBritain's history, at least that he could recall, matched the sheer horror thealiens had unleashed. God alone knew howmany humans had been killed in the riot. The BBC claimed that no alienshad been killed, or even injured.



The news had shocked the country. From what few reports Gabriel believed fromthe BBC, there had been other riots in Newcastle, Glasgow, Edinburgh andBirmingham. The aliens, however, hadmanaged to cow most of the rioters; their soldiers had quelled the other riotsby their mere presence. Most of theinsurgency had slipped back to IEDs and attacks on collaborators and alienpatrols, although much of it seemed to be random violence. It helped that almost all human communitieshad a common enemy in the Leathernecks. Violent groups that ran the political spectrum from neo-Nazis to Islamicfundamentalists and ecological pressure groups were actually working togetherto bleed the aliens.



But the country was bleeding too. The BBC was heavily censored these days,controlled by the collaborator government, but enough was leaking through toworry Gabriel. People were starving,families had been shattered...each disaster might have been tiny, on a planetaryscale, but they added up to untold misery. Britain wasn't supposed to be like that, he told himself, even duringthe Blitz they’d been spared the suffering inflicted on continental Europe bythe Nazis. Britons saw disasters ontelevision and donated money to help the dispossessed. They didn't suffer disasters themselves. He’d once read a book where an extinctvolcano in Edinburgh had come back to life, forcing British emergency servicesto cope with the disaster. They hadn'tdone a very good job.



He sat back in his chair, trying to think. How could they convince the aliens toleave? But the aliens only seemed torespect force – and the entire human race hadn't been able to convince them toback off. Barely a month ago, the UnitedStates had been so far ahead of the rest of the world that it could do almostanything it liked. It was now invadedand occupied, the massive aircraft carriers that had given the Royal Navy fitsof envy sunk by rocks dropped from orbit. Russia and China had been crushed, the Chinese suffering the effects of theirown nuclear weapons as well as alien KEW strikes. And Europe...



The latest reports, such as they were, suggested thatEurope was suffering from famine. Franceand Germany, the two powerhouses of the European Union, had been crippled, thecontinent-wide distribution network for food breaking down under the pressureof the alien offensive. Eastern Europehad attracted less attention from the aliens, with the result that millions ofrefugees were thronging through the countryside, desperately seeking a safetythat no longer existed. The war inBosnia had restarted, with a dozen different groups trying to exterminate theirenemies before the aliens decided to intervene. But why would the aliensbother to intervene? Their human enemieswere killing themselves off nicely.



And all he could do was sit and watch as his country wastaken apart. He stared around thelibrary, at the old books lovingly collected by the library’s owner, and cursedhimself for his weakness. His positionas Prime Minister was meaningless in all, but name. Even if he were to issue orders, it wasuncertain how many people would even hear them, let alone obey. The resistance seemed to be held togethervery loosely, if at all. He’d beenassured that it was the only way to prevent the aliens from uncovering them allif they captured men from one particular cell, but it still felt flimsy tohim. How long would it be before theresistance became nothing more than bandits?



A month. That wasall it had been – and it felt as if he had been cooped up in his gilded cageforever. He thought, briefly, about thesoldiers on the outside, providing security for his august person...did theyfeel resentment or relief that they were out of the fight? And how long would they stay out of the fight? Thecollaborators had offered a hefty reward for anyone who brought them Gabriel’shead, preferably not attached to his body. He wasn't blind to the advantages the aliens would gain from having thelegitimate Prime Minister as a collaborator, although he suspected that theywouldn’t find him as useful as they would have expected. The slaughter in London would have destroyedwhatever legitimacy the collaborator government had once enjoyed.



But what could they do? The aliens held control over the highorbitals – if worst came to worst, they could pull out of London – or any othercity – and drop rocks on it from orbit. He thrilled to the stories of ambushes and IEDs planted in positionswhere the aliens would run over them, but they could never force the aliens toretreat and abandon Earth. And whatwould happen if the aliens decided to simply exterminate the human racealtogether?



Alone in the library, Gabriel continued to worry. He wanted to do something, to take a stand,but what could he do? His onlycontribution to the resistance was a second video, one condemning the aliensfor the slaughter in London and calling on all loyal British citizens to jointhe fight. And how many of them wouldhear him and die because they’d listened to a Prime Minister skulking in ahole?



But what else could he do?

***​

“There’s a great deal about this we don’t understand,”Linux said. Brigadier GavinLightbridge-Stewart – who was, as far as he knew, the senior surviving Britishmilitary officer – nodded. Computersmight have been extremely useful, but he didn't pretend to understand what wenton inside them. “But the alien computernetwork is actually surprisingly primitive.”



Gavin gave him what he hoped was an encouraginglook. Linux – and his friends – hadn'tjoined the army in the traditional manner, let alone worked their way throughthe Combat Infantryman’s Course at Catterick. They’d been computer hackers who’d gotten their kicks by breaking intosecure databases, at least until they’d been caught and offered a blunt choicebetween working for the government or spending a number of years in jail. They did have some sense of socialresponsibility, yet they had no sense at all of military etiquette. It was sometimes refreshing to chat to them,but not now. The entire country wasunder enemy occupation.



“It seemed so odd that we were convinced they werescrewing with our minds,” Linux continued, cheerfully. “They can travel faster-than-light, theirstarships are several kilometres long and they clearly have at least some formof antigravity system – their shuttles couldn't fly without something alongthose lines. And yet they are oddlyprimitive in some areas. Their precisionweapons aren't very precise and their computer networks are surprisinglycrude.”



Gavin nodded, although he had his own theories aboutalien precision weapons. From what theycould see, the aliens seemed less inclined to worry about accidentally hittingtheir own troopers as well as enemy positions – and they showed a frighteninglack of concern for civilian casualties. If they hadn't had the political impetus to design smarter and smarterweapons, maybe they simply hadn't bothered. Besides, the aliens didn't seem to bother with inventing justificationsfor their invasion of Earth. They’dcome, they’d seen – and they’d invaded.



“They do have wireless networks comparable to our own,but their security technology is several generations behind ours,” Linuxcontinued. Two SAS men had slipped closeto a major alien base to establish a passive listening post linked directly tothe resistance’s computer geek headquarters. They’d been monitoring alien traffic ever since. “One thing we can confirm is that the aliensare definitely top-down commanders. Orders flow down from the starships or the command base in London andthe poor grunts on the ground do as they’re told.”



He grinned. “Ittook a week to find a way to slip into theirnetworks, but we’re finally starting to pull files out from their systems forexamination elsewhere,” he added. “Westumbled across another puzzle almost at once. Our translation software isn't very good, but theirs seems to be betterthan ours – even though their computers are less capable. But it isn’t as good as it could be.”



Gavin frowned, considering the puzzle. The aliens hadn’t done much with the civilianpopulation, but one thing they had done was take over a number ofcomputer-related colleges and research labs. If the alien computers were primitive, maybe they were intent onabsorbing human technology into their own society. But why were they primitive in the firstplace? Gavin could accept that theywouldn't be so concerned with producing precision weapons, yet why didn't theyhave superior computers? They certainlyshould have possessed computers equal to mankind’s best designs.



“One of the programs we pulled out and studied wasdefinitely designed for English,” Linux informed him. “The others, however, aren’t for anyrecognisable language. You’d think theycould speak French or Russian or Chinese, but they don’t seem to have programsfor those translations. I assume thatthey might not bother to outfit a force landing in Britain with such systems,yet it’s an odd oversight...”



“Very odd,” Gavin agreed. It struck him a moment later. “There are other aliens out there!”



“So it would seem,” Linux said. “At least six, unless the translationprograms are for other Leatherneck languages. We have different languages on Earth – why shouldn't they have somethingcomparable on their worlds. Unfortunately, we were unable to locate any files on the other alienraces. But we’re still looking. I’m afraid they didn't bother to design anysearch engines for their computer networks.”



“Or maybe you haven’t found those yet,” Gavin said. “Tell me something. Can you alter their files? Twist the data they’re gathering on ourpeople? Slip records into theregistries...?”



“I don’t think so,” Linux admitted. “I told you the system was crude – well, it’svery crudeness provides some protection from people like me. We can read the files – hell, we’ve managedto download terabytes of data we can study without having to remain linked totheir network – but altering them would certainly be noticed. Their core memory systems are ROM – ah, ReadOnly Memory. We can’t change themwithout physical access to the system.”



“Which we’re not likely to get,” Gavin agreed. He patted the young man on the back. “Good work.”



“The intelligence staff are working their way through thedump,” Linux added. “They’re finding itslow going – if there is a listing or filing system, it isn't one that werecognise. It used to be possible tolose files inside computer networks unless one happened to know its preciselocation. I have a feeling that theirsuperior officers probably have their own files concealed from everyoneelse. Who knows? Maybe they all gather dirt on their fellowsfor advancement.”



“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me more about theirsociety,” Gavin admitted. “I don’tsuppose you pulled something like Wikipedia out of their database?”



“I don’t think they’d want Wikipedia if they couldsupport it,” Linux said. “Or Google, forthat matter. Or any of the othercomputer programs that put power in the hands of the users, rather than systemsadministrators and the big corporations...”



“I think they have more problems right now,” Gavin said,dryly. He had a relative who had workedfor Google Ireland. The Leathernecks hadlargely ignored Ireland, apart from bombarding its military bases and destroyingthe fragile truce between Ireland’s various factions. After the remaining British soldiers had beenpulled out, Ireland had degenerated into fighting between different factions,with thousands of refugees trying to make it to Britain. Perhaps the aliens would intervene if theythought there was something in Ireland worth taking. Or maybe they had too many other problems ontheir hands. “What can we do with theaccess we have? And can they block usout if they realise that we've hacked their systems?”



“I rather doubt they can block us unless they’re willingto cripple their networks,” Linux said. “But if they do have enemies out there, they may have security tricks wehaven't seen ourselves. Maybe theirenemies have a cunning plan to hijack their wireless computer networks andrender their fleets helpless. And thensexy androids will rule the galaxy.”



He saw Gavin’s face and cleared his throat. “Sorry, anyway...we may be able to piggybackon their network to send messages to our own people,” he added. “And seeing that they all radiate wirelesssignals, we could probably start tracking their movements. Or...we could rig up a sensor and link it toan IED. When the signals reach the rightintensity, they trigger the IED and it explodes in their face. Or...”



Gavin held up a hand. “Good thinking,” he said. “Let meknow if there’s anything else we can do...”



Linux hesitated. “It might be possible for usto interfere with the network,” he said. “We might be capable of taking it down completely for short periods oftime, cutting their small detachments off from higher authority. The result would be absolute chaos...butthey'd know what we’d done. God aloneknows how they’d react.”



“I see,” Gavin said. “I’ll have to give that some thought.”



He scowled. Afterthe slaughter in London, they needed to find a way to hit back at the aliens,one that would convince them that slaughtering humans would draw a massiveresponse. But how could they do thatwithout revealing what few aces they had in their hand? And what if the aliens decided to destroy theentire human race in response?

***​

“Panda Cola,” the logistics officer said. He tossed a can at Chris, who caught itneatly and scowled down at the label. “All kept nice and cool for our gallant fighting men.”



“Piss off,” Chris said. Panda Cola was included in the British Army’s Horror Bags – the packedlunches that were served to soldiers on duty. It was generally believed that it was produced by forcing a Panda todrink ordinary Coke, then bottling their urine and passing the cans tosoldiers, who would then have to drink the foul liquid. Chris had heardduring his training that the Ministry of Defence allocated 47p to procuringeach can of Panda Cola, which raised the question of precisely what happened tothe remaining 42p. “You’d think we couldget better rations now we’re living off the land.”



He scowled around the resistance base. Calling it a base was really too much; they’dbuilt shelters under the trees, trenches just in case the aliens stumbled overtheir position and a latrine some distance from the sleeping rolls. Some units, he’d heard, were living incivilian homes, but the aliens were getting better at running random patrolsthrough seemingly-deserted hamlets. Thebase was safer, apart from the possibility of poisoning themselves by drinkingarmy-issue Coke. He opened the can,braced himself and took a swallow. Ittasted just as bad as he remembered.



“At least we’re eating rabbits,” one of the othersoldiers pointed out. It was true;hunting skills they’d been taught were actually coming in handy. The woodland was full of small animals andvegetation that could be eaten, although they were being very careful with themushrooms. If one of the soldiersmanaged to poison themselves, they wouldn't be able to get them propertreatment. “We could be eating that foulmuck they served us in Edinburgh.”



“I told you that you should have taken the pizza,” hisfriend pointed out. Chris felt a pangfor the comrades he’d lost in London. They’d all been jammed together from various units that hadn't made itout intact, but some of them had known each other beforehand. “When has the Army ever fed us well?”



Chris snorted. TheArmy Chefs – the Ration Assassins – had the hardest training course in theBritish Army. It had to be – no one had everactually managed to pass, or so the soldiers joked amongst themselves. Now, he almost missed them, even though freshrabbit stew was surprisingly tasty. Despite himself, he found himself wondering how they were going to copewhen winter finally came along. It wouldbe much harder to find food then – and the aliens, the crafty buggers, werebeing careful about what they doled out to the civilians. It would be easy to see if certain civilianswere eating more than they should.



He pushed the thought aside, remembering the horrorstories that had floated up from London. They’d have to make the aliens pay for that, but how? It had to be something spectacular...absently,he remembered the interior of the alien vehicles. Humans probably couldn't drive them withoutmajor effort. But they did havecollaborators driving their vehicles...



Slowly, a plan started to come together in his mind. It would be risky as hell, but they were usedto that by now. And they might just havea chance to inflict major damage on an alien base. Perhaps they could even shatter the ring ofsteel around London.



Absently, he reached for a notepad and started jottingdown ideas. The pad would have to bedestroyed, of course, but by then he should have a solid concept. They’d have to link up with other units. They couldn't do it alone. He smiled to himself. It would be good to know that they weren'talone.



And the aliens were in for a very unpleasant surprise.

 

ChapterTwenty-Three<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />



Command Base

United Kingdom,Day 27



By long tradition, each separate Land Forces Commanderwas expected to remain within his Area of Responsibility until relieved ofcommand. The Command Triad, on the otherhand, was supposed to remain on their starships, a legacy of the time when aprimitive race managed to kill the Command Triad in charge of subduing theirworld and wreck havoc while their subordinates were still bickering over whowas in command. No one seriouslyexpected other powers to send starships to Earth, while humanity had no abilityto reach the command starships in orbit. The Command Triad were therefore isolated from the dangers onEarth.



Ju’tro Oheghizhwatched as the teleconference slowly came into being. Each of the Land Force Commanders would linkinto the conference from their bases on the ground, while the Command Triadwould attend from orbit. Given what they’duncovered about human computer systems, it seemed likely that the whole processwould be improved in the next few years, once the human technology wasunderstood and integrated into the State. The humans seemed largely unaware of the potential of their own technology,but no one could deny their skill. Theywould make a very useful client race in the coming decades, serving as soldiers,technicians and inventors. The Statewould grow far more powerful.



“It has been one local month since we established ourselveson Earth,” Tul’ma Jophuzu said. The Land Forces Commander had taken the lead,as was right and proper. His formationswere the ones mainly engaged on Earth. “Thehumans have proved a more capable foe than we expected, but we have successfullytaken and kept vast swaths of their territory.”



The display lit up on his command. There were enclaves on both sides of the Americancontinent, smaller enslaves across Europe, Russia and Australia – and enslavesscattered over Britain. Oheghizh allowedhimself an interior sneer. His commandmight be smaller than the enclaves in America or Europe, but it was far morepromising in the long run. Besides, the Americanhumans seemed to keep fighting even when the situation was hopeless. They even seemed to have two guns per adulthuman. The only other place that had putup such a fight was Switzerland and the mountainous country had been bombardedinto submission after the first landings had been repulsed with heavylosses. It would be a long time beforethey recovered. If only because no one was interested in helping them.



“The plans for the final disposition of their military personnelare already under way,” the Land Forces Commander continued. “They will serve us on other worlds – and bekept separate from wild humans who could learn from their skills. However, our other plans to use Earth as asource of knowledge and technology have been crippled.”



Oheghizh kept his face blank and his body still, refusingto show any emotion. He’d hoped to pushforward the schedule for assimilating human technology into the State, but hisdreams had vanished when the human suicide bomber – a tactic that made littlesense to him – had destroyed the technical college. There were others, of course, but now he hadto divert resources to protect the human computer experts and their families –which risked allowing the humans a chance to deduce one of the State’sweaknesses. The humans had moreexperience in using their technology than the State. They had probably invented thousands ofdifferent ways to use computers as weapons.



Va’tro Nak’takspoke from his position. “We may havemisunderstood human social psychology,” he said. “Humans are a contradictory bunch. Some humans will see us as terrifying andwill submit to us without hesitation. Their fear, however, will make them less useful than we might havehoped. Some humans will refuse to allowus to cow them and will continue the fight, at least until they are killed incombat. We cannot expect any form ofsubmission from them – and we couldn’t trust it if we got it. Some humans will just try to live their livesas if we didn't exist, doing whatever it took to survive. We have been unable to put together any explanationfor their psychology.



“Unfortunately, it seems that humans are often contemptuousof those who see sense and choose to submit to superior force. The humans who agree to work with us, oftheir own free will, are hated by their fellow humans and often targeted bythem. We have seen collaboratorsattacked in many different countries, suggesting that the disdain forsubmission is a common human trait. Theyseem far more understanding of those we force into collaboration – by holdingtheir families hostage – but there are fine lines that we do notunderstand. Rather than work towardssecuring themselves positions within the State, humans will continually lashout at the State.



“Worse, a number of the collaborators are considered...deviantby human standards. Some of them havesexual tastes for young humans who have not yet reached sexual maturity, tasteswhich we have allowed them to indulge. The vast majority of humans, however, regard the protection of childrenas a duty and recoil in horror at what we have permitted to occur. This horror has certainly fuelled manyattacks on us.”



Oheghizh snorted, along with many others. The idea of a race that seemed to bepermanently in mating season wasn't new, but the humans took it toextremes. It wasn't too surprising thatthey’d drawn up sexual customs that looked strange to alien eyes, or that thosewho defied those customs were hated by their peers. But they made little sense. Among the Eridian, a female who entered matingseason would be considered sexually mature – and outside mating season, therewould be no sexual contact between males and females. The children of the mating, assuming that onetook place, would be raised by the females. There were few permanent sexual bonds between male and female – but theycertainly existed among the humans. Manyof the humans who had launched suicidal attacks had claimed to be acting in thename of a dead mate.



“In the long term, we expect that the humans willeventually be ground under and reshaped into proper servants of the State,” Va’tro Nak’tak said. “However, we may always have to makeallowances for their alien natures. TheState may have to devise new rules for them.”



There was a pause. “The human sexual nature rears its head whenever male and female humansare put together. It even appears whensome humans have a sexual attraction to their own sex, something unknown amongus, but very common to the Paklet. Indeed,some human sects appear to consider females useless for anything other thanbreeding more humans, even though it is clearly inaccurate. The Paklet, however, do not have intelligentmales. Their emotional connections areforged with other females.



“For humanity, we will need to create new rules. We have already started segregating humans inour detention camps by sex. It is quitelikely that we will have to rein in our collaborators, if only to prevent usbeing tarred by the same brush – as the humans would put it...”



Tul’ma Jophuzusnorted. “We can make concessions totheir nature once they have submitted,” he said, flatly. “We have crushed their defences and raidwhere we will, yet they do not submit in large numbers. How do we force them to submit?”



“In the long term, they will submit,” Va’tro Nak’tak said, flatly. “We must simply continue to hold our groundand refuse to abandon territory on Earth. They need to be constantly reminded that all of their attacks have notforced us to withdraw – and that we will never withdraw. They’ll submit in the long run.”



“The longer we wage war on this planet, the greater thechance that one of the other powers will intervene,” A’tar Esuxam said. The SpaceForces Commander lifted one clawed hand to stroke his leathery chin. “We may have claimed this system by right ofconquest, but we don’t have the firepower to keep a raiding force out if theywanted to hit us – or the coverage to prevent them slipping help to the humanson the surface. And if they realise whata treasure trove we’ve found here, they will be very tempted to intervene.”



Oheghizh couldn't disagree. Humanity wasa treasure trove, even if some of their decisions made little sense to aproperly rational race. Their imaginationssuggested all kinds of interesting weapons and tactics – and their computerswould go a long way towards evening the balance between the State and severalof its peer powers. Those powers wouldn'thesitate to intervene on Earth if they realised the danger – and the humanswould certainly seek to make deals with them if they could. The enemy of my enemy, they said, is myfriend.



“We need to tighten our grip on their planet,” Tul’ma Jophuzu said. “I want all resistance crushed before theyhave a chance to find help from outside the system.”



That, Oheghizh thought in the privacy of his own head,would be easier said than done. Humanityjust didn't respond like a rational race, which raised the question of how they’dever managed to develop atomic weapons without blowing themselves and theirworld into radioactive debris. Some ofthe observers had seen human claims of alien contact and wondered if someonemight have been covertly assisting humanity’s development, but the starships hadn'tpicked up any signs that anyone else might have visited the system. But how else could one explain a developmentthat defied all of the understood rules?



They’re alien,he reminded himself. They might play by different rules.

***​

The Land Force Base near the human city of London wasimmense. It had been built on top of ahuman air force base, once the ground had been swept for hidden surprises, andsimply expanded outwards. Three fencesprevented human insurgents from getting into the base itself, while the outeredge was patrolled regularly by elite infantry units. A series of drones floated high overhead,backed up by attack helicopters and strike fighters. It should have been impregnable.



Tra’tro The’Stigwalked across the human runway and up to the prefabricated building. Two guards checked his identity beforeallowing him to proceed, even though no human could have disguised himself tolook like an Eridiani. The very thoughtwas absurd, but the humans were full of nasty surprises. It was better to be paranoid than dead.



The interior of the building felt pleasantly warm anddamp to his skin, a change from the cold breezes outside. There were parts of Britain where it neverseemed to stop raining, but the rain was always cold and uncomfortable. Even the humans seemed to find it unpleasant,which didn't stop them from using the rain to cover their movements. The interior was also large enough for him tomove freely, without needing to worry about holes torn in human walls or tinyhumans lurking in holes too small for an adult Eridiani. It was definitely better than staying in oneof the human buildings that had been adapted for their purposes. He saw a pair of females and concealed a wrysmile. The seniors were making sure thatthey were in the right place when the females entered their matingseasons. If he’d smelt the scent thatmarked a female in heat, he would have fought any other male – superior or not –who tried to prevent him from mating with her. Outside mating season, it was a matter of amusement rather thanirritation.



He stepped into the office and thumped his chest with onehand, claws sheathed. Ju’tro Oheghizh was far superior to hislowly position, which made the summons rather more than a bit worrying. He hadn’t done anything wrong, as far as heknew, but it wasn't always necessary to screw up before being raked over thecoals. And yet...he had found himself incommand of a scratch Assault Unit made from the remains of several other AssaultUnits that had been ripped apart by the humans. Had he exceeded his authority badly enough to warrant punishment?



The State demanded nothing, but obedience fromlow-ranking officers and males. In theprivacy of his own head, Tra’tro The’Stigwondered if that was the best way to handle fighting a war. It took time to call for orders from higherauthority, time that the humans used to good advantage. How many human insurgents had escaped deathbecause the KEW bombardments had to be ordered by superior officers, rather thanthe ones on the ground? But if he’dvocalised any of those thoughts...the best outcome would be remaining foreverfrozen at his current rank. At worst, hewould be sent to a punishment unit or a re-education camp.



He waited for his superior to speak, as was proper. “You have served well during the course ofthe invasion,” Ju’tro Oheghizhsaid. His superior officer didn't seemangry. “You fought well and survived theexperience.”



The’Stig wondered, just for a moment, if he was beingmocked. Yes, he’d survived – and he’dlearned never to take anything for granted. The humans had plenty of skill at concealing IEDs in apparently harmlesspositions, while they were learning how to hurt unwary Assault Units withsimpler weapons and tactics. Officersfresh from suspension on the starships, assuming that the war was already overbecause the human cities had been occupied and their militaries hammered fromorbit, had been caught by surprise. Manyof them hadn't survived their first encounter with human insurgents.



“You are promoted to U’tra,”Ju’tro Oheghizh said, almostcasually. The’Stig forgot himself andstared at his commanding officer. He wasbeing jumped up two grades...? It had tobe a mistake. But then, hadn’t he beenserving as an U’tra even without therank? “You will take command of thereformed Assault Units and commence sweeps for enemy insurgents. I expect you to find them and destroythem. Do you understand me?”



The’Stig saluted, hastily. Yes, he understood all right. The reformed units wouldn't be neat andorderly, certainly not as orderly as a more conventional commander would haveexpected. And if he failed in hismission, he could be demoted just as easily. He almost started to laugh at himself. Hadn’t he been sure that he could do better, if he’d been incommand? And now he was in command. Failure wasn'tan option.



“I understand,” he said. “I will not fail the State.”

***​

The alien helicopter touched down in the centre of theirbase and one of his guards half-pushed Alan Beresford towards the hatch. He scrambled out with as much dignity as hecould muster, unable to prevent himself from staring at the massive shuttlesand other aircraft scattered over the base. The alien buildings seemed dauntingly large, as if they’d been puttogether by designers without a sense of proportion. He winced at the sound of a jumbo jet cominginto land, wondering if it was being piloted by humans or aliens. It seemed unlikely that aliens could fly ahuman craft, but they’d have to be insane to allow humans to land on theirbases. 9/11 had proved just how muchdamage a crashing jumbo jet could do.



His escort marched him up to one of the alien buildingsand into a network of corridors that looked large enough to hold hundreds ofaliens at once. The smell was all aroundhim, a scent that reminded him of mucking out a barn on his grandfather’sestate. He’d never realised that thealiens smelled before, but then he’d never been in a building that had housedso many of them at one time. Humanbuildings probably smelled rank to them too.



He shuddered as they pulled him through a door and intoan office. The aliens couldn't have beenvery happy with the recent riots in London, or the fact that part of the cityhad become a no-go area for the police. Their system for controlling the city – and the human population – was breakingdown sharply. God alone knew how theyplanned to respond. He looked up at theoversized desk and saw one of the aliens crouching behind it. They didn't seem to need chairs, unlikehumanity. Or perhaps it was a way totell him that he wasn't important to them any longer.



“Your people have proved most disruptive,” the aliensaid. Was it the one he normally dealtwith, or was it another one? There wasno way to tell them apart easily. “Weare not pleased. We will be launchingsweeps to catch human insurgents and we expect you and your people to cooperatefully with us. Failure to cooperate willhave the most disastrous consequences.”



Alan didn't need to be a politician to realise that thatwas a threat. “I will be honoured tocooperate,” he said, quickly. “Perhapsif you could outline what you wish us to do...”



“We will carry out the sweeps without your assistance,”the alien informed him. “We wish you toround up a number of humans and their families. We have a use for them.”



“But of course,” Alan said. There was no point in refusing now. The aliens would simply kill him and move onto another collaborator. “Might Ienquire as to the purpose you have in mind for them...?”



“You will do as you are told,” the alien said,flatly. “If you are incapable ofcarrying out your orders, we will find someone who is more capable.”



Alan hesitated. Ifhe started rounding people up without explanation, there would beresistance. People would start thinkingthat the aliens intended to eat themor something equally stupid, which would naturally provoke moreresistance. And then his police force,already demoralised, would find itself unable to proceed further. But how could he explain that to the aliens?



“I will carry out your orders,” he said, finally. “I await your command.”

 

<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><font size="3">ChapterTwenty-Four<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com


Near Dereham

United Kingdom,Day 32



Alex lay on her belly and considered the town belowher. The aliens had arrived in force,coming up at Dereham from Norwich and surrounding the town before anyone quiterealised that they were there. Derehamhad been ignored by the aliens after the population had been registered,leaving the people to try to get on with their own lives in a world turnedupside down, perhaps even to pretend that the world hadn't really changed. Their delusion, if they’d indulged themselves,had come to an end. The town wassurrounded and the aliens were moving in.



“We can't just stay here and do nothing,” Henryhissed. He was too young – but then,there had been younger soldiers fighting and dying in Afghanistan. “What are they going to do to the people downthere?”



Alex shrugged. Thealiens had been alarmingly active over the last few days, sweeping throughparts of the countryside without anything that looked like a clear plan ofaction. Alex’s best guess was that theywere looking for insurgents – the internet noted hundreds of attacks carriedout against the aliens – but she wasn’t sure why they had returned to Dereham,or why they hadn't attempted to track her down. Perhaps they were following a doctrine formed on another world. Or perhaps they believed that there was acentre of resistance in the town and they intended to destroy it. There was no way to know.



“We can't do anything, but get ourselves killed if we gocharging into the town,” she hissed back. They’d carried out three strikes at the aliens so far, but she’dinsisted on being very careful. If thealiens had decided to sweep through the area for insurgents, it was possiblethat they’d catch someone who wasn’t registered or uncover an arms dump. Either one would be disastrous. “All we can really do is hope and pray thatthey don’t find anything that justifies a massacre.”



The images from London had been broadcast over theBBC. Alex had watched in horror ashundreds – perhaps thousands – of humans had been shredded by alien guns. The entire country had seen the bloody suppressionof a riot, galvanising resistance to the alien occupation. If the internet was to be believed, there hadbeen hundreds of strikes against the aliens over the last few days. It certainly explained why the aliens werebeing so determined to sweep for insurgents. Anything was better than waiting to be hit, hoping that superiorfirepower would allow them to slaughter anyone foolish enough to attack theirpositions.



There were upwards of 15’000 people in Dereham. It looked as if the aliens were systematicallypulling them out of their homes and ordering them to gather in the roads,waiting for their fate to be decided. The aliens were ransacking the buildings, searching for weapons andanything else that might imply a link to the resistance. Alex could see a handful of policemen lookinguncomfortable as the searches continued, unsure of just what they werefeeling. Some policemen had been pushedinto collaboration, no doubt about that, but others had been willing to servethe aliens without threats. It was hardto blame someone who served because his family was at risk, yet how could theytell the difference between that and a man who was serving the aliens forpersonal gain? Some of the rumours onthe internet were shocking.



“Come on,” she hissed. “We can't stay here.”



It had taken nearly two hours to walk cross-country toDereham and they’d arrived just in time to see the aliens establish themselves inthe area. Alex had no illusions aboutwhat they would do once they’d secured the town; they’d sweep out, probably inthe direction of Norwich. They had amajor presence in that town and given enough time, they could probablysafeguard the roads as well. A few ofAlex’s allies had been placing IEDs in the area, but that had its owndangers. The last thing they wanted todo was accidentally catch a farmer with an IED.



She scowled as they made their way across a field, whichhad recently been planted with an alien crop. One of the stranger points about British farming before the invasion hadbeen that the government had paid a number of farmers to leave their fieldslying fallow, rather than growing crops. It had been cheaper, apparently, to bring in food from overseas, whichhad worked perfectly until the country had been cut off from the rest of theworld by the aliens. The aliens, on theother hand, had made a list of every farmer with fallow fields and ordered themto start growing seeds they’d provided. They hadn't gone into details, but they seemed to believe that the cropwould be grown before winter, allowing it to be harvested and a second cropplanted after the winter snows had faded away. Alex wasn't too surprised to see that they were planting crops fromtheir world, but Smith had been furious. Adding something new to the ecology could cause chaos across the entirecountry.



“It was bad enough when they started planting those damngenetically-modified crops,” he’d said, holding up one of the alien seeds. It hadn't looked very alien, but someone downin the town had looked at it through a microscope and confirmed that it bore noresemblance to something from Earth. “Thesethings are likely to spread further and there won’t be anything we can do aboutit.”



The thought was chilling – and the internet speculationhad been downright horrific. Introducingrabbits to Australia had been disastrous because the rabbits had had no naturalpredators and had bred like...well, rabbits. Alien plants might be resistant to Earth’s formidable array ofcrop-destroying pests, while alien animals might be tougher than foxes orweasels or the other predators that hunted rabbits and field mice. Alex had tried to imagine an animal from thealien homeworld, but had drawn a blank. They could look like anything.



She could hear the sounds of alien helicopters in thedistance as they walked onwards, watching carefully for any sign of an alien orcollaborator patrol. They’d had someclose calls in the days since they’d started trying to ambush the aliens, butthe aliens seemed to have preferred to keep their distance. Maybe their current sweep was intended tochange that – no matter what some of the young men thought, she had noillusions. They were barely pin-prickingthe aliens. The aliens might notconsider them significant enough to bother killing.



“You could come to the dance with me,” Henry said,breaking into her thoughts. “It would bea fun time to let your hair down.”



Alex rolled her eyes. Henry was seventeen; she was twenty-five. And she wanted to minimise the contactbetween her and the townspeople as much as possible. Officially, she was Smith’s niece from acrossthe country, but it wouldn't be long before someone guessed at the truth. There had been quite a few fugitives who hadfound new homes in the countryside, yet the aliens were alarmingly good atusing human files to track down military personnel. And if they caught Alex...no one knew whatwould happen to her.



And Henry was clearly interested in her. Part of her was tempted, despite the agedifference – Henry wasn't a bad person at all. But the rest of her knew better. She’d been between boyfriends when she’d been shot down during theopening days of the invasion and...if she opened herself up that far, it riskedcreating emotional ties. One day, shewould have to leave Long Stratton if the aliens threatened to take over thearea directly – and then she would have to avoid looking back.



“It wouldn't be a good idea for me to be seen,” she said,finally. There were younger girls in thetown, she told herself firmly. He’d findsomeone closer in age to himself. “Ineed to spend more time at the hole anyway.”



The thought made her smile. Smuggling guns and explosives to hidingplaces well away from the town had been a challenge, but once they’d completedthe program it had been easy to separate the different resistance cells. The aliens might catch one of them, only todiscover that they had no leads to the next one. Or so she hoped. If someone had defied orders...she shook herhead. The RAF had tried to control everyaspect of her life as a pilot, but the resistance needed a much looserorganisation. She would just have totrust that they knew what to do – and knew better than to contact her.



Henry said nothing for the rest of the walk back to thecoppice that served as a rendezvous point. Alex’s RAF training hadn't included building shelters, but Archer haduncovered a couple of ex-poachers who were remarkably talented at slippingunseen through the night, or building hidden dumps for the weapons. She knew she could live alone out in thecountryside for quite some time, but that would mean giving up the fight andwalking away, forgetting her oath to the country. They dumped most of their weapons in thestash and headed down towards Smith’s farm. He’d been spending the last few days planting the alien seeds in theground, cursing the aliens all the while. At least they’d gotten a petrol ration out of it.



“That’s funny,” Henry commented. “Where is he?”



Alex looked over at him, and then down at her watch. It was early afternoon, the time Smithnormally worked in the fields. Henry wasright. Where was he? More carefully now, Alex walked forward tothe farmhouse and quietly peered around the corner. There was no sign of his Range Rover in theshed. He had to have gone out and...shetouched the door and it opened, revealing that it was unlocked. Alarm bells ringing in her head, she inchedinto the farmhouse and looked around. There was no sign of Smith, or his wife.



“No sign of a struggle,” Henry pointed out. Alex relaxed slightly. He was right. It looked as if Smith and Jean had had to go down to the town, leavingthe door unlocked for her. Andyet...something wasn't quite right. Sheslipped upstairs and checked the bedrooms, finding nothing that suggestedtrouble. “They might have just gone outfor a drive...”



“Maybe,” Alex said. “Or maybe...”



The sound of alien helicopters echoed out ofnowhere. Alex started, and then ran forthe door, suddenly certain what she’d see outside. Five helicopters were racing towards thefarmhouse, aliens already rappelling down ropes to hit the ground just as thehelicopters came to a halt. Alex reachedfor the gun she’d shoved into her belt, but it was far too late. A dozen aliens were advancing towards her,weapons pointed right at her chest. Howthe hell had they known...? It struckher, suddenly, that the aliens might have been watching as they walked backfrom Dereham. They could have orbited adrone so high overhead that the naked eye couldn't have made it out against thesun’s glare...



“Put up your hands,” the lead alien ordered. “Resistance is futile...”



Henry drew his pistol and opened fire, shooting madlytowards the aliens. Alex could have toldhim not to waste his energy. Thehandguns they had weren't that accurate and alien body armour was more thanenough to protect them, unless they were hit in the uncovered parts of theirheads. They opened fire, their shellsblowing Henry apart and scattering his bloody remains across the farmyard. Alex kept very still, thinking hard. Who had betrayed her? Smith and his wife, or someone down at thetown? Probably the latter, she toldherself, and she hoped that she was right. She didn't want to think that Smith might have betrayed her.



The aliens came closer, dark unblinking eyes fixed on herform. Their hands seemed to end inoversized fingernails – no, those were claws – and she had to fight not tocringe back as they tore at her clothes, removing her pistol and everythingelse she'd been carrying on her person. The claws seemed sharp enough to cut through her bare skin, convincingher that trying to fight hand-to-hand with the aliens was a bad idea. They kept two weapons pointed at her at alltimes, even after they’d finished searching her and wrapped a plastic tiearound her hands, binding them behind her back. She wanted to laugh, or cry. They’dcaught her – and if they knew how important she was to the resistance cells,they’d torture her until she talked. Ifthey hadn't caught Archer, perhaps he’d know to order the cells to scatterbefore Alex broke. He’d assume theworst, wouldn't he?



They pushed her to the ground and left her there whilethey searched the house. It was hard tosee what they were doing from her position, but it sounded as though they weretearing down most of the walls and smashing the windows. God alone knew what they were looking for,unless it was a weapons dump. Shesnorted at the thought. The only weaponskept in the house were her pistol and Smith’s shotgun. They wouldn't find anything else. Finally, they pulled her to her feet andmarched her towards one of their hover-vehicles. The interior was surprisingly roomy comparedto some of the vehicles she’d seen in Afghanistan, but it would have beendesigned for alien bodies. They clangedthe hatch shut behind her, leaving her in darkness. There was no light at all inside the chamber.



A faint hum echoed through the vehicle and she realised,after a moment, that they were on their way. There weren’t supposed to be any IEDs hidden around Smith’s farm, butshe found herself hoping that someone had disobeyed orders and planted one in aposition where it might catch the alien convoy. If they interrogated her...she resolved to hold out as long as possible,or invent lies to keep the aliens happy. She knew that there had been hundreds of attacks on the aliens that hadhad nothing to do with her little band – if she claimed credit for them, itshould confuse the aliens a little. Itmight even might them slow down their sweeps in the belief that they’d caughtthe resistance’s leader...



Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.



She had almost lost track of time when the hum faded awayand she heard the sound of scrabbling on the outside of the vehicle. The hatch clicked open, revealing a pair ofaliens looking down at her. One of themreached for her leg with a clawed hand and pulled her towards the hatch, whilethe other held a gun pointed at her head. Alex almost burst out laughing, wondering just why the aliens thoughtshe was so dangerous. She was alone, herhands were bound behind her back and she was unarmed. Did they think she was Wonder Woman or someoneelse with superhuman strength?



They pulled her out of the vehicle and held her uprightlong enough to regain her balance, before pushing her towards a gate in amassive fence. Inside, there were alarge number of humans – all female, wearing rags. A second camp, some distance away, heldmen. They didn't look to be in anybetter shape. One of the aliens caughther hands, clipped the plastic tie free, and then shoved her through thegate. It closed behind her with an ominousclick.



“Alex,” a voice said. “Thank God you’re alive!”



Alex turned to see Jean, Smith’s wife, standingthere. “Someone in the town betrayed us,”she said, bitterly. It looked as if she’dbeen crying. “They came for us, arrestedus and dumped us here. I hoped you’reget away.”



“I walked right into them,” Alex admitted. It gave her no pleasure to admit the truth,but there was no point in lying. Shelooked at her fellow captives and shivered. Most of them looked to have spent weeks in the detention camp, fed onvery little. They looked thin andworn. There were some blankets to lieon, but no shelters. Alex realised thatmany of them were suffering from exposure. The aliens didn't seem to care. “Andthen they just brought me here.”



Over the next few hours, she chatted to many of thewomen. They’d all been taken asprisoners by alien sweeps, apparently because they were linked to one or moreof the insurgents. Several of the womenthought that they’d been picked up at random, although they liked to think thattheir husbands or brothers were still fighting the aliens. A number had had military personnel in theirfamilies, although Alex was the only actual military person in the camp. The male camp didn't look to be anydifferent. In fact, both camps appearedto be reaching capacity.



Jean caught her arm. “What are we going to do?”



Alex looked up, past the wire. They were inside an alien base, surrounded byaliens – and she didn't even know where they were. The alien vehicles moved with astonishingspeed. They could be in Scotland, orWales, or on the other side of London...there was no way to know for sure. It looked as if the aliens had built theirbase on top of a RAF base, but it wasn't one she recognised. That really only excluded a handful of basesfrom consideration.



And if they were removing military personnel, why hadn't theytaken her? A moment later, it struck her– they hadn't identified her. They presumably thought she was just acivilian insurgent, rather than a military officer carrying on the war. And that gave her an edge, if she stayedalive long enough to figure out how to use it.



“I don’t know,” she admitted. No, that wasn't quite true. “We can't do anything at the moment, so wewait. Who knows? Maybe the horse will learn to sing.”

 

Good stuff, could be an episode of the new TZ.

I can appreciate your island centered view, but would wonder how 'everyone' else was doing about now. There may be a shitpotload of aliens but Earth is a big place.

A crystal set - set up for shortwave, is a non-emitter and might be able to catch any broadcasts....

BTW, what are the aliens going to do when the resistance sets fire to their food crops?

One other thing rings too true, If I am following the story correctly, there are plenty of humans far too willing to throw in with the dinos for their own gain.

Finally - have you read Footfall by Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle?
Cult classic by now....

 

ChapterTwenty-Five<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" />



London

United Kingdom,Day 35



“No, I don’t know why they want you,” Robin said, aspatiently as he could. “All I know isthat we have been ordered to pick you up and hand you over to them.”



Silently, he cursed his orders under his breath. The aliens had ordered their puppet PrimeMinister to round up several hundred people from London, people who seemed tohave little in common. They certainly didn'thave any links to the resistance as far as Robin could see. Once rounded up, they were to be handed overto the aliens and then...there was no clear answer. It didn't sound very good, but what choicedid they have? The aliens wouldn't be anythinglike as patient with reluctant humans.



The young man they’d been sent to pick up didn't lookvery healthy. In fact, like most of thecity’s population, he’d clearly been losing weight now that he had nothing toeat, but the tasteless mush the aliens supplied. Real food was only available forcollaborators and on the black market and their target lacked the contacts toobtain something that would have been readily available a month ago. Robin couldn't think of any reason why thealiens wanted him in particular, but they had clearly made up their minds. The young man’s mother and father looked justas worried, even though they weren't coming with him. And the looks they were casting at Robin whenthey thought he wasn't watching...



He shivered. Itwas normal for people to be a little nervous around the police. Everyone had something weighing on theirminds, even if it was comparatively minor compared to serial killing or paedophilia. The police represented law and order. But now...? Now the entire city – the entire country – was afraid of thepolice. The slaughter in Central Londonhad broken their reputation once and for all. On their drive to the young man’s house, they’d avoided several stonesthrown at them by youths – and there were parts of the city that were no-gozones for them now. Robin hated concedinganything to the thugs who called themselves community leaders, but the alternativewas to ask the aliens to help. And thatwould mean another slaughter.



Some policemen, including several he knew personal, haddeserted, vanishing into London’s overcrowded city blocks. Several others had killed themselves,swallowing vast quantities of painkillers or hanging themselves from theceiling. Even those that had tried toremain on duty had been demoralised, after the slaughter. They knew that they were forever tainted bywhat the aliens had done, even though they’d never ordered it or wanted it tohappen. How could they ever seekforgiveness from an angry population?



“It’s going to be fine,” Robin said, although he suspectedotherwise. “You’re allowed to take anovernight bag with you, so pack clean underwear and anything else you think youmight need.”



They waited while the young man and his mother packed abag. Robin half-hoped that their targetwould take the opportunity to vanish out of the back door and into the sidestreets before they could catch him, but he didn't seem to have the nerve. He returned to the door with a large bagslung over his shoulder and an expression that suggested that he was going tohis own funeral. Robin, who’d had amoment to study the awards pinned to the wall, suspected otherwise. The aliens had lost one of their projectswhen the suicide bomber had blown up Gilmore Technical College, but they werestill interested in human computers. Andthe people on the list they’d been ordered to bring in had vast computerexperience. It made little sense to him –the aliens could cross the stars, which suggested they should have bettercomputers – but it was the only reason he could imagine. Or maybe they just wanted hostages to shoot.



He escorted the young man down and into the police car, scowlingat the rotten egg someone had smashed across the windscreen while they’d beenin the house. A quick check around the vehiclerevealed no signs that anyone had tried to place an IED under the car, like thebomb that had killed two policemen three days ago. The resistance seemed to be conserving itsweapons, which hadn't stopped it and various criminal gangs improvising weaponsand using them to attack the police. Whowould have thought that something would unite London’s disparate political andreligious factions against a single target? Robin would have been mildly impressed if he hadn't been the target.



The drive through London's empty streets took longer thanhe had expected. Several cars had beenmoved out of place and used to block or divert police traffic, while severalgroups of young men looking for trouble had made threatening motions towardsthe car. At least the gangs weren't tryingto attack the alien base in Central London, not after they’d realised that thealien guards had authority to return fire with live ammunition. It hadn't stopped the resistance from settingup a mortar every few days and lobbing shells into the alien positions.



He winced as he caught sight of the prostitutes on onestreet corner. So many women had beenrendered homeless or broke by the invasion that there were currently thousandsof prostitutes in London. Many of themwould have preferred to be doing something – anything – else, but the aliens weren'tinterested in relief programs. Theydoled out their tasteless food and otherwise left the population to live or dieon its own. Robin knew that somepolicemen had suggested finding roles for the women within the civil service,but the suggestion hadn't found favour with the collaborator government. Perhaps the civil servants had managed tocobble together a union and get a ban on scab labour. The thought made him smile. If there was anything capable of workingthrough an alien invasion, it was the British civil service.



“So,” the young man said, “where are you taking me?”



“We’re taking you to the aliens,” Robin said. He wanted to tell a comforting lie. “I don’t know what they want to do with you.”



“And you work for them,” the young man asked. “How do you sleep at night?”



Robin bit down the response that came to mind. The truth was that he didn't sleep very wellat night, something shared by almost all of the policemen he knew. When he closed his eyes, he saw the slaughterthe aliens had unleashed, or the helpless looks on their prisoners as theymarched them off to an unknown fate. Hethought about his wife, safe yet isolated outside the city, and shivered. If she knew what he’d done in the name of thealiens, she would never want to sleep beside him again. Some policemen had started popping sleepingpills and antidepressants, just to keep themselves going. He wondered how long it would be before hefound himself doing the same thing, or perhaps taking one of the concealedweapons and putting a bullet through his own brain.



“Badly,” he said, finally. He took firm hold of his temper before theurge to lash out grew too overpowering. The young man wasn't to blame. Several policemen had given into the stress and started beating theirsuspects, but he didn't want to fall that far. “If I’d known what they would be like back then...”



But they hadn't had a choice, had they? How easily they’d clambered onto the slipperyslope! And how hard it would be to washthe blood from their hands. They’d told themselvesthat they were protecting the people, but they’d become the tools of the aliens– the same aliens who had slaughtered thousands in London just to keep thepeace. They weren't protecting thepeople any longer, were they? They’dbecome another alien tool.



And yet...what choice did they have?



He remembered the weapons and shivered again. They could take them and fight back...and bedestroyed when the aliens started using heavy weapons on London. There were reports that the aliens hadalready destroyed a number of small towns for daring to fight when the aliensarrived, or that they’d wrecked havoc in other parts of the world. Against such firepower, what could theydo? The only thing they could do was diebravely. And every day, the thought ofdeath seemed more and more attractive. He looked down at his hands and wondered if he would ever be able towash the bloodstains off his soul.



They came to a halt by the alien fence and waited for thealien guards to confirm their identity. Once they were satisfied that they had the right person, the aliens tookthe young man away, leaving Robin and Constable Jasper to their owndevices. Robin watched the gate swingclosed behind them and then ordered Jasper to take them back to the station. He had a bottle of brandy he’d picked up fromone of the abandoned houses in his locker. If he drank it all, perhaps he would get drunk and forget about the restof the world. Or perhaps he’d just wakeup with a hangover and have to go back on duty anyway.



And tell me, hethought, rather sourly. Bitterself-hatred welled up within him. Howmany had died because he had chosen to collaborate with the aliens? Each of his justifications felt less and lesslogical every time he thought about them. What exactly do you deserve?

***​

“I can't do much for the wound,” Fatima admitted. “The best I can do is separate it properlyand bandage it up.”



“You mean amputate my arm,” the man in front of hersaid. He'd taken an alien bullet thathad punched right through his upper arm, shattering his bone to dust. His arm now hung limply from what remained ofhis flesh, bound up with cloth to prevent it from tearing loose and falling tothe floor. “There’s nothing else you cando?”



Fatima shook her head. The resistance had gathered what medical supplies they could, but Londonhad been short on medical supplies and equipment ever since the invasion. There were wounded that would have made afull recovery – if they had the right equipment – who would almost certainly becripples for the rest of their lives. Theman who’d lost an arm was hardly the worst of them. She honestly didn't know how some of them hadheld on to their lives. Determination tohurt the aliens before they died, perhaps.



“I'm afraid not,” she said, as she started to wash herhands. The NHS had a poor reputation forkeeping hospitals clean, but none of the ones she’d worked in had been anythinglike as bad as the abandoned house they’d turned into a medical centre. It had taken her hours to clean the place toa minimum standard and even then she had a feeling that it was still alarminglyunhealthy. “We don’t have prosthetics wecould use to give you a new arm, or replace the shattered bone. Even if we did have, I’m not sure you couldrecover after that level of trauma.”



The man nodded, scowling down at the floor. He’d been given a large dose of painkillers,but they clearly hadn't been enough to keep the pain from making it harder forhim to think. Fatima wasn't toosurprised. Taking too many of thepainkillers would have been bad for his health too.



“And if I chose to stay like this?” He asked, finally. “I could...”



“You wouldn't recover any function in your lower arm oryour hand,” Fatima said, flatly. She didn'treally blame him for refusing to realise the truth. Humans hated losing parts of theirbodies. Trauma victims never fullyrecovered. “You would be left with auseless dangling piece of flesh - one that would have to be bound to your bodyat all times. My best advice is to haveit taken off, which would at least prevent the wound from becoming infected.”



“Take it off, them,” he said, finally. He smiled, although Fatima could see the painwritten over his face. “I guess there’sno hope of a proper rest afterwards?”



“Probably not,” she said, as she prepared the local anaesthetic. He should have been put out completely, butshe preferred to avoid doing that if possible. They had had to abandon two other makeshift hospitals and unconscious patientswere difficult to move. “Just lie backand let me get on with it.”



An hour later, she headed downstairs and washed her handsunder the shower. The small apartmenthad been abandoned, according to Abdul and his men, which made it an idealplace for a resistance cell. Fatimahoped that they were right, if only because she didn't want to have to abandonher patients. Most of the woundedresistance fighters were scattered over London, but the seriously woundedfighters were kept near her. She wastheir doctor, after all.



She sat down on the sofa and closed her eyes, fightingback tears. As a medical student, andthen as a doctor, she’d taken pride in her work. She’d saved lives. Men and women who would have died a centuryago had lived because of her – and the medical knowledge of hundreds ofyears. Now...she hated doing a bad job,but the truth was that there were limits to what she could do without proper equipmentand supplies. Many of her patientsneeded a real hospital, not a makeshift set of beds which they might need toflee at any time. She’d asked if theycould find a way to slip a patient into a real hospital, but Abdul had vetoedthe idea. The aliens had insisted thatthe NHS doctors check their patients details and if they stumbled across aresistance fighter...



Fatima shook her head, wondering – again – what hadhappened to her family. There’d been no announcementof their fate on the BBC, just a terrible silence that was somehow far moreterrifying than anything else. Anythingcould have happened to them – the aliens could have killed them, or enslaved them,or simply dumped them in a detention camp outside the city. After the bloody slaughter the aliens hadunleashed, few dared to ask them – or to demand that the prisoners be returnedto their families. For all she knew,they could have been shipped to Africa and dumped there.



The only thing keeping her from crying was the knowledgethat her patients needed her – for all the good she could do for them. She had to watch many of them die because shedidn't have the equipment to save them – and as they died, a little of herselfdied as well. If they hadn't needed her,she would have volunteered to drive the next truck loaded with explosives intothe alien base. And that would be theend of her.



“Hey,” a soft voice said, “are you all right?”



Fatima glanced up to see Lucas, a young man who’d beenserving the resistance as a runner, ever since his family had been caught up inthe invasion and killed. He’d wanted tojoin the fighters, but his knowledge of the area made him far more useful as arunner. Or so he’d been told. Privately, Fatima suspected that Lucas wouldn'thave made a good fighter. He only wantedto hurt the aliens and didn't care if he got hurt himself.



And he was attracted to her. She found him attractive too, and attentive,but how could she afford more emotional ties with anyone? Her family was gone, perhaps dead...anyone elseshe invited into her heart might go the same way. She didn't dare take the chance.



“Just tired,” she said, pulling herself to her feet. She should have a rest, but there was no wayshe could sleep long enough for it to do her any good. “And yourself?”



“I got told to bring you a warning,” Lucas said. “The aliens did a sweep through a few blocksa mile or so away. They may have caughtsomeone who knows about this place.”



Fatima swallowed a curse. Her stepmother would have slapped her if she’d realised that Fatima evenknew such a word. The aliens had the services of the police –and the police knew how to get suspects to talk and implicate more people. If they knew who they’d bagged, they mightuncover the makeshift medical centre. Abdul had made it clear that no one – even himself – was to knoweverything, but the aliens might uncover more than one cell if they managed tocapture the medical centre.



And three of her patients really shouldn’t be moved.



“Go tell the patients upstairs that we might have tomove,” Fatima ordered. Given time, shewas sure that she could get all of the patients out, but could they do itwithout alerting the aliens and their collaborators? “Is anyone else coming to help?”



“The Big Man says he’s sending some of his men,” Lucassaid. He grinned. When he wasn't passing on messages, he spentmost of his time with the soldiers. Theywere teaching him tricks he might need when he finally joined the fight. “Anyone who can't move under his own power willbe helped.”



Fatima nodded. Andafter that, she knew, they’d leave an IED behind, just in the hopes of baggingan alien or a few collaborators. They’ddone it before. Abdul had pointed outthat creating an impression of a network of IEDs slowed down enemy deployment,even if there were only a handful of real IEDs in the area. It had worked in Afghanistan and now it wasworking in London. Absently, shewondered how men who’d fought in Afghanistan liked using their enemy’s tacticsagainst the enemy of the entire planet?



“Come on then,” she said. “Let's start moving the patients.”

 

Dark chapter - you have been warned


<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><font size="3">Chapter Twenty-Six<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com


Alien DetentionCamp

United Kingdom,Day 36



The first few days in the detention camp were unpleasant. Alex wasn't sure why the aliens hadn't botheredto provide shelters for their prisoners, which meant that when it rained – as itdid every night – the bedding became soaked and refused to dry until themorning. A number of the prisoners werealready suffering from exposure and were at death’s door, but the aliens didn'tseem concerned. When she was feelingcharitable, which wasn't very often, Alex guessed that the aliens liked the rain and believed that the humanswould like it too. The other explanationwas that the aliens were deliberately torturing their captives and breakingtheir will to resist. It seemed aslikely as any other possibility.



She had spent the first day studying the alien base, whatlittle she could see of it from behind the wire. It seemed to be a small military base,although it was definitely not as active as Bastion or any of the other majorbases she’d deployed to before the aliens had invaded and turned the entire planetupside down. Judging from the way they’dextended the wire several times since the invasion – several of the prisonersadmitted to have been behind the wire since day one – they might just haveintended it as a prison for rebellious types.



The next few days had been worse. She’d wondered endlessly who’d betrayed them –and why? Had the traitor been terrifiedfor his life, or the lives of his family – or had he merely wanted thirty piecesof silver? The conditions outside thecities were better than inside the cities – at least if the internet was to bebelieved – but no one had been very safe. Perhaps the traitor, hearing stories about entire towns being blastedfrom orbit for daring to harbour resistance fighters, had decided that LongStratton would be left unmolested if the resistance was handed over to thealiens. Absently, she wondered if Archeror any of the others had made it out safety, or if they’d been caught by thealiens. She tried to form mentalpictures of them blasting their way through entire alien formations, but shehad to admit that they weren't particularly likely. Archer had suggested heading into thenational parks or other undeveloped parts of Britain and setting up long-termbases there. She hoped – prayed – that theymanaged to get out and carry on the fight. They would have to do it without her.



Every time she heard a noise in the sky, she looked up, wonderingwhat she would see. Sometimes she sawthe massive shuttles the aliens used to land troops from orbit, too large tofly without some kind of antigravity device; sometimes their attackhelicopters, larger than the outdated Russian helicopters that had been flownaround Afghanistan. She allowed herselfto hope that one day she’d see a streak of light shooting down one of thehelicopters, but the resistance seemed to be very thin on the ground around thedetention camp. The aliens, according tosome of the older prisoners, had simply uprooted thousands of humans andordered them away from their bases. Remembering some of the havoc caused by dickers – civilians who reportedBritish military movements to the enemy – in Afghanistan, Alex couldn't blamethem, even though the mobile phone network had never been restored.



She shook her head. The Taliban had never scored a major victory, but they’d kept up thepressure and they might have won in the long term – if the aliens hadn't invaded. But the Coalition had been bound by rules ofengagement dreamed up by decent – if ignorant – politicians. The aliens didn't seem to care about civiliancasualties and they were perfectly willing to obliterate entire towns to punishresistance. Weaker forces had defeated strongerforces before – or had at least convinced them to withdraw – but Alex couldn't rememberif they’d ever done it when the stronger forces had also been the barbarians.



When the call came, it took her by surprise. A pair of aliens were standing by the gate,bellowing for her in their toneless voices. She hesitated, considering hiding within the crowd, before realisingthat it was pointless. Bracing herself,she strode out with as much dignity as she could muster and stopped in front ofthe aliens. One of them pointed hiscannon-like weapon at his chest, as if he imagined that she was a threat. Alex couldn't keep the giggles from formingdeep inside her chest. She washalf-naked, half-starved and completely unarmed...and he thought she was athreat?



“Turn around and place your hands behind your back,” thealien ordered. Alex obeyed, unsurprisedto feel a metal tie contracting around her wrists. They weren't taking any chances, allright. Their voices were almostrobotic. “Walk with us. Do not attempt to escape.”



The alien strung her around and marched her towards thegate, which clanged shut behind them. Despite her growing nervousness, Alex was privately glad of the chanceto inspect the rest of the base. Anumber of human-designed buildings were still intact, but others had clearlybeen knocked down and were being replaced by prefabricated alienbuildings. She caught sight of whatlooked like a futuristic car at the end of one building, before her escortmarched her onwards, half-pulling her whenever she tried to slow themdown. The sound of alien voices speakingwhat had to be their own language – it sounded like grunting to her ears –caught her attention and she looked up. A small group of aliens was staring at her, their dark eyes wide. Surely she wasn't the first human they’dseen...



And these aliens were smaller. For a moment, she wondered if they werechildren, before realising that they were differently proportioned than herescort. Alien females? She’d assumed that the aliens had their ownversion of keeping women barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen, but maybe theymade better use of female labour than some human societies. Their clothing was different too...shewondered, absently, how the aliens mated, before pushing the thoughtaside. It was clear that she was aboutto have far more serious problems.



A human designed building loomed up in front of her andthe aliens pushed her right into the darkness. For a moment, Alex was completely disorientated before her eyes adjustedto the gloom. There was a chair in thecentre of the room, bolted to the floor, and the aliens pushed her down ontothe cold metal. She yelped as theystubbed her bound wrists, before, fixing a bar around her chest and walkingaway. The door closed behind them withan audible clunk.



“Well, well, well,” a voice said, from the darkness. “What have we here?”



Alex started, peering ahead of her. In the gloom, she could make out two figures,both clearly human. They didn’t seem to be restrained. The light came on suddenly, almost blindingher. The two men definitely weren't restrained. Alien collaborators...or something else? But what else could they be?



“Who...?” Herthroat was dry. She could barelyspeak. “Who are you?”



“Our names aren't important,” one of the men said. They were both wearing masks to cover their identities,but the speaker was clearly taller than the other. “All that really matters is satisfying ourmasters.”



He stood up and advanced towards Alex, rubbing his handstogether. “You’re been a very naughtygirl,” he said, mockingly. “Thegovernment surrendered – and you kept the war going all on your own.” His mouth, what little she could see of it,leered. “But now the war is over and you’rea prisoner. No one even knows where youare.”



Alex braced herself, remembering the dreaded ConductAfter Capture course they’d been put through during training. The Geneva Conventions had become a jokeafter the end of the Cold War and the MOD had – reluctantly – admitted that Britishpersonnel would be tortured andforced to talk by their captors. They'd beengiven guidelines, but the decision on how much to say and cooperate had beenleft with the captured personnel. Alexremembered seeing captured personnel broadcasting from Iran and shuddered. At least a personnel broadcast from her wouldn'thave any effect on the rest of the resistance. She barely knew anything thatcould be used against anyone else.



“Cooperate with us now and you will be well-treated,” theinterrogator said. She could feel hisbreath on her ear. “We have good food andyou can rest. You did your duty – now it’sover. You can relax.”



His finger reached out and traced her chin, gentlypulling her head up so she was staring into his eyes. “It's over,” he said, gently. “Who else was involved with your resistancecell?”



Alex looked down and shook her head. “Come on,” he said, gently. “There’s really nothing to be gained byfurther resistance. We are going to get it out of you, one wayor the other. Why not make it easierupon yourself?”



He stepped back and reached for a small tray lying on hisdesk. When he stepped back into view, hewas holding a small bar of chocolate in his hand. “You know, you used to be able to get as muchchocolate as you wanted for a few pounds,” he said. “Now...now you can’t get chocolate at all,unless you have connections.” He spoke the last word with another leer ashe opened the packet. “Wouldn't you likesome chocolate?”



Alex recoiled as he held a piece out under her nose. After a few days in the detention camp, partof her wanted the chocolate – and part of her refused to take anything from herinterrogator. He held it closer, justabove her mouth, waiting to see what she would say. Her mouth was watering, but she shook herhead. Perhaps he was right, perhaps itwas hopeless, yet she wasn’t going to break so easily. She swore to herself that she wouldn't breakat all.



“You seem to believe that you can remain silent,” the interrogatorsaid. He popped a piece of chocolateinto his mouth and ate it with evident enjoyment. “But believe me, you will talk.”



Without warning, he slapped her across the cheek. Alex gasped in pain, feeling blood tricklingdown the side of her face. Her entireface hurt. He leaned closer and pushedhis face against hers, almost as if he intended to kiss her. When he spoke, his voice was a dull whisper.



“You will talk,” he said. “We have all the time in the world to break your resistance. You will be broken apart and then you willtell us everything we want to know. Doyou understand me? Resistance is futile.”



He slapped her again. Alex felt an unholy ringing in her head, which faded slowly. She hadn't had anything like enough to eatover the past few days. Chances werethey’d held her long enough for hunger to set in and weaken herresistance. Her lips felt bloody andbroken after the two slaps. The straparound her chest seemed to be contracting, squeezing the breath out ofher. It was all she could do to remainaware and alert.



A glint of light caught her eye and she froze as the interrogatoradvanced towards her with a knife. Hewas going to cut her throat...for a moment, she was gripped with absoluteterror, just before realising that they would hardly let her go thateasily. She felt a tug as he pulled atwhat remained of her shirt, slicing it away from her bare skin. Her bra followed, leaving her breasts exposedto their gaze. She cringed back as hepinched her nipple, before turning his attention to her trousers. When he had finished, she was naked andexposed – and helpless. No amount ofstruggling would break the tie they’d put around her chest.



“Do you understand me?” The interrogator whispered. “Youwill talk, one way or the other. Talknow and we won’t have to hurt you any longer...”



Alex tried to lose herself in thought. Where had the interrogator come from? She knew that some policemen werecollaborating, but surely they would draw the line at such an interrogation... But the aliens had presumably taken theprisons as well. They’d have plenty of volunteersfor an interrogation crew if they broke open the cells containing violentoffenders. Some of the stories she’dread in the newspapers over the years had been horrific, like the brother whohad casually tortured his own sister to death. He’d been jailed for a very long time – but had the aliens freed him andput him to work?



They didn’t seem to enjoy making people suffer themselves. The aliens stamped hard on resistance, andthey were indiscriminate when it came to applying heavy weapons, but they didn'thave the sadistic urges that many human despots had indulged. But if they’d found humans who did enjoymaking people suffer...the thought was sickening. If someone had suggested it to the aliens...



A hand grabbed her breast and squeezed, hard. Another reached down and clawed between herlegs. Alex screamed for the first time,trying to bring her leg up to kick out at her tormentor. He slapped it down and then yanked at herbreast. Alex felt her mind start to bluras he slapped her time and time again, the pain threatening to drag her downinto the darkness. She’d lost track oftime. How long had she beentortured...she heard a hiss and opened her eyes, in time to see a single jet ofblue fire right in front of her eyes.



“You won’t be such a pretty face when I’m through withyou,” her interrogator whispered. Therewas no doubt at all that he was enjoying himself. Alex cringed back as the heat came closer andcloser to her face, only to be pulled away just before it started to burn herskin. “Do you know how many women I’vebeaten and broken here? How many arenothing more than my slaves, dependent upon me for everything?”



Alex tried to speak, but it was so hard to concentrate. She wanted to give in, and yet some stubbornpart of her nature refused to surrender. The pain was growing; she was suddenly aware that he’d freed her from thechair, only to roll her over so she was bent over the chair, her buttockslifted up for his inspection. Somethingsent a wave of pain over her rear and she screamed again, feeling a desperatedesire to be sick that sent a tidal wave of vomit out of her mouth. Everything she’d eaten in the camp, as mushyand tasteless as it had been, seemed to be spilling out of her.



She felt his hands on her rear, spreading her thighs. And then she felt him pressing his hardnessinto her...the pain and humiliation overwhelmed her, sending her crashing downinto darkness. Her last thought, shiningout against the blackness, was that she’d told them nothing...

***​

“Are you all right?”



Alex opened her eyes slowly, unsure of what had happenedto her. She found herself in a small cell,staring up at a naked girl. The bruiseson her skin told their own story. Everysingle piece of Alex’s body hurt inways she would have thought unimaginable. It hurt to try to open her mouth and speak. The pain around her breasts was horrific.



“Remain still,” the girl urged. “He’s cut you, the bastard. I don’t know if you’ll recover...”



Somehow, despite the pain, Alex managed to pull herselfup into a sitting position – and instantly regretted it. Her buttocks felt as if they were on fire. Carefully, she inspected herself and saw redmarks and cuts covering her skin. Someof them looked to have broken the skin, only to be allowed to heal on theirown, without interference. She glancedaround the dirty cell and realised that there was a good chance that one ormore of the scars would become infected. And then...she doubted that they’d give her any medical treatment. Maybe the infection would finish her offquickly.



“What...?” Shemanaged to say. Her mouth still hurt,even when she touched it. They’d slappedher, she recalled. Maybe they’d knockedout a tooth or two. Or maybe...hadn’t sheread a book, once, where the hero had had his teeth removed to make himtalk? She didn’t seem to be missing anyteeth, but her mouth hurt too much for her to be sure. “What happened to me?”



“They dumped you in here,” the girl said. “I don’t think you told him anything. He was proper raging when he left you hereand told me to take care of you. I thinkhe’s probably afraid that the Leathernecks will be angry with him for failingto get anything out of you.”



“Good,” Alex managed, finally. Maybe they’d send him to be interrogated instead. A taste of his own medicine would teach him alesson. “Where...where did they get you?”



The girl hesitated, and then shrugged. “My brother was killed by the bastards and Iwas taken away,” she said. “When I wokeup, I was here – at his mercy. You...youdon’t know what they’ve done to me...”



“I think I can guess,” Alex said. The bastard had raped her, just as he’d rapedAlex. Part of her wanted to crawl into acorner and die, but the rest of her wanted revenge. There would be a chance to kill the bastardand she intended to take it. It was theonly thing left to her. “Do you havemore water? Something to wash?”



“There’s a shower over there, but the water’s alwayscold,” the girl said. Alex pulledherself to her feet, despite the pain, and staggered towards the littlechamber. “They do it on purpose, thebastards.”



“Probably,” Alex agreed. Her body was stained with blood – and his seed. She wanted to be clean again, even though shefelt as if she would never be clean. “Butwe will get them, one day.”

 

sincerely hope that bastard gets his just deserts