Their Darkest Hour (15 page)

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

“Take one of the plates and pass it over to me,” Jean ordered.  “I’ve pulled you some fresh milk, straight from the cow.  You’ll have to learn to milk her for herself if you live longer – it’s one of those experiences no one ever tells the city-folk until they come out here and stay with 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 history as the farm that got a few hundred people killed.  If those aliens” – she pronounced the word with a snort, as if she didn’t quite believe it – “happen to kill all of those interfering meddlers who know nothing, plenty of people round here will raise a glass 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,” she said.  “Do you know how much red tape we have to jump through, every year?  Government seems determined to bury us in red tape and endless paperwork.  Dear God – there have been years where I’ve seriously considered just urging the man to walk away from the farm.  No one seems to
want
us to do anything, but fill in forms.  You can’t make a man a farmer by sending 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 feel the 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 the city-folk who booked a holiday with us so you could experience life on a farm.  You’re going to have a busy day ahead of you.”

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

She tossed the thought around her head as she ate, trying to guess what the aliens would do next.  There was no way to know.  The last messages she’d seen on the internet reported that the aliens were securing London, Manchester, Birmingham and a number of other cities.  There had been clashes between their forces and human mobs, clashes that had gone very badly for the humans.  Somehow, Alex wasn't surprised.  The aliens seemed to prefer brute force to anything more 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 of Earth and still win the war.  Hell, for all she knew, they were deliberately provoking humans to attack them so they could wipe out potential resistance fighters before they could get organised.

“Ann and Sue dropped in this morning,” Jean said, as Alex was chasing the last of the egg around her place with a slice of bread.  “They left their home yesterday and camped out 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 the price of fuel while they’re at it.”

Alex frowned.  The old-fashioned way?  It took her a moment to realise that Ann had probably had to go down on the petrol station’s owner to get fuel for her car.  The thought was sickening, but it was probably only a taste of the future.  If the aliens had blocked off supplies of fuel as well as food, the civilian population would lose its mobility very quickly – once the rest of the fuel ran out.  The RAF had had stockpiles of aviation fuel for its aircraft, but the aliens might have destroyed it.  And that would 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 to stay off the main roads,” Jean said.  “Speaking of which” – she clicked the radio and music started to echo out – “listen to this.  Someone will start speaking in a moment…”

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

Alex listened in disbelief as the message played out and then started to repeat.  She knew of Alan Beresford by reputation – no military officer could afford to be a virgin where politics were concerned – and she knew that he wasn't well-regarded, but outright treachery?  The message played again and again, before music started to fill the airwaves once again.  Maybe Alan Beresford believed that there was no way to resist the aliens, or maybe he’d just seen a chance for advancement and taken it.  There was no way to know for 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 in the sink.  “Go wash your hands and then report to the man outside.  He’ll keep you 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, from mucking out the pigs – who eyed her with disconcerting eyes – to rubbing down the horses.  Smith explained that they also made money by renting out their horses to a nearby riding school, which had ties to a college for young ladies that specialised in turning their brains into mush.  Alex had never thought much about horses, but it seemed that the young girls honestly had no idea how to treat them when they finally got to ride on their backs.  Some of the horses were very docile, even with young and inexperienced riders; others seemed nasty, including a big black horse that eyed her balefully.

“Stalin there won’t allow himself to be ridden,” Smith commented.  Somehow, Alex found it difficult to turn her back on the horse.  Stalin – a play on words, she realised after a moment – seemed to be waiting 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 and always come off worst.”

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

“No kids around here,” Smith said, “and the wife and I know 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 wants you to see.  The Parish Council meeting last night rather impressed him.”

Alex looked at him, sideways.  “
Should
I 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 the seventies, leaving him with just a couple of fields.  His wife died years ago and his kids never visit.  I think he’d be glad of the company.”
 

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“Smith can keep a secret,” Archer said.  He picked up a stick, closed the door and hobbled out around the house.  Alex heard the sound of dogs barking as they rounded the house and came up to a small fence marking out the rear garden.  A small army of dogs were yapping away, some large enough to make her glad that she was carrying the pistol.  She didn’t recognise 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 walks every day,” Archer explained, “but I can’t do that now and I can’t bear to give them away.  I just have to let them have the 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 the middle of a field.  “I was a young farmer of nineteen when the war started,” he said.  Alex took a sharp look at him, realising that he was talking about the Second 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 at once, only to be told that I was in an essential occupation.  The young men of the parish called me coward as 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 the modern generation – we worked, we knew where we stood, we knew that we were responsible for ourselves.  And there was no embarrassment over fighting to defend our country from the Hun.  A quarter of the map was coloured pink and we loved it.  All those whiners who say we shouldn’t have had an empire never understood what it was like to have pride.  Now, no one has any loyalty to their country.

“But I’d registered when I’d volunteered and they found a job for me,” he said.  “Everyone knew that it was just a matter of time before that little German Corporal led his dragoons over to England.  They started preparing for war – for a war that would still continue even if the Germans occupied London and banished the King to Canada.  And farmers like me were given a secret role to 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 the padlock, pushing the doors open wide enough to allow light to stream into the confined spaces.  It was empty, the floor covered with decaying straw and pieces of animal waste.  Alex wrinkled her nose at the smell, before Archer pushed her to one side and started digging through the piles of straw.  It struck her that something was concealed
under
the barn, something that 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 board of wood in the floor and pulled it up.  A few moments of struggling revealed a hatch neatly hidden, one that he had problems lifting alone.  Alex walked over and helped him to pull the hatch all the way up, revealing a darkened space under the barn.  Archer pulled out a small electric torch and shone it down into the darkness, revealing a number of bundles that looked as if they hadn’t been touched for years.  “First there was the Nazis, and then there were the Communists – oh yes, we were worried about them.  I always believed that they would come and recover the dump’s contents, but the government never bothered to come pick it up.”