Their Darkest Hour (50 page)

“Come on,” one of his escort detail hissed.  “We need to get out of this trap...”

The aliens were firing to force them to keep their heads down, but they could still crawl.  Gavin squelched through the mud, just as he heard what sounded like incoming fire.  An explosion, far too close to him, sent mud and branches flying towards his position.  The second explosion picked him up and threw him through the trees.  He crashed down and felt his arm snap under his weight.   The pain almost overwhelmed him, even as he tried to stagger to his feet and run.  Everything seemed to be shifting around him.  It was almost impossible to move.

A dark shape appeared in front of him, pointing a gun towards his head.  The alien’s dark eyes seemed to meet his, and then pull back a little.  Gavin remembered that they wanted prisoners and tried to reach for his pistol, but his hand refused to obey orders.  He had to be more seriously injured than he’d thought...

The alien lifted a clawed hand and snapped it down across Gavin’s face.  There was a brief moment of shattering pain, and then he plunged down into darkness.

***

Gabriel was completely exhausted by the time they reached the coast, heading down towards a small village along the shore.  It had probably once been a fishing village, but with the decline of the fishing industry it had turned into a tourist attraction, with boat trips to the Isle of Man, Ireland and the Scottish Islands.  Gabriel found a place to sit and catch his breath while Butcher walked down to the small harbour, looking for a boat that could take them north.  He’d admitted that he’d steal a boat if necessary, but he’d prefer to avoid it if possible.  The last thing they needed was an outraged village calling the aliens and reporting their
escape.

He closed his eyes.  The next thing he knew was Mother shaking him gently.  “We have a boat and an ex-Royal Marine to sail it,” he said.  “Come on.  We'd better get moving before the aliens catch up with us.”

The sound of helicopters in the distance underscored his words.  Gabriel followed him down to the harbour and blinked in surprise when he saw the boat.  It was an elderly sailing boat rather than a more modern design, but it did have an outboard motor at the stern.  The owner, a man who looked old enough to be a granddad, nodded when he saw Gabriel and then started the motor.

“You’ll be heading north, right?”  He said, as they motored out and into open water.  Gabriel wondered if the shape he could see in the distance was Ireland, or if they were too far north to see the Emerald Isle.  “I hope you’ve got somewhere safe to stay.”

“Yes,” Butcher said, shortly. 

“I’ll get you there, safe and sound,” the sailor said.  “Don’t worry about a thing.”

Gabriel half-turned, looking back at the receding shoreline.  The green hills of England seemed to be illuminated as the sun beat down from high overhead, creating a marvellous picture.  Despite himself, he wondered if he’d ever see them again.  If they had to flee to Scotland, where would they go when the aliens came after them again?

“I’m not worried,” Butcher said, stiffly.  “I just want to be away from here before our friends catch up with us.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

London

United Kingdom, Day 55

“We’re still on, then?”

“It looks that way,” Abdul said, from where he was studying the laptop.  London’s internet connections were starting to collapse, although no one was quite sure if the aliens were doing it deliberately or if the wear and tear on the system was finally taking a toll.  Probably both, Chris considered.  The aliens had to know that the internet was being used to coordinate the resistance and they were recruiting computer experts.  “We’re too far advanced with the planning to back out now.  If some groups don’t get the message in time...”

Chris nodded.  The alien attack on Haddon Hall – which had apparently been serving as a crucial resistance node – had scattered some of the resistance’s fighting men, but it hadn't shattered the command network.  Some people had suggested abandoning – or at least postponing – Operation Hammer, but too many people were already briefed and making preparations.  Delaying the operation only increased the danger of the alien intelligence service figuring out what was coming before the operation was launched.

“Then” – he made a show of checking his watch – “we move from here in three hours and hit the aliens right where they live,” he said.  Offhand, he couldn't recall a bigger operation in recent history – let alone one mounted on such a shoestring.  The cost of failure would be alarmingly high.  “I take it that everyone is ready?”

There were nods from the small team.  London was large enough to hide a couple of hundred fighting men – as well as the volunteers, gangsters and trouble-causers who were giving the collaborator government fits – in places close to their intended target.  Thanks to Abdul’s careful preparation – he’d recruited louts to smash CCTV cameras all over the city – the aliens and their collaborators would have difficulty realising that the assault force was being prepared, although they had to know that they were going blind.  Chris privately suspected that one of the reasons the aliens had started insisting that people worked for their food was to keep control over the population, rather than leave people to their own devices.  They might start getting ideas about lashing out at the aliens.

“Good,” Chris said.  He grinned to relieve the tension.  “I feel like saying something terribly dramatic.”

Abdul chuckled.  “Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more,” he said.  “Consign their parts most private to a Rutland fence.”

Chris laughed.  He'd missed laughing and joking with his comrades before an operation, or telling great lies about female conquests...anything, but taking about the coming battle.  They’d prepared carefully and rehearsed as much as they could, yet the tension would continue to rise until they were actually moving out and heading towards contact.  The only thing that would make it settle was actual engagement. 

London wasn't what he remembered any longer.  Even Basra or Kabul at their worst didn't match what the aliens had done to London.  Chris would cheerfully have killed every last one of the aliens for what they’d done, both for the damage they’d inflicted upon London's monuments and for the fear that pervaded the lives of ordinary citizens.  There was no longer any faith in the law, or the police; the police served the aliens and the law was a joke, unable even to protect those who had spent their entire lives following it.  Many people had been arrested by the aliens after being denounced by their neighbours out of spite, or because the neighbours wanted to pay back old grudges...no one trusted anyone any longer.  Chris imagined that Moscow under Stalin or Berlin under Hitler would have had the same aura of fear, of mistrust and suspicion, that seemed to have settled over London like a shroud. 

No amount of joking could convince him that things were normal, or that they would ever be normal again.  One of the guys he’d met during the briefings had commented that the discovery of alien life alone had changed the world, and it would have done so even if the aliens had been friendly, or indifferent to poor struggling humanity.  And if the latest intelligence on the internet was to be believed, there were at least six other alien star-faring races out there.  Humanity was a very small fish in a very large pond.

He looked down at his SA80 and shook his head.  He’d already checked, cleaned and rechecked it twice in the last two hours.  They should be resting and preparing themselves, but he’d never been able to rest before an operation.  Some of the others didn't share that particular problem.  They were sitting against the wall, snoring loudly.  Their comrades would make sarcastic remarks later.

“Don’t worry,” Bongo said.  “It’ll be alright on the night.”

One of the other soldiers managed to twist his voice into a shrill falsetto.  “It’s all right, dear,” he said.  “We’ll try again in a few minutes.  Just take a look at some of these naughty pictures...”

Chris glanced at his watch, again.  Would zero hour never come?

***

Robin had had some difficulties in altering his duty schedule to fit the operation’s requirements, but by calling in several favours he’d been able to have himself and four others assigned to the force guarding the collaborator government’s headquarters.  It helped that Beresford was something of a micromanager, intent on keeping as much as possible of his government’s operations under his thumb.  The old Civil Contingencies Centre had been destroyed during the alien invasion of London, but a new command centre had been set up under Beresford’s headquarters and outfitted with the latest in communications and surveillance equipment.  Many of the officers who worked there had become more tainted by collaboration than anyone else.

There was no difficulty in getting through the security checkpoints outside the building, not with police uniforms and ID cards.  Robin was almost disappointed.  Part of him thought that he was being treacherous to men he’d known and worked beside for years, even though they were serving the aliens – and he’d been serving the aliens until recently.  But there was a fine line between doing what they could to keep the public safe and actively helping the aliens achieve their goals and many of the operators had crossed that line.  And if there was an element of hypocrisy, even self-hatred, in that thought, Robin no longer cared.  It was time to put an end to it.

They walked down the stairs and into the canteen, where they would wait until ten minutes to zero hour.  The police had been getting more and better food lately, a bribe to keep them on the streets in the face of public hatred and near-constant attacks from gangs of resistance fighters.  He poured himself a cup of tea and waited, glancing from time to time at his watch.  They weren't meant to go on duty for another hour, but the collaborator government didn't approve of lateness.  Even a few minutes late was grounds for a reprimand. 

He tried to push his thoughts out of his mind as the seconds ticked down.  In truth, he didn't expect to survive the next few hours.  The aliens had their own guard force on duty by the gates and if they weren't taken out in the opening moments of Operation Hammer, they would certainly respond to rogue policemen.  Operation Hammer, even the small section he’d been told about, had simply too many working components for everything to come off perfectly.  Years of experience in the police force had taught him that the more moving parts in a particular operation, the greater the chance of something coming apart at the wrong moment.  The day they’d had to arrest nearly fifty suspected terrorists across Britain had come alarmingly close to being unglued.

His watch vibrated a warning and he nodded to his allies, standing up and heading down to the lockers.  He’d stuffed the briefcase in the locker he used as a matter of course, just to keep someone from trying to open it too early.  Between them, they were carrying assault rifles, grenades – and one large briefcase that had been converted into a makeshift IED.  Picking up the final briefcase, Robin headed to the lift and down towards the bunker.  It had started life as a corporate gym, but the collaborator government had lost no time in installing the latest computers and assigning operators to watch over the city.  Robin had done a few shifts at Scotland Yard before the aliens had destroyed it and he had to admit that the collaborators had been very efficient.  If they hadn’t lost so many CCTV cameras over the past few weeks, they might realise what was going on before the operation began.

He strode through the chamber and up to a set of lockers assigned to senior personnel.  One of them belonged to a detective-inspector with a habit of using the same combination for everything, a combination that he shared with some of his assistants who needed to use the locker.  Robin opened the locker, cautioning himself to act normally and not make any moves that might attract attention, and placed the briefcase inside the locker.  He had a cover story planned, but it wasn't necessary.  People had a habit of assuming that anyone inside a secure perimeter had been cleared to be there.  Closing the locker, he walked back out of the compartment and up the stairs to where his allies were waiting.  The timer was ticking down the final minutes to zero hour.  He took his rifle, pistol and a handful of grenades and led the way to the stairs.  They were at the third floor when the building shook, violently.  The IED inside the briefcase had detonated and taken out the command centre.

“Come on,” he snapped, as they broke into a run.  The emergency procedures insisted that everyone had to abandon the lifts and take the stairs, which meant that they would find it harder to get up while everyone else was heading down.  He winced as the security alarm started to sound, even though it would add to the confusion.  The procedure for security alerts was to remain where you were and wait.  Panic would start sweeping the building.