Their Darkest Hour (9 page)

She removed her scarf as she saw the next patient, a small girl barely old enough to go to school.  Her parents seemed to be in shock, pointing at their daughter’s arm as if they expected Fatima to be able to know what was wrong just by looking.  She always hated treating children – young children couldn’t tell doctors what was really wrong with them – but there was no choice.  She wrapped the scarf around the child’s arm, turning it into a makeshift sling.  It crossed her mind that her stepmother would be horrified to see her in public with her hair uncovered and she almost broke down into helpless giggles.  After everything else that had happened since the first explosions, it was almost a relief to worry about something so petty.

“She’s in pain,” the mother insisted.  “Can’t you give her something for the pain?”

Fatima shook her head, grimly.  The school had had a well-stocked medical room, but they’d used almost all of the painkillers within the first hour.  They’d sent runners to the nearest hospital in the hopes of getting more, yet none of the runners had returned.  Fatima’s superiors had been reduced to urging policemen to take painkillers from nearby shops, along with what other medical supplies they could find.  And there still seemed to be no end to the wounded.  Leaving a child in pain tore at her heart, but what else could they do?

She heard the sound of screaming from outside and closed her eyes.  London had had riots before, but what would happen with an alien invasion force in the heart of the city?  She breathed a silent prayer as the sound of gunshots echoed out in the distance, followed by a faint humming that seemed to echo in the back of her head.  One of the doctors walked over to the classroom door and peered down the corridor.  He jumped back, his face white as a sheet.

“They’re coming,” he said.  His legs buckled and he collapsed on the floor.  “They’re coming!”

Fatima braced herself as the first of the aliens came into view.  It was clear that the alien – she couldn’t tell if it was male or female – seemed to be having trouble in corridors designed for humans.  The weapon it carried in one hand looked too large to be carried by a human, although she had to admit that she knew almost nothing about weapons.  Dark eyes, seemingly without any colours at all, peered around the room.  Fatima met them for a second and was struck by just how
alien
the alien seemed to be.  It turned and headed onwards, followed by a small number of other aliens.  Fatima realised, as she felt her own legs give way, that they were expanding outwards.  God alone knew what they’d do when they ran into resistance...

And, despite herself, she hoped that they would place the makeshift hospital under guard.  If London really did dissolve into chaos, the hospitals and chemists would be among the first places targeted for drugs.  Who knew
how
the aliens would react to rioters?

***

Building by building, the advancing assault unit swept through the human city.  Outside their government centre, it seemed that there had been no time to rig traps or other surprises, although
Tra’tro
The’Stig knew better than to take anything for granted.  His superiors had noted his achievement in the first battles by granting him a lead role in the expansion, along with reinforcements that had been dispatched from orbit.  It was a honour he would happily have foregone.  The oddly misshapen humans seemed either curious or terrified of his patrol; he watched in amusement as some ran away, while others just stared at them as if they’d never seen a non-human before.  He shifted his weapon towards one of the humans who was paying too much attention to them in hopes of scaring the little creature away.  The human emitted a high-pitched whine and fled.

The humans had abandoned many of their vehicles in positions that made it harder for the tankers to advance in support of the ground troops.  Two of the tanks had already started pushing human vehicles to one side, but the remainder were holding back, nervous about the consequences of meddling with alien technology.  Besides, the humans had shown a flair for creating traps and no tanker wished to lose his vehicle to a mere improvised bomb.  The’Stig cursed them under his breath, even as he saw another group of humans ahead of him.  They were staring at his patrol as if they couldn’t believe their eyes…

A human voice yelled a command and the first projectiles crashed down around them.  The’Stig’s first thought was that they were under attack by human soldiers, but they were throwing glass bottles and stones rather than grenades and bullets.  A moment later, one of the bottles crashed down on top of a trooper’s head, sending him sprawling down onto the road.  The humans might not be soldiers, but they could harm his troopers.  Their defiance could not be tolerated. 

He snarled as he pulled down on the firing trigger and sprayed bullets over the humans within eyesight.  They fell to the ground in bloody heaps, their comrades suddenly running back as if they’d realised that it wasn't a good idea to challenge the occupation force.  The’Stig refused to let them go easily; he lunged forward, firing burst after burst as he moved.  The attack ended almost as quickly as it had begun, with a number of humans dead and two of his troopers mildly injured.  He silently made a note to praise the body armour in his report.  If they hadn’t been so well-protected, they would have certainly had more injured, if not dead.

“Advance,” he ordered, sharply.

The force continued on its way, coordinating with other groups as they pressed out along the human roads.  It dawned on him suddenly that they weren’t really controlling the city at all, merely the main roads they intended to use for transporting supplies.  They simply didn’t have the numbers to maintain control over the entire city.  After a moment of thought, he kept that insight to himself.  His superior officers no doubt knew all about it and intended to deal with the humans in another manner.  Their city was dependent upon food supplies from outside, wasn’t it?  They could simply be starved to death if they refused to cooperate.

He smiled darkly as the first assault drone hummed overhead, watching for further human ambushes.  The humans who had escaped the brief engagement – if he dignified the one-sided massacre by calling it an engagement – would spread the word.  Any attempts to slow the occupation force would not be tolerated.  Maybe the humans would learn quickly enough that the occupation force could relax.

The drone reported what looked like another ambush up ahead.  He checked his weapon as the force moved carefully onwards, ready to deal with the ambush when it was triggered.  The humans would learn – or they would die.  In the end, he told himself firmly, Earth would belong to the State.  The only real question was how many humans would have to die before the rest realised that they had no choice, but to submit.

Chapter Seven

Long Stratton

United Kingdom, Day 1

“I saw you come down,” a voice called.  Alex barely heard him.  “Are you all right?”

Alex shook her head.  Her entire body was shaking with post-combat stress.  She’d left RAF Coningsby expecting nothing more challenging than a routine patrol and an attempt to intercept one of the mysterious ‘ghosts.’  Well, the ghosts weren’t a mystery any more, were they?  They belonged to the bastards who had blown Davidson out of the sky and shot her down, whoever they were.  She’d practiced ejecting before, but she’d never had to eject from a Typhoon in the midst of a battle…she cursed her own weakness as she tried to stand up.  Her legs refused to cooperate and she stumbled before grasping the proffered hand gratefully.

“I…thank you,” she managed.  Normally, a pilot bailing out of an aircraft would have been tracked by ground-based radar stations and a SAR helicopter dispatched from the nearest base.  Now, she had the unpleasant feeling that the rest of the RAF had more important things to worry about than a single Typhoon pilot.  The explosions she’d seen as she drifted down to the field suggested that the entire country was under attack.  “Do you have a mobile phone?”

“I tried to call an ambulance when I saw your parachute,” the farmer said.  He looked older than her father, but there was a toughness around him that reminded her of the RAF Regiment soldiers who guarded the RAF’s airbases.  His face was tanned by the sun.  “There’s no signal at all.”

Somehow, Alex wasn't surprised.  The unknowns – whoever they were – had to have taken out the communications satellites, as well as jamming ordinary radio frequencies.  There was no reason why they couldn't jam mobile phones as well.  She cursed under her breath as she realised that she wasn't entirely sure where she was, or how to report in to whatever remained of her unit.  The country was at war and she had enlisted to defend it.  She needed to return to the base.  And that might be impossible.

“I can take you down to the farm,” the farmer offered.  He held out a calloused hand.  “My name’s Giles, Giles Smith.  I own the land about here.”

“Alex,” Alex offered, as they shook hands.  “I didn't mean to land on your farm...”

“Don’t worry about it,” the farmer said.  He frowned, for a long moment.  “I don’t suppose you know what those flashes I saw in the distance were?”

Alex filled him in on what little she knew as they walked down towards the farmhouse.  It was a neat little building, surrounded by a field of sheep and cows, almost like something from a bygone era.  She would have been charmed if she hadn't been so worried about the situation – and the smell from the fields.  The people who suggested that humanity should abandon technology and go back to the land had never smelled the countryside. 
She
was happy with air conditioning and filtering.

Inside, she allowed the farmer’s wife to give her a cup of tea while she tried to call the base.  The telephone line buzzed and clicked alarmingly, and then went dead, without even a dial tone.  At Smith’s suggestion, she tried the internet and was pleasantly surprised to discover that the farmhouse had broadband.  Smith explained, when she asked, that the farmhouse often played host to young people and they all demanded internet access.

“And the wife likes watching streaming video from London,” he added with a wink.  “I know better than to get in her way.”

Alex smiled as she tried to access MILNET through the internet connection.  It should have accepted her password and allowed her access, but the link seemed to keep dropping out, as if some of the network nodes were malfunctioning.  The unknown enemy had launched their attack without being detected, at least until it was far too late.  There was no reason why they couldn't have launched a cyber-attack as well and taken out most of the military’s secure network.  The pilots had briefed that that was supposed to be impossible, but the unknowns had done far too much that should
also
have been impossible.

Finally, the system blinked up a warning; enemy troops in London and several other cities.  Alex stared at the screen, not quite believing her eyes.  How could
anyone
have simply landed in London?  Where the hell was the rest of the RAF?  The thought – the thought that she had been trying to avoid – floated back to the surface of her mind.  She’d been blown out of the sky, along with her wingman.  It was quite possible that the remainder of the RAF had met the same fate, or had been caught and destroyed on the ground.  Who the hell were they fighting?

A set of general orders, directed to soldiers and TA reservists, flickered into existence.  They were ordered to make their way out of the cities and rendezvous with officers at certain locations, each referred to with a different codename.  Alex stared at them, before realising that whoever had taken command of the British military wouldn’t have wanted to put their instructions on the military network, no matter how secure it was supposed to be.  The unknowns were probably monitoring every move they made. 

But
she
had no idea where to go.  The RAF had never anticipated needing to establish covert rendezvous points, certainly not since the end of the Cold War.  She could find a list of military bases online, yet the chances were good that they had been destroyed or attacked and occupied by the unknowns.  The unknowns...their enemy didn't even have a face!  Who the hell were they fighting?

She clicked on one of the options and an answer, of sorts, floated up in front of her eyes.  Aliens.  It seemed impossible, but so did the ghosts – the ghost aircraft that had blown her out of the sky and killed her wingman.  She covered her eyes for a long moment, feeling the world spinning around her, and then looked back up at the screen.  The damning words were still there.

“Aliens,” she whispered.  How long had it been since she’d watched the television show where the RAF had accidentally shot down a UFO, only to find themselves caught in the middle of a war between two alien races?  Years...she’d been a child at the time.  “It’s not possible...”