Pepper looked up, sharply. “Out of here?”
She had a point, the President knew. Mannington wasn't regarded as a high priority by the alien authorities, but they had placed a small garrison of collaborator troops not too far away, which they’d used to wreak havoc on a resistance cell. Sneaking out of Mannington would be tricky, even for the best-trained Special Forces ... and neither of them had been trained so extensively. If they were caught, the best they could hope for was a quick death. And for that to happen, they’d have to make damn sure that the President wasn't identified.
But they will identify me, the President thought, numbly. They hadn't realised just how capable the alien DNA readers were until they’d started rounding up the families of captured resistance fighters. There were reports that family members on the other side of the country, men and women who hadn't seen their relatives in years, had been arrested and taken away – and no one knew what had happened to them. If the aliens had recovered a sample of the President’s DNA, they’d know who he was as soon as they tested him. If ...
“We can't do this alone,” he said, flatly. “We’re going to have to work with the rest of the world, as well as the alien rebels. And they’re going to need an agreement with the President, not his representative.”
Pepper gave him a long considering look. “And how much of that is genuine conviction and how much of it is cabin fever?”
The President considered it, thoughtfully.
“You’re not just anyone,” Pepper reminded him, again. She’d given him the same lecture every third or fourth day of their captivity. “You’re the President, the legally-elected leader of the United States. Merely knowing that you’re still free gives us a boost ...”
“True,” the President agreed, “but this needs my presence.”
He shook his head when she continued the argument. In truth, his position was worthless in all but name. No President could rule the country in such a state and his ability to enforce his orders was very limited, almost non-existent. There were resistance cells that were turning to crime to support themselves, despite his orders. They’d prey on their fellow humans, who would eventually betray them to the aliens. Why not? The Sunni of Iraq had eventually betrayed their so-called co-religionists to the Americans.
“Besides,” he added, “what happens if they decide to search the town thoroughly?”
Pepper grimaced. There was one person in the town who knew just what was hidden underground and that person was now caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. If the Order Police pressed him, without knowing quite what he was hiding, the results were likely to be unpleasant. They could make the lives of everyone in the town very nasty, for a start – and they’d destroyed entire towns in the past, just to make an example. And, while the bunker was well-hidden, she had no illusions about what a careful search of the town might find, particularly if they were betrayed.
“You know who was caught here,” the President said. “There are already too many eyes on Mannington.”
“True,” Pepper agreed, reluctantly. “I’ll start planning the op. We’ll need a distraction, at the very least. And don’t do anything stupid.”
The President grinned at her. “Me? Stupid?”
He watched her walking over to the map of the town and surrounding countryside, feeling an odd twinge of guilt. He’d been a widower when he’d run for office and being President hadn't given him much time to court other women ... he honestly had no idea how Kennedy and Clinton had found time to have sex in the Oval Office. Actually, it was more likely that part of the story was exaggerated. There was just no time.
But he was old enough to be Pepper’s father, if he’d started young.
He pushed the thought away. Soon, they would be out of Mannington and things could start moving. And then they could try to throw the aliens out of the country.
Chapter Eight
Near Mannington, Virginia, USA
Day 199
“I have come home,” Nicolas muttered.
He’d become intimately familiar with Virginia in the years since Greg and Nancy had moved to Mannington. There had been plenty of rambles around the countryside with Nancy, where they’d talked and tried to build up a relationship that would survive the months Nicolas had spent on active deployment, well away from his family. Deployments put stress on marriages between adults; it would have been understandable if Nancy had practically forgotten her father in the months between visits. Compared to many, Nicolas had been lucky. Greg had never tried to bar him from visiting.
No, he just betrayed me to the aliens instead, he thought, sourly.
He looked down at the piece of alien technology in his hand. It was tiny, little larger than a matchbox, made out of a silvery material the technicians hadn't been able to identify. They’d poked, prodded and x-rayed the device, but it had stubbornly refused to give up its secrets, no matter what they did. Some of the researchers had wanted to crack it open, something Nicolas had hastily vetoed. There was no guarantee that they could put the device back together again.
From what the alien rebels had said, they could slip messages through their communications network with a high probability of escaping detection, but Nicolas had had the distinct feeling that they weren't as confident as they claimed. For one thing, he'd been told not to use the communicator regularly – and never to use it too close to a resistance camp. The alien communications technology might be undetectable by human tech, but they might well be able to track it for themselves. And if they realised that humans had one of their communicators ...
Actually, the rebels hadn't been so worried about that. The human resistance had captured dozens of examples of alien technology, including weapons and communications devices. It would be only natural for them to experiment with the captured gear to see how it worked, but even so using it was likely to draw attention if a single mistake was made. Nicolas took a breath, wondering if the next few seconds would be his last, and then pressed his thumb firmly against the device’s topside. A moment passed and then the device unfolded in front of him, projecting a holographic image of wavy lines into the air. Nicolas couldn't help wondering if he was looking at an alien screensaver.
He counted seven seconds before the wavy lines vanished, replaced by a human face. “Philip,” Nicolas said, in some relief. “I have news.”
He briefly outlined what had happened since they’d dropped to Earth, ending with the requests for information and an improved method of liberating the Walking Dead. There didn't seem to be any time delay between his words and Philip’s answers, although that meant nothing. Unless the command ship they’d visited had gone to the moon between their release and now, there shouldn't have been any time delay at all.
“I’ll have to ask them to improve the nanites,” Philip said, when Nicolas had finished. “Do you have a copy of the results?”
“Yes,” Nicolas said, dryly, “but how do we get them to you?”
He saw Philip scowl and fought back a smile. Alien technology didn't seem to be compatible with Windows 2016, let alone the government-issue user interface used in the bunker. No doubt the aliens had seen Independence Day and decided that they didn’t want someone uploading a virus into their computers and taking down their force shields, just in time for a drunken pilot to save the day. Of course, after computer viruses had been used to cripple the Iranian nuclear program, they might not have needed a bad movie to warn them of the risks.
“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” Philip said. “And on the other data as well.”
Nicolas rolled his eyes, but nodded. Philip wasn't in a position to make deals, or speak on behalf of the alien rebels. At least he wasn't one of the Walking Dead. Nicolas had chatted to him long enough to be sure of that, unless the paranoid naysayers were right and the aliens had cracked the secret of controlling someone without making it obvious. But if they had, the human race was thoroughly screwed anyway.
“Good,” he said. “Be seeing yo
u.”
He switched off the alien device and watched, with a certain amount of amusement, as it folded back up into a matchbox. Once Disney got hold of the technology, he suspected, there would be a revolution in home entertainment. Instead of watching a movie on a flat screen, the watchers could literally step into the movie and watch it from any angle. Coming to think of it, if there was ever a safe way to download information into a human brain, it would be a second revolution. His experiences as a SEAL could be recorded and shared with everyone.
And porno merchants would be delighted, he thought, as he stuffed the alien device into the secure box. According to the sensors, it wasn't radiating anything, but that meant nothing, particularly when the sensors hadn't picked up anything when the device was active. Nicolas had no idea if that meant the sensors just weren't advanced enough, or if what the device did was simply well above human technology. If the latter, it would suggest worrying possibilities for future developments.
Shaking his head, he walked back towards where the rest of the raiding party was hiding.
***
Ken Warwick was nervous, understandably so. His education had been largely worthless, his part-time job had evaporated along with most of the economy and he was the sole breadwinner for his mother and kid sisters, their father having vanished back when Ken had been a kid himself. Desperate and starving, he had joined the Order Police. It had seemed a good idea at the time.
It hadn't taken long for him to realise that it had been a mistake. The vast majority of the population hated the Order Policemen more than they hated the aliens, or even the Walking Dead. Ken had seen the alien-controlled slaves issue orders for mass slaughter and the destruction of entire towns, as calmly as if they were ordering dinner, but still they weren’t hated with the same intensity as the Order Police. But then, the Walking Dead had never volunteered to be turned into alien slaves. The Order Policemen had joined willingly.
He gritted his teeth as the warm night breeze drifted over Mannington and brushed over the checkpoint. At least Mannington wasn't as bad as some of the other places he’d been posted, where the Order Police and the resistance had sought to outdo each other in committing atrocities. Ken had been lucky not to be assigned to one of the ‘pacification’ units; from what he’d heard, they were forced to loot, rape and burn everywhere until the rest of the population submitted to their control. Even where he was, it was hard to avoid the pressure to join in the atrocities. Most of the Order Policemen relished their role.
What do you expect? He asked himself, bitterly. They recruited everyone who wanted power over their fellow humans. The criminal, the mad, the sociopathic monsters ... they all found a home in the Order Police.
The thought made him sick. No one knew how many of the rumours were actually true, but he’d seen enough to give credence to them all. And yet, what could he do? If he escaped, the aliens would hunt him down as a deserter – and the resistance would kill him, for being part of the Order Police. There was nowhere to hide, not when everyone was required to carry an ID card at all times. They’d arrest him, check his fingerprints and then shoot him for desertion. There was no way out.
He glanced up in surprise as he heard a truck making its way down the road towards him. It was rare to see unescorted trucks these days, not after supplies of gas had been heavily restricted by the aliens. It helped keep the population under control, he’d been told, even though it also made it much harder for them to fend for themselves. In America, having a car could literally be the difference between life and death. But with the economy effectively gone, it hardly mattered. The aliens were feeding everyone anyway.
“Let’s hope that it’s a young and pretty driver,” his comrade said. “Someone we can have some fun with ...”
Ken shuddered. And to think that his comrade was fairly sensible, as Order Policemen went!
He scowled, hoping that the driver was an old and ugly man. They might rough him up a little, if there was a problem with his papers, but they wouldn’t do anything else to him. Everyone who complained about the TSA had never met the Order Police. Even the semi-decent ones wouldn't pass up the chance for a grope and perhaps a little more ...
“Let’s hope,” he agreed, neutrally.
The checkpoint was fairly basic, as checkpoints went. Everyone who had a reason to travel outside the towns and cities was expected to check in as they went in and out, allowing the aliens to monitor their movements carefully. Someone caught trying to sneak around the checkpoints would be automatically assumed to be up to something and could be engaged with deadly force, or thrown into the nearest POW camp. The truck started to slow down, as the driver saw the warning signs.
“It is a girl,” his comrade said. “Look!”
Ken winced inwardly, hoping that it wasn't visible on his face. He knew what was about to happen and it wasn't going to be pretty. And it was something that he was powerless to prevent.
“You can flag her down,” he said, numbly. “Just don’t forget to search the vehicle before you have any fun.”
His comrade gave him an odd glance, than sauntered onto the road, rifle in hand.
***
Melissa shuddered inwardly as the Order Policeman came forward, his face twisted into a leer. It brought back memories of the first time she’d encountered an Order Policeman, a twisted monster in human form, who had ... her mind refused to remember the exact details, through the haze of pain and suffering. She’d been raped, then mutilated ... and she’d done nothing. The man had been bored. No one else had done anything, of course. They’d been too scared of the aliens to even try.
Her life hadn't just been ruined, it had been utterly destroyed. No one wanted to even look at her, because they knew that what had happened to her could easily happen to them. The adults shuddered and kept their daughters inside, but they shunned Melissa. They didn't want to even think about the damage, or how much medical attention it had taken to save her life. And now, the doctors had warned, the shortage in medical supplies was so dangerous that anyone else who suffered the same fate was unlikely to survive. Melissa had considered suicide, before she’d had another idea.
It had been surprisingly easy to find the resistance. There was a recruiter in town and he had been happy to forward her to another cell. They'd asked for volunteers for a mission, knowing that it might be suicide, and Melissa had volunteered. She’d had nothing left to live for, but revenge. And she had a motive to alter her orders, just slightly.
She reached down and placed her hand on the detonator, arming the bomb. If she was shot, if her hand was knocked away from the lever, the bomb would detonate. She’d been told to set the timer, take it as close as she could to the checkpoint, and then abandon the vehicle. Her own plans had been much simpler. It was astonishing what she could consider doing now that she’d made the decision to sacrifice her life.
The Order Policeman leered at him; she gave him a completely sweet, completely fake smile. It wasn't the one who had hurt her, she realised, but it hardly mattered. They were all psychopaths in a parody of a police uniform, nothing like the kindly officers she remembered from her youth, before the world had been turned upside down. She pushed hard down on the accelerator, her smile widening as the truck lurched forward, charging straight at the checkpoint. There was a dull thump as she ran right into the Order Policeman and knocked him down ...
... And a click as she released the detonator.
***
Ken had bare seconds to realise that something had gone horribly wrong before the truck was on him. Letting it get so close had been a tactical mistake, part of his mind nagged, even as he lifted his rifle and took aim at the driver. She was grinning broadly from ear to ear, he noticed, her face twisted in mocking joy.
And then the world went white and faded away.
***
There was a brilliant flash of white light, followed by a fireball rising up into the darkened sky. Seconds later, a thunderclap rent the air.
“Th
e checkpoint is gone,” the radio buzzed. “Mission accomplished.”
Major Robert Greely nodded. There was no point in maintaining radio silence now; the aliens and their lapdogs would have no doubt that they were under attack. The other two bombs were already on their way towards their targets, but clearing the checkpoint had been the first priority. Or so the higher-ups had said. There seemed to be no obvious reason for the decision.
He looked over at his mortar teams and smiled. “You may fire when ready,” he ordered. “And don’t miss!”
There was a dull thump as the first mortar launched its deadly shell into the air, aimed towards the Order Police garrison. They’d be running around like headless chickens, according to the plan, and a handful of mortar shells would teach them a lesson. Not that the crews could stay in place longer than a minute or two; the aliens would have no difficulty in tracking the shells back to their launchers and doing something about it. They’d learned the hard way that the aliens were very quick to react.
The radio buzzed again. “Direct hit,” the spotter reported. “They’re not happy, boss.”
Glad to hear it, Robert thought, ruefully. It had been years since he’d last served in active duty, back in Vietnam. If it hadn’t been for the alien invasion, he would have spent the rest of his life wishing that he could go back to the military. But then, fighting was a young man’s game. He’d only been given the mortar crew, he suspected, because he wouldn't be a great loss if he were killed.
He raised his voice. “Bug out,” he ordered. “Now!”
The mortar crews had practiced endlessly for this moment, breaking down the mortar and transporting the components away from the firing site. There had been no time to dig proper bunkers or anything else that might protect them from enemy retaliatory fire. Instead, they would have to rely on speed and stealth. Robert watched as a pair of former soldiers set up an IED in place to take out Order Policemen if they came to locate the mortars personally, then followed the rest of his men away from the firing zone. They were barely in time to escape.
Outside Context Problem: Book 03 - The Slightest Hope of Victory Page 8
