Their Darkest Hour
Page 19
Outside, he could hear the sounds of fire engines already on 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 trap intended to kill a number of policemen as well as wipe the slate clean. It was clear that the bomb-maker had a nasty sense of humour.
His skin still burning, he found a place to sit and waited for the fire brigade. Somehow, he was 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 – Londoners weren't used to seeing hundreds of people torn from their homes and transferred to detention camps, even during the terrifying days after suicide bombers had struck the London Underground. People might 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 have a force on standby to help out the police if necessary, but Robin was determined not to call on them. They’d kill 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 out and up to the door, pressing down hard on the buzzer. A second team had been deployed to the back of the house, where it would snatch up anyone trying to climb out the rear window. There was a brief pause, and then a middle-aged Asian woman opened the door, her dark eyes clearly armed. The police weren't very popular in this part of London, despite attempts to recruit more officers from ethnic minorities. And they were about to become 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 a scream when he shoved her into the arms of another policeman, who would put her out in the garden until they’d rounded up everyone in the house. Her yelp brought two teenage boys out to see what was going on; Robin barked at them to keep their hands where he could see them, just before taking advantage of their shock to handcuff the lead youth. The second tried to swing a punch at Robin, only to be sent falling to his knees when Robin slammed his baton into his chest. He vomited, but Robin had no time to see to his health. As soon as the cuffs were on, he crashed onwards, into the next room. Two younger girls were cooking something that smelt hot and spicy; he gave them a moment to turn off the gas before cuffing both of them and pushing them outside.
Five other policemen had clumped up the stairs, finding three middle-aged gentlemen and an elderly lady who looked old enough to be Robin’s great-grandmother. Her ID card claimed that she was sixty. The policemen cuffed her anyway, shouting at the men to keep them subdued as they were hauled downstairs. Robin kicked his way into the suicide bomber’s room, but saw little of interest apart from some pamphlets produced by radical fundamentalists calling on the Muslim community to rise up and slaughter the infidel. He picked a new-looking booklet up and glanced at it, realising that the fundamentalist arseholes had demoted America from Great Satan to Middle Satan. The aliens seemed to be the new Great Satan, although he wasn't sure why. He’d heard that some fundamentalists were claiming that the aliens had bombed Mecca, but as far as he’d been able to tell they’d largely ignored the Middle East. The region was sinking into chaos after they’d smashed the military bases and left the rest of the region to sink or swim on its own.
Outside, a crowd was already gathering. The policemen ignored them as the next set of vans pulled up, ready to take the prisoners to the detention camp. Robin shuddered as the prisoners set off an awful racket, yelling and screaming for help from their fellow Muslims – and everyone else in the area. He felt sick at what he was doing – the Nazis had done the same to the Jews, as well as everyone else who’d incurred their hatred – but there was no choice. The looks some of the civilians were giving him suggested that they wouldn’t accept his excuses, or his self-justifications. They saw him as a monster 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 rapidly by a small volley of stones, bricks and bottles. Robin ducked for cover as objects began to bounce off the side of the vans, or strike policemen. They were wearing armour, but no body armour was totally perfect. Two of the policemen fell to the ground, bleeding. One of them was caught up by the advancing mob and stomped to death.
Damn you, Robin thought. 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 hose was played right over their faces. Some of them seemed to have the sense to run, but others seemed far too aware that the police vans could only carry a small amount of water. A few minutes and they’d run out completely. And then they’d be forced to use the gas...
The engines roared to life and he barked orders. They’d have to leave the body of their fallen comrade behind, even though it tore at him to leave it. The only way to recover the body was to use gas – and he wasn't ready to use it unless they were in desperate straits. He watched as the remaining policemen scrambled for the vans, and then beat a hasty retreat. Absently, he wondered how the other teams were coping. The aliens had designated three hundred relatives of the suicide bomber and his friends for capture. Some of them would probably be arrested easily, but the others...? The Islamic community might hide them from the aliens.
He let out a breath he hadn't realised he’d been holding as 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,” a man’s voice said. “You’re already in deep shit.”
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, but she’d declined. There was no way to explain it to her stepmother. Respectable girls lived in the family home until they married, whereupon they moved to their husband’s home and found themselves slaving for their mother-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 relaxed than confident. “What’s going on...?”
She glanced around the corner and stopped, dead. There looked to be a small army of policemen outside her house, and a growing crowd of friends, relatives and neighbours surrounding the policemen. As she watched, her stepmother was hauled out by two of the policemen and dumped in the garden, her hands cuffed behind her backs. The rest of her extended family followed moments later. Fatima realised, in growing shock, that she would 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 an invitation. “Walk with me,” he hissed. She could feel his breath against her ear even though the scarf. “Pretend we’re a married couple and walk slowly. We don’t want to attract attention.”
Behind her, Fatima heard the sound of angry shouting in three different languages and the sound of hosepipes. She felt her heart clench inside her as they walked away, nearly fainting when a row of police vans shot past them and down the road at terrifying speed. The district 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...she wanted to scream after them, but what good would it have done?
Fatima stared at him. “How do you know that?” She demanded. Something else crossed her mind. “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 to students at London’s universities. Some of the students, Fatima had heard, had managed to get permission from the aliens to return home, while others had found themselves trapped in London. It seemed an odd place to hide a resistance cell, but it did make a certain kind of sense. The landlords would be used to people coming and going at all hours of the day and they’d turn a blind eye to certain activities. They walked up two flights of stairs and entered a small suite of rooms, clearly ones that had been abandoned in a hurry. Somehow, she was sure that Abdul himself wasn't a student. He walked more like 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 around her. God alone knew what would happen to her family. “I can't just leave and...I’ve got patients to see!”
“The moment you show yourself,” Abdul said, kindly, “they will arrest you. There’ll probably be a reward on your head before too long. You can't do anything for your patients now – the only thing you can do is get yourself arrested.”
He placed one hand on her shoulder. “We have this flat for the next fortnight, at least,” he added. “Get a shower, have a long rest – and I’ll see you tonight. You’re a doctor – the resistance could make use of you. Certainly better use than the aliens could...”
Fatima found her voice. “But what will happen to my family?”
Abdul looked, just for a second, uncharacteristically guilty. “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 the others, as they say. The only thing you can do now is help us to avenge them.”
Fatima watched him go, her mind spinning. Her world had turned upside down...and she couldn't even cry. What could she do now?
Chapter Twenty
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 muttered back. The aliens were certainly predicable, all right. It seemed odd that they made mistakes that human armies had learned to avoid, but from what he could tell, they might have good reason to believe that this particular alien routine wasn't dangerous. There were reports suggesting that, two days ago, several men armed with hunting rifles and shotguns had tried to take on an alien convoy. They’d been killed without harming a single alien. “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 have found flatly impossible. Even the smaller armoured vehicles in the British Army – or the barely-armoured Snatch Land Rover – would have had trouble matching their speed. But human trucks and lorries were slower and the aliens, it seemed, were willing to press human drivers into service to help their logistics. It stood to reason that they’d prefer to use human labour where possible, but it didn't seem to have occurred to their commanders that this meant that their convoys were slower than they might have preferred. Or perhaps their commanders simply didn't care. Chris had encountered a couple of senior officers who issued orders that forced the soldiers on the ground to do more with less – and mistook the map for the terrain. And given that the aliens seemed alarmingly inflexible, they probably didn't give their troops on the ground any latitude at all.
Of course, we had to learn, didn't we? He thought to himself. I wonder if we’ll be the lucky ones who run into an alien junior officer with the guts – or family connections – to do his own thing...?
The M1 motorway was one of the longest motorways in Britain, connecting London to Leeds. It had also been one of the busiest, at least until the aliens had arrived and managed to do what years of protest and campaigning by environmental freaks hadn’t. Now, the motorways were almost deserted, used only by the aliens and their collaborators. Indeed, a handful of shot-up cars signified the dangers of using the motorways in a world where armed men were intent on waging war against the occupiers. Most families were conserving what little petrol they had left for emergencies.
From his vantage point in Gayhurst Wood, he could see the eerily deserted motorway stretching away into the distance. The aliens seemed to be running regular convoys up and down Britain’s motorway network, supplying their bases around British cities. In fact, Chris knew that a number of other attacks had been planned over the coming few days, although he hadn't been given any specifics. It was strange to feel as if they were both isolated and connected to the resistance underground, but there was little choice. The aliens would presumably have no qualms about using torture to get information out of prisoners.
But we still don’t know what they do to military prisoners, he thought, grimly. The resistance had attempted to trace the prisoners, 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 over to 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 Middle East. Or maybe to Antarctica.
He pushed the thought aside as the sensor beside him started to bleep. They might not have any active radars any more, but they could tell when the aliens were using radar – and when one of their drones was heading towards their position. The aliens used drones to provide an outer layer of security for their convoys, a trick that probably explained why they’d picked off the civilian insurgents before they’d had a chance to spring their ambush. This time, however, things were going to be different.
“Get ready,” he muttered. The moment they revealed themselves, the aliens would try to cut them down, perhaps by using something like a drone-mounted Hellfire missile. It was astonishing how advanced UAVs had become in the years since 9/11. Even the Taliban 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 constantly orbiting drone and relaxed, slightly. The humans were determined opponents, far tougher than anyone else they’d encountered at a comparable technological level, but they clearly didn't realise how easily their movements could be monitored by the Land Forces. A handful of convoys had been hit by concealed explosives and snipers, yet they’d never managed to take on a whole convoy – and never would. Their failure to 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 on Earth had warned the reinforcement units that humans were sneaky, but he hadn't seen any evidence of human sneakiness in the four days since he’d landed on Earth. Sure, they’d managed to use treachery to kill many troopers, yet they’d also killed thousands of their own kind. No race, even one as strange as humanity, would carry one like that – their own kind would turn against them. And the humans who drove the trucks were properly loyal. They knew their place – and they also knew that any sign of disloyalty would result in their families being executed.
Earth itself was an odd world. It’s cl
imate was rarely perfect, often being too hot or too dry. The rainstorms they’d had just after landing had been refreshing, but they’d really been too cool for proper enjoyment. It wasn't too surprising that the local weather patterns had been screwed up – the Land Forces had bombarded human bases and centres of resistance with KEWs, while the Chinese humans had been insane enough to use nuclear warheads against their own cities – and the weather experts promised that it would get better soon. Indeed, they’d even pointed out that accelerating the greenhouse effect would make the planet warmer, melt the ice caps and generally make it more habitable. He couldn't understand why so many humans seemed concerned about global warming. Didn’t they want a warmer world?
But the human opinion didn't matter, not now that their world had been absorbed into the State. They would learn to live on the reshaped world or die, while many of their fellows were shipped away to serve the State. And then...
He glanced down at the drone’s feed as it shrilled a warning. It was in danger! Someone was using a seeker head to target it...he hesitated, convinced it had to be a malfunction, and then a flash of light in the sky marked the end of drone coverage. And then the world blew up in his face.