Their Darkest Hour

by Christopher Nuttall

  “I don't want to talk about it,” she repeated. She wasn't going to break, not after everything else she’d been through. “I need to rest.”

  “But they’ll kill you,” the man protested. “You can’t help your friends now...”

  Something clicked in Alex’s mind. She’d been slapped and beaten and raped and, afterwards, she’d found it incredibly difficult to walk. The man looked to have been tortured worse and yet he was still walking, if badly. They should have shackled him, yet they’d left him free to walk. And he didn't sound as though he was in pain...

  “Go fuck yourself, collaborator,” Alex said, wondering if it would be the last thing she’d ever say. He might lash out at her and she was in no state for a fight. “You’re nothing more than a goddamned Walt!”

  There was a pause, and then the man stood up and banged on the cell door. His limp seemed to have vanished, she noted, as the door opened and he was hauled outside. She could hear the sound of someone screaming from further down the corridor before the door was slammed closed and the light went off, leaving her alone in the darkness. Alex chuckled, despite the pain it caused her to laugh. They’d tried to trick her into talking and failed.

  She lay back on the hard bed and closed her eyes, trying to relax. It wasn't easy; the pain kept her awake. She wasn't sure how much more she could take before she broke, even though she was determined to hold out as long as possible. But what was going to happen to her afterwards? She had a feeling that she wouldn't enjoy the answer.

  The cell door banged open without warning. A dark silhouette appeared, standing against the faint light from outside. “Well, you’re certainly posing an interesting challenge,” the tall man said. He sounded more amused than annoyed. “I thought that you would have been fooled for sure.”

  It was a mistake to talk to one’s captors, but Alex couldn't resist. “Fuck you,” she said. “I won’t tell you anything.”

  “I’ve already fucked you,” the tall man said, nastily. There was a faint chuckle, an inhuman sound for all that it came from a human throat. “I come with good news. Your suffering will soon be over, my dear. Our masters have decided to execute a number of people caught in the act of waging war against the new world order. They announced it on the BBC and everything. And unless you talk, you’re going to be one of the ones executed by firing squad.”

  He leaned closer. “You could talk right now,” he said. “I’ll have your wounds treated and you’d even be able to rest properly, without any more suffering. There are places where you could live out the rest of your life, far from the maddening crowd. All you have to do is tell us what we want to know...”

  Alex braced herself, and then threw a slap at his face. But she was wounded and drained and she moved far too slowly. He stepped back, effortlessly avoiding her desperate blow.

  “I suggest you make your peace with yourself, bitch,” he said, in the same casual tone. “Tomorrow, you will die. And don’t even think that they will care, all the people you’re protecting. They will just forget you, or forever wonder if you betrayed them...”

  “Go fuck yourself,” Alex said, as harshly as she could.

  “I’ll fuck someone else tonight,” the tall man said. “Enjoy your last day on Earth.”

  The door banged closed behind him, leaving Alex alone once again. She’d known that there was a prospect of violent death from the day she’d first joined the RAF. And she’d known that she might be shot down over enemy territory and interrogated. It had been one of her few nightmares, back when the world had made sense. If only it had stayed in her nightmares...quietly, alone in her cell, she prayed to a God she hadn't spoken to for years. At least her death would have some meaning...

  And perhaps it would be quick.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Alien Detention Camp

  United Kingdom, Day 41

  “I strongly suggest that you don’t fuck up,” Chris said, looking over at the lorry driver. It hadn't taken much to pigeon-hole their unwilling assistant as someone who could be threatened, although never fully trusted. “One mistake and they’ll have us – and they will never believe that you weren't part of it.”

  Jimmy Coates nodded, clearly nervous around the soldiers and their weapons. The aliens had summoned three of their tame lorry drivers – and their vehicles – to the detention camp, a stroke of luck that Chris intended to use against them. Each of the lorries could hold upwards of twenty soldiers, along with some heavy weapons. The remainder of the assault force had positioned itself nearer the camp, watching and waiting for the balloon to go up. Chris had devised the plan, but right now – on the verge of implementing his plan – it struck him that there were too many things that could go wrong. If they fucked up...

  “I’m going to be in the cab with you,” he added. “If you betray us, it will be the last thing you ever do.”

  He bellowed for the soldiers to clamber into the lorries, and then nodded to Coates to climb into his cab and start the engine. Chris had ridden in army lorries before, but it had taken some careful work to prepare the civilian vehicles for their use. They weren't designed to carry passengers in the rear, let alone heavy weapons. Chris hadn’t mentioned it to the lorry drivers, but if necessary they wouldn't hesitate to abandon the lorries and leave them behind. The aliens would know who had assisted the resistance, which would mark the drivers for death when they were caught. Their families were already safe and the drivers, assuming that they survived the mission, would be allowed to join them.

  “Come on,” Coates bellowed. “We need to get moving!”

  Chris nodded and scrambled up into the cab. It was warmer than he had expected, smelling of something he didn't quite want to identify. Jimmy turned the key and the engine roared to life as Chris pulled on his seat belt and checked his Browning. He’d stashed a small bag of grenades and other surprises below the seat, out of sight of any alien patrols. If nothing else, the mission should convince the aliens that they couldn't rely on their tame collaborators – at least not completely. And Coates, a drunkard with a shrew of a wife, would go down in the history books as a hero.

  The vehicle lurched into life and headed off down the road, followed by the other two lorries at a safe distance. Chris wasn't too surprised to see how empty the roads had become, even though the aliens had started doling out petrol to their collaborators. Most vehicles were driven by collaborators and they’d been targeted by resistance fighters – or just local youths – for destruction. Not many people picked on the aliens these days. The Leathernecks were clearly learning; not only had they improved their reaction times, but they didn't hesitate to blast nearby towns and villages in retaliation for attacks on their vehicles.

  Chris gritted his teeth as the roar of the engine grew louder, thinking hard. How long could they continue to fight if the aliens retaliated massively for every little attack? They had plenty of weapons, but the aliens would simply keep wearing them down – and force the local population into more active collaboration. If they started warning the inhabitants of towns near their bases that any attack would result in the destruction of their town, the inhabitants might betray the resistance fighters to the aliens. Chris couldn't really blame them, even though it would make carrying on the war difficult. How could they keep fighting if they didn't have a real hope of victory?

  The internet – passing messages from cell to cell – was clearly trying to keep their hopes up, but he could tell that the resistance was fraying at the edges. None of the lads had ever expected to have to fight a war in their own backyards and many had seen to their families, only to be rounded up by the aliens and shipped...where? It bothered him that they still had no idea what happened to human military personnel. There were hundreds of rumours, but none of them had ever seemed more than marginally likely. Perhaps they’d just been taken somewhere isolated and murdered. It was as likely as any other suggestion.

  Once, the motorways had been jam-packed with traffic, making it impossible to move alon
g at anything above a crawl. Now, from what he’d heard, those collaborators who drove out found driving almost pleasurable – at least while they weren’t dodging rocks. He couldn't really blame them for that, even though he hated them for collaborating. The longer the country remained under alien control, the more and more people who would find themselves pushed into collaboration, or at least accommodation, with the aliens. And then...

  There were parts of the country that had been used for military training and exercises for years, places where few civilians lived. The Scottish Highlands could hide a resistance force for years; indeed, the aliens seemed less interested in human activities above Dundee. They did have a small alien force in Aberdeen, but they hadn't bothered to expand outwards or even start supervising the locals as closely as they did in London. It was reassuring to know that there were limits to their manpower, even though it was likely that they didn't consider the Highlands very important. He could go there and join the Scots Guards who were preparing their own fallback positions, or...maybe he would just carry on the fight until his luck ran out and the aliens killed him.

  He glanced down at his watch. It was 1024. The executions had been scheduled for 1100 precisely. Apparently, the aliens were sending a number of bigwigs from London and the other occupied cities down to watch as they pumped bullets into captured resistance fighters, perhaps as a warning to anyone who would consider playing both sides of the fence. It was possible that Beresford himself would be there. Now there was a pleasant thought. If they had a shot at him, Chris intended to take it. Maybe it would teach the other collaborators not to sell themselves, body and soul, to the enemy of the entire world.

  ***

  The light came on, shockingly bright.

  “On your feet,” a man ordered. Alex gasped in pain as strong hand grasped her legs and pulled them off the bed. A moment later, she was yanked to her feet and pushed against the cold wall while her hands were tied behind her back. Her two captors, both wearing the black masks that obscured their features, shoved her towards the door. Despite nearly falling onto her face, Alex found the masks rather heartening. They were clearly concerned about retribution from the resistance.

  Outside, a number of other naked prisoners – male and female – were being pushed towards a flight of stairs leading upwards. Many of them were silent; others were crying out, begging for mercy from their masked captors. None of the captors seemed particularly impressed, although a few were taking advantage of the situation to grope the women in the group. Alex snarled at a man who grasped at her breast and he jumped back, clearly not having expected any resistance at all. The thought made her smile as she was pushed up the steps and out into the cold morning air. They seemed to be on the far edge of the alien detention camp.

  She heard someone calling to her and glanced over towards the fences. Both the male and female camp populations were staring at the small parade, despite angry shouts and threats from their masked escorts. Alex wondered, absently, what had happened to the aliens. Surely they would be watching while their human pawns abused their captives...or perhaps they were ashamed. Hadn’t there been a fictional race of aliens who had discovered the Nazi concentration camps and destroyed them in horror? If only Earth had been invaded by those aliens. The war wouldn't have lasted longer than a few weeks and Earth would have won with ease. Unless the aliens managed to drop asteroids onto the planet instead of landing in force...

  “Move, bitch,” one of the guards snapped, pushing at her. Alex was tempted to fall to the ground and force them to carry her, but it was clear that there would be little point. The handful of prisoners who had been tortured so hard they couldn't walk were being dragged along the ground by their hair or feet. A pair of alien helicopters flew overhead, the sound of their engines a mocking reminder of everything she’d lost since the day her Eurofighter had been blown out of the sky.

  They rounded what looked like a gym and came to a halt in front of the wall. A set of aliens were waiting for them, with a smaller group of humans standing nearby. They looked like collaborators to her, although some of them clearly looked as if they wanted to be somewhere – anywhere – else. She wondered if she’d recognise any of them from the parish council – maybe one of those politicians had betrayed her – but none of them looked familiar. There was no sign of Beresford or any of his inner circle. Perhaps the aliens felt that they’d seen the slaughter in London and didn't need another lesson in alien ruthlessness.

  “Get them against the wall,” one of the humans ordered. The guards obeyed, pushing and shoving at the prisoners to make them move. Two of the badly-beaten prisoners sagged to their knees as soon as they were pushed against the wall, unable to remain standing upright on their own two feet. Alex leaned backwards and relaxed against the wall, feeling oddly calm. The aliens would kill her and that would be the end. No more torture, no more suffering, no more desperate attempts to prevent her treacherous tongue from speaking aloud...it would be the end.

  A cold wind blew across the field as the collaborators prepared themselves. Alex was suddenly very aware that the entire country was going to see her naked – somehow, she found herself chuckling at the very thought. She’d once broken up with a boyfriend because he’d wanted a naked picture of her on his mobile phone; absently, she wondered if that ex-boyfriend would be watching as the aliens blew her apart with their handheld cannons. Perhaps her death would inspire him to go out and kill a few aliens...or perhaps it would just terrify him into submission. She did her best to stand upright, despite the increasing pain from her legs and feet. One way or the other, it wouldn't be long now.

  ***

  “Here we are,” Coates said. “They don’t normally bother to look inside the lorry...”

  Chris braced himself as they reached the alien checkpoint. After the suicide bomber in London, and a handful of copycats from all over Britain, the aliens had installed blast walls and double-fences to prevent any more suicide bombers from getting into their bases before they detonated their bombs. They’d done the papers properly, using MI6’s forgery experts, but if the aliens decided to check the lorries anyway...they would have to fight their way into the base. The plan had been to rescue the prisoners and, ideally, give the aliens a colossal black eye. It would be much harder if they were caught outside the fence.

  One of the aliens came stamping up to the cab and Coates passed him the papers. The driver was clearly nervous, although Chris suspected that it wouldn't be so obvious to an alien. Some suicide bombers in Iraq had given themselves away by being nervous as they neared their target...he glanced at his watch, noting that they only had ten minutes before the executions were scheduled to take place. A delay could ruin the entire plan. Carefully, he allowed his hand to drop down into his rucksack, where he’d concealed the grenades. If they had to fight their way into the camp...

  The alien stepped back and waved one clawed hand. Coates wasted no time in gunning the engine and sending them around the blast walls, while the other lorries were checked and then waved into the base. Chris was almost disappointed at how easy it had been, although there was some evidence that this base wasn't really important to the aliens. They’d only flown a handful of their shuttles down to the base, while they kept flying them to the garrisons outside London and the base they’d built on the remains of Ten Downing Street and Buckingham Palace. He remembered, briefly, the friends he’d lost in the brief, but violent last stand of the Household Division. They’d be watching from the next world as he led a mixed group of soldiers and marines against the alien base.

  According to a handful of collaborators who had maintained ties to the resistance, the aliens had two main detention camps and a number of buildings that served as their local headquarters. Several prisoners had been taken into those buildings and never seen again, although there was no clear explanation as to what had happened to them. The aliens, it seemed, maintained a human interrogation team who interrogated prisoners of particular interest to the aliens. At least one
of the interrogators had been identified as a particularly unpleasant sadist and murderer who had been serving thirty years in jail when the aliens had arrived. Chris gritted his teeth at the thought of anyone he knew falling into their hands.

  History hadn't been a particular interest of his before the invasion, but he’d been reading about the French Resistance to Hitler. The French Resistance had been rather more low-key than it had claimed particularly after VE Day when the membership of the resistance skyrocketed, but it had had some successes. But it had also had problems with Frenchmen who threw themselves completely into serving the Nazis, as had the Russians and several other occupied countries. The locals had sometimes been worse than their foreign masters, having little or no regard for their own country. Some of the stories had been sickening. People had betrayed their fellows for food, drink, or merely some shelter in a world gone insane, but others had used it as a chance to play out their fantasies.

  “Here we are,” Coates said, nervously. The three lorries had parked near one of the human buildings. “How long do you want me to wait here?”