Their Darkest Hour

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Yes,” Gavin said. He’d scattered small teams in positions along the roads leading to the base, teams armed with antitank weapons. They could slow the aliens down, but there was no easy way to slow down the aircraft. Their stock of antiaircraft missiles had largely been earmarked for Operation Hammer. “Tell them to land one good punch and then bug out. I don’t want a stand-up battle if we can avoid it.”

  He glanced down at the map. The aliens had used helicopter assaults before, often with just as much bravery and skill as their human counterparts. They presumably wanted to take the alien’s interrogation team prisoner, if possible – did they know that they were close to the PM, as well as Gavin himself? There was no way to know. No one outside the base knew what it hid, a security precaution that had seemed rather paranoid at the time.

  “And then start making your way to the exit,” he added. “You know where to go if we get split up?”

  “Yes, sir,” the operator said. He watched as Gavin checked the SA80 he carried slung over his shoulder. There’d used to be regulations against arming soldiers who weren’t on duty. Those regulations no longer existed, along with the MOD that had sometimes seemed more paranoid about its soldiers being armed than about security. “Good luck.”

  ***

  Gabriel had been sleeping lightly when the door burst open. He jumped awake, one hand reaching for the pistol on the table. He’d never fired a weapon before the invasion began, but Butcher and his team had insisted that he learn and spent several days in the forest showing him how to load, fire and clean a Browning automatic. It felt oddly reassuring in his hand, even though he knew that he would never be a crack shot. The SAS men regularly shot birds out of the sky and made it look easy.

  “Prime Minister,” Butcher said. “We just had a warning from the OP. The aliens are on their way, coming here. You need to get up, now.”

  He pulled Gabriel out of bed and tossed him his dressing gown. “There isn't any time to dress,” he said, as he scooped up the overnight bag they’d insisted that Gabriel pack when they’d first arrived. “They’ll be on our heads in five minutes.”

  The thought made Gabriel shake off his drowsiness and follow Butcher down the stairs. A handful of staff were at the bottom, talking urgently among themselves in grim voices. Butcher ignored them and pulled Gabriel towards the rear of the building when he started to slow down, nodding to Hughie and Mother as they appeared in front of them. The two men were armed to the teeth, carrying what looked like enough rifles and grenades to fight a small war. Judging from the military’s statistics Gabriel had read back before the invasion, they barely had enough for a brief skirmish with the enemy.

  Outside, the morning dew hung heavily in the air. He could hear the sound of birds awakening from their slumber, but nothing else, not even a hint that someone was heading towards them with bad intentions. Gabriel almost opened his mouth to ask if it was a drill, before hearing the first sounds of helicopters in the distance. These days, there were only a handful of human aircraft in the air, all operated by collaborators. The aliens were definitely on their way.

  Haddon Hall’s rear gardens blurred into the forest surrounding the estate. In his first week at the hall, Gabriel had enjoyed walking through the woodlands and watching the animals scuttling around, untouched by the war marring Britain’s soil. Now, there was no time to sightsee. He relaxed slightly as the trees and branches closed in around them, providing a limited amount of cover. The aliens might lose them within the gloom. He found himself praying as they stopped, briefly, near a cache of supplies Butcher had hidden in the forest, including a small change of clothes. They could pass for poachers trying to supplement their rations if the aliens caught up with them, although they had no ID cards. If the aliens demanded that they produce the cards...what could they do, but fight?

  The sound of helicopters grew louder. Gabriel glanced up and saw dark shapes moving over the forest, heading towards the hall. He cringed back, only to be pulled back into a run by Butcher. The aliens might come down right on top of them if they lingered. Behind him, he could hear the sound of gunfire. Someone in the hall was giving the aliens a hot reception.

  “We’ll head to the coast and grab a boat,” Butcher said, as they headed further away from the hall. The SAS man didn't even have the decency to pretend he was winded. Gabriel knew that he was the one who would slow them down, if they encountered the enemy. He’d once asked Butcher if they would put a bullet in his head if capture was certain. Butcher had ducked the question. “And then we can head north to somewhere a little safer.”

  Gabriel nodded, breathing hard. He’d had more exercise at the hall than he’d had in his entire life – with three SAS men as instructors – but he still felt winded. But there was no choice. They had to keep moving or the aliens might catch up with them. And then...Gabriel had no illusions about what they’d do to him. They’d force him to betray his country on television and then take him outside and put a bullet through his brains. They didn't need the old Prime Minister when they had a collaborator willing and able to do everything they asked.

  Behind them, the sound of gunfire grew louder.

  ***

  The aliens appeared with terrifying speed, their attack helicopters swooping low over the forest, followed by a pair of heavy-lift helicopters loosely comparable to Chinooks. Gavin watched them come closer, knowing that the bigger helicopters were the dangerous ones. The aliens, if they wanted prisoners, couldn't simply hose down the hall with bullets and rockets; they’d have to put boots on the ground. And the only way to do that quickly was through landing them from the air. They had their own version of the HALO parachute tactic, according to the internet. They’d used it while assaulting a French position in the south of France.

  He keyed his radio. The aliens would be monitoring their traffic, but they shouldn't be able to get real-time decryptions – at least if the intelligence on their computer software was accurate. British forces in Afghanistan had been able to monitor their enemies transmissions and use it against their foes, sometimes as targeting information. It was a risk, but one Gavin felt was worth taking. The same considerations about wanting prisoners ensured that the aliens couldn't simply drop a rock on the transmitter from orbit.

  “Fire,” he ordered.

  The forest seemed to erupt as the concealed GPMGs opened fire on the larger helicopters, while a single Stinger – the only one at the hall – roared upwards towards one of the attack helicopters. It struck the helicopter on its armour-plated underside, sending the helicopter staggering off in search of a good place to put down, smoke billowing out from its lower regions. The aliens had clearly been armouring up their helicopters, Gavin noted, as the other attack helicopters turned and started to fire back towards the soldiers in the forest. They stopped firing and started to run, but some weren't quick enough to escape. Gavin saw them die, just before one of the larger helicopters heeled over and fell towards the ground. It came down with a terrifying crash, but didn't explode. A moment later, he saw alien troopers emerging from the wreck, shooting to force the humans to keep their heads down. It would have been admirable if it hadn't been aimed at his troops.

  He cursed as the attack helicopters made a second run over the hall, firing down with heavy machine guns towards the British positions. His men had had plenty of time to prepare defences, but building something to stand off a helicopter without being noticed by alien orbital satellites would have been difficult. The aliens knocked two of the positions out – he forced himself not to think about the men inside – before their second transport helicopter started dropping aliens down towards the ground. From his point of view, it looked as if they were dropping out on bungee cords. The moment they touched the ground, the cords broke, releasing them before they could be yanked back up into the air. Gavin’s soldiers, positioned at the windows around the hall, opened fire on them; the alien attack helicopters, sighting the firing positions, hurled a deadly storm of lead towards the windows. Their heavy fi
re smashed chips off the stone walls and blasted through the windows. Below, two alien assault teams ran forwards carrying what looked like an antitank weapon. They launched it into the main doors and shattered them backwards, smashing through the interior walls like paper.

  Gavin clicked his radio twice – the signal to the outside teams to break contact and retreat to the RV points – and then abandoned the radio on the ground, kicking it under a bush. It would be too dangerous to use it now that the aliens controlled most of the ground. He could see a fireball rising up in the distance from where one of the larger IEDs had detonated, but he had no illusions about their ability to prevent the aliens from taking the hall. His close-protection detail spread out around him as he started to walk away from the hall. The remaining soldiers inside the building should be running for the exits, where they would link up with their fellows and start walking east. Gavin was the only one who knew that the PM and his team had headed west; the eastbound soldiers should provide some cover for his escape.

  Another flight of alien helicopters swooped overhead, lowering a pair of light armoured vehicles to the ground. Gavin had seen the reports on their use against civilian rioters, but there hadn't been any report of them being used against resistance fighters before. They weren't as heavily armoured as Viking or Jackal vehicles, which should make them easy prey for antitank missiles or IEDs. On the other hand, they carried heavy machine guns and what intelligence claimed was a portable mortar launcher. It gave the aliens a surprisingly heavy punch for such light vehicles.

  The ground shook as the first explosive charge inside the hall detonated. It had taken some specialist work by the defenders to position a fuel-air explosive in the basement, intended to send the entire hall up in flames. The aliens, picking their way into the building, were caught by a sheet of flame that seemed to roar up and out of nowhere. Gavin had been told that the main structure of the hall might survive – they’d known how to build tough buildings in those days – but anything the aliens might have been able to use to track the resistance to their next base would be destroyed. They’d never know for sure how close they’d come to decapitating the resistance, or bagging the PM. The Prime Minister’s ability to broadcast to the country, using the internet, had helped keep the resistance going. Gavin said a silent prayer for his safety as they continued to head into the countryside. The aliens would be putting up roadblocks and cordoning off the area, intending to trap them before they could escape. They had to move quickly before time ran out.

  Behind him, he heard another series of explosions, followed by rapid gunfire. It was impossible to guess at what was happening, although most of the gunfire seemed to be coming from alien weapons. They kept running through the forest, despite hearing alien helicopters overhead, searching for fugitives. If they’d managed to improve their tracking technology, part of Gavin’s mind insisted on reminding him, their helicopters or drones could keep track of them and steer a blocking force right into their path. Or maybe they’d just hose down the forest with bullets and leave their targets to bleed out and die.

  The forest came to an end suddenly, broken by a road leading northwards towards the motorway. They crossed it rapidly, just as they heard the faint humming of alien vehicles racing towards them. Gavin heard the sound of gunfire and threw himself to the ground, trying to bury himself in the mud. Bullets were snapping right over his head, smashing through trees and branches with equal abandon. He heard one of his men yelp as a bullet slashed across his back – a inch or two lower and it would have shattered his spine – before the sound of alien helicopters came closer. The aliens, if they were still tracking the small party, would be sending in ground troops...

  “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.”