'Yes Ma'am!' Hoffenbach replied.
18:09 10 November [18:09 10 November GMT]
Research Laboratory, Cambridge University, Cambridge, England.
John had been monitoring the Sunarr communications. At precisely eighteen hundred hours Greenwich Mean Time, they went down. Right on schedule, he'd noted to himself. It had been pleasing to see. Months of preparations had come to fruition. He could only imagine what was happening at dinner parties all around the world. The desperate fight for dominance, the Sunarr reacting to the attacks, probably killing people indiscriminately. This was the crucial time; the next hour would decide the fate of the human race. He lit a cigarette, ignoring the no smoking rule for the first time. After all, what can the faculty do to me now? He reasoned. I'll be either a live hero or a dead traitor. His terminal beeped at him, he looked at his watch, it had been just ten minutes. He opened the program and his heart sank. The Sunarr communications were working again. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, fuck! He screamed at himself. How the fuck did that happen?
His Doran communications device squawked at him. What now? He grabbed the device and barked into it.
Great, thought John as he slammed the device down ending the conversation, you called me to let me know something I already know! Fucking military! He returned his focus to the task at hand.
He ran a trace program over the Sunarr communications network. It took two valuable minutes to report. The news was not good. The Sunarr had created a new security protocol and the anti-virus virus was now effectively dead. What to do, what to do? His mind was racing, running through dozens of possible scenarios to bring down their communications again. He tried running an interference program, essentially to scramble their communications. It wouldn't upload. His system was not recognised under the new security protocol. Damn, damn it all! He stood stark still staring at a blank white-board, allowing his mind free reign to come up with a solution. The minutes ticked by.
As he stared blankly, his focus was kept being drawn to the Sekkos device. It had never shown any signs of connectivity. None. What the hell. He put on the visor and placed his hands in the device. He ran a search for keywords around networks and connectivity, instantly translated by the device, it came back with one entry. He opened it. The image it presented him with was of a handle, pointing out at ninety degrees. It appeared a dull red, lifeless. He grabbed it with one of his hands and pushed it straight up. It moved into the vertical position and changed colour to a bright green. Then images and sound were projected into the visor, the unmistakable chatter of communications. Yes, oh shit yes! He had direct access to the Sunarr communications network. Now I need to get the interference program in here somehow. More minutes ticked by as his mind again scrambled with this new problem.
The Sekkos device isn't compatible with my equipment. This is my only method of accessing the Sunarr network. The only input it can take is a diamond encoded with data or my thoughts. His mind was a whirlwind of ideas now. That's it, my thoughts! He took off the visor and switched on his overhead projector, which was connected, to his terminal. He brought the interference program up on the terminal and projected the pseudo-code onto the white-board. The pseudo-code was a program independent language, it represented what the code was designed to do, but in a universal format, one that could be used to program in any language. He put the visor back on and turned up the brightness of the projector to maximum so he could read it with the visor on. He started to read it to himself and as he did, the Sekkos device started to encode the program. It is working. It took him a full six and a half minutes to read it all, but when he did, it was ready. He ran the program. The communications handle dropped ninety degrees and returned to its dull red status. He took off the visor and went to his own terminal. All communications traffic on the Sunarr network had ceased. He looked at his watch. Twenty minutes had passed since it had started working. He worried how much of an impact it had had on the resistance operation. Fuck it, I've done my best. It didn't feel like nearly enough.
18:10 10 November [18:10 10 November GMT]
Chester Square, Belgravia, London, England.
'I don't know why you can't just tell us a bit about what's in the letter. After all, it’s been years since your mother wrote it, it can't be that relevant now surely?' Anita pestered Solomon.
'She asked me not to. It was essentially her dying wish. I'm not going to betray her memory.' Solomon replied, annoyed at Anita's incessant questioning. It had been the subject of the conversation for the last half an hour and she was beyond bored with it.
'But can't you just tell us what kind of stuff is in it? Not the details, just a hint at what it contains.' Anita said trying a different tack.
Solomon sighed, she put down her fork, leaving her food alone for a moment and looked at Anita. Anita seems to have good intentions, but she is just too damned inquisitive.
'I will tell you this.' Solomon began. All the plates except for Natasha's were now being ignored, the focus moving to Solomon. 'The contents of the letter will be revealed at the appropriate time. I can't tell you when that will be only that more than you can possibly imagine rests upon it. I wish I didn't know what I do. I wish that I had never received the first letter. Really, I wish my mother was still alive and that I could have a normal life. I know more about myself than anyone should have to know. I have to live with that knowledge every day. Now please can we change the subject?'
'I wish my parents were still alive too.' George said, more to himself than the others, but they all looked at him, his sorrow a heavy weight pushing down on the room. Natasha looked up at George and put her hand on his, squeezed it gently and kept on holding it. The pain and anguish drained from his face and a look of serenity emerged. He looked down at Natasha; her eyes sparkled with a light that appeared to originate behind them. She smiled at George, continuing to squeeze his hand, and when she spoke, it was with an authority far beyond her years.
'Your parents loved you dearly. They knew that you loved them too.'
George's mind returned to when he was seven, Christmas at home. He had a lot of presents that year, an embarrassment of them really. However, one above all else he still cherished. They had given him a collection of books, scientific and religious. In the card that accompanied it, they had written the words The Truth Lies In-between. He had enjoyed reading them all, but never understood the meaning of the message. Now, here in this room he finally understood. Science is the question, Religion is the answer, and what lies in between is the truth.
'Thank you.' He said simply. He had been touched in a way he never thought possible. What is it about this child that gives me such hope for the future?
'Who’s up for a board game?' George asked the rest, changing the subject for Solomon's benefit and his own.
'Now that's a great idea!' Sally chipped in, closing down the previous subject.
They retired to the Drawing Room and found an original version of Monopoly amongst all the board games that Jack had. Natasha chose it and no one objected, neither did they object when Natasha insisted that they all sit on the rug in front of the fireplace. They moved the coffee table placing it in front of the French doors, pushing the four heavy armchairs up to the coffee table out of the way so they could all sit on the rug. Jane set out the board and started to deal out the Monopoly money.
They were aware of the flash first, although it only preceded the rest by much less than a second. It was like a blue-white wave, crashing over them and assaulting their eyes. The power of the flash was tremendous, a physical force insisting itself on their visual cortex, their brains scrambling to react, to protect them from the trauma. Then came the pressure wave, forcing the air out of the room, up through the chimneybreast to make way for the higher-pressure air pressing against the French Doors. The hinges and lock strained against the pressure but it was the glass that gave way first, before any of the debris collided with it. The shards of glass flew across the room like a large flock of birds attacking in clos
e formation. The armchairs, solid oak with deep leather padding took the brunt of the attack, the rest passing overhead spanning the length of the room and embedding themselves in the side and end walls. The pressure wave continued without taking a breath, pulling the debris into the room. Chunks of brick and stone sprayed across the Drawing Room, the armchairs again providing protection to the group. Lastly came the dust cloud, charging into the room like a fast moving dense fog, enveloping everything in the room. It forced its way up their noses and down their throats choking them in an instant. Their eyes, still blinded by the light, now had to cope with an invasion of particles. Their ears rang constantly, a deafening silence with a reverberating noise seeming to emanate from their skulls.
The dust cloud started to clear and their senses to return. Each of them was alive, but they didn't know it yet. Another flash, much less than the first and they could hear the noise this time. Dazed and in no shape to understand, George managed to stand and stumble his way out into the garden. He was joined by the others, too stunned to make sense of what had happened, they looked around for answers. A helicopter gunship swooped low over the house; it was hit by a streak of light and exploded, spiralling down into buildings beyond their view. There was another explosion as it hit, flames leaping into the air illuminating the surrounding buildings with a glowing redness.
It had begun. Whether we were fighting the aliens or them us, there was no way to tell. However, a war was waging above their very heads and lives were being lost. Now suddenly George felt very exposed.
'Get back in!' George screamed at them, herding them inside.
The Drawing Room was wrecked. They made their way into the Sitting Room at the front of the house; it was intact and gave them a view of the square. It was a good view, but what they saw wasn't. There were Sunarr soldiers in the square.
There appeared to be about a dozen. Just stood there waiting. George decided not to take any chances. He ordered all the exterior doors locked, and the interior ones be barred with sturdy furniture. He went into the kitchen and retrieved all the kitchen knives, handing these out to the rest of the group. Then they returned to the Sitting Room to keep a watch on the Sunarr. Now they could only see two standing there. The rest had disappeared from view. Shit, thought George, shit shit shit. Where the hell are they and why didn't I station someone here to keep an eye on them? Because you are a lecturer not a soldier! He didn't have to wait long for the answer to his first question. There was a loud explosion as the front door was destroyed by weapons fire. George and Solomon took positions either side of the door to the Sitting Room. They had no idea how many were inside the house now; they heard nothing save for the firefight still raging outside in the skies above them. The door handle twitched downwards. George's breathing became shallow, almost none existent. The long barrel of the Sunarr weapon poked through the increasing gap in the door. George, changing tack, dropped his knife and grabbed hold of the weapon. Pulling with all his might, he jerked at the weapon sending the Sunarr soldier crashing into the room. Still holding the weapon's barrel, he fell upon the soldier as a second soldier came into the room pointing his weapon at George's head. Solomon pushed the soldier to the side, ruining his aim. The weapon discharged into one of the sofas, blowing it apart as if were matchwood. The soldier was on one knee and now bringing his weapon up to fire again. Solomon leapt on top of him, pushing the blade of her knife into the soldier’s chest. It broke in two. The soldier was fighting back now, and Solomon hit him square in the helmet. She screamed in pain as three of the bones in her fingers snapped on impact. Natasha called out.
'Mummy!'
Solomon looked up at her daughter's voice to see her struggling to free herself from Sally's arms. I have not come this far to lose my daughter now or to leave her as an orphan! The soldier was still dazed from the impact of the blow, Solomon looked around desperately, and then she saw the knife that George had dropped. She lunged for it, taking it in her good left hand, managing to keep her right knee on the soldier's chest. This time she would not make a mistake, seeing the gap between the soldier's body armour and his helmet she leaned in close to him and pushed his helmet up with her right forearm. The long kitchen knife found its mark as she thrust it into his neck and upwards into his brain. Waggling the handle around the soldier fell still.
Solomon stood up, pulling the weapon from the dead soldier's hands. She held the weapons grip with her good left hand and propped up the barrel with her right forearm.
'Move!’ she shouted at George.
George needed no additional encouragement, rolling over onto his back, exposing the chest of the Sunarr solider to Solomon. She fired a single round into his chest, turning it into a crater. George, winded, managed to get to his feet, and grabbed the second weapon. George poked his head out of the Sitting Room door into the hall. A shot blasted at the doorframe, narrowly missing him, shards of wood however embedded themselves in the side of his face. He pulled back into the room, blood flowing down his face from the multiple lacerations.
'We've got company!' He announced unnecessarily.
There was no time to take good defensive positions. Solomon and George knelt down a few feet from the entrance, again on opposite sides. A Sunarr solider rushed at the doorway, hit by both weapons the soldier slumped in the doorway. Now the next one would have to climb over the body to get in. The Sunarr realised this and started blasting at the walls. There was nothing they could do now. Just wait for the inevitable.
A helicopter passed overhead, then swooped back to hover. They could still see the two Sunarr soldiers out in the square; they were looking up at the helicopter as its mini-gun opened fire, literally blowing their bodies apart. The helicopter hovered lower and now several ropes dropped down from it, swiftly followed by British soldiers. They assembled on the ground and made a rush for the house. The fighting intensified inside the house. The wall between the Sitting Room and the Hall was vanishing quickly. They could here machine-gun fire inside the house now. Orders being given in English. They waited, weapons still trained on the doorway.
Silence fell upon the house. A voice called out to them in English.
'I'm Captain James Brennan. I'm coming into the room. Don't shoot!'
A face appeared in the doorway. He seemed short for a soldier thought George, but he was unmistakably a British officer. He relaxed his weapon down, but still held on to it.
'Looks like you folks have been busy.' Captain Brennan said with a grin as he stepped over the dead Sunarr soldier in the doorway and observed the other two in the room.
'Anyone hurt?'
'No, not really.' George replied standing. 'It’s a good thing you arrived I was just about to....' He couldn't think how to finish his sentence. 'Well, probably ask them to leave. They were not invited after all.' George offered his hand to the officer, who shook it warmly.
'That's the thing about gate crashers, no one ever invites them.'
'How did you know we needed help anyway?' George asked, grateful for it but curious.
'We got a call, there's a protection squad based in the square. The officer in charge, D752 Sergeant Dave Riccar called it in when the Sunarr landed. His radio has a direct feed into the military and we took it from there. I've got a medic with me; I'll have her look at your face.'
'Thanks.'
18:17 10 November [18:17 10 November GMT]
No.1 Carlton Gardens, Westminster, London, England.
The word was out now. It had to be. There were Sunarr troops gathering outside and they didn't look like an official reception. Jack counted at least two dozen. Reports came in from other sides of the building that there were soldiers there too.
'I think they are planning an assault. I figure they don't need the officials anymore.' Jack looked at Severine for her response.
'So do we wait for them to attack en mass or do we start shooting them now?'
It was clear to Jack what Severine's preference was. He thought about it. The only weapons they had w
ere those they had taken from the dead Sunarr soldiers. He figured that they would be as effective at a distance as they had been in close quarters here. He had no idea how many rounds, or whatever they discharged, they had. They needed to conserve their fire. He called out to the resistance fighters.
'Pick your targets, make every shot count. Fire at will.'
Severine was the first to fire. Her target went down cleanly from the single burst to his chest. A burst of fire erupted from the other side of the room, the resistance fighter shouting victory as another went down. Others opened fire, and the soldiers fell like targets in a fairground attraction. They are coming in dumb, Jack thought as the soldiers were walking towards the building. It didn't last, as a group they opened fire and ran at the building. Now it became about pure survival, the animal in each of the resistance fighters took over and they started to fire wildly, switching targets as the soldiers ran an evasive pattern.
A large white vessel moved into view, it was one of the Sunarr transport ships. It fired at the building, the south side erupting in flame from the blast. Two more like that and we're gone, Jack realised. The transport ship took fire from the east. Not enough to seriously damage it, but just enough to make it take evasive action. A helicopter gunship swooped low over the building and fired again at the ship. Then there was more fire, from the west. Another gunship was up there but out of view. The transport ship returned fire and the gunship from the west was lost, going down in flames over London, crashing out of view.
The Sunarr soldiers made a tactical error. Instead of pushing their advantage, they took up defensive positions, planning for their transport ship to destroy the building, killing everyone inside. Two more gunships joined the battle and now the Sunarr ship was fully engaged. Jack pulled four of his fighters from the other side of the building to bolster their position and increase their firepower. It was working. The Sunarr only had weak defensive positions and therefore could be blasted out into the open by concentrated fire. Another gunship hovered overhead, this one turned its attention to the Sunarr troops on the ground. The mini-gun mounted on the side of the gunship opened fire, spraying the soldiers at a rate of over three thousand rounds per minute. Once it ceased fire, there was no movement from Jack's side of the building. He quickly sent all but two of his fighters to bolster his other lines of defence. We might just live through this, he thought.
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