INVASION: UPRISING (Invasion Series Book 3)

by Dc Alden

  Fifteen nautical miles apart, the two groups of B-52s made their final course corrections and armed their weapons. Bomb bay doors opened, and one by one, each aircraft dumped its 70,000-pound payload of explosive ordinance into the choppy night air before banking away to the north.

  Far below them, huddled in their bunkers and inside their launch vehicles, frontier troops and SAM crews were desperately trying to make sense of the electrical interference that had disrupted their targeting radars. They knew they were being jammed, but they were unaware that the culprits were the Growlers who had given the escaping B-52s the electronic cover they’d needed to do their job. Those troops were also unaware of the storm of death falling towards them from the night sky above.

  The precision bombs and proximity-fuse munitions continued to fall unseen from the heavens, whistling through the frigid air, rushing towards the ground that was rushing up to meet them…

  The detonations rippled along the heavily-defended hilltops in strobe-like pulses of white light, throwing fountains of damp earth hundreds of meters into the air. The first salvo of bombs took out 90 per cent of the target’s mobile SAM launchers, even as their oblivious crews continued to recycle their targeting software. In the bunkers beneath the hills, penetrator munitions burrowed deep before detonating, destroying sub-surface command centres, heavy-weapons emplacements, and strategic overwatch positions, killing everyone and destroying everything both above and below ground.

  For the other B-52s, their targets were the areas of no-man’s-land beyond those bunkers and hilltop fortifications, the dark, deadly ground that symbolised the gulf between freedom and oppression. Over 15 tons of explosive ordnance stamped across the earth in the wake of the aircrafts’ passage, obliterating thousands of mines and shredding every trap and obstacle that had been dug, planted, and buried in that shadowy valley between the worlds.

  The bombardment lasted for 12 minutes and lit up the sky for 30 miles in all directions, the God-like thunder still rumbling long after the B-52 pilots had jammed their throttles to the stops and escaped towards northern Scotland. Behind them, thick smoke hung heavily over the devastation, blanketing the hills and valleys, but that wouldn’t last long.

  Watching from across the frontier, British and American engineers steered their multi-wheeled UGVs down into the shattered valleys and ran them over the broken ground, just in case. The word came back soon enough. The route was clear, the door now open.

  The engineers exploded into action.

  28

  Regime Change

  Edith made her last call just as the Mercedes glided to a halt outside the Regency building on Pall Mall. Waiting flunkies hurried forward, opening her door and shielding her with umbrellas from the damp, squally wind barrelling along the pavement.

  Crossing the carpeted lobby, she ignored the fawning salutations from the liveried staff who took her raincoat and escorted her to the large, white-pillared meeting hall. As her low heels clicked across the parquet flooring, she noted that every member of the National Assembly was in attendance, including Governor Davies.

  Every living member, she reminded herself.

  Davies was clearly peeved by Edith’s late entrance, but she ignored his irritation as she took her seat at the large circular meeting table. She put her bag by her feet and nodded to Victor a few chairs away. There were other figures gathered in the shadows around the walls of the impressive room – Assembly deputies, assorted bag carriers – and Edith suspected that her guests were there somewhere amongst them, watching expectantly. It behoved her not to keep them waiting.

  ‘Chief Justice, thank you for joining us,’ Davies began, his cold attempt at sarcasm not lost on the other attendees. She said nothing in reply, folding her arms on the table, the lighting above picking out the crystal dragonfly pinned to her austere navy suit jacket that was buttoned to the neck.

  Davies shuffled the reams of official papers in front of him and cleared his throat. ‘Thank you all for making the journey here this evening. I’ve convened this meeting to discuss a matter of the utmost gravity.’ He paused dramatically, then said, ‘For those of you who don’t yet know, several major terrorist attacks have been carried out against targets in our frontier cities, and there are reports – as yet unconfirmed – of British and American troops on our soil, constituting an illegal invasion.’

  Gasps of shock circled the gathering. Assembly members traded worried looks, their tired faces stretched with sudden anxiety. Edith ignored it all, her lips firmly closed, her eyes focused on Davies. The governor held up a hand for silence.

  ‘Yes, the news is troubling; however, the situation has been contained, and Caliph Wazir, peace be upon him, has publicly condemned the actions as acts of terror. A robust response has been promised.’

  ‘Is this war?’ someone asked.

  Others gave voice to their anxiety, and a nervous jabbering filled the hall. Once again, Davies raised his hand, and his voice. ‘We must remain calm,’ he cautioned. ‘I’m liaising closely with Congress and will keep the Assembly updated as necessary.’

  Edith had heard enough. She got to her feet and waited until all eyes in the hall were watching her. Davies glowered.

  ‘I’m not finished, Edith, so please sit. You can have the floor in due course.’

  She ignored him, pointing to the single empty chair. ‘You may all be wondering why Director Cox hasn’t joined us this evening—’

  ‘Edith, take your seat,’ Davies interrupted.

  ‘Quiet!’ she bellowed, turning on him, her eyes bulging behind her glasses. The hall fell silent. Davies’ face was frozen in shock. ‘Gerrard isn’t here because he’s dead,’ she told her stunned audience. ‘He was assassinated earlier this evening, along with several of his Regional Assembly. The hotel where they were meeting has also been destroyed, and all contact has been lost with the city of Newcastle.’

  She could see genuine fear on the faces around her now. Only Victor remained composed, because only Victor knew what was coming.

  ‘Governor Davies has failed us,’ she told them, pointing an accusing finger at the pale-faced politician. ‘He has failed us as a leader, and as a founding member of this Assembly. He has betrayed us all.’

  Davies snapped to his feet. ‘Enough, Edith—’

  ‘Traitor!’ she barked at him, then looked at each of the Assembly members. ‘Hugh Davies has already decided to abandon his post in the event of a major escalation of hostilities. Not only his post, but us, his comrades, and his friends in the Islamic Congress. He has shredded official documents and deleted important and sensitive emails to cover his tracks. In a time of crisis, these actions are unforgivable.’

  Davies thumped his fist on the table. ‘Those are lies! It is you who…’

  His voice trailed away as several suited figures stepped out of the shadows. Edith watched Davies’ eyes widen as he recognised Colonel Al-Huda of the CID.

  ‘What’s happening here?’ he stammered.

  ‘A change of leadership,’ Edith explained. ‘Colonel Al-Huda has evidence of your betrayal. It is him you must answer to now.’

  ‘What are you talking abo—’

  Al-Huda cracked Davies around the mouth with his knuckles. The governor staggered into the arms of two large, suited men behind him. Al-Huda approached the table as a suddenly terrified Davies stood in silent shock, blood streaming from his lip.

  ‘Chief Justice Spencer has shown unswerving loyalty to the caliphate,’ Al-Huda told them. ‘You would do well to thank her. And take heed of her wise counsel.’ Then he turned and walked away, a limp, frightened Davies in tow.

  No one said a word as the footsteps receded, and Davies was frogmarched from the hall. The last thing they heard was his desperate pleas before the distant door slammed closed.

  Victor got to his feet. ‘We need to put this business behind us, and quickly. In light of the current crisis, and in the absence of an official ballot, I propose Chief Justice Spencer for the post of inter
im governor, effective immediately. All those in favour say aye.’ A chorus of single-syllable affirmations echoed around the table. Victor smiled and gestured to Davies’ empty chair.

  ‘Governor Spencer, if you please.’

  Edith picked up her handbag and circled the table. She sat down in the governor’s high-backed leather seat with its embossed gold seal and wheeled it into the table.

  ‘Thank you.’ She nodded, looking at each of them. ‘You should know I have asked for, and expect to receive, an endorsement of my governorship from Chief Judge of the Supreme Judicial Assembly of Europe, Abdul bin Abdelaziz himself. In the meantime, as interim governor, my first appointment will be Victor Hardy to the position of chief justice, and Andrea Clarke to assume Victor’s former role as judge advocate general. If anyone has any objections, voice them now.’ Her cold eyes scanned the faces for dissenters, but there were none. ‘Good, now to business.’

  Edith kept the discussion rooted in local issues to restore calm and order. She opened up the floor to questions, most of which concerned the conflict along the frontier. The discussion continued until Edith brought a halt to the proceedings.

  ‘It’s almost four am,’ she told the drawn faces around the table. ‘Tomorrow I shall meet with Congress and seek further updates regarding the unfolding crisis. In the meantime, I want you all to return to your districts and to prepare for difficult times ahead. This country is now on a war footing, and martial law is in force. I urge you to control your people. Punish dissenters and punish them severely. This is not a time for squeamishness. Remember, our erstwhile colleagues in Newcastle were savagely murdered. You might be next. Good night.’

  The table rose as one, and the delegates filed from the hall, followed by the audience in the wings. Edith leafed through the official papers abandoned by her predecessor.

  Across the table, Victor lingered behind his chair, and after the last person had left the room, he retook his seat, a broad smile on his ruddy face.

  ‘Bravo, Edith, well played.’

  Edith said nothing as she made notes on a pad.

  ‘You had them eating out of your hand,’ he continued. ‘Very impressive.’

  Edith finally looked up. ‘It’s important to assert the authority of office,’ she told him, glasses balanced on the end of her nose.

  ‘Even if it’s only temporary.’

  Edith put down her pen. ‘Meaning?’

  Victor leaned closer. ‘France, Edith. Have you thought about it?’

  The governor frowned. ‘France? My dear Victor, that’s out of the question.’

  Victor winked. ‘I understand. You’ve taken on a considerable responsibility. But bear it in mind, in case things really do go tits up.’

  Edith swept the glasses from her face. ‘Let me clarify. France is out of the question for you, Victor. Were you not listening? You’re now Chief Justice of the British Territories, a hugely important and symbolic position. You have a duty to this administration and to the people of this protectorate. There’ll be no swanning off to France with Margaret, no early retirement, do you understand?’

  Victor’s brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing with uncertainty. Then the moment passed. He got to his feet and buttoned his jacket. ‘Yes, of course, Edith. It’s been a long day, and the old brain’s a little foggy. I should go.’

  Edith slipped her glasses on and settled into her reading. As he walked away, she called to him.

  ‘Yes, Edith?’

  ‘You will address me as governor from now on,’ she told him without looking up. There were a few moments of silence before the new chief justice answered.

  ‘Yes, Governor Spencer.’

  ‘Here.’ She scratched her signature on a sheet of headed paper and pushed it across the polished surface with a finger. Victor picked it up.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Orders for the crucifixion of Gordon Tyndall and his co-conspirators. To serve as a lesson to those who would take up arms against us, and to remind others who might consider such actions that my administration will not tolerate rebellion.’

  Victor stared at the paper, then at her. ‘Governor, if I may—’

  ‘Somewhere public, Victor. So that lesson is fully understood.’

  The chief justice gave her a curt nod. ‘I’ll see to it.’

  She watched him disappear into the shadows. After the closing door had echoed behind him, Edith put down her pen and replayed recent events in her mind. Victor was right, she’d outmanoeuvred Davies, but then Victor himself had learned that he’d also been compromised. Right now he would wonder if his own conversations about fleeing to France had been recorded, how those words might be misconstrued, his loyalty to the caliphate questioned. Victor was squeaky clean and had served his time well as judge advocate, but he was only human, and he’d seen enough to know that under a totalitarian regime, one was never far away from denouncement and ruination. As Hugh Davies and his family were about to find out.

  No, under such regimes it was far more prudent to acquire power than to avoid it, far better to stand on that pedestal than hide beneath it, hoping the cold eye of authority would look elsewhere. Like the weakling he’d proven himself to be, Davies had folded at the first hint of trouble, desperate to save his own skin. Edith had no intention of doing the same. Quite the contrary, in fact.

  To secure her future with the caliphate and its rulers, the newly appointed governor of the British Territories had every intention of showing just how ruthless she could be.

  29

  Willie Gunn

  Somewhere above them, a drone watched the road ahead, its live feed monitored by battalion HQ. If there was significant trouble ahead, they’d know about it beforehand. If there were tripwires strung across the road, or landmines strapped to street lights, they’d find out about that too. The hard way.

  Eddie swiped the rain from his ballistic glasses. His rifle was resting on the window frame, barrel out, but if there was a target out there, he’d never see it in time. They were passing through a dark, dead world. Shops, houses, yards, car lots, all flashed by. They were travelling fast, to get to the junction before the enemy organised themselves. Steve drove with his NVGs. Digger was next to him, the stock of his M38 jammed into his shoulder, the bipod resting on the hood of the Humvees. Both of them were soaked by the rain lashing through the shattered windows, but neither man seemed to notice. As they rounded a curve in the road, bright lights washed over them.

  ‘Watch it!’ Mac warned, as the lead Humvee suddenly slowed. They were running tactically, which meant no brake lights. Eddie was thrown into the back of the driver’s seat as Steve stamped hard on the anchors. They all heard the boss’ voice in their ears.

  ‘Mac, get those civvies turned around!’

  Mac kicked open his door. ‘Eddie, Digger, let’s go!’

  Eddie did the same and ran through the rain towards the lead Humvee. Fifty metres beyond it, a row of civilian vehicles had double-parked in the road, a group of shadowy figures having a discussion. The top gunner looked down at Eddie and cocked his helmet.

  ‘Go, Novak. We got you covered.’

  He moved forward, watching the vehicles, watching the ten or so pale faces gathered in the rain. Some of them raised their hands. Mac held his rifle low, but Eddie knew he could open that baby up in a blink of an eye. He moved closer, watching the cars. There were women and children in a couple of them, and he heard a baby crying too. Mac raised his voice over the rain, over the screaming kid.

  ‘I’m Corporal McAllister, Second Massachusetts Battalion, King’s Continental Army. We’re taking control of the city. You need to go home, right now. All of you.’

  Eddie watched a big guy in a black coat and baseball cap step towards Mac. He seemed unafraid, and Eddie tensed. When he spoke it was with a local accent.

  ‘You’re British?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘And you’re here to stay?’

  Mac nodded. ‘Abso-fucking-lutely.’

&
nbsp; The man pointed to the idling Humvees. ‘You’ll need more than that, pal. There’re thousands of ‘em down in Durham. That’s only ten miles from here.’

  ‘And they’re on their way,’ Mac told him, ‘so go home and stay away from the windows. Tell your neighbours too. Take care of your families until you get the all-clear.’

  The man stepped closer, snatching a quick look towards the car Eddie was standing behind. Inside, a woman had a toddler on her lap, and she looked terrified. The guy’s wife and kid, Eddie assumed.

  ‘How bad’s it going to get?’ the big Geordie asked in a gloomy voice.

  ‘Bad enough,’ Mac told him, grim-faced. He pointed south. ‘Anything we should be worried about down there?’

  ‘I’ve just driven up from Crowther,’ a young woman in a damp hoodie told him. ‘That’s about three kilometres away. The roads are quiet. I didn’t see any of their soldiers. It’s the police and security people you have to watch out for.’

  ‘Bastard traitors,’ cursed the big man.

  Mac jerked his thumb. ‘Go home, quick as you can.’

  The civvies scattered back into their cars and headed off into the night. Eddie and the others re-boarded their own vehicles, and the convoy headed south again. The girl in the hoodie was right, the road was empty almost all the way. The only other traffic they saw was the odd civvy car, but there was no time to stop and warn them.

  As the buildings fell away and the dark countryside opened up around them, Eddie saw a familiar silhouette by the side of the road and realised what it was; The Angel of the North, cut down from her mount yet partly raised by a rusted wing. Then she was behind them, and suddenly the Humvee was slowing.