***
The President found Pepper in the living room, curled up on the sofa watching a television program. There had been a time when he’d watched the BBC as often as he’d watched FOX or CNN, but all three of them had either gone off the air or had been radically changed since the aliens had landed. The BBC announcer was warning the population that alien attack might be expected at any moment and that they should take precautions, as set out by the government. Judging by some of the reported riots, the population didn't find his words very comforting. Neither did the President.
Europe had been used to thinking of the United States as invincible and untouchable. 9/11 hadn't shattered that illusion; they’d preferred to think of it as a freak incident rather than a serious threat. And it hadn't been, not really. Losing the Twin Towers had been a pinprick compared to the immensity of the United States. But the aliens had crushed the United States and thoroughly intimidated everyone else. No wonder, the President had to admit, that some voices were advocating surrender. If the United States couldn't stand up to the aliens, who else could hope to stop them?
Once, back when he'd been reading as much as he could on alien invasions in fiction, he’d read a book where the aliens had landed in France and marched eastwards, giving the United States time to plan a desperate defence against the aliens. In the end, the United States had stood alone. But that hadn't been realistic, not against a thinking enemy. Just because the aliens didn't think like humans didn't mean that they weren't capable of drawing understandable conclusions. Crushing the strongest human power had crippled humanity’s ability to resist them – and an accident of geography had made it even easier for them. They must have been delighted, the President thought, when they’d realised that America’s greatest strength was also its most dangerous weakness.
“There isn't going to be much time left,” Pepper said, softly. “The ultimatum runs out soon – and I don’t think they’re going to waste time before they attack.”
The President nodded. Reports from the hidden tracking stations had reported that one of the massive alien craft was starting to inch towards Britain. Thankfully, not even the aliens could make something that big move very quickly; it would take them several days to reach London. By then, their fighter craft would have punched their way through the British defences, clearing the way.
Hell of an intimidation tactic, he thought. But I would have thought that they’d learned better from what happened at Washington.
“I know,” he said, tiredly. Right now, he was just a spectator. “Did the resistance send any messages?”
“Just that the final stages of planning are still underway,” Pepper said. “It may be several days before they can act. And if they fail ...”
The President scowled. There were too many elements in the plan for his liking, a blatant violation of the KISS Principle. But there was no choice. If only the Russians were prepared to cooperate openly, if only the Chinese hadn't gone under, if only ...
He shook his head. There was no point in worrying over what might have been, not now.
“The latest news from Japan came in too,” Pepper added. “They’re moving south.”
“And so the world changes again,” the President muttered. The Japanese needed the raw materials in Indonesia to survive. Once, simply taking them would have been impossible. Now, the Japanese were acting – and the aliens weren't trying to stop them. “What sort of world will we have left when this is over?”
Pepper had no answer.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Over Britain, United Kingdom
Day 245
“Now this is real flying,” Philip said. “Who needs the space shuttle?”
There was a very feminine snort over the radio. “Apart from anyone who actually wants to see orbit?”
Philip rolled his eyes. It had been too long since he had been in a fighter cockpit, but between endless simulations and practice exercises in the air all of the old skills had come back to him. The scratch squadron of American exiles had been pushed hard by their superiors, both British and American. Everyone knew that the ultimatum was ticking down the last few seconds. It was why nearly a third of the combined air force was in the air and the remainder were on the runways, ready to take off at a moment’s notice.
“Yeah,” he agreed, as he rolled the F-16 over slightly. “I suppose that would do.”
He glanced down at his scope, showing the live feed from a pair of British E2 Sentry aircraft holding position over Scotland, their powerful radars scanning the skies for miles around. All civilian aircraft had been grounded, leaving the military the only people in the sky – as far as the equipment could tell. If the USAF had been able to spoof human radar sets, it was dangerous to assume that the aliens couldn't do the same. But then, it hardly mattered. The alien craft could form up over America and be over Britain seconds later.
It felt strange to be flying such an old aircraft, although the space shuttles had been older before the aliens had put the last of them out of service. He’d often wondered what, if anything, the aliens had pulled from the wreckage of the ISS, but their captors had been reluctant to discuss any such matters with him. Given their own technological powers, he’d wondered if they were just trying to be polite. The space shuttle had been a joke by purely human standards, let alone compared to a spacecraft the size of a city.
And you could die up here, far away from your country, he told himself. It wouldn’t be the first time volunteer American airmen had fought beside the RAF, but America hadn't been occupied back then. Part of his mind insisted that he should have gone to Canada instead, where he might have been able to join the RCAF. But that would have been too risky, he’d been told. You could die up here all alone.
The radio bleeped. “Alpha-one, Alpha-two, we have approximately nine contacts making their way towards you,” the flight controller said. “You are cleared to engage; I say again, you are cleared to engage.”
Philip grinned, nastily, as the alien craft closed in. Previously, from what he’d heard, the USAF had been unable to engage the aliens until they’d shown blatant signs of hostility, although that hadn't taken very long. Now, the human air forces had a hunting licence to engage the enemy as soon as they showed themselves. The only puzzle was why the aliens were coming in slowly, rather than fast enough to buzz past the human aircraft at escape velocity.
“Hold fire until you see the whites of their eyes,” he reminded the squadron, as they fell into a loose formation. It would have horrified their instructors back in America, but the only way to hold the line against the aliens was to dogfight. The pre-contact concept of engaging the enemy from as great a distance as possible was simply useless. It gave the aliens plenty of time to evade or shoot down the incoming missiles. “And evade as soon as you fire.”
The alien craft came closer. It seemed almost slow, even though he knew that the combined speed of the two forces was many times the speed of sound. He visualised the almond-shaped alien fighters in his mind, remembering the handful he’d seen in the alien hangers, then smiled as his missiles locked on to their targets. The alien craft were entering weapons range now ...
“Fox-Two,” he barked, pushing the trigger. “I say again, Fox-Two.”
The Fighting Falcon shook as a missile was launched from under its wing, heading right towards an alien craft. Seconds later, brilliant streaks of blue-white light flared through the sky as the aliens returned fire, raking through the atmosphere in the hopes of striking a human target through sheer weight of fire. Philip gritted his teeth – he would have loved a weapon like that, one that could be fired indefinitely – and threw the Falcon into a dive. A streak of light shot past his cockpit, close enough to nearly blind him, then vanished.
“Alphas, we verify that you have made two kills,” the flight controller said.
Philip ignored him, feeling gravity tearing at his body as he flung the Falcon around the sky. An alien craft materialised ahead of him, already spitting out fire; he launched a
nother missile towards it and then flung his craft to one side. A blinding explosion flared out behind him as the missile struck the alien craft, destroying it. Moments later, he saw another F-16 vanish in a ball of fire. He depressed his triggers, firing his guns towards the alien killer, but saw the enemy craft vanish rather than explode.
“I can't shake the bastard,” someone snapped. Philip caught sight of an F-16 corkscrewing madly as an alien craft ruthlessly chased it down. “A little help here, perhaps?”
“On my way,” Philip said, twisting his own craft in hot pursuit. Normally, there was no point in trying to chase the alien craft, not when they could easily outrace any merely human aircraft. But this alien pilot wanted his kill. “Fly straight for a moment, would you?”
His targeting system chimed as the missile locked on to the alien craft. He pushed the trigger, watching as the missile lanced towards its target; the alien craft wobbled, then turned and fled, leaving its target alone. Philip found himself hoping that the missile would lock onto another alien craft, but he knew that it was unlikely. It was much more likely that the missile would simply lose power and fall into the sea, far below.
“Finally,” another pilot said. “Guns that work!”
“They’re gone,” a stunned voice said, moments later. “They’re just ... gone?”
Philip looked around. Five Falcons were gone – one pilot had managed to eject in time, her PLB squawking her position for search and rescue teams – but the skies were clear. The alien attack seemed to have ended as quickly as it had begun.
No, he realised, grimly. The live feed from the two AWACS aircraft told the whole story. They got tired of playing with us and went after bigger game.
***
“Get our personnel into the shelters,” Group Captain Sir William Gale ordered, as the air raid sirens started to howl. “Hurry!”
He scowled down at the live feed from the integrated air defence network. The aliens had started with a conventional attack on the outermost defenders, but they’d suddenly changed tactics and were now heading in towards the mainland – and the RAF’s fast-jet fighter bases. It was almost exactly what they’d done in America – and why not, seeing it had worked for them there. The RAF would be ground down, aircraft by aircraft, base by base, until it could no longer function. And then the aliens would move on to the next step.
There was no mistaking the data. RAF Lossiemouth was one of their first targets on the ground. Other craft were going after other fighter bases, or radar stations – they didn't seem to have realised that the RAF didn't need active radars to track them any longer. But no one had any illusions about how long that would last. The giant radar stations that protected British airspace wouldn't stand up to the aliens for long, even through air defence units had been deployed to protect them. And then it would be obvious that they were no longer required.
I wonder what they’ll do then, he asked himself. They can't track the passive sensors so easily.
Thankfully, most of their aircraft were already in the air or under shelters – although he had some doubts about how well the RAF’s concrete shelters would stand up to alien weapons. Fuel and ammunition stocks were well-shielded ... he shook his head, dismissing the worries he’d confronted ever since the war had begun. One way or another, they were about to find out just how good their precautions actually were.
“Sentry-five reports that the aliens are closing in on her position,” the flight controller said. “PJHQ is ordering her to evade.”
Sir William nodded, absently. The aliens would concentrate on the radar aircraft, which were protected by a swarm of Eurofighters and F-35s. It was funny how no one had ever really considered that a problem since the end of the Cold War. Afghanistan and Iraq had never managed to come close to an AWACS, let alone threaten to down one. But the aliens just came in to close range, blowing through the fighters assigned to defend the radar aircraft.
Their tech turns our former best practice against us, he thought, with grim admiration. We have to close with them to win and that gives them the advantage.
It was clear that the aliens had spent years studying the Earth, no doubt monitoring humanity’s wars and technological development. They’d had years to prepare themselves for the fight. The RAF had learned from what had happened to both America and Israel, but even with the new techs and concepts there were limits to how much could be deployed in time. Given a few years, things might have been different ...
“Colonel Anderson reports that the RAF Regiment is ready to defend the airfield,” his radio buzzed. “All non-essential personnel have been evacuated or moved to shelters.”
“Good,” Sir William said. “Turn that damn siren off. I don’t think we need it any longer.”
The alien craft were bare seconds away from the airfield, now that they’d left the American flyers hopelessly out of place over the ocean. There were additional patrols closer to the mainland, but he doubted that they could do more than fire a missile or two at the aliens in passing. Unless, of course, the aliens chose to dogfight with them. Facing an enemy who got to choose the time and place of an engagement was ... frustrating, to say the least.
But we know where they have to go, he told himself. There’s no other choice.
“And tell the Regiment that they are cleared to fire,” he added. They’d cleared the airspace directly above the airbase, just to ensure that the only targets that got shot at were alien craft. But accidents happened, particularly when there was only a second or two to decide if the trigger should be pulled. “They may engage at will.”
***
Corporal Carolyn Brume glared at the air defence system as though she could convince it to start showing targets by force of will. The system was new, shipped up from London when it had become clear that the balloon was about to go up – and naturally the boffins hadn’t worked all of the kinks out of the system. Like so many other pieces of high technology, it had refused to work properly when she’d turned it on ... which wouldn't have mattered so much if the aliens weren't on the verge of swooping down and reducing Lossiemouth to rubble.
“Come on, Carolyn,” Corporal James Plummer insisted. “I could have fixed a damn Rapier by now.”
“Not so much to go wrong on a Rapier,” Carolyn snapped back, finally giving into frustration and slapping the system as hard as she could. The screen flickered and came to life. “Hah!”
She smiled as the live feed from the passive sensors appeared on the display, just in time. Dozens of red icons were advancing towards the airbase with murderous intent, bobbling up and down as if they were riding along the crest of a wave – or, more likely, trying to evade fire from ground-based soldiers. Apart from untested devices like the Dalek – as some wag in R&D had dubbed it – there were pre-positioned missile launchers and RAF Regiment soldiers swaggering around with MANPADs, ready to engage their targets. It looked formidable and it would have been formidable, if their enemies were human. Instead, they had tech that gave them all kinds of advantages.
Her lips curled into a cold smile as she patted the Dalek. This piece of tech might give humans the advantage, if it worked as advertised.
“The system is online,” she said, as she clambered out of the vehicle. Automatics could handle most of the shooting now – and besides, as soon as the enemy located it, they’d make the Dalek a primary target. “I’ve got the controller with me.”
“Just in time,” Plummer snarled, as she heard the roar of missiles being launched in the distance. “They’re coming in now.”
Carolyn had seen the videos from America, where humans and aliens had first clashed, but none of them had conveyed the sight properly. A dozen alien craft were racing towards the base, blue-white streaks of light raining down towards the ground, ignoring or evading the missiles launched by the outermost defenders. Clearly, the idea of placing a Rapier missile launcher along the most likely approach route hadn't worked out against the aliens, even though it would have done well against a human enem
y. The aliens didn't need to worry about fuel, or time in enemy airspace.
“Engaging now,” she said, as she keyed the remote control. She couldn't resist. “Exterminate!”
There was a snap-hiss from the Dalek as the first human-designed directed energy weapons system opened fire. The air seemed to glow for a long second – although she knew that it had to be little more than a microsecond – and her hair stood on end, before a single pulse of light shot out and struck one of the alien craft amidships. There was a colossal explosion and the alien craft tilted to one side, then fell out of the sky and crashed into the ground. Its companions scattered, clearly unsure of what had hit them. The Dalek didn't hesitate; it kept firing.
Carolyn smiled as she realised that the boffins had definitely got something right. Whatever the aliens did to keep their weapons stable, it slowed down the plasma and allowed humans and aircraft to actually dodge the blasts. The Dalek lacked that subtle touch; even an alien craft spinning around madly, had great difficulty in evading the blasts of light; two more were blasted out of the sky, a third exploded high overhead, so loudly that Carolyn was sure that windows had shattered for miles around. A fourth, ducking and weaving to avoid the pulses from the Dalek, ran right into a Stinger launched by a RAF Regiment soldier and staggered away, trailing smoke from its underside. Seconds later, it crashed down outside the base.
The all-clear sounded moments later. Carolyn checked the Dalek quickly, relieved that the system hadn't overheated and exploded. The boffins had warned that was a possibility, particularly if the aliens pressed the offensive and forced the Dalek to keep firing and firing until it was too late. Instead, the air inside the cab was boiling hot – sweat flowed down her body after a few moments of exposure – but there was nothing she needed to fix. The Dalek had done extremely well.
Plummer clambered up into the cab beside her. “CO wants us to move,” he said, gruffly. “They’ll figure out where we were and come after us next.”
Outside Context Problem: Book 03 - The Slightest Hope of Victory Page 37