The Longest Day (Ark Royal X)

by Christopher Nuttall

  She could hear it now too, a roaring thunder that chilled her to the bone. Penzance went dark, the lights vanishing into nothingness ... she said a quick prayer for the citizens, many of whom wouldn't have the chance to escape before the water crashed over their home. And then it dawned on her that the waters were going to rush over the estate ... the waves were losing power fast, but not fast enough.

  “Get down,” Garrison snapped, as the roaring grew louder. “Hang on for dear life!”

  Molly threw herself down, unsure what to grab ... the hall was solid, but was it solid enough to withstand such an impact? Her fingers found a hatch in the rooftop and clutched tight, just as the water slammed into the building. The hall quivered - it suddenly felt chillingly fragile - and water showered down over her, smashing the remains of the tables and destroying the buffet. Molly yelped as ice-cold water drenched her skin, trying desperately to hold on ...

  The water drained, slowly. Her entire body was trembling, helplessly, as she forced herself to stand up. The coat was waterlogged ... goosebumps rose on her skin as a cold wind followed the tidal wave, mocking her. She tore the coat off, ignoring just how much the dress clung to her curves now it was wet. The tidal wave seemed to have vanished in the darkness, but ...

  She forced her way to the railing and looked down. The estate had gone completely dark, but she could hear water splashing below her. Her feet felt oddly unsteady, as if the building was suddenly a boat ... she wondered, as she looked up, just how much damage the water had done. Penzance was still wrapped in darkness ... she couldn't see the boats any longer, let alone anything else. Even the birds were silent. It was easy to believe, all of a sudden, that she was the last person on Earth.

  “Dear God,” Garrison said. He sounded sober, all of a sudden. His clothes dripped water too. “What was that?”

  Molly hugged him, tightly. It wasn't lust, not really. It was ... it was the sheer relief of knowing she was not alone. Her body started to respond, but she choked it down hard. She didn't want anything right now, apart from a hot bath and a warm bed. But she had the feeling she wasn't going to get either of them right now.

  She took one last look towards Penzance - or where Penzance had been - and then followed Garrison down the stairs. Water had washed into the house, turning the tiny steps into slippery nightmares. The emergency lights had come on, but half of them were dim and the other half had failed. She had to struggle to keep from slipping and falling as they reached the lower floor and headed down to the study. Doors and windows had been blown open, water flooding into the giant building ... she looked into the library and almost cried when she saw the piles of sodden books on the floor. There was no way any of them could be recovered in time.

  “Lady Penelope,” Garrison said. He stopped outside her study, then ran inside. “Shit!”

  Molly followed him. Lady Penelope was lying against the far wall, utterly unmoving. She checked the woman’s pulse automatically - she’d picked up some first aid in school, although she’d never used it - but found nothing. The older woman was dead. Molly looked down at her for a long moment, then glanced around the room. The water must have poured in and slammed Lady Penelope against the wall before she could escape. Her feet squelched as she walked back to the door. She didn't have the slightest idea what to do.

  The emergency lighting flickered. Molly tensed. There was no way she could get out of the building if the lighting failed completely. And yet ... she looked at Garrison, seeing the fear in his eyes too. They were trapped in a crumbling building, perhaps unable to do anything to save themselves ...

  “The building itself appears to be stable,” Garrison said. He glanced around. “If there's someone left, we can ask for help.”

  Servants, Molly thought. Did they survive?

  She took one last look at Lady Penelope, then followed Garrison out of the room. The hallway had been utterly trashed; paintings had been yanked from the walls and dashed to the floor, pieces of artwork had been smashed to rubble, puddles of water lay everywhere ... they’d been lucky, very lucky, that they’d survived. She glanced at the walls as water dripped down, working its way through the building. If a water leak could do real damage to an otherwise perfect building, she dreaded to think what an entire flood could do.

  There was no sign of any of the servants. The kitchens were empty - and flooded. A handful of rooms that Garrison thought probably belonged to live-in maids were also empty. Outside, there was nothing, but utter darkness. Molly was tempted to suggest they sleep in the car - even if they couldn't do anything else with it - yet ... she had no idea where the car actually was. If the wave had picked up a number of boats, what could it do to a car?

  “We should be able to sleep in the lobby,” Garrison announced, finally. “It should give us enough shelter for the moment.”

  Molly shrugged. She’d have to look for some new clothes, if nothing else. The damp dress wasn't doing her any favours. And then ... she shook her head. Technically, they should report Lady Penelope’s death to someone, but all the landlines were down. She wasn't even sure if there was anyone left alive ... could the wave have reached Woking?

  No, she told herself. My kids are still alive. I just have to get to them.

  But, as she hunted for clothes and bedding that weren’t impossibly damp, she found it hard to convince herself that that was true.

  Chapter Fourteen

  London, United Kingdom

  “What the hell is happening?”

  Andrew stared at the display. “Are they attacking us?”

  “Not directly, Prime Minister,” General Peter Templeton said. “They hit a number of orbital installations. Pieces of debris are falling out of orbit and plunging into the atmosphere.”

  “Where they will hit the surface,” Andrew finished. He’d watched several movies that featured an asteroid habitat being knocked out of orbit. They’d been banned, when he was a child. The government had felt they would upset people. “Where ... where’s going to be hit?”

  “We’re not sure just how many pieces will make it through the atmosphere and the defences,” Templeton told him. His eyes never left the display. “One large piece looks as though it will come down in the Atlantic, west of Britain; several smaller pieces are scattering over Europe and North Africa. There may be another crashing down in the Indian Ocean, but the Indian defences may be able to take care of it.”

  “Because there are no defence installations in the Middle East,” Andrew finished. The whole area had been isolated for years, tin-pot warlords and religious fanatics rising to power and then falling just as quickly. “How many of them are going to die?”

  He pushed the thought to the back of his mind. “How many of us are going to die?”

  “Unknown, Prime Minister,” Templeton said. “We cannot even begin to make a workable set of predictions.”

  Andrew looked at him, then at the display. More and more pieces of debris were falling into the atmosphere, a handful vanishing as they were picked off by the defences or burnt up before they reached the ground. It looked like a computer simulation, utterly unconnected to reality. And yet ... and yet he knew, all too well, that there were real people underneath the falling debris. British basements and bomb shelters wouldn't provide any protection to someone unlucky enough to have a piece of debris come down on their heads.

  Templeton swore. “We have an impact,” he said, as the display updated. “One large chunk came down in the Atlantic. There’ll be tidal waves up and down the west coast. And Ireland too.”

  “Warn the Irish,” Andrew said. Ireland should have access to the live feed from orbit, but it was better to make sure they actually got the warning. “Is there anything we can do to stop it?”

  “No, Prime Minister,” Templeton said. “Local military and police units have already been alerted, but the best they can do is hunker down and send out alerts. Anyone along the coastline will have to fend for themselves.”

  “... Shit,” Andrew said.
<
br />   The display updated again. “Two more impacts,” Templeton reported. “Both in the North Sea ...”

  Andrew felt cold. The damage was steadily mounting. Reports were coming in from all over the world. Something large had come down far too close to San Francisco for comfort, while the remains of an industrial node had crashed on Russia. So far, the Japanese appeared to be lucky - their defence grid had destroyed a handful of pieces of debris - but he knew it wouldn't last. Tidal waves were already spreading in all directions.

  Templeton frowned. “Penzance has gone dark, Prime Minister,” he said. His fingers danced over the control panel. “We’ve lost touch with the Regional HQ.”

  “Do what you can,” Andrew said.

  He looked down at his hands, feeling utterly helpless. Britain hadn't lost so many lives since the Troubles ... no, even the Troubles hadn’t killed so many people. The display kept updating, showing him tidal waves marching inland ... hundreds of thousands of people would be drowned or rendered homeless if they survived. Modern buildings were built to last, but he doubted they’d stand up to a tidal wave. The carnage would make the Iranian Civil War looked like a playground spat. It looked bloodless, on the display, but he knew it was real. Britain ... Britain would never be the same again.

  “I’ve got staffers trying to find someone still linked to the military net,” Templeton said, grimly. “Right now, none of our hardened systems appear to be working. The entire region’s gone dark.”

  He swore, softly. “And there are waves rushing up the Thames too,” he added. “The water level is rising sharply.”

  Andrew fought the urge to give in to despair. There was nothing he could do. How could someone fight something on such a scale? He could issue orders all he wanted, but ... but they wouldn’t be enough. The command and control network was breaking down ... or the people on the far end were dead. His position as Prime Minister was worthless in all, but name. London was about to be drenched - or worse - and there was nothing he could do about that too. He didn't even know if the bunker was safe. It should be, but ...

  You should share the risk, he told himself grimly. The people up there have no bunkers at all.

  Templeton frowned. “We’re trying to get people away from the coasts now,” he added. “But it might already be too late.”

  “Of course it’s too late,” Andrew snapped. “I ...”

  He shook his head. “Do what you can,” he said, again. “We have to keep fighting, don’t we?”

  “Yes, Prime Minister,” Templeton said. He tapped a key, altering the display. “I believe Admiral Winters is trying to mount a counterattack now.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Andrew said. He studied the display for a long moment, trying not to think of just how many millions of people might have died. “I don’t know how much more of a battering we can take.”

  “We may be about to find out,” Templeton said. Red icons flared up on the display. “They just hit another installation.”

  “Shit,” Andrew said.

  ***

  Major Toby Griffins, London Home Guard, had never seriously expected to be called out, let alone ordered to take command of a planetary defence station. He’d only joined the Home Guard because the reservist bonuses and benefits had made it easier to buy a house. A weekend every month on a military base, keeping his skills sharp, or taking part in an exercise hadn't seemed a bad idea. His wife had certainly made approving noises every time he'd come home, drenched in mud and sweat. But even that had started to pall as he grew older. His wife had openly questioned the wisdom of running around with the younger men.

  “You’re not as young as you used to be,” she’d said, poking him in his ample belly. “And you really are putting on weight.”

  Toby wasn't sure, in all honestly, why he’d stayed with the Home Guard. Reservists didn’t have the social cachet of real soldiers ... and besides, his wife wasn't wrong. He had been putting on weight. Scrambling up ropes and charging around with the young bucks wasn’t on the cards any longer, not for him. These days, trying to climb into a hovering helicopter would probably cause the helicopter to crash. He certainly didn't live up to the ideal squaddie, let alone the Special Forces. But being in the Home Guard did bring some status of its own ...

  And if I’d known there was going to be an actual war, he thought as he studied the display, I might have kept myself in better shape.

  “I’ve got three more pieces of debris de-orbiting into our AOR,” Lieutenant Kathy Roberson said. “They’re entering range now.”

  Toby nodded. “Take them out.”

  He wished, suddenly, that the plan to produce ground-based mass drivers had come to fruition. The heavy lasers at his disposal were powerful enough to vaporise an incoming missile - or anything else stupid enough to fly through the UKADR without permission - but they hadn't been designed to deal with falling rocks. It required a steady bombardment to take out even one chunk, which ran the risk of allowing dozens of others to hit the planet while the station was dealing with just one. He'd have sold his soul for missiles or even railguns. But there just hadn't been enough of them to make a real difference.

  “One down,” Kathy reported. She looked odd, to his eyes. Women weren't that common in the combat arms, certainly not one with long hair and a pretty face. But she was good at handling the firing system and that was all that counted. “Targeting the second one now.”

  “See if you can break it up, then move to the third,” Toby ordered. “Let the smaller pieces burn up in the atmosphere.”

  “Aye, sir,” Kathy said.

  Toby nodded, keeping his eyes on the display. Most chunks of debris definitely would break up in the atmosphere, but it was hard to be sure which chunks would die. A giant cluster of debris didn't even fall a kilometre before it burned up and vanished; a smaller piece fell through the atmosphere and crashed somewhere in France. Toby didn’t like the French very much - the Home Guard had often joked that the French were the only ones who wanted to invade Britain - but he couldn’t help feeling sorry for anyone close to the blast zone. The piece of debris had been larger than a standard KEW. It would have caused immense damage ...

  “Shit,” Kathy snapped. A red icon flashed up, then vanished. An impact in the English Channel, far too close to the mouth of the Thames for comfort. Powerful waves would already be rolling out in all directions. “Sir, I ...”

  “Remain focused,” Toby said. His wife was safe, he hoped. He’d sent her to stay with his parents in Bolton, north of Manchester. She should be safe as long as none of the falling rocks came down anywhere near her. “Keep striking the larger pieces before they get too close.”

  Kathy swallowed. “Aye, sir.”

  Toby turned away from the screen, blinking hard. The darkened chamber suddenly felt oppressive beyond belief. There were no windows in the tiny compartment, nothing to show the outside world. They were quite some distance from the nearest town. Apart from the three platoons of Home Guardsmen under his command and the handful of operations staff, they were alone. And yet ...

  He wished, suddenly, that he’d stayed with his wife. It wouldn't have been hard to arrange a post closer to her, although - as a Home Guardsman - he was expected to remain in his hometown. Or maybe he could have retired before the war ...

  I have my duty, he thought, as he turned back to the screen. And I have to carry it out.

  It was a sobering thought, but not one he could avoid. He’d taken the King’s Shilling long ago, never really expecting that his country would call in the debt. It had seemed a reasonable calculation, back then. What sort of modern war required the reserves to be called up, let alone deployed? The Home Guard certainly wasn't supposed to be deployed outside the country ...

  He shook his head. Whatever else happened, he knew he should be grateful. He was on a military base, surrounded by armed men. Others would not be so lucky.

  And if they do take the high orbitals, this place will be smashed, he thought, tersely. Fuck.

/>   ***

  “Put out that light,” Sergeant Collins muttered.

  Police Constable Robin Mathews rolled his eyes as the three policemen made their way along the embankment. It was almost eerily quiet in Central London. No planes flew overhead, no taxis or cars made their way up and down the streets or over the bridges ... even Big Ben, normally sounding out the time, was silent. The Houses of Parliament were illuminated, but much of the remainder of the city was dark. Robin couldn't help wondering, cynically, if someone was hoping that that Houses of Parliament would draw alien fire.

  Not that they’d have any trouble picking out London from orbit, he thought, as he glanced at his watch. It was just past midnight. Normally, his duty shift would have ended long ago and he’d be tucked up at home, trying to get some rest before he had to make his way back to the station. The bastards will have no trouble finding the city if they want it.