by Mark Lingane
“We’re still trying to ascertain where these silver craft are coming from and where they go—”
“Back to Turkey, perhaps,” Norton said.
“But the large metal weapons, robots, as we’re calling them, are made from our satellites and—”
“Our satellites?” Norton said, incredulous. “Our own satellites are coming down out of the sky and attacking us?”
Hubbard nodded. “Sort of. The satellites themselves are small, but the space junk we send up with them is significant. Somehow the metal’s been reconfigured into these … robots, these weapons.”
“One week and that’s all you’ve learned? A child could’ve determined that from their own observations.”
Hubbard squirmed in his seat, feeling inadequate under the field marshal’s unrelenting stare.
“Do you know how it’s happening? Have the satellites been modified while they’re in space? The last thing I want to hear right now is that this was some secret plan we instigated that’s now backfiring on us. Who built these satellites?”
“Everyone,” Hubbard said. “There was no central agency.”
“Like NASA, for instance?” Norton said.
“There were over one hundred satellite manufacturers and subcontractors, from Lockheed and Boeing down to Kickstarter endeavors. They all had their own way of building and marketing. There was no control.”
Norton tapped his finger on the table. “There are only two places the satellites could have been modified. Here on the ground or out in space.”
“The correct term is ‘in orbit.’ They’re not actually in space …” Hubbard’s voice tailed off under Norton’s glare.
“So who has the ability to modify satellites in orbit without us knowing?”
“No one,” Hubbard said.” It’s impossible.”
“So are satellites that fall to the ground and turn into giant robots that destroy cities,” Norton said, “but that’s exactly what we have. So maybe you need to rethink the word ‘impossible,’ General. We have no understanding of the silver craft, these alien ships; these great hulking robots, are ours. We did that. If there’s no common agency on the fabrication side, perhaps we can find one on the other side.”
“The customers?”
Norton nodded. “Find me someone who has paid money to every satellite manufacturer. Then maybe we’ll start moving toward an answer.”
“But how, Field Marshal? The city’s running at fifty percent power and most communications are down. Only about a quarter of the population of the city is left alive. If there was a conspiracy, how do we know the people responsible are still alive?”
“You’re a resourceful man, General. And anyone who can orchestrate this will know how to survive it.” The field marshal shook his head. “We fail at every turn. Our people huddle beneath the surface. Who knows what they’re doing to each other down there, although it’s probably better than what would happen to them up here. Your task is defense, General Hubbard. We need to keep the people safe.”
“Defense? I’m a man of action. I believe we’re close to achieving something.”
“No. I’ve assembled a database of scientists that I trust will be able to develop weapons.”
“Scientists? What will scientists achieve?”
“We sit in a dead room yet we have light and air,” Norton said, indicating the bio lanterns. “Every single weapon we have has been developed by scientists who watch, experiment, and learn. And that’s what they’ll do once again. Under the threat of war, our scientists have always risen to the challenge. From bouncing bombs to long-range radar to cracking unbreakable army codes, our greatest minds have saved more than those in this room ever could.”
The assembled military command went quiet.
Norton continued. “Stop with the folly of attacking the enemy. Your task is to get the remaining population and keep them safe while the scientists come up with new ideas.”
“Field Marshal, I must protest,” Hubbard said. “As the commander of the Joint Forces Command, it should be my responsibility to—”
“I think the title I used was ‘acting’ JFC commander, General Hubbard, and as there’s little in the way of forces remaining, the position is no longer required.”
“This is foolishness,” Hubbard roared. “You can’t take my soldiers and reduce them to shepherds and nannies.”
“The war is over, General. We have lost. We were never going to win and it’s foolish to think we can do anything now other than avoid extinction. You have your instructions. Officers, good day to you. We’ll reconvene in one month. Hopefully we’ll all still be alive and sane.”
The officers departed. Hubbard was the last to leave, his head full of anger and bitter feelings. There must be something he could do to make a difference, he thought, rather than waddling off back into caves.
General Hubbard entered the small conference room and greeted his senior officers, who saluted. “Field Marshal Norton wants us on defense.” He rolled out instructions to each soldier. He was disappointed to see that they looked relieved with their newer and safer duties.
After they had filed out, one man remained. Hubbard stared at him. Captain Dean Williams, younger than the rest: reckless, hungry, and insubordinate. Even the way the man stood was an insult. Hubbard smiled.
“Nothing for me, General?” Williams said.
Hubbard glanced at his watch, tapping the face of the old timepiece. “Defense means different things to different people. I’m not hiding in a cave while we’re wiped off this planet. They’ll remember me. Come, Williams. We have work to do.”
Norton picked up the report and flicked through the numbers. The losses had stabilized and most people were underground. Food and bottled water had been transported below ground and a makeshift city was forming under the streets. Why the people didn’t leave and head out into the country confounded him.
Still, bit by bit, he had pushed the message and slowly it was beginning to sink in. Hubbard was delivering on the defense strategy. It surprised Norton, as he hadn’t thought the man had it in him.
He glanced at the last page of the report. Captain Williams had lost thirty percent of his forces. He double-checked the figures. There was no mistake. He called for Lance Corporal Jackson to get Hubbard. The lance corporal saluted and disappeared.
Norton reached for his coffee mug. As he lifted it, its light weight reminded him that coffee was a luxury no longer quickly dispensed. You wanted coffee, you had to build a fire and brew the stuff for an hour. It had been an impossible habit to break. Jars of instant were still available, but Norton guessed they were being reserved for torturing the enemy if they ever caught one.
Hubbard came in, checking his watch. Norton had noticed that Hubbard’s salutes had become sloppy, if he bothered with them at all, although his brass had never been shinier and his uniform was still pressed. How Hubbard was getting the power for that was a mystery to him.
“Hubbard. First up, well done on the defense strategy. You’re saving lives.” Norton paused. “Are you expected somewhere?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“You’re checking your watch.” Norton indicated the old timepiece peeking out from beneath Hubbard’s sleeve.
Hubbard glanced down and seemed surprised. “No. I wasn’t aware. There’s so much to do defending the people.” He gave Norton a thin smile.
“What’s Williams up to?”
“Pardon?”
“Captain Dean Williams. He’s under you. The report states that he’s losing significantly more men than all the other officers. It’s as if he’s operating above ground. What’s he doing?”
“You have a report? Who is still writing reports?”
“It’s a clerical duty. We can’t deploy soldiers to where they’re needed if we don’t know how many we have.”
“But these are my soldiers. We don’t have time—”
“Are you running combat missions?”
The question caught
Hubbard off guard. “No, Field Marshal. I’ve been running small reconnaissance errands. Very low key. One or two men hiding and observing, as per your current directive.”
Norton stared at him. He could be telling the truth. The man had delivered on the objectives. Maybe he should cut him a little slack.
“I’m feeling a little on the outside,” Norton said. “Make sure you keep me fully informed about all of your movements. In fact, any mission must be approved by me before it happens.”
Hubbard stood and went to the door.
Norton returned his attention to the report. “Also, Hubbard, send me a report with all the information you’ve found on these, ‘small reconnaissance errands.’ I’ll send you the address of the scientists’ think tank. Pass on to them anything you find of value. Thank you. Dismissed.”
46
HUBBARD LOOKED OVER his ranks; they were beginning to thin. When it came to select missions, soldiers like this, usually assisted by a mind deranged with excessive drugs, adrenaline, and a craving for violence, were few and far between. To date, none of their reconnaissance missions had gathered any useful information, and now Norton and the politicians were beginning to pour on the heat.
Without Hubbard’s direct guidance, the men had often been distracted into Viking-inspired aggression against any locals they found. Luckily, the media wasn’t what it once was. He turned a blind eye, as it kept the men hungry.
Hungry men with dead eyes, he thought. Not quite zombies, but they got the job done.
Today he would take them into North London near a particular attack point the enemy seemed to favor. He had tried and failed before, usually when fear overran the insanity, and his men turned and fled. The aliens had obliterated them with either their immense firepower or the electromagnetic waves that destroyed everything the instant they touched the ground.
This time he would up the drug dosage in the hope that it would completely numb the men’s emotions.
The company moved slowly forward on foot along the destroyed Hornsey Rise, with Hubbard behind them in a Jeep with a mounted minigun. The road was lined with devastated buildings. Graffiti on the walls, mostly slogans, echoed the despair of the nation.
Hubbard whistled into his two-way. “Keep your eyes open, boys.”
The streets were deathly quiet. One hundred yards ahead lay Elthorne Park. That was where he had lost his last team. He knew it was a significant point for the enemy, and he watched as several craft spun down into the park before twisting away. The park was empty, the trees had been burned and flattened, and the ground was scorched.
He ordered the company to set up observation rosters. The men set up a defensive perimeter around the park, targeting inward. Those with heavier weapons were at height, on the tops of the surrounding buildings.
Ninety minutes later they heard the familiar buzz and prickly sensation in the air that signaled the imminent arrival of an attack wave.
“Men, get ready. They’re coming.” He stared up into the sky.
There was a ripping sound followed by a flash as the sun reflected off a silver object. Then they heard the familiar thunderclap.
“Incoming,” shouted one of the men. “Three o’clock.”
As one, they all turned to face the spacecraft as it came screaming down toward them. The men dropped into formation and opened fire. The bullets impacted the attack craft, but did no damage. A soldier on top of one of the buildings pulled out a rocket launcher and, in a semi-hallucinating state, fired randomly.
The spaceship twisted slightly to avoid the rocket. As it touched down, it tipped over onto its side and launched itself up again in a twisting loop. Instead of spreading outward, the electromagnetic wave exploded out to one side, demolishing a building. Another spacecraft came down, and the two crashed together. The first craft lost control and fell back toward the ground. The other kept coming.
Hubbard wheeled around.
“It’s coming in low. Take it! Take it!” He grabbed the trigger of the minigun and opened fire on the spacecraft. Another two rockets were launched, both impacting successfully.
The craft crashed to the ground, wiping out the Jeep and the soldiers in it. It buried its nose in the ground before twisting and flipping up into the air. It tumbled and crashed down again, tearing a long scar through the grass, across the road and into the Shaftesbury building, which cracked and tumbled down on top of it.
Hubbard awoke in the dark. He blinked. It was still dark. Weight bore down on every part of his body. Fluids trickled down his neck. His ears were ringing, blocking out every other sound. Starting at his toes, he flexed or jiggled each muscle up to his neck. The ringing in his ears faded, to be replaced by the plinking of cooling metal.
Curling his fingers, he felt something soft. A soft opening. It was a mouth. He pulled his hand away in disgust and wiggled it in what he hoped was an upward direction. Several other bodies were piled on top of him. He crawled upward, squirming his way through the corpses of his soldiers and emerged from the heap of flesh and rubble.
The head of a soldier stared back at him. It rocked slightly, as the bodies moved and rolled in a heap down to the ground. Hubbard paused. He thought the man’s name was Tyler, although it was hard to tell with what was left.
He looked around at the soldiers scattered everywhere. No survivors. He checked his watch. Half an hour had passed in unconsciousness. He was surprised that his timepiece had survived the crash. Then he saw the semi-buried silver craft, glistening in the sun. It was barely recognizable as the same shape.
But at least we have it, he thought.
He staggered over to the craft and ran his hands over the battered and rippled surface. He smiled. The destruction had moved on; he was alone on the burning remains of Hornsey Rise. The long gouge than ran down the road for a hundred yards was still smoking.
Hubbard picked up a piece of broken glass, made his way to the top of a nearby building, and caught the sunlight. He flashed his message across the city to whoever might be watching.
47
“GOOD LORD, HUBBARD, what happened to you? You look a complete mess.”
Hubbard pulled up, surprised to see the visitor sitting in his guest chair. “A victory, Clacton. Do you remember what they are? And I’m surprised to see you in my office without an appointment, clearance, or even access.”
“You understand how it can be,” Clacton said, gesturing toward the general. “But nevertheless, I’ve been reading your wonderful report.” She waved the rolled-up document in the air.
“I didn’t send you a report.”
“The one you left out on your desk. Well, in the drawer.” Clacton reclined in the chair, crossed her legs, and flipped through the pages.
Hubbard glared at the woman. “That report is not for your eyes. You’re in breach of the Anti-terrorism, Crime and Security Act and could be labeled a traitor,” he hissed through gritted teeth.
“Certainly. And that’s an interesting choice of words. The information in this report is damning, to say the least. You shouldn’t leave things like this lying around.”
“I didn’t.”
“It never fails to perplex me why men like you feel the need to write things down. Well, let’s hope no one reads it.” Clacton rolled the report back into a cylinder and clasped it between her hands. “But enough of these pleasantries.” She clicked her fingers at the general. “Go ahead; do your thing.”
“The meeting started at the allotted time. Representatives from the navy and army were there.”
“No air force? Such a pity. I always admired their uniforms.”
Hubbard shook his head. “The prime minister’s plan is to hide the civilians away while he works on a defense strategy.”
“On his own?”
“No. He’s found some scientists.”
“Oh. That could be dangerous. Where on earth did he find them? He can be a damn clever man sometimes. Is that all?”
“Essentially. Forces from the north are being
transferred down here. Morale’s low.” Hubbard glanced nervously at his watch.
“But we have people. People to govern. Capital. Now, tell me about your victory.”
“I’ve captured an enemy craft.”
“That is exciting news. I can’t wait to tell the people. It’s such a vital blow against an impenetrable foe.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.” Hubbard scowled at the woman.
Clacton smiled. “Oh, but I must.”
“I insist. For the moment.”
“We have an agreement that Forsyth will control the information. We can’t rely on your leader to tell us what he wants when he wants it. Anderson doesn’t understand how the ordinary person thinks. On the other hand, we do. We’re the people’s people, if you will. Our party knows them best.”
“Anderson is a cunning adversary.”
Clacton smiled and reclined in the seat. “Perhaps for you. But this is one of those situations that you and I discussed, where we agreed on a way forward. Do you understand, Hubbard?”
Hubbard’s eyes lit up.
“I see that you do. But if you fail at this, you’ll burn. I won’t be able to bail you out.”
“Is Forsyth aware of your requests?” Hubbard said.
“They’re hardly requests, not when there’s so much at stake. But, yes, our party leader is aware. They have been issued on his emphatic instructions.”
“But this is contrary to how—”
“We’re aware of how Forsyth appears to the public, but politics remains politics through all eventualities. Certain structures must be in place when we eventually come through all of this and out the other side. Understand that and you, too, will benefit, if you catch my meaning,” Clacton said.
“Forsyth ordered this?”
“You sound shocked.”
Hubbard shook his head in disbelief. “There’s obfuscation, and then there’s deceit.”
Clacton shook her hands. “Not in politics. Not in war. We’ll endure, as always. This current debacle will end, and when it does, whether we win or lose, where are you going to be in the structure? Do you think you can make good, strong, difficult, unpopular decisions?”