by Mark Lingane
“We’re gathering information, sir. Light munitions have no effect—the crafts seem to have barriers encasing them. Every time they kiss the ground they release electromagnetic waves that fry anything electrical or electronic. Bit by bit, they’re destroying our tech and taking down the city, sweeping everyone toward the center. And from the scraps of information we’ve heard from over the pond, the same thing’s happening in every major city there as well. EM attacks are highly dangerous, and they’ve taken their toll.”
“I’m sorry for your losses, but you can bet your bootstraps they won’t be the last. Keep everyone as safe as you can.”
“We think, but can’t confirm, that the crafts use the same points when they touch the ground, like a power point. They’re recharging.”
Norton quickly leafed through Hanson’s report. “CF-555. Hanson found one of those recharge points. This must be what brought down the aircraft, as well as providing power for the alien crafts. If that’s the case, and we block them from these power points, then we could weaken them.”
“I believe so,” the captain said, “but these are only early observations, sir. We tried to dig below the point, but it was well defended, like they were expecting us. That’s where I lost my soldiers.”
“If they died getting this information, Captain, then it wasn’t in vain. Make sure their names are prominent on the wall.”
The captain hesitated. “Sir, one of the things we’ve seen is… I’m not sure how to explain this.”
“What’s the problem?”
“I don’t want to cause any internal division; we’re already stretched as it is.”
“If there’s a problem in our ranks, Captain, I need to hear about it.”
“It’s General Hubbard, sir. Several times we’ve seen him taking out some of the more … unreliable men. He sends them into battle while he stays at the back and watches them get obliterated.”
“Thank you, Captain. You don’t know how important that information is. I’ll keep it between us. Dismissed.”
“Thank you, Field Marshal.” The captain saluted, about-faced, and left the makeshift office.
“Kevin,” Norton said to his clerk.
“Sir?” Jackson spun around at his desk and faced the field marshal.
“Tell the sergeant and his burly friend to bring General Hubbard to me immediately. Tell him good luck in finding the snake.”
55
THE POWER WAS out again in the scientists’ research chamber. The soldiers on guard saluted Hubbard as he entered the dark facility. The gas lanterns, reflecting off the metal tables, provided enough light to make out most things, but the light was dim and the lab eerie, no longer a place of advanced learning but of secrets and weapons. The golden glow from the lanterns tinged everything yellow, with long shadows that flickered and jumped.
Hubbard spotted the chief scientist in deep discussion with a younger Indian man, both drinking coffee. “Braxton,” Hubbard snapped.
“Hello, General.” Braxton turned toward the general and waved Distracted Ronnie away.
“Even when the lights are down, I see you still have enough power for a cup of coffee,” Hubbard said.
“It’s two hours old, stone cold and instant,” Braxton replied. “Would you like some? We have plenty.”
Hubbard continued, ignoring Braxton’s offer. “Give me the rundown on weapons development. I’m expecting results.”
Braxton sighed. “It’s hard when the power keeps being cut.”
“Yet you always manage to get back online. How is that possible when hardly anyone else can recover from an EM attack?”
“We have big generators. Big generators have big capacitors and transistors that can survive attacks. But each attack weakens them. They will eventually fail. Each time they blast us it takes longer for the circuits to recover. The equipment gets short-circuited and we need to find replacements that have been protected from the attacks. We’re not made of equipment, and it will run out. But until then we’ll do the best we can under the circumstances.”
“I didn’t come to hear your problems,” Hubbard said. “Your problems won’t win the war.”
“As you wish.” Braxton led the general into a sectioned-off part of the main research chamber. Set up on the benchtops was an array of specialized equipment.
Hubbard’s face turned sour when he saw it. “What the hell is this? It looks like a bunch of junk from a fifties science-fiction film.”
“They’re pulse weapons. First generation.”
Hubbard picked up a small sphere and spun it in his fingers.
“That’s a pulse grenade,” Braxton explained.
“Isn’t that from a video game?”
“We needed ideas. You get them where you can when times are desperate. Conventional weapons have very little influence against such a formidable opponent. This is our best chance of a sustained and transformative attack.”
“You’re a bunch of smart, evil geniuses.”
“With the pulse pistol, there’s a delay when you pull the trigger, and then you have to maintain it on the target,” Braxton explained. “It takes time to deploy enough energy to fry a circuit at a distance. The further away it is, the longer it has to stay trained on the target. It means we’ll have to define a whole new way of waging combat. Existing tactics won’t work. We have laser weapons that use Q-switching, mode-locking, and pulsed pumping. But our research is deathly slow because we keep losing power.”
Hubbard’s eyes gleamed as he walked along the display.
“But you need to know that this stuff only works at close range,” Braxton said. “The grenade has a burst range of only a dozen yards. I doubt anyone standing close enough for this to have any effect will be lucky enough to survive.”
“You leave that up to me. Give me the strongest weapon you have and I’ll field-test it.”
“Oh, they’re nowhere near ready yet.”
“What about that?” Hubbard pointed to a menacing rifle with a barrel that ended in a claw-like fitting. “You will give me something.” He was clenching his fists and his face was flashing with anger.
“The plasma rifle? It’s basically a big Taser. Again, it’s nowhere near ready.”
Hubbard stroked the long, dark weapon.
Braxton coughed, interrupting Hubbard’s fixation. “Also, we don’t know what’ll happen if our weapons collide with theirs. Two EM forces will either annul each other or double the impact.”
Hubbard’s eyes opened wide. “Double?”
“Yes, if we don’t fire first, we can’t guarantee any predictable results. These are weapons of aggression, not defense.”
“Science without predictability. Can you scientists understand yourselves?”
“Give me a laboratory with proper equipment and reliable power, and I’ll get you predictable results,” Braxton snapped.
Hubbard’s eye twitched and he gave the scientist a dark look. “You’d better give me the nice black gun and maybe I’ll forget about that outburst.”
“Are you all right, General? You look flushed.”
Hubbard flung his hand out and snatched at Braxton’s collar, pulling him close. “You be careful what you accuse me of,” he hissed. He released the man with a disdainful sneer. “Get back to work and invent something useful.”
When Hubbard stormed back to the control room, two soldiers were waiting for him. They didn’t salute.
“General, sir,” the sergeant said, “the field marshal requests your immediate presence.”
“I take it by the aggressive nature of your demeanor, Sergeant, that this is not negotiable.”
“That is correct,” the sergeant said.
“Very well. I’ll send a message to my captain telling him I’ll be delayed, and a short message to Clacton to let her know too. I assume we’re heading to Piccadilly.”
The whispers began to grow when Hubbard was taken to Piccadilly Circus via the underground network. News from the government had said he’d b
rought down an alien craft. Another report stated that he had captured one of the aliens, and weapons were under development. Random but growing groups of soldiers applauded him as he passed by, holding his head high. He let the odd smile slip.
The sergeant and his burly friend presented Hubbard to the field marshal. They both looked around uncertainly as the commotion around them grew.
Field Marshal Norton looked around the assembled soldiers standing down on the train line and through the various exits. There was doubt in the air. He needed to address it. “General Hubbard,” he said, “I have evidence that you’re running unsanctioned missions resulting in the substantial loss of life of our soldiers.”
“The first success in war always comes at great cost,” Hubbard said. “But once the breakthrough has been made, the tide can turn.”
“Success?” Norton looked around for clarification.
His clerk, Kevin Jackson, spoke up. “Sir, the leader of the opposition, Mr. Forsyth, has literally just announced on the waves that Hubbard brought down an enemy craft.”
Norton looked at Hubbard in disbelief. “How is that even possible?”
“We did what needed to be done,” Hubbard said. “I’ve shown we can do this; we can win. I’ve already brought one craft down. All we have to do is keep doing the same, bringing them down one by one. It’s early days in our counterstrike, so it will hurt. But if we keep going, the enemy will soon change their tune.”
“How many men did it take to bring down this one craft?”
“It doesn’t matter how many it took; it’s about the result,” Hubbard snapped. “What results have you got so far?”
Norton stared into the general’s eyes. They were distant and unfocused. “Are you questioning me, Hubbard?”
Hubbard thrust his finger against Norton’s chest. “The highest authorities are demanding results. The people crave it, but what would you know about that? You just think of them as trophies for your own success. I’m the one who’s delivered results.”
“You need to step down, soldier, and remember your place.”
“And what, die like the rest of them, cowering in a cave somewhere?”
The soldiers began to murmur.
“You’re the one who’s driving them to their deaths,” Norton said. “You’re reckless and obsessed.”
Hubbard’s head snapped around and he bellowed over his shoulder, “Captain Williams!”
Williams charged onto the platform, accompanied by a small force of crazed and wired soldiers. They flooded onto the platform, surrounding Norton’s men, who had no option but to surrender.
“Field Marshal Norton no longer has the defense of the realm as his primary directive,” Captain Williams announced, “and his intent and allegiance to the crown is unclear.” He pushed Norton backward theatrically, so all could see. “He’ll be detained until a point in time when he can be judged by his peers. Until then, chuck him in the cells and throw away the key.”
Two of Williams’ soldiers stepped up, and each grabbed an arm. Norton tried to struggle free.
“This is madness,” he shouted.
Hubbard signaled for the two men to take the field marshal away, then pulled the chair away from Norton’s desk and sat down behind it, swiveling from side to side. He let out a deep chuckle.
The soldiers shifted uncertainly, tension tightening the air.
“Clerk,” Hubbard bellowed.
Norton’s clerk Jackson approached cautiously.
“Stand to attention, soldier, when being addressed by your commander.”
Jackson snapped to attention. “Sir.”
Hubbard leaned back in the chair and tapped his fingertips together. “Take word to the captains that we’re launching an all-out offensive on the enemy immediately.”
“General, isn’t that meant to be the field marshal’s responsibility?”
“Are you questioning my authority, soldier?”
“No, sir. But a lot of men will die.”
“That’s the cost of winning a war like this. And your insubordination will now take you to the front line. Everything is about to change. Dismissed, soldier.” Hubbard’s eye twitched and he quickly checked his watch.
56
PRIME MINISTER DANIEL Anderson berated the opposition quorum into silence. He had the opposition against the ropes while the remaining population found a long lost security in the voice of their elected leader. Not only had the prime minister’s popularity grown among the people and his own party, but his waistline had diminished. He’d found the energy to charge down tunnels looking for survivors, hand out supplies, rally the people, and galvanize the remnants of civilization into enclaves that believed in survival. Salvation was waiting, and they clung to him as their idol.
He looked around the House of Commons and was gratified to see that even his backbenchers were rising from their engorged backsides and discussing the importance of engagement before relieving the dessert trolley of its contents. He knew that sometimes, in the face of adversity, there could be a way to prosper, although that was not the right word in this situation … to embrace the challenges and grow. But the excessive headcount within the House had drained internal supplies and the fat had to be cut.
Anderson took a sip from his glass.
“Why did you want us here?” Forsyth asked.
“I stand before the House,” Anderson said, “not to ask, decry or interrogate, but to lead. We all agree that these are difficult times, and difficult decisions have been and continue to be made. The people have their representatives, and they sit on this side of the table.” He indicated the Tory side of the House. “We no longer have the luxury of rhetoric and debate that deteriorates into name-calling and abuse. It’s time to dissolve the two-party system.”
“Hey!” the Liberal Democrat shouted, but his voice was drowned in the maelstrom.
“Are you insane?” Forsyth shouted from the opposition benches.
Anderson allowed himself a wry smile. As old foes, he and Forsyth would meet on the hustings and earnestly clasp each other’s hand, and the moment Forsyth looked into his eyes in muted appeal, Anderson would run the knife into his chest and cast him from the assembly. Of course, the knife was metaphorical, but the effect would be the same.
“What have you contributed, Forsyth? Have you actually helped with anything? Do the people support you, like you, trust you?”
“This isn’t about popularity, Anderson. It’s about results.”
“And finely spoken, my learned colleague. So where are yours?”
Forsyth looked around hesitantly, running his finger around his collar. Mumbling and hissing arose from across the mace and, disturbingly, from behind him.
“Nothing?” Anderson questioned.
Deep laughs rumbled over the table.
Anderson wheeled around to face the speaker. “Madam Speaker, I wish to table an amendment to the Two Knights Bill to—yes, what is it now, Forsyth?”
“We’ve captured one of their craft.”
The House fell into utter silence, shocked by the revelation.
“Could you repeat that?” Anderson said.
“Certainly. We have captured one of the aliens’ craft,” Forsyth said, “and we’ve spoken to the aliens.”
“That’s impossible. You’re delusional. Why would you keep such a thing secret?”
Forsyth shrugged. “The people are anxious. They might not be able to frame the discoveries appropriately.”
The leader of the opposition waved his hand to a security guard, who ushered in Captain Williams. The captain stood stock still in front of the prime minister before reaching into his pocket.
“Here is Captain Williams,” Forsyth said, “second in charge to General Hubbard, acting commander of the Joint Forces command, to corroborate the evidence with some rather retro Polaroid pictures. Please, see for yourself. We have plenty of copies. And examine the extensive report compiled by Professor Braxton, who has more letters after his name than are
in the Russian alphabet.”
Anderson rifled through the photos disbelievingly. “And what do you expect to do with these?” he said to Forsyth.
“Our target is not to hide, but to parley.” Forsyth clapped his hands and two more soldiers entered.
“The attackers are not pirates,” Anderson replied.
The soldiers stepped either side of the prime minister.
“What is this?” Anderson said.
“Please, men, escort the ex-prime minister away. If he struggles, feel free to shoot him.”
The soldiers grabbed an arm each and dragged Anderson away.
Forsyth continued. “Now, Madam Speaker, on with the amendment, but with one minor change. Just names, actually. I’ll forge ahead without the deadweight and the naysayers.” He cleared his throat and clasped the lapels of his jacket. “I stand in front of you as a leader who—”
Margaret Clacton nodded to Captain Williams, and the captain fired. Forsyth slumped forward in his seat. Clacton tipped Forsyth out of the chair onto the floor. The assembled politicians stared at Clacton in disbelief.
“It wasn’t actually him,” Clacton said. “Forsyth didn’t do anything. What are you all staring at?”
A dozen soldiers ran in and encircled the attending politicians, most of whom raised their hands hesitantly. The chambers were absolutely silent.
Clacton’s eyes flicked across the petrified captives, and motioned for them to lower their arms. “New directions. These aliens, invaders in our land, are not wanted here,” she said, “and it’s the duty of every British citizen to drive them from our shores. In conjunction with the army, we shall reclaim our green and rolling hills.”
Clacton sipped from the glass. She was surprised to find that it contained gin.
57
FLANKED BY TWO soldiers, Hubbard stormed into the scientists’ research chamber. He whistled loudly. “New management, Poindexters,” he said. “You have new directives. It’s full steam ahead on the weapons. Get them working fast. Everything else can wait.”