Smith led her into the Town Hall after a brief chat with the policeman standing outside, looking rather worried. Alex saw his hand toying with his radio and realised that the police in Long Stratton had been cut off from London by alien jamming. She thought about telling him what she knew, and then realised that it would be pointless. He couldn't do anything about it, but panic. Shaking her head, she allowed Smith to lead her into a small room. Three men were gathered there, looking deeply worried. She smiled inwardly as they saw her uniform and frowned, uncertain what to make of her presence. God alone knew what she was going to tell them.
“This is the Parish Council, or as much of them as could be assembled,” Smith said, without preamble. “Rupert Leigh; Tory MP for his sins, but a good man outside politics.” A tall thin man nodded impatiently. “Timmy Simpson; used to farm quite a bit, but now pretty much retired.” Simpson snorted, making a gesture with his fingers that suggested counting money. He was an older man, with a hunch that suggested that he was bowed under some great weight. “And the Reverend Macpherson, shepherd of our little flock.”
“I should be in the Church,” Reverend Macpherson said, shortly. “People need to come together and pray to God for guidance.”
Smith nodded and started to outline what he’d heard from Alex, starting with the story of how he’d found her in his field. Halfway through, when he reached the bit about aliens, all three of the councillors stared at her. They looked as if they wanted to call in the policeman and have the pair of them arrested for public drunkenness. Smith finished by reminding them of some of the more hysterical statements on the BBC – “we live in strange times,” he said.
“I wish I didn't believe you,” Leigh said. His voice had an upper-class edge that reminded Alex of a certain breed of officer. They’d sounded as if they’d been absolutely certain about everything too. “But aliens...dear God, what are we going to do when we tell the people?”
“We shall inform them in the Church,” the Reverend said. “They will have time to reflect on God’s will instead of panicking.”
Leigh snorted. “But what are we going to do?”
Alex had been giving the matter some thought. “They made us study recent military history back when I was a trainee pilot,” she said. “The first few hours after an invasion are always the most dangerous for ordinary people, because the occupation force will be on edge and unsure of its ground. You may not see very many aliens this far from London, or they may decide to take stock of the entire country. I think you need to consider what you’re going to do when they arrive – and what you’re going to do about others.”
She scowled. “Right now, London and a dozen other cities are war zones,” she continued. “The population is going to start fleeing the cities and heading for the countryside. You’re not that far from Norwich – and that’s got upwards of three hundred thousand people who will find themselves starving very quickly. What happens when they start flooding the farms? You have food here – and animals that can be slaughtered for human consumption. What are you going to do when they arrive?”
“There’s the police,” Leigh said, slowly.
“I think you have to assume that the police and the military have been knocked on the head,” Alex said. She didn't want to admit it, but it was quite possible. “Even if there is still a working government and military out there, they are going to have more on their hands than helping you. You need to start planning for the worst.”
“Good God,” Leigh said. He stared down at the table, helplessly. “I don’t think that there is anything we can do if the situation is that bad. We can’t hold back swarms of starving humans...”
“We may have no choice,” Simpson said, flatly. “Do you want to wait and see your families starving because you gave all your food to refugees?”
“I would remind you,” the Reverend said sharply, “that charity is your duty towards your fellow man. Remember the parable of the Good Samaritan.”
“The Good Samaritan,” Simpson replied, “was in no danger.”
He shook his head, slowly. “We may be in serious trouble anyway,” he warned. “It isn't as if we keep stockpiles of food and seeds out here – normally, we could just order the supplies when we needed them. How dependent are we on the rest of the world? International trade is probably shot to hell.”
“No doubt,” Alex agreed.
“Then we put it to the vote,” Leigh said. “We can speak to the people in the Church – ask them to work together to safeguard our farms and the rest of our property. And then we can hope that this whole crisis is just going to blow over.”
“Hark at him,” Simpson crowed. He laughed, unpleasantly. “Stupid politicians always think that the world will go back to normal if they just keep their eyes closed long enough. The country has been invaded, you idiot! Even if the army does manage to give those thieving bastards a damn good thrashing, do you think that anything is going to be the same ever again? Really? I want some of whatever you’ve been smoking.”
Leigh reddened, but he somehow managed to keep his voice calm. “If the worst does happen, we’re probably doomed,” he said. “I refuse to stop hoping for the best even as I try to prepare for the worst.”
“Typical politician,” Simpson said. He looked up at Alex, amused malice glinting in his brown eyes. “You want to bet that we’re all dead a week from today?”
“That will do,” the Reverend said. He stood up from the table. “I believe that it is time to sound the bells and summon the townspeople to the Church. We can tell them what we know and then we can decide what to do.” He looked over at Alex. “I’d like you to remain at hand. You may be needed to answer questions.”
“I don’t know what else I can tell you,” Alex admitted. “I’ve told you everything I know.”
Simpson shrugged. “Some people will probably feel better knowing that someone in a uniform is telling them not to worry,” he said. “Back in the War” – it took Alex a moment to realise that he meant the Second World War – “they used to tell us to keep calm and carry on. And we did too.”
“You lived out here, safe on your farm,” Smith pointed out, with some amusement. It was clear that he and Simpson were old friends. “I think the people in the Blitz probably felt a little different.”
“I have no doubt of it,” Simpson said. He looked up at Alex. “After the meeting in the Town Hall, let me know if you decide to stick around. I have some items you may be interested in using.”
***
The announcement and discussion in the Church was just as bad as Alex had feared. Nearly two hundred people had crammed themselves into the building and they all wanted to talk. The children had picked up on their parents’ emotions and looked fearful, apart from the ones too young to know that something was wrong. Alex found herself targeted by irate people who wanted to know what had happened to the RAF, or why the invasion had been allowed to take place. After trying to point out twice that she had been taken completely by surprise, she did her best to ignore the louder protesters. It wasn't as if there was anything else she could do.
“We can survive this if we all pull together,” Leigh said, once the general panic had calmed down slightly. The sheer unreality of the situation helped, although the BBC had clearly managed to cause panic in some quarters. One report claimed that London and Manchester had been occupied by giant elephants. Alex couldn't help, but feel that little gray aliens would have been more traditional. “We don’t know what’s going to happen, but we will get through it all.”
The crowd didn't ask for specifics, luckily. Alex allowed herself a moment of relief that it seemed to be quietening down, even though she wasn't sure what she wanted to do now. Where did she go to report in? RAF Coningsby was almost certainly destroyed – or occupied by alien forces. The RAF had been taken completely by surprise.
She stepped outside and looked up at the darkening sky. An entire day had gone by and she’d barely noticed. High overhead, the stars were coming out
– and there were a handful of trails burning their way down towards Earth. The remains of humanity’s pathetic space program, she assumed. Some of the other lights would be alien starships...
In the distance, she heard the sound of thunder and shuddered.
The night no longer felt safe.
Chapter Eight
Salisbury Plain
United Kingdom, Day 1
“Prime Minister?”
Gabriel shook himself awake, surprised that he’d managed to fall asleep. After they’d left London, they’d followed the Thames upstream, with only minor delays caused by bridges that the aliens had targeted from orbit. A couple of hours later, they’d left the boat and transferred themselves to a Land Rover Butcher had recovered from somewhere. Reading between the lines, Gabriel guessed that the vehicle had been stolen, but he had found it difficult to care. Exhaustion had overwhelmed him soon afterwards.
They had parked in the midst of woodland, with the vehicle half-hidden under the trees. A small group of armed soldiers wearing camouflage uniforms had surrounded the vehicle, glancing around nervously as they waited for the Prime Minister to disembark. Gabriel knew very little about the military, but he could tell that the soldiers were worried. No matter how he looked at the situation, there seemed little cause for optimism. A day ago, he’d been Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. Now...his position as Prime Minister seemed almost meaningless. No Prime Minister had ever had to flee London for fear that enemy troops would capture or kill him. Even Charles I had managed a reasonably dignified departure from his former capital.
Butcher led him into the woods, down towards a small concrete building marked PRIVATE, KEEP OUT. The soldier opened the door, revealing a ladder leading down into the depths of the Earth. Unwilling to show fear in front of the soldiers, Gabriel followed him down and realised to his relief that the lower levels of the bunker were properly lit. A uniformed soldier was waiting for him. The man looked deeply worried, but relieved when he saw the Prime Minister.
“Prime Minister,” the soldier said. “I’m Brigadier Gavin Lightbridge-Stewart. Welcome to the bunker.”
Gabriel followed the Brigadier as he led the way through a hatch into a large concrete room. It seemed primitive compared to some of the other emergency facilities he’d seen over the years, clearly not a facility that had been intended to return to active service. A number of maps had been scattered on the table, with red lines drawn on them by a handful of military personnel. Several more officers were working what looked like an older set of radios, trying to get back in touch with the rest of the world. Oddly, Gabriel felt a pang of relief as he took in the scene. The situation was bad – disastrous – but experienced personnel were trying to come to grips with it. They might not be so outmatched after all.
“Please, be seated,” the Brigadier said. “I have a military brief for you, but you might prefer a shower and a change of clothes – and a hot meal. The situation is unlikely to change in the next few hours.”
Gabriel hesitated. In truth, he wanted the shower, and some food, and a few more hours of sleep. But he needed to know what was going on before he could come to grips with the situation. Perhaps they could find out what the aliens actually wanted – assuming they wanted anything. If invasion and settlement was their goal, surely they’d have some kind of plan to deal with the human governments. He remembered the report that alien craft were heading towards London – the craft they’d seen as they headed upriver – and shuddered. The aliens had made at least one of their goals quite clear.
“I’d like the briefing first,” he said, finally. The Brigadier nodded, as if he understood perfectly. Neither of them could do much to influence the situation, but they couldn't just rest while the entire country was in danger. “How much do we actually know about what’s going on out there?”
The Brigadier tapped one finger on the maps. “Most of our military communications network has been badly hammered,” he said. “We never anticipated the physical destruction of the network nodes or the satellite network orbiting the planet, although most of the hardwired connections – the land lines – are undamaged. Our intelligence is therefore very limited and changes frequently, but I’ve had several intelligence and signals units working on what we do have and trying to put together a comprehensive picture.”
His expression darkened. “The aliens – whoever they are, whatever they want – have clearly not limited their attentions to us,” he added. “We have intermittent contact with the Americans and they confirm that Washington has been invaded; we also picked up a brief report from a French military unit that implied that Paris had also been hit. I’m afraid that we have been unable to make contact with American or French government officials – the outlook, Prime Minister, isn't good.”
Gabriel nodded, bitterly. He’d hoped that they would be able to call on NATO for support, but it was clear that NATO had fragmented, with the national military forces on the run – fighting their own hopeless battles. The American President was a friend and he’d managed to make some progress in talking to the French President...what had happened to them after the aliens landed? America was so powerful that he assumed that the aliens had devoted much of their attention to smashing them flat. It was quite possible that the President and everyone else in their line of succession was dead.
“We have been attempting to make contact with personnel in Europe – we have officers at NATO Headquarters and a British Army base in Germany – but so far attempts have proven fruitless,” the Brigadier said. “I think we have to assume the worst; the units have been destroyed or scattered. Parts of the internet are still working and we may be able to establish contact, but...”
He shook his head. “Overall, Prime Minister, the news is about as bad as it can get,” he continued. “From what reports we have received, the Royal Navy has been effectively destroyed from orbit. We’ve picked up witness reports of warships being hit by missiles or kinetic energy weapons, leaving them ablaze and sinking. There are reports that suggest that many large container ships have also been sunk. We assume that the other major naval forces have also been destroyed, but we’ve heard nothing apart from a brief internet message from Toulon reporting a sinking carrier.”
“My God,” Gabriel said. How many sailors had died before they’d even known that they were under attack? “What about the air force?”
“The RAF has lost most of its bases to orbital strikes,” the Brigadier said. “The aliens have been dropping in on some of the bases and converting them – I suspect – to bridgeheads. I’ve issued orders for material to be removed from the remaining bases before the aliens arrive and take possession – the RAF Regiment has orders to briefly engage them and then withdraw before they can be destroyed by superior firepower. A handful of aircraft survived the first strikes and attempted to hit back at the aliens, but results were...not optimum. The aliens have also been landing on civilian airports and deploying their forces to take up positions on the ground. Our ability to impede them is very limited.”
He waited, perhaps expecting Gabriel to say something, but there was nothing to say. “They also bombarded most – not all – of the army garrisons in the country,” he concluded. “Damage was very significant, but enough soldiers survived to allow us to begin preparations for underground war – if necessary. I’ve had teams of soldiers return to the damaged bases and remove as much equipment and weaponry as we can from storage – as well as rounding up soldiers, reservists, and anyone with military experience who is willing to volunteer. I suspect that the aliens won’t leave us alone here much longer – they have to know that we’re attempting to regroup.”
Gabriel shivered. “Brigadier...I need a honest answer,” he said. The Brigadier looked oddly insulted by the question. “Can we stop them if they come here?”
“Unlikely,” the Brigadier admitted, after a moment. He drew out a line on the map. “I have positioned our remaining armour – that’s Challenger II tanks, the best tanks in the worl
d – in positions where they can give the aliens a bloody nose when they come westwards. They’re backed up by antiaircraft weapons, small antitank teams and a whole series of booby traps. We can and we will give them a bloody nose, Prime Minister, but we can't stop them. They have complete air supremacy and the ability to drop rocks on us from space. A straight fight will be disastrous for us.”
“I never claimed to be a military man,” Gabriel said, slowly, “but why are you talking about fighting them if you can't stop them?”
Darkest Hour 1: Their Darkest Hour Page 8