Darkest Hour 1: Their Darkest Hour

by Christopher Nuttall

  He pulled himself out of the bunk and checked the shower. The station's internal water supply was still working, thankfully, as was the internal generator. Most of London's power had been lost overnight, although there was no way to know if the aliens had done it deliberately or if humans had simply shut the power stations down before they fell into alien hands. London had seemed uneasily quiet after the events of the invasion, but Robin had no illusions. It wouldn't be long before the veneer of society fell away and what remained of social order collapsed into anarchy. And without the police on the streets, it was likely to spread rapidly. God alone knew what would happen then.

  “I managed to get some news from the BBC,” one of the constables reported after he entered the briefing room. Had it only been two days ago when he’d been on patrol, back when the world had made sense? “They were claiming that negotiations are in progress and it was all a terrible mistake.”

  Robin snorted. “That was no mistake,” he said, flatly. He couldn't see how a race that could cross light years could launch an attack on London by accident. The BBC had never impressed him as a policeman, if only because it tended to side against the police force whenever its honour, capability or competence was called into question. “The planet has been invaded and we’re at war. God help us.”

  He scowled over at the darkened terminal. Normally, it would have been glowing with updates from across the city, as well as items of interest, lists of suspects and all the other information that the modern policeman needed on a daily basis. Now, it was dark, suggesting that the police communications network was still down. Each of the police stations would have been cut off from the others...he shook his head, bitterly. What were they supposed to do now? Report in to the aliens and see what they had in mind for police officers?

  “I’ve got something,” one of the other constables said. “I heard a voice...”

  He fiddled with the radio again and the static faded away to a background hiss. “...Speaking for the Conquest Force,” a voice – unmistakably human – said. “I am the sole surviving member of the British Government. We have been defeated. The Eridian Conquest Fleet has destroyed our defences. We can no longer offer resistance to their invasion force. I am therefore ordering all remaining military units to surrender at once to the nearest Eridian force. Their leaders have assured me that they will be treated well, in accordance with their Rules of Law.”

  Robin swore. “Who the hell is that?”

  “That’s Beresford,” Sergeant Singh said. “I think he’s sold out to the aliens!”

  “We must accept the fact that human independence is over,” Beresford continued. “They have informed me that humans who are willing to serve will receive good treatment and a chance to climb within their ranks. Humans who refuse to serve them will be treated as criminals and rebels against the new lawful authority on Earth. I have been charged with making the process of human assimilation into their society as smooth as possible. There is no other hope for the survival of humanity. The aliens rule the skies. Long-term resistance will only result in the deaths of millions of humans.

  “Accordingly, I am ordering all civil servants and policemen to report for service at once,” he continued. “Those who do not report will be treated as deserters and will face the consequences when they are caught. Our priority must be the reestablishment of law and order within Britain. Those who do not submit to their rule will be punished.”

  There was a long pause. “We have grown used to human despots concealing their true motives behind fancy language,” he concluded. “The Eridians do not seem to share our attitudes. They wanted Earth; they took it. Their attitudes will not be swayed by pleas or protests. They believe that might makes right. Do not, for the sake of all humanity, seek to challenge them. They will respond with deadly force.”

  A moment passed, and then the message began to repeat itself. “Turn it off,” Robin snarled, savagely. He couldn't believe his ears. There was no way to doubt that Beresford had sold out to Earth’s new masters. They’d probably promised him wealth and power if he served them. “What the hell do we do now?”

  One of the constables put their choice into words. “They seem to want us to work for them,” he said. “If we do that...”

  “Collaboration,” someone else growled.

  “If we work with them,” the constable continued, “we would insulate the ordinary people – the people we swore to protect – from the aliens. If we refuse...we put our lives and those of our families in danger. We all know how the aliens react to challenges.”

  Robin nodded, bitterly. A group of louts – if he could be excused a moment of political incorrectness – had attacked an alien patrol with glass bottles and little else, apart from bad intentions. The aliens had opened fire and killed many of their attackers before the remainder fled for their lives. It hadn't been the only encounter between the aliens and humans who had tried to fight either. The aliens didn't seem to care that the humans were young, barely armed, and powerless...they’d seen a threat and dealt with it. They didn't have lawyers and politicians in uniform holding them back from handing out a good thrashing.

  “There’s another possibility,” Sergeant Singh suggested. “We join up – and prepare ourselves to turn on the aliens if necessary. They might have told us that they’ve crushed all resistance, but we know that that might not be true.”

  “I won’t push anyone into the decision,” Robin said. He’d made up his mind. “If anyone wants to leave, they can do so now – without fear. I will go and see if I can shield humans from them...”

  “Maybe,” Sergeant Singh said. “Or perhaps they’ll expect us to do as we’re told. And we might be told to do something truly awful.”

  ***

  Fatima rubbed her eyes as she pulled herself from the depths of sleep. She’d just run out of energy – after seeing so many patients she’d lost count, she’d ended up finding a quiet corner and just collapsing into an uneasy sleep. Never in her worst nightmares had she imagined having to help so many people – and watch others die though lacking the supplies to save them. Maybe it had been a dream...she shook her head, cursing her own weakness. It had been no dream. They were still in the makeshift hospital and she could hear patients moaning in pain.

  She pulled herself to her feet and headed towards the corridor. It was crammed with patients, lying on the floor; only the lucky ones had blankets to insulate themselves from the cold. The sight appalled her; the NHS hadn't been the best medical service in the world, but it wouldn't have allowed such conditions in a hospital. Now...now there was nothing they could do for their patients, but try to make them as comfortable as possible. They’d raided all the nearby chemists and supermarkets – and they were still short of supplies.

  A hand fell on her shoulder and she jumped. “You all right, missy?”

  It was a policeman, wearing what looked like riot-control gear. “I’m tired,” she said, bitterly. “What are you doing here?”

  “It seems that they want us to take care of the hospitals,” the policeman said. He sounded as if he didn't quite believe his own words – or the changes in the world since...had it really been only a day ago? “There’s fifty of us assigned here and over a hundred at the nearest hospital. Someone’s been helping them assign us, that's for sure. Did you hear the broadcast?”

  “I’ve been sleeping,” Fatima admitted. Her body ached and she was uncomfortably aware that she stank. The white jacket she wore had been stained by blood. Her supervisor would have been furious at her if she’d turned up to work looking as if she’d walked out of a slaughterhouse. “What happened?”

  “One of our beloved MPs has sold out to the aliens,” the policeman explained. “I think we’re expected to bow and scrape before them now – or they’ll be offended. And it seems that their response to offense is to open fire.”

  Fatima shivered. “Is there nothing we can do?”

  “It seems that we’ve been beaten,” the policeman said. “Maybe ther
e’ll be a chance to do something about it later, but for the moment we just have to keep our heads down and see what happens. Maybe the remains of the military can beat them off, or...something. Perhaps the Americans will fly a captured UFO up to the mothership and blow them up...”

  He shook his head. “All we can do is wait and see,” he said. “The fighting seems to be at an end – and we lost. The country has been invaded. And God alone knows what is going to happen next.”

  Chapter Ten

  Near Salisbury Plain

  United Kingdom, Day 2

  “You know,” Chris Drake said, “I never thought I would be pleased to see a redcap.”

  The Military Policeman smiled, a little weakly. “It’s been one of those days,” he agreed. “Name, rank and unit?”

  Chris smiled. He’d allowed the Thames to push him out of London before climbing out and finding a convenient place to dry himself. There had been a small charity shop nearby where he’d picked up enough clothes to keep himself warm as he walked the long way around London and up towards Salisbury Plain. He’d been lucky enough to find a civilian Range Rover, which he’d borrowed to complete the rest of the journey, but he’d been forced to stay off the main roads. The aliens, according to the radio transmissions he’d picked up, liked roads. They would, he assumed, have shot him or captured him the moment they saw him.

  He’d relaxed a little as he headed westwards, until he’d run into the military police unit. He wasn't the only soldier who’d been separated from his unit and forced to travel alone to the rendezvous point, although as far as he knew he was the only soldier who’d escaped the Battle of London. The others had been supposed to link up in a disused warehouse and consider either making it out by foot or carrying on the fight against the invaders – God alone knew what had happened to them. He’d trained beside them, fought beside them – and now he was alone. Unless he was very lucky, he’d be pushed into a new unit to make up the manpower shortfall.

  “You were in London?” The MP said asked, clearly impressed. “We’ve got orders to forward all survivors from London to the RV point. It seems that some of our superiors will want to talk to you.”

  Chris hesitated. There was a defence line being constructed that should slow the aliens down – he doubted that a force with air supremacy could be stopped – and part of him wanted to join it, to get stuck into the aliens who had killed so many of his friends and comrades. The rest of him knew that it was his duty to brief his superiors, to tell them what had happened at London and to ensure that the Household Division’s last stand went down in the history books. But would the people writing the history books be human – or alien?

  “They’re going to be waiting to hear from you,” the MP said, a moment later. “I suggest you brief them quickly. They’re going to hit us soon.”

  Chris nodded and gunned the engine. He knew the area around Salisbury Plain fairly well – a legacy of the time spent boozing after exercises in the Live Firing Training Area – and it shook him to see so many deserted houses. The civilians would have been warned to leave the area as quickly as possible, whatever the aliens might have had to say about it. They probably wouldn't care if human civilians were caught in the crossfire. Everything they’d done suggested a certain lack of concern for human life. The sight of refugees heading north or south tore at his heart. Britain hadn't seen such deprivation since the Civil War – and that, by European standards of the time, had been remarkably civilised. He caught sight of a tank hidden under camouflage netting and waved to the man standing beside it, clearly planning an ambush. They should get in at least one good shot before the aliens started dropping killer crowbars from orbit.

  Two miles further on, he ran into a second group of military policemen who ordered him to abandon the Range Rover and proceed on foot. The woodlands seemed crammed with human soldiers, including Royal Marines and RAF Regiment personnel, all forced together by circumstances. Chris had fought beside the Royal Marines in Afghanistan and while he thought – naturally – that the soldiers had the advantage, he had to admit that the Royal Marines were tough, professional fighters. The military policemen were sorting them out, sending some further away from Salisbury Plain while holding others to join the defence line. It looked as if someone was in command, thankfully. Perhaps everything he’d seen in London would be useful after all.

  But the aliens controlled the high orbitals over Earth. They could bombard the planet into submission, or hammer any human military force foolish enough to show itself openly. How could an insurgency hope to win against such an enemy? God alone knew if they could do more than sting the enemy...

  “Down here,” a military policeman said. There was a hatch hidden in the woods, seemingly leading down to nowhere. Given how many other bunkers, bases and supply dumps were scattered around Salisbury Plain, it made sense to think that there was a government bunker hidden there too. “They’ll meet you at the bottom.”

  Chris nodded and began to descend down the ladder.

  ***

  “Are you decent, Prime Minister?”

  Gabriel snorted at Butcher’s mock-falsetto tone. He’d slept for several hours and awoke feeling as if he hadn't slept very long at all, but his watch told a different story. Butcher – who had apparently been assigned as his permanent bodyguard – had pointed him at the shower and told him to take his time. Someone had brought in a spare set of clothes, allowing him to lose the suit and tie he’d worn during the mad rush from London. The military seemed to have maintained its sense of efficiency, he told himself, and wondered how long that would last.

  “I think so,” he said, finally. He hadn't been able to shave and his cheeks felt rough with stubble. “Have we been discovered?”

  “I don’t think so,” Butcher said. “But there have apparently been developments. I’ll leave it to the Brigadier to brief you.”

  They walked down the concrete corridor and into the conference room. Most of the operators he remembered from last night were missing, their stations shut down and marked for destruction. In fact, the entire bunker complex seemed emptier than he recalled – even though he could hear the sound of people talking in low voices down the corridor. He assumed that they hadn't been detected – they would have fled the bunker if they had even suspected that the aliens knew where they were – but it was clear that something had changed. The Brigadier, when he made his appearance a moment later followed by a young soldier, looked deeply worried.

  “Prime Minister,” he said. “I’m afraid that there have been developments.”

  Gabriel listened carefully as the story of the Battle of London came pouring out of the young soldier. Two companies of British soldiers had fought and held the aliens for nearly an hour, before the aliens finally pushed through by brute force. London itself had been damaged in the crossfire, with at least one alien transport crash-landing in Central London. The thought was impossible to grasp – it just wasn't supposed to happen in Britain. Even the suicide bombers who’d killed far too many civilians on 7/7 hadn't even dreamed of causing so much pain.

  “It gets worse,” the Brigadier added. “I’m afraid that the aliens have found themselves a Petain.”

  He tapped a console and the recorded radio message played out, twice. Gabriel found himself listening with growing anger as Alan Beresford – an MP who had been implicated in a dozen scandals, yet nothing quite seemed to stick – recited the alien message to the British population. God alone knew what the public would make of it. They’d be frightened, isolated from the rest of the world, unsure of their place...far too many would simply grasp the straw Beresford was offering them. And the aliens themselves...

  If Beresford was to be believed, their social development had not matched their technological development. But then, a case could be made that humanity’s development hadn’t matched its technology either. The aliens...they’d come, they’d seen and they’d conquered, with as little regard for the rights of mankind as Julius Caesar had shown to the barba
rians he’d crushed beneath the heels of his legions. It was tempting to believe that Beresford was a liar – Gabriel wouldn't have believed that the sky was blue if Beresford had said it – but so far everything the aliens had done matched what he’d said. But then...if Nazi Germany had won World War Two, everyone would have been raised to believe that Nazism was right.