Darkest Hour 1: Their Darkest Hour

by Christopher Nuttall

  “You will do your fucking job or I will kill you,” he hissed, finally. Part of his mind pointed out that it would be unwise to let her live, but the feeling of triumph overruled it. “Now get out and find a way of convincing the sheep down there to go back to work nice and peacefully.”

  He took his hand off her throat and stepped back, half-expecting her to lunge at him. Instead, she pulled herself to her feet and walked towards the door. Alan watched her go and then turned back to the window, shaking his head. He’d mounted a tiger when he’d made his bargain with the Leathernecks. They didn't care how he ruled the country, provided that he ruled it for their benefit. But the moment he stopped being useful, they’d kill him.

  Outside, the fires were growing brighter. Alan watched, feeling cold despair replacing the exultation he’d felt when he’d humbled the bitch. If he stopped being useful...

  “Damn you,” he muttered, knowing that no one would hear him. “Why did you have to go and spoil it?”

  ***

  “They shot up a crowd as they headed to Whitehall,” one of the resistance fighters said. “At least thirty wounded, fifty dead – should I have them forwarded to here?”

  “Only if you get me more supplies,” Fatima said, tiredly. She’d been working like a demon, almost non-stop since the riots started to tear London apart. Hundreds of wounded had been brought in, passed across her table and then sent somewhere to recuperate. Many of them wouldn't survive, no matter what she did. They needed a proper hospital and one wasn't available. “Didn’t Joe get some from the nearest hospital?”

  “Only a few,” the fighter said. “They’re inundated with wounded too. We’re trying to slip some of our own into their system, but if they’re not registered...”

  Fatima nodded, and then yawned. Tiredness caused people to make mistakes – and yet she hadn't been able to get any rest since the day had begun. She wasn't the only medical doctor in the resistance, but the others were scattered out over the city; like her, they were fighting to keep people alive who really needed proper treatment and a hospital...

  She yawned again, feeling the room spinning around her. Had it only been last year when she’d taken the last two weeks of Ramadan off because she had worried about what would happen if she grew too hungry? What a joke! She’d worked herself half to death over the last few days and now she could barely keep herself together.

  “Bring them in,” she ordered, tiredly. Her last patient, someone who had been shot through the shoulder by one of the alien bullets, would probably never recover the use of his arm. One of the soldiers had commented that the aliens seemed to use elephant guns, something that made sense given how tough they were. Ordinary ammunition wasn't quite good enough against Leatherneck skin. “I’ll have a look at them as soon as I can.”

  “You’d be better off getting a nap,” a new voice said. She looked up to see Abdul. “You look too tired to work properly.”

  “I feel dead.” Fatima admitted. She hadn't seen Abdul in days, ever since he’d brought her to the first of the makeshift hospitals. From what she’d heard, he’d been too busy organising attacks on collaborators and the alien patrols. “Can you have someone else take care of the patients?”

  “I’ll do my best,” Abdul promised. He hesitated. “I think you need at least five hours of sleep, so get to bed and stay there. We’ll wake you up if we have to vacate this place in a hurry.”

  Fatima looked up at him, nodded, and then stumbled into the next room. God alone knew what it had been originally intended for, but they’d set up a cot for her beside the window. Outside, she could see fires in the distance. London was burning – absently, she wondered if someone on the other side would realise that the resistance hadn't set any fires near its hideouts. But judging from the chaos, the collaborators had too much else to worry about before they started hunting the resistance again. They’d have to put out the fires, calm the rioters and – if the aliens carried out their threat – provide help to a destroyed city and its stricken population.

  She closed her eyes and felt sleep overcome her.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  North England

  United Kingdom, Day 46

  “There isn't any question about it,” Gabriel said, flatly. “We’re going to return the alien prisoner.”

  He held up a hand before Brigadier Gavin Lightbridge-Stewart could say anything. He’d come to the Prime Minister’s hiding place despite the security risks, because it was one conference that they couldn't trust to the internet. The Leathernecks had a great many human computer experts in their hands now, people who could presumably track messages through the internet and locate their destination. Gabriel found their dependence upon messengers and carrier pigeons oddly ironic, given the circumstances. The longer the war continued, the more primitive the resistance would become.

  “I know that the alien represents a treasure trove of valuable information and biological data,” he continued, “but keeping him isn't worth a few million human lives. We can shove him out somewhere and one of their patrols can pick him up.”

  Lightbridge-Stewart frowned. “There are complications, Prime Minister,” he said. “The first one is simple; if we give in to their threats, we create a precedent. If they feel that they can threaten us into submission, they will use it again and again, blackmailing us into surrendering our only hope of carrying on the fight. What would you say, a week from today, if the aliens threaten to bombard London or Edinburgh or Newcastle if you don’t surrender yourself to them?”

  Gabriel hesitated. “I’m aware of the risks,” he said, flatly. “Doesn’t the fact that they haven’t threatened mass bombardments suggest that they don’t intend to push it that far?”

  “They may not have believed that it would work,” Lightbridge-Stewart countered. “From what we have been able to draw from our alien friend, we know that humans are often more barbaric than the Leathernecks – we’re certainly a lot better at justifying inhuman treatment to ourselves. If we give them proof that it will work, they may try it again. Where do we draw the line and say where we will no longer allow them to threaten us into submission?”

  “But this is one point where we have to make a decision,” Gabriel snapped. “We have an alien prisoner – and they want him back. Now, do you think that keeping that alien a prisoner is worth the loss of God knows how many of our own civilians?”

  He pressed on before Lightbridge-Stewart could say anything. “And what happens to our reputation if we refuse?” He asked. “How many of our own people will turn against us after we lose an entire city?”

  “The entire planet is at stake,” Lightbridge-Stewart said. “What decision we make here and now will have an effect on the entire world. What if our captive can tell us how to contact the other intelligent races out there? What if we could get help from someone who could take out the alien starships hovering over our heads, poised to bombard us into submission if we rebel?”

  “But we don’t know that we could,” Gabriel said. “We have the insight into their computers – maybe we can get the information some other way. I won’t put so many lives at risk because we have one captive. The dangers are just too great.”

  He looked the military officer in the eye. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” he added, “but am I not the ultimate civilian authority?”

  Lightbridge-Stewart didn't hesitate. “You are, and if you want to order him released, I will carry out the order,” he said. “However, there are other complications. Moving something the size of the alien cross-country will not be easy. Wherever they find him, they will certainly suspect that he was concealed somewhere nearby and start searching for him. There is a distant possibility that they might come here.”

  “It’s a risk we have to accept,” Gabriel said. He glanced at the television. The volume was down, but the BBC had helpfully displayed a ticking clock counting down the seconds to when the alien ultimatum ran out. He’d watched images of desperate rioters battling the police and the alie
ns, or fleeing out across the countryside like locusts. Others had boarded small boats and set sail for Ireland or the Scottish Islands, where the aliens hadn't bothered to establish a presence. They might find safety there. “We can abandon this building if necessary.”

  “Yes,” Lightbridge-Stewart said. There was a long moment when they both contemplated possible futures. “I can see to his release, if that is your command.”

  “It is,” Gabriel said. “Please see to it.”

  ***

  “Did I do the right thing?”

  Sergeant Butcher shrugged. The three SAS men stayed close to Gabriel, while a small unit of soldiers were outside, maintaining a secure perimeter. Gabriel was rather surprised that the aliens or their collaborators hadn't bothered to investigate the old manor and register the people staying there, but Haddon Hall had been off the official radar for many years. The owners having ties with the security services had advantages for them. Gabriel would have been surprised if they even got taxed.

  “I don’t think that there was any right answer,” Butcher said, after a moment. He looked down at the board for a long moment. All of the three SAS men played Chess and Gabriel had found it a good way to relax. “You have to make the decision and then stick to it.”

  He moved a piece forward and smiled, thinly. “I used to serve in Africa on missions that officially didn’t exist,” he added. “The locals really didn't trust their own governments – not without reason. If there was a foreign interest willing to spend big bucks on bribes, the governments would roll over and use troops to clear away the locals if they got in the way. I don’t think you could afford developing a reputation as someone willing to throw British lives away for one alien.”

  Gabriel frowned, considering the board. “And what happened to most of those unlucky people?”

  “The radicals would arrive and start convincing the people that the only hope was to fight,” Butcher said. “And most of them wound up being slaughtered while the government disguised effective genocide by claiming that it was waging war against radical Islam. There are some truly shitty places out there, boss. Even worse now that the aliens have smashed anyone who might have been able to impose order by force.”

  He shook his head as Gabriel moved another piece forward. “Checkmate,” he said, moving his queen into position. “You’re getting better, sir.”

  “Thank you,” Gabriel said, dryly. “You’re masters at unarmed combat, sneaking about...and Chess?”

  “There was a trooper up at Hereford who was a five-star chef,” Butcher said. Gabriel couldn't tell if he was being serious or joking. “And there was a little old woman who knew absolutely everything about plants and kept massive greenhouses. Every six months, a dozen lads from Hereford would gather around this tiny old lady and learn what they could safely eat in the wild. She never had any problems with vandals either. I wonder why.”

  Gabriel opened his mouth, and then looked up as the butler entered the room. “Pardon me, sir,” he said, “but the Brigadier has returned from his trip. He is waiting for you in the library.”

  “Good,” Gabriel said, standing up. Butcher moved ahead of him, watching for assassins lurking in the corridor. Gabriel had tried to talk his close-protection detail out of being so paranoid, but Butcher had pointed out that the aliens had human collaborators who might be more adroit at tracking him down. Haddon Hall’s small staff had just had to get used to the three men watching their every move. They were all security-cleared, positively vetted, yet none of them had expected to be suddenly living in an occupied country. Gabriel hadn't expected it either.

  Lightbridge-Stewart stood up when Gabriel entered the library. “We got the consignment underway,” he said. The alien was on his way back to his people, then. “I wanted to discuss a possible operation with you, while I was here. My staff have been putting together a plan we’ve entitled Operation Hammer.”

  Gabriel frowned as he took his seat. The Americans loved bold and purposeful operational names – Operation Enduring Freedom, Operation Iraqi Freedom – but the Ministry of Defence preferred to assign names at random, on the grounds that anyone who heard the name wouldn't automatically know what it meant. Using a purposeful name was unusual and it suggested that someone intended for it to become public sooner rather than later.

  “The core problem, Prime Minister, is that we cannot prevent them from moving wherever they please – and, if necessary, bombarding us into submission,” Lightbridge-Stewart said. Gabriel nodded, concealing his impatience. “They have the ability to hit us wherever they want, put bluntly, and it cripples our ability to mount a sustained insurgency. We need to show them that we are not going to roll over for them and surrender.”

  “Particularly after we returned their captive,” Gabriel agreed. “How do you intend to hammer the message into their heads.”

  “We can cripple their command and control network,” Lightbridge-Stewart said. “Maybe not for very long, but we can bring it down long enough to mount a series of attacks on their bases – and the collaborator government in London. At the very least, we would force them to fall back and rebuild their collaborator force from scratch. We might even give them enough of a bloody nose that they pull out of Britain altogether.”

  “I doubt they will feel inclined to surrender,” Gabriel said, dryly. “It's much more likely that they’ll take a step back and hammer us from space.”

  “It’s possible,” Lightbridge-Stewart agreed. “The problem, however, is simple; do we take advantage of the one chance we are likely to get to hurt them, and smash their collaborator government, or do we surrender the initiative to them? We know they’ve been working on building networks for controlling our civilians and putting them to work on alien projects. How long is it going to be before the last resistance fighters are pushed to the Highlands, or the North Yorkshire Moors, or...”

  Gabriel nodded. “We’re stuck,” he said. “We can keep irritating them, but if we piss them off too much they might just decide that they’re better off without us.”

  “Maybe not,” Lightbridge-Stewart said. “We were talking to the alien captive about them committing genocide – about them wiping out the entire human race. From what we were told, they can’t – there are interstellar laws that prohibit genocide.”

  “There are human laws that prohibit genocide,” Gabriel pointed out. “I don’t recall anyone actually stepping up to the plate and stopping the slaughter in Sudan. The laws aren't enforced, so...”

  He shrugged, remembering how frustrated he’d felt before the aliens had landed and shown him just how helpless many people in undeveloped countries must have felt over the years. It was easy to get governments to condemn genocide, but much harder to actually convince them to do anything about it, no matter how clear-cut the case for intervention. He had no doubt that they could have stopped the slaughter in Sudan or any of the other stricken countries in Africa, yet the cost would have been horrific and there was no hope that anyone else would pick up the tab.

  “Apparently, the interstellar races do enforce the laws,” Lightbridge-Stewart said, slowly. “There’s no law against invading a planet that can’t defend itself, it seems, but there is one against deliberately causing a genocide. That’s something we can use against them.”

  “They can kill a hell of a lot of us without committing genocide,” Gabriel pointed out, sourly. Dear God – had he ever wanted to be Prime Minister? One less scandal and he might have died in London when the aliens landed, or perhaps found himself drafted into the collaborator government. The entire weight of the world rested on his shoulders. “How sure are we that the aliens wouldn't exterminate us?”

  “I think we are reasonably sure,” Lightbridge-Stewart said. “But they will certainly push back hard when we start pushing them.”

  “True,” Gabriel said. They needed a victory. They needed something they could use to inspire resistance all over the country. And after the aliens had forced them to surrender their captive, they ne
eded one desperately. “I authorise the operation.”

  He hesitated. “And I hope to God that we’re not making a terrible mistake,” he added. “The aliens won’t hesitate to hammer us if we push them right out of the country.”

  ***