The Fall of Night

by Christopher Nuttall

  “They’re prisoners,” her new friend said. His voice was bitter. “The Russians don’t like people who dare to resist them, particularly people out of uniform; that entire show is meant to humiliate us and remind us that we have been beaten. It’s also a warning; that could happen to you as well.”

  He sighed. “Once again, years of independence have come to an end,” he said. “God damn the European Union!”

  Zyta looked up at him. “Who are you?”

  “Names would be a bad idea at the moment,” the man said. He winked at her; she noticed that his hair was shading towards white. “I was here the last time the Russians were here, back when Jaruzelski was in power and we were starving. The Russians…well, some of them blame what happened to the Soviet Union on us Poles and think that if they crack down on us, they won’t fall again. Names would really be a bad idea, Zyta.”

  Marya started. “You know my name,” she pointed out. “It would be fairer…”

  “Fairness is a foolish concept,” the man said dryly. The line of Russian infantrymen seemed never-ending. “The world is full of people who would like the world to be fair, and it would be a nice thing if the world was fair, but the truth is they want the world to be fair in their favour. ‘Fairness’ is only valued if you think that ‘fair’ will give you what you want.”

  He smiled grimly. “And, on a different note, what you don’t know, you can’t be made to tell,” he said. “I wonder if the Russians will remember me from last time.”

  Zyta blinked. “Last time?”

  “Never mind,” the man said. “Call me Jacob, if it helps. I dare say we’ll see each other again.”

  “I hope so,” Zyta said.

  “Good girl,” Jacob said. “Now, go back to your sister and stay calm; we’ll talk again in due course.”

  Zyta nodded again and stepped back to the stairs. They were covered in dust and pieces of plaster from the explosions, almost ruined. She picked her way down carefully, until she reached her floor; the smell had, if anything, grown worse. She held her nose and stepped into her sister’s apartment; Melania looked up at her, her face very pale. Zyta stopped dead as she took in the sight; a set of bullets had smashed through the window and broken objects. She knew that they had been very lucky.

  “There’s something new on the radio,” Melania said. Her voice was shaking. “You have to hear it.”

  Marya looked at the radio. The message was repeating constantly. It wasn’t long before she heard the beginning of the message. “Citizens of Poland, this is Minister Molobo, the senior surviving government elected official,” it said. The voice sounded cracked and broken. “Our position is grim; the Russian response to the unprovoked German offensive launched into Belarus, using our bases, has resulted in the occupation of our capital city and most of our country. The Germans, having sabotaged the military systems they themselves gave to us, have fled, leaving us alone.”

  Zyta and Melania exchanged glances. Unprovoked German offensive?

  “The Russians have assured us that their occupation of a number of vital positions within the country is only temporary,” Molobo’s voice continued. It gave no sense that the speaker knew that he was speaking nonsense. “The Russians, at the request of the elected Polish Government, have taken over the defence of Poland from the German hordes. All military units are ordered to report at once to the nearest Russian military outpost, where they will be issued new orders for the offensive against Germany…”

  Molobo spoke on, but Zyta wasn’t listening. “He’s mad,” she said. “No one is going to buy that line of…shit.”

  Melania looked back. “That’s not the problem,” she said. Suddenly, she started to break down; Zyta placed a hand on her shoulder. “What’s going to happen to the children?”

  Interlude Three: Blitzkrieg

  It was happening everywhere.

  In Poland, as Warsaw fell and was rapidly garrisoned by a specially-trained and prepared FSB security unit, the Russian forces regrouped and headed west. The airports that had been targeted for assault and capture had never been so busy as Russian airborne forces were rushed in and reinforced, expanding the zone of Russian control in the rear of the Polish lines. The captured bridges and vital points, held by small commando teams, were relieved by the ground forces as they advanced; only a handful of commando teams had been wiped out before they were relieved. The Baltic States, attacked without warning, fell almost at once.

  The remainder of EUROFOR, surprised, shattered and bombed relentlessly, were forced back. Isolated units, unaware of anything outside their own zone of responsibility, were forced to either surrender or fight to the last man. Many units were destroyed or captured before they even knew that they were in a fight; other units began the long process of straggling back towards Germany and – hopefully – safety. Many of the retreating units were attacked from the air, others ran into Russians in the west of Poland and fought final desperate battles; only a handful of survivors escaped the chaos. The remainder of the Polish army scattered into the countryside, their leaders realising that they had no choice, but to go underground and wait. Hundreds deserted to return to their families, hundreds more took up their weapons and made a brave and futile last stand, or prepared the cities for war.

  It didn’t matter. With the exception of Warsaw and a handful of other cities, the Russians were content to merely surround them and wait for them to surrender. The Russian planners knew that city-fighting would eat up their armies; they were prepared to wait until the population either starved or surrendered. The task could be handed over to the less well-prepared and armed units; the main body of the Russian force was needed further west. As Poland fell under Russian control, Russian forces reached the borders of Germany and pressed west.

  In the Baltic Sea, Russian bombers, submarines and missiles had already crippled or destroyed most of the European navies, often before they knew that they were under attack. Massive explosions devastated German ports and bases, Russian aircraft were everywhere; the survivors made a desperate break for Norway, or even Britain…and the Russian Navy followed in its wake. Copenhagen had been torn apart by rioting, unaware that Russian naval infantry were hiding in a handful of massive merchant ships; they now burst out of their ships and seized ports and supplies largely intact. The Russian Navy had been on the move since the start of hostilities; now, a massive force of transports, under heavy escort, docked in the captured ports and unloaded an entire invasion force. The remainder of the city quickly fell and the Russians fanned out; in many places, their presence was welcome to the citizens, who had been caught in the middle of a nightmare. Rioters, looters and insurgents, many of whom were still brandishing placards carrying images of strange cartoons, were crushed without mercy; the survivors were shoved into prison camps and left to rot. The remains of the Danish Armed Forces melted away.

  All across Europe, the scene was nightmare and horror; entire cities had been torn apart by rioting and street fighting between different groups. The ordinary citizens hid themselves as best as they could, wondering how their lives had changed so rapidly in the space of a day, and wondered what was happening to their governments. Many of them, dependent upon the welfare state, stayed and waited for someone to Do Something, unaware that there was hardly anyone left to do anything. The hardier stock took what they could and fled into the countryside, hoping to find somewhere where they could hole up until it was all over. The death toll of those unable to survive long without support, of one kind or another, grew ever larger; the survivors called on the army to save them from the nightmare…

  The armies were scattered and in disarray. The political leaders were dead, in most cases; a handful had been snatched off the streets by Russian commandos for later use. In Germany, some officers struggled to pull together a defensive line, crippled by their lack of useful information and the endless bombing as Russian fighters and bombers ventured further into Germany. As they became aware that Denmark was falling, some officers ordered a
retreat before their flank could be turned; many of their soldiers were unwilling to retreat with the fatherland in danger. Often unaware of each other, barely able to keep their forces together, the remains of the armed forces strove to hurt the enemy before they were destroyed.

  It was happening everywhere. A French infantry company that had been on manoeuvres was lucky enough to react to one of the insurgencies in France, but completely unprepared for what they found. An attempt to put the whole matter down as quietly as possible failed as they came under attack from heavy weapons carried by Russian and Algerian commandos. They shot back ruthlessly and tried to fight their way out, only to be trapped and killed when they ran out of ammunition. Algerian forces were landing in Spain and France; the remains of the Police and the armed forces found themselves under attack from two sides at once. They marched to the sound of the guns…and failed to realise the existence of the real threat. They would spend themselves, with their shattered supply lines and what equipment they had been able to save, against the diversion. The real threat was grinding into Germany.

  Europe no longer existed. All that was left were thousands of isolated police and soldiers, trying to hold out against the fall of night. Refugees were everywhere, clogging the roads; Switzerland sealed her borders as thousands of refugees, their eyes wide with helplessness and fear, unaware of anything beyond their own little worlds, tried to find safety with the Swiss. The Swiss police and army were rapidly reduced to shooting refugees, just to keep them back; they had no room for more immigrants.

  Europe no longer existed. The politicians were dead. The police were gone. The population in some places found themselves struggling for life, in other places unaware that anything was going on; the social contract that had bound Europe together was breaking apart. Ethnic violence grew even worse as the Russians pressed their advantage; Europe no longer existed as a functioning group of nations.

  The only exception was Britain.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Standing Alone

  The more I live here in Western Europe, the more I am impressed by the sense of decay; not the graceful and dignified decay of an oriental, but the vulgar and sordid decay of a bankrupt cotton-mill.

  Henry Brooks Adams

  London, England

  “I’m very glad to hear from you, General,” Ambassador Sir John Kevin O'Brien said, through the secure link-up from London. His face, old and dignified enough to fit a traditional lordly image, was lined with worry. “How bad is it?”

  Langford briefly recited the military situation in Britain itself. “Given time, we could pull the country back together, stamp on the trouble-makers, and hold elections,” he said. “The question is simple; will we have that time?”

  Sir John looked worried. He had been Britain’s Ambassador to Washington for several years, after committing the ultimate sin of disagreeing with the Prime Minister and his own Party in public. He couldn’t be sacked for that, but the Powers-that-Were hadn’t considered Washington an important post; they’d given him the role of Ambassador to America. Sir John was popular in Washington, but even he couldn’t hide the torrent of anti-American abuse coming from Brussels, or smooth over some of the issues regarding terrorists in Europe.

  “I’ve been talking to the President,” he said finally. “The Yanks have agreed to provide us with some of their up-to-date intelligence, mainly from satellites; this blindsided them as well and President Kirkpatrick is taking it very seriously. At the same time, for political reasons, there is very little that they can do to support us openly; the military situation is grim.”

  Langford rubbed his eyes. He had managed to snatch two hours sleep last night; the strain was starting to wear him down. “They’re not going to get involved?” He asked. “What about their bases in Poland?”

  Sir John shook his head. “The Russians rolled out the red carpet for Major Fletcher and his men, even after they somehow disintegrated their computers,” he said. “They’re already on a flight to Turkey with a great deal of free vodka. The Yanks are heavily committed in the Middle East and Korea; the only military move they have made is to send the 101st Airborne Division to Iceland, at the express request of the Government. The Russians have been claiming that the entire situation is purely defensive…”

  “Bollocks,” Langford snapped.

  “…And that the European Union started it,” Sir John continued. “The main problem is that Europe is not particularly popular in the States these days; the average Joe Sixpack on the street thinks that Europe is a host for terrorists and Eurabia is just around the corner. The Americans are still considering the matter, but it looks as if the President may want to intervene, but she won’t get any support from Congress or the Senate.”

  He sighed. “The other countries that might have been able to help have their own problems or aren’t interested,” he said. He was now de facto Foreign Minister; Langford wondered if it was the first step towards a government-in-exile. “The Turks…well, we asked them to honour their old NATO commitments towards securing and closing the Dardanelles, but they told us that it was an internal European matter and they weren’t going to interfere. If the chaos in the Balkans gets worse, General, they may intervene, but they’re…more than a little mad at us – at Europe, I mean. The Russians have apparently offered them everything from economic support to military assistance and even some territory in Central Asia; for the moment, they’re staying out of it.

  “Israel said pretty much the same, except they included a little gloating about the Palestinian problem,” Sir John continued. “David – that’s President David bar Elias – told us that it was our problem and we had to deal with it ourselves. Even if they had agreed to support us, they would have problems helping…and in any case, they’re the best friends of the Turks. Canada condemned the Russians in no uncertain terms, but they don’t have much of a military, while both Australia and New Zealand are on the other side of the world…”

  “So, in other words,” Langford said carefully, “we’re on our own?”

  “Some things may change,” Sir John said. “The fall of Warsaw galvanised Polish opinion in the United States; the same goes for the various Baltic States and even Denmark. The American President has promised that she will try to free up resources to help us with everything short of direct American armed involvement, but that will be tricky; they’re rather committed at the moment.”

  “So you said,” Langford said. The intelligence alone would be more than merely helpful, but he was far too aware that the British Army had taken a battering, the Royal Navy had lost far too many ships…and the Royal Air Force had been almost wiped out. The RAF had claimed that they would need 200 modern fighters to cover the United Kingdom Air Defence Region; they had around nineteen fighters currently active, and more that it might be possible to repair in time. “Please keep pressing at them.”

  Sir John held up a hand. “General, I am aware of the issues, but…I would like permission to return to Britain,” he said. “My place is with you.”

  Langford shook his head. “I understand,” he said, “but we need you there. If worst comes to worst, we will need you there to serve as Prime Minister of a government-in-exile. Whatever happens, I won’t leave Britain.”

  Sir John looked resentful, but he nodded. “One other point,” he said. “What have you told the people?”

  Langford sighed. It was something that he had been trying to avoid considering. “I’ll have to make a broadcast tonight,” he said. “It’s been a day; there’s a lot of frightened people out there.”

  “Yes,” Sir John said. “I’m one of them.”

  The connection broke.

  Langford sat down and yawned. He had hoped, more than he had dared admit, that there would be a cabinet minister out there, someone who had survived and could take the role of Prime Minister. If Sir John had been in the line of succession, he would have had him back in Britain so fast that he would have had jetlag for years, but he wasn’t and he was far more impor
tant over in America. He had also hoped that the Americans would have helped – even the Russians would have hesitated before firing on American ships and aircraft since the Americans had become a lot more assertive in the world – but he hadn’t expected much. There wasn’t much that could be spared.

  There was a quiet tap on the door. “General?”

  “Come in,” Langford said, recognising the voice. Sara pushed the door open and entered the room, looking disgustingly fresh and cheerful. Langford almost laughed tiredly; just for a moment, homicidal thoughts had crossed his mind. When it was all over – if it was ever over – he would go on leave and sleep for a week. “What can I do for you?”

  “The Major has asked me to tell you that the analysts have finished going through the data we received from the Americans,” Sara said. “They’re ready to brief you now.”