Onslaught

by Chris James

  A clacking sound came to her ears and black shapes moved down past the windows. Her spirit rose up in protest at the sight of the Spiders. She would not give in. She took long strides to the supply area under the stone arch. She glanced back at all of the wounded patients, her patients, and looked on in disgust as Benini struggled over the injured and the debris to escape the building. When he reached the furthest doorway, eighteen Spiders at key points outside the building detonated simultaneously, and Serena looked up to see the ceiling of the Santa Maria hospital collapse on all of them.

  Chapter 36

  14.17 Saturday 11 February 2062

  “WE’RE GETTING REPORTS of tens of thousands of casualties, Sir Terry. Just what the hell are their armies doing?”

  “Try to keep calm, Mr Gough. It’s a rout for NATO Forces, but we had a good idea what was coming. Our enemy appears to have inexhaustible supplies of munitions at his disposal.”

  The two men strode along a gothic corridor inside the rebuilt Houses of Parliament. Napier’s Defence Minister, Phillip Gough, only enjoyed his ministerial position due to political favours he’d done in the past. Since his appointment, he admitted to Terry that he had little knowledge of military affairs. Terry hadn’t minded this because it gave Terry a chance to ensure the Defence Minister was correctly informed. However, Gough had this last week developed a penchant for becoming irritatingly emotional at worrying news. The two men turned a corner and continued walking. Terry admired the architecture and could sense the atmosphere of angry concern inside the vast building. He wondered if and when the concern would turn to fear.

  “But it’s a disaster,” Gough shrieked, throwing his thick forearms in the air. “It’s a complete shit festival, it’s the wor—”

  “Shut up, Mr Gough,” Terry snapped, struggling to keep his voice even. “I’ll remind you that thousands of men and women are, at this moment, getting maimed and killed trying to save as many civilians as they can, and now is hardly the time for hysterics.”

  “Perhaps, but the threatened invasion hasn’t even begun and we’re already almost defenceless.”

  “That won’t last for long. Our ACA plants are ramping production up and the Americans will soon begin sending reinforcements.”

  “Have you seen the media? Have you read what they’re saying?”

  “That’s not my concern.”

  “It’s a complete disaster for the government.”

  Terry glanced at Gough with mild amusement in his eyes. He pointed out: “Do you realise the Caliphate could launch a massive aerial assault probably anywhere in Europe? That what’s happening today in Athens and Rome could be Paris and London tomorrow? And until we get substantial reinforcements, we are just as exposed as those cities?”

  Gough gulped hard before saying: “Yes, of course. But, with respect, Sir Terry, I would’ve thought the fact that war is highly likely one way or another, and it probably won’t be restricted to ACAs, would make you see the urgent need for a positive media spin on this. Do you think the British and NATO Forces currently have sufficient personnel to defeat a Caliphate invasion?”

  Terry smiled at Gough’s rhetorical tone. They arrived at the ornate, Gothic doors to the Prime Minister’s emergency room, and Terry turned to Gough: “My political masters give me tasks, and I carry them out to the best of my and the British Army’s ability. But if in the future we should need to drastically increase recruitment, then the most powerful woman in England, or perhaps one of her Ministers, really should bring some pressure to bear on this country’s media to gather support for the forthcoming struggle, wouldn’t you agree, Mr Gough?”

  Gough opened his mouth but the doors swung open before he could speak.

  Terry strode into the room first. Low winter sunlight poured in through the windows that overlooked the river. Murmuring people stood in front of the large east wall, which displayed eight different image feeds from various locations. These included SkyWatcher ACAs above Athens and Rome, and digital social sharing platforms that disseminated chilling sequences of people suffering and dying in real time.

  Terry approached the Prime Minister, who stood watching the screens with the head of MI5, David Perkins. Terry recalled the friction of their earlier meetings and questioned if Perkins had the wit to realise that the current disaster enveloping the continent was slightly more important than mere personality clashes.

  Napier said: “Terry, thank you for coming. This is a little different from what we usually do in this room. Rising sea levels are no longer our first concern.”

  Terry saw Perkins’s eyebrows rise at the tone of familiarity in Napier’s voice, but he offered his hand and said: “Hello again, Sir Terry, we’re not sure if this is the invasion or not.”

  Terry shook it and replied: “From what I’ve seen, these are terror raids, designed to scare us, nothing more.”

  Perkins’s forehead creased: “What for?”

  “To drive refugees north from Southern Europe to encourage the rest of the continent to surrender. They will flee, taking with them stories of death and destruction, which you can already see on these screens. These will cause a massive wave of panic among civilian populations and put insurmountable pressure on civilian infrastructure. Any new intel from GCHQ?”

  Perkins shook his head, “Nothing substantial.”

  Terry said: “It would help if we knew what Beijing knows.”

  Napier glanced at the two men and said: “Most of the rest of the world seems to think it’s Europe’s own fault.”

  Perkins brushed the front of his jacket with his hand and said: “That’s only their official position because they don’t want to antagonise China.”

  “Perhaps,” Napier replied, “and that a number of countries wonder where the Third Caliph will turn his attention once he has put Europe to the sword.” She glared at the two men. “You’ve seen the latest projections?”

  Terry said: “A great deal depends on how many flesh-and-blood troops they can deploy, PM. There is still an awful lot of guesswork going into these—”

  Anger flashed across her face: “If they decide they need to use any flesh-and-blood soldiers at all. Analyses of what they did in Israel have convinced me they don’t need to invade with anything more than enough of those flying lasers, and we have precious little defence against them. And how can you be sure this isn’t the beginning of the invasion?”

  Terry answered: “Because it would have begun by now. They must be using their own version of super artificial intelligence, and that has undoubtedly given a selection of the most effective invasion scenarios, and I’m sure our own computers will confirm none of those scenarios includes waiting so long after the initial assaults. Besides, any continent-wide invasion absolutely must begin on a minimum of two fronts, probably more. Their tactics today are clear to anyone with an understanding of these things.”

  Napier’s eyebrows rose at the implied criticism, so Terry added: “This is how I can be reasonably certain that today’s events are a terror raid, not the prelude to an invasion. This is tactical, PM, not strategic. The enemy wants to sow as much panic and confusion as he can, to drive as many civilians as possible to flee northwards, to place Europe’s infrastructure under intolerable stress, and hinder or prevent NATO Forces from deploying units to defend the likely invasion when it does come.”

  “So when will it come?” Perkins asked, a note of shocked diffidence in his voice.

  Terry replied while scanning the images of palls of black smoke drifting over the ruins of Athens and Rome: “In my opinion, which our computers may or may not contradict, anything from two days to two weeks, certainly no longer than that, but the enemy will still want to allow some time for the panic to spread.”

  Napier’s aide, Crispin Webb, arrived from the other side of the room. “Excuse me. Boss, I’ve just spoken to Linda at COBRA. She reports that we’ve got more very high tides due next week and has asked if the army can redeploy troops to assist civil defence with maintaining
the construction replicators.”

  Napier looked at Terry, who said: “We have to meet our NATO commitments first, PM. But I’ll see if we can’t spare some reserves.”

  “Pass that back to Linda, would you, Crispin?”

  Crispin nodded and turned to go, but Terry grabbed his arm. “Mr Webb, when you have a moment, the Defence Minister would like to have a word with you concerning getting the media on board.”

  Crispin looked from Terry to Gough, who nodded his confirmation. Crispin left.

  Terry spoke to the others: “However, while these terror raids might be good tactics, they are also a strategic mistake.”

  “How is that?” Perkins asked.

  Terry answered: “Look at the raw data up there,” and nodded at the large screen. To the left of the images of destruction and chaos, a slim column gave continually updated statistics of estimated numbers of deaths and injuries in each city, buildings destroyed, and enemy ACAs attacking and NATO machines defending.

  Terry continued: “Near the bottom of the list there’s a figure for the number of enemy ACAs brought down. Today, unlike during the attacks on the navies on Tuesday morning, those Blackswans aren’t sinking to the bottom of the ocean. For the first time, when those attacks are over, we’re going to get our hands on the Caliphate’s actual hardware, and that will tell us all kinds of things.”

  “Indeed,” Perkins agreed.

  “I’m not sure I would have made that strategic concession for the tactical gain,” Terry added.

  “My god,” Napier said in a heavy voice, “look at the casualty figures. Can you even imagine what those poor people must be going through?”

  “The worst destruction Europe’s seen in a hundred and twenty years,” Perkins said flatly.

  “We’re going to have even bigger problems when the invasion does come,” Terry said.

  “Meaning?” Napier asked.

  “You see, in addition to the thirty thousand-odd estimated civilian casualties, we’ve also had several thousand dead and injured from the militaries. The Hellenic and Italian Armies are getting beaten up today. The Italian Army alone has lost five percent of its entire strength since this morning. Meanwhile, our enemy is expending only machines, and his armies remain safe inside Caliphate territory, waiting. Those machines are killing professional soldiers for whom the army was a way of life. Who are we going to replace them with?”

  The shocked realisation on the faces of the Head of MI5 and the Prime Minister confirmed to Terry that they now understood an important reality in this war.

  Perkins shook his head. “I need to get back to HQ. I’ll keep both of you appraised if we get any hard-and-fast intel on a potential invasion date.”

  “Thank you,” Terry said. When Perkins left, he looked at Napier and lowered his voice: “What’s happening today in Athens and Rome is certain to happen here, sooner or later, and I confidently expect to lose many of my best troops in the next few weeks. We’re going to have to replace them, and we can only do that from the general population. Your aide over there, Webb, keeps whining on about the media.”

  “Yes, I know,” Napier said.

  Terry moved in closer: “Personally, I don’t really have a great deal of time for all the frivolity and vapidity in which today’s media generally deal, but I would like to point out to you, PM, that someone needs to pull them on board. I mentioned this earlier to the Defence Minister. Things are going to get very violent very soon; we’re going to see that kind of destruction,” he indicated the screens, “all over Europe and the Home Nations. If we’re going to stand even the slimmest chance of lasting more than mere days, then we’re going to have to get everything right. There is absolutely no room for any errors, small or large. And one of the key things is having a general public which understands that the enemy is out there, not here in your government.”

  “I can hardly tell the media outlets what to tell people.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, if I want to get re-elected…” her words trailed off under Terry’s stare of mild amusement.

  “Yes, I see. But you might want to have a word with Patrick at the Health Department.”

  “Why?”

  “Have you seen the latest obesity stats?”

  Terry smiled, “Now, I see,” he said.

  Crispin Webb arrived and said: “Boss, it’s time now. The Chamber is filling up.”

  Napier said: “Very well. I have to go and make a statement to the House.”

  “On a Saturday?” Terry queried.

  Napier smiled with good-natured envy that England’s top soldier had only a loose grasp of politics. “Emergency sitting. Even Members of Parliament can put in a little overtime when international events demand rapid reactions.”

  Chapter 37

  19.23 Saturday 11 February 2062

  HAVING BEEN DEALT the first jack yet again, Maria Phillips shuffled the pack of cards.

  Her father fidgeted next to her at the dining table, scratching at his thinning brown hair. He said: “I still think we should leave. We should get out of Europe.”

  Her older brother, Martin, smiled opposite her and shook his head. “We spoke about this, Dad. Just where would we go, exactly?” he asked in a rhetorical tone.

  Maria dealt the cards.

  “I dunno yet, but I’ve been thinking we should get out before it’s too late.”

  Martin said: “You and Mum are too old now, at any rate.”

  Maria said: “And don’t you think that’s what half of Europe is trying to do at the moment, Dad?”

  She sensed her father’s resolve wilt under the common sense of his children. “All right, so me and your mother, perhaps we are too old to get out, but you kids aren’t. You’re just the right ages to emigrate somewhere safer, like New Zealand or Australia.”

  Having dealt seven cards in front of each of them, Maria put down the rest of the pack, picked up a pen, and said: “Okay then, Forecast Whist, second round, clubs are trumps. Your first call and lead, Dad. How many tricks do you want?”

  Anthony looked at his cards. “Oh, you’re a good daughter and no mistake,” he said with sarcasm. “Go on, put me down for three.”

  Maria glanced at Mark, who said at once: “Yeah, I’ll have three as well.”

  Maria looked at her own cards and grimaced. “So I can’t have one… I’m having two, so we’re one over-called. Your lead, Dad.”

  Anthony said: “I’ll start as I mean to go on this evening, kiddie-winkies,” and threw down the ace of trumps.

  Maria groaned along with Martin. The latter put down the four of clubs, while Maria reluctantly gave up her queen of clubs and said: “Dad, that was so one of my two.”

  Anthony let out a chuckle. Martin looked at Maria and asked: “Shall I tell him now?”

  “Go on,” Maria replied.

  “What?” Anthony said, as he collected the first trick and laid the jack of clubs.

  “Dad,” Martin began, looking at Anthony’s jack and shaking his head, “I’ve got quite a few feeds running in my lens, and I can tell you that we have zero chance of getting out of England, unless you own and can captain an ocean-going vessel which you’ve kept secret from the rest of us for all of our lives.”

  “Yeah,” Anthony grumbled, “I’ve got one right here, in my back pocket.”

  Martin threw down the ten of clubs while Maria laid the four of diamonds.

  “Thank you very much,” Anthony said, collecting the second trick. “Just one more trick for me,” and he laid the ace of hearts.

  Martin spoke while laying the seven of clubs: “Nope, you’re not having that trick. What I mean, Dad, is that the only real chance any of us would have is to try to get transport west, to Wales, and then maybe get a boat to Ireland. Civilian air transport has been suspended since the attacks on the navies when those planes went missing, and you can bet that’s not going to start again any time soon.”

  “But there must be other ways, surely?” Anthony asked.


  Martin shook his head. “There aren’t, Dad. The government controls everything. Super AI controls all transport. And they’ve put in place emergency powers which let the police take control over all that Super—”

  “Bloody Old Bill,” Maria’s father spat.

  “Bloody or not,” Martin went on, “they’ve got the law on their side. They decide what gets priority for transport, and it doesn’t matter whatever ordinary people want, if the police say ‘no’, that’s that.”

  “So we’re trapped, here in happy East Grinstead, is that it?”

  Martin shrugged as he collected the third trick of the hand, the first of the three he wanted. He then laid the king of diamonds.

  Maria smiled as she put the ace of diamonds down and said: “We’re happy and safe in East Grinstead, Dad.” Her smile faded. “You might want to spare a thought for those poor people in Athens and Rome.”

  Anthony looked at his eldest child and asked: “What’s the latest news, Martin?”

  Martin’s eye twitched and he said: “Hmm, mainly speculation. Officially the death toll in Athens is three hundred and twenty, while in Rome it’s over five hundred, but all reports are suggesting that thousands must have been killed.”

  Anthony tossed out the ten of diamonds and Maria collected the trick. He said, “My god, I can’t remember the last time something like that happened in Europe.”

  Maria laid the king of spades.

  “Well,” Martin said. “I’ve made a decision. If the invasion does start, I’m going to join up.”

  Maria saw her father react. For a moment, she worried they would begin a row, but her father’s weathered face softened and he said: “Are you sure, son?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Martin replied, and Maria felt a small flash of emotion which part of her brain recognised as pride.