Onslaught

by Chris James

  “This meeting is to establish how we can deploy the best defence to stop the invasion when it comes. Our computers are suggesting that we don’t have a whole lotta options here, but we need to work with what we got. This graphic here gives us Ample Annie’s most highly recommended deployments, after refining feedback from each member’s super AI.”

  A map of Spain enlarged from a thumbnail that contained differently coloured shapes denoting the locations of NATO deployments. Jones spoke: “We have elements of the Spanish Army, French units and elements of the British Army, and as of today, we have three hundred PeaceMakers assigned to this anticipated front. As you can see, we’re covering an ‘arc of approach’ as those are the most likely points the Caliphate will land.”

  Spain moved off to the left and Italy came into view, similarly decorated with coloured shapes to denote the locations of deployments. Jones went on: “In Italy, we are still reassessing after yesterday’s apparent terror attack, but in addition to the Italian Army, we have three brigades of the German 13th Mechanized. Ample Annie and the others were not able to agree on likely invasion points, so if the enemy’s gonna give us a little extra time, we’ll push the units southwards from Rome so we don’t risk turning the south of the country into one huge battlefield. Currently, we can field two hundred and fifty PeaceMakers in this theatre.”

  The image moved again to the left and down, so that the landmass of Greece, surrounded by hundreds of islands, moved to the centre. Jones continued: “The Hellenic Army also suffered quite badly yesterday, but General Kokinos assures me the action merely whetted appetites among his troops. Another two-hundred-and-fifty PeaceMakers have been deployed on this front. In addition, over the last few days the Greeks have been reinforced with elements of the Polish First Army under the command of General Pakla, and I think we all know how General Pakla and his troops will respond to any attempted invasion.”

  Terry smiled at the good-natured joke with the Polish general’s reputation for his uncompromising approach to his profession.

  The image withdrew to bring Bulgaria and northern Turkey into the frame. Jones said: “As a subsidiary front, we need also to take into account that the enemy will use the land border for the initial transportation of Caliphate troops. Our super AIs all forecast that for a swift and successful invasion, the enemy must use some kind of air transportation, a one-route land entry from Turkey will not be enough, and anyways we’d likely be able to contain that. On this fourth front, we’re gonna have a mix of Bulgarian, Romanian, Polish, Hungarian and Serbian forces, and they’ll be supported with another two hundred PeaceMakers.”

  The map shrank back into a thumbnail in the top-left of the screen to reveal Jones still sitting casually on the front of his desk. He went on: “In addition to the forces deployed, I think we can say we’re now fully alive to the threat that’s presented itself on our southern borders. I would like to thank all of you for the efforts you’ve been making in your own countries. The good news is that ACA production is forecast to increase over one thousand percent. German industry in particular says it can retool civilian plants in forty-eight to seventy-two hours, so let’s hope the enemy gives us a few more days at least.

  “Also, the UK and France have upped manufacture of Battlefield Support Lasers. As most of you probably know, the key issue is the manufacture of parts which can’t be replicated, then the logistics of deployment when we know that a massive invasion could start at any minute. Finally, I’m happy to let you know that the USS George Washington put to sea out of Naval Station Norfolk in the early hours. She’ll steam up to Philadelphia and NY to protect the first convoy of material for Europe, which will leave this afternoon.” A polite ripple of applause greeted this announcement. “So that’s about where we are right now. Any questions?”

  Terry recognised General Mitsch of the German Army, who spoke accented English from his thumbnail at the bottom of the screen: “We have to rely on civilian infrastructure to cope with the people fleeing north. Could not this be a greater hindrance than currently anticipated?”

  Jones shrugged his shoulders: “We gotta work with these figures and hope the transport networks can stand the strain. We have to rely on the computers to manage the expected volumes and adjust according to how many civilians try to head north.”

  The Hungarian Chief of Staff then asked: “What’s the naval situation? Does the enemy even have any ships?”

  Jones shook his head: “Not so far as we’ve seen, but I wouldn’t discount the Caliphate using ships for attack or for troop transport. One plus is that the US and Royal Navy still have five submarines in the Med. They were en-route to join the battle group last Tuesday so missed the action, which I think we should regard as a touch of good fortune. We are planning to use them for covert comms when the invasion begins. In addition, we’ve got another twelve subs en-route to the Med. Not sure yet what role they’ll play, but personally I’m hoping the enemy will invade using surface ships and we’ll have a say about how many troops he can land. Any more questions?”

  Silence greeted his enquiry, so Jones said: “Okay. So thank you for attending, ladies and gentlemen. This afternoon there’s a Chiefs of Staff meeting with virtual attendance mandatory for all chiefs and generals. We have an update briefing from US Strategic Command, who’ve been taking a closer look at the enemy’s kit, and we’ll be trying to establish ways of neutralising some of his advantages… while we’ve still got time.”

  Chapter 40

  10.09 Sunday 12 February 2062

  TRAINEE NURSE SERENA Rizzi returned to consciousness with her memories intact, so therefore with some surprise. She opened her eyes to see a magnolia ceiling above her. She recalled the last thing she had seen: the yellow stone arch at the Santa Maria hospital. She remembered the fleeting glance of Spiders as they clattered past the overrun reception area, down into earth outside the building. She sighed at the recollection of the ceiling coming down on all of them.

  “Hello, how do you feel?” asked a nurse who had suddenly appeared next to the bed.

  “I’m not sure yet,” Serena replied with a weak smile. She could feel the smooth surface of a GenoFluid pack over her legs, and for the first time in her life, she understood what patients meant when they described a ‘soft tingling’ sensation as the pack worked. She looked up at the nurse and saw a face not much older than her own. The woman’s dark eyes smiled with concern, and Serena noticed a large, brown birthmark in the middle of her right cheek.

  “You’re going to be all right in a few days, so try not to worry.”

  “I don’t understand. How did I survive? I remember the building was coming down, the Spiders had destroyed—”

  “You were saved by the arch you were standing under. It kept the debris off your body and head… but your legs will need some time to get better.”

  “Thank you,” Serena said. “How many others were saved?”

  The nurse looked downwards, and Serena knew the answer at once. The nurse said: “No one. I’m sorry.”

  Serena’s mind ran to the injured citizens she and Doctor Benini and all the other staff had been trying to save, all the work wasted. She looked at the nurse now treating her: “What day is it?”

  “Sunday.”

  “Good, only a day. Has the invasion started?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “And how is Rome?”

  Tears welled in the nurse’s eyes, and she stammered: “Bad. The Vatican is destroyed. All of the culture, so much… Thousands are dead. It is the worst in the history of Rome, worse even than the Visigoths… I must go now, I have many more injured to attend to. You are very lucky to have a bed.” The nurse dabbed the tears from her cheek and left Serena.

  She laid her head back on the pillow and considered the last thing the nurse had said. Yes, she had been lucky, but why? Why was she alive when the entire building collapsed and everyone else perished? The seed of a resolution began to germinate inside Serena. In a moment of revelation, she r
ealised she’d been spared for a reason, a higher purpose. She glanced along the bed and looked at the GenoFluid pack, staring and picturing its miniscule nano-bots going back and forth repairing and regenerating her smashed legs.

  She whispered to herself: “A few days. Dear God, just grant me a few days.”

  Chapter 41

  20.42 Sunday 12 February 2062

  IN BEIJING, THE Englishman’s difficult day worsened in the evening, when he arrived at Marshall Zhou’s private quarters in the compound. The Englishman didn’t need to worry about the Marshall’s subordinates knowing of their liaisons, because the Marshall enjoyed a great deal of power in his own fiefdom, but at the same time the Englishman suspected that other elements of the Chinese military also knew, and would use the knowledge for their own gain at the Marshall’s expense. On a normal day, the Englishman could manage and even gain a sense of pleasure from the danger.

  But today had been problematic. The aide to the ambassador from whom he normally got his drugs had prevaricated. The Englishman needed the little white pills to ensure the Marshall enjoyed himself sufficiently. The ambassador’s aide said she didn’t have any, then changed her mind and said she did. The exchange unnerved him, because although the taking of recreational drugs was officially frowned on, everyone accepted that it happened. The aide’s reluctance might have been in response to a potential crackdown by the ambassador. And the Englishman did not want to have to find another supplier.

  Then, while travelling across the city to the compound, he’d watched news feeds from England and other European countries which carried pictures of protests and demonstrations calling for peace at any cost. An overwhelming sense of futility enveloped him: if people were stupid enough to believe that such actions could or would have any bearing on the course of events, then they were likely to get exactly what they deserved.

  The door to the Marshall’s apartment opened and the Englishman smiled.

  “Come,” said the Marshall, his narrow eyes piercing into the Englishman’s, and his fleshy jowls wobbling into a smile.

  The Englishman entered; the door closed.

  The Marshall put his arms around the Englishman’s waist and said: “I still miss you, every day.”

  “And I miss you,” the Englishman replied, a touch automatically.

  The Marshall’s eyes narrowed further. “You do not sound very sincere,” he said. The suspicious look intensified. “You look like you do not miss me so much.”

  Inside, the Englishman cursed himself for his lapse of concentration. He stared back at Zhou’s hostile suspicion. “I do, I do,” he said. “It’s just—”

  “Just what, eh?”

  The Englishman took a long breath and composed himself. A lie popped into his head and he told it easily: “I have family in Rome, and I can’t reach them. My younger sister. She has an Italian boyfriend. They were visiting his family on vacation in the city, seeing all those sights that have now been destroyed.”

  The Marshall paused, and the Englishman wondered if he would buy it. His features softened and he embraced the Englishman. “My poor boy,” he said. “You must be so worried.”

  The Englishman pulled back and gave out a sniffle. He nodded: “Thank you. Yes, the violence was truly terrible… I’m thinking of returning to the UK, I think I must—”

  “No, you must not,” Zhou broke in, appearing to take the conversation more seriously. “We talked. You will be safer here in Beijing. If you go back to Eur—”

  “But the invasion could begin at any time. It could’ve started since I arrived here a few minutes ago. I’m very scared for my—”

  Zhou’s face flickered and he said: “Wait.”

  The Englishman stopped and sensed Zhou’s demeanour change.

  Zhou said: “Let us drink first. Did you bring our pleasure tablets?”

  The Englishman forced a reluctant smile. “Yes,” he said.

  Zhou walked further into the apartment and entered the living area. The Englishman followed in silence. The far wall hummed as the cover to hidden shelves rolled upwards. Zhou selected two glasses and said: “I have some of the Mei Kuei Lu Chiew you like.”

  “Thank you.”

  Zhou took the bottle of the rose-flavoured Baijiu and poured generous measures. He offered one to the Englishman, who took it. “To another evening of wonderful escape,” Zhou said.

  Two hours later, groggy from the little white pills and the Baijiu, the Englishman realised that he hadn’t felt this bad for a long time. He concluded that he was looking at two sides of the same coin: the thrill of the subterfuge also caused the occasional sick feeling. Perhaps, he reasoned, the cause did stem from the worsening situation in Europe. He glanced back at the Marshall. The darkness hid the details of his body, but he had been as energetic as usual and the Englishman could feel Zhou’s semen escape him in a slick dribble.

  “Thank you,” the Englishman’s lover whispered in the dark.

  The Englishman laid back down and snuggled closer to the Marshall. “I thank you,” he whispered back.

  “My dear,” the Marshall began, “I know you worry still, but there is little you or I can do to change what will happen.”

  “It’s the uncertainty, that’s the—”

  “Then let me give you a small piece of certainty. The invasion will not start tomorrow or the next day.”

  “What? How can you—”

  “Don’t ask too many questions, my dear. I care about you, so I care also for those whom you care about. So tell them that they have until next Sunday morning, and then perhaps we can sleep a little better tonight, yes?”

  Every nerve inside the Englishman tingled. Again, he wished he could question the Marshall openly but he dare not. He chided himself silently: beggars can’t be choosers, and he wasn’t likely to get better intelligence from anywhere else. The temptation to tell London at once, to twitch his eye muscles and contact Control and tell them he knew when the invasion would start, drove his heart to beat ever faster. He felt certain the Marshall must sense his excitement, but in a moment of abandon he decided he didn’t care. All that mattered now was that he got the information to London.

  The Marshall surprised him when he suddenly chuckled and whispered: “We had a briefing today, and our intelligence said that the Third Caliph only wishes to make Europe wait on his pleasure. You can imagine the logistics involved in such an invasion, so he chose Sunday as the ideal compromise between keeping supremacy on the battlefield and allowing the greatest possible spread of terror.”

  The Englishman’s throat had dried and his heart thumped, but in an effort to keep to the game he whispered back: “Thank you for giving my family a chance.”

  Zhou grunted: “I doubt it will make any difference, my dear. You should consider that Europe will soon have a new ruler.”

  Chapter 42

  14.55 Sunday 12 February 2062

  PROFESSOR DUNCAN SEEKINGS trudged along the gravel drive towards the office attached to his lab. He’d spent the morning wracking his brains trying to establish how the fusion units in the Caliphate’s ACAs worked. Now he had an important conference, but for the evening he’d promised his friend Graham a few frames of snooker. Part of his mind set to work thinking up excuses not to go.

  He opened the door to his untidy office and muttered aloud: “On the other hand, it might be useful to bounce some ideas off him. Now, where’s the bloody…” He searched around the room and spotted the glasses folded on a shelf among piles of papers and books. “Ah, good. Perhaps something to drink? No, it won’t last that long. But what if it does? Oh well, let’s hope it won’t. Now then…” He settled down on the couch in the middle of the room which faced the only window.

  He put the glasses on and looked around him. To his left and right, and in front of and behind him, several rows of other attendees extended out in a large semi-circle. Other heads did the same as his and twisted this way and that, despite the fact that a small attendance list resolved in the bottom-righ
t corner of the view. The Professor thought he recognised some faces, and then muttered to himself: “I’m sure everyone who should be here, is.”

  In the centre stood a podium on which leaned the imposing, broad-shouldered form of Bjarne Hasselman, the Secretary General of the North Atlantic Council, NATO’s governing body. Next to him stood two younger men with a screen behind them that displayed the NATO crest.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Hasselman began, “good morning, at least to those of you from America, and good afternoon or evening or night to the rest of you. I would like to introduce to you two space warfare experts from the US Strategic Command, Mr John Parsons and Mr Dan Griffin.”

  The two Americans gave the audience confident, bright smiles, but Professor Seekings scoffed inside as they appeared to him to be little older than teenagers, and he was amazed they could be considered experts at anything, apart from, possibly, how to tie their shoelaces.

  Hasselman continued: “The NAC has identified the priority issues to which we need answers if we we’re going to make any progress against the Persian Caliphate. Top of this list is their ability to prevent any electronic penetration of their airspace. Gentlemen?”

  The Secretary of the NAC stepped away from the podium and took a seat in the audience. The taller of the two Americans, whose names the Professor had already forgotten, stepped forward and spoke: “Hi everyone. Thanks for attending this North Atlantic Council meeting. And I just wanna remind you all that everything you see and hear is top secret.”

  The Professor scoffed aloud at that. A couple of heads nearby glanced at him, so he changed the settings to block his own voice, that he might speak aloud in his office, but what he said would not be audible to any of the other attendees.