Two overshot, once more spraying up dirt and metal in a plume of fire and smoke. The third grenade glanced off the engine cowling and exploded above the wing sending out supersonic fragments. Its makers had designed the Dragonfly just this type of light attack and its armour just shrugged off the assault. Moments later, their last grenade sailed under the rapidly rising wing, detonating on the ground.
“Bloody hell!” said Bastian.
Then his stomach lurched as he saw the Dragonfly’s belly cannon come to life.
“Take cover!” he said, diving behind the sandstone rocks around waypoint three.
Fenwick and Burge scrambled towards cover, as Brown dove then rolled twice leaving him facing skywards. The 30mm cannon flowered with fury, drowning out even the twin turbofans. Rock fragments, turf and smoke filled the air around the SAS men. The barrage stopped and the pitch of the V30’s engine rose. Bastian accessed the recon drone feed on his smart glasses. He exhaled as he saw the armoured transporter moving away northwards. The recon drone was half a klick south and he instructed it to give chase to the V30 at top speed. It could easily outrun the electrically-powered drone, but even if he could track it for a few minutes, it would help the arriving USAF bomber drones. And where are they anyway? he thought, initiating contact with command.
“Becker got away, sir,” said Bastian to Major Seddon.
“I know. I saw it. Bombers are two minutes away throttling up to full speed. They’ve got a radar lock on the V30.”
“Well, that’s good news. But they can’t take it down though, can they?”
“No, they’re armed for ground attack only.”
Hindsight’s a wonderful thing, thought Bastian, not for the first time that day.
He said, “Well, they’re not gonna outrun the bombers speed-wise or range-wise. So we’re gonna get on with securing the scene and searching for the rest of 2 PARA.”
“Roger that, yankee-two-zero. We’ll take over from here. Out.”
***
The V30 powered up to mach 0.9, autonomously speeding due north on a pre-programmed route. It left the SAS recon drone long ago—its top speed of only one-fifty kilometres an hour was nowhere near fast enough. Two of the four USAF bomber drones gave chase. The other two remained on standby over the Irish Sea in case the SAS patrol needed them. The pursuing stealth drones continued accelerating at their cruising altitude of 15,000m, reaching mach 8 by the time they flashed north-north-east, ten klicks west of Bastian and his men. At this elevation, their range and sensors’ field of view were enhanced giving greater freedom of action. At least, that was the idea. The V30 was just fifty klicks to the north and they were closing at around forty kilometres per minute.
The V30 dived towards the Afon Iwrch River in mid-Wales, levelling off at fifty metres above the trees filling the narrow valley. The flanking hills and ridges rose two hundred metres higher than the V30 on both sides and were never far away at three-hundred metres per second. Only the autopilot could be trusted to execute the terrain-following manoeuvres.
Half a world away, at Andrews AFB, the V30’s active radar signature started flickering in and out of the operator’s sight.
“We’re losing them,” said the young, male drone operator.
“Do you have line of sight?” said the female CO.
“No, ma’am... They must be flying damn low...”
“Well, it’s perfect for terrain masking, Airman.”
“And plenty of ground clutter, which ain’t makin’ it any easier.”
The blonde lieutenant shook her head in frustration. Even the British weather had conspired against them, preventing a bomber drone or satellite visual. But she’d been briefed as to the possible destination of the V30 in Scotland, so she made a decision.
“Airman, vector to a waypoint twenty klicks due west of Liverpool. Full speed. Then bring the drones down to eight-hundred metres.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
If Becker was heading for Dundee, she gambled that he’d want to avoid flying over the conurbations of Liverpool and Manchester. The terrain flattened out there and there was too much opportunity for remaining radar and recon drones and ground observers to find them. She figured they would want to get over open sea, while remaining below cloud cover at a thousand metres. The hypersonic USAF drones would arrive west of Liverpool many minutes before Becker. Once they had a visual lock at low altitude, there’d be no hiding place for the rogue colonel.
Fifteen minutes later, the V30 passed three kilometres east of the USAF planes which were in a holding pattern at eight-hundred meters and mach 1.5. Both bombers made a visual lock and caught up with the V30, standing off three kilometres behind and dropping to fifty metres above sea level—a hundred metres below their mark.
“Got ’em!” smiled the USAF drone operator.
“Good work, Airman,” said the lieutenant. “Have they painted us?”
“No ma’am, these babies have the radar signature of a sparrow and adaptive camo’s engaged.”
“Excellent. Now we just follow the trail...”
***
The airman said, “Ma’am, they’re vectored into the facility the CIA predicted—the E-Vision campus, near Dundee...”
The lieutenant said, “So the CIA does have its uses after all. Just keep doing what you’re doing—we’ve got plenty of fuel.”
“Ma’am, they’re starting to slow down—looks like they’re lining up for landing.”
Ten minutes later, the display showed the Dragonfly V30 landing on the lawn. The acre of grass was set amongst a sprawling complex of glass and steel two-storey buildings on the northern outskirts of Dundee. Several kilometres to its south was the small city; surrounding it were green fields and a gently rolling landscape.
The V30 sat for a few minutes before a group of three men appeared from a sliding glass door and approached the plane.
The blonde lieutenant, watching at Andrews, said, “Airman, do you have long-range directional mics on?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Track the three amigos for me will you? Oh and switch on your speakers...”
“Yes, ma’am... Now tracking the little fat dude in the middle.”
The ramp eased down and out walked Becker and his remaining Faithful officers. Then—despite his ICS and through force of habit—Becker spoke.
“Gentlemen, how are we all on this typically drizzly Scottish day?”
“Thomas,” said Hardcastle, smiling. “You made it! We thought they had you for a while there, old boy!”
Zane said, suspiciously, “Let’s switch to ICS and get inside...” He gave the sky a cursory survey.
The background noise continued but the USAF operator and his lieutenant could no longer hear the conversation or see lips moving.
“Are we still wired for sound, Airman?”
“Yes, ma’am, but they’ve just stopped speaking ... weird...”
After that none of them could be heard, their conversations had become silent. They shook hands, made silent introductions and then went inside the building.
“Not weird, Airman—just implanted computer freaks doing their mind talk. We’d better call this in to Collins over at Langley...”
“She’s already on the line, ma’am,” came the voice of a young air force NCO.
***
Tuesday, February 21st, 2045 9:30am: E-Vision Entertainment Campus, Dundee, Scotland
Hardcastle, Zane and Sinclair led the way with Becker and his four officers trailing in their distinctive red berets and BDU. They entered from the grass quadrangle past the single Centurion on sentry inside the door. Without speaking, they turned left along the corridor— glass-walled to the left, white wall and doors to the right. The marble floor echoed with their footsteps. The occasional employee came and went through the doors on the right. A young, casually dressed woman emerged from the far end and walked towards them. She nodded a curt, “Morning,” and passed by the men—five of them in combat uniform—as if n
othing were amiss. They arrived at a spacious lobby and atrium, complete with palm trees and fountain and a security desk. A giant Sentinel robot stood outside of the main entrance and at least four Centurions stood watch just inside the bank of three double glass doors. A set of floor-to-ceiling glass entrance gates controlled access to the building. They took a sharp right and walked the broad flight of marble stairs to the upper floor and the conference room. A Centurion guard stood as still as a statue beside the double doors to the large, modern room just off the landing.
Sinclair said, “Please take a seat, gentlemen. Help yourself to some refreshments.”
After that, there was no more audible speech.
Hardcastle said, via his ICS, “Are you with us, Malik?” Khan had awoken in the early hours at Camp David to join them.
Khan said, “Yes. I’m here.”
“Good. Can you update us, please?”
“Yes, of course, John. As you know, Faraday is no longer with us. It went flawlessly. As far as the Americans are concerned, I’m now de facto PM since all other members of the Cabinet are either presumed dead or are actually dead. My hosts now recognise and me as leader since the foreign secretary and chancellor are both confirmed dead.”
Hardcastle said, “We took care of the Cabinet and have the Westminster Circle waiting for our return to London. Now only Admiral Shawcross could present a viable leader for our enemies to rally around. It’s vital that he comes back with you later today, Malik. Then we can take care of him too—it’ll be far easier on home soil.”
Becker said, “Unless they change things and let King William lead politically. If they’re desperate enough they might…”
Hardcastle shook his head and said, “No way. They’ll want to uphold the constitutional monarchy system, not subvert it themselves.” He laughed. “Besides, do you think Willy has what it takes to actually lead? You don’t, I don’t and neither do the public.”
Becker said nothing.
Hardcastle continued. “Look, the key thing is that we start the next phase of winning hearts and minds before resistance starts to solidify. At the moment the army and the populace are still reeling, but that won’t last forever. As you know, there have already been reports of troops regrouping away from army bases. The sooner we get to London and start calming the nation as the legitimate government, the better.”
Khan said, “I second that.”
Zane said, “And what of the Americans, Malik? Do they suspect your part in Faraday’s death?”
Khan said, “No, and I even watched the Secret Service guard go in and check on him after I left. He would have found him alive, sleeping when I left him. The toxin will be undetectable by the time they’ve gotten around to the autopsy. Still, I’m pretty keen to get out of here.”
Hardcastle said, “We need you here to lend legitimacy to our efforts. The civilian population has taken almost no direct casualties, but they’re scared and growing restless. We need to show them we’re in control and things are getting back to normal ASAP. Once they realise they can keep living their lives and will actually get some sweeteners, we’ll soon be able to cement our power.”
Khan said, “Well, they can hardly stop us if the reports of the military being completely routed are true ... although, I agree, it’d be better if the masses don’t get all rebellious on us.”
Becker said, “I’m pleased to confirm that the army and air force are no longer operationally effective. We may see pockets of resistance over the weeks and months, but we’ve got over two hundred thousand robots to sort out those little problems. The entire US military would struggle to take this country now. Once things calm down, in the interim, we’ll be able to police the country with the Faithful alone controlling the robots… If we need to, that is. Then the AI upgrades can begin.”
Zane said, “Indeed. We will be ready.”
Hardcastle smiled and said, “Whoever controls the army controls the country.”
Becker said, “Yes, and this army will always be loyal to us and our leader.”
“This is just the beginning,” said Hardcastle. “In time we’ll be all over the Middle East and North Africa.”
Zane said, “And with the revenue it brings the extra military power we need to further The Plan.”
Hardcastle said, “Our leader will be mightily pleased.”
Khan said, “Yes, she will be pleased. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves—it seems the intelligence services are closing in on your location there. The CIA has zeroed in on it, but can’t work out its significance. It should stay that way if I have anything to do with it. When I return to join the new government the US should back off entirely. They won’t intervene in a sovereign country until the legitimate government says so and currently they see that government as led by me. I’ve been successful so far in muddying the waters and stalling American intervention. Shawcross isn’t happy—he thinks the US Marine Expeditionary Force should already be there in Dundee. But I assure you that won’t happen with me in charge here.”
Becker said, “The Admiral can protest all he wants. Once we’re through with him he’ll either join us or be begging for execution.”
Khan said, “And what of the SAS mission to find you, Colonel? Evidently you eluded them...”
“It was a close run thing, but we left them and their recon drone behind in Wales. They no longer had the air support they needed to track us.”
“And what of your unit, Colonel?” asked Khan.
“They didn’t make it I’m afraid—under my orders they fought the robots in Merthyr Tyfil and came off second best I’m afraid. A familiar story over the past week...”
Khan said, “And Roman, how are your legions faring?”
Sinclair laughed and said, “Ah, my fifth column ... no age limits and no qualifications needed. If only they knew what valuable work they were doing!” He seemed high on the success of the plan of which he was the architect.
“And?” asked Khan, a little impatiently.
“We’ve taken control of the public telecoms infrastructure with little disruption. We’ve got numbers exceeding a hundred and fifty percent of requirements, seventy percent when you just include the UK. All systems running normally. And, as you have seen, it’s working like a charm! If they locate us, they’ll probably try a DDOS attack or try to cut the power. Of course, we’ve thought of all that.”
Khan said, “Very good, Roman. Very good.”
Hardcastle said, “Gentlemen, tomorrow we shall return to London and unveil the UK’s new government, and with it the dawn of a new Britain. Our leader will have won her first major battle.”
24
Tuesday, February 21st, 2045 10:10am EST: Andrews AFB, MD
De facto British Prime Minister, Malik Khan, reclined the leather, business class seat in the specially chartered spaceplane. The British Galactic XC-10 would start its taxi to the runway in five minute’s time. After that, it would rise into space, switching to liquid oxygen once the air became too thin to sustain its jet engines. After a brief arc high across the Atlantic, it would start its descent into London Heathrow. In little under an hour, Khan would be in London, greeted by Hardcastle and Zane, with Sinclair remaining in Scotland. He’d convinced the Americans and his delegation that he’d brokered peace talks in secret with the plotters he euphemistically called ‘rebels’. Next to Khan, to his left, was Admiral Shawcross. To his right was the good-looking blonde MI5 officer, Sophie Walsh. Behind was his wife and the Met Police commissioner, James Douglas-Smith. Faraday’s wife and son were grieving the loss of the man Khan had betrayed and killed—but he was confident no one but his co-conspirators knew the truth. Soon he’d leave the Americans and their blasted Secret Service and CIA and military behind. Once in Britain, he’d ensure his country made no further requests for help. In Khan’s judgement, the Americans hardly cared and would probably be glad of the easy get-out he’d presented them with. For them, the risk of getting embroiled in a foreign war again for little in the
way of gain would be a hard sell to the people—especially once order and a seemingly friendly government had been restored in the UK.
He looked over at Shawcross. He wasn’t a bad man, just on the wrong side of history. Soon he’d be arrested, as would Douglas-Smith and any other vestige of the former power structure. It wouldn’t be the last purge of the civil service and military, but Khan knew that most of the key players had already been neutralised.
“I’ve ordered HMS Intrepid to stand down and sail to Devonport per your orders,” said Shawcross.
Khan said, “That’s good, Admiral... It seems they won’t be needed now. They can go back to their families once they return to their home port.”
Shawcross raised his eyebrow at this and Khan saw him but ignored it. He hardly cared what he thought anymore. Soon he’d be either imprisoned or dead.
After an announcement from the captain, the spaceplane started rolling back from the gate. Khan turned to Sophie and smiled, lingering on her eyes and mouth a little too long. She smiled back, uncomfortably, and said nothing. Perhaps he’d make her his personal bodyguard once Downing Street had been repaired and he was settled. He thought of the old saying, power corrupts, and laughed. He knew he’d been hopelessly corrupted the day his new leader had found him. Now he’d serve her as she demanded, and he was sure he’d have a lot more fun working for her than for the late Nigel Faraday. The tug disengaged and the spaceplane’s engines fired up, slowly pushing it towards the taxiway. Khan exhaled and closed his eyes, placing his hands behind his head. Victory was nearly complete. It was time to take the captain’s advice and relax for a while.
Then the plane jolted to a halt. Khan opened his eyes and saw flashing blue lights outside. His stomach lurched.
The two-minute wait for the air-stairs felt like an eternity. He knew what this meant. Never mind diplomatic immunity and convention—this must have been sanctioned at the highest levels.
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