Their Darkest Hour (16 page)

Alex stared at him, and then back down into the chamber.  “How long has this been here?”

“Some of it has been here since 1940,” Archer said, with some pride.  “We had some changed during 1944 when we got new equipment from America – and some more got changed during the 1950s.  And then the officials stopped visiting and we just kept on taking care of it.  And it has never been touched.”

“My God,” Alex said.  Now that he’d reminded her, she recalled a case where one such dump had been discovered fifty-odd years after the war.  The farmer who had been charged with taking care of it, knowing that he was growing older, had contacted the police, who’d reported it to the army.  Only in Britain could an entire repository of weapons and explosives meant for an underground resistance have been forgotten through bureaucratic oversight.  But of course they wouldn’t have wanted records.  They would have led the Germans – who had disarmed their subject peoples as a matter of course – right to the cache.  “What…what are you going to do with it?”

Archer let the hatch fall back down.  “I’m really too old to feel that I have much to lose,” he said.  “The country has been invaded, young lady, and I took an oath to carry on the fight even if the government has been destroyed or forced to surrender.  I intend to fight and I expect that you will fight with me against the bastards.”

There was no give in his voice.  Alex nodded, slowly.  He was right; there was little hope of linking up with what remained of her unit, but she could carry on the fight.  Maybe they were doomed, maybe the aliens could defeat them with ease…she shook her head.  They had to fight. 

It was the only hope of freedom.

“Very well,” she said.  “How many others know about this?”

“Not many,” Archer said, “but enough to start a small army.  And then we can teach them that humans don’t come cheap!”

Chapter Twelve

Near Salisbury Plain

United Kingdom, Day 2

“Coming through clear as day, sir,” the technician reported.  “It seems that the Yanks were right and the bastards can’t track microburst transmissions.”

Brigadier Gavin Lightbridge-Stewart nodded.  They hadn't been able to pull much information from the ongoing war in the United States, but the Americans had apparently had some success with stealth aircraft and UAVs.  The SAS had been loaned a Shadow Hawk UAV by the CIA to support British troops operating in the Middle East and it had survived the bombardment of British bases across the mainland.  It was currently orbiting high over Basingstoke, watching the alien land forces heading west, and relaying what it saw to the mobile command post. 

A small alien detachment had apparently been ordered to lay siege to Reading, with alien troops taking up positions on the roads and discouraging civilians from escaping by firing over their heads.  Despite that, a vast number of refugees had managed to leave the cities and towns and were currently scattered all over the area, often causing confusion and delays for the British military.  The aliens seemed to have fewer problems, if only because their standard response to anyone trying to get in their way was to open fire.  Their hover-tanks – or so the young soldiers on the front lines had dubbed them – seemed to combine the armour of a Challenger tank with the speed and agility of a far lighter vehicle.  It hadn't escaped Gavin’s sense of irony that they’d overrun Woking with terrifying speed.  If their infantry hadn't been slower than their tankers, they might well have crushed the remaining British defences before they’d had time to regroup.

Part of his mind mulled over what the alien technology and observed capabilities seemed to suggest about their motives.  They’d come as an army of occupation and they’d obviously come loaded for bear, but they seemed to lack the flexibility that every Western army tried to drill into its personnel.  They seemed to have poor coordination between the armour and infantry, a problem that had caused many defeats in human history.  In fact, given a level playing field – with no orbiting starships ready to drop rocks on their heads – he was sure that the 1
st
Armoured Division would have hammered the aliens.  Their coordination between their aircraft, their ground forces and their spacecraft was surprisingly limited.  It all suggested book-learning, rather than actual experience – and yet they were clearly experienced at taking control of their conquests.  The speed with which they’d found collaborators and pressed them into service proved that beyond all doubt.  It was all very odd.

But I bet the armies of Oliver Cromwell or King Charles would have had some problems understanding what we do as a matter of course
, he thought, wryly.  Maybe the logistics of an interstellar power worked differently to those on Earth.  There were seven
billion
humans on the planet, but for all he knew the aliens had seven billion soldiers and the ability to deploy them to Earth.  He rather hoped not, yet it remained a possibility. 

“Contact the advance parties,” he ordered.  At least they’d been able to set up some limited signalling capabilities.  The aliens struck the source of any transmission very quickly, but his men had set up a series of expendable transmitters.  “Tell them that they are cleared to engage at will.”

***

“I got the signal, boss,” one of the soldiers outside the Challenger II tank said.  “The enemy are on their way.”

“Understood,” the Commander said.  He’d never anticipated fighting an all-out war in the heart of the English countryside, but he was damned if he and his tank were to be found wanting when the shit hit the fan.  “You lot had better scarper.  We’ll be along presently.”

His tank and a handful of others had been involved in the exercises when the aliens had announced their presence by bombarding the garrisons around Salisbury Plain.  Shocked and horrified, he’d rallied his men and reported in to the remaining military command structure and had been ordered to take up a position watching the A342.  They’d used their remaining fuel getting there – it had been a nightmarish journey – but they’d made it.  He now scanned the horizon waiting for the first alien tanks to come into view.  They seemed to like human roads.

Absently, he patted the side of his Challenger.  Pound for pound, the Challenger had a fair claim to being one of the best Main Battle Tanks in the world – when tested, during the invasion of Iraq, they’d performed brilliantly.  As they were unable to retreat, he’d had his position heavily camouflaged and the tank’s engine switched off, leaving them – hopefully – undetectable.  If they were wrong – if they’d been tracked during the night – they’d probably die before they knew what had hit them.

Suddenly, much faster than he’d expected, he saw the first alien tank heading up the motorway.  He studied it with considerable interest, noting that it didn't seem to have been designed to face a modern environment.  Their armour hadn't been much better than anything in the human arsenal, according to the reports from London, and it didn't look as if they’d designed it to deflect incoming fire.  Maybe they only ever faced handguns, he considered, or perhaps they rarely had to go one-on-one with enemy tankers.  Or maybe...he shook his head.  There was no time for speculation.

“Take aim,” he ordered, quietly.  They’d get one shot, maybe two, and then they’d have to run for it.  Their escorts had left a few surprises down below for the alien infantry when they finally came into view, but they wouldn't be able to survive rocks dropped from orbit.  “On my command, fire and then switch to the next target.”

“Understood, boss,” the gunner said.  The tank’s heavy main gun rotated as it locked onto its target.  “Ready when you are...”

“Fire,” the Commander barked.  The Challenger shook as it fired a single shell towards the enemy tank.  “Reload and...”

The enemy tank went up in a colossal fireball.  “Good shot,” the Commander said, sharply.  “Take aim...fire!”

A second enemy tank died, followed rapidly by a third.  The fourth enemy tank returned fire, hurling a shell that went safely over their heads and came down somewhere in the distance.  They ignored the chance to take out a fourth enemy target and climbed out of their vehicle, running for dear life.  Another explosion shook the world around them as the enemy tank zeroed in on its target.  The Commander felt a moment of contempt.  He understood the rationale behind firing back as quickly as possible, but a
human
force wouldn't have missed so many times.  The aliens were out of practice...

He heard a whistling and then the world seemed to explode behind him, the force of the blast picking him up and hurling him into the ground at terrifying speed.  His last thought was the brief hope that some of his crew might have escaped...

***

“Get moving, you idiots,”
Tra’tro
The’Stig shouted.  The thrice-damned humans had shot up one of the infantry’s personnel carriers and instead of disembarking and taking the fight to their foes, the infantry unit inside was cowering.  They’d never been under fire before, even in the exercises, but that was no excuse.  “Get out before they hit you again!”

He cursed the humans again as the infantry unit finally started to disembark, half of them forgetting their training and looking as if they wanted to retreat at once.  The humans had shown a positive
gift
for preparing the ground, with nasty traps and snipers scattered everywhere.  If one of those human snipers happened to see a few dozen infantry without enough protection, he could wreak havoc without fear of retaliation. 

“Get moving,” he yelled, again, pointing them towards the small cluster of large human buildings on the outskirts of a small town.  The humans had hidden a small team there and if they moved quickly, they might manage to catch and kill the vermin before they escaped.  Small human teams had hit the advancing force, inflicted some kills and then broken off, obviously trying to bleed the assault units without risking themselves unduly.  “Kill the
Karna
-spawned devils before they kill you!”

A streak of lights fell to the ground some distance from their position, followed rapidly by a series of explosions that shook the world around him.  The humans had made a stand – but in making a stand, they’d revealed their own location.  At least they had no means to avoid bombardment from orbit, or the assault unit might have been chewed to ribbons before it finally broke through the human defences. 

He led the charge at the human building, relying on speed to protect him from any human fire.  Some of the infantry unit followed him, holding their own weapons at the ready, while others seemed stuck and unwilling to proceed further.  The’Stig cursed their cowardice in the face of the humans, even as he tried to restrain some of the others from charging onwards.  One of them ran through a doorway that seemed too large for mere humans, detonating a trap hidden within the building.  His body was flung backwards and he landed on the ground, torn to bloody ribbons.

“You can’t trust anything human,” he snarled, angrily.  A human vehicle seemed to be heading away from them, probably carrying the human soldiers who had stung his people so badly.  He pointed his weapon at the vehicle and fired off a long stream of bullets, watching as they slashed through the human vehicle and killed its passengers.  “Keep an eye on where you’re walking – and don’t relax, ever!”

The fighting seemed to be slacking off, but he knew that it was far from the end.  They hadn't beaten the humans at all, not really – they’d fallen back to new positions they’d prepared for the next engagement.  He wanted to know what was happening with the other assault units, but there was no way to know – it wasn't as if the Command Triad was going to bother to brief an ordinary infantry soldier.  Rumour, however, suggested that there was fighting going on all over Earth.  At least the humans would burn through their stockpiles of advanced weapons sooner rather than later.  But of course they’d know that themselves...

He wanted to relax, but he didn't dare, not when so many units had been mangled together.  It crossed his mind that he had probably shown that he deserved promotion – not that anyone would have noticed.  The commanders who should have been watching their troops for potential officers were either at the rear or had gotten themselves killed heroically.  He wondered, absently, if the humans had the same problem.  Maybe they weren't so alien after all.

***

“Dirty murdering bastards,” Corporal Tommy O’Neill muttered to himself.  From his vantage point, he could watch helplessly as an alien patrol stumbled over a group of human refugees – and murdered them in cold blood.  The humans hadn't even tried to fight, but it hadn't mattered.  They’d been shot down and their bodies left abandoned on the side of the road.  “Dirty fucking filthy murdering bastards.”