Their Darkest Hour (27 page)

Earth itself was an odd world.  It’s climate was rarely perfect, often being too hot or too dry.  The rainstorms they’d had just after landing had been refreshing, but they’d really been too cool for proper enjoyment.  It wasn't too surprising that the local weather patterns had been screwed up – the Land Forces had bombarded human bases and centres of resistance with KEWs, while the Chinese humans had been insane enough to use nuclear warheads against their own cities – and the weather experts promised that it would get better soon.  Indeed, they’d even pointed out that accelerating the greenhouse effect would make the planet warmer, melt the ice caps and generally make it more habitable.  He couldn't understand why so many humans seemed concerned about global warming.  Didn’t they
want
a warmer world?

But the human opinion didn't matter, not now that their world had been absorbed into the State.  They would learn to live on the reshaped world or die, while many of their fellows were shipped away to serve the State.  And then...

He glanced down at the drone’s feed as it shrilled a warning.  It was in danger!  Someone was using a seeker head to target it...he hesitated, convinced it had to be a malfunction, and then a flash of light in the sky marked the end of drone coverage.  And then the world blew up in his face.

***

It had been surprisingly easy to gain access to the maintenance tunnels running under the motorway.  Indeed, none of the soldiers could
think
why anyone would
want
the tunnels, but they’d come in handy.  They’d loaded enough explosive into the tunnels to blow up half the motorway, while lurking in ambush and waiting for the aliens to respond.  The destruction of their drone had been the only risky part of the ambush Chris had planned; if the aliens had realised that they were driving right into a trap, they might have deployed or simply turned back and called for reinforcements.  But everything had worked perfectly...

He watched in delight as the lead alien vehicle – a tank, he suspected – literally vanished within the blast.  Several human-built lorries were blown to atoms, their cargo picked up and scattered across the motorway.  He heard the sound of brakes as the other vehicles struggled to come to a stop, but it was far too late.  They crashed into the broken vehicles and caught fire themselves.  Two alien vehicles crammed with their soldiers managed to skim to one side and up the embankment, a display of initiative he wouldn’t have expected from the Leathernecks.  Not that it was going to help them.  He’d planned on the assumption that they wouldn't catch any of their escorts with the oversized IED.

“Go,” he bellowed.  Two Milan antitank missiles leapt towards their targets.  One slammed into an alien vehicle before the aliens had a chance to dismount, blowing the vehicle and its passengers into bloody chunks.  The other vehicle was luckier, or perhaps its commander had already issued the order to dismount before the aliens realised that they hadn’t escaped the trap completely.  Half of its passengers were already out when it was hit and sent careering into the motorway.  “Hit the bastards!”

He smiled as the two GPMGs opened fire with savage intensity, sweeping the alien positions down below.  An alien tank, bringing up the rear, skimmed around and opened fire, although it seemed that they were reluctant to risk coming any closer.  Chris couldn't blame them.  A Challenger II had been hit with a Milan and hundreds of RPGs in Iraq and survived, but few tankers would have been happy about driving straight up and charging into the teeth of antitank missiles.  The alien tank’s main gun fired twice, tossing high-explosive shells into the wood.  Chris had to admit that it was an effective tactic, assuming that the aliens didn't have any way to localise their enemies.  But why weren't they shooting back at the machine guns...

The alien infantry had responded with impressive speed.  Most of the survivors had taken cover and were firing back, trying to force the insurgents to keep back from the remains of the convoy.  A pair of human bodies on the ground suggested that they’d killed their collaborators, perhaps assuming that one of them had betrayed them to their enemies.  Or perhaps they’d been shocked and hadn't realised that the collaborators were their allies.  Chris waited long enough to be sure that all the aliens were out and fighting, and then he barked a second order.  The three L16 81mm mortars fired as one, tossing high explosive shells down into the teeth of the enemy position.  Their cover was effective against bullets, but the mortar shells landed
behind
their cover, tearing their positions apart.  The aliens appeared to be tougher than humans – they certainly had tougher skin – yet they couldn't stand up to mortar shells landing far too close to them.  Fire spread through the remaining vehicles as the second round of mortars was fired, just before the mortar teams started breaking down the weapons.  They’d been reluctant to leave ahead of the rest when the plan had been drawn up, but Chris had been insistent.  Moving a single mortar without a vehicle was difficult – artillerymen were
strong
– and they'd slow the rest of the unit down if they attempted to leave together.

He cursed as the alien tank reversed course and fled, denying him the satisfaction of a complete victory.  Seeing it run puzzled him; whatever else one could say about the Leathernecks, they weren't cowards.  Perhaps the tank commander had thought better of remaining close to antitank weapons, or perhaps his superiors had decided that it wasn't a good idea to risk losing another tank.  It took far too long to produce a human-designed Main Battle Tank.  God alone knew how long it took the aliens.

Another series of explosions ran through what remained of the convoy, followed by an uneasy silence, broken only by the sound of fire.  Chris barked an order and his men held fire, staring down at the wreckage.  Most of them had seen action in Afghanistan, but even the Taliban hadn't been able to wreck so much devastation on a British convoy.  The training and equipment of Coalition forces had given them an advantage.  He looked down for a long moment, and then nodded to the rest of his platoon.  Carefully, weapons at the ready, they headed down towards the convoy.

Up close, there was something eerie about the alien vehicles, something that suggested that their designers worked from different ideas about how the universe worked.  Their armour didn't seem to be quite up to human standards, although Chris was uneasily aware that once they ran out of antitank missiles, it was likely to be a great deal harder to inflict losses on the alien vehicles.  He glanced inside one and saw a set of charred alien bodies, blackened and burned by the heat.  The stench was appalling.  He had to fight to keep himself from throwing up his lunch into the alien vehicle.

“Look for prisoners,” he bellowed, although he had no hope of finding any.  The alien soldiers had been caught by the mortars and shredded.  He moved from vehicle to vehicle, glancing inside and shaking his head at the carnage.  Judging from the remains of some of the human trucks, they’d been transporting food rather than weapons.  He couldn't blame the aliens for being reluctant to arm their collaborators.  Who knew when a collaborator might change his mind?

The final vehicle – an alien troop transport – had been tipped on its side.  Most of the aliens inside were clearly dead, but one was alive – if badly wounded.  A human wounded so badly would need immediate hospital treatment – he flashed back to waiting on Afghanistan’s plains for a medical chopper, knowing that the Taliban would shoot if down if they could – yet he had no idea if the alien could be saved.  He met dark expressionless eyes and shivered, studying the alien’s wounds as dispassionately as he could.  Inky dark blood was leaking out of gashes in the leathery skin and spilling onto the ground.  It didn't seem to be congealing like human blood.

“I’m sorry,” he told the alien, as he pointed his Browning at the alien’s face.  It seemed to sigh and bow it’s head, an oddly-human motion that tore at his heart.  He pulled the trigger once, putting a bullet right through the alien’s brains.  Oddly, the alien skull seemed to take the shot better than a human skull.  He hesitated for a moment, and then scrambled out back onto the motorway.  The sound of approaching helicopters could be heard in the distance.

He glanced back at where they’d hidden the IED.  There was now a colossal hole in the motorway, leaving a major problem for the aliens to solve if they wanted to continue sending trucks to London.  Their own hover-vehicles wouldn't have any problems navigating if they just shoved a small pile of earth into the hole, but any human-designed vehicle would have to be very careful.  He scrambled up the embankment, hearing the sound of helicopters approaching from the west growing louder.  The enemy tank that had withdrawn from combat – although the statements on the internet would say that it had fled – had clearly summoned reinforcements.  He smiled as he saw the two helicopters finally come into view.  They were moving slowly, dancing about as if they expected to run right into a trap of their own.  Maybe they’d managed to spook an alien commander...

“Time to go,” he said.  Most of the unit had already bugged out, leaving only his platoon behind.  He did have a pair of soldiers with Stingers to cover their retreat if the aliens decided to forget caution and come after them with everything they had.  Hopefully it wouldn't be necessary.  They had fewer Stingers than he would have liked.  “We did good work today.”

***

Tra’tro
The’Stig dismounted from the transport and ran towards what remained of the convoy, hunting for survivors.  At first glance, it seemed that there would be none, but orders from his superiors insisted that the effort be made.  It didn't take a genius to realise that someone higher up was starting to wonder if there had been too many casualties on Earth, even though it had only been a handful of days since they’d landed.  Given a few months or years, long before the first reports reached the State, they’d have pounded the humans into submission.

Or at least forced them to expend their advanced weapons
, he thought, ruefully.  This part of the world didn't seem to be as heavily armed as some others.  The Russian humans seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of weapons, while the American humans seemed to have scattered weapons everywhere.  Some parts of America had been crushed without the need for further fighting, but other parts were too far from the population centres to be brought under their control.  At least Britain was small enough that the bases could support each other – although that meant less than it seemed.  A planet was
big
. 

His radio buzzed.  “Report,” an insistent voice demanded.  The’Stig snorted, quietly enough not to be heard.  No doubt it was someone senior enough not to be out on the front lines.  “How many survivors have there been?”

“None,” he reported, after a moment.  There was a long pause, allowing him a chance to spy a couple of human bodies amid the wreckage.  He tried to tell himself that they were human insurgents, but it seemed more likely that they were collaborators.  The human insurgents seemed determined not to leave their bodies behind.  “I cannot find any bodies.”

“Understood,” the voice said.  “Please stand by...”

The’Stig snorted again and started to issue orders to the rest of his unit.  They’d scout around and secure the area, maybe pick up on the human trail before they had a chance to go to ground.  And then maybe they could extract a little revenge.  Maybe...

Because if losing convoys became a habit, they were going to start running short of supplies.  And if they had to start using shuttles again, they would risk losing them...

And then their ultimate victory would be in doubt.

And
that
would risk bringing in other powers.

Chapter Twenty-One

London

United Kingdom, Day 21

“How many people are down there?”

“At least five thousand,” Gerald Rivers said.  The Chief Constable looked uneasy.  His policemen were out there, without any weapons more dangerous than water cannons and CS gas.  The aliens had forbidden weapons even for those guarding their collaborators.  “There will be more when people realise that the aliens aren’t going to do anything to stop them.”

Alan cursed.  Down below, outside the security perimeter he’d had erected around his headquarters, thousands of protesters were gathering.  The raids and arrests had galvanised large sections of London, bringing thousands of people out onto the streets.  He couldn't help, but remember how crowds had toppled a number of regimes across the Middle East – or how they’d pressured the British Government during the run-up to Iraq.  And the crowd below transcended racial or religious borders.  The first series of arrests might have been targeted on Islamic families, but the next series had been equal-opportunity repression.