Their Darkest Hour

Chapter Nineteen

London

United Kingdom, Day 15

From a distance, the old garage looked harmless. Just another old business, struggling to stay afloat in the depression — and perhaps making questionable deals with criminals or terrorists to keep the money rolling in. But Sergeant Terry Graves knew better than to relax. CO19 — the Central Operations Specialist Firearms Command — had broken into terrorist bases before and, no matter how innocent they looked, they often had unpleasant surprises waiting for unwary armed police officers. The irony didn’t amuse him as he beckoned the rest of the team forward, leaving two men behind to watch from a safe distance. They’d been sent into battle unarmed, at least without firearms. The alien ban on human firearms was still firmly in place.

Terry cursed silently under his breath as they crept closer. In an ideal world, he and his team would be fighting the aliens — and they’d had time to conceal a small number of firearms around London in places they could reach them if the shit hit the fan. But for the moment, they had no choice, apart from collaboration. And if they failed to catch the insurgents who had struck out at the aliens, the aliens would take steps of their own. Given their willingness to use indiscriminate weapons fire in the midst of the civilian population, he had no doubt just how bloody and violent their steps would be.

He held up a hand as he inspected the garage’s door. It was quite possible, judging by the blast that had levelled an entire technical college, that they weren’t dealing with would-be terrorists at all. The moron who’d driven the truck could have been told that he would have time to make his escape, or maybe he’d known that he was going to die. And the person behind him, far from being an international terrorist, might be someone trained and armed by the British Army. Terry had seen enough SAS troopers during their cross-training sessions to dread the possibility that one of them might have gone rogue.

The thought made him snort. From what they’d been able to pick up from the internet, the remains of the British military had been ordered to carry on the fight for as long as possible. They weren’t chasing a rogue, but someone intent on carrying out his orders and hurting the aliens until he was finally hunted down and killed. There might be an entire team of Regiment soldiers waiting for them, or perhaps they had already vanished, leaving no traces behind. Terry envied them their freedom of action. His own family had been moved to a place where they were being held — for their own good, of course. And if he turned against the aliens, they would kill his entire family.

They seem to be getting an idea of what makes us tick, he thought, sourly. God knows how long they were watching us from space. They don’t seem to be particularly subtle at all — do as we want or we will kill you. And if you vanish, we will kill your family…

The garage seemed deserted, but he clutched his baton tightly as he pushed at the door. There was a single click and then the door swung open, revealing a deserted interior. It looked as if someone had been busy — there were tools scattered everywhere — but they had clearly abandoned the building. Judging from the skill shown by the bomb-maker, he’d probably assumed that the suicide bomber would have been caught on camera and traced back to his base. Someone from the Regiment would have known just how the Met used the CCTV network to look backwards in time and try to localise a terrorist base. Or catch bad parkers, for that matter.

He beckoned two other officers inside and they spread out, checking for traps while carefully not touching anything that might carry fingerprints or DNA evidence. The pit below where the van had rested was deeper than he expected, suggesting that the original owner of the garage must have been a very tall man. Or perhaps he’d just been an expert at scrambling out of pits. There was no sign of a ladder or any other way back to the ground floor.

“In here,” one of the officers muttered. “I found papers.”

Terry followed his gaze. The back of the garage was a small office, stinking of half-eaten kebabs and burgers. Judging from the smell, the food had to have been decomposing for several days, perhaps a week. London’s endless series of kebab houses had been shutting down as supplies from outside the city tapered off, leaving the population dependent upon the tasteless alien muck. It struck him as odd that an SAS soldier would leave contaminated food behind, but maybe it was intended to deter intruders. He certainly wouldn’t have wanted to go into the office without a gas mask and perhaps a flamethrower. The forensic team were going to have to wear full NBC suits if they wanted to pull anything useful out of the room.

“Maybe they left something behind to tell us where they were going,” the officer said. Terry doubted it. It was rather more likely that the garage’s owner had left the papers behind, wherever he was now. Teams of researchers were already looking through the records to see what had happened to him — maybe he’d registered with the aliens — but Terry wasn’t too hopeful that they would lead the Met to the bomb-maker. It was far more likely that it would be nothing more than a wild goose chase. “Or perhaps…”

He opened one of the drawers, a second before Terry could shout out a warning. There was a second click, followed by a wave of fire that blasted out and into the garage. Terry yelled in pain as his skin burned, even as he stumbled backwards trying to find the way out. The flames were spreading with terrifying speed, suggesting that the entire garage had been rigged to catch fire quickly and efficiently. He felt as if he’d caught fire himself… somehow, gasping for breath, he managed to find his way out without falling into the repair pit. Another officer wasn’t so lucky; Terry watched in horror as he fell, just before the flames roared into the pit. They seemed to be almost crawling across the ground towards the policemen. He heard a scream that cut off seconds later.

Outside, he could hear the sounds of fire engines already on their way. It was far too late. The flames had consumed much of the evidence, if there had ever been any evidence at all — it was, he realised grimly, a trap intended to kill a number of policemen as well as wipe the slate clean. It was clear that the bomb-maker had a nasty sense of humour.

His skin still burning, he found a place to sit and waited for the fire brigade. Somehow, he was sure that they wouldn’t find anything in the ruins of the garage. The bomber had gotten clean away.

Robin glanced up at his small force of policemen. They were all wearing riot-control gear, which should provide some protection if the situation turned violent. And it might well turn violent — Londoners weren’t used to seeing hundreds of people torn from their homes and transferred to detention camps, even during the terrifying days after suicide bombers had struck the London Underground. People might resist — and if they did, it was likely to get bloody. And they’d still been denied firearms. The aliens had promised that they would have a force on standby to help out the police if necessary, but Robin was determined not to call on them. They’d kill civilians indiscriminately in the name of restoring order.

The vans pulled up outside the house and halted. Robin opened the doors and led the way out and up to the door, pressing down hard on the buzzer. A second team had been deployed to the back of the house, where it would snatch up anyone trying to climb out the rear window. There was a brief pause, and then a middle-aged Asian woman opened the door, her dark eyes clearly armed. The police weren’t very popular in this part of London, despite attempts to recruit more officers from ethnic minorities. And they were about to become a great deal less popular…

Robin grabbed her, frisked her with casual efficiency, and then spun her around and slapped on the cuffs. She let out a yelp of shock that became a scream when he shoved her into the arms of another policeman, who would put her out in the garden until they’d rounded up everyone in the house. Her yelp brought two teenage boys out to see what was going on; Robin barked at them to keep their hands where he could see them, just before taking advantage of their shock to handcuff the lead youth. The second tried to swing a punch at Robin, only to be sent falling to his knees when Robin slammed his baton into his chest. He vomited, but Robin had no time to see to his health. As soon as the cuffs were on, he crashed onwards, into the next room. Two younger girls were cooking something that smelt hot and spicy; he gave them a moment to turn off the gas before cuffing both of them and pushing them outside.

Five other policemen had clumped up the stairs, finding three middle-aged gentlemen and an elderly lady who looked old enough to be Robin’s great-grandmother. Her ID card claimed that she was sixty. The policemen cuffed her anyway, shouting at the men to keep them subdued as they were hauled downstairs. Robin kicked his way into the suicide bomber’s room, but saw little of interest apart from some pamphlets produced by radical fundamentalists calling on the Muslim community to rise up and slaughter the infidel. He picked a new-looking booklet up and glanced at it, realising that the fundamentalist arseholes had demoted America from Great Satan to Middle Satan. The aliens seemed to be the new Great Satan, although he wasn’t sure why. He’d heard that some fundamentalists were claiming that the aliens had bombed Mecca, but as far as he’d been able to tell they’d largely ignored the Middle East. The region was sinking into chaos after they’d smashed the military bases and left the rest of the region to sink or swim on its own.

Outside, a crowd was already gathering. The policemen ignored them as the next set of vans pulled up, ready to take the prisoners to the detention camp. Robin shuddered as the prisoners set off an awful racket, yelling and screaming for help from their fellow Muslims — and everyone else in the area. He felt sick at what he was doing — the Nazis had done the same to the Jews, as well as everyone else who’d incurred their hatred — but there was no choice. The looks some of the civilians were giving him suggested that they wouldn’t accept his excuses, or his self-justifications. They saw him as a monster serving an inhuman enemy.

But we’ve no choice, he wanted to shout. They can kill the entire human race.

A rock was thrown by one of the crowd, followed rapidly by a small volley of stones, bricks and bottles. Robin ducked for cover as objects began to bounce off the side of the vans, or strike policemen. They were wearing armour, but no body armour was totally perfect. Two of the policemen fell to the ground, bleeding. One of them was caught up by the advancing mob and stomped to death.

Damn you, Robin thought. Don’t you know what the aliens will do to you?

He barked an order and the water cannons activated, spraying water over the advancing crowd. They staggered backwards, some of them choking for breath as the hose was played right over their faces. Some of them seemed to have the sense to run, but others seemed far too aware that the police vans could only carry a small amount of water. A few minutes and they’d run out completely. And then they’d be forced to use the gas…

The engines roared to life and he barked orders. They’d have to leave the body of their fallen comrade behind, even though it tore at him to leave it. The only way to recover the body was to use gas — and he wasn’t ready to use it unless they were in desperate straits. He watched as the remaining policemen scrambled for the vans, and then beat a hasty retreat. Absently, he wondered how the other teams were coping. The aliens had designated three hundred relatives of the suicide bomber and his friends for capture. Some of them would probably be arrested easily, but the others…? The Islamic community might hide them from the aliens.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding as the vans lurched down the empty streets. They’d made it out without having to kill any of the civilians. But next time…

Next time, he was sure, it would be a different story.

“I strongly suggest that you don’t go any further,” a man’s voice said. “You’re already in deep shit.”

Fatima jumped. She’d been walking home from the bomb site, lost in her own thoughts — and yet surely someone should not have been able to surprise her. The streets of London weren’t safe — hell, they hadn’t been safe before the invasion. She had been asked to take up lodgings at one of the hospitals, but she’d declined. There was no way to explain it to her stepmother. Respectable girls lived in the family home until they married, whereupon they moved to their husband’s home and found themselves slaving for their mother-in-law.

“Don’t worry,” the man said. “I’m on your side. Call me Abdul.”

“Right,” Fatima said. She’d met men who thought that they were God’s gift to women before, brimming with unjustified confidence… but this man seemed to be more relaxed than confident. “What’s going on…?”

She glanced around the corner and stopped, dead. There looked to be a small army of policemen outside her house, and a growing crowd of friends, relatives and neighbours surrounding the policemen. As she watched, her stepmother was hauled out by two of the policemen and dumped in the garden, her hands cuffed behind her backs. The rest of her extended family followed moments later. Fatima realised, in growing shock, that she would have been arrested herself if she’d been in the house.

Abdul caught her arm. For once, she wasn’t offended at a man touching her without an invitation. “Walk with me,” he hissed. She could feel his breath against her ear even though the scarf. “Pretend we’re a married couple and walk slowly. We don’t want to attract attention.”

Behind her, Fatima heard the sound of angry shouting in three different languages and the sound of hosepipes. She felt her heart clench inside her as they walked away, nearly fainting when a row of police vans shot past them and down the road at terrifying speed. The district was normally crammed with cars inching their way through the streets, but now it was empty, allowing the police to move fast. And they were taking her family away… she wanted to scream after them, but what good would it have done?

Abdul looked down at her. Oddly, she felt safe with him. “I’m afraid your… cousin managed to blow himself up earlier this morning,” he said. “The police — and the Leathernecks — identified him and marked your family down for retaliation. You’re a wanted woman now, I’m afraid. The moment you show that ID card of yours, they’ll snatch you up and put you in one of the camps.”

Fatima stared at him. “How do you know that?” She demanded. Something else crossed her mind. “And who are you?”

“My name is Abdul,” Abdul repeated. “And I’m part of the resistance. And now so are you.”

They reached a small apartment block, one that catered to students at London’s universities. Some of the students, Fatima had heard, had managed to get permission from the aliens to return home, while others had found themselves trapped in London. It seemed an odd place to hide a resistance cell, but it did make a certain kind of sense. The landlords would be used to people coming and going at all hours of the day and they’d turn a blind eye to certain activities. They walked up two flights of stairs and entered a small suite of rooms, clearly ones that had been abandoned in a hurry. Somehow, she was sure that Abdul himself wasn’t a student. He walked more like a mature and experienced man of the world. The kind of man her cousins had wanted to become.

“But I can’t,” she protested, finally. Her entire body was shaking. She had to be in shock, she realised. Her entire life had just fallen down around her. God alone knew what would happen to her family. “I can’t just leave and… I’ve got patients to see!”

“The moment you show yourself,” Abdul said, kindly, “they will arrest you. There’ll probably be a reward on your head before too long. You can’t do anything for your patients now — the only thing you can do is get yourself arrested.”

He placed one hand on her shoulder. “We have this flat for the next fortnight, at least,” he added. “Get a shower, have a long rest — and I’ll see you tonight. You’re a doctor — the resistance could make use of you. Certainly better use than the aliens could…”

Fatima found her voice. “But what will happen to my family?”

Abdul looked, just for a second, uncharacteristically guilty. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “but I don’t think it will be anything good. It’s rather more likely that they will execute them — to encourage the others, as they say. The only thing you can do now is help us to avenge them.”

Fatima watched him go, her mind spinning. Her world had turned upside down… and she couldn’t even cry. What could she do now?