Their Darkest Hour

Chapter Twenty

Near Gayhurst

United Kingdom, Day 20

“I just got the buzz,” Private Cole muttered. “The Leathernecks are on their way.”

“How unlucky for the Leathernecks,” Chris Drake muttered back. The aliens were certainly predicable, all right. It seemed odd that they made mistakes that human armies had learned to avoid, but from what he could tell, they might have good reason to believe that this particular alien routine wasn’t dangerous. There were reports suggesting that, two days ago, several men armed with hunting rifles and shotguns had tried to take on an alien convoy. They’d been killed without harming a single alien. “How long do we have?”

“Fifteen minutes, at most,” Cole warned. “Maybe less. They do seem to speed up from time to time.”

Chris shrugged. The alien hover-tanks moved at speeds that Challenger tanks would have found flatly impossible. Even the smaller armoured vehicles in the British Army — or the barely-armoured Snatch Land Rover — would have had trouble matching their speed. But human trucks and lorries were slower and the aliens, it seemed, were willing to press human drivers into service to help their logistics. It stood to reason that they’d prefer to use human labour where possible, but it didn’t seem to have occurred to their commanders that this meant that their convoys were slower than they might have preferred. Or perhaps their commanders simply didn’t care. Chris had encountered a couple of senior officers who issued orders that forced the soldiers on the ground to do more with less — and mistook the map for the terrain. And given that the aliens seemed alarmingly inflexible, they probably didn’t give their troops on the ground any latitude at all.

Of course, we had to learn, didn’t we? He thought to himself. I wonder if we’ll be the lucky ones who run into an alien junior officer with the guts — or family connections — to do his own thing…?

The M1 motorway was one of the longest motorways in Britain, connecting London to Leeds. It had also been one of the busiest, at least until the aliens had arrived and managed to do what years of protest and campaigning by environmental freaks hadn’t. Now, the motorways were almost deserted, used only by the aliens and their collaborators. Indeed, a handful of shot-up cars signified the dangers of using the motorways in a world where armed men were intent on waging war against the occupiers. Most families were conserving what little petrol they had left for emergencies.

From his vantage point in Gayhurst Wood, he could see the eerily deserted motorway stretching away into the distance. The aliens seemed to be running regular convoys up and down Britain’s motorway network, supplying their bases around British cities. In fact, Chris knew that a number of other attacks had been planned over the coming few days, although he hadn’t been given any specifics. It was strange to feel as if they were both isolated and connected to the resistance underground, but there was little choice. The aliens would presumably have no qualms about using torture to get information out of prisoners.

But we still don’t know what they do to military prisoners, he thought, grimly. The resistance had attempted to trace the prisoners, using assets within the police forces that were serving the aliens, but they’d been unable to come up with any answers. All military personnel had been handed over to the aliens and taken away to an unknown destination. Given that the aliens ruled the entire world, it was quite possible that they’d been taken overseas, perhaps to the Middle East. Or maybe to Antarctica.

He pushed the thought aside as the sensor beside him started to bleep. They might not have any active radars any more, but they could tell when the aliens were using radar — and when one of their drones was heading towards their position. The aliens used drones to provide an outer layer of security for their convoys, a trick that probably explained why they’d picked off the civilian insurgents before they’d had a chance to spring their ambush. This time, however, things were going to be different.

“Get ready,” he muttered. The moment they revealed themselves, the aliens would try to cut them down, perhaps by using something like a drone-mounted Hellfire missile. It was astonishing how advanced UAVs had become in the years since 9/11. Even the Taliban hadn’t been up to evading their unblinking gaze. “Engage as soon as they come into range.”

Nr’ta Silick studied the live feed from the constantly orbiting drone and relaxed, slightly. The humans were determined opponents, far tougher than anyone else they’d encountered at a comparable technological level, but they clearly didn’t realise how easily their movements could be monitored by the Land Forces. A handful of convoys had been hit by concealed explosives and snipers, yet they’d never managed to take on a whole convoy — and never would. Their failure to develop space like any sane race left a gaping hole in their capabilities, one that a truly advanced race could use against them.

He snorted at the thought. The troopers who’d led the first landings on Earth had warned the reinforcement units that humans were sneaky, but he hadn’t seen any evidence of human sneakiness in the four days since he’d landed on Earth. Sure, they’d managed to use treachery to kill many troopers, yet they’d also killed thousands of their own kind. No race, even one as strange as humanity, would carry one like that — their own kind would turn against them. And the humans who drove the trucks were properly loyal. They knew their place — and they also knew that any sign of disloyalty would result in their families being executed.

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.