Their Darkest Hour

Chapter Seven

Long Stratton

United Kingdom, Day 1

“I saw you come down,” a voice called. Alex barely heard him. “Are you all right?”

Alex shook her head. Her entire body was shaking with post-combat stress. She’d left RAF Coningsby expecting nothing more challenging than a routine patrol and an attempt to intercept one of the mysterious ‘ghosts.’ Well, the ghosts weren’t a mystery any more, were they? They belonged to the bastards who had blown Davidson out of the sky and shot her down, whoever they were. She’d practiced ejecting before, but she’d never had to eject from a Typhoon in the midst of a battle… she cursed her own weakness as she tried to stand up. Her legs refused to cooperate and she stumbled before grasping the proffered hand gratefully.

“I… thank you,” she managed. Normally, a pilot bailing out of an aircraft would have been tracked by ground-based radar stations and a SAR helicopter dispatched from the nearest base. Now, she had the unpleasant feeling that the rest of the RAF had more important things to worry about than a single Typhoon pilot. The explosions she’d seen as she drifted down to the field suggested that the entire country was under attack. “Do you have a mobile phone?”

“I tried to call an ambulance when I saw your parachute,” the farmer said. He looked older than her father, but there was a toughness around him that reminded her of the RAF Regiment soldiers who guarded the RAF’s airbases. His face was tanned by the sun. “There’s no signal at all.”

Somehow, Alex wasn’t surprised. The unknowns — whoever they were — had to have taken out the communications satellites, as well as jamming ordinary radio frequencies. There was no reason why they couldn’t jam mobile phones as well. She cursed under her breath as she realised that she wasn’t entirely sure where she was, or how to report in to whatever remained of her unit. The country was at war and she had enlisted to defend it. She needed to return to the base. And that might be impossible.

“I can take you down to the farm,” the farmer offered. He held out a calloused hand. “My name’s Giles, Giles Smith. I own the land about here.”

“Alex,” Alex offered, as they shook hands. “I didn’t mean to land on your farm…”

“Don’t worry about it,” the farmer said. He frowned, for a long moment. “I don’t suppose you know what those flashes I saw in the distance were?”

Alex filled him in on what little she knew as they walked down towards the farmhouse. It was a neat little building, surrounded by a field of sheep and cows, almost like something from a bygone era. She would have been charmed if she hadn’t been so worried about the situation — and the smell from the fields. The people who suggested that humanity should abandon technology and go back to the land had never smelled the countryside. She was happy with air conditioning and filtering.

Inside, she allowed the farmer’s wife to give her a cup of tea while she tried to call the base. The telephone line buzzed and clicked alarmingly, and then went dead, without even a dial tone. At Smith’s suggestion, she tried the internet and was pleasantly surprised to discover that the farmhouse had broadband. Smith explained, when she asked, that the farmhouse often played host to young people and they all demanded internet access.

“And the wife likes watching streaming video from London,” he added with a wink. “I know better than to get in her way.”

Alex smiled as she tried to access MILNET through the internet connection. It should have accepted her password and allowed her access, but the link seemed to keep dropping out, as if some of the network nodes were malfunctioning. The unknown enemy had launched their attack without being detected, at least until it was far too late. There was no reason why they couldn’t have launched a cyber-attack as well and taken out most of the military’s secure network. The pilots had briefed that that was supposed to be impossible, but the unknowns had done far too much that should also have been impossible.

Finally, the system blinked up a warning; enemy troops in London and several other cities. Alex stared at the screen, not quite believing her eyes. How could anyone have simply landed in London? Where the hell was the rest of the RAF? The thought — the thought that she had been trying to avoid — floated back to the surface of her mind. She’d been blown out of the sky, along with her wingman. It was quite possible that the remainder of the RAF had met the same fate, or had been caught and destroyed on the ground. Who the hell were they fighting?

A set of general orders, directed to soldiers and TA reservists, flickered into existence. They were ordered to make their way out of the cities and rendezvous with officers at certain locations, each referred to with a different codename. Alex stared at them, before realising that whoever had taken command of the British military wouldn’t have wanted to put their instructions on the military network, no matter how secure it was supposed to be. The unknowns were probably monitoring every move they made.

But she had no idea where to go. The RAF had never anticipated needing to establish covert rendezvous points, certainly not since the end of the Cold War. She could find a list of military bases online, yet the chances were good that they had been destroyed or attacked and occupied by the unknowns. The unknowns… their enemy didn’t even have a face! Who the hell were they fighting?

She clicked on one of the options and an answer, of sorts, floated up in front of her eyes. Aliens. It seemed impossible, but so did the ghosts — the ghost aircraft that had blown her out of the sky and killed her wingman. She covered her eyes for a long moment, feeling the world spinning around her, and then looked back up at the screen. The damning words were still there.

“Aliens,” she whispered. How long had it been since she’d watched the television show where the RAF had accidentally shot down a UFO, only to find themselves caught in the middle of a war between two alien races? Years… she’d been a child at the time. “It’s not possible…”

But she could think of no other possible explanation.

Smith came back into the room and she filled him in, leaving out nothing. The farmer listened carefully, without interrupting, and then nodded. “I suspected as much,” he admitted, after she’d finished. “The BBC has been raving about monsters in London. They must have seen the aliens…”

“But what do they want?” Alex asked, helplessly. “What does puny Earth have that they might want for themselves?”

“I have no idea,” Smith said. He shrugged. “Listen; I have to go to the Parish Council and tell them what’s going on. God alone knows what’s going to happen if London’s been occupied and we have to see to the crops. Lots of people might come running out of the cities and heading for the farms. I’d like you to come with me.”

Alex hesitated, and then nodded just as her stomach rumbled loudly. “Have something to eat first,” Mrs Smith said, firmly. “And you as well, Giles. You don’t eat enough as it is.”

Alex had never been to Long Stratton before, but Smith was happy to fill her in as they rumbled into the town and headed towards the Town Hall. Long Stratton was a civil parish with a population of roughly three thousand people, many of whom seemed to be thronging the streets as if they expected answers to be handed down from above. It struck her that many people around the country would have only seen explosions or heard thunderclaps, or perhaps listened to the ranting from the BBC — and wouldn’t have the slightest idea of what was going on. How long would it be, she asked herself, before confusion turned into panic? And how long would it be before the aliens made their demands known to humanity?

Smith parked by the Town Hall and nodded towards the old-style stone church. “There’ll be hundreds of people there, seeking guidance,” he said, softly. “Everyone knows everyone else here, not like in the big cities. We have a real community here, despite everything London can do to ruin it. Little green men aren’t going to take this place from us without a fight.”

Alex kept her opinions to herself. Some of the farmers would have shotguns, or hunting rifles, but most of the population would be unarmed. It was quite possible that they could produce Molotov Cocktails and other makeshift weapons, yet how could they stand up to the alien onslaught? The defenders of Long Stratton and its sister towns might just be marking themselves for extermination. What was her duty to them if they decided to challenge the aliens directly?

Smith led her into the Town Hall after a brief chat with the policeman standing outside, looking rather worried. Alex saw his hand toying with his radio and realised that the police in Long Stratton had been cut off from London by alien jamming. She thought about telling him what she knew, and then realised that it would be pointless. He couldn’t do anything about it, but panic. Shaking her head, she allowed Smith to lead her into a small room. Three men were gathered there, looking deeply worried. She smiled inwardly as they saw her uniform and frowned, uncertain what to make of her presence. God alone knew what she was going to tell them.

“This is the Parish Council, or as much of them as could be assembled,” Smith said, without preamble. “Rupert Leigh; Tory MP for his sins, but a good man outside politics.” A tall thin man nodded impatiently. “Timmy Simpson; used to farm quite a bit, but now pretty much retired.” Simpson snorted, making a gesture with his fingers that suggested counting money. He was an older man, with a hunch that suggested that he was bowed under some great weight. “And the Reverend Macpherson, shepherd of our little flock.”

“I should be in the Church,” Reverend Macpherson said, shortly. “People need to come together and pray to God for guidance.”

Smith nodded and started to outline what he’d heard from Alex, starting with the story of how he’d found her in his field. Halfway through, when he reached the bit about aliens, all three of the councillors stared at her. They looked as if they wanted to call in the policeman and have the pair of them arrested for public drunkenness. Smith finished by reminding them of some of the more hysterical statements on the BBC — “we live in strange times,” he said.

“I wish I didn’t believe you,” Leigh said. His voice had an upper-class edge that reminded Alex of a certain breed of officer. They’d sounded as if they’d been absolutely certain about everything too. “But aliens… dear God, what are we going to do when we tell the people?”

“We shall inform them in the Church,” the Reverend said. “They will have time to reflect on God’s will instead of panicking.”

Leigh snorted. “But what are we going to do?”

Alex had been giving the matter some thought. “They made us study recent military history back when I was a trainee pilot,” she said. “The first few hours after an invasion are always the most dangerous for ordinary people, because the occupation force will be on edge and unsure of its ground. You may not see very many aliens this far from London, or they may decide to take stock of the entire country. I think you need to consider what you’re going to do when they arrive — and what you’re going to do about others.”

She scowled. “Right now, London and a dozen other cities are war zones,” she continued. “The population is going to start fleeing the cities and heading for the countryside. You’re not that far from Norwich — and that’s got upwards of three hundred thousand people who will find themselves starving very quickly. What happens when they start flooding the farms? You have food here — and animals that can be slaughtered for human consumption. What are you going to do when they arrive?”

“There’s the police,” Leigh said, slowly.

“I think you have to assume that the police and the military have been knocked on the head,” Alex said. She didn’t want to admit it, but it was quite possible. “Even if there is still a working government and military out there, they are going to have more on their hands than helping you. You need to start planning for the worst.”

“Good God,” Leigh said. He stared down at the table, helplessly. “I don’t think that there is anything we can do if the situation is that bad. We can’t hold back swarms of starving humans…”

“We may have no choice,” Simpson said, flatly. “Do you want to wait and see your families starving because you gave all your food to refugees?”

“I would remind you,” the Reverend said sharply, “that charity is your duty towards your fellow man. Remember the parable of the Good Samaritan.”

“The Good Samaritan,” Simpson replied, “was in no danger.”

He shook his head, slowly. “We may be in serious trouble anyway,” he warned. “It isn’t as if we keep stockpiles of food and seeds out here — normally, we could just order the supplies when we needed them. How dependent are we on the rest of the world? International trade is probably shot to hell.”

“No doubt,” Alex agreed.

“Then we put it to the vote,” Leigh said. “We can speak to the people in the Church — ask them to work together to safeguard our farms and the rest of our property. And then we can hope that this whole crisis is just going to blow over.”

“Hark at him,” Simpson crowed. He laughed, unpleasantly. “Stupid politicians always think that the world will go back to normal if they just keep their eyes closed long enough. The country has been invaded, you idiot! Even if the army does manage to give those thieving bastards a damn good thrashing, do you think that anything is going to be the same ever again? Really? I want some of whatever you’ve been smoking.”

Leigh reddened, but he somehow managed to keep his voice calm. “If the worst does happen, we’re probably doomed,” he said. “I refuse to stop hoping for the best even as I try to prepare for the worst.”

“Typical politician,” Simpson said. He looked up at Alex, amused malice glinting in his brown eyes. “You want to bet that we’re all dead a week from today?”

“That will do,” the Reverend said. He stood up from the table. “I believe that it is time to sound the bells and summon the townspeople to the Church. We can tell them what we know and then we can decide what to do.” He looked over at Alex. “I’d like you to remain at hand. You may be needed to answer questions.”

“I don’t know what else I can tell you,” Alex admitted. “I’ve told you everything I know.”

Simpson shrugged. “Some people will probably feel better knowing that someone in a uniform is telling them not to worry,” he said. “Back in the War” — it took Alex a moment to realise that he meant the Second World War — “they used to tell us to keep calm and carry on. And we did too.”

“You lived out here, safe on your farm,” Smith pointed out, with some amusement. It was clear that he and Simpson were old friends. “I think the people in the Blitz probably felt a little different.”

“I have no doubt of it,” Simpson said. He looked up at Alex. “After the meeting in the Town Hall, let me know if you decide to stick around. I have some items you may be interested in using.”

The announcement and discussion in the Church was just as bad as Alex had feared. Nearly two hundred people had crammed themselves into the building and they all wanted to talk. The children had picked up on their parents’ emotions and looked fearful, apart from the ones too young to know that something was wrong. Alex found herself targeted by irate people who wanted to know what had happened to the RAF, or why the invasion had been allowed to take place. After trying to point out twice that she had been taken completely by surprise, she did her best to ignore the louder protesters. It wasn’t as if there was anything else she could do.

“We can survive this if we all pull together,” Leigh said, once the general panic had calmed down slightly. The sheer unreality of the situation helped, although the BBC had clearly managed to cause panic in some quarters. One report claimed that London and Manchester had been occupied by giant elephants. Alex couldn’t help, but feel that little gray aliens would have been more traditional. “We don’t know what’s going to happen, but we will get through it all.”

The crowd didn’t ask for specifics, luckily. Alex allowed herself a moment of relief that it seemed to be quietening down, even though she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do now. Where did she go to report in? RAF Coningsby was almost certainly destroyed — or occupied by alien forces. The RAF had been taken completely by surprise.

She stepped outside and looked up at the darkening sky. An entire day had gone by and she’d barely noticed. High overhead, the stars were coming out — and there were a handful of trails burning their way down towards Earth. The remains of humanity’s pathetic space program, she assumed. Some of the other lights would be alien starships…

In the distance, she heard the sound of thunder and shuddered.

The night no longer felt safe.