Christopher Nuttall - Invasion

“That’s all right, Mr President,” Ambassador Francis Prachthauser assured him. The Ambassador had been so relieved to be back on Earth, Paul had been told, that he’d ordered a huge meal for himself and his fellow travellers before he’d been allowed to see the President. That had provided a chance for them all to go through a medical and security check, but nothing suspicious had been found. The aliens, it seemed, had played it straight with them. “We have something of a long story for you.”

He started outlining everything that had happened since the ISS had been attacked. Paul listened carefully, occasionally injecting a question or a request for clarification, while part of his mind considered everything that had happened and how it related to what was happening down on Earth. The alien communications devices hadn’t gone anywhere near the President; they were being storied in a secure compound on the other side of Washington, being examined carefully by scientists. They seemed to be fairly standard radios, if tuned and locked to a particular frequency, but the scientists hadn’t been able to swear that they didn’t have other functions. They couldn’t be allowed anywhere near the President or an important military base, just in case; two of them would be leaving the country soon, anyway.

“And so they left us to make our own way out of the occupied zone,” Francis concluded. His tale had included a long section on the alien territories and they would have to revisit that, pulling out everything he’d observed to add to their growing stockpile of knowledge, before the foreign ambassadors could be allowed to leave the country. “They knew where the base near Dallas was.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” General Hastings said, with a moment of grim amusement. “That’s a dummy base, meant to be noticed by the aliens and keep their eyes off the real base. Doubtless they will bomb it soon, with dummy bombs.”

The President smiled. “You’ve had a hell of a time,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “Are you convinced that the aliens want us to surrender to them?”

“They gave us, in effect, a demand for unconditional surrender,” Francis admitted. “They indicated that there might be some room for negotiations at the edges, at the fringes of their plan, but I think they intend to force us all to surrender and convert to their religion.”

“That’s going to really please the Bible Belt,” the President said, shaking his head. “I wonder why they think it’s going to be that easy.”

Paul shared his thought. Religion might be a collective delusion — and he had never been convinced that there was a god or gods out there — but it was deeply held, for all of that. There would be outrage across the world at the suggestion that they should abandon human religions and convert to an alien religion; there’d be resistance almost everywhere. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if the aliens landed in the Holy Land…

Something clicked in his head. The bloggers in the occupied territory, even though they saw only a tiny percentage of the occupation, had all been in agreement on one detail; the aliens had been smashing places of worship. They’d smashed, without the slightest show of regret, any religion building they’d found, from Churches to Mosques, while carting off all the priests they’d found to an uncertain fate. It had ensured that the resistance was simmering away, but it also suggested something about how the aliens treated other religions; they sought to destroy them completely.

“They’re going to go for the Holy Land,” he said, suddenly. “That’s going to be the scene of the next landing!”

General Hastings lifted a single eyebrow. “What possible good would that do them?”

“You mean apart from controlling the oil?” Philippe asked dryly. The French Ambassador had obviously followed the same line of logic. “The land is… well, Holy. We’ve been killing each other there for centuries over religion. Even now, we have Jews, Arabs, American soldiers and thousands of mercenaries battling it out for religion.”

“We didn’t invade Iraq for religious reasons,” the President said, coldly.

“That’s not what many of them think,” Philippe countered. “It doesn’t matter that much, Mr President, but if they destroy religious places wherever they find them, they will go, sooner or later, for the Holy Cities. They could devastate the entire Middle East with ease.”

The President looked up at the map. “We have to warn them,” he whispered. “We have to tell them that they might be the next targets… how long do they have?”

“I honestly couldn’t tell you,” Paul admitted. “It would depend on when then found out. They’re looting every library they come across in Texas, so they would have the information, if they bothered to use it. The more secure they feel in Texas, the more likely it will be that they will feel able to launch a second offensive against the Middle East.”

The President nodded slowly. “General, what are the odds of the Middle East beating off the aliens?”

“Piss-poor,” General Hastings said. “The Iraqis have the second-best army in the region, trained and equipped by us, as well as a large contingent of our own soldiers, but they’d take a second beating when the aliens land. The Saudi Army’s best units aren’t up to our standards and the worst aren’t good for more than cracking unarmed skulls. The Iranians could put up a fight, but they’re mainly an infantry army… which, coming to think of it, might just put them in a better position than I thought. Israel… is the joker in the deck. They’re tough, the best army in the region, and they have nukes. It could get messy.”

He paused, thoughtfully. “I can’t see them failing to crush the Middle East,” he added. “They have too many advantages. They’d still face a massive insurgency and everything would depend on the tactics they used to quell it.”

“They want to destroy religion, human religion,” Paul said. “It would get messy.”

“And they want us to surrender,” the President said. “If we surrender, what’s going to be our fate?”

Francis scowled. “They provided us with a surprising amount of data,” he said. “I haven’t had time to go through it all, but they intend to basically accept humans — converted humans — as equals in their society, where we will start rising up to join them. Its going to cause massive social unrest, Mr President; if they try to force their society and social norms on us, it’s not going to be the Middle East alone that fights back.”

“Colonel James, go through the material as quickly as you can,” the President said. “Report back to me when you’ve finished.” Paul nodded. “Gentlemen, is there anything I can do for you?”

Philippe nodded. “I have to return to Paris,” he said. He gave a slight, self-depredating smile. “I was going to have to beg you for transport.”

“That might be tricky,” General Hastings said dryly. “Anything that flies, except on very short flights, gets swatted eventually.”

“Oh, the fighter jocks have to hate that,” Gary said, with a sudden laugh. “They’re going to be pissed as hell that they have to stay on the ground. Can we conscript them as infantrymen, please?”

Francis gave him an odd look. “I thought you were a former fighter jock?”

The President ignored the by-play. “If the communications devices work, we can ask the aliens to leave your flight alone,” he said. “If not, getting you back home might take a few weeks, but we can and will do it. What do you intend to suggest that your government does?”

Philippe hesitated. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “If some of the reports here are right, I might not have a government any longer to report back to.”