Christopher Nuttall - Their Darkest Hour

Near Salisbury Plain

United Kingdom, Day 2

“Coming through clear as day, sir,” the technician reported. “It seems that the Yanks were right and the bastards can’t track microburst transmissions.”

Brigadier Gavin Lightbridge-Stewart nodded. They hadn’t been able to pull much information from the ongoing war in the United States, but the Americans had apparently had some success with stealth aircraft and UAVs. The SAS had been loaned a Shadow Hawk UAV by the CIA to support British troops operating in the Middle East and it had survived the bombardment of British bases across the mainland. It was currently orbiting high over Basingstoke, watching the alien land forces heading west, and relaying what it saw to the mobile command post.

A small alien detachment had apparently been ordered to lay siege to Reading, with alien troops taking up positions on the roads and discouraging civilians from escaping by firing over their heads. Despite that, a vast number of refugees had managed to leave the cities and towns and were currently scattered all over the area, often causing confusion and delays for the British military. The aliens seemed to have fewer problems, if only because their standard response to anyone trying to get in their way was to open fire. Their hover-tanks — or so the young soldiers on the front lines had dubbed them — seemed to combine the armour of a Challenger tank with the speed and agility of a far lighter vehicle. It hadn’t escaped Gavin’s sense of irony that they’d overrun Woking with terrifying speed. If their infantry hadn’t been slower than their tankers, they might well have crushed the remaining British defences before they’d had time to regroup.

Part of his mind mulled over what the alien technology and observed capabilities seemed to suggest about their motives. They’d come as an army of occupation and they’d obviously come loaded for bear, but they seemed to lack the flexibility that every Western army tried to drill into its personnel. They seemed to have poor coordination between the armour and infantry, a problem that had caused many defeats in human history. In fact, given a level playing field — with no orbiting starships ready to drop rocks on their heads — he was sure that the 1 stArmoured Division would have hammered the aliens. Their coordination between their aircraft, their ground forces and their spacecraft was surprisingly limited. It all suggested book-learning, rather than actual experience — and yet they were clearly experienced at taking control of their conquests. The speed with which they’d found collaborators and pressed them into service proved that beyond all doubt. It was all very odd.

But I bet the armies of Oliver Cromwell or King Charles would have had some problems understanding what we do as a matter of course , he thought, wryly. Maybe the logistics of an interstellar power worked differently to those on Earth. There were seven billion humans on the planet, but for all he knew the aliens had seven billion soldiers and the ability to deploy them to Earth. He rather hoped not, yet it remained a possibility.

“Contact the advance parties,” he ordered. At least they’d been able to set up some limited signalling capabilities. The aliens struck the source of any transmission very quickly, but his men had set up a series of expendable transmitters. “Tell them that they are cleared to engage at will.”

“I got the signal, boss,” one of the soldiers outside the Challenger II tank said. “The enemy are on their way.”

“Understood,” the Commander said. He’d never anticipated fighting an all-out war in the heart of the English countryside, but he was damned if he and his tank were to be found wanting when the shit hit the fan. “You lot had better scarper. We’ll be along presently.”

His tank and a handful of others had been involved in the exercises when the aliens had announced their presence by bombarding the garrisons around Salisbury Plain. Shocked and horrified, he’d rallied his men and reported in to the remaining military command structure and had been ordered to take up a position watching the A342. They’d used their remaining fuel getting there — it had been a nightmarish journey — but they’d made it. He now scanned the horizon waiting for the first alien tanks to come into view. They seemed to like human roads.

Absently, he patted the side of his Challenger. Pound for pound, the Challenger had a fair claim to being one of the best Main Battle Tanks in the world — when tested, during the invasion of Iraq, they’d performed brilliantly. As they were unable to retreat, he’d had his position heavily camouflaged and the tank’s engine switched off, leaving them — hopefully — undetectable. If they were wrong — if they’d been tracked during the night — they’d probably die before they knew what had hit them.

Suddenly, much faster than he’d expected, he saw the first alien tank heading up the motorway. He studied it with considerable interest, noting that it didn’t seem to have been designed to face a modern environment. Their armour hadn’t been much better than anything in the human arsenal, according to the reports from London, and it didn’t look as if they’d designed it to deflect incoming fire. Maybe they only ever faced handguns, he considered, or perhaps they rarely had to go one-on-one with enemy tankers. Or maybe… he shook his head. There was no time for speculation.

“Take aim,” he ordered, quietly. They’d get one shot, maybe two, and then they’d have to run for it. Their escorts had left a few surprises down below for the alien infantry when they finally came into view, but they wouldn’t be able to survive rocks dropped from orbit. “On my command, fire and then switch to the next target.”

“Understood, boss,” the gunner said. The tank’s heavy main gun rotated as it locked onto its target. “Ready when you are…”

“Fire,” the Commander barked. The Challenger shook as it fired a single shell towards the enemy tank. “Reload and…”

The enemy tank went up in a colossal fireball. “Good shot,” the Commander said, sharply. “Take aim… fire!”

A second enemy tank died, followed rapidly by a third. The fourth enemy tank returned fire, hurling a shell that went safely over their heads and came down somewhere in the distance. They ignored the chance to take out a fourth enemy target and climbed out of their vehicle, running for dear life. Another explosion shook the world around them as the enemy tank zeroed in on its target. The Commander felt a moment of contempt. He understood the rationale behind firing back as quickly as possible, but a human force wouldn’t have missed so many times. The aliens were out of practice…

He heard a whistling and then the world seemed to explode behind him, the force of the blast picking him up and hurling him into the ground at terrifying speed. His last thought was the brief hope that some of his crew might have escaped…

“Get moving, you idiots,” Tra’tro The’Stig shouted. The thrice-damned humans had shot up one of the infantry’s personnel carriers and instead of disembarking and taking the fight to their foes, the infantry unit inside was cowering. They’d never been under fire before, even in the exercises, but that was no excuse. “Get out before they hit you again!”

He cursed the humans again as the infantry unit finally started to disembark, half of them forgetting their training and looking as if they wanted to retreat at once. The humans had shown a positive gift for preparing the ground, with nasty traps and snipers scattered everywhere. If one of those human snipers happened to see a few dozen infantry without enough protection, he could wreak havoc without fear of retaliation.