Christopher Nuttall - Their Darkest Hour

He looked up at Rivers. “Disperse the crowd,” he ordered, sharply. “Get rid of them. Now.”

Robin felt sweat trickling down his back as the noise grew louder. The crowd had blurred into a single mass of humanity, screaming and shouting all along the barricades. Robin knew that if they decided to push forward, a lot of people were going to be hurt. Mobs lost all sense of proportion or civilisation; if they caught a policeman, he was likely to be trampled to death. And if individuals wanted to get away from the mob, they would find it very difficult, almost impossible. The mob mentality sucked in individuals and turned them into mindless automatons.

And yet, part of him wanted to throw away his uniform and join them. The mob was right — they had arrested hundreds of people without due cause. Sure, some of them had deserved arrest — one firebrand preacher deserved worse, but the pre-invasion government had been reluctant to take the political flak for arresting him — but others were innocent, their only crime being related to the suicide bomber and his friends. And some had been scooped up for no reason that he could see. They’d become worse than the Nazis in a far shorter space of time — and to think that the Met had once prided itself on its ethics. How far were they willing to go to collaborate.

He glanced behind him, seeing the same doubts written on the faces of his fellows. Some of them, at least, had been reluctant to follow orders and even join the police force blocking the way to the building housing the collaborating government. Others, on the other hand, seemed almost delighted at the prospect of violence, the ones who had learned to hate protest marches during the summers of rage, where it had been politically impossible to hand out the thrashing many of the protesters had deserved. They’d never done a day’s work in their life, they’d argued, and yet they deserved to be fed and clothed at taxpayer’s expense. Many policemen had little sympathy for protesters. If they put the energy they put into their protests into bettering themselves instead, they would actually find that there were other options than permanently living on the dole.

But they had their orders. The crowd had to be dispersed. Even now, other policemen would be setting up barriers, using them to push the crowd back and block off several lines of retreat. They’d be forced away from the building complex, pushed all the way back to where they’d come from — and any who tried to fight back would be arrested. Or at least that was the plan. Robin knew that many of the protesters would have come armed, intent on picking a fight — or merely intent on preventing a humiliating retreat. And the police had been denied firearms. The protest organisers might be better armed than themselves.

He braced himself as the loudspeaker crackled on. “ATTENTION,” the speaker said, loudly enough to be heard over the crowd. “THIS IS AN ILLEGAL GATHERING. YOU ARE ORDERED TO DISPERSE. YOU ARE ORDERED TO DISPERSE.”

The crowd started throwing objects towards the police lines. There had been no order, as far as Robin could see, merely a shared desire to hit back at the collaborators. Some of them were throwing rotten fruit and vegetables, others were throwing stones and empty bottles. Those made him wince, remembering the petrol bombs that had been thrown at the aliens had even some policemen. If they’d been filled with petrol and set alight… no flames enveloped the police lines and he allowed himself a moment of relief. A handful of policemen had been injured, but their comrades were already helping them back towards the emergency treatment centre they’d established in the corporate gym. Robin hadn’t been able to believe just how many amities they’d managed to fit inside their buildings. It was a wonder that they ever went home for the night.

There was a hiss as water cannons came on, spraying furious gusts of water towards the protestors. The water was drawn from the mains, this time, providing a nearly infinite source of freezing cold liquid. Many protestors, drenched to the bone, would have thought better of being in the protest moments after they’d been hit, but the ones behind them wouldn’t let them retreat. The water started to push them back, sending many protesters falling to the ground as they tried to seek shelter from the water. He allowed himself to hope that they’d succeeded in breaking the protest…

He saw the objects flying through the air before he quite realised what they were, too late. The grenades detonated beside the water cannons, blowing them and their operators apart in brilliant explosions. A great blast of water roared into the sky, leaving drops falling on police and protesters alike… the protesters howled and roared forward like a single living entity. He caught sight of young teenage girls caught up in the crush and felt a moment of pity, until they lunged forward at the police. The policemen fell back as their lines fell apart; it wasn’t until he happened to glance towards where the Captain had been that he realised that someone had shot him. There was a sniper on one of the surrounding buildings, picking off the police commanders one by one. They hadn’t even heard the shot over the sound of angry protesters scenting victory.

“Fall back,” Robin yelled. The police lines were wavering. Few had been really enthusiastic about facing the protesters and it was clear that they were losing control. Several policemen with only a few months experience had taken to their heels and fled. “Get back to the second lines, now…”

The mob surged forward and he found himself facing a young man with a shaven head and a pair of knuckledusters. He lashed out with his baton, sending the man crumpling to the ground, before the protesters trampled over his victim and kept coming. It was all he could do to back away slowly, rather than turning and joining the others in flight. He’d never faced such a situation in his entire life. Behind him, he heard the sound of gas being deployed and grasped his mask. He’d had one sniff of the gas during training and that had been quite enough. But somehow he doubted that it would be enough to stop the protesters…

His nerve broke and he turned, running for dear life. The next set of lines might be enough to stop them, or it might fall… and then the protesters would be able to pour into the buildings and rip the core of the collaborator government apart. And then the aliens would have to govern London on their own.

Somehow, he didn’t think they would let it get so far.

“Get everyone up to the helipad,” Rivers ordered. Alan barely heard him. The attempt to disperse the protesters had failed badly, not least because someone was clearing their way, picking off police commanders. He found himself looking at the other buildings, wondering which one held the sniper — or snipers. There might well be more than one. “Sir, we have to evacuate this building.”

As a child, Alan had been frightened of heights and reluctant to enter tall buildings. That old fear came back to him as the building shook, suggesting that the protesters were breaking in through gates that were supposed to be sealed. Perhaps the police had fallen back deliberately, allowing the lynch mob a chance to gain entry and wipe out the collaborator government. He looked over at Rivers, wondering if the Chief Constable had ambitions to take over, before dismissing the thought. Rivers could have turned the police against him without needing to stage a riot.

“Come on, sir,” Rivers said, catching him by the arm and half-dragging him towards the door. The CEO who’d owned the building had placed a helipad on top of the massive skyscraper, allowing him to fly in and out each morning without having to drive through London. Alan’s government had planned to use it to keep certain movements out of the public eye. “We don’t know how long it will be before they get up here.”