Christopher Nuttall - Their Darkest Hour

Every time she heard a noise in the sky, she looked up, wondering what she would see. Sometimes she saw the massive shuttles the aliens used to land troops from orbit, too large to fly without some kind of antigravity device; sometimes their attack helicopters, larger than the outdated Russian helicopters that had been flown around Afghanistan. She allowed herself to hope that one day she’d see a streak of light shooting down one of the helicopters, but the resistance seemed to be very thin on the ground around the detention camp. The aliens, according to some of the older prisoners, had simply uprooted thousands of humans and ordered them away from their bases. Remembering some of the havoc caused by dickers — civilians who reported British military movements to the enemy — in Afghanistan, Alex couldn’t blame them, even though the mobile phone network had never been restored.

She shook her head. The Taliban had never scored a major victory, but they’d kept up the pressure and they might have won in the long term — if the aliens hadn’t invaded. But the Coalition had been bound by rules of engagement dreamed up by decent — if ignorant — politicians. The aliens didn’t seem to care about civilian casualties and they were perfectly willing to obliterate entire towns to punish resistance. Weaker forces had defeated stronger forces before — or had at least convinced them to withdraw — but Alex couldn’t remember if they’d ever done it when the stronger forces had also been the barbarians.

When the call came, it took her by surprise. A pair of aliens were standing by the gate, bellowing for her in their toneless voices. She hesitated, considering hiding within the crowd, before realising that it was pointless. Bracing herself, she strode out with as much dignity as she could muster and stopped in front of the aliens. One of them pointed his cannon-like weapon at his chest, as if he imagined that she was a threat. Alex couldn’t keep the giggles from forming deep inside her chest. She was half-naked, half-starved and completely unarmed… and he thought she was a threat?

“Turn around and place your hands behind your back,” the alien ordered. Alex obeyed, unsurprised to feel a metal tie contracting around her wrists. They weren’t taking any chances, all right. Their voices were almost robotic. “Walk with us. Do not attempt to escape.”

The alien strung her around and marched her towards the gate, which clanged shut behind them. Despite her growing nervousness, Alex was privately glad of the chance to inspect the rest of the base. A number of human-designed buildings were still intact, but others had clearly been knocked down and were being replaced by prefabricated alien buildings. She caught sight of what looked like a futuristic car at the end of one building, before her escort marched her onwards, half-pulling her whenever she tried to slow them down. The sound of alien voices speaking what had to be their own language — it sounded like grunting to her ears — caught her attention and she looked up. A small group of aliens was staring at her, their dark eyes wide. Surely she wasn’t the first human they’d seen…

And these aliens were smaller. For a moment, she wondered if they were children, before realising that they were differently proportioned than her escort. Alien females? She’d assumed that the aliens had their own version of keeping women barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen, but maybe they made better use of female labour than some human societies. Their clothing was different too… she wondered, absently, how the aliens mated, before pushing the thought aside. It was clear that she was about to have far more serious problems.

A human designed building loomed up in front of her and the aliens pushed her right into the darkness. For a moment, Alex was completely disorientated before her eyes adjusted to the gloom. There was a chair in the centre of the room, bolted to the floor, and the aliens pushed her down onto the cold metal. She yelped as they stubbed her bound wrists, before, fixing a bar around her chest and walking away. The door closed behind them with an audible clunk.

“Well, well, well,” a voice said, from the darkness. “What have we here?”

Alex started, peering ahead of her. In the gloom, she could make out two figures, both clearly human. They didn’t seem to be restrained. The light came on suddenly, almost blinding her. The two men definitely weren’t restrained. Alien collaborators… or something else? But what else could they be?

“Who…?” Her throat was dry. She could barely speak. “Who are you?”

“Our names aren’t important,” one of the men said. They were both wearing masks to cover their identities, but the speaker was clearly taller than the other. “All that really matters is satisfying our masters.”

He stood up and advanced towards Alex, rubbing his hands together. “You’re been a very naughty girl,” he said, mockingly. “The government surrendered — and you kept the war going all on your own.” His mouth, what little she could see of it, leered. “But now the war is over and you’re a prisoner. No one even knows where you are.”

Alex braced herself, remembering the dreaded Conduct After Capture course they’d been put through during training. The Geneva Conventions had become a joke after the end of the Cold War and the MOD had — reluctantly — admitted that British personnel would be tortured and forced to talk by their captors. They’d been given guidelines, but the decision on how much to say and cooperate had been left with the captured personnel. Alex remembered seeing captured personnel broadcasting from Iran and shuddered. At least a personnel broadcast from her wouldn’t have any effect on the rest of the resistance. She barely knew anything that could be used against anyone else.

“Cooperate with us now and you will be well-treated,” the interrogator said. She could feel his breath on her ear. “We have good food and you can rest. You did your duty — now it’s over. You can relax.”

His finger reached out and traced her chin, gently pulling her head up so she was staring into his eyes. “It’s over,” he said, gently. “Who else was involved with your resistance cell?”

Alex looked down and shook her head. “Come on,” he said, gently. “There’s really nothing to be gained by further resistance. We are going to get it out of you, one way or the other. Why not make it easier upon yourself?”

He stepped back and reached for a small tray lying on his desk. When he stepped back into view, he was holding a small bar of chocolate in his hand. “You know, you used to be able to get as much chocolate as you wanted for a few pounds,” he said. “Now… now you can’t get chocolate at all, unless you have connections .” He spoke the last word with another leer as he opened the packet. “Wouldn’t you like some chocolate?”

Alex recoiled as he held a piece out under her nose. After a few days in the detention camp, part of her wanted the chocolate — and part of her refused to take anything from her interrogator. He held it closer, just above her mouth, waiting to see what she would say. Her mouth was watering, but she shook her head. Perhaps he was right, perhaps it was hopeless, yet she wasn’t going to break so easily. She swore to herself that she wouldn’t break at all.

“You seem to believe that you can remain silent,” the interrogator said. He popped a piece of chocolate into his mouth and ate it with evident enjoyment. “But believe me, you will talk.”

Without warning, he slapped her across the cheek. Alex gasped in pain, feeling blood trickling down the side of her face. Her entire face hurt. He leaned closer and pushed his face against hers, almost as if he intended to kiss her. When he spoke, his voice was a dull whisper.