Christopher Nuttall - Their Darkest Hour

He glanced back at the alien base and allowed himself a quick smile. They’d devastated the place. Many of the buildings were tough enough to take the flames without being completely wrecked, but they’d killed dozens of aliens and destroyed their interrogation program. And they’d even destroyed a handful of alien vehicles. No one was quite sure how long it would take for the aliens to get resupplied from their homeworld, yet it would throw a crimp into their invasion and occupation plans. And even that didn’t take account of how badly their reputation would suffer. Once the news of the raid got out on the internet, resistance fighters all over the world would take heart and try their own attacks on alien bases.

“Sir,” Sergeant Gravesend snapped. “I just picked up a flash message from the watchers. The aliens are on their way!”

Chris nodded. “Good,” he said. “Let’s see just how badly we can maul them this time.”

Alex’s entire body hurt, worse than anything she’d ever experienced, but she would have endured worse for the chance of freedom. One of the rescue party had passed her a coat which she’d used to cover her nakedness, yet she wouldn’t have minded even that. Her feet hurt from the broken tarmac and grass they had to cross — they didn’t have any shoes — and she felt as if she was half-stumbling from the pain, but she kept moving. She wasn’t going to allow this chance to escape because of the pain.

A burly man ahead of her was breaking the escapees down into small groups. “You’re going with Group Five,” he said, pointing to Alex, who nodded. Her heart was pounding like a drum, the rhythm seemingly echoing inside her head. Could she hear the sound of alien helicopters, or was it just her imagination? “Follow Wilson there and don’t slow down. The Leathernecks are on their way.”

She caught sight of a pair of bound men being pushed along by some of the soldiers and realised, with a burst of unholy delight, that one of them was the tall man who’d tortured her. The thought kept her moving, even as the sound of alien helicopters grew louder; there would be a chance for revenge. Maybe she could torture him herself, if he proved unwilling to talk… she pushed the thought aside, disgusted at herself. And yet it had a seductive appeal…

“Keep running,” Wilson snapped. “You’re not safe yet!”

Alex bowed her head and kept moving.

Alien Detention Camp

United Kingdom, Day 41

The line of alien tanks moved with astonishing speed, racing cross-country towards the detention centre. Chris watched them come through a pair of binoculars, noting that the tanks had outraced their troop-carriers they’d presumably been supposed to be escorting. But the aliens trapped in the detention camp had presumably been screaming for help ever since they’d realised that the only thing keeping them alive was their value as hostages. The aliens would want to save their lives, if possible.

His original plan had been a quick smash and grab; get into the base, free the prisoners and then start running. The resistance commander, insofar as the resistance had a commander, had modified it into a better mousetrap, reminding him of stunts the Taliban had pulled during the early years of the war in Afghanistan. They’d been fond of attacking one place to lure a relief force into a trap, but they’d always paid highly for it. Chris had wondered if the resistance was likely to make the same mistakes, yet he’d been overruled. Besides, planting IEDs was all very well, but it wasn’t spectacular enough to be inspiring.

“Sir,” Maxwell called, “I have their overhead drone in my sights.”

Chris nodded. No one was entirely sure just how capable the alien drones were, but the Americans had designed and produced fantastically capable platforms before the invasion, ones capable of tracking individual fighters and dropping Hellfire missiles on their heads. He had to assume that the aliens were just as capable, even though they didn’t seem to be designed to operate in a threatening environment. But then, few Taliban fighters had ever had working Stingers. The briefers had commented that possessing such a weapon would make someone a Big Man — and if they fired the missile, they wouldn’t have the weapon any more, would they? It had struck Chris as absurd, but they had clearly had a point. The aliens, facing people less concerned with their tribal status, had lost a number of drones to handheld missile launchers since the invasion had begun. But why hadn’t they started to take better precautions?

He looked back towards the alien tanks. They’d be within engagement range in a matter of seconds and they all had to be taken out quickly, or they’d be lethal once they realised that they were under attack. Their main guns would be useless against insurgents, but they all carried heavy machine guns and their armour could stand off bullets and even grenades. The gangs in London, according to the internet, had thrown petrol bombs at the aliens, but the alien tanks had simply shrugged the blows off and kept on coming. Their soft-shelled vehicles were easier to disable or destroy.

“Fire,” he barked.

Maxwell launched his Stinger upwards towards the alien drone, while the antitank teams fired on the alien tanks. Chris saw a flash in the sky from where the drone had been hit, moments before four of the alien tanks exploded. The fifth ground to a halt and sank to the ground — the rocket had struck the underside of its carriage — but returned fire with its machine guns. Chris cursed as two of the antitank teams were wiped out before they could fall back, while the remaining alien vehicles slowed down and started deploying their troopers. He watched the alien shapes emerging from cover and swore again. They were going to be on him faster than he had planned.

“Fall back,” he ordered, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of the tank’s guns. The aliens seemed to be shooting at random, raking the ground near their position. He wasn’t sure if they were having targeting problems or if they were just trying to keep the humans pinned down. “Fall back to the next line.”

Crawling through mud wasn’t fun, but it beat being shot in the back by alien machine guns. The second set of surprises had been positioned along the route they assumed the aliens would come, yet the aliens had managed to get there before it was quite ready for action. He slipped down into the half-dug trench — any protection was welcome on a battlefield — and grasped his rifle, looking for targets. The alien infantry were still advancing, more carefully now that their tank was no longer providing cover. Chris wondered what was going through their minds, before realising that it probably wouldn’t be that different to what went through his mind when he advanced on an enemy position.

He glanced upwards and cursed as he saw a trio of alien aircraft roaring overhead. The aliens didn’t deploy aircraft with the same enthusiasm as NATO had — they could drop rocks from orbit — and seeing them now was a surprise. They swept low over the ruined base, firing rockets at anything that looked remotely dangerous. Chris saw an explosion billow up from where two of the Royal Marines had been positioned and knew that they were both death. A Stinger chased one of the alien aircraft as it headed into the distance before coming around for another run, but the aliens dropped flares and the missile, decoyed away, exploded harmlessly.

“Grenades, then run,” he yelled, unhooking the last of his grenades from his belt and pulling the pin, before throwing it right into the alien position. The others followed suit, and then started to crawl away, using the explosions to cover their departure. Unless the aliens got very lucky and guessed that they were starting to retreat, they should hesitate long enough to allow the fighters to lose them. He reached for his radio and keyed it once, sending a simple message to the other two positions, and then abandoned it. The aliens would zero in on its position and drop a bomb on him.