Christopher Nuttall - Their Darkest Hour

He looked over at the alien, stumbling his way through the undergrowth, and wondered just how he felt about being a prisoner. How many humans had the aliens taken as prisoners — and just what were they doing to military prisoners? Perhaps their captive knew the answer to those questions. They’d have to ask him, once they found a secure place to keep him — did he even know how to speak English well enough to answer complex questions?

Shaking his head, he kept walking — and silently prayed that they weren’t being tracked from far overhead.

“Maz’Bak is missing,” the intelligence officer said. “We have been unable to locate his body.”

The’Stig looked down at the remains of the underground interrogation chamber. The humans had burned it, incinerating everything they hadn’t taken with them. They’d left nothing, but ashes behind. It was quite possible that a body had been burned so completely that it would need a full DNA sweep to prove that it had been there, but he could see the intelligence officer’s point. A missing trooper would be bad enough — the humans could do anything they wanted to him — yet an intelligence officer was far worse. He would know details that needed to be kept from human ears.

“The humans have largely made their escape,” he said. It wasn’t a pleasant thing to concede, but given how quickly they’d had to respond to the disaster, it was almost unavoidable. Small parties of troopers were still out in the gathering darkness, hunting for the humans, yet he’d had to pull most of his force back to the base. The drones might just pick up humans trying to move under cover of darkness. “If they had your officer with them…”

It wasn’t a pleasant thought. An adult Eridian had a brighter heat signature than a human, but if the humans were careful there wouldn’t be anything for the drones to detect. They’d already figured out weaknesses in some of the sensor networks surrounding Land Force Bases — did they know, perhaps, that the Assault Units had inferior night vision equipment to the devices the humans had invented? And if they had an intelligence officer to interrogate…

“I insist that you start searching for him at once,” the intelligence officer said, angrily. “The loss of one of my people is a catastrophe of the highest order!”

Particularly for his career, The’Stig thought, with a certain amount of private amusement. He’d have to keep that to himself — intelligence officers made nasty enemies, even if they were outranked by Land Force officers — but it was funny. The intelligence officer would have to explain why they hadn’t taken more precautions, or vetted the human collaborators more thoroughly or… they’d be blamed for the entire disaster. Losing an entire detention camp, to say nothing of the propaganda victory that had just been scored by the human insurgents. Someone would have to take the blame.

“I will detail units to continue the search,” he said. It would be straightforward to push blocking forces forward, although he had the feeling that the humans would successfully evade contact. They’d had plenty of time to plan their retreat. “I suggest that you start thinking about what your officer could tell the humans. Who knows what they will do to him to make them talk?”

He’d heard rumours about how the intelligence service was conducting its interrogations, ugly rumours. The humans certainly wouldn’t hesitate to retaliate in kind, once they learned the truth. And it would only stiffen their resistance. If they had enough Assault Units to tie down most of the country… but they didn’t. They’d have to call in reinforcements from the rest of the world and that wasn’t going to happen. Earth had already absorbed far more Assault Units and troopers than the planners had believed necessary.

The Command Triad would have to make some decisions, sooner rather than later. Perhaps if they pulled out of some parts of the world and left them to rot, they’d be able to return later, once the humans had finished killing each other off. The Middle Eastern humans had unleashed nuclear weapons on each other. Who knew what the British humans would do?

Resistance Hideout, Near Coventry

United Kingdom, Day 42

“Well, you’ve been through the wars,” the doctor observed, cheerfully. “Let’s have a careful look at you, all right?”

“Let’s not and say we did,” Alex said. Her body still hurt, even though she’d had a good meal and a proper sleep once they’d evaded the alien pursuit and found their way to a resistance base near Coventry. “I don’t want anyone to look at me ever again.”

“I need to examine you if I am to prescribe treatment,” the doctor said, patiently. “I’m sorry that I’m the only doctor here, but…”

“Never mind,” Alex said. The original owner of the house had left a dressing gown behind when they’d abandoned their property for the illusionary safety of the countryside. She shucked it off and climbed onto the examination table, wincing as she saw the bruises covering her body. The interrogation team had seemed more interested in hurting her than actually dragging information from her unwilling lips. “Get on with it.”

“Lie flat,” the doctor said. He started by examining the bruises covering her chest, including a nasty one right across her left breast. “They hit you with a cane, I presume?”

Alex nodded. “Canes can break the skin, which is why some people use them for S&M frolics,” the doctor observed. “There’s an extra layer of danger as the cuts can become infected and cause greater hardship down the road.” He studied the cuts in view and relaxed a little. “There’s no sign of any infection, but I’m going to give you some cream to rub on them every night before you go to bed. It should encourage faster healing.”

“They lashed my feet as well,” Alex said. She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. “Do people do that for fun as well?”

The doctor snorted. “There are people who choke themselves nearly to death for the thrill it gives them,” he said. He studied her feet carefully. “Luckily, your feet weren’t too badly damaged — I expect they wanted you to be able to walk under your own power. A couple of the wounded we plucked from the alien base were hamstrung — the bastards cut the nerves in their ankles, making it impossible for them to walk properly. It’s hard to tell if they were being paranoid or sadistic. Roll over for a moment.”

Alex obeyed, tensing as she felt his fingers working their way over her back and buttocks. “I can’t see any infection,” the doctor said, after a moment. “I think you’ve been very lucky. The disgraceful conditions in that camp would have meant that you would have picked up something, sooner or later. A number of the prisoners from the main detention cages have been suffering vitamin deficiencies, of all things. We don’t have the resources to treat all of them here, so we’ve had to spread them out a bit and hope that the aliens or their collaborators don’t realise what we’ve done.”

His hands grasped her buttocks, pulling them apart for a moment. “There’s far too much scarring down here,” he said, grimly. “How many times did they rape you?”

“I can’t remember,” Alex admitted. It was shameful, but no amount of thinking could unlock the puzzle. She should have remembered. “Why don’t I remember?”

“They gave you a mild drug in your food,” the doctor said. “I took a blood sample last night and found traces of a particularly obnoxious date rape drug. My guess is that they were working to break down your resistance by disorientating you — it probably would have worked, given enough time.” He winced. “Turn over and let me have a look at you from the other side.”