Christopher Nuttall - Their Darkest Hour

“They want every available officer out manning the barricades,” the pilot called, as they flew lower. “The Leathernecks are moving up forces from outside the city. If we don’t put the rioters back in their box, they’re going to start mowing them down!”

Robin wasn’t alone in believing that more vigorous policing and less politically correct bullshit would do more for the city than any amount of urban improvement schemes, but there were limits. And the aliens wouldn’t hesitate to gun down thousands of humans to convince the remainder to do as they were told. He sat back and covered his eyes as the helicopter slowly came in to land at the makeshift New Scotland Yard. They’d be expected to go back out on the streets at once and he didn’t know if he had the energy. All he wanted to do was crawl into a bottle and die.

“Well, mighty master of all you survey,” Catherine said, dryly. “I think that some people are a mite upset.”

Alan Beresford ignored her. The new seat of government for the collaborators was a small fortress, protected by the aliens. It said something about how effective they were at dealing with urban mobs that no one had risked attacking them, even though the deadline for the return of the alien captive was counting down towards zero. But the remainder of London didn’t have that immunity to the chaos gripping the city. The entire city seemed to be out of the streets, trying to get out or to take down an alien or two before it was too late.

“You might have done better not to tell the world about the threat,” she added. “Just think about how long it is going to take to clear up the mess…”

“Shut up,” Alan snapped. He didn’t want to let her get under his skin, but there were limits to what he was prepared to endure. Catherine was preparing herself to challenge him and perhaps become the next Prime Minister — and tool of the aliens. “You know as well as I did that there was no choice.”

The aliens had made their feelings quite clear. They wanted their kidnapped officer back — and they were prepared to threaten mass murder to be sure that they got their way. Alan knew them well enough by now to know that they weren’t bluffing. In fact, he wasn’t sure that they had the ability to bluff. They seemed to prefer the simplest and most direct way of doing things possible — and if that meant a great many humans got hurt, they didn’t seem to care. Alan might have admired their ruthlessness if he hadn’t been all too aware that they would turn on him if he stopped being useful. And his usefulness might just have run out.

Alan had managed to get most of the city’s workers back to work, particularly ones who could help the aliens administer their new territory. The registration process had identified a vast number of people who could join the alien government and work overseas, perhaps in France or America. Alan had calculated that the aliens wouldn’t want to bring in locals if he could produce servants, even if they would be at risk from the local resistance fighters. But now most of his civil servants seemed to have gone on strike, or were being hunted down by mobs in London. The rest of the country wasn’t much better. Every city or large town that didn’t have an alien ring of steel keeping the population trapped was emptying out into the countryside, spreading panic and disorder over the entire country. It wasn’t as if they could all be fed outside the cities.

He glanced down at his watch. Two days, the aliens had said; two days for their kidnapped officer to be returned or else. And one of those days was nearly over. If he’d had a link to the resistance, he would have begged them to return their captive, if only because his usefulness would expire if the aliens decided that he’d lost control of his people. But there was nothing he could do, apart from waiting and hoping. It had been a long time since he’d prayed.

Catherine walked up behind him, looking out over the darkening city. “Do you remember when we thought that we were in control?”

“We will get back into control,” Alan said, flatly. He was not going to let her rattle him. They were on the verge of losing everything — if the aliens bombed a city, it would be the end of his provisional government — and the damned woman was making a power play! “The resistance will release their prisoner.”

“But how do you know?” Catherine said. “They might just believe that chaos is better for their goals than a country under your foot.”

Alan prided himself on his self-control, but the woman was driving him insane. “And what happens if the aliens decide to administer the country themselves?” She asked. “What use will they have for us then?”

A hot flash of anger boiled through Alan’s mind. He slapped her, right across the face. She staggered backwards, one hand raised to the ugly red mark where he’d struck her. Alan stepped forward and slapped her again, knocking her to the floor. He bent over her and put his hand on her throat, ignoring her feeble attempts to push him back. A sense of dark power roared through him as he stared down at her. He could do anything to her; rape her, choke the life out of her… and who could stop him? The old order had died the day the aliens had landed in Britain and the rest of the world.

“You will do your fucking job or I will kill you,” he hissed, finally. Part of his mind pointed out that it would be unwise to let her live, but the feeling of triumph overruled it. “Now get out and find a way of convincing the sheep down there to go back to work nice and peacefully.”

He took his hand off her throat and stepped back, half-expecting her to lunge at him. Instead, she pulled herself to her feet and walked towards the door. Alan watched her go and then turned back to the window, shaking his head. He’d mounted a tiger when he’d made his bargain with the Leathernecks. They didn’t care how he ruled the country, provided that he ruled it for their benefit. But the moment he stopped being useful, they’d kill him.

Outside, the fires were growing brighter. Alan watched, feeling cold despair replacing the exultation he’d felt when he’d humbled the bitch. If he stopped being useful…

“Damn you,” he muttered, knowing that no one would hear him. “Why did you have to go and spoil it?”

“They shot up a crowd as they headed to Whitehall,” one of the resistance fighters said. “At least thirty wounded, fifty dead — should I have them forwarded to here?”

“Only if you get me more supplies,” Fatima said, tiredly. She’d been working like a demon, almost non-stop since the riots started to tear London apart. Hundreds of wounded had been brought in, passed across her table and then sent somewhere to recuperate. Many of them wouldn’t survive, no matter what she did. They needed a proper hospital and one wasn’t available. “Didn’t Joe get some from the nearest hospital?”

“Only a few,” the fighter said. “They’re inundated with wounded too. We’re trying to slip some of our own into their system, but if they’re not registered…”

Fatima nodded, and then yawned. Tiredness caused people to make mistakes — and yet she hadn’t been able to get any rest since the day had begun. She wasn’t the only medical doctor in the resistance, but the others were scattered out over the city; like her, they were fighting to keep people alive who really needed proper treatment and a hospital…

She yawned again, feeling the room spinning around her. Had it only been last year when she’d taken the last two weeks of Ramadan off because she had worried about what would happen if she grew too hungry? What a joke! She’d worked herself half to death over the last few days and now she could barely keep herself together.