Christopher Nuttall - Their Darkest Hour

“The aliens have dispatched a flight of aircraft coming right towards our position,” the operator said. “Their ETA is roughly ten minutes - perhaps less. I think we’ve been rumbled.”

The damned captive , Gavin thought, angrily. The decision to release the alien might have made sense, but there had been no time to conceal their tracks properly. All the aliens had had to do was look at their orbital observations and they might well be able to track the small team back to the holding cell. And the PM and several other officials were based nearby as well.

“Send the alert to the PM’s bodyguards and tell them to get his ass out of there,” he ordered, flatly. Seven minutes… not very long at all. There wouldn’t be any hope of completely dissembling the base and vanishing before the aliens arrived. “And then start the destruct sequence on our computers. I want nothing left that could lead the aliens to any other bases.”

“Aye, sir,” the operator said. There was a bleep from his console. “Sir, they’ve also started detailing land forces in our general direction. Should I send an update to the picketers?”

“Yes,” Gavin said. He’d scattered small teams in positions along the roads leading to the base, teams armed with antitank weapons. They could slow the aliens down, but there was no easy way to slow down the aircraft. Their stock of antiaircraft missiles had largely been earmarked for Operation Hammer. “Tell them to land one good punch and then bug out. I don’t want a stand-up battle if we can avoid it.”

He glanced down at the map. The aliens had used helicopter assaults before, often with just as much bravery and skill as their human counterparts. They presumably wanted to take the alien’s interrogation team prisoner, if possible — did they know that they were close to the PM, as well as Gavin himself? There was no way to know. No one outside the base knew what it hid, a security precaution that had seemed rather paranoid at the time.

“And then start making your way to the exit,” he added. “You know where to go if we get split up?”

“Yes, sir,” the operator said. He watched as Gavin checked the SA80 he carried slung over his shoulder. There’d used to be regulations against arming soldiers who weren’t on duty. Those regulations no longer existed, along with the MOD that had sometimes seemed more paranoid about its soldiers being armed than about security. “Good luck.”

Gabriel had been sleeping lightly when the door burst open. He jumped awake, one hand reaching for the pistol on the table. He’d never fired a weapon before the invasion began, but Butcher and his team had insisted that he learn and spent several days in the forest showing him how to load, fire and clean a Browning automatic. It felt oddly reassuring in his hand, even though he knew that he would never be a crack shot. The SAS men regularly shot birds out of the sky and made it look easy.

“Prime Minister,” Butcher said. “We just had a warning from the OP. The aliens are on their way, coming here. You need to get up, now.”

He pulled Gabriel out of bed and tossed him his dressing gown. “There isn’t any time to dress,” he said, as he scooped up the overnight bag they’d insisted that Gabriel pack when they’d first arrived. “They’ll be on our heads in five minutes.”

The thought made Gabriel shake off his drowsiness and follow Butcher down the stairs. A handful of staff were at the bottom, talking urgently among themselves in grim voices. Butcher ignored them and pulled Gabriel towards the rear of the building when he started to slow down, nodding to Hughie and Mother as they appeared in front of them. The two men were armed to the teeth, carrying what looked like enough rifles and grenades to fight a small war. Judging from the military’s statistics Gabriel had read back before the invasion, they barely had enough for a brief skirmish with the enemy.

Outside, the morning dew hung heavily in the air. He could hear the sound of birds awakening from their slumber, but nothing else, not even a hint that someone was heading towards them with bad intentions. Gabriel almost opened his mouth to ask if it was a drill, before hearing the first sounds of helicopters in the distance. These days, there were only a handful of human aircraft in the air, all operated by collaborators. The aliens were definitely on their way.

Haddon Hall’s rear gardens blurred into the forest surrounding the estate. In his first week at the hall, Gabriel had enjoyed walking through the woodlands and watching the animals scuttling around, untouched by the war marring Britain’s soil. Now, there was no time to sightsee. He relaxed slightly as the trees and branches closed in around them, providing a limited amount of cover. The aliens might lose them within the gloom. He found himself praying as they stopped, briefly, near a cache of supplies Butcher had hidden in the forest, including a small change of clothes. They could pass for poachers trying to supplement their rations if the aliens caught up with them, although they had no ID cards. If the aliens demanded that they produce the cards… what could they do, but fight?

The sound of helicopters grew louder. Gabriel glanced up and saw dark shapes moving over the forest, heading towards the hall. He cringed back, only to be pulled back into a run by Butcher. The aliens might come down right on top of them if they lingered. Behind him, he could hear the sound of gunfire. Someone in the hall was giving the aliens a hot reception.

“We’ll head to the coast and grab a boat,” Butcher said, as they headed further away from the hall. The SAS man didn’t even have the decency to pretend he was winded. Gabriel knew that he was the one who would slow them down, if they encountered the enemy. He’d once asked Butcher if they would put a bullet in his head if capture was certain. Butcher had ducked the question. “And then we can head north to somewhere a little safer.”

Gabriel nodded, breathing hard. He’d had more exercise at the hall than he’d had in his entire life — with three SAS men as instructors — but he still felt winded. But there was no choice. They had to keep moving or the aliens might catch up with them. And then… Gabriel had no illusions about what they’d do to him. They’d force him to betray his country on television and then take him outside and put a bullet through his brains. They didn’t need the old Prime Minister when they had a collaborator willing and able to do everything they asked.

Behind them, the sound of gunfire grew louder.

The aliens appeared with terrifying speed, their attack helicopters swooping low over the forest, followed by a pair of heavy-lift helicopters loosely comparable to Chinooks. Gavin watched them come closer, knowing that the bigger helicopters were the dangerous ones. The aliens, if they wanted prisoners, couldn’t simply hose down the hall with bullets and rockets; they’d have to put boots on the ground. And the only way to do that quickly was through landing them from the air. They had their own version of the HALO parachute tactic, according to the internet. They’d used it while assaulting a French position in the south of France.

He keyed his radio. The aliens would be monitoring their traffic, but they shouldn’t be able to get real-time decryptions — at least if the intelligence on their computer software was accurate. British forces in Afghanistan had been able to monitor their enemies transmissions and use it against their foes, sometimes as targeting information. It was a risk, but one Gavin felt was worth taking. The same considerations about wanting prisoners ensured that the aliens couldn’t simply drop a rock on the transmitter from orbit.