Christopher Nuttall: Their Darkest Hour

Robin hadn’t expected Beresford to have a gun. The collaborator’s bullet passed through his chest, just above his heart. It felt as if someone had stabbed him with a red hot poker. The pain was so great that he almost fainted, before dropping to his knees and pressing one hand to the wound. Blood was spilling down, warm against his hand — and he knew that he was dead. It hurt to move, but there was no choice. He had to know that Beresford was dead.

Somehow, drawing on his every last ounce of determination, he managed to stagger towards where the collaborator had fallen. Beresford’s dead face, twisted with agony, looked back at him. He was barely aware that there was someone else in the room until he saw the naked girl jump up from where she’d been lying and run towards the door. Robin wanted to call out to her, to warn her that she was running right into danger, but his mouth refused to cooperate. The pain was growing stronger and stronger, threatening to drag him down into the same blackness that had swallowed Beresford.

Should have had someone come with you , he thought he heard, at the back of his mind. It seemed to take hours before he managed to sit upright, keeping one hand pressed to his wound. It felt as if the bullet had lodged itself in his body rather than coming out of his back. He could hear the sound of alien weapons in the distance, demanding his attention, yet he was so tired. His other hand reached for his pistol and tried to pull it from his belt, but it refused to come free from where he’d stashed it. It was all he could do to pull one of the grenades free as he heard the sound of heavy footsteps clumping up the stairs.

His vision was starting to blur, but somehow he managed to keep his eyes open until the first alien form lumbered into the room. They’d killed his fellows, then, or forced them to retreat… it hardly mattered. All that mattered was that he was dying — and that he wouldn’t die alone. He pulled the pin from the grenade and looked up at the aliens as they advanced on him. They hadn’t realised the danger. Perhaps they hadn’t even realised that he had turned on them. They’d probably thought of him as a very loyal servant.

He thought, briefly, of his wife. They’d said that she was safe, somewhere to the north. He hoped that she would understand one day, and find happiness with someone else. There was no reason anyone had to know that her husband had been a collaborator, if only for a short period. And besides, he’d turned on the aliens. That had to count for something, didn’t it? But that would depend on who wrote the history books. Humans — or Leathernecks? The winners always wrote the history books to please themselves.

“Fuck you,” he managed to say, and jerked the grenade free. “Fuck you, you…”

The aliens jumped back, but it was far too late.

London

United Kingdom, Day 55

“If this fails…”

“It won’t,” Abdul said. “Have a little faith in your fellow man.”

Chris nodded, watching from his vantage point as the alien patrols headed towards their checkpoint. They were very careful with their routines these days, even though he was sure that there was a pattern in their movements. He couldn’t blame them for that, or their decision to exclude human vehicles from their bases. The resistance had attempted to capture and drive a handful of alien vehicles, but the experiments hadn’t been successful. They’d found the alien vehicles difficult to operate with human drivers.

The alien base loomed over London, a brooding metal shape that mocked humanity’s pretensions to historical monuments. They’d built it on the remains of Buckingham Palace, just to illustrate the fact that the Earth belonged to them by right of conquest. Chris had heard that they’d done the same with the White House and the Kremlin, knocking them down to make room for their buildings. Perhaps it made sense from their point of view, rather than waving a red flag in front of the human bull. They’d certainly shown no particular willingness to give a damn about what humans thought. There was a certain blunt honesty in their actions that contrasted oddly with human political thinking. All the politicians who’d talked about not giving offense to people who harboured terrorists intent on killing British troops…

Abdul tapped his shoulder. “The policeman should be moving by now,” he said. “Two minutes left. You ready?”

“Yes,” Chris said. He glanced back at his team. They looked ready, even though they knew that challenging the aliens on their own base was incredibly dangerous. The aliens might just cut their losses and start dropping rocks from orbit. “Get the Javelin teams into position.”

The laptop buzzed once. They’d spliced it into one of the underground telecommunications links that had made up the backbone of the British communications network before the aliens had arrived, using it to link into the internet. The final countdown had begun. All over the world, countless computers were being linked into the alien communications system, attempting to hack into it and bring it down. Chris wasn’t sure if he believed any of the more extreme promises, but they should certainly disrupt the alien response. It was all they’d need to get in, hit the bastards and get out again. The final seconds ticked down to zero.

He clicked his radio. “Go,” he ordered. The snipers positioned on nearby rooftops opened fire, picking off the aliens within view. Their patrollers fell to the ground or dived for cover, trying to bring their own weapons up to return fire. They’d have some problems spotting the snipers, Chris hoped. “Javelin teams — go!”

The Javelin teams ran forward, taking up position to launch their antitank missiles directly at the alien gates. Chris had seen them used before to take out bunkers and other fortified positions, but as far as he could recall no one had ever used them to take out a gate. The missiles were fired before the aliens had a chance to react, blasting down towards the alien positions and slamming into their heavy gates. Chris watched as the gate he could see personally toppled inwards, squashing a couple of aliens who had been behind it when the attack began. The alien defences had been crippled.

He keyed his radio again. “Mortar teams, go,” he ordered. “Fire at will.”

The sound of mortars started to echo out over London as the teams opened fire, lobbing shells into the alien base to force the defenders to keep their heads down. Other teams all over London would be assaulting alien patrols, hoping to prevent them from turning and charging to the rescue of their leadership. In the early hours of the invasion, human military and police forces had been badly scattered, their command and control networks broken down and fragmented, leaving them facing their individual nightmares. Now the boot was on the other foot. The aliens were going to have to deal with an unfolding crisis as individuals.

He glanced over at Abdul, who was monitoring the results of the mortar strikes. “Not too bad,” he commented. “Shame we couldn’t get into the tunnels — we could have popped up right in the midst of them.”

Chris shrugged. “Alpha team,” he said, picking up his rifle, “go!”

As one, they started to run towards the alien gates, covered by the snipers. Up close, the sound of the mortars was louder. A single shell falling short might take out friendly soldiers, yet there was no time to call off the strikes. No one was entirely sure what the aliens used to build their base, but they did know that it was strong; alien bases across the world had stood off everything from RPGs to guided missiles. They had to keep the aliens pinned up while they deployed into position to assault the base itself.