Their Darkest Hour (10 page)

But she could think of no other possible explanation.

Smith came back into the room and she filled him in, leaving out nothing.  The farmer listened carefully, without interrupting, and then nodded.  “I suspected as much,” he admitted, after she’d finished.  “The BBC has been raving about monsters in London.  They must have seen the aliens...”

“But what do they
want
?”  Alex asked, helplessly.  “What does puny Earth have that they might want for themselves?”

“I have no idea,” Smith said.  He shrugged.  “Listen; I have to go to the Parish Council and tell them what’s going on.  God alone knows what’s going to happen if London’s been occupied and we have to see to the crops.  Lots of people might come running out of the cities and heading for the farms.  I’d like you to come with me.”

Alex hesitated, and then nodded just as her stomach rumbled loudly.  “Have something to eat first,” Mrs Smith said, firmly.  “And you as well, Giles.  You don’t eat enough as it is.”

***

Alex had never been
to Long Stratton before, but Smith was happy to fill her in as they rumbled into the town and headed towards the Town Hall.  Long Stratton was a civil parish with a population of roughly three thousand people, many of whom seemed to be thronging the streets as if they expected answers to be handed down from above.  It struck her that many people around the country would have only seen explosions or heard thunderclaps, or perhaps listened to the ranting from the BBC – and wouldn't have the slightest idea of what was going on.  How long would it be, she asked herself, before confusion turned into panic?  And how long would it be before the aliens made their demands known to humanity?

Smith parked by the Town Hall and nodded towards the old-style stone church.  “There’ll be hundreds of people there, seeking guidance,” he said, softly.  “Everyone knows everyone else here, not like in the big cities.  We have a real community here, despite everything London can do to ruin it.  Little green men aren't going to take this place from us without a fight.”

Alex kept her opinions to herself.  Some of the farmers would have shotguns, or hunting rifles, but most of the population would be unarmed.  It was quite possible that they could produce Molotov Cocktails and other makeshift weapons, yet how could they stand up to the alien onslaught?  The defenders of Long Stratton and its sister towns might just be marking themselves for extermination.  What was her duty to them if they decided to challenge the aliens directly?

Smith led her into the Town Hall after a brief chat with the policeman standing outside, looking rather worried.  Alex saw his hand toying with his radio and realised that the police in Long Stratton had been cut off from London by alien jamming.  She thought about telling him what she knew, and then realised that it would be pointless.  He couldn't do anything about it, but panic.  Shaking her head, she allowed Smith to lead her into a small room.  Three men were gathered there, looking deeply worried.  She smiled inwardly as they saw her uniform and frowned, uncertain what to make of her presence.  God alone knew what she was going to tell them.

“This is the Parish Council, or as much of them as could be assembled,” Smith said, without preamble.  “Rupert Leigh; Tory MP for his sins, but a good man outside politics.”  A tall thin man nodded impatiently.  “Timmy Simpson; used to farm quite a bit, but now pretty much retired.”  Simpson snorted, making a gesture with his fingers that suggested counting money.  He was an older man, with a hunch that suggested that he was bowed under some great weight.  “And the Reverend Macpherson, shepherd of our little flock.”

“I should be in the Church,” Reverend Macpherson said, shortly.  “People need to come together and pray to God for guidance.”

Smith nodded and started to outline what he’d heard from Alex, starting with the story of how he’d found her in his field.  Halfway through, when he reached the bit about aliens, all three of the councillors stared at her.  They looked as if they wanted to call in the policeman and have the pair of them arrested for public drunkenness.  Smith finished by reminding them of some of the more hysterical statements on the BBC – “we live in strange times,” he said.

“I wish I didn't believe you,” Leigh said.  His voice had an upper-class edge that reminded Alex of a certain breed of officer.  They’d sounded as if they’d been absolutely certain about everything too.  “But aliens...dear God, what are we going to do when we tell the people?”

“We shall inform them in the Church,” the Reverend said.  “They will have time to reflect on God’s will instead of panicking.”

Leigh snorted.  “But what are we going to
do
?”

Alex had been giving the matter some thought.  “They made us study recent military history back when I was a trainee pilot,” she said.  “The first few hours after an invasion are always the most dangerous for ordinary people, because the occupation force will be on edge and unsure of its ground.  You may not see very many aliens this far from London, or they may decide to take stock of the entire country.  I think you need to consider what you’re going to do when they arrive – and what you’re going to do about others.”

She scowled.  “Right now, London and a dozen other cities are war zones,” she continued.  “The population is going to start fleeing the cities and heading for the countryside.  You’re not that far from Norwich – and that’s got upwards of three hundred thousand people who will find themselves starving very quickly.  What happens when they start flooding the farms?  You have food here – and animals that can be slaughtered for human consumption.  What are you going to do when they arrive?”

“There’s the police,” Leigh said, slowly.

“I think you have to assume that the police and the military have been knocked on the head,” Alex said.  She didn't want to admit it, but it was quite possible.  “Even if there is still a working government and military out there, they are going to have more on their hands than helping you.  You need to start planning for the worst.”

“Good God,” Leigh said.  He stared down at the table, helplessly.  “I don’t think that there
is
anything we can do if the situation is that bad.  We can’t hold back swarms of starving humans...”

“We may have no choice,” Simpson said, flatly.  “Do you want to wait and see your families starving because you gave all your food to refugees?”

“I would remind you,” the Reverend said sharply, “that charity is your duty towards your fellow man.  Remember the parable of the Good Samaritan.”

“The Good Samaritan,” Simpson replied, “was in no danger.”

He shook his head, slowly.  “We may be in serious trouble anyway,” he warned.  “It isn't as if we keep stockpiles of food and seeds out here – normally, we could just order the supplies when we needed them.  How dependent are we on the rest of the world?  International trade is probably shot to hell.”

“No doubt,” Alex agreed.

“Then we put it to the vote,” Leigh said.  “We can speak to the people in the Church – ask them to work together to safeguard our farms and the rest of our property.  And then we can hope that this whole crisis is just going to blow over.”

“Hark at him,” Simpson crowed.  He laughed, unpleasantly.  “Stupid politicians
always
think that the world will go back to normal if they just keep their eyes closed long enough.  The country has been
invaded
, you idiot!  Even if the army does manage to give those thieving bastards a damn good thrashing, do you think that
anything
is going to be the same ever again?  Really?  I want some of whatever you’ve been smoking.”

Leigh reddened, but he somehow managed to keep his voice calm.  “If the worst does happen, we’re probably doomed,” he said.  “I refuse to stop hoping for the best even as I try to prepare for the worst.”

“Typical politician,” Simpson said.  He looked up at Alex, amused malice glinting in his brown eyes.  “You want to bet that we’re all dead a week from today?”

“That will do,” the Reverend said.  He stood up from the table.  “I believe that it is time to sound the bells and summon the townspeople to the Church.  We can tell them what we know and then we can decide what to do.”  He looked over at Alex.  “I’d like you to remain at hand.  You may be needed to answer questions.”

“I don’t know what else I can tell you,” Alex admitted.  “I’ve told you everything I know.”

Simpson shrugged.  “Some people will probably feel better knowing that someone in a uniform is telling them not to worry,” he said.  “Back in the War” – it took Alex a moment to realise that he meant the Second World War – “they used to tell us to keep calm and carry on.  And we did too.”

“You lived out here, safe on your farm,” Smith pointed out, with some amusement.  It was clear that he and Simpson were old friends.  “I think the people in the Blitz probably felt a little different.”

“I have no doubt of it,” Simpson said.  He looked up at Alex.  “After the meeting in the Town Hall, let me know if you decide to stick around.  I have some items you may be interested in using.”

***

The announcement and discussion in the Church was just as bad as Alex had feared.  Nearly two hundred people had crammed themselves into the building and they all wanted to talk.  The children had picked up on their parents’ emotions and looked fearful, apart from the ones too young to know that something was wrong.  Alex found herself targeted by irate people who wanted to know what had happened to the RAF, or why the invasion had been allowed to take place.  After trying to point out twice that she had been taken completely by surprise, she did her best to ignore the louder protesters.  It wasn't as if there was anything else she could do.

“We can survive this if we all pull together,” Leigh said, once the general panic had calmed down slightly.  The sheer unreality of the situation helped, although the BBC had clearly managed to cause panic in some quarters.  One report claimed that London and Manchester had been occupied by giant elephants.  Alex couldn't help, but feel that little gray aliens would have been more traditional.  “We don’t know what’s going to happen, but we
will
get through it all.”

The crowd didn't ask for specifics, luckily.  Alex allowed herself a moment of relief that it seemed to be quietening down, even though she wasn't sure what she wanted to do now.  Where did she go to report in?  RAF Coningsby was almost certainly destroyed – or occupied by alien forces.  The RAF had been taken completely by surprise. 

She stepped outside and looked up at the darkening sky.  An entire day had gone by and she’d barely noticed.  High overhead, the stars were coming out – and there were a handful of trails burning their way down towards Earth.  The remains of humanity’s pathetic space program, she assumed.  Some of the other lights would be alien starships...

In the distance, she heard the sound of thunder and shuddered.

The night no longer felt safe.

Chapter Eight

Salisbury Plain

United Kingdom, Day 1

“Prime Minister?”

Gabriel shook himself awake, surprised that he’d managed to fall asleep.  After they’d left London, they’d followed the Thames upstream, with only minor delays caused by bridges that the aliens had targeted from orbit.  A couple of hours later, they’d left the boat and transferred themselves to a Land Rover Butcher had recovered from somewhere.  Reading between the lines, Gabriel guessed that the vehicle had been stolen, but he had found it difficult to care.  Exhaustion had overwhelmed him soon afterwards.

They had parked in the midst of woodland, with the vehicle half-hidden under the trees.  A small group of armed soldiers wearing camouflage uniforms had surrounded the vehicle, glancing around nervously as they waited for the Prime Minister to disembark.  Gabriel knew very little about the military, but he could tell that the soldiers were worried.  No matter how he looked at the situation, there seemed little cause for optimism.  A day ago, he’d been Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.  Now...his position as Prime Minister seemed almost meaningless.  No Prime Minister had ever had to flee London for fear that enemy troops would capture or kill him.  Even Charles I had managed a reasonably dignified departure from his former capital.

Butcher led him into the woods, down towards a small concrete building marked PRIVATE, KEEP OUT.  The soldier opened the door, revealing a ladder leading down into the depths of the Earth.  Unwilling to show fear in front of the soldiers, Gabriel followed him down and realised to his relief that the lower levels of the bunker were properly lit.  A uniformed soldier was waiting for him.  The man looked deeply worried, but relieved when he saw the Prime Minister.