Their Darkest Hour (28 page)

But there was no choice
, he told himself, desperately.  The poorer parts of London were becoming hotbeds of resistance activity.  Young men, men who had had little hope of rising out of poverty before the invasion, were actively targeting the police – and even the aliens themselves.  A dozen had died only yesterday in the wake of a failed petrol bomb attack on an alien patrol.  And London wasn't even seeing the worst of the violence.  Manchester had been consumed by a riot that had torn through Moss Side before the police had finally managed to restore order.

He shivered as the crowd’s chant grew louder.  As an MP, he’d seen the reports from the security services on radical trouble-makers who enjoyed infiltrating protest marches and causing havoc.  A number with ties to London’s criminal underworld were down there, arming the protesters with gas masks and even crude weapons.  There might even be resistance fighters with the crowd, ready to take out a handful of collaborators.  And what would the aliens do, he asked himself, if the crowd broke into his headquarters and lynched him?  Perhaps they’d simply sit back and drop rocks on the crowd, thrashing the survivors into submission.  Or...there were too many possibilities and none of them were pleasant.

“Give us back our children,” the crowd demanded.  “Give us back our wives!”

The roar grew louder as the words spread.  It was simple enough to understand; dozens of wives and children, apparently innocent, had been swept up by the raids.  No one knew what had happened to them, at least no one outside the alien garrison where Ten Downing Street had once been.  Alan knew that they’d been taken outside the city, but then...?  The aliens had refused to tell him anything, which suggested that they might simply have been killed.

But that didn’t make sense either, he tried to tell himself.  What was the point of punitive executions if they didn't inform the country that they’d been carried out?  But the aliens were aliens and something that made sense to them might appear strange to the human mindset...he looked down at the crowd again and shuddered.  He’d wanted power, hadn't he?  And yet he was quailing at the thought of what he would have to do to
keep
hold of that power, to keep the population under control and the aliens happy...

He looked up at Rivers.  “Disperse the crowd,” he ordered, sharply.  “Get rid of them.  Now.”

***

Robin felt sweat trickling down his back as the noise grew louder.  The crowd had blurred into a single mass of humanity, screaming and shouting all along the barricades.  Robin knew that if they decided to push forward, a lot of people were going to be hurt.  Mobs lost all sense of proportion or civilisation; if they caught a policeman, he was likely to be trampled to death.  And if individuals wanted to get away from the mob, they would find it very difficult, almost impossible.  The mob mentality sucked in individuals and turned them into mindless automatons.

And yet, part of him wanted to throw away his uniform and join them.  The mob was right – they
had
arrested hundreds of people without due cause.  Sure, some of them had deserved arrest – one firebrand preacher deserved worse, but the pre-invasion government had been reluctant to take the political flak for arresting him – but others were innocent, their only crime being related to the suicide bomber and his friends.  And some had been scooped up for no reason that he could see.  They’d become worse than the Nazis in a far shorter space of time – and to think that the Met had once prided itself on its ethics.  How far were they willing to go to collaborate.

He glanced behind him, seeing the same doubts written on the faces of his fellows.  Some of them, at least, had been reluctant to follow orders and even join the police force blocking the way to the building housing the collaborating government.  Others, on the other hand, seemed almost delighted at the prospect of violence, the ones who had learned to hate protest marches during the summers of rage, where it had been politically impossible to hand out the thrashing many of the protesters had deserved.  They’d never done a day’s work in their life, they’d argued, and yet they deserved to be fed and clothed at taxpayer’s expense.  Many policemen had little sympathy for protesters.  If they put the energy they put into their protests into bettering themselves instead, they would actually find that there were other options than permanently living on the dole.

But they had their orders.  The crowd had to be dispersed.  Even now, other policemen would be setting up barriers, using them to push the crowd back and block off several lines of retreat.  They’d be forced away from the building complex, pushed all the way back to where they’d come from – and any who tried to fight back would be arrested.  Or at least that was the plan.  Robin knew that many of the protesters would have come armed, intent on picking a fight – or merely intent on preventing a humiliating retreat.  And the police had been denied firearms.  The protest organisers might be better armed than themselves.

He braced himself as the loudspeaker crackled on.  “ATTENTION,” the speaker said, loudly enough to be heard over the crowd.  “THIS IS AN ILLEGAL GATHERING.  YOU ARE ORDERED TO DISPERSE.  YOU ARE ORDERED TO DISPERSE.”

The crowd started throwing objects towards the police lines.  There had been no order, as far as Robin could see, merely a shared desire to hit back at the collaborators.  Some of them were throwing rotten fruit and vegetables, others were throwing stones and empty bottles.  Those made him wince, remembering the petrol bombs that had been thrown at the aliens had even some policemen.   If they’d been filled with petrol and set alight...no flames enveloped the police lines and he allowed himself a moment of relief.  A handful of policemen had been injured, but their comrades were already helping them back towards the emergency treatment centre they’d established in the corporate gym.  Robin hadn't been able to believe just how many amities they’d managed to fit inside their buildings.  It was a wonder that they ever went home for the night.

There was a hiss as water cannons came on, spraying furious gusts of water towards the protestors.  The water was drawn from the mains, this time, providing a nearly infinite source of freezing cold liquid.  Many protestors, drenched to the bone, would have thought better of being in the protest moments after they’d been hit, but the ones behind them wouldn't let them retreat.  The water started to push them back, sending many protesters falling to the ground as they tried to seek shelter from the water.  He allowed himself to hope that they'd succeeded in breaking the protest...

He saw the objects flying through the air before he quite realised what they were, too late.  The grenades detonated beside the water cannons, blowing them and their operators apart in brilliant explosions.  A great blast of water roared into the sky, leaving drops falling on police and protesters alike....the protesters howled and roared forward like a single living entity.  He caught sight of young teenage girls caught up in the crush and felt a moment of pity, until they lunged forward at the police.  The policemen fell back as their lines fell apart; it wasn't until he happened to glance towards where the Captain had been that he realised that someone had
shot
him.  There was a sniper on one of the surrounding buildings, picking off the police commanders one by one.  They hadn't even heard the shot over the sound of angry protesters scenting victory.

“Fall back,” Robin yelled.  The police lines were wavering.  Few had been really enthusiastic about facing the protesters and it was clear that they were losing control.  Several policemen with only a few months experience had taken to their heels and fled.  “Get back to the second lines, now...”

The mob surged forward and he found himself facing a young man with a shaven head and a pair of knuckledusters.  He lashed out with his baton, sending the man crumpling to the ground, before the protesters trampled over his victim and kept coming.  It was all he could do to back away slowly, rather than turning and joining the others in flight.  He'd never faced such a situation in his entire life.  Behind him, he heard the sound of gas being deployed and grasped his mask.  He’d had one sniff of the gas during training and that had been quite enough.  But somehow he doubted that it would be enough to stop the protesters...

His nerve broke and he turned, running for dear life.  The next set of lines might be enough to stop them, or it might fall...and then the protesters would be able to pour into the buildings and rip the core of the collaborator government apart.  And then the aliens would have to govern London on their own.

Somehow, he didn't think they would let it get so far.

***

“Get everyone up to the helipad,” Rivers ordered.  Alan barely heard him.  The attempt to disperse the protesters had failed badly, not least because someone was clearing their way, picking off police commanders.  He found himself looking at the other buildings, wondering which one held the sniper – or snipers.  There might well be more than one.  “Sir, we have to evacuate this building.”

As a child, Alan had been frightened of heights and reluctant to enter tall buildings.  That old fear came back to him as the building shook, suggesting that the protesters were breaking in through gates that were supposed to be sealed.  Perhaps the police had fallen back deliberately, allowing the lynch mob a chance to gain entry and wipe out the collaborator government.  He looked over at Rivers, wondering if the Chief Constable had ambitions to take over, before dismissing the thought.  Rivers could have turned the police against him without needing to stage a riot.

“Come on, sir,” Rivers said, catching him by the arm and half-dragging him towards the door.  The CEO who’d owned the building had placed a helipad on top of the massive skyscraper, allowing him to fly in and out each morning without having to drive through London.  Alan’s government had planned to use it to keep certain movements out of the public eye.  “We don’t know how long it will be before they get up here.”

Alan nodded, trying to remain dignified.  It wasn't easy.  “Where are we going?”

“The only place we can,” Rivers said.  “One of the alien garrisons outside the city.  And pray to God that they’re not feeling trigger-happy today.”

Outside, on the roof, a gust of wind almost sent Alan to his knees.  The entire building was shaking, as if it was on the verge of being blown over.  Somehow, with help from Rivers and one of his men, he managed to climb into the helicopter and close his eyes.  His entire body was shaking with fear.  The sound of the engines grew louder and then he felt the helicopter lurch into life.  It seemed to hop into the air, falling back for a heart-stopping moment before settling out and heading away from the building.  Alan opened his eyes and stared down at the crowd below.

It struck him, suddenly, that the resistance might have hidden an antiaircraft team nearby, that they might have staged the entire protest to catch him when he was vulnerable.  He opened his mouth to insist that they landed at once, before realising that the pilot wouldn't be able to hear him over the noise of the engines.  Instead, he stared out at London, feeling the old fear crawling through his heart.  If they were shot down, there would be no hope of survival...

London was burning.  He could see plumes of smoke from where rioters were looting shops in the richer part of town, while the crowd of savage humanity seemed to have no end.  It was easy to imagine what was going on down there, the frenzy of the lower classes as they worked out their class anger on defenceless targets.  And then they would become savages, looting, raping and burning their way through London.  He felt anger pushing away his fear as the helicopter banked away and headed westwards, up towards the alien positions around the city.  How
dare
they lift a hand against him?

***

Tra’tro
The’Stig had to fight down his fear as he dismounted, alarmingly close to the mob of humanity thronging through the area.  There were
thousands
of the creatures, yelling and screaming as they raged against their leaders, against the few who had been smart enough to realise that they were beaten.  The whole idea of a protest march was alien to those who served the State – surely, even the humans could not be so foolish as to allow protests from their juniors to shape policy.  The’Stig, still in command of the mixed remains of several units, felt nothing, but contempt.  Didn’t these humans have the wit to know when they were beaten?  Didn't they know that further resistance would only result in a great many deaths for absolutely nothing?

Behind him, more troop transports and tanks had arrived, bringing a large and powerful force right to the heart of the collaborator government.  From what they’d heard through the grapevine – officially, they were only told what they needed to know, as determined by their superior officers – the rioting humans were tearing through the offices owned and operated by the collaborator government.  The’Stig wasn't sure what they hoped to achieve.  The computer records that detailed all of the registered humans weren't stored with the human government, but outside the cities at the Land Force Base.  Even if they burned down the entire area, they would achieve nothing more than irritating the Command Triad.  And they weren't even going to get that far.