The Yeomen of England (Posleen in England)

Interlude

And so it began…

Human forces went out to confront the Posleen on two worlds. On one of them, the Posleen were defeated by a man named Michael O’Neal, who used a crazy manoeuvre involving an antimatter bomb and a Posleen lander to buy time for the human forces to adapt¹⁴. As the novelty of the enemy wore off, the human forces grew better at fighting the Posleen, even at defeating them in open battle.
On the side of the enemy, that strange race that had been modified so long ago, they became aware of the existence of humanity. The Posleen had only the bare bones of an organisation, but news of the shattering defeat spread through their Net, shared with all of their God Kings. The effort to reach Earth was forced forward, but interstellar war was a tricky proposition, even for the Galactics. Though a method they never understood – not even the more intelligent God Kings – information on Earth and its various races began to spread through the Posleen Net, information on the Americans, the Germans, the Russians…and the British.
On Earth, the armies prepared for the coming storm. Even as the battles on Barwhon raged on, the Armoured Combat Suits entered the armouries of many nations, those who could afford them. Not all nations adopted Galactic technology; the Germans in particular worked to develop their own anti-lander and anti-Posleen vehicle. In the mind of the German leader, a grim thought developed slowly, hiding in the darkest recesses of his mind.
The world held its breath. All across the world, nations made their own preparations for war, from calling up every able-bodied young man (and sometimes every woman) for military service, to leaders running from nations that were sure to be overrun. Politics played a role; the French Government wasn’t able to raise as large an army as it had wished, torn apart by internal dissent and Darhel manipulations. Iraq denied its Shia population arms, forcing them to work to feed the Sunnis who would be armed, while the Saudis refused to arm more than a handful of their population. In the mountains of Afghanistan, a man called Osama Bin Ladin¹⁵ made his preparations to defend Mecca with his organisation, one that few humans had chosen to believe existed.
In Britain, the preparations for war continued. The Armoured Combat Suit unit were prepared and slowly – oh so slowly – equipped with their weapons and suits. Thousands and then millions of British men and women went to the colours, preparing to fight for Britain, armed and trained by developing industries, fed by a rationing program that gave priority to the military. Even as Britain dug deep within the mountains of Scotland and Wales, even as thousands of civilians moved north to the Sub-Urbs, the tension only grew.
And as for the Darhel? The strange elfin aliens watched and waited, steering a minor decision one way, pushing a larger decision another way, convincing humans to move towards the goals of the Darhel. Never moving in the open, remaining shadowy and indistinct, the Darhel were watched in their turn by various intelligence agencies, even as the mass of humanity hailed them as saviours.
A year passed. Another. Two more years passed. The time was steadily ticking down, and Earth was getting tense. The military, the national units and Fleet, prepared as best as they could, waiting for the axe to fall. The Posleen were on their way…and the humans waited…
And waited…

Chapter Twelve: Gust Front

Rusholme, Manchester

9 October 2004
Rusholme wasn’t what it had used to be, Sarfraz realised, as Brad and he walked along the centre of the road. The occasional car passed them, the drivers often making a rude gesture, but the two men ignored them. They were too busy examining the suburb, which had changed remarkably.
Gone were the shops stocking goods from India and Pakistan; the two nations had better things to do then produce goods for British markets. The shops had gone out of business quickly; British industries didn’t produce what they wanted or needed. Gone were the thousands of cars, dangerously double-parked; they had been dumped or sold for scrap when the oil ran out. Gone were the fancy restaurants, their staff having gone to the army, or in hiding fleeing the draft.
“This place is still open,” Brad said, pulling Sarfraz towards a simple kebab house. It was nearly lunchtime and the tables covered the entire street, leaving only a small place for passing cars. A Handling Machine had constructed a small barricade, which was rated good for withstanding Posleen attacks, preventing cars from slamming into the diners.
Sarfraz studied the shop with some amusement. “How many arms did they have to grease?” He asked. He meant arms; the sheer problems involved with keeping a restaurant running would mean greasing more than just a few palms with silver, or Federation Credits. “This place has everything.”
“Not quite everything,” Brad admitted, nodding to a waiter who came out to take their order. The waiter limped along on a crutch; it fooled neither man. “Coke is not quite what it used to be, and nor is the Iron Bru.”
“What? They’ve started using real iron?” Sarfraz asked. “How is the meat?”
He meant; is it Halal? Brad nodded. “That was how they convinced the Civil Defence Corps that they were needed,” he said. “Lot of Muslims in the Corps, and fewer Muslim restaurants. And some of the recruits were complaining, so my superiors fast-tracked some extra food vouchers for the place, provided they did their slaughtering themselves.”
Sarfraz grinned. “I heard that you’re now number-two for Manchester,” he said. “How did they get an idiot like you in that slot?”
Brad stuck out his tongue. “I found out that I was good at it,” he said. “You really should come see the tunnels, bro; we’ve been adapting the sewers into a miniature labyrinth. Some of them, you can even move one of your suits along the tunnels, just to hide from bad-tempered Posleen.”
Sarfraz pulled his AID from his belt and set it on the table. “Anisa, display the tunnel map,” he said. A holographic display appeared in front of them. “Is that what you mean?”
Brad studied the display. “Impressive,” he said. “No, you’re missing some of the tunnels,” he said finally. “We just kept adding to it and adding to it…and then some of the seniors went into the TA, and then Captain Radcliff asked me to accept a permanent CDC commission, and so…here I stand.”
“Those poor bastards,” Sarfraz said. Their kebabs arrived and for five minutes both men devoted themselves to eating. Brad broke the silence first.
“So, what was it like?” He asked. “What was being in the wars like?”
Sarfraz shook his head slowly. “It wasn’t the wars,” he said. He paused; how to explain to Brad about Bhutan and Bangladesh? How to explain that the leaders of Bangladesh had decided that Bhutan would make a good spot for them to hide out from the invasion? How to explain the massive poverty in Bangladesh, or the almost defenceless region? How to explain that the Posleen would regard Bangladesh as a banquet?
“It was ghastly,” he said finally. “They had nothing that could touch us; Bangladesh had almost no GalTech at all. They had these dinky tanks from the 1960s and we smashed them with our hands, crushing them without any effort at all. Their hearts weren’t in it; they knew that they would be left down in the plains when the Posleen came and ate them, while their leaders fled.”
Brad nodded. “It’s bad here too,” he said. “Everyone is scared, even with the timetabled movement plans. They think that the entire system will fall apart when the Posleen arrive, and they might be right.”
Sarfraz nodded. “I went on the hajji,” he said. “Did she tell you?”
Brad shook his head. “She’s been becoming one of the CDC’s doctors,” he said. “She’ll be ready when they come.”
Sarfraz looked at him. “You’ve been living together for over three years,” he said. “Why haven’t you married her?”
Brad seemed to flinch at the question. “She refused to marry me when I asked her,” he said. “She…she wants to have a stable life first, and…”
“This isn’t very stable,” Sarfraz agreed. “Anisa is pretty much the same; she’s still working for the CDC herself, but she won’t consider marriage.”
“She could lose you at any moment,” Brad said. “Statistically, you are far more likely to die than I.”
“I know,” Sarfraz said dryly. “Have there been any more peaceniks?”
He was dodging the real issue. Brad, Allah bless him, understood. “She’s fine, as far as we can tell,” he said. “Your mother is living with one of your endless supply of uncles…Mumtaz, I think.”
Sarfraz smiled. “He’s decent, if narrow-minded,” he said. “Her brother from the old country.”
Brad smiled. “What’s it like in the army?” He asked. “Would I fit in?”
“Obvious coward,” Sarfraz said. “We ought to call you Major Bloodnok.^th”
“Please meet my sister,” Brad said. He snorted. “No one would mistake Sameena for my sister.”
“A blind man might,” Sarfraz said. “One so fair, the other…disgusting.”
“Up yours,” Brad said. “She said that she would meet us soon, once her latest drill is finished.”
Sarfraz frowned. One of the other things that Sergeant Benton had hammered into their heads was that drills were fine, except that they missed out one thing; the emergency. They’d been forced to practice getting into the suits in the dark, just in case the Posleen took out the lights, and they’d been forced to practice fighting without half of the suit’s systems, just in case. The old sadist had done his job well, so well that half of the 1 Armoured Combat Suit Regiment jumped for their suits in the morning.
“It’s…regimented,” he said, and smiled at the bad pun. “We get up in the morning, exercise, practice unarmed combat – which is certain death against a Posleen – and then we practice with the suits and artillery coordination until we’re asleep on our feet. Then we wake up and do it all over again.”
Brad nodded. “We’ve been putting a lot of people though hell here,” he said. “Constant drills, getting everyone to the shelters or the railways, just to get them out of here. We’ve been reduced to praying that they won’t land here, it’s that fucked-up.”
“That bad, huh?” Sarfraz asked. A running brown form caught his attention. “Sister!”
Sameena ran up and gave him a hug. “Long time no see,” she said. “How’s your leave?”
“Just hit the crapper,” Sarfraz said. She mock-slapped him. “How’ve you been?”
“Giving basic medical attention,” Sameena said. She was stronger and more confident than he remembered. “Do you know that we’re a hell of a lot healthier, as a whole, than we were a few years ago?”
“Less fat bastards eating all the pie,” Brad said. He grinned; Rowan Atkinson had put on a performance for the CDC, dressed as Blackadder from Blackadder Goes Forth. His statement about how the British Army should invade France had been warmly received by almost all of the watching CDC.
“A lot of people have made money from the invasion,” Sameena said. “People in the armaments business, mainly.”
Sarfraz shrugged. “What are you going to do about it?” He asked. “It’s none of our business.”
“I always tried to care, ever since Jafar died,” Sameena said. Sarfraz shrugged; he had never liked Jafar. She spoke in Arabic for a moment. “How was the Holy City?”
“Unprepared for war,” Sarfraz said, in English. “The army offered us a chance to go on the pilgrimage, and the Saudis haven’t bothered to do anything to defend the city. All the defence of the city is in the hands of that nutter Bin Ladin and his goons.” He shook his head. “Allah, but they give us a bad name.”
“Perhaps I should have gone,” Sameena mused. “Perhaps it would have been my last chance.”
“You’re unmarried,” Sarfraz pointed out. “You have no obligation to go.” He leered at her. “When are you going to get married?”
Sameena glared at him. “When we’re stable,” she said. “I mean it, you know, so don’t go all nutty on me.”
“Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” Sarfraz said. “Take care of yourself, sis.”
“I will,” Sameena promised. “Now, how long is your leave?”
Sarfraz’s AID started to buzz. Seconds later, the alarms started to ring. “Anisa?” Sarfraz asked. “What’s up?”
“A number of Posleen ships have emerged from hyperspace,” the AID said. “All military personnel are ordered to return to their units at once.”
“Acknowledge for me,” Sarfraz ordered, returning the AID to his belt. “Brad, take care of her.” He grinned. “You did have to open your mouth, didn’t you?”
Sameena kissed him once on the cheek. “You’d better come back so I can kick you for that,” she said. Sarfraz nodded once, then started to run back towards the military station. The only way to return to Fort Churchill would be by aircraft, and no one knew how long they would last.