The Yeomen of England (Posleen in England)

Chapter Thirteen: Star Wars

Ten Downing Street

London, United Kingdom

10^th October 2004
The Prime Minister entered the room and everyone stood to greet him, a symbol of respect for his decision to turn Britain into a fortress. With the reports from Vietnam, from Turkey, from Iran and – worst of all – America, no one doubted that the Posleen existed any longer. The flashes of light as satellites had died and the signals from CNN, before the relay satellites had vanished, had proven to the world that the aliens were real.
And if that wasn’t enough, Aberdeen is gone, the Prime Minister thought grimly. The Civil Defence Corps were doing what they could, but the Posleen weapon had laid waste to most of the city; the city that had been given the lowest priority for evacuation. God is ironic sometimes, isn’t he?
He surveyed the room as he took his seat. The military personnel looked tired, the politicians looked shell-shocked. He frowned inwardly; if they’re like this when the Posleen are on the other side of the world, what will they be like when the Posleen are marching through Britain?
The thought was amusing despite itself; the Prime Minister smiled. Daniel Morgan, the new Home Secretary, coughed meaningfully. The Prime Minister nodded to him; he’d had to add Morgan to a significant cabinet post, just to keep the Party happy during the time of emergency. A tall grey former soldier, a man who the American President had once compared to Smedley Butler, Morgan was something of a fanatic on British independence.
“It’s been a day since they arrived,” the Prime Minister said. He nodded at General Anderson; he’d promoted him himself. “What’s the current situation?”
Anderson smiled tiredly. The Prime Minister made a mental note to order him to get some sleep after the briefing. “The Posleen are advancing on Washington,” Anderson said. “There’s no indication that they know it’s the capital of the United States, but it’s a distressing development.”
The Prime Minister and Sir Robert Darter exchanged looks. Even after four years of shadowy manoeuvring, they still didn’t know what the Darhel were doing. Could the Darhel have warned the Posleen that Washington would be a centre of resistance? The Prime Minister scowled; if the Darhel could do that, then why not try to reason with the Posleen?
Instead, they were concentrating on building up influence within political systems across the world. No major nation was free from the shadowy manipulations; Germany, France, not even Britain itself. The Prime Minister knew that Hammond was keeping them appraised of everything, but the Darhel would be branching out, he was certain; finding others who were…less loyal to Britain as a whole.
“The Americans are claiming high confidence,” Anderson continued. “Unfortunately, the situation is so confused, it’s impossible to know exactly what’s going on. In Vietnam and Iran, the Posleen are simply smashing their way through all opposition; they’re very hard to stop on the plains. There have also been scattered landings in several places across the world, such as isolated spots in America and the Middle East.”
“Our own defences remain on alert,” General Mathews said. “We took a lot of casualties when the PDCs were hit.”
“Blasted Americans in Fleet,” Morgan muttered. Linking all of the PDCs into a single network, TERDEF, had been designed to coordinate their fire against the Posleen. It also drew Posleen fire against the PDCs, which the Prime Minister knew was worse than Posleen fire striking cities – intellectually. Emotionally, he wanted the Posleen to vanish, along with the Darhel.
“We knew it was dangerous the day we heard about them,” the Prime Minister said mildly. “General?”
“We managed to get teams into Aberdeen,” General Mathews said. “Fortunately, the strike wasn’t radioactive, so we didn’t have any trouble evacuating as many people as we could. If we hadn’t stockpiled food and medicine, if we hadn’t trained so many doctors…”
The Prime Minister nodded. Few had been willing to acknowledge that a single nuclear strike would have utterly overwhelmed the pre-Posleen National Heath Service. If there was one good thing about the DORA, it allowed the government to push more people towards useful careers.
“The army remains on full alert,” General Mathews continued. “All units are reporting themselves at ninety-seven percent readiness or higher; Aberdeen killed a lot of soldiers on leave. We have a small problem with a handful of desertions, but we expect that the majority of the army will hold.”
The Prime Minister nodded. “Are we in any danger?” He asked. “Have they finished the landings?”
“There might be a handful of other ships in the wave,” Anderson said. The Prime Minister recognised the reproachful tone; it had been a stupid question. “They could still land here and invade.”
The Prime Minister nodded. “Keep the alert status up,” he said. “I have to address the nation.”
***

For once, Charlene Jackson was not the only reporter in the room, even though the BBC had the only camera. The long and complicated negotiations had ended by finally agreeing that all of the reporters would have access, which had annoyed the BBC because they wouldn’t have an exclusive any longer.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Prime Minister said. “It is my solemn duty to report today that the Posleen invasion force has landed in several locations around the world.” Charlene shivered despite herself, wishing that she could remain calm. “For the moment, no Posleen craft has attempted to land on Britain, and there is no immediate danger.”
“Except in Aberdeen,” a reporter shouted. That news had broken very quickly. “People are dying in Aberdeen.”
The Prime Minister ignored him magnificently. “Unfortunately, a Posleen weapon has landed in Aberdeen, destroying a sizeable portion of the city.” He winced visibly. “The weapons was not radioactive, I repeat; it was not a nuclear weapon and the dangers of fallout are non-existent. For the moment, the City of Aberdeen is being evacuated and the wounded will be cared for, so it is vitally important to avoid panic.”
He paused. “Are there any questions?”
There was an immediate scrabble for places. A reporter from Radio Four won. “Are the Posleen going to land here soon?” He shouted. “Might the report be right of more Posleen ships?”
“The short answer is that we don’t know,” the Prime Minister admitted. “The military will remain on full alert until all of the observed Posleen craft had arrived and landed, or been destroyed in orbit.”
“But Fleet took heavy losses,” a reporter from Wales snapped. “Can they stop the Posleen?”
He meant; was Fleet a waste of money? “The Fleet has fought magnificently with the weapons it was able to build in time,” the Prime Minister said firmly. “We…simply didn’t have enough time for building the real warships. By the time of the main invasion, we will have enough ships to make a real dent in the Posleen numbers.”
There was a cough from a reporter. “Will the civil airlines be reopening?” He asked. “When will connections to America be restored?”
The Prime Minister actually laughed at the question. Charlene laughed too, along with most of the other reporters, who sniggered at the poor reporter. With the Posleen having targeted civilian air traffic, it would be a brave person who flew at the moment. Even when the invasion was defeated – if the invasion was defeated, part of her mind whispered – the airlines would be remaining on the ground, simply though lack of funds.
And then she remembered that the reporter had family in America and it didn’t seem so funny. Perhaps the Prime Minister understood, because he gave a serious answer. “We have grounded all civilian air traffic, and non-essential government and military air traffic, for the duration of the battles in space,” the Prime Minister said. “We will attempt to reopen connections, but if the Posleen take the east coast of America, the air traffic will be wiped out.”
Charlene shuddered. America had been so strong, so…free. It had been an annoying nation, from time to time, but in the end…it might have been a clumsy giant, but it had a good heart. Knowing that the Posleen were ravishing America now, even though the Americans had made more preparations with GalTech than anyone else, was a bitter pill to swallow.
She lifted her hand. The Prime Minister nodded in her direction. “Will we be sending any military help to America?” She asked. “Can’t we spare a regiment or two?”
“I don’t think so,” the Prime Minister said grimly. “We have thought about it, and we have considered it, but the shipping is going to be a problem” – Charlene, who knew that the Posleen had hammered shipping pretty badly, nodded – “and by the time they got there, the situation will have stabilised or collapsed.” He paused for a second. “Last question?”
“Prime Minister,” a nasal voice asked, “should the evacuation of people to the Sub-Urbs have moved faster, in light of the death toll in Aberdeen?”
Charlene felt a flash of pure anger. She’d refused to evacuate herself. “The logistics govern how many people we can move,” the Prime Minister said mildly. “Unless people want to walk to the Sub-Urbs, we don’t have the ability to move everyone without a great deal of preparation first.”
***

Despite her constant and considerable curiosity, Margent Hammond had only seen the Darhel Tir occasionally; the Darhel were reluctant to visit humans unless absolutely necessary. Hammond didn’t know how many there were on Earth, but she was confident that there were only a handful on Earth, perhaps a hundred or less. She knew that MI5 attempted to track them within Britain, but success was not always absolute.

“I trust that you had a pleasant week,” Griffin said. She’d dealt more with him, funnelling his money into various worthy causes, while ducking his inane questions. The Darhel agent seemed unflappable, even with the Posleen bearing down on them.
“No, I haven’t,” she snapped. She worked hard to maintain her independence, even though she knew that it was already compromised, one way or the other. In three years, the Darhel had worked and worked at gaining control of the organisation, working through a series of cut-outs and communications that would have had the Soviet agents burning with envy. It helped, she supposed, that they had communications that were utterly undetectable to merely human technology.
“The Posleen are invading our planet,” she said angrily. “I don’t have pleasant weeks, you know?”
Her tone didn’t make any impression on Griffin. “It was a great shame about Aberdeen,” he said. “Some of our people were killed there.”
“I’m glad that you feel that that is a pity,” Hammond snarled. A sudden thought struck her and her blood ran cold. According to some of the information they’d passed on to the Darhel, Aberdeen was a manufacturing centre of great importance, making human-designed weapons.
“Of course it is,” Griffin said. He smiled at her. “A great pity indeed.”
Hammond glared at him. “In case you haven’t noticed, there is a war on,” she said. “How do you plan to pressure the Government now?”
“You will, of course, have millions of people protesting in the streets against aiding the Americans,” Griffin said. “Britain can hardly afford to divert its resources when the Posleen are at the door.”
Hammond laughed rudely. “Mr Griffin, there is a war on,” she said. “Many of my supporters have been drafted. Others have been recruited for Civil Defence or medical. How do you expect me to put a few million people on the streets?”
Griffin sighed. “I understand,” he said. “The Tir, however, did insist that I asked you.” Hammond nodded; the elfin alien had shown little understanding of humans, let alone their governments. The British Government might have done something unpopular with conscription, but they’d prevented mass unrest though military training.
“I trust that you will convey my regrets,” Hammond said coldly.
“I will,” Griffin assured her. “However, we require another service from you.”
Hammond lifted an eyebrow. “We have been allies,” she said. “I am not your slave.”
“You have taken nearly twenty million of your pounds from us,” Griffin snapped. There was suddenly a very hard edge to his voice. “You are bought and paid for.”
Hammond glared at him. “Get out,” she snapped. She’d had enough; she knew that Griffin could not see her bending to his every whim. “Leave this place.”
Griffin learned forward, his mouth almost touching hers. There was no romance in the voice he used. “Your government would be delighted to hear about your services for us,” he breathed. “There’s nothing like a trial for treason to unite people around the flag.”
Hammond, if she had been a traitor, would have wilted. She wilted anyway, hoping it looked convincing. Griffin grinned; apparently it was convincing enough for him, now that the masks were off.
“You have to find out, through the agents you have recruited, the dispositions of your forces on your country,” he said. His face was very close to hers, trying to dominate her by sheer force of will. “You will find them out for us…or you will be hung from the gallows until you are very unhappy indeed.”
Hammond wilted. “I will find out for you,” she said. “And then you will leave me…”
“Oh, no,” Griffin said. “You were bought and paid for, remember?”