The Yeomen of England (Posleen in England)

Manchester, England

27^thth March 2007
Colonel Thanes said a single word under his breath as the report came in, then jumped up to organised the defences. His battalion, along with most of the rest of the King’s Regiment, had been organised to face a possible landing in Manchester – and it looked as if that was what they were going to get.
“GalTech scanner is tracking them now,” his sensor tech reported. “They’re around half an hour out.”
“Then cut those fucking alarms,” Thanes snapped. “Is everyone ready?”
“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Williams said. “The men are taking up their positions now.”
Thanes nodded. The plan was deceptively simple; hold the Posleen away from Manchester for as long as they could. If the Posleen landed on top of them, however, that wouldn’t be very long at all. He paused to survey the defences; three lines of fortified trenches, armed to the teeth.
“The 2^nd Armoured is reporting that it’s ready to move in for anti-lander duties,” Captain Pitt said. “General Amherst is taking command of the defences of Manchester now.”
Thanes nodded. General Amherst had that rarity; experience at fighting the Posleen on one of the Galactic worlds. “What’s the timing?”
“Twenty minutes,” Sergeant Williams said. “They’re going to be quite close to us.”
“Today is a good day to die,” Thanes said. It seemed appropriate, somehow. “Do you have any idea how close?”
Sergeant Williams shook his head. “Close,” he said. “They’re bunched up, sir; they might be right on top of us, or they might be a few miles away.”
“Too close for escape,” Thanes said. He had already dismissed the possibility; he had family in Manchester, people who had been unwilling to leave when offered a place in the Sub-Urbs. “Warn the men, Sergeant; this is a fight to the death.”
***

The howl of the sirens was accompanied by the one thing that wasn’t ever included in the drills, the disclaimer that this was not a drill. “This is not a drill,” the loudspeaker roared, in between howls. “The Posleen are landing within thirty minutes, repeat; the Posleen are incoming to land nearby.”

“Fuck,” Brad said. Fortunately, they’d had enough warning when the ships entered the solar system and engaged Fleet. “Honey, you ok?”
Sameena looked up at him. “Scared to death,” she said. “They’re coming here, aren’t they?”
A series of thunderclaps split the sky. “Does that answer your question?” Brad asked. “Come on.”
He glanced once around the room, pausing only to pick up the photographs of the two of them together. He passed one of them to her, and then activated the self-destruct system for the house, before running for their lives.
“We have to get to the station,” Sameena said. All around them, it was absolute panic; people were running around screaming their heads off. “We have to get our instructions.”
Brad smiled. She had always been more practical than him. “Come on then,” he said. They ran through the streets, ignoring the flashes and flickers in the sky, and ran into the centre. The presence of the heavily-armed soldiers and the Handling Machines, already erecting barricades, underlined the stark truth; this was no drill.
“This is it,” Sameena said. “Brad, I love you.”
He kissed her once, hard, then again. “I love you too,” he whispered. “I’ll see you soon.”
“I hope that we will,” she said seriously. “I’ll wait for you, love.”
Brad kissed her one last time, and then left, unable to bear to see her cry. He ran into the CDC centre and stared at the display; a series of red circles, closing in on Manchester. A counter counted down the time to landing; 00.15…
“Attention,” Sergeant Kendrick bellowed. “This is not a drill.”
For once, there were no rebellious mutterings. “The enemy is here, and it looks as if he is landing near us,” Sergeant Kendrick said sharply. “At their normal rate of expansion, we can expect to see them in a few hours at most; two hours at least. We can expect the defence lines to slow them up, but not for long.”
Brad shuddered. He knew how much effort had gone into the defences around Manchester, enough effort to build a whole new city. The thought of something smashing its way through them was terrifying.
“The enemy seems to be landing at Wilmslow,” Sergeant Kendrick pronounced. “Our priority is to get the people out, then support the army ourselves. Collect your weapons from the store, and then move out to your stations. Now!”
***

Her father hadn’t wanted to move. Anisa had pleaded with him and begged him, but her father was growing older and older, wasting away in front of her eyes. He hadn’t been a bad father – and she knew that some of her fellow Asian girls had had terrible fathers who had sold them on the marriage market – but he was set in his ways. His acceptance of Sarfraz’s un-Asian courtship had been as far as he was willing to bend.

Her mobile phone rang. “Anisa, its me,” Sarfraz said. “Don’t talk; listen. I don’t know how long the network will hold up. The Posleen are coming, and we’re going to be meeting them soon. Love, they’re coming down in Wilmslow, and it won’t take them long to reach Rusholme. Get the hell out of there.”
“I love you,” she said quickly, thinking of their wedding night. It and a handful of other days had been the only time they’d been able to spend together as a married couple. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Sarfraz said. “Get to the…”
The connection broke. The phone displayed SERVICE OFFLINE when she tried to call him back. “Dad, we have to get out of here,” she said. “Dad…”
“We will be safe here,” her father said. She could remember when his beard had been glossy black and she’d pulled it as a baby. “We have always been safe here.”
There was a knock on the door. Anisa ran and opened it. “Brad?” She asked. She remembered her sister-in-law’s lover from the wedding. “What are you doing here?”
“My duty,” Brad said. He waved a hand at the Handling Machines, steadily converting Wilmslow Road into a defence line, tearing up the road and building fortifications for the earnest-looking men in green uniforms. “Anisa, you have to get out of here.”
She looked up at him, miserably. “I know, but dad won’t go,” she said. “I have to take him with me.”
Brad stared at her. “Anisa, if you stay here, you’ll be eaten alive,” he said. “This place is going to be a defence line. Your shop will be demolished at this rate.”
Anisa watched as one of the most famous restaurants in Rusholme was pulled down by the Handling Machine, its rubble being converted into a defensive strongpoint. Several more followed it – she recognised part of the local mosque in its pile of rubble – and she made up her mind.
“Give me a hand here,” she said, and went back into the shop. “Dad, I have to take you out of here.”
“No, I won’t leave,” her father said. “What’s that young man doing with you, eh? Your mother will not be happy…”
“He’s lost it,” Anisa said. The mention of her mother had hurt. “Please, help me.”
Brad scowled. “I could sedate him and add him to the coach,” he said. “Would that help?”
The entire building shook violently. “Yes, I think it would,” Anisa said, feeling panic for the first time. Brad jabbed her father with a needle-like tool, watching as her father crumpled. “Can you help carry him?”
“I’ll have to,” Brad said. “Listen, have you heard from your husband?”
“Just ordering me to get out,” Anisa said. “Is he going into action?”
Brad looked up at her. “I believe that he will,” he said. He passed her a sheet of paper as he picked up her father, slinging him over his shoulder. “That’s mine and Sameena’s email address; once you reach the refugee centre, let us know, ok?”
Anisa nodded as the building shook again. “Let’s get moving,” she said. “Why do you even care?”
“You’re going to be my…well, sister-in-law,” Brad pointed out. “Sameena insisted that I ensure that you were safe.”
“Kiss her for me,” Anisa said, as they reached the road. Behind them, a Handling Machine cut into the building, turning it into a pile of rubble. Anisa nearly began to cry at the desecration of Rusholme, building lines of defences against an alien who cared nothing for Rusholme’s people. “Good luck.”
Brad carried her father over to a waiting coach. “This thing should take you to a refugee centre,” he said. “Good luck.”
“Thanks for everything,” Anisa said, leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek. He blushed. A series of thunderclaps echoed across the sky; black shapes could be seen in the south, descending towards the Earth. “Is that them?”
“It looks that way,” Brad said dryly. “Now get out of here, before a Posleen decides to eat you.”
***

“The Posleen are supposed to be only five miles off,” Jacob Arnold, reporter for the BCC, gabbled into his microphone, silently blessing the BBC’s inventers for the throat mike. It had its downsides – it heard even the muttered comments that don’t quite form in your mouths – but it was nearly perfect for reporting in a very noisy environment. “The situation here is tense.”

He swung his shoulder camera over the barricades that the army was setting up, near the Ring Road surrounding Manchester, the M60. Lorries brought reinforcements, thousands of them, while the Royal Artillery set up row after row of guns. The thousands of fleeing civilians were directed away from Manchester, pointed away from the city that everyone knew would most likely fall. In the distance, the Posleen ships could be seen; the noise of their engines could be heard even at their distance.
“And here is Major Hosea Agreda, who will tell us the situation,” Arnold said. He waved a hand at a harassed looking Major, who smiled weakly at him. “Major, what is the situation?”
“The Posleen are landing,” Agreda snapped. “Can’t you see that?”
“Then why haven’t you moved forward to engage?” Arnold demanded. “The Posleen will eat thousands of people…”
“Including the troops based out there,” Agreda snapped. “We have a war on our hands and you insist on asking stupid questions?”
“The people have a right to know,” Arnold said. An explosion billowed up from the south, one that was oily and somehow…wrong. “They have a right to know why they’re not being defended…”
“MP,” Agreda snapped. Two burly military policemen came up behind him. Before Arnold could protest, they snapped handcuffs on him and handcuffed him to a van. “We don’t have time to answer your questions,” Agreda snapped. “Just stay there and a promise you an exclusive interview.”
“Police brutality,” Arnold protested, even as the camera moved to follow Agreda’s retreating back. “This is unfair and…”
Another series of explosions blasted off from the distance. He shuddered, wondering what would happen if the Posleen punched their way through the defence line…with him still handcuffed to the van.
“Let me go,” he shouted. The MPs ignored him. “Let me go, you fucking idiots!”
***

The series of explosions close by wasn’t a surprise to Colonel Thanes, for the simple reason that he’d been expecting it. The experts had insisted on their positions being sheltered, but they’d scattered thousands of pounds worth of electronic equipment, doing nothing, but pumping out electronic emissions, nearby. The Posleen, descending from orbit, lashed out at the decoys, blasting them with their weapons.

“Colonel, that’s the last of the decoys,” Sergeant Williams said. He glared down at his PDA; he had been one of the officers – most of the army – who had to work without an AID. “Colonel…”
“What the hell is that?” Thanes asked, holding up a hand. There was a sound in the air, even though their ear protectors. “Sergeant…”
He stepped out of the shelter and looked upward. Intellectually, he’d had an impression of the Posleen landing in silent UFOs, massive flying saucers landing their strange soldiers on the ground. Instead…the sky was on fire. He could see the entire globe, a gigantic disc pushing its way down into the atmosphere. Heat radiation from it, revealing a glowing red shape as it floated down. He felt hot and wondered why, wondered if the…craft was radioactive.
“Fuck me,” Sergeant Williams breathed.
Thanes stared up at the sight, wondering if he’d been right not to order a retreat. What could stand against something like that? In the time it took him to think of retreat, the disc had grown larger and larger, and then the fire vanished, leaving the Posleen landing force clear to the eye. He could make out the individual craft, the twelve-sided polygons of the command craft surrounded by their rings of protective landers. Moments later the sonic boom hit.
Thane hit the ground without even knowing that he’d fallen, the sheer pressure of the sound forcing him down. The entire force was on their knees beside him, even through the ear protectors. Not all of the soldiers had worn theirs; they would go deaf permanently. For a long moment, the trained and prepared force – if anything could prepare them for this – wavered on the edge of breaking.
A Posleen landing craft broke the spell, a massive dark shadow that floated above them, heading only slightly south of their position. At this distance, Thanes couldn’t tell what type it was, but as the Posleen repeated the destruction of the dummy strongpoints, he cowered with the rest of the men in the command post.
“Sir,” Sergeant Williams said. “They’re landing!”
Thanes shook off the stunned feeling with an effort and peered over the top. The massive black shape of the lander had settled to the ground, opening its doors…and releasing a horde of yellow centaurs onto the ground, armed with strange alien weapons. Shouting strange words, perhaps not even words in whatever tongue the Posleen used, they charged away from the lander.
“Fire,” Thane snapped, as the Posleen charged towards their position. He cursed as he watched the Posleen react; they had been expecting resistance, firing back with their strange guns. They were firing from the hip, something he’d been taught never to do, but their aiming was very good. Behind them, the lander rose into the air again, preparing to support them on the ground.
“Die, you mother-fuckers,” Sergeant Williams shouted, as the Posleen charged forwards, impaling themselves on the British guns. They kept coming and kept coming, finally overrunning the position. Even as the long-range guns began pounding them, they smashed through the guns and came for the humans. Thane fired madly at the Posleen, blowing away great hunks of yellow flesh, but the monsters came on and on.
“Die,” he breathed, as a Posleen slashed at him with the butt of its weapon. His hand clutched the grenade, worrying away at the pin. As the world went dark around him, he wondered if there would be enough time for him to pull out the pin.
There was.