The Yeomen of England (Posleen in England)

Chapter Thirty-Six: Aftermath

London, England

23^rd April 2007
The AIDs shrilled a warning as one, compelling the ACS users to throw themselves into the nearest ditch. Tanks and anti-lander vehicles were abandoned, moments before the ground shuddered, and the sky went white. Sarfraz hugged the ground in the ditch as a wall of fire passed overhead, his AID screaming warnings about radiation and the shockwave, his sensors reporting cars and lorries and thousands of tons of debris hurled overhead.
“What the hell was that?” John asked. For once, he sounded stunned rather than cheeky, scared rather than self-assured. “What was that?”
“The fall-back plan,” Yates said. The colonel suddenly sounded very old. “Enough nuclear weapons to fry as many Posleen as attacked London. Millions of the little bastards…”
Derek coughed. “Are we ever going to get to perform our function?” He asked. A hail of dirt and debris cascaded over them in the trenches. “What do we do now?”
A nasty thought struck Sarfraz. “What happened to the unarmoured people?” He snapped. “Where are they?”
“Unable to locate life-signs,” the AID reported. “Local radiation count is higher than humans can stand for long.”
John muttered nervously under his breath. “They must be dead,” he said.
“No panicking,” Sergeant Benton said sternly. “We’re nowhere near as badly off as that American unit was, the one led by O’Neal.”
Sarfraz smiled in relief. Repeating the trick of using grenades to blow them free of the mud would have been tricky without knowing exactly what was happening – or what conditions were like outside. His armoured muscles strained, and slowly broke him free of the mud.
“Break free,” Yates ordered, before the regiment could have a claustrophobic attack. “Push as hard as you can…”
Sarfraz’s head broke though the mud and he waited for his sensors to orientate themselves on the local scene. “Oh Allah,” he breathed. London was wreaked beyond repair, shattered in a blinding firestorm that had spread though the tanks and vehicles they’d been meant to get out of the city. The wreckage of the vehicles was still burning, sending more smoke into the air.
“A mushroom cloud,” John breathed. It could be seen in the sky, settling over London, glowing with infernal light. There was no sign of anything human or Posleen, no sign of anything moving.
Derek prayed aloud. Sarfraz felt like joining him. “Sir, could we be the last people in Britain?” John asked. “Sir…”
“No,” Yates said. Check your AID, private.”
Sarfraz checked his as well. It was reporting a connection, one made with an AID further up towards Great Yarmouth. That alone meant that some part of their support network continued to exist.
“But what does it matter?” Derek asked. “London is…”
“Gone,” Yates said harshly. “Our duty is to the living!”
Sarfraz didn’t join the discussion. He was thinking about Anisa, his pregnant wife. Her latest email, before London had been…flattened, had confirmed her pregnancy. With all of the radiation around, would that child be the only one they would ever have?
“AID,” he asked, “how much radiation am I absorbing?”
“None,” the AID said flatly. “The integrity of the suit is not compromised.”
“But everyone who was not in a suit is dead,” Sarfraz realised. He'd saved Patty Archer, just for her to die in the radiation cloud. “AID, how far will the radiation spread?”
“Unable to determine,” the AID said briskly. “Sensor reports have been lost; the sensors within London itself have been destroyed. The disruption to normal communication channels has been extensive.”
Sarfraz wished that the AID had been allowed to develop a real personality. He’d never been keen on the idea before. “AID, will the cloud spread as far as Edinburgh?”
“Unable to determine,” the AID replied. “Limited sensors make it impossible to provide a certain answer. The calculations also depend on conditions which were unpredictable before the blasts, as the Posleen bombardment has destroyed the weather systems and damaged the ecology.”
It seemed to pause for a moment. “Preliminary data suggests that the radiation is already decaying towards…tolerable levels,” it continued. “It may decay before it reaches too far from the city.”
“It might drift over France,” Sarfraz said thoughtfully, and smiled. The Posleen held most of France these days. “Is there any contact with higher authority?”
“All right,” Yates said. Sarfraz dragged his attention back to Yates with an effort. “I’ve been in contact with the commanding authorities up in Edinburgh. We’re to pull out of here for Great Yarmouth, where we will meet up with the sailors again.”
“Navy food again,” John said. His voice trembled; his attempts to put a brave face on it failed miserably. “Sir, what about our power?”
Sarfraz checked the power ratings and cursed. The suits had enough power for around an hour’s walk, assuming that they remained in power-low mode, which would prevent them from using their weapons or enhanced sensors. Were there still Posleen around?
“Remain in power-low mode,” Yates ordered. “We can’t step out of the suits…”
“We could carry ourselves,” Sarfraz suggested. “There are four hundred of us. Each of us can carry a partner, and then trade places when the power runs too low for anything, but life support.”
“Good thinking,” Benton said. “Colonel?”
“Yes,” Yates said. He sounded grim. Sarfraz suddenly remembered that Yates had been born in London. “Let’s go.”
“Move out,” Benton bellowed, and, taking one last look at the ruins of London, the regiment headed for the sea.

Edinburgh, United Kingdom

24^th April 2007
It had taken nearly a day for the reports to filter in through the battered and seriously damaged computer and communications network. Some messages, from AID holders near the battle, were received instantly, others took longer to arrive. When the news was finally released – the BBC had lost the signal from London at the same time the bombs went off – the entire city went into shock.
“What happened?” Daniel Morgan asked. General Anderson smiled sadly; Morgan had never expected to be Prime Minister. He was far too ruthless for the party. “What happened in London?”
Anderson frowned. “The bombs detonated,” he said. They had no way to be certain how many bombs had gone off, but London was clearly wreckage now. “The entire city was wreaked.”
Morgan looked up with desperate eyes. “Is that how its going to be from now on?” He asked. “The Posleen are going to come, and we have to kill our own people or let them be eaten?”
“No,” Anderson said. “Work proceeds on the Hadrian’s Wall defence line. We will hold them there.”
“They must be damaged themselves by the blasts,” Colonel Wells said. “Perhaps we could counter-attack.”
With a sudden frisson of horror, General Anderson realised that he was the senior surviving army commander. “No,” he said, even though every cell of his body cried out for revenge. “The offensive forces were destroyed at London, remember? The ACS, those that remain, are on their way here, but we lost a lot of the best units there.”
He tapped the map grimly. “Even their numbers have limits, but we have no way of knowing how many of them are dead,” he said softly. “They could still hammer over to York, where we have very little in the way of defences, or even come up to challenge the defence line before its ready. They haven’t pressed against Preston, yet, but it can only be a matter of time before they do. When they do…Preston will fall.”
He sighed. “The units we have here are the ones working up,” he said. “They’re not ready to fight yet, particularly not an offensive war. The ACS are the only units that can do that without massive losses, and we can’t risk them at the moment.”
“I see,” Morgan said. “What about nukes?”
Anderson had thought about that. “We don’t know exactly where they are,” he said. “Even if we did, most of them are out of the range of tactical artillery nuclear shells. They’ve been growing better at hunting down humans spying on them, alas.”
Morgan sighed. “So your big idea is to have the defence line built before they come for us,” he said. “Tell me; can we hold them out of Scotland?”
Anderson nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said. “First, we have one hell of a lot of firepower gathered along the line now, and more being assembled. Second, we can use nukes against the attacking Posleen. Third, and finally, we will have a line they cannot circumvent; they will have to break their way through it.”
“They managed to do that to London in less than a day,” Morgan said. “What’s to say that they won’t do the same to you?”
“First, with all due respect to the London defences, mine are deeper,” Anderson said. “Now we know how they managed to punch through the defences, we can adapt and hold more forces in reserve, perhaps even the ACS units rather than conventional forces. We will have more and more firepower as time goes on, and we will have thousands more heavy guns to shell them to death.”
“There can’t be that many of them left,” Morgan said hopefully. “How many can there be?”
“I don’t know,” Anderson admitted. “They don’t have anything like a recognisable command and control system, even though we know that one exists in some form, so we can’t get a grip on exact numbers and units.”
“I’m confused,” Morgan admitted. “What exactly do you mean?”
“We have no idea who is in charge of the Posleen from among the hordes of God Kings,” Anderson said. “There could be one big commander, or several of them, all with different ideas about how to fight the war.”
“Which would explain some of their actions,” Morgan said. “I assume that most of the MPs managed to make it out?” Anderson nodded. “Oh, joy,” Morgan said. “Another few hours of arguing about if an MP whose population has been eaten should sit in the house.”
“The Posleen might eat them too,” Anderson said.
Morgan glared at him. “The Posleen have better taste,” he said. “What about the Darhel body?”
“Taken out of the city on a submarine,” Anderson said. Sir Robert had not survived the battle of London, as far as they knew; he’d wanted to stay with his people until the end. “It’s on its way to a secret base in the Orkneys.”
“Good,” Morgan said. “And the Darhel agents?”
“Rounded up under DORA, those that weren’t in London,” Anderson said. “There won’t be any more trouble from them.”
***

The BBC had been uninformative, ever since the direct feed from London had been broken. Anisa had been worried, desperately, about Sarfraz; the MOD headquarters in the city was not responding to any enquires. The confused rumours on the Internet, ranging from claims that God had smote the city with his wrath to claims that the Posleen had been destroyed, had only made her panic worse.

“Anisa, love?” Mrs Doris asked. “Anisa?”
Anisa looked up, noticing for the first time that the darkness had fallen. “Yes,” she said, confused. “That’s me.”
Mrs Doris looked down at her drawn face and frowned. “The radio has been announcing a special broadcast,” she said. “Are you fit enough to listen?”
“Yes,” Anisa said definitely. “I’m ready to listen.”
She pulled herself to her feet and swayed. Mrs Doris caught her with her hand. “Think of the child,” she scolded. “Take more care of yourself.”
Anisa was too tired to argue. She yawned grimly, staggering into the next room. The radio was playing; the television hadn’t worked right since…whatever had happened in London had happened. Mr Doris looked up at his wife, smiled grimly, and returned his attention to the radio.
“Now sit there and don’t move,” Mrs Doris said, as the radio began its special announcement. Anisa listened; she knew who the Prime Minister was, but the voice on the radio was unfamiliar.
***

Morgan spoke with a sheer grim determination. His…outright dislike of speaking on the radio, and his sheer bloody-mindedness on certain subjects that the party as a whole would have preferred to have ignored rather than letting them trouble their peace of mind, had disqualified him for a cabinet post…until the Posleen had come. Suddenly, ensuring a political base of support was all-important, and offering Morgan a post was part of that.

He smiled. At least no one could accuse him of being soft on defence.
“People of Britain,” he said. He had refused to use a speechwriter; the speech had to come from the heart. “It is with tragic news that I must confirm the destruction of London, along with most of the Posleen army attempting to take the city and eat its inhabitants. Although we have no figures on the death toll yet, I am sorry to report that they are very high indeed.”
He’d slanted it to suggest that the Posleen were responsible for the explosions. “For the moment, we remain safe in Scotland and the process of defence continues. We have secure defences” – he was careful not to mention that London had thought the same – “and we have enough firepower to hold out for a long time, long enough for Fleet to return and break us out of the nightmare. Panic and fear are our worst enemies now.
“The government is reforming along the lines of power, now that the Posleen have been halted for the moment,” he concluded. “As Winston Churchill once said, we will fight them on the beaches and the hills and the fields and we will keep fighting them until we all lie dead – or they do. The Posleen are not an enemy we can surrender to; they want to eat us all.
“I ask you all to remain calm. The MOD infrastructure will release the news of the dead soldiers within the week, once we known who has been killed in London, and we will make all such information open to all. Thank you and good night.”
***

“That was Daniel Morgan, Prime Minister pro tem,” the BBC announcer said. “The police have asked us to inform everyone that there will be a curfew for the entire country for the night. All reservists and soldiers on leave have been ordered to report to their barracks at once, I repeat; all reservists and soldiers on leave have been ordered to report to their barracks at once.”

There was a pause. “Our prayers go out to those suffering in London,” he concluded. “Please tune in again tomorrow at nine in the morning for a further update.”
Mrs Doris turned off the radio, her face ashen. “An entire city gone, just like that,” she said. “All those people…”
“Manchester’s gone too,” Anisa said. She started to cry. Nancy, the little girl, climbed over and gave her a hug. “Is that what it’s going to be like here too?”
“Of course not,” a new voice said. Anisa looked up. Brad stood there, with Sameena behind him. “The defences can hold.”
Mrs Doris shook her head as her husband sat down again, having let the two into the house. “I never even heard you,” she said. “How are you doing, young Brad? You’re much taller than I remember you.”
***

“He’s not dead,” Sameena said, having taken Anisa into a private room. “You can’t start believing that he’s dead.”

“I know he’s not dead,” Anisa said. “I’m pregnant, with his child.”
Sameena gaped at her, unable to repress a spot of mischief. “Really?” She asked. “I never knew he had it in him.”
Anisa smiled weakly at her. “He has it all right,” she said, pulling out a photograph.
Sameena winced. “I don’t want to know,” she said quickly.
Anisa laughed and flipped the picture over…to reveal Sarfraz and her on the breach, fully clothed. “Got you,” she said. Sameena, who’d expected a photograph of her brother naked, sighed in relief. “Somehow, taking dirty photographs never occurred to us.”
Sameena recognised that Anisa was in mild shock. “You need to sleep,” she said. “Come on, I’ll put you to bed.”
“I’m not tired,” Anisa protested, and then yawned. Her computer pinged, the sound of a new email appearing. “Excuse me.”
Sameena sighed as Anisa checked the laptop computer she’d been given. “He’s alive,” she shouted, as the email came though. “Look!”
Sameena read it quickly. Sarfraz had written a short note, saying that he was on the carrier HMS Invincible and was on his way to Newcastle. He didn’t say much about the battles in London, but Sameena got the impression that he’d been far too close to them. He did mention that the entire regiment had been badly battered, and that they were enjoying the rest.
“He’s being promoted,” Anisa squealed, suddenly very happy indeed. “He’s going to be a lieutenant. Is that higher than a general?”
Sameena sniggered. “No, a general is higher,” she said. “Email him back, love; tell him we’re here in Edinburgh and looking forward to seeing him.”
“I will,” Anisa promised. “Umm…”
Sameena understood. “You want some privacy,” she said. She left Anisa behind, smiling to herself, and slipped back into the living room. “He’s alive,” she said shortly.
“That’s wonderful,” Brad said. His mouth grew into a grin that seemed too large to be real. “That’s the best news we’ve had all week.”
Sameena frowned. “The bad news is that he’s going to Newcastle,” she said. “That means…”
“The bastards are coming up this way,” Brad said, ignoring Mrs Doris’ annoyance at his language. “That means that the line needs to be built faster and faster.”
Sameena sighed. “How long will it be before any of us can have a normal life?” She asked. “How long?”
Mrs Doris, unexpectedly, spoke first. “You young people of today,” she said. “All wanting things you have to earn. There’s nothing that brings a country together like a war, with everyone doing their bit for the country. Instead, you have no faith in the leaders, and then you grow up and become the leaders, and the rot sets in.”
She smiled at their stunned expressions. “The world isn’t safe enough for people to have everything, you know. Once the Posleen are defeated, how long will it take for you to forget that again?”