The Yeomen of England (Posleen in England)

Southport, England

1 April 2007
Captain Charles Haddock peered through his binoculars are Southport, just in time to see the final boats leaving the shore, heading for the countless ships lying offshore. He cursed; a desperate pilot had lifted off in a helicopter, only to be struck down by the bright lance of an HVM.
“They’re coming,” his exec said. Haddock nodded; the Posleen might not be very smart, but they were learning. If they employed all of their landers in attacks, rather than moving them around to avoid shellfire, they would have marched all the way to London by now.
“Idiots,” he muttered, as another helicopter exploded in the air. “They’re committing suicide.”
“What other choice do they have?” His exec said. A native of Southport himself, tears were running down his face as some Town Councillor, doubtless safe on one of the ships, pressed a button. In a tearing series of explosions, the entire town disintegrated. “My God.”
Haddock nodded grimly as the alien forms appeared on the beach. “Communications, signal to the remains of the flotilla,” he said. “Civilian ships to leave; military ships to open fire!”
Chatham shuddered as its guns opened fire. The frigate had been rearmed for the battle, even though it couldn’t hope to carry battleship-level armament. Machine guns and shells designed to cripple other ships or support troops on the ground opened fire, raking the Posleen horde.
“Do you think that Posleen can swim?” His exec asked. “I wonder if…”
Haddock wasn’t listening. “Move us back, now,” he snapped, as two landers came into view. “Order the Daring to engage.”
The new and heavily modified Type-45 frigate launched a missile at each of the landers. The landers returned fire with their point defence, hacking the missiles out of the sky, and then turning on the ships.
“Uh-oh,” Haddock muttered, before the landers opened fire. Three HVMs smashed into the Chatham and exploded within the hull. Seconds later, all that was left of the fleet was wreckage floating on the water.

Liverpool, England

1^stst April 2007
Corporal Loomis checked her PDA as the time ticked by. “The special weapons detachment reports that it is ready to fire units one to three,” she said.
Amherst nodded. “Pass me the radio,” he said. “This is General Amherst, declaring an Alpha Black; I repeat, Alpha Black.”
“This is Lieutenant Woolly,” the reply came back. “Alpha Black confirmed; targets designated for servicing. Weapons free?”
“Weapons free,” Amherst confirmed. “God save the Queen.”
***

A Handling Machine had dug a massive series of trenches for the second defence line, right through the M57, right within parts of Liverpool itself. Sarfraz, who knew that the Marines were taking up positions within the built-up areas of Liverpool, shuddered at the possible cost of a battle within the city itself.

The ACS reacted of its own volition as a hail of shells passed overhead, heading towards the Posleen lines. It plunged into the trench, flashing up red warnings in Sarfraz’s display. Protests echoed over the communications network, demands to know what was happening, all drowned out by the AID network.
“Main command has warned of nuclear release,” the AID said. “Corporal Sarfraz; you are warned that enhanced radiation weapons” – the ground shuddered violently – “have been deployed.”
The displays altered. A sleet of radiation glittered nearby. “Warning, the environment is now openly hostile to all forms of life for a short period.” Sarfraz thought of the Marines and shuddered; any protection would save them, but had they time to dig in. Had the Posleen had time to dig in? How many Posleen were in the landers? Were they safe there?
“Telemetry from spy-shells reports that many Posleen were dug in,” Yates said, and the entire platoon swore as one. “Silence,” Yates said. “We have five minutes; let’s make the most of it.”
***

The enhanced radiation weapons had been originally designed to deal with a Soviet armoured charge across Germany, the ultimate weapon against the hordes of tanks the Soviet Union could deploy. Hardly had the American scientists finished congratulating themselves on their ingenuity before the world’s left and the Soviet propaganda machine swung into action. Denounced as the ultimate capitalist weapon, one that destroyed personnel, but left property undamaged, the pressure forced the weapon to remain out of active service.

The world had been reluctant to build them, even after First Contact. It had only been after Fredericksburg that the British had started to build them, only to discover that they needed some elements from America to build them. The net result was that there were only a handful of the weapons – and if the Posleen were even slightly dug in, the weapons would be far less useful than they had hoped.

***

John was singing as the ACS unit carefully moved forward, leaving half of their number with the defensive line. The Posleen had overrun the tanks and half of the anti-lander weapons; if they’d pressed forward they might have overrun the rest of the weapons before the atomic weapons were ready to be deployed.
“Some are born with a silver spoon,

“Some are born without a clue,

“Some are born to take the biscuit,

“Some are born to just make do,

“When those fat cats drop the big one,

“They will turn a penny too,

“They will rent out nuclear shelters,

“We'll get one with an outside loo.”²¹

It’s a good thing that the Posleen aren’t as smart as they could be, Sarfraz through grimly. If they used more than a handful of their landers, they might have been able to win the war in a day. As it was, the humans were teaching them new tricks, forcing them to learn. If they ever master coordinating their different units…
“There,” Derek said. They looked down and saw their first live Posleen since the warheads had detonated. Sarfraz scowled; the Posleen were gathered around the corpse of a God King, almost as if they were praying to it. The sight was far too reminiscence of Muslims at prayer for his pleasure. Even so, the Posleen were clearly in a bad way and he almost felt sorry for them.
“Fire,” he said quickly. A quick burst of fire from the plasma rifles they were carrying and the Posleen died rapidly. John was still singing, an almost mournful song.
“Ashes to ashes, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,

“Ashes to ashes, let the rich man live, let the poor man bust.”

“Shut up, John,” Sarfraz snapped. “What’s that?”
They stared into the distance. The suits responded, using their sensors as binoculars and magnifying the view. Five landers could be seen, working their way through the desolation towards them; a massive force of Posleen could be seen, moving behind them.
“Uh-oh,” Derek commented, as the Posleen came on.
“They’re mad,” John protested. “The ground is still radioactive!”
“And getting less radioactive by the minute,” Yates snapped, over the radio. “Fall back; I’ll call in covering fire for you.”
“Yes, sir,” Sarfraz said. “Fall back, everyone; fall back.”
***

Corporal Loomis coughed. “Sir…”

“I saw,” Amherst said. He scowled; mad they might be – and the shells with cameras could find no sign of God Kings leading the charge – but the Posleen were coming on and on. What is meant was obvious; the Posleen were aware that the radiation was already fading, and were pushing on.
They’re mad, he thought. How could any foe take such losses and just keep coming? His mind shied away from the consequences; Posleen might be more resistant than humans, but they were coming on through a radiation cloud. Thousands of them would die over the coming weeks…and none of it would help his command.
“Are the other charges prepared?” He asked. “Are they ready?”
“Yes, sir,” Corporal Loomis said. She frowned. “Everything is ready.”
Amherst nodded. “This is your last chance to leave,” he said. “Are you sure you want to stay?”
“Yes, sir,” Corporal Loomis said. “It’s not as if I could escape now.”
“I suppose,” Amherst said. He shuddered; the videos of landers – Lampreys mainly – firing into helpless ships had reminded him of a computer game his son had used to play, before being conscripted. The War of the Worlds, he remembered; that had been what it had been called²². He smiled at the irony.
“Order the Marines to hold as long as they can, then fall back to the docks,” he said. “The same goes for the ACS units; they’re to hold, then make their way out of here on a ship.”
***

The massive black shape of a Posleen lander shuddered as a shell slammed into it, hammering through its hull and sending it limping away from the battlefield before it crashed into the ground.

“It missed the Posleen,” Derek said. Sarfraz could only nod; the battle was raging against them and the Posleen were closing in. He fired a massive burst of machine gun bullets from the heavy gun, watching as they tore through the Posleen as if they weren’t there, and then more Posleen appeared, some showing the signs of radiation poisoning, and they just kept coming.
“Get down,” John snapped, seconds before a hail of HVMs blasted through the position. Sarfraz was blown end over end by the blast, shattering their defences and killing four of the armoured soldiers. “Sir, I think we’d better fall back.”
A second round of HVM missiles killed the anti-lander gun. “I think you’re right,” Yates said. “Prepare to fall back into the city.”
“I really hope that some of those buildings are safe,” John muttered. Sarfraz could only nod; parts of Liverpool were burning brightly. “Any particular location?”
“There are minefields directly behind you,” Yates said. Their AIDs displayed the location. “Proceed around the minefields, then head for the docks.”
Sarfraz winced. That order could only mean one thing; the battle was within shouting distance of being lost. He gave the orders and the remaining ACS units carefully disengaged, leaving the Posleen to the tender mercies of the King’s Regiment. He hoped that the Posleen would enjoy the experience; the King Regiment was based in Liverpool.
***

The original King’s Regiment (Liverpool) had been amalgamated with The Manchester Regiment to form The King’s Regiment (Manchester and Liverpool). When the Posleen came, and the sheer nature of the threat had become clear, the two regiments had been separated again, to provide a training cadre for the conscripts. In a very old style, partly due to the influence of rejuvenated veterans from the region, it was very much a ‘Pals Battalion;’ the soldiers knew one another even before the training had begun.

Sergeant Keith Barron smiled as the Posleen charged across the minefield. The Posleen had simply no way of clearing the minefield, short of their own bodies, and they made the German infantry look like cowards. The Germans in the Great War – which he remembered as if it were yesterday - had been careful to use artillery to clear mines, or at least send in the sappers first. The Posleen, on the other hand…
A spray of missiles shot over his head and he ducked sharply, reflexively. He muttered fire coordinates into his radio, marvelling again at the improvement in the system since his time. The shells started landing directly among the Posleen, angering them; they fired missiles madly into skyscrapers and tall buildings, trying to kill the spotters who were directing the shellfire.
Brighter than we were in 1942, Barron thought, as the Posleen hammered away at the lines, falling in their thousands. The British in Singapore should have been able to kill the Japanese commander, General Yashamati, by firing on the building from which he was directing the battle. Barron remembered the shame of those years, and the Posleen would do worse than simply starving the prisoners.
They’ll eat us, he thought, and checked the position of the grenade on his belt. If worst came to worst, he would destroy his own body, rather than allowing the Posleen to eat him. Another hail of shells ran overhead, aiming at the Posleen, and mashed up a developing attack before it could even begin.
“Hit,” he shouted, and cursed. The Posleen were brave, if bravery was a concept that even applied to them; they simply formed up and charged again. The King’s Regiment shuddered under their attack, but didn’t break. The Posleen would have to kill them all to break them, and the Posleen kept coming.
“I’m proud of you all,” he said. The King’s Regiment didn’t break; for one whole hour they held up the Posleen, holding them back from the docks and the final escape of the civilian population of the city. Their friends and relatives would have their chance to escape, even as the Posleen finally punched through. Finally, the Posleen killed every man where they stood.
“Goodbye,” Barron said, as a Posleen lashed out for him. He emptied his pistol into the monster’s mouth and leapt forward, triggering the grenade. The explosion destroyed both of them.
***

“They’ve broken through the line,” someone shouted. Instantly, there was panic; the 7 Royal Artillery (Liverpool) wasn’t a fighting unit. They’d done well, everyone knew, at firing at the Posleen, but without the King’s Regiment keeping the Posleen off their backs, they were almost defenceless. They wavered…and almost broke.

“Keep fucking firing,” Sergeant Henry Childers bellowed. “They’ll eat you if you run!” He paused to allow the gunners to calm themselves, even as the roar of the Posleen grew nearer. “Level your guns; canister fire!”
The guns, the smaller short-ranges guns, lowered themselves into position. The first Posleen came around the corner, weapon raised, and three guns fired at once. The Posleen was literally blown apart, and the shrapnel slashed through its companions. More guns fired, blasting directly into the Posleen, and forcing them back.
“Pull back,” someone snapped, as a Posleen locked a missile launcher onto their position. It was too late; the HVM missed the gunners, but hit the ammunition supply. The resulting explosion blew away yet another roadblock towards the docks.
***

The ACS regiment reformed near the docks. Sarfraz looked out at the ships, hundreds of car ferries and container ships, carrying passengers away to Ireland. The CDC was working hard, trying to control the panic, but the crowds were getting nervous. Civilians, those who hadn’t already fled, refugees from Manchester and soldiers who no longer had their weapons, as helpless as the rest.

“Colonel, what do we do?” He asked, as soon as the AID link to Colonel Yates was re-established. “Sir, where do we go to fight?”
Yates sounded very tired. “You don’t,” he said. “You’re cleared to hover over to HMS Invincible” – the AID blinked up an image of the ship – “and leave the fight.”
There was immediate protest. “Sir, we can still fight,” Derek protested. “Sir, we still have weapons and power and arms and…”
“Doesn’t some authority come with this Colonelship?” Yates asked acidly. “Corporal, the regiment cannot be wasted in a futile last stand. You are to leave, now.”
There was only one answer, Sarfraz knew, and it wasn’t ‘fuck you.’ “Yes, sir,” he said. “Come on, everyone.”
The crowd jeered them as the ACS units hovered over the docks and the water, heading directly towards the waiting ship. Even as they closed in, the handful of Royal Navy ships opened fire, aiming at the Posleen positions as the city burned behind them. The massive aircraft carrier didn’t join in; instead it set off at once, heading away from the Posleen.
“We should be back there,” John protested.
“I know we should be fucking back there,” Sarfraz snapped, losing his temper. “We have our orders and we will obey, understand?”
He’d half-hoped for John to start a fight, but instead he subsided. He watched as Liverpool faded away into the distance, explosions ruining the entire city and its human population. The Posleen would have no food in the city, not if the sappers had done their work well. If they hadn’t, well…Sarfraz was certain that they would find another chance to kill Posleen.
***

The position on the docks disintegrated as the Posleen broke through the Marines, the final line of defence. Humans fled everywhere, trying to get on one of the ships, jumping into the water and swimming away from the Posleen. The Posleen didn’t hesitate; they grabbed and captured humans for their food, breaking their legs to ensure that the thresh didn’t escape. Here and there, a brave soldier fought to the last, or destroyed his own body to prevent the Posleen from eating him.

General Amherst shut off the television with an oath. “It’s time,” he said. “Stacy, I was proud to serve beside you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Corporal Loomis said. Amherst flipped open the box on his desk and examined the control pad inside. It was chillingly simple; a four-digit code and a timer.
“Seven-four-three-seven,” he muttered, typing it in. “Time…Stacy, can you see how many Posleen are now in the city?”
“Thousands,” Corporal Loomis said. She flipped from sensor to sensor, camera to camera. “The Posleen seem to be slowing.”
“Probably worked out that resistance has collapsed,” Amherst said. “Any sign of them flowing out of the city?”
“Bastard,” Corporal Loomis hissed, as one camera showed a soldier raping a helpless civilian. “No, they seem to be sweeping for humans. I hope they get that bastard.”
Amherst found it impossible to disagree with the sentiment. “Five minutes, then,” he said, and tapped in the timer. There was a scrabbling at the door of the bunker. “Perhaps sooner.”
“Better change it quickly,” Corporal Loomis said. She picked up her sub-machine gun. “I think they’re coming.”
“It’s ready,” Amherst said, moving out of the line of fire. He felt inhumanly calm, preparing to push the big red button as soon as the Posleen broke in. The door crumpled inwards, Corporal Loomis opened fire, he pushed the button…and the world went white around them.