The Yeomen of England (Posleen in England)

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Interludes and Examinations

Edinburgh, United Kingdom

14^th March 2008
General Anderson walked down the middle of the Princes Street Gardens, enjoying the sudden blast of heat from the sun as the weather cleared. The Posleen bombardment had been brutal, but in the end, Earth had prevailed. They might still occupy parts of the globe, they might still one day threaten a land invasion of Scotland…but for the moment the remains of the British people were safe.
He looked up towards the castle, now decked out in bunting and flags. The Posleen had ignored the castle, even as they had targeted sites that threatened them directly, or just because a God King wanted to make a pretty explosion. It was almost like the war had never happened; for a long moment, he wondered what life would have been like if…
Peace always comes to an end, he thought sadly. The German resistance to the Posleen had collapsed only two days ago, leaving the survivors fleeing to Sweden. The Posleen were now advancing into Russia, fighting hard to eat all of the humans alive. They’d broken a Posleen force, but the other nations hadn’t…and paid the price.
Could it have been different? He asked himself. He shook his head. Thanks to the Darhel, the sheer power of the Posleen had given them a fair chance of landing on Earth. After that, they had smashed through human defences as if they weren’t there, needing thousands of soldiers to die facing them. Britain had lost over forty million people, soldiers and civilians…and parts of the country would never recover.
He shook his head. Perhaps the sheer violence of the battle had stunned the Posleen as much as it had stunned the humans. Perhaps they’d killed the mysterious God King who’d masterminded the attack on London, and then the attack on the defence line. Perhaps…
I guess we’ll never know, he thought, and continued his walk up towards the castle. The Posleen were digging in, ironically enough along the Preston Line that had broken so easily when the final Posleen attack had begun. It was hard, sometimes, to remember that the final battle had taken less than a day, harder still in the wake of Germany’s death struggle. The Germans, in the end, had been hampered just as the British had been…and had lacked the ability to translate the SS’s ruthlessness into an effective weapon.
“Good afternoon, General,” the guard said. The Castle itself had been converted into the government centre for the entire free British Isles; Scotland and a thin slice of England. Ireland maintained an independence that was more in form than in actuality, dependent upon British weapons, but sending food in exchange. Perhaps…
“Good afternoon,” he agreed, and passed though into the castle itself. Parts of the building had served as an army garrison before the Posleen War had begun, its symbol of defiance suiting the Morgan Government. Anderson shivered; both of them had taken care to disperse the truth about the Darhel out of Edinburgh, but like all secrets, it was vulnerable.
He stepped though stone corridors, passing several more guards, and entered the Prime Minister’s office. There was something curiously informal about the entire arrangement; he liked it. He smiled suddenly. Being Commander of the Armies probably helped.
“General,” Morgan said. The intensely tall man nodded once to him. “The news from Europe is grim, then?”
Anderson nodded. “Europe has fallen,” he said shortly. “We may face a renewed assault.”
“I wonder,” Morgan said thoughtfully. “I assume that there’s no chance that we can punch through their lines and win a victory ourselves?”
Anderson shook his head. The Posleen had practically copied the human defence lines, building one that would take thousands of ACS troopers – of which he had around nine hundred – to penetrate. In the meantime, they wandered through England, doing whatever Posleen did in such circumstances. The SAS reports made no sense.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “We would damage them, yes, but not enough to put them off trying to counter-attack.”
Morgan nodded. “Politics are strange things sometimes,” he said. “The body?”
There was no need to ask which body. “Safe in the Orkneys,” Anderson said. “We’ll find out all we can from it.”
“Good,” Morgan said. “I wish we knew what was up with Fleet.”
“Struggling every time to rebuild, just in time to be knocked down again,” Anderson said. He smiled. “We have time, sir, time enough to take care and make sure that we live. And as long as we live, we will have time to take revenge.”
Morgan nodded. “The real enemies in this war,” he said. “We’ll have to keep it quiet until the war ends, and then…well, we’ll see.”
***

Margent Hammond looked around her office, studied the posters, and chuckled to herself. Pictures glorifying Castro and Che no longer suited her mood, nor the status of the Minister Without Portfolio.

She chuckled again, shaking her head in amused awe. Before the Posleen War, she’d never been disgraced by being offered a place in government, but that was part of the British system. In Britain, unlike America, the moderates could form common ground…and now she was a moderate.
“Minister, the Green MSP is due to meet you in five minutes,” her secretary reminded her. The power struggle between the Shadow Parliament, which was now, to all intents and purposes, the real parliament, and the Scottish Parliament had nearly been disastrous. Her work, which had mainly consisted of smoothing ruffled feathers, had kept the peace.
There would never have been a civil war, she told herself, and hoped that she was right. It had been the worst crisis that British Democracy had ever faced, more so than adding the SS to the German Armed Forces had risked. Finally, the power-sharing agreement had been concluded, proving once again the power of democracy.
General Anderson had laughed at her when she’d expressed that comment. “The Posleen at the doorstep do force people to concentrate their minds,” he’d remarked, and she supposed that he was correct. It had certainly prevented a civil war, which – with all those weapons around – would have proven utterly disastrous.
And the Darhel were still out there. She knew the truth, knew it in a way that could not be denied. She looked back at her denial of the truth about the Posleen, at her belief that a star-civilisation would be more advanced socially because it was more advanced technologically, and she knew that she’d been wrong.
They might come for me again, she thought, and shuddered. Perhaps the Darhel would; perhaps they would leave her alone. Perhaps the Darhel who’d recruited her – she hadn’t dared to ask what had happened to Griffin – had died in London, or perhaps he had escaped, to reach out to her once more. Whatever happened, she would meet it with all of her new determination.
The Green MSP entered. Hammond pasted a smile on her face and stood up to greet him. “Good afternoon, Minister,” she said. “How may I help you?”
***

Syeda Ahmed was a beautiful baby girl, or at least Sarfraz thought so. His sister, his wife, and the Doris Family thought so as well; he had a suspicion that it had been Syeda who’d got them so many invites for dinner, rather than the series of medals that had been planted on his chest by the Queen. Admittedly, being a war hero made life interesting – he’d had the pleasure of rejecting a Saudi Prince who wanted him to spearhead the recovery of the Middle East – but it was wearing at times.

What did I do to deserve this? He asked himself, as he waited with his wife for the register. The happy couple – Brad and Sameena – were waiting for their wedding to be made formal, for them to finally have a chance at life as a married couple. He shook his head; he would have preferred them to marry in the mosque, but he understood.
“Even if I should be beating hell out of him,” he muttered, and felt his wife laughing inside. The two of them deserved a chance – and perhaps, with the Posleen having wiped out the…contaminated regions of Islam, perhaps Brad would convert. He smiled bitterly; his discussion with the Saudi Prince had covered such areas – another good reason not to have the wedding in the mosque.
“Allah created all, right?” He’d asked. “Then why did he create the Posleen? Did he create them as a warning? Look at the areas, which survived – America, Britain, a handful of other democratic nations. Your people died because of your choice to break his laws.”
He smiled. Writing his own interpretation of Islam, now that the people who had hounded Salman Rushdie were feeding the Posleen, would be easy. He knew what he had to say; the truth, and nothing but the truth.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the marriage register said calmly. “You may now kiss the bride.”
Brad and Sameena kissed, a kiss that was perhaps more passionate than was normal in such circumstances. Anisa held his hand as the couple kissed, and then kissed Sarfraz herself.
“Well done,” Sarfraz said dryly. “Brad, take care of her, ok?”
“You know I will,” Brad said. “You too, brother.”
“That’s going to take some getting used to,” Sarfraz said, and stuck out his tongue. “Any thoughts on the name?”
He saw Brad blush and Sameena’s skin darken slightly. “Simon Kendrick,” he said firmly. “The Sergeant deserves that much.”
“I won’t argue,” Sarfraz said. He took his wife’s arm and they stepped out together into the bright sunshine. The world might be at war…but for once there was peace everywhere.
***

“The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae,

“And the Clan has a name that is nameless by day;

“Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Coalchuirn and her towers,

“Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours;

“We're landless, landless, landless, Grigalach!

“Landless, landless, landless, Grigalach!

“But doom'd and devoted by vassal and lord,

“MacGregor has still both his heart and his sword!

“Then courage, courage, courage, Grigalach!

“Courage, courage, courage, Grigalach!

“If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles,

“Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to the eagles!

“Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Grigalach!

“Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Grigalach!”

Epilogue²⁵

Stars glittered above the Earth, even in broad daylight. For the first time since the Posleen had landed, the fleet protected Earth – the fleet had had defied Darhel orders and come to Earth to save it from the final Posleen attack. In America, the final desperate battle of Michael O’Neal at Rabun Gap came to an end – in Britain, human kinetic weapons slammed into the Posleen positions, slaughtering the Posleen where they stood. Some tried to fight, others fled…looking for a safety that no longer existed.

General Anderson sat outside Edinburgh Castle, enjoying the sunshine, reading one of his most prized books. The British military had been preparing for the final offensive ever since the Battle of the Line, but they hadn’t expected to win so quickly. The ACS units were spearheading the charge into Posleen-occupied Britain, smashing through the remainder of the Posleen after the fleet had finished its mission, pounding the Posleen units from space relentlessly.
He smiled. Admiral Bledspeth was leading the mission, introducing the Posleen to all the uses of space that they’d never thought of, or had never been allowed to think of. He understood the convictions that some elements of the Alien Studies Group held – that the Posleen were a Darhel weapon that had gotten rather badly out of hand – even if he didn’t believe it. Whatever the truth behind their origins, the Posleen were doomed now – they had no way to hide from the human forces slashing their way south, looking for revenge.
He shook his head absently. That left the Darhel to deal with, and the elves were smarter than the Posleen – but not by enough to matter. Even now, he was certain, the Darhel were planning to regain control of Fleet – which was unaware of the dangers it faced all of a sudden. They would succeed, at least to some extent, and under their control humans would colonise worlds, except…
Humans could fight. The Indowy couldn’t fight at all. The Darhel believed firmly in keeping the rules, such as they were; creative disobedience was…well, alien to them. Humans could rebel against the Darhel, but it would have to be done carefully, for the Darhel had agreed to aid the reconstruction of Earth. They would use it to get their hooks into Earth and humanity…but they didn’t know that humans had no problems in simply cutting the knot, in a sense. If they didn’t like the Darhel, they would simply destroy them.
Might as well slap Saddam on the wrist, he thought, and smiled. It had taken time, time spent carefully building a network of contacts, but when it was all over the stars would be humanity’s – and the Darhel would be destroyed. The British, the Germans, certain elements within America…all would work together. It would be the work of generations, but they had them now, thanks to the Darhel.
We’re going to need them, he thought. The Earth had had six billion people on it before the Posleen arrived. Now…only a billion, more or less, lived where humans had survived, and how many Posleen? Thousands of millions? Billions? They would all have to be hunted down and killed. It wasn’t over yet.
He shook his head. The meeting with the German general was due soon. It had been why he’d abandoned tactical command to General Yates, and why he was waiting now for the German. The meeting would be held well away from AIDs and the Darhel, far from any chance that they might be seen. He smiled; the meeting was soon, but he had one last thing he wanted to do.
Smiling to himself, he opened the book and found a page. It was a first edition novel, a copy of The War of the Worlds, one that had been a birthday gift to him from his parents. He smiled as he read the final lines, even though he knew – had always known – that it was too much to rely upon for humanity.
And strangest of all it is to hold my wife’s hand again, and to think that I have counted her, and she has counted me, among the dead.

The End

1 War of the Worlds, CH1

2 Until 1980 or thereabouts, discussion of Cromwell was not encouraged.

th Backbenchers are influential MPs who do not have a role in direct government. They tend to represent different factions within their Party.

th This sort of arranged marriage happens a lot.

3 ‘Asian’ is a general British term for someone from the Indian Subcontinent, i.e. Pakistan, India and Bangladesh.

4 Which is a good a reason for the War on Terror as any.

5 Inter-racial affairs are rare, but they happen.

th English exams, taken normally at sixteen years old.

6 Or One Billon, Four Hundred Million, for Americans.

7 Goon Show; Shifting Sands.

8 This character appears in Gust Front.

9 This character also appears in Gust Front.

10 MPs who have the unenviable task of forcing other MPs to go to the house to vote.

11 These were named for the alien building machines in War of the Worlds, CH11

th Not all British learn to drive until they’re in their twenties.

12 SAS Term; the March of Death is a long march in bad terrain carrying a heavy pack.

13 British Far Right Party.

14 See A Hymn Before Battle, John Ringo

15 In the Posleen Timeline, 9/11 never happened.

th A British Icon, from the Goon Show. Despite being trusted with various commands, Bloodnok is a complete and utter coward, one willing to sell his country for money. “Wanted; money. No reasonable offer refused.”

16 See Gust Front, CH57, for Sharon O’Neal’s POV.

th See Watch on the Rhine, CH1

17 Prime Minister

18 There is just something about the thought of Osama Bin Ladin being eaten by the Posleen that is so appealing.

19 Traditional Scottish Song: A Fa Lo La lay

20 War of the Worlds ended with the aliens catching human diseases and perishing.

21 Oyster Band; Ashes to Ashes.

22 The game’s full title was Jeff Wayne’s War of the Worlds. It remains unique, balancing strategy with tactics.

23 Pornwatcher is a parody of Gryffindor from Harry Potter.

24 MI5’s dirty tricks section.

25 This takes place at the same time as the end of Hell’s Faire.