“Tactical nukes, perhaps,” Shalenko said. It was a wild card; they didn’t know if the British military government had the nukes, or if they would use them in their own country. The President had warned the British that if nukes were used, they would start destroying British cities; Shalenko knew that the President wasn't bluffing. Did the British know that? Did they have any nukes to use? “See to it that he gets whatever medical care he needs; his men can be secured for transport back to the continent.”
He paused. “And in a few days,” he said, “we move on Dorking.”
“And then we win,” Anna said.
Two days passed as both sides worked desperately to prepare for the final battle. Russian forces probed north-west into England, slowly clearing out traps and dug-in infantry and TA soldiers, fighting to the last to preserve their country. In some places, morale collapsed completely and soldiers deserted, heading out back to their homes, or deserting to the enemy; they were rapidly secured, interrogated, and dumped in massive prison compounds to await their fate at a later date. In other places, furious fighting broke out as British soldiers fought tooth and nail to hold a town or village, but the Russians had vast superiority in weapons and total ruthlessness; resistance was swiftly crushed by overwhelming force.
Russian soldiers brushed up against the main defence line, exchanged shots, and fell back, expanding their area of control around London. Both sides knew that it was only a matter of time before the fighting flared up again in earnest, and prepared hard for that day. As the air lanes over London were closed by Russian aircraft, the citizens began to panic; some of them demanding peace at any price. The overworked police, volunteers all to a man or woman, did what they could to keep the lid on; they knew what would happen if the Russians won.
The remainder of the country waited nervously to see who would win the coming battle. Planners on both sides calculated and recalculated the odds, comparing details like air control to precise knowledge of the terrain; everyone knew what happened when the armies finally met in open battle would be decisive. The army that the British had raised would be the last; if it lost, the war would be all over, bar the shouting. All over the country, some civilians remained where they were, watching events on CNN and a dozen other American media programs, cursing the limited details. The White House had invoked PATRIOT III, causing a storm of controversy; the legal wrangling over the question of how much of the British preparations they could show wouldn’t end until after the battle was decided, one way or the other. Wearing British uniforms that fooled no one, a handful of Americans joined the British armed forces; their planes, technically non-combatants, would be a vital part of the RAF’s last throw of the dice.
All around the country, people waited; rumours spread rapidly. Prince Harry had returned to his unit in its hour of need, some said; others remembered how the Prince had never been permitted to serve in Iraq and dismissed the rumour, adding others. The Royal Family had fled, rats leaving a sinking ship; the remains of Britain’s noble families had joined them. The Russians were going to slaughter all the Muslims; the Russians were going to slaughter all the Jews; the Russians were going to rape every man, woman and child they encountered…
Escape seemed an impossible dream; there was nothing left to do, but wait…
And listen to rumours.
Major-General Charles Langford saluted as the group of soldiers paraded in front of them, before they marched off to the front line. They were young, many of them barely out of their teens; a handful in the strange grey-area of age where technically they should never have been recruited into the Army, but the Army had been so desperate for new recruits that they had been accepted… and for many of them it had been the making of them. They wore their uniforms with pride, some of them wearing unit insignia that had been lost long ago, under one government or another. The politicians hadn’t understood; when they amalgamated regiments such as the Highlanders, or the Black Watch, they were killing something important. Men might think of fighting for their country, but instead… the factor that would keep them in the front lines was loyalty to their fellows, or a reluctance to run in front of them. They were the finest that Britain could produce…
He had lied to them, of course, and he had hated himself for it. He had told them that they had a chance, and that many of them would survive the coming battle; the latter, at least, was a lie. The SAS and other intelligence agencies had worked hard to slip operatives into Occupied Europe, where they had reported on the registrations, the employment, the rations, the brutal crushing of protests, peaceful or otherwise… there was very little hope for them all. The warning had been simple; if you are a soldier, or a policeman… you have to hide and remain hidden, or you vanished. The Americans had sent images of the camps in Occupied Europe, and the work camps in the depths of Russia; that was the fate that awaited them all if they lost and were captured. There was no hope…
They’d consulted with the Americans, at length, looking for another solution. There wasn't one; even if the Americans could spare the forces to help Britain, there was no way that those forces could arrive in time. Even if they did, the fighting would devastate Britain from end to end… with no guarantee of victory. The Battle of the Mediterranean had warned the Americans of the dangers of relying on their own fleet defences; it was just possible that an American carrier battle group would suffer the same fate as Admiral Bellemare Vadenboncoeur. They would be looking at a war that would make the Second World War look like a tea party, fought against the one thing America hadn’t faced since 1945 — a fairly equal opponent. There was no political support for the war; President Kirkpatrick might have cost herself the chance at winning a second term, just for supporting Britain as much as she had…
And how had it all happened? In hindsight, it had been perfectly clear; they had known much about what the Russians could do, and what their capabilities actually were… they just hadn’t put everything together. The Russians had boosted their military forces before and there had been panic, but every time, they had merely been shaking their fist, until the day they came rolling over the border. Europe had believed that they had moved past the days when conflicts were settled by armed force; they had been deluding themselves. They had had the choice between the American security umbrella, at its political price, or building EUROFOR up into a respectable force… and they had chosen, instead, to stick their heads in the sand. The cost…
Langford stared down at his hands. They all would pay the cost of neglecting the defences. One way or another, matters would be settled soon…
It wouldn’t be long now.
Chapter Fifty: The Second Battle of Dorking, Take One
I can hardly look a young man in the face when I think I am one of those in whose youth happened this degradation of Old England. One of those who betrayed the trust handed down to us unstained by our forefathers.
Near Dorking, United Kingdom
“They’re coming,” the aide said. Major-General Charles Langford nodded; a week of waiting and preparing for the Russian offensive had come to an end. “The SAS are reporting heavy Russian forces moving towards Dorking from their bases.”
Langford took a long breath. He would be running the battle from a carefully-prepared command tent, one with direct links to both the CJHQ and the different units of the surviving British army; the telephone system was impossible for the Russians to detect in operation. As the Russians tightened their control over the air, anything transmitting a signal had been targeted and destroyed, a sharp lesson in what happens when SHORAD was neglected. The handful of American units did what they could, but they weren’t enough to make a difference; Langford wasn’t sure if anything would make a difference.