The boat started to tilt madly to one side as Butcher pointed them upriver, towards the west. Gabriel struggled to remain calm, even though part of him was convinced that they were going to be thrown into the water at any moment. A handful of other boats seemed to be making their way downstream, clearly intent on getting out of London before something worse happened. He wondered, suddenly, just how much the civilians knew about the crisis. It had never occurred to him to ask… in the distance, he could hear the sound of sirens. The police were responding to the attacks, but did they know what they were facing? And if there really were aliens heading towards London?
It seemed like a bad science-fiction movie, but it was happening…
Twenty minutes later, just as they were leaving London, Hughie tapped him on the shoulder and passed him a pair of binoculars. Gabriel glanced at them in puzzlement, and then looked up into the sky. A flight of aircraft were heading down towards London from the west… but they looked odd. Gabriel pressed the binoculars against his eyes and gasped as he finally made sense of what he was seeing. The alien shuttles were larger than the largest jumbo jet the human race had ever produced and they were heading towards London. They’d escaped the city in the nick of time. He tried to estimate how many aliens could be on those aircraft before realising that it was impossible to produce anything like a reliable estimate. For all he knew, the aliens could be microscopic in size — or they could look like stone statues of weeping angels. And perhaps they wouldn’t even be humanoid.
“We’re still being jammed,” Hughie said, quietly. The SBS soldier had a faint Scottish accent that echoed through his voice. “We can’t warn the General or the troops in London.”
“But they know that they’re coming,” Gabriel pointed out, desperately. Suddenly, he felt ashamed for running. “They must know that they’re on their way.”
“Maybe,” Hughie said. “Or maybe the aliens have ways to avoid passive detectors. Any radar station that lights up is likely to get clobbered. I don’t know, sir. We just need to get you up to the command bunker, and perhaps then we can go back to the front lines.”
“Or the front lines will come to us,” Mother grunted. “Look.”
Gabriel followed his gaze. There were more alien shuttles now, hundreds of them, glowing red as they decelerated through Earth’s atmosphere. Just for a moment, he wondered how interstellar logistics could make an invasion possible, before dismissing the thought. There was no way to know how alien logistics worked. For all he knew, the aliens mass-cloned soldiers whenever they wanted to overrun another world.
He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer for the men and women who were about to be caught up in a nightmare. General Robertson had been determined to fight — it crossed Gabriel’s mind that he should have ordered them out, but it was too late. All he could do now was pray for them — and pray that the aliens weren’t savages. An alien race could wipe out all life on Earth.
The sound of more explosions caught them as they headed onwards, echoing back from London. There was no way to know what was going on behind them either. All they could do was pray. And hope that, one day, they would be able to avenge themselves on the aliens.
Gabriel shook his head. An hour. An hour after the alien attack had begun and he was on the run. And to think that yesterday he’d been cursing problems he would have given his soul for today.
Chapter Four
London
United Kingdom, Day 1
“Anything we should know, sir?”
The military officer sighed. Robin had been busy organising what medical help he could for the wounded, after a handful of ambulances and policemen had finally arrived. They’d reported that London’s railway stations had been hit as well, causing massive casualties as well as jamming up the road network. The emergency services were overwhelmed trying to deal with the chaos. And they still had no idea what was going on. The radio seemed torn between increasingly hysterical bulletins and requests for the public to remain calm and in their homes. Judging from the level of traffic on the streets, Robin suspected that that particular request was going unheeded.
“Yes,” the soldier said. A handful of other armed soldiers had appeared, causing many citizens to start edging away from them. Robin wasn’t so impressed, if only because he’d spent his probationary period in Southampton, wrestling Royal Marines on Friday nights. “There’s a good chance that whoever did this to us” — he waved a hand at the pile of smoking rubble that had once been Buckingham Palace — “is likely to start landing ground troops. You’re looking at ground zero for their invasion.”
Robin stared at him. A terrorist attack was understandable, even if there had been a hideous failure in intelligence that should have allowed them to detect the plot in time to derail it. Even a handful of bombs detonated around the city was understandable; Islamic Fundamentalism had been suspiciously quiet over the last few months and the radicals knew that they needed to keep staging spectacular attacks to boost their cause. But an invasion… Robin had taken part in drills where the Met had been seconded to the military for a military emergency, yet no one had believed that Britain might actually be invaded. The nightmare of an uprising from the poorer — and Islamic — parts of the country seemed more plausible.
“We’re at war,” he stumbled, finally. “Against who?”
“We’re unsure as yet and we don’t have time to speculate,” the officer said, firmly. “I need you to get the civilians out of the area as quickly as possible — starting now. God alone knows how much time we have left.”
Robin allowed his eyes to trail over the gardens and the surrounding area. A small number of policemen and medics had finally shown up, allowing them to start treating the wounded — although only one ambulance had arrived, which had been pressed into service to take the worst cases to the nearest hospital. From what little he’d heard from other police officers, London was gridlocked. Everyone who had a car seemed to be trying to get out of the city and to hell with how it impeded the emergency services. The BBC wasn’t helping. It was either jammed up with static or raving about explosions in a dozen cities.
“I can’t get everyone out…”
“You have to,” the officer said, quietly. There was an earnest tone in his voice that somehow stripped Robin’s final doubts away. He saw a pair of soldiers carrying handheld antiaircraft missiles setting up a position on one side of the gardens. If the enemy intended to send in paratroopers, the British Army would give them a hot reception. “I don’t know how much time we have left.”
He strode off in the direction of his men, leaving Robin staring at his back. Robin’s training asserted itself and he began to bellow orders. God knew how he’d wound up as senior officer on scene — the mobile command centre had probably been stuck in traffic — but at least no one was arguing. The wreckage of Buckingham Palace had probably concentrated quite a few minds.
“Start moving the civilians out of here,” he ordered, sharply. “Draft able-bodied men as stretcher-bearers if necessary; start moving them at least a mile from this location.” He found himself grappling with a completely unexpected problem. If an invasion force — absurd as it seemed — was about to land in Central London, where was even remotely safe. “Take control of the traffic and get it moving away from here — commandeer any vehicles that can be used for moving casualties and put them to work. If anyone gives you trouble, arrest them and we’ll worry about charges later.