Behind him, he heard another series of explosions, followed by rapid gunfire. It was impossible to guess at what was happening, although most of the gunfire seemed to be coming from alien weapons. They kept running through the forest, despite hearing alien helicopters overhead, searching for fugitives. If they’d managed to improve their tracking technology, part of Gavin’s mind insisted on reminding him, their helicopters or drones could keep track of them and steer a blocking force right into their path. Or maybe they’d just hose down the forest with bullets and leave their targets to bleed out and die.
The forest came to an end suddenly, broken by a road leading northwards towards the motorway. They crossed it rapidly, just as they heard the faint humming of alien vehicles racing towards them. Gavin heard the sound of gunfire and threw himself to the ground, trying to bury himself in the mud. Bullets were snapping right over his head, smashing through trees and branches with equal abandon. He heard one of his men yelp as a bullet slashed across his back — a inch or two lower and it would have shattered his spine — before the sound of alien helicopters came closer. The aliens, if they were still tracking the small party, would be sending in ground troops…
“Come on,” one of his escort detail hissed. “We need to get out of this trap…”
The aliens were firing to force them to keep their heads down, but they could still crawl. Gavin squelched through the mud, just as he heard what sounded like incoming fire. An explosion, far too close to him, sent mud and branches flying towards his position. The second explosion picked him up and threw him through the trees. He crashed down and felt his arm snap under his weight. The pain almost overwhelmed him, even as he tried to stagger to his feet and run. Everything seemed to be shifting around him. It was almost impossible to move.
A dark shape appeared in front of him, pointing a gun towards his head. The alien’s dark eyes seemed to meet his, and then pull back a little. Gavin remembered that they wanted prisoners and tried to reach for his pistol, but his hand refused to obey orders. He had to be more seriously injured than he’d thought…
The alien lifted a clawed hand and snapped it down across Gavin’s face. There was a brief moment of shattering pain, and then he plunged down into darkness.
Gabriel was completely exhausted by the time they reached the coast, heading down towards a small village along the shore. It had probably once been a fishing village, but with the decline of the fishing industry it had turned into a tourist attraction, with boat trips to the Isle of Man, Ireland and the Scottish Islands. Gabriel found a place to sit and catch his breath while Butcher walked down to the small harbour, looking for a boat that could take them north. He’d admitted that he’d steal a boat if necessary, but he’d prefer to avoid it if possible. The last thing they needed was an outraged village calling the aliens and reporting their escape.
He closed his eyes. The next thing he knew was Mother shaking him gently. “We have a boat and an ex-Royal Marine to sail it,” he said. “Come on. We’d better get moving before the aliens catch up with us.”
The sound of helicopters in the distance underscored his words. Gabriel followed him down to the harbour and blinked in surprise when he saw the boat. It was an elderly sailing boat rather than a more modern design, but it did have an outboard motor at the stern. The owner, a man who looked old enough to be a granddad, nodded when he saw Gabriel and then started the motor.
“You’ll be heading north, right?” He said, as they motored out and into open water. Gabriel wondered if the shape he could see in the distance was Ireland, or if they were too far north to see the Emerald Isle. “I hope you’ve got somewhere safe to stay.”
“Yes,” Butcher said, shortly.
“I’ll get you there, safe and sound,” the sailor said. “Don’t worry about a thing.”
Gabriel half-turned, looking back at the receding shoreline. The green hills of England seemed to be illuminated as the sun beat down from high overhead, creating a marvellous picture. Despite himself, he wondered if he’d ever see them again. If they had to flee to Scotland, where would they go when the aliens came after them again?
“I’m not worried,” Butcher said, stiffly. “I just want to be away from here before our friends catch up with us.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
London
United Kingdom, Day 55
“We’re still on, then?”
“It looks that way,” Abdul said, from where he was studying the laptop. London’s internet connections were starting to collapse, although no one was quite sure if the aliens were doing it deliberately or if the wear and tear on the system was finally taking a toll. Probably both, Chris considered. The aliens had to know that the internet was being used to coordinate the resistance and they were recruiting computer experts. “We’re too far advanced with the planning to back out now. If some groups don’t get the message in time…”
Chris nodded. The alien attack on Haddon Hall — which had apparently been serving as a crucial resistance node — had scattered some of the resistance’s fighting men, but it hadn’t shattered the command network. Some people had suggested abandoning — or at least postponing — Operation Hammer, but too many people were already briefed and making preparations. Delaying the operation only increased the danger of the alien intelligence service figuring out what was coming before the operation was launched.
“Then” — he made a show of checking his watch — “we move from here in three hours and hit the aliens right where they live,” he said. Offhand, he couldn’t recall a bigger operation in recent history — let alone one mounted on such a shoestring. The cost of failure would be alarmingly high. “I take it that everyone is ready?”
There were nods from the small team. London was large enough to hide a couple of hundred fighting men — as well as the volunteers, gangsters and trouble-causers who were giving the collaborator government fits — in places close to their intended target. Thanks to Abdul’s careful preparation — he’d recruited louts to smash CCTV cameras all over the city — the aliens and their collaborators would have difficulty realising that the assault force was being prepared, although they had to know that they were going blind. Chris privately suspected that one of the reasons the aliens had started insisting that people worked for their food was to keep control over the population, rather than leave people to their own devices. They might start getting ideas about lashing out at the aliens.
“Good,” Chris said. He grinned to relieve the tension. “I feel like saying something terribly dramatic.”
Abdul chuckled. “Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more,” he said. “Consign their parts most private to a Rutland fence.”
Chris laughed. He’d missed laughing and joking with his comrades before an operation, or telling great lies about female conquests… anything, but taking about the coming battle. They’d prepared carefully and rehearsed as much as they could, yet the tension would continue to rise until they were actually moving out and heading towards contact. The only thing that would make it settle was actual engagement.
London wasn’t what he remembered any longer. Even Basra or Kabul at their worst didn’t match what the aliens had done to London. Chris would cheerfully have killed every last one of the aliens for what they’d done, both for the damage they’d inflicted upon London’s monuments and for the fear that pervaded the lives of ordinary citizens. There was no longer any faith in the law, or the police; the police served the aliens and the law was a joke, unable even to protect those who had spent their entire lives following it. Many people had been arrested by the aliens after being denounced by their neighbours out of spite, or because the neighbours wanted to pay back old grudges… no one trusted anyone any longer. Chris imagined that Moscow under Stalin or Berlin under Hitler would have had the same aura of fear, of mistrust and suspicion, that seemed to have settled over London like a shroud.