Invasion

“I hope you’re right,” Philippe said, as he sat back. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Europe is a powder keg these days…and there are plenty of idiots out there who might light a match.”

***

Ambassador Francis Prachthauser understood the French point better, he suspected, than Philippe expected. It was true enough that America and France had had their disagreements, along with mutual incomprehension of the other’s point of view, but they were both allies against the aliens. Neither of them really had a choice; Philippe might raise the spectre of the French, or everyone else in Europe, selling out to the aliens, but they both knew that that meant complete submission. The aliens would insist that the French change their culture and religion to suit them. In the end, it would mean nothing, but an absence of an invasion.

He would have liked to share more of what he knew – but he knew how dangerous that could be. Philippe might be trustworthy, but what about the remainder of the French Government? He wouldn’t have offered odds against there being a few people in France who would have been willing to deal with the aliens…and telling the aliens about the American plan to strike back at them would have been one way to win their friendship. The lasers and maser weapons were only one part of the plan, but if they were seen, it would be easy to convince someone that they were the only part of the plan. The President had told him, in no uncertain terms, that the remainder of what he knew was not to be discussed, even in confidence. God alone knew where the information might end up.

But they needed the Europeans. The remaining Americans forces in the Middle East were scattered, little more than insurgents themselves, ones where the natives weren’t always friendly. If the aliens got an easy victory and started landing their population, they would be in a position to dictate terms to the rest of the world. It was ironic, given his loudly-expressed opinion of them, but he almost missed the Saudis. At least then they could have snatched the oil wells if the terms had been too onerous. The aliens wouldn’t be beaten that easily…

He changed the subject firmly. “What do you think about the Japanese?”

“They didn’t have a choice,” Philippe said. He’d understood the real question. “The aliens were controlling everything they needed to survive as a nation. Without it, they end up on the verge of starvation…and collapse. If the price for getting those resources is submission…”

Francis nodded. Japan’s geopolitical trap had led it into conflict with the United States once…and several of the more perceptive thinkers had pointed out that the war had actually changed nothing. A second war might have broken out in the future, but instead, the aliens had arrived…and the Japanese had no way of striking back at them.

Thompson shrugged. “But how can they enforce the alien religion on their own people?” He asked. “If they go around knocking down their own shrines, their people won’t be happy…”

“Judging by their response to what they call heresy in Texas, the aliens would react harshly,” Francis said. “It won’t be pretty.”

Philippe shrugged. “Neither will the war we will ignite across the Middle East,” he said. “Let’s see how the aliens cope with that, eh?”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Who dares wins.

– SAS Motto

Anything less like a small group of soldiers would be hard to imagine. The four men rode on a set of six camels, using two of them to carry their baggage as they travelled across the desert, navigating by the stars. They wore Bedouin outfits, concealing most of their faces from the handful of others they encountered as they travelled east, ignored or sneered at by the inhabitants of the small villages they visited. A handful of villages were blackened ruins, the sight of a brief struggle against the alien infidels who had violated the Holy Land, but they passed on without pause. Their target was further to the east.

Sergeant Sean Gartlan peered into the heat haze as they kept moving. His face was tanned and slightly tinted, but he couldn’t have passed for an Arab for long, even though he spoke Arabic like a native. The three Corporals with him were even less Arabic, but as long as they kept their faces hidden, they should be fine. The locals tended to treat the wandering Bedouin with a mixture of awe – they travelled the desert, like their ancestors had once done – and contempt. The townspeople often disliked the wanderers, which actually provided the small SAS squad with a surprisingly effective cover. Once button-holed, it was easy for observers to miss important and yet vital details, such as the fact they were a tiny party. Sean had been careful to assure anyone who asked too many questions that they were merely on a wandering pilgrimage, but a quick check of their saddlebags would have revealed the weapons and ammunition. Openly, they carried AK-47s, enough to prevent robbery – particularly when they had nothing, not even women, with them – but the saddlebags contained more advanced weapons than simple tribesmen should possess.

It might not make a difference, Sean reflected. He'd served in Iraq and Afghanistan and he’d seen an astonishing variety of weapons in the hands of the enemy, from American-built M16s to Chinese-built knock-offs of Russian antitank weapons. There had even been a man in Afghanistan who’d possessed an intact Stinger from the war against the Soviets, one that he had never dared use, because it would have knocked his status down from Big Man to a lower level. The weapon, once it had been confiscated, had been so corroded that anyone using it would be lucky if they didn’t blow themselves to bits. Very few of the supporting aircraft had ever had to face a Stinger from that particular war, although some of them had had to face ore modern weapons, smuggled into the country for the insurgency. It was quite possible that anyone who searched them would think that there was nothing odd in their arsenal.

But of course that can’t be allowed, Sean thought, as they moved on. Navigating by dead reckoning wasn’t easy, but in some ways, he almost felt freer. There were no longer any satellite phones or radios that could be used by senior commanders to issue orders while watching over his shoulder, or to suddenly change the rules of engagement at exactly the wrong time. They were completely on their own…and, if they ran into thieves, would have to kill them or escape. They couldn’t lose their weapons, not before they’d used them on the aliens.

He scowled. The aliens, it was well known, used a space-based radar system to track everything that moved on the ground – and, if they didn’t like the cut of its jib, to blast it with a KEW from orbit. In theory, they could pick off an individual human, let alone their vehicles, but the American reports from Texas showed that only large masses of vehicles, or obviously military units, drew fire. They could have taken a jeep from one of the Jordanian military units that were trying to hide out in the desert – and had probably been ignored because they were more of a danger to each other than to the aliens – and driven down into Saudi, but that was too much of a risk. The aliens worked hard to shut down most human transport and an individual jeep might have attracted attention. No, they had to rely on the camels, even though they were mangy beasts.

A faint whistle from behind him caught his ear and he frowned, one hand falling to the AK-47 as he searched the horizon for threats. The remains of the Saudi Army, he’d been told, were cowering in the desert…but the reports were at least two weeks out of date. The aliens had probably rounded them all up by now. He saw, moving quicker than he had imagined, a line of vehicles buzzing across the sand, heading for the small village they’d passed through a couple of days ago. They came closer and closer, close enough to spook the animals, but didn’t seem inclined to stop and chat to the humans. Instead, they just kept moving…

It was the first time he’d seen the aliens close up and he was fascinated. Their vehicles didn’t look that different to human vehicles, but they floated on a cushion of air, rather than tracks. Judging by the way the sand moved and swirled around them, they were probably immune from sand getting into the engines as well, which made them even more deadly in the desert. Sean had done a few months with Arabic forces and, apart from the Iraqis, they tended not to worry about actually maintaining their engines and vehicles. They’d been defeated a long time before the aliens had landed…and they’d done it mainly to themselves.

The aliens themselves were the black-clad figures he’d seen in the webcasts from Texas, but there was an