The city was strangely silent, muffled by the drone of rain. Sergeant Hackett glanced around the Platoon, watching them go through their final checks as rain drummed against the cobblestones. He chewed the tobacco in his mouth a moment longer, shooting another glance at the sky, then spat the rancid black sludge onto the pavement, where it sloshed down the guttering into a drain.
"Bloody weird, summer showers like this. Feels like ruddy autumn."
Zhaojie lounged against a wall nearby and nodded slowly, "The air feels wrong."
"You ain't bloody wrong, Chinaman."
The big fellow chuckled and shrugged, "I feel the winds changing. Something feels wrong with all this."
"As if having bloody walking ghouls and hissing dandies shooting burning snot at us wasn't weird," grumbled Hackett. Zhaojie didn't answer, instead looking back over his weapons. The man was practically a walking armoury - maxim gun, sidearm, crossbow, a knife or five. His slight companion was lightly armed, but she seemed just as dangerous, her eyes cold and hair tied back into a tight bun.
They were huddled in an alleyway near the construction site, sheltering from the rain. The wagons had deposited them here, down a back-street. The cordon teams were quietly setting up, under the guise of redirecting the various flows of listless citizens, supply wagons and refugees. They were scant miles from "the front" here, with Ealing being a near active warzone. The press of people was strong on the main thoroughfares, making this an excellent place for the enemy to establish a base - masked by the flow of people, easy to slip in and out of.
He gave a signal and the platoon filed out, fanning across the alley and into the street that ran alongside the site - an opencast pit, flanked by half constructed buildings. The gate was lightly chain, made short work of by a set of iron boltcutters.
The perimeter troops moved into overwatch positions, cracking open the doors of buildings opposite, pushing their way in and up floors to find suitable vantage points. Hackett hung back and signalled to Zhaojie, "Alright mate, you wanted the lead, you got it. I'll hang back, send in the reserve when you shout. Our runners say there's a works ramp down but it looks like it gets narrow. Remember, you see it goes too far, you hold, we get more lads in. Secure the entrance, make life hard and then make a call on whether to blow the bugger."
Zhaojie nodded and grinned, "You'll miss all the fun, Sergeant."
"Still closer to it'n a Rupert'd be."
"Strange that, is it not?"
"Heh, those of us who do and die, mate. Crack on."
The men with Winchesters went first, fanning out across the site, taking up position and advancing slowly. The engineers came next, with the heavy team and sniper moving to flank the entrance.
Nothing moved and Zhaojie narrowed his eyes. Not even a sentry; no workers; it felt wrong.
The team moved in, down the earth ramp, past the iron struts that were the start of a foundation block, into the excavation itself. Down here the tunnel was lit by gas lamps and crude electrical bulbs strung out. Zhaojie noted that the cables didn't come out of the tunnel, which meant the power source was further in.
"No smoke… what are they using? Hand cranks?" he mused.
They must have gone down a good fifty feet before they reached the wider expanse of the excavation, adjacent or below the Bakerloo line itself. They had been moving forward slowly, inch by inch, playing a cautious advance, down the curving tunnel, when the ambush was sprung.
The first soldier got caught on the arm as he descended a half finished stairway, open on one side to a more expansive room. He went down with a curse and yanked the steaming armour off his forearm, tossing it away, then scrambled into cover behind a pillar.
The rest of the forward team dove forwards, scrambling over the open ground of the tunnel and ducking behind stacked crates and carts carrying spoil. Green bolts flashed across the dark space, their hissing passage mingling with the chitters of the enemy and the odd shout of a human. Bullets mingled with the alien fire as more mundane firearms added to the suppressive barrage.
Zhaojie growled from the top of the stairway,and unslung the Maxim gun. His arms bulged as he descended the stairway, one hand gripping a makeshift sling that held the weapon up. His other hand depressed the trigger. Shen had modified it slightly, allowing him to wield the water-cooled monster of a weapon himself. His companion Jiayi, carried the satchel from which draped the belt of ammunition.
The hail of bullets bought his forward team time as yells of surprise and shrieks of aliens caught in the open stemmed the initial avalanche of fire. Sparks flew on the other side of the cave and something shattered. Flames caught spreading over the floor as oil ignited, spilled from a lamp or a barrel. The shouts of surprise turned to screams and Zhaojie grinned ferally.
"Forward! By the numbers! Present!"
The team fired methodically, as he swept the gun back again, then released the trigger. He could hear the water bubbling in the barrel casing, boiling off the excess heat. He heard the soft footfalls of the sniper as he took position against the edge of the stairs, heard the loud retort of the rifle, followed by a very human howl of pain.
Silence descended as the forward tema paused to held up a hand and gestured forwards. The team moved forwards, allowing the rest of the heavy-team in, as well as the engineers.
"Secure the room. Check for exits. Engineers, first set of charges here, set them up and be ready. We must be careful not to damage the train line above if we can avoid it."
The men set to it and he moved to survey the damage. The oil fire was burning itself out, but he could make out three charred bodies - one human, one grey, one tall-man. There were at least five more dead greys, two humans and a second tall-man. No Mutons. Though he'd like have noticed that once they entered the room.
"Two more exits sir. One goes down, the other… reckon it's a dead end or an exit, mostly spoil carts," reported one of the soldiers. Zhaojie nodded and gestured to the sniper.
"Check and be careful. You, go with him. If it's an exit, secure it and flag to the perimeter," the pair of engineers he nodded towards, "You stay here, ensure these are set and ready. You, with me, bring the rest of the explosives."
Zhaojie shouldered the Maxim gun and frowned. He squared his shoulders and led his men deeper.
Moira toyed with the crystal and mused. She knew Ogilvy had already been over the emitter… device… telegram machine the beasts ahd used and, despite her irritation, she couldn't fault what the man had done. He'd just been by her lab to apologise again, profusely. Likely terrified for his job - a thing suddenly in stark need in days of war.
She'd sent him on his way with a new task - replicate the machine, if at all possible, with terrestrial means. There would be underlying functions and perhaps some elements of its function that would elude them, but if they could trace its form, then they would at least have an inkling of what was missing.
If it was a physical thing, of course….
She placed the shard under a microscope and checked it again. Even cracked, there was a definite pattern within the latticework - not the random shards within a diamond, or the maelstrom of clustered shapes within sand.
No, this was structured, ordered, down to a nigh impossible level. But it was cracked, damaged, and that clearly impaired it in some way.
With a sigh, she set it aside - they'd have to seize and intact one. But how? The poison tipped arrows wouldn't hard an inorganic… she blinked and pulled the crystal back.
Yes it was crystal. But the structures resembled… cells? Was that possible?
An hour later, she'd pulled samples of the other beasts, checking them under the microscope. There were similarities, mainly in the cerebral tissues - a level of hegemonic uniformity not seen in terrestrial animals. The "Insectoids" were the ones with the greatest level of similarity; practically identical down to individual tissue shapes, brain structure, even bone density.
Like someone had copied them in some manner.
Even the brains, with metallic wires interlacing the same segments, were identically shaped.
She had her assistants run checks on the Tall-men corpses, as well as the "floaters". She'd need more Mutons to confirm any further connections. But that was more to see a trend. What she had identified was a similarity in structure of the crystal to the brains of the Sectoids.
And that was just… strange. Why have an artificial structure of a thinking creature?
She recalled the briefing notes from Mr Wells and The Colonel. A manifesting being. A thing that was corporeal.
That shared a brain structure with one of the aliens, perhaps? So was that because it was like the aliens… or it had to overlay to an alien elsewhere?
An avatar of something, somewhere else perhaps? A projection?
And it worked both ways.
She was walking out of the lab and was across the bridge, pushing through the sparse crowds of milling civilians and soldiers. She practically barged into the headquarters room in the tower.
"We need ein glowing monster alive, Herr Anderson."
The Colonel looked up from his reports and blinked at her, "I was under the impression You wanted damn near all of them alive, Doctor?"
"Nein. This one we must prioritise."
"Oh? Why is that?"
"I versteht… I understand it. It is not just a messenger. It is a projection of a speaker."
His brow furrowed and he leaned forwards, "You're saying it's like a... a telegram or telephone call but...in person?"
"Eine kleine. It is a two way transmission. It can see and effect change around it, not just communicate… But there is a chance, once we understand the machinery that we may be able to trace the transmission."
Anderson blinked, not quite understanding. Then he smiled, "We trace it, we identify where their headquarters could be. And we don't have to charge headlong at random or try to tackle their whole army…"
"Jawohl."
"But… how can you pinpoint that from...an alien transmission?"
"Herr Anderson, I do not question your faculty with shooting or the disposition of soldiers. Please do not 'quibble' over how I conduct research."
The soldier held up his hands in mock surrender, "I would not dare, madame. Well then, we shall endeavour to secure one of the beasts. Do you have any idea how we might accomplish this?"
Vahlen pondered and nodded slowly, "I think I may have an idea."
The bed felt cold. It wasn't a bed - more like a gurney, inlaid with metal and straps. The lights felt all wrong and off. Around was the sound of whimpers the smell of antiseptic and copper. A scream echoed through the dim room. Green lights strobed overhead. It was wrong.
A face. Gaunt. Black glasses and a black hair slicked to the scalp. Mottled flesh and a leering grin.
Then there was pain. And awareness.
No Nathaniel, no!"
She jolted awake, practically collapsing out of the bed. Her legs still refused to respond and she beat her hands against the tiled floor, breath coming in heaving sobs. There was the sound of feed and light fell across her as the door opened. Hands gripped her and gently helped her back into the bed - the kind face of the hospital orderly was in front of her.
"You alright, Ma'am? Another dream?"
"It's so… so real. Like I'm there. In hell,"He smiled but it was clear he didn't understand. She gestured at her legs, "and I don't know when these will work… if ever again."
The man gave an awkward shrug, "Maybe a nice constitutional. It is nearly tea time."
"You let me sleep the morning away?" she felt shocked. The man shrugged.
"Doctors said bed rest. I understand your friends are downstairs. They check in regular like."
Beth sighed, "Very well then. If you can pick me one of the nice dresses… I suppose I best be about."
She was downstairs in the grounds only a few minutes later. They'd been moved off base and she was now in the Portsmouth hospital, a place for convalescing sailors and officers it seemed. George and Carrie had been given rooms by one of the Senior officers in his town house, as the man's family were apparently in London.
The pair waited for her now as the sun was drifting to the horizon. It was hard to see, a thick layer of cloud turning what should have been a bright summer afternoon to murk. Carrie smiled and waved.
"Elizabeth, so glad you could make it. We've been working with some of the naval gentlemen. Interesting, really."
George nodded as he saw Elizabeth only offer a weak smile, "It's why we wanted to talk to you, actually."
The wheelchair bound woman frowned at them, "Oh?"
"Yes, you see they're short handed what with the cordon and keeping all the ships afloat. We've found some work in their departments on base. Paperwork mostly. But it helps."
"Helps how?"
The pair exchanged glances, "With not feeling like we're no longer helping," offered Carrie. Elizabeth sighed and gestured to her seated form.
"I'm hardly in the best… well, state, now am I?"
"Pish posh, madame," spouted George, "They hardly need a marathon runner. Carrie is staffing the telegram exchange, they need more people to help with the communiques. I'm acting as an aide to the headquarters, keeping notes and minutes. Play to your strengths, madame. Doesn't matter if you are temporarily impaired. Has to be better than isolating yourself!"
"I quite agree, 'Beth," continued Carrie, "I nearly lost my mind to despair getting here. And we didn't fight this fair to just… give up, now did we? Please, try it, get out of this dismal place."
Beth felt inclined to argue, to get the orderly to wheel her back to the communal room and leave her looking out the window. But her own words, her own actions to try to pull Nathaniel out of his torporous mood echoed back in her mind. Much as she feared the idea, she did need to do something.
"Very well. I suppose you best take me to the docks, see whether I'll be… um, what is it those sailors do? Rigging? Weighing anchors?"
"That's the spirit! I'm sure they'll have you loading cannons in no time," chuckled George. He took the handles of her wheelchair from the orderly, who waved them off. As they meandered down the street away from the hospital a strange breeze blasted across the city. They saw people across the street clutch at hats and coats, casting their gaze about at the freak gust. Birds squawked and rose from rooftops and park trees and the flags atop the hospital whipped and cracked as the wind changed direction momentarily.
"What… what was that?" gasped Carrie, casting about her. Elizabeth hissed and clutched the side of her head as a sharp pain spiked there then vanished. She stared up at the clouds.
"Something… awful."