London burned.
The city was lit orange across its western expanse as vast swaths of the city were consumed by fire and smoke. St Paul's dome was a shattered wreck, Westminster was a towering inferno with Elizabeth's tower a single column of flame.
Zhaojie leaned against the edge of the frame that, as his mind processed the scene below, he classified as both a door and a window. A section of the ship that was just covered in a bubble of strange, rainbow like energy. It reminded him of a soap bubble.
"What… is happening?"
Essex stood next to him, practically shaking.
"They're… just attacking everywhere. Is… is it all gone?"
Zhaojie steeled himself and turned to shout towards the 'bridge', "Hackett, take us lower."
There was no response, but the ship began to descend. As the ground loomed, they began to see that the fires were indiscriminate, but the smoke was worse, obscuring most of the city. Walkers moved, fired, moved again. AS they watched, one of the walkers stepped into the river. An explosion from the south bank announced concealed artillery and the Walker toppled back, slamming into a bridge, Waterloo by the look of it. The machine shuddered as another salvo struck it and the canopy exploded in flame. That got a cheer from the crew in the aircraft. Zhaojie peered down and noticed a grey shape half obscured by rising dust. Was that… a crashed transport? He could hardly credit it. There was so much going on below he could hardly take it all in.
More explosions were visible far to the west, the faint silhouettes of more Tripods. But these ones were in clear difficulty, barely moving. Zhaojie surveyed the river and focused towards the east, "Hackett, can you get us to the Tower?"
The craft lurched again and zoomed along the Thames, the passengers staring out the portholes to either side, surveying the destruction and watching the fighting. From here it seemed distant. The craft rattled as stray rounds sheared off it.
"Gotta keep… moving. Don't want our lads… shooting us," came Hackett's pained voice.
The ship closed in on the tower and Zhaojie heard Jiayi gasp next to him. The area around the fortress was littered with corpses, mostly alien. A few humans were still standing outside the walls, locked in close combat with a horde of creatures.
The keep itself was a mess - melted wreck of a cannon sat atop the main building, clearly melted. The nearby Ironclad looked in a similar state. In the streets around the building were signs that things were not going the alien's way however - five wrecked Tripods. Others seemed to be hunkering down, congregating, ready for a push. Zhaojie counted three of them and there seemed to be no easy counter.
The keep courtyard was… a charnel house. It was blanketed with black ash, several corpses slumped around it. A wall to the east was blasted open, a pile of rubble. It was a mess, with more bodies draped across the stonework.
A strangled cry echoed through the ship and Zhaojie whirled. The ship listed and shook. Below, some soldiers looked to be turning to bring weapons to bear, but the ship shifted fast until it hovered over one of the walkers stalking through side streets. The gangly tripod scuttled, too agile for its size to feel normal. There was a flash as something on their ship hummed to life. Below, the tripod became a cascade of green flame as plasma rained onto it. The machine fizzled, then exploded as the green, superheated bolts melted into the armour and set off some charge within the machine.
The ship moved again, Zhaojie shielding his eyes as something white hot lanced past their vessel. He gripped a wall as the craft jinked and dodged. Outside, he caught glimpsed as their ship strafed the ground, leaving a trail of green fire. He stared as another walker detonated under a hail of plasma, their ship taking a sudden shift again. A cry indicated that some of the troops on board had taken a rough tumble.
The ship jerked again and Zhaojie realised they were hovering in front of the main gates.
"Zhaojie…. Get out there…. Help," Hackett was shouting at them, his voice strained. The lieutenant was about to object but Jiayi held up a hand.
"I will stay. He needs help. In case… of an accident. Go, Zhu."
The bubble doors on the ship zipped open as if popped and Zhaojie saw they were only a few feet off the ground. He looked back inside and saw Essex rounding the team up, alongside Corporal Jacobs. He looked at the troops and grinned mirthlessly.
"What's the matter? Never charged headlong into the unknown from an otherworldly ship?"
Essex looked at him, then back at the troops, then grinned back, "Fuck it. Let's go kill some proper foreign bastards."
With a cheer, the troops piled out of the ship, charging into cover, or just bearing down on the very confused combatants. Zhaojie roared a battle cry, hauled an obscenely large knife from his belt and, pistol in his other large hand, charged into the fray.
"Casualties?"
"We lost at least a third of the courtyard contingent, thirty lads. Boys on the walls managed to mask up but if there's been skin contact…" Bradford looked at Doctor Vahlen. She was pale but had a determined look.
"Ja. Skin contact is likely fatal, but exposure is not immediate. Concentration needs to be higher to incapacitate. Small exposure will spread over the subject, given time, unless treated with water and acid mix. We have time before the material fully cocoons a subject. Inhalation may be fatal if the individual does not exhibit… desired traits."
Anderson looked at the pair. They'd fallen back into the command room whilst the troops had sealed windows as best they could. A water pump had sprayed out water from the upper floors, whilst firebombs had been thrown from the battlements to try to clear the smoke. More canisters had rained down across the city, spreading more fear. He dared not consider the body count.
"We've killed three of their bloody walking gun platforms with the roof cannon… but engineers say is slagged. Artillery reports two more downed but they're out of shells and regrouping. But there's more closing… turret on the bridge is having difficulties charging. We'll have to try taking them out up close."
"That is suicide, surely?" Vahlen looked appalled. Bradford splayed his hands on the map table.
"We're low on options, Doc. We're cut off, got limited munitions. This attack…. It damn near stripped our assets. We're down to nearly throwing tin cans at them."
Anderson ran a hand through his hair and growled, "Not quite that bad. Mortars are salvageable at least. Wall teams have the lightning guns. We just need to hit them before they can get a good line and just incinerate the compound. Get me some teams together, get them over the wall. We need to push out before the next salvo. That breach on the east wall nearly killed us so we need to buy breathing space by nullifying those big guns."
Bradford nodded but was interrupted by a cry of alarm from one of the communications officers, "Sir! They've got air support, closing down the Thames. It's… it's here."
The room fell silent as, beyond the walls, they could heard the thrum of alien engines. Anderson glared, "Get the gunners on it - why aren't they shoo-"
There was a sudden rattle as the windows shook, air being displaced at speed. Then a shriek of Uuuulllalllaaaa! Followed by a cataclysmic explosion. Bradford, Anderson and Vahlen exchanged glances, before the American spoke slowly, "To the, uh, roof?"
The other two nodded and hurried to the stairs, clambering up until they reached the top floor of the vaulted keep. A ladder led to the roof, through a trapdoor now enlarged by brute force to accommodate cables and wiring. Bradford went up first, followed by Vahlen, then Anderson. He chuckled as he climbed, which got a cavalcade of German cursing from the Doctor. But she gave him an arched eyebrow and a small smile when he got onto the rooftop.
The view was… unexpected. A UFO that seemed possessed, jolting around the keep, practically hosing the ground with green energy. Two columns of smoke tinged with black dust showed where two of the enemy titans had been felled.
As they watched, the machine dropped down in front of the keep and disgorged a platoons worth of… humans. Who charged into the fray, taking the battle to the confused aliens. The sudden arrival had frozen the combatants, as if trying to work out what the new arrival meant. The charge shocked everyone, it seemed and a few of the aliens panicked and began to retreat.
Once the last man had exited the strange ship, it shot back into the air. Two titans were down, and the last appeared to be in something of a fighting retreat, trying to move and also angle itself to bring the heat ray to bear. But the thing wasn't designed to engage so agile a target. They watched as the machine tried to turn, the triple limbs unable to balance as the alien gunner focused too much on bringing the weapon to bear. The machine was near the river and, as it twisted, it toppled sideways, a lance of bright white light firing straight up into the clouds. The machine splashed into the Thames, sending waves rolling, along with a cloud of steam that obscured the fallen hulk.
Anderson stared, then looked at Bradford, "What. The hell?"
The American whistled softly, "Ain't got a clue, boss. Ain't got a clue."
The battle was actually a little anti-climactic. The sudden appearance of a UFO that then proceded to just strafe incoming reinforcements, coupled with the berserker like charge of the British soldiers caused a rout. Soon, every street for three hundred yards around the keep was confirmed clear of enemies.
Anderson watched as the main gate opened, revealing a bloodied Zhaojie, flanked by a good score or more haggard looking soldiers. Behind them, the external core of defenders, those who'd retreated back from various bastions nearby, were rounding up prisoners, both human and alien, policing and securing barricades.
Anderson watched as the large Chinaman strode forwards and chuckled as the fellow stamped to attention in front of him, presenting a crisp salute. He returned it, smartly.
"Lieutenant. This is an unexpected and very welcome surprise. I imagine it's quite the tale."
"Sir, I hope to enlighten you in good order. I wish to report a successful operation in Newcastle. Casualties I will have to update you on, but did secure several civilian prisoners who are en route south via boat. We also neutralised an enemy stronghold and, as you can see, have secured various new… assets. Also, we have new information on the enemy disposition. And… this."
He produced the gleaming yellow crystal from a knapsack, unwrapping it carefully. Vahlen stared at it, then carefully stepped forwards, "Entschuldigung… bitte?"
Zhaojie handed it over, still partially wrapped and Vahlen took the crystal. Her eyes gleamed and she nodded slowly, then looked at Anderson, "Lieb- um… Commander. I need to get back to my laboratory. Can we… do something about that?"
Bradford snickered, earning him a side glare from the woman, but Anderson just smiled faintly and nodded, "We need to check on Shen, ensure the foundries and research areas are secured anyway. Zhaojie, get your people inside. Grab some food, water. We may need you to chip in soon, but take some down time for the moment. Where's… Hackett?"
Wordlessly, Zhaojie pointed up and the group glanced skyward, to where the UFO was slowly descending. The machine hovered, manoeuvering gently, then extended landing clamps and settled onto the ground to the north of the Keep. Bradford blinked as the ship disappeared out of sight, obscured by the buildings, "Uh… guess we should secure that?"
"Get on it…" murmured Anderson. Zhaojie coughed and gave an apologetic smile.
"Sir, please do not shoot the InSectoids on board. They need to be secured."
At that Vahlen stared at him and cocked her head to one side, "Warum?"
Zhaojie gave a slight shrug, "They are, apparently, integral to operating the more advanced devices of the guaiwu. And they in turn require… I believe a commander."
"You got one of their commanders to co-operate?"
"Yes and… no," Zhaojie beckoned and a figure stepped forwards, hunched slightly. Anderson's eyes widened and Bradford's hand went to his sidearm. Zhaojie held a hand up placatingly, "We have misunderstood a few things. This one helped us… but he is not the commander," Zhaojie seemed uncomfortable, then sighed, "Hackett is…."
That just got a few very confused looks from the senior staff. Anderson exhaled, then frowned at the captive, "Part of me wants to hand your friend over to the good Doctor to interrogate… but we don't have the facilities to hand."
The creature interrupted, "Please… help. Speak."
Anderson glared at the creature and the Lieutenant tapped the back of his head, "Something in there is compelling him. A… device? He cannot remove it, not easily. He has promised to help if we can remove it. With due respect sir, I am inclined to believe him."
Anderson looked at the big man, mulling it over, then sighed, "You've done some amazing things today, Lieutenant. I think we owe you the benefit of the doubt. But he is your responsibility for now. We can deal with it once we have secured our area of operation and ensured we are secure for now. Then we move onto the hard work."
With another salute, he turned and headed back towards the Keep. Bradford paused, nodded at Zhaojie, then followed. Vahlen watched them go, then looked at the captive, a faint frown on her face, "Compelled?"
Zhaojie nodded, "Some, it seems… are slaves. Others are not. But many would appear to have no will, according to our friend here."
Her expression was faintly troubled for a moment, but it passed. She looked down at the crystal, then back at Zhaojie, "Vielen danke Lieutenant. I wouldn't be surprised if a promotion was due… for all your people if I'm any judge of Will… the Commander."
It was Zhaojie's turn to arch a brow in faint confusion. Behind him Essex stifled a snort which he covered with a cough. The lieutenant smiled, "Thank you, Doctor. We just did our job."
Vahlen snorted, "As if it was any small thing. Eine kleine… Modesty doesn't suit you, Lieutenant. Now, we must see to Shen and whether he has blown himself up yet."
Taking stock took time. A few hours to clear, to confirm reports that, with the bulk of their advance blunted, the aliens were hunkering down, entrenching into enclaves across the city. The remaining walkers were moving to positions where they could overwatch but were otherwise static. Likewise, their escorts were in disarray, choosing to secure positions and to delay the slowly rallying humans.
Bradford sighed as he surveyed the wreckage around the wharf - the fires had been hard here, but most of the stonework of the railway arches and the wharf itself were intact.
The workshops were a mixed bag - some were trashed, others a battleground of corpses; some completely beyond salvage whilst a large contingent were untouched. The maze like construction, the warren of corridors, shanty buildings in alleyways, converted houses: all of it had made the aliens infantry advance utterly stumble and crack. Outflanked, ambushed by the street-smart criminal gangs and furious troops, they cut a bloody toll on the aliens.
He'd been at the front of the troop Anderson had sent south a couple of hours ago, insisting on heading the search for Shen. There hadn't been much resistance - a few hybrids, the odd lone Muton, all pretty dazed or angry. THe Hybrids had mostly surrendered, the humans they encountered had tried to run, but given up.
So, now he had a temporary stockade of enemy combatants. Which included a muton. A muton that had… surrendered. He'd watched it and he noted it was looking towards the tower. To where the UFO had landed. Was that coincidence?
It was unnerving.
And now he had engineers trying to break open the mess that was the ironclad. Shen had been no where to be found and no one in the workshops knew where he was - they'd been too busy fighting for their lives.
The troop had skirted the wharf, but now they stood next to the pier that had been put together to accommodate the vast ship.
Bradford had had to stop himself throwing up - parboiled bodies littered the cargo yard and walkway next to the ship. Wooden crates had warped from where the water inside had been superheated. Stone work was clean, dry, having been steamed and then practically melted to near glass - the cobbles were all slick.
The bodies weren't really recognisable save by size. Most were curled up in foetal positions. Chilling was certainly the word. But they'd heard banging from the ship and he'd set men to get aboard. They'd found that the upper bridge was pretty much flash fried, just ash inside where the crew had been. If there had been any - he couldn't tell. The forward turrets were essentially jury rigged messes of technology - all now just melted slag. Body parts could be made out inside the warped wreckage - brave souls who'd done their duty. Bradford hoped someone knew who they'd been. But then again, the memorial would be a mile high at this rate.
All of the hatches to the main part of the vessel were warped, the metal part melted, near welded to the main structure along the upper structures. He watched two burly soldiers wrestle with pry bars and hammers, pulling the straining doorway apart. There was the sound of metal under pressure, then a heavy clang.
The air that hissed out was hot. Almost unbearably so and it carried the sickly sweet smell of burnt flesh and sour sweat. Bradford was stood on the deck of the Ironclad, ten feet from the doorway, but the smell hit him straight away.
He watched for a moment as a crew man half staggered and half fell out. The man's skin was red and blistered and he looked delirious. The Major blinked then started barking orders, "Medics! I want you boys up here, lets get these guys out! Move move!"
It was a flurry of activity. Men piled into the cramped corridors of the ship, checking cabins and rooms. Bradford watched as slowly more crew were led or carried out. Some seemed in worse shape than others, but most looked to have burns or some form of heatstroke about them.
He felt his throat tighten as the count hit twenty then stopped. Men were still shouting inside, trying to get through the large ship, checking every deck. He heard muffled reports being passed up and the sergeant at the doorway tersely informed him of findings: clear room; corpses in the engine room; unconscious men being brought up.
The ship seemed to have been cleared and Bradford realised he'd have to investigate the corpses, to see if Shen was among them. Brave man. An idiot, but brave.
A cry came from within the ship, followed by cursing. Bradford turned back to the hatch, then grinned as a familiar face emerged.
Shen looked, surprisingly, fine. He was, however, soaked. And he looked very annoyed. HE saw Bradford and his expression became hard to read.
"We won?"
Bradford gave a tilt of his head, "Sorta? We stopped them trying to kill us. Your boy Zhaojie pulled something outta the hat though."
Shen nodded, "Good."
Bradford blinked at the mans terseness. He gestured at the ship, "What happened?"
"We were getting it ready to test when the creatures decided to attack. I got the crew to splice together an emergency connection for firing, told the captain to aim at the biggest target, to get his men below, that I needed to fire it."
"Why you?" asked Bradford slowly.
"Because I designed it. Because I know how it works. If we had some inept gwailo up there pulling the lever and it broke? What then? But instead I get dragged below decks. I told them the heat distribution could be dangerous…"
The engineer trailed off as he looked at the steaming corpses. His gaze tracked forward and he made out the wrecked, slagged mess of the turret. The small man walked along the gangway of the ship, approaching the remains of his work. He hissed, sounding almost in pain and hung his head.
Bradford leaned forwards and rested a hand on the old mans shoulder, "You alright?"
Shen turned to him, his face serene, but eyes wet, "It is never easy to watch your young die, Major. I have lost two sons and one daughter. I want to stop it from happening. But these boys… they didn't hesitate. And they pushed me into a bilge pump. We all tried to fit," he shook his head, "The water stopped the worst of it. And I was in the middle, so I got spared. These… fools thought me worth saving."
Bradford was at a loss. They stood in silence, looking at the melted mass. Eventually he spoke, "You're… important Shen. You may not like it… but your worth is…"
The old man rounded on him, "I have buried too many. I saw the idiocy of venal rank in Canton, among my peers. I look after my own. And I failed them and my new family today."
Bradford met the man's stare. His jaw moved slowly, then he gestured at the city, "Does it look like you failed? Your weapon bought us time. And your family? They looked after you. Two way street, Shen."
The engineer met his gaze, then broke contact to survey the broken city. He took in the smoke, the men all around being treated and carried to the field hospital; the bodies and the movement all around. He let out a shuddering sigh, "Is my daughter…?"
"Safe. In the workshops. We checked there first. Got about fifty angry Scotsmen keeping her safe."
"Good… good."
The man looked smaller now, bowed. Bradford went for broke, "Yeah. Say, Shen, I know you've got some samples of the walkers. How do you feel about more intact versions?" the engineer glanced at him, his expression slightly closer to the more calculating look that Bradford was expecting, "Oh… and we got something else too."
Shen arched an eyebrow, "Oh?"
"Well… two things. How do you feel about… aircraft?"