The Fall of Night (53 page)

Hazel had only one thought in her mind.  “And what about Stuart?”  She asked, almost pleading.  Tears were falling down her face; her father gently placed a hand around her shoulders.  “What happened to him?”

“I don’t know what happened to him,” Ustinov said.  There was a grim tone in his voice.  “There’s no record of finding his body, nor was he captured, but there were a lot of bodies that even DNA checks would have been hard-pressed to identify.  I checked; the bodies of several men known to have served under him were recovered, but there was no sign of him personally.”

He paused.  “One possibility, the people involved with tracing the remaining soldiers thought, was that he was with you,” he said.  “Of course…they wanted to arrest you, but I blocked them…”

Hazel shrugged off her father’s hand and leaned forward.  “Why?”

Ustinov looked down.  “Because…because you reminded me a lot of my mother,” he said.  “Because…you handled yourself well back when…well, that’s in the past now.  Because…you were kind to us when you thought we needed help.  Because…you have suffered enough and…there was never anything personal, you know; none of us who went into Britain hated you, even Sergey.  Hurting you would be spite.”

He reached inside his pocket and brought out two passes.  “There are some flights leaving Edinburgh airport over the next two months, convoying Americans and other foreigners who were caught in Britain when the war started,” he said.  “These two passes will get you out of the country; the Americans and Canadians are taking in refugees, so I expect that you two will find refugee there.”  He dropped a third pass into her hand.  “If he should happen to turn up…”

“Thank you,” Hazel said.  She gave him a kiss on the cheek.  “You could come…”

Ustinov laughed.  “I don’t think that that would be a good idea,” he said.  “Goodbye, Hazel.”

He left, not looking back.

***

They were at the very edge of the range of Russian aircraft.

Admiral Geoffrey Bradford Wilkinson watched as the final helicopter came in to land, the fleet turning slowly and heading out towards America.  They would meet up with elements of the American Navy – HMCS
Lethbridge
from Canada had already joined the force – soon enough, but he had wanted to remain as close to Britain as possible, if only for a few more days.  The ships they were escorting carried thousands of refugees; they had to be protected, even if the Russians seemed to be ignoring them.  One way or the other, they would be leaving soon; the Russians had already begun to take over bases on Ireland and Britain itself.  The loss of the CJHQ meant that there would be no centre of organised resistance left on British soil.

There was no time left at all.

He gave the order.

The remains of the Royal Navy – and a handful of surviving European ships - turned and sailed away from Britain.  Few words were spoken as the fleet headed towards America, the crews lost in their own private thoughts; what would happen to them in the future.  Historical precedent was not good; French ships that had escaped the fall of France in 1940 had had friends and allies, they had…few friends and no allies if they were to fight to regain their homeland.  A few hundred sailors had demanded to be put ashore as the fleet neared Britain, too late to be useful; they had been granted their wish.  Wilkinson could only hope that they would have time to see their families before the Russians rounded them all up; the Russians had already placed a motion before the United Nations to declare the remaining ships pirates.

He turned his back on the distant hills of his homeland.

He wondered if he would ever see them again.

Epilogue

He came back to awareness in a burst of pain, memories flickering at the back of his mind; a Russian, an attack; grenades…the pain ebbed and flowed away as a soothing balm flowed over his body.  Darkness rose and fell over the coming weeks as his body was slowly repaired, the latest in American medical science rebuilding most of his body.  The doctors had warned him that he would be crippled for a very long time, perhaps permanently disabled, but he would otherwise make a full recovery.

It was a month before they told him what had happened.  He had raged then, screaming at them, demanding to know why he had lived when others were spared.  They tried to tell him about the medics who had pulled out most of the wounded from England, convoying them to Iceland and then onwards to America, but he hadn’t listened; he was the last survivor of his unit and he was miles from his wife.  Eventually, they filled him in on some of the details, but the true horror had to wait until he was well enough to escape from the hospital bed and manoeuvre a wheelchair to a computer terminal.  They found him there, crying, as he took in the news about the fall of night across the whole of Europe, the new Iron Curtain descending remorselessly around the continent.  His wife…

They looked, of course; there was no mention of a woman fitting the name and description she gave in the registered refugees.  Thousands had escaped the fall of night, some of them heading to Canada or Australia instead of America; she might have escaped the country, but as the Russians clamped down, it seemed less and less likely that she had escaped.  The news was grim; it always was these days.  Greece had signed a pact with the Russians to avoid a Turkish invasion, while a holy war was raging over Corsica, Sardinia and Sicily as the natives resisted the invaders with everything at their disposal.  Spain was transformed into a nightmare of civil war, but the remainder of the continent seemed to be surprisingly peaceful; resistance seemed almost non-existent.

He had cursed them too as he raged.

The staff hadn’t quite known what to do with him.  One of them, a scholar and expert in sociology, tried to explain to him; most people only wanted a quiet life.  The Russians weren't hammering them directly, so they cooperated and remained low, avoiding the Russians as much as possible.  Some would resist, but the Russians were getting better and better at ferreting out resistance networks…and not all Europeans liked the thought of getting rid of the Russians.  People who had been terminally unemployed, suddenly finding themselves with honestly earned money in their pockets,
liked
the Russians, others just liked the camps that been set up for Muslims, criminals and socialists…and politicians.  Russian television had even broadcast views of Germans and Frenchmen jeering the detained politicians before they were whisked off east for an uncertain fate.

The staff had wondered what would happen to him; he didn’t seem the type to just settle down in America, and even if he did offer his services to the government-in-exile, he was in no fit state to be inserted back into Britain, or to join the American Army.  He himself had just given up; what was his life without her?

Two months later, she arrived.

She knew him at once, even though he was still wounded and hadn’t been taking care of his appearance; she flung herself into his arms despite being heavily pregnant.  The staff had smiled to themselves as they had watched the touching scene; the man might have been a problem patient, but they were used to those.  He had deserved to escape; he had deserved to be reunited with his wife…

Stuart Robinson, no longer a Colonel or a Captain, held his wife tightly and felt her tears trickling down her cheeks.  They had been the lucky ones; they had escaped the nightmare and found a new home in America.

For countless others, the nightmare was only just beginning…

***

Nikolai Lvovich Serdiukov – who had been known as Zachary Lynn, or Control, in another life – walked calmly down the corridors of the detention centre that had been established near Dorking, first for British soldiers who had been captured, and then for policemen and political prisoners.  The serious criminals had been treated in the standard Russian manner; a handful, however, had been spared and told that they had a choice between working for the FSB, or death.  Serdiukov smiled; few had refused the offer…

The President had made it clear at their meeting, when he had pinned the medal on his face personally; Britain was going to be the hardest European country to rule.  The British had had time to develop all manner of resistance cells and the records in the country’s computers had all been wiped…well, mostly.  Serdiukov was confident that Russian computer experts would eventually piece together a complete list of who had been in the army, or the police force, but for a few years everything would be chaotic.  The Russians had to be ahead of the game.

There were two guards on the door ahead of him; they saluted him and opened the door, allowing him entry into the single cell.  She sat there, hands handcuffed behind her back and secured to the chair, her legs shackled to the floor.  It was overkill, restraints that would have been overkill for anyone, but a trained commando, but Serdiukov had wanted to make a point.  She was completely helpless; she was completely at his mercy.  Unlike so many others of her kind, she had a brain; Serdiukov knew that if she could be broken, she could be used.

“Good morning, Daphne,” he said.  He spoke in English, making his voice bright and cheerful.  “How are you today?”

Daphne Hammond looked up.  Her eyes widened.  “Zack?”

“FSB Colonel Nikolai Lvovich Serdiukov,” Serdiukov said.  “I suppose you could say that I was one of those infiltration and destabilisation agents that you spent so much time accusing the Americans of creating and sending into” – he allowed his voice to become sardonic – “poor helpless counties who have never done anything wrong…”

Daphne glared at him.  “Let me go,” she snapped.  “What do you want with me?”

“Well, we owe you,” Serdiukov said.  “Without you…perhaps it would have been harder to complete the conquest of Europe…but then, your sources will have told you what happened in Hanover and a dozen other places in Germany.  The new world order has no place for your kind.”

He paused, enjoying the moment, before continuing.  “You have a choice,” he said.  “You can continue to work for us as a…legitimate politician trying to steer the ship of state through some troubling times…or you can die.  No one knows what happened to you since your government grew a pair and dumped you in one of their detention camps; your supporters, most of whom believe that you believe the kind of stuff you come out with, will believe that it was the British Government that had you killed.”

He saw fear flicker into her eyes.  It was good to be able, finally, to laugh in her face.  She was no innocent; she had taken people who had wanted to build a better world and used them to create power for herself, power that might have pushed her beyond the level where she needed the innocents who had believed in her…and then she would have betrayed them.  She had no principles, no redeeming features; she wanted power and power alone.

She wilted.  “Daphne,” Serdiukov said, “I can have you thrown to the soldiers for their own amusement, or I can make you powerful if you work for us.  Choose.”

There was a long pause.  Her body was shaking.  “All right,” she said finally.  “What do you want me to do?”

Several thoughts came into Serdiukov’s head; he dismissed them.  “Oh, you’re going to run Britain for us,” he said.  “Your assistance will be invaluable.”

Daphne thought about it.  He could almost see the wheels turning in her head.  It was power and power was what she wanted.  She would do anything for it; he would have considered a whore more honest in her work.  “You would make me the power behind the throne?”

Serdiukov smiled.  “I think that Prime Minister Daphne Hammond has quite a nice ring to it, don’t you?

***

But every story has its end,

The tale has its final bend,

And set to wings of stone,

Must gently fly away,

The piper plays his saddest air,

The day is done, the shadows fall…

The lonely night comes to the land,

And darkness takes us all…

-Ian McCalman

Afterword

The Fall of Night
holds the record for my fastest-written book.  I wrote at the staggering rate of 5 chapters per day (roughly 15’000 words per day) because the story just seemed to
want
to come out.  Then or since, I have not matched that speed.  Maybe, even then, the story was important – or, more likely, the idea just soaked into my mind and I ran with it.

Staying in the tradition of the better pieces of ‘invasion literature,’ I deliberately wrote the story with a downer ending.  (See
The Battle of Dorking
, available online, for a sample of pre-WW1 invasion writings.)  Such books were not attempts to write military thrillers,
per se
, but attempts to warn of the dangers of poorly-considered decisions that, in the minds of the authors if nowhere else, were likely to lead to a serious risk of military defeat.  They rarely included a happy ending. 

I wrote
The Fall of Night
in 2009.  Now, if anything, it has become even more relevant.

The tactics I had the Russians use are ones they
planned
to use during the Cold War, merely modified to some extent.  They intended to use commandoes, they intended to incite radical factions to war, they intended to use terror tactics ... and they intended to put down all resistance swiftly and effectively.  And how would such tactics work if aimed at a society as open as our own?

***

The world is a dangerous place.  If anything, the end of the Cold War – while removing the threat of mutual nuclear annihilation – has made the world far more dangerous, while the spread of modern transport technology has lowered the distance from one side of the world to the other.  A problem that would once have remained localised – the Iraqi Invasion of Kuwait, for example – now takes on global implications.  A band of terrorists hiding in caves in Afghanistan can hijack aircraft and slam them into towers in a city on the other side of the world.  And a bunch of pathetic cartoons (and some astute political manipulation) can trigger off riots all over the world.

Nor is it lawful.  Law is effective only as long as it can be enforced – and so-called international law has rarely been enforced.  Dictators such as Saddam mocked international standards of decency simply by existing; states such as Saudi Arabia, Iran and North Korea spit in the face of any concept of international human rights.  International law could only be made workable if there was a force with both the capability and will to uphold the law.  There is no such force.  Nor is one likely to exist.  The Western faith in international law is, at best, naive.  The response from a dictator to demands that he comply with the law is going to boil down to ‘
oh, yeah?  Make me
.’

And yet, successive British governments seem unwilling to face up to the simple fact that the world is dangerous.

It is absurd beyond belief, despite the assertions of several politicians, that we can stay out of the War on Terror.  Even if we hadn’t joined the American invasion of Afghanistan (and later Iraq) we would still be targeted by terrorists.  We would be targeted because we are a liberal free country with freedom of religion, freedom of the press, sexual freedom ... all freedoms that are anthemia to our enemies.  Indeed, we would be targeted because we represent a better way to live than a return to doctrines that were little more than attempts to impose a standard of behaviour on an entire population.  The terrorists hate our freedoms because we might well seduce their potential recruits away from them.

Nor are terrorists the only threat facing Britain’s security.  We have dependencies in various global locations that are threatened, constantly, by nearby states.  Despite losing the last war – despite the oft-expressed wishes of the population – the Falkland Islands are still claimed by Argentina.  Gibraltar, too, has been claimed by Spain.  Indeed, in both cases, the wishes of the local population have not been taken into account by the hostile power.  The belief that they
would
be taken into account is, like the faith in international law, the refuge of fools.

Yet we persist in making heavy cuts to our military capabilities.  Right now, Britain does not have a single aircraft carrier.  Furthermore, we have made serious cuts in our infantry, navy and other deployable forces.  Indeed, if we were forced to refight the Falklands War, we might well find ourselves incapable of doing anything more than blockading Argentina with submarines.  Maybe it would work, but I wouldn't care to bet on it.

Worse, perhaps, we have created a colossal military bureaucracy that has dampened our ability to fight and signed international treaties that cripple our ability to wage war.  Despite having (at least at present) the fourth-largest defence budget in the world, our forces have been badly weakened and our ability to take part in campaigns (like the war in Libya) severely hampered.

Worst of all, the military convent has been shattered.  Soldiers returning home from the wars, having taken ghastly wounds in the fighting, have had to endure endless torment from government bureaucracies just to get treatment.  Some of the unwounded soldiers are getting out, fearing the care (or lack thereof) that they would receive if they are wounded.  If that wasn't enough of a problem, the cuts (which are aimed at the soldiers rather than the excessive number of senior officers) leave them in fear of losing their jobs.  Morale is badly damaged and civilian leadership seems unaware of the problem. 

This is potentially disastrous.

The problem with almost any kind of modern military capability is that it takes time (often years) to build up from scratch.  Even something as basic as training the modern infantryman can take months; producing tanks, jet aircraft and naval ships can take years.  (The largest aircraft carriers in the world, the American
Nimitz-
class ships, can take over seven years to construct.)  In certain situations, the producer would actually need to produce the production plants from scratch, adding more delays.  This is not an unprecedented problem; in mid-2001, the USN was having real problems keeping its aircraft carriers operational, while the US had to buy bullets from Israel and South Korea to fight the wars in Iraq. 

What this means, in realistic terms, is that we might find our ability to respond to a military emergency hampered by sheer shortage of supplies.

Ah, the critics will say, but we’re part of NATO, aren’t we?  NATO will help.

That too, I’m afraid, is wishful thinking.

The blunt truth is that we
cannot
trust any other country to uphold British interests in anything, particularly not when they may find it politically inconvenient.  Despite clear aggression against Britain (and an innocent civilian population) in the Falklands War, no other member of NATO sent military forces to assist – and this was when NATO needed to remain a creditable force.  (Thatcher being Thatcher, they might not have been accepted if they were.)  Now, we are more likely to be sneered at by the rest of the world rather than helped.  If this seems unlikely, please consider Hilary Clinton’s dismissal of the whole affair as a ‘colonial’ matter, with the obvious implication that
Britain
is the bad guy in the matter. 

Does this seem absurd?  Saddam was one of the most evil men to walk the planet.  His regime murdered millions of people, committed genocide, wiped out entire cultures, used gas against civilian targets and launched two separate wars of aggression against its neighbours.  Yet how many people believed that the US was the bad guy for moving to dispose him?  How many nations slipped away from even verbal support for the war?  How far have we fallen that we are prepared to support an evil dictator over a country that may be a clumsy giant at times, but has a good heart?

But, even if we could trust another power to handle our defence, we would compromise our independence if we did so.  We would be completely reliant on that country.  And, if that country changed its mind, we would be abandoned to the winds.

This is why we need to maintain a formidable military force, including nuclear weapons.  Quite simply, we cannot trust anyone else to look after us.  We have to do it for ourselves.

Having an army is an insurance policy.  If you don’t need it, it’s expensive; if you do need it, you’ll
really
need it.

***

Readers may doubt that Russia can do all I suggested in the novel.  It seems to us that the end of the Cold War and the collapse of the Red Army put an end to the Russian threat once and for all.  But that is far from the truth.  Yeltsin’s failures to prevent a colossal economic crash (the inevitable result of poor communist management) ensured that Russia would turn to a strongman to reassert itself.  Putin may not be Stalin, but he has been quite successful in turning the Russian economy around and restoring Russia’s power in the world.  Indeed, as the recent clash over Syria has shown, Putin recently scored a number of points against President Obama. 

Nor is this is only success.  Russia’s brief war with Georgia in 2008 demonstrated, quite nicely, that Russia could act as it wished along its borders and outside powers (specifically the United States) couldn't act to prevent it.  In addition, Putin has built economic ties with European powers (mainly Germany) that create economic incentives to support Russia and abandon Eastern Europe.  Indeed, despite constant civil unrest, it is unlikely that the Ukraine and Belorussia (the latter run by a dictator) will manage to slip out of the Russian shadow, while NATO membership does not protect the Baltic States from Russian interference. 

In fact, Russian influence has reached quite alarming levels.  Russian agents have been caught spying in America and Europe, Russian operatives murdered a former Russian officer in London - Alexander Litvinenko – and may well have been involved in the death of Anna Politkovskaya.  European and American businessmen who invest in Russia have often found themselves economically raped by Russian bureaucrats (the government is often a large part of the problem) and anti-Russian parties outside Russia have been harassed by Russian spies.

And, in Russia itself, those who oppose Putin find themselves in deep trouble.  This is often petty – witness the treatment of Pussy Riot, a punk rock band – but has a numbing effect on free discourse.  The shadows of oppression are falling over Russia once again.

In short, we are faced with a Russia that is growing more and more assertive ... and confronted with an increasingly weak and divided Europe, one that is growing apart from America.  Will there come a time, I might ask, when the military balance will fall towards the Russian side to the point where Russia’s leaders will consider a military invasion of Europe?

But invasions are so
passé
nowadays, aren't they?

The world can change.  It can, in fact, change at terrifying speed.  And when it does, we have to be ready.

Christopher Nuttall

Manchester, 2014