Dark England
David Holmes
Dark England
A Novelette by
David Holmes
Edited by
David Harper
[Year 1]
The Light Begins to Fade
Sooner or later the shock wears off. We know this. Lives go on and those who cope can deal with the aftermath until it becomes commonplace.
It started, not in the dark as these things do in novels, but in a light and airy student flat. The plotters, six men and two women, all young, all fired in the belief that they could strike a blow for their religion against its oppressors. They looked carefully at the protest sites using hopefully safe proxy cut-outs; listened to the tales of carnage as the crusader states robbed their people of freedom in order to seize the oil and they hungered for revenge. They held up the Muslim death count and considered its implications; vengeance would be theirs, but how?
The answer came as ever on the news. Bewl Water in Kent, supplier of most of the water to the ever-thirsty towns and cities of the South East, even as far as some London districts. It seemed that repairs to the pumping station had been completed and it could now cope better with the demand. The plotters discussed this. Some were training to be engineers; another was almost an industrial chemist. All saw the implications; the crusaders would pay a heavy price for their temerity. The chemist looked for the means and read up on Bhopal. It seemed ideal; though getting the methyl isocyanate in quantities sufficient enough would be difficult, as would bypassing the various safeguards. Still, word was sent to others who shadowed their support from abroad, carefully though, oh so carefully. The infidels were not to be underestimated. Should they get a whiff of this plan then no help would be forthcoming. Word came eventually to the group and the leader travelled abroad, ostensibly for a family reunion.
The family member, who was not family, nor indeed, not even a countryman of the leader, was curt. The plan was good, though needed to be refined, but it could be done; a tanker prepared; documents forged and a religion avenged.
***
Those whose job it is to guard us were aware of the group, though constraints on their time and resources meant that surveillance was not constant and not sufficient to raise an alarm and so they slipped through the net.
***
The group busied themselves with their task, taking a trip in early spring to the reservoir with a 13-mile hike around it. All wore western style clothing; none wanted to draw attention to themselves. This, after all, was reconnaissance and who knew where their enemies were watching.
***
A month later the group gathered to meet a shadowy figure who praised their zeal and handed instructions on how to keep their mission off the radar of the enemy. ‘Our friends in the East have arranged for the tanker. It will arrive in the summer. All that is needed is a time and place. Be careful, and all will be well.’ He countenanced them.
Still the problem remained of introducing the chemical directly into the supply. It would have to be placed in the supply after filtration and that meant seizing the pump house without anyone being aware. No easy task, yet their surveillance provided the means; and one of the team joined Southern water as a trainee at the reservoir, another at the visitor centre.
***
Bewl Water is filled with water pumped from the rivers Teise and Medway in Kent, usually during the winter months when rainfall and the river flows are at their highest.
The water is used in three ways. It is released into the River Medway, increasing flows and allowing abstraction downstream at the Burham treatment works to supply the Medway towns. It is pumped through 17km of pipeline to Darwell reservoir to increase supplies to Hastings and Bexhill. It is abstracted directly by Mid-Kent Water and treated at the works beside the reservoir. In addition, SE Water takes water directly from Darwell Reservoir to supply the Eastbourne area. It was quickly noted that deliveries were made to the three sites, Bewl Water, Burham treatment Works and Darwell Reservoir, of chemicals for the filters as well as parts for the pumps. All the sites were manned; however their friend abroad had promised help to seize all the sites, though the main tasks would take place at Bewl and Burham.
***
May came and went, word from abroad indicated that the 40,000 litres of a slow acting chemical neurotoxin had been processed and was now underway in a stainless steel tanker. The route would be slow and contain many cut outs. Those who supplied the chemical, for all their support, did not wish it to be traced back to their country. The plotters talked and fretted; not a day went by without the fear of discovery causing one or the other of the group to start at shadows, yet nothing happened, life went on.
***
June heralded the arrival of several young men who made verbal contact with the group. The plan was gone over. The men disappeared for now, where to, no-one in the group knew, but it was suspected that they were checking the sites involved.
***
July arrived along with word of the tanker, another meeting with the mysterious men and a date was set.
The mission itself began on the evening of the 6th of July when several men moved into position around Bewl water. They were seemingly of Middle Eastern origin, though dressed in western clothing. They arrived at the reservoir an hour before closure and moved off onto the walks along the banks, biding their time. At dark the telephone lines were cut and the pumping station seized. No guns were used and the lone security guard cut down ruthlessly before he could summon help.
At midnight a tanker was driven up to the site, hoses were attached and a connection to the main pipe to Burham was connected as well as a hose into the reservoir itself.
At Burham, the group’s chemist, as well as some of the supporting outsiders, broke into the compound and seized the site. The group’s chemist then helped to bypass the filtration system, allowing the chemical direct access to the towns of Kent.
***
The first casualties began a few hours later. Many were taken sick, having bathed in showers or drunk coffee or tea made with the infected water. The effect was a burning in the eyes and throat, though, as yet, no deaths.
The next hour brought the first death as a motorist collapsed at the wheel of his car and drove into another causing a massive pile up on the M20 motorway.
All across Kent and Sussex people were now calling in sick or being rushed to hospitals and it was now dawning on the authorities that something was terribly wrong; though no-one as yet suspected the horrifying truth.
It was a further hour before a scientific team had isolated the cause and the news was relayed on every channel of radio, TV and internet.
Police rushed to Bewl and Burham, but too late, the terrorists had gone; only Islamic boastful graffiti remained.
Police cars toured the streets using loud speakers, but the damage was done. Thousands had succumbed immediately to the poison and were already overwhelming the emergency services. Hundreds of road accidents had blocked many of the main and minor roads. Ambulances could not reach their destinations; indeed many of the medical staff themselves were afflicted.
By 9am the death toll had reached several thousand and was climbing rapidly as the long-term effects of the poison took hold. The Prime Minister, looking as shaken as any had ever seen, urged people not to panic, help was under way and don’t drink or touch tap water until the system had been purged. Supermarkets closed their doors as panic buying of bottled water caused fighting in the aisles and outside their premises.
The authorities desperately tried to keep a lid on who the suspected perpetrators were, giving out vague information as to a chemical spill, yet to no avail. Word leaked out from an internet site based in Pakistan gloating over the infidel deaths and Britain and the western world listened and watched in horror.
The first collateral deaths were a group of Muslim men going to a Mosque in London. A car was deliberately driven at them, killing three and badly injuring two others. A mob in Luton gathered and despite police demands that they disperse, set fire to the homes of several known Islamics and grew ever more out of control. Soon other riots broke out in cities all over Britain and the police seemed helpless to stop the spiralling tide of violence aimed at anyone deemed to be a Muslim.
The second day saw the death toll in Kent rise to over 130,000. There had been a night of rioting in all major cities and towns in Britain as law and order broke down in the face of public outrage and horror. Many attempted to flee Kent. They were turned back by the police of the neighbouring counties surrounding the disaster area who could not cope with the influx or demands upon their services. In central London only line after line of grim faced troops held back the mob from the centre of Westminster and the City of London. All but essential travel was suspended, yet people desperately broke the law to flee the mob.
The East end of London was in flames and the lampposts festooned with Muslims, local councillors and others suspected of aiding, abetting or sympathising with terrorists. The same was true of areas of Leicester, Bradford, Birmingham, most of the Northwest and Luton. Anyone suspected of being a Muslim or harbouring Muslim sympathies was liable to be dragged from their homes and hung.
The third day saw EU troops and police being brought across on the invitation of the UK government to try and assist in the disaster, as well as in an attempt to bring back some sort of order to the crisis. The real effect was they were attacked by an increasingly hostile and xenophobic nation. Many of the EU troops were fired at by British squaddies and other army units. This was accompanied by petrol bombs and various other articles being thrown by a population none too in love with the EU in the first place, having asserted their independence several years before.
***
It was on the fourth day that senior military commanders acted by seizing power in Westminster and declaring martial law, arresting the Prime Minister, who appeared to have suffered a nervous breakdown, and most of the cabinet who could be found. Many of the architects and appeasers of the multicultural society in the government were arrested too, along with senior civil servants and, of course, lawyers and judges. New elections and a return to democracy were promised as soon as the crisis had been calmed.
***
More rioting commenced in various towns and cities as extremist Muslims declared Shariah zones and started enforcing Shariah laws, including dismemberment and beheadings and called for support from their fellow Muslims abroad. The death toll in Kent had now reached almost 200,000 and people were starting to go hungry as water, food, fuel and power were still not restored due to the deaths of essential workers and customers in shops could not use debit/credit cards nor scan items for sale, such was the dependency on electricity that society now had. All over the county and the country mosques were being burned and many people attacked, often enough for the simple reason of just being different.
Rumours abounded on the fifth day, though it was later announced on the internet that the Royal family had fled the country and anyone who could, particularly those associated with the old government’s policy together with a lot of foreign nationals, were trying to get out even though any routes through Kent were closed, even Eurotunnel. British Army troops aided by loyalist patriots moved into East London and other cities in revolt and began systematically reducing any and all resistance to the new regime. Any form of resistance was brutally and, often enough, permanently repressed, usually by a bullet, but equally by hanging. Muslim males and those assumed to be Muslim males were particularly targeted by the patriots. Children and young women were segregated and taken off to temporary camps, often just a barbed wire fence in a field, whilst the elderly and all the men were taken away simply to vanish. The rumours at the time, since proven to be true, were that they were forced to drink contaminated Kent water. The Army High command also ordered all troops serving abroad to come home and help sort the country out. The EU were ordered to leave or face the consequences. The rest of the world watched on in horror as the once tolerant English went on an orgy of revenge and extreme violence towards those they held responsible for the atrocity. In the ensuing months, Scotland and Wales announced they were leaving the Union, leaving England to stand or fall alone, though they were careful also to block their borders to a flood of Asian Muslim refugees.
[Year 2]
It Gets Darker
As the months passed, the Army, with the aid of the patriots, strengthened its grip on England. Those who opposed them got swift summary justice; those who could, fled. Those who could not kept their heads down and prayed not to be noticed. Yet slowly life returned to normal in some parts of the country. The trains still ran, the post was delivered, though admittedly many usually wore a cross of St George armband and there was an air of greater freedom as the smoking ban and drinking restrictions were lifted. There were even cheers as an Argentinean attempt to re-seize the Falklands was beaten off and the English Navy shelled and bombed Buenos Aires, whilst our submarines sunk anything in the exclusion zone, including several neutral countries’ traffic. The introduction of the newly formed Brigades of ‘slave’ soldiers forced the wrecked Argentinian government to sign over the rights of the islands in perpetuity in order to get the English invaders off their soil.
The English parliament, such as it was, also began to debate a new ‘patriotic’ bill of rights and carefully began to renew its unwritten constitution as old liberties had been lost in the scramble to tighten the Army council’s control over the nation. England itself almost became a pariah nation, though was very careful to keep good relations with a few countries like the USA and, oddly enough, Israel, with whom technology exchanges and joint military training went ahead.
The only problems left were what to do with the camps of non-citizens that no other nation wanted, a task which took years and most never found out the truth about, for to do so without authority was a death sentence…
***
[Year 3]
Darkness Descends
The queues seemed shorter today, the senior administrator watched with bored indifference as the line moved swiftly into the processing centre. So many people, yet all moving almost silently, the fear pervading the line was almost miasmic, even the children felt it, letting out only slight whimpers of distress. He turned to the guard, ‘It will be over soon.’ The guard nodded, reminiscing over the past few years he realised that he no longer cared, his boredom palpable.
The last few stragglers were herded into the centre; names, ages, ethnicity, religion and other biodata taken. Soon they’d sort out the wheat from the chaff. The children were taken first. For those too young to realise the crime of their parents’ religion, re-education and a place in the new party youth wing was their future. Some of the younger women would no doubt survive too; despite the authoritarianism of the coalition there was always a place for the young and pretty to survive the sorting.
For the rest, well, they’d be loaded on the trains and taken off to the transit camps for repatriation, courtesy of the New English Coalition.
Screams broke out. It often happened as parents desperately tried to hold onto their children. The guards moved in with casual brutality, breaking them apart, swinging their batons with the ease of long practice, no sympathy, no mercy, no warning. A young man broke free and pleaded with the administrator, ‘Please, I’m Hindu, a chemist, not one of them!’
‘You’re all the same. You don’t even look English,’ was the laconic response, ‘We haven’t forgotten Bewl Water. We never will.’
The young man was driven back into the line by the bored guards. The camp was near full, soon the trains would arrive, ostensibly to transport them to the Chunnel and hence to France. The administrator had heard all the rumours. The truth was he no longer cared. He knew the trains left full and came back within an hour, empty. Yet he also knew it was at least two hours to France. His shift was nearly over; soon he’d be home in his Manchester apartment, watching the match.
[Year 5]
The Investigator
Appearances can be deceptive; Geoffrey Dahmers was to all intents and purposes an ordinary looking man, a little on the pudgy side, slightly thinning on top and generally of a mild disposition. Married, with two well-behaved children, he was to outward appearances a model citizen of the English state. Titles, too, can be deceptive. Geoffrey's was an 'Investigator'. Most assumed he worked in some capacity for the New Coalition as a policeman. Not a constable of course, there were no such these days, but for one of the national force's criminal investigation wings. Most would have been right, in the first part at least; Geoffrey was, however, not a policeman, though he most definitely did work for the New Coalition.
Working directly for the New Coalition had, of course, a number of advantages. Geoffrey and his family lived in a gated community; he even had direct access to foreign imports. Geoffrey, as were all the middle and upper echelons of the state, was paid in Pounds Sterling rather than the internal Anglo Dollars, which were useless for getting anything of quality or luxury. He even had access to the uncensored internet, as did all his colleagues, trusted as they were. His children were being educated at one of the best schools in the country and his still lovely looking wife was active socially on the boards of various women's and education organisations. Naturally enough Geoffrey and his family were loyal, quietly patriotic citizens of the English state; they knew, after all, which side one's bread was buttered on ... so to speak.
He arose early as ever and went down to the kitchen to make coffee and prepare some breakfast, not yet dressed of course and looking thoroughly disreputable as his wife often told him in ratty old slippers and a dressing gown that had definitely seen better days. He had better, certainly, but these simply felt right and he'd wear them until they finally fell to pieces.
‘Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?’ came the dulcet tones of Millicent, his wife.
‘As ever, dear. The peaceful slumber of the pure in heart,’ he chuckled in reply.
‘Good, you haven't forgotten that we have to be at Jason's school tonight for his report?’ she enquired.
‘Indeed I haven't. There's nothing as yet on my schedule that might cause a problem,’ he replied, knowing fine well that Millicent had not a clue as to his real job, rather than the bland office work with occasional outside visits she thought he did.
‘You'll let me know if that changes?’
‘Of course, my love.’
There was the thunderous sound of feet down the stairs as Jason and Imogen raced down to get breakfast and to greet the day.
‘Now what have I told you about running down the stairs?’ Geoffrey admonished them.
‘You said it causes accidents ... but it hasn't yet, daddy,’ giggled Imogen.
‘Hasn’t yet are the operative words,’ Geoffrey began.
‘And 'told you so' are the final,’ said Jason with a boyish grin.
‘Well done, my boy. So, tomorrow, no running, right?’
‘Yes, daddy,’ they both intoned, looking as if butter wouldn't melt in their mouths.
Turning away Geoffrey chuckled, he'd had so many similar conversations recently and he knew that tomorrow would probably be a repeat of today.
‘What are your plans, my love?’ he asked Millicent.
‘I have an education committee meeting with officers for the Council to go over the new education regime for the older children of the lower classes,’ she replied with a moué of distaste.
‘Problems?’ Geoffrey asked, surprised, as very little bothered Millicent.
‘Only that they wish to add modern history to the curriculum,’ she snorted.
‘Nothing wrong with history,’ Geoffrey replied slightly puzzled.
‘It's current events from a historical purview. An analysis of the events of the last five years,’ Millicent added sweetly.
‘Ye Gods! They're joking,’ Geoffrey spluttered, for as far as he was concerned the less the proles knew of current events and recent history the better. Bread and circuses, in a manner of speaking, kept them happy, that plus the iron fist in the spiked chainmail glove to keep them in line if necessary and on the path to greatness for England and St George.
‘They aren't, seems some foolish old professor, recently taken on after his term in the Brigades, managed to con the Education Board into permitting it,’ she replied.
‘I'm sure it will find its way into the bin,’ Geoffrey chuckled, his equilibrium now restored, knowing his wife could and would spike the ridiculous proposal.
‘Oh yes, the committee and the Council are of one mind in this,’ she replied with a steely glint. ‘The less the underclass know of recent history the better!’
‘Indeed!’
‘Afterwards I will be lunching with Carol and Amanda,’ she added.
‘Amanda?’ Geoffrey asked somewhat puzzled.
‘Amanda Tremaine, her husband works for the Interior Ministry and they've recently moved into the community after a tour overseeing the Scottish Border,’ Millicent replied.
‘Well done, my dear. She would appear to be well worth cultivating,’ Geoffrey said approvingly, getting a smile and nod from Millicent.
Whilst drinking his coffee Geoffrey mused for a few minutes on the situation in the North. The Scottish government had, for a short while, been quite a thorn in the side of her southern neighbour. That and the oil fields meant that initially they had quite a bit more in the way of economic clout. They were also the home of various dissident groups who opposed the New Coalition regime and were a stepping off point for a few minor terrorist acts as well as any number of intelligence operations aimed at the New English state. It had been enough to justify the building of a new 'wall' and moving a division of internal guards of pure English stock to man it. Gradually though, the price of oil had fallen and the seizure of a few ISIS tankers as well as a direct threat to the Saudi capital had wiped out Scotland's oil-based economy. Those acts had caused a massive fall in prices so that the Scots were far more conciliatory towards England and had been forced to silence the dissidents and put a stop to the various spying attempts as a massive economic depression hammered them. Geoffrey had even heard a rumour that Scotland had asked to return to the Union with a promise to leave the EU and had had the diplomat who brought the proposal laughed out of the Prime Minister's office in the Ministry of Defence. Though a new rumour had started that the Brigades would take ‘volunteers’ from North of the border, something Geoffrey believed to be true.
There was a scuffle amongst the children as the sound of the newspaper coming through the door drew their attention, Jason finally winning the race to bring it to Geoffrey.
After giving his fulsome thanks Geoffrey perused the actual news, rather than the distorted version that the common folk got to see, which was slanted away from their problems and into the mundane world of celebrity gossip/scandals, patriotic victories and commentarial on how best to be a good citizen.
‘Siege of Dhaka is reaching its final stage,’ he murmured. ‘Looks like the Indian Army is going to reduce that Pakistani Islamic state to its rightful place in their new empire.’
‘Are our Brigades still involved?’ Jason asked.
‘They'll be doing clear-up work in the countryside, reducing the numbers of guerrillas and their supporters,’ Geoffrey replied, telling the truth in a more palatable way in front of his children.
‘I want to join the Brigades and destroy the enemies of England, just like Brigadier Jimmy!’ declared Jason.
‘Perhaps one day you will, my boy,’ Geoffrey said encouragingly, whilst Millicent tried and failed to hide a scowl.
‘You shouldn't encourage him, he’s fourteen and at the stage where patriotism might override good sense,’ she said when the children had gone upstairs to change.
‘Jason? Oh, he'll grow out of it soon and forbidding him will only make it worse,’ Geoffrey replied sagely. ‘Even if he doesn't, we'll need good men of good English stock to lead them, unlike that foolish professor of yours.’
‘That is a job for the lower class gutterscum,’ she replied primly.
‘I very much doubt Field Marshal Scott, the head of the Army Council, would like to hear himself described as such,’ admonished Geoffrey with a gentle chuckle. ‘And we really do not want lower class gutterscum leading the Brigades; we need loyal yeomen of England.’
Millicent turned pale at having been caught out preaching 'sedition' as society would see it, knowing Geoffrey could turn her in for such a slip.
‘Oh, fear not, my love. You probably aren't the only one to have a low opinion of the military,’ Geoffrey chuckled whilst filing away her comment mentally, just in case.
‘I simply feared for our son. The English Army, most certainly isn't the Brigades. If he does intend for a military career, I’ll ask Amanda to put a good word in for him with her husband,’ she replied before beating a retreat.
There wasn't much else of note in the newspaper as far as Geoffrey could see – Australia had requested Brigade aid to deal with an influx of illegal immigrants from Indonesia, the opposition Labour party there were up in arms about it, despite the ruling Liberal Party's massive jump in popularity for suggesting it. The USA, Mexico and Canada were in tentative talks of amalgamation; though this seemed somewhat of a pipedream as only the politicians seemed to like the idea, still, look how far the EU had got with such circumstances. Geoffrey mentally chuckled as he suspected that the Franco-German hegemony that dominated that group had its own imperial ambitions, though they were more economic than military ... so far.
All in all it was mostly trivia, though he did know that a… package from the United States would be waiting for him at the project, which was far more important than a mere scuffle between India and the erstwhile Pakistani state.
Geoffrey dressed as always nondescriptly, he rather suspected (correctly) that society, or rather the society that counted by way of the New Coalition, suffered from ‘tall poppy syndrome’, where any who shone too brightly found themselves slowly but surely moved away from the levers of power. Paranoia was a very useful survival trait when, indeed, just about everyone was out to get you.
Outside his chauffeured car waited, on time as ever and a very evident sign of Geoffrey's status within the state where many in his community had vehicles, but few an official ride. Grabbing his briefcase and laptop Geoffrey hurried out, glancing at the neatly manicured lawn and tidy flower beds before seating himself for the short journey to the Centre.
‘Good morning, Tom. How are you today?’ Geoffrey asked politely, knowing that politeness at least cost nothing, besides he was pretty sure the man was an Interior Ministry spy.
‘Fine, thank you sir and you?’
‘Tip top as ever,’ Geoffrey replied.
‘Glad to hear that, sir.’
‘Your children?’
‘Very good sir, thank you for arranging that doctor to sort my Angie out.’
‘You’re very welcome, Tom. I hope the young man who… despoiled her will enjoy his new career in the Brigades,’ Geoffrey nodded.
‘As do I, sir, as do I,’ Tom replied with a grim chuckle.