There was a pause. “Citizens of Britain, my name is Major-General Charles Langford, the Chief of Joint Operations,” a new voice said. It sounded dreadfully tired. “It is with a heavy heart that I must confirm to you that Great Britain is once again at war. Many of you will have seen chaos on the streets, many of you will have watched in panic as missiles and aircraft came down, many of you will have been injured in the first strikes of a war launched by Russia against the western world. These strikes have killed many, including the Prime Minister and the Members of Parliament.”
Ossetia chuckled darkly. “Russian forces have invaded Poland, Denmark, Germany and Norway,” the voice — Langford — continued. “We are under no direct threat from Russian forces, but the chaos on the streets must be stopped. Under the Emergency Protocols, I am declaring martial law over the entire land area of Great Britain; the chaos will be stopped. We are working as hard as we can to restore power and water supplies to large parts of the country; I must warn you that there may well be further shortages of what we consider to be essential to our lives. Please do not panic; we are working as hard as we can to save your lives.
“I am also recalling anyone who has served in the military, the police, the fire service and the medical services,” Langford said. “Please report to your nearest police station where you will be given instructions on what to do. For anyone not caught up in the chaos, please remain in your homes; if you have wounded, please tend to them as best as you can. We are working to restore services as quickly as possible.”
There was a pause. “Seventy-five years ago, our country was at war with Nazi Germany,” Langford concluded. “the war was long and bitter and there were times when we wondered if we would ever see the end of war, but finally the long night was lifted. If we work together, now, we can walk through the darkness and know, once again, a world at peace.”
The radio seemed to pause again. “That was an emergency announcement,” the first voice said. “Please listen again, every hour on the hour, for further updates…”
Chapter Thirty: Back on the Streets
When the news reporter said; “Shopkeepers are opening their doors bringing out blankets and cups of tea” I just smiled. It's like yes. That's Britain for you. Tea solves everything. You're a bit cold? Tea. Your boyfriend has just left you? Tea. You've just been told you've got cancer? Tea. Coordinated terrorist attack on the transport network bringing the city to a grinding halt? TEA DAMMIT! And if it's really serious, they may bring out the coffee. The Americans have their alert raised to red, we break out the coffee. That's for situations more serious than this of course. Like another England penalty shoot-out.
London, England
“Are you really the Prime Minister now?”
“Something like that,” Langford said. “What about you?”
Inspector David Briggs ignored the sally. “Because I want you to know that I’m not exactly comfortable with it,” he said, as he studied the tired General. Langford hadn’t said where he had based his new government, if government it was, and Briggs hadn’t wanted to ask. The General looked as if he needed sleep, not more problems. “I don’t think that the military should be running the country.”
Langford looked too tired to argue properly. “I don’t think I should be running the country either,” he said, through a yawn. “If my leave had been a week later, I would have died at PJHQ, instead of… finding some remnants of authority and using them. Inspector, I would love to hand the damn job of Prime Minister over to some damn politician and get back to doing what I was trained to do, like defending the country, but…”
Briggs caught him almost before he fell. “I think that we should both sit down,” he said. It had been two days since the missiles had fallen and he’d been barely able to snatch some sleep in the back of the mobile command unit. “Is it really as bad as it seems?”
“It’s pretty bad, yeah,” Langford said. A policewoman brought him a cup of strong coffee; he sipped it with some pleasure. Briggs eyed the sight with some concern; Flora’s coffee was not for the faint of heart. Langford was drinking it as if it were water. “Between you and me, we may not be able to extract many troops from Europe before it falls to the Russians. If we manage to pull together our infrastructure, we might just have a chance, but… it’s not exactly easy to repair the results of years of work in a few weeks.”
His lips twitched. “I didn’t come here to drink coffee, good as it is,” he said. “I need to know; just how bad is it in London?”
Briggs laughed bitterly. “Where would you like me to begin?”
“The civil population and the police,” Langford said. “I have to know.”
Briggs sighed. “The Metropolitan Police, last week, had around thirty thousand officers and other personal, from parking wardens to close-protection experts,” he said. “Numbers have been falling for years ever since… ever since policemen started to die on the streets and the politicos did nothing. The merger with the City of London Police did it for many policemen and they went elsewhere; the massive rise in surveillance technology didn’t make up for the lack of policemen on the streets. There are some places, sir, where I wouldn’t have wanted to go without armed back-up; there are gangs, ethnic groups, religious nutters…”
The frustration spilled out as he spoke. He spoke about endless political compromises, endless attempts to appease this and that minority interest, all the while seeing good policemen driven off the streets, charged with racism and sexism and something-ism, while watching people losing respect for the police. The most popular movie in Britain had been one about a rogue policeman who killed criminals; it might have been banned, but anyone could have downloaded it from a internet server. It said something about the state of Britain that that had been what people wanted…
And no one had made a stand. If they had made a stand, it could have been prevented, or even handled before hundreds of people got hurt, but instead… right-wing groups had attacked left-wing groups, or ethnic groups, and they had struck back; despite several bans, the number of guns on the streets was higher than ever… and they were used. The Police couldn’t even prevent some crimes; honour killing was on the rise, and the girls no longer dared escape to the Police. What good would it have done?
“Many people are cowering indoors, while others are out on the streets, looting and having fun,” Briggs concluded. “I have around twenty thousand people left after the bombings and the riots and the policemen leaving their posts and seeing to the safety of their families. None of them expected to be caught up in a war zone, sir; in some places, it is a bloody war zone.”
“That will have to stop,” Langford said, coldly. “These riots; I’m convinced that they were intended to prevent us from acting quickly to aid anyone in Europe. The TA has been called out and I intend to use it to prevent the riots from getting worse.”
Briggs shook his head helplessly. “And then what?” He said. “Are you going to have them all mown down in the streets? The problems are not going to go away just because we have smashed one riot; are you even going to use live ammunition?”
“They’re using live ammunition,” Langford snapped. “Inspector, what’s morale like with your boys?”
“Terrible,” Briggs said. “I told you; none of them expected to be caught up in a war zone.”
“We have two options,” Langford reminded him. “The first is to let the riots burn themselves out, devastating parts of our country and draining our manpower, the second is to squash them as quickly as we can. There are people we need in London, people cowering in their homes because of the chaos. What choice do you make?”