Chapter 16

Friday, December 24, 2027, The White Tower

Today, they were going to clear the area northwest of Regent’s Park. There was a mosque there, and Dale was uneasy about what they might find. At a minimum, the people there were more likely to be organised. Had word spread about what he’d done in the East? If they’d fled, he wasn’t sure whether he’d feel relief or disappointment. Of course, avoiding a fight was best. But truthfully, that had been more massacre than battle—and one way or another, he intended to get them all. Either way, they were going in, and they were going in hard.

They had six companies of 120, with the Chinese in support for mop-up operations. That sector had shown signs of life, so they’d held off—until now.

Three companies would push north through the park and then turn east at Lord’s, fanning out before sweeping south. Delta Company would advance parallel to the railway, covering the western flank. The remaining two would come from the south and from the park. If anyone was there, escape would be difficult.

The area had once been densely populated and was majority Muslim. They would do two sweeps. The first was for people. Cleanup and engineering teams followed at a distance.

Dale was leading the company coming from the south. They found signs of habitation—faeces near the drains, pots positioned to catch water. But most of the houses were empty. Then, as they turned a corner, he saw a man squatting, trousers around his ankles.

“Stop right there!”

Guns were raised. The man froze.

Dale approached. He was Southern European, about forty.

“Pull up your pants. Where is everyone?”

The man looked terrified. “They might be at the mosque. Be careful. There’s a lot of them. They have knives.”

They needed to move quickly. The unit from Regent’s Park would soon make contact. Dale radioed in.

“Delta Company, hold back. We think they’re at the mosque. We’re moving to join you.”

He gave the same order to one of the companies at Lord’s. As they closed in, they saw people running toward the mosque—a massive structure, clearly built for thousands. He let them go. Easier if they were all in one place.

Then a buzz overhead—high-pitched, mechanical. Dale looked up. A drone. They didn’t use any. He might need reconsider to that.

“Take it down!” he snapped.

Three rifles lifted and fired in quick succession. The drone bucked, spun, and dropped out of the sky in a mess of shattered plastic and whirring sparks.

Too late. It had seen them. That explained the sudden movement toward the mosque.

By the time they reached it, the building was defended. Around 200 men with knives, swords, and cricket bats stood guard, restless. As they moved forward, the defenders advanced. They still didn’t seem to grasp the danger of firearms.

It felt like a scene from Zulu, except they weren’t outnumbered. When they were eighty yards out, Dale gave the order to fire.

It was a bloodbath.

Another group emerged from the far side of the mosque but turned and fled as soon as they saw what happened.

Dale didn’t pursue. He radioed the others to alert them.

His company surrounded the mosque, securing all exits. An adjutant handed him a microphone.

“We have the building surrounded. Everyone come out, one at a time, hands in the air.”

Silence.

“You have three minutes. I repeat: the building is surrounded. There is no help coming.”

He waited.

“Two minutes.”

Still nothing.

“One minute.”

A door opened. A boy stepped out, followed by two girls and another boy—around ten years old. Their hands weren’t raised.

“Hands up!”

They kept walking.

“Put your hands up, now!”

They neared the first of Dale’s soldiers. One of them pulled out a knife and lunged.

The response was immediate. Gunfire. The boy went down instantly. So did the others. One of the girls had a knife. The others were unarmed. It was a shame, but Dale doubted he’d have let the boy live anyway.

They needed to be cautious going in. From the noise, it seemed most of the people were in the main prayer hall. They sealed it off and began clearing the courtyard buildings first. A squad of forty swept through them methodically. Apart from a man in the library, who met his end, there was no one.

The main hall had four fire exits in addition to the main entrance. The front door was locked, but the real problem was the barricade behind it. Dale positioned eight men at each fire exit while a team tried to breach the front.

Meanwhile, another team climbed onto the roof and dropped tear gas inside. Screams erupted. One of the fire exits burst open, and three women with several children stumbled out, coughing and disoriented. None appeared armed. They were quickly subdued and restrained.

The gas was too thick to go in immediately, but at least they had a point of entry. Inside, people were pulling shirts over their faces, shielding their eyes. Most had no idea what was coming. Some clung to children.

Dale had only sixteen masks. That would have to do. Once his masked troops entered and secured the interior, others followed. People were dragged outside, bound as they went.

Half an hour later, it was over. They opened the doors to clear the gas. Around four hundred people were tied up in the courtyard.

This part would be difficult.

The simplest option was to kill them all—but that was too easy, and not necessarily wise. Some might be salvageable. Anyone with a weapon was executed immediately. That thinned the numbers by only twelve.

Teenage boys were too dangerous—testosterone and grudges were a bad mix. They went too. Parents shared their children’s fate.

Those who didn’t speak English were cut. Not the best criterion, but it served. The rest of the culling was less defensible—darker, uglier. An unspoken filtering, carried out informally by lieutenants. Human nature.

About eighty women and girls remained.

They were led away one by one, each told to walk across a Qur’an, renounce the Prophet, and swear allegiance. All but four complied.

By the time they were done, the other teams had wrapped up. The fleeing group had been hunted down. Another ninety people were added to the tally. These ones hadn’t resisted.

Dale wondered if he should feel guilty.

But he didn’t.

What stuck with him instead was that drone. They’d been watched. Anticipated. Someone had been ready. Maybe next time, they’d be better armed. Maybe next time, they’d have guns.

He glanced at the ruined wreck of the drone lying nearby. Maybe it was time he started thinking about getting some of his own.

Dale spotted her near the central stairwell—Leila, carrying a basket of folded clothes. She was talking to someone, laughing at a joke, her sister a few steps behind her. The communal floors were busy that time of day—people moving between chores, meals, and whatever else passed for routine in the Tower.

He hadn’t come looking for her. Not exactly. But when he saw her, he stopped.

“Leila,” he said.

She turned, smile still fresh from the conversation.

“Hey,” she said brightly, brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Caught me mid-laundry.”

He stepped closer, voice low. “Do you want to come upstairs?”

Her smile lingered—slightly coy, just a bit hesitant. She knew what he meant. “Yeah. Just let me drop this off.”

She handed the basket to her sister, who rolled her eyes and waved her off with a muttered comment. Leila laughed, then followed Dale up the stairs.

Outwardly, she was relaxed. Playful, even. She asked him how his day had gone, teased him about the grumpy engineer who was always fixing the plumbing. But inside, she felt a small knot of tension. Not fear. Just something more complicated.

She liked being around him. She liked the way he looked at her—like she mattered. Like she was wanted. And yes, she felt safe with him. She didn’t worry when she was at his side. Not the way she used to. But that safety had its own edges. It came at a cost. One she wasn’t entirely sure she’d named yet.

He walked slowly, as if giving her time to change her mind. She didn’t. Her fingers stayed curled around his.

As they climbed the stairs, she couldn’t stop the questions from coming. Was this really about her? Or about what she represented? Her name—Leila—was unmistakably Muslim. Not religious, not practising, not really even sure she believed in God anymore. But still. Her family had once prayed. Her parents had fasted. Her brother—God.