Chapter 9

Wednesday, December 1, 2027, The White Tower

Dale was determined not to lose momentum against the Muslims in the East. They had spent the last several days relentlessly consolidating control over the borderlands defined in the agreement with Imam Ali. Every block from the Tower north to Liverpool Street and west to Farringdon had been systematically cleared-bodies dumped, survivors processed, buildings secured against frost and decay. Their methods had become more efficient, their operation more structured.

Two electric vans had been salvaged, and they used them sparingly: one exclusively for transporting bodies to be disposed of in the Thames, the other for moving supplies and equipment. In the last four days alone, their numbers had swelled by nearly two hundred, including thirty-five children.

With so many mouths to feed and a growing number of families within their ranks, they had finally established a proper daycare and school in one of the inner towers, run by former teachers and childcare staff. The community was stabilizing. At nearly five hundred adults, Dale now had the manpower to stand up two fully operational companies of 120 fighters each, structured into three squads of forty. This expansion dramatically increased their operational efficiency, allowing them to process territory faster and tighten their hold over the city.

Certain aspects of their operation were now running like clockwork. They had refined their approach, learning to distinguish useful survivors from liabilities with greater speed. The police and emergency stations they had raided yielded little in terms of weapons—Britain’s police force had been mostly unarmed—but they had still retrieved valuable equipment: tasers, batons, handcuffs, stab-proof vests, radios, and uniforms. Every useful piece of kit found a place within their growing infrastructure.

Back at the Tower, life was improving by the day. They had scavenged and installed industrial washing machines, finally establishing a proper laundry system. Until now, most had simply relied on the abundance of new clothes they found in abandoned homes, but this wasn’t a sustainable approach—especially for their growing number of uniforms. The laundry was a crucial upgrade.

Water remained scarce, and showers were still cold, but people had clean clothes, hot meals, and the ability to wash themselves. Compared to the survivors they continued to find, they were living in relative luxury. The condition of newcomers was deteriorating; most were filthy, starving, and desperate for warmth, food, and security. With the collapse of basic infrastructure, many had gone weeks without a proper meal. Safety and normality were increasingly valuable commodities -and Dale controlled both.

Today, Dale had decided to personally lead a mission with the scouting companies. He had reassigned duties, and things were set to become interesting.

The first company of 120 was dispatched westward to St. James, conducting routine operations—securing buildings, scavenging supplies, and clearing bodies. Dale, however, took command of the second company, directing their efforts toward Chinatown.

He brought an additional twenty armed guards for the task. Chinatown had always been more commercial than residential, but Dale had observed some patterns before the collapse that suggested a significant number of Chinese survivors might have gathered there for mutual protection. More importantly, in all their clearances so far, they had found remarkably few Chinese. It was implausible that they had simply perished in greater numbers than others. No—Dale was certain they had holed up somewhere.

He wasn’t looking for a war. To signal his intentions, he carried a flag of truce as they advanced.

The streets were eerily quiet. Too quiet. More than that, they were clean. A stark contrast to the rest of the city, where decay and neglect had left piles of waste and decomposing corpses in the open. Here, the streets were clear of debris, bodies absent, windows intact. It was a sign of organization—an enclave still maintaining itself amidst the ruin.

They moved cautiously from Leicester Square to Lisle Street, bringing a speaker system to ensure their message carried.

Dale took a breath, then spoke into the mic.

“We’re not here to hurt anyone. We just want to talk and figure out a way to work together. Come down, and we can discuss an offer.”

He meant it.

The Chinese had kept their heads down during the racial riots years ago. They were organized, disciplined, and pragmatic—traits Dale respected. They weren’t numerous enough to ever control the city, nor did he see them as a serious long-term threat. If anything, he saw potential in them. Perhaps they could be made useful.

It didn’t take long before three figures emerged—a short, stocky man in his fifties, accompanied by a younger man and woman, both in their thirties. They weren’t armed, though Dale could see multiple faces peering from behind upstairs windows. They had numbers, even if they remained unseen.

The older man spoke first.

“I’m Baron, and these are my associates, Qiang and Mei. What do you want from us?”

Blunt. Good. That made things easier.

“I’m Dale,” he said evenly. “We control the Tower and the entire City of London. Our numbers grow every day, and we’re armed.”

He let the statement sit for a moment, ensuring the reality of the situation was clear.

“We want to get this city working again. We intend to rebuild. There are those who would stop that—who threaten us just as much as they threaten you.”

The implication was obvious. Black and Muslim gangs had targeted Chinese businesses and homes in the past. They would again.

“Here’s my proposal: You retain control over Chinatown and the surrounding streets. We’ll define the borders. If you are threatened, we come to your aid. If we rebuild, you share in the benefits. In return, you accept our authority, and your people contribute to reconstruction efforts.”

He let that sink in before continuing.

“We have been systematically clearing bodies, shutting off water and power to abandoned buildings, and locating survivors. Every day, you will send a team to assist us. The number of people you send will depend on the number of people you have.”

Now came the difficult part.

“Any white survivors come with us. Any Orientals—your people—can join you. We have no use for Blacks, and we’ve only taken in a few South Asian women. Any Orientals we find on expeditions you’re not on, we’ll send to you.”

A pause. A final condition.

“All supplies will be split evenly. Any firearms, radios, and ammunition go to us. In return, we will provide you with four shotguns for self-defence—better than what you have now. A gesture of goodwill.”

Dale studied their faces carefully. The proposal was more than fair given the circumstances. Chinatown had nearly three hundred people, but they weren’t going to grow much beyond that. Attempting to contest control over the city would be suicidal for them. They had to go out for supplies anyway—this arrangement simply meant doing so under a structured system that ensured protection and continued access to resources.

Baron and the others deliberated briefly, but Dale already knew they would agree. The alternative was isolation and eventual starvation. After a short discussion, they accepted.

The terms were finalized, and logistics arranged. The agreed borderlines were drawn without argument—there was ample abandoned land to divide between them. More surprisingly, the Chinese agreed to send a larger workforce than expected. Initially, Dale had anticipated a third of their population joining the effort, but with the promise of shared resources and little else to occupy their time, they offered 180 people.

With Dale already fielding 260 troops that day, this brought his operational strength up to 440 personnel.

Everything was swiftly reorganized. The force was divided into three companies of 100 and a fourth company of 120, with the Chinese contingent supplementing the smaller companies. Their primary role would be focused on clearing buildings and engineering tasks—Dale’s troops, still fully armed, would remain responsible for negotiations and security.

For this first operation under the new arrangement, Dale led the largest company—fully uniformed in scavenged army gear. Mounted on horseback, accompanied by five officers similarly mounted, he rode at the head of the force as they set out.

The city was theirs for the taking.

The operation moved forward in full force. With four companies now fully deployed, they were pushing outward faster than ever, systematically clearing, securing, and assessing the heart of the capital. Every move was planned, deliberate, and aimed at both strengthening their position and gathering intelligence.

The first company returned to Covent Garden to conduct a more thorough clearing operation. Their priority was securing buildings from the elements, removing bodies, and determining if any potential survivors remained hidden in lofts, basements, or reinforced spaces. With its mix of residences, tourist attractions, and businesses, Covent Garden had plenty of potential—both in terms of supplies and future strategic use.

The second company advanced from Leicester Square to Piccadilly Circus and southward. The area was heavily commercial—mostly office buildings, retail shops, and a high density of restaurants. The latter held particular interest. They had already scavenged some supplies, but now the focus shifted to finding anything with long shelf lives: dried goods, bottled drinks, and non-perishables that had been left behind when refrigeration failed.

The third company moved into St. James, and this was where things became more complicated. Unlike previous areas, which had been either abandoned or full of desperate survivors, St. James housed London’s ultra-rich, the kind of people who owned £20 million homes and, quite possibly, shotgun licenses. The question was whether any of them had stayed. Dale suspected most had fled to second homes in the country—or even private estates abroad—but they couldn’t assume all had left. A few might have remained, bunkered down with ample supplies, well-armed and highly protective of their wealth.

Then there were the embassies. St. James had no shortage of them, and those buildings presented their own challenges. Even in a lawless world, there were certain doors one didn’t break down without consequences. What if some diplomats were still alive, holed up inside? The last thing Dale wanted was to accidentally execute France’s cultural attaché just because he happened to be Black. The safest approach would be to check in on these buildings cautiously, making note of their status without forcing entry unless absolutely necessary.

Meanwhile, Dale personally led the final company into Westminster. This was the real wildcard—government buildings. With higher risks involved, he had extra firepower, more experienced personnel, and the best fighters. The company had been reinforced beyond its usual numbers, carrying heavier weaponry. Carly, Emma, and John from the barracks joined the mission, along with the handful of former civil servants they had found—though only three had any relevant experience, and none had worked in the Ministry of Defence.

John had proven particularly useful. He had a background with horses, which had become unexpectedly valuable in recent weeks. He had even taught Dale the basics of riding. They had formally inducted him the week prior, recognizing his usefulness beyond simple labour.

They began their sweep at Trafalgar Square, working their way south. Westminster was a mixed bag—some government offices, interspersed with theatres, pubs, restaurants, and coffee shops. Dale approached the situation with caution, knowing that not everything valuable was marked on a map. Intelligence agencies didn’t openly advertise where their emergency facilities were located, and it would be naïve to assume everything important was on public record.

Besides, the modern civil service had barely functioned before the collapse. Remote work and mass absenteeism had meant that government offices had already been half-empty when the crisis started. Dale wasn’t expecting many survivors, but he wasn’t discounting the possibility either. The problem was that some of these locations held real significance—symbolic and strategic—which meant that if there were any die-hard patriots left, this was where they would be.

For the first hour, it was routine. More abandoned buildings, empty office spaces, vacant shops. They moved swiftly, working through block after block.

Then they reached Admiralty House, and things got interesting.

This wasn’t just another government office—it was a Ministry of Defence installation, situated directly next to Admiralty Citadel, one of the most fortified bunkers in central London. Supposedly, the Citadel was still in use, though its anti-aircraft guns had been removed decades ago. Unlike other sites they had encountered, this was not the kind of place that would simply be abandoned.

Gaining entry wouldn’t be easy.

The underground bunker complex attached to the Citadel was enormous, and Dale knew there was a good chance it still held valuable supplies—or even active personnel. Unlike other government sites, this was built to last, capable of sustaining occupants for extended periods without outside access.

Admiralty House itself turned out to be anticlimactic.

Three bodies. No survivors.

Inside, they found rows of computers, files, and documents—but whether any of it was useful was another question. The main command-and-control room was impressive, featuring detailed maps and classified paperwork, but with no power running, they would have to sift through everything manually. There was no way of knowing whether any of it still had strategic value.

Then they located the entrance to the Citadel itself.

Dale hadn’t expected it to be easy, but the level of security was unlike anything they had encountered before. The doors were reinforced, locked behind heavy blast-resistant mechanisms. This wasn’t something they could pry open with a crowbar—it was on the same level as the vault doors protecting the Crown Jewels.

For now, it was inaccessible.

They marked it on their maps and moved on.

Progress continued steadily until they reached Downing Street.

Here, Dale hesitated.

This was higher risk, and he wasn’t sure of the best course of action. If any remnants of the government had survived, this was where they would be. That meant potential opportunities—or serious problems.

If they encountered nothing but bureaucrats and former special advisers, they might be able to persuade them to cooperate, using their knowledge and legitimacy to bolster the operation.

But what if they found the Prime Minister?

What if some surviving remnant of authority tried to assert control?

Dale had the weapons, the numbers, and the de facto power, but authority was a tricky thing. If the Prime Minister—or any high-ranking officials—ordered them to stand down, what would happen? Would some among his ranks hesitate? Would old loyalties resurface?