Charles Grantchester walked through the City of London in his banker’s suit. It was torn and faded, but the only clothes he possessed. Time was when he owned a number of smart suits, but that was before the country’s banking system finally collapsed, along with pensions, the NHS and social security. As he walked past the towering empty office blocks glass crunched underfoot and crows flew out of the broken windows. On this June morning the sun was shining brightly, illuminating the desolation around him.

 

He realised it was almost 100 years ago that Britain had held the fateful vote which had led to its downfall. There was no Britain now. Scotland had left and was now part of the European States. Northern Ireland had finally thrown its lot in with the rest of its island and was also a prosperous member of the continental union. Wales was keen to leave as well, but was currently being held down by a garrison of the English Defence Force. The monarchy had long since fled to more comfortable climes.

 

He was heading back to the empty office he had managed to break into, where he squatted amongst the ruins of corporate elegance. He was pretty sure there was a tin of something there, and if he got a fire going …

 

Suddenly he was distracted by a movement in the air above him. A figure was slowly descending between the dilapidated buildings. He could hear the hiss of a jet pack as it got closer, and saw it was a soldier in blue uniform, carrying some kind of weapon. As it landed on the other side of the road, he shrank back against the wall. The soldier switched off the jet pack and began to walk towards him. Then the helmet was removed and long blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders.

 

“Don’t be afraid” she said in good English with a trace of accent, “I won’t hurt you.”

 

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

 

“My name is Sergeant Ingrid Ramirez, of the European States Airborne Infantry. I’m afraid I’m part of the military invasion of your country.”

 

“Why would you want to do that? I don’t understand”

 

“It’s quite simple – come and sit down” She took off her jet pack and put down the weapon, and sat on a nearby block of fallen masonry. Tentatively, Charles sat on the other end of the block.

 

“For many years we have watched the collapse of your once great nation, caused by one terrible mistake in the last century. But we did nothing – what could we do? Now at last the President and Council has decided we must act to put an end to the festering sore on our borders, so we are taking over control.

 

“Already troops from Scotland have crossed the border and are moving south, meeting little or no opposition. A force from Ireland has landed in Wales and the EDF there has surrendered to them. Other forces have landed in Kent and Norfolk, and the country will soon be under our control, with little or no resistance from the demoralised population. Food and medical supplies are following up behind us.

 

“My platoon was sent to take control of the City of London, but it seems virtually deserted. I got blown off course, saw you down here and came to establish contact and assure you that all is well.”

 

Charles was silent for a moment. “So this is England’s final battle” he said at last, “And we’ve lost it.”

 

“No” she replied, “I rather think you’ve won it.”