The sky turns from orange to black the further up you look. The stars are barely visible through the capitalist light pollution keep silent vigil over the busy city. London at night spreads out before gawking sightseers.

It's bitterly cold and breath erupts from the late night shoppers trying to bag a last minute gift for
loved ones - they are unaware of the watchers.

Deep below the streets London is guarded, kept safe; shielded from the terrors that a new millennium can and will bring.

A blanket of protection extends over the city and many miles beyond, tracking the sky, looking for the strange, the unplanned and the dangerous.

The banks of radar screens cast a sickly glow over the men and women doing the watching; everything is tagged, labelled and reported. Nothing moves in the sky over the old city without their knowledge. They are proud to protect.

Even Christmas brings little respite from the constant watchfulness.

Tonight was slightly easier to stomach for Lt. James Davis, who, sat at his desk in command of the late shift, was off home to his family in Devon in a few hours time. He smiled at the thought and leaned back in the chair. The room before him was running like clockwork, nothing was happening and if it wasn’t for the constant pressure that they couldn't let their guard down, he would have been content.

His mind was nagging him that its caffeine supply was running low; groaning as his back clicks he gets up and casts an eye over the scene before him and sets off out the operation center. He stops before the duty Sergeants desk - the busy man looks up.

'No good Sergeant, I need a drink. Want one?' He asks.

'Aye, go on then.' he replies. 'Make it a cappuccino.'

'Chance would be a fine thing. Usual?'

A nod and a smile are his reply so James turns and opens the airlock, steps inside and closes the door, air hisses as the pressure is equalised and a green light signals the OK to open the other side. The Sergeant goes back to his crossword; expertly hidden under a clipboard.

The harsh fluorescent light in the small galley kitchen means James has to squint for the first few minutes; the coffee making is automatic. The swirling of the spoon as it mixes the drink is almost trance inducing which makes the shock of the alarm shrieking its warning all the more jarring - he jumps and he knocks one of the cups and its contents across the worktop.

He thumps the emergency airlock release and bounds through the doors and repeats the thump to seal them again. The Sergeant’s clipboard is on the floor and he almost loses footing as he steps on it.

The Sergeant is across the far side of the operations room standing behind a young radar operator, he turns as he hears the officer come tearing across.

'What the bloody hell is going on!' He barks, 'Report Sergeant!" Thoughts of Devon now are a distant memory.

'We have a contact Sir. Not on any flight plan, coming in fast from the North'

'Have we attempted radio contact?'

'No Sir. Do you want me to do it now?'

'No.' He replied. 'I'll do it, give me the headset'

He grabbed the headset off the man, stuck it on and adjusted the mic and toggled the switch.

'Unknown air contact bearing 010 from London Central Air Control do you copy? Over!' He released the switch and listened through the low hiss of the background static.

He repeated the hail twice more.

'Get on the blower to Heathrow and get confirmation they see the contact too.' He ordered another of the operators. 'Sergeant, call Strategic Air Command and get me the duty officer.'

'Unknown air contact this is London Central - you are violating London airspace. Do you copy? Over!' More static is the reply.

The Sergeant was running back over.

'SAC is on line 1 Sir.' He panted and handed the Lt. the phone and on his nod punched line one.

'Hello SAC this is Lt. Davis from LCAC - we are picking up a fast moving bogey, currently 200 miles north of London, bearing 010 from my position, speed 800 knots. Confirm you have this contact?'  His voice and mannerisms now were totally professional and his training had taken over.

He was silent for a few moments while he listened to the SAC, he nodded.

'Roger, understood'

He stood up and addressed the room, all eyes were on him.

'Ok SAC have the bogey; they are launching aircraft to intercept. They will be off the ground in 2 minutes. If all goes smoothly they should intercept the contact while still 50 miles from here. We have been authorised to initiate Operation Spear.' He turned to the Sergeant who nodded ever so slightly.

Operation Spear had been the brainchild of the last government. The plan called for missile launchers to be placed on the tops of the largest buildings in London to intercept anything that could be a threat to London. Davis hated the idea. In his mind it was 9/11 paranoia to the max.

He hoped the aircraft currently being scrambled from airbases north of London would intercept the contact well before he had to loose the missile salvo. He didn't want to go down in history as the man who had shot an airliner out of the sky, if indeed that’s what it was! They would find out very shortly.

The next ten minutes were a flurry of hails, calls and procedure. Everything must be by the book Davis said to himself repeatedly, almost like a mantra. If he was going to take this contact out it was going to bloody perfect. He didn't want any doubt before he authorised the release of the missiles.

'Sir!' One of the operators yelled.’ I have contact with the lead plane. They are 5 miles from the target'

'Put it on loud speaker man!' The young man leaned forward and flicked a switch. The conversation between the pilots could now be heard throughout the room.

'Alpha one, this is Alpha two - bogey now 2 miles bearing 180, speed 850 knots'

'Copy Alpha two, lets see what he has to say.' the lead pilot replied. 'Unknown contact this is air force plane one mile to your rear - you are violating London airspace. Identify! Over!'

The familiar sound of static was the only reply. The pilot tried again.

'Unknown contact this is air force plane to your rear. Please respond or we will be forced to take action! Over!'

Still no reply was forthcoming, Davis was hopping from one foot to the other, unable to stand still in the suspense. The pilot was now talking to his wing man, for some reason they could still not see the contact. The radar on the planes was showing a definite contact one mile ahead but even though it was night they should have been able to see something by now.

The pilot gave the contact a final warning and ordered his wingman to lock on and fire missiles when he had lock. The voice of the wingman boomed loud throughout the operations room.

'Alpha one, alpha two - unable to gain lock, this thing is cold. I have nothing to get a lock on. Permission to go guns?'

'Alpha two, close my position, we will go in together. Guns are free and stay close'

There was a tense wait.

'Alpha one, alpha two. My god do you see that? Pull up damn it! Pull u...' The radio went silent.

'Shit! What just happened?' Davis yelled, ‘Get them back!’

All round the room operators were trying different frequencies in vain to get radio contact established again. Nothing came back.

This was it. This was bloody it. Panic was threatening to override training.

'Ok Listen! We are it now, we are the front line. We must get this right!' He shouted around the room. 'Those planes were equipped with heat seeking missiles which could not acquire the target. We have radar guided ones so we should have better luck.' He turned to the Sergeant who was watching him wide eyed.

'Sergeant! Initiate Operation Spear!' He ordered.

'Roger Sir, understood.'

They made their way to a control centre at the far end of the room and both removed keys from round their necks and inserted them into the control panel. They turned simultaneously and the system flashed into life.

The radar screen showed the relentless approach of the contact, now only 5 miles from central London.

The system had already acquired the target and all the remained was for the officer in command and his second to input the codes to release the built in overrides.

They punched the codes with practised speed and a warning buzzer indicated solid lock had been achieved.

Davis yelled for one last warning to be given to the contact to turn back. This was given but the contact continued on its course obvious to, or ignoring, the warning.

'On my mark,' said Davis, 'three, two, one, FIRE!'

He jabbed the fire control button and fell back from the console. That was it, all over London missiles were launching in the direction of the contact. They could track their progress from here and sure enough green trails were starting to show on the radar screen. There were six missiles in this first salvo and the six lines were converging on the target; they were getting closer, closer, close. They converged. The screen flickered for a second and then settled. It was clear.

A collective breath was expelled and Davis sat back down trembling. It was done and it was done by the book. Whatever went on tonight there was no way he could be accused of not doing it correctly. This thought settled him and he went to call a report in.

Dawn broke on a crisp, clean and above all white London. A blanket of snow gave the city a pristine, just out of the box look and it cheered Davis' heart no end.

He walked out of the compound that surrounded the operations centre and made his way across to his car.

The security guard at the perimeter gate waved and wished him a Happy Christmas. Davis silently drove into the sunlight.

Eager footsteps hammered down bare wood stairs and squeals of delight trailed down behind her! She was winning; James would not get there first!

She shot into the front room and stopped. She twisted round as if searching and shot back out.

'Mum!' She yelled up the stairs. 'Where are the presents? MUM!'

This time adult steps could be heard coming down the stairs. The girls mum pushed unenthusiastically past the girl and walked in the lounge; she also stopped and looked around.

The early morning light in the room was pierced by a shaft of light coming through a crack in the thick drapes. The girl's mum walked across to the bay window with the girl trailing behind her.

'Let's get a bit of light in here eh?' She smiled at the girl and yanked the curtains open. The girl's eyes open wide and at this the woman looks round, following her gaze. A simultaneous shriek ripped through the lounge and they stumbled away from the bay.

Hanging, slightly swaying in the crisp Yule air, was a bloodied and bruised Santa, or at least the majority of one; so much for Christmas, the holiday was over.

.