Doctor Who: War Games (14 page)

‘This base,’ said the French soldier. ‘It will be well defended?’

‘We have a plan to overcome that,’ said Zoe. ‘Lieutenant Carstairs, I think it’s time you explained what we’re going to do.’

The Roman officer stepped out of his tent, drew his cloak around him, and looked across the wide valley to the hill on the other side. Somewhere beyond the crest his human specimens should be slaughtering Ancient Britons; if not, the Ancient Britons were slaughtering the legionaries. It did not really matter. Only survivors interested him, humans who would soon form the War Lords’ great army.

He heard a sound the other side of his tent and walked around it to see who was there. He found himself facing a German private of 1917 and an American from a New York regiment of 1862. The American, a sergeant, was holding a British service revolver.

‘Hi! ‘ said the American, seemingly affable.

It was the last word the fake Roman officer ever heard.

The bullet from the revolver killed him outright.

The German and the American pulled aside the flap of the tent. Inside was an ornate wooden chest. The German took the dead officer’s knife and prised open the lid.

‘There it is,’ said the American. They were looking down at a telecommunication unit.

The American emptied the revolver into the video screen.

Petrov Ilavich stood where his commander had told him to stand guarding the little hut. He had no idea what was inside the hut; only the commander ever went in there, and he did not talk with the ordinary soldiers.

Petrov wished the war was over so that he could be back with his father and mother on their little farm. He could no longer remember how long ago he had had to join the Tsar’s army to fight the wicked British in the Crimea.

Secretly he was thankful that no one had shot at him yet.

Not once had he been in any fighting. His only duty had been to guard the commander’s little hut. Yet this meant disgrace. For what could he boast of to his mother and his father when finally he went back home?

While these thoughts went through the mind of Petrov Ilavich, two other men from different wars were quietly placing dynamite sticks under the back of the hut. A Chinese soldier from the Boxer Rising of 1900 and one of Arturo Villar’s Mexican bandits worked together, silently connecting the dynamite to wire on a drum. Once finished they ran with the drum to a boulder behind which they had placed the plunger. With deft movements, the Chinese made the final connection. He nodded to his Mexican companion. The Mexican grinned broadly and put his whole weight on top of the plunger.

The little hut disintegrated in a flash of flame and smoke. Whereas Petrov Ilavich had been standing upright at one moment, the next he was flat on his face with sections of wooden wall on top of him. Slowly he extricated himself, glad to find that none of his limbs was broken, and, even more important, he had not lost the Tsar’s rifle.

He stood up, brushing dust from his long grey coat. The hut had vanished. The commander would be furious. But it did not matter. At last Petrov Ilavich could claim to be a hero.

Another ‘malfunction’ light flashed up on the console in the war room.

‘The Crimean War Zone,’ said a technician, pointing excitedly.

‘Two communication failures,’ said the Security Chief.

‘It’s too much of a coincidence for these to be technical faults. Send a squad of guards to each.’

The technician was about to pass on the order when another ‘malfunction’ light flashed. ‘Look, sir. First World War Zone, German front line.’

‘Then to each point,’ screamed the Security Chief, ‘send a sidrat with a dozen guards. No, make it twenty guards to each. We must crush this insurrection!’

‘Yes, sir,’ said the technician. He passed on the order.

An officer of the 3rd South Carolina Regiment came rushing into the barn. He made straight for the stall containing the hidden communications unit. Arturo Villar, hot in pursuit, held his fire until the officer had revealed the video screen. Realising he was trapped, the panting officer wheeled round to face the men who had been chasing him.

‘I am your commanding officer,’ he gasped, doing his best to keep the steady monotone that would summon up loyalty from a processed human mind. ‘You are not to shoot me because you are under my command. You are my faithful soldiers.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Villar guffawed. ‘We are all very faithful, señor.’ His two revolvers blazed at point blank range.

One of Villar’s fellow bandits leapt forward to get at the fallen officer’s pockets. Villar knocked the man to one side.

‘You have no respect for the dead?’ He laughed again.

‘Then at least have respect for me. I take first choice!’ With quick movements he stripped the dead officer of his cigar case, fob watch and Confederate money. The money he used to light cigars for all his group. A British soldier of 1917 stepped forward to fire into the video screen. Villar knocked the gun from the man’s hand.

‘Idiot! This one we must save. I think you English have little sense of the discipline, no?’

*

‘You have sent guards to deal with every attack on our communications units?’ asked the War Chief.

‘Of course!’

‘So you have left our base open to a mass attack?’ The War Chief smiled at the Security Chief’s expense.

‘Yes, but...’ The Security Chief turned to the War Lord.

‘It’s all happened so quickly. What else could I do?’ A thought crossed his mind. ‘Anyway, if there is to be a mass attack I know where it will come from. The American Civil War Zone. The communication was activated there by someone, but was not destroyed.’

‘Knowing where an attack may come from,’ said the War Lord, ‘is militarily helpful. But how do you propose to deal with it if you have scattered guards all over the time zones?’

‘That’s very simple.’ Before explaining, the Security Chief shot a glance at the Doctor. ‘Why is he privy to our discussion? He’s a prisoner. He should be locked up, or even better—dead.’

‘I believe he is going to help us,’ said the War Chief.

‘What is this simple way whereby we can defend the main base?’

‘The neutron bomb.’

‘You’ll wipe out every living thing,’ said the War Chief.

‘Have you gone mad?’

‘The war games are over. Your experiment has been a total failure.’

‘Because of your failure to provide proper security,’ the War Chief retorted.

‘This stupid rivalry must cease,’ said the War Lord angrily. ‘There is a way to crush the resistance once and for all.’ He looked at the Doctor. ‘If you really want to join us, this will be an opportunity for you to prove your new loyalty.’ He paused. ‘You do want to join us, don’t you?’

‘Do I have any option?’ asked the Doctor.

‘Of course you have,’ replied the War Lord. ‘I am not one to force a man to do something against his nature. If you prefer to remain our enemy I shall simply kill you.’

Lieutenant Carstairs, Sergeant Russell, Zoe and Jamie, and all the resistance leaders they had managed to find, came into the barn.

‘Salud,’ said Arturo Villar by way of welcome. He flicked ash from his cheroot onto the body of the officer from the 3rd South Carolina Regiment. ‘Now we are all together,’ he said. ‘What a target we make, huh?’

‘It’s the plan,’ Jamie reminded him. ‘How many men have you got outside?’

‘Plenty men,’ said Villar. ‘You all got plenty men?’

‘Twenty-five cossacks awaiting my command,’

announced Boris Ivanovich Petrovich of the House of Trebetskoy.

‘I do not disclose to anyone the size of my force,’ said a 1917 German officer in perfect English. ‘But it is considerable.’

‘Altogether we’ve got some hundreds of resistance soldiers waiting in the woods,’ said Carstairs. ‘The sooner we get one of those boxes to appear, the better. Here goes!’

He raised his revolver, aimed point blank at the video screen, and thumbed back the hammer. To his astonishment the Doctor’s face appeared_ on the screen.

‘Don’t shoot,’ said Zoe. ‘He must know we’re here and wants to speak to us.’

‘But if he’s a prisoner...’ Carstairs lowered his gun.

‘Dashed if I can understand it.’

‘Zoe?’ said the Doctor. ‘Jamie? Are you there in the barn?’

‘Yes, Doctor,’ said jamie. ‘Have you escaped?’

The Doctor spoke quietly. ‘I have managed to gain control of their transportation system. Is Sergeant Russell with you?’

‘Right here,’ said Russell.

‘All the resistance leaders are with us,’ Zoe explained.

‘We’ve got an army here, Doctor. Can you send us one of those machines to get us to the base?’

‘Yes, I can.’ They saw the Doctor glance over his shoulder, as though expecting to be interrupted by someone any moment. ‘But all I need is a hand-picked force. I need to meet all the leaders.’

‘Wouldn’t it be safer if we sent as many men as possible?’ Jamie asked.

‘No, Jamie.’ A note of urgency had crept into the Doctor’s voice. ‘Just do as I say. I shall send you transport immediately.’

The screen went blank.

‘I don’t like this,’ said Villar. ‘It could be a trap. Maybe somebody hold a gun on him.’

‘He wouldn’t lie to us,’ said Jamie.

The barn reverberated to the sound of a sidrat materialising. Some of the resistance leaders unaccustomed to the sound looked alarmed.

‘There is nothing to worry about,’ Carstairs said loudly.

‘But everyone take cover in case there are guards to deal with.’

Within moments everyone had ducked out of sight. The sidrat appeared in exactly the same spot as before. Its door opened.

‘Keep your heads down,’ Carstairs ordered from behind a bale of hay. ‘Let me check.’ He walked forward, gun in hand, and looked into the sidrat. ‘It seems to be empty.’

‘Of course it is,’ said Jamie. ‘The Doctor wouldn’t send one with those stun-gun men.’

The resistance leaders emerged from their hiding places.

Some went up to the sidrat to touch it, still not believing what they had seen.

‘One of us should stay behind,’ said Sergeant Russell, ‘to be in charge of those men out in the forest.’ He turned to Boris Ivanovich. ‘How about you?’

‘I prefer always to attack,’ said the 1812 Russian. ‘I shall slice the enemy with my sabre.’

‘Mine is the biggest group,’ said Arturo Villar. ‘I stay here in charge.’

‘Why?’ said Sergeant Russell. ‘Are you scared of going into that thing?’

Villar pulled himself up to his full height. ‘Arturo Villar is scared of nothing!’

‘Then in you go.’

Villar looked from one to another of the people around him. He was trapped by his own pride.

‘I shall lead the way,’ he announced. Concealing his fears of the extraordinary contraption, he marched into the sidrat. All the other resistance leaders, except the Russian, followed. The door closed and the sidrat quickly dematerialised.

Boris Ivanovich stood scratching his chin. To him the appearance and disappearance of the sidrat was not science, for he knew nothing of science. It was magic, and that he could understand better. The magician was obviously the Doctor, whose talking image had appeared so mysteriously in the mirror on the wall at the back of the stall.

How did the Doctor know they were all assembled in the barn? Boris Ivanovich wondered. But of course, a magician must know everything.

The Doctor stood alone waiting for the sidrat to materialise. As the door opened Lieutenant Carstairs was the first to step out.

‘Doctor,’ he said with genuine pleasure. ‘How good to see you again.’

The Doctor was stern-faced. ‘Where are the resistance leaders?’

‘All here. They’ve been wandering around the halls and corridors inside this thing, amazed by its size. Here they are.’

Jamie, Zoe, Sergeant Russell, Arturo Villar and the other resistance leaders came out from the sidrat.

‘It is fantastic,’ said Villar, looking around the metal walls of the sidrat materialisation area. ‘Who do I shoot?’

‘No one yet,’ replied the Doctor. ‘Everyone follow me.

We must occupy the war room. The whole base will then be in our hands.’

He led the group down a corridor. At an intersection silver-uniformed guards appeared, stun-guns aimed at the group. With thoughts of a quick retreat, Carstairs looked back. Behind the group guards filled the corridor. The Doctor continued to walk forward and the guards made way for him. Soon he was behind them and had been joined by the War Chief and the Security Chief.

‘Do not try to resist,’ he called to those who had followed him from the sidrat. ‘You are completely surrounded.’

‘Doctor,’ Zoe cried out, ‘what’s happened?’

‘He has betrayed us,’ said Carstairs bitterly.

The War Chief patted the Doctor’s shoulder. ‘Thank you, Doctor. You have brought us a neat little package to dispose of.’

10

The War Chief addressed the security guards at either end of the corridor. ‘Take their guns!’

Guards moved into the group, taking rifles and pistols.

‘I shall kill him,’ said Villar. ‘The Doctor I shall stake out in the sun and leave him to the ants. I shall bury him up to his neck and ride my horses over his head!’

‘I don’t understand the situation,’ said Lieutenant Carstairs. ‘You seemed a perfectly decent chap, Doctor.

What’s made you change sides in this reprehensible manner?’ As he spoke a security guard relieved Carstairs of his revolver.

‘We were idiots to trust him,’ said Sergeant Russell. ‘If we ever get out of this alive, Doctor, I’m going to—’

‘Silence!’ The War Chief’s voice boomed down the corridor. ‘If you prove to be courageous fighters none of you will be killed. But you are going to be re-processed, and there’s nothing you can do about it.’ He raised his voice again. ‘Take them all away.’