Doctor Who_ Battlefield - Marc Platt [16]
‘What was that?’
‘Low flying jet?’ suggested Richards.
‘Not unless they’re looking for us. Can you check Centcomp for flightpaths yet?’
The sparks looked round and shook his head. ‘Sorry sir, still can’t get a signal out past a two-klick radius. It’s just white noise right across the dial.’
Bambera wondered who’d started a war without telling her.
‘Excuse me, sir.’ Zbrigniev was standing in the door.
‘There’s a Doctor Warmsly out here who wants to talk to someone in charge.’
‘Already? That was fast.’ She turned to her lieutenant.
‘You talk to him, Richards, and get him away from here.
We have enough trouble as it is.’
The storm had tangled the branches of a fallen tree with a mass of briar making the path impenetrable. The Black Knight drew the sword from his back scabbard and began to cut his way through.
He had heard the inward flight of the first scout which heralded a larger party. The signal he followed was growing weaker and he had no chart to find his way. No man had visited Avallion for generations past. But he had leapt the chasm, and the joy of that sustained him; for there was little joy here.
This place called Avallion was a fitting battlefield. It had grown neglected and cankered. Yet the homelands he had spurned prospered and bloomed full fair for those who served the tyrant queen. Even his own family at Garde-Joyeuse paid Deathless Morgaine tribute through fear. But at what price had she gained such dark power? They said her sorcery had cost her her soul. And how many other souls had she pledged in blood for the world?
The air screamed again and he saw vapour trails in the cold sky. Seconds later, he heard the impact explosions.
Time was catching him up. Positions were being staked.
The battle lines were being drawn. It would be a final glorious battle between the past and the present. The present had already arrived. But he was summoned by the past, by the oath he had inherited and sworn when he reached manhood. And he was his father and all his forebears in one.
He set his sword to the thicket afresh and hacked at a new path.
Chapter 4
The air coming from the lake was dank. A group of squaddies had strung a tape barrier around the convoy and across the track. Ace and the Doctor watched from a distance as Peter Warmsly remonstrated vigorously with them, pointing repeatedly to the dig area seventy-five metres to the east. The phrase most frequently reiterated was ‘bloody vandals!’.
The air screeched twice over and the explosions echoed round the hills that enclosed the lake.
‘They’re not shells,’ insisted Ace. ‘There’re more like rockets.’
‘Meteorites,’ said the Doctor.
‘Really?’
He had been conducting an extended pocket-slapping session which had dislodged a jumble of gadgets and oddments from his deceptively lightweight jacket.
Eventually, in his hat, he found a pair of plastic-coated cards.
‘I never thought I’d need these again.’ He offered one to Ace. ‘This should remove a few obstacles.’
She looked at the ID. It was stamped UNIT with a logo different to the signs painted on the vehicles. The photo showed a woman aged about thirty with shoulder-length honey-coloured hair.
The Doctor had set off along the track.
‘Who’s Elizabeth Shaw?’ called Ace, hurrying to keep up. ‘She doesn’t look anything like me!’
The card’s expiry date was 31.12.75.
‘Never mind that. Just act like a physicist.’
‘But...’
To her astonishment, they marched purposefully past the guards who were dealing with Dr Warmsly, through the scattered convoy vehicles and had almost reached the command vehicle before anyone even noticed.
The next thing she knew, they were surrounded by a group of large and bolshy-looking soldiers.
The Doctor smiled, raised his hat and proffered the ID
cards. ‘Take me to your commanding officer,’ he said.
‘Bring them up here,’ called a woman’s voice.
Ace saw a woman with African features disappear inside the door of the command vehicle. She had been carrying a foam cup which probably contained hot coffee.