Doctor Who_ Battlefield - Marc Platt [21]
The air had turned mild, but the woods were deathly quiet. Too quiet. Bambera drew her Browning automatic.
The police box was at an odd angle to the road and its door faced into the trees. Around its perimeter, the young grass was crushed. The box was pitted with scratches and scorch marks. One diamond shape hole resembled an arrow mark.
An impulse made her turn; there was a suit of armour standing a metre from her. Dull black with an emblem of entwined leaves embossed on the breastplate. Not merely a protective suit, but elegant in its lethal functionality: a thing to be worn with pride. Battered, but at one with its wearer. Only the black faceless visor reflected back the rain-sharpened sunlight. The suit’s silver filigreed arm pointed a heavy-duty handgun directly at her. They faced each other for moments across gun sights. Bambera knew she was defenceless against such armour. But did the knight know that? Neither of them moved.
A twig snapped fifty metres away.
Instictively, Bambera flung herself behind the van as its rear left wheel exploded into strings of hot rubber.
There was a deep boom behind her. She saw the Black Knight firing into the woods from the cover of the police box.
As the shells exploded among the trees, he stepped out from his cover and holstered the gun. Bambera watched him draw his sword and advance into the road. Apparently greetings had been exchanged and, as if by some unknown formal ritual, the real fighting could now begin.
A knight clad in plain grey armour burst from the bushes and ran yelling at his enemy. They circled for a second and then hurled themselves together in a clash of steel as their swords met overhead.
Forcing each other apart, they circled again, intent on meeting each other’s moves like players in a deadly game.
But Bambera could see how every lunge of the Grey Knight was met with an easy parry. The Black Knight’s swordplay was instinctive. His opponent fought by schooled method and was clumsy in comparison. He seemed reluctant to attack again, content merely to tease.
Then she saw his method. Another Grey Knight was emerging from the bushes between her and the Black Knight.
As he raised his gun to take the Black Knight from behind, Bambera emptied eight rounds from her automatic into his back.
The bullets pinged uselessly off the armour.
Swinging round, the knight aimed his gun at Bambera instead. With a yell, the Black Knight rammed him sprawling across the road. Then he turned, kicked the feet out from under his first opponent and loped away into the woodland.
Bambera watched as the others scrambled to their feet.
Ignoring her completely, they charged after their true quarry. She was astonished by their metal-clad grace.
She walked back to the command car and looked at the melted back wheel. Shame.
Inside, she found her automatic rifle, a 5.65 mm Fa-Mas. The radio was out again, but UNIT HQ would know the scenario by now and would be taking action.
She shouldered the rifle and set off walking towards the village and transport.
The weather had relented its onslaught by 10.30, allowing Doris and the Brigadier to inspect the damage to the garden. The trees were half-naked of leaves and there was a tile missing on a south-facing gable. The daffodils were flattened, but otherwise damage was minimal.
Since it had turned into a warm, bright morning, the Brigadier worked over the ground for the new apple tree.
With the changing climate, Doris had considered something more exotic, perhaps a peach. But the Brigadier was a traditionalist and they both liked apple pie.
‘In your soldier days, you wouldn’t have had to do that yourself,’ she said.
He smiled. ‘Sergeant Benton. Tree planting party at the double. Step to it, man!’
There were some bedding plants to deal with as well. He made a conscious effort not to put them in a row, because Doris would accuse him of regimenting the garden.
‘What’s the good of trying for a cottage