Doctor Who_ Bunker Soldiers - Martin Day [1]
The door remained locked, and the Doctor refused to open it. The TARDIS remained where it was, guarded round the clock, and we were refused unhindered access to it.
But still the Doctor persisted with this ritual, this daily drama of the moth, despite all intentions to the contrary, returning to burn itself in the flame.
For a moment, he would close his eyes, and breathe deeply, as if transported to some verdant hillside where the air is fresh and cool. He seemed to draw strength from his proximity to the machine, as if it afforded him access to limitless determination and patience. Occasionally I thought I saw his eyes flutter beneath his eyelids, as if he was dreaming.
And then he would turn sharply on his heels and return to our quarters, where he would brood and mutter under his breath.
When the Doctor was in that sort of mood it was best to give him a wide berth. After all, what possible words of encouragement could I offer the old man? If he was starting to run out of ideas, of possible resolutions to the dilemma, what hope did I have? The Doctor would clearly have waited until eternity became cold before even thinking about revealing the secrets of the TARDIS, but he was surrounded by people who had more immediate and lethal concerns. For them, time was running out.
Dodo and I would sit in an upper room, overlooking the square at the centre of the city and watch, in the endless twilight, as preparations continued. Always preparations, round the clock, irrespective of weather, personal health, dwindling provisions.
The attackers would show no mercy, no compassion: their eventual and crushing assault was reckoned to be as inevitable as the setting of the copper-coloured sun.
A shroud had settled over the city, and it was palpable. You could feel it prickling at the shoulders of the people who passed you by, hear it in frightened murmurs on the street corner and in the abject prayers of the pious.
It was an undertaker’s shroud, preserving the dignity of a corpse, for, by all accounts, the city and its inhabitants were already sentenced to death. What lay beyond the hills was, to the people of the city, alien, unfathomable, and utterly unstoppable.
‘How much longer?’ asked Dodo, as she looked to the forests and hills for the first glimmer of light, the first sound that would herald the arrival of the apocalyptic hordes.
‘I have no idea,’ I said, trying hard to hide my own fear. ‘At least when the attack begins, this awful waiting will be over.’
‘If only we could get back to the TARDIS.’
I nodded. I didn’t like admitting it, but if someone had given me a free path to the Doctor’s craft, I don’t think I’d have spared the city and its inhabitants a second glance. My potential cowardice sat heavy in my stomach.
‘Oh, Steven, what are we going to do?’
I shrugged my shoulders, and waited for the darkness to envelop us.
Codex I
Cecidit de coelo stella magna
I, Andrey, potter by trade, and man of God only through such mercies as He has chosen to show me, write this account in my own hand, while the memories are still fresh, and my mind still ablaze with images of heaven.
I offer this account to my family and to the future, hoping that one day some sense or use might be found in it, and that all will know how the dark angel came to visit our land. I thank the Lord that I have been taught well enough to capture such things in written words – for the mind and memory seek always to embellish, elaborate or alter, as our consciences allow – but I know that I am not sufficiently tutored to explain or understand what has happened this day. I merely commit to this parchment my own impressions of the arrival of the celestial star, and the angel that it contained.
I was busy at work, and deep in thought, when I first heard the cries of terror. By the