Doctor Who_ Combat Rock - Mick Lewis [0]
Mick Lewis
Published by BBC Worldwide Ltd,
Woodlands, 80 Wood Lane
London W12 0TT
First published 2002
Copyright © Mick Lewis 2002
The moral right of the author has been asserted Original series broadcast on the BBC
Format copyright © 1963
Doctor Who and TARDIS are trademarks of the BBC
ISBN 0 563 53855 4
Imaging by Black Sheep, copyright © BBC 2002
Typeset in Garamond by Keystroke,
Jacaranda Lodge, Wolverhampton
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Mackays of Chatham Cover printed by Belmont Press Ltd, Northampton Contents
Mercy
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
No Mercy
About the Author
Acknowledgements
For Wina
Mercy
‘Where is the man?’
Power-rifles glint in the jungle sunlight, dappled by leaves, spotted with sweat. Birds shrill and animals boom and rustle.
A Kassowark nods through the bushes, comical coxcomb erect and purple, eyes staring with odd madness. It sees the men and is undecided whether to flee or attack. Its three-toed claws could unravel a man’s stomach with one kick. It stalks off, elusive, shy, deadly. The men do not even sense its presence.
They are focusing on...
The woman, beside the stream, where it bends through the clearing, knotted with ripples, dancing with Crouch-flies. She washes the primitive crockery, keeping one eye always on her baby son, giggling on a tussock within arm’s reach. Her face is broad and brown, her eyes large, dark and always curious.
There is a beauty in her that is reflected in the stream, the jungle, the colourful birds that stitch through the overhanging boughs. She is naked but for a grass skirt. She isn’t smiling, but her thoughts are warm and dwelling on good things.
Good things come to those who wait.
The soldiers emerge from the trees, weapons dangling casually, green combat clothes stained with their sweat and the sweat of the jungle. The leader swaggers forward, a loose grin on his face. The woman sees him now and instinctively gathers her son to her as the man approaches.
She stands. The soldier pushes her down on her haunches again with the muzzle of his power-rifle. He gestures with his head and the others make for the round thatch hut nestling on the far edge of the clearing. The leader waits patiently, eyes never leaving those of the woman. He is different from her, features more delicate, bone structure sleeker, similar to his men. His moustache glistens, as do his eyes. The men return and the leader is displeased to see they are alone.
‘So where is the man?’ The question is to the woman. She stares back without answering, clutching her child. She is too proud to beg for mercy. The jungle is with her. The mountains beyond, are with her. The leader looks disappointed that she will not ask for mercy. He shifts the muzzle from her breasts to the forehead of the child, the child that has begun to cry.
The question hangs in the air. He will not ask it again. She will succumb to his will.
The woman is silent. Slow tears track down her cheeks, but her eyes never flinch from those of the leader.
‘No mercy’ the leader says hollowly, as if pretending he has beaten her in this game, and, pushing the trigger with cold fury, knows he has lost.
Chapter One
‘How much further? My underwear is dancing with creatures.’
The plump woman in the garish Earth fashions scratched at her crotch demonstratively and lifted one leg in the air like an effeminate Sumo wrestler.
The guide rawked with laughter. ‘Not far, not far. But see all the lovely things along the way.’ He pointed at a yellow bird twitching on a branch above the narrow trail, its beak long and crimson and twice the size of its body.
The rest of the small group of tourists paused to marvel at the bird, which blinked stupidly at them and cocked its head to one side. It made a sound like a balloon deflating and then shifted to another branch with a delicate hop.