Doctor Who_ Deep Blue - Mark Morris [37]
„Transport.‟
„Transport to where?’
The exasperated plea in his voice prompted the Doctor to halt, and join Turlough on the wall. „Have I ever mentioned my days with UNIT?‟
„The Brigadier and all that,‟ said Turlough, nodding. „Yes, once or twice.‟
„Hmm. Well, that‟s who we‟re going to see now. In this time zone the Brigadier is still UNIT‟s commanding officer.‟
Turlough looked at him. „Isn‟t that going to be rather awkward?‟
„In what way?‟
„Oh, just that in a few years‟ time, I‟m going to turn up as a pupil at the school where he teaches maths. Which rather raises the question: why didn‟t he recognise me when I arrived?‟
The Doctor squinted up at the sky where gulls wheeled and soared as though engaged in some arcane ritualistic dance. „I wouldn‟t worry about it,‟ he said vaguely. „Time has a way of dealing with these things.‟
Turlough raised his eyebrows. „I don‟t see how it can.
Though I suppose I could always wear a hat and some dark glasses.‟
„There‟ll be no need,‟ said the Doctor with a grin. „You‟ll see.‟
Turlough regarded him thoughtfully. „And you‟re absolutely certain of this, are you?‟
„One should never be certain of anything,‟ said the Doctor and abruptly jumped up. Here‟s our car.‟
A blue Ford Escort was pulling up in front of the hotel. The Doctor returned the cheery wave that Mike Yates gave him.
Mike leaned across and pushed open the passenger door.
„Hop in quick, Doctor.‟
The Doctor climbed into the passenger seat, Turlough got in the back and the car sped away.
Mike Yates drove the Escort, which had been seconded to him from the army car pool, the same way he drove his own red Spitfire - fast but skilfully. The Doctor seemed unperturbed, but Turlough clutched the seat, his face pale, tight-lipped. He hadn‟t been in a car since he had crashed the Brigadier‟s beloved Humber Tourer and he had no wish to repeat the experience. When the Doctor introduced him, he could manage no more than a stiff nod and a curt „Hello.‟
Their destination was UNIT‟s temporary HQ at the local naval base five miles down the coast. Some four dozen UNIT
troops had been billeted there, having arrived late last night.
„It won‟t be long before the Brigadier will have them performing manoeuvres on the beach - re-enacting the D-Day landings I shouldn‟t wonder,‟ the Doctor said, tempering his rather caustic humour with a grin.
Mike gave a vague smile, tactfully avoiding being drawn into the fun that the Doctor was poking at his commanding officer. A little reproachfully he said, „It‟s always been UNIT‟s policy to keep a low profile until circumstances dictate otherwise, Doctor. You know that.‟
„Do I?‟ said the Doctor, still grinning. „Must have slipped my mind.‟
The naval base, HMS Bilford, was made up of a complex of grey blocks surrounded by high chain-link fences topped with barbed wire. Mike drove up to the main gates and showed his UNIT pass to an armed Naval rating, who stared suspiciously at the Doctor and Turlough for a moment before Mike told him that their presence here could be vouched for personally by Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart. The Naval rating retreated to his sentry box to make a phone call, reappearing a few moments later and grudgingly waving them in. Mike parked the car. „This way,‟ he said, heading across a quadrangle to a long low blockhouse that annexed the main building.
Just like school, Turlough thought, as Mike pushed open several sets of reinforced glass doors and led them along a number of featureless corridors. Eventually they stopped outside a door numbered 106. Mike tapped on it smartly and the unmistakable voice of the Brigadier called, „Come in‟
The room they entered was indeed a classroom, complete with desks and chairs and a blackboard at one end. There were two men drinking coffee - a burly man in a green army sweater, combat trousers, boots and a beret, and of course the Brigadier, albeit a younger, trimmer version than Turlough was used to.
The Doctor made the