Doctor Who_ History 101 - Mags L. Halliday [18]
‘This was as close as the TARDIS wanted to come to Guernica,’ the Doctor was explaining. Fitz continued to stare at the faint shapes on the horizon: the barely visible silhouettes of ships, only picked out as they were darker than the overcast night sky and so still that they seemed part of the ocean. 1937. There are some dates that are stuck in your head he realised, dates which automatically catch the attention, and the years around your birth are some of them. They mean something, if only to yourself.
The Doctor was holding out one of the two envelopes to him, with one of his patented worried half-smiles. Fitz jammed the stem of the umbrella into the crook of his elbow so Anji wouldn’t have to try to hold it over his head, and opened the buff coloured envelope. Papers. A false identity. Yet another new role to play. His own name at least, with a British ‘nationalised’ stamp on it, a Prussian birthplace and a false date of 1907. Well, at least he would look about the right age.
‘Careful, the ink’s still a bit damp. I want to know exactly what happened at Guernica,’ the Doctor was telling him, ‘I need a first hand account.’
First hand account of a town being razed to the ground. In the middle of a civil war. Right.
‘So we’ve got to find transport to get us to this town, then?’ Anji was asking. She had gone back to holding her coat closed around herself now she didn’t have to hang on to keep up with Fitz, and was looking decidedly unhappy about the whole business. The Doctor shook his head.
‘Not us, just Fitz.’
‘What?’
Fitz folded up the papers and slid them into the inner pocket of his leather coat before he looked up and stared the Doctor in the eye with a silent ‘why me?’ The diffused light of the dock-fire at the Doctor’s back threw the other man’s face into unreadable gloom. The Doctor looked briefly at the ground, scuffed a small stone towards the quay’s edge. He shifted slightly and when he looked up Fitz could suddenly see the eyes clearly. And he’d known the Doctor long enough to be sure it was an honest look.
‘I trust him to come back.’
* * *
Jaime had started to drift off to sleep in the cramped back of the car, his head jolting back upright as they bumped over the track. He wasn’t tired, he couldn’t be tired when he was Buenaventura’s aide. He was exhausted though.
Days marching here; interminable arguing with the defence council of Madrid. He wasn’t political, at least not in the way that involved complex negotiating over details. But he was good at the basic stuff, and at standing about behind Durruti. Then there had been the aborted attack on University City and the furious drive back to more arguments about why the air cover hadn’t shown up, or the big guns. High on the anger and the unspent adrenalin. Jaime felt as if he had not slept in days, but he had to keep going. There was always more to do, always at least two places they should be.
Durruti slammed his fist into the side of the car, making Jaime realise he had drifted off again.
‘Those fools! Those ignorant Communist puppets!’
Jaime nodded, said something appropriate. Then the car was pulling over, bumping into ridges of hardened mud at the side of the road. He leapt out as soon as it came to a stop, glancing about. Looking not for anything that had changed, because things were always changing. Instead he looked for something out of place, something that shouldn’t be there. Nothing.
Durruti was already getting out, pulling on a cap and wrapping his heavy coat tight about him. Jaime pulled at the webbing strap of the naranjero on his shoulder, letting the rifle bounce at his hip. He turned to check where the main base camp was, letting his eyes scan for any places a sniper might be hidden. Anywhere a shot could be got off at them. Something caught in the car door handle as he turned, tugged at his shoulder. Then the gun had slammed into his side, yanking him off balance as it fired uncontrollably. He was yelling and he frantically grabbed hold, stopping the automatic fire before it could