Doctor Who_ Just War - Lance Parkin [75]
Thirty feet from the entrance, Chris tripped, stumbling on the broken ground. The Doctor hesitated, then turned back to help pull the large man to his feet.
And then the shelter was hit.
It happened in slow motion. The plane swooping over their heads, deafening them. The black shape of a bomb the size of a car falling. Hurtling through the roof of the shelter, which splintered under the pressure. The searing flash, radiating outwards. The explosion deep below them. The violence as the shelter was blown apart. A storm of concrete, iron, brick and mud. Relief: I wasn’t in there. The realization that everyone who had been in there was dead. Memories of the mother and her child.
The Doctor was shouting instructions to those who hadn’t reached the shelter. Stay calm. Stay still. This park was safer than the streets: there was no risk here of collapsing walls or flying glass. The strongest men were to help cover the shelter with earth, put out the fire. Use the litter bins as buckets, fill them with water from the duckpond, use them to extinguish any incendiaries that dropped. No, there weren’t any survivors down there. No, don’t look.
The raid lasted a little under three hours. At half-past nine, the squadon leader ordered his group to break off. The mission had been a total success, the commander reported, he hadn’t lost a single plane, every major target was confirmed destroyed. Granville was a dead city.
10 Blind Justice
Dampness on her face. Water.
Benny Summerfield was awake. Benny Summerfield was alive. Benny Summerfield was relieved. She opened her eyes and was surprised how quickly they focused. The nurse, Kitzel, was on the other side of the room, her back towards her. The nurse was hunched over something on the table.
They were alone. Benny pulled herself upright. Hearing the movement, Kitzel looked over her shoulder, a wave of blonde hair falling over the epaulette of her uniform. The nurse had Slavic features and grey eyes. In other surroundings, in different clothes, she would be beautiful. She reminded Benny a little of an old friend from her early teens. She had been beautiful, too.
‘You are awake?’ Kitzel spoke in stilted English.
‘I can tell you’ve got medical training.’ Benny wasn’t surprised when the nurse failed to recognize the sarcasm.
They were in her cell. Where was that? An underground complex, Steinmann had said. There was a bed here, a chair, an empty bucket in the corner. The door was ever so slightly ajar.
‘I have prepared you some food,’ the nurse droned. She had brought over a metal tray with a steaming bowl of tomato soup and a hunk of bread. There was even a knob of butter on the side of the plate. Benny took it from her, resting the tray on her pillow.
‘There isn’t a spoon. I haven’t anything to spread the butter with,’ Benny snapped. The nurse passed the cutlery over, her face impassive. She stood, watching her prisoner.
Benny sipped at her soup. It had been watered down, but it was still too rich for her palate after so many days without proper food. The hot food burnt her tongue and the taste stung the side of her mouth.
She found the bread easier to digest, but could only nibble at it. It would be a while before she could hold down a full meal.
Pausing between bites, she made conversation. ‘Do you know where the Doctor is?’
‘You need medical attention?’
‘No. My friend the Doctor. He must have been captured on the beach. If he was, he’d have been brought here.’ The thought had only just occurred to her.
‘You are the only prisoner in the complex.’
‘Where else would prisoners be taken?’ Benny was standing now, surprised how unfamiliar the soles of her feet felt with weight on them. She stretched her legs, arms and spine in turn.
‘Criminals would all be in normal police cells.’
‘What about military prisoners?’ Benny began massaging her right shoulder, easing away some of the stiffness. Her left shoulder would have to wait: her right hand was still in a splint.
‘There aren’t any.’
‘If there were?’