Doctor Who_ St. Anthony's Fire - Mark Gatiss [51]
Grek put two more bullets in his pistol and hurriedly shouldered both the dead soldiers’ rifles. He glanced about quickly and decided his only choice was to go over the top. He needed to be with his men and that was impossible, cut off by the collapsed tunnels. Rung by rung, he rose cautiously into the night.
The misty battlefield was in turmoil. A dozen Cutch were weaving their way through the barbed wire towards the trench. A volley of shots rang out and three Cutch crashed into the mud.
Grek’s fist rose involuntarily into the air. Good lads! They were fighting back.
At once, another six Cutch were streaming from the jungle, their snouts wide open as they bellowed their harsh and unfamiliar battle‐cry.
Grek brought down two of them with his pistol and then rolled over in the mud. It wouldn’t do to get shot by one of his own men.
He scrambled across the saturated ground, feeling the meteorite fragments beneath his skin, and pulled himself over and into the trench in one expert movement.
A rifle was instantly cocked at his ear.
‘It’s me! It’s me, Grek!’ he cried, holding up his claws.
The soldier looked surprised but rather pleased. ‘Good to have you with us, sir.’
Grek smiled. ‘How many of them are there?’
The soldier reloaded his rifle hurriedly. ‘Can’t say, sir. As soon as we hit any, more come out of the jungle.’
Grek looked up the darkened trench. There were perhaps twenty‐five men with their rifles pointed over the edge towards the jungle. The trench was half filled with the corpses of their comrades.
Grek knew he didn’t have much time. If the dug‐out was vulnerable to a stealthy invasion, as through the Number Seven ladder‐hole, then they would soon be overrun. If they could keep the advancing Cutch at bay then it would at least buy them some time.
Grek looked into the soldier’s eager face.
‘Break out the explosives, soldier. I’ve got a job to do.’
‘Sir.’ The soldier saluted and vanished into the puddled blackness.
Grek pulled two grenades from his belt, looked quickly over the edge and tossed them into space.
The night was suddenly illuminated, magnesium‐bright, as though the noonday sun had risen. Two virtually simultaneous explosions ripped through the atmosphere. The trench shook and great clumps of mud splashed into it.
Grek looked again. There were no more Cutch advancing. He nodded to himself, satisfied.
Now he had to make sure their backs were covered. The blocked tunnels gave them some security but as long as Number Seven was open, they were vulnerable.
The soldier came back with the explosives and placed them in Grek’s claws.
‘Right.’ He looked the soldier in the eye. ‘I’m going back to seal off the rest of the base.’
‘Sir?’
‘It’s a gamble, I know. But it’s only temporary. We can fight them on only one front and it has to be this one.’
The night was suddenly alive with firecracker explosions as the Cutch rifles renewed their assault.
Grek turned as he climbed the ladder, hanging on by one claw. ‘Good luck, soldier.’
He was back on level ground in an instant and scrambling through the mud on his elbows, his head jerking back and forth as Cutch bullets sang over his head. He had to make it back to the ladder. If he could blow up the hole they would lose the conference room for a while but at least the Cutch couldn’t get into the tunnels.
Grek started as a flare lit up the night.
A Cutch soldier was standing over him, his rifle shaking in nervous hands. For an instant, the two soldiers stared at one another, then Grek jumped to his feet, cracked the soldier across the jaw, pulled the rifle from him and bayoneted him viciously through the heart. He twisted the blade and pulled it out with a grunt.
Immediately Grek fell, panting, to earth, clutching the precious explosives to his chest.
He pulled