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It was imperative for her that they discover what happened to the regiment.

The first vehicle had loomed suddenly out of the darkness. It was a T-55 battle tank, almost embedded in the undergrowth, as if it had turned away from the track in desperation. It was entirely burnt out. One of the access hatches in the turret had been pushed open, but only a blackened arm protruded, fingers locked in position like a claw.

Shuskin turned away. She didn't need to see anything else. Just beyond the T-55 was the road, and scattered the length of that were burnt or overturned vehicles.' tanks, APCs, assault guns. A smattering of self-propelled anti-aircraft guns and even some field howitzers showed that the organisers had tried to cater for every eventuality with a piece of hardware. But they could never have envisaged the true nature of the aggressor.

Shuskin walked slowly across the road, glancing at the corpses that seemed to reach out towards her, imploring her to do something. She felt impotent in the face of such destruction.

The Soviet captain turned to her soldiers. They were worried, and looked to her for guidance. 'Spread out and check the surrounding area for survivors,' she ordered, trying her best to imply that even this great tragedy was part of the plan. 'We do not want to stay on this road for any longer than absolutely necessary.'

The Doctor, towards the edge of the group, glanced up from a map and nodded.

'Five minutes, and we return to the forest,' ordered Shuskin. 'Go!'

Shuskin watched as the men spread out, poking corpses with bayonets and attempting to pull open welded-shut hatches. Individual beams of torch light were lost in the darkness. She thought about crossing to the Doctor and Liz, but they seemed more concerned by the unusual substance that formed the alien road. And, anyway, just at that moment Shuskin didn't feel like sharing the grief of a Soviet soldier with Westerners.

A scream snapped Shuskin out of her reverie.

Somewhere, a torch beam was flailing into the sky. She could hear brutal chuckling. There was something deadly, still, in the shadows.

There was a second scream, and then silence.

THIRD INTERLUDE:

BLACK ANGEL'S DEATH SONG

'Good day at work, darling?'

A cliché, no matter how well meant, is still a cliché.

'It was all right.' Sergeant Robert Franklin opened the door of the Triumph Stag, patting it proudly. 'Picked up the car... As you can see A smile played over his lips.

'Thank the Lord for that.' said Julia. 'I hate having to get the bus. It's so... common.' She giggled brightly and kissed her husband on the cheek. 'What shift are you on tomorrow?'

'I'm not,' he replied. 'Finished for the week.'

'Great,' she said. 'I don't go in till two.'

Franklin, smiling at the thought of a rare lie-in, keyed the ignition and eased the car through the huge wrought-iron gates of Redborough General. A career policeman, he had met his wife when she first joined the hospital as a junior pathologist. It was middle-income lust at first sight.

'Anything unusual going on, Bob?' Julia asked as the car sped off down Longman's Hill Road and towards the outlying villages. She clamped a hand to her head to prevent the dernier beret from flying off into old farmer Hislop's top meadow.

'How do you mean?'

'You remember that boy you were talking about last night?'

Franklin adjusted his sunglasses in the rear-view mirror, and changed gear for the climb up the hill. 'Which boy was that?'

'You know, said Julia, angry at her husband's playful teasing. 'The one you said was "as high as a ruddy balloon".

The one who murdered the boy and girl over Westbury way.'

'Oh, that boy, said Franklin sarcastically. 'William Dyson.

South London lowlife with a list of previous as long as the garden path.'

'What, violent behaviour, that sort of thing?' asked Julia, surprised. 'No, drugs mainly. Why do you ask?' The car reached the top of the hill now, levelling out next to the long barrow

'I did the autopsy on the two victims this afternoon. Very nasty indeed.'

'Do you mind?'