Doctor Who_ The Dying Days - Lance Parkin [110]
opening, Greyhaven could make out a dark shape the size of a large house. The shape detached itself, and began drifting downwards. It was boomerang-shaped, and built from glistening dark green metal. It was a shuttlecraft of some kind, and only took ten or fifteen seconds before it had descended the short distance to the runway. The picture panned down with it.
The policemen were ushering their prisoners forwards towards the shuttlecraft.
The picture dissolved into static. Greyhaven tried fast-forwarding the tape, to see if there were any more clips. The rest of the tape was blank.
Greyhaven's face was ashen. 'What are they doing with those prisoners?'
Alexander Christian watched him carefully. 'You don't know, do you?'
'No.'
'That shuttlecraft was destroyed shortly after those pictures were taken. You didn't know that, either, did you?'
'A Martian ship was destroyed?'
'That's the reason they attacked Portsmouth. Revenge for their loss. They are vicious, warlike. They'l destroy everything, you included.'
'I can control them.'
'You're too clever to trust Xznaal, old chap, and we know you've got something up your sleeve. Whatever it is, use it now. You won't get another chance.'
***
Extract from the memoirs of Professor Bernice Summerfield
Much has been written about the Battle of London, very little of it by people who were actually there, as I was. The day began sitting in the officer's mess of the UNIT encampment, a map of Berkshire hanging on one wal , a map of London on the other. All of us knew that we would be writing history. We were full of that gung-ho spirit that seizes all sections of a population at time of war. Whatever your politics, whatever your thoughts about the rights and wrongs of the situation, you are always glad when "our boys" win and the enemy's boys don't. It's always been the same from the streets of ancient Uruk to the common room of a twenty-seventh century university. You forget that the enemy feels the same, you forget that every civilisation, even your own, falls in the end. I'd seen empires topple - including my own, but that's another story - yet I was swept along as much as anyone.
'This will be a two-pronged attack,' Lethbridge-Stewart announced. He seemed ten years younger, I thought. There was a bounce in his step, determination in his voice. The other soldiers were listening to him now.
He slapped his swagger stick against the first map. 'Step One: a small assault team led by Captain Ford takes out the refinery. Ray has agreed to go along, and he'll show you where to plant explosives for maximum effect.
Primary objective is to destroy production facilities and any stocks of gas already prepared. The secondary objective is to capture the Martian scientist, Vrgnur.'
I raised my hand, and the Brigadier took my question. 'Could I go along with that group? I'm the only one who can talk to Vrgnur, and I know a little about Martian shuttlecraft.'
Lethbridge-Stewart nodded. 'That's where your expertise will be most useful,' he agreed. 'Now, we know that the warship hasn't come back to the refinery since it dropped off the shuttlecraft. That means that the warship doesn't have the gas onboard and if the Martians want to use it, they will have to go to Reading to collect it. Because the gas in crucial to their plans, it also means that when the refinery is attacked, they'l rush to defend it.'
Lethbridge-Stewart crossed the room, passing the rows of officers. 'And that leads us to stage two. Al Royalist units will converge on London. We'll move in along al major routes - our forces will head straight down the M4 and at the moment the bombs go off destroying the refinery, we'l be in Westminster.'
Bambera had kept quiet ever since she'd handed over command to Lethbridge-Stewart, but now she was speaking. 'The Martian ship might stay behind to guard London, even if the refinery is threatened.'
I shook my head. I'd talked this