Doctor Who_ The Dying Days - Lance Parkin [126]
'Yess. Watch.'
As I cricked my neck upwards, the warship was beginning to rise.
'It will ssoon reach ten kilometress, the altitude for optimum dissperssion. Commander!'
A human army officer ran to Xznaal's side, saluting as he came. He looked at me as though I was something he'd stepped in.
'Issssue your men with gass masskss,' the Martian ordered.
'Your Majesty.' The soldier saluted, hurrying away.
'As I understand it,' I said, 'gas masks won't protect those men.'
Xznaal gurgled. 'No. They wil perissh. The Red Death will hunt them down. Imagine their terror when they realisse their fate. That while they thought they were protected, they are in fact helplessss.' His tongue was flickering over his fangs.
I found it easy to remain calm. Panicking wouldn't save the Earth, and it wouldn't save me. 'Is that honourable?'
'It iss a ssimple matter of retribution. Gerayhavunn desstroyed my clan, I sshal desstroy hiss.'
'Balls,' I said, stopping in my tracks. 'You were producing that gas a week ago, and it was already on its way to London when the nuke went off. You're a thug, a bul y, not a warrior.'
Xznaal pitched around, stooping over me. 'Hisstory shall be the judge of that,' he growled.
'Who's history, Xznaal?' I shouted back. 'Your dead planet's or mine?'
Xznaal glowered at me. 'The time hass come for you to die,' he announced.
I put down my teacup. 'Executing me won't solve anything.'
'Not jusst you, Professor Ssummerfield. Your race. The time hass come for humanity to die.'
End of extract
***
'She's talking to it.'
The Brigadier adjusted the focus of his binoculars. Professor Summerfield was dwarfed by the Martian Lord. The two of them were strol ing along a footpath, engaged in what looked like a polite conversation. Around the Tower was a mass of people, crashing against the walls like a stormy sea. The Brigadier turned his binoculars on sections of the crowd.
112
Bottles and stones were being thrown at the Tower, but the moat and the high walls prevented any of them from getting inside. So, the brunt of the anger was focused on the tanks of the Provisional Government. Rows of riot police were holding firm as missiles clattered against their plastic shields. Behind the front ranks of police were more heavily-armed units: water cannons, mounted units, even tanks. It wouldn't take much more provocation before they were wheeled out. Some of the Provisional security forces had machine guns. This could become a massacre, and there was little the Royalists could do.
There was a young man propped halfway up a lamppost, goading other young men in the crowd. There was nowhere for them to take their anger.
'I want some thoughts about how we get into the Tower without the use of air power,' Lethbridge-Stewart said. The walls had stood for centuries, but every so often an army or a mob had managed to get in there: it had happened during the Peasants' Revolt and the Wars of the Roses. These days in normal circumstances, if such a term could ever be used, a couple of SAS or other Special Forces squads would abseil down from helicopters, or parachute in. With the Martian warship there, and the Provisional Government intent to enforce the no-fly rule, the helicopters would never make it to London.
'That ship on the opposite bank... ' Corporal Baxter began.
'The HMS Belfast,' Bambera said, 'what of it?'
'Wel do you think those guns are in working condition?'
One of the Captains sniggered.
'You have something to add?' Lethbridge-Stewart asked him.
'No sir.' The Captain looked straight ahead, discipline restored.
'You know for a fact that the guns won't fire?' the Brigadier continued.
'No, sir.'
'Then do something constructive, Captain, find out.'
The Captain saluted and left the room.
A young lieutenant had her hand clamped over a telephone receiver. 'I'm trying to contact some of the Beefeaters.
They're all retired soldiers, and until last week they lived within the walls. Every one of them resigned rather than serve the Martians. My betting is that some of them might