Doctor Who: The Devil Goblins From Neptune (23 page)

Easy. So very easy.

Do it!

The metal sight crossed the man's head, moved down on to his chest.

Lethbridge-Stewart's mind erupted in a cacophony of voices. Shoot him! End it! Now!

So very easy.

Too easy.

'No,' said Lethbridge-Stewart loudly. Loud enough that even those in the office heard him. The sound brought the men unloading the truck running towards him, their guns pointing in his direction. The Brigadier knelt and placed his gun on the floor.

'Do not move!' said a man above him. The Brigadier kept his downturned hands pressed against the damp ground.

'Who you are? Why are you here?' asked the man, whom the Brigadier took to be Houghton.

'I'm here... I was here to kill you, said the Brigadier. 'I had my orders, but...' He paused. 'Things are rarely as simple as they first seem.'

Houghton looked at him curiously. 'Stand up,' he ordered.

As he got to his feet, Lethbridge-Stewart realised that he knew several of his captors by sight. Staff from UNIT HQ.

What was worse, they knew him.

'It's the Brigadier,' said a Frenchman whom Lethbridge-Stewart knew to be a sergeant attached to the administration section. 'What?' exclaimed Houghton angrily.

'Now you know me,' said the Brigadier evenly, 'I would appreciate the same courtesy.'

'Major Mick Houghton,' said the man, snapping to attention with a salute that, in the circumstances, was both absurd and yet performed with supreme dignity.

'Stand at ease,' said the Brigadier, with much the same quality. This was getting silly. 'What on Earth is going on?'

'Perhaps you could tell us that, sir.' said Houghton.

It seemed that they were all UNIT troops, and Lethbridge-Stewart outranked the lot of them. 'Lay down your weapons, then we'll talk.' It was a ludicrous request to make, but it made about as much sense as most of the other things Lethbridge-Stewart had said and done during the previous forty-eight hours.

The men glanced at Houghton, who nodded. The soldiers put down their guns.

'The office would seem as good a place as any.'

concluded Lethbridge-Stewart, marching up the stairs.

Liz and Shuskin set off towards the mine, staying close to the trees, their feet crunching on the layer of ice and snow that lay over the dark soil. Liz risked a sideways glance at Shuskin. She was watching the sky intently, her finger on the trigger of the Kalashnikov. She indicated that they should head towards the closest of the alien towers. Even from here Liz could see that the conveyor belt that ran down into the heart of the mine was motionless.

The silo-like building, when they finally reached it, seemed to have been constructed from the same tough, blemish-free material as the roads that criss-crossed the taiga. It was surprisingly warm to the touch, reflecting back what sunlight there was. There seemed to be no windows or door in the structure; it simply sprouted from the ground like some silver toadstool.

Shuskin gestured towards the top of the conveyor belt.

There was an engine of some sort - Liz could make out gears and cogs - and presumably the ore was refined in one of the buildings down in the mine, and then brought up here to be stored and -

No, she saw what Shuskin meant now. 'It's all one solid piece,' he said. 'It's not a motor at all. More like a statue.'

Shuskin nodded, her fears confirmed. 'Whatever the Waro want from here, it's not raw materials.'

'So what's going on?' asked Liz.

'It has been bothering me ever since the intelligence reports suggested that this facility was a mine,' admitted Shuskin. 'I am sure there is nothing here to extract. Believe me, we would be doing it if there were.' She paused, deep in thought. 'I once saw

American cowboy film. One group were defending a fort, but were short on manpower. So they made dummies, and placed t hem up on the ramparts as if they were soldiers.

That film taught one that psychology is vital in warfare.'

But why the false mine?' asked Liz. 'It's not as if the Waro are short on numbers.'

'No,' said Shuskin. 'But they wanted this location to seem more important than it really is.' She turned away from the Waro complex, her voice bitter. 'Hundreds of good Soviet soldiers have died, just to find out that there's nothing here.'

It was a strained meeting, neither side fully trusting the other, yet Houghton and Lethbridge-Stewart were both aware that each was potentially talking to his only ally in a macabre game of chance.

The Brigadier sketched in the background of his trip to Geneva, and the convoluted and bizarre path that had led him to this location. Houghton, who revealed that he had gone through basic training with the Brigadier's old friend Jimmy Turner, seemed anxious to reassure Lethbridge-Stewart that he and his men were innocent of any duplicity.

All of the men, except two who had been posted to guard duty at the warehouse door, stood behind Houghton, in more ways than one. They would have gone to hell and back for the Major.

'What are you doing here?' asked the Brigadier after a discussion about 'the security of the realm' had done little but take them round and round in circles.

'There is,' said Houghton, 'a conspiracy within UNIT It extends to the highest level. I really don't know who to trust any more. You may be part of this, in which case I'm a dead man. But I might be already anyway. Certainly if you were sent here to kill me then they know about us'

'They? Who are "they", man?' asked the Brigadier.

'The great they who are in charge of the eternal whatsit,'

Houghton said with a cynical snarl. 'If I knew who "they" were I'd kill them myself and face the consequences. But how do you fight shadows?'

The Brigadier turned away from Houghton and stared out of the window and down towards the heaps of plastic bags in the centre of the warehouse. 'And those?' he asked.

'That material has been "borrowed" from UNIT HQ,'

replied Houghton. 'Personnel files, official communiqués, internal memos... Anything we could get out hands on. You're welcome to look at it. Our only wish was to try to find out who the traitors are. And what their plan is.'

'We'll worry about that later,' said the Brigadier, who suddenly realised that he and Houghton shared the same goals. Almost despite himself, he trusted this capable young soldier who was placing his career and probably his life on the line. 'I'm prepared.' said the Brigadier at length, 'to take over responsibility for this operation. As the senior officer here it will therefore be under my orders that these investigations are carried out' It was an astonishing offer, and Lethbridge-Stewart was amazed to hear himself make it. He was giving the men a lifeline they thought they would never have, a simple reply to the questions they would be asked if captured. An opportunity to say that they were just following orders. The Brigadier was, in effect, taking the pressure of a firing squad away from the men and, in doing so, placing a noose around his own neck.

'I can't let you do that, sir,' said Houghton, both relieved and horrified to hear the Brigadier's proposal.

'It wasn't a request, Houghton, it was an order. You do still remember how to follow orders, don't you?'

'Yes,' said Houghton. 'But I think you're being a complete pillock. Sir.'

Lethbridge-Stewart grinned. 'I'll be the judge of that,' he said. 'Now, if "they" led me here, it's imperative that we leave this location and secure another base for ourselves.'

Houghton immediately saw what the Brigadier was driving at. 'Who sent you here?'

'Major-General Hayes.'

The look on Houghton's face was pitched somewhere between shock and outright horror. 'I had no idea...' he began, but let his sentence fade away.

'That the conspiracy went so high?' finished Lethbridge-Stewart. 'No, Major, neither did I. Until now.'

Liz and Shuskin ascended the hill in silence. As they approached the top the sky began to fill with Waro, and Liz wondered how much longer their luck would hold. Suddenly a dark figure flew towards them through the dark trees, claws outstretched.

Shuskin fired a rapid burst at the creature, the bullets scything into it as it hung momentarily in the air. Then it collapsed on to the ground, torn in two, its innards steaming in the sharp arctic air.

'They know we are here.' said Shuskin, somewhat pointlessly. 'Operate the Doctor's device.'

Liz scrabbled in her pocket and found the gadget. Some wires had come free.

'Hurry!' shouted Shuskin, firing the machine gun in seemingly random directions in the sky.

'But it's broken!' cried Liz. 'I'm not sure if I can repair it!'

Shuskin took her handgun from its holster and passed it across. 'Then take this.'

'But I've never -'

'Take it!' snapped Shuskin. 'And keep one bullet for yourself, just in case' She swivelled, releasing a barrage of fire up into the sky, and then both women rushed headlong for the forest.

Liz gripped the gun in her hand as if it was her last link with sanity. 'There's no place like home,' she found herself muttering under her breath, a mantra to stop her screaming in terror. 'There's no place like home.'

Another Waro came down through the branches of the trees, shaking its head from side to side, spitting.

Liz shot the thing in the shoulder, ran over its crumpled body, ignoring the green blood that bubbled from the wound.

Before she could think about what she had done, Shuskin pushed Liz forcefully to the ground. Liz tasted snow and soil -felt the rush of wings as another goblin creature swept over her, shrieking in annoyance. Shuskin dragged her to her feet. The woman suddenly looked capable of carrying Liz all the way back to Moscow, single-handed.

Liz ran until her heart seemed swollen in her chest, concentrating on nothing but Shuskin's hand at her shoulder, the pistol still clenched in her fist.

'Come on!' shouted Shuskin.

'I'm trying,' screamed Liz. But all around she could hear the sounds of Waro landing gently on the crisp ground.

Braying like animals who scented a kill.

The preparations to leave were made quickly and with a minimum of fuss. This was a military operation after all, and everything would be executed with precision. The Brigadier prided himself that, even if those UNIT forces loyal to the conspiracy were to burst in now and shoot them all as insurgents, they would die as soldiers.

Small consolation.

The documents were loaded back into the lorry and the Brigadier briefed each man about what they were to look for once they had the chance to examine them. Houghton had dual Swiss and English nationality, and had pulled some strings with a relative of his mother's in order to arrange the use of a disused chateau on the outskirts of Berne. He assured the Brigadier that it would make an ideal safe house for the group. Within an hour they had stripped the warehouse of everything incriminating and were ready to move.

'I'm surprised that they haven't raided us yet,' said Houghton as he climbed into the lorry 'I expected that hours ago'

The Brigadier shook his head. 'That wouldn't be cricket, would it?' he said. 'Why catch us at it when they can just as easily shoot us in the back while trying to escape?'

'You don't mean -?'

'I'm afraid so. Prepare your men for action, Major. I think we might have a situation on our hands.'

Houghton turned. 'Take a man around the rear, Sergeant.

Make sure we're not surrounded.'

When the all-clear was received, the massive doors swung open and the lorry inched out into the deserted street.

'Looking good so far,' Houghton called over his shoulder from the driver's seat. Lethbridge-Stewart sat hunched at the back of the vehicle, looking pensively through the canvas cover for any sign of movement. The lorry went through a ninety-degree turn with agonising slowness, and then started to pull away from the warehouse. 'Home and bloody dry' said Houghton with a cheery dismissal of their predicament that put a smile of the faces of most of his men.

'Any sign that we were followed, sir?' asked one of the soldiers closest to the Brigadier.

'No,' he replied. 'It's as quiet as -'

But he never finished the sentence. The wailing sirens of a large number of Swiss police cars shattered the quiet of midday. UNIT jeeps followed close behind.

'They've got us trapped,' shouted Houghton angrily.

Lethbridge-Stewart moved to the front of the lorry to see three police cars blocking the far end of the street.

'Drive through them. Fire a few warning shots.' the Brigadier said and returned his attention to the pursuing cars at his rear. 'Hold on tight, you men,' he continued. 'This might get a little rough'

Taking two snipers with him, Lethbridge-Stewart lay flat against the drop-board at the back of the lorry, and fired off three quick shots above the leading police car. 'Aim for the tyres,' he said, as he noticed a familiar face sitting in the passenger seat of the first police car. Hayes.

They wouldn't get very far if Hayes had the authorities in his pocket. The first shot from the pursuing UNIT troops fizzed past his head and buried itself in the torso of a young soldier crouching behind him, loading his rifle. The Brigadier glanced around and sensed the same futility he always felt when one of those in his command died a pointless death.

Another letter to write to another distraught mother, to be delivered with another coffin.' 'Find enclosed the remains of your son, together with a medal and a note to say 'we won".

'Damn,' he muttered. 'What's the point?'

'Sorry, sir?' asked one of the marksmen next to him.

'Rhetorical question, Private,' replied the Brigadier.

'Poor old Inns,' said the soldier. 'I did three tours with him. He was a good lad.'

'Yes.' said the Brigadier. Then he decided what the point was.' survival. 'Fire at will!' he ordered. 'If it moves, shoot it. If it doesn't move, shoot it until it does!'

The lorry ploughed through the flimsy barricade next to the police cars and careered off into the city with a fleet of armed vehicles in pursuit.