Doctor Who: War Machine (10 page)

Orange patrol was led by a corporal, but they were in good hands. He had had active service in a couple of rough spots in his time, and his men had confidence in him. They followed him into the little yard that flanked the building.

‘Orange patrol calling,’ the corporal reported over his transmitter. ‘No sign of anyone in the area... There’s a door ahead. Goes into the main building... Do we go in?’

‘Do they go in?’ the Captain asked Sir Charles. ‘Can’t see why not,’ said Sir Charles.

The Captain took up the transmitter. ‘Go through the entire building. Take your time. You never know what you might run into, so be ready for anything.’

‘Proceeding as instructed,’ said the Corporal. He pushed open the door. It wasn’t locked, and that somehow seemed a good sign. The rest of his party followed him into the little corridor that lay beyond. It was dark, but that didn’t present any problems. It was also very quiet. The Corporal had been given to understand that there could be quite a number of people in this place... But at this rate it didn’t seem likely.

The advantage Major Green had over these military intruders was that he was able to watch their approach – in fact, their every action – on the instruments on the panel before him. He whispered into a microphone beside him and his voice was picked up by no one except the War Machine– silent and motionless – at his side.

‘They are twenty-three metres from us. Eleven men in the short corridor... They are armed but only with current weapons... ’ He seemed to be getting a message for he nodded. ‘I understand... No one is to move... They are to be allowed in..

The Corporal could see little point in wasting time, but he was cautious... Experience had taught him to be... And he opened the door ahead as gently as though it might be a booby-trap.

A stack of crates had been piled up on the other side of the door, and there was no way of seeing what was beyond them until the entire squad was in the room.

Then the crates collapsed and the warehouse lay before them, a massive workshop, packed with men and women who looked at them with blank hostility... The air smelt of smoke, chemicals, hot metals... The noise that broke out stunned them, but most of all they were staggered to see the huge, heavily-plated piece of machinery, grotesquely resembling a man– a deformed primitive man – which turned blinding rays of light on them, as though from its eyes, and which generated a strange and increasingly threatening sound from within. It reached a pitch at which it began to move forward... to drive over debris, plunging through the crowd in its path... There was no mistaking its quarry. The thing was bearing down on them... a tank of sons... terrifying in its shape and size...

‘Warning! Warning!’ shouted the Major. ‘The intruders are here!’

‘Strike a light!’ The Corporal felt he was rooted to the spot. ‘It’s real!’

The War Machine rolled forward.

‘Attack!’ shouted the Major. ‘Destroy the strangers! They are our enemy. None must escape! Cover all exits... Stand aside... Test fire... Test fire!’

The heavy arms of the Machine swung upwards. The Corporal saw it coming and moved fast. ‘Knock it out, lads! All you’ve got!’ He was the first to fire, his automatic spraying across the metallic body. He might as well have tossed paper-bags at it. The machine drove through the hail of bullets – oblivious, totally unaffected – and closed in on them.

‘Fire at the lights. Fire at its eyes!’ shouted the Corporal.

They sent a burst of fire at the head of the Machine. It increased speed and plunged on towards them. The nearest of the squad dropped his gun and ran.

The Machine towered above them as it fired its strangely-shaped gun. A staccato flicker of light sprayed across the room. One of the soldiers screamed as he went down. Nerves cracked all of a sudden. Orange patrol scrambled to find safety.

They were thrown back by the encircling crowd. Fighting spilled out all around the Corporal.

‘No one may escape!’ repeated the Major.

The sound of gunfire was heard across the Market outside.

‘What on earth’s going on?’ demanded Sr Charles. ‘I don’t understand. I gave clear instructions. No further action... ’ The Captain snatched up the transminer. ‘Hello, Orange patrol... hello, Orange patrol.. Do you read me?’

‘What’s the situation?’ The Commissioner hurried to join them.

‘I can’t raise them,’ the Captain told him.

All three men turned as an armoured truck raced across the open space. It stopped beside them and the Doctor and Ben climbed out.

‘Well, Sir Charles... What progress has been made?’

‘We don’t know for sure,’ said Sir Charles stiffly. The sound of shots echoed from the warehouse. ‘Who’s in there?’ asked the Doctor.

‘One of my patrols,’ the Captain told him.

There was chaos in the building, The Corporal guessed their only chance was to create total confusion. He shouted to his squad to fire in every direction as they dodged through the crowd that tried to pen them in, sending burst after burst at the Machine. It was a huge, soulless cat, cornering a handful of mice.

But it was a losing battle and the Corporal knew it. Bullets had no effect on the monster, and numbers were stacked against them. It was each man for himself as the squad scattered. Some of the men, the newcomers to his troop, began to panic. And he didn’t blame them. There was no battle training which prepared a man for a contest like this. And the Machine was now firing its terrifying light gun faster than an automatic. It was careless who was in range. Some of the hostile crowd went down before it, as did his own lads.

He found himself with his back to the wall a couple of feet from the main door. The Machine focused on him. It powered in, swinging the gun towards him.

The Corporal made a dash for safety, grateful to see a couple of his own men tumble out after him into the daylight of the Square.

They turned and fired back into the building before running for cover.

The Corporal was shaking, unable to take proper aim as his Captain joined him.

‘Corporal! What the devil do you think you’re doing?’

‘In there, sir!’ The Corporal couldn’t take his eyes off the open door. ‘It wiped us out, sir!’

The Captain saw nothing. The shooting had stopped. ‘There’s nothing there, Corporal.’

‘In there, sir.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘The Machine, sir.’ His eyes were wide with alarm. ‘Machine?’ The Captain peered across the road.

Ben moved in beside them. ‘Like I said,’ he told the Captain. ‘Now perhaps some of our leaders will take things seriously.’

There was a rattle of fire from the two soldiers who had followed the Corporal. They were crouched behind one of the market arches, covering the warehouse door. ‘Tell those men to hold their fire,’ shouted Sir Charles.

‘Cease fire!’ the Captain called.

Sir Charles picked up the loudhailer. ‘Listen to me... whoever you are in there. You are surrounded by troops and artillery. You have no chance of getting away. If you have arms, throw them down and come out with your hands in the air.’

There was no response.

Smoke blew across the open doorway. It was too dark to see whether anything was happening inside. All was silent within.

The Doctor looked on helplessly; he had already guessed what was about to happen, and there was no way of stopping it now.

Smoke drifted aside, a puff of wind cleared the front of the warehouse. Someone, or something, appeared to be moving just beyond. Perhaps they really were going to give up.

Those who had never seen the War Machine, those who had no conception of its existence, were shocked as it came into the open. An air of arrogance seemed to invest it... For a few seconds no one moved. The sight stunned them.

‘Take cover!’ shouted the Doctor.

The Machine was carefully circling its arms in a wide sweep. There was no gunfire, only a dull explosion, the impact of something soft. A stream of light played over the watching troops.

Someone screamed. Part of the crowd collapsed like a row of cards.

‘Stop that machine!’ Sir Charles commanded.

Ben dragged him to the ground as the lights swept towards them.

‘Destroy it!’ shouted the Commissioner.

‘Open fire!’ The Captain snatched up an automatic. From every direction a hail of shots rained against the metal body. Bullets were like flies. The Machine ignored them, moving forward into the centre of the Market Square.

‘Heading this way,’ called Ben.

Nothing withstood it. The troops fell back, dropping to the ground as the lights caught them.

The Doctor had seen its eyes blink when it first came into daylight, but now it had adjusted, and lurched across the road.

‘Keep firing!’ shouted the Captain.

The shooting around him had stopped.

‘Fire, man! Fire!’ he yelled at the Corporal.

‘No use, sir... Gun’s jammed.’

He checked the squad around him. ‘They’ve all jammed, sir.’

The Captain looked blankly at the approaching Machine. Did it have the capacity to jam their guns? What else could be done?

‘We’ll have to pull out,’ he said.

‘We can’t leave,’ Sir Charles was firm. ‘We can’t let this thing loose on London.’

The Captain had one more option. ‘Bring up the mortars!’ he ordered his sergeant.

The Corporal lobbed a hand-grenade at the Machine. It blew a hole in the road.

Another went off beside it, but from then on grenades just rolled harmlessly at its base...

‘They don’t go off, sir,’ said the Sergeant. Is must have some way of neutralising them.’

So its defence mechanism had acted at speed, forming neutralising power within seconds.

‘No joy, sir,’ said the Sergeant. ‘We’re going to have to back off.’

No one had noticed the Doctor in the turmoil of the moment. But now he was seen standing in the midst of the smoke and noise, directly in the path of the Machine, showing no signs of retreating.

‘Doctor!’ Ben was appalled. ‘Get back!’

‘What’s the old man doing?’ demanded the Captain. ‘Hell get himself killed!’

The Doctor had a radio transmitter hanging on a strap round his neck. With one hand he was adjusting the power and volume, and in the other he carried what looked like an old paint tin.

‘He must be out of his mind!’

The firing stopped.

The Machine seemed to hesitate as it changed its aim. The speed at which it had moved slowed down. It looked as though it had run out of oil.

Those closest to the Doctor detected an oscillation coming from the radio, or perhaps the tin. Perhaps the onlookers read too much into the Machine’s behaviour, but many said a look of alarm filled its eyesockets, and the War Machine came to a stop.

Every television and radio station halted programmes to broadcast the latest news flash. The population was reassured that the incident was under control.

‘Here is the latest bulletin on the London emergency.’ The warnings were relayed to public buildings, homes, and places of entertainment. All citizens were to be on the guard.

The newsreader continued, ‘It was announced a few minutes ago that the object which has been described as a "War Machine", and which terrorised the Covent Garden district of London this morning, has been successfully put out of action.’

Film of the area – the warehouse, the bullet marks on the walls – were shown on the screen. ‘The city responded with characteristic calm in this emergency. As yet there has been no satisfactory explanation for this attack. The instigators are not known, and no group has claimed to be behind the action.’

Later the newsreader reappeared on screen. ‘An emergency meeting of the Cabinet was held at Number Ten, Downing Street an hour ago, and the Service chiefs were called to attend..

At that moment a paper was passed to the newsreader, who read it aloud. ‘The Ministry of Defence have just issued the following statement, "Further attacks of a similar nature are to be expected in the Metropolitan area in the next twenty-four hours".’

A final warning was issued to the public. ‘The army are standing by at key centres. People are warned to stay indoors, and to remain calm.’

The news was received with a certain amount of scepticism.

The army acted quickly and efficiently, loading the Machine and removing it to the laboratory of one of London’s research institutions.

There it lay on a large table, surrounded by instruments requested by the Doctor. He had arrived with the ‘body’, and now hovered over it, dismembering it piece by piece, analysing, noting, tabulating, scrutinising it, section by section.

‘You should have been a surgeon, shouldn’t you, Doc,’ suggested Ben, who was watching at his shoulder. But he didn’t stay long. He had to search that warehouse himself before believing Polly wasn’t there. He slipped away leaving the Doctor to his task.

Assistants clustered round, but they were out of their depth as the workings were revealed. The technology was something they had not experienced.

‘Remarkable,’ said the Doctor. ‘Truly admirable.’ He seemed able to appreciate the ingenuity with which the War Machine had been developed.

‘Damn dangerous, if you ask me,’ muttered the Commissioner.

The little group round the table parted as Sir Charles joined them, ushering in a stranger.

‘The Minister would like to know what you have decided, Doctor,’ said Sir Charles.

‘I am anxious to learn what caused the mechanism to break down,’ said the Minister.

‘That I can tell you.’ The Doctor looked up from his dissection. ‘This is in fact a computer. And no matter how sophisticated it is – and this one is very advanced indeed – it is still basically a computer... And, I imagine, brought into action rather earlier than intended.’

‘Because it had to be!’ said Sir Charles in triumph. ‘Because we launched our attack!’

‘But you brought it to an abrupt stop, Doctor,’ said the Minister. ‘After gunfire had no effect.’

‘A burnt-out circuit,’ explained the Doctor. ‘But what caused that?’

‘Very simply an electromagnetic pulse, generated by a radio wave, causing an overload. It could also be done by microwaves. A charge of electromagnetic energy.’ The Doctor indicated the stricken heap of electronics on the table before him. ‘One might say I gave him a heart attack.’