And, curiously, he had been born to power, being the only son of his father. He had inherited his hold on the world, and discovered that it was vaguely dissatisfying. There had to be more than this, even though he didn’t have a clue what it might be. He was a superb soldier, but even victory brought little joy to his life.
Which didn’t mean that he wouldn’t give this attack everything he could. He was scanning the approach as his man drove, and considering his options, constantly revising his estimates. His own runabout was flanked by four others, each of which contained two of his men armed with the Dalek guns. It would be time to employ them soon, and he wanted to see their effects. They could be the weapon that would win this war – or dismal failures.
The radio hiccuped, and the operator beside him bent over it. Then he looked up, moving one earphone off his head. ‘Forward Three reports contact.’
‘Excellent.’ He examined the small, electronic map in his hand. Forward Three was near the Thames at Woolwich, so it must have contacted the rearguard of the force that was annihilating Tomlin’s men in Bexley. ‘Swing us around,’ he ordered the driver. ‘Towards Bexley Heath.’ The man obeyed, and the other four cars moved to keep up with him.
The game was almost ready to begin.
Craddock watched his forces moving in. He’d come up through Croydon and Bromley, and his men had made contact with the outriders of London’s forces. He could hear the rattle of rifle and handgun fire just ahead. London’s troops had been taken completely by surprise, as anticipated. They had been killing the wounded of Tomlin’s troops, expecting no more serious fighting. Many had died before they’d even managed to get their weapons.
Believing in leading from the front, Craddock was in the thick of it now. Crouched behind a long‐shattered wall, he waited for the burst of enemy fire to die down, and then nodded to the troops with him. The whole patrol rose to its feet, and opened fire. London’s men had taken cover in an old bakery, but it was too broken to offer sufficient hiding places. Rifle fire raked through the men. Craddock stopped firing, and there was a sudden silence, only the stench of cordite and blood in the air. There were several of the enemy still moving. Three of his men slipped forward, and there were single shots signalling the death of the wounded.
‘Collect all weapons,’ Craddock ordered, though this was hardly necessary. His men knew that was standard procedure. ‘We move on in two minutes.’ He walked past a fallen soldier – barely out of his teens – pausing only to rip the gun from the boys lifeless, bloodstained fingers, and to check his corpse for spare ammunition. Then he moved on.
This was his life. This was war.
Donna sat in the front of the runabout, hunched over the instrument‐display panel. The sky was darkening, as the storm drew closer, and this made it easier to see the faint traces of the transponder they were attempting to locate. David Campbell sat to her right, driving. The Doctor was hunched over in the back, morosely watching the passing landscape, and thinking his own introspective thoughts. Whatever mood had gripped him, at least he’d stopped prying into her life.
‘It’s really faint,’ she informed David. ‘But I think it’s only about a mile ahead. Something’s definitely happened to it.’
‘Some kind of accident, most likely,’ David said gruffly. She could tell by the pinched muscles in his face that he was worrying about his wife. It was almost a relief to see that some men, at least, could have such feelings. If only she’d ever met one like that… But it was no time to be thinking of herself Susan could be in trouble, and need their help.
The runabout slowed down, as the three of them scanned both sides of the road. It wasn’t in great shape, but surely Susan would have known to take care? Still, she’d been driving by night, and some of these potholes might have been almost invisible.
‘There,’ said the Doctor suddenly, reaching forward to grip her shoulder. ‘To the left.’ He pointed.
It was another five seconds before Donna caught sight of whatever it was his sharper eyes had seen. It was a runabout, all right, and severely damaged. The entire front had caved in when it had ploughed into a tree. Shattered glass lay all about, and one of the doors had torn free and sailed thirty feet further down the road.
There was a figure inside the car, slumped over the wheel.
David brought the vehicle to a halt and leapt out. Somehow, though, the Doctor beat him to it. Both men raced across to the wreckage, as Donna hurried to join them. Then she hung back slightly, realising that this was family business and she was an intruder.
David’s face went ashen as he stared at the body. Donna could see that the whole face had mashed into the shattered windscreen. Shards of glass had sliced away virtually all of Susan’s features, and had rammed through to her brain. Mercifully, she must have died instantly.
The Doctor seemed grim, but not as distraught as Donna would have expected. He bent over the corpse, sniffing slightly, and then looked around carefully.
‘We have to get her back,’ David said, his voice on the verge of breaking totally. How he was holding himself together, Donna couldn’t say.’ We argued just before she left, Doctor, and I was angry with her. I –’
‘– will most likely have lots of time to make it up to her,’ the Doctor replied. ‘This isn’t Susan.’
Both Donna and David were stunned by this announcement. ‘How… How can you be sure?’ David asked, obviously begging for good news.
The Doctor tapped his nose. ‘Human blood,’ he replied.
Oh… And Susan was his granddaughter, and therefore as nonhuman as he. ‘Then who is that?’ Donna asked, confused.
‘Some poor soul who looked a little like her,’ the Doctor said savagely. ‘For that, she was killed, to try to make us think it was Susan.’ He stared off into the distance. ‘No need for a post‐mortem, so whoever planned this might have got away with it if I hadn’t been here. And if Susan hadn’t been Gallifreyan.’ He gestured at the body. ‘She’d have walked away from a death like that, most probably.’
Donna wasn’t sure she liked the idea of people able to live through such horrendous deaths. It sounded too much like something out of Bram Stoker to her. ‘So why do this?’
‘To make it look like Susan died on her way to her mission,’ the Doctor replied. ’But they messed it up. The car’s facing the right way, but the skid marks on the road aren’t. This… “accident” was staged to make you think she never made it to DA‐17.’
‘You mean that she did?’ David said quietly. He had taken a blanket from the boot, and thrown it over the poor woman’s body. Not being able to see it made Donna feel a lot better.
‘Almost certainly,’ the Doctor said. ‘And, logically, she ran into trouble that somebody is trying to cover up. I’d say that’s where we’ll find her, the answers, and whoever committed this disgusting and unnecessary crime.’ Spinning on his heels, he marched back to their runabout. ‘Don’t dawdle,’ he called.
Feeling like a reprimanded schoolchild, Donna hurried after him. David took one last look at the covered corpse, and followed.
Susan was certainly relieved to discover that her ‘death’ was, in fact, nothing more than a ploy. Her captors had wanted to throw the Peace Force off the trail, and had manufactured an accident with her runabout. It had been decided that she would be of more use to them as a hostage than dead, a decision she’d been happy to comply with. Since this was a work area rather than a prison, they’d been forced to lock her away in a shed, with a guard outside the door, while they reported back on her presence.
More fools they.
The shed was only about eight feet across in both directions, and about the same in height. There were a few empty barrels in it, a couple of boxes, and nothing that she could use to help her to escape. Her captors had considered these adequate precautions and locked her in. She almost felt sorry for their lack of imagination.