All right,’ hissed the Doctor to Donna. ‘We’re getting to the hard part. Eyes front, and try to look like a scared prisoner.’
They were approaching the war room. Only a few moments away from meeting Haldoran again. Donna didn’t need to pretend to look terrified.
The Doctor took a deep breath. ‘It’s show time…’
They marched towards the guarded doors.
The Black Dalek watched over the activity in the control room, noting with satisfaction that the power levels were still rising. The production of new Daleks was continuing at an increased rate.
A Red Dalek glided into the room, moving to report. This could, of course, have been done through their inbuilt communications, but being physically present to make a report stressed the Black Dalek’s importance. ‘Strike unit is prepared,’ the newcomer reported. ‘Internal packs are working at optimum.’
‘Noted,’ the Black Dalek replied with satisfaction. ‘Strike unit is to engage immediately.’
‘I obey.’ The Red Dalek sent its command.
The guard captain checked his instruments again, and then shook his head. Maybe they were malfunctioning. They were insisting that there was movement, and yet the perimeter alarms were registering nothing at all.
’There’s no sign of intruders,’ his second in command said, just as puzzled. ‘All guard stations report absolutely no activity.’
‘It doesn’t make sense,’ the captain complained. ‘These instruments have never given us any trouble before. I think I’d better call in to Estro and let him know there’s a problem. Take charge here and stay alert. I’ll be back shortly.’ He turned to head down towards the communications array, which was established close to the pit of DA‐17, and then spat out a curse.
There was movement, but not from outside the perimeter.
Something had risen up the shaft, and was emerging from DA‐17. It reflected light from the arcs set up around the pit, as if it were covered in metal. Or made of metal…
The captain realised what he was looking at the same second the Dalek opened fire. The blast took down two unprepared guards, and then the Dalek moved out. Behind it, a second rose in the shaft.
‘Oh my God…’ the captain gasped. He’d been a little worried when Estro had announced his plan to ravage the Dalek installation – but this. The Daleks were dead, for God’s sake!
Two Dalek guns fired on the guards now, their bright flashes illuminating the night. The captain could hear their screams and his shocked mind was brought back to Earth.
‘Emergency!’ he announced. All guards, targets at ground centre. Immediate firing!’ He quickly opened fire himself. But at extreme range, there was no visible effect on the two Daleks.
A third rose from the shaft. How many of them were there?
‘Get closer,’ he ordered his men. ‘Hold your fire until it will do some good.’ He dashed forward, keeping low, and seeking every last scant bit of cover he could. The humans had only one small advantage – the heavy rain had turned a lot of the ground to mud. The Daleks seemed to be moving on some kind of wheels, and the mud slowed them down. But it didn’t stop them. Guns blazing, there were now five Daleks spreading out from the shaft.
The captain threw himself to the ground, close enough now for accurate fire. He aimed his machine gun, and let loose a burst. The closest Dalek swung its eyestalk to look at him, and the human could see that the bullets were bouncing off the Dalek casing without effect.
‘Small‐arms fire is useless,’ he reported to his men. ‘Fall back until we can bring in something heavier.’
‘That’ll take too long!’ his second in command yelled. ‘These things will have seized the area by then.’
‘Fall back!’ the captain repeated, knowing what the man had said was true. But they couldn’t stand against Daleks with nothing better than rifles and pistols. They were too well armoured. He rose to a crouch, ready to run, when the Dalek he’d targeted fired.
His body was filled with agony, and he screamed as he collapsed to the ground. To his surprise, he wasn’t dead, but he discovered that his legs were paralysed and his spine was on fire with pain. The Dalek rumbled forward, spared a quick glance down at him, and then moved on, looking for further targets.
The captain groaned in agony and fear. It had deliberately left him alive. But why?
‘We’re losing ground,’ McAndrew reported, as Lord London stared at his display board. London’s lips were dry, and his stomach hurt. That damned ulcer again, and there was little enough he could do about it. New London might be the most renovated city in England, but it still had shortages of certain medicines, and ulcers were considered a low priority. At least by anyone who didn’t have one. He winced as he examined the map.
He’d been outmanoeuvred, he realised. Haldoran had deliberately tempted him by sacrificing Tomlin’s men. Then two other forces had struck, shattering his main attack. Worse, one of the forces was using some new weapon that McAndrew was convinced were salvaged Dalek guns. They had greater range that any automatic weapon, and any kind of a hit was lethal. His men, demoralised, were in full retreat. Haldoran’s soldiers pressed forward, heading slowly but implacably towards London.
‘I can see that,’ London snarled. ‘We need to be able to wipe out those enemy with the new guns. Isn’t there any way to get at them?’
‘With the weaponry at our disposal?’ Durgan asked. ‘Not a chance. We d need tanks, or field guns, or bazookas or –’
‘I get the picture, you imbecile!’ London snarled. The man was a jackass, braying on and on. He needed time to think. There had to be some way to strike back at Haldoran’s troops, to regain the initiative in this battle. But how?
Broadhurst looked up from his tactical table. ‘We’re estimating two hours before they reach the outer walls,’ he reported. ‘There’s already panic in the city. Rumours are flying about their new weapons, and there’s already call for surrender.’
‘Surrender?’ London glared at his underling. ‘Surrender is not an option. Haldoran isn’t likely to grant any of us terms. The man’s a sadist, and he’s got a long memory and a lousy temper. If we try and surrender, we’re all of us in here dead men. And our families, too – if they’re lucky. We fight on, no matter what. It’s better than the alternative.’
‘We can’t win,’ Durgan complained, pale.
‘Then we lose, but we lose on our feet, our guns in our hands,’ London told him coldly. ‘We won’t be led to our own executions.’ He glared at the men about him. ‘I don’t want to hear any more defeatist talk. There’s a way to win this – them must be. I’m not going to let everything I’ve struggled for fall apart because of the actions of one monster. We fight on!’
The men all nodded, bending back to their tasks. They weren’t inspired, but at least they were willing to act as if they were. London winced at the pain in his stomach, and tuned back to the operations board. It might be a good idea to start thinking up some plan of retreat… Two of his sons were still in London, as well as Donna. She might be a terrible disappointment to him, but she was still his flesh and blood. He’d have to see about saving them and their families – as well as his own skin. If they could just get out before Haldoran’s men encircled the walls and made escape impossible…
Would this nightmare never end? Donna was breathing raggedly, her vision blurring slightly from the panic that had seized her. She was going where she had sincerely prayed she’d never have to step again – into Haldoran’s inner lair. The memories of all the disgusting things he’d ever done to her tried to overwhelm her, but she struggled to fight them off. It wouldn’t be the same this time. It wouldn’t! The Doctor had promised her, and she had to believe he would keep his word.