Winston whirled. “Mum? What are you doing here? It’s not safe.”
Clare said, “Sorry, Winston. I couldn’t keep her away.”
Phillips took a deep sigh. “I suppose it doesn’t make things any more worse—or more ridiculous. I’m not looking forward to writing up my report on this night’s work, however.”
At that moment an explosion deep beneath their feet made the ground rise and shudder; Phillips tried not to stagger.
Jones hefted his key contact. “We’re ready, Captain. This gizmo is now rigged via the phone lines to fire the charges down at Salisbury simultaneously with those here.”
“Well, this had better work, Jones, for we’ve used up all our ammo, and we’ll be reduced to giving these Magmoid chaps frosty stares. All right, lads, let’s stand back and do it.”
They all took deliberate paces back from the firing field.
Jones said, “My cue, it seems.”
Thelma said, “First night nerves, Jones?”
“It will be first night closing if it doesn’t work this time.” He consulted his paper and pressed the key—and nothing happened. “The explosives! They’re not firing!”
Buck said, “That last Magmoid attack must have fouled up your connections—there, I can see it, that junction box is screwed.” He handed his rifle to Phillips. “Here, take this. I did some time in the bomb squad.”
Jones said, “Don’t be a fool, man. That’s effectively a minefield!”
But he was already running into the field. “Do you see a choice?” He crouched over the junction box and fiddled with the wires. “Got it—there. Fixed. Easy as pie.” He stepped back. “Looks like my luck is in—” An implanted grenade blew, turning the lower half of his body to a bloody mist.
Clare screamed. Winston grabbed her and pushed her face against his chest.
Phillips yelled, “Jones, never mind! You must get on! And make it worthwhile.”
Jones tapped his key. This time explosions rattled obediently.
Thelma said, “It’s working.”
Tremayne said, “Yes, but will the wretched beasties respond?”
A heavy fist slammed into Jones’s back. He fell forward—and Godwin grabbed the key contact. “Give that to me, you weakling.”
“Godwin! No, man!”
Godwin ran forward, onto the minefield and out of reach. Phillips and his soldiers raised their weapons uncertainly. Godwin clattered the key at random. “Magmoids! I challenge thee on behalf of all humanity—” A rattle of explosions.
Jones struggled to his feet. “No, no—they’ll take the randomness as simply another attack—”
Tremayne said, “Something’s happening. Around Godwin.”
It was a kind of rippling in the churned-up dirt, like a converging wave.
Jones yelled, “Godwin! You don’t know what you’re doing! Get back, man. Look at the ground!”
Godwin said, “Hear me! ‘I’ll make thee roar that beasts shall tremble at thy din—’ ”
A tremendous eruption burst from the ground, engulfing him. Once again Jones was knocked off his feet.
Thelma staggered through a cloud of dust. “Jones! Jones!”
Jones stood, winded, and grabbed her. “It’s all right. I’m here.”
“But that explosion—”
“It was the Magmoids. They destroyed him. They destroyed Godwin! I must have said just enough. Either that or they don’t like Shakespeare.”
Phillips found them. “Jones. The Magmoid attacks are subsiding—”
But Grendels shrieked, hovering overhead.
Clare, Tremayne, Winston with his mother, all emerged from the subsiding dust. Clare looked up. “The Grendels. What are they doing?”
Tremayne said, “I think they’re gathering over us.”
Phillips said grimly, “Not again.” He raised his rifle. “This will do little good, but—”
Jones cried, “No! No, Captain, it’s all right. Look. They are ascending.”
Winston said, “They’re leaving us alone.”
“Yes, they are, Winston.”
Tremayne said, “Then let’s hope it’s for good.”
7
1110.
When they opened the door, the Reiver’s Arms was crowded and noisy.
Jones said, “Well, Thelma, I don’t think I’ve ever been in a British pub at eleven in the morning before.”
“Don’t complain.”
Phillips came pushing out of the crowd. “Jones, old chap! And Miss Bennet. What are you drinking?”
Thelma said, “After a night like that I think I could risk a brandy.”
“Carrot juice for me, Captain Bob. Er, and that bottle of Newcastle Brown on the bar—”
“That’s for Buck Grady. He had a fiancée, in Long Beach. I phoned her.” He handed over their drinks.
“What selfless heroism he showed. You know, war brings out the best and the worst in us—the cruelty and madness of a man like Godwin, Buck’s astonishing laconic courage.”
“Yes. But ironically the example of men like Grady may be the reason why we humans will never give up war.”
Thelma raised her glass. “To Sergeant Grady.”
Tremayne came looming through the crowd, staggering slightly. “Jones, old bean! Quite a night!”
“You seem merry.”
Tremayne raised his glass. “This single malt is going down rather well—especially as it’s on the house. Look, there’s a couple of people who simply must see you.”
The crowd parted to let through a wheelchair.
Thelma said, “Mrs. Stubbins!”
“Hello, Thelma. What do you think of me new wheelchair? Courtesy of the US Army. About time they gave me something back.”
Winston said, “Oh, Mum—”
Jones said, “Winston. Quite a night for you—you did rather well.”
Tremayne said, “He did better than that. You know, after this grisly business I’ve decided to go back to university life. That’s enough of the military for me! Of course I’m going to need a batch of fresh students. Now then, Winston, are you free for the next three or four years?”
Winston goggled. “Professor—are you serious?”
“Never more, and I still will be when I’m sober.”
Thelma said, “Well done, Winston. You deserve it.”
“It’s unbelievable. The start of a whole new life.”
Clare Baines walked up, in a clean, fresh uniform. “In more ways than one.”
Jones said, “Constable Clare! I wondered when you’d show up.”
“Doctor Jones, I’ve got good news for you. In consideration of the fact that you saved the world, the local constabulary have decided to drop all charges.”
“Well, how jolly decent of them. But I’m surprised to see you joining in this festival of law-breaking.”
Thelma said, “I rather think she’s blinded by the diamond on her finger, Jones.”
Jones noticed the ring for the first time. “You don’t mean—you and Winston—well, well.”
Winston said, “After an experience like last night—”
“You don’t have to explain, dear,” Thelma said.
Jones said, “So, happy endings all round for once. Do you know, Thelma, I rather think that’s our cue to leave. Come on, drink up.”
He led Thelma out into the fresh air, where their Ministry car was waiting. Somewhere a bird was singing. “Look at that huge Northumberland sky,” Jones said. “I do love this part of the world.”
“It was an extraordinary night, wasn’t it, Jones?”
“One for the memoirs, I’d say. But what an extraordinary time we live in—when we don’t know if totalitarianism will triumph over democracy, or command economies will out-perform capitalism—a time of martial madness, when we’re probably as close to destroying ourselves utterly as we’ll ever be—and yet it’s a time when scientists like Frank Drake are making perhaps the most sublime gesture ever dreamed up by the human species.”