Doctor Who: War Games (2 page)

‘Hey, what d’you think you’re doing?’ The sergeant ran along the trench to the Doctor, grabbing his long black coat to pull him down.

‘Nothing to worry about,’ said the Doctor. ‘We want to return to our transport now.’

‘Really? And where’s that?’

‘Roughly,’ said the Doctor, ‘in the direction I was trying to go.’

‘There’s nothing in that direction except the Huns.’ The sergeant stood between the Doctor and the ladder, barring further attempts to get away. ‘Why should you want to get to the Germans?’ All his previous friendliness had vanished.

Some of the soldiers had come forward to listen. ‘Maybe he’s a spy,’ said one of them. ‘All three of them are civilian spies. They should be shot.’

‘I can assure you,’ the Doctor insisted, ‘we are not spies.

We are travellers who just happened to arrive here.’

‘They look like spies,’ said a soldier. ‘I’ve shot two spies before now, shot them in cold blood.’

‘I think he’s a rotten deserter,’ said another soldier, pointing at Jamie. ‘Look at his kilt. He’s a deserter from a Highland regiment. All deserters should be shot.’

‘This’ll have to be reported,’ said the sergeant. ‘We caught you trying to make contact with the enemy.’

‘This is nonsense,’ the Doctor protested.

A small soldier, most of his head swathed in filthy bandages, pushed forward. ‘With all my mates dead? With one of my ears half blown off? You call this nonsense? I say we shoot ‘em now, Sarge.’

‘There’ll be none of that,’ said the sergeant. ‘They’ll get a fair trial as German spies, and they’ll be shot afterwards in the proper manner according to King’s Regulations.’

A corporal ran down the trench towards the group.

‘Sergeant,’ he called as he neared the group. ‘Major Barrington’s decided what to do with this lot.’ He indicated the Doctor and his friends. ‘The Major’s been on the blower to headquarters. General Smythe wants them all brought before him. He’s going to have a full investigation made into what they’re doing here.’

The sergeant grinned at the Doctor. ‘You hear that?

You’re going up before General Smythe. And you know what we call him? The Butcher.’

*

The château, a once beautiful mansion belonging to a rich French family, was over thirty kilometres behind the front line. In the early part of the war, though, the château had been twice attacked and bitterly defended. One turret was missing, most of the three hundred windows were shattered, and two servants’ cottages had received direct hits. Despite the damage it remained the most comfortable accommodation anywhere near the now static front line, and had therefore been commandeered by the British army as sectional headquarters.

General Smythe’s office occupied what had been the main drawing room. Ornate chandeliers hung from the cracked, flaking ceiling. Heavy braided curtains were at the tall windows, many cracked or with the glass missing. All the original furniture had gone, burnt as firewood during the bitter winter of 1916. In its place were trestle tables and hardbacked chairs.

The general, a huge man with a square jaw and cheeks like cliffs, sat at one of the tables pondering over the telephone conversation he had just had. How could civilians possibly be in No Man’s Land? It didn’t make sense. Still, he would soon deal with them. His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his adjutant, Captain Ransom, who came in with his inevitable worried frown and file of papers.

‘Sir,’ said the captain. ‘We are seriously short of men in the Number Three sector.’

‘What?’ The general had a way of pretending not to hear the first time. It put subordinates ill at ease.

The captain sat down at his trestle table desk, taking off his cap. He looked very tired. ‘Last night’s push over the top, sir. Number Three sector suffered seventy-five per cent losses.’

General Smythe scribbled a note on the back of an envelope. ‘I’ve made a note. I’ll get reinforcements as soon as possible.’

‘Yes, sir.’ It still appalled Captain Ransom that men’s lives were reduced to reports and statistics, and notes on backs of envelopes. ‘Do you realise, sir, we have lost twenty-nine thousand men in the past month? It makes me wonder how long we can keep this up.’

General Smythe stood up to his full six feet. ‘This is a war of attrition. If we can suffer our losses one day longer than the Germans can suffer their losses, we shall have won. By the way, some civilians found in No Man’s Land are being brought here. I’m going to turn in for half an hour. Let me know when the civvies get here.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Captain Ransom watched the general go into the little room he had chosen for a bedroom. It was said that the general never fully undressed and slept in his boots, always ready for action.

Smythe’s little bedroom had once been a study. All the shelves were empty now. In a corner stood his camp bed, and in another corner a tall walnut wardrobe. Against one wall was a large steel safe that he always kept locked. The only decoration was a framed photograph of the British royal family.

General Smythe studied the photograph for a moment.

Then he slid it to one side revealing the telecommunications unit set deep in the wall. He adjusted a control and a video screen lit up. The face on the screen was very familiar to him.

‘What is it?’ said the face.

‘Smythe here,’ said the general, though he knew that his fellow War Lord could see perfectly well who it was. ‘This is the 1917 Zone, British area. We need reinforcements again.’

‘How many?’

‘About five thousand specimens.’

‘It will be arranged,’ said the voice. ‘But we want to see you at Control in person.’

‘Delighted,’ said Smythe. ‘I’ll come right away.’

He turned off the video screen and replaced the portrait of the royal family. Then he went to the tall wardrobe, opened its doors and went inside.

*

Lieutenant Carstairs felt his luck was in to be driven away from the front line by such an attractive ambulance driver.

Major Barrington, the front line commander, led the way in his staff car. He had invited Carstairs to be his passenger, but the young lieutenant said he thought that the ambulance should have his personal protection. What’s more, the ambulance contained the three troublesome civilian prisoners and he did not want them to escape.

They were safely in the back, guarded by four armed privates.

‘My name is Carstairs,’ he said when they were under way. ‘Jeremy Carstairs.’

‘Jennifer,’ she responded. ‘Actually. Lady Jennifer Buckingham.’ She giggled.

‘Good gracious, fancy you driving an ambulance.’

‘Why not?’ She changed gear as they went around a shell crater in the road. ‘Everyone has to do their bit for the old country.’

‘You must be related to Lord Buckingham.’

‘My father,’ she said. ‘What about your family?’

‘Oh, we’re just very ordinary people,’ he answered. In fact his father owned two factories in Yorkshire and a chain of shops, but in those days you did not admit to a Lady that your father was in commerce.

‘Still,’ she said, charitably, ‘you’re fighting for your King and that’s all that matters. How long have you been at the front?’

‘I’ve been out here...’ He hesitated. ‘That’s odd, I can’t remember.’ He quickly tried to change the subject.

‘Whereabouts is your hospital?’

‘Oh, it’s...’ She trailed off, her eyes looking straight ahead to the back of Major Barrington’s car. ‘It’s not very far away.’

‘But where?’ asked Carstairs.

‘You’ll think me potty, but I can’t quite remember.’

He looked at her. ‘Any more than I can remember how long I’ve been here.’

She smiled very prettily. ‘Don’t let it worry you. We’re probably both suffering from a bit of shell shock.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed, uncertainly. ‘I suppose we are...’

Sergeant-Major Burns shouted the order: ‘Left, right, left, right. Prisoners and escort halt!’

The Doctor, Jamie and Zoe were marched into Smythe’s office and stood in line before a trestle table. Carstairs and Lady Jennifer followed and stood to one side. Major Barrington came forward to Captain Ransom.

‘Prisoners from the front line for interrogation, sir.’

‘I’ll get the General.’ Ransom got up and went to the door of the little makeshift bedroom. He tapped and called,

‘Sir, the prisoners are here.’ There was no answer and he tapped again: ‘Sir?’ He turned to Major Barrington. ‘The General was working most of the night. He’s probably taking a nap.’

Quietly Ransom opened the door and went inside. The room was empty. Since the single window was barred against intruders, and since he had been in the office from the time he saw the general go into his bedroom, he was very puzzled. He went back into the office.

‘The general must have slipped out for a moment,’ he said, trying to believe himself. ‘The prisoners can be locked up until he is ready for them—’

The bedroom door opened quietly and General Smythe stepped out. ‘These are the prisoners, are they?’

Captain Ransom swung round, astounded to see the general. ‘I just looked in your room, sir. You weren’t there.’

Smythe fixed Captain Ransom with cold, staring eyes.

In a steady voice he said, ‘You looked into my room and I was sleeping.’

Ransom’s eyes were also staring as he said in a slow mechanical voice, ‘I looked into your room, sir, and you were sleeping.’

‘Good,’ said the general. ‘Then let us proceed with the court martial.’

The Doctor stepped forward. ‘Court martial? We’re civilians and we’ve done nothing! ‘

‘The prisoner get back into line,’ shouted Sergeant-Major Burns, reinforcing his order by pushing the Doctor back.

The general sat down at the trestle table with Major Barrington and Captain Ransom on either side of him.

‘The statements of Lieutenant Carstairs and Lady Jennifer are already in evidence—’

‘Where?’ the Doctor cut in. ‘They haven’t said anything yet.’

‘The incidents in question,’ said the general, ‘were relayed to these headquarters over the field telephone by Major Barrington from the front line. Any further interruptions and you will be taken to the cells and tried in your absence.’ He paused. ‘The prisoners took over the ambulance in No Man’s Land with the co-operation of German soldiers. Fortunately, it was recaptured by Lieutenant Carstairs and his patrol. While being held at a forward command position, one of the prisoners attempted to make for the enemy lines with whatever information he had gathered about our strength and movements.’

‘None of that’s true,’ Zoe protested. ‘You’ve twisted it all round.’

‘Why is there no officer to defend us?’ asked the Doctor.

‘Isn’t that usual at a court martial?’

‘You are vocal enough to defend yourselves,’ replied the general. ‘Have you any questions to put to the witnesses?’

‘I certainly have.’ The Doctor turned to face Carstairs.

‘When your men recaptured the ambulance, wasn’t it clear we were all prisoners of the Germans?’

Lieutenant Carstairs looked confused. ‘I suppose so...

It... It was all very confused...’

Trying to jog his memory, Jamie said, ‘We were crouched in the back and a German was holding a gun on us!’

Carstairs seemed to find difficulty in speaking. ‘I... I didn’t see in the back of the ambulance... I saw you all come out of the back, that’s all...’

‘Has the defence finished with the witnesses?’ asked the general. ‘If so, the court will now consider its verdict.’

The Doctor protested again. ‘I’ve hardly started! ‘

Sergeant-Major Burns came and stood directly in front of the Doctor. ‘Any more noise out of you, mate, and I’ll smash your teeth in! You’re a dirty German spy.’

The general conducted a brief whispered conference with Major Barrington and Captain Ransom. Then he looked up.

‘The unanimous verdict of this court is guilty.’ He looked towards Jamie. ‘It is clear that you have been misled by this man and that you are a deserter from a Highland regiment—’

‘I’ve never been in any regiment,’ Jamie shouted.

‘You will therefore be returned to your regiment,’ the general went on, ‘where we hope you will redeem your honour by giving your life for your country.’ He turned to Zoe. ‘You are found guilty of espionage, but in view of your tender age punishment will not be too harsh. You will serve twenty years in a civilian prison.’ His gaze moved to the Doctor. ‘You are a disgrace to England—’

‘I’m not from England,’ the Doctor tried to say.

‘While brave heroes are laying down their lives in thousands we have no place for people like you. The court’s sentence on you is execution by firing squad, to be carried out immediately.’

2

‘Do you have any final words to address to this world?’

asked Captain Ransom.

‘I certainly have,’ said the Doctor. He stood tied to a post against a wall at the back of the château. ‘J demand the right of appeal. I demand to see a lawyer I demand the help of a defending officer—’

‘If you have nothing to say by way of apology for your crime,’ Captain Ransom broke in, ‘we shall proceed.’ With no more ado he tied a blindfold across the Doctor’s eyes and marched away from his protesting prisoner.

‘You can’t do this!’ Zoe screamed from where she was held by a sentry. ‘This is murder!’

Captain Ransom turned to her. ‘War is murder.’

For a moment she felt he was speaking his own mind, was no longer a puppet of the strange General Smythe.

‘You know this is all wrong,’ she said, her voice as calm as she could make it. ‘You know this is wrong.’

‘I know...’ The Captain faltered. He seemed about to say something else when a sergeant barked at him. ‘Firing party ready, sir.’

Twelve armed soldiers had lined up. Captain Ransom looked at them, confusion in his eyes.

‘Awaiting your command, sir,’ said the sergeant.

Ransom still seemed uncertain, so the sergeant reminded him why they were all there. ‘Ready to execute the spy, sir.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Captain Ransom. He cleared his throat. ‘Take positions.’ Six soldiers in the front row knelt down and aimed their rifles; the six soldiers behind raised their guns to fire from a standing position. ‘Ready,’ said Captain Ransom. ‘Take aim—’