The Suicide Exhibition: The Never War (Never War 1) (44 page)

As Guy was speaking, there was a loud scraping sound from somewhere behind them, followed by a dull thump that echoed round the chamber.

They ran to see what had happened – and found that a screen had slid into place across the opening into the passageway. It was textured like stone, but warm to the touch and slightly spongy.

‘Someone shut the door,’ Davenport said.

‘Maybe it was automatic.’

‘Doesn’t much matter, does it? However it happened, we have to get it open again.’

They put their shoulders to the huge door, but it refused to move in the slightest.

‘There’s a panel here with some sort of markings on it,’ Guy said.

The panel was set into the frame of the doorway. It was made from the same material as the shutter, and there was a pattern inlaid into it, like the silver tracery on the bracelets. A spiral pattern of intersecting lines.

‘Looks like a maze,’ Davenport said.

Guy traced his finger across the panel. The lines glowed as he touched them.

‘You suppose we solve the maze and the door opens?’ he said. ‘Or is that too obvious?’

‘Got to be worth a try.’

It took three attempts before Guy – encouraged and distracted by Davenport’s constant advice – solved the puzzle. They both looked expectantly at the door. Nothing happened. In frustration, Guy thumped his fist into the panel. It juddered under the blow, skewing sideways slightly.

‘Hang on,’ Davenport said. ‘Let’s see if we can lever it off.’

Together they were able to ease their fingertips behind the panel and ease it away from the wall. Behind was a recess, filled with filaments like the tendrils that emerged from the wounds of an Ubermensch, only thicker. The panel remained attached by one of the filaments, which split into narrower
fibres just before it reached the plate.

‘Big help,’ Guy said. ‘Now what?’

‘No idea,’ Davenport confessed. ‘But if these tendrils are like wires in an electrical circuit, maybe we need to connect them up in a particular way to open the door.’

‘Or maybe none of this has anything to do with the door.’

But Davenport was already pulling out strands of the spongy, organic material and touching the ends together. He was rewarded by a sudden hiss and a flash of sparks. Guy shone his torch into the recess to give more light over and above the ambient glow from the equipment around them.

‘Try that one,’ Guy said, pointing to one of the strands. ‘It’s the same shade as the one you’re holding.’

Another flash of sparks. Then the panel across the doorway slid slowly back.

‘Well done!’

Guy’s relieved congratulations were curtailed by a wail of high-pitched noise. The control plate was suddenly pulled back to the wall by the tendril, snapping into place. The silver tracery on the surface had shifted into another shape, like a Celtic cross. The wail died away, then started again, falling and rising regularly. And with each burst of sound, the runic pattern on the plate changed – to a similar symbol but with one of the arms of the cross shorter. A second later, it changed again, the arm shortening still further.

‘We have to get out of here,’ Guy said, staring at the plate. ‘Now!’

‘You can read those runes?’ Davenport said, surprised.

‘No. But I know a countdown when I see one. Come on!’

They ran, torchlight dancing round the walls and floor as they raced back up the passageway.

‘You could be wrong,’ Davenport gasped.

‘Then we can come back and salvage that equipment.’

From deep behind them came a low rumble. The ground began to shake.

‘All right,’ Davenport shouted above the growing noise. ‘You’re not wrong.’

A dark figure was coming towards them. A silhouette in the dim light now visible from the end of the tunnel. It slowly resolved itself into Henderson, running towards them.

‘Thank God,’ he said. ‘What’s going on? It sounds as if the whole place is going to blow.’

‘I think you’re exactly right,’ Guy told him.

‘Did you get through to base?’ Davenport asked as they ran back towards the two trucks parked inside the end of the tunnel.

‘We did,’ Henderson told him.

‘And you called in air support?’ Guy said. ‘Because God knows we’re going to need it.’

‘There is no air support,’ Henderson said.

‘What?’

‘Rommel’s heading towards Benghazi. They’ve got the whole of the Desert Air Force on standby to support our troops. The DAF can’t spare anyone to come and help us against… against whatever it is out there we’re fighting.’

They reached the trucks. The Vickers gun opened up, its violent chattering echo adding to the deep rumble growing inside the tunnel. Abruptly it cut out again.

‘That’s it, sir,’ the gunner shouted to Henderson. ‘That’s the last of the ammo.’

‘They’re coming!’ one of the other soldiers shouted. Outside the tunnel, a dark mass was swarming and scuttling across the sand towards them.

From deep down the tunnel, there was a violent roar of sound. A huge detonation. A rush of hot air blasted over them.

‘We’ve no air support and we’ve lost the Vickers,’ Henderson shouted above the increasing noise. ‘But believe me, sir – we have to get the hell out of here now!’

His face was glowing in reflected light. His eyes widened as he stared past Guy and Davenport. They both turned to see a huge ball of flame and smoke roaring up the tunnel towards them.

WITH NOTHING ELSE
to do, Sarah spent a lot of her time in the radio tent. Whenever the set crackled into life, she hoped it would be Guy and Davenport calling in. But the news from further west and updates on Rommel’s advance consumed the airwaves.

She was about to leave and get herself a cup of tea in the mess tent when Henderson’s signal finally came through. She listened in horror to the message sent back by the DAF commander – that no help would be coming. She could see from the faces of the soldiers and airmen that it wasn’t a decision they liked, but outside the planes were already being fuelled and readied for reconnaissance and possible action over the Afrika Korps.

From experience, Sarah knew there was no point in arguing. So instead she slipped away to look for Jimmy the ground crewman. Speed was vital, so she asked the first Desert Air Force man she saw. And kept asking until someone directed her to a maintenance area.

‘How about you show me that Hurri-bomber?’ she said when she found him.

‘Sure.’ Jimmy grinned. ‘Maybe this afternoon if they’re not needed. There are a few of them.’

‘I only want to see one. But I want to see it now.’

‘I’m kind of busy.’

‘Oh.’ She deployed her best disappointed pout. ‘That’s a pity. Still, maybe one of the other boys can show me. There’s a few who have offered. Just a quick look, mind, because I know everyone’s got a lot on.’ She undid the top button of her blouse and shook the material gently. ‘Hot, isn’t it?’

It wasn’t especially warm, but Jimmy didn’t contradict her. He wiped his hands on an oily rag. ‘All right, all right. But we’ll have to be quick.’

There were half a dozen planes arranged at the end of the main landing strip, concealed under camouflage nets. They passed several Kittyhawks before reaching a Hawker Hurricane. It didn’t have the elegance of the Spitfire, but poised on the sand the harsh military menace of the aircraft was unmistakeable. The only difference that Sarah could see from the normal Mark II model were the bombs, one slung under each wing.

‘Two two-fifty pound bombs,’ Jimmy pointed out.

‘Cannon or machine guns?’ she asked.

‘On this one, twelve .303 machine guns in the wings.’

‘Very impressive.’

‘We keep them fuelled and armed ready, like all the planes.’

It took Sarah a few moments to persuade Jimmy that she should be allowed to check out the controls. Just to see if they were like a conventional Hurricane, even though he assured her they were.

‘Just be quick,’ Jimmy warned, making the most of giving Sarah a leg-up into the cockpit. ‘If anyone sees you, I’ll be in real trouble.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘
Real
trouble is what you’ll be in if I steal the plane.’

He gave a nervous laugh, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked up at her. ‘You seen enough yet?’

‘Nothing like enough. Sorry, Jimmy. Tell them I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

Whatever reply Jimmy had was lost in the burst of power from the Merlin engine as the aircraft stuttered into life.

The two Chevrolets shot out of the tunnel. A wave of flame exploded out behind them, the blast punching the vehicles forwards, across the sand – straight at the sea of advancing Vril.

The back tyres of the second vehicle were burning, black smoke pouring from them as it bounced along. It crunched over one of the creatures, shattering it and spreading glutinous debris mixed with burned rubber in a trail behind. Most of the Vril were still ahead.

The SAS men in the front vehicle fired at the creatures swarming towards them, converging on the two trucks bouncing across the undulating sand.

‘We’re never going to make it through that lot,’ Guy realised.

‘Can’t we go round?’ Davenport shouted.

‘They’re too quick.’

One of the burning tyres ruptured with a dull popping sound. The Chevrolet slewed sideways and skidded to a halt. Guy waved to Henderson in the front vehicle to keep going, to save himself and his men. But Henderson was having none of it, and the vehicle turned in a wide arc. A dozen Vril scuttled after it.

The radio truck drew up beside Guy’s crippled vehicle. The driver and other soldiers leaped across, Guy shoving Davenport ahead of him. As soon as they were all crammed into the vehicle, the driver gunned the engine. Sand spewed up from the back tyres. The vehicle lurched and juddered. But it didn’t move.

‘We’re too heavy,’ Davenport realised. ‘We’re stuck in the sand!’

The Vril were fifty feet away, scuttling across the sand like enormous, malevolent spiders. Behind the stranded vehicles, fire roared from the mouth of the tunnel. Even if they could outrun the creatures, Guy realised, there was nowhere to go.

The sound of the straining engine seemed to deepen to a throaty roar. The Vril were so close now that Guy could see the dark glistening pits of their eyes. Then as he watched, the
nearest Vril exploded into fragments. The body was a sudden visceral mess, the tentacles blasted clear.

The roar of engines was coming from above them. A dark shape blotted out the sun, silhouetted against the pale sky – a Hurricane. The plane swept round, charging back across the landscape. Emerging from the dark smoke gathering above the tunnel mouth. The forward edges of the wings spat fire as the machine guns opened up again.

‘Down!’ Henderson yelled above the noise as a dark shape detached from the underside of one wing.

Guy leaped out of the vehicle, Davenport beside him. As he ducked down, he saw the bomb slam into the ground, right in the middle of the mass of swarming Vril. There was a massive ‘crump’. The ground shook beneath them, and sand showered down from the sky.

‘Choose your targets,’ Henderson shouted.

Together with the few surviving soldiers, he was aiming his rifle over the top of the vehicle, bracing it on the side struts. A rattle of rifle and submachine gun fire split the air, counterpointing the distant sound of the Hurricane as it banked and turned.

Several Vril exploded. One got close enough to leap up on to the radio truck before a soldier jammed the end of his submachine gun into the glistening body and blasted it to pieces.

They all ducked again as the second bomb crashed down into the last remaining Vril. The explosion was even closer, even larger. Shrapnel hammered into the sides of the vehicles. One of the soldiers cried out as hot metal grazed his leg.

A single Vril staggered from the wreckage of the crater, one tentacle-leg snapped off, another quivering ineffectually. Then a burst of fire from the hurricane sent it skidding and rolling across the sand, ripping it to pieces.

Slowly, cautiously, Guy and the others peered over and round the vehicles. The landscape was a broken, blackened mess strewn with the shattered carcasses of the Vril creatures. Smoke drifted across the sand. Nothing else moved.

The Hurricane came in low. The pilot raised his hand in a wave of victory. Or rather, Guy realised,
her
hand. For the briefest moment, his eyes met Sarah’s. Then the plane was turning again, and disappearing into the distance. It gained height as it cleared the ridge, spinning slowly in a victory roll.

MERCIFULLY, THE RADIO
truck was relatively undamaged. They managed to dig it out of the sand, which had been softened by the Vril as they dug their way out of the mound. Back on the ridge, the ground was firm enough for the truck to continue with all the survivors on board. Before they left, Henderson and his men buried the dead Germans as well as their fallen comrades in the sand.

It was a strange journey back – the euphoria and adrenalin of victory tempered by the sense of loss. Jammed between Davenport and Henderson, Guy’s mind was numbed – by what they had been through and what they had seen.

The camp by the oasis was a shadow of its former self. Most of the troops and the equipment had been deployed in the desperate battle to stop Rommel’s advance.

But Guy didn’t care. There was only one person he wanted to see at the base, and he was sure she would still be there waiting for him.

They said nothing when they met. Guy enfolded Sarah in a tight embrace, barely feeling Henderson’s pat on the back as he led his men away to recover and prepare for their next mission. Finally, the two of them pulled apart, and walked slowly to Guy’s tent.

Davenport was already inside, tipping sand out of his boots. He glanced up as Guy and Sarah came in. ‘Funnily
enough,’ he said, pulling his boots back on, ‘I was just going for a walk.’

‘Thank you, Leo,’ Sarah said. ‘It’s good to see you too.’

‘Of course it is.’ Davenport put his hand on Guy’s shoulder as he passed. ‘And this time,’ he said quietly, ‘get it right.’

‘There are sure to be other, smaller centres of Vril operations,’ Brinkman said. ‘Like the burial sites in Suffolk and France.’ He looked round at the others – Guy Pentecross, Leo Davenport, Sarah Diamond and Miss Manners. ‘But it sounds as if we’ve put their main base out of operation.’ He nodded and smiled. ‘Well done.’