He was thin and dark, Spanish or South American, perhaps, with a pencil-line moustache.
Suddenly he smiled, and made a saluting gesture. Scrambling back up the slope, he collected his rifle-case and his deerstalker, and disappeared around the side of the hill.
Peri ran down the hillside to the Doctor. To her vast relief he was already recovering consciousness by the time she arrived. She helped him to sit up, wiping the blood from his forehead with a lace handkerchief. There was a shallow cut and some bruising but the injury didn’t seem very serious.
‘It’s a good job you’re so thick-headed,’ said Peri shakily. ‘What on earth did you think you were doing? Are you all right?’
The Doctor put a hand to his forehead and winced. ‘Pretty much, I think. I got a crack on the head from this rock, didn’t take much in after that. Where’s our marksman?’
‘Long gone,’ said Peri. ‘And so should we be. Let’s risk trying to get back to the TARDIS, Doctor, anything’s better than staying here.’
The Doctor shook his head, wincing again.
‘I can’t just leave, Peri. I’ve got to warn our friend down there that there’s an assassin on his track. Wait here, I shan’t be long.’
Struggling to his feet, he began running down the slope towards the railway track.
‘Doctor, come back!’ shrieked Peri.
The Doctor ignored her.
He’s mad, thought Peri. Or maybe he’s concussed. Whatever, he’s in no state to be left alone.
She ran down the hill after him.
‘Heave!’ yelled the war correspondent. ‘Heave! One last try, men!’
They heaved, but it was no use. The last truck, the one still slewed across the track, resisted all their efforts.
‘Rest for a moment and we’ll try again.’
A voice called, ‘I say, sir. You there!’
The war correspondent turned. To his utter astonishment he saw two complete strangers hurrying towards him.
In the lead was a man in a frock coat, a smear of blood across his forehead. He had bright blue eyes and an unruly tangle of curly fair hair. Behind him came a young woman, dusty and dishevelled, but still extremely attractive.
Astounded as he was, he still managed to exclaim, ‘Who the devil are you?’
‘Never mind that,’ said the stranger, his voice strong and carrying over the rifle fire that filled the air. ‘I came to warn you – someone’s trying to shoot you.’
An involuntary smile came to the war correspondent’s lips.
‘It can scarcely have escaped your notice, sir, that there are a number of Boer gentlemen assembled on that hill over there. I assure you, they are all trying to shoot me! Happily, they have not as yet succeeded.’
As she ran up to him, Peri looked hard at the man the Doctor was so determined to save.
Not particularly tall, he was strongly built, with reddish hair and a wispy moustache. While the soldiers about them looked pale and weary in the middle of the battle, this man looked vividly alive.
‘You seem very cheerful about the situation!’ said Peri.
The man smiled. ‘Few things are so exhilarating as being shot at without result!’
‘This is no time to be facetious,’ said the Doctor sharply. ‘I was speaking of a rather more individual attempt to kill you.’ He gave a brief account of events on the hillside.
The man shrugged. ‘The Boers must have sent a solitary sniper to work his way to a vantage point and pick off the officers. It’s a common enough tactic.’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ said the young woman.
‘My dear young lady, why should anyone go to the trouble of assassinating me in the middle of a war? There’s a good chance the Boers will do the job anyway. I’m simply not important enough.’
‘Not yet, perhaps,’ said the Doctor enigmatically.
‘Do I know you, sir?’
‘Not yet,’ said the Doctor again.
The two men measured each other for a moment, and it suddenly struck Peri how alike they were. Not so much physically, though there was some resemblance even there. It was more a matter of temperament and zest. Both had a sort of cheerful truculence about them.
Dauntless, thought Peri. They were both dauntless.
A tall officer came running up to them, addressing the red-haired man. ‘We can’t hold them off much longer. One of their shells has knocked out the naval gun. How’s it going?’
‘Not too well, Aylmer,’ said the man. ‘This last truck continues to defy all our efforts.’
Peri noticed his slight lisp, which turned the last word into ‘effortsh’.
The officer, Aylmer, it seemed, suddenly noticed her and the Doctor.
‘Who the devil are these two?’
‘Never mind that now,’ said the Doctor suddenly. ‘You need to get that truck shifted right away, you know! Stay here much longer and it’ll be too late to get away.’
‘That is indeed our intention, sir,’ said the man sharply. ‘But, as I said, it refuses to budge.’
‘Use the engine,’ said the Doctor.
‘What?’
‘Use the engine to barge it out of the way.’
‘Dammit!’ said the man. ‘That might just work.’
‘Of course it might!’ said the Doctor. ‘Now let’s get a move on!’
‘One slight hitch,’ said Aylmer. ‘The engine driver’s out of action – shell fragment got him in the head. And the stoker’s cleared off – made a run for it.’
‘I’ll drive,’ said the Doctor.
Aylmer stared at him. ‘You can drive one of these things?’
‘I can drive anything,’ said the Doctor simply.
He jumped up into the cab of the engine, knelt by the unconscious driver and examined him briefly.
‘Just a graze, he’ll come round pretty soon. Now we must get that boiler fired up, I’ll need all the power she can give us!’
The man nodded. ‘I’ll see to that.’ He put his revolver down beside the coal box, grabbed a shovel and set to work.
The Doctor studied the old-fashioned controls. ‘We’ll need to uncouple the engine.’
‘The Boers have done that for us,’ said Aylmer. ‘A stray shell blew the couplings clean off.’
‘Right,’ said the Doctor. ‘Now, I’ll have to back her up a bit, get a run at it.’
He was completely caught up in the situation by now, and Peri knew it would be pointless to argue with him. She could only stand back and watch.
Aylmer took her arm and led her back from the track. Sheltered by one of the over-toppled trucks, they watched as the engine backed up laboriously, shunting backward the unattached trucks still on the track behind it.
It stopped for a moment, giving out great clouds of steam.
Peri could see the man they’d come to warn shovelling frantically, and the Doctor heaving on the heavy controls. The engine began to move forward, gradually gathering pace. Faster and faster it sped along the track. Peri watched the two men brace themselves as the engine crashed into the obstructing truck at full speed. One end of the ruined carriage rose high in the air and hung there, poised for a moment while the engine and its tender passed triumphantly beneath. Then it crashed back down again.
‘Stop her!’ shouted the war correspondent. ‘We’re leaving the others behind.’
‘I’m trying,’ yelled the Doctor indignantly. ‘This isn’t a London taxi you know, it doesn’t stop on a sixpence!’
The engine was some distance beyond the barrier by the time the Doctor managed to bring it to a juddering halt with a screeching of metal.
The Doctor and his companion jumped out of the cab and looked back down the track, surveying the result of their efforts. Behind them now, the wrecked truck still lay slewed across the track, blocking it even more thoroughly than before.
‘What you might call a partial success,’ said the Doctor ruefully.
‘It doesn’t really make much odds,’ said his companion. ‘With
the coupling smashed we can’t take the rest of the train anyway.’
They ran back down the track, past the obstructing truck and found the officer and Peri.
‘Well, you saw what happened,’ said the Doctor, grimly.
Aylmer said, ‘Never mind, old chap, you tried.’ He looked down the track at the truck-like tender attached to the engine, the bullets still raining down about them.
‘That tender will hold most of our wounded. If we can get them and the engine safely back to Frere we’ll have salvaged something. Wait by the engine and I’ll start sending the wounded along.’ Enthusiastically he shook the Doctor’s hand. ‘Many thanks, sir. I don’t know who you are, but you’ve been damned useful!’
Aylmer turned and ran back up the track while his soldiers offered renewed covering fire.
The Doctor, Peri and the man they had come to warn ran down the track to the engine. When they reached it, the red-haired man turned to the Doctor.
‘Will you drive the engine back to Frere for us, sir? I can assure you of a hero’s welcome.’
The Doctor looked worriedly at Peri. ‘That’s rather difficult, I’m afraid. I have other commitments.’
A voice from the cab said thickly, ‘I’ll drive.’
They turned and saw the engine driver struggling to his feet.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ asked the Doctor.
‘Got a hell of a thick head, but she’s my engine. I’ll get her back to Frere for you.’
‘Good man,’ said the red-haired man enthusiastically. ‘I’ll see you get a medal for this!’
Wounded men began arriving in twos and threes and the Doctor and Peri gently helped them aboard the engine tender. All the time shells and bullets screamed above their heads and clanged into the engine.
When the tender was full, the man called up to the driver. ‘Better get moving, we don’t want to lose the lot to the Boers.’ He turned to the Doctor. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a ride? You’ll be safe at Frere – you and the young lady.’
The Doctor shook his head. ‘I’ve made – alternative arrangements. Why don’t you go yourself? You’ve earned a place if anyone has.’
The red-haired man smiled and shook his head. ‘Can’t leave Aylmer in the lurch. Old friend, you know! Off you go, driver!’
Peri watched the engine chug away with agonising slowness. Her ears were ringing, her muscles straining from helping lift the wounded. As another shell impacted noisily into the ground, the red-haired man turned to the Doctor.
‘I say, I don’t even know your name.’
‘Smith,’ said the Doctor. ‘Doctor John Smith. This is my ward, Miss Perpugilliam Brown.’
The man bowed. Peri suddenly had a thought – in all the chaos, she hadn’t even remembered to ask his name.
‘We don’t know your name either,’ said Peri. She glanced at the Doctor. ‘At least, I don’t. My friend the Doctor seems to think he knows you already.’
‘Churchill,’ said the war correspondent. ‘Winston Churchill, very much at your service.’ He looked at the Doctor. ‘I don’t think we’ve met before, sir, have we?’
‘We will, Winston,’ said the Doctor. ‘We will!’
Churchill gave him a puzzled grin, and a nod of farewell. ‘Doctor, Miss Brown.’ Then he turned and ran back up the track.
The Doctor said softly, ‘In fact, we already have!’
Peri was watching the disappearing figure with some awe. ‘Was that really – him, Doctor? “We shall fight on the beaches,” and “Blood, sweat and tears”?’
‘That’s right,’ said the Doctor. ‘Old Winnie in person. Young Winnie at the moment, of course. He’s got a long way to go before England’s finest hour. And someone seems determined to stop him being there…’ He hesitated for a moment and then sighed.
‘Well, I suppose we shouldn’t interfere too much here.’
‘Yeah, right,’ said Peri drily.
‘Come along, Peri,’ said the Doctor, ignoring her, ‘Let’s see if we can get back to the TARDIS before the Boers claim it for themselves.’
Winston Spencer Churchill, ex-army officer, failed parliamentary candidate and currently war correspondent for the Mail, ran along the railway track, still filled with the exhilaration of achievement. They’d got the engine away at any rate, and the wounded. Maybe they could still fight off the Boer attack.
Odd chap, that Doctor fellow. A good sort though, even if he was a bit bossy. And damned useful. Girl was pretty too. American. Nothing wrong with American girls, of course. Though come to think of it, they could be a bit bossy as well.
He smiled, thinking of his formidable mother.
Suddenly he saw two men walking down the track towards him. They weren’t Haldane’s men either… Boers!
As they raised their rifles, Winston Churchill turned and dashed back along the track towards the engine. The Boers must have swooped down in full strength and Haldane been forced to surrender.
Churchill pounded along the track, sweating in the baking heat. If he could only catch up with the engine and ride into Frere…
He heard the crack of the Boers’ rifles and the sucking of the air as their bullets whizzed past, one either side. He was in a deep cutting with no cover to be had.
Swerving suddenly to the left, he scrambled up the bank and crawled under the barbed wire fence, ripping his clothes on the wire. He was on the edge of a bare stretch of open veldt. But a few hundred yards ahead, a narrow river ran through a deep gorge. There was plenty of cover along its banks. He decided to make a dash for it.
As he straightened up, he saw a horseman galloping furiously towards him. Instantly Churchill revised his plan. If he could stop this Boer and take his horse…
He’d been shot at so much today, it would make a nice change to shoot back.
Churchill stood crouched, waiting as the Boer galloped towards him. Slowing down, the Boer reined in his horse, calling out something Churchill didn’t catch.
He was a very young-looking soldier. Pity to have to kill him but, then, war was war.
‘Just a little closer, my friend,’ thought Churchill grimly. ‘Closer… Now!’
As the Boer reined his horse to a halt, Churchill grabbed for the revolver at his belt.
With a shattering sense of anti-climax, his hand closed on an empty holster.
He had left his pistol in the engine.
The horseman raised his rifle, fixing him in his sights. Ruefully, Winston Churchill raised his hands.
*
The Doctor and Peri hurried away from the track, conscious that the rattle of firing was dying away.
‘Sounds as if it’s all over,’ said the Doctor. ‘We’re only just in time.’
They worked their way around the side of the little hill, climbing towards the ledge where they’d left the TARDIS.
They almost reached it.
As the ledge, and the TARDIS, came into sight, a little group of Boer horsemen rode onto the top of the hill.
They looked at the TARDIS, then at the Doctor and Peri. Almost casualty they levelled their rifles.
The Doctor sighed, and raised his hands.
INTERLUDE
‘I appeal to the Adjudicator!’ The man’s voice was angry. ‘There was interference. Blatant interference as I made my move.’
The woman’s voice said calmly, ‘Not from me. It was hazard.’
‘I demand to repeat my move!’
‘No!’ The woman’s voice cracked like a whip. ‘You made your move and failed. The next move is mine.’
‘I appeal, Adjudicator. A replay.’
‘Appeal denied.’ The third voice was that of a much older man. ‘You will continue to make your moves in strict alternation. And remember – the Pieces must never see the Player’s hand.’
‘To kill a man on a battlefield – what could be simpler?’ grumbled the man. ‘How can I kill him, safe in prison?’
‘How can I free him?’ said the woman.
‘A te
st of ingenuity for you both,’ said the old voice. ‘Repeat the Credo.’
‘Winning is everything – and nothing
Losing is nothing – and everything
All that matters is the Game.’
CHAPTER FOUR
PRISONERS
‘THIS IS A disgrace, sir,’ thundered the Doctor. ‘I am a civilian, a non-combatant. My ward, Miss Brown, is a citizen of America, a country neutral in this conflict. I demand that you return my property, and release me at once.’
‘I am a civilian, an innocent and harmless non-combatant,’ growled Winston Churchill. ‘I was unarmed when captured. I am an accredited war correspondent. My newspaper, the Daily Mail, wields a great deal of influence. It will harm your cause in the eyes of the world if you detain me here.’
Peri sat quietly in her chair. The Doctor and Churchill, both on their feet, both gesticulating furiously, were doing more than enough talking. Not that it was doing them any good. Behind his desk the prison Commandant looked singularly unimpressed.
It was rather like being back at school, thought Peri. Hauled up in front of the Principal for some terrible crime. Particularly since the room they were in had once been a headmaster’s office.
They were in the States Model School at Pretoria, the Boer capital. The school, a large and impressive building, had been converted into a prison for the duration of the war. Prisoners took their exercise in what had once been the school playground, and sentries patrolled outside the iron railings.
After their respective captures, the Doctor, Peri and Churchill had been reunited for a brief forced march.
‘Rounded up and herded like cattle,’ grumbled Churchill. ‘Doctor, this is the greatest indignity of my life!’
Peri had been allowed to ride in an ox-cart with the TARDIS.
It had been tantalising to be so close to a means of escape. Tantalising but useless, since the Doctor had the key and he’d been some distance away under heavy guard, marching beside Churchill with the main group of prisoners.
They had been marched to the nearest station, loaded on a train, and shipped here. The only consolation was that the TARDIS was stored somewhere in the same building.
Most of their fellow-captives were British officers, who accepted their imprisonment philosophically. The Doctor and Churchill, however, had created a tremendous fuss from the moment of their arrival. They had demanded an interview with the prison Commandant, and had finally been granted one – probably just to shut them up, thought Peri.
Doctor Who: Players: 50th Anniversary Edition Page 3
