by Alex Scarrow
‘Hush!’ cried out Panelli. ‘It looks like he has something tosay!’
Bob stood beside the fire, legs planted apart, his hands on his hips — just as Liam haddemonstrated — his cold grey eyes panned slowly across the people before him with asolemn gravitas.
‘The time has come for me to move on… O people!’
Liam winced at the way Bob’s flat voice delivered the lines. It had sounded pretty goodon paper as he was scribbling it out and reading it to himself. However, right now, with Bobbelting it out in a one-tone voice, it sounded painfully embarrassing.
‘I have received a calling from above, to leave you now that my work here isdone… and I am to form other groups of fighters across the nation to fight this evilinvader. This dark force of evil. Satan’s army of minions and the devilry of theirinventions and weapons.’
Liam felt his cheeks colour.
Maybe I should’ve left that bit out.
‘But you will continue the fight here. You shall continue God’s work. I, CaptainBob, captain of the Lord’s army, will return again one day. I shall return… andtogether we shall destroy the enemy and return freedom to this great nation,’ announcedBob with all the passion of a bored teacher taking morning registration.
The forest was still and silent for a long time. Too long for Liam, whowondered if between his appalling creative-writing skills and Bob’s emotionless drawl,they appeared as ridiculous as he suspected they did.
Then one of the men, the pious young corporal, dropped down on to one knee and gruffly said,‘Amen.’ As did another, and another.
Panelli looked down at them and, keen not to be outdone, did likewise.‘Amen.’
In ones and twos, the rest of the men standing there in the forest followed suit, dropping totheir knees solemnly.
Good grief, we’re actually getting away with this?
‘Your leader has spoken and th-’
Liam nudged Bob’s elbow gently. ‘We should probably go,’ he hissed out ofthe corner of his mouth. ‘Whilst we’re ahead.’
Bob nodded and stepped forward and gestured his hand in the way Liam had demonstrated in thetent. ‘Blessings upon you,’ his deep voice boomed to the man nearest him as hetouched his shoulder. ‘Blessings upon you,’ he said to another as he strodepast.
Liam followed in his wake, smiling self-consciously at the men he passed by.‘We’re uh… we’re going to leave now, to uh… you know, to spreadthe good word.’
Bob led the way past this morning’s newcomers, all of them on their knees, all lookingup at him with wide eyes.
‘Blessings upon you all,’ he growled tunelessly as he strode past them towardsthe camouflaged trucks.
Liam nodded. ‘Yes. Keep up the good work, fellas,’ he said, cringing inside athow stupid that had just sounded.
Bob was in the truck, turning over the engine with a loud rattling cough and a belch ofexhaust fumes as Liam pulled himself up into the cab. Without a moment’s hesitation Bobslipped it into gear and the truck began to roll across the uneven forestfloor towards the twin muddy ruts of forest track.
‘Ooh… that was awkward,’ Liam uttered, looking in the rearview mirror asthe pale ovals of curious faces emerged from the undergrowth on to the track behind them,watching them leave.
He felt something inside him. Sadness? Perhaps it was guilt. Those poor men would probablycarry on the struggle without Bob, many of them dying as they did so, fighting for a futurethat wasn’t going to be.
When they got back home, back to 2001, and Liam told Foster exactly where and when theyneeded to return to, to put history back on its correct course — and this Kramer wasconfronted and killed before he could change Hitler’s destiny — when thathappened, this incorrect history would cease to be. Justdisappear. And all the sacrifices those men had already made and might yet make in the comingdays… it will all have been for nothing.
Although Liam would never see it for himself, this world would shimmer and shift amidincreasing waves of temporal instability, and then in the blink of an eye — pop! — it would become the 1957 it should be.
Bob turned to Liam. ‘There is sufficient time to reach the rendezvous location inWashington DC. We have fourteen hours and fifty-two minutes.’
‘Great, thanks, Bob.’
‘However, there is a high probability that enemy units will stand between us and therendezvous location. This reduces the estimated probability of our successfully getting to therendezvous point to — ’
‘I’ll stop you right there, Bob… if that’s OK.’
The support unit looked at him expressionlessly. ‘You do not wish to know thepercentage estimation of success?’
Liam shook his head. ‘Uhh… no, not really.’
CHAPTER 69
1957, Washington DC
It was after dark when they finally entered Washington DC. A curfew was in effectand the streets quiet and still, street lamps buzzing softly amid the hiss and patter of sleetdrizzling down. They decided to ditch the army truck on the outskirts of the city when theyspotted a roadblock ahead. The rest of the route into the city they navigated throughDC’s subterranean network of sewers.
Bob efficiently led the way, Liam following, grimacing at the stench of sewage and the sightof rats running alongside him on a brick ledge, eyeing him cautiously as they scuttledpast.
Finally, Bob cocked his head, his eyes fluttered. He took a left turn off the main tunnel.‘We go up this access ladder. The co-ordinate stamp indicates a location fifty yardsfrom this position.’
Bob clambered up the ladder. At the top he gently, cautiously, pushed aside a round sewagecover. He poked his head up to check the lay of the land, then ducked back down.
Liam was right behind him on the ladder. ‘Is it clear?’
‘There are no enemy units in line of sight. Please stay close to me.’
‘How long have we got until the window opens?’
‘Seventeen minutes,’ replied Bob as he pulled himself up.
Liam nodded. A pretty close thing. But they were here in time and that’s all thatmattered.
He clambered up the ladder until his head was poking out of the manhole. Hecould see a four-laned boulevard. Nothing moved along it. The buildings on either side — rows of three- and four-storey town houses — looked occupied. Dull vanilla lightsflickered beyond drawn curtains. Liam thought he saw the diffused silhouette ofsomeone’s head and shoulders crossing in front of a bedroom lamp.
People still living in the city, then.
But subdued, cowed… frightened.
Above in the night sky, still hovering like a dark thundercloud, he could see Kramer’scommand ship in position above the White House. Several dozen searchlights lanced down fromit, sweeping the sullen and silent city, hunting for any citizens foolish enough to dare breakthe curfew and step out into the night.
‘Come!’ whispered Bob.
Liam pulled himself up, and scrambled across the empty road, joining Bob in the mouth of adark and litter-strewn backstreet.
‘This is the location,’ said Bob. ‘Twenty yards along,’ he added,pointing to the end where garbage pails and boxes were piled against a wood-slat fence.
They made their way down to the end, carefully doing their best to avoid kicking any looseclutter across the ground.
‘This is the location,’ said Bob, squatting down. He began shifting aside severalwet cardboard boxes full of rubbish. ‘Recommendation: we clear this space ofobstructions. Otherwise density warnings will prevent them from opening the timewindow.’
Liam nodded and eagerly began to help. He suddenly realized, for the first time sincethey’d been sent back into the past, since things had gone so completely pear-shaped onthe White House lawn, that they were actually going to make it home to 2001.
‘I owe you my life, Bob,’ he said, slapping the support unit onthe back. ‘You got us here in one piece.’
Bob tossed a wet handful of mushed cardboard and rotting refuse to one side. ‘Missionparameters will
be met only when you and the data that has been acquired are successfullyreturned to the field office for analysis.’
Liam grinned. ‘All right, Bob. I was just trying to say thank you, that’sall.’
‘Thank you?’
‘Yeah, you know… thanks. You rescued me. I reckon youweren’t meant to do that, were you? I’m pretty certain you should’ve gonethrough the back-up window six months ago, to be sure.’
Bob’s eyebrows locked. His mouth opened and shut. ‘My mission prioritieswere… recalculated.’
‘Mission priorities recalculated, huh?’ Liam’sgrin widened. ‘What I think you mean is that you chose to rescue… afriend.’
Bob’s confused frown became a loose approximation of a disapproving scowl.‘Negative. I do not have friends. I am a biological weapons platform, a field supportunit.’
Liam pursed his lips and nodded. ‘Fine. Sure… if that’s how you-’
Bob’s eyes fluttered. ‘This location is currently being scanned for densitypackets.’
‘That’s them, isn’t it? Foster? Maddy?’
‘Affirmative.’
Liam clapped his hands together. ‘Oh yes! Jay-zus-’n’-Mother-Mary,we’re going home!’
‘One minute until window opens,’ said Bob. ‘Please stand clear.’
Liam obediently stepped back, as did Bob. They both waited in the dark for the telltale paleflicker of light.
‘Ten seconds.’
Liam grasped Bob’s hand and shook it. ‘We make a good team, don’twe?’
Bob looked down at the young man’s hand, folded in his giant sausage fingers. For amoment the gesture seemed to be lost on him, then he managed an unattractive smile.
‘Good team,’ he replied.
A pale spark appeared, flickering dimly like a firefly. Then a moment later Liam felt agentle puff of displaced air against his face, a soft pump of air that sent several dampscraps of newspaper fluttering up the backstreet, and empty tin cans rolling noisily acrossthe ground.
Some grit in his face — Liam was blinking and rubbing it from his watering eye whenBob’s deep voice rumbled.
‘This is not good.’
Liam rubbed the grit out, wiped the tears off with the back of his hand and gazed down at thewindow: an undulating sphere of soft, pale-blue light. It was no bigger than a football,bobbing gently a couple of feet above the ground.
‘What the — ?’
‘They have insufficient power,’ said Bob.
‘That’s it? They can’t make it any bleedin’ bigger?’
‘They have insufficient power,’ said Bob again.
‘Oh no,’ cried Liam. ‘Oh Jeez, no, no, no… this can’t behappening!’
Bob turned to look at him. ‘Liam O’Connor, you mustbe very quick.’
‘Quick? Doing what?’
Bob pulled a long knife from his belt. ‘Neither you nor I can go back, LiamO’Connor. But the data that they need must goback.’
Bob pushed the knife into Liam’s shaking hands. ‘You must bevery quick,’ he said again, dropping heavily to his knees so that Liam could reach hishead.
‘I… I can’t,’ said Liam, the blade trembling erratically in hishands. ‘Bob… I can’t do this!’
‘I will not feel pain. Insert the blade between the top of my neck and the base of myskull, that is where the cranium casing is weakest, then press very hard — ’
Liam nodded. He stepped round behind Bob, and raised the blade until it was pointing towardsthe dark mop of hair at the back of his head.
‘You must do it now,’ insisted Bob.
‘I… I…’ Liam could feel his whole body shaking. His stomachtightening, lurching, getting ready to eject the last meal he’d eaten.
‘You must do it NOW.’
The small blue shimmering light hovering above the ground began to flicker and modulateuncontrollably. In the middle of the sphere, Liam thought he could just about make out theflickering, undulating form of someone… no, threepeople… waiting, beckoning for him, for someone, something… anything… to step through.
Then it was gone.
And once again the backstreet was dark and quiet, save for the soft pattering of sleet aroundthem.
‘I’m sorry,’ mumbled Liam. ‘I’m sorry, Bob. I justcouldn’t do it.’
CHAPTER 70
2001, New York
Maddy and Sal stared at the space in the archway where a moment ago the very airhad been thrumming vibrantly, a pocket of space that shimmered like the heat veil above abarbecue or the hot tarmac of a sun-baked highway.
Foster had deactivated the time-displacement machine.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. He leaned wearily against the computer desk, tiredand finally looking like someone with no more answers left to give. ‘I thought we hadenough of a charge to get Liam through. I was wrong.’
Sal looked up from where the small ball of hot air had shimmered three feet above the ground.It had bobbed and undulated for less than a minute, and she was almost certain that throughthe flickering haze she’d seen Liam’s and Bob’s faces staring back ather.
‘So, that’s it?’ she said quietly.
Foster nodded.
‘Hang on! We’ve still got some charge left,’ said Maddy, pointing at therow of little green lights on the machine. There were three green LEDs and an orange one; therest were now red.
‘Yes,’ he replied.
‘So… why couldn’t you have used that power to widen the window?’ sheasked, a sharp edge of desperation creeping into her voice.
He took a deep breath. ‘It was as wide as I could make it. There justwasn’t enough to work with. I’m sorry.’
‘Couldn’t we have…’ Maddy was looking for possibilities.‘Couldn’t we have kept the window open longer? Maybe we could have communicatedwith them somehow?’
‘We were just wasting energy, Madelaine. Just wasting it. It was obvious theycouldn’t come through.’
‘So you closed it off?’
He nodded. ‘At least we still have some charge left.’
She shook her head, a shrill, desperate laugh escaped her lips. ‘For what, Foster? Forwhat?’
He said nothing.
‘Maybe…’ cut in Sal, ‘maybe there’s enough diesel left in thegenerator to — ’
Maddy snorted. ‘To what? Charge it up again so we can open up another midget-sizedwindow?’
The muted chugging from the back room filled the long silence between them.
Foster finally nodded towards the small line of lights on the machine. ‘We have alittle stored power left. I suggest we should be thinking how best to save ourselves nowthat…’
‘Now that it’s too late to save history?’ said Maddy.
Foster’s smile was pinched and weak. ‘Yes. What power’s left will provideus with light for a while at least.’
‘And coffee,’ said Sal.
He laughed softly. ‘And coffee… until it runs out.’
Maddy looked up at the ceiling light. ‘And then eventually that will flickerout.’ She looked at the other two. ‘And then we’ll be like those things outthere… in the city, foraging in the dark for scraps.’
She immediately wished she hadn’t said that. They all realized they’d run out of options. It hadn’t needed spelling out quite so bluntly.
Sal slumped down on one of the armchairs around the breakfast table. ‘I guessthat’s it.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ replied Foster. ‘It does seem like that’sit.’
CHAPTER 71
1957, Washington DC
That’s it, then. We’re finished.
Liam looked at the dark hulking silhouette of the support unit, standing in the alley besidehim. Still, calm, as always — free of doubt and despair.
The sleet had turned to rain and pattered softly around them and the darkness flickered everynow and then with passing light as searchlights from above panned routinely across therooftops, across the top of their little backstreet.
‘You must assig
n new mission parameters,’ Bob’s voice rumbled.
New mission parameters?
Liam could have laughed cruelly at that. There was nothing they could achieve now, not in thetime they had left. In just under two days’ time, a tiny explosive charge insideBob’s head would leave him little more than a comatose giant, a mindless, dribblingvegetable. Liam figured he might be able to keep Bob’s body alive, feeding it like a bigbaby, keeping it going with protein and water. But to what end? Bob would be gone…unable to protect him any more.
‘I don’t know what to suggest, Bob,’ whispered Liam. ‘Doyou?’
Bob was silent for a few moments. ‘Negative.’
Go back and rejoin the freedom fighters?
Liam’s smile was thin. He wondered what they’d make of theirsuperman — Captain Bob — slumped against a tree trunk,drooling long strings of saliva and staring lifelessly at their crackling campfire. Hardly thestuff of legends.
He’d listened in on those men talking about Bob in hushed reverential tones, huddled inone of the tents. It was almost a form of worship. One of them told an exaggerated account tosome newcomers of the raid in which Liam had been rescued, claiming he’d seen ashimmering ‘godly’ halo around Bob as he strode unharmed through the prison camp,protecting him from the guards’ bullets… and angels in the clouds lookingprotectively down on him.
Liam wondered if that’s how all the legendary figures in history began, as tales toldround a campfire, then retold and retold through successive generations, grandfather tofather, father to son, each time the tale growing more exaggerated.
An odd thought occurred to him. He wondered if the ancient Greek hero, Achilles, had merelybeen a support unit like Bob, caught up somehow in the Siege of Troy, his presenceunintentionally becoming a part of history. Or how about the super-strong Samson from theBible? Or Attila the Hun? King Leonidas of the Spartans? He wondered if any of thoseimplausibly heroic characters from history were the unintended side-effect of a mission liketheirs… some other agency team going about their work, leaving unavoidable footprints intime.
