Part 29 (1/2)

'This will work,' I a.s.sured him. 'This has to work.'

Ray's voice was even softer than normal. 'But what if it doesn't?' he repeated. 'It's a fair question,' he added.

Captain Ford leant forward. 'We'll succeed,' he said, with such a sense of certainty that I almost believed him myself. 'But if we didn't then mankind would survive - the Martians can't fight us in the deserts, can they? They'll stick to the Arctic areas: Scandinavia, Alaska, the Falklands. We'd have strongholds and hideouts. Just think about al the army bases around the world, all the nuclear submarines. The Martians might be more advanced, but that didn't stop the Afghans from beating back the Russians or the Vietnamese from defeating the Americans.

When the human race is forced to fight for its own territory, we fight.'

My mind raced with images of Rome falling to the Vandals, fuel air bombs sucking the oxygen from Iraqi air raid shelters, Daleks killing half the human population of the galaxy and overrunning whole planets without even leaving their s.h.i.+ps. Bil ions had died defending their home territory. But despite all the wars, al the invasions and killing, the human race had survived. Arguing with the Captain's sentiments seemed childish, cowardly. I found myself wondering how many young soldiers down the ages had died not wanting to speak up and say that they were scared.

'It's almost time for the broadcast to start.'

As the digital clock on the dashboard flipped over to midday, I turned on the radio. I'm copying the next bit from a history book, a fat blue paperback with a scary eye on the cover. As the author died five hundred and thirty one years ago, I doubt he'l mind, and even if he did he's out of copyright, so nerr.

101.

I have to resort to the history books for this part of the story, because at the time we were driving to the refinery, I was unaware of events elsewhere in the country and the rest of the world.

SAS teams and other elite squads had secured the radio transmitters. In every town and city with a resistance cel , people knew that something was coming, that something was going to be broadcast at midday. Photocopied fliers were placed on car windscreens. In St Helens Square in York, the Town Crier read a proclamation to a crowd of Royalists. Elsewhere, loudspeakers were set up, and hastily-arranged press conferences were held in loyal emba.s.sies around the world. They were told that the resistance was going to make an announcement.

At mid-day, they heard a voice that they recognised. An Oscar-winning actor, reading from Henry V. Next a recording of Ray, explaining about the poison gas and Adisham. After a few second's silence, Lethbridge-Stewart spoke. He introduced himself, then: 'I am the commanding officer of the force that will liberate London. Not just from the Martians, but from those that betrayed you to the Martians. I serve Xznaal, Greyhaven and the rest of their Provisional Government notice: this is their last day in office. Our army is already mobilised. It is a small force, but it is larger than Henry's at Agincourt, and we have right on our side. The Provisional Government has lied to you: its members have been in league with the Martians for many years in their attempts to gain power. Now they have power, they use it against their own people: the air-raid on Edinburgh, shooting on civilians in Bradford, cutting off the water and electricity supplies in Chester and York. Thousands of people have died, but this is only the beginning. I saw for myself the effect of the Martian gas on Adisham. Unless they are stopped, the Martians wil wipe out mankind with their new weapon.

I don't mean to scare you: rest a.s.sured that the Martians can be stopped. With your a.s.sistance, they wil be stopped today. We would ask those Londoners wis.h.i.+ng to evacuate to head south, down to Kent. Those who wish to join us are equal y welcome - you can help us by cutting power and telecommunications lines, by barricading the smaller roads and by preventing the Provisional Government's security forces from barricading the major ones.

Hopeful y, we will not have to fire a single shot to end the Martian Occupation. It is now a quarter past twelve. Our tanks will be in Ealing, now. G.o.d willing, the Provisional Government wil have fallen within the hour.'

The speech finished, the broadcast cut to live coverage of the Queen's address to the United Nations. She had been informed of the effort to retake London and had given it her blessing. Her speech began by wis.h.i.+ng Lethbridge-Stewart and his men luck. As she spoke, her advisors were outside, preparing to hand out press releases and lobbying amba.s.sadorial staff.

Without any help from UNIT, details of the damage inflicted on the Martians in Portsmouth and the location and plans of the EG refinery had found their way to New York via the Internet. Pictures, text and sound files were downloaded onto the new computer newsgroups and bulletin boards that had been set up around the world. These had eventual y found their way to the world's military and media.

At an emergency session of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the President ordered that if the Martian s.h.i.+p left British airs.p.a.ce it was to be shot down, by any means necessary.

Unaware of events elsewhere in the world, half a dozen trained UNIT men followed Ray through the refinery and I followed the soldiers. Ray knew which routes the guards patrolled. The place was swarming with them, apparently, but I didn't see a single one. The troops were hand-picked by Captain Ford and moved through the base swiftly and silently. No doubt if we had come across any of the patrols, the UNIT men would have dispatched them with the same efficiency - each carried an automatic pistol with silencer, and enough knives to fill a cutlery drawer. Our main weapons were the packs of thermite explosive we carried in special belt pouches. Even I had three packs - each was about the size of a paperback book but packed enough punch to bring down a house or blow open a tank. The UNIT boffins had told us that the high explosive generated enough heat to incinerate even the most deadly nerve agents. When I had chal enged them, suggested that they might free the Martian gas rather than destroy it, they were proud to announce that mankind had devised much more virulent materials than the substance released over Adisham. The bombs would work, if enough of them were planted in the right locations.

Back in Windsor Forest, as soon as Lethbridge-Stewart had finished his briefing, Ray had drawn a map for the refinery a.s.sault team. He'd helped to build the plant four years ago, and he knew virtually every pipe and wire. To me, the refinery complex looked like an alien city, with pressurised skysc.r.a.pers and pipelines instead of pavements. In a way, of course, it was an alien city: the first Martian colony on Earth. The silos had been designed by Vrgnur for the sentient gas, and duplicated conditions on Mars. Behind the stainless steel, Vrgnur had been propagating something entirely inimical to man. At the time I knew little about the Red Death. Later, I would have time to search the ancient Martian texts and I would learn of an a.s.sa.s.sination weapon capable of pa.s.sing through the narrowest gap in relentless pursuit of its target.

In the scarce atmosphere of Mars it was subtle, invisible. But when it fed on the abundant elements of Earth's atmosphere, it became bloated and bloodthirsty.

I ran my finger along a polished pipe no thicker than my arm. Just the slightest crack, just the tiniest break, and it would escape. Everything would die from the smallest microbe to the last blue whale. That didn't frighten me so much as the knowledge that the thing in these silos had killed the Doctor.

The UNIT force began splitting up, hurrying along carefully-prepared routes.

End of extract 102.

The box on the screen informed Dave that 87% of the information he had been ama.s.sing had been released into cybers.p.a.ce. It would be appearing on various bulletin boards and inboxes.

'There's a crowd gathering,' he noted. They'd been listening to the radio, and they'd heard Lethbridge-Stewart's proclamation. Now a steady stream of people was heading up towards Whitehal .

'The Brig's a legend,' Oswald continued. 'Some skywatchers think he's a myth, a codename. UNIT go in for that: the scientific advisor is always cal ed ”the Doct-” '

Dave grabbed his arm. 'Come on.'

Lethbridge-Stewart checked his watch. 12.20 and they were in Chiswick. They were a little ahead of schedule. He was sitting besides Bambera in the staff car. Three of the tanks headed the convoy, then the armoured cars. The staff car was next, followed by the Land Rovers. The other two tanks brought up the rear. Motorcycle outriders were scouting ahead.

Outside, crowds were beginning to line the streets. It reminded Alistair of a royal visit. Some people were even waving little plastic Union Flags. Ordinary people were falling in behind the military convoy: policemen and firemen, even postmen in their uniforms. Socialist Workers and members of the British Legion weren't walking hand-in-hand, but they at least had common purpose.

'You were right,' Bambera conceded. 'it looks like we've got a fair few people on our side.'

'There's no sign of Government forces. We'd have expected a road block by now, at least.'

'Perhaps they are weaker than we thought,' Bambera suggested.

The radio crackled. 'Greyhound, this is Trap Seven.'

'Receiving. Where are you?'

'Tower Hill. There's quite a crowd gathering. It's like the Royal Wedding, sir.'

'Spare me the Dimbleby commentary, Corporal. How many people and what's their mood?'

'Thousands. It's a carnival.'

'Any sign of the Provs?'

'They are keeping a cordon around the Tower, they've sealed off Downing Street. Defensive positions only at the moment, sir. We've had a lot of defectors.'

'Very good. Inform me if the situation changes.'

'Roger that, Greyhound.'

Bambera was smiling, not a common sight. 'It looks like we've got all sorts of people on our side.'

The Prime Minister looked out over London. Through fifty-one millimetre 13 ply laminated gla.s.s was the familiar skyline, with its familiar Martian wars.h.i.+p.

It was so big. On the way to one of his meetings with Xznaal he'd stopped off at a newsagents by Fenchurch Street station. The shop was selling postcards showing the capital's latest tourist attraction. That had been on Sat.u.r.day morning, not more than thirty-six hours after the invasion. Not that there were many tourists in London any longer. Before the Martians had come, the Tower of London had two million visitors a year - millions more buzzed around it without wanting to pay to get in. Now the streets and pavements around the walls were al but deserted for the first time in centuries. Many Londoners had fled the city to the Home Counties. The evacuation hadn't been orderly, dozens had died under the wheels of cars and vans and lorries charging away from the Capital, on both sides of the road. Most were living with friends or relatives, or in guest houses. Al the foreigners had gone, too. London hotels were empty, facing ruin. Walking along the deserted streets, the only language you heard was English. It made the city seem smaller, less alive. It was alive now. Even behind the bullet resistant window pane - no gla.s.s was truly bullet proof, four shotgun blasts at close range would be enough to penetrate it - the Prime Minister could hear the sounds of Londoners in Trafalgar Square, demonstrating against him.

'Mussolini once said that ruling Italy was easy,' Greyhaven said.

'He was a friend of yours, was he?' Christian asked, adjusting his pipe.

'He said it was easy but utterly pointless,' Greyhaven finished. He reached into his pocket, checking for something he knew was there. 'Mussolini had a vision that his country could be great again, but he was a fool and he allied himself with a monster. He ended up strung from a lamppost by a mob of his own people.'

Alexander Christian stood there, impa.s.sive. Greyhaven smiled at him, not expecting a response. Final y, the Prime Minister tapped at his intercom.