Doctor Who: Players: 50th Anniversary Edition

by Dicks, Terrance

‘I have given the matter much thought,’ said Churchill. ‘My conclusion, Doctor, is this. There exists in this prison a secret escape committee. Its task is to organise the escape of those prisoners our Government considers particularly valuable.’

  ‘Such as you, I suppose? Of all the egotistical nonsense…’

  In his turn, Churchill indicated the parcel. ‘There is the proof, Doctor!’

  ‘There is nothing of the kind!’ spluttered the Doctor. ‘Listen to me, young Winston. The day may come when the British Government will be ready to expend every effort to save your skin – but not yet, I assure you. Not for a very junior ex-officer, a failed politician and a new and inexperienced war correspondent!’

  Churchill’s under-lip came out in the characteristic pout. ‘I see. You do not estimate my value highly, Doctor. May I ask how you account for my unexpected good fortune?’

  ‘I think it’s a trap,’ said the Doctor simply. ‘You refused to listen when I tried to warn you at the train.’ He frowned, remembering. ‘Come to think of it, I only got captured because I tried to warn you. Some unknown assassin was present at that train-wreck – determined upon killing you, and you alone.’

  ‘Then why should this unknown enemy now come to my assistance?’

  ‘He’s not assisting you, you young idiot, he’s luring you into a trap! Haven’t you ever heard of the ley del fuego?’

  ‘I’m afraid my knowledge of Spanish…’

  ‘It means the “law of flight”,’ said the Doctor impatiently. ‘In other words, “shot while trying to escape”.’ He looked meaningfully at Churchill, ‘It’s a very useful way of getting rid of inconvenient prisoners.’

  Churchill frowned. ‘If what you say is true, Doctor, this would-be assassin must enjoy the co-operation of the prison authorities.’

  ‘Perhaps he does!’

  Churchill shook his head. ‘In my experience, the Boer is an honourable opponent. I cannot believe that the Commandant would enter a conspiracy to murder me.’

  ‘Perhaps he has no choice,’ said the Doctor. ‘You heard him say the Boer Government regarded you as a dangerous prisoner, a hero. I don’t think they’d dare to go as far as executing you, you have too many influential friends. But if you attempted an escape – an armed escape, mind you – and they were forced to shoot you… Well, who could blame them for that? They’d ship your body home with a note of regret, and that would be the end of quite a promising career, wouldn’t you say?’

  Churchill shuddered. ‘You paint a depressing picture, Doctor, and one which I am loath to accept. Perhaps, as you say, I have an unknown enemy. But I choose to interpret this parcel as evidence of an unknown friend, and I intend to accept it as the gift of a benevolent fate – and to take full advantage of it.’

  ‘What about your friends Haldane and Brockie?’ asked the Doctor. ‘Do you propose to share fate’s bounty with them?’

  Churchill shook his head. ‘Fate’s bounty, Doctor, is clearly intended for me alone. There are not three suits of clothes, three maps, nor three Mauser pistols. Haldane and Brockie were not over-eager to include me in their scheme. I feel no great obligation to make them part of mine.’

  That streak of ruthlessness again, thought the Doctor. He sighed. ‘Then I can only wish you luck, Winston. I’ve a feeling you’re going to need it!’

  The Doctor went to find Peri.

  She had just come from her evening tryst with Field-Cornet Oosthuizen, and was almost as excited as Churchill.

  ‘He came through, Doctor. I know where the TARDIS is.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘There’s a group of huts around the back of the prison, just outside the back gate. One of them stands a little apart from the others. It’s made of stone, not wood, and it’s used to store arms and explosives. That’s where the TARDIS is, surrounded by bombs, shells and guns, and under constant guard.’

  ‘You’re sure of this?’

  Peri nodded vigorously. ‘My little Oosty persuaded the guard commander to open up and let him have a look. He says the TARDIS is fine. They’ve given up trying to open it, and are planning to ship it off to some scientific institute. We’ve got to move soon, Doctor.’

  ‘We shall have to move tonight,’ said the Doctor grimly. ‘Someone’s setting a trap for that young idiot Churchill, and he’s going to walk right into it!’

  ‘What are we going to do?’ asked Peri.

  ‘We’re going to walk right into it with him!’

  CHAPTER SIX

  EVIL AT WORK

  THE COMMANDANT DIDN’T like being in charge of a prison.

  It wasn’t that he hated the British – although it was a British bullet that had given him a permanently stiff leg. He just didn’t like being away from the fighting, especially when the war was going so well. Ladysmith besieged, the British harried and on the run – and he was stuck here. A headmaster, in charge of a school filled with sulky and discontented pupils.

  But he had never disliked the job as much as he did at this present moment. And he had seldom disliked a man as much as he did the young Staff Officer on the other side of his desk. Immaculately uniformed, dark-eyed and olive-skinned, this Captain Reitz looked more Latin than Boer. Portuguese blood, probably, thought the Commandant. He’d never really trusted the Portuguese.

  All the same, the fellow had a letter of authorisation from General Joubert. A vague but impressive document, it ordered the Commandant to give Captain Reitz ‘the fullest co-operation’.

  The Commandant fixed the young officer with a baleful glare.

  ‘Your message is unclear, Captain Reitz,’ he said coldly.

  ‘Then let me make it plain for you, Commandant,’ said Reitz. His tone was languid, almost insolent. ‘Officially, I bring you word that an escape plot is being hatched, concerning the prisoner Winston Churchill. You are urged to show extra vigilance. Clear so far?’

  ‘Completely clear, Captain – and your warning is completely unnecessary. Escape plots are being hatched all the time – it provides the prisoners with one of their few sources of amusement. My sentries always exercise maximum vigilance. It is the rest of your message that concerns me.’

  Captain Reitz smiled. ‘The unofficial part.’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘Well, unofficially, Commandant, I have been sent here to tell you that the Government does not wish Winston Churchill to survive this escape attempt. While he lives he is regarded as a danger to the Boer Republic. He has already become a popular hero to the English as a result of the events at the train, a powerful boost to their morale. He has far too much influence back in England, and he can do us much harm. He must never reach England alive.’

  ‘You are asking me to commit murder, Captain.’

  ‘Not officially,’ said Captain Reitz, calmly.

  ‘The order is unacceptable,’ said the Commandant. ‘A soldier can only be required to obey lawful commands. If General Joubert wishes Winston Churchill to be tried and shot, he has only to send me an official order in writing and I will assemble the court-martial and organise the firing squad.’

  ‘I warn you, Commandant –’

  ‘You will warn me of nothing Captain. Not unless you wish to be arrested for insubordination.’ The Commandant rose stiffly. ‘I thank you for your warning of an escape plot. I will order my sentries to exercise extreme vigilance. The rest of your message is unacceptable. Sentry!’

  The sentry opened the door.

  ‘The Captain is leaving. Escort him from the prison premises immediately.’

  When Reitz had gone, the Commandant sat down again. Should he keep his word and order the sentries to be extra alert? Should he give them specific permission to open fire on any escaping prisoners? Or would even that compromise his military honour?

  The Commandant sat brooding in his darkening office.

  The man calling himself Captain Reitz had had many names in many places and many times. As he strode along behind the sentry he was seething with impotent rage. Had t
he Commandant been a weaker man with fewer scruples, the thing would have been as good as done.

  Dusk was already falling as Reitz followed the sentry across the playground towards the main gate. Suddenly he caught sight of three familiar figures, huddled together talking.

  One was Winston Churchill, who he had last seen through the sights of a rifle. The second was the fool who had interfered, and the third was the girl who had been with them.

  Reitz’s hand went to the holstered revolver in his belt – and immediately dropped away. He’d never get away with it. If the sentry didn’t shoot him down on the spot, the Commandant would have him shot later.

  Besides, it would be against the Rules.

  Acknowledging the salutes of the sentries on the main gate, Reitz strode from the prison. There was still the chance of a trigger-happy sentry. Otherwise he would have to attend to matters himself.

  He decided to patrol the prison perimeter from the outside. After all, the area wasn’t all that large. There was a good chance that he would intercept the escaping Churchill. If he did – well, shooting someone while they were trying to escape was certainly fair enough…

  In the exercise-yard a furious row was threatening to erupt.

  ‘I’m sorry, Churchill, old chap,’ said the Doctor. ‘Like it or not, we’re coming with you!’

  ‘I cannot permit it, Doctor,’ growled Churchill. ‘The plan is for me alone. With the three of us involved it will inevitably fail.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Winston,’ said the Doctor, cheerfully. ‘We’re only accompanying you over the wall, and after that we’ll split up.’ He gave Churchill a reproachful look. ‘I am forced to remind you, Mr Churchill, that you owe a great deal to my efforts at the train.’

  Recognising a personality fully as forceful as his own, Churchill gave in.

  ‘Very well, Doctor. But we must act swiftly.’ He indicated his well-worn outfit. ‘And you must allow me a little time to get changed.’

  Peri looked up and her eye was attracted by two figures marching across the yard. One was a sentry, the other a staff captain in an immaculate uniform.

  She grabbed the Doctor’s arm. ‘Don’t look now, Doctor, but there’s an old friend just leaving,’ she hissed. ‘The man who tried to shoot Churchill, the one you had the tussle with.’

  The Doctor glanced swiftly round and saw an elegant uniformed figure going through the gates.

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘Did he see us?’

  ‘I don’t think so – but I’m not really sure.’

  The Doctor turned back to Churchill. ‘That was the man who tried to kill you. It looks as if he’s been talking to the Commandant. I don’t know what he told him, but it isn’t likely to be helpful. We must go now – at once.’

  ‘But it is not yet time,’ protested Churchill. ‘And I haven’t put on my civilian attire!’

  ‘Well, quickly, man! Better too early than too late. Now, where’s the spot marked X on your map?’

  ‘Around to the rear of the prison,’ said Churchill resignedly. ‘By the men’s latrines – my apologies, Miss Brown.’

  ‘Just so long as we stay out of the sewers,’ said Peri.

  ‘Come on, you two,’ said the Doctor impatiently. ‘Winston, you can change in the latrines, it’s safer.’

  They hurried away.

  The men’s latrines consisted of a long low brick building, built close to the high railings that surrounded the school.

  There was nobody about as they hurried towards it – otherwise the sight of Peri following the Doctor and Churchill inside might have caused some comment.

  Churchill at least knew exactly why the spot had been chosen. There was a long low aperture, a kind of open, oblong glassless window, next to the row of urinals. It was close up against the railings – and on the other side of the railings was a belt of thick shrubbery. There were sentries patrolling on either side, but it was likely this particular area could be a blind spot between patrols.

  Churchill changed quickly and scrambled up into the aperture. He reached out and swung himself over the railings.

  The Doctor followed.

  Peri came last, and the Doctor and Churchill reached up and helped to lift her over the railings. ‘I can manage, thanks,’ she muttered irritably.

  ‘Portuguese Mozambique to the right, I think,’ said the Doctor. ‘We go left. Goodbye, Winston, and good luck.’

  ‘Good fortune to you, Doctor,’ said Winston Churchill. ‘And to you, Miss Brown. I hope we may meet again in happier circumstances.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Peri.

  There was something very engaging about young Winston.

  They shook hands and went their separate ways.

  Churchill made his way cautiously through the shrubbery. His only plan was to reach the road before dawn and then lie low. He intended to hide by day and travel by night.

  He leaped back, reaching for his Mauser, as a cloaked and hooded figure appeared from the shadows. A voice said, ‘Mr Winston Churchill?’

  The voice was female, cool and amused, with a slight trace of some exotic foreign accent.

  ‘That is correct,’ said Churchill. ‘And who are you?’

  ‘You are a little early,’ said the voice. ‘Still, better early than late. Come with me.’

  ‘Where to, madam?’

  ‘To the railway line of course. Surely you don’t plan to walk three hundred miles?’

  As they walked through the dusk, the cool voice issued a stream of instructions.

  ‘There is an up-gradient just outside the station where the trains slow sufficiently to enable you to board. The next goods train will pass by in fifteen minutes. You will ride this train as far as a station called Witbank. Leave the train there, and make for a cluster of lights in the distance. They are those of a coal mine. The largest house in that area is that of the mine manager, a man called John Howard. He is English, and he will help you.’

  *

  As he crouched by the railway line, listening to the rumble of the approaching goods train, Winston Churchill felt a glow of self-satisfaction. He was in the hands of some powerful organisation, without doubt a branch of the British Secret Service. So much for the Doctor and his ridiculous theories about unseen enemies.

  He wondered how the Doctor and his companion were getting on. He never had learned anything about their escape plan.

  The goods train rumbled slowly past, and Winston Churchill ran and swung himself aboard.

  It was the first step on the way to freedom, fame and fortune.

  Under cover of darkness, the Doctor and Peri worked their way slowly and carefully around the perimeter of the prison, standing stock still from time to time to avoid patrolling sentries.

  Not far from the back gate, illuminated by a solitary lamp, they found a little cluster of out-buildings, guarded by a field-gun and its crew. One of the buildings, a low stone hut, stood some way from the rest. There was an armed sentry on the door.

  ‘That’s the one,’ said Peri. ‘Just as my little Oosty described it. How do we get in?’

  Before the Doctor could reply, there came the sound of an alarm siren from somewhere behind them. They heard excited shouts.

  ‘Alarums and excursions,’ said the Doctor. ‘Time to go, I think. Come on!’ He marched straight up to the astonished sentry, Peri close behind him.

  ‘I am Professor Erasmus Potgeiter from Pretoria Scientific Institute,’ said the Doctor. ‘This young lady is my assistant. I have been ordered to take charge of a certain blue box, which I believe is inside this hut.’

  ‘That is so, Professor,’ stammered the sentry. ‘But I have received no orders.’

  ‘No doubt they will arrive in due course,’ said the Doctor impatiently. ‘There seems to be a certain amount of panic and confusion back at the prison. Perhaps that is delaying things. A prisoner has escaped, an Englishman called Churchill.’

  ‘Winston Churchill has escaped?�
�

  ‘So your Commandant tells me. Now, open the door please.’

  ‘Forgive me, Professor, but without written authority…’

  ‘My dear man, I am not proposing to take the box anywhere! How could I until my transport arrives? By the time the ox-cart is present, the orders will be here also. Until then, you are welcome to stay on guard. And if that isn’t enough, you can call in that field-gun over there.’ The Doctor put the snap of authority into his voice. ‘Now, unlock that door, man!’

  The bemused sentry obeyed.

  ‘On second thoughts, perhaps you had better report back to the prison,’ said the Doctor. ‘The Commandant mentioned something about a general alert. Every man is needed to hunt for the prisoner Churchill.’

  As the guard lumbered off, the Doctor and Peri went inside.

  They found themselves inside a low stone bunker. Racks of weapons lined the walls and ammunition and munition cases were piled high all around them. Standing in the middle of all this military clutter was the familiar blue shape of the TARDIS.

  ‘There she is, bless her,’ said the Doctor affectionately. ‘Have you missed me, old girl?’ He patted the blue box’s side.

  ‘Never mind the sentimental anthropomorphism, Doctor,’ said Peri. ‘Where’s the key?’

  ‘Key, key, key!’ said the Doctor, searching through innumerable pockets. ‘Where did I hide the key? Of course!’

  He took off his left boot and shook it out. Nothing.

  ‘Wrong boot,’ said the Doctor. ‘Hang on a minute, Peri.’

  ‘Doctor, please, hurry…’

  The crew of the field-gun snapped to attention as a smartly dressed officer strode up.

  ‘I am Staff Captain Reitz, here on a tour of inspection. What’s going on here? What’s all that noise from the prison?’

  ‘Not sure, sir,’ said the corporal. ‘I heard the siren.’

  ‘What siren?’

  ‘The one they sound when somebody escapes. I think I heard the man say it was the English hero, Churchill!

  ‘What man?’

  ‘The one who got the sentry to let him into the armoury hut.’

  ‘What man? What did he look like?’

  ‘Thick-set, a gentleman. Very bossy type.’