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.She laughed at herself.‘Silly old biddy,’ she said, as she walked to the door.Through the glass she could make out the shape of a man with a flat cap on his head.It had to be Mr Cooper – he always wore a flat cap.What a wonderful coincidence.She opened the door with a smile, but the smile froze on her face the moment she saw the man standing there.She didn’t recognise him – it wasn’t Mr Cooper, that much was certain.This man was a lot younger for one thing, probably in his mid-thirties, wearing his hair down to his shoulders, the fringe peering out from the cap, almost meeting his eyebrows, and a moustache that looked like a sad smile.‘Can I help you?’ she asked.His answer came in a dull monotone, his expression not altering in the slightest.‘Gordon is waiting for you.’He travelled across London, confused.He couldn’t remember anything but a need to be… somewhere.He didn’t even know where, but he knew he was heading in the right direction.London seemed oddly deserted, only a few people here and there, the streets and roads mostly devoid of traffic.He felt certain that this was wrong somehow, but he did not know how, or why he felt such certainty over it.He could remember nothing else, but there was a sense of wrongness about the empty streets.A sense of… danger.Along the way he had periodically stopped, stepping inside red phone boxes to make calls.He had spoken to people he knew, used words and names that were at once familiar and yet totally unknown to him.It was as if he were speaking with a different man’s voice, using knowledge that he simply could not retain.He had made arrangements to have the ‘cargo’ moved, although now he could no longer recall what the cargo was, or to where he had ordered it moved.He eventually reached what he thought was his destination, but as soon as he read the words Paddington Railway Station above the entrance of the building, he just knew he was not there yet.He had a long way to go, and for that he needed a train.He entered the building, keeping his head low so as not to be stared at by the multitude of people who crowded the station.Once again he got a feeling of wrongness, as if the train station was over-packed.So many people stepping off the trains and shuffling their way outside to waiting taxies and buses.Voices called out over the tannoy, directing people here and there.Barely seconds passed before another voice took over from a previous one.He looked around.Many people were dressed like him, in green uniforms, directing people to the various exits, keeping order.They were assisted by men in dark blue uniforms with tall hats.He knew them.There were words that went with the uniforms.Army and police.He felt sure he should know why this was happening, like he had something to do with it.Perhaps he should ask? Or perhaps not.It was at that moment that he caught sight of his reflection once again.Still his skin was black and scarred, although it was looking better than it had when he had first left the mortuary.He was healing.He was doubly lucky – one, that he was healing quickly, and two, that the train station was so busy that no one had time to notice such a damaged man amongst them.He looked up at the travel board.There was one name he was looking for, his next destination.Liskeard.He found it, and without further hesitation set off towards the designated platform.The call was getting weaker, and he had to get there before it was too late.As he sat in his office surrounded by a sea of reports, Lethbridge-Stewart could feel a headache coming on.He was used to co-ordinating things – it was simply another part of his job as colonel – but the task he was currently involved in was proving to be more and more daunting with each day.So far they had been hard at it for two weeks, and now with a week behind them they had managed to see only two million people return to London.Two million of over eight million that usually lived and worked there.As much as he knew it was a horrible thing to admit, considering how many had died, he’d rather enjoyed the weeks in which London was held in the thrall of the Great Intelligence.He preferred to be out in the field, commanding men, going into battle, making split-second decisions that could change the tide.It was why he’d remained in the military after National Service.But a few years as a staff officer was a small price to pay until his next rise in rank to brigadier.It was probably years off yet, but it couldn’t come soon enough for him.Ambition was sometimes a curse, and had cost him many friends along the way, including one of his best friends from Sandhurst.Back then he was one of three lads labelled by others as the ‘holy trinity’ – him, Dougie and Johnston.The three cadets who had been more driven than others, always coming out at the top of their classes.The three of them made many enemies during those years, but they also caught the eyes of high ranking officers, among them Oliver Hamilton.After Sandhurst the ‘holy trinity’ soon fell apart; Johnston’s ideals had never quite sat easily with Lethbridge-Stewart and Douglas, and as a result he had ended up in a very different place to the other men.He selected a report at random, and gave it a perfunctory browse.Those who felt like looting or striking had been taken care of, having no choice but to surrender to the martial law that had been in effect for the past week.There had been the odd spot of bother, of course, occurrences as far out as Kenton.Teething problems, Hamilton had called it, and Lethbridge-Stewart agreed.Returning the report to its pile he smiled grimly, regarding his surroundings.There wasn’t a surface in the room on which reports and train timetables weren’t stacked.He doubted returning the evacuees after World War II was half as bad – at least back then the entire city had not been evacuated.Still, soon none of this would be his concern.Tomorrow he began his week-long holiday to celebrate his engagement, after finally convincing Hamilton to let him go.Procedures were now in place that would ensure that the re-populating of London would run more or less like clockwork, and his replacement could manage for a week without him.It was a break he was looking forward to; Sally and he rarely got to spend much time together, the last month especially so, so it was kind of Hamilton to allow her an unscheduled week off.It wasn’t exactly beach weather, but a week in Brighton was the best they could arrange at such short notice, and in his experience Brighton was not void of romance.All he needed now was to be relieved of his current duty so he could return home and begin packing.And, unless he was mistaken, Sally was already planning a quick engagement party in The Unknown Soldier, a pub not far from the London Regiment offices.A brief rap on the closed door, and Sally poked her head through the gap.She was still in uniform herself, now acting as his assistant while Bell brought his replacement up to date.‘Yes, Corporal?’‘Major Douglas is here, sir.’ She glanced back into the ante-office, and her voice took on a less officious tone.‘Two hours early.’Lethbridge-Stewart smiled at this.That sounded just like Dougie.He was what the Americans called a ‘quick study’
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