Doctor Who_ World Game - Doctor Who_ World Game Part 36
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Doctor Who_ World Game Part 36

'It was a noble act,' said Colonel Grant.

'She had a strong sense of duty,' said the Doctor.

'If there is anything I can do to assist you, Doctor,' said the Duke. 'Anything at all...'

'There is one thing.'

'Name it.'

'I am by no means convinced that the danger is over.

Something the Countess said makes me fear she may have laid further plots before her capture. If I could accompany you, on the battlefield...'

The Duke laughed. 'A ringside seat, eh, Doctor? Can you ride?'

'After a fashion.'

'Find the Doctor a good patient horse, Grant. We leave at eight tomorrow morning, from my headquarters in the Rue Royale. Now, I'm off for a few hours' sleep.' He strode briskly away.

Grant made to follow him but the Doctor put a hand on his arm. 'You'll be careful?'

'From now and for the foreseeable future the Duke will be surrounded by an army of soldiers who would gladly die for him. Until tomorrow, then, Doctor.' He paused. 'Do you need a bed for the night? I can find you a billet.'

'Thank you, but no. I don't think I'll sleep much tonight.'

'I don't think any of us will,' said Colonel Grant. 'Except for the Duke, of course. Nothing keeps him awake.'

He hurried away.

The Doctor joined the throng of departing guests and made his way into the streets.

Although it was almost dawn, the streets of Brussels were as busy as if it were midday. The air was full of drumbeats, and soldiers spilled out of the houses where they were billeted, obeying the summons to war, slinging on their knapsacks and buttoning their greatcoats as they ran.

The Place Royale was crowded with gun carriages, supply wagons and milling crowds of soldiers gradually forming into their regiments and marching away. The Doctor wandered on as if in a trance, drifting gradually towards the Parc de Bruxelles.

He reached the little pavilion that concealed the TARDIS and his fingers touched the key in his pocket. He could use it, return to Gallifrey and report Serena's death and the accomplishment of his mission. But he wasn't absolutely sure that his mission really was accomplished. If Napoleon and the Countess won after all, Serena would have died for nothing.

Should he go inside the TARDIS for food and sleep? He wanted neither. He sat on the stone bench by the pavilion until daylight, and then began walking towards the Duke's headquarters.

By eight o'clock that morning Brussels was empty. One after the other, the regiments had marched away; infantry, cavalry and artillery.

At eight o'clock precisely a little cavalcade set off from the Duke of Wellington's HQ in the Rue Royale. In the lead was the Duke himself, riding Copenhagen, the powerful chestnut that had carried him through several campaigns.

Copenhagen had an ugly temper, but he was the reverse of gun-shy. He actually seemed to enjoy the sounds of battle.

The Duke wore a blue frock coat, a short blue cloak, white breeches and tasselled riding boots. His neat plain attire formed a marked contrast to the colourful scarlet uniforms of his aides, and the positively gorgeous uniforms of the rest of his entourage, representatives of the corps diplomatique of Spain, Austria, Prussia and the Netherlands.

In the rear of the procession, an inconspicuous little man with a mop of untidy black hair clung desperately.to the saddle of a plump and placid grey mare. Very reluctantly, the Doctor was riding off to battle.

It was the next day and the Emperor Napoleon was at breakfast in the farmhouse at Le Caillou, his temporary headquarters. He was in a mood of overweening confidence a confidence by no means shared by his marshals. They were all experienced commanders, with many battles behind them. Moreover, many of them had been soundly defeated by Wellington during the Peninsular War.

'Because you have been beaten by Wellington, you consider him a great general,' Napoleon told Marshal Soult. 'I tell you now, Wellington is a bad general, and the English are bad troops. The Countess has often told me this, and I believe her.'

Marshal Soult did not share the Countess's opinions. 'The English infantry are excellent,' he growled. 'Face to face, they are the very devil.'

Napoleon would not listen. 'You know my plan, and it is going well. Already I have attacked the Prussians, driving them back and separating them from the rest of the Allied forces. Wellington was forced to retreat, so as not to lose contact with them. Now we shall smash Wellington's forces by direct frontal assault. It will be over by lunchtime.'

Chapter Thirty-three.

The Ruse

But it wasn't. Many hours later, near the end of a very long day, the Doctor was standing on the ridge at Waterloo, with the little group around the Duke of Wellington. The battle still raged on all around them. It seemed to have been going on forever, and the Doctor was wondering how much more he could take.

It had been an exhausting two days, and even the Doctor's Time Lord resilience was beginning to flag. He had ridden with the Duke to Quatre Bras and discovered that, as Wellington had foreseen, the Prussians had been forced to retreat under Napoleon's attack. Wellington too had been attacked, and had made his own planned retreat to Waterloo.

There they had spent the night at a tiny inn. It had been a night of torrential rain. 'Wellington weather' the soldiers called it. Wellington had stationed much of the army behind the slope of the long ridge that crossed the Brussels road. Only the front rank were visible to the advancing enemy.

At nine o'clock the first of the enemy troops started to appear, rank upon rank of cavalry and infantry. At eleven o'clock the French cannonade began, longer and heavier than anyone had ever known. Some of Wellington's troops were sheltered by the ridge but elsewhere men and horses died beneath the hail of fire.

Then the French infantry charged, and the deadly musket fire of the English muskets drove them back. Then came the cavalry. The British formed squares, each square a little fortress of muskets and bayonets on all sides. The French cavalry surged around them but could not break them.

So it went on all day: cannon fire, infantry attacks and cavalry charges from the French; counter-fire, counterattacks and countercharges from the Allies. On both sides men and horses died in their thousands. As far as the eye could see, the ground was strewn with dead and wounded.

The Doctor was sick of the carnage and wished desperately to be elsewhere. What could he hope to achieve? It seemed ridiculous to think that he could have any effect on this scene of mass slaughter.

Wellington was as imperturbable as ever, riding up and down the line and rallying his troops. He seemed totally immune to either worry or fatigue. The mere sight of his blue coat and hook nose seemed to give the men courage.

The only anxiety the Duke showed was in an occasional enquiry as to the arrival of the Prussian troops.

'No sign of them as yet,' reported an aide. 'Do you think they'll come, my lord?'

'General Blucher was forced to retreat, but the bulk of his forces are intact,' said the Duke confidently. 'He will come to my aid as soon as he can.'

The Doctor realised that both sides, attackers and defenders, were almost exhausted, each waiting desperately for the other to collapse.

The Duke was depending upon General Blucher and his Prussians to tip the balance in his favour. He looked up at the sky. 'Well, it's night or Bliicher, gentlemen,' the Duke said.

The Doctor swung round. ' Night or Blucher Night or Blucher...' He remembered the Countess's final words. ' What if it's night, What if it's night, Doctor? Doctor? ' '

Had she found some way to prevent the Prussians from coming? But how could she, she was still a prisoner? He saw Colonel Grant ride up to the group, dismount and talk urgently to the Duke.

He hurried over to them. 'Colonel Grant, is the Countess still your prisoner?'

'I have just received a report from Brussels. She escaped, several hours ago.'

'I asked for her to be placed under continual guard.'

'Believe me, she was. The soldier guarding her is facing court martial. He told some ridiculous story about her fading away before his eyes.'

'I underestimated her powers,' said the Doctor. 'Don't court-martial your soldier, Colonel, the poor fellow was telling the truth! I take it the would-be assassin has disappeared too?'

Before Grant could reply, the Doctor turned to the Duke.

'Am I right in thinking that the arrival of the Prussians is a matter of some urgency?'

Wellington nodded. 'At this stage, their presence would be more than welcome.'

'Then may I urge you to send the Prussian commander a message immediately, urging him to hurry. I fear your previous orders may have been tampered with, perhaps even cancelled.'

'Well, Grant?' said Wellington.

'I doubt if it's possible, my lord. The French are between us and the Prussians at every point. It would take days for a man to ride round them, even if he survived.'

Wellington frowned. 'I don't expect negative talk from you, Grant.'

'Oh, I can find you a volunteer, my lord. I'll even go myself.

But it's a forlorn hope. It'd take Boney himself to pass through French lines.'

'Wait a minute,' said the Doctor. 'Colonel Grant, you may just have found the answer.'

'I don't follow you.'

'Well, look at me!' said the Doctor. 'Who do you see?'

He stuck one hand inside his coat, and frowned at them under his mop of hair.

It took a moment for Colonel Grant to realise what he meant. 'You'd never do it,' said Grant. 'Oh, there's a resemblance, but it's only very slight.'

'So how close does the average French infantryman ever get to his Emperor? He sees him somewhere in the distance, reviewing a parade or waving to the crowds.'

'You might strike someone who happens to know him really well.'

'And I might not! It's worth a try, isn't it?' said the Doctor.

'Change the hair style a bit, get me one of those silly hats he wears and a nice long black cloak. With night falling, under cover of the approaching darkness, under fire...'

The Duke of Wellington gave him a frosty glare. 'Do I understand that you are proposing to impersonate Napoleon Bonaparte?'

'Why not?'

'Because it's suicide.'

'Better than mass murder, isn't it?' said the Doctor. 'I'm sick of standing here uselessly watching you humans slaughter each other. If the Prussians arrive, will it bring this bloody battle to an end?'

'Yes,' said the Duke instantly. 'The French are very near to cracking.' He lowered his voice. 'To speak plainly, so are we.

The arrival of the Prussians will tip the balance in our favour.'

'Then I'll do it,' said the Doctor. 'Be good enough to write the Prussian general an urgent dispatch. Colonel Grant, I rely on your assistance in the transformation.'

'Come this way, Doctor.'

The Duke snapped his fingers and an aide produced paper, pen and ink from a bulky satchel, then turned his back so that the Duke could use it as a desk. Hurriedly the Duke began to write.

He finished the brief dispatch, handed it to the aide, and returned his attention to the battle.

Some time later he heard movement behind him and turned. Napoleon was striding towards him through the gloom. Behind the Emperor strode a tall French officer, a lieutenant of the cuirassiers.

The Doctor was wrapped in a voluminous black cloak, a cocked hat jammed sideways on his head in the characteristic Napoleonic style.

The Duke peered at the Doctor. 'By God, sir, you might just pull it off!' He looked hard at the cuirassier and saw to his amazement that it was Colonel Grant. 'What the devil do you think you're doing, sir?'

'The Emperor must have an escort, sir,' said Grant cheerfully. 'By rights he should have a troop of cavalry, but even just one cuirassier lieutenant will help.'

'Where did you get the uniform?'

'Dead French cuirassier, sir, fell just inside our lines. I've got his horse as well.'

'And the hat?'

'I bought it off a Belgian officer in Brussels. Souvenir. He swore it had been worn by Boney himself. Apparently he's got hundreds of them Boney, I mean.'

'You realise it's spying,' said the Duke abruptly. 'If you're captured in French uniform behind their lines you'll be shot out of hand. They'll probably shoot the Doctor for sheer impudence.'

Colonel Grant was unperturbed. 'They've been trying to shoot me all day, sir.'

The Duke chuckled. 'True enough.' He snapped his fingers and the aide produced the dispatch. 'Here's your message, Doctor. Get it to General Blucher if you can. You can't miss him. Fat old fellow with a bushy moustache.' He handed the dispatch to Grant. 'Oh, and get the Doctor a good horse, Grant. The Emperor can't be seen riding that fat old mare.