02 - Timewyrm- Exodus.pdf

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TIMEWYRM: EXODUS by Terrance Dicks.
CONTENTS
Prologue
PART ONE: 1951 Occupation
1. Timewarp
2. Death by the River
3. Captives
4. The Inspector General
5. The VIP
6. Investigations
7. Resistance
8. Trapped
9. The Raid
10. Vanishing Trick
PART TWO: 1923 Putsch
1. Interlude
2. Revolution
PART THREE: 1939 War
1. Rally
2. Reunion
3. The Possessed
4. Hitler's Guests
5. Day of Reckoning
6. Timewyrm
7. Gestapo
8. The Black Coven
9. Drachensberg
10. Arrival
11. Conquest
12. Ceremony
13. War Games
14. Corpse Discipline
15. Last Chance
PART FOUR: 1940 Crisis
1. Exodus of Evil
2. Bitter Victory
 
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Epilogue
Coda
PROLOGUE: 25000 B.C.
She whirled through the space-time vortex in a cyclone of frustration and
hatred, her ego seared by the burning pain of failure. For all her parting
boasts she had been defeated, forced to retreat. It was outrageous,
unbelievable. Was she not a goddess - and more than a goddess?
Rationalization came swiftly. She had not retreated, she had withdrawn by
choice, fallen back to plan a terrible revenge. She examined the newness of her
mind, that part of her which had once been, and in a sense still was, her enemy.
She considered his strengths, his weak points. She would attack him by striking
at the world he loved. She would destroy this planet - better still, she would
ensure that it destroyed itself.
There was death and destruction enough in the age in which she had come into
being. But bows and spears and swords killed far too slowly, left the planet
itself unharmed. More devastating weapons were called for - and mankind would
surely develop them.
Free now to move through space and time she began scanning the planet's future
probabilities...
She saw warrior hordes sweeping across the plains; severed heads piled high in
barbarian encampments. She saw men-at-arms falling beneath a storm of arrows,
regiments mown down by a deadly hail of musketfire. But still the slaughter was
too slow...
She sped forwards through time and saw weary men stumbling across war-torn
terrain, caught in bloody tangles of barbed wire, dying under the withering fire
of machine guns. Death came with satisfactory swiftness now, but the threat to
the planet was still missing. But soon, very soon...
She chose a time of ferment and change when the powers of destruction she sought
were still newly discovered.
She chose a country, defeated, humiliated, yet with an awesome potential for
strength and unity and power.
She chose one man, bitter, neurotic, a failure in all he had attempted but with
forces of hatred and resentment inside him that matched her own. One single atom
in all the seething masses of humanity. How amusing to use that atom to destroy
the planet! It was easy to enter his mind, slipping between the synapses of the
brain like layers of micro-circuitry slotting between the valves of a primitive
wireless. It was easy to enter, but once inside...
As she explored the mind's potential, she found that although primitive it was
unbelievably powerful. She felt her energy levels being dammed, her circuits
inhibited, her powers fragmented. In sudden panic she tried to wrench free and
found herself held fast.
She was trapped in the mind of a madman.
 
PART ONE 1951 OCCUPATION
A fitting culmination to the swift succession of glorious victories that
became known as the Blitzkrieg was the successful execution of Operation
Sealion. With almost supernatural good timing, the forces of the Reich
took full advantage of the period of calm which followed the freak storms
that had decimated the British Navy.
General Strauss's 19th army landed in force on the south coast,
establishing a beach-head between Folkestone and Worthing. Thanks to the
previous defeat of the British Air Force by the invincible Luftwaffe, air
supremacy was maintained at all times. Despite the boastings of the arch-
criminal Churchill, later executed for war crimes, British resistance was
minimal and the operation was completed in six days...
The Thousand Year Reich - The Glorious Beginning by Joseph Goebbels.
Published New Berlin, 1947.
1: TIMEWARP
Beside a broad and sluggish river, a group of concrete pavilions huddled
together under a fine drizzling rain. A tall, slender tower soared gracefully
into the mists towards a grey and cloudy sky. A soggy flag hung limply from the
flagstaff at the top. At the edge of the site, in a still unfinished area, a
blue police box materialized amidst a clutter of building materials. A flimsy
stake-fence cordoned off a section of river bank, littered with stacks of
timber, concrete breeze blocks and general builders" litter, beyond which a
concrete embankment sloped steeply down to the river.
A smallish dark-haired man popped out of the police box. He wore shabby brown
checked trousers, a brown sports jacket with a garish fair-isle pullover
beneath, and a jaunty straw hat. He clutched a red-handled umbrella and peered
around him with keen grey eyes.
A brown-haired, round-faced girl in a badge-covered bomber jacket followed him
from the police box, closing the door behind her. She too looked around, though
with considerably less enthusiasm.
"I don't suppose you know where we are, Professor - or when?"
The little man, who was more usually known as the Doctor, gave her a reproachful
glance. "As it happens, I do, Ace. We've arrived in London. The Festival of
Britain, 1951!"
"How can you be so sure?"
He pointed with his umbrella. "I recognized the Skylon at once. So magnificently
frivolous! So un-British! A tower with no other purpose than to be a tower! A
symbol to mark the end of post-war austerity, and the hope of future
prosperity."
"You what?"
"England's just recovering from the battering she had in the war."
 
"We won, didn't we? Our finest hour and all that? People never stop going on
about it."
"You won, but only just. The whole country was exhausted. Now they're getting
over it, so they've decided to kick up their heels a bit and have a Festival."
The girl called Ace surveyed the wide expanse of rain lashed concrete. "Some
Festival!"
"Remember you're British, Ace. You're supposed to like taking your pleasures
sadly."
Ace sniffed and a raindrop ran down her nose. She studied the slender tower and
saw a sudden gust of wind unfurl the flag. "Professor?"
"What?"
"If this is England and we won the war, why's there a swastika flag on that
tower?"
The Doctor looked. There it was, the black crooked cross in the white circle
against a blood-red background.
"There was one just like it in Commander Millington's office in the Naval Base,"
Ace said helpfully. "You remember, he'd turned the place into a replica of the
cipher room in Berlin..."
"Yes, yes," said the Doctor impatiently. He glared at the flag. "Let's take a
look around."
"Hang on, Professor!"
"What?"
"Is she here, then?"
"Who?"
"Ishtar, the Timewyrm, whatever she calls herself."
The Doctor took a small device from his pocket. It was completely inert, no
sound, no flashing lights. He shook it, tapped it, and then put it away.
"Apparently not."
"We're supposed to be chasing her."
"Well, maybe we overshot, or undershot, or something. It's easily done, nobody's
perfect."
They walked along the muddy riverside path, looking for a way on to the Festival
site. Eventually they reached a place where a section of the fence had been
trodden down to provide a makeshift entrance. Probably kids, thought Ace. They'd
sooner play on the building site than visit the Festival. Come to think of it,
so would I.
The Doctor led her through the gap, out of the building-site area and into one
of the pavilions. It held a photo exhibition, a series of events pinned down in
black and white photographs. The photographs were on stands which wound round
the pavilion in a trail that was obviously meant to be followed. But there was
 
no one to follow it - the pavilion was empty.
Ace looked casually at the first picture. It showed a group of men in grey and
black uniforms on a stand outside Buckingham Palace. They were grouped around a
slender fair-haired man and a small dark woman with a high forehead and tightly
drawn-back hair. The woman wore an enormous jewelled crown.
The caption read:
RESTORED TO HIS RIGHTFUL THRONE, HIS MAJESTY KING EDWARD THE EIGHTH,
ACCOMPANIED
BY HER ROYAL HIGHNESS QUEEN WALLIS, SIGNS THE TREATY OF ACCORD,
FORMALLY
ESTABLISHING GREAT BRITAIN AS A PROTECTORATE OF THE GERMAN EMPIRE.
The Doctor's face was grave. "This is all wrong, Ace. There's been temporal
interference on a massive scale."
"The Timewyrm?"
The Doctor scowled at the photograph. "I never trusted those Windsors!"
Ace peered at the photographs with mild interest, faint memories stirring of
some magazine re-hash of scandals of the past. "Isn't that the Duke of Windsor?
Gave up his throne because they wouldn't let him marry some American bird? "The
King who Gave All for Love!" "
"He was a vain and silly man," said the Doctor crossly. "And he was a German
sympathizer from his early youth. Gave poor old Winston no end of trouble".
Ace shrugged. "So now he's got his throne back. Does it matter? Who cares who's
King?"
"A king is a very important symbol - and what matters is what he symbolizes."
The Doctor followed the photo trail, staring hard at every picture, every
caption. A photograph of a tall black-shirted man with a thin moustache was
captioned:
PRIME MINISTER MOSLEY ADDRESSES OCCUPIED BRITAIN'S FIRST NATIONAL
SOCIALIST
PARLIAMENT.
There were lots more pictures, meetings, ceremonies, public occasions. Mosley
was prominent in all of them.
"This bloke Mosley's doing well," said Ace.
"Sir Oswald Mosley," said the Doctor over his shoulder. "Founder of the British
Union of Fascists. They interned him when the war started, let him go when it
was over. After that he just sort of fizzled out."
"Not here he didn't. He seems to be top of the heap."
The Doctor was looking at a big photo of a miserable-looking gang of men digging
an enormous trench.
MEMBERS OF THE BRITISH LABOUR VOLUNTARY FORCE AT WORK ON THE NEW
COASTAL
FORTIFICATIONS IN CALAIS.
 

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