Corporal Gennardy Vudovkin ran for his life, careering through the forest heedless of the many jagged branches and bushes in his path that tried to hinder his flight. Freezing breath pounded into his lungs in short agonising gulps, his lungs hurt and his legs felt like rubber. But to stop now would have been suicide.
There was still firing behind him but it was sporadic now. The screaming wasn't, but gradually it tapered down to one or two lone voices, alternately cursing and beseeching to God almighty for protection, which would never come. It only served to inspire Vudovkin to run all the faster.
And suddenly there was silence. It shocked Vudovkin into immobility and he clung to the nearest tree, struggling to keep his agonised panting to a minimum as he strained his ears to listen ... for them.
A routine mission, the Captain had told them. Investigate reports of a sudden spate of deaths in the district. Wild stories of people found with their throats torn open and bled white had fuelled speculation among the less well educated among his platoon. Vudovkin, who'd been to college before enlisting, sneered at them with the superior knowledge of an educated man. Vampires indeed!
Then the Captain led them to the forest clearing where the bodies had always been found, and they had dropped from the trees around them like ghosts, with their pale faces and grinning mouths full of razor-sharp teeth ...
He wasn't sneering now.
He shook his head. Nothing. Or was there? Maybe he'd outrun them. Perhaps they were too busy with the rest of the platoon to worry about one survivor. Sweat drenched his snow suit and ran down his face, stinging his eyes. He dragged an arm feverishly across his brow and fought to hold his breath.
There it was again. Light footfall on the snow. Behind him? Or in front of him? That would be worse. His rifle hung uselessly by his side. It would be of no use. He had seen the effect it had when his patrol was first attacked. They ... laughed, as they fired at them. Laughed! There were a few old soldiers in the platoon who'd fought the hated Fritzies in the Great Patriotic War, who'd known what is was like to come face to face with the devil. Or thought they'd known.
The Devil comes in many forms. Some too horrible to comprehend. Like ...
"Gennardy ... Gennardy ..."
He heard the voice in his mind rather than through his ears. His heart stopped and the blood froze in his veins. That voice ... Soothing and cool, yet so seductive, so very much like his own dear Anna. Yet she was in Moscow, hundreds of miles away. It couldn't be ...
"Gennardy. Gennardy, my love ..."
He turned his head to look, and what he saw made him scream, though the only sound he was capable of was a breathless exhalation of pure terror. It was a woman, all right, but nothing even remotely like his own dear Anna. She trod lightly through the snow, barely leaving a track, making hardly any sound. At least seven feet tall she stood, lithe and graceful, thin, almost skeletally so, with a long main of raven black hair that coursed down to her waist over the long flowing black cape she wore. Her face was beautiful, unnaturally so, with high aristocratic cheekbones and a full mouth that smiled vulpinely to reveal a row of gleaming white teeth; the incisors large and pointed. When she spoke, she spoke with Anna's voice, and it echoed alluringly in his mind. He gazed up into her eyes ...
Her eyes ... Vudovkin jerked back from the tree with a sob. They were pitiless jet black orbs, and they bore into his soul, sapping his very will to resist any longer. But he knew he had to, or suffer eternal damnation ... or worse.
He crashed backwards mindlessly, arms raised high to shield himself from that unhuman gaze. He stumbled over a dead branch and went sprawling. His head thudded on something soft and, blinking tears and snow from his eyes, he saw that it was a dark boot. He looked up and cried out. A man was gazing down at him dispassionately, garbed from head to toe in black so that he was virtually invisible in the gloom. His face was almost as sinister as that of the woman, swarthy with a neatly trimmed dark beard and dark eyes that radiated immense power, though at least some white showed around the iris. For a moment, he thought he was face to toe with the Devil himself. Vudovkin reached up a trembling hand and grasped the man's trouser leg.
"Mercy ... mercy..." he gasped. The man's scowl deepened and he shook it off.
"Be silent, you oaf!" he snapped, and that deep voice resonated through Vudovkin's mind. He looked up from the figure trembling at his feet into the forest, and hefted an object in his hands, eyes narrowing as he scanned the darkness beyond. Laughter, as cold as corpse's touch, drifted on the breeze. "Stay still!" the man muttered, and stepped into the gloom.
Vudovkin grasped at him again. "No! The demons ... they are out there! They will get you!"
The man glanced back at Vudovkin and smiled humourlessly. "That will be the day." A twig snapped and he looked back round, the smile still on his face. "Now ..." he breathed.
The woman stepped into the clearing. Her smile at seeing a new victim froze on her face and was replaced by a look of ... fear? Vudovkin couldn't believe it!
"Well, well, well ... so they weren't leading me on. You are here ..." He chuckled darkly, then rose the object in has hand. It was like a lance of some kind, with a large red orb set into an ornate golden clasp at the end of it. The woman snarled when she saw and leapt back into the darkness, but the man was too quick and stabbed a button on the handle. Bright golden light, like a shaft of summer sunshine, streamed from the orb and played across the woman. She screamed like a million souls in torment and crashed to the ground. Smoke poured from her body and Vudovkin could smell something bittersweet and vile tasting in the air, like ancient and corrupted fruit. The woman tried to crawl from the light but the man advanced, keeping her pinned to the floor with it. She writhed like a trapped insect, clawing at the ground, filling the forest with her inhuman cries of torment.
Vudovkin caught something in the corner of his eye and looked round with a gasp. A figure flitted from the trees just behind the man, making straight for his unprotected back. Vudovkin screamed a warning. The man spun and turned the lance on the newcomer. As soon as the beam touched it, it caught flame and staggered backwards, screaming. Vudovkin got up on his knees and pointed back into the forest. A whole horde of wraith-like figures materialised around them, faces pale and dead in the moonlight, hands raised like claws, mouths open to reveal gleaming razor sharp teeth. With a thrill of horror, Vudovkin saw some of them were wearing the same uniform as him. His own patrol!
He fumbled for his rifle hanging by his side. He felt he had to do something to help. "More of them! More of them!" he called.
The man hissed angrily and, making a swift adjustment to the lance, turned to face the horde. He stabbed the button once more and a larger shaft of light swept through the forest. As it touched the figures they burst into flame like the other man and they fell or ran around briefly, screaming and howling. What amazed Vudovkin most was that the fires never spread to the trees and undergrowth around them. When the figures fell, they simply dropped and smouldered into ashes, leaving only a sooty imprint in the snow.
The man spun and twisted with the agility of a ballet dancer and none of the leaping figures ever got more than a few feet from him before the golden light turned them to ashes. Soon the snow around him was blackened by their imprints and the attack slackened, and died.
But as the last one crumbled to dust there was an animal cry of rage and the woman, cloak still smoking, launched herself at the man. He ducked back too late and they went sprawling. The lance tumbled from his grasp and the man yelled. The woman pinned him to the ground and lunged her head down towards his neck, teeth gnashing. The man twisted his neck frantically to avoid them and struggled desperately to throw the woman off. But her strength was inhuman ...
Spurred into action, Vudovkin flung himself forward, useless rifle held overhead like a club, yelling. The woman had time to look up briefly and snarl before the rifle connected with the side of her head and spilled her from the man into the snow, but with hideous spider-like agility she leapt to her feet, ducked a second swing from Vudovkin and swatted him to the ground with one blow. He saw stars.
But the other man had now rolled over, snatched at the lance and fired just as the woman sprang at him. The beam struck in mid flight and she was catapulted back into a tree. She tried to rise and the man fired again. She fell back, screaming, though with less force. She writhed at the base of it, beating feebly at the flames in her cloak, unable to rise again. The man stood, brushing snow, leaves and ash from his coat, walked over to her and smiled. Vudovkin watched from a prone position in the snow nearby, clutching at his reeling head.
"Something new for my scrapbook of enemies vanquished. I've heard so much about your species, but frankly you're rather a disappointment up close."
The woman looked up painfully, her face contorted into a mask of pain and pure hatred. "My breed shall be victorious over yours one day, Time Lord!" She spat. The man arched an eyebrow and contemptuously flicked the light across her face. It blackened immediately and she screeched with pain.
"I don't think so. We wiped you out long ago, and you, my dear, are merely an oversight. And one which will shortly be corrected." He levelled the lance at her.
She rose a hand painfully. "Wait! Wait ... listen to me. I know of you ... Master. I know of what you are, and what you seek. We have similar aims ... similar desires. Can we not ... reach an arrangement?"
The lance lowered - slightly. "Go on."
The woman spoke quickly. "I know that you are not like the rest of your planet. I know that you have renounced the society of Time Lords, and seek domination and power in the Cosmos. With my help, you can properly achieve it!"
"How?"
"You know of the powers my people possess. We are immortal ..."
The man glanced around at the sooty imprints on the snow and said dryly: "Evidently!"
The woman continued, dismissing her fallen 'followers' out of hand with brutal casualness. "They are weak, merely tools of my greater power. My power - the power of the Great Vampires! Think of it!" Her eyes glittered and she seemed to forget her pain. "With my help, you could combine the powers of your people with the powers of mine ... unstoppable. Invincible!" She waved a hand around the clearing. "What I had here was only the beginning. This country, this planet is ripe for conquest. They have not the power to resist for long. Then, when this world is under our spell, we shall venture forth back into the universe, rebuild our empire, and again the Army of the Night shall dominate the Universe!"
Her voice echoed round the forest. Vudovkin held his breath as the man considered.
"An interesting proposition.... Total domination of the cosmos is one of my aims."
The woman hissed triumphantly, "Yes ... it can be yours! Starting with this world ... or maybe even your own? Imagine ... being totally in control over the Time Lords!"
His smile broadened. "Oh yes ... I have imagined it many, many times, and one day, it will happen."
His gaze grew distant and it grew very quiet. Vudovkin found himself holding his breath. Would this creature convince the man?
The woman spoke again, softly. "You and I are alike. We are both ... children of the night. Combined, we would be ... irresistible!"
"Irresistible ..." he breathed. Then he looked down at her, blinked and shuddered slightly. He shook his head almost regretfully, and replied quietly, "I'm sorry. I must decline your ... kind offer, for the following reasons. Firstly, I find the idea of existing on a diet purely of haemoglobin excessively revolting. My palate simply wouldn't take to it. Secondly, I do my best work during the day, and besides, how else would I be able to keep my tan topped up?"
He grinned briefly, then his face hardened. "Thirdly, I may have renounced the society of the Time Lords, but I do not renounce their view that your species is an abomination and must be wiped clean from the Universe."
He rose the lance. "Besides, I hate competition."
He fired. Full beam. The woman shrivelled, burnt and, with a final despairing shriek, vanished into smoke. The man then kicked snow over the ashes remaining and stepped back, satisfied.
"That's that." He looked at the lance. "The Torch of Rassilon ... these things aren't just for show after all." He held it above his head and called out: "All right, I've done it. It's dead. I've saved the Universe again!" he laughed cynically. Silence. He scowled. "Oh, you infernal ... come on, give me my TARDIS back. Let's end this!"
There was a fluttering sound and an owl flew down and perched on a branch above their heads. It hooted once. With a wheezing, groaning sound a slim grey box materialised in the middle of the clearing. Simultaneously the lance shimmered and vanished from his grasp. He inclined his head towards the owl.
"Thank you. I hope this settles our account. But don't think I'll do anything like this again." He started to laugh. "You've already appointed someone to be Earth's protector ... if you want me to take over full-time, we'll have to negotiate new terms." He grinned suddenly. "What's the matter, don't you trust him any more? No ... you needed someone different for this little job, didn't you? You couldn't rely on him to actually kill anything." He laughed. "It's always me you come to for the dirtiest jobs, isn't it? Is it because I'm better suited, or is it because ... I'm more reliable? Better, even?"
The owl ruffled its feathers and hooted again, fixing the man with a piercing gaze. He laughed again.
"I take that as a compliment. In that case, I shall, then, retire, and leave this miserable little world to the mercies of our mutual friend. Until next time," he bowed.
The owl hooted again and took off, swooping low over the man and causing him to bow lower still. It wheeled once over the clearing, and then vanished into the night.
"Touchy, aren't we?" he muttered. He shook his head. Chuckling, the man turned towards the box. Vudovkin rose up groggily and called out hesitantly.
"Hey ..."
The man turned and blinked. "Ah yes, of course ... I was almost forgetting." He reached into his pocket for something, then paused.
"Well, you did save my life, I suppose. Oh well ..." He reached into a different pocket and pulled something out, tossing it to Vudovkin. He caught it and looked at it. It was a compass.
"Use that, keep going northwest for about nine miles, and you'll come to a village. If you're lucky, it'll have some primitive means of communication and you can get help."
"Help? What ... what will I tell them?" He gestured around the clearing. "If I say my unit was wiped out by vampires, they will have me committed!"
"Oh, tell them you got lost, separated in a snowstorm or something. I don't know, imagination is supposed to be a strong point with your species!" he said crossly. He pointed away. "Just go. And be grateful. Fortune has smiled on you tonight, my friend."
He opened a door in the box and made to step inside. Vudovkin rushed forward.
"Wait ... wait! Who are you ... what are you?" Questions started to babble from his lips but the man held up a hand and gazed levelly at him with his dark, burning eyes.
"What I am you could scarcely comprehend ... who I am is ..."
He started to say something then paused. A huge grin spread across his face.
"I ... am the Doctor!" he howled, and burst into laughter.
The sound of that deep, mocking laughter lingered in the clearing long after the man had slammed shut the door of the box behind him and vanished with it, like a magician's trick, into thin air. Another puzzle for Vudovkin's battered, bewildered brain to comprehend, even as he struggled to understand why the man's use of that name should have caused so much diabolical amusement.
