Chapter Fifteen

There was an explosion far behind them, a great reverberation that ran the full length of the ship. The warship lurched. Another explosion. Another. These weren't missile strikes: the magnetic engines were in chain reaction now.

'Goodbye,' the Doctor said softly.

Xznaal said nothing, he simply released his grip.

The Doctor's hands tried to shoot forwards, to grab onto the edge of the hatchway, but the gas cylinder was in the way. With all his weight tugging at it, the canister began rolling inexorably towards the edge. Wide-eyed, the Doctor tried to scrabble over it, a movement which ended abruptly as he found himself outside.

The underside of the Martian ship stretched above him, dark, spiky metal as far as even his eyes could see. The only break was the circular hatch he had just fallen through, which was diminishing with every second. The wind was whipping around him, drowning out the sound of the ship tearing itself apart.

Xznaal was leaning over, his claws clenched in triumph. He was rumbling with laughter. The fire came only moments later, lapping around the Martian, surging over his vast frame and obliterating him. He died satisfied that he had killed a Time Lord, that his people had been avenged.

Extract from the memoirs of Professor Bernice Summerfield

The Provisional Government forces had been rounded up. Eve Waugh and Alan were filing a report in front of the White Tower. The Brigadier and I were up in the Lanthorn Tower, peering through binoculars at the Martian warship. Even at an altitude of ten kilometres it filled my viewfinder.

It shook again.

'What's going on up there?' I asked. The vapour trails of the RAF planes were visible, but not the planes themselves, they were too small.

'The air strikes are really hitting home,' the Brigadier said enthusiastically. 'That warship really is a marvel, though. It must be solid metal in places. How do you think the Doctor will escape?'