Chapter Twelve

He could fight.

The Brigadier realised that he wasn't on his own. He had UNIT, he had half the British army and, despite what that girl had just said, he was sure he had virtually all the British people.

He could lead.

Oswald and Dave had been staring at the packet for almost the whole hour since the postman had delivered it. There was a rather odd instruction on the back: DO NOT OPEN - WAIT ONE HOUR. The mystery had intrigued Oswald, and fifty-nine minutes later the padded envelope was still sealed. Early on, they’d established that it contained a videotape.

'It’s probably from a charity for menks traumatised by having their entire video collection wiped by a giant Martian UFO.’

Oswald was weighing the packet in his hands. 'The ship clearly generates an intense magnetic field.’

'Clearly.’

They turned. A tall man in a neat blue suit had just come through the doorway. He looked like a pilot or a soldier, but he was old - fifty-five at least. He had a peculiar angular face. Dave was sure that he recognised the man from somewhere.

The man took his pipe from his mouth. 'Good morning, lads. I believe that you have a package for me.’

Extract from the memoirs of Professor Bernice Summerfield 'We have to stop them.'

Lethbridge-Stewart was shouting so loud we could hear him from outside the mess. The soldiers on the door were a little more hesitant with their salutes, and they were clearly embarrassed by the noise.

We stepped into the old barn. Bambera and Ford were glaring at Alistair.