Benny clambered over the bombsite. She didn't know how old she was any more. It hadn't really mattered before - if anyone asked she'd probably have lied.

Her mother had been thirty-one when she had died, and Benny was definitely older than that. A weird feeling - a child older than her mother. It was a landmark she'd pa.s.sed without realizing it. She pictured her mother as a middle-aged lady, grey hair tied up into a bun, her eyes still warm and kind. It hadn't happened that way. Benny couldn't remember what colour her mother's eyes had been, not for certain, and she didn't have any photographs. With a time machine of course, it would be possible to go back and see her again, just one last hug before...

Benny found herself sobbing, bent double.

Everything was ruined. Underneath her hands were sc.r.a.ps of paper, chipped pieces of brick, what had once been a library. How could anyone bomb a library? How could anyone bomb mothers and daughters?

Above her, something loomed. False perspective, no way of judging size. Blue. Square and solid. Humming softly, as though it were living.

The rules change with time travel, don't they?

What was it they used to say a few decades from now - you can't uninvent the Bomb. It was the reason given for stockpiling nuclear weapons - an excuse that had held until the Southport Incident. Well, she could could uninvent the atom bomb, a.s.sa.s.sinate all the war criminals before they did anything nasty, show the people here how to build a cheap solar cell and save the panda from extinction. Would humanity be grateful, would they use these miracles to begin a new life on a clean, safe planet? No, they'd carry on as they always had: fighting in the mud like children. A thousand years from now, they'd still be murdering and enslaving, whether they called themselves n.a.z.is or Christians or British. uninvent the atom bomb, a.s.sa.s.sinate all the war criminals before they did anything nasty, show the people here how to build a cheap solar cell and save the panda from extinction. Would humanity be grateful, would they use these miracles to begin a new life on a clean, safe planet? No, they'd carry on as they always had: fighting in the mud like children. A thousand years from now, they'd still be murdering and enslaving, whether they called themselves n.a.z.is or Christians or British.

Why did the Doctor bother? These weren't even his own people. Why not just explore the wonders of the Universe, why not spend time amongst civilized, peaceful people? Why did he let humans ruin it? Why didn't he wipe us out when we first came down from the trees? Good old-fashioned problem control. Get the Doctor to put us all to sleep.

The world was closing in on her.

Guernsey was visible now, a coastline on the horizon. It had taken them longer to get there than they had expected.

'That's odd,' the Doctor said. 'I just can't find their transmissions on any of the German frequencies.'

'Has the big air-raid taken place yet?' Chris wondered aloud.

'Which air-raid?' The Doctor was puzzled.

'You know, the one that Pica.s.so drew about. I saw the painting once on a simtour of an Overcity Seven art gallery. It looked like a transmat accident at a dairy farm.'

'You're thinking of Guernica,' the Doctor a.s.sured him.

Then, suddenly, 'Bandits, twelve o'clock low.'

Half a dozen black dots were heading in their direction, over the sea.

'Steinmann must have phoned through to Guernsey,' the Doctor muttered. 'I'll try to find their frequency.'

The squadron was slow to react to them. Chris began working through his options. 'This plane isn't armed, is it?'

'No.' He hadn't thought so: the operational requirements for this plane required speed and stealth, so Hartung had kept armament and armour down to a minimum. It wouldn't be a problem: air to air combat wasn't a precise science yet, and it ought to be possible to scatter the squadron by flying straight at them. Chris increased his speed. It would take them a while to regroup. They were still on a collision course.

The Hun squadron leader was determined.

It's logic really,' the Doctor was saying. 'How can you shoot down a plane that you can't see?'

They can't see us.

The planes were one hundred feet away; they were heading towards Munin with a combined speed of a thousand miles an hour.

'They can't see us!' Chris shouted, pulling the stick hard down. If they can't see Munin, they won't dodge out of the way.

Munin pulled up, but it was too late. One of the other planes had banked down, to avoid him, catching the wing of his colleague. There was a mid-air explosion, that caught a couple of the others, and forced another down. They had been flying low over the sea, and had nowhere to go.

The Doctor was staring back; Chris kept his eye fixed on his instruments.

'They've all gone, haven't they?' Cwej asked quietly.

'All but one. That wasn't the worst of it. Chris, those planes were Spitfires.'

A young Leutnant, one that Steinmann recognized from Guernsey, was at the door. He watched the lad talk to Keller.

It must be a message for him. Sure enough, the two men came over and the Leutnant saluted him.

'Oberst Steinmann, we have found a bag near the crash site. Hauptsturmfuhrer Rosner thinks you will want to see the contents.'

He handed over two hardback books. Steinmann examined them: the t.i.tles were in English: Diary Diary and and Advice Advice for Young Ladies for Young Ladies. Intrigued by why Rosner would think them important, he opened up the first book.

Being the Latest Volume in The Diaries Of Professor Bernice Summerfield. If lost, please return to The Bernice Summerfield. If lost, please return to The House, Allen Road, Canterbury, England, Northern House, Allen Road, Canterbury, England, Northern Hemisphere, Earth, Sol Three, the Mutter's Spiral, Hemisphere, Earth, Sol Three, the Mutter's Spiral, the Universe. Sorry I can't be more specific, I've the Universe. Sorry I can't be more specific, I've forgotten the postcode - please refer to sketch. forgotten the postcode - please refer to sketch.

The little picture underneath included a stylized map of the solar system with big arrows pointing to Earth, a pa.s.sable line drawing of a naked man and woman, along with various pieces of astronomical data.

Steinmann began flicking through. Summerfield's neat handwriting filled about half the pages. Every so often an accomplished sketch, a rough map or a diagram would break up the text. Many pages had little sticky notes overlaid on them - presumably Professor Summerfield went back over her diaries regularly and ensured they were accurate. The last thirty or so pages contained pictures of German uniforms and sketch maps of Guernsey. Steinmann turned back through the book. Her earlier ill.u.s.trations were more fanciful: there were pictures of trolls straight from a pantomime and sinister insect-like war machines. There were also people, of course, but people in a variety of bizarre costumes most of whom carried toy guns.

He checked the other volume. This was a proper, printed book. Codes, semaph.o.r.es, call-signs. It was all standard material for field agents - material that Summerfield ought to have destroyed before capture.

One chapter was more substantial. Steinmann began reading at a random point.

The British had been outflanked by the Germans in the Pindus Mountains and were forced to withdraw. the Pindus Mountains and were forced to withdraw.

Four days later, on 23 April, the evacuation of Greece began. Greece began.

Steinmann chuckled, remembering the...

The Germans hadn't defeated the British in Greece.

They hadn't even invaded. Was this a record of the last war?

No - two pages earlier was the Fall of Tobruk, two pages before that the invasion of Romania. At the beginning of the chapter, the terms of the Treaty of Versailles were recounted (along with an intriguing note in the margin: 'I did warn warn them'). The chapter was long and ended with: them'). The chapter was long and ended with:

on 9 May 1945 Field Marshal Keitel and Marshal Georgi K Zhukov signed the doc.u.ments of German Georgi K Zhukov signed the doc.u.ments of German unconditional surrender. The Reich was totally unconditional surrender. The Reich was totally destroyed. destroyed.

Steinmann hesitated. The book was obviously an ingenious fake. Propaganda. Science fiction. He turned back a dozen or so pages.

The telephone hadn't completed its first ring when Reed s.n.a.t.c.hed it up. He listened for a moment, jotted down what was said and then replaced the receiver. Forrester was watching him, a worried expression on her face.

'A Spitfire squadron has just been destroyed over the Channel. Amber Three.'

Roz pointed it out on the map with a long, black finger.

The patrol had been ten miles off the Isle of Wight, flying at only two thousand feet. Six aircraft.

'Do we have an estimated speed and bearing?' If she knew those, Roz could work out where it was heading and when it would get there.

'No, but it was flying at least as fast as our planes. The surviving pilot says that they were attacked by an object travelling at high speed, which only appeared at the last moment. It was within the Chain Home perimeter. So the radar operators should have been able to detect it.'

'Of course...' Roz breathed. Her mind raced: the first a.n.a.lysis made by the TARDIS computer. The one that had been rejected. The phone was ringing again.

George listened, then put the handset back. 'Radar reports ma.s.sive build-up of fighters over the Channel.'

The phone started ringing again.

'Hugin and Munin. I know what they are. George, trust me.' She kissed him on the cheek, grabbed her coat, and ran out of the door. Reed had no choice but to let her go. He picked up the telephone.

'George, this is Kendrick. I'm at Downing Street. The War Cabinet have been meeting. In the face of the threat from Hartung's weapon, they feel that there is no choice.'

'We're accepting the German offer?' Reed frowned.

'No, George. We attack Guernsey tonight. If the bomber wasn't at Granville, it must be there. The attack will be concentrated on military targets. Bomber Command will require our latest report, along with photos. Take them over.

They want to be in the air as soon as possible.'

George thought about the order, then, 'No, sir. There must be another way.'

'Lieutenant, you have had over a week to think of one.

The decision was not an easy one to make. Obey the order, George.'

'No, sir, I can't. You'll have to find something else.' Reed replaced the handset gently.

Next door, Lynch's phone started to ring.

The low hum of the TARDIS: a sound she hadn't heard for along time. For the first time in three months, Benny had an incentive to open her eyes. She was in the brightly lit medical room, lying on the bed. Some exotic piece of medical hardware sat next to her, warbling away to itself. A tabby cat was sitting on one of the stools. It looked up from whatever it was doing.

'Wolsey? Did you drag me in here?' Benny drawled woozily. Wolsey hopped over to the bed and allowed her to stroke him.

'Typical. She thanks the cat.'

Benny peered to the source of the voice. Roz Forrester was sitting on the other stool, a portable medical scanner in her hand. She was wearing the uniform of an Earth War Two British Army captain. Her face was set in that permanent scowl of hers, but there was something different, something Benny couldn't quite put her finger on.

'You've got a rosy glow!' Benny declared finally. 'In fact, you're looking positively radiant. I do believe that the frowning Adjudicator is actually happy.'

Roz's expression didn't change. 'I'm just pleased to see you,' she said flatly. Benny and Wolsey looked at each other conspiratorially.

'Are Buster Keaton and Buster Crabbe around?'

'Not to my knowledge,' Roz said uncomprehendingly.

'The Doctor and Chris,' Benny explained.

'They're not here either.'

Benny moved to sit up, but found it hard to work up the energy. Instead, she glanced over to the readouts of the medical unit, barely managing to focus. A number of vividly coloured lines ran along the bottom of the viewplate.

'Roz, are you sure that you've got this thing monitoring me and not the cat?'