Out on the river, the two Time Police launches, now only yards from returning to their moorings, were under attack. One boat was listing heavily, on fire at its stern. Matthew could see dancing orange flames. Dark smoke curled upwards. An anonymous black launch, slim and wicked, was closing fast, raking the shore with fire as it came. Officers returned shots as best they could as the gardens disintegrated around them. Fragments of trees, bushes and benches exploded into the air.
A voice rose above the mayhem, shouting for all officers to form up. Matthew recognised Captain Farenden, who must, at that moment, be the ranking officer.
‘Lieutenant, take a team and secure the front doors. Then set up a defensive position to cover the retreat. You,’ he pointed to another officer, crouching behind an overturned table, ‘take another team and cover the boats. Protect the prisoners at all costs. Get them disembarked and into the building. We’ll retrieve the wounded. All right, everyone. Move forwards. Double time. Everyone stay alive. Charge.’
They charged, kicking their way through the remains of the front doors and into a war zone. The air was sharp with the smell of burned paper. There had been blaster fire.
Matthew found illusory safety behind a planter containing a former flowering tree. He’d been stripped of all his equipment after his audience with Commander Hay. He didn’t even have baton and string. He nudged the officer next to him. ‘Got a spare weapon?’
‘For God’s sake . . .’ The officer pulled out a small sonic and a can of liquid string. ‘All I’ve got.’
Other than the truck-sized blaster slung over your shoulder, thought Matthew enviously.
Two yards away, a civilian woman lay face down. Part of his mind registered she was in running gear. She’d certainly picked the wrong afternoon to get fit with a run along the river. She was bleeding from a head wound. As he watched, she woozily lifted her head and tried to get up.
‘Stay down,’ shouted Matthew. ‘Stay down, ma’am.’
She ignored him, either because she couldn’t hear because of the noise all around them or was still unaware of what was happening.
Leaping up, he caught her under her arms. She seemed very heavy. He could hear the impact of bullets around him. He had no idea whether they were aimed at him and he certainly wasn’t going to stop to find out. It was a struggle to get her back behind his planter.
‘Can you hear me?’
She nodded blearily.
‘Stay here until someone tells you otherwise. Do you understand?’
She nodded again and closed her eyes.
He could hear the whine of charging blasters. New forces were entering the fray. Major Callen erupted through the front doors, leading another team through the hastily assembled barricades. They were firing as they came. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing. Everyone was part of a team. He could hear Farenden ordering people to fire at will. He could hear the clatter of a heavy-duty automatic gun somewhere and the bullets impacting the building behind him. Tiny – and not so tiny – fragments of brick and mortar fell around him. And sometimes on him. From where he was crouching, it was impossible to tell from which direction they were being attacked. There was the black launch on the river, but from which direction the rockets were coming, he had no idea and it was vital not to be pinned down.
The same thought had obviously occurred to everyone else. Five or six officers were moving forwards as those behind them laid down covering fire.
Someone shouted that he’d located the source of the rocket launcher.
‘Return fire,’ shouted Callen. ‘Take them out.’
A team of two took up position. One hefted his rocket launcher on to his shoulder. The other rammed the shell home and slapped his partner’s helmet to confirm all clear. The rocket launched with a roar and a belch of smoke.
Callen appeared in their midst. ‘Everyone else – to the river. Cover those in the water. Farenden – take out that bloody boat.’
Matthew hauled himself to his feet and ran with everyone else, expecting at every moment to feel a hail of bullets between his shoulder blades or the heat of a blaster sear his skin. Like everyone else he was unarmoured. There hadn’t been any time. They’d been caught completely unawares.
The burning Time Police launch was listing badly. Their second boat, ignoring fire from the black launch, nudged closer, officers leaning over the sides and heaving people on board. Tiny tongues of flame ran across the oily water. Matthew found himself a shelter behind another concrete planter where he was joined a second later by Farenden.
‘Sir,’ he said, pointing. Another black launch was racing towards the stricken craft, bouncing on the waves and firing as it came on. He experienced a second’s disbelief. The incongruity. This was the centre of London – the capital city – a sunny afternoon – and there was a small war being fought here.
His sonic was useless against the boat – the range was too short – but Captain Farenden had acquired a blaster from somewhere. Shouting, ‘Cover me,’ he rose above the cover of the planter and fired. There was the traditional whine, then the familiar roar as a blast of hot gas erupted from the business end, igniting as it went.
The blast hit the water just to the left of the oncoming launch.
Farenden swore and raised the blaster again. A shot from nowhere caught him squarely and he spun around, dropping the blaster as he fell.
‘No,’ shouted Matthew.
The second black launch was between the stricken ship and the bank. They raked the shore with fire. Matthew crouched, wrapping his arms around his head as soil, pieces of shattered tree, lumps of concrete and God knows what fell around him. He wondered what had happened to the normal everyday shipping – the barges, the water taxis, the commercial craft – surely, they’d all fled. Together with those who’d mistakenly thought a stroll along the Thames might be a pleasant way to spend the afternoon. In the distance he could hear sirens. A small black dot hovered overhead. A helicopter. Whose helicopter remained to be seen.
Afterwards, the only impressions he retained were of chaos. The noise – men shouting incomprehensibly. The clatter of automatic fire. A row of holes appearing in the planter to his left. The smell of cordite, of burned paper, of burned people. People running directly into the line of fire as they tried to escape. Civilians caught up in the violence. Officers shouting instructions to clear them out of the way. People screaming. He shut down his mind to what was happening. Farenden first. His own contribution to the battle would be negligible but he could do something here.
His mind flashed back to Team 236’s first proper mission to Ancient Egypt when he’d stood in the desert, frightened and alone, with illegals pounding towards him, and he had only his string to bring them down. He’d stood his ground on that day; he could do the same today.