My gun was so hot I could barely keep my grip. Sweat ran down into my eyes and blurred my vision. Despite my best efforts, my wrists and forearms trembled with the effort. My mouth was so dry I could barely swallow. Casings flew around me, pinging off the floor.
After what seemed like an entire ice age, the firing ceased. I craned my head to see why. Yes, we’d held them, but they had only to keep pressing their advantage. It was surely only a matter of time. I looked at Mrs Partridge’s seriously depleted stock of ammo. She shook her head.
I checked my weapons. Both were empty. My blaster was still charged, but that wouldn’t last long.
For some reason the Time Police had withdrawn back through the doors again. Had they retreated? Surely, it couldn’t be that easy?
The Hall was littered with casings, pieces of barricade, lumps of plaster, and splintered wood. Thick, blue smoke stung my eyes and rasped my throat. The whole world smelled of cordite, burning wood, and dust. I was desperately thirsty.
I rolled over and lay on my back to catch my breath, staring up through the lantern at the dawning day. We’d been at this less than an hour. It felt like years.
Then, suddenly, they were back. I heard Guthrie’s voice raised in warning.
‘Incoming!’
A hail of something ripped across the Hall. Plaster cracked and was instantly vaporised into dust. The lovely old wooden bannisters disintegrated. Lethal splinters of wood ricocheted across the gallery. The noise was ear bleeding. I had no idea what sort of weapon it was, but whatever it was pointed at just flew apart in a shower of death and destruction. Around the gallery, people couldn’t move. Like me, they were completely pinned down. There was nothing we could do.
‘Heavy fire! Heavy fire! Take cover!’
It wasn’t just here in the Hall. Beneath me, I felt the building shudder. The blast doors were opening. Hawking was breached.
I was conscious of huge disappointment. I thought we would have lasted longer than this. We’d tried so hard. But, although I personally wouldn’t care to tangle with a bunch of tea-crazed historians, there was no getting around the fact that we were amateurs. They were about to roll straight over the top of us just as the Persians eventually rolled over the Spartans, all thanks to that treacherous bastard Ephialtes.
Why did I keep thinking of the Spartans?
I became aware that the sounds of gunfire were dying away. I risked a quick look around. Were we out of ammunition?
‘Attention,’ said Major Guthrie, in my ear. ‘All civilian staff withdraw. This is not a suggestion. Hand over any weapons and ammo remaining and get yourselves to safety. That’s an order.’
I felt, rather than saw movement around me. They were reluctant to go and I didn’t blame them. They were being cleared out of the way for the final act. I wouldn’t have gone, myself, and I was surprised they took it so quietly. I expected at least a murmur of protest from Professor Rapson, but one at a time they pulled back into the shadows and disappeared.
Guthrie spoke again. ‘We can wait to be cut to pieces, or we can take as many as possible with us. Load up. We move in thirty seconds.’
St Mary’s’ last charge.
I thought back to the day I first walked up the drive of that other St Mary’s, all those years ago. I never thought I’d end my days here, in a strange world, caught up in someone else’s war, about to die with my boots on.
Beside me, Markham rammed home his last clip and grinned at me. I turned my head to Peterson. ‘Still no regrets?’
‘No,’ he said, checking his stun gun was still on his belt. ‘You?’
I did not think of Leon. If he was dead then nothing mattered very much anyway. ‘No,’ and left it at that.
The barricade was in splinters. There was nothing to stop them getting in and we’d never hold them. The best we could do was a final all-out blaze of glory. Typical St Mary’s. When the chips are down we don’t whine and we don’t run – we do some damage.
‘Right,’ said Guthrie. ‘On my mark. Straight down the stairs – fan out to each side of the Hall, and nail the bastards as they come through the vestibule. Everyone set?’
Peterson slapped my helmet and I slapped Markham’s. I picked up my blaster. We rose to a crouch – ready to go.
‘Steady,’ said Guthrie. ‘Mark!’
I leaped to my feet, took one pace forward, and crashed heavily to the ground as someone grabbed my ankle. At least two people ran straight over the top of me. What the hell …?
I rolled over and very nearly blew Mrs Partridge’s head off. Why was she still here? Why was she hanging on to my ankle?
We glared at each other as people ran past.
I tried to pull my leg away, desperate to be with the others in their last moments. ‘Let me go.’
She shook her head and pointed down the gallery.