Any day but Sunday.

Sarah Jane Smith squealed as the Brigadier yelled "Hold on!" and swung the UNIT Land Rover off the road and onto a dirt track that led across scrubby grassland toward a distant copse. Above the roar of the engine she could still hear the bass beat of the helicopter that had swooped on them – a sound that was joined a moment later by the louder 'rat-tat-tat' of machine-gun fire.

"They're shooting at us!" she shouted, bouncing in her seat as the Brigadier floored the accelerator and twisted the Land Rover off the track and onto the undulating, rabbit-holed grass, then pulled the wheel back the other way.

"Yes, I'd noticed that," he called back, his eyes darting from mirrors to windscreen as he guided the vehicle on its zig-zag course toward the trees and cover. "Still, if they're busy with us, they can't be following the Doctor, eh?" His voice sounded its usual calm self, though his face was frowning with concentration. There wasn't a trace of anxiety, at least none that was apparent to Sarah Jane.

Their last sight of the Doctor had been back on the road, as he'd accelerated Bessie to a ridiculous speed when the helicopter appeared. They'd been on their way to discover who – or what – was interfering with the electrical and mechanical machinery in the area. The Doctor had rigged up some gadget in the Land Rover that would theoretically be immune to the interference, boasted that Bessie wouldn't be affected anyway, and had led the charge to the remotest part of Dartmoor without waiting for backup – as usual.

The machine-gun rattled again, this time accompanied by metallic pinging noises, and several holes appeared in the roof of the Land Rover.

"Oh, fuck!"

Sarah Jane gaped, not so much at the swearing, but its source. She'd never heard the Brigadier emit more than the mildest of expletives before – they really must be in trouble!

"They hit the Doctor's rig-up back there," he went on, and took his hands off the wheel, which continued to steer of its own accord. "I have no control over this vehicle."

Sarah Jane looked from the Brigadier to the bullet-riddled box in the back, to the wheel that had turned ever so slightly and was now unmistakeably taking them at high speed straight towards a large Ash tree at the edge of the copse.

"Oh, fuck!" she echoed, her own voice sounding faint and shaky. "I don't suppose…" She looked over her left shoulder, then over his right. "No seat belts."

"They're not Army standard," he said, "Come on." Twisting around in his seat, he climbed into the back of the vehicle and helped Sarah do the same.

"But we won't be any safer back here," she protested, as the vehicle bounced again, throwing her against him as they crawled toward the back door.

"We're not staying in here."

"What?!"

He pulled the handle on the back door and shouldered it open. Greenery rushed beneath them, and Sarah tried not to think about what sort of speed they were doing.

"Bend your knees, roll and then run like hell for those trees," he ordered, with a glance upward, "That helicopter hasn't finished with us yet!"

"I can't…"

She didn't get chance to finish her sentence. The Brigadier hadn't waited for her to summon the nerve to jump – he'd pushed her out. Landing with a force that rattled every bone in her body and robbed her of breath, she nonetheless managed to remember to roll as she'd been told, spinning into longer grass, and slowing to a halt. The rattle of gunfire gave her all the encouragement she needed to get straight up again and sprint for the trees, which were only about thirty yards away but seemed more like 300. With bullets chewing up the grass at her heels, she finally burst into the copse and ran under the canopy, halting about twenty yards in and looking back to see where the Brigadier was.

She could see him near the edge of the trees, under the branches of a coppiced hazel, pulling his Webbley from its holster. Still gasping from her run, legs shaking from exertion and fear, Sarah staggered across to him, watching in amazment as he leaned his weight on one of the bigger branches of the tree he was under and aimed his revolver with both hands. "You can't bring down a helicopter with a Webbley!" she said.

"Oh, can't I?" His voice was tinged with anger and determination.

She watched his jaw clench, and he closed his right eye, though she wasn't sure whether that was to aim or because there was blood running into it from a cut on his forehead. Then he pulled the trigger.

There was a crash of noise from the revolver, followed by a faint 'ping' from somewhere over their heads – and the sound of the helicopter rotors changed. Sarah watched, amazed, as the machine wobbled, straightened, coughed, slewed to one side and scuttered sideways and down. She turned away as its engines began to scream and its descent steepened, closing her eyes as the sound of the crash resounded over the moorland.

"See?" The Brigadier's voice sounded off, the emotions she'd detected there moment earlier now replaced by a much weaker, almost apologetic tone, and she looked around to see him drop his revolver and smear the blood across his forehead with his sleeve. He looked white as chalk, now that his own adrenalin rush was wearing off, but he gave Sarah a wan smile and added, "You just have to know how." Then he turned to rest his back against the tree and slid down it to sit on the ground, clutching his right leg.

"Oh my God!" Sarah dropped to her knees next to him, noticing for the first time the spreading red stain on his trouser leg, "You're hit!"

"You do have a knack, Miss Smith, for pointing out the patently bloody obvious."

"How bad is it?" she asked, querulously. She really didn't want to look too closely. Perhaps it was just a graze. Though she doubted a graze would have soaked quite so much blood down his trousers.

"Went straight through," he said, while Sarah forced herself to look at the hole in his leg, "Missed the bone, fortunately. Made a bit of a mess though."

That was putting it mildly, thought Sarah, her stomach churning as she watched the blood pump from the exit wound he was clutching. "We have to stop the bleeding," she said, unzipping her waterproof to fumble with the knot on her scarf.

The Brigadier shook his head. "You won't be able to pull that tight enough," he said, and tugged at the hem of his NATO sweater with a shaking hand, "Need my belt."

"I'll do it." Swiftly, Sarah unbuckled the webbing and pulled it free, then wrapped it round his thigh, just above the wound and pulled it tight.

"More," he said, "Stand up and pull the free end as hard as you can… Alright, tie it off."

Once she'd got the belt secured, Sarah turned her attention to his face, dabbing at the cut over his eye with her clean hanky, and wiping some of the sweat from his forehead.

"It's just a scratch. Leave it." His voice was weak and his eyes seemed to be focusing somewhere beyond her, but his next words were clear enough. "Can you see the Land Rover?"

She stood up and moved to the edge of the trees, cautious in case there were more hostiles, but the broken UNIT transport was the only vehicle in sight. Scurrying back to the Brigadier, Sarah knelt beside him again.

"It's just over there. But the front end's smashed in…"

He shook his head. "There's a First Aid kit in the back."

Cursing herself for not thinking of that, Sarah nodded and squeezed his shoulder. "I'll just be a minute. Don't pass out on me."

Racing to the Land Rover, she quickly located the First Aid box which had been strapped securely under one of the rear benches. A hurried scan of the scattered contents of the vehicle also turned up an Army blanket, a water-flask and a couple of ration bars, all of which she bundled together and carried back to the hazel tree.

The Brigadier's eyes were closed when she dropped her burden to the ground, but as she knelt down and put a hand to his face, he opened them. "Tell me what to do," she said.

"I'm not a Medic," he answered. His attempt at a smile ended with a wince as he went on, "But I know that if you don't get this tourniquet off my leg in the next five minutes, I'll lose it. So if you could find something to bandage me up with…"

He broke off, clearly finding talking an effort, and Sarah flung open the First Aid box and rummaged through it, remembering from somewhere – a TV programme maybe? – that she would need the scissors to cut his trouser leg. Guesswork and common sense came up with iodine (that was going to hurt, she thought), a couple of large-wound pressure pads and a heavy duty bandage.

"I need to cut your trousers," she said, brandishing the scissors.

"What are you waiting for, permission? They're ruined anyway. But for God's sake take a deep breath and try to stop shaking before you come near me with a blade." He closed his eyes again, and this time Sarah let him stay that way while she cut off the blood-soaked trouser leg before soaking a clean cloth from the kit with some of the water from the flask and wiping the skin around the worst of the damage.

"I have to put iodine on," she said, "Sorry."

He didn't open his eyes, but he bit his lip as he nodded that he understood. Sarah unscrewed the bottle, wondering how much of it she ought to use on such a horrendous injury, then decided to just tip it up. "Alright, here goes…" She paused, just for a moment, and added, "If you want to swear, Brigadier, go right ahead."

He did, though he didn't scream or yell as she was quite sure she'd have done had their circumstances been reversed. As she finished applying the bandage and pulled off the tourniquet, his only concession to admitting he was in agony was to ask if there was any morphine in the First Aid kit.

"There is," she said, picking up the small glass bottle, "But I daren't give you any." Her voice shook with despair as she explained: "I don't know how much! Do you?"

"No." He turned his head to look at her, and Sarah hoped she wasn't imagining that he looked a shade better now the bandage was in place. "I normally just lie back and let the Medics sort me out."

"Normally?" She put the morphine bottle down and concentrated instead on cleaning the cut above his eye with the wet cloth, "You make it sound like an everyday occurrence!"

"Not quite," he murmured, "But it is an occupational hazard."

Sarah found herself wondering how many men of the Brigadier's rank actually led their men into battle, and made a mental note to check. She doubted many of them had to go into action as often as the UNIT commander did – and certainly none of them would have faced the sorts of enemies he had to deal with. She fought a sudden urge to kiss him and tell him he was very brave man – she was quite sure he wouldn't appreciate the gesture, and now was hardly the time.

She realised he'd closed his eyes again, and leaned forward to gently shake his shoulder. "Brigadier, you must stay awake." He didn't respond and she shook him harder, not sure whether she was more afraid for him or for herself. "Alistair!" He blinked and opened his eyes, but she couldn't quite make herself let go of his arm just yet. "Don't go to sleep." It was meant as an order, came out as a plea. "Here, have some water," she said, passing him the half-empty flask, "Then I think you should lie down."

He nodded, took a long swallow from the flask, then held it out for her to take.

She shook her head. "I don't need any. You finish it."

"Sarah." She'd expected an argument, but his tone was gentle, and she read something she hadn't expected to find in his pain-filled eyes: respect . "You've been through a battle," he said, "And then done your utmost to save my life. Take it." He pushed the flask at her and this time she took it, and took a long draught of the cool, refreshing liquid.

Then she realised what he'd said. "What do you mean, 'done my utmost'? You're not going to die!" she said, stoppering the flask and moving closer to him to put her hands on his shoulders again.

She could feel him shivering, and instinctively hugged him closer, feeling alarmed at how cold he felt. "You should be in a hospital," she said, pulling off her waterproof jacket and putting it on the ground behind him, then easing him back onto it. She unfolded the army blanket and covered him with it, but he reached up a hand and held her arm.

"That won't b…be enough. I'm going into sh…shock."

"But there aren't any more – I looked!"

"Th…there's you."

It took her a moment to grasp what he meant, and when she understood what he was saying she felt her own face grow warm as her mouth formed a silent 'o'.

"It'll be quite s… safe," he said, his shivering becoming more obvious, "I p..promise."

Chiding herself for hesitating, Sarah wasted no more time. She snuggled against him, pulling the blanket close around them both, and said, as lightly as she could manage, "Actually, it's a bit disappointing for a girl to be under a blanket with a good looking man in uniform and know that she's not heading for trouble."

She wasn't sure whether the shudder she felt was a result of him laughing or being cold until he said, "In that case, m…maybe I can make amends some time."

"I'd like that." Sarah put her head on his chest and slid her arms up behind his shoulders, felt his arms wrap around her waist. "You won't be on active duty for a while with that leg – you'll need someone to come over and keep you up to date with what's going on."

"Mmm. Yes. Good idea." He seemed to have stopped shivering, though she could still hear an unaccustomed tremor in his voice, "I love a volunteer."

"Hope so." Still concerned about how cold he felt, Sarah moved her arms to rub his, determined she would keep him conscious somehow. "I'll bring grapes."

"Only if they're… fermented."

His voice sounded slurred and she raised her head, noting with alarm that he was drifting toward sleep. "No," she said, giving him a shake, "Alistair! Stay awake! You must stay awake! Come on, talk to me. When would you like me to come and see you. What day? Saturday? You should be out of hospital by then."

For a moment she wasn't sure he was going to respond, then he shook his head as though trying to clear it and said, "Any day but Sunday."

"Alright," she said, "That's fine. What happens on Sunday? Alastair! Concentrate! What happens on Sundays?"

"My…" He smiled, sighed, and closed his eyes. "Kate..."

"What?" Sarah didn't know whether to be furious or humiliated. "Did you say Kate? Who the hell is Kate? Your regular girlfriend? Brigadier? Alistair!" He didn't respond this time and now she was scared as well as angry. "Don't you dare die on me," she yelled, pulling on the front of his pullover, "Don't you damn' well dare!"

And then she heard it: the sound of a familiar engine in the distance. Looking up, she saw a small yellow car heading along the track toward the crashed Land Rover. There were six UNIT vehicles following along, and Sarah stood up and ran toward them, waving her arms and shouting, "Over here! Over here!"

As the relief tipped her emotions over the edge, she remembered she no longer had a clean handkerchief to wipe her eyes.

It was in her jacket pocket, covered in blood.

Kept overnight in a single room at the UNIT infirmary, at Dr Sullivan's insistence, Sarah slept late. She lay quietly for a few minutes, till Harry Sullivan himself entered the room and checked her pulse and temperature.

"You're fine," he announced, "And so, thanks to you, is the Brigadier. Though whether we'll have him out of here by Sunday…"

"Oh, you have to have him out of here by Sunday, Harry," she said, lacing her remarks with acid, "He has someone very important to see."

Harry grinned, apparently missing her sarcasm, and nodded. "I know. She's here now – a real cutie." He plucked a hospital bathrobe from the peg behind the door and tossed it onto the bed. "Come and see!"

"Why on earth…?"

"Come on! It may be your only chance to see the Brigadier smile!"

Realising she couldn't very well explain her reluctance, Sarah slid out of bed and pulled on the robe. As Harry quietly opened the door to the next room, she heard a childish voice say, "Daddy, you can borrow Mr Ruffles if you like, till your poorly leg gets better. He's a very good doctor."

"Kate…"

Sarah peeked around the door, just in time to see Alistair pull the little girl sitting on his bed closer to him and kiss her.

"Darling, you won't go to sleep if you don't have Mr Ruffles with you." His voice sounded choked, and he was blinking very hard as he pushed a very cuddle-worn blue bear back into the girl's arms, "I already have a good doctor." He noticed Sarah and smiled, "And a very good nurse – even if she doesn't know much about morphine." He turned his attention back to the youngster, brushing her nose with a finger, "So you hold on to Mr Ruffles, but you bring him over on Sunday when you visit. Alright?"

"Will you be at your house on Sunday?"

"Yes I will. Even if I have to hop."

She giggled, and Sarah, feeling like an intruder, drew back into her own room, Harry quietly closing the door behind them.

"So that's Kate," she said, "How old is she?"

"About five, I think. She shouldn't be here, really, but Mr Benton managed to smuggle her through security somehow. And it's not as though the commanding officer's going to object, is it?"

"No," she said, "I don't imagine he will. Harry – tell me, where can I buy some good 'fermented grape' around here?"

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