Chapter Two

A Good Man Goes To War

"What's up with you now, eh?" The Eleventh Doctor raced around his TARDIS console room, hammering buttons as fast as he could. His mystical space ship was acting very peculiar indeed, for instead of increasing the volume of the console's MP3 player as The Doctor had requested (the Time Lord was once again obsessed with revisiting his performances as 'triangle player' in Beethoven's symphonies), the ship was ringing its cloister bell louder than he'd ever heard.

"Uhh, uhh…" The Doctor fixed his bow tie and grabbed a small mallet from underneath the console, using it to tap his forehead for a moment. "What is it, what's wrong?" The ship swerved through the Time Vortex, thrusting The Doctor forwards and, instead of regaining his balance he slipped and violently crashed his head against the TARDIS console. Seeing stars (metaphorically for a change), The Doctor fell back and landed on the deck of the time machine.

Feeling his consciousness departing him, the Time Lord groaned. "Where…uh…" The cloister bell rang louder and louder while The Doctor's eyes unwillingly closed. With an almighty bang, the ship crash landed with its captain fast asleep.

A fez lay on the TARDIS deck next to a sonic screwdriver. The cloister bell had ceased, and the TARDIS itself had completely shut down. No lights. No sound. No movement.

The Doctor stirred. His jet black hair lay matted across his face, and as he reached for his screwdriver, his eyes burst open.

"Okay." He jumped to his feet. "TARDIS has switched itself off. Why? Hmm…" Stepping up to the controls, he wiggled the hot and cold taps. "No response." Waggling his screwdriver at the central tower, he called "Amy! Rory! Whe -"

Sighing, he placed the screwdriver back into his top pocket and bowed his head. He had to get used to being alone. Manhattan had taught him that. They'd only been gone a week (or at least a week by his standards) yet it felt like years, and he needed something to occupy his mind.

"No response," he mumbled again before lifting his head and rubbing his eyes. "Right then. Nothing to lose, old girl." He patted the console and straightened his bow tie. "I promise I'll come back. Wish me luck."

With a spin of his heel, The Doctor marched towards the door of the TARDIS and, with little more than a second's hesitation, opened the doors.

"Ah."

Not for the first time, The Doctor found himself facing an armada of rifles pointed directly at his face. Raising his arms in surrender, he grinned.

"Hello! I'm The Doctor!" He closed the door behind him quickly.

A rugged, heavyset man with a wide array of medals stood directly in front of The Doctor, with a small hand pistol pointed directly between his eyes. The Time Lord went cross-eyed trying to keep it in focus.

"Uh…"

"He's a German spy!" called a young, timid soldier who barely looked any bigger than the rifle he was holding, and several of his fellow combatants nodded in agreement. The sergeant in front of The Doctor made no indication that he had heard the boy, instead choosing to narrow his eyes.

"Who are you?" The accent was undoubtedly British. "And how did you do that?" He nodded at the TARDIS. The Doctor blinked.

"Oh! The dematerialization! Yes, the cloister bell was ringing so I assumed something very negative and timey wimey was going on so I tried to jettison the karaoke bar and things went a little haywire, but by the beard of Rassilon am I lucky that I landed safe -"

The sergeant cocked his gun.

"…ly." The Doctor finished and gulped. "Okay, I promise, it looks a little weird but I guarantee you I'm a friend. Look, here are my credentials!"

He showed the sergeant a piece of psychic paper. Seemingly satisfied, the military leader lowered his gun.

"It says here your name is John Smith."

"Yes."

"From the University of Gallifrey."

"Uh…okay, yes."

"And you are here to investigate some paranormal activity?"

The Doctor spun round and glared at the TARDIS.

"Well. I suppose I must be." Turning back to smile at the troops, who were now a little more at ease, The Doctor sighed. "How can I be of service, Sergeant…"

"Sergeant will do," the officer said. "Names are not essential here." The Doctor grinned.

"Blimey, you're going to love me then!"

"Mr Smith. You will follow me."

The Doctor lowered his hands and wandered in the sergeant's wake, several troops bringing up the rear. The moonlight shone upon the trench, and the Time Lord began to wonder what sort of mess his TARDIS had landed him in this time. Paranormal activity? He knew there was no such thing, his experience with the army of ghosts had taught him that much.

The Sergeant led him into a small bunker in which hundreds of battle plans and papers were laid upon a table. "Stand guard outside,", he ordered two soldiers. "The rest of you, get some sleep. There is no danger here."

"Not until tomorrow morning, sir," mumbled one trooper, his helmet almost twice the size of the head it sat upon. The Sergeant's lips threatened to smile.

"You will request permission to speak freely, soldier. Now do as I have commanded." The boy departed along with several other men, leaving The Doctor and the Sergeant alone in the bunker.

He was quite an old man, The Doctor observed. It was only when he removed his hat and placed it upon a chair that the Sergeant's grey hair was revealed, and by removing his glasses he would have looked impossibly frail. The silver beard still gave him that sense of menace, however, and simply by looking at his chest, the medals clearly made a point: this man had fought (and won) for a long time.

With an almighty clang, the gravity of the situation hit The Doctor and unwillingly, his hands clasped and rubbed together frantically.

"What year is this?" he blurted out, unaware of the ridiculousness of the question. The Sergeant seemingly ignored him.

"Sit," he commanded, pushing out a chair. What little light that there was inside the bunker lit up The Doctor's face, while the Sergeant was almost covered in darkness.
"For now, I ask the questions."

The Doctor did as he was told, one eye on the revolver casually in the Sergeant's right hand.

"That blue police box. How did it arrive in our trenches?"

"Listen -"

"Answer the question, Doctor."

"It's all very compli -"

"Or do you prefer Mr. Smith?" The Sergeant gave a half smile, and The Doctor became suspicious. Waves of worry washed over his brilliant mind and his two hearts thumped a little faster in his chest.
"Either or," he replied casually, keeping the conversation light. "But you wouldn't believe it if I told you." The Sergeant made to ask another question, but The Doctor interrupted. "Now, an eye for an eye. What year is this?"

"How can you possibly be unsure of that?" The Sergeant was definitely smiling now. "The whole world is watching, these times will go down in history. If there is a future for this world at all." The Doctor sighed.

"Sorry. Been away for a while. Personal matters, travelling and such. Not really been keeping an eye on the news."

"This is 1916, Mr. Smith. And you are in France on the eve of the glorious Somme Offensive. Tomorrow, we are going over the top and we are going to destroy the German troops." The Sergeant's eyes were glowing, as though he was speaking more to himself than to The Doctor.

"Uh huh…" The Doctor's mind was racing. "Look, I'm sorry, but I really must -"

"And yet, we are facing an enemy in our own trenches. A beast."

The Doctor's curiosity was dripping with temptation. A beast? In World War I France? He grinned darkly to himself. A beast at this time could be any of the humans causing this war. "A beast you say?" he replied slowly. "Perhaps your troops are experiencing some pre-match jitters? Hallucinating? Seeing things?" The Sergeant leaned forward and stared closely into The Doctor's eyes.

"I have seen it, Mr. Smith. This night, the night of the fullest moon, I witnessed it. A whole squadron wiped out by a monster."

Keeping up a low-key façade, The Doctor leaned backwards casually. "Well then. Perhaps it can aid you tomorrow…in your big war effort. Over the top." He stood up, leaning forward now and staring very hard into the officer's eyes. "And you're going to need every man you can get. Because those soldiers out there are not men. They are boys. And you are feeding them to the Germans like lamb to the slaughter. Like fools. Like pieces of timber entering a shredder."

The Sergeant stood up and put one hand on The Doctor's shoulder, as a friend would reassure another. "Oh, Mr. Smith. If we are to die…then you are to join -"

An almighty clang burst through the air, and the soldiers outside covered their ears with their hands, screaming. The Doctor, panic stricken, burst through the door and ran outside to his TARDIS.

"Oh no no no!" He sprinted towards his ship as the ever-familiar sound of de-materialization filled his senses. "Where are you going, no no no no!" In moments, the TARDIS was gone in a flash of white light. Alone, friendless and without aid, The Doctor was lost; sinking to his knees and allowing his trousers to sink into the mud, he ran his hands through his hair in grief. "I don't understand, how did it possibly disappear on its own? Where's it gone?"

The Sergeant appeared behind him and brought him to his feet. "Well then, Mr. Smith. Your mode of transport seems to have abandoned you. It looks like you are one of us after all. Welcome to World War I."

Please rate and review :) Another familiar face coming up in Chapter 3!