Part Two: Induction

UNIT HQ Aylesbury sits outside the town on the A413, well back from the road, surrounded by high wire fences topped with barbed wire. The only indication of it's function or occupants is a sign by the entrance gate, six inches sqare, that says "UNIT HQ AYLESBURY".

I showed the sentry on duty my travel pass, and his companion came round to check Nick Munroee's as well. We'd agreed to drive in my car, and I'd picked him up from the hotel in Richmond at the crack of dawn that morning, facing a very long drive south from Catterick in North Yorkshire.

Here we finally were, at what seemed at first glance to be an Edwardian building adopted by the MoD, judging by the number of Landrovers and Bedford trucks sitting outside.

'What the hell is that!' exclaimed Nick as we got out after parking, hefting our suitcases. I followed his glance, to see what looked like a combination of delta jet and hovercraft, all silver, sitting next to –

'What's an antique doing there, you might add. Hell, I know budgets are tight, but they must be desperate to keep that lemon on the roads!' I snidely added.

Corporal Horrigan beat us to it, having travelled overnight, and sat waiting in the lobby. Private Ely took another thirty minutes to arrive, on a motorbike.

'Sorry I'm late, sir,' he apologised to me. 'Car broke down, had to borrow my brother's bike.'

For all that, nobody bothered us until nearly ten, when a captain arrived to greet us.

'Hello there,' he said, squinting at me slightly. 'Captain Mike Yates, late of the King's Dragoon Guards. Welcome to UNIT! We'll need to get you kitted out with new uniforms. If you'll follow me –'

My memory might be playing tricks on me but I felt I'd met this captain before.

'Lieutenant – Walmsley, isn't it? Do you play rugby?' he asked, leading us into a warren of corridors and stairs.

'Er – yes, sir. Full back for the regimental team.'

Nick wrinkled his brows at me, and the two others cast glances too. What was Captain Yates inferring?

'Ah – here we are. Okay, once you're fully dressed, meet me in C3. We'll begin the introductions then.'

"Quartermaster" stated the legend on the door Yates had led us to. He pushed the door open and we filed in.

Twenty minutes later we filed out, clad in uniforms that closely resembled those worn in the British Army, yet not quite. Our berets – beige, not black - all sported the UNIT logo instead of a regimental badge, we had the UNIT logo on our blouses, generally we felt more of a UNIT team than refugees from various regiments.

Ely led the way to C3. He had a nose for directions, did Ely. The room turned out to have a blackboard, a whiteboard, a film screen and projector, a big display stand with a flipchart attached, desks and a big tape deck off in the corner. Yates was waiting for us, clutching a stack of loose-leaf binders and a clipboard.

'Ah, good. Take a desk each, please. Okay, I'm going to give you one of these folders, for which you have to sign – here, in the box – and which are not to be removed from the building. Let me repeat that, NOT to be removed from the building.'

The big deal obviously had to be that the dossiers were full of top secret information, fine by me, top secret meant my nosiness got satisfied.

Yates gave us the go-ahead to read the files, which had been sealed with a circular wafer over the open leaves, meaning it needed to be torn open for us to read it.

"ABOVE TOP SECRET UNIT EYES ONLY" blared the first page. The second page had more information. "NOT TO BE PASSED ON TO ANY NON-UNIT PERSONNEL ON PAIN OF IMMEDIATE SANCTION". Yes, fine, we got the message. Then came a chapter listing , with mysterious names I didn't recognise – "Auton", "Cyberman", "Dalek", "Eocene/Silurian", plus lots more.

The first page gave me a surprise after reading it thoroughly.

"AUTON

Description:

A physical artefact activated by the presence of the Nestene Consciousness (See NESTENE). Invariably composed of plastic, individual Autons exhibit intelligent and rational behaviour. Typically they manifest as humanoid in appearance but have also adopted unusual bodyforms for special purposes (See Photo 5 & 7).

Offensive Capability:

Being mutually telepathic, all Autons instantly know what any single Auton knows. They can sustain significant damage before being impaired in function. They do not require light, heat, food, air or water to survive. As a hive-mind they do not exhibit any manifestations of emotion. Primary weapon is a probe, usually built into the right hand, which delivers a focussed pulse of energy; this is capable of instantly killing an adult male at ranges of up to seventy yards, and which is also effective against any material not specifically proofed against energy attack. Secondary weapon is left hand, used as an edged weapon for karate-style attack.

Vulnerabilities:

Being composed of plastic means Autons are vulnerable to incendiary munitions. A sufficient amount of small arms fire will destroy them, as will high explosive. High-frequency radio waves in the megahertz range projected unidirectionally will dissipate any Nestene presence in an Auton. Disruption of communication between Nestenes will deactivate all Autons simultaneously.

Other Notes:

Autons tend to run to two types; the "soldier" and the "actor". The former are only crudely similar to a human being and constitute their main offensive force, working either in disguise or openly. The latter mimic specific humans and replace them, being distinguishable only by persons previously in close contact to those being replaced, so accurate is the reproduction.

Codename: AIRFIX

Appendix:

OPERATION GIBRALTAR

OPERATION LONDON"

There were photographs after the body of text: No. 1 showed a plastic football, dimpled and internally-lit, entitled "SWARM LEADER"; No. 2 was a man in a boiler suit, or rather something resembling a man in a boiler-suit, dubbed "VARIANT ONE"; No. 3 was one of my old friends in yellow jacket and huge head, entitled "VARIANT TWO"; No. 4 was a pop-eyed individual called "VARIANT CHANNING"; No. 5 was an inflatable chair; No. 6 a plastic daffodil; No. 7 a grotesque miniature monster; No. 8 a huge glass and metal box containing the remains of a nasty-looking creature composed of equal parts crab, spider and octopus, "MATERIALISED NESTENE". Once I'd read this startling entry I went back and read it again, just to make sure I'd gotten it correct.

Silence reigned in the room once we'd looked at the information within the dossier. Only I didn't seem utterly stunned by the written record, for sound reasons.. The description of the Brigadier's "Ortons" tallied precisely with the Autons in this book.

Captain Yates remained unbothered by our immense scepticism. In fact he seemed to expect it as per normal.

'I was involved at the tail-end of Operation Gibraltar,' he informed us. 'Cleaning up after the mess the Autons made over the whole of the Home Counties the first time. Except I wasn't officially in UNIT at that point, which happened to be the third invasion attempt by a hostile alien power.'

Not being a mind-reader, I still knew that the others were thinking the same as me: the third attempt?

'You are all here because of your involvement in the most recent attempt by the Autons, Operation London. We anticipate further attempts by them in the near future, given that they've tried twice within a year already.'

Corporal Horrigan stuck up a hand.

'What about the first two invasions, sir?'

Yates wasn't bothered at all.

'You'll see them in the Appendices – Operation Resolve and Operation Merlin. The Great Intelligence, working via the Yeti, and the Cybermen, respectively.'

Blank looks all round.

'The London Underground? The Sixties The Big Freeze?' added Yates. Horrigan and Nick both got the raised-eyebrow and slack-jawed expression that usually denotes a major lightbulb moment.

For a minute I took a mental step back and considered what I'd gotten into. A top secret military organisation that dealt with alien attacks upon Planet Earth, which had done so for many years past, in total secrecy for as long as the folks in charge might wish. Another person might dismiss things as fantasy, fiction, make-believe, and so might I had there not been the fact of those plastic mannequins lying in a Reading warehouse. Plus the dead UNIT soldiers, and the trap set for nosey parkers.

Yates glanced over us assuredly.

'Don't worry, you can read the dossier at your leisure. Things will seem less fantastic once you've been given the tour at Swafham. That's where we keep all the bits and pieces from our various operations, what you might call a "black museum",' he finished, with a grin.

'Okay, back to a potted-history of UNIT. For obvious reasons we don't publish or circulate official works that the press or public might get hold of. There is a complete file of all UNIT operations world-wide, held in Geneva, which nobody below the level of President or Prime Minister gets to see.

'Here in Great Britain, we can trace the roots back to the beginning of the Cold War.' Captain Yates moved over to the flip-chart and turned the first, blank, page, revealing a little family tree. He pointed to the diagram and talked us through it.

'From 1945 until 1953, defence of the mainland was devolved to the RAF's Strike Command and Coastal Command and the Royal Navy's Inshore Patrol respectively. After the creation of the Warsaw Pact in 1953, things got more formalised. Since any invasion or incursion would come by air or sea, the flyboys created the Intruder Counter-Measures Group, whilst the Senior Service brought the Close Shore Interception Team into being – about a third of the way up our tree here. After Operation Resolve – the Yeti, the London Underground, the Great Intelligence? – after that, Colonel Lethbridge Stewart took his idea to the United Nations, who approved a charter, structure and funding for UNIT. Here in the UK the ICMG and CSIT were merged into the first formal UNIT organisation. Which is here, just below the crown of our family tree.'

This matter-of-fact delivery, together with dates and especially the acronyms the armed forces love so much, acted upon us to make the whole incredible scenario more believable. Yates continued, blandly assured, convinced that it was all perfectly correct, even approaching normal.

'In the early days several OC's saw a posting to UNIT as a convenient way to get rid of dead wood, and the overall quality of recruits dropped noticeably when we got dozens of completely useless duffers. This was soon, er, remedied, as, er, they tended to get killed rather quickly. Nowadays we have the Prospective Candidate Application system to screen people, which means a far lower rate of breakdowns or Returned To Units.'

We were proof of just that. Fourteen applicants, four successful.

Yates checked his watch.

'Okay, Major Hunter will be here in less than five minutes. He's made a study of UNIT history, personnel and operations. If any European government has a question that relates to UNIT, Major Hunter is the chap who answers it, usually in person to avoid any potential leaks over the airwaves or in print. Now that each of you has a basic understanding of where you fit into the scheme of things, there must be questions you want to ask. In which case – ah, sir!'

Yates saluted smartly as Major Hunter marched briskly into the room. We lesser mortals sprang to attention. He was thin, wiry, sporting a grey moustache and with restless eyes that took in the whole room and it's occupants. Nick Munroe gave a visible start of surprise when he set eyes on the major.

The major pivoted on his heel and returned the salutes, motioning us back to our seats.

'Okay, at ease. Do any of you have questions?'

Oh did we ever!

'Why doesn't anyone know about this?' snapped Nick, first off the mark.

'Fear,' replied the major, equally rapidly. 'If people knew how vulnerable we are it would have a major and destablising effect on society. Plainly put, we have been lucky several times in defeating invasion or incursion, and the decisions at the Security Council level were made to prevent this fact from becoming common knowledge. Planet Earth is in a particularly vulnerable state, having advertised our presence to the galaxy at large, without having the ability to defend itself against anyone who might take an unfriendly interest in us.'

'What's the difference between invasion and incursion?' asked Corporal Horrigan.

Hunter smiled a knowing smile.

'Captain – if you will turn the sheet.' Yates stepped forward and ripped off the top sheet from the flip chart, revealing a page of writing in black felt pen.

'"Invasion",' began the major, pointing to the top line. 'With examples. Defined as a large-scale attempt to occupy significant areas of Earth, with or without affecting the population in place. Operation Resolve, Operation Merlin, Operation Gibraltar, Operation London, Operation Eager. You'll find the full list of Operations in the appendix of your dossier.

'Next, "Incursion". A raid or attack of strictly limited intent and duration. Operation Grail, Operation Cambridge, Operation Snowflake, also the Intruder Counter-Measures Group's "do" in 1963. No operation title for that, it predates UNIT.

'Lastly, "Hostile Forces Already in Place". A bit tricky to describe, this one. Given the length of time the Earth has been around, we humans are not the first or only race to have evolved here, in situ. Apparently there are at least two other races, evolved reptiles, which exist in suspended animation at various locations around the globe. That's Operation Crusader, with the Silurians or Eocenes, depending on which boffin you believe; Operation Export, and I'm not going to sound like an idiot describing what the devil happened there; and Operation White Birch, which dealt with the second race of reptiles, amphibious ones this time. We don't have full details on that job, given that it was nearly all run by the Royal Navy, and the Ministry of Defence gives up it's secrets very, very reluctantly.'

Private Ely asked a question on my mind as well.

'Sir, are the Russians in on this too?'

Hunter smiled a tight little smile. His eyes flicked to Nick for a second and with a rush of surprise I realised that Major Hunter was the cousin Nick had referred to earlier.

'Oh yes, absolutely. Well - they are now. To begin with they were extremely suspicious about Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart's proposal, and blocked it in the Security Council, for eighteen months. Then they suddenly seemed to have a change of heart overnight, and openly backed UNIT. We can only suppose a power-shift in the Kremlin caused that. Anyway, once approved, they refused to let any NATO troops onto Soviet territory, or Warsaw Pact territory for that matter. Currently all Soviet and WarPac UNIT personnel are drawn from the armed forces of those countries, in the Soviet case mostly from the GRU. Despite refusing any UNIT personnel from other countries access into their territory, we actually have a very good information-exchange system in place with the Russians. If you get sufficiently high clearance in your career with us, you may eventually be privy to that data.'

Ah, the salt in the wound. Okay, I'd been given access to information beyond the ken of Joe Public and 99.9999 of the world's population, yet the major had to leave a twist in the tail – there was a lot more going on in UNIT operations world-wide and which I didn't have access to.

Time for my question.

'Sir, what about the Americans, and the French and Chinese? They're all members of the Security Council. Do they support UNIT?'

The major looked at me with his keen grey eyes, narrowing them slightly.

'Walmsley, isn't it? You took a degree in Political Science, if I remember correctly, eh? Good question, good question. The American military has been focussed on Indochina since 1965, Lieutant, and they've had precious little time, money, energy or inclination to support UNIT, especially since their scientific establishment has been devoted to the Apollo programme. Uncle Sam, for once, is content to let Britannia lead the way this time. The French have been only cautiously pro-UNIT, except for their proposal of a multi-national emergency team, which they're quite keen on. It may yet come about, if – and it's a big if – the other European nations can agree. The Chinese supported UNIT's creation out of sheer spite because the Russians didn't! Once the Russians changed their mind, the Chinese remained supportive. Too much of an about-face to oppose it.'

One question generated another, so I asked again.

'So, sir, does every country around the world have a UNIT component to it's armed forces?'

He seemed surprised.

'No, not at all! Don't forget that any UNIT force is mostly composed of full-time regulars on temporary assignment to the local UNIT command. That means the staff are still being paid by the host country, but not in it's service, which is too much of a financial burden for most Third World countries to sustain. Typically, the non-aligned nations, mostly India, Yugoslavia and Brazil, have an exchange programme with other non-aligned countries. An incident in Zambia would probably see a UNIT team flown in from Nigeria, for instance. No, I'm sorry to say that budgets being what they are, UNIT has to make a little go a long way, so very few of our staff are permanent members paid by Headquarters in Geneva.'

Motivated by the spirit of mischeif, I asked another question.

'What about Eire, sir?'

You might have imagined a small powder charge had been ignited under the major's buttocks, so sharp and sudden was his change in posture.

'What! What do you know about that! Lieutenant, explain yourself!'

It took several seconds for the penny to drop.

'Sir? Explain what? I meant, as a non-aligned nation, would Eire have a UNIT force of it's own or if not, would they have to send across Europe for one when the most experienced UNIT formation of all is just across the Irish Sea?'

He visibly relaxed, rolling his eyes a little.

'Bloody hell, Walmsley, you just took ten years off my life! I thought – well, never mind. The Irish Republic has a very small UNIT team, and in case of any emergency beyond their ability to cope, we have an arrangement to provide aid from the UK.'

He saw me about to ask another question and pre-empted me.

'Don't ask anything about UNIT in Eire, because I cannot and will not answer. Okay, anybody else?'

Everybody being slighly gobsmacked meant he was able to leave, giving Nick a knowing wink on the way out, and me a cold hard stare. Whoops, not a good start, John me lad.

The irrepressible Captain Yates sprang back into action again. He issued us with a red card, which one and all signed for.

'Okay, you've now received your Red Card. If you will read the instructions inside, please.'

Nick squinted at me, and I caught Corporal Horrigan looking strangely at the captain. We were all used to the Yellow Card, which detailed what a soldier had to do when carrying out Duties in Aid of the Civil Power. Essentially, you can't simply draw a bead on Joe Public and put a 7.62 through his head; you have to warn him first, along the lines of "Halt! Hands up!". This is drummed into you in all the training for Ulster. But a "Red Card"? Never heard of it.

Captain Yates remained perfectly calm. He must have heard all this before. Okay, okay, read on John, read on.

"UNIT Personnel acting under the auspices of the Emergency Powers Act, Peacetime Provisions (UK MAINLAND), Section One, Para Two, are obliged under their terms of service to open fire on Identified Hostiles (see attachment) immediately and not cease until so ordered, on pain of immediate and summary punishment. Once Identified Hostiles are encountered, there are to be NO verbal warnings, NO warning shots and NO prisoners taken under ANY circumstances."

It took a minute for this message to sink in.

'Sir, this is a licence to kill!' commented Corporal Horrigan.

'Yes, I suppose it is,' agreed Yates, diffidently. 'And for good reason.' He didn't carry on explaining, so Nick prompted him.

'Sir, this Red Card gives us carte blanche to simply kill anyone on sight.'

'Oh, no, Lieutenant, it doesn't. "Identified Hostiles" is what it says. There's a long typed attachment at the back you need to read to understand what a Hostile is. I can say from bitter personal experience that with some Hostiles you fire first and worry later because if you give them the chance there won't be a later.'

Slowly it dawned on me that Yates, in his typically understated British officer's stiff-upper-lip way, was saying that people's lives, lots and lots of them, maybe all of them, depended upon UNIT doing the right thing and killing the bad guys.

'Right, who's up for tiffin?' finished the Captain, brightly.

'What!' I replied. 'You tell us that Earth is in imminent peril from alien invasion, that we have to cope with little green men who kill, that the world depends on us, that our lives are in peril, and you ask – "who wants tea"!'

'Well, what do you want, then?' asked the captain.

'Milk and two sugars,' said a grinning Nick Munroe.

We got mugs of sergeant-major's tea, and the captain moved our induction on, pinning up a map of the UK, with red stickers at various UNIT locations.

'You won't be assigned permanently for a couple of weeks, until you've thoroughly bedded-in. After that you'll go to your parent company. Okay, tomorrow we're going to Swafham Prior, as I mentioned to you, the place we keep all our ghastly relics of various Operations. Any doubts you have about the induction will get quashed there, I guarantee. I recommend you read the dossier thoroughly today so you're clued-up for the visit tomorrow. Then there's Hayling's House, on the Dorset coast, where a lot of our in-house research goes on. Full of boffins in white coats. Up here is Maiden's Point, near Staithe. If it's possible for a place to be simultaneously boring and creepy, that's Maiden's Point. You have to be helicoptered in since there aren't roads to it any longer. Everyone has to do a tour there, thanks to our lack of manpower. Then we have Castlemuir in the Hebrides - horrible place to get sent, miles from anywhere and overrun with sheep – which carries out monitoring, something to do with SETI. Where else – oh, Auderly House, or what's left of it. That's a cushy number compared to some of the others.'

More paperwork arrived: a small pamphlet, once more with ABOVE TOP SECRET, give away on paid of death, mutilation, revocation of pension, etcetera. The first page showed a picture of what appeared to be a Victorian vaudeville villain, all goatee and slick black hair, subtitled "The Master".

'Who's the character with the face-fungus?'asked Nick.

'A very nasty individual known as "The Master",' began Yates. 'Guilty of every crime you can imagine. Nor is he human, despite appearances.'

My eyebrows rose at that phrase. Not human? I looked closely at the photo again. He definitely looked human.

'What is he then, sir, if he isn't human?' asked Corporal Horrigan, obviously enough.

'The details are all in your issue. Make sure you read and remember them, he can crop up anywhere, to make mischief or exploit it. What is he? An intelligent alien, humanoid, with advanced scientific knowledge, who wants to gain power on Earth. He's likely to ally himself with other parties who also want to gain power, like the Axons.'

Ah, yes, the Axons, next entry in my dossier after "Autons".

'A bad guy, then,' stated Nick. Yates nodded.

'Definitely. Remember, Red Card rules if you spot him. Sergeant Benton has a sweepstake – entirely unofficially – for whoever pots him.'

There was only time to glance at the details within the pamphlet before another issue of documents, radio callsigns. We were trusted enough to take this away with us for reference, and that finished the day. The captain showed us to our quarters and the next half hour was spent by all four of us sprogs trailing in equipment, stacking and unpacking it. My spartan little cubbyhole, laughingly dubbed an Officer's Room, Single, began to look more human once it was filled with my books, photographs. Nick called in and suggested a visit to the mess.

'Where'd you get that gangster gun?' he asked, spotting me tucking the Colt .45 away in my lockable desk.

'I bought it, off an officer in the regiment. I didn't ask him how he got it, and there's no paperwork with it, either. So it's a bit buckshee.'

He eyed me curiously.

'Yes, and why buy one? This is the army you know, we get issued Bertie Browning for free,' he added sarcastically whilst we walked to the mess.

'Impulse purchase. Besides, it puts your target down better than those nine-mill popguns we get issued.'

A long and boring debate about bullet characteristics was avoided once we got to the mess; shop talk is frowned upon there. Captain Yates introduced us to the other officers, we made polite small talk and ate. Perfectly normal, just like dinner in the mess at any regiment you might encounter across England, except other regiments didn't see off Martians or Axons or Slimurians or whatever they were – the names got a bit blurred together after reading so many of them.

'How's your first day on the strength been?' asked a Captain Beresford, in just about the most proper Received English accent you could imagine.

'Confusing, sir,' admitted Nick. 'A lot to take in.'

'Not just that, sir,' I added. 'The world looks a great deal stranger than it did yesterday.'

He laughed, not unkindly.

'We've all been there, Lieutenant! Don't worry, you'll settle down surprisingly quickly.'

My rueful look amused everyone at the table.

'If it's alright, I intend to get an early night. John and I were up at five for the trip down from Catterick,' said Nick.

'You're not on the duty roster yet,' said Captain Yates. 'Make the most of it while you can!'

'In that case, I'm off to bed too, sir. Goodnight,' and with that the newest officer recruits to UNIT were off to bed.