Captain Keating watched as the General gradually covered the map with severed doll’s heads. ‘Do you have a plan of attack, sir?’ he asked.

‘Of course!’ cried the General. ‘We blast ’em back to Russia, where they came from!’

‘If you will pardon me, sir,’ Keating put in. ‘We don’t know they’re from Russia. Can I suggest we study the enemy for a while longer before we begin blasting them?’

‘Very wise, what what!’ barked a voice from the doorway before the General could reply. Keating turned to find a tall, thin man in British military uniform crossing the room. His hair (almost certainly longer than any army allowed) was plastered to his head with oil, and he wore a dark moustache which sloped ever so slightly down to the left.

The General’s hand hovered over the handle of his service pistol. ‘Now, just who in the name of tarnation are you?’ he demanded.

‘The name’s Lethbridge-Stewart!’ announced the newcomer. ‘Brigadier Alistair Gord— No, wait, hang on … it’s still 1963, isn’t it?’ He stopped to count on his fingers for a moment. ‘Right, yes! I’m Colonel Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart. British army, old bean! Delighted to meet you, what!’ He held out a hand, which the General ignored.

‘What are you doing here?’ the Texan drawled.

‘Been drafted in to help with these pesky heads,’ said the Brit. ‘Sort the blighters out once and for all. Greyhound Leader to Trap One, and all that, my old mucker.’

‘Drafted in?’ said the General. ‘By who?’

Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart’s eyes flicked as he appeared to think. ‘Why, the Pentagon, old chap!’ he said after a second or two. ‘I’ve been over here, working on a couple of military-style projects – you know, stuff with soldiers and the like – and as soon as they heard about all these blinking faces, they put me on the first flight down here. Or up here. Whichever direction it is.’ He reached up to his collar to adjust his tie, then seemed to change his mind at the last moment and instead twirled the ends of his moustache.

The General’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve seen these things before?’

‘Not exactly like these, skipper,’ replied the Colonel. ‘But situations like this are right up my bloomin’ street, old fellow. I’d listen carefully and do exactly as I say, if I were you.’

The General snarled. ‘The Pentagon may have sent some lily-livered Limey down to offer advice, but I’m still in charge around here, get it?’

‘Of course, old sport,’ blurted out Lethbridge-Stewart. He unholstered his own gun and waved it carelessly in the air. ‘Now, who do I have to shoot to get a cup of tea around here?’

Captain Keating ducked below the line of the barrel. ‘Er, I’ll be happy to get you some tea, sir,’ he said, ‘if you could just secure your weapon?’

‘Certainly, old fellow!’ beamed the Colonel. ‘Never much liked these things, anyway.’ He slid his pistol back in its holster on the third attempt, and Keating left the room. ‘Now, then …’ he said, leaning over the doll head-festooned map. ‘What do we have here?’

‘An up-to-the-minute record of faces and heads,’ said the General. He didn’t like having to share information with this tea-supping Brit but, if the Pentagon had sent him to help out, he would be filing a report back. He’d play along and include the fool – for the time being. ‘I need to know exactly where they are so I can wipe ’em off the face of the Earth.’ The General laughed heartily, and slapped Lethbridge-Stewart on the back. When he was able to breathe again, the Colonel joined in with the guffaws.

‘Top whizz, what what!’ Lethbridge-Stewart exclaimed. ‘But what about the element of surprise?’

‘What about it?’

‘Well, think about it, old man … If you go in all guns blazing, word could spread among the enemy that they’re under attack. However, if you position your troops out of sight of the blighters, you can spring the trap when the time is right!’

A smile crept across the General’s face. ‘Catch ’em unawares, you mean?’

‘That’s the idea!’

General West turned and paced across the room and back, mulling the idea over in his mind. ‘I guess that would mean I could put a stop to the invasion in one fell swoop …’

‘Invasion?’ said the Colonel. ‘You know it’s an invasion?’

‘Well, of course it is!’ the General cried. ‘A commie invasion!’

‘Oh, er … yes. Of course!’

‘And putting a stop to an entire invasion with a single command … Now, that would get me noticed!’

‘You bet it would!’ said Lethbridge-Stewart, clapping his hand on the General’s back. He spotted the old soldier’s reaction and quickly stuffed his hand into his jacket pocket. ‘I should imagine it would impress a lot of the big cheeses back in Washington.’

The General grinned. As crazy as this British guy was, he liked the sound of being noticed by the big cheeses, whatever they were. ‘So where would you suggest I station my troops? Out of sight of the enemy?’

‘Completely out of sight!’ said the Colonel. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and opened it to reveal a dozen or so candies shaped like little men. ‘In fact, if I were you, I’d take them right back to here.’ He dropped the sweets onto an area near the outer edge of the map.

The General leaned in to examine the area and scowled. ‘That’s my barracks,’ he said flatly.

‘Precisely, old chap,’ enthused Lethbridge-Stewart. ‘And that’s exactly what those no-good Johnnies wouldn’t expect you to do.’

‘But it’s a complete withdrawal of my men!’

Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart wagged a long finger in the air. ‘That may be what it looks like, old sport,’ he agreed. ‘But in reality, it’s a shrewd military tactic.’

The door swung open and Captain Keating returned, carrying a tray of cups. ‘Spiffing!’ cried the Colonel. ‘I’m bloomin’ parched, squire!’

But instead of offering tea, Keating spun around and pointed a gun at the British officer. ‘You’re an impostor!’ he snarled. ‘Put your hands in the air!’

‘Gosh!’ exclaimed Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart, raising his arms. ‘I’ll have the coffee if tea is this much trouble.’

‘The coffee is for the General,’ snarled Keating. ‘I’m sorry I took so long making it, sir – I made a telephone call while I was away. A telephone call to British military headquarters, who told me that the real Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart is currently on tactical manoeuvres on Salisbury Plain.’

‘What?’ roared General West. ‘Are you saying this man isn’t the real thing?’

‘That’s exactly what I’m saying,’ said Keating, reaching for the British soldier’s fake moustache. Lethbridge-Stewart leaned back to try to keep the facial hair out of his grasp, but the Captain simply lunged forward and ripped it off.

‘Ow!’ cried the counterfeit Colonel, clutching at his upper lip. Then he scuffed up his oiled back hair into an alarming mess. ‘Hello! I’m the Doctor. I suppose the tea is out of the question now?’

‘I think you’ve got some explaining to do,’ barked the General, his own pistol now pointing at the Doctor. ‘What are you doing in my command centre?’

‘Yes, now that I can explain,’ said the Doctor. ‘Sorry about the disguise – but it was good, though, wasn’t it? I needed to find a way to speak to you. General, whatever you do, you absolutely must not attack the Shroud.’

‘The what?’ demanded the General.

‘The Shroud,’ said the Doctor. ‘Bit of a long story, but they’re an alien race who are here to feast on the grief of human beings. I can find a way to stop them – I just need time.’

‘You’ll have plenty of time where you’re going,’ said the General, gesturing to the door with his gun. ‘Captain Keating – take him away.’

‘I’m being serious – you have to listen to me!’

‘I’m not listening to a madman with a fake moustache. Get him out of here!’

‘There’s nothing wrong with a fake moustache, you know,’ mumbled the Doctor as Keating ushered him out. ‘You don’t think Clark Gable’s was real, do you? He was nobody until I stuck that ’tache on him …’