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24 May 2011 @ 03:43 pm
OOC / Yates Digest / Scales of Injustice  
((Over the next few days I'm going to be posting a digest of all the interesting bits involving Yates from various Doctor Who novels [and eventually the audios with the Fourth Doctor]. Since there are factual contradictions and portrayals vary according to author, this will be a collection of ONLY THE THINGS I CONSIDER CANON, for the sake of playing Yates. Basically, I read the books and I'm copy-pasting the highlights so you don't have to!))

“Good morning, Miss Shaw,” said Mike Yates, carrying an armful of rifles.

She nodded back at the handsome sergeant, thinking not for the first time how his rather public-school good looks reminded her of some hero of a boy's comic from the fifties, or an Eileen Soper illustration of one of Enid Blyton's intrepid child adventurers. Mike and Liz had shared a couple of tense situations, and while Liz would never claim they were close friends, she did feel a certain bond with the young sergeant.

She remembered that the Brigadier had already asked for her opinion on Yates as possible captain material. If honesty, integrity and reliability were essential requirements for a military promotion, then Mike Yates fitted the bill perfectly.


He was dressed in a brown roll-neck, under a brown check sports coat. His tan flannel trousers flapped in the breeze as he started back towards the car, stuffmg his hand in his pocket.

Cunningly deepened and reshaped, the pocket was actually a holster containing a small Browning automatic, loaded and ready. Mike Yates was not taking chances.

As he approached, Maisie Hawke stuck her head out of the window, smiling. 'Hey, Michael. I don't think any of the locals are going to attack us. No need for the pistol, eh?'

He got into the passenger seat. 'Can't be too careful, Maisie. You never know. The Brig always says to be prepared.'

'You sound like a boy scout.' She was still smiling. 'When you've been with UNIT a while longer, you'll relax a bit more.'

Mike shrugged. 'Yeah, but how long is that? The life-expectancy of a UNIT soldier isn't exactly known to be high.'

'We all know the risks when we sign on the dotted line. No one forces us here, you know.'


Hawke shrugged. 'So. Why did you join up?'

Mike stared out of the windscreen. 'A long story involving family pressure, peer group pressure, university pressure and personal inability to say no to anyone who thought they could run my life better than I could.'


‘I've seen more weirdness here in two months than I could have hoped for in ten years in the regular army. I'm not leaving this place unless it's on a blanket-covered stretcher.'


'I... I'm sorry, Maisie. I didn't know.'

'No reason why you should. Even his family don't know. They think he diedin a military car accident in Switzerland. Do you know how many lies I have to type, Mike? How often I have to write and tell someone that their son or daughter has been killed while on attachment to UNIT? I can't say they died when an Auton shot them in Essex, or a supposedly friendly alien shoved more radiation through their body with one touch than they'd get if they sat in a reactor at Windscale for six months. No, they die in car accidents, or swimming accidents. Or missing after manoeuvres in the Gobi desert have gone awry.' She looked at her hands and Mike could see they were gripping the steering wheel too tightly; her knuckles were white. 'I had to write to George Hawkins, a man I spent Christmas with last year, and tell him Sam died in an accident when he actually died protecting us all from a bunch of reptilian killers.'

'I thought the Brigadier wrote to people,' Mike said suddenly, and immediately wished he hadn't.

But Maisie Hawke laughed and let go of the steering wheel. 'Oh, Michael, you're so sweet.'

'Oh. Thanks. I think.'

'Yeah, he signs them. But I research who they go to and actually type them up.'


The man who was obviously the group's look-out heard the whistle. He was about to give one back when a large lump of rock caught him behind the ear. He dropped like the proverbial stone, but before he even hit the ground, he was yanked back into the darkness of a recess in the cliff.

Mike Yates unclipped the man's belt and used a knife to slice through his boot laces. Mike had already shed his own top clothes and was trying not to shiver as he unzipped the black coveralls. The whole procedure only took thirty seconds, but it was long enough for the leader to whistle again. Hurriedly, Mike zipped up the coverall on his own body and slipped on the damaged boots, hoping no one would look too closely at the laces. Pushing on the helmet and snapping down the visor to cover his face, he stumbled out of the recess, almost crashing into the group's leader.

Mike mumbled an apology as indistinctly as he could. 'Yeah, well, we'll discuss your look-out abilities back at the Vault,' said the leader, pushing him towards the plane.


Benton licked his lips. 'Permission to speak candidly, sir?' 'Of course.'

'It's not me, sir. I know that. You know that. Mike Yates knows that. He's an officer, sir. Like you, it's in the blood. The lads respect him, admire him if you like. So do I. Frankly, I couldn't give orders to someone like him any more than I could to you, sir.' Benton knew he was flushing slightly. 'Really, sir, I'd much prefer it if he was a captain. It would be good for morale, provide a chain of command and help things run more efficiently. Added to that, sir, I don't want that responsibility. I'm a soldier, not a politician. Mike's a better juggler of high-ups than me. I can deal with grunts on parade, but give me one of those bods from C19 or the Ministry, and I'm out of my depth.'

'Good grief, Sergeant.' The Brigadier smiled. 'I don't think I've ever heard you say so much.'

Benton could not help but smile back. 'Been practising this speech, sir.'


The pale young man shoved his hand inside his jacket but before he could bring his gun up to bear, a rifle shot rang out, sending the gun spinning across the floor. The pale young man grabbed at his stinging wrist and looked down at one of the guards the Doctor had sent sprawling. He was up on one knee, his rifle aimed squarely at his employer's chest. He tossedhis head back, and his helmet flew off.

'Sergeant Yates!' The Doctor hurried over to him. 'My dear Mike, I'm terribly sorry to have hit you so hard.'

A little hoarsely, Yates muttered that it didn't hurt. He rose slowly, still covering the pale young man with his rifle.


Mike winced, expecting to see the guard fall back down, possibly losing a couple of teeth. Instead, his head was torn from his shoulders with a horrible ripping sound, sending blood and tissue everywhere. The head bounced a couple of times, before coming to rest by the door. A second later, the body hit the floor.

Without hesitation, Mike fired eight bullets into the pale young man's chest, but again the expected failed to occur. The man just smiled, and looked at his shredded suit, a line of smoking bullet holes dotting his chest.

'Cybernetics. He's been augmented by Cyber-technology!' The Doctor pulled Mike away. 'Run!'

Yates didn't need telling twice, and followed the Doctor through the door behind them.


The technician pressed a switch and Yates heard a clang as the double doors directly above the Blackbird started to part. Sunlight streamed in.

The technician took advantage of his distraction, whipping out a sidearm, but the movement caught Yates's eye just in time. He feinted to one side and they fired simultaneously.

Yates fell back as the bullet ripped through his shoulder and out the other side. Blood trickled from the wound but, miraculously, it seemed to have missed any main arteries. His bullet found its mark, straight through the technician's heart, and the white-coated woman died soundlessly.
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