UNIT London Annex Tactical Command Post

RAF Manston operates as a utilitarian military airfield repurposed for high-stakes diplomacy, its runways and hangars now thronged with polished sedans disgorging urgent delegates. The evening light slants through exhaust fumes as Sir Reginald Styles steps onto tarmac stained with oil and rain, his arrival immediately subsumed by dispatch riders in UNIT livery who fan out with orders that escalate the crisis. The air carries the sharp tang of aviation fuel mixed with the musk of wool overcoats, each delegate’s urgency clashing with the airfield’s mechanical rhythms—turbine whine, radio static, the distant clatter of boarding stairs. This is no civilian transit point but a military node where history’s timelines are weaponized: the Daleks’ temporal incursions make every second here a potential failure point, and the Brigadier’s redirection of resources confirms this as ground zero for the coming confrontation.