The Battle Ground Series: Books 1-3 Page 19
And then it’s if someone has struck the back of my head with a hammer. Someone behind me is firing their gun. My neck snaps forward as the bullet grazes my helmet, and I’m running as well. Another bullet thumps into the ground in front of me. The next shot could bring me down. I keep running. I need to get out of the yard.
Commander Bracken is throwing camouflaged bags out of the nearest vehicle. He tears one of them open, and pulls a gas mask down over his face. He opens another and hands it to Margie, and another to her guard. The mist is filling the farmyard, creeping along the ground and drifting into the air. I focus on running, past the vehicles, past the end of the house and into the woods beyond. Automatically, I check my contamination panel. The chemical section is turning red, and the level is climbing.
Bullets are snapping past me. The soldiers behind me don’t need gas masks – their helmets are protecting them. As I run, I reach for the canister at my waist and activate my own air supply. I sprint for the end of the yard and turn past the corner of the house, into the deep shadow at the edge of the floodlights. The soldiers are right behind me, but I’m wearing black, and their eyes are used to the light. As quickly as I turned left, I turn right and run for the trees. I leap over the pipe, disconnected from the back of the tanker.
As I reach the undergrowth I can hear bullets impacting on the ground behind me. There’s a pause in the firing as they realise that I’m not hiding near the house, and then the bullets are ripping through the trees around me. I dodge between the pines, putting as many tree trunks as possible between myself and the guns. The light from the yard is fading, and I’m running into blackness, my arms outstretched to stop me running into the trees.
I need to shake off the soldiers, and I need to get to the lake.
“Charlie! Dan! Turn your air supplies on and check the contamination level.” I’m running, and my voice jumps as my feet hit the ground.
The guns behind me are slowing. Only a few bullets are reaching this deep into the trees, and eventually they stop altogether. I want to stop, catch my breath, but I can’t. I need to get away. I turn back, and I see torch beams, heading away from me in the woods. The soldiers are heading back to the farmyard. I wait to see whether they are searching for me, but they keep walking, back towards the light.
I bend over, rest my hands on my knees and take a few deep breaths.
Their torchlight is fading, and I risk taking my torch from my waist and, keeping the beam low, switch it on. I wave it across the trees in front of me, and I feel myself begin to panic. Everything looks the same. A carpet of dried pine needles. Tree trunks. Dense branches in every direction. I need to keep moving, and I need to move away from the yard. I look back, locate the glow from the floodlights, turn round, and keep walking.
There’s no team here – I’m on my own. I need to solve my own problems. Get myself out of danger.
I think of Saunders, his ankle twisted in the woods. I think of Amy, terrified on the assault course. I think of Margie, in the farmyard. Margie who I couldn’t help.
I’ve made a mess. I’ve helped people, and I’ve been punished for it. I’ve tried to help my friends, and they’ll be punished for my efforts. I’ve taken Margie from one prison cell to another, and I’ve handed Dr Richards to the government as well.
I let out a scream of frustration.
“Bex – are you … is that your torch?”
I stop. Can Dan see me? Slowly, I put my hand over the bulb, and then pull it away. Cover the light, uncover.
And there’s another torch beam, off to my left. On, off. On, off.
“I see you!”
I walk towards the light, closing the space between us.
Reunion
We walk together to the lake, keeping our torch beams low. The contamination panels are clearing, and we’re back on the path. Charlie and Dan are supporting the guard between them. They’ve tied a wet T-shirt round his face to protect him from the gas – it’s not enough, but the contamination levels are lower out here, away from the farmyard. I’m on watch, keeping my gun ready, checking that we’re not being followed.
We pass the ventilation pipes, hidden in a wooden box, about the size of a rabbit hutch. Crates and equipment are scattered across the path, and they were obviously planning to connect the pipe from the tanker to the air intake. Let them. There’s no one in there for them to hurt now.
At the lake we switch our radios back to the group channel, and there’s a welcome rush of voices. My contamination panel shows a pale shade of pink, getting paler all the time. I raise my visor as we walk into the group, gathered in the trees. I’m amazed to find that everyone’s here. We’ve all made it out.
All except Saunders.
Charlie and Dan lower the guard to the ground and prop him against a tree. I want to join him, to sit down and let the night’s events flow away from me. But we need to keep moving. We need to be away from here before daylight gives away our escape.
There’s a smudge of light in the sky to the east, and we’re running out of time to get ourselves away from Will’s land. The soldiers will search for us when the light returns, and we need to be far away.
I give everyone a few minutes to collect their equipment – bags, guns, and helmets – and then I start to walk. I have no destination in mind – no plan – I just know that we can’t stay here. The group follows, taking it in turns to help the injured guard. Charlie pulls the sketches out of her bag, gives them to Amy, and wraps her in a tight hug. They walk together, and Amy stumbles over the rough ground, unseeing, Jake’s arm supporting her, Saunders’ artwork in her hand.
“What happened back there?” whispers Dan, as we walk at the edge of the group.
“I screwed up.”
“And Margie?”
“Alive. But the government has her. And Dr Richards.”
He puts his arm round my shoulders and gives me a squeeze.
“You did your best, Bex. And you got all of us out.” He waves his hand at the people walking with us.
“It wasn’t enough.”
“It’s enough for today.”
Walking
We’ve been walking for days. We’ve slept in outbuildings, in barns, under bridges. Everywhere, we’ve stayed out of sight. We’ve swapped our armour for civilian clothes, and our bags are full of plastic panels, unclipped and hidden away. We split up to walk through towns, and meet up again on deserted roads. We’re trying to put as much space as possible between us and the farm. I don’t know how long we’ll walk for, or when we will be able to stop, but every day I feel happier that we are alive, and that we’ve come this far.
I let Saunders down, and I lost Margie and Dr Richards. I see their faces every time I close my eyes. I can’t fix everything, but the people walking with me are alive because I brought them here.
I pull Saunders’ sketch from my pocket. Apart from him, we’re all safe. Apart from him, we’re all still walking.
And maybe Dan’s right. Maybe that’s enough for today.
FALSE FLAG
(Battle Ground #2)
Rachel Churcher
www.TallerBooks.com
Note
Leominster is a town in Herefordshire, UK. It is pronounced ‘Lem-ster’.
KETTY
AUGUST
Prologue
Trapped. Cornered. And all I can feel is the pain. The bullet against my knee.
I crawl between the trees, into the darkness, fighting to get away from the voices on the path.
Survive, Ketty. Live through this. Get out of sight, and away from the guns. Away from the tiny fighters.
I crawl, clenching my teeth against the pain, while the children behind me argue about putting a bullet in my back.
Discipline, determination, backbone. Keep quiet, and keep moving.
Let them go. Protect yourself.
Get through this.
KETTY
JUNE
(TWO MONTHS EARLIER)
Newbies
They file into the camp, dead on their feet. Have they done any exercise in their lives? The newbies usually look exhausted, but these are beyond that. They’re a disgrace.
Commander Bracken sent Jackson and Miller to meet them, and parade them in along the bypass. If it had been up to me, I’d have hidden them away and brought them in the back way, along the lanes. But it’s not up to me, and here we are. I’m sure the good citizens of Leominster feel much safer, now that they’ve seen the urchins who are supposed to be protecting them.
There are some posh kids in this group, from some expensive boarding school up north. Kids with expectations that the world will be kind to them, and bow to their needs. It will be a pleasure to teach them the truth.
Jackson leaves the new arrivals with the camp staff and walks back to the Senior Dorm. He finds me at my table next to the window, finishing the commander’s paperwork for this evening. He sits down opposite me.
“Did you see that?”
I sit back in my chair, arms folded. “I did. You two just marched that crowd of grubby civilian children past all the cars on the bypass. Feeling proud, are you?”
He ignores my grin.
“They’re going to be tough to train, these kids. They didn’t sign up. They don’t know what’s coming.”
“Neither do the volunteers.”
“No, but these recruits are soft. They don’t want to be here. It’s going to be hard, getting them up to fighting standard. Bracken isn’t going to cut us any slack. We’re the ones who’ll need to put the pressure on, and we’re the ones who’ll get the blame when the kids can’t handle the training.”
He’s right. I can mock them, and I can entertain myself with their incompetence, but I’m the one who needs to impress the commander. I need them to shape up fast, or it’s my promotion that goes to someone else.
“No mercy, then. Whatever it takes to get them trained and ready, we do. Right?”
“Right”, says Jackson, a wicked grin creeping across his face. “I won’t report you, if you don’t report me. Iron fists and steel toe caps. Deal?”
“Deal.” Sounds good to me.
*****
After dinner, we head to the new recruits’ dorm, and hang around outside the dining room. The camp staff are setting up their uniform distribution tables, and Commander Bracken is giving his usual speech. Jackson and I can do it by heart.
“Things I do not wish to see: dirty uniforms; torn uniforms; damaged uniforms; disrespected uniforms!”
We keep our voices down, sing-songing along with him, and watching the recruits we can see from the corridor.
They are pitiful. They are struggling to even stay awake. One hot meal and they think it’s time for bed. Are they expecting a cup of warm milk and a bedtime story?
And then it happens. One of the recruits falls asleep at his table. We’re watching from the corridor, and it is delicious. He’s tiny, this kid. Hair all over the place, scuffed shoes, dangling shoelaces. His head drops, and he actually starts snoring! Snoring, while the commander is talking.
Jackson and I are smothering our laughter, making sure we’re not overheard. We should walk away, but we’re not missing this for anything.
Commander Bracken stops his speech, and looks at Assistant Woods. There’s the flicker of a smile on Woods’ face, and he walks over to the sleeping recruit and crashes his clipboard down on the table. I think the recruit is going to hit the ceiling. He wakes up in a hurry, and gets a fearsome earful from Woods.
I’m biting my knuckles so as not to make a noise, but this is the best entertainment we’ve had in weeks. Jackson is actually doubled over, gasping for breath, and now I’m laughing at both of them.
The commander picks up his speech again. The sleeping kid is shaking, and the others have a new look of terror on their faces. Good. They’re going to need that.
The commander is reaching the end of his speech, and the kids are going to start leaving with their uniforms. We need to get out of the corridor.
As we’re walking away, the commander addresses the sleeping kid.
“Saunders!”
“Sir!”
“You will stand where you are until the other recruits have their uniforms. When the last of your colleagues has left, then you may collect your uniform.”
Jackson and I look at each other.
“So Saunders is the new whipping boy?”
He nods. “Saunders is the new whipping boy. Let’s see how long it takes to put him in the hospital, as an example to the others.”
I smile. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
*****
When we arrived at camp, we all wanted to be here. We were fit, we were clean, we were eager to get started. We were fighters, and we wanted to be trained. We wanted to get better.
I signed up as soon as they’d let me. It was a ticket out of a dead-end job, and a ticket out of home as well. At the camp, life was simple. Do as you’re told, keep fit, don’t let them see you breaking the rules – and things would go well for you. You could earn promotions, special treatment, new opportunities. Screw up, get lazy, do something stupid, and expect punishment.
Justice.
It made a change from being punished because your Dad was drunk, or because he’d gambled away the housekeeping money. It made a change from apology gifts that he couldn’t afford, and the anger that followed. At camp, there would always be enough food. Clothes to wear. Enough hot water in the pipes. And protection from the fists and boots of the person who was supposed to be your protector.
I have no idea what he’s doing now. He’s probably been evicted from the house. Without the income I kept hidden, he won’t have been paying the rent. Too bad. You need discipline and determination and backbone to get anywhere in life, and he had none of those things. If he’s on the street, he deserves it.
And I’m here. I’m doing fine without him. I’m going to get my promotion, and I’m getting out of here, too. If training these disastrous recruits is the price, bring it on. I’m ready.
Disappointment
This is going to be harder than we imagined.
These kids are hopeless. Miller took them out for a run, and they’ve come back looking like the last people left alive after some terrible disaster. They’re still standing, but their eyes are begging for the chance to rest and cuddle a blankie. It’s the morning run! They need to do this every day. They have no idea what the weeks ahead have in store for them.
Day one, and they’re already getting their hands on the guns. Command must be desperate. And I’m the one who gets to introduce them to weapons they are nowhere near being able to use.
Miller lines them up, and leaves me to run their first training session. I walk out in front of them, holding up the gorgeous rifle. There’s no way they should be touching these yet, but here we are.
“Can anyone tell me what this is?”
Absolute silence.
“Come on. Anybody.”
No one says a word. They’re all trying to look invisible. Standing up straight and fading into the group. I look them over.
And there he is. Saunders, the whipping boy. In the front row, begging the universe to make me look the other way. He’s out of luck.
“Saunders! Mr Sleepy himself. Can you tell me what this is?”
“A gun, Sir.” His voice is shaking, and it’s practically a whisper. Some people make such easy targets.
“Louder, Saunders!”
There’s a pause, while he takes a deep breath. “A gun, Sir!”
“Thank you, Saunders.” That’s confused him. He’s braced for more, but I turn away to address the group. Keep him guessing what’s coming next.
“This is a gun. But this is not any gun. This is a prototype
next-gen power-assisted rifle, firing armour-piercing bullets.”
And you don’t deserve to be playing with it.
“Under normal conditions, you lot wouldn’t get to see one of these until you’d been training for years, if ever. You’d have to pass tests, and show that you’re big enough to use one of these. But these aren’t normal circumstances. This is war, and this is war on our home territory, and the decision makers have decided to let you worms loose with their favourite toys.”
Several of the recruits wince at being called worms. At least they’re listening.
“You’ll be starting off with training bullets. We’ll see how good you are, and whether you deserve to progress to armour-piercing rounds. Don’t be fooled – training bullets will still kill you, so don’t be stupid.”
And don’t get in my way.
“Make no mistake. You are getting your paws on these because the government wants to see them in use. The people in charge, they want you out there, waving these around to show Joe Public that we’re protecting him.”
And lucky me – I’m the one who has to train you to impress Joe Public.
“This isn’t about you. This is about public confidence. About stopping panic and protecting people from themselves. While they can see you, and your guns, they’ll be happy to get on with their lives and leave us to get on with ours.”
If I can train you up in time.
I can’t see any of these kids inspiring confidence, with or without deadly weapons.
“You are not fighting this war. We have a real army for that. You are showing the people that the war is being fought. You are the government’s action figures. The front-line dolls. And public-facing dolls get the best weapons.”