The Battle Ground Series: Books 1-3 Read online

  Jackson and I stayed on at Camp Bishop, along with eight other recruits. We were made Senior Recruits, and given the responsibility of running the training for the newbies – as well as keeping ourselves fit and combat-ready. It was a challenge, but it was also straightforward. Run the schedule. Pass on the skills. Keep the kids on their toes. Practice, practice, practice.

  I had weekly meetings with the commander, passing on anything he needed to know about, and keeping things he didn’t need to hear about to myself. At one of these meetings, he offered me the promotion I’d been hoping for.

  “I’ve been given permission to hire an official assistant.” He waved his hand, dismissively. “Not Woods – he’s part of the chain of command, and he reports back to HQ. Someone from inside the camp.”

  I sat up straighter in my chair. If this was going where I hoped it was going, it would put me one step closer to a promotion out of the camp.

  “You’ve impressed me this year, Ketty. You’ve kept everyone in line, you’ve kept time-wasting incidents from my door – and you’ve made it look easy.

  “The recruits respect you. They also know that you’re right there, training with them. If they screw up, you’ll see it. If they step out of line, you’ll see it. They behave better, because they know that you’re standing beside them.”

  I allowed myself a smile. This was what I’d been waiting to hear.

  “So. I have a new position to fill. A promotion. A pay rise. A stepping stone to greater things.

  “There’s a lot more work involved. You’ll be supporting me directly with paperwork, planning, reports for HQ. You’ll be spending more time working, but I expect you to keep up with your training, and the training of the new recruits. This isn’t an easy way out of responsibilities at camp – this is extra work on top of everything you do now.

  “You’ll also be given security clearance to take part in HQ briefings, and to work on classified documents. You’ll be closer to the top, closer to the decision-makers, and your name will be on their promotion lists.

  “I’d like to offer you the opportunity to be Camp Bishop’s Lead Recruit. I know I can count on you to work hard and fit in everything you need to achieve. I don’t think we’ve found the limits of your abilities yet, and I’d like to have you officially working for me.

  “What do you think? Will you be our new Lead Recruit?”

  I felt dizzy, and my chest felt like an expanding balloon. This was exactly what I’d been waiting for. Recognition by Commander Bracken, and a promotion to working with him. I couldn’t have hidden my broad smile, even if I‘d wanted to.

  “Absolutely, Commander. It would be an honour.”

  He smiled, and reached out to shake my hand.

  “Welcome to the RTS inner circle, Lead Recruit.”

  I thought I might burst with pride.

  Falling

  The whistle sounds for lunchtime, and the first spots of rain start to tap against the windows. I check the gate, and Ellman and Sleepy are still out there, looking miserable. I’m about to go and tell the guards to open the gates, when the commander walks in to the dining room.

  “Recruit Smith!”

  He’s shouting, he’s angry, and he never uses my surname in private. I kick the chair in frustration as I stand to attention.

  “Sir!”

  “There is an injured recruit locked outside my gates. Do you know anything about this, Recruit Smith?”

  I was in control of this situation, but I can feel that power slipping away. I try to keep my voice strong and my body language confident.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Is he out there on your orders?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He pauses, shakes his head, and then addresses me like a toddler. As if he’s trying to patiently teach me the right thing to do. He speaks slowly and clearly, and I realise that he’s using this as a way to control his anger.

  “Recruit Smith. Get yourself to the medical centre. Get me a medic and a stretcher. Meet me at the gate.”

  And he turns and leaves the room before I have a chance to respond.

  I aim a hard kick at the table, which skids across the floor, scattering paperwork, and slams into the wall. I punch my fist into a tabletop, take a deep breath, and start to walk briskly towards the medical centre. I’ve gone too far, and I need to win back the commander’s respect.

  At the medical centre I open the door wide enough to shout through, and call for a medic and a stretcher. Doctor Webb comes running, and we carry the stretcher between us to the gate, catching up with Commander Bracken on the path. The rain is heavy, now, and I’m not dressed for it.

  “Open up!”

  The Commander’s shout brings the two guards running to open the gates. One of them flashes me a look and a quick shrug, but I ignore him. I’m here to hold the stretcher, and to get this situation under control.

  Ellman helps Sleepy onto the stretcher, and the commander sends her to get ready for the assault course.

  No lunch break for you, Mummy. Enjoy the assault course on an empty stomach.

  The doctor and I lift the stretcher and carry it back to the medical centre.

  We hold the stretcher next to a bed. A nurse helps Sleepy to move across, and tucks a pillow under his injured foot. His hair is plastered to his head by the rain, and his face is a grimace of pain. He can’t even look at me. The nurse starts to remove his armour, and the medic thanks me for my help. I take the stretcher back to the nurses’ station, and head back out in the rain.

  When I walk into the dining room, I’m surprised to find the commander there before me, his back to the door. I stop, and wait for him to speak.

  “Attention, Recruit Smith!” He shouts, before turning round and fixing me with a needle-like stare. I stand to attention, waiting for him to speak. He makes me wait a very long time.

  “I don’t understand what I’ve just seen, Recruit Smith.” His voice is calm and controlled, but far from friendly. I open my mouth to explain, but he holds up a hand.

  “I did not give you permission to speak.” I close my mouth, and look straight ahead, fighting the urge to defend myself.

  “I was crossing the field at lunchtime today, and I noticed two guards at the gate who seemed entirely unaware that there were two of my recruits sitting on the ground, in their armour, with their names on, outside the camp. What’s more, the gates were locked. And I wondered – who was on duty for this morning’s run? Who managed to lose two recruits, and then lock the gates with those two recruits still outside? And who managed to convince the guards that these recruits, however much they begged to be let in, should be left to sit on the floor in the rain?”

  I bite my tongue.

  “Imagine my surprise when I discover that this act of either gross incompetence, or gross cruelty, is down to my lead recruit. Katrina Smith. My eyes and ears. My trusted assistant. The person with authority to stop screw-ups like this from bothering me.”

  When he calls me Katrina, it’s like a stab in the gut.

  “So, Recruit Smith …”

  He’s about to continue, when Jackson crashes through the door, shouting at me to watch out, because the commander is looking for me.

  Thanks for that, genius, because I’m not in enough trouble here already.

  He stops as if he’s hit a wall when he sees the scene in the dining room. The commander turns towards him.

  “Recruit Jackson! Attention!”

  “Sir!” Jackson stands up straight, looking ahead.

  “I think you can stay for this. I have questions for you as well.” And he turns back to me.

  “Recruit Smith. What do you have to say for yourself? Can you explain to me, in very small words, what happened out there today?”

  I swallow. My mouth is suddenly dry and my throat is tight.

  “Sir. The recruits were late back from the run. They’ve been told that the gates will be closed before the next session begins, and they know not to be late.”

/>   “So you locked the gates.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “And you told the guards not to let them in.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “How long were you going to make them wait, Recruit Smith?”

  “I was heading down to the gate when you came in …”

  “So you were happy to make them wait for an hour or two, in the rain?”

  “Sir, I -…”

  “Yes or no, Recruit.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He nods.

  “And you, Recruit Jackson.”

  “Sir.”

  “You ran your gun training, short two recruits, and you didn’t think to come looking for them?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Why is that?”

  Jackson glances at me, then back at the commander.

  “I knew Ketty had them, Sir.”

  The Commander nods again.

  “So, knowing that Katrina had your recruits, when they were supposed to be with you, you let it slide. Is that because you knew about her plans to teach them some sort of lesson?”

  Neither of us speaks. The silence stretches uncomfortably between us. The commander begins to pace across the room, ignoring the scattered paperwork, and the table thrown against the wall.

  “I am extremely disappointed in you, Recruit Smith. You have been trusted with keeping the peace in my camp. You have been given access to information that no one else has been given. You have been trusted to keep the recruits disciplined, but you have also been trusted to keep them safe.

  “Today, instead of keeping an injured recruit safe, you left him outside the camp with the only person who bothered to help him. Ellman missed a training session, thanks to your incompetence, and Saunders’ injury may well be worse because he was forced to wait for treatment.

  “I know that one of the aims of our training here is to separate the recruits from their friends, and to instil a sense of independence. We need them to be confident for the cameras, and we need them to rescue civilians before they pick up their fellow recruits. I agree with this. I demand it.

  “But what I do not demand …” he crashes his fist into a tabletop, and Jackson and I both jump. “What I do not demand is gratuitous cruelty.”

  He turns and looks out of the window. Jackson and I exchange a panicked look.

  “Recruit Smith. As of now, you are stripped of the title of Lead Recruit. I shall find another assistant – one who can tell the difference between a learning experience and a dangerous, petty power game.”

  He turns to face us again. I clench my jaw and keep the expression on my face neutral as he continues. I don’t trust myself to speak.

  “Recruit Jackson. You are no longer in the running for becoming Lead Recruit. Don’t let me find you aiding and abetting your friend here in any more stupid games. You are capable of thinking for yourself – please do so from now on.”

  “Sir.” Jackson’s voice is surprisingly steady.

  “Now get out. Dismissed, Jackson.”

  Jackson is out of the room, and out of the dorm, before the commander can change his mind.

  “Recruit Smith. Clean up this mess.” He indicates the table, and the scattered papers. “I want the paperwork filed and on my desk in fifteen minutes. You are no longer authorised to work on it.”

  He walks to the door.

  “You can do better than this, Katrina,” he says from behind me. “Don’t let me down again. Dismissed.”

  And he leaves me alone with the mess I’ve made.

  *****

  We partied, Jackson and I, the night I made Lead Recruit. We went to the kitchen, where the camp staff let their hair down every night, and for once we joined them.

  They weren’t impressed, at first. Two RTS soldiers gatecrashing their private party. But then Jackson pulled out the bottles of vodka he’d picked up on a rare visit to town, and you’d think we’d all been friends forever.

  We turned up the music, mixed drinks and danced. I must have danced with everyone – boys and girls, I didn’t care. I’d got my promotion. I’d got security clearance. I’d be noticed at HQ. I was one step closer to getting out of the camp and getting an important job – maybe even a job in London. Dad couldn’t stop me. Dropping out of school couldn’t stop me. I’d proved myself, and I’d done it on my terms. Commander Bracken, all chiselled jaw and film star good looks, had noticed me. I was unstoppable.

  I remember dancing with Jackson on a table, everyone cheering us on. I remember one of the kitchen girls pulling a lipstick from her pocket and drawing war paint stripes on my cheek bones. I grabbed the lipstick and gave Jackson stripes of his own, and soon everyone was painting their faces, and whooping, and dancing on the tables.

  It was my one night of crazy celebration before I had to prove myself to the commander all over again. And this time the stakes were much higher. I could screw up, or I could get myself out of there. Get myself a real job – not crowd control for teenagers, but a promotion to the grown-up world. My choice, my responsibility.

  Jackson got his kiss that night, but no more. No couples allowed at Camp Bishop, and that would have been be a pathetic way to lose my promotion. Besides, I needed Jackson where he’d always been – happy to work with the commander’s enforcer, but at a respectful distance. I needed to be able to count on him, with no complications. I needed him on my team.

  Revenge

  I’m sitting on the floor at the end of my bed. I can’t believe what I’ve done. That I’ve thrown away my chance of getting out of here. I punch the wall so hard that I make a hole in the plasterboard, and my knuckles are bleeding, but I don’t care. I’m shouting all the swear words I can think of, over and over again, but none of this is making me feel better. Nothing is helping.

  I’m furious with myself, and I’m furious with Ellman. Why can’t she stick to the rules? Why can’t she keep it simple, train herself, get herself ready for being on the front line? Why doesn’t she get it?

  I aim a kick at the metal bedframe, and it scrapes across the floor, the sound painful and satisfying.

  She’d be a great recruit, if only she concentrated on her own training. Why does she have to look after everyone else? Why does she think she’s everyone’s mother? And her little gang. Two posh kids and three losers. What’s the attraction? What does smart, gorgeous Dan see in the rest of them? Brown, Taylor, and Sleepy – they follow her and they follow Dan like a line of ducklings. It’s as if they don’t know the rest of us are here.

  We need to change this. We need to split them up. We need to show them what happens when they don’t do what we need them to do.

  Someone knocks on the door, and when I don’t respond, Jackson opens it puts his head round. He’s not allowed in the female dorms, but I’m guessing he’s looked for me everywhere else.

  “Can I come in?”

  I sit, looking at the floor, suddenly exhausted. I shrug.

  “Yeah. Whatever.”

  He steps inside, closes the door, leans back against it.

  “I’m so sorry, Ketty. I …” He stops. There’s nothing else to say. He’s sorry. I shrug again.

  He walks into the room, pushes my bed back into place and sits down. He notices the wall, my hand. My bleeding knuckles.

  He tries to take my hand, but I snatch it away.

  “Ketty …”

  He’s trying to be nice. He’s trying to be sympathetic, and I can’t handle this. He’s going to make me cry.

  “Jackson. Shut up. There’s nothing you can do.” I stare straight ahead, teeth gritted. I will not cry in front of Jackson. I will not be weak.

  He looks genuinely upset. Let him. He can cry, if he wants to. Self-indulgent snowflake. This is my loss. Not his.

  We sit in silence for a while. I channel my disappointment into clear-thinking anger.

  “We need to teach them a lesson.”

  Jackson looks up, surprised.

  “Who?”

  “Bex Ellman. Dan Pearce. T
heir little group of losers.”

  He thinks for a moment.

  “We’ve finally put Sleepy in the hospital.”

  “That’s true.” That does make me feel better. “What about the rest of them? What about Mummy Ellman?”

  Jackson checks his watch.

  “Ellman’s in the medical centre, visiting Sleepy.”

  I look up, and Jackson continues. “She’s always taking walks after dinner. We could take her on a detour. No one will miss her.”

  I can feel my anger building into something constructive. There is something we can do.

  “Iron fists and steel toe caps?” I ask.

  He grins.

  *****

  It’s getting dark as we walk out onto the field. There’s no one around, and there are lights on in all the buildings. The staff dorm is noisy, as usual, but everywhere else is quiet.

  We walk, quickly and quietly to the medical centre, and wait in the shadows outside. The lights are on in Commander Bracken’s office, which means he’s busy, so we’re safe out here for now.

  The door to the medical centre slams shut, and a figure in fatigues and a thin raincoat walks down the steps. She turns her head, and we can see that it’s Ellman. She walks away, towards the staff dorm, and we follow, treading softly on the wet grass.

  She’s ambling along, hands in her pockets, looking up at the cloudy sky. It’s as if today hadn’t happened. She looks smug and happy and content.

  We step up behind her. Jaskson grabs her arms, and at the same time I throw my hand over her mouth, and brace it with the other hand behind her head. We pull her backwards, so she loses her footing, and we half drag, half carry her across the field to the fence.

  She tries everything. She tries to shout, she tries to kick. She even relaxes her whole body, and we nearly lose her, but we grab her again, and drag her dead weight between the trees to the gap under the fence.