“Want to pair up?”
He looks at me in surprise, relief showing on his face.
“Sure. Thanks.” He can’t help glancing again at Amy and Saunders, who stand together, oblivious to everyone else in the room.
We spend the rest of the session role-playing our strategies for calming frightened people. We act as pairs of recruits on patrol, or as panicking members of the public. We keep switching who we’re working with, staying in our pairs, but facing a different couple every time we move on round the room. Eventually, everyone has had the chance to demonstrate their calming techniques on Jackson, as well as on the other people in the briefing, and we’re sent away for a bathroom break before dinner.
Dan finds me in the corridor.
“What was that? With Saunders?”
I tell him what I saw. Saunders, sketching Amy, while he should have been watching the video. Dan laughs.
“He’s going to get himself into trouble.”
I have to agree.
*****
We meet up again for dinner, Amy and Saunders sitting together, Dan with me, and Jake at the end of our table. We’re halfway through tonight’s stew-with-rice when Ketty walks in, tapes a sheet of paper to the wall next to the door, and leaves.
We exchange glances around the table.
“Results of the questionnaire?”
Dan and I stand up, and hurry to the door.
The list of names is arranged into passes and fails, and miraculously we’ve all passed. I double-check Saunders’ name, but he’s there with the rest of us. No penalties, no points lost for cheating. Dan and I exchange a grin.
Back at the table, we share the news, and Saunders slumps back in his chair with a sigh. He sits up, and offers Dan a high-five.
“Don’t do that again!” Dan sounds serious as he slaps Saunders’ palm. “No more lovey-dovey. Next time, watch the video!”
Saunders blushes and nods, and Amy gives him a confused look.
“He hasn’t told you?” I ask, not bothering to hide my surprise. “Come on, Saunders. Show her what you were doing while the rest of us were studying government equipment.”
Saunders squirms in his seat, obviously embarrassed, but he reaches into his cargo pocket, and brings out a folded piece of paper. Amy stares as he slowly unfolds it and hands it to her, her eyes growing wider as she takes it from him.
And it’s good. Really good. Saunders can draw.
Amy holds the sketch in her hands as if it’s the most fragile thing she has ever held. Saunders looks as if he’s sitting on hot coals, waiting for her to comment. She looks at it for a few seconds more, then breaks into a beaming smile. She puts the sketch down on the table, throws her arms round Saunders, and gives him a gentle kiss on the cheek. He’s grinning too, now.
Amy sits back in her chair and holds up the sketch to show us, hiding her face behind the paper. He’s drawn her in profile, her face lit by the screen across the room, a strand of hair tucked behind her ear and another brushing against her cheek. It’s a lovely, tender portrait of someone he clearly cares about.
“You’re an artist!” It’s all I can think of to say. “That’s … beautiful.”
He beams, proudly.
“Were you studying art?” Dan asks, “You know. Before.”
Saunders nods.
“Art, photography, graphic design. It’s what I want to do … wanted to do.”
“What can you do with that?” Typical Dan, whose options were always ‘doctor, lawyer, Prime Minister’. I nudge him, hard, in the ribs.
Saunders shrugs. “I don’t know. Advertising. Publishing. Illustration.”
“That can still happen!” Amy sounds determined. “We’re not going to be here for the rest of our lives. Things will get better! We’ll go back to school.” She looks around the table, meeting everyone’s gaze. “Right?”
“You really want to go back there?” Jake asks, “With the decent meals and the stimulating education?” He smiles at his own joke, poking the remains of his dinner with his spoon.
“… and the not-going-running-in-armour, and the not-being-yelled-at-by-Jackson – and even Mrs Ashworth’s English lessons!”
Jake groans, and rolls his eyes.
“You two were at school together?”
Amy smiles, shyly. “Next-door neighbours since we were a few days old. Same nursery, same kindergarten, same school all the way through. We were getting each other through boring lessons before any of you guys had met.”
“Even Mrs Ashworth.”
“Especially Mrs Ashworth!”
And they both laugh.
We sit at the same table all evening. It’s pouring with rain outside, and even Charlie won’t be out in this weather, so I stay and tell school stories, and learn about the people I’m training with, the people I’m helping. The people who are beside me when I need them.
Saunders picks up more paper and a pencil from somewhere, and starts sketching all of us as we’re talking. There’s a fantastic sketch of me and Dan, laughing, my hand on his shoulder as we tell everyone about trying to hide in the school library overnight. He sketches Jake, waving his hands to demonstrate the exact size of the snowball Amy threw through a classroom window while aiming at the back of Mrs Ashworth’s head. From memory, he sketches us all in our armour, helmets at our feet, arms round each other’s shoulders. He includes himself in that sketch, and hands it to Amy. She slips it under his first sketch with a smile.
She takes all the sketches, at the end of the evening.
JULY
Routine
So this is our lives. Morning run, in armour. Weapons training. Timed assault courses. Briefings and theory on dealing with the public. Rinse and repeat.
Every day, there are more reports of attacks and bombings, or attacks prevented by government forces. Images on TV of rebel fighters being arrested, dragged out of squalid hideouts, and thrown into the back of prison vans. I keep watching, hoping I won’t see Margie’s face among the fighters they’re locking up.
The Senior Recruits show us the news broadcasts over dinner, every day. We need to know what the terrorists are capable of, what we are defending people against. We start to see recruits like us in the broadcasts, patrolling in their armour; walking in pairs and groups in high streets, sports grounds, and concert venues. At first, members of the public seem nervous around the recruits, but the armoured figures soon become a normal part of life.
The Prime Minister starts to broadcast daily messages. She’s tough, and she refuses to negotiate with kidnappers and hijackers. The presenters are calling her ‘our Iron Lady’, and ‘our generation’s Margaret Thatcher’. They say this over and over, so it must be playing well with their audience.
There are show trials. Captured terrorists put on trial and the graphic details of their attacks shown on the evening news. They’re always in handcuffs and prison jumpsuits, and they’ve always been beaten up. They have bruises on their faces, unwashed, unbrushed hair, and they look thin and ill. They don’t get lawyers, and they don’t get to speak except to plead guilty. They all plead guilty, and they’re all sent to prisons or work camps, or Death Row.
It’s terrifying, how quickly we all accept this new reality.
The message is clear. The Prime Minister reminds us that we’re being protected. Something is being done. Democracy and freedom will be restored when the emergency is over.
I lose count of the number of times she reminds us of that, while the attacks only seem to get worse.
*****
Morning run. We’re back on the long route again, now that we’re getting used to wearing our armour. Across the bypass and the railway, and along the main road, where the people driving past can see us; through the industrial estate, and back through the woods. I’m running with Dan, talking when we get the chance. We’re following a narrow path between the trees, dodging roots and muddy puddles.
Ketty pushes past.
“Up for a sprint, Dan?”
Dan glances at me, and I shrug.
“Sure”, he says, and grimaces at me over his shoulder.
Dan and Ketty run ahead, and I take the opportunity to slow my pace and enjoy being outside in the woods. It’s a bright morning, and I’m making good time. I take the chance to look around, and notice the trees, the deep green of the undergrowth, the birdsong. For the first time, I find myself thinking about how beautiful it is out here.
There’s a shout from behind me, and I turn back to see what’s wrong. I jog back along the path, towards a group of recruits, gathered round someone on the ground. My happy mood dissolves.
It’s Saunders. He’s caught his foot on a root and tripped. I reach the group, and see that his foot is twisted behind him at an awkward angle. I’m pretty sure it’s broken.
Amy and Jake are standing over him. Amy is holding his hand, trying to help him stand. I grab his arm and haul him up, supporting his injured side. I look around for a Senior Recruit, but they’re all ahead of us. We’re the last runners at the back of the group.
“I’ve got you, Saunders. You OK?”
He grunts, and grips my elbow. I put his arm round my shoulders and wrap my arm across his back to support his weight. He holds the injured foot off the ground and hops along beside me as I start to walk.
“You guys should keep going. Run ahead and let someone know that Saunders is injured. Tell them we’re coming.”
Amy protests, but Jake takes her arm and gently pulls her away. They run on together, glancing back at us until they’re out of sight between the trees.
It’s just the two of us. I’m not sure we can make it to the gate, but I can’t tell Saunders that.
“It’s not far now”, I say, wrapping my arm more tightly round him. “I’ve got you. Just keep moving.”
His breathing is laboured, and he’s obviously in pain, but we keep going.
It takes twenty minutes to get through the woods, but I can see the fence, and the route back to the gate. The bright sky has clouded over, and the day is looking grey and gloomy. We reach the fence, and turn along the short path past the camp. I can see everyone else lining up for weapons training, and I know we’re going to be late, but we push on. Past the dorm buildings, past the row of army vehicles, and up to the guard post at the gate.
We’re going to make it.
The gate is shut when we reach it. Two guards stand behind the wire mesh, staring out at the road behind us.
We walk up to the gate. The guards keep their eyes on the road, ignoring us.
“Let us in, will you?” I call out.
One of the guards looks at me, and shifts his gun to a combat pose.
“Seriously?” I shout. “We need to get to a doctor. Open the gate!”
“I don’t know who you are. Orders are not to let anyone else in.” And he looks away again, back at the road behind me.
This must be a misunderstanding. I help Saunders to sit down on the grass near the gate, then walk over and grab the metal mesh with both hands. I’m angry now, and I’m shouting.
“Hey! Open up!”
Both guards lift their guns and point them at me. I freeze, my hands gripping the gate.
“Back off! Hands in the air!” They both take a step towards me, keeping me in their sights.
I obey, lift my hands, and take a step back. I can’t believe they’re doing this.
“We’re late back from the run. You know who we are. Saunders needs a doctor – I think he’s broken his ankle. Let us in, and we’ll go straight to medical.”
“Can’t do that.”
They’re still pointing their guns at me.
They’re serious. They’re not going to open the gates. My hands are shaking, but I can’t let them leave us out here. I can’t let them leave Saunders here, in pain.
“Fetch someone to verify who we are! Just get us back inside.”
The guards exchange a look, then one of them returns his gun to a patrol hold and walks to the gatehouse. He speaks to someone on a radio, and returns to the gate. The other guard keeps his gun aimed at me.
I’m looking down the barrel of a gun. I should be afraid, but my anger is stronger than my fear. I can’t stop myself from fighting back.
“So?” I ask. “Is someone coming?”
The guard shrugs, and starts watching the road again, as if I’m not here.
I turn back to Saunders. He’s sitting with his legs out in front of him, slumped over, head bowed. He needs a doctor, but there is nothing more I can do.
There are footsteps on the path. I turn back in time to see Ketty walking briskly towards the gate.
“Please …” I begin, but Ketty’s already talking to the guards.
“They’re late. Leave them out there.”
“How long?” asks one of the guards.
Ketty starts to walk away. “I’ll let you know”, she calls, over her shoulder.
Both guards resume their patrol positions, and focus their attention on the road.
I sit down next to Saunders, and put my hand on his arm.
“I’m sorry”, I whisper. I can’t think of anything else to say.
“I’m sorry”, he says, through clenched teeth. He’s fighting back tears, and I know he’s in pain. I’ve got nothing to give him. I can’t help. My anger and my bravery melt away as I watch the guards staring past us, guns ready.
I put my arm round his shoulders, and wait.
Kindness
It’s lunchtime. We’re still waiting for the guards to let us in. The grey sky has grown darker, and as we hear the other recruits heading back from the training field to the dining room, it begins to rain.
We don’t take our helmets on the morning run, so we’ve got no shelter against the weather. Saunders sobs, and puts his head in his hands.
I can’t watch him suffer. I stand up, and walk back to the gate.
“Hey!” I shout, waving at the guards. “Hey! Let us in!”
The guards ignore me.
I push my fingers through the mesh, grab hold of the wire, and start shaking the gate. The guards stare past me at the road.
“Heeeeyyyyyyy!” I bellow, as loudly as I can. “Open the gate!” I shake the mesh as hard as I can.
The guards are still staring at the road, coat hoods up against the rain. I shake the gate again, and I catch one of them trying to hide a smirk.
The rain is matting my hair to my head, and starting to run down the neck of my suit. I can feel the cold water soaking into my base layers and tracking down my spine. My face is wet, and I’m having to blink the water from my eyes. We need to get out of the rain, and I need to get Saunders to a doctor.
I’m cold, and I’m furious. I keep shouting. I’m yelling as loudly as I can, trying to attract attention. The guards look annoyed now – they’re still pretending to ignore me, but I’m making their job impossible. I shake the gate again, and keep shouting.
*****
My voice is hoarse, and my base layers are soaked through. I’m shivering. I’m about to give up and sit down with Saunders again when I hear voices. I look up through the rain to see Commander Bracken running towards the gate with Ketty and the shift doctor. Ketty and the doctor are carrying a stretcher between them.
“Open up!” The Commander’s voice cuts through the rain, and the guards run to open the gate. I step back, determined to get Saunders to safety. We’re both shivering as I help him to his feet and guide him over to the stretcher.
“I think he’s broken his ankle”, I say to the doctor. He nods, holding one end of the stretcher while I help Saunders to lie down. Ketty holds the other end, and they set off together towards the medical centre. I try to follow, but Commander Bracken catches my elbow.
“Get yourself back to the dorm and warmed up,” he snaps. “You’re expected at the assault course in fifteen minutes.” And he pushes me through the gate.
I stumble along the driveway, too cold and angry to argue or defend myself. I drag myself to the
dorm, to my bunk, and force myself to peel off my armour, and the soaking base layers. I fumble in my locker for a towel, and try to rub some warmth back into my freezing skin. My hands are shaking, and it’s hard to get dressed. I keep dropping my clothes, and tying my boots takes several attempts. I throw a sweater round my shoulders and sit on my bed for a moment.
There’s a cough from the doorway. I’ve missed lunch, and everyone else will be heading out to the assault course now. I look up.
Charlie raises a finger to her lips, glances behind her down the corridor, and hands me a sandwich and a mug of hot chocolate.
“Get that inside you before you go back out in the rain,” she says, quietly.
I’m so grateful, and I can feel the tears pricking at my eyes. I eat the sandwich as if it’s the first food I have ever seen, and drain the hot chocolate as quickly as I can without burning my tongue. I’d like to sit here until I feel warm again, but Charlie gently takes the mug from my hand and pulls me to my feet.
“Go on. Get out there. You don’t want any more trouble today.”
I give her a quick, tight hug, drop my sweater on my bed, and force myself to jog down the corridor and outside, back into the rain.
*****
I make it through the assault course, and the afternoon briefing. At dinner, the Senior Recruits switch on the TV, and as we eat, we watch news of another bombing in Manchester. There are civilian casualties, and we watch recruits like us, in armour, dragging people from the wreckage of a shopping centre. I watch other recruits, doing what we’re being trained to do, and for the first time I realise that I am afraid of what might happen.
It could have been us in the path of that bomb.
I look at the recruits around me, safe and warm after another day of training, and I wonder – what good are we actually doing here? Are we going to make a difference, as they tell us every day at the briefing, or are we just window dressing on something we – and the government – can’t control?
The Battle Ground Series: Books 1-3 Page 5