And the people will be begging them to do so.
And Bracken and I stand to benefit.
As he said, yesterday. We need to be the team that HQ comes to, to sort out their toughest situations. We need to prove that we can handle this. We have the opportunity to turn this to our advantage.
This was a horrible attack. Cowardly. Unethical. But it has happened. It can’t be stopped. I can’t turn the clock back.
But I can use it.
Intruder
The commander sends the recruits to pack their belongings. Under Martial Law, they’re considered to be an asset of the army, and they can be sent to fight alongside the real soldiers. Time for the tiny fighters to grow up.
Jackson and I walk back to the senior dorm, past crowds of shouting recruits. We sit down with the other senior recruits in the dining room and wait for our briefing. We’ve been here a while when the commander bursts through the doors, Woods in his wake. He looks round the room, and points at Jackson and me.
“You, and you. With me. Now.”
We look at each other, and my stomach drops. We stand and follow Bracken and Woods out of the dining room, the other Senior Recruits whispering behind us.
It’s been two weeks since we took Ellman for a walk outside the fence. I can’t believe we’re in trouble for that now – not after this morning’s news. And it worked – Ellman’s been the model recruit. No heroics, no rescues. She still visits Sleepy every night, but that’s on her own time.
Is it something we did yesterday? Talking to the little girl? Messing around with the lipstick? Taking our helmets off? Or has the commander decided that he doesn’t like me knowing his little secret? I think about the bottles on the shelf, the begging look in his eyes.
Bracken hadn’t spoken more than a passing word to me in two weeks, until last night. I know he was angry with me, but I thought that had more to do with losing his Lead Recruit than a lasting grudge for what we did to Ellman and Sleepy. Or anything we did for HQ.
Jackson and I exchange nervous glances as we follow the commander across the field towards the empty dorm. There are lights on in the unused building, and for a moment I wonder how much trouble we’re in. One of the gate guards is standing outside, and I try to ignore a sudden vision of the dorm as a prison for Commander Bracken’s more troublesome recruits.
Please don’t let me lose this promotion again. I won’t get any more chances.
We follow the commander into the building, and Woods walks in after us, closing the door on the guard outside. The commander leads us into the dining room, then calls us to attention.
“Recruit Smith! Recruit Jackson!”
“Sir!”
“At ease.”
He pauses. I wait for Woods to pull out handcuffs or discharge papers, but he waits by the door for Bracken to speak.
“We have a prisoner.” The commander pauses, then continues. “We strongly suspect that this is one of the terrorists HQ has been tracking.”
So this is not about us. I nearly laugh with relief. This must be the complication Bracken mentioned yesterday. The problem he needs help solving.
The first task for our team.
“She was caught, dressed in recruit fatigues, trying to walk into the camp on Sunday evening. She must have been desperate – she tried to walk in next to a delivery truck, hoping we’d assume she was supposed to be here.
“She might have succeeded on any other night. But on Sunday she tried to walk in before the coaches came back from Birmingham.
“We got lucky. The gate guards picked her up.”
I concentrate on stifling a smile. We’re safe. We’re not in trouble. This is what Bracken decided not to tell me yesterday.
So what are we here for?
“We have some questions for the prisoner. We need to find out who she works for, and what they were doing in town. So far, she’s refused to speak to us. We’ve tried being reasonable, and we’ve tried asking nicely. We need to try something else.
“Ketty, Jackson – I understand that you both have some experience with the use of fists as a deterrent to unwanted behaviour.”
I nearly choke. The commander is all but winking at me. Is he talking about what I did to Jackson, or what we both did to Ellman? Does he know about Ellman’s trip outside the fence?
“My prisoner is exhibiting unwanted behaviour. Namely, she is refusing to talk. I’d like you to help persuade her to answer my questions.”
“Yes, Sir!”
“Woods and I will give her one more chance to cooperate. If she refuses, I’ll give you two five minutes with her. No broken bones, but I want her scared. I’m sure you can manage this between you.” He looks from me to Jackson and back. “HQ doesn’t know about the prisoner. I want to have something of value to offer them before I report her arrival. I’m counting on you two to persuade her to talk.”
“Yes, Sir.”
HQ doesn’t know? After two days? This is a hell of a risk, and if she won’t talk, we’re in trouble.
“Wait here. I’ll call you if you’re needed.”
He turns and leaves the room. Woods follows him into the corridor.
I lean over, hands on my knees, and catch my breath. Jackson stares after the commander, then pulls out a chair and drops himself onto it. I grab another chair and sit down next to him.
“I thought we were toast,” he says, eventually.
I nod. “Me too.”
We listen to muffled voices from the corridor.
“So we’re the scariest people at Camp Bishop, then?”
I laugh. “I guess.”
We wait, while Commander Bracken shouts at the prisoner. Jackson kicks out a rhythm on his chair with the heel of his boot.
Footsteps in the corridor. Woods appears at the door.
“Your turn,” he says, and leads us to the prisoner’s room. There’s a chair outside for a welfare officer to sit on and monitor the prisoner, but there’s no one sitting here, and there’s no one else in the corridor. The door at the far end slams shut as we follow Woods into the room.
She’s got a room that would usually sleep four. There’s a bed, a mattress, a table, and a chair. Plenty of space to work with. She’s sitting on the chair, with the table in front of her, wearing muddy camouflage trousers and a regulation khaki T-shirt. The commander is right – she does look like one of the recruits. 17 or 18, shoulder-length dark hair, tall and slim. Sitting up straight in the chair. Confident.
Posh.
“These are my best recruits,” says the commander. “I’m going to leave you with them for …” he checks his watch “… five minutes.” He nods to us, and to Woods, and the two of them leave the room and close the door.
Jackson and I look at each other. I hold up a hand to stop him jumping straight in.
I address the prisoner. “Will you answer the commander’s questions?”
She doesn’t move. She sits, straight in her chair, her eyes fixed on the opposite wall.
“You’re sure?” I try again. No response.
I shrug, and turn to Jackson.
He walks round behind her, lifts his foot, and kicks the table way. It tumbles, and slides across the floor. I step back to avoid it.
She flinches, slightly, but she doesn’t move.
Jackson smacks his fist into his palm, right next to her ear. She doesn’t react.
I step towards her.
When she moves, she’s fast. She kicks the chair backwards as she stands up, catching Jackson in the stomach. She twists out of his reach and puts her back against the wall, hands up in front of her in a martial arts pose.
Great. She has training.
But there are two of us.
I step towards her, my fists raised, and she takes the bait. She turns to face me, ready to defend herself.
But she lets Jackson out of her sight.
He reaches out, grabs her wrist, and twists her arm behind her back. She’s bent over, punching behind her with her free arm, her attention fixed o
n Jackson, but she’s punching the air. I step forward and land a kick on her shins that sweeps her legs out from under her. She pitches forward, and nearly breaks her nose as she hits the floor.
Jackson’s on her back in a heartbeat, pinning both arms behind her, his knee in the small of her back. She’s fighting to keep her head up, and fighting to breathe.
I pause, and watch for a moment as I realise what it means to have one of the terrorists in our hands. One of the people who’ve been planting the bombs and messing up the country. She represents everything we’ve been fighting against, everything we’ve been training for, and she’s entirely at our mercy.
Without thinking, I aim another kick. This one connects with her forehead, just above her eye, and breaks the skin.
I kneel down, next to her on the floor. I want to tell her how pathetic she is. How evil the terrorists are. How they’re not going to win.
But that’s not my job. I take a deep breath, grab a handful of her hair, and pull her face up from the floor.
“Are you ready to talk yet?”
She rolls her eyes, and stares past me.
I let go of her hair. Her head drops and her chin hits the floor. When she lifts her head again, her bottom lip is split and bleeding.
“How about now?”
She laughs, blood spraying from her lip.
I look at Jackson. He looks down, grabs her by the shoulder, and flips her over onto her back. Her head cracks against the floor, and her legs are tangled behind him. He kneels over her, and suddenly this is like a dance. We’ve done this before. We know these moves.
I reach over, take her arms, and pull them up over her head. I kneel on her elbows, press down on her shoulders, and flash Jackson a grin. He grins back, and throws a punch at her ribs.
There’s a rhythm to this. He punches, she gasps, I hold her still. The feeling of power is back, intoxicating. Like Ellman, she’s quiet. Just a winded breath with every punch. Unlike Ellman, her eyes are open, staring past me at a point on the ceiling. Staring through me.
It’s unnerving.
There’s a knock on the door. I realise with surprise that I have no idea how long we’ve been in here.
The door opens, and the commander’s voice is loud in the bare room.
“Get her up on the chair.”
Woods walks into the room and picks up the chair and the table, setting them back on their feet.
Jackson and I stand up, and lift the prisoner between us, one arm each. We sit her back on the chair, and pull the table in front of her. She slumps forwards, curling protectively round her bruised ribs, forehead on the tabletop.
Bracken steps forward and kicks the table. She lifts her head, and looks at him through a curtain of tangled hair. The graze on her forehead is starting to bleed, and blood from her lip is smudged across her chin.
“Ready to talk?”
With obvious discomfort, she sits up straight again in the chair, and sets her gaze on the far wall, silent.
Jackson lifts his fists and steps towards the table, but Bracken holds up his hand.
“Enough. Thank you, recruits. You are dismissed.”
“Yes, Sir.”
We turn to leave the room. I take one last look at the prisoner, and there’s a fraction of a second when I meet her gaze as I walk past. Her face is calm, and she doesn’t flinch when I look directly at her. It’s as if we haven’t touched her at all.
Missing
Commander Bracken sends us to help the camp staff in the recruits’ dining room. We’re handling assignments and answering questions from the kids. We’re waiting for the army to contact us with a list of the skills and training they need from the Armed Auxiliaries, and in the meantime we’re drawing up lists of recruits and their abilities.
The tiny fighters are piling their armour crates and rucksacks in the corner of the dining room, ready to be sent out if the army needs them. The vehicles in the car park outside are being loaded with supplies. The kitchen staff are all busy carrying crates and loading trucks, and the other Senior Recruits are helping them.
All the doors in the dorm have been propped open, and the noise from the corridor and from outside is loud and distracting. The Commander joins us, with a list of requirements from the army. He’s recovered his air of calm authority since our conversation last night, and since our encounter with the prisoner. He seems to know what needs to be done, but the camp looks like an ant nest that’s been poked with a stick, and whatever is going on in the car park looks like chaos.
I’m trying to concentrate on the paperwork in front of me over the shouting from outside when the alarm whistle sounds. Three whistles, from the direction of the empty dorm. Everyone looks up, as the guard and the welfare officer from the prisoner’s dorm come sprinting across the field towards us.
“The prisoner is missing!” The guard’s shout cuts through the noise from the car park.
Three more blasts on the whistle, and more shouting.
“Ketty, Jackson – guns, outside, now.”
Bracken runs to the door, shouting to us and pointing at the recruits’ armour crates. We’re lifting crates, spilling them all over the floor and pulling out guns for each other as he runs out to the car park. We keep going through the crates until we find two guns with bullets in the magazines. I take the safety off as we run out of the building.
There’s the sound of a truck engine starting, and we’re outside in time to see one of the vehicles driving straight across the grass between the car park and the gate. One of the back doors is hanging open, and someone in a kitchen uniform is reaching out to close it while the truck lurches away from us. The driver is revving the engine, and the wheels are ploughing up the grass, but the truck is moving.
The passenger gets a grip on the door handle and pulls it towards them, looking back at us for a second before they close it.
And I recognise Ellman. Ellman in a kitchen uniform, breaking out of camp in a stolen vehicle.
It’s absurd. For a moment, I doubt what I’ve seen, but then I see two of her little friends at the gate. Amy Brown is chatting to the guards, while Jake Taylor is quietly opening the gate behind them. They’re in their own uniforms, but they’re both wearing rucksacks. Are they expecting to get away as well?
And who else is in the truck? Who is driving the truck?
“Stop them! Use force if you have to!” The Commander is shouting at us, and waving us towards the gate. I sprint along the gravel path as the gate guards realise what’s happening. They restrain Brown, who screams at the truck as it drives past, but it doesn’t stop.
There are too many people on the path, and Jackson and I have to push them out of the way, shouting as we run. We finally get a clear shot as the truck straightens up and aims for the gates. Taylor has opened one gate, and the other is unlocked.
“Take the shot!” Bracken is behind us, running down the path.
We raise our guns and aim for the back of the truck. Bullets holes erupt in the tailgate, and the back window smashes, but the driver doesn’t slow down.
Bracken sprints up to me, grabbing my gun as he passes.
The truck smashes through the remaining gate, and the tyres squeal as it turns into the lane. Brown and Taylor are watching in disbelief as the truck speeds away from them. The commander reaches the gates, throws his arm round Taylor’s neck in a restraining hold, and presses the gun to his head, turning to make sure the driver can see what he’s doing.
But the truck doesn’t stop. The driver speeds away along the lane, away from the bypass, and disappears into the trees.
Questions
“Why didn’t we see this coming?”
The commander’s face is red with fury. He leans his fists on his desk and shouts at me and Jackson, standing to attention in front of it.
“What did we miss? Three recruits, driven out from under our noses. But not just three recruits – oh, no. They managed to smuggle out our extremely valuable prisoner. Our only link with the t
errorists in this area. A prisoner who walked herself into camp, got herself captured, sat in silence for two days, and got herself beaten up just spirited herself away with three of our recruits as accessories. Not to mention my kitchen supervisor, who was apparently driving the truck.
“So what did we miss? What the hell just happened in my camp? Ketty? Lead Recruit? Any ideas?”
I shake my head. I’m still trying to piece it all together.
The prisoner escaped. Ellman and her gang had something to do with it. I have no idea why the kitchen supervisor was involved, and I can’t figure out how the prisoner roped the recruits into her plan.
The only leads we have are Brown and Taylor.
“Let me talk to the kids we’ve locked up. Let me see if they can tell us what happened.” It’s all I can think of to do.
The commander flings his hands into the air in frustration, and sits down in his chair. He rests his forehead on his knuckles and closes his eyes.
“We need to know”, he says, quietly, “who cooked up this plan. Who decided to get the prisoner out. How our missing recruits had any contact with the prisoner. And why my very grown-up and responsible kitchen supervisor was at the wheel of that truck.”
“Sir, I …”
He waves his hand at me.
“Yes, Ketty. Permission granted. Interrogate the recruits. Just … don’t damage them. I have to report this to HQ. They’re going to be all over it, and they’re going to want to talk to the kids as well. Let’s not hand them children with bruises all over them.”
“Yes, Sir.”
*****
Brown and Taylor are in the empty dorm, locked in separate rooms. The commander escorts me into the building, and leaves me with the off-duty gate guards. Everyone he can spare is guarding the prisoners, and the camp is on lockdown until we can work out what happened. The recruits have been sent back to their dorms, and Bracken is controlling the chaos and waiting for answers before he passes this up the chain of command.
Time to get tough, Ketty. Show them what you can do.
The Battle Ground Series: Books 1-3 Page 27