The Battle Ground Series: Books 1-3

by Rachel Churcher

  *****

  “We’ve had a request to discharge you.”

  The doctor is back, checking up on me and making sure I haven’t moved. She checks the bandage, and gently moves my knee to check the range of movement.

  “Any pain?”

  “Sure.” I’m gritting my teeth, but she doesn’t need to know that.

  “OK.” She sets my leg back on its tower of pillows. “We’re not going to let you go until we’re happy that there’s no infection, and we know you can walk unaided.”

  “Who made the request?”

  She checks her clipboard. “Commander Bracken. He says there’s a medic at Camp Bishop, and he’s happy for you to be treated there.”

  Thank you, Bracken. One step closer to having my boots on the ground.

  “When can I go?”

  She nods towards the door. “When I’m happy that you can walk the length of the corridor on a single crutch.” I start to get up, reaching for the crutches next to my bed, but she puts a hand on my shoulder. “No more walking today, Ketty. I’m sending the physiotherapist to see you in the morning. You can start then. For now, I want you to stay here and give the swelling a chance to go down. Your leg was a mess, and it will take time to heal. Don’t push it.”

  “I can start tomorrow morning?”

  “Tomorrow morning. I’ll put it on your notes.”

  *****

  “Miss Smith! Miss Smith, please. I need you to come back to your room.”

  “Ketty? Ketty, please. Come back and lie down.”

  “Someone call Dr Grace!”

  I block out the voices around me, and ignore the nurses who are standing in my way. They’ll move, if I keep walking.

  It’s half past five in the morning, and I’m starting my own training. Let the physio turn up when they want to. I’m starting now.

  I’m on two crutches, and so far I’ve made it to the end of the corridor. I turn round, and start walking back, past my room, past the nurses’ station, and into the tiny common room. I turn around again, and start to retrace my steps.

  Every step sends a bright shaft of pain up and down my leg. I’m putting as much weight on my knee as I can, but the muscles that hold it steady as I walk are damaged, and it’s only the bandage that stops my leg from folding up under me.

  I refuse to be helpless. I refuse to wait.

  I carry on walking.

  I got myself dressed this morning. It took twenty minutes to get my trouser leg over the bandage, and another ten to keep my balance while making myself decent and fastening my belt. I refuse to be a casualty. I’m a fighter, and I’m going to fight my way back to camp.

  “Ketty …”

  The nurses are standing along the corridor, now. I ignore them as I walk to the end of the ward. And again, I turn round, I keep walking.

  It’s just me and the pain. And I can walk through the pain, if it means I get to face Ellman and Pearce and their friends. If I can be there to help Bracken and Lee. If I can bring a message from Jackson.

  One step, then another. One step, then the next. Keep walking.

  I don’t know how long I walk up and down. The pain comes and goes, and the nurses decide to let me walk. They’re keeping an eye on me, but they’re not chasing me any more.

  My balance gets better. I use the left crutch less and less, and put more and more weight through my right arm, balancing carefully and making sure my leg can take the weight. I turn round in the common room, and as I walk past my room, I throw the left crutch in through the open door and keep moving.

  The nurse who pushed my wheelchair drops the file he’s carrying on a chair and runs up to me as I start to wobble. I shift my weight back to my good leg, and lean on the crutch while I sort out my balance.

  “Ketty, please. Wait for the physio.” He reaches out to help me, but I take another step, and another, and it hurts. But I don’t stop. I keep taking steps. I put my hand out to the wall when my balance shifts, but I keep moving.

  The nurse walks with me. He keeps his distance, but he’s there. At the end of the corridor he gives me a round of applause, and it’s enough to make me smile. I meet his eyes, and he smiles back.

  We walk together. End to end to end of the corridor. The pain doesn’t go away, but my balance improves, and every time I turn round, he’s there, cheering me on.

  At breakfast time, he finally convinces me to sit down, but I sit in the common room, and I refuse to go back to bed. I’m leaving today, and I’m not wasting any more time. After breakfast, I walk again.

  Dr Grace arrives at eight fifteen, just as I’m passing the nurses’ station. She stops in the corridor, and watches me walk up to her, turn around, and walk back. She follows me to the common room where I turn again, and it takes her hand on my shoulder to make me stop.

  “OK, Ketty. Point made. The nurses told me you’ve been doing this for hours.”

  I nod. I’m exhausted, I’m sweating, and I need a shower, but none of those things matter. I look her in the eye.

  “I’m going home today.”

  She laughs. “I think you’re right. I need to check the knee for infection, but you’ve proved that you’re ready to walk out of the building. Come back to your room. We’ll make sure you’re ready to leave.”

  When she unwraps the bandage, I think I’m going to scream, and it takes all my willpower to close my eyes and keep quiet. She checks the scar, pokes and prods me while I grit my teeth, and finally stands back, snapping off her disposable gloves.

  “There’s plenty of swelling, but I think we’ve got the infection under control. We’ll keep you on antibiotics.” She looks at me, shaking her head. “You’re lucky that you haven’t pulled any stitches with that stunt. I’m going to discharge you into the care of the medic at Camp Bishop.” I let out the breath I’ve been holding. I’m going home.

  “But Ketty?” I nod. “Listen to your physiotherapist. I understand what you did here today, but you need to take care of yourself. We’ll assign someone to work with you at the camp. Look after yourself, and give yourself a chance to heal. Agreed?”

  When I’ve kept my promise to Brigadier Lee. When we’ve made our move on the terrorists.

  “Agreed.”

  *****

  Commander Bracken comes to pick me up at lunchtime. I walk out on my own, on a single crutch, my knee bandaged again.

  Bracken carries my belongings, and the nurse hands him my flowers in a plastic bag.

  “Secret admirer?” He says, raising his eyebrows at me.

  “Something like that.”

  You have no idea.

  On our way out, we pay Jackson a visit. There’s no change. He still has the breathing tube and the chest tube, and all the needles and wires and machines. He’s still not really Jackson. I turn and walk away, and the commander has to catch up with me in the corridor.

  I’ll get them, Jackson. I’ll make them pay.

  Rest

  “I can’t work out why you’re my problem now, Lead Recruit. Why aren’t you still in hospital?”

  “I can walk, and I can work. No point staying there when I could be doing my job.”

  I adjust the pillows under my knee, and behind my back, until I’m sitting up straight. Lead Medic Webb checks my notes from Doctor Grace.

  “But you shouldn’t be walking. Not with this kind of injury. You’ve got damage to muscles … ligaments …” he turns a page, “tendons … cartilage … bone. This is a mess, Ketty.”

  I shrug. “Dr Grace let me go. I need to get moving, and I need to fix this. I want to be walking properly by the weekend.”

  He laughs. “And I want a pony and a chocolate factory, but that doesn’t make it so. You need to give this time. You’ll get there, but you need to be patient.”

  We’ll see how that goes, Doctor.

  *****

  “I heard you were back. How are you?”

  Miller stands at the door to my room in the medical centre. I wave him in, and he sits down on t
he other bed.

  “I’ve been worse.”

  He nods, and looks round the room.

  “You’ve done OK here. How come you get the presidential suite and the soft pillows, and the rest of us are still in dorms?”

  I spread my arms, showing off the space. “Welcome to my new office! Doctor Webb gave me a room to myself, so I can hold meetings and parties without getting out of bed.” I flash him a grin and drop my voice to a whisper. “Haven’t you heard? Camp Bishop revolves around me, now. You lot just have to get used to it.”

  He laughs. “Camp Bishop always revolves around you, doesn’t it?” He’s joking, but there’s a hard edge to his voice.

  This isn’t a courtesy call. This is you finding out how soon you can take my job.

  “What can I do for you, Miller? Don’t you have recruits to babysit?”

  He looks at his watch. “I’ve got a few minutes.” He looks down at the floor. “How’s Jackson?”

  I give him a cold stare. “Jackson’s bad, Miller. Dan Pearce shot him twice in the chest with a camp-issue rifle. Pearce was wearing armour. Jackson wasn’t.”

  “Mitchell said he’d been shot. He said the coach driver saved his life, but I wondered …”

  “It’s bad.”

  He nods, still looking at the floor.

  “And Taylor?”

  “Taylor’s gone. And Brown. They finally found their way back to Ellman and her friends.”

  He looks at me again, an unfriendly, smug smile on his face. “You let them go?”

  Really, Miller? Looking for another excuse to replace me?

  I turn up the sarcasm. “Yeah. I let them go. I packed their little lunches, I gave them their warm coats, and I pushed them out of the door. I kissed them goodbye and waved them on their way. Oh – and as a thank-you, their friend put a thoughtful bullet in my knee.”

  He smirks, and I can’t hide my anger.

  “No, Miller – we did not let them go. Jackson and I defended the coach. We both took bullets for those kids, and the terrorists kidnapped them anyway. You want to shoot the breeze in the senior dorm about who should have done what, that’s fine, but you weren’t there. You weren’t on the coach, you didn’t have guns pointed at you, you weren’t trying to keep the kids safe. You don’t get to tell me what I should have done.”

  The pain in my knee flares, and I realise I’ve been tensing my leg muscles, leaning forward to make my point to Miller. I sit back against the pillows.

  He stands up, the smirk gone from his face. “Good to see you, Ketty,” he says, and walks out of the room. I stare at the ceiling, waiting for the pain to fade.

  Like you could have done better.

  *****

  I’m still calming down when Webb puts his head round the door.

  “Does my stubborn patient feel like eating? The kitchen’s sending dinner.”

  I force myself to smile. “Sure.”

  “You’re due some painkillers, too. How do you feel? Do you want those now?”

  Thanks to Miller, I do.

  I nod. He brings me a cup of water and a couple of tablets. When I’ve swallowed them, he puts his hand on my shoulder.

  “How are you feeling? I know the last few days have been … eventful. Don’t forget to let yourself stop. If you need to take some time off, I’m here to be your bodyguard. I can send people away before they bother you. I can even send Bracken away, if you want me to. If I say you’re resting, even the commander can’t overrule me.” He smiles.

  We’re trying Good Cop now, are we? Flattering me into staying in bed?

  “I’m fine, thank you. I’d rather stay busy.”

  He nods. “I thought so – but the offer’s there. Let me know if you change your mind.”

  One of the women from the kitchen arrives in the doorway with a tray.

  “I’ll let you eat,” he says, taking the tray and handing it to me.

  I eat alone, and it’s hard. Jackson should be here, laughing and joking with me. Poking fun at the kids. Keeping me on my toes. Challenging me to do better. Iron fists and steel toe caps, each of us pushing the other to be the best, to keep the recruits in line. To do what needs to be done, and demanding nothing in return.

  I push the tray away. I used to have the backbone to do this by myself. Keep myself going. Push myself to do better. And now – what? I need Jackson to do it for me?

  Come on, Ketty. Push yourself. You’re stronger than this.

  But when Webb signs off for the night, and a duty medic takes over at the desk, I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see Jackson, motionless, surrounded by machines.

  And I miss him.

  Progress

  Bracken arrives after breakfast, a file of papers in his hands. The nurse brought me a waterproof sleeve for my bandage, so I’ve finally had a shower, I’m dressed in a clean uniform, and I’m ready to get to work.

  “I gather I have to come to you now, when I want to hold a meeting?”

  “You do, Sir. Doctor Webb has set me up in his finest conference room. Pull up a chair and tell me what I can do for you.”

  He raises an eyebrow at my playful insubordination, but he sits down.

  “We’ve found them.” He can’t hide his smile.

  “Ellman?”

  “And all her friends.”

  For a moment, I can’t think of anything to say. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and breathe out slowly.

  “That’s good news, Sir.”

  “It is. It means the plan worked. What you did on the coach – that was worth it.”

  I shake my head, thinking about Jackson.

  Let’s hope so.

  “So where are they?”

  “On a farm, we think. Somewhere in Wales. We’re sending surveillance teams over today.”

  I take another deep breath. There are tears pricking at my eyes.

  Almost there. Almost ready to round up our missing recruits. Go on, Mummy Ellman. Get out of this.

  “So what’s the plan, Sir?”

  “HQ is checking it as we speak. I want to hit them in the middle of the night – cut the power, cause maximum confusion, and flush them out of their hiding place. We’ll try to take prisoners, but we’ll have a backup plan in case we meet more resistance than we’re expecting.”

  “And what are we expecting?”

  “That’s what we’re hoping the surveillance will show. We’ll keep an eye on people coming and going, get a feel for how many people we think there are on the farm. Then we’ll send in troops, and take as many of the terrorists as we can for questioning.”

  “Questioning? Surely the point is to make an example of them? Show them off on the news. Broadcast the firing squads.”

  We waves his hand. “Sure. We’ll get to that. But first we’ll see what they can tell us about their organisation. Who else is out there. What they’re planning. See if we can find out who’s in charge.”

  Sounds good to me.

  “So do we have plans of the site? Do we know what we’re walking into?”

  “We’re working on that as well. When we’ve confirmed the location, HQ will trace the owner. We’re going to see what information we can dig up on the property. Buildings, power, water. Whatever we can disrupt and use against them.”

  “How long before we make our move?”

  “As soon as HQ approves. When we know what’s out there, and we’ve confirmed our plans, we go. No point giving them enough time to get spooked and move on.”

  “No, Sir.”

  He stands up. “I need to get back. HQ will have questions, and I need to be on hand to answer them.”

  “Yes, Sir. Will you let me know what they say?”

  “I will.” He stops at the door. “And Ketty? I’m going to need you. I’m going to need your input on this. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  I’m glad I’m here, too.

  *****

  “Go back to bed, Ketty!”

  �
��Not yet. I told you – I need to be walking by the weekend.”

  Doctor Webb shakes his head. “And I told you – ponies and chocolate factories. You’re doing yourself more damage. At least wait for the physiotherapist.”

  “When they get here, they can help.”

  I’m walking up and down the medical centre corridor, a single crutch in my right hand. It still hurts to walk, but I’m pushing myself through the pain. Doctor Webb sits down in the waiting area, watching me and shaking his head. The nurse sits at the reception desk, trying to look busy.

  “Do I have to order you back to bed?”

  “I wouldn’t advise it, Sir.” I’m concentrating on keeping my balance, and taking the next step, and the next.

  “You are one bloody-minded woman. You know that?”

  “I do, Sir.”

  “Normally, I’d respect that. But now?”

  The door to the medical centre swings open, and one of the gate guards pushes his way inside. He lifts a green plastic medical supplies crate onto the desk. The nurse looks up in surprise.

  “What’s this? New kit?” Webb jumps up and goes to inspect the crate.

  The guard looks at Webb in surprise, as he fishes in his pocket for the delivery note. He puts it down on the desk. “It’s for her, Sir,” he says, nodding at me as he leaves.

  Webb looks at me.

  “First flowers, now medical crates? Something you want to tell me, Lead Recruit?”

  Nothing I can think of.

  I keep walking.

  “Expecting a delivery, Ketty?” I shake my head. “Can I see what’s inside?”

  “Sure. Suit yourself.”

  Webb snaps the lid off the crate, pulls back a layer of packaging, and lets out a cry of excitement.

  “Katrina Smith! Someone likes you.”

  I make my way back along the corridor to the front desk, crutch tapping on the floor as I walk, and look over Webb’s shoulder. He reaches in and lifts out a brown cardboard box. It’s mostly plain, with a serial number and an illustration of a running stick figure, and it’s sealed with tamper-proof tape.