I do my best to leave calmly, without slamming the door.
*****
“Corporal Smith!” Conrad jumps up as I march through his office.
“Corporal Conrad.” I stop at the door and turn back to him.
Are you blushing?
“I was just … I was wondering …”
“Yes?”
“Are you busy, later?”
“Later, when?”
I don’t have time for games. Get to the point.
“After work, later. For a drink?”
I almost laugh. The brigadier is mocking Bracken for his whisky problem, and now his assistant wants me to go out for a drink.
Conrad sees the look on my face and shakes his head. “Sorry.” He holds his hands up. “Sorry – that was inappropriate.”
I nod. “It was.”
But I don’t move. It’s been ages since I’ve had the chance to let my hair down. To let off steam. And I don’t know anyone in London, outside these offices.
Why not? I’ve just figured out where our recruits are hiding. Lee is sending troops to the leads I uncovered. Ellman has made her move, and we’re acting on it. I can handle Conrad – outside work, he’s just eye candy.
And Jackson. I need a distraction from thinking about Jackson.
Why the hell not?
“OK.” I give Conrad a recruit-scaring grin. “I feel like celebrating. Meet you out front at seven.”
He blinks at me in surprise. “Yes. OK! Seven.” He takes a deep breath. “See you at seven.”
I’m smiling as I close his door behind me. Confident Corporal posh-shabby-gorgeous actually sounds nervous. This could be fun.
*****
I pick up two cups of coffee on my way back to Bracken’s office. He’s on the phone when I arrive, so I step out and wait for him to finish. He calls me in, and I put the coffee cup on his desk.
“Thank you, Ketty.” He looks at the phone. “That was Brigadier Lee. The Terrorism Committee has made a breakthrough with the prisoner profiles.”
“Sir?”
“It’s good news. It means we’ve got some leverage for the next interrogation.”
“Anything I should know?”
He looks up at me. “We’ve got a family connection. The Committee confirmed it.”
“William and Sheena Richards?”
He nods. “Father and daughter.”
A smile spreads over my face. “That will be useful, Sir.”
Let’s see you keep quiet when you find out who’s sitting in the next cell.
*****
“Corporal Smith.”
“Sir!” I stand up straight and salute as Major-General Franks walks towards me in the corridor, the door to the firing range slamming closed behind her.
“At ease, Corporal.” She glances over her shoulder. “Here for target practice?”
I clasp my hands behind my back. “Yes, Sir.”
She nods, watching me. “Good, good. It’s important to be prepared.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And your recruits?”
“Still searching, Sir, but we’ve narrowed the search to the North East. Brigadier Lee is following up a couple of leads.”
She nods again. “Good work, Corporal. I like your attitude. No fuss, no hesitation. You get things done.” She smiles. “We need more of that attitude around here. Keep it up, and you’ll go far. We need soldiers like you.”
“Sir.”
“Dismissed, Corporal.” She walks past me, patting my shoulder before she walks away.
I can’t help smiling as I open the door to the firing range. Lee might not appreciate me, and Bracken might not see past my role as his assistant, but with Franks on my side? If the Major-General wants to promote me, all I have to do is give her a reason. Find the recruits and bring them to London. Keep my eye on the target. Keep the pressure on Bex and her friends.
It’s not Lee I have to impress. It’s not Bracken.
It’s Franks.
And I can do that.
I collect the bullets and ear defenders from the Private on duty, and clip up a target. I hold the gun in my hands, feeling the power it gives me.
I take aim, and fire.
I’ve traced the owner of the car.
I fire another shot.
I’ve traced the courier company.
Another bullet hits the target in the chest.
Bex and her friends can’t stay hidden for long.
Fire. Fire. Fire.
I’ve got you, Bex. I’m closing in.
I bring the target back, and admire the six neat holes punched in the the centre of the silhouette.
I’ve got this, Jackson.
Forgiven
Bex
We walk, Charlie and me. As the tide goes out, we follow the road towards the island, stepping aside for cars and thankful for our waterproofs. It’s windy out on the causeway, and I’ve pulled the drawstring on my hoodie tight. I can hardly see the road ahead of me, so I’m sure no one can see my face. The hood of the coat is pulled down as far as it can go, and every time the wind blows I’m holding it in place. When it blows back, the rain blows in, and the neck of my hoodie is already soaked through. It’s wet and cold, and walking is what keeps us warm.
It’s impossible to talk. The wind is too loud, and with two hoods up neither of us can hear what the other is saying. It’s a mile across the causeway, and another two miles on the other side before we reach the meeting point. My face is freezing, and rainwater is dripping from my nose and down my neck.
And I’m outside.
There’s no one looking for me. There’s no gun in a biscuit tin on the fridge. No locks on the door. I’m in the middle of nowhere, in a rainstorm, and it feels amazing.
Charlie catches me laughing, and she grins back, turning round and walking backwards at the edge of the road, arms open wide to the sky.
I know we’re not free. I know we can’t take our hoods down and dance in the rain. But this is still the best day we’ve had in months. I think about the others, crossing to the island by car, and I’m sorry that they won’t experience this freedom. This astounding open space.
I’m smiling as I walk into the rain.
*****
We arrive at the meeting point with hours to spare. The rain has eased to a light drizzle, and we’re sheltered from the wind. There’s a bench to sit on, and a view towards what a signpost tells us is Lindisfarne Castle, and the sea. It’s beautiful, even with the grey clouds and the rain.
We sit for a while, watching the view. While it’s raining, we won’t draw attention sitting here with our hoods up, but as the rain eases I start to feel conspicuous.
“We should keep walking. Make it look as if we’re covering our faces against the wind.”
Charlie nods, and we pull on our backpacks again, heading towards the castle.
It’s amazing to be walking in this wild and open place, and it’s wonderful to be outside for so long. We follow the path past the harbour and up to the castle, then down onto the beach. It’s windy and cold, and I’m enjoying every minute. The wind on my face, the cold pushing into my gloves, the sand under my boots. Walking to keep warm, watching the scenery change around us. Not looking at the same four walls. I feel as if we’ve walked for miles when we realise it’s time to head back to the village and meet the others. It’s a relief to be able to do something so normal, so unimportant. To feel so alive.
We’re both smiling as the SUV stops at the junction, and we hurry over to help with the bags and waterproofs.
When everyone’s dressed, the driver gets out and gives Dan a hand-held searchlight and another map.
“Don’t forget – light off until you see the signal. No point attracting attention.” He looks around the group. “Good luck. All of you.”
This time, he takes a moment to shake our hands before climbing into the car and driving away. I watch his tail lights disappear in the fading light.
“What was tha
t? He hardly spoke to us when he dropped us off.”
Dan and Amy exchange a glance.
“We should get moving. We’re too obvious in the village.” Dan sounds worried. He consults his map, then sets off along a narrow road, heading away from the houses. We follow in silence, hoods still up in case anyone sees us.
Past some farm buildings, the road becomes a muddy track. The wind has dropped, and there’s no more rain. It’s possible to walk with our waterproof hoods down, keeping the hoodies over our faces. I speed up my pace until I’m walking next to Amy.
“What was that about?”
Amy looks around, and raises a finger to her lips. “Not now. We’ll explain on the beach.”
“Did something happen?”
She nods, finger on her lips again.
I put my head down, and follow Dan.
*****
It must be a mile to the end of the track, and then Dan is consulting the map, picking out a route for us through the dunes towards the sea. The sky is getting darker, and if we don’t move quickly, we’ll lose the light.
“Watch out. The driver said it’s really easy to turn an ankle or fall out here. Stay close behind me, and look out for each other. We’re about five minutes from the beach.”
Dan picks a direction and walks into the grassy sand dunes, and we follow.
Walking gets harder and harder as the sun sets and the clouds change from grey to near-black. The ground is uneven, the sand is soft under our feet, and the paths appear and disappear between the dunes. We keep Dan in sight, and walk as carefully as we can, holding each other’s hands when the path gets rough.
When we make it to the beach, he checks his watch, and checks the map again.
“This is it. Make yourselves comfortable.”
He sits down on the sand, and we sit down with him. The beach is cold, but our waterproof trousers keep us dry, our coats protecting us from the wind. I look out from the beach, but it’s too dark to see past the breaking waves. The sound of the surf is like the sea, breathing. It’s a comforting rhythm as we sit here in the dark.
*****
We sit, quietly, listening to the sound of the waves. The dark presses in around us. There are no lights, anywhere – only a gentle glow from the clouds. I can hardly see my hands in front of my face. Dan has the searchlight, but he won’t switch it on until we need it. I can hear the rustling of waterproofs, and I’m overcome with gratitude that my friends are here with me, that we’re safe. But in the darkness, just out of reach, I can feel the presence of all the people I’ve left behind.
I stand up, and walk away from the group, down to the edge of the water. The sea moves and retreats, moves and retreats, washing the toes of my boots. I pull off my gloves and kneel down in the sand. I push my hands into the icy water, and I can feel the tears on my face.
There are things I need to say. People I need to leave behind. Their absence is a weight, pressing down on me in the cold and the dark. I need to draw a line under the guilt and the nightmares. I need to be brave again.
I spread my fingers in the surf and make myself feel the cold. I focus on the people I’ve lost.
Saunders.
You saved us. I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.
Margie.
I saved you once, and I tried to save you again. I’m sorry.
Dr Richards.
I was so close to rescuing you, in the farmyard. I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out of there.
Will.
I’m so sorry about the trackers in the armour. I didn’t know.
Dad.
I love you. Be safe.
Mum.
I’m so sorry. We’re trying to reach you. I’m sorry.
In the breathing of the surf it’s as if they’re here with me – all the people I’ve let down.
And I can feel forgiveness.
But they’re not here to forgive me. This isn’t my friends or my family talking.
This is me, starting to forgive myself.
The cold burns my hands, but I make myself feel it. I make myself let go.
I tried. I got involved. I did my best to save my friends. I have to stop blaming myself for things I couldn’t control.
Charlie is right. I need to put down this weight. I need to stop beating myself up, and start fighting again. I need to stop reliving my failures, over and over. I need to let myself be brave.
I kneel in the surf, feeling the water wash my hands clean. The wind chills my cheeks, but when I reach up to brush them away, I find that the tears have gone.
Drink
Ketty
I head home at five, after sending another clip from Elizabeth’s interrogation to PIN for tonight’s news. I’ve got time for a run if I push myself. I change out of my uniform and follow my usual route, ignoring the pain in my knee. Back at the flat, I grab a quick shower, and think about what to wear.
I haven’t been out since Camp Bishop, when Jackson and I used an evening permit to go to a pub in Leominster. I got to watch him hitting on other women all night, and he pretended to protect me from the attentions of the local men. We insulted each other all evening, and told tales about it afterwards. It was perfect.
But this? Going out with Conrad?
What are you doing, Ketty?
I pull out three or four outfits, and settle on skinny jeans with a cream satin blouse and a bold blue necklace. Classy, professional, respectable, and untouchable. I scrunch-dry my hair and pull on a pair of flat shoes. I’d love to wear heels, but without a PowerGel, that’s not going to happen.
It’s cold as I walk down the stairs, a long winter coat over my blouse and jeans.
Conrad is waiting outside the Home Forces building, neat and good-looking in jeans and a padded jacket. He does a double-take as I cross the road towards him, my hair spilling over my shoulders, painkillers helping me to walk without a limp. He’s only ever seen me in uniform – my hair scraped back in a regulation style, army boots on my feet, and my jacket buttoned up. His face is a picture.
“Corporal Smith!” He says, eventually.
“Corporal Conrad.”
He blinks and shakes his head. “Call me David.”
“Ketty.”
“Ketty. How about we go and find that drink?”
*****
“Is this allowed? You and me?” I’m shouting over the music in the bar, and pointing across the table between us to emphasise my point. There’s a beer in my hand, and David is drinking some whisky cocktail with too many ingredients. It’s loud, and it’s crowded.
“Is it allowed? I don’t know!” He shrugs. “I guess so.”
“So no rules about socialising with colleagues?”
“Not that I know of.”
“That’s useful.”
He nods. “Yeah.”
We listen to the music for a while, watching the people around us.
“So you’re the person who taught the missing recruits everything they know?”
I look back at him, surprise showing on my face.
“At Camp Bishop?”
“Yeah. I heard you were Lead Recruit.”
I nod. “I was.”
“So – how does that happen? Five recruits breaking out of camp?”
If he’s going to mock me about this, I’m going to make him understand. I shake my head. “That’s not what happened.”
“So you didn’t lose five recruits?”
“Oh, yeah. We did. It just took two goes to get them all out.”
I take a sip of my beer, smiling at the look on his face.
He laughs. “Two breakouts?”
“Not exactly. There’s a bit more to it than that.”
“I think you should explain!” He waves his drink at me.
“Three of them broke out of camp.” I hold up three fingers, aware that I’m competing with the music.
“OK.”
“And they had a prisoner and a member of staff with them. They needed someone to drive the truck.
”
“They broke out in a truck?”
“Smashed their way out of the gates, yes.”
David laughs again. “OK. That’s a proper breakout.”
I smile. “It was.”
“So? What happened next?”
“So then two of them came back and rescued their friends. During the raid on the coach.”
“I heard about that. You didn’t come out of that well.” There’s the ghost of a sneer on his face.
I blink. I can’t follow this conversation. This was David’s idea, coming out for a drink, and now he’s insulting me.
Laughter, and insults.
He’s competing. He thinks I’m a threat.
He’s right.
I hammer my finger into my chest. “I was hardcore, Corporal. Hardcore. I fixed up my own bullet wound, and got all the other kids rescued. I deserve a medal for that.”
And so does my friend.
So much for distracting me from Jackson.
David makes a face. “I guess if being a target and losing two more recruits gets you a medal, I agree.”
“Hey! Hey! You weren’t there. Don’t look at me like that. You weren’t there.”
He holds up his hands, fending me off.
“No, OK. I wasn’t.”
“You weren’t. You don’t get to comment.”
“Sure.”
“So what about you? What did you do to deserve Brigadier Lee?”
He shrugs, and flashes his gorgeous smile. “Just lucky, I guess.”
I nearly choke on my beer. “Lucky?”
He swirls his drink in his glass. “Access to Top Secret information? Making footage for PIN? Front row seat at the prisoner interrogations – what more could a Corporal want?” He grins at me, over his cocktail.
I shrug. “I guess. It seems like a lot to put up with to get all that.”
He shakes his head. “He’s not all bad.”
“He’s a snake! He tortures people for fun.”
“That’s unfair.”
Not from where I’m sitting.
“If you say so.”
He nods. “Yeah.” He pauses, then looks up at me. “So how are you finding London? I mean – it must be different from Camp Bishop.”
The Battle Ground Series: Books 1-3 Page 53