“Yesterday wasn’t an exercise.”
So it’s true. We did attack a town full of people.
“OK.” I keep my voice neutral.
“It’s all part of a larger plan.” His tone is pleading. He’s begging me to understand.
“A plan to do what? Win the war for the terrorists?”
He shakes his head again. Makes calming motions with his hands. Takes a deep breath.
“There was terrorist activity in town. We tracked them going in, scouting for an attack.”
“So the town was full of terrorists? We just did what we had to do?” I can’t keep the sarcasm from my voice.
He looks at me, and I see that he’s close to tears, or to losing his temper. I keep quiet and nod, encouraging him to continue.
“HQ has been looking for a target. They wanted to test their wide-area weapon.” He takes another drink. I sit quietly. I don’t want to provoke more shouting. He shouldn’t be telling me this, and I don’t want him to remember that. I want to understand what’s happened.
“When we tracked the terrorists into town, we had orders to leave them alone. We were told to contact HQ, and to stand by for instructions.”
“And they sent Holden.”
He nods.
“They asked for local liaison officers to be sent over, and they told me to clear the camp for the day. They sent the recruits to Birmingham, they gave the camp staff and medics an NBC drill, and they put their own guards on the gate. I … I left them to it.”
He runs his fingers through his hair, leaves them there. Rests his forehead on the palms of his hands.
“You didn’t know?”
He shakes his head. “I wasn’t certain.”
“Who else knows?”
He shrugs.
So we’re in this together. HQ has put us in this position.
“And they sent me, and Jackson, and Miller to clean up after them?”
He nods, slowly. I think through what HQ is doing. What they might be planning.
What we can do.
“So how does this work? Do we claim it was an accident? A demonstration gone wrong? Or do we claim that we’ve wiped out a nest of terrorists?”
“I don’t know, Ketty.” His voice cracks, and he sits up, cups his hands around his glass. “HQ will update me.”
He sits in silence for a while, staring at the drink in his hands.
“You shouldn’t know this”, he says, quietly.
I say nothing. I know he’s right, but I know what I saw in town. Things I can’t forget.
“Can I trust you?” He looks up, meets my eyes.
And I see my chance. I see that he needs me. I see what I can do.
I lean forward in my chair. “Sir. As I understand it, your Lead Recruit would need to know this.” I’m offering him my loyalty, and I’m asking for my job back. I’m taking a risk. I’m gambling everything on his need for an assistant to share this with. For someone to go through this with him.
I’m gambling that he’s telling me the truth. I’m gambling on HQ having a plan to manage the situation. I’m hoping he wants me back. And I’m using the worst atrocity of this fight – of my lifetime – as leverage.
I feel sick. I’m terrified that he’s going to say no, to send me away in disgrace. I’m horrified that this could be my ticket back into his confidence.
And then I realise that I have another lever to use against him. Behind him, on a low shelf, I can see a row of bottles. Two empty vodka bottles, and a half-full bottle of whisky, which must be what he’s drinking now. He looks up at me, and follows the line of my gaze.
This is easy. This is what I’ve been doing all my life. Negotiating my survival with the alcoholic who holds my future in his hands.
Thanks, Dad, for the training.
He looks back at me, his expression begging me not to notice. Not to say anything. I hold his gaze, keeping my expression neutral. I raise an eyebrow, fractionally.
And I have to stop myself from laughing when he responds.
“Absolutely.” He clears his throat. Sits up straight in his chair. “Absolutely, Ketty. You’re right.”
He reaches into a drawer in his desk, pulls out my file; opens it, pushing his drink out of the way.
“This could have happened in any number of towns. Anywhere we had evidence of terrorist activity. The first town to track terrorists on their streets. It happened to be on our doorstep.”
He pauses, and nods to himself, thinking this through.
“That puts us in a unique position. We’re under HQ’s microscope, while this situation is being handled. We have an opportunity to step up and show what we can do.”
He looks at me briefly, then continues.
“This changes things. We’re not just running a kindergarten here any more. We’re on the front line. We’re not babysitting these kids. We’re fighting a war.” He flips the pages of my file until he finds the record of my work at Camp Bishop. “I’m going to need someone I can rely on. Someone with a strong stomach, and the willingness to follow through on whatever HQ does to handle this situation. Someone willing to take risks. To get their hands dirty. To do uncomfortable things.” He glances behind him, at the bottles on the shelf.
“Yes, Sir.”
He looks at me again, speaks slowly and deliberately.
“We need to be the team that exceeds HQ’s expectations. We need to become the people they call to sort out their toughest situations. This could be good for both of us.” He’s looking me in the eye. “This could bring us to the attention of HQ. This could be my ticket to a promotion.
“And if I go to London, I want you to come with me.” There’s a hint of panic in his eyes, now. The begging expression is back. “We’re a team, Ketty. I know I can trust you to do what needs to be done. Let’s show them what we can do together.”
He picks up a pen, and adds a line to my work record. Signs his name.
“Recruit Smith.”
“Sir!”
“You are once again promoted to the role of Lead Recruit for Camp Bishop.”
“Sir! Thank you, Sir.”
“Your security clearance is reinstated. Your silence on this conversation, and all conversations with me going forward, is assumed and expected.”
I’ll keep your secret, Sir.
“Yes, Sir.”
“And Ketty?”
“Sir?”
“Don’t screw up again.”
“No, Sir.”
“Debrief will be at breakfast tomorrow. I’ll pass on whatever I hear from HQ, and you will help me to enforce their orders, and their version of the events of the last 36 hours.” He leans forward again, elbows on the desk. “This all begins tomorrow, you and me. And there’s a … complication I’m going to need your help with.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He looks as if he’s going to say something else, but then he shakes his head.
“Dismissed. Go and get some sleep.”
I stand up and walk to the door, my head spinning. I know that was a horrible thing to do. I took advantage of the situation, and of the commander. But HQ did this, not us. We’re not the bad guys here. We’re the ones who have to clean up for them and cover their tracks if we’re all going to get through this.
And I deserve that job. The commander needs me, and I need him. It’s going to take hard work, but I need to become indispensable. When he gets out of here, I need him to take me with him.
I’m committed, now, and so is he. And I can handle whatever we need to do.
Time to get tough, Ketty.
I leave the room, and make it out of the building before I allow the smile to show on my face.
*****
Jackson is in the Senior Dorm, feet up on the table in the dining room, empty meal tray next to him. I walk past, push his feet off the table, and sit down opposite him. He holds his hands out, offended.
“Hey! You’re not the commander’s enforcer any more.” He starts to lift his feet u
p again, but pauses when he sees my face. “Aren’t you?”
“Got my job back.”
He plants his feet on the floor, and leans his elbows on the table.
“You … what? … How? How did you convince Bracken?”
“Long story. Convinced him I’m worth it. And here I am.”
“Congrats. That’s … that’s brilliant.”
“Yeah.”
There’s an awkward pause.
“Any news on today? On a debrief?” He asks, quietly.
I shake my head.
“Tomorrow, breakfast.”
He nods, suddenly serious, and I wonder whether he saw more in town than he’s letting on.
Lies
So that’s how they’re spinning it. They’re using it as a false flag attack. They’re blaming it on the terrorists.
We’re all in the recruits’ dining room – Commander Bracken, Senior Recruits, newbies. Breakfast is over, and Bracken is addressing the group.
“This morning, we have bad news. Today will not be the training day you are expecting. There has been an attack.”
Woods is setting up the TV at the front of the room.
“We will not be following our usual route on the training run. The town is sealed off. The terrorists have struck on our doorstep, and we are only just coming to understand the severity of the attack.
“In the coming days, it will be our duty to assist the army in whatever capacity they require. You are no longer recruits. You have graduated to armed auxiliaries. The army can now request your service at any time.
“This is an extremely serious attack. It demonstrates that the rebels are no longer a background threat to our way of life. They are well-armed and very dangerous. We don’t know where they will attack next, but we will be on call to help prevent future incidents, and to assist if they attack again.”
Woods turns on the TV, and switches to the Public Information Network. A newsreader, her face white with shock and her hands shaking in front of her, begins to read this morning’s only headline.
“Good morning. It with great sadness that we bring you a live report from the site of another terrorist attack. Early this morning, the terrorists struck the town of Leominster, in Herefordshire. It is not yet clear how this attack was launched, but what is clear is the near destruction of the entire town.
“Ruth Davis is on the ground in Leominster. Ruth – what are you seeing?”
The view cuts from the studio to a hand-held camera on a street in town. A reporter in a bullet-proof vest and helmet is walking along the pavement, picking her way over scattered belongings, past lines of empty cars. The camera takes in the rubble of the buildings, the damage to the road surface, the fallen trees.
There are gasps from the recruits. The reporter describes the scene, but the images are far more shocking. I wait to see what else the news will be permitted to show.
They switch to drone footage of the town, while the reporter explains what she is seeing. The scale of the destruction is more obvious from the air. I watch, carefully. I want to confirm what I saw.
And there they are. Piles of bodies in parks and open spaces. People killed by gas from the weapons after running from the shaking and following the soldiers to safety. Commander Holden’s ‘Unauthorised Personnel’ were the residents of Leominster. All of them. There were no survivors. There was no safety for anyone unlucky enough to live in his test town. He may have had official permission for everything he did, but he didn’t have permission from the people whose lives he took yesterday. From the innocent people who just happened to live in his testing range. I take some deep breaths to fight back the nausea.
So they’re blaming it on the terrorists. An interesting move. A good way to promote our role in the fighting. To shift public opinion in favour of government forces.
The newsreader returns.
“Breaking news: the Prime Minister has just announced a heightened state of National Emergency, and the introduction of Martial Law. In the light of such an audacious terrorist attack, she has placed the security of the country in the hands of the army. Parliament will be dissolved, until such time as these attacks can be stopped, and the democratic process can be safely reinstated …”
That’s it. That’s the excuse they needed to put the army in power. No wonder Holden wanted a whole town to play with. He’s tested his weapons, the government blamed the terrorists, and the army get all the reasons they need to take over the country.
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.<
br />
“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.
False Flag (Battle Ground YA UK Dystopia Series Book 2) Page 8