So we carry on as if nothing has happened. Morning run, gun practice, assault course, briefing sessions. The kids seem relieved – this is the life they know, these are the people they know. They’ve been given the chance to stay and improve their skills, and the repetition keeps them focused on their training. Repetition is easy for us, too. We get on with running our usual training sessions, I get used to looking away when I see empty bottles in Bracken’s office.
A week after the lockdown, I’m running a briefing session scripted by HQ. The recruits are in the dining room. Brown has found herself a new group to sit with – all girls, who seem to find her sudden celebrity interesting. Taylor sits at an empty table alone, arms crossed defensively in front of him, eyes to the floor, his hair covering his face. He sits like this at every briefing session, and he never speaks. I have no idea why we’re pandering to these two, and not keeping them locked up, but that’s what HQ wants.
“Tiny fighters. Today we are talking about the terrorists. In his book The Art of War, Sun Tzu says ‘know your enemy’. We can’t fight the terrorists if we don’t know who they are, or what their aims are.
“So. What do we know about the terrorists?”
Woods has found a flip chart and a set of pens for me, and HQ wants me to make a list of things we know, and don’t know, about the enemy.
I wait for the recruits to make suggestions, but they sit in silence.
“Anyone? Something we know about the terrorists.”
One of the girls at Brown’s table raises her hand.
“Yes.”
“They murdered everyone in town.”
“OK.” I write her contribution on the flip chart.
Wrong already.
“Anyone else? Shout out what you know.”
“They want to destroy the country.”
“They want to kill everyone who doesn’t agree with them.”
“They hate us.”
“They hate freedom.”
“They want to take over the government.”
“They don’t care what we think.”
Their answers are coming faster than I can write. HQ would be pleased.
“Anything else? Where are they?”
“We don’t know. They could be anywhere.”
‘Hiding’, I write.
Spot on, kid. Thanks to Brown and Taylor, we have no idea.
“What weapons do they use?”
“Bombs.”
“Against who?”
“Ordinary people.”
“Civilian targets. Correct. Is that a brave way to fight?”
“It makes them cowards!”
“We’ve been out there in our armour, in public, while they sneak around. That’s not very honest.” One of Brown’s new friends, whining.
“It’s not a fair fight!” Another girl from Brown’s table.
You have no idea.
“We’re out there protecting the public. They’re out there killing them.”
“Which makes you,” I turn away from the flip chart and point around the room, “all of you, the good guys. You’re fighting to protect ordinary people. When you manage to remember your gun skills, and you do up your shoelaces and put your armour on properly to go on patrol, you’re keeping people safe.”
There’s a murmur in the room as they realise that I’ve just paid them a compliment.
Don’t get used to it, tiny fighters. I’m only doing what HQ wants me to do.
“So. That’s what we do know.” I fold the list over the top of the flip chart and expose a blank sheet of paper. “What don’t we know?”
“What they want.”
“Really? We know they want to bring down the government, destroy the country, take away our freedom. What don’t we know?”
“What their plans are. What they want to do instead.”
“Good. Keep shouting out.”
“Why they’re fighting us.”
“Where they’re hiding.”
“How many there are.”
I turn round in surprise. That was Taylor.
“Recruit Taylor! Nice of you to join in today.” He’s looking at the floor again, pretending to ignore me. “You made a good point. We don’t know how many terrorists there are, but the fact that they crawl around in the shadows and use bombs instead of guns suggests that there aren’t very many of them, don’t you think? It suggests that they’re afraid of us, and our soldiers.”
There’s a pause, and everyone in the room is watching him. This is the first time he’s spoken in a training session since the lockdown.
He looks up at me through his curtain of hair, and smirks.
“They got four new recruits last week, didn’t they? Who knows how many people are joining them? They could be hiding an army, for all you know.”
Any other recruit, and I’d be putting them on report. Sending them to Commander Bracken. Demanding press-ups or taking away meal privileges. But with Taylor and Brown, my hands are tied. HQ wants us to ignore subversive behaviour from the would-be terrorists. We’re supposed to carry on as if nothing happened, and report back on anything they say or do.
But the temptation to drag him out of his chair and remind him how lucky he is to be alive is very hard to resist. I bite my tongue, and try to control the situation.
“I think that’s unlikely. Don’t you? Don’t you think we would have seen more terrorist activity if they had some sort of secret army?”
He smirks again. “Like you said, they wiped out an entire town, didn’t they?”
There’s a gasp from the other recruits. They’re watching Taylor talk back to a Senior Recruit, and they’re seeing no punishment. It must be obvious to all of them that this isn’t business as usual. Worse, they think I can’t touch him.
I’m the Lead Recruit. I’m the name the other Senior Recruits use to keep these kids in line. Taylor is publicly showing them all that my power is a myth. That I can’t do anything to stop him.
My fists are clenched and I’ve taken a step towards him before Commander Bracken’s voice cuts through my anger, and I step back to the flip chart.
“Recruits!”
He’s been standing at the door. I have no idea how long he’s been watching, but I’m grateful that he chooses that moment to step in. The kids rush to stand up, screeching their chairs out from the tables. Taylor doesn’t move.
“Sir!”
“Enough for today. Lead Recruit Smith, please stick the lists on the wall, so everyone here can read through them at their leisure.”
“Yes, Sir.” I’m surprised how calm I sound.
“Recruits – return to your dormitories. You may take the next hour to read quietly, or rest. I don’t want to hear conversation. I don’t want to hear any sound at all. You may return to the dining room in one hour for dinner. Dismissed.”
“Yes, Sir!”
The recruits glance at each other, and slowly make their way out of the dining room. We’ve never cut short a training session before. Free time gives them a chance to think, and assess what they’re doing here. Commander Bracken tries to avoid giving them time to themselves, and they don’t know what to make of this change to their schedule.
Taylor stands up and slouches towards the door, last to leave the room. Brown looks back at him before she leaves, but she doesn’t try to talk to him.
At least one of you understands how to blend in and stay out of trouble.
“Ketty. With me.” Bracken nods towards the door. I gather up the flip chart pens and follow him from the building. Jackson and Miller are waiting in the corridor, standing guard and making sure the kids don’t start a riot before dinner.
“Rough briefing?” whispers Jackson as I walk past. I shrug, not trusting myself to speak, and it takes all my self-control to keep my fists down and keep walking when I notice the smirk on Miller’s face.
You think you could do better? Think again, techie boy.
Trap
“You know what else Sun Tzu said?
”
I’ve followed the commander to his office, and we’re sitting across his desk from each other. He’s poured himself a whisky, which I’m pointedly ignoring. I’m still trying to control my breathing and force myself to stay calm.
I shake my head.
“I was just using the script. I don’t know who Sun Tzu is.”
“Was. Chinese military strategist, two and a half thousand years ago. Generals still study his writing today.”
I shrug. “OK.”
“It’s true that he said you should know your enemy. He also said that ‘all warfare is based on deception’.”
I think about that for a moment. “That’s obvious, isn’t it?”
The commander smiles.
“On one level, it is. You don’t want your enemy to know what you’re planning. You don’t want them to know your numbers or your strengths. That’s why both sides use spies – to try to find out the truth.
“But there’s more to it than that. You and I know things that other people here don’t. We have privileged information. We need to make sure we keep that information a secret – and not just the information, but the very fact that there is any secret information.”
I nod, cautiously, glancing at the drink in front of him. What are you getting at, Bracken?
“The deception isn’t all directed towards the enemy. Sometimes we need to withhold information from our own side. Tell them what they need to hear – not necessarily what they want to know.”
“Sure. I haven’t discussed the weapons test, if that’s what you mean.”
“Partly. But we also need to be the messengers for HQ. We need to deliver the briefings they send us, and we need to give those briefings as if we completely agree with them, whatever they say, and whatever we know.”
I think back over this afternoon’s session.
“That would be much easier if our two terrorist sympathisers were still locked up,” I protest, watching his reaction.
He nods once in agreement.
“Our hands are certainly tied where Taylor and Brown are concerned.”
“And there’s nothing we can do?”
“We can report their behaviour back to HQ. I’ll be giving them a full report on Taylor’s disruptive episode later – and on Brown’s willingness to knuckle down and stay out of trouble.”
He watches me for a moment, studying my face. I feel like a sample under a microscope. Is he testing me?
“You’ve heard something, haven’t you?” I lean forward. “Something from HQ?”
He takes a drink from his whisky. He says nothing for a long moment, and then nods.
Finally.
“What did they say? What’s the plan?”
“This is Top Secret, Ketty. You, me, and Woods. No one else on site can know.”
“OK.”
“Can I trust you with this? Do you have your frustration under control, or will I have to step in again and stop you from assaulting a recruit?”
I take a deep breath.
“Sorry, Sir. Yes. You can trust me.”
He nods.
“HQ wants us to catch some terrorists.”
“Us? The recruits?”
This is insane. The tiny fighters couldn’t catch a terrorist if they handed themselves in at the gate. We couldn’t even stop our homegrown terrorists from stealing our vehicle and our supplies.
He smiles. “We’re going to use the recruits as bait.”
“We’re … what?”
“Well – their armour, anyway.”
“I don’t understand.”
He puts his elbows on the desk and leans towards me.
“HQ is going to send us out on patrol. As many patrols as it takes. We’ll take a coach full of kids, and a luggage compartment full of armour and guns.”
So far, so normal. I wait for him to continue.
“We give the recruits plenty of notice. Who is going, where they’re going, when they’ll be travelling. And we wait to see whether the terrorists track us down.”
“How is telling the kids going to get the information to the terrorists?”
“That’s how we’ll start. HQ wants to see whether there’s anyone at camp who’s still in touch with Ellman and her friends.”
I think about Brown and Taylor. If he’s in contact with them, he’s a better actor than I thought. Brown, though – obeying the rules and keeping her head down would be the perfect cover for a spy.
“And if they don’t attack the coach?”
“Then we go on another patrol. HQ will leak the information through other channels, and we’ll see who bites.”
“So what’s the point? If we travel with extra guards, no one will attack the coach, but the kids won’t be able to detain a bunch of armed terrorist fighters. Do they all sit there and wait to be captured? Are they cannon fodder now?”
Bracken smiles.
“The kids do nothing. All they have to do is sit still and keep quiet. We’re not after the fighters who attack the coach. We’re after their base.”
“You’re planning to follow them back to where they’re hiding out?”
“Not exactly.”
He opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a contamination panel – one of the components that clips into the armour, on the right forearm. The three coloured sections detect chemical, biological, and radioactive contamination.
He hands me the panel.
“Notice anything?”
I turn it over in my hands. Three sections, three colours. Clips on both ends. Just like the one in my armour. And yet …
The wrist end of the panel is slightly wider than mine. The coloured sections are slightly shorter. And there’s a tiny hole in the panel, just below the displays, that I don’t have on mine.
“Switch it on”, he says. I activate the panel. No contamination, but there’s a small red light set into the hole. It’s hard to see in the bright room, but I cover the panel with my hand, and it’s definitely there. Tiny. Hard to spot if you’re not expecting it.
I look up at him.
“Tracking device?”
“Tracking device.”
I turn the panel over again in my hand. Deactivate it. “They’re going to lead us straight to them.”
“That’s what we’re hoping.”
“So no resistance when they raid the bus, then?”
He shakes his head. “We want them to steal the armour. We want them to take it all, and to think they’ve got away with it. We don’t want to encourage a fight. Let them take the armour from the luggage compartment. Stay on the coach, keep your heads down, stay safe. Let the terrorists do our work for us. We’ll get to them soon enough.”
I put the panel back on his desk, next to his glass, smiling. “I think we can do that, Sir.”
“I think you can, too.”
Assignment
“Tiny fighters! Try to contain your excitement. You are going on patrol again.”
Another day, another briefing. HQ has arranged patrol duty for us, less than 24 hours since they ordered Commander Bracken to use his recruits as bait. We’re being sent to patrol outside a conference centre in Oxford. Big event, plenty of international visitors, lots of nervous organisers. And of course, big enough that we’re not the only guards. If the trap works, we won’t be getting there at all.
Like yesterday’s briefing, Taylor is sitting alone, and Brown is with her new friends. Taylor actually reacts to the announcement, looking up and looking around at his fellow recruits. Brown watches me quietly, and doesn’t contribute to the whispering that breaks out around her.
I explain the plan. I give them the name of the conference, the start and end times, and more of the arrangements than they will need to know. I give them the date, and the times of travel. I brief them again on the procedures for the day – what they should pack, where the armour and guns will be stored, who will be with them on the coach.
Most of them are too excited to take any of this in, but Brown is wat
ching me calmly, and Taylor is paying attention. Either of them could be our spy – or any of the other kids here. Let’s hope they remember everything I’m telling them.
The conference is five days away, on Wednesday. Five days should give anyone here enough time to pass the plans to their contact, and allow the terrorists to plan their raid. And it gives me plenty of time to run extra training, with a focus on obeying orders if something unexpected happens.
“Any questions?”
Taylor looks at the floor again, and Brown stares at her hands on the table. A couple of the other kids ask basic questions about their roles on the day, but nothing that could help spring the trap.
Jackson and I split the kids into groups and spend the rest of the session working on their communication skills. Radio protocol, dealing with members of the public, calling in emergency assistance. No one else asks questions about the plan.
*****
Two days later, gun training is focusing on managing weapons in public. The recruits are in armour, complete with helmets and their shiny new contamination panels. We’re trying to train them to keep their guns safe, but combat-ready. Jackson picks a couple of the well-behaved kids, and challenges them to steal his gun. He demonstrates what to do if someone approaches, and successfully guards the weapon against their attacks. He protects the gun with his body, alters his grip to make it more secure, and uses the gun as a truncheon at close range, taking care to avoid hurting the kids or their armour.
The recruits pair up and try to take each other’s guns. Jackson and I move round the field, adjusting their grips and demonstrating the moves we’re trying to teach them. As usual, they’re hopeless and frustrated. As usual, we’re showing them the same actions, over and over.
I’m showing someone how to grip their rifle and use it as a truncheon when there’s a shout from behind me. Jackson stops walking and sprints towards the noise, and without thinking I grab the gun and turn to join him.
False Flag (Battle Ground YA UK Dystopia Series Book 2) Page 11