“Any idea why the terrorists came onto the coach? I thought the plan was to give them the armour, and sit tight until they drove away.”
“It was, Sir.” I think about Jackson, his heel drumming on the coach seat. His instinct to shoot the person with the gun to our heads. My failure to stop him. “It was a tense situation. Who’s to say what set them off?”
He raises an eyebrow. “And the hostages? Do you think that was their plan all along, to take their friends off the bus?”
“I don’t. I think they were making it up as they went. I think they saw an opportunity, and they took it. I don’t think we could have stopped them. Not without more casualties on the coach.”
“I agree.” He leans back, watching me again.
“Ketty. I’d like to ask for your help.”
Not a job offer, then?
“Yes, Sir.”
He leans his elbows on the arms of the chair, and steeples his fingers in front of him.
“Confidentially. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Commander Bracken is putting together a proposal for HQ. He wants to be the one to track the armour, find the terrorists, and take some prisoners. He wants to make sure that, after everything that’s happened, he’s the one to deliver the bad guys to us. I think he knows he’s made too many mistakes, and I think he wants to make one, final pitch for a promotion. We know he wants out of the RTS. We also know that he plans to take you with him.”
I try not to react.
“Bracken’s proved that he can’t be trusted with an RTS camp. He’s made too many mistakes, and he hasn’t learned from any of them. But I don’t need to rock the boat to get rid of him – I think that if I give him enough rope, he’ll hang himself. So I’d like to give Bracken this one last chance, because I think he can’t handle it. I think he’ll screw up, publicly, and prove to all of us that he’s not up to the job.”
My stomach sinks. All this time, he’s been after Bracken. And now he sees a chance to take him down.
“But I need the operation to work. I need Bracken to fail, but I can’t let the terrorists get away. We need our armour back, we need our guns back, and we need to destroy their base of operations. We’re only dealing with one, local terrorist cell, but we need to make sure we crush it while we have the chance.”
I nod, trying to understand what he wants from me.
“I need someone on the inside of Bracken’s organisation. I need someone to plan with him, to encourage him, and go with him to the terrorist hideout. I need someone who can do all this to support him, but keep me in the loop on everything that happens.
“Bracken needs to screw up, but I need to be waiting, ready to march in and complete the mission. And to do that, I need you.”
He smiles, and watches my response.
You’re good, Ketty. You’re brave, Ketty. I’d like to employ you, but first I need you to betray your commander.
I think about Bracken. I think about the chances he’s given me. The responsibility. The trust he’s put in me. And I think about how easily he was manipulated when HQ attacked Leominster. He didn’t even know what was about to happen on his own doorstep. He didn’t ask. He was so hungry for attention that he jumped through all their hoops, and he didn’t ask why.
Like Brown and Taylor at the gate, manipulated by the person they cared about.
Like me and Jackson, on the coach, trying to show HQ that we could handle the terrorists.
And here’s Brigadier Lee, manipulating me to get to Bracken. I shake my head.
“Forgive me, Sir. I’m just trying to sort this out in my head.”
He nods, and waits for me to continue.
“You want me to give you Bracken. You want me to help him to screw up. But you said yourself that Bracken is my ticket out of the RTS. He’ll take me with him if he gets his promotion. Surely I should be protecting him – making sure he doesn’t go through with this plan.”
Lee watches me, saying nothing. And I realise he’s enjoying this. He’s enjoying watching me reason this out.
He’s pitched this to me while my head is foggy with painkillers, and he knows I’m worrying about Jackson. He wants to see how good I really am. He wants to watch my performance. He’s using the disaster on the coach to push me into a corner and see how I respond.
This is it. This is the test. This is where I prove to HQ that I can solve their difficult problems. That I can handle tough decisions. That I can do what needs to be done.
He’s right. I’m better than Bracken. I deserve more than Camp Bishop. I could leave the tiny fighters behind, and finally make a difference with the real fighters. I can make this work for me.
I could sit here and refuse. I could worry about Bracken. But if Bracken is already in Lee’s crosshairs, where does that leave me? If Bracken goes down, then surely I go with him. All Lee’s flattery means nothing if I’m still working for Bracken when the hammer falls. When he makes his final mistake.
As much as I owe Bracken, as much as he’s given me, I could lose it all by sticking with him. I need to start looking out for myself. I need to find a new way out of Camp Bishop. Brigadier Lee might be my only option, but so far he’s done everything he can to flatter and manipulate me into helping him.
Let’s see if this manipulation works both ways.
I nod. “I could do this for you. I could handle Bracken. And I could make sure the operation to catch the terrorists has a satisfactory conclusion.
“But in doing so, I’d lose the person who’s coached me this far. I’d lose the person who promoted me and gave me a chance. I’d lose the one person who saw something in me, and gave me the opportunity to build on that.
“Respectfully, Sir, if I do this, if I give up Commander Bracken – what do I get out of it?”
Lee’s smile becomes a smirk, and he looks at me for a moment. His eyes are cold, and his gaze makes my skin crawl.
“Respectfully, Lead Recruit, you get to keep your job. You get to walk back into this war, and you get to play a part. Working for me, if you’d like to. I’ll make sure that you get that chance, rather than – say – a medical discharge, and a one-way ticket back home to Daddy.”
And there it is. The punch in the gut. He’s seen my file, he knows my weak point, and he knows just where to hit me. I know he has the power to make it happen. He could end my career today.
Help me, or go back where you came from.
Flattery and arm-twisting. Flowers and steel toe-caps. Carrot and stick. He’s using my own techniques against me. For a moment I feel dizzy, as the reality of what he’s saying sinks in.
He’s got me. I’m trapped, and I hate it, but what choice do I have?
I’m in a corner. I’m bandaged and medicated and stuck in hospital room.
Come on, Ketty. There’s a way out of this. He doesn’t own you.
I try to think this through, to get ahead of Lee and his plans. Bad situations don’t have to end badly. Like the weapons test, I can use this. I can use him. I can still get out of Camp Bishop. It’s this, or the end of my career.
I make my decision. I smile back, as brightly and confidently as I can.
“If that was a job offer, Sir, then I accept. I would be delighted to work for you. And I’ll bring you Bracken. I’ll bring you the terrorists, too. I have some scores I’d like to settle with their newest recruits.”
His smirk becomes a broad smile. He’s got what he came for.
“I’m glad we can work together on this, Ketty. I’ll be in touch.” His voice is mild, as if he’s talking about some paperwork, or a new training session. As if he hasn’t just threatened to destroy my future.
He stands, shakes my bandaged hand, and steps round my wheelchair to the door.
He turns back, his hand on the door handle. “I know I don’t need to remind you of the consequences of sharing this with anyone else, Lead Recruit. Consider this conversation confidential and classified. You work for me, now, and the sooner I have
Bracken, the sooner we can fit you into my team in London.
“Welcome aboard.”
“Yes, Sir.”
As the door closes behind him, I fight the urge to scream.
Determination
I’m lucky. The injury to my knee is messy and painful, but the bullet did relatively little damage. The doctors are pleased with the results of the surgery, and by the time Bracken comes back for my report, the morning after the attack, they’ve got me bandaged, but walking. It hurts, and I have to use crutches, but it beats the wheelchair. They’ve taken the needle out of my arm, and only the worst cuts on my hands are still covered.
Bracken arrives before lunch, a bag of clothes and toiletries in his hand. I make him wait in the corridor while one of the nurses helps me to get dressed. It’s a relief to be wearing my uniform again. I brush my hair and tie it back neatly. I’m amazed by how much better I feel – I feel human, even in the hospital bed.
After walking this morning, the doctors want me to rest my knee. The nurse helps me to sit up straight on the bed, and props my leg up with a stack of pillows. She sends Bracken in, and he stops at the door.
“That’s the quickest recovery I’ve ever seen! Casualty to soldier in …” he checks his watch, “five and a half minutes.”
“Thank you, Sir!” I can’t help smiling.
“How’s the lead poisoning?” He nods at my knee as he sits down, moving the chair so it faces the bed. His eyes are bloodshot again, and puffy, as if he hasn’t slept.
“Could be worse. Could be better.”
His face is serious. “I gather that bullet was a present from one of our recruits.”
“Yes, Sir. Dan Pearce.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“I am. I was restraining Ellman, and this was his way of getting her off the coach.”
“Is he responsible for what happened to Jackson, too?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He nods. “Thank you, Ketty. I’ll make sure I mention that in my report.” He pulls a notepad from his pocket. “Can you run me through what happened?”
So I do. I lose a few of the details of Jackson’s response, and play up the idea of a chaotic situation. Jackson doesn’t deserve the blame for this – it wasn’t his idea to put us all on a coach and leave us to be ambushed. I make sure Bracken knows that he was doing his job, and protecting the kids.
“How’s Jackson doing?” Bracken closes his notepad and slips it back into his shirt pocket.
“He’s a mess, Sir. He’s … messed up.” I shake my head and wait for tears, but this time it’s anger that flares at the mention of his name.
“They told me Dan shot him at close range, with one of our rifles. He’s lucky to be alive.”
“Have you seen him, Sir?”
He shakes his head.
“With respect, ‘lucky’ is the last thing he looks.”
Bracken looks at me. “I’m sorry, Ketty. I’m sorry. I know you two …”
You know nothing. You know about black eyes and teaching sessions.
I wave his comment away, and try to stop myself from shouting. “He’s my friend, he’s my colleague, and he’s the person I trust most at Camp Bishop. He has my back. And right now he’s breathing through a tube because a spoilt schoolboy decided to play soldier for the bad guys, and Jackson was brave enough to stand in his way. So no. I don’t think he’s lucky. I think he’s brave, I think he’s loyal, and I want him back.”
And I want Dan to pay.
Bracken nods. “We’re doing what we can.”
I take a calming breath. “Have they tracked the armour? Do we know where Ellman and Pearce are hiding?”
“I’m told they’re getting close. We should know in a day or so.”
“What’s the delay? Surely they just have to follow the tracking signals?”
“They’re not sure. They’ve got a general location, but the signals keep dropping out, for hours at a time. HQ is trying to make sense of it. It shouldn’t be long now.”
“Will you tell me when they figure it out?”
“Of course.”
“I’d like to be there when they find our recruits.”
“Ketty, you’re injured. We’ll keep you up to date, but …”
I lean towards him, my voice firm and quiet. “I was on the coach. I took a bullet. I want to be there.”
I want my chance to hurt them.
He watches me for a moment, then nods. “I’ll see what I can do.”
*****
“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.
False Flag (Battle Ground YA UK Dystopia Series Book 2) Page 17