Gently, I straighten my right leg, allowing the cold sensation to dull the pain again. I dig my fingers into the mud and drag myself forwards, pushing with my left leg. The bruises on my shoulders flash with pain. My right leg is a dead weight behind me. My world narrows to one motion. I keep crawling forwards.
Push with my foot. Pull with my arms. Keep myself flat against the ground. Reach out, push with my foot, pull with my arms. Reach, push, pull. Over and over.
I crawl out from the end of the tunnel and pull myself clear of the barbed wire. I roll over, lying on my back and sinking my shoulders into the cold mud. All the bruises on my back are pulsing with pain, and even my fingers ache from the effort of pulling myself along.
Webb is standing over me.
“Still going, Lead Recruit? Or are you ready to stop?”
One more obstacle to go. I’m finishing this. I sit up, and Webb takes my hand to help pull me to my feet. I turn, and walk to the over-under bars.
“Take the easy option, Ketty,” calls Webb.
No chance.
I duck down, under the low bar. The recruits go under the high bars and over the low bars, but I’m not settling for that. Left knee down. Lie flat on the ground, pull myself under the bar. Stand up. Over the high bar. Back on the ground again.
“Slowly, Lead Recruit!” Webb is yelling, but I can see the finish line. I can do this.
Under. Over. Under. Over.
I stand up. There’s nothing between me and the end. I walk to the finish, and Webb meets me there.
“You’re going to push me to early retirement, Ketty Smith,” he says, shaking his head. “You OK?”
I take a deep breath, stretch my arms and roll my aching shoulders.
“Never better, Doctor.”
My knee, cocooned in its ring of gel, feels fine. Everything else hurts, but I don’t care. I’m floating above the pain. If I can complete the assault course, I can walk into the terrorist base tonight. I’ve proved I can do this, and I know I can trust myself later.
“Am I released to go with Commander Bracken tonight?”
This is the final formality. I need medical clearance to join the attack on the farm.
Webb shakes his head again. “Ketty, I …”
“Am I fit to go? Can I do what Bracken needs me to do?”
He shrugs. “I don’t have much choice, do I? What with Bracken and Lee breathing down my neck.”
“Not really. But I hope I’ve proved to you that I’m not going to let this hold me back.”
He thinks for a moment. “Sure, Ketty. Sure. You’re released. I’ll let Bracken know. But don’t push yourself tonight. Keep in mind the things you can’t do – not just the things you can.”
I nod, and I can’t hide a smile. “Yes Sir. Thank you, Sir. I appreciate it.”
I’m ready.
Action
The troop carriers roll into Makepeace Farm just after one in the morning. Bracken sends three teams to search the house, breaking down the door and storming inside by torchlight.
We cut the power to the site on our way up the driveway, and the farmyard is in darkness when we arrive. Bracken sends another team to set up floodlights and a generator in the yard, but that takes time. We’re all using torches, and the radio is busy with commands.
My team gets assigned to the house, but as soon as we’re through the door, Brigadier Lee calls me on the private channel.
“Get your team through the house and out to the back.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Keep walking along the path. We think you’ll find an outbuilding, probably concrete. Probably small. That’s your target. You know what to do.”
“Yes, Sir. Leave it with me, Sir.”
*****
The outbuilding is right where Lee expected it to be. We find it to the side of the path – a small concrete box with a metal door, chinks of light showing round the edges of the doorframe.
One of the soldiers pulls the door open, and we’re met by bright lights and a shower of bullets. Someone inside is firing at us. Rounds rattle off the chest plate of my armour, winding me but not hard enough to knock me down. The soldier next to me fires a shot at the man inside, and the firing stops.
Lee is right. This is the gatehouse. They have backup power – enough to run the lights – and in the far corner I can see a security shutter, large enough to hide a wide doorway.
I wave the soldiers to stay behind me, and step up into the bunker, gun raised. The guard is slumped on the ground, propped against the wall, no armour to protect him. His rifle is on the ground, and he’s clutching his stomach. Blood is seeping between his fingers.
I kick the rifle backwards, and someone behind me picks it up. I swing round, my gun sweeping the small room. There’s a bank of surveillance screens in the corner next to the door, and sitting in front of them is a young recruit in camouflage trousers and an RTS T-shirt.
I blink. It’s Sleepy. And he’s unarmed.
Sleepy is in charge of security for the bunker. I can’t help laughing. I lower my gun and raise my visor. Sleepy stares at me, fear and bafflement crossing his face.
“Mister Saunders.”
He says nothing. I nod towards the shutter.
“Care to tell me what’s back there?”
He swallows hard, sits up straight in his chair, and shakes his head emphatically.
“Really, Sleepy? Nothing you want to share?”
He shakes his head again.
I glance behind me, raise my gun, and shoot from the hip, planting another bullet in the guard. It hits him in the leg, and he grunts. I swing the gun back to cover Saunders.
“Last chance, Saunders. What’s behind the shutter?”
He pulls himself up to his full height in the chair, his face a mask of terror and growing determination.
“Nothing, Sir.” His voice shakes, but he puts force behind the words.
I take a step towards the shutter, keeping the gun on him.
“You won’t mind opening it for me, then?”
Two more soldiers step into the gatehouse, and I wave them back. Saunders’ eyes flick between them and me, and he starts to panic.
“Saunders! Over here!” I shout, and he looks back at me. “Open the shutter for me. I want to take a look inside.”
He’s distracted by the soldiers. He’s gripping the arms of his chair. His breathing is shallow and rapid.
Come on, Sleepy. Do the right thing.
“Recruit Saunders!” He jumps, and focuses on me. “I can put another bullet in your friend here. I can put a bullet in you. Or you can open this shutter.”
He glances at the guard on the floor, at the barrel of my gun, and back at me. He closes his eyes. His hands grip the arms of the chair and his knuckles turn white.
“You and your friends have caused me a lot of trouble, Saunders. Do not test me on this.
“Now. Open. The. Shutter.”
“No.”
I breathe out, carefully.
“What are you protecting? Stores? Weapons?” I pause. There’s a pencil sketch resting on the desk under the screens. Even from a distance I recognise Ellman, Pearce, Brown, Taylor, and Saunders, posing in their armour.
A smile spreads across my face. I’ve got them.
“Or maybe your friends are sleeping down there.”
His eyes flick open.
“Bex? Dan? Jake? Amy? They’re down there, aren’t they?”
He freezes, rigid in the chair.
I laugh. “They are. All your friends, tucked up in bed. Are you willing to die to protect them?”
Because I’m happy to take you away from them.
My mind jumps to Jackson in his hospital bed.
“Mummy Ellman owes me a friend or two.” I take a step towards Saunders. He grips the chair, his breath ragged. His eyes meet mine.
“You can’t have them.” His voice is clear. Determined. “You can’t have her. I’m their guard, and I’ll die before I let you through
.”
I shrug. “OK.”
And I pull my trigger.
His body jerks backwards, his eyes wide. His mouth gapes in frozen surprise. He looks down at his chest, at the small, neat hole in his T-shirt. At the spreading patch of red. His breath catches in his throat, and there’s a rough rasping sound, then his head slumps forward and his hands fall away from the chair.
I don’t move. I don’t expect to be stunned, but I can’t move. The stain spreads slowly across the front of his shirt.
I want to laugh. I want to shout. I want to run.
I’ve killed someone, Jackson. I’ve killed Sleepy.
This is for you, Jackson. This is for you.
Slowly, I force myself to lower my gun. I step forward, and nudge Sleepy’s shoulder. He slips down in the chair and slides sideways onto the floor. I kick him onto his back. He doesn’t react.
One for one, Ellman. Man down.
I push his chair away and step over to the surveillance screens. They’re dark, and at first I think they’re switched off. But then I notice torch beams flickering on two of the screens, faint, but obvious when you know what you’re looking for.
The shooting when we opened the door tells me that Sleepy and the guard suspected an attack, but it’s clear that they haven’t been able to track our movements. They’ve been in the dark in here, trapped in their bubble of battery power.
With any luck, they haven’t had the chance to sound an alarm.
I cross over to the shutter, searching for a control panel, but there’s nothing. I cross back to the desk and check for buttons or switches, but the only switches I can find control the monitors. My search knocks the pencil sketch to the floor, and I leave it lying next to Saunders.
I’m stepping away, when all the screens jump from black to blinding white. It takes them a moment to adjust to the new light source, but when the images settle, I can see what’s going on outside.
The cameras overlook the farmyard, and lit by Commander Bracken’s floodlights I can see two women in pyjama trousers and sweaters waiting in the yard as the soldiers search the house. There’s a guard with a gun next to them, and they’re watching Bracken as he stands at the door, shouting orders to the people inside. Like the other people in the yard, they’re shielding their eyes from the bright lights. I lean closer to the screens. Who have they found in the house? Ellman?
The images are in black and white, and they’re grainy. I look carefully at the two women as they drop their hands from their eyes.
Not Ellman, but one of them looks like the prisoner we lost from Camp Bishop. She’s young, with the same shoulder-length hair and slim figure under her sweater. The other woman I don’t recognise. She’s older, and she stands up straight in the courtyard, ignoring the soldier behind her.
I look back at the guard, still slumped against the wall but still breathing. I walk over and kneel down next to him. He’s watching the screens, but he turns his head slightly and looks at me. His eyes are hard with anger in his pale face.
“What about you? Are you going to open the shutter for me?”
He stares. He opens his mouth to speak, and whatever insult he’s about to throw at me is interrupted by Brigadier Lee, shouting in my ear.
“Are you inside, Lead Recruit? Do you have access to the bunker?”
I touch the transmitter.
“No Sir. I’m trying …”
“Never mind. We’re out of time. Get your team to the service location. Report back when you find the inlet pipes.”
“Sir, the terrorists are inside. I’ve confirmed their location. They’re sleeping in the bunker. If I could just …”
“Lead Recruit. This operation has moved on. Take your team, and get to the ventilation pipes. We’ll solve our terrorist problem that way.”
My shoulders slump. “Yes, Sir.”
I’m so close. I can deliver Ellman and her friends alive. The kitchen woman, too – and whoever else is down in the bunker – but Lee’s attention has moved on. Now the mission is about gassing them as they sleep. Easy. Painless. They’ll never know who found them.
“Any complications, Lead Recruit?”
I look at the guard. I don’t think he’s capable of moving, but he’s alive, and he might have information that Lee could use.
“One, Sir. There’s a guard in the gatehouse. He’s wounded, and he’s not going anywhere, but he might be useful.”
“Acknowledged, Lead Recruit. I’ll send a couple of soldiers to bring him in. Take your team and get to the air intakes. Call when you locate them.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I cut the transmission and turn back to the guard.
“It’s your lucky day. Opening that shutter just became a low priority. Our commander is sending someone to talk to you, so I suggest you sit here and think about what your next move might be.” I drop my voice to a whisper. “I’d recommend cooperating. It beats taking bullets.”
He coughs, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
“Taking bullets …” he coughs again, and shifts his position against the wall. “Taking bullets beats shooting at children.” His cold eyes follow mine as I stand up.
It takes all my self-control to keep my gun lowered as I turn and walk out of the gatehouse.
Breathing
We walk back into the woods, visors up to give us as much light as possible. We leave the gatehouse for the brigadier’s guards, when they arrive. Not our problem any more. The farmyard is behind us, and so are the floodlights, so we’re picking our way along the path with torches.
We’re looking for a small building – a hut, or a shed – where the air supply for the bunker comes up from the ground. With the trees growing so close together, finding it feels impossible, but the brigadier is convinced it will be near the path, somewhere to our left.
Our six torches don’t throw much light, but between us we’re lighting up as much of the space between the trees as we can. On our first pass, we walk right past it. The path widens and the trees disappear, and we’re standing on the shore of a lake.
I activate the private channel to Brigadier Lee.
“Sir? Sir – we’re at the edge of the woods. No ventilation pipes.”
“Lead Recruit. Nice of you to check in. Describe your surroundings.”
I look around, swinging my torch over the path and the water in front of us.
“It’s a lake, Sir. The path splits and heads round both sides, but we can’t go any further without getting wet.”
There’s a pause while he checks his records.
“That’s too far. You need to come back and look again. It should be less than half way between you and the gatehouse. Closer to the lake, but not by much.”
“Understood, Sir. We’re on our way.”
“Ketty? Hurry. Bracken’s not getting anywhere with the prisoners, and we need to make a move before anyone else wakes up. We don’t know what kind of warning system they have in the bunker.”
“Yes, Sir.”
We walk back along the path, stepping into the woods to shine the torches into hollows in the ground and check out fallen trees. I’m making the most of my PowerGel, walking between the trees, climbing over roots and rotting logs, when someone shouts ahead of me.
“Lead Recruit! Take a look!”
I follow the waving torch beam through the trees, and join the rest of the team. We’re looking at a heap of evergreen branches, piled waist-high next to a fallen tree. Close to the path, but hard to spot in the darkness. Two of the soldiers step forward, and start to pull the branches away from the top of the pile while the rest of us hold the torches.
They’ve pulled a layer of branches off the top when the front of the pile topples, and falls towards us. Underneath is a small wooden box, about the size of a supply crate, with panelled sides and a waterproofed roof. I can’t help smiling.
Got you.
We all step in and pull the rest of the branches away.
“Steadman. All
yours. Tell me what we’ve got.”
Steadman drops to his knees in front of the box, and we all aim our torches at the wooden panels in front of him. He pokes the edges and the joints in the wood, but nothing moves. He reaches up and pushes against the lid instead, and I let out a breath as it lifts away, pivoted on hinges at the back. He pushes it all the way back, and it falls and rests against the fallen tree. He reaches inside and slides back the bolts on the front panel, which drops outwards onto his knees, exposing a bundle of metal pipework.
“Is that it, Steadman? Is that what we’re looking for?”
He bends down, shining his torch between the pipes. I’m holding my breath.
“I think so, Lead Recruit.” He straightens up. “I think we’ve got them.”
I’m smiling as I give Lee the good news.
“Thank you, Lead Recruit. Ask Steadman to verify the fittings and the connections. I’ll send the equipment to your location. Wait for my instructions.”
“Yes, Sir … Steadman! The brigadier wants to know what connectors we need. Can you work it out?”
Steadman pulls a roll of tools and tape measures from his belt and lays them out on the ground, then leans his head into the mess of pipes and starts to assess the sizes of the inlet filters.
I’m in control. I’m in command, and I’m going to give Lee what he’s waiting for. The feeling is electric.
“Give me a few minutes.”
“I’ll give you two.” I walk over to the box and shine my torch onto the pipework. “Everyone else? Torches on the path. We’ll have company in a moment. The help is heading our way – make sure they can find us.”
I watch Steadman work. He’s kneeling over the pipes, torch in his mouth, feeling out the connections with his fingertips in the dark.
“Can we do it? Are the filters here?”
He takes the torch from between his teeth and grins at me.
“I think so. And I think it’s going to be easy.”
This is it, Ketty. This is where you show Lee what you can do.
False Flag (Battle Ground YA UK Dystopia Series Book 2) Page 20