The Battle Ground Series: Books 1-3

by Rachel Churcher

  I need to let go of her, but she’ll be able to shout. I glance around the field, but there’s no one in sight. We’re a long way from any of the buildings, and it’s getting dark, so I take a chance.

  “Don’t make a sound,” I hiss in her ear, before releasing my grip on her head.

  And of course she shouts. Jackson’s holding her arms with one hand, and he smacks her cheek with the other, hard enough to snap her head to the side.

  “Not her face!” I can’t believe I need to explain this to him. The commander cannot find out about this. This is between me and Ellman.

  I stand up, and go to the fence. There’s a line of security lights on the fence posts, and that’s a public footpath on the other side. I check up and down the path, but there’s no sign of anyone walking past. “All clear.”

  Jackson drags Ellman to the fence, and crawls underneath while I hold up the bent mesh. There’s a deep puddle on the ground where the fence curls up, and Jackson drags her through it. I drop the mesh as he makes it through, and watch the sharp edges catch on her raincoat and trousers.

  I hope that hurts.

  She shouts and kicks as she’s pulled through the puddle, but I’m sure that no one can hear us out here. I make a final check of the field behind us, then crawl through after them.

  Jackson lets go for a second, and as she pulls her arms out from behind her back, I grip them again and pin her to the floor.

  “You’re in trouble, Ellman.” I keep my voice down, my face close to her ear.

  “We keep telling you, Ellman”, says Jackson, his voice quiet. “Save yourself. Don’t be a martyr. Don’t go helping the useless kids who can’t make the grade. But what do you do? You make friends. You carry them home. You patch them up.” He kneels down, straddling her legs, one knee on each side in the mud, pinning her down.

  “You get us into trouble.” It’s all I can do not to laugh. We could do anything to her now, and we’d get away with it. She’s outside the camp. That’s strictly against the rules – and who’s to say she didn’t drag herself out here, under the fence, for one of her evening walks?

  “We don’t like trouble, Ellman. We like things to run smoothly. We like recruits who do as they’re told.”

  “You need to learn to do what we tell you.” This is absurd. The speech before the beating. It’s like a gangster movie.

  And it feels great.

  I nod to Jackson, and he pulls back his fist. He flashes me a grin, then punches Ellman, hard, in the ribs. She flinches, and I nearly lose my grip on her arms. I lean over and pull them up, over her head, before she can react. I plant my knees on her elbows, and lean my hands against her shoulders, using my weight to push her down. Jackson nods, approvingly, and starts raining down with his fists as if she’s a punch bag in the gym.

  “Not her face!” He’s out of control. I can’t have the bruises showing. He nods, flexes his fingers and clenches his fists again, aiming for her torso instead.

  She’s stopped crying out. Jackson’s winding her with every hit, but she’s not shouting any more. She seems to relax, to decide to let this happen.

  Good. That’s the first step to accepting the rules.

  Every hit is a revenge. Every hit makes me feel elated. I can feel her moving under my hands, flinching from Jackson’s fists. This is exactly what I needed to do. We rain down justice on our disobedient recruit, and it feels utterly amazing – like touching a live wire. Like winning a game. We’re holding her life in our hands.

  Jackson stops, rubbing his knuckles. We look at each other. She’s lying very still, and very quiet. I wonder how long we’ve been out here. He nods. I nod back, and stand up. Ellman doesn’t move.

  She needs to know how lucky she’s been. How close she’s come to really screwing up.

  “You do this again, Ellman – you get us into trouble, and you won’t be walking home.”

  I step away, take Jackson’s arm, and lead the way back under the fence.

  We’re half way across the field when he turns to me, a mischievous grin on his face.

  “Better?”

  “Much better.” I’ve done something with my anger, and I’ve made Ellman understand the limits of my tolerance. I feel calm. I feel powerful. I grin back at him. “Thank you, Jackson. I’m glad you’re on my side.”

  And I give him a kiss, on the cheek.

  I need to keep him on my side, after all.

  *****

  Becoming the commander’s Lead Recruit was the gateway to a new world of information and access.

  For the first time, I was seeing a clear picture of the people we were supposed to be fighting. There had been bombings and terror attacks for as long as I could remember, but they were always things that happened to someone else, somewhere a long way from me. I’d never needed to care.

  But this was different. This concerned me, and my recruits. And the commander. This was important.

  The terrorists wanted to overthrow the government. In report after classified report, I saw descriptions of their targets, their methods – even the confessions at their trials. I saw that there were more attacks all the time. That the government wanted more to be done to protect the population.

  I saw some of the history, too. How the government had suspended elections after the Crossrail bombing. How the King had given them indefinite powers to run the country and beat the terrorists. How they’d taken down the mobile phone networks and the civilian Internet, and started executing terror suspects.

  Even our TV had changed. They’d shut down all the independent news channels and created the Public Information Network, so everyone was getting the same news, and not rumours spread by the terrorists. There were lists of banned films, banned TV shows – even banned books. All the newspapers had government-appointed members of staff checking their stories for accuracy and language.

  I’d signed up to fight, as much as I’d signed up for a safe place to sleep and a good career. Working for Commander Bracken showed me what I was fighting for, and what I was fighting against. Defending the rights of innocent, hard-working people against the terrorists who wanted to take everything away. Keeping the country running and stopping the attacks. Defending my career against people who wanted everything to fall apart.

  I knew you needed discipline and backbone to get by in life. People needed rules and boundaries, not handouts and hugs. Society worked when everyone worked hard and took care of themselves.

  And that’s what I tried to instill in the recruits.

  Secrets

  Sunday morning, and the tiny fighters are heading out for their first patrol. There’s some outdoor concert in Birmingham that needs security, and it’s Camp Bishop’s turn to test a new group of recruits. They’ll walk around in their armour, show off their guns and skills to the TV cameras, and they’ll make the music-lovers of the Midlands feel safe and warm and cared for.

  I’m watching from the senior dorm as they run around, getting ready, bringing their armour out to the coaches. Jackson steps up beside me, on his way to join them on the coach.

  “It’s like watching your babies going off for their first day at school. Poor Mummy, left here on her own!”

  I shove him hard, in the shoulder, and he laughs.

  “What will you do on your own here all day, Mummy? Will you drink gin and be sad?”

  “Shut up, Jackson. Go and babysit for them.”

  He crosses his arms in mock offence.

  “Hey! Running all the communications for the day is hardly babysitting. You’re just saying that because you’ve got something mysterious and important to do while we’re away. You’re just jealous that you won’t be there to watch them screw up.”

  “Sitting at a desk, listening to their conversations, solving their problems, telling them what to do? And you’ve got Sleepy as your special helper. Which part of that doesn’t sound like babysitting?”

  “The part where I control everything that happens?”

  I nudge him aga
in, more gently. “Go on. They need someone to give them hell. I hereby give you that responsibility.”

  “Accepted!” He says, and grins.

  *****

  The coaches pull away, Commander Bracken and the other Senior Recruits on board. Miller and I are the only people in uniform left on site, guarding the gate while we wait for HQ to pick us up. Our fatigues are clean and ironed, our boots polished. Like the kids, we’ll be on show today.

  Everyone but the medical staff and the kitchen staff is going to Birmingham for the concert, but we’ve been excused. We’re being drafted in as local liaison for a weapons deployment exercise. It’s top secret, and even Commander Bracken couldn’t tell us what we’d be doing. Jackson was right – I’d rather be in Birmingham.

  “What do you think we’ll be doing today?” Miller sounds nervous.

  “No idea. Sharing our extensive local knowledge?”

  Or proving to the Commander that I can be trusted as Lead Recruit again.

  Miller is tall and boring, but he’s good at the techie stuff. He’s the one who fixes our radios and sorts out problems with guns and armour. I’m not looking forward to a day with him for company, but if they want Miller, we should at least be doing something interesting.

  A soldier arrives in a camouflaged Land Rover to pick us up, and drops off three guards to take our place. The guards bring crates of equipment with them – armour, guns, and other supplies. Gate guards don’t normally need armour. Is this standard procedure for guarding a camp with no trained backup? I wonder what they’re planning to do today.

  The driver takes us to a field south of town. It looks as if the circus has arrived – there are so many vehicles parked on the grass. The ground is soft under our feet as we climb down from the cab.

  Our driver takes us to a large, white trailer, and knocks on the door. Another soldier opens it and beckons us inside. We climb the steps into a briefing room. There’s a single, long table in the centre of the space, with chairs along both sides, all occupied. A man in fatigues is addressing the team, referring to images on a screen behind him, at the far end of the room. He pauses and signals to us to join the group.

  “You must be our local liaisons. Take a seat at the table – we’ve just started the briefing. I’m Commander Holden. You must be …” He consults a sheet of paper in a file on the table. “Miller and Smith.” He looks up, expecting an answer.

  “Yes, Sir!” We both respond. He nods, and waits for us to join the briefing. The soldier who let us in pulls two chairs over to the end of the table, and we sit down.

  “As I was saying, the object of today’s exercise is a proof-of-concept test of a large-scale weapons system.”

  An aerial view of Leominster appears on the screen.

  “We’ll be delivering the payloads to pre-identified locations in town, and observing the response of the local population.”

  A series of red circles appears on the screen. Tens, maybe hundreds of locations, in a rough grid across the town.

  “We’ll be dropping these in by drone at around midday. The drone team is setting up in their Ops trailer, and we’ll have one of them here in a few minutes,” he checks his watch, “to explain their role in this exercise.”

  A diagram of a cone-shaped object appears on the screen.

  “This is what we’re testing. Most of you will recognise the latest, slimmed-down model of the City Killer Urban Attack System, or CKUAS. We’ve shaved off some weight, and some bulk, and these can now be transported and placed by heavy-duty drones. No need for us to have boots on the ground in potentially dangerous situations.”

  I recognise the device. I’ve seen them in Commander Bracken’s paperwork, and in the video we had the recruits watch in their briefing session, weeks ago. This is interesting. I lean forward and rest my elbows on the table, and I notice Miller doing the same.

  “This is as much a test of our systems here as it is of the weapons in town. You will each be issued with an NBC suit, and required to wear it for the duration of the test. The trailers will be locked down for the duration of the test. You will be required to behave as if this was a full deployment. You will be expected to report back on your experiences after the test.”

  There’s knock at the trailer door, and the soldier behind us opens it.

  “Anderson. Come in.”

  A tall man in camouflage trousers and a black T-shirt walks up to the table, and Holden beckons him to the front of the room.

  “This is Captain Anderson, our lead technician in the Drone Team. Ben – can you give us a run-down of your plans for the day?”

  Anderson reaches the front of the room, and Holden moves to one side to allow him to address the group.

  “Drone deployment is at the heart of the CKUAS system. Our job today is to demonstrate that these units,” he indicates the diagram on the screen behind him, “can be delivered safely and efficiently to their desired locations on the ground. Delivery takes a few hours, so we’ll be busy for most of the afternoon.

  “In a real deployment, we’d most likely be positioned further away from the target, but that may not always be possible. Given our proximity to the deployment locations, and the opportunity to test a line-of-sight target, we will be observing NBC protocol on site at all times.

  “Our job is to deliver the units, and to confirm delivery. That’s where the local knowledge comes in. I’ll need the local liaisons on hand to answer questions and check our deployment locations.”

  He looks at Holden, who stands, and thanks him.

  “Today’s operation will be controlled from this briefing room. Local liaisons and drone operators will be in the drone trailer. Weapons technicians will be outside, mounting weapons onto drones and monitoring our progress. All personnel will be issued with radios, and all commands will be issued by radio. NBC suits must be worn at all times, and gas masks kept within reach. We will order you to wear them as you would during a real deployment. Do not ignore these commands, as we need to test our readiness and our ability to protect our personnel.

  “Brigadier Lee is the official observer from HQ for this test. He will be observing the operation from here.” Holden waves a hand at an older man in a khaki service uniform, a row of medals on his chest. His face is distinguished and attractive under his greying hair, and his eyes sparkle as he watches Holden. “Brigadier Lee has full clearance to inspect all aspects of today’s test. If he asks you a question concerning your activities, I expect you to offer him your full cooperation.”

  Brigadier Lee nods to Holden and looks round the table. “I’ll be staying out of your way. Commander Holden has filled me in on your skills and training. I’m excited to be working with you, and I’m expecting a smooth ride.

  “I don’t need to remind you all that this is a classified weapons deployment test, and as such is not to be discussed with anyone. Whatever you see, or think you see, today – we have permission from the government to do everything we need to do to test the new CKUAS.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” says Holden, turning his attention back to us. “At the end of this briefing, make your way to the equipment store, where you will be issued with your suit, mask, and radio. Advisory panel and research assistants – in here with me. Drone operators and local liaison – assemble in the drone trailer. Everyone else – meet at the equipment store.

  “Questions?”

  No one moves.

  “Dismissed.”

  Miller

  We follow the group from the briefing to an olive green marquee, and join a queue to pick up our equipment. A technician hands us each a white Nuclear-Biological-Chemical jumpsuit, a gas mask, and a radio, which clips to the waistband of the suit.

  As we walk out of the tent, Anderson waves us over to another trailer in the line of identical vehicles.

  “Smith and Miller?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “You’re with me.” He turns and leads us up the steps into a small hallway. “Welcome to the nerve centre,” h
e says, smiling.

  He opens a door to a larger room, and gestures us to follow him inside.

  It’s dark inside, the only light spilling from banks of monitors around the walls. There are workstations in front of each monitor, with keyboards, joysticks and other controls. Men and women in black T-shirts and camouflage trousers sit in front of the screens, headphones on. Most of them are watching views of the field outside, but a couple are actively steering drones over the town. I watch as one follows the route of the morning run from the bypass into the industrial estate.

  Anderson claps his hands, loudly.

  “Listen up, people. These are your local liaison officers: Recruit Smith and Recruit Miller. Ask them questions. Run things by them. Make use of their local knowledge. They are here to help you.”

  He turns back to us, and indicates a table in the corner of the room, and two office chairs.

  “This is you. Keep quiet and don’t disturb the work. Be on hand in case anyone needs you. If someone asks for your help, you may leave your table and stand with them at their station. By all means talk quietly between yourselves, but be aware of the work, and be ready to help. When we begin, there will be no leaving the trailer. Everything will be sealed against NBC attack. There’s a bathroom across the hall.” He points back the way we came in. “Don’t open the external door.”

  He checks his watch, and turns again to the room.

  “This operation is officially underway. NBC suits on, radios on, gas masks within reach.”

  He turns back.

  “That includes you two. Get ready, get sitting down, and get waiting.” He gives us a smile.

  We all stand up and pull on the white jumpsuits over our uniforms. The small room suddenly feels crowded, with everyone moving around at once. I pull the zip up to my throat, smooth down the Velcro seal over the top, and clip the radio to my waist.

  We sit down and wait for questions.