“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 watching 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.
There’s a recruit lying on the ground, face up, visor open, pushing himself up with his elbows. Standing over him is another recruit, brandishing a weapon, and lifting it as if to fire. As I step towards them, I realise the recruit with the gun is Taylor.
“Stand down, Recruit Taylor! Drop the weapon!”
Taylor laughs, and my stomach tightens as he turns the weapon on me. I’m almost certain the gun isn’t loaded, but unlike the recruits, I’m not wearing armour.
Jackson uses the other recruits as cover, and moves in closer to Taylor, but he’s not close enough to disarm him. Taylor activates the gun, and grins at me before tightening his finger on the trigger. The red targeting laser flashes past my eyes. I start to lift the gun I’m holding, and everything moves in slow motion as I wait for him to fire. I can see each action in gorgeous, vivid detail, as if there’s a spotlight on Taylor, or flashbulbs firing. Sound and colour drain out of the rest of the world, and I feel impossibly calm and focused.
I pull my gun up and aim it at his head.
He pulls the trigger.
I take a slow breath.
Nothing happens.
He releases his grip and drops the gun into the truncheon hold.
I start to walk towards him, gun levelled at his head.
He laughs, and turns to the recruit he’s knocked to the floor.
Jackson starts to run towards him, from behind.
Taylor lifts the gun, and brings it down, hard, against the other boy’s helmet.
I start to run, gripping the gun with one hand but dropping my aim.
There’s an explosion of blood as the rifle butt bounces from the side of the helmet across the boy’s face, and smashes into his nose.
He cries out.
Jackson rushes Taylor, tackling him at the waist and bringing him down, both of them landing across the other boy’s legs.
I reach them. I lean down, and take the gun from Taylor. He lets it go without a fight.
Jackson restrains him, pinning his arms in the small of his back.
I take another breath, and the world rushes back.
Recruits are shouting, the boy on the ground is crying out, Jackson is screaming at Taylor.
And Taylor is looking up at me, and smiling.
Persuasion
We’re back in the empty dorm. Taylor is behind the table, me and Jackson in front. There are guards outside the room, and outside the building.
“Want to tell us what that was about, e
arlier?”
I look at Taylor. He’s sitting up straight, this time, watching us. His armour’s been taken away, but he’s still wearing his black base layers. He’s got a bruise on his cheekbone – he must have hit the other boy’s armour when Jackson brought him down.
“Not particularly.” He taps his fingers against the tabletop, as if he’s bored.
“Did you have a disagreement with your training partner?”
“No.” He sounds as if I’ve asked him if he wants sugar in his tea.
“Did you have a problem with the lesson?”
He shakes his head, slightly. “Not really.”
“So this was personal, then?”
A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, but he controls it.
“This was about me. This was about you holding a gun to my head, just like the commander did to you.”
He looks me in the eyes, and a wide, humourless smile spreads across his face.
I feel like the mouse, trapped by a cat who wants to play before he eats.
He’s figured out that we can’t touch him.
I lean forward, elbows on the table.
“So how was it, Jake? Did you enjoy pointing an empty gun at my head? Did you enjoy smashing another recruit’s nose? Did you enjoy being knocked over by a Senior Recruit?”
His smile doesn’t waver. He leans forward and hisses his answer at me across the table.
“Yes.”
And Jackson moves. He’s on his feet, past the table and behind Taylor before the kid can react. Jackson hauls him up by his elbow, then twists his arm up behind his back and pushes him forward. His face lands on the table next to me, and Jackson pushes a hand into the back of his neck, pinning him down. His face is a grimace. At least he’s lost the smile.
I glance at Jackson, and we exchange a grin. There’s that rush of power again. We’re good at this.
I lean in, close to Taylor’s face.
“Don’t assume you’re protected here, Taylor. Commander Bracken likes you. That’s why he couldn’t pull the trigger when he had his gun to your head. But us two?” I point at myself, and at Jackson. “We don’t.”
I pause. Taylor starts to say something, but Jackson pushes his hand harder against his neck, and it comes out as a grunt.
“Think carefully, Taylor. We run your training. We give you orders and tasks every day. We are in control of your activities, and your safety.
“How hard do you think it would be for us to make sure you have an … unfortunate accident?”
Jackson laughs. I can’t help grinning. I don’t feel like the mouse any more. I feel like a lion, and it feels amazing. By the look on his face, Jackson’s feeling it too.
Taylor squirms in Jackson’s grip.
“I’ll tell him! I’ll tell Bracken!”
I give Jackson a nod, and lean in closer, whispering in Taylor’s ear.
“I don’t think you will.”
Jackson kicks the recruit’s legs out behind him, so his full weight is resting on the table. He grunts as the air is knocked out of his lungs.
Slowly, I stand up, and walk round the table. I take my time, dragging the chair out of the way, and stepping towards his feet. He starts to panic, pulling forward with his knees and trying to get a grip on the floor with his toes. He’s not wearing his boots, and his socks are slipping on the lino tiles.
Jackson pushes his arm further up his back, and leans heavily on his neck. I kick his feet backwards again, so his toes are resting on the floor.
Carefully, I use the toe of my boot to pull his ankle sideways, towards me. His foot comes to rest awkwardly on the floor, his toes turned inwards and his heel in the air. He tenses the muscles in his leg.
I plant my boot on the floor, and use my toe to press down on his heel, pushing it towards the ground, and twisting his leg and foot. Slowly, I twist his ankle further and further. He lets out a low moan, that becomes a scream as I push harder.
Jackson plants his boot on the back of Taylor’s knee and starts to push with me, twisting his leg further. The screaming turns to begging.
“Please please please! Stop! Please!”
He sniffs, and I realise he’s crying. I hold my foot still, and look at Jackson. He nods.
Slowly, we both release our pressure on his leg.
“Thank you! Thank you!”
Jackson lets go of his arm and neck, and he crashes to his knees on the floor, almost bringing the table over with him.
I feel as if I’m floating. I’m calm and electrified at the same time. I move his chair back into place, and we walk back round the table and sit down, watching him.
He stays on the floor, curled up on his side, hugging his knees. There are tears flowing down his cheeks.
“Sit up.” Jackson sounds disgusted. “On your chair. Now!”
Slowly, Taylor unfolds himself from the floor, and drags himself onto the chair, using the table for support.
“Did you enjoy that, Taylor?”
He folds his arms across his chest and looks at me from under his hair. He shakes his head.
“Message received, then?”
He nods.
“If we can make that happen to you in here, with guards outside the door and nothing more dangerous than a table, what do you think could happen on the morning run? Or on the assault course?”
He nods again.
“Breathe a word to Bracken, and start looking over your shoulder. We know where you eat, we know where you sleep. We know where you are every minute of the day.”
He shivers, and looks down at the floor.
“No more messing around, Jake. Take a leaf out of Amy’s book.” At the mention of her name, he looks up at me again, his eyes hard and angry. I lean on the table. “Keep your head down. Keep yourself busy. Keep yourself invisible. Keep yourself safe.”
We stare at each other, and I can’t help getting one more punch in.
“Do yourself a favour, and forget about Ellman. She’s not here to help you any more. You’re on your own. Pick yourself up, find some new friends, and blend in. Don’t make us do this again.”
He closes his eyes, and we leave him there, curled over in the chair.
*****
“Ketty. Sit down.”
Bracken is busy with paperwork when I come to give him the day’s report.
“I’m told there’s a recruit in the medical centre. Anything I need to know?”
I make sure my voice is calm and steady.
“No, Sir. An accident.”
He looks up at me. Puts the papers down.
“And Taylor?”
“Taylor had a discipline issue. We’ve seen to it.”
“He’s in the prisoner’s dorm?”
I nod. “He is. Permission to keep him there overnight?”
He frowns at me. “If you think that’s necessary. I know he’s been disruptive, but you know what HQ wants. No special treatment.”
“I do. And I think he’ll get the message this time, if we give him a few hours to think about it.”
The commander thinks for a moment. “Is that your formal recommendation, Lead Recruit?”
“It is.”
He nods. “Permission granted. I’m glad you’ve dealt with this so effectively.”
Kept it off your desk, and off the record?
“Thank you, Sir.”
He shuffles his papers again.
“How is the patrol training? Are the Recruits ready to face the public again?”
“I think they will be, Sir. We’ve got two more days to make sure they all know what they’re doing.”
“Good.” He nods again. “I’m going to pull Taylor from gun training for now.”
“What?” I start to protest. The whole point is to keep Taylor and Brown in the unit, training with the rest of them. “We’ve made him understand. There won’t be any more trouble.”
Bracken cuts me off. “I think he would make a good replacement for Saunders, helping Jackson with the communic
ation in Oxford. Don’t you?”
Part of the unit, but not a wild card with a gun.
It’s a good idea. I nod. “I do, Sir.”
“Send him to train with Miller while the others are using guns. Make the changes to the rota, and make sure Miller knows what he’s dealing with.”
“I will, Sir. Thank you.”
“And I’d like you to brief Jackson on HQ’s plan. He’ll be the other Senior Recruit on the bus with you, so he needs to know what’s expected of him. Top secret, though. Make sure he understands.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He turns back to his paperwork.
“Dismissed.”
Oxford
“So you’re running all the tiny fighters?”
I nod. “I am. Commander Bracken thinks I can handle it. Unlike you.”
Jackson wears a look of mock offence. “He’s trusting me with the toughest recruit of all! By myself!”
“That’s true. You should be afraid. He might sulk at you.”
“There’s a recruit in a hospital bed with a shattered nose who says otherwise.”
“I think we’ve convinced him not to try that again. Don’t you?”
Jackson brings up his fists, and pretends to examine them. “I think so.”
“Just wave those at him if the sulking gets too aggressive. He’ll think twice before he bothers you too much.”
The coach draws up at the gate, and we pick up the first crates from the pile the kids left outside before breakfast, and carry them down to the guard hut. Miller joins us, carrying the radio equipment in a pair of metal instrument cases. The guards check the driver’s ID and references, and he unlocks the luggage compartment. Between us, we load the crates under the coach and watch as the driver locks the hatches.
Not all the recruits are coming to Oxford with us. HQ is only prepared to risk one coachload of kids and equipment, so most of the Senior Recruits are staying at camp to run training sessions. We’ve selected the recruits by offering one-to-one coaching for the first thirty or so who volunteer to stay behind, with exceptions for Taylor and Brown. They’ve lost the privilege of making choices, and they’re with us, whether they like it or not. Jackson and I are in charge, and the commander is trusting us to take care of the recruits, but give up the armour and guns. I’ve briefed Jackson on the plan.
The Battle Ground Series: Books 1-3 Page 30
