The Battle Ground Series: Books 1-3

by Rachel Churcher

  “Get me inside, get me to whatever they’re keeping down there, and you’ll have done your job.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I’m not going to tell you how to do it. I need you to be flexible. I need force and persuasion. I need whatever works. I’ve seen you run your recruits. I know you can handle whatever these people throw at you. Get out there and get us inside. Can you do that?”

  Iron fists and steel toe caps. Not forgetting the velvet gloves.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I don’t want casualties – I want prisoners, but I’m not stupid enough to think we can do this without breaking some eggs. Persuasion first, shoot later. Understood?”

  “Understood, Sir.”

  “Good. And Ketty? Not a word. Not to anyone. You understand.”

  I nod. “Yes, Sir. Absolutely.”

  Still not planning on going home, Sir. You’ve got my attention.

  “Good. I’ll see you on Saturday. Fighting fit and ready to run that PowerGel into the ground.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  You have no idea.

  Webb

  “No way, Ketty. No way.”

  “I’m doing this, whether you help me or not. I can do it with you, and maybe get away with some pain and discomfort, or I can do it without you. You said yourself, this could do permanent damage to my knee. So help me, and keep me safe, or I’ll help myself. Help me, or move out of my way.”

  Webb stands up straight and shouts into my face.

  “Katrina Smith! Stand down! I’m ordering you …”

  I wave him away. “Call Brigadier Lee if you want. He’ll authorise this.”

  Webb takes a deep breath, and forces himself to speak calmly. “Brigadier Lee is not the medic here. I am. And I say that you do not have medical clearance to push yourself this hard.”

  “Noted,” I say, “and ignored.”

  I look out at the assault course. I’m standing at the start line. The recruits are inside for their daily briefing session, and I’ve got the field to myself. Webb and I have been training on uneven ground for a day and a half. He’s been happy to help me so far. I know I can walk if I need to. I can even jog for short stretches of time.

  But now I want to test myself. Check that I’m ready for tonight. I want to run the assault course.

  I’m not planning on trying for a personal best. I’m not trying to break any records. I know it’s going to hurt. I just want to know that I can do it.

  Webb runs his hands through his hair, and looks at the assault course with me.

  “Ketty …”

  “I’ve done this a million times. I know what I’m doing. I just want your supervision.”

  He sighs. “Fine. Fine. But you walk, and you take it slowly, and if I say you need help, you wait for help. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.” And I start walking.

  I reach the cargo net, and pull myself up. It takes me a second to adjust to the tightness of the PowerGel round my knee, but I work out how much I can bend it as I climb. At the top, I drop down into the trench, left foot first, and start to run through the freezing water.

  “Walk, Lead Recruit! Slow down!” Webb sounds angry. I drop my pace, dragging my feet through the mud towards the wall.

  He reaches the wall before me, and makes a stirrup with his hands. I’m offended – I can do this by myself. I roll my eyes, but I give him my left foot, and reach up to haul myself over. I drag my right leg up, and roll onto the ledge at the top. Webb walks round the wall to watch my progress.

  I hold onto the rope line at the top of the wall and hook my left foot over the rope to hold myself in place. I swing my right leg up, and rest it on top, ankle over ankle. Hand over hand, I drag myself over the water drop to the wall on the other side.

  So far, I’m not straining my knee at all. I’m moving it carefully, but I haven’t put much weight on it. So far, I’m hardly breaking a sweat.

  Onto the wall, gently placing my feet, and turning carefully to the zip line. I grip the runner, the bruises in my shoulders complaining loudly as I lift myself up by my arms.

  The zip line sings as I rush towards the ground. Webb is shouting – something about lifting my knee – but I’m already moving to touch the floor with my left leg.

  Left foot out, right leg bent, I make contact with the ground, but I can feel myself messing up the landing. Without my right foot out to take a step, I fall forward. I let go of the zip line, and the ground swings up towards me. I catch myself on my elbows, and my forehead hits the mud.

  Webb is at my side in seconds. He flips me over and takes a look at my face.

  “You OK?”

  I shake my arms out and bend my legs. I’ll have some extra bruises, but nothing I can’t deal with. I’m on my feet again before I can think too much, Webb hauling on my elbow.

  “Careful, Ketty. I want you to go slowly through the tunnels.”

  I nod, and start walking towards the barbed wire. I drop carefully to my knees, lie down, and start crawling, keeping my back low. There’s a lot of twisting in this motion, and before long I’m feeling spikes of pain from both knees. I slow down, and keep moving.

  “Lead Recruit! Stop pushing your injury! I can see you slowing down. Use the left knee, rest the right knee.”

  There’s no easy way out of these tunnels. I have to push through, or go back, and going forward is much easier. I look ahead, and all I can see is the vicious spikes of the barbed wire above me, mud below me, and the narrow exit from the tunnel. It seems impossibly far away.

  The PowerGel has its limits, I’m learning. As a painkiller, it seems less effective when I’m twisting my knee like this. I don’t want to admit it, but Webb is right.

  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 Br
acken 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 fro
m 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.”