The Battle Ground Series: Books 1-3

by Rachel Churcher

“We’re making too much noise, Jake. We need to stay quiet. We need to move on.”

  Move on, Taylor. Walk away.

  Someone is crying, and shouting at the same time.

  “Jake! No more! No more shooting. We can still get away.”

  Brown.

  And I realise that if they’ve made it out of the bunker, they came out through the gatehouse. They’ve seen what happened. They know about Sleepy.

  And Amy’s the one holding Jake back.

  I’m lying, flat on my face in the woods. I’ve lost my gun. My knee feels as if it’s tearing itself apart from the inside, and when the adrenaline wears off I’m going to start screaming.

  And Taylor wants to kill me.

  He’s a few meters away, armed and angry, and he’s not using training ammunition. I replay what happened to Steadman. Taylor has armour-piercing rounds in his rifle – his bullets will slice right through my suit. All he has to do is find me.

  And I’m alone.

  Steadman’s gone. Jackson’s gone. Bracken and Lee might as well be on the other side of the world. All I can do is stay down, and stay quiet.

  Every instinct I have tells me to turn and fight, but without my PowerGel, I’m useless. I can’t even stand up. I can’t get to safety, and I can’t eliminate the threat. He’s behind me, and I can’t see him. I’m cowering like a child, waiting for his bullets to rip me apart. I’m vulnerable again. I’m an easy target, and this time I don’t have a gun.

  My heart is exploding in my chest. Cold sweat beads on my face, and I’m breathing too fast. My fists are clenched tight, waiting for the bullet.

  This is fear. This is the worst feeling in the world.

  I’ve seen defeat in other people’s eyes, but never in my own. I think about Dad at the kitchen table, kitchen knife within reach, begging me to stay. I think about Ellman, surrendering to her beating. I think about Saunders. The look of surprise on his face as one of my bullets stopped his heart.

  Easy. Quick. Devastating.

  I think about the gun in Taylor’s hands. The power he has in this moment. The power I’ve lost.

  Make your choice, Jake. Get out, or take your shot at me. Every minute you wait, every minute you argue, is a minute you could spend walking away.

  You could get out of here tonight, or you could throw away your advantage and come after me.

  Live or die. Your decision. There is nothing I can do.

  I close my eyes, and dig my fingers into the carpet of pine needles. I wait, my pulse pounding in my ears.

  I feel as if I’m waiting forever.

  Then the voices fade. The torch beams disappear. I’m on my own in the dark.

  For a moment, all I can do is breathe. I let myself relax, push the tension out of my muscles. Take deep breaths and wait for my heartbeat to slow.

  I’m alive.

  But I can’t stay here, face down in the dirt. I’m too close to the path, and I need to watch for movement. I need to face whoever comes this way. Twelve people can’t be the whole terrorist cell. There will be more of them coming. I’m an easy target, here – I need to get further into the woods. I need to give myself a chance.

  Move, Ketty.

  I pull myself deeper into the trees, the pain in my knee growing with every movement. Away from the path, I pause for breath and force myself to roll over and sit up, my back against a tree trunk. My knee is screaming for attention, but I make myself reach for the torch at my belt.

  And it’s gone. Dropped somewhere between here and the path. I’ve lost my torch, I’ve lost my gun. And I’ve lost my PowerGel.

  No time for self-pity. Concentrate. Figure out what’s wrong.

  I reach down and gently touch the edge of my knee. There’s a tear in the stretch panel of the armour, and through into the base layer. I can feel the PowerGel fabric under my fingers. I poke gently at the exposed layer, but it’s whole. No damage. I run my fingers up and down the fabric, trying to understand what’s broken.

  And then I find the clip. Where the battery pack should be, I find broken shards of plastic. The batteries are gone. There’s no power to the gel.

  There’s nothing between me and the pain.

  I can’t help screaming. I bite down on my knuckles to stifle the noise, but the frustration and the overwhelming, nauseating pain is too much for me.

  I can’t believe this is happening.

  I need to call for help.

  I don’t want to tell Lee I’ve screwed up, but I can’t walk back on my own.

  Call it in Ketty. Call for backup.

  And then there’s a voice on the radio.

  “Ketty, where are you?” Bracken. He sounds panicked. “We’ve got a situation here …”

  I’m trying to think through the pain. I’m trying to understand.

  Lee’s voice cuts across Bracken’s, louder, into my earpiece.

  “Abort, Lead Recruit! Abort! Contamination protocol – we have nerve agent in the air. Repeat, we have nerve agent in the air.”

  Concentrate, Ketty.

  I’m too busy pulling down my visor and starting my air supply to respond to Lee’s command.

  “Lead Recruit! Get yourselves back here. Visors down, oxygen on. We have a contamination event in progress.”

  I switch on the private channel transmitter, but Lee is still shouting.

  “Lead Recruit! Respond! Get yourselves back here!”

  “Can’t Sir.” It’s all I can manage as I try to focus.

  “Report, Lead Recruit.”

  Tell him, Ketty. Tell him you’ve failed.

  “Shot, Sir. PowerGel damaged.”

  There’s a pause, and Lee swears.

  “Steadman. Send Steadman back.”

  “Steadman’s gone, Sir. Steadman’s dead.”

  Another, longer pause.

  Breathe, Ketty.

  “Lead Recruit, are you reporting enemy contact?”

  Breathe. Tell him what happened.

  “Yes, Sir. Twelve people, including recruits. They’re gone, Sir. We lost them.”

  “Lead Recruit, stay where you are.”

  I can’t help laughing. The motion pulls my knee, and it turns into a gasp of pain.

  “I can do that, Sir.”

  And he’s gone.

  There’s a moment of silence before my radio starts up again. Bracken’s voice. Shouting.

  “Katrina Smith – are you working with this man?”

  There is fury in his voice, and disbelief.

  Just what I need right now.

  I take a calming breath.

  Careful, Ketty.

  “What man, Sir?”

  “Are you working with Lee?” He bellows into the radio.

  I let out a long sigh. I can’t deal with this.

  “Sir …”

  “Straight question, Ketty. Yes or no.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “And are you working for me or against me?”

  My mind is foggy. I’m trying to find the right words, but all I can think about is the pain.

  “I’m working for both of you, Sir.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Say something. Convince him.

  “I’m trying to make this operation a success.”

  He makes a disgusted noise, and cuts the connection. I reach for my glove, and activate it again.

  “Sir …”

  “After everything I’ve done to get you here!”

  I shake my head. I can’t do this now. I can’t do this here.

  Tell him, Ketty.

  “Sir, I need help.”

  His tone changes. There’s a note of concern in his voice.

  “Where are you? What’s going on?”

  “In the woods, Sir. I’ve been shot. The PowerGel’s not working, and I can’t move. I need help.”

  He sounds angry again.

  “You’ll have to wait, Ketty. We’ve got enough going on here. We can’t run an ambulance service.”

  It feels as if he’s
thrown a punch.

  “Commander …” I can feel the tears starting. The exhaustion kicking in, as the adrenaline fades and the pain keeps growing. It feels as if my knee is exploding, blood and bone crashing out from the inside. I’ve pushed myself to be here. I’ve worked and trained for both these men. I’m here because Lee will send me home if I refuse, and because Bracken needs me.

  Bracken needs me. And he’s leaving me here in the dark.

  “You will wait!”

  And he cuts the connection again.

  Home

  When they come for me, the sky is already light. I’ve been in and out of consciousness, blacking out, then coming to. I don’t know how much time has passed.

  A medic arrives, and two soldiers to carry the stretcher. He gives me a shot of something that makes the pain float away, and I watch the tops of the trees pass overhead as they carry me back to the farmyard.

  The terrorists have gone.

  When they broke in, the bunker was empty. Stores, food, personal belongings, but no people. They think the rest of the terrorists walked out, ten meters from where I was sitting, and vanished into the dark.

  The body count is three to one. We lost Steadman, and our guards at the gatehouse – that’s where Taylor picked up his armour-piercing bullets. They lost Saunders, and we don’t know what happened to their gatehouse guard. We’ve gained two prisoners – the women from the farmhouse – and some of our guns and armour. They’d sprayed it black, to look like professional armour, and leaving it out to dry let the trackers broadcast overnight.

  I’m back at Camp Bishop. Webb changes my bandage twice a day, and keeps me on a morphine drip, but he doesn’t speak to me. No one is letting me out of bed, and I couldn’t walk if I tried. My knee is twisted and broken, and I’m going to need months of rest and therapy before I use it again.

  I’m angry. I’m frustrated. And I’m in constant pain.

  My PowerGel is beyond repair, and there’s been no word from Brigadier Lee on getting me a new unit. No mysterious deliveries. No more flowers. He knows what this means for me, and how much pain I’m in, and he’s leaving me here without comment. I guess he doesn’t need to explain.

  No one else wants to let me loose with a PowerGel again until I allow my knee to heal on its own.

  I did what I had to do. I’ll get fit again. This will not finish me.

  It’s a warm day, and the windows in my room are open. I can hear the kids training outside on the field, Miller shouting instructions at them.

  Miller, Camp Bishop’s new Lead Recruit. I still roll my eyes every time someone calls him that.

  Learning to be tough, yet, techie boy?

  “Recruit Smith!” Bracken puts his head round the door. “How are we today?”

  “Sir. Good, Sir.”

  Same as any other day. Stuck in a hospital bed.

  He’s come to update me on Brigadier Lee. Lee, who hasn’t spoken to me since the night at the Farm. Who blames me for the escape of the terrorists, and the failure to break into the bunker. Who hasn’t forgiven Bracken for salvaging the mission and bringing home two prisoners, including the one we lost. For not hanging himself. For getting another chance from HQ.

  He sits down next to my bed.

  “I’ve persuaded him,” he says, and watches my face for a reaction.

  I can’t hide my relief.

  “So he’s not sending me home?”

  He smiles. “I convinced him that would be a waste of a good officer. He’s not happy, but he’s letting you stay.”

  “Thank you, Sir. You won’t regret it.”

  “I’d better not.” He puts a hand on my arm. “I think you’re better than that, Ketty. I don’t think you’ll pull anything stupid like that again. I know what he threatened you with, and I know what the stakes were for you. Next time, come to me first?”

  I nod. “Yes, Sir.”

  “You have my word. When my promotion comes through, you’re coming too. If I’m going to London, I want you with me.”

  Because you need my help, or because I know too much?

  I smile. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather take Miller? Surely your Lead Recruit has first refusal on a promotion?”

  Bracken smiles back. “I think Miller has some learning to do first. You know he still uses your name to get the recruits to behave? One day you’re going to have to go out there and shout at them, just so he doesn’t lose all his credibility.” He pauses, and shakes his head. “He doesn’t know me as well as you do, Ketty. I can’t … trust him, the way I trust you.” He sounds grateful. He sounds frightened. He gives me a half-smile, and briefly tightens his grip on my arm.

  And I realise the truth. Bracken needs me, and I need Bracken.

  This is my team. This is where I choose to stay.

  I nod. “I’ll bear that in mind, Sir.”

  “And Ketty? We have some news on the terrorists.”

  Tracking

  They’ve been walking for days. We’ve caught sight of them on CCTV cameras here and there, but we’ve always been too late to pick them up. They’re heading north, and HQ wants to know where they’re going.

  So we let them walk.

  We can’t catch them, but we’ve got the prisoners from the farmhouse to work with instead. It’s not what Lee wanted. It’s not what any of us wanted.

  And while they walk, I’m confined to a hospital room. I put everything I had into getting myself fit for that night, and I nearly lost everything when I confronted my recruits on the path – recruits who are supposed to be afraid of me.

  I’m useless, I’m broken, my career’s on hold, but I’m alive. I’m still here, I’m still in uniform, I’m still fighting, and Bracken is fighting with me.

  It’s not what I wanted.

  But maybe it’s enough for today.

  Note

  Alcoholism is not a weakness – these are Ketty’s words, not mine, and they come from her unique understanding of her childhood experiences. Addiction in any form is acknowledged to be an illness, not a choice. I do not advocate treating alcoholism as a weakness, any more than I intend to present Ketty as a perfect role model.

  DARKEST HOUR

  (Battle Ground #3)

  Rachel Churcher

  www.TallerBooks.com

  Notes

  Margie’s name is pronounced with a hard ‘g’, like the ‘g’ in Margaret: Marg-ie, not Marj-ie.

  Leominster is a town in Herefordshire, UK. It is pronounced ‘Lem-ster’.

  NOVEMBER

  BEX

  Prologue

  I’m lying in the dark, hidden and silent, the gun shaking in my hand while Ketty tears the room apart, searching for me.

  My knees press against the line of boxes, my body twisted and curled to keep me hidden. My hands grip the gun, finger trembling on the trigger.

  She kneels down. Lifts the valance. Glances under the bed.

  I won't go with her. I won't go to London.

  She reaches out for the box, tucked against my knee.

  She lied, and she used my family to bring me here. I'll shoot if I have to.

  I aim the gun, willing my hands not to shake.

  The box begins to move.

  NOVEMBER

  (ELEVEN DAYS EARLIER)

  Dreams

  Bex

  We’re shifting boxes again. The morning delivery is in, and Dan and I are stacking the goods in the store room. Neesh is taking the delivery – we’re staying out of sight. Our pictures are all over the news again, and we can’t risk anyone seeing us. We’ve been doing this for weeks, and we’ve turned it into a slick operation. No more asking where each item goes. No more stacking stuff in the wrong place. We know what to do and we put our heads down and get on with it. The sooner we’re done here, the sooner we can have breakfast and figure out what else needs doing today.

  Someone slams the delivery truck doors, and there’s the sound of the engine starting up. The truck drives away, and Neesh walks back inside.
<
br />   “All clear, you two. Thanks for making a start on this. There’s a couple of pallets outside the door – can you handle the rest?”

  Dan assures her that we’ve got it in hand, and she heads back to the shop.

  I stand up and lean backwards, stretching and straightening my spine. Dan rolls his shoulders and leans against a stack of boxes.

  “You OK, Bex?”

  “Yeah. Just aching from the heavy lifting.”

  He shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

  I turn to look at him, at the look of concern on his face.

  “I didn’t, did I?”

  “Twice. Woke us all up with the screaming, but when Charlie checked on you, you were still asleep.”

  I can feel the blush rising on my face. “I’m so sorry …”

  “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. We just … we worry about you.”

  I nod. “Yeah. Thanks.” I lean against the boxes, next to him.

  “Was it Saunders?” He asks, gently.

  I have to think for a moment. What was I dreaming about last night? Which nightmare woke everyone up this time?

  “I think so. Saunders and Margie. Leaving people behind.”

  It’s always about leaving people behind. Jake, Amy, Saunders, Margie, Dr Richards. There’s always someone I can’t take with me. There’s always someone I can’t save, and it is deeply, horribly upsetting. Sometimes it’s people I know are OK, and I think I’m losing them, too. I’ve dreamt about Dan before, and Mum and Dad. People I could still lose. People who could still suffer from my mistakes.

  Dan puts a hand on my arm.

  “Come on. The truck’s gone. Let’s get some fresh air.”

  My hands are shaking as we walk back to the loading bay. Dan grabs two hoodies from the hook next to the door, and we put them on, pulling the hoods up to hide our faces. Bright lime green, with ‘Morgana Wholefoods’ printed across the back, the hoodies aren’t subtle, but most people will be paying attention to the colour rather than the people wearing them.