“So now I work with the OIE. And they’re not perfect, Bex. Not at all. But they’re free. The King is effectively under house arrest at Buckingham Palace – the Home Forces don’t trust him. The Palace of Westminster is empty – we don’t have MPs any more, or votes. But the OIE? They’re outside the UK, they’re away from the oppression and the false flag attacks, and they’ve got the support of all our neighbouring countries. Government soldiers can’t stop them. They’re our best hope for putting things right. For getting our democracy back.”
“And there’s no one else?”
“Not with this kind of power. The OIE runs the resistance cells. They’re working to change everything. They’re making a difference. And if we can put these posters up – tell people that there is a resistance, that we’re fighting for them – maybe a few more people will take notice. Maybe we’ll see fewer people in the firing squad crowds, and more people demanding an end to martial law. Fewer people taking everything they see on PIN and in the papers as the truth, and more people asking questions.”
I nod.
“I hate the government as much as you do. And I want to make a real difference as much as you do. I haven’t done anything as brave as you and your friends, but I’m doing what I can. And I really think this could help us.”
I look round the room, and down at the blanket I’m sitting on. Everything we have here is thanks to the OIE. Neesh and Caroline, the shop, the safe houses – all of this is run by the resistance in Edinburgh. They picked us up when we had nowhere to go, and they’ve kept us alive, and hidden. None of us is standing on an execution platform, and that’s thanks to them. We’ve given them armour and guns, and we’ve given them hope that there are more recruits like us, ready to walk away and fight for the resistance.
I don’t want my face out there again. I don’t want people getting shot for putting my poster up. I want to run again, and I want to hide. I want someone else to be in the spotlight for once.
But I also want to make a difference. I want to stop the people who took us from school, who trained us to be their front-line dolls. I want to stop the people who killed Saunders, the people who have Margie and Will and Dr Richards. I want to save the people I left behind.
I can’t do anything, stuck in this flat. I can’t go out there and save anyone. I can’t stand up and tell people what happened in Leominster. I’m powerless, and I’m trapped.
But maybe I can do this. Maybe being the pretty face of the resistance isn’t as bad as being the distraction for government atrocities. I hate it. I hate the photo, I hate the poster, and I hate the idea of my face being used by another army. But at least it feels like fighting back.
“Fine,” I say. “Fine. Use the poster. If you think it will do some good, if you think it will make a difference, use it.”
Neesh smiles. “Thank you, Bex. Thank you.”
I’m exhausted. This feels like defeat. This feels like being used all over again. I need them to understand.
“Tell Caroline I want them to ask us before they use us like this. Tell them that we’re real people – not just stories. We want to help, but we’re not their soldiers. We need to be in the loop, and then we’ll do everything we can.”
She nods, standing up. “Absolutely. I’ll let her know.”
I lean my head back against the wall. Neesh walks out and gently closes the door, and I’m alone again. I’m exhausted. I want to scream, and I want to laugh. Jackson was right – I’m still the front-line doll. It doesn’t matter what else I do – who I save, who I fight, and who I leave behind – I’ll always be a toy in someone else’s war.
Frustration
Ketty
We’re back at Belmarsh this morning. Lee wants to see whether one of the other prisoners will give him something to use against Richards.
I’m sitting with Conrad behind the mirror, trying to ignore him while Bracken waits in the interrogation room. I haven’t forgotten how he treated me last time we were here. Lee has called for help from the prison guards, and he follows two of them into the room, a man in an orange jumpsuit walking between them. The prisoner is walking with a limp, and the guard on his right is supporting his weight. The guards lower him into a chair, cuff him to the table, and leave, closing the door behind them.
Lee takes his seat.
“This should be interesting.” Conrad finishes setting up the recording, and the light comes on over the door. “One of Richards’ cell, from the bunker.”
I take a closer look at the prisoner, and I realise I’ve seen him before. He was the guard on duty when we stormed the gatehouse. The guard who preferred taking bullets to shooting at children. For a moment I’m back in the tiny concrete room, the guard slumped against the wall, and Saunders trying to be brave as he refused to let me into the bunker. I can’t help smiling as I realise that I’m responsible for the prisoner’s injury. My bullet – my threat to Saunders – did the damage to his leg.
Still think taking bullets was the right choice?
I look at Conrad. “I thought he was missing?”
He shrugs. “We tracked him down.”
“So he got away? He had several bullets in him, last time I saw him.”
Conrad raises an eyebrow. “We think the terrorists took him with them when they escaped.”
Mummy Ellman. Couldn’t resist helping another soldier in need?
This will be interesting.
*****
The prisoner denies everything.
He claims not to remember what happened on the night of the raid. He claims that he doesn’t know anything about the farm or the bunker. He says that he woke up in hospital with bullets in his abdomen and his leg, and that’s all he can tell us.
Liar. You remember. And I bet I can jog your memory.
“Give me a moment,” I say, standing up and heading out into the waiting room. Conrad protests, but I leave him with the black boxes and the blinking lights. I straighten my uniform, step up to the interrogation room door, and knock.
Bracken answers, and steps out, closing the door behind him.
“What, Ketty?” He sounds impatient.
“I can get him to talk. I can place him in the gatehouse.”
“Ketty …”
“Let me do this. Let me impress Lee. Let me do something, instead of sitting back there watching you …”
He sighs. “You saw him there?” I nod. “And he saw you?”
“Very much so, Sir.”
He looks back over his shoulder and shrugs. “It can’t hurt.” He looks past me, to the coffee, and I know he’s going to let me in.
Get yourself some caffeine, Sir. Let me do my job.
He opens the door, and waves me through.
*****
Lee looks up in surprise, then waves me to Bracken’s chair. I don’t know what he’s just been asking, but the prisoner is shaking his head. He looks exhausted.
I lean forward, put my elbows on the table, and wait for him to look at me.
“Last time I saw you, you weren’t looking so good. Someone fixed you up nicely.” I give him a smile.
His eyes widen as he sees my face.
“So, you do remember.”
He shakes his head again.
“How’s the leg? Still proud of taking bullets to protect children?”
He lunges at me across the table. He tries to stand, but his leg gives way and his handcuffs hold him at a safe distance. He collapses back into his chair.
“Murderer!” He growls, looking into my eyes. “Coward!”
Keep talking. Keep incriminating yourself.
I lean back in my chair, and smile at him again. “So, where were we, last time we met?”
His anger overrules his common sense, and he shouts, “You were in the gatehouse. You shot my helper. You shot a child, in cold blood.”
“I shot a guard, who was refusing to help me. I shot you, too. As I recall, you didn’t help me either.”
“You had no right.” His vo
ice is calm. Quiet.
You’ve just admitted that you were there. Let’s see if you’ll admit resisting arrest.
I keep my voice calm. “I had a right to defend myself. Did you do anything to defend your helper?”
He slumps back in his chair. “I used my weapon. I did the best I could.”
“Firing at me, and my team?” He nods. “Denying us entry to the gatehouse?” He nods again.
“I tried. I did my best.”
“So you didn’t surrender? You didn’t drop your weapon and come quietly?”
His expression changes. He seems to realise what he’s said. He tries to raise his hands to his face, but the handcuffs stop him and he looks at them, as if he’s seeing them for the first time.
“Remind me. How many bullets did we hit you with? Two? Three?”
He looks down, shaking his head.
“I’d say you were actively defending the bunker. Actively defending the terrorist cell cowering in their underground hideout. How many of them were helping you? How many of them were ready to back you up?” I lean forward again. “I didn’t see anyone helping you out. I’d say the cowards were the ones sleeping downstairs while you were on the front line. Wouldn’t you?”
He hangs his head. There’s nothing more for him to say. He’s already confessed to defending the bunker.
I look across at Lee. He’s watching me, a neutral expression on his face.
“Thank you, Corporal,” he says. “I think that’s enough for now.”
*****
“Good job, Corporal Smith.” Lee sounds as if he’s paying me a genuine compliment, but he doesn’t smile. “We’ve got his confession on record. We’ll let him think about what he’s said, and see what else we can persuade him to tell us.”
The prisoner is back in his cell. Conrad has downloaded the recordings, and we’re back in the waiting room. I finish pouring a coffee for Bracken and hand it to him before turning my attention to the brigadier.
“Tell me,” Lee sits back in his chair and sips his coffee. “If you can inspire a confession like that from a known terrorist, why am I still waiting for you to bring in our missing recruits?”
I stand up straight, and I’m about to protest when Bracken jumps to our defence.
“We’re doing everything we can.” Lee raises his eyebrows, but says nothing. “We’re tracking sightings, we’re bugging the landlines of everyone we suspect of being part of the resistance. We don’t think they’ve left the country, but they could be anywhere in the UK by now. We’re working on it.”
Lee watches me, waiting for me to speak. I glance at Conrad, but he’s watching Bracken, a smug smile on his face. When I say nothing, Lee shrugs.
“I think you should work a little harder. Don’t you, Corporal?”
I’m about to respond, but Bracken cuts in again.
“I’m sure we’ll track them down, Brigadier. We know them. We know what they’ve done before, and what they’ll risk to avoid being caught. They’ll slip up eventually, Sir, and when they do, we’ll be waiting.”
Lee gives us both a cold smile.
“Don’t wait too long, will you?”
*****
“We need to track them down, Sir. This has gone on long enough. Lee is laughing at us. He won’t keep us here if we don’t bring him results.”
He’s already tried to send me home once. I’m not going to let him try again.
I’m pacing in front of Bracken’s desk, running my fingers over my hair in frustration. Bracken watches me, unsmiling.
“We’re waiting for them to make a mistake, Ketty. We’re waiting for them to give up their cell. When they do that, we’ll raid their base and bring them all back to London in chains. You can have your five minutes with them then, and so can Lee, but not before.”
I look up.
“What if I can pull one of them out of the group? What if I can bring one of them back here for questioning? They could give me the group, and all their connections.”
Bracken shakes his head. “What are you suggesting?”
I pull up a chair and sit down. “I’ll do some research. Find out which of those kids has a weak spot. Some way to drag them out of their safe place.”
“What are you going to do? Read their school reports? Find out who their best friends were and hunt them down as well?”
I’m thinking this through as I speak. He’s right – the schools would be a good place to start. Everything we know about these kids came from their school records. Time to make some visits.
I smile. “Something like that, Sir.”
He shrugs, and throws his hands up. “If you think it would help, then see what you can find out. Report back to me if you find anything.”
“Yes, Sir!”
“And Ketty? Don’t take too long. We have other work to do.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He lets out a sigh. “Go on, then. Go and bother some teachers. Dismissed.”
Navigation
Bex
“Let’s focus on the basics, Bex. Don’t worry about road position and three-point turns and complicated stuff. You’re just going to start the car, drive, and stop. Start, drive, stop. We’ll do that over and over, and see if it helps.”
I nod, gripping the steering wheel. Neesh is right – maybe I’m pushing myself too hard.
“So. From the beginning. Are you in gear?”
I check the gearstick, and it moves freely.
“No.”
“OK. So what’s next?”
Neesh guides me through the process of starting the car. She’s patient, and she’s methodical. This is exactly what I need.
It’s just the two of us in the car. Watching the others drive isn’t helping my confidence, so we’re working together while everyone else makes dinner and cleans the store room.
Start, drive, stop. Up and down the service road. Neesh talks me through the turns, and I struggle to stay calm and focused, but we’re here to practice the easy stuff. The goal is for this to become automatic. Second nature. Just something I do without thinking about it.
That goal seems a long way away.
*****
“Swap seats.”
I’ve pulled the car up outside the shop, and I’m ready to head back upstairs.
I give Neesh a confused look.
“Swap seats. I’m taking you for a drive.”
“You’re … what? You can’t. My face is on posters out there.” I wave at the end of the road. “There are posters everywhere. You can’t take me out there.” I’m starting to panic. The idea of leaving the safety of the service road is overwhelming. I don’t want to go out there. I don’t want to put the others at risk.
Neesh smiles. “Relax. Pull your hood up, and let me take you out onto the road. We’ll drive around for a bit, and you can get the hang of watching for traffic. You can tell me what to look out for – spot hazards and traffic lights and obstacles.” She sees the fear on my face. “It’s dark, Bex. No one’s going to look twice at a teenager in a hoodie in a car. Now, swap seats.”
So I do. I strap myself in as Neesh adjusts the seat and the mirrors. I pull my hood over my face and slump down as far as I can in my seat. As Neesh starts the car and drives to the barrier at the end of the service road, I start to panic again. My fists are clenched, gripping the edges of the seat.
“Neesh, I …”
“I know, Bex. You’ll be fine. Sit up, and tell me when it’s safe for me to turn onto the road.”
She drives towards the barrier, and it starts to rise. It feels like taking my armour off, or letting water into a sinking boat. My protection, everything that was standing between me and the world outside is lifting away, and I’m terrified.
“Bex? Take a look at the traffic. Both directions. When am I safe to move?”
I take a deep breath. I force myself to focus. I look out at the road, at the cars driving past. I make myself pay attention. I look left and right. I think about how fast the cars are movi
ng, and I start to feel the rhythm of the traffic as they pass. I see the gap in the cars to the left, and another to the right.
“After the next car. Then you’re safe.”
Neesh checks, and pulls out, and we’re on the road. We’re outside.
I try to concentrate on the traffic. On the obstacles and the traffic lights, but I can’t. I’m watching the shops. The cafés. The bars. The people. There are people everywhere – walking, sitting in restaurants, drinking, talking, waiting at the bus stops. People living their ordinary lives, people with no idea that we’re hiding in the next street. I pull my hood further over my face, but Neesh is right. No one’s looking at us. No one’s seeing me. I’m outside, and I’m safe.
“Focus, Bex. I need you to watch where I’m driving. Tell me what’s coming up. What I should do.”
I sit up in my seat, watching the road ahead.
“That bus is pulling in. It’s going to block this lane.”
“Good, Bex! Yes. So what should I do?”
I look around at the traffic, watch what other people are doing.
“Stop behind it. Wait for it to move off.”
“OK. That’s what we’ll do.” Neesh is smiling. We wait while the bus picks up passengers and pulls away.
“There’s a junction coming up, Bex. What can you tell me about it?”
I lean over to look past the bus, and I see traffic lights, just turning from green to amber.
“The lights are changing. They’ll be red by the time you get there.”
Neesh glances over at me. “That’s great, Bex. That’s really helpful.” She pulls up at the traffic lights. “I think you’re better at this than you are at driving the car.”
Neesh takes us through the suburb and into the city, challenging me to make the driving decisions for her. She checks everything, but she seems pleased with most of my suggestions. By the time we’re heading home, I’m paying attention to the road, and I’m hardly seeing the people and the shop fronts. I’m telling Neesh what to do, and she’s correcting me when I make mistakes. We’re both concentrating on the drive, and it feels amazing to be outside, watching people leading their ordinary lives. It feels free.
The Battle Ground Series: Books 1-3 Page 45
