The Battle Ground Series: Books 1-3
Page 62
You should see this, Jackson. You should see this city.
And you should tell me what a fool I’m being.
The darkest hour comes before the dawn. Isn’t that what they say?
Then bring on the dawn. Make something go right. Have something go my way.
We’ve announced Margaret’s trial on PIN tonight. Maybe that’s my lifeline. My way to wipe the smirk off Brigadier Lee’s face, and Conrad’s.
To show me where I’m going. To keep me from falling.
And maybe that’s enough, for tonight.
Tribe
Bex
Dan is in bed. Gail gave him something to help him sleep, and I stayed while he drifted away. He didn’t say anything when we brought him over from the dining room, me under one shoulder and Charlie under the other, Amy and Gail opening the doors for us as we passed.
Dad’s gone. Margie’s in danger. Dan is in pain. Mum’s at the mercy of whatever Ketty decides to do. Jake is lost.
But I’m still here. I’m still standing, and I’m still fighting. I’m letting myself be brave again.
I stand in my room – my own, private room. My space.
And I smile.
This could be worse. I replay everything that brought us here, to people who want to protect us and train us to fight back. We’ve been saved, again and again. Something has always happened, someone has stepped in, and we’ve made it through another day. We could have been killed, or caught, so many times – Dan, Amy, Charlie, and me. My tribe, Mum called us. We’ve carried each other this far, and we’ll carry each other again. We’ll look out for the people around us, and the people locked up in London.
We’ll keep fighting.
Charlie was wrong. The darkest hour isn’t behind us – it’s now. We’re walking through it. Pushing on, ready to meet the dawn when it comes.
When you’re in the dark, keep walking. Don’t look back, and don’t carry the past with you.
I walk to the bathroom and look at my face in the mirror. I feel older. I feel stronger. My old, healed bruises are a badge of pride, a symbol of survival.
I will not waste this opportunity. It has cost so much to get here, to find this place and these people. I will not let this be for nothing. I’ll get up in the morning, and I’ll fight.
And maybe that’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.
Fighting Back
(Battle Ground #4)
will be published on Amazon
in November.
Keep reading for a preview!
Chapter 1: Targets
Bex
“Fire!”
I pull the trigger on the rifle and send round after round into the silhouette in front of me. The cluster of bullet holes is tight, centred on the middle of the torso.
“The most important thing is to make the shot. If you don’t shoot, you’ve already missed.” The instructor walks up and down behind us, stopping to correct our grip, or check our accuracy. “And if you miss, the soldier you’re facing will take the shot. You have to take them out before they can do the same to you.”
I remember facing the barrel of Ketty’s gun on the coach, and Bracken’s as we drove out of camp, and I know she’s right. Wait for a moment, doubt yourself for a moment, and you won’t live to walk away. Take action, have confidence in your gun, and you stand a chance. I think of Jackson, lying in the road. Ketty, her knee ripped from under her by Dan’s bullet. We need to be braver than that. We need to win.
“Cease fire! Let’s see how good you are.”
I power my gun down and drop it to my side. The instructor powers up the machinery and my paper target moves slowly towards me over the length of the firing range.
“Good, Bex. Very good.” She looks over my shoulder as I unclip the silhouette. My bullets have all hit the soldier, a neat circle of holes in the centre of his chest showing the damage I’ve done.
I try not to think about Saunders, brought down by a single bullet. One day I might have to kill someone, and I need to be thinking about the firing range when I have to make that decision, not my murdered friend. I can’t hesitate. I can’t allow my memories of the bunker and the gatehouse to distract me. I close my eyes and push the image to the back of my mind.
The instructor checks the magazine in my gun, and counts the bullets left inside. “Next time, concentrate on your speed. See if you can manage this level of accuracy with a higher rate of fire.” She puts her hand on my shoulder. “That’s good, though. Really good. Keep it up.”
I nod, and try to smile. She clips up another silhouette and moves on to check Dan’s target.
Amy puts her head round the partition. “How did you do?”
“OK.” I hold up my sheet of paper. Amy whistles.
“That’s terrifying, Bex! How do you do that?”
Charlie leans out from her booth at the end of the row. “Show me?”
I turn the paper towards her, and she shakes her head. “Glad I’m on your side, Bex.”
We can do this. We’re getting the training, and we’re getting the support we need. We can fight against Ketty and Bracken and the others. We can save Mum and Margie and Dr Richards. We can take our country back. We can take our lives back.
I close my eyes, and focus my anger and frustration. Anger at Ketty for holding my Mum in a cell, and parading her on TV. Anger at Bracken for taking Margie and Dr Richards from me in the farmyard. Anger at the RTS, for taking us from our lives. Anger for Leominster and the bunker and the safe house.
The instructor resets the targets, and the silhouette moves away from me. I watch as it stops at the far end of the shooting range.
“Prepare!”
I power up my gun, and lift it to my shoulder, lining up the sights with the target in front of me. The target is Ketty, and Jackson, and Bracken. The target is the government, and the soldiers they’ve sent after us. The target is Mum’s prison guards.
I place my finger on the trigger and aim for the heart.
“Fire!”
*****
“If I’m driving the getaway car, you’re firing out of the window, Bex.” Dan shakes his head. “Between us, I think we can get everyone out of danger. I’ll cause maximum disruption, and you take down anyone who comes after us. The government won’t stand a chance.”
He grins, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Charlie puts her tray down next to Dan and unloads her plate onto the table. She shakes her head. “I don’t want to see the damage you two could do. Not until we need it.”
“We need to be ready.” It’s all I can think of to say.
“I think the government is secretly thrilled that we’re all hiding in Scotland.” Dan sounds smug. “Less chance of running into us on a dark night. I bet they have nightmares about you.” He nods at me. “They certainly should.”
“And you, Dan.” Charlie smiles. “You two are as bad as each other.”
I’d love to laugh about this, but they’re not training us for fun. They’re training us so we can go home and fight back. My success on the shooting range could make the difference between life and death – not just for me, but for my friends as well. And Charlie’s right about Dan – his bullets were as accurate as mine.
I finish my sandwich and check my watch.
“Did Amy go to see Jake?”
“They’re letting him have visitors?” Dan sounds incredulous.
Charlie puts a finger to her lips. “Not officially.”
I look past Charlie, to the table where our Liaison Officers are eating lunch together. Jake’s liaison is there, sitting with Gail and the others. I don’t think they’ve heard us.
�
�I’ll find her. She’ll need some lunch before training this afternoon.”
Dan nods, and Charlie gives me a smile as I stand up. I take my tray to the cleanup table and grab an extra packet of sandwiches from the serving hatch, pushing them into my fleece pocket as I walk out of the dining room.
*****
Amy isn’t in her room, and I wonder whether she’s still with Jake. When I track her down, she’s in the common room, curled up on the sofa.
The room is dark – no one’s opened the curtains this morning – and I can hear her sobbing as I walk through the door.
“Amy?”
She sniffs, and brushes a hand through her hair, looking up at me. “Bex?”
“Mind if I turn the lights on?”
“OK.”
We both wince as the room lights up. Her face is red and streaked with tears.
“Mind if I sit down?”
She shakes her head. I sit next to her on the sofa, cross legged, my back to the arm of the chair.
“Sandwich?”
She shakes her head, but takes the packet from me. “Thanks, Bex.”
I keep my voice gentle. “Did you see him?”
She nods. “Yeah. The guard let me in for a few minutes, while there was no one else around.”
“How is he?”
She looks at me. “He’s really angry, Bex. Really angry.”
I shrug. “That’s not surprising.”
“No, but he can’t see anyone else’s side. He’s angry at you, and he’s angry at the rest of us for sticking with you. He’s furious with the OIE. They said they’d keep him safe, and now he’s locked up, and he can’t see why. He thinks he should have the same rights as a Scottish Citizen, even though he’s on a temporary visa. He can’t see what he did wrong.”
“Does he know about the raid in Newcastle?”
She nods. “They told him. But he can’t understand that it was his fault. He blames the government, and he can’t see that giving away the location online is what led the soldiers to the safe house.” She shakes her head. “He just wants to be a normal, ordinary person again. He doesn’t want all this responsibility, and he doesn’t want people telling him what to do. He thinks it should be you they’re locking up, not him. He keeps talking about justice, and how it’s all so unfair.”
She brushes tears away from her cheeks, and her voice drops to a whisper. “And he’s really angry with me.”
I sit forward and hold out my hand. She takes it in hers.
“I’m so sorry, Amy.”
She nods. “He thinks I should be supporting him. He can’t understand why his oldest friend is letting this happen.”
“It’s not as if there’s anything you can do, even if you wanted to.”
“I know. But he doesn’t see it that way. I think he’d rather see me locked up as well, than know that I’m out here with you, training together.” She laughs, and squeezes my hand. “He hates the idea that we’re still friends.”
I smile at her, and clasp her hand more tightly. “So what’s going to happen to him?”
She shakes her head. “He doesn’t know yet. They won’t tell him.”
“Are they getting him a tutor? Or someone to talk to?”
“They tried.” She sighs. “He refused to listen. He’s not cooperating with the OIE at all.”
“So he just has to wait.”
She looks at me. “They’ll figure something out, won’t they? They won’t leave him in that room. They have to work out a way to help him.”
I squeeze her hand again. “I hope so.”
She looks at the ceiling and nods. “They have to. They got us out of Newcastle. All of us. They’ll find a way to work with him.” She puts her hands to her face and pushes away tears. “It’ll be OK. He’ll come round. He’ll see that he doesn’t have a choice.”
I nod, and try to smile, but I don’t share her hope. Jake is gone. We’ve lost him, and he’s only here because the terms of our visas say we have to stay with the OIE – on site or escorted at all times. We’re refugees, we’re under the protection of the Opposition In Exile, and we don’t have the kind of freedom Jake is demanding. We’re lucky to be alive, and we’re lucky to have people looking out for us.
We’d all like to go back to our lives. No one wants to be in exile, training for the fight when we return, but that’s where we are. No amount of wishing or anger will change that. Jake’s been through some terrible things, but so have the rest of us. He’s just reached the end of his ability to cope.
We need to be there for him. We need to fight for him, as well as for ourselves. And we need to look after each other.
“Come on. We’ll be late for training.” She nods, and rubs her face with her sleeve. “Go and clean up. I’ll wait.”
We walk together to her room, and I sit on her bed while she washes her face and pulls on a clean sweater.
“Ready?”
She gives me a hug. “Ready.”
*****
It’s been a month. Four weeks since they announced Margie’s trial, and four weeks since Jake told the world where we’re hiding. Mum’s been on PIN, every night, and so has Margie. They’re building up to her trial as if it’s some kind of sick sporting event. They want everyone watching. They want us to be watching. They want us to know what they can do.
We’ve spent the last month learning what we can do. Shooting, driving, combat training. The Scottish government has provided us with armour and rifles, like the ones we trained with at Camp Bishop – but this armour is black, to make us look like professional soldiers. We’ve got the best instructors, and a class of four. Charlie’s doing some training with us, to make up our team, and we’re learning to work together. To fight, without Jake. Without Neesh and Caroline and everyone else we’ve come to rely on.
The OIE has plans for us. They know we want to fight, and they’re willing to train us. We can’t fight yet, but we’re all working hard.
When the time comes, we need to be ready.
Chapter 2: Preparation
Ketty
“We’ve got permission for the trial.”
“Sir?”
Bracken waves a sheet of paper at me over the desk. “Margaret Watson can meet her firing squad whenever we’re ready.” He looks at me. “We need to make this an unmissable event, Ketty. Can we do it?”
I take the paper. A Trial Order, signed by Brigadier Lee.
And just like that, I’m responsible for the trial of the year. I’m responsible for showing the terrorists that they can’t win. For showing Ellman and her gang what we can do – to her, and to her friends.
For weeks of interrogations and TV slots. For making Margaret the star of her own execution.
I look up, smiling. “Yes, Sir. I think we can.”
*****
The firing range is empty when I check in. The Private on duty hands me a box of bullets and a pair of ear defenders, and I make my way to the furthest booth. I clip a target to the track, and send it to the end of the range.
I pull my gun from the holster on my belt, make sure it’s loaded, and line up the sights with the target. I breathe, slowly, and focus on the figure in front of me.
Everything else is gone from my head. I can see the gun, and the silhouette.
And I can feel the power.
The handgun recoils after every shot, but I am in control. I focus on the target, and fire careful shots down the length of the range.
I tear holes in the figure in front of me. I concentrate on my aim, and on the rhythm of my bullets.
I concentrate on being in control. On bringing my opponent down.
When I check out, I leave a pile of shredded targets in the waste paper box. And I can’t help smiling as I climb the stairs back to Bracken.
*****
“Quit fussing, Ketty. I don’t need mothering.”
“No, Sir.”
I put the canteen sandwich down on Bracken’s desk with a mug of coffee and two painkillers.
Out of a bottle, Sir?
I stare at the wall above Bracken’s head. “Yes, Sir. I just thought, what with the meeting this afternoon …”
He waves his hand to stop me. “Fine. Fine. Thank you.” He pulls the plate towards him, and I notice that the painkillers are the first things he swallows. His eyes are red and bloodshot, and I need to make sure he sobers up before his first Terrorism Committee meeting.
“Are you our runner for this afternoon?”
“I am, Sir.”
Assistant to the lowest ranking person in the meeting? Of course I am.
He nods, and unwraps his sandwich.
“Are you going to stand there and watch me, Ketty?” He sounds angry.
I would if I could, Sir. I know where you keep your whisky bottle.
“No, Sir. I’m just wondering whether there’s anything I need to know before this afternoon.”
He sighs, and waves his hand at one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Take a seat.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I sit and wait while he eats his lunch and washes it down with coffee.
“Honestly, Ketty? I’m not sure what to expect.”
“Oh?”
He sits back in his chair, coffee mug in his hands. “It’s taken them this long to put me on the committee. I’m not sure what they wanted from me before they gave me a place at the table. And now I’m here?” He shakes his head. “I don’t know whether we’re chasing terrorists, or telling them what to do. Which places to bomb. Where our security will be lightest. Where we’ll turn a blind eye to their activities.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Like Leominster, Sir?”
His shoulders slump, and he puts the mug down on the desk, still holding it with both hands. “Like Leominster.”