False Flag (Battle Ground YA UK Dystopia Series Book 2)

by Rachel Churcher

  “Jackson: you’re on communications. You will monitor radio traffic, and inform your driver of any important announcements or changes. You will also check in with my staff as requested, and keep them informed of your movements and any problems you encounter.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Is your armour black, or do you still have the grey recruit armour?”

  “Black, Sir.”

  “No names visible?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Good. Get changed. The bomb disposal teams are already at work. When you’re dressed, one of the drivers will assign you an all-terrain vehicle, and run through everything you need to know. There are changing rooms in the next trailer.

  “Any questions?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Dismissed.”

  *****

  We drive into town, and it’s a mess. It looks as if they’ve bulldozed all the buildings. The roads are blocked by empty cars, and the ground is split and broken. There are fallen trees everywhere.

  All morning, we load empty weapons into the truck. We drive back to the drop-off along our pre-determined route three times to unload, and then we set out again. Everywhere is the same. The buildings are rubble, the ground is crumpled as if something has tried to crawl out from under it. There are trees and cars and belongings blocking the roads. I use the all-terrain vehicle to mount curbs, drive along verges, drive over obstacles, and push past abandoned cars.

  We’re trying to get to the next location, in front of what used to be a row of shops, but the road is completely blocked. Several vehicles have collided, and there’s no way to get past. I pull the vehicle up onto the pavement and drive along the edge of the road, pushing the cars out of my way. The noise would be deafening if we weren’t wearing helmets.

  I pull into a small car park, next to the weapon. We climb down, and Miller scans the barcode and declares it safe to move. He pulls down the tailgate of the truck and climbs up to stand in the back. Jackson and I lift the weapon to Miller, and Jackson follows it up. Together, they secure it with ropes and wooden panels, then jump back down to the car park. I roll my shoulders and stretch.

  “Anyone hungry?”

  “Sure.”

  “We should get back in the vehicle before we take our helmets off …” I protest, but it’s too late. Jackson makes a show of checking his contamination panel, and taking off his helmet. He takes a deep breath, grins, and pulls a ration bar from his belt. My contamination panel shows a pale enough pink in the chemical section to allow a short exposure to whatever is they used in the test yesterday, and we all take our helmets off and enjoy a few minutes in the open air, out of sight of Holden’s troops.

  “They’ve made a mess of this place”, Jackson says, pointing at the building in front of us.

  He’s right. There’s nothing left. A couple of corners of brickwork, and a pile of rubble.

  “Do you think the weapons did this?”

  “No, Jackson. I think the fairies did this.” I roll my eyes. Miller laughs.

  “So how do they work? They don’t look big enough to knock down houses.”

  “It’s a network. If you put enough of them down and coordinate their actions, you can create localised earthquakes”, Miller explains, and Jackson nods.

  “You can release chemical agents as well”, I point out, holding up my right arm to show the contamination panel.

  “So you get the buildings and the people in one go?”

  “They’re called City Killers, Jackson. What do you think they do?” Miller and I are both laughing now, at Jackson’s expense.

  Jackson looks around. From where we’re standing, we can see warehouses and industrial units reduced to metal skeletons. Cars jammed together on the road. Trees and lampposts on the ground.

  He starts to grin.

  “We’re unbeatable! Look at this! Look!” He spreads his arms wide and indicates the destruction around us. His enthusiasm is infectious.

  And then he’s pointing at something on the floor, next to the building in front of us.

  “War paint! We need war paint. We’re warriors!”

  There’s a lipstick on the floor, next to the corner of brickwork. The idea is crazy, and we’re all laughing, but Jackson walks over, points at the lipstick, and picks it up.

  He pulls the lid off as he heads back towards us, holding it out like a sword. I realise that he’s serious, and dodge out of his reach, but Miller isn’t so lucky. Jackson catches his armour and puts a thick red stripe across his chest.

  Miller looks down, hands in the air. “Hey! Bracken’s going to be mad at this!”

  “Bracken would be mad at all of this. We’re not supposed to take our helmets off, remember?”

  Jackson laughs, and lunges for me. I’m too quick for him, and he tries again and again, until Miller steps behind him and grabs his elbows.

  I step forward, and take the lipstick.

  “You want war paint? Stand still.”

  Jackson shakes out of Miller’s grasp, and stands to attention in front of me. I steady his head with one hand, and draw three bold stripes down the length of his face. He roars and thumps his chest when I’m done.

  “Miller?”

  He stands still, unwilling to let Jackson hold him for me. I give him two bold stripes along his cheekbones. He looks good.

  I use my reflection in the wing mirror to give myself one stripe down the centre of my face, hairline to neck. Jackson’s right – this feels powerful and exciting, like being back at the party in the kitchen, dancing on the tables.

  I’m laughing as I throw the lipstick away, climb back into the truck, and start the engine. The others climb in, and we put our helmets on again.

  “Where to?”

  Miller consults the map.

  “That way”, he says, pointing straight ahead, across the road blocked by cars. Jackson thumps his glove against the dashboard.

  “Go on, Ketty! Smash us through!”

  So I do. Rev the engine, aim for the gaps between the cars, and push them, screaming, out of the way. It feels powerful. It feels amazing. I’m laughing as we break through the second row of traffic and onto the side road beyond.

  Doubts

  We’re on our second-to-last pickup of the day. I pull the vehicle into an empty driveway, and we climb out to check the weapon. Miller scans the barcode while Jackson and I wait.

  We’re on a residential street, but most of the houses are piles of rubble. The weapon is on a traffic island, in the middle of a junction. There are fallen trees, half blocking the road, and more belongings – shoes, bags, coats – on the pavements and driveways.

  I step away from Miller as he performs his checks. There’s movement, behind one of the fallen trees. I unclip my gun, and step towards it.

  Carefully, turning round as I walk and keeping everything around me in sight, I approach the tree. Through the branches I can see a patch of colour, moving slightly as I get closer. Gun trained on the tree, I step round the branches and take aim at the movement.

  There’s a cry, and a girl – she can’t be more than seven or eight – pushes herself back against the trunk. She’s looking at me, and she looks terrified. I’m armoured up, helmet on, and I have a gun pointed at her. Her bright yellow raincoat stands out against the dark branches.

  Slowly, I let go of the gun with one hand, and hold it up so she can see it’s not aimed at her any more. I step closer, put one knee on the ground, and clip the gun to my back. I show her my hands, and she relaxes slightly.

  Unauthorised personnel, Holden?

  She says something, but I don’t hear it through the helmet. I check my contamination panel, and crack the seal on my visor, enough to catch what she is saying.

  “Are you going to kill me as well?”

  I look at her for a moment. Why would she think that? Why would she even consider that? And what is a young girl doing in the middle of a weapon test zone?

  I wave my hand at the surroundings.
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  “Is this your street?”

  She nods.

  “Where did everyone go?”

  She points away, down the road. I look in the direction she’s pointing, but the road turns a corner, and I can’t see where it leads.

  “I came back, though”, she says. “I needed to find Grandma, but the soldiers wouldn’t wait for her.”

  “Wasn’t she with you?”

  The girl shakes her head.

  “Did you find her?”

  She shakes her head again.

  “I got scared. I hid in the car.” She points at a very expensive people carrier in the nearest driveway. “There was smoke. It smelled funny. It made me cough. I closed all the windows and sat in the car until it went away. I think I slept all night in the car.”

  Smoke. From the weapons. From the City Killers.

  Did Holden use chemical weapons on a civilian population?

  That can’t be right. They must have evacuated the people. I saw the soldiers on the screens yesterday, leading people from their homes and cars.

  So what’s this girl doing here?

  “What’s your name?” I ask, as I reach to activate my radio.

  “Natasha.”

  “Well, Natasha, I’m going to call someone to help you. OK?” She nods.

  “Unit Five to HQ, over.”

  “Go ahead, unit Five.”

  “Unauthorised person detained in location 135, over.”

  “Understood, Unit Five. Support is mobilised. Hold the intruder in place until support arrives. Do not engage intruder, over.”

  “Understood. Unit Five out.”

  “Ketty?”

  It’s Jackson on the private team channel.

  “Jackson. Stay where you are. Get the weapon onto the truck. I have this under control.”

  “OK.”

  I look back at Natasha. She’s watching me closely.

  “There are people on their way to get you somewhere safe.”

  She nods.

  “People like you?”

  “People like me. They’ll take care of you.”

  She nods again.

  “There were people like you here yesterday, when the shaking happened. They told us to go with them. Are you the good guys, or the bad guys?”

  I can’t help laughing.

  “We’re the good guys, Natasha. We’re here to take care of you.”

  “Good”, she says. “Daddy says that I can trust the good guys, but I have to run away from the bad guys – the ones who blow people up.”

  “That’s good advice, Natasha.”

  And I really hope it is.

  There are footsteps on the road behind me. Several people running. I turn to see four soldiers in armour coming along the road towards us, guns raised.

  I stand up and face them, hands in the air. I pull up my visor and shout.

  “It’s a kid! It’s just a kid!”

  They stop running and walk towards us, cutting off any escape we might attempt.

  “Unit Five?” My radio picks up the transmission. I activate my microphone.

  “Yes.”

  “Stand aside.”

  I look back at Natasha.

  “It’s just a kid …”

  “Stand aside.”

  I step away from the tree.

  One of the soldiers lowers their gun, and walks forward, holding out a hand to the girl. She looks at me, hands clasped behind her back where the soldier can’t reach them. I nod to her.

  “Go on.”

  She thinks for a moment, then stands up, and offers her hand to the soldier. He leads her away down the street, the other three following behind.

  I run back round the tree to the vehicle, where Jackson and Miller are securing the weapon in the truck.

  “Are we done?”

  “Yeah.”

  They jump down, and we climb into the cab.

  And I’m almost sure I hear gunfire, three shots, a little way down the street, before I close the door.

  *****

  We’re heading back to the drop-off point with our final load of weapons. Miller and Jackson are arguing over the map – Miller thinks we’ve taken a wrong turn, and they’re trying to direct me back to the approved route. I stop the vehicle at a deserted junction, and wait for them to figure it out.

  There’s a gap between the demolished buildings in front of us, and I think I see movement on the far side. There’s a wide stretch of grass behind the rubble, and through the gap I see people in black armour, walking up and down, guns in their hands.

  And there’s something else, behind them on the grass. I don’t have a clear view, but I can see what look like piles of clothing, colourful, heaped up on the ground.

  Miller reaches a decision. Eyes on the map, he waves his hand to the right.

  “Turn here, then turn left at the next junction. Then you’ll be back where you should be.”

  I nod, and start turning the truck. I keep watching the view ahead, and as I swing round and speed up along the road, I realise that they’re not clothes. They’re people. Bodies. Piles and piles of them.

  Unauthorised personnel. An entire town of unauthorised personnel.

  *****

  I focus on driving the truck. Miller and Jackson are still looking at the map on the tablet and arguing, and we’ve moved on, out of sight of whatever it was that I saw.

  A couple of turns later, and we make it back to the drop-off point. We unload the weapons, and the officer in charge signs us off for the day.

  “Good work. Drop the vehicle back with HQ, and report in with Commander Holden. And stick to your route on the way out of town.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  We climb back into the truck. Miller consults the map, and directs me to the north and out onto the bypass. This isn’t the quickest route back to HQ. There must be more places in town they don’t want us to see.

  I don’t know what Miller and Jackson saw while they were discussing our route, and I’m not sure I want to find out. We drive back to HQ in silence.

  We return the vehicle and the tablet, keeping our visors over our faces, and hurry to the changing rooms. I take off my helmet, and wash my face. As much as I like the war paint, Holden won’t approve, and the cold water feels good against my skin.

  I change out of my armour, stack it in my crate, and double-check my face for any traces of the lipstick. I meet the others outside, and we walk back to the briefing room. Holden and Brigadier Lee are waiting.

  “Good work, recruits,” says Holden, looking pleased. “The eastern section is clear, on schedule, thanks to you.

  “As I said this morning, this operation is classified. You will not discuss what you have seen here today with anyone. Commander Bracken may debrief you. He is part of this operation, and he has the relevant security clearances. You have permission to speak to him.

  “Whatever you saw, or think you saw, was done with the full permission of your government. Disclosure of anything you saw or did today to anyone outside this room, or Commander Bracken’s office, will be severely punished. And trust me, you do not want to find out what that means. Understood?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Holden glances at Brigadier Lee, who nods, and takes over. “This operation is now over. I am pleased to announce that we have successfully tested the most useful weapon in our arsenal. Thank you, recruits, for your contribution. I will be reporting back to Commander Bracken on your performance today, and my report will be glowing.”

  He smiles at me, and I can’t decide what he’s thinking. His smile is warm, but his eyes are cold.

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Dismissed.”

  *****

  The driver takes us back to camp, and drops us at the gate with our crates of armour. I’m aware that no one speaks on the journey, and the three of us all stare out of the windows, alone with our thoughts.

  I’m starting to doubt what I saw. Were there really piles of bodies on the grass? And what ab
out the gunshots, when I handed over the little girl? There has to be an explanation, for all of it. We can’t be killing civilians now. I can’t believe that.

  Can I?

  Whatever you saw – or think you saw. That’s what Commander Holden said. What was he expecting us to see?

  What’s the plan behind all of this? Is there something bigger going on? Something I can understand?

  “We’ve missed dinner.” Miller sounds stunned, standing on the gravel path into camp. I hadn’t realised how late it was.

  “They’ll have saved something for us.” Jackson claps Miller on the shoulder. “We’ll go and raid the kitchen. Ketty?”

  I’m looking at Commander Bracken’s office. The lights are on, but the blinds are closed.

  “I’ll follow you. Give me a minute.” I look at Jackson. “Actually – would you mind taking my crate to the dorm?”

  He shrugs, and holds his crate out. I stack mine on top.

  “Thanks”, I say, distracted, as the two of them walk away.

  And I march over to the commander’s office.

  I’m starting to get angry. I want to know what he knows.

  Challenge

  “What did we do?”

  Commander Bracken sits up in his chair, surprised to see me. Surprised by my tone of voice.

  “Close the door”, he growls.

  I’ve never seen him like this. I hesitate.

  “Close the door!”

  His shout shakes me out of my uncertainty, and I push the door closed behind me.

  “Sit down.” He waves at the chair in front of his desk. I do as I’m told.

  He rubs his hands over his face, as if he’s trying to wash something off. There’s a glass of something – whisky? – in front of him on the desk. He sits, hunched over, unable to look at me.

  “What. Did. We. Do?” I ask again, through clenched teeth.

  He shakes his head.

  “Ketty … Ketty. There are some things you need to understand.”

  I sit back in the chair.

  “Try me.”

  He nods. Takes a drink. Sets the glass carefully down in the centre of his desk.