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

by Rachel Churcher

  “You need much more practice before you go swanning off across uneven ground without help. At least let me carry your tray.”

  “No need. I’ve got this.” I keep walking. Miller and the others need to see this.

  Webb laughs, and shakes his head, walking next to me. “So much for taking it slowly. Any idea who your friend at HQ might be?”

  I shrug, carefully, as I walk.

  No one you need to worry about.

  We reach the Senior Dorm. Webb insists on helping me up the steps and opening the door for me, and leaves me to walk in and stand opposite Miller. I place my tray carefully on the table, and look around, meeting the eyes of everyone in the room.

  They’re all watching me. All the Senior Recruits, staring as I sit down and pick up my knife and fork as if nothing has happened. I look up at Miller, and smile.

  His face is grey. The colour is draining from his cheeks. From the expression on everyone else’s faces, I’m guessing he’s been bragging about his chances of being promoted to Lead Recruit.

  Good luck with that, techie guy.

  I start eating. I’m amazed at how comfortable my knee feels, even when I’m sitting down and bending it. The gel seems to flow around the joint to where it’s needed, and the cold sensation never fades away. I’m also amazed at how hungry I am, now that I’m not forcing myself to ignore the pain.

  “So, Ketty. You’re walking.” Miller tries to sound friendly, but he can’t keep the chill from his voice.

  “Looks that way,” I say, around a mouthful of potato.

  “Does it hurt?”

  I pretend to consider his question. “Not really.”

  “Commander Bracken said you had some sort of battlefield medical tech.”

  I nod, still chewing. “Something like that.”

  He shakes his head, and lets out an unkind laugh. “How did you get that? How does a glorified babysitter get her hands on battle-grade kit?”

  Babysitter? Really?

  I take my time. I finish my meal, take a drink of water, and lean my elbows on the table. I fix him with a cold stare. He watches every move I make. Everyone in the room is watching, and no one makes a sound.

  “I guess HQ thinks I’m worth it, Miller.”

  I grin. He stares back at me, his cheeks burning.

  I pick up the chocolate bar and the bottle of water from my tray, and look around the room again. I stand up, carefully, the gel tingling on my skin as it flows around my knee.

  “Well, it’s been fun. Good to see you all. I’d stick around, but I have a job to do.”

  I put the chocolate and the water into my pockets, and walk out, leaving a silent room behind me.

  And as I walk back across the field, I’m laughing.

  *****

  I have to take the gel off to sleep. The doctor needs to clean the wound, and I only have a limited number of gel packs. Battery power is limited, too. This isn’t a miracle, but it will get me where I need to be.

  And there’s a price.

  Webb switches off the battery pack and starts to remove the fabric from my knee. The gel softens, and the cold feeling begins to fade. As he releases the pressure, the gel peels away, and I can’t help crying out as the pain slams back.

  It’s like being shot all over again.

  “Sorry, Ketty. I know. This part’s rough.”

  My knee looks white and puffy, and the stitches dig in like staples, pulling tight against my skin. Everything hurts. The muscles are on fire. The pain stabs into me, and it’s a moment before I can speak.

  “Can I get you some painkillers?” Webb looks concerned.

  “Yes. Painkillers would be great.” My voice comes out as a whisper.

  He fetches two tablets and a cup of water, and I swallow them as fast as I can.

  I nearly scream again when he straightens my leg, cleans the wound, and wraps my knee in a bandage.

  “This feels worse, now. Why does it feel worse?”

  “You’ve been pushing yourself, Ketty. You need to practice, but you’re running before you can walk. Marching across the grass? Using the steps without a crutch? You’re not ready for that yet. Concentrate on walking – on getting up and down the corridor. You can move onto uneven ground when you’re ready. You could do permanent damage if you push too hard. Just give it time.”

  I shake my head.

  I don’t have time. I have a few days, and this is not going to stop me. Just keep the painkillers coming.

  Planning

  Webb hands me my crutch as I leave the medical centre after breakfast. I use it to walk down the steps, then carefully lean it against the outside wall and walk away across the field. He shouts after me, but I keep walking. I’m not meeting Bracken looking like an invalid. He needs to know I’m ready to confront the terrorists. He needs to see me, not my crutches.

  When I reach the commander’s office, the door is closed. Woods sends me in, and I’m surprised to find Brigadier Lee sitting in one of the guest chairs. Both men stand, and I carefully bring myself to attention, and salute.

  “At ease, Lead Recruit. Take a seat.” Bracken waves at the other chair, and I sit down as smoothly as I can, paying attention to the gel around my knee.

  “Good to see you, Lead Recruit,” says Lee, settling into his chair, no hint of threat in his voice. “How’s the PowerGel working for you? The Commander tells me you’ve been training hard.”

  “I’m getting used to it, thank you, Sir.”

  “I thought it would put you back in the game. Give you the chance to help us out with the terrorist problem.”

  So it was you.

  “Thank you, Sir. I appreciate that.”

  “It’s not perfect. You need to get used to it, and I know that taking it off at the end of the day can be a shock, but I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t handle.” He smiles, and it’s not entirely friendly.

  So you know what you’re asking me to live with. I’ll keep that in mind.

  “No, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

  Bracken clears his throat. “Brigadier Lee is here to run through the current intelligence on the terrorist base. I wanted you to hear it first-hand.”

  I nod. Lee sits back in his chair.

  “We’ve traced the armour trackers to Makepeace Farm in mid-Wales. We haven’t been able to get close – they’ve got tight security in place – but we’ve used historical records and photos to piece together what we’re expecting to find.

  “The place was an arable farm until the 1970s, when the current owner bought it, and planted it up for forestry. Sitka Spruce, mostly, right up to the back door of the house. From what we can see, the trees are pretty dense, and it’s hard to get a clear view of anything on the ground.

  “There’s a farmhouse, a yard with a barn and some outbuildings, and lots of woodland. Because of the trees, the only way in with vehicles is along the main driveway, and that’s under constant surveillance – we assume from inside the house.

  “The owner is a William Richards. Stereotypical grumpy farmer, according to the neighbours. Keeps himself to himself, and waves a shotgun at you if he finds you on his land. We don’t know whether he’s involved with the terrorist activities, but he lives on site, so it’s a reasonable assumption.

  “As for numbers – we’re not sure. We’ve only seen a few people coming and going, but I have a hunch that we’re dealing with a sizable group. They’ve got plenty of space to be hiding in, and as they bothered to steal fifty sets of armour, I think we can assume that they intend to use them.

  “So. More than we knew three days ago, but less than we’d like to know. We’ll be going in partially blind, and we’ll need to think and act on our feet.”

  “Has HQ approved the plan?” Bracken sounds anxious.

  Lee nods. “With a few alterations. We’ll hit them at night. We’ll take down the power, and we’ll raid the house. See what we find. Beyond that, we’re in the dark. We’ve got acres of woodland to search, and we want prisoners if we
can find them and disarm them.

  “They want you to go in first with a couple of troop carriers. Raid the house, search the outbuildings, see what’s there. Round up the terrorists, hopefully get your recruits back, and secure the site.

  “I’ll be off site with the backup team. If the terrorists are armed, or we encounter anything unexpected, I’ll have a range of options to send your way. Nerve gas, flamethrowers, squads of soldiers on foot. We’ll be ready for whatever they’ve got waiting for us.”

  Lee leans forward and gestures at Bracken.

  “You’re up, Commander! HQ wants you front and centre on this one. You helped us with the armour, and it’s your recruits who got us into this, so they want you there to tie everything up. You, Ketty, whoever else you need.

  “Congratulations. Your plan is going to catch us our terrorists.”

  “Thank you, Sir.” Bracken is smiling. He thinks this is his chance. He thinks he’s going to get back into HQ’s good books by walking in blind and leading the cannon fodder on this mission. “Ketty. What do you think? Are you ready to take a command role in this operation?”

  “Absolutely, Sir.”

  Couldn’t turn you down if I wanted to, Sir.

  I keep my eyes on Bracken, but I can feel Lee’s gaze on me, challenging me to stick to the script. His threat of a one-way ticket home hangs over me like a shadow. He can take away the PowerGel, and he can take away my career. I don’t have a choice.

  “Can you be fit to leave at short notice?”

  “Yes, Sir. When are we planning to make our move?”

  Lee answers me. “We’re waiting for confirmation, but the plan is to raid the farm on Saturday night, and be done bar the sweeping up by Sunday morning. Think you can manage that?”

  Two days. Two days to be ready.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  I don’t have a choice, do I?

  *****

  Brigadier Lee pays me a visit in the medical centre before he leaves. He checks the corridor and closes the door as he comes into my room. I’m sitting up in bed, still dressed in my uniform. He walks in and takes a seat facing me. I swing my legs over the side and stand up, but he waves me back to bed, so I sit on the edge, facing the chair.

  “So this is it. You’re going to be ready?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “And you haven’t changed your mind?”

  “No, Sir.”

  I have no sudden desire to move back to my childhood home, if that’s what you mean.

  He hands me a small package.

  “Take this with you. Wear it when you suit up, and keep it on you during the raid.”

  I look at the plastic-wrapped piece of tech in my hand. It’s black, small enough to fit into my closed fist. I flip it over. It’s an earpiece.

  “It’s a private radio. You can trigger it with your glove – I’ll give you the channel setting on the night. Use it to keep in touch with me. I’ll use it to give you orders. Remember – my orders trump Bracken’s. He can’t know what you’re doing for me. I’ll try to arrange it so that he won’t miss you and your team.

  “I’m going to give you five soldiers. You’ll be expected to pass on my orders to them, preferably by voice, not over the radio. Five plus yourself should be sufficient for what we need to achieve. Steadman’s my tech guy – he’ll be with you. If I need him, I’ll let you know where to go. The others are reliable people. They know to do as you say.

  “While you’re following my orders, you’re going to need to keep Bracken happy, too. I’ll try to keep him off your back, but if you need to bluff it, can you do that?”

  “I think so, Sir.”

  He looks back at the door, and drops his voice.

  “Here’s what Bracken doesn’t know.”

  I sit forward on the bed.

  “We know more about the farm – and the owner – than we’ve put in the briefings, and we have reason to believe that there’s a cold-war era nuclear bunker at Makepeace Farm. Private, not military. We have reason to believe that it’s the bunker, not the farmhouse, that’s the terrorist base.

  “Bracken’s plan is a raid on the farmhouse. What I need you to do is run the raid on the bunker.”

  So nothing that Bracken will blame me for, then?

  “We think there’s a gatehouse, somewhere in the trees at the back of the house. That’s the primary target. Secondary target is the ventilation system, but we haven’t located that yet. You’ll have Steadman for the ventilation – he knows what to do. But you’ll have the first chance at the bunker.

  “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.