"We'll get the woman from the cellar," said Sue. "You get Jane."
They peeled away and the three of us ran up the stairs, guns raised, ready for attack from the landing. None came. We turned right at the top of the wide staircase and followed the landing around to the three doors that led off it. The final one, with its thick frosted glass panels, was where Sue had told us Matron was being held. I ran forward but Dad grabbed my arm and shook his head.
He inched towards the door and shouted the code phrase: "Finally, someone with balls."
There was no reply, so he raised his gun and pushed the door open. There was a series of shots from inside the room, the glass shattered and Dad flew backwards, shot in the chest. He hit the ground hard and slid back against the banister, mouth gaping, blood splattered across his face and hands. His gun fell from his useless hands and he gasped for breath as I heard Matron scream "No!" from inside the room.
Why I reacted the way I did, I don't know. Maybe it was second nature to me now. But I didn't run to help my dad. Even though I was in shock, and screaming in fury and pain, I didn't go to help him. Instead, I took the necessary steps to neutralise the threat first. Just like a proper soldier.
I flung myself forward, rolled on the landing and came up crouching, gun raised, in front of the swinging door. I saw a tall soldier standing behind a bald woman in a bed. Without hesitation I put a bullet right between his eyes, spraying his brains all over the wall. I didn't stay to watch him fall. I threw my gun aside, spun around and grabbed my dad, who was blinking in shock.
I wrapped my arms around him, trying not to look at the gaping holes in his chest and the thick blood pouring from them, staining his combats. He looked up at me and mouthed something I couldn't hear. I leant closer with my good ear, trying to catch the words, but his eyes rolled back in his head and he became limp and unresponsive.
I cradled him, rocking him back and forth, stroking his hair, crying. I don't know what I said, but I was speaking to him, trying to keep him with me, trying to talk him out of dying.
I was aware of a commotion behind me but I ignored it. There were people running up the stairs too, but I didn't spare them a glance. Then there were hands on me, pulling me away. I kicked and fought, but they were too strong. I looked up and saw that it was Tariq and behind him there was that weird bald woman with the sunken eyes and grey skin. She was in a wheelchair now, shouting orders at Sue. Mrs Atkins stood behind them, her hand to her mouth. Tariq held me there, shouting that I should let them work. But the dead TV tone was louder now, rising in pitch in response to the gunfire.
The soldier I had seen with Sue lifted my dad in his arms and carried him away, Mrs Atkins close behind. Sue followed, going down the stairs backwards, carefully pulling the woman in the wheelchair behind her. When they had disappeared Tariq let me go, to sprawl on the landing in my father's blood.
I felt numb. All I could hear was dead air and static.
Jane
I saw Lee fly backwards from the door and I screamed. He couldn't be dead. He just couldn't. And then my eyes seemed to play tricks on me, because there he was, shaven-headed and bruised, crouched at the door, shooting the guy behind me and then turning round to grab... who?
A young man stepped between us and reached down to put his hand on Lee's shoulder.
"You!" I shouted. "Come here, get me out of this fucking bed."
The man turned to face me. He had brown skin, black hair and kind brown eyes. This must be Tariq, I thought. He didn't move, stunned, it seemed, by what had happened, unsure which way to turn.
"Quickly," I yelled. "I'm a doctor." That did the trick. He ran into the room, grabbed the wheelchair and pushed it alongside the bed. Then he stood there, hesitating. "What?" I said, exasperated beyond words.
"Um, you're..."
I looked down. I was in my pyjamas.
"Oh for God's sake just pick me up, man."
"Right, yeah, of course."
I could hear a low keening noise coming from the landing as Tariq lifted me from my bed into the wheelchair and pushed me towards the two people on the floor. It was only when I reached the door that I realised who the shot man must be.
"Is that Lee's dad?"
"John, yeah," mumbled the Iraqi.
I heard heavy footsteps on the stairs and then John croaked: "A school. After all that, I buy it in a bloody school," and gasped. Lee bent over his dying father and moaned, a low piteous wail of pure emptiness and grief.
I looked to my left and saw Mrs Atkins, Sue and a Yank soldier racing towards us.
"Sue," I shouted. "You're a nurse, yes?"
"Yeah," she said as she skidded to a halt beside me.
"Who operated on me while I was out? Was it you?"
"No, Doctor Cox, he flew back to the main staging area with the general."
"Shit. But is the OR still in place? Did they strike the OR?"
She looked at me and gasped as she realised what I was suggesting.
"No, it's still there, hooked up to the generator and everything."
"Right, you," I said, pointing to the Yank soldier. "What's your name?"
"Jamal, Ma'am."
"Right, Jamal, pick this man up and take him to the OR now. Sue, wheel me downstairs. We have to work fast if we're going to save him."
Sue blanched. "I'm not qualified to..."
"No, but I am. I'll direct you. Sue, it's his only chance. We can do this."
She had gone white, but she nodded. "Ok," she whispered.
Jamal shoved himself past us and reached down to remove Lee, but Tariq blocked his way with a sneer and did it himself, holding Lee back as we moved away. I so wanted to stop and hold Lee, comfort him, feel the reality that he was back. But there was time for tearful reunions later.
"Sue, wheel me downstairs," I ordered. "We've got work to do."
The operating room that Blythe had used to fix me up had been erected in the kitchen. Ironically, it was the same room I'd used for my fake surgery on the captain who'd been shot here. I tried not to think about what I'd done that day, about the young soldier dying in my arms after I slit his throat. Too much blood on my hands.
A polythene clean-room had been erected using gaffer tape, and there was a makeshift airlock through which you entered the sterile area.
Jamal was standing inside the doorway, still holding John, looking unsure about what to do when Sue wheeled me in. Mrs Atkins entered behind us.
I saw a rack of scrubs in the corner, a tub of alcohol handwash by the sink and a pile of tissue hats and facemasks beside it.
"Is he still breathing?" I asked as we entered.
Jamal nodded.
"Good. No time for protocol now. Jamal, get him on the operating table then get out again." He did so. "Back upstairs, help the others. Mrs Atkins, you're going to help Sue perform surgery."
She nodded briskly. Did nothing faze her?
"Right, both of you, take your shoes off, scrub up in the sink and get those hats and masks on. Where are the instruments?"
"Over there." Sue pointed to a trolley with a metal tray on top of it. In it rested a collection of surgical instruments, some still covered in blood.
"Shit. I suppose boiling water's out of the question?" I asked. Without a word Mrs Atkins walked behind the polythene sheets and I heard a click. She popped out again. "Kettle's on."
"Then let's get to work."
Lee
I sat on the landing, arms wrapped around my knees, rocking back and forth with my eyes closed, my clothes slick with my father's blood.
I felt a hand on my shoulder but I ignored it. It squeezed, trying to attract my attention. I reached up and batted it away. Then someone put their hand across my mouth. I opened my eyes, ready to shout, but Tariq's nose was an inch from mine and he had his finger to his lips. When he saw that I was with him he held up four fingers and pointed down. I saw past him to Jamal, who stood at the top of the stairs, gun raised, craning across the banister to look down into the
entrance hall.
Tariq leaned forward and whispered into my ear.
"Wrong ear," I muttered. He switched.
"Sorry," he said. "At least four coming in the front, probably more out back. It was a trap, Lee. They must have been waiting for us to make a move."
"Dad?"
"In the kitchen. Matron and the others are operating on him now."
"Right, let's go."
"I think we..." he began, but I was already on my feet and moving past him. I lifted my machine gun to my waist with my left hand, took my browning out with my right, and walked past Tariq and Jamal before they could react. I walked quickly, focused and calm, straight down the stairs, peripherally aware of Tariq running to stop me. As I descended I saw two soldiers moving cautiously through the entrance hall, silently checking the rooms. One of them saw me, but before he could warn his colleague or bring his weapon to bear I opened fire with the machine gun.
The bullets raked across his body, flinging him backwards as I crouched and fired the browning, taking the other soldier three times in the chest. I stood up and kept moving.
Tariq fell into step beside me.
"They'll have heard that," he said wearily, like he was too tired to be angry.
"Good." I said coldly.
A stream of bullets flew past our heads. I dived down the last three steps, spinning in mid air and letting off some shots at the shooter in the office door. I missed, but the doorframe splintered, momentarily distracting the gunman. Tariq stepped over me and shot the guy in the head.
I'd hit the hard tiled floor with my bad shoulder but I hardly even noticed the pain. I felt a knot of hatred in my belly as I leapt up. These fuckers had shot my dad and I wasn't going to stop until every last one of them dead.
"Fucking deathwish Terminator shit," muttered Tariq.
I chambered another round and kept moving without acknowledging his sour disapproval. I thought: this must be what it feels like to be Rowles.
"Stryker," I barked at Jamal, who was halfway down the stairs. He nodded and ran to the vehicle, still jammed in the front door. I heard gunfire but didn't look back as Tariq and I walked into the school, guns raised. Past the staircase was a passage that led to the kitchen and the courtyard beyond it. Just as I was reaching forward to open the door, it swung open. I fired without hesitation, putting four rounds into the stomach of the soldier before me. Tariq opened fire beside me, sending a hail of bullets over the head of the falling soldier, wiping out the two men behind him. They fired back even as his bullets hit, but their shots went wide.
The second door on the right was the kitchen, and I ran inside. I could see a polythene tent. Inside it, Matron was directing Sue from her wheelchair as the nurse leaned over the kitchen table working on Dad.
"Time to go!" I shouted.
"We need two minutes to stabilise him," Jane yelled back.
A burst of gunfire came from behind me.
"No problem," I said, turning and opening fire at the soldiers coming towards me.
So help me, I smiled as I took their lives. Then Tariq and I walked on, looking for more.
Jane
The third and final bullet landed with a clang as Sue dropped it into the small metal dish.
"What now?" she asked.
"His left lung's collapsed," I said. "He's drowning in his own blood. We need to aspirate. Have we got a tube of any kind?"
Mrs Atkins stepped across to a metal trolley cluttered with implements. She rifled through it and then waved a piece of clear plastic tube.
"Great. Sue, you need to puncture the lung and shove that in."
Sue took up her scalpel and got to work. I leaned forward so I could shout in John's ear.
"John, John Keegan. I need you to concentrate, John. Focus on my voice. I need you to take a deep breath, okay? Very deep, when I say. Can you do that?"
His eyes flickered and he moaned. I took that as a yes.
"Ready," said Sue, holding the tube, which now stuck out of his side.
"Now, John, breathe deep," I said, willing him to obey.
He gasped, then sucked air in through his mouth. It bubbled and gargled in him, then the tube filled with blood and the lung drained its load on to the floor.
I breathed a big sigh of relief. "Good."
There was the sudden shocking sound of gunfire from somewhere in the building. Sue and I exchanged worried glances, but she shrugged. Not our problem yet.
"What next?" Sue asked.
"Now let's patch and seal. We need some superglue. There's some in a tupperware box under the sink."
The gunfire resumed, louder and closer, as Mrs Atkins retrieved the small tube.
"Now glue the entry wounds together. I've a feeling we're going to be moving him before we're finished."
Sue was a calm and efficient nurse. When all this was done with, if she wanted to stay, I'd train her up as a doctor. We needed all the doctors we could get.
"Done," she said.
"Mrs Atkins, roll him over. Sue, come here."
The door crashed open.
"Time to go," yelled Lee.
"We need two more minutes to stabilise him," I shouted. I think he replied, but it was drowned out by gunfire. Then he was gone.
Mrs Atkins had rolled John on to his side so Sue and I could examine the exit wounds. One in particular bothered me. I reached into it and ran my gloved finger around his insides.
"Shit," I muttered. "Sue, glue the other two but this one you're going to have to make an incision, widen it, then go in and tie-off the artery. Can you do that?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
The sound of gunfire was moving around the outside, to the courtyard. It was relentless and heavy; whoever Lee and the others were holding off, there were a lot of them. A sudden explosion blew in the windows and made Sue scream as one wall of the polythene clean-room came free and tumbled to the floor. She recovered her wits quickly and proceeded, her teeth gritted with determination.
She looked up and said "Done" the second Lee and Tariq ran into the room.
"Can we move him?" gasped Lee.
"Yes," I replied. "Sue, can you..." But she already had the wounded man in a fireman's lift.
Tariq leaned out of the door and let off a stream of fire then said: "Now!"
He went first, Sue and John behind, then Mrs Atkins pushing me in the chair, as Lee brought up the rear, firing short bursts to cover our retreat.
We left the corridor and came out into the main entrance hall. The armoured car was still stuck in the doorway, but the gun on top was pointing outside, laying down suppressing fire at the moat bridge.
Tariq climbed up on to the roof, then Sue and he manhandled John through the hatch and down into the car. I could see Sue talking urgently to Tariq as they worked, then she turned and leapt down, running past us all, back into the school.
"Where the hell is she going?" I shouted.
"Tell you later," replied Tariq, his head poking out of the hatch. "Now get in here."
Lee and Mrs Atkins carried me up as Tariq fired past us, and I made an ungainly entrance to the car. Lee was still firing as he closed the hatch above us.
"Go!" he shouted. Tariq put his foot down and tore us free of the doorway, reversing across the bridge, turning, and sending us speeding down the drive.
The Stryker started to clang as bullets raked the shell, but Jamal kept going and eventually the firing faded away in the distance. Once he was sure we were clear, he switched on the satnav and we headed for Fairlawne.
John was laid out on the bench opposite me and as our pursuers fell away I saw that he wasn't breathing. Lee was already performing CPR as Mrs Atkins held his father steady. Lee's face was splattered with blood and tears as he breathed and beat the life back into his dad. Eventually he shouted "Got him," and I saw John's chest rise and fall as he began to breathe again.
Situated outside the village of Shipbourne, the Fairlawne estate is a huge area of land once owned by the Cazlet family, hors
e breeders to the crown. Bought by a member of the Saudi royal family in the eighties, the Palladian house was fully renovated and restored. It even had a swimming pool. In many ways it was a better site for St Mark's than Groombridge - bigger, better equipped and closer to Hildenborough, where we had friends. But we chose Groombridge because of its moat, which we thought made it easier to defend. Now that we'd abandoned our second home in a year to enemy forces, it didn't seem like the smartest choice.
We were able to drive up to the front door without Tariq reporting any signs of life. Good, they'd been following my instructions. Secrecy was the best defence.
As long as we'd evaded pursuit - and Jamal, who'd both been watching the road behind us through the periscope, assured us that we had - then we should be safe, for a time at least.
Lee popped the hatch and climbed out, and a few minutes later a gang of boys had gathered to help me out.
I was home.
John had coped well with the journey. He was still unconscious but he didn't seem to be in any discomfort and his breathing and pulse were strong. When I looked up after checking him over I saw Lee watching me anxiously. Just for an instant I could see the frightened boy hiding behind the brutal façade. I gave him a smile of reassurance.
"He'll be fine," I said. But I was lying. I needed to get him into surgery again as quickly as possible, and this time I wouldn't have Sue to help me.
The boy relaxed, the mask came back down. Lee nodded briskly. "Good. Let's get you both inside."
We'd left my wheelchair behind in our rush to escape, so I made an undignified entrance, carried between Lee and Tariq past a sea of excited children, standing around the main entrance hall. Their murmuring faded away to shocked silence when I passed through. I tried to smile and put a brave face on it, but I was a sallow-cheeked, hollow-eyed wreck. I cursed the staff for not keeping them away. I had planned to clean myself up and make a dignified entrance at dinner; now that was blown to hell. I'd just have to make the best of it, but I knew that morale would suffer.
Operation Motherland Page 21
