B.A.S.E. Camp

by Rob Childs

  B.A.S.E.

  CAMP

  Rob Childs

  Illustrated by Pam Smy

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Chapter One: Roommates

  Chapter Two: Golden Goals

  Chapter Three: Is Anybody There?

  Chapter Four: The Prowler

  Chapter Five: Boat Trip

  Chapter Six: The Statue

  Chapter Seven: A.C.E.

  Chapter Eight: Open Day

  Chapter Nine: Out of Bounds

  Chapter Ten: Over and Out

  Chapter Eleven: Future Fortunes

  Imprint

  Chapter One

  Roommates

  The green, vintage Bentley purred along the avenue of oak trees and scrunched to a halt in the wet gravel of the courtyard.

  ‘Here we are, m’boy,’ Gramps said, peering through the rain-spattered windscreen. ‘Hard to believe my old boarding school is going to be your home for the next fortnight.’

  Gareth stared at the ancient building. The skyline was dominated by its towers and tall chimneys, which pointed up into the dark clouds like bony fingers.

  ‘Bet you never thought you’d see this place again, eh, Gramps?’

  ‘Aye, you’re right there, m’boy,’ Gramps said, nodding. ‘The Old Manor hasn’t changed a bit though, by the look of it, in the past 50 years.’

  ‘The name has,’ Gareth reminded him. ‘It’s now known as B.A.S.E. Camp – the British Academy of Sporting Excellence.’

  ‘Aye, well,’ Gramps sighed. ‘It’ll always be the Old Manor to me – the haunted house!’

  Gareth laughed. ‘Most of the tales about your schooldays are ghost stories.’

  They climbed out of the car, and Gareth collected his bags from the boot. ‘Sure you won’t stay for a while, Gramps?’ he asked, suddenly feeling nervous. ‘Y’know, have a little look round, like.’

  ‘No, that can wait till the weekend when I come with your mother for the Open Day,’ said Gramps. ‘You’re about to meet a whole new bunch of pals, so I won’t hang around and get in your way.’

  ‘OK then. Thanks for bringing me. I’ll look forward to telling you everything on Sunday.’

  Gramps slipped his grandson a wink. ‘Aye, well, perhaps not everything, eh?’ he chuckled. ‘Best to keep mum, as they say, about any of them ghosts you might meet!’

  When Gramps left to drive home through the afternoon traffic, Gareth was shown into one of the small dormitories on the second floor. Only the top bed of one of the two bunks had not already been claimed.

  ‘Good job I don’t mind heights,’ he said, grinning. ‘I’m a high jumper.’

  A drawled response came from the opposite top bunk.

  ‘Yeah? Well don’t go jumpin’ out of bed and makin’ a noise in the middle of the night, man. I’m a light sleeper.’

  A long, black leg trailed over the side of the bunk, dangling down in front of the face of the boy below, who was perched on the edge of the bed. He pushed it away and went on tightening the spikes in his running shoes. ‘You’ve got smelly feet,’ he complained.

  ‘Not my feet, man – just my socks.’

  ‘Same thing.’

  ‘I’m Gareth, by the way,’ said Gareth, interrupting his roommates. ‘What events do you two do?’

  The lad in the top bunk sat up and pulled on a pair of trainers. ‘Adam – long jump and sprints,’ he said and then pointed downwards. ‘That’s Wonder Boy, who says he’s a runner.’

  ‘Wonder Boy?’

  ‘Yeah. Ever since he got here, he’s not stopped wonderin’ about stuff.’

  ‘Most people call me Eddie,’ the boy on the bottom bunk put in. ‘I only said “I wonder who’s sharing this room with us”.’

  ‘And wonder what we’re doin’ later. And what’s for tea. And…’

  ‘OK, OK,’ Eddie sighed. ‘Sorry – guess I’m just a bit nervous.’

  ‘We all are,’ Gareth said in support. ‘What are we doing, anyway, this afternoon?’

  ‘Whatever they say, man,’ grunted Adam.

  ‘Who’s they?’

  ‘The coaches.’

  ‘Adam was here at Easter, too,’ Eddie explained, pulling a face. ‘Been boasting how not many people get invited back for extra coaching in the summer.’

  ‘Perhaps he needs it,’ Gareth grinned.

  ‘We all need it, man. These guys are the best coaches around,’ said Adam, and then added, ‘Well, at least that’s what they say.’

  Gareth smiled and hoisted one of his bags onto the bunk. ‘So who’s got the bed below me?’ he asked, looking at the bulging leather case that had been left there to claim it.

  ‘Dunno,’ said Adam. ‘But if he can lug that great thing around with him, I reckon he must be a thrower. Y’know, big solid kid – strong in the arm and thick in the head!’ He began to climb down from his bunk and trod on Eddie’s coat, which lay across the pillow. There was the distinct sound of something snapping.

  ‘Oops! What was that?’

  Eddie put a hand in one of the pockets and pulled out a broken pair of sunglasses. ‘Just as well I’m not going to need them in this weather,’ he murmured.

  At that moment, another boy appeared in the doorway, almost filling the space.

  ‘See the gang’s all here at last,’ he said, strolling into the room. ‘Name’s Tom.’

  ‘Where’ve you been hidin’, man?’ Adam asked him.

  ‘Nowhere, man,’ Tom responded in kind. ‘Just having a bit of a snoop around. Then I met some bloke with white hair on the top floor, who told me it was private.’

  ‘Who was that?’ demanded Adam, suddenly serious.

  Tom shrugged. ‘No idea. He obviously wasn’t one of the coaches.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Too old and scruffy.’

  ‘Look who’s asking all the questions now,’ said Eddie, surprised that Adam seemed so interested. ‘He’s probably just the caretaker.’

  Tom grinned. ‘Ought to start taking more care of himself, then. He needed a shave and was wearing some tatty cardigan with holes in it.’

  ‘So what did you do?’ asked Gareth.

  ‘I cleared off before he could report me,’ Tom said, opening his case. ‘And when I glanced back, he’d gone.’

  Gareth laughed. ‘Sounds like he could be one of my grandad’s ghosts.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Long story. I’ll explain later.’

  Adam grabbed his sports bag off the bunk and made for the door. ‘C’mon, you guys, time to go. Last one out the changin’ room has to clean it up.’

  ‘First I’ve heard about that,’ Eddie complained, gathering up his own kit.

  ‘Tons of things they don’t tell yer here, Wonder Boy. You have to learn to look after number one at B.A.S.E. Camp.’

  Chapter Two

  Golden Goals

  ‘Right, you lot! Time for action, not words,’ boomed the voice of the head coach above the noise in the changing room. ‘You’re going out for a run.’

  A hush fell over the group of young athletes. Each had been given a baggy, white vest to wear, but Tom was finding it uncomfortably tight. He tried to conceal his bulges by not tucking it into his shorts.

  ‘But it’s still raining… Coach,’ he said, just remembering to add the expected title. ‘Can’t we train inside?’

  The man stroked his beard thoughtfully while he looked Tom up and down. He did not seem impressed by what he saw. ‘So, it’s wet. What’s wrong with that, laddie?’ he sneered.

  ‘Nothing, Coach, but why…’

  Tom’s protests were cut short.

  ‘No buts at B.A.S.E. Camp. You do what you’re told – and you do it quick.’

  The boys were in no
position to argue – and nor did they want to. They knew how privileged they were to have been chosen to attend the Academy. It meant they were seen as potential future stars of athletics.

  ‘Not a good start, man,’ said Adam, as they all jostled into position by the door. ‘It’s only Monday and Blackbeard’s already got you marked down as a troublemaker.’

  Tom gave a shrug. ‘I was just going to ask why we don’t wait till it stops raining.’

  ‘They don’t like questions here,’ Adam told him. ‘And you might not like the answers.’

  In preparation for the cross-country run, the boys were put through a series of warm-up exercises that soon had everyone breathing heavily.

  ‘Phew!’ gasped Tom during a brief lull in the activities. ‘I’m not really built for all this bending and stretching lark.’

  ‘I can see that,’ Adam grinned, poking Tom’s stomach. ‘Still, you might be gettin’ some practice at throwin’ soon.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘Throwin’ up!’

  Adam was right. Tom was sick behind a tree before he had covered the first mile of the course through the woods.

  ‘Must’ve had too much for lunch,’ he groaned, leaning against the trunk for support.

  Adam and Gareth were content to jog along in the main bunch of mud-spattered boys, but Eddie was setting a hot pace out in front by himself. He loved running and had two trophies at home from county and national cross-country championships as proof of his speed and stamina.

  After leaving the woods, Eddie stretched his lead along the driveway and checked over his shoulder to see the next runner just emerging from the trees.

  ‘Never mind him!’ came a shout from one of the coaches, who chugged across the grass towards him on a motorised buggy. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Eddie, Coach.’

  ‘Surname.’

  ‘Peters, Coach.’

  ‘Make for the lake, Peters, and turn left at the statue.’

  The buggy veered off so that the coach could yell some advice at the others now pounding along the road.

  Eddie saw that the path forked by the statue and he slowed to make sure he went in the right direction – in this case, to his left. He often got his left and right mixed up.

  Once on the well-beaten track around the lake, Eddie relaxed a little and noticed there was a small island with a number of white crosses beneath a clump of trees.

  ‘Strange place for a cemetery,’ he murmured.

  Eddie had no more time to take in the scenery. Another backward glance showed him that his nearest rival was making something of a charge and had managed to close the gap between them. He smiled grimly to himself, confident that he had enough energy to hold off any challenge.

  ‘He’ll have nothing left for the finish, the rate he’s going.’

  Eddie passed a ramshackle boathouse and he could now see a small chapel almost hidden by a screen of oak trees. From there, they had been told to head back up the drive, cross the courtyard and wait by the outdoor swimming pool near the house.

  As the two runners left the lake area, Eddie was about to go round the back of the chapel when he heard a cry from behind.

  ‘Hey! Wrong way. We turn right here.’

  Eddie faltered, allowing a hint of doubt to enter his mind, but he carried on.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ came the cackle. ‘See ya!’

  ‘Sure this was the way they said,’ Eddie muttered, coming to a halt.

  Reluctantly, he doubled back and went round the other side of the chapel instead. He found himself on a narrow path through the oaks, but when he emerged onto the winding driveway, the new leader was out of sight.

  Eddie cursed. ‘I’ll never catch him now.’

  By the time he reached the swimming pool, however, the only person there was Blackbeard. The head coach did not look best pleased.

  ‘Reckoned you could cheat, did you, Peters?’ he growled.

  ‘Cheat?’ Eddie gasped, trying to swallow his disappointment at being beaten.

  ‘Aye, cheat! Taking that short cut past the chapel.’

  ‘B… but I was just following that other kid, Coach,’ he protested.

  ‘What other kid?’ thundered Blackbeard, grabbing Eddie by the arm. ‘You know what we do with cheats here, laddie?’

  ‘I’m not a…’

  ‘We give them a bath!’

  Almost before Eddie realised what was meant by the threat, he found himself lifted off the ground, carried several metres to the pool and then dumped into the water.

  It was shockingly cold. As his head broke the surface, he choked out some water and saw Blackbeard looming over him.

  ‘And you’ll stay in there, Peters, till everybody gets back. I want them to see how we deal with cheats at B.A.S.E. Camp.’

  ‘Just as well you can swim,’ said Tom, making the bed creak as he sat next to Eddie, who was huddled inside a blanket and sipping at a mug of tea.

  Adam leant over the edge of the bunk above. ‘Everybody can swim, man.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Tom confessed.

  ‘Well, you don’t need to worry,’ Adam chuckled. ‘Bet Blackbeard couldn’t even pick you up!’

  ‘Ha ha! Very funny!’Tom scowled. ‘You ought to be on TV.’

  ‘Will be when I’m rich and famous.’

  Adam dropped down onto the floor and looked out of the window to see Blackbeard talking with another coach in the courtyard. He recognised the bald head from the Easter course, and gave a groan.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Gareth.

  ‘Just spotted someone I’d hoped wouldn’t still be here. A little French coach we nicknamed Petit Pierre. He’s a right sadist in the gym.’

  ‘Don’t let your tea get cold, Eddie,’ said Tom, changing the subject. He didn’t much like the sound of Petit Pierre.

  Eddie screwed up his face. ‘It tastes worse than the water in the pool.’

  ‘Can’t be as bad as the fruit juice we get given,’ Adam told them. ‘Pity old Tom-Tom took two hours to finish the course – you wouldn’t have had to stay in there so long.’

  ‘I wasn’t that slow!’ complained Tom.

  ‘Why did you just call him Tom-Tom?’ asked Gareth.

  ‘’Cos he’s shaped like a drum,’ Adam grinned. ‘And because of the name on that huge case of his – Thomas Tomlinson.’

  ‘That’s my dad’s case,’ Tom explained. ‘It’s a family tradition, like. The first-born in every generation gets called Thomas.’

  ‘Feel sorry for any girl, then,’ laughed Gareth.

  ‘Bit of advice, man,’ said Adam. ‘Don’t go crackin’ any stupid jokes with these coaches. They ain’t got no sense of humour.’

  ‘Are they blind, too?’ cut in Eddie. ‘Blackbeard said he never saw that kid who got me into trouble.’

  ‘Nor did anybody else, Wonder Boy.’

  ‘Don’t you believe me, either?’

  Adam gave a shrug.

  ‘What I’m wondering,’ Eddie said sourly, ‘is why you came back here for more, when you knew what things were like?’

  It was Gareth who answered. ‘Look, we all know why we’re here. We want to improve our techniques and get good enough to win medals when we’re older.’

  ‘Gold medals,’ Adam corrected him.

  ‘Well, that’s what I meant. Just didn’t want to sound big-headed.’

  ‘Goals win Golds,’ Adam said, repeating the coaching mantra they’d taught him at Easter. ‘They drone on about goals all the time.’

  ‘So what’s your main goal?’ asked Gareth.

  ‘The 2020 Olympics,’ Adam said above the noise of the dinner gong. ‘That’s when I’m gonna grab gold in the long jump and 100 metres!’

  Fifty boys sat in the library after the evening meal, listening to a lecture from Blackbeard on the importance of setting short and long-term goals. To Eddie’s disappointment, but not to his surprise, there was no sign of the mystery runner.

  No questions were a
llowed and it was only afterwards – when glasses of green juice were served – that the athletes were able to speak to one another.

  ‘Yeuch!’ said Gareth as he took a sip. ‘This is really foul. It’s even worse than the yellow stuff we had with dinner.’

  ‘Did warn you, GG,’ Adam chuckled.

  ‘GG?’ repeated Gareth. ‘You make me sound like a horse.’

  ‘A giraffe,’ Adam explained. ‘Gareth the giraffe, with them long, thin legs of yours.’

  Gareth smiled. ‘So what are we going to call Adam, guys?’

  ‘Don’t know yet,’ said Tom, ‘but I’m sure we’ll come up with something soon…’

  The French coach interrupted the conversation. ‘Drink up, mes garçons,’ he said, seeing their glasses were still almost full. ‘Show them, Fox, ’ow much you enjoy it.’

  Adam downed his drink in one gulp, trying not to taste it or choke.

  ‘Bon !’ exclaimed Petit Pierre, moving away with a thin smile on his face.

  ‘Good boy, Foxy!’ Eddie chuckled, taking care that nobody was looking as he poured the contents of his own glass into a nearby potted plant.

  Chapter Three

  Is Anybody There?

  The French coach pushed the boys to their limits, and even beyond, during the Tuesday-morning fitness session in the gym. Tom was sick again, losing his breakfast this time.

  ‘Too much toast and jam, I theenk,’ said Petit Pierre, prodding Tom’s bulging waistline. ‘We must make all this fat into muscle, oui?’

  ‘Oui – I mean, yes, Coach.’

  The coach showed no mercy. Every time he blew the whistle, the boys had to do another set of exercises, including press-ups, sit-ups and step-ups.

  ‘Count to ten, en français – un, deux, trois…’

  The afternoon session was spent outdoors under grey clouds, with the athletes split into small groups to be coached in their own events. The training camp had wonderful facilities, including a six-lane, 400-metre running track with an all-weather surface.

  ‘Wicked!’ exclaimed Gareth at the sight of the high-jump area with its large, blue landing cushions.

  ‘Only the best here, man,’ said Adam, who was on his way towards the long-jump pit. ‘This is what makes it worth all the torture.’