Scott Andrews - Operation Motherland

I couldn't worry about that now, though. I began issuing instructions for the creation of an operating theatre.

Lee

I rubbed the sticking plaster that covered the cotton wool patch on the crux of my arm and wondered whether my light-headedness was a result of my ear injury, blood loss following the transfusion, or stress.

The sun was just rising above the horizon as I sat on the grass in the Fairlawne gardens, trying to calm myself and reflect on the events of the last twenty-four hours. So much to take in. Matron had been working on my dad for over half of it, all through the night without a break.

I heard the soft crunch of wheels on gravel approaching from behind. The sound changed as the wheelchair was pushed on to the grass. It came to a halt beside me and I heard someone walking away. I didn't look up, just sat there staring at my feet.

"If you're talking, I can't hear you," I said. "You'll have to speak up, I'm basically deaf."

"I've done all I can," said Jane eventually. "Your blood made all the difference. If he lives through the day, I think he'll be fine. But he's in bad shape."

"I know. And thanks." I looked up at her and smiled.

Her eyes were deep sunken with big brown rings around them and bags beneath. Her hair was all gone, shaved clean, and the left side of her scalp was covered by a large white dressing, which marked the site of her surgery. She was pale and emaciated, gaunt and wrecked, huddled in a wheelchair without even the strength to push herself from place to place.

"Jesus, Matron, you look like shit."

She laughed at me and said: "Look who's talking!"

"I didn't recognise you at first."

"And I thought that your dad was you. He sounds like you. Or you sound like him, whatever. Through the glass, in silhouette, I was sure it was you. When I thought you'd been shot…" She left the sentence hanging.

We sat there in silence for a while, watching the sun rise behind the trees. Then I told her my story, everything that had happened from the moment I'd walked away, all those months ago. She listened patiently and never asked any questions, letting me tell it straight.

When I'd finished she reached down and ran her fingers across my scalp.

"I'm glad you're back, Lee. I missed you."

I didn't meet her eyes, nervous of what I'd see there. I wouldn't admit it to myself, but if I looked up and all I saw was maternal affection, I think that would have been the straw that broke the camel's back. So I kept staring at my shoes, not wanting to know yet what it was she might feel for me. Better to leave it undefined for now. There was still so much to do.

"So where is everyone? What happened here?" I asked. And it was her turn to fill me in. As I listened to her tale I grew more and more angry at myself. Angry and ashamed.

"I should never have left," I said when she finished. "If I'd been here…"

"The same things would have happened, but there'd have been more shooting, probably," she said. "As it is, everyone's safe."

"Not Rowles and Caroline."

"No, not them. We have to decide what we're going to do about that."

"I have a few ideas," I said.

"But look at us, Lee. What chance do we have against Blythe and his army? A crippled matron, a deaf schoolboy and an Iraqi – did he say he was a blogger?"

"Yeah."

"An Iraqi blogger, some guy we hardly know and a man with three bullet holes in him. It's not exactly a task force."

"We have to do something," I insisted.

"Yes, we do. We have to hide. Get ourselves well, build up our strength. Bide our time. Come up with a plan."

"And while we're doing that, they secure their position, terrorise the populace, establish martial law across the south of England. No," I said forcefully. "They have to be stopped now. Because once they start setting up bases across the country they'll be too widely dispersed to fight. Our only chance is to take them all out in one fell swoop, while they're still all collected in the one place."

"Oh well, if that's all it takes," she mocked, "I'll call the mothership and get them to nuke Salisbury Plain from orbit, shall I? I want Rowles and Caroline back as much as you do, more so, probably. But there comes a point where you have to cut your losses. We can't win this one, Lee. We just can't."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing, and I felt the anger rising inside me as she spoke. I stood up and leaned over her.

"What happened to the Matron I knew, huh?" I spat furiously. "The woman who'd do anything to protect the kids in her care; the woman who'd stop at nothing to ensure the safety of others; the woman who stood up to Mac when no-one else would; the woman who showed me what true courage is? What happened to her? You don't even look like her."

I walked away in disgust, knowing even as I did so that I was out of order, being cruel and callous when I should have been kind and caring. But I couldn't help it. I was brim full of fury that had nowhere to go, so I took it out on her.

If she shouted after me, I didn't hear.

Jane

"Here, take this."

The voice made me jump. I hadn't heard anyone approaching. I wiped my eyes and looked up to see Tariq offering me a handkerchief. I smiled gratefully and took it, blowing my runny nose and wiping my eyes as the young Iraqi sat in the spot Lee had vacated a few minutes earlier.

"I saw him walking away," he said gently. "He looked angry."

I nodded.

"He is a very angry boy, I think," he continued. "You should not take whatever he said personally. He is young."

I snorted. "And how old are you, exactly?" I asked, not unkindly.

"Not so much older, it's true. But I grew up in a very different world to Lee. I did not expect freedom, I knew it would be something I had to fight for, and I knew the risks. I saw every day what a world run by bullies looked like. It seems to me to be almost the natural way of things. For Lee, freedom is all he has ever known and now to have it taken away from him, it seems unfair. He is a teenager, too. I know he seems older, and he tries to pretend that he is a man. But he is a boy, still, with a boy's anger and a boy's loneliness. He is trying to be his father, you know? I have fought beside his father for a long time and he is strong, resolute, cunning. But he is not an easy man. He never rests, he is always moving. I do not think he really understands happiness. And Lee is more like his father than he knows."

I was taken aback. Here was this person I didn't know, talking to me like we were old friends. I almost got defensive, said "what do you know?" But I stopped myself. He meant well, I could see that. And what he said was true.

"I thought you were a blogger, not a psychoanalyst," I said with a wry smile.

He nodded sadly. "I think I am now a soldier, Miss Crowther. I think these days we all are, no matter what we may have been before."

"I don't want to be a soldier. Neither does Lee."

"I know. But the truth is, from what I hear of you, that you are both very good at it."

"Ha! Have you looked at the pair of us? We're in bloody pieces."

"But you are still standing." He looked up at the wheelchair, realised his mistake, and actually blushed. "I mean, you know what I mean. Sorry."

I laughed out loud. "Don't worry about it. Look, you may be right but I won't accept it. I'm not a soldier, neither is Lee. We're just normal people trying to get a little peace. That's all. I have to believe that one day we'll be left alone."

He shook his head sadly and said: "Not while General Blythe is in command, you won't. He'll be more convinced than ever that you're a threat now. He doesn't like loose ends. We have two choices: we destroy him or we run."

I was too tired to respond to that stark assessment. He rose and pushed me back towards the main house.