Scott Andrews - Operation Motherland

The general nodded to someone behind me and my chair was uprighted. The general stepped back and sat on the edge of his desk, puffing on his cigar.

"Did you really think our security was that bad?" he asked.

"We hoped," groaned Tariq.

"I'm curious to know how you got into the tunnels. You didn't blow your way in like we did, so you must have had the code. Hook up with some soldiers who escaped?"

"Nah," I said. "Didn't you know? We're spooks! We know everything, don't we Tariq?"

"That's right, 007," said Tariq, following my lead.

"Yeah, top special agents, that's us. I heard you met our shadowy boss, The Matron. Let her slip through your fingers though, didn't you. Loser!"

The general smiled. God, I hated it when he did that.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "I'll have complete control of this whole country within the year."

"Right," I laughed. "Wherever will she hide in this huge and almost entirely empty country, which you intend to rule with a few hundred soldiers? You're right, she hasn't got a chance."

"Yeah," added Tariq. "It's not like me and a bunch of friends managed to evade capture in a city for over a year is it?"

Blythe stood up and walked over to Tariq, leaning forward so that he almost touched noses. "And look at what happened to all of you," whispered the soldier.

"Do you really, seriously, think we're spies?" I said. "I mean, come on. You must have worked it out by now, clever bloke like you."

Blythe turned to me, his face full of barely controlled fury. "I know that you managed to turn my son against me. That's all I need to know."

And there it was, the chink in his armour. In spite of all the coldness and detachment he'd displayed at the time, the murder of David was preying on his conscience.

Tariq noticed it too, and this time he took the lead. "We didn't turn your son, General," he said quietly. "He came to us of his own free will."

"Never," spat Blythe. "My son was a good soldier."

"Your son was a traitor," I said. "And he hated you."

"He approached us," said Tariq. "Said he wanted our help to bring you down."

"Couldn't wait to lock you up and throw away the key."

"Said you were a madman."

"Sadist."

"Psychopath."

"A traitor to everything you'd ever believed in."

"He hated you, General."

"Hated you."

The general roared as he grabbed a pistol from the desk and shot Tariq in the gut and me in the leg.

My vision blurred but I was actually glad. Bleeding out like this would be a hell of a lot easier than being staked or electrocuted. Maybe if I taunted him some more he'd even put a bullet in my head.

I hyperventilated, trying to make the pain subside. I'd been shot in the other leg the year before; I remembered this pain and knew I could master it.

"Don't talk about my boy like that," said the general, his voice full of calm menace.

I looked around and saw that Tariq was fading away. The blood from his gut wound was dripping down his naked torso and soaking into his trousers. His eyes were rolling back in his head.

My leg wound wasn't that bad. It hadn't hit the artery so it wasn't life threatening. I needed Blythe to shoot me again.

"Who, David?" I shouted. "The baby you nursed, the boy you played football with, the man you trained? The man you murdered? The son who loathed and detested everything you stand for? Him?"

The general roared in fury and came at me, pistol whipping me over and over until I blacked out. As the world slipped away, I felt only relief. It was all over. I didn't need to fight any more. My battles were done, my sacrifice made, all my sins paid for. I let the comforting darkness embrace me and I fell into deep, soft, warm oblivion. My last thoughts were of Jane and Dad. I saw them in my mind's eye, standing on the grass outside the original St Mark's. They were holding hands and smiling at me, their faces full of love.

"I'm proud of you, son," said Dad.

"I love, you, Lee," said Jane.

I felt myself floating free of my body.

"Sod this," said the voice in my head, pulling me back to reality. "I'm not having this at all. Pull yourself together, Nine Lives. Don't be such a loser. Wake the fuck up, find a way out of this, and castrate this motherfucker, or I'll come back from the dead and do it my bloody self."

I could hear a voice. I listened carefully, assuring myself that it was external. The accent was American but the voice was unfamiliar.

I was still tied up, my leg was wet with blood and I hurt all over. My head felt like it was going to burst. I tried to open my eyes but found only one of them would respond; the other was swollen shut.

"… spied her rounding up the children," the voice was saying.

Squinting, one-eyed, through the blood, I saw the general standing by his desk talking to someone I couldn't make out.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I don't understand," he said. "What exactly am I supposed to do with the children we capture?"

"Put 'em on a plane to New York, General. We have need of them here."

I couldn't be sure, but it sounded like the voice was coming from a speaker. Of course – he was on the video link, talking to his bosses in America. But it wasn't the president this time, merely one of his subordinates.

"Let me be clear," said the general. "We're in a position to impose rule of law on this whole island, but the primary objective of our occupation of Britain is to capture all the children and ship them to America?"

"Yes, General."

"May I ask why, Sir?"

"You may not," said the man, smugly. "Those are your orders and you will carry them out. Am I to understand that you have an issue with this directive?"

"I just don't understand, Sir. We've spilt a lot of blood getting to this point. I've done some things… some things I'm not entirely comfortable with. A new beginning, he said. A new American empire, won through force of arms but proceeding in justice. Those were the president's exact words to me, Sir."

"Don't quote the president to me, General."

"But how is that to be achieved by rounding up children?"

"That's not your concern, soldier," barked the man. "I possess information that you do not. There is a bigger picture here and you will play your part. That is your job, General, lest you forget. I am your commander-in-chief and I have given you a direct order that you will obey. Is that clear?"

There was a long silence.

"I said is that clear?" shouted the man.

"Yes, Sir," replied the general quietly.

"Then snap to it, soldier."

I tried to turn my head to see how Tariq was doing, but I got shooting pains in my neck every time I tried, so I gave up. Eventually I managed to open my good eye fully and I saw the general turning off the video conference.

"Trouble with management?" I asked, my voice sounding weak even to myself.

The general turned to face me, his face troubled and uneasy. "You still alive?"

"My granddad…" I broke off in a fit of coughing that brought blood up into my mouth. I spat it out, took a ragged breath, and went on. "My granddad was a soldier. Major General. He told me an army is only as good as the orders it receives. Who's giving your orders, General? 'Cause from where I'm sitting, it sounds like your boss is a crazy old fucker who might just be the world's biggest paedophile. And if you're taking orders from him, that makes you the world's biggest kiddie pimp. Ask yourself, General, is that what you signed up for?"

Blythe walked over to me and stared into my face, studying me. He was calmer now, his fury spent. "Who the hell are you, boy? The things you do, the way you talk. I can't decide whether you're the bravest soldier I ever met, or some kind of lunatic."

I laughed, but it sounded more like a dying gasp. "I told you, General. I'm just a boy trying to protect my family."