Scott Andrews - Operation Motherland

"I think I'm starting to believe you."

"What are you trying to protect, General? What's your endgame?"

"Same as it ever was, son," he said firmly. "Freedom."

"And this is freedom, to you? Torture, massacre, impaling civilians on stakes, burning them alive in football stadiums, killing your own son when he questions your motives. This is your freedom?"

He shook his head, momentarily allowing the doubt and weariness to show on his granite face. "No, son, it isn't."

"So what's this all for?" I yelled. "Why are you following these orders?"

"Because I'm a soldier, it's all I know how to do. It's what I am, a thing that follows orders, no matter what the cost. I don't know how to stop." He paused and then said softly "'I am in blood stepped so far that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o'er.'"

He stepped back then, shook his head, took his handgun from his desk and raised it so it was pointing right between my eyes.

"I'm sorry, son. Close your eyes."

I shook my head as much as I was able. "No, General. Eyes open."

"So be it."

He squeezed the trigger, the hammer retracted, and I waited for the impact that would end me.

"Hello? Anybody there?"

The voice crackled out of my left trouser pocket.

The general narrowed his eyes. "Thought you'd come alone." He put the gun down and fished the radio out of my trouser pocket. It was slick with blood, and he wiped it clean on my other trouser leg.

"Lee, Tariq, you there?" It was Jack. I cursed inwardly. So they'd ignored my instructions and waited for us, which meant that now they'd be captured and all of this would have been for nothing.

The general held the radio up to his mouth and pressed the transmit button. "I'm afraid the boys can't come to the phone right now. Can I take a message?"

For a few seconds all we heard was the crackle of static and then Jack said "Good morning, General." He was keeping a cool head. Good. "Are they still alive?"

"The boy is. The Iraqi," he glanced at Tariq, "is still breathing. Don't know if he'll be doing that for much longer. To whom am I speaking?"

"You're addressing the rightful King of England, General. I rule this country, and you are not welcome here."

What the hell was his game? He should know by now that this was not a man you bluffed. I sat there, powerless to intervene, terrified for my friends. I hoped Jack knew what he was doing.

The general laughed. "Son, you sound about fifteen."

"I'm not the first fifteen-year-old king of England, General. And I won't be the last. I'm calling to give you a simple choice."

Blythe rolled his eyes for me, a moment of theatre. Then, grinning, he said "Your Majesty?"

"Leave now. Get in your planes and go back to America. Or I will destroy you and your army utterly." His voice wavered, betraying his nervousness. He didn't quite pull it off, and the effect was awkward rather than threatening.

For a moment the general was too stunned to respond. Then he began to laugh, a deep, rich, booming laugh. "My God, you Brits really know how to raise your kids!"

"Unlike you, General," I said pointedly. That stopped his laugher abruptly.

He flashed me a look of pure hatred and spoke into the radio again. "How exactly do you propose to destroy me, young Majesty? You've got no army left. I've seen to that."

"He's got me, you bastard." That was Rowles, and he sounded anything but nervous. "And that's all he needs."

Blythe shook his head in wonder. "Son, you may have killed some of my men, but… oh, this whole conversation is ridiculous. Where are you, anyway? I presume Keegan let you out of your cell."

"I'm still in the tunnels, General," said Rowles. "In a big underground warehouse with a large nuclear symbol on the door."

Oh.

Oh fuck.

The general saw my eyes widen in shock. He became cautious, my reaction leading him to believe that maybe this wasn't a bluff. He waved at the soldier standing behind me. "Go," he said curtly, and I heard the man open the door and run down the corridor.

"What do you know about this?" Blythe asked me.

I had to think very carefully about what I said next.

"I know that Rowles is a psychopath who doesn't seem to value his own life at all," I said slowly. "I know that he really, really doesn't like people in uniforms telling him what to do. I know that he's been tortured horribly and that probably hasn't left him in the best frame of mind. Oh, and I know that Jack – that's Your Majesty to you – knows the detonation codes for the nuclear warheads collected by Operation Motherland. The ones in the big underground warehouse with the nuclear symbol on the door."

The radio crackled again. "I can hear your soldiers coming down the tunnel, General," said Rowles. "If anybody tries to enter this warehouse, I'll detonate."

"He will, too," I said. "He has… issues."

Blythe narrowed his eyes, thinking hard. He hit the transmit button. "What do you want, son?"

"I want to kill you," spat Rowles, full of hatred. "With a knife, not a gun. Slowly. I want to cut you up, piece by piece. I want to gouge out your eyes, puncture your eardrums, rip out your tongue, slice off your nose, pull out your nails and teeth and hair, cut off your cock and make you eat it, then very, very slowly push my knife into your brain through your eye socket and stir."

Christ.

"I told you," I said. "Issues."

"I'll settle for blowing you up, though. And your army."

"And your friends, and yourself," said the general.

"If I have to."

"Here's what we want, General." It was Jack again. "We are going to drive to the main gate. You are going to bring Lee and Tariq to us and let us drive away."

"What's to stop the boy blowing us up once you've gone?" asked Blythe. "If he is as suicidal as Keegan says he is."

"Nothing except my word," said Rowles. "All you need to know for certain is that if you don't do as I ask, I'll definitely blow us all to hell."

"It's a good offer, General," I said. "I'm done with fighting. Once I leave here, you'll never see me or any of my friends again. We'll just vanish, and you can get on with doing whatever it is your boss wants done. We won't oppose you, we just want to leave. Probably France, maybe Spain, I dunno. But away. Let us go, you live, everyone's happy."

Through the window behind Blythe I could see a thin line of light appear on the horizon. Dawn was coming.

The door behind me opened and someone began giving a report.

"There is someone in the nuclear warehouse, General," said the soldier I couldn't see. "We've drilled through from the corridor and inserted a mini-cam. The boy is sitting next to one of the warheads, and the cover is off."

"So he could be telling the truth?" asked Blythe.

"Yes, Sir."

"Could a sniper take him out?"

"If we can get someone into the ventilation system we believe we could get sight on the target."

"Do it. I want to be informed the second the shooter's in position. Meanwhile, we play along. Get some men in here to clean these two up."

"Understood, Sir." The soldier stomped away.

The general leant down and picked up Tariq's black shirt, ripping it into strips and using it to gag me. Then he picked up the radio again.

"You don't leave me much choice," he said. "Bring your vehicle to the gates now, we'll have the prisoners."

"We'll be there in a moment," replied Jack, sounding surprised.

A stream of soldiers scurried into the room and I was untied and allowed to stand. I'd lost so much blood from my leg that I momentarily blacked out as I stood up. I was caught and sat back down. A doctor patched my leg up as best he could and helped me into a new pair of trousers. I could hear more frantic activity from where Tariq had been sitting. When I managed to look across all I could see was a wall of soldiers, some kneeling down.