equipment taken and two more were in an accident with a quad bike, so this time there should be fewer guns pointing at us.’
‘What about Lauren?’ James asked. ‘Any sign of her?’
‘Not that I’ve heard,’ Dana said, as she looked at her watch. ‘It’s slow going through those ditches though. I expect she’s only just reached open ground.’
‘There’s no point trying to run out in the open with no equipment,’ James said, frustrated. ‘Ambushing and nabbing equipment is the only way for us to go.’
Dana nodded. ‘Lure in one of the quad bikes and knock the rider off, but it won’t be easy. So many of us black shirts got caught so quickly that we’re all gonna be trying the same kind of tactics.’
‘We might as well be moving as standing here,’ James said, and Dana nodded.
They headed towards a white shirt called Jennie Ross. She stood at the edge of the clearing with a clipboard and a pen behind her ear.
‘Ready for another shot?’ she asked cheerfully. ‘Agents were made of tougher stuff in my day.’
‘Seems the birds were a lot uglier though,’ James grinned.
The white shirt took a whistle out of her jacket. ‘You’ve got forty seconds’ immunity from when I blow the whistle.’ Then she turned and shouted into the trees. ‘Two more suckers heading out on my mark.’
14. SPEED
A shot cracked the air and hit the ground a metre past Lauren. She dived behind a line of shrubs as a second shot whacked the heel of her boot, then looked up and peeked between the branches. Night vision showed her a single red-shirt sniper lying on the flat roof of the vehicle workshop.
Lauren thought about starting a shoot-out, but the red shirt had the dual advantages of body armour and a radio to call for backup. So she shouted out, trying to sound younger than she was.
‘Don’t shoot,’ she squeaked. ‘I’m a friendly but my headset has broken.’
She watched the red shirt swing around suspiciously and raise his hand. ‘How many fingers am I holding up?’ he asked.
Lauren smiled; the youngster hadn’t considered that another red shirt might have had their night-vision goggles snatched.
‘Three fingers,’ Lauren shouted, as she stood up and gave a friendly wave. Although she was smaller than any of the other black shirts, she was still bigger than any red shirt and she hoped that the boy wouldn’t work this out until she got up close.
‘How’d you bust your radio?’ the red shirt asked.
‘I fell in a ditch and it got a soaking,’ Lauren explained as she jogged up to the side of the building. Even if the red shirt realised who she was now, he’d have to lean awkwardly over the guttering to get a shot in.
‘What’s happening on the radio?’ Lauren asked. ‘Have you had contact with any black shirts?’
‘It’s dead over here,’ the red shirt said dejectedly. ‘They sent me to check on anyone coming through the training compound, but all the action’s on the other side of campus.’
‘Same here,’ Lauren said. ‘I haven’t seen a sausage. I might head over there; do you want to come with?’
The red shirt swung his legs over the side of the roof and dropped down. Before he got his balance, Lauren launched a vicious Karate kick. Her boot thumped the little red shirt’s stomach and he doubled over.
‘By the way, I lied,’ Lauren smiled, as she swept the red shirt’s feet away and pinned him down in the gravel.
The red shirt cursed his luck: he’d fallen for Lauren’s ruse because her voice seemed familiar. But she wasn’t a fellow red shirt; she was the girl who helped the little kids in the junior block. He made a desperate grab for the transmit button on his microphone, but Lauren ripped the headset away from his mouth before digging the point of her elbow against the back of his neck. Shards of gravel dug into his face.
‘Glad you volunteered for this little game?’ Lauren snarled. ‘I want your jacket, your ammunition and everything else you’ve
‘What about Lauren?’ James asked. ‘Any sign of her?’
‘Not that I’ve heard,’ Dana said, as she looked at her watch. ‘It’s slow going through those ditches though. I expect she’s only just reached open ground.’
‘There’s no point trying to run out in the open with no equipment,’ James said, frustrated. ‘Ambushing and nabbing equipment is the only way for us to go.’
Dana nodded. ‘Lure in one of the quad bikes and knock the rider off, but it won’t be easy. So many of us black shirts got caught so quickly that we’re all gonna be trying the same kind of tactics.’
‘We might as well be moving as standing here,’ James said, and Dana nodded.
They headed towards a white shirt called Jennie Ross. She stood at the edge of the clearing with a clipboard and a pen behind her ear.
‘Ready for another shot?’ she asked cheerfully. ‘Agents were made of tougher stuff in my day.’
‘Seems the birds were a lot uglier though,’ James grinned.
The white shirt took a whistle out of her jacket. ‘You’ve got forty seconds’ immunity from when I blow the whistle.’ Then she turned and shouted into the trees. ‘Two more suckers heading out on my mark.’
14. SPEED
A shot cracked the air and hit the ground a metre past Lauren. She dived behind a line of shrubs as a second shot whacked the heel of her boot, then looked up and peeked between the branches. Night vision showed her a single red-shirt sniper lying on the flat roof of the vehicle workshop.
Lauren thought about starting a shoot-out, but the red shirt had the dual advantages of body armour and a radio to call for backup. So she shouted out, trying to sound younger than she was.
‘Don’t shoot,’ she squeaked. ‘I’m a friendly but my headset has broken.’
She watched the red shirt swing around suspiciously and raise his hand. ‘How many fingers am I holding up?’ he asked.
Lauren smiled; the youngster hadn’t considered that another red shirt might have had their night-vision goggles snatched.
‘Three fingers,’ Lauren shouted, as she stood up and gave a friendly wave. Although she was smaller than any of the other black shirts, she was still bigger than any red shirt and she hoped that the boy wouldn’t work this out until she got up close.
‘How’d you bust your radio?’ the red shirt asked.
‘I fell in a ditch and it got a soaking,’ Lauren explained as she jogged up to the side of the building. Even if the red shirt realised who she was now, he’d have to lean awkwardly over the guttering to get a shot in.
‘What’s happening on the radio?’ Lauren asked. ‘Have you had contact with any black shirts?’
‘It’s dead over here,’ the red shirt said dejectedly. ‘They sent me to check on anyone coming through the training compound, but all the action’s on the other side of campus.’
‘Same here,’ Lauren said. ‘I haven’t seen a sausage. I might head over there; do you want to come with?’
The red shirt swung his legs over the side of the roof and dropped down. Before he got his balance, Lauren launched a vicious Karate kick. Her boot thumped the little red shirt’s stomach and he doubled over.
‘By the way, I lied,’ Lauren smiled, as she swept the red shirt’s feet away and pinned him down in the gravel.
The red shirt cursed his luck: he’d fallen for Lauren’s ruse because her voice seemed familiar. But she wasn’t a fellow red shirt; she was the girl who helped the little kids in the junior block. He made a desperate grab for the transmit button on his microphone, but Lauren ripped the headset away from his mouth before digging the point of her elbow against the back of his neck. Shards of gravel dug into his face.
‘Glad you volunteered for this little game?’ Lauren snarled. ‘I want your jacket, your ammunition and everything else you’ve
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