from a Meg Ryan movie.
'You don't need to make an effort, Jane.' Now he was at it.
I moved fractionally closer, so our thighs brushed together as we walked.
'Look, I can't keep calling you Sanders. What's your proper name?'
'Neil.'
'Neil, I want to make an effort for you. Last night was… special.'
'That's a relief. It's been a while. I was, um, married. Y'know, before. My Chrissie.'
No, this is supposed to be a seduction, you twit. Don't get drunk and maudlin.
'Kiss me,' I whispered urgently as we walked around a corner into the road that led to the medical centre. He kept walking. He hadn't heard me. Oh fuck this. I never was much of a femme fatale. I dug my fingernail into his palm, hard, and he stopped, baffled.
'Kiss me,' I whispered again. Finally the great lunk wrapped me in his arms and stuck his tongue down my throat. We were lucky – the men following us must have thought he'd done it on the spur of the moment. They held their fire. Sanders tasted of Grolsch and Marlboro, which brought back hazy memories of another life.
As soon as I was able, I broke the liplock and hugged him hard. Then I whispered in his ear: 'Two men. Silencers. Bushes. Main gate.' He stiffened and then relaxed, on duty again. He disengaged, wrapped his arm around my waist, and we continued walking. He didn't seem to be looking around, but I was sure he was trying to get a bead on our stalkers.
'Y'know, Jane, you're a piece of work,' he said, slightly too loud. His acting was pitiful, I only hoped the darkness would compensate.
'Really?'
'Yeah, Once you turned the corner, after you left the school, I really thought you'd fall in with a bad lot.'
Ah-ha, I thought, so that's why he was never recruited by MI5. I rolled my eyes.
'Yes, but I had you to keep me on the straight and narrow, didn't I?' I improvised. Then, as we turned the corner on to the road that led to the main gate, I fell to my left, rolling off the pavement and on to the grass verge. Sanders turned and ran to his right. I heard the soft phutt phutt of a silenced automatic, and saw a tiny muzzle flare from the spot Sanders was running towards ('rush a gun, flee a knife' said Cooper, in my head). He held out his hand as he ran, smashing his lager bottle on a lamppost and then bringing it up to use as a weapon. The gun fired once more, then Sanders vanished into the undergrowth, which rustled and shook.
I heard a cry of 'stitch this!' and a grunt.
I leapt to my feet and ran for the main gate, forgetting that I was wearing heels. My right ankle went from under me and I sprawled on to the concrete, scraping my knees and hands. I reached down to undo the straps and as I did so the other Yank was on me, straddling me, rolling me over on to my back and bringing his knife down to my chest. I grabbed his descending arm with my right hand as my left continued to fumble with the strap on my shoe and pulled, releasing the catch. Then I grabbed the sole, brought my arm up and plunged the heel of my shoe into my attacker's ear as hard as I could.
He toppled slowly to his right, falling into the road. I got up, reached down, and pulled the shoe. It came out with a wet sucking sound. Waste of a perfectly good pair of shoes.
The camp was quiet, no-one aware of the struggle that had taken place. I needed to raise the alarm. I looked over my shoulder, and saw that the bushes Sanders had run into were still and silent. I got my bearings – I was right outside the medical centre. There were bound to be people in there, I was about to run and start banging on the door when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I yelped and spun around, swinging my shoe as a weapon. Sanders caught it in his great paw and I sighed.
'Sorry,' I gasped.
He shook his head as if to say 'it's nothing'. His other hand was holding his side, and I could see a red stain spreading through his fingers.
'You've been shot,' I exclaimed. 'Let's get you inside.' I wrapped my arm around his waist and tried to drag him towards the medical centre, but he resisted.
'No,' he said firmly. 'It's just a flesh wound. First we search the body and find out who these guys are and how they got in here.'
He shrugged my arm away and knelt down beside the body, grunting as he did so from the pain of his wound. I knelt down beside him.
'They're both Americans and they parachuted in,' I said.
He looked up at me sharply. 'You sure?' I nodded.
He reached down and pulled open the dead man's jacket, searching his pockets. His hand was on the man's chest when he mumbled 'oh fuck' and ripped open his undershirt. Strapped to the man's bare flesh was a little metallic gizmo.
'What's that?' I asked, but Sanders was already up and running for the main gate. I pelted after him.
'Life sensor,' he yelled back to me as he ran. 'It means whoever sent them knows they're…' His final word was lost in the scream of an approaching missile. We were caught in the shockwave of an enormous explosion, which picked us both up and flung us backwards on to the hard tarmac, knocking the air out of us and singing our eyebrows. The main gate and the guard post beside it vanished in a huge fireball and I felt the scorching air blast across me and cook my lungs as I gasped for air.
The perimeter was breached. Operation Motherland was under attack.
My senses were scrambled. I didn't know which way was up, my eyes couldn't focus, my ears were ringing and I felt like I was going to be sick. As I tried to clear my head I felt the world lurch and start bouncing. It took me a moment to realize that Sanders had actually picked me up, slung me under his arm, and was running away with me. I heard sharp cracks all round us, which must have been gunshots, but they sounded distant and dull. Then I landed on soft grass with a thud and felt large hands running themselves up and down my body. Odd time to cop a feel, I thought, feeling disconnected and out of body. Then he slapped my face and the world got sharp, hot and focused.
'Oi!' I shouted, and slapped him back.
'You're not hit.' He was leaning over me, black smears on his face, his carefully combed hair wild and frizzy. 'Can you run?'
I nodded. 'Come on then.' And he was off. I shook my head, rose to my feet with a groan of protest, and staggered after him. Even after being shot and blown up he was making good speed. But he was running away from the sounds of gunfire and explosions. Shouldn't he be in the thick of the fighting? We ran through the base, which was suddenly full of shouted orders and running men, all heading in the opposite direction. Sanders grabbed one man as he ran past and relieved him of his weapons, sending him back to get re-equipped. I caught up with him and he handed me a sidearm.
'What the hell are we doing?' I asked, shouting to be heard over the sirens that were now ringing out. 'What's going on?'
'In situations like this, I've got standing orders. Now come on.' And he was off again, his wound not even meriting a wince. He wasn't even breathing hard as he ran past the mustering troops. I was gasping for air and trying to ignore the stitch in my side.
'But don't you want to know what's happening?' I bellowed as I chased after him.
'I'm a soldier, Kate… sorry, Jane. I never know what's bloody going on. I just do what I'm told.'
It seemed pointless to argue, but I couldn't really wrap my head around it. I never followed orders, never did what anyone told me without being given an explanation first, always made sure I knew the big picture before making a decision. But I was a free agent, always had been. Sanders was a soldier, conditioned and trained to be a cog in a machine. He didn't need to know the whys and wherefores, he just did as he was told, immediately, without question, confident that by following orders he was doing the right thing. I couldn't imagine allowing anyone to have that control over me, or allowing myself to trust someone so much that I'd take their word for anything without being given proofs and reasons.
That said, I was running after him, so I suppose I trusted him that much. I really wanted to be running back to the medical centre. Rowles and Caroline were there, and they were my responsibility. But I knew the fight would already be at their front door, and it would be suicide to head back there now. I just had to hope they'd be safe. After all, no-one would attack a hospital. Would they? I told myself not to worry about it. Rowles could look after himself and Caroline, and as soon as I was able I'd be back for them. For now, I kept following Sanders, hoping he
