Designated (Book 1): Designated Infected (37 page)

Baker snorted as he watched Davies' reaction, to
Colinson's miniature pep talk.

'You have a point; although, I don't think the lads will
like this very much, and before you say they don't need to know, they
fucking well do, I ain't being fucked over again, not by you and not
by some twat faced Colonel who got his panties in a twist.'

Colinson's face went white as he listened. 'Yeah the
boss told me about Ridgmont. Now, if you will excuse me I am going to
blast the shit out of some targets and then brief my team, catch you
two later, Anna lovely to see you as always.'

He winked at her as he walked away, a sly grin spreading
across his features as he did so. Colinson sat down on the edge on
Anastasia's desk as he turned the information over in his head. Still
on his feet Baker stretched, his spine popping slightly as he started
to speak.

'Well I have two teams to debrief and my section to
notify, Dave can I leave the R.R.T. to you?'

Colinson nodded as Baker walked away heading towards the
doors, leaving Anastasia and Colinson in a sullen silence.

'You opened that single malt yet?'

Anastasia shook her head as she reached for the draw.

****

Richard Sharp sat in the mess hall a pint of lager in
his hand, he sipped slowly at the ice cool liquid as he waited for
Baker to arrive.

'How's it going Splinter?'

Sharp snorted slightly as he took a long slow pull from
his pint and set the glass down on the table top, savouring the
smooth texture of the alcohol sliding down his throat.

'Better than it did over there.'

Baker sat down with a thump across from Sharp, a mug of
coffee in his hand, tapping the rim of his glass Sharp spoke.

'Not having one?'

Derek shook his head as he drank from the steaming mug
of tart black liquid.

'No mate, I'm still on the clock. So; tell me what
happened.'

'You read the reports.' Sharp replied, his flippant
answer a poorly veiled attempt at dodging the question. Ignoring the
attempted avoidance Baker nodded the affirmative, knowing full well,
that their contents was only half the story. The other half of which
he would drag out of Sharp no matter how long it took.

'Yeah, but, I know you, and I know that half of that is
sugar, another quarter is fiction, and the rest is a dressed down
version of real events, so I want you to level with me.'

Sharp leant back in his chair, his hand still clasped
around his pint glass, a drawn out sigh left him as dredged the
memories from the layered mass of swirling horror that clustered in
his head.

'It was a cluster fuck. Half the time we're slotting
Infected, some of the older kind, dumb as a bag of rocks and as a
slow as a one legged paraplegic. The others well, they were smart
bastards and quick as greased pig shit down a drain pipe.'

Baker stifled a laugh as Sharp spoke, his mind whirling
as he processed the information.

'We hit a large pocket in a small province just east of
the capital, heavy fighting and rocket fire was coming in from the
Libyan National Army, inaccurate as hell but it plastered the area
and levelled a lot of the sub-structures and homes.

Anyway; we were doing a small re-con of the place after
the LNA had moved on and the fighting had eased up. That's when we
first encountered the smart ones; they picked off a couple of the
lads at the fringes of the patrol line. We got scattered reports of
contacts all over the place, most of the patrol teams managed to drop
anything coming at them; but we still lost some men, Private Letras,
that young Spanish fellow, he was a good kid I liked him. Shame
really he would have made a good scout.

'Along with Letras went Jackman, his buddy, and Selous,
all three of them gone.'

He snapped his fingers as if the point needed any more
emphasis than it already had.

'From the short radio burst Selous managed to rattle off
they had gotten pinned down by some twat left behind by the LNA and
were swarmed by a group of Infected that got stirred up by the
gunfire. I'm just glad that the swarm got the shooter as well; silver
lining and all that shit.'

Sharp paused taking a rather large gulp from the glass
in his hand. Cuffing away the line of foam and beer left on his chin,
he continued, well, naturally we beat feet to get to them, but
needless to say we were to late.

'Bits of the lads were all over the place; we found
Selous' mangled head shoved onto the end of a bit of drain pipe, that
scared the shit out of some of the younger lads,' Sharp shrugged
slightly as he continued to speak, 'To me, well, it made no sense. It
all looked like a staged set from some shitty horror movie, only; we
all knew that it was no joke. The staging and how they left them just
didn't look real. His lips and nose had been chewed off, and one of
his ears was ripped in half. The poor bastard. We managed to gather
up as much as we could of the three kids, and send it back to the hub
with Hinkle, one of the snipers, good lad, and fucking crack shot.

'Wasn't a nice thing to see, then again, what we saw
further on was far, far, worse. I remember what you told me about
your old C.O. and how he bought the farm. Well; Benji didn't deserve
what they did to him, not by a long shot, and it makes your C.O's
death seem like planned euthanasia.'

Baker sat and listened as Sharp let the flood gates
open, every one of the command staff knew what it was like to lose
someone on your team, Baker more than most, but as he watched Sharp
relay all that had happened he could see just how much losing the men
under his command had affected him. The fight had been sucked out of
him, his shoulders slouched and turgid as if making any sort of quick
motion would simply shatter him. The bags hanging from his eyes aged
him far beyond his thirty-one years. All in all, it was beginning to
make Baker doubt the man's ability to bounce back and remain an
effective operative.

They sat talking for a further two hours, more and more
of the true circumstances came to light as Sharp recounted exactly
what happened in Libya. All the while, Baker did little more than sit
and listen as Sharp slowly began to let the baggage fall from his
shoulders.

41

North
East London

His boots thumped against the sprung tarmac as he ran
his body slick with a heavy film of sweat; the slight tingling burn
in the base of his lungs made him smile as he pushed on harder and
faster.

Dragging his sweat band covered wrist across his
forehead he spun and headed off the track, his legs pumping harder as
he powered forwards his feet slapping against the cold ridged
concrete steps as he headed up into spectator stands. His hand closed
around the cold ridged metal of the rear banister flipping upwards he
vaulted the metal stanchion and dropped, his hands flashing forwards
as he moved like a fish through water dropping down the lattice work
of cross members and beams.

Letting go, he fell the last nine feet and rolled as his
feet kissed the gravelled parking area outside the running track, as
he rose and pushed off he found himself running once more heading out
of the car park and moving off in the direction of his home. The door
thumped against the small rubber buffer as he shoved it open and
entered the hallway, sweat rolled down his lean and trim form like
droplets over a pane of glass. The hot saline rivulets running into
one another as they coalesced, splattering their ovoid forms against
the hardwood floors of his home.

Stepping away, he pushed the door closed with his foot
as he headed towards the kitchen. He lifted his arms, relishing the
feel of his tired muscles strain as he dragged the dust and grime
caked running vest from his shoulders and tossed it into the laundry
basket. The crumpled ball of cloth hit the lid with a dull crump as
it made the twelve foot passage across the room. Lifting a glass from
the drainer, he turned the tap and waited for the water to cool, he
smiled as he watched the water spin and twist into the glass, small
splattering droplets arcing over his hand and fore arm as the high
pressure torrent crashed against the sides of the glass.

A soft squeaking broke the otherwise dead silence of the
kitchen as he lifted the glass to his lips and drank, his hand
running blindly as he turned off the tap. The icy ball of liquid
rolled its way down his gullet and into his stomach; the cold
blooming within him shocked his core. Setting the glass down with a
thump he turned and left the room, his footsteps echoing in the
silence of the house as he made his way upstairs and into the welcome
embrace of a hot shower.

The soft towel brushed against his skin as he dried
himself, the plush plump fabric soaking up the excess moisture from
his taught form, he smiled slightly as he felt the plush fibres brush
over his bronzed skin. Dumping the now damp towel into the wicker
basket beside the door he walked across the room, his feet thumping
against the carpeted floor. The heavy pile warm against his feet,
reaching up he pulled his uniform from the cupboard and slowly began
to dress himself.

Tossing a glance over his shoulder he saw the sleeping,
supine, form of his wife as she slumbered deep in the woollen embrace
of whatever fantasy her mind had conjured. A small smile tugged at
his lips as he watched her stir gently, fine golden strands of hair
spilling across the supple swan-like curve of her neck and shoulders
as she wriggled slightly trying to bury herself deeper into the
warming arms of her bed. Leaning across the bed he gently brushed the
hair from her face and planted a lone gentle kiss on her softly
smiling cheek, a whispered platitude and note of goodbye leaving his
lips as he picked up his go-bag and left the room; a small folded
piece of paper leaning against the lamp beside the bed, the only sign
he had been in the room at all.

Stepping from the house he turned and locked the door
securely behind him. He made his way down the carved stone steps, a
grin playing across his features as he locked eyes with the smiling
visage of his team mate perched behind the wheel of a battered 1968
half ton Land Rover. Opening the back door he tossed his bag onto the
rear seat. Slamming the door shut, he watched slightly annoyed, as
the lock failed to engage and the door bounced off the frame, the
metallic clang echoing down the street making him flinch slightly.

After finally getting the rear door shut he slipped into
the front passenger seat and buckled in.

'All sorted?'

He nodded, pulling a cigarette from the packet in his
breast pocket.

'Thought Janet made you quit?'

He shrugged as he lit the compressed stick of tobacco
and inhaled deeply.

'She did, but with all the shit that's happened lately,
I need something to take the edge off.'

Lifting his hand he subconsciously rubbed at the ragged
torn remnants of his left ear. Kingsley watched out the corner of his
eye as Baker fiddled with the protruding lump of cartilage.

'You okay Cherry?'

Sighing
Baker plucked the cigarette from between his lips and flicked off the
excess ash watching as it was dragged away into darkened morning air.

'Sort of, just mulling a few things over. Sharp for one,
and the rest of teams for another.'

He stopped and took another deep pull on his cigarette
before flicking the still glowing stump out the window.

'What about 'em?'

Baker turned slightly, his brow furrowed. 'Full of
questions this morning ain't ya?' Kingsley shrugged as he negotiated
the one-way system. Setting a fresh cigarette to his lips, he flicked
open his lighter; the flame casting dancing shadows over his
features. He greedily sucked the tar laden smog into his lungs as he
settled back into the seat.

'Well?'

Kingsley watched Baker as closely as he could while they
negotiated the pre-dawn London traffic. With a deep sigh of smoke
laden breath Baker relented.

'Sharp seems to have taken the Libya losses to heart. I
know he's lost men to combat before, we all have, it's a fact of
military life. Someone at some point isn't going home, and when it
happens, you just take it on the chin, count your blessings, and move
on. Problem is he doesn't seem to be able to do that here.'

Kingsley nodded thinking over what to say before finally
speaking.

'You know D, it's not just the fact he lost men, it's
that he was in command. I read the files same as you and you know
that it was his first solo command. He has done the whole second
fiddle thing more times than I can count; but it was essentially his
first command and look what happened. He lost a dozen men, and for a
first time out; that is going to kick any one square in the
daddy-bags, no matter how much of a hard bastard you are.'

Baker stayed silent for a few seconds before replying.

'You've got a point there.' Baker tapped the ash from
the end of his fag again as he carried on speaking. 'I just hope he
can pull through it. By the way did you hear from Colinson on the
fiasco with the Dover; Calais team?'