CHERUB: The General (21 page)

The vehicles were mostly cheap starter cars and the passengers inside were usually young. Most were college students looking to pick up eighty dollars a day, but to enhance the realism of the eight-thousand strong civilian population the US army had also recruited older couples, kids’ soccer teams, a blind hiking club and two disabled basketball squads.

‘The Americans don’t do things by halves, do they?’ Bruce smiled.

Everyone was impressed by the scale of the operation as they peered through the windows of the army bus at lines of parked cars and boisterous college students carrying backpacks and beer coolers towards the main entrance.

Mac and Kazakov stayed aboard the bus as it passed through the military entrance. Meryl led the kids with their wheelie bags on a kilometre-long walk towards the entry plaza. The corrugated metal building was the size of an outlet store, with a thousand strong queue snaking through lines of barriers outside the main entrance.

Soldiers with megaphones were shouting orders. ‘Have your identity documents, legal documents, social security and medical history forms ready for inspection.’

The queue was horribly slow and James heard the message thirty times as he inched forward with his eyes fixed on the bodies of high-spirited college girls who all wore matching jackets with
USC Soccer
written across the back.

While they waited the queue almost doubled in length. Jake and Kevin swung on the barriers until Meryl yelled at them, while an old couple fussed over sunglasses and double-checked their luggage to make sure they had the right medication.

Things moved more efficiently once they got inside. There were counters numbered A through W, like customs at an airport, and a soldier told everyone what queue to join.

‘Welcome to Reaganistan,’ a female soldier told Meryl, as the CHERUB party reached the yellow line at the head of queue R ‘Papers please.’

Meryl had a whole bunch of passports and forms at the ready, but they all got waved through because they’d already been issued with their identity bracelets. It was the same story at the next set of counters where everyone else lined up to get their picture taken.

After passing through the processing building in less than ten minutes, they followed a red line to a second building called Equipment and Briefing.

‘Pack contains safety goggles, emergency alert alarm and food supplies for your first three meals,’ a soldier announced, before repeating the same sentence for the people behind.

At the next station everyone had the chips in their identity bracelets scanned, before a laser printer churned out individual accommodation assignments, along with a map of Fort Reagan and a set of directions. At the final stop, everyone was handed a Fort Reagan safety manual and, most importantly, a zip-lock bag containing five hundred Reaganistan dollars and an apartment key.

The notes came in denominations of one, five, ten and twenty dollars and had a bizarre design which mixed the US Army logo and pictures of weapons with lots of Arabic-style script and a picture of a nondescript man in a turban.

James pulled out a twenty and read the disclaimer on the back of each note aloud. ‘This note remains the property of the United States Government. It is designed to purchase food, meals and other essential items within the confines of Fort Reagan military training compound and has no value as currency. You must surrender all notes when leaving Fort Reagan and failure to do so may result in federal imprisonment and a fine of up to fifty thousand dollars.’

‘Guess they don’t want them going on eBay,’ Lauren smiled.

A long corridor led to a carpeted waiting area which already contained more than a hundred people. An LCD screen on the wall told them that the
Next showing of the Fort Reagan introductory film and safety briefing begins in 14 minutes.

After riding on the bus and then spending an hour queuing and being processed, everyone needed the toilet, which was OK for the boys but the girls all had to join an enormous queue and they barely made it back before sets of automatic doors opened and people started heading into a large auditorium.

Three hundred people crammed on to backless benches before the lights went down and the automatic doors closed.

‘I want popcorn,’ James giggled, as the screen lit up with an aerial shot of Fort Reagan and a cheesy voiceover.

‘The twentieth century saw the largest and bloodiest military conflicts in the history of mankind, but as the third millennium dawned a new kind of warfare emerged around the world.’

The screen cut to pictures of smiling American troops driving Hummers through the streets of Baghdad, and soldiers walking up a hillside in white United Nations helmets, waving to friendly peasant women.

‘These twenty-first century battles don’t take place on the high seas, on marked battlefields, or even in the air, but in densely populated urban environments. Instead of battling tanks or artillery fire, the American soldier of today is likely to find himself fighting insurgents and terrorists using roadside detonations, car bombs, hostage taking, extortion and kidnapping. The military must learn to fight not just in open battle, but against a ruthless enemy who uses the civilian population as his or her shield.

‘In order to train for these situations, the Defence Department realised that soldiers needed a twenty-first-century training facility in which to train for twenty-first-century warfare. Built at a cost of over four billion dollars, Fort Reagan is the result.

‘By coming here to Fort Reagan, you’ll be playing a vital role in training American troops and helping to save real American lives in the battlefield. Every aspect of our training exercises is meticulously planned and designed for utmost realism, but individual safety remains paramount. So please relax and pay attention as we guide you through safety procedure at Fort Reagan – the world’s foremost urban warfare training facility.’

*

After a safety briefing filled with advice ranging from always carrying your safety goggles and putting them on if you see people shooting simulated ammunition, to being told not to run on staircases and to ‘stand well clear of moving vehicles’ the crowd was moved into a thousand-seat outdoor grandstand, where they waited for another half hour before two army officers stepped on to the sand-covered stage and began speaking a touch self-consciously.

‘Citizens of Reaganistan, thank you so much for attending this town meeting. I am United States General Shirley. I am the commander of the one-thousand-five-hundred strong American-British taskforce that has been sent to restore peace in your small country.

‘The role of our taskforce is to support the democratically elected government of President Mongo and help to eliminate the terrorist Reaganista movement. In particular we are searching for the Reaganista leader known as Sheikh McAfferty.’

All the cherubs smiled as the screen behind the general showed a blurry twenty-year-old picture of Mac.

‘McAfferty is believed to be responsible for more than one hundred terrorist acts over the past three months. Our task is to arrest McAfferty and his lieutenants, seize their supplies of weapons and ammunition and bring a halt to their terrorist action.’

The general paused. A few members of the crowd clapped and there were even a couple of shouts of ‘
USA!
’

‘Unfortunately, ten per cent of the civilian population supports and sympathises with these insurgents. No doubt this includes some of you sitting here listening to me now. We also believe that they have up to one hundred expert military personnel, trained by a foreign power.

‘Over the next two weeks, my men will be conducting patrols and searches of your town, fighting terrorists and trying to stop the violence. We apologise in advance for any inconvenience caused.’

James looked at the other cherubs and shook his head. ‘How cheesy is this?’ he grinned.

‘Somewhere between mature cheddar and stilton,’ Rat nodded.

The general continued speaking. ‘If any of you have any questions or—’

James flew about a metre into the air and hundreds in the audience screamed as a huge bang and a ball of flame blew up behind the seats. A bloody-faced actress came bounding down the grandstand steps, holding a baby and crying her eyes out as a second blast erupted off to one side and an emergency siren started to wail.

The general spoke again. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it appears we are under terrorist attack! Please remain calm and return to your homes in an orderly fashion.’

The audience realised it was a special effect designed to set up the atmosphere of conflict, but it had given everyone a scare and the crowd was wary – half expecting more bangs as they hurried out of the grandstands with their luggage and their twenty-four-hour food supplies.

‘Cheesy, eh?’ Lauren grinned, as she jostled down the grandstand steps behind James. ‘You looked like you were gonna shit yourself.’

There were no more bangs, but a smoke machine had been turned on under the grandstand and another in the street outside, forcing the crowd to scatter before they could pull out their maps and work out where they were heading. It was all designed to make the civilians uncomfortable and it seemed to have worked.

The grandstand had a newly built tarmac road, but leading off it was a maze of oddly sized white buildings and narrow alleyways designed to mimic the layout of an ancient city.

Meryl led the ten kids a few hundred metres away from the smoke before pausing to look at her map.

‘It’s under two kilometres to our accommodation,’ she said. ‘According to this there’s supposed to be a bus service that circles the compound.’

‘Wasn’t there a bus stop back the way we came?’ Kevin asked.

‘I think that was the massive queue we walked past,’ Bethany said. ‘We’ll probably be better off walking.’

Like most real developing-world towns, Fort Reagan had few street signs, and to confuse troops the maps everyone was issued with contained many inaccuracies. Of course, this also confused civilians and Meryl and the ten cherubs ended up doing several detours before they finally found their homes for the next two weeks.

Fort Reagan had sections designed to mimic different real-world cities, so the accommodation varied from low concrete sheds made to resemble shanty towns, to large private houses and high rise blocks. Meryl’s party had four apartments on the fourth floor of a drab concrete block. Kazakov and Mac had been allotted a pair of detached houses in the next street.

The apartment interiors had been designed to minimise the chances of anything getting broken by the bored and frequently drunk college students who usually occupied them. They had bare concrete walls, white tiled floors and bathrooms with indestructible steel fittings like you’d expect to see in a prison cell. The kitchens had a few cheap utensils, plastic plates, plus a fridge and rather sorry-looking cooker and washing machine.

‘Depressing,’ James said to Rat, as they unpacked their clothes in a cramped bedroom with two single beds covered with army issue blankets and a sign on the wall saying that the United States Army reserved the right to charge for property damage.

‘I like the bare concrete walls and the vague whiff of plumbing,’ Rat smirked.

‘Aye aye,’ James said, staring out of the window and seeing a college girl standing in the opposite block. She was reaching back to put her long hair into a clip and her raised arms accentuated her breasts. ‘Oh for a face full of those beautiful watermelons.’

The thought of watermelons sent Rat charging towards the window, but he was slightly disappointed. ‘Nice,’ he said. ‘But they’re mangos at best. You were doing better than that with Dana.’

James turned sharply towards Rat. ‘Don’t talk about
her.’

Rat didn’t answer because the college girl had spotted them ogling her and was flicking them off and mouthing something that ended with the word
perverts.

‘Aww, come on baby,’ James shouted. ‘Give us a flash.’

Rat collapsed on the bed laughing as the girl opened her window and yelled at James. ‘I’ll get my boyfriend over there and he’ll kick both your asses.’

‘I’ll pay five Reaganistan dollars per nipple,’ James shouted, as the girl furiously slammed her window shut and pulled down her roller blind.

Rat thought this was hilarious, and he was still lying on the bed convulsing half a minute later when Lauren walked in.

‘What’s so funny?’ she asked.

‘Nothing,’ Rat snorted. ‘Just observing James’ ultra-smooth technique with the ladies.’

Lauren waved a hand in front of her face. ‘It’s probably better if I don’t know … Meryl had a phone call from Kazakov. He’s calling a strategy meeting in fifteen minutes, he says we’ve got to get ourselves organised before the Americans start searching.’

James stepped out into the hallway and was surprised to find a heavily built Englishman peering out of the living-room window. He was only average height, but he was almost as wide as tall and he definitely wasn’t the kind of guy you’d want to mess with.

‘Have you met the sarge?’ Lauren asked. ‘He’s on the level, he’s worked with CHERUB before.’

‘Sergeant Cork, SAS,’ the big man said, raising one eyebrow as he gave James and Rat crunching handshakes. ‘We’ll have sixteen of my boys helping out Kazakov with the day to day running of the insurgency.’