Designated (Book 1): Designated Infected (12 page)

When she finally stirred, joy coursed through his body,
her head lifted as she raised her hand and grasped the back of his
neck, 'God am I glad you're okay' was all he managed to choke out
before her lips made contact with his neck and her teeth clamped
down, tearing her head away he watched in numb shock as she chewed
and swallowed, his blood running down her chin.

'Why Janet, why' was all he had time to think before he
finally faded to nothing.

12

Baker
residence.

North
East London

Derek jerked awake gasping for air, the sheets around
him soaked in sweat, dragging his hands over his face he tried to
force the images away as tears of terror rolled down his face. His
arm snapped out grasping in the darkness for his mobile phone.
Dragging his thumb across the keys he pulled the calendar up staring
blearily at the date.

'Thank Christ.' he muttered as he saw the date staring
back at him from the screen of his phone. The glaring white light of
his phone's screen sending the image clear into his eyes, January
sixteenth two thousand and eleven.

Closing the phone he set it aside as he glanced at the
clock, 1:33am, he winced as he glanced over at his wife. Janet
stirred and sat up disturbed by the sudden movement of her husband.

'Derek, darling what's wrong, was it the nightmares
again?'

He mutely nodded to her as he felt her soft warming arms
slide round his waist as she leant against him shushing him softly.

'Which one's?'

He stirred in her grasp, as he wove her fingers into
his. Janet moved turning in the sheets and leant against him.

'All of them.'

His gruff baritone rumbling from deep within him as he
quietly replied.

'Baby, it's only a dream, nothing is going to happen to
us. You and your boys make sure of that, you know better than anyone
it's not going to happen here.'

Derek
leant back against her gently 'I know, I know, but I cant help
thinking that something is going to happen and soon, look what
happened to the States. It's a freaking war zone over there, worse
than Afghanistan or Iraq ever was. I just pray Carl and the rest of
those crazy bastards are okay, I've tried to get in touch with them,
get them to
R.T.B
but
nothing.

Crazy git is probably off fighting the whole thing
single handed. Then there was what happened when I got back from the
Stan after sorting out the situation with the Russians; I came so
close to losing you Janet, I can't go through that again, if it
wasn't for Carl's team being on standby when I landed I don't know
what would have happened. He saved my arse in Russia and again over
here, I can't be that lucky three times in a row.'

Derek glanced back at her and smiled.

'Did I ever tell you how I met him?'

Janet nodded in confirmation of his question.

'Yes baby you did.' She looked at him warmly, in the way
only a wife can, lovingly telling him to shut up and go back to
sleep. She rolled away from him pulling the sheets back over her as
Derek lay back down. 'Okay.' Sighing he tried to drift back off to
sleep, 'Night darling.'

His voice hushed almost a whisper as waves of tiredness
crashed down on him once more. Snaking his hand across the bed he
intertwined his fingers through Janet's, as he finally sank into a
deep dreamless sleep.

They woke mere minutes apart. Derek already awake and
preparing his uniform as Janet, bleary eyed and tousle haired walked
through to the kitchen her Silk robe tied at her waist, leaving very
little to the imagination. She watched the coffee brew as Derek
busied himself in the shower. Derek strolled into the kitchen drying
his head as she began to pour.

His bare hairless head was still a slightly pinkish hue
from the heat of the water. He let the towel hang around his neck as
he took the cup she offered and sat down.

Unfolding the Daily Telegraph that she had placed in
front of him he glanced up at her elfin face and smiled before
picking up the still steaming cup of smooth, black, coffee. He sipped
tentatively at the hot tar coloured brew before asking the same
question he did every morning he was home.

'You on shift tonight?'

Janet nodded in reply as she buttered a slice of toast.

'Yeah, don't know when I finish, could be a long one,
what about you, did they approve your request for leave?'

He looked up at her, and grinned.

'Nope, I dropped the request when I heard Colinson
talking about a bus load of new meat coming in. Should be fun,
although I'll be gone for a while training the poor fuckers.'

She sighed at that, grimacing slightly at his choice of
words as she lifted the toast to her mouth and bit down. He enjoyed
his job and that was good. Janet had told herself the same thing
every morning for the past four years. She sighed mentally and
ruminated on the thoughts dancing through her head.

Despite this, it was impossible to not sometimes think
that he loved the work more than her. She continued to chew on the
toast as they slipped into a comfortable silence. Looking up, she
smiled breaking the silence between them.

'Babe how did you get into the unit anyway?'

Derek folded the paper with a sigh, he knew this
question was coming and although he had formulated a reply long ago
he was still caught slightly off guard.

'Well me, Kingsley, Rawlings and Bolton are the only
ones qualified to deal with this particular crisis, no one else in
the service has had the same exposure as me and my team, so it
doesn't leave them with a lot of options. We took a pounding in
Afghanistan and Russia; but honestly, I have no real answer other
than, they picked me; and that's all I can really say, no more, no
less.'

Janet nodded thoughtfully as his words lingered between
them, Baker sensing her willingness to hear more carried on.

'That and the fact that the rest of Broadhead were,' he
paused, the taste of his next word hanging bitter and foul on his
palate, 'killed.'

Nodding in understanding she smiled as she replied
trying to alleviate some of the guilt she saw dancing behind her
husband's eyes.

'I guess that didn't leave them much choice then,
although I know they couldn't have picked anyone better.'

Janet stood and walked past him, the tears in her eyes
feeling hot and heavy, she sensed Derek's questioning gaze. Leaning
in she slowly eased past the painful memories of his tear soaked
phone calls, and the weeks of waiting for that one call every family
or spouse dreads.

Cupping his chin gently she kissed his forehead, 'Love
you to huni,' was all he said as she moved off into their bedroom.
With a deep drawn out sigh he stood and made his way into the only
room in their house that was solely his, to get prepared for the
day's trials.

Glancing down the hallway, he watched Janet's lithe form
as she slipped into their bedroom; resting his hand on the door frame
he sagged, the burden he carried weighing on him more than usual. He
bit his lip, tasting blood on his tongue as he fought with himself
and the thought of knowing that this was one more day where the
promise he had made so long ago was damaged just that little bit
more. Bitterly, he bit down his self disgust and prayed that it was
going to be worth it.

13

Broadhead
barracks.

United
Kingdom.

January
sixteenth. 2011.

Standing in front of the eighteen prospective recruits,
Baker cast a scrutinising gaze over them. His eyes danced from one to
the next, fighting his urge to smile as he took in the view before
him.

They
stood there, plain clothed and relaxed; none, showing a single trace
of trepidation, he laughed softly to himself before speaking.

'Okay
you sorry mother fuckers, who of you thinks you have what it takes to
join this unit.'

He was answered by a collective call from all eighteen
men their bellowing voices echoing off the buildings around them;
making Baker grin.

'Well I just don't see it. All I see is a bunch of piss
ass nancy boys who think they can play soldier. My job is to decide
which of you little shits get to go through and play with the big
boys.'

Baker glanced down at the clip board he had in his hand.
'Right, okay,' he mumbled to himself as he glanced back up at the men
who stood to attention in their ranks of nine, 'I want, Clarkson,
Sheperd, Woodwrow, Williams, Brooks and Kerr. You six here now.'

As the men filed out he screamed at them watching as
they sprinted into two rows of three.

'Fucking
move it, I haven’t got all day to fuck about with twats like
you. Right you six go with Corporal Belinson and get fitted out for
the drop test, I want to see how well you Para boys think you can
fly.'

Baker watched as the Paratroopers marched away.

Falling in step behind the war weary, grizzled corporal,
the six men were led away to the hangers on the far side of the
square. Baker smiled as he thought about the task that lay ahead, a
small shiver ran through him. Smirking he turned back to face the
remaining twelve soldiers in this latest batch. A vicious grin
twisted his features causing more than one to choke down a sudden
sense of trepidation as they stared at his hardened countenance.

'You
lot; are mine.'

The words themselves were little more than a pejorative
statement, but as the remaining soldiers watched him more than one
suppressed a nervous swallowing of fear.

'I want two teams of six. We're going to run a simple
test, the first six are with me, the second six are to go with
Sergeant Kingsley here, then once you are all ready we shall
reconvene back here and let the fun begin.'

The two ranks filed off in opposite directions as they
moved following their respective commanders. Baker lead the men to
the Quarter Master's stores. The stable door fronted building sat,
squat and square edged on its own side of the drill square. Bakers
balled fist, clacked off the gloss-coated panelling, the sharp
rapping of his knuckles echoing behind the white door.

The top half of the door swung inwards, revealing a hard
faced man with thinning brown hair and watery green eyes, in a
rasping bark he demanded to know what they wanted. Baker detested the
man, he was rude, coarse, and well past his prime, but like the rest
of the buildings on the base, he was a well-rooted fixture and
although it pained him to admit it, he was good at his job.

Baker handed the Quarter Master the clipboard, all
nineteen pages pre-signed and dated. Nodding the officer briskly
rolled off a signature before turning and barking at one of the
privates detailed to him. Sharp, a member of the Special Air Service
one of Britain’s elite special-forces and anti-terrorism units,
groaned in pained recognition as he saw the equipment.

'What's the matter Sharp I thought you SAS boys were
supposed to be tough bastards, or you were when I worked with your
mob.'

A sly smirk played across the soldier's features as he
played up to Bakers statement.

Not that staff, I just know what this kit does to ya.
Your American friends love all the fancy neuron kit. The last time I
used this shit I could barely stand up right, let alone do my damned
job. You're a mean fuck ya know that,' the Scotsman replied. The
thickly layered amateur dramatics drawing a pained groan from Sharp's
co-workers. Cold calculation ran through Sharp as he watched Baker's
reaction each man studying the other, as the rest filed forwards to
take their equipment.

Baker could see in the Scotsman’s eyes, that he
cared neither one way or the other about the effects of the apparatus
and was doing it more to wind up the others than in actual complaint,
but still something was tickling away at the back of Derek's mind,
telling him that Sharp was going to be a hard nut to crack and if
pushed to far someone that could make or break the new units.

'Well
I suppose that's why I am on this side of it and you're not, now shut
ya yap and get prepared.'

The
SAS trooper walked off to get himself ready leaving a grinning Baker
in his wake turning he let the façade fall from his face as he
raised his voice once more.

'Okay ladies, on the double; move it.'

The six men followed Baker as he sprinted away towards
the drill square, Sharp's eyes widening in surprise as he took off
like a whippet chasing a hare. As they neared the drill square they
heard Baker's heavy laughter his voice carrying easily through the
cold morning air.