Prepared

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

After weeks of training with weapons with my mother I got the hang of it and eventually I would manage to complete the lessons with only a few scratches and minor injuries.

I wasn’t afraid or awkward as I fought back, but she wouldn’t let me leave until I had beaten her. We would fight for hours, and most of the time I would have ended up the dead one. The previous week I hadn’t beaten her until four o’clock because we were fighting with Tomahawks. In the morning by which time we were both exhausted, she had to take me back to the Academy so that I would arrive on time for school.

Every part of my body ached to just jog at an extremely slow pace during the morning warm up, but my brain wouldn’t allow for me to go slowly so instead I ran through the pain and ignored how heavy my limbs felt as I raced through the obstacle course at my usual pace.

It had been a relief to sit in weapons training and take down notes, though I didn’t show it.

I didn’t get to catch up on the sleep that I had missed so the week went by in a slow haze as I went through all my lessons, but it didn’t affect my performance, and I still managed to anger my Covert Operations teacher on Friday by managing to disappear for an hour without anyone finding me.

I was summoned to Major Wilkes’ office when I turned up in my Culture class.

“Olivia, sit down,” Major Wilkes ordered.

I sat down without question.

“Olivia, you have been called here so that we can discuss your position here,” he told me with a serious tone.

“Are you going to throw me out?” I wondered with indifference, not bothered by the prospect.

“No, you are too valuable and too good for us to want to kick you out. You’re our best student – everything we had hoped for when we started this project. You learn at an exceptionally fast rate and as well as having sent you off to the two week training course, your mother Eagle Two-Three-Six has been preparing you and I think that you are ready,” he told me.

“Ready for what, Sir?”

“Your first mission.”

I frowned, feeling confused. “But people don’t go on missions until they’re fifteen,” I decided to point out even though he was more than aware of the fact.

“You outperform all the fifteen year olds we have. Your mother has trained you enough that you could start working now,” he told me.

“Then why don’t I?” I asked.

“You will be. Here’s the brief for your first mission. You will be leaving at 05 00 hours on Sunday like you always do to go to your parents’ house. When you get there you will travel by helicopter to an army base where you will take an R.A.F aircraft to France. When you get there you will go straight to the coordinates given to you (in your brief) where you will wait for your target.”

I looked through the file to see a 5ft 9in man in an expensive suit talking on the phone. In another picture I saw the other side of his face. He had no scars, no birthmarks, no piercings and no tattoos so that I could recognise him.

I memorised his face and read his profile, noticing a gold ring with a black stone on the ring finger of his left hand.

“What position will I be taking?” I asked, but as the question left my mouth I saw my answer on the next page.

Sniper – I was going to shoot from afar.

NAME: OLIVIA TRENT

AGE: 11