The Recruit

18. Basic

Ash was due at the basic training compound at 5 a.m. He set an alarm and left it on his bedside table. Worrying about training kept him awake for ages. When he woke it was light. It's never light at 5 a.m. in November in the U.K. This was bad.

The alarm clock was gone. Not set wrong. Not tipped on the floor and the battery dropped out. Someone had crept in while he was asleep and taken it. Brock warned him they'd play tricks, but Ash hadn't expected them to start before he'd even arrived.

Clothes and a backpack had been dumped on the floor. There were two differences from standard CHERUB kit. The T-shirt and trousers had white number sevens on them. Second, instead of being fabric-conditioned and pressed, everything was wrecked. Big stains, rips in the trousers. The underwear was disgusting and the boots had done hard time on somebody else's feet. Ash moved the backpack. There was tons of equipment in it. He probably should have got up early and looked at everything.

Ash had to wear the wrecked T-shirt and trousers because they had numbers. But he had his own pristine underwear, and boots that were broken in and only smelled of his own feet. Would he get punished for not wearing the clothes on the floor? Or would he get laughed at for being the only one dumb enough to put on second-hand underwear? The state of the boxer shorts made his mind up. He was wearing his own stuff.

There was no time for teeth, comb, or shower. He ran out with the backpack. The lift took ages, like it always does when you're in a rush. There were two older kids in the lift. They knew where Ash was going from the numbers on his uniform. One of the kids looked at his watch.

"You starting basic training this morning?" the kid asked.

"Yeah," Ash said.

"It's half past seven," the kid said.

"I know," Ash said. "I'm late." The kids burst out laughing.

"You're not late. You're dead."

"So dead," the other kid said, shaking his head.

The training building was a concrete box in the middle of a huge muddy enclosure, with no windows and no heating. Five-metre-high fences separated it from the rest of campus. Just the look of the place scared Ash.

He ran inside, puffed from running. The room had ten rusty beds with wretched looking mattresses. Three girls and four boys were in front of the beds, crouching on the balls of their feet with hands on heads. After about ten minutes in that position the bottom of your legs goes dead. Six of the seven had been that way for two and a half hours, waiting for Ash. The odd one out had done an hour.

The head instructor, Lt Surge, and his two assistants stood up and walked towards Ash. Surge's white CHERUB T-shirt was the biggest size you could get, but it still looked like all the muscles inside wanted to burst out. He had blonde buzz cut hair and dog tags around his neck

Ash flinched when Surge reached out and delicately shook his hand.

"Good morning, Ash," Surge said in a soft voice. "Smashing of you to pop in. Nice breakfast, was it? Put your feet up, did you? Good read of the papers? No need to worry, Ash. I didn't want to start without you, so I made all your new friends wait in a highly uncomfortable position until you arrived. Should I let them stand up now?"

"Yes," Ash said weakly.

"OK, kiddies," Surge said. "Up you get. Ash, why don't you shake all of their hands as a little thank you for waiting."

The kids stood up, groaning in agony and trying to wriggle cramp out of the backs of their legs. Ash went along the line, shaking everyone's hand and getting killer looks.