The air was pregnant with the promise of impending violence. Breathing quickened under one of the oldest rushes, the adrenaline rush of ‘Fight or flight’.

“Well, come on you fuckers, who’s it going to be?”

The eleven men tried to avoid eye contact, or do anything that might be construed as ‘volunteering’, in any shape or form.

Silence, apart from a nervous cough. There was always a nervous cough.

“Okay, let’s make it easier. How about the first volunteer gets to avoid their next BFT?”

“Really?” Enquired a voice from someone with remarkably less self-preservation than the rest.

“No. Don’t be fucking stupid, there are no free passes to your next Basic Fitness Test. But well volunteered. Out you come, chop chop!”

“Shit!” There were sniggers and Pte Cazal found himself pushed forward by his relieved mates.

“Right then. Attack me, come on. Attack me like you attack the girls when you are drunk on three lager shandies...” There was laughter from his pals and Pte Cazal looked back at them with a scowl.

“Don’t look at them; they’re not going to help you. Come on; show them all what a man you are...”

Resigned now to the inevitable, Pte Cazal screamed and attacked in a mad rush, arms swinging. His ‘victim’ patiently waited, sidestepped at the last moment, ducked under a flailing arm, grabbed the other, twisted it, stepped in close and rammed a knee into the back of Pte Cazals. As his knee buckled, Pte Cazal collapsed to the foam mat on the gym floor, his ‘victim’ keeping hold of his wrist as he collapsed, with enough pressure to cause pain but not injury. The ‘victim’ looked back at the rest of the men, who were all wincing in shared pain.

“Stop squealing like a pig.” A quick, but slight increase in pressure caused the soldier on the mat to cry out again. “I said stop squealing! Right, the rest of you,”, a quick mental head count, “pair up. I will demonstrate, in slo-motion, a few simple arrest and restraint techniques on my willing volunteer here.” Another tweak, another squeal “Which you will practice on your partners. Then you will swap positions. Well, with the exception of Miss Piggy here...” Another tweak, another squeal. More laughter. It was always funnier when it wasn’t you.

Corporal Nina Campbell lifted her not so willing partner back onto his feet, and in slow time, showed the rest of the class the first simple restraint hold. She left her partner nursing a sore wrist and bruised pride as she wandered amongst the five pairs, adjusting holds and stances as required.

Afterwards, she thanked her ‘volunteer’, commanded the class to put the floor mats back away and then sent them on to their next class. She checked her watch as another Physical Training Instructor entered to prep the floor for his lesson. Slipping on her shirt and beret, she stepped outside the gym, fishing in her pocket for the keys to the Oshkosh M1070F heavy tractor unit, which was taking up four car parking spaces amongst the green Land-Rovers. The Cat power pack fired with a satisfying rumble, Nina keeping a little pressure on the throttle as she patiently waited for the air to build. Checking her mirrors she slipped the Oshkosh into gear and headed off to the plant compound to pick up her trailer.

A couple of years ago, had anyone told her that she would be commanding such a lofty driving position, she would have laughed in their face. But then, a couple of years ago, she was in University, studying for a degree in Chemical Engineering, completely unaware of the thousands of other students doing the exact same course. The Military had courted her briefly during her studies, as it did all Uni students, promising her an un-realistic future if she were to join one of its various officer training programs. At the time, she had laughed and politely declined, not imagining that a ballet practising teenager of seventeen years had much in common with military life.

University had turned out to be a bit of an eye opener in itself. Her ballet lessons had dropped by the way-side to be replaced with self-defence classes and gradually she found herself becoming disillusioned with being cooped up indoors all day long. Four long years later, degree in hand and accompanied by over thirty thousand pounds in student debt, she made her way out into the bright happy world of adulthood, and found herself applying with a thousand other graduates, for just a handful of positions. Positions that were filled by more senior graduates and other candidates that, although they may have lacked a degree, possessed something that no University taught- Experience.

Inevitably she found herself taking shop work for which she was vastly over-qualified, but which paid the rent and food bills. Even her local fast food establishment seemed to be staffed purely by Media Studies graduates.

A life of mediocrity and financial penury beckoned, then her life took a further turn. Her father was diagnosed with bowel cancer and three months later he was dead. Her mother was devastated and never fully recovered from her mourning, a few years later; she would be diagnosed with dementia and confined to a care home. Things appeared beyond bleak for Nina, then one day, she was speaking by chance to the sister of one of the girls with whom she shared the flat. She was in the Army, as a driver, and seven months later, so was Nina. She had yet to regret her decision, even though she started out as non-commissioned rather than the commission she had been offered due to her Uni degree.

The Army rewarded hard work and she took all the training courses offered, applying for extra when she could, finding a previously hidden enjoyment in operating equipment, the larger and heavier the better. Which was why she was currently driving through the camp in a twenty ton tractor unit, and enjoying every second of it.

Spinning the steering wheel, she lined up the tractor unit and reversed back towards the trailer until the kingpin clunked home into the fifth wheel, pulling forward again to check that it had engaged properly. Happy that it was engaged, Nina filled out the hours and mileage into the works ticket and shut the engine down. Making sure she had all her gear, she locked the door and climbed onto the back to connect the electrics and auxiliaries before jumping back down to wind up the trailer legs.

Throwing the keys and works ticket onto the MTO’s desk, she headed to her desk to catch up on her own paperwork. She had fuel requests to file as well as future PT lessons to organise and Gym time to book. The Military Transport Officer looked up as she walked away, “The boss wants to see you.”

“Okay.” Nina changed direction and headed towards the RMTO’s office. She knocked on the outside of his door and waited.

“Come in.”

“Sir, you wanted to see me.”

“Ahh, Nina, yes, but no. The CO has asked to see you at the earliest opportunity. I’ll phone and let the clerks know that you are on your way, and no, I don’t know why? Is there something you should have told me?”

“Not that I know of sir. I’ll head over there now.”

“Oh, and Nina?”

“Yes sir?”

“Take a pushbike and not a 1070 like last time, if you would be so kind.”

Nina smiled, “Yes sir. Anything else sir?” He shook his head and waved her out of his office.

Guiding the front wheel of her bike into an empty stand, she gracefully slipped from the saddle, checking the position of her beret in a window as she walked along the front of the HQ building. Nina hated HQ with a passion, it being full of people she had to salute, generally be nice to and individuals she didn’t have to be nice to and who she wouldn’t piss on even if they were on fire. It also held the largest collection of sycophants within the smallest area in the entire camp. Plus she was still in the bad books for parking a 1070, complete with tank/heavy plant transporter trailer outside. Apparently it reduced ‘the authority of the building and those in it’; it was an army vehicle, in an army camp, in front of an army building. She couldn’t see what the issue was.

The CO’s personal clerk was in fine acerbic form, giving her an evil look as he looked up from whatever it was he was typing.

“It’s all right, no need to get your panties in a twist. I came via my bike this time.” Nina paused for dramatic effect, “Though it was in the back of an eight tonner. Does that count?” She added innocently. The clerk stood up and hastily rushed over to look out the window. He gave her another evil look as he sat back down, picking up the handset of the phone on his desk.

“Corporal Campbell to see you sir.” A pause “No sir, by bike. Yes sir, I will send her in.” The clerk nodded to the door. Nina made a mental note to make his life hell next time he was in one of her PT classes. Nina knocked and walked in, stopping just in front of the CO’s desk with a crisp salute.

“You wanted to see me sir?”

“Ah yes, Cpl Campbell,” He didn’t invite her to sit down, so it was a bollocking then, she wondered which misdemeanour she had been caught doing, “Your esteemed personage has been requested in London.”

“London Sir?”

“Yes, that is what I said, and no, I don’t know why, other than someone higher up the food chain has decided your educational qualifications are possibly suited to a little job they have in the pipeline. Transport has been arranged for you. I’m not having you drive round London in a tank transporter. The congestion charge alone would be financially out of the question. Be at this address,” He slid over a bright yellow Post-it-note, “for nine am sharp. Your transport will wait there for you.”

“Dress, sir?”

“Smart civilian attire. That will be all.”

“Sir.”

Nina saluted, turned and left.

A body slipped into the seat opposite her, as she ate her evening meal in the mess. “Nina?”

She looked up as another full screw slipped a form across the table towards her “Yo! What’s up Clive?”

“Can you sign that for me.” Clive nodded down at the army form he slid across the table.

“What is it?”

“It’s a waiver. I have no female drivers available for you tomorrow, what with this being short notice and all that. It’s to say that you are happy with having a male driver, and being alone with him for an extended period of time, yada, yada, yada...”

“Really? You are taking the piss now.”

Clive shrugged, “Someone, somewhere, with far too much time on their hands, thought it would be a good idea, if we have to provide lone females with a male driver.”

Nina snorted, “As if a little bit of paper is going to stop a rape in some shitty layby somewhere.” She took the form and the offered pen and scribbled ‘Mickey Mouse’ across the bottom. Clive didn’t notice or didn’t care. Nina doubted anyone would notice, the Army so loved its bits of paper.

Nina checked her reflection in the mirror, deciding that she was happy with the late change in outfit. She had originally gone for a dress skirt suit, but decided it was too difficult to knee a man in the bollocks effectively in a skirt with a tight hem, so had changed to a trouser suit instead. The change also had the advantage of pockets. She picked up her handbag from her bed, adding to its contents a small bottle of water and a Lee Child paperback. She had the feeling that ‘hurry up and wait’ would be the order of the day.

Her transport arrived as she was exiting the accommodation block. She opened the door and slumped into the passenger seat. “Is this a staff car?” She asked of her Lance-corporal driver. She had expected an army green Land Rover driven by a pissed off Private in green kit. It’s what the Army normally gave you when you had to go somewhere in civvies.

“Yip, need it for the destination. The car is already logged into their system, and cleared, as I am. Saves on a ton of paperwork.” The car was already moving before Nina even had her seatbelt fastened. As they came closer to the camp gates, her driver flashed the cars lights. The flustered gate guard flung up a hurried salute. Those picked for guard duty tended never to be the brightest in their squads, nor the most useful.

“Did you just flash the guard?”

Her driver looked over, “Yip. I like to see if they are awake.” Those on gate duty knew the registrations of the Staff cars and they relied on the subtle flash of headlights by the driver, to warn them if someone of importance was inside, and that they should smarten their stances and hold their personal weapons properly. Some camps Nina had served in in the past, didn’t salute staff cars, given the massive security risk, but some camps didn’t seem to mind, the ego’s of those in HQ bigger than the security threat.

“That’s sooo dickish,” Nina said with a smile, “What’s the switch on the dash?”

“Blues and two’s.”

“Cool!” Nina leaned over to flick it on, but her driver quickly batted her hand away.

“Please don’t, its use is data logged, along with the cars location and speed.”

“Bummer!”

“Aye, too many drivers were using it for pizza runs and abused the fuck out of the privilege over the years. Now, if you use it, you have to fill out a forests worth of paper work which has to be counter signed by the CO.”

Nina settled back in her seat, which was heated she noticed, and dropped off to sleep.

It took the navigation of no less than three police checkpoints to get to their destination. Each stop requiring them both to show their MOD 90’s- their military ID.

“What about you?” asked Nina, “Do you have to wait outside?”

“There is a little room next to the visitors’ carpark. Us poor chauffeurs have to stay in there. It’s got a free coffee machine, so it’s not all bad.”

“A free coffee machine?”

“Well, some chipped mugs, a kettle, plastic milk and a jar of Tesco’s’ own brand finest.”

“Lovely.”

“Indeed.”

At the buildings main entrance, her ID was checked again as she was politely asked to stop at the reception desk inside. The middle aged woman wearing several bottles of fake tan, handed her a pass with her picture already printed on it, asking her to keep the pass visibly displayed at all times, pointing her in the direction of a large body scanner and two security guards. At the scanner she was asked to put all her loose items, including any keys, phone and handbag on a plastic tray, which was put through a small scanner. The male guard checked her handbag, flicking through the pages of her book as the female guard did a quick perfunctory clothed body search. She was asked to turn off her phone, and then it was taken from her and slipped into a clear bag along with a ticket from a raffle book. She was handed the other half of the ticket along with the instruction to remember to pick up her phone on the way out as uncollected phones were destroyed. She was handed her handbag back.

The female security guard pointed Nina to a row of plastic chairs that were every bit as uncomfortable as they looked, and was asked to remain there until called for. Nina didn’t mind, she was forearmed with Reacher. She pulled the Lee Child out and opened it to her current page. The other occupants of the chairs- five men, and one woman other than her- looked at her enviously as they tried to avoid fidgeting. She tried to hide her smug face, knowing full well that they wanted to pull out the phones they didn’t have, as much as she did.

“Miss Campbell?” For fucks sake, she had barely read the first line...

“Yes?”

“Can you come with me please?”

“Yeah, sure. Why am I here?”

“I genuinely have no idea, and even if I did, I wouldn’t be at liberty to discuss it with you.” The immaculately dressed man replied.

“Fair enough.” And that, as they say, was that. She slipped Reacher back into her handbag.

It was a long walk along corridors panelled in God knows what wood. Occasionally there were large portraits of undoubtedly famous- and long since dead- men, however her guide/escort/chaperone didn’t allow her to slow down enough to read the small brass plaques at the bottom of them. There were conspicuously no portraits of women.

Finally they stopped at a pair of large wooden doors. Her escort knocked firmly, but politely, opened the door a fraction and popped his head inside. “Miss Campbell, my Lord.” At some signal she couldn’t see, her guide opened the door wider and nodded her in.

She walked over to a very ostentatious desk, unsure whether to salute the individual behind it or not. The decision was taken from her. “Miss Campbell. A pleasure to meet you.” An overweight, bordering on obese man in his sixties, stood and shook her hand, before inviting her to sit.

“Likewise sir”. Nina had absolutely no idea who he was. He didn’t even have a little name badge sitting on his desk, saying something like “The right honourable such and such...” The chair she sat in was obviously older than her, her parents, and quite possibly, her great, great, great grandparents, but it was comfortable enough. She had the horrible suspicion that she was in the presence of someone she classed as one of the worst types of people in humanity. A politician, or a senior minister. The doors creaked open and another man quietly entered. Gaunt, possibly mid-forties. An aide? She wondered. The gaunt man sat in a chair up against the wall, and Nina had the strangest feeling that she was being deliberately flanked. It was a little bit disconcerting.

Neither man introduced themselves, which she considered a bit rude given the situation, it annoyed her and it didn’t take a great deal to annoy her at the best of times. Mr Fat Man, as she had now mentally named him, given the lack of introduction, was talking in a tone that she tended to associate with the politicians that she had seen on TV. He had opened a manila file on his desk, and was reading snippets from it aloud. It appeared to be her ‘P’ file, as all the details being read aloud were hers. Her family status, age, Ops she had been on, qualifications she had gained pre military service and those during. All very tediously boring, as she knew all that information already, it was her Personnel File after all, and she didn’t need it read out to her. Unlike her mother, there was nothing wrong with her memory. Yet.

Mr Fat Man’s Adams apple bulged and bobbled in the thick folds of fat constrained by his stressed shirt collar as he droned on. Nina wondered why he didn’t just buy a shirt with a larger collar. He was STILL quoting from her ‘P’ file. He was obviously one of those tedious men who liked the sound of his own voice. She imagined punching him in the throat, and then decided she liked that train of thought a bit too much to continue it.

Her gaze drifted past his head to the glass fronted bookshelves adorning the wall behind. She was just a bit too far away to make out the titles, which annoyed her. She was curious as to what the old tomes were. Were they old dusty land title registers or risqué books detailing, in intricate detail, how some entitled Lord had his end away with his scullery maids and stable boy...? She suddenly became aware that Fat Man had stopped getting off to the sound of his own voice. She flicked her gaze back to that of Lord Fat Neck.

“Are we boring you Miss Campbell?”

We? No, just you, she thought. “A little.” She admitted, tact had never been her strong point. There was a snort from the Gaunt Man up against the wall. Belatedly, she realised that she had probably just dropped herself in it, whatever ‘it’ was. She smiled. Smiling normally worked on men, they were stupid that way.

He said nothing, just stared at her, so she widened her smile. Men liked flattery, and woman smiling at them, didn’t they?

“We are done here.” Fat Man stood abruptly, holding his hand out. She shook it briefly before he broke contact. Gaunt Man also stood and she knew she was dismissed. A two hour trip each way for what? Her history read to her by a fat man who had never seen the business end of a treadmill? Gaunt Man opened the door and her escort stood up from the chair he had acquired from somewhere. Gaunt Man waved him away.

“It’s okay George. I will take it from here.”

“Yes sir.” George took his chair and departed, leaving Nina alone with Gaunt Man.

“That, could have gone better,” Remarked Gaunt Man drily.

“It would have been nice to know what ’that’ was beforehand ... Sir”

The corner of Gaunt’s mouth quirked up, “We have a little job for you.”

“I’m sorry sir, but you have a weird way of going about job interviews.”

“You have no idea...”

“I’m not being funny, sir. But a bit of detail would have been nice. I’m not really one for volunteering for ’little jobs’ that I know nothing about.”

“I can’t discuss it here.”

“Is the phrase ‘If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you’ involved, by any chance?”

Gaunt Man glanced at her as they walked down yet another corridor. They didn’t appear to be heading back to the visitors entrance. At least, not any time soon.

“In a manner of speaking.” He stopped at a door and swiped a keycard against a little box on the doorframe. The lock clicked and Gaunt Man pushed open the door. The room was a haven for bits of paper and Post-it notes. A cluttered desk took up one side, a large very comfortable looking leather swivel seat behind it. He waved at the only other seat in the room. “Take a seat.”

Nina’s gaze casually roamed the room, settling on the paper work on the desk. Equally casually, Gaunt Man slipped some folders onto the exposed paperwork, hiding it from her view.

“So, this ‘little job’, why me?”

“Let’s watch a little video clip first, shall we?” He pulled over a laptop, opening its lid, putting a thumb against what Nina had taken as a mouse pad, but now looked to be a finger scanner, the laptop fired up. As the laptop went through its start-up cycle, Gaunt Man went to a fifty inch TV mounted on a wall and started unspooling a cat five cable that had been coiled up neatly behind.

“Does it contain buff nude men in some really dodgy poses? That’s a new telly, you can wireless files to it you know?”

“No. I can, but I won’t. Wireless signals can be intercepted, and quite often are here.”

“Ooooo, cloak and dagger shite is it?”

Gaunt Man gave her a long flat look. “Quite.” He plugged the unspooled end into the laptop, picked up a remote and after turning on the TV, changed the channel. A picture of a laboratory of some type, jumped into focus. The recording camera was placed high up, facing down into a well-equipped room containing a large quantity of obviously specialist equipment. Some of which she knew of from her own lab experience. She also knew the cost of some of that equipment. This was no DIY setup, no back street explosives or drug facility. The footage itself was very clear; she could even make out some of the readings on a few pieces of diagnostic equipment. The fact that even the security camera was of high end quality, hinted at substantial financial backing. Dominating the centre of the room was a scaffold and strut arrangement that held up what looked to be several guide rails and a truly impressive cocoon of cabling. Her inner scientist winced at the thought of having to fault find amongst that lot. The view jumped. It took a moment for Nina to work out that she was seeing the same room from the opposing view. The wall the first camera was mounted upon, held less equipment against/bolted to it and contained a set of double doors, which burst open as she watched. A young man, about her age, in an obviously distressed state entered hastily.

“That, is one Aran Howard aged twenty six.” Supplied Gaunt Man, “He came to the attention of several police forces in the UK during operation ‘Safe harbour’- where DO they come up with these names?-. Operation ‘Safe Harbour’ was a multi-nation operation against online sexual abuse, focusing mainly on the identification of underage victims and the content creators, suppliers and end users of online child paedophilia content. He left home early to prep the lab you are watching, for a critical test, and in doing so, completely avoided the not-so-dawn-raid on his flat. Drove right past the forced entry teams, apparently. We are not sure who, or what, alerted him to his impending arrest. The mobile phone records from his provider didn’t log any calls or texts that could have alerted him. He possibly had a second burner phone, we don’t know at this time.”

On screen, the man –Aran- was rushing about, flicking on switches, plugging in cables. He grabbed some black strips and ran to the two doors.

“He’s cable-tying the two doors together?” Noted Nina.

Gaunt Man nodded.

Doors secured, Aran went back to turning on various pieces of equipment. Some serious looking warning labels were torn off and discarded to the floor. The device in the centre of the room started to slowly slide into motion. Aran stopped doing whatever he had been doing at a console and slipped between the moving machinery, sitting down in the small space inside. His face was briefly visible in flashes as the machinery circled him, slowly picking up speed. Anguish? Anger? Fear? Nina wasn’t quite sure what she was seeing on his face. It was definitely the expression of someone desperate, who was about to do something desperately terminal. Nina wondered if that’s the expression people had on their faces just before they leapt off a tall bridge/building, or stepped in front of a moving bus. People were on the other side of the double doors, trying to force their way in, and failing.

The machinery was now traveling at a fair speed. Aran’s head was tilted back, the machinery revolving so fast that the gaps between the equipment appeared almost continual, but for a brief flicker. There was no sound to the footage, but Nina could tell that he was screaming. A pain free way of suicide this wasn’t. She steeled herself for what looked likely to be a gruesome and exceptionally messy demise. The lights went out and on came a sickly red illumination, the quality of the camera footage started to deteriorate.

Gaunt man spoke up “Apparently, they cut the power to the labs, to shut the machine down, but it had already reached a critical mass.”

“WAIT! Pause it!” Nina commanded.

Gaunt Man obliged and the screen paused. Nina couldn’t help herself; she arose from her seat and moved closer to the screen, peering at it intently. Baffled, she looked back at Gaunt Man.

“Is that ... Is that sky and grass?”

Gaunt Man re-started the footage. It was hard for Nina to make out if what she had glimpsed was what she thought it was, as the previously excellent quality recording was starting to degrade badly. A few seconds later the screen went blank, she turned to Gaunt Man.

“Have you...” She tried to organise her thoughts “built a...” She tried to think of a way to describe what she was considering without appearing to be off her proverbial trolley, “Stargate?” Nina was unable to get the nineteen ninety four Kurt Russel film out of her head. Gaunt Man smiled. “Sorry, that was a truly shit thing to say. Can we forget I even said that? What’s the footage from after the ... err ... whatever that was?”

Gaunt Man motioned for her to resume her seat opposite his desk. Elbows on his paperwork, he steepled his fingers and rested his chin on his thumbs.

“There is no more footage. Whatever Aran started tore the lab apart. I’m smiling because you picked up in five minutes what a lot of supposedly very intelligent people failed to notice for quite a few weeks.”

“How badly ‘torn apart’?”

“Thirty metre deep crater, torn apart.”

“Ouch.” Nina winced.

“Indeed.”

“So you, well, they, have created a...”She wasn’t going to say ‘Stargate’ again, “Portal, somewhere? So how do I fit in? Do you not have some ‘Men in black’ types for this sort of thing?”

He snorted. “Reality is never as well organised as Hollywood likes to make out. It’s hard enough to ensure a decent and reliable supply of tea here, let alone prepare in advance for unforeseen circumstances. The PR department likes to foster the ideology that everything is as planned. The reality is that everything is planned retroactively. To the situation at hand, we would like to hedge our bets. We feel, given the circumstances, that it would be ... prudent ... to have someone on the science team when they investigate what’s on the other side.”

“‘When’?” Nina paused. “You’ve built another one? And I can’t help but notice that you’re not really answering my questions.”

Gaunt Man nodded.

“Are you asking me to carry a nuke?” Nina wasn’t joking.

He laughed, “Nothing so dramatic, and yes, I have seen Stargate. No, we just want someone a bit more ... grounded ... realistic, if you will, able to see the wood for the trees, so to speak.”

Nina’s brain crunched the obvious data. “So, because I am single, my only family that is left is basically a vegetable,” She ticked the points off on her fingers, “I have a very precise and easily checkable history for almost the last ten years, a dusty degree, experience with handheld things that go ‘bang’, that you want me to ‘Startrek’ myself and boldly go into God knows where?”