I Am Automaton: A Military Science Fiction Novel (10 page)

Major Lewis snickered. “Yes, but they will know next to nothing about the ID. In all probability, they’ll mostly be firing at the body, as it’s the largest target. A few will get lucky with some headshots, but neither terrorists nor Mexican cartel members are known for being marksmen.”

This made sense to Peter so far. “But what about recovery? How do we get them back after the targets have been neutralized?”

“We trigger the Amygdala Inhibitors,” Lockwood said, “to immobilize them temporarily. Then you would mobilize the bait.”

“Bait?”

“Yes, pigs. There being nothing for the ID to pursue or eat, they’d return to pursue the pigs. Plus, one of your engineers will transmit a frequency that tends to attract the ID, to draw them back out.”

“We want to minimize losses of ID
, as we don’t want this technology falling into enemy hands,” Major Lewis added. “Not that they would probably know what to do with it. In fact, if they ever did detain any number of ID, they wouldn’t live long enough to realize their folly. Individuals would get bitten and turn, eventually overrunning the enemy before they would figure out what they were dealing with.”

Peter didn’t care for the Major’s snarky attitude
or his glib approach to the apparent expendability of live human soldiers in relation to that of the apparently expensive ID.

Lockwood handed Peter the shotgun. “Would you like to give her a try?”

Peter nodded and accepted the shotgun and earmuffs to protect his ears. He placed them on and followed Lockwood to a booth in the shooting range.

Lockwood pressed a button on a control panel, and a cardboard cutout of a man holding a gun popped up. Peter squeezed the trigger, taking off its head.

Lockwood gave him the thumbs up and began to press multiple buttons. Multiple cutouts popped up, and Peter squeezed and squeezed and squeezed, pop, pop, pop.

He was surprised at the rate he could fire off rounds, particularly for a shotgun. Lockwood showed him how to pop out the tube of expended ammo and insert the next.

“This
will
come in handy in a swarm situation,” Peter said barely hiding the delight in his voice. He was like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Here,” Lockwood handed Peter a pistol and took the shotgun. “Try this.”

Peter received it rather enthusiastically, took aim out at the range, and smirked. “Pull.”

Lockwood pressed some more buttons, and Peter fired rapid rounds into the
cutouts. He took off the earmuffs and handed them to Lockwood. “Show me more.”

Lockwood gestured to follow him, and Major Lewis brought up the rear
, smiling, rather satisfied with his choice of Lieutenant Birdsall.

Lockwood took him over to a rather elaborate-looking dummy. He handed him a small black cylinder.

Peter flicked his wrist smartly, extending the baton. “It feels so light.”

“But it packs quite a punch,” Lockwood added. “This dummy has a simulated skull with artificial brain matter inside. Go ahead and give it a
whack.”

Peter smiled at Major Lewis, raised his right hand above his head, and brought the baton down in a crushing blow, breaching the skull rather easily.

He was sprayed with artificial brain matter. He looked comical, standing there with baton in hand, grinning through what looked like strawberry jam splattered all over his face.

Lockwood continued his instruction. “The retractable batons will be helpful if it were to become necessary to engage in close hand-to-hand combat. Of course, such a scenario should only occur as a last resort. Use of the baton will only be effective when facing one or two ID
. If there were three or more, hand-to-hand combat would prove extremely dangerous if not futile.”

“Will we be wearing any protective head gear?” Peter asked.

“In the field, your helmet will be provided with protective goggles,” said Lockwood. “You won’t want to get any of their brain tissue or blood in your eyes. You’ll want to keep your mouth closed as well.”

“Well that’s interesting,” remarked Peter. “What
are
the rules anyway?”

Major Lewis looked confused. “The rules? What rules?”

“You know, every zombie movie has rules. How you kill them, how to get infected…you know, the rules.”

Lockwood stepped in. “The only way to put them down is with a headshot. Don’t get bitten or get their blood in your mouth, eyes, or any of your orifices. If someone is bitten, the time it takes for them to die is variable, but re-animation occurs within five minutes of time of death.”

He reached back and put the baton back on the table. He picked up a book and handed it to Peter. “The Tactical and Intructional Manual for Wrangling Insidious Drones.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Peter said rhetorically.

“Actually we’re not,” said Lockwood. “It’s incomplete. We were hoping that you could help us finish it, fill in the details, plan for every possible scenario we can anticipate.”

Peter looked up at Lockwood in disbelief.

“Well, Lieutenant, we’ve run some preliminary training exercises, but it’s all still very sloppy. We were hoping you could help us tighten things up to meet the standards for a mission.”

“And I’m sure you have some ideas for the Navajas,” Major Lewis coaxed.

Peter was overwhelmed. This was all so sudden and strange. “I’ll do my best, sir. When do I start?”

“You’ll start tomorrow.
First, you’ll meet your platoon, and then you’ll begin rudimentary exercises and eventually training simulations. But for today, I’ve scheduled a session with Captain London.”

Peter’s expression changed,
and the enthusiasm faded. He felt his cheeks flush as he recalled the night at Frisky’s and being seen with the brunette bimbo.

Major Lewis sensed his reticence. “Lieutenant Birdsall, it is crucial that you continue your relationship with her during your participation in the program. It is in your best interest and the best interest of your platoon to keep a level head. The long-term psychological effects of working with the ID have not been assessed.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Your appointment is at 15:00.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Peter saluted and returned to the barracks.

***

“So, how was your first day in the ID Program?”

Peter sat in his chair staring at Captain London. It was
as if he was just realizing how truly attractive she was, but he was not sure why. She was pretty, blonde, athletic, smart—but he did not know why now.

“It’s all so…overwhelming. I mean, you see stuff like this in the movies, but you’d never think it was real.”

“Or that the army was working with it no less,” she added.

“But it all makes perfect sense,” he
said. “They’re just low-maintenance, relentless killing machines that swarm their targets.”

“Speaking of which, do you have any worries about working with them?”

He paused thoughtfully. “When I was a kid, I used to play with scorpions and rattle snakes. I even used to work on a ranch. I would imagine it’s similar.”

“The herding part and the prospect of being bitten by things that can kill you, yes. But did you ever herd cattle into a building to kill someone?”

“No, of course not.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Well, the targets would be cartel or terrorist.”

“What about civilians? What if they got in the way of your ID and the targets?”

“Well, I guess I haven’t thought about that.”

“Peter, in the first decade of this century
, Presidents George W. Bush and Barack Obama were criticized for their aggressive use of drones in the border of Pakistan—too many civilians killed.”

“But that’s the nature of using drones, isn’t it? Collateral damage.”

“Well, Peter, does the end justify the means?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I mean how many civilian deaths are acceptable during a mission? A few, several, fifty?”

“I-I don’t know, exactly. I guess the same that was acceptable under Presidents Bush and Obama.”

“But that’s the point, Peter. The military thought they were doing the right thing, that the ‘collateral damage’ was minimal. But the press thought otherwise.”

“But the press is not the first consideration in any of our exercises. Besides, it sounds like we’ll be storming caves. Isn’t that the intended application of the ID? To go where live soldiers cannot normally
go. I doubt there’ll be many civilians in the caves.”

“What about the ‘neutralization,’ Peter? Can you handle the targets being eaten alive? Even terrorists?”

Peter hesitated, digesting the question and its implications. “I guess water boarding was once considered excessive prior to 2024. Even with September 11
th
. But there have been so many more terrorist attacks throughout the world, and they’re now providing security for the Mexican cartels to flood our country with drugs.”

“So that warrants the use of ID?”

“Well, doesn’t it?”

“I’m asking you, Peter. My opinion doesn’t matter. I’m only asking these questions
…”

“Yes, as an exercise. I know.”

He thought about her question. “We cannot catch these terrorists, and the cartels are almost equally elusive. I guess it would be for the greater good.”

“You guess?”

“I don’t know. I would be following orders from men who have given this a lot more thought.”

“So you’re just another blunt instrument? Like
an ID?”

“No, of course not.”

“Really? They don’t question orders. They’re just pointed in a direction, and they achieve the objective. Then they’re rounded up and returned to await the next combat scenario.”

Peter was becoming frustrated with her line of questioning. “Yes, but they can’t think.”

“Ah-ha. So there is a difference.
You
, Peter, can think. I want you to remember that, not just during the training exercises, but when you unleash the ID out on the world that you are supposedly protecting.”

Peter’s brain hurt. It must have been evident by the expression on his face.

“Look, Peter. It is my job to make sure that you keep your head on straight during this whole thing. Working with the ID can be dangerous, not just physically but psychologically. You can lose your humanity after a while. And once you lose yourself, your judgment follows and people can get hurt.”

“Oh, for a minute I thought you actually cared about
me
.”

“I do, Peter. But remember, these sessions are not just about you.”

He remembered…Apone.

Captain London shifted topics. “So, how’s your scruffy little brother? Does he still want to be all he can be?”

Peter laughed. “It’s quieted down for now. My mother must’ve gotten to him.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. He would’ve made an excellent soldier.”

“
My
brother? Really? Why’s that?”

“Well, he’s intelligent, brave
…”

“Brave?”

“He approached me in a bar and struck up a conversation out of thin air, clumsily but effectively. You just stammered when I approached you.”

Peter was embarrassed. His face felt hot, and he again began to stammer. He never stammered when talking to women. “I-I-I was just surprised to see you there. That’s all.”

“He also seems to feel that he doesn’t fit in anywhere.”

“Well, that’s always been true.”

“He’s looking to belong. With his intellect, I think he’s definitely officer material.”

Peter’s face was so hot
, you could’ve fried an egg on it. She definitely triggered his competitive nature, but was he…jealous? And if so, of what?

“Well, if you talk to him, tell him I said hi.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Same time next week?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“See you then. Call me if you need me.”

“Will do.”

Peter was thankful to end the session at that point and did not hesitate to leave Captain London’s office.

***

Peter was lying in his bunk reading the manual
that Lockwood had given him. He flipped through the various chapters on hand-to-hand defense, ID battle formations, roundup and cleanup.

This whole thing was so surreal. Apone would’ve shit his pants from laughter if he found out about any of this. Or would he have been horrified?

As a matter of fact, Peter was hit with all of this so quickly, he was not sure about his own feelings. The idea of being around even one of those ID gave him the willies, particularly after his experience with the one in the Labyrinth. He pitied anyone designated as a target.