Homeworld: A Military Science Fiction Novel (33 page)

“So you’re asking me to assess if a man, who had his whole squad murdered in front of him and somehow survived to tell the tale, has an extraordinary ability to deal with loss?”

Major Lewis smiled. This man will be filled with piss and vinegar, and driven by thoughts of revenge, but I’m not sure if he’s ready for the ID’s…methods. I need to know that he’ll keep a level head. If he can’t then it would be…”

“Dangerous.”

“Yes, Captain. That would be putting it mildly.”

“Does he know he’s going to be meeting with me yet?”

“No, and he won’t be pleased, but that’s a small matter. I’ll just dangle the carrot of the new program in front of him. He’ll do it. The rest is up to your ability to get inside his head.”

“So he’s aware of the ID Program?”

“No. Not yet. Not until he’s ready. You’ll tell me if he is.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And, of course, all of this is confidential, and you’ll report only to me. Is that clear, Captain London?”

“Yes, sir.”

Major Lewis flashed a warm smile at her. “I knew you were the right person for the job.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

“If we can get this program off the ground and run successful pilot tests in Mexico, the implications for unconventional warfare will be quite profound.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Dismissed, Captain.”

***

Peter was sore from his physical therapy session and was irritable. He was in no mood to see a shrink.

He detested army shrinks. They could not possibly understand what a real soldier went through. They were noncombatants and never saw any action.

He winced as he walked down the corridor to her office. Captain Fiona London. She sounded to him like an actress or model, or a WASP who enlisted in the army to piss off daddy.

He pressed the blue button for the retinal scan. A beam scanned his eye, and a tone signaled the confirmation of his identity.

“Enter,” he heard from inside.

He stepped into the room, closed the door behind him, and saluted the captain at her desk.

“That won’t be necessary, Sergeant.”

She gestured for him to sit down in the chair in front of her desk.

As he sat, he took in her office. It was different from the other officers’ offices. It wasn’t minimally decorated with that Spartan sensibility so characteristic of the army.

No, Captain London apparently was going for homey, but only as much as the military would permit. There were curtains on the window, even a valence. Impressionistic paintings hung on the walls, probably by famous painters, not that he would know the difference.

Then it dawned on him. It was his parents’ living room from his childhood. Nice touch. Just enough to make him feel at home.

He sized up his new therapist. Captain London obviously had some sophistication to go with her fancy degrees, and she was not terrible to look at either.

“So, Sergeant Birdsall…may I call you Peter?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I think that we can dispense with the formalities. I think that it is important that you feel comfortable in here.”

“Well, I’ve never been to a…shrink before.”

“That’s okay. I think you’ll find I’m the least painful army doctor.”

There was something very easy-going about her demeanor. Peter felt that it was almost as if she was flirting with him, but there was no flirtatious body language. She was being folksy.

“Let’s see.” She was poking the touch screen of her Cybernetic Digital Organizer. “Sergeant Peter Birdsall. Age 24, 6’4”, 220 pounds. Texas native. Played high school football. Hobbies include hunting, fishing, and camping. Good all-American boy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She put down the Cybernetic Digital Organizer and looked him right in the eye. “So, Peter, I see from your file that you had experienced the loss of your squad in Tijuana.”

Boy, she didn’t mince words.

“Yes.”

“And Corporal Delroy Apone was a friend.”

Peter swallowed hard. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“I’m very sorry to hear about that.”

“Thank you.”

Captain London paused briefly, deciding which route to go with the session. She wanted him to open up, but she didn’t want to be too direct and shut him down. “If you don’t mind me asking, how on earth did you manage to get out?”

“I believe it’s all in the file.”

“Yes, in the file it states that you fought off your captors with hands bound and fled to the city where someone had apparently taken you in.”

Lucita. He never saw her again, was never able to thank her. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“Well, Peter, you are very lucky to still be with us.”

He hated that everyone said that to him. “I don’t feel lucky.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I walked my men into an obvious ambush. I saw my men gunned down…no, executed in front of me. And now I get to live with that the rest of my life.”

“Peter, I’m not going to bullshit you. You were squad commander. You were responsible for those men. Now, I can say that it wasn’t your fault that the Navajas knew you were coming. But that wouldn’t change what happened or how you feel about it.”

Peter began to tense his hands and clench his jaw. “No, it wouldn’t.”

“In fact, it would probably just piss you off.”

“Yes, it would.”

“And it would be equally ridiculous to remind you that as a soldier in the United States Army, there is the distinct statistical probability that any of your squad will or will not make it back from any given mission.”

He was now gripping the arms of his chair. “Yes, it would.”

“And why would that be ridiculous, Peter?”

“Because it wouldn’t help me fix anything.”

“It wouldn’t bring back your friend, Delroy.”

His eyes were welling up. She could see the sadness of loss and heat of vengeance in his glare.

“So what do I do, Doc? What can I do?”

She now leaned forward, meeting the intensity of his eyes with determination in hers. “What would you like to do?”

Peter was now visibly attempting to control his feelings. “Permission to speak freely.”

“Peter, you can say anything you want in here.”

“I know you report to Major Lewis, so I want him to hear this.”

She nodded in encouragement.

“I want to kill the bastards. I want to hunt every single one of them down. I want to burn their entire drug running operation to the ground. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

She paused thoughtfully, letting his words hang out in the air. It was important to let his own words register with him.

“You’re not ready yet.”

The digital curtains and paintings glitched.

“I know; I have to complete my physical therapy.”

“I wasn’t referring to your physical recuperation.”

“Oh, here it comes. So I’m not psychologically ready.”

She leaned back in her chair, her voice now softer but firm. “Peter, you’re very angry and looking for revenge, and you haven’t dealt with the loss yet.”

Peter was growing tired of the psychobabble. “And…”

“And that would make you dangerous. Dangerous to any soldiers we would put in your charge, particularly for the program that Major Lewis has in mind for you.”

“Yeah, no one’s exactly told me what this program is actually about. How do I know that I even want to be a part of it?”

“For the exact reasons that you have just elaborated. You want revenge, but in time, I’d like to modify that motive a bit. Eventually, you can come to the conclusion that it is important that your men…your friend, Delroy Apone…didn’t die for nothing.”

Peter nodded in agreement.

“Right now your vengeance makes you reckless, impulsive. You would run into any fight to exact your revenge. But it has to be about more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that it has to become more than about you and your guilt and making yourself feel better.”

He stood up out of his chair, shaking. The paintings distorted momentarily. “How dare you imply that I’m being selfish.”

She stood and met his gaze. “So far, all I’ve heard about is how you feel. How sad you are. How angry you are. How you miss your friend.”

“What the hell else am I supposed to say?”

“It’s not all what you say, Peter. What are you going to do? Are you going to deal with your loss and move on so that you can do the right thing for your men and your country?”

Peter slowly lowered himself into his seat. He had never thought of it that way before. She was right. He couldn’t just return to Mexico, guns blazing, shooting up the place.

His men in Tijuana deserved more, and if he were to return, the new soldiers in his charge would deserve more too. They deserved a CO who would have a clear head and show good judgment.

“And…how do I go about doing this?”

Captain London sat down and smiled. “You’ve already begun. That’s what you’re here for, Peter. You can’t do this alone.”

Peter nodded silently.

“Peter, the Chinese have a saying: ‘In every crisis there is danger and opportunity.’ The danger is that you’re too traumatized by what happened in Tijuana and you’ll wash out, but there’s an opportunity. Deal with you grief, your guilt, and your loss and return to Mexico wiser from experience.”

She hesitated, choosing her next words cautiously. “And this new program is like nothing anyone’s ever seen before. It needs competent leadership. It needs you, Peter.”

“I understand.”

She sized him up for a moment, registering his sincerity, but she wondered if he had the will. They would both find out soon enough.

“I think that’s enough for today, Peter. We’ll meet again next week. We have a lot of work to do.”

“Yes, I suppose we do.”

“By the way—standard question—I don’t have to worry about you hurting yourself or anyone else, do I?”

“Just the Navajas.”

“Good. See you next week.”

He stood and saluted, and she dismissed him. He left and the digital curtains and paintings from his youth switched off. After he left her office, she sighed heavily and opened his file. Before she registered her session note, she dialed Major Lewis.

“Hello, Major.”

“Did you see Sergeant Birdsall?”

“Yes, we just concluded our first session.”

“So, what do you think? Is he ready?”

She paused. “No, he’s not ready yet, sir.”

“How long?”

“I’m not sure how long, if ever.”

“You’ll keep me abreast of his progress?” It was an order more than a question.

“Of course, Major.”

“It is important that he get back on the horse. If not, he’ll wash out.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Good day, Captain.”

She hung up the phone and stared into thin air, lost in her thoughts for a moment. Rehabilitation of Sergeant Birdsall was certainly possible. Soldiers in combat situations had to deal with trauma and loss all of the time.

Part of her worried about what she was preparing him for. Sending this man into the ID Program was like sending a snowball careening into hell. If he wanted back in, he would get it. However, at what cost to him?

She had to follow orders. Besides, he wouldn’t be compelled to join the program. He could always be reassigned, but she saw that look in his eyes. He would not give up. He would not quit. She was a good enough judge of character to know that he would pursue this to the end.

She picked up her pen, began to compose her analysis, and she registered her first session note with Sergeant Peter Birdsall.

***

The next few months, Peter faithfully attended his physical therapy sessions, and his perseverance paid off. His injuries were minimal given the situation, and he progressed rapidly.

His psychotherapy with Captain London was also going well. She had a practice of cutting through the garbage and addressing things head on, and he respected that.

They had discussed his relationships with each of his men, his guilt, and his anger. He was beginning to find some closure about what had happened in Tijuana.

She had taught him how to compartmentalize his feelings and memories about what had transpired. She taught him the Buddhist philosophy towards loss—that in death people gave back that which never belonged to them in the first place.

She talked about entanglements, and how worrying about loss would cause a self-fulfilling prophecy in combat. He learned to let go of worry about dying and focus on staying alive.

Captain London had his file open in front of her on her desk. He was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, Doc…what do you think?”

“Well, Peter, you’ve made significant strides in our sessions together. You managed your grief; you confronted your guilt…”