I Am Automaton: A Military Science Fiction Novel (4 page)

First
thing’s first. He picked up the phone in his room and dialed his parents.

“Hi,
Mom…yeah, I’m okay…there was an accident…no I’m fine. It was a training exercise on the airfield…”

***

Major Lewis was looking in his right desk drawer when there was a tone at his door.

“Enter.”

Captain Fiona London entered the room, closed the door behind her, and strode up to the Major’s desk. She removed her headgear and saluted smartly. “Captain London reporting.”

“Have a seat, Captain.”

She took a seat in one of the two chairs in front of his desk. He continued to rummage through files on his Cybernetic Digital Organizer Clipboard, while she sat there feeling somewhat awkward.

Fiona was a young captain
and was in the army to help pay off graduate school. Psychologists entered the army at the rank of captain and usually worked their way up from there. As noncombatants, after passing muster at Basic Training, they served as medical staff.

“Oh, here it is.” Major Lewis turned his Cybernetic Digital Organizer Clipboard to face Captain London. It was Peter’s personnel file.

“Sergeant Peter Birdsall. A tough young man. Shows a lot of promise. But his squad took a nasty turn in Mexico with one of the major drug cartels, the Navajas.”

Captain London reached forward and took the clipboard.

“Captain, I want you to assess Sergeant Birdsall.”

She looked up from the file. “PTSD? Acute Stress Syndrome? The usual?”

“No. I know he won’t have any of that.”

Now she was curious. “Oh? So what should I be looking for?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the ID Program?”

Her eyes grew wide. “Yes, I have, sir. It’s…operational?”

“Almost. We need a leader. Someone to learn the ropes and train a platoon in the methods.”

“I see.”

“This Sergeant Birdsall is one tough bastard. His whole squad in Tijuana was wiped out in front of him, and he almost bought it himself, but somehow he made it out. He’s smart, quick, and resourceful. He can take a hell of a lot of pain, too.”

“It sounds like you’ve already made your own assessment, Major.”

“Well, this program is not for the weak or psychologically ill-equipped. It takes a strong constitution and an extraordinary ability to deal with loss.”

“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.”