Mecrats

by C J Klinger

  Several things had changed recently. The Sunni population of Saudi Arabia had always been a financial source for Islamic malcontents. Now an increasing number of their young men, seeing no prospect for change in the Kingdom were taking their jihadist ambitions to the new Islamic State. Many of them were well financed by their own monies and those who were not had no trouble finding backers. Few westerners fully understood the animosity between Sunnis and Shiites, but they understood that the recent increase in atrocities by both sides was fueling a raging hatred that threatened to destroy Islam. If instability in the region was ISIS’ goal, they were achieving their objectives. Saudi Arabia, the Sunni powerhouse was edging closer and closer to an outright war with Iran, the region’s Shiite power. In spite of their reluctance to get involved, the United States and its European allies could not allow the entire region to sink into anarchy. Europe especially relied on the area for its energy supplies.

  The other recent change that was almost guaranteed to drag the west into the conflict was the Islamic States recent practice of venturing outside its borders and kidnapping western aid workers in Syria and Turkey. They had already publically beheaded a number of people and were now threatening to do the same to two female aid workers, one of them a Catholic nun. The military leader of IS, a mysterious man named Abdullah Al Sadad had already announced that the two women would be executed, presumably in the same gruesome manner. They used the atrocities to enflame their warriors and to attract new recruits. As far as General Emerson was concerned, it was not going to happen if he could get his Mecrats into action.

  After a light breakfast, the general and his staff got down to business.

  “What’s the status of the flight units, George?”

  Colonel George Westover was in charge of what the general called, “Attachments.” The Mecrats were capable of carrying a five-hundred pound combat pack on their backs. The carbon fiber pack was four feet long, three feet wide and up to eighteen inches deep. Among other uses, it could be filled with several thousand rounds of chain-belt ammunition for a hand-held machine gun. The latest attachment was a retractable, inflatable wing with two small jet engines that would make it possible to drop the Mecrats at a higher altitude up to fifty miles away from the target and then allow them to fly in to the target at a lower altitude, undetectable by enemy radar. The units could be either be discarded once they arrived in the combat zone or deflated and retracted if conditions allowed. Using their running speed and combat abilities, the Mecrats were expected to fight their way out of enemy territory after their combat mission had been completed.

  The colonel’s light blue eyes seem to brighten behind his rimless glasses. He subconsciously ran his hand through his close cropped hair before answering. “The finished prototypes were delivered yesterday, Sir. The Mecrats have been training on the simulators for two months. They say they are ready to fly the real ones.”

  General Edwards snorted. “They don’t lack for balls, do they?”

  Colonel Westover smiled at the general’s remark. “No sir, all except for Warrant Officer Angela Gonzales and Corporal Mary McKinsey.”

  The four men at the small table laughed at the crudity. The lowest ranking member at the table, Captain Rudy Broker, the general’s aide said, “But they’re growing a pair.”

  The laughter died down and the four men settled into silence, perhaps a little embarrassed for their thoughts. Finally the general shuffled the papers into a neat pile and handed them to his aide. “If we can pull this off, it will forever change warfare.”

  The quietest member of the group, Major Arneau Labour who, in the general’s estimation was also the smartest leaned forward and put the tips of both hands on the table. “The Mecrats will scare the holy shit out of ISIS. I guess the question is will our political leaders have enough of those balls we spoke of to take advantage of the situation.”

  The general nodded and said, “That’s way above my pay grade, Arneau, but I certainly share your concern.”

  The Major, who was known for being candid, which probably explained why he didn’t speak very often, pursed his lips at the general’s comment. “It certainly is above mine, Sir, but I suspect it’s not too far above yours.”

  Any other general in the military would probably have taken offense at the major’s comment, but one of the reasons General Edwards had Major Arneau Labour on his staff was for just that purpose. Known only to the general, the general’s wife and Major Labour was that when he retired next years he intended to run for the junior senate seat in his home state of Maryland. Senior members of the state’s Democratic Party had approached him and he had agreed to be their candidate in the next election against the Republican incumbent whom they considered vulnerable. Major Labour, also from Maryland had agreed to become his legislation manager. The major had just reminded him about the need to start thinking like a senator and be prepared to challenge the status quo. They were both aware of the name recognition value a successful Mecrats mission would bring to the man who had managed it from its inception.

  Captain Broker and Colonel Westover watched the exchange and marveled once again Major Labour’s frankness with a senior flag officer. Neither of them would even remotely consider saying some of the things he said to General Emerson.

  The Gulfstream started to descend and the officers gathered up their reports and returned to their seats for landing. With no other traffic in the restricted area, the plane descended rapidly and touched down under a brilliant blue sky.

  Chapter 5

  The Papoose Mountains southwest of the main base at Groom Lake are arid and rugged. Nature has had little opportunity to smooth the rough edges. Under starlit skies and a minimal moon, they are also treacherous, but with enhanced vision, the five Mecrats navigated the rough terrain with minimal difficulties. The exercises were designed to mimic potential combat situations and conducted at night to avoid detection by Russian and Chinese satellites. Recently the pentagon had added Israel and India to that list. Every power on Earth was curious about went on in Area 51, more specifically at Groom Lake, the American military’s top secret research base.

  Tonight’s maneuver was to time how fast they could move across terrain that was remarkably similar to much of the arid mountains of Iraq, Turkey and Syria.

  Sergeant Boyer, Mecrat number five and designated leader for the night’s run stopped at the bottom of a particularly rough gully. “Okay, Ratpack, I think we have enough data to keep the weeny heads entertained. Let’s head for the barracks.”

  The other members of the group thumped their chests signaling their agreement. Normally they would have stayed out as long as they could, but the arrival of General Emerson the day before had sparked rumors of an impending action. They wanted to get a little mental down-time in before meeting with the man later in the morning. With Sergeant Boyer, more commonly referred to as 5Rat in the lead, they set out at a ground eating, forty mile-an-hour pace. In thirty minutes they were inside their personal barracks, a remote hanger at the south end of the base. Along the wall were heavy duty, upright support racks the Mecrats could hook into and power down. Their life support system would automatically hook up to the “Juice-Joint” as they called it and replenish their nutrient supply and at the same time run a diagnostic check of their entire system. The lack of internal noise and supported stationary position allowed their minds to slip into a semi-conscious state. Usually five hours out of every twenty-four hours was enough. The other five ‘Rats were already in their racks.

  While the Mecrats were settling down, Cathy was just getting started on her early morning run. Without fail she put in five miles a day. It was a habit she had started in grad school to help clear her mind for the tough academic schedule ahead of her that day. The Nevada heat dictated she start her run before the sun rose. Except for winter, the mornings in the high desert were tolerable, even refreshing and Cathy enjoyed watching the rising sun color the tops of the Papoose mountains. The descending color on the ruggedly p
eaks was like a cosmic stop watch telling her how much time she had left. In the summer months, once the sun light hit the bottom of the peak, the temperature would begin to escalate to a point where running became suicidal.

  This morning she paid no attention to nature’s light show. She had other things on her mind. The arrival of General Emerson normally put the science team on edge, but his questions to her about the Mecrats readiness indicated the event she had been dreading was eminent. Her boys and girls were about to go into battle. She didn’t apologize to anybody for the protective attitude she had developed for the Mecrats during the past seven years. They had been absolutely helpless when they had been put in her care and she had nurtured them through the incredible complicated process of installing their brain into a mobile life support system. For seven years she had lived with the fact that their mobile life support system was in reality a war machine. Now it was apparently time for them to go to work.

  In one of their mind-to-mind sessions, Randy had picked up on her concern. He had reassured her the Rats could take care of themselves and for her not to worry. She had retorted that she understood that, but her concern was more about what the brass in Washington would push them to do. “You’re not supermen, you know.”

  Randy had thumped his carbon steel chest and said, “I’m not Superman, I’m Ratman.” His ongoing sense of humor helped to defuse her concerns. She knew he was right. They could take care of themselves and they would certainly take care of each other. The ten ‘Rats, as they had started calling themselves were very close and fiercely protective of one another. They were a very small family and they couldn’t afford to lose anyone of them.

  Cathy came out of her thoughts when she felt the sun on her cheeks. She angled across the field toward her quarters. After a shower and a light breakfast, she was scheduled to attend a meeting with General Emerson. She dreaded telling him the ten Mecrats were ready for an assignment, but she knew she could not delay the inevitable any longer.

  The meeting went as expected. General Emerson had pushed them until he got the agreement he wanted from the ten section heads responsible for the Mecrats development. He then had Colonel Westover describe the latest attachment, a retractable, inflatable wing. The science behind the new development fascinated the section heads, including Cathy who marveled at the design and compactness of the aerial insertion system.

  The colonel was obviously excited with his latest innovation. “It will allow our men to get into their assigned mission location without being detected.”

  Cathy was pleased he had called the Mecrats “men” instead on machines. She thought maybe she had been overreacting, but one look at General Emerson’s face told her she had been correct in her fears. In the general’s eyes, the Mecrats were a combat tool, an expendable commodity.

  “Flight trials start this evening as soon as we are satellite dark.” From the tone of his voice, it was clear General Emerson had made his decision and was not going to tolerate any objections from the science community. There were none.

  Cathy, along with all the other section heads spent the rest of the day doing comprehensive checkups on all systems. All ten of the Mecrats were deemed fit to go. In fact, they were eager to get into action. The long road to recovery and the years of learning how to use their new bodies were finally going to be put to use.

  Later that afternoon, a C130 landed and taxied up to the hanger where the Mecrats usually spent the daylights hours. It rotated in front of the hanger and after shutting down was connected to a ground mule, which backed the rear loading plane into the hanger. Three Mecrats including Sergeant Rucker were scheduled to make the first test flights. In addition to the retractable wing pack, the Mecrats would carry a large parasail to use in landing. Once they were on the ground it was to be discarded and left behind after the mission.

  Inside the hanger, techs were attaching the flight units to the back of the three selected Mecrats. The plan was for all ten Rats to get their airborne wings before the night was over. Major Labour had suggested the Mecrats be given the special airborne status. The general had liked the idea and approved it. The Rats had selected a black bat in a red circle as their unit emblem, which had been given the official designation of 1st Mecrats Battalion. A battalion normally had up to eight hundred men and the Mecrats had joked about being the equivalent of that many soldiers. The Pentagon wanted to find out if that was true.

  Precisely at eight PM, the C130 climbed into the night sky with Randy Rucker, Mary McKinsey and Jerry Washington. If they were nervous, their readouts didn’t show it. All of the initial flights were planned to take place right above Groom Lake. The plane would fly over the base at ten thousand feet and the three Mecrats would off load in unison and land as close as possible to a preplanned mark. The technician who briefed the Mecrats on their new toy told them that once they jumped out of the plane and before their wings deployed, they would have the flying qualities of a Cadillac, so they were not to “Dilly-dally” around experiencing the sensation of free-fall. The Mecrats thumped their feet in approval of his humor.

  Most of the people involved in the project had gathered outside to watch the operation. They subconsciously clustered together in groups closely associated to their work, science, military and engineering. Almost unnoticed was the cluster of the remaining seven Mecrats who stood silently scanning the sky. Cathy found herself in the middle of this group. She wasn’t sure if she had sought them out, or they had gathered around her, but she was pleased to be in their company. Angelina Gonzales, 3Rat suggested to Cathy to put her head band on. Cathy understood and donned it while Angelina plugged her end into her chest socket. An enhanced mental image of the C130 appeared in her mind. The Mecrats had the capability of magnifying their field of vision and seeing whatever they looked at in a number of spectrums. Angelina had her vision set on infrared with a 4x magnification. The image of the C130 was sharp and clear and appeared to be flying at a low altitude. Cathy began to get a sense of what the Mecrats were capable of doing in a mission situation. It helped dispel some of her fears for their safety.

  At ten thousand feet above the spectators, the load master signaled for the Mecrats to get ready. The wing pack was a clamshell design with two small jet engines mounted on the two clamshell doors. When they popped open and locked into place, the jet engines would be on the bottom side of the inflatable wings that popped out from the pack cavity. Two control arms extended from the wing pack under the Mecrats’ arms and stuck out in front of their chest. At the end of each arm was a pistol grip that controlled altitude, direction and speed. They had fifty miles worth of fuel. At the end of that fuel, or whenever they shut the engines down, the parasail would deploy. From there it was up to the Mecrats to determine their landing spot.

  The C130’s ramp open and the roar of the engines and the passing air made conversation impossible. The tethered loadmaster pointed to a light panel with three lights, red, yellow and green. It was currently yellow. He held up his right hand and after a second began closing his fingers one at a time. The message was clear. As his last finger closed, the light turned green. Randy and the two other Rats ran out the back ramp in unison. As planned, Mary McKinsey jumped to the left, Randy took the middle and Jerry Billingsworth jumped to the right. The blast of air separated them by about fifty feet. Like the tech had predicted, they had the gliding capabilities of a hunk of iron. Randy checked the altimeter on his wrist as all three clamshells open at the same time and an explosive charge inflated their wings. Within seconds of leaving the C130, they became planes themselves.

  Randy was momentarily overwhelmed by the sensation of flying. Since childhood he had had a fascination for flying. If his education had been better, he would have entered the Air Force to become a fighter pilot, but circumstances had led him to the army instead. It was the first time since he woke from his critical injuries that he felt like his life might be worth living; that he could look forward to a future without a human body.

  The da
rk expanse of the Groom Lake spread out before him and for a brief moment he considered the possibility of just continuing to fly at the altitude until his fuel ran out and not deploying his parasail and let gravity take its course. It was an option to a life without any of the physical pleasures enjoyed by men and women his age, but the sensation of flying awakened his will to live and he quickly dismissed the thought.

  His com beeped, reminding him that he was the section leader on this first jump and his team was waiting for his orders. He made a motion with his hands and the two Rats formed up on either side of him. In spite of a month of training on the simulators, they required a few moments to adjust their reaction times to the actual performance of the inflated wings. The trio made a wide swing round the base dropping their altitude to five thousand feet, then to three thousand feet and finally down to five hundred feet. The Three Rats roared straight down the long runway and made a wide sweeping to line up on the taxiway leading to the central tarmac area where the spectators were gathered. Five hundred feet from the target, Randy gave the signal and the team pulled straight up and killed the engines. Their momentum carried them up another hundred feet before the parasails deployed. The crowd watched in silence as the Mecrats quietly descended to the marked spot on the runway. The only noise came from the wings deflating and automatically retracting back into the clamshell pack.