Mecrats

by C J Klinger

  Once back in the lab, Greg continued his questioning. He had more than enough information to understand his new charges’ capabilities, but he found he had been caught up in the scientific side of the project. That, plus the fact the Doctor of Neurology doing the explaining was smart, clear and knock-out beautiful kept him in the lab instead of going to meet the Mecrats. He asked, “How are you able to keep the soldier’s brain alive and connect it to the rest of the mechanical body?”

  Cathy’s concern about the Special Forces captain being too “Pentagon” had subsided. She decided he was smart, willing to listen and, although she was reluctant to admit it, pretty nice to look at.

  “That was the tricky part, not the part about keeping the brain alive; that was simply a logistical problem of providing a protective encasement along with a continuous flow of the proper nutrients. In addition to the brain, we harvested most of the spinal cord and that’s where the breakthrough came about.”

  Greg again called on his limited knowledge of biology. His mother was a gynecologist and as a teen he had more than once peeked into her books for an early glimpse at the wonders of the female body. He had more than a rudimentary knowledge of how the body worked, mostly because his mother had encouraged him to study what he was curious about, including what made men and women different.

  Greg mused, “You figured out how to attach the spinal cord nerve ending to the muscle-activator system.”

  Cathy looked at Greg for a long moment as if measuring her words carefully before she spoke, “You’re an unusually smart man, Captain Donavan. If I may ask, why did you choose the military as a career?”

  He was not offended by her inference that the military was more about testosterone than brains. He’d heard it before and marked it off to ignorance; ignorance of what it took to be a good soldier and a good tactician. An army won or lost a battle, or a war based on logistics and the intelligent use of assets, not blood and guts. He was, however, not going to call Doctor Cathy Williamson ignorant. He guessed her exposure to the type of military men responsible for this project may have influence her opinion of the military as a viable career alternative.

  Cathy was mortified at her statement. She reached out and put her hand on Greg’s arm and said, “I am so sorry, Greg. That sounded awful. What I meant was,”

  He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “There’s no need to apologize, Doctor Williamson. I can appreciate your lack of understanding what it takes to be in the military. People like yourself build things and have a hard time seeing how some of us find satisfaction in guarding what you have built.”

  His statement did little to appease her embarrassment. To her surprise, she realized she was attracted to the captain. He had a physical presence about him that bothered her in a way she had not felt in many years. And there was no question he was smart. For the first time in her adult memory, Cathleen Williamson was rattled and at a loss on what to say to repair the gaff she had just committed.

  Greg was amused at her discomfort and decided to bring the conversation back to safe territory.

  “What about their mental health?” He had decided he knew enough for the present about the physical side of the Mecrats. He was far more interested in how they were mentally.

  It took Cathy a second to realize the captain was talking about the Mecrats. She shook her head and managed to return to her normal cool and aloof demeanor. “Good and getting better, now that they are able to mentally communicate with each other.”

  This got Greg’s attention. He knew from personal experience that squad members who served and fought together formed a communication bond few civilians could understand. “What do you mean by ‘mentally’ communicate?”

  Cathy was glad to return to her academic explanations. She related how she had developed a neurological connection to tap into the separated brains during the transplant operation and how important that type of connection was to the Mecrats. “We are working on a wireless version to give them the ability to mentally exchange a wide range of thoughts and emotions.”

  The Holy Grail for any combat commander was to find a method of rapidly moving his troops and their weapons to counter new, unfolding situations. He could only imagine how much a mental communication system would improve that ability.

  “I think it’s time for me to meet them,” Greg said. “Do you want to do the honors, Doctor?”

  “I think that would be a good idea, Captain. They call me ‘MomRat’ for a reason.”

  She took one look at his quizzical expression and explained, “I’m the one who views them as human beings, not machines. One of their biggest concerns is they believe the Pentagon considers them disposable systems instead of soldiers. The Mecrats have shared a list of concerns with me they want me to help get resolved. If you’re to be their commander, you’ll have to help me get some answers.”

  Greg felt oddly pleased that he would be ‘required’ to work with the doctor. She was an interesting woman.

  Because of the afternoon heat, Cathy used the lab van to drive to the large hanger on the south side of the base. She knew the afternoon Ping-Pong tournament would be in full swing and she was anxious to see the captain’s face when he saw a pair of nine hundred pound behemoths moving at amazing speed to swat a softball sized, Ping-Pong ball over a tennis court sized net. She had asked the Mecrats not to give her a Momrat salute anymore, so she didn’t expect another embarrassing display of affection from her kids.

  The noise of the game washed over them as Cathy opened the hanger side door. She watched as Greg followed her in and stopped dead in his tracts. His calm, military demeanor faded and he said, “Holy shit.”

  Cathy smiled, that was the same thing General Emerson had said when the Mecrats had used their jet powered wings for the first time. It had been worth the wait.

  Chapter 21

  Abdullah Al Sadad’s thoughts wandered while the group of elders comprised mostly of Sunni Imams discussed ways to enforce Sharia Law. Most of their conversation centered on al-mu'amalat, the rules governing interactions between people and how to administer the appropriate punishment for any infractions. He had little interest in the countless points and counter points made in the name of correctly interpreting the law. His only concern was keeping a tight control over the area he ruled and enforcing Sharia law served that purpose very well,

  Abdullah was a Muslim in spirit, but not by education. When his parents had moved to America to escape the tyranny of Saddam Hussein’s reign they had become lax in their practice of Islam and had not insisted their American born son attend the local madras school at the Mosque. His only fascination with Islam came from the historical recounts he read about the Arab warriors who had poured out of the Arabian Peninsula in the eighth and ninth century to spread the words of the Prophet, Mohammed. To him, those stories were like tales from the American old west, full of glorified accounts of conquest and submission.

  The growing anti-Muslim sentiment in America had severely hurt his parents’ business. Their multicultural customer base had shrunk to a point where they had been forced to close their store. The final straw came when his father had died of a heart attack leaving him and his mother destitute. The kindness of other Sunni families helped his mother find a menial job and a place to stay, but Abdullah’s anger was too great to be appeased by other people’s kindness; he wanted blood. It was not long before he was inspired by the fiery words of a radical Imam who urged him to join the fight against injustice towards Muslims in general and Sunnis in particular. Two wars and the ongoing struggle in Iraq had tipped the balance of power in favor of the Iranian backed Shi’ites against the Sunnis. He had decided to join the fight.

  Within a year of joining the rebellious faction in Iraq he had earned a reputation for courage, cruelty and determination. Even the most belligerent fighter among the rebels was intimidated by Abdullah’s fierce hate of all things American, followed closely by all things Shi’ite. As the rebellion leadership was killed off by the hellaci
ous, American drone strikes, it was inevitable that Abdullah would wind up in a position of power. His penchant for showy, public executions and an incredible amount of luck avoiding the drones had eventually given him the top spot in the newly formed Islamic State. No one in the organization was prepared to challenge him for the leadership role.

  Abdullah was smart enough to know the key to running the Islamic State lay with the Imams. Their interpretation of the Qur’an provided the incentive and the framework for enforcing Sharia Laws and administering justice. Punishments were usually severe, often including beheading for infractions that would have gone unnoticed in the former sectarian state. The devote Sunnis among the population kept the general population in line and under control. Fear of swift justice reduced the number of fighters required to keep order in the collection of villages and towns under IS control.

  Abdullah had a separate council for fighting the unending war against those who were trying to destroy them. Chief among these protagonists were the Americans, but their enemies included Iraqi government Shi’ite troops with help from Iran, plus the Syrian government and Syrian rebels trying to carve out their own state and the Kurds on their northern border. The War Council included many talented men who had fled Bagdad and joined the rebellion; men who knew a great deal about the so-called collation government supported by the Americans. Better yet, they understood how their military was organized. The most important technical talent came from abroad, from America, England and Germany. Those men had communication and propaganda skills not commonly found in Iraq or Syria. Romanizing the battle against injustice had brought thousands of new recruits, fresh weapons and a windfall of financial support especially from Saudi Arabia, the region great bank. As crude as the Islamic State was, it was far more sophisticated and better organized then the western powers gave it credit for being.

  The conversation caught Abdullah’s ear and he brought his attention back to the discussion. One of the Imams was suggesting they kill only the Shi’ite men they captured and spare the women. After all, the Qur’an did not prohibit a Muslim man from marrying any woman, even an infidel if she converted to the true religion. He argued there was a shortage of eligible women in the State and it was having an effect on some of the fighters.

  “No,” he said sharply, startling several of the men gathered around the table. “They are apostate and must not be shown mercy. The law is clear.”

  Abdullah did not explain his ruling. He would have considered it a weakness to do so. Privately, he had no real interest in building an Islamic State. What he wanted was to drag America back into another ground war. He was sure that continued persecution and executions of Shi’ites and Christians, when they could capture them would eventually catapult American public opinion in favor of such a move. He wanted American families to suffer, to lose their sons and husbands, just because they were Americans like his family had suffered because they were Muslim.

  One of his trusted assistants came into the room and whispered in his ear. It was a message he had been waiting for. One of the northern patrols had captured a substantial group of Shi’ite and Christian refugees. Perhaps it was the opportunity he had been looking for, a provocation big enough to provoke the hated Americans into action. With luck, any retaliation would also bring back the armor clad soldiers who had ruined his earlier plan to behead the two American women aid workers. He had a score to settle with them.

  Chapter 22

  Greg decided to squat instead of standing in the center of the circled Mecrats who had already squatted at his suggestion. They had listened to Cathy’s introduction without comment. When she told them he was to be their new military commander, their helmet-like heads swiveled in unison to give him a closer examination. They could tell he was one of them. He was Special Forces and his campaign ribbons made it clear he was not a desk jockey. They were especially interested in his Purple Heart. Not many soldiers in today’s army stayed after being wounded; only the true soldiers went back into battle.

  Greg had to admit they were an intimidating group of soldiers. He thought of them immediately as that, partially based on what Cathy had said, but mostly because of what he had read in their files before leaving Washington. He told them, “You are officially assigned to the 1st MECRAT Battalion,” he said, letting them know they were now part of a new unit.

  “Battalion?” one of them rumbled in a low metallic voice. Greg thought it was 10Rat who had spoken, a Sergeant Rucker if his memory served him correctly.

  His suspicions were confirmed when the unit with “10Rat” stenciled on his upper left chest plate said, “Sorry, Sir for speaking without permission. We’ve been living without a CO for a long time now.”

  Greg turned to address 10Rat directly. “Not a problem, Sergeant Rucker. I can’t say that I understand what all of you have been through, but I’m sure I’ll get a better sense of it with Doctor Williamson’s help and your patience.” He turned on his knee in a slow circle and said, “I want you to understand that we are going to rewrite the rules of combat. What you did in the past will not matter. What we do in the future, will. First change, each one of you has been promoted to Master Sargent, retroactive to your first day at Groom Lake.”

  They stirred in their positions, bumped fists and slapped their chest plate. “Alright,” one of them said, speaking for the whole group.

  Cathy stood to the side watching Greg take control of her kids. She had a pang of jealousy at how easily and quickly he had assumed command. If there was such a thing as a “DadRat”, he was going to be it.

  Greg continued and the chatter died down immediately. “Doctor Williamson told me about your new communications cords and the plans for a wireless version. That will be our first priority, perfecting our special communication skills. That ability to communicate silently and mentally will be just as important as your other capabilities in determining our success or failure in the coming months.”

  As usual, Randy, their unofficial leader spoke for the group, “You just point in the direction you want us to go, Sir and will take it from there.”

  “Yes Sir,” they all echoed.

  Greg smiled congenially, “Good. I understand you have an exercise tonight beginning after sunset. Is that correct?”

  Randy said, “Yes Sir, Twenty-one hundred hours to zero three hundred.” He had slipped back into military time unconsciously.

  “The purpose of this exercise?” Greg asked.

  Randy looked at Cathy for an explanation.

  She pushed off the wall she had been leaning against and entered the circle of squatting Mecrats. “We monitor their system’s performance and,” she hesitated for a second before going on, “It help them psychologically to be physically active.”

  Greg looked up at the attractive doctor and asked, “Have you gathered enough data to satisfy your research needs?”

  Cathy felt a little irritated at having to explain the need for information the science team took for granted. “Well yes, but the Mecrats will always have to be monitored.”

  Greg smiled at her to relieve her tension. He knew he would be considered an intruder by the science personnel, but he and the Mecrats were in the military and that was going to take precedence from here on out. “I understand, Doctor. Please gather whatever data you need to keep my men healthy, but starting tonight these ‘psychological’ exercises will become military training exercises.

  Tony Boyer, 5Rat and one of three Marines in the group said, “Hoo-Rah,”

  Cathy was stung by his claim the Mecrats were ‘his’ men, but more so by the Mecrats immediate capitulation to his authority. She felt betrayed. Without another word she turned and left the building.

  “There went my ride,” Greg said after the door slammed.

  Randy said, “Don’t worry, Sir. She’ll get over it. Doctor W has been our MomRat since we were born, but we have to leave the nest at some point. I’m ready.”

  The other nine Rats echoed his sentiment.

  “Let’
s get started,” Greg said, satisfied he had taken control of the group. For the next half hour he outlined what he wanted to accomplish that night. He encouraged the Mecrats to participate, telling him what they were capable of and what might be beyond their abilities. He explained he considered them a shock force and shock forces were highly effective when they struck unexpectedly, on multiple fronts and left before the enemy could react to their presence.

  Greg looked at his watch and said, “We’ll leave from here at twenty-one hundred sharp. Any questions?”

  Randy raised his spade sized hand and said, “Begging your pardon, Sir, no offense meant, but how are you going to keep up with us?”

  Greg nodded his head in agreement, “That’s one of the problems we have to work out, Sargent Rucker. I want to lead you into action, not stand on some high hill and watch. So all of you put on your thinking caps and come up with a solution. Until then, I understand you have to juice up.” Cathy had explained it was the term the Rats used for their daily session on the nourishment rack. He stood up and the Rats followed suite. Greg saluted them and they promptly returned his salute. “You are dismissed,” he said and walked toward the exit door.

  The late afternoon heat hit him as he stepped outside. “This ought to be fun,” he thought and started in the direction of the labs approximately a mile away. A hundred yards into his walk Cathy drove up in the lab’s white van and pulled up alongside of him. She rolled down the window and said, “Get in.”