by C J Klinger
Before he could say anything, a slightly drunk Air Force Captain, whose advances Cathy had rejected several times, walked up behind Greg and said, “Well, well, if it isn’t the elusive and aloof Doctor Cathy Williamson. I see you’ve come down to earth, all the way down to a ground pounder.”
Greg’s smile froze on his face. He put his drink down and turned his chair to face the unwelcome intruder. “That’s Major Special Forces Ground Pounder to you, Captain.”
Captain Carl DeWitt was not deterred by Greg’s uniform or comment. He was off flying duty for the next two days and had taken the occasion to unwind. He was surprised and pissed when he saw the alluring Doctor Cathy Williamson walk into his officer’s club with an army grunt. It did not matter that the grunt in question was a decorated combat Special Forces major. Cathy Williamson was his territory.
The Air Force captain said flippantly, “Whatever, a grunt is a grunt.”
Greg kept the smile on his face, but his eyes did not reflect the same cordial feelings. “I remember you, Captain. I waved at you in Afghanistan as you were flying away from the battle at top speed about twenty thousand feet above the action.” Greg immediately regretted baiting the drunken officer. He had the greatest respect of the support the Air Force had given his units in action. This twit was not representative of those good men.
A storm gathering on Carl DeWitt’s face as the insult sank in. He was ready to make this a physical confrontation.
Greg put his left hand around the captain’s upper right arm and pressed his thumb into the nerve on the inside of his bicep. He leaned forward and whispered very softly, “I don’t really know you, Captain, nor do I want to. Now why don’t you go back to your friends before I ram my 10” Kevlar, Special Forces knife into your crotch and make a girl out of you?”
Carl DeWitt sobered up enough to realize he was physically out classed. The paralyzing grip on his arm told him he was in trouble. He involuntarily looked down at the army officer’s right arm, which was tucked in behind his leg like he was concealing something, like a 10” Kevlar knife.
He stammered saying, “I’m sorry, I meant no offense.” He tried to pull away from the iron grip.
Greg kept his smile and said, “None taken.” And after a short pause he added, “Yet.” He let go of the captain’s arm. Captain DeWitt staggered back a step and quickly retreated to his drinking buddies at the other end of the bar. Greg watched him go and rotated his chair back to face Cathy whose face reflected her surprise at how quickly the confrontation had ended.
“What did you say to him?” she asked, burning with curiosity.
Greg’s face turned serious as he said in a low voice, “I told him we were waiting for him to pass out so you could use his tiny brain to power a Mecrats pet.”
In spite of her best efforts not to, Cathy laughed. She said, “I need to take you to my next Senate subcommittee hearing.”
Greg raised his drink and said, “I’m at your service, Doctor.” He took a sip and said, “Are you ready to get a table?”
Cathy felt daring, more daring than she had in many years. “I have a better idea. Let me cook for you at my place.”
Greg didn’t need a second invitation. He dropped some money on the bar and put his half-finished drink down. All eyes in the room followed them out of the club.
“So much for my reputation,” Cathy said as she got into Greg’s van.
“Never fear, the army is here. I will protect you from any attack by the Air Force.”
Cathy grinned and added, “You and the Mecrats.”
“Man, isn’t that the truth. They think you hung the moon.” The admiration was unmistakable in Greg’s voice. It pleased Cathy to hear it.
“They are my babies,” she said a little wistfully.
In her quarters, which was a modest one bedroom kitchenette, Cathy asked Greg, “What will it be, breakfast food, sandwiches or tuna salad?”
He had walked into the small kitchen with her and she felt his close proximity behind her. Her heart rate went up and her breathing got shallow. She felt his hand on the side of her face and turned toward him as he brushed her hair to one side. He kissed her long and tenderly and she eagerly returned it until they had to stop to take a breath. Urgency erupted inside Cathy from years of suppressed want. She grabbed Greg and kissed him hard on the lips while dragging him to her bedroom. Inside the small room they shed clothes while kissing, stopping only long enough to take Greg’s t-shirt off. She quickly pulled him down on top of her as she had imagined in her earlier fantasy. They lunged at each other with animal like ferocity. Cathy inexpertly guided him into her and then cried out in a combination of pain, passion and lust. They thrashed about for several minutes until Greg stiffened and uttered unintelligent sounds. Cathy grasped his back tightly and pushed herself against him in one last counter thrust. He collapsed on top of her, his chest rising and falling from exertion. The two of them lay quietly; the only motion being Cathy’s hand slowly moving on Greg’s back. Finally he rolled to her side and said softly, “What the hell just happened to us?”
Cathy turned on her side facing him and said, “Whatever it was, I want it to happen again.”
He turned and kissed her with much more tenderness and a lot less passion then he had a few minutes earlier. “You’ll have to give me a few minutes,” he answered with a contended sigh.
True to his word, Greg made love to her again with tenderness and considerable restraint in spite of her insistent efforts to get him to speed up. In the end she was glad he had taken his time. Their shared orgasm was a first for her with a partner.
They showered together, another first for Cathy. She thoroughly enjoyed the experience. As they were getting dressed Greg stopped buttoning his shirt and put his hands on Cathy’s shoulders. She looked at him quizzically, wondering what was going through his mind.
“I want you to know that was not a casual encounter for me, Cathy. I’ve thought a whole lot about you since we first met. I hope you’re okay with that.”
Cathy reached up and kissed him on the lips. “I’m okay with that.”
An hour later they arrived at the hanger as the Mecrats were getting ready for their nightly training exercise. Greg went to his office and Cathy headed toward the clustered Mecrats. Randy saw her and sang out, “Watch your language Rats, MomRat is here. Long time no see, Doctor W, how are you?”
Cathy smiled and waved at her favorite Rat. She meant every word when she said, “Never better, Randy. I understand you’re having a problem with your wireless interconnects.”
Randy squatted down next to her and said, “The visuals work for the most part, but we are not getting as much empathetic information as we do with the cords.”
Cathy took her headset out of the lab bag she had brought her with her. She put it on and handed the cord end to Randy and said, “Show me what you’re missing.”
Randy plugged in and after a moment said, “Why Cathy, there’s been a change in your life.”
Cathy’s face turned crimson. She pulled her headset off and said in a low voice, “Don’t you dare say anything to anybody, Randy.”
“Too late, Doc. Remember, we’re connected wirelessly. We share everything.” Randy swiveled on his knee and looked at the other Rats. They all waved their fingers- slightly.
Randy made it worse by asking, “Are you and DadRat planning to have any little Rats?”
“Stop that, Randy,” Cathy hissed.
Randy picked up Cathy’s headset and handed it back to her. She got the hint and put it on. He didn’t want them to be overheard by any of the support staff.
The big oaf said, “We’re happy for you, Doc. The major’s a good man and a good soldier. You could do worse, but I think you’d have a hard time doing better.”
Gratitude swept over Cathy for Randy’s understanding and acceptance. She got over her embarrassment and said, “Thank you. All of you are the most important people in my life. Now let me help you fix your communication problem.�
�
Greg walked up to the group and asked, “Well, did we get lucky, Doctor Williamson? Did you find an answer?”
All ten Mecrats laughed in their mechanical voices.
Greg looked puzzled, “What did I say that was so funny?”
Cathy joined in the laughter. “I’ll explain later, Major Donavan. And yes, we got lucky.”
Chapter 25
Abdullah stood on top of the small hill overlooking the community square that held the captives. There were approximately eight hundred of them, men, women and children, Shi’ites Muslims and indigenous Shabbat Christians. He was surprised that after five years of systematic purging and killings, there were still that many Shi’ites and Christians left in this part of Iraq. These people had been living in the relative security of Kurdish held territory, but the tides of war had changed the boundary and these people had been swept up in the process.
Abdullah did not want a wider war with the Kurds, at least not yet. They were fiercely territorial and fought anybody, Shi’ite, Sunni, Turks or any government who threatened their new independence in northern Iraq. They were still technically part of Iraq, but ever since the fall of Saddam Hussein, they had been operating more or less as an independent country. Abdullah was content to let them alone until the Islamic State was powerful enough to conquer and control the Kurds and their lucrative oil fields.
Some of the Islamic insurgents adjacent to the Kurds did not share Abdullah’s reluctance to fight their northern neighbors. It was not in Abdullah’s interest to discourage his fighters’ aggressive actions, but he was reluctant to expend very much of his precious military resources to assist them in fighting the Kurds, who would assuredly fight back. He had a much more serious enemy to prepare for.
While he rejoiced at their success, the people they had captured represented a problem. The Kurds were outraged over this latest incursion into their territory and were preparing to retaliate for what they considered an attack on their homeland. They had demanded the return of the territory taken and the people who had been captured in the action. Abdullah knew he would not remain the military leader of the Islamic State for very long if he agreed to those demands, so like it or not, he would have to help them defend the captured territory from a Kurdish counter attack. However, that didn’t resolve the problem of what to do with the eight hundred people huddled in the compound. His options were limited. In this war there were no prisoners. If you were a soldier and captured, you were executed, either by gunfire or beheading. If you were a Shi’ite or a Christian, the same fate awaited you, with some exceptions. Abdullah was not concerned about their fate. That they would die was a given, but how they would die could possibly advance his effort to lure America into a ground war.
The area commander, Abu Hadid had been standing patiently at Abdullah’s side while the supreme military commander examined the captives. He pointed off to one side and said, “They are just about through digging the trench to bury them, Abdullah. My men are ready to begin the executions.”
Abdullah nodded his head in understanding. He knew the executions would outrage Shi’ite Muslims worldwide. That suited his purpose. He was counting on that outrage to eventually start a general war between Sunnis and Shi’ites, specifically Iran and Saudi Arabia. America would face a dilemma; get involved on one side and by doing so create a hundred million new terrorists bent on her destruction, or, be unwilling or politically unable to get involved and lose all influence in the Mideast, which was Abdullah’s eventual goal. He hoped America would decide to get involved. Above all else he wanted to have the opportunity to take out his anger on American ground troops. His other goal was to oust the Saudi royal family, who were the moderating influence on the Sunni population in the Arab peninsula. He knew the Sunnis and Shi’ites would eventually settle into a truce and the lands of the Middle East would be governed by Islam and not by greedy capitalists in Washington, D.C.
Abdullah put his hand on the shoulder of the area commander and said, “Let’s have a public trial first, Abu. We want the world to know how we handle apostates.”
Abu Hadid shrugged his shoulders. It was a waste of time in his opinion, but Abdullah had spoken and he was not a man to argue with and live long. “When?” he asked.
“Soon, very soon, Abu, in the meantime give them food and water to show the world that we are generous in our justice.”
Abu gave the orders and Abdullah took one last look at the unfortunate mass of humanity below him who would be sacrificed to advance his cause. His only nagging concern was the new American fighting machines. What would they do in the coming days?
Chapter 26
Cathy discovered she could whistle. She would occasionally catch herself whistling a long forgotten tune while she worked. Her small staff smiled knowingly and was pleased for her. More than anybody they knew how hard she had worked to save the grievously wounded soldiers who had been transferred to the Groom Lake hospital complex. They knew how much she had suffered for the ones she had not been able to save. It was wonderful that she had finally found someone to share her emotional burden, someone who seemed to care about her Rats as much as she did.
She and Greg spent as much time together as possible, which wasn’t a lot. When they did, their passion was intense and their discussions were equally intense. Cathy felt she had finally met a man who was her equal, emotionally and intellectually. She was surprised and pleased how much Greg understood her technical explanations about the complexities involved in transferring mental, neurological impulses into electrical signals that made an artificial muscle contract. What she did not know was the number of hours Greg spent on line learning about her science.
He was lying on his side with his head resting on his propped arm when he said, “What really impresses me is how you were able to match the correct nerve with the same mechanical muscle complex. I don’t see how that was possible. They don’t come with little tags that say, ‘I work the right thumb’.”
Cathy laughed in genuine pleasure at the analogy. “No they don’t, but we didn’t need to have them individually labeled. For many years, medical research has been identifying the specific nerve clusters in the spinal cord that operate certain body functions. Once we had the right cluster, we attached our electrical grafts more or less at random. The Mecrats’ brain did the rest. They very quickly figured out which nerves did what and within weeks the motions had become an automatic reflex.”
Greg frowned slightly. “And that’s why they are more efficient than the specs say they should be.”
Cathy was silent. She had never said anything to Greg about the Mecrats’ better-than-expected abilities. That was between her and the Rats. Either he had figured it out on his own, or the Rats had shared their actual abilities with their new commander. She waited for him to explain.
He reached out and stroked the side of her head. “Look Cathy, I’m not blind. I know the Rats are far more capable then they or you let on. I don’t want to say anything to them about it, because I want them to trust me enough to volunteer the information. One of the things I don’t want to do is put them into a situation they can’t possibly survive, but at some point I’ll need to know their capabilities, especially since I’ll be right there with them.
That thought hadn’t occurred to Cathy. She wanted very much to share what she knew, but also knew she would have to talk to the Mecrats first. She put her hand on top of his and said, “Trust them, Greg. They’ll tell you when the time is right.”
Greg stared at her for a second then said, “It had better be soon, because we’re leaving on a mission the later part of this week.”
Cathy’s had flew to her mouth. “So soon,” she cried. She never kidded herself about the inevitability of another action, but she had lulled herself into believing it would not be immediately.
Greg gathered her in his arms and hugged her. “Don’t worry Baby, we’ll be okay.”
Cathy knew it was the same lie that all warriors told their loved ones,
but she still took comfort in his reassurances.
Later that night, Greg laid out the mission to the assembled Mecrats. Only the units’ support personnel were present. The mission was considered top secret and only those with a need to know where involved.
“We’re going to be working alongside units of the Fifth Special Forces Group and a light battalion of the Kurdish military.” Greg unrolled a large map of northern Iraq. The assembled men quickly gathered that the areas shaded in pink were ISIS controlled territory. Areas in green were considered Kurd territory and the blue colored southern part of Iraq was territory controlled by the American backed, Iraqi government, which by default was comprised mostly of Shi’ites.
“Our target is here,” he said as he pointed to a town named Karemlesh situated on a secondary road between the Islamic controlled city of Mosul and Erbil, which the Kurds considered to be their capital. “This town was overrun last week by Islamic militants. Approximately eight hundred Shi’ite Muslims and Shabak Christian were captured. The militants are planning to put all of them on trial at the end of this week. The assumption is they will be found guilty and executed.”
He put a large satellite photo on top of the map and pointed to the mass of humanity bunched together in an area that appeared to be the town square. Greg pointed off to another part of the photo. “Here’s the grave they have prepared for them.”
There were no sounds as the assemble staff and Mecrats examined the photos. This was not a new event, the Islamic extremists had killed thousands of men, women and children before, often execution style, but this was the first time they had publically announced their intensions to hold a mock trial. It was as if they were goading the West into do something. If that was their plan, they had succeeded. The West, specifically America was going to do something, but probably not what the Islamic warrior thought they would do. Greg explained the plan; it was straight forward and simple, the Kurdish Peshmerga military forces were going to push toward Karemlesh as the rebels would expected them to, but a strike force including American Special Forces, Mecrats and members of the Kurdish Dizha Tiror, an anti-terrorist Brigade were going to circle and attack from the rear of the village. He went through the details of what was being expected from the Mecrats and what the other units would be doing.