Mecrats
Page 22
Greg said, “Now, I have a much more difficult thing to talk about.” He turned to Cathy and took her hand in his. “It’s no secret that Cathy and I have become a pair.”
A chorus of yeas and congratulations from the Mecrats filtered through their shared thoughts. Greg continued, “It should also not be a surprise to you that she is very afraid for us in our present role. She has told me she is hesitating to make a full commitment to me because I am a soldier and in danger of getting killed.”
Their shared thoughts went silent as the Mecrats individually contemplated what Greg had told them. Randy was the first to speak and Cathy was sure he spoke for the rest of the Rats. “Doctor Williamson, you should know that we,” He made a motion to include all the Rats, but not Greg. “Expect to be killed in action.” He saw her about to object and he raised his big hand to stop her. “Think about it logically, Doctor. We are a one-use machine, a weapon and weapons don’t retire. They are used till they are destroyed or scrapped. We don’t expect the army to scrap us, so logically we will be used until we are destroyed. We’re okay with that, Cathy.”
Switching to her first name made Randy’s message all the more painful, but she could not argue with his logic.
Randy regretted the look of pain on the face of the person he loved as much as his commanding officer did. “But, that doesn’t mean the major has to suffer the same fate as we will, Cathy. In fact, it is better for us that Major Donavan takes less risks then he has in the past. We need him to be safe to plan our missions. We trust him not to expend our lives foolishly, regardless of what the Pentagon wants done.”
Cathy listened to what Randy was saying and squeezed Greg’s hand to let him know that she understood that the Mecrats were pledging to protect him.
They spent the next hour discussing tactical ways to keep themselves and Greg safe under the conditions they were most likely to he sent into. Randy suggested that Greg have a vest made for himself of the new armor material. “Make sure it’s long enough, Sir, we’re looking forward to seeing a bunch of little doctors and majors running around the base.”
Cathy joined in the laughter, which served to lighten the mood and end the discussion. They joked with each other all the way back to the base. For the first time, Cathy felt she was part of their military unit, not just their medical liaison.
After the Mecrats were racked up for the night, Cathy and Greg headed back to the main part of the base. She reached over and put her hand on Greg’s leg. “Want to get lucky tonight, sailor?”
“Can a Mecrat run? Is the Pope Catholic? How many ways do I have to say yes to convince you?” he asked with a silly grin on his face.
“You had me with the first one,” she answered, feeling totally secure about the future of their relationship.
Chapter 43
Abdullah Al Sadad sat around a table with his area commanders in an undestroyed wing of a building that had been bombed by an American drone. His logic was that the building, which appeared to be a pile of rubble, would no longer be on the Confederation’s list of targets. Baring a betrayer by a spy, which was highly unlikely in the tightly controlled Islamic State, they would be safe at this location to make their plans.
In America he had not been exposed to the complexities of tribal affiliations that permeated any political structure in the Mideast. In some instances, the only reason these people were able to sit in the same room together was because of the greater threat from outside their territory. As he had risen in popularity among the fighting ranks and taken on more of a leadership role, he had been careful to study the roles that federations, tribes, clans, houses, and families played in getting people to work and fight together. There was a strong inclination for tribal military leaders to work for the benefit of the tribe and ignore the need to build a strong Islamic State. Abdullah had generally kept these leaders in check by confining them to their area of control and regulating the amount of military hardware they got. The Imams were more helpful in creating an Islamic State because their goal was to establish a religious caliphate, which transcended tribal lines.
This meeting was a rare gathering of these area commanders and was being conducted only because of the threat Abdullah saw in the increasing use of the Mecrats by the American forces. His personal injuries from the last attack had healed, but he still walked with a constant reminder of how powerful their attacks could be. In spite of his best efforts to stamp out the story that the Angels of Death were fighting on the side of the Americans, many of the less educated Islamic fighters were not convinced. Abdullah was concerned many of them would throw down their weapons and flee at the first sight of the black-winged monsters charging them. He could not afford to let that reputation grow, and the only way he could see to prevent that was to destroy as many of the Mecrats as possible and parade their destroyed “bodies”, or whatever they were through the streets of Mosul and Tikrit. He had been disappointed that the effort in America to kill one of the creatures and one of scientist responsible for creating them had failed; spectacularly from what he had been told. It was all the more reason to make sure the upcoming mission would be a success.
“But how can we kill these things, these Angels of Death?”
The question had been asked by Abu Khafala, a military commander from Kirkuk. Even he, who Abdullah knew to be college educated, used the term, “Angel of Death.”
Abdullah was quick to correct him. “They are not angels and they can be killed. We took one down in Karemlesh with a 50 caliber machine gun.”
Shammar, the commander from Mosul pointed out, “But the report from America said the sniper hit one of these mechanical monsters twice with a 50 caliber gun, yet it was still able to run him down and capture him.”
Abdullah was not sure he liked the term, mechanical monster any more than the Angel of Death, but at least it did not have any religious connotations attached to it. He threw up his hands in frustration. “That’s why you are gathered here, to help devise a plan to lure these machines into a trap and destroy them.”
One of his most aggressive commanders, Ben Al-Jabouri from Kirkuk spoke up, “Our two most successful weapons are the Virgin Hunters and IEDs.”
“Virgin Hunters” was the term the less religious members of his group used to describe the zealots who strapped on explosives and detonated them, killing themselves and everyone in the vicinity. “But I doubt any volunteer would be able to carry a big enough explosive charge to destroy more than one of these war machines, as you describe them.”
“I agree with you, Al-Jabouri and I think your right about IEDs being one of our most effective weapons,” Abdullah said. “But, the one problem we face using IEDs is how to get the enemy to drive or walk over them. They are no longer willing to engage us on the ground and resort almost entirely on air strikes or airborne attacks. We cannot predict where they will be.”
The aggressive Al-Jabouri, who felt he was the one who should have been elected to become the high commander over this American upstart sneered with obvious dislike, “It is obvious, Abdullah, make the bait bigger and more irresistible.”
As the tension between the two escalated, so did the tension among the gathered Islamic warriors. A number of the commanders shared Al-Jabouri’s feelings about his being the ultimate military leader. It was only because of the backing of the council of Imams that Abdullah had been chosen over Al-Jabouri. They had believed his intimate knowledge of the enemy would be more helpful in the battle against that enemy.
“And what would you propose, Habet ben Al-Jabouri?” Abdullah shot back in a low, steady voice. The implication was clear, put up or shut up.
Al-Jabouri was not afraid of the American-turned-Islamic warrior, but he knew his own reputation as an excellent strategist was being put on the line. He decided this would be a good time to test Abdullah’s leadership position. “The only time they attack us on the ground is when they want to rescue someone. So, capture some Christian priests or Jewish rabbis’ and threaten to execute t
hem. Even the Christian Pope will urge the Americans to act. They will be left with little choice except to come to where we want them to come, where we can set a trap filled with IEDs.”
It was a variation of Abdullah’s own plan to use kidnapped American women, but he had to admit the idea of using priests or rabbis was more attractive and would certainly bring a reaction from the American military, which he presumed would include the Mecrats.
Abdullah surprised Al-Jabouri by agreeing with him. “Bring me some priests and rabbis and we will use your plan,” he said magnanimously. He smiled at his rival, because he had just shifted the burden of responsibility for setting the trap to Al-Jabouri. If it worked, Abdullah would take all the credit for successfully pulling it off. In the euphoria of beating the Americans, most would forget who had actually planned the mission.
The meeting ended on a positive note and the area commanders left one at a time by different exits from the demolished building, ever mindful of the watching eyes high in space above them.
Chapter 44
“Your plane departs from gate B16, Mister Seymour. Have a nice flight.” The British Airways ticket agent handed Marshall his ticket and passport and smiled at the next customer in line.
Marshall Washington picked up his carryon and walked toward the gate. He looked around with a bittersweet smile, knowing this was his last look at America. His British passport, which had been provided by the Brotherhood, proclaimed he was Julius Seymour, a graduate student returning to England. The Brotherhood Council had decided Marshall’s usefulness in the States had probably been compromised when his younger brother had accused him of spreading the confidential information he had shared with him about the movement of the Mecrats. The look in his younger brother’s eyes when he had confronted Marshall would haunt him all his life.
The FBI had questioned Raymond and the other Senate Aides for several hours trying to locate the source of the leak that had resulted in an attempt to destroy America’s newest weapon and had caused a near disastrous riot in downtown Baltimore. Raymond had not given his brother up during the questioning, but Marshall and the Brotherhood knew it would just be a matter of time before the FBI discovered that Raymond’s older brother was an ex-con and a known associate of the prison cell of the Brotherhood. Marshall knew too much to be allowed to go under the intense questioning the Homeland Security Forces would apply to a member of a known terrorists group. His options were limited and the one they had picked was to send Marshall to Syria to join the Islamic Fighters trying to create an Islamic State.
He walked past a book store on the concourse and decided to pick up something to read. Marshall walked past the magazine racks with their vast array of covers portraying all the things that made up America, cars, Hollywood, food, travel, shopping, guns, sports and a myriad of other things he had always taken for granted. Now, most of them would become a distant memory. He picked up a magazine on guns, figuring he had better familiarize himself with something he was going to be required to use in the very near future.
He paid for his magazine and continued along the concourse, being careful to watch the signs telling him which way to go. Marshall had never flown before in his life and the sight of the huge airplanes lined up along the sunlit concourse was intimidating. He admitted to himself he was worried about getting into one of those planes and flying over a vast ocean. For a moment he contemplated leaving the airport and just disappearing, living the life of an anonymous American vagabond. Two large shapes appeared on either side of him and startled him out of his daydreams of freedom.
One of the big shapes, dressed in a dark suit said, “Mr. Washington, please come with us.”
Surprisingly, Marshall felt a vast sense of relief.
Chapter 45
In the weeks that followed, the brouhaha over Randy’s rampage through the Baltimore waterfront had subsided to a back page story. The occasional jokes about T-Wreck running amok soon lost their impact and the subject was quietly forgotten until the Pentagon issued a statement that the advanced robotic warrior program known as Mecrats was being abandoned. The report was printed in the Baltimore Sun and did not elicit a single letter to the editor.
In Nevada, the blistering summer sun made working in the daylight hours impossible. Even the Mecrats had to be careful about staying out in one hundred and ten degree temperature for too long. Their cooling systems began to drain their reserve power at an alarming rate. Greg moved the maneuver hours back to after eleven PM when the air temperatures finally returned to double digit numbers. At the end of August, he and Cathy took a week off and drove to Colorado to seek some relief from the heat. Their days were spent sight-seeing, hiking and making love. At the end of seven days they felt like an old married couple.
On their return they were greeted with the news the Mecrats program was being discontinued. Uncertainty about their personal futures and the future of the nine Mecrats clouded their home coming. Cathy was getting ready to make a couple of calls about her decision to pursue an advanced degree in psychiatric medicine when her phone told her she had an incoming call from Washington D.C.
Senator Martha Brillings’ voice on the other end was unexpected, but not totally a surprise. She had promised to keep Cathy informed of any major changes in the program “I wanted to tell you not to believe the reports coming out of the Pentagon, Doctor Williamson. They were for public consumption. Your program is alive and well, but I doubt it will grow as much as the military wants it too. The reason I wanted to call you personally was to tell you that NASA has expressed a very strong interest in using your Mecrats system for deep space missions. The committee would like you develop a white paper on the medical feasibility of such a mission.”
Cathy was stunned, but immediately saw the practicality of using just the most important part of a human explorer, his brain to make the long and arduous journey to distant planets. “How deep?” she asked out of curiosity.
“Mars and interstellar,” answered the veteran politician from New England.
“Wow,” was all Cathy could think of to say.
“Wow is correct, Doctor Williamson, but it’s a confidential wow. Do you understand?”
Cathy felt compelled to tell this person she hardly knew that she was involved with Major Greg Donavan, the Mecrats’ commanding officer. She wanted very much to share this information with him.
Senator Brillings chuckled softly, “Well, that was obvious when I met you two. Not to worry, the Major has been informed by the Joint Chiefs of NASA’s interest.”
Cathy was relieved she wouldn’t be required to keep her report secret from Greg. They had developed the habit of sharing each other’s concerns about their future and the Mecrats’ future. Neither of them had mentioned marriage, but it was tacitly agreed that would be the ultimate outcome of their relationship.
The senator’s next words brought Cathy out of her revere. “NASA wants to know if you would be interested in going to Houston for a preliminary discussion on the subject.”
“Absolutely. When?” she asked excitedly.
“As soon as you can make time in your schedule,” Senator Brillings answered. She gave Cathy the name and contact number for the project leader at the Johnson Space Center in Clear Lake, Texas and promised to keep in touch on any other developments.
That night, Greg and Cathy fantasized about a Mecrats mission to the stars. “I wish I could talk to them about it,” Greg said. “But I was specifically asked not to say anything to anybody, except you.”
“At some point the Mecrats will have to be brought into the conversation,” Cathy said. “Maybe I can get that cleared up on my trip to Houston.”
“Houston? When are you going to Houston?”
Cathy grinned. “Just as soon as I can arrange for a military escort, maybe a handsome Air Force captain or perhaps a Marine.”
A cloud briefly crossed Greg’s face. He had not completely adjusted to the reality that beneath that scientific façade, Cathy was something of a
tease, but he could dish it out as quickly as she could.
“Yes, I remember there’s an air force captain on the base who’s sweet on you. Maybe he’ll volunteer.”
Cathy laughed, knowing Greg had one-upped her. “Naw, I’m stuck with a ground-pounder.”
Greg said with a straight face, “You bet your sweet ass you are.”
Their tit-for-tat soon turned into a wrestling match, which quickly turned into rowdy sex. Greg mounted her on the floor and held her hips against him as he pumped furiously against her willing body. There was a sense of desperation in his love making as if her teasing threat of taking another man to Houston had set off a possessive alarm in him.
“What was that all about?” she asked as they both recovered their breath.
Greg kissed her in the neck and took his weight off her body. “Staking my claim, I guess,” he said with a low laugh.
“Well, you staked it pretty good, soldier,” she said. “Deep, too,” she added with a contented sigh.
That night there were no dreams of space, no thoughts of Islamic fighters, only the deep sleep of exhausted lovers.
The following Monday morning, after a weekend in Las Vegas, Cathy and Greg flew to Houston. Flying on Southwest Airlines, they landed at Hobby Field on the south side of the sprawling city. From there, it was a reasonably short drive to Clear Lake, location of the Johnson Space Center and NASA headquarters. Cathy had always wanted to visit the center of one of America’s greatest scientific achievements, the landing of a man on the moon and returning him and his crew to Earth alive. Her appreciation for the achievement had grown when her college math professor had explained how scientists such as she was studying to become, had used slide rules and the earliest form of computers to blast a six-and-a-half million pound rocket into space and hit a moving target two hundred and fifty thousand miles away. He equated it to a golfer hitting a golf ball three hundred yards at a green on a moving train while trying to score a hole-in-one. The fact that they successfully achieved the feat six times was even more astounding. Even their one failure, Apollo Thirteen was a spectacular example of ingenious engineering to rescue the crew.