Outside the Wire

by Richard Farnsworth

  #

  "I just pulled in now, Mom," Marcia said into the hands free cell phone. She checked the dash clock as she shifted into park and flicked off the ignition.

  "They have at least fifteen minutes left, so technically I didn't miss Jake's game," she said.

  "Yes, I know I've been working a lot, but I'm here now." She had gone overtime again on her last mission run and had been afraid she would miss the game altogether.

  She checked her face in the rearview mirror while she listened to her Mother's reply and then continued, "You know I can't talk about the job. I'll call this evening, and I really have to go, Mom."

  "Mothers," she said under her breath as she slipped the earpiece off and dropped it on the passenger seat.

  Her new gig with Geodynamix was great, but no amount of overtime was worth missing out on Jake's game. Jake was the only good thing she’d gotten from her ex after all. Well, the settlement and the BMW were pretty nice too.

  Leaving the car behind, she walk-trotted up the gravel path to the fields, a challenge in a skirt and low heels. She’d spent her day plugged into a temperature-controlled world of muted grays and greens, nothing like this beautiful day. Maples lining the path were swathed in scarlet and summer was giving one last gasp today before it gave in to fall.

  She slowed as she came up to the sideline cluster of mostly Moms. A few she recognized checked their watches before they nodded and gave her small smiles.

  “What’s the score?” she asked of no one in particular.

  “Three to one,” a man’s voice answered from beside her.

  Marcia glanced sidelong at the man. Standing between her and the edge of the cluster, tall, in slacks and a sweater. Athletic. Tan with dark hair and a touch of stately gray at the temple. Nice. “Who’s up?”

  “Saint Paul’s Prep.” The man didn’t look at her, keeping his eyes on the match.

  Marcia checked her watch and said, “I don’t know if we’ll have time to beat them, then.”

  That got his attention and he turned to regard her with steady brown eyes. Crow’s feet appeared at the margins when he smiled. “You have a boy playing for Connolly?”

  Marcia smiled back, feeling a little spark. She nodded to the field and said, “My son Jake. He’s the blonde kid, playing sweeper. Number twelve.”

  “Ah, yes. He is the one that kicks left footed. He’s quite good.”

  She felt a little flush of maternal pride. Turning back to the field, she said, “Who’s your son?”

  “Steve. Saint Paul's jersey, number nine.” He pointed out to the field and Marcia spotted the boy on the sidelines.

  They watched as Jake thwarted a drive by a Saint Paul’s forward and sent the ball back down field like it was fired from a howitzer.

  “Nice,” the man said.

  Marcia smiled again; glad to be here in time to watch Jake play.

  She caught the man looking at her left hand holding the keys. Noting the naked flesh of her ring finger produced the suggestion of a smile from him. She’d already seen he didn’t wear a wedding band.

  Marcia held out her hand. "I'm Marcia." He took it in his own and gave a little squeeze, holding on long enough, but not too long. The smell of his expensive cologne competed with fresh cut lawn.

  “I’m Stefan.”

  She smiled again, ignored the looks from the other moms and turned back to watch a boy in a Connolly jersey throw the ball in bounds.

  “You work for Geodynamix?”

  Marcia started. “I’m sorry?”

  “I said, that you work for Geodynamix.” He pointed to the security badge she still wore clipped to her belt. The company’s name and logo were displayed prominently below her picture.

  She unclipped the badge and said, “Oh, yes. I forgot to take it off.” She held it in the bundle of keys; her purse was in the car.

  “I hear it’s a good company.”Stefan's eyes returned to the game while he said this. Guys always did that, holding conversations while watching something else.

  “Yes. I’m happy there.”

  “I’m with Centromix, you guys beat us out for the contract for the UAH-9C. Quite a coup as that was a big contract.”

  Marcia didn’t answer. It was a big contract. A contract she had worked for the Department of Defense for six months. A classified contract.

  “I understand they’re deployed to the Walach,” Stefan said, still watching the game. When she didn’t respond he turned to her and caught the closed-down look.

  Tiny hairs prickled up along the back of her neck. Unsure if it was the slight fall breeze or the stranger's interest in her classified work that made her uneasy, she smiled and shrugged.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Operational security. Of course. You can’t discuss it.”

  Marcia gave that terse smile again. She didn’t want to shut him down; she wanted to keep this going.

  “No, please forgive me. You see, Centromix hired me contingent on the program. When I was in the service I commanded a detachment that dealt with them in the Autonomous Tribal region back in the Stan,” Stefan said.

  Marcia made a sound that she thought came out encouraging but non-committal. He had that military look, and he turned to her now that she was more interesting than the game.

  “But that was back with the alpha models. The unmanned aerial vehicle program office had just deployed them. They were still called Kestrels. Now they’re what, hunters?” Stefan had that reserved animation men get when discussing glory days. It made them look endearingly boyish, regardless of their age.

  Game Hunters Marcia thought. The alpha models had been short-range recon.

  "In my day, the operator would plug into the A.V., back in the shed, that’s what we called the remote site, and uplink for full sensors. But the article said that they deploy now with sixth generation infrared and the Brimstone missile package. And with the new hafnium nuclear decay turbines they can self-deploy anywhere in the world. I would have killed for that kind of on-station time.”

  Marcia nodded again, thinking of her day plugged into just such a device. It was like a video game, linked into the most advanced tactical aircraft in the world, but the game-play was real play. Flying the designated route in an area of operations nine thousand miles away. Hunting along designated routes.

  Finding the man-shaped gray-green outlines in a Walachi insurgent marshalling area. Clearance from higher headquarters, the flash of the squib as the Brimstone launched and the dark gray smoke trail as it corkscrewed into the cluster of figures. The flash and then the empty clearing as she flew low to confirm. She was glad the optics didn’t pick up the charred remains and wet smears. And then there was more hunting. Always more hunting.

  She saw the color in Stefan’s cheeks as he recounted his glory days with the supped-up remote-control airplanes. Marcia just nodded wanting to tell him how much better they were now, but at the same time knowing she couldn’t violate security.

  “With the advances in uplink I imagine one can sit right here and link into the aircraft anywhere in the world.”

  Marcia zoned back in and made another non-committal sound. She liked his interest in her, but not so much the interest in her work. Had she still been an Air Force NCO she would have felt compelled to call base security. But the community of Beltway contractors, bandits some called them, was small. Everyone bid on the same contracts and everyone that bid had the same information about the work in their proposal packages. So these sorts of interactions weren't that unusual.

  With a little glint in his eye he said, “I mean, if Geodynamix operated them, which of course you know nothing of.”

  They both laughed conspiratorially.

  The little crowd screamed and Stefan turned to the field in time to watch Connolly score a goal.

  “Oh, you’re getting closer, one more.” He checked his watch and said, “There may still be time for you.”

  "Time for two," Marcia said, looking at her own watch and smiling.

  They w
atched in silence as the referee set the ball for the kickoff. Marcia bided her time, thinking of something to get the conversation going again.

  “I must say that I was a little sad to see the Air Force outsource the mission as well as the service package to contractors, though. No offense.”

  “You don’t like contractors?” She hoped she didn’t sound too coy.

  “Oh, no it isn’t that. Some of my best friends are contractors.”

  Marcia laughed a little louder than she meant to. She wanted to be encouraging, not fawning.

  “Since I’m on contract myself. The article I mentioned brought up some good points about having civilian contractors deploy ordnance against combatants. I don’t know.” Stefan’s smile was uncertain and at the same time reassuring.

  Marcia tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and made her non-committal encouraging sound again. She meant it as an ‘I have no comment but please keep going’ sound.

  “Well, when armies of the state engage in combat then the rules are clear. When the military outsources combat to civilians, they seem muddled. Like in the current operation. Deploying UAV’s to the Walach in support of the current regime against the opposition forces. I mean, whoever is operating the Hunters and servicing targets is really killing the insurgents, right?”

  Marcia nodded. In the military she had come to peace with the ethics of war. As a contractor it was a bit muddled and she hadn't had to think about it. Far removed, they were just images on a three-D infrared telemetry read out. Besides, it was her job. A service provided under contract to the Federal Government.

  Stefan turned a harder eye to Marcia and said, “What does that make the civilian operators? Combatants? Noncombatants? I don’t know, what do you think, Marcia?"

  A little uncomfortable now she pointed to the field and said, “Hey, I’m just a Soccer Mom.”

  Stefan’s expression softened a little and said, “Yes. Of course, I don’t mean to discuss philosophy.”

  The referee’s whistle marked the end and Marcia congratulated Stefan. He smiled just before they lost each other in the after-game crush of people.

  #

  Marcia held the trunk open for Jake to deposit his gear in the car and said, "But you played a good game, and that's what's important. You're second in the league."

  Jake rolled his eyes. "Dad say's second place just means your first among losers."

  Marcia bit back the retort she had regarding Jake's father and what he knew about losers. Instead she ruffled his hair and said, "How about Chinese on the way home?"

  Jake didn't brighten, holding onto his preteen, post-loss gloom. He opened the passenger side door and slid in sullenly.

  The promise of mu-shu pork was not quite enough to pull him out of his funk. Marcia knew he’d snap out of it soon enough. As she grabbed her own door handle a figure loomed up from behind her car. She started until she realized it was her new friend, Stefan.

  She had thought there might be a future flirtation. She pondered what she would say if the attractive man asked for her number. “Stefan. Hello.”

  Stefan said, “Marcia.” His dark eyes were inscrutable.

  “Hey, Jake and I are on our way to get something to eat, would you and Steve care to join us?”

  His expression clouded a little more and he said, “No, I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

  “You sure. It's a nice dim-sum place?” She looked past Stefan into the thinning lot and saw Steve getting into an SUV. “Where’s your son going?”

  Stefan glanced in the direction of Marcia’s gaze. He turned to her and his expression made Marcia want to back away.

  “That boy is actually not my son.”

  Confused, trying to understand why this nice man was suddenly so cross, she asked what he meant.

  “My son was killed a month ago with his compatriots in the struggle to free the Walach from an illegitimate and oppressive regime.”

  Marcia blinked, stepping backward. She hesitated, seeing Jake through the window. She hit the lock button on her key fob to keep Jake safe and fumbled for the emergency alarm button.

  Stefan pulled a pistol from his waistband, the cold steel of it matching the expression in his eyes. He grabbed Marcia by the lapel. Pressed the muzzle to her chest.

  “You Americans feel so removed from what you do, that Soccer Mom’s feel no remorse at killing with the flick of a switch. I have sought you out to tell you that civilians who operate combat equipment are combatants. There are consequences for your actions and the war, the war it is real.”

  Marcia pulled away as the pistol went off. The protest died on her lips with the punch of pain above her heart.

  She saw the satisfaction in her killer’s eyes.

  The smell of cordite.

  The cold.

  Jake’s screaming as the world faded into darkness.

  BIO:

  Richard Farnsworth (genuineapocrypha@yahoo.com) is a scientist, soldier and writer of strange fiction. He has conducted experiments that would make Baron von Frankenstein shudder, cloned gallons of DNA, soldiered in Iraq, flown the venerable AH-64 Apache Attack helicopter and written these short stories and two novels (both of which were adapted from short stories in this collection).

  Succumbing to Gravity the novel came out in 2010 and The Gift of the Bouda, in 2011. They are available through all online retailers in both hard copy and electronic editions.

  His blog can be found at: https://genuineapocrypha.blogspot.com/