by Chris Hechtl
The next morning at first call he was sure he had imagined it. Besides, a new package had come in. He was amused but gratified to pull out a set of K-9 armor in marine desert digicam. “About time,” he murmured. He looked at the dog. “Let's try it on you and see how it fits.”
The dog cocked his head but stood by and allowed himself to be dressed.
---
After a particularly grueling day training on the K-9 obstacle course, Bumper was filthy, tired, and apparently ready for a nap. Both of them had run the gauntlet through the mud and muck from the previous night's rain. Boomer took a shower in the barracks but then the sergeant got on his ass to do something about the dog.
Bumper had done a damned good job. He was up for anything and had only hesitated on a few of the jobs Boomer had put before him, but that had been expected. He'd also had a few unusual ways of getting around the course. But he'd done it and in record time, so Boomer had no complaints.
He'd also passed the smell tests. He could pick out any contraband the EOD tech could find to throw at him, from explosives to drugs to people. He wasn't about to test the dog on finding bodies. He didn't want that duty.
“Boomer! Do something about that mutt, or you're going to be cleaning this floor for the week!” The sergeant snarled from the door.”
“On it,” Boomer said heavily. Boomer sighed in resignation and tried to give the mutt a bath. “Come on, mutt; you need cleaning too. The sarge is right about that. Let's get this over with,” he stated. He put him on leash, but when he slipped the collar, Boomer cornered him and then put him in a harness. When the faucet for the hose snapped off, he sighed heavily and then dragged the dog through the marine car wash to get him wet.
The motor pool marines teased him about a wax job when they saw the angry dog on the other end. “You do it. I don't want to get bit,” Boomer said. The dog wrinkled his lips at them, showing his teeth. His ears were back, and it was very clear that he was not a happy camper. “You ready to get soaped up and then rinsed off? Or am I going to have to break out the hose?” Boomer asked, staring at the dog. “They've got a fire hose here. It'll knock you on your ass and then some.”
The dog growled at him. He crossed his arms. “Well?” He pointed to the fire hose nearby.
The dog sniffed and then whined. He turned and stared at the hose, then back to the handler. When he saw Boomer's set face, he finally laid down in submission.
“Soap it is,” Boomer said in smug triumph. He worked the dog over, getting the mud out, then did his best to pick the mats out before he rinsed him down. He got up and went to get towels, leaving the dog dripping there for the moment.
When he approached the dog with towels, the dog shook. Boomer got drenched; trying to fend the water off with the towel was useless. “You did that on purpose, he accused and then laughed. It was the first honest laugh he'd had in a while.
“God, it smells of wet dog. Thanks,” a marine complained sarcastically.
“You're welcome,” Boomer replied, ignoring the complaint.
“Just get your mutt out of here, will ya?”
“Working on it,” Boomer replied, rubbing the dog down with the towel. Bumper looked up to him, enjoying the shoulder rub. “Like that, huh? I thought a smart guy like you would have figured this part out by now,” he said, voice softening just a little. He patted the dog on the flank when he finished.
“Now I need another shower,” Boomer complained, arms out to let himself drip dry. He shook his head.
He took the dog back to the barracks, enduring the occasional shake along the way. The jog felt good though; it got out some of the kinks. He went in and got a brush and beer, popped the top of the beer and then went back out the dog. He sat on the stairs and then pulled out a brush. The dog cocked his head but allowed himself to be groomed. He gave the dog a rub down and brushing, which apparently the mutt enjoyed.
“See? Not all bad,” Boomer said. “You've got to take the good with the bad, son; it'll get better soon.”
Boomer sighed and then began to talk softly. It felt good, even though he knew some or most of it was useless. As he worked on a couple of the tangles, he talked to Bumper about his past and then eventually got around to his first dog, Wizard. How they had been partners, slept in the same fox hole, went through hell. How the dog had been incredibly smart. Boomer drank his beer as he told the dog the story.
“I called Wizard, Wizzer, because he used to piss just about everyone off. No one else could handle him. He was stubborn and smart like you. Damned smart. Scary smart but a good partner,” Boomer said. He got comfortable. Bumper sat next to him on the stair steps.
Bumper seemed sympathetic. He laid his head on Boomer's lap and looked up with big soulful eyes. Boomer took a pull of his beer but didn't really taste it. He stroked the dog's eye ridges and then told the dog about how Wizzer had alerted to the terrorists covering a building they were supposed to raid. “Our squad leader at the time was dumbass. He had ignored it; false alarm he had insisted. The dog was chasing a squirrel,” Boomer said in disgust. He took another sip of beer and then shook his head.
"Well, he wasn't. I knew Wizzer; he didn't give false alerts. It was an ambush before we got halfway up the street. The Tangos hit us from above with RPGs and automatic weapons and tore the squad to ribbons. Wizzer dragged me to cover after an IED went off in our face as we tried to charge through the fire to get to cover." He looked at the beer. "He'd been shot, but he still did his duty. He went out twice more to get others, and even pulled the medic's first aid kit out and dropped it near me." He shook his head.
"I thought we were done for. They came after us; I think to make sure they finished us off. Wizzer had snarled at the bastards, drawing them off. I couldn't believe it. He charged and ripped the throat out of two of the guys; I'd never seen anything like it then or since," Boomer said softly. “He didn't make it though. We kept getting radio crap to get into that building and help was on the way. I got an order to secure the front entrance despite my getting shot up. Wizzer went with me; he took the lead. I couldn't keep up," he said, remembering how he'd hissed at the dog to slow down. "He got cut down by a damn ancient AK-47 from a window."
Bumper whined.
Boomer's hands clenched around the beer as he hunched over. Angry tears fell. He wiped at his eyes and then exhaled slowly. "But I got the bastard, him and his buddies. They were in the process of moving a big ass barrel with explosives all over it. Wizzer clawed the damn wires and snapped them. The bastards had rigged a dirty bomb out of X-rays, microwave parts, and other scrap. He saved me. He saved thousands of people," Boomer said. He snuffled, rubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand. "Two of the fuckheads surrendered, but I killed them anyway," he said in an arctic cold voice. "The fuckers deserved to die, not get the media attention of a trial and then live out their lives in prison. Or heaven forbid, get off. Fuck the crap about being a martyr. They're dead," he swore shaking his head. He downed the beer.
"I got the pretty piece of ribbon as a reward; the dog got cremated." He shook his head. "End of story. Come on, time to hit the rack," he said, tossing the beer bottle aside. The dog snuffled but followed him. He raised a hand to fend off the dog as he shook himself out. "Great, just what I needed," Boomer snarled as they climbed the stairs to the barracks.
The smell of damp dog in the barracks was too much to bear for some right after Boomer's head hit the pillow. "Someone open a window!" the sergeant snarled. “Boomer! It's your mutt! Open the damned window!”
That was repeated until Boomer got off his rack and opened a window then kicked open the front door. He heard a couple other windows open but didn't see anyone else up. He frowned, unsure who'd opened them. He didn't care; he went back to his rack and settled back in. "Tomorrow is another day," he sighed closing his eyes.
---
The colonel eventually heard about the dog in the barracks. He did his investigation then gleefully called Boomer in, ready to dro
p the hammer on the miscreant. He had the platoon sergeant draw up charges. "You're going to lose a stripe over this, Corporal; you know no pets in the barracks!" he said coldly as Boomer stood at attention on the other side of his desk. “Anything to say, Corporal?”
"But, sir, I'm under orders!" Boomer pointed out almost desperately. "Sir, the dog was by order of the general. There is no paper trail. It's a … test. Some sort of secret. He's a special dog on loan," he said desperately.
The colonel knitted his hands in front of him. He eyed Boomer for a long moment. Boomer had faced death, getting stared at by a superior officer didn't bother him. "I suppose you expect me to believe that cock and bull story?"
"Sir, ask the sergeant major. He was there, sir," Boomer said, still at attention, eyes above the colonel's head.
“The sergeant major is a busy man, but I'll do it,” the colonel said, sitting back. “You'd better be right, or your ass really will be in a sling,” he stated. “Stand in the hall until I call you,” he ordered as he picked up his cell phone and called the sergeant major.
Boomer nodded curtly then went outside, closing the door behind him. He stood there as enlisted passed him. He strained to hear the phone call, but the door was too insulated to hear a normal voice conversation.
“I think he's full of shit, sir,” the Platoon Sergeant Macky said.
The colonel frowned and grunted in irritation. “A little information our way would be nice sergeant major. Jumping the chain of command gets us in these situations,” he said out loud, loud enough for Boomer to pick some of that up. Sergeant Macky winced and immediately adjusted his take on the situation.
The colonel hung up, looked away blowing a breath in and out, and then finally grunted. “Get him back in here, Macky,” he growled.
“Aye aye, sir.”
After Boomer was shown in, he stood at attention as the colonel fumed. “It seems the sergeant major has confirmed your story. I'm not happy about it; I'm not happy about anyone jumping the chain of command. But what has been done has been done. He's going to put in a word with the general about their little snafu in informing us,” he said.
“Sir?” Macky asked, clearly disgusted.
“Let him go. Delete the files and rip up the papers,” the colonel said. He turned and pointed a stylus at Boomer. “But if that damn mutt bites someone, takes a shit somewhere, or God forbid decides to wiz like your old mutt did ….”
Boomer put his hands up in surrender. “He's a pain in the ass, sir, no promises. But he's good at his job. I've confirmed that much in training and in the field. He's already saved the unit's ass.”
“Fine.” The colonel turned to look at Macky. “What I wonder about now is why it took so long for you to notice?”
“Um, sir, I wasn't here. Off duty,” Macky replied.
“We'll discuss it later. Dismissed, Corporal,” the colonel said.
“Semper Fi, sir,” the corporal stated, coming to attention again. He about-faced and trotted out, closing the door behind him.
When Boomer got outside, he found Bumper there waiting for him. He shook his head and rubbed the dog's jowls. “I don't know about you, boy, but I'll treasure that. Nothing like a sudden reprieve from an intended hanging to get you feeling good about life,” Boomer chuckled. He would treasure the memory of their expressions for ages to come.
---
February 2200
Over the next seven months of combat and boredom, Boomer realized a few odd things about his four-legged partner. For one, the dog was smart. Incredibly smart, smarter than Wizard, who he'd thought was a canine genius. Bumper could do stuff other dogs couldn't or wouldn't do. He realized though the dog did it on the sly when no one was looking. He figured that part out later. When the marines were at chow, Boomer came back to grab his tablet. He heard the TV on and frowned thoughtfully. He'd been the last out of the barracks; the TV had been off when he'd left. He went to the window and peeked inside.
He caught sight of the dog through the window. The mutt was watching TV on the floor. He wondered how the dog was controlling it, but he seemed to have it covered. Somehow the dog would just look at the screen and twitch, and it would change channels.
Boomer caught on. “Son of a bitch,” he murmured. Suddenly he remembered the visit to the vet's office. “Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle. Cybernetics,” he murmured. The dog alerted to his presence and shut the TV off. Since he knew he'd been outed, he went around to the stairs and made a show of noise as he went inside. “Forgot my tablet,” he murmured, picking the device up. The dog looked at him. “Go back to what you were doing. We may be a while,” Boomer said with a shake of his head. He took a couple looks back, but the dog just watched him until he left the building. As he walked away, he turned to see the dog watching him from a window.
Boomer shook his head and kept going. He speculated about the news that Lagroose Industries had created smart apes and dolphins. He'd even seen a Gorilla one time as a kid.
Could they have taken it to dogs as well? Why? Then again, why not? How many times had a K-9 handler wanted a smart intelligent partner? Someone who had the intelligence to handle the job beyond the current breeds? He frowned thoughtfully and then decided not to say anything though. He didn't want to get in any more trouble than he already was.
---
“Are they really going to open up the ranks to apes?” Shaker asked on the usual Friday night bullshit session. They couldn't score weekend liberty with the hostiles around so the next best thing was a case of beers and the usual bullshit gripe session.
“You are an ape, Shaker,” Anne laughed as she punched him in the shoulder. She grinned at his discomfort, shaking her head. She took a sip of beer and then looked at Boomer. “Hey, you want to join in?”
“Nah, I'm not up for the gripe session. What is it this time?”
“Shaker got word on the net that they want to open up the ranks to those Moreaus,” Nitro said, waving a beer.
“Fuck me, that's all we need. They shed right? God, it's bad enough with you know who here,” Wesley complained.
Bumper looked up and growled.
“Ignore him,” Boomer said as he finished listening to his mother's video letter. He pulled the earphone out of one ear as Bumper started to get up. He heard the other marines in the barracks bitch about the Neos. Boomer looked at his partner and saw the dog was listening with a sad expression and posture. “Racist,” Boomer murmured.
“What was that?” Shaker demanded.
“Racist crap,” Boomer said, getting to his feet. “I don't care what color skin you are, the only color that matters is marine green,” he quoted. “Split or not, if they can get through boot, they can hang with me,” he said, tucking the earphones and tablet away. The barracks was quiet. “Think about it. One day one of those apes might save your ass,” he said. “Or they may have already,” the marine said.
“Come on partner,” Boomer said as he got uncomfortable from the hostile stares. He picked up his beer with a clink of glass on glass and then took Bumper outside. He sat on the porch with the beer and looked at the dog.
“You're going to hear crap like that, now and later. It's all wind and piss; they are blowing off steam.” He took a sip of the beer as the dog eyed him. “Once they meet an ape for real or another Neo …,” he eyed the dog for a moment. “They'll change their tune. But for now just put up with it. Ignore them. They are being ignorant.”
The dog snuffled, then pawed at his nose. Finally he sighed and looked up to stars. After a moment Boomer did as well.
---
The marines inside had an abrupt change of subject when they came back into the barracks. The other jarheads talked about the starships and Lagroose. “It's a hell of a waste of money,” Anne griped.
“Yeah,” Shaker hiccupped. He waved his empty bottle of beer. “Money that should go to better the planet like the Earth Firsters said,” he slurred.
“Are we going to go up I
wonder?” Nitro asked. “I mean to space. See new worlds and shit like that.”
“First marine to piss off an alien?” Anne snorted. “They'll fuck it up, wait and see,” she said, giggling. She wiped at her mouth. “And when they do, they'll come crying for us.”
“Fuck yeah. We always get stuck with shit duty like that. Clean up, planet nine,” Nitro agreed. He burped.
“Hell if I'll go,” Shaker snarled, clenching his fists. "Only if we're in charge, I'm not going as a merc."
“What about going up to take over. I mean, like you said, only if we're in charge,” Nitro said.
“You really know how to shoot in null G?” Anne asked.
“Hey, what's there to know? You got a suit, so?”
“So, no air. You get nicked you are adios muchacho, finito. Done,” Anne replied. “What do you think Boomer?” she asked, looking over to him.
He grunted. He came over slowly and picked up a second beer. “We go where we're told; we shoot who we have to. But I'm telling you now, I don't like the idea of shooting up a habitat."
"Why?" Shaker asked.
Anne snorted derisively. “You really have to ask? And you bitch about apes being stupid?"
"Hell man, marines have been called apes or worse for hundreds of years. Spill."
"Punch a hole into the side of station and you get sucked through it. Or if it rips, and a lot of habs are like balloons … pop!"
"So, we get them to surrender?"
"You want to give up everything you've been busting your ass for without a fight? Let someone threaten your wife and kids?" Boomer asked softly. He shook his head when the guy's face set. "Right. Thought not," he drawled. He caught sight of Bumper coming in. "We're just borrowing trouble anyway, like I said. We don't have to worry about it. I'm headed to my rack."
Bumper followed.
---
On patrol at a diplomatic meeting site, Bumper’s head swung up in the air as the wind shifted. He immediately scented a truck down the street. He locked in on it and growled softly, alerting Boomer to a problem. He started to pad to it as Boomer called it in.