by Jack Colrain
“You mean Captain Ying.”
“Yes, Captain Ying, but also members of her fireteam, in a kill-zone. Small arms’ fire would not be sufficient to engage, let alone neutralize the threat these hardpoints presented.”
“But other support weapons were available?”
“Neither artillery support nor close air support were available. In my judgment, the use of more powerful weaponry was more than justified by the threat the unit faced. After killing Captain Ying, the cultists would have picked off the rest of her squad.”
Alvarez slid an iPad across the desk, with a video playing on it. It showed footage from a news chopper—a shaky close-up of a man’s face being eaten away by a cloud of dusty nanites. “This made the morning news, and don’t even get me started on the dozens of videos shared to social media. Half of Boston was live-blogging the battle on Twitter. The Guard already had to disperse a violent protest in DC over this today. This video of that man being eaten alive by nanites has poisoned the public’s mindset against the military, which diminishes our authority. I’m recommending that you be charged with murder.”
Daniel blinked, uncertain that he had heard correctly. Anger woke him a little, his eyes widening. “You’re trying me for murder?”
Alvarez tapped his fingers on the desk, then retrieved his iPad with a sour expression. “The attorney general, at the request of the President, has declined.”
“Then why the hell—” Daniel began angrily.
“Because, if I can’t have you jailed, then I want to look into your eyes and see that you know, really know, how badly you screwed up your mission. You and your team.” He rose and threw the office door open, marching out as if from an expensive but poor restaurant.
General Carver came back in a moment later. “Never mind him,” she said. “We need you more than him.”
“I wanted to be him,” Daniel admitted, “before I joined the military. He has what I always thought was my dream job. And it’s repugnant, isn’t it?”
“Today; not always.”
“General Carver, what formal disciplinary proceedings will I face?”
“What form of discipline would you like to face?”
Daniel wasn’t sure how to dare answer that. “From a military standpoint, the board are... Well, we’re not happy to have lost two men, or gained such bad press, but we accept that these things happened, and we’re satisfied that there was no wrongdoing on your part. No negligence, criminal or otherwise.”
Daniel could hardly believe his ears, but he kept a tight lid on his relief. “Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Carver said. “I’m still going to have to do you a bad turn.”
“I...”
“Chief Hammond was a central figure in the project that is embodied in this unit. He will have to be replaced.”
“I understand. Captain Ying or Sergeant Kinsella would be the most experienced people after—”
“They would,” Carver interrupted him, “but they’re not going to be. Effective immediately, your commission as second lieutenant is confirmed and formally activated, and you will take command of Team Hammond—both the US and international sections.”
Daniel suddenly felt very small. He was no longer a newbie, but had joined under false pretenses, gotten his commander killed, had an inappropriate relationship, and surely was the worst possible person to take the place of a man as seasoned and valuable as Keith Hammond.
“I know you think you can’t,” Carver said softly. “And tonight, that’s probably true. But every officer who has lost people feels that way. And maybe feeling like that is part of what makes you suited to the job.”
“I can’t... and you mean I can’t not.”
“Right.”
Daniel, in the end, didn’t dare refuse. “General... What are your immediate orders? For right now.”
“Right now?” Carver allowed herself a very slight smile, which softened her quite a lot. “Right now, Lieutenant, you will take a four-day furlough due to you. The twidgets have work to do on your suits, for one thing. Go see your family and spend some time with them while you can.”
“Yes, Sir.” Daniel saluted.
General Carver picked up her cap and case, and started for the door, but then paused. “One more thing. Since I’m Air Force and not Army, I don’t really have cause to remind you about regulation AR 600-20. But I can mention that the word is that Captain Ying is being discharged from the hospital in about ninety minutes, which is just about driving time from here.”
Twenty-Eight
Greenwich, CT.
“Are you certain this is where you want to rest?” Hope asked as they stepped off the train in Greenwich. After what happened last time...”
“I think so. Whatever the issues with my dad, this is my home. I can... decompress here, and I need that. So long as you’re OK with it.”
“I think reconciling with your parents would be a good thing. Nobody says parents and children always have to agree about everything.”
“Then let’s get to my place.” They got a cab from the station out to the West estate. Rather than go straight in, Daniel decided it would be more prudent to ring the doorbell, and he was flooded with a mix of emotions when his father answered the door. Nathan’s expression was carefully neutral, but somehow Daniel recognized something in it—something somber and hesitant. He knew upon seeing it that something had happened, and that it wasn’t going to be good news.
“Dan,” his father said carefully. He nodded to Hope. “Hope Ying, isn’t it?” She nodded. “It’s good to see you again. Both of you.” He led the pair into the house and helped carry Hope’s bag up to their room. “You are staying here?” Nathan asked, meeting his son’s eyes for confirmation.
Daniel took a moment, then said, “If that’s OK with you and Mom.”
“Of course, it is,” Nathan said, a little stiffly. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but daren’t, and Daniel wasn’t surprised. Not after his last visit. When they returned downstairs, though, and settled into comfortable seats in the lounge, Daniel cut to the chase. “Dad, what’s happened?” Daniel asked. “Is Mom OK? Chloe?”
“They’re fine… all things considered. Son, there’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’ll settle for quick and straightforward. Cody’s dead.”
A pit opened up in Daniel’s gut, and he felt like he was falling into it. The world around him and Nathan grayed out; it suddenly just didn’t exist anymore. The last time Daniel had felt so separated from reality had been when a blast had knocked him to the ground at the MOUT site and deafened him for several minutes. Cody’s dead. Two simple words, and yet they burrowed so deep. “What...?” he asked. “How?”
“The government got it into their heads that having the National Guard patrol Boston after that big battle with the Mozari church would just inflame the situation. So, like the idiots they are, they pulled them out and replaced them with police patrols.”
Daniel stared out a nearby window, too easily able to picture the situation his dad described. “I guess the situation didn’t improve.” Hope, sitting next to him, squeezed his hand reassuringly.
“Instead of defusing the situation, they gave free reign to rebellion. There were massive riots through the streets. Police officers from the entire region were called in to help. Cody and about a dozen officers from the Greenwich Police Department were sent for a week’s work in Boston to help. Two days in, four of them, including Cody, were ambushed while trying to evacuate a grocery store that was being looted.” All because of the big battle. The one he had screwed up in, Daniel realized. “What about Chloe?” Hope asked, politely.
“Well, Jill still hasn’t tried to make contact.” Daniel didn’t say anything, but wondered if she was among the 400 casualties. He wasn’t sure whether he hoped so or hoped not. “Maria and I tried to get in touch with our attorneys to see what we should do. For now, Chloe’s still here, but for how long, I can’t say.”
“D
oes Sherry know?” Cody’s mom had retired out west a few years before, and Daniel recalled something about her opening up a dog grooming parlor or some such business to keep herself occupied.
“Yeah. She’s talked to Chloe on the phone, and over Skype, so that’s good. We’re talking about how best to get Chloe to her grandmother’s, and making sure that if Jill’s still alive, she won’t be able to cause any trouble for them.”
Daniel walked almost aimlessly into the garden. It was cold outside, but he didn’t even notice. He should have known better, he thought. It was his fault that everything he touched turned sour. He had joined the military so Cody could take care of his daughter. Now, Cody was dead, so where was the fairness in that? Worse, Cody was dead because of reactions against the operation at the Mozari church, the operation he had screwed up because of his feelings for Hope. The irony of her name didn’t escape him, either. In effect, he had probably gotten Cody killed, he realized.
He couldn’t process it all, but he knew he had to do something about it. He went back into the house and grabbed a jacket. “Hope... I need to...”
“I understand. I’ll be here when you need company. There’s no shame in needing to be alone.”
“Thanks.” He kissed her, even as he dialed down his emotional connection to her. She shouldn’t have to feel what he was feeling, and he didn’t need some sort of inter-nanite communication to know she was worried about him.
He left, remembering the way to his favorite bar.
Twenty-Nine
It was getting late, but the music from the bar’s loudspeakers wasn’t getting any quieter. Whatever curfew there had been in Boston back in the Spring wasn’t applicable in Greenwich. The place wasn’t too shabby, just as Daniel remembered it, and fairly clean, but also pretty full.
A TV in the corner of the ceiling showed what looked like a war zone—protestors in yellow hi-viz vests throwing bricks and Molotovs—and he looked away involuntarily at the point where fire showed up, even as other shots cut to an exchange of fire with riot cops and National Guardsmen. The caption at the bottom of the screen read “Boston Riots Continue.”
Only a couple of guys were watching the TV. Daniel swayed a little closer, off-balance from the whiskey chasers to several beers, just to see if he could hear the report over the music in the bar. He caught: “…church of the Mozari insurgents have adopted guerrilla tactics of hit and run fighting, forcing the Guard to take back the city block-by-block. Although the National Guard has numerical and fire superiority, the church’s guerrillas are not afraid to harm innocents. Indeed, it remains their main tactic—”
“Jeez,” said one of the guys watching—an average-looking guy in his thirties. “Maybe if those grunts who kicked over the hornet’s nest at the church compound had done the job properly—”
“Nah,” the other guy, heavier-set and a little older, responded. “If they’d left well enough alone, but no... the soldier boys gotta impress… Is that the word?”
“Oppress, maybe.”
“Yeah, impress and oppress the masses. ‘Cause they’re all just tools of the Man.”
“Tools, yeah.”
Daniel nodded to himself. “You guys wanna rephrase that?”
“Huh? What’s it to you?”
“I’m a soldier boy looking for somebody to oppress,” Daniel said. The booze was buzzing in him, making him feel overly warm, but it didn’t bother him.
“Impress. Moron.”
Daniel moved fast and rabbit-punched the younger guy in the gut. The older guy instantly took a swing, which Daniel easily deflected. Grabbing him by the collar and the balls, Daniel threw him across the bar. Then hands were grabbing him from behind, and a couple more guys were grabbing the younger, average-looking guy, keeping him and Daniel apart.
A police siren sounded outside, and Daniel stopped struggling. After all, he thought, as two cops came in and made a bee-line for him, it wasn’t as if he was going to be happy about anything anytime soon.
Thirty
Greenwich, CT.
Distant voices echoed in the darkness, from a long way away, from somewhere in the depths of space and time. Light followed a moment later, and the scent of stale sweat and staler beer. For a moment, the familiarity made Daniel dizzy.
Gray-painted, rough breeze-blocks, cut by a scar of watery winter light from high up, greeted him as he opened his eyes. Blood thumping dully behind his ears, he rolled with a groan into a sitting position on the edge of the metal cot. He remembered the last time he had done this. Cody Walker had woken him, and for a moment, Daniel was sure he was about to hear Cody’s voice outside the cell now, calling for him to get his ass in gear and pay his ticket.
He must have been dreaming, he thought, just for an instant. That would explain the weirdness of aliens and telepathic suits, and urban warfare in Boston, and, hell, him being in the Army. He must have dreamed it all, and now Cody was going to come get him...
He wasn’t fooling himself, though, not for more than a second or two of confusion anyway, and even that with knowing he was still half-drunk.
His shoes sat on the cement floor next to him. He coughed, wincing at the taste in his mouth, and stretched. His shoulders popped, stiff and painful, just like last time; that much was real. And again, he was the only person in the holding cell.
“You awake, Lieutenant West?” a voice called from outside the cell door, momentarily startling him. He couldn’t tell whether that was because it had felt like it would be Cody, for the first syllable, or because it clearly wasn’t. The use of his military rank cinched it, too. It was all too real, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a nightmare, as well.
“Yeah, I’m awake.” The door opened, revealing a slightly portly but still solid Latino cop. Santos, Daniel recalled; he’d been a familiar face in Daniel’s drunk and disorderly days. Daniel pulled on his shoes and followed Santos out of the drunk tank and up to the busy ground floor.
“There’s a car here to pick you up,” Santos said, “but we’ll get the paperwork out of the way first, huh?”
“Yeah.” Daniel looked around, feeling a little dazed. Maybe it was the hangover, or maybe it was the little differences in the room, and the fact that Santos was handling his case, rather than Cody, but the place that had once been so familiar now seemed somehow just not right. If there was an uncanny valley, he believed that he was in it. “A ticket?” he asked.
“Should be, but...” Santos trailed off apologetically. “You know how it is; the state and federal governments want us to crack down on protests and stuff, and the laws they rush through aren’t properly thought through, so they end up being half-assed.” He got out the paperwork. “And, to be fair, this time, you didn’t just walk around drunk. A fist fight counts as violence now—” Daniel could hear Santos’s exasperation with that idea in his tone, though he didn’t react, “…and you did cause some damage.”
“So, what’s the prognosis?”
“You have a court date in a couple of weeks. Since you’ve always been a peaceable drunk before, I’ll make sure that goes along with the paperwork and gets taken into account. Cody would have wanted it that way.”
“Yeah.”
“Being in the military means they won’t give you too hefty a sentence—they need people in uniform too much—but they’ll also take it as an aggravating factor because you’re supposed to be trained in fighting... It’ll most likely be a fine and some county time, suspended for service.”
“OK. Thanks.”
“So, those guys you had the fight with; was it worth it?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Well, as long as you’re satisfied.” Santos took Daniel through the paperwork, had him sign off on it, and then returned his personal effects. “I guess you’re free to go.”
Hope was waiting outside, though, and she wasn’t happy or impressed. To Daniel, she felt more disappointed than anything, but there was anger there, too. “What did you think you were doing?” she demand
ed as soon as they were in the car.
“Trying to work some things out.”
“Such as?”
“Such as… What was the point of what we did at the church? What was the point of any of it?” He slumped back in the car seat.
Hope still made no move to start the vehicle. “We eliminated a threat to innocents. We achieved some justice and closure for the victims of their terror attacks. We saved—”
“More lives than we took, I hope.” Lives you saved didn’t niggle at you the way lives you lost did. Their faces, Daniel knew, didn’t stay as fresh in the memory.
“I don’t think there’s any doubt about that.”
“You’re lucky. Lucky to be able to see it that way. I envy you, Hope.”
She looked as surprised as he’d ever seen her. “Envy? Envy what?”
“Look, I never planned to join the military, but I chose to. Even though there’s a draft, I chose to take my best friend’s place even though I wasn’t drafted, because that way his daughter would get to grow up with him. He’d get to see her grow up, and she would have her father there to look after her. Except now he won’t. Chloe’s an orphan with a psycho Mozzarella for a mom, if we didn’t kill her in Boston along with everybody else.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not you that’s got something to be sorry about. I’ve known Cody since we were in the third grade; do you know what that’s like? To grow up with someone for that long, and then suddenly you make a decision, and… Pfft. He’s gone, a family destroyed, and a little girl... Maybe if he’d gone to be an MP, Chloe might see him less often, but she’d see him when he came home. He’d still be alive.”
“Or he might have been discharged back to the police, and still killed in that riot, except that you would be a lawyer and not a man who helped bring down that Charles Kebbell, or who helped figure out how to use this Mozari technology to defend his country and his planet.”