SNAFU: Future Warfare

by Geoff Brown

  He retreated. “You didn't have to vid the news to his mom. See her eyes. He was just a kid, damn it.”

  “Man, you gotta lighten up. No one misses Joel more than me. He was like a brother. I'm telling you, you gotta let it go.”

  His phone vibrated, sparing him a response. He checked the display. “Autopsy's in. I guess we'll have our answers soon enough.”

  “Good, maybe that'll get the monkey off your back,” she said. “Look, I have a recon duty shift coming up. How about you buy me a couple drinks after I get the rig off?”

  “An officer fraternizing with enlisted?” He managed a weak smile.

  “Oh, come off it. That rule's been taking a beating since before you could even spell fraternize. Now get off your lazy ass and get over to the infirmary.”

  “Uh, I think you have the chain of command inverted.” His smile widened a bit.

  She reached out a hand and yanked him to his feet. “Go get 'em, cowboy.”

  He walked with her as far as the Active Combat Room. She put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder then swiped her ID. The door's lock clicked open.

  “Be careful out there,” he said. “We don't know what killed Joel.”

  “No worries.”

  He watched from the doorway as a tech draped the EMEG net over her head, carefully adjusting electrodes into position. He forced himself to turn away and continue down the hallway.

  The infirmary was typical of a modern military base – brightly lit, claustrophobic, and lined with the meds and salves needed for minor cuts and sniffles. The doctor on duty looked up from his paperwork, his square jaw and graying temples lending weight to his steely stare. Not a face Gardner had seen on base before.

  He tried to put on a casual smile. “What's the verdict, doc?”

  “Major.”

  “Sir.” His posture involuntarily straightened. Damn it. “The autopsy report?”

  “You have no facilities to do a proper autopsy here. I had to improvise, using the emergency OR. I don't know how your doctors manage.”

  “What killed Joel? Sir.”

  “The soldier? I logged it as catastrophic neurological sequelae.”

  Gardner gritted his teeth. “Which means?”

  “He suffered burn damage to his brain.”

  “Caused by the EMEG rig?”

  “I had the technicians tear down the electromagneto-encephalographic drone interface he'd been using. They said the thing was burned out by a massive electromagnetic pulse.”

  “But they're hardened against EMP.”

  The major gave him a cold stare. “Mission logs show normal brain activity right up to the end, terminating in a burst of hyperpolarization across the cerebral cortex.”

  Cold bastard. “I have people under EMEG rigs right now, on recon around the FOB. If there's any danger–”

  “Look, Lieutenant, I know the Army is a lot more lax than it used to be. But the colonel and I are old-school, and you and your men are going to have to deal with that as long as we're here.”

  Gardner realized he was crowding the major's space and his voice was again raised. He stepped back. “Sorry, sir. But my soldiers. I don't think the colonel would be happy with another death.”

  “Colonel Spencer has my report. You want a change in duty assignments, you go ask him.”

  Bastard. “Yes, sir.”

  * * *

  “You called for me, LT?” Liz's voice sounded through the door.

  “C'mon in.”

  She entered tentatively. “Word around the playground is you got called onto the old bird's carpet.”

  “I need you to get the squad rigged up.”

  “Something going down?”

  He nodded. “We need to be jacked into the FOB in thirty.”

  “All at once? That's a helluva lot of firepower for recon.”

  “I think Joel's autopsy report gave command something to worry about. They're sending the whole squad out to scout the area where he died.”

  “So they're using us as guinea pigs.”

  “On the books it's a recovery mission. Find his drone and bring it back to the FOB.”

  “Bullshit. Why not just get some trainee to plug in and drive it home like normal?”

  “I don't think they trust the interface. They switched up the frequency-hopping sequence. I'm telling you, I don't like this.”

  She laughed without humor. “Recon always gets shit duty.”

  “Just keep this under your dreads. I don't need the squad all grousing at once.”

  “Mum's the word.” She glanced at her phone display. “I'll have 'em wired up in ten.”

  She walked out, leaving Gardner to worry. He pulled up a map of the area around the Forward Operating Base, studying the topography of the region where Joel's drone had been lost. He'd have access to the map when he was jacked in, but it couldn't hurt to have the lay of the land fresh in his memory. Besides, it kept his mind occupied.

  He closed his eyes and quizzed himself on prominent landmarks, enemy troop movements, and locations of civvie concentrations. Satisfied, he powered down his tab and left his office. The Active Combat Room was just down the hall. He swiped in just in time to see the techs dropping the mag-coil helmet over Liz's head. The rest of the squad was already wired up.

  One of the techs waved his hand toward an empty EMEG rig. “Ready to go, Lieutenant Gardner?”

  He sat in the chair. “Do me a favor. You see anything that looks wrong with one of the rigs, even just a little bit wrong, you unplug the guy's EMEG. Immediately.”

  “You got it.”

  The tech arranged the net on his head, positioning the electrodes carefully, checking the display screen with each adjustment. When he was satisfied, he lowered the helmet. For a long moment, the world went dark and silent. Then a prickling of his scalp accompanied the muted clicking of the mag-coils through his ear muffles and—

  Warm desert air washed over him, carrying sand grains that pinged against his depleted-uranium plating. His battery bank registered a full charge, so he retracted his power cable and swiveled 180 degrees. A quick visual scan showed Liz and the squad already assembled at the south gate. He activated command telemetry for each of his soldiers and scrolled through their data streams until he was satisfied everyone was green. He cycled through each soldier's vidstream, lingering a long moment on Josè's bird's-eye view of the FOB.

  “Sound off, gamma squad,” Liz said. Gardner's vidstream flashed a green border around her drone while she spoke.

  “Heavy weapons ready, Sarge,” Hailie said.

  “Sniper locked and loaded,” said Kyle.

  “Eyes in the sky, green to go,” Josè said.

  “Machine gunner ready,” said Maria.

  Liz flashed green. “Ready to move out, LT.”

  “Let's go.” He signaled to the gunners manning the perimeter defenses, wondering idly if they were sitting under their own helmets a few feet from him or a thousand miles away. His squad fanned out and advanced into the desert beyond the gate. His treads spun when he left the paved surface, then he lurched forward as they bit into the sand.

  He kept an eye on Josè's vidstream as they advanced. The regional map overlay highlighted navpoints in blue. The spire of the Khalifa Tower breached the horizon to the west; rugged hills matched topographic contour lines just ahead to the south; smoke rose from a village to the southeast.

  “Watch for refugees to your left, Josè. Make sure we don't fire on civvies.”

  “Got it, LT. Wait—”

  “What is it?”

  “Got something.” A glint in the hills flashed blue. “Could be Joel's drone.” Josè's vid zoomed on it.

  “I see it.”

  “Dust plume inbound from the east,” Liz said.

  Josè's vidfeed swirled dizzyingly. “Got them,” he said. His vid centered on a dusty road winding from the village into the hills. A snap zoom revealed a convoy of five pickups topped with what looked like .50 caliber machine guns. “The
y're going to get there first.”

  “How about you go for a closer look, Josè. See if a Hellfire or two might slow them down. But get a clear ID first; I don't want you firing on friendlies.”

  “And be careful,” Liz said. “They may have MANPADs. You don't want to dance with SAMs.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Liz, see if you can get close enough to paint a target or two for him. Take Hailie for backup. Kyle, take a position where you can get a bead on the drone. Maria and I will continue to approach it.”

  “On it, LT.”

  He rolled forward, watching his troops move into position. Kyle's drone ascended a shallow rocky slope on his right flank; a fairly steep and rugged face blocked his view to the left. Through Liz's vidstream, he watched Josè approach the technicals.

  “They're not squawking IFF,” Josè said. Gardner saw a flash on Liz's display simultaneously with Josè's, “SAM! Goddamn it.” His vid spun with evasive turns and rolls.

  “In position to paint the son of a bitch,” Liz said.

  “I see it,” Josè said. “Beamrider away.”

  Gardner topped a crest overlooking the drone site. He brought his attention back to his own vidstream. He zoomed on it, sitting inert on the rocky ground. It didn't look damaged. “Drone confirmed.”

  “Got my sights on it,” Kyle said. “No activity nearby.”

  “Let's move in, Maria.”

  “Roger.”

  He rolled forward, keeping a close eye on his vidstream. A couple of insurgents with improvised EMPs could slag his drone and send him back to base with a headache. A rumbling boom refracted around the hillside to his left, and a quick glance showed a black plume peeking above the rocky peak. Scratch one technical.

  Josè whooped. “Whoo—oh shit, SAM in the air.”

  “I count two, no, three launches,” Liz said.

  A glance at Josè's vidstream gave Gardner vertigo, so he focused on Liz's. The flaming ruins of a technical belched black smoke, blocking her view of the others. She rolled toward the wreckage with her IR overlay active. Hailie's drone, with its large caliber smooth bore and TOW tubes, was visible ahead and to the right of Liz's field of view.

  “SAM's got a lock!” Josè shouted. Flares glittered above the desert in Liz's vidstream. Josè's drone twisted and rolled violently.

  “You still have incoming—”

  “I'm hit!”

  Gardner's vid showed Maria ahead of him, almost within touching distance of Joel's drone. He was right behind her. “Kyle, you got eyes on? We still green?”

  “Roger that. No movement.”

  “Okay, Maria, let's hook this thing up and get the hell out of here.” He rotated his upper casing so that she could mount the disabled drone on the rack welded to his back.

  “Sure thing, LT.”

  He spared a glance at Liz's vidstream. Josè was still in the air, trailing black smoke. Hailie was rolling toward the enemy. “You okay, Josè?”

  “Goddamned shrapnel. Losing hydraulic pressure to my left aileron. It's really sluggish.”

  “Better get back to the FOB.”

  “Damn it. Okay, roger.”

  “Hailie, don't engage unless you have to.”

  “I got this, LT. They try to launch another SAM, I'm gonna shove a TOW up their ass.”

  “Don't worry, Boss,” Liz said. “I got her six.”

  His field of view lurched and his gyros whined. His data stream showed a jump in gross weight. “Ready to roll?”

  “Wait one,” Maria said. “You're not secured yet.”

  “The hell?” Hailie's voice was a high pitched squeal.

  Liz shouted, “Fall back, fall back!”

  Gardner switched to Liz's vidstream. A wall of dust was closing in on Hailie. It took him a moment to see the technicals, fanned out and bearing down at full speed across the desert. Hailie lurched backward while firing her smooth bore. Tracers lit up Liz's vid as she tried to cover Hailie's retreat.

  “Get a move on, Maria.”

  “Working on it.”

  One of the technicals veered off course and trailed smoke, but the others closed on Hailie fast. Their mounted guns flashed.

  “Taking fire! Wait, what's th—”

  “Hailie? Hailie!” Gardner flipped to her vidstream and saw static.

  “Jesus, LT,” Liz said. “They lit her up with something.”

  “Base, get her the hell out of there!”

  “Falling back,” Liz said. “I could use some backup.”

  He marked a waypoint on the map. “Form up here. Gotta roll, Maria.”

  “Almost done.”

  “Now!”

  “Got it.”

  “Move, goddamn it!”

  She rolled into his field of view and took off toward the waypoint. A quick check of Kyle's vidstream showed him making a beeline down the hillside. Gardner rolled after Maria, his treads biting deep into the ground with the extra weight. She pulled further ahead of him as his treads struggled to keep him moving. Liz's vid showed desert rolling by at a good clip.

  “Base, how is Hailie?”

  No response.

  “Base, confirm extraction of PFC Miller.”

  Liz's vid jolted and pings sounded through her audio. “I've got incoming. If they hit me with that—” A loud ping cut her off.

  “Liz!”

  Her vid jumped erratically.

  “Liz? You there?”

  “Wait one, LT.”

  He felt his body back at base exhale with relief. “Kyle, you have eyes on her yet?”

  “I got this,” Kyle said.

  Gardner switched to Kyle's stream. He already had his stabilizers deployed and his vid was zoomed on the driver of one of the technicals. His vid jumped with the slightest recoil and the pickup veered out of the field of view.

  “Maria, get eyes on the enemy.”

  “I'm waiting for you, LT.”

  “Damn it. Just get in position.”

  He considered dropping Joel's drone, but only for an instant. Figuring out what the insurgents did to it could save lives.

  Maria rounded the hilltop and swiveled her view toward the east. One of the technicals had flipped over, and the others were hanging back. Liz was pulling away from them and nearly at the navpoint.

  “Looking good,” he said. “Me and Liz are going to be limping all the way back to the FOB. Make sure the enemy keeps its distance.”

  “We got your six, LT,” Maria said.

  “Base here. Your relief is wired and ready to go. Prepare for extraction.”

  What the hell? “This is no place for trainees,” Gardner said. “I'd rather see this one through personally.”

  “Sorry, sir. Orders from the colonel himself. Extraction in three, two—”

  “What the hell is he—”

  Gardner's sight went black. He reached for his helmet, but the tech swatted his hands away. After a brief eternity, the helmet lifted away and cool air massaged Gardner's scalp. He shut his eyes until they could adjust to the brightness of the Active Combat Room.

  Colonel Spencer's gruff voice intruded on his moment of peace. “Nice job out there, Lieutenant.”

  Gardner turned his head toward the voice, drawing a not-so-gentle rebuke from the tech disengaging his electrodes. “Where's Hailie? Is she okay?”

  “We got some good intel on the attack that—”

  “Damn it, is she okay? Sir.”

  The colonel gave him a hard look. “She's in the infirmary. The techs pulled the plug at the first EM spike, which probably minimized the brain damage.”

  Gardner punched the console in front of him.

  “Cool down, Lieutenant.”

  He swallowed a few deep breaths. “What the hell did they use on her, sir?”

  “That's what we're here to find out, son. Assemble your team for a debriefing in fifteen. Then you can get some rack time while the eggheads try to figure it out.”

  * * *

  Gardner stared at his nearly
empty glass of cheap beer. Some light and fluffy synth-hop song played over the crowd noise, which only made his mood darker by comparison. He swiveled on his stool to get a quick look at his squad, surrounding a small table, downing beer. There was no joy in it tonight.

  Liz glanced over and caught his eye. Damn. She said something and the whole table turned to look at him. Goddamn it. He turned back to the bar and swallowed the warm remnants in his glass. A hand closed on his shoulder.

  “What do you want, Liz?”

  “I talked to Hailie's dad this morning. It'll take some time, but they expect her to make a full recovery.”

  “But she'll never pilot another drone.”

  Liz shook her head. “She'd never get cleared for an EMEG helmet.”

  Gardner blew out a breath. “I sent her out there.”

  “She knew the risks.”

  “No, she didn't. No one expects any risks anymore. Not since, I don't know, Pakistan at least. It's the perfect war; no one gets hurt. A damned video game.”

  “It's real enough to the other side.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Doesn't it ever bother you?”

  He looked up from his empty glass. “What?”

  “Getting under a rig and shooting at people. It's just so dispassionate.”

  “The Chinese use EMEG drones too.”

  “Those aren't Chinese drones we're shooting at. They're Iranians and homegrown insurgents from half the Arabian peninsula.”

  Gardner pounded his fist on the bar. “So what the hell do you want? Throw on fifty pounds of gear and march across the desert in person? Take a bullet to the head, or maybe just get your legs blown off?”

  “I don't know. No, of course not. It's just funny how we get pissed when they come up with a way to return the favor.”

  “All I know is I'll be damned if I let them hurt another one of my people.”

  “Don't worry, LT, I'm not going soft on you. Those are my friends over there. I'll do anything I have to do to keep them safe.”

  “Good, because I'll be counting on you tomorrow.”

  “We're going back in?”

  He nodded. “Brass has some intel. Could nip this whole thing right in the bud.”

  “They finally figured it out? What is it, some new kind of EMP?”

  “They think the enemy is using some sort of microwave beamer. Sends a massive energy burst back along the comm channel.”