Ghosts of Tomorrow

by Michael R. Fletcher

  Nadia busied herself with her gear, unpacking, inspecting, and repacking it in the same place. Was she angry at his casual reading of her or the possibility he might be right?

  The Strike Team were definitely enjoying the show. Great.

  Griffin closed his eyes and feigned sleep.

  “You’re faking again,” Nadia said. “Which is weird, because you look like you haven’t slept in days.

  Flies and empty eyes. “Thanks.”

  “Just saying. You have none of your own baggage?”

  “Sure, but it’s awfully well packed.”

  “Not as well as you think. Sometimes you look...I don’t know...haunted.”

  “Are Scans the new ghosts?” he asked, trying for humor.

  “This is something recent,” she said, and he winced. “This is what you and the Director were dancing around back in his office.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Want to talk about it,” she finished. “I know. That much is obvious. Men.” She shook her head and looked skyward. “Not one of you can step beyond your childhood programming.”

  “Hey, I like my childhood programming.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “Failure,” he answered without thinking.

  She examined him for a few seconds, looking as if she was trying to read something written on his face. “Is that what happened?” she asked, voice soft.

  Griffin closed his eyes and tried to relax the knot of tension that never left his stomach. “Shit.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I was on a crèche raid maybe three hours before we met. My first. It was all mine. I was in charge. We were too late. The kids were all scanned. Corpses stacked like wood. Flies. Oh god the stench.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she said, squeezing his hand.

  “Yeah. Yeah it was. I spent two days planning every last detail. Had we gone in when we were supposed to, I would have saved those kids.”

  “That’s why we’re rushing in now, isn’t it? I thought this seemed a little crazy.”

  “I told Phil I needed time off.” I should be bawling my eyes out in front of a damn shrink.

  “And he sent you out here anyway. What an asshole.”

  Griffin stared into her dark eyes. “We will not be too late. Not this time.”

  She leaned forward and gave him a light kiss on the cheek, little more than a brushing of soft lips on stubble. What the hell was that for?

  “Okay,” she said. “We’ve got a Strike Team and a huge combat chassis. What we lack in planning we make up for in firepower.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “We won’t be too late,” she said with confidence. Strangely, it helped him feel better.

  “You’re still holding my hand,” he pointed out.

  “Don’t read too much into it,” she said with a small smile as she let go.

  “Too late.” Griffin glanced out the portal. Endless fields of corn glowing gold in the sun rolled passed. A thought occurred to him and he leaned past Nadia to ask Captain Kim, “Shouldn’t we be doing this at night? Aren’t we kind of exposed?”

  “No, Sir,” answered Captain Kim. “These days every militia nut has infrared, and germanium enhanced light-intensification gear. Darkness offers no cover. Unless you’re planning a strike mission against a clan of Luddites, you might as well do it in daylight. They’re going to see you coming.”

  Griffin didn’t know if this was good advice. He’d still rather skulk around at night. He felt naked and vulnerable and he hadn’t even left the LAV.

  “You been on crèche raids before?” Griffin asked.

  Captain Kim ignored the question and crouched in the front of the LAV, bracing himself with one hand on the roof. He barked into his helmet radio. “Alright folks, we’re fifteen minutes out. Pre-strike check. You know the drill.” Kim looked at Griffin and his brows furrowed. “Helmets on.”

  Right. Helmet. Griffin donned his and saw a bewildering heads-up displaying more data than he could possibly comprehend. Was he missing anything important in this endless scroll of information? The thought left him tense.

  “MR test in three,” the helmet told him in a calm, asexual voice. “Two.” What the hell did that mean? “One.” His bodysuit became rigid, briefly immobilizing him before once again relaxing.”MR test complete,” the helmet finished.

  The Strike Team chatted quietly, exchanging quips over the tight-link system. Had they been talking this entire time? He glanced at Nadia. She already had her helmet on.

  “Way ahead of me,” he said over the tight-link.

  “Always.”

  Griffin watched the Special Response Team looking over their weapons, XM8s and XM29s, and checking other assorted pieces of gear. He’d refused the rifle offered at HQ but took the Glock 36. He wasn’t planning on being in a firefight. That’s what the SRT and combat chassis—Abdul, he once again reminded himself—were for. Aside from the pistol and magnetorheological bodysuit, he wasn’t carrying much. Nadia, on the other hand, was loaded down. State of the art surveillance gear were strapped about her body, filming and recording everything from 400nm to over 2000nm, from ultra-violet through the radio spectrums.

  Griffin’s heart beat faster and he became aware of each slow, shaky breath sawing in his ears. The helmet amplified everything. No worries, this will be a milk-run. That’s what Phil called it, right? The crèche will be gone before we get there anyway. He wouldn’t even need his gun. Sweat trickled cold down his back. What the fuck am I doing here?

  “Gunnery Sergeant Giordano," barked Captain Kim. "You reading?”

  Giordano? Who’s that? Griffin looked around the LAV interior, trying to see who answered.

  Yes, Sir. Loud and clear, Abdul answered over the tight-link.

  “I didn’t even know his last name,” Griffin said to himself.

  Nadia nudged his knee and tapped her helmet over her ear. Griffin’s face flushed hot. They all heard him, Abdul included. Off to a great start. “Sorry.”

  Captain Kim ignored him. “Okay. Everyone listen up. Team One is going to pull up short and deploy. I want everyone ready to lay down cover fire.”

  Team One? Was that them? Griffin wanted to ask but remained silent.

  “Not you two,” said Kim, pointing at Nadia and Griffin “Stay out of sight. Behind cover until I until I give the All Clear. Got it?”

  They both nodded.

  Kim continued. “Team Two is going in fast and hard. Draw out their defenses. Team One’s XM29s, I want heavy 20mm on anything armored. XM8s, eyes open for soft targets. Gunnery Sergeant, you are heavy-weapons support. We aren’t anticipating more than small arms.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Abdul said over the tight-link.

  “Hang back,” ordered Kim, voice cold. “Defend the civvies and LAVs. If we run into heavy shit, stand ready to give assistance.” He stomped a booted foot on the steel floor of the LAV. “You know the deal,” he called out. The Strike Team nodded to Kim as he stalked the length of the LAV. “A medal, a body bag, or both.”

  “Hooah!” the Strike Team answered as one.

  Kim stopped near the rear exit and answered with his own, quieter “Hooah.” He stood crouched, swaying with the motion of the LAV, looking his troops over as if memorizing their faces. “By the book, folks. Let’s bring these children home.”

  Griffin found himself calming a little. His heart and breathing slowed. The Captain looked every part the hero. Tall and wide shouldered, he was square jawed and handsome in an everyman kind of way. The clichéd all-American soldier, he exuded nothing but calm professionalism. Just knowing Kim was in charge made Griffin feel better.

  But Captain Kim wasn’t in charge. Not really. Griffin’s chest tightened again. Sure, Kim had command of the Strike team, but this was Griffin’s mission. It all fell to him. If everything went to hell, it rested on his shoulders. No matter how much he tried to abdicate responsibility.

  What the hell was
he doing here? He should have told Phil to stuff this assignment up his ass. Understaffed or not, there was no way Griffin should be back in the field so soon after that debacle of a raid. He hadn’t slept a wink since and seesawed between punch-drunk and hyper alert.

  “Did you get that?” Captain Kim asked Nadia with a grin. “Do these fatigues make me look fat?”

  Nadia, startled, shook her head. “You looked good Captain. Quite the hero.”

  While Nadia chatted with Captain Kim, Griffin, seeking some distraction from his thoughts, took the opportunity to look her over. Even in a magnetorheological bodysuit and baggy desert-camo fatigues she looked amazing. Her dark hair was tied back and he wanted to sniff it.

  Yeah, that wouldn’t be weird. Couldn’t smell anything with this helmet on anyway.

  That wasn’t entirely true. He remembered the barn.

  Griffin looked over the Glock for the fifth time. Gun, check. Clip loaded, safety on, check. Mercury guide rod, check. Four spare clips in cargo pants, check. He glanced up from the gun as Nadia touched his shoulder. They made eye contact and she opened her mouth to speak but paused and stared at him. Looked into him.

  She placed her gloved hand on his. “You ready for this?” she asked, squeezing his hand.

  No. Fuck no. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I’ve done this before.”

  He could tell she wanted to ask about the previous crèche raid and was grateful she didn’t. Their helmets touched.

  “We can watch the footage later,” She said.

  Was that an offer? He didn’t want to regret not trying. “Over a few beers?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe.”

  Nothing ventured, nothing gained. “At your place?”

  “A little forward but...we’ll see.”

  “That’s not a no.”

  “And it’s not a yes.”

  So maybe not a no was the best he could hope for. It’d do. Now all he had to do was not get shot. Be typical to finally ask a girl out and get killed thirty seconds later.

  Griffin watched Captain Kim pull Nadia aside. Kim’s face was set and serious, all trace of humor gone. He looked tense, and kept adjusting his gear. Griffin took some small pleasure in catching the Captain’s moment of humanity. It was nice not to be the only one who was nervous. Curious, he listened in over the tight-link.

  “This is an EMP grenade.” Kim held up a small, fist-sized device that looked like a cross between a Christmas ornament and a child’s crude idea of a cartoon bomb. Small LEDs twinkled red and green. “The range is really short. Any combat chassis more than a couple of yards away won’t even notice it.”

  Nadia gave the little device a skeptical look. “So...if I’m close enough to stuff this thing up its ass I should use it. But otherwise....”

  Captain Kim flashed an embarrassed, lopsided grin. “Pretty much. But don’t go lobbing this around at random. The Electro Magnetic Pulse will shut down our weapons, our radios, and everything else we like having around in a fire-fight.”

  The Captain turned away to issue other orders while Nadia examined the gadget and then dropped it in one of her gear bags.

  The LAV-25 slid to a halt in a storm of grit and dust and the Special Response Team scrambled out the rear hatch, using the vehicle for cover.

  “Guns up!” Captain Kim ordered. “Jackson, Trujillo, cover flanks!”

  Griffin climbed from the vehicle, blinking in the sudden daylight until the helmet darkened. He saw a typical Texan ranch-house, the front lawn littered with the rusting bones of old cars. There was a large red barn behind the house and a few hundred acres of towering corn, brown and gold and gray. Was this the right place? The scene seemed too tranquil. The sky was clear, a pale and gentle blue. Wisps of soft white cloud lounged on the horizon. The air felt much cooler than in the LAV, and Griffin breathed it in with relief. It was clean, no sour taste of body odor. Unsnapping the straps, Griffin pulled off his helmet and ran a hand through his gray-shot hair. It came away damp. The fresh breeze felt great on his scalp.

  Kim punched him hard in the shoulder. “Helmet!”

  Dropping the helmet back into place Griffin heard the calm chatter of the SRT over the radio. Griffin’s heart tripped over itself as he realized the vast surrounding fields of corn could hide anything. So exposed. Can't see a fucking thing in this helmet. Armor too tight.

  He turned to Nadia, who’d exited the rear hatch. He opened his mouth to warn her but the second LAV roared past, showering him in pebbles and dust.

  A dog barked.

  Dogs always knew something was going down before anyone else.

  ***

  Long before the dog started barking, SwampJack, sitting in his favorite camouflaged cubby-hole near the top of the barn’s silo, watched the two LAV-25s approaching his defensive perimeter. Military vehicles often drove past the crèche; Sheppard Air Force base was north of the city and the 82nd Training Wing roamed far and wide. SwampJack enjoyed the tension even if it was only pretend.

  Wandering Spider, down below on the ground, lifted her head above the car-wreck she lounged behind. She tracked the incoming vehicles intently. I’m detecting scrambled tight-link. Can’t break it.

  Yeah, duh. Scrambled and all.

  She ignored him. Vehicles scanned. Registry isn’t out of Sheppard. They’re from the NATU base in Dallas.

  From his elevated position SwampJack watched his friend sink low to the earth and crawl toward the driveway in the front yard. Her chameleoflage, still damaged from the point-blank blast she took dealing with the farmers, stuttered as she moved. Move slower, he told her as he pulsed a signal to the people in the farmhouse—NATU LAV-25s approaching. Is this a drill? He wouldn’t wait for a reply. Humans were far too slow and Uncle Riina made it clear: “Think for yourselves. Don’t let me down.”

  The children in the barn were little more than numbers and bodies to SwampJack. They came and went, a never-ending procession of product. They weren’t important, but Uncle Riina, he mattered. SwampJack would not let Riina down. Loyalty, devotion, obedience, and duty; these words were reasons to live and a code to live by. Riina was SwampJack’s whole world, the center of his universe. Riina was Almighty God. He was a just and fair God and loved his kids, showering them with gifts of hyperkinetic ammunition and grenades. They wanted for nothing.

  The first LAV locked all eight tires and slid to a halt. NATU troops poured from the vehicle and huddled behind it for cover. SwampJack didn’t know or care if this was a virtuality training program, a game, or a real attack.

  Let’s have some fun, he tight-linked to Spider. The second LAV passed the first and continued up the drive toward where Wandering Spider hid. Further back a two-ton truck lumbered up the lane. One of the troopers hiding behind the first LAV peeked her head out for a look. SwampJack aimed.

  ***

  A cloud of dust settled around the LAV-25 as Griffin and Nadia huddled behind it. The other LAV roared up the laneway as the two-ton truck slowed.

  “You good?” he asked and she gave him thumbs up. He noticed for the first time how bright the whites of her eyes were. She twitched her head back and forth as if trying to watch everything at the same time.

  Brain and ragged chunks of skull showered Griffin, pelting him with sharp fragments of bone. The head of a nearby soldier had exploded. Half a second later he heard the shot. The helmet, sans head, rolled toward him in an awkward bouncing crescent and came to rest against his left foot. The bullet had passed through the visor and woman’s face and head before exiting through the back of the helm.

  The fucking things are supposed to be bullet proof!

  Griffin hit the ground, scrambling to get the LAV between himself and the shooter. His boots slid in the dust as he kicked himself backward until he felt the bolts on the tire slam into his spine. Nadia crouched beside him. She yelled something he couldn’t hear over the staccato barking of the Strike Team’s XM8s spitting their 5.56. Who the hell were they shooting at? Kim screamed orders, �
��Hernandez on my six! Man down!” Griffin’s helmet spewed data faster than he could read it. The scrolling text made him dizzy. His breath came short and fast, his vision narrowing to a suffocating tunnel.

  “Where—”

  A second trooper dropped from a head shot. His helmet landed, spinning in the dust, ten yasrds from the where the body toppled.

  ***

  Abdul heard the shots from within the cargo box. The truck hadn’t come to a halt yet and already things had gone wrong.

  “Hang back,” Captain Kim had ordered. “Defend the civvies and LAVs. Stand ready to give assistance.”

  Stand ready? Screw that!

  Abdul tried the rear exit hatch and found the armor-plated door locked.

  “Seriously?”

  ***

  Headshot! That’s two! crowed SwampJack.

  If Wandering Spider had eyes she’d have rolled them. Moving slowly to give her damaged Chameleoflage time to change with the environment, she crept forward, keeping the bulk of the nearest LAV between herself and her targets. When she’d told Riina what happened with the farmers he’d let out a slow disappointed breath, shook his head, and pointed at the door. She couldn’t bear to think of it.

  This would be her redemption.

  Spider moved between the wreck of old cars, GMs, Fords and Chryslers. She loved these ruins and spent hours here chasing wasps. She stayed low. Looking under the LAV she saw the feet of seven troopers between the tires. The 20mm chain-gun, she decided, would be her primary target. It was the one thing that could turn her chassis into scrap. She braced for a jump.

  Watch this, Swamp. It’s gonna look so cool!

  ***

  Nadia sat with her back to the LAV’s front tires. She poked the lens around the front and watched the small screen attached to her belt. The other LAV had stopped amid the rusted cars and the seven SRT took cover behind it. She scrolled through several visual modes before catching sight of the camouflaged combat chassis.

  She poked Griffin to get his attention and he jumped like he’d been bit. “There’s a combat chassis by the other LAV. I don’t think they can see it.”