Grunt Traitor

by Weston Ochse

  Malrimple’s eyes widened, then he sighed dramatically. “I thought this was settled.”

  Mr. Pink nodded. “It is. But Mr. Mason gave a fair response. What do you say to his assertion that it was assisted suicide?”

  “Pure nonsense. We were bringing her back online so that she could assist in the integration of a new HMID.” Malrimple pointed at me. “It was through his efforts that she died.”

  I grinned as I said, “Ask him why they had to bring her back online.”

  Malrimple began slowly, as if every word was a great effort and he couldn’t believe he had to explain this to us. “HMID Aquinas removed several of her transfusion tubes, necessitating immediate critical emergency care. She lost sixty percent of her fluids and was unconscious for several hours. But through the heroic efforts of Doctor Cole and his technicians, we were able to bring her back into operation.” Malrimple clasped his hands together and leaned forward. “It doesn’t matter. It cannot be assisted suicide; HMID Aquinas was classified a machine, not an individual.”

  Mr. Pink frowned and glanced at Lt. Ohirra. “Oh, dear. This could be a problem.”

  As if on cue, Ohirra stood and came to my side. She stood at attention as she addressed the panel. “Gentlemen, the verdict of murder must be repealed. A human can’t murder a machine.”

  Malrimple and Cole exchanged frowns.

  “Now wait a moment,” Doctor Cole began.

  But Ohirra wouldn’t let him speak. “Either Aquinas was a machine and it is nothing more than destruction of OMBRA company property, or she was a person and it was assisted suicide. It’s clear that the reason she had to be brought back online was because she ripped out her own tubes, as detailed in Doctor Cole’s reports.”

  I wanted to smile at Ohirra’s performance, but I couldn’t find the right muscles to make it work.

  “Wait a minute,” Malrimple said. “You said we were going to vote on a punishment.”

  “I did. But Lt. Ohirra has brought a compelling argument to our attention, based on your own comments to the panel.”

  Malrimple sat back and pointed at Ohirra. “But she works for you.”

  Mr. Pink grinned, something not pleasant to see. “As do you, Doctor Malrimple.”

  The scientist appeared to be about to say something when Mr. Pink addressed the stranger. “Major Dewhurst, what’s your take on the situation at hand?”

  “You know our stance on these HMIDs,” he said in a clear New England accent. “We neither use them, nor do we promote their use.”

  “We understand your aversion to the Human Machine Interface Devices. What do you think—are the HMIDs human or machine?”

  “Seems to me that you should have figured that one out when you first devised these terrible things. Doctor Malrimple, if I may ask you a question, how do you differentiate between a human and a machine?”

  Malrimple was wary. He knew something was going on, but his ego wouldn’t allow him to remain silent. “What do you mean?”

  “Does a machine have free will?”

  “Of course not,” Malrimple said frostily.

  “Then a machine couldn’t try to kill itself, could it?”

  Silence.

  We all waited for a response, but none was coming.

  Major Dewhurst spread his hands. “There you have it. And unless OMBRA has a law against assisted suicide, Lieutenant Mason is free to go.”

  “Wait a minute!” Malrimple shot to his feet.

  Mr. Pink glanced at the scientist. “Sit down.” Then he turned to Dewhurst. “Does the New United States of North America have any laws on the books covering this?”

  Dewhurst smiled. “Are you granting us jurisdiction here?”

  “Not exactly,” Mr. Pink said. “We just want to know where you stand.”

  He shrugged. “Federal law has never prohibited assisted suicide; it was always a matter for state law. And since all state and local laws have been superseded by Rex 84 and the military is now in command, no laws prohibiting assisted suicide are in existence.”

  Mr. Pink turned to me. “Lieutenant Mason, you are free to go.”

  I sat in my chair, watching Malrimple. He looked ready to foam at the mouth. He began to whisper urgently into Mr. Pink’s ear, but he was done. Mr. Pink ignored him and stood, shook hands with the men on the board, and left the room. I was left with Ohirra, who brought out a knife and cut my zipties. I rubbed my wrists.

  Once Malrimple and Cole had stormed out of the room, I said, “You planned that pretty well.”

  “Mr. Pink made us practice,” she said.

  “What if I hadn’t said assisted suicide?”

  “I would have brought it up.”

  “Why the farce?”

  “There’s been an ongoing argument between Malrimple and OMBRA since the program started. Mr. Pink has had to remain a fair arbiter. He felt it was time to get things out in the open. New policies are going to be put in place to protect the HMIDs and treat them as humans.”

  At least there was a silver lining in this shitty cloud. “And Dewhurst? Who is he?”

  “Your new boss.”

  I stared at her.

  “Come on. I’ll explain on the way. We’re two days late on the mission brief.”

  She started out of the room, and I followed. “I had something I had to do first.”

  Without turning she said, “Yes. Yes, you did.”

  Isn’t it funny that the first thing to go were the laws of the land? Isn’t it funny how much we hated some of the laws, how they separated us into competing groups. Laws about gun control or abortion or speeding seemed so important to us before everything changed… before the aliens came and bitch-slapped us into the Dark Ages. How important are those laws to us now? Our version of an apocalypse happened. Governments fell. Humanity almost ceased to exist. Everything we knew is gone. Now we’re living in a post-apocalyptic world. It’s inevitable that laws return as we transition through our current landscape into a post-post-apocalyptic world, which I define as a return to normalcy. As we defeat the aliens, as we gather into small groups, as we try and recover, we’ll begin creating rules. These rules will become laws which will once again separate us. Some are eager to reinstate some of the laws if only to protect their own brand of law and order. Perhaps this time we should pay more attention to how we do it, to what laws we choose to enforce. After all, I think those of us who’ve survived have figured out what’s important to us. Look around. Look at the people around you and the things you’ve been able to scrounge. What’s important to you? What laws do you think should be necessary to protect it?

  Conspiracy Theory Talk Radio,

  Night Stalker Monologue #1381

  These are the times that try men’s souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their county; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny like hell is not easily conquered yet we have this consolation with us, the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly; it is dearness only that gives everything its value.

  Thomas Paine, after the

  Declaration of Independence

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  MAJOR DEWHURST STOOD at the front of the room addressing me, Olivares, Ohirra, and seven enlisted soldiers I didn’t recognize. He’d spent the last twenty minutes talking about the recent past and the effects of the invasion on different areas of the country. They’d been able to contact every region and begin organizing military forces, with the exception of Alaska, the northern Yukon Territory, and Texas.

  “Rex 84 was originally a readiness exercise developed to suspend the US constitution, declare martial law, place military commanders in place of local and state officials, and detain those believed to be an immediate security threat to the sovereignty of the United States, in the event the President declared a national emergency. The New United States of North America adopted Rex 84 as its blueprint for
a way forward. As the special liaison to OMBRA Special Operations, I will guide you in the execution of our missions.”

  I felt the stirring of patriotism as he spoke. I’d had my share of gung-ho hoorah moments throughout my career, especially when I was younger. Watching movies like Rambo II or Rocky III filled me with a comfortable shared warmth, charging us, preparing us to face an enemy who wanted nothing more than our deaths. Since the creation of the first army, it’s been a hard thing to take a civilized young man or woman off the street and make them eager to fight for an invisible ideal. Yet it happens all the time. Indoctrination, a little propaganda, and a lot of imagery served to turn my younger self into that Army private who wanted to fight for God and country. Then I did, and my friends died around me. I got promoted and they got body bags. So I started to fight for them alone. I’d forgotten—no, I’d ignored—that there was perhaps an ideal to follow other than to keep my men and friends safe. The ideological appeal to my warrior spirit had gone AWOL...

  Until now.

  As I listened I was conscious of my reawakening patriotism. The New United States of North America. I liked the sound of that. It rolled off the tongue much better than OMBRA.

  “Power to govern and change had been taken from the people of the United States,” continued Dewhurst. “The richest one percent and the corporations controlled those who would represent you. Not that the politicians didn’t want to support your local needs, but in order to have a chance to vote for you, they had to accept the handshakes of those who were opposed to you. Ironic democracy, isn’t it?

  “Then came the era of the contractor, especially the defense contractor. Do you know how much money the former American public paid to prosecute the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan? There are those who called them proxy wars, who said the tail was wagging the dog. And the number one company that benefited from the wars was none other than our friends at OMBRA.”

  We all looked at each other, wondering why he was going down this path on an OMBRA compound in front of a bunch of OMBRA soldiers.

  “I know what you’re thinking. Here we are on OMBRA’s doorstep. Why are you talking about OMBRA?”

  I liked this guy.

  “First of all, this isn’t OMBRA’s compound. This is Fort Irwin and belongs to the New United States of North America.”

  Olivares raised his hand.

  Dewhurst nodded for him to speak.

  “Did you tell Mr. Pink about that?”

  Dewhurst looked confused for a moment, then said, “Oh, you mean Mr. Wilson. He’s well aware of our philosophical differences. But at the end of the day, OMBRA is a defense contractor. They like to argue that they’re a nation in their own right, but realistically they’re still the same old contractor they were before the invasion.”

  “Then why are you working with them?” I asked.

  “In North America we’ve come to an agreement with them to assist us in the reclamation of the continent.”

  “What are you going to pay them with?” Olivares asked.

  “That hasn’t been decided.” Dewhurst stepped forward and pointed at us. “For the record, your service is duly noted. Your government appreciates that you stepped forward, some of you before the alien invasion,” he said, looking at Olivares and myself. “Such dedication is what makes a country strong. Like America, that had at its foundation the heroics and sacrifices of our founding fathers. Phrases such as I’ve not yet begun to fight and I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country ring through history, and are as relevant today as they were two hundred and fifty years ago.”

  My thoughts flipped back and forth as Dewhurst continued to talk. Could it be true? Was there going to be a re-establishing of the government? A creation of services for the people? If we could stop the spread of the alien vine and find a way to mass produce the cure, perhaps we could create some semblance of a society. I hadn’t thought of anything but war for so long, it was difficult to fathom anything else.

  I tried to remember when I’d last been a civilian, unconcerned with survival. I could almost say high school, but San Pedro had been thick with gangs, longshoreman, and union thugs. You had to belong to something to survive, and I’d never belonged to anything before, making me an instant target. I’d joined the military as much to save myself from the streets as to find somewhere to belong.

  When my mother passed shortly after I completed infantry training, there was nothing left to tie me to civilian society. I didn’t watch sports; I didn’t want much television. In fact, even the movies I loved had more to do with the military than anything else. Tony Scott’s Man on Fire was the perfect example, a story of a broken ex-soldier at odds with society. I think I liked that movie because it resonated with who I thought I’d become. Before the alien invasion, broken soldiers had become broken ex-soldiers. Now, the only thing a broken soldier becomes is dead. Because until the aliens were kicked off our planet permanently, we were all soldiers, like it or not.

  Dewhurst wrapped up his introduction, then kicked everyone out except Olivares and me.

  He pulled up a chair and sat cowboy style.

  “So what’d you think?”

  Olivares gave him a level stare. “Patriotic mumbo jumbo.”

  Dewhurst didn’t flinch. This close I could see a scar running from his jaw all the way to his hairline near his right ear. “Not much for patriotism, huh? Company man?”

  “Patriotism was a tool to get people to do something they wouldn’t ordinarily do. Rah, rah, sis-boom-bah. Kill a commie for your mommie. Nuke ’em till they glow. It’s all part of our indoc as soldiers.”

  Dewhurst nodded. “So you’re the pragmatist. That makes sense.” He looked at me. “That would make you the idealist.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not so much for patriotism either. I fight for those around me. I don’t fight for a symbol.”

  “Sometimes people need a symbol to remember what they’re fighting for.”

  “Like that patch on your shoulder?” I nodded at the red white and blue cameo of George Washington.

  “Exactly. The union jack. The stars and bars. These are all symbols to rally around. You two have been the tip of the spear since this started. But remember, the greater part of the world’s population were the shaft of the spear. They weren’t close to the action, but by God they were affected by it. I’d like to think that I’m fighting for their future, so they can rebuild what was lost.”

  I grinned. “Now look who the idealist is.”

  “Oh, I make no bones about being an idealist. I was talking about you.”

  Shaking my head, I said, “I’m no idealist.”

  “You’re certainly no pragmatist. A pragmatist wouldn’t have put his fellow soldiers in jeopardy to become the Hero of the Mound.”

  I felt the blood rise to my face. “I did what I did to save Thompson.”

  “Did you give any thought to how your actions might affect the group? Were you concerned that they might do the same for you that you did for Thompson?”

  I held back the first seventeen words I had for Dewhurst. When I unclenched my jaw, I said instead, “We fight for each other. I saw a man down. I saved him. End of story.”

  “Do you see yourself as a hero?”

  “Hero is a label someone else gives you for something they were incapable of doing themselves, based on time, ability or distance. I’m just a grunt.”

  “What do you think, Olivares?”

  His olive-skinned face remained impassive as he stared at Dewhurst. Finally he tore his gaze away and looked toward me. “He and I have had this conversation. Mason is a grunt first. Has he been a hero? Yes. Is he a hero? That’s situationally dependent.”

  I nodded at Olivares. He ignored me as he focused on Dewhurst. “My question is, why are you coming in here and laying turds all over our yard? First you badmouth OMBRA. Where was the United States when OMBRA came to their door warning them? Where were you when the shit hit the fan? And coming in after the fact to try
and measure the viability of one man’s heroism against the threat of annihilation is something I’d expect from a sophomoric congressional aide, not from a military officer.”

  Dewhurst took it all in, nodding through it all, as if this was what he expected. When Olivares was done, the Army major smiled slightly. “I guess you’re both an idealist and a pragmatist, Lieutenant. Like Mason, you believe in right and wrong. You believe that humans are good and aliens are evil. You believe that I’m an asshole and you’re in the right. But the pragmatist in you says that all humans aren’t good, that I’m probably not a complete asshole, and that you are sometimes fallible.”

  Dewhurst looked at me. “Soldiers by their very nature are pragmatists and idealists. It’s a sliding scale, but all soldiers demonstrate both of these attributes. Some have more of one, some less. You, Olivares, are more pragmatic, while Mason here is more an idealist. This is good. This is what I want in grunts to lead my mission.”

  “I’ve never really thought of myself as an idealist,” I argued.

  “Then why’d you join? Why’d you continue to re-enlist? I’ve seen your records.”

  Olivares’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve seen our records?” He glanced at me.

  I wondered why the concern. I sure as hell didn’t care if Dewhurst saw my records. They were what they were. “Why’d I join? Because I had nothing else to do. I joined because I needed a bigger gang than the 8th Street Angels to have my back. Why’d I stay? Definitely for the chow.”

  Dewhurst grinned and pushed himself to a standing position. “Okay, boys. That’ll be all for now. I just wanted to get to know you. Each of you has your own team. They should be in your team rooms, waiting.”

  He started to leave and I said, “We don’t even know what the mission is going to be.”

  He paused. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  I shook my head.

  “We’re going to strap you into EXOs, air-drop you over L.A., and you’re going to blow up the hives the same way you did at Kilimanjaro.” Then he left.