by Harry Parker
*
Panic grew slowly as the depthless features around him didn’t match the route he’d memorised and then he risked a path because it must be that way. It led to a wall that shouldn’t have been there and he swore under his breath and didn’t know where he was. He thought of the men behind, trusting him and following him blindly into the night.
He pulled a compass from my front pouch and watched the fluorescent needle floating in the dark. It settled in the wrong direction and he swore again. He slid it back and his head turned above me as he tried to orientate himself but the shadows bounced back distorted blind spots he couldn’t decipher. He pumped his hand down and the following soldiers crouched.
BA5799 lay flat on the path and my breastplate rested in the fine dirt. He pulled out his map and flicked on a torch and bent over it.
The man behind moved up and whispered, ‘Sir, wait. Let me get ahead and cover you.’
‘Thanks, Rifleman Lewis,’ BA5799 said quietly, knowing he shouldn’t risk using the torch in the open but not wanting his men to suspect he was lost.
‘You okay?’ the rifleman said as he moved past and knelt down in front.
‘Fine, just a quick nav check, Lewie.’
‘There’s no rush, boss.’
Another man made his way along the line. He squatted down beside BA5799 and rested his hand on my yoke. ‘This is the wrong way, sir,’ he said.
‘Thanks, Sergeant Dee. Just getting back on track.’
‘I reckon the FRV’s about six hundred metres to our right,’ the man said, squinting down the track.
‘Yup, looks like it,’ BA5799 said and turned the map to show him. ‘We’re here,’ he said and dust floated through the thin torch beam. ‘If we cross this irrigation ditch we should see the tree line.’
‘We’re going to be early anyway, sir. Take your time.’
And then the map was back in my pouch and BA5799’s body rotated in me as he stood, pushing through the weight of his kit.
He used the detector again and led the men over the ditch and away from the wall. He waved it from side to side over the path and then it spiked, the lights rushing to fill the display. He took a step back and he waved at the men to go firm. They waited behind us.
BA5799 was lying flat again and I was against the ground. He reached out with straight arms and scraped down with a metal rod. He hated this, and he stretched his fingertips into the hole he’d created. His dog tags had worked up his shirt as he walked and they slipped out and now dangled on me, glinting matte in the darkness.
He twisted and I scuffed on a stone as he picked up the detector and awkwardly moved it over the hole and its lights flashed again. He put the detector back down and continued to dig, gritting his teeth at the awkward position and the day-sack pulling off me. His neck strained and his jugular throbbed against my collar as he worked.
He kept digging but found only bits of stone and debris. And then he held the detector over the hole again to make certain, the base of his helmet pressing into me as he peered forward. The red lights didn’t jump and he stood, sweat glistening on his face. He held a thumb up to the man behind, stepped around the rubble and walked on.
We stopped in front of a wood and BA5799 pressed the radio switch. ‘Zero, this is Three Zero Alpha,’ he whispered. ‘My callsign now fifty metres short of the FUP. We’re going to clear it and then occupy, over.’
The metallic response sounded in his earpiece and then we were moving into the dark foliage. The branches scratched over me as we pressed through and he worried about the noise and stepped carefully in the dark below.
At the other side of the trees he peered through the night-vision that glowed green against his eye. He raised his hand and motioned a team of men forward and they slid out of the wood and down into a dry ditch. They unfolded detectors and started to sweep the sides of the hollow, fanning out to an old sluice gate. A dog barked in the distance and BA5799’s stomach muscles contracted in me.
Once it was cleared, the other soldiers peeled into the ditch and BA5799 lay against the forward edge below an overhang, my side panel pressing into the baked mud and exposed roots. His men waited either side of us. He sent a message on the radio that they were in position with the target a hundred metres to his front. He confirmed he would wait until H-hour.
The dog stopped barking and the soldiers crouched together in silence. They looked at each other: dark shapes with dull eyes, housed in armour and bristling with weapons and antennas. BA5799 thought how exposed they were in the ditch, thousands of miles from home, and grinned at the absurdity of it all. Only their training and their trust in one another allowed them to be here.
He could hear his men breathing and stretching uncomfortable legs, sucking on drinking tubes and suppressing yawns. They were wrapped in the shadows and BA5799 should have felt alone, gripped by danger and cut off by fear, but crouching in the ditch he’d never felt so connected to others and he loved being among them.
He thought of the people in the compound. They’d have no idea his platoon was so close and he imagined them sleeping on the floor beside the flickering embers of the fire. He wondered if they had posted sentries, or if this was the wrong ditch and in the morning he would be disorientated. Or maybe they knew we were here and he had led his men into a trap.
I cooled and BA5799 shivered in his damp combat shirt. One of the soldiers’ heads drooped under the weight of his helmet and the next man nudged him awake. Another scraped at the mud of the ditch with a twig. They waited and finally the greys of dawn evaporated from the ground, separating the solid mass of men into individuals, their faces ghostlike along the ditch.
BA5799 stretched in me, his muscles now stiff, then glanced at his glowing watch and held his hand up to the next man. He flashed it open twice. ‘Ten minutes,’ he mouthed.
The signal repeated along the line and the soldiers began to fidget. BA5799 raised himself up on his elbow and peered over the edge. He could see the compound’s wall hovering in the dawn. There was no scale to it and nothing moved. A cockerel sang in the distance.
He slid back down into the line of men. They were helping each other stow their night-vision goggles. BA5799’s were unclipped from his helmet by the man next to him and he reached over me to push them into his day-sack.
‘Thanks, Lewie,’ BA5799 whispered into his ear. He rested his rifle on the ground and handed the detector to him. ‘Clear a path straight to the door. I’ll be behind you and the two cut-offs will move up on each side, just as we did in rehearsals.’
The man nodded and grinned. They stared at each other and at the mud of the ditch, fiddling with the tops of their weapons and waiting as the light filled. And then BA5799 looked at his watch again and tapped the man’s leg. He nodded and pulled himself up and over the edge.
He was ahead of us, staring down at the ground and sweeping the detector over the dry grass. BA5799 knelt behind him and lifted his weapon, the sling tugging around me. He bent his head to the sight and looked past the man at the walls of the compound.
The other soldiers clambered out of the ditch and followed. To the right and left, two teams pushed on and the platoon was now in three columns, walking towards the compound, led by men sweeping detectors.
We crossed to the building and BA5799 crouched up against the wall, pressing me into its cracked surface. He gave a signal and the man continued to wave the detector along the wall towards a door. He inspected it and then stepped aside to wait.
BA5799’s neck swivelled in me and he looked at the men lined up behind him. The team commander nodded and BA5799 pointed with a flat hand. The soldiers moved past us and stacked up on both sides of the door. One leant a ladder against the wall and held it firm while another gingerly climbed until he was near the top. He swung his light machine gun up and ready.
BA5799 checked his other teams and saw one of them settle into position. The other was in place to cut off down the side of the compound. His heartbeat quickened and he looked a
t the men around the door, their weapons held in their shoulders. He knew each of them and excitement surged inside him. They waited as he crept over, pulling his weapon’s stock firmly into my panel and pausing behind the last man, ready to follow the team in.
BA5799 nodded at the commander, who reached out a gloved hand, twisted the handle and barged through the door. It banged open. The next two men stepped into the courtyard, lifting their weapons up, fingers poised on their triggers.
BA5799 followed them through the door and swung his rifle across the internal openings of the empty courtyard and then moved to one side. A soldier pulled out a detector and led the team across and towards a room. They whispered to one another as they approached and then surged in. There was a call of ‘Room clear,’ and they were out and heading into the next alcove.
*
But BA5799 knew the compound was empty; there was rubbish and debris everywhere and a water barrel lying on its side.
The team cleared the rooms and found nothing and BA5799 walked into the middle of the courtyard and placed his hand on the cold black remains of a fire.
One of the men walked over and stood by him. ‘Looks like it’s been used recently, boss. But not last night.’
‘Damn,’ BA5799 said, then unclipped his helmet and put it on the ground. He pulled the palm of his hand over his eyes, squashing his nose, and reached for the radio switch at his shoulder.
‘Hello, Zero, this is Three Zero Alpha. Over,’ he said, brushing the ash from his hand on me and listening to the earpiece. ‘Roger, Compound Kilo Five Four cleared, nothing found. I’ll collapse back to your location. Should be with you in about forty minutes. Over.’
He looked up at the soldier. ‘Good work back there, Corporal Carr. Very slick. Let’s fold back down the cleared route to the FUP.’
‘Roger, boss,’ the soldier said.
BA5799 hooked his thumbs under me, parting me from his body, and rotated his aching shoulders. He picked up his helmet and clipped it back on. The men were filing out of the compound and he walked after them.
Two shots suddenly cracked overhead, amplified sharply by the walls around. BA5799 ducked, hunched his shoulders in me and ran to the door.
‘Contact,’ one of his men shouted from outside the compound, ‘in that fucking tree line. Two hundred metres.’ And then the same voice screamed, ‘Rapid fire!’
The air ripped apart above BA5799’s platoon and their weapons clattered and banged in retaliation.
‘Zero, Three Zero Alpha,’ BA5799 said into his radio. ‘Contact, small arms, Kilo Five Four, wait. Out.’ He wanted to sound calm but excitement snatched at his voice.
He pushed past two soldiers crouching in cover by the door. ‘Out the way,’ he said and then he was in the open and running along the wall. His day-sack rocked against me and the wall above burst in a cloud of dust, adrenaline and years of training making me feel weightless as I bounced around him. He was heading to the loose line of soldiers kneeling and sprawled at the edge of a corn field, their weapons bucking and spitting. He saw pink walls and bushes in the distance, the flashes from the dark shadows and the sparks of tracer that leapt across the field. He heard the bullets splitting the air and tearing out into the country behind him.
Then he was sliding on a knee and my hem caught in the dust as he came to a stop next to the team commander.
40
You sat on the treatment table and looked at me leaning against the wall and knew I was yours. You recognised my socket that only your odd-shaped stump, with its deep scarring, could fit. A man walked over and unplugged me from the wall.
‘Hi Tom,’ he said. ‘Easy drive?’
‘Not too bad, thanks, Mike,’ you said and watched him bring me over and prop me against the bed.
‘Here it is,’ he said. ‘I just need to get the laptop so we can set it up.’ He walked out of the room.
Your hand caressed my grey surface and felt around the hydraulic piston under my knee joint. You studied my copper connections and wires that led to my microchip. You’d been waiting for me but were nervous about what I might do for you. Ever since they’d mentioned you were ready for me, I’d filled your dreams as a fetish of the possible, a high-tech solution to your problems. Together we would walk faster and farther and you’d be a step closer to yourself. And now I was in front of you and you wanted me to fix you.
My sensors can feel the angle of the floor, the speed you’re walking and the slope we’re on. I can prevent you from stumbling and stabilise you on stairs. I adapt to you.
The man sat on a stool with his laptop. He made it communicate with me and establish a wireless connection. He clicked an option, which sent to me, and my motor whirred into safe mode. ‘Right then,’ he said. ‘Whack it on, Tom.’
You pulled my black carbon-fibre socket onto your stump. The air pushed out as I slid onto you and the seal gripped. You wiggled your stump and I waved in the air.
‘Comfy?’ the man asked.
‘Feels fine,’ you said, rocking the socket with your hands.
‘It should be, I just copied your last leg.’
‘No, it feels great.’
‘Take a walk but be careful while I set it up,’ he said. ‘I’ll send it instructions from the computer. You might feel it change under you.’
As you walked around the treatment room, I felt odd beneath you, flicking out and swinging in a way you weren’t used to. The man continued sending me signals and I changed my parameters, dampening my cylinder and increasing my resistance. A burn developed in your thigh as you struggled to control me and you went up and down the bars, watching us in the mirror at the end of the room.
You leant over the parallel bars to rest, breathing heavily from the effort of controlling me.
‘How does it feel?’ the man asked.
‘Fine thanks, Mike,’ you lied. I felt odd and heavy at the end of your stump. You glanced over at your old leg, resting by the treatment bed. I was its replacement and meant to be an upgrade, but I was different and you weren’t used to me yet. You wished I moved more like the one you knew.
‘Great,’ the man said. ‘You’re doing well, it’ll just take a bit of time to get the hang of it.’
Slowly, with each adjustment, I improved: I didn’t kick up behind you or swing sluggishly and we started to walk more smoothly. You pushed through the socket to force me forward, creating energy that I bounced back off the floor to propel us on. We walked faster between the bars and then out in circuits of the room as your T-shirt grew wet with sweat.
The man suggested you should try some stairs, so you walked me out of the room and I oscillated on the socket below you. We went up and down a flight until you were exhausted. He changed my resistance, swing rate and extension so I was as good as he could get me. Then we were back on the treatment bed and you were sliding me away, pushing the valve to release the socket’s vacuum, and we separated.
You peeled the rubber liner off and your bare stump was red and hot and sweat dripped onto the floor.
‘Here, have this,’ he said and brought over a roll of blue tissue. ‘Weather’s hotter again. Not sure the heating’s been turned off yet.’
‘I’ve sweated buckets,’ you said.
‘What do you think to the leg?’
‘I need to get used to it,’ you said. ‘Still feels a bit odd, to be honest.’
‘It will for a bit, mate. But it looks like a massive improvement already. You’re walking well on it.’ He handed you my charger. ‘Try to plug it in every night, though the battery should last a few days.’
As you drove away from the rehabilitation centre, you looked down at me and felt disappointed. I wasn’t everything your dreams had promised. Your stumps still hurt and sweated, your back ached and your arms were strained from pulling us up the stairs. You were still an amputee. I couldn’t change that, couldn’t spring forward into a run below you or skip around obstacles or quickly adjust when you tripped. I was inert and restricted you to a frustrati
ng walking pace.
*
A few days after we first joined, we were back in your car. Your other leg moved beside me. Like me it was made of metal and composites and it worked the pedals as you spun the wheel above me. The indicator clicked and we turned and stopped. You switched the car off and pulled the key out.
We were in a car park. You shut the door, clicked the key fob and the car blinked behind us. We walked and I swung, my sensors calculating how fast your stump thrust on and where you placed my foot, smoothly adjusting to your gait as we went through the automatic doors and picked up a blue basket.
We walked down the aisles and you held the basket beside me, adding vegetables and then something from a fridge cabinet that hummed next to me. Your stump started to hurt in my socket but you concentrated on your shopping list while my microprocessor adjusted as the basket became heavier.
People pushed their trolleys by and some didn’t notice; they reached for a tin or felt for unbruised apples, muttering to themselves. But others were transfixed by the grey-black rods of technology extending below your shorts instead of bare legs.
You saw them look and challenged them with a stare and they turned away embarrassed. You wished they wouldn’t look at us; we weren’t a freak show and you wanted to be ignored. But we were the strangest thing to walk down those aisles all day. As soon as we were past and they knew you couldn’t see them, they stopped picking tomatoes and stared at us walking away. They couldn’t resist watching and they wondered how we did it. We were science fiction, you and I, and they didn’t see the pain in your socket or the sweat collecting in your liners or the effort you expended to swing me down the bread aisle. All they saw was the magic of me and a young, upright man who had overcome the unsurvivable.
When you queued up to pay your stumps had gone numb and you thought about slumping back in the car. In front of us a young boy held his mother’s hand and pointed at the checkout display. ‘Please, Mum,’ he said.