“Is that how it happened, Sergeant Lorenzo?”
“Yes, sir, exactly as Lieutenant Birdsall said.”
“Do you disagree with his call to terminate the exercise?”
“Well, sir, I-I…”
“Spit it out, son.”
“I believe that we could’ve sent the dogs back out to regain control of the remaining ID, and we could have dealt with the one humper, sir. It wouldn’t have been our smoothest execution, but we would have completed the exercise.”
Major Lewis was glaring at Peter during Lorenzo’s report. “Lieutenant Birdsall, explain to me what happened after the exercise terminated.”
Peter gulped and again cleared his throat. His mouth was dry as a bone. “I-I kind of lost it, sir.”
“Lost it? You assaulted one of the ID.”
“Pardon, sir, ‘ assaulted’?”
Peter regretted his question as soon as it escaped his lips.
Major Lewis bore down on him like a parent reprimanding a recalcitrant child.
“You struck the ID soldier with the stock of your shotgun repeatedly, threw him to the ground, and proceeded to kick him while he was down. That’s assault in my book.”
Against his better judgment, Peter challenged the Major. “But who exactly did I assault? It’s not like it was a person.”
Major Lewis rested both palms on Peter’s desk and leaned in.
“You assaulted an Insidious Drone soldier, a member of the United States Army, an egregious breach of decorum during a combat exercise.”
“I beg your pardon, sir…”
Lorenzo shook his head in exasperation at Peter’s stubbornness as he looked down at his desk.
Peter continued. “But the ID are instruments, like jeeps or tanks. Can one assault equipment?”
“Lieutenant, if I were to witness you kicking a jeep repeatedly during a combat exercise, I’d send you for psychological evaluation. Speaking of which, after you change, I want you to report straight to Captain London. I’ll inform her of what happened and tell her you’re coming. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir. Crystal.”
“Dismissed.”
Peter and Lorenzo were changing in the locker room. Lorenzo was silent and doing his best not to look at Peter.
Peter broke the silence. “I’m sorry about what happened out there today.”
Lorenzo finished pulling a fresh shirt over his head. He paused, choosing his words carefully. “It’s not just the dogs and terminating the exercise, Pete. You shouldn’t have done that to the humper.”
Peter snickered at the remark. “It’s not like it felt anything.”
“Pete, it’s still not right.”
“It’s not human, Mike.”
“Well it was at one time.”
“But it’s not now. It’s only a corpse. A walking corpse. It has no thoughts or feelings. It has no soul.”
“That doesn’t give you a right to beat on them. They’re not slaves.”
Peter could not believe what he was hearing. “Slaves? They’re objects, Mike.”
“They’re Americans…or at least they once were. They deserve better.”
“What are you talking about? They deserve better? We’re sending them after greased pigs. We’re training them to go into caves to be shot at.”
“It still doesn’t give you the right to beat on them.” Lorenzo closed his locker. “Perhaps you should discuss this with Captain London.”
“I’m sorry, Mike.”
Lorenzo sighed. “I know, Pete. Just get your head screwed back on right. Okay?”
Peter nodded. Lorenzo slapped him on the shoulder and left the locker room.
On the way to Captain London’s office, Peter wondered what Apone would’ve thought about his treatment of the ID. Would he have seen him as a cruel master beating on his slaves?
Peter knew that slaves were human and they had rights, and that slavery was wrong and constituted an ugly chapter in American history. The whole concept was so primitive.
But was that what the use of ID was? Was this slavery? He had so many questions, and he was actually glad he was having a session with Captain London.
When he entered her office and sat down in his usual seat, he hit the ground running. “So I assume Major Lewis…”
“Yes, he did. Do you want to explain what happened?”
So Peter launched into his report, consistent with what he told Major Lewis during debriefing. She listened patiently, her poker face devoid of judgment which made it that much easier for Peter to relate.
When he finished, he waited for her response, but she only looked at him expectantly. He was anxious to hear her feedback. “Well…”
She just looked at him. She did not appear angry like Major Lewis, nor did she appear shocked like Sergeant Lorenzo. She just waited.
“So you’re not going to answer me?”
“You haven’t told me everything yet.”
“What else is there to tell?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
Damn she was good. “All right. My brother Carl enlisted last week.”
She smiled wryly. “Ah, so that’s what this is all about.”
“No—kind of—yeah, I guess so.”
“You seem angry, Peter.”
“I-I just wanted better for him. I want him to be safe.”
“Peter, he’s his own man, capable of making his own decisions. He chose a path, a path that was good enough for you.”
“But he can do better.”
“Really? Peter, I’m a little insulted.”
“Insulted?”
“You heard me. What is better than sacrificing to serve your country, to protect your loved ones?”
Peter was a bit embarrassed. “I-I didn’t mean…”
“Peter, you can’t protect Carl anymore. He needs to look after himself. Besides, he might surprise you.”
Peter’s anger seemed to melt away with this newfound insight. His anger was a way to take charge and protect his brother, but they weren’t little kids anymore. He no longer needed protecting.
“Okay, but getting back to what happened during the training exercise today…I’m a little weirded out by Lorenzo’s reaction.”
“Not Major Lewis?”
“No, I get his point. It was a total breach of etiquette during a combat exercise. But Lorenzo appeared to…”
“Feel bad for the ID you beat up?”
“Yeah. Should I have felt bad? I mean, he said I beat it as if it was a slave.”
“Is that what you feel it was like?”
“No…but I’m not so sure. I don’t believe in slavery, but that ID is not human. It has no rights.”
“So it’s just a tool?”
“Yeah. I guess so. Something like that. So why do you think Lorenzo was so upset, Doc?”
“Perhaps to him it was a matter of decency.”
Peter couldn’t believe it. Not her, too. “Decency. Decency. What is so freaking decent about a zombie anyway? In fact, it is the complete opposite of decent. It’s unholy.”
Captain London sat back in apparent satisfaction with his statement. “Ah, at last we came to this point. I thought you’d never get around to it.”
“What point? That the ID are unholy?”
“Is that how you view it?”
“Can you please stop answering my questions with other questions? It’s getting on my nerves.”
“Peter, you are going to have to come to terms with what you are doing in this program. Is it unholy? Is it an abomination? Or is it technological application?”
“I don’t know anymore. I’ve never really given it this much thought.”
“Too preoccupied with thoughts of revenge that you never stopped for a moment to consider, really consider, exactly what it was you were doing.”
“Help me, Doc. I don’t know what to make of any of this.”
“Well, let’s start with what your views on death are.”
“Well, I’m not religious. Y
ou know that.”
“So, you still must have some idea about death.”
“Well, I don’t know if I believe in a heaven or hell.”
“So what do you think happens?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we just cease to exist.”
“Okay. Snuffed out like a light. What about a soul?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“And what would happen to the soul?”
“Maybe it gets reabsorbed into the universe.”
“Good. So what of the body left behind?”
“I-maybe it rots in the ground.”
“What about cremation?”
“Makes no difference to me. I won’t care if I’m dead.”
“So what’s the quandary about using bodies to hunt terrorists?”
“Lorenzo thinks it’s indecent.”
“Well, what about organ donors? What if you needed a kidney and someone was good enough to kick the bucket and give you one? Would it be indecent for you to accept it?”
“No, of course not. But we’re not sending the kidney into caves to get shot by terrorists.”
“Really? That kidney goes wherever you are, does it not?”
“Yes.”
“Well, don’t we send you into situations where you are shot at?”
“I guess.”
“Peter, so what if the ID are, for all intents and purposes, the ultimate organ donors, as in they donate all of themselves?”
“I-I guess…but is that what happens? Do these people give permission?”
“Does it matter? As you said, it really doesn’t matter what happens to the body after death.”
Peter thought about his mother and his friend Delroy Apone. “Well, I’m not sure I’d completely agree with that.”
She gave a wry smile again. “Oh, so we’re back to decency again.”
Peter huffed in exasperation. “Are you enjoying this? Because I hope you are. Somebody has to be enjoying this, because I’m not.”
Captain London chuckled.
“Go ahead, laugh at me, Doc. Do you torture all of your patients this way with your circular arguments?”
“No, just you, Peter. And those are your own arguments. I’m just helping you see your own arguments.”
“So I’m supposed to figure this out on my own. Is that it?”
“Actually, the fact of the matter is that the army sees it fit to use reanimated, soulless bodies to hunt and kill terrorists. And that should be good enough for you.”
“And what happened today?”
“You obviously don’t feel right about what you did. Don’t damage army property.”
“So now they’re property?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing more?”
“What more you ascribe to the ID is based on your value system. Just remember that they belong to the army and are to be respected, if only for that purpose. If you want to apply decency to the scenario, then do so, but don’t go to the other extreme and wind up getting attached to any of them. They’re not pets.”
Peter put his hands up. “Oh, I know that. I’m not that confused.”
“All right. Something to think about.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Dismissed.”
Peter stood up, saluted, replaced his headgear, and left the office.
As he strolled back to the barracks, his head swam with questions, hypotheses, and possibilities. He was not only beginning to sort out his feelings about the ID; he was sorting them out about death as well.
He thought about his mother and Delroy Apone, and where they were. He hoped there was something better for them than this world. If life did indeed cease at death, at least they felt nothing. At least he hoped so.
He wondered how he would feel if the reanimated corpses of his mother and Delroy Apone served as ID. The notion worked on an intellectual level, but the decency of such a thing gnawed away at his conscience.
He went to sleep that night unsettled, and he consequently had a fitful slumber with visions of his mother, his friend, and zombies and terrorists dancing in his head. He soaked his sheets with sweat as he tossed and turned, struggling against frightening apparitions and their wrath for letting them die.
When he woke sometime around 03:00, he sat there and shivered in the dark, alone with his guilt as the early hours of morning wound down at a slow, cruel pace.
Chapter 7
Fort Leonard Wood
Missouri
Carl was exhausted, but then again, more had happened to him in the last few days than most of his life in total.
At the start of basic training, Carl felt like a freshman on the first day of high school. A very rigorous high school. He was out of his element, he didn’t know anyone, and he felt the first twinge of doubt about his decision to enlist.
But every new job had its orientation, right? There were forms to fill out, videos to watch. One had to figure out where the bathroom and the cafeteria were.
A few days ago, his head was shaved, he submitted to a physical examination, and received inoculations. He was handed his uniform, duffel bag, and mouth guard. He wondered why he needed a mouth guard.
The physical assessment test at Reception Battalion was brutal. They expected him to do seventeen sit-ups within one minute, thirteen push-ups within one minute, and run one mile in eight-and-a-half minutes.
He was able to manage, but several recruits in the initial group were not. Consequently, they were sent to what the drill sergeant, Sergeant Maddox, called “Fat Camp.” Carl was not sure what happened there, but he was glad he passed the physical assessment.
Now he was in day three of Basic Combat Training, which was to run for ten weeks. He was in what Maddox referred to as the Patriot Phase. This apparently meant that the drill sergeant followed them around everywhere, correcting them on their posture, how to salute a superior properly, how to maintain a clean area in their barracks…you name it.
At first, Carl found the attention to every detail to be amusing, but before long, he found it exhausting. But he understood the purpose. They were soft from civilian living. He was soft from sitting on his parents’ couch, dodging student loan companies demanding their pound of flesh.
He knew that as recruits, they had to be broken down to be built back up. However, an intellectual acceptance of this reality did not ease the pain of Maddox’s constant correction. It was supposedly army policy that the drill sergeant did not correct recruits using physical violence of any kind. Instead, they were supposed to use Corrective Action: Physical Exercise (CAPE)—push-ups, laps, and such.
Well, let’s just say that Sergeant Maddox utilized both, depending on the recruit, his feelings towards him, and his mood at that particular moment in time.
On the first day, after cursory introductions in the company area and what only Sergeant Maddox would perceive to be a pep talk, he had them engage in this ridiculous exercise called the bag drill. All of the recruits were instructed to make a large pile of their duffel bags and then back away. Sergeant Maddox then told them they would have two full minutes each to find their bag.
The time limit was ridiculous, but the whole point of the exercise was to ensure failure. After endless iterations, Maddox, in his infinitely delicate and supportive manner, suggested that they work together rather than every man for himself.
After successfully completing the drill, the recruits were then all broken up into platoons. Towards the end of the week, Carl was issued a “rubber duck”—a fake rifle—and was taught how to stand at attention, face, and stand at ease. This went on ad nauseum for several hours a day.
The recruits, however, were given a chance to handle a real, functional M16 to become familiar with it. Carl found that interesting and almost worth the monotony of the Drill and Ceremony training.
The classroom exercises were like school all over again, with a dash of a draconian version of the Boy Scouts. They learned the “Army Core Values”—loyalty, duty, respect, etc.<
br />
At 17:00, the recruits gathered in the mess hall for dinner. In the beginning, Carl sat by himself. After a couple of days, a table of guys that were just like him adopted him.
There was Gary Koontz from Brownsville, Texas, once a college student like Carl. He, too, could no longer afford it. He was a tall, thin man with a baby face. Then there was Mark Fromm from Aberdeen, Idaho, a twenty-three-year-old mountain of a man who worked in construction in the private sector and was laid off, another casualty of the economy.
Nolan Kettle from Blue River, Colorado, was the wise ass. Every group had one. He was a real clown, and he would entertain the group by imitating Sergeant Maddox in less than flattering ways. Sergeant Maddox had apparently picked up on this. Either that or he just had a natural dislike for the kid, as Nolan was frequently the recipient of Maddox’s sadism.
Then there was Ricky Cartieras from Cave Creek, Arizona, who Nolan called “Silent But Deadly.” He didn’t say much, but he always sat at Carl’s table.
“Who do you think the platoon’s going to choose for GFT tomorrow morning?” Kettle instigated.
GFT—Ground Fighting Technique—was hand-to-hand combat training. The training was nearing its completion, and as per custom, one recruit was selected from each platoon to duke it out in a competition.
“God, I hope it’s not me,” gasped Koontz.
“Well, I’m too pretty to get my face busted in,” joked Kettle. “Hey, maybe it’ll be Cartieras.”
“SILENT BUT DEADLY” everyone chimed in simultaneously. Cartieras only regarded them with a half-smile.
“I think Fromm stands the best chance,” Carl declared.
Fromm shot Carl an unappreciative look.
“What?” Carl said defensively. “It’s true.”
“What about you, science boy?” Fromm retorted.
“Hey,” Kettle needled, “Birdsall is one vicious nerd.”
“Screw you, Kettle,” Carl replied. “Maddox hates you, so maybe it’ll be you and he’ll get to sit back and enjoy watching you get your ass kicked.”
“Oh, he’d love to see that,” Fromm chimed in. “To see someone else do what he’s wanted to do since we got here.”
“Hey, hey, hey. Easy, guys. Basic Training would be boring without my sophomoric antics,” Kettle reminded.
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