I Am Automaton

by Edward P. Cardillo

  He figured it was time to use his mental connection with the dead to send back a signal to Kettle to let him know he was still alive.

  ***

  Outside the cave, Kettle and the two men training their rifles on the lone drone nearly jumped out of their skin when it suddenly made a movement with its right arm.

  Kettle signaled for the two men to stand down. He didn’t want them blowing away their only contact to their Captain because they were jumpy.

  “Look,” Kettle said, “it’s waving.”

  Then the ID rather clumsily held out its right hand, made a fist, and awkwardly stuck its thumb up in the air.

  “He’s giving us a thumbs up,” Kettle said, “the Captain’s all right.”

  ***

  Although he wasn’t able to tell from inside the dark cave, night had fallen. It was close to midnight, and Carl was weary. He decided to catch some shut eye.

  He ordered the ID to halt. He picked a man-sized nook in a corner of the cave and sat himself down with his back to the wall. He draped a few thermal field blankets over him, as the caves became quite cold at night, and he rested his assault rifle on his lap.

  Then, by his command, a few dozen of the ID crowded around the spot where he sat, blocking him out completely from view. He ordered the others to fan out a bit and attack anything human that moved into the area. Content with the protection of his guard and his kills for the day, he allowed sleep to take him.

  ***

  The next day Kettle was awakened in the large tent by an anxious private from the late night/early morning detail.

  “Lieutenant Kettle. Lieutenant Kettle.”

  He sat up in his sleeping bag, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “What is it, Private?”

  “The drone, sir. It waved again and gave us the thumbs up.”

  “Good. That means Captain Birdsall survived his first night. Thank you, Private.”

  Kettle stood up and stretched. He put on his headgear and stepped out of the tent. “Private Fromm, report.”

  Fromm walked over. “Good morning, sir. The scouts have reported back and left again. They reported no unfriendlies in the area. All’s quiet, sir. The perimeter remains intact.”

  “Good. Carry on.”

  ***

  Days passed in the cave, but due to the perennial darkness Carl’s Circadian Rhythms were thrown out-of-whack, and he was beginning to find it difficult to sleep. He slept at odd hours, which was really immaterial given the fact that their mission was ongoing for days. His signals back to Kettle were going out at odd intervals. But there was a serendipitous result. Carl’s movements with the ID became more nocturnal and, as a consequence, they were catching terrorists off guard.

  Carl was beginning to lose track of the days without the use of his Mini-com. He estimated that it was around one week in the cave system. They had exhausted the map and were now winging it, but Carl had twenty-eight more kills since the initial seven, which brought his total to thirty-five.

  The effects of approximately seven days of submersion in the caves left him a little disoriented, but he rationed out his food carefully and stayed hydrated. The ID were no worse for the wear, and they didn’t know the difference. They only ate in combat, they never dehydrated, and they never slept. Their muscles never tired, as the buildup of lactic acid was no longer a factor.

  Carl, on the other hand, did suffer from lactic acid buildup, so for short stretches he had two ID carry him on their shoulders. He mused that he was the emperor of a cave dwelling dead culture, but the rides allowed him to recover from long stretches of hiking in the dark.

  ***

  Outside the cave, Lieutenant Kettle was talking to Sergeant Koontz in front of the guarded drone. There was a pop and Koontz suddenly dropped, dead before he hit the ground.

  “SNIPER,” Kettle yelled as everyone took cover, scanning the area for the location of the sniper. There were a few more shots fired at men taking cover.

  Kettle was behind a large rock formation. He looked through his binoculars. There was no one on the flatlands for miles. He panned across, past the drone still standing there…

  “Christ,” he spat under his breath. He forgot about the drone. It was just standing there, as Carl ordered. He had to get it out—

  It’s head exploded like a melon from the sniper’s bullet.

  “Goddammit!”

  That was their only connection to Carl. Now they wouldn’t know if he was alive or dead, which left them blind, deaf, and dumb. They had no fix on his location, no status on his progress, and no idea when he would be coming out, if he was even coming out at all.

  Cronos had his sniper rifle trained on the mountains. “I see him.”

  The sniper was facing the sun, and his scope had for a moment reflected the sun, shining briefly on an undulation in the rock of the mountainside.

  That would be his last mistake.

  Cronos took a deep breath and began his mental calculations of height, distance, force, and arch. He steadied himself as the sniper fired a few more shots nearly missing Kettle’s head.

  “Dammit, Cronos, take him out before he takes my head off!”

  Cronos waited for one more flash of sunlight from the scope. Seconds passed like hours, and then it came. He lined up where he thought the target was, and he squeezed the trigger.

  They waited. The sniper had stopped firing and appeared to be slumped over the ridge of rock he was hiding behind.

  “Cartieras!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Take a squad up there to confirm the kill. Cronos, you cover them.”

  Cartieras later returned, confirmed the kill, and reported that the sniper was shot through the scope in his right eye. Cronos’ shot was incredible.

  But the fact was that now they were cut off from Carl. Kettle couldn’t believe that they had trained to defend against flanking but had never anticipated this scenario. He should’ve had the drone in the tent or under some kind of cover. Now they were lost, or rather Carl was lost, cutoff from his own platoon.

  Kettle knew he’d have to radio in to HQ to be advised on what to do. They were sitting ducks out there waiting for their Captain who might never return.

  ***

  Days passed and Carl was beginning to encounter more and more terrorists within the recesses of the mountains. He had seventeen more kills, bringing his total to fifty-two.

  He came around a sharp bend, where there were bright lights and voices echoing off of the cave walls. Carl tightened his fist and urged the ID forward. They began to pick up pace, and as their footsteps thundered in the cavern there were the sounds of panic from the lighted area.

  Gun shots rang out and people hollered. Carl turned the corner in his sea of undead drones, and as terrorists became visible, he began to take them out. Shots took down several ID around him, but Carl was unharmed and unafraid. The drones swarmed the area, toppling over lighting, computer equipment, and a video camera.

  On the other side of the cavern daylight crept in. There was an opening to the outside. Several terrorists ran towards the exit, but Carl cut them down. After several minutes of gunfire and cries of terror, the room was once again silent. Carl rewarded his drones by letting them feed. This was a mother lode, some twenty odd terrorists, bringing his count to around seventy-two.

  He saw the camera equipment lying sideways on the floor. It was broadcast equipment. Apparently, they were working on broadcasting something. They always did, to rally their men around the world or to claim credit for an attack.

  Carl, worn out from wandering the caves for two weeks, picked up the camera on its tripod and righted it. The red light was still on. It was recording.

  Carl backed up and stood in front of the camera, assault rifle pointed down in bravado, and ordered some of the ID to stand behind him in the shadows.

  And then he began to speak.

  “This is a message to all of those who are enemies of freedom around the world. For decades, you have planned attac
ks on the free world in hiding, cowering in these caves. You’ve massacred many men, women, and children in the name of your perverse ideology. It has been said that you do not fear death, as many of you have extinguished your own lives for your cause.

  “All that has changed. I have found you in the recesses of these White Mountains, cowering like swine. You need not fear death, but you will fear me.

  “I have come for your lives, and I have claimed many. There is nowhere you can hide that I will not find you. My men do not tire, they do not thirst, they do not sleep…but they hunger for your blood, and they will not be satiated.

  “Heed this warning: disband, immediately. Your reign of terror is at an end. For every attack made on free soil, I will claim fifty of your heads. I will not stop until the attacks do, or until there are none of you left. I vow this from your own backyard. You will answer to the dead. Not only to your victims, but to those in life who counted themselves amongst your ranks. You owe the free world a profound debt, and I am here to collect.”

  Then he trained his rifle on the camera and shot it to pieces.

  Chapter 21

  Fort Bliss

  Texas

  Major Lewis was watching a news conference addressing the mysterious broadcast coming from just outside the Pakistani border. The media was running wild with the story. The figure in the video didn’t identify himself, and his uniform did not bear any of the traditional markings of the United States Army. It was the black suit of the ID program.

  There were rumors that American forces were in Afghanistan in the area of the White Mountains, but the notion that they could have achieved such penetration was dismissed as a logistical impossibility.

  However, shockwaves rippled through the international media. There was some condemnation of this unidentified character by the Order for International Liberation and some of the more liberal groups in the United States, citing the campaign as a breach of diplomacy.

  But the world was fascinated by the broadcast. Some groups debunked it as a hoax, propaganda against terrorist factions. Some ascribed it to the work of a paramilitary vigilante group. Surely the terrorists of the world knew that they were missing many of their operatives hiding in the Tora Bora cave system. They also knew the broadcast came from one of their clandestine stations.

  Right wing groups came out praising the actions as definitive action against a ruthless enemy. The President himself, while not claiming responsibility, condoned the action as a positive result in reigning in an elusive enemy.

  Major Lewis sat there in his office in awe. The kid did it. He really did it. His phone was ringing off the hook. There would be questions, and he would have to provide answers. He was not quite sure how all of this was going to play out. The world was shocked, but no one of real import came out against the message of the broadcast. It would be a new era for the war on terror.

  Major Lewis turned off his television and stepped out of his office. His secretary, Mary, put her call on hold, the board lighting up like a Christmas tree, and she held her hand up.

  “Major Lewis…”

  “You have to wait, Mary. I’m going to use the john.” He marched off to the men’s room before she could continue.

  He pushed open the bathroom door and hurried in. Fortunately the bathroom was empty. Not that it really mattered, but he liked it that way.

  He entered a stall, closed and latched the door, and sat down on the bowl. At his age he appreciated a good bowel movement when it came, and he figured it would give him some time to think.

  The door to the bathroom opened, and someone came in. The footsteps were slow and measured, which at first just seemed odd. But then, with a grisly realization, a wave of panic came over the Major. The kid did what he said he was going to do. He carried out a successful mission and went public. Perhaps he thought he no longer needed the Major, which made Lewis suddenly dispensable.

  The shuffling footsteps ended in front of his stall. Did Birdsall dare send a drone for him, in the officers’ restroom? He was locked in the stall, but unarmed. He would have to think quickly, be resourceful. He supposed he could…

  The faucet was opened and the person in front of his stall began to splash water. False alarm. The man used the hand dryer and left the restroom, and Major Lewis was once again alone.

  He finished up and washed his hands. He was now hyper vigilant, looking over his shoulder constantly, seeing ID everywhere he looked.

  He didn’t want to return to his office. The ID would most certainly be looking for him there. He figured he’d go to Captain London’s office.

  He could tell her everything. She was bound by confidentiality…except if any of his superiors were to ask. Dammit. But she wouldn’t rat him out…because she was implicated too. She had been working with him on the ID program every step of the way. She even helped to select the men, including Lorenzo and Lockwood.

  He remembered her reservations about Lorenzo. She felt he came from an unstable background. He, however, saw potential. A man that easily corrupted would likely go along with the deal with the Navajas if he was pitched properly. Lockwood was in on it from the get-go.

  Major Lewis stomped down to her office. He would tell her everything. It would feel good to tell someone else. If someone else knew, then Birdsall would have two witnesses to dispose of, which he would not likely do. Lewis noticed Birdsall had a soft spot for Captain London. He would bet his life that the kid would not let any harm come to her, even if she knew about the sordid arrangement with the Navajas.

  He approached the door to her office and scanned in.

  “Enter, Major Lewis.”

  He stormed into her office and sat down in one of her chairs.

  “What can I do for you…”

  “Captain…Fiona, I need to talk to you.”

  Fiona? Major Lewis never called her Fiona. He was always such a stickler for rank and protocol. The chain of command was his manifesto.

  “Is everything alright, Major?”

  “Yes, I mean, no. There’s a bit of a problem with the program that has me worried.”

  The man was shaking. Something definitely had the man rattled. She never saw Major Lewis lose his composure before. He was always so smug and superior.

  “Okay. Is it one of the men?”

  “Yes, I fear he has become unhinged and we are all in danger.”

  “Okay, but I was just about to use the restroom, and I’m afraid it cannot wait. Will you excuse me, sir?”

  “But I really have to talk to you.”

  “It will only take a minute, sir. I’ll be right back, and we can discuss this. I assume you are referring to Captain Birdsall.”

  “Yes. Yes, that’s the one.”

  “He has been behaving very strangely. I’m not so sure he’s dangerous though. But we can discuss it when I return.”

  “Oh, fine. Hurry up.”

  Captain London excused herself and walked down the hall to the officer’s restroom for ladies.

  Major Lewis sat in her office waiting quite impatiently. He squirmed in his chair like he had red ants in his pants. The sooner he told her everything, the sooner he’d be safe.

  He noticed the digital décor of the office generated by the Therapeutic Ambience Program. The retinal scanner at her door had picked up an impulse and projected his favorite bar in New Orleans in the French Quarter. The familiarity soothed him a little as it brought back memories. A big band track played in the background, something for him to listen to while he waited.

  He noticed a glitch in the corner of the room where an ornamental tree stood. The glitch, a minute ripple in the digital veneer, was localized to that one area only. The rest of the illusion was intact.

  Before he could register the meaning of the glitch, a figure emerged from behind the digital projection of the tree and grabbed Major Lewis. Startled, he screamed in her office, but the music had increased in volume, the horns drowning him out.

  “You can’t kill me,” he yelled at the
drone, “they’ll know!”

  But the ID made no attempt to devour the man. In fact, it held something in its hand, and it placed it in Lewis’ hand, forcing it closed over the object.

  Lewis looked down and saw he was holding a handgun…his handgun. Then he understood how it was going to go down.

  Clever kid.

  The ID began to force Lewis’ arm to bend and twisted his hand so that the handgun was directed right at Lewis’ face. Lewis struggled against the drone, but its strength was unrelenting and he was easily overpowered.

  The ID grabbed Lewis’ head and forced the handgun barrel into his mouth, his front teeth scraping the metal. Major Lewis looked up into the milky, dispassionate eyes of his assassin and wondered if Carl saw him through those eyes.

  The drone pulled the trigger, splattering blood across Captain London’s desk.

  The ID dropped the twitching body of Major Lewis back into the seat and reached into its suit, pulling out a piece of paper. It tossed the paper in the now motionless Major’s lap and returned to the corner behind the illusion of the potted, decorative tree. The music lowered in volume.

  Major Lewis sat with his head hanging backwards in Captain London’s chair, handgun still in his right hand and the note in his lap.

  I have written this note because I am a traitor and cannot take the guilt any longer. My name is Major Hardy Sinclair Lewis, and I have been overseeing the Insidious Drone Program. I have been training soldiers in the use of infantry drones to hunt down and neutralize terrorists.

  Unfortunately I took a good program that had demonstrated effectiveness and attempted to use it in the interest of personal greed. I struck a pact with the Navajas, a Mexican drug cartel, a sworn enemy of the United States, in which the drones would also be used as mules to traffic drugs into the country.