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  MECRATS

  Mentally Enhanced Combat, Recon and Tactical Systems

  A Novel by

  C.J.Klinger

  Copyright © 2015 C.J.Klinger

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1516970193

  ISBN-10: 1516970195

  DEDICATION

  To my wife, Janet whose unwavering support has helped me through the high and low tides of an author’s life; to my daughter, Erica Zinn whose has the courage to tell her father what’s wrong with his story; and to Cindy Tino, who in spite her dislike of military and science fiction books read my manuscript and was gracious in her praise and suggestions, and finally, to the men and women of the United States Armed Forces who have sacrificed life and limbs to the causes of this great democracy

  Other books by

  C.J.Klinger

  The Rembrandt Bomb (With James C. Moore)

  The Isabella list

  The Q Source

  Islandia the Lost Colony

  Earth, The Flight of the Clanship

  Newhope, The Muhyba Wars

  The Khruellian Encounter

  The Reckoning Season

  The Trap Shooter

  Seeking Miss Right

  Catwalk Number Nine (Short story)

  For more information,

  Go to cjklinger.com

  Preface

  Senate Subcommittee Hearing on Special Weapons

  Washington, D.C.

  “The committee is now in session. The chair recognizes General Edward Emerson. Sir, you have the floor.”

  The speaker, Senator Richard Webber, Republican from Maryland and current chairman of the Senate subcommittee for special weapons had waited for this moment for some time. The committee he chaired had an illustrious history of authorizing an amazing array of very successful, secret weapon systems, such as the SR-71 spy plane, the super-secret Aurora Project, the Battle Field Laser Gun, plus many other example of America’s weapon superiority. However, none of those great advancements had occurred during Senator Webber’s tenure as Chairman. He lusted for the recognition a highly successful weapon would bring to him personally and to his efforts to continue to represent the people of his home state of Maryland. He believed now was the time.

  General Emerson stared back confidently at the seven senators staring back at him expectantly. He had good reason to be confident; he had what these politicians wanted, a possible solution to one of America’s most vexing problems, how to insure America’s foreign policy interest without costing American soldiers’ lives. His confidence was enhanced by his appearance; winter grey eyes in a square face with a regulation haircut accented by just enough grey to emphasize his rank, a two star general. The two stars on his collar stays and shoulder epilates were authenticated by the precise rows of battle ribbons on his chest.

  He leaned forward and began, “Thank you Senator Webber. As I have previously reported to this committee, we are now capably of building self-contained, combat systems, capable of assuming the role of front line soldiers. These systems will greatly enhance our ability to stamp out our most serious national threat at their source, terrorists groups. You have before you all the final details of what we plan to accomplish with this project. We have assembled a team of some of the brightest, most creative scientists in America who stand ready to begin work as soon as we receive your approval. I am here to answer any final questions you might still have before your final vote on the Mecrats Project.”

  “Thank you General Emerson,” Senator Webber said. He had no questions, but protocol dictated that all his colleagues, Republicans and Democrats alike be given an opportunity to question the witness before the final vote. He looked left and right at the other six senators on his panel and said, “The Chair recognizes Senator McIntyre from Ohio,”

  The Senator from Ohio leaned forward toward his microphone and said, “Thank you Senator Webber. General Emerson, I have studied your proposal thoroughly since you first presented it to us and I can see the benefits your report suggests, but using a human brain in order for it to work still bothers me. Does it not trouble you?”

  General Emerson had been expecting this question and was eager to resolve the one issue where several of the Senators on the committee had expressed their reservation. He had decided on a tactic that might ease their moral concerns.

  “It troubles me deeply, Senator McIntyre, but what eases my conscience is the knowledge that while we will indeed be transplanting a soldier’s brain into these machines, we have also saved that soldier from certain death. I repeat the term, certain death. Only those wounded soldiers who are determined to be in imminent danger of dying from their wounds are selected for this program.”

  The general glanced briefly at Senator Martha Brillings, the Democratic Senator from New Hampshire to check her reaction. She had been the one who had consistently questioned him on the ethical issues involved in transplanting a soldier’s brain into a fighting machine. Her face was unreadable, but true to form, she raised her hand to let the chairman know she had a question.

  Reluctantly, Senator Webber recognized her and gave her the floor.

  Senator Brillings was a former defense attorney and a master at cross examination. “General Emerson, one thing was not clear in your summary. Will these soldiers have given their permission to transplant their brains into these fighting machines?”

  The general braced himself for a fight. “Not directly, Senator Brillings. In most cases they are so seriously wounded they never recover consciousness, but all soldiers have signed a consent form allowing the military to harvest their organs in the event of their death.”

  “But these soldiers have not died, General. They are in danger of death, but not dead, that is according to your description,” the senator countered.

  “Our military ethics team has discussed this and decided that once a soldier’s heart stops beating, he can be considered ‘dead’ for our purposes.”

  The Senator from New Hampshire looked sharply at the general from the Pentagon. She stated with obvious distaste, “That’s a very fine line you’re walking, General Emerson.”

  The general shot back. “Yes Ma’am, it is, but it’s a line I’m willing to walk to save American Soldiers’ lives before and after the battle.”

  The adversaries continued to stare at each other, secretly understanding it was not about saving lives; it was about having a temporary edge in the endless arms race between nations. The recurring issue of expediency versus morality was about to be put to a vote.

  Chapter 1

  Most people have some warning before they die. It can be days or even months. Sometimes its only seconds, but it’s usually enough time to think or say something like, “No, No”, or, “Oh my God.” Sudden death without any warning is actually very rare. In my case, I had enough time to say, “Oh shit.” It’s not that I’m an atheist or anything like that because I didn’t invoke the name of God when it happened to me. I do believe in a God, but my view of The Almighty has changed considerably since I’ve been involved in the war against the Islamic extremist. I have seen, or participated in enough horrific acts of violence done in His name to color any choir boy’s perception of the holy deity portrayed by Christianity, Islam, Judaism, or any other religion.

  My view now is that The Almighty made a mistake when He created humans and since then has been waiting for us to kill ourselves off, so He or She can start over with a better version. It’s the only explanation that makes sense to me for a deity to tolerate such acts of violence done in His or Her name by the creatures He or She created.

  But, I’m dead, so it no longer matters to me. At least I should be dead after making a stupid, dumb-ass, rookie mistake like stepping on an IED. Me, a five year veteran of this God-shit war should have
known better.

  But, if I’m dead, how can I be thinking this?

  Click…………..Click…………………Buzz

  What the hell was that?

  “Sergeant Rucker, if you can hear me, think the word ‘yes’.”

  “Hell yes I can hear you. What the shit is going on. Is this heaven, hell, or am I back in Cleveland?”

  I realized I must be alive. I still have a sense of humor.

  “Yes, you’re alive, but you’re in Nevada, specifically in a place known as Groom Lake in what is commonly known as Area 51.”

  The memory of that terribly instant before I died, or thought I had died flooded back in on me. I am surprised at how many details I can remember, how clear the sky was, where all my squad members where, and then the reality of the moment hit me. Very few survive in one piece after stepping directly on an IED, especially the kind the Islamic radicals were employing. I can’t think of any reason for me to be in a secret military base in the middle of the desert, unless it is perhaps where the army treated its most seriously wounded soldiers. But why a secret base? For the first time, fear began to seep into my thoughts. I needed answers.

  “You need to tell me what’s going on, whoever you are.” Although I couldn’t hear it in my voice-thoughts, I knew I was close to panic, something I had not experienced since I was a rookie, fresh out of boot camp.

  “I’ll tell you everything, Sargent, but first I’m going to activate you’re vision.”

  Activate my vision? Holy fuck, what kind of trouble am I in now? Before I had a chance to ask what the hell that meant, a black and white image flared into my mind. The shock of suddenly seeing a white coated person in front of me shut me up. Forget the fact that the black and white image was very attractive, it was still totally unexpected.

  “Sorry about that,” the image said. “Let me change that view.” Just as quickly the view changed to full color.

  I got over my initial shock and started to take an interest in the person in a white smock who was fidgeting with her computer. I realized that while she was really very pretty, my reaction was more of clinical than that a visceral male one. That worried me because I was sure it meant I had lost the family jewels.

  The angelic image looked at me with a disarming smile. “I know you have a lot of questions, Sergeant Rucker and I am going to do my best to answer them, but I must warn you that some of the things I’m going to say will scare you at first.”

  “Lady, I’ve been a combat soldier in the Mideast for five years. There are not too many things that can be scarier than that.”

  She smiled and said, “Good. My name is Doctor Cathy Williamson and I am a neurologist.”

  And that’s how I learned I had become a robot. Well, not a robot in the strictest sense of the word. The technical description was a Mentally Enhanced Combat, Recon and Tactical System, or as the military has a habit of doing, shortened it to MECRATS. My body had indeed been blown to pieces. In the explosion I had lost all my limbs and, yes, the family jewels, but by some miracle I had remained alive. After being flown back to the states I was transferred to a secret medical facility in the mysterious base at Groom Lake in Area 51 where the military was conducting experiments on a new and radical kind of combat soldier.

  When I had reenlisted after my first tour I had signed a form allowing the military to use my vital organs in the event of my death. Never in my wildest imagination did I believe it would be my brain, but that was exactly what had happened. Apparently, I had finally succumbed to my wounds and the military had immediately harvested my brain to provide the mental capacity for a new and experimental combat robot. We could argue the ethics of such an action until the cows stop coming in, but from my point of view it was better than the alternative. At least I thought so at the time.

  Dr. Williamson explained in terms I could understand that my brain was now resting inside a protected shell in the inside of a nine foot tall, mechanical soldier/robot made of titanium and carbon fiber. While not indestructible, it was as close to it as a living thing could get. The cutting edge of more than a few technologies was housed inside my mechanical body making me a formidable combat system. What shocked me more than anything was learning that I was not the only Mecrat, there were ten of us. I was the latest and most advanced version, but the Pentagon had decided I was going to be the last one until they could see some results from their massive investment in the program.

  After getting over the initial shock of what the Doctor told me, and being relieved that I was alive, at least the brain part of me, I was anxious to meet my fellow Mecrats. She agreed, but said I would first have to learn how to operate my new, mechanical body.

  Chapter 2

  Sergeant Randy Rucker had been correct; Doctor Cathy Williamson was indeed attractive, but not just in the usual way that men measure a woman’s beauty. It was true that she had all the right features in all the right places; nothing exceptional, but nothing displeasing either. Her allure was her complete lack of concern at how exceptionally pretty she was. A brunette with blue eyes and a shapely body, she invoked interest from men and women alike, but as her older sister had once commented, “What a waste, Mother Nature endowed Cathy with her best and the woman has no damn use for it.”

  What genetics, luck or Mother Nature had also given Cathy was a superb mind and that was the gift she focused on. She had followed her father’s footsteps into neurological medicine and soon combined that science with a growing fascination for electrical engineering, thanks in part to the similarity between electrical/mechanical systems and neurological impulses, and a short term relationship during her senior year with Jimmy Westman, an electrical engineering student. A doctorate degree in neurological sciences coupled with a BS in electrical engineering left her few choices of where to work if she wished to pursue a career in both sciences. Given her grades and dedication, it was no surprise that the government had visited her soon after she had published her doctoral thesis on electrical /neurological interfaces. They had made her an offer she had been unable to turn down in spite of her reluctance to work on anything remotely related to the military.

  That had been seven years ago and now Dr. Williamson was studying the latest results of those seven years of hard work and dedication. The decision to proceed with the first Mecrat had been the toughest in her life. The tenth Mecrat had not been much easier. To her, the only saving justification had been that her actions had saved the lives of ten men and women. The fact that these “Lives’ were destined to become something almost unhuman was something she struggled with every day.

  “Well, what do you think?” she asked the six foot-four tall man standing next to her, a towering counterpart to her five foot two height. They were studying the performance read-outs of the latest Mecrat. Dr. George Zimmerman stirred at her words and shrugged his shoulders. “He looks good. All his numbers are as good as, or better than we had predicted they would be.”

  Dr. Zimmerman was Cathy Williamson’s counterpart in both physical appearances and science specialties. He was tall with a bushy head of unkempt black hair and matching dark eyes. He had a master’s degree in electrical/mechanical sciences and was considered one of the top engineers in his field. Together they had solved the critical issues of neurological-electrical connectivity that had made the world’s first Mentally Enhanced Combat Recon and Tactical System. Groom Lake in Area 51 had been selected in an effort to keep their work a secret.

  Cathy twirled her pencil in her two forefingers and said, “That’s what’s bothering me.”

  George Zimmerman frowned, something he did often when interfacing with the diminutive Dr. Williamson. “That doesn’t make sense, Cathy. Why would good numbers worry you?”

  Cathy pursed her lips and considered her companion’s question. After a moment she tapped her pad and pointed at a column of numbers, “Because all of these performance numbers have been steadily improving. Every one of the Mecrats is operating beyond our expectations with the exception of
Sergeant Rucker, and based on his early results, he’ll be exceeding the other nine in a matter of a few weeks.”

  The frown returned, this time creating a double ridge between Zimmerman’s bushy eyebrows. “I just don’t see how that’s bad.”

  For the first time a little shadow of irritation crossed Cathy Williamson’s face. She shook her head causing her shoulder length hair to do a little dance. She stared up at him with penetrating blue eyes. “George, we spent six months and a lot of expensive government computing power calculating what these Mecrats would be capable of before we launched this project. How could we be this far off in our calculations?” She tapped the column of numbers again for emphasis. There were two things she hated; not knowing the answer and getting a wrong answer. Better than expected results, especially when she couldn’t explain them was the same as a wrong answer.

  When he didn’t respond to her observation, she turned her entire body to look at him as if to emphasize the importance of what she was saying. “Something is going on that we haven’t accounted for and it bothers me.”

  George gave up trying to understand her concerns. His stubborn streak rose to the surface, probably caused by the accumulation of the many similar confrontations with the beautiful, but stubborn doctor, who many times had given him and his fellow researcher a hard time about some of their conclusions during the seven year process of creating the Mecrats.

  “I don’t see the harm, Cathy. If it works, don’t fix it. If it works better than planned, take credit for it. I certainly intend to.” He turned and walked off, denying her a rebuttal.

  Cathy watched him leave the lab and knew it was a disagreement they would not settle. Their standards for success were different. For a brief moment she wondered if George was not right in his assessment of the program. The mantra, “If it’s not broke, don’t fix it,” was one that many engineers subscribed to.