Interpreter #9

"My name is called Disturbance. I shout and scream, and kill a king, and rail at all his servants"

We were expecting to pass a town called Casat, but the road kept on and we never saw it. The square mile it was said to have occupied was littered with garbage and charred remnants. There were holes in the ground, some big enough to sink an F-16 in, others as small as bullet holes. The place was dead, ugly, and completely quiet. We were looking for a place to pull up and dismount when my sat phone started chiming. It was Washington, wanting a quick word.

Afterwards I sent Kruck and Hutchinson for forward recon. That left twenty men for security at 75 yards and 360 degrees. I grabbed Sgt. Mason, told him what they'd just told me:

Division says we are "go" for Arc drones. There's an old firebase two miles from here. Intel says these guys are there, waiting us out. Take two men, and come back with details. He turned to go but I grabbed his, pulled him close:

Find these people quick Mr. Mason. The old man wants erasure.

***

Sargent Mason's sortie took only 40 minutes to find Casat's prodigals. Minutes after his return I lead a six -man detachment up to the humvees, leaving orders for a secure watch until my return. We split two for each of three Humvees. Mase and I in the middle car and the Terp bringing it up with Gildge.

The right side windshield in my Humvee morphed and flashed as we went, a multicolored swirl of numbers and files trying to find the quickest most efficient way to murder 600 people. I watched colors and numbers dance across the screens as a computer modeled scenarios, checking and adjusting for air and weather and random happenstance. After a few minutes there was rhythmic electronic note, like a morse code dot, as the windshield monitors bullet-pointed the three recommended mission packages.

Preference Mase?...Preference Mase?...Preference Mase?...

The words crawled along the bottom of the screens. He opened his mouth, started to answer, then pointed straight ahead:

This is where they are chief.

He Pulled off about 50 yards, doused the lights.

I clicked the Ex-Count machine and now Mason began waving his fingers in the air, scanning through screens, checking and double checking.

The refugee camp lay northeast. There was an mini barracks out there leftover from desert storm. Six rotting Quonset huts and a stair head shack had received the refugees waiting out the horror at Cassatt. Six quonset huts for 700-1000 starving, terrified "enemy combatants" Our erasure mission seemed almost humanitarian.

***

Working fast, I pushed the joystick onto mission pack #1 and gave my security I.d. to ok the sortie.
There were three loud beeps like semi in reverse, and the rear of our humvee split open along its midline. The two sections slid away to clear the Drone's launch. Silently, without bumping each other or anything else, three ARC - 56 drones floated noiselessly up from the hold like vampires rising for a midnight hunt. Once clear of the vehicle, the three flat black triangles broke from the stack formation and floated - no hum, no prop noise, no sound of any kind - over the rear of the Humvee.

Mason would pilot the sortie. Gaines and his men would cover him, and I took the 'Terp forward with me to observe. Ten minutes later we were parked, running, behind a mile long berm flanking the western edge of the hut-camp. Five minutes after that the Terp and I were in position. He spoke:

Gildge is a problem. We should get out in front of it before...

I cut him off, trying to stay focused, but knowing he was right:

He's fine, we'll talk later.

Adding, pathetically:

I'll keep an eye. Here it comes: