A Soldier's 100 'Bots

The sun frowned down, hovering above. Drizzly gray mists shrouded the hopes and dreams of those huddled together amid a war-torn land. Stealing peeks out of their home, they made furtive attempts to catch a glimpse of the promised New Day…

“I’ll have a Carmel Tea Latte, if you please.” Squeeeak, whirr, glip-glip-glup, rrrizzooooo… “Nnn-will-that-be-one-lump-or-two?” “Two, thank you very much.” “Ouch!” Not funny, humor-bot. “Thank you, snack-bot, I’m glad you have no humor- for one humor-bot is quite enough.” “Zzzzzz-one-humor-bot-is-quite-enough…” “Are you mocking me? I am not amused.” Well, actually I am. Insufferable bot…

The soldier shifted in the cool shadows of the low, freshly-gilded western setting sun, the grime of the long day still thick among the beads of his forehead’s sweat. “How’s the gun-cleaning going, Dexter?” “Vvvvv-very-well-sir-nearly-complete. “You-will-need-a-new-safety-block-it-is-no-longer-reliable…” “Ahhhhh.” The massage-bot had hit just the right spot once again. "Thank you, Fingers…"

“Corporal Jennings, report to the Colonel’s tent.” Jennings jumped, then relaxed. “Thanks, Jim. Take care of my sports-bot while I’m away.” Jim’s countenance brightened. “…and a bit of luck to you on your new mission, Jennings.” Jim relayed this with a knowing smile…

”Yes Ma’am! Corporal Jennings reporting for duty, Ma’am!” A slight grin was on the Corporal’s face. Cut the crap, Jack. Things are serious. A Boohoovian diplomat has just been kidnapped by the Dogfwahs, along with his entire entourage, including his daughter.” Jennings had seen their pictures- and especially her picture- in the papers- the opulent and wistful diplomat, and contrary to all genetic laws his tall and quite beautiful daughter… Jennings eyes grew distant as he fantasized... The steely voice of the Colonel pierced his reverie, with a tinge of jealousy… “Mind front-and-center, Corporal. You are to recover the goods before things go over the top.” Jennings knew what that meant- another grizzly Internet video of the beheadings of hooded prisoners by hyperactive masked teens, all to often the cheap-thrill-seeking bragging-rights-pursuing raised sheep of the bad guys. Back home it was a fast hovercraft. Here it was a bloody blade, a gruesome insight that the cultural awareness and sensitivity training bots never seem to be programmed with, as good as they are. “Corporal, The intel on this case gives us a good chance at success. If you succeed, much will be gained. If you fail, you know what will be lost.” They both knew what, and who, Jack was dwelling on… “You have been graced with a special incentive here, Corporal. Don’t screw it up.” The Corporal was often brought back down to earth by the ever-so-understanding and thereby humbling interjections of the Colonel. “Listen, Jane…” “Don’t ‘Jane’ me here, Jack. Understand- here I have to give you orders that you will not understand or agree with, orders that you must follow, and that may very well mean the death of you. You may be the next casualty of a bad tactic or a green officer or a noble cause, and know, many will die with you that day, including me. We… us… are in the past, but here please understand that we must remain on a professional level, or I will fail in my duty. Understand? Please work with me here, Jack…” The pain was apparent in both their eyes, and a hint of pleading in hers. Ever since grade-school, their days on the playground… “Listen, Jack, with luck you can pull this off; and Jack, there is no luckier man than you on this green planet… Jennings knew what she meant, and bit his lip, but another steely glance from the Colonel cut any apologetic reply short. “Here is the intel’ and your end of the coordinating details, Corporal. God speed. Don’t forget to recharge your history-bot. You are dismissed.” Jack took the micro drive from her familiar hand, saluted, did a crisp about-face, and headed for the door. The eyes of the Colonel were lost on him, over him, in him, softening, reminiscing in their privacy. Jennings caught it in the door window’s reflection. “Now don’t get smug, Jennings, or you’ll lose her again…” His best-friend bot rolled silently behind. It caught the Colonel in mid-gaze and gave her its metallic, innocent, disarming, and ever-friendly pre-programmed smile… she looked again at Jennings in new wonder…

Jennings poured over the intel’ as he navigated through his intel-bot’s menus. As per regulations his cultural-awareness bot and sensitivity-training bot were present at his side, to interject their areas of wisdom at every decision point. “Supermen.” Jennings thought to himself, as he for a moment surmised the role and expectations of fighting men in this brave new world…

**********

The ancient land was flat and dry. For miles Jennings could see nothing moving except the heatwaves and mirages dancing away toward the distant surreal horizons. He scoped the forward perimeter. Behind him his rules-of-engagement bot clicked steadily, monitoring his every move, sending the data back to the Capitol City. The pain of deviating from the rules of engagement were great, both in the short run and in the long run. The behind-the-ear implant was the new XR model reprimanding micro-taser, and the court-martial board was populated by sleazy slip-and-fall lawyers selected by officers manipulated by the narrowly-focused antiwar lobby group… Jennings glanced over to his taser-bot wondered if it was in league with them…

Then Jennings instinctively ducked. His bots took cover. Just ahead from around the cracked building a group of Dogfwah fighters appeared, embarking on their nightly terror. His ever-so-hard-to-manage science-bot was out in the open, chasing an insect. He reached for his override remote but it was too late. “Jahaft-mubwabah-ahooftee-mich-muck!” The Dogfwah’s surged forward as a body and lunged for the technological goldmine, for their religious leader would command quite a ransom on the black market, and they would all gain in reputation among their comrade thugs who maintained holy Fwahee. This was indeed a high prize for fighters so recently suckled by a mafia-style system ever looking the next wave of young henchmen to gratefully do their bidding. Suddenly a loud buzzing and ringing pierced the heavy air; sickening grinding sounds swiftly followed, and with an “Alalalalalalalalalalalla!” Dogfwah fingers and hands were flying in all directions. The science-bot’s anti-handling buzzsaws had activated, and with a serious laser-guided accuracy. The taser-bot hurried forward to the rescue, spinning off well-placed daggers, and all that was left on the scene were two bots and the fading echoes of young Dogfwah fighters cursing “Alalalalalalalalla” as they melted back into the livingrooms of the local villagers. “Good job, Einstein, and you too as well, Burny! I hope neither of you harmed any of their bullet-proof-baby vests, for we don’t want any more child casualties than we can help, after all we are the more civilized beings here…” The cultural-awareness and sensitivity-training bots gave an approving drone, as if they had done well with their charge… in reality Jennings was tired of the anti-war media blaming Dogfwah atrocities on the good guys, in order to advance political brainwashing and agendas of a backwards and demonstratedly disasterous communal ideology still blindly clung to by many…

Jennings rounded the corner. He found himself standing face-to-face with a still-shiny Boohoovian deluxe Snootmobile containing several well-dressed bound and gagged occupants. He made out two distinct and recognizably famous Boohoovians up front. “Gundam Five, Gundam Twelve has found the goods.” Just as the intel’ had predicted, all gift-wrapped, and now abandoned by the newly-dismembered Dogfwahs, one still cursing “Alalalalalalalalla” in the distance. He was indeed a lucky man...

Rip. “Ouche! You animale!” “Sorry, Suzette. You appeared quite unnatural with that duct-tape over you mouth.” Jennings dared to offer her his most sympathetic eyes for a moment. The diplomat’s daughter accepted them, but only to weigh their sincerity later. The Diplomat was squirming frantically, obviously indicating that they should depart immediately before more young Dogfwah fighters returned…

“If I were running the show, I’d flatten every village that harbored a Dog!” “Now Buster, you know that would be wrong!” “Why, Earl? Is this not war? Is it not our duty to follow and engage the enemy wherever he moves the battlefield, even if is the living rooms of the villagers?” “No, Buster, I see the villagers as hostages of the Dogs. The Dogs have their persuasion, their Rusker submachine guns. The villagers can either cooperate, or be murdered by the blood-thirsty savages.” Buster was exasperated, but he could see Earl’s point of view. Innocents throughout history have been slaughtered, many out of the frustration of fighting what Buster would describe as honorless cowards, those who would strap babies to their chests as bullet-proof vests, or send bomb-laden children into population centers as suicidal human murder machines. Earl saw it as a rule of nature- the weaker combatant will always be more desperate, murderous, and ruthless; while the stronger combatant could afford forgiveness, tolerance, charity, and honor. He sees it in nature when a smaller dog viciously goes after a larger dog, even if the larger dog is peaceful. The smaller dog knows his chance is small, and rests largely in a display of vicious craziness. Buster simply saw side as strong civilized men and the other as bullying, cowardly children who reminded him of himself when he was young, mindless, and idle; Buster therefore thought he knew them pretty well, and had absolutely no sympathy for them…

The two guards were interrupted by a battered vehicle approaching at high speed. Following behind were two more, at a distance, seemingly firing. Jennings was at his wit’s end. He felt his luck had run out- he’d either be shot to pieces by the young Dogfwah fighters pursuing behind him or the trigger-quick sentries before him. He ordered the Diplomat the take his carbine and fire it at the vehicles, as a last-ditch sign to the sentries. Life was ever a gamble… amid the carbine's 'pop pop pop' there came from up the road a “Bah-firrrrrzzz!” “Fwatoom!” “Bah-firrrrzzz!” “Fwatoom!” as the air was shattered by the roar of two precision 105mm shells piercing the air as they spun away from their grooved computer-aimed barrels. Two carloads of Dogfwah fighters hurled skyward along with the fiery arches of twisted metal and pulverized glass. Colonel Margold lowered her binoculars. “Good shooting, Captain. Stand down.”

*********

The two women eyed one another, as women will do who are from different cultures, as women did from the dawn of man, each trying to get the upper hand in the eyes of men. They smiled, for they they were both wise to Nature’s games, and they eased up on each other, that one tension lifting. Jennings and the Diplomat were exchanging toasts and pleasant jokes in the corner with the humor-bot. The entourage were tending one another or sitting in a daze.

The two women sat together on the only couch in the room, a historic piece that the Colonel had so far saved from the ravages of war. “Madam, I am glad you are safe. Have you lost anyone?” There was a sincerity in the Colonel’s voice far beyond that of the strained relations between their countries. “Thank you, I am grateful that we all are here.” The Diplomat’s daughter was completely ragged and exhausted, but managed to offer her further presence of mind. “It seems we can get along much better than our leaders, Colonel.” “Yes, Madam. If foreign relations were left up to the leaders of countries, mankind would have burned itself to the ground long ago…”

The diplomat’s daughter was no stranger to foreign relations, nor was she a stranger to foreign leaders or lands. She traveled the world at her father’s side. Wherever she went she managed to hold a certain amount of dignity- always mindful of who she was and what she represented. That, however, did not stop her from exercising her wits with even the lowers street urchins. The travel and experiences with her father made her ponder deeply the serious psychological and social issues than most people ignored. She realized that her views were still formulating, still changing. She was glad she was not a decision maker yet, for her views were changing almost daily. She now more than ever wished to solve the world’s problems, a personal drive that would soon serve her well in a position that she never dreamed she would hold…