Future Soldier
Major Dirk Douglas of the U.S. Marines sat stiffly on a hard bench in the belly of a military transport plane. He steadfastly watched a fire extinguisher on the opposite wall, refusing to glance at the fellow soldier seated next to him on the bench.
Soldier nothing, he thought, the thing is not even human. I have to go into a combat zone with a four hundred pound titanium robot. It should be in a sci-fi movie or something, not here with me. Dirk broke his motionlessness by pounding his thigh with an angry fist. Without looking
away from the fire extinguisher, he knew his seatmate had turned to gaze at him. The blank, black, camera eyes with their non-reflective glass staring at him from a smooth, camouflage painted face. The thing beside him broke the silence.
“We should be coming over the drop zone in approximately three minutes.”
The voice was as inhuman as the metal body, speaking each word as it had been individually programmed in.
Dirk said nothing. If only Sam, his partner, hadn’t broken a leg the final week of training, then he wouldn’t have to stand stupid comments from a tin man.
Dirk sucked in a deep breath and began reviewing the mission objectives: secure insertion area, recon the terrorist hideout, free the idiot diplomat who thought he could talk surrender terms to a pack of desperate fanatics, and get back to the extraction zone alive. Shouldn’t be very difficult, at least it wouldn’t be if he had Sam with him.
Suddenly a hiss came over a loudspeaker above Dirk’s head and the pilot began talking.
“Get your gear together men, ‘chutes ready and pop the door. We’ll be over the DZ in a minute.”
Dirk stood and did his pre-jump ritual check of slapping first his sidearm, then the carbine on his back, and the grenade pouches on his belt. He glanced at his metal partner.
“Crusher,” was the thing’s official mission name. When standing, Crusher stood a full four inches taller than Dirk’s own height of five eight, an impressive six-feet of ideal metal soldier dressed in custom made fatigues. Crusher was equipped with the same weapons as Dirk, except Dirk did not have a flame thrower in his right palm or a stun gun in his left or the half a dozen other exotic devices stored in the titanium torso.
Dirk hauled the jump door open and stood gripping the sides. Twenty thousand feet below he saw the dark green blur of a forest flying past. As he breathed in the cold fast rushing night air he heard the pilot yell,
“Ready… Set… Jump!”
Dirk jumped. Free falling toward the ground he watched the wristwatch style altimeter as the needle steadily dropped and the shadow-shrouded ground grew more distinct. At the right altitude he pulled hard on the parachute release cord and folds of the silken rectangle spilled out slowing his descent. Gripping the control lines he glided down to a clearing in the trees glowing green in his night vision goggles. The landing was perfect.
Just try and beat that robot, he muttered to himself.
Crusher landed beside him, a little heavily but just as well. Dirk just grunted and began stripping off the chute and folding and loading it swiftly back into his pack. He thumbed off the safety on his carbine. With or without the tin man he was going to complete this mission and do it well. Crusher followed, his carbine also at the ready.
Dirk glanced at him, the metal face shaded under a green and brown strings of a ghillie hood.
“Come on tin man. We got a job to do.”
