Friday Flash Fiction (Cycle 17) Along the watchtower

(Author's note: Throwing my two-cents in for the Friday Flash Fiction effort. Had to grab the nearest book and go to the 56 page and use the fifth sentence as the starter. My wife's copy of "Wolf Hall" was nearby so I used it. Once again excuse the typos, hey I do this from the seat of my pants when time and family allows.)

"They sent messages ahead, but has anything been done?" Major Curtis Ballantine asked while walking beside the young lieutenant looking around at the mounds of debris and trash piled up in unused sections of the firebase in the middle of occupied Iran. On the landing pad behind Ballantine the spinning rotor blades of the drone helicopter that delivered him to his new command increased their tempo in preparation to return to division headquarters throwing a stinging spray of fine sand in all directions.

"Yes Major," Lieutenant Banner said crisply ignoring the sand hitting his exposed neck even though Ballantine was forced to jump behind a pile of empty ammo containers to escape the painful shower. "It’s just things have not been running as smoothly since the death of Lieutenant Colonel Stevens. Combat operations take priority and with the start of the offensive last month pushing deeper into the Karkas mountains, we had no time. The entire battalion is still preoccupied with either directing the remote combat operations of the hunters and terminators or maintaining them when they come back for resupply and repair. Making matters worse, the Iranian guerillas often get close enough to harass the firebase perimeter forcing personnel out of remote operations and into real time combat."

The cargo helicopter now up in the air and heading westward back into Iraqi territory the artificial sandstorm it caused abated allowing Ballantine to come from behind the empty containers. He absentmindedly dusted off his new uniform only to look up and see the young lieutenant giving him a strange look. It was then that he noticed the young officer’s uniform that while clean was heavily worn to the point it should have been replaced. "What's the supply situation here Banner? Does division and corp headquarters give us what we need or do we have to fight for everything?"

The lieutenant seemed in pain for several seconds trying to say something. His expression was strained but it suddenly lifted and he closed his eyes and raised his right hand to touch the neural interface located on his right temple. Ballantine could see the lieutenant’s rapid eye movements as he apparently received information from the firebase battle computer. "Records suggest that we receive everything we require for maximum efficiency." Banner said rather mechanically after opening his eyes.

Ballantine was strangely unsettled with the look on Banner's face and started walking towards what he thought was the entrance to the underground battalion headquarters without him. For the first time he started to look closely at base personnel as he heard Banner move quickly to catch up.

On the surface everything looked normal, maintenance personnel could be seen repairing the large six-wheeled hunters along with the smaller spider-like drones that were nicknamed terminators. Cooks, medics, and other support personnel could be seen going about obviously normal duties except that none seemed aware of their surroundings, they went on almost as mindless as the support drones that was suppose to make their jobs easier. There was nothing that suggested humans worked on this base, no music, talking, laughing, or anything else soldiers did to relieve the stress of living in a combat environment. Hell, not even minor bitching or bellyaching, which was a soldier’s only real God-given right.

"Lieutenant," Ballantine said, " find the sergeant major and the battalion executive officer, I want them both in my office in one hour. I don't care if they are about to find Khomeini's tomb or the lost treasure of the Persian Empire, something isn't right here." Ballantine didn't want to think about the strange rumors that made the rounds back in the civilized world.



His office was easy enough to find in the warren of underground rooms that served as battalion headquarters. While sitting behind his new desk waiting for both his sergeant major and XO, he reviewed the history of the unit he was about to command on the large office wall screen.

The 666th Infantry Battalion had been one of the first units into Iran fifty years before just months after the Iranian government had launched their nuclear missiles in 2016 destroying six American cities and forcing a fundamental change in the structure of the United States.

The initial campaign had gone well with the Iranian Army, Navy, Air Force, and Revolutionary Guard quickly going down into flames. But the occupation bogged down almost as fast into an horrific quagmire with robotic combat drones coming online just in time to prevent utter defeat. Still after fifty years of pacification and reeducation efforts Iran was a dangerous place with American and allied Iranian government forces never moving much beyond the safety of secured areas.

"Reporting as ordered," the fit but more than middle-aged woman said offering a perfect salute. "Major Catherine Sullivan, I'm your XO, sorry I wasn't there to greet you upon arrival but we just found an active weapons factory in the ruins of Teheran."

Ballantine was speechless at seeing the age of his second-in-command figuring, that even under martial law and wartime conditions, she should have been retired years before. Looking at her Ballantine realized the conspiratorial rumors joked about back in the world were not so slowly unfolding in front of him.

“Well major,” Sullivan began trying to suppress a smile, “before I congratulate on your new command I have to ask, whose corn flakes did you piss in back at New Pentagon?”

Coming suddenly through the office door unannounced was the sergeant major who plopped himself in one of the comfortable office chairs ignoring all military decorum. All hope left Ballantine as the senior noncommissioned officer smiled back at him. Just looking at the sergeant major Ballantine figured he would be stretching plausibility if he guessed the man was a day under seventy years-old.

“There has to be some mistake,” Ballantine exclaimed at both his XO and sergeant major, “neither of you should be wearing the uniform much less be stationed in the middle of a combat zone.”

“Major,” the old man said enjoying Ballantine’s obvious discomfort, “did you ever hear of an old song called Hotel California? That’s why in the early…”

Sullivan stepped up and touched the sergeant major on his shoulder. “Major Ballantine, she said, “I hate to break it to you but this posting is permanent for anyone stationed here. The only way to leave this place is to be killed in action or by old age, like Lieutenant Colonel Stevens."

“How does the troops deal with the separation, the abandonment?” Ballantine asked knowing he had already figured everything out reaching up instinctively to touch his own neural interface mounted on his own right temple.

“The base battle computer,” Sullivan said, “has an override program that takes the pain and memories away. The average troops gets about two hours a day of restored mental function. Hell, some even go for complete wipes with only enough function to eat, shit, and fight. It’s quite the solution the brass and the politicians came up with to solve PTSD and recruitment.”

The sergeant major was now casually stroking Sullivan’s hand suggesting years of intimate familiarity. “Before Cathy interrupted me I started to say that back in the early days of the war when it became apparent that the restructured United States had a need to keep certain elements out of the public spotlight I named this place Firebase California on a whim. We were all insane after the attacks so even as the nation changed beyond recognition when the brass came to us soldiers and said these neural implants would aid in the war effort we all agreed without hesitation. I had no idea that my name for this place would ever come so completely true"

"You actually had some idea about this?" Sullivan said looking at the expression on Ballantine's face. "And you still walked straight into this Hell, now that is funny."

“We are programmed to receive. You can checkout any time you like, But you can never leave!” The old man sang before he started crying with the XO bending down to hold him tightly.

Flashing through Ballantine’s mind were his wife and kids and it was then the base battle computer activated his neural link removing all his cares and memories allowing him to take command.