Chapter Six - Then
Things went very well for the next two weeks. Mike’s team integrated with the engineering team, and his team got to play in the mech armor. This was becoming a vacation. The team explored the area, and found out that steak, both bison and cattle, were best when eaten in cattle country. Soon they were thinking about taking a trip down to Wyoming to see Jackson Hole, and Yellowstone Park.
The only clouds in their sky were Jamison and Mitchem. Mike was in Mitchem’s office at least twice a week, getting bitched at for some reason, usually for some perceived lack of respect for the scientists, engineers, and techs. He never heard any of this from the people he worked with in the play room. Mike was getting the feeling that Mitchem did it to prove that he was superior to Mike. Mike occasionally saw Jamison in the hall on the first floor, but the psychotic little prick pretended he didn’t exist. Mike took great pleasure in saying hello to him and wishing him a good morning. It was this back drop in which the next big blow up happened.
It was lunch time on Wednesday, their second week in Montana. Tom liked to go out to the rental car every day for lunch, get his cell phone, and call Barbara, to find out how she and the kids were. Today, he was leaning against the rental car when he called home. Daniel, their youngest, was sick, and since he was sick, it wouldn’t be long before the rest of the house was sick too.
Such were the problems that children encountered in school, where viral airborne diseases spread through the class like wild fire. One was sick, they were all sick. Being the loveable little disease vectors that they were, the families of those children were soon commiserating in snot laden misery. It sounded like Barbara was coming down with whatever Daniel had.
“Hey, you can’t lean against that car! That belongs to one of my workers here, you’re going to scratch their car. What the hell are you thinking?”
Tom knew that voice, and knew that he wasn’t going to like what was coming next.
“Hey baby, I need to deal with something. I’ll give you a call back.”
Tom hung up the phone and turned towards Director Jamison. The guy was blinking like a mole in the sun.
“Director, how are you doing?” Tom tried to be polite. A laconic man, He hated dealing with people. To him, they all seemed to be crazy. If it didn’t involve his job or his family, he really didn’t want to have to interact with them.
“What are you doing, leaning against that car? Somebody owns that car.” Jamison pointed at the car as if it was the Holy Grail, and Tom had defiled it.
“Ah, Mr. Jamison . . ”
“That’s Director Jamison!”
Tom nodded, “Yes sir, Director Jamison, this is a rental car.”
Jamison stopped, stunned. “Who gave you a rental car?”
“It’s in our orders. We’re authorized two rental cars.”
Jamison didn’t like that at all. “The hell you are! Who the hell authorized you two rental cars?”
Tom knew that whatever he said, it wasn’t going to placate the director, “Well, anywhere we go, we usually have rental cars on our orders.”
Jamison got into his face, his finger pointed at Tom’s nose, “By God that money better not be coming out of our account. We didn’t have you sent up here to go sightseeing around the town. I’m going to find out where that money came from, and I’m going to have those orders modified.” Jamison turned around and walked to the building.
Tom stared, perplexed. “That is one sad, strange, little man,” he murmured to himself.
He pulled out the phone and called Barbara back, told her what happened, told her he loved her, and hung up. Then he walked back to find Mike and tell him what had just happened.
About thirty minutes later, Mike came out of the building to go to the rental car and get his cell phone. He called Major Salk to give him a situation report.
Friday afternoon, they were coming out of the facility when 1st Lieutenant Jondreau met them outside the gate. Lieutenant Jondreau was the officer in charge of security at the facility. He was military police, and all of the security personnel, to include the SSO was part of his purview.
“Chief Duggins, I have a message for you from Director Jamison.”
Mike walked over to the young man. He took the piece of paper from the lieutenant, and thanked him. He walked back to the team, reading as he walked. The lieutenant turned and went back inside the building.
“Damn it.”
Everett looked at Mike, wondering what was going on.
Mike just shook his head, and motioned that they should go to the cars. Mike, Everett, and Rob were in the same car. Mike turned to Everett and told him, “Well, I don’t think we’ll be able to go to Yellowstone this weekend. We have to be here to work tomorrow.”
Everett looked at him, “Really? I didn’t know the engineers worked weekends.”
Mike looked out at the countryside, “I guess they want to get as much time with us as possible.”
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They showed up at Area 19 the next morning. Something odd was going on. When they pulled into the parking lot, it was almost deserted. Staff Sergeant Patrick Murphy, who was definitely not Irish, approached them when they got to security. He was as big as D’Inazio, but his skin was dark as mahogany. Other than that, they were bookends, down to the shaved scalp.
“Hey, Ebony and Ivory, you guys should sing the song,” Rob quipped.
The Staff Sergeant looked at him with disdain, “Forgive me if I don’t participate.”
Rob looked back at him, “That’s not too social.”
“I’m not a social kind of guy.”
Mike stepped up before things could get out of hand. He would hate for the Staff Sergeant to get hurt.
“Can I help you Staff Sergeant Murphy?”
“Yeah, your work detail starts in about ten minutes. We have a truck that’s going to be pulling up. Do any of you know how to use a forklift?”
Mike was confused. He thought that they were here to work with the engineers, and mentioned this to the Staff Sergeant.
Murphy looked at him like he was crazy, “Man, those people are officers and civilians. None of them work on the weekend. The only people out here is the security detail. Word was passed down that you would be doing a work detail this weekend, so they scheduled a truck with supplies to come in.”
Mike turned to Everett. Everett spoke, “It’s not his fault. It has to be Jamison and Mitchem.”
“That’s Director Jamison and Lieutenant Colonel Mitchem,” Murphy informed them.
D’Inazio placed his hand on Mike’s shoulder, and said, loud enough for Murphy to hear.
“Mike, don’t hurt him, he has his entire career, hell, his entire life ahead of him. He’s a young man.”
D’Inazio looked at the Staff Sergeant, “Staff Sergeant, you may want to move back behind your gate.”
Murphy looked incredulous. He couldn’t believe they were talking to him. He outweighed Chief Duggins by a good fifty pounds. He didn’t think that skinny guy could do anything to him.
Everett cleared his throat, “Staff Sergeant, Mike has, what, 34 confirmed kills on this team, three with his bare hands, five with a knife. As you can see by the color red he’s turning, discretion might be the better part of valor.”
Murphy looked at Mike, and then looked at the rest of the team. He decided that his health may be improved with the security gate between him and the spec ops team.
Mike stormed out to the rental car, grabbed his phone, and called Major Salk at home. Major Salk called Lieutenant Colonel Bretscif, who called back to Fort Bragg. It went from there to Tampa at SOCOM. A three star Army general called a two star Air Force general who worked at SOCOM. That two star started calling people. Then it rolled down hill, picking up speed, until it landed on Lieutenant Colonel Mitchem’s desk.
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LTC Mitchem was l
ivid. He was unaware that Jamison called the Army team in to work on a detail unloading a truck. The more he thought about the situation, the more he wondered what he ever did to deserve the idiot. When he heard about this project at his previous position in DARPA, he lobbied hard and pulled strings to get the assignment. Now he was wondering if he would have a career when he was finished here.
That damn warrant officer. Who knew he had connections like that. When Mitchem arrived Monday morning, he received a message from his assistant that he was to call a Major General Watkins as soon as possible, which of course meant immediately. He spent the next thirty minutes being informed that it was a privilege for his facility to be hosting CW3 Duggins and his team, that they should be treated like guests, and that he better get Director Jamison on board, or they would both be out of a job. The team would be pulled from the duty at Area 19 to be sent back to their unit.
There was a knock at the door of his office. “Come in,” he said in a voice just loud enough to carry through the door.
The door opened and Dr. Randall was framed in the door way. LTC Mitchem’s blood pressure was already high, and he felt his blood quicken as she stepped through the door. She closed the door, and walked over to stand close enough for her lab coat to brush against him. He could smell the perfume that she was wearing. She leaned in, her thigh pressing against his arm, and put a folder on his desk. She leaned forward, the curves of her body outlined by the shirt and skirt that she wore.
He knew that she was doing it on purpose, to give him a thrill. Jessica would flirt with him using subtle, erotic movements designed to stoke his desire for her. She was a master at pushing his buttons. He didn’t know that everybody in the research facility was aware of their infidelities. Rumors were pretty fierce about the two. One of the Airmen on the security staff saw them entering a hotel together. He was sitting in a restaurant across the street, and he drew the natural conclusion. Gossip flew through the research facility.
Dr. Randall stood next to him and looked down into his eyes.
“Do you know what I have here?” she asked.
“I hope those are the results of the tests we’ve been conducting with the Army team,” he replied.
She heard the tension in his voice. She placed her hand on his shoulder, “What’s wrong?”
He inhaled, then exhaled, releasing tension, “Jamison has a hard on for the Spec Ops guys, and shit just went up the hill, and then came back down, landing on my back.”
Randall looked confused.
He waved his hand to forestall the next questions, “Please just tell me that I can get rid of these damn Army guys soon.”
Dr. Randall’s mouth curved down slightly. She knew Mitchem’s personality. It was so easy to seduce him. His ego led him to the bedroom. She could respect a healthy ego. After all, she was one of the most respected scientists in the United States. With the neuro mechanical interface, plus other projects she was working on, she was going to be able to write her own ticket in the future.
She became the lead on this project by twisting men to her agenda. Some she slept with, and others she merely flirted with. She knew power, and how to bend power to her needs. While she enjoyed their exploits in bed, there was no way she was going to let his puffed up ego ruin her chances of riding this to a professorship and tenure at UCLA. This research facility, while on the cutting edge of science, was missing some very crucial social facilities. She would kill for fresh sushi again. And nobody in Great Falls knew how to make a good martini.
Mitchem and Jamison were a pain, but they would make a very good reference for her future endeavors. She was only happy that Mitchem was here. She would have been very disappointed to have to sleep with Jamison to get what she wanted. That man was a worm.
“Yes, they’re the test results, and the ‘Army guys’ have helped us make great strides in understanding how the neuro-net and the artificial intelligence are interfacing with a human test subject,” she explained.
Mitchem saw the look in her eyes and didn’t like what he was seeing. He ventured a simple question, “And?”
Dr. Randall knew she had him at that moment. When LTC Mitchem saw the slight smile on her mouth, he knew he wasn’t going to like what she was going to tell him.
“And,” she offered, “We need to keep them with us for a few more weeks to fully integrate the neural net and artificial intelligence to them.”
He started shaking his head, his hands flying up like he was trying to stop someone, palms out, “No, no, I’m not going to keep those clowns here any longer than necessary.”
Dr. Randall stopped his protests with a simple look. He’d seen that look before, and knew that she was digging her feet in on this one.
“It is very necessary to keep them for a few weeks longer. They’re the best athletes we’ve ever had here. Their neuro-muscular development is something we only see on elite athletes. It is not like we can get elite athletes with the proper security clearances to work with us. These are the only soldiers that we could get with the proper clearances to bring in on this project. Besides, they understand what we’re doing and why we’re doing it. Most of the ‘Army team’ have science degrees in some academic fields that parallel the engineering team’s own expertise. The Department of Defense, if they did a study of all the people in the DoD, couldn’t have sent us better test subjects.”
Mitchem continued to protest, even though, deep inside, he knew that he wouldn’t win this argument. “I just had a Major General ream my ass because of them. And I have Jamison on the horn complaining about these yahoos! I just want to get rid of them. I won’t have these cowboys in this research any longer. They have no respect for what your team is trying to accomplish. They don’t treat your team with the respect it deserves. They don’t even use proper titles for the people on your team. Hell, they call Dr. Nachman, Dr. Ed,” he replied.
“Yes, but they call me Dr. Randall,” she thought to herself.
“Dr. Nachman doesn’t mind. He even has a bit of hero worship going for them,” she said. “Hell, most of the team is awed by these guys.” Dr. Randall continued, “Part of it is the fact that they’re an elite team of commandos, and part of it is that they know geek speak. They feel like part of the research team. Two of them went over to Luis’ house to play video games with some of the younger guys on the research team. The research team loves these guys. And, you can’t argue with the results we’re getting from the interface,” she finished.
She opened the folder on his desk to the relevant pages. She knew he wouldn’t be able to understand most of the results on the page, but he was able to grasp the charts that were trending up past the ninetieth towards the ninety-fifth percentiles.
He looked at the graphs before him, “How much longer will you need to keep them for this data to be complete?”
“I need them for at least four more weeks so that I can continue to monitor their integration into the mech neural net,” she replied. “The neural nets are learning from them as well.”
“And you can’t do this with in a shorter time frame?” he asked.
“Not if we want the necessary data to do this with other soldiers. I need this baseline to compare other soldiers’ rate of absorption into the neural net interface. With this data, we’ll be able to do a comparative study and see which soldiers will be able to interface, and which soldiers won’t be able to interface. We’ll save money by eliminating inferior soldiers that will never be able to interface with the suits. This will allow us to discriminate between the superior and inferior trainees. Plus, it will bring up the success rate for those that are interfacing correctly with the mech armor,” she answered.
“What is the rate we’re trying to achieve with the power suit integration?”
“Well, we want the suit and the wearer to interface at one hundred percent if possible. But that percentile may not be attainable with the current programming. If we can get an
interface of ninety five percent across the board, I’ll consider that a success story. But, if we can get higher numbers on the interface, that will be a better conclusion to the study.
“The other plus is their capability to work with the fabrication team. They gave the engineers great ideas on additional storage for weapons, ammunition, explosives, and personal equipment. Those ideas have been incorporated into the armor. The only thing they couldn’t figure out with the fabrication team was how to store the .50 caliber Barrett.” She stopped, knowing that she had made her point.
He sat for a minute and considered what she was asking. He hated this infantry team. They were insubordinate, and to his thinking, unreliable. He couldn’t argue with the data in front of him, however. Worse yet, he couldn’t argue with Dr. Randall. Hopefully, the success of the program will distract from the problems between Director Jamison and the Spec Op team.
He could sense the closeness of her body to him. As she spoke, she leaned against him. He could feel the curve of her breast against his arm. His adrenaline surged, increasing his passion for her. He was becoming tumescent. He could barely resist taking her on his office desk. She was completely different than his wife, Marie. This difference was another part of his attraction for her.
He studied the charts, pretending that he hadn’t made a decision yet. He did this to extend the contact between them. Finally he nodded, “I’ll go talk to Jamison, and make sure that the team will be kept here longer. Jamison is going to have a fit. He’ll have to make some calls. I’m not even sure if I’ll be able to keep them here after this weekend. This will have to go through several commands to figure out if they can stay here longer. It will be up to the Generals at the Pentagon.”
Dr. Randall made sure that the look of victory that she felt didn’t show on her face. She had won, and gotten what she wanted, but it wouldn’t do any good to gloat and goad him. To do so could erase the victory she had just won. If she gloated, then he would simply reverse his decision and ensure that Chief Duggins and his team were escorted off the base in record time.
To enforce the decision, she glanced at the door to make sure it was closed completely, then moved her hand to gentle stroke the back of his neck. She leaned over, and gave him a long, slow kiss. When she was done, she picked up the folder and walked to the door. She was not moving as quickly as she did when she came in, exaggerating the movement of her hips. As she opened the door, she turned and smiled at him.
“Thank you, LTC Mitchem. I appreciate your help in this matter,” she said before she disappeared from sight.
His eyes lingered for a moment on the door. He knew, at a basic level, that she was toying with him. At the moment, he really didn’t care. He could still smell her perfume lingering in the air. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his mouth, ensuring there was no lipstick on him. Then he looked down at his desk. There was a small note on his desk. It said, “Tonight, 8 PM.”
He looked at the note. He didn’t have to ask where, he already knew. He picked up the phone and called Jamison. Jamison was going to be pissed.
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It was Thursday. Mike was a happy man. Three weeks was up tomorrow. He was flying back to Colorado and into Jo’s arms for the weekend. He finished packing and had one set of clothes out for the trip. He and the team would leave the hotel early tomorrow to get the pallet loaded onto the truck. They finished strapping the pallet back together during the last hour of their work day, with most of the research team helping them to palletize everything. Dr. Randall was not there, of course, and Josh Weitz found something to keep him busy while everybody else did the heavy lifting.
He really enjoyed the company of the scientist and engineers on the research team. Most of them were really good people, with a few exceptions. He always felt that Dr. Randall was evaluating his fitness as a human. Josh Weitz was such a kiss ass that it was never a pleasure to be around him. Still, every person on the engineering team was extremely competent at their jobs. If there was one thing he could appreciate, it was their professionalism. Jamison and Mitchem aside, he would look on this as one of the best jobs he had the privilege to do.
He would miss the rest of the engineers. Dr. Nachman and Dr. Humphreys were both great guys, and they got along famously with the team. Bob was Bob, enough said. The other engineers were just as welcoming. Luis Garcia and John Smith were both avid gamers, and it had been a pleasure to kick their ass playing ‘Gears of War.’ It was embarrassing when John took him out playing ‘Call of Duty,’ though. John had bragging rights, and used them. Mike knew everybody’s screen names for online gaming and would stay in touch with some of them that way. For the rest, he friended online or got email addresses to stay in touch.
He enjoyed the lunches he had with his fellow tech misfits plus Lieutenant Pang. Lunch was usually a big affair with the engineers spreading some juicy gossip about Mitchem and Dr. Randall. Too bad about the Lieutenant Colonel’s wife. From what everybody told him, she was a great lady. Unfortunately, she had gotten involved with the wrong man. He would definitely miss the lunches.
His cell phone started ringing. He walked over and turned down the TV, and then looked at the name that was listed. He answered the cell phone.
“Major Salk, how is everything?” he asked.
“Mike, you know, you have a strange way of ingratiating yourself and your team with people, and at the same time, alienating people with significant clout,” Major Salk answered.
“Is this about LTC Mitchem, or Mr. Jamison? I don’t know what they’ve said, but we’ve bent over backwards to keep out of their way this week.”
“Well, yes, in a roundabout way,” Major Salk said. “It seems that somebody at that facility wants to keep you around for four more weeks.”
Mike frowned at this information. He and the team were more than ready to leave. He knew they were getting on Mitchem’s nerves. Not that it took much to do so. Plus, Jamison was just psychotic, “How’s that possible? I thought the head shed at Area 19 hated us.”
Salk answered, “So did we. After that stupid decision to pull your weekend and make you unload gear from trucks and put it into storage for them, I personally wanted to come up there and rip their heads off. You should have heard the Sergeant Major when he heard about it.”
“Is there any way that you can pull us, and get us back on mission?” Mike asked.
“Chief, there’s nothing I can do about this. The request went through the highest levels of the Pentagon and came back down through SOCOM. There are more than a few stars, eagles, and oak leaf clusters that are involved with keeping you in place out there for another 4 weeks,” Major Salk responded.
Mike cursed. With that many generals and colonels involved, there was no way the team would be allowed to leave the research facility, no matter what kind of idiocy the local command team engaged in.
“Yeah, that’s what my reaction was. Captain Bostak is pretty pissed off that they’re keeping you as well. He wants to get back into the training cycle with the entire team. So plan on you and your team staying out there for four more weeks. Hopefully you‘ll be finished by the time the fourth week finishes, and we won’t get any more requests for you to stay. We have some urgent situations that we need to get you onto when you get back,” Major Salk said.
Mike started to apologize to the Major.
“No, don’t worry about it Mike. I know this wasn’t your idea, but it’s cutting into your training time, and it would really be good to have you back. Especially in light of what’s happening around the world right now.”
After the phone call, Mike thought for a moment. He would have to call the team immediately and tell them to stop packing. But first, he needed to make an important call. He looked up the number, and pressed enter. The phone on the other end started ringing, and he held it up to his ear. “Hey honey, have you ever been to Montana?” h
e asked.
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