Part Two: Danny’s Statement

Statement of Corporal Daniel Pasquale, Fifth Littoral Reconnaissance Team, Third Marine Littoral Regiment, to the Regimental Sergeant Major, pursuant to the commanding officer’s investigation into the fitness for duty of Sergeant Michael Collins.

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“Start wherever you think you need to, Corporal.”

“Aye, Sergeant Major.”

“And Pasquale?”

“Sergeant Major?”

“I’m not asking you to tell me what you think the Colonel wants to hear. I’m asking you what happened.”

“Understood, Sergeant Major.”

“Go ahead.”

I guess it really started on the second day.

We’d been ashore a little over twenty-four hours, watching a stretch of the western Taiwanese coastline that didn’t look like much of anything. Sand, scrub, a concrete seawall, a couple of abandoned buildings. There was a road farther inland, but we couldn’t see much of it from where we were.

We were there because somebody up the chain thought the Chinese might use that beach for a landing. Our job was to find out whether they were getting ready to do it.

Mostly that meant lying still, keeping our mouths shut, and letting Collins and his machines do their thing.

You ever spent twenty-four hours trying not to move, Sergeant Major?

“Yes, Pasquale. I have.”

Right. Sorry, Sergeant Major.

Anyway, we were getting pretty ripe by then. We’d been wet coming ashore, and nothing had really dried out. My socks felt like something you’d find growing under a rock. The mosquitoes were enthusiastic, too. Apparently nobody told them about light discipline.

Nelson was checking everybody that afternoon. Hydration, feet, the usual stuff. He came over to me and told me to take my boots off.

I told him my feet were fine.

He told me that was a medical opinion, and since I wasn’t a medical professional, mine didn’t count.

So I said, “Doc, how come the Navy sends all its best sailors to hang around Marines?”

He said, “Because somebody has to keep you idiots alive.”

I said, “I thought it was because you couldn’t swim.”

He looked at me for a second and said, “Pasquale, I know Marines can’t spell EMT, but you’d think somebody would’ve taught you what the word Navy means.”

That got a laugh out of everybody close enough to hear it.

I told him EMT was easy to spell. It stood for Every Marine’s Taxi, which was what the Navy was for.

He told me to shut up and take my boots off.

That’s how it was with Doc. He could give it as good as he got it. Better, usually.

And he looked after us. Not just Collins. All of us.

But Collins was his special responsibility.

I don’t mean that in a bad way. Every Neuro has a corpsman assigned to him. Somebody has to watch the medical side of the link. Collins had all kinds of things going on in his head that the rest of us couldn’t understand, and Doc had a tablet that told him when things were getting dangerous.

Doc could disconnect him, too.

That’s important, I guess.

“Why is it important, Corporal?”

Because Collins couldn’t always do it himself, Sergeant Major. I mean, he could. Usually. But sometimes he got so deep into whatever he was doing that he didn’t seem to hear anybody talking to him. That’s when Doc would put a hand on his shoulder and tell him to come back to us. Most of the time Collins would blink a couple of times, look around, and say something like, “What’d I miss?”

Then somebody would tell him he’d missed Pasquale making an ass of himself, which was generally true. Collins was always a good guy. Quiet, mostly. Not one of those sergeants who needs everybody to know he’s a sergeant. He’d been with us long enough that we knew when to leave him alone and when to give him a hard time.

He could take a joke, usually.

“What do you mean by usually?”

Nothing much, Sergeant Major. Sometimes he’d get a little touchy. Everybody does when they’re tired.

“Was Sergeant Collins tired?”

We were all tired.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Yes, Sergeant Major. He was tired.

But he was still doing his job.

And he was good at it.

That’s something I want you to understand before I tell you what happened.

We’d been working with Collins for more than a year. We’d been in some bad situations, and there were times we came out of them because he knew something was about to happen before the rest of us had any idea.

I don’t know how he did it. I know there was an AI involved, and the drones, and all the electronic stuff. But from where I was standing, Collins would just tell us something, and we’d do it.

Sometimes he’d tell us to move.

Sometimes he’d tell us to stay exactly where we were.

Once he told us not to shoot at a guy standing in the middle of a road because there wasn’t anybody there.

And he was right.

That’s the sort of thing that gets your attention.

After a while, you stop asking how he knows.

You just listen.

That afternoon, while Doc was examining my feet, Collins was sitting a few yards away with his back against a concrete wall. His eyes were closed. He had that look he got when he was linked.

It’s hard to describe.

He wasn’t asleep. You could see his eyes moving under the lids sometimes, and every now and then his fingers would twitch, like he was reaching for something nobody else could see.

We’d gotten used to it.

Doc looked over at him a couple of times while he was checking my feet.

Then Collins said, “You can stop worrying, Doc.”

Nelson didn’t look up.

“Who’s worrying?”

“You are.”

“Just checking the merchandise.”

“Merchandise is fine.”

“That’s what the merchandise always says.”

Collins smiled.

Then he opened his eyes and looked toward the seawall.

For a moment he seemed confused.

Not scared. Just confused, like he’d woken up somewhere he hadn’t expected to be.

Doc noticed.

“You okay, Mike?”

Collins looked at him.

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, Doc. I’m good.”

And that was that.

At least, that’s what we thought.

“Did you report that incident, Corporal?”

No, Sergeant Major.

“Why not?”

Because there wasn’t anything to report.

He’d looked confused for a second. That was all.

“Had you seen him do that before?”

I guess so.

“How often?”

I don’t know. Sometimes.

“And nobody thought that was unusual?”

Sergeant Major, with respect, Collins spent half his life with a computer plugged into his brain. We figured he was entitled to look a little strange once in a while.

Besides, when it mattered, he was always there.

Always.

The sun was starting to go down by then. Lieutenant Mercer came around to check on everybody, and Collins told him there was some electronic activity farther down the beach. Nothing definite. Just a few things that didn’t look right.

Mercer asked if it was Chinese.

Collins said, “Somebody’s out there.”

The lieutenant asked if he could get a better look.

Collins closed his eyes again.

A minute later he said, “Not yet.”

Mercer told us to stay put and keep observing.

So we did.

We ate cold rations after dark. Nobody talked much. Collins stayed linked most of the night, and Doc stayed close to him.

I remember waking up once and seeing the two of them sitting together.

Collins was looking out toward the water.

Doc was watching Collins.

That’s what I remember most clearly about that night.

Doc wasn’t watching the beach.

He was watching his friend.

And none of us thought there was anything wrong with that.

Not then. Not yet. We were about to find out just how wrong we were.

Here is my attempt at a short story that’s been kicking around in my head for some time now. This is the first installment of that story.

Seventeen Warnings: HM2(FMF) Nelson’s debrief.

Petty Officer Second Class Nelson stood outside Major Rawlings’s office for nearly five minutes before knocking.

“Enter.”

Nelson stepped inside, came to attention, and announced himself.

“Petty Officer Second Class Nelson, Fifth Littoral Reconnaissance Team, Third Marine Littoral Regiment, reporting as ordered, ma’am.”

Major Rawlings didn’t look up from the tablet on her desk.

“Close the door, Petty Officer.”

Nelson closed it.

“Have a seat.”

He sat in the chair opposite her desk. Rawlings continued reading. Nelson recognized the deliberate silence. He’d seen officers use it before.

Finally, she set the tablet down.

“You’re the corpsman assigned to Fifth Littoral Reconnaissance Team?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you were the designated medical monitor for the team’s Neuro during yesterday’s operation?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How long have you held that assignment?”

“Twenty-six months, ma’am.”

“Same operator the entire time?”

“Yes, ma’am. Sergeant Collins.”

Rawlings studied him.

“Then I assume you know him rather well.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Better than I do?”

Nelson hesitated.

“I know him differently, ma’am.”

“Explain that.”

“Ma’am, you know his medical history. I know what he looks like when he’s lying about how he feels.”

Rawlings picked up her tablet.

“Apparently not well enough.”

Nelson said nothing.

“How is Sergeant Collins?”

“He’s in the hospital, ma’am.”

“I’m aware of that. I’m the physician responsible for his care. I asked how he is.”

“I haven’t been allowed to see him since yesterday.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“No, ma’am.”

Rawlings waited.

“He’s not himself, ma’am.”

“Not himself how?”

“He gets confused. Says things that don’t make sense sometimes. He doesn’t always remember things right.”

“How long has that been going on?”

“Since the operation, ma’am.”

Rawlings tapped her tablet.

“Petty Officer, I have Sergeant Collins’s medical monitoring records for the past fourteen months. I have his AI’s cognitive performance reports. And I have your weekly assessments.”

Nelson said nothing.

“Let’s try that again. How long has Sergeant Collins been exhibiting symptoms?”

Nelson took a breath.

“A while, ma’am.”

“How long is a while?”

“I don’t know exactly.”

“Six months?”

“Maybe.”

“Nine?”

Nelson didn’t answer.

Rawlings turned the tablet toward him.

“Eight months ago, you reported that Sergeant Collins experienced an episode of transient sensory confusion. You attributed it to fatigue.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Seven months ago, you noted an incident in which he remembered a conversation that other members of the team insisted had never taken place.”

“He’d been linked for fourteen hours, ma’am. We were all exhausted.”

“Five months ago, he reported seeing an unidentified aircraft while disconnected. Nobody else saw it. No sensor recorded it.”

“Ma’am, with respect, that doesn’t necessarily mean—”

“I know what it doesn’t necessarily mean, Petty Officer. I’m asking what you thought it meant.”

Nelson stopped.

“Three months ago, you recorded a change in his affect. Irritability, emotional withdrawal, episodes of inappropriate laughter. You described it as operational stress.”

“That’s what I thought it was.”

“Was it?”

“I don’t know, ma’am.”

“You’re trained to recognize the early symptoms of Neural Integration Dissociation.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re trained to report them.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you’re authorized, even required, to suspend AI integration with his Neural implant pending medical evaluation under certain conditions.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rawlings set the tablet down.

“Then tell me why Sergeant Collins was still linking.”

Nelson stared at the floor.

“Because he was still good at his job, ma’am.”

“That’s not a medical assessment.”

“No, ma’am.”

“It’s not an answer, either.”

Nelson raised his eyes.

“Ma’am, you weren’t there.”

Rawlings regarded him without expression.

“No, Petty Officer. I wasn’t.”

“He kept us alive. Over and over. There are men on that team who wouldn’t be breathing if it wasn’t for Collins.”

“And now he’s in my hospital.”

Nelson looked away.

“Do you know why you’re here, Petty Officer?”

“To discuss yesterday’s operation, ma’am.”

“You’re here because I have a Neuro in my ward with extensive neurological damage, and the medical telemetry indicates that his designated corpsman received seventeen separate warnings to terminate the neural connection.”

Nelson stared at a spot on the wall behind her.

“Seventeen,” Rawlings repeated. “The last six were mandatory disconnect orders. Not advisories. Orders.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You acknowledged every one of them.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you did not disconnect him.”

“No, ma’am.”

Rawlings leaned back.

“Then perhaps you’d like to explain why.”

Nelson looked at the tablet.

“How much of the mission recording have you reviewed, ma’am?”

“All of it.”

“The whole thing?”

“Every second.”

“Then you saw what happened.”

“I saw what the AI recorded, Petty Officer. Now I want you to tell me what happened.”

Nelson sat silently for several seconds.

Rawlings waited.

“Where would you like me to start, ma’am?”

“With the contact.”

“Which contact?”

“The enemy reconnaissance element.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He rubbed his palms against his trousers.

“We were on the western coast of Taiwan. Fifth Team had been assigned to observe a suspected landing area. The Chinese were expected to attempt an amphibious landing within the next seventy-two hours, and we were looking for advance reconnaissance activity.”

“Was your team conducting beach reconnaissance?”

“Yes, ma’am. We’d been there two nights. We were checking the approaches, the seawall, the roads leading inland. Mostly trying to determine whether the enemy had already started preparing the beach.”

“And had they?”

“We didn’t know yet.”

“What happened?”

“Collins found them.”

“Explain.”

“At first we thought it was just another ghost.”

Rawlings looked up.

“Define ghost.”

“An electronic decoy, ma’am. False activity. Something meant to draw attention away from whatever was actually happening.”

“Was Collins linked?”

“Yes, ma’am. Full integration. His AI was controlling our reconnaissance drones and managing our electronic protection.”

“And you were monitoring him?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What did he report?”

“Activity near the southern end of the beach. A few returns that didn’t make sense. Equipment signatures where there shouldn’t have been any. Then they disappeared.”

“Did he identify them as enemy personnel?”

“Not immediately. He said somebody was lying to us.”

Rawlings glanced at her tablet.

“Those were his words?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What did he mean?”

“He meant that the electronic picture was too clean. Things were disappearing in ways that suggested somebody was making them disappear.”

“Go on.”

“Collins started comparing what our drones were seeing with the passive sensors. He said the beach wasn’t empty. It was being made to look empty.”

“Did he have visual confirmation?”

“Not yet.”

“Then what happened?”

“One of our drones saw movement near an abandoned maintenance building. Three figures. Maybe four. They were carrying equipment toward the seawall.”

“Chinese reconnaissance?”

“That’s what we figured. A beach reconnaissance platoon, or part of one. They’d come ashore ahead of the main force to prepare the landing area.”

“Did they know you were there?”

“Not at first.”

“How do you know?”

“Because they were still working.”

Rawlings waited.

“We could see them setting equipment down, moving around the building, checking the beach approaches. Collins said they were establishing a sensor network. Maybe communications relays, maybe electronic markers for the landing force. We couldn’t tell exactly.”

“And your officer in charge?”

“Lieutenant Mercer ordered us to remain concealed and continue observing. We weren’t supposed to engage unless discovered.”

“Then how did the engagement begin?”

Nelson’s expression changed.

“They found us.”

“How?”

“We don’t know for certain. Collins said their AI had noticed something inconsistent in the electronic background. Something about the way our drones were interacting with the environment.”

“Was that confirmed?”

“No, ma’am.”

“What happened next?”

“Everything started lying.”

Rawlings put down her stylus.

“Explain that, Petty Officer.”

“Our drone feeds showed people moving where there weren’t any people. The passive sensors reported transmissions from locations that were physically empty. We had weapon detections coming from abandoned structures. Then some of the feeds went blank. Others kept showing pictures, but Collins said they weren’t current.”

“Cyber intrusion?”

“That’s what he called it. Some of our systems were being fed information that didn’t agree with the others.”

“And the enemy drones?”

“They came in right after that. Small ones at first. We heard them before we saw them. Then a couple of the larger ones appeared over the beach.”

“Armed?”

“Some of them. Others were carrying electronic payloads. We couldn’t tell which was which until they started doing things.”

“What things?”

“One of our observation drones stopped responding. Another began reporting contacts in the wrong direction. Then something hit the ground about twenty meters from our forward position.”

“An explosive?”

“Yes, ma’am. Small, but close enough.”

“Did you take casualties?”

“Not then.”

“And Collins?”

Nelson paused.

“Collins was magnificent.”

Rawlings said nothing.

“He kept our drones working. He kept the enemy from getting a clear picture of where we were. He was talking to the lieutenant, coordinating the AI, moving our drones around, and warning the team about things we couldn’t see. We were getting hit from every direction, electronically and physically, and he was keeping it together.”

“His medical condition, Petty Officer.”

“His readings were elevated. Heart rate, neural load, stress indicators. But nothing we hadn’t seen before.”

“Was he exhibiting any cognitive abnormalities?”

“Not at first.”

“Not at first?”

Nelson looked at the floor.

“He started talking to somebody.”

“Who?”

“I thought it was the AI.”

“Was it?”

“I don’t know.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘I know. I can see them.’ Then he said, ‘Stop showing me that.'”

“Did you ask him who he was talking to?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What did he tell you?”

“He said he was talking to his mother.”

Rawlings was still.

“His mother?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Did you know Sergeant Collins’s mother is deceased?”

Nelson nodded.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And what did you do?”

Nelson swallowed.

“I told him to concentrate. Told him we needed him.”

“Did you consider disconnecting him?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because the enemy was still attacking us.”

“Petty Officer—”

“Ma’am, I understand what you’re asking. I do. But you have to understand what it was like. We had enemy drones overhead, our communications were being disrupted, and we were taking fire from people we couldn’t locate. Collins was the only reason we weren’t dead.”

Rawlings watched him.

“Was he still performing effectively?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How do you know?”

“Because we were still alive.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

Nelson opened his mouth, then closed it.

Rawlings looked down at the tablet.

“According to the medical record, that was the first of seventeen disconnect warnings.”

Nelson nodded.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And the next sixteen?”

Nelson stared at her.

“Things got worse.”