William King Green Troops

1. The Drop

Travis shivered as he watched the helicopter take off. The Black Hawk hovered low over the jungle canopy. The downwash from its rotors caused branches to sway. He upped the magnification of his eye and saw Kyle, the mercenary gunner, wave from the open door. He did not wave back.

It was early evening. The temperature was bearable. He clicked down the magnification and scanned the clearing wearily. The four Greens were picking up their equipment packs and checking their weapons. They all looked alike in their fatigues and kevlar body armour.

Bill-boy started at the sound of a screeching bird and wheeled, bringing up his captured AK-47. Travis caught the glitter of sunlight on his necklace of human teeth.

"Careful, boy, it's only a parakeet," he shouted. Bill-boy grinned back at him. It was a nasty grin, white teeth against green skin.

"Sure thing, sarge. it's good to be back."

Bill-boy was one of the bad ones. All the Greens were programmed to kill but Bill-boy loved it. He took a feral joy in slaughter. Travis had seen him take a flamethrower into a peasant village. It had not been pretty.

"Bill-boy getting easy to spook, sarge. Been here too long. Too many tours." This came from Carlo, who smiled easily as he said it. Carlo was good-humoured. Travis had done three tours with him. The scientists could say that all the Greens were alike but he knew better. Carlo and Bill-boy were as different as night and day. They all developed a personality after a few tours even if they all looked alike. At least, the ones who lived did.

Chad had finished loading his gear, hefting a rocket launcher as if it were made of cardboard. He stood playing with a long knife. He was quiet and reliable. Travis wasn't so sure about Stef, the new boy, straight from the vats. His face held no lines. Whose bright idea was it to send a new boy along on a deep penetration mission? Sometimes the stupidity of the higher command was breath taking.

"Everybody got everything?" Travis asked. The Greens nodded. Good. Let's hit the trail. Bill-boy, take point."

As his team left the clearing by the southward path Travis paused to take one last look around. The chopper was gone, back to the Contras' hidden camp in what had been Honduras when national boundaries had meant something in Central America. It had taken with it any promise of safety.

Travis shivered again. He had a bad feeling about this one.

2. Sniper.

The darkness was an ally not an obstacle. The team moved through it like ghosts. The Greens could see in the dark like cats. Their senses were razor keen. Travis had to rely on the infra-red sighting capability of his eyes.

Once Travis heard the scream of a large cat, a jaguar. For a second the whole patrol froze. He looked at Carlo, whose face was a mask of tension.

He smiled, Carlo smiled back. He waved Carlo on past, went back to talk to Stef who was standing frozen. Travis couldn't decide whether it was fear or anger. Some new Greens went berserk, a flaw that the bio-tech contractors hadn't yet identified the cause of.

For a brief moment it was unnaturally silent. Travis felt a crawling between his shoulder blades. He scanned the jungle, caught a faint hint of movement in a nearby tree. Reacting on instinct he shouted "get down" and flew himself flat.

Too late. The night was lit by the brief intense flash of automatic fire.

The muted staccato belching of an autosniper filled his ears. He cursed his luck. The humidity usually caused malfunctions in their sensitive robotics; the shadowy jungle usually interfered with the pattern recognition of their sighting programs. It was unfortunate that they had encountered a working one.

"Take it out," he ordered the Greens. He levelled his M-16 and sent a burst of fire to where he could perceive the heat signature of the killer robot. He missed it as it scuttled along the branches. A blaze of explosive bullets came flying back at him. One burst against the kevlar skin of his arm and sent his rifle flying. His arm shorted out, bionics malfunctioning temporarily.

Travis kept himself absolutely still. Most autosnipers tracked movement easily. If he didn't move it might not spot him. There was a brief lull.

He could feel sweat running down his back. He could feel a sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach. He could see the robot's turret head, swivelling towards him. He tensed himself to reach for his gun. The Greens opened fire.

The tree limb on which the sniper perched could not take the hail of rifle fire directed at it and collapsed under the robot's weight. Briefly Travis felt power come back into his damaged arm and he rolled over to where his rifle lay. There was an intense flash of light and the sound of an explosion. He bit back a scream.

Travis looked over at the smouldering remains of the robot. From the bushes Chad gave him a thumbs up sign. Travis could perceive the cherry glow of the micro-rocket launcher on his shoulder with his IR vision.

"Everybody OK?" he asked. Nodded affirmatives from the vets, a shaky smile from Stef. "Good."

He moved to inspect the remains of the robot. It carried the logo of a Brazilian armaments corporation. Probably black market. Suddenly he heard the sound of running feet. Bill-boy burst from the undergrowth.

"Enemy patrol, sarge. Think they're annoyed you woke them up. Were camped up ahead." He looked at the auto-sniper. Travis knew they were thinking the same thing.

"Perimeter guard," he said. "Come on, we'd better get out of here."

Snatching up their gear they loped off into the night. Travis could almost feel the Sandinista platoon bearing down on them.

3.Camping out.

Probing fingers of light, flecked with dust, touched the undergrowth where the sun broke through the green canopy overhead. Something small scuttled over his face and he brushed it away. It was too small to register on the pressure pads of his artificial fingers.

He sat up. Half of the Greens lay sprawled where they had thrown themselves. They were all tired from eluding the patrol the previous evening.

Travis checked his arm. From his belt he took out a set of tools. He made some field repairs. The arm wasn't badly damaged. He soon had it working.

Bill-boy, who was sentry, looked at him and winked. Travis got up and rummaged in his pack. Time for his pills.

First he took Bio-lok(TM) for his arm, a drug to suppress his immune system's natural urge to reject the complex neural linkages that enabled him to control an arm of teflon, kevlar and fibre-optic nerves. Next a neurotransmitter enhancer which enabled the protein based computer at the top of his spine to take orders from his brain and transmit them to his limbs. Finally some vitamin tablets. Just to keep him fit and healthy. The first two were the chains the CIA used to bind him, keep him coming back.

Without the drugs he would be a cripple.

His preparations had disturbed the Greens who came awake instantly and quietly around him. It astonished him that they could do that. Go from being completely at rest to combat readiness in a moment. Still it was only part of the design that made them into what the Pentagon believed was the soldier of the future.

He reviewed the facts; grown by accelerated cell division in culture vats, educated by neural induction helmet. They had stomach bacteria modified to enable them to digest cellulose, live off the land. They could eat wood if necessary. They had sub-dermal pigmentation sacs which gave them natural camouflage.