Project StrikeForce (8 page)

Eric smiled. “It’s a common reaction, John.
Millions of years of evolution. You’ve evolved so that when the shit hits the
fan, your brain processes all the information right in front of you. They call
it tunnel vision. That happen to you?”

“Yeah, like a small circle right in front of my
eyes, everything else just blurry, like a fun-house mirror.”

“That’s the brain focusing on the important parts,
the visual stimuli. Thousands of years ago, it would have been a snake or a
lion. The brain drops away everything except the threat in front of you. Same
thing for the clumsiness. The body pulls the blood to your core and your
fingers and feet go cold and numb. Audio does weird things. Sometimes you can’t
hear anything around you, sometimes you hear things far away. It was really
useful then, but not so much now. What we have to do is train you to react to
the fight or flight situation so that you
don
’t
lose sight of
everything around you. A real fight is short and nasty. You want to kill the
other person, not maim or wound them. You want to do a shocking amount of
violence to them before they can do it to you and you want to be as quick and
efficient as possible. Now, put in your mouth-guard and come at me.”

John nodded. He half circled Eric, then lunged in,
swinging for Eric’s solar plexus. Eric side stepped and brought his palm up
against John’s throat making him gasp for air, but before he could draw a
breath Eric kicked his legs out from under him.

He collapsed and Eric was on top, jamming thumbs
into his eyes. He screamed as his eyes watered, curling into a fetal position
on the blue padded mat. He felt Eric get up and when he opened his eyes,
through the tears, he saw Eric standing impassively.

Deion smirked next to him.

He wiped at his eyes, trying to clear the tears.
Snot ran down the back of his throat and he coughed, trying to swallow. He spit
out the mouth-guard. “Sorry, Eric. I don’t know what happened.”

“You reacted like a normal human being. First,
don’t ever swing a closed fist at someone’s jaw or nose, you stand a good
chance of breaking your knuckles. You’d have a hell of a time firing a gun
after that. If you aim for the nose, natural human reaction is for your
opponent to drop his head, then you hit him right in the skull, breaking your
knuckles. You did good going for the solar plexus, a good stiff punch there can
take your opponent’s breath away. You see how I kicked out your legs? The lunge
wasn’t a mistake, but it wasn’t good either. The more aggressive opponent
usually wins.”

John nodded, his hands trembling. Eric noticed and
had John extend them.

“See that? Trembling is the after-effect of the
adrenaline rush. Your nervous system is wired to fight or flight. It’ll wear
off shortly. You’ll feel tired, like you ran a marathon. All completely normal.
We’ll be integrating the Implant later. It will give you an edge, but for now
we want you to learn to fight without it. Notice that I went for the throat?
Funny how a blow to the throat, even a weak one, can take the fight out of
someone. Then you continue, you don’t ever let up. If this fight was real, I
would have continued when you hit the ground, kicking you in the kidneys, the
head, then finished you with a knife or gun. Now, how’s the adrenaline? Wearing
off?”

“Yeah, I don’t feel like I have to puke or piss
anymore.”

Deion laughed. “Don’t let Wise get you down. It
wasn’t half bad for a beginner.”

“Now,” Eric said, “we’re going to do it again.”

John nodded and calmed himself as he put his
mouth-guard back in. He circled Eric, looking for an opportunity. Eric shifted
his weight, then snapped a palm toward John’s eyes. John blocked it and brought
his knee forward, catching Eric in the stomach. Eric doubled over but turned
that movement into a lunge forward with his shoulder, striking him in the
chest.

He stumbled back and swung his palm against Eric’s
nose but Eric blocked it smoothly, then continued the hand forward to claw
John’s eyes. John twisted away and Eric’s palm struck his ear. There was an
explosion of pain and he collapsed, stunned, Eric on him again, striking his
stomach and groin. Even though Eric was pulling his punches, he still felt the
shock of blows across his body. Eric stopped suddenly and stuck out his hand,
helping him up.

Deion laughed. “How you feeling now, John?”

“Like I got run over by a truck,” John wheezed.
His lungs pumped like a steam locomotive as he struggled to catch his breath.
He had a stinging pain where Eric made contact and he knew he would have purple
bruises the next day. “I just can’t seem to hold you off.”

“Of course not,” Eric agreed, “because I’ve had a
shit-ton of practice and I’ve had to use it. It’s a funny thing, though. With
all that I’ve been through, there’s still a moment of hesitation before I’m
ready to strike. The trick is to make that moment as quick as possible. That’s
what I’m going to teach you.”

“Why do I get the feeling that learning is going
to be painful?”

“Because you’re not stupid,” Deion cackled. “And
because you’re right. It’s gonna be painful.”

Eric nodded toward Deion. “Now, Freeman here
hasn’t been in that much combat. He’s had all the training, and he’s been on a
couple of missions, but he spent most of his time on his comfortable ass, back
at base, while us ground humpers did all the work.”

Deion shrugged. “Work smart, not hard, that’s what
my paps used to say.”

Eric beamed. “Good, then you won’t mind showing
John how it’s done. John, he’s got a lot less experience than me, you’ll stand
a better chance.”

“Damn it, Wise, I’d never go one-on-one. I’d
rather come up behind him in an alley and put a bullet through the back of his
head.”

John shivered. He believed Deion.

Deion put in his mouth-guard and approached. He
outweighed Deion by thirty pounds and was a few inches taller. He hoped that
was enough. He tried a feint to Deion’s throat, but Deion blocked it and
grabbed his arm, pulling him forward. John tried to strike Deion in the stomach
but Deion grabbed John’s shirt and hip tossed him to the mat. He landed hard
and before he could recover Deion had him face-first on the mat, his arm in a
joint lock, elbowing him in the kidneys. He yelped and Deion let up.

Deion grinned. “Now that’s how I’d do it. If I had
to.”

John groaned. “The fun is quickly fading.”

“Get used to it,” Eric said. “It’s only going to
get worse.”

* * *

Eric circled John warily, his boots
shuffling against the padded blue mats. He watched the young man, waiting for
the opportunity to attack.

“Why do I have to learn to fight with a knife?”
John asked.

“Sometimes you have to get up close and personal,”
he answered. “Plus, a knife doesn’t jam or run out of ammo. Now, come at me
again.”

John held the rubber knife in his right hand, his
fingers wrapped around the hilt, the knife blade sticking out like he was
holding a hatchet. “This just seems uncomfortable.”

Eric grinned. “That’s because you’ve seen too much
television. Remember, don’t swing with the knife. If you lead with it, I can
knock it away or take it from you. Strike with your left hand. When I move to
block it, stab with your right.”

He watched John, not focusing on any specific body
part, and saw the flicker of motion as John feinted with his fist. He drew back
and John never came close, but his frustration grew. “Damn it, John, I told
you, that’s a good way to break your knuckles. The
side
of your first,
and don’t aim for the jaw, aim for the ear. I know, it’s hard, but you’ve got
bad habits to unlearn.”

Deion laughed. “Kick his ass, John!”

John nodded, then feinted again, coming fast
against Eric’s neck, then swung up and clipped Eric in the ear. Eric winced,
then felt John’s rubber knife stab into his armpit. He dropped to his knees but
John was waiting and smashed the heel of his hand against Eric’s nose, then
stabbed again with the rubber knife, jamming it into Eric’s neck.

He hit the floor, John on top, stabbing his neck
through the tangle of his hands and arms. He collapsed and John slashed the
rubber knife hard across Eric’s neck, which would have severed the artery if
the blade were steel.

“Good, that’s good,” Eric managed. John stuck out
his hand and hauled him to his feet. He shook off the ringing in his ear.
“Again.”

They repeated the exercise, this time John’s palm
striking Eric in the nose hard enough to draw tears, then the knife strike to
the throat. Eric stabbed his knife against John’s right arm but it wasn’t
enough. When Eric collapsed, John switched the knife to his left hand and using
his right palm to strike Eric in the nose and eyes, stabbing at his throat,
belly, and groin when Eric fell.

“Now you’re getting the hang of it,” Eric said.
“Remember, if you get stabbed or slashed, you
will
bleed. There’s not
much you can do to stop it. The thing is to continue the fight. You might lose
movement in an arm or hand, but you’ll survive. The other guy won’t. Once he’s
been stabbed, he won’t be able to do much to protect himself. Trust me, I’ve been
stabbed before, it’s hard to think straight. Against an untrained opponent a
strike to the throat won’t kill them immediately, but they’ll bleed out soon
enough. Now, again.”

Deion watched without comment, shifting from their
session to his palmtop computer.

They continued for an hour until they were both
covered in sweat, deep circles under the armpits of their shirts, both huffing
for air.

“Stop,” Deion said. “John, how you feeling?
Tired?”

John nodded. “I’m beat.”

“Good,” Deion said. “It’s time to try the Implant.
It’s probably gonna feel weird at first, it’s just adrenaline and a few other
things.”

“It’ll be okay, John,” Eric said. “Just relax this
first time.”

“Okay, activating it…now,” Deion said.

John’s eyes widened. “My heart sped up.” He nodded,
bent down at the knees, and came back up. “Yeah, definitely the heart’s
pounding. And, I’m hot. Really hot.”

“Hang in there,” Deion said. “Now again, this time
really kick his ass. Wise, you better be sharp, man.”

Eric had been waiting to see the Implant in
action. The young man was stronger every day and his reflexes were vastly
improved. God help them if the Implant juiced him too much.

John circled him again, his eyes bright and his
motions faster, more precise.

He was exhausted, and it was all he could do to
keep John’s palm from driving into his nose. He tried to land a blow on the
young man’s neck, but John spun sideways and stabbed the knife deep into his
bicep making him yelp in pain.

John’s foot caught him in the knee, dropping him
to the ground, and then John was on him. He felt the rubber knife stab him in
the neck, then John’s fist in his solar plexus, and the rake of the knife
against his throat. He stopped and looked up, John standing over him, his hand
extended. He took it and John easily yanked him up.

“Yeah, that’s how it’s done,” Eric gasped. “How do
you feel now?”

Deion laughed. “He feels like he just kicked your
ass, man. Kicked it.”

“Pretty good,” John said ruefully. “Everything is
bright and clear. I feel like I could take on ten men.”

Eric rubbed the spot on his tricep where John had
tagged him.
Damn, he
’s quick.
“Yeah, well, don’t get cocky. The
drugs can make you feel invincible, but you’re still human. Lactic acid still
builds up in your muscles.”

John stuck out his arm and flexed his bicep. “Yeah,
but I’ve got more muscles now.”

Eric grinned. It was true. The cocktail of muscle
enhancement drugs, steroids, and human growth hormones were working miracles.
John’s strict diet helped, the protein, fat and carbs timed throughout the day
to match the cardio and workouts, running and weight lifting, rope climbing and
burpees.

John’s strength was increasing at a dramatic rate,
but Dr. Elliot assured them it would soon level off. For now, he was
approaching the top percentile for strength and endurance, and Eric had the
bruises to prove it. The simple truth was the young man was damn strong, and
the training was making him more dangerous each day.

“Just remember,” Eric said. “The Weave will
protect your arms and legs, your ribs and skull, but a jump from two stories
onto concrete could break your foot or ankle, or worse you could suffer an
aortic dissection. You can’t ignore basic physics. All this tech does is make
you tough. It doesn’t make you impossible to kill.”

“Got it.” John turned to Deion. “You hear that!
I’m not impossible to kill!”

Deion nodded, smirking.

ohn stared at the solid black
helmet, a clamshell that hinged on the top, and shivered at the sinister piece
of gear.

They were in one of the labs, Eric holding the helmet
in front of him while Deion stood behind, his hand on John’s shoulder.

“Just relax,” Eric said. “When it’s in place,
we’ll close it. When it seals, you should feel a slight breeze as the
environmental systems come online.”

He eyed it skeptically. “How am I supposed to see
out of this thing? It’s solid plastic.”

Dr. Elliot looked up from his workstation. “Trust
us, John. This is the Visual Improvement System for Optical Recognition, or
VISOR. It’s much more than just a helmet. It might even save your life one
day.”

Eric and Deion struggled to slide it around John’s
head. They managed to work it around his scalp, then lowered the clamshell and
snapped it in place.

He heard a metallic click and jerked, but Deion’s
steady hand reassured him. He felt a moment of claustrophobia, the dark
interior unnaturally close to his skin, and he took a deep breath. “It smells
funny,” he said.

“That’s just new car smell,” Dr. Elliot said,
laughing. “Wait for it, the environment system is coming up now.”

A faint hiss emanated from the base of the helmet,
and he felt instant relief. “That’s better, there’s a cool breeze and the smell
is fading. I still can’t see anything, though.”

“I’m initiating the display,” Dr. Elliot said.

“I see it.” A faint glow pulsed in front of his eyes,
then the world sprung into view, as clear as a window. “Oh, wow.”

“What do you think?” Dr. Elliot asked.

He shook his head and took note of the extra
weight from the helmet. “It’s amazing. Everything is bright and defined. It’s
better than real life.”

“The sensors embedded in the front of the helmet
detect a range of data, including visual and infrared, then merge it and
present it to the LCD screens located in front of each eye. Now, let’s turn on
the thermal overlay.”

The world became a rich-hued display of reds and
blues, unlike the gray shades he expected. “Hey, this looks like the movie
Predator.”

Eric and Deion both laughed at the movie reference
but Dr. Elliot was unamused. “The VISOR cost us a small fortune. It’s not a
toy. Let me dial the contrast down a bit. How’s that?”

“Better, Doc.” The thermal colors receded, no
longer overpowering the video. When he turned, he saw the red in Eric’s cheeks,
and the cooler blue in his arms.

“Wait until dark,” Eric said. “You won’t ever need
NVG’s again.”

Dr. Elliot continued, “It has air filters to scrub
smoke and gas. There’s a three minute air supply, and it’s rated for fifty
meters underwater. Audio microphones on each side of the VISOR work like
eardrums, only more sensitive. The gain can be increased until you hear even
the faintest sounds, and they have automatic gain-reduction so loud blasts
won’t deafen you. Most importantly, the ceramic plates and carbon fiber weave
will keep your head safe from anything short of a large caliber bullet.”

“When can I try it out?” he asked.

“Slow down, man,” Deion said. “It’s got a learning
curve. First you have to train it.”

“Train it?”

“There’s a band of neural sensors around the
skull,” Dr. Elliot said. “It works by thought. We’ll have you think about the
commands and the VISOR will learn to read your brain patterns. You’ll be able
to switch views on the fly.”

He spent the next several hours in the lab,
practicing the commands, until the VISOR responded to his every thought.

When the VISOR training was complete, they led him
to a darkened hanger where he navigated an obstacle course as if in full
daylight.

“The best is yet to come,” Eric said.

“Yeah,” Deion said, “we have a surprise for you.”

They led him from the underground base, his first
time outside in over a month.

Eric drove the beat-up pickup through gullies and
dusty trails until they passed into a larger valley among the mountains, the
stillness of the inky-black night broken only by the throaty growl of the
truck.

He looked up. The VISOR showed him twinkling stars
filling the sky, the Milky Way a blazing ribbon of light stretched across the
horizon.

They came to a fork in the dirt road, and Eric
stopped the truck. John got out, mindful of the extra mass from the VISOR. He
was trying to take in the stars, all at once, amazed at the VISOR’s clarity.

Eric keyed his walkie-talkie. “John, can you hear
me?”

The audio was crystal clear. “Yes,” he answered.

“The radio in the VISOR is good for about 10
clicks. We want you to head out west, through the bomb craters.”

“What bomb craters?”

“Activate the night vision,” Eric said, “and
you’ll see.”

He concentrated and the valley floor opened in
front of him. He saw the pockmarks in the distance, some large enough to
swallow a car, some large enough to swallow a house. “Oh, those craters.”

“Yeah,” Eric said, “this used to be a bomb range
during World War Two. The desert floor looks like the surface of the moon.”

Dr. Elliot’s voice came through the VISOR. “John,
we’re getting excellent readings back in the command center. We’ve got a drone
overhead, relaying the telemetry. The HUD will combine this with the terrain
info and you’ll get a sense of what the VISOR can really do.”

He was already impressed by the VISOR, but now he
was amazed. The screen shifted and the world appeared in hyper detail. Ghostly
blue outlines appeared in the HUD, suspended in front of him. Numbers showed
the ambient air temperature and humidity, GPS coordinates, and compass.

A split screen appeared on the right side of the
HUD, an overhead display showing him as a small speck standing next to a truck,
Eric and Deion lounging against it.

He looked to the distance at a large crater and a
number in the display appeared. Six hundred and twenty seven meters. He stepped
toward the crater and the number decremented by one meter. He stepped back and
the number incremented by one meter. He turned his head back to Eric and Deion,
watching the compass spin to the east. “Whoa.”

“Take it easy,” Eric said. “You might suffer from
sensory overload. If it’s too much, just close your eyes and take a deep
breath. Now, get hiking.” He pointed to the west.

John moved, his boots stepping lightly over the
rock. He found himself picking up speed until soon he was running. For the
first time he felt the effects of the enhancement drugs, the resistance
training, and the cardio workouts. His feet floated over the hardscrabble dirt
and rock, his body surging through the night, effortless.

He was halfway to the distant crater when Dr.
Elliot called for him to stop. “John, turn back and see if you can spot the
truck.”

He turned and saw the vehicle in the distance.
“Yeah, I see it.”

“Good. Now concentrate. Think of increased
magnification.”

He did and the display zoomed in. He concentrated
harder and the display zoomed in farther, until the truck appeared just yards
away, Deion and Eric still leaning against it. He focused and the image zoomed
back out.

“Good,” Dr. Elliot said. “Very good. I’m
impressed. You’ve got it. Eric, give him a show.”

He watched as Eric pulled a large rifle from the
back of the pickup, loaded it, then turned at an angle and shot off into the
distance. The rifle’s laser range finder blazed as a visible thread of light
projected upward. The path of the bullet glowed, trailing off into the
distance, its paths diverging from the laser as gravity inevitably pulled the
round back to earth. “Is that a tracer?”

“No,” Dr. Elliot responded. “That’s a standard
round. What you’re seeing is the heat signature overlaid with the night
vision.”

“This thing is incredible.”

Dr. Elliot laughed. “Thanks, but remember, this
isn’t for your enjoyment. This technology is designed to help you accomplish
your mission.”

He spent several hours tromping across the desert,
practicing with the VISOR. At times he became overloaded with data, but
gradually learned to manage the VISOR’s output until the night held no
surprises. He was both exhilarated and exhausted as dawn approached, when Eric
finally drove them back to the tunnel entrance.

* * *

John met Eric and Deion the next
morning in the training room and found them standing around a dummy wearing a
suit of black fabric and plastic panels. He was still giddy from the night
before, but quickly sobered at the site of the flat-black gear.

“Are you ready for the Battlesuit?” Eric asked.

He paced around the plastic dummy, inspecting it.
“Is this like the body armor I wore in Iraq? Because I hated that. It was hot
as hell and I always felt like I was smothering.”

Eric shook his head. “Nothing like that. The
fabric has been treated with chemicals that will help regulate your body
temperature. It’ll keep you warm when you’re cold and cool when you’re warm.
Don’t ask me how it works because I don’t know. It’s soft and breathable and
will stretch to fit your body. The panels are liquid body armor. When a bullet strikes
the gel, it instantly crystallizes and spreads the kinetic energy across the
entire surface area. It’ll stop a 7.62 round at ten yards. It’ll stop .45
handgun ammo at point-blank range. Each panel can take several hits before you
lose structural integrity.”

Deion laughed. “Try not to get hit more than once,
man. Otherwise, you’ve fucked up.”

“Good point,” Eric agreed. “This isn’t a
get-out-of-jail-free card. This might mean the difference between living and
dying, but whatever is shooting at you, you damn well better shoot back.”

He pointed at the webbing that crossed at the
chest. “What’s with the straps?”

“That’s your gear harness. You strap your rifle to
it when you HALO jump, it’ll keep your weapon from ripping away from your
body.” Eric pointed to a plastic bump on the back. “This is your backpack.
Notice the small size. It’s designed to keep your body profile to a minimum.
There’s room for a basic ration pack, and a water pouch with integrated nipple.
You don’t even have to stop for a drink when you’re on the move. There’s an
emergency medical kit and a survival pack.” He pointed to the plastic bumps on
each side of the hips. “These are your integrated holsters, one for each hand.
When they lock in place, you can run full speed.”

“And the ankle sheathe?”

Eric smiled. “There’s always room for a Ka-Bar
knife. What do you think?”

He eyed the sleek and menacing Battlesuit. “I
can’t wait to try it on.”

* * *

Eric was filling out electronic
forms when Smith entered. He glanced up and then back down at his monitor.
“You’d think a top secret organization would generate a lot less paperwork.”

“A good organization runs on paperwork,” Smith
said. “I thought you’d been in the regular Army.” He took a seat across from
Eric’s desk, lowering himself gently to the padded seat. “These old bones
bother me now and then, something I’m sure a young man like yourself hasn’t
encountered yet.”

He smiled ruefully. “I’m beginning to understand.
After training with Frist all day and reviewing paperwork all night, I feel ten
years older.”

There was a soft knock at the door and Nancy
entered. She patted her father on the shoulder and he took her wrist and held
it to his cheek. She pulled away slowly, then took the seat beside him.

Eric tried not to notice how well the blue skirt and
white shirt framed her lithe body.

She squinted at him, then turned to her father. “Did
I interrupt?”

Smith smiled at her. “No, dear. Eric was just
informing me that he was feeling his age.”

Nancy turned back to Eric. “Heh. You don’t say?”

“Frist is a handful,” he said. That was an
understatement. His combat tours left fewer bruises than he now sported. “I’m
introducing him to weapons tomorrow.”

“Excellent,” Smith said. “Dr. Elliot is quite
pleased with the progress, as is Dr. Oshensker. The Implant functions well?”

“It’s remarkable. Freeman and I put him through
the wringer, a twenty mile jog with a weighted pack. He was totally spent. We
activated the Implant and he went another twenty. Doc Barnwell wasn’t too
pleased about it, though.”

Smith frowned. “For all the enhancements, he’s
still just human.”

“We have to know his limits,” Eric said.

“I’m aware of the testing protocols. It’s not out
of concern for Frist’s feelings. He’s our only candidate.”

“What about his memory?” Nancy asked.

“There’s been no signs that he remembers
anything,” Eric said. “He was confused, at first, but that’s gone. We’re
monitoring for mood disturbances. We’ve tapered him off the drugs, except for
the strength cocktail. Barnwell says the false memories are fully integrated.”

Nancy’s pale blue eyes were cold and hard. “At the
first sign of problems, blow his brains out.”

“I’ll keep that under advisement,” he said dryly.

“How are things on deck?” Smith asked.

Eric paused. “It’s overwhelming. There’s so much
raw intel. The analysts do an incredible job, but I’m still having trouble
determining which are actionable and which can be ignored.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself,” Smith said. “Your
primary duty is training Frist. You will soon be fully capable of running the
command deck, and I’m sure Nancy will show you some of the finer aspects of the
intelligence reports.”

Nancy arched her eyebrow. “I will?”

Smith patted her hand. “Of course. Shall I make
that an order?”

Nancy shook her head. “Hard to give orders when
I’m not technically in any command structure.”

“Humor your father, will you? Please help bring
Mr. Wise and Mr. Freeman up to speed.”