CHAPTER 14
THE GENERAL’S WIFE WAS INDEEDa good cook, and they all sat in the dining room enjoying pork ribs, roasted yams, homemade cornbread, and a salad that was mostly kale but managed to be good anyway. Brodie and Taylor paid their compliments to the chef, who accepted them graciously.
The general, meanwhile, ate and drank in silence, allowing his wife to take care of the social niceties. She asked Brodie and Taylor about their backgrounds and their careers and took particular interest in Maggie Taylor’s Appalachian upbringing. She herself was from southern Georgia, as was the general. They were high school sweethearts.
“I’m always impressed by that,” said Taylor. “To be able to stick together through all those different phases of life.”
Angela smiled. “We changed a lot, but we did it together. Isn’t that right, Chris?”
The general nodded and managed a smile, though his mind was clearly elsewhere. “It helps to come up together, especially when you grew up where we did. I was born in what could generously be called a wooden shack. Angela was the rich kid with indoor plumbing.”
Angela chuckled. “And look at you now, General.”
That comment seemed to sour him a moment. “Yes.” He tried to shake it off and said to Brodie and Taylor, “Angela is modest and won’t tell you, but she is a senior manager in the Army’s Acquisition Corps. Oversees a hundred-million-dollar budget.”
Angela took a sip of red wine and said, “Two-hundred-million, dear.”
“Okay,” said the general. “Maybe not that modest.”
They all had a chuckle. Just as Brodie realized he was actually having an okay time, the general said, “Colonel Howe told me of your desire to see another D-17 unit operational. I will not permit that. My first responsibility is to the safety of the men and women at this camp.”
Brodie and Taylor shared a look. Brodie said, “Sir, I believe everyone’s safety would be best served by CID getting to the bottom of what happened here. And that would be best served by us seeing a regular unit in regular operation.”
Morgan took a bite of his ribs and washed it down with some red wine. Then he looked across the table at Brodie. “What do you think our mission is here at Camp Hayden, Mr. Brodie?”
“In the words of Colonel Howe, it is to train the Army Rangers and other light infantry units for the future of warfare.”
The general nodded. “Sounds good. Too bad it’s bullshit.”
Mrs. Morgan said to her husband, “Christopher.”
He waved her off. “It’s all right. Mr. Brodie and Ms. Taylor require and deserve complete candor.” He looked again at Brodie. “The bots are not here to train my men. My men are here to train the bots. Premium cannon fodder for the crown jewel in Synotec Systems’ product line.”
Brodie and Taylor sat with that for a moment. Then Taylor said, “General, the scientists told us that the D-17s cannot learn. They can’t be trained.”
He shrugged. “Semantics. Let’s say, instead, that my men are being used totestthe bots. In total, our platoon of Rangers has engaged in sixty-seven exercises against these things. And they’ve been defeated sixty-seven times. Now ask yourselves, if the Pentagon viewed that as a failure, wouldn’t some changes be made here? At the very least a senior officer such as myself would be replaced. But they don’t do anything, because the military doesn’t see it as a failure if these bots keep beating some of the best soldiers in the Army. In fact, that’s a sterlingsuccess. And each of our exercises generates a highly detailed after-action report that is reviewed by our scientists and Synotec’s engineers—a massive trove of moment-by-moment data that they can use to refine their creations.” He thought of something. “I will grant you full access to our after-action review system. It’s very sophisticated, and it’s the closest you’re going to come to seeing the bots in action.”
Brodie nodded. The general’s stubbornness on this issue was going to be a problem, and Brodie was going to have to call upon the higher powers in CID to fix it. But no need to play that card yet. He did ask, “Sir, with all due respect, why are you commanding this program? It sounds like you do not agree with its goals.”
“That’s the irony, Mr. Brodie. I agree with itsstatedgoals. The ones on paper that the Pentagon is ignoring. Train our soldiers for the future of war. I want my men to beat these bots, and I know they can do it. So I push them. Hard. You’ll find I’m not the most popular guy among the enlisted men. Butmymission—and it’s one I’ll continue as long as I have command—is to prove the supremacy of man over machine.”
Brodie thought about motive, and whether General Morgan benefited from the D-17 program being shut down over safety concerns.
Maggie Taylor, evidently thinking along the same lines, said, “Sir, in a way, the tragic death of Major Ames has already proven your point, has it not? The machines cannot be trusted.”
Morgan slid his eyes to her. “The scientists see that as a problem to be fixed, Ms. Taylor. They will reprogram them. New models will come down the line. Total victory on the battlefield is the best argument.”
Brodie looked at the general, who was staring at Taylor with his intense brown eyes. They were the eyes of a zealot—a man fighting his own private war against the coming world.
Brodie thought of PFC Justin Beal, the Ranger who had overdosed on speed. Soldiers in elite units like the Rangers could put enormous pressure on themselves, which was compounded by the high expectations of their NCOs and commanding officers. But with a guy likeGeneral Morgan at the top of the food chain, Camp Hayden was even more screwed up and prone to dysfunction than Brodie had imagined. A pressure cooker with no release valve.
No one said anything for a minute, and they ate in silence. Angela Morgan looked uncomfortable with her husband’s words and general demeanor. Brodie wondered what the last nine months had been like for her, and whether her husband was the same man who’d first arrived here.
She cleared her throat, then got up and said, “I made a pie. Coffee, anyone?”
They all said yes to coffee, and Taylor insisted on helping. She grabbed a few plates and followed Angela to the kitchen, leaving Brodie and General Morgan alone.
Noticing Brodie’s empty wineglass, the general poured him more without asking. He said, “You should visit the barracks tomorrow. Talk to the men.”
