The Drone Wars

Deaths

"Of course, you know I'm recording this conversation on my HUD," said Lieutenant Clairvaux.

Pig nodded.

"When did you last see Consultant Umaru Obasanjo?" asked the Frenchman sitting with folded hands behind a desk.  He'd made an office right there in the middle of the jungle using a folding chair and collapsible table.  The campsite was busy with activity preparing for the journey ahead, contrasting starkly with the stern calm of the officer.

"I've never seen 'em.  I don't even know who he looks like," said Pig who had seen the Nigerian guide from a distance.  Only the process of elimination informed him of who Obasanjo was: he simply was a Nigerian consultant who was not Azikiwe.  Pig remembered his uniform, featuring the Nigerian flag instead of the U.S. one.

"How about Private Patrick Brown?"

"Uh course I know Patrick real well, sir."  Pig said.  Patrick was probably his best friend ever.  He hadn't had many friends as a child and one didn't make many as a handy man.  There were some chums at the bar but he didn't have the money to drink with them real often.

"I know you are friends," said Clairvaux with irritation at not having been answered succinctly.  "You are aware that Umaru Obasanjo and Patrick Brown are both AWOL.  I can't have personnel disappearing in the middle of the night without an investigation.  I'd like to know when you last spoke to Private Brown."

"Last night, sir, I was sitting on that log over there," Pig pointed.  "And Private Brown came and sat next to me for a couple of minutes. We talked about my romantic life, or lack thereof, and then he went to take a piss."

Lieutenant Clairvaux nodded.

"He was looking for Obasanjo," Pig deduced the name from the first question, "and wanted to find him before going out into the jungle alone.  That's what he's supposed ta do, right?"

"We found them," said a very young looking man.  Pig was relieved.  He'd heard that Patrick was missing pretty early, word passed around the camp quickly.  He'd worried, but couldn't think of any explanation.  Certainly, Patrick was not a traitor or defector.

Clairvaux stood up as two men emerged from the trail leading a drone behind them.  This was an older model pack drone, called a Mule.  It was about the size of and shape of a large donkey.  An older model, it was loud with an internal combustion engine.  Modern ones were based on fuel cells and much quieter with longer range, and more expensive.  Slumped over its back were two bloodied bodies.

Pig's heart sank.  He'd never really considered the possibility that his friend might be dead.

"It looks like leopard, sir," said the young man, "or maybe a lion."

"You're in to position to make that call," said Clairvaux as he approached the bodies.  "Have them shipped back for autopsy."

"Yes, sir," said the young man who saluted and walked away.

Mitch came up.  "Permission to examine the bodies, sir?" she said.  "As medic for the squad, I'd like to do vid call back to base and see if there's anything that would have bearing on our mission."

"Granted," said Clairvaux.  "But I doubt it will work.  There's no network here."

Mitch looked surprised.  And with good reason.  "What do you mean?  JWICS is everywhere."

"Not everywhere."  He gestured around all around at the mountains.  "I don't know why, maybe geography.  Maybe there's some kind of radioactive mineral, but we're alone out here.  No radio reception."

"Well, I'll have a look anyway before we send the bodies on."

"Make it quick," said Clairvaux, "we need to move out today."

An hour later, Pig was prepping a caravan of Mules to carry food, weapons, and other materiel when Mitch came out of the tent and went over to Lieutenant Clairvaux who was still sitting at his desk.

Pig moved behind a pile of equipment to get near enough to overhear the conversation.

"This wasn't the work of animals, sir," said Mitch.  "They died of gunshot wounds."

"I've never seen gunshot wounds like that."

"Their bodies were probably scavenged by wild dogs but they were each killed by some very peculiar bullet wounds."  She showed him a tablet computer, undoubtedly with images on it.  "As you can see by these portable MRI's,  each man had a bullet entry wound in the left eye.  The bullets were of a very small caliber and exited from the back of the skull. Must have been short range."

"Are you serious?" Clairvaux asked contemptuously. "How would someone shoot both in the eye from close range?"

"I don't know. Just look at the MRI."

He pushed the tablet back at her. "I don't need an MRI to tell me that they were killed by a wild animal. If there's something fishy, we'll know when the autopsy is done back on base."

"How will we get the results if there's no radio reception?"

"Maybe the satellite reception will improve as we continue into the valley." That didn't seem likely considering that the valley was shaped like crescent and the satellite's weren't going to get more visible.

Pig went back to work.  Tragic as this was, he couldn't make heads or tails of the information and there was nothing he could do for Patrick.