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.