No Warriors, No Glory - Hardcover

Coyle, Harold

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0765318970 ISBN 13: 9780765318978

Publisher: Forge Books, 2009

Synopsis

The nine stories that make up Isaac Asimov’s “I, Robot,” written in the 1940s, not only foresaw a day when autonomous machines would assume the more mundane and dangerous chores performed by people, they also foreshadowed problems humans would encounter as they learned not only how to use and control their robots, but how to live with them as well. The world that Asimov envisioned is here. Today, new and more dynamic uses of robots are being explored and tested. Even the way we wage war is not immune as robotic devices of every shape and description are being tested and fielded by armed forces around the world. Remotely controlled and autonomous machines that perform reconnaissance, security, mine detection, logistical support and even combat are making their way into the Army’s order of battle. It is changing the way Americans fight. It is a change that will not come easy. Nor will it come without a price.

  Nathan Dixon, a mid-career Army officer, discovers just how different the Army that he has dedicated his life to will look in the future when he is assigned the task of investigating a friendly fire incident involving a rogue unmanned ground combat vehicle, or UGV. This is no easy task for an officer that has yet to learn how to deal with the self interests that a project such as the UGV program is capable of creating. In addition to working with the commanding officer of the unit testing the UGVs, a man determined to save his career, and dealing with the civilian contractor charged with seeing that the UGVs his company is building succeeds no matter what, Dixon must not only find out what happened but who, if anyone, was responsible for the sequence of events that caused the incident.

About this title

About the Author:

HAROLD COYLE graduated from the Virginia Military Institute and spent fourteen years on active duty with the U.S. Army. He is the New York Times bestselling author of nine novels, including The Ten Thousand, They Are Soldiers, God's Children, and More than Courage. He lives in Fairfax, VA.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

Chapter One

Alexandria, Virginia - September 3

The feeling of the sheets being pulled away from her, quickly followed by a sudden intake of breath from the other side of the bed, woke Christina Dixon with a start. Lifting her head from her pillow, she peered across at her husband, checking to see if he was awake yet. In the faint light that filtered in through the partially closed blinds, she watched as Nathan clutched the sheet to his chest in a death grip. His lips quivered as if he were speaking. It wouldn’t be long before he was awake, Christina sadly concluded. It never was on a night like this. Taking great care, she laid her head back down on her pillow before rolling over on her side, facing away from Nathan. Through trial and error she’d learned the hard way that the best thing she could do was to pretend that her husband’s nocturnal stirrings didn’t wake her. For some reason, knowing that his nightmares were depriving his wife of badly needed rest only added to Nathan’s worries. He had enough on his mind, Christina reasoned. She didn’t need to add to them.

With a suddenness that startled him, Nathan Dixon was catapulted from the dark, haunting place where his subconscious had taken him back into the dimly lit bedroom he shared with his pregnant wife. For the briefest of moments, he lay there staring wide eyed at the ceiling, gasping for breath like a drowning man as he struggled to compose himself. How strange, he found himself thinking after he’d managed to regain some semblance of mental balance, to find the memories of a battle long since past more terrifying than the event itself. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember experiencing anything even remotely resembling fear that night in the jungle. There’d simply been too much to do, too much going on around him. Had there been confusion? Yes, of course. There always was in battle, particularly that one. Cutting through it and maintaining his focus on tactical concerns were the only things he recalled running through his mind as his company came to grips with Abu Sayyaf insurgents. The fear, like the haunting memories from which it sprang, only came later, long after he’d been medevaced out of the Philippines. And rather than fading with the passage of time, his recollection of what happened that night only seemed to grow stronger, more intense, causing Nathan to wonder if his mind was hellbent on sorting out the blurred images that he hadn’t had the time to pay attention to that night.

Having regained a modicum of self- control, Nathan looked over to see if his stirrings had woken his wife. Only when he was satisfied that she was still sound asleep did he carefully lift the covers off of himself, slip out of bed and quietly make his way to the guest bathroom just down the hall. Waiting until after he’d closed the door, Nathan flipped on the light, turning to face the mirror as he did so. The first thought that popped into his head as he stared at his gaunt reflection was always the same on nights like this: was he going mad? Of course not, he quickly told himself— perhaps too quickly. It’s just the way things were, he reasoned. It was a new normal he hadn’t quite yet managed to adjust to. Like the collection of wounds he’d amassed along the way, the memories of past events were a natural and not at all surprising psychological byproduct stemming from his chosen profession. That his late father had never seemed troubled by his past didn’t matter to Nathan. Scott Dixon had always come across as being one of those people who were bigger than life, a man who always gave the impression of being in complete control no matter how dire the situation. At least, that’s the way Nathan and those who knew him chose to remember Scott. And despite his knack for coming across as a nonconformist in a profession where conformity was prized above all else, more than a few well- placed individuals who were privy to such things had pegged Scott Dixon as a shoe-in for the Chief of Staff of the Army.

Without realizing it, Nathan’s concern over the recurring nightmares that plagued him was replaced by a deep, almost painful longing for his father. If there was anyone who would understand what he was going through, who could help him come to terms with his inability to put things in proper perspective, it was his father. Whether it stemmed from Scott Dixon’s experience as a long- serving officer or was simply an inherent talent, he had a way of sweeping away all the peripheral fluff and chaff with ease, striking at the heart of the matter at hand with a deftness that inspired envy and confidence.

Planting his hands firmly upon the countertop, Nathan leaned forward, peering at his own reflection. If his father’s incisiveness was an inherent trait, he thought to himself, it seemed to have skipped a generation. Even now, after devoting an inordinate amount of time pondering his future, Nathan had no idea what he would say when the question he knew was coming was put to him later that day. Glancing in the mirror at the clock on the wall behind him, he realized that he didn’t have much time left to formulate a suitable answer, one that would address all the issues and concerns he found himself burdened with.

Sadly, the younger Dixon concluded that there was little point in returning to bed where he’d do nothing more than toss and turn until he woke Chris. On mornings like this, it was better to head out into the predawn darkness and run. While doing so wouldn’t help him reach any sort of decision, pushing his body to the limit would at least give his troubled mind a much- needed break. Besides, Nathan reasoned as he turned to gather his running shorts and T-shirt hanging on the back door of the bathroom, if he did decide to stay in the Army, he needed to get back in shape. Giving into the pain that lingered from his wounds was no longer an option, not if he was going to be the kind of soldier he’d been raised to be.

The opening of the front door, followed by the sound of someone removing their shoes before venturing any farther, caused Jan Fields to stop what she’d been doing. For the briefest of moments an irrational thought flashed through her mind, one that was as foolish as her efforts to convince herself that the visit by the former Chief of Staff of the Army with the obligatory chaplain in tow had never happened. These absurd little flights of fancy weren’t helped any by the fact that her stepson’s habits, even the noises he made as he climbed the stairs leading up to the main floor of her town house, were all but indistinguishable from those his father used to make whenever he returned from an early morning run. At times like this, Jan almost found herself having to stop what ever she was doing and mutter out loud, "It’s not Scott. It is not Scott."

She barely had time to regain her composure before Nathan came plodding into the kitchen where she’d been in the pro cess of slicing up a wedge of cantaloupe. Stealing a quick, fugitive glance over her shoulder, Jan took note of Nathan’s limp before turning her attention back to what she was doing. "You’re up early," she stated crisply, doing her best to sound cheery despite the pain she felt over her son’s suffering.

Before answering, Nathan reached around her, quickly snatching a chunk of cantaloupe from the cutting board. He wasn’t fast enough, however, to escape a quick slap on the back of his hand from Jan, who used the flat of her knife to punish his impatience. "Wait till I’m done."

"Why?" he countered before popping his pilfered prize in his mouth.

"Because you haven’t washed your hands, that’s why." She was about to add "young man" to her response as she’d done so many times over the years, but didn’t. Somehow it just didn’t seem appropriate to refer to a captain in the Army, whose name had just come out on the latest promotion list, in that manner.

For his part Nathan found it all but impossible to suppress a chuckle as he made his way over to the sink. "And what’s so funny?" Jan asked incredulously.

Knowing better than telling her what was really on his mind, he opted for a response that was in keeping with his determination to keep things as lighthearted and easygoing as possible while he and Chris were living with Jan. "Geez, Mom," he mockingly whimpered. #34;You’re acting like I was a five- year- old."

"Well, when you act like you’re five . . ."

Her words were cut short by the sight of a hand reaching around from behind her in an effort to snatch another chunk of cantaloupe. This time she managed to slap her son’s hand with the flat of her knife before he managed to secure a piece of fruit from her cutting board.

"Ouch! That hurts."

"Good," Jan replied in triumph. "Now, be a good boy and sit down and give me a chance to finish."

"Gee," Nathan muttered, shuffling over to the breakfast bar where he took a seat, making a great show of rubbing the back of his hand as he did so. "Where’s the respect?"

Rather than respond, Jan smiled to herself as she turned her attention back to finishing with the cantaloupe. It was moments like this that vindicated her decision to insist that Nathan and his wife stay with her while awaiting new orders after he’d been discharged from the hospital. Whatever inconvenience and disruption they caused in her life were more than offset by the opportunity they afforded her to once more be part of a family. And though she knew that Nathan and Chris would soon be moving on, just as she and Scott had done with a regularity that was often annoying but always exciting, Jan was determined to make the most of this fleeting opportunity. There’d be plenty of time later, she reasoned, to resume her silent mourning for the only person she’d ever loved. The thought of an eternity of coming home to an empty house, dinner alone and long lonely nights caused Jan to shiver. It was a response she’d learned to keep to herself, lest she burden Nathan, who had more than enough to worry about, from noticing.

Over a light breakfast of fruit, English muffins, orange juice and coffee, Jan and Nathan chatted over the upcoming day’s activities. Nathan listened as Jan discussed in detail her schedule. As the Washington bureau chief for the World News Network, her day was pretty much nonstop, from the moment she stepped into her downtown office till she arrived back home in the early evening. Even then, she seldom slowed down, especially since world events refused to maintain the sort of tight, well- ordered schedule that Jan endeavored to live by.

For his part Nathan silently envied the hectic day that awaited his mother. Whatever joy he’d first derived from spending time with her and his wife had been replaced long ago by a gnawing urge to get on with his own life—one that was, at the moment, on hold.

Not that it really was, at least from a technical standpoint. The need to devote time to recovering from the wounds that he’d received during that sharp engagement with Abu Sayyaf insurgents in the Philippines was as much a part of his chosen profession as the training he’d put his ranger company through in preparation for that fight. Such logic, of course, did nothing to dispel a growing unease that left Nathan wondering if he’d ever be fit, physically or mentally, to lead men into combat once more. That was, of course, provided he chose to continue with a military career, a question he found himself brooding over more and more with each passing day.

Noticing her son’s expression, Jan realized that she’d reached the point in their idle chat where she’d lost his attention. Pausing with a half eaten English muffin halfway to her mouth, Jan smiled. "So, what’s on your agenda today? Another round of physical therapy?"

Caught off guard by his mother’s question, Nathan shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. "Ah, no. Not today. I had to reschedule that till Wednesday."

"Well then," Jan continued without bothering to dissect Nathan’s wary response, "anything exciting planned?"

Finding himself backed into a corner and knowing full well that he couldn’t possibly keep Jan from finding out one way or another, Nathan decided it was time to come clean with her. "I have an appointment this morning in Arlington."

Taken aback by her son’s announcement, Jan stopped what she was doing, folding her arms on the table as she leaned forward. Recalling Scott’s habit of casually slipping ominous news into the midst of an otherwise innocent conversation, all sorts of possibilities began to romp through her fertile imagination, none of which were very promising.

Recognizing the expression on his mother’s face, Nathan realized that this was no time for prevarication. Like it or not, he was committed. The sooner he told her the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, the better. At least, that was the theory. "I received a call from General Stevens’s office last Friday," he said, doing his best to fob her off by acting as if it had been nothing out of the ordinary. "He wants to see me."

Jan, of course, knew better. "And what, pray tell, did the good general want?" she asked, making no effort to mask her growing concern.

"Not sure. I only spoke to his executive officer, a colonel by the name of Kaplan who didn’t seem to know what his boss wanted to see me about."

"Stevens wasn’t exactly on the best of terms with your father," Jan stated in an even tone. "It seems they were in opposing camps on some very important issues— particularly what the Army would look like in the future."

Not having given the matter any serious thought over the weekend, Nathan took a moment to think before responding to his mother. "Dad never discussed such things with me," he responded glumly. "He didn’t think it was appropriate that he should discuss the opinions of other senior officers with me, especially when he didn’t agree with them. Of course, when it came to someone like Stevens, he really didn’t need to do so. Everyone knows Stevens is very much a technocrat, an officer who’s staked his reputation on force modernization based on automation. Dad’s focus, on the other hand, is always squarely on the soldier, the human factor in warfare as he likes to call it."

Tactfully Jan ignored her son’s use of the word "is" as opposed to "was" when referring to Scott. "Stevens is the new Chief of Staff of the Army, isn’t he?" she asked, doing her best to keep the conversation moving forward before Nathan realized his mistake.

"As of the first of this month. Prior to that he was C-in-C Southwest Asia."

After a pause, Jan frowned, shaking her head as she dismissed another unsolicited and very troubling thought that popped up in the back of her min...

About this edition

• Publisher: Forge Books
• Publication date: 2009
• ISBN 10: 0765318970
• ISBN 13: 9780765318978
• Binding: Hardcover
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 336