Joe Haldeman - Future Weapons of War

“Yes, sir!” we shouted. My throat felt hoarse.

The sergeant narrowed his eyes, even though his back was the one to the sun. “That friend is your new weapon. The SM-rifle.”

I blinked. I had never heard of the SM-rifle. From the vibes I was getting off my colleagues, neither had anyone else.

A covered truck had been parked next to the sergeant; the door opened and two soldiers jumped out. One of them moved to the back of the truck and began unloading boxes; the other one set up a folding table.

The sergeant glanced at the soldiers briefly, then turned back to us. “You’re probably wondering what the SM-rifle is. Well, in a few minutes you’ll find out.

“As I call your name, come up here, get your rifle from the corporal, and return to your position. You may examine your rifle, but do not turn it on. Understand?”

“Yes, Sergeant!” we all shouted, despite our confusion. How did one “turn on” a rifle? Why didn’t he warn us to treat the weapon as if it were loaded? He didn’t really want us flagging our weapons, did he?

Having my last name in the middle of the alphabet meant that I got to watch as others got their rifles—excuse me, their SM-rifles—and brought them back to their positions. I noticed a lot of us straining to get a better look.

Finally, the sergeant called my name. I trotted up to the table where the corporal sat. I recognized her from the mess tent; she worked in the administrative section of the base, so we never interacted. Which was a shame, as she was a cute redhead whose hair flowed out from under her cap, not cut to the regulation buzz like the rest of us. As she opened the box and handed me my rifle and sling, I smiled at her. She flashed a smile at me in the space of a moment and then was back to being all business. I felt eyes on the back of my head and turned around to see the sergeant glaring at me.

As quickly as I could, I ran back to my position with the rifle, and then began to study it. The rifle was a lot heavier and bulkier than the zip guns I’d been used to popping on the streets before I had been drafted. Come to think of it, it was wider than any other rifle I had ever seen before. Its length seemed right, though; I hefted it up and found that the rifle had a sight attached to the top. The stock and barrel were both made of a dark metal, which absorbed the sunlight. And sure enough, it had an on/off switch on the trigger housing, right next to the safety.

Within a few minutes, all the rifles had been distributed and the sergeant shouted, “Tench-hut!”

Immediately, we stood at attention, with the rifles balanced in one hand, the butt resting on the ground.

The sergeant smiled, deliberately showing all his teeth. “In the olden days, sergeants used to tell the apes under their command that their weapon was their best friend. Well, for the first time in history, it’s actually true.

“Hold your SM-rifle so you’re looking at the right side. You’ll notice a tiny screen that’s camouflaged to look like the rest of the metal. That screen will display all sorts of information once your rifle is activated. You’ll probably ignore it most of the time, though, except when your rifle’s unable to talk.”

Unable to talk? Since when did rifles talk?

“SM stands for Simulated Mind. Remember that medical test where the lab coats put that helmet on your head for an hour?”

I remembered. That helmet had been heavy, and it hurt. I spent the rest of the day massaging the aches out of my neck.

“What you didn’t know at the time was that a new technology was recording the patterns of your mind. Your memories, your thoughts, but most importantly, your personalities. Your engrams have been imprinted on your SM-rifles.” He paused. “That means that your rifle knows you better than you know yourself.”

A lot of us must have given the sergeant an incredulous look, because he said, “I know you’re finding that hard to believe. But after you spend a fewhours with your rifle, you’ll come to see it’s the truth

“Your SM-rifle is yours. It knows you and you only, and it is bonded to you. Its sole job is to keep you alive and shooting. You and your SM-rifle are now a team. Which means…”

The sergeant paused for a moment, and when he spoke again, he spoke softly but strongly.

“Do not pick up another soldier s rifle. Do not lose your rifle. When you go to the latrine, your rifle goes with you. When you go to the shower, the rifle goes with you. When you’re not in combat, keep your rifles battery pack charged. When you go to sleep at night, you’d better be hugging your goddamn rifle like you’re a crybaby and it’s your teddy bear. Understand?”

“Yes, Sergeant!” we all shouted.

“Now, fall out and get to know your weapon.” He smirked.

The flat ground extended as far as the eye could see. Most of the other trainees scattered away from the sergeant and the truck. I decided to do the opposite; if I screwed up, I didn’t care if he knew it.

So I walked over to the area behind the truck and studied my SM-rifle.

I flipped the on switch. The SM-rifle hummed for a moment, and the tiny screen glowed blue.

Then it spoke.

“Hello, Johnny,” it said. The voice sounded calm, friendly, and gender-neutral.

“Um, hello,” I replied. “You know my name?”

“Indeed I do. I’ve been programmed with everything you know.”

That sounded freaky, but I let it pass. “Well, you know my name. What do I call you?”

“You may choose a name for me.”

“How about Sam? Short for Samantha.”

I swear to God the rifle chuckled. “You know that over seventy percent of soldiers pick Sam as their rifle’s name?”

“No, I didn’t. Does that mean I need to pick another name?”

“No, Sam’s fine. Want to get started trying me out?”

“So, urn, how do I load you?”

“You don’t. I don’t fire projectiles.”

“So what do you fire?”

“Let me show you. Sweep me around, please, until I can spot an appropriate target.”

“There’s nothing around for miles.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

I shrugged, but followed Sam’s request. Aiming it properly, I did a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn. “Well?”

“Hm,” Sam said. “There’s not much to aim at around here.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Still, they wouldn’t bring us out here without a reason. Go ask the sergeant if there are any targets around.”

“I’m sorry, what? You want me to approach the sergeant?”

“Trust me, will you? Let’s go ask him.”

I stared at the rifle for a moment, then hefted it over my shoulder and walked over to the sergeant, who was supervising the return of the boxes to the truck. “Sergeant?”

He turned to me. “Yes, soldier?”

“My weapon suggested I ask you for a target to shoot.”

The sergeant smiled. “Of course. I suspect the others will be coming over soon.” He called to the corporal, who went into the back of the truck and brought out a bundle of wooden poles, each a little less than a meter long.

“Take one of those, stick it in the ground somewhere, and find a rock to put on top of it.”

I goggled. “Seriously, Sergeant?”

“You have a problem with my order, Recruit?”

“With all due respect, Sergeant, wedon’t even have an RSO with us.”

The sergeant smiled. “Your SM-rifles are all linked to know where each one is at all times,” he said. “It’ll serve as both the range safety officer and the drill instructor.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” I said. I grabbed the stick with my left hand and wandered off, further from the truck than I had gone before. As I looked for an isolated spot, I noticed a few of the other soldiers heading to the truck.