Брюс Бетке - Expendables

"Sorry my friend was so loud," he mumbled as he handed his charge card to the barmaid. "He's had a very exciting day."

The barmaid smiled and started toting up the bill. "Oh, he's your friend, then?" She ran the card through the reader and handed it back. "The way you two act, I'd thought him a spoiled child and you his nanny." She smiled again and gave the charge slip to Meredith; he added in 50 percent and signed it. "Thank you, sir!" she said when she saw the tip.

Meredith shrugged. "It's not my money. You want more?"

Her smile fell. "I'd hoped you were above that. Why is it all you Americans think all the hotel help are prostitutes?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean it that way." Meredith tried to give her a real smile, but felt his professional smile coming on and decided to leave his face blank instead. "I just thought I'd share the company's largess. One hired hand to another."

"Thank you, no." She picked up a few ashtrays and dumped them in the rubbish. "And if you don't mind advice from someone young enough to be your third wife, stop thinking of yourself as hired help. It leads to feeling you are a prostitute. I know." Someone at the other end of the bar called for her, and she stepped away.

Meredith tucked the card back in his billfold and decided to check out the Valkyrie film festival.

Sally and one of the younger active duty men were standing just outside of the Soweto Room. She was holding a glass of champagne in her hand and expounding on the military's legitimate role in domestic politics; he was nodding seriously and intently watching her breasts. Meredith threaded through the knot of people standing just inside the door and found a vacant bit of wall at the back of the darkened room, near the Senator. The screen at the other end of the room showed silent images of moving smoke and sky.

"Here you see the small-arms fire detector at work," Ryan was pointing out. "Two of the other birds have registered the muzzle pressure wave from a Kalashnikov, and this bird is going to vector in on…ah, here we go."

The Valkyrie whipped into a dizzying turn and dove through the smoke. For a fraction of a second, a man holding a rifle was clearly visible. Then a stream of tracers leapt out to meet him and he was lost in smoke and dust.

The picture cut to a shot of peaceful brown plains rolling by. "Now this is the view from the third attack wing," Ryan said. "They're coming in from the southwest at treetop level." Meredith could feel the rise as the Valkyrie tracked up the slope of a slight ridge; somebody in the darkened room yelled, "Whee!" as it came down into the green Nossoh River valley.

Most of the rebel camp was already surrounded by massive fires. As the camera closed in, another Valkyrie darted across the screen and gouged an angry orange napalm claw mark through the brush. "Look at that synchronization!" Klein shouted from somewhere near the front of the room.

"You can't do that with crewed aircraft!" The camera burst through the wall of flame and came on the center of the camp, where it spotted an open truck loaded with — women? children? Meredith found it hard to tell — bouncing off to the left. The Valkyrie corrected slightly, but before it fired, an incendiary burst near the truck and the people were enveloped in a cloud of searing white phosphorus.

Ground and sky swirled as the bird executed a tight turn. When the view steadied again the Valkyrie was diving on the truck from another angle. The truck was ablaze but still moving; the bodies on the open bed were flaming cordwood. A few of them were still alive, though, even with burning phosphorus glued to their skins, and one rolled off the tailgate, tried to stand, and was caught in a spray of tracers. Then a TGAW streaked out to impact on the truck's cab and the camera swept over the scene.

Meredith shut his eyes tightly. He shut his eyes, and clenched his teeth, and listened to the pleased whispers and orgasmic gasps from the people in the dark room.

"The fourth attack wing delivered high explosives to the structures," Ryan said. "The best pictures of that activity came from the cameras of the first wing." Meredith opened his eyes long enough to see a large shed disintegrating in an HE blast. The shed was plainly marked with a red cross on a white flag. "As you can see, we do have a minor problem with the pattern recognition algorithm."

"Piece of cake!" Klein shouted. "We'll fix it in the next revision!"

"Here's the last reel," Ryan concluded. "After taking all the assigned and opportunity targets, the birds made several low-speed passes over the target to verify mission completion." Meredith blinked away the tears and opened his eyes again. The camera was taking a slow, leisurely pass over the camp; where the M77's had fallen, the ground and everything on it was churned into a brown, featureless mass. Where they hadn't fallen, though, it was littered with wreckage, craters, burning vehicles, broken dark things that might have been bodies….

Meredith sagged to his knees, choking on the bile rising in the back of his throat. Putting out his hands to steady himself, he brushed against a large wastebasket.

He vomited into the wastebasket. Quietly, wrackingly, until there was nothing left in his stomach but an old and bitter feeling, and still he kept doubling up and retching. Quietly.

"Well," the Senator boomed as the lights came up, "I must say, that was a most convincing demonstration! Doctor Klein, you have completely removed any doubts I may have felt about the Valkyrie system, and I am pleased to say that you can count on my whole-hearted support in the upcoming hearings!

"Gentlemen, we have today witnessed the dawning of a new age in miliatary aviation! No longer will brave men needlessly risk their lives—" the Senator stopped, and sniffed. "What's that smell?" he uttered. Then he looked down to see Meredith with his head still in the wastebasket.

"Colonel Meredith, sir, are you all right?"

Meredith looked up, a feral gleam in his eyes. Slowly, unsteadily, he got to his feet and leaned in close to the Senator. "No Senator," he growled, his breath sour with the reek of vomit. "I am sick." The Senator tried to edge away, but Meredith followed him. "I am sick of you, Senator. I am sick of this pathetic little country we're in. And I am sick unto death of this whole God-damned business."

A ghastly hush settled over the room as people realized that something was happening. "I am sick of feeling like a prostitute!" Meredith shouted. "I am sick of telling people like you exactly what you want to hear, no more, no less." He spun around to face the rest of the room. "Are you listening? This time I'll tell you what I want to say!"

"Klein!" Meredith pointed. "Klein, you are a little boy at a crowded beach, throwing rocks just to see how far they go. Where do the rocks come down, Klein? Do you ever think of that? Or isn't people's pain real for you?" The doctor sat there, slackjawed and uncomprehending.

"Chambers!" Meredith shouted at the corporate vice-president. "Today we murdered, what, 50 people? A hundred people? But it wasn't murder, was it, because we killed them with the full approval of their government! How do you sleep at night, knowing that you make your living keeping sadists and thugs in power?" The corporate VP sputtered something and tried to form a retort, but Meredith had turned back to the Senator.

"And Senator Brock! You know what the Valkyrie really does? It makes killers obsolete!" Meredith grabbed the Senator by the lapels and leaned in close; Brock shrank from his breath. "You should never make killers obsolete, Senator. Killing is a close and personal thing. You need to smell their fear when you kill them. You smell afraid, Senator. Are you afraid?" The Senator tried to back away, but found he was up against the wall.