Collateral Damage

U.S. Air Force Fact Sheet

2030 hours. Friday, 13 May 2016: The Pentagon, Washington D.C. Emergency meeting of the Joint Chiefs of Staff:

U.S. Army Colonel Nathan McDaniel clicked a stud on his Smart Phone. A scene of mass destruction appeared on the 70-inch wall screen. "From Jalalabad, Afghanistan less than one hour ago their time. Bombing of a police station with a crowd of potential recruits. It's well organized and precise. The explosive device was located so as to produce optimum results, followed by a similar device that went off ten minutes later after the first responders had arrived. 64 dead, injured, or missing. Our investigators will be on the scene by tomorrow around noon."

"This is a priority, Nate." The JCS Chairman said. "Keep on it."

1700 hours, Monday 23 May:

The search had continued for several days following the Jalalabad attack. JCS advisor Colonel Nathan McDaniel reported to the Department of the Army, the Department of Defense, and the Joint Chiefs of Staff in a classified meeting. "This is a new bad guy," he told them.

"Why so?" the Chairman asked.

McDaniel took a swallow of coffee. "New bomb signature, sir. Fragments of wiring and timing components indicate a much more sophisticated design. The details are in your classified handouts. This is a smart one. He assembles explosive devices while wearing latex gloves to avoid DNA traces. We have no leads yet."

"Thank you, Nate. Well done. We will spread the word."

In the following weeks, there were two similar attacks closer to Kabul. Both involved police or military barracks. High numbers of casualties. Bomb signatures the same. "Again, no clues," Colonel McDaniel reported to the JCS.

The Chairman nodded. "This guy is slick. Some recent internet chatter suggests that he may be on his way here. Keep your eyes open, Nate. Look for any Al Qaeda, Taliban or Hezbollah involvement."

"Count on it, sir. Our armed forces have been alerted."

Tuesday 31 May. An Al Qaeda safe house in the Wyoming wilderness:

"You have changed in two years, Abdul." Muhammad said.

"The skin lightening procedure and minimal reconstructive facial surgery were necessary so I could blend in here as an American," the man replied. "The most difficult part has been getting used to my infidel name."

"My Al Qaeda contact tells me you have an additional purpose besides Jihad. What would that be, Abdul?"

"My brother was murdered in a drone attack. You must never again refer to me by that name. I am Robert Glover, an American construction worker."

"I understand," Muhammad said. "My apologies."

Robert scowled. "We are wasting time. The infidels' venomous drones are murdering my compatriots."

"Your Afghanistan exploits were impressive. My contacts have recommended you. They have multiple civilian targets chosen for you. They also concur with your blood feud objective."

"I shall begin soon."

Friday, 17 June. 1030 hours:

DNA Laboratory, U.S. Army Medical Research Institute for Infectious Diseases, Fort Detrick, Frederick, Maryland.

37 year-old U.S. Army Major Jay Marquis tapped his six-digit ID on the keypad next to the door marked DNA Research. It opened with a smooth silicone swish. He shrugged out of his service green uniform jacket, folded it over a chair back, then undid his tie and donned a white laboratory smock. He grabbed a cup of coffee and booted up his desktop Mac. He hunt and pecked his findings with rapid index finger jabs. "Rats. Not even close," he sighed.

Elizabeth Sanford, a 26 year old black civilian laboratory technologist specializing in DNA testing asked, "What's wrong, Jay?"

Marquis, a tall brown haired man with blinking hazel eyes, gave her a tired smile. "Liz, your technique is faultless. I can't get enough Middle Eastern samples to get any closer to significant family indicators."

Liz rolled her eyes. "We have over a hundred thousand. You got pretty close with that Bin Laden lineage as I recall," the thin dark eyed woman with tidy cornrows said. "Within the same generation. That's pretty good."

He nodded. "Yeah, but I think trying to pinpoint single individuals within families is a waste of time."

Three spaced taps on the door. It whispered open when Marquis acknowledged the code and pressed a key. Jay's civilian biogenetics lab friend William Fielder stuck his head in. Marquis smiled. "Anything new in DNA technology, Bill?" he asked.

"That's why I'm here." He pulled over a lab stool, set his iPad on a desktop, and tapped a key. "Take a look at this."

Sanford eyed the screen for a few seconds. "A good DNA pattern. Caucasian from central Asia or Siberia," Liz said. "So why show us this, Bill? I've got thousands of them in our files."

Fielder nodded. "All those were from live tissue samples. This result is from a local tribesman's bare neck. A research drone camera took it from 1500 feet over central Russia. He's Tungus with a little Mongol mixed in."

Jay gave him a questioning look. "From a UAV? In your dreams, Bill. Whatever you've been smoking, I want some." Then he turned and gave Liz a hard stare when she tried to stifle a giggle.

"It's noninvasive molecular imaging enhanced by a new long range optics system, Jay. I've modified it to record DNA patterns."

"Okay, I know you've done it in the lab with live skin cells. You're telling me you can get the same info from almost a quarter of a mile away?"

He gave Jay a grin. "I run the images through a series of specialized filters that can identify the four nucleotides in the DNA double helix by individual refractive indices. Look here." He brought up a series of DNA patterns on his iPad. "It took me a while to get images this clear."

Jay nodded. "Very nice, Bill. Any chance you could fly a drone over some known Al Qaeda, Taliban or Hezbollah areas?"

"We've tried it. Too dangerous for our fragile research drone. It was shot down by a Syrian jet fighter. I need a Predator or one of those new Reapers."

"We're impressed, Bill. Tough order, but let me make a couple of phone calls.

There is a hidden complex near the Canadian border in Idaho. It consists of two nondescript buildings and a long trailer sprouting dish antennas similar to those at the distant Mountain Home Air Force Base. The trailer consists of offices and computer complexes. The control room features a pilot's seat facing a CRT screen flanked by instrument panels and digital readouts. The screen shows real time progress of Reaper drones in flight.

Monday, 20 June. 2040 hours:

U.S. Air Force Major Marianne Bryan, a 36-year-old dark haired woman with ice-blue eyes has four years experience in remote UAV control. She sits in the pilot's seat wearing a UNC Tarheels sweatshirt and Levis. Her MQ-9 Reaper drone is overflying a mountainous region of Afghanistan. She jabs in longitudes and latitudes received over her ear buds with unmitigated fury. Bryan responds in her soft North Carolina accent, "Roger, Mountain Home. I have eyes on targets. Twelve, repeat twelve Taliban on foot in native garb."

She spat an angry expletive. "I'd have a clear shot for a Hellfire."

"Copy, Reaper Six. You are cleared to descend to 900 feet and commence photo run."

Major Bryan gave a sigh of frustration and pressed the black button on the joystick. "Camera engaged. Tracking individual targets. Head coverings and beards obscure most of targets. Bare skin on arms in three."

"Copy, Reaper Six. Well done. You're set up for another run over the Kabul area tomorrow, 1230 hours their local time."

"Dammit. Why can't I use my Hellfires? I need to be blowing up bad guys, not taking their pictures."

"Understand," Mountain Home responded. "Do not, repeat, do not engage. This is above our pay grades. Orders from the Pentagon."

"Major Bryan, you have a cleared visitor waiting in the lounge," the PA system informed her.

The man stood and offered his hand. "Jay Marquis, Major. I'm a researcher at the Fort Detrick DNA Research lab in Maryland. I'm here to clarify the change in your mission." He laid an official appearing document on a small coffee table. "My clearance comes from the Pentagon."

Marianne's response was sharp and indignant as she declined the handshake. "I know who you are, Major Marquis. My primary purpose is hunting down and destroying bad guys with Hellfire missiles, not taking their pictures with a fancy camera. Please explain."

He nodded. "I apologize, Major Bryan. I'm involved in a confidential Department of Defense project involving identification of potential terrorist threats by advanced DNA techniques. I'll admit I pulled some strings when I was told that you're the Air Force's best Reaper pilot."

She gave Jay a faint blush and took a chair. After reading the documents, she stood and grasped his hand. "How can I help you, Major Marquis?"

"Please call me Jay." He opened a battered tan briefcase and spread more documents out on the table. "You have Q-7 clearance so you are authorized to view these."

As she read, her face assumed a mystified look. "Nucleotides. I remember this from a college course. Submicroscopic, as I recall. And these determine our DNA configuration? How do you distinguish them individually without a bunch of weird stains, Jay?"

He nodded. "More new technology. It's called refractive indexing. Each of the four DNA nucleotides bends light in a different direction based on the location of a certain phosphate in its molecular matrix. We do this through a series of specialized lenses."

"I understood about every sixth word, Jay, but I'm impressed. My DNA pattern is on file with the D.O.D. Tell me where I'm from."

He nodded. "A test. Okay, no problem." Marquis tapped on his iPad for several seconds then slid the device over so Marianne could view the screen. "Tell me if I'm close."

Major Bryan read, blinked. "Wow. Southeast United States. Virginia or Carolinas. Several historical families, including Bryan. Okay, how do I catch bad guys with your DNA photos?"

"I am able to identify individuals belonging to various Middle Eastern tribes, including Taliban," Jay said. "I cannot I.D. single individuals by name, but a single Taliban could be identified by his native garb and DNA profile."

"I can zap him with a Hellfire missile." She paused. "But what if he's in a crowd of innocent civilians?"

Jay nodded and sighed. "Good question." He stood and paced, rubbed his chin and blinked. "Yes," he agreed. "Collateral damage. I suppose it would depend on the value of the target."

"I can understand that. We have looked at a number of other possibilities," Bryan said. "None are within reach of our current technology."

"Possibilities? Like what, Marianne."

She took a deep breath, did a slow exhale. "Some third world countries are marketing an anti-personnel CO2 laser weapon. Problem is, it's bulky and can't be fired from a drone. We're still looking, but no luck so far."

Jay nodded. "What about mounting a long range sniper rifle on your Reaper?"

She smiled. "You must read a lot. The fiction novelists are ahead of us on that one. We've tested it in simulated crowds. The shot was affected by the slightest deviation of wind currents. In those replications it wasn't very accurate, there was still collateral damage."

"Looks like we both have a ways to go yet, Marianne. How about I buy you a drink and we can discuss this further?"

She smiled. "I'd like that, but I'm back behind my screen in fifteen minutes. Rain check?"

Jay returned her smile. "Count on it."

1130 hours Friday, 8 July. Al Qaeda safe house in Wyoming.

"An infidel drone guidance base is my target, Muhammad."

A look of concern crossed his handler's face. "Very dangerous, Robert. High security."

"I am very close. I have been accepted for a construction crew there."

"Where would this be, Robert?"

"It is in Idaho, near the Canadian border. I'll let you know when I have checked it out more thoroughly. There is another project right now. The first for our Al Qaeda Jihad."

"And many more. Allah be praised," Muhammad agreed.

0945 hours, Wednesday 27 July:

CNN and Fox News are reporting explosions at a Pavilions Shopping Center near Cleveland and Shaker Heights in Ohio. Initial reports estimate 28 deaths, 60 injured, 24 missing. Many of the casualties were the result of a secondary blast after first responders had arrived.

1130 hours the same day:

"It's him," Colonel McDaniel reported to the Joint Chiefs of Staff in a hastily convened meeting at the Pentagon. "Crowds of shoppers, signature bomb timing and wiring components identical to those in Afghanistan. No DNA traces."

"This could be either Jihad or a blood feud," McDaniel told them.

The Chairman nodded. "Or both. Do we have anything current?"

"We've examined hundreds of up close satellite photos, including the recent Afghanistan hits. There were three instances of drone strikes in the Middle East that ended with collateral damage. In two instances an entire family died. In a case three years ago, there were two brothers. One killed, the other missing."

"What do we know about the missing brother?"

"Abdul Hashmi. Saudi family. We've asked Saudi Intelligence to fax us a photo if they have one, sir. He could be our terrorist."

"Good. Keep us updated."

1335 hours the same day. The DNA lab, Fort Detrick:

Major Jay Marquis grabbed the single sheet of paper spat out by the HP printer. His brow furrowed as he read. "This is a heads-up about this terrorist from Afghanistan, Liz. He's here." He handed her the report of the Cleveland attack. "Please get Major Bryan on the horn. I need to know if she got any Reaper shots near the strikes near Kabul and Jalalabad."

Liz smiled. "She's your friend who flies Reaper drones, right? Anything going on between you two?"

Major Marquis smiled. "Not yet."

Thirty minutes later Marianne returned his call. "Hi Jay. I read the same directive about Cleveland. My Reaper was on a photo mission about 45 miles southeast of Kabul on May 13th. Caught a partial shot of the event. "Lots of civilian traffic in the area. Hope that DNA technique of yours gets some hits. Those photos are being streamed to you now."

1430 hours:

"I've got DNA markers of thirteen individuals, Jay," Liz Sanford said. "See if you're seeing the same thing I am."

Marquis lined up the enhanced photos of each individual in the crowd and matched the DNA pattern with each one. He did a double take and handed one of the photo sets to Liz. "They are all Afghani except this guy."

Liz nodded. "He's Saudi or Yemeni. Very pale for an Arab. This means what, Jay?"

"I'll find out." He grabbed his Smart Phone and punched numbers.

His call was answered in seconds. "Major Jay Marquis. You're the Fort Detrick DNA researcher I've heard about." Colonel McDaniel said.

"I am, sir. I've been following your discourse with the Joint Chiefs," Jay responded. "I've got some good information."

"There's been an attack near Cleveland, Jay."

"We know. What have you heard, sir?"

"That you have found a way to identify individual DNA patterns by long range photography from UAVs. Is that correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"It is imperative that we meet, Jay. This is a matter of national security. You will need to come to the Pentagon tomorrow morning."

Thursday, 28 July, 0930 hours. Colonel McDaniel's conference room. The Pentagon:

McDaniel was a 50 year-old man with dark hair showing tinges of gray in the sideburns. He had opted for civilian dress consisting of a white polo shirt over tan slacks. "There's one other on the way," he said.

There was a tap on the door. Nate nodded as he eyed the late arrival. "Good. You made it, Major Bryan."

"Orders from the Pentagon, sir. I had half an hour to grab my gear and rearrange my coverage. I was flown in the back seat of an F-22 Raptor to Andrews Air Force Base. Ground wheels, lights and siren all the way. Sorry I'm late."

Nate glanced at his watch and nodded. "Grab some coffee and take a seat, Major."

Marquis smiled at Marianne's surreptitious wink. He said, "Our phone conversation yesterday conveyed urgency, Colonel. Here's how DNA profiles and UAV technology come together."

He explained.

McDaniel nodded. "This guy has eluded us so far, but new information has given us a name. Abdul Hashmi. His brother Mumtaz died in a drone attack three years ago in Afghanistan. Abdul disappeared shortly thereafter. A vendetta could be his motive. I think he's our terrorist."

The Al Qaeda safe house, about the same time:

"I have received disturbing information from Al Qaeda espionage sources, Robert," Muhammad said. "A Reaper pilot at the Idaho facility was on duty the day your brother was murdered. It is a woman. Their Air Force's best drone pilot."

Robert's body trembled with rage as he hyperventilated. "My brother was murdered by a woman?" he raged. "Why has Allah turned his face from me?"

Muhammad remained calm. "Robert, Al Qaeda wants a change of plan. You are to concentrate on Jihad targets for now."

"I must deal with this infidel whore in person," Robert screamed.

Muhammad's face grew pale, his brow dotted with beads of sweat. He stammered, "Abdul, pardon me, Robert, that is an impossible task. The risk of having you identified is too great. Your usefulness to Al Qaeda would be jeopardized. I cannot allow you to... "

Robert shook his head. "Muhammad, I have observed this place for weeks. My identity as a construction expert has allowed me access to the drone site. When I confirm what you say, I will act. I will not be denied my vengeance. This vile infidel who murdered my brother will die."

"You must remain cautious, Robert," Muhammad pleaded. "Why not just rig an explosive device. You do have the expertise."

Robert/Abdul's dark eyes glared. "Muhammad, I must be looking into her eyes as the life flows out of her."

Colonel McDaniel's conference room. 1305 hours the same day:

"I understand some Reaper film from the Jalalabad incident was obtained, Major Bryan. DNA profiles were obtained. Is that correct?" McDaniel asked.

"Yes, sir."

McDaniel nodded. "Are any of your DNA profiles consistent with a Saudi or Yemeni?"

Jay responded, "Confirmed, sir."

McDaniel nodded. "Good. The Saudis have faxed me a driver's license photo of Abdul Hashmi, but it's old." He passed it around. "He was a teenager when he lived there. Any thoughts on his possible whereabouts?"

"What about in a work gang, sir?" Marianne asked. "There's a ten or fifteen man crew of construction workers employed at my station."

There was a stunned silence. "Idaho," Jay muttered.

"How secure are you there, Marianne?" Nate asked.

"We are isolated by design, Colonel. Army Special Forces patrol 24/7. We have high-level security screening on all construction workers. We must fly a drone with the DNA photo setup over my site, but established Reaper launch sites are out of range."

McDaniel said. "I'll get us some help from the Navy."

Friday 5 August. 1300 hours:

Robert said, "Muhammad, I have confirmed the identity of the female drone pilot. Her workday is between 2000 to 2300 hours. I will make my move at night."

"When, Robert?"

"Very soon."

"Be very certain, Robert. Al Qaeda is concerned that you are becoming too obsessed with your blood feud. I'm taking a big chance."

Monday, 8 August. 0745 hours:

On board the U.S. Navy Aircraft Carrier Ronald Reagan CVN-76, near Puget Sound. Executive Officer Commander Don Prudhomme's eyes grew wide when Commanding Officer Captain Ramon Salazar showed him the encrypted message just received. "Carrier Onboard Delivery?"

Salazar nodded. "A C-2A Greyhound is bringing an MQ-9 Reaper drone and its maintenance crew aboard today, Don. After reassembly, it will have wing fuel pods attached for extended flight. It will carry specialized photographic gear, but only carry one hellfire missile to reduce payload weight. The mission is highly classified."

Tuesday 9 August. 0840 hours:

The first carrier launched MQ-9 flyover of the Idaho facility drew a blank because of cloud cover. A second flyover at 1830 hours found a brief clearing. DNA patterns on 14 construction workers were obtained. In McDaniel's office Jay matched the photos with individual workers one by one.

Marianne leapt to her feet and gasped, "This one. He's Saudi."

"There is a problem," Nate McDaniel said. The entire construction crew and civilian employees would be collateral damage if a Hellfire missile is fired."

Marianne asked, "Do you consider him a high value target, Colonel McDaniel?"

"The highest, if we confirm his I.D."

Jay grabbed his Smart Phone. "I must speak to a colleague of mine at Fort Detrick."

Bill Fielder answered right away. "Hi jay. I see my long-range DNA photos are working out. What's up?"

"How good is the resolution of your DNA photo optics? Good enough for facial recognition?"

"No problem. I've got lots of pixels. I would need to use different software and lenses."

Jay said, "Do it now, Bill. This is time sensitive."

"No prob. I'll ring up my guys on the Ronald Reagan right now."

Friday 12 August. McDaniel's conference room:

"Any chance of me getting hold of a killer CO2 laser for the Idaho base?" Marianne asked.

"The only one is in Florida," McDaniel responded with a shrug of frustration.

He continued, "The Joint Chiefs and Department of Defense want this guy gone, whatever the cost. They will accept collateral damage."

"It's up to me then," Marianne whispered.

"Marianne, we've got to grab him and ship him off to gitmo," Jay pleaded.

"Won't work, Jay," she responded. "If he's captured in the U.S. he can't be sent to Guantanamo. He gets a civil or military trial with legal representation and gavel-to-gavel coverage by CNN and Fox News. He will spout his Jihadist B.S. on television. They won't give him the death sentence. The Jihadists would elevate him to martyr status and score a political coup. He gets life in a federal prison, maybe with possibility of parole. Hashmi remains a major threat. He could move around the country undetected and murder more civilians. This is our only chance to get him. He will come for me."

Jay pounded his coffee cup on the conference table until it cracked. "So Major Bryan is expendable, is that that what I'm hearing?"

Nobody spoke.

19.

When the meeting broke up, Marianne approached McDaniel. "May I have a word with you alone, Colonel?"

"Of course, Major."

She spoke in low, urgent tones. When she finished, she said, "You must pass this on to the Department of Defense now."

McDaniel was quiet for a full minute, and then nodded.. "I will pass your request on to the highest authority, Major Bryan."

Marianne replied, "There is no other way. I took an oath to defend my country from all enemies. Hashmi must be terminated with extreme prejudice, not captured. I'd better get going. My F-22 ride is waiting."

McDaniel punched a secure number on his Smart Phone. He spoke a few short words, then disconnected.

Wednesday, 17 August. 1230 hours:

"I will wait until the construction crew is finished today," Robert said. "I will remain hidden until it is time."

Muhammad shook his head. "Al Qaeda says you have become too obsessed with your vendetta. I agree. You have neglected your primary mission of Jihad. I forbid you..."

Robert's Ka-Bar killing blade's quick slash slit Muhammad's left carotid artery and his trachea in seconds. "You are wasting my time, old friend. I have an obligation to fulfill."

Colonel McDaniel's office, The Pentagon. 2030 hours:

"The circling Reaper is seeing movement about a half mile to your southeast," McDaniel reported. "A single individual approaching on foot. Facial recognition database I.D. is a match despite prior cosmetic surgery. This, plus positive DNA profile confirms subject is Abdul Hashmi. Are you seeing this, Major Bryan?"

"I am armed."

"Get her out of there now," Major Marquis implored.

"She's sending the civilians to their dormitory. The soldiers are ordered to stand down and depart the premises," McDaniel said. "I can tell you now, Jay, Major Bryan's actions are by her own design. She must confront Abdul Hashmi alone. He will show up only for her."

Major Marquis stared at the screen. "Marianne..."

The trailer offices were brightly lighted. Abdul Hashmi crept on tiptoes, so engrossed in his vendetta that he didn't notice the absence of support personnel. He eased the door to the drone control room open, Ka-Bar killing blade at the ready. He stopped, confused. His quarry sat quietly in the pilot's seat. Her demeanor was not one of fear but only unemotional detachment as she focused on the screen.

Robert/Abdul eased forward, switching the blade from one hand to the other. "You will know fear, infidel whore, and a lingering painful death,"

He snarled.

Major Marianne Bryan, clad in full dress Class A Air Force uniform, made unflinching eye contact. "Congratulations, Abdul. You will be pleased to know that our Department of Defense has designated you a target of most extreme high value. I will be merely collateral damage." She pressed the black button on the joystick.

The carrier launched MQ-9 Reaper's Hellfire missile strike left only ashes, twisted metal debris and a 4-foot deep crater.

THE END

Bio: Stories by E. S. Strout (M.D.), a.k.a. Gene or Gino, have appeared in Planet Magazine, Anotherealm, Millennium F&SF, Beyond-sf, Jackhammer (Eggplant Productions), Static Movement, and Bewildering Stories. And, of course, many of his stories have appeared in Aphelion (most recently Dimensional Shift, June 2013 and Asteroid, September 2013).

E-mail: E. S. Strout (Humanoids: replace '_AT_' with '@')

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