Perfect killer

CHAPTER 11

Twenty minutes later, Gabriel carried his notepad and the folder of materials the General had left in his room and made his way to the only new structure in the compound, a marble-sided pool house outfitted as Braxton's private office and conference room. A tall, beefy man with a discreetly shouldered sidearm stood by the multipaned glass doors of the pool house, saluted Gabriel, then opened the door for him. Braxton tried to hire the best of former military, including those from the Special Forces. Gabriel learned the General had even hired several veterans of Task Force 86M, Gabriel's old command. The most elite of the elite, 86M was a small, tight group of specialists.

Gabriel returned the salute. "Good morning."

"Morning, sir."

Inside, the door to the women's room opened as Gabriel stepped inside. He recognized Brigadier General Laura LaHaye as she emerged.

"Hey, Dan," she said as she offered her hand. She was a tall lean woman in her late forties with a long, pointed jaw, permanent scowl lines, heavy eyebrows, and three

Ph. D.'s. Gabriel knew her as the non-communicative head of an extensive, black-funded operation about which he had learned very little even when he worked for the Joint Chiefs. LaHaye controlled several super-secret operations attached to the Army's

Research, Development, and Engineering Command, but like himself, even those at the top of RDECOM did not know the full extent of her operations even as they were required to provide support and logistics for her work. Gabriel's access at the Pentagon allowed him to learn that she had significant operations at the Edgewood Chemical Biological Center at

Aberdeen Proving Ground in Maryland and, strangely at the DOD Combat Feeding

Program at the Natick, Massachusetts, Soldier Systems Center.

"Laura." He shook her warm, dust-dry hand. "Good to see you again." "It's been too long," she said, returning his handshake. "How's life up there on the

Hudson?"

He caught her insinuation immediately: "up there" meant ivory tower, out of touch with reality, and too far away from the orbits of military power circling the Pentagon. "Surprisingly stimulating; he replied, then made an obvious show of checking his watch. "Three minutes. We better get moving."

She nodded and the two of them followed the aroma of freshly brewed coffee to the conference room. When they entered, Gabriel spotted Clark Braxton in conversation with Defense Therapeutics CEO Walter Bentley and Wim Baaker, who was a top official with the NATO Pharma Lab in the Netherlands. With them was a short, round man

Gabriel did not recognize. The men stood by an antique mahogany sideboard covered with a lavishly arrayed continental breakfast heavy on yogurt, freshly sliced fruit, and cheese.

A single table had been set for them, its white tablecloth laid with gleaming silver flatware. An overhead projector sat on a metal projection stand next to the table. "Dan, Laura!" Braxton called out. He gave his watch a faint glance before smiling.

"Come on in and get some coffee before we start."

LaHaye and Gabriel nodded their greetings.

"You're looking well this morning Greg," LaHaye said to the pudgy man. "Thank you, Laura," the man said.

At the sideboard, all six people swapped handshakes and greetings. "Dan, I don't think you've met Greg McGovern," Braxton said of the short, round man. "Greg is the head of research and development at Defense Therapeutics.' Pastry crumbs clung to the corner of McGovern's mouth. He reeked of an overdose of expensive cologne. Braxton spoke often about this man, expressing his exasperation over the scientist's slovenly ways, but always conceding this as an acceptable trade-off for

McGovern's near-Hawking-like genius in molecular pharmacology.

"Pleasure," Gabriel lied as he shook McGovern's clammy hand slick with pastry butter. Gabriel resisted the immediate impulse to wipe his hand on the thigh of his pants. "Good," Braxton said as he picked up a plate and loaded it from the breakfast buffet. "Let's move along. We have a lot to cover this morning."

Gabriel made a pretense of spilling the first couple of pieces of fruit, which offered the opportunity to wipe off his hand as he cleaned up the convenient mess. Two audiovisual functionaries pulled down blackout shades over the numerous windows and lowered the screen in front of the overhead projector.

"Your standing in the polls has certainly skyrocketed," said CEO Walter Bentley. "My campaign people are awfully talented," Braxton said modestly "They've been working very, very hard."

"The Democrats and Republicans seem to be working hard for you as well,"

Bentley said with a chuckle. "The more mud their candidates sling, the better you look." "Well, it's still early in the primary season," said Braxton. "We have a long way to go to maintain our lead so we can lance the abscess which threatens our way of life." Braxton stood up, holding his coffee cup in one hand. The lights dimmed immediately, and from high up in the rear of the room came the whir of a projector fan. In front of the table, a simple graph filled the screen.

"Thank you very much for interrupting your tight schedules, but as you know, the elections are approaching, and because-God willing-Dan Gabriel's probably going to be the next secretary of defense, it's vital to bring him up to speed on the significant progress you're making." Braxton looked at each one and, in turn, got their nods of appreciation. "I have a series of briefings arranged for Dan, but I want him to have as much time as possible for him to get to know you all after this formal session is over." Again, nods all around. Then Braxton addressed Gabriel. "Dan, I know you're familiar with some of what I have to say, but bear with me because it's vital for establishing the context for addressing the single most serious problem facing American armed forces today: overextension and underfunding. "With his free hand, he pulled from his pocket a custom-made laser pointer, which had been built into a. 50-caliber round. "This data clearly shows that for the past thirty years, the number of personnel under arms and the net present value of defense appropriations, adjusted for inflation, have both been falling." His pointer emphasized the decline, then moved on to the bottom part of the slide. "At this very same time, global demands for U.S. military intervention have been rising." He paused for effect and took a sip from his cup.

"In short, every year we get more to do and less to do it with."

A new slide appeared.

"Technology leverages our effectiveness. Computers allow a single Apache attack helicopter pilot to deliver the firepower of an artillery battalion; advanced guidance systems mean one precision bomb can do the work that hundreds used to do; satellite and other electronic surveillance can give us usable data like never before."

He drained his coffee cup and set it on the table.

"The most recent Iraq war clearly proved the power of light, fast, smart troops. But it also demonstrated that the soldier has become the weak link now that gains from technology have plateaued."

Another slide appeared.

"Facing us with the necessity to improve the only part of our fighting force which has eluded efficiency so far: the soldier on the ground."

A new slide.

"You're all too familiar with the ultimate conundrum of victory; it can't be done from the air or from a ship; it can only be achieved by troops on the ground. But troops are not only financially costly, they can be politically disastrous when feet on the street turn into bodies on the ground. The relatively brittle nature of the average ground soldier complicates this mightily."

A bar chart appeared, showing every major conflict from the past 150 years. Braxton motioned for a refill of his coffee cup. When the white-uniformed waiter failed to respond instantly Gabriel felt, rather than saw, the nano-glint of nearincandescent anger flash across Braxton's face. From long years beside the general,

Gabriel recognized it for what it was. But for most others, the burst of fury was so brief it fell below the limits of conscious perception like a single motion-picture frame, leaving them only with a vague sense of danger and insecurity that compelled them to do what the

General commanded. Braxton exploited it ruthlessly to his advantage.

The waiter appeared in the projector's light and apologized as he refilled Braxton's cup. The General sipped from his cup and gave the waiter a warm, magnanimous nod. The waiter responded with a bow of respect and a broad, relieved smile.

Braxton turned to his small audience. Again, I know you're familiar with these facts. But it is critical to maintain focus on the problem." His laser pointer lingered on

1945. The heart of our new initiative has roots during World War Two. You're all familiar with the pivotal study by General S.L.A. Marshall, who found that only about fifteen percent of American troops actually fired their weapons at the enemy, even when attacked.

Fortunately for us, the German and Japanese troops exhibited identical firing rates, otherwise the conflict would have had a far darker outcome.

"We all know that Marshall has had his detractors over the years, but his conclusions have been verified over and over," Braxton continued. "We know that humans innately hesitate to kill other humans. This is good for the overall survival of the species, but awfully bad when you're trying to win a war."

He nodded and looked around the room to make sure he had every attendee's total attention. "It's critical to remember that heroism is not just about killing," Braxton continued. "We should remember that the vast, vast majority of those soldiers who did not shoot their own weapons nevertheless performed bravely. Some rescued wounded comrades, others valiantly transported ammunition for the fifteen percent who pulled their triggers.

"New infantry training instituted after WW Two tried to address this firing-rate issue. But while we increased the firing rate dramatically by Vietnam, we did not improve the kill rate because soldiers shot to miss." He shook his head. "The majority of average infantry troops still shoot to miss. I'm not, repeat, not talking Special Ops here or firstwave invasion forces like Marines or Airborne, but the average grunt who constitutes a vast majority of military personnel. Think about it: if we can produce a grunt who shoots to kill every time, we'd need only about one-fourth of the number of troops." Gabriel nodded. This metric was well-known among those assembled and thus drew no reaction.

The General paused for effect. "Do the math: it means we can deploy an efficient killing machine and need only one-fourth the tents, supplies, meals, hospitals, helicopters, doctors, and other logistical supply-chain expenses. A one hundred percent shoot-to-kill ratio will save billions!" He sipped from his cup. Then in a far softer voice he said, "I also don't need to tell you how much that decreases the political costs of war here at home.

Fewer bodies mean less opposition.

"But to enhance the killing power of this leaner force, we need something else."

Braxton nodded; the slide changed. "Call it battle fatigue or something more scientific, but in a modern ground war, some forty to fifty percent of casualties will be the psychiatric.

Only about two percent of troops are psychologically built to withstand sustained combat beyond about three weeks." He looked at Gabriel and nodded with a faint smile. "Today, thanks to some significant research and testing pioneered by Dr. LaHaye and her staff, we're pretty good at determining who those people are and steering them into one Special

Forces unit or another.

"The armed forces are thus faced with the seemingly impossible task of turning the other ninety-eight percent of ground troops into a smaller, more lethal Special Forces operation."

The screen went blank. "I say 'seemingly' because over the past ten years, Drs.

LaHaye and McGovern have focused their considerable intellectual power on the human pharmacological and psychological engineering aspect of this issue and have produced surprising results. Significantly Wim's laboratory has been able to develop the final pieces which will allow us to fully implement Laura and Greg's discoveries on a combat operations level."

The slide projector went dark.

"A new era of combat effectiveness will begin in just a handful of days," Braxton said as he walked back to his table. "We have found the formula for creating the perfect killing machine."