5
Since he already knew what Deathguards were, Rader figured out the implications even before the counselor came and rather impatiently explained his new situation. He’d had enough time in the med-center bed to draw his own conclusions.
“Your family has been notified of your heroic death, and the Earth League gave you a funeral with full military honors.” He realized afterward that she did not use his name. “We sent home a clean packaged uniform, along with a posthumous medal of honor. The heirs designated on your enlistment form will receive a generous military combat pension.”
His throat made noises, and he had to try several times before he could form the words. “Thank you.”
She brushed the comment aside. She was rattling off a memorized speech and didn’t want to be interrupted. “I regret to inform you that you are a terminal case. What remains of you belongs entirely to the Earth League. We will provide and maintain the machinery that keeps you alive.” The counselor leaned closer to Rader. “We supply all of the equipment and components to make you whole again, temporarily. If you choose not to accept reconfiguration as a Deathguard, we will reclaim that equipment.”
“Expiration …?” He wanted to say much more, articulate a full sentence, but the counselor understood.
“How long will you last? Is that what you’re asking? It varies. Each Deathguard is different, depending on the scope of injuries that put you here and the quality of the interface between your remains and our equipment.” She looked down at a screen, touched a tab that activated his chart. “Not much left of you. I’m surprised you made it to the life-support bed on the rescue shuttle … in fact, I’m amazed they bothered to carry the scraps there in the first place.” Frowning, the counselor read further. “Ah. No other survivors from your squad. The Information Bureau must have needed to salvage something from the mission.”
Rader didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to recall his family either, or his friend Cody, or Earth. He wasn’t supposed to have anything to look forward to. He was just an afterimage of his life.
“Look on the bright side, soldier. If you accept, you’ll have years, or months, or weeks to keep up the fight—extra time that you wouldn’t have had. When the Jaxxans try to understand our strategy and tactics, Deathguards are our ace in the hole, an element of random destruction they simply cannot predict.” He had seen more convincing smiles on plastic mannequins. “You could well be the key to winning this war.”
Rader had heard the pitch before, had even believed it when he went through basic training. He didn’t argue. Judging by the counselor’s flippant attitude, he imagined that she had little difficulty convincing other new Deathguards. He allowed them to put him back together again, Humpty-Dumpty in combat gear.
With the potential for malfunctions building day by day, the Base was anxious to get him tested and functional and back out onto the front lines. When they brought Rader up to speed on his defenses and prosthetics, he seemed to have one of everything he needed. The components functioned to design specs. He had his armor, his weapons, and his training.
Occasionally, during test exercises, he would catch glimpses of his skin, small patches that showed in between the armor plate. His flesh was so burned and scarred it looked like wadded, dried leather. He had no desire to see what he really looked like anymore.
He was trained to shoot automatically, accurately, and without remorse. A Werewolf Trigger had been implanted in his brain, activated by stress and perceived danger in a battlefield situation. And his self-preservation drive was dampened.
Without mentioning Rader’s name, Commissioner Sobel introduced him with great fanfare in a cheery patriotic broadcast sent out by the Information Bureau. “I give you the newest member of the Deathguard!” He raised Rader’s gauntleted arm. Cheers resounded from the soldiers who had gathered at the Base for the formal announcement.
Despite the celebrations, Rader knew he could never be around people again. The Werewolf Trigger was like a firing pin in his brain, a siren that sounded off at oddball times. A Deathguard couldn’t live back at the Base, nor bunk with other soldiers, not even fraternize with them. If something triggered his rampage, Rader could rack up countless casualties before he was terminated. From now on, he would be on his own.
The Commissioner’s voice grew more somber. “Unfortunately, peace negotiations have broken down. Neither side is talking, and I don’t expect the situation to improve. We’ll need our Deathguards now more than ever.”
More than a hundred of the deadliest, most powerful soldiers had been turned loose on the battlefield. Rader would join them, without comrades, in a last independent mission to create as much havoc as possible until his systems failed.