Super duper above top secret. Major Richard Heade read the security codes on the file and mentally translated the gibberish into his own terms – super duper above top secret. He skimmed the rest of the file, only looking for key points that might work for what he needed. Self healing armor that could withstand the abuses of warfare was, as far as he was concerned, something that might work.
It seemed to be biological in origin. A parasite, if the report was correct. More like a comic book concept than real science, but his job required a certain flexibility of thought not usually found in in U.S. Army officers. He drank his cold coffee without noticing and thought about it.
An observer would have considered Heade conventionally good looking. Gym fit, a notch taller than average, a face shaped face and all of his hair and teeth. He blended as well as any chameleon, appearing in his mid-thirties though he was actually over fifty. Only an occasional gleam of savage intelligence about the eyes gave any hint to his real personality. And the rare half-laugh he was careful to conceal from those around him.
Presently, he called for someone to transport the file back to whatever secret cave it normally resided in, and made a phone call.
“I need volunteers for a hazardous project.”
“Really? I need a foot massage and a tropical vacation.” Dee Riley did not sound enthusiastic, but she rarely did. Her primary job was to tell people no; she seemed to enjoy it. Heade brought up his mental image of her, a fireball clothed in various coffee shades from the dark roast that was her hair and eyes, to the cappuccino of her skin.
“This has documented potential to save lives and reduce the future number of soldiers needed in the armed forces.”
“You sound almost sincere. How long did you practice in front of the mirror?”
“I don’t need practice. I need volunteers.” Heade kept his voice pleasant. Showing anger would get his request immediately blocked. Riley knew her power, and used it. Heade admired her for it.
“Try the senator from Texas.” Riley ended the call without notice, then put her feet up on the desk to consider how this might work out. She then put an order in with her broker. This could be profitable.
Heade mentally composed his key selling points for the project before writing up his proposal. No hurry. It was best to use official channels for this one. He just needed a cool code name to sell it properly.
“The Good Shepard Project has immediate potential to save the lives of those who protect and serve our country and to reduce the need for a standing army in this world of ever increasing conflict.” Major Heade glanced briefly at his notes, suppressing a smile, before going on to explain his concept. They were going to buy it. He could see it in the posture of the committee members. They liked the name. At least three of them had perked up and turned toward him right after he announced the project name.
He took his time with the rest of the presentation, bringing up his key points and noting reactions for future use. He felt confident as he made his final pitch.
“The security of our nation requires infantry that can rapid deploy anywhere on the globe, defend U.S. interests with no troop losses, and dominate the battlefield so completely that no one, NO ONE, will threaten the security of our great nation as we lead the world in providing peace.” Heade bowed his head as if in prayer. He needed a moment to regain his composure. That last bit was a bit much, even for him.
Applause brought him back into his role. He shut his mind down and kept to the script. “Thank you for your time, honorable members of the committee.” He let the Senator from Texas dismiss him and walked out. He had volunteers to interview.
***
“You want what?” Casey Malone was skeptical by nature and readily admitted he was not that smart. Which is how he ended up “volunteering” for what seemed to be a real messed up way to get killed. Malone had no interest in being killed. Not until after he’d had a chance to spend his paycheck this weekend.
Heade patiently explained the program again.
“Sure, better than the crap I’m doing now. You said there was a bonus?” Misty images of mistier cold drinks served with those stupid umbrellas on sand that had an ocean attached to it clouded his thoughts.
Heade smiled very slightly. “Yes.”
“Whelp, count me in.” Malone could already see himself a hero, with parades and free food and people looking up to him.
“Congratulations on being a Good Shepard. You are a true American Hero. My admin will go over the paperwork with you.” Major Heade stood to signal the interview was over.
Malone left, smiling. Heade waited until he could hear voices in the outer office before reviewing his team of volunteers.
It was a pretty decent roster of six: three women, three men. Heade had a particular interest in recruiting women for this project, but an all women team would have upset the senator, so he had included an equal number of men. He realized he had forgotten to mention that the armor was sensitive to testosterone. Sensitive in a bad way. He messaged his admin to schedule the team for weekly blood draws to monitor this. It would be important later.
The voices faded in the outer office and Heade reviewed the program notes. Six weeks. He had six weeks to make this work. He felt confident, having pulled off the difficult to impossible many times before. This would be no different. Heade allowed himself a genuine smile.
“Let’s get this party started
The words echoed in the empty room.
To be continued …
original work by Mercedes Delacruz
c June 2023
MercyJ Writes 