Ex-Patriots by Peter Clines Page A

could bark at us.
    “These are not going to be experiments,” he
told us. “I will not be putting any of you brave men and women at
risk. These are all established procedures, using tested drugs and
chemicals. With some of you the treatments will take and with some
they will not. But there will be no risk of... of what happened
before I got here.”
    Then the First Sergeant got up. He told us
we’d done our duty and everyone here had carried out the
requirements we’d signed up for. Even though they were keeping the
number, as far as the Army was concerned this was going to be
something new and the 456th was being disbanded. If we wanted out,
we’d be debriefed and reassigned. We had until tomorrow morning to
decide. He dismissed us.
    The young fella, Smith, started working the
crowd. He was shaking hands, asking questions, kissing asses. He
shook mine and asked if I was going to stick around and I told him,
yeah, I probably was. I said probably but I think even then I knew
I was going to be part of Project Krypton for the long haul. It
just felt like I belonged there.
    I moved to the front of the room and realized
a few fellas from Greyhound were behind me. I think we’d all been
ready to get a new assignment. Yuma was boring as hell, and we’d
all joined up to go overseas and kick some Al-Qaeda ass. If Smith
hadn’t said anything, I think we all would’ve walked out of the
room and started packing. Now it was almost a pride thing to finish
what we started.
    Colonel Shelly was having a talk up front
with the new doc. If it was anyone else, I’d say an argument, but I
knew the colonel didn’t do arguments. Or excuses.
    First Sergeant Paine was there. He locked
eyes with me and I knew enough to stop where I was and stand at
attention. I heard the fellas lock up behind me, too. A couple
people call him First Sergeant Bring-the-Paine, but not if he’s
anywhere nearby. So we stood there for a few minutes while they
talked and didn’t do anything except listen.
    “You can’t just throw him out,” the new doc
was saying. “He was in the Broadsword trials for four months.”
    “And now he’s out of them, Doctor,” Colonel
Shelly said, “just like everyone else.”
    “It’s not that simple. The drugs and
artificial hormones that idiot was filling them with are all
through his system. They’re stored up in his fat cells waiting for
him to have a flashback.”
    “You said he was clean. You also said if they
never had any reaction during the testing, odds are they never
would.”
    “In theory yes, but there’s always going to
be residual traces in his kidneys, his skin, his fat cells. His
tests said he was clean but like anyone with a history of drug use,
weight loss could cause a flashback and then it’s all back in his
system again.”
    “Well, hypothetically, what’s the worst that
can happen?”
    “I don’t know,” said Sorensen. “I’m still not
sure what caused the reaction in Jacobs and Lucas. There’s a dozen
possible triggers. Stress. Adrenaline. A disease that strains his
system. Potentially, any of it could cause spurts of muscle and
bone growth.”
    “And what are the odds?”
    “It could happen, isn’t that enough?”
    “Could it?” said Colonel Shelly. “Could it
really?”
    “The chances are slim I admit, but—”
    “Slim is fine by me. He’s insubordinate, he
struck an officer, and he’s out. He can go home and the LAPD can
deal with him. If he has a reaction, it’ll kill him and then no one
has to deal with him.” The colonel turned and walked away.
    The new doc shook his head and followed him.
“I still think it’s a mistake,” he said as he walked away.
    “Specialist,” First Sergeant Paine said. He
was giving me that look. “What’s your purpose here?”
    “First Sergeant,” I said, still at attention,
“I request to keep this duty assignment.”
     
     

Chapter 5
     
    NOW
     
    St. George pushed down against gravity and launched
himself higher into the sky.