Chapter 25 - Honey Don't Shoot

"The CIA's special weapons trainers fed dolphins LSD, gave them hand-jobs, and told them to blow up Russian ships. Would you volunteer for that mission?"

Brad thought for a moment, then piped up. "Would I be the trainer or the dolphin, sir? Because getting high and being jerked off already sounds better than basic training."

A low growl of irritation came from the Professor of the History of Alternative Warfare and Classified Weapons. "This isn't a joke. I thought you were trying to find real solutions here."

"Sure, but were the Tripping Dolphins effective on the battlefield?"

"Absolutely!" The Professor advanced the slideshow from the disturbing photo of a dead-eyed handler reaching below the waves towards a blissed out dolphin. "Take a look at this sonar picture. What do you see?"

It was a shoal of dolphins - or possibly some other aquatic mammal - that didn't look out of the ordinary. They'd often come close to submarines, have a little snoop, and then dive away looking for their next meal. It's the sort of thing Brad had seen a hundred times a month. He'd once spent half a tour with a curious humpback whale following his sub. The sailors weren't sure if it wanted to eat them or fuck them, but it got bored of the chase eventually.

"You see," continued the Professor, ignoring Brad's rambling anecdote, "The CIA trained the dolphins to think they'd get a free lunch and a quick tug if they visited Russian submarines. The LSD made them incredibly receptive to the idea that the particular sonar shadow of the sub was a delightful place to visit. Once trained, our friends strapped an explosive jacket around the dolphin and let it loose in the ocean."

"So the dolphin swam up to the nearest sub looking to get its rocks off and..."

"Exactly!" The Prof was squealing with glee, "The Ruskies didn't take evasive action because all they saw was a pod swimming towards them."

"But after the dolphin set the mine and swam away, how did the CIA get it back?"

"Oh, my sweet summer child. Are you sure this is the right career for you? The magnets on the dolphin's jacket meant that neither it nor the bomb could get away. Their sacrifice was for the greater good."

Brad looked sick. He could picture the dolphin's happy little face. He could hear its squeal of delight whenever it received a fish. He could imagine the joy it felt at seeing the submarine and the terror it felt when it couldn't escape. What sort of monster would hurt an innocent creature like that? War makes people crazy, sure, but that's just barbaric. No one wants to harm Flipper, right?

And that was exactly the insight Brad needed.

He ran straight back to the autonomous weapons division, called a meeting with his chief roboticist, and laid out his plan.

"Our Hunter-Killer robots are terrifying, right?"

"Yes boss!" Dr Weiss had grown up on a diet of RoboCop and Terminator. Her deadly assassins were chrome plated gods, surveying the theatre of war with piercing red laser eyes. Their walking-algorithms were modelled on spiders - exaggerated leg movements, scuttling from crater to crater, head twitching as their sensors scanned for enemies. Everything about them was calculated to strike fear into the hearts of anyone who saw them. Even their guns were splendid in their awfulness and created a sonic roar that sounded like a lion pouncing on its prey. She knew that each monstrosity struck fear into the hearts of any soldier who encountered them.

"Can I see the latest model?" Brad asked.

Dr Weiss led him over to a table covered with a bright orange tarpaulin. "Behold!" she announced as she whipped away the covering. The robot beneath was hideous. With legs grotesquely out of proportion, claws that dripped a thick goo, and more teeth than you could count - each filed to a deadly point - it exemplified the uncanny valley. Just looking at it made Brad want to draw his gun and keep shooting until the thing was obliterated. And that, as he explained to Dr Weiss, was the problem.

"The enemy wants to shoot our robots."

"Well, yeah? We made them petrifying. Some soldiers run away, some shit themselves, most try to empty their guns into them."

"But our robots are expensive. We don't particularly want them shot to pieces."

"Better they shoot at the drones than the squaddies, right?

"Yes. But what if the enemy didn't shoot at them at all?"

A month later, they presented their work to an assembled panel of dignitaries in one of the testing fields. The sun was high, a light breeze wafted through the tall grass, the merry chirp of unsuspecting wildlife all around them. If it weren't for the signs warning about unexploded mines, it would have been a charming place for a picnic.

At one end of the field was a row of soldiers lying in wait. Each was a highly decorated marksman and each was tooled up with a variety of weapons. Half camouflaged in the grass, they lay still, guns at the ready, waiting for orders.

"What you are about to see," intoned Brad, "Is the future of warfare." He gave the signal to Dr Weiss while the brass looked on.

At the bottom of the field was a small hill. With an awful screeching sound, one of Weiss's mechanical monstrosities appeared at the top. It slithered towards the waiting row of soldiers, its mandibles snapping in the wind, claws grasping out, and a cluster of mismatched eyes locking on to the terrified gunmen.

"FIRE!" Shouted Brad. The soldiers didn't need to be told twice. With deadly precision they peppered the beast with holes. It jerked spasmodically as it crept closer, slithering and weaving. The soldiers didn't stop. By the time the creature was two-thirds of the way across the field, the thing was dead, leaking a foul green fluid and emitting short bursts of sparks from its shattered electronics. The soldiers cheered in triumph and began to reload.

One of the gathered generals coughed politely. "Well, yes, all rather impressive, I suppose. But the robot didn't actually survive the encounter, did it?"

"Forgive me, general," smiled Brad. "That was the appetiser. Here's the main course."

He blew a whistle for the soldiers to reset. Once they were locked and loaded, he gave another nod to Dr Weiss. She tapped away at her laptop, gazed over at the unsuspecting marksmen, and pressed the launch button.

From atop the hill something... bounced? It was a flash of purple. Fuzzy and indistinct. It sort of hopped towards the firing line. As it grew closer, it became apparent that the bipedal robot was skipping. The jaws of the machine opened and a song played out.

"I love you! You love me! We're a happy family!"

"FIRE!" Shouted Brad. A flurry of red laser dots appeared on the fuzzy green chest. But no shots rang out.

"We're a great big family!" Sang the fluffy dinosaur as it advanced.

"FIRE!" Shouted Brad, again. The soldiers looked at each other, confused. They didn't want to disobey an order, but none of them could bring themselves to squeeze the trigger. A cascade of happy childhood memories had replaced years of training.

There was a crack from one of the guns. A puff of purple felt ripped off the shoulder of the looming menace.

"Oi! What do you think you're playing at?" Screamed a solider from the middle of the line, "Which one of you bastards took a shot at Barney?"

The soldier who had fired defended himself saying he was only going for a grazing flesh wound, the commander was enraged by this flagrant act of barbarity and started shouting something incoherent about the Geneva Convention. The trained corps of professional warriors descended into chaos, fists flying and grown men crying at the thought of having to execute their beloved childhood friend.

The two-metre tall robot dinosaur danced his way over to the line. "With a great big hug and a kiss from me to you!"

The soldiers, battle-hardened and bloody, rushed towards Barney and wrapped their arms tightly around him. They locked on to their old friend and, as one, they sang a happy song and they squeezed. And it was that squeezing which triggered the explosion.

Thanks for reading

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You can read the complete set of short stories in order.