The special training took place at a secret military location.
Soldiers were being trained in the finer techniques of controlling drones fitted with high resolution cameras. A number of selected army personnel were undergoing an intensive drone tactics course, with several machines being put through their paces across an extensive airfield at any one time. These particular flying machines were designed and built for the sole purpose of infiltrating enemy lines, to spy and return images to a drone handler. The day was like any other at first, with a nonstop buzzing around the installation. Things changed when reports were coming in about a drone going rogue. The handler of this malfunctioning machine and his offsider were called to the Group Captain’s office to report. They stood at his desk and saluted.
The captain said, “At ease soldiers. Just tell me what’s going on.”
The two trainees looked at one another, apparently not sure how to begin.
The captain spoke again, in a softer tone. “At ease, gentlemen. I’m sure the problems being encountered are not of your doing. Just a simple verbal report is all I’m asking for. I understand that you’ve lost contact with your assigned drone.”
“Not lost contact, sir, lost control, sir,” blurted the handler.
“I see. You’re saying that it’s not responding. Is that right?”
“Correct, sir.”
“What’s it been doing, if you are not controlling it?”
The two soldiers looked at one another again, with the handler nodding at his offsider to go ahead.
The offsider, the more outspoken of the two, said, “Following, sir.”
The captain frowned. “Following? Following what?”
“Another drone, sir.”
The captain frowned again. Shaking his head, he got up and crossed to a large board that contained coloured photos of the dozen or so drones that were part of the training programme. He pointed to it. “Which one is yours?”
The handler said, “Top right corner, sir. The dark brown TD09, sir.”
“OK, and this other drone? The one you say it’s following?”
“TD03, sir. The brightly coloured one near the middle, sir.”
The captain squinted at the TD03. “It is colourful, isn’t it?” he mumbled. “Why is that, do you suppose?”
More relaxed now, the handler said. “Dunno, sir. We wondered about that. It’s the very latest model, sir.”
The captain turned to face the two men and asked point blank. “What do you believe is going on? You can speak quite frankly; off the record, if you like.”
Both men visibly relaxed. The offsider said. “If you want my opinion, sir. Off the record, sir. I believe it’s flirting, sir.”
“What?”
“Flirting, sir. We’ve been watching it for a couple of hours and all it’s done is follow the other drone around, sir.”
The captain looked bewildered. “Come now, gentlemen, these machines don’t have genders! There has to be some technical explanation.”
“We can only tell you what we saw, sir.”
“Yes, yes, I appreciate that. Where is it now?”
“On the ground, sir.”
“You got it back then?”
“Sort of, sir.”
“Sort of?”
The handler let out a sigh. “Can I explain, sir?”
“Please do.”
“Well, it’s like we said, sir. Our drone kept following this other one for some time, so we asked the other handler, the guy controlling the pretty one, to have it do all sorts of crazy manoeuvres to see whether ours would follow it, and it did. It even looped the loop with it. It was at this point that we asked him to bring his drone down. In order to get ours down too, you see?”
“I do. Did it work?”
“Yes, they came down together… sir.”
“That’s it, then. We can have the thing thoroughly checked over. I’m sure we’ll find it’s some perfectly logical technical glitch.”
“Sorry, sir. Not that easy, sir.”
The captain looked taken aback.
“No. sir. Sorry, sir,” the handler went on, “they came down together and that’s where they are now, out on the field, right next to each other. What I mean, sir, is they are… touching!”
The captain shuddered, “Yes, well… we’ll have to bring them in.”
“Won’t do a lot of good I’m afraid, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“Why not?”
“The handler’s offsider, sir, he’s, well, he’s in hospital, sir. He tried to pick it up and received a shock, sir. He has severe burns to his fingers, sir.”
The captain shook his head in exasperation. “OK, but we’ll still have to bring them in for analysis, somehow.”
“Not very likely, sir. Begging your pardon, sir. I’m afraid the handler lost it!”
“Lost it? What do you mean?”
“He went troppo, sir. He began shouting something about how he wasn’t going to stand for that kind of behaviour, sir.” At this point the handler looked at his offsider seeking some kind of tacit agreement. The other nodded. “Then,” he went on, “he went over to the workshop, got a pair of insulated gloves and a large crowbar. He ran out onto the field and bashed them both several times, sir.”
The captain’s expression was a painful grimace. “Are they badly damaged?” he asked.
“Smithereens, sir.”
At this, the captain returned to his desk and sat quietly for a minute or two before looking up. “I want a full report on all of this, on my desk first thing tomorrow morning. You’re dismissed.”
The two soldiers saluted and wandered out, quietly.
The captain felt a wave of anxiety come over him. He opened his desk drawer and reached in for a tablet.