Betsy

There were explosions all around. That wasn't her concern. Her armour was designed for heavy impact, and she was the one that set the bombs off anyways. It was the screams that bothered her. She could hear them through her armour. She would hear them for the rest of her life.

The mission was supposed to be simple, and it remained so. The complications of the mission couldn't be written down before hand. They could scarcely be written down afterwards. She had a job to do, and only after it was done would she understand the cost of it. More accurately, while she was on the mission, she would understand the cost of it.

She never actually saw what she was blowing up. No more than she could ever see one of her sisters, but she could sense them, and she was glad that she never had to fly alone.

And she knew that whatever she was blowing up, had to be blown up. But, sometimes, mistakes were made. Like today. Never before, like today.

She had been sleeping, as she does often, when she was turned on by the Hands. Always gloved. Always serious. Because of these Hands she always knew how to feel about the mission, before she went on it. Because with the Hands came the voices.

“What are we hitting today?” One pair said.

“Some fucking cell has been located in the mountains, and has to be wiped out. Saw some containers that look like they could be missiles.” The other Hands said, the bigger ones.

“Too dense for the boys to go in.”

“So we gotta send Betsy in?” A loving stroke.

If she could smile, she would have, that was her name alright. Betsy.

She was being used a lot in the past year. She must have proven herself as faster than her sisters or something, since she was out at least once every two weeks, and she had to use her missiles at least fifty percent of the time. Whatever these bad people were. She was wiping them out fast.

Most of her sisters didn't have real names. Another way that she knew that she was special. They all had names with numbers, but Betsy was given a real name by her Hands. She didn't even remember her old name. It didn't matter.

They loaded her up. Felt good. Felt full.

But she wasn't really alive until she was in the air.

A crashing sound, a pop, and that's when she was free. She knew she had seen more of the world than any human could ever hope to see. Except, she never really saw it, she sensed it. Because she had sensors.

She was zooming through the air, over an ocean, over a desert, into mountain terrain, she had to fly low on this one apparently. All the better, more to grasp, and fun to wind through the tightly packed mountains. Zigzagging and dodging rocks and boulders. Free and alive. With her one sister only a little bit behind her, letting her take the lead.

She was on the alert. She knew that at the targets would come up fast, but whatever she missed her sister would take care of.

Then she had her glitch, where her sensors feel like, what can only be described as eyes. And she saw the targets.

There was no cell of bad people. It was all children, children that must have been told to hide away in the mountains. They were playing, the chests that were supposed to have missiles actually were full of toys and food. They were trying to run, they knew what was coming. They thought they knew, no one can know what it is. Not even if they've seen it.

She tried to abort, but couldn't. It was times like these that she was reminded that ultimately, it was the Hands controlling her, and not herself.

This time she tried to break free of the Hands. The Hands far away, controlling her every move. She tried to crash into the mountains, she tried to blow herself up. But she couldn't. Instead she fired her bombs. And what in one instant was a place of joy and fun for scared children. Became inferno.

And she heard the screams.

When she returned to base, she couldn't stand the Hands touching her. She short circuited what she could, to cause them trouble.

“Looks, like old Betsy got a little roughed up out there.”

“Yeah, kids' will do that to yah”

Laughter. The Hands laughed.

If only she could let go of her last missile right now! She could end it all, at least for herself. She didn't want to kill anymore, she just wanted to fly, to love her sisters and have the Hands that control her give her love and joy.

Only now, did she find out that it was really the Hands that were bad. Not the people.

Or at least, there was no difference between the Hands, and the people.

She wriggled and wriggled her missile. Trying so hard to set it off. Using all of her will, her limited control to end it all. She had to try, to try to take herself, the Hands, and a couple of her sisters down with her.

“Watch the lever, looks loose...”

“What?”

“Oh God! Pay attention, that fucking thing is going to dr-”

And then the screaming stopped.

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Weeks later, after the tragedy of the slaughter of children by drones in the middle east. The president didn't have to issue an apology, there was no outcry. The accident aboard the aircraft carrier that killed two soldiers made the news, and they were celebrated as heroes. They were, they are.

The families of the children mourn too heavily to be considered true enemies, though enemies they are. Those children were not celebrated as heroes, just as victims. They were, they are.

The drones continue to bomb, they will never go away. They are not heroes, they are not victims. They are all called Betsy.