Soda Pop Soldier (38 page)

“Will do, sir,” he says and begins to plan the defense of the lobby with some player named MarineCorporalHicks.

“What about RangerSix?” asks Kiwi. “If his reaction force holds the toll plaza, they'll have a clear field of fire on everything trying to enter the plaza. We'll catch WonderSoft in a cross fire between Jolly, RangerSix, and us.”

Seconds later, a deafening explosion echoes out across ambient sound, receding into the darkness far above as we climb the stairs to the observation deck. It sounds so real on the suite's speakers that I look up from the desktop, unsure for a moment. Was the explosion in-game, or on the plane in real life?

“Six,” I call out over BattleChat. “Request you hold the tollbooths and set up a base of fire at that location. We're up on the observation deck of the TV tower. We can create a kill zone as they come into the plaza after us. Request mortar support for my location for as long as you can provide.”

“Roger,” says RangerSix. I hear the
pop pop pop
of small-arms fire in his transmission. “Moving up through light resistance now.” I can hear RangerSix's reaction force assaulting the burning toll plaza. On my 'noc I can see WonderSoft infantry still fighting near the burning, smoking wreckage of the bridge. They're losing the toll plaza.

“Jolly, what's your status?”

“I proudly report we've knocked out a couple of light armored scouts. I don't think they know we're here, PerfectQuestioney. Our plan might just be brilliant . . . but there's a problem.”

“What's wrong?”

“I forgot to bring my really big gun. My Kill-a-Nator.”

I cut the link and move onto the observation deck.

I spot a flight of gun-bristling Whales, the WonderSoft version of the Albatross, riding Air Cav screen in hover mode over an inbound large motorized column working its way through the rubble of the destroyed streets of Song Hua Harbor—heading for the plaza.

“RangerSix, this is PerfectQuestion. I have one, full-strength, motorized WonderSoft battalion moving into the AO. Request fire mission. Over?”

“PerfectQuestion, this is Six. We're encountering heavy resistance all along the waterfront. It'll be some time before we can link up. Carrier task force on standby for fire support mission. You have command.”

Suddenly the entire fire support grid overlay appears on my HUD with command authorization. I have control over all ColaCorp's indirect-fire gun batteries. I set artillery points and order the guns to load high-explosive rounds.

As the first rounds leave the guns on the beach, the artillery fire control grunt back on the carrier says a quiet “Shot out” over the chat.

“HK squadron coming in fast along the river!” calls out Kiwi over BattleChat. His gun starts to rattle out rounds, as a squadron of four heavily armed WonderSoft HKs move in over the remains of the destroyed bridge and unload with a barrage of air-to-ground missiles on RangerSix's position. Door gunners open up on us from the side hatches of the HKs, and we have to throw ourselves to the deck as their swivel-mounted auto guns send hundreds of whistling bullets into the observation deck, smashing glass and tile. An RPG lances upward from the smoking wreckage of the toll plaza and tears through the tail section of one of the WonderSoft HKs. The stricken Whale begins to rotate sharply, belching black smoke as it careens across the plaza and slams into the ground, sending debris and shrapnel in every direction. Kiwi opens up on the armored cockpit of the lead Whale. The pilot jerks it wildly to the right and flares the starboard vertical thruster. The wallowing gunship rubs its wingman with a groan of composite steel on steel, straightens out, and adds thrust to circle for a better position as Kiwi chases him with a stream of machine-gun fire.

Over the chat I can hear marines calling out targets as WonderSoft begins to fire into the lobby. Apone is telling everyone to conserve their ammo.

I hear Wierzbowski scream, “They're coming at us from everywhere!”

“They always do, man. They always come from everywhere,” I hear a dry-voiced Frost reply over the heavy burn of his auto rifle.

“Frost, cut the chat . . . ,” shouts Apone.

I close the channel and open a private voice link. “RangerSix, we need that bonus roll now!”

Back in the suite, a breathless Trixie shrieks, “Captain says to put on your oxygen mask! They're on the main deck.” She pulls her own mask over face and begins struggling with mine.

“Stand by, PerfectQuestion. Putting the call into corporate now,” says RangerSix calmly.

My artillery strike is falling across the oncoming WonderSoft motorized column. Heavy tanks and armored attack vehicles are heading through the last of the rubble-strewn remains of the city. A few troop carriers explode, but most continue to move forward. Their Air Cav screen holds position, rocketing the toll plaza and RangerSix's reaction force. Spooling auto guns whine on high-pitched screams as thousands of bullets a second rip through the computer-generated glass and concrete of the tollbooths. Below us WonderSoft heavy troopers are scrambling through the rubble, preparing to assault the lobby below us. A rough guess as bullets smack into the walls and shatter the glass of the observation deck around me puts the odds at ten to one against the marines in the lobby below.

It's almost the end of the world.

“Jolly, how long till you reach my AO?”

Kiwi's machine-gun fire turns deafening roar as he holds off the three remaining gunships circling the plaza.

“Rockets in the racks!” yells Kiwi, meaning the hunter-killers have reloaded their missile magazines. Out above the center of the plaza, the massive hovering gunships deploy their wing mounts into “X” configuration. They're just moments away from unloading their Scatter-Pack missiles.

“They're targeting us. Let's move now, Perfect!” Kiwi yells. His firing has stopped. He's running from the edge of the observation deck.

Over the chat I hear Apone say, “They're commencing their assault now, sir.” I hear someone in the background of his transmission scream, “Yeah, you want some of that! Come get some.”

“Did you say something, PerfectQuestion?” asks JollyBoy. “You sound like you're at the bottom of a garbage can.”

Back in the suite I pull off my oxygen mask.

“I said . . . how long till you reach the plaza?”

I hear the whispering shriek of rockets exiting the wing mounts of the HKs. Kiwi races ahead of me for the entrance back into the tower.

I'm doing everything I can to follow him, and once we're just inside the main structure of the glass and steel tower, I fling my avatar behind a marble column seconds before a jet of flame rips through the glass-ceilinged observation deck.

“Ten minutes, PerfectQuestion,” says JollyBoy over BattleChat. “We're moving in squads up through the alleys. Don't want to attract too much attention, do we now?”

“Put 'em on double-time, Jolly. I need you here five minutes ago. Ten more and it's game over.”

“Righty right, sir. On our way at the double!”

Outside, the massive WonderSoft armored column enters the far side of the plaza. Rear doors of troop carriers drop down as more WonderSoft troopers pour out in wedges, advancing across the debris-riddled plaza, rifles and machine guns blazing away into the lobby beneath us. Black smoke snakes up evilly from the downed Whale in the center of the plaza.

“We're in place, PerfectQuestion.” It's RangerSix. “We'll hold the line here at the toll plaza.” On cue, heavy-machine-gun teams open up on the advancing WonderSoft troops. More WonderSoft troops enter the plaza in teams and begin to bound, using movement and cover to cross the plaza, intent on wiping out RangerSix's small strike force at the tollbooths.

“Heavy armor moving in!” calls out Kiwi over BattleChat. From behind the troop carriers, big WonderSoft main battle tanks erupt onto the pockmarked mosaic of the palazzo. Plaza.

“Anyone got an RPG,” I hear MarinePvtDrake shout over the chat. No one replies. The marines are down by half. WonderSoft troops are surging into the lobby with flash-bangs and grenades. The explosions are deafening.

“Apone, can you hold the lobby?”

Nothing.

I check the artillery screen on my CommandPad and am told artillery will be offline for another five minutes while the guns reload. We'll be finished by then.

“Six, I need that roll.”

Over the chaos of the battle all around me, I hear more explosions and loud heavy-machine-gun fire in the background of RangerSix's link. “Hold one, Perfect . . .”

Below us, WonderSoft troopers crawl forward under withering gunfire. They're taking heavy casualties, but they're advancing. They've got troops to burn, and it looks like they're smelling victory and going for broke right now. If they break through RangerSix's position, Song Hua City will be wide open and it's game over for ColaCorp.

“Got it!” shouts Ranger Six with a whoop only I can hear.

The game freezes.

WonderSoft hunter-killer Whales dodging ground fire, doling out death. Frozen.

RangerSix's machine-gun teams blazing away at the advancing legions of WonderSoft heavy infantry. Frozen.

Kiwi peering through the shattered remains of the observation deck. Frozen.

Gunfire.

Rocket trails.

Grenades exploding.

Everything freezes.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” says the WarWorld play-by-play commentator, Jazz Hodges, his melodic voice echoing out across the battlefield. The Internet. The world. “ColaCorp has optioned the bonus roll.” Dramatic pause as everyone stops breathing. “The judges will now announce tonight's bonus roll possibilities, and then we'll do the roll! Tonight's bonus roll is brought to you by FarGo. Isn't it about time you got what you deserved?”

Next, a smaller, tiny, more officious voice speaks up.

A referee.

“Tonight's options have been determined by a lottery held two hours before the match and certified by the accounting firm of Xpop and Breeze. Here are the possible results of the roll. On a roll of two, the rolling team will receive nothing. If the roll is a three, a supply drop of ammo for each remaining combat unit will occur. On a roll of four, all dead players will be reactivated for the optioning team. Five, a bonus of five thousand points will be awarded toward victory. Six, one suborbital EMP pulse will be enabled for the optioning team, to be used at their discretion. Seven, all deactivated units will be reactivated. Eight, a chemical weapons attack will be awarded to the opposing team to be used at their discretion. Nine, twenty-five thousand dollars for each player who survives tonight's match. Ten, a smart-weapons strike package will be air-dropped into neutral territory. First team to recover wins the package. Eleven, up to forty-five fans selected by random lottery will be allowed to log in and fight for the rolling team. Finally, number twelve. On a roll of double sixes, we will award the optioning team . . .” Dramatic pause. Everyone still holding their breath. “A historical unit from our illustrious fighting past will join the rolling team in action against the opposition. Generals, are you ready for the roll? I have the assent from RangerSix. And now Chompa818. Let's have the roll.”

On-screen, two large dice spin out across the frozen battlefield.

It's a mixed bag. Some options mean little, some can change the game, one or two actually will hurt us. Most of the options are disappointing. There isn't anything that's a guaranteed game changer except the smart-weapons package. But if the roll comes down for the smart weapons, we'll have to race for them, and right now WonderSoft has all of us pinned down.

The dice tumble, showing at different moments a five, then snake-eyes, and finally double sixes.

“Friends and fans, I can't believe it!” The announcer goes nuts. “It's a fan favorite. We've had everything from Roman Centurions to French Dragoons, and even one Halloween bash in a memorable battle between JellyNuts and ChemGlobal, an Army of Terminators. But tonight it is my pleasure . . .” The game unfreezes. We're moving slowly, cranking up to battle speed. “To announce to you, one of the most legendary fighting units of all time . . .” Kiwi's machine gun roars to life, sweeping the WonderSoft troopers below us. A hunter-killer passes close to the observation deck, door gunner blazing away as he tries to take us out. Speed is increasing to normal and then the drums start.

I know this song.

Then the guitar.

Apone comes in over the chat. “Sir, we're still here. We held off the first assault but it looks like they're staging for another attack.”

It's “Fortunate Son,” by some old band called Creedence Clearwater Revival. It was in my 'Nam collection back in the apartment that's gone.

“I'm proud to present to you the First Air Cav, U.S. Army, Vietnam,” screams the ecstatic announcer as fans roar over LiveChat.

“Hold the line, Apone,” I reply over the chat. “Help's on its way.”

Distant chopper blades are
whump whump whumping
like an army of chest-beating savages from the dark side of the river. Suddenly, vintage green Huey transports, guns blazing, come in low across the harbor, purple smoke grenades flying out the side doors as they mark their LZs. Vintage Vietnam grunts hang out the doors, feet on the skids, ready to do battle.

Below us, a WonderSoft heavily armored command truck races up to the entrance of the TV tower, a mounted 25 mm cannon blazing away into the lobby. Nearby, old school M-60 machine guns rattle away across the plaza as the Blackhorse-marked choppers circle, cutting the advancing WonderSoft troopers to shreds.

“The captain says . . . ,” announces Trixie in triumph. “We've stopped them. We've repelled the boarders. We're safe!” Trixie leans against the door of the suite laughing, her disheveled hair escaping from around her mask.