Soda Pop Soldier

by Nick Cole

  “I think I’ve got it!” shouts Morgax on chat.

  Then . . .

  “Whooops. Sorry.”

  Outside the next level of the tower, clinging to the wall, I see the landing where the four-armed spike-throwing cat-demon waits. I crash through a massive stained-glass window and attack him with Karate. Breaking, crashing glass shatters all around us as the game’s graphic lighting shifts, carnival style, as each piece of stained glass falls through the wan moonlight. I manage to land one punch right in the demon’s catty face, then a roundhouse that throws him into the tower’s far wall. He ragdolls off the wall and I grab him. Then, rolling the mouse wheel rapidly, I reset the stance menu to Judo. The possessed Minotaur puppet is almost on me, lumbering zombielike up the last few steps to the landing. I fling the cat-demon at him and retreat up the far stairs. The Minotaur bats the flying demon aside. It careens off his ham-sized fist and falls, spinning off into the darkness below, its screech fading down through the depths of the tower.

  The sound of crumbling brickwork resounds over ambient. I spin around as another section of the tower wall is again torn away and the giant’s claw reaches in after me. I draw Deathefeather from its sheath in one fluid motion and cut through one of the giant demon’s long, extended fingers. The wounded claw retracts as I back away from the oncoming Minotaur puppet. Outside the tower a monstrous howl echos off into the night and the desert silence.

  “It’s now or never, Morgax!” I shout.

  If I have to kill him, at least I’ll be able to go to Seinfeld’s and collect any prize I can name.

  But I don’t want it that way.

  “This minigame keeps changing every time I solve it,” he groans. “If you’ve got to kill me . . . it’s cool. I understand.”

  I resolve right then not to kill him. Decent people affect me that way.

  The floor of the landing begins to crumble behind the Minotaur. The whip-trailing demon falls off into the darkness with the whip still clutched in its hand, still strangling Morgax. The Minotaur jerks backward toward the disintegrating edge of the stairs. The tower is becoming unstable as its walls are torn out by the giant demon. Floors and stairways collapse below and above us in great dusty waterfalls. Behind me, the giant’s cat’s eye leers into the guts of the tower, hoping to find me. I run toward the off-balanced Minotaur, as he waves both smoking swords at me. I duck underneath them and cut the whip with a quick slice from Deathefeather.

  “I’m back in!” yells Morgax in triumph.

  “Follow me now! The floor’s going to collapse!” I yell back at him.

  I race out the crack in the wall at the giant’s lone cat’s eye and drive Deathefeather straight into it. I hold on to the sword as it’s yanked by the recoiling giant’s pulpy jetting eye out through the crack in the wall. My POV is washed with bubbling green-yellow eye fluid slime.

  I hope Morgax figures out what I’m doing.

  I enable Judo and grapple with the giant demon. Its head reels drunkenly outside the tower as my screen crashes violently across the dizzying horizon of the ruined city below and the swollen moon above. Darkness and shadowed hills and a cracked black mountain in the distance lie in the moonlit wastes of the desert. Then we’re falling toward the base of the tower, far below.

  I have 3 percent health left when I let go of the dead giant demon at the bottom of the tower. Dust and debris rain down on us as chalky plumes erupt from the tower entrance and out the shattered stained-glass windows above.

  In the silence that follows, we wait for whatever will be thrown at us next. “I have a few bandages left,” says Morgax over chat. “I don’t know how we’ll get to the top of the tower now. Look at it.”

  High above us, the already crazed structure rises to thin strands of brickwork that barely seem enough to support the uppermost level.

  “We’ll climb,” I say.

  “I don’t have Climb in any of my menus. I guess that makes sense for a Minotaur.”

  “Then I’ll climb it alone,” I mumble.

  At that moment, the game shuts down and thanks us for playing, assuring us that we will die next time. I get a message on my Petey from an unknown source announcing the next session. I don’t even want to read it.

  I look at the untouched scotch. I think about Sancerré and realize I’m tired of doing all the thinking. I press the intercom. Trixie answers.

  “What may I offer you, Mr. Saxon?”

  “Do you like scotch?”

  “I love scotch,” she purrs. “But I never drink alone.”

  A little while later, I turn the lights down low in the suite. I set the big screen to fireplace mode and turn on some jazz. Johnny Hartman. We sit. We talk. We sip our scotch as the Skyliner crosses the night.

  We get close.

  And I don’t think about Sancerré . . . much.

  Chapter 27

  Song Hua Harbor is divided in two by a canal that runs the length of the city from the open sea where ColaCorp’s lone carrier task force waits to provide what limited resources they can to the battle that will be waged over the fictional Southeast Asian city of Song Hua inside WarWorld. A narrow isthmus on the extreme right flank connects the city with the harbor where we fought the last match. The Song Hua Harbor bridge will be the center of our line. If WonderSoft crosses that bridge, then it’s game over for ColaCorp. We’ve got nothing else left after the bridge.

  I’ve been assigned the center of our line, the bridge entrance on our side of the river. On my left flank, ShogunSmile and WarChild command a small firebase and a light armor reaction force to protect the point that leads out into the emerald-green waters of the bay.

  I need an edge. I need high-speed, low-drag, real-life players. But I can’t take a chance on some amateur or, worse, a player with an agenda who doesn’t prioritize winning this battle above protesting yet another injustice, like back in the superlab match. I file a troop assignment request with the ColaCorp Special Forces reserve, then tag the unit and put them on standby. They’re my ace in the hole if things go south.

  An hour before the match, RangerSix texts me.

  His message is “ColaCorp won’t roll the dice until they see something to get excited about.”

  That’s bad. This is going to be too close. A good bonus roll at the start of the match and maybe we can turn the battle around early on. But, if the suits aren’t buying us a roll, then it’s really going to be tough going, especially if JollyBoy is the traitor.

  “But,” says RangerSix, “they did option the roll. So at least they’re hoping to get excited.”

  Corporations could option to roll the dice by paying a small fee, which they would lose half of if they didn’t go through with the roll. It wasn’t as bad as going all in, but it gave them something to point to at the end of the year in the losses column for Online Tournament Marketing.

  “It’s better than nothing,” he adds, hoping to make me feel better.

  It doesn’t.

  “If WonderSoft falls for it,” I text, selling him again as if he were one of the bright boys of ColaCorp corporate, “it’ll be a shooting match. If we still control the bridge and if RiotGuurl can get those troops on the TV tower right into the center of the action, then we’ll have an opportunity to turn this around.”

  “Too many ‘ifs’ for the suits, son,” says RangerSix.

  “If we reach those objectives, will you ask ’em again? At that point, we’ve got to ask ColaCorp for the green light on a roll. If we don’t, I don’t think our chances are very good.”

  “You’ve sold me already, PerfectQuestion,” says RangerSix. “I believe in your plan. I believe in you, son. They know the play, and they’re waiting to see what we do with what we’ve got. Give them a reason to roll the dice, son, and they will.”

  “I understand,” I text. “Sorry for pushing.”

  “No problem, son. You’re a good soldier. Pushing is a big part of soldierin’.”

  The plan’s simple.

  Make Wonder
Soft think, with the help of a misinformed JollyBoy, that ColaCorp is counterattacking with everything we’ve got, from our right flank across the isthmus and into the harbor on the other side of the river. The plan is to make them think we’re going for an end run around their left flank and try to retake Song Hua and the harbor area. Most of our grunts are staged and ready for combat at an LZ just behind JollyBoy’s intel station along the isthmus. Instead, we’ll wait, and once WonderSoft commits to dodging our counterattack, instead of going for the kill and attacking ColaCorp head-on at the bridge, we’ll jump, via airlift with RiotGuurl’s Albatross squadron, all our grunts in reserve on the right flank, into the center of the action at the bridge and cut up everything that comes our way. What I’m hoping for is to have WonderSoft so broken at the bridge that we can actually hurt their reserve forces. Then we’ll counterattack their positions along the harbor. By that time, they’ll be committing everything. Hopefully they won’t be coordinated in any kind of formation or plan to mass and attack in unison. They’ll still outnumber us, but if everything goes right, we can pick them off in smaller groups. If they keep losing, there’s a chance they’ll keep sending troops in, like a gambler on a losing streak trying to win his money back all at once.

  As the game goes live, I set up a command bunker on our side of the Song Hua Bridge, a double-decker arch-and-span affair that’s decked out in twinkling lights. I have a full company of grunts supported by heavy machine guns and mortar teams, determined to hold the bridge. Kiwi rides Rat Patrol along the riverfront on our side of the bridge with a platoon of heavily armed light-attack Mules, destroying a series of smaller bridges WonderSoft might try to take with infantry. There are sporadic brief engagements when Kiwi runs into their recon patrols along the river as they try to probe our lines.

  “How’s it look on the right, Jolly?” I ask over BattleChat.

  “Lovely, PerfectQuestion, absolutely lovely. Other than a few armored scouts probing the road to the isthmus, the sky is a thrilling orange, almost red, should we take warning if we’re going sailing? Or is that during the morning when we need to take the warning? I get so mixed up about that.”

  I bet you do.

  “Let me know when the scouts have cleared the road, or if they hang out. If they do, call in RiotGuurl for direct-air support and have her make a few runs on them. She’s on station overhead.”

  “Will do, aye aye and aye aye, sir,” replies the never-serious JollyBoy.

  Moments later, one of my grunts who’s manning a listening post at the far side of the bridge into Song Hua Harbor radios in. “Commander, we have enemy Wolverine main battle tanks inbound at a high rate of speed.” Moments later, the listening post grunts are dead as a distant tank round blast echoes off the walls of the canal and the bridges along the river. I scope my rifle on the bridge and order the mortar platoons to stand by to fire on my prearranged coordinates. I bring up the artillery menu and order antiarmor rounds to be used in the first salvo.

  “Kiwi, all the bridges down yet?” I ask over BattleChat.

  “Not a one left standing.” I hear the high-pitched turbo whine of Kiwi’s speeding Mule in the background as he races along the riverfront. “If they wanna get across the river, it’s the main bridge or nothing for WonderSoft, mate.”

  “Get your platoon staged at the square I’m marking on your map now. When I signal, come in and run a screen while I readjust my company, before WonderSoft’s second assault begins.”

  “You’re gonna take on the first wave with what you’ve got?” he asks.

  “First wave is just to find out where we’re at, Kiwi. When they come in again, we wanna be somewhere else. Hence the screen.”

  “Roger that, Kiwi out.”

  Two low-riding, flat, twin-turbo-jet-engined WonderSoft Challenger heavy tanks, long barrels rotating, search for targets to engage as they roar out into the main plaza on the far side of the bridge from us. They cross the plaza and race up the ramp leading to the bridge. Heavy-machine-gun teams placed in the warehouses on our side of the river open up with antiarmor rounds. Hot streaks of light zip off into the plaza and tollbooths on that side of the span. Concrete and dusty debris begin to erupt in plumes around the supports and foundations of the wide bridge. I call for the mortar strike and shoulder an antitank rocket I’d equipped in my kit. The mortar rounds start falling seconds later, haphazardly at first, across the concrete ramp where the Wolverines have halted, probably waiting for orders. I lock onto one of the tanks, waiting for the circling digital orange reticle to switch to the color red. Lock on. I fire, watching the smoke trail of the rocket instantly sidewinder off toward the ocean, well away from the urban warfare gray-camo tanks.

  “Don’t use the guided missiles,” I report over the BattleChat. “They’ve got jamming assets nearby!”

  One of the mortar rounds finds the top of a WonderSoft Challenger with a resounding claaanng, and a half second later, a shower of sparks fly away from the exploding tank. The other tank races backward, retreating as it pops smoke, backing into a parking lot in front of some warehouses on the far side of the bridge. Five of our heavy-machine-gun teams, firing antiarmor ammo mixed with bright green tracers, turn that tank into Swiss cheese as its hull integrity zeros out, killing the WonderSoft grunts within.

  WonderSoft heavy troopers in muted gray-and-blue urban-camo full-body armor erupt from the far side of the plaza. They quickly set up firing positions using the concrete abutments surrounding the tollbooth area that guard that side of the bridge.

  I order my company to their secondary positions and radio Kiwi. “Shifting now! Move in and buy us some time.”

  It’s standard WonderSoft technique. Move in fast with armor and try to locate our positions, then use the heavy infantry to pin us down and destroy us. So this time we’re going to move while they focus on where they think we are.

  Bullets begin to punch holes in the thin walls of the warehouses we’re set up in. Smoky shafts of light shoot through the rooms like sudden lasers as we shift, grunts folding up their heavy machine guns and ammo crates and hauling them into their new fighting positions. Kiwi and his heavily armored, light vehicle strike force, the Mule platoon, appear down the road that runs alongside the canal where the Song Hua Bridge crosses over the river and into the harbor area and WonderSoft country. Mounted twin-barrel Hauser machine guns chew up the WonderSoft heavy troopers caught in the open on the wrong side of the barricades.

  SMAFF erupts out of canisters attached to the back of Kiwi’s Mules, as the rest of the platoon rakes the WonderSoft troops with gunfire in one quick pass.

  “Scratch one live WonderSoft Player. Just got BangDead with about twenty other Softies!” calls out Kiwi triumphantly over BattleChat.

  “Way to go,” I shout back.

  “Woot,” says RiotGuurl.

  “BangDead, I hardly knew ye,” recites JollyBoy, then erupts in a wheezing laugh. Other players sound off with their congratulations, and I have to quiet them down to get everyone focused back on the next attack.

  We aren’t there yet.

  Look out your window, Mr. Saxon.

  The words appear in a sudden pop-up chat window on my desk, inside the Skyliner suite.

  On-screen I check my rifle company. Machine-gun crews acknowledge readiness to engage targets.

  “Who is this?” I write back.

  Look out your window now, PerfectQuestion!

  I swivel the desk chair to look out the large suite porthole of the Skyliner. In the hazy late-afternoon sun, somewhere over the seemingly endless Sahara Desert, a matte-black jet fighter hangs off the wide wing of the trade jet. I think it’s an F-15 from last century. Moments later a second one joins it, flying wingman.

  When I look back at the screen I see Bang, you’re dead, written in chat.

  On-screen, WonderSoft armored carriers are disgorging battalions of weapon-laden grunts from behind the ruins of one of the smoking tanks and along the far side of the plaza where there’s cover. Huge
amounts of machine-gun fire rattle off the walls as WonderSoft grunts begin to shoot grenades into the warehouses where our machine-gun teams had been during the first assault.

  “Recon has pulled back,” whispers JollyBoy quietly over BattleChat. “All clear to move forward, PerfectQuestioney.”

  I turn back to the window and stare out at the two jet fighters.

  A sudden knock on the suite door quickly turns to intense, insistent pounding.

  “It’s Carter Banks, let me in!”

  I open the door and return to the desk. I signal all units to stand by. I give Kiwi operational command for a moment.

  Carter Banks looms above me as I finish entering my commands. Behind him, the captain of the Skyliner in his powder blue dress uniform waits.

  “We’ve got merc’s outside,” Carter Banks says, nodding at the jets.

  “They’ve asked me to throw you out the cargo door or they’re going to board us,” interrupts the gray-haired captain in German-accented English.

  Want to chat? pops up on-screen.

  I accept the video link and come face-to-face with Faustus Mercator, a.k.a. Bony Man.

  “Ah, there you are, soldier boy,” he says, his tombstone teeth smiling. “Like my jets? Got ’em from a couple of witch doctors. They only cost me some NikeAtlantis Air Kicks, a few dozen SoftEyes, and a shipping container full of carbon-forged machetes. You always get a lotta bang for your buck in deepest darkest Africa, I always say that. What a deal.”

  I hold up one finger telling him to wait, then I cut the mic on the desk.

  “I can handle this,” I tell Carter Banks. “Give me a minute.”

  “I want to assure you,” announces the Skyliner captain. “We will not throw you from this plane and . . .” He pauses. He’s out of breath. “We do have sufficient security to repel any boarders, should we need to.”