Ghost Platoon

by Xavier P. Hunter

  [School of Pain (8) vs. Slavic Noobs (9)]

  Chase held a hand out in front of the screen. “Forget all that.” He pointed to a single line. “That there… that’s our whole tournament right there. Heavenly Mafia. If we don’t beat them, we don’t go anywhere.”

  “So, how do we beat ‘em?” Frank asked with his arms crossed and his jaw set.

  Chase tapped on the screen, selecting Heavenly Mafia. The view changed to show five juggernauts standing in a line. “This is their lineup. They run four Dragons and one Shinigami that they use as a scout.”

  Lin whistled. “Some scout.”

  The Shinigami-class heavy was capable of 60 kph, only 10 kph slower than June’s Phoenix. Its bulk made a little less maneuverable, but in a straight line, it was still pretty fast.

  “Never promised this was going to be easy,” Chase said. “They’ve got us outgunned, and for once that doesn’t mean we have a huge advantage and maneuverability. Those Dragons are faster than Reggie.”

  “Sorry,” Reggie muttered.

  June marched up and stood in front of the screen. She stared at the enemy juggernauts. “Where are we going to be fighting them?”

  “Nowhere we’ve been already,” Chase said with assurance. “Valhalla West doesn’t roll like that. Those fuckers are gonna cook up something new; you can bet your ass on that. They won’t want to give anyone the advantage of a second look at a battlefield, and strictly from a viewing perspective, they’re going to save the good stuff for the finals.”

  “Suzie agrees,” Lin added. “She’s been analyzing the tournament for any kind of advantage they would come up with. Best answer she had was that we shouldn’t expect to find anything we’ve seen already.”

  “So,” Frank said. “No wading in the water until it goes over our heads, tromping around in the desert, or dropping avalanches on each other?”

  Chase grinned. “I wouldn’t say that. We just can’t expect to see the same way. So, we might see deep water again, but not around the little chain of islands. We might see a desert again, but it’ll be like the Mojave instead of the Sahara.”

  “And the avalanches?” Frank prompted.

  “Cut the crap,” Lin snapped. “What do these fuckers load out on their juggernauts? What are their tendencies? How’d they win their matches? What are their weaknesses?”

  Chase held up his hands and patted the air. “Whoa there. Slow down. I’ll get to that. First off, we need to worry about our own tendencies and weaknesses. We’ve been coasting too long.”

  “Coasting?” Reggie echoed.

  He didn’t like the sound of that. It took away from all the hard work they put in, making it sound like they’d been lucky or lazy to have gotten as far as they did.

  Cocking his head to the side, Chase shrugged. “Set in our ways? Whatever. Get over yourself. We’re not perfect, and we might just have to be to win this thing. I’ve been looking at the data.”

  “Here we go again…” Lin muttered.

  Chase ignored the snide comment. “Reggie, those Plasma Launchers of yours have been underperforming all tournament. It’s not that you’re doing poorly with them. Don’t get me wrong. They’re just the wrong weapons for this combat format. Most of our strategies have revolved around long-range ambushes and controlling the battlefield through superior scouting. The rest has come down to brawling. Your mid-range build hasn’t been cutting it.”

  Reggie set his jaw and gave a single nod. This was the bitter pill he was going to have to swallow. He could listen to Chase and take whatever advice was coming next, or he could pull rank, assure everyone that he knew best, and take his chances. It all came down to whether he trusted Chase’s judgment.

  Reggie did.

  “Frank, you hate lasers. There’s no point denying it; it’s obvious to everyone. I know why you have them equipped. It’s because no one has made a two-kilometer-long sword yet.” Frank looked wistful as Chase continued. “Hear me out on this: what if we unequipped all your ranged weapons?”

  Everyone burst out talking at once.

  “You can’t have no ranged weapons!”

  “That’s idiotic!”

  “Now hold on just a minute…”

  A grin spread across Frank’s face. “You got my attention.”

  “We equip Frank… with a shield,” Chase said. “And thanks for hearing me out.” He cast the naysayers a glare.

  Lin rolled her eyes and shook her head at once. “Those things are ridiculous. Heavy, cumbersome, and not even that effective.”

  Chase bracketed the air with his hands. “There is a difference between excellence and virtuosity. I can go through and optimize every one of our juggernauts, just like all those other fuckers on all those other teams. That gets us nowhere. What we need is an edge that we can leverage, even if it’s only for one battle before we go back to business as usual. In fifteen other hangers, there are fifteen other conversations just like this going on. Everyone is trying to outguess everyone else. The lazy strategists will take what they have and see how that stacks up against the other guys. The competent ones will adapt to counter what their opponents do best. The ones seeded tenth need to do a little bit more. We need to come up with something that Heavenly Mafia won’t bring a counter for.”

  “Yeah,” June said. “But that doesn’t mean throwing strategy out the window and going with some quirky… gimmick.”

  “Think of it,” Chase said. “How many times, in the middle of battle, has one of us used Gremlin as cover? Come on. Show of hands.” He raised his own.

  Reluctantly, the rest of the platoon—minus Frank—raised theirs as well.

  “Now think of all those annoying, beam-shielded missiles we’ve faced,” Chase said. “What if Frank’s new shield was beam coated? What if we could all stand behind him and make opponents have to shoot around him?”

  Lin crossed her arms. “I assume this means that Heavenly Mafia goes laser heavy?”

  With a grin, Chase nodded. “And they’re the favorites. They’ve got every reason to stick with what they know best. Play straight, and they should win.”

  “I dunno…” Reggie said. “There’s changing up, and then there’s…”

  “Gimmicks?” Chase prompted.

  Reggie nodded.

  “Hey, given the data I’ve seen, Frank hasn’t been much use with those lasers. Worst case, he could drop the shield if it becomes a liability, and we’d hardly be worse off.”

  “Hey!”

  “Call ‘em like I see ‘em,” Chase said. “I know you’re not a data guy, but I’ve got the data to back it up. You wanna argue data? Bring it on! Show me where you aren’t a 70th percentile gunner in a tournament meant for the top tenth of a percent of the players in Armored Souls. You’re here because you’re the best brawler on the server. We want to win this thing? We play to our strengths. That means, for one battle at least, surprising the ever-loving fuck out of these poor bastards and shoving a 115-ton Tiger in front of them with a reflective shield.”

  “I’m sold,” Frank declared.

  Of course, Frank was sold. He had just been given a permission slip to opt out of range combat for the next battle. To Frank, Armored Souls was a free-range version of Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots, and every planet was a giant boxing ring.

  Reggie stared over June’s head at the screen. Five ferocious juggernauts stared back at him, promising him an early end to the tournament if they didn’t think of a way to overcome them.

  “Fine. Do it.”

  Without even looking back, Reggie heard the grin in Chase’s voice. “Excellent! Now, as for Vortex…”

  “Oh no… no, you don’t.”

  “Plasma Launchers out. Anti-Matter Projector in.”

  “What?” Lin exclaimed. “That’s too big for a Wolverine.”

  Chase wagged a finger. “Technically, it isn’t. Reggie won’t get your rate of fire on it. But the range will be the same. He’ll still have his Ninjato for melee combat. This way, we gain another
long-range sniper in the platoon. Diablo can’t carry it. Artemis sure as fuck can’t. We’ve already got a plan for Gremlin. Reggie is the only one we can stick another of these things on.”

  “What about me?” Lin asked with an edge in her voice.

  Chase warded away her anger with a wave his hands. “Not you. You’re good. Yulong has been our top performer all tournament. That sniper build has been golden. Your melee skills have been plenty good. I’m not tinkering just for the sake of tinkering. Keep everything the way you’ve got it.” He turned to June.

  She sighed. “Here it comes…”

  “Nothing major,” Chase said. “You’re getting a pass for everything up until now. The only thing I want to try changing is one letter.”

  June raised an eyebrow. Reggie was curious as well.

  “DF Ballistic Cannon-150,” Chase said, “becomes IDF Ballistic Cannon-150.”

  It was Reggie’s turn to jump in with a perplexed expression. “Indirect fire? What the hell kind of good is that?”

  “Range,” Chase said. “We want more of it. All but Frank anyway. Lately, June’s been doing a great job of getting the jump on opposing platoons. With some judicious use of cover, she can soften them up a little bit before they even catch sight of the first of our juggernauts.”

  Reggie scoffed. “Three damage at a time.”

  “Better than spotted.”

  With everything he’d already agreed to, Reggie was past the point of continuing the argument. “All right. All right. You win. Program the maintenance bay. Get all our juggernauts updated. We’ll spend the afternoon practicing with the new setups.”

  Chase saluted. “Yes, sir!”

  Reggie could only hope that the adjustments they were making would be enough when they faced Heavenly Mafia tomorrow.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Reggie kept his eyes closed, trying to block out all the distractions around him. The familiar hum of Vortex’s environmental regulator and engine, the nearly inaudible hiss of an open comm channel to the rest of the platoon, and the sound of his own breathing were his only companions.

  The countdown clock had been at 28 when he shut his eyes.

  “Juliet-One-Five, Frank. June, head up the side street north from Hotel-One-Three. Chase and Lin, you’re with me. Be prepared for anything that comes down that main road,” Reggie radioed out to Ghost Platoon.

  He opened his eyes and gazed out at a city that glittered like someone had dipped New York in chrome.

  :12

  :11

  “Roger.”

  “On it.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Copy that.”

  :10

  :09

  :08

  This was it. Heavenly Mafia was out there, probably somewhere around Charlie-Five-Niner. Their commander would be giving his troops similar instructions. Reggie had to hope he was better prepared and had the better soldiers alongside him.

  :07

  :06

  :05

  “Good luck, everyone,” June radioed.

  Reggie hoped this wasn’t another occasion where luck played heavily.

  :04

  :03

  :02

  :01

  “Finals battle number seven! Fight!” the announcer boomed.

  [Sole Objective: Destroy Enemy Juggernauts 0/5]

  “Wow, they finally changed it up,” Chase remarked.

  Lin’s shrieking growl pierced Reggie’s eardrum. “For once in your life, shut the hell up and pay attention!”

  “Enough chatter,” Reggie radioed calmly, trying to maintain the cool of the group by force of example. “Everyone get into position.”

  Reggie’s plan called for a passive approach. In so many of their battles, Ghost Platoon had been the aggressors, even if they’d been beaten to the punch on occasion. This time, Reggie had a trap cooked up. It was nothing spectacular. That was why he was hoping it might catch Heavenly Mafia off guard.

  Frank staked out a spot at the foot of a massive skyscraper, crouching low to hunker behind the immense reflective shield he’d brought along. Lin and Reggie took up positions using Frank and the adjacent building as cover. With Yulong peering over the shield and Reggie taking advantage of the sliver of vertical space between the shield and the wall, there was little exposed for Heavenly Mafia to fire at.

  Chase roamed an area behind them, watching their backs as a rear guard and on call as a flexible reaction force should the need arise.

  Artemis was on the outskirts of the city, breezing along the edge of playable space.

  “First thing to cross this road gets lit up, understood?” Reggie ordered.

  “That’s the plan,” Lin confirmed since they were the only two with Anti-Matter Projectors poised to make the cross-town shot. Within the tight confines of this relatively small map, they could fire clear to the city limits.

  Reggie just hoped that he could hit anything at that kind of range.

  One of the nice aspects of the Commando Spec was that it came with skill crossover to piloting skills. While he’d be a hero in infantry combat, his Gunnery skill suffered by comparison. He hadn’t neglected it as badly as Frank, but there would be as much praying as skill in his chances to hit anything out to the 3km-max range of his weapon.

  “Got ‘em!” June reported excitedly.

  TARGET DATA ACQUIRED.

  “I’m also spotted,” she radioed quickly. “Plenty of cover. Withdrawing to break contact.”

  “Affirmative,” Reggie confirmed. “Play it safe.”

  The blips on the tactical map were all they needed. Heavenly Mafia was on course to circle the city along a clockwise path that would take them across Firing Range Street, as Reggie had affectionately named it in his head.

  The first target to appear was one of the Dragons.

  [Dragon[2] – 45% To Hit]

  Lin fired, and Reggie saw his target take a hit to the head. Reticle wobbling, Reggie waited for his chance to hit the now-panicking target to improve and settled for squeezing the trigger when his odds hit 52 percent.

  Dragon[2] Right Leg: 42/60

  It was a lucky shot but nothing critical. Good God, did this weapon deal massive damage. But the downside was evident as well. Reggie’s heat warning blared, flashing the cockpit lights an ominous red. He shut down the automatic thermal overrides but left the warning indicators, so he didn’t forget how rough he was treating his heat sinks. Vortex reported an imminent overload after a single shot.

  Reggie lifted his finger carefully off the trigger until his heat sinks could cool the system.

  With a skill build made for an Anti-Matter Projector and a heavy juggernaut packing a lot more cooling, Lin wasn’t hindered. “Nice idea.” She put another shot down range, and hers scored a critical hit, nearly cutting Dragon[2]’s right leg clean off.

  With the extra weight allowance of disarming all his lasers, Frank had room—even with the shield—to equip an upgraded scanner package. Reggie got to see exactly how close they’d come to taking out the ambushed Dragon. Its left leg armor was down to 6 hit points.

  “Love to take credit,” Reggie replied. “But that was a lucky miss. I was aimed center of mass.”

  “Hit’s a hit,” Chase said.

  The Heavenly Mafia Dragon was too far to return fire. It limped to cover and presumably warned away its comrades since no other juggernauts tried to cross Firing Range Street.

  “Chase, special mission,” Reggie said quickly. “We’ve cut that Dragon off from support. Hunt it down and disable it.”

  “Me?” Chase asked incredulously. “One-on-one with a Dragon?”

  “Just 6 hit points left on that leg,” Reggie pointed out. “Let’s see what that mixed range missile loadout of yours can do.”

  “On it,” Chase said skeptically. He might whine and grumble, but Reggie trusted Chase to get the job done.

  “June, watch our backs,” Reggie continued, breath coming quick. These were the situations that separate
d the commanders from the grunts, the spots where split-second decision-making turned the course of an engagement. “They know where we are. I need you on one of the north-south roads to watch for them trying to flank us. If they think we’ve given up, they’ll poke out and try this street again. If not, we need you to buy us the time to either dig in on a new approach or relocate.”

  “Roger that,” June replied.

  “Oh, and if you don’t spot anything, lob a few shells at some likely hiding places. Flush them into the open.”

  Reggie kept one eye down the road as he watched Chase and June sweep through opposite sides of the city. This was it, the hallmark of his command style that set him apart from all the other commanders in the tournament that they’d faced. Everyone else seemed to subscribe to the theory that by sticking together, there would always be fire support, that they could focus their firepower on individual targets, that no one would get out of position and left behind. The stragglers and wanderers that Ghost Platoon had picked off along the way had been either scouts, exceptions, or carefully separated from the pack. Reggie, on the other hand, deployed his platoon to control the battlefield. If that meant having two of his juggernauts off on solo assignments, so be it.

  He hoped he hadn’t consigned them both to getting killed.

  “Engaging Dragon,” Chase reported. Almost instantly, the tactical wireframe for Diablo lit yellow across the head and right arm.

  Down Firing Range Street, still no sign of targets.

  June had also yet to resume contact with the rest of Heavenly Mafia.

  Flicking the comms to just talk to Frank and Lin, Reggie reassured them. “Hang tight. Trust June and Chase to do their jobs. We’ve got ours.”

  As they waited, Reggie tried to get into the head of his opponents. What would he be doing if someone in Ghost Platoon was pinned down on the far side of a sniper alley, about to get picked apart by a pilot who knew they were a couple missile strikes away from losing a leg?