Virtual War: Alpha Centauri (A LitRPG Novel)

by Steven J Shelley

  “We’ll be fighting on enemy ground?” Talbot asked, frowning.

  “The Irians see it as a matter of hospitality,” Gann said. “A thawing of relations between us, so to speak. Needless to say our security forces have combed the hangar and found nothing untoward. Our respective governments have signed a temporary Peace Treaty. Terran personnel are quite safe on the Terangdor for the duration of the virtual war.”

  Talbot wasn’t particularly enamored with the idea of competing on the Irian vessel, but figured that Terran High Command knew what they were doing.

  “While you’ve been in here, all hands have been called to the hangar to present for recruitment. Choose wisely, Major. You should consult with your key strategist. You have fifteen minutes to assess the available skill classes before assembling your team.”

  3

  Fifteen minutes. Didn’t seem like enough time to make critical decisions. Talbot saluted and hustled back through the Aurora, reaching the hangar within minutes. He felt a little self-conscious as four hundred and sixty of the Republic’s finest marines watched him approach.

  “Major Talbot,” said someone to his right. It was Laura, standing at a lightscreen blinking with data.

  “You have the skill trees?” Talbot asked as he joined her.

  Laura nodded.

  “Gary Banner!” he called out in a loud voice. At this point he was simply glad his first command hadn’t come out as a hoarse squeak.

  “Sir!” came the older man’s ragged voice. He cleared the well-ordered ranks and saluted Talbot with pride.

  “Come and look at this, Quantum,” Talbot ordered.

  He didn’t mind using nicknames in front of the soldiers - it engendered good morale. In certain situations.

  Fielding looked at him quizzically. She was a good solider but had become increasingly jaded as the war dragged on. Which probably explained why she occasionally found herself in his cabin.

  “Go with me on this,” Talbot muttered to her as Quantum approached.

  “You’re not consulting Captain Sentori?” Laura asked.

  Talbot threw a glance at the front row of soldiers, where Sentori stood stiffly to attention.

  “Not today,” Talbot said provocatively. “Quantum - welcome to the team.”

  Beaming, the old engineer shook Talbot’s hand.

  “An unexpected pleasure, Major,” he said. “I hope we can achieve great things together.”

  “I just have one question,” Talbot said. “Where do you think our primary focus should be?”

  “Engineers,” came the instant reply. “Not just grease monkeys like me - craftsmen and alternative thinkers of all kinds. Men and women who can make hostile, alien terrain work for them.”

  Talbot nodded. As expected, he and Quantum were firmly on the same page.

  “Let’s take a look at the skill classes,” Talbot said.

  Fielding expanded the game data so both men could see. Three unique classes were available to the Terrans and three for the Irians. The combatants had different battle and resource-building philosophies, so skills were highly customized.

  An expert team of game designers had worked around the clock for months to thrash out a workable class system that was both fair and consistent. No easy task when the warring parties had a vested interest in seeing their unique skills maximized within the virtual environment.

  The Terran classes were Engineer, Scout and Commando. Engineers could develop skill trees covering hydrology, ecology, construction, crafting and unique weapons.

  Scout skill trees covered pathfinding, surveying, medic, woodcraft, and sniper rifles.

  Commandos could allocate skill points to leadership (squad benefits), experience, inventory, demolitions and assault rifles.

  “What do you think, Quantum?” Talbot asked the veteran engineer.

  “Seems well balanced,” came the reply. “A simple foundation with vast scope for complex specialization.”

  Quantum turned his pinched face to Talbot and kept his voice low.

  “We need as many engineers as we can recruit without being torn apart by all these grunts.”

  Talbot nodded in agreement. “Let’s take a look at the enemy skill trees first.”

  The Irian classes included Forager, Dragoon and Sentinel. Foragers could develop skills in geology, inventory, construction, rare materials and unique weapons. Dragoons could specialize in water craft, orienteering, stealth, animal husbandry and harpoons. Sentinels had access to unarmed melee, armed melee, armor, hunting and fusion cell enhancement.

  “I see the dragoon class as a major threat,” Talbot. “Stealth, along with those noiseless harpoons, could be a decisive factor.”

  “Agreed,” Quantum said. “Dragoons will probably form the bulk of their expeditionary force.”

  “Best way to fight them is through innovation,” Talbot said. “All the commandos in the world will get slaughtered if we don’t plan this thing strategically. I think I know which way I wanna go.”

  “I heard the Irians were very specific in their proposals for skill trees,” Quantum said. “We need to find counter-strategies for their strengths - water craft, close quarters melee, geology, raw materials and animal husbandry. Don’t discount any of these factors, Major.”

  Talbot nodded - choosing Quantum as his right-hand man was already paying off. He moved to address the troops. A natural, charismatic speaker, he felt calm and assured. The general vibe seemed to be a mixture of resentment and confusion. Talbot was well known to most of them and was hardly considered leadership material.

  “Listen up,” he began, his voice easily carrying across the silent hangar. “The next few days will be critically important - they might even decide the fate of the Terran Republic. I never asked to lead the virtual army. As most of you know, I’m not exactly the ambitious type. But I know what I know. It just so happens I’m the right man for this job. I ask only one thing - anyone who agrees to serve on my expeditionary force must respect and obey my authority. Without it, those Irians will cut us to shreds. You know it. I know it. So fucking tow the line.”

  Talbot paused. He hadn’t meant to sound so severe - it had just come out that way. He saw Laura exchange a knowing glance with Quantum.

  “Lieutenant,” Talbot said. “Activate a projection of Regal, please.”

  Giving Talbot a look that said “I didn’t realize I was your PA”, Fielding summoned the data. An three-dimensional image of Regal materialized in front of the assembled soldiers.

  “The rules of the Virtual War are simple,” Talbot said. “Supervised by officials from both sides, hundreds of game designers have created a battle zone based on a real, exhaustively surveyed surface area fifty miles in diameter. Each army will consist of one hundred virtual soldiers, or ‘pixel runners’, as they are known in the industry. All participants will ‘launch’ from their Immersion tanks at the same time, but will spawn at a location of their leader’s choosing. As Terran leader I will have limited access to a geological profile of the battle zone.”

  “What is the significance of the beacons, Major Talbot?” asked a fresh-faced young man in the front row.

  Ten glowing dots were clustered along the coastline of a southern land mass. The battle zone.

  “The army who has captured the majority of beacons at the end of a three-day period wins the virtual battle for Regal. Both fleets will then move onto the second planet and we start over again. The rules will remain the same for all three planets. The army with the most overall victories wins the entire system. The real system.”

  There was a heavy silence in the hangar as the soldiers absorbed the gravity of the situation.

  “One other thing,” Talbot said. Whoever I bring with me today is all I’m gonna have. Reinforcements are prohibited.”

  “What kind of gear will be have?” asked a soldier from somewhere in the middle of the formation.

  “Both armies will have access to a supply crate,” Talbot said. “They’ll be identica
l. Raw materials, a few tools, a quad and a thopter.”

  The Major pointed to the battle zone.

  “Zoom in close, Lieutenant,” he said with a wink at Fielding.

  Glaring at Talbot, she closed in on a verdant strip of coastline. A tear-shaped island hung a half mile from the shore.

  “I think we should start with this island,” Talbot said. “We’ve called it Arcadia.”

  Two silver dots glowed on the rugged land mass.

  “Beacons,” Talbot explained. “Two on the island. The perfect location to establish a base. Access to fresh water from these streams, and easily defendable on all sides.”

  “What if the Irians are thinking the same thing?” someone asked.

  “Then we’re gonna have to be quick,” Talbot said. “From the island we’ll move east onto the mainland and push hard for the beacons in this savanna. From there we’ll assess Irian troop placements and make an informed decision on what to do next. Any questions?”

  A dozen hands were instantly raised.

  “I don’t give a shit,” Talbot said, moving to consult the marine roster. “If I call out your name, report to the executive shuttle bay immediately. My first appointments will be section leaders. Sergeant Banner here will be my head engineer.”

  Talbot paused, looking at Lieutenant Fielding over by the projection. Seven hells, he wanted to take her to her bed. Of course, such a compulsion shouldn’t be the basis for selection on such an important mission. In any case, Fielding was a competent forward soldier.

  “Lieutenant Fielding will be my head scout.”

  Her scowl collapsed into a surprised grin. Now that was already worth it.

  “Where is Captain Wilkes?” Talbot demanded of the marines. A veteran soldier stepped forward, his face a lattice of raised scars. There were varying stories of how he acquired those, but Talbot was certain each one was well-earned. In his view, Wilkes was the best kind of grunt - humble and self-effacing, but an absolute machine when the plasma charges were flying.

  “Wilkes will be my head commando,” Talbot said in a tone that challenged anyone to defy him. The veteran nodded gratefully and went to stand alongside Quantum and Fielding. Talbot scanned the assembled marines carefully. If he was gonna get push-back, now was the time. There were plenty of run-and-gun marines in this group, most with healthy egos. At least a dozen men and women would be feeling aggrieved. Toni Sentori glowered at him murderously, but it was another grunt that eventually stepped forward without an invitation.

  Major Paul Carter. Talbot nodded with a mirthless smile.

  “Do you have an issue, soldier?” he asked. The use of ‘soldier’ was bound to rankle Carter, who, as a contemporary, deserved to be referred to as ‘Major’.

  Paul Carter was what Talbot liked to call a ‘tumor’. He was popular with his comrades, but only because they were afraid of him. Carter was one of those guys that continued being an abrasive, arrogant dick because no one had ever called him on it. Well, Talbot had, but the resultant altercation only served to land them both in the brig for a day.

  “Request permission to criticize the selection process, sir,” the grunt said, his eyes openly challenging Talbot’s authority.

  “Permission denied, Major,” Talbot said. “Stand down.”

  “Request permission to insist, Major,” Carter said with an insufferable grin.

  Talbot sighed and rolled up his sleeves. He was gonna have to do this the hard way. A glance across at Admiral Gann, who was watching with a gaggle of high-ranking officers, confirmed that the fight would be allowed.

  Of course, such challenges weren’t commonplace, but Talbot had seen two or three over the course of his career. There was usually a point to them, like a fatigued company letting off steam or an aggrieved grunt getting the opportunity to bring a commanding officer down a few pegs without being court-marshaled. “Authorized” duels weren’t necessarily restricted to men, either - Talbot had once seen a female officer beat a male subordinate half to death.

  So - Paul Carter was going to get his chance to humiliate a man he’d despised for a long time. Of course, the feeling was mutual. Talbot was in no danger of losing his posting if he lost. He wasn’t even required to give Carter what he wanted. No, the only thing at stake here was pride. Which was significant enough, especially if Talbot expected his virtual army to obey him without question.

  Carter adopted a classic “wharf tavern” stance and advanced aggressively. Talbot knew his way around a fight. You didn’t deliver green ledgers on the Holst-Sol courier run seven years running without an ability to rough folks up. What Talbot had over Carter was a sliver of experience, and he planned to exploit the advantage to the full.

  To that end, he dodged the first wild roundhouse and followed up with a short jab that did little damage but set the tone for the fight. A very wise (and tough) old grunt had once told Talbot that it was critical to set the psychological landscape early. Advice that had never failed.

  Making a show of laughing, Talbot backed up and taunted Carter with his eyes. The younger officer advanced more quickly than he should, allowing Talbot to step inside his front kick and slam the heel of his hand into the upstart’s nose. Carter was landed on his ass in a spurt of thick blood.

  It was a brutal blow but Talbot was in no mood for leniency. He needed to show the marines that he was capable of backing up his words with deeds. Besides, he’d pulled the blow slightly so Carter’s nose didn’t end up in the back of his skull. The stricken major began choking on his own blood, compelling Talbot to turn him over with his boot. He would need urgent plastic surgery if he was going to make it.

  “When you’re finished with the medics come back here,” Talbot muttered. “Welcome aboard, Carter.”

  4

  Lieutenant Fielding looked at him with wide eyes.

  “Seriously?”

  Talbot shrugged.

  “He’ll make a half-decent commando.”

  There was scattered laughter amongst the marines. It was the ultimate PR victory. Not only had Talbot physically humiliated Carter, he’d turned him into a charity case. Would he need to watch his back when they launched? Damn straight. But Talbot liked a bit of frisson on his team. There would be plenty to do and he needed everyone sharp.

  It took Talbot another hour to run through his list and allocate disciplines to his virtual army. By the end of his run he had sixty-four engineers, eighteen scouts and seventeen commandos. An angry murmuring rippled through the assembled marines. There were a hell of a lot of angry grunts out there.

  Worse still, Gann and his off-siders were frowning and scowling at Talbot. Conventional wisdom suggested that commandos make up the bulk of his force. Of course, no one had yet played the game, but it stood to reason that standard grunts were the safest choice. An army of gun-toting, highly experienced skirmishers would be extremely hard to beat in most situations.

  But Talbot believed the Irians would be far smarter than that. They would play to their own unique strengths. The Terrans would need to develop a unique, unpredictable style. The key was to use the terrain.

  “This is my team,” Talbot announced, stepping protectively in front of his new host. “I don’t believe in vanilla soldiers. I believe in specialists. I trust them. We may not see immediate results, but they’ll come. I fucking guarantee it. Thank you for turning out today. That will be all.”

  The unselected marines filed from the hangar with barely concealed outrage. Talbot felt his body relax when the last had gone.

  “See you in a few hours,” he said to his crew. “Lieutenant Fielding here will send you a departure waypoint. Dismissed.”

  Fielding punched Talbot in the ribs.

  “We have two hours,” he said suggestively as everyone filed out. “Wanna come with?”

  “You don’t deserve it,” Laura said with mock rage. “But I can’t disobey an order from my commanding officer, can I?”

  “Major Talbot!”

  It was fucking Gann, his
face purple with rage. Talbot rolled his eyes as he was ushered into an office adjoining the hangar. The Admiral and a team of bespectacled nerds sat around a holo-projection of Regal.

  “How can I help?” Talbot said in a tight voice. He was tired and needed some downtime before launch.

  “You mean, how can we help,” Gann said with a sneer. “What are you trying to pull, Talbot? Sixty-four engineers? What are we gonna do, destroy the Irians with an aqueduct?”

  “Sir, I think -”

  “Enough, it’s too late now,” the Admiral grumbled. “I’m already regretting my decision. These men are resource analysts. Our orbital scanners suggest the presence of an unknown metal in the northern area of the battle zone. A long way from where you’ve chosen to spawn.”

  “That’s good to know, sir,” Talbot said diplomatically. “Perhaps we can prevent the Irians from building a base in that region.”

  “Disruption is an ally,” one of the brainiacs intoned.

  Talbot waited for the analyst to produce another nugget of wisdom, but none was forthcoming.

  “If there’s nothing else, sir …”

  “Protect your engineers,” Gann snapped. “Save your scouts for wide-ranging beacon collection on the last day. Use your commandos sparingly. With the army you’ve chosen, you are not to engage the Irians directly. Oh, and Talbot …”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Fucking win, will you? Alpha Centauri will revitalize the Terran Republic.”

  “Sir.”

  Talbot drifted through the warship’s busy corridors, his mind a flood of competing thoughts. Laura was waiting for him, her navy blue uniform strewn across the floor.

  “Finished plotting alien destruction?” she asked, unzipping his fly and taking hold of his manhood. “No scout worth her salt waits forever.”

  Talbot gasped as she moved in closer.

  “We need to be in constant motion,” she said, emptying Talbot’s mind for the next eight and a half minutes.

  The executive hangar was electric with tension. Talbot made his way across with a wan smile, doing his best not to appear nervous. He was more excited than anything else, intrigued by the virtual world the combined talents of two proud civilizations had created.