by Nick Cole
I don’t care.
Getting out alive with Chloe means more. Even if I can’t get the revenge. I can get me and her out. I’m down to that. Down to bargaining with what I can get away with and live. In the end I just want to take her and get clear of this circus of horrors.
“Let’s get started,” I say.
He smiles wanly, like he isn’t all there. Then he nods to someone and they all begin to bark orders and replies to one another in that harsh language they attack everyone’s ears with.
“I’m going to strap into my suite now, Rashid,” I tell him, like I’m all in. “I’ll see you on the other side.” And then to sell it I add, “Congratulations, sultan.”
He barely nods. He has the entire weight of a country on his shoulders. And he’s just moments away from having it all within his grasp.
Except compared to ninety-nine point nine percent of the rest of the world for all of human history, he’s already had it all.
I’m on my way to my suite when Rashid’s brother comes out of the blue shadows along the gray concrete halls.
“You realize he’s a madman,” he hisses at me. “If you go through with this and help Rashid—if you make him sultan—he’ll kill us all. You and me first. I can get you out of here if you throw the battle today, PerfectQuestion. The mullahs are willing to get you to the border and hand you over to the CIA. They know about your agent.”
I study him. He’s chubby and businesslike. The opposite of his brother. In truth, yeah, with his modern ideas, Calistan would probably be better off under Omar. But right now I can’t trust anyone. Not even someone who can get me out of here. This place is a madhouse. And everyone is lying in order to get what they want.
“Everybody’s on their own.” That’s what I tell him.
His pale face and thick lips tremble. He’s the literal definition of crestfallen. Like he’s bet everything on this last-minute plea and is only now realizing what a bad bet it was all along.
He played the game, and he lost. Or at least, he lost the game that gets played by the rules. And he played badly. Maybe that means he wouldn’t be a better leader.
But he probably isn’t a homicidal egomaniac like his brother.
Probably.
He composes himself and takes out a handkerchief that matches his perfectly tailored suit. He mops his brow.
“If that’s the way it has to be,” he says, his voice trembling, “then there are going to be consequences. For all of us.”
I push him against the wall and get in his face. It’s for his own good.
“Listen, everything you’re saying…” I can’t admit it’s true because what if he and Rashid are playing some weird loyalty test game? But I also can’t let someone die. “If you really believe it, then get the hell out of Calistan right now. You can do that and live. Even if out there you’d be a nobody like the rest of us… at least you’d be alive.”
Shock and befuddlement wash across his face. Not so much at the thought of fleeing for his life, I suspect, but at the thought of not being the son of the sultan. That… to him… is simply unimaginable.
If I knew right then how dangerous he really was… I would’ve killed him myself. Instead I merely watch as he tears away and stalks off into the suffocating darkness of the underground bunker. And I feel good about myself about having thrown him up against the wall. Like I’m a big man or something.
I make my way to my suite, swipe the card they gave me to access it, and log into Civ Craft. I bring up the tactical menu and start dropping my orders in the command channel. Clan commanders click “received” and “executing.” I drag a giant cartoon arrow across the map to indicate the direction of our attack and then pull at the top of the arrow to make more arrows indicating positions I want knocked out and who is to take them out. And then I add… when in doubt attack whatever the Colonial Marines are attacking. Follow the dropship. Because it’s got to be that simple. And it really is that simple. It’s a pretty straightforward plan, and if I were playing it straight, we might win. Barely.
But I’m not. And I can’t.
I have to lose. And then get out of here before they catch me losing.
And here’s the really hard part. I have to stay alive, in-game, long enough to make sure Calistan loses this one. If I get killed early on… I’m out. And therefore useless to effect the outcome I want.
“Hey, Perfect.” It’s Enigmatrix over chat.
“Go ahead,” I say as I finish getting my VR adjusted and dialed in. I tap in a quick message to MarineSgtApone asking how many Marines are left.
“I’m looking at your plan. You’re sending everything into the cheese grater at the front gate. What’s your game?”
“It’s the only way,” I reply.
“Sure… but that’s not like you. I know you. I’m your biggest enemy. In every game back in WarWorld you’ve always come at me from where I least expect it.”
Noted.
“Now you’re just dumping everything into their front. Where they’re waiting. I’m looking at the sub-clan guarding that approach. Cobra Command. My op research algorithm crawl on all these players’ online performance in other games shows them to be highly rated killers. Of the heartbreaker/lifetaker mentality. Why not air-drop or go up the cliffs and take the Commando Joe fortress that way?”
She’s right.
“Because we have to make it look like a big battle—a devastating victory. We have to crush every asset they have today to make it look like a total win. No hit and run. This is for all the marbles. If we can convince them that the road leading up to their base is the battle, then they’ll commit there and throw everything at us. Basically, we can win through attrition here.”
“Yeah… but why?”
Because I want us to lose. And then I want to get out of Calistan fast. And suddenly that makes me think of her. She’ll be left holding the hired-pro-players who-double-crossed-Rashid bag.
I could message her to run as soon as everything has gone sufficiency south. That’s an option.
I watch as the first Calistanis throw themselves against the first line of emplacements. Within seconds we have multiple dead. The fighting is brutal and vicious.
“Look at them, Question. They’re getting wiped out already.”
“Use the artillery now,” I tell her.
“How much?”
“All of it,” I say. “I’m going in.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
I’m with the Colonial Marines, or what remains of them, streaking above the combined clans of Calistan as everyone races for the objective, the front gate of the Commando Joe fortress.
Ahead I can see at least three defensive lines, and I have to admit they’re pretty impressive. They’ve got reinforced concrete trenches where hundreds, if not thousands, of grunts are waiting to defend against our ground assault. Angular concrete towers with high-powered quad fifties are dumping copious amounts of digital lead into everything that moves. Hundreds of small machine gun pits rake the area with interlocking fire. And above and behind all this rises the massive Joe fortress. More towers. More turrets. High walls.
The ghostly tracers of artillery begin to fall all across the rising escarpment that leads up the enemy base.
I get a text from Irv. I’ve patched my phone to my VR helmet so it shows up on my HUD. That connection is scrambled, too. Encrypted.
I hope.
Kid, Calistan’s on fire and melting. Having trouble getting across the border. Gunships everywhere. But I will be there. What’s going on?
I don’t have time to reply.
“Take us in all the way under the barrage,” I order CPLFerro. “Sergeant Apone, we’ve got to clear a beachhead within their defensive works. Stand by for combat drop.”
“Roger that, sir!”
“LZ in twenty seconds!” calls out Ferro.
Enigmatrix is sending everything toward us. We’ll make a path right to the front door to make it clear we’re coming at them head on. I
need a steady stream of reinforcements to move forward from both sides. On private chat, I tell her, “No matter what… keep them moving. Got it?”
Long silence in which I hear only the ambient in-game sound of the dropship’s engines spooling into a high-pitched whine, then roaring hard to brake and hover. And then Marines are shouting.
“Down and clear!” yells Ferro.
The back ramp drops and we’re flooding out into a concrete yard at the very leading edge of the defensive works. Dead Geek Leaguers in some sort of wacky bright-blue tactical armor are everywhere. Others are surprised to see a dropship come in hot while artillery is still pounding everything to pieces all across the Commando Joe bunkers. Plumes of smoke and showering debris rain down as more strikes come in.
“Let’s rock!” shouts MarinePFCVasquez, and I hear one of the smartguns cut loose on full auto. I’m engaging Joe troops on a parapet as they try to reposition a minigun to pin us down.
Somewhere in there, Enigmatrix manages an “affirmative.”
A second later a missile streaks across the yard and takes out the dropship as it lifts off. Ferro and Spunkmeyer go offline in the HUD roster.
“We lost the bird, Sarge!” screams Frosty.
“We ain’t leavin’ today, Frost!” yells MarineSgtApone over the chat.
I rush the concrete tower with my M4X out and set it to full auto. Two Cobra Troopers—killers by Enigmatrix’s assessment—are just coming out, and I engage as I close, putting hot smoke trails of 5.56 between them and me. Both go down and I’m in the squat tower darkness of the bunker. Artillery rounds from outside are falling indiscriminately all along the walls. The game rattles and shakes like an earthquake and my helmet speakers are both rumbling and screeching, even whining and popping. It’s the full show up close and personal.
Concrete stairs lead up onto the roof where a minigun team raking the Calistani troops watches over the surge now pouring into the shattered first defensive line of Commando Joe’s fortress. I follow the barrel of the M4X up, and at the top I land it on the minigun team. I ventilate them via mag dump and reposition the minigun toward the large support trench leading from the Commando Joe inner defenses toward this one. Cobra Troopers using what looks like some high-tech version of the ancient German grease gun are flooding forward, ready to retake our beachhead.
I hose them with the whining minigun and cut through dozens in seconds. Including a player. I’m rewarded with a tiny trumpet flourish and some dog tags. A player tagged Da’Baroness420 is down and out. For whatever that’s worth. I’m sure there’ll be a lot more logging on in the next few minutes.
A Cobra ground-attack dropship fills the top of the tower with suppression fire as it makes a pass overhead. I take damage.
If I get killed, I’m out. And then Enigmatrix will probably take over and do something smart to save Calistan. I can’t let that happen. Because then Rashid gets to be king.
Sultan, I mean.
I ditch the heavy gun and fall back inside the tower for cover. The red Martian sky throws bloody illumination over the battle that’s now turning into a real knife-and-gun show as all the Calistani clans stream for the front entrance. The Geek League is making its last stand.
A news crawl erupts over my comments feed. TWITCHNN is reporting that Civ Craft: Mars has broken some kind of record for gross micro-transaction velocity. And it’s not just Calistan, but both sides that are paying to win. Though looking at the swarm, I don’t know that money’s going to make a difference.
This is a slugfest. Last team standing wins.
“Where’s our air support?” I ask Enigmatrix over chat.
“Inbound in five. Can you hold your current position, PQ?”
I roll my head and sigh into my mic.
I’ve lost half my Marines.
“Can do.”
The volume of fire coming from the access trench is overwhelming. I dash to the now-flaming wreck of the Colonial Marines dropship and low-crawl toward some clan Marines.
“Gotta push forward now!” I tell Apone over the chat. I dislike trying to get this guy and the rest of the clan killed, but hey, I’m surrounded by psychopaths with real weapons who will real-kill me in real life. Side note: If I ever make it back to America… I won’t leave for a really long time. Freedom ain’t free, and… it’s pretty great.
“You mean… we just gonna attack ’em? While they’re attacking us?” says Frosty.
“Yeah. Form up into two units and move forward. Keep up overwhelming fire. Most likely that’ll force them to go into a defensive posture for a few minutes and that’ll give time for our reinforcements to come up along our flanks. Cool?”
It’s all about momentum. And only one side gets it. I’d like to be that side.
“If you say so, PQ,” mumbles Frost. “But we about to die real soon.”
“Probably,” I mutter to a muted chat.
And then…
“Follow me!” on live broadcast.
“Affirmative,” says Hicks over the comm.
I move forward, firing on full auto and crouching as I try to keep flaming wreckage and smoking debris between me and everyone on the other side currently shooting back at us. I’m about to find out if anyone followed. Cobra Troopers are swarming forward, firing and going prone. I knock down two more and shout “Mag out!” over chat as I duck behind a piece of the dropship’s exploded turbine.
Hicks sweeps in behind me and lays down suppressive while I reload.
I hear MarinePvtDrake’s smartgun off to my right. Or maybe it’s Vasquez. A repeating mechanical blur distributing death in mass quantities. I see Cobra Troopers ripped to shreds. The walls of the bunker turn to dust and flying fragments as the heavy gun continues its destruction.
I pivot and move around the side of the turbine and surprise a Cobra squad trying to flank us. I drag the M4X down their line, hitting some. Others get waxed by Apone and Frost on my six. Cobra fires back and we lose Hicks in a hail of bright gunfire. But not before he smokes two and cooks a grenade that knocks out the rest of the cluster.
“Keep moving forward!” I yell over chat and check the time. Reinforcements should be on scene soon.
Suddenly the battle is up close and personal and no quarter is being offered by anyone. I empty the M4X and don’t have time to reload. I pull my .45 Longslide and unload on a soldier carrying an LSX-99 heavy gun. I get off a headshot in the smoke and melee.
I see Frost go down off to my right. Apone empties his pulse rifle at point-blank range on some player tagged MajorBludd.
Someone tosses flashbangs into the concrete trench we’re fighting for and everything on my screen fritzes out. I see only weird smoky ghost images of the Cobra Troopers shooting back, dying, and pushing forward. I target as best I can and fire because there’s no other play here. I’m not even sure if I’m hitting anyone. But when in doubt… mag dump.
When I regain vision and integrity, the mouth of the trench is covered in shredded bodies and smoke. Only Apone and I remain.
Everyone else is very dead.
For now we have beaten back the counterattack. But as a unit we are no longer combat-viable.
“Hot damn!” shouts Apone over the chat. “We did it, sir.”
Calistani reinforcements are swarming forward. Jihadis in clan battle armor moving through the wreckage. And also three skins I recognize from WarWorld. Kiwi, Fever, and Jolly.
I hear the distant chatter of machine gun fire and explosions as other Calistani clans are trying to destroy different objectives along the first line of defenses.
“Coming forward with more troops,” says Rashid over command chat.
Good. I hope he gets killed. The thought of fragging him myself occurs to me. Except IRL I’m trapped inside the same building he and all the people who serve him are. And they have real guns. Whatever happens has to look like it just… happened.
And I still don’t have an answer for that yet. But it’s getting close to the disappearing hour. Soon
I’ll need to slip away and make it look like I’m still here. Chloe and I will need a head start regardless of which way we go. Either with Irv, or the priest’s contacts Chloe has the loc on.
“Great,” I tell the maybe-soon-to-be sultan of Calistan. “This is the breakthrough. Throw everything at this point and follow me. We’re gonna win, Rashid!”
“For Calistan!” he shouts.
Yeehaw! I think.
“Perfect…” Rashid says excitedly over command chat. “We’ve got over half the online viewership watching right now. This is big… for me,” he says like some actor who can’t believe he just won some cruddy award no one cares about.
Of course it is.
“Great. I’ll make sure you get in on all the action. We’ve got to punch through the secondary defenses next. Be ready, Rashid.”
“I’m on my way in!”
He sounds so excited to win. Everything.
Chapter Fifty-Six
I get a text from Chloe.
Waiting for you across the street. It’s getting bad. Calistan has declared martial law. Aztec Front took out a military convoy and blew up one of the oil wells in Huntington Beach. Gunships everywhere. We’ve got to move.
And then one last text.
Hurry.
For the last hour we’ve been trying to punch our way through a series of trenches to reach the main bunker that will give us access to the Commando Joe base. An understatement would be we are “taking heavy losses.” Truth is, we’re getting cut to pieces even with reinforcements. But somehow Rashid, and I, and MarineSgtApone, along with Fever, JollyBoy and Kiwi, have managed to stay alive despite the overwhelming casualties. Thanks in large part to Fever’s excellent combat medical skills. The shock resuscitation paddles have been used. Heavily.
Jolly, Fever, and Kiwi are all officially Calistani clan, with full mullah approval. Jolly had to buy his way back into the game with his own money after blowing up on the SDF-1 yesterday. Guess he didn’t quite lose all his Super Bowl winnings in Monte Carlo. Still, I owe him. I owe them all. Rashid has promised to reimburse them with a bonus if we win…