Soda Pop Soldier (7 page)

“We've got feeds on most of the facility,” she says as I approach. “They're everywhere. The aliens, that is. WonderSoft is probably in the living quarters section but I can't get in there. So . . . if they made it, they're there.” She snaps her bubble gum. “What now, Question?” I check my CommandPad.

We're down to AwesomeSauce, Apone, Drake, Dietrich, Frost, and a guy named Crowe whom I haven't heard from much.

That makes seven of us.

The goal of the TFD match is to destroy the other team's defenses before they destroy yours. With the aliens surrounding everything, that means if teams don't have a fortress, then they don't have much of a chance at survival. WonderSoft is on the other side of the station. Between us and them, there are . . . a whole lot of those things. I watch the monitor as one of the aliens drags the body of a Softie avatar down a dimly lit grated corridor.

“Can we hurt them from here?” I ask AwesomeSauce. “Using the computer system?”

She's silent for a moment.

“Nah, doesn't look like it.”

I'm thinking.

“Listen,” I say over the chat. “Obviously you guys are fans of the movie. I've never seen it.” I pause, waiting for the various shouts of incredulity to pass. Then, “Does anyone have an idea how we can hurt WonderSoft? I mean, anything from the movie.”

No one says anything.

“In the movie, the atmosphere processor blows the whole place up,” offers Apone. “We could blow ourselves up. Not much use in that, I guess.”

“Yeah, kinda defeats the purpose, Sarge,” says Frost.

“I don't suppose anyone's got a
Bunker Buster
streak? We could drop it on the living quarter section and take them out or at least expose them to the aliens.”

“I got a
Special Delivery,
” says Drake. “But we need to be out in the open for that. We could use the weapons package option it comes with, though. That'd be real nice right about now.”

And I've got
Hang in There,
Lil' Buddy
. My final streak. A dropship escort for two minutes. But we're inside. What's it going to do, fire through the windows?

“I haven't seen this old movie either,” says AwesomeSauce. “Why do they blow up this atmosphere thing?”

“Oh, they don't mean to,” says Dietrich. “Just happens after a really awesome firefight when they get ambushed by warriors . . . those things. The aliens. They damage it when they walk into the nest.”

“The nest?” I ask.

“Yeah, that's where the alien queen makes her nest.”

“What if . . . ,” I'm thinking out loud. “What if that's map number three? What if this map TDF match has an inherent destruction feature? The aliens. They destroy your fortress, forcing you to find and move into the third map before that happens. It's probably a matter of time before . . .”

There's a dull thump on one of the doors. Everyone swivels, guns pointing at the door, watching the dent that's just appeared there. Then another.

“They're here,” whispers Apone.

“Yeah . . . matter of time,” says Frost. “We better do something fast 'cause if they get in here, it's gonna be a real short meet and greet.”

“I think this isn't the game,” I say. Everybody's still watching the door. It's dimpling inward even more. Everyone's slowly backing away, putting desks and displays between themselves and the rapidly deforming door. “We've got to get out to that atmosphere processor. That's where the next map is. The aliens will destroy both fortresses in a matter of time. We don't need to wipe out WonderSoft, the aliens will do it for us. Drake, have you unlocked the vehicle upgrade on that
Special Delivery
?”

“Played for three years . . . what do you think?”

“Good, call it in and drop it right outside those windows there.” I point out into the dark landscape of wind and rain. I can see shadows moving out there among the rocks and debris. There's nothing human avatar–shaped about them.

“Uh, we can't get through those windows with just rifles and no explosives, genius. That's a transparent wall. Guns are useless. We need, at least, a 30 mm chain gun or explosives,” says Dietrich.

Seams are beginning to appear in the door leading to Medical.

“Hang on . . . ,” I say, activating my third streak. “It's about to get real hairy for a couple of seconds.”

A seam in the door's thick welded-plate metal rips open like a shirt. One of the aliens sticks its shiny black bullet-shaped head in. Its grinning jaws snap open as another set of smaller teeth shoot out, dripping thick saliva.

I fire a quick burst and the thing's head explodes, its jaws still snapping as the body goes limp.

“I think ‘hairy' might be an understatement, Question,” whispers AwesomeSauce.

“Yeah . . . we're, like, done,” adds Drake. “I got sixty rounds left and . . .”

“Call in that vehicle now, Drake. Do it! Select the APC!” I shout over the chat. Meanwhile I'm dialing in my last streak. I set the spinning red target hologram on the door the aliens are about to come through.

“Ready, everyone . . . you know the drill. Conserve your ammo. Check your targets. Everyone stay frosty and we'll get through this,” says Apone over the metallic pounding and concussive thuds. The door is coming apart.

“
Escort Gunship,
inbound,” announces the game.

“Heads down, everyone!” I yell over the chat.

The aliens are crawling through, tails whipping, teeth gnashing, claws reaching, opening and closing. Drake begins to fire.

I turn to see the dropship lowering beneath storm-leaden clouds and the darkness outside, swiveling as it hovers beyond the large windows. Guns extend, centering on the spinning red targeting reticle I've placed over the door the aliens are coming through.

“Get down!”

The dropship's 30 mm cannons whir to life, smashing the explosive-resistant window to shards, sending a hazy stream of ball ammunition right into the splitting door. Aliens explode, ejecting yellow acid and greenish guts everywhere.

“Drake, call that APC in now!”

“Done.”

The spinning guns of the gunship wind down for a moment, waiting for a new batch of targets.

I shout, “Move now! Everyone through the window and out to the APC.” Aliens are still climbing through the Swiss-cheesed metal opening that was the door to Medical. The guns of the Albatross spool up again as AwesomeSauce and Crowe clear the smashed window. More aliens explode. Even more are coming through.

“Something's got me!” shrieks Drake over the chat. I look over to see an alien coming through the floor. I fire a short burst into the dark hole beneath his feet and the thing explodes down there in the dark. Drake's avatar screams. Nice touch, WarWorld.

“I'm down to 25 percent,” notes Drake over the chat.

The whining death pitch of the dropship's guns recedes.

“C'mon, we are leaving, Marines!” says Apone.

It's a small fall out through the shards of the window and into the mud and rain. I take 2 percent damage. Rain falls across my HUD as my avatar gets to his feet. Ahead of me the others are already scrambling toward the APC. It's an identical version of the APC used in the
Drive-by
streak earlier. Above us the hovering dropship swivels, its chain guns dispensing a blurring barrage of death in a wide arc at multiple closing targets all around us. Over in-game ambient sound, I can hear the dying screeches of the prehistoric-like aliens mixed with the howling wind and splashing rain.

An alien comes charging and thrashing out of the dark, tackling Drake's limping avatar. The other marines and AwesomeSauce are firing at a swarm of aliens trying to cut them off from reaching the APC. I close with the one on top of Drake and execute the hand-to-hand kill option by clicking both mouse buttons at once. I can't chance shooting the thing, it's all over Drake. A quick cut-scene plays out as my avatar reaches one hand out and grabs the thrashing head of the alien. My long-barrel .45 comes into frame against the skull of the alien and fires, putting a hot bullet through the elongated skull. Its jaws snap shut, then open, going slack in death.

I get Drake up and we're moving. We barely make the red emergency-lit interior of the APC as the vehicle's autoturret fires madly at the swarming aliens. The dropship above us turns, engaging multiple unseen targets. Like I said, we barely make it.

We're moving fast over dark terrain. AwesomeSauce is driving. I check the CommandPad and mark the location of the distant atmosphere processor.

“ETA in five,” she shouts over the chat and the rumbling drone of the APC.

“You think there'll be more of those things out there?” I ask Apone.

“Can't say, sir. Can't say that at all. But my guess is that most of the aliens are probably based around Hadley's Hope. The only thing we're for sure guaranteed to find at the atmo' processor is the queen.”

The queen is probably what we need to defeat to gain the tech option.

Dietrich's running the
Medic
perk so we get our health back. The APC also contains a full-reload supply point. We can't swap out our weapons, but we're totally rearmed. Magazines and 'nades.

The APC pulls up in front of the massive sloping pyramid that is the atmosphere processor. Outside it looks like we've traveled to another world. The jungle and the mountains are gone. Here, there is only twisted rock and fast-shifting clouds of purple blue and shadows that almost seem to streak across the low sky. Small red and white lights twinkle and blink from the superstructure of the plant, signaling in the gloom of the storm.

“In there,” says Apone over the chat. “ 'bout nine levels down we should find the nest . . . and the queen.”

We move in. Tactical formation.

The place is crawling with aliens.

The marines seem to know where the access stairs leading down are.

“We've run this mod on our own, several times. 'Cept this is way better,” says Drake calmly over the chat as he cuts down three warriors with a burst from his auto rifle.

At level five, strange growths, almost like the bone structure of some ancient dinosaur, cover the tight passages and narrow descents. At level six, things move from intense to insane, as aliens start crawling along the walls and ceilings, leaping in at us. But we stay tight and figure the shifting AI out. In time we're working as a team, cutting them down as they come at us in sporadic waves. We're calling out targets, burning through ammo just to keep them back. At level eight we find nothing. Just a wan red light and darkness covering the entire empty level.

“We made it,” says AwesomeSauce. I don't hear the bubble gum.

“Yeah . . . ,” says Drake, his voice high pitched and triumphant. He's cruising on a cocktail of success and gunfire. “Sometimes things turn out way different than you thought they would. In the movie we all . . .”

“Sulaco Uplink, established,” interrupts the game announcer abruptly. “
Orbital Strike,
imminent.”

“ . . . died,” finishes a much subdued Drake. Then, “Man,
Orbital Strike
's like game over for all of us. Both sides.”

So that's what that was,
I think, remembering the intel point back on the first map.

RangerSix told me that if I couldn't get the tech, then I was to make sure WonderSoft didn't get it either. I guess the WonderSoft commander had the same orders.

“One minute to
Orbital Strike,
” says the gravel-voiced game announcer.

“Those cheaters,” swears AwesomeSauce, her voice petulant, bitter.

“Yeah,” says Frost. “Losers gotta lose.”

We're done. Nothing survives an
Orbital Strike
. The only reason you use it is to make sure the other team doesn't win. No matter how good they are. Or how hard they played.

“Listen up, Marines,” says Apone over the chat quietly. “We made it this far. Let's go down there and finish this thing now. Who cares what happens after that.”

Silence.

“Straight up,” says Crowe. “Let's do it to it.”

We rush. We rush the stairs to level nine and find the shadow of a massive alien queen looming like some otherworld prehistoric nightmare in the mist, surrounded by large elongated eggs. She hisses, then roars, her jaws opening and snapping shut.

“You guys did great tonight,” I say over the chat just before it all goes down. “Good job.”

“Hey, Question,” says Dietrich. “You're no Gorman . . . thanks, everybody, that was the best game of my life.”

I didn't get that Gorman remark, but everyone agrees in their own way. It reminds me for a moment that games are supposed to be fun. Just fun. That's all. We were terrified all the way. Nervous. Laughing. Solving the riddle of the game together. Y'know . . . fun.

Then . . .

“Marines!” yells Apone as we enter the ninth level.

We're firing, bullets smashing into the rushing, looming queen. Acid splashes everywhere, away from and into us. Her tail is whip-snaking up and then down upon us. Claws wide . . .

“Stand by for
Orbital Strike,
” says the game flatly.

And the screen turns white . . . then gray, outlining everything in drifting ash. Slowly freezing. Dissolving. I'm looking into the jaws of the alien queen.

Game Over
appears across my screen.

Chapter 6

S
ancerré doesn't come home from the shoot that weekend, or the club the crew was going to afterward, for that matter.

Sullen gray morning light reminds me I came home late, after standing outside Burnished, trying to catch a glimpse up at the candlelit club entrance that led to an interior I'd never see. I'd stood outside in the snow, listening to the sound drifting down from the floors above: clinking glasses, too loud bar chat, and a coy laugh that reminded me of another one I knew all too well. I came home and drank scotch and watched a replay of Sunday night's battle. I drank and tried to focus on the business of work. I lost myself in memorizing WonderSoft weapons charts, APC hard points, and everything else that might give me an advantage. If ColaCorp ends up defeated in the Song Hua Eastern Highlands campaign, then we were finished for most of New York City's best advertising.