Dedication
For my wife, for more reasons than I can count.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Praise for Planetside
By Michael Mammay
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter One
Despite what I did, I never spent a day in prison.
That’s pretty fucked up.
I spent maybe an hour in a holding cell before what passed for my trial, but that proved to be a formality. The powers that be had decided my fate before I ever came out of stasis after the journey back from Cappa. More accurately, they’d decided upon the politically expedient course, and my fate happened to be attached to it.
In technical language it was called “retirement” in lieu of prosecution. The official judgment included a lot of legalese about my thirty-plus years of exemplary service, exigent circumstances, the role of the commander on the ground, and that sort of nonsense. I even got to keep my pension, though most of that goes to Sharon.
That’s probably the real punishment. She left me about eighteen months ago, six months after I returned, though some of that time we staged for the optics. She didn’t enjoy being married to a pariah—it didn’t suit her. I don’t blame her. I’d have avoided it too, if I could have. Being recognized on the street, being followed by the press . . . those things got old fast. So we called it quits as amicably as a couple can do that kind of thing. I took the circus with me, and she took half my money—it’s how that goes. She could have made it worse, but she didn’t. I will always appreciate that. Soon after, the hoopla mostly died down to a point where I could function, so I was suddenly truly alone.
The transition took a while to set in: leaving the military, where my entire life had followed a pretty tight regimen on a day-to-day basis. Suddenly, I had nowhere to be, nothing that had to be done, no emergencies, no enemies. After about ninety days of that, I decided to do something other than sit around in my new apartment and drink all day. That’s how I came to be strapped into a high-tech battle-simulation suit with a bunch of other executives, playing the galaxy’s most expensive game of laser tag. Admittedly, there were a few other steps along the path to that moment.
Battlesim!™ was a hybrid live-action/virtual-reality (VR) immersive game where teams of up to twenty players worked physically inside of a simulated city to try to outfight the other team and achieve an objective. In our case, we had to capture a building, which in our virtual-reality world looked like a small three-story hotel. We also got bonus points if we eliminated everyone on the other team. I had some skill in that area. The thing that made it challenging was that the other team always shot back, trying to accomplish the same objective. Battlesim!™ started as WarTrainer 14, designed by Varitech Production Company—VPC—as a combat simulator for the military. Unfortunately, the cost upon completion exceeded the government budget and another company got the bid, so VPC did the next best thing.
They turned it into a game for rich people.
I definitely wasn’t rich—far from it. That’s why I had to find a job, and VPC was as good a job as any. They really liked doing team-building events for their executives, so it was only a matter of time until somebody in the HR department decided it would be good for morale if we all ran around a little bit inside the simulation one afternoon and tried to virtually kill each other. I held an alternate opinion. But since they employed me and didn’t make me do any real work other than schmoozing at corporate events, I gave them a pass and played along.
Inside the game, my team had been led by Albert Claxton, the CFO, who had promptly gotten himself and most of the rest of our players killed in an ill-fated frontal assault. That may have been on purpose, though, since the other team’s captain was Javier Sanchez, our CEO. Probably not great politics to wipe out the boss.
Not that I was good at politics.
Still, this left us outnumbered fifteen to three, with me and my two remaining teammates hiding in an out-of-the-way building, discussing strategy as the other team combed the grid looking for us. I came into the game planning to make it look good but not really expecting to expend much effort. I had a chance to make that a reality now by dying valiantly in a heroic charge, then joining in the celebration of the boss’s win.
Thing is, I’m not wired that way.
I decided to beat the boss, even if it got me fired. And with all of the higher-ups from my team in virtual body bags, the other two members of my team were staring at me through creepy, bug-eyed virtual-reality helmets, looking for guidance. I’d probably get them fired too.
At least I’d have some drinking buddies.
“We can’t attack the building. We don’t have enough firepower,” I said. They both nodded, either out of understanding or mere acquiescence. “So our only option is to try to draw them out, trap them, then eliminate them. Once they’re all dead, we can walk in. They probably won’t leave anybody defending, because they’ll all want to be part of the hunt.”
“But there are fifteen of them,” said Kaitlyn Woo, vice president of Engineering. She could see the fifteen red symbols in her heads-up display, same as I did.
“Exactly,” I said. “So they’ll be overconfident, especially after that first little action we did. They’re not thinking about this as a battle right now; they’re thinking of it as a mop-up operation. A fox hunt.”
“Sure, but five-to-one odds are still five to one,” said Derek Birchfeld, deputy VP of Logistics. “And we used up a lot of our assets in the main assault. Sometimes overconfidence is just good sense.”
I smiled, though they couldn’t see it with the helmets. Claxton had brought in an airstrike at the worst possible time, as our aircraft couldn’t fire because we’d put ourselves into the kill zone. So we had no support from above. But I’d scrolled through what we had left, and I had a plan. Everyone playing the game was intelligent—leaders in their field—but they’d stepped into my world. They saw individual moves, where I saw combinations. They thought sequentially, while I thought simultaneously. It wasn’t their fault. I had a lifetime of practice, and for all the complexity of Battlesim!™, it was still a game, and simple compared to real combat.
And even if I did something stupid, no one would die.
“Kaitlyn, if I wasn’t here and you were in charge, what would you do? Be honest.”
She thought about it for a few seconds. “I’d expect them to be out looking for us, leaving the building undefended, like you said. So I’d try to get around to this side over here.” She pointed to the three-dimensional map my helmet had projected between us. “I’d move fast, and coming from this direction, there’s a good chance they wouldn’t see us, so maybe we could take them by s
urprise. We could get into the building, then make a stand there, from a position of strength.”
“Exactly. That’s the textbook answer, and the only way to win.” I could almost feel her smiling at my praise. I wasn’t lying. She’d given the answer any competent junior officer would have come up with.
Except, of course, we couldn’t do that.
Because in this case, outnumbered five to one, the textbook way to win meant sure defeat. “What do you think the other side is thinking right now? Not their initial thought. Once they sit for a second and plan. What will they expect us to do?”
After a second Woo nodded her head, getting it. There’s a reason she’s a VP. “They’ll expect us to do exactly what I just said we should do.”
“Right. And they’ll hit us right here.” I indicated a spot about halfway to our target building. “They’ve got good sightlines from the roof of this building over here, and they can put somebody on the ground over here so we can’t slide out the back door.”
“So we attack them in those spots,” said Birchfeld.
“Not exactly,” I said. “As soon as we do that, they’ll know we’re not doing what they thought, and they have enough people left where they’ll change up their plan and beat us anyway.”
“That makes sense,” said Woo. “So what do we do? The process of thinking through this is interesting, but I know you already have the answer. Can you just give it to us?”
I laughed inside my helmet. “Sure. We need to make it look like we’re going the way they expect us to. Once they believe it, they’re more likely to commit fully to stopping us. Especially if we make it hard for them. But we also attack the positions we think they’ll be in. We hit them on the roof, where they don’t have any cover, and we hit their blocking position. Hopefully we can thin their numbers a little bit.”
“So how do we do that with only three people . . . and without getting caught in the trap?” asked Birchfeld.
“We’re going to show them exactly what they expect to see, then we attack from the opposite direction.” I traced another path through the map. “I’ve already started.”
“So we’re really going to try to take out the boss?” he asked.
I gave an exaggerated shrug that the VR could pick up. “Yep.”
“Sounds good,” he said. Woo nodded in agreement as well. Their standing went up in my eyes.
The VR helmet ran on similar specs as things I’d seen in the military, so I had no trouble toggling through our resources via eye movement. I brought in a drone and had it drop smoke pellets along the route we would have taken, to make it look like we were coming that way and trying to obscure our movement. Without waiting, I called for artillery strikes: an airburst against the roof and heat-seeking submunitions against the blocking position down at street level. I expected our opponents to think a little bit two-dimensionally and forget about cover from above. I’d know if I guessed right in about thirty seconds. Yet another advantage of a simulation over real life. The simulation had a scoreboard that told us when we “killed” somebody.
“It’s about time to move,” I said, and the three of us headed toward the door. “Woo, you keep an eye up top, looking for drones. Anything that might spot us. If you see something, report immediately so we can put up countermeasures to confuse it. Birchfeld, you take point. Follow the route I sent to your heads-up and keep to cover as much as possible. The longer it takes them to realize our true position, the better.”
As Birchfeld opened the door, I triggered our last drone to make an electronic strike against the enemy’s communications. Jamming didn’t work very well on professional units because they trained for it. They had plans in place to bypass network failure, so in real combat it only created a few seconds of advantage. With civilians, however, I counted on it giving us quite a bit longer. If we took some of their people out with artillery at the same time their comms went dead, each group of them would have to make their own decisions until they could regroup on a new frequency. In the confusion, some might rush to the place where they thought we were attacking, some might fall back and defend. Anything that split them up helped our cause.
The thud from the artillery as it impacted compressed my chest, the virtual reality so good that I almost panicked for a second. I took a deep breath and reminded myself where I was. Neither of my companions hesitated, probably because they never experienced real artillery. My feet slapping the synthetic floor pounded in my ears as other noise went away, following the explosions. I toggled my display as much as I dared while running. Seven enemy icons went dark. I’d predicted their locations well. Eight enemy left—still close to a three-to-one advantage for the enemy, but much better than before.
We turned the corner and gunfire erupted directly in front of me as Birchfeld opened up on automatic. By the time I got my bearings, three enemy were down, shot in the back as they’d run the opposite direction. Five on three head count now. Even better odds, and very much needed because I’d used up all of our assets in the deception, leaving us only rifles and grenades.
We staggered our run to the objective, darting from one doorway to the next, hugging the sides of buildings as we ran. It didn’t hurt to be cautious, though I thought it more likely that they’d fall back and defend now. They’d have seen the losses as well as we did. They’d have their communications back, so they could organize themselves. These were corporate leaders. Someone would take charge.
“As we approach, watch the upper-story windows for snipers,” I told my teammates. Personally I’d have chosen to defend from inside the building, keeping my position hidden from attackers. I’d wait for the enemy to enter, and then cut them down. But I didn’t expect that from amateurs. They’d want to see us coming. If they used snipers, they would definitely create problems, so it wasn’t a bad plan, just a basic one. We could take advantage of it, because we could get to within about fifteen meters of the target building without having to break into the open.
The first bullet slapped into the building a few centimeters away from Birchfeld’s head. The fragments burst off the wall with a snap; the report of the rifle came after the bullet struck. Holy shit. I had to give the VR designers credit for reality.
“Sniper,” said Birchfeld, with only a slight inflection betraying his adrenaline rush. He’d make a good soldier.
“Did you see which window?”
He poked his head around the corner, then jerked it back before the enemy could get another line on him. “Third story. Second window from the left. I think there might be a second one, too. I thought I saw a flash of light two more windows down.”
That made sense. The building had five windows and they’d taken up positions in numbers two and four. Again, basic, but also effective, as it gave them the widest coverage of the street since they didn’t know which direction we’d come from. They probably had two on the opposite side of the building as well, leaving their fifth person as a floater. I wondered whether they’d bring everybody to this side now that they knew our location, or if they’d stay put, thinking we might come from multiple directions. Either way, we had to move. They had the numbers, so I’d have to make some assumptions and take some chances. It was VR, not real life, so we might as well take a shot at glory.
“Birchfeld, you stay here and try to keep them occupied. Provide some covering fire. Woo, you’re with me. We’re going to hit the east entrance then get upstairs as fast as we can and try to take the snipers out from behind.”
“Got it,” they both responded.
Birchfeld poked his rifle around the corner and began firing. I didn’t have time to watch the result. I tossed a smoke grenade into the street to cover our move, then sprinted for the east door, hoping Woo kept up. A few bullets kicked up dust around us, but the smoke and our movement saw us to the cover of the building unharmed. Speed mattered now. I kicked open the door and went in low. It’s a good thing I did, as bullets snapped over my head into the door frame, splintering wood. Woo fired from beh
ind me and an enemy dropped twenty meters down the hall.
“I got him!” said Woo.
“Nice shot. The stairs.” I didn’t wait to see if she followed. I took the stairs two at a time to the third floor. I didn’t know how they’d be arrayed, but I’d already decided to fight it based on how I expected them to set up. Risky, for sure, but I had to hit them fast if we had any chance. With real lives on the line I’d have done it different. Shit, in real life, I’d have backed out and tried to escape when we were down three to fifteen. But in VR, with four of them left, it gave me my best chance at a win. Either way, I’d end it in thirty seconds and we could all go drink.
“You take the second door on the left,” I told Woo. “I’ll get the rest.” I pulled a grenade and moved to the second door on the right. I opened it a crack, tossed the grenade in and slammed it shut. I flipped my weapon to automatic as I ran down the hall. I hoped the simulation had enough realism for my next move to work. A wall separated me and where I expected the enemy, and as beginners, they probably thought that walls protected them. What you can’t see can’t hurt you . . . that kind of thing. I fired a dozen rounds through the wall and door of the fourth room on the left, then turned to deal with the one on the right.
I kicked the door open. The figure—I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman—was still looking out the window, which meant that Birchfeld was doing a great job keeping them occupied. The soldier turned as I entered, bringing their rifle around, but not fast enough. I already had my aim and at least two seconds’ advantage.
I froze.
It wasn’t the system or the weapon. It was me. I didn’t pull the trigger. A moment later my helmet went dead. A computerized female voice asked me to sit down, and when I did, video started on my heads-up display so I could watch the rest of the battle by toggling through several camera feeds. It didn’t take long. Woo lost her fight and went down, and I hadn’t hit the woman I’d fired at through the wall. My grenade had worked, but that still left three of them against Birchfeld. He managed to get one before they got him.
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