moment.
His clothes would do nicely. The ID patch reads Benson.
With the barrel pointed at his face, only the goggles and hood would be ruined.
His gloved hands offer a way out.
“Grab a hold! You’ll be briefed as we’re flying out!”
04: Virtual Warehouse
Instincts coax me to pull the trigger. Reason insists that a man’s life will not be taken.
I doubt, though, that the way out of this challenge is to blast a cavity into the face of a defenseless, holographic character.
Following his instructions I grab hold of the rope and quickly ascend.
Lifted to the landing equipment of the helicopter another man dressed in snow gear reaches out and pulls me into the vehicle’s hull. His ID patch reads “Bruno.”
The doors close once Benson is in.
The drifting snow, along with the white ground-surface, all blend together.
My equilibrium suggests the chopper is lifting.
If I were to jump from this ascended point the fall couldn’t be more than a few feet.
The room is only so big no matter how high in elevation we appear to be at.
But what is it I am standing on…the treadmill track?
It dawns on me the beams I had to dodge were solid.
Theoretically I could be suspended in the air by the means of a holographic floor panel.
Given the designers’ task to create a realistic environment, antigravity would be a factor.
The warmth in the soundproof hull of the helicopter is comforting.
Once the other men are briefed, the commander, suited in snow fatigues, turns to me.
I recognize the familiar eyes past the dense white facial mask of a beard.
He was my Military Drill Instructor for my Air Force Basic Training, when I was taken away from the academy to the Russian-type prison facility.
Then he was Sergeant Stratton Bradford. He introduces himself as General.
Habit prompts for me to come to attention and salute.
He salutes off , “As you were, Garrison.”
I observe General Bradford closely as he removes a roll of plastic sheeting from a white tube.
It’s difficult to grasp that he’s not real.
He presses the upper corner of the black vinyl and a neon graph loads on the screen.
Symbols are lined along the side. When touched the map switches to different formats.
Bradford selects a virtual view. After holding up the map so we all can see, he lets it go.
It’s like looking through an unframed window as the vinyl remains fixed in the air.
Everything about the portrait area appears real.
Songs carry from tropical birds perched within the trees of the forest.
Humid air drifts into the hull, drying my throat as it clings to my skin.
And giant mosquitoes buzz nearby, seeming to be attracted to us.
“We will be taking offensive action in jungle terrain,” Bradford updates.
The six other men seated in the chopper adjust a dial at the bottom of their left, long sleeve.
The snow print alters to a tiger-striped jungle pattern.
The heavy outfits reduce to thin-garment fatigues.
The surfaces of the men’s weapons react by matching the print of their clothing.
“It’s four teams of two,” the general continues. Then he addresses me.
“You and I will be dropped in last.” His gaze is unfaltering as he finishes…
“Be aware it’s us versus them,” shifting his stare to the other teams.
Looking out the Huey’s side window we break through a dense-white-cloud into a bleak blue sky. Energetic tension fills the hull like a swelling balloon. The jungle below is vast.
The general switches the map to a blueprint format. It details an outline of all the ground level buildings, hidden by the dense foliage, within the targeted perimeter.
“Alpha Team. You’ll be dropped off in the vicinity of the munitions warehouse. Bravo Team, the vehicle depot. And Chas’ Team, downriver.
“Chas. You’re to travel upstream and take out the main power, along with the guards in each lookout tower.” Turning to me, he finishes.
“We’re Delta Team. Our mission is to infiltrate the main building.
“You have 20 minutes to suit up for drop.”
The gear I get into looks like a dark gray wetsuit, covered with grey hexagon prints.
A break muzzle is provided that attaches to the end of my shotgun barrel.
Using the device on the sleeve of my fatigues I’m able to change the style of my weapon.
I choose the M-16 for its 20-inch barrel, infrared scope, and varied semi and full auto bursts.
While choosing additional items for the mission, I take quick observation of the men.
I don’t trust Benson’s eyes, staring back at me, as he drops into his target area.
The others can’t be trusted either. I’ve come to accept they’re just as much the enemy, and take note of each name on their ID badge…to match the label with the face.
Once it’s just me and the general in the hull of the chopper he places his arm on my shoulder.
“From here-on-out refer to me as Stratton.
“I read up on your career, Garrison.
“That’s why I requested you for this assignment.”
My records are sealed. I was never officially enlisted as a special operative for the Air Force.
This simulation must have access to top secret files to aid the artificial intelligence involved with this simulator, which would have to be approved and integrated by the US Military.
“Sir,” the pilot communicates over the hull’s intercom…
“We’re approaching the drop zone. Thirty seconds.”
We parachute in miles away from our destination, landing along a western river.
On the ground we inch through dense jungle foliage, past tripwires, and booby-traps.
When enemy patrols draw near, we efficiently bring down the targets.
Just as scheduled, the electricity to the camp goes out.
Panicked Vietcong soldiers run out from the command quarters.
With the infrared vision on our silenced rifles we pick them off like rolling potatoes.
Advancing further, Stratton and I enter the main command building.
Creeping through the facility we dispatch each human threat dwelling in that structure.
Most of our objective targets are acquired opportunistically, as we wait in hiding.
Within two moves each opponent is brought down using hand-to-hand combat skills.
Stratton appears disconnected with the completion of our mission.
His wrist display reveals the reason why.
I follow behind him to the deck of the command building, overlooking the camp.
As he raises the scope to study the jungle, a steel arrow pierces his chest.
Stifling my panic that threatens to blur vision and judgment, I zero in on the projectile’s source.
Someone’s perched far off in a tree, with bow drawn.
Though wounded, Stratton manages a triple round burst, taking down the second arrow in flight.
I return calculated fire with a single round.
Spying through the lens of the scope, Bruno’s head bursts into a splatter of white heat.
I can’t believe my eyes.
Through the lens I spot a small glowing dot on the roof of one of the far off huts of the camp.
It’s Bruno’s partner.
On the verge of taking on additional fire, I send a single round into my second mark.
With a mental note of where the bodies went down, I drag Stratton back into the building.
A part of me has since given in to believing the general is real.
This scenario has been overwhelmingly realistic.
None of my men have ever been killed under my watch in my entire military
career.
My heart feels pierced, seeing Stratton critically wounded. I can’t bear to let this go on.
I know of a “Retry” option on the wrist device and select it. My hopes are answered!
It’s moments after the kill of the last Vietcong officer, when the scenario restarts.
The bow sniper, Bruno, waiting outside has a keen and uncanny knack at compensating.
I shove Stratton out of the way of the arrow, but the projectile still hits its intended target.
The second one sails inches away from striking me.
Instantly I recover and again take down both targets.
“Your duty is to keep our world safe,” Stratton shares after being pulled into the building.
“Don’t let these others advance. Their motives are self-centered.
“If any one of them succeeds, they will corrupt humanity even further.”
My bones feel forged into steel from Stratton’s motivational words, until I hear this next part…
“We are in the elimination round. Only two challengers will move on from here.”
My vision is distorted and my mind is dizzied.
I reach to use another reset, but my fallen partner stops me.
Stratton places a key into my hand as he coughs up a mouthful of blood.
I bite back burring emotions and focus on the fact that this still can’t possibly be real.
Reaching into his top pocket, Stratton draws out a leather pouch filled with trinkets.
He fumbles to get the drawstring loose and causes the contents to spill over his soppy chest.
The general makes an effort to identify the items, and then polishes a chosen piece.
“Take this with you.” It’s the last words Stratton breathes. Queasiness squirms in my stomach.
He releases another familiar artifact piece into my hands.
It’s then that I realize the blood dripping onto my skin which I am fully covered in is real.
I helplessly watch life fade from my close friend’s eyes.
05: Virtual Warehouse, Pt. 2
I use the general’s empty pouch to hold his and mom’s relic.
It’s apparent the other guys are in possession of the dual part I’m