Read Online Soda Pop Soldier by Nick Cole - Free Book Online Page B

queen.”
    We move in. Tactical formation.
    The place is crawling with aliens.
    The marines seem to know where the access stairs leading down are.
    â€œWe’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.
    â€œWe made it,” says AwesomeSauce. I don’t hear the bubble gum.
    â€œYeah . . . ,” 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 . . .”
    â€œSulaco Uplink, established,” interrupts the game announcer abruptly. “ Orbital Strike, imminent.”
    â€œ . . . 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.
    â€œOne minute to Orbital Strike, ” says the gravel-voiced game announcer.
    â€œThose cheaters,” swears AwesomeSauce, her voice petulant, bitter.
    â€œYeah,” 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.
    â€œListen 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.
    â€œStraight 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.
    â€œYou guys did great tonight,” I say over the chat just before it all goes down. “Good job.”
    â€œHey, 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 . . .
    â€œMarines!” 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 . . .
    â€œStand 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,