Free The Drift Wars by Brett James Page B

link back to normal life.
    It
took Peter a moment to recognize Saul without his suit; Mickelson
must have given the whole platoon the night off. Also, Saul only
ever came to the computer room for a quick biweekly letter to his
parents, which he considered an obligation. But there he was, face
glued to a terminal, knee bouncing with excitement. Peter worked
down a crowded aisle and looked over his shoulder.
    A
topographic map filled Saul’s screen, the overhead view of
mountainous terrain. Red symbols of various shapes and sizes were
scattered over the highlands, while down on the plains blue dots
were organized in grids. Saul flicked his hand over the screen
frantically, sending the blue dots toward the red symbols, where
they blinked and disappeared.
    “Damn,”
Saul shouted, slapping the monitor. He turned to apologize to the
men on either side and spotted Peter. “Look who’s back,” he
said. “I was sure Mickelson would leave you out to dry again.”
    “I
think I wore him out,” Peter said.
    “You
keep everything down?”
    “Wasn’t
much left.”
    “I’m
sure. Good to be out of our suits, no matter what the reason. Nice
just to pee in a toilet.”
    “Yeah,”
Peter said. He didn’t want to talk about it. He pointed at the
terminal. “What is that?”
    “Battle
simulator,” Saul said.
    “Really?”
Peter leaned in for a better look.
    “Yeah,”
Saul said. “Lets me play general in some of the hardest battles in
the war.” He tried to make room for Peter, but as was usually the
case with Saul, there wasn’t much room left.
    The
big man leaned back, scratching a toothbrush on the metal interface
port installed just below his ear. The men all had neural webs
stitched into their skulls on the very first day of Basic, and the
port connected magnetically to the collar in their combat suits,
giving them direct mental control. It was much faster than buttons
or joysticks, but you were screwed if the connection went bad, so
cleaning their contacts was basic hygiene.
    “It’s
called the Sim Test,” Saul said. “You ever wanna be a colonel,
this is how. When a promotion opens up, it goes to whoever has the
most wins. You’d pick up on these important facts if you weren’t
off getting private flying lessons.”
    Peter
tried to imagine Saul as colonel, barking orders with a six-pack
under his arm. “How does it work?” he asked.
    “Just
like on our visor maps. You’re the blue guys, and the Riel are
red. You can’t see the Riel to start with, so you send out scouts
and sensor pods. Each Riel has a different symbol. These are Gyrines
and this is a missile turret, and that big X over there is a
Typhon. You move your men by dragging a finger across the screen.
Tap to assign a target and the battle computer handles the details.”
    Saul
demonstrated, flicking his hand over five blue dots and sending them
toward the Typhon, where they blinked and disappeared. Peter
frowned.
    “That’s
all there is to it?”
    “It
takes practice,” Saul said defensively. “You’ve got to give it
some strategy.”
    “Show
me,” Peter said, pulling up a chair.
    Saul
scanned the map. “This is a cluster of four Gyrines,” he said.
“So I’ll start by firing a few missiles at them to soften them
up. Then I’ll send in these two platoons, plus this one from over
there. Hit them from two directions.” He moved his hands over the
monitor, putting his words into action.
    “It
won’t work,” Peter said.
    “You
a sudden expert?”
    “No,
but look at that rocket battery. It’ll pick off your missiles. And
this platoon here, their heavy weaponry has laser sweeps. Those are
useless against Gyrines.”
    “Doesn’t
matter,” Saul assured him. “It’s ten-to-one. I’ve got them
completely outnumbered.”
    The
two men watched the blue dots move across the screen. The missiles
disappeared as they passed the rocket turret and the platoons. They
reached the target at different times and blinked out as quickly as
they