getting killed, and a lot of re-entering the environment where you left off. Like Hizeki said, it was like being part of a freaky video game, but it was also a quick and dirty way to gain ground.
“And then?” I asked.
“Then we hit them where it hurts,” said Samuels. “The dream server is a virtual version of the Lunes’ Richtodyne production facility. If we destroy it here, we can strand any Lunes currently inside the environment – cut them off from the waking world.”
We’d disallowed the supply of Richtodyne to the Lunes months ago at the start of the war, but they’d stockpiled a lot of the stuff. When they ran out, they had to divert resources to producing their own.
Samuels’ theory was sound – if we could eliminate a virtual version of their Richtodyne source, the soldiers already here would be stuck because of the connection between the virtual environment and the drug-laden synapses of the dream soldiers. Then we’d be free to pick them off and they’d be unable to return.
Since our own computer at Los Alamos was creating the environment, we had a powerful upper hand. The dream environment was, after all, a huge part of the dream experience, and inseparable from the dreamer’s mental health. If we could destroy their Richtodyne supply here and never let them recreate it, the Lune dreamers would soon lose the awareness required to wake themselves up before dying.
“It’s a solid goal,” I said, “but I don’t like one detail of the plan.”
“What might that be?” asked Marsh. He laid his rifle across his lap and disconnected the scope, then proceeded to wipe it down with a small rag he’d pulled from a vest pocket.
“The SRs,” I said. “I’m not sure I can take too many more fatalities. This last time, I had a hard time activating the wake sequence. Nearly stayed down.”
“We’re all the same rank, here,” said Samuels, “so it’s not like we can order you to do this. But we’re all soldiers, and this sortie will be a turning point in the war. And there’s no one else who can do this. So – are you in? Or are you going to let Marsh and me get all the glory?”
I looked down at the pale powder on my boots, then stared across the battlefield toward the Capitol. If I could just make it through this one, then maybe – just maybe – I would not have to stare across another battlefield, wondering if I’d ever wake up again.
“Cover me,” I said, “I’ll go first and try to take out the gunners on the left flank.”
Samuels and Marsh smiled grimly and nodded.
“I’ll go second and target the right side,” said Marsh.
“Then, me,” said Samuels, “and then we’ll all pop back in together and go for an all-out frontal assault. When we get in there – if any of us gets in there - set a timed charge on their dream server. And then get awake before it blows – or you’ll die in your sleep.”
He didn’t need to tell us that – we all knew that a blast like that, at close range, would kill any dream soldier before they could activate their wake sequence.
Without taking the time to think about it (and possibly talk myself out of it), I loaded a shell into the chamber, powered up my weapon, and nodded to my companions.
I leapt out from behind the rover and started running as fast as my feet would carry me. I heard the rapport of the cover fire Samuels and Marsh were laying down, and felt the kick of my own weapon as I strafed the Lunes. I watched as holes appeared in their blue coveralls a moment before they’d disappear from the dream environment, only to reappear a few seconds later.
My dash felt like it was occurring in slow motion – like I was running in quicksand – like a nightmare.
I focused my energy on forcing my powerful athlete’s legs to dig in and pick up speed.
A bullet grazed my left arm. Felt like a bee sting. That’s the one advantage to dream warfare – it doesn’t hurt quite like the real thing.
I focused my mind and leapt high into the air – far higher than I ever could in reality – and landed in a tuck-and-roll maneuver, stood, and sprinted again.
Another bullet shattered my right shin, and I tumbled to the ground. I rolled into a sniper position and used my dreaming mind to transform my weapon from a rapid-fire hand-held into a laser-sighted 50-caliber rifle. Then I tried to pick off as many Lunes as I could before they put an end to me for this round.
Glancing back, I saw Marsh begin his run, working on the right side, dropping the enemy to the ground in great swaths with his thousand round per minute, liquid-cooled, atom-powered DS-86 assault weapon.
When I looked back at the left flank, I saw a Lune gunner raise his rifle and fire on me. I always seemed to see the faces of the ones that did me in.
I felt my life ebbing away – slipping into a dark abyss – I couldn’t breathe. But somehow I struggled through it and managed to activate the wake sequence, and once again found myself staring up at Colonel Shafter.
“How’s it going in there, son?” he asked, preparing another AWS booster.
The lack of an alpha wave sleep cycle was one of the most dangerous threats to a dream soldier. We spent nearly all of our time in REM sleep, with only an hour and a half a day dedicated to a true rest cycle, wherein we slept a dreamless sleep. The Alpha Wave Substitute was really no substitute – it just stimulated the right parts of the brain to get us through without naturally dropping out of REM while in the heat of battle.
“We’re making our final push,” I said. “Another couple of these mortal blows is all I can take, though. Each time it’s getting harder to pull myself through.”
“I know,” he said. “Samuels and Marsh have already come and gone once while you were coming around. They reported on the progress of the strategy, and I do believe you are going to make it work. Now, I know those Lunes just keep coming back like a nasty cough, but you’re so close to that dream server I can taste it from here. One more time oughtta do it for you. Then you can take some much needed R and R while our flyboys go in for the final kill.”
“Yes, Sir,” I said. I noticed that I’d been subconsciously rubbing at my arm, where I’d been shot in the last dream round.
“I’m ready,” I said. “Put me back in there so I can back up Samuels and Marsh.”
Moments later, I was back in the thick of the action, my “body” renewed and my weapon reloaded.
Samuels and Marsh had found a small blast crater to take cover in. I joined them there.
“Sorry about that,” I said. “So much for popping back in together. It took me a while to restart that time.”
“No worries,” said Marsh. “We’re ready to make the final push when you are.”
“We’ve got them down to about twenty men,” said Samuels. He laid down his weapon and picked up a small handful of the white, ash-like dust that covered the surface and rubbed it between his palms like an Olympic gymnast chalking up. He rubbed at his chin, leaving a patch of white among the stubble before picking up his rifle in a firm grip. “We should move now, before any of the dead ones reappear.”
“They’re all gathered at the entrance,” I said. “Let’s just charge it. If they take us down, I think I’ve got one good re-entry left in me.”
“Good. Let’s go,” said Samuels.
In unison, we popped our heads up above the rim of the shallow hole in the ground and opened fire. As Lunes fell, we climbed out and maintained a solid wall of projectiles in front of us as we moved forward like a machine toward our target.
Only five of them remained.
Marsh took a bullet to the shoulder, but kept pressing forward.
When we were within twenty yards, Samuels took one to the neck that sent him sprawling backward. I heard him continue to fire from the ground as he lay there like a sitting duck until he was finally mortally wounded and disappeared.
Marsh and I knocked out the last of the Lunes and moved into the Capitol.
Composed mostly of moon brick walls and copper-colored alloy beams, the floor was covered in powdery boot print
s leading in all directions. A set of stairs in the center of the lobby led up and down. The chandelier overhead flickered erratically.
“Where’s the server?” I asked, pulling a charge from my hip pack.
Before Marsh could answer, I heard his body hit the floor, and saw his head roll in front of me, coming to a stop against the wall.
I turned in time to see a Lune with a huge machete coming at me. I brought up my gun and blasted him into the waking world. Or maybe even killed him. Hoped I killed him.
I headed for the stairs and started to head down as Samuels popped back in.
“It’s upstairs,” he said, taking the lead. “Marsh is dead.”
I figured as much. A decap was virtually impossible to recover from because you had no time at all to activate your wake sequence. Which is why many of the Lunes carried blades for close-contact combat.
As we reached the top of the stairs, a Lune lunged over the railings from the left and sliced off Samuels’ head. It bounced down the stairs past me, followed by his body.
In a flash, he brought his machete down on me and cut off my left hand.
Let’s just say it felt somewhat worse than a bee sting.
With my remaining hand I fired on the Lune, but only hit his blade, which flew out of his hands into the darkness of the second floor.
He pulled a hand gun and shot at me, knocking my own weapon out of my hand and sending it clattering down the stairs behind me.
I reached the top step and stood before him, realizing that I was