The Utopia Experiment

19

A light rain was falling on mountains tangled with overgrowth. Harder on his team, Smith knew, but almost perfect for what he had in mind.

The trail — such as it was — had turned to mud, grabbing at his combat boots and splattering his meticulously pressed camo as he worked his way toward a rendezvous site that he knew was 326 meters away. Normally, in this kind of unfamiliar terrain he’d be relying on a soggy map and wondering if all his men were already gathered, but now that seemed like a scene from ancient history.

In addition to distance, the Merge’s military training software displayed an arrow pointing him in the right direction, an ETA at current speed, and individual green dots representing his volunteers’ positions on an overhead map.

He waded through some wet bushes and came out into a small clearing where five combat-equipped soldiers were huddled beneath a tree trying to stay dry. When he appeared, they gracelessly formed a line and shot off a few awkward salutes.

His SAS friend Peter Howell would have called them “a bit of a motley crew.” Of the two women, one was at least thirty pounds overweight and the other just south of her fiftieth birthday. The man to their right was even older and more overweight, with a round, sun-starved face that made him look like exactly what he was: an army lawyer. Next, to him, adjusting a helmet that seemed to swim on his undersized head, was a skinny kid in his mid-twenties who spent his days programming supply logistics systems. And last, but certainly not least, was an active-duty Ranger who was understandably perplexed — and maybe even a little insulted — to have been chosen for this particular team.

“At ease.”

It was an impossible order for most of them to follow. Two days before, they’d been plugging away at their desk jobs, blissfully ignorant that Smith was combing through personnel files looking for people who couldn’t fight their way out of a paper bag, but who had Merge head studs and tooth mikes installed.

Not surprisingly, General Pedersen had thought he was nuts. And now that he was physically standing in front of the people he’d selected, it seemed that the general might have had a point. In the end, though, this test had the potential to tell him far more than the more obvious course of throwing two equal forces against each other and equipping only one with Merges. Smith had stacked the deck as heavily against Dresner’s technology as he could and now they were going to see just what it could overcome.

“I appreciate all of you agreeing to play our little game,” he said, knowing that they’d actually had no choice whatsoever.

A few queasy nods.

“My understanding is that you’ve all been issued military versions of the Merge and that you’ve familiarized yourselves with them. Is that correct?”

That got a few affirmative mumbles.

“I’m going to repeat myself just this once. Is every one of you the goddamn world expert in the use of this system?”

“Yes sir!” the Ranger barked and the group followed suit, finally showing a little life. He’d been right to throw in a combat soldier. If nothing else, he could set an example.

“All right then. That’s what I wanted to hear.” He pointed to a tall, tangled hill about four kilometers away. “The objective is simple. On top of that is an American flag. We need to get it out of the rain. Any questions?”

His pale attorney — Major Gregory Kent — raised a hesitant hand.

“Yes. Greg.” Smith said, deciding to retreat into a little informality after his show of anger. No need to scare these people any more than necessary.

Kent indicated toward five assault rifles stacked in plastic bags. “What are those for?”

“An excellent question. Those fire a laser that can be picked up by the uniform of an opponent and all are equipped with Merge targeting systems.”

“Opponent, sir?” the Ranger said, perking up.

“Did I forget to mention that there’s a five-man Delta team under orders to stop us?”

Not unexpectedly, his team descended into frightened protests.

Smith held up his hand and they went silent. “If you’re hit — and I’m giving you a direct order not to be — the training software in your Merge will evaluate the damage and reduce your effectiveness based on that evaluation.”

The fear on the skinny programmer’s face faded into cautious curiosity. “How does it do that, sir?”

“If it registers an injury, it’ll limit your vision and throw off your equilibrium to mimic your probable condition.”

“And if we’re dead?” the plump women said. Stacy something. She worked on drones.

“Your vision will go black and your ability to hear will be degraded. Don’t panic, though. It’s just the Merge projecting a solid color onto your visual cortex. I’ll use my simulation leader software to reset your unit when I’ve had a chance to evaluate the situation. Just sit there and wait until you come back online and then go back to the command tent and get a cup of coffee. Understood?”

A little of the energy had gone out of their response but he decided to ignore it and instead pointed to the older woman whose hand was up. “Yes. Carrie.”

“Sir, I think there’s been a mistake. With the exception of Corporal Grayson over here, we’re not combat people.”

Smith nodded. “But you do have Merges. And Delta doesn’t.”

“I don’t see how a fancy cell phone is going to make much of a difference,” Kent said. “I represented a Delta guy once. As near as I can tell, if you shoot them it just makes them mad.”

Grayson rolled his eyes.

“Look, I’m out here to gather some data on Merge effectiveness,” Smith said. “I want that flag, but the only failure here is if you panic or if you don’t give one hundred percent every second of this exercise. Is that understood?” No response. “Is that understood?”

“Yes sir!”

They all actually managed to say it at the same time. Things were looking up.

“Okay. First things first. I want you to take your Merge unit and throw it in the mud.”

No one moved.

“Is there a problem?”

Grayson was first to speak up. “We were told that these are incredibly expensive prototypes and that they were to come back without so much as a scratch.”

“Well, those orders have been revised. Now get them into the mud. And stomp on them until I tell you to stop.”

The four non-combat soldiers obeyed, but as delicately as possible. Grayson, understanding the point of the exercise, threw himself into the air and slammed his boot down on his unit so hard it completely disappeared into the soft ground.

Smith turned and contemplated their objective, looking for a sign of the enemy while the splashing and stomping went on behind him. It was really just a test of manufacturing consistency, since he’d already performed a much more stringent evaluation of his own unit.

“Okay,” he said, putting on an armband that designated him as an observer. “Saddle up.”

Corporal Grayson had taken de facto command of the group and was doing a surprisingly good job of adjusting to the reality of his team’s dismal abilities. He kept them on easier terrain and spread out at five-meter intervals.

There was still more than a little bit of tripping, heavy breathing, and panicked drops to the ground, but they were managing to move in the general direction of their objective and no one had yet twisted an ankle or stroked out. A minor miracle as far as Smith was concerned.

He hung back a bit, focusing on a semi-transparent overlay of the battlefield in the right upper corner of his vision. His people were shown as dots in varying shades of green based on their military records — Grayson’s was predictably dark and rich, conveying his combat experience and other achievements. The others were significantly lighter, with his skinny programmer semi-translucent.

More interesting, though were the red dots that he was privy to as the leader of this exercise — a Delta ambush that his team was unwittingly strolling into. Smith switched to vision enhancement mode and let the computer automatically calculate the optimal mix of filters as he searched the trees ahead. The thermal imaging blinded him for a moment, confused by the rain, but it immediately faded and left him with primarily the chlorophyll overlay. Combined with outline enhancement and light amplification of the shadows, it allowed him to immediately spot the shape of an arm sticking out from beneath a fallen tree.

But he wasn’t the only one.

“Do you see that?” Stacy said quietly over her tooth mike. “What is it? One o’clock.”

Incredible. Despite being about as stealthy as a herd of buffalo, they had identified a highly trained, dug-in enemy before they themselves had been spotted.

“Everyone stop and get down,” Grayson said. “Nice job, Lieutenant. That’s an arm. And we’re gonna blow it off. But first we’re gonna get a little closer. Everybody move forward real quiet. This isn’t a race. There’s no such thing as too slow. We’re looking for additional targets.”

They actually did a good job of staying out of sight, though it turned out there probably was such thing as too slow. At the pace they set, they’d overrun the Delta position sometime in January.

“I’ve got another one,” Kent said, his voice sounding shockingly clear over the Merge link. “About eleven o’clock. Next to a small rise.”

“I can’t see him from here,” Grayson responded. “Are you certain?”

“One hundred percent.”

Smith pulled up a small window that displayed what the man was seeing. Sure enough, it was another of the Delta team, so smeared with mud that he himself might have walked right past him if he’d only had his naked eye to work with.

“Okay. We’re up against a five-man team and we have two of the sons of bitches dead to rights. If we get any closer, we’re going to risk being spotted and then all hell is going to break loose. I say we take our shot now. Agreed?”

When everyone came back affirmative, Smith leaned out around the tree he’d taken refuge behind. This was something he had to see.

“Okay, I have the guy at one o’clock—”

“Negative,” Smith interjected. “I already know you can hit him, Corporal. Let someone else take the shot.”

“Affirmative. Lieutenant. You spotted him, he’s all yours.”

“But…But I…”

“Relax, Stacy,” Smith said. “Just a game, remember.”

“Yeah, Lieutenant,” Grayson said. “You’ve got this. Just line the Merge’s crosshairs up and tell me when you’re ready. Major Kent. I take it you’ve got a line?”

“My crosshairs are dead center and I’m ready to go.”

“Okay, everybody else pull back nice and easy. We’re going to go about twenty meters and set up to cover our people’s retreat. In the meantime, get a bead on that guy, Lieutenant.”

To the degree that it was possible from his position, Smith watched Grayson and two of his team members slither back and find cover that allowed them a clear view of the soldiers left behind.

“You ready Lieutenant?”

“The crosshairs are on his arm. I can’t see any more of him.”

“That’s okay. An M16 round to the arm will ruin anyone’s day. Fire on three. One…Two…Three.”

Both guns flashed and speakers on the sides sounded with the crack of the shot.

And then, predictably, it all hit the fan.

The Delta team, figuring they could terrify the less experienced force, broke cover and charged forward, firing at the two people trying to retreat back to their unit. Smith’s software registered a very near miss on his lawyer and he watched Delta’s impressive speed and accuracy pulsating bright red as they approached.

Under normal circumstances, it was a sensible strategy. These were not normal circumstances, though.

Carrie and Duane, the computer tech, were shooting wildly, ignoring their targeting system and missing by wide margins. Grayson, however, wasn’t so easily rattled. He nailed the lead attacker dead center and was lining up on another when the Delta team recognized that things weren’t going their way, dropped, and disappeared behind uneven ground.

When Smith caught up with his team of misfits again, they were huddled against the broad trunk of a tree. All but Grayson were gulping wildly at the air and Smith thought Stacy might actually be in respiratory distress until she grinned and gave him the thumbs-up.

“Okay, now!” Smith said. “So what do you think? Shooting Delta guys is kind of fun, isn’t it?”

Based on their expressions, they thought it was.

“So you want to hear the score? Major, you had a kill, congratulations. Lieutenant, unfortunately, you just got a graze, so no appreciable damage.”

“Damn!” she said, the disappointment heavy in her voice.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Lieutenant. That was a low-percentage shot for anyone. And you made your point getting that close.”

“What about me, sir?” Grayson asked.

“Dead center of mass.”

He pumped a fist in the air.

“So, by my calculations, your first engagement with Delta left your team fully intact, while you scored two kills and a graze. I’d call that a pretty good start to the day.”

“So what now?” Duane said. “The rest of those guys aren’t going to make the same mistake again.”

Grayson nodded. “I think we should sweep northeast, so we can attack the mountain on the least steep side. With those kinds of losses, Delta’s going to pull back to a defensive position, and frankly they’re going to overestimate us. We can use that.”

Based on an overhead image of the battlefield that only Smith could see, Grayson was exactly right. Delta was setting up to keep an extremely professional opponent from climbing the hill, focusing on the steeper southern and western slopes. The east slope had a far less practical entry point but it was probably the only one this group would be able to get up.

The rain started to recede and Smith followed as they moved out again. They passed right by the two “dead” Delta soldiers and he would have loved to see the look on their faces, but the thermal overlay had strengthened to the point that subtlety of expression was obscured.

Grayson had put Stacy, the heavier of the two women, on point. She looked exhausted and he’d obviously decided to sacrifice her if need be. Probably not realistic in real combat but one of those easy calls to make in a training exercise.

“Wait,” Smith heard Stacy say quietly over his Merge. “Corporal. Come up here and look at this, please.”

Smith stayed where he was, bringing up a window that displayed her unit’s input. She was looking at the ground between two trees and, more specifically, a thin blue line running between them.

“Sneaky bastards,” he heard Grayson say. “Everybody step over the trip wire between the rocks. Don’t worry, you can’t miss it.”

Amazing. The tiny wire should have been virtually invisible, but instead there might as well have been a sign with an arrow and “booby trap” written in foot-high letters.

They continued on, finally stopping just before they reached a broad riverbed with only a few inches of water left. It would be just over twenty-five meters of open ground to the trees on the other side.

“Can we get around it?” Duane asked.

Grayson’s eyes went distant and flicked around as he pulled up a satellite image of the area and examined it in the air in front of him. “Nope. We have to cross it to get to the base of the hill and there isn’t anywhere that’s any narrower.”

“So what do we do?” the lawyer said.

“We run for it,” Grayson said, moving to the edge of cover and scanning the landscape for any sign of the enemy. “You first, Major. Fast as you can.”

That turned out not to be all that fast, but he gave it his all and made it to the other side safe. Grayson went with Carrie next, having her start fifty meters downstream to keep their crossing points random. She looked like she was going to make it, when a distant shot sounded.

It was a hit and Smith winced as her Merge reduced her vision and balance by seventy percent, pitching her against the rocks and sending her rolling into what was left of the river. He’d need to talk to someone about attenuating that feature when people were running or in dangerous terrain.

“Stay down!” Grayson shouted, forgetting that his voice was being projected directly into her mind. Not that it mattered. The software would reduce the volume to optimal.

Despite his warning, she panicked and tried to get up. Smith could have shut down her unit and called it a kill, but decided to instead watch her struggle to her knees and then fall over again. After one more halfhearted try, she just lay there panting.

“Sir?” Grayson said and Smith frowned, trying to decide how much he wanted to say. “Seventy percent damage. With attention, she might survive.”

“Shit,” the Ranger said under his breath. “We need to deal with this damn sniper. We’re in the low ground, though, and I can’t pick him out.” He dropped his pack. “I’m going to go up a tree.”

“Hold on,” Duane said, showing a flash of confidence for the first time that day. “I can do that. When I was a kid, we had these huge cherry trees in our yard. I used to climb them all the time.”

Grayson hesitated for a moment but then gave a short nod. “And don’t come down until you find that shooter.”

Smith was a little alarmed when the kid ran to the tallest tree near them and started into the branches. No one was supposed to get hurt and he already had a woman trapped on the riverbank who looked a little worse for the wear. What he didn’t need was this kid falling out of a tree and breaking his neck.

So he jogged over and started up through the branches in pursuit. Duane couldn’t have weighed much more than a buck forty. If the wheels fell off, Smith figured he might actually be able to catch him.