V-War: Revolution

By Nick S. Thomas

Axel Ward, a former special forces soldier, has no choice but to enter a world of virtual combat to save his country. After a rescue attempt in terrorist-controlled territory creates an international incident, Ward is imprisoned, and forced to fight on a new kind of battlefield, where survival is the new game! The year is 2071. The line between soldier and civilian is no longer clear as men and women fight for entertainment.

The fate of the world lies in the hands of a few citizens. A new virtual reality game allows players to fight with real world and deadly consequences. Nobody is safe. As the creators of the game attempt to usurp power with the support of loyal fans, someone must stand against them. Ward and a team of unlikely friends must fight in both the real and virtual worlds. They fight for freedom, they fight for survival.

‘V-War’ is an exciting and action-packed adventure in a world where combat is fought not just on the battlefield, but also in the mind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Swordworks Books
• Release date: Mar 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370336807

Book preview

V-WAR: REVOLUTION

By Nick S. Thomas

Copyright © 2018 by Nick S. Thomas

Published by Swordworks Books

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Prologue

The year is 2071, and the threat of nuclear war looms over the world like it never has done before. The Cold War is long forgotten, and the sabre rattling of the early 21st century seems quaint. But satellite wars fought in distant lands, just like they had back then, remain.

With the threat of complete destruction around the corner, every day citizens move more into immersive virtual worlds. But for many, life has less value than it ever has in living memory. The overwhelming feeling that life could end at any moment, fuels risk taking.

Out of this careless lifestyle, a great desire for the thrill was born. People looked to ever more dangerous activities to serve their desire for an adrenaline rush. Until that adrenaline rush has been placated by the illusion of danger through virtual worlds. For many thrill seekers the illusion of danger is no longer enough.

Leaders of the world’s nations struggle to maintain order and keep people safe, but in an age when they are judged by the mob, what hope can there be for peace? War, whether nuclear or traditional, could it be averted by a virtual conflict, or will that virtual conflict be the flash point itself?

Chapter 1

21st July 2071

The South-East Frontier, Charlie Sector

Advance!

Axel Ward squeezed the trigger, and muzzles flashes lit up as the chain guns burst into life. He was advancing across open terrain towards a reinforced bunker complex. Light flashed from the defensive positions as fire came right back. An explosion erupted, but he didn’t even flinch as the debris scattered over the display screen in front of him, for he was not there in person, but remotely controlling the two-metre tall humanoid-shaped machine. He was sitting in a sofa alongside the rest of his squad, within the safe confines of a sealed room. He was wearing a pair of glasses sealed to the sides of his head like a well-fitted pair of goggles.

Through the view of his glasses he could see as though he were the machine itself. An MKV Liberator, a design now over twenty-years-old, but still serving in wars across the world. He could hear every sound as bullets flew past his head and explosions erupted around him. It was an entirely immersive experience, but one he had been through so many times before he was as calm as anyone could be, just another day at the office.

First Squad moving to objective, he declared.

His fists clenched as he strode forward. It was instinctive. In his mind he imagined that he was walking, the machine mimicking his movement, as though his brain was connected directly to the joints and mechanics of the Liberator. Muzzle flashes lit up the view ahead, and a dozen shots struck his mech. That is what they called the drones. Two of the enemy appeared in the ruins of a small building to his right, a gunner on a heavy machine gun, and the other acting as his loader. They got off a burst of fire that knocked his mech back, but he turned back to them and lit their position up with a stream of fire. Their position was obliterated.

As he turned back, he noticed a sheet of corrugated steel sliding beside one of his squad. He could see the magnetic charge in their hand.

Bomb! he yelled.

The man launched the explosive charge as the mech turned and cut him down with a burst of fire, but it was too late. The bomb clamped to the hip of the mech, and seconds later ignited. The mech was blown apart. Part of the torso crashed into the one Ward was controlling. He was thrown down onto the ground. The sensation felt as though his own body had been tossed, and yet he felt no pain from the impact. It was a slightly sickening sensation.

Goddamn it! yelled his squad mate who had lost his mech.

Ward’s vision was half covered by debris. He moved his left arm to push away the rubble and twisted metal, but the arm was unresponsive. It broke the illusion that he was really there. A red light was flashing on the heads-up display before him.

Shit, both my guns are out. He reached over with his other arm that was still working and pushed the wreckage away, struggling to his feet. Warning lights were flashing all over his display. He was lucky to still be standing.

RPG!

A rocket trailed past him and struck one of the others. The charge ignited at the chest and blew a plate of armour from the mech, but it was still standing. A second later another struck it, and then another. It was blown apart, and Axel could see others appearing in the windows ahead. He rushed forward as machine gun fire landed around him and a rocket ignited beside him. He kept running, finally reaching the base of the bunker and smashed into it, back first. He was safe, for a moment.

The last remaining member of his team was rushing across the open ground under a stream of heavy fire. Two rockets landed at their feet, but finally they reached Ward’s position. The pilot’s name was displayed over their Liberator, Moore. Ava Moore, the only woman in his squad.

Pretty hairy out here, don’t you think?

You ready for this? he replied.

She nodded. The Liberator mimicked her gesture perfectly.

Ward drew out a charge and primed it, tossing it through one of the lower firing positions in the bunker. He stepped back, and a moment later there was an almighty explosion. The front of the defensive position was blown away, and a dust cloud swept across the ruinous plain. He rushed through the breach before it had even begun to settle. His first two targets came into view, and he squeezed his trigger. The Gatling gun roared to life and cut them down with ease. He pushed onwards with a determined stride.

A hundred metres from target, said Moore.

This better be worth it.

Six more of the enemy turned a bend ahead of them and opened fire. Their small arms could do nothing against the armour of the Liberator. Automatic fire lit up the dim corridor of the bunker. Sparks flew as the rounds ricocheted. Finally, the guns were silenced as Moore and Ward gunned their attackers down with ease. At close range, the Liberators seemed unstoppable.

Fifty metres to target.

They pushed on, firing as they passed through another doorway. Several of the enemy were running, but they were not spared as bullets strafed their backs.

Twenty metres.

A closed door was ahead, but they didn’t slow at all. Ward struck the door at a good pace, smashing it flat as he burst out into the room. There was a small spark and then a bright flash. Their views went blank, and a service message flashed.

Signal lost. A voice repeated the message.

Damn it! Ava yelled, leaping up from her seat and ripping the headset off furiously.

But Axel’s response was nothing of the sort. He sighed as he peeled off the headset.

Just another shit day, he said.

EMP, that’s pretty hard core, said Victor Martin in a thick French accent as he got up. His skin was as dark as any man could be. He wasn’t especially tall, but thick set and strong.

How the hell are they getting them out here? Juan Price asked, the fourth member in the team, a short and slight man of Mexican and North American descent.

You know how many countries are willing to ship stuff here, even for free? asked Ward.

They fell silent. A door burst open, and a red-faced man in a suit burst through.

What the hell went on out there? Do you have any idea what that hardware costs? he screamed.

They had clearly all heard it before.

Come on, this is war, losses happen, replied Ava.

Losses? You just lost your whole squad!

And we’ll get them back, patch em up like we always do. Just get us back in the field.

Not a chance, Ward. You are sitting this one out.

What are you talking about?

The company can’t keep taking these losses. You aren’t in the Army anymore. No senate committee to throw money at you! We will recover what we can, when we can. If those idiots want to hang on to the shithole they call home, let ‘em.

That’s it. You’re giving up? Ward asked incredulously.

We are making a strategic decision that is what we are doing. You are benched until we can recover what you lost. Take some time to reflect on what the hell went on out there, and figure out how to do it differently next time!

He rushed out and slammed the door so hard that it didn’t shut but simply bounced off the doorframe.

Well, that went well, said Juan.

* * *

12.29pm

A F Gardner & Associates Building, New York

They watched the seconds count down to the half hour on the digital clock projected on the wall in front of them. Row after row of men and women dressed in suits were working at cubicles as if they were machines.

What’s it gonna be?

The tag on his desk identified him as Mason Price, a dark-haired and well-dressed man beside Carter Morgan. They worked a metre apart at the investment-banking firm, and were clearly the best of friends.

Sabre, said Carter quietly, as if trying to be subtle and not be noticed by the manager walking up and down their lines.

What about me? Mason asked excitedly.

Whatever the hell you want, you’re not gonna win anyway.

Come on, you ain’t that good.

Carter finally looked at him with a wicked smile. He had wavy, dirty blond hair and a day’s stubble, but he was just as sharply dressed in a well-tailored dark suit. They were both in their late twenties.

It’s time! Mason leapt from his office chair.

Carter followed him out of the room, and it was a frenzy, as many others were clearly doing the same, a horde of people who hated their jobs and would rather be anywhere else. They were in elevator in no time, each as excited as the other.

This is gonna be the one. This is going to break the streak, said Mason.

Carter smiled. It’s not about luck.

The elevator rocketed down the twenty-four floors to the ground with alarming speed, and they burst out at a running pace. Nobody was concerned with dignity. They had thirty minutes of their own, and they were going to use it. Automated electric cars zipped past on the road ahead, and overhead were H-loop lines running in both directions. Sealed zero gravity pipelines that allowed rapid travel around the metropolis. Aerial taxis hovered past above that, but none of it was of interest to the employees of A F Gardner.

They rushed across the street, causing the cabs to come to a halt to clear the way. A large projection screen on a building nearby was displaying the news, an angry President heckling some foreign dignitary. Nobody listened or cared. They rushed into a café. Carter and Mason slumped down into sofas. They both looked to the smart devices on their wrists. No larger than a wristwatch, but as their fingers drew closer, a twenty-centimetre screen projected above the device. A console they called it. The screen was displaying the café name and his regular orders already. With a single click, he ordered his coffee before laying back and putting on a pair of glasses.

You ready for this? he asked.

A hatch in the table opened between them, two drinks rose up on a plinth, and the table closed around it. They took their drinks, Americanos. A single shot of energy in one gulp.

Ready, replied Mason.

Carter selected a location on his console and clicked to start. The glasses he had put on suddenly expanded out and closed around his eyes, sealing entirely like a pair of goggles, and the glass began to fade to black. Small cups extended out from the arms of the glasses to shield their ears from the outside world, the VR headset that was commonly known as V. The world around Carter vanished as everything before him turned to black.

Welcome back, Carter, a woman’s soft voice called out.

It was Ziva, the programme’s own voice. Carter’s vision began to return as the virtual world unfolded. He was alone on a cliff top. He could smell the fresh air and feel the moisture in the air as it rushed through his hair. He went to the edge and peered over it precariously, as if with no care in the world. It would take nothing but a light gust of wind to take him over, but he only smiled. This was not the real world. In this world, danger was where the fun was.

Are you ready for this?

Carter couldn’t see him, but his voice carried over loud and clear. He looked at the time. The one resource they never had enough of. He was enjoying the immersive world far too much, and couldn’t help but think that he could stay there forever. He tapped a few keys on his console.

Hang on, just checking our stats.

A column of analytics appeared on the screen. Viewers, subscribers, and the number watching live, twenty-one thousand subscribers, and the live figure increasing fast now. It soared past two hundred and fifty.

Two-fifty, wow not bad. A lot of eyes to see me kick your ass, said Mason.

Come on, we both know that’s not going to happen.

Come on, bro. Let’s get this party started!

Carter clicked ‘previous loadout’ and then the start button. His attire immediately changed to that of a late 19th century US cavalryman, with a sabre on his side. His console screen was still visible over his jacket sleeve, even though the device was covered.

Round begins in ten seconds, the woman’s voice rang out.

He drew out his sword in readiness. A long and curved cavalry sabre with a three bar solid brass hilt.

Five, four, three, two, one…begin!

He rushed along the cliff edge excitedly as it climbed higher and higher. Finally, he reached a plateau to find the foundation remains of a castle or similar stone structure.

A beautiful setting for a fight!

But he was looking around in every direction for some sign of his opponent. He sighed as he thought of Mason and his ridiculous plans to win.

Carter thrust his sabre into the ground so that it stood behind him, and unbuttoned his tunic. Its close cut to his shoulders would only restrict his movement. He took it off and threw it carelessly over the cliff, the wind carrying it away.

Argh! a voice boomed.

He turned in time to see Mason charging at him. He’d never have known it was him, were he not the other duellist in the game. He was wearing the full armour of a Samurai, and charging with a katana held overhead as if to deal a blow large enough to split a man in two. Carter ducked and leapt aside, drawing his sabre from the ground as he did so. Mason stopped abruptly as he cut down strongly, the blade burrowing into the ground where Carter had stood a second before. He backed off and smiled arrogantly. He’d made Mason look like a clumsy fool, and that was greatly satisfying.

He flourished his sabre around nimbly. Its deeply curved blade was a brutal cutter, but still incredibly agile, and he enjoyed showing it off. He wasn’t just fighting to win, but also to please the crowd. He was marvelling at the armour Mason was wearing. He was covered from head to toe and fabric woven over iron plates, strong, but flexible. The only part of him visible was his eyes, peering through the face like helmet, adorned with a giant and ridiculous looking moustache. Carter couldn’t help but laugh.

You look ridiculous.

Says the man who came naked to an armoured fight.

I don’t need armour to beat you, Mason. Everything I need us right up here, he said, pointing to his brain.

Mason let out a roar and rushed forward with another powerful strike, with no concern at all for defence, knowing he was so well protected. Carter stepped aside and lifted the hilt of his sword into a hanging position so that the katana ran off it. Mason flew past like a raging bull, but he wouldn’t escape Carter’s sabre, which whirled around and struck him heavily across the shoulder blades.

The edge could penetrate the armour, but the weight of the impact clearly caused him pain as he cried out.

These pain receptors sure make things interesting, don’t they? Carter asked.

Mason staggered slightly, his body jerking in an uncomfortable fashion as the pain of the blow surged through his body. He growled as he fought through the pain.

Funny when you aren’t the one being hit, he snapped.

Yeah? Well maybe try harder.

Mason stood taller and took up his blade with a newfound confidence, but he also looked angry. Morgan lifted his sabre into a strong guard position with his blade extended forward and left hand kept out of the way behind his back. Mason let out an angry cry as he rushed forward, but with more finesse this time.

* * *

What the hell are you watching?

Ava stepped into a dining hall where he was eating. A movie like fight between two swordsmen, Mason and Carter was projected on a screen from a device in front of him. At the top of the screen were the live viewing figures. They were modest, but climbing.

You kidding me? These guys are a blast, he replied as Mason charged at Carter once more. He slashed with a heavy blow, and Carter leapt back with an agile slip of his feet, but the tip slashed a few millimetres into his chest. His shirt was cut open, and a trail of blood seeped from it. Carter winced for a moment before smiling once more. He was enjoying every minute of it, even the pain being transmitted straight to his brain through the V.

We fight for a living, and you want to watch this fake crap for fun?

He had no words. He knew it didn’t make a lot of sense when said like that, but he didn’t care, as his attention remained focused on the screen.

Carter lunged forward and swiped at Mason’s head. His keen edged sabre blade sliced the mounts holding the moustache-decorated faceplate from his helmet, cutting into his chin in the process.

Come on, at least watch a decent fight. Juan touched a control at the base of the tiny projection module. It reverted the controls to the pad on his arm, and he quickly flicked through the channels.

Hey, come on, I’m watching this, protested Ward.

But Juan flicked the channel over to another fight in a vast arena with tens of thousands watching. Ward laughed for a moment, assuming that it was an ego trip having such a vast fake crowd. But the viewing figures showed that the real audience wasn’t far short of the number screaming and wailing on screen. A huge muscular man filled the screen. His upper torso was naked besides a single metal shoulder guard on his right arm. He was cut and bleeding from two minor wounds. He was so incredibly muscular that it had to have been gained with the help of narcotics. He was holding out a huge two-handed sword that looked like it weighed ten kilos, and he was roaring at the crowd as if to bring them to a frenzy.

What the hell is this?

You haven’t seen Luca Hayes? He’s great.

Come on, guys, this is sad.

But they both ignored Ava as the camera pulled back to show that they were in something resembling a boxing ring, just slightly larger. The ropes were made from braided steel, and the gleaming steel plate in place of canvas. His opponent was not a small man, but Luca towered over him. He was dressed as a Viking, with a wooden round shield and straight double-edged sword. His head was bare and bleeding, as if whatever helmet he’d been wearing had been knocked from his head.

Don’t you ever get tired of this?

Axel was already shaking his head.

What harm is there? None of it’s for real.

What harm, Juan? We’re fighting to bring peace to this region. What hope is there if all people are interested in is this? she protested.

Come on, if this was the only violence we saw in the world, things would be great, replied Juan.

She sighed, realising she was not going to get anywhere. They were fixated on the fight