Opposing Force: Book 01 - The God Particle (12 page)

In another contrast with history, Campion managed to use Italian forces to overrun all but a few hexes of North Africa, and had also subjugated the Balkans and Greece.

Game rules prevented the United States from entering the war for several more turns, leaving the fate of Europe in the hands of the Soviet Union, which Campion had assaulted with success on par with Hitler's real Operation Barbarossa.

Gant still held Moscow, Leningrad, and Stalingrad—the keys to victory—but his front line forces had been cut to ribbons. Furthermore, the onset of winter—which would produce game rules favorable for the Russian defense—was still several turns away.

His best remaining armies assembled around Kiev in the south, too far away to protect Moscow. Historically Hitler had diverted his panzers to destroy just such a large gathering of Soviet forces, but it appeared Campion seemed intent on avoiding that mistake, ignoring the threat to his southern flank in favor of the prize that seemed only a turn or two away.

Finally, after nearly an hour of studying his counters, Campion made one last move, sliding an infantry division away from the Leningrad front to the rear of a gathering spearhead of German panzers poised to strike at the Russian capital.

While Gant saw a tiny little cardboard marker sporting the NATO symbol for infantry move, he knew Campion envisioned the march of jackboots raising clouds of dust as they crossed Byelorussia.

They were not the only two in the rec room. Pearson sat in a corner next to an empty and ancient cigarette machine, wearing his black cap backwards, playing on a handheld gaming system. Based on the sound of a roaring engine and the way the soldier turned the game like a steering wheel, Gant guessed it was a racing simulation.

Sal Galati leaned over a small pool table with a stick while Jupiter Wells propped himself against the wall, chalking his own. Sal struck the cue and it hit one ball that ricocheted off a bumper, tapped another ball, and sent a third into the corner pocket.

Wells stepped toward the table, but instead of retreating Sal circled in search of his next shot.

"Get out of the way, it's my table."

"What do you mean? I made the shot. Four ball, corner pocket."

"No man, you did NOT call it with all those bumpers and kisses. No fucking way."

"Yeah man, I did."

"You are such a bullshitter, Sal."

"I may be a bullshitter but I called that shot."

Without looking up from his game, Pearson said, "Uh-oh, trouble in paradise."

Wells shook his head and retreated to the wall again, vigorously chalking his stick. Sal went back to planning his next shot.

Colonel Liz Thunder walked into the room, glanced at the large game board, and said, "I hope you're not the Allies."

Captain Campion swiveled to perfect attention. The other men did the same, although Pearson did not let go of his game.

Thunder waived a hand, signaling "at ease," and the men returned to their recreation.

Major Gant answered, "Unfortunately, I am one of the good guys in this one. And the good guys are getting pounded."

"Well, judging by what I see here, I wouldn't count on promotion to a theater command anytime soon."

"Did you come all the way down here to bust my chops?"

"Actually no, but that’s just an added bonus," she said as she grabbed his arm and led him to the doorway, out of earshot of the rest of the men. "What have you got planned for the rest of today?"

Gant checked the schedule he kept tucked inside his head. "Two training sessions. I plan to use one of these vacant upper levels to simulate entry into the quarantine zone. Basic stuff—I don’t have enough intel to do anything more than that."

"Cancel it," she said. "Or hand it off to your second. We’ve got a date."

"Sounds interesting. What have you got?"

"How about The Tall Company? They’ve got a research facility in upstate New York. I’ve got a chopper booked and ready to go." She glanced at the clock on the wall and added, "If we leave right away we can get there before closing time."

"They have files on this Briggs experiment? Something that can help us?"

"Better," she smiled. "A week before the experiment here Briggs booted one of his researchers off the team. That may make her the luckiest person on the planet, but it also makes her very important to us. And guess what—she still works for Tall after all these years."

Thom considered and asked, "What makes you think she’ll talk to us? I also wonder exactly how General Borman would take to an off-base excursion."

"Like I told you before, I’m in charge of this base and security here. I deem it necessary to learn more about the nature of the containment. Therefore I am doing this on my own authority. Corporal Sanchez commanded this base for more than twenty-four hours on his own after Haas was killed, so he can handle a couple of hours this afternoon."

"Are you sure that is a good idea?"

She told him, "I thought intelligence gathering was critical to your missions."

"So is following the chain of command. You could get your head bit off for it."

She laughed. "I specialize in putting heads back together."

Thom glanced toward the table and the war game.

"Well, Doctor, maybe you can put my infantry back together."

He spoke in jest, but Thunder approached the game board and analyzed. As she moved she told them, "I used to play this game with my brothers. Maybe I can help."

Campion stood back and let the colonel examine the board. She said to him, "You look like you're in pretty good shape, Captain."

"Yes, ma'am."

His forces were poised for one final push to Moscow. He had manipulated the game brilliantly, feinting a number of times, hiding the strength of his forces, and thinking two or three moves ahead. And now that the time was right, Campion moved without hesitation toward the end game. No more feints, no more hiding, just an outright lunge for the prize. And it was his for the taking.

Gant walked around the table, studying the map, but also watching Thunder as she commented on Campion's positions, asked questions about how long it had taken him to conquer France, and noted his use of Italian forces in contrast to their historical performance.

The captain answered, and while it was hard to tell with the man, Gant thought he heard a chord of pride in his voice, maybe even bravado. Campion knew he had been clever and seemed appreciative that someone had noticed.

Most interesting to Gant, however, was how Thunder studied not only the board but Captain Campion himself. It seemed as if she took note of his body language, and her questioning appeared aimed at eliciting emotional responses, albeit subtle ones.

Thunder looked at Gant. "May I?"

He shrugged and motioned to his pieces. "It is my turn, and right now I will accept any help I can get."

Liz folded her arms and looked more closely at the board. She then leaned over even further, as if searching for tiny details. Then she swiveled her head to look at Campion.

He was just finishing a drink from a bottled water.

"Don’t mind him," Gant said. "He doesn’t care if you or anyone else helps out. He’s not fighting me, you see; he’s fighting the Allies."

Campion answered, "Of course. It’s World War II."

"I see," the lieutenant colonel remarked.

She used her finger to count hexes on the game board, as if measuring distances between pieces.

She asked, "Supply points are through cities marked in red, right?"

Gant nodded.

"What turn is it?"

Campion answered, "Summer of 1941."

"Winter is a looong way off," Gant added. "I have reinforcements coming, but they will not reach the front for a couple of turns."

"Siberian divisions?" she asked, and Campion's eyes widened just a little at her knowledge of that historical detail.

Thunder spent five minutes walking around the board, measuring distances, and asking technical questions. Gant started to feel embarrassed for her: had she bit off more than she could chew and now could not think of a move to make?

For his part, Gant saw see no option other than fighting a static defense in Russia and hoping Campion made a mistake.

Just when he was about to offer Thunder a way out, she bent over the table and moved the game pieces deliberately and precisely, rechecking measurements and unit types as she worked.

To his horror, she pulled several of Gant’s strongest Russian units away from the Eastern Front, creating a gap in his lines. She moved one unit, stopped, recounted hexes, then moved it another space. As she did this she paused on several occasions to ask Gant for clarifications of the rules, especially those regarding the effects of terrain on combat.

Campion watched her, first nonchalantly then a little more intensely. He finished his first bottle of water in two big gulps and grabbed another. He fumbled with a vending machine for a cupcake as if desperately trying to look unengaged, yet Gant felt certain he saw sweat forming on the younger man's brow.

After nearly fifteen minutes of questions, moves, re-moves, and calculations, Lieutenant Colonel Liz Thunder moved away from the game board, turned to Gant, and said, "Well, it took some doing but I think there’s still hope for Mother Russia. It all depends on what he does now." She walked to the door with a confident gait and called to Thom, "Our chopper leaves in about fifteen minutes. Don’t be late."

Gant nodded, then looked at the map of Europe as she disappeared. He could not glean the purpose behind her moves. It looked as if she had weakened his position, in fact.

Campion, meanwhile, slinked toward the game board carefully, as if it might be a land mine.
 

The teardrop-shaped OH-6 Cayuse chopper lifted away from the pad, then swooped into the gray sky on a north by northeast heading. As the helicopter gained speed, the rain splashing against the windshield turned from drops into a constant deluge that pelted the glass and warped into long streaks.

Gant sat in the rear seat, Thunder up front next to the pilot. The sound of the rotors made it impossible to converse without aviation headsets. The two spoke on a channel separate from the pilot’s.

"So how’s Campion handling my move?"

Gant smiled to himself and told her, "When I left he was still circling the board and studying. He cannot figure out what you are up to. I admit, neither can I."

A crosswind bucked the Cayuse side to side.

Thunder told Gant, "Good. That’s the entire point."

"I do not follow you."

"Let me ask you this," she said as she turned enough to look at him. "Are you playing a game or refighting World War Two?"

The question confused Major Gant. After a moment he answered, "The game
is
World War II."

"No, it’s not war at all . It’s a game. You’re not fighting with real tanks and bombs and troops, you’re fighting with finite rules and random chance."

"The game is a fairly complex and detailed re-creation of the Second World War."

"Yes, it’s a re-creation. But it’s not World War Two all over again. Campion is caught up in the war. You won’t be able to beat him if you fight the war against him. You need to play the game better. You need to understand the nuances in the rules."

"So you have found something in the rules to slow him down?"

She laughed. "No, not at all. You’re toast; he’s got you by the balls."

"I feel much better. So what did you do, speed up my defeat? The moves you made do not make sense to me."

"Good. If they didn’t make any sense to you, they didn’t make any sense to Campion."

Gant tilted his head, narrowed his eyes, and said, "So you are faking him out. A bluff."

"He’s intent on not making the mistakes Hitler made. He’s determined to get to Moscow before winter hits. But he’s still fighting World War Two, not playing the game."

"How so?"

"Historically the Russians just sat there and let themselves be surrounded during the early months of Hitler's invasion. They held their lines and wouldn’t retreat. Stalin traded men for time. You were doing the same thing."

Gant thought about it. Maybe he
had
fallen into that trap. The speed of Campion's advance had taken him by surprise, and while his Russian armies were plentiful in number, they lacked combat effectiveness. Throwing his numbers at the Germans was akin to throwing meat in the grinder, but he had hoped to throw enough of them in to jam that grinder.

She went on, "He plots every single move with tremendous care, doesn’t he? He probably tricked you plenty early on. Outsmarted you at every turn."

Gant said nothing. She was right.

The chopper bucked again.

"Now he’s being aggressive because he sees victory just a move away. He sees German armor blasting through Russian infantry. He probably can hear the artillery in his mind. To his way of thinking, he’s mopping up a defeated enemy and heading for the gates of Moscow. So what did I do? I asked him about the game. I asked him about rules. Then I moved pieces around and counted spaces. If I had really been a Russian general Stalin would have shot me for pulling front line forces into reserve. The Germans would have rushed and filled those gaps without thought, without even consulting the bigger picture."