Rifleman: A LitRPG / LitFPS Adventure (Battlegrounds Online Book 1) Read online

  LaChance turned to the left and got a couple steps then coughed. Not a polite cough, but more of a “get moving” kind of cough. Pulling myself away from the sight of the motor pool, I followed her.

  Against the back wall was another door and pad. She made me use my palm, and it opened to a hallway. Plain white walls, black tiled floor, white ceiling tiles. We walked down and the hall ended in an elevator. Two buttons. Up and down.

  Down?

  This was a two-story building. Why was there a down?

  I smiled.

  Sub-basements.

  LaChance hit the down button and we waited a couple seconds. Soundlessly, the doors irised open and we entered the elevator cab. I looked at the side where all the buttons were and saw the One and Two I had expected, and three others. B1, B2, and B3. She hit B3.

  The doors closed and the elevator went down. Smoothly.

  A couple seconds later it came to a stop. The doors slid open. I had expected to see another hallway but instead saw a large command center. Across from the elevator was a large monitor wall. A giant one in the middle, surrounded by others of various sizes. All showed different things. Maps, shots of outside the base, a desert, mountains, a city street. The floor in front of the monitors was sunken down a couple of steps and filled with people at computer stations. A couple U-shaped lines of them. A railing encircled the sunken pit; a couple of people stood and watched, calling out to people on the floor below.

  Turning left, LaChance led me across the upper floor. The back wall was covered in windows and offices. Some kind of one-way glass maybe, because I couldn’t see in. She stopped in the middle of the wall and motioned to one of the rooms, the door already open. With one last look at the operations center, I entered.

  It was a conference room. Fairly plain. Along one wall was a hanging flag bearing the Tactical Operations Group insignia. On the other wall were two monitors. The back wall had nothing. A table for eight was the only furniture, comfortable high-backed chairs on wheels scattered around it. Two men sat in chairs. One at the head of the table and the other on the left side.

  Both were looking at me.

  Stepping in behind me, LaChance walked past and sat on the right side of the head. A pretty obvious indication of her status in the organization. She was the right hand of the person in charge. I had a hunch that it was the person at the head of the table.

  Just to be safe, I snapped to attention and saluted.

  “At ease, Corporal McCaffrey,” the man at the head of the table said.

  I stood at parade rest, hands clasped behind my back, not quite sure how I even knew what that was, let alone how to stand at it.

  I waited, growing uncomfortable.

  “Have a seat,” said the man, finally.

  Gratefully I sat, but didn’t slouch or anything. I sat with back straight, paying attention. LaChance gave a slight nod as she typed away on her tablet.

  Did the woman ever stop using the thing?

  “I am General DePriest,” the man said. “Head of Global Operations for the Tactical Operations Group.”

  He was a tall man, thin, with glasses. A kindly face. He wore a T-shirt with a khaki buttoned-up shirt over it, unbuttoned. No rank insignia in sight.

  “Colonel Weber,” he continued, motioning to the other man.

  Weber was shorter with red hair. He wore a more traditional uniform. Tie, jacket, pants. All in olive green, except the tie was black. On the table in front of him was a hat. The kind with an angle front and stiff sides. An officer’s hat. Still no insignia of rank or anything else.

  “He runs Mission Operations around here,” General DePriest continued. “You already met Lieutenant LaChance.”

  I nodded.

  The lack of rank markings was kind of weird.

  “Your missions or operations will be assigned to you by Colonel Weber,” the general said. “You will start out as a rifleman, running operations under the command of others. As you progress in your operations, you will start to be granted solo operations and eventually your own fireteam. Some operations will have you working alongside other fireteams or the larger TOG units.” He stopped and motioned to Weber.

  “Operations have multiple components,” Weber began. “There are numerous objectives to complete, not just the main one. You are graded on how well you accomplish those objectives—and if there are any KIAs, citizens hurt, and so on. The conditions will vary based on the missions. At the end of the operation, you will report to Captain Head for debriefing and your results. You will be granted Operation Points which can be used for upgrading your personnel equipment.” He held up a hand, noticing that I was going to ask questions. “Points will also be used to upgrade your fireteam. You will also receive a monetary reward. This can be converted to cash outside of the game or used on in-game personnel rewards.”

  I almost asked Colonel Weber to repeat himself. This was the first time anyone, even Sergeant Crusher, had referenced the real world or acted like this was a game. Most NPCs acted like their world was real, not digital. I had known that in-game money could be converted to real-world cash. That was one of the reasons many players, the few that played the game anyways, went with a terrorist or merc group. Got more money. But this was the first I’d heard of some kind of personnel in-game rewards. I wondered what that meant.

  “Lieutenant LaChance will show you the rest of Fort Hama,” General DePriest said. “After your first operation.” Another nod to Weber.

  I smiled. My first quest. This was where the fun started.

  Chapter Five

  Colonel Weber reached for a remote sitting on the table. I hadn’t noticed it before, which was understandable. I felt like I was in the middle of a whirlwind, everything spinning and coming at me fast. Overwhelming, to say the least.

  But I was finally getting a mission.

  A chance to really see what this game could do.

  One of the screens turned on. LaChance rotated in her chair, taking her tablet with her, still typing away on it. The rest of us turned our heads.

  It showed a satellite image of a forest thick with pines and birches, maples and oaks. A range of mountains were to the top of the image, north I assumed, and kind of ringed in the trees. The ground rose up as it neared the mountains, the steep sides all exposed rock. I had no clue where it was.

  Weber hit a button and the image changed, zooming in on part of the valley and mountains. I couldn’t see anything at first; the zooming had left the image unfocused. It cleared, showing the trees thinning out, the gray stone of the peak, and the front of a concrete bunker.

  It wasn’t anything fancy. The walls jutted out from the side of the mountain, gray like the stone. Two thick walls on either end, sloping down to the ground, a flat roof across the top. The entry was inset, wide and tall steel doors. No windows. No activity around.

  “This is an old World War II bunker in Finland,” Weber stated. “Near the border with Russia.”

  I thought back to the history lessons I had taken in school while picturing a map in my mind. I had to keep reminding myself that this was 2020, and the world had changed in the decades leading up to my present time. And 2020 had been a long time from World War II. I was starting to get a headache from trying to process it all.

  “It lay dormant for a long time,” Colonel Weber continued. “A routine sat, or satellite, scan showed some heat signatures and activity. It looked like the generators were coming online. Intel had a Wyvern unit spotted in the area a week or so prior. It seems they found the bunker and might be setting up shop.

  “Lieutenant,” he said. A command, not a question.

  LaChance hit a couple keys on her tablet, never pausing from the actions she had been doing. Just more typing, following the colonel’s order while still doing what she had been. Multitasking at its finest.

  The image of the bunker was replaced with a series of headshots. Fifteen in total. They were organized—two groups of four stacked on top of each other with three arrayed along the top. I immediately noticed that a picture of me, or my in-game avatar, actually, was in the bottom group of four. There was a yellow border around it. Only one other had the same border, a female soldier in the top grouping of four above mine. The others were all bordered in gray.

  Shoulder-length blonde hair, blue eyes. Very good-looking. Not drop-dead gorgeous, or looks that would draw attention, but the girl-next-door kind of look. Under her picture was a name.

  CPL BARTON, JAVELIN

  That had to be another player. The yellow border must have been the game’s way of subtly indicating that status. Or it could have just meant “first day soldier” or something along those lines. But I had a feeling my first guess was right.

  Which meant all the others were NPCs.

  Above my grouping of four was a designation.

  FIRETEAM KNIGHT FOUR

  Above Javelin’s grouping was a similar title, just a different number.

  FIRETEAM KNIGHT THREE

  “You are assigned to the fourth fireteam for this operation,” Colonel Weber said, drawing me away from the pictures. “Under the command of Lieutenant Carmichael, call sign Hammer, mission operative designated as K4-1. You will be mission operative designated as K4-4.”

  I figured those must be for communications during the operation.

  “Operation Bunker Busting will be headed up by Captain Maue, call sign Grenadier and mission operative designated as KL1-1. Captain Armbuster will be flying the Albatross dropship for mission insertion.”

  The mission name was odd but there could only be so many choices in the game. A quest was a quest, regardless of name. Or mission, in this case. Operation, I corrected myself.

  “Mission objectives are simple,” Weber continued. “Investigate the bunker. Discover if there is any Wyvern activity. If so, eliminate the Wyvern activity.”

  Seemed simple enough. A good starter mission.

  “There are no additional mission parameters.”

  In other words, no hostages or civilians to keep alive. No High-Value Targets to capture.

  “Any questions?” the colonel asked, turning the screen off.

  “No sir.”

  I did have some. Like what were the mission rewards, but figured that could be explained later.

  “Excellent,” Weber said.

  A big wall of text appeared in my vision.

  Operation Bunker Busting

  Mission Objectives:

  Investigate the bunker

  Discover any Wyvern activity

  Eliminate Wyvern activity

  Rewards:

  1. 20 Operation Points

  2. $2,000 Mission Pay + $2,000 Hazardous Duty Pay

  Or I could wait for the quest prompt and get my question answered.

  The first block of information was followed by the story behind the mission. It was pretty much everything that Colonel Weber had said. I quickly skimmed through it. Exactly what Weber had said.

  There was no prompt to accept the mission, so I assumed the mechanics did it for me. I was assigned the mission after all, and it wasn’t like I could refuse. I was a soldier; I followed orders and went where they told me to go.

  “Lieutenant LaChance will bring you down to the armory to get your outfitted,” Weber said.

  She rose and walked toward me and the door. I stood up as well.

  Both Weber and DePriest got up. Each snapped a quick salute.

  I returned it, and the general said, “Welcome to the Tactical Operations Group.”

  Lieutenant LaChance led me back out into the Operations Center. It was as busy as before, maybe even more busy. Which would make sense with an impending mission launch. Glancing at the monitors, I thought I saw a security camera showing one of the Albatross dropships on the airfield with service crew running all around it.

  She didn’t wait for me, so I had to hustle to keep up. Another set of doors on the opposite side led to another hallway which led to another elevator. This time LaChance hit the up button. The doors opened immediately, and we stepped in. LaChance hit up again. I expected us to go back up to the motor pool, but instead we only went up one level. The doors opened to another hallway.

  “Barracks and operator facilities on the first sub-level,” LaChance said. “Operations on the third.”

  “What’s on this level?”

  “Training facilities and armory.”

  I assumed that operator facilities meant things like locker rooms, lounges, and that kind of thing. Maybe a gym and pool? Training meant a firing range and probably a CQC course or two. Or three. I wondered if I’d run into Sergeant Crusher again.

  Doors off the hall led to different functions. I’d been right with what was on this floor. Each door was clearly labeled, a keypad next to it with the handprint scanner. FIRING RANGE. CQC1. CQC2.

  Disappointed there were only two, I stopped in front of one door, not quite sure what I was reading. ENVIRONMENTAL TRAINING. What could that mean?

  LaChance made a grunting sound. She was waiting at the last door, at the far end of the hall. I hustled to catch up, making a mental note to ask about that room later. She stood in front of a door marked ARMORY. She typed away on the tablet, waiting for me. I got close and she nodded at the scanner.

  Shrugging, I placed my hand on it, got the red lights followed by the green, and the door slid open. I walked inside and stopped in shock.

  I was in some kind of waiting room. Small, about ten feet by ten. No furniture, nothing on the walls. The only feature was an opening across from the door with a counter across it. A man stood behind it. White T-shirt, dark green hat. No insignia of rank or unit. He was older, his brown hair having turned mostly gray. Hard eyes, a face that had seen some rough times. Definitely a combat vet. He’d seen action. Thick moustache that curled down the sides of his mouth. High and tight haircut. But it was what I saw behind him that had made me stop.

  Racks and shelves, all metal. All covered in guns of all shapes, sizes, and varieties. I saw rows and rows of boxes. Ammo in all calibers. As varied as the weapons themselves. There was a gas mask visible in one box. Night vision goggles in another. Tactical vests hung on racks alongside other forms of body armor.

  “Captain Rudat,” LaChance said in greeting and by way of introduction. She had walked into the room, moving around me.

  “L-T,” he replied, looking at me. “You must be the new guy. McCaffrey.”

  He had a deep voice. I could see the lines of a tattoo on his shoulder, peeking out below his sleeve. It looked like the bottom of an anchor and globe. A Marine?

  “Sir, yes sir,” I replied realizing LaChance had called him captain. I saluted.

  He chuckled.

  “None of that needed here, son,” Rudat said, his voice rough.

  As I stepped closer, I could make out faint scars along the right side of his face.

  “What’s needed?” he asked LaChance.

  She typed into her tablet. I heard a beep coming from the counter. Rudat looked down, running his finger along a screen built into its surface. He nodded, muttering to himself.

  “Got his specs?” he asked looking up at LaChance.

  Some more typing on the tablet followed by another beep from the counter. He read what I assumed was my height and weight. What else could he mean by specs?

  Stepping back from the counter, Rudat motioned me to do the same. I did, and he looked me up and down, side to side, eyes measuring. He glanced back at the screen.

  “Huh. They got it right for once,” he said with a chuckle. “They never get the weight right,” he told me, disappearing into the racks. I could still hear his rough voice. “Always off a couple of pounds. Don’t know if their instruments are off or the operator lies, trying for a better weight. Either way, it throws things off. Sure, there are tolerances to this stuff, but if you want it functioning right, it’s got to fit right.”

  I glanced at LaChance. Her head was buried in the tablet, but I thought I saw her rolling her eyes.

  “The general, he likes throwing you new guys into the deep end,” Rudat continued. I heard him taking things out of boxes, off racks, sometimes returning and grabbing something else. “Doesn’t give you time to try things out, find out exactly what you like. Not a big deal; there’s plenty of time for that post-mission.”

  He returned to the counter, setting down a light brown vest. It was followed by a set of goggles attached to a helmet, then a belt and some pouches. Rudat pushed them across to me and gestured for me to try them out. The belt was a thick piece of heavy material with metal-lined holes spaced evenly down its length. I picked up one of the pouches and saw that there were studs on the back, perfectly spaced and sized for the holes on the belt.

  Rudat disappeared again, not going far. He dropped what looked like bandages, a small flashlight, a compass, some flex ties, and a bunch of other stuff. I started attaching the pouches to the belt, filling them with the various items.

  “What do you want for weapons?” Rudat asked.

  I looked up at him, not sure. I glanced back at LaChance who was no help, head still buried in the tablet. I shrugged, looking back at Rudat.

  “I guess a Colt 20411A and SIG TAW 3250,” I told him. Those were the only weapons I knew.

  Rudat nodded, as if he had expected that answer. I thought back to what he had said about General DePriest and the deep end. Made another mental note to come back and see what the other options were after the mission.

  Or the next play session.

  It was getting late.

  Had to be. I still didn’t know what time it was. No clock hovered in my vision. No heads-up display of any kind. I glanced down at the watch, or OpsComm, as LaChance had called it. That had to be how I pulled up my character sheet.

  Not like I had a chance now.

  Rudat was back with both of the weapons I’d requested. Setting them down on the counter, he retreated again.