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01:40 pm - Snapback

"The enemy assault is starting and we're likely to be breached very shortly, so we don't have time for real preparation. You're going to have to improvise along the way."



In a flagrant violation of normal procedure, Brief.ING is with me in the greenroom, as my techs plant the body sensors on two at a time: wrists, elbows, arms, shoulders.



"Your objective is the top of the hill labeled CC30-AA02. We believe the entrance to the rebel biochem lab known as 'Widow Seven' is there, cloaked from remote view."



The armor goes on piece by piece as well. No way could I put this all on myself. Too many interlocking pieces. Too complicated. Can't even reach all the connectors.



"Despite our incomplete visual intelligence, we have been able to drop two dozen spawn points in the immediate area, so your overall access should be good."



The terminology was stolen from archaic game lingo, apparently. My HUD can show me the drops on the map but really, until I'm on the ground, there's not enough context.



"You are to make your way by foot to the top of the hill, locate the lab entrance, gain access, and unpack this cluster munition into the lab interior. It will do the rest."



The bomb pack tucks neatly under my arm like a football, locks into place on the armor. We're running with red and white as our colors lately, it looks like.



"We only have the one smart-cluster in present inventory. Once it's on the field, that's it. If you drop it, pick it back up. We cannot re-equip you here on swing-thru."



His voice goes all muted as they set the helmet on and lock it in. The HUD comes up. Sure enough: two dozen meaningless little glows on a topographical map.



"We have death response down to twenty microseconds, so we should be able to snap you back in time to minimize risk from just about anything but beam weapons."



Of course, we don't know what sort of defenses the rebels have. Could be beam weapons. Could be I'm fucked. Could be I'm a dead man already and just don't know it.



"Okay. Seals in place? All locked in? Good, good. Let's clear the room, everyone. Sound the alert. Power to full. Deploy in three. Two. One. Activating."



Bright weightless light.



Cyclone of static.



Sudden weight on my feet again.



I'm outside. Above ground. In the target zone. There's fire, shrapnel, death everywhere. A firefight is already well underway, apparently. Radio is full of chatter.



"Where is at? I don't see it." - "Get down! Get down!" - "Another round incoming!" - "You three fall back. I'll cover." - "They're breaking through on the right!"



Lots of familiar red-and-white armor, of course, but facing a significant number of foes in what looks like blue and gold. Heavier armor, not a design I recognize.



"New-spawn! About time you got here. Break left fifty meters, wait about ten seconds, then charge forward to a cluster of burning tree stumps you'll see straight up hill."



Dunno know who he is - we all sound the same on the mic - but encryption checks out so he's one of us. No thinking; I break left, just as a shell impacts my spawn point.



"We're pulling diversionary fire on the far side of the hill so you'll make pretty good progress before they nail you. Wait for it. Wait for it. Okay, charge now!"



I see the burning stumps. The hillside is clear. Straight shot to the top. I start to run, run, run. Halfway up, there's an impact on the side of my head and a bright flash and -



Helmet coming off.



Greenroom.



Medical team.



"Good news. Snapback seems solid and judging from your cam footage, they're limited to material munitions, same as us. You should be able to get through this just fine."



Brief.ING talks as the Meds go over my body and gear item by item, taking hasty notes: No concussion. No spinal injury. No significant penetration. I'll live to fight again.



"As you get more visibility of the field, we'll be able to improve intelligence. Maybe plant a closer insertion point. So if you can't make progress, make observation."



With the relative calm of the moment, I try to reconcile my topographical HUD with my brief first-person view of the terrain. What will the next spawn look like when I arrive?



Light.



Whirlwind.



Mass.



I'm on the far side of the hill from my previous spawn. I look up the slope and see a blue-and-gold enemy spawn in himself. I drill him with my rifle before he even moves.



"Where is at? I don't see it." - "Get down! Get down!" - "Another round incoming!" - "You three fall back. I'll cover." - "They're breaking through on the right!"



They're still yelling about the same things on the radio. Movement on my right. I aim, then draw back: It's one of ours, carrying a munition of his own under an arm.



"When he goes down, do not try to retrieve his munition. Proceed forward with your own. We'll pick the dropped one ourselves. You just do what you need to do."



I still don't know who's addressing me; I can't even tell which of these other red-and-whites fighting all around the hill are my commander, or even if I have a commander.



"What are you standing around like a target for? They're dialing in on you right now! If you don't get your ass moving in about half a second you'll be…"



The radio voice is cut off by a huge blast. I look to my right, see that other red-and-white fallen, looking shredded before he blips out - leaving his munition behind!



"You! Keep going!" - "I'll get it! I'll get it!" - "Give him cover!" - "I'm hit! Why didn't I blip?" - "Oh shit, here comes a couple more of them!" - "You two, swing left to help me here!"



I fight back my instinct to run to the dropped munition. Seconds later, a different soldier stumbles over to it and grabs it. He looks my way. I wave. He points up the hill.



"You're supposed to be running that way, dumbass. Just like I'm going to! Why are you gawking? You're only supposed to observe if you can't make progress, idiot!"



I realize he's right. We both turn at the same time and begin charging up the hill, each with a bomb. It's almost like a race as we stumble over wreckage and -



Greenroom.



Surgeons.



Something being done to my arm.



"They got you pretty good that time, but you're doing fine. Everything looks nominal. We have a nice, tight dispersal pattern, temporally, so the window is very good."



I don't understand any of what Brief.ING is saying this time around. This seems like stuff I might not be cleared for. I just run where they point and shoot stuff on the way.



"Bad news is, enemy has a pretty tight lock on us here as well so our turnaround has to be immediate here. It's a zoo out there. Still got your bomb? Good. Keep it up."



Flash.



Spin.



Thunk.



Starting to get a bearing. Over there, that's where I first came in. Behind me over here, that's where I came in next. Okay. The map is coming together in my head.



"When he goes down, do not try to retrieve his munition. Proceed forward with your own. We'll pick the dropped one ourselves. You just do what you need to do."



Wait a second. I've heard that before. I mean, I've heard exactly that before. I look to my left and see a fellow red-and-white out in the open, gawking. I shout at him:



"What are you standing around like a target for? They're dialing in on you right now! If you don't get your ass moving in about half a second you'll be…"



Ringing ringing ringing.



Technicians.



Hard to think.



"You dropped the munition so you'll need to pick it back up on some later pass. We have the spawn window down to less than twenty seconds now."



It's me. All those guys out there. They're all me. I just told myself to get my own ass in gear, and then I just got plastered by the bomb that I saw go off on the previous drop.



"Finally starting to get it, soldier. Crazy, huh? None of the temporal tech-training ever sticks until you hit a zone for real. Now make sure you grab that munition."



Glow.



Whirl.



Solid.



I quickly spot my two nearest alternates and signal them to pull in close. Where are we? There: I see where my prior selves are just now spawning in. I say over the mic:



"When he goes down, do not try to retrieve his munition. Proceed forward with your own. We'll pick the dropped one ourselves. You just do what you need to do."



The first one looks around, still bewildered. Me, mere minutes ago. The second one shouts at him about standing around like a target, then gets pulverized and blinks out.



"You: Swing left. You: Keep going! Find one of us near the fallen munition. There, he'll do. You: Grab the munition and go. And get that other dumbass moving."



The orders start flowing naturally and my fellow selves hop to it. They're all going to be later spawns, so they already know the drill. They're even more practiced than I am.



"You're supposed to be running that way, dumbass. Just like I'm going to! Why are you gawking? You're only supposed to observe if you can't make progress, idiot!"



That's me, standing over the munition, telling the comparatively rookie me to get moving. Good. They both charge uphill and rookie gets shot. Blinks out.



"Clear on this side!" - "Hit!" - "Enemy has two spawn points here. One on each side of the creek bed." - "Got cover here. Camping their spawn by the granite outcropping."



I pull three more of me around to cover the east side of the hill. Then I recognize this particular clump of terrain. Just then, I see a copy of me spawn right in.



"New-spawn! About time you got here. Break left fifty meters, wait about ten seconds, then charge forward to a cluster of burning tree stumps you'll see straight up hill."



Newbie-me is too stupefied with shock to do anything but hustle. A shell barely misses him. He looks back at me, as if he can barely believe this is happening.



"We're pulling diversionary fire on the far side of the hill so you'll make pretty good progress before they nail you. Wait for it. Wait for it. Okay, charge now!"



He goes, gets shot in the head, and experiences my very first snap-back. I'm looking around, trying to see where the munition went. Is that it up…



Breathing.



Bright lights.



Pain.



"Close, but no cigar. You need to iterate a bit and shore up your overall position before you'll be able to finish that sprint with the recovered munition. Understand?"



I try to nod but can't. A tech tells me not to move so much with a broken spine. I tell Brief.ING that I understand. They bolt the armor back. I have to iterate for a bit.



Lights.



Weight.



Pain.



Noise.



Words.



Speed.



Agony.



Techs.



Hills.



Orders.



Armor.



Selves.



Round after round of spawning, figuring out which moment of the fight I'm in, where on the field, who's around, giving or taking orders as necessary, getting more wounded.



"Where is at? I don't see it." - "Get down! Get down!" - "Another round incoming!" - "You three fall back. I'll cover." - "They're breaking through on the right!"



We all sound the same on the mic because we're all me. I know what to say because I've heard it said. My confusion is gone, burned away by the necessity of the moment.



"You! Keep going!" - "I'll get it! I'll get it!" - "Give him cover!" - "I'm hit! Why didn't I blip?" - "Oh shit, here comes a couple more of them!" - "You two, swing left to help me here!"



Spawn and snapback. Spawn and snapback. The whole fight can't be more than two minutes in length, but I only ever see twenty seconds here, five seconds there.



Over and



Over and



Over.



"Good news. I think we have a lock on just the right spawn. This one should be it. Get that munition up the hill and drop it in so we can bug out. They're right on top of us."



I only have sensation in about half of each limb. I can't move anything on my face anymore except my eyes. I can't even speak. I just blink in acknowledgment.



"Suit's still at fifty percent, even. Better than we expected. Okay, show time. Sound the alert. Power to full. Deploy in three. Two. One. ActivaAAAAAAAAAA…!"



Brief.ING's calm voice turns to shriek as everything around the jump field fills with swarms of tiny flechettes. Enemy munition. Direct hit. That's it for us. Then I fade.



Bright weightless light.



Cyclone of static.



Sudden weight on my feet again.



"When he goes down, do not try to retrieve his munition. Proceed forward with your own. We'll pick the dropped one ourselves. You just do what you need to do."



Bingo. In about eight seconds, my empty hands will be full again. I spot my landmarks: This tree stump, that sandy patch, those craters. I take my position.



"What are you standing around like a target for? They're dialing in on you right now! If you don't get your ass moving in about half a second you'll be…"



Boom. I'm moving in before the debris stops falling, stumbling through the rubble. Grab the bomb. See my own self standing there, with a bomb, waving. I point up the hill.



"You're supposed to be running that way, dumbass. Just like I'm going to! Why are you gawking? You're only supposed to observe if you can't make progress, idiot!"



We both start running. He goes down. I know the next sixty seconds like my own hands (which I can't feel anymore). It's the clearest piece of my whole life. I run.



"Clear on this side!" - "Hit!" - "Enemy has two spawn points here. One on each side of the creek bed." - "Got cover here. Camping their spawn by the granite outcropping."



I know where every shell lands, where every incoming bullet flies. I duck and dodge and play dead and crawl and hide and make my way up, up, up the hill.



"Where is at? I don't see it." - "Get down! Get down!" - "Another round incoming!" - "You three fall back. I'll cover." - "They're breaking through on the right!"



Every word, every sound, every movement. Every order, every mistake. Every spawn, both sides. Every blue and gold goon. The battle's second minute is winding down.



"He's almost there!" - "Spawn point four is gone." - "Spawn nine and ten as well!" - "They still have one on the south side." - "Camping now. Okay, it's clear."



And then suddenly: silence. Every other spawn has snapped back. Everything has been countered on each side. Nothing left but me at the top of the hill. There's a hatch. I open it, then detach the munition, activate it, and drop it in. Goodbye, Widow Seven.



A shadow falls over me. I can barely find the energy to roll over. There, standing over me, is one last enemy in his heavy blue-and-gold. Below us, I hear the munition unpacking, filling Widow Seven with a million glass flechettes. Shrieking.



The enemy goon gestures weakly, as though he wants to say something, but he remains silent. Finally, he raises his gun and points it at my head. I have no strength to point back, and nowhere to snapback to. My battle is done. Thank God.



Impact.



Void.



Lights.



And then I'm in a greenroom. Familiar, but different from the one I used. Technicians, but not the ones I know. Injecting me. Binding me up. A briefing officer leans in.



"There's been a terrible intelligence failure, soldier. Widow Seven wasn't the name they used for their biowar lab. It was their code-name for *our* temporal lab."



Our temporal lab. I was attacking us the whole time. I dropped the munition into our own lab. That was me, at the end. My flechettes, shredding Brief.ING and my techs.



"Fortunately, the math guys thinks we can introduce enough paradox to unwind the scenario. Sorry to do this to you, buddy, but it has to be you, if we have any chance."



I can barely move my eyes but my peripheral vision is just wide enough to see the heavy armor that they're wheeling into the room.



There's not enough left of me to even weep as the techs start bolting on blue and gold.



------

For consideration: I have seen the enemy and he is, well, you know