m Clancy's H.A.W.X. HD They say that games can transport you to another
world. Which is a bit of a problem, because the
latest HD game for Symbian^3, H.A.W.X. HD, seems
to have lifted me not into the cockpit of an
advanced fighter jet, but to the seat in front of Tom
Clancy ’ s typewriter. Which is no place to write a serious game review... is it? * * * * * The smartphone sat inside the velvet presentation
box. No ordinary smartphone though. Etched in
silver, with a positive action home button,
proximity sensors, three different transmitter
options and a coating over the organic led screen
to enhance the contrast while out in the field. Quite frankly, Morris Schaffer had seen nothing
comparable to this - it reeked of communication. “ But that’ s not all” , pointed out Boothroyd, “ a subtle application of pressure on the reinforced glass
screen here” , as a nicotine stained stump of a thumb hit the icon, “ and it puts you in our remote sensor net“ ... “ Which we ’ ve installed in over twenty five of the company ’ s fighter jets around the world ” , snapped Schaffer. He didn’ t have time for long explanations from the Welshman, he just wanted to get out and
fly. Because flying, even through the screen of the
Symbian^3 device, meant fighting. Fighting in the
mid 21st century meant being a mercenary for the
multi-national corporations. And being a
mercenary meant money. Schaffer needed money. * * * * * “ The ground-pounders were in trouble ” , thought Schaffer, as he banked over the F-15E Strike Eagle
hard, its twin engines, FAST fuel packs and multi-
role strike package of weaponry straining against
the hard points with the increased centripetal
force. This was his plane, no matter what the
mission planners had suggested he take up in the sky. Call-sign Dare was taking his aviation lovebug
to the highest heights. Of course he wasn ’ t actually in the plane – he was back in the “ SX-Y Ender Flying Suite ” of McLean Towers and the sensor net was piping real time
imaging data from around the F-15E to the
smartphone. With a quick tap of the finger he could
inhabit the mannequin’ s view inside the cockpit, one of the trailing sensor cams that were dragged
behind the plane on a string of nanotech wire, or
patch it to the microdrone alongside to check out a
side view of the craft. It was impressive, and some of the best real-time
imagery he ’ d ever seen from a battlefield, right down to the moisture pouring out the air passing
the aircraft wing as he broke the sound barrier.
The extra processing power in the device helped
there. The new control system though wasn ’ t to his satisfaction. Sure, the touch interface on the glass
panel in front of him meant that everything could
be reconfigured as required, but he missed the feel
of the HOTAS assembly (hands on throttle and
stick) under his thumb. Now his thumb just slid
over the screen. Faster, yes. More accurate, probably not. For some reason, Boothroyd had doubled up and
added a balance board to let him tilt the whole
screen to steer the aircraft, but as usual he’ d not quite sorted out the sensitivity – too easy to overcompensate on pitch and as sluggish as his
first trainer aircraft (the delightful DHC-1/T.10
Chipmunk). But no matter what option he used, the
rudder was a nice touch. It gave him more of a feel
to flying the aircraft, rather than just a point and
squirt in whatever direction the enemy was, and it felt like actually flying as he balanced the fighter jet
in all three axes of flight. What a way to go into combat though. Drop the
pilot out the plane and you can carry more than the
standard nine missile load. All the way up to a
warmongering two hundred autonomous guided,
dual purpose, air to air and ground missiles. Just
amazing. Still, it would be nice to have more than five flares to avoid enemy missiles. These planes
might be remote-drones, but they ’ re still expensive. Follow the arrow. That ’ s what combat has become, just go where the computer tells you, pull the
trigger, and move on to the next automatically
selected target. And when it was all over, just head
out the door to Starbucks for a double shot
espresso with caramel. Naturally from the secret
short menu they never advertised. * * * * * The fast jets screamed overhead as Cochrane
smashed his body into the muddy ground, hoping
for a few more inches of cover. The showboating
flyboys might be here to knock out the enemy
forces advancing on his squad, but they were
taking their time. “ We ’ ve got more forces on the western perimeter advancing, you need to take them out or we ’ re history !” he screamed into the secure link radio, as a high explosive shell pounded a few yards away,
throwing dirt, sewage and bits of an old Toyota
Hillux towards him and his men. The enemy were just playing with him. As the one
on one dogfight threaded through the air, twenty
tanks, a fleet of ground attack helicopters, and
another five fast attack jets all waited just over the
horizon. The enemy, thankfully, had this damn
polite idea of waiting to make their move in strict order, rather than flooding and overwhelming the
target area, which is what he would have done. Still, it meant he could stay alive a bit longer. He
might even get his first ration pack and the
treasure of a Mars bar tonight, assuming the
supplies hadn’ t been sunk in the Atlantic. * * * * * Schaffer nursed the liquid caffeine in his
favourite downtown hangout. It was one of the
last pleasures left in his life after the New York
Subway ’ s chlorine attack of 2013 robbed him of his family. That started him down the road to
where he was now – an automaton, going where the companies sent him, fighting pointless violence
around the world to protect someone else ’ s profit. And now they ’ d removed the pleasure of actually flying, he didn ’ t feel like going back. Sure the nanowire fleet numbered twenty six aircraft, and
at a moment’ s notice the could send him anywhere in the world (“ some thirteen different situations in the last week ” the last intel report had said), but he was thinking it was time to step back. He couldn’ t be sure, but somewhere out there, was the job for him. It was time to move on. Boothroyd
would have to find out for himself that the
smartphone didn’ t work when submerged in coffee.
