Portal Wars: The Trilogy Page 2

  “Yes, Sarge.” Warner strapped his weapon on his back and trotted off past Taylor. The MZ-750 computer-assisted sniper rifle was a long weapon, and the muzzle extended more than half a meter over Warner’s head. In the hands of a well-trained shot, the MZ-750 could hit a man-sized target in partial cover at 4 klicks. Warner was an expert.

  Jake stared at the rest of his reserve, 2 eight man teams plus the other 4 section specialists. “The rest of you stay down and wait. If they come in heavy, we’ll probably have to extend the line so we don’t get flanked.” Taylor turned and took two steps before stopping and looking back. “Check your weapons and ammo. I want everybody ready on a second’s notice.” His 3rd and 4th teams were mostly new guys. Even most of the NCOs had less than a year on-planet. You couldn’t remind the FNGs enough, he thought. You could say it ten times, and some fool will still end up in the line with an unloaded rifle.

  He turned again and headed back toward Blackie’s position. He wanted to scout things out for himself over there, but he glanced back for one last check to make sure his reserves were staying low. The walls of the ravine provided cover against line of sight, but that didn’t mean the Machines wouldn’t start dropping shells there. Taylor nursemaided the newbs – it was the only way to try and keep them alive. He hated seeing them gunned down like sheep, and he hammered away at his rookies, trying to beat some sense into their heads. It didn’t always work, but Taylor had the lowest cherry casualty rate in the brigade. He intended to keep it that way.

  He could hear the enemy fire coming in, getting thicker as he came back up to Black’s position. The HHV was in place and firing full. “Blackie, how’s it look up here?” He was still low in the gully, about 3 meters below the ledge where Black’s team was deployed.

  “It’s hot, Sarge.” Black’s accent was thicker than usual; he really sounded like an inner city tough. That told Taylor all he needed to know. Black’s accent was the best way to read his stress level…and it only took a quick listen to tell that the veteran corporal was definitely tense.

  “Alright, brother…hang on. I’m gonna get some eyes up.” Taylor didn’t want to commit reserves yet, not unless he was sure the enemy was coming in hard. He put his hand to his helmet, switching the com frequency. The speaker was in his head, an implant inside the ear canal, but the primary controls were external…a small pad on the side of his helmet. “Frantic, I need you to get two birds up ASAP. West flank, north and south trajectories.” He paused then added, “Get me one to the east too.” Might as well confirm if anything was heading Bear’s way. Taylor didn’t think so, but intuition was no substitute for solid intel.

  It was obvious to everyone how Corporal Karl Young had gotten the name Frantic. The guy was twitchy sitting back at base playing cards. In a close in fight he was batshit crazy. Normally, Jake wouldn’t want a loose cannon in his command, but Young was the best fighter he’d ever seen…and the crazy bastard wasn’t scared of anything. Plus he’d done one thing no one else on Erastus had. He’d saved Jake Taylor’s life.

  “On it, Sarge. I’ll have ’em up in half a minute.” Young commanded Taylor’s 3rd team. He was the only real veteran in either 3rd or 4th.

  Jake climbed up the embankment and slid into place next to Black. “I’ve got drones launching. Once they’re up we’ll have better targeting intel.” Taylor and Black had the same com implants, just like every soldier on Erastus, but Jake always preferred to hear with his own ears whenever possible.

  Black nodded. “Good.” He was prone behind a large rock outcropping, firing his assault rifle through a slit in the granite slab. “‘Cause I think we got another phalanx of these motherfuckers just behind that crest.”

  There was no way Black could have known what was hidden by the elevation, not until the drones got up and over there, at least. But Taylor had learned to respect his number two’s gut almost as much as his own. He hadn’t believed in intuition or anything like it before he came to Erastus, but he’d seen it work too many times not to pay attention. And Black’s was one of the best.

  Taylor’s didn’t rely entirely on guts, though, his or anyone else’s. He’d learned to survive, but he’d done it with his head mostly, analyzing each situation and exercising caution. Most screw-ups happened because of poor planning or recklessness. Taylor was methodical, maintaining his calm deliberation even in the middle of combat.

  He pulled his own rifle off his shoulder and slid into position a few meters south of Black. He was extraneous now, at least until he had more intel…and one more rifle in the line could make the difference. He could see out 1,000, maybe 1,200 meters. Beyond that, the ground sunk behind a small ridgeline, cutting line of sight. Black thought there were heavy enemy reserves back there, but they wouldn’t know for sure until one of the drones was in place.

  “Taylor, I’ve got evac inbound, but we’re looking at maybe 20 before they’re here.” It was the lieutenant, sounding even worse than he had a few minutes earlier. “As soon as the birds are close, I’m gonna pull the rest of the sections back, through the gully between your two lines. Copy?”

  “Copy, sir. Understood.” Fuck, Taylor thought, twenty minutes was a long time. A long goddamned time. If there was another phalanx of Machines hidden behind that ridge, things were going to get real hot in a lot less than 20 minutes. He turned toward Black. “Twenty minutes until evac. We must not be the only disaster today.”

  The UN forces on Erastus didn’t have a lot of air support, and what was available was always needed in three places at once. It took enough energy to transport men and supplies. Larger ordnance was sent on an “urgent needs” basis only. And antigrav transports and gunships were way too big to fit through a Portal. They had to be sent through in sections and assembled onsite. The whole process was time-consuming and prohibitively expensive. On UN Central’s spreadsheet, it was a better deal to go through a few more men than spend too much on logistical support.

  “I don’t know, Dog. If they’re stacked up behind that ridge out there, we’re gonna be fucked up the ass in way less than 20 minutes.” The use of handles was widespread in the UN forces, but rarely with a superior. Taylor tended to be casual with his non-coms in base, and Black sometimes reverted when it was just the two of them talking in the field. Taylor didn’t really care. He wouldn’t let it spread and affect overall discipline, but Black was like his brother.

  “No shit, Blackie.” He let a tiny smile cross his lips. He and Black were thinking the same thing. Not that it would do them much good. If they were right, they were going to be neck deep in Machines in a few minutes. He tapped the com pad on his helmet. “Frantic, where the hell are those drones?”

  “They’re up, Sarge.” Young sounded half-crazed, as usual, but nothing out of the ordinary. “There’s a lot of interdictive fire. I’m trying to bring them around the perimeter…avoid the heaviest spots.”

  “Understood, Corporal, but I need some intel now.” Taylor sighed, but he didn’t push any harder. Getting the drones shot down wasn’t going to help. Karl Young was one of the best operators in the whole brigade. Taylor knew he’d get the drones around as quickly as he could without getting them blown away. “Do the best you can. I need to know what the enemy has behind that ridge.”

  “Yes, Sarge.” Young was practically screaming. “I’ll get you what you need.”

  There was a long silence, maybe a minute and a half. The line was still open, and Taylor could hear Young breathing hard on the other end. Jake was looking out over the field, his eyes straining, panning across the ridge. He thought he got a quick glimpse of one of the drones, flying low across the field in front of the ridge before it vanished from view. The small aircraft was zigging and zagging wildly, avoiding the heaviest pockets of enemy fire. He knew Young was good, but he hadn’t seen much precision flying that could match what he was watching.

  “Sarge, I got a drone over the ridge. Feeding you the scans.” He paused, sucking in a deep breath, trying to control his edginess. “Yo
u better get what you need fast, Sarge…cause this thing ain’t gonna last long.”

  “Thanks, Frantic. Great job.” Taylor was slamming down his visor as he spoke, hitting the small button on his helmet that activated the projection system. The inside of his visor flickered with a soft blue light, and then the feed from the drone’s camera started.

  “Fuck…” Taylor stared as the drone transmitted a panoramic view of the backside of the ridge. A few seconds later there was a flash, then nothing.

  “Sarge…did you get what you needed?” Young again, shouting into the com. “We lost the drone. I tried to keep it in a random pattern, but they picked it off anyway.”

  “Yeah, Frantic.” Taylor’s voice was grim. “I got what I needed.” Now, he thought…what the fuck am I going to do with it?

  He tapped his helmet controls, cutting the link with Young and calling up the lieutenant. “Sir…Taylor here.”

  “Go ahead, Jake.” Cadogan sounded exhausted. He was up on the forward ridge with the other three sections. Taylor’s people were getting some partial shade at least, but the rest of the strike force had been in direct sunlight for almost 90 minutes. Taylor didn’t know for sure, but he suspected they’d already had fatalities from heatstroke.

  “We got a drone up over that western ridge. They’re massing back there. Looks like battalion strength, at least.” The Machines didn’t use human organizational structures, but UNFE forces tended to refer to enemy formations by their own force equivalents.

  The line was silent for a few seconds. “Alright, Jake. You know you need to keep the escape route open. I’m gonna start sending the worst hit sections back toward the target LZ. You and your boys…hold firm.” It was a pointless order, but it was all Cadogan had to give.

  “Yes, sir.” Taylor took a deep breath, wincing a little as a sharp pain lanced up his side. “Fuck,” he grunted. He’d cracked a couple ribs on patrol a few days before, and they were bothering him more than he thought they would. Doc hadn’t wanted to clear him for duty, but there was no way he was letting his people go out on a strikeforce level search and destroy mission without him. Especially this one…so far from base. And right after he got six new cherries transferred in.

  “Blackie…” He turned to face his number two, shouting across the ten meters or so rather than using the com. “I’m going slip Jackson’s team in on your flank. The way we’re set now, if these guys attack, they’ll just swing right around your boys.” He paused, thinking for a few seconds. The whole situation was bad news. He was sending his least experienced unit commander to hold the exposed flank. But he was only going to have one team left in reserve, and he needed a veteran in command of it…and the only really seasoned guy back there was Young. Barret Jackson was a good soldier, but this was his first mission commanding a team.

  “I’m gonna go with Jackson’s team.” He started sliding his way down the embankment as he spoke. “Frantic’s people are in reserve. Be cool, Blackie…we can’t burn through them too quickly. But pull them up a pair at a time if you really need them to plug your holes.”

  “Got it, Jake.” Black was still firing through the split in the rock, turning his head back as he shouted after Taylor. “You take care of the south flank. I’ve got things handled here.” It was bravado, but that was Blackie’s style.

  Taylor scrambled down into the gully and started moving south. He tapped the com controls on his helmet. “Jackson, get your boys up and moving. I want you on the line south of Black’s team.” He glanced back. He could hear the incoming fire on Black’s position, and it was getting heavier. “Immediately, Corporal.”

  Chapter 2

  From the Journal of Jake Taylor:

  What the hell am I doing in a place like this? The bureaucrats back home, they call it Erastus. I don’t know what that means or where it came from. Some Admin’s daughter probably named the place. But we grunts, the ones who do the fighting and dying here…we call it Gehenna. Literature and myth offer a host of names for the fiery hells conjured by God or man’s imagination, but that’s the one that stuck.

  I was a farmer, and a writer too, or at least I wanted to be. But they made a soldier out of me instead. I didn’t have a choice, at least not a real one. The harvest had been bad, the worst I’d ever seen. We went hungry that year, all of us, and there was no crop left to sell. When the inquisitor came, there was no money to pay the taxes.

  My father was a good man, but he was never as careful around the monitors as he should have been. He was older, already past forty when he met my mother, and he remembered a time none of the rest of us did. Before the Consolidation. Before the monitors were installed. Mother begged him to be more careful, and I did too when I was old enough to understand. People disappeared for saying things they shouldn’t…the Enforcers came and took them in the night. He tried, but it just wasn’t in him to hold his tongue. He hated what our world had become, and he cherished the memories of his youth, when people were free to read and think and speak as they wished.

  But misty-eyed memories don’t change the harsh present, and his passionate rants only put all of us at risk. A good man, my father, but a fool. He must have been on more than one watchlist, so when he couldn’t pay the taxes, there was no chance for leniency, no possibility of an extension.

  There was one option, though. I still remember the government man sitting at the kitchen table explaining it to me. His eyes…I don’t think I’ll ever forget his eyes. They were brown, but there was something else there, something cold, feral. His name was Carruthers. He sat there at our table, wearing a suit so fine, I remember thinking it must have cost more than our tractor. He came right out and said it to me…I could enlist to serve in the off-world military. If I did, the debt would be waived. If I refused, my family would lose the farm. There was no negotiation, no discussion. Either I accept immediately or we’d be put off the land by morning. He laid it all out in brutal detail. My term would be life; if I accepted I’d never come home, never see my family again. He said it all matter-of-factly, without the slightest trace of pity or understanding.

  Father begged me not to go, swearing empty promises that we could find another way. Mother cried hysterically when I told her I was going to do it, her grief turning to unfocused rage as she grabbed at me and beat on my chest in a tearful fit. I listened to Father’s entreaties, though I knew they were without substance, and I held Mother in my arms until her anger burned itself out into whimpering sobs. But my mind was made up.

  What else could I do? Stay and watch my family slowly starve in the urban freezones? See my baby brother grow up a gutter rat, picking through the garbage for food? Let my little sister sell herself for scraps of bread?

  No, I didn’t have a choice. I was scared, screaming inside, dreaming of days long gone, when I was a child and felt safe, when a mother’s hug could make everything better. Memories I’d thought long forgotten came rushing back to me. Simple things…picnics and family dinners and walks by the stream. Experiences I suddenly realized I hadn’t truly appreciated. The little joys I took for granted as a child now seemed a distant, lost dream. I ached to go back and relive those days, truly valuing them this time. I was sad and terrified and longing for a life I could feel slipping away…like water through my fingers. But I signed the papers anyway and bonded myself to a lifetime’s service.

  I was a laughable choice as a soldier, unsuited in more ways than I can easily list. I’d always been a weak, skinny kid, prone to illness and without much stamina. I was gentle by nature and not at all aggressive. Not until the government taught me to hate.

  Firebase Delta was built into a rocky hill on the edge of Erastus’ biggest desert. The 213th had rotated in a month before, after a year’s posting in the jungle belt. They’d gotten used to the steamy humidity of the planet’s equatorial zone, no less unpleasant than the desert, but different. They were still re-acclimating to the searing dry heat, and Taylor felt his section’s performance was suffering as a result. They’d
get used to it eventually, but Taylor wasn’t going to wait…he was going to give them a day’s rest after the heavy fight they’d just been in, and then they were going to do midday maneuvers. More than anything, winning a fight on Erastus meant staying sharp and alert despite the intense heat.

  The battle at Blackrock Ridge the day before couldn’t be classified as a win, not by any reasonable measure. They’d inflicted heavy losses on the ambushing Machines, far more than they had suffered, but that was only normal. The Machines were relentless attackers and highly tolerant of casualties. They always lost more. In the end, the human forces were forced to flee the field, and they barely got away at that. It hadn’t been the disaster it could have been, but it was nothing anyone was going to write any songs about.

  Still, the 213th survived, at least some of it did. For a while that had seemed like an impossibility. Even Taylor had almost given up hope. By the end, he had everyone on the line; he even took most of 2nd Team from the eastern flank, leaving Just Bear and one private to protect against an attack there.

  Taylor still had the images fresh in his memory. The Machines looked a lot like humans, especially from a distance. The plain in front of the ridgeline was covered with their dead. They launched two all-out assaults, and the second came close – too close – to breaking through. The 213th had been a hair’s breadth from being overrun. For a few seconds, Jake thought they had been. He still wasn’t sure how they’d managed to beat back that last charge, and he knew just how tight it had been. Taylor’s section had 11 casualties, 3 of them KIA. That was half the casualty rate of the rest of the strikeforce. His people remembered what he’d been telling them, what he’d been pounding into their heads.

  The evac finally came – closer to 30 minutes than 20 – and it would have been too late except for the pair of Dragonfire gunships escorting the transports. The big antigrav craft strafed the line just as the Machines were launching their third assault. The heavy autoguns tore into the advancing enemy, massive hyper-velocity projectiles tearing the Machine’s flesh and steel bodies to shreds.