Portal Wars 1: Gehenna Dawn Page 22

  Taylor sat quietly, listening to what his second in command had to say. Finally he waved for the short, stocky officer to take one of the seats next to him. He trusted Black’s judgment, and he knew there was sense in what his friend was saying. But Taylor had decided exactly what he wanted to do. His anger had cleared his mind, and his focus was razor sharp.

  “You’re right, Blackie.” Taylor wiped the back of his neck with a small white towel as he spoke. They were down in the equatorial zone, gathering equipment and supplies from the garrisons moving north. Years in the desert had weakened his acclimation to the extreme humidity, and he was really feeling it. “Or at least you might be if I wanted to fight a conventional campaign. But that would take too long. Besides, if they were smart they’d just mask our strongpoints and wait us out. Our supplies are limited; theirs aren’t. Not if we hole up in our bases and give them unchallenged access to the Portal. If we let them pin us down we’re screwed.”

  Black dropped hard into the chair, letting out a deep breath as he did. “OK, Jake.” There was partial capitulation in his voice. “Maybe you’re right…maybe we’d just end up besieged. But then why not defend the Portal, hit them as they emerge? Why let them come through and deploy? Do we need to give up all that advantage when we can be waiting just this side of the transit point and hit them as they come out?” Black wasn’t arguing with Taylor. He was genuinely questioning, his tone one of confusion, not debate.

  “I don’t want to hold them back, Blackie.” There was a confidence and a coldness in Taylor’s voice that sent a chill down Black’s spine. He couldn’t tell if Jake was sure he was right, or if he just didn’t care enough about surviving to worry about it. “If we defend the Portal, we’ll bottle them up. They won’t get a fraction of their total force through.”

  “Isn’t that the point?” Black sounded even more confused. “Doesn’t that give us an edge, balance out their numerical superiority?”

  “Conventionally, yes.” Taylor’s voice was cold, analytical. “But I don’t want to defend against them, Blackie.” There was a short pause. “I want to annihilate them. I want to kill every soldier they muster to send here.” There wasn’t a shred of doubt as he spoke, just icy determination. “If we hold the line at the Portal, the fighting will drag on forever. But there’s a limit to the force they can put together on short notice, and the arrogant bastards will send it all through at once if we let them…I’m sure of it.” Taylor paused for a few seconds. “I intend to let them transit every man they can assemble. Once they’re all through, we’ll retake the Portal and cut them off.” Taylor looked right into Black’s eyes as he spoke. “Because I’m going to let them in…” His words were pure venom. “…but not one of them is getting out.”

  Chapter 23

  From the Journal of Jake Taylor:

  I thought I hated the Machines. I despised them for what I believed they had done, and for more than a decade I gleefully gunned them down. I don’t know how many I personally killed, but it must have been dozens…if not hundreds. And the men I led killed thousands, tens of thousands. Whatever else I felt, whatever questions I had about UN Central and the way my men and I were treated, my anger for the Tegeri and their bio-mechanical soldiers always flared hot.

  I thought I hated them…until I experienced true hatred. Alien creatures, served up by Earth’s best propagandists, reach down into a dark place inside us all, stirring up anger, fear, righteous indignation. But it is human monsters who have tapped into the true veins of boiling, surging, molten rage deep inside me. Traitors who betrayed their own people and massacred thousands of innocents…all so they could enslave the rest of mankind.

  Now the real battle is about to begin, the fight against the hideous evil that rules mankind. They turned my men into cyborgs, soulless killing machines to serve their own purposes. Now they will taste irony as that force is turned upon them. My soldiers shall be avenging angels, cleansing the universe of their filth.

  I am ready. I am anxious, almost gleeful at the chance to destroy these soldiers my enemies have sent to murder my people. I feel the rage day and night, making my body shake with such force it is all I can do to hold myself still. Now I know what real fury is. Anger so profound, so primal, it scares me to my core. I don’t know who or what I am anymore. I feel as though my soul has been possessed…consumed…by some force, some demon. The hate I felt for the Tegeri served me, it gave me strength in my fight, drove me on. But it is I who serve this hatred, this terrifying lust for vengeance. It is the master, I the willing slave.

  Am I sane? I don’t know. But I am sure of one thing. I don’t care.

  John MacArthur lurched hard to the side as his Dragonfire gunship loosed two Ripper air-to-air missiles. The sleek weapons zipped over the scrubby hills below, homing in on the light fighter he’d spotted. They swung wide, each looping around and approaching the target from a different side. The fighter pilot banked hard, trying to evade the fiery death zooming in on him. He zigzagged past one of the missiles, a temporary respite, as the Ripper arced around to make a second pass. His efforts were in vain anyway. The second missile slammed right into his small craft, practically vaporizing it.

  “All ships, shout out those sightings as soon as you have them.” MacArthur’s birds were deployed on combat air patrol around the Portal. The UN forces had been pouring through for two days. They outnumbered the Erastus forces 3-1, and they were still coming. On the ground, Taylor had positioned only light forces near the transit point…snipers and small, fast-moving teams. He didn’t want to stop the enemy’s advance, or even seriously hinder it. He was just looking to pick off as many as he could, and put up a show of some sort of defense. Enough, at least, not to arouse any suspicion that might instill caution in whoever was commanding the UN force.

  The air battle was a different story. Taylor wanted all those invading ground troops to transit onto Erastus, where he could engage and destroy them. But he was determined to keep the enemy air power contained, and prevent as much of it from transiting as possible. He had the Dragonfires patrolling in shifts, keeping constant pressure on anything that flew through the Portal. He’d suspected the UN force wouldn’t anticipate the Erastus air units would have rallied to him, and he turned out to be right. The waiting squadrons had quite an element of surprise.

  The enemy air units MacArthur’s people were battling were lighter…small antigrav fighters that were no match for the massive Dragonfires. Gunships and other heavy craft had to be brought through in pieces and assembled on planet, and MacArthur and his birds were keeping the transit zone way too hot for anything like that to succeed. Taylor didn’t know how much airpower UN Central would be able to muster on short notice, but he was determined to keep most of it pinned back behind the Portal.

  “I’ve got two bogies just through. They’re climbing hard.” It was Lieutenant Stewart, skipper of Condor 06. A good pilot, and probably the best spotter in MacArthur’s entire force.

  “Condor 01 and Condor 02, move to support Condor 06.” MacArthur snapped the orders into the com. He didn’t want those enemy birds slipping through. The fight around the transit point was different than any air battle he’d ever seen. The immense energy pumped through the Portal to sustain matter transmission gave off extensive interference, rendering normal detection equipment inoperative. Even old-fashioned radar was useless. The only thing that worked was eyeballing targets, and that meant getting a lot closer than normal.

  “Bogie one intercepted.” It was Condor 06 again. Stewart got the first one himself.

  MacArthur was happy with his crews. They weren’t used to fighting almost blind, but so far not an enemy antigrav made it past them. And he was determined to keep it that way.

  “Bogie two down.” Stewart again. His bird had gotten both kills before the support even got there.

  MacArthur smiled.

  “The resistance we have encountered is extremely light, Mr. Kazan.” Laurence Graves was an imposing figure, at least 10 cent
imeters taller and 20 kilos heavier than Kazan. “The enemy antigravs have been attacking our fighters and supply shipments incessantly, but we have faced minimal ground forces so far.”

  Kazan stood outside his command vehicle, sweat pouring down his cheeks. There was an angry scowl on his face, a mask of arrogance he wore to cover his fear and insecurity. He had absolute power over the forces invading Erastus, but he had no illusions about what he faced back home if he returned with anything short of total success.

  “They are a rabble, Colonel Graves.” Despite his position in the Department of Military Affairs, Kazan understood remarkably little of the realities of war. “Your forces should have no difficulty sweeping them from the field.”

  Graves was uncomfortably silent for a moment. His career had been spent putting down protests and riots, not fighting veteran armies. He wasn’t sure what to expect from these Erastus soldiers, but he suspected they were going to be a lot tougher than Kazan suggested. These weren’t civilians armed with clubs and knives, rioting for food…they were seasoned soldiers defending a battlefield familiar to them and unrelentingly hostile to his own troops.

  “Sir…” Graves had enough experience dealing with government officials to know he had to tread carefully with an arrogant ass like Kazan. “…I strongly advise caution, at least until we can get a good idea of what we face. We don’t want…”

  “What we face are criminals, Colonel.” Kazan interrupted, his voice heavy with arrogance. “Nothing more. And we will not delay any further.”

  “Secretary Kazan…” Under-Secretary was a cumbersome title to keep repeating, and Graves figured the informal courtesy promotion would only stroke the vain fool’s ego. “…I remind you that we did not expect the air units to rally to the rebel forces.” He paused for an instant. “Yet, it appears they have, and in significant numbers.” He could tell he wasn’t getting anywhere with Kazan, but he wasn’t ready to give up yet. “Do we know if the engineers have also joined this Colonel Taylor and his troops?” Graves paused, but Kazan just stared at him. “Sir, I am only suggesting that we hold some units in reserve back on the Earth side of the Portal. Just to be cautious.”

  “I want the entire force together, Colonel. That means every man is to transit as quickly as possible.” Kazan’s voice was all bravado, but beneath there was a shakiness he was trying to hide. He wasn’t sure if Graves’ concerns were reasonable, but he did know that he was under considerable pressure to produce results on Erastus. Quickly. If he moved slowly, if no progress reports made it back to UN Central, it was only a matter of time before Keita – and Samovich – lost what little patience they had. That would be a bad day for Kazan…he was sure of that.

  He turned toward Graves and stared at the colonel intently. “As quickly as possible. Do we understand each other, Colonel?”

  “They’re pulling back, sir. We’ve secured the western half of the headquarters complex.” Captain Shinto was excited, but all his parched throat could manage was a hoarse croak. The heat on Erastus was like nothing he’d ever experienced. At least half his troops were down with hyperthermia, and the rest were barely effective. He’d expected to encounter a significant enemy force defending the HQ complex, but there couldn’t have been 200 in total, and most of those pulled back after a nasty firefight.

  “Very well, Captain.” Colonel Graves’ voice was crisp and clear, but then he was in a climate controlled command vehicle while Shinto and his people were out in the blazing sun. “You are to push on and take the remainder of the complex.”

  Shinto almost groaned out loud. He’d started his assault with 1,100 troops, but he doubted there were more than 300 left standing. Most of his losses were from the heat, but the Erastus forces had taken down at least 200 of his men before they pulled back. He had no idea how many casualties his forces had inflicted, but he was sure it was a lot fewer.

  He’d never seen anything like these Erastus soldiers. They ran far faster than his troops, and they did it at high noon under the blazing light of both suns. Their aim was uncanny, and they functioned together with inexplicable fluidity. There was no way his people were going to be able to clear the rest of the objective.

  “Colonel Graves, sir, I must advise you that my forces have almost no chance of completing your orders.” He was nervous, trying to speak with as much false confidence as he could muster. Officers in the UN Internal Security forces didn’t prosper by questioning the orders of superiors…especially in the elite paramilitary units.

  “There is no alternative, Captain.” Graves wasn’t angry. Shinto was just telling him the truth. But Kazan was on the com every twenty minutes, pushing for faster progress. Graves was starting to get pissed about being pushed so hard to pull the bureaucrat’s ass out of the fire, but there was nothing he could do about it. “Launch the assault immediately.” Graves took a short breath, running through his OB quickly in his mind. “I’m sending you Lieutenant Garcia and his men as reinforcements. That’s another 550 troops, Shinto…don’t you ask me for any more. That’s all you’re getting. Now, just take the rest of the objective.”

  “Yes, sir.” Shinto’s voice was still tense, but there was relief there too at the prospect of support. “I will launch the attack in ten minutes.”

  “Very well.” Graves cut the line.

  Shinto activated the unit-wide com. “Attention, all personnel. We will be advancing in ten minutes.” He could practically here the groans among his exhausted troops. “We have reinforcements incoming to support the assault.” He had no obligation to let the men know, but he figured it would help morale.

  He walked up to the edge of the trench, peering out cautiously at the enemy-occupied buildings on the eastern edge of the compound. What, he wondered…what is waiting over there?

  Carson Jones lay perfectly still, his cybernetic eyes fixed on the jagged edge of the enemy trench. He’d been stalking his target for over an hour. An enemy officer, the one commanding the whole attack in this sector. He was confident about his ID on the target, but the bastard hadn’t shown himself enough to give a good shot. Jones was more than four klicks away. He could make the kill, but he needed a decent opening.

  They called Jones “The Surgeon.” It wasn’t so much because he was a great sniper, but because he was a great sniper with an uncanny ability to get a fix on the highest value targets in a formation. His list of kills included a roster of Machine officers and two Tegeri. And over the last few days, 14 UN Internal Security unit commanders.

  His NIS was linked to the SK-11 computer-assisted sniper’s rifle, providing him with real time adjustment to wind conditions and other variables, all controlled through the direct neural connection. All Carson needed was the raw marksmanship and the patience to wait for his shot, both of which he had.

  He was lying in the rubble of a wrecked storage shed on the outskirts of the UNFE headquarters complex. The invading UN troops had taken the western half of the compound, and now they were massing to assault the eastern perimeter. The Erastus troops weren’t really defending the place; they were falling back slowly, bleeding the attackers. Taylor had been clear…the orders were to inflict as much damage as possible and withdraw before taking serious losses. Those orders had been carried out to the letter. The enemy had taken at least 300 casualties so far, in addition to half their strength incapacitated by the heat. The defenders had 7 KIA and about 25 wounded.

  “C’mon you SOB…” Jones muttered softly to himself. …show me some skin, baby.” Jones had immense patience, but he knew he was running out of time. The Erastus forces would start pulling back once the attack began, and that meant he’d have to retreat too. If he didn’t take his target down by then, he’d lose the chance.

  He was listening intermittently to the chatter on the unitwide com. The enemy had already advanced on the far flank, and there was a sharp firefight developing. The Erastus forces were dug into strong positions. They’d probably repel the first assault, but then they’d pull back while the enemy regro
uped.

  Jones was thinking, analyzing, trying to figure how long he could stay where we was…how far he could stretch his orders without actually breaking them. Then he saw it. It was almost pure instinct. The target was moving, raising his head to peer over the trench. Jones flashed a thought to the NIS, making a last second adjustment. His cybernetic eyes focused intently, peering through the targeting scope. There it was…the top of his target’s head…moving slowly up. Forehead, eyes…up over the edge of the trench.

  Snap. Jones depressed the trigger, loosing a single hyper-velocity round. The target’s head exploded as the projectile slammed into it at 3,000 mps, sending the lifeless body careening up and back before falling to the ground inside the trench.

  “Gotcha.” Jones had the same feral bloodlust as any great sniper. He believed in the cause…and even more, he had unshakeable faith in Jake Taylor. But once he was in the field it was all about the kill. Politics didn’t matter, nor grievances. He would track his prey with unrelenting determination.

  He scooped up the sniper’s rifle and rolled to the side, out from under the pile of debris and behind a heavy chunk of broken masonry. He pulled himself up prone and slung the rifle over his back. Time to find another target.

  “He’s dead, sir.” Lieutenant Smythe was beyond edgy…he was nearly in a panic. “One second he was giving me orders, preparing for the assault…the next he was dead.” Smythe was covered with blood and gore…all that remained of Captain Shinto’s head.

  “Control yourself, Smythe!” Graves voice was tense on the com…he was getting overwhelmed, panicked calls coming in from units all over the field. His forces were advancing on all fronts, breaking through every defensive position. But he was besieged with frantic communiques from his officers. Casualties were high, much worse than expected, and the troops were dropping by the thousands from the heat. Even worse, the enemy snipers were picking off his officers everywhere. The last thing he needed was widespread panic among his commanders.