Gehenna Dawn Read online

  “Begin boarding.” Black’s order was straightforward, and he spoke softly. The antigravs ran quietly, and his troops heard the command on their implanted com units, so there was no need to shout.

  The troops of the section marched quickly to the waiting transport, climbing onboard and strapping in on the two long benches along the inside of the hull. The Mustang-class troop transports had been one of the first weapons systems to incorporate the anti-grav technology found on New-Earth. The first Portal world discovered had been given a painfully unoriginal name, but it had also provided humanity with a 100-year leap in technology. Powered by an onboard nuclear reactor, each of the big vessels carried 40 men, plus weapons and supplies.

  The rest of the strike force was boarding the other transports, one section per, plus one ship for the support forces. The gunships that would escort them to the insertion point were deployed 500 meters to the north, just outside the strike force assembly area. The Dragonfires were awesome vessels, 60 meters long and bristling with weapons.

  Black watched the last of his troops climb through the Mustang’s hatch and, with a final look around the staging area, he pulled himself through and sat in the command seat. He quickly scanned the interior of the ship, checking, making sure all his troops had strapped themselves in.

  The men were mostly quiet. Some of the veterans were talking, quietly laughing every now and then. A few of the other guys were speaking softly to themselves. Blackie knew they were praying. Religion was tightly controlled on Earth, but when you dumped a bunch of guys in a place like Erastus, a lot of them found God. Fast. Black himself had never drawn comfort from his beliefs, mostly because he didn’t believe in anything. At least nothing besides his brothers in arms. But he was glad when he saw his rookies praying. Anything that distracted them, helped them manage the fear…that was good.

  “Last call to get strapped in boys.” The pilot’s voice was loud on the speaker. “We’re lifting in 30 seconds.”

  Black instinctively checked his harness, though he knew it was good. He’d strapped in a hundred times. He sucked in a deep breath, taking a few seconds to get ahold of his own fear. The rookies seemed to think the seasoned troops weren’t afraid in battle. The ones who survived long enough to become veterans themselves would look back and realize what idiots they were. Everyone was scared…everyone. The experienced troops just knew how to control it…they realized that their chances of survival were far better if they could manage the fear. For all the mystique of crack troops, that was the primary difference…the triumph of logic over terror. The mind over instinct.

  The ride would be smooth, at least. Half the rookies wouldn’t even know they were moving until they looked outside. One of the techs tried to explain it to Black once. The antigrav generators radiated a force that altered the graviton particles beneath the ship, effectively canceling the force of gravity exerted by the planet. Black had nodded politely, but none of it meant anything to him. The technician could have been speaking ancient Greek. The thing flew. That’s all Blackie cared about.

  The four transports lifted in a neat formation, rising approximately 50 meters before they engaged their engines and blasted across the desert at 1200 kph. Black knew there was a similar scene taking place at each of the battalion’s bases. Four small flotillas, with four transports and two gunships each would soon be converging on the target.

  That objective was still a mystery, but rumors were rampant it was indeed a Machine production facility. If that was the case, Black knew they could expect one hell of a fight. The Tegeri weren’t going to let 2nd Battalion just march in and take one of their key installations. Things are going to get bloody, Black thought grimly. Then he put it out of his mind and watched the featureless desert whip by.

  “Let’s go!” Bear Samuels was shouting at his mortar crews, frustrated with the time it was taking them to set up. He’d worked them as much as he could, but they were just inexperienced, and it showed in their performance. “I want fire on that valley, and I want it now.” Unlike Blackie’s accent, Samuel’s southern drawl tended to vanish when he was excited and under stress.

  “Almost ready, Sergeant.” Corporal Jarrod had been on-planet around six months, which made him one of the closest things 3rd Section had to a veteran. He was a good man, but his two crewman were cherries who’d been on Erastus less than two weeks.

  “Ready, Sarge.” Isaac Stone was another corporal, an 18-month veteran from 2nd Section. Taylor had detached Blackie’s and Hank Daniels’ mortars and sent them to Samuels. Both of the borrowed crews were outperforming his own less seasoned team.

  His section was advancing through a narrow, rocky valley. It was a rough position, with the flanks on both sides exposed to enemy positions on the heights. The overall mission objective was on the left, built into a jagged peak rising 500 meters above the desert floor. The valley itself was narrow, with a rugged series of small hills rising to the right. Although it still hadn’t been confirmed officially, by now the entire battalion knew they were assaulting one of the enemy’s Machine production sites.

  It was the right flank that was worrying Samuels. There were enemy defensive positions up there, dug into those hills covering the approach to the base. His people had to take those out before the objective itself could be attacked. The rest of the strikeforce was stacked up behind his people, along with a section of the 1st and about half the battalion support elements. They were going to hit the base itself, but only after Samuels’ people cleared the hills to the right.

  Taylor had taken a gamble, sending his least experienced section in first, but he knew he needed his veterans for the main attack. He’d have never gone with 3rd Section if he didn’t have Samuels to lead it. Bear was one of the best small-unit commanders Taylor had ever seen. The big man was new to handling a whole section, but Jake had complete confidence in his friend. They both knew what had to be done and, if anyone could do the job with a bunch of rookies, it was Bear Samuels.

  “Ready, Sergeant.” Jarrod’s voice was a little wobbly, but it was loud and clear.

  “Attention 3rd Section, prepare to advance behind mortar barrage. Team leaders sound off.”

  “Acknowledged.” Corporal Clark Hemmerich was the first to respond, but the other three teams sounded off a few seconds later. The leaders had all been on-planet at least 9 months, though some of them commanded teams consisting entirely of new recruits.

  “Mortars…” Bear was standing right behind the three deployed tubes. “…commence firing.”

  It couldn’t have been more than a second before Samuels heard the first distinctive whoosh, followed closely by the other two. He pulled down his visor, flipping the switch to kick in the magnification. He could see the explosions in a small line along the rocky slope.

  “Short, 30 meters.” He snapped out the range adjustment. The three crew leaders were watching their impact points too, but Samuels beat them to it.

  Visibility was shitty. Bear could make out maybe half a dozen Machines deployed on the hillside, but he knew there were a lot more of them up there. The terrain was great for defense. If he led his section straight up they’d be cut to pieces. There was a way up around the side, though. If he could get a jump on the enemy, distract them enough with the mortar fire, he might just manage to hit them on the flank. He liked his rookies’ chances a lot better that way.

  Bear smiled as he saw the second batch of mortar rounds impact along the enemy’s first line. We drew blood that time, he thought, nodding with satisfaction.

  “1st and 2nd Teams, move out.” He had placed Hemmerich in overall command of the first two teams. The veteran corporal had been on-planet almost two years. He was the one other NCO in the section that Samuels considered a true veteran.

  “Yes, Sergeant.” Hemmerich’s response was crisp, just a touch of tension showing. This was a new kind of mission for all of them, the biggest fight the 213th Strikeforce had ever faced.

  “3rd and 4th Teams, prepare to advance.�
� Samuels was taking the rest of the section in himself. They were moving up right behind Hemmerich’s people. Once they got closer to the enemy position they would swing around, climbing higher up the hillside and hitting the enemy rear…right after the first two teams engaged the flank. With any luck, they’d have surprise on their side. If not, Samuels thought, it’s going to be a long day.

  “Widen that field of fire. That fucking thing swivels, you know.” Clark Hemmerich was crouched down behind a large boulder, shouting across a ten meter gap to his HHV team. They’d gotten the thing up and firing quickly enough, but they were just shooting straight ahead. They had a line of fire on at least three enemy lines, but they were only shooting at one.

  “Yes, Corporal.”

  Hemmerich grinned as he saw the stream of hyper-velocity projectiles begin to swing back and forth across the field. He shook his head, thinking, why do they have to be told that? They’d caught the Machines flat-footed, focused on the mortar barrage and expecting a frontal assault. Now his team was raking the enemy flank, firing into the Machine position at its most vulnerable point.

  “Grange, Cruz, get your asses behind some cover before they get shot off!” The enemy still hadn’t reacted to the surprise, and now his people were getting careless, not paying attention to their cover. It was exactly the kind of stupid shit that got soldiers killed. The Machines were slow to adjust, but when they did Hemmerich knew his line would be hosed down with fire, and anybody who wasn’t keeping his head down would be a stain.

  His orders were clear…put maximum fire on the enemy while Samuels took the rest of the section around the flank and hit the enemy rear. The Machines were confused, their flank wide open. He was tempted to charge now and try to exploit the chaos. But he didn’t have the strength, not until Samuels and the rest of the section went in, at least. It was immaterial…his orders expressly forbid him to go in before the rear attack hit.

  He tapped a small pad on his helmet, bringing the tactical display up on his visor. His troops were deployed across 120 meters, each team with six men on the front and two in reserve. The 2nd team’s HHV was about 70 meters uphill from his position. It looked like a decent spot, but it was a little more exposed than he liked.

  He peered around the boulder, trying to get an idea of the damage they were doing to the enemy. Normally, he’d have had a drone up, but Taylor had ordered him not to do anything during his approach that might alert the enemy they were coming. The Machines had detected the transports approaching the area, of course, but Taylor was betting that a complex assault plan would surprise them. He didn’t think the Machines would expect an attack across the rugged terrain on their flank, which is exactly why Samuels’ section was doing just that. Drones buzzing around before the attack might have been a tip off, though.

  It looked like the enemy was taking heavy casualties, but it was hard to be sure. They still hadn’t counterattacked – or even responded with more than token fire of their own. It was a gift, but one Hemmerich knew wouldn’t last. The more he thought about it, the more he disliked that HHV position. The enemy was going to take them out as soon as they got their shit together.

  “1st Team, maintain position and fire.” He crouched low and crept out from behind the boulder, climbing slowly up the hill. He was going to find a better spot for that HHV.

  “On three…3rd and 4th Teams, advance.” Bear’s people had made a wide march around the enemy flank. They’d gone at least a kilometer out of their way, but it looked like they’d made it without being spotted. He’d crept as close as he dared. The enemy rear was about half a klick down the rocky hillside.

  “One.” Samuels could hear distant explosions…his mortars still firing on the enemy front. It was hard to tell, but it sounded like all three were still active. He’d cut communications with the mortars…he’d shut down everything but low-power intra-team com. It was just too easy for the enemy to pick up a transmission and blow his secrecy.

  “Two.” Normally, Samuels would have his troops leapfrog forward, half providing covering fire while the rest advanced. But it looked like they had complete surprise going for them, so he’d ordered everyone to rush down the hillside and take advantage of it. A good old-fashioned charge, he thought. “No, not entirely,” he whispered to himself. He wasn’t looking to lead a bunch of rookies into close quarters combat with the Machines. They were going to rush down to point blank range and then stop and unload on the enemy position. He knew Hemmerich’s people were hitting the flank the same way. With their flank and rear compromised and heavy fire coming in, the enemy would probably pull back. The Machines didn’t break and rout in battle, not exactly. But they weren’t utterly resilient automatons either. They cared about self-preservation…whether that was instinct, programming, doctrine…Samuels didn’t know. But they would retreat if their position was untenable rather than fight hopelessly to the death. And that was all Samuels needed to clear the hillside.

  “One. Move it!” He spun around the edge of the rock out into the open. This was a gamble. If the enemy realized what was happening and got some fire on his people, they’d be sitting ducks. If that happened, Bear knew he’d be one of the first to go…he was a damned big target out in the open.

  He ran down the hillside, as quickly as he could without losing his footing. His vision was obscured…he had his visor down and the tactical display up. If he’d been leading his old team, he wouldn’t have worried about the display, but he needed to keep an eye on the cherries. If they froze, or if half of them failed to advance, the attack could quickly turn into a disaster.

  It looked like everyone was moving, at least so far. The line was a little more ragged than he’d have liked, but overall things looked OK. He shoved up the visor, finally getting a good look forward. He’d covered half the ground to the enemy already. There was a small gutter in the hillside, no more than a wrinkle in the ground, about 200 meters from the Machine position. That was the objective. If they could make it that far, they’d have decent cover, and they’d be firing from point blank range.

  “They’re shooting at us!”

  Bear wasn’t even sure who it was until he checked the com transponder. Private Esteban, one of the newbs from 3rd Team. “Let’s stay calm, people. Keep moving.” Bear was starting to notice some fire too, but it was sporadic, scattered. Probably a sentry or two who’d noticed the approaching force. He could feel himself stooping lower, instinctively trying to make himself a smaller target. The best thing he could do…that any of them could do…was to keep moving.

  “I’m hit!” It was Private Slotsky from 4th Team. He wasn’t fresh out of the Portal, but he was still pretty raw. There was pain in his tone, and panic.

  “Keep moving, all of you!” Bear was almost to the objective. His rifle was in his hands, and his eyes were instinctively scanning for a good place to position himself. “Slotsky, how bad are you hit?”

  “It’s my leg, Sarge. Hurts like hell.” Bear could hear the fear. Slotsky had never been wounded before, probably never had worse than a twisted ankle. “Stay calm, kid. Grab yourself some cover and get your medkit on it. We’ll be back for you.” The nanobots in the personal medical kit could stabilize most wounds long enough to get an injured soldier evac’d. Assuming there was any transport available, which there wouldn’t be unless Bear and his men secured the area.

  Samuels halted, crouching behind a small rock outcropping. It was only a meter and a half high, but it was good cover as long as he stayed prone. He slammed down his visor and gave the tactical display a quick glance. The rest of his troops were reaching their objectives. He switched off the projection and cranked up the visor magnification. He could hear the enemy fire now, still sporadic but definitely getting heavier.

  “Everybody grab some decent cover and get some fire going.” He peered around the edge of the rock, bringing his assault rifle up and firing half a dozen rounds on semi-automatic in the general direction of the enemy. “HHVs, I want you guys up and firing now! M
ake sure you’ve got decent cover.” He’d been careful to ensure that each of the HHV teams had one veteran member. He had to transfer a man from 3rd Team to do it, but the HHVs were too important to entrust solely to rookies.

  He pumped up the visor magnification to 300% and looked over toward the left. It looked like Hemmerich’s people were really ripping the enemy flank to shreds. He could hear fire beginning from his own teams, scattered rifles at first, then one of the HHVs kicking in. The enemy position was bracketed by the fire of his two groups. The Machines’ position was untenable…they had two choices. Launch a nearly suicidal charge against one of his forces or withdraw and reform. Either way, Samuels was going to take control of the hill and open the door for the rest of Jake’s troops to assault the base.

  Never win a battle with bullets when you can do it with boot leather. That was one of Jake Taylor’s favorite maxims…and Samuels had learned it from him. It didn’t matter that military boots hadn’t been made of leather for generations…the point remained. And against an enemy like the Machines, strong and well-armed but tactically sluggish, it was even more valid.

  His whole force was in position now, pouring fire into the enemy rear. The Machines were shifting forces, trying to put together a line to face the new threat. Samuel’s people were starting to take losses too, but they were light. The enemy was disordered and their efforts to reorganize under the heavy fire were slow and clumsy.

  “Pour it on, boys.” Samuels was firing on full auto now as he shouted into his com. “Drive them off the hill.”

  Chapter 7

  From the Journal of Jake Taylor: