Portal Wars 1: Gehenna Dawn (12 page)

Taylor just nodded, wondering what he had
gotten himself into.

From the Journal of Jake Taylor:

I’ve begun to wonder how different
we are from the Machines. They are constructed; I was born. They
are part flesh, part machine. With my implants and exos, I am also
part machine.

What did they do to me when they
installed my mods? They took my eyes, and replaced them with ones
that work better. What did they do with mine? The ones I was born
with. The ones just like my mother’s and, I was told, my
grandmother’s. The blue ones speckled gray that Beth used to look
into when she touched my face. Did they end up in some garbage can,
discarded like so much trash?

My ears are half circuitry now, and
my muscles are interlaced with synthetic fibers that triple my
natural strength. I heal rapidly, and my blood carries more oxygen.
I can run farther and faster than before, and jump and climb
too.

Then there are the exos. There are
metal fittings on my shoulders now - and my legs and spine - where
the exos attach to me. Part armor, part weapon, the exos make me
the deadliest warrior mankind has ever produced. Fully equipped and
prepped for battle I could beat 20 armed hardcores from any urban
free zone.

Then there is the neural
intelligence system. A constant voice in my head, the NIS is a
sophisticated artificial intelligence, my own internal computer
connected to my neural pathways. It feels like part of my own mind,
somehow both new and old at the same time. I control it
effortlessly with my thoughts, as it collates and stores
information vastly more efficiently than my natural brain. I
remember everything now…everything I see, everything I
hear.

I am the ultimate warrior, the
embodiment of Death, standing between my people and the doom of an
alien enemy bent on destruction. But am I human anymore? Or just
another manufactured soldier, like those I fight, built to wage a
never-ending war?

“They’re breaking off, Major!” Sergeant
Simpson was pointing wildly as he shouted. “They’re running.”
Simpson had proven to be a valuable aide, but he was a bit too
excitable. Taylor knew it was a lack of experience, even though the
sergeant had been two years onplanet. To Jake Taylor, almost
everyone on Erastus was a rookie.

Taylor stood still, not even bothering to
look. His NIS had recorded every aspect of the battle his eyes had
witnessed and his ears had heard. Jake could remember every rock,
every fold in the ground, every com message verbatim…for that
matter, every smell too. He knew what was happening on the
battlefield. He’d seen it enough times. The Machines were nothing
if not predictable. He’d compromised their position and they were
withdrawing. Like always.

They weren’t defeated…not yet. The Machines
were resilient. They followed their standardized tactics with an
almost frightening regularity. They weren’t afraid; they weren’t
running. Their basic tactical training told them to pull back from
a compromised position and regroup, and that is what they were
doing.

“They’re not running, Simpson.” Taylor’s
voice was calm, almost disinterested. “They’re pulling back to
regroup on the higher ground to the south.” Which is just where I
want them, he thought.

Rigid adherence to basic tactical doctrine
could be effective when facing an average commander. The Machines
didn’t make many mistakes, and their maneuvers were always
flawlessly executed. But against a leader like Jake Taylor,
predictability was suicidal.

Taylor directed a thought to his NIS,
activating the com. After five years he was finally getting used to
the fact that his thoughts could manage more equipment than what
he’d been born with. “Lieutenant Simone, move your strikeforce to
intercept the enemy and block their retreat.” He paused, just for
an instant, then added, “The same coordinates we discussed
previously.” A little reminder never hurt. He turned back toward
Simpson. “The main force will pursue at once.”

“Yes, sir.” The aide stood rigidly erect and
snapped off a salute before turning and running off to execute the
order.

Taylor sighed softly. The formality around
him had increased considerably in the last five years, as his rank
continued to rise. He hated all the saluting and military pomp. He
was a soldier now in every fiber of his being, almost nothing left
of the naïve country boy who wanted nothing more than to live on
the farm and write. But he still craved simplicity and
straightforwardness…that part of him had survived.

When he was a sergeant he’d longed for the
days on the farm back home. Now, he just wished he was still
leading his section, with no responsibility beyond watching his 40
or so men and following the lieutenant’s orders. He didn’t want to
command, didn’t seek any glory. He did what he was ordered to
do…and what he knew would help those kids still coming through that
hated Portal. But every salute and every “sir” grated on him.

Jake had been a Five Year Man when was
selected as the first participant in the Supersoldier program. Now
he had been on Erastus for a decade. He’d been called a Ten Year
Man a couple times, though the phrase was rarely used, probably
because there were so few soldiers who qualified. Almost no one
lasted that long in hell.

He wasn’t sure what was worse, the stupid
awestruck look in the eyes of the rookies or the obviously
insincere respect he got from the UN Command staff. Jake was a
field officer and one of the heroes of the war on Erastus, but he
was still a lifer, and he had more in common with the rank and file
footsoldiers than the politically-connected UN staffers and senior
commanders.

“Jake…Simone’s people are in place. I
reinforced him with an extra ten HHVs.” Jake enjoyed the causal
familiarity of Blackie’s voice. There was war and chains of command
and military hierarchy, but Tony Black wasn’t part of that to Jake.
He was like a brother…more than a brother. “We’re gonna catch these
bastards in one hell of a kill zone, Dog.”

There was a bloodthirstiness in Black’s
voice, one most of the men shared. They hated the Machines,
rejoiced at their destruction. Taylor had felt that way once too,
but the intense loathing was gone, replaced with fatigue, with
uncomfortable apathy. Jake killed Machines because it was his
job…and because destroying them saved his own men. But the
bloodlust was gone.

“Thanks, Blackie. I think we’ve got them in a
box.” Taylor turned slowly and stared out over the battlefield. His
cybernetic eyes focused rapidly, magnifying the image when his gaze
fell on the withdrawing Machine formations. He felt an odd feeling,
as he always did when his enhanced eyes locked on an image. It
wasn’t a shock, exactly…more of a tingling sensation. He’d found it
quite unpleasant at first, but now he was so used to it he hardly
noticed.

“And Blackie?”

“Yeah, Jake?”

Taylor took a quick breath. “I want some more
cover on the flanks. We’re going to have them bracketed, but they
can still try to slip out to the side, especially the east. That’s
their last open line of retreat.” He paused, reviewing the order of
battle in his head. He’d always been pretty good at remembering the
important details of his commands, but with the NIS just under his
temporal lobe, he could recite the height, weight, and marksmanship
ratings of every man in the battalion. It was unquestionably a
useful ability, but one that made him uncomfortable. Men weren’t
supposed to remember every last detail they heard or saw.

“Send Hank Daniels over there. That’ll still
leave most of Bear’s people in reserve.”

“It’s done.” Black hesitated. “I gave half of
Spider’s HHV crews to Simone, Jake. Should I steal some from Bear
to replace them?”

Taylor thought for a few seconds, but he
decided he didn’t want to take anything else from Bear’s reserves.
Daniels would be fine, even light on HHVs. “No.” He paused again.
“And Blackie, make sure Spider knows this isn’t a hold at all costs
situation. If the Machines come his way, I want him to inflict as
much damage as he can, but his priority is to minimize his own
losses. I’m expecting the enemy to go in his direction, and I’m
ready to deal with the ones that get through his line.”

“No problem. I’ll get the point across.”

“Make sure you do, Blackie. Because we both
know Hank will fight to the last man otherwise.” Taylor’s voice was
firm, commanding. He wasn’t about to get any more of his boys
killed than was absolutely necessary. UN Central didn’t care how
many men he lost as long as he won the battle, but Taylor sure as
hell did. Daniels was a close friend and an excellent officer, but
his aggressiveness sometimes got the better of him.

“I’ll handle him, Jake. Don’t worry. There
was a brief pause then, “Black out.”

Jake switched the com. “Captain
MacArthur?”

“Yes, Major. How can I help you?” The
squadron commander’s response was crisp and proper, but Jake could
detect the same undercurrent of superiority as always. He was
continually amazed how those with return tickets to Earth
considered themselves superior to lifers like his men and him. He
wondered if MacArthur knew how effortlessly his augmented muscles
could drive his hand through the pilot’s breastbone and rip out his
heart.

“Get your birds up in the air in ten minutes,
Captain.” Taylor’s voice was, imperious, commanding. More than one
can play that game, he thought. He didn’t like to get into
staredowns with arrogant fools, but sometimes he couldn’t help
himself. “The enemy will be retreating to the east. I want you over
there to pick off the survivors. It’s wide open ground. You should
be able to just about wipe them out.”

“I don’t know, Major. We can’t know where
they will head. Maybe we should stay in a more centralized
position.”

There it was again…the arrogance. Jake felt a
flash of heat behind his neck…one noticeable even in the relentless
inferno of Erastus. He was angry, sick of putting up with bullshit
from assholes like MacArthur. “You will follow my commands to the
letter,
Captain
…or I will find you when this operation is
over, and I will shoot you myself. Do we understand each
other…
Captain
?”

“Yes sir, Major.” MacArthur’s reply was
sullen. “We will lift in 9 minutes 30, as ordered.”

Taylor knew the snotty shithead was pissed,
and he couldn’t help but smile. He cut the line without another
word. You know a war’s been going on too long, he thought, when you
want to kill people on your own side more than the enemy.

“OK, boys. Here they come.” Hank Daniels was
lying on his stomach, his enhanced eyes focused on the approaching
enemy. “Remember, we’re going to drop as many of them as we can,
but the ones we don’t get…we let them break through. Do not…I
repeat, do not…engage in close combat. Our priority is to minimize
our own casualties. If the enemy approaches your position, you are
to withdraw.” Daniels tried to issue the order coldly and
unemotionally, but he ended up sounding like he’d just tasted
something bad. He trusted Taylor’s judgment implicitly, and Blackie
had made Jake’s orders exceedingly clear. But it still ran against
his grain to let any of the enemy go when he had a chance to wipe
them out. To Hank Daniels, every battle was a fight to the death.
He’d been torn from his life and family and sent to an alien
hell…all because of the enemy. The Machines and their Tegeri
masters were good for one thing in Daniels’ mind, and only one.
Killing.

His assault rifle was slung, unused, over his
back. Instead, he held a heavy Gauss gun, the long, thick barrel
stretching over a meter in front of him. He shifted his body so he
wasn’t lying on the heavy cable that connected the magnetic coilgun
to the power supply on his exoskeletal attachments. The weapon was
far too heavy for a normal soldier to manage, but Daniel’s enhanced
muscles and powerful exos allowed him to handle it with ease.

“Mortar crews…” Daniels had his strikeforce’s
own mortar, plus a second one Black had stolen from Bear Samuels’
group to reinforce him. “…commence firing.”

Barely a second or two passed before Daniels’
cybernetic ears picked up the whistling sound of two shells heading
for the enemy line. The mortars were using enhanced plasma rounds,
and each shot packed a heavy punch.

The first two rounds landed short, erupting
with blinding flashes about 100 meters ahead of the approaching
enemy. The second shots were right on target, and a dozen of the
Machines were caught in the kill zones and engulfed by the
expanding, superhot plasmas.

The Machines were moving east in a tight
formation, driven that way by the pincers closing around them from
every other direction. Now they scattered, trying to minimize their
vulnerability to the mortar fire. But the whole force was trapped
in a narrow defile, with minimal room to extend their
formation.

“Gauss guns and HHVs…prepare to open fire.”
Daniels had ten of the magnetic autoguns, all in the hands of crack
shots. Normally, the strikeforce commander wouldn’t handle one of
the heavy weapons, but Daniels had come up as a sniper, and there
wasn’t a better shot in the battalion. And he wanted every hit he
could get before he let the survivors through.

“Fire!” The word was barely out of his mouth
when his finger depressed the trigger. The Gauss gun was firing on
full auto, but Daniels’ didn’t need it…his shots were all spot on.
His targets didn’t just drop, they practically ceased to exist as 5
or 10 hyper-velocity projectiles tore them apart.

Up and down the line his people were raking
the approaching enemy, inflicting enormous casualties. Normally,
he’d have kept some of his assets in reserve, but he wanted to take
every shot he could get before he was forced to withdraw. He’d
follow his orders, but Jake’s command didn’t prevent him from doing
everything he could to drop as many of the enemy as possible before
he bugged out. The Machines were firing back, but it was light and
sporadic. They’d already been in a fight, and they were disordered
and low on ammunition.