Portal Wars 1: Gehenna Dawn (2 page)

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 onplanet. 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. “You 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.”

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 that 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.