Portal Wars 1: Gehenna Dawn (31 page)

From the Journal of Jake Taylor:

A crusade. Many struggles have been
so called, yet few, I suspect, have lived up to the purity of
purpose implicit in the name. Our war will be a true crusade, and
we shall not rest until our enemies are vanquished and the terrible
wrong they wrought has been eradicated. My devotion is pure. I
don’t seek permission or approval, and I will not be deterred by
apologies and pleas for mercy. I am what I am, and I have made my
peace with that. I am ready to do whatever I must.

If the wrong done to you is bad
enough, the primal need to seek some sort of redress can be
overwhelming. Sitting and thinking about grievances, planning and
devising the means of your enemy’s destruction…it all feeds the
beast inside. But when it is time to actually do it, to deal out
massive death and hideous suffering, to make the decisions that
threaten your very humanity…that is when we encounter the greatest
test of our resolve.

But there is another aspect of
zealotry, of the insatiable need to attain victory at all costs…one
that can be the hardest to live with. You must give all to the
crusade, holding nothing back. Risking your own life is easy, but
sacrificing a friend…that is the hardest thing to live with. And it
is just such a friend who is likeliest to be the one you can rely
upon in the most vital, the most desperate situation.

The closest I have come to
abandoning my calling, of giving in to my own desires over the
needs of the crusade was when I was trying to save a friend…a
brother who walked into a firestorm because I asked him
to.

“Pour it into ‘em, boys!” Sergeant Harrigan
was firing as he encouraged his men. “Don’t let the fuckers
breath.”

The 45th Strike Force had the enemy battalion
– what was left of it – pinned. The ridge was high and steep, much
too rugged for the panicked UN troopers to retreat over, and every
other avenue of escape was over flat, open plateau. Perfect killing
ground.

Harrigan’s forces had been attacking all day.
He was part of the force driving hard toward the Portal, trying to
reach Captain Samuel’s forces before they were overwhelmed. There
were four pincers, approaching Bear’s beleaguered survivors from
every direction. Taylor was on the com every few minutes, pushing
Harrigan and his people, urging them to make the absolute maximum
effort. No one had ever heard Jake so determined. Taylor was going
to get through to Samuels’ people if he had to smash the entire
army to bits to do it.

The battle plan had been a success so far…the
entire UN force was onplanet and cut off from the Portal. When they
realized what Jake’s people had done, they launched massive
counter-attacks, seeking to retake the transit point. Samuels and
his small force had been fighting like banshees against 20-1 odds,
beating back every charge. But they paid a price each time, and
fewer than a third of them were still in the line.

The unit facing Harrigan’s forces began to
melt away under the murderous fire. They weren’t even fighting back
anymore, nothing but a few sporadic shots. A lot of them were down
from the heat, and the ones still standing were routing, trying
desperately to escape the 45th’s trap.

“This is Sergeant Harrigan.” He was shouting
into the com, his excitement boiling over. “Lieutenant Nguyen,
Sergeant Harrigan here…the barn door is open, sir.” He turned back
toward the disintegrating enemy formation and added his fire to
that of his men. They’d opened the way for the 111th Strike Force
to move through the gap and reach Samuels’ perimeter. All he had to
do now was make sure none of these troops regrouped and hit the
111th on the flank. He gritted his teeth and slapped a new clip
into his magazine. He knew just how to make sure of that.

The fighting had been brutal along the
curving ridgeline just east of the Portal. The dead were piled up
everywhere, and the advancing troops had to climb over the bodies
to push their way forward. Samuels’ troops had performed wonders
along this line, holding the outer perimeter against 11 charges. By
the time the enemy launched number 12 there only 8 men left manning
the position.

There wasn’t a lot of doubt…this time the
enemy was going to get through. There was no military reason for
Corporal Sebastiani and the 7 troopers under his command to
stand…they didn’t have the slightest chance of holding back the
1,200 enemy soldiers formed up for the final push. But all 8 of
them were of one mind. There was no way they were pulling back. If
the enemy wanted to take their position, they were going to have to
take it. Not one of them was ready to give it away for free.

“Well, Private Ramirez, we’ve earned our pay
these last few days, haven’t we?” Sebastiani had walked up behind
Ramirez. The private had been part of an HHV crew, but his teammate
and the weapon itself had been blasted to bits a few hours earlier.
Now he was crouched down with his assault rifle. He didn’t have the
firepower he’d had before, but that didn’t matter. He’d be standing
here with a knife if that was all he had.

“Yes, sir.” Ramirez was focused, ready.
Somehow he had mastered the fear, at least for the moment. He knew
just as well as Sebastiani that they all had about ten minutes left
to live. “I think Colonel Taylor will be pleased with us.” There
was an almost eerie contentment in his voice.

“Yes, private.” Sebastiani’s tone had become
thoughtful, almost serene. “I think you are right. We did our duty
for the colonel.” He looked out across no man’s land, but he wasn’t
seeing anything…at least nothing on Erastus. He saw images of home,
memories he’d long since thought were lost to him. The rolling
hills of Tuscany, the small town where he was born…the place from
which he’d never traveled more than 20 kilometers before they came
and made a soldier out of him. He knew he was going to die, but
he’d made his peace with it. The fear was gone.

Perhaps it would return at the instant of
death, when he was staring at the advancing enemy soldiers…when he
was lying in the hot sand, feeling his life slip away. But for now
he was satisfied. He’d done his duty…for his comrades and for
Taylor. There were worse ways to die.

“Corporal, there’s something going on over
there.” It was Private Vick on the com. “Look.” His voice was
rising in pitch, becoming excited. “It’s us, corporal. I mean
Erastus troops. They’re attacking the enemy from the rear.”

Sebastiani snapped out of his daydream and
stared out at the enemy lines. Vick was right. The enemy was
falling into complete disarray. Then he heard it, a series of low
rumbles…explosions all along the enemy rear.

“They’re here.” Sebastiani shouted into the
com. “The relief column is here.”

Vick was the first one to start cheering, but
it was only a few seconds before all 8 of them were shouting
joyously. Sebastiani let it go for a minute…they deserved it.

All they had to do was hunker down and wait.
The relieving force had caught the enemy in a difficult position.
There wasn’t a doubt in Sebastiani’s mind that the forces coming to
their aid were going to defeat the units facing them. But sitting
around and watching their saviors fight it out wasn’t how he was
wired.

“Alright boys. This isn’t over yet.” He
grabbed his rifle and cautiously moved forward. “Let’s move up and
help our boys out. What do you all say?”

He was shocked how loudly seven men could
cheer.

The Surgeon had been at work all day. Jones
was ranging all along the front lines, scouring the enemy position
for choice targets. Conditions were perfect…Taylor’s forces were
attacking the enemy at every point, driving them back in utter
disarray. Nothing made officers more careless than panic and
disorder in the ranks…and Jones only needed one slip up to put his
target down.

He was back near the old UNFE headquarters
complex. There wasn’t much left of the buildings but, even though
it was militarily useless, Taylor figured it would be a
psychological strongpoint for the UN forces. As usual, Jones
thought, he turned out to be right. There were at least 10,000
enemy troops trying to rally in the area, half without weapons, all
in complete disorder. A perfect environment for hunting.

Jones was after a very special target, and he
figured this was where he’d find him. Taylor’s army didn’t have any
real intel on the enemy OB or command structures. But Jones had
done some research…mostly with a notched blade and a few carefully
selected prisoners. He was pretty sure he was hot on the trail of
his prey.

He was crawling very slowly, concentrating
hard on staying concealed. Carelessness could be as deadly to him
as his target. He pulled himself just behind the crest of a small
rise and peered over cautiously.

There it was, just as he expected. The
command post was small, maybe half a dozen vehicles parked around a
series of portable shelters. The area was clogged with soldiers,
mostly wandering around, trying to find their units…or just walking
in stunned shock. There were hundreds on the ground too, those
who’d succumbed to the heat. Jones knew from his own experience,
some of them would recover after a short rest and a few gulps of
water…and some would never get up again. Indeed, he could see the
burial details moving about, scooping up the bodies of those who
had died from heatstroke.

His enhanced eyes peered through the scope of
his rifle, panning along the confused mass. It was hard to get a
view through to the central area past the crowds. There were a
number of officers in his sights, but Jones was after one target,
and he was determined to get his man.

“That’s the main command post,” he whispered
to himself. “That’s where he’ll be.”

He watched, slowly moving from one figure to
the next. He couldn’t just start dropping officers. He’d get one
shot, maybe two, then all hell would break loose down there. He
needed to spot his target first, and he would stay at it however
long it took.

Then, just a few seconds later, his eyes
locked on a figure. The uniform was right. He felt his heart
beating faster, excitement building along with realization. He
focused harder, bringing all the power of his upgraded eyes into
play. The insignia looked right too. Suddenly, it all clicked…he
was sure. It was him.

He stared intently, waiting for a cluster of
soldiers to pass, opening the field of view. There it was…the
shot.

He slowly tightened his finger over the
trigger. “Say goodnight, Colonel Graves…”

Taylor stared out over the mass of miserable
prisoners milling around behind the makeshift fencing. They
stretched over a kilometer, huddled together and guarded by a dozen
strikeforces. These men had been enforcers on Earth, privileged
bullies who persecuted helpless citizens, but now their arrogance
was gone. They were utterly beaten…broken and terrified.

“Jake, come on…” Blackie wasn’t quite
pleading, but he was trying hard to convince Taylor. “…we’re not
murderers. That’s the whole point of this, isn’t it? That we’re
better than they are.”

Taylor was trying to show respect for the
feelings of his best friend and second-in-command, but he was
utterly unmoved. These men might not share the degree of guilt that
Gregor Kazan had, but they were part of the same cancer and, as far
as Taylor was concerned, they had to be cut out the same way. It
was all well and good to aspire to loftier standards of mercy, but
first they had to win the war.

Kazan had already been dealt with. Taylor’s
men had dragged the whimpering bureaucrat from his hiding place and
thrown him on the ground in front of their victorious commander.
Some of them had probably expected Taylor to gloat to the pathetic
fool, and others expected to see him mete out a horrible, lingering
death to the UN leader, but Jake hadn’t obliged them. He simply
walked up to Kazan and looked at him for a few seconds, though he
didn’t share what he was thinking with anyone. Then he pulled out
his pistol and shot the crying prisoner in the forehead without a
word. “We are revolutionaries, not sadists,” was all he had to say
afterward.

The army had expected Kazan to pay the
ultimate price, but no one knew what to expect for the masses of
enemy soldiers who had surrendered. More than three quarters of the
enemy forces were already dead, slain on the battlefield or done in
by the relentless heat. There wasn’t a live enemy soldier anywhere
on Erastus outside this prison camp, Taylor was sure of that. Soon
there wouldn’t be one anywhere.

“I’m sorry, Blackie. There is no choice.” He
was a little annoyed by Black’s hesitancy, and yet he understood in
a way too. “Those men out there…they are not like us.” He was
looking at Black, but speaking to everyone present. “They were not
yanked from home and family and conscripted to fight. They pursued
careers as Internal Security troopers. For God’s sake, most of them
probably needed some sort of influence to even get the job.”

Taylor took a breath. He was starting to get
angry even thinking about the Internal Security forces. “We were
all fools once, perhaps, but now we understand how Earth’s
government works. And we know exactly what these men are.”

He stared around the room, seeing a mix of
agreement and doubt. “How many people suffered and died in
reeducation camps, dragged there by these thugs? How many were shot
down in street riots and demonstrations because they had the
temerity to pour into the streets and demand food?”

Taylor stopped. He was willing to try and
convince his officers…to a point. But he was in command, and that
was just what he intended to do. Command.

“It doesn’t matter what anybody thinks about
this anymore.” His voice was like steel. “The decision’s been
made.”