Portal Wars 1: Gehenna Dawn (8 page)

“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 onplanet 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! Make 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.”

From the Journal of Jake Taylor:

The Machines aren’t actual robots.
Not exactly. They are built, yes, but the technology is
bio-mechanical. Imagine a reinforced supermetal skeleton, covered
with a combination of mechanical and organic materials. Machines
that learn, machines that heal. Relentless warriors that feel no
fatigue, no pity, no mercy.

But the Machines are pawns in this
war, even as my brothers and I are. They are the servants of the
Tegeri, our real enemy. The Tegeri build the Machines and command
them; they send them into battle against us. We don’t know much
about these shadowy puppet-masters, but we know what we need to
know. They are our enemies.

But what of the Machines themselves?
Are they evil? Or are they merely slaves with no choice, no
self-determination? Do they deserve our hatred? Or our pity? Do
they feel true emotions? Are they able to wish for something else,
something better than a lifetime of war and death on a hellish
world?

And how different are we, my
fellow-soldiers and I? What choice do we have? We are sustained by
our cause, protecting humanity from a ravaging alien horde. However
many of us die, however callously we are used by the government, we
know that we are protecting those we left behind. If we didn’t have
that, I doubt we could go on. I know I couldn’t. Thinking of Beth,
my family, safer because I am here fighting…it is all that sustains
me.

But do the Machines also believe
they are fighting for a cause? Do they see us as aggressors,
invaders…streaming from the Portals onto the worlds they have
protected for centuries? Are they as self-righteous in their
purpose as we are in ours?

I wonder sometimes if the Machines
can crave a life elsewhere, if they ever long for peace…or if they
know nothing but the hell of war. And if they know nothing else, if
they cannot understand love and family and happiness…do I pity or
envy them?

“Keep laying down that fire. Don’t give those
bastards a chance to regroup.” Taylor had his visor magnification
on maximum, watching the engineers move toward the heavy metal
hatch of the enemy base. The Machines had fallen back, abandoning
their network of trenches in front of the entry, but now they were
trying to organize a counter-attack. Taylor’s strikeforce had taken
the enemy position...now they had only one job. Cover the engineers
while they breeched the fortified hatch.