Portal Wars 1: Gehenna Dawn

by Jay Allan

  I had a girlfriend back home. Beth. I left her behind, just like I did everyone else. When I first got here I used to think about her back home, picturing her crying for me…for lost love. I imagined the change day by day, as time slowly turned heartbreak to sadness…then to fond remembrance. How long, I’ve wondered, before she lived a day without thinking of me…before she was free? Before she found someone else, someone with a life of his own to share with her? Where was she now? Settled down with a family? Does she still think of me after all these years? Sometimes I wonder if she ever walks outside, leaving her husband and children for a few brief moments to stare at the sky and remember her lost love. I’d like to believe she does, but I’m not sure I do. I’m not even sure I should want that. What could it help? What use is there but to cause more sadness…and resurrect pain mercifully forgotten? I have nothing left to offer her, even as a memory. Better she never thinks of me again.

  I used to lay awake, slick with sweat on my cot when I couldn’t sleep in the relentless heat, thinking of her. I’d close my eyes and imagine the way her hair felt in my hands, the smooth softness of her skin against mine, the sound of her voice whispering gently in my ear. Now I’m forgetting, losing a little of that remembrance with each passing day. I fight against it, trying to cling to every detail, but it is pointless…she is lost to me forever. Perhaps the forgetfulness is a blessing.

  Taylor stared wordlessly at the small tablet. He’d been doing the same thing for at least ten minutes, and the orders on the backlit screen still said the same thing.

  Taylor, Jacob (Sergeant), commanding Section 2, 213th Strike Force, 2nd Battalion, 2nd Brigade, UNFE is hereby reassigned to: Taylor, Jacob (Lieutenant), commanding 213th Strike Force, 2nd Battalion, 2nd Brigade, UNFE. Assignment effective immediately. Lt. Taylor is hereby ordered to assume command upon receipt of this communique.

  He wouldn’t have been surprised to be placed in acting command of the strike force. He was the section leader with the most time onplanet, the logical choice to take over while Cadogan was in the hospital. But this was a permanent assignment…and a promotion to commissioned rank. He wasn’t sure how he felt about being an officer. From the day he’d stepped out of the Portal, Jake had felt out of place. He never thought of himself as a real soldier, even now, although his troops knew he was one of the best on Erastus.

  He was sure what he thought about the formal reassignment, though. Lieutenant Cadogan was still alive in the infirmary, and Taylor wasn’t ready to accept that he wasn’t coming back. He’d have been OK with covering for the lieutenant, but replacing him? Permanently? It felt wrong. Disloyal somehow. At least until it was certain the lieutenant wasn’t coming back.

  His rational mind understood, realized such thoughts were foolish. But some things came from the gut, the heart. And taking Cadogan’s place was one of them. He’d follow the orders, of course…he didn’t have a choice. But he wouldn’t feel quite right about it.

  He read further down, scrolling through the communique, reading softly aloud as he did. “Lieutenant Taylor is authorized to reorganize the strike force in any manner and is empowered to issue non-commissioned promotions within the command structure.” He stopped reading and looked up. That’s odd, he thought. The orders gave him a lot of latitude, far more than standard practice. He knew, for one thing, that Cadogan hadn’t had the power to issue promotions. He sent recommendations up the chain, often waiting weeks or months for an approval. Strange…

  “Hey, Dog.” Taylor could recognize Blackie’s voice anywhere. His accent was so heavy, it almost sounded like a bad fake. Even after two years, Taylor still wasn’t truly used to it. “Some of the guys are playing cards with a crew from the 189th. You wanna come down, help us take their money?” There wasn’t any currency on Erastus, not really. The troops did get a form of scrip, which they could use to pay for the few items that passed for luxuries on Erastus. Most of the fake currency ended up in the brigade brothels when the guys got a few day’s leave. In between those infrequent breaks, it gave them something to gamble with.

  “Take a look at this, Blackie.” Taylor was distracted, and he’d mostly ignored what Black had been saying. He reached out, handing the tablet to his friend.

  Black took the pad, glancing down to read the orders. “F…u…c…k…” He drew out the word as he said it. “I guess I’m gonna have to get used to calling you sir.” He laughed for a few seconds, but then his voice became serious. “Honestly, Jake. No one deserves it more than you. You’ve kept more of these fool kids alive than anybody I’ve ever seen.” He took a couple steps toward Taylor, extending his hand as he did. “Congratulations, my friend.”

  “Thanks, Blackie.” Taylor reached out and took Black’s hand. “I appreciate the sentiment.” He smiled for a few seconds, taking the tablet back. “But there’s more to it than my great military gifts. Have you ever heard of a lieutenant approving promotions?” He paused, though not long enough for Black to answer. “Something is up, Blackie.”

  “You’re paranoid, Jake.” Black smiled. “The strike force needed a new CO…” He paused, his expression becoming more serious. He hadn’t considered that Taylor’s promotion meant the lieutenant wasn’t coming back. No matter what. They’d both known that intellectually, but this forced it to the forefront. The 213th had been Cadogan’s strike force, but no more. Now it was Jake Taylor’s. “Look, Dog, we’re all sorry about the lieutenant, but the strike force needs a leader, and you’re the logical choice. Sure, it happened a lot faster than the usual glacial pace. But it’s what we all knew would happen…at least if we let ourselves think about it.”

  “Yeah?” Taylor was staring at Black with an odd expression on his face. “Well, guess who’s the logical choice to take over 2nd Section…Sergeant Black?”

  Black had a blank expression on his face for a few seconds before he erupted with laughter. “Thank you, sir.” He snapped off a better than average salute, trying to suppress his smile as he did.

  Taylor couldn’t help but chuckle. “Sit down you asshole.” He pointed to a small table and chairs in the corner of the room. “This strike force got itself shot to shit on Blackrock Ridge, and we need to do some reorganizing.” He started walking toward the table. “I’m afraid we’re both going to miss that card game, Sergeant Black.”

  Taylor sat quietly, looking across the table at Black with an “I told you so” expression on his face. “A battalion-scale operation,” he said. The words hung in the air as he held up the pad displaying the orders. Combat on Erastus was mostly search and destroy, and a full strike force was considered a large deployment. “I knew something was going on. They must have found one of the Machine bases.” As far as Taylor knew, there had never been an entire battalion committed to one battle on Erastus. But UNFE had never found a Machine factory on the planet either.

  “I don’t suppose I can call you a cocky asshole anymore now that you have those bars on your shoulders.” Black sat in one of the hard plastic chairs wriggling around, trying to get comfortable. It had been hot the last few days, even by Erastus standards. It was twilight outside…and they were deep inside the base, but it was still damned uncomfortable.

  “As long as you acknowledge my military genius, we’ll be just fine, sergeant.” Taylor smiled. “But, seriously, something like this is new ground for all of us. And we’re not in great shape.” The 213th had been reinforced to full strength, but that meant there were a lot of FNGs, true cherries who’d never been in a fight.

  “We’ve got a lot of rookies for sure, Boss.” Samuels’ slow drawl was as distinctive in its own way as Black’s inner city accent. “But we’ve got some real veterans too. I’ll put 2nd Section’s 1st and 2nd teams against any outfit on Gehenna.” There was a touch of sadness in his voice. Chuck Samuels had been in the 2nd team since he’d stepped out of the Portal and into the blazing heat of Erastus, and for the last ten months he’d been its commander. But as of three hours earlier, he was Sergeant Samuels, leader of the 3r
d Section. It was a big step up for him, and he knew Taylor needed someone he could count on to command the 3rd. But he was going to miss his team.

  “Yeah, Bear, half of 2nd Section’s fine.” Black answered before Taylor. “Even 3rd and 4th teams are in decent shape. I wouldn’t call them veteran formations by a long shot, but the guys are coming along OK.” Black’s eyes shifted to Taylor, catching the slight nod of agreement. “But your section’s gonna be a handful. They got ripped to shreds at Blackrock.” The 3rd Section had been on the forward line when the enemy ambush hit. They’d already had a high proportion of inexperienced troops, and they lost over 60% casualties in the fight. There weren’t more than 3 or 4 real vets in the whole section.

  “Look, there’s no point bitching about things.” Taylor made sure to beat Bear to a response. He’d seen Black and Samuels spar like this for hours. They didn’t have time for that now, and Taylor didn’t have the patience. “Blackie’s right, Bear. I need you to do anything you can to whip your team into shape….starting tomorrow with maneuvers. You need to get them used to the heat, at the very least. We don’t have much time.”

  “Can I get supplies for an exercise, or do you just want me to do some ferocious PT?” Samuels had a jovial personality, but he was dead serious now. Pleasant demeanor notwithstanding, everyone in the room knew Bear would mercilessly drive his troops in the field.

  “Plan an exercise. I’ll get you whatever you need.”

  “Seriously, Jake?” Blackie sounded surprised. “After all the ammo we blew through last week?”

  “Not a problem.” Taylor glanced down at the pad’s screen. “I’m authorized to draw whatever I feel is necessary to have the strike force ready for action in one week.” Jake glanced around the room at the surprised and concerned faces. None of them had ever seen such generous logistical support. “I told you guys this thing was trouble, didn’t I.” Limitless supplies from HQ could only mean one thing. They were about to march into hell itself. “But there’s nothing we can do but make sure we’re as ready as we can be.”

  He turned his head, looking toward a tall, skinny man leaning against the wall. “How about your people, Hank?”

  “They’re OK.” Hank Daniels commanded 1st Section. He didn’t sound too convinced, but he wasn’t despondent either. “With your permission, I’d like to get them out for some maneuvers as well. I don’t have as many newbs as Sergeant Samuels, but I have enough.”

  Taylor nodded. “I think that’s a good idea.” He looked over at Bear then back to Daniels. “You two plan a joint wargame, one section against the other.” He let a small smile creep onto his lips. “Make it a two-day exercise. I’ll see how far I can push this unlimited supplies thing.”

  Taylor had known Daniels for almost a year, but he was just beginning to work closely with him and form a real opinion. So far he liked the guy immensely. Daniels seemed like a conscientious team leader, and he had a good personality too.

  Jake was a little worried about his overall force makeup, but he was very comfortable with his non-coms. They were crack veterans, and he trusted them to a man. He was still nervous about the upcoming mission, though, especially since he’d gotten almost no details. His orders were simple…be ready for a major operation by the entire battalion, commencing in approximately one week. That was pretty damned vague. And that could only mean trouble.

  Chapter 6

  From the Journal of Jake Taylor:

  We try to fight when one of the suns has set, when the temperature is closer to bearable. We call this time twilight, though it is hotter than noon in any Earthly jungle.

  Sometimes the machines attack us, sometimes we attack them. Erastus was still a fairly new Portal world when I transited. I wasn’t part of the original forlorn hope sent in to carve out a beachhead, but we were definitely still on the defensive when I got here. Back then the Machines attacked every day. I didn’t think we could hold out for those first two years, but the reinforcements kept coming…new recruits, cherries like I was…feeding the slaughter.

  When they discover a new Portal world, UN Central starts sending troops through. The first few times, before the Consolidation, the nation-states sent colonists and researchers…and the Machines slaughtered them all. The Machines protect the Portal worlds; they protect them by killing anything that sets foot on them.

  We’re not part of the official UN security forces. The offworld command is organized differently, each planet having its own dedicated military. UNFE. United Nations Force: Erastus. That’s what we’re called. They’ve changed the nomenclature at least half a dozen times since I got here, mostly dropping the colon then adding it back again. I imagine there were some savage bureaucratic battles in New York and Geneva over that, but then no one ever accused UN Executive Branch of an inability to waste time and resources on useless red tape.

  The wars against the Machines are relentless battles of attrition, so the first soldiers through just try to hang on, outnumbered and under constant attack. These vanguard units don’t last long, maybe a few weeks. But UN Central keeps sending troops through; a steady flow of manpower until there is enough strength to hold a series of defensive bases. Then the stalemate begins; months, years…sometimes decades…before the deployed strength is enough to go on the offensive and take out the Machine bases. They’d found the first portal world before I was born; they’d secured five since that time, wiping out the Machines entirely. There were troops fighting on 27 more when I transited to Erastus. I used to wonder about those other worlds, what it was like on them, how their wars compared to ours. But the longer I was on Erastus the less it seemed to matter what went on anywhere else. This was my home now, and I knew I’d never leave it.

  “Alright, mount up everybody.” Blackie stood on the ledge of the antigrav, shouting so the troops could hear him over the sound of the engines. There were four of the big transports lined up next to each other, and the 2nd Section of the 213th Strike Force was lined up outside the rightmost one, waiting to board.

  It was almost high noon, and both suns were baking the flat, sand-covered rocks of the landing area. Black’s light, moisture-wicking fatigues were already soaking wet and stuck to his skin. He was wearing his body armor, like everyone else in the strike force. The long-chain polymers of the armor were self-healing, providing the ultimate personal protection in battle. The downside was weight and, on Erastus, heat. The breastplate and limb coverings tended to trap the heat inside, making it even more difficult to withstand the brutal temperatures.

  “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. R
eligion 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.