Portal Wars 1: Gehenna Dawn

by Jay Allan

  The room was silent for a few seconds. “Thank you, Your Excellency.” Keita managed to speak in a calm and relaxed tone, though every bit of it was false. The Secretary General had as much as promised him the elevation. He was about to become a member of the Secretariat. Get control of yourself, Keita, he thought nervously…don’t screw up now.

  “Your Excellency, esteemed Secretaries…if you will indulge me, I will try to provide some meaningful insight into the details of expanding the program at various rates.” He glanced at Esteban, who nodded ever so slightly. “If you gentlemen will refer to page 11 in the reports I have provided, we can begin.”

  Chapter 11

  From the Journal of Jake Taylor:

  I had friends back home. Not a lot of them, but a few good ones. My enlistment turned them into one more group of people sharing a tearful goodbye. I still think of those guys from time to time, remembering things we did together…how close we were. In my mind, they’re still my friends, though I know that’s just something I tell myself. Is an old buddy still a friend when you haven’t seen or talked to him for years? Or even exchanged a letter? Would I really know any of them if I saw them again? Would they know me?

  I want to think it wouldn’t matter, that we’d all go back to where we left off…but I know that’s a fool’s dream. I’m dead to them…I died a long time ago. The Jake Taylor who remains - jaded soldier and half machine – would be a stranger. Oh, they would embrace me and act as if nothing had happened. But the closeness, the brotherhood we used to share? I know that is gone forever. Better that they never see me. Let them remember me as I was…as one of them.

  I have new friends now. They’re all soldiers…condemned men like me. We share a fate, and we stand together in battle. As tight as I was with my friends back home, I’ve never experienced anything like the closeness I feel toward these men. I can’t imagine how I would survive the blood and pain and death without them.

  They all look at me like a rock, some kind of invincible robot…the man who’d survived Erastus for a decade. But I’m not any of that; I’m just a man…and a worn out, sad, exhausted one at that. Sometimes I wish I could tell them how much I hurt inside, how bone tired and soul sick I really am. I wish I could make sure they understand how important their support and companionship is for me, how it is the only thing that keeps me going. But I can’t. They need me as that invincible monolith; I have to stay strong…to perpetuate the stupid legend, the Ten Year Man. I have to do it for them…and for the rest of the troops. They draw their strength from me, and I have to maintain the illusion. I have no real strength left to give them.

  The burden of command is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Back home, the closest I came to being responsible for anyone else was watching my little brother. Now, my decisions determine whether men live or die. Sometimes they die no matter what I do…though I never know for sure. Would they have survived if I’d made a different choice, if I’d read the situation better?

  My closest friends here…they’re an odd group. Me, the New England farmboy. Blackie, the inner city gang banger. Bear Samuels, the gentle giant from Alabama. Karl Young, Hank Daniels…every one of these guys is closer than a brother to me, yet beyond the endless war we fight, we have little in common with each other.

  Now we share something else, something new…one more thing that makes us a unique fraternity. We’re all cyborgs now. They get annoyed with me when I use that word. Men try to hold on to their humanity any way they can. But what else can you call us? I can run as fast as a horse, jump 6 meters straight up. I can read a computer screen from 100 meters. My hearing, my strength…everything is enhanced. There’s even a computer in my brain, one I control with thoughts (or does it control me?). I can’t play a sport with another human being, or a game, not one where my opponent has any chance of winning. I thought it was a lonely, detached feeling being sent to Erastus, away from everything I knew. Now I even wonder if I am a man anymore.

  I can’t argue that the changes have made it easier to survive. My friends have all made it through the last five years since we got the mods…because we got them. All except Tom Warner…and he took at least 50 Machines down with him before they got him.

  I miss Longbow, but I am grateful the rest of the group managed to survive. We’ve all been wounded…and every one of us would have been dead by now without the mods. Our systems are different now. When we get hit, our bodies are flooded with nanobots that immediately begin repairing the damage. I can actually watch a small cut heal if I stare at it carefully, seeing it close up before my eyes. And even major wounds are mended before they can become life-threatening. If I’m not killed outright by a wound, I will almost certainly survive it.

  It is a gift, but also a curse. I’m not sure men were meant to live so long in a place like this. We all have survival instincts, but I wonder if they don’t lead us astray sometimes. Perhaps we shouldn’t try so hard to escape death. Perhaps, for us, death is a reprieve…a gift.

  “Alright, Jake. Out with it.” Taylor hadn’t noticed Blackie walking into the room behind him. “You’ve been moping around for weeks.” He walked over and sat next to Jake. “So what’s getting to you, pal? ‘Cause you’re the strongest one around here, and if you lose it, we’re all fucked.”

  Jake didn’t answer right away. He just sat quietly, not moving at all. Black knew Taylor better than anyone, understood his body language, his subtle expressions. He didn’t look at Jake, didn’t say anything. He just sat there for a minute or two, waiting until Taylor was ready to talk.

  “Don’t worry about me, Blackie.” Taylor’s voice was distant, distracted. “It’s nothing, brother. Just thinking.”

  “Fuck you, my friend. Just thinking? Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” Black’s voice was gentle but also firm. He wasn’t going to let Jake wiggle his way out of a long talk, superior officer or not. “So, are you going to tell me, or are we both going to sit here and stare at the wall?”

  Taylor sighed, and then a brief smile crossed his lips. Black was the closest friend he’d ever had. Sometimes, he’d have sworn the little shit could read his mind. “Honestly, Blackie. It’s nothing in particular. Just thinking. About home. About the war.”

  Black sighed. “I know, Jake. This place gets us all down. But you have to remember the code. This is home for us. There’s no point thinking about everything that is gone. Laying around here, mooning about mom’s apple pie or taking Mary Jane Funbags out into the barn for a romp isn’t gonna help. It’ll eat away at you from the inside, Dog.” Black reached out and put his hand on Taylor’s shoulder. “I know all that is harder on you. Home for me was a shithole…different than this one, but no better…not really.” Black’s normally coarse tone had become gentle, sympathetic. “You had more to lose.”

  Taylor smiled. “You’re a good friend, Blackie. The best I ever had.” He paused for a few seconds. “But that’s not what I’m thinking about. I said my goodbyes to home long ago.” That wasn’t entirely true, he supposed, but close enough. “I’m just wondering about what we’re fighting for…why we do it.”

  Black had an amused look on his face. “You mean besides the fact that they’ll shoot us for desertion if we don’t?”

  Taylor let out a short laugh. “Do you really care, Blackie? Do I? How long has it been since you really cared about living? What do we live for anyway? Another day in hell? Another battle…out on the burning sands or on some blasted plateau?”

  Black let out a deep breath. “To protect Earth.” He paused. “To save everyone back home from the Machines. Better we fight them here than in New Hampshire…or Philly or New York.”

  “Yes, I know. I’ve heard it all before. Hell, I’ve said it all at least a thousand times.” He hesitated, looking down at the floor. “Why didn’t they just nuke the Portals?”

  “What?” Black had a confused expression on his face. “What are you talking about?”

  Jake was still staring at the ground. “If
the Machines are such a threat to mankind, why didn’t they just destroy the Portals on Earth…lock the Machines out.” Black was just staring at Taylor. “I know it would have been a huge scientific loss, but we have men fighting and dying on almost 40 planets now, and people starving at home because of the massive cost of it all. Is it worth it?”

  Taylor looked at Black, saw the confusion, the surprise. This was something they’d never discussed before. “So when they say we’re fighting for Earth, that’s bullshit. Isn’t it? We’re fighting so they can exploit the science and technology on the Portal worlds. I’m not saying that’s not a good thing, but fighting to save the race sounds a lot better, doesn’t it?”

  Black didn’t have an answer. For any of it. He’d never considered what Jake was talking about. His perspective on things tended to be grittier, less philosophical than Taylor’s. “Whatever, Jake. You may be right about all that. But we fight for those boys coming through that Portal. Because whatever you and I think, they’re still gonna keep coming.” He blurted it out loudly. “Those stupid, clueless kids who couldn’t manage to stick their hand down their pants without help.” He stared at Taylor, a hint of desperation in his face…a need for Taylor to agree, to understand…to acknowledge at least one reason their sacrifices weren’t in vain. “Do you know how many of them you’ve saved in ten years, Jake?”

  “Have I? Have I saved any of them? Or just pushed their deaths back a few months, or a year? Have any of them gone home, Blackie? How can you save someone from death when they’re already in hell?”

  Black just looked at Taylor. He didn’t know what to say…or what to think. Everything Jake said was true. It was stuff they all knew but never let themselves think about. But Taylor’s defenses had crumbled. He was thinking the unthinkable, about the things that could destroy him, rip from him the fragile false hope the veterans of Erastus created for themselves. Black was really beginning to worry about his friend.

  The two sat quietly for a few minutes, each deep in his own thoughts. Finally, Black broke the silence. “Jake, I can’t give you the answers you want…I’m not sure anybody can.” He sucked in a lungful of air and exhaled it slowly. “But you’re my friend. You make this place more bearable for me…for all the guys. And you’re right…we’re all lost men, condemned.” His voice was thick with emotion. “But I don’t want to die, Jake. Not yet. I can’t explain why I want to live. It’s not hope. Maybe it’s just pure animal self-preservation instinct. But if you make one day something I can live through…I am grateful for that. If you save my life so I can live another month, year, whatever…I’m grateful for that too. Even if I live that extra time on this shithole of a planet with no hope of anything better.”

  Taylor moved his eyes slowly upward toward Black’s. “Thanks, Blackie. I’d have never made it this far without you and the guys either.” His voice was wistful but sincere as well. He let out a hard sigh. “Don’t worry about me, old friend. I’m just having a bad day.”

  Black stared back at Taylor, a suspicious look on his face. “Are you sure, Jake? It feels like there’s something else bothering you.” He paused, staring inquisitively at his companion. “I’m here for you. You know that.”

  Taylor smiled, reaching out and lightly slapping Black on the shoulder. “I’m alright. Just feeling like a whiny little bitch today.” He held the smile for a few seconds. “Don’t worry about me. Like I said, I’m just having a bad day.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to stay? I was going to go over this month’s logistics report, but that can wait.”

  “No, I’m OK.” Taylor looked over at Black. “Really. I just need some quiet.”

  Black stood slowly. “OK, Dog.” He turned and started toward the door, still clearly worried. “Call me if you want to talk. Or just hang.”

  “I will.”

  Black nodded and opened the door.

  “Hey Blackie.”

  Black stooped and turned around. “Yeah, Jake?”

  “Did you ever know someone who went to a reeducation facility?” Taylor looked intently at his friend, the fragile smile gone.

  “Sure, I guess.” Black was staring back at Jake. “A few.”

  Taylor spoke softly, almost without emotion. “Did you ever know one who came back?”

  The room was silent.

  Chapter 12

  From the Journal of Jake Taylor:

  Strategy and tactics. Two words that are often used – incorrectly – as synonyms. In reality, they are two very distinct things, managed by entirely different personnel within a military organization.

  The science of tactics is grittier, closer to the ground. Tactics is about how to achieve specific objectives. Generally more focused than strategy, it can still vary enormously in scope. Five men deciding how to take a hill is tactics. An army of 10,000 planning a major battle…that is tactics too.

  I knew nothing about tactics when I walked through the Portal; in fact, I knew almost nothing military at all. But when they put me in the line, I just seemed to understand somehow. It was normal to me, right from the beginning, like it was all just common sense that anyone could see. Then I began to realize that things that were obvious to me were complex and difficult for many of my comrades. I could tell good ground from bad…my instincts on when to attack, when to pull back…they seemed to be right most of the time.

  Tactics is like art…you can train someone, teach them all the fundamentals, but you can only make them good, never great. There’s something inside that makes a natural tactician. If you don’t have it, you can learn, but you’ll never become more than unimaginatively competent. The Machines are like that. They know everything we do, but they just don’t have that spark to maximize it. They know how to maneuver; they don’t do stupid things…but they’re limited, predictable. Given anywhere close to comparable numbers and resources, I can beat them every time.

  Strategy is different. I use tactics to win an individual engagement. The high command uses strategy to decide when and where I should fight that battle. Strategy is the science of managing part or all of an entire conflict…or even a series of wars taking place over many years. For example, UNFE HQ has a strategy for pacifying Erastus. The commanding officers direct troops all over the planet, with the ultimate goal of searching out and capturing the Machine production centers. When the last one is taken or destroyed, the war on Erastus will be over.

  Like with tactics, there are multiple levels of strategy, each dealing with successively larger problems. At the top, UN Central directs the overall strategy of mankind’s war with the Tegeri. They allocate resources to the various planetary theaters, and they direct the development of new weapons and systems. Like the Supersoldier program. UN Central’s strategic planning determines which planetary battle zones get more supplies. They decided to launch Supersoldier on Erastus. They could have done it on Frigida or Corealus or Oceanus, but for some reason, they picked us. That was a strategic decision.

  The gift I possess for tactical operations never extended to strategy, or at least I was never placed in a situation where strategy was in my control. Large-scale logistics, planetary allocations of resources…I always felt such things were beyond my understanding. For years I didn’t question any strategic directives. I just did my best to execute the orders given to me. I considered anything outside my immediate area of operations to be a waste of time. But recently I’ve begun to think about the bigger picture, and I don’t like what I see. Things don’t add up. There’s more to UN Central’s strategies than it appears at first glance…I’ve become certain of that. I’m starting to think we’ve all been lied to far more than we ever imagined.

  Taylor stared at the enemy positions on his visor. He squinted, trying to get a good look at the flickering projection. He hit the controls and darkened the visor, trying to keep out the light so he could get a better view of the images. Both suns were up, and it was bright out, even for Erastus.

  The drone feed could provide direct neural inpu
t to his NIS, but that was one of the mods that didn’t work quite the way it was supposed to. He’d be able to see the images in his mind, but there were side effects, ones he didn’t want to deal with in battle. He had 2 reinforced battalions to handle, and a battle to fight on difficult terrain. Now wasn’t the time to risk dizziness, nausea, and disorientation. The visor projection would be just fine.

  The terrain was worse even than he’d expected. The walls of the gorge rose almost 500 meters on both sides of the dry riverbed running along the bottom. The waterway that had cut its way hundreds of meters through the rocky ground had been dry for at least 50 million years according to the geologists. But its handiwork remained…a deep gash in the ground, running for over 20 kilometers. The whole stretch was difficult to traverse, with sheer cliffs in some spots dropping 350 meters or more.

  It was called Devil’s Claw Canyon. He thought, as he often did, about how this place got its name. Stupid, he thought…how do these spots end up getting such silly monikers? He didn’t come up with a good answer; he never did. Men liked to name things…that was the most he ever deduced. The canyon didn’t look anything like a claw…not from the ground, certainly, and not on the drone feeds from the air either. He could only assume some grunt had imagined it looked like something the devil might have scraped into the ground with his claw. That wasn’t a very good explanation either, but it was the best he could come up with. The devil and other hellish images were always popular for naming conventions on Erastus. That never surprised Taylor…the place was as close to a vision of hell as his mind had ever conjured.