Portal Wars: The Trilogy

by Jay Allan

  At least we have good ground, he thought, looking out over the rugged plain below his position. The enemy would have better cover coming in than his people had when they charged the trenches from the other side, but they’d still be in the open for much of their approach. And they’d have modified Supersoldiers shooting at them as they charged.

  Singh rechecked his weapons. It was a pointless exercise. He’d done it three times already, and he couldn’t forget any of them – his NIS recalled the exact time for each instance. Still, it made him feel better. Combat was hell, but sometimes waiting was worse. He knew the enemy was close, the same foe that had driven Major Daniels people back with heavy losses.

  “Attention all units.” It was Major Samuels’ voice. Samuels almost always sounded calm, even in the middle of the fight. But there was urgency in his tone now. “Prepare for imminent enemy air attack.”

  Fuck, thought Singh. It made sense, he realized. The Army of Liberation had its own air wing, but the massive Dragonfire gunships had to be completely disassembled for transit through a Portal and reassembled on the other side. It was a process that took weeks and, until the work was completed, the army was completely without air cover and totally exposed to the enemy gunships.

  Singh wanted to curse the engineers and technicians for taking so long while he and his men faced unopposed enemy air attacks, but he knew that was unfair. A nuclear-powered aircraft bristling with weapons and sophisticated tracking systems, a Dragonfire was an enormously complex mechanism. He’d seen the disassembled craft lined up by the Portal, thousands of boxes and crates for each one. Even the nuclear reactors that powered them had to be painstakingly taken apart, their radioactive materials stored carefully for transit. It was an immense job, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Except grab some dirt and hold out until General Taylor managed to get them in the air and contest the enemy’s control of the skies.

  Singh caught a glint in the sky…then another, and another. The enemy had Dragonfires too, and they were heading right for his position. “Stay low, boys. We’ve got gunships inbound!” Singh had seen what the massive aircraft could do, and he didn’t like being on the receiving end, not one bit. “Make like part of the ground.” Staying down would help, but it wouldn’t do much good if the attacking squadron dropped a FAE on top of his platoon. For all the skill and training and experience, sometimes all a veteran could do was hug the dirt and hope for the best.

  * * *

  “Hank, I’m so sorry.” Taylor walked into the field hospital and dropped to his knees next to his friend’s cot. “It’s my fault this happened. All my fault.”

  The hospital was a makeshift affair, a combination of interlocked tents and portable structures. It was a loud, riotous mess now, overwhelmed with the wounded from Daniels’ command.

  The crazy pace of the hospital slowed for a moment, as nurses and orderlies dropped back, silently watching the general as he leaned over his friend. Taylor’s legend was growing in the army, and more and more he was treated as some kind of avatar or spiritual leader rather than just another man – a man struggling to carry the massive burdens heaped on his shoulders. Taylor’s interaction with the Tegeri was known throughout the army. His delivery of the message, that they had all been lied to and badly used by UNGov, had created an almost religious fervor around him, one that was fanned by his ability to project the images of the colonial massacres, courtesy of the strange device T’arza had given him.

  Daniels turned his head slowly. He was propped up slightly, struggling to face Taylor. He was wan and pale, and his head had been partially shaved. The pillows behind him had once been pristine white, but now they were covered with crusted blood and fluids. There was an IV station next to the cot, but the tubes were hanging down loose, disconnected.

  “Hey…Jake.” Daniels was weak, his voice a slow, raspy whisper. “Nothing…to…be…sorry…about.” He struggled to turn to the side, to get a better look at Taylor. “War…that’s…all.”

  Taylor’s eyes were moist, but he struggled to hold back his tears. Daniels was going to make it. The surgeon had already told him. It was the nanotech that had saved his life, not anything the medical staff had done. By the time he got to the hospital, the microscopic bots had repaired the immediately life-threatening damage. It had taken two emergency surgeries to fully stabilize him, but now he just needed rest. He wasn’t even taking any more transfusions – the nanobots in his system were producing enough artificial blood cells to replace what he had lost.

  “I shouldn’t have sent your people out so far, Hank.” Taylor took a deep breath, straining to control his emotions. “I should have been more cautious.”

  Daniels was shaking his head slowly. “No…Jake. Could…n’t…have…known.”

  Taylor reached out and took Daniels’ hand in his own. He forced a smile for his friend, but inside his spirit was grim. He knew damned well he should have realized UNGov would do something more than just leave planetary armies in his path. The easy victories had made him overconfident. And 700 of his men had paid for that arrogance with their lives.

  “Were they like us, Hank?” Taylor was still working on conjecture, assuming UNGov had sent a new batch of Supersoldiers after his people. “Were they enhanced?”

  Daniels nodded slowly. “Like…us. Fast…strong…acc…ur…ate.” He closed his eyes for a few seconds, swallowing painfully. “More…of…them. Ma…ny…more.”

  Taylor closed his eyes. He’d hoped to get his army back to Earth intact, picking up strength from the planetary forces as they advanced. But that strategy had just become obsolete. The army on Juno had ignored his pleas to join the crusade…and now his people faced an enemy with all the abilities they possessed. The combat on Juno was just starting, and Taylor knew his people were in the fight of their lives. It was going to be a battle between giants, and he knew an ocean of blood would be spilled before it was done.

  He squeezed Daniels’ hand gently. “You rest, Hank.” He forced a smile, though he doubted it was very convincing. “I’ll take care of things.”

  Taylor rose slowly and took one last look at his friend before he turned and silently walked out of the tent and into the midday sun. He was deep in thought. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t know what to do.

  * * *

  “Be ready to fire on my command.” Singh was prone behind a small lip of ground at the edge of the ridge. His people had been lucky. They’d been strafed a couple times, but none of the FAEs had hit their position. He’d taken a fragment to his arm, but it wasn’t too bad. He’d torn a strip of cloth from his jacket and tied it off to stop the bleeding. He didn’t need to do anything else. He could already feel the strange tingling feeling of the nanos at work. They would mend the wound, close off any internal bleeding, and target any infection.

  He’d lost 3 of his men to the air attack, and another 5 wounded. Two of those were bad – they were back about 300 meters waiting for evac. The other 3 were walking wounded, still able to take their place in the line.

  Company D had taken the brunt of the enemy air attack. Singh could still see the columns of smoke rising off on the left, where the FAEs had ravaged the hillside. Singh wasn’t in that line of command, so he could only guess at the losses, but he knew they had to be at least 50%, and possibly higher. D Company was most likely shattered as a fighting force, and that meant Major Samuels would have to commit most of the reserves to plug the gap. And that only increased the pressure on his people to hold the line on their own.

  The enemy was moving toward them through broken plains, using the topography for whatever cover they could get. Singh flipped on the com. “Smith, Garibaldi, open fire.” The range was still extreme for most of his soldiers, but the two snipers should be able to pick off some of the enemy as they approached.

  He leaned forward, resting the barrel of his assault rifle on the small berm just in front of him. The enemy was staying low, using whatever cover they could find, but Singh could
see immediately that his troopers were heavily outnumbered. They had the better ground, but it wasn’t going to matter. If those troops heading toward his battered platoon were really enhanced soldiers like his own, there was no way his people were going to hold. It had been a long time since any of them had tasted defeat, and the prospect was bitter.

  He could hear the distinctive cracks of the sniper rifles. Hyper-accurate and long-ranged, the weapons fired a heavy round that delivered an enormous amount of kinetic energy to the target. A hit anywhere vital would kill a man outright, even a soldier whose blood was full of medical nanobots ready to repair damage immediately. It was hard to confirm their hits at this range, but Smith and Garibaldi were two of the best, and every time Singh heard that crack, he was pretty sure there was one less enemy to fight.

  Poom…poom…poom. He could hear the mortar rounds firing off to the left. The lieutenant had taken his platoon’s mortar team and combined it with the others in one large company battery. Singh could see the explosions, the clouds of smoke and dust rising from the center of the enemy formation. The shells were taking a toll too, he knew, though a Supersoldier in full exos had a lot of protection. Still, anything that weakened the enemy on the way in helped.

  “Platoon…” – Singh spoke clearly and firmly into the com – “…open fire!” He picked out a target and pulled the trigger, firing a five-round burst. All along the line, his troopers opened up. The advancing formation slowed slightly, and the enemy troopers began to return fire.

  Singh crouched lower, ducking down between shots. His troops had the advantage, shooting from a fixed position, but the enemy fire was proving to be extremely accurate, despite their continued advance. The attackers probably wouldn’t inflict too many casualties until they got closer, but they were keeping Singh’s men down, and that reduced the rate of their own fire.

  Singh exhaled hard and flipped a switch on his rifle. “Platoon, full auto, now.” It was a waste of ammo at this range, but Singh knew his people had to take down as many of the enemy as possible. If that formation reached the crest of the hill intact, there was no way his people could hold.

  He swung up over the berm and pulled the trigger, emptying a clip on the advancing enemy. Incoming rounds were zipping through the air and slamming into the dirt of the hillside. He could feel the adrenalin, the surging tension in his body as he kneeled there, partially exposed while his rifle spat death on the attacking enemy.

  He ducked down again, pulling the release and ejecting the spent clip as he did. “Pour it into them boys!” he screamed into the com. Now was the time, he thought, now was the time to take down the enemy. He reached around his back, grabbing a new clip and slamming it in place. “Don’t let up, men,” he yelled as he swung back over the berm and fired again.

  * * *

  “Alright Yellow Squadron, let’s take these bastards out!” John MacArthur spoke crisply and confidently into his com. “The guys on the ground have been getting pounded, and it’s time to blow these fuckers out of the sky.”

  MacArthur was the overall commander of the army’s entire air wing. He knew he had no place piloting the lead bird on a one squadron strike. But nothing short of Taylor’s direct order would have kept him out of the pilot’s seat. The troopers on the ground had been blasted to hell while his tech crews frantically rebuilt their disassembled gunships. Now he was going to make sure they got some payback.

  The battle raging below wasn’t going well. Hank Daniels’ broken formation had pulled back, almost two-thirds of its number killed or wounded. Now it was Bear Samuels and his troopers trying to hold the line. They’d fought well and inflicted heavy losses on the attackers, but they were just too outnumbered. They’d pulled back in good order, their losses heavy, but nowhere near as brutal as those Daniels’ people had suffered.

  MacArthur felt the urge to push the stick forward, to dive down toward the battlefield and strafe the advancing enemy. But that wasn’t his job now. Ground support would be useful, but first he had to take out the enemy air assets. Whichever side won air superiority would have an edge in the long and brutal fight MacArthur knew was ahead. There hadn’t been any official confirmation they faced cyborg soldiers with the same capabilities they had, but rumors spread like wildfire through an army. If they really faced a force of enhanced soldiers, he knew Taylor’s people had their hands full, especially if they were outnumbered. They had to control the skies. They simply had to.

  But that was easier said than done. MacArthur had only one squadron ready for action. It was a huge risk committing it before he had more birds set to go, but the situation on the ground didn’t give him a choice. The enemy air was pounding the AOL’s soldiers all across the line. MacArthur knew he had to take some of them out.

  His people had one edge – surprise. They’d gotten the squadron online faster than anyone could have predicted. The enemy probably expected unopposed control of the air for at least another week. Yellow squadron would be a surprise to them, a very unpleasant one.

  “Squadron, arm all Avengers. Prepare to engage.” MacArthur’s birds were fitted out for aerial combat, armed to the teeth with one kiloton Avenger air-to-air missiles. The enemy had been inbound for an airstrike, and their bays were loaded with FAEs, devastating against ground targets, but useless in a dogfight. MacArthur had caught them with their pants down, and he was determined to make the most of it. He’d only get this surprise once.

  “Full thrust, all ships.” He was staring straight ahead as he pushed the throttle on the lead bird. “No way these bastards get away, Yellow Squadron.” His voice was almost a feral growl as he thought of the destruction the enemy air had inflicted on the ground troops. “No fucking way.”

  The enemy ships had picked up his squadron on their scanners, and they were trying to revector, to arc away from their original target zone and flee back to their bases. But they were too late.

  “All birds…open fire.” MacArthur pressed the launch buttons, and the Dragonfire shook as a salvo of four missiles was released and blasted off toward the enemy. The Avengers were the most devastating weapons in his anti-aircraft arsenal, and he’d loaded Yellow Squadron with 10% of the army’s entire stock. Like the rest of the army, MacArthur’s gunships had been conserving ammunition, expending only the bare minimum to get the job one. But the situation had changed in an instant. Conserving ammunition was no longer the top priority. Surviving the battle was.

  The ship shook again as MacArthur fired another volley. The air in front of the squadron was filled with the smoke trails of hyper-velocity missiles as they made their way toward the enemy formation.

  “You can run, fuckers, but you’re not getting away.” MacArthur was whispering to himself, his hand clenched tightly on the firing controls as he launched a third volley…and then a fourth. The enemy gunships had savaged Taylor’s ground forces over the past two days, killing hundreds. Now MacArthur and his people were here for revenge.

  MacArthur could see flashes of blinding light as missiles began exploding in the distance. The scanners kept the tally. Two enemy gunships were destroyed almost immediately, and another two a moment later. The sky all around the fleeing squadrons was aflame as missile after missile struck its target or exploded nearby.

  The enemy aircraft hadn’t expected any resistance other than ground-to-air weapons, and they were almost defenseless against the attacking gunships. Flight was their only option. They might just outrun MacArthur’s pursuing craft, but not the 120 air-to-air missiles they had fired.

  MacArthur launched his fifth and last salvo. He watched the missiles zip away from his ship for a few seconds. Then he gripped the throttle and put his finger over the firing button. “All units, arm chainguns. Prepare for close action.” He stared ahead, death in his eyes. “We’re going in.”

  * * *

  “Keep firing. All of you.” Singh was peering out over the trench, firing at the enemy troops as they exposed themselves over the edge of the ridge. He knew they were prep
aring to advance toward the fortified line yet again. His people had held firm along the ridgeline, but they’d been forced back from the crest when the enemy punched through the lines closer to the center, where the FAE runs had devastated the defenders. Singh’s men were compelled to withdraw or risk being flanked.

  Now they were back in the trenches they themselves had taken just a few days before. The fortifications were strong, but the field of fire was short, only a few hundred meters from the reverse slope. Still, his people had repulsed two attacks already, though they had suffered heavy losses and burned through most of their ammo to do it. The third assault was coming, and he didn’t see how his men could hold out again.

  He only had 15 troopers left, and half of them were walking wounded. He’d taken a round to the shoulder himself, though the nanos had already started to repair the damage. He knew his troopers would fight to the last, but there was another problem. Supplies. He was down to 3 clips himself and, even after stripping the dead, most of his men only had enough to maintain a few minutes of fire. He had them all on semi-auto now, firing small, targeted bursts. But even at that rate of fire, they would be down to survival knives and rifle butts before long.

  He was just about to tell his men to cease fire until the enemy charge got closer in, when his com crackled to life and Major Samuels’ voice filled his helmet. “All forces are to withdraw from the trenchline at once and pull back to rally point A. Repeat, all forces are to evacuate the trenchline immediately and rally at point A.” Samuels’s voice was raw, hollow. “Withdraw by odds and evens, 300 meter intervals.”