The Ten Thousand: Portal Wars II
Page 21
Neither side had managed to achieve that, MacArthur thought grimly as he arced his craft downward in a sharp dive. They’d come close to mutual extermination instead. MacArthur’s three birds were just about all the AOL had left, except for a few semi-wrecks the technicians were trying to get back in the air with a combination of recycled parts and good hopes.
He mourned all the men he’d lost, but there was pride there too, admiration for the way his outnumbered forces had grimly held their own. They’d knocked just about every enemy bird from the sky and, while he couldn’t call his three remaining ships air superiority, he was proud of the near 2-1 kill ratio his people had achieved.
There hadn’t been an airstrike from either side in three days, not until Taylor ordered MacArthur and his survivors take off and support Young’s overwhelmed command. MacArthur knew the situation on the ground was desperate. He also realized this was going to be just about the last sortie for his forces. Even if his three birds made it through the AA fire and returned undamaged, they were loaded up with the last of the FAEs. They might manage one more mission with nothing but auto-cannon rounds, but then they’d completely out of ammo and grounded for the duration.
MacArthur had declared victory in the air war, at least in his own deepest thoughts. It was the only way he could reconcile with the losses. But he knew that success was only temporary. He had no more gunships and no way to get any. His birds were out of ammunition and spare parts. The Earth forces would get more of everything – ships, ammo, replacement parts - and probably soon. It would take a while to get new birds through the Portal and reassemble them, but he knew his last few ships would eventually be hunted down and destroyed. It might be a week, or two. Maybe even a month. But it would happen. And then the air would belong to the enemy. And Taylor’s people on the ground would be in a worse holocaust than they were now.
MacArthur’s eyes were fixed forward as his gunship streaked down toward the advancing enemy troops. He’d caught them cold, out in the open in a deep formation. Three ships was a small force, but he knew they would make their attack count. Maybe, just maybe, they could help the outnumbered guys on the ground win one more round.
He angled his ship, streaking toward the main enemy concentration. “Blue two, to the left. Blue three, to the right.” He pushed the throttle forward, diving lower, positioning for his attack run. His two other ships pushed out to his flanks, the three Dragonfires forming in a perfect line as they made their final approach.
Three, two, one…MacArthur counted down in his head before he pulled the release. He could feel the slight bumps as his craft released the FAE canisters one after the other. He knew the other birds were keying off his release. His ersatz squadron was dropping a cloud of flaming death, 150 meters wide and over a kilometer long. For a few minutes, the ground below would become like a vision of hell. Men would be consumed by the fires, their bodies nearly vaporizing in the intense heat. Others would die from the low pressure at the center of the firestorms, their lungs torn apart as they gasped for breath.
It was a horrible death his ships brought the hapless infantry on the ground, the same nightmare the enemy aircraft had visited on the AOL’s units. MacArthur felt a touch of regret, a small wave of guilt. He knew the men down there were not evil, at least not most of them. Not like he’d believed the Machines to be for so many years. They were conscripts, fighting because they had no choice. But war was war, and the sin of it all would be that much worse if Taylor’s army lost. There was hope in the victory of the AOL, a chance all the suffering and death might lead to something positive. MacArthur and Taylor had never gotten along on Erastus, not until the very end. But the air commander had come to realize the heavy burden Taylor had taken on, and he was determined to support the cause…even if his last bird was grounded. Even if he had to pick up a rifle and jump into the line.
He looked at the screen, seeing the inferno on the ground below. The belly cameras on his ship gave him a tremendous view. His three ships had torn a 1,200 meter swath of utter destruction through the enemy ranks. Maybe, he thought, maybe that will be enough to save those guys on the ground.
“Alright, guys, let’s get back home.” He pulled back on the throttle, climbing hard, angling back toward base. An instant later the alarm sounded – incoming ground-to-air missiles. He jerked hard on the throttle, whipping the ship around in a wild evasive maneuver. MacArthur was the commander of AOL’s air wing, a veteran pilot with more than a decade of combat experience. He wasn’t about to let some random shot from a handheld launcher take him down. He was still thinking that when the rocket slammed into his ship, and it erupted into a roiling fireball, it’s flaming remnants crashing hard to the ground.
* * * * *
Ralfieri pushed the headphone tightly against his ear. He’d listened to the recording twice already, but that didn’t stop him from hitting play again. So that’s what the dread Jake Taylor sounds like, he thought. But it wasn’t Taylor’s voice that made Ralfieri feel like he’d been gut-punched. It was what the man was saying.
The voice on the recording didn’t sound like the psychopathic monster Ralfieri had been led to expect. Not even close. Taylor was almost pleading, a desperation obvious in his tone. It couldn’t have been fear; Taylor’s Supersoldiers could have easily crushed the unreinforced UN Force Juno they’d been facing when the transmission was made. No, it was a man beseeching his enemy not to fight, begging them not to make him kill them all.
Ralfieri had been troubled almost since the time he’d emerged through the Portal and taken command of the UN forces on Juno. It was little things, mostly…and a few big ones too. Nothing quite added up; nothing made sense. Now he was asking himself the core question at the heart of the matter. Was Taylor truly a villain, a madman rampaging across the Portal worlds massacring UN soldiers? Or was there more to it than that? Were Ralfieri and his men fighting on the wrong side?
“You say Taylor gave this speech before the fighting started?”
“Yes, sir. His people came through their Portal, but they didn’t advance on us immediately.” Captain Akawa spoke softly, his tones hushed despite the fact that he and Ralfieri were alone. “A lot of us believed him. His delay in attacking benefitted us, not them. We were talking about taking his offer when…”
“When?” Ralfieri had been looking out over the rocky ground, but now he turned to face Akawa. “When what?”
Akawa hesitated a few seconds. “Well, sir…it’s…”
“Speak freely.” Ralfieri could see the officer was uncomfortable. “Please, Captain.”
“Well, sir, while we were discussing our options, we were called to an assembly. A number of men, mostly the ones who had been positioned on point and closer to Taylor’s forces, tried to desert.” He paused, swallowing hard. “Inquisitor Vanderberg’s men captured many of them before they were able to make their escape. He…”
Ralfieri put his hand on Akawa’s shoulder. “It’s OK, Captain. Please go on.”
“Sir, Inquisitor Vanderberg assembled the entire unit to watch while he…” Akawa paused again, taking a deep breath before he continued. “…while he had them shot, sir.” Another pause. “He had them all shot, General, and the rest of the men in their units too, whether they had deserted or not.”
Ralfieri felt the rage begin to boil over. He hated Vanderberg. He wanted to kill the miserable, arrogant butcher more than he’d ever wanted anything. He’d been close the day the Inquisitor had ordered the fleeing troops gunned down, but Anan Keita had gotten there in time to break up the conflict before it got too far. Ralfieri didn’t think much of Keita either, but even his anger didn’t blind him to the consequences of disobeying a member of the Secretariat. He’d backed down, reluctantly, angrily. Keita had managed to keep him away from Vanderberg since.
“How did Taylor get his message through? I’m surprised the army commander didn’t jam the transmission.” Ralfieri was indulging his curiosity, trying to control his anger as he did.
Ralfieri looked down at the ground, thinking. There was more to the situation than what he’d been told. Much more.
He pulled out his com unit. “Major Evans, assemble a section immediately and report to me at the coordinates I transmit to you.”
“Yes, sir.” Evans’ response was immediate. The officer was a reliable veteran and the man Ralfieri had come to trust the most.
“And this is a classified mission, Major, so you are to tell no one about it. Just pick your section and meet me at the coordinates.”
“Yes, General.” Ralfieri couldn’t detect any confusion or concern over his cryptic orders in his subordinate’s tone. “I will confirm when we are en route.”
“Very well, Major. Ralfieri out.” He turned toward Akawa. “Want to join us, Captain?”
“Where are you going, sir?”
Ralfieri paused for an instant. “I’m going to see General Taylor, Captain. I’m going to find out what the hell is really going on here.”
Part Three
My Enemy, My Friend
Chapter 23
From the Journal of Jake Taylor:
There is a device in my head; they call it a Neural Intelligence System. It is somewhat misnamed, as it doesn’t really have any intelligence of its own, artificial or otherwise. It is more of an amplification system for my brain, allowing me to retain and retrieve information far more quickly than I could on my own.
Most people would be amazed how disconcerting it is when you cannot forget anything. It’s a strange, crowded feeling in my head, like there are too many thoughts and facts, far more than the human brain was intended to handle. It is extremely useful in many instances, yet I wonder sometimes if it will one day drive me mad, if nothing else does, that is. If I am not already mad.
While the device doesn’t do any computation on its own, it does affect the way I think. I wouldn’t say it makes me smarter, but my judgments, my reasoning are different because there is more information available to my brain. I don’t waste effort trying to remember things, since it happens automatically. My thoughts and decisions have the benefit of far more data than most people’s.
People and events rarely surprise me anymore. It does happen, but usually only when there is information of which I am unaware. The enemy’s recent counter-offensive was a surprise because we didn’t have enough drones to monitor their incoming reinforcements, and I had no information on the commanders involved and the forces they had available.
Every so often, a person will surprise me by showing initiative and character I didn’t expect. General Antonio Ralfieri was one of those people. I felt the impact of his ability when my forces were pushed back, driven to their last stand along the battle scarred front. He surprised me again when the battle paused just before the final struggle. And without his courage and strength of will, my army would likely have died in the bloodsoaked sands of Juno.
Bear Samuels slumped down and leaned against the slick mud wall of the shallow trench. The works had been hastily built, thrown up by groups of walking wounded and rallied routers. They weren’t very deep, nor were they well planned or designed. A normal man could kneel or sit and stay in cover, but Samuels had to lean his massive frame forward to keep his head from poking over the top. The works were far from ideal, but even a poor quality trench was preferable to fighting in the open, and Samuels was glad to have them.
The battle had been fierce, the fighting nonstop. Samuels and his fellow officers had continually rallied the troops, kept them in the line far longer than they’d had a right to expect. Men, even cyborg Supersoldiers, had their limits, and Samuels’ troops had been fighting for two weeks without a rest. They were nearing the breaking point, holding the line with the last of their strength. Samuels was enormously proud of his soldiers, but he also knew they couldn’t hold out forever. If the enemy had enough fresh troops, they were going to win the battle. They had just launched a big assault that came close to success before it spent its impetus, and they fell back to regroup. Then, with no explanation, the enemy attacks just stopped. Completely. Even the harassing fire and mortar bombardment fell silent.
Samuels immediately ordered his forces to cease fire as well. He knew the battle was far from over, but his people were low on ammo, and they didn’t have the resources to waste on long range fire at an enemy that wasn’t advancing. Better to save what they had to repulse whatever attack was still to come.
He was grateful for the respite. His men were exhausted, and even a short break was welcome. He’d ordered half his units to stand down and pull back a klick, while the rest manned the defenses. Maybe they’d get enough time for a hot meal and some sleep. With a little luck, all his people would get a breather. Still, he had his recon teams on full alert. He was far from convinced the lull wasn’t some kind of trick.
“Major Samuels…” It was Sergeant Welles on the com. Welles was the commander of the forward pickets.
“Yes, Sergeant. Report.”
“Sir…we’ve got something…unexpected up here.” Welles’ voice was confused, uncertain.
“Go on, Sergeant. What is it?”
There was a short pause. “It’s a group of the enemy approaching, sir. Perhaps 20-25.” Another hesitation. “They appear to be unarmed…and…”
“And what, Sergeant?”
“They are carrying a flag, sir. A white flag.”
Samuels paused. He knew what a white flag meant, though he’d never seen one employed on a battlefield. The Machines didn’t surrender, and even when he’d been facing human enemies, any parley was easily arranged by com.
“Let them approach, Sergeant.” Samuels was still confused, but he wasn’t going to know anything unless he listened to what they had to say. “Keep an eye out for any kind of trick, any other enemy formations approaching.”
“Yes, sir.” A short pause. “No other enemy activity, Major. None at all.”
“Very well, Sergeant. Bring them to me as soon as possible.” Samuels’ mind was racing. What was this all about?
* * * * *
“General Ralfieri, I’d like to welcome you to my headquarters.” Taylor extended a hand to the commander of the army that had fought his people with such hellish intensity. “I must say, I am surprised at your presence.” It was hard to speak calmly and courteously to an enemy, especially after the losses his men had suffered. But he knew Ralfieri and his soldiers had been lied to, just as he and his men had been for so many years. The very presence of the enemy commander here in Taylor’s headquarters suggested he’d begun to doubt that propaganda.
“Thank you, General Taylor.” Ralfieri reached out and grasped Taylor’s hand. “I appreciate your seeing me.” He paused. “It isn’t easy for either of us, I am sure, after the ferocity of the battle and the losses we have suffered.”
“No, it isn’t.” Taylor wanted to hate the enemy commander, but he couldn’t. He saw a lot of himself in Antonio Ralfieri, and he couldn’t question the courage it took for the general to come to Taylor’s headquarters. “But that is no excuse for us to refuse communication. Even with an enemy.”
“Perhaps we should not be enemies, General Taylor.” Ralfieri stood silently for a few seconds, his eyes focused on his counterpart. He’d been told Jake Taylor was insane, a bloodthirsty villain determined to kill as many UN soldiers as possible. It never made sense to him. Even if Taylor had lost his mind, his soldiers would never have followed him with such devotion. Not if he was just a psychopathic monster. Now, seeing Taylor, hearing his voice, Ralfieri knew he’d been lied to…and he began to suspect the entire apocalyptic battle his men had been fighting was a tragic mistake.
“General, with all due respect, I need some answers.” Ralfieri spoke softly, calmly. “I believe I have been lied to, that this terrible war we’ve been fighting is a tragic error.”
Taylor
took a deep breath. “It’s not a mistake, General. At least not from the perspective of those who sent you here.” Taylor couldn’t keep the fatigue from his voice. “I am on a mission, General. All my men are. We are going back to Earth to destroy UNGov. To free humanity.” Taylor hadn’t intended to jump right to such a striking declaration, but he had a good feeling about Ralfieri, and something made him blurt it out.
“So it’s all true then?” Ralfieri felt his stomach clench as he realized not just the war against Taylor’s men, but the decades of conflict against the Machines had all been based on lies and propaganda. “UNGov started the war, not the Tegeri? The whole thing, 40 years of bloody slaughter, all to keep UNGov in power?”
Taylor nodded and exhaled slowly. “I’m afraid so, General Ralfieri.” There was deep sadness in his tone. He’d know the truth for nearly two years, but he still felt the shock, the outrage, as keenly as he had that day in T’arza’s underground complex.
Ralfieri looked back at Taylor. It was hard to gauge emotion from someone with cybernetic enhancements. Their metallic eyes tended to make their expressions mechanical-looking regardless of the underlying emotion. But he could feel Taylor’s sadness, the heavy burden the AOL’s commander carried with him. He wanted to know more – he needed to know – but in that instant he made up his mind. Everything Jake Taylor had said was true – he was suddenly sure of it.
He felt nauseous. His men had killed thousands of Taylor’s people…and they’d lost even more of their own doing it. The battle had been a bloodbath, and it was all for nothing. Ralfieri felt the boiling rage inside, pressing against him, trying to find an escape. He wanted to track down everyone responsible and kill them with his bare hands.
Taylor knew what was going on in Ralfieri’s head; he knew it all too well. “General…it’s not your fault. I believed the same as you did for years. I was a good little soldier. I did what I was told. Until I found out the truth. As you have here today.” Taylor paused, giving his guest a few seconds to absorb what he had just learned.