by Jay Allan
Kazan had an annoyed look on his face. “I’m afraid Sergeant Daniels is under arrest, Lieutenant. Threatening a superior officer at gunpoint is a very serious offense.”
Taylor knew it was serious. It was a capital offense. “I understand the gravity of the situation, but I believe that prosecution is misplaced in this case. Sergeant Daniels was only acting to save…”
“It is immaterial to our discussions, Lieutenant Taylor. I’m afraid it is out of my hands.” Kazan’s tone made it clear he considered the matter settled.
Taylor stared at the UN bigwig, his eyes boring like lasers. “I am prepared to cooperate with your new program, sir, but I must first insist that Sergeant Daniels be pardoned.”
Kazan glared back at him, clearly outraged at the audacity of someone he considered well beneath him. “You have no authority to refuse any orders, Lieutenant. Regardless of the sergeant’s fate.” His voice dripped with contempt. Taylor knew it had been there all along, but his defiance had stripped away the veneer of civility and respect.
Taylor sat rigidly upright in his chair. He was uncomfortable facing off against a high UN official. The last five years of his life had been all about following orders, and before that, he’d had the usual fear of government officials. He didn’t know exactly where Kazan fit into the UN hierarchy, but he was sure it was pretty high up. But Hank Daniels was a good soldier and a friend. His actions that day saved not only Jake, but six other soldiers. He deserved better than to be shot in some dark cellar somewhere after a perfunctory trial.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Kazan.” Taylor had faced death a hundred times since he’d arrived on Erastus. He wasn’t going to back down now. “I will not cooperate in any way unless I have an assurance that Sergeant Daniels will be released and that no charges will be filed.”
Kazan looked on the verge of an apoplectic fit. It was obvious he enjoyed wielding his power, and equally apparent that people rarely stood up to him. But Jake didn’t care…he didn’t care if he was dragged out of the office and shot right now. He wasn’t going to abandon Daniels.
Kazan was silent for a long while. He stared at Taylor the entire time, as if trying to take the measure of the man. Finally, he spoke softly, slowly, his barely restrained anger obvious in his voice. “Very well, Lieutenant Taylor. I will grant your request.” He had a sour look on his face, like a child being compelled to finish a plate of some hated vegetable. “But you will do everything exactly as you are told from now on without precondition or argument. Do you understand what I am saying to you?” His tone was deadly serious.
“Yes, sir.” Taylor was surprised his stand had worked. This must be important, he thought…whatever it is they want me to do. “I understand.”
“Good.” Kazan glared at Taylor, not even trying to hide his disdain. “Because if you so much as hesitate an instant before following another order, I promise that you will be dragged into some hidden hole somewhere and shot without so much as the formality of a court martial.” He paused, still glowering at his silent guest. “And the same for Sergeant Daniels. Do you understand me, Lieutenant?”
Taylor just nodded, wondering what he had gotten himself into.
Part Two
Supersoldier
Chapter 9
From the Journal of Jake Taylor:
I’ve begun to wonder how different we are from the Machines. They are constructed; I was born. They are part flesh, part machine. With my implants and exos, I am also part machine.
What did they do to me when they installed my mods? They took my eyes, and replaced them with ones that work better. What did they do with mine? The ones I was born with. The ones just like my mother’s and, I was told, my grandmother’s. The blue ones speckled gray that Beth used to look into when she touched my face. Did they end up in some garbage can, discarded like so much trash?
My ears are half circuitry now, and my muscles are interlaced with synthetic fibers that triple my natural strength. I heal rapidly, and my blood carries more oxygen. I can run farther and faster than before, and jump and climb too.
Then there are the exos. There are metal fittings on my shoulders now - and my legs and spine - where the exos attach to me. Part armor, part weapon, the exos make me the deadliest warrior mankind has ever produced. Fully equipped and prepped for battle I could beat 20 armed hardcores from any urban free zone.
Then there is the neural intelligence system. A constant voice in my head, the NIS is a sophisticated artificial intelligence, my own internal computer connected to my neural pathways. It feels like part of my own mind, somehow both new and old at the same time. I control it effortlessly with my thoughts, as it collates and stores information vastly more efficiently than my natural brain. I remember everything now…everything I see, everything I hear.
I am the ultimate warrior, the embodiment of Death, standing between my people and the doom of an alien enemy bent on destruction. But am I human anymore? Or just another manufactured soldier, like those I fight, built to wage a never-ending war?
“They’re breaking off, Major!” Sergeant Simpson was pointing wildly as he shouted. “They’re running.” Simpson had proven to be a valuable aide, but he was a bit too excitable. Taylor knew it was a lack of experience, even though the sergeant had been two years onplanet. To Jake Taylor, almost everyone on Erastus was a rookie.
Taylor stood still, not even bothering to look. His NIS had recorded every aspect of the battle his eyes had witnessed and his ears had heard. Jake could remember every rock, every fold in the ground, every com message verbatim…for that matter, every smell too. He knew what was happening on the battlefield. He’d seen it enough times. The Machines were nothing if not predictable. He’d compromised their position and they were withdrawing. Like always.
They weren’t defeated…not yet. The Machines were resilient. They followed their standardized tactics with an almost frightening regularity. They weren’t afraid; they weren’t running. Their basic tactical training told them to pull back from a compromised position and regroup, and that is what they were doing.
“They’re not running, Simpson.” Taylor’s voice was calm, almost disinterested. “They’re pulling back to regroup on the higher ground to the south.” Which is just where I want them, he thought.
Rigid adherence to basic tactical doctrine could be effective when facing an average commander. The Machines didn’t make many mistakes, and their maneuvers were always flawlessly executed. But against a leader like Jake Taylor, predictability was suicidal.
Taylor directed a thought to his NIS, activating the com. After five years he was finally getting used to the fact that his thoughts could manage more equipment than what he’d been born with. “Lieutenant Simone, move your strikeforce to intercept the enemy and block their retreat.” He paused, just for an instant, then added, “The same coordinates we discussed previously.” A little reminder never hurt. He turned back toward Simpson. “The main force will pursue at once.”
“Yes, sir.” The aide stood rigidly erect and snapped off a salute before turning and running off to execute the order.
Taylor sighed softly. The formality around him had increased considerably in the last five years, as his rank continued to rise. He hated all the saluting and military pomp. He was a soldier now in every fiber of his being, almost nothing left of the naïve country boy who wanted nothing more than to live on the farm and write. But he still craved simplicity and straightforwardness…that part of him had survived.
When he was a sergeant he’d longed for the days on the farm back home. Now, he just wished he was still leading his section, with no responsibility beyond watching his 40 or so men and following the lieutenant’s orders. He didn’t want to command, didn’t seek any glory. He did what he was ordered to do…and what he knew would help those kids still coming through that hated Portal. But every salute and every “sir” grated on him.
Jake had been a Five Year Man when was selected as the first participant in the Supersoldier program
. Now he had been on Erastus for a decade. He’d been called a Ten Year Man a couple times, though the phrase was rarely used, probably because there were so few soldiers who qualified. Almost no one lasted that long in hell.
He wasn’t sure what was worse, the stupid awestruck look in the eyes of the rookies or the obviously insincere respect he got from the UN Command staff. Jake was a field officer and one of the heroes of the war on Erastus, but he was still a lifer, and he had more in common with the rank and file footsoldiers than the politically-connected UN staffers and senior commanders.
“Jake…Simone’s people are in place. I reinforced him with an extra ten HHVs.” Jake enjoyed the causal familiarity of Blackie’s voice. There was war and chains of command and military hierarchy, but Tony Black wasn’t part of that to Jake. He was like a brother…more than a brother. “We’re gonna catch these bastards in one hell of a kill zone, Dog.”
There was a bloodthirstiness in Black’s voice, one most of the men shared. They hated the Machines, rejoiced at their destruction. Taylor had felt that way once too, but the intense loathing was gone, replaced with fatigue, with uncomfortable apathy. Jake killed Machines because it was his job…and because destroying them saved his own men. But the bloodlust was gone.
“Thanks, Blackie. I think we’ve got them in a box.” Taylor turned slowly and stared out over the battlefield. His cybernetic eyes focused rapidly, magnifying the image when his gaze fell on the withdrawing Machine formations. He felt an odd feeling, as he always did when his enhanced eyes locked on an image. It wasn’t a shock, exactly…more of a tingling sensation. He’d found it quite unpleasant at first, but now he was so used to it he hardly noticed.
“And Blackie?”
“Yeah, Jake?”
Taylor took a quick breath. “I want some more cover on the flanks. We’re going to have them bracketed, but they can still try to slip out to the side, especially the east. That’s their last open line of retreat.” He paused, reviewing the order of battle in his head. He’d always been pretty good at remembering the important details of his commands, but with the NIS just under his temporal lobe, he could recite the height, weight, and marksmanship ratings of every man in the battalion. It was unquestionably a useful ability, but one that made him uncomfortable. Men weren’t supposed to remember every last detail they heard or saw.
“Send Hank Daniels over there. That’ll still leave most of Bear’s people in reserve.”
“It’s done.” Black hesitated. “I gave half of Spider’s HHV crews to Simone, Jake. Should I steal some from Bear to replace them?”
Taylor thought for a few seconds, but he decided he didn’t want to take anything else from Bear’s reserves. Daniels would be fine, even light on HHVs. “No.” He paused again. “And Blackie, make sure Spider knows this isn’t a hold at all costs situation. If the Machines come his way, I want him to inflict as much damage as he can, but his priority is to minimize his own losses. I’m expecting the enemy to go in his direction, and I’m ready to deal with the ones that get through his line.”
“No problem. I’ll get the point across.”
“Make sure you do, Blackie. Because we both know Hank will fight to the last man otherwise.” Taylor’s voice was firm, commanding. He wasn’t about to get any more of his boys killed than was absolutely necessary. UN Central didn’t care how many men he lost as long as he won the battle, but Taylor sure as hell did. Daniels was a close friend and an excellent officer, but his aggressiveness sometimes got the better of him.
“I’ll handle him, Jake. Don’t worry. There was a brief pause then, “Black out.”
Jake switched the com. “Captain MacArthur?”
“Yes, Major. How can I help you?” The squadron commander’s response was crisp and proper, but Jake could detect the same undercurrent of superiority as always. He was continually amazed how those with return tickets to Earth considered themselves superior to lifers like his men and him. He wondered if MacArthur knew how effortlessly his augmented muscles could drive his hand through the pilot’s breastbone and rip out his heart.
“Get your birds up in the air in ten minutes, Captain.” Taylor’s voice was, imperious, commanding. More than one can play that game, he thought. He didn’t like to get into staredowns with arrogant fools, but sometimes he couldn’t help himself. “The enemy will be retreating to the east. I want you over there to pick off the survivors. It’s wide open ground. You should be able to just about wipe them out.”
“I don’t know, Major. We can’t know where they will head. Maybe we should stay in a more centralized position.”
There it was again…the arrogance. Jake felt a flash of heat behind his neck…one noticeable even in the relentless inferno of Erastus. He was angry, sick of putting up with bullshit from assholes like MacArthur. “You will follow my commands to the letter, Captain…or I will find you when this operation is over, and I will shoot you myself. Do we understand each other…Captain?”
“Yes sir, Major.” MacArthur’s reply was sullen. “We will lift in 9 minutes 30, as ordered.”
Taylor knew the snotty shithead was pissed, and he couldn’t help but smile. He cut the line without another word. You know a war’s been going on too long, he thought, when you want to kill people on your own side more than the enemy.
“OK, boys. Here they come.” Hank Daniels was lying on his stomach, his enhanced eyes focused on the approaching enemy. “Remember, we’re going to drop as many of them as we can, but the ones we don’t get…we let them break through. Do not…I repeat, do not…engage in close combat. Our priority is to minimize our own casualties. If the enemy approaches your position, you are to withdraw.” Daniels tried to issue the order coldly and unemotionally, but he ended up sounding like he’d just tasted something bad. He trusted Taylor’s judgment implicitly, and Blackie had made Jake’s orders exceedingly clear. But it still ran against his grain to let any of the enemy go when he had a chance to wipe them out. To Hank Daniels, every battle was a fight to the death. He’d been torn from his life and family and sent to an alien hell…all because of the enemy. The Machines and their Tegeri masters were good for one thing in Daniels’ mind, and only one. Killing.
His assault rifle was slung, unused, over his back. Instead, he held a heavy Gauss gun, the long, thick barrel stretching over a meter in front of him. He shifted his body so he wasn’t lying on the heavy cable that connected the magnetic coilgun to the power supply on his exoskeletal attachments. The weapon was far too heavy for a normal soldier to manage, but Daniel’s enhanced muscles and powerful exos allowed him to handle it with ease.
“Mortar crews…” Daniels had his strikeforce’s own mortar, plus a second one Black had stolen from Bear Samuels’ group to reinforce him. “…commence firing.”
Barely a second or two passed before Daniels’ cybernetic ears picked up the whistling sound of two shells heading for the enemy line. The mortars were using enhanced plasma rounds, and each shot packed a heavy punch.
The first two rounds landed short, erupting with blinding flashes about 100 meters ahead of the approaching enemy. The second shots were right on target, and a dozen of the Machines were caught in the kill zones and engulfed by the expanding, superhot plasmas.
The Machines were moving east in a tight formation, driven that way by the pincers closing around them from every other direction. Now they scattered, trying to minimize their vulnerability to the mortar fire. But the whole force was trapped in a narrow defile, with minimal room to extend their formation.
“Gauss guns and HHVs…prepare to open fire.” Daniels had ten of the magnetic autoguns, all in the hands of crack shots. Normally, the strikeforce commander wouldn’t handle one of the heavy weapons, but Daniels had come up as a sniper, and there wasn’t a better shot in the battalion. And he wanted every hit he could get before he let the survivors through.
“Fire!” The word was barely out of his mouth when his finger depressed the trigger. The Gauss gun was firing on full auto, but
Daniels’ didn’t need it…his shots were all spot on. His targets didn’t just drop, they practically ceased to exist as 5 or 10 hyper-velocity projectiles tore them apart.
Up and down the line his people were raking the approaching enemy, inflicting enormous casualties. Normally, he’d have kept some of his assets in reserve, but he wanted to take every shot he could get before he was forced to withdraw. He’d follow his orders, but Jake’s command didn’t prevent him from doing everything he could to drop as many of the enemy as possible before he bugged out. The Machines were firing back, but it was light and sporadic. They’d already been in a fight, and they were disordered and low on ammunition.
“Keep firing until I give the order to withdraw.” Daniels would never disobey Taylor, but he was going to push it to the limit.
He’d put down at least 20 of the Machines already, and he kept firing as quickly as he could pick out targets. He was really liking the Gauss gun. The weapon wasn’t a new one, but it hadn’t been a battlefield success until recently. It packed too much recoil for a man to effectively handle, and it needed a heavy power supply that was hard to move in the field. Both problems were neatly solved when the Supersoldier program started implanting artificial muscle fibers and installing exos on troopers. A soldier with mods could easily manage the Gauss gun’s kick, making it an extremely effective, yet highly portable weapon. And the powered exoskeleton had no trouble at all mounting the coilgun’s power unit.
“HHV crews, focus your fire on the flanks. Let’s force these fuckers to bunch up in the center.” With the added firepower of the Gauss guns, Daniels could divert his HHVs to drive the enemy where he wanted them. The Machines were getting close, but he still had time. He could take out a few…
