Portal Wars: The Trilogy

by Jay Allan

  “Yes, sir.” Roberts nodded, but his tone was still uncertain. He paused for a few seconds then looked at Ralfieri. “General, those regular units in the front are going to be slaughtered.”

  Ralfieri felt his stomach tighten. He knew just how badly the lead elements would take it. He could see it in his mind, though it hadn’t happened yet, men falling in their hundreds as they pushed forward into the maelstrom of enemy fire.

  “There is nothing to be done about that, Colonel. You have your orders.” He turned to leave, but he stopped and looked back at Roberts. “We can’t prevent this attack, so focus on trying to make sure the sacrifice isn’t in vain.” He took a deep breath. He couldn’t imagine a worse feeling than being forced to order an attack you know will fail, realizing you are sending thousands to a pointless death. He grasped at a small glimmer of hope, his mind trying to convince himself there was a chance the enhanced soldiers in the second line would seize the fortifications. But he just didn’t believe it.

  “You may attack when ready, Colonel.”

  * * *

  Jahn was firing on full auto, and he’d have sworn every projectile that left his weapon found a target. The enemy was coming straight at his position, charging across open ground into the concentrated fire of his battalion. They were falling in clumps, entire lines disappearing in the withering firestorm. It was the most perfect killing ground he’d ever seen.

  He had to admire the courage it took those men to continue to advance, pushing forward, climbing over the bodies of the fallen. They were moving slowly, and their incoming fire was less accurate than Jahn had expected. He pulled out his com with one hand, holding his assault rifle in the other. He continued to fire while he punched the code for HQ.

  “This is Captain Jahn reporting.”

  “Jahn, this is Colonel Black. Report.”

  “Sir, I don’t believe the forces we are facing are enhanced troopers. I think they are regulars.” Jahn was confused. The normal troops didn’t stand a chance of breaking the trenchline. Why would the enemy launch an attack that couldn’t succeed?

  “We’re aware of that, Captain. Reports are coming in from other positions as well. Be on alert for a force of modified soldiers positioned directly behind the regulars.”

  Jahn felt his stomach flip. There were at least a thousand of the enemy down already, just in front of his section of the line. “Sir? You mean the troops in the front are a…a shield?”

  “They may be, Jahn.” Black’s voice was crisp, professional. He’d had time to get over the shock of the enemy’s tactics. “So stay sharp up there, and don’t let them take you by surprise. Black out.”

  Jahn heard the click as the com line went dead. He was staring out at the enemy, watching his unit’s fire rip into the advancing lines. He swung his rifle around, gripping it tightly and slamming another clip in place. He flipped down to semi-automatic and started firing aimed bursts. The enemy was less than 200 meters out, but their advance was slowing. The bodies were piling up all across the field, and the men behind were beginning to waver.

  Jahn’s people kept up their fire, raking the shaken enemy troops. Dozens more fell, hundreds. Then they started to run. Jahn couldn’t see where it began, but in a few seconds the formation started to melt away, like ice on a hot day. Clumps of soldiers were dropping their weapons and running for the rear. Jahn watched the slaughter for a few seconds then he grabbed his com again. “All personnel, cease fire.” He stared out of the trench, fixated on the massacre taking place out on the plain. There was still scattered shooting up and down the line. “Cease fire! Now!” He stared out as the routing troops ran, slowly revealing the checkerboard formation deployed behind. There were fresh enemy soldiers there, thousands of them. The fleeing troopers flowed through the gaps between units as the new line began to advance.

  “Prepare to repel another attack.” He shouted into the com, reloading his rifle as he did. He stared at the approaching columns for second. He had no way of knowing for sure, but there wasn’t a doubt in Jahn’s mind. They were Supersoldiers. All of them.

  “Open fire. Target the units in the second line!” He felt the sweat pouring down his neck, the tightness in his chest, as fear and stress built within him. Those troops were just like his – stronger, faster, and more capable than normal soldiers. He could see immediately they heavily outnumbered his force. And they were barely 200 meters away.

  “Fire!” he repeated. “Now! Full auto. Target the new formations.” He brought his rifle down and opened up, as the attackers moved forward, hosing down the trenchline with their own extremely accurate fire.

  * * *

  Lucius Vanderberg stood behind a line of emplaced autoguns watching the fleeing troops stream down the hillside, directly toward his position. He wore the plain black uniform and body armor of an Inquisitor in the field. The man was built like a bull, his massive neck protruding from his shirt like a tree trunk. Everything about him radiated fear and intimidation. “All guns…open fire.”

  The Inquisitor was motionless, impassively watching his deputies gun down the panicked troops as they came over the ridge. The formations were already shattered, and the withering fire sent the soldiers fleeing in every direction in a mad panic. Hundreds fell, and Vanderberg stood silently, staring at the nightmarish scene without a shred of pity or mercy. His com was clipped to his belt, and he made no motion to order the line of heavy autoguns to cease fire. He intended to give the rest of UN Force Juno a lesson in the price of cowardice. One they would not soon forget.

  The targeted soldiers were torn to shreds by the heavy projectiles, and men in the primary fields of fire were hit five and six times, their bodies seeming to explode into grotesque red mist.

  Vanderberg spoke softly to himself. “They run from the enemy to flee the risk of heroic death as soldiers of the United Nations of Earth, but they reap a bitter harvest. They shall not escape. None of them. Now they shall die as traitors, cowards.” There was no pity or hesitation in Vanderberg’s voice as he stood and watched his men mow down the panicking soldiers. Inquisitors were among the most zealous of UNGov’s security forces, true believers, sadistic men who crushed the government’s enemies with a quasi-religious fervor. And Vanderberg was one of the best.

  His eyes glistened as he stared out at the killing zone. “So shall it be for all who fail their duty to UNGov.”

  * * *

  The fighting in the trench was hand to hand, as two forces of enhanced warriors battled it out with knife and pistol and rifle butt. The attackers had lost heavily on their approach. Jahn’s men made them pay for that last 200 meters, and the plain in front of the trench was littered with the dead and dying. But the assaulting troops kept coming, and their accurate fire took a toll on the defenders too. Now they were streaming over the edge of the trench, and their numbers were beginning to tell. Slowly, grimly, the defenders were losing the fight.

  Jahn raised his rifle to shoot at an onrushing enemy, but he was an instant too late, and his adversary fired first. He felt the pain in his side, and he lost his footing in the slick mud of the trench, falling back hard, his rifle slipping from his grasp. The melee in the trench continued all around, a confused mass swirling about, as his men rallied and redoubled their efforts to drive the invaders out.

  Jahn lay back, catching his breath as enemy soldiers raced by all around. He reached to his belt, grabbing the heavy survival knife from its sheath and plunging it into the leg of an enemy soldier standing next to him. The trooper fell hard into the muddy bottom of the trench, and then Jahn was on him, trying to bring the blade around to stab his adversary, gritting his teeth against the agony from his wound.

  The two struggled, his enemy grabbing his wrists, trying to force the blade away, back toward its wielder. The pain in Jahn’s side was almost unbearable, and straining muscles pumped blood from the wound as he put all that was left of his strength into the fight. Finally, he managed to get on top of his enemy and force the blade toward the pin
ned soldier’s neck, shoving it steadily downward. Slowly, relentlessly, Jahn pushed with all his strength and, finally, the razor point slipped into the flesh of his victim. The enemy soldier fought with a last burst of desperation, but then his strength left him. He choked and spat blood as Jahn shoved the deadly blade home.

  Jahn rolled off the dead enemy and gasped for air. He’d put everything he had into the fight, and now he felt weakness flood his body. He tried to get to his feet, gritting his teeth and pushing as hard as he could, but he didn’t have the strength, and he slumped back down to his knees. His shirt was soaked in blood, and he felt lightheaded, dizzy. He fell back, sucking all the air he could force into his tortured, aching lungs. He’d lost too much blood. He knew the nanos would begin producing artificial blood – they probably already had. He didn’t know if it would be enough to replace what he’d lost – was still losing until the nanos managed to seal the wound. But he suspected he wouldn’t live long enough to get an answer.

  He knew the enemy had taken this section of trench. He was trapped, separated from his men. He didn’t have a chance in another fight, but he gripped the knife with the last of his strength anyway. If he died, he promised himself, it would be fighting…not lying helplessly in the mud.

  * * *

  “What?!” Ralfieri was apoplectic with rage, his fists clenched, his body shaking. His enhanced strike force was assaulting the enemy line. They’d lost heavily despite getting within 200 meters of the fortifications before taking any direct fire. Now they were in the trenches, fighting their death struggle with the defenders. The last thing he needed now was a new disaster.

  “Inquisitor Vanderberg and his men are firing upon the fleeing troops from the first line’s attack.” Major Evans managed to keep his tone cool and professional, but not his expression. With one look into Evan’s eyes, Ralfieri could see the aide shared his own rage.

  Ralfieri pulled out his com. “Colonel Roberts, you are in command of the attack. Send in the final reserves immediately.”

  “Yes si…” Ralfieri cut the connection before the stunned colonel could complete his acknowledgement.

  “Evans, I want 6th Battalion assembled immediately.” The 6th was the newest arrival, and the men had just transited the Portal the day before. “They are to march to Vanderberg’s coordinates immediately. I will meet them there.”

  Evans hesitated. He felt the same anger and outrage as his commander, the same urgency to put a stop to the travesty taking place. But Vanderberg was a UN Inquisitor, empowered to act as judge, jury, and executioner – even with an army commander. Ralfieri was the general of the combined forces on Juno, but Evans didn’t know if he had the authority to override an Inquisitor. And from the look in the general’s eyes, he had something far more final in mind than overriding Vanderberg.

  “Now, Major. I want 6th Battalion on the move in five minutes.”

  “Sir…” Evans held Ralfieri’s gaze for a few seconds. “Yes, sir.” The major punched the code into his com and connected with the battalion’s commander. “Major Marks, you are to assemble your battalion at once and march to the coordinates I am transmitting. Your men are to be fully-armed and ready for battle. These orders are from General Ralfieri.”

  “Yes, Major. Understood.”

  Evans remembered Marks from the Black Corps training facility. He was a veteran of Santoro, a Portal world known for the ferocity of the war that had been fought there for more than ten years. Santoro wasn’t Erastus, nothing matched the reputation of that hell world, but Marks’ combat credentials were strong.

  “Evans out.”

  Ralfieri was walking briskly toward his transport, his hands balled into tight fists. Evans chased after him. “Sir, please.” The major easily caught his unmodified commander and positioned himself between Ralfieri and the transport. “General, think about what you are doing.”

  “Get out of my way, Major.” Ralfieri’s tone was as cold as death.

  Evans didn’t know what to do. He could have easily restrained the enraged general. His enhanced muscles gave him three times the physical strength Ralfieri possessed. It was a court martial offense, one that could easily land him in front of a firing squad. But if Ralfieri got to Vanderberg in his current state…Evans didn’t even want to think of what would happen.

  He tried to will himself to grab the general, to stop him from getting on the transport. But he couldn’t. All he could think of was the general’s order – “get out of my way,” over and over again in his head. He couldn’t keep himself from stepping aside. He didn’t understand what was happening. The conditioning was buried deep in his psyche, in the subconscious of every warrior of the Black Corps. He could think about disobedience, but he couldn’t actually make himself do it.

  “Stay here, Major.” Ralfieri climbed into the transport and slammed the door.

  “Yes, sir,” Evans said helplessly, trying without success to force himself to follow, to open the door and stop the general. He was still trying when the truck pulled away, spitting up a dust cloud and leaving him in stunned silence.

  * * *

  Jahn heard the shouts, but he thought he was imagining it all. He lay in the mud, holding his blade with a single shaking hand. He was done; he knew that much. He might survive the wound, but he had no strength to fight – and he was surrounded by enemies. They’d ignored his still and prostrate form so far, but eventually one of them would notice he was still alive. And that would be the end. But the shouts…they were getting closer. Or was he dreaming it all?

  He saw the troopers rushing around, a new urgency in their movements. Then he heard the sounds of fire, and he saw half a dozen enemy fighters fall to the ground. Those who were still standing were firing too, shooting at something along the back rim of the trench.

  He tried to raise his head, to get a look at what was happening, but he didn’t have the strength. Men were falling all around him, their bodies ripped apart by hypervelocity rounds fired from close range. The survivors fled toward the front edge of the trench. They were leaping out, enhanced leg muscles propelling the retreating soldiers the two meters in a single leap.

  The whole thing had a dreamy, unreal feel to it. Jahn felt himself drifting into unconsciousness, still unsure what was happening. He struggled to remain aware, summoning all the strength that remained to him. The fighting around him was fierce. In some areas the attackers, now on the defensive, fled the trenches; in others, pockets of resistance developed, and they held firm, at least for a while.

  Jahn felt an impact on his legs, a body falling on top of him. Then another. He lay, partially covered, watching the battle with failing eyes and fading awareness. Then he slipped into blackness.

  “Captain Jahn?”

  He saw a dim light, then a hazy form in front of him. He was weak, so weak. He had no idea how long he’d been out. But he heard the voice. Someone was calling to him. Then he heard the quiet. The sounds of battle were gone.

  “Captain Jahn, sir.” The voice was urgent, it’s tone one of concern. “Sir? This is Sergeant Hind. Captain Denisov sent me to find you, sir.”

  Jahn tried to focus his eyes, to zero in on the voice. “Ser…geant?” he whispered.

  “Yes, sir.” He felt hands on him, pulling, lifting. “Just relax, sir. We’ve retaken the position. The enemy is gone. We’re going to get you the field hospital. You’re going to be OK, sir.”

  * * *

  “They’re pulling back all across the line, Jake.” Black was fully clad in body armor and exos. He’d been up to the front himself, and he’d just returned. “They hit Jahn’s people hardest. The fighting was heavy in that sector, but Denisov’s reserves cleared the enemy out. It looks like Jahn’s down. They’re looking for him now.”

  Taylor took a deep breath. He remembered Jahn from Erastus. Good man. Was he dead somewhere in that nightmarish trench, or was he just wounded? He didn’t know.

  He sighed. Another fight, a victory this time. But the difference wasn’t as
stark as he’d hoped. His people held the ground this time instead of losing it, but that didn’t seem so important. Both sides had lost heavily, and the war was no closer to a conclusion.

  “How bad did we get hit, Blackie?”

  Black was reaching around behind him, unlatching the heavy harness he was wearing. Part armor, part weapon, the exos amplified the already considerable combat power of an enhanced soldier. A private stood behind Black, holding the heavy rig while the short, muscular officer contorted his way out.

  “I don’t know yet, Jake, but it was pretty bad. We lost a lot of good men today.” Black was pulling off the smaller parts of his exoskeleton and handing them to another aide. “We should have some hard data soon.” He paused. “The enemy took it worse, at least. Much worse.” Black had been up to the front line, and he’d seen the results of the carnage firsthand. “The field in front of the trenchline is covered with bodies.”

  Taylor nodded, a somber look on his face. This was carnage like he’d never seen before, even in the hell of Erastus. He was beginning to realize the battle between his men and the UN Supersoldiers would be apocalyptic. The two armies would savage each other in a horrific fight to the death, and the winner would have nothing left but a few stunned and exhausted survivors.

  He took a deep breath, but he didn’t say anything. He was sinking into dark thoughts, facing the prospect of his army being torn apart. And he had no idea how to prevent it.

  Chapter 14

  From the Secret Files of Raul Esteban:

  As I write this, I know I am nearing my own death. It is sobering when you finally realize the doctors have done everything possible, that your remaining time is measured in months, perhaps weeks. I don’t think a man can describe how this feels to another who is not experiencing it. Death is an adversary we all must face, and one we cannot defeat. Yet it is a stark reality when you know you can no longer delay it, that its victory is imminent.