Portal Wars: The Trilogy

by Jay Allan

  I was wrong. Not about our strengths, nor about our chances in a fight. We have met UNGov’s air forces, and we have soundly defeated them. And now the army is on the move, the struggle for our homeworld begun. A terrible, difficult war still lies ahead of us, but my soldiers are ready to fight it, to press on until they are victorious.

  But my imaginings have also proven dismally, depressingly false. My visions of mobs rising up to join our quest have been replaced with the reality of civilians attacking my troops, of wandering crowds throwing rocks and shouting epithets at our columns as they advance. Of partisans ambushing our forces, taking potshots from the woods at passing patrols. The reports were a mystery to me at first. I knew it would be a challenge to get our message out, to communicate to a world what UNGov had done, how it had seized power. But I hadn’t expected the widespread hostility, the resistance we have encountered every time our forces have approached a population center.

  Now I know the truth, and I curse myself as a fool. I had considered the campaign from every angle I could envision, and I planned for every contingency. Every contingency but one. For while I knew UNGov would do anything to maintain its power, kill any number of people before it would yield control, it never occurred to me they would repeat the strategy that put them in power initially. A lie, one simple lie…along with a few visual props. They did it again, and it seems to have worked as well as it did forty years ago. And I have no idea how to counter it…before my soldiers are forced to kill thousands of the civilians we came home to free.

  “It’s the same thing coming in from all over. We’ve had almost a dozen patrols attacked, fired on by all kinds of weapons…ancient rifles, shotguns. And every time our people return fire, the survivors bolt and run…and the bodies they leave behind all appear to be civilians.” Hank Daniels had a frustrated look on his face. He was a decisive man, not afraid to give difficult orders, but now it was clear he didn’t know what to do.

  “UNGov troops in civilian clothes?” Taylor was shaking his head even as he spoke. He didn’t believe that any more than he suspected Daniels would.

  “With piece-of-shit shotguns and eighty-year-old hunting rifles? We’ve been attacked at least ten times, Jake, and all they’ve managed to do is wound two men. What’s the point of UNGov infiltration teams getting to our units if they can’t really hurt us?”

  Taylor sighed. “Then what, Hank? Any ideas? I’ll listen to anything right now.” The reports had been coming in for two days. He had scouting parties out in front of the army’s advance, mostly his Erastus veterans. They were still moving across the Russian steppe, an area that had been virtually depopulated by UNGov redistribution orders, but every time they got near any of the few population centers they ran into partisans. Taylor had been worried about avoiding any public connection to the Tegeri, and he’d realized there would be enormous confusion when he let it become public, that it would be difficult to educate the people, to explain the terrible truth. But that was supposed to be tomorrow’s problem. He hadn’t been ready for miners and farmers trying to kill his men every step they took. What the hell was going on?

  “I’ve got nothing, Jake. They’ve got the people around here roused up against us, but I’ll be damned if I know how.” He paused. “Maybe…”

  “I know how.” It was Bear Samuels standing in the doorway to the headquarters shelter. The normally cheerful giant had a stricken look on his face. “You have to see this now.” He held up a small data chip. “It’s tape of a UNGov broadcast. One of my patrols found it playing on a vid in one of the mining villages they passed.” Samuels hesitated, his voice filling with emotion. “My boys had to kill twenty civilians there, Jake. The whole damned place went crazy as soon as they walked up. I’d ordered them to try to contact whoever was in charge, but the second they got within a hundred yards, the villagers started shooting.”

  “And this explains it?” Daniels walked up and took the chip from Samuels’ hand.

  “Oh yeah, Hank,” Samuels replied in his thick drawl. “You bet it does.”

  Taylor felt a chill move through his body. Samuels was really upset, and Bear usually took everything in stride. He had no what the broadcast would say, but he knew it would be bad. “Play it, Hank. Let’s see what is going on.”

  Daniels moved over to one of the portable workstations and slid the data chip in the slot. “Play,” he said softly.

  “Playing,” responded the AI.

  The three men stood together. Daniels’ and Taylor’s eyes were fixed, staring at the screen. Samuels looked away, as if he couldn’t bear to watch it again.

  Taylor watched the man speaking. He was tall, very well dressed…ethnically Russian or Ukrainian, he guessed. He was somber…indeed, he almost looked like he was fighting back tears. Then the screen switched away from him…to a Portal. There was a stream of uniformed men moving slowly from the shimmering device. They were carrying crates of some kind.

  No…not crates. Coffins.

  Taylor felt his throat go dry as the camera panned back to show the ground around the Portal, a great paved area, and around that a field. And coffins, lined up in perfect rows as far as the eye could see.

  What the hell?

  “More than twenty-thousand dead.” The voice of the man was sad, choked with emotion, but Taylor’s instincts were alive. He sensed something else there, below the carefully-constructed facade. Insincerity. Phoniness. “Murdered not by an alien enemy but by human traitors, creatures so utterly detestable, words do them no justice.”

  Taylor felt his stomach clench, and a wave of red hot rage flooded through him. In one terrible, unimaginable instant he understood. Those coffins bore the soldiers who had declined to join the AOL, those he had left behind unharmed. All of them. They had been murdered, thousands of men, and now their bodies were being paraded before the people of Earth, a propaganda tool designed to…

  Designed to turn everyone against us…

  Suddenly it was clear, totally, horrifyingly, clear…and in the terrible genius of it he saw shadows of UNGov’s original lie forty years before.

  “It’s the troops we left behind,” he said. “On Juno. On the other worlds.” Taylor’s voice was dead, almost devoid of emotion. “They killed them…they killed them all. And they’re blaming us…”

  “My God…” It was Daniels. He took a few steps forward and stared at the screen. The image changed back to the man behind the podium as he continued to speak. “Can it be…?”

  Taylor’s eyes bored into the display. He’d never seen the man before, but he felt his hatred grow, his mind filled with an almost-uncontrollable rage. He wished the man was in front of him, that his genetically-enhanced fingers were even now closing around his neck, choking him…then squeezing harder, the sounds of his neck breaking…

  He could hear Samuels behind him, the good-natured country boy turned cyborg-soldier. His friend was fighting back emotion, his eyes glistening with moisture as he stared at the screen, realizing with frightening certainty that it was, in fact true. Over twenty-thousand men had been massacred on at least eight worlds. “I remember some of those soldiers, Jake,” Samuels said. “Officers I spoke to, men I told to stay behind if they weren’t sure. There was one kid on Juno. He was so damned young and scared…I convinced him not to go with us. Now, he’s dead. Now, they’re all dead.”

  Taylor nodded absent-mindedly at his friend’s words, but he was too lost in his own thoughts to respond, too gripped by all-consuming anger. He just stared at the screen, listening to the speaker’s words, but not really hearing them anymore. It was brilliant, through all the pulsating hatred, he could see the genius of his adversary’s plan. Now he understood why normal people, miners, workers were so hostile…why they were risking their own lives to attack his people. UNGov had rallied the world behind it, creating another monster, one he didn’t doubt the people would respond to, as they had before. For all UNGov had stolen their liberty, forced them to survive at barely sustenance levels while
the elites lived like sultans…the people of Earth still wanted to believe their government was there to protect them, and to sustain that faith they would accept everything they were told.

  For an instant, Taylor didn’t know what to do, how to proceed. Images of his soldiers gunning down civilians passed through his mind…men, women, children, lying dead in the streets of their homes as the soldiers of the AOL—the Army of Liberation—marched past. For all the planning he’d done for this day, the endless thoughts about how to hide his Tegeri backing and explain to the people what his army had come to do, he’d never imagined something like this. And now he kicked himself for its obviousness, just another lie, simple, basic, like the one he’d believed when he’d first stepped through the Portal to Erastus. He’d come to persuade the people, to speak to them, lead them. But UNGov knew the people better, that fear was the way to control them.

  Taylor felt movement behind him, Hank Daniels stepping up to his side. “Those bastards,” he said, his voice dripping with anger. Daniels was perhaps the one person in the AOL more determined to destroy UNGov than Taylor. “This is why we’re here, Jake. Because this cannot continue. This must be destroyed, root and branch…and we can show no more mercy than they do.”

  Taylor knew how pitiless Daniels was in his attitude toward UNGov. He realized his friend would massacre everyone related to the Earth’s government, that he would refuse to take prisoners in the field, save for those unfortunates brought to him for interrogation. Taylor had long told himself he would restrain his comrade, that he would hold Daniels’ back from his worst instincts. But that was gone now, and in its place was left only a darkness as frigid as that in Daniels’ soul. Taylor would let his officer do his worst…and now he swore he would be right there himself, as cold-blooded as Daniels.

  He stared at the screen as the address ended and the view returned to the newscaster. “Secretary-General Anton Samovich has just finished his historic address. For those of you just joining us, the news this day is grim…”

  Taylor stopped listening. He’d heard what he wanted to hear, what he needed. Anton Samovich, the Secretary-General. The man responsible for what happened here, I am sure of it.

  He was silent for a moment, unmoving, ignoring everything around him. Then he spoke, and when he did his voice so frozen with hatred that even Daniels turned and looked at him in shock.

  “Before this is done…I will stare into that man’s dead face myself.”

  * * *

  Taylor sat at his desk, struggling to focus on the work in front of him. He’d never felt rage like he had hours before, watching the UNGov broadcast. He’d issued the orders he’d had to…as hateful as they were, he knew he had no choice. His soldiers were here to risk their lives, to sacrifice themselves to free a world. He wasn’t going to order them to stand down, to take needless chances with people trying to kill them. No, he’d authorized all unit commanders of the army to take whatever actions they deemed necessary to protect their people. He just hoped they would exercise restraint, that his forces wouldn’t leave behind a trail of burned cities and dead civilians.

  He knew he was doing just as Samovich wanted, playing right into his enemy’s hands, but he couldn’t think of an alternative. Every dead civilian would push the population farther away, make it ever more difficult—or impossible—to convince the people he was there not to harm them but to free them. But what else could he do? He felt for the people who would die, but he told himself that was part of the price mankind would pay, for its foolishness, for its willingness to follow evil leaders and to believe one lie after another.

  He pushed all of that out of his mind again, staring back down at the tablet in front of him. There was actually some good news on it. Another Dragonfire squadron was active. That left only one still to be assembled. And all the anti-aircraft batteries were in the field now. That gave him enough to defend his base around the Portal as well as detaching some to cover his troops’ advance. The supply situation was positive as well. Tegeri-supplied food, medicines, ammunition…it all continued to flow through the Portal, more than replacing what his soldiers had used. He’d hesitated before asking T’arza to provide so much in the way of logistics. He had agreed with the Tegeri elder that any overt assistance was likely to be more harmful than helpful, at least until he could get the truth to some of his people. But supplies were different. He knew UNGov officials would realize he couldn’t have kept his army so well fed and equipped without the assistance of the aliens. But as long as his allies provided nothing overt, no technology that would seem out of place with his forces, he suspected things would be okay. T’arza had agreed, and while Taylor suspected his friend had not had the easiest time convincing his own people, in the end he’d seen it done. The Tegeri supply line had run day and night, providing everything Taylor’s people needed…including dozens of anti-aircraft batteries that looked like Earth-built units but put out five times the firepower.

  His head spun around suddenly, his ears picking up the commotion in the room outside his office. He’d just gotten up and turned to run toward the door when he heard the alarm outside, a screeching, almost deafening sound. He knew what it was immediately. Air raid.

  He burst through the door, his eyes snapping back and forth across the room, feeling almost immediately the barely controlled panic around him. “Report,” he snapped, his voice loud, demanding.

  “General, scanners are detecting incoming missiles approaching from the west and south in large numbers. Multiple ICBMs and smaller vehicles as well. Over seventy in total, sir. Perhaps more.”

  “All ground batteries on full alert…crews are to fire at will at all targets. And scramble the Dragonfires…now!” Taylor turned toward the entrance to the headquarters, his eyes settling on Hank Daniels and Karl Young as they burst through the door.

  “I figured this would come,” he said grimly, to himself as much as anyone else. “But this is sooner than I’d expected.” He took a deep breath and exhaled hard. Then he looked over at his two friends and senior officers. Young just stared back but Daniels nodded in agreement, and the expression on his face carried the same unspoken message as Taylor’s.

  Nukes.

  Chapter 15

  From the Writings of Jinto Akawa:

  As recently as several days ago, I had fully expected to retire from UNGov service as a colonel, grateful to have attained a rank that would assure me a sufficient pension and enough privileges to enjoy a comfortable retirement. I was a man without patronage, one with no great political skill, nor with the stomach for the level of backstabbing and deceit success in high government service requires. Yet I manage to obtain my eagles…and avoid posting to one of the Portal planets. And I have always endeavored to maintain a low profile, to avoid being drawn into political disputes…to keep my head down and to draw as little attention to myself as possible.

  I have served twenty-five years. I cannot say that in that time I was not called to do things I regret, actions I would have avoided had that been an option. I am not the architect of the way the world functions, and I have done what I must to remain safe, to maintain my position and ensure my family’s future. Such has been my place in the world. Until four days ago.

  Anton Samovich…the Secretary-General of UNGov and, with the fear he has instilled in the other members of the Secretariat, the effective dictator of Earth. The most powerful man who has ever existed. And now, through life’s unpredictable nature, my patron.

  I did not seek promotion to the generalship, much less to the top command, to thrust myself toward true power, and the political danger it carries with it. But one does not refuse the Secretary-General, and for whatever reasons he may have, he has appointed me Marshal, supreme commander of all of Earth’s military forces. By fiat, he has placed me in control of all recruits for the planetary armies, all internal security forces, even the Inquisitor Corps. It is more than I could ever have imagined, even if I’d been driven by greater ambition. Though, I must admit, I
now better understand the seductive nature of power, the hold it has established on so many, like a terrible drug. But I feel the danger of it too, the terrible consequences of failure. For I stand between those who rule the world and a force come to destroy them. If I do not win the victory quickly, I fear the consequences will be tragic and final. For I face more than the enemy, who will seek to defeat me in battle. I must also watch those around me, the subordinates who look to my position with greedy eyes, who would take any chance to disgrace me in order to take my place.

  A life of caution, of modest goals and the pursuit of safe attainable successes. That is how I have lived. All that is gone now, replaced by one of the greatest gambles imaginable. The weeks ahead will decide my fate…fame, a vast fortune, a seat on the Secretariat, the gratitude of the world’s rulers. Or disgrace, persecution, death…the bitter rewards of failure.

  I have spent my life looking the other way, disregarding the abuses I saw all around me. But now I am forced to embrace the tactics I loathed. I can no longer hide from accountability, tell myself I am merely following orders…and that if I do not, I will be killed and someone else will gladly take my place. No, now I will be giving such orders. I may prevail in this fight, but when it is over I will have to face myself, to reconcile with the great rewards for which I have sold my soul.

  “The attack has failed, sir. All missiles were intercepted and destroyed before reaching the detonation points.” The officer looked over at Marshal Akawa, his voice edgy, nervous. Reporting bad news to high level UNGov personnel was never a pleasant task. Those accustomed to a lifetime of political clawing and backstabbing had a tendency to blame subordinates when their own plans went awry, setting them up as scapegoats to deflect the blame. But Jinto Akawa wasn’t like most of the political officers who ran UNGov forces Earthside, a fact the staff he’d inherited was just beginning to realize.