Portal Wars: The Trilogy

by Jay Allan

  * * *

  “It’s a victory, Jake…a clear victory.” Bear Samuels’ voice betrayed his exhaustion, his usually cheerful tone a dull rasp. But there was excitement there too. The battle had raged for a week, but the AOL had broken through in two places. The enemy commander had done everything possible, shifted his forces, plugged every gap, exhorted his rookie soldiers to stand in the line when they looked about to run. Taylor didn’t know who was in command of the UNGov army, but he hadn’t expected to encounter such a skilled officer.

  The transport was almost back to HQ, and it bounced around on the pitted temporary roads Taylor’s soldiers had carved out of the semi-wilderness. Taylor leaned back against the inner wall on one side, facing his friend whose long legs took up most of the space between them.

  “A costly victory, Bear. Worse than I’d even imagined.” That wasn’t entirely true. Taylor had let himself envision some truly ghastly losses…though he’d hoped his people might escape the worst. Now he knew they hadn’t. “Twenty-three thousand, Bear. A third of the army. Almost half those engaged in the battle. Ten thousand of them dead.”

  And more would die, he knew. The field hospitals were overflowing with wounded. The Supersoldiers’ nanos could buy them time if they were badly wounded, but the regular troops would die in droves, lying on the ground outside the overwhelmed aid stations. The AOL didn’t have a large support staff, and certainly not enough surgeons to handle a battle like the one the army had just fought. Taylor was planning to run to the main HQ building for a quick update…then, if everything was under control, he intended to visit the hospitals. He shuddered to think of what he would see, of the horrors that awaited him there. But his soldiers deserved to see him there, and that was the last word.

  “Their army is crushed, Jake. At least a hundred thousand dead and wounded. And another hundred thousand prisoners. The rest are in total rout. I doubt their commander could put twenty thousand in the field in any order. The road into Europe is open.” Taylor knew Bear was trying to cheer him up…and he knew the big man hurt just as much for the losses the army had suffered.

  “We will see, Bear. They can replace troops, we can’t.” Taylor leaned over and hit the button, opening the hatch of the transport. “We owe a debt of gratitude to MacArthur and his airship crews…” Taylor’s voice trailed off, and he paused for a few seconds. MacArthur was still missing. His bird had crashed two days before, and he hadn’t managed to contact HQ since then. That didn’t mean he was definitely dead, but it wasn’t a good sign…

  “You’re right, Jake. Best guess, he kept thirty thousand reserves from reaching the field…and a shitload of supplies.” Bear spoke softly as he followed Taylor out of the transport, a touch of sadness slipping through despite his obvious efforts. “But he and his crew could have survived. The Dragonfires are durable ships…a crash doesn’t mean he’s dead.”

  Taylor just nodded. He didn’t know if Bear believed that at all, but his friend had done a decent job of sounding at least a little hopeful.

  “I hope so, Bear…I hope so.”

  * * *

  Klein had watched the column of vehicles moved into the camp. His eyes locked on the armored transport he knew carried the army’s commander-in-chief. His stomach was knotted, and he struggled to breathe normally, fighting the hyperventilation that threatened to overtake him. He was scared, scared shitless. But he knew this was his chance. Perhaps the only one he would get.

  He watched as a man climbed out of the command transport, followed a few seconds later by a virtual giant. Klein had been pretty sure the first had been Taylor, but when he saw Bear Samuels, he was certain.

  He held the rifle tightly in his hands, staring out at the two men standing in the open as the vehicles moved away. There were at least a dozen other officers and soldiers milling around, moving to Taylor and speaking with the general for a few seconds before continuing on their way. They blocked Klein’s line of sight for a few seconds. Then they moved along, giving him an unobstructed view of Taylor.

  Now, he thought. Get a grip…focus.

  He took a deep breath, completely filling his lungs. He held it for a few seconds and exhaled. Then he did it again.

  His hands moved along the rifle, pulling back the small lever to chamber the first round. He punched the tiny red button next to the trigger. The weapon’s AI was now on. Klein knew the tiny computer would activate the row of sensors attached to the gun’s barrel, reading the wind gusts, humidity…anything that could affect the shot.

  Klein stared out, trying to estimate the range. The rifle could have given him an exact figure, but he couldn’t risk using the laser rangefinder. It was unobtrusive, but those were Supersoldiers down there, and he wasn’t about to gamble on what their enhanced eyes could see.

  He brought the rifle up, pointing it down toward his target. He moved his head around, working the rifle into a comfortable place on his shoulder. He leaned against it, bringing his eye down and looking through the sights.

  He had a much better view of Taylor through the rifle’s scope. The AOL’s legendary commander looked shockingly normal as he stood in the quad, speaking to Samuels and two other officers. Taylor was a living legend, but Klein reminded himself he was just a man, that he could be killed as easily as any other.

  He adjusted the sights, and then he moved a few millimeters to the right, his eye focused as the crosshairs slipped over Taylor’s head.

  Klein took one last breath and held it. Then his finger tensed slowly, steadily on the trigger…

  * * *

  “Bear, I think we can get around their flank and bag another twenty-thousand prisoners before they can pull back. I want you to get a message to Hank as soon as…” He turned as his eyes caught sight of one of his aides rushing over.

  “General Taylor…I have terrible news. General Ralfieri was hit, sir…just as the Juno forces were pushing through.” The aide paused, and it looked like he struggled for a moment to maintain Taylor’s gaze. “He’s dead, sir.”

  Taylor paused, just staring at the lieutenant. Finally, he croaked, “Very well, Lieutenant. That will be all.” He turned and looked back at Bear. “Ralfieri too…”

  Antonio Ralfieri had been Taylor’s enemy once, the commander of Force Juno during the desperate struggle on that cursed world. But he’d discovered the truth, as Taylor and his people had years before, and when he did he called an immediate halt to all fighting…in courageous defiance of the UN Inquisitor sent to keep an eye on him. Taylor and Bear had come to accept Ralfieri, despite the losses their people had incurred fighting Force Juno. They understood being lied to, committing terrible acts you believed to be in the right. Jake Taylor was a lot of things, but a hypocrite wasn’t one of them. Taylor had taken Ralfieri into his inner circle, just as his soldiers had accepted their comrades from Force Juno. And now he was gone, another friend lost.

  “He was a good man.” Bear looked down at the ground, moving his foot absent-mindedly through the loose dirt. He paused a few seconds then he said, “Anyway…where do you want Hank…” Bear’s head was moving up, his gaze lifting from the ground to look at Taylor. But he paused, froze as he caught a glimpse, a small flash. A reflection?

  His response was immediate, his own crack battlefield instincts amplified by his neural implants. He felt the odd but familiar feeling of his artificial eyes changing magnification…and in an instant he saw. A man, crouched partially behind a tree…some kind of rifle in his hand.

  Sniper!

  He reacted instantly, on pure instinct. He hadn’t even had time for a conscious thought, a realization that this was an assassination attempt. His body was already in motion, his huge arms thrusting out, pushing Taylor hard as he leapt in front of his friend.

  Bear’s eyes snapped around, in time to see the surprise on Taylor’s face. “Bear, what the…”

  He heard his friend’s words, but then his head snapped forward hard. He didn’t feel any pain, not really. But when he gasped for ai
r, his mouth filled with blood. He could feel the tingling in his body, the nanos releasing into his bloodstream. They were a potent medical tool, and they had saved thousands of Supersoldiers. But Bear Samuels knew in that instant they weren’t going to be enough this time.

  His eyes locked for an instant on Taylor’s, and he tried to speak, but there was nothing…nothing but a loud gurgling sound and a sheet of blood pouring out of his mouth. He saw the shock on his friend’s face, Taylor’s mouth moving. But he couldn’t hear anything. He felt himself falling, Taylor’s arms on him, trying to hold him up.

  Then the blackness took him.

  * * *

  “Bear!” Taylor screamed, tightening his arms, trying to hold the giant man up. “Bear…” His voice trailed off to a miserable whine as realization set in.

  He stepped back, lowering Bear gently to the ground, and his eyes went right to the wound. It was grievous—the bullet had entered the back of his friend’s neck. It was some kind of explosive round, and there was almost nothing left of Samuels’ throat. There was blood everywhere, pumping from the wound, from Bear’s mouth. “Medic!” he screamed, but he already knew the wound was mortal.

  Taylor felt a wave of despair. “No, Bear…no…not again…” He remembered the terrible feeling of listening to Tony Black die, and now he was crouched down over yet another brother, watching his life force slip away. Bear Samuels had always been larger than life, a man who had managed to maintain his cheerful disposition through whatever hell he’d been forced to walk through. But now he was silent, even the choking attempts to draw breath had ceased. Taylor knew. Bear was dead.

  A column of troops had come running over, and they surrounded him, shielding him with their bodies. The officer in charge leaned down. “General, are you hurt, sir?”

  Taylor ignored the question, the fear in the man’s voice. “Captain,” he screamed at the officer, a wave of elemental rage pushing back the horror for a few seconds. “I want that sniper caught. No matter what the cost.”

  “Sir, we can’t leave you…”

  “Now,” Taylor roared, as if defying anyone to refuse his command. “All of you…go!” He leapt to his feet, and waved his arms. “I’ll shoot any man who disobeys.” He reached down and pulled out his pistol.

  The troops that had surrounded him paused for an instant, hesitant to leave their commander undefended. But none could stand up to Taylor’s words, and they pulled away, running toward the hill with their weapons drawn.

  Taylor just stood watching. Then his eyes dropped to the motionless body of his friend…and the despair again took control.

  Chapter 19

  Communiqué from Captain Rod Charles:

  Attention all AOL personnel…attention all AOL personnel…this is Captain Rod Charles. If you are receiving this message I request that you abandon your attempts to find your homes and return to your airships. My team has joined forces with a Resistance group in New York City, and we have eliminated most UNGov troops in the city. I urge you to come to New York as quickly as possible, to assist us in maintaining control and defeating any remaining UNGov forces. The Resistance here is able to contact other rebel groups, helping us spread the word much faster than we can do on our own, so it is essential that we are able to hold. Attention all AOL personnel…

  Wickes watched as the group from the airship spread out, moving in pairs in different directions. He stayed where he was as two of them walked toward him, weapons drawn. He resisted the urge to turn and run, reminding himself he was a Marine when he felt the fear taking hold of him.

  “Don’t move. Stay where you are.”

  He heard the words, stern and demanding, though without anger. In the gloomy darkness of the waterfront he couldn’t make out which of the men approaching him was speaking. He just stood where he was, taking care not to move his arms, not to do anything that might appear hostile.

  The men were closer now, and he could see it was the one on the left speaking. They wore some kind of uniforms, vaguely familiar, but definitely not the garb of uniformed UNGov security.

  “I have to thank you guys,” Wickes said, speaking clearly, his voice steady despite his fear.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here? Why was UNGov security attacking you?”

  Wickes took a breath. The Marine in him was wary, cautious about supplying information to someone who could yet turn out to be an enemy. But these people had almost certainly saved his life, and while they had mercilessly attacked the UNGov troops, they hadn’t touched his people. He figured they deserved an answer.

  “I—we—are from the Resistance. There are a couple dozen of my people on this wharf.” He paused for an instant, feeling a twinge when he spoke of his people, but he reassured himself with the thought that if these soldiers were some kind of UNGov force, they already knew he was a rebel. Besides, it looked like the others from the gunship were already rounding up the rest of the cell, most of it at least.

  “We launched an attack on UNGov facilities in New York tonight. We were trying to get away, but the security forces pinned us down on the waterfront.”

  “That would explain the fires we saw, Captain.” The soldier on the right had turned toward the other one.

  “Yes, Sergeant, it would. And if these people really are some kind of resistance organization, we need to talk to their leader as soon as possible.”

  Wickes listened as two men conversed. They spoke softly, but he could still make out what they were saying. His mind raced. Who were they? Who would have an airship? It didn’t sound like they even knew about the Resistance.

  The forces that came through the Portal? It must be…but these don’t seem like men who murdered 20,000 of their comrades.

  Wickes had been suspect of Samovich’s speech for the simple reason that he rarely believed anything a representative of UNGov had to say. But he’d had no idea what the truth was. Now, his mind began to race.

  Are these men enemies of UNGov? Almost certainly. Our allies? Perhaps…

  The man on the left took a few steps forward, stopping about two meters from Wickes. “We would like to speak with the commander of your resistance movement. If you are opposed to UNGov, we may have much to discuss. Can you take us to him?”

  Wickes hesitated, only for an instant. Then he decided to follow his gut instincts. “I think I can manage that, Mr.…?”

  “Captain Rod Charles, Army of Liberation.”

  Wickes nodded slowly. “And I am Captain Stan Wickes, USMC, retired. The acting commander of the New York Resistance.”

  * * *

  “The situation in New York is unacceptable!” Samovich slammed his fist down on the table. His eyes glittered with unfocused anger. “I’d order every officer there executed…if the Resistance hadn’t killed them all already. How did a group of rebels manage to destroy every UNGov facility in the city…and then kill over fifty security troops sent after them?”

  “Sir…” The aide was clearly terrified. In forty years of UNGov rule, no resistance fighters had ever struck with the effectiveness of the New York group. Samovich was already frazzled over the war raging in Russia, and any kind of reaction was possible. That included some very unpleasant options.

  Samovich stomped across the room, moving over to the massive wall display. The aide looked cautiously, trying to get a glimpse without drawing any unnecessary attention to himself. There were arrows on the map, right around Moscow, perhaps a dozen. Half of them pointed away from the city, to the west and south…and the others were right behind them, aimed in the same directions.

  Defeat. The rumors were true. UNGov’s army had suffered a terrible reverse…and it was now in full retreat. He knew Samovich wouldn’t have taken the news from North America well in any case, but now…

  “I want them dead, Major Shroeder. Do you understand me? Dead.” He turned back from the map. “I will allocate ten squads of security troops…and enough transports to get them to New York.” There was something about Samovich’s tone,
something different than the usual disciplined politician’s voice. Something not entirely sane.

  Shroeder looked back at Samovich, struggling to hide the tension rising inside him from showing on his expression. He knew what was coming, but all he could do was stand there and listen with growing horror.

  “You will command them, Major…and you will see to it there are no further failures. Is that understood?” Samovich’s words were a naked threat.

  Shroeder opened his mouth. A dozen replies raced through his mind. He could explain he wasn’t a combat officer, that he’d been posted to UNGov headquarters his entire career. He could suggest Samovich send someone else. He could beg the Secretary-General to find another officer. But as scared as he was to go, he was more terrified of challenging Samovich, especially now, when the usually ruthless head of UNGov was barely hanging on. One word from the Samovich, and the guards would put a bullet in his head.

  “Y-yes, Secretary-General. I will prepare to leave at once.”

  “Do that.”

  Samovich turned back to the display, his eyes fixed on the arrows showing the retreat of the remnants of UNGov’s army.

  Shroeder turned and moved toward the door, anxious to get away, to be anywhere but standing next to the rapidly unraveling despot who ruled the world.

  “Shroeder!”

  “Yes, sir?” The major stopped, eyes longingly focused on the door just a few meters away.

  “I am counting on you, Major.” There was a darkness in the words that chilled Shroeder to his core. “Do not fail me. Do not fail me as so many others have…”

  * * *

  Wickes sat quietly, listening with rapt attention as Rod Charles spoke. The story the soldier was telling them was incredible, almost unfathomable. But the old Marine believed every word of it.