Homefront: Portal Wars III

by Jay Allan

  “Yes, General!” The officer’s voice was sharp, filled with reverent respect for the army’s commander.

  Taylor suppressed a sigh. If only they knew the burden their adoration has become…

  The AOL’s commander mourned for every soldier he lost, but there was a difference between those fighting at his side for freedom…and the thousands he knew had made him the focus of their loyalty, who were out there dying for him. He found that upsetting, the cult of personality that took his crushing responsibilities and made them ever heavier. Taylor was as determined as ever to see quest fulfilled and Earth freed from tyranny. But there was a thought, deep in his mind…an uncertainty. Taylor would do anything to see his army to victory, but there was part of him at least, that wasn’t sure he wanted to survive the battle.

  It had taken more than a day for UNGov to send a follow up mission to search for the downed scout flyer…twenty-six hours Taylor’s people had put to good use, twenty-six hours during which Hank Daniels had not moved from his position at the center of the activity. As far as Taylor had heard, Daniels had not departed from his post long enough to eat, to drink, to go to the bathroom. He suspected that was a slight exaggeration. Taylor was a veteran warrior, and he knew it was of such tales that legends were made. But he knew Hank Daniels too, and he suspected the embellished stories were not all that far from the truth.

  Whatever Daniels had done, he’d certainly pushed the technicians beyond even Taylor’s wildest expectations. By the time a new flight of UNGov scouts arrived, there were a dozen ground craft active…and a full squadron of Dragonfires under MacArthur. The battle lasted only a few minutes…and Taylor was stunned at the effectiveness of his Tegeri-provided anti-air batteries. By the time the Dragonfires were engaged there was nothing left but a couple damaged craft…and MacArthur and his people made short work of those.

  But UNGov had been more careful this time. MacArthur’s airships picked up another UNGov squadron, one positioned two hundred kilometers behind the first one…and by the time his forces pursued, the enemy flyers had already made a run for it. The AOL’s air commander had pushed his craft to the limits, and he’d almost caught up with the enemy. He’d even taken two of their ships down as they fled. But the rest got away, broadcasting a warning that the Army of Liberation was back on Earth.

  The response had come quickly, as Taylor knew it would, and now UNGov was throwing every air asset it could muster against the AOL’s still deploying forces. Taylor understood. He would have done the same thing. If they could pen in his forces, push them back against the Portal, they would have the war half won. Taylor knew there was one thing he could never allow himself to forget…UNGov could replace its losses. His people could not.

  The battle had gone well so far. MacArthur had lost one of his Dragonfires, but the crew managed to bring their damaged bird down with only a single fatality. The early word was 50/50 the craft could be repaired and return to duty. Some of the other airships had also taken damage, but they were all still in the fight.

  The UNGov forces had lost over a dozen flyers, mostly to the deadly ground batteries. Their formations were scattered and disordered, and MacArthur’s outnumbered birds were taking full advantage, weaving around and gaining advantageous position. Still, Taylor knew numbers would begin to tell soon. MacArthur would lose more ships…and if the enemy got past them…

  “Get me a com link with Colonel MacArthur’s ships, Lieutenant.” Taylor stared at the displays, his eyes darting from the location of the air battle back a few kilometers to the workshops and supply dumps of the army. He didn’t have a doubt the UNGov forces had been ordered to bomb and strafe his support positions. It was the obvious strategy. His people had just come through, and a Portal crossing was a difficult enterprise for a large force, necessitating considerable reassembly of equipment to bring an army back to combat readiness. His ground forces were mostly there, at least the 40,000 or so who’d come through so far. But MacArthur only had a third of the army’s Dragonfires in the air, and even with the withering fire of the ground batteries, it was only the greater skill and experience of the pilots holding back the enemy.

  “You are connected, sir.”

  “This is General Taylor, men. I have watched with great amazement as you have met the enemy…and sent so many of them crashing to the cold ground. I can only wish I was up there, beside you all, striking the first blow for freedom. But alas, I am not, so all I can do is thank each of you…and remind you that we are all counting on you to hold back the enemy as long as possible, to keep them from breaking through and bombing our supply depots, destroying the rest of the Dragonfires on the ground, before they are even uncrated and assembled. We are all there with you, men, in spirit if not body, and I urge you forward, to give all you have, to meet the enemy and hold them back, despite the numbers. You make my heart swell with pride, my brave warriors.”

  Taylor cut the channel…there was a fine line between boosting morale and distracting men in battle. He felt a wave of guilt, as he always did after addressing the soldiers. He’d meant everything he’d said, and he knew his words would drive them on. But it felt like manipulation too, like he was pulling on puppet strings, pushing his people to fight more fiercely, to take greater and greater chances lest they let him down. He tried to push back on the feeling, but he knew in his heart that men would die because of his speech, that they would throw themselves into the maelstrom, rallied by their commander’s urgings…and ignoring all caution.

  But that is war, Jake…it is what you signed on for when you launched this crusade. It is your soldiers’ lot to throw themselves on the enemy, to die by the thousands if need be to gain the victory.

  And it is your part to carry the burden…and endure the guilt for all of it.

  Chapter 12

  Alexi Drogov’s Speech to Shadow Company Recruits:

  You have been selected to join this company because you are among the most experienced operatives and security officers in UNGov service. You have, in all cases, displayed the resolve and the ruthlessness necessary to maintain our form of government and to suppress pointless and destructive dissent among the population. But that is no less than the duty of any member of UNGov. You have all displayed more. An understanding of loyalty, a willingness to do whatever must be done…to place the successful completion of a mission above all things. You have all shown an ability to cast aside petty moral concerns and to focus on the larger goal of preserving and defending our noble experiment in world government.

  We face a crisis now, one we could not have imagined even a few years ago, a threat rising not from the streets, not from the lower classes or those clamoring for liberties they would only abuse if they had them. No, nothing so simple, so easy to face. We are threatened by a force of soldiers from our noble planetary armies, seasoned veterans, trained killers armed with the most advanced weaponry known to our science. These traitors have aligned themselves with our enemies, the murderous Tegeri, and even now they have returned to Earth through a previously undiscovered Portal. They seek nothing less than the destruction of UNGov, to establish themselves and their tyrant commander as the government of Earth.

  You shall serve to prevent this. You will infiltrate the enemy positions. You will assassinate their officers and commanders. You will show no mercy, no hesitancy to do what it needed. It is imperative that we cast a light on the atrocities these invaders commit as they advance. Where such cannot be obtain, you will create incidents. If you must terminate a group of civilians so the invaders can be blamed for it, so be it. Nothing is more important than victory. Our comrades in the field armies will face this enemy frontally, seeking to destroy them in battle. But you will be behind the lines, damaging the enemy, causing disorder in their ranks.

  You all understand the ways of UNGov, and our commitment to reward those who devote themselves to the prosperity and preservation of our great government. Those of you who serve well will see advancement, wealth, power. You will be recognize
d as heroes by a grateful world.

  And those who do not serve well, who lack the strength, the determination, the courage for this great fight…they will die, likely at the hands of the bloodthirsty enemy. And if not by the foe, then by me. I am Alexi Drogov, and I have been doing the dirty work to make UNGov prosper since before most of you were born. If you fail me, if you betray me, I promise you, the last thing you will see is my eyes, staring into yours as the light of your life drains away.

  “My fellow citizens, it is with the most profound regret and revulsion that I must address you this evening. There are some things that have happened that are so terrible, so utterly horrific, that I could not allow you to hear of them through a normal newscast. No, it is my responsibility to announce this nightmare…and to speak to each of you, to ask for your support and courage as we face this challenge together.”

  Samovich stood behind the lectern, the same one he’d used days before, when he’d addressed the world about the Resistance terrorist attacks. Now he was back again, and determined to deliver a performance that put that one to shame.

  “Your brave soldiers, those who stand in the breech and hold off the alien menace, have achieved victory on over a dozen Portal worlds, driving the Tegeri and their murderous Machines back…back to whatever hellish world bred them. Yet there is no joy in this announcement, no call for parades and joyous celebrations. For, instead of victorious soldiers returning to the appreciation of a grateful world, on this day the Portals shimmer as something very different returns.”

  He paused, knowing the screens of a billion displays had just cut to scenes of flag-draped coffins, hundreds of them, thousands, streaming through the Portals, while military bands stood by, playing a mournful accompaniment.

  “On each of these worlds, a force more terrible even than the Tegeri, blacker, more fearsome, has descended. For from the Portal world of Erastus has risen a rebellion, an army of human soldiers—human monsters—who have joined the enemy, sworn their loyalty to bloodthirsty aliens over their fellow soldiers, over the Earth and its legitimate government…over all of you.”

  Samovich took a deep breath, carefully modulating between outrage and sadness as he spoke. “Using the Tegeri knowledge of the Portals they fell upon the human armies there, the ruthless aliens stepping aside while these traitors attacked without warning. They massacred our soldiers, fell on them with all manner of dread weapons given to them by the Tegeri. They refused all attempts to negotiate…and they continued their attacks until they had slain all before them. And then they moved on, along with their alien allies.”

  He looked down at the lectern, pausing for the twelve seconds he had deemed the optimum time. He knew the shot on the screens of his viewers had cut back to him and that it was now going back to the scene of coffins being carried through the Portal. And pulling back, he knew, to show the images of civilians crying, mostly women—mothers and wives he suspected those watching would assume…wrongly. Now that is efficiency, he thought to himself…recycling video of the families of reeducation camp victims to put some power behind his propaganda. He knew there was a particular scene coming any second, a woman who looked like everyone’s idea of a grandmother, doubling over in near-hysteria. He remembered it because he had picked it out himself from the library of selections. It would serve well…

  “More than twenty-thousand dead,” he said softly. “Murdered not by an alien enemy but by human traitors, creatures so utterly detestable, words do them no justice.” He paused again. He preferred speaking to live crowds—actually he’d rather avoid most people altogether, but it was easier to read reactions from an audience right there, to adjust tone and pacing to maximize the manipulation. Still, he was confident his address was having the desired effect…and now he was going to drop the real bomb on them all. And if everything went well, he would turn the people of Earth into one massive force of partisans, fighting in the streets to preserve UNGov.

  “And this is not the worst of it, my fellow citizens. No, not even close. These traitors are not content with murdering other soldiers…now they have returned to Earth, through a previously undiscovered Portal. Even now they have begun their march, across the snowy steppes of eastern Russia, bringing death and destruction with them every step they take.

  “They have come to conquer, to destroy…as the advance guard for their Tegeri allies. They are well armed and equipped, and they bring death to all who stand in their way. Already, I have dispatched our air forces to meet them, all the flyers that could be put into the sky. Our brave pilots and crews will fight them…indeed even as I speak the battle rages. And while our brave air forces battle in the skies above, all the troops we were able to raise are moving even now, on their way to face this enemy…and to destroy them utterly.”

  Samovich paused again, letting the angry rage of his last comments fade into a more somber tone. “Yet our brave soldiers need your help, all of you. UNGov does not field great armies, not on Earth. We do not rule by coercion, as the nation-states that preceded us did. We field no massive conscript forces, numbering in the millions and equipped with weapons of mass destruction. No…instead, our ranks are filled with civilian security forces, police trained to protect and serve civilians…and trainees originally bound for the planetary armies. They will fight bravely…they will fight for all of you. But I must ask that all of you fight for them as well. If elements of this army of traitors get past our brave soldiers, it is every citizen’s duty to scorn them, to strike against them in any way possible, with sticks and stones if necessary. For have no doubt…these monsters will burn your cities, and rape and pillage their way across our beloved world.”

  Samovich gasped loudly for air. “We are together, all of us…the men and women of a united Earth, and here we stand and shout, ‘No!’ Loud enough to rattle heavens. We will not be defeated. We will not allow the basest of traitors to complete their work of death and destruction.

  “Now I must go, my fellow citizens, back to the war room to direct the defense of our Earth. To each of you I can only offer my solemn promise that if it takes my last breath, I will see these traitors destroyed…and our world safe.”

  He paused a moment, waiting until he was sure the camera was off. Then he scooped up a glass hidden behind the podium, and he took a deep drink. It was only water, but it was cold, and it soothed his raw throat. He drained it in two quick gulps and set it down where it had been.

  Then he stepped off the stage, a cautious smile on his face. He’d outdone himself, he was sure of it. If any of Taylor’s traitors made it out of Siberia, he suspected they would encounter a level of hostility they were ill-prepared to face. And when they were forced to defend themselves against the deluded partisans who would attack them, the word would spread, stories of the invaders firing on the locals, gunning them down. And the massive UNGov propaganda machine would see that these tales spread throughout the world.

  Yes, he thought, his grin widening…I do feel optimistic.

  It didn’t last long. He’d only taken four or five steps before he saw Alexi Drogov standing just inside the door of the studio, looking around for him. As soon as Samovich saw his friend’s face he knew. Something was terribly wrong.

  * * *

  “Half of them destroyed…the rest turned tail and ran?” Samovich roared. “How is that even possible? We had, what, three to one odds? Four?”

  “Just over three to one, sir, but the enemy is equipped with ground-based batteries of considerable effectiveness. We’ve never seen anything like them.” General Ahmad stood before the Secretary-General, clearly nervous about having to report that the UNGov forces had been repulsed in the first major battle against Taylor’s army. Like all UNGov military Earthside, he was a political appointee, not an experienced soldier. He’d been as confident going into battle as Samovich, sure his forces would prevail with such an advantage in numbers. But fewer than half his aircraft had returned, and most of those that did were badly shot up. UNGov had gambled by sendi
ng in its airpower by itself, hoping to catch the AOL still coming through the Portal, with its heavy equipment crated up and vulnerable. Instead they’d handed the enemy a victory, a morale boost that would make those veterans even deadlier in battle. And now it would be weeks, perhaps months before UNGov could hope to launch a similar strike.

  “What should I do, General?” Samovich’s tone was menace itself. “How should I respond to a level of incompetence that goes well past carelessness…past stupidity? Almost treason, I call it.”

  The general cringed before Samovich’s angry tirade. He looked around, his gaze finding Drogov. But there was no comfort to be found in that killer’s cold eyes. If anything, Alexi Drogov was less tolerant of failure than his master.

  “Secretary-General, I assure you, I made every effort…took every step to ensure our forces would win the victory.”

  “And yet, did you lead your air wings from a Dragonfire? From a high-speed flyer?” Samovich started at the quivering officer with an intensity that turned the man to jelly. “No, wait…you didn’t. I believe you were here, General, thousands of kilometers from the scene of the fighting. What was it, General Ahmad? Was it simply cowardice? Laziness? Or was it something more excusable? Perhaps the seats of a Dragonfire are insufficiently comfortable. You should have said something. I would have had a special silk-lined chair installed for you.”

  Samovich’s hand slid slightly to the edge of his desk, his finger pressing firmly on a small button. And instant later, the door opened, and four guards came in. They wore UNGov livery, but they were Samovich’s own men, handpicked from his private security force.