Portal Wars 1: Gehenna Dawn (17 page)

“Lieutenant, we’re approaching the enemy
line.” James again, sounding excited. “They’re on the move, trying
to reposition. It looks like we caught them flatfooted. Request
permission to attack.”

Riley smiled. Young’s people must be engaged
on the flank, he thought. “Permission granted, Sergeant. Attack.”
He switched the com to the strikeforce command line. “All
sections…attack.”

“Keep moving…all of you.” Young’s voice was
loud and urgent. They didn’t call him Frantic for nothing. His
people had been attacking nonstop for over an hour, but he wasn’t
about the give the enemy a chance to regroup. Or even breathe.
“Forward! Now!”

He glanced out from behind a jagged rock
outcropping, spying another position about 60 meters forward. He’d
be in the open, at least for a few seconds, but the Machines were
disordered and pulling back. It was worth the risk.

He leaned forward, keeping his head low as
his surgically enhanced leg muscles powered him forward. The ground
was steep and rugged. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to
keep his footing before the mods, but his upgraded legs were more
than up to the task. He knew stronger legs would make him faster,
but he’d been surprised at how much the added power helped his
balance.

He spotted a Machine as he was running, and
he swung his rifle around, firing a dozen shots in 3 round bursts.
He hit his target with at least half the projectiles, tearing off
most of its upper body. The alien cyborg didn’t look all that
different than one of his own soldiers going down. The Machines
were not enormously unlike humans. Their bodies were partially
mechanical, and they had fewer bodily fluids and soft tissue…that
tended to make them neater corpses. Their systems were more
compartmentalized, and they were generally better equipped to
survive wounds. Until the Supersoldier program began implanting
millions of healing nanobots into human soldiers, at least.

Young smiled. It was a tough shot, and he’d
nailed it. His new eyes were a help in aiming, but he suspected it
was the NIS that truly made the difference, compensating for the
motion as he ran. He felt the rush of excitement, as he always did
after a kill, and he let out a feral howl.

Young had been on Erastus less than two weeks
when the guys started calling him Frantic. He’d always been
excitable, but during the stress of combat he became truly wild. As
a rookie it had been a problem…he was slow to listen to the
veterans’ advice, and his uncontrolled aggression had almost gotten
him killed on a number of occasions. Only luck had saved him…that
and his enormous fighting ability.

Eventually, experience settle him down
somewhat. He was still aggressive, almost savage in combat, but his
rational mind was in control now. To everyone’s surprise, Frantic
had become an extraordinary NCO and, unexpectedly, his loss rate
was well below average. He still took personal risks that made
Taylor cringe, but Young had become one of the top sergeants in the
strikeforce…and a member of Jake’s small group of close
friends.

He slammed hard into the rock outcropping at
the new position. He was still getting used to the momentum from
his enhanced legs. He lost his breath for an instant, but otherwise
he wasn’t hurt. He shook his head, and forced his focus back to the
battle.

He checked his tactical display. Riley’s boys
were almost into the fight. The Machines were being attacked from
two sides. He knew the enemy wouldn’t panic like a human force
might, but he wasn’t sure what to expect. Normally, they’d realize
their position was compromised and pull back to regroup. But this
time they were defending a vital location, and they almost
certainly had hold at all costs orders. The canyon led almost
directly to a production facility, and if they lost the high
ground, they’d lose the whole position. UNFE could pour more forces
through and attack the factory at will. And the Tegeri couldn’t
afford to lose another base.

He heard a series of distant explosions, and
his head snapped around. That’s 1st Battalion, he thought, hitting
the south side of the canyon. Most of that side was sheer cliff,
and there were fewer enemy positions to assault.

“All teams…move it!” Young was firing his
assault rifle at a cluster of Machines crouched behind a pile of
boulders 100 meters ahead. He got one, hitting it just under the
left eye and tearing the top of its head off. The others ducked
down and started returning his fire. He pulled back around the
outcropping, swearing under his breath. They had him pinned. If he
dashed out to move forward, they’d nail him in half a second.

He was covered with sweat. The mods made him
a vastly superior fighter, but the exos were just one more thing
trapping the heat, making combat on Erastus even more unbearable.
He twitched a few times…he was a little claustrophobic by nature,
and the exoskeletal attachments made him feel trapped, confined. He
could usually put it out of his mind, but he was most vulnerable
when he was frustrated. Like now.

He moved his hand behind him, fingering one
of the grenades clipped to his exos. Maybe, he thought…just maybe I
can drop this right behind them. It would be a tough throw, but it
was the only way he could think of to deal with the Machines who
had him trapped. His tactical display told the same story. All
along the line, his boys were getting pinned.

He pulled hard, snapping the spherical
grenade from the harness. A normal man would never be able to throw
half a kilogram of steel and explosive far enough, but Karl Young
was no longer normal. The muscles in his arms and shoulders were
interlaced with artificial fibers, increasing his natural strength
by a factor of three, and the exo attached to his arm gave him even
more power. The problem wasn’t distance…it was accuracy. He had the
strength, but 100 meters was a hell of a range for precision
aiming.

He flipped the small lever, activating the
weapon. He stepped back from the rock and swung his body quickly to
the left. He gave himself a second to aim, a dangerous luxury when
he was exposed to enemy fire. He threw the grenade, imagining its
flight path to the target.

He kicked right with his legs, using the
momentum of the throw to propel him back behind his cover. A rookie
might have paused, watching to see if the throw landed on target.
That rookie would have died, riddled with fire, before the grenade
even reached its target. There were a hundred small factors, things
inexperienced guys didn’t even think of. But they were the
difference between life and death on the battlefield.

He heard the loud boom. It was a heavy
grenade, with a significant blast. He peered cautiously around the
rock, trying to get a view toward the enemy position. He brought
his assault rifle up and hosed the area down, emptying a clip at
full auto. Nothing. No motion, no return fire.

There was no way to know for sure. He stared
out at the ground ahead, picking out his next objective. There was
a small gully up ahead, maybe 2 meters deep. Good cover. He slammed
a new clip into his rifle and took a deep breath. Then he spun
around, running full speed, diving for the protection of the small
trench ahead.

Private Sanjay Chandra glanced up at the two
suns in the sky. The heat was unbearable. His uniform was soaked
with his sweat, as wet as if he’d dived into a river. A river, he
thought bitterly…a river is an elusive dream in this hell. Chandra
was crouched behind a small rise in the ground, as bullets flew all
around. He was terrified, paralyzed. And the heat was so bad, he
felt like he was going to pass out any minute.

Chandra was a rookie, as raw as they came.
He’d come through the Portal and taken the transport to Firebase
Delta. He barely had time to dump his gear and take a crap before
the assembly alarm went off. An hour later he was strapped into
another ship - a combat transport this time – and en route to this
hellish gorge.

He was hyperventilating, trying in vain to
cool himself. The air was hot…so hot. When they told him he was
going to Erastus, he figured he’d be well prepared to handle it. He
grew up in the streets of New Delhi, and he thought he was used to
the heat. But there was heat and then there was…this. It wasn’t
Earthly heat on Erastus…the coolest temperatures on the planet
matched the worst equatorial heatwaves in terrestrial history.

He was moving through the valley, struggling
to keep up with the rest of the team. Corporal Tse had yelled at
him twice for lagging behind. But the heat...it was just too much.
He tried to move faster, but he almost fainted, and he had to slow
down.

He looked at the cliffs on both sides. The
Machines had been dug in on those rocky slopes, at least that’s
what the corporal told everybody. “Be glad you grunts didn’t have
to go up those cliffs,” he had said. “And be fucking grateful to
your brothers who did the job, because they lost half their number
doing it.”

Chandra couldn’t even imagine fighting on
terrain like that. And a strikeforce losing half its strength? How
do men do that, he wondered…how do they stand and fight even after
taking such losses? His strikeforce was moving through the dry
riverbed to assault the remaining enemy line. The Machines were in
bad shape, outflanked on both sides, taking fire from the steep
high ground…the very positions they had held a few hours before.
Chandra and his comrades were tasked with delivering the final
blow, opening up the riverbed, allowing fresh forces to move on a
major enemy base.

They had it a lot easier than the men who’d
gone in already, but Chandra was still scared to death, struggling
to keep himself from shaking.

“Attention, 109th Strikeforce.” The voice on
his com was firm, commanding. How, Chandra wondered, could anyone
sound so calm, so controlled, minutes before going into combat? It
was Lieutenant Daniels, who was commanding both Chandra’s unit and
the 84th, which was in reserve right behind the 109th.

Chandra had caught a glimpse of Daniels from
a distance as the strikeforce was boarding the transports, but this
was the first time he’d heard the lieutenant’s voice. Daniels was a
lofty figure to a newb like Chandra. Commander of over 250 men,
Supersoldier, a member of Jake Taylor’s inner circle. The young
soldier was in awe, even forgetting his fear for a few seconds.

“Prepare to assault enemy positions.” Daniels
still sounded under control, maddeningly so.

Why isn’t he scared, Chandra thought…how can
he be so calm? He held up his own hand, focusing hard but still
unable to stop it from shaking. His head snapped around quickly,
prompted by a loud crack. There was just the one sound, and for a
few seconds the air was silent and still. Then the Machine line
opened up.

Chandra froze, his rifle still strapped
across his back. He was looking forward, but his legs wouldn’t
move, no matter how hard he tried. It took all he had not to turn
and run as quickly as his legs could carry him. But he stayed in
place. He saw another man, about 50 meters down the line, thrown
back, crumpling to the ground. Part of him wanted to run over, to
help his comrade. Another part said, move forward…attack. But all
he could do was stand in place.

“Chandra! Get your worthless ass moving.” It
was the corporal, and his sharp rebuke snapped Chandra out of his
paralysis.

“Yes, Corporal Tse.” He moved forward, taking
slow, jerky steps. He looked ahead, toward the enemy line. He
couldn’t see much…a little movement here and there, but that’s all.
The Machines were hunkered down behind cover. Most of his teammates
were too. There were large boulders scattered all across the
riverbed, and the troopers had taken position behind them.

Chandra stumbled forward, his legs limp, like
noodles. He tried to remember his training, but it was hard to
focus. He reached around, pulling his rifle from his back. His eyes
darted back and forth, looking for a good place to crouch down. He
saw a boulder none of the others were using. It was a little over a
meter high and perhaps two wide. He’d have to stay low, but it was
good protection.

He moved toward it, his heart pounding in his
ears, rivulets of sweat streaming down his face. His eyes stung
from the sweat, blurring his view. He kept moving, staring at the
rock, trying to ignore the sounds of bullets ripping by.

He felt like he’d never get there, that he’d
been running forever. But then, suddenly, he was behind the rock,
prone.

The rifle felt hot in his hands. The dense
plastic material didn’t conduct heat very well, but the weapon had
been on his back for over an hour, with both suns beating down on
it. He glanced cautiously around the edge of the boulder. His heart
leapt. There was a Machine! He was peering out from behind his own
cover about 80 meters ahead, taking aim at something – someone,
Chandra realized – down the line.

He spun around, snapping up the rifle and
pulling the trigger. It was all a blur. The gun was set on
semi-automatic, and the first burst of three shots went high,
zipping over the target’s head. The Machine reacted, starting to
pull back and angling his weapon in Chandra’s direction.

Chandra felt the adrenalin flooding his
system. His arms felt stronger, his mind more alert. He stared down
the barrel of his rifle, pulling the trigger three times in rapid
succession, sending a flurry of projectiles toward his enemy.

The Machine was pushed backward, the left
side of his chest and midsection almost gone. The remnants of the
shattered alien warrior fell to the ground. It couldn’t have taken
more than a second or two, though the whole thing played out in
slow motion to Chandra.

He could feel the energy inside. I hit him,
he thought, his excitement building. He’d killed one of the
enemy…and maybe saved one of his comrades in the process. His blood
was up, and the fear was momentarily forgotten, pushed aside by his
elation.