Portal Wars 1: Gehenna Dawn (18 page)

He gritted his teeth and scanned the enemy
line. He spotted two Machines crouched over a heavy autogun. They
were mostly under cover, but not completely. A perfect shot could
take either one of them down. His eyes locked on his targets, and
he brought his rifle up to fire.

Suddenly he was moving back, his body
twisting. He saw the spray of blood from his shoulder before he
felt the wound. His legs went weak…he was falling. As he did, he
spun around...just before second projectile slammed into his back.
Then a third. They were heavy hypersonic rounds, and they tore
right through his body armor.

Suddenly, he was looking up at the sky. Both
suns were still there, the second close to setting. He couldn’t
remember how he’d ended up on the ground…then it came to back to
him. He realized he must have blacked out after the projectiles hit
him.

He felt strange, like he was floating. Then
there was the pain. His back was on fire, waves of agony wracking
his body. There was wetness under him. He pulled his hand up and
stared. It was covered with blood. His blood. He began to panic,
screaming. The tears started to stream from his eyes. “Help,” he
shouted, as loud as his stricken body could manage. The pain in his
chest flared up as he tried to yell, but he repeated his cry
nevertheless. It was in vain. There was no response. He was
alone.

He was starved for air, and he tried to take
a deep breath, but the pain was unbearable. There was a gurgling
sound from his throat, his chest, and every shallow breath he
managed was a torment.

“Please,” he muttered piteously to whatever
powers might exist in the universe. “I don’t want to die.”

He was still staring at the sky, staying
still to minimize the pain. His mind began to drift, random
thoughts moving in and out of his dwindling consciousness. It is
beautiful in its own way, he thought, seeing the Erastian sky
differently than he had before. Men looked up and saw the two suns,
the source of the terrible heat that made every moment on the
planet a misery. But now Chandra saw it differently. Two majestic
suns, and the long, sparse clouds that ran for kilometers across
the horizon. There is beauty, he thought, a brief smile crossing
his stricken lips…even in hell.

From the Journal of Jake Taylor:

Do you ever wonder about the odd
assortment of things you remember? Most days of your life vanish
into the inaccessible depths of the mind, but a few seemingly
random events remain in the forefront. Years later, decades
later…you still remember them like they happened
yesterday.

One day when I was young…seven,
eight, I don’t recall that part exactly…we were driving into
Concord. It was sometime around my birthday, and we were heading
for one of the restaurants in town. It was always a treat to eat
out someplace. It wasn’t often we had the extra money for things
like that.

I was in the back of the truck,
probably fighting with my brother. Suddenly, my father pulled over
to the side of the road. There was an accident ahead of us. A
motorcycle had been swiped by a tractor, and it wiped out
hard.

My father told us to stay in the
car, and then he got out and went to the back of the truck. He
always kept a blanket and a first aid kit in the storage locker,
and he got them out and ran over. I could see the rider through the
window of the truck. He was lying on his back, and the street
around him had puddles of blood on it. I wondered for a second if
he was dead, but then I saw him move.

It was the first time I’d seen blood
like that. Not a few drops from a cut, but pools of it. I knew
immediately he was badly hurt, and I couldn’t move my eyes away. I
watched my father cover him with the blanket, even as I heard the
approaching sirens of the sheriff and the rescue squad.

When the medics arrived, my father
walked back to the car, and we continued toward town. I remember
wondering how we would get our blanket back. I don’t recall what we
did in Concord that day, or what restaurant we went to. But I
remember the image of that man lying in the street, covered by our
old gray blanket…feeling bad for him and worrying about how we’d
get the blanket back.

I think about that day often, even
now. I wonder if that man lived or not. I feel sadness, thinking
about his suffering, about the fact that he might have died. I
always imagine that he got up that day, just like any other. Maybe
he was excited, as I was when we left the house. It could have been
a special occasion. He could have been going to meet friends.
Instead he ended up hurt and bleeding…and maybe dying…on the cold
pavement.

I can’t explain the reaction I
had…that I still have…the melancholy, the sadness I feel for that
man. Even now, after ten years of war and thousands of
casualties…after all the suffering and death…I still remember the
biker lying on that back road in New Hampshire.

Empathy. Such an odd emotion.
Sometimes it is predictable. Clearly, the suffering of a friend or
a loved one triggers it more profoundly than that of a stranger.
And yet it seems to have a mind of its own, manifesting in
unexpected situations. As in the memories and feelings I still have
over something that happened 20 years ago…to a person I never knew.
An event that I witnessed from a distance for no more than 3 or 4
minutes.

What makes some things affect us so
much more profoundly than others? Why do we remember some events,
yet forget so many others of equal import? I’ve seen thousands of
young men die in this place, some I knew, others who were just
names on a roster sheet. Why do some burn themselves into your
consciousness, while others are quickly forgotten? Why does one
stranger’s death or suffering affect you more profoundly than
another’s?

The battle was over. They were calling it a
brilliant victory, but all Taylor could see was the terrible cost.
With all his tactical ability and ten years of combat experience on
Erastus, he couldn’t claim ignorance….couldn’t even fool himself.
He knew the losses he would suffer before the attack even began.
And he sent his men in anyway.

Taylor’s savage attack had cleared the entire
canyon, opening up the route for 5th and 6th Battalions to advance
on the Machine production facility beyond. He wouldn’t command that
attack…he’d be back at base, training the flood of FNGs his units
would need to build back to full strength. But his people had
already won the victory. The canyon had been the real line of
defense. The base itself was isolated, situated 4,500 klicks from
the nearest supporting enemy forces. It would inevitably fall
now.

Jake looked out at the debris of battle as he
walked along the ancient riverbed his men had died to conquer. It
was late twilight, and only the dimmer of the two suns was in the
sky. This was as close as Erastus came to night, but it was still
as bright as late afternoon on Earth.

The canyon was quiet. His troops had advanced
through, forming a defensive position on the far end of the gorge.
He knew the enemy didn’t have the strength to counter-attack, but
he wasn’t taking chances. Exhausted or not, his people were going
to stand guard until 5th Battalion got there and relieved them.

There were a few medical teams rounding up
the last of the casualties. The ones who had the Supersoldier mods
would almost certainly survive if they hadn’t been killed outright.
The others had a good chance too, as long as they’d remembered to
activate their medkits. Taylor knew from experience that about 15%
of his wounded would forget. And most of them would die.

Taylor stepped on something and twisted his
ankle slightly. He looked down. There was an assault rifle under
his foot. It had been partly covered with the dusty sand of the
valley, and he hadn’t seen it until his boot rolled off it.

“Help me.” The voice was soft, barely
audible. “Please.”

Taylor snapped his head around. He wouldn’t
have heard the strained whisper if it hadn’t been for his
mechanically-enhanced ears. It had come from the right, and he
turned and walked that way.

There was a large boulder, and Jake spotted a
pair of legs on the ground. He trotted over, around the giant rock.
It was a man…one of his privates….lying on his back, barely moving.
He was a mess. His shoulder was ripped open, a large portion of the
muscle exposed. There were two holes in his armor too, right
through the chest plate. Taylor couldn’t tell if the rounds had
gone in the front and out the back or the reverse, but either way,
he knew the man was badly hurt.

Taylor looked down at the soldier’s belt and
harness, trying to see if he’d applied his medkit. The wounds were
bad, but if he’d gotten the nanobots into his system right away,
he’d have a chance. Jake’s eyes darted across the trooper’s form,
but Taylor felt the hope drain away as he focused on the small
rubber pouch, still in its place, unused.

“H…e…l…p…” The soldier moved, his arm sliding
slowly a few centimeters along the ground. His voice was weaker
than it had been a moment before. There was a heaviness there too,
a gurgling sound behind the words.

Taylor flashed a thought at his com, opening
a line to the med teams. “Medical…this is Major Taylor. I need a
team at my location ASAP.” He was about the cut the line, but then
he added, “I found a wounded soldier.” No point letting them
misunderstand and think he was injured. The way they all looked at
him half the time…if they thought he was down they’d all panic.

He looked at the stricken figure lying at his
feet for a few seconds then he knelt down beside the wounded man.
“Private…this is Major Taylor.” He reached out, taking the man’s
hand in his. “Can you tell me your name?” He pulled the medkit from
the soldier’s belt, and took out the injector. He thrust it in the
soldier’s leg, but even as he was doing it, he realized it was too
late.

Jake could feel the man try to move. His hand
was cold, but now it squeezed gently on Taylor’s. “M…a…j…o…r?” He
tried to turn his head to look toward Taylor.

“Stay still, son.” Taylor’s voice was soft,
gentle. “Don’t try to move.” He was looking at the stricken
soldier’s wounds as he spoke. He sighed softly as he did, wanting
to turn away, to run from this mangled kid. He can’t be more than
seventeen years old, Taylor thought grimly…and he’s going to die
right here, scared and in pain.

“What’s your name, son?” Taylor whispered
softly, his mouth next to the kid’s ear. Jake’s tactical display
would normally have shown him the man’s complete file, but the
stricken soldier’s transponder wasn’t working. That explained why
he hadn’t been found by the medics. Most of the wounded in this
sector had been evac’d, but Chandra had fallen behind a rock
outcropping on the edge of the field…and without his transponder,
no one had seen him.

“Private…” He had a coughing spasm, and
Taylor could see the spray of blood coming from his mouth.
“…Private Chandra, sir.” He was still breathing heavily, but the
coughing mostly subsided.

Chandra, Jake thought…I don’t remember a
Chandra. He closed his eyes tightly, feeling a wave of guilt. This
boy could march out here on my orders and fight…and get hideously
wounded…but I can’t remember his name. Taylor commanded a lot of
troops now, but his expectations of himself hadn’t changed with the
scope of his responsibilities.

“What’s your first name?”

Chandra had another coughing spasm, not quite
as bad as the previous one. “Sanjay, sir.” He coughed again,
spitting up a blob of partially congealed blood. “My name is
Sanjay, sir.” Chandra was silent for a few seconds. Then he finally
managed to turn his head toward Taylor. “Please help me, sir. I
don’t want to die.”

Taylor opened his mouth, but he couldn’t
force the words out. Finally, he leaned down and whispered, “You’re
not going to die, Sanjay.” He almost choked on the lie. “I already
called the medics.”

He wasn’t sure if Chandra believed him or
not. Taylor was a 10-year veteran of Erastus…he’d killed hundreds
of Machines, and he’d watched thousands of men die. But he couldn’t
bring himself to be honest with this broken kid lying in front of
him. What would honesty serve now, he thought…what could it do but
scared this poor boy even more?

“I want to go home.” Chandra spoke the words
softly, wistfully. He was crying, tears streaming down his dirt and
blood spattered face.

“I know, Sanjay.” Taylor was trying to sound
as soothing as he could. The detritus of battle was all around, but
right now all he could think about was comforting this shattered,
terrified kid. “I wish I was home too.” He pulled a rock out from
under Chandra, trying to make him more comfortable. “Where are you
from?” Just keep talking to him, Jake thought…don’t let him die
alone.

“New Delhi, sir.” He coughed again, though
only for a few seconds this time.

Taylor sat in the hot sand, holding Chandra’s
hand. He was trying to think of things to say…anything to keep the
dying soldier distracted. He knew it wouldn’t be long. It was a
miracle the kid was still alive. So many men have died in this war,
he thought, alone and unsuccored…does comforting one really make a
difference?

Chandra’s body tensed and wracked with
another coughing spasm. He fell back, moaning in pain. “I’m scared,
sir.”

“I know, Sanjay.” Jake was trying to keep the
emotion in his own voice under control, but it was hard to answer.
He felt grief…and anger. He railed inside against his own
helplessness. Veteran…Supersoldier. None of it meant a fucking
thing. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say. Nothing
but sit and watch Sanjay Chandra die, terrified and in pain, in the
bitter sands of an alien world.