Portal Wars 1: Gehenna Dawn (22 page)

“Thanks, Blackie.” Taylor sounded a little
relieved. He knew Black’s little show of being calm was bullshit,
but it still made him feel better. A little. “Keep me posted.”

“Colonel Taylor!” It was Lieutenant Brandon,
manning the scanner. “Enemy air inbound. Defensive squadrons are
moving to intercept, but they’re going to be outnumbered.” He
paused and looked over at Taylor. “Heavily outnumbered.”

Fuck, Taylor thought…most of MacArthur’s
birds were on their way back to base to refuel and rearm. “I knew
something was going on.” He muttered under his breath.

Taylor reopened the line to Black. “Blackie,
we’ve got an enemy air attack coming in. A big one. All units
deploy anti-air assets immediately.”

“Got it, Jake.” He could hear yelling in the
background. Black’s people had detected the incoming enemy birds
themselves, and they were already preparing. “We’ll be ready.”

Taylor cut the line. Black had his hands
full, and he didn’t need more distraction. He walked across the
room and stared at the monitor over Brandon’s shoulder. The entire
screen was covered with small red triangles…wave after wave of
enemy antigravs heading right for his army.

The sound was almost deafening. The enemy
gunships were plastering the area around the command post, dropping
hundreds of incendiary bombs, surrounding the HQ with an
impenetrable circle of flame.

Taylor was hunkered down in a foxhole, just
outside the portable command shelter. He’d ordered everyone out and
into defensive positions as soon as the enemy air wings vectored
toward headquarters. He was sure it was the trap he’d been
expecting…the enemy wanted to take out HQ and the communications
nexus before hitting the rest of the force with a counterattack. It
was a good plan…far more innovative than the Machines usually
managed. If they could badly damage 3 battalions, they could
indefinitely delay the offensive against their base, and even
reverse the momentum of the struggle.

But the command post was still standing, and
not a man of Taylor’s staff had been hit. They were cut off from
the rest of the force, trapped by the inferno the enemy antigravs
had unleashed. But they were unhurt.

Taylor’s mind was racing. What, he
thought…what am I missing? The enemy air units had paid heavily to
break through the defensive squadrons MacArthur had left behind.
His best guess was that the enemy massed most of their planetary
airpower to stage this operation…and lost almost half of it in the
process. Why were they failing to exploit their surprise?

He heard the loud whooshing sound of an
anti-air rocket launching. HQ had two AA batteries, and Taylor had
his best men on them. They’d brought down four of the enemy birds
so far, and both launchers were still in operation. There wasn’t
room to reposition after firing, and Jake had expected them both to
be knocked out quickly. But the enemy didn’t seem to be targeting
them…or anything else inside the outer perimeter.

“Transports incoming!” It was Lieutenant
Brandon shouting from his foxhole. He’d grabbed one of the portable
scanner stations and took it with him when Taylor ordered the
command post abandoned. The thing was small enough for one man to
move, and it had enough battery power for at least 8 hours of
constant operation.

Taylor turned slowly, looking over toward
Brandon’s position. Strange, he thought…why would they land troops
in here when they can take us out from the air?

“I’ve got 6 transports inbound to this
position, sir.” Brandon sounded as confused as Taylor.

“All personnel, prepare to repulse airborne
assault.” He pulled his own assault rifle off his back,
double-checking the magazine as he did.”

He directed a quick thought to the implanted
com unit, opening the command line to Black. “Blackie, it looks
like they’re going to try to land some troops to take out the
command post.” He paused, scanning the area ahead of him carefully,
looking for the first glimpse of the incoming antigravs. “What the
hell’s going on out there?”

“I’m trying to get two strikeforces back to
you, Jake.” Black sounded almost frantic. “But we can’t get through
that bombardment corridor. They keep pouring more ordnance into
that zone.”

“Fuck us…you worry about the rest of the men.
Are they hitting you guys hard?”

“Not at all.” Black sounded as surprised
saying it as Taylor was hearing it. “They’re pulling back all along
the front, and the air units are concentrating everything on your
perimeter.” He paused. “I don’t get it.”

Taylor sighed. “Me either.” He hesitated,
staring out, looking for the approaching enemy. There was
something…a tiny speck, growing, coming closer. Then another…and
another.

“They’re coming in now, Blackie.” Taylor
brought up the assault rifle, his eyes unmoving, focused on the
approaching aircraft. “You keep your eyes open out there. You
understand me?”

“Yes, sir.” Black rarely called Jake “sir,”
but he did this time. “You can count on me.”

“I know, brother. Just be careful and come
the fuck back from this mess.” Taylor cut the line. He didn’t have
time for a protracted discussion, and neither did Black. His second
in command knew his shit. Now Taylor had to trust him to do his
job.

The transports were clearly visible now,
coming in fast. Taylor watched, eyeballing the spot he figured
they’d put down…but they kept coming, flying 60 meters above the
ground.

“What the fuck?” Taylor whispered to himself
as the transports continued, zipping straight overhead. He looked
up, watching them fly by. They were dropping something…small
spherical devices. Taylor activated the unitwide com as he lurched
up with his rifle and began firing. “They’re dropping something!
Some type of…”

A blinding light filled the sky. Taylor’s
body convulsed wildly, falling to the ground. It felt like a little
like an electrical shock, but somehow different too…more. He
couldn’t move his body voluntarily, or stop his limbs from
twitching uncontrollably. He was disoriented, confused, unable to
speak or even focus his thoughts. Then everything went black.

From the Journal of Jake Taylor:

The Cause. History is full of war,
of death, of sacrifice…of unimaginable brutality. All in the name
of the Cause. The mighty Cause.

It is not the idea of fighting for a
cause that saddens me so. It is the ease with which people devote
themselves to it. Men have flocked into the streets, marched,
argued, fought, killed…for causes they didn’t even understand. They
do it because they follow along, to be part of the group…or because
they don’t want to be left out. Because they are told to, or
because they crave to be part of something. They follow the Cause
for many reasons, with great passion and staggering ignorance.
Disturbingly rare among them, are people who fight because they
truly understand the reasons for their struggle. Most are simply
followers, nipping at the heels of their leaders, like dogs begging
for scraps.

Throughout history, men have fought
for uncounted reasons. For land, for money, for hegemony over their
neighbors. They have fought for religion, to avenge insults, to
impose belief systems…or to resist such being forced upon them.
Wars have been waged to preserve or eliminate slavery, to escape
the yoke of political masters…or to impose such rule upon others.
Men have fought against those they branded inferiors…and struggled
against those who called themselves their betters.

The drum has beaten the call to war
throughout history, rallying men and women to fight for the
Cause…to accept the inevitable pain and suffering of war. To
sacrifice sons and daughters to the slaughter. To see cities burn
and millions die in confusion, agony, and despair. All for the
Cause.

Since the dawn of recorded history,
the flags have waved and the crowds have cheered. The soldiers have
marched…they have marched to fight for the Cause.

What did most of them get back from
those who called them to war? Famine, disease, shortages, despair.
Burned cities and broken dreams. A flag-draped coffin in place of a
live son or daughter. Words, endless, professionally-written
platitudes, offered by the masters in justification of the
slaughter.

How often was the Cause truly just,
worth the pain and death and horror of war? How many of those
billions, who took to the streets for 5,000 years and cheered and
sang and rallied for the Cause…how many of them really understood?
What percentage took the time to consider the facts, the
situation…to question what they were told and ultimately decide for
themselves if the Cause was true and righteous? How many mindlessly
believed the words of their masters, giving their all to a cause
they didn’t even comprehend? A Cause that wasn’t worthy of their
sacrifice?

What if the Cause is false,
corrupt…a fraud created simply to urge men to fight? What if it
serves nothing more than the base purposes of the leaders, buying
them power with the blood of the people? What does the reasonable
man, the just man, do if he discovers the Cause is false? Is there
any retribution, any action, any violence unjustified in punishing
those responsible? Could any horror that the oppressed and
manipulated victims visit upon their former masters be unjustified.
Does righteous vengeance become the new Cause?

Taylor
was staring
straight up. He was in a room, though that was about all he could
tell. He could see the light in the ceiling, but it was hazy,
distant. Everything else was a confused blur. He tried to think, to
remember where he was, how he’d gotten there.

His head ached…his whole body throbbed with
soreness. He felt like he’d been turned inside out and then back
again. He tried to lift his head, but the room started spinning. He
caught himself, choked back the vomit he felt starting to
rising.

“Colonel Taylor, I want to welcome you.” The
voice was coming from the side, somewhere he couldn’t see. It was
English, but there was something odd about it, something he
couldn’t place. It was an accent he’d never heard, but there was
more than just that. “Please do not try to rise yet. I am afraid we
were forced to use a neural stun beam in order to facilitate
bringing you here.” There was a short pause. “I am afraid the
effects can be rather disorienting…especially on your species.”

I’m a prisoner, Jake thought. The
Machines…no, the Tegeri…have captured me. He was scared,
overwhelmed. His grim lack of concern for himself was gone,
replaced by a gaping fear of the unknown. I am laid bare,
defenseless before my enemy, he thought. It was one thing to accept
the inevitability of death, and quite another to stare into the
face of the unknown, to deal with utter helplessness.

“What…are…you…going…to…do…with…me?” It was
hard to speak, but Jake forced out the words, slowly, hoarsely.

“Nothing, Colonel Taylor. Or at least I
intend no harm to you. I merely wish to converse with you.”

He speaks my language; he knows my name, Jake
thought…did I speak when I was unconscious? What did I tell
him?

“Allow me to introduce myself, Colonel.” The
voice was moving, coming closer. “I am T’arza. At least that is my
appellation closest to what you would call a name.” He was moving
around, positioning himself in front of Taylor. “May I call you
Jake?”

“Call me whatever you want.” Taylor’s voice
was becoming stronger, clearer. “I’m your prisoner.”

He could feel the movement, his captor coming
closer. It wasn’t a Machine moving toward him, he could tell that
much. But it wasn’t human either. Taylor had never been this close
to one of the Tegeri. He felt the urge to lunge, to attack his
enemy. Here was one of the leaders, the masterminds who’d ordered
the attacks on the human colonies…the ones who started 40 years of
bloody war. He was a meter away from one of the worst, most
depraved monsters a man had ever faced…and he had no strength, no
chance to avenge the thousands of dead.

“You are certainly not my prisoner, Jake. At
least not in a conventional sense.” The being moved into Jake’s
view. He – it? – was taller than a man, with paler skin and longer,
thinner appendages. It was humanoid, certainly, different from a
man only in superficial aspects.

“It is true that you are confined here,
however that is a temporary situation. I only wish to communicate
with you for a time…to provide you with information. Then you will
be released.” T’arza paused, observing Taylor’s reactions. “And I
assure you that I have no intention of harming you.”

“Am I supposed to believe that?” Taylor’s
voice was angry, his suspicion obvious. He pulled himself up,
facing his captor. His stomach did a flop, but he was able to
control the nausea. “You clearly know who I am. You targeted me for
some reason.” Taylor’s mind was still fuzzy, but he was beginning
to put things together. “The intercept…” Taylor’s expression
betrayed his incredulity. “You staged the entire thing…lured us
into this attack.” The shock was clear in his voice. “Just to
capture me?” Taylor could feel the room beginning to spin. He
groaned and fell back.

“The effects of the neural stun weapon are
temporary, but as you have experienced, they can be quite
debilitating until they pass. I have administered a drug to
counteract the worst symptoms. However, I am unfamiliar with the
specifics of human pharmacology, and I have therefore been
conservative regarding dosage. Please refrain from any abrupt
movements until your disequilibrium has passed. I do not wish to
see you injure yourself.”

T’arza watched as Taylor tried again to rise,
ignoring his request. “I assure you, Jake. No harm will come to you
here.” T’arza paused. “My compliments to your deductive
capabilities. To answer your previous question, yes, we
intentionally allowed your people to intercept the location of this
facility.” Another pause. “Your forces are temporarily disordered,
and they have pulled back. But we do not have the strength to
defeat them here. We have essentially given up our primary
planetary base of operations – and all hope of ultimately holding
Erastus - to arrange this meeting.” T’arza hesitated yet again, not
wanting to overload Taylor. “I trust this lends credence to the
importance of what I have to say to you.”