I’ve never commanded in any fight where I didn’t come away carrying massive feelings of guilt. In the end, it doesn’t matter if the men were volunteers, if the battle was essential, if you stood with them in the line…all you see are the dead and broken men, and you know they are that way because they followed your orders. It’s impossible to stop the wondering and second-guessing. If you’d tried harder, if you’d studied the field more carefully…would some of those boys still be alive?
But since we left Erastus, there’s a different sort of guilt, one about the enemy troops we kill. I know those men are conscripts, just like my own soldiers. They were taken from their homes, stripped from parents and girlfriends and siblings, sent to a distant world, never to see home again.
They may fight us, but only because they’ve been lied to and conditioned…just like I was. Their situation is virtually the same as mine had been for 14 years…a decade and a half during which I ruthlessly slaughtered the Machines, driven by duty and an overwhelming self-assurance I was fighting an evil foe. I finally discovered the truth, but only after the Tegeri contacted me and showed me proof that all I’d fought for was a lie.
The soldiers on the Portal worlds have no such proof, just my impassioned plea for them to abandon all they’ve believed and fought for and join my soldiers. I wonder if I would have responded to such a call, if any of my officers and friends would have.
I understand how the men of the Portal world armies react, how most of them choose to ignore my pleas. There is no evil in that choice, no complicity with my enemies. They are told I am crazy, that my people are traitors, renegades. They act rationally with the information they possess, and I would probably do the same in their place.
But that doesn’t matter. I give the orders and we cut them down anyway, leaving none alive in our path. They never feel quite like the enemy, these soldiers we massacre, but that doesn’t stop us. My cause is a good and noble one; I believe that with all my heart, with a surety I never knew existed until I finally felt it. Why, then, must I do such terrible things to achieve that goal? Can any cause, however true and worthy, justify so much horror invoked in its name?
Is there good and evil in the universe? Or only different kinds of evil?
“Move your asses, all of you.” Captain Horace Jahn was walking down the front of the trench, watching his men shoving heavy logs in place along the front of the fortification. “We’ve got nasties on their way, and you don’t want those trenches caving in on you when they take a few hits now, do you?”
Jahn was in command of one of Major Young’s two battalions. With Hank Daniels still in the hospital and Bear Samuels’ command all shot up, Young’s people drew the assignment to man the front line position and to hold the new fortifications if the enemy attacked. And the enemy was on the way.
Jahn had questioned the logic of going to so much trouble to build fortifications, but now that the drones had spotted thousands of the enemy less than 10 klicks away, he was grateful to have them. He wondered how Taylor could have known. What strange gift did the general have, what clairvoyance that allowed him to lead the army to victory after victory?
The army’s confidence in its leader was unshakable. Even after the recent battle, despite the heavy casualties, the troops refused to call the engagement a defeat. All estimates suggested Daniels’ and Samuels’ battered forces had inflicted at least 2 to 3 times the losses they suffered, against a force many times the size of their own. The morale of the Army of Liberation was as strong as ever, the troops ready to follow any orders Taylor issued, even if that command was to march through the fiery gates of hell.
Jahn stared down into the trench as he walked, watching his men continuing to fortify the position. He was going to keep them working until the enemy was in range. Every beam shoved into place, every rifle pit dug, could save a trooper’s life. He wasn’t going to waste a second of prep time.
He saw two of the men struggling with a heavy log. They weren’t his; they were from one of the new battalions, recruits from the Portal worlds they’d already taken. He jumped into the trench and grabbed onto the massive tree trunk, adding his enhanced strength to that of the two unmodified soldiers and slamming it into place.
“Thank you, sir.” The trooper was exhausted, and he gasped for breath as he spoke.
“You’re welcome, soldier.” Jahn nodded and hopped out of the trench with a single massive leap. “You boys report back to your unit now. We’re going to be in action soon.” The unmodified soldiers had no place on the front line, not when they were expecting an attack from the enemy’s Supersoldiers.
“Captain Jahn…” It was Major Young on the com, and there was urgency in his voice. “Prepare for action. We’ve got enemy forces less than 8 klicks out.”
“Yes, sir.” Jahn turned and started back toward his command post. “We’re ready, sir.” He felt the tension building inside him, the excitement and stress he always felt before battle. There was something else too…anger. He and his people owed it to Samuels’ and Daniels’ men to make the enemy pay. And they were going to do precisely that, no matter what it took. “Don’t worry, sir. None of them will get past us.”
“Frantic’s units should be engaged any minute.” Black was staring at a map displayed on a small tablet as he spoke. “The latest drone reports show the enemy moving into mortar range.” He looked up at Taylor. “Should I order him to open fire?”
Taylor looked off in the direction of the front line. He couldn’t see it from HQ – there was a large hill blocking the way – but he had the picture of it in his mind anyway, every centimeter. Taylor had been up there most of the last few days, walking among the men, even helping to build fortifications. After what had happened to Daniels, he’d been determined to position himself dead center in the forward trench line when the enemy attacked, but his officers had unanimously intervened and insisted he return to HQ.
He was the one man the army could not afford to lose, not only its heart and soul, but also the single human being the Tegeri had chosen to contact. If Taylor fell, the crusade would fall apart – they all knew it. Even Taylor realized that was true, though he was intensely uncomfortable thinking of himself that way.
The troops were well aware their only hope for survival lay in total victory. True believers or not, they all realized there was no going back. UNGov had started the war against the Tegeri by killing its own civilians; they imprisoned hundreds of thousands in thinly-veiled death camps; they consigned their soldiers to a lifetime on war torn Portal worlds with no hope of going home. There was no way they were going to allow a group of surrendered traitors to survive. No, it was victory or death for the Army of Liberation. Even the rank and file realized how much they needed Taylor alive.
“Yes. His people are to commence firing.” Taylor’s face was twisted into a frown. He was troubled by the scouting reports on the approaching enemy. They were moving too slowly, too sluggishly. He had something in the back of his mind, a thought so dark he suppressed it at first. “However, please advise him to conserve ammunition as much as possible.” He looked up at Black. “And get Denisov’s people in supporting position in case we need to plug any holes.”
“Sure, Jake.” Black had a confused expression on his face. The trench position was a strong one, and they already had local reserves in place. “What is it? What are you worried about?”
Taylor sighed. “It’s just a hunch, Blackie, but I don’t like the look of that approach. It’s too slow.” He glanced up at his friend. “I’m afraid those are unmodified troopers in front, conscripts from UN Force Juno. And I’m worried they’re human shields for Supersoldiers advancing directly behind them.”
“But the regulars will get slaughtered charging that trench…” Black’s voice trailed off as realization set in. “And UNGov doesn’t give a shit how many men die as long as we’re destroyed.” His urban Philly accent came out, as it always did when he was surprised and angry.
“Just a hunch, Blackie.” Taylor’s voice was grim. He knew it was more than a hunch. He was sure he was right. “So let’s make certain we’re ready, just in case they get some undamaged Supersoldier units close enough to overrun a section of trench.”
“I’m on it, Jake.” Black turned around and walked a few steps, pulling out his com as he did.
I have to remember, Taylor thought as he listened to Black relaying the commands, what we’re dealing with…and stop underestimating what they are willing to do to defeat us.
“Sir, with all due respect, I strongly urge against this attack.” Colonel Roberts stood at attention, his eyes focused tightly on Ralfieri’s. He was holding his helmet under his arm, and the wind was blowing thinning wisps of hair in front of his face. “The position is very strong, and the approach is mostly through open ground. We can still call it off.” There was obvious tension in the colonel’s voice. He was clearly working himself up to something he was hesitant to say.
“General…attacking them here is doing them a favor.” It finally burst out, like a dam breaking. “Time is on our side. We should be engaging in scattered hit and run attacks, making them expend supplies they can’t replace.” Roberts was beyond checking himself, and he continued to pour out his concerns. “If we attack here, the losses among the unmodified troops will be enormous. Please, sir, I urge you to reconsider.”
Ralfieri felt his hands clenching into fists. He wasn’t angry at Roberts, but the frustration had become almost overwhelming. “Yes, Colonel, I understand all of that.” He paused, taking a second to suppress his rage toward Keita. “I do not disagree with your assessment of the enemy position, however I have been expressly ordered by higher authority to launch this attack, and my objections have been ignored. So let’s not waste time debating the wisdom of an assault neither of us can stop.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in. “I suggest you focus on your tactics instead of wasting time on futile arguments, Colonel.”
He saw realization in Roberts’ eyes, then acceptance. “You and I both know the only chance for this attack to succeed is to get your Black Corps units into those trenches as soon as the regular forces rout.” There was no question in Ralfieri’s mind that the Juno forces would break. Any normal troops would. And if they didn’t, they’d be wiped out.
“Yes, sir.” Roberts nodded, but his tone was still uncertain. He paused for a few seconds then looked at Ralfieri. “General, those regular units in the front are going to be slaughtered.”
Ralfieri felt his stomach tighten. He knew just how badly the lead elements would take it. He could see it in his mind, though it hadn’t happened yet, men falling in their hundreds as they pushed forward into the maelstrom of enemy fire.
“There is nothing to be done about that, Colonel. You have your orders.” He turned to leave, but he stopped and looked back at Roberts. “We can’t prevent this attack, so focus on trying to make sure the sacrifice isn’t in vain.” He took a deep breath. He couldn’t imagine a worse feeling than being forced to order an attack you know will fail, realizing you are sending thousands to a pointless death. He grasped at a small glimmer of hope, his mind trying to convince himself there was a chance the enhanced soldiers in the second line would seize the fortifications. But he just didn’t believe it.
“You may attack when ready, Colonel.”
Jahn was firing on full auto, and he’d have sworn every projectile that left his weapon found a target. The enemy was coming straight at his position, charging across open ground into the concentrated fire of his battalion. They were falling in clumps, entire lines disappearing in the withering firestorm. It was the most perfect killing ground he’d ever seen.
He had to admire the courage it took those men to continue to advance, pushing forward, climbing over the bodies of the fallen. They were moving slowly, and their incoming fire was less accurate than Jahn had expected. He pulled out his com with one hand, holding his assault rifle in the other. He continued to fire while he punched the code for HQ.
“This is Captain Jahn reporting.”
“Jahn, this is Colonel Black. Report.”
“Sir, I don’t believe the forces we are facing are enhanced troopers. I think they are regulars.” Jahn was confused. The normal troops didn’t stand a chance of breaking the trenchline. Why would the enemy launch an attack that couldn’t succeed?
“We’re aware of that, Captain. Reports are coming in from other positions as well. Be on alert for a force of modified soldiers positioned directly behind the regulars.”
Jahn felt his stomach flip. There were at least a thousand of the enemy down already, just in front of his section of the line. “Sir? You mean the troops in the front are a…a shield?”
“They may be, Jahn.” Black’s voice was crisp, professional. He’d had time to get over the shock of the enemy’s tactics. “So stay sharp up there, and don’t let them take you by surprise. Black out.”
Jahn heard the click as the com line went dead. He was staring out at the enemy, watching his unit’s fire rip into the advancing lines. He swung his rifle around, gripping it tightly and slamming another clip in place. He flipped down to semi-automatic and started firing aimed bursts. The enemy was less than 200 meters out, but their advance was slowing. The bodies were piling up all across the field, and the men behind were beginning to waver.
Jahn’s people kept up their fire, raking the shaken enemy troops. Dozens more fell, hundreds. Then they started to run. Jahn couldn’t see where it began, but in a few seconds the formation started to melt away, like ice on a hot day. Clumps of soldiers were dropping their weapons and running for the rear. Jahn watched the slaughter for a few seconds then he grabbed his com again. “All personnel, cease fire.” He stared out of the trench, fixated on the massacre taking place out on the plain. There was still scattered shooting up and down the line. “Cease fire! Now!” He stared out as the routing troops ran, slowly revealing the checkerboard formation deployed behind. There were fresh enemy soldiers there, thousands of them. The fleeing troopers flowed through the gaps between units as the new line began to advance.
“Prepare to repel another attack.” He shouted into the com, reloading his rifle as he did. He stared at the approaching columns for second. He had no way of knowing for sure, but there wasn’t a doubt in Jahn’s mind. They were Supersoldiers. All of them.
“Open fire. Target the units in the second line!” He felt the sweat pouring down his neck, the tightness in his chest, as fear and stress built within him. Those troops were just like his – stronger, faster, and more capable than normal soldiers, and ge could see immediately they heavily outnumbered his force. And they were barely 200 meters away.”
“Fire!” he repeated. “Now! Full auto. Target the new formations.” He brought his rifle down and opened up, as the attackers moved forward, hosing down the trenchline with their own extremely accurate fire.
Lucius Vanderberg stood behind a line of emplaced autoguns watching the fleeing troops stream down the hillside, directly toward his position. He wore the plain black uniform and body armor of an Inquisitor in the field. The man was built like a bull, his massive neck protruding from his shirt like a tree trunk. Everything about him radiated fear and intimidation. “All guns…open fire.”
The Inquisitor was motionless, impassively watching his deputies gun down the panicked troops as they came over the ridge. The formations were already shattered, and the withering fire sent the soldiers fleeing in every direction in a mad panic. Hundreds fell, and Vanderberg stood silently, staring at the nightmarish scene without a shred of pity or mercy. His com was clipped to his belt, and he made no motion to order the line of heavy autoguns to cease fire. He intended to give the rest of UN Force Juno a lesson in the price of cowardice. One they would not soon forget.
The targeted soldiers were torn to shreds by the heavy projectiles, and men in the primary fields of fire were hit five and six times, their bodies seeming to explode into grotesque red mist.
Vanderberg spoke softly to himself. “They run from the enemy to flee the risk of heroic death as soldiers of the United Nations of Earth, but they reap a bitter harvest. They shall not escape. None of them. Now they shall die as traitors, cowards.” There was no pity or hesitation in Vanderberg’s voice as he stood and watched his men mow down the panicking soldiers. Inquisitors were among the most zealous of UNGov’s security forces, true believers, sadistic men who crushed the government’s enemies with a quasi-religious fervor. And Vanderberg was one of the best.
His eyes glistened as he stared out at the killing zone. “So shall it be for all who fail their duty to UNGov.”
The fighting in the trench was hand to hand, as two forces of enhanced warriors battled it out with knife and pistol and rifle butt. The attackers had lost heavily on their approach. Jahn’s men made them pay for that last 200 meters, and the plain in front of the trench was littered with the dead and dying. But the assaulting troops kept coming, and their accurate fire took a toll on the defenders too. Now they were streaming over the edge of the trench, and their numbers were beginning to tell. Slowly, grimly, the defenders were losing the fight.
Jahn raised his rifle to shoot at an onrushing enemy, but he was an instant too late, and his adversary fired first. He felt the pain in his side, and he lost his footing in the slick mud of the trench, falling back hard, his rifle slipping from his grasp. The melee in the trench continued all around, a confused mass swirling about, as his men rallied and redoubled their efforts to drive the invaders out.
Jahn lay back, catching his breath as enemy soldiers raced by all around. He reached to his belt, grabbing the heavy survival knife from its sheath and plunging it into the leg of an enemy soldier standing next to him. The trooper fell hard into the muddy bottom of the trench, and then Jahn was on him, trying to bring the blade around to stab his adversary, gritting his teeth against the agony from his wound.
The two struggled, his enemy grabbing his wrists, trying to force the blade away, back toward its wielder. The pain in Jahn’s side was almost unbearable, and straining muscles pumped blood from the wound as he put all that was left of his strength into the fight. Finally, he managed to get on top of his enemy and force the blade toward the pinned soldier’s neck, shoving it steadily downward. Slowly, relentlessly, Jahn pushed with all his strength and, finally, the razor point slipped into the flesh of his victim. The enemy soldier fought with a last burst of desperation, but then his strength left him. He choked and spat blood as Jahn shoved the deadly blade home.
Jahn rolled off the dead enemy and gasped for air. He’d put everything he had into the fight, and now he felt weakness flood his body. He tried to get to his feet, gritting his teeth and pushing as hard as he could, but he didn’t have the strength, and he slumped back down to his knees. His shirt was soaked in blood, and he felt lightheaded, dizzy. He fell back, sucking all the air he could force into his tortured, aching lungs. He’d lost too much blood. He knew the nanos would begin producing artificial blood – they probably already had. He didn’t know if it would be enough to replace what he’d lost – was still losing until the nanos managed to seal the wound. But he suspected he wouldn’t live long enough to get an answer.
He knew the enemy had taken this section of trench. He was trapped, separated from his men. He didn’t have a chance in another fight, but he gripped the knife with the last of his strength anyway. If he died, he promised himself, it would be fighting…not lying helplessly in the mud.
“What?!” Ralfieri was apoplectic with rage, his fists clenched, his body shaking. His enhanced strike force was assaulting the enemy line. They’d lost heavily despite getting within 200 meters of the fortifications before taking any direct fire. Now they were in the trenches, fighting their death struggle with the defenders. The last thing he needed now was a new disaster.
“Inquisitor Vanderberg and his men are firing upon the fleeing troops from the first line’s attack.” Major Evans managed to keep his tone cool and professional, but not his expression. With one look into Evan’s eyes, Ralfieri could see the aide shared his own rage.
Ralfieri pulled out his com. “Colonel Roberts, you are in command of the attack. Send in the final reserves immediately.”
“Yes si…” Ralfieri cut the connection before the stunned colonel could complete his acknowledgement.
“Evans, I want 6th Battalion assembled immediately.” The 6th was the newest arrival, and the men had just transited the Portal the day before. “They are to march to Vanderberg’s coordinates immediately. I will meet them there.”
Evans hesitated. He felt the same anger and outrage as his commander, the same urgency to put a stop to the travesty taking place. But Vanderberg was a UN Inquisitor, empowered to act as judge, jury, and executioner – even with an army commander. Ralfieri was the general of the combined forces on Juno, but Evans didn’t know if he had the authority to override an Inquisitor. And from the look in the general’s eyes, he had something far more final in mind than overriding Vanderberg.
“Now, Major. I want 6th Battalion on the move in five minutes.”
“Sir…” Evans held Ralfieri’s gaze for a few seconds. “Yes, sir.” The major punched the code into his com and connected with the battalion’s commander. “Major Marks, you are to assemble your battalion at once and march to the coordinates I am transmitting. Your men are to be fully-armed and ready for battle. These orders are from General Ralfieri.”
“Yes, Major. Understood.”
Evans remembered Marks from the Black Corps training facility. He was a veteran of Santoro, a Portal world known for the ferocity of the war that had been fought there for more than ten years. Santoro wasn’t Erastus, nothing matched the reputation of that hell world, but Marks’ combat credentials were strong.
“Evans out.”
Ralfieri was walking briskly toward his transport, his hands balled into tight fists. Evans chased after him. “Sir, please.” The major easily caught his unmodified commander and positioned himself between Ralfieri and the transport. “General, think about what you are doing.”
“Get out of my way, Major.” Ralfieri’s tone was as cold as death.
Evans didn’t know what to do. He could have easily restrained the enraged general. His enhanced muscles gave him three times the physical strength Ralfieri possessed. It was a court martial offense, one that could easily land him in front of a firing squad. But if Ralfieri got to Vanderberg in his current state…Evans didn’t even want to think of what would happen.
He tried to will himself to grab the general, to stop him from getting on the transport. But he couldn’t. All he could think of was the general’s order – “get out of my way,” over and over again in his head. He couldn’t keep himself from stepping aside. He didn’t understand what was happening. The conditioning was buried deep in his psyche, in the subconscious of every warrior of the Black Corps. He could think about disobedience, but he couldn’t actually make himself do it.
“Stay here, Major.” Ralfieri climbed into the transport and slammed the door.
“Yes, sir,” Evans said helplessly, trying without success to force himself to follow, to open the door and stop the general. He was still trying when the truck pulled away, spitting up a dust cloud and leaving him in stunned silence.
Jahn heard the shouts, but he thought he was imagining it all. He lay in the mud, holding his blade with a single shaking hand. He was done; he knew that much. He might survive the wound, but he had no strength to fight – and he was surrounded by enemies. They’d ignored his still and prostrate form so far, but eventually one of them would notice he was still alive. And that would be the end. But the shouts…they were getting closer. Or was he dreaming it all?
He saw the troopers rushing around, a new urgency in their movements. Then he heard the sounds of fire, and he saw half a dozen enemy fighters fall to the ground. Those who were still standing were firing too, shooting at something along the back rim of the trench.
He tried to raise his head, to get a look at what was happening, but he didn’t have the strength. Men were falling all around him, their bodies ripped apart by hypervelocity rounds fired from close range. The survivors fled toward the front edge of the trench. They were leaping out, enhanced leg muscles propelling the retreating soldiers the two meters in a single leap.
The whole thing had a dreamy, unreal feel to it. Jahn felt himself drifting into unconsciousness, still unsure what was happening. He struggled to remain aware, summoning all the strength that remained to him. The fighting around him was fierce. In some areas the attackers, now on the defensive, fled the trenches; in others, pockets of resistance developed, and they held firm, at least for a while.
Jahn felt an impact on his legs, a body falling on top of him. Then another. He lay, partially covered, watching the battle with failing eyes and fading awareness. Then he slipped into blackness.
“Captain Jahn?”
He saw a dim light, then a hazy form in front of him. He was weak, so weak. He had no idea how long he’d been out. But he heard the voice. Someone was calling to him. Then he heard the quiet. The sounds of battle were gone.
“Captain Jahn, sir.” The voice was urgent, it’s tone one of concern. “Sir? This is Sergeant Hind. Captain Denisov sent me to find you, sir.”
Jahn tried to focus his eyes, to zero in on the voice. “Ser…geant?” he whispered.
“Yes, sir.” He felt hands on him, pulling, lifting. “Just relax, sir. We’ve retaken the position. The enemy is gone. We’re going to get you the field hospital. You’re going to be OK, sir.”
“They’re pulling back all across the line, Jake.” Black was fully clad in body armor and exos. He’d been up to the front himself, and he’d just returned. “They hit Jahn’s people hardest. The fighting was heavy in that sector, but Denisov’s reserves cleared the enemy out. It looks like Jahn’s down. They’re looking for him now.”
Taylor took a deep breath. He remembered Jahn from Erastus. Good man. Was he dead somewhere in that nightmarish trench, or was he just wounded? He didn’t know.
He sighed. Another fight, a victory this time. But the difference wasn’t as stark as he’d hoped. His people held the ground this time instead of losing it, but that didn’t seem so important. Both sides had lost heavily, and the war was no closer to a conclusion.
“How bad did we get hit, Blackie?”
Black was reaching around behind him, unlatching the heavy harness he was wearing. Part armor, part weapon, the exos amplified the already considerable combat power of an enhanced soldier. A private stood behind Black, holding the heavy rig while the short, muscular officer contorted his way out.
“I don’t know yet, Jake, but it was pretty bad. We lost a lot of good men today.” Black was pulling off the smaller parts of his exoskeleton and handing them to another aide. “We should have some hard data soon.” He paused. “The enemy took it worse, at least. Much worse.” Black had been up to the front line, and he’d seen the results of the carnage firsthand. “The field in front of the trenchline is covered with bodies.”
Taylor nodded, a somber look on his face. This was carnage like he’d never seen before, even in the hell of Erastus. He was beginning to realize the battle between his men and the UN Supersoldiers would be apocalyptic. The two armies would savage each other in a horrific fight to the death, and the winner would have nothing left but a few stunned and exhausted survivors.
He took a deep breath, but he didn’t say anything. He was sinking into dark thoughts, facing the prospect of his army being torn apart. And he had no idea how to prevent it.