Indian Air Force Jaguar-IS “JM-414” Over the Southern Front, Phlegethon River Bulge
Statistically (as confirmed by the Federal Aviation Administration) 80 percent of cockpit voice flight records recovered after aircraft crashes, end with the words ‘Oh Shit.’ The speaker may have been the pilot or the co-pilot (or, it is rumored, in some cases the aircraft itself although this possibility is denied, derided and generally rejected) but the ultimate words remain the same. So, Flight Lieutenant Anuradha Mehta’s exclamation when a wyvern came out of nowhere and removed her Jaguar’s entire vertical fin and rudder assembly was entirely in accordance with tradition. It was no consolation when the Wyvern almost thereafter immediately had a terminal encounter with a U.S. Navy F-18E and gone down after taking two hits from AIR-120 rockets and a burst of 20mm cannon fire. The fact was that JM-414 was going into a flat spin and there was nothing Mehta could do about it.
Mehta hadn’t seen anything like the creature before, not outside mythology and fantasy art. It was a huge flying creature two legs, one pair of wings and small steering fins on the lower tail and upper neck. Mehta estimated its size as roughly 12 meters long and its wingspan around 40 meters. It had been fast, it had dived on her in a collision course with an approach speed of around 400 knots. As it had passed it had taken a swing at her aircraft with the great spiked ball on the tip of its tail, a ball covered in strong scales. It had totally wiped out his fin and that had killed JM-414 as surely as a missile hit. She looked downwards, she was over the battle area but whether she was on the baldrick or human side was another matter. On the other hand, she had no real options in the matter, JM-414 was uncontrollable, going into a flat spin and would soon break up. Her only choices were to eject or ride the aircraft in. She opted for the former and felt the slam in her back as the ejection rocket blasted her through the disintegrating canopy of her aircraft.
U.S. Navy F/A-18E “Eagle One” Over the Southern Front, Phlegethon River Bulge
The Indian pilot was out of her stricken aircraft, that was one good thing. What would happen on the way down and when she reached the ground was quite another. Lieutenant Commander Michael Wong really didn’t have time to worry about him. The sky was full of flying things, harpies, a wide variety of human aircraft and now these wretched giants that had appeared out of nowhere. They were about the same size as the Greater Heralds he had killed right at the start of the Salvation War and which were now proudly represented by the two great red kill marks under his cockpit.
“Eagle One to Regent. New sighting, big creature, looks a bit like a traditional dragon. One just took out an Indy Jaguar. Pilot’s out, call in CAESAR for a pick-up,”
“Very good Eagle One, for your information, new sighting is a Wyvern. They’re reported to be hitting the ground troops hard. Report status.”
“All AIM-120s gone. Two AIR-120s left, cannon and fuel low. The sky’s full of shit out here. Target rich environment.”
“Well say goodbye to it Eagle Flight. Return to Earth-Yankee base for refuel and rearm. Also for your information, the O-club is open there.”
That was a step in the right direction Wong thought. The tempo of flight operations precluded a beer but even soda would cut through the dust of Hell that seemed to get everywhere. His squadron was lucky, after being detached from Ronaldus Magnus they’d been assigned to one of the satellite air bases that surrounded the Hellmouth. What it must be like for the air crews, mostly A-10 and Su-25 drivers, who were based in Hell was difficult to contemplate.
Wong swerved his aircraft around and took aim at a harpy that was coming dangerously close. He lead it a little bit, squeezed the button and saw one of his remaining AIR-120s streak across the sky towards the bird-like creature. It saw the rocket and tried to evade but it was too late and the harpy vanished in the explosion that was part rocket and part its own body chemistry. “Formate on me Eagle Flight, we’re outta here.”
The navigation beacon was dead ahead, closing fast. “Eagle Flight to Regent, we’re closing on the portal now.”
“We have you Eagle Flight, you’re clear to transit. Hand over to Yankee once you’re though.” That was lucky, the amount of traffic through the portal could mean aircraft stacking up for hours. That was a disturbing thought, the whole human war effort in hell was being funneled through a bottleneck that was 1,800 feet wide and 1,200 feet high. If it closed now, the whole lot would be cut off. Then there was the quiet, undramatic switch from the red murk of Hell to the clear blue skies of Earth. Wong felt the engines surge in power as the filter vanes in the intakes rotated to clear the airflow.
“Yankee control here, Eagle Flight, you’re clear to land. Turn to oh-eight fiver and come straight in on runway 85.” Wong swung the F-18 to the bearing and saw the comforting rectangle of the new concrete strip up ahead. Something the Russian pilots, flying birds with undercarriages that looked like they could handle landing on a plowed field made fun of. Landing was proving an interesting experience, the modern aircraft were OK but the old birds brought out of store, or the boneyards, were a different matter. Pilots used to F-16s and F-18s were having a hard time adapting to the ‘hot and heavy’ characteristics of the old types. Wong wondered how Ronaldus Magnus was getting on with her older aircraft.
The runway was approaching fast now, Wong made minute adjustments to line himself up and cut power back so his aircraft drifted down in to the concrete. A different feeling entirely from the spine-crunching ‘controlled crash’ of a carrier landing. Over on the parking strip, Wong saw that a group of F-4s and A-7s had arrived. Rhinos and SLUFs, this war was getting more like a time machine every day. His F-18 stopped rolling and he added a touch of power to taxi off the runway on to the parking strip.
The debriefing hut was still a temporary structure, little more than a tent. Wong went inside and sighed to himself. One of the other F-18 pilots, a Lieutenant George Witz, was standing over the officer behind an interview desk. One of the problems with the mobilization was that it was calling back the bad as well as the good. Witz was one of the bad, Wong believed that first time around he’d probably resigned rather than be eased out. Now, he was cursing steadily, damning his aircraft, his missiles, the ground control. The AIR-120 was his present target and his denunciation of the unguided rocket was colorful even by fighter pilot standards. Wong sighed and went up to the first vacant desk. The officer behind it smiled at him, she already had his camera gun “film” up on her laptop. There was a lot to be said for digitization.
“Right Mike, we got you down for 14 harpies and a wyvern. Four AIM-120 kills, two gun kills and eight AIR-120 hits on the harpies, two AIR-120s and gunfire into the Wyvern. That square with what you remember.”
“Sure does ma’am.” In fact, Wong could have sworn he got two more harpies with gunfire than he was being allocated but in the wild furball that was going on in Hell, who could really say what was what?
“male bovine excrement.”
“I’m sorry?” The intelligence officer’s voice had gone cold. If she’d been the speaker’s wife, the victim would shortly be due for the ‘we’ve got to talk’ treatment followed by long nights sleeping on the couch.
“I call male bovine excrement. Nobody’s getting eight kills with those bits of crap. Somebody’s faking their claims.”
The AFIO was about to blister Witz’s ears when Wong cut in ahead of her. “You have a problem with the AIR-120?”
“Sure have, damned things go all over the place. Not one flies true. Haven’t had any luck all day with them crapshoots. You claim you got eight, you’re bullshitting.”
“Camera gun doesn’t lie, Lieutenant.” The AFCIO’s voice had dropped through sub-zero. She called up White’s download, the shots clearly showing the rockets flying straight and true but passing ahead of the targets. “It’s pretty obvious, you’re firing from too great a range and leading the target excessively. You’re using a rocket, not a gun, the lead you need is minimal. You watch Lieutenant Commander Wong’s downloads, they’ll show you how its done properly. We can’t give you ammunition to waste, you’re off flight roster until you can get consistent hits on the simulator.”
Witz turned away, still cursing under his breath. The AFIO packed up her laptop and smiled. “O-club’s open Mike.”
“Join me for a drink, Captain?”
“Be a pleasure. My name’s Patricia.”
“Is Witz going to be all right, he doesn’t seem happy.”
“Oh, don’t worry about him, he’s just Witzless.”
Wyvern Flight, the Southern Front, Phlegethon River Bulge
If the wyverns and their riders could have seen the radar tracking plots, they’d have known they were heading at 250 knots towards the center of the human positions along the southern flank. They couldn’t so all they knew was they were heading at their normal speed to where the humans were fighting. Each side of the wyvern, on panniers made of Beast leather, were loads of sulfur, ready to be set on fire and dropped on the humans below. Brimstone, burning sulfur, was one of Hell’s great weapons, an attack that burned, crushed and gassed all in a single blow. Far below them, they could see the human sky-chariots tearing into the harpy cloud, leaving the sky studded with the orange-and-red balls of fire as the harpies died.
Up here, more than half a league into the sky, the formation of 80 wyverns had gone more or less unnoticed. That had to be why the human sky-chariots were ignoring them in favor of rending the harpies. Still, it given the slaughter that was taking place in the harpy ranks, the wyverns and their riders were content with what small mercies they were given. There were whispers that more than seven thousand harpies had died already, more than one legion’s worth out of the six legions that had started the day’s battle.
Faranigranthis saw the wing leader up ahead make the signal, it was time for the attack. He ran a quick glance over his equipment, the sacks of brimstone were ready, all it would need was to pull the bronze bar from the rings and the sacks would upend, pouring the burning sulfur on to the enemy below. Behind them were the bronze flechettes, hardened in Belial’s workshops and also ready to be dropped on the enemy. Then, he returned his attention to the formation, already the first rank were peeling off for their dive on the enemy below. His turn came, he jabbed his spurs into the wyvern and felt it drop out of the sky as its wings folded and it howled its battle-cry.
This was the bit that made a wyvern rider’s life worthwhile. The screaming dive on an enemy below, watching them disperse and run to escape the deluge that was to come. Faranigranthis saw the humans below, their fortresses built around their iron chariots besieged by harpies and with the ground forces and beasts closing in. Off to one side, he saw a strange rippling blue flash tearing at the human positions and realized that had to be the naga at work, pouring their lightning bolts into the enemy ranks. As his wyvern dropped, Faranigranthis could see them more clearly, could see the great coiled forms strapped to the back of the Great Beasts that carried them. He touched his wyvern with his mind and the creature changed the angle of its dive so he could dump its load on the humans engaged by the naga.
It was time, nearly time. Faranigranthis calculated angle and speed, He had selected a line of three fortresses for his attack, a group that was already under heavy fire from the naga, the blue lightning bolts rippling off their armor. He touched the igniter that set the left hand set of brimstone bags on fire, then hesitated slightly and pulled the drop bar. To his delight he saw his aim was true and the deluge of burning yellow stones swept across the human iron chariots. Beneath him, the harpies swarmed over the stricken vehicles and the infantry floundering across the open space between the Phlegethon and the human defenses gained fresh heart. They swarmed up the banks and over the iron chariots that lay within them
Then, Faranigranthis saw how the human defenses worked. As soon as the three fortresses he had hit were in danger, those on either side opened fire on them, the little red flashes that streamed from them raking the position held by their fellows. From beneath the seething mass of harpies and infantry, he saw the iron chariots moving backwards, out of the overrun fortress, back towards the safety of the line behind. Still they were being raked by their fellows, but Faranigranthis saw the red fireflies bouncing off the iron chariots and he realized what was happening. The human fireflies couldn’t penetrate iron so they bounced off and just killed those outside its protection. None of whom were human of course.
Well, Faranigranthis knew what to do about that. He still had his right side pouches of brimstone and his flechettes. He dragged his wyvern’s nose around, touched its mind and gave it the instructions necessary. His next run would be on the second line of fortresses, the ones that were covering the escape of his first target. Once more his aim was true and the yellow cloud of flaming sulfur engulfed the iron chariots in their fortress. Their fireflies faded away and stopped as the chariots tried to back out from the cloud. Above them, Faranigranthis turned his wyvern again and headed for the chariots that had been the victim of his first pass. They were still there, fighting the infantry and Beasts that surrounded them and the harpies that flew over them. He aimed carefully and saw his flechettes hail down upon them. As he turned away, his load gone, he could see a rolling cloud of black smoke, laced with orange. An iron chariot was burning and he, Faranigranthis, had killed it.
It was time to go home. The Wyverns were assembling back at their original height above the battlefield and Faranigranthis could sense the exultation of the riders. They’d got in and they had struck a savage blow at the humans. Then, he did a count, there were fifty three Wyverns flying in the formation, out of the eighty that had dived on the humans just a few minutes before.
Naga Group, the Southern Front, Phlegethon River Bulge
Baroness Yuku fought the exhaustion that was growing throughout her body. The naga were built for maintaining a constant series of discharges but the rate at which she and her fellow naga had been firing them at the humans was greater than they had ever attempted before. Yet it had to be done, the humans had to be kept under fire if the assault was to stand a chance. Yuku mentally thanked her Lord that he had had the wisdom to ‘modify’ the instructions to send his best naga to aid Belial in his mad schemes. He’d interpreted ‘best’ to mean his youngest and least experienced coven, keeping his two most experienced groups with him for this battle. By the look of it, several other lords had done the same and that was a good thing, otherwise the assembled covens would be collapsed into semi-consciousness by now.
Those that still lived that was. There had been 54 covens assembled for this assault, just over 700 naga, and Chiknathragothem had grouped them in the center of his formation to punch a hole for the rest of his army to follow. That had seemed like a good idea until the holocaust of human mage-fire had descended upon them. The casualties had been dreadful but the soft, unarmored nagas had been hard hit. Less than 300 had survived the mage bolts and the churning ground. They’d forded the river and kept the human chariots under a constant series of bolts but nobody could do much more until the wyverns had doused their positions with burning brimstone. That had forced the humans back and out of their defensive positions.
The combination of bolts and brimstone from above, the relentless fire of the nagas and the advancing infantry and fliers had done it, they’d started to destroy the human defense. From her position on the river bank, Yuku could see the black, rolling smoke rising from more than a dozen iron chariots that had been overwhelmed and destroyed. Around them lay the bodies of their crews, many half eaten as they had been cut down. That might once have been a satisfying sight but Yuku could see more. The ground was black with the bodies of Chiknathragothem’s army where human magery had caused its terrible toll.
One of the infantry cohort commanders waved her forward, the foot-soldiers and cavalry were trying to clear the evil metal snakes and exploding mage-bars that covered the ground. The mage bars could be cleared by the simple expedient of picking them up and throwing them away, if they exploded, the mage-bar was gone, if it did not, it was gone. Slowly, a way was being cleared through the defenses, even though the human mage-fire never ceased and the casualties of those doing the clearing were high beyond counting. Yuku started to lead the seven surviving members of her coven forward along the cleared path, summoning up enough energy to unleash another series of bolts against the defenders. That was when the foot soldier leading her raised his trident.
“No further Highness. This is as far as we can go, the next line of human defenses is ahead of us.
And on either side of us and behind us thought Yuku. Nowhere is protected on this battlefield where the humans can see all and their mages can strike where they will.
Then, she heard a strange whistling sound and more mage-bolt explosions. Only these were soft in comparison with those she had experienced on the banks of the Phlegethon and they looked different. Instead of rolling clouds of black and red smoke, surrounded by thrown earth, they were gentle and white, almost angelic in the purity of their whiteness. Yuku watched confused as the white feather-like tendrils spread into a cloud that was utterly opaque yet still had the blinding white purity of the initial bursts. The clouds started to rise and that was when Yuku felt the intense head as more of the mage bolts spread the white cloud still further.
Yuku was suddenly aware that the white cloud was irritating her eyes and her nose was running. A stray cloud of the white smoke swept over her and she coughed, an explosive cough that shook her whole body. She looked around, she and her nagas were surrounded by white fragments that were falling over the whole area. One of the fragments landed on her skin and she looked at it, curiously at first but then in horror as her scales started to bubble and smolder. The lump was eating its way into her body, she could feel it searing into her flesh as it bit deeper and deeper. The agonizing pain started to spread as more and more of the lumps touched her and started the process of her destruction. All around her, figures were on the ground, rolling and screaming, trying to brush away the fragments that brought this unbelievable horror to them. Even as they did so, more of the rounds thumped down, adding yet more smoke and fragments to the cloud that was enveloping them.
The Great Beast that bore Baroness Yuku was on the ground, writhing and bellowing in agony as the white mage-fire burned into its body. Yuku was trapped underneath it, her body being crushed by the beast’s weight even as it burned from the white mage-fire. As she died in searing, mind-crushing agony, Yuku learned that it was very unwise to upset humans.
Statistically (as confirmed by the Federal Aviation Administration) 80 percent of cockpit voice flight records recovered after aircraft crashes, end with the words ‘Oh Shit.’ The speaker may have been the pilot or the co-pilot (or, it is rumored, in some cases the aircraft itself although this possibility is denied, derided and generally rejected) but the ultimate words remain the same. So, Flight Lieutenant Anuradha Mehta’s exclamation when a wyvern came out of nowhere and removed her Jaguar’s entire vertical fin and rudder assembly was entirely in accordance with tradition. It was no consolation when the Wyvern almost thereafter immediately had a terminal encounter with a U.S. Navy F-18E and gone down after taking two hits from AIR-120 rockets and a burst of 20mm cannon fire. The fact was that JM-414 was going into a flat spin and there was nothing Mehta could do about it.
Mehta hadn’t seen anything like the creature before, not outside mythology and fantasy art. It was a huge flying creature two legs, one pair of wings and small steering fins on the lower tail and upper neck. Mehta estimated its size as roughly 12 meters long and its wingspan around 40 meters. It had been fast, it had dived on her in a collision course with an approach speed of around 400 knots. As it had passed it had taken a swing at her aircraft with the great spiked ball on the tip of its tail, a ball covered in strong scales. It had totally wiped out his fin and that had killed JM-414 as surely as a missile hit. She looked downwards, she was over the battle area but whether she was on the baldrick or human side was another matter. On the other hand, she had no real options in the matter, JM-414 was uncontrollable, going into a flat spin and would soon break up. Her only choices were to eject or ride the aircraft in. She opted for the former and felt the slam in her back as the ejection rocket blasted her through the disintegrating canopy of her aircraft.
U.S. Navy F/A-18E “Eagle One” Over the Southern Front, Phlegethon River Bulge
The Indian pilot was out of her stricken aircraft, that was one good thing. What would happen on the way down and when she reached the ground was quite another. Lieutenant Commander Michael Wong really didn’t have time to worry about him. The sky was full of flying things, harpies, a wide variety of human aircraft and now these wretched giants that had appeared out of nowhere. They were about the same size as the Greater Heralds he had killed right at the start of the Salvation War and which were now proudly represented by the two great red kill marks under his cockpit.
“Eagle One to Regent. New sighting, big creature, looks a bit like a traditional dragon. One just took out an Indy Jaguar. Pilot’s out, call in CAESAR for a pick-up,”
“Very good Eagle One, for your information, new sighting is a Wyvern. They’re reported to be hitting the ground troops hard. Report status.”
“All AIM-120s gone. Two AIR-120s left, cannon and fuel low. The sky’s full of shit out here. Target rich environment.”
“Well say goodbye to it Eagle Flight. Return to Earth-Yankee base for refuel and rearm. Also for your information, the O-club is open there.”
That was a step in the right direction Wong thought. The tempo of flight operations precluded a beer but even soda would cut through the dust of Hell that seemed to get everywhere. His squadron was lucky, after being detached from Ronaldus Magnus they’d been assigned to one of the satellite air bases that surrounded the Hellmouth. What it must be like for the air crews, mostly A-10 and Su-25 drivers, who were based in Hell was difficult to contemplate.
Wong swerved his aircraft around and took aim at a harpy that was coming dangerously close. He lead it a little bit, squeezed the button and saw one of his remaining AIR-120s streak across the sky towards the bird-like creature. It saw the rocket and tried to evade but it was too late and the harpy vanished in the explosion that was part rocket and part its own body chemistry. “Formate on me Eagle Flight, we’re outta here.”
The navigation beacon was dead ahead, closing fast. “Eagle Flight to Regent, we’re closing on the portal now.”
“We have you Eagle Flight, you’re clear to transit. Hand over to Yankee once you’re though.” That was lucky, the amount of traffic through the portal could mean aircraft stacking up for hours. That was a disturbing thought, the whole human war effort in hell was being funneled through a bottleneck that was 1,800 feet wide and 1,200 feet high. If it closed now, the whole lot would be cut off. Then there was the quiet, undramatic switch from the red murk of Hell to the clear blue skies of Earth. Wong felt the engines surge in power as the filter vanes in the intakes rotated to clear the airflow.
“Yankee control here, Eagle Flight, you’re clear to land. Turn to oh-eight fiver and come straight in on runway 85.” Wong swung the F-18 to the bearing and saw the comforting rectangle of the new concrete strip up ahead. Something the Russian pilots, flying birds with undercarriages that looked like they could handle landing on a plowed field made fun of. Landing was proving an interesting experience, the modern aircraft were OK but the old birds brought out of store, or the boneyards, were a different matter. Pilots used to F-16s and F-18s were having a hard time adapting to the ‘hot and heavy’ characteristics of the old types. Wong wondered how Ronaldus Magnus was getting on with her older aircraft.
The runway was approaching fast now, Wong made minute adjustments to line himself up and cut power back so his aircraft drifted down in to the concrete. A different feeling entirely from the spine-crunching ‘controlled crash’ of a carrier landing. Over on the parking strip, Wong saw that a group of F-4s and A-7s had arrived. Rhinos and SLUFs, this war was getting more like a time machine every day. His F-18 stopped rolling and he added a touch of power to taxi off the runway on to the parking strip.
The debriefing hut was still a temporary structure, little more than a tent. Wong went inside and sighed to himself. One of the other F-18 pilots, a Lieutenant George Witz, was standing over the officer behind an interview desk. One of the problems with the mobilization was that it was calling back the bad as well as the good. Witz was one of the bad, Wong believed that first time around he’d probably resigned rather than be eased out. Now, he was cursing steadily, damning his aircraft, his missiles, the ground control. The AIR-120 was his present target and his denunciation of the unguided rocket was colorful even by fighter pilot standards. Wong sighed and went up to the first vacant desk. The officer behind it smiled at him, she already had his camera gun “film” up on her laptop. There was a lot to be said for digitization.
“Right Mike, we got you down for 14 harpies and a wyvern. Four AIM-120 kills, two gun kills and eight AIR-120 hits on the harpies, two AIR-120s and gunfire into the Wyvern. That square with what you remember.”
“Sure does ma’am.” In fact, Wong could have sworn he got two more harpies with gunfire than he was being allocated but in the wild furball that was going on in Hell, who could really say what was what?
“male bovine excrement.”
“I’m sorry?” The intelligence officer’s voice had gone cold. If she’d been the speaker’s wife, the victim would shortly be due for the ‘we’ve got to talk’ treatment followed by long nights sleeping on the couch.
“I call male bovine excrement. Nobody’s getting eight kills with those bits of crap. Somebody’s faking their claims.”
The AFIO was about to blister Witz’s ears when Wong cut in ahead of her. “You have a problem with the AIR-120?”
“Sure have, damned things go all over the place. Not one flies true. Haven’t had any luck all day with them crapshoots. You claim you got eight, you’re bullshitting.”
“Camera gun doesn’t lie, Lieutenant.” The AFCIO’s voice had dropped through sub-zero. She called up White’s download, the shots clearly showing the rockets flying straight and true but passing ahead of the targets. “It’s pretty obvious, you’re firing from too great a range and leading the target excessively. You’re using a rocket, not a gun, the lead you need is minimal. You watch Lieutenant Commander Wong’s downloads, they’ll show you how its done properly. We can’t give you ammunition to waste, you’re off flight roster until you can get consistent hits on the simulator.”
Witz turned away, still cursing under his breath. The AFIO packed up her laptop and smiled. “O-club’s open Mike.”
“Join me for a drink, Captain?”
“Be a pleasure. My name’s Patricia.”
“Is Witz going to be all right, he doesn’t seem happy.”
“Oh, don’t worry about him, he’s just Witzless.”
Wyvern Flight, the Southern Front, Phlegethon River Bulge
If the wyverns and their riders could have seen the radar tracking plots, they’d have known they were heading at 250 knots towards the center of the human positions along the southern flank. They couldn’t so all they knew was they were heading at their normal speed to where the humans were fighting. Each side of the wyvern, on panniers made of Beast leather, were loads of sulfur, ready to be set on fire and dropped on the humans below. Brimstone, burning sulfur, was one of Hell’s great weapons, an attack that burned, crushed and gassed all in a single blow. Far below them, they could see the human sky-chariots tearing into the harpy cloud, leaving the sky studded with the orange-and-red balls of fire as the harpies died.
Up here, more than half a league into the sky, the formation of 80 wyverns had gone more or less unnoticed. That had to be why the human sky-chariots were ignoring them in favor of rending the harpies. Still, it given the slaughter that was taking place in the harpy ranks, the wyverns and their riders were content with what small mercies they were given. There were whispers that more than seven thousand harpies had died already, more than one legion’s worth out of the six legions that had started the day’s battle.
Faranigranthis saw the wing leader up ahead make the signal, it was time for the attack. He ran a quick glance over his equipment, the sacks of brimstone were ready, all it would need was to pull the bronze bar from the rings and the sacks would upend, pouring the burning sulfur on to the enemy below. Behind them were the bronze flechettes, hardened in Belial’s workshops and also ready to be dropped on the enemy. Then, he returned his attention to the formation, already the first rank were peeling off for their dive on the enemy below. His turn came, he jabbed his spurs into the wyvern and felt it drop out of the sky as its wings folded and it howled its battle-cry.
This was the bit that made a wyvern rider’s life worthwhile. The screaming dive on an enemy below, watching them disperse and run to escape the deluge that was to come. Faranigranthis saw the humans below, their fortresses built around their iron chariots besieged by harpies and with the ground forces and beasts closing in. Off to one side, he saw a strange rippling blue flash tearing at the human positions and realized that had to be the naga at work, pouring their lightning bolts into the enemy ranks. As his wyvern dropped, Faranigranthis could see them more clearly, could see the great coiled forms strapped to the back of the Great Beasts that carried them. He touched his wyvern with his mind and the creature changed the angle of its dive so he could dump its load on the humans engaged by the naga.
It was time, nearly time. Faranigranthis calculated angle and speed, He had selected a line of three fortresses for his attack, a group that was already under heavy fire from the naga, the blue lightning bolts rippling off their armor. He touched the igniter that set the left hand set of brimstone bags on fire, then hesitated slightly and pulled the drop bar. To his delight he saw his aim was true and the deluge of burning yellow stones swept across the human iron chariots. Beneath him, the harpies swarmed over the stricken vehicles and the infantry floundering across the open space between the Phlegethon and the human defenses gained fresh heart. They swarmed up the banks and over the iron chariots that lay within them
Then, Faranigranthis saw how the human defenses worked. As soon as the three fortresses he had hit were in danger, those on either side opened fire on them, the little red flashes that streamed from them raking the position held by their fellows. From beneath the seething mass of harpies and infantry, he saw the iron chariots moving backwards, out of the overrun fortress, back towards the safety of the line behind. Still they were being raked by their fellows, but Faranigranthis saw the red fireflies bouncing off the iron chariots and he realized what was happening. The human fireflies couldn’t penetrate iron so they bounced off and just killed those outside its protection. None of whom were human of course.
Well, Faranigranthis knew what to do about that. He still had his right side pouches of brimstone and his flechettes. He dragged his wyvern’s nose around, touched its mind and gave it the instructions necessary. His next run would be on the second line of fortresses, the ones that were covering the escape of his first target. Once more his aim was true and the yellow cloud of flaming sulfur engulfed the iron chariots in their fortress. Their fireflies faded away and stopped as the chariots tried to back out from the cloud. Above them, Faranigranthis turned his wyvern again and headed for the chariots that had been the victim of his first pass. They were still there, fighting the infantry and Beasts that surrounded them and the harpies that flew over them. He aimed carefully and saw his flechettes hail down upon them. As he turned away, his load gone, he could see a rolling cloud of black smoke, laced with orange. An iron chariot was burning and he, Faranigranthis, had killed it.
It was time to go home. The Wyverns were assembling back at their original height above the battlefield and Faranigranthis could sense the exultation of the riders. They’d got in and they had struck a savage blow at the humans. Then, he did a count, there were fifty three Wyverns flying in the formation, out of the eighty that had dived on the humans just a few minutes before.
Naga Group, the Southern Front, Phlegethon River Bulge
Baroness Yuku fought the exhaustion that was growing throughout her body. The naga were built for maintaining a constant series of discharges but the rate at which she and her fellow naga had been firing them at the humans was greater than they had ever attempted before. Yet it had to be done, the humans had to be kept under fire if the assault was to stand a chance. Yuku mentally thanked her Lord that he had had the wisdom to ‘modify’ the instructions to send his best naga to aid Belial in his mad schemes. He’d interpreted ‘best’ to mean his youngest and least experienced coven, keeping his two most experienced groups with him for this battle. By the look of it, several other lords had done the same and that was a good thing, otherwise the assembled covens would be collapsed into semi-consciousness by now.
Those that still lived that was. There had been 54 covens assembled for this assault, just over 700 naga, and Chiknathragothem had grouped them in the center of his formation to punch a hole for the rest of his army to follow. That had seemed like a good idea until the holocaust of human mage-fire had descended upon them. The casualties had been dreadful but the soft, unarmored nagas had been hard hit. Less than 300 had survived the mage bolts and the churning ground. They’d forded the river and kept the human chariots under a constant series of bolts but nobody could do much more until the wyverns had doused their positions with burning brimstone. That had forced the humans back and out of their defensive positions.
The combination of bolts and brimstone from above, the relentless fire of the nagas and the advancing infantry and fliers had done it, they’d started to destroy the human defense. From her position on the river bank, Yuku could see the black, rolling smoke rising from more than a dozen iron chariots that had been overwhelmed and destroyed. Around them lay the bodies of their crews, many half eaten as they had been cut down. That might once have been a satisfying sight but Yuku could see more. The ground was black with the bodies of Chiknathragothem’s army where human magery had caused its terrible toll.
One of the infantry cohort commanders waved her forward, the foot-soldiers and cavalry were trying to clear the evil metal snakes and exploding mage-bars that covered the ground. The mage bars could be cleared by the simple expedient of picking them up and throwing them away, if they exploded, the mage-bar was gone, if it did not, it was gone. Slowly, a way was being cleared through the defenses, even though the human mage-fire never ceased and the casualties of those doing the clearing were high beyond counting. Yuku started to lead the seven surviving members of her coven forward along the cleared path, summoning up enough energy to unleash another series of bolts against the defenders. That was when the foot soldier leading her raised his trident.
“No further Highness. This is as far as we can go, the next line of human defenses is ahead of us.
And on either side of us and behind us thought Yuku. Nowhere is protected on this battlefield where the humans can see all and their mages can strike where they will.
Then, she heard a strange whistling sound and more mage-bolt explosions. Only these were soft in comparison with those she had experienced on the banks of the Phlegethon and they looked different. Instead of rolling clouds of black and red smoke, surrounded by thrown earth, they were gentle and white, almost angelic in the purity of their whiteness. Yuku watched confused as the white feather-like tendrils spread into a cloud that was utterly opaque yet still had the blinding white purity of the initial bursts. The clouds started to rise and that was when Yuku felt the intense head as more of the mage bolts spread the white cloud still further.
Yuku was suddenly aware that the white cloud was irritating her eyes and her nose was running. A stray cloud of the white smoke swept over her and she coughed, an explosive cough that shook her whole body. She looked around, she and her nagas were surrounded by white fragments that were falling over the whole area. One of the fragments landed on her skin and she looked at it, curiously at first but then in horror as her scales started to bubble and smolder. The lump was eating its way into her body, she could feel it searing into her flesh as it bit deeper and deeper. The agonizing pain started to spread as more and more of the lumps touched her and started the process of her destruction. All around her, figures were on the ground, rolling and screaming, trying to brush away the fragments that brought this unbelievable horror to them. Even as they did so, more of the rounds thumped down, adding yet more smoke and fragments to the cloud that was enveloping them.
The Great Beast that bore Baroness Yuku was on the ground, writhing and bellowing in agony as the white mage-fire burned into its body. Yuku was trapped underneath it, her body being crushed by the beast’s weight even as it burned from the white mage-fire. As she died in searing, mind-crushing agony, Yuku learned that it was very unwise to upset humans.