gral
Well-known member
If you're not being sarcastic about it, it is.
Original Fiction The Salvation War - Pantheocide
- Thread starter LTR
- Start date
The Salvation War: Pantheocide - 12
Outside CBS Studios, New York, NY, May 2009
“I see your show got renewed.” Colonel Paschal looked around the inside of the stretched Hummer limousine. It wasn’t often that one saw limousines like this anymore, not with gas and diesel fuel being rationed the way it was. But, he guessed, his companion was a television star so the studio had certainly made some special arrangements somehow. Anyway, she needed a larger-than-normal vehicle.
“I was not surprised, given my audience ratings over the first run.” Lugasharmanaska settled back in her seat and poured herself a goblet of champagne from the bar in the rear of her Hummer. Paschal caught her yellow eyes looking sideways at him and guessed that she was already trying to work out what he wanted with her and to turn it to her own advantage. He also wondered if the CBS management had been fully aware of how effective her pheromones could be in a confined space. DIMO(N) was still failing to find a counter to their effect, the best that could be done was for anybody dealing with a succubus to be fully aware of the dangers and be on their guard. It didn’t always work.
Still, it might be that he was being unkind to her, ‘Tonight With Luga’ was the country’s top-rated evening chat show. Most of the country remembered fondly how she had boxed Bernie Madoff into a corner and he’d tried to bluff his way out by claiming she would have done the same in his position. Her reply, “Of course, but I’m a daemon from Hell, I’m supposed to be the epitome of evil. What’s your excuse?” had even caused the camera operators and stage crew to break out into howls of laughter. Paschal caught another sideways glance from her eyes and reminded himself that she hadn’t changed. She’d got a veneer of sophistication and style now, and her clothing sense had improved dramatically but she was still the same succubus who’d tried to play everybody around her. And was still doing so.
“You’re on four months hiatus I believe? Going to take a trip back to Hell?”
Lugasharmanaska shook her head. “I didn’t make many friends back home when I sided with humans.”
“You know Deumos is dead? She died of her injuries during the assassination of Satan. Brain got squeezed inside out and the exhaust from the missiles fried her.”
“I know that.” Lugasharmanaska more than knew it, she was intimately involved in the power plays that were going on between the various factions that were maneuvering to replace the late and not at all lamented Deumos. Not as a candidate of course, she had far too enjoyable a position here on Earth and being on the side of the humans brought with it many benefits. One of them was that each of the factions that did want to provide the Succubae with their new queen believed that she had great influence over the humans and could swing their support to her desired candidate. That was why she didn’t wish to visit Hell, if she did, the fact that her possession of any such power was a delusion would become all too obvious. As it was, they were competing with each other to offer her the most tempting considerations and privileges. It was, she had decided, much more profitable and much safer to be a Queen-Maker than a Queen. Anyway, she had her audience to think of.
“So, what plans do you have for the next four months?”
“I’m going to be resting.”
Paschal snorted with laughter. Lugasharmanaska was picking up the habits and traditions of show-business with slightly terrifying speed. If she carried on this way, she’d be addressing everybody as ‘darling’ soon. “In other words, you have no commitments and nothing substantial to do. Well, I can fix that. How would you like to return to DIMO(N) for a few months, help us out with giving Yahweh the same treatment we handed out to Satan?”
“How much, and do I get a percentage of the gross?”
Yup, thought Paschal, our Luga has been in show business too long already. “Voluntary service and no percentage I fear. Although your fans will be ecstatic to hear you’ve volunteered your service to help the war effort. Again.”
She studied his face carefully while the options ran themselves though her mind. The focus groups had pinned down her one drawback as an star was the doubts people had over her final loyalties. This was, Luga thought, unfair. She didn’t have any final loyalties. But, giving up her time on hiatus to help the human war effort would convince the dubious that she was indeed on their side.
“As long as volunteering gets me on the news. What do you want me to do?”
“We’re getting a battering from Yahweh. We’re taking losses, nothing we can’t afford but irritating nonetheless. The problem is, we can’t get back at him. Over the last six months, every possible way we can get to Heaven has been methodically closed down. So we’re pulling in every asset we can get our hands on to change that. And you, Luga, are one of them.”
She nodded. One thought running through her mind was that The Eternal City was effectively a mass of precious stones and looting it would make her a fortune. Another was that poking Yahweh in the eye was always worthwhile. And if it increased the debts that humans owed to her, well, so much the better. “Right, I will rephrase my answer, what do you need to know?”
“Essentially, everything you can tell us about the Great Celestial War, how it was fought, where the fighting took place, how Heaven and Hell managed to get at each other. More than that, what sort of weaponry Yahweh brought to the party.”
“I can answer some of that right here. To get directly from Heaven to Hell or the other way is very hard indeed. It takes much effort and cooperation from both ends. There were very few such links and only one survived the war. Heavengate. Why don’t you use that?”
“It’s been closed.”
“Very sensible of Yahweh, or, I suspect, Michaellanyahweh.” Luga pronounced Michael’s name daemon-style, running all the parts into a single word. “Michael is Yahweh’s general. But weapons? Nothing compared to yours. He has his beasts of course and they are terrible to behold but compared to your tanks and aircraft?” Luga snorted with laughter.
Paschal thought that her laughter had a most engaging quality to it, then cudgeled himself over the head. Damn it, those pheromones were dangerous and the confines of a limousine were perfect for them to develop their effects. He swallowed, got a grip on himself, and continued. “That’s a good start. Anyway, our experts will need to speak with you.”
“Why do you not ask Abigor? He fought in that war, one of Satan’s best Generals. Or Belial, who was one of his worst.”
“We have no idea where Belial is. Anyway, we never rely on a single source.”
“Very wise.” So the humans haven’t found Belial yet? Very interesting. “Driver, take us to my apartment.”
Desert, South of Ciudad Juarez, Mexico. May 2009
“Does The One Above All know what He is asking?”
I don’t think ‘asking’ is quite accurate, thought Michael-Lan, screaming demands and issuing blood-curdling threats in almost incoherent rage would be a little more accurate. “Is there anything that is beyond the knowledge of The All-Seeing Father? Yes, He does know what He asks but there is no alternative. It is the Americans who are the center of the resistance to His Divine Will and it is they who must be made to suffer for their disobedience. The city close to here will be a suitable target I think. It is on the border so it should be easy prey for you.” It is also in Texas, whose state motto is ‘Shoot first, keep shooting, shoot some more and if anybody is left standing, ask some questions’. You’re in for an interesting time Uriel-Lan-Yahweh.
“There is no easy prey in this world Michael-Lan. There hasn’t been for many years but now things are much, much worse. Everywhere I go, humans scan the skies with their machines, if they see anything suspect, they send up their aircraft to investigate. Since the war started, every time they see something, they fire their missiles as well. Even the poorest and least of their countries have them now. And they have something else, something I do not understand. I have seen only hints of it but it is beyond my understanding.”
Michael-Lan nodded sympathetically. “Humans love their machines. Some of them even give them their own names and speak to them as if they are alive. Mexico is much poorer than America, come in from the south and the door should be open to you.”
“There is something else. Once, all I had to do was to will it and the humans died. No matter where, no matter when, they died without effort on my part. Now, it takes all my strength to snuff them out and even then, many survive. The animals of every kind die but the humans do not, not all of them. Since this war started, my task has become harder with every day that passes. Their aircraft are worst of all, once I could still the lives of the pilot and the aircraft would fall from the sky.” Uriel paused, remembering the times when he had seized upon one of the great passenger aircraft the humans used and snuffed out the lives of its crew leaving the aircraft to crash. To do the same to the human fighter aircraft had often been harder but now was virtually impossible. He had used all his strength and the effect had been beneath notice.
Michael-Lan frowned mightily. “Uriel-Lan-Yahweh, do you doubt the wisdom of The One Above All?”
Uriel stepped back in sheer shock at the accusation. “Never!”
“I am pleased to hear it. You are the Fire and Sword of The Most High, his most trusted servant and the bringer of wrath upon his enemies. The All-Seeing Father would be most disturbed if he was to hear that you believed there were humans who were beyond his reach. You can say that again, and hear it he will.
“You may tell The One Above All that tonight, Uriel will extinguish the city of El Paso.” Uriel drew himself up in a mixture or pride and offended dignity.
“I shall. Now, I must leave, I have business in the south.” Picking up a consignment of cocaine and some of those exquisite mushrooms. But no need for you to know that. Michael-Lan gathered his wings, inflated his sacs and took off, leaving Uriel staring after him.
2nd Battery, 365th Air Defense Battalion, El Paso, Texas. May 2009
“Sarge, we’ve got a bandit on the radar.”
“Sure it’s not civilian?” There was no need to ask whether it was military or not, there was no identification friend-or-foe system response and all military aircraft had such equipment. Of course, it could be on the fritz but that would then be a problem to sort out later. Better a blue-on-blue kill than a sky-volcano opening up over El Paso.
“If it is, its way out of the safe lanes. Could be a druggie chancing his luck of course.” Every airport was surrounded by safe lanes that civilian aircraft had, on pain of being shot out of the sky, use. Early on, a few pilots had chanced their arm and strayed out of those lanes only to have terminal arguments with missiles or fighters. The first resulting court case had gone to the Supreme Court in record time, where the Justices had ruled that responsibility for the shoot-downs lay with the pilots who had been flying in prohibited areas. Now, the only humans who flew in such areas were smugglers or the terminally stupid. The other alternatives were Baldricks or Angels and nobody objected to shooting them on sight.
“Air Force confirming. An AWACS has the contact as well, they read it coming in from the south, heading almost exactly due north. Speed 180 knots, altitude 7,500 feet.”
“Any word from the DIMO(N) net?” The land-lines were already opening up fast, they did every time something showed up somewhere it shouldn’t. Nobody could forget Detroit and the fifty thousand people who had died there. For a reason nobody could quite understand, the first sign that a portal was about to be opened was that cell phone reception went crazy. Monitoring the disruptions to service gave a warning to those beneath that something dreadful was about to happen.
“The DIMO(N) net reports no towers out, dropped frame rate is nominal. There’s no portal forming out there.”
“Confirm data. That makes it either a civilian bird way off course or a hostile flying in.” Corporal Baughn re-read the data from the displays. “It’s on a direct course for El Paso, or Ciudad Juarez, take your pick. I class this one has hostile.”
The battery commander glanced at the displays. “Confirm that. If it isn’t, he’s too dumb to live. Within range?”
“Sure, those are PAC-3s out there.”
“Get ready to fire.” There was a pause. “Hold one, the Air Farce are vectoring two F-16s in.”
“Trust the fly-boys to muscle in.”
“Not so fast. The fighters will be a decoy, they’ll herd him over us and distract him. Then, when the time is right, we’ll stick four PAC-3s up him and he’ll never know they were there.”
“Works for me.”
Over the Desert, South of Ciudad Juarez, Mexico. May 2009
Uriel glided silently through the darkness, savoring the signs of life that came from the bustling city beneath him. If he had his way, he would stay this far south, the city was a fat target and even the human’s new-found resistance to his touch couldn’t save them from a savage death toll. But, he had his orders from The One Above All and they were not to be disputed. He would have to go further north, to the American city that lay beyond the river. It was easy to see where the divisor was; both cities were brightly lit but the part north of the river was almost garish in its multitude of lights and colors.
There was another reason why Uriel knew he was heading further north than he had been for many years. His skin was itching madly and it got worse by the minute. Somehow, the humans knew he was here and were already preparing one of their explosive welcomes for him. He sent out the first gentle touch of his mind, gauging reaction and response rather than actively trying to snuff out the existences of those beneath him. As he had expected, the resistance was there, it varied in its effects from a hindrance to a complete block, but it was there. It was time to conduct his attack.
Uriel concentrated and focused his mind on the northern part of the great sea of light underneath him. His touch was rejected, blocked, neutralized. He concentrated his willpower, pouring energy from his body into the attack, sending out great waves of his touch to blanket the ground beneath. In the part of his mind not conducting the onslaught, he visualized what must be happening on the ground below, the people simply dying as they stood or walked, slumping to the ground, their lives extinguished as if they had never been. His great wings in exultation as the power of his touch lapped the ground below. The resistance was still there, greater than in any of his attacks further south, but he could feel that at least some of the power he was emitting was finally taking its toll.
It was then that Uriel realized he was hearing something, a sky-ripping scream that was still far away but one that got closer all the time. ‘The war cry of a Sky-Chariot’ he thought scornfully, the pathetic name that Satan and the fallen that had been exiled to Hell had coined for what was simply the noise of a human jet engine. If Satan had bothered to stay in touch with humans, studied them, followed their development, he too would have been warned of the way their knowledge and understanding had suddenly mushroomed out. Quite apart from anything else, Satan would still be alive and ruling Hell, not dead and buried with his followers living under human rule.
It was time to do something about these aircraft. Uriel made a lazy turn and headed directly towards them. He gathered his energy, redirecting it from the assault on those beneath him, concentrating it into a triumphant trumpet-call that would hammer the approaching aircraft from the sky. He had heard how the lesser Angels had swept human aircraft from the skies with their trumpeting, rumor said that almost fifty human aircraft had been destroyed in that one fight. Now, the humans would see what the infinitely greater trumpeting of an Archangel could achieve. He summoned his strength, concentrated it into a single great call and bellowed out its note.
It was as if the aircraft had sensed his purpose, for as he had turned to attack them, they had reversed course and fled away from him, their tails glowing bright red. They escaped unscathed, Uriel had the odd impression that his trumpet blast had actually fallen behind them as they fled to safety. He trumpeted again, this time in triumph for had he not engaged the human aircraft in single combat and forced them to flee in disgrace? He set off in pursuit, knowing it was futile since they were heading north far faster than he could fly.
It was then that the constant itching in his skin was replaced by a burning agony that convinced him that he was on fire. Instinctively, he glanced below and behind him to see four great streaks of fire closing in on him. The thoughts flashed through his mind, he had been tricked, fooled, lured into an ambush and he had but a split second to save himself before the missiles tore home. Faster than he had ever done in his life, far faster than was theoretically possible, he opened a portal and it enveloped him. It slammed shut behind him just a moment before the four PAC-3 missiles tore into the sky where it had been.
2nd Battery, 365th Air Defense Battalion, El Paso, Texas. May 2009
The thundering explosions lit the sky above El Paso, the four Patriot missiles expending themselves in an exemplary display of reliability. The question was, had they actually hit their target or simply exploded at the end of their flight. It was an old question and one that had confused more than a few debriefings.
“Did we get him?” It was Corporal Baughn speaking but he was voicing the question held in the minds of all.”
“There’s no reports that a rain of overcooked and slightly-used rump steaks is descending on El Paso so it doesn’t seem so.” A grim laugh ran around the battery control room.
“The DIMO(N) net is reporting Sir. They have a very small portal opening a split second before the missiles exploded. It was there for a tiny fraction of a second only but the position they have is close to our intercept point. I’d say the thing got away.”
Lieutenant Becerra sighed. “We missed him. We’ve never seen a Baldrick do that before.” He stopped for a second and went to the door of the van. In the distance, the sound of emergency service vehicle sirens wailing was clearly distinguishable. “He didn’t miss us though.”
“I see your show got renewed.” Colonel Paschal looked around the inside of the stretched Hummer limousine. It wasn’t often that one saw limousines like this anymore, not with gas and diesel fuel being rationed the way it was. But, he guessed, his companion was a television star so the studio had certainly made some special arrangements somehow. Anyway, she needed a larger-than-normal vehicle.
“I was not surprised, given my audience ratings over the first run.” Lugasharmanaska settled back in her seat and poured herself a goblet of champagne from the bar in the rear of her Hummer. Paschal caught her yellow eyes looking sideways at him and guessed that she was already trying to work out what he wanted with her and to turn it to her own advantage. He also wondered if the CBS management had been fully aware of how effective her pheromones could be in a confined space. DIMO(N) was still failing to find a counter to their effect, the best that could be done was for anybody dealing with a succubus to be fully aware of the dangers and be on their guard. It didn’t always work.
Still, it might be that he was being unkind to her, ‘Tonight With Luga’ was the country’s top-rated evening chat show. Most of the country remembered fondly how she had boxed Bernie Madoff into a corner and he’d tried to bluff his way out by claiming she would have done the same in his position. Her reply, “Of course, but I’m a daemon from Hell, I’m supposed to be the epitome of evil. What’s your excuse?” had even caused the camera operators and stage crew to break out into howls of laughter. Paschal caught another sideways glance from her eyes and reminded himself that she hadn’t changed. She’d got a veneer of sophistication and style now, and her clothing sense had improved dramatically but she was still the same succubus who’d tried to play everybody around her. And was still doing so.
“You’re on four months hiatus I believe? Going to take a trip back to Hell?”
Lugasharmanaska shook her head. “I didn’t make many friends back home when I sided with humans.”
“You know Deumos is dead? She died of her injuries during the assassination of Satan. Brain got squeezed inside out and the exhaust from the missiles fried her.”
“I know that.” Lugasharmanaska more than knew it, she was intimately involved in the power plays that were going on between the various factions that were maneuvering to replace the late and not at all lamented Deumos. Not as a candidate of course, she had far too enjoyable a position here on Earth and being on the side of the humans brought with it many benefits. One of them was that each of the factions that did want to provide the Succubae with their new queen believed that she had great influence over the humans and could swing their support to her desired candidate. That was why she didn’t wish to visit Hell, if she did, the fact that her possession of any such power was a delusion would become all too obvious. As it was, they were competing with each other to offer her the most tempting considerations and privileges. It was, she had decided, much more profitable and much safer to be a Queen-Maker than a Queen. Anyway, she had her audience to think of.
“So, what plans do you have for the next four months?”
“I’m going to be resting.”
Paschal snorted with laughter. Lugasharmanaska was picking up the habits and traditions of show-business with slightly terrifying speed. If she carried on this way, she’d be addressing everybody as ‘darling’ soon. “In other words, you have no commitments and nothing substantial to do. Well, I can fix that. How would you like to return to DIMO(N) for a few months, help us out with giving Yahweh the same treatment we handed out to Satan?”
“How much, and do I get a percentage of the gross?”
Yup, thought Paschal, our Luga has been in show business too long already. “Voluntary service and no percentage I fear. Although your fans will be ecstatic to hear you’ve volunteered your service to help the war effort. Again.”
She studied his face carefully while the options ran themselves though her mind. The focus groups had pinned down her one drawback as an star was the doubts people had over her final loyalties. This was, Luga thought, unfair. She didn’t have any final loyalties. But, giving up her time on hiatus to help the human war effort would convince the dubious that she was indeed on their side.
“As long as volunteering gets me on the news. What do you want me to do?”
“We’re getting a battering from Yahweh. We’re taking losses, nothing we can’t afford but irritating nonetheless. The problem is, we can’t get back at him. Over the last six months, every possible way we can get to Heaven has been methodically closed down. So we’re pulling in every asset we can get our hands on to change that. And you, Luga, are one of them.”
She nodded. One thought running through her mind was that The Eternal City was effectively a mass of precious stones and looting it would make her a fortune. Another was that poking Yahweh in the eye was always worthwhile. And if it increased the debts that humans owed to her, well, so much the better. “Right, I will rephrase my answer, what do you need to know?”
“Essentially, everything you can tell us about the Great Celestial War, how it was fought, where the fighting took place, how Heaven and Hell managed to get at each other. More than that, what sort of weaponry Yahweh brought to the party.”
“I can answer some of that right here. To get directly from Heaven to Hell or the other way is very hard indeed. It takes much effort and cooperation from both ends. There were very few such links and only one survived the war. Heavengate. Why don’t you use that?”
“It’s been closed.”
“Very sensible of Yahweh, or, I suspect, Michaellanyahweh.” Luga pronounced Michael’s name daemon-style, running all the parts into a single word. “Michael is Yahweh’s general. But weapons? Nothing compared to yours. He has his beasts of course and they are terrible to behold but compared to your tanks and aircraft?” Luga snorted with laughter.
Paschal thought that her laughter had a most engaging quality to it, then cudgeled himself over the head. Damn it, those pheromones were dangerous and the confines of a limousine were perfect for them to develop their effects. He swallowed, got a grip on himself, and continued. “That’s a good start. Anyway, our experts will need to speak with you.”
“Why do you not ask Abigor? He fought in that war, one of Satan’s best Generals. Or Belial, who was one of his worst.”
“We have no idea where Belial is. Anyway, we never rely on a single source.”
“Very wise.” So the humans haven’t found Belial yet? Very interesting. “Driver, take us to my apartment.”
Desert, South of Ciudad Juarez, Mexico. May 2009
“Does The One Above All know what He is asking?”
I don’t think ‘asking’ is quite accurate, thought Michael-Lan, screaming demands and issuing blood-curdling threats in almost incoherent rage would be a little more accurate. “Is there anything that is beyond the knowledge of The All-Seeing Father? Yes, He does know what He asks but there is no alternative. It is the Americans who are the center of the resistance to His Divine Will and it is they who must be made to suffer for their disobedience. The city close to here will be a suitable target I think. It is on the border so it should be easy prey for you.” It is also in Texas, whose state motto is ‘Shoot first, keep shooting, shoot some more and if anybody is left standing, ask some questions’. You’re in for an interesting time Uriel-Lan-Yahweh.
“There is no easy prey in this world Michael-Lan. There hasn’t been for many years but now things are much, much worse. Everywhere I go, humans scan the skies with their machines, if they see anything suspect, they send up their aircraft to investigate. Since the war started, every time they see something, they fire their missiles as well. Even the poorest and least of their countries have them now. And they have something else, something I do not understand. I have seen only hints of it but it is beyond my understanding.”
Michael-Lan nodded sympathetically. “Humans love their machines. Some of them even give them their own names and speak to them as if they are alive. Mexico is much poorer than America, come in from the south and the door should be open to you.”
“There is something else. Once, all I had to do was to will it and the humans died. No matter where, no matter when, they died without effort on my part. Now, it takes all my strength to snuff them out and even then, many survive. The animals of every kind die but the humans do not, not all of them. Since this war started, my task has become harder with every day that passes. Their aircraft are worst of all, once I could still the lives of the pilot and the aircraft would fall from the sky.” Uriel paused, remembering the times when he had seized upon one of the great passenger aircraft the humans used and snuffed out the lives of its crew leaving the aircraft to crash. To do the same to the human fighter aircraft had often been harder but now was virtually impossible. He had used all his strength and the effect had been beneath notice.
Michael-Lan frowned mightily. “Uriel-Lan-Yahweh, do you doubt the wisdom of The One Above All?”
Uriel stepped back in sheer shock at the accusation. “Never!”
“I am pleased to hear it. You are the Fire and Sword of The Most High, his most trusted servant and the bringer of wrath upon his enemies. The All-Seeing Father would be most disturbed if he was to hear that you believed there were humans who were beyond his reach. You can say that again, and hear it he will.
“You may tell The One Above All that tonight, Uriel will extinguish the city of El Paso.” Uriel drew himself up in a mixture or pride and offended dignity.
“I shall. Now, I must leave, I have business in the south.” Picking up a consignment of cocaine and some of those exquisite mushrooms. But no need for you to know that. Michael-Lan gathered his wings, inflated his sacs and took off, leaving Uriel staring after him.
2nd Battery, 365th Air Defense Battalion, El Paso, Texas. May 2009
“Sarge, we’ve got a bandit on the radar.”
“Sure it’s not civilian?” There was no need to ask whether it was military or not, there was no identification friend-or-foe system response and all military aircraft had such equipment. Of course, it could be on the fritz but that would then be a problem to sort out later. Better a blue-on-blue kill than a sky-volcano opening up over El Paso.
“If it is, its way out of the safe lanes. Could be a druggie chancing his luck of course.” Every airport was surrounded by safe lanes that civilian aircraft had, on pain of being shot out of the sky, use. Early on, a few pilots had chanced their arm and strayed out of those lanes only to have terminal arguments with missiles or fighters. The first resulting court case had gone to the Supreme Court in record time, where the Justices had ruled that responsibility for the shoot-downs lay with the pilots who had been flying in prohibited areas. Now, the only humans who flew in such areas were smugglers or the terminally stupid. The other alternatives were Baldricks or Angels and nobody objected to shooting them on sight.
“Air Force confirming. An AWACS has the contact as well, they read it coming in from the south, heading almost exactly due north. Speed 180 knots, altitude 7,500 feet.”
“Any word from the DIMO(N) net?” The land-lines were already opening up fast, they did every time something showed up somewhere it shouldn’t. Nobody could forget Detroit and the fifty thousand people who had died there. For a reason nobody could quite understand, the first sign that a portal was about to be opened was that cell phone reception went crazy. Monitoring the disruptions to service gave a warning to those beneath that something dreadful was about to happen.
“The DIMO(N) net reports no towers out, dropped frame rate is nominal. There’s no portal forming out there.”
“Confirm data. That makes it either a civilian bird way off course or a hostile flying in.” Corporal Baughn re-read the data from the displays. “It’s on a direct course for El Paso, or Ciudad Juarez, take your pick. I class this one has hostile.”
The battery commander glanced at the displays. “Confirm that. If it isn’t, he’s too dumb to live. Within range?”
“Sure, those are PAC-3s out there.”
“Get ready to fire.” There was a pause. “Hold one, the Air Farce are vectoring two F-16s in.”
“Trust the fly-boys to muscle in.”
“Not so fast. The fighters will be a decoy, they’ll herd him over us and distract him. Then, when the time is right, we’ll stick four PAC-3s up him and he’ll never know they were there.”
“Works for me.”
Over the Desert, South of Ciudad Juarez, Mexico. May 2009
Uriel glided silently through the darkness, savoring the signs of life that came from the bustling city beneath him. If he had his way, he would stay this far south, the city was a fat target and even the human’s new-found resistance to his touch couldn’t save them from a savage death toll. But, he had his orders from The One Above All and they were not to be disputed. He would have to go further north, to the American city that lay beyond the river. It was easy to see where the divisor was; both cities were brightly lit but the part north of the river was almost garish in its multitude of lights and colors.
There was another reason why Uriel knew he was heading further north than he had been for many years. His skin was itching madly and it got worse by the minute. Somehow, the humans knew he was here and were already preparing one of their explosive welcomes for him. He sent out the first gentle touch of his mind, gauging reaction and response rather than actively trying to snuff out the existences of those beneath him. As he had expected, the resistance was there, it varied in its effects from a hindrance to a complete block, but it was there. It was time to conduct his attack.
Uriel concentrated and focused his mind on the northern part of the great sea of light underneath him. His touch was rejected, blocked, neutralized. He concentrated his willpower, pouring energy from his body into the attack, sending out great waves of his touch to blanket the ground beneath. In the part of his mind not conducting the onslaught, he visualized what must be happening on the ground below, the people simply dying as they stood or walked, slumping to the ground, their lives extinguished as if they had never been. His great wings in exultation as the power of his touch lapped the ground below. The resistance was still there, greater than in any of his attacks further south, but he could feel that at least some of the power he was emitting was finally taking its toll.
It was then that Uriel realized he was hearing something, a sky-ripping scream that was still far away but one that got closer all the time. ‘The war cry of a Sky-Chariot’ he thought scornfully, the pathetic name that Satan and the fallen that had been exiled to Hell had coined for what was simply the noise of a human jet engine. If Satan had bothered to stay in touch with humans, studied them, followed their development, he too would have been warned of the way their knowledge and understanding had suddenly mushroomed out. Quite apart from anything else, Satan would still be alive and ruling Hell, not dead and buried with his followers living under human rule.
It was time to do something about these aircraft. Uriel made a lazy turn and headed directly towards them. He gathered his energy, redirecting it from the assault on those beneath him, concentrating it into a triumphant trumpet-call that would hammer the approaching aircraft from the sky. He had heard how the lesser Angels had swept human aircraft from the skies with their trumpeting, rumor said that almost fifty human aircraft had been destroyed in that one fight. Now, the humans would see what the infinitely greater trumpeting of an Archangel could achieve. He summoned his strength, concentrated it into a single great call and bellowed out its note.
It was as if the aircraft had sensed his purpose, for as he had turned to attack them, they had reversed course and fled away from him, their tails glowing bright red. They escaped unscathed, Uriel had the odd impression that his trumpet blast had actually fallen behind them as they fled to safety. He trumpeted again, this time in triumph for had he not engaged the human aircraft in single combat and forced them to flee in disgrace? He set off in pursuit, knowing it was futile since they were heading north far faster than he could fly.
It was then that the constant itching in his skin was replaced by a burning agony that convinced him that he was on fire. Instinctively, he glanced below and behind him to see four great streaks of fire closing in on him. The thoughts flashed through his mind, he had been tricked, fooled, lured into an ambush and he had but a split second to save himself before the missiles tore home. Faster than he had ever done in his life, far faster than was theoretically possible, he opened a portal and it enveloped him. It slammed shut behind him just a moment before the four PAC-3 missiles tore into the sky where it had been.
2nd Battery, 365th Air Defense Battalion, El Paso, Texas. May 2009
The thundering explosions lit the sky above El Paso, the four Patriot missiles expending themselves in an exemplary display of reliability. The question was, had they actually hit their target or simply exploded at the end of their flight. It was an old question and one that had confused more than a few debriefings.
“Did we get him?” It was Corporal Baughn speaking but he was voicing the question held in the minds of all.”
“There’s no reports that a rain of overcooked and slightly-used rump steaks is descending on El Paso so it doesn’t seem so.” A grim laugh ran around the battery control room.
“The DIMO(N) net is reporting Sir. They have a very small portal opening a split second before the missiles exploded. It was there for a tiny fraction of a second only but the position they have is close to our intercept point. I’d say the thing got away.”
Lieutenant Becerra sighed. “We missed him. We’ve never seen a Baldrick do that before.” He stopped for a second and went to the door of the van. In the distance, the sound of emergency service vehicle sirens wailing was clearly distinguishable. “He didn’t miss us though.”
The Salvation War: Pantheocide - 13
DIMO(N) Conference Room, The Pentagon, May 2009
“Well, did you escape with your virginity intact?” General Schatten looked at Colonel Paschal curiously.
“I tell you Sir, those pheromones are dangerous. It’s all right when there’s ventilation or the room is large enough but in a closed space like a limousine, they’re insidious.” Paschal reflected that he’d noticed all too late that Lugasharmanaska hadn’t had the air conditioning in her limousine turned on. “Even when one’s expecting them and prepared to discount their effects, they sort of sneak up on one.”
“So he did lose his virginity to her.” Dr. Surlethe put a great deal of satisfaction into his voice.
“Well, it’s not surprising. Remember that tabloid journalist? From the Enquirer or the Star, one of the supermarket things. Made contact with her, wanting to do an expose on ‘Sex Secrets of the Succubae’ or something. Apparently, she sucked him in and he crawled out of her apartment two days later, hands shaking so badly he couldn’t even type for a week. He’s been singing her praises ever since.” A guffaw ran around the room, the power the succubae had to seduce people was already legendary.
Paschal went bright red which caused an even greater outburst of laughter. “I told you, I didn’t lose my virginity to her….”
“I guess you’d lost it somewhere else first then. Careless of you.” Dr. Kuroneko spoke suavely. “Of course you realize she’s now got your sperm stored away? She’ll transfer it to an Incubus who will then impregnate a woman with it.”
“Ugh, squick.” The executive assistant taking meeting notes in the corner of the room shuddered with distaste.
“You know Colonel, you could be in serious trouble there.” The emotionless, uninflected voice sounded strange in contrast to the joking that had been going on. “The recipient of that Incubus’s attentions could well sue you for paternity. After all the courts have already ruled that a woman who impregnates herself with the contents of a discarded condom has a right to demand child support.”
“You’re joking.” Paschal sounded genuinely panicky. “Aren’t you?” Then he looked at the speaker more closely. “I thought your company had lost its contract when the new administration came in.”
“It did. But the number of people who can do the sort of work we do is very limited. So, when the old company loses the contract, we all get laid off but the new company has to hire staff to do the work. We’re the only ones available so they offer us our old jobs back. In the old days, we used to clear our desks one afternoon, go home, pick up the recruiting call and be at our new desks the next morning. These days things are much more efficient. The old company just transfers the lease on the building and our employment contracts to the new company and we don’t even have to move offices.”
“Has it always been like that?” Schatten was fascinated by the insight.
“Mostly, McNamara bought his own people in from outside, the whizz-kids they were called, and they made a pig’s breakfast of everything. But they went when he did and things got back to normal. Or as close to normal as anything gets inside the beltway. Anyway, Luga’s back on the team?”
“She is. Thanks to the brave Colonel’s sacrifice and devotion to duty.”
“Good, I like Luga.” The targeteer settled down in a seat.
“Why does that not surprise me?” Schatten opened his pad, “You all heard about the attack on El Paso and Ciudad Juarez last night?”
A ripple of acknowledgement ran around the room and the meeting got serious very suddenly.
“We have preliminary casualty figures. More than 30,000 dead, about three quarters of them in Ciudad Juarez. Just over 6,000 in El Paso itself. To put those numbers into perspective, the population of El Paso is roughly 750,000 while that of Ciudad Juarez is 1,300,000. So, the death rate was 800 per hundred thousand or 0.8 percent in El Paso and 1,846 per hundred thousand or 1.84 percent in Ciudad Juarez.”
“That’s very interesting.” Dr. Kuroneko looked at the numbers he’d scribbled down. “The differential is statistically significant.”
“It’s more than that, take a look at this.” Surlethe reached up and flipped the chart over to an acetate overlay map of the El Paso/Ciudad Juarez metropolis. Some of the areas were shaded black and it didn’t take much imagination to see that the depth of the shading represented the proportion of the population that had died.
“It’s related to population density. Hardly surprising.” The monotone voice was not impressed.
“Not quite no, it’s a reasonable assumption and one we made at first.” Surlethe flipped another acetate overlay on to the map. “This is the population density distribution. You can see that it doesn’t quite fit, there are substantial discrepancies. But when we use this overlay, the fit is exact.”
Surlethe flipped a third acetate overlay into place and the attendees nodded. The fit was indeed exact. “And what is that map?”
“It’s a map of the city divided into areas by relative income. And the conclusion is very obvious. Where people are rich, nobody died. Where people are poor, some died. Where they were destitute, a large number died. Even then, the number of surviving humans far outweigh the dead. But every cat, every dog, every rat, every bird, every animal of every sort is dead. Rich neighborhood or slum neighborhood, it doesn’t matter. The animals died, all of them. But the rich didn’t die but the poor did. What does that prove?”
“That Yahweh is a Republican?” One of the staffers trotted out the crack, then looked embarrassed at the lack of response.
“Quite.” Dr. Surlethe’s comment was withering. “It strongly suggests that it's wealth that provided the defense against this kind of attack. We’re assuming an Archangel called Uriel is responsible by the way, we’ve got circumstantial evidence for that and can tie it to a lot more attacks like this down south. They all show the same pattern by the way, poor areas got hit much harder than rich areas.
"So, how do the rich differ from the poor?"
"They have more money." The targeteer reflected that the comment was a BLIFO, a Blinding Flash of the Obvious. "and that means they buy better things. Newer things as well, not old or second-hand stuff. The really poor do without or pick up trash. How did these people, and the animals come to think of it, die anyway?"
"That's the curious thing, the coroners and medical examiners are hard at work trying to find out. The problem is, of course, that the majority of the victims are poor and in poor health to start with. They had a lot of pre-existing conditions that could have caused their deaths, would have done given time, so disentangling what they actually died of is a problem. Then, again, some of the dead did die of natural causes, run down to give one example when a car went out of control because its driver died. The scene was a bit like the attack on Fort Knox in the film of Goldfinger."
"There's much easier ways of knocking over Fort Knox than that." The targeteer spoke idly. "Anyway, do we have any reliable autopsy results?"
Doctor Surlethe fought down the intense desire to ask what was the best way to rob Fort Knox and opened a file. "We have none from the American side, but we do have some preliminary results from an autopsy of an eccentric rich resident of Ciudad Juarez. Apparently, he believed that tinfoil hats were a plot by the United Nations to take over the world and refused to wear one. He did, however, cover his house in aluminum foil. According to the autopsy, he just died of not living. There was no actual cause for his death, he wasn't in perfect health but he had no conditions that would explain how he died. He just stopped living. The Mexican medical examiner, a good doctor by the way, the people in El Paso speak highly of her, admits to being beaten by this one. There's no reason why he died, he just did."
"Was he found inside or outside his house?" The targeteer had leaned forward slightly.
"Sort of both, he was on the patio. The roof was foil-covered but not the sides. Why?"
"We know the Baldrick's mind control powers work by biologically generated electro-magnetic radiation. That's why we all wear hats these days." Unconsciously he touched his 'Nuke the Whales' baseball cap, a gesture that was repeated by several of those present. To humans, headwear had become the same sort of good-luck talisman that had once been represented by rabbits feet, crucifixes and Saint Christopher medallions. "They can use that capability to project images into the human mind and make us believe, and act on, those images. They can't read minds of course, never could, but they can possess our minds. So, suppose this Uriel fellow has the ability to simply suppress the parts of our minds that keep us alive. You know, make our hearts beat, keep us breathing, all that good stuff."
The targeteer thought for a second. "I wonder if there's an eccentric old lady in El Paso who put a tinfoil hat on her much-beloved little dog? And, if there is, I bet that dog is still alive."
"But if that's the case, why the differential between rich and poor. Everybody has a tinfoil hat these days." It was the same staffer who had made the crack about Yahweh being a Republican.
Dr. Surlethe snorted. "That's easy to figure out. We covered it earlier. The rich have more money, they buy better things. I bet if we compare the tinfoil hats worn by the rich people in the area, they're a lot better made than the ones the poor have. And I bet the rich were the first to upgrade their houses to have metal screening built into the walls."
"That comparison is easy to make." Dr. Kuroneko pulled a spare cap from his briefcase. "Standard U.S. protective hat, the insulating lining is a sandwich, two layers of aluminum foil with a thin layer of foamed aluminum between them. That's pretty much what everybody has and if you buy a hat at any mall, this is what it'll have built into it. The standard aid cap, the one given out to people across the world is just a single layer of aluminum foil, its just folded cooking foil really. I'll run some propagation tests but my guess is that our caps have an order of magnitude better screening effect on electromagnetic radiation than the standard aid cap."
"You needn't run the tests, I can guarantee that is so." The targeteer smiled. "That laminate was designed to shield military equipment, its ability to shield against incident electromagnetic signals or surges is very high. This use for it was purely serendipitous. Worked in our favor though, the sheer scale of production needed for hats has cut the cost of the laminate way down."
"EMP resistance." Kuroneko wasn't really asking a question.
"You got it. Also shielding bridges on warships from their own radars and other emitters."
"Well, that just about explains the differential. But, there's something else that is worrying me. Why is the death toll so low? According to the Sanchez letter, Uriel killed anything and everything within his lethal radius. Here, he's achieved that against unprotected animals but his score against humans is tiny. Even against the worst-protected of our people, he's scoring less than five percent and if our distribution map is to be believed, even poor shielding cuts that to almost zero. There's something else here people, and we're missing it."
Headquarters, League of the Holy Court, Eternal City
Lemuel-Lan-Michael sighed gently and eased back in his seat. The pursuit of idolators, blasphemers and heretics sounded glamorous but the fact of the matter was that it usually ended up as a mass of tedious paperwork. The hunt for the source of the human potion that had been found in Ishmael's possession was turning out to be exactly that kind of hunt. The interrogation of Ishmael had been all too effective, faced with the threat of another session under a bucket of water he has spilled out everybody whose name he had even heard of. The problem had first been going through those names and eliminating the insignificant. Of course, therein lay the first problem, how could he know who was significant and who was not?
Even after the obvious candidates had been taken off the list, it was still a frighteningly long document. The next step had been to compare that list with all the others they had, ones obtained from other heretics and blasphemers, lists of those suspected of being part of idolator groups, others who had, perhaps, too elevated an idea of their position in Heaven. There were those who did not comprehend that even being allowed into The Eternal City was privilege enough and they should be eternally grateful for it. This had led to another problem, every time the same name appeared on Ishmael's list and one of those other lists, it resulted in a chain of linkages that spread across dozens of scrolls. Lemuel-Lan-Michael had given up trying to keep a mental note of all the cross-references and had created a chart that covered most of the wall of his office.
It was that chart that had resulted in him running head-on into the third of his problems. He had some of his Ishim clerks copy out the lists on to the wall and then he'd painstakingly drawn in colored lines to indicate the linkages. The wall had swiftly vanished behind a mass of color but the picture that had emerged was rather frightening. It suggested that all the lists were linked and cross-linked, that what the League of the Holy Court had been treating as separate cases were, in fact, part of a great underground conspiracy. It was also apparent that Ishmael himself was only a very minor cog in that conspiracy. That was chilling for one of the consequences of the chart drawn on his wall was that the conspiracy had extended to include angels in its ranks. This was not unprecedented but the precedent that existed was not one to ease the mind of an investigative angel. It reminded him all too clearly of the time, uncounted millennia before, when Satan had been planning his revolt. Was he, Lemuel, looking at the battleground of a repeat version of the Great Celestial War? And did Heaven have the strength to continue the war against the humans if it was split internally by a civil war? Michael-Lan needed to know of this immediately.
"Gazardiel." Lemuel called out for one of his messengers, a trustworthy Malachim who would gain immediate access to Michael-Lan. Gazardiel-Lan-Lemuel received his instructions, bowed respectfully and took off, leaving Lemuel to ponder the problem that he was uncovering. So lost was he in the great chart before him that he failed to notice Michael-Lan entering the offices.
"I see you have unusual taste in wall-decoration Lemuel-Lan-Michael."
Michael-Lan's friendly jibe jerked Lemuel back into the world. He dropped to one knee, folding his wings across his face as he did so. "Michael-Lan, you honor me with your swift arrival. I have uncovered something that concerns me greatly."
"This is concerned with the source for the human elixir you discovered?"
"In a way, High One. I thought the best way to start would be to find out who Ishmael knew and who would be likely to have supplied him with such a thing. In doing so, I have uncovered what appears to be a plot of the gravest dimensions." Lemuel looked at Michael-Lan and saw the cloud of concern sweeping across his face. Once again, he reflected on his great good fortune to count such a perceptive Archangel as his friend. "Look, each one of these lists came from the arrest of an idolator or a heretic. The one here, on a blue background, is from Ishmael himself. His own links to others are also in blue. Links from those others to yet more members of the groups are in green, then further links again in red. See how they spread."
Michael-Lan was studying the lists, disentangling the lines and noting the names linked and, to him, much more importantly, noting the names that were not on the lists or remained unlinked. "But, Lemuel-Lan everybody in Heaven is linked like this. You know the old proverb, everybody in heaven is linked with only six degrees of separation."
"I do, High One, but this is different. See how self-contained this list is. Yes, there are linkages that spread all over the texts, but follow them and they remain within defined limits. Those who are linked, retain their links within the same small group and do not stray outside it. There is no link beyond that circle. Michael-Lan, this is not just a normal social network, this has every sign of a conspiracy. Worse, look at some of the names, there are Angels, Ishim, Elohim, Malachim, even Seraphim and one Hashmallim involved. Does this not remind you of the time before the Great Celestial War?"
Michael-Lan studied the charts again. He had to agree with Lemuel-Lan, this had every appearance of being a conspiracy, in some ways worst of all, it wasn't his. "Lemuel-Lan, you have done noble work here, but this is work that demands the utmost in secrecy. Keep this chart covered at all times, it is for your eyes and mine and nobody else. I feared this discovery the moment you showed me the bottle of human elixir and now those fears have become very real. You are right, there is a blasphemous conspiracy here and one that must be nipped in the bud right away. I will leave you to deal with the humans involved in this while I deal with the angels who need reminding of their station in the great scheme of things."
Michael-Lan noted down the list of angels identified as being part of the rival conspiracy and decided he had his list of volunteers for pouring the next Bowl of Wrath. Then, he swept out, leaving Lemuel looking at his chart, a sense of fulfillment buoying his spirits.
"Noble One?"
"Yes, Gazardiel-Lan?"
"How could sin and corruption have spread even into angelic ranks?"
"It is the influence of humans, their accursed determination to think for themselves ever leads them into heresy and blasphemy. That is why The One Above All decided that their should be no more admissions of humans into Heaven. See what their mulishness has led them to? If only they had accepted what they were told without argument, the doors of Heaven would still be open to them." That thought made Lemuel look pensive for without humans, what would Angels use as menial servants?
Then, another thought occurred to him and it troubled him greatly. For the bottle of elixir was truly sin and corruption but it was of a different kind to the arguments over faith that dominated this conspiracy. It was hard to imagine theological disputes over the interpretation of The One Above All's words to be lubricated by human elixirs. So where did that bottle fit into this. Looking at his chart, Lemuel-Lan-Michael found his eyes drawn to the small number of names on Ishmael's list that were not linked to the conspiracy he had uncovered.
“Well, did you escape with your virginity intact?” General Schatten looked at Colonel Paschal curiously.
“I tell you Sir, those pheromones are dangerous. It’s all right when there’s ventilation or the room is large enough but in a closed space like a limousine, they’re insidious.” Paschal reflected that he’d noticed all too late that Lugasharmanaska hadn’t had the air conditioning in her limousine turned on. “Even when one’s expecting them and prepared to discount their effects, they sort of sneak up on one.”
“So he did lose his virginity to her.” Dr. Surlethe put a great deal of satisfaction into his voice.
“Well, it’s not surprising. Remember that tabloid journalist? From the Enquirer or the Star, one of the supermarket things. Made contact with her, wanting to do an expose on ‘Sex Secrets of the Succubae’ or something. Apparently, she sucked him in and he crawled out of her apartment two days later, hands shaking so badly he couldn’t even type for a week. He’s been singing her praises ever since.” A guffaw ran around the room, the power the succubae had to seduce people was already legendary.
Paschal went bright red which caused an even greater outburst of laughter. “I told you, I didn’t lose my virginity to her….”
“I guess you’d lost it somewhere else first then. Careless of you.” Dr. Kuroneko spoke suavely. “Of course you realize she’s now got your sperm stored away? She’ll transfer it to an Incubus who will then impregnate a woman with it.”
“Ugh, squick.” The executive assistant taking meeting notes in the corner of the room shuddered with distaste.
“You know Colonel, you could be in serious trouble there.” The emotionless, uninflected voice sounded strange in contrast to the joking that had been going on. “The recipient of that Incubus’s attentions could well sue you for paternity. After all the courts have already ruled that a woman who impregnates herself with the contents of a discarded condom has a right to demand child support.”
“You’re joking.” Paschal sounded genuinely panicky. “Aren’t you?” Then he looked at the speaker more closely. “I thought your company had lost its contract when the new administration came in.”
“It did. But the number of people who can do the sort of work we do is very limited. So, when the old company loses the contract, we all get laid off but the new company has to hire staff to do the work. We’re the only ones available so they offer us our old jobs back. In the old days, we used to clear our desks one afternoon, go home, pick up the recruiting call and be at our new desks the next morning. These days things are much more efficient. The old company just transfers the lease on the building and our employment contracts to the new company and we don’t even have to move offices.”
“Has it always been like that?” Schatten was fascinated by the insight.
“Mostly, McNamara bought his own people in from outside, the whizz-kids they were called, and they made a pig’s breakfast of everything. But they went when he did and things got back to normal. Or as close to normal as anything gets inside the beltway. Anyway, Luga’s back on the team?”
“She is. Thanks to the brave Colonel’s sacrifice and devotion to duty.”
“Good, I like Luga.” The targeteer settled down in a seat.
“Why does that not surprise me?” Schatten opened his pad, “You all heard about the attack on El Paso and Ciudad Juarez last night?”
A ripple of acknowledgement ran around the room and the meeting got serious very suddenly.
“We have preliminary casualty figures. More than 30,000 dead, about three quarters of them in Ciudad Juarez. Just over 6,000 in El Paso itself. To put those numbers into perspective, the population of El Paso is roughly 750,000 while that of Ciudad Juarez is 1,300,000. So, the death rate was 800 per hundred thousand or 0.8 percent in El Paso and 1,846 per hundred thousand or 1.84 percent in Ciudad Juarez.”
“That’s very interesting.” Dr. Kuroneko looked at the numbers he’d scribbled down. “The differential is statistically significant.”
“It’s more than that, take a look at this.” Surlethe reached up and flipped the chart over to an acetate overlay map of the El Paso/Ciudad Juarez metropolis. Some of the areas were shaded black and it didn’t take much imagination to see that the depth of the shading represented the proportion of the population that had died.
“It’s related to population density. Hardly surprising.” The monotone voice was not impressed.
“Not quite no, it’s a reasonable assumption and one we made at first.” Surlethe flipped another acetate overlay on to the map. “This is the population density distribution. You can see that it doesn’t quite fit, there are substantial discrepancies. But when we use this overlay, the fit is exact.”
Surlethe flipped a third acetate overlay into place and the attendees nodded. The fit was indeed exact. “And what is that map?”
“It’s a map of the city divided into areas by relative income. And the conclusion is very obvious. Where people are rich, nobody died. Where people are poor, some died. Where they were destitute, a large number died. Even then, the number of surviving humans far outweigh the dead. But every cat, every dog, every rat, every bird, every animal of every sort is dead. Rich neighborhood or slum neighborhood, it doesn’t matter. The animals died, all of them. But the rich didn’t die but the poor did. What does that prove?”
“That Yahweh is a Republican?” One of the staffers trotted out the crack, then looked embarrassed at the lack of response.
“Quite.” Dr. Surlethe’s comment was withering. “It strongly suggests that it's wealth that provided the defense against this kind of attack. We’re assuming an Archangel called Uriel is responsible by the way, we’ve got circumstantial evidence for that and can tie it to a lot more attacks like this down south. They all show the same pattern by the way, poor areas got hit much harder than rich areas.
"So, how do the rich differ from the poor?"
"They have more money." The targeteer reflected that the comment was a BLIFO, a Blinding Flash of the Obvious. "and that means they buy better things. Newer things as well, not old or second-hand stuff. The really poor do without or pick up trash. How did these people, and the animals come to think of it, die anyway?"
"That's the curious thing, the coroners and medical examiners are hard at work trying to find out. The problem is, of course, that the majority of the victims are poor and in poor health to start with. They had a lot of pre-existing conditions that could have caused their deaths, would have done given time, so disentangling what they actually died of is a problem. Then, again, some of the dead did die of natural causes, run down to give one example when a car went out of control because its driver died. The scene was a bit like the attack on Fort Knox in the film of Goldfinger."
"There's much easier ways of knocking over Fort Knox than that." The targeteer spoke idly. "Anyway, do we have any reliable autopsy results?"
Doctor Surlethe fought down the intense desire to ask what was the best way to rob Fort Knox and opened a file. "We have none from the American side, but we do have some preliminary results from an autopsy of an eccentric rich resident of Ciudad Juarez. Apparently, he believed that tinfoil hats were a plot by the United Nations to take over the world and refused to wear one. He did, however, cover his house in aluminum foil. According to the autopsy, he just died of not living. There was no actual cause for his death, he wasn't in perfect health but he had no conditions that would explain how he died. He just stopped living. The Mexican medical examiner, a good doctor by the way, the people in El Paso speak highly of her, admits to being beaten by this one. There's no reason why he died, he just did."
"Was he found inside or outside his house?" The targeteer had leaned forward slightly.
"Sort of both, he was on the patio. The roof was foil-covered but not the sides. Why?"
"We know the Baldrick's mind control powers work by biologically generated electro-magnetic radiation. That's why we all wear hats these days." Unconsciously he touched his 'Nuke the Whales' baseball cap, a gesture that was repeated by several of those present. To humans, headwear had become the same sort of good-luck talisman that had once been represented by rabbits feet, crucifixes and Saint Christopher medallions. "They can use that capability to project images into the human mind and make us believe, and act on, those images. They can't read minds of course, never could, but they can possess our minds. So, suppose this Uriel fellow has the ability to simply suppress the parts of our minds that keep us alive. You know, make our hearts beat, keep us breathing, all that good stuff."
The targeteer thought for a second. "I wonder if there's an eccentric old lady in El Paso who put a tinfoil hat on her much-beloved little dog? And, if there is, I bet that dog is still alive."
"But if that's the case, why the differential between rich and poor. Everybody has a tinfoil hat these days." It was the same staffer who had made the crack about Yahweh being a Republican.
Dr. Surlethe snorted. "That's easy to figure out. We covered it earlier. The rich have more money, they buy better things. I bet if we compare the tinfoil hats worn by the rich people in the area, they're a lot better made than the ones the poor have. And I bet the rich were the first to upgrade their houses to have metal screening built into the walls."
"That comparison is easy to make." Dr. Kuroneko pulled a spare cap from his briefcase. "Standard U.S. protective hat, the insulating lining is a sandwich, two layers of aluminum foil with a thin layer of foamed aluminum between them. That's pretty much what everybody has and if you buy a hat at any mall, this is what it'll have built into it. The standard aid cap, the one given out to people across the world is just a single layer of aluminum foil, its just folded cooking foil really. I'll run some propagation tests but my guess is that our caps have an order of magnitude better screening effect on electromagnetic radiation than the standard aid cap."
"You needn't run the tests, I can guarantee that is so." The targeteer smiled. "That laminate was designed to shield military equipment, its ability to shield against incident electromagnetic signals or surges is very high. This use for it was purely serendipitous. Worked in our favor though, the sheer scale of production needed for hats has cut the cost of the laminate way down."
"EMP resistance." Kuroneko wasn't really asking a question.
"You got it. Also shielding bridges on warships from their own radars and other emitters."
"Well, that just about explains the differential. But, there's something else that is worrying me. Why is the death toll so low? According to the Sanchez letter, Uriel killed anything and everything within his lethal radius. Here, he's achieved that against unprotected animals but his score against humans is tiny. Even against the worst-protected of our people, he's scoring less than five percent and if our distribution map is to be believed, even poor shielding cuts that to almost zero. There's something else here people, and we're missing it."
Headquarters, League of the Holy Court, Eternal City
Lemuel-Lan-Michael sighed gently and eased back in his seat. The pursuit of idolators, blasphemers and heretics sounded glamorous but the fact of the matter was that it usually ended up as a mass of tedious paperwork. The hunt for the source of the human potion that had been found in Ishmael's possession was turning out to be exactly that kind of hunt. The interrogation of Ishmael had been all too effective, faced with the threat of another session under a bucket of water he has spilled out everybody whose name he had even heard of. The problem had first been going through those names and eliminating the insignificant. Of course, therein lay the first problem, how could he know who was significant and who was not?
Even after the obvious candidates had been taken off the list, it was still a frighteningly long document. The next step had been to compare that list with all the others they had, ones obtained from other heretics and blasphemers, lists of those suspected of being part of idolator groups, others who had, perhaps, too elevated an idea of their position in Heaven. There were those who did not comprehend that even being allowed into The Eternal City was privilege enough and they should be eternally grateful for it. This had led to another problem, every time the same name appeared on Ishmael's list and one of those other lists, it resulted in a chain of linkages that spread across dozens of scrolls. Lemuel-Lan-Michael had given up trying to keep a mental note of all the cross-references and had created a chart that covered most of the wall of his office.
It was that chart that had resulted in him running head-on into the third of his problems. He had some of his Ishim clerks copy out the lists on to the wall and then he'd painstakingly drawn in colored lines to indicate the linkages. The wall had swiftly vanished behind a mass of color but the picture that had emerged was rather frightening. It suggested that all the lists were linked and cross-linked, that what the League of the Holy Court had been treating as separate cases were, in fact, part of a great underground conspiracy. It was also apparent that Ishmael himself was only a very minor cog in that conspiracy. That was chilling for one of the consequences of the chart drawn on his wall was that the conspiracy had extended to include angels in its ranks. This was not unprecedented but the precedent that existed was not one to ease the mind of an investigative angel. It reminded him all too clearly of the time, uncounted millennia before, when Satan had been planning his revolt. Was he, Lemuel, looking at the battleground of a repeat version of the Great Celestial War? And did Heaven have the strength to continue the war against the humans if it was split internally by a civil war? Michael-Lan needed to know of this immediately.
"Gazardiel." Lemuel called out for one of his messengers, a trustworthy Malachim who would gain immediate access to Michael-Lan. Gazardiel-Lan-Lemuel received his instructions, bowed respectfully and took off, leaving Lemuel to ponder the problem that he was uncovering. So lost was he in the great chart before him that he failed to notice Michael-Lan entering the offices.
"I see you have unusual taste in wall-decoration Lemuel-Lan-Michael."
Michael-Lan's friendly jibe jerked Lemuel back into the world. He dropped to one knee, folding his wings across his face as he did so. "Michael-Lan, you honor me with your swift arrival. I have uncovered something that concerns me greatly."
"This is concerned with the source for the human elixir you discovered?"
"In a way, High One. I thought the best way to start would be to find out who Ishmael knew and who would be likely to have supplied him with such a thing. In doing so, I have uncovered what appears to be a plot of the gravest dimensions." Lemuel looked at Michael-Lan and saw the cloud of concern sweeping across his face. Once again, he reflected on his great good fortune to count such a perceptive Archangel as his friend. "Look, each one of these lists came from the arrest of an idolator or a heretic. The one here, on a blue background, is from Ishmael himself. His own links to others are also in blue. Links from those others to yet more members of the groups are in green, then further links again in red. See how they spread."
Michael-Lan was studying the lists, disentangling the lines and noting the names linked and, to him, much more importantly, noting the names that were not on the lists or remained unlinked. "But, Lemuel-Lan everybody in Heaven is linked like this. You know the old proverb, everybody in heaven is linked with only six degrees of separation."
"I do, High One, but this is different. See how self-contained this list is. Yes, there are linkages that spread all over the texts, but follow them and they remain within defined limits. Those who are linked, retain their links within the same small group and do not stray outside it. There is no link beyond that circle. Michael-Lan, this is not just a normal social network, this has every sign of a conspiracy. Worse, look at some of the names, there are Angels, Ishim, Elohim, Malachim, even Seraphim and one Hashmallim involved. Does this not remind you of the time before the Great Celestial War?"
Michael-Lan studied the charts again. He had to agree with Lemuel-Lan, this had every appearance of being a conspiracy, in some ways worst of all, it wasn't his. "Lemuel-Lan, you have done noble work here, but this is work that demands the utmost in secrecy. Keep this chart covered at all times, it is for your eyes and mine and nobody else. I feared this discovery the moment you showed me the bottle of human elixir and now those fears have become very real. You are right, there is a blasphemous conspiracy here and one that must be nipped in the bud right away. I will leave you to deal with the humans involved in this while I deal with the angels who need reminding of their station in the great scheme of things."
Michael-Lan noted down the list of angels identified as being part of the rival conspiracy and decided he had his list of volunteers for pouring the next Bowl of Wrath. Then, he swept out, leaving Lemuel looking at his chart, a sense of fulfillment buoying his spirits.
"Noble One?"
"Yes, Gazardiel-Lan?"
"How could sin and corruption have spread even into angelic ranks?"
"It is the influence of humans, their accursed determination to think for themselves ever leads them into heresy and blasphemy. That is why The One Above All decided that their should be no more admissions of humans into Heaven. See what their mulishness has led them to? If only they had accepted what they were told without argument, the doors of Heaven would still be open to them." That thought made Lemuel look pensive for without humans, what would Angels use as menial servants?
Then, another thought occurred to him and it troubled him greatly. For the bottle of elixir was truly sin and corruption but it was of a different kind to the arguments over faith that dominated this conspiracy. It was hard to imagine theological disputes over the interpretation of The One Above All's words to be lubricated by human elixirs. So where did that bottle fit into this. Looking at his chart, Lemuel-Lan-Michael found his eyes drawn to the small number of names on Ishmael's list that were not linked to the conspiracy he had uncovered.
PsihoKekec
Swashbuckling Accountant
The Salvation War: Pantheocide - 14
DIMO(N) Office of Nonhuman History and Research, Pentagon, Arlington VA
Norman Baines sat at his desk quietly leafing through a text in medieval French recently transferred from the Vatican archives. To be truthful, ‘desk’ was an understatement, as the main table in his office was piled with various books as high as six feet and was becoming more of a fort. There were hi-res digital scans on his computer of course, but Norman absorbed the information better if it was in his hands.
“Anybody home?” A voice called in an atrocious cockney accent, “I’m looking for Professor Dumbledore.” A knock at the doorway snapped Norman out of his work.
“Charlie!” Norman jumped up, knocking over a pile of scrolls at his left and smiled. Rushing over, he gave his twin brother a big hug and then stepped back, “Hey, check out the hardware,” he made a motion of shining his brother’s rank insignia “Captain Baines, eh?”
“Reporting as ordered.” Charles smiled and presented a Vulcan salute to his brother. The memories from their youth made both men laugh. “After I brought your work to them, and did a bit of assisting on some of the new projects DIMO(N) working on, they felt a promotion was in order.”
“Oh yeah?” Norman raised an eyebrow. “What’s your new posting?”
Charlie paused, somewhat confused, “Uh… here? Norm? Bro… I sent you an email a week ago. I’m the new military liaison between the DIMO(N) Applied Technologies at Yale and the head of the civilian researchers here.”
Norman furrowed his brow and turned around to his desk, pressing a button on his keyboard, made of brass and faux stone. A familiar chime sounded, and after quickly scanning the text Norman whirled back,
“That’s great, Charlie, it sounds like all that engineering finally paid off! Well, let’s introduce you to the rest of the department, starting at the top!” Norman went to the doorway and called to his assistant “Carol, who’s the head of R&D now that O’Shea got kicked upstairs?”
Carol sighed slightly. “You are, Mister Baines. For almost a month now.” She shook her head and smiled. “You really need to stop reading demonology texts during department meetings.”
“Oh…” Norman walked back to his computer and tapped through another few e-mails, then shrugged his shoulders. “Then I guess… Welcome to DIMON, Captain Baines! We hope you’ll have a hell of a time.” He shook his brother’s hand. “Why don’t we get some dinner and then I’ll show you around.”
“It’s 10 a.m, Norman.” Charlie shook his head at his brother.
“Oh,” Norman checked his watch and Charlie noticed the numbers were a system he didn’t recognize. “I guess I did that whole staying-up-late reading thing again. Carol!” He called, “how long have I been here?”
“Almost two days, Sir. Today is Thursday. There’s a change of clothes on the hook in your bathroom. You can freshen up there.”
Norman glanced at his brother questioningly, and Charlie made a display of holding his nose in one hand and pointing with the other. Norman returned the salute and dashed off to his private bathroom while Charlie sat down, chuckling. “So, you’re the one who’s keeping my brother fed, watered, and fully-dressed?”
“Yes, Sir, Captain Baines; As much as can be expected. Sometimes he wanders off through the archives and we can’t find him. We gave him a GPS tracker, but he lost it.” Carol continued reviewing and compiling reports for Norman. “He’s a brilliant man, Captain, he just tends to get tunnel vision. A good assistant knows how best to direct and guide the people they work for. You should see some of the intel he pulls out of those texts, it’s astounding.”
“Yeah, you should’ve seen him when he was a dungeon master. Memorized about forty books in under two months.” He grinned. “The adventures were fun, too.” Carol smiled mischievously and held up a small, amethyst dodecahedron, “They still are, Captain. I have a level 9 Tiefling. Tuesday night is game night.”
Just and Charlie began to ask a follow-up question his brother returned, “Alright, let’s eat!” Norman bounded out the door, showered and dressed faster than any would have believed possible. “I think there’s a place in the food court that has fried chicken,” He stopped short and peered into the hallway, confused, “though I don’t actually know where it is…”
DIMO(N) Offices, Pentagon,Arlington, VA
After an enjoyable lunch, nearly an hour away from reading musty parchment, Norman was far more social and tuned in to the world around him. He was enjoying showing his brother around the massive suite of offices in the C-Ring that DIMO(N) now occupied. They came up to a large set of double doors and Norman chuckled, “Oh, now this is a great place, man. You’re going to love these guys!” He opened one of the doors next to a sign that read ‘Innovative Universal Dynamics’ and they stepped in. Charlie stood in awe at one end of a heavily modified by a mid-sized lecture. The walls were rife with computer screens, white boards, blackboards, and even squares of cork with thumbtacks. Diagrams, parchment, maps, charts, blueprints and unidentified documents spanning 3 millennia were plastered on every surface. Throughout the room dozens of men and women paced, strolled, stalked, or ran amongst the clutter, studying this chart or that text, conferring, arguing, and occasionally shouting. They worked at tables and computer stations set around seemingly at random, and off to one side there was a lounge set up with sofas and a small espresso machine where a handful of people were dozing peacefully.
“What is this place?” Charles asked in amazement.
“This,” Norman waved at the room in a grand proclamation “is where we try to make sense of it all. Since the discovery of the existence of Hell and Heaven, physicists have had to throw out a lot of what they thought they knew and start over. We’ve got people here from all over the spectrum that try to take what’s been observed about hell with what we know about our universe and try and fit them together. It’s sort of like a mad scientist convention, only with fewer super-weapons.”
A man in his late thirties walked up to the pair of brothers, and shook Norman’s hand. “Good to see you again, Norm! You here for another round?”
“No thanks, Doc. I’m just showing my brother our facilities, he’s the new liaison from ApTech.” He motioned to his brother “Captain Charles Baines, this is Doctor Junghalli , Lord of the Tank.”
“The Tank?”
“Oh yes, that’s what we call it.” Dr. Junghalli swept his arms around and up, as though he was addressing the masses of an imaginary throng. “Free-spirited discourse on the nature of existence- I suppose we could have called it a Salon but, well, these things tend to go their own way. If you’ve ever got some free time, Captain, feel free to stop by. An engineer with a military mindset could help immensely.”
“Thanks, Doctor.” Charles shook his hand. “But I’m afraid my time at the Academy didn’t cover quantum mechanics or multi-dimensional math.”
“Bah, that’s not what we’re doing here.” Dr. Junghalli shook his head and grimaced as though he was tasting a bitter pill, “We need ideas here in the Tank. Good ones, and then we work them over with the applied math department to see if they fit. See that man over there?” He gestured to a figure hunched over at a table with several pads of paper and a laptop gathered around him, furiously writing, “That’s Banks, he writes science fiction and he’s got a good notion of dimensional mechanics. Went to Stirling in the UK, never took any upper-level science.” Doctor Junghalli led them to the front of the room where they stood at the foot of three massive touch-screen displays.
The first had a sign underneath it at waist level, engraved in brass, that read “What we think the universe looks like TODAY”. It contained a rendering of a broad plane with small swirls on it. “You see, right now we think that all of existence is about two orders of magnitude older than the universe, and that most of it is just white noise. BUT,” He held up a finger and Charlie had a flashback to his college physics lectures, “We think that we, and our companion universes, are merely localized reductions in the entropy that happened by chance, and that while earth and our universe are a bit more stable, we know it won’t last forever and then we go back to maximum entropy.
Charlie looked at the diagram and frowned, but before he could ask a question, Junghalli pointed to the second sign: “What these words mean TODAY!!” There was a host of terms on the board- Universe, Portal, Gradient, Spatial Realm, and Dimension topped the list and seemed to be changing more than the others. Under ‘Dimension’ was a hand-written, asterisked, double-underlined note: Over-use of this word will result in you buying lunch for the people you confuse. “As you can see, Captain, our understanding has become very fluid. An idea we come up with today may make everything fit perfectly tomorrow and then be proven completely wrong in a week.” He tapped the screen with his knuckles, “It’s all about getting this board empty.”
He pointed to the third display; “What we still don’t know.” Underlined and highlighted several times was ‘How to target another universe from the outside.’ “Believe me, Aperture Science has their people in here a few times a day, hoping that we’ll be able to come up with something. As long as heaven can strike us with impunity, we’ll lose this war.”
A frustrated “Arrrgh!” echoed from one of the workstations, and a man and woman laughed as another man stalked across the room to a large empty water jug. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a $20, then stuffed it in. “What’s that about?” Charlie asked.
“That’s the ‘dead scientist’ jar.” Norman smirked. “When the Tank started, people used to keep saying ‘If only we had Einstein on this’ or ‘If only I could show this to Wheeler’. Really, they wouldn’t be nearly as helpful as we think, because we tend to imagine that dead scientists would still know what we know. So, to keep the frustrations down, anytime anyone wishes they had a brilliant dead scientist, they put the money in the jar. Then, on the last Friday of the month, we buy booze.” He looked at the forlorn man who had just surrendered his money, “That was $20 he put in? He must’ve been wishing for a Nobel Prize winner. Those guys are expensive.”
“Sounds like a great place you’ve got here, bro.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Baines.” Carol had suddenly materialized behind them, tapping Norman on the shoulder. “You just got a call for a debriefing tomorrow with Miss Lugasharmanaska and several military officials. 0900 hours.”
“Luga’s coming?” Norman’s eyes got wide, and he rubbed his hand across his stubble. “I need to shave.”
“Dude!” Charles shook his head.
“What?!”
“You remember how upset mom got when I married a Mormon, and now you’re trying to look nice for a demon?” He could barely contain his laughter as he tried not to conjure a mental image.
“Not just a demon, Charlie, a succubus.” Norman grinned as he emphasized the word. “They can look like ANYONE.”
“Fair point, but I’ll stick with my human wife, thanks.” Charles checked his watch. “Well, I need to head on over to Yale, why don’t you stop by my office next time you’re at Applied Technologies.”
“I’ll do that.” The two men embraced briefly with shoulder slapping all around. “See ya, flyboy!”
“See ya, nutjob.”
Destroyer "Turner Joy" off the coast of Virginia, June 2009
The old destroyer swung her bows around and lined up for another pass at the crimson-red sea that lay stretched out in front of her. Her previous path was marked by a brilliant blue streak across the water, one that made the sea look healthy in comparison with the red mess that lay either side. Turner Joy's pumps whined and the sprays fired out from amidships, marking the start of another pass.
"Is this going to work?" Sophia Metaxas looked doubtful, the extent of the marine disaster that had hit Earth seemed too devastating to be countered by blue dye.
"It stands a good chance." Captain Reynolds was surveying the scene through the bridge binoculars. "The blue dye limits penetration of the wavelengths of light required for photosynthesis, and so the algae starve to death. We used a technique much like this in World War Two as an anti-submarine weapon." He glanced sideways at Sophia.
"How?"
"Now, this ain't no shit. We sprayed blue paint on the surface of the sea. When the submarine put its periscope up, the paint covered the lens and the skipper thought he was still underwater. So he kept on going up and when he reached 150 feet in the air, we shot him down with the anti-aircraft guns."
Reynold's face was completely deadpan. Sophia stared at him for a few moments as the sheer outrageousness of the story sank in. Then she started to splutter with barely-suppressed laughter. "I guess that must be what they call an old sea story?"
"One of many Sophia. Beware any that start with NTANS. But the dye thing might actually work. If we can kill off the deeper layers of the algal bloom, we can skim or pump and filter the surface layer. It's worked inland, there's a good chance it'll work out here. Provided the dye doesn’t disperse too fast."
Sophia's mouth twisted. As expected, the Third Bowl of Wrath had hit a week or so earlier with major rivers suddenly starting to turn red with algal bloom. Once-rich fishing rivers had been decimated, their banks lined with the stinking carcasses of poisoned fish and the birds that had fed on them. The disaster, though, had been limited compared with the carnage at sea since governments had been forewarned and were waiting. The spread of the algal bloom had been limited by booms placed across the rivers, the application of finely-powdered clay had agglomerated the algae and allowed it to be skimmed off. The battle had lasted two weeks and had been a total victory for the humans. The rivers had been cleaned out and only one area of fresh water contamination remained, in the Great Lakes. That was under sustained assault from Canadian Kingston Class patrol ships and its area was shrinking daily. Now, the lessons from that battle were being applied to the algal blooms at sea.
"At least we've won one. Out of three."
"Two out of three Sophia. Cipro is effective against proto-anthrax and the stockpiles are being increased every day. We won’t get caught by that one again. Even out here, we're getting the measure of this Bowl, bit by bit. This isn’t the only area of experimental treatment you know. There's another area off Long Island that's being used for biological control experiments. If we can make a predator that feeds on this particular algae, we'll have a defense in place against further attacks."
"It's the next one that worries me, the rain of fire."
"I read about that. I looked up Revelation after our last chat. Hold one. Bring her around to two-seven-zero, make revolutions for ten knots. This old girl is doing well. That does sound like Belial getting back to work, doesn’t it?"
"What I want to know is, how come Revelation predicted all this stuff so accurately? It was written two thousand years ago and its been perfect up to date. Every Bowl exactly as described."
"Oh, that's easy Sophia. Yahweh didn't make the prophesies to fit future events, he's making today's events fit old prophecies. It's an old trick, been used for centuries. Either make the prophecies so vague and ill-defined that anything can fit them or manufacture events to match the prophecies. Let's just hope the city defense people can abort any sky-volcano attacks before we get another Detroit.
Norman Baines sat at his desk quietly leafing through a text in medieval French recently transferred from the Vatican archives. To be truthful, ‘desk’ was an understatement, as the main table in his office was piled with various books as high as six feet and was becoming more of a fort. There were hi-res digital scans on his computer of course, but Norman absorbed the information better if it was in his hands.
“Anybody home?” A voice called in an atrocious cockney accent, “I’m looking for Professor Dumbledore.” A knock at the doorway snapped Norman out of his work.
“Charlie!” Norman jumped up, knocking over a pile of scrolls at his left and smiled. Rushing over, he gave his twin brother a big hug and then stepped back, “Hey, check out the hardware,” he made a motion of shining his brother’s rank insignia “Captain Baines, eh?”
“Reporting as ordered.” Charles smiled and presented a Vulcan salute to his brother. The memories from their youth made both men laugh. “After I brought your work to them, and did a bit of assisting on some of the new projects DIMO(N) working on, they felt a promotion was in order.”
“Oh yeah?” Norman raised an eyebrow. “What’s your new posting?”
Charlie paused, somewhat confused, “Uh… here? Norm? Bro… I sent you an email a week ago. I’m the new military liaison between the DIMO(N) Applied Technologies at Yale and the head of the civilian researchers here.”
Norman furrowed his brow and turned around to his desk, pressing a button on his keyboard, made of brass and faux stone. A familiar chime sounded, and after quickly scanning the text Norman whirled back,
“That’s great, Charlie, it sounds like all that engineering finally paid off! Well, let’s introduce you to the rest of the department, starting at the top!” Norman went to the doorway and called to his assistant “Carol, who’s the head of R&D now that O’Shea got kicked upstairs?”
Carol sighed slightly. “You are, Mister Baines. For almost a month now.” She shook her head and smiled. “You really need to stop reading demonology texts during department meetings.”
“Oh…” Norman walked back to his computer and tapped through another few e-mails, then shrugged his shoulders. “Then I guess… Welcome to DIMON, Captain Baines! We hope you’ll have a hell of a time.” He shook his brother’s hand. “Why don’t we get some dinner and then I’ll show you around.”
“It’s 10 a.m, Norman.” Charlie shook his head at his brother.
“Oh,” Norman checked his watch and Charlie noticed the numbers were a system he didn’t recognize. “I guess I did that whole staying-up-late reading thing again. Carol!” He called, “how long have I been here?”
“Almost two days, Sir. Today is Thursday. There’s a change of clothes on the hook in your bathroom. You can freshen up there.”
Norman glanced at his brother questioningly, and Charlie made a display of holding his nose in one hand and pointing with the other. Norman returned the salute and dashed off to his private bathroom while Charlie sat down, chuckling. “So, you’re the one who’s keeping my brother fed, watered, and fully-dressed?”
“Yes, Sir, Captain Baines; As much as can be expected. Sometimes he wanders off through the archives and we can’t find him. We gave him a GPS tracker, but he lost it.” Carol continued reviewing and compiling reports for Norman. “He’s a brilliant man, Captain, he just tends to get tunnel vision. A good assistant knows how best to direct and guide the people they work for. You should see some of the intel he pulls out of those texts, it’s astounding.”
“Yeah, you should’ve seen him when he was a dungeon master. Memorized about forty books in under two months.” He grinned. “The adventures were fun, too.” Carol smiled mischievously and held up a small, amethyst dodecahedron, “They still are, Captain. I have a level 9 Tiefling. Tuesday night is game night.”
Just and Charlie began to ask a follow-up question his brother returned, “Alright, let’s eat!” Norman bounded out the door, showered and dressed faster than any would have believed possible. “I think there’s a place in the food court that has fried chicken,” He stopped short and peered into the hallway, confused, “though I don’t actually know where it is…”
DIMO(N) Offices, Pentagon,Arlington, VA
After an enjoyable lunch, nearly an hour away from reading musty parchment, Norman was far more social and tuned in to the world around him. He was enjoying showing his brother around the massive suite of offices in the C-Ring that DIMO(N) now occupied. They came up to a large set of double doors and Norman chuckled, “Oh, now this is a great place, man. You’re going to love these guys!” He opened one of the doors next to a sign that read ‘Innovative Universal Dynamics’ and they stepped in. Charlie stood in awe at one end of a heavily modified by a mid-sized lecture. The walls were rife with computer screens, white boards, blackboards, and even squares of cork with thumbtacks. Diagrams, parchment, maps, charts, blueprints and unidentified documents spanning 3 millennia were plastered on every surface. Throughout the room dozens of men and women paced, strolled, stalked, or ran amongst the clutter, studying this chart or that text, conferring, arguing, and occasionally shouting. They worked at tables and computer stations set around seemingly at random, and off to one side there was a lounge set up with sofas and a small espresso machine where a handful of people were dozing peacefully.
“What is this place?” Charles asked in amazement.
“This,” Norman waved at the room in a grand proclamation “is where we try to make sense of it all. Since the discovery of the existence of Hell and Heaven, physicists have had to throw out a lot of what they thought they knew and start over. We’ve got people here from all over the spectrum that try to take what’s been observed about hell with what we know about our universe and try and fit them together. It’s sort of like a mad scientist convention, only with fewer super-weapons.”
A man in his late thirties walked up to the pair of brothers, and shook Norman’s hand. “Good to see you again, Norm! You here for another round?”
“No thanks, Doc. I’m just showing my brother our facilities, he’s the new liaison from ApTech.” He motioned to his brother “Captain Charles Baines, this is Doctor Junghalli , Lord of the Tank.”
“The Tank?”
“Oh yes, that’s what we call it.” Dr. Junghalli swept his arms around and up, as though he was addressing the masses of an imaginary throng. “Free-spirited discourse on the nature of existence- I suppose we could have called it a Salon but, well, these things tend to go their own way. If you’ve ever got some free time, Captain, feel free to stop by. An engineer with a military mindset could help immensely.”
“Thanks, Doctor.” Charles shook his hand. “But I’m afraid my time at the Academy didn’t cover quantum mechanics or multi-dimensional math.”
“Bah, that’s not what we’re doing here.” Dr. Junghalli shook his head and grimaced as though he was tasting a bitter pill, “We need ideas here in the Tank. Good ones, and then we work them over with the applied math department to see if they fit. See that man over there?” He gestured to a figure hunched over at a table with several pads of paper and a laptop gathered around him, furiously writing, “That’s Banks, he writes science fiction and he’s got a good notion of dimensional mechanics. Went to Stirling in the UK, never took any upper-level science.” Doctor Junghalli led them to the front of the room where they stood at the foot of three massive touch-screen displays.
The first had a sign underneath it at waist level, engraved in brass, that read “What we think the universe looks like TODAY”. It contained a rendering of a broad plane with small swirls on it. “You see, right now we think that all of existence is about two orders of magnitude older than the universe, and that most of it is just white noise. BUT,” He held up a finger and Charlie had a flashback to his college physics lectures, “We think that we, and our companion universes, are merely localized reductions in the entropy that happened by chance, and that while earth and our universe are a bit more stable, we know it won’t last forever and then we go back to maximum entropy.
Charlie looked at the diagram and frowned, but before he could ask a question, Junghalli pointed to the second sign: “What these words mean TODAY!!” There was a host of terms on the board- Universe, Portal, Gradient, Spatial Realm, and Dimension topped the list and seemed to be changing more than the others. Under ‘Dimension’ was a hand-written, asterisked, double-underlined note: Over-use of this word will result in you buying lunch for the people you confuse. “As you can see, Captain, our understanding has become very fluid. An idea we come up with today may make everything fit perfectly tomorrow and then be proven completely wrong in a week.” He tapped the screen with his knuckles, “It’s all about getting this board empty.”
He pointed to the third display; “What we still don’t know.” Underlined and highlighted several times was ‘How to target another universe from the outside.’ “Believe me, Aperture Science has their people in here a few times a day, hoping that we’ll be able to come up with something. As long as heaven can strike us with impunity, we’ll lose this war.”
A frustrated “Arrrgh!” echoed from one of the workstations, and a man and woman laughed as another man stalked across the room to a large empty water jug. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a $20, then stuffed it in. “What’s that about?” Charlie asked.
“That’s the ‘dead scientist’ jar.” Norman smirked. “When the Tank started, people used to keep saying ‘If only we had Einstein on this’ or ‘If only I could show this to Wheeler’. Really, they wouldn’t be nearly as helpful as we think, because we tend to imagine that dead scientists would still know what we know. So, to keep the frustrations down, anytime anyone wishes they had a brilliant dead scientist, they put the money in the jar. Then, on the last Friday of the month, we buy booze.” He looked at the forlorn man who had just surrendered his money, “That was $20 he put in? He must’ve been wishing for a Nobel Prize winner. Those guys are expensive.”
“Sounds like a great place you’ve got here, bro.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Baines.” Carol had suddenly materialized behind them, tapping Norman on the shoulder. “You just got a call for a debriefing tomorrow with Miss Lugasharmanaska and several military officials. 0900 hours.”
“Luga’s coming?” Norman’s eyes got wide, and he rubbed his hand across his stubble. “I need to shave.”
“Dude!” Charles shook his head.
“What?!”
“You remember how upset mom got when I married a Mormon, and now you’re trying to look nice for a demon?” He could barely contain his laughter as he tried not to conjure a mental image.
“Not just a demon, Charlie, a succubus.” Norman grinned as he emphasized the word. “They can look like ANYONE.”
“Fair point, but I’ll stick with my human wife, thanks.” Charles checked his watch. “Well, I need to head on over to Yale, why don’t you stop by my office next time you’re at Applied Technologies.”
“I’ll do that.” The two men embraced briefly with shoulder slapping all around. “See ya, flyboy!”
“See ya, nutjob.”
Destroyer "Turner Joy" off the coast of Virginia, June 2009
The old destroyer swung her bows around and lined up for another pass at the crimson-red sea that lay stretched out in front of her. Her previous path was marked by a brilliant blue streak across the water, one that made the sea look healthy in comparison with the red mess that lay either side. Turner Joy's pumps whined and the sprays fired out from amidships, marking the start of another pass.
"Is this going to work?" Sophia Metaxas looked doubtful, the extent of the marine disaster that had hit Earth seemed too devastating to be countered by blue dye.
"It stands a good chance." Captain Reynolds was surveying the scene through the bridge binoculars. "The blue dye limits penetration of the wavelengths of light required for photosynthesis, and so the algae starve to death. We used a technique much like this in World War Two as an anti-submarine weapon." He glanced sideways at Sophia.
"How?"
"Now, this ain't no shit. We sprayed blue paint on the surface of the sea. When the submarine put its periscope up, the paint covered the lens and the skipper thought he was still underwater. So he kept on going up and when he reached 150 feet in the air, we shot him down with the anti-aircraft guns."
Reynold's face was completely deadpan. Sophia stared at him for a few moments as the sheer outrageousness of the story sank in. Then she started to splutter with barely-suppressed laughter. "I guess that must be what they call an old sea story?"
"One of many Sophia. Beware any that start with NTANS. But the dye thing might actually work. If we can kill off the deeper layers of the algal bloom, we can skim or pump and filter the surface layer. It's worked inland, there's a good chance it'll work out here. Provided the dye doesn’t disperse too fast."
Sophia's mouth twisted. As expected, the Third Bowl of Wrath had hit a week or so earlier with major rivers suddenly starting to turn red with algal bloom. Once-rich fishing rivers had been decimated, their banks lined with the stinking carcasses of poisoned fish and the birds that had fed on them. The disaster, though, had been limited compared with the carnage at sea since governments had been forewarned and were waiting. The spread of the algal bloom had been limited by booms placed across the rivers, the application of finely-powdered clay had agglomerated the algae and allowed it to be skimmed off. The battle had lasted two weeks and had been a total victory for the humans. The rivers had been cleaned out and only one area of fresh water contamination remained, in the Great Lakes. That was under sustained assault from Canadian Kingston Class patrol ships and its area was shrinking daily. Now, the lessons from that battle were being applied to the algal blooms at sea.
"At least we've won one. Out of three."
"Two out of three Sophia. Cipro is effective against proto-anthrax and the stockpiles are being increased every day. We won’t get caught by that one again. Even out here, we're getting the measure of this Bowl, bit by bit. This isn’t the only area of experimental treatment you know. There's another area off Long Island that's being used for biological control experiments. If we can make a predator that feeds on this particular algae, we'll have a defense in place against further attacks."
"It's the next one that worries me, the rain of fire."
"I read about that. I looked up Revelation after our last chat. Hold one. Bring her around to two-seven-zero, make revolutions for ten knots. This old girl is doing well. That does sound like Belial getting back to work, doesn’t it?"
"What I want to know is, how come Revelation predicted all this stuff so accurately? It was written two thousand years ago and its been perfect up to date. Every Bowl exactly as described."
"Oh, that's easy Sophia. Yahweh didn't make the prophesies to fit future events, he's making today's events fit old prophecies. It's an old trick, been used for centuries. Either make the prophecies so vague and ill-defined that anything can fit them or manufacture events to match the prophecies. Let's just hope the city defense people can abort any sky-volcano attacks before we get another Detroit.
The Salvation War: Pantheocide - 15
Border Post 1147E, North of Maesot, Thailand
Being part of the Tahan Phran militia had its advantages. Having the opportunity to operate this border post was one of them. Technically intended to provide border surveillance and cut down on cross-border infiltration, it was also a nice little money-earner for the local militia. It was a secure, well-run stopping point for travellers and tourists who could leave their cars and trucks and walk around in perfect safety. The women from the nearby village came up and cooked food for the visitors. When a bus load of tourists arrived, it was a great day for everybody involved. The tourists would take delight in eating real Thai food, not the bland approximation that most restaurants catering to tourists served. They would buy the jewelry and souvenirs that the local people had made, take advantage of the clean latrines and wash basins, paying a purely nominal charge of course and quite forgetting that what would have been a nominal charge in Bangkok was truly exorbitant out here. Especially since all the necessary supplies were issued cost-free by the Army.
There were even a few guest huts where people could stay overnight if they wished and that was both another source of income and the supply of some more basic entertainment. The Tahan Phran contingent was mostly comprised of young men in their early twenties, fit and well turned-out. The younger European women in the tourist busses seemed to find them quite irresistible and the arrival of a tourist bus for the night usually meant that at least one of the young militiamen would get lucky. The girls in the Tahan Phran outfit might have been expected to object but they had their own suitors. It seemed that the male tourists found girls who handled guns with nonchalant competence equally irresistible.
Captain Momrajong "Lon" Thongtaem smiled happily at the stray thoughts, then continued his inspection of the border post perimeter. Despite the various distractions of the day, the post had continued to function as a military base, sending out patrols to check the border and establishing road blocks so that trucks could be inspected for contraband. Sometimes drugs, sometimes people, sometimes just the small luxuries of life that were commonplace here in Thailand but unknown over the border in Myanmar. Smuggling was a well-established local tradition here. Now dusk had fallen, the need for an alert status had increased. Lon knew that the serious smugglers only moved at night and keeping them under control meant night patrol work. Fortunately, no tourist busses were staying overnight in 1147E today and the local villagers had all gone home. That meant the base was a purely military facility once more.
"Any sign of movement out there Kip?" Like most Tahan Phran outfits, the members of this unit had grown up together and knew each other far too well for military formality to take hold.
Sergeant Charnvit "Kip" Chachavalpongpun frowned. "I don’t think so Lon." He hesitated. "Nothing I can put my finger on but…"
"I know. Something's out there. I can sense it too." Lon joined his sergeant in frowning. One of the advantages the Tahan Phran had over the regular army was that they were locals who knew the area intimately. They knew the jungle, understood its moods, could listen to it when it tried to speak to them. The regulars couldn’t have that level of local knowledge. Now, the jungle was telling them that there were strangers around.
"You think there's Baldricks coming?" The sergeant spoke quietly but the concern in his voice was obvious. The Tahan Phran still had 5.56mm M16A1s, weapons that were virtually useless against the Baldricks. Units in the cities had the heavy-caliber weapons that were more suitable for that kind of enemy.
"Not Baldricks, no." Lon peered out into the darkness. "Those attacks are over. Might be angels, but I haven't heard of them launching marauder raids."
"Thai Rath had news today, said the Myanmar mob were moving troops around." The sergeant read the Thai Rath newspaper daily, not least because his wife had been killed in a car crash about 18 months earlier and he was watching the daily list of Thai people freed from the Hellpit. Once day, her name would be there and he could go to welcome her back.
"So I saw. I'd be happier if we had a back-up force to help us." That had always been the case in the past, usually a cavalry outfit with light armored cars that could move to help the militia out if an action turned out too big for them. But both cavalry divisions, along with Thailand's only armored division, were in Hell, part of the Human Expeditionary Army. "But the nearest reserve is in Kanchanaburi and they'd take hours to get here. Get some of the boys together, send them out to do a sweep along the river. Might be a big drug convoy is coming over and we're in the way."
The Sergeant nodded and turned away to organize a squad-sized patrol. It was possible a big drug shipment was being smuggled over and that meant the post would come under attack to stop them interfering. The only problem was that there had been no such shipments for two years or more. It was whispered that the Myanmar Junta had a huge new customer who was taking all the street corner pharmaceuticals they could produce. As he turned, over in the tree-line beyond the post perimeter, a flock of birds took to the skies, screaming in protest at the interruption of their nightly rest. Sergeant and Captain looked at each other with their eyes widened in recognition of what the disturbance signified, the Lon's hand smacked the alert button. The wail of the 'to arms' siren almost drowned out the whistle of the descending mortar rounds.
Whoever the mortar crews were, they were good. The first salvo of rounds crashed into the barracks area, shattering the timber buildings and setting the ruins ablaze. By the light of the fires, Lon saw the men and women of his unit scattering to their pre-set defense positions on the perimeter. The warning had been adequate, just, to get most of them out of the barracks but he could see from the numbers that some hadn't made it and that his little force had already been depleted. Then the ground shook under his feet as further salvos of mortar rounds struck home. His command post had been one of the targets of the latest barrage and he saw it crumpling under the impacts. Even worse, the radio shack was also a burning ruin. Border Post 1147E was isolated from help.
Lon knew something else, the mortar fire was too precise, too accurate for this to be a normal border incident. The troops out there were Myanmar Army regulars. Not just regulars but troops from one of the few really competent units in the Myanmar Army. Most Myanmarese units were a joke, a 'battalion' might be as few as twenty men, armed with light infantry weapons, and with a few porters to carry their supplies. This unit was different, they knew what they were doing, were here in strength and had a full complement of weaponry. As if to confirm his impression, the whole post area was suddenly bathed in brilliant light. The mortars had switched to firing flares, illuminating their targets while the surrounding jungle remained in darkness. The crackle of machine gun fire from his defenses just confirmed what he already knew, the main attack was just starting.
The damage to his command post was as bad as he had feared. He had taken a few seconds to run over to it but the building was gone. His radio operator was dead, stretched out over her equipment, her body torn by the fragments from the mortar round. The professional part of his mind told Lon that there was hope here, she had been killed while on the air, it was possible that a warning of the assault and a plea for help had gone out in time. The personal part of his mind was shut down, only later would he mourn the death of a girl he had known since her earliest schooldays.
Out on the perimeter, the Tahan Phran militia were blinded by the flare illumination of their border post. The white light had destroyed their night vision and the surrounding jungle was an impenetrable black shadow lit only by the muzzle flashes of the Myanmarese troops as they started their assault. There was a solution to this problem though, a well-established ones. The Thai militia had pre-set firing lines worked out for their machine guns, ones that didn’t need individual targets to be sighted but simply covered the approaches to the camp in a web of gunfire. The machine gunners swept their guns along the preset marks, spraying the advancing Myanmar infantry with fire and forcing them to ground.
Lon guessed that the commander of the Myanmar force had expected the initial mortar barrage to catch the defenses unprepared so that a hasty attack could be into the defense perimeter before the Tahan Phran unit could react. It had almost worked but not quite and the difference was great. With the Myanmar infantry pinned down in the ground between the jungle edge and the border post perimeter, he would have to do things the slow way. The Thai gunners had revealed their positions in beating off that first wave, now the Myanmar troops retaliated by firing rocket launchers at those positions. Of course, that had been expected, and the gunners had shifted to alternate positions but the slow process of dismantling the border post defense had started.
In the end, it took almost four hours and by the end of the fighting, eleven of the twenty five Tahan Phran militia were dead and most of the survivors were wounded. A crippling loss for a unit that was taken from a small village and one that left that village with all too high a proportion of its children lost. Lon regrouped the survivors outside the ruins of Border Post 1147E and led them as they slipped away into the jungle. His unit had done what was expected of it, they had held an enemy assault for a few precious hours and that was enough, for now.
Headquarters, Human Expeditionary Army. Hell
"Good evening General. You got the warning then?"
"Yes Sir, we did. May I ask how you knew? The warning from here actually beat the messages from our front-line units."
"One of the early casualties was a militia radio operator. She demanded we get a warning out as soon as she arrived here. Fortunately, the receiving staff at the Phelan Plain were on the ball and they got the message to us and we got the message to you. Now, can the HEA offer your country assistance at this point?"
"General Petraeus, it is with deep regret that I must ask for the five Thai divisions here to be released back to Thai command. They are our strategic reserve and we need them badly to defeat this invasion."
Petraeus walked over to the massive display screen that dominated one wall of his office. A few seconds playing with the controls threw up a map of the Thai border with Myanmar, a few seconds more highlighted the area of the fighting. It extended along almost a hundred kilometers of the border. Petraeus stared at it for a few seconds, absorbing the tactical reality of the situation on the ground.
"General Asanee, your forces are part of the Human Expeditionary Army. That means your fight is our fight. Just how deep a penetration has been achieved by this attack?"
General Asanee shuffled her feet in slight embarrassment. "At this time, I don’t know Sir. The reports we are getting from the area are pretty confused." She paused slightly and drew her breath. "To be honest Sir, the command staff at Kanchanaburi are not the best we have. Most of our best people are here in Hell, the rest are in the south where we had that separatist problem. The border with Cambodia had the next call and Kanchanaburi got what was left."
"You need to straighten that out." Petraeus's voice was mild but the rebuke was obvious. "You have the authority to make decisions? What does the civilian government have to say?"
"The Prime Minister is my cousin Sir. It's more a question of family relationships than military-civil authority and my cousin and I get on very well. But, Sir, I must insist we have our five divisions back."
"You have a nice, well-balanced corps there. One heavy armored division, two light armored divisions and two mechanized infantry divisions. You believe this is adequate to repel this invasion?"
"I do sir. Obviously, the command staff at Kanchanaburi will need replacing."
"Of course." Petraeus zoomed the map in. "Kanchanaburi is the key, it’s a major road and rail junction and gives direct, well-built roads right into the heart of the country."
"I agree Sir, it’s a standard teaching problem at Chulachomklao. Kanchanaburi is the key to the defense of the Myanmar frontier. We've got to hold it. The problem is, all we have there is light infantry, we need the armor and even now it’s a question of whether we can get it there fast enough. We have to assemble the units, get them out of the Hellgate and then ship them back. It'll take a week, ten days more likely. The Myanmar Army is on foot and our people will be fighting all the way but the timing is still off. We may end up having to counter-attack to retake Kanchanaburi before we can do anything else. That will be bloody."
"General, why should it take that long? We're in Hell, remember? We can punch a portal through from here to anywhere we want. All we need is a sensitive on the other end. That's why we've got the Human Expeditionary Army here in Hell, we've got interior lines to any point on Earth. When this army is complete, we can open a gate to wherever Yahweh, or whoever else we end up fighting, wants to take us and hit him with every mechanized unit most of the world can put together. When this Army is finished, we'll have 625 divisions, living humans, deceased humans, daemons ready to defend Earth and Hell against anything that can be thrown at us.
"So, your divisions can be wherever you want them, as soon as you want them there. You have sensitives still in Thailand, even after the First Bowl. Get them where you need the troops. At this end, you've got lucky, kitten's here and she's the best sensitive around. She's visiting some friends of hers in the deceased special forces so we can get her here within an hour or two." Petraeus winced slightly, personally he liked kitten but military customs and formalities hadn't caught up with one of his key staff members being led around on a leash by her boyfriend. It caused protocol problems.
General Asanee was staring at the map. "You knew this was going to happen didn't you?"
"This particular attack? Not quite, no. But it was obvious that something of the sort would happen all too soon. The Curb Stomp War proved that nothing in Hell, well, almost nothing, can stand against us in a head-on fight. Since Heaven and Hell were deadlocked in their Great Celestial War, the heavenly military arts can't be much better than anything down here. So they must know they can't fight us head on. Everything they've done points to them having taken that fact on board. So, it made sense they would try and find a surrogate-ally on Earth so they can pitch human against human.
"I can only think of three candidates who are outcasts, who are not part of the Human Alliance and who have access to substantial military power. Kim Jong-Il in North Korea, Chavez in Venezuela and Than Shwe in Myanmar. Our satellite recon tells us Kim Jong-Il is moving his units around and we expect trouble there soon. We didn’t pick up this Myanmar move, infantry movements in heavy jungle are hard to spot but it was a fair bet Than Shwe would be looking this way, the only other option would be to strike at India and even he isn't that mad. So, when I said, the Human Expeditionary Army stood with you, I wasn't being melodramatic, although judicious use of melodrama is no bed thing in a General. You must know that. This invasion is part of the war with Yahweh, defeat it and we defeat his purpose."
"I'll tell my Prime Minister we'll have all five divisions assembled at Kanchanaburi within 24 hours. That will please him greatly. We can seal this incursion off and drive it back." General Asanee thought for a second. "Then what? The Myanmar regime is a pretty nasty one and they just let their people starve after Cyclone Nargis. That was a Yahweh hit and they are still siding with him. This invasion is a betrayal of us humans, they should be punished for that."
"And it’s a chance to pay off a few old scores right?"
General Asanee kicked herself, she forgotten this General was a military history scholar of notable repute. "Of course, but even so, it's still the right thing to do. And it'll give Kim Jong-Il something to think about as well."
"I agree, in many ways we’re using this fight as a test-bed. To see how commanding Hell affects strategy here on Earth."
"So we invade then." The satisfaction in the General's voice was obvious.
"Why? We don’t have to invade, not any more. We can open a portal and just position troops close to Naypyidaw and by close to I mean on top of the place. We don’t have to fight our way up to a capital any more, we just arrive there. That makes Hell the most commanding piece of territory there has ever been. But, before any of that, you need to get your command problems in Kanchanaburi straightened out. An entire mechanized corps arriving in one place needs a lot of good staff-work."
"I'll be on it Sir." General Asanee thought for a second. "You've been thinking a lot about the use of portals in warfare haven't you?"
"General, since taking this job, I've thought about very little else."
Being part of the Tahan Phran militia had its advantages. Having the opportunity to operate this border post was one of them. Technically intended to provide border surveillance and cut down on cross-border infiltration, it was also a nice little money-earner for the local militia. It was a secure, well-run stopping point for travellers and tourists who could leave their cars and trucks and walk around in perfect safety. The women from the nearby village came up and cooked food for the visitors. When a bus load of tourists arrived, it was a great day for everybody involved. The tourists would take delight in eating real Thai food, not the bland approximation that most restaurants catering to tourists served. They would buy the jewelry and souvenirs that the local people had made, take advantage of the clean latrines and wash basins, paying a purely nominal charge of course and quite forgetting that what would have been a nominal charge in Bangkok was truly exorbitant out here. Especially since all the necessary supplies were issued cost-free by the Army.
There were even a few guest huts where people could stay overnight if they wished and that was both another source of income and the supply of some more basic entertainment. The Tahan Phran contingent was mostly comprised of young men in their early twenties, fit and well turned-out. The younger European women in the tourist busses seemed to find them quite irresistible and the arrival of a tourist bus for the night usually meant that at least one of the young militiamen would get lucky. The girls in the Tahan Phran outfit might have been expected to object but they had their own suitors. It seemed that the male tourists found girls who handled guns with nonchalant competence equally irresistible.
Captain Momrajong "Lon" Thongtaem smiled happily at the stray thoughts, then continued his inspection of the border post perimeter. Despite the various distractions of the day, the post had continued to function as a military base, sending out patrols to check the border and establishing road blocks so that trucks could be inspected for contraband. Sometimes drugs, sometimes people, sometimes just the small luxuries of life that were commonplace here in Thailand but unknown over the border in Myanmar. Smuggling was a well-established local tradition here. Now dusk had fallen, the need for an alert status had increased. Lon knew that the serious smugglers only moved at night and keeping them under control meant night patrol work. Fortunately, no tourist busses were staying overnight in 1147E today and the local villagers had all gone home. That meant the base was a purely military facility once more.
"Any sign of movement out there Kip?" Like most Tahan Phran outfits, the members of this unit had grown up together and knew each other far too well for military formality to take hold.
Sergeant Charnvit "Kip" Chachavalpongpun frowned. "I don’t think so Lon." He hesitated. "Nothing I can put my finger on but…"
"I know. Something's out there. I can sense it too." Lon joined his sergeant in frowning. One of the advantages the Tahan Phran had over the regular army was that they were locals who knew the area intimately. They knew the jungle, understood its moods, could listen to it when it tried to speak to them. The regulars couldn’t have that level of local knowledge. Now, the jungle was telling them that there were strangers around.
"You think there's Baldricks coming?" The sergeant spoke quietly but the concern in his voice was obvious. The Tahan Phran still had 5.56mm M16A1s, weapons that were virtually useless against the Baldricks. Units in the cities had the heavy-caliber weapons that were more suitable for that kind of enemy.
"Not Baldricks, no." Lon peered out into the darkness. "Those attacks are over. Might be angels, but I haven't heard of them launching marauder raids."
"Thai Rath had news today, said the Myanmar mob were moving troops around." The sergeant read the Thai Rath newspaper daily, not least because his wife had been killed in a car crash about 18 months earlier and he was watching the daily list of Thai people freed from the Hellpit. Once day, her name would be there and he could go to welcome her back.
"So I saw. I'd be happier if we had a back-up force to help us." That had always been the case in the past, usually a cavalry outfit with light armored cars that could move to help the militia out if an action turned out too big for them. But both cavalry divisions, along with Thailand's only armored division, were in Hell, part of the Human Expeditionary Army. "But the nearest reserve is in Kanchanaburi and they'd take hours to get here. Get some of the boys together, send them out to do a sweep along the river. Might be a big drug convoy is coming over and we're in the way."
The Sergeant nodded and turned away to organize a squad-sized patrol. It was possible a big drug shipment was being smuggled over and that meant the post would come under attack to stop them interfering. The only problem was that there had been no such shipments for two years or more. It was whispered that the Myanmar Junta had a huge new customer who was taking all the street corner pharmaceuticals they could produce. As he turned, over in the tree-line beyond the post perimeter, a flock of birds took to the skies, screaming in protest at the interruption of their nightly rest. Sergeant and Captain looked at each other with their eyes widened in recognition of what the disturbance signified, the Lon's hand smacked the alert button. The wail of the 'to arms' siren almost drowned out the whistle of the descending mortar rounds.
Whoever the mortar crews were, they were good. The first salvo of rounds crashed into the barracks area, shattering the timber buildings and setting the ruins ablaze. By the light of the fires, Lon saw the men and women of his unit scattering to their pre-set defense positions on the perimeter. The warning had been adequate, just, to get most of them out of the barracks but he could see from the numbers that some hadn't made it and that his little force had already been depleted. Then the ground shook under his feet as further salvos of mortar rounds struck home. His command post had been one of the targets of the latest barrage and he saw it crumpling under the impacts. Even worse, the radio shack was also a burning ruin. Border Post 1147E was isolated from help.
Lon knew something else, the mortar fire was too precise, too accurate for this to be a normal border incident. The troops out there were Myanmar Army regulars. Not just regulars but troops from one of the few really competent units in the Myanmar Army. Most Myanmarese units were a joke, a 'battalion' might be as few as twenty men, armed with light infantry weapons, and with a few porters to carry their supplies. This unit was different, they knew what they were doing, were here in strength and had a full complement of weaponry. As if to confirm his impression, the whole post area was suddenly bathed in brilliant light. The mortars had switched to firing flares, illuminating their targets while the surrounding jungle remained in darkness. The crackle of machine gun fire from his defenses just confirmed what he already knew, the main attack was just starting.
The damage to his command post was as bad as he had feared. He had taken a few seconds to run over to it but the building was gone. His radio operator was dead, stretched out over her equipment, her body torn by the fragments from the mortar round. The professional part of his mind told Lon that there was hope here, she had been killed while on the air, it was possible that a warning of the assault and a plea for help had gone out in time. The personal part of his mind was shut down, only later would he mourn the death of a girl he had known since her earliest schooldays.
Out on the perimeter, the Tahan Phran militia were blinded by the flare illumination of their border post. The white light had destroyed their night vision and the surrounding jungle was an impenetrable black shadow lit only by the muzzle flashes of the Myanmarese troops as they started their assault. There was a solution to this problem though, a well-established ones. The Thai militia had pre-set firing lines worked out for their machine guns, ones that didn’t need individual targets to be sighted but simply covered the approaches to the camp in a web of gunfire. The machine gunners swept their guns along the preset marks, spraying the advancing Myanmar infantry with fire and forcing them to ground.
Lon guessed that the commander of the Myanmar force had expected the initial mortar barrage to catch the defenses unprepared so that a hasty attack could be into the defense perimeter before the Tahan Phran unit could react. It had almost worked but not quite and the difference was great. With the Myanmar infantry pinned down in the ground between the jungle edge and the border post perimeter, he would have to do things the slow way. The Thai gunners had revealed their positions in beating off that first wave, now the Myanmar troops retaliated by firing rocket launchers at those positions. Of course, that had been expected, and the gunners had shifted to alternate positions but the slow process of dismantling the border post defense had started.
In the end, it took almost four hours and by the end of the fighting, eleven of the twenty five Tahan Phran militia were dead and most of the survivors were wounded. A crippling loss for a unit that was taken from a small village and one that left that village with all too high a proportion of its children lost. Lon regrouped the survivors outside the ruins of Border Post 1147E and led them as they slipped away into the jungle. His unit had done what was expected of it, they had held an enemy assault for a few precious hours and that was enough, for now.
Headquarters, Human Expeditionary Army. Hell
"Good evening General. You got the warning then?"
"Yes Sir, we did. May I ask how you knew? The warning from here actually beat the messages from our front-line units."
"One of the early casualties was a militia radio operator. She demanded we get a warning out as soon as she arrived here. Fortunately, the receiving staff at the Phelan Plain were on the ball and they got the message to us and we got the message to you. Now, can the HEA offer your country assistance at this point?"
"General Petraeus, it is with deep regret that I must ask for the five Thai divisions here to be released back to Thai command. They are our strategic reserve and we need them badly to defeat this invasion."
Petraeus walked over to the massive display screen that dominated one wall of his office. A few seconds playing with the controls threw up a map of the Thai border with Myanmar, a few seconds more highlighted the area of the fighting. It extended along almost a hundred kilometers of the border. Petraeus stared at it for a few seconds, absorbing the tactical reality of the situation on the ground.
"General Asanee, your forces are part of the Human Expeditionary Army. That means your fight is our fight. Just how deep a penetration has been achieved by this attack?"
General Asanee shuffled her feet in slight embarrassment. "At this time, I don’t know Sir. The reports we are getting from the area are pretty confused." She paused slightly and drew her breath. "To be honest Sir, the command staff at Kanchanaburi are not the best we have. Most of our best people are here in Hell, the rest are in the south where we had that separatist problem. The border with Cambodia had the next call and Kanchanaburi got what was left."
"You need to straighten that out." Petraeus's voice was mild but the rebuke was obvious. "You have the authority to make decisions? What does the civilian government have to say?"
"The Prime Minister is my cousin Sir. It's more a question of family relationships than military-civil authority and my cousin and I get on very well. But, Sir, I must insist we have our five divisions back."
"You have a nice, well-balanced corps there. One heavy armored division, two light armored divisions and two mechanized infantry divisions. You believe this is adequate to repel this invasion?"
"I do sir. Obviously, the command staff at Kanchanaburi will need replacing."
"Of course." Petraeus zoomed the map in. "Kanchanaburi is the key, it’s a major road and rail junction and gives direct, well-built roads right into the heart of the country."
"I agree Sir, it’s a standard teaching problem at Chulachomklao. Kanchanaburi is the key to the defense of the Myanmar frontier. We've got to hold it. The problem is, all we have there is light infantry, we need the armor and even now it’s a question of whether we can get it there fast enough. We have to assemble the units, get them out of the Hellgate and then ship them back. It'll take a week, ten days more likely. The Myanmar Army is on foot and our people will be fighting all the way but the timing is still off. We may end up having to counter-attack to retake Kanchanaburi before we can do anything else. That will be bloody."
"General, why should it take that long? We're in Hell, remember? We can punch a portal through from here to anywhere we want. All we need is a sensitive on the other end. That's why we've got the Human Expeditionary Army here in Hell, we've got interior lines to any point on Earth. When this army is complete, we can open a gate to wherever Yahweh, or whoever else we end up fighting, wants to take us and hit him with every mechanized unit most of the world can put together. When this Army is finished, we'll have 625 divisions, living humans, deceased humans, daemons ready to defend Earth and Hell against anything that can be thrown at us.
"So, your divisions can be wherever you want them, as soon as you want them there. You have sensitives still in Thailand, even after the First Bowl. Get them where you need the troops. At this end, you've got lucky, kitten's here and she's the best sensitive around. She's visiting some friends of hers in the deceased special forces so we can get her here within an hour or two." Petraeus winced slightly, personally he liked kitten but military customs and formalities hadn't caught up with one of his key staff members being led around on a leash by her boyfriend. It caused protocol problems.
General Asanee was staring at the map. "You knew this was going to happen didn't you?"
"This particular attack? Not quite, no. But it was obvious that something of the sort would happen all too soon. The Curb Stomp War proved that nothing in Hell, well, almost nothing, can stand against us in a head-on fight. Since Heaven and Hell were deadlocked in their Great Celestial War, the heavenly military arts can't be much better than anything down here. So they must know they can't fight us head on. Everything they've done points to them having taken that fact on board. So, it made sense they would try and find a surrogate-ally on Earth so they can pitch human against human.
"I can only think of three candidates who are outcasts, who are not part of the Human Alliance and who have access to substantial military power. Kim Jong-Il in North Korea, Chavez in Venezuela and Than Shwe in Myanmar. Our satellite recon tells us Kim Jong-Il is moving his units around and we expect trouble there soon. We didn’t pick up this Myanmar move, infantry movements in heavy jungle are hard to spot but it was a fair bet Than Shwe would be looking this way, the only other option would be to strike at India and even he isn't that mad. So, when I said, the Human Expeditionary Army stood with you, I wasn't being melodramatic, although judicious use of melodrama is no bed thing in a General. You must know that. This invasion is part of the war with Yahweh, defeat it and we defeat his purpose."
"I'll tell my Prime Minister we'll have all five divisions assembled at Kanchanaburi within 24 hours. That will please him greatly. We can seal this incursion off and drive it back." General Asanee thought for a second. "Then what? The Myanmar regime is a pretty nasty one and they just let their people starve after Cyclone Nargis. That was a Yahweh hit and they are still siding with him. This invasion is a betrayal of us humans, they should be punished for that."
"And it’s a chance to pay off a few old scores right?"
General Asanee kicked herself, she forgotten this General was a military history scholar of notable repute. "Of course, but even so, it's still the right thing to do. And it'll give Kim Jong-Il something to think about as well."
"I agree, in many ways we’re using this fight as a test-bed. To see how commanding Hell affects strategy here on Earth."
"So we invade then." The satisfaction in the General's voice was obvious.
"Why? We don’t have to invade, not any more. We can open a portal and just position troops close to Naypyidaw and by close to I mean on top of the place. We don’t have to fight our way up to a capital any more, we just arrive there. That makes Hell the most commanding piece of territory there has ever been. But, before any of that, you need to get your command problems in Kanchanaburi straightened out. An entire mechanized corps arriving in one place needs a lot of good staff-work."
"I'll be on it Sir." General Asanee thought for a second. "You've been thinking a lot about the use of portals in warfare haven't you?"
"General, since taking this job, I've thought about very little else."
The Salvation War: Pantheocide - 16
Michael-Lan's Private Estate, Heaven.
"You got chopped up a bit didn’t you?" The level of concern in Michael-Lan's voice was inversely proportional to the concern he actually felt for Uriel.
"I am lucky to be alive at all Michael-Lan. The humans fought back over El Paso and attacked me with their aircraft and missiles. I managed to duck through a portal in time to dodge their missiles but the portal was small and my wing caught one edge. It is badly broken and is slow to heal. Then there were fragments from the human missiles. A few got through the portal just as it closed and their wounds also are slow to heal."
I could offer you a stiff drink to take your mind off your wounds but I doubt if you'd understand the gesture. "Uriel-Lan, I have to tell you, the All-Seeing Father is not well-pleased with the attack on El Paso. Only a tiny proportion of the humans who live there died. This was far from the erasure of the whole city that he wished."
"I did what I could, the humans have changed Michael-Lan. Once my touch dropped them by the hundreds and the hundreds of hundreds but now it is hard to touch them at all and even when they feel it, they resist me. It takes time to bring my peace to them and their missiles and aircraft do not give me enough. I must take those I can and be satisfied."
Oh boy, that's going to sound good when I repeat it to Yah-yah. Michael-Lan thought with great satisfaction. 'Uriel-Lan says he'll do what he wants and you will have to be satisfied with it.' That should get him going nicely.
"We are at war, Uriel-Lan, The One Above All understands that." Michael-Lan managed to get the words out without choking on them. Yahweh had as little idea of what war against the humans meant as Satan had, less in fact despite the fact that Heaven had kept up to date with human progress and Hell hadn't. It was an old problem, one that went back uncounted millennia, there were people who just refused to hear anything that didn’t suit their pre-existing beliefs. Yahweh still had a mental picture of humans as trusting, thoughtless sheep and he allowed nothing to interfere with it. The idea that the sheep had turned into ruthless killers simply did not register with him. Michael-Lan took the train of thought further. Even if Yahweh woke up and smelled the coffee, it wouldn’t help him. It was one thing to read about what human weapons could do, quite another to see the reality and the meaning it imposed. The way humans filled a battlefield with fire and steel had no equivalent in Angelic memory.
"Michael-Lan, you know humans. Where should I strike next?" Uriel asked the advice, half-hoping he would be told to drop the whole idea.
Michael-Lan thought it over carefully. Texas? Where people were trigger-happy and armed to the teeth? Uriel wouldn’t fall for that again. He thought briefly about sending Uriel within striking distance of Nellis Air Force Base and the Tonopah test range where the humans had killing machines advanced even beyond their standards. The problem there was that the only viable target in Nevada was his beloved Las Vegas and no way was he going to let Uriel loose on that city. California? Now there was a thought. Suddenly inspiration hit him. A city full of Marines, surrounded by fighter bases and missile batteries and home to a large proportion of the U.S. Navy. Perfect.
"Uriel-Lan, rest here for a while. When you are fit again, I recommend you strike at San Diego."
Michael-Lan took a courteous leave of his convalescent guest, inflated his flying sacs and took off, heading for The Eternal City and his working offices. He had to make another visit first of course, one that Michael was looking forward to. On the way, his mind returned to the problem that was nagging at him, the second conspiracy that Lemuel-Lan-Michael had discovered. It was fortunate that Lemuel didn’t know humans nearly as well as he thought he did, for if he had, he would have recognized the pattern that his charts had revealed. A pattern that Michael-Lan had recognized instantly.
This second conspiracy was very different from his own. Michael-Lan's objective was simple, he was creating a situation where the ruling elite of Heaven was so rotten with corruption that one good kick would bring it down. His club and the activities that were centered on it had that as its primary aim. By addicting its members to the pleasures he offered, pleasures that were strictly and absolutely prohibited by Yahweh, he was creating a group that was united by its enjoyment of those pleasures and isolated from the rest of Heaven by that fact. When Michael struck, he would decapitate the leadership of Heaven and take over. It was a classic top-down takeover.
This new conspiracy didn’t work that way at all. While Michael-Lan was creating a new society, one that was slowly spreading out across the top tiers of Heaven, his unknown rival was building an underground army. La Resistance thought Michael. It was divided into watertight cells, with only those in the cells knowing who else was involved. In theory anyway, in reality things were never that close and the cells always had a degree of leakage between them. The point was, the intent of such an organization was to challenge the leadership tiers, to face them with a mass insurrection. This new plan was a bottom-up replacement of the whole system. It would mean a civil war in Heaven, the one thing that Michael was trying to avoid. Other than seeing human tanks in the streets of the Eternal City of course. Avoiding that took priority over everything else. He had to keep the humans tied up, chasing their own tails down on Earth for if they turned their full attention to gaining access to Heaven, it would only be a matter of time before the tanks arrived.
Beneath him, Michael-Lan saw a bronze-covered lodge, one of his smaller resorts that he had modified specifically for its one occupant. He back-winged, settled neatly on the landing porch and allowed his sacs to deflate. Then, he went inside.
"Belial. How do things go with you?"
The great demon, once a Grand Duke of Hell and the only one of Satan's crew to strike a solid blow at the humans, looked up at his visitor with petulance.
"How long must I stay cooped up in this bronze box? There is work for me to do."
"As long as I wish." Michael-Lan's voice was sharp. He didn’t know if the humans could lock in on Belial's mind but he wasn't taking any risks. "Unless you wish to take your chances with the humans?"
Belial shook his head. "I wish to strike at them, amongst others. I waste time here."
"Time is something we have plenty of, Belial-Lan-Michael. You will be pleased to know that your ex-mate Euryale is using her time very well indeed. She has made an alliance with an important human, one Gaius Julius Caesar and turning that to great profit. She has even made her peace with the humans and managed to throw all the blame for Sheffield and Detroit on you. She is rich, well, and prospers along with all her kind. Of course, the humans make them keep their head-snakes covered."
Belial was almost shaking with rage. "She will die in millennia of screaming for her betrayal. And the human she allies herself with."
"Not a chance Belial, Euryale is your problem, that I agree. But Gaius Julius Caesar is off-limits. He is under the protection of the others and they will not tolerate harm coming to him." Michael-Lan returned his voice to its friendliest tone. "Anyway, you will also be pleased that the Baroness Yulupki is also prospering and is now Queen of the Naga. They have set up a delivery service and put FedEx out of business. Not before time, they lost one of my packages once."
Belial clenched his fists and stormed backwards and forwards at the idea of his erstwhile underlings prospering under the rule of humans in Hell. Michael-Lan smiled gently at his rage, daemons really ought to learn to control their emotions, their inability to do so had been their downfall.
"Now, Belial, we come to business. How do we drop fire on human cities?"
"That isn't a problem, open a portal, one end in the lava pit of a volcano, the other over the target."
"That is a problem. As you should be able to tell from the air quality here, there are no volcanoes in Heaven. Somehow, I have to fulfill the prophecy of the Fourth Bowl of Wrath and drop fire on their cities."
"Why didn't you make a prophecy you could fulfill?" Belial couldn't believe that the coldly calculating Michael-Lan, Yahweh's Great General, could blunder like that.
"I didn’t make them. You know how these prophecies got to happen? I'd been on a visit to South America and I'd stocked up with some of the local products. A leaf extract the humans call cocaine. Anyway, on the way back, I stopped in what is now Mexico and picked up a load of some really great mushrooms. They're good Belial, you ought to try them. Give you really wild visions. Anyway, I got to wondering what would happen if somebody mixed up those mushrooms with cocaine. I didn’t want to try it on anybody important so I went to a place called Patmos, an Island that was the back end of nowhere. I found this tramp sitting by the roadside, begging for food, so I gave him a dosed-up mushroom salad, sat back and watched the fireworks.
"And, Belial my friend, what fireworks they were. Eyes flashing, jumping around, shouting and raving, Belial, it was a sight to behold I can tell you. How was I to know that some scribe would take all his ravings down and preserve them? I thought he'd just be dismissed as another lunatic and banged on the head with a rock or something. Instead he becomes Saint John The Divine and the product of my mushroom salad becomes the Book of Revelation. I tried to get it suppressed, really I did. But the Nicaeans just wouldn’t listen. Thomas Jefferson deleted it as well but his opinion didn't take, more's the pity. Still, no use crying over what's done. The prophecies exist and we've got to fulfill them. Now, no volcanoes in Hell, any better ideas?"
Belial shook his head. "We can't drop lava without a source. We'd have to go back to Hell and open up a volcano there."
"Tartarus is occupied by humans, its their main base in the North. They keep a very close watch on all the volcanoes. By the way, they gave Palelabor to your human slaves, they're running a profitable mineral extraction business there now. Iron, copper, titanium, you name it.
Belial slumped, his face in his hands. His beloved Palelabor in the hands of the humans who had once slaved in its depths. Michael-Lan reached down and patted him on the shoulder. "Don’t worry about it, Belial, you just work out a way we can drop fire on a few human cities."
The meeting with Belial had taken less time than he had thought so Michael-Lan decided that a brief visit to the Montmartre Club would be in order. He flew idly towards the Eternal City, enjoying the sight of the lush green farmland beneath him, the workers tending the fields that kept the Eternal City supplied with its food. That, of course, raised an interesting possibility. Michael wondered if it would be possible to grow some of his more hallucinogenic crops up here in Heaven and, if so, would they have the same remarkable effects as they did when grown down on Earth?
Once again, he back-winged neatly and landed on the ledge, this one of a temple devoted to Yahweh. Who else Michael-Lan thought with a certain level of scorn. Yah-yah never grew tired of people worshiping him. Still, he'd found a whole new planet full of primitive sentients he could convert into a new cult. Had things gone the way they had, the discarded humans would have been condemned to Hell, there to disappear slowly, just as they themselves had replaced the ones who had gone before them. Michael-Lan wondered if, somewhere tucked deep in the bowels of Hell, there were still survivors of those earlier races.
He walked down through the confusing maze of passages that led to the heart of the temple. There was a trick to this, all the mazes in heaven worked on the same principle, if one put one's left hand on the left wall and never took it off, one would eventually reach the center. This one was the exception, at one specific point, if one changed to right hand on right wall, one would find the Montmartre Club.
Inside, Michael was delighted to note that his business was doing well. The music was up to standard and he got a respectful salute from Benny Goodman as he passed. He halted for a few minutes, listened to the number and gave an approving nod as it wound up. A quick look at the schedule showed the band had a good few numbers to work through before their shift was up. Then the center-stage would be taken by some angels pole-dancing.
Once in his office, far to the rear of the concealed structure, Michael sat down with the stock inventories. He'd replenished his supplies nicely, the Myanmar Junta had really come through for him. Such a nice group of people he thought genially, always willing to please and so reasonable and rational compared with Yahweh. He was working on his next liquor procurement scheme, getting good Scotch and Bourbon was turning into a real pain, when there was a knock on his door.
"Michael-Lan, I need help."
It was Maion, the young angel-addict he'd been supplying with heroin. Michael frowned slightly. "You know Maion, you're using more of this stuff now."
"I know, Michael-Lan but, I," she hesitated, tears in her eyes. "I need it."
"So do a lot of people Maion, and they all support their habit. They don’t come running to me asking for free supplies now do they?" Actually, a lot of them did and if they were valuable to him they got what they needed. Maion wasn't that valuable, not yet anyway.
"I know but…"
"It's not fair to them is it? They work to support their habits and pay their way. Why should you be any different?"
"I'll do things, for you, I promise."
Right on. Of course you will, you just don’t know what yet. "Would you like to work here?"
"Oh yes." The happiness in Maion's voice was obvious. "What will I have to do? Serve the drinks?"
"Oh no, I've got a much better job in mind for you than that. You'd make a good dancer I think."
Maion seemed slightly taken aback. "Well, I did learn the reverential dances for the temples."
"They'll do, for a start. The others will show you how to blend them into a pole-dance routine. And work out how you can lose your robes in the process."
"Oh." Now Maion really was taken aback.
"Come along, I'll take you to see Charmeine-Lan. She's in charge of the dancers."
Charmeine-Lan was in the costume room, making sure the next set of dancers were properly costumed. Michael introduced Maion to her and left them to get on with business. As soon as he'd gone, Charmeine-Lan put her wing comfortingly around Maion. "It's no big thing, really. All you have to do is do your dance when scheduled. Just remember, don’t let go of the pole when you're dancing, its there for your safety. Hang on to it in case somebody tries to pull you off the stage. It’s never happened and if somebody tries, security will deal with them. Apart from that, remember to keep to schedule, be down to skin and feathers by the end of the allocated time. Don't over-run and never under-run. Keep an eye on the stage manager, that's me, and if I tell you to slow down or speed up, then do so. Sometimes we have problems and I'll need you to cover a gap or something. Do that well and you'll get a lot of extra credit. After the show, you'll meet up with the customers on the floor. Socialize with them, if they want you to, you can do a little private dance for them, up close, its called a lap dance. All the girls earn a lot of money that way, more than enough to pay for your habit. Finally, some of the customers will want to take you to the rooms upstairs."
"No!" Maion was horrified.
"Yes, Maion. You'll do it and like it." Charmeine-Lan's voice was harsh and relentless. "You've got a habit, you'll support it and that means doing what the customers want. Otherwise you'll do without. You know what that feels like?"
Maion nodded her head, partly in acknowledgement, partly to hide the fact she was crying.
"All right then." Charmeine-Lan switched her voice back to the soft-friendly tone she'd used earlier. "It really isn't bad, Michael-Lan doesn’t allow anybody bad in here so they'll all be nice to you. If you're good and work hard at pleasing the customers, one will take a liking to you and reserve you. That way you won’t have to go with anybody else. Now, when a customer asks you to go upstairs, you tell me so I can get another girl to take your place on the schedule right?"
Another tear-stained nod from Maion.
"Very good, so let's get you a nice costume for your first appearance."
"You got chopped up a bit didn’t you?" The level of concern in Michael-Lan's voice was inversely proportional to the concern he actually felt for Uriel.
"I am lucky to be alive at all Michael-Lan. The humans fought back over El Paso and attacked me with their aircraft and missiles. I managed to duck through a portal in time to dodge their missiles but the portal was small and my wing caught one edge. It is badly broken and is slow to heal. Then there were fragments from the human missiles. A few got through the portal just as it closed and their wounds also are slow to heal."
I could offer you a stiff drink to take your mind off your wounds but I doubt if you'd understand the gesture. "Uriel-Lan, I have to tell you, the All-Seeing Father is not well-pleased with the attack on El Paso. Only a tiny proportion of the humans who live there died. This was far from the erasure of the whole city that he wished."
"I did what I could, the humans have changed Michael-Lan. Once my touch dropped them by the hundreds and the hundreds of hundreds but now it is hard to touch them at all and even when they feel it, they resist me. It takes time to bring my peace to them and their missiles and aircraft do not give me enough. I must take those I can and be satisfied."
Oh boy, that's going to sound good when I repeat it to Yah-yah. Michael-Lan thought with great satisfaction. 'Uriel-Lan says he'll do what he wants and you will have to be satisfied with it.' That should get him going nicely.
"We are at war, Uriel-Lan, The One Above All understands that." Michael-Lan managed to get the words out without choking on them. Yahweh had as little idea of what war against the humans meant as Satan had, less in fact despite the fact that Heaven had kept up to date with human progress and Hell hadn't. It was an old problem, one that went back uncounted millennia, there were people who just refused to hear anything that didn’t suit their pre-existing beliefs. Yahweh still had a mental picture of humans as trusting, thoughtless sheep and he allowed nothing to interfere with it. The idea that the sheep had turned into ruthless killers simply did not register with him. Michael-Lan took the train of thought further. Even if Yahweh woke up and smelled the coffee, it wouldn’t help him. It was one thing to read about what human weapons could do, quite another to see the reality and the meaning it imposed. The way humans filled a battlefield with fire and steel had no equivalent in Angelic memory.
"Michael-Lan, you know humans. Where should I strike next?" Uriel asked the advice, half-hoping he would be told to drop the whole idea.
Michael-Lan thought it over carefully. Texas? Where people were trigger-happy and armed to the teeth? Uriel wouldn’t fall for that again. He thought briefly about sending Uriel within striking distance of Nellis Air Force Base and the Tonopah test range where the humans had killing machines advanced even beyond their standards. The problem there was that the only viable target in Nevada was his beloved Las Vegas and no way was he going to let Uriel loose on that city. California? Now there was a thought. Suddenly inspiration hit him. A city full of Marines, surrounded by fighter bases and missile batteries and home to a large proportion of the U.S. Navy. Perfect.
"Uriel-Lan, rest here for a while. When you are fit again, I recommend you strike at San Diego."
Michael-Lan took a courteous leave of his convalescent guest, inflated his flying sacs and took off, heading for The Eternal City and his working offices. He had to make another visit first of course, one that Michael was looking forward to. On the way, his mind returned to the problem that was nagging at him, the second conspiracy that Lemuel-Lan-Michael had discovered. It was fortunate that Lemuel didn’t know humans nearly as well as he thought he did, for if he had, he would have recognized the pattern that his charts had revealed. A pattern that Michael-Lan had recognized instantly.
This second conspiracy was very different from his own. Michael-Lan's objective was simple, he was creating a situation where the ruling elite of Heaven was so rotten with corruption that one good kick would bring it down. His club and the activities that were centered on it had that as its primary aim. By addicting its members to the pleasures he offered, pleasures that were strictly and absolutely prohibited by Yahweh, he was creating a group that was united by its enjoyment of those pleasures and isolated from the rest of Heaven by that fact. When Michael struck, he would decapitate the leadership of Heaven and take over. It was a classic top-down takeover.
This new conspiracy didn’t work that way at all. While Michael-Lan was creating a new society, one that was slowly spreading out across the top tiers of Heaven, his unknown rival was building an underground army. La Resistance thought Michael. It was divided into watertight cells, with only those in the cells knowing who else was involved. In theory anyway, in reality things were never that close and the cells always had a degree of leakage between them. The point was, the intent of such an organization was to challenge the leadership tiers, to face them with a mass insurrection. This new plan was a bottom-up replacement of the whole system. It would mean a civil war in Heaven, the one thing that Michael was trying to avoid. Other than seeing human tanks in the streets of the Eternal City of course. Avoiding that took priority over everything else. He had to keep the humans tied up, chasing their own tails down on Earth for if they turned their full attention to gaining access to Heaven, it would only be a matter of time before the tanks arrived.
Beneath him, Michael-Lan saw a bronze-covered lodge, one of his smaller resorts that he had modified specifically for its one occupant. He back-winged, settled neatly on the landing porch and allowed his sacs to deflate. Then, he went inside.
"Belial. How do things go with you?"
The great demon, once a Grand Duke of Hell and the only one of Satan's crew to strike a solid blow at the humans, looked up at his visitor with petulance.
"How long must I stay cooped up in this bronze box? There is work for me to do."
"As long as I wish." Michael-Lan's voice was sharp. He didn’t know if the humans could lock in on Belial's mind but he wasn't taking any risks. "Unless you wish to take your chances with the humans?"
Belial shook his head. "I wish to strike at them, amongst others. I waste time here."
"Time is something we have plenty of, Belial-Lan-Michael. You will be pleased to know that your ex-mate Euryale is using her time very well indeed. She has made an alliance with an important human, one Gaius Julius Caesar and turning that to great profit. She has even made her peace with the humans and managed to throw all the blame for Sheffield and Detroit on you. She is rich, well, and prospers along with all her kind. Of course, the humans make them keep their head-snakes covered."
Belial was almost shaking with rage. "She will die in millennia of screaming for her betrayal. And the human she allies herself with."
"Not a chance Belial, Euryale is your problem, that I agree. But Gaius Julius Caesar is off-limits. He is under the protection of the others and they will not tolerate harm coming to him." Michael-Lan returned his voice to its friendliest tone. "Anyway, you will also be pleased that the Baroness Yulupki is also prospering and is now Queen of the Naga. They have set up a delivery service and put FedEx out of business. Not before time, they lost one of my packages once."
Belial clenched his fists and stormed backwards and forwards at the idea of his erstwhile underlings prospering under the rule of humans in Hell. Michael-Lan smiled gently at his rage, daemons really ought to learn to control their emotions, their inability to do so had been their downfall.
"Now, Belial, we come to business. How do we drop fire on human cities?"
"That isn't a problem, open a portal, one end in the lava pit of a volcano, the other over the target."
"That is a problem. As you should be able to tell from the air quality here, there are no volcanoes in Heaven. Somehow, I have to fulfill the prophecy of the Fourth Bowl of Wrath and drop fire on their cities."
"Why didn't you make a prophecy you could fulfill?" Belial couldn't believe that the coldly calculating Michael-Lan, Yahweh's Great General, could blunder like that.
"I didn’t make them. You know how these prophecies got to happen? I'd been on a visit to South America and I'd stocked up with some of the local products. A leaf extract the humans call cocaine. Anyway, on the way back, I stopped in what is now Mexico and picked up a load of some really great mushrooms. They're good Belial, you ought to try them. Give you really wild visions. Anyway, I got to wondering what would happen if somebody mixed up those mushrooms with cocaine. I didn’t want to try it on anybody important so I went to a place called Patmos, an Island that was the back end of nowhere. I found this tramp sitting by the roadside, begging for food, so I gave him a dosed-up mushroom salad, sat back and watched the fireworks.
"And, Belial my friend, what fireworks they were. Eyes flashing, jumping around, shouting and raving, Belial, it was a sight to behold I can tell you. How was I to know that some scribe would take all his ravings down and preserve them? I thought he'd just be dismissed as another lunatic and banged on the head with a rock or something. Instead he becomes Saint John The Divine and the product of my mushroom salad becomes the Book of Revelation. I tried to get it suppressed, really I did. But the Nicaeans just wouldn’t listen. Thomas Jefferson deleted it as well but his opinion didn't take, more's the pity. Still, no use crying over what's done. The prophecies exist and we've got to fulfill them. Now, no volcanoes in Hell, any better ideas?"
Belial shook his head. "We can't drop lava without a source. We'd have to go back to Hell and open up a volcano there."
"Tartarus is occupied by humans, its their main base in the North. They keep a very close watch on all the volcanoes. By the way, they gave Palelabor to your human slaves, they're running a profitable mineral extraction business there now. Iron, copper, titanium, you name it.
Belial slumped, his face in his hands. His beloved Palelabor in the hands of the humans who had once slaved in its depths. Michael-Lan reached down and patted him on the shoulder. "Don’t worry about it, Belial, you just work out a way we can drop fire on a few human cities."
The meeting with Belial had taken less time than he had thought so Michael-Lan decided that a brief visit to the Montmartre Club would be in order. He flew idly towards the Eternal City, enjoying the sight of the lush green farmland beneath him, the workers tending the fields that kept the Eternal City supplied with its food. That, of course, raised an interesting possibility. Michael wondered if it would be possible to grow some of his more hallucinogenic crops up here in Heaven and, if so, would they have the same remarkable effects as they did when grown down on Earth?
Once again, he back-winged neatly and landed on the ledge, this one of a temple devoted to Yahweh. Who else Michael-Lan thought with a certain level of scorn. Yah-yah never grew tired of people worshiping him. Still, he'd found a whole new planet full of primitive sentients he could convert into a new cult. Had things gone the way they had, the discarded humans would have been condemned to Hell, there to disappear slowly, just as they themselves had replaced the ones who had gone before them. Michael-Lan wondered if, somewhere tucked deep in the bowels of Hell, there were still survivors of those earlier races.
He walked down through the confusing maze of passages that led to the heart of the temple. There was a trick to this, all the mazes in heaven worked on the same principle, if one put one's left hand on the left wall and never took it off, one would eventually reach the center. This one was the exception, at one specific point, if one changed to right hand on right wall, one would find the Montmartre Club.
Inside, Michael was delighted to note that his business was doing well. The music was up to standard and he got a respectful salute from Benny Goodman as he passed. He halted for a few minutes, listened to the number and gave an approving nod as it wound up. A quick look at the schedule showed the band had a good few numbers to work through before their shift was up. Then the center-stage would be taken by some angels pole-dancing.
Once in his office, far to the rear of the concealed structure, Michael sat down with the stock inventories. He'd replenished his supplies nicely, the Myanmar Junta had really come through for him. Such a nice group of people he thought genially, always willing to please and so reasonable and rational compared with Yahweh. He was working on his next liquor procurement scheme, getting good Scotch and Bourbon was turning into a real pain, when there was a knock on his door.
"Michael-Lan, I need help."
It was Maion, the young angel-addict he'd been supplying with heroin. Michael frowned slightly. "You know Maion, you're using more of this stuff now."
"I know, Michael-Lan but, I," she hesitated, tears in her eyes. "I need it."
"So do a lot of people Maion, and they all support their habit. They don’t come running to me asking for free supplies now do they?" Actually, a lot of them did and if they were valuable to him they got what they needed. Maion wasn't that valuable, not yet anyway.
"I know but…"
"It's not fair to them is it? They work to support their habits and pay their way. Why should you be any different?"
"I'll do things, for you, I promise."
Right on. Of course you will, you just don’t know what yet. "Would you like to work here?"
"Oh yes." The happiness in Maion's voice was obvious. "What will I have to do? Serve the drinks?"
"Oh no, I've got a much better job in mind for you than that. You'd make a good dancer I think."
Maion seemed slightly taken aback. "Well, I did learn the reverential dances for the temples."
"They'll do, for a start. The others will show you how to blend them into a pole-dance routine. And work out how you can lose your robes in the process."
"Oh." Now Maion really was taken aback.
"Come along, I'll take you to see Charmeine-Lan. She's in charge of the dancers."
Charmeine-Lan was in the costume room, making sure the next set of dancers were properly costumed. Michael introduced Maion to her and left them to get on with business. As soon as he'd gone, Charmeine-Lan put her wing comfortingly around Maion. "It's no big thing, really. All you have to do is do your dance when scheduled. Just remember, don’t let go of the pole when you're dancing, its there for your safety. Hang on to it in case somebody tries to pull you off the stage. It’s never happened and if somebody tries, security will deal with them. Apart from that, remember to keep to schedule, be down to skin and feathers by the end of the allocated time. Don't over-run and never under-run. Keep an eye on the stage manager, that's me, and if I tell you to slow down or speed up, then do so. Sometimes we have problems and I'll need you to cover a gap or something. Do that well and you'll get a lot of extra credit. After the show, you'll meet up with the customers on the floor. Socialize with them, if they want you to, you can do a little private dance for them, up close, its called a lap dance. All the girls earn a lot of money that way, more than enough to pay for your habit. Finally, some of the customers will want to take you to the rooms upstairs."
"No!" Maion was horrified.
"Yes, Maion. You'll do it and like it." Charmeine-Lan's voice was harsh and relentless. "You've got a habit, you'll support it and that means doing what the customers want. Otherwise you'll do without. You know what that feels like?"
Maion nodded her head, partly in acknowledgement, partly to hide the fact she was crying.
"All right then." Charmeine-Lan switched her voice back to the soft-friendly tone she'd used earlier. "It really isn't bad, Michael-Lan doesn’t allow anybody bad in here so they'll all be nice to you. If you're good and work hard at pleasing the customers, one will take a liking to you and reserve you. That way you won’t have to go with anybody else. Now, when a customer asks you to go upstairs, you tell me so I can get another girl to take your place on the schedule right?"
Another tear-stained nod from Maion.
"Very good, so let's get you a nice costume for your first appearance."
PsihoKekec
Swashbuckling Accountant
The Salvation War: Pantheocide - 17
Kanchanaburi, Thailand
Making an arrival is a well-versed art for those following the profession of arms. The sudden discovery that Heaven and Hell actually existed, followed by the rapid conquest of the latter had provided so many new opportunities for a dramatic arrival that most officers are hard put to chose which to employ. This arrival was no different, an hour or so earlier a Short 330 transport aircraft had arrived and disgorged a mass of equipment and a team of electronic specialists. Any observers with a basic knowledge of the new generation of electronic systems brought about by the discovery that portals could be opened between Earth and Hell would recognize the system they were setting up as an AN/GSY-1(V)4 Mod 5 Portal Generator.
If they hadn't, their sad lack of current affairs knowledge would have been remedied when, after two hours hard work setting up the system a black ellipse appeared in the middle of the airfield and a column of five M1114 Humvees roared through and set off down the long, straight road that led to Kanchanaburi. Following them with only a slight delay was another convoy, a mix of more Humvees and six-by-six trucks. This one had troops on display, grim-faced men and women wearing white helmets, white gloves and white scarves. The Air Force personnel watching the cavalcade nodded significantly to each other, these were the Thai Army's military police, the notorious White Mice. That was, in itself, a strong clue as to who had been in the first unit through, although that small convoy that was already disappearing into the distance.
The local population were used to military convoys making their way through the streets and got out of the way. They saw the red plate with two gold stars mounted on the front fender of each vehicles and noted the array of weapons mounted on the Humvees. They also noted that the vehicles were camouflaged red-gray rather than the usual dark green. The more astute realized that these vehicles had come straight from Hell and the really astute guessed that the Army headquarters in Kanchanaburi was about to get a visit from Hell in more ways than the obvious one. Astute or not, they got out of the way and watched the vehicles pass with resigned patience. It wasn't as if these were politicians after all, these were generals and generals actually worked for a living.
"This looks bad." Major General Asanee looked at the crowds of people at the sides of the road. They were refugees, all heading west, away from the advancing Myanmarese Army that was slowly inching its way down towards the transport nexus of Kanchanaburi.
"Backwash of a war always looks like this Ma'am." Senior Colonel Prachep was looking out the other window. "But this is worse than most."
"We're lucky this is a divided highway. We're going in, most people are coming out."
"That's encouraging of course, if the situation was really bad, they'd be using both lanes."
"That is true." Major General Asanee looked at the people on the other lane and guessed there would be more than a few deserters mixed in with them That would be for her White Mice to handle, they would already be setting up road-blocks and vetting the refugees. Genuine civilians would be allowed to continue on their way, life would be easier without them in the way. Any deserters would be detained, she had seriously thought of having them hanged at the roadside but had dismissed the idea. Executing people was a bit pointless these days, they'd just end up in Hell. Instead, they would be put into units tasked with the most dangerous of operations.
The Humvee column turned sharp right, past a complex of red-roofed buildings. She gestured abruptly. "The Tantipkan Hotel. Commandeer it, we'll use it as accommodation for the sensitives. They'll work better if they have somewhere comfortable to live."
Prachep picked up the radio and contacted the White Mice unit back at the airfield. They'd detach a squad to tell the Hotel owner he now had a new set of residents. He understood exactly what his General had in mind, they'd been working together for years and, like any good aide, he could almost think with her mind. This whole operation depended on portals being opened to and from Hell, they would take care of moving reinforcements into the region and keeping them supplied. They had another purpose as well, Myanmarese aircraft hadn't been reported this far west, not yet, and if they came, they would be in for a very unpleasant surprise. General Petraeus had made two squadrons of F-22s available to provide the Thai Army with air cover.
"This road seems clear." Off the radio after the brief message, Prachep looked around again. The Humvee column was holding a steady 50 miles per hour, an impressive sight since only a couple of feet separated each of the vehicles. The drivers were blasting their horns at anybody who got in the way but the warnings were very few.
"It's the back way in. Most people will be on the main street, about two hundred meters on our left. The Allied War Cemetery is just ahead of us on the left." The convoy swung right, passing across a trio of reservoirs. "Sports ground up ahead. Remember it, we can use it as a portal point. They've been doing some building around here, those places with the blue roofs weren't there when I was here last."
The column swung left, then right again, once more parallel to the main road. Ahead of them was a crossroads, blocked with vehicles. The drivers didn’t slow down, they just held their hands on the vehicle horns and watched the civilians panicking as they tried to get out of the way. Two pick-up trucks collided as one backed up too hastily and a third went into a ditch.
"Purple roofs?" Prachep waved at some houses on the right.
"No accounting for taste. Barracks of the 9th Infantry coming up on the left. That should be their armored battalion." She paused for a second. "Vehicles still in laager." Her contralto voice was grim.
The road started to curve to the left. Ahead of them was a junction with the main road. The convoy still didn’t hesitate or reduce speed, it swung right on to the highway and kept on its way, leaving more stalled civilian vehicles behind them. Up ahead of the, a large dragon's head had been built by the roadside. It and the steel gates beside it marked the headquarters of Third Army. Seeing her convoy approach, the guards threw the gates open.
General Asanee looked at them as they saluted her vehicle. "Find out who those guards are and break the entire guard detail to privates. Then assign them to mine clearance. We're at war, nobody should be getting into this base without being challenged. Make that clear to their replacements."
The Humvees swung into a car park in front of the headquarters building, a parking lot that was marked with the circular lines of a helipad. The five vehicles stopped in a neat line in front of the main entrance, the occupants debussing with the skill of long practice. It wasn't the first time that they'd taken over a command post this way.
"Sergeant Tram? Go to the Sergeant's Mess, talk to the President, find out what is really going on here. Corporal Vung? Do the same for the Corporal's Mess, find out what troop morale and standards are. Rest of you come with me."
The party burst through the doors of the headquarters, sending them slamming back against their stops. A receptionist was sitting behind a desk, she waved her hands ineffectually but did nothing to stop them. "One civilian. No armed guards." Prachep's voice was contemptuous.
"Fire her. She should have got on the telephone to warn people at least." The General led the way down the corridor that ran through the center of the building, the slam of boots on marble floor echoing off the walls. She gave no sign of noticing but the members of her party were keeping in perfect step with her. General Asanee knew how to make an entrance. She reached the double doors leading to the command center and two of her men threw them open while she stalked into the room.
"We really must decide what is best to be done. " Major General Thamassaret looked around in shock at the sudden interruption. "Who the hell are you?"
"General Thamassaret. You are relieved as commander of Third Army and Third Army Region. Effective immediately. Report to Supreme Command Headquarters for reassignment."
Thamassaret looked outraged at the terse order and stormed out of the room. The General looked around the room then studied the situation map. Almost immediately she missed the American-supplied electronic displays and maps that equipped the Human Expeditionary Army. This map was paper even though it was covered with a perspex screen.
"Intelligence Officer?"
"Yes Ma'am?" An unidentified Colonel spoke up from a table near the map.
"Enemy forces, positions, axis of advance?"
"On the map ma'am."
The General took a laser pointer from her pocket and shone it on a red marker sausage with the number '100,000?' scrawled in it. "This?" Her voice was disbelieving. "This is the best you can do?"
"Myanmar MiG-29s stopped us getting recon flights over the area and…"
"You're relieved of your post, report to Supreme Command Headquarters for reassignment. Colonel Prachep, take over his position. Logistics?" She pointed to the number on the map. "Try and explain that."
The logistics officer gulped. "Well, Ma'am, its our best-guess estimate of….."
"How will the Myanmar Army supply 100,000 men over a stretch of country that has only a handful of roads when they have no air transport, no available railway and shift supplies using manpacks? If you can't see the blatant impossibility of that number, you've no right to wear this uniform. You're relieved of your post, report to Supreme Command Headquarters for reassignment. General Senawith?"
"Ma'am?"
"Why are there no patrols out? What about contact with the Tahan Phran? There should be several companies of them in the area." Her voice was challenging, Senawith was a Thaksin appointee, he'd got this position due to his loyalty to the ex-Prime Minister, not any command ability.
"We took a decision to concentrate all our forces around this city. And you know what the civilians are like, every man they see is an army."
"You're relieved of command. Report to Supreme Command Headquarters for reassignment." She pointed at his deputy. "Supadom, take over command of the division. Get it into contact with the enemy and keep it that way."
"You wouldn't throw your weight around like this if Thaksin was still in charge." Senawith was stuffing papers from his desk into a briefcase.
"As it happens I did, but anyway, he isn’t, he pissed on the Army's turf and he's gone. My cousin is now the Prime Minister. And leave the papers where they are, we need to go through them. Chun, check him before he leaves." Asanee paused for a slight second, then cut across him just as he started to speak. "Yes, I am a serious bitch. Now get out and let us get on with our job.
"First Regiment. How quickly can we get it on the road east? I want it up in Chong Sadao by dusk."
"We can't do it, we've only just moved into…."
"You're relieved of command. Report to Supreme Command Headquarters for reassignment." She looked around at her team. "Colonel Thawat, take over command of First of Ninth and get it on the road to Chong Sadao by noon. I want information on enemy dispositions and operations, not an inflated condom drawn on a map "
There was silence for a few seconds. "We need to get moving on this. How much gasoline and diesel fuel is in the city."
The local mayor was in the back of the room, trying not to get seen. "I don’t know, give me an hour and I'll have the information for you."
"Good answer. We've got five divisions arriving over the next few days. First and Second Cavalry will be in the city by evening, First Armored by tomorrow, Second and Eleventh Infantry by the day after. They're all mechanized, they'll need fuel and supplies. Also the troops will need bivouac areas. See to it. I want to speak with the local head of civil defense. Get him here."
She looked around at the room, there was an electric spark in the atmosphere that hadn't been there before. She knew what it was, she'd seen it before. All it needed was somebody to take charge and set standards and people rose to the challenge. Once they'd done so once, they'd find it easier to do it again.
Outside the main center, Corporal Kasit was sitting in front of the radio communications bank, his feet on the desk, dozing gently. It wasn't as if he wanted to spend the day that way but the inactivity while the brass in the operations room argued over what to be do had left him little choice. The crash as the door to his section was thrown open woke him and he found himself staring into a pair of black, expressionless eyes. Female eyes but still very professional
"And just what do you think you are up to?"
Kasit had been married for years and knew that when caught cold under these circumstances the best thing to do was to admit everything and throw himself on the mercy of the court.
"I was goofing off Ma'am."
Major General Asanee looked at him carefully. "I'm promoting you to Sergeant. You’re the only person I've met in this building so far who knows what he's been doing."
Mess, Camp Hell-Alpha
"So you can't get drunk?" kitten sounded very sympathetic.
"So it appears. We've tried hard a couple of times but it just doesn't happen. The egg-heads say its because us dead'uns don't actually absorb things from what we eat. Apparently we absorb energy from our surroundings just like plants. They say eating is just a left-over thing, we don’t have to if we don’t want to. Don’t ask me how that all works, I always was just a poor dumb grunt, now I'm just a poor dead grunt and I might have got it all wrong. Anyway, if we don’t absorb the alcohol, we don’t get drunk." Sergeant (deceased) Tucker McElroy looked positively distraught at the prospect of spending eternity sober.
"Look on the bright side. You can spend all of eternity sampling different brews and never get a hangover." kitten's partner quaffed down the remains of a can of beer. "Speaking of which, can I get you guys another round?"
There was a slight stir of discontent at the words and he looked nervous, wondering if he'd said something wrong. McElroy grinned at him reassuringly. "Sorry kid, its just that kitten's – and your – money isn’t good at any military base in Hell. Nobody's ever going to forget what she did to keep us all going in the early days. So you two sit tight and the bar will bring another round over."
kitten flushed with embarrassment and looked downwards. She was about to say something when the light over the airlock door went red, showing that somebody was coming in from outside. She could hear the machinery cycling, pumping out the dust-contaminated air and replacing it with clean. Tucker had told her that even the dead, who could breath the dirt-laden air of Hell without ill-effects, preferred to live in clean-air surroundings. For the living, of course, there was no real choice.
"kitten, I'm sorry to have to break up your party, but we need your help over at headquarters." The aide quietly waved to stop McElroy and the rest of his unit getting to their feet. "We need a lot of gates pushed through fast and General Petraeus wants you to look after this end of it."
"Sir, with respect sir, hasn't kitten done enough? She needs a long rest."
"It's all right Tucker, it doesn’t hurt to push a gate through from this side." She smiled shyly, "and its what I'm paid for after all. Look on it this way, it gives us an excuse for another meet later. We'd better go Dani."
Her boyfriend picked up the end of her leash and tugged it. Obediently she stood and he led her out to where a V-22 was waiting. McElroy drained his can and shook his head slowly. "Well, people, it looks like our break is over. Cassidy, get everybody else rousted out, we've got to get set up for our next job."
Making an arrival is a well-versed art for those following the profession of arms. The sudden discovery that Heaven and Hell actually existed, followed by the rapid conquest of the latter had provided so many new opportunities for a dramatic arrival that most officers are hard put to chose which to employ. This arrival was no different, an hour or so earlier a Short 330 transport aircraft had arrived and disgorged a mass of equipment and a team of electronic specialists. Any observers with a basic knowledge of the new generation of electronic systems brought about by the discovery that portals could be opened between Earth and Hell would recognize the system they were setting up as an AN/GSY-1(V)4 Mod 5 Portal Generator.
If they hadn't, their sad lack of current affairs knowledge would have been remedied when, after two hours hard work setting up the system a black ellipse appeared in the middle of the airfield and a column of five M1114 Humvees roared through and set off down the long, straight road that led to Kanchanaburi. Following them with only a slight delay was another convoy, a mix of more Humvees and six-by-six trucks. This one had troops on display, grim-faced men and women wearing white helmets, white gloves and white scarves. The Air Force personnel watching the cavalcade nodded significantly to each other, these were the Thai Army's military police, the notorious White Mice. That was, in itself, a strong clue as to who had been in the first unit through, although that small convoy that was already disappearing into the distance.
The local population were used to military convoys making their way through the streets and got out of the way. They saw the red plate with two gold stars mounted on the front fender of each vehicles and noted the array of weapons mounted on the Humvees. They also noted that the vehicles were camouflaged red-gray rather than the usual dark green. The more astute realized that these vehicles had come straight from Hell and the really astute guessed that the Army headquarters in Kanchanaburi was about to get a visit from Hell in more ways than the obvious one. Astute or not, they got out of the way and watched the vehicles pass with resigned patience. It wasn't as if these were politicians after all, these were generals and generals actually worked for a living.
"This looks bad." Major General Asanee looked at the crowds of people at the sides of the road. They were refugees, all heading west, away from the advancing Myanmarese Army that was slowly inching its way down towards the transport nexus of Kanchanaburi.
"Backwash of a war always looks like this Ma'am." Senior Colonel Prachep was looking out the other window. "But this is worse than most."
"We're lucky this is a divided highway. We're going in, most people are coming out."
"That's encouraging of course, if the situation was really bad, they'd be using both lanes."
"That is true." Major General Asanee looked at the people on the other lane and guessed there would be more than a few deserters mixed in with them That would be for her White Mice to handle, they would already be setting up road-blocks and vetting the refugees. Genuine civilians would be allowed to continue on their way, life would be easier without them in the way. Any deserters would be detained, she had seriously thought of having them hanged at the roadside but had dismissed the idea. Executing people was a bit pointless these days, they'd just end up in Hell. Instead, they would be put into units tasked with the most dangerous of operations.
The Humvee column turned sharp right, past a complex of red-roofed buildings. She gestured abruptly. "The Tantipkan Hotel. Commandeer it, we'll use it as accommodation for the sensitives. They'll work better if they have somewhere comfortable to live."
Prachep picked up the radio and contacted the White Mice unit back at the airfield. They'd detach a squad to tell the Hotel owner he now had a new set of residents. He understood exactly what his General had in mind, they'd been working together for years and, like any good aide, he could almost think with her mind. This whole operation depended on portals being opened to and from Hell, they would take care of moving reinforcements into the region and keeping them supplied. They had another purpose as well, Myanmarese aircraft hadn't been reported this far west, not yet, and if they came, they would be in for a very unpleasant surprise. General Petraeus had made two squadrons of F-22s available to provide the Thai Army with air cover.
"This road seems clear." Off the radio after the brief message, Prachep looked around again. The Humvee column was holding a steady 50 miles per hour, an impressive sight since only a couple of feet separated each of the vehicles. The drivers were blasting their horns at anybody who got in the way but the warnings were very few.
"It's the back way in. Most people will be on the main street, about two hundred meters on our left. The Allied War Cemetery is just ahead of us on the left." The convoy swung right, passing across a trio of reservoirs. "Sports ground up ahead. Remember it, we can use it as a portal point. They've been doing some building around here, those places with the blue roofs weren't there when I was here last."
The column swung left, then right again, once more parallel to the main road. Ahead of them was a crossroads, blocked with vehicles. The drivers didn’t slow down, they just held their hands on the vehicle horns and watched the civilians panicking as they tried to get out of the way. Two pick-up trucks collided as one backed up too hastily and a third went into a ditch.
"Purple roofs?" Prachep waved at some houses on the right.
"No accounting for taste. Barracks of the 9th Infantry coming up on the left. That should be their armored battalion." She paused for a second. "Vehicles still in laager." Her contralto voice was grim.
The road started to curve to the left. Ahead of them was a junction with the main road. The convoy still didn’t hesitate or reduce speed, it swung right on to the highway and kept on its way, leaving more stalled civilian vehicles behind them. Up ahead of the, a large dragon's head had been built by the roadside. It and the steel gates beside it marked the headquarters of Third Army. Seeing her convoy approach, the guards threw the gates open.
General Asanee looked at them as they saluted her vehicle. "Find out who those guards are and break the entire guard detail to privates. Then assign them to mine clearance. We're at war, nobody should be getting into this base without being challenged. Make that clear to their replacements."
The Humvees swung into a car park in front of the headquarters building, a parking lot that was marked with the circular lines of a helipad. The five vehicles stopped in a neat line in front of the main entrance, the occupants debussing with the skill of long practice. It wasn't the first time that they'd taken over a command post this way.
"Sergeant Tram? Go to the Sergeant's Mess, talk to the President, find out what is really going on here. Corporal Vung? Do the same for the Corporal's Mess, find out what troop morale and standards are. Rest of you come with me."
The party burst through the doors of the headquarters, sending them slamming back against their stops. A receptionist was sitting behind a desk, she waved her hands ineffectually but did nothing to stop them. "One civilian. No armed guards." Prachep's voice was contemptuous.
"Fire her. She should have got on the telephone to warn people at least." The General led the way down the corridor that ran through the center of the building, the slam of boots on marble floor echoing off the walls. She gave no sign of noticing but the members of her party were keeping in perfect step with her. General Asanee knew how to make an entrance. She reached the double doors leading to the command center and two of her men threw them open while she stalked into the room.
"We really must decide what is best to be done. " Major General Thamassaret looked around in shock at the sudden interruption. "Who the hell are you?"
"General Thamassaret. You are relieved as commander of Third Army and Third Army Region. Effective immediately. Report to Supreme Command Headquarters for reassignment."
Thamassaret looked outraged at the terse order and stormed out of the room. The General looked around the room then studied the situation map. Almost immediately she missed the American-supplied electronic displays and maps that equipped the Human Expeditionary Army. This map was paper even though it was covered with a perspex screen.
"Intelligence Officer?"
"Yes Ma'am?" An unidentified Colonel spoke up from a table near the map.
"Enemy forces, positions, axis of advance?"
"On the map ma'am."
The General took a laser pointer from her pocket and shone it on a red marker sausage with the number '100,000?' scrawled in it. "This?" Her voice was disbelieving. "This is the best you can do?"
"Myanmar MiG-29s stopped us getting recon flights over the area and…"
"You're relieved of your post, report to Supreme Command Headquarters for reassignment. Colonel Prachep, take over his position. Logistics?" She pointed to the number on the map. "Try and explain that."
The logistics officer gulped. "Well, Ma'am, its our best-guess estimate of….."
"How will the Myanmar Army supply 100,000 men over a stretch of country that has only a handful of roads when they have no air transport, no available railway and shift supplies using manpacks? If you can't see the blatant impossibility of that number, you've no right to wear this uniform. You're relieved of your post, report to Supreme Command Headquarters for reassignment. General Senawith?"
"Ma'am?"
"Why are there no patrols out? What about contact with the Tahan Phran? There should be several companies of them in the area." Her voice was challenging, Senawith was a Thaksin appointee, he'd got this position due to his loyalty to the ex-Prime Minister, not any command ability.
"We took a decision to concentrate all our forces around this city. And you know what the civilians are like, every man they see is an army."
"You're relieved of command. Report to Supreme Command Headquarters for reassignment." She pointed at his deputy. "Supadom, take over command of the division. Get it into contact with the enemy and keep it that way."
"You wouldn't throw your weight around like this if Thaksin was still in charge." Senawith was stuffing papers from his desk into a briefcase.
"As it happens I did, but anyway, he isn’t, he pissed on the Army's turf and he's gone. My cousin is now the Prime Minister. And leave the papers where they are, we need to go through them. Chun, check him before he leaves." Asanee paused for a slight second, then cut across him just as he started to speak. "Yes, I am a serious bitch. Now get out and let us get on with our job.
"First Regiment. How quickly can we get it on the road east? I want it up in Chong Sadao by dusk."
"We can't do it, we've only just moved into…."
"You're relieved of command. Report to Supreme Command Headquarters for reassignment." She looked around at her team. "Colonel Thawat, take over command of First of Ninth and get it on the road to Chong Sadao by noon. I want information on enemy dispositions and operations, not an inflated condom drawn on a map "
There was silence for a few seconds. "We need to get moving on this. How much gasoline and diesel fuel is in the city."
The local mayor was in the back of the room, trying not to get seen. "I don’t know, give me an hour and I'll have the information for you."
"Good answer. We've got five divisions arriving over the next few days. First and Second Cavalry will be in the city by evening, First Armored by tomorrow, Second and Eleventh Infantry by the day after. They're all mechanized, they'll need fuel and supplies. Also the troops will need bivouac areas. See to it. I want to speak with the local head of civil defense. Get him here."
She looked around at the room, there was an electric spark in the atmosphere that hadn't been there before. She knew what it was, she'd seen it before. All it needed was somebody to take charge and set standards and people rose to the challenge. Once they'd done so once, they'd find it easier to do it again.
Outside the main center, Corporal Kasit was sitting in front of the radio communications bank, his feet on the desk, dozing gently. It wasn't as if he wanted to spend the day that way but the inactivity while the brass in the operations room argued over what to be do had left him little choice. The crash as the door to his section was thrown open woke him and he found himself staring into a pair of black, expressionless eyes. Female eyes but still very professional
"And just what do you think you are up to?"
Kasit had been married for years and knew that when caught cold under these circumstances the best thing to do was to admit everything and throw himself on the mercy of the court.
"I was goofing off Ma'am."
Major General Asanee looked at him carefully. "I'm promoting you to Sergeant. You’re the only person I've met in this building so far who knows what he's been doing."
Mess, Camp Hell-Alpha
"So you can't get drunk?" kitten sounded very sympathetic.
"So it appears. We've tried hard a couple of times but it just doesn't happen. The egg-heads say its because us dead'uns don't actually absorb things from what we eat. Apparently we absorb energy from our surroundings just like plants. They say eating is just a left-over thing, we don’t have to if we don’t want to. Don’t ask me how that all works, I always was just a poor dumb grunt, now I'm just a poor dead grunt and I might have got it all wrong. Anyway, if we don’t absorb the alcohol, we don’t get drunk." Sergeant (deceased) Tucker McElroy looked positively distraught at the prospect of spending eternity sober.
"Look on the bright side. You can spend all of eternity sampling different brews and never get a hangover." kitten's partner quaffed down the remains of a can of beer. "Speaking of which, can I get you guys another round?"
There was a slight stir of discontent at the words and he looked nervous, wondering if he'd said something wrong. McElroy grinned at him reassuringly. "Sorry kid, its just that kitten's – and your – money isn’t good at any military base in Hell. Nobody's ever going to forget what she did to keep us all going in the early days. So you two sit tight and the bar will bring another round over."
kitten flushed with embarrassment and looked downwards. She was about to say something when the light over the airlock door went red, showing that somebody was coming in from outside. She could hear the machinery cycling, pumping out the dust-contaminated air and replacing it with clean. Tucker had told her that even the dead, who could breath the dirt-laden air of Hell without ill-effects, preferred to live in clean-air surroundings. For the living, of course, there was no real choice.
"kitten, I'm sorry to have to break up your party, but we need your help over at headquarters." The aide quietly waved to stop McElroy and the rest of his unit getting to their feet. "We need a lot of gates pushed through fast and General Petraeus wants you to look after this end of it."
"Sir, with respect sir, hasn't kitten done enough? She needs a long rest."
"It's all right Tucker, it doesn’t hurt to push a gate through from this side." She smiled shyly, "and its what I'm paid for after all. Look on it this way, it gives us an excuse for another meet later. We'd better go Dani."
Her boyfriend picked up the end of her leash and tugged it. Obediently she stood and he led her out to where a V-22 was waiting. McElroy drained his can and shook his head slowly. "Well, people, it looks like our break is over. Cassidy, get everybody else rousted out, we've got to get set up for our next job."
The Salvation War: Pantheocide - 18
Section 18, DIMO(N) Field Research Facility, Camp Hell-Alpha, Hell
"Are you quite comfortable, kitten?" Doctor Ilya Muromets asked the question almost on autopilot. He was too concerned with getting his equipment set up and stabilized to be really interested in the answer.
"Yes, thank you Doctor. But shouldn’t we be over at the operational base, I thought there were troop movements to get started?"
"There are, but the units aren’t ready to move yet. It'll be a few hours before the military portals will be needed so we're going to run a few experiments into portal opening. Portal science is a big thing now, several of the big universities have opened up departments to study all the new physics we're running into out here."
"Hurry up and wait." Dani repeated the time-honored phrase with gloomy relish. "What are we doing here anyway?"
"That's right, but these experiments have a long term significance. We're looking into how the other end of the portal gets established, or more specifically, what part the contact at the other end plays. Then, we're hoping we can automate it so we don’t need a sensitive at both ends to push a portal through."
"That's easy, I just relax and let my mind search. When I get an echo, I hold it and the equipment pumps energy into the link. That's the bit that hurts, when the power goes right up, it feels like my brain is being torn apart. Like the worst migraine you ever had. It's not nearly so bad here in Hell though."
Muromets nodded in acknowledgement. "Most of the work being done right now is insulating the sensitive from that power transmission, to reduce exactly what your describing. But, I'm more interested in the echo you mentioned. You see, if I'm right, there isn’t a transmission of any sort from the sensitive back to you. What you're feeling is a sort of resonance of your own transmission. The better the sensitive the other end, the stronger the resonance. My belief is that the resonance strength is determined by the degree of Nephilim ancestry the sensitive has. You're the best because you have a high level of such ancestry."
"That would make sense." kitten giggled. "Where I come from, family trees don’t have many branches."
"My equipment has settled down now." Muromets sighed. "The trouble is that the signals we are getting are so weak that they're lost in the electronic noise unless we're really careful. That's why they escaped detection for so long, nobody ever believed something that slight could be so important. People saw the signals but dismissed them as artifacts of the equipment. Just random noise caused by statistic uncertainty. The evidence was there, right in front of us the whole time and nobody looked at it."
"Just like tinfoil hats." Dani tossed the remark in with quiet satisfaction. The critical, proven, importance of wearing a tinfoil hat was a serious embarrassment to the entire psychiatric profession who had once used wearing one as a trademark of insanity.
"Just like tinfoil hats. Now, kitten, I want you just to scan with your mind, relax and try to find a contact. There's no need to communicate with them, what we're interested in is the signal you send out and the one you get back. If my theory is right, we should be able to compare them and determine that the return is a resonance from your transmission. If that isn't the case, we'll have to dump my hypothesis and start again."
"How many times have you done that Doctor?"
Muromets paused and counted on his fingers. "We're run through eleven hypotheses so far and every one of them failed to pan out. Each time we got off to a good start but we ran into things the hypothesis couldn’t explain and we had to start over. My hypothesis is number twelve. I'm hoping that if this one works out, we'll be able to build transponders that each resonate on a slightly different set of transmission characteristics. Then, we can build those transponders into things like cell-phone towers and install them all over Earth and Hell. That'll mean we'll be just like the naga, we can open a portal more or less anywhere we want to. Only, unlike the naga, we will be able to do it with pinpoint accuracy."
"Why don’t we study naga then, rather than kitten?"
"Because we don’t want the Baldricks believing they are actually useful to us. We've got our foot firmly on their necks right now and that's how we want it to stay."
"And the Generals realize what a weapons system that will make." Dani was impressed.
"That's right, one we want to keep very much to ourselves. But, there's another point to this. At the moment we have only got one reference point for these signals, transmissions from Earth to Hell and back. That tells us something but not much. If we can really analyze these signals and understand them, as soon as we get the Earth to Heaven and back signals, we can really get to work and start to develop a proper theory of why portals go where they do. And what portals are of course, we don’t really understand that yet either.
"I've got a contact Doctor."
"Well done, kitten. Hold it, just don’t do anything with it. The equipment is making records of everything."
Section 12, DIMO(N) Field Research Center, Fort Bragg, North Carolina.
"Now this is very interesting indeed." Doctor Crosby tapped the charts in front of him.
"What's up doc?" Colonel Warhol couldn’t resist the line.
"We've got power readings from vehicles and aircraft that passed through the portals. Remember that U-2 that crashed a few weeks back? Well, we all thought it lost power as it was transiting the Hell-Alpha portal and went in. U-2s are prone to that sort of thing after all. But, the accident investigation board found that its engine was actually running when it crashed. Choked up with dust, certainly, its filters had failed. Still getting power though. It was right on the borderline of flying and crashing when something pushed it over the edge. So, amongst other things, we started measuring engine power outputs as the platforms they power pass through the portals."
"And?" Warhol had never managed to quite understand why civilians took so long to get to the point.
"All the data is consistent, they show a slight increase in power output as the vehicle passes through. That means when something goes through a portal, there's a slight energy barrier and the engine has to increase output slightly to compensate for it. There is actually an energy cost in going through a portal and that is of immense significance."
"Well that's just great for you people."
"It's quite significant for you too." Crosby spoke with acerbity. Why couldn't military people have any patience? When they wanted information, they wanted it now and in words of one syllable. "Look at the figures for the ships going through the Hell-Bravo portal. The power output increase is tiny, so slight we can hardly measure it. But using Hell-Alpha, the power output on vehicles is significantly greater. I bet the crews noticed an engine surge as they went through but thought nothing of it. That's what killed that U-2, going through the portal needed a tiny bit more power and the engine just couldn’t give it."
"So?"
"Think about it. Hell-Bravo is at sea level both sides. Very little altitude differential, tiny barrier energy. Hell-Alpha has an altitude differential, there's a slightly greater energy barrier. I bet if we had an enormous altitude difference, the barrier would be so great we couldn’t cross it. And that would mean we couldn't use it to supply, for example, the International Space Station. Of course, I doubt if altitude is actually the constraint, there must be something else and altitude is just the physical manifestation……"
Crosby was interrupted by a wailing cacophony as the base sirens suddenly burst into life. Warhol looked around for a few seconds, then the realization dawned on him. "Crosby, move! The base is under attack."
The scientist stood in the center of the room, looking around him, uncertain what to do. Warhol dived past him, towards one of the emergency cabinets that studded the walls around the conference room. It was the work of a second to punch in the four-number code and grab the M4A5 inside. His hands moved with the unerring precision of much training as he inserted the 20-round magazine and racked the mechanism. Then he opened a second cabinet and tossed the weapon inside to Crosby. "Get to the redoubt in the center of the base. We'll deal with this. Whatever it is."
Running down the corridor leading to the command center, Warhol noted that most of the other emergency cabinets had been opened and the contents taken. Installing them had seemed like a joke eighteen months earlier when this facility had been built, but now they seemed to be important enough. Just what was happening that could cause this level of alert?
"Warhol. Get some men together, make up a team and head for the perimeter." The duty officer snapped the order out without looking around, his eyes glued on the screen in front of him.
Warhol saw the screen also and the sight made him stop dead. The display showed a monster, a huge one, that looked like a giant leopard. What was appalling was its head, or rather heads. The creature had seven of them, and ten horns. They weren't quite heads though, it was more as if there were seven faces on the same giant, hideously distorted skull with the horns sticking out between them. Warhol couldn’t estimate the thing's size, the display didn’t have a reference in shot that he could use to get an idea of scale but he guessed it was huge. It had to be to cause this level of chaos.
"What are you still doing here? Get down to the motor pool, there'll be troops down there for you. Move."
It took Warhol a few minutes to get to the motor pool and pick up the men there. Once again, the non-commissioned officers had saved the situation, they had already organized the motor pool staff into an emergency platoon and set it up in a defensive position. All he had to do was to take over and move them out towards the base perimeter. They even had the motor transport to hand, a selection of Humvees, trucks and a single experimental armored car equipped with a 57mm gun. He had no doubt that they would be needed, the barrage of gunfire from the south was a sure sign that this was no walk-over fight. Warhol did what every infantry officer had been expected to do since the invention of gunpowder, he drove to the sound of the guns.
Defense Perimeter, Fort Bragg, North Carolina.
"It's taken out Domino's Pizza!" The cry was almost drowned out by the roar of gunfire while the streams of tracer formed an almost-prefect cone centered on the great beast that towered over the trees.
"Who the hell cares. I preferred Cicis anyway." It was, perhaps, a sign of the times that the Coca-Cola delivery truck was camouflaged and had a .50 machine gun mounted above its cab. The delivery team had been caught up in the attack and were now doing their level best to make a worthwhile contribution to the volume of fire that was engulfing the Leopard Beast. The problem was, they hadn't had much ammunition to start with and they were now running desperately low. So was everybody else.
They'd achieved their first objective though, the hastily-mounted defense had drawn the Leopard Beast away from the family accommodation to the south of the base and given the dependents there a chance to escape into Fayetteville. Stung by the hail of gunfire, the Leopard Beast had made its way around to the south-eastern flank of the base and tried to break through. Once again, it had been met by a barrage of gunfire and driven back. Despite the tens of thousands of rounds that had been fired in its direction, it was still alive and showed no signs of being any less lethal than when it had first appeared.
Still, the gunfire was achieving something else. The streams of tracer were serving as perfect target markers for the aircraft that were heading in. The Leopard Beast had been driven into an area that was largely unoccupied and that had opened up a whole new range of possibilities. One of them was already being brought into play, the thump of heavy mortars was quickly followed by the eruption of feathered white clouds around the Beast. It screamed as the white phosphorus burned its way into its skin.
"Keep marking that target!" One of the junior officers had the presence of mind to scream out the order in case any journalists were around. After all everybody knew the U.S. Army only used white phosphorus to lay smoke screens and mark targets, that was their story and they were sticking to it.
The Leopard Beast screamed again and leapt forward, crashing into a small fuel dump on the outskirts of the mobility testing area. The HEMTT trucks lines up outside crumpled under the bear paws that served it as feet. The trucks exploded in balls of fire as they were crushed and, once again, the Leopard Beast was driven back, away from the base. This time, as it fled east, away from the flames, it ran into streams of fire from Bradley armored vehicles that had been moved up to flank its position. The 25mm sabot rounds did more damage than the rifle-caliber rounds fired so far and, for the first time, the Leopard Beast was badly enough hurt to dilute it's single-minded urge for destruction. Then, the Beast heard and saw a new threat.
The four A-45s had taken off a few minutes earlier, loaded with whatever the ground crews could find immediately available. There were more aircraft being bombed up back at the base and they would be carrying loads better suited to the battle being fought at Fort Bragg but time had been of the essence and it was better to get something over the battlefield now rather than wait for a perfect solution that might be too late. In any case, AH-64s were on their way in and the Beast would have to be distracted while the helicopters made their runs. Everybody remembered what had happened when unsupported helicopters had tried to fight harpies in the skies over Iraq. The Leopard Beast didn't appear capable of flying but, when faced with a seven-faced beast more than 200 feet tall, nobody was going to take the chance. So, the A-45s started their bomb runs, aiming to distract the beast. Of course, if they hurt it in the process, the pilots wouldn't mind in the slightest.
"We could sure use one of them Mujs and a vee-bed right now." The speaker was a veteran of the Battle of Hit and well remembered the effects of explosive-packed pick-up trucks driven into the center of a mass of Baldricks. The U.S. Army didn’t like to admit it but the suicide bomb-trucks might well have been the factor that had turned the tide in that particular battle. The way the Leopard Beast kept shrugging off the storm of fire being aimed at it suggested they would be needed to turn the tide again. Then, the soldier got his wish for the ground around the beats erupted into a rolling thunder of explosions. The four A-45s had streaked overhead, each releasing four fin-retarded Mark 82 bombs. Sixteen five hundred pounders, even when delivered with less-than-optimal accuracy, were something that the Leopard Beast found distinctly terrifying.
To the watching troops, the fact that the beast was seriously hurt at last was thankfully apparent. Great areas of its flanks were now torn open, dripping silver blood as it staggered from the blast of the bombs. They saw it stagger again as red lines flashed across the battlefield, an Abrams tank had appeared and was firing sabot rounds at the Beast. That was all the tank crew had, high explosive, HEAT and HEAD rounds were completely unavailable, their supplies limited and the forces in Hell having top priority for any that were around. The crew were firing what they had, carefully, precisely, deadly accurately. They'd picked one of the faces of the Beast and were pumping round after round into it. The repeated impacts were having their effect, the chosen face was quickly losing its identity as the long bolts of depleted uranium crushed its features.
The Leopard Beast was being hurt and it know it. It slumped back on its hindquarters, waving its paws in front of its grotesquely misshapen head, trying to fend off the bolts that kept slamming into it. The posture was achingly reminiscent of a kitten playing with a ball of wool but the sight didn’t decrease the volume of fire that was still being poured into it. The tank ceased fire, its partly-loaded magazine empty but its place was taken by the first of the AH-64s. This one had been loaded with some time-expired Hellfire missiles that had been found at the back of a supply dump. Two of the eight failed to fire completely, one exploded shortly after launch, lashing the front of the helicopter with fragments while two more failed to guide and went off into the darkness to land somewhere kilometers away. The three remaining missiles scored direct hits on the Beast and it went down.
Even so, the battered and bullet-peppered Leopard Beast was still alive. It had no taste to continue this fight anymore, all it wanted was out, an end, away from the humans who wished its death so devoutly. Racked with pain from its injuries, it dragged itself along the ground, its mind forming the image of the portal that would take it to the sanctuary it needed so desperately. The problem was that generating the portal needed its concentration and the beast's limited intellect wasn't capable of both forming its portal and absorbing the shattering pain of its injuries. Dimly, its mind registered more crashes and the searing pain of shaped charges burning their way into its body. Slowly, reluctantly, the Leopard Beast gave up the battle to survive.
Scrubland, Outside The Defense Perimeter, Fort Bragg, North Carolina.
Warhol rubbed his eyes. They were gritty, he could feel the residues of burned powder under the lids and he wondered just how many rounds he'd fired into the Beast the night before. Ahead of him, the troops were lining up to be pictured beside the massive body that was stretched out on the ground. Just how much did that damned thing weigh he thought as the crew of a Bradley were pictured with their vehicle beside one of its paws. Could a thing like that actually exist? And if it did, what else was there in Heaven waiting to descend on Earth. The Leopard Beast had taken most of the resources of Fort Bragg to kill and it had come precious close to breaking in and destroying the scientific resources of the DIMO(N) center here.
"Impressive isn't it." Beside him, Doctor Crosby was also looking at the corpse of the Beast.
"It's just big, that's all. We can kill them, just a matter of learning how." Warhol's mind had trouble forming the words.
"I hope so. I think we'll see more of them in due course."
"Are you quite comfortable, kitten?" Doctor Ilya Muromets asked the question almost on autopilot. He was too concerned with getting his equipment set up and stabilized to be really interested in the answer.
"Yes, thank you Doctor. But shouldn’t we be over at the operational base, I thought there were troop movements to get started?"
"There are, but the units aren’t ready to move yet. It'll be a few hours before the military portals will be needed so we're going to run a few experiments into portal opening. Portal science is a big thing now, several of the big universities have opened up departments to study all the new physics we're running into out here."
"Hurry up and wait." Dani repeated the time-honored phrase with gloomy relish. "What are we doing here anyway?"
"That's right, but these experiments have a long term significance. We're looking into how the other end of the portal gets established, or more specifically, what part the contact at the other end plays. Then, we're hoping we can automate it so we don’t need a sensitive at both ends to push a portal through."
"That's easy, I just relax and let my mind search. When I get an echo, I hold it and the equipment pumps energy into the link. That's the bit that hurts, when the power goes right up, it feels like my brain is being torn apart. Like the worst migraine you ever had. It's not nearly so bad here in Hell though."
Muromets nodded in acknowledgement. "Most of the work being done right now is insulating the sensitive from that power transmission, to reduce exactly what your describing. But, I'm more interested in the echo you mentioned. You see, if I'm right, there isn’t a transmission of any sort from the sensitive back to you. What you're feeling is a sort of resonance of your own transmission. The better the sensitive the other end, the stronger the resonance. My belief is that the resonance strength is determined by the degree of Nephilim ancestry the sensitive has. You're the best because you have a high level of such ancestry."
"That would make sense." kitten giggled. "Where I come from, family trees don’t have many branches."
"My equipment has settled down now." Muromets sighed. "The trouble is that the signals we are getting are so weak that they're lost in the electronic noise unless we're really careful. That's why they escaped detection for so long, nobody ever believed something that slight could be so important. People saw the signals but dismissed them as artifacts of the equipment. Just random noise caused by statistic uncertainty. The evidence was there, right in front of us the whole time and nobody looked at it."
"Just like tinfoil hats." Dani tossed the remark in with quiet satisfaction. The critical, proven, importance of wearing a tinfoil hat was a serious embarrassment to the entire psychiatric profession who had once used wearing one as a trademark of insanity.
"Just like tinfoil hats. Now, kitten, I want you just to scan with your mind, relax and try to find a contact. There's no need to communicate with them, what we're interested in is the signal you send out and the one you get back. If my theory is right, we should be able to compare them and determine that the return is a resonance from your transmission. If that isn't the case, we'll have to dump my hypothesis and start again."
"How many times have you done that Doctor?"
Muromets paused and counted on his fingers. "We're run through eleven hypotheses so far and every one of them failed to pan out. Each time we got off to a good start but we ran into things the hypothesis couldn’t explain and we had to start over. My hypothesis is number twelve. I'm hoping that if this one works out, we'll be able to build transponders that each resonate on a slightly different set of transmission characteristics. Then, we can build those transponders into things like cell-phone towers and install them all over Earth and Hell. That'll mean we'll be just like the naga, we can open a portal more or less anywhere we want to. Only, unlike the naga, we will be able to do it with pinpoint accuracy."
"Why don’t we study naga then, rather than kitten?"
"Because we don’t want the Baldricks believing they are actually useful to us. We've got our foot firmly on their necks right now and that's how we want it to stay."
"And the Generals realize what a weapons system that will make." Dani was impressed.
"That's right, one we want to keep very much to ourselves. But, there's another point to this. At the moment we have only got one reference point for these signals, transmissions from Earth to Hell and back. That tells us something but not much. If we can really analyze these signals and understand them, as soon as we get the Earth to Heaven and back signals, we can really get to work and start to develop a proper theory of why portals go where they do. And what portals are of course, we don’t really understand that yet either.
"I've got a contact Doctor."
"Well done, kitten. Hold it, just don’t do anything with it. The equipment is making records of everything."
Section 12, DIMO(N) Field Research Center, Fort Bragg, North Carolina.
"Now this is very interesting indeed." Doctor Crosby tapped the charts in front of him.
"What's up doc?" Colonel Warhol couldn’t resist the line.
"We've got power readings from vehicles and aircraft that passed through the portals. Remember that U-2 that crashed a few weeks back? Well, we all thought it lost power as it was transiting the Hell-Alpha portal and went in. U-2s are prone to that sort of thing after all. But, the accident investigation board found that its engine was actually running when it crashed. Choked up with dust, certainly, its filters had failed. Still getting power though. It was right on the borderline of flying and crashing when something pushed it over the edge. So, amongst other things, we started measuring engine power outputs as the platforms they power pass through the portals."
"And?" Warhol had never managed to quite understand why civilians took so long to get to the point.
"All the data is consistent, they show a slight increase in power output as the vehicle passes through. That means when something goes through a portal, there's a slight energy barrier and the engine has to increase output slightly to compensate for it. There is actually an energy cost in going through a portal and that is of immense significance."
"Well that's just great for you people."
"It's quite significant for you too." Crosby spoke with acerbity. Why couldn't military people have any patience? When they wanted information, they wanted it now and in words of one syllable. "Look at the figures for the ships going through the Hell-Bravo portal. The power output increase is tiny, so slight we can hardly measure it. But using Hell-Alpha, the power output on vehicles is significantly greater. I bet the crews noticed an engine surge as they went through but thought nothing of it. That's what killed that U-2, going through the portal needed a tiny bit more power and the engine just couldn’t give it."
"So?"
"Think about it. Hell-Bravo is at sea level both sides. Very little altitude differential, tiny barrier energy. Hell-Alpha has an altitude differential, there's a slightly greater energy barrier. I bet if we had an enormous altitude difference, the barrier would be so great we couldn’t cross it. And that would mean we couldn't use it to supply, for example, the International Space Station. Of course, I doubt if altitude is actually the constraint, there must be something else and altitude is just the physical manifestation……"
Crosby was interrupted by a wailing cacophony as the base sirens suddenly burst into life. Warhol looked around for a few seconds, then the realization dawned on him. "Crosby, move! The base is under attack."
The scientist stood in the center of the room, looking around him, uncertain what to do. Warhol dived past him, towards one of the emergency cabinets that studded the walls around the conference room. It was the work of a second to punch in the four-number code and grab the M4A5 inside. His hands moved with the unerring precision of much training as he inserted the 20-round magazine and racked the mechanism. Then he opened a second cabinet and tossed the weapon inside to Crosby. "Get to the redoubt in the center of the base. We'll deal with this. Whatever it is."
Running down the corridor leading to the command center, Warhol noted that most of the other emergency cabinets had been opened and the contents taken. Installing them had seemed like a joke eighteen months earlier when this facility had been built, but now they seemed to be important enough. Just what was happening that could cause this level of alert?
"Warhol. Get some men together, make up a team and head for the perimeter." The duty officer snapped the order out without looking around, his eyes glued on the screen in front of him.
Warhol saw the screen also and the sight made him stop dead. The display showed a monster, a huge one, that looked like a giant leopard. What was appalling was its head, or rather heads. The creature had seven of them, and ten horns. They weren't quite heads though, it was more as if there were seven faces on the same giant, hideously distorted skull with the horns sticking out between them. Warhol couldn’t estimate the thing's size, the display didn’t have a reference in shot that he could use to get an idea of scale but he guessed it was huge. It had to be to cause this level of chaos.
"What are you still doing here? Get down to the motor pool, there'll be troops down there for you. Move."
It took Warhol a few minutes to get to the motor pool and pick up the men there. Once again, the non-commissioned officers had saved the situation, they had already organized the motor pool staff into an emergency platoon and set it up in a defensive position. All he had to do was to take over and move them out towards the base perimeter. They even had the motor transport to hand, a selection of Humvees, trucks and a single experimental armored car equipped with a 57mm gun. He had no doubt that they would be needed, the barrage of gunfire from the south was a sure sign that this was no walk-over fight. Warhol did what every infantry officer had been expected to do since the invention of gunpowder, he drove to the sound of the guns.
Defense Perimeter, Fort Bragg, North Carolina.
"It's taken out Domino's Pizza!" The cry was almost drowned out by the roar of gunfire while the streams of tracer formed an almost-prefect cone centered on the great beast that towered over the trees.
"Who the hell cares. I preferred Cicis anyway." It was, perhaps, a sign of the times that the Coca-Cola delivery truck was camouflaged and had a .50 machine gun mounted above its cab. The delivery team had been caught up in the attack and were now doing their level best to make a worthwhile contribution to the volume of fire that was engulfing the Leopard Beast. The problem was, they hadn't had much ammunition to start with and they were now running desperately low. So was everybody else.
They'd achieved their first objective though, the hastily-mounted defense had drawn the Leopard Beast away from the family accommodation to the south of the base and given the dependents there a chance to escape into Fayetteville. Stung by the hail of gunfire, the Leopard Beast had made its way around to the south-eastern flank of the base and tried to break through. Once again, it had been met by a barrage of gunfire and driven back. Despite the tens of thousands of rounds that had been fired in its direction, it was still alive and showed no signs of being any less lethal than when it had first appeared.
Still, the gunfire was achieving something else. The streams of tracer were serving as perfect target markers for the aircraft that were heading in. The Leopard Beast had been driven into an area that was largely unoccupied and that had opened up a whole new range of possibilities. One of them was already being brought into play, the thump of heavy mortars was quickly followed by the eruption of feathered white clouds around the Beast. It screamed as the white phosphorus burned its way into its skin.
"Keep marking that target!" One of the junior officers had the presence of mind to scream out the order in case any journalists were around. After all everybody knew the U.S. Army only used white phosphorus to lay smoke screens and mark targets, that was their story and they were sticking to it.
The Leopard Beast screamed again and leapt forward, crashing into a small fuel dump on the outskirts of the mobility testing area. The HEMTT trucks lines up outside crumpled under the bear paws that served it as feet. The trucks exploded in balls of fire as they were crushed and, once again, the Leopard Beast was driven back, away from the base. This time, as it fled east, away from the flames, it ran into streams of fire from Bradley armored vehicles that had been moved up to flank its position. The 25mm sabot rounds did more damage than the rifle-caliber rounds fired so far and, for the first time, the Leopard Beast was badly enough hurt to dilute it's single-minded urge for destruction. Then, the Beast heard and saw a new threat.
The four A-45s had taken off a few minutes earlier, loaded with whatever the ground crews could find immediately available. There were more aircraft being bombed up back at the base and they would be carrying loads better suited to the battle being fought at Fort Bragg but time had been of the essence and it was better to get something over the battlefield now rather than wait for a perfect solution that might be too late. In any case, AH-64s were on their way in and the Beast would have to be distracted while the helicopters made their runs. Everybody remembered what had happened when unsupported helicopters had tried to fight harpies in the skies over Iraq. The Leopard Beast didn't appear capable of flying but, when faced with a seven-faced beast more than 200 feet tall, nobody was going to take the chance. So, the A-45s started their bomb runs, aiming to distract the beast. Of course, if they hurt it in the process, the pilots wouldn't mind in the slightest.
"We could sure use one of them Mujs and a vee-bed right now." The speaker was a veteran of the Battle of Hit and well remembered the effects of explosive-packed pick-up trucks driven into the center of a mass of Baldricks. The U.S. Army didn’t like to admit it but the suicide bomb-trucks might well have been the factor that had turned the tide in that particular battle. The way the Leopard Beast kept shrugging off the storm of fire being aimed at it suggested they would be needed to turn the tide again. Then, the soldier got his wish for the ground around the beats erupted into a rolling thunder of explosions. The four A-45s had streaked overhead, each releasing four fin-retarded Mark 82 bombs. Sixteen five hundred pounders, even when delivered with less-than-optimal accuracy, were something that the Leopard Beast found distinctly terrifying.
To the watching troops, the fact that the beast was seriously hurt at last was thankfully apparent. Great areas of its flanks were now torn open, dripping silver blood as it staggered from the blast of the bombs. They saw it stagger again as red lines flashed across the battlefield, an Abrams tank had appeared and was firing sabot rounds at the Beast. That was all the tank crew had, high explosive, HEAT and HEAD rounds were completely unavailable, their supplies limited and the forces in Hell having top priority for any that were around. The crew were firing what they had, carefully, precisely, deadly accurately. They'd picked one of the faces of the Beast and were pumping round after round into it. The repeated impacts were having their effect, the chosen face was quickly losing its identity as the long bolts of depleted uranium crushed its features.
The Leopard Beast was being hurt and it know it. It slumped back on its hindquarters, waving its paws in front of its grotesquely misshapen head, trying to fend off the bolts that kept slamming into it. The posture was achingly reminiscent of a kitten playing with a ball of wool but the sight didn’t decrease the volume of fire that was still being poured into it. The tank ceased fire, its partly-loaded magazine empty but its place was taken by the first of the AH-64s. This one had been loaded with some time-expired Hellfire missiles that had been found at the back of a supply dump. Two of the eight failed to fire completely, one exploded shortly after launch, lashing the front of the helicopter with fragments while two more failed to guide and went off into the darkness to land somewhere kilometers away. The three remaining missiles scored direct hits on the Beast and it went down.
Even so, the battered and bullet-peppered Leopard Beast was still alive. It had no taste to continue this fight anymore, all it wanted was out, an end, away from the humans who wished its death so devoutly. Racked with pain from its injuries, it dragged itself along the ground, its mind forming the image of the portal that would take it to the sanctuary it needed so desperately. The problem was that generating the portal needed its concentration and the beast's limited intellect wasn't capable of both forming its portal and absorbing the shattering pain of its injuries. Dimly, its mind registered more crashes and the searing pain of shaped charges burning their way into its body. Slowly, reluctantly, the Leopard Beast gave up the battle to survive.
Scrubland, Outside The Defense Perimeter, Fort Bragg, North Carolina.
Warhol rubbed his eyes. They were gritty, he could feel the residues of burned powder under the lids and he wondered just how many rounds he'd fired into the Beast the night before. Ahead of him, the troops were lining up to be pictured beside the massive body that was stretched out on the ground. Just how much did that damned thing weigh he thought as the crew of a Bradley were pictured with their vehicle beside one of its paws. Could a thing like that actually exist? And if it did, what else was there in Heaven waiting to descend on Earth. The Leopard Beast had taken most of the resources of Fort Bragg to kill and it had come precious close to breaking in and destroying the scientific resources of the DIMO(N) center here.
"Impressive isn't it." Beside him, Doctor Crosby was also looking at the corpse of the Beast.
"It's just big, that's all. We can kill them, just a matter of learning how." Warhol's mind had trouble forming the words.
"I hope so. I think we'll see more of them in due course."
The Salvation War: Pantheocide - 19
Chong Sadao, Thailand
"Where the hell have you been? My people have been cut to pieces up here because you broke your word." Captain Momrajong was almost spitting with sheer rage. The fact he was speaking to a Senior Colonel, a rank equivalent to a one-star General in most other armies didn't really register. "We were promised, promised, that if there was an invasion we'd be relieved by regular troops within 12 hours. That was two days ago."
Senior Colonel Thawat bit back the response that would have left nothing of the captain but a pair of smoking boots and nodded apologetically instead. At one level, a rebuke would have been pointless, the Tahan Phran belonged to a different chain of command than the regular Army. They weren't even funded by the Ministry of Defense, the Home Affairs Ministry carried the cost of the militia units. At another level, Thawat knew the captain was right. The lightly-armed militia weren't intended to confront regular armies, they were supposed to protect their villages against minor incursions and guarantee security along roads. In most areas of the country that meant looking after tourists. The Tahan Phran had no heavy weapons, no night vision equipment and their body armor was locally-made Level Two. That wouldn't stop a reasonably powerful pistol round.
"I understand your anger Captain, but we're here now. In regimental strength. My men are relieving yours all along this area of front. The people responsible for this screw-up have been relieved. We can't change what went wrong, we can only make sure it doesn’t happen again and go on from here."
"That's fine for you to say. I had some of my wounded die because they didn’t get the casualty evacuation we were promised. Are you going to tell their families why they died?"
"No, my commander will and she will do so personally." Thawat's voice was drowned out by a red-and-gray camouflaged V-22 sweeping in and hovering overhead. He watched while the aircraft changed, its engine nacelles swinging up so that its appearance changed from a transport aircraft to a helicopter. Then it dropped in to land, the downbeat from its rotors causing the men to bend down. "As to casualty evacuation, get your wounded and the Osprey will take them straight to the hospitals in Kanchanaburi. How many men have you fit for duty? Out of how many?"
"I have twenty rangers left. My original platoon was twenty-five but I've absorbed two other units that were too badly chewed up to stay independent. We've taken forty dead and fifteen wounded, at least five of my dead would have made it if you'd kept your word."
All right, you've made your point, now drop it. We can't bring them back. Despite his irritation, Thawat kept the thought to himself, then corrected himself. Well, actually we can, for a short while anyway. Hell and the Second Life had changed a lot of ways of thinking and human speech habits were slow to catch up.
"Now, Captain, I want you to show me where the Myanmarese troops are and in what strength. Then we can go about making them pay for the lives of your people."
Momrajong exhaled, his breath shaking slightly as the pent-up anger slowly faded. "The Myanmar troops are moving along here." He got out his map and his finger started to trace out the Myanmarese positions. "They came south of the Si Nakharin Lake. Most of their forces are here, our estimate is divisional strength. Say 20,000 men at most. They are light infantry, they have mortars and machine guns but not much else. This," his finger traced eastwards, "is their primary axis of advance."
Thawat nodded. The dispositions made sense, Chong Sadao was the start of a funnel that led to Kanchanaburi, a natural route in towards the rich farming land of the Chaophrya river. It had been used by the Burmese many times over the turbulent history of the two countries. There was a reason why Chong Sadao was served by good, all-weather roads while further east, they deteriorated to single-lane blacktop and then to laterite, unpaved tracks. To the north, the way through was blocked by the lake and mountains, to the south by more mountains and dense jungle. Chong Sadao was the natural blocking point for any invasion and the long established defense plans for the area had tasked 9th Infantry with holding it. The militia captain was right, this area should have been occupied two days ago and the defenses here should have been built and ready. Soldiers would die because they were fighting from a hasty defense instead of a prepared one. Thawat promised himself that, at least, the militia units would suffer no more casualties.
"Captain, this is a straightforward infantry blocking action. My regiment can handle it. Please give the rest of your information to my staff, then I suggest, recommend, you use some of our transport to get your people to the rear where they can rest and eat. You've done enough, done more than enough and your work has been splendid."
"Work we shouldn’t have had to do." Momrajong was still bitter over how his militia had been hung out to dry. He knew the Colonel in front of him didn't really understand how deeply the sense of betrayal ran. Army units were just that, army units, assembled out of the mix of volunteers and conscripts that the Army used as its primary resource. The militia was drawn from villages and every member of each unit had known the others from earliest childhood. His losses had taken almost a generation of youngsters from the villages already depleted by those who had left to earn money in the big cities.
"I know, but now we must do the work we should have done all along."
The Ultimate Temple, The Eternal City, Heaven.
"They killed Wuffles!" Yahweh's voice was a mixture of rage and anguish. The thunder rolled around the throne room, drowning out the eternally-chanting choir. Michael-Lan watched them carefully, was there a hint of malicious satisfaction in their eyes at the sight of Yahweh's grief over the death of his favorite pet.
Personally, Michael-Lan had never liked the beast. Foul-tempered, cantankerous and ill-disciplined to the point of being antisocial. It was lucky they had humans here to clear up the mess the incontinent beast tended to leave behind him. That was the trouble with a beast that size, its droppings were in proportion and took a long time to shovel away. Still, the Leopard-Beast had served its purpose.
"All-Knowing Father, One Above All, I share your grief at the loss of your beloved Wuffles. But know that he fought bravely and inflicted great damage on the humans before they treacherously brought him down with their bombs and gunfire."
Yahweh did indeed look proud of his pet for a moment, but then grief and anger swept away the momentary lapse. The thunder cracked viciously and a sheet of lightning lit up the dim room. Still white Michael-Lan noted, Well, we have plenty of time. Let's get back to milking this situation for all it is worth.
"One Above All, Lord of Heaven." And not including Earth there is a nice little goad, all of its own. "I regret to report that Wuffles may have died because his mission was betrayed. The humans were waiting for him with all their weapons loaded and ready." Yeah, right.
"Betrayal?" Yahweh's voice thundered and the clouds in the room darkened notably. "There is betrayal in Heaven?"
"I fear this is so. Our most skilled and dedicated inquisitors in the League of the Holy Court have detected a conspiracy of threatening dimensions."
"Threatening? You say this conspiracy threatens me?" The lightning flashed in sheets across the throne room and a bolt spalled fragments of marble from the walls. In the background, the chief mason sighed and shot an accusing glance at Michael.
"Threatens you? Impossible, Lord-of-All." Michael-Lan mangled the phrasing just enough so it was slightly unclear whether the concept of a threat or Yahweh himself was impossible. Michael had his own opinions on that subject. "But those who are involved may believe that their feeble activities are indeed a threat to Your Omnipotence. Perhaps this snare was prepared for you long ago by the not-so-Eternal Enemy. Perhaps, in his defeat, he arranged for those of his servants who had not declared for him to carry on with his great design."
Michael-Lan was slightly surprised, he'd expected a cataclysmic burst of thunder and lightning at that idea but instead Yahweh sat silent and thoughtful on his throne. Could Wuffles getting killed have knocked some sense into him. If it had, perhaps it was time to arrange for some more of his pets to be blown away by the humans. The silence stretched on.
"Perhaps this might well be true. How high does this conspiracy go?"
"The League of the Holy Court does not know, Eternal Father of All. So far, they have identified only the lower ranks of the conspiracy but they are concerned at what they see. It is arranged in cells, each independent of the others and those in one know but few of those in others. They work diligently in uncovering the threat but they must take care for who knows who else is involved? It may even be that the League of the Holy Court itself is not unstained by this treason."
"Arranged in cells. This does seem like the work of the Morningstar. The late Morningstar."
And that, boys and girls, is why subversion is so much more productive than insurgency. Michael's thought had a distinctly gleeful note to it. "Indeed so, Eternal Father."
"Pursue this, Michael, greatest of my generals, pursue this with care. What other news is there? Do the Americans wail under the lash of Uriel?" There was more than a question built in there.
"Well, they would, if they had reason to. Of course, his first attack was a bit disappointing. A city of nearly two million and he only took thirty thousand souls."
That did it. At last Michael got his display of multi-colored lightning. A barrage of chips flew off the walls and the various strange creatures that danced attendance on Yahweh dived for cover. "Just thirty thousand? Is Uriel playing with them?"
"Well, One-Above-All, the humans took a pot-shot at him and he left rather hastily. I really don’t think is heart is quite in this you know. Perhaps he has spent too long on Earth and has become fond of the humans." Michael managed to get the words out without choking with laughter on them.
"I will tear out his heart and eat it!" For a second, Yahweh sounded just like Satan. Then, he got control of himself and the family relationship wasn't so obvious. "Perhaps he should be brought here to explain himself."
Not a chance. "Your slightest wish is our most urgent command, One Above All. But Uriel is preparing another attack, this one on the city of San Diego. It also is a city of millions and perhaps he will summon enough courage to make a better job of it this time." Michael-Lan sighed theatrically. "If only Uriel showed the loyalty and dedication of Wuffles. Still, I would counsel that we allow Uriel to make this new attack and judge him on his success there."
"Perhaps it is Uriel himself who is at the head of this conspiracy?" Yahweh's voice was thoughtful.
"Surely not, One Above All, Highest of the High, Ruler of All. Uriel's loyalty had never been questioned until now. I would swear that his fealty remains untarnished."
"Nevertheless, instruct the League of the Holy Court to investigate him thoroughly." Yahweh's voice dropped and he sounded tired. "These are strange days, Michael, greatest of my generals. The Eternal Enemy, killed by humans. Those same humans defy my commands and reject the answers I give them. They kill my servants and destroy my pets. Are the Bowls of Wrath poured on them?"
"They are, O Highest of the High. The first three have already been poured and caused much grief and lamentation. Soon, the fourth shall be poured," as soon as I think of a way to do it "And then their anguish shall be multiplied many times over."
"Is it time for our Legions to overwhelm them?"
Are you out of your tiny little mind? Michael-Lan almost blurted the question out allowed before he managed to stop himself. In any case, he reminded himself that's a foolish question to which the only reasonable answer is 'of course'. "Lord of All, the time will surely come and when it does, perhaps your own son should lead them in the victorious march against the humans. The power and the glory shall forever more add lustre to your Holy Name."
Yahweh settled back and contemplated the prospect of final victory and a triumphant procession through the conquered cities of Earth. Then, he remembered that his beloved Wuffles would not be there to share it with him and grief once more clouded his mind.
Michael looked at him and quietly slipped away. As he left the Throne Room, the Head Mason spoke quietly to him. "Michael-Lan, you're slipping. We won’t have to replace all the wall surfaces this time. What was that you said about job security?"
"You just wait, the best is yet to come. Once the League of the Holy Court find out who is behind this stupid plot, He'll go ballistic. Until then, drop down to the club for a drinkie, we've got a new angel working there. Name's Maion, give her a try."
"Maion eh? I'll do that." The mason looked grateful. "What would we do without you Michael-Lan? You've made Heaven worth living in."
DIMO(N) Conference Room, The Pentagon
"So what part did the Succubae play in the Great Celestial War?"
Colonel John Baylor forked up some mushrooms from his plate and savored them. Good portobellos, sauteed with garlic, an excellent accompaniment to lunch. The trouble with being at war was that rationing was slowly creeping across the whole spread of the U.S. economy. First fuel, then vehicles, then anything that needed steel or aluminum. Then food had started to be affected, fish stocks were low and the ration of eight ounces per serving was onerous. It was lucky Indonesia and Vietnam had donated some of the product of their fish farms to the United States or shrimp would be in even shorter supply. Of course, post-war, they'd be using their generosity to lever better trade terms for themselves.
Lugasharmanaska's teeth ripped at the raw horse's leg with relish. As an obligate carnivore, she would have been hard-hit by meat rationing so it was fortunate that Succubus taste ran to the toughest, stringiest meat that was available. 'Unfit for human consumption' had acquired a whole new meaning, 'preferred diet for Succubae'. It was an odd thing, as she'd started eating other meat, her craving for human flesh had faded. Now, it was mostly just a memory, except for the odd treat of course.
"Us? We had to find the portals. Remember, most of the fighting that took place in the Great Celestial War was here on Earth. It's carried in your folk-memories and earliest myths. How many of your stories have scenes of towns besieged by armies of monsters? They're us."
"I'm sorry, I don't understand." Baylor looked at Luga ripping her meal apart, droplets of blood staining some of the papers in front of her. The stenographer in the corner of the room looked positively ill at the display. Then again, it was lucky that the floor ventilation ducts were working at full blast or one of the humans in the room would have offered Luga a bite out of their arms if she'd asked for one. It was rumored that more than one of Luga's lovers had left with bite-sized pieces removed from their anatomy. Hence one of the new proverbs that were spreading through the human race. 'Never have oral sex with a Succubus.'
"It's near impossible to create a portal from Heaven to Hell. But, it's easy to create portals from Heaven to Earth and Hell to Earth. So, to get from Hell to Heaven, we have to go by Earth. Or its equivalent. But, it's quite hard to create a useful portal from Earth to Hell or Earth to Heaven. So, say, Michaellan would create a Heaven-Earth portal for one of his armies and we'd try and capture it. Or we'd create a Hell-Earth portal and he'd try to capture that. Just like you did with the portal in Iraq. That's what all the fighting and campaigning was about.
"Our job was to find where Heaven had its portals, seduce those who were tasked with closing them and persuade them to keep them open. Heaven tended to use humans to find out where our portals were. If you read your folk myths with that in mind, you can see how the stories survived. The Garden of Eden, that was a portal and the snake who seduced its guards was one of us. That's why Yahweh was so annoyed."
"So, did you ever capture a portal and get to heaven?"
"Me? No." Luga thought quickly about suggesting she had but lying to humans was dangerous. She'd learned that lesson to her bitter cost. "But we did capture portals now and then. We'd storm through them and enter Heaven, killing and looting whatever we could find. They would capture ours sometimes and they'd do the same, stealing and robbing us of what was ours, sometimes taking away slaves. That was how armies fought until you changed the rules."
""Wait a minute, you say Heaven took slaves from Hell?" Baylor couldn’t quite get his mind around the concept.
"Of course, they would use them to build things like fortresses and kill them when they were done. Unless they were valuable of course. We would do the same, only we had more fun killing the useless ones. Was your warfare then so different?"
"I guess not. What's Heaven like?"
"Much like Hell except the air is clean there, and the light is white not red. Heaven's a bit bigger than Hell. There are those who think Hell is much older than heaven but why they think that I do not know."
Baylor leaned back in his seat and wondered what the scientists would make of all this. "Right, now about the fighting on earth……"
"Where the hell have you been? My people have been cut to pieces up here because you broke your word." Captain Momrajong was almost spitting with sheer rage. The fact he was speaking to a Senior Colonel, a rank equivalent to a one-star General in most other armies didn't really register. "We were promised, promised, that if there was an invasion we'd be relieved by regular troops within 12 hours. That was two days ago."
Senior Colonel Thawat bit back the response that would have left nothing of the captain but a pair of smoking boots and nodded apologetically instead. At one level, a rebuke would have been pointless, the Tahan Phran belonged to a different chain of command than the regular Army. They weren't even funded by the Ministry of Defense, the Home Affairs Ministry carried the cost of the militia units. At another level, Thawat knew the captain was right. The lightly-armed militia weren't intended to confront regular armies, they were supposed to protect their villages against minor incursions and guarantee security along roads. In most areas of the country that meant looking after tourists. The Tahan Phran had no heavy weapons, no night vision equipment and their body armor was locally-made Level Two. That wouldn't stop a reasonably powerful pistol round.
"I understand your anger Captain, but we're here now. In regimental strength. My men are relieving yours all along this area of front. The people responsible for this screw-up have been relieved. We can't change what went wrong, we can only make sure it doesn’t happen again and go on from here."
"That's fine for you to say. I had some of my wounded die because they didn’t get the casualty evacuation we were promised. Are you going to tell their families why they died?"
"No, my commander will and she will do so personally." Thawat's voice was drowned out by a red-and-gray camouflaged V-22 sweeping in and hovering overhead. He watched while the aircraft changed, its engine nacelles swinging up so that its appearance changed from a transport aircraft to a helicopter. Then it dropped in to land, the downbeat from its rotors causing the men to bend down. "As to casualty evacuation, get your wounded and the Osprey will take them straight to the hospitals in Kanchanaburi. How many men have you fit for duty? Out of how many?"
"I have twenty rangers left. My original platoon was twenty-five but I've absorbed two other units that were too badly chewed up to stay independent. We've taken forty dead and fifteen wounded, at least five of my dead would have made it if you'd kept your word."
All right, you've made your point, now drop it. We can't bring them back. Despite his irritation, Thawat kept the thought to himself, then corrected himself. Well, actually we can, for a short while anyway. Hell and the Second Life had changed a lot of ways of thinking and human speech habits were slow to catch up.
"Now, Captain, I want you to show me where the Myanmarese troops are and in what strength. Then we can go about making them pay for the lives of your people."
Momrajong exhaled, his breath shaking slightly as the pent-up anger slowly faded. "The Myanmar troops are moving along here." He got out his map and his finger started to trace out the Myanmarese positions. "They came south of the Si Nakharin Lake. Most of their forces are here, our estimate is divisional strength. Say 20,000 men at most. They are light infantry, they have mortars and machine guns but not much else. This," his finger traced eastwards, "is their primary axis of advance."
Thawat nodded. The dispositions made sense, Chong Sadao was the start of a funnel that led to Kanchanaburi, a natural route in towards the rich farming land of the Chaophrya river. It had been used by the Burmese many times over the turbulent history of the two countries. There was a reason why Chong Sadao was served by good, all-weather roads while further east, they deteriorated to single-lane blacktop and then to laterite, unpaved tracks. To the north, the way through was blocked by the lake and mountains, to the south by more mountains and dense jungle. Chong Sadao was the natural blocking point for any invasion and the long established defense plans for the area had tasked 9th Infantry with holding it. The militia captain was right, this area should have been occupied two days ago and the defenses here should have been built and ready. Soldiers would die because they were fighting from a hasty defense instead of a prepared one. Thawat promised himself that, at least, the militia units would suffer no more casualties.
"Captain, this is a straightforward infantry blocking action. My regiment can handle it. Please give the rest of your information to my staff, then I suggest, recommend, you use some of our transport to get your people to the rear where they can rest and eat. You've done enough, done more than enough and your work has been splendid."
"Work we shouldn’t have had to do." Momrajong was still bitter over how his militia had been hung out to dry. He knew the Colonel in front of him didn't really understand how deeply the sense of betrayal ran. Army units were just that, army units, assembled out of the mix of volunteers and conscripts that the Army used as its primary resource. The militia was drawn from villages and every member of each unit had known the others from earliest childhood. His losses had taken almost a generation of youngsters from the villages already depleted by those who had left to earn money in the big cities.
"I know, but now we must do the work we should have done all along."
The Ultimate Temple, The Eternal City, Heaven.
"They killed Wuffles!" Yahweh's voice was a mixture of rage and anguish. The thunder rolled around the throne room, drowning out the eternally-chanting choir. Michael-Lan watched them carefully, was there a hint of malicious satisfaction in their eyes at the sight of Yahweh's grief over the death of his favorite pet.
Personally, Michael-Lan had never liked the beast. Foul-tempered, cantankerous and ill-disciplined to the point of being antisocial. It was lucky they had humans here to clear up the mess the incontinent beast tended to leave behind him. That was the trouble with a beast that size, its droppings were in proportion and took a long time to shovel away. Still, the Leopard-Beast had served its purpose.
"All-Knowing Father, One Above All, I share your grief at the loss of your beloved Wuffles. But know that he fought bravely and inflicted great damage on the humans before they treacherously brought him down with their bombs and gunfire."
Yahweh did indeed look proud of his pet for a moment, but then grief and anger swept away the momentary lapse. The thunder cracked viciously and a sheet of lightning lit up the dim room. Still white Michael-Lan noted, Well, we have plenty of time. Let's get back to milking this situation for all it is worth.
"One Above All, Lord of Heaven." And not including Earth there is a nice little goad, all of its own. "I regret to report that Wuffles may have died because his mission was betrayed. The humans were waiting for him with all their weapons loaded and ready." Yeah, right.
"Betrayal?" Yahweh's voice thundered and the clouds in the room darkened notably. "There is betrayal in Heaven?"
"I fear this is so. Our most skilled and dedicated inquisitors in the League of the Holy Court have detected a conspiracy of threatening dimensions."
"Threatening? You say this conspiracy threatens me?" The lightning flashed in sheets across the throne room and a bolt spalled fragments of marble from the walls. In the background, the chief mason sighed and shot an accusing glance at Michael.
"Threatens you? Impossible, Lord-of-All." Michael-Lan mangled the phrasing just enough so it was slightly unclear whether the concept of a threat or Yahweh himself was impossible. Michael had his own opinions on that subject. "But those who are involved may believe that their feeble activities are indeed a threat to Your Omnipotence. Perhaps this snare was prepared for you long ago by the not-so-Eternal Enemy. Perhaps, in his defeat, he arranged for those of his servants who had not declared for him to carry on with his great design."
Michael-Lan was slightly surprised, he'd expected a cataclysmic burst of thunder and lightning at that idea but instead Yahweh sat silent and thoughtful on his throne. Could Wuffles getting killed have knocked some sense into him. If it had, perhaps it was time to arrange for some more of his pets to be blown away by the humans. The silence stretched on.
"Perhaps this might well be true. How high does this conspiracy go?"
"The League of the Holy Court does not know, Eternal Father of All. So far, they have identified only the lower ranks of the conspiracy but they are concerned at what they see. It is arranged in cells, each independent of the others and those in one know but few of those in others. They work diligently in uncovering the threat but they must take care for who knows who else is involved? It may even be that the League of the Holy Court itself is not unstained by this treason."
"Arranged in cells. This does seem like the work of the Morningstar. The late Morningstar."
And that, boys and girls, is why subversion is so much more productive than insurgency. Michael's thought had a distinctly gleeful note to it. "Indeed so, Eternal Father."
"Pursue this, Michael, greatest of my generals, pursue this with care. What other news is there? Do the Americans wail under the lash of Uriel?" There was more than a question built in there.
"Well, they would, if they had reason to. Of course, his first attack was a bit disappointing. A city of nearly two million and he only took thirty thousand souls."
That did it. At last Michael got his display of multi-colored lightning. A barrage of chips flew off the walls and the various strange creatures that danced attendance on Yahweh dived for cover. "Just thirty thousand? Is Uriel playing with them?"
"Well, One-Above-All, the humans took a pot-shot at him and he left rather hastily. I really don’t think is heart is quite in this you know. Perhaps he has spent too long on Earth and has become fond of the humans." Michael managed to get the words out without choking with laughter on them.
"I will tear out his heart and eat it!" For a second, Yahweh sounded just like Satan. Then, he got control of himself and the family relationship wasn't so obvious. "Perhaps he should be brought here to explain himself."
Not a chance. "Your slightest wish is our most urgent command, One Above All. But Uriel is preparing another attack, this one on the city of San Diego. It also is a city of millions and perhaps he will summon enough courage to make a better job of it this time." Michael-Lan sighed theatrically. "If only Uriel showed the loyalty and dedication of Wuffles. Still, I would counsel that we allow Uriel to make this new attack and judge him on his success there."
"Perhaps it is Uriel himself who is at the head of this conspiracy?" Yahweh's voice was thoughtful.
"Surely not, One Above All, Highest of the High, Ruler of All. Uriel's loyalty had never been questioned until now. I would swear that his fealty remains untarnished."
"Nevertheless, instruct the League of the Holy Court to investigate him thoroughly." Yahweh's voice dropped and he sounded tired. "These are strange days, Michael, greatest of my generals. The Eternal Enemy, killed by humans. Those same humans defy my commands and reject the answers I give them. They kill my servants and destroy my pets. Are the Bowls of Wrath poured on them?"
"They are, O Highest of the High. The first three have already been poured and caused much grief and lamentation. Soon, the fourth shall be poured," as soon as I think of a way to do it "And then their anguish shall be multiplied many times over."
"Is it time for our Legions to overwhelm them?"
Are you out of your tiny little mind? Michael-Lan almost blurted the question out allowed before he managed to stop himself. In any case, he reminded himself that's a foolish question to which the only reasonable answer is 'of course'. "Lord of All, the time will surely come and when it does, perhaps your own son should lead them in the victorious march against the humans. The power and the glory shall forever more add lustre to your Holy Name."
Yahweh settled back and contemplated the prospect of final victory and a triumphant procession through the conquered cities of Earth. Then, he remembered that his beloved Wuffles would not be there to share it with him and grief once more clouded his mind.
Michael looked at him and quietly slipped away. As he left the Throne Room, the Head Mason spoke quietly to him. "Michael-Lan, you're slipping. We won’t have to replace all the wall surfaces this time. What was that you said about job security?"
"You just wait, the best is yet to come. Once the League of the Holy Court find out who is behind this stupid plot, He'll go ballistic. Until then, drop down to the club for a drinkie, we've got a new angel working there. Name's Maion, give her a try."
"Maion eh? I'll do that." The mason looked grateful. "What would we do without you Michael-Lan? You've made Heaven worth living in."
DIMO(N) Conference Room, The Pentagon
"So what part did the Succubae play in the Great Celestial War?"
Colonel John Baylor forked up some mushrooms from his plate and savored them. Good portobellos, sauteed with garlic, an excellent accompaniment to lunch. The trouble with being at war was that rationing was slowly creeping across the whole spread of the U.S. economy. First fuel, then vehicles, then anything that needed steel or aluminum. Then food had started to be affected, fish stocks were low and the ration of eight ounces per serving was onerous. It was lucky Indonesia and Vietnam had donated some of the product of their fish farms to the United States or shrimp would be in even shorter supply. Of course, post-war, they'd be using their generosity to lever better trade terms for themselves.
Lugasharmanaska's teeth ripped at the raw horse's leg with relish. As an obligate carnivore, she would have been hard-hit by meat rationing so it was fortunate that Succubus taste ran to the toughest, stringiest meat that was available. 'Unfit for human consumption' had acquired a whole new meaning, 'preferred diet for Succubae'. It was an odd thing, as she'd started eating other meat, her craving for human flesh had faded. Now, it was mostly just a memory, except for the odd treat of course.
"Us? We had to find the portals. Remember, most of the fighting that took place in the Great Celestial War was here on Earth. It's carried in your folk-memories and earliest myths. How many of your stories have scenes of towns besieged by armies of monsters? They're us."
"I'm sorry, I don't understand." Baylor looked at Luga ripping her meal apart, droplets of blood staining some of the papers in front of her. The stenographer in the corner of the room looked positively ill at the display. Then again, it was lucky that the floor ventilation ducts were working at full blast or one of the humans in the room would have offered Luga a bite out of their arms if she'd asked for one. It was rumored that more than one of Luga's lovers had left with bite-sized pieces removed from their anatomy. Hence one of the new proverbs that were spreading through the human race. 'Never have oral sex with a Succubus.'
"It's near impossible to create a portal from Heaven to Hell. But, it's easy to create portals from Heaven to Earth and Hell to Earth. So, to get from Hell to Heaven, we have to go by Earth. Or its equivalent. But, it's quite hard to create a useful portal from Earth to Hell or Earth to Heaven. So, say, Michaellan would create a Heaven-Earth portal for one of his armies and we'd try and capture it. Or we'd create a Hell-Earth portal and he'd try to capture that. Just like you did with the portal in Iraq. That's what all the fighting and campaigning was about.
"Our job was to find where Heaven had its portals, seduce those who were tasked with closing them and persuade them to keep them open. Heaven tended to use humans to find out where our portals were. If you read your folk myths with that in mind, you can see how the stories survived. The Garden of Eden, that was a portal and the snake who seduced its guards was one of us. That's why Yahweh was so annoyed."
"So, did you ever capture a portal and get to heaven?"
"Me? No." Luga thought quickly about suggesting she had but lying to humans was dangerous. She'd learned that lesson to her bitter cost. "But we did capture portals now and then. We'd storm through them and enter Heaven, killing and looting whatever we could find. They would capture ours sometimes and they'd do the same, stealing and robbing us of what was ours, sometimes taking away slaves. That was how armies fought until you changed the rules."
""Wait a minute, you say Heaven took slaves from Hell?" Baylor couldn’t quite get his mind around the concept.
"Of course, they would use them to build things like fortresses and kill them when they were done. Unless they were valuable of course. We would do the same, only we had more fun killing the useless ones. Was your warfare then so different?"
"I guess not. What's Heaven like?"
"Much like Hell except the air is clean there, and the light is white not red. Heaven's a bit bigger than Hell. There are those who think Hell is much older than heaven but why they think that I do not know."
Baylor leaned back in his seat and wondered what the scientists would make of all this. "Right, now about the fighting on earth……"
I basically agree, particularly trying to lump Israel in with countries that quite actively hate them.
Russia would be a much better choice for managing a lot of middle eastern countries they already have relationships with (and I do think that it would be more like 'managing them' rather than cooperating with them, personally).
I also agree that India and Pakistan working together is a bit absurd. I could see Pakistan getting along with either Russia or China about equally well personally (and anecdotally).
The Salvation War: Pantheocide - 20
Human Slums, Eternal City, Heaven
Another name crossed off a list, another contact dismissed as a meaningless acquaintance. More time wasted, more effort unproductive. Lemuel-Lan-Michael had heard that on Earth, human police were sometimes called "flat-feet" and now he understood why. His feet ached and his wings were stiff, all for nothing. And it was all the responsibility of the bottle of elixir that he'd found during the arrest of Ishmael. If he hadn’t been so attentive to his duty, he could have avoided all this. Perhaps his instincts had been wrong, perhaps the bottle was associated with the First Conspiracy. That's what he had decided to call the network that was split up into cells.
He shook his head, every instinct he had said that the bottle wasn't part of that group. The first few discrete arrests had confirmed his initial impressions, the First Conspiracy was all about doctrine and beliefs. After adequate 'persuasion', the detainees had confessed to spreading heresy and blasphemy. They had maintained their loyalty to The One Above All though, claiming that He had been led astray by misguided and corrupt advisors and if those advisors could be swept away, The Eternal Father would see how he had been mislead and everything would be made right. Lemuel was prepared to bet that the leaders intentions were quite different but that's what the lower ranks thought and a bottle of elixir just didn't fit with that pattern. There had to be a Second Conspiracy.
He flung the door of the slum open. Like the one he and his agents had raided earlier, this one was of better quality, made of wood rather than straw-reinforced mud. He looked down at the human female who was cowering against the wall at the opposite end of the entrance. By Inviolable Rule, all structures had to be large enough to allow the entry of Angels and that requirement diminished her apparent size still more.
"You are Almedha?" Lemuel read the name from his list. "Daughter of Brychan?"
"I am, Noble One." Her voice was quivering, whatever the humans had expected when they were granted access to Heaven, it wasn't what they had found. 'Salvation' consisted of eternal menial servitude to the Angels, a group who regarded the humans as being of little account and even less value. "How may I be of service to you?"
"I wish to discuss with you, some matters of importance. In particular, your relationship with a human called Ishmael."
That comment struck home. The woman was still frightened of him but now there was something else in her attitude, a guardedness, a determination not to reveal anything. "I know of nobody by that name."
"Do not lie to me, Almedha, daughter of Brychan. Lying is a sin and one that brings down punishment upon you. Do you want to experience the punishment that the League of the Holy Court deems appropriate for those who lie to it?"
"No peerless one. But I know not of any called Ishmael."
Lemuel-Lan shook his head sadly. "Your deceit means I must caution you again and in doing so my patience with you grows thin. I must tell you, Ishmael was arrested not so long ago by agents of the League of the Holy Court and he has made a full confession. He has admitted to apostasy, blasphemy, to heresy and sacrilege and to crimes so black that they have no name."
"No! He . . . " Almedha tried to stop herself but it was too late.
"And how would you know if you had never met him?" Lemuel landed the verbal blow quietly and deftly but its effect was still shattering. Almedha slumped back against the wall, her face white. Even so, her jaw was thrust out with her determination not to say anything. Lemuel sighed quietly to himself,why were humans so obstinate? He needed to look around this house but it was obvious he couldn’t leave Almedha free to leave. There really was no choice. He took a golden set of shackles from his belt, fastened a cuff around one of her wrists and another around a convenient post. As he left her to search the house, it never even occurred to him that he'd left her with her feet barely touching the floor.
The house itself was remarkably devoid of interest. Before their deaths, 'saved' humans had made much of the alleged virtues of simplicity and abstinence. On reaching Heaven they found out that those 'virtues' were greatly overrated, especially when they lasted for eternity. The fact that the Angels didn't share their opinions hadn’t helped much either. The fact was, that while the angels lived in unparalleled luxury, the fate of the 'saved' was one of eternal grinding poverty. Again, the irony there never entered Lemuel's consciousness, nor did any thought that the situation could, in any way, be considered unjust. Lemuel methodically searched the rooms, turning up nothing other than the few paltry possessions he'd expected. Finally he checked out the kitchen and there he found what he had been looking for. A small jar, one labelled 'McCormick Granulated Garlic'. Another Earth elixir.
"And how do you explain this?"
Almedha shook her head, she couldn't have answered even if she'd wanted to. Her mind was concentrated on ways of taking the strain off her wrist. Lemuel shook his head sadly and released the cuff from the sconce it had been attached to and dragged her towards him. "It pains me that you should be so obstinate. You leave me no choice but to take you to the League of Holy Court."
Interrogation Chambers, League of the Holy Court, Eternal City
Lemuel-Lan-Michael pushed Almedha into the room. The two interrogation specialists jumped to their feet as he entered. " At ease," he said. "We need some information from this one."
It took slightly longer than he expected. By the time Almedha broke, the interrogators had run through three buckets of water, her face and hair were saturated and she was choking amid a barrage of deep, racking coughs. It took her some minutes to get the story out, but when she did, it would have been mundane were it not for its significance. Ishmael had brought her the garlic as a gift. She had found the plain, bland food available to humans in Heaven dull to the point of being unpalatable and the garlic had seasoned it to provide a touch of interest. Lemuel shook his head, humans didn't even have to eat, let alone want anything more than plain gruel. Why would seasoning be so important to them?
"Are you finished with her?" One of the interrogators nodded towards the sobbing woman secured to the table.
"For the moment, yes. We'll keep her detained for a while." The interrogators nodded at each other and Lemuel caught a glimpse of their eyes. There was something there, something that reminded him of a sight long, long ago. It took him time to place it but when he did, the memory shook him. The look in the interrogators' eyes had been the same as that in the eyes of daemons taken prisoner in the war so many millennia before. That caused him to think a single, unmentionable question. Were there daemons in Heaven, even though they looked like Angels?. And then that led to another question. And was he one of them?
Lemuel-Lan-Michael left the interrogation chamber and went off down the long corridor that would, eventually, take him back to the surface, his mind troubled by the questions inside it. Halfway towards the first junction he thought he heard a human woman screaming from the interrogation chamber he had just left but he dismissed it. Just the strange sounds that filled this place sometimes, a product of wind and tunnels through stone.
Conference Room, DIMO(N) Headquarters, The Pentagon, Washington
"And now we have a problem with dates."
"How do you mean?"
"From what we have been able to learn, the Great Celestial War took place some four and a half to five million years ago. But, the information we have from Luga speaks of fighting on Earth and the legends of that remaining in human memory as folk tales. That means they must be much more recent than that.
"Simple explanation. Luga's lying. It's not as if that's an entirely unfamiliar concept to her. She tries to play us all the time. To be honest, its so much part of her nature than I doubt if she's even aware that she's doing it. Playing to the audience to get her way and turn things to her advantage is what she does. That's why she's such a hit on network television."
"Just like a few other so-called stars I can think of." Colonel Paschal spoke reflectively. "It might he worth checking through some of their antecedents and see if we come up with any demonic connections."
"Would you like the job? Or are you still in thrall to our Luga?" Doctor Surlethe put the question with a bouncing lack of tact.
"I told you, I didn't. . . . " The denial was interrupted by a barrage of coughing around the room. Paschal sighed to himself, he was never going to live this down. "Oh, never mind."
A satisfied and slightly triumphant chuckle replaced the coughing. "I don’t think the history of the performing arts is useful at this time, anyway, the fact that the daemons knew virtually nothing about us suggests that any contact they had with us in the last three or four centuries must have been cursory in the extreme."
"I agree." General Schatten nodded as he spoke. "Anyway, Colonel Baylor picked up on the time discrepancy. He tasked Luga with it and she confirmed that the Great Celestial War took place from about five million years ago, when Satan tried his coup-de-main assault on Heaven. An assault that came very close to succeeding by the way, he actually broke into the Eternal City but his Army was pushed out by Michael-Lan-Yahweh. It ended, sort of, about half a million years later with both sides too exhausted to fight on. In our terms, it's pretty obvious Satan actually won that war, he got his independent kingdom which was his objective all along. However, fighting went on for a long, long time after that. Not the live-or-die, win-or-lose fighting there had been in the Great Celestial War but more like border skirmishing. That ended abruptly, about 60,000 years ago and its from then that our folk-memories of the war originated."
"Why did it end so abruptly?" Colonel Paschal was curious. "To fight for more than five million years and then just stop dead?"
"He asked Luga why, didn't get an answer. There was something she didn’t want to speak about and didn’t. But, Baylor says, she was frightened. Even talking about why scared her. Just the way daemons are scared of us."
"I think I can offer an opinion there." Hillary Clinton spoke up for the first time at one of those meetings. "I was speaking with President Sarkozy during the recent summit, when he wasn't preoccupied with checking out some Brazilian girl of course, and he told me something curious. Apparently some of the French and German troops in Hell, either referred to Satan as "the Devil" or called daemons, devils. The result was strange. The baldricks made themselves absent, very quickly. Strong negative reaction."
"Could it have been an abusive nickname, you know like Hun or Frog?"
"That would imply anger or offense and we know Baldricks react strongly to that. This was something else, it was fear, as if even mentioning the word could bring about a disaster." Clinton drew breath. "I don’t think daemons and devils are the same."
"All the books say they are."
"And all our books are wrong, we know that. How much mythology is standing up to the discoveries we're making every day? I think that Daemons and Devils are separate things and whatever the Devils are, the Daemons are afraid of them."
"A threat to us?"
General Schatten thought for a second. "I doubt it, if they were then they'd have taken down the Baldricks as quickly as we did."
"Can we rely on that?"
Schatten thought again. "No, but it’s the best way to bet given what we know. Look, in intelligence and knowledge terms, we're way out of our depth here. We're crossing a river blindfold, feeling a way with our feet and hoping we don’t step into a pothole or a nest of cottonmouths. All we can do is play the odds."
"So there might be a third force out there we'll have to deal with in due course?"
"Third? There may be dozens. The cosmology Doctor Kuroneko is developing suggests that there might be millions of bubble-worlds like Hell out there. All of different ages, just like the stars in our Universe are all of different ages. By the way, he's come up with a fascinating theory that might explain a lot. Our Universe is expanding, everybody knows that. But he thinks that the dimension, the next stage of existence, whatever we want to call it, that contains Heaven, Hell and all those bubble worlds is shrinking. He thinks that explains where the light in Hell and the energy that keeps the human souls alive there comes from. That's why they don’t have to eat."
"But Daemons eat." A slight shudder swept around the room at the thought of Luga's table manners. A few of the participants grinned sympathetically at Paschal. The Colonel thought about the rumors of Luga's combined eating and mating habits. The recollection made his testicles scream in terror and try to climb inside his body for protection.
"And that means that. . . . "
"Baldricks – and presumably Angels – aren’t native to the bubble-worlds either. They come from somewhere else as well."
"That might change a lot of things." Schatten thought carefully. "Could they come from other bubble worlds?"
"We can't tell." Surlethe thought carefully, the whole situation had aspects buried within aspects. "It may be that the no-eating rule only applies within their native bubble. Or it may be they come from outside the bubble-level completely. But all that's getting away from the point. We have some evidence that there's a third group of beings out there and we may run into them at any time."
"Third?" Hillary Clinton's voice was derisive. "There could be hundreds of them, thousands even. Have you any idea how many religions there have been? Or are now? Suppose they are all correct, suppose at one time or another, beings found their way here from other bubbleverses and got worshipped as Gods. And Yahweh and Satan were the two that eventually won out down here? They got the upper hand over the rest, perhaps by means of the portal warfare that Lugasharmanaska talked about, and drove them out. The 'devils' that we've been talking about may just have been one of those other groups, probably the one that was the most difficult to defeat. If we consider continuing to explore the bubbleverses, we're going to run into them."
"And that raises another question, an important one. When we do, how do we react?"
"That's for the council of 15 to say. They'll make up their mind."
"Not the United Nations?" The question came from a corner of the table, the speaker unidentified. The response was a contemptuous guffaw from the main participants.
"No, not the United Nations. They're irrelevant, been ever since Wong shot down the first Daemon Herald. They're still there but they're just the talking shop for people who can't contribute to the HEA. The real decisions are taken at Yamantau." Clinton thought carefully. "My guess will be, and this will be the position of the United States at Yamantau, we'll work on a do-as-they-do basis. If they approach us with friendship and respect, we'll do the same to them. If they make war on us, we'll do it to them. With every weapon we have."
"General Petraeus, do you have any comment on that?"
General Petraeus, present only on the view-screen at the end of the room looked up from the display he was consulting. It was showing the developing situation on the Thai-Myanmar border and he found it professionally fascinating. The Thai Army simply didn't fight the way the U.S. Army did. What they were doing was, to his eyes, downright weird. "We'd be advised to keep as many options open as possible but in essence, I agree with the Secretary of State. If we run into any such bubbleverse groups that are friendly, we get friendly. If not, then we defend ourselves. And that means eliminating our opponents as a military threat."
"That's genocide." It was the same unidentified voice that had spoken about the United Nations.
Hillary Clinton looked back contemptuously. "No. That's pantheocide."
Another name crossed off a list, another contact dismissed as a meaningless acquaintance. More time wasted, more effort unproductive. Lemuel-Lan-Michael had heard that on Earth, human police were sometimes called "flat-feet" and now he understood why. His feet ached and his wings were stiff, all for nothing. And it was all the responsibility of the bottle of elixir that he'd found during the arrest of Ishmael. If he hadn’t been so attentive to his duty, he could have avoided all this. Perhaps his instincts had been wrong, perhaps the bottle was associated with the First Conspiracy. That's what he had decided to call the network that was split up into cells.
He shook his head, every instinct he had said that the bottle wasn't part of that group. The first few discrete arrests had confirmed his initial impressions, the First Conspiracy was all about doctrine and beliefs. After adequate 'persuasion', the detainees had confessed to spreading heresy and blasphemy. They had maintained their loyalty to The One Above All though, claiming that He had been led astray by misguided and corrupt advisors and if those advisors could be swept away, The Eternal Father would see how he had been mislead and everything would be made right. Lemuel was prepared to bet that the leaders intentions were quite different but that's what the lower ranks thought and a bottle of elixir just didn't fit with that pattern. There had to be a Second Conspiracy.
He flung the door of the slum open. Like the one he and his agents had raided earlier, this one was of better quality, made of wood rather than straw-reinforced mud. He looked down at the human female who was cowering against the wall at the opposite end of the entrance. By Inviolable Rule, all structures had to be large enough to allow the entry of Angels and that requirement diminished her apparent size still more.
"You are Almedha?" Lemuel read the name from his list. "Daughter of Brychan?"
"I am, Noble One." Her voice was quivering, whatever the humans had expected when they were granted access to Heaven, it wasn't what they had found. 'Salvation' consisted of eternal menial servitude to the Angels, a group who regarded the humans as being of little account and even less value. "How may I be of service to you?"
"I wish to discuss with you, some matters of importance. In particular, your relationship with a human called Ishmael."
That comment struck home. The woman was still frightened of him but now there was something else in her attitude, a guardedness, a determination not to reveal anything. "I know of nobody by that name."
"Do not lie to me, Almedha, daughter of Brychan. Lying is a sin and one that brings down punishment upon you. Do you want to experience the punishment that the League of the Holy Court deems appropriate for those who lie to it?"
"No peerless one. But I know not of any called Ishmael."
Lemuel-Lan shook his head sadly. "Your deceit means I must caution you again and in doing so my patience with you grows thin. I must tell you, Ishmael was arrested not so long ago by agents of the League of the Holy Court and he has made a full confession. He has admitted to apostasy, blasphemy, to heresy and sacrilege and to crimes so black that they have no name."
"No! He . . . " Almedha tried to stop herself but it was too late.
"And how would you know if you had never met him?" Lemuel landed the verbal blow quietly and deftly but its effect was still shattering. Almedha slumped back against the wall, her face white. Even so, her jaw was thrust out with her determination not to say anything. Lemuel sighed quietly to himself,why were humans so obstinate? He needed to look around this house but it was obvious he couldn’t leave Almedha free to leave. There really was no choice. He took a golden set of shackles from his belt, fastened a cuff around one of her wrists and another around a convenient post. As he left her to search the house, it never even occurred to him that he'd left her with her feet barely touching the floor.
The house itself was remarkably devoid of interest. Before their deaths, 'saved' humans had made much of the alleged virtues of simplicity and abstinence. On reaching Heaven they found out that those 'virtues' were greatly overrated, especially when they lasted for eternity. The fact that the Angels didn't share their opinions hadn’t helped much either. The fact was, that while the angels lived in unparalleled luxury, the fate of the 'saved' was one of eternal grinding poverty. Again, the irony there never entered Lemuel's consciousness, nor did any thought that the situation could, in any way, be considered unjust. Lemuel methodically searched the rooms, turning up nothing other than the few paltry possessions he'd expected. Finally he checked out the kitchen and there he found what he had been looking for. A small jar, one labelled 'McCormick Granulated Garlic'. Another Earth elixir.
"And how do you explain this?"
Almedha shook her head, she couldn't have answered even if she'd wanted to. Her mind was concentrated on ways of taking the strain off her wrist. Lemuel shook his head sadly and released the cuff from the sconce it had been attached to and dragged her towards him. "It pains me that you should be so obstinate. You leave me no choice but to take you to the League of Holy Court."
Interrogation Chambers, League of the Holy Court, Eternal City
Lemuel-Lan-Michael pushed Almedha into the room. The two interrogation specialists jumped to their feet as he entered. " At ease," he said. "We need some information from this one."
It took slightly longer than he expected. By the time Almedha broke, the interrogators had run through three buckets of water, her face and hair were saturated and she was choking amid a barrage of deep, racking coughs. It took her some minutes to get the story out, but when she did, it would have been mundane were it not for its significance. Ishmael had brought her the garlic as a gift. She had found the plain, bland food available to humans in Heaven dull to the point of being unpalatable and the garlic had seasoned it to provide a touch of interest. Lemuel shook his head, humans didn't even have to eat, let alone want anything more than plain gruel. Why would seasoning be so important to them?
"Are you finished with her?" One of the interrogators nodded towards the sobbing woman secured to the table.
"For the moment, yes. We'll keep her detained for a while." The interrogators nodded at each other and Lemuel caught a glimpse of their eyes. There was something there, something that reminded him of a sight long, long ago. It took him time to place it but when he did, the memory shook him. The look in the interrogators' eyes had been the same as that in the eyes of daemons taken prisoner in the war so many millennia before. That caused him to think a single, unmentionable question. Were there daemons in Heaven, even though they looked like Angels?. And then that led to another question. And was he one of them?
Lemuel-Lan-Michael left the interrogation chamber and went off down the long corridor that would, eventually, take him back to the surface, his mind troubled by the questions inside it. Halfway towards the first junction he thought he heard a human woman screaming from the interrogation chamber he had just left but he dismissed it. Just the strange sounds that filled this place sometimes, a product of wind and tunnels through stone.
Conference Room, DIMO(N) Headquarters, The Pentagon, Washington
"And now we have a problem with dates."
"How do you mean?"
"From what we have been able to learn, the Great Celestial War took place some four and a half to five million years ago. But, the information we have from Luga speaks of fighting on Earth and the legends of that remaining in human memory as folk tales. That means they must be much more recent than that.
"Simple explanation. Luga's lying. It's not as if that's an entirely unfamiliar concept to her. She tries to play us all the time. To be honest, its so much part of her nature than I doubt if she's even aware that she's doing it. Playing to the audience to get her way and turn things to her advantage is what she does. That's why she's such a hit on network television."
"Just like a few other so-called stars I can think of." Colonel Paschal spoke reflectively. "It might he worth checking through some of their antecedents and see if we come up with any demonic connections."
"Would you like the job? Or are you still in thrall to our Luga?" Doctor Surlethe put the question with a bouncing lack of tact.
"I told you, I didn't. . . . " The denial was interrupted by a barrage of coughing around the room. Paschal sighed to himself, he was never going to live this down. "Oh, never mind."
A satisfied and slightly triumphant chuckle replaced the coughing. "I don’t think the history of the performing arts is useful at this time, anyway, the fact that the daemons knew virtually nothing about us suggests that any contact they had with us in the last three or four centuries must have been cursory in the extreme."
"I agree." General Schatten nodded as he spoke. "Anyway, Colonel Baylor picked up on the time discrepancy. He tasked Luga with it and she confirmed that the Great Celestial War took place from about five million years ago, when Satan tried his coup-de-main assault on Heaven. An assault that came very close to succeeding by the way, he actually broke into the Eternal City but his Army was pushed out by Michael-Lan-Yahweh. It ended, sort of, about half a million years later with both sides too exhausted to fight on. In our terms, it's pretty obvious Satan actually won that war, he got his independent kingdom which was his objective all along. However, fighting went on for a long, long time after that. Not the live-or-die, win-or-lose fighting there had been in the Great Celestial War but more like border skirmishing. That ended abruptly, about 60,000 years ago and its from then that our folk-memories of the war originated."
"Why did it end so abruptly?" Colonel Paschal was curious. "To fight for more than five million years and then just stop dead?"
"He asked Luga why, didn't get an answer. There was something she didn’t want to speak about and didn’t. But, Baylor says, she was frightened. Even talking about why scared her. Just the way daemons are scared of us."
"I think I can offer an opinion there." Hillary Clinton spoke up for the first time at one of those meetings. "I was speaking with President Sarkozy during the recent summit, when he wasn't preoccupied with checking out some Brazilian girl of course, and he told me something curious. Apparently some of the French and German troops in Hell, either referred to Satan as "the Devil" or called daemons, devils. The result was strange. The baldricks made themselves absent, very quickly. Strong negative reaction."
"Could it have been an abusive nickname, you know like Hun or Frog?"
"That would imply anger or offense and we know Baldricks react strongly to that. This was something else, it was fear, as if even mentioning the word could bring about a disaster." Clinton drew breath. "I don’t think daemons and devils are the same."
"All the books say they are."
"And all our books are wrong, we know that. How much mythology is standing up to the discoveries we're making every day? I think that Daemons and Devils are separate things and whatever the Devils are, the Daemons are afraid of them."
"A threat to us?"
General Schatten thought for a second. "I doubt it, if they were then they'd have taken down the Baldricks as quickly as we did."
"Can we rely on that?"
Schatten thought again. "No, but it’s the best way to bet given what we know. Look, in intelligence and knowledge terms, we're way out of our depth here. We're crossing a river blindfold, feeling a way with our feet and hoping we don’t step into a pothole or a nest of cottonmouths. All we can do is play the odds."
"So there might be a third force out there we'll have to deal with in due course?"
"Third? There may be dozens. The cosmology Doctor Kuroneko is developing suggests that there might be millions of bubble-worlds like Hell out there. All of different ages, just like the stars in our Universe are all of different ages. By the way, he's come up with a fascinating theory that might explain a lot. Our Universe is expanding, everybody knows that. But he thinks that the dimension, the next stage of existence, whatever we want to call it, that contains Heaven, Hell and all those bubble worlds is shrinking. He thinks that explains where the light in Hell and the energy that keeps the human souls alive there comes from. That's why they don’t have to eat."
"But Daemons eat." A slight shudder swept around the room at the thought of Luga's table manners. A few of the participants grinned sympathetically at Paschal. The Colonel thought about the rumors of Luga's combined eating and mating habits. The recollection made his testicles scream in terror and try to climb inside his body for protection.
"And that means that. . . . "
"Baldricks – and presumably Angels – aren’t native to the bubble-worlds either. They come from somewhere else as well."
"That might change a lot of things." Schatten thought carefully. "Could they come from other bubble worlds?"
"We can't tell." Surlethe thought carefully, the whole situation had aspects buried within aspects. "It may be that the no-eating rule only applies within their native bubble. Or it may be they come from outside the bubble-level completely. But all that's getting away from the point. We have some evidence that there's a third group of beings out there and we may run into them at any time."
"Third?" Hillary Clinton's voice was derisive. "There could be hundreds of them, thousands even. Have you any idea how many religions there have been? Or are now? Suppose they are all correct, suppose at one time or another, beings found their way here from other bubbleverses and got worshipped as Gods. And Yahweh and Satan were the two that eventually won out down here? They got the upper hand over the rest, perhaps by means of the portal warfare that Lugasharmanaska talked about, and drove them out. The 'devils' that we've been talking about may just have been one of those other groups, probably the one that was the most difficult to defeat. If we consider continuing to explore the bubbleverses, we're going to run into them."
"And that raises another question, an important one. When we do, how do we react?"
"That's for the council of 15 to say. They'll make up their mind."
"Not the United Nations?" The question came from a corner of the table, the speaker unidentified. The response was a contemptuous guffaw from the main participants.
"No, not the United Nations. They're irrelevant, been ever since Wong shot down the first Daemon Herald. They're still there but they're just the talking shop for people who can't contribute to the HEA. The real decisions are taken at Yamantau." Clinton thought carefully. "My guess will be, and this will be the position of the United States at Yamantau, we'll work on a do-as-they-do basis. If they approach us with friendship and respect, we'll do the same to them. If they make war on us, we'll do it to them. With every weapon we have."
"General Petraeus, do you have any comment on that?"
General Petraeus, present only on the view-screen at the end of the room looked up from the display he was consulting. It was showing the developing situation on the Thai-Myanmar border and he found it professionally fascinating. The Thai Army simply didn't fight the way the U.S. Army did. What they were doing was, to his eyes, downright weird. "We'd be advised to keep as many options open as possible but in essence, I agree with the Secretary of State. If we run into any such bubbleverse groups that are friendly, we get friendly. If not, then we defend ourselves. And that means eliminating our opponents as a military threat."
"That's genocide." It was the same unidentified voice that had spoken about the United Nations.
Hillary Clinton looked back contemptuously. "No. That's pantheocide."
The Salvation War: Pantheocide - 21
DIMO(N) Briefing Room, Pentagon, Arlington V.A.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Norman stammered, nervously. “I was trying to get all the data together since the attack on Fort Bragg.” The past twenty-four hours had been a blur for him. After the creature had been dead, before the body was even cool, DIMO(N) science teams had started going over the body and sending all the information they could back to the Pentagon. All of that information had been crunched and processed by Norman and his team, and fitted in to a briefing that the military brass was very interested in hearing. It hadn't helped that the garrison of Fort Bragg were demanding that the corpse of the Leopard Beast be stuffed and mounted outside their front gate. It was rumored that at least two taxidermists had taken a horrified look at the size of the Beast and turned the job down. That was a pity, because it would, as the Base Commander had said, make a nice entrance arch.
General Schatten waved Norman on. “It’s quite alright, Baines. Just give us what you have.”
“Yes, well, ok.” Norman turned to the screen as his power point started up. “Prior to the attack on Fort Bragg, we had put together a lot of data about the various beasts, angels, captains, and armies discussed in John’s Revelation. The problem is, based on what we’ve learned from hell, some of it didn’t fit and we were hoping that the beasts were in fact Satan’s constructs, similar to his golden hydra.”
The screen displayed the hulking corpse of the thing that attacked Bragg. “This is the first beast. Notice the coloration, and spotting. We believe it to be the ‘Leopard-Beast’ mentioned in Revelations 13. The good news is, the creature was just as vulnerable to conventional weaponry as anything else, in sufficiently large doses. The bad news, is that this was the first of four beasts. The even worse news…” He paused as he clicked over to a fresh dispatch from Crystal City “… is that shortly before the creature died, the cell-phone tower detection system recorded a minor aberration that looked a lot like a portal formation, just underpowered.” He looked at the people in the room. “Allowing for the fact that that the portal did not form, but also noting that no ‘animal handler’ was found nearby, the implication is that these things are capable of opening their own portals, which is an ability we have not observed in any non-sentient infernal life-forms.”
“So you’re telling us there’s three more of these leopard-beasts in heaven waiting for the go-ahead to attack, and they can get in and out at will?” A general from the domestic defense forces was looking noticeably agitated. Film of the fighting at Fort Bragg had been broadcast on network television and the sheer volume of firepower that had been necessary to put the Leopard Beast down had made a marked impression.
“No sir, no.” Norman went back to his presentation. “The other beasts won’t look anything like the one at Bragg. We feel it is likely they will all be of similar size and raw power, but the appearance varies widely. Revelations 13 also mentions a great beast appearing like a lamb, with two horns. Now lamb can more likely be interpreted as ram, which means it’ll probably be big and have hooves. It doesn’t sound very scary, but there’s this little tidbit:” He brought up a text on the screen. Rev 13:13- And he performs great signs and wonders, such that he even calls down the fire of heaven in the presence of men.
"Now this beast is really odd, the texts say it looks like a lamb but speaks like a dragon. That implies its appearance is seriously deceptive. There's a strange side to this, theologians have always assumed that the descriptions of the Beasts were allegorical, that they weren't really Beasts at all but metaphors for social and political developments. Well, as the troops at Fort Bragg can tell us, that isn’t so. The Leopard Beast was just as described, the seven heads didn’t represent seven kings or empires. Or seven hills come to that. So, we can anticipate that the rest of the descriptions are also literally correct. The Lamb Beast was assumed to be representative of a government that spoke softly but was actually viciously repressive. We can now assume that isn’t the case. We’re going to get what the old texts described. How that applies to the Lamb-Beast is something we’ll undoubtedly find out in due course. That brings us to its prediction that it will call down fire from Heaven.”
“That could be nothing, lots of mythic beasts are associated with fire, but only two of the Armageddon beasts you’ve mentioned are.”
“The other one being?” Colonel Taylor was paying close attention.
“This fella.” Norman brought up a rather nightmarish image. “The Scarlet Beast. Similar in power and ability to the leopard and lamb, it should have multiple faces and horns, like the leopard. However,” on top of the creature in the picture appeared a small figure. “The Scarlet Beast has a keeper, guardian, assistant something along those lines. The texts call her the Whore of Babylon.” The picture zoomed in on her.
“Dressed in a purple robe, she rides the head of the scarlet beast and carries a golden goblet full of ‘abominations of obscenity’. The allegorical explanation of the Whore was that she represented an Empire far advanced in decadence. The prime candidate was usually Rome but some suggested Jerusalem. Modern apocalyptic cults claimed the Whore was Hollywood. San Francisco got a look-in as well.
“Now, we see no reason why we shouldn’t take the texts literally. The Scarlet Beast has a rider. The Whore and the beast together are supposed to bring the kingdoms of men down, so she’s probably a very powerful angel and can bring all sorts of surprises. The Golden Goblet, if it exists, probably contains some more plague material similar to what has already been thrown at us.
“And for surprises, look no further than the Red Dragon. Not to be confused with the scarlet beast.” He cleared his throat. “Now, the fact that this last is named a dragon and not simply a ‘beast’ is very significant, and very distressing.” A list of biblical passages scrolled on the screen. “Dragons are mentioned over twenty times in the old testament, and the most relevant occasion is in Isaiah 27:
"Isaiah 27:1. –In that day the lord will take his terrible, swift sword and punish Leviathan, the piercing serpent, the coiling, unending serpent. He will kill the dragon of the sea. "
Norman paused while that sank in. “Now, I’m sure everyone remembers Leviathan, and what kind of a creature he was. In the Old Testament, whenever someone REALLY wanted to wish ill on a place, they’d call for it to become a den or dwelling place of dragons. The power of the red dragon will be a lot more than these others. In fact, according to texts the other three Armageddon beasts may draw strength or energy from the red dragon, which might explain why the seemingly impossible physiology of the leopard-beast still worked. I want to caution everyone that just because we killed the first attacking beast doesn’t mean we can kill others. The leopard beast was pretty-much the easiest, they will get worse from here.”
For a moment, there was silence in the room and it felt a bit colder than air conditioning alone could manage. Everyone had seen the footage of the large, cancer-like monster’s remains strewn across the northern plains of Hell, and they were imagining it creeping across their homes. “Thank you, Baines.” Colonel Taylor shifted in his seat uncomfortably as he eyed the image on the screen. “Now, ladies and gentleman, apparently we have to figure out the best way to slay a dragon.”
“We’ve got more problems than that.” FBI Director Robert Mueller was quietly astonished that nobody had picked up on what, to him, was glaringly obvious. “Has it occurred to anybody that this Leopard Beast picked one of the main field research bases of DIMO(N) and made a bee-line right for the most sensitive area?”
There was a slow nodding of heads around the room. A few people had noted it but they hadn’t wanted to think about the obvious implications. “We thought it might be coincidence.”
Mueller looked at the speaker with withering contempt. “There’s no such thing as coincidence. Not at this level. That thing, or whoever sent it, knew exactly where it was going and why. You, ladies and gentlemen, have a leak. Possibly here in Washington, more likely in Fort Bragg.”
443rd Infantry Battalion, Myanmar Army, Chong Sadao, Thailand
Battalion Commander Ye Thwat was a puzzled and bewildered man. For the first two days of the war, he’d faced nothing but local militia, Thai Rangers who had fought bravely but who were woefully ill-equipped and under-armed for the task they had in hand. That had changed in the last twelve hours, now he was up against regular troops at last and they were making their presence felt. It wasn’t just the heavy weapons they had, although their rifles left wounds that were gruesome to behold. It was that they had their own style of fighting, a doctrine that was bewildering. For the last twelve hours, Ye Thwat had the feeling he was trying to dig a pit in dry sand. As fast as he shoveled, the sand flowed around his spade and filled in the hole he had just made.
That was what was so hard to understand. His battalion was being nibbled to death in a series of small encounter battles that, individually, were of no significance. There would be an exchange of fire, his unit would deploy to make an assault but by the time he had launched the attack, the target had faded away and his assault would hit air. Worse, they would suddenly be raked by gunfire from a flank or even their rear and by the time they reacted, once again the enemy had faded away.
That wasn’t the worst of it. The Thai artillery had arrived and the 155mm guns were already firing in support of the small units that appeared to be all over him. That also was strange, the guns never seemed to fire in mass or concentrate fire on a critical target. Instead, one of the little encounter battles would open with a pair of guns firing a few rounds on to his positions. No warning, no preparation, just a small handful of artillery rounds arriving on target. In the first few seconds, while his men were caught in the open, they would take casualties but by the time they had got to cover, the artillery fire would have stopped and another unit would be getting the punishment.
The overall effect was that his unit was being ground down and he had absolutely nothing to show for it. He couldn’t point to a single action and say ‘this is it, this is where they are’. Instead, he was being nibbled to death by mice. Well, when infested with mice, one laid traps.
“Get the mortar platoon loaded up. We’ll make a push down A68, towards Tha Sao.” That was an important road junction where the dirt-track A68 turned into an all-weather blacktop road. “When the Labyut move to block us, we’ll pin them down with mortar fire. Then we’ll have them.”
“Very good Sir.” The radio operator got on the network to pass the orders through to the mortar battery. “Sir, battery commander says he’ll register fire on the area you want, but he needs more ammunition. He’s only got the remnants from the unit of fire that he had yesterday, no supplies have come through.”
“Why not?”
“Sir, the supply officer is on another channel.”
“Put him on.” There was a pause and then Ye Thwat barked down the phone. “Why aren’t the supplies getting through?”
“It’s the Labyut Sir. They have infiltrated behind us, they ambushed some of the porters. Wiped out the ones they hit, the rest have dumped their loads and run away. Or, worse, they’ve joined up with the Labyut and handed the supplies they were carrying over.”
Ye Thwat swore picturesquely. That was the trouble with dealing with the Labyut as the Myanmar Army referred to the Thai regulars. They started by bribing people to change sides and things usually got worse from there. The problem was that the Myanmar Army depended on impressed porters to manpack its supplies forward and their efforts to force Thai villagers into that role had been monumentally unsuccessful. Most of the villagers had slipped away and the few that had remained had vanished with their loads soon after. Ye Thwat guessed with grim despair that the stolen supplies would end up in a Thai marketplace within a week. Probably marked as a ‘special offer’.
That was when he heard an eerie howl overhead. Hones by years of fighting the Shan States Army, his ears told him “inbound” and he realized he had been on the radio much too long. That was something he’d never had to worry about fighting the SSA, their radio interception capability was barely measurable. He had only just enough time to wonder how the Thais had done it when the shells crashed down on the area occupied by his headquarters.
What saved him was the long range. The Thai GHN-45s were operating at the limit of even their long range and their dispersion was enough to give the headquarters staff a fighting chance of survival. Five kilometers closer in and they would have been wiped out by the 155mm shells but in that fine margin lay the difference between a headquarters unit crippled and one wiped out. A dozen shells landed, then the Thai gunners shifted to a new target as their Atila fire control systems shifted priorities to the next target set reported by the platoon-sized battlegroups. Looking at the ruin of his headquarters, Ye Twat decided that the war was not going well.
Headquarters, Third Army, Kanchanaburi, Thailand.
“Get me through to General Petraeus, right now.” General Asanee snapped the order out to her communications officer.
“Yes Ma’am. On the way.”
She picked up the telephone and thumbed the button for Line One. “American Express? Good, Commander Third Army here. Our officers are using their cards to buy diesel fuel at commercial gas stations. I’d like you to make sure that all such charges are honored. The Army will, of course, guarantee payment. . . . . Yes, that is most co-operative of you. Thank you. If there are any problems, inform me immediately.”
She put the phone down, waited a second and smiled as it rang almost immediately. Things were beginning to shake down into a reasonably efficient headquarters. “General Petraeus? Good to speak with you Sir.”
“And you General. What’s the situation out there?”
“We’ve blocked the southern Myanmarese advance, we’ve got them chasing their own tails. They’re also being free with their radios, that’s a bad habit to get into. We’re picking them up with ELINT aircraft and taking their headquarters down. Most of the locals are helping out, we’re getting a flood of cellphone messages in with information.”
“Be careful General. The Myanmarese could be feeding false info in.”
“Yes Sir, understood. Now, the next portal set, the one for Second Cavalry. I’d like to change plans. The information we have is that Three Pagodas Pass is clear. I want to move a sensitive in up there and deliver Second Cavalry right to the Pass. From there, it’s a straight run on good roads to Moulmein and, eventually, Yangon. That way we’ll bypass the whole of the Myanmar invasion force and trap it south of the Lake. The ground’s too rough to stop them getting out, but they won’t leave as organized units or ones capable of putting up a fight.”
“Just what sort of strength are you talking about here?”
“Myanmarese, so far we’ve got a force estimate of around thirty thousand. We’ve got good intel flowing in now, our patrols are in contact and holding that contact. Second Cavalry, two light armor regiments, one mechanized regiment. Around fifteen thousand sabers.”
At the other end of the line, Petraeus visualized the situation. He could see what Asanee had in mind, an end run that would cut the Myanmar forces off from their base. This would fit very well with his own plans for a counter-offensive if the brewing situation on the Korean Peninsula went hot. In effect, she was offering him a chance to test out the new doctrine in Myanmar before using it in Korea. The concept of moving troops by opening portals to and from Hell offered strategic options that were only now becoming apparent. “How will you supply the units?”
“Sir, every Thai village has a gas station and all of them have large supplies of diesel. Our unit commanders just buy the stuff whenever they need it. Your people never could adapt to that in Cobra Gold, that’s why your vehicles ran out of gas and ours didn’t. There’s enough fuel up at Three Pagodas to keep the division running for four days. By then, we can either open up a land route or portal fuel in from Hell. Ammunition likewise. Food’s no problem, all our troops can live off the jungle.”
“Or have pizza delivered. Yes, General, I’ve heard all about what your troops get up to during Cobra Gold. This isn’t an exercise.”
“No Sir. But, the lessons about living off the country still apply. Sir, take my word on this, we’re good at it. And we’re in amongst our own people, it’s a point of honor for them to help out. Sir, this way we can pull the sort of flanker that hasn’t been done since Inchon.”
“You admire MacArthur?” Petraeus was genuinely interested and it was a good means of stalling while he weighed up the situation..
“Not so much. Ridgeway, yes , very much so. Patton also. So, are our plans approved?”
Petraeus tapped his pad with a pencil, the sound clearly coming through over the phone link. “Yes. General, your orders are to move Second Cavalry to Three Pagodas Pass and then maneuver to seize the supply line of the Myanmar forces.”
General Asanee nodded, then remembered that she wasn’t on the ubiquitous video links that controlled the Human Expeditionary Army. “Very good sir. And thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet General. We’re doing something that has never been done before, maneuvering units like this. If this comes off, everything we learned about strategy will be outdated.”
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Norman stammered, nervously. “I was trying to get all the data together since the attack on Fort Bragg.” The past twenty-four hours had been a blur for him. After the creature had been dead, before the body was even cool, DIMO(N) science teams had started going over the body and sending all the information they could back to the Pentagon. All of that information had been crunched and processed by Norman and his team, and fitted in to a briefing that the military brass was very interested in hearing. It hadn't helped that the garrison of Fort Bragg were demanding that the corpse of the Leopard Beast be stuffed and mounted outside their front gate. It was rumored that at least two taxidermists had taken a horrified look at the size of the Beast and turned the job down. That was a pity, because it would, as the Base Commander had said, make a nice entrance arch.
General Schatten waved Norman on. “It’s quite alright, Baines. Just give us what you have.”
“Yes, well, ok.” Norman turned to the screen as his power point started up. “Prior to the attack on Fort Bragg, we had put together a lot of data about the various beasts, angels, captains, and armies discussed in John’s Revelation. The problem is, based on what we’ve learned from hell, some of it didn’t fit and we were hoping that the beasts were in fact Satan’s constructs, similar to his golden hydra.”
The screen displayed the hulking corpse of the thing that attacked Bragg. “This is the first beast. Notice the coloration, and spotting. We believe it to be the ‘Leopard-Beast’ mentioned in Revelations 13. The good news is, the creature was just as vulnerable to conventional weaponry as anything else, in sufficiently large doses. The bad news, is that this was the first of four beasts. The even worse news…” He paused as he clicked over to a fresh dispatch from Crystal City “… is that shortly before the creature died, the cell-phone tower detection system recorded a minor aberration that looked a lot like a portal formation, just underpowered.” He looked at the people in the room. “Allowing for the fact that that the portal did not form, but also noting that no ‘animal handler’ was found nearby, the implication is that these things are capable of opening their own portals, which is an ability we have not observed in any non-sentient infernal life-forms.”
“So you’re telling us there’s three more of these leopard-beasts in heaven waiting for the go-ahead to attack, and they can get in and out at will?” A general from the domestic defense forces was looking noticeably agitated. Film of the fighting at Fort Bragg had been broadcast on network television and the sheer volume of firepower that had been necessary to put the Leopard Beast down had made a marked impression.
“No sir, no.” Norman went back to his presentation. “The other beasts won’t look anything like the one at Bragg. We feel it is likely they will all be of similar size and raw power, but the appearance varies widely. Revelations 13 also mentions a great beast appearing like a lamb, with two horns. Now lamb can more likely be interpreted as ram, which means it’ll probably be big and have hooves. It doesn’t sound very scary, but there’s this little tidbit:” He brought up a text on the screen. Rev 13:13- And he performs great signs and wonders, such that he even calls down the fire of heaven in the presence of men.
"Now this beast is really odd, the texts say it looks like a lamb but speaks like a dragon. That implies its appearance is seriously deceptive. There's a strange side to this, theologians have always assumed that the descriptions of the Beasts were allegorical, that they weren't really Beasts at all but metaphors for social and political developments. Well, as the troops at Fort Bragg can tell us, that isn’t so. The Leopard Beast was just as described, the seven heads didn’t represent seven kings or empires. Or seven hills come to that. So, we can anticipate that the rest of the descriptions are also literally correct. The Lamb Beast was assumed to be representative of a government that spoke softly but was actually viciously repressive. We can now assume that isn’t the case. We’re going to get what the old texts described. How that applies to the Lamb-Beast is something we’ll undoubtedly find out in due course. That brings us to its prediction that it will call down fire from Heaven.”
“That could be nothing, lots of mythic beasts are associated with fire, but only two of the Armageddon beasts you’ve mentioned are.”
“The other one being?” Colonel Taylor was paying close attention.
“This fella.” Norman brought up a rather nightmarish image. “The Scarlet Beast. Similar in power and ability to the leopard and lamb, it should have multiple faces and horns, like the leopard. However,” on top of the creature in the picture appeared a small figure. “The Scarlet Beast has a keeper, guardian, assistant something along those lines. The texts call her the Whore of Babylon.” The picture zoomed in on her.
“Dressed in a purple robe, she rides the head of the scarlet beast and carries a golden goblet full of ‘abominations of obscenity’. The allegorical explanation of the Whore was that she represented an Empire far advanced in decadence. The prime candidate was usually Rome but some suggested Jerusalem. Modern apocalyptic cults claimed the Whore was Hollywood. San Francisco got a look-in as well.
“Now, we see no reason why we shouldn’t take the texts literally. The Scarlet Beast has a rider. The Whore and the beast together are supposed to bring the kingdoms of men down, so she’s probably a very powerful angel and can bring all sorts of surprises. The Golden Goblet, if it exists, probably contains some more plague material similar to what has already been thrown at us.
“And for surprises, look no further than the Red Dragon. Not to be confused with the scarlet beast.” He cleared his throat. “Now, the fact that this last is named a dragon and not simply a ‘beast’ is very significant, and very distressing.” A list of biblical passages scrolled on the screen. “Dragons are mentioned over twenty times in the old testament, and the most relevant occasion is in Isaiah 27:
"Isaiah 27:1. –In that day the lord will take his terrible, swift sword and punish Leviathan, the piercing serpent, the coiling, unending serpent. He will kill the dragon of the sea. "
Norman paused while that sank in. “Now, I’m sure everyone remembers Leviathan, and what kind of a creature he was. In the Old Testament, whenever someone REALLY wanted to wish ill on a place, they’d call for it to become a den or dwelling place of dragons. The power of the red dragon will be a lot more than these others. In fact, according to texts the other three Armageddon beasts may draw strength or energy from the red dragon, which might explain why the seemingly impossible physiology of the leopard-beast still worked. I want to caution everyone that just because we killed the first attacking beast doesn’t mean we can kill others. The leopard beast was pretty-much the easiest, they will get worse from here.”
For a moment, there was silence in the room and it felt a bit colder than air conditioning alone could manage. Everyone had seen the footage of the large, cancer-like monster’s remains strewn across the northern plains of Hell, and they were imagining it creeping across their homes. “Thank you, Baines.” Colonel Taylor shifted in his seat uncomfortably as he eyed the image on the screen. “Now, ladies and gentleman, apparently we have to figure out the best way to slay a dragon.”
“We’ve got more problems than that.” FBI Director Robert Mueller was quietly astonished that nobody had picked up on what, to him, was glaringly obvious. “Has it occurred to anybody that this Leopard Beast picked one of the main field research bases of DIMO(N) and made a bee-line right for the most sensitive area?”
There was a slow nodding of heads around the room. A few people had noted it but they hadn’t wanted to think about the obvious implications. “We thought it might be coincidence.”
Mueller looked at the speaker with withering contempt. “There’s no such thing as coincidence. Not at this level. That thing, or whoever sent it, knew exactly where it was going and why. You, ladies and gentlemen, have a leak. Possibly here in Washington, more likely in Fort Bragg.”
443rd Infantry Battalion, Myanmar Army, Chong Sadao, Thailand
Battalion Commander Ye Thwat was a puzzled and bewildered man. For the first two days of the war, he’d faced nothing but local militia, Thai Rangers who had fought bravely but who were woefully ill-equipped and under-armed for the task they had in hand. That had changed in the last twelve hours, now he was up against regular troops at last and they were making their presence felt. It wasn’t just the heavy weapons they had, although their rifles left wounds that were gruesome to behold. It was that they had their own style of fighting, a doctrine that was bewildering. For the last twelve hours, Ye Thwat had the feeling he was trying to dig a pit in dry sand. As fast as he shoveled, the sand flowed around his spade and filled in the hole he had just made.
That was what was so hard to understand. His battalion was being nibbled to death in a series of small encounter battles that, individually, were of no significance. There would be an exchange of fire, his unit would deploy to make an assault but by the time he had launched the attack, the target had faded away and his assault would hit air. Worse, they would suddenly be raked by gunfire from a flank or even their rear and by the time they reacted, once again the enemy had faded away.
That wasn’t the worst of it. The Thai artillery had arrived and the 155mm guns were already firing in support of the small units that appeared to be all over him. That also was strange, the guns never seemed to fire in mass or concentrate fire on a critical target. Instead, one of the little encounter battles would open with a pair of guns firing a few rounds on to his positions. No warning, no preparation, just a small handful of artillery rounds arriving on target. In the first few seconds, while his men were caught in the open, they would take casualties but by the time they had got to cover, the artillery fire would have stopped and another unit would be getting the punishment.
The overall effect was that his unit was being ground down and he had absolutely nothing to show for it. He couldn’t point to a single action and say ‘this is it, this is where they are’. Instead, he was being nibbled to death by mice. Well, when infested with mice, one laid traps.
“Get the mortar platoon loaded up. We’ll make a push down A68, towards Tha Sao.” That was an important road junction where the dirt-track A68 turned into an all-weather blacktop road. “When the Labyut move to block us, we’ll pin them down with mortar fire. Then we’ll have them.”
“Very good Sir.” The radio operator got on the network to pass the orders through to the mortar battery. “Sir, battery commander says he’ll register fire on the area you want, but he needs more ammunition. He’s only got the remnants from the unit of fire that he had yesterday, no supplies have come through.”
“Why not?”
“Sir, the supply officer is on another channel.”
“Put him on.” There was a pause and then Ye Thwat barked down the phone. “Why aren’t the supplies getting through?”
“It’s the Labyut Sir. They have infiltrated behind us, they ambushed some of the porters. Wiped out the ones they hit, the rest have dumped their loads and run away. Or, worse, they’ve joined up with the Labyut and handed the supplies they were carrying over.”
Ye Thwat swore picturesquely. That was the trouble with dealing with the Labyut as the Myanmar Army referred to the Thai regulars. They started by bribing people to change sides and things usually got worse from there. The problem was that the Myanmar Army depended on impressed porters to manpack its supplies forward and their efforts to force Thai villagers into that role had been monumentally unsuccessful. Most of the villagers had slipped away and the few that had remained had vanished with their loads soon after. Ye Thwat guessed with grim despair that the stolen supplies would end up in a Thai marketplace within a week. Probably marked as a ‘special offer’.
That was when he heard an eerie howl overhead. Hones by years of fighting the Shan States Army, his ears told him “inbound” and he realized he had been on the radio much too long. That was something he’d never had to worry about fighting the SSA, their radio interception capability was barely measurable. He had only just enough time to wonder how the Thais had done it when the shells crashed down on the area occupied by his headquarters.
What saved him was the long range. The Thai GHN-45s were operating at the limit of even their long range and their dispersion was enough to give the headquarters staff a fighting chance of survival. Five kilometers closer in and they would have been wiped out by the 155mm shells but in that fine margin lay the difference between a headquarters unit crippled and one wiped out. A dozen shells landed, then the Thai gunners shifted to a new target as their Atila fire control systems shifted priorities to the next target set reported by the platoon-sized battlegroups. Looking at the ruin of his headquarters, Ye Twat decided that the war was not going well.
Headquarters, Third Army, Kanchanaburi, Thailand.
“Get me through to General Petraeus, right now.” General Asanee snapped the order out to her communications officer.
“Yes Ma’am. On the way.”
She picked up the telephone and thumbed the button for Line One. “American Express? Good, Commander Third Army here. Our officers are using their cards to buy diesel fuel at commercial gas stations. I’d like you to make sure that all such charges are honored. The Army will, of course, guarantee payment. . . . . Yes, that is most co-operative of you. Thank you. If there are any problems, inform me immediately.”
She put the phone down, waited a second and smiled as it rang almost immediately. Things were beginning to shake down into a reasonably efficient headquarters. “General Petraeus? Good to speak with you Sir.”
“And you General. What’s the situation out there?”
“We’ve blocked the southern Myanmarese advance, we’ve got them chasing their own tails. They’re also being free with their radios, that’s a bad habit to get into. We’re picking them up with ELINT aircraft and taking their headquarters down. Most of the locals are helping out, we’re getting a flood of cellphone messages in with information.”
“Be careful General. The Myanmarese could be feeding false info in.”
“Yes Sir, understood. Now, the next portal set, the one for Second Cavalry. I’d like to change plans. The information we have is that Three Pagodas Pass is clear. I want to move a sensitive in up there and deliver Second Cavalry right to the Pass. From there, it’s a straight run on good roads to Moulmein and, eventually, Yangon. That way we’ll bypass the whole of the Myanmar invasion force and trap it south of the Lake. The ground’s too rough to stop them getting out, but they won’t leave as organized units or ones capable of putting up a fight.”
“Just what sort of strength are you talking about here?”
“Myanmarese, so far we’ve got a force estimate of around thirty thousand. We’ve got good intel flowing in now, our patrols are in contact and holding that contact. Second Cavalry, two light armor regiments, one mechanized regiment. Around fifteen thousand sabers.”
At the other end of the line, Petraeus visualized the situation. He could see what Asanee had in mind, an end run that would cut the Myanmar forces off from their base. This would fit very well with his own plans for a counter-offensive if the brewing situation on the Korean Peninsula went hot. In effect, she was offering him a chance to test out the new doctrine in Myanmar before using it in Korea. The concept of moving troops by opening portals to and from Hell offered strategic options that were only now becoming apparent. “How will you supply the units?”
“Sir, every Thai village has a gas station and all of them have large supplies of diesel. Our unit commanders just buy the stuff whenever they need it. Your people never could adapt to that in Cobra Gold, that’s why your vehicles ran out of gas and ours didn’t. There’s enough fuel up at Three Pagodas to keep the division running for four days. By then, we can either open up a land route or portal fuel in from Hell. Ammunition likewise. Food’s no problem, all our troops can live off the jungle.”
“Or have pizza delivered. Yes, General, I’ve heard all about what your troops get up to during Cobra Gold. This isn’t an exercise.”
“No Sir. But, the lessons about living off the country still apply. Sir, take my word on this, we’re good at it. And we’re in amongst our own people, it’s a point of honor for them to help out. Sir, this way we can pull the sort of flanker that hasn’t been done since Inchon.”
“You admire MacArthur?” Petraeus was genuinely interested and it was a good means of stalling while he weighed up the situation..
“Not so much. Ridgeway, yes , very much so. Patton also. So, are our plans approved?”
Petraeus tapped his pad with a pencil, the sound clearly coming through over the phone link. “Yes. General, your orders are to move Second Cavalry to Three Pagodas Pass and then maneuver to seize the supply line of the Myanmar forces.”
General Asanee nodded, then remembered that she wasn’t on the ubiquitous video links that controlled the Human Expeditionary Army. “Very good sir. And thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet General. We’re doing something that has never been done before, maneuvering units like this. If this comes off, everything we learned about strategy will be outdated.”
The Salvation War: Pantheocide - 22
Camp Martinsyde, Phelan Plain, Hell
Times had certainly changed. The couch even had cupholders built into its arms and controls built into the rests allowed the occupants to tailor it to their own satisfaction. It even had a massage system built into the seat padding. Quite a change from the first couch she had used, one that had been hastily kludged together and surrounded by extemporized equipment. Looking fondly at her new work station, kitten settled herself down and started putting on her headset. Beside her, the operators started to warm up the equipment.
"You know the drill, kitten? We have to open a portal large enough to allow the transit of a V-150 armored car and a YWH-531 personnel carrier but no larger. We want to be able to shut this one down after we've finished with it."
The fact that kitten knew what a V-150 and a YWH-531looked like was another change. There had been a time when she'd known none of this. Now, she savored her new knowledge. "How large is the unit going through?"
"A full regiment with a battalion of artillery attached. The first of three groups, the other two will be moving later as the occupation takes hold. We've only got one sensitive to lock in on down there so there'll be a gap while he relocates. Ready to get started, kitten?"
"Any time you're ready." kitten relaxed and tried to make her mind go blank. In the background, she could feel the electronics warming up and emitting the carrier wave signal, the dummy load as the operators called it. When given the word, she would start searching for the sensitive in the region designated. As soon as she found him, the equipment would measure and digitize the characteristics of the signal she was sending and receiving, then duplicate it. Once that was done, it would transmit that signal, with enormously boosted power so that a portal would open up. No human, not even a Nephilim, could produce the power necessary to open a portal but the computerized equipment could. All she would have to do was to hold the contact so that the situation remained stable. Even that was becoming unnecessary now, the most advanced systems could maintain a portal without the services of a sensitive. Provided it was driven through from Hellside of course. Driving one through from Earthside was different.
That was something kitten remembered, the tearing pain that had gone with punching portals through from Earthside. It had felt as if somebody had had a giant rake inside her head and had been scrambling her brains with it. The weeks when she had been the only sensitive capable of opening and maintaining an Earthside portal had been terrible and it had only been the thought of the people the other side depending on her that had kept her going. To show for it, she had a small cabinet in the apartment she and Dani shared. One that had an international collection of medals in it, topped by a simple strip of pale blue silk with five stars. Dani had told her that getting The Medal implied she was in the armed services, but she didn't know if that was true or not. Anyway, those days were gone. Punching a portal through from hillside was almost a pleasant experience, like standing in a fast-flowing stream of water. An Earthside punch was still uncomfortable, reminiscent of standing to close to a fire, but it was no longer agonizing.
"As soon as we get the word that the sensitive and equipment is in place, we'll be moving. Can we get you and Dani anything?"
"Some ginseng tea would be nice." As usual, Dani spoke for her.
"Coming right up. The Chinese sent some over for you, absolutely the best. Apparently it's the same one that the Politbureau drinks."
Sangkhlaburi, Nong-Lu province, Thai-Myanmar Border
For the last five days, Sangkhlaburi had had the communal feeling that it was sitting on top of a smoking volcano, waiting for the inevitable explosion. When the Burmese troops had crossed the border and headed for Kanchanaburi, all the wise heads in the village had nodded and assumed that Sangkhlaburi would be next, opening up a second front, one that led to Ayuthya and then to Bangkok. Some of the more nervous citizens had started to leave, heading north or east, away from the invading Burmese. Others had started to take whatever arms they could find and had dug crude fortifications around the town. As it became obvious that Third Army wasn't moving to intercept the invaders, heads had begun to nod knowingly. This had happened before when the Burmese invaded. Everybody knew the story of Ban Rachan, the village that had held out against the invaders even though they had been deserted by the Army and the Government. Ban Rachan had held for months, buying time for the defense, even though it had done little good in the end.
Then the situation had changed. Matichon, the national tabloid newspaper, had run a cartoon of a dragon bursting into Third Army Headquarters, breathing fire and sending the indolent occupants of the headquarters running for their lives. Third Army had suddenly started moving, sending two of its regiments to stop the Burmese advance, then a newly-arrived cavalry division to help drive it back. Sitting up here in the north, Sangkhlaburi had watched the battle unfold. The wise heads in the town had said that this would bring no good, with the invasion stopped at one point, the Myanmar Army would try somewhere else. And where else than Three Pagodas Pass, the opening in the hills that was the traditional invasion route?
But, the invasion hadn't happened. Which only meant that it hadn't happened yet. The townspeople had kept building their improvised defenses and searched the town for more ammunition for their shotguns and rifles. And they had waited. Today, it seemed like the time they had expected and dreaded was coming for they could hear the traditional whup-whup-whup noise of a helicopter's rotors.
The four AH-1 Cobras burst over Sangkhlaburi, swerving around the end of the ridgeline they had used to mask their approach and flying over the center of the town, as if daring any enemies to open fire. At first the people below stayed silent but that only lasted until they saw the red-white-blue markings on the fuselage of the helicopters. They were Thai, and they meant the Army had arrived. The gunships prowled over the town, swinging their noses backwards and forwards as they hunted for their prey. Two started up the road that led over the Three Pagoda Pass where they were finally challenged by bursts of automatic rifle fire from the Myanmarese border post. One helicopter went to hover, its nose seeking backwards and forwards for a second, before its stub-wings erupted into flame as the Cobra discharged a salvo of unguided rockets. The gunfire from the ground stopped abruptly as the border post was obliterated (due to the inaccuracy of unguided rockets, the helicopter took the Thai border post out as well, but fortunately the two Border Police officers there guessed was about to happen and had abandoned their post in a great hurry when their Myanmar counterparts opened fire).
With Sangkhlaburi apparently cold, the next wave of helicopters, UH-60 Blackhawks were already landing in the town streets, disgorging the better part of an infantry battalion. The troops were actually part of Third Army's rapid reaction force and had been flown up direct from Kanchanaburi. As they spread out and secured the town, a third group of helicopters landed just north of the built-up area. One of them was a big Russian Mi-17I and it started unloading the equipment and personnel necessary to open a portal to Hell.
This was the third time the team had gone through this performance in the field and by now their routine was smoother and slicker. The equipment was laid out, the portable diesel generators on their skids positioned and the portal-generators assembled. Within 45 minutes, less than half the time taken during their first effort at Kanchanaburi three days earlier, the black ellipse opened up and a long column of military vehicles started to move through. The mechanized infantry was first through the portal, the platoons emerging, assembling and then setting off to take up pre-determined positions in defense of the town and the pass above it. They were followed by the armored cars of the light armor battalions that started to assemble west of the town for their lunge along the main road that would, eventually, take them to Moulmein. Finally, the artillery battalion, towed 105mm howitzers, emerged and started to position themselves to support the rest of the regiment.
"Well done!" Colonel Thanas reached down to shake the hand of the young man relaxing on the couch.
"No problem Sir, its easy when the punch comes through from the other side. Have you got all your vehicles through?"
"Not quite. Supply trucks and rear echelon still to come through. As soon as they're through, we'll need to move to the next location to open a gate for the next regiment. Then, its off to the top of the pass for the third."
DIMO(N) Briefing Room, Pentagon, Arlington V.A.
"You're drunk."
Dr Surlethe's comment was half serious, half joking. Nevertheless, Dr. Kuroneko looked blearily up at him before taking another gulp out of a tumbler full of whisky. "So would you be if you'd been thinking what I've been thinking."
"And what part of trans-dimensional mathematics with special relevance to Netherworlds had brought on this display of inebriation." On reflection, Surlethe decided that inebriation was not a bad idea. It seemed as if it had been a long time since he'd been able to relax. More than 18 months in fact, ever since The Message had arrived and the Salvation War had started. He went over to the bar and got himself a drink, noticing with distaste that Red Label was the only Johnnie Walker it had in stock. By the time he'd got back, the level in Kuroneko's glass had dropped notably.
"The bit that says we're all doomed."
"You think we're going to lose this war? Surlethe was slightly shocked.
"No, course not. We'll find a way into Heaven soon enough, and when we do we'll blow the place apart. They've had it up there and we've had it down here, just going to take a bit more time for us that's all."
"How much more?"
"A few billion years give or take a decade or so." Kuroneko made a visible effort to pull himself together. "You know we live in an expanding universe right? Well, one of the theories of cosmology is that our universe will keep on expanding until it's in a state of heart death, when all the stars and planets are dead and there's just an even distribution of energy everywhere."
"So I've heard. Do you believe that?"
"Probably not. But doesn’t matter. When we're in that state, then the universe starts contracting again and it keeps on contracting until it forms a singoor. . . . strinlari . . . . a point. Then it all blows up in another big bang. But now we've found the Hell dimensions and guess what, its contracting. And our early figures suggest that the whole Hell domemshun is contracting at the same rate as ours is expanding. Don't you see?"
Surlethe leaned back in his seat and shook his head.
"It's obvious. If all this is true, then our dimension and the hell dimension are opposed pairs. We expand until we reach heat-death and then start to collapse. At that exact moment, the hell dimension finishes its contraction and has the big bang, starting its expansion. That's when we're like Hell, all living in bubbleworlds, they're like us, living on planets. And so it goes on forever and ever. Just going backwards and forwards, pointless, planless, without purpose. And if that thought doesn’t make you want to get drunk, I don’t know what will."
"Why? We'll all be dead by . . . . Oh, I see what you mean. We have no idea how long creatures in the hell dimension live do we? We could be alive up there, for an eternity. We're not doomed at all though. Now we know we can make portals, we could skip from one to the other and become eternal. Just like the gods we once believed in."
"Excuse me, might I join in?" Norman Baines was standing behind them.
"Sure, pull up a pew. We're just screwing the inscrutable." Surlethe finished off his glass and got a replacement.
"So I heard. You've seen this of course." Baines produced a black-and-white disk from his pocket, the circle divided by an S-shaped line that saw one half starting off at nothing and swelling out while the other collapsed the opposite way. One half was black, the other white and at the fullest point of each half was a small circle of the opposite color.
"Sure, its the Ying-Yang symbol. Hippies loved it." And that comment ages me he thought.
"Well, I was listening to Dr. Kuroneko and what he was saying made me think of this. Look, if we hold it so the dividing line is vertical, then turn it through 180 degrees, it shows exactly what he's been saying. One half forming and growing, then collapsing while the other does the same but in reverse phase. And the dots are the portals joining the two." He put the disk on the table and started turn it backwards and forwards.
"He's right you know. It does illustrate what you've been saying."
Kuroneko finished his drink. "Makes you wonder of the old Chinese philosophers had this whole thing worked out, doesn’t it."
"Taoist, but here's a funny thing. The same symbol, its called a Tajitsu by the way, crops up a lot of places. For example, one of the Roman Legions used the same symbol and it predates the Taoist version by a couple of centuries or more. It's believed some of Alexander's units used it as well. So did the Thebans. And there's stories that it turned up in ancient Egypt. Suppose the Tajitsu isn’t just a mystical symbol but is a descendent of something that was handed down from ancient civilizations to tell us what the universe is really like?"
Surlethe thought about that for a long, long time. Finally he looked at Baines. "I really wish you hadn’t said that. Now I want to get drunk."
Council Chamber, Yamantau, Russia
"There is a major problem coming up, one that I believe this Council must address."
The speaker looked around at the fifteen council members. Not all were physically present, but those that weren't were on great viewscreens that lined the walls. Whether present as flesh-and-blood or electronic imagery, they all nodded. "Proceed."
Doctor Samuel drew breath to deliver the bad news. "We have an impending energy crunch. The fact is that with what amounts to every army in the world fully mobilized and conducting military operations, they're burning a mass of diesel fuel. It doesn’t matter whether its peace-keeping operations in Hell or the fighting going on in Thailand or the war that's about to start in Korea, they all cost fuel. It doesn’t end there. Every factory on Earth is running flat out on triple-shifts, those that can are producing munitions ad those that can't are making up for the facilities that have been converted to war production.
"We can't change that. We're still replacing the munitions we expended in the Curb Stomp War."
"I know, but it takes energy and that means fuel. We're shifting to nuclear power as fast as we can, but rebuilding the infrastructure takes time and building the plans takes more energy. We're behind the curve and that situation is becoming terminal. Put simply, we've been pumping and refining oil so fast, we're damaging the fields and the refineries are in desperate need of repair and renovation. That could get worse, we're entering hurricane season and that means the weather attacks could start again. Refinery capacity was critical before the war started, now its far beyond that. We need more refineries and more oil resources. The former we can build if we're given the go-ahead, but actually finding more oil reserves. Well, to give you an idea, the current levels of unexploited oil reserves are higher than at any time in recorded history, the figures are in Platt's Oilgram, but they’re still not enough."
"There may be a solution to this." The spotlights switched to another figure standing in front of the great horseshoe of desks. "I'm Coogler, one of the geologists working in Hell. Do you all recognize this?"
He held up a bottle containing a black solid. The Council looked at it, shaking their heads.
"Well, you've all heard of the Lava River in Hell. The one we're pulling our dead out of. Well, that was always a bit odd because if it was real lava, there wouldn’t be any bodies. They'd be flash-vaporized. So, we had a closer look at that river and it turns out, it wasn't lava at all. It's a mix of what amounts to a very heavy crude oil with extremely light fractions. It’s really strange from a geological point of view, in some ways, it’s a bit like shale oil but don’t push that comparison too far. Human crude is a mixture of fractions as well, some heavy, some light, some in between. Hell crude has nothing in between, its all either very light or very heavy. When it comes out of the ground, the light factions vaporize and burn, giving the appearance of a river of fire.
"So, the injuries our dead received are a mix of the burns from the hot, plasticized crude, that runs at around sixty to seventy degrees Celsius by the way, and the burning gases above it. Now, if we can trap and channel that stream at source, we can recover the light fractions for use as natural gas while we can build refineries in Hell to crack the super-heavy fraction and give us everything else we need. Or we can build the refineries here on Earth. But, given the volume coming out in the Lava River, there must be a lot of this stuff in Hell, the whole place is probably oil-rich."
Putin nodded and there was a whispered exchange between the members of the council, those present on the screens giving their contribution by means of earpieces worn by the members. Eventually, Putin banged his gavel on the table. "Engineer Coogler, get together with Doctor Samuel and thrash out a scheme to exploit these new resources. Take whatever technical staff you need. Now, to the next item on today's agenda. What progress has been made in hunting down and killing Yahweh?"
Times had certainly changed. The couch even had cupholders built into its arms and controls built into the rests allowed the occupants to tailor it to their own satisfaction. It even had a massage system built into the seat padding. Quite a change from the first couch she had used, one that had been hastily kludged together and surrounded by extemporized equipment. Looking fondly at her new work station, kitten settled herself down and started putting on her headset. Beside her, the operators started to warm up the equipment.
"You know the drill, kitten? We have to open a portal large enough to allow the transit of a V-150 armored car and a YWH-531 personnel carrier but no larger. We want to be able to shut this one down after we've finished with it."
The fact that kitten knew what a V-150 and a YWH-531looked like was another change. There had been a time when she'd known none of this. Now, she savored her new knowledge. "How large is the unit going through?"
"A full regiment with a battalion of artillery attached. The first of three groups, the other two will be moving later as the occupation takes hold. We've only got one sensitive to lock in on down there so there'll be a gap while he relocates. Ready to get started, kitten?"
"Any time you're ready." kitten relaxed and tried to make her mind go blank. In the background, she could feel the electronics warming up and emitting the carrier wave signal, the dummy load as the operators called it. When given the word, she would start searching for the sensitive in the region designated. As soon as she found him, the equipment would measure and digitize the characteristics of the signal she was sending and receiving, then duplicate it. Once that was done, it would transmit that signal, with enormously boosted power so that a portal would open up. No human, not even a Nephilim, could produce the power necessary to open a portal but the computerized equipment could. All she would have to do was to hold the contact so that the situation remained stable. Even that was becoming unnecessary now, the most advanced systems could maintain a portal without the services of a sensitive. Provided it was driven through from Hellside of course. Driving one through from Earthside was different.
That was something kitten remembered, the tearing pain that had gone with punching portals through from Earthside. It had felt as if somebody had had a giant rake inside her head and had been scrambling her brains with it. The weeks when she had been the only sensitive capable of opening and maintaining an Earthside portal had been terrible and it had only been the thought of the people the other side depending on her that had kept her going. To show for it, she had a small cabinet in the apartment she and Dani shared. One that had an international collection of medals in it, topped by a simple strip of pale blue silk with five stars. Dani had told her that getting The Medal implied she was in the armed services, but she didn't know if that was true or not. Anyway, those days were gone. Punching a portal through from hillside was almost a pleasant experience, like standing in a fast-flowing stream of water. An Earthside punch was still uncomfortable, reminiscent of standing to close to a fire, but it was no longer agonizing.
"As soon as we get the word that the sensitive and equipment is in place, we'll be moving. Can we get you and Dani anything?"
"Some ginseng tea would be nice." As usual, Dani spoke for her.
"Coming right up. The Chinese sent some over for you, absolutely the best. Apparently it's the same one that the Politbureau drinks."
Sangkhlaburi, Nong-Lu province, Thai-Myanmar Border
For the last five days, Sangkhlaburi had had the communal feeling that it was sitting on top of a smoking volcano, waiting for the inevitable explosion. When the Burmese troops had crossed the border and headed for Kanchanaburi, all the wise heads in the village had nodded and assumed that Sangkhlaburi would be next, opening up a second front, one that led to Ayuthya and then to Bangkok. Some of the more nervous citizens had started to leave, heading north or east, away from the invading Burmese. Others had started to take whatever arms they could find and had dug crude fortifications around the town. As it became obvious that Third Army wasn't moving to intercept the invaders, heads had begun to nod knowingly. This had happened before when the Burmese invaded. Everybody knew the story of Ban Rachan, the village that had held out against the invaders even though they had been deserted by the Army and the Government. Ban Rachan had held for months, buying time for the defense, even though it had done little good in the end.
Then the situation had changed. Matichon, the national tabloid newspaper, had run a cartoon of a dragon bursting into Third Army Headquarters, breathing fire and sending the indolent occupants of the headquarters running for their lives. Third Army had suddenly started moving, sending two of its regiments to stop the Burmese advance, then a newly-arrived cavalry division to help drive it back. Sitting up here in the north, Sangkhlaburi had watched the battle unfold. The wise heads in the town had said that this would bring no good, with the invasion stopped at one point, the Myanmar Army would try somewhere else. And where else than Three Pagodas Pass, the opening in the hills that was the traditional invasion route?
But, the invasion hadn't happened. Which only meant that it hadn't happened yet. The townspeople had kept building their improvised defenses and searched the town for more ammunition for their shotguns and rifles. And they had waited. Today, it seemed like the time they had expected and dreaded was coming for they could hear the traditional whup-whup-whup noise of a helicopter's rotors.
The four AH-1 Cobras burst over Sangkhlaburi, swerving around the end of the ridgeline they had used to mask their approach and flying over the center of the town, as if daring any enemies to open fire. At first the people below stayed silent but that only lasted until they saw the red-white-blue markings on the fuselage of the helicopters. They were Thai, and they meant the Army had arrived. The gunships prowled over the town, swinging their noses backwards and forwards as they hunted for their prey. Two started up the road that led over the Three Pagoda Pass where they were finally challenged by bursts of automatic rifle fire from the Myanmarese border post. One helicopter went to hover, its nose seeking backwards and forwards for a second, before its stub-wings erupted into flame as the Cobra discharged a salvo of unguided rockets. The gunfire from the ground stopped abruptly as the border post was obliterated (due to the inaccuracy of unguided rockets, the helicopter took the Thai border post out as well, but fortunately the two Border Police officers there guessed was about to happen and had abandoned their post in a great hurry when their Myanmar counterparts opened fire).
With Sangkhlaburi apparently cold, the next wave of helicopters, UH-60 Blackhawks were already landing in the town streets, disgorging the better part of an infantry battalion. The troops were actually part of Third Army's rapid reaction force and had been flown up direct from Kanchanaburi. As they spread out and secured the town, a third group of helicopters landed just north of the built-up area. One of them was a big Russian Mi-17I and it started unloading the equipment and personnel necessary to open a portal to Hell.
This was the third time the team had gone through this performance in the field and by now their routine was smoother and slicker. The equipment was laid out, the portable diesel generators on their skids positioned and the portal-generators assembled. Within 45 minutes, less than half the time taken during their first effort at Kanchanaburi three days earlier, the black ellipse opened up and a long column of military vehicles started to move through. The mechanized infantry was first through the portal, the platoons emerging, assembling and then setting off to take up pre-determined positions in defense of the town and the pass above it. They were followed by the armored cars of the light armor battalions that started to assemble west of the town for their lunge along the main road that would, eventually, take them to Moulmein. Finally, the artillery battalion, towed 105mm howitzers, emerged and started to position themselves to support the rest of the regiment.
"Well done!" Colonel Thanas reached down to shake the hand of the young man relaxing on the couch.
"No problem Sir, its easy when the punch comes through from the other side. Have you got all your vehicles through?"
"Not quite. Supply trucks and rear echelon still to come through. As soon as they're through, we'll need to move to the next location to open a gate for the next regiment. Then, its off to the top of the pass for the third."
DIMO(N) Briefing Room, Pentagon, Arlington V.A.
"You're drunk."
Dr Surlethe's comment was half serious, half joking. Nevertheless, Dr. Kuroneko looked blearily up at him before taking another gulp out of a tumbler full of whisky. "So would you be if you'd been thinking what I've been thinking."
"And what part of trans-dimensional mathematics with special relevance to Netherworlds had brought on this display of inebriation." On reflection, Surlethe decided that inebriation was not a bad idea. It seemed as if it had been a long time since he'd been able to relax. More than 18 months in fact, ever since The Message had arrived and the Salvation War had started. He went over to the bar and got himself a drink, noticing with distaste that Red Label was the only Johnnie Walker it had in stock. By the time he'd got back, the level in Kuroneko's glass had dropped notably.
"The bit that says we're all doomed."
"You think we're going to lose this war? Surlethe was slightly shocked.
"No, course not. We'll find a way into Heaven soon enough, and when we do we'll blow the place apart. They've had it up there and we've had it down here, just going to take a bit more time for us that's all."
"How much more?"
"A few billion years give or take a decade or so." Kuroneko made a visible effort to pull himself together. "You know we live in an expanding universe right? Well, one of the theories of cosmology is that our universe will keep on expanding until it's in a state of heart death, when all the stars and planets are dead and there's just an even distribution of energy everywhere."
"So I've heard. Do you believe that?"
"Probably not. But doesn’t matter. When we're in that state, then the universe starts contracting again and it keeps on contracting until it forms a singoor. . . . strinlari . . . . a point. Then it all blows up in another big bang. But now we've found the Hell dimensions and guess what, its contracting. And our early figures suggest that the whole Hell domemshun is contracting at the same rate as ours is expanding. Don't you see?"
Surlethe leaned back in his seat and shook his head.
"It's obvious. If all this is true, then our dimension and the hell dimension are opposed pairs. We expand until we reach heat-death and then start to collapse. At that exact moment, the hell dimension finishes its contraction and has the big bang, starting its expansion. That's when we're like Hell, all living in bubbleworlds, they're like us, living on planets. And so it goes on forever and ever. Just going backwards and forwards, pointless, planless, without purpose. And if that thought doesn’t make you want to get drunk, I don’t know what will."
"Why? We'll all be dead by . . . . Oh, I see what you mean. We have no idea how long creatures in the hell dimension live do we? We could be alive up there, for an eternity. We're not doomed at all though. Now we know we can make portals, we could skip from one to the other and become eternal. Just like the gods we once believed in."
"Excuse me, might I join in?" Norman Baines was standing behind them.
"Sure, pull up a pew. We're just screwing the inscrutable." Surlethe finished off his glass and got a replacement.
"So I heard. You've seen this of course." Baines produced a black-and-white disk from his pocket, the circle divided by an S-shaped line that saw one half starting off at nothing and swelling out while the other collapsed the opposite way. One half was black, the other white and at the fullest point of each half was a small circle of the opposite color.
"Sure, its the Ying-Yang symbol. Hippies loved it." And that comment ages me he thought.
"Well, I was listening to Dr. Kuroneko and what he was saying made me think of this. Look, if we hold it so the dividing line is vertical, then turn it through 180 degrees, it shows exactly what he's been saying. One half forming and growing, then collapsing while the other does the same but in reverse phase. And the dots are the portals joining the two." He put the disk on the table and started turn it backwards and forwards.
"He's right you know. It does illustrate what you've been saying."
Kuroneko finished his drink. "Makes you wonder of the old Chinese philosophers had this whole thing worked out, doesn’t it."
"Taoist, but here's a funny thing. The same symbol, its called a Tajitsu by the way, crops up a lot of places. For example, one of the Roman Legions used the same symbol and it predates the Taoist version by a couple of centuries or more. It's believed some of Alexander's units used it as well. So did the Thebans. And there's stories that it turned up in ancient Egypt. Suppose the Tajitsu isn’t just a mystical symbol but is a descendent of something that was handed down from ancient civilizations to tell us what the universe is really like?"
Surlethe thought about that for a long, long time. Finally he looked at Baines. "I really wish you hadn’t said that. Now I want to get drunk."
Council Chamber, Yamantau, Russia
"There is a major problem coming up, one that I believe this Council must address."
The speaker looked around at the fifteen council members. Not all were physically present, but those that weren't were on great viewscreens that lined the walls. Whether present as flesh-and-blood or electronic imagery, they all nodded. "Proceed."
Doctor Samuel drew breath to deliver the bad news. "We have an impending energy crunch. The fact is that with what amounts to every army in the world fully mobilized and conducting military operations, they're burning a mass of diesel fuel. It doesn’t matter whether its peace-keeping operations in Hell or the fighting going on in Thailand or the war that's about to start in Korea, they all cost fuel. It doesn’t end there. Every factory on Earth is running flat out on triple-shifts, those that can are producing munitions ad those that can't are making up for the facilities that have been converted to war production.
"We can't change that. We're still replacing the munitions we expended in the Curb Stomp War."
"I know, but it takes energy and that means fuel. We're shifting to nuclear power as fast as we can, but rebuilding the infrastructure takes time and building the plans takes more energy. We're behind the curve and that situation is becoming terminal. Put simply, we've been pumping and refining oil so fast, we're damaging the fields and the refineries are in desperate need of repair and renovation. That could get worse, we're entering hurricane season and that means the weather attacks could start again. Refinery capacity was critical before the war started, now its far beyond that. We need more refineries and more oil resources. The former we can build if we're given the go-ahead, but actually finding more oil reserves. Well, to give you an idea, the current levels of unexploited oil reserves are higher than at any time in recorded history, the figures are in Platt's Oilgram, but they’re still not enough."
"There may be a solution to this." The spotlights switched to another figure standing in front of the great horseshoe of desks. "I'm Coogler, one of the geologists working in Hell. Do you all recognize this?"
He held up a bottle containing a black solid. The Council looked at it, shaking their heads.
"Well, you've all heard of the Lava River in Hell. The one we're pulling our dead out of. Well, that was always a bit odd because if it was real lava, there wouldn’t be any bodies. They'd be flash-vaporized. So, we had a closer look at that river and it turns out, it wasn't lava at all. It's a mix of what amounts to a very heavy crude oil with extremely light fractions. It’s really strange from a geological point of view, in some ways, it’s a bit like shale oil but don’t push that comparison too far. Human crude is a mixture of fractions as well, some heavy, some light, some in between. Hell crude has nothing in between, its all either very light or very heavy. When it comes out of the ground, the light factions vaporize and burn, giving the appearance of a river of fire.
"So, the injuries our dead received are a mix of the burns from the hot, plasticized crude, that runs at around sixty to seventy degrees Celsius by the way, and the burning gases above it. Now, if we can trap and channel that stream at source, we can recover the light fractions for use as natural gas while we can build refineries in Hell to crack the super-heavy fraction and give us everything else we need. Or we can build the refineries here on Earth. But, given the volume coming out in the Lava River, there must be a lot of this stuff in Hell, the whole place is probably oil-rich."
Putin nodded and there was a whispered exchange between the members of the council, those present on the screens giving their contribution by means of earpieces worn by the members. Eventually, Putin banged his gavel on the table. "Engineer Coogler, get together with Doctor Samuel and thrash out a scheme to exploit these new resources. Take whatever technical staff you need. Now, to the next item on today's agenda. What progress has been made in hunting down and killing Yahweh?"
PsihoKekec
Swashbuckling Accountant
Oil rich hell? Small wonder Bush invaded it 😜
The Salvation War: Armageddon - 23
USS Normandy, CG-60, Off San Diego, California, Earth
"Anything on the plot?"
The Combat Direction Center, known as the CDC to the world in general and "the Pit" to the crew, resembled something inspired by a television movie. The four screens that dominated the compartment showed the coast of California up to a range that would sent the security weenies screaming into a catatonic trance if anybody unauthorized got wind of it. It wasn't just the ship's own sensors that were creating the massive coverage, Normandy was pulling in raw radar data from other ships up and down the coast and integrating it with her own. That sounded simple but it wasn't. It would need only minor differences in calibration for contacts that appeared on both sets of data to be duplicated and reduplicated until the whole system crashed. That had happened often enough while the Cooperative Engagement Capability system had been under development and it had taken years to fix it.
It wasn't just CEC that gave Normandy her enormous radar range. The cruiser was part of the AEGIS-ABM system. There was an incredible amount of alphabet soup attached to that particular modernization reflected Captain William Pelranius. The AEGIS system itself was Baseline 7.3cV(5) with the SPY-1D(V) radars baseline 5.3.8. What it all amounted to was that the radars on Normandy were an order of magnitude more powerful than those on non-ABM ships and the battle management technology was upgraded to match. That's why she was stationed off San Diego. After the attack on El Paso, all border and coastal towns were considered to be at risk and San Diego was both.
"We've got nothing Sir." The radar operator leaned back in her seat and flexed her shoulders. OSCSAW Annette Serafina had been staring at the display screens for more than an hour, watching the movement of aircraft up and down the California coast. The coverage wasn't as dense as it might have been two years or more ago. These days, with the war on, a lot of civilian aircraft had been drafted into military service and fuel shortages had curtailed much of regular airline activities. On the other hand, military flight were way up.
"Axehorn, this is CAP-Three-Three-One requesting speed and altitude check." Axehorn was Normandy's call sign.
"CAP-Three-Three-One, we have you at altitude level six-zero, ground speed one-five-zero knots" Serafina's voice was calm and neutral. The Civilian Air Patrol was doing its job, flying patrol missions and watching for anything unusual. With all the crazy nonsense that Yahweh had been throwing at the world for the last year, there was no telling what would come next.
"Axehorn, this is Eagle-One-Fiver, requesting speed and altitude check." The voice had a smug note to it.
"Eagle-One-Five, we have you at altitude level one-two-zero, ground speed five-six-five knots." She covered the microphone with her hand. "Navy airdale wanting to impress the Civil Air Patrol guy," Serafina explained. The captain nodded sympathetically.
"Axehorn, Eagle-One-Fiver, please give clearance for flight at altitude level three-fiver-zero."
Serafina glanced at the restrictions for the day and raised her eyebrows slightly. "Eagle-One-Fiver, that's a negative. Remain at altitude level one-two-zero."
"Come on honey, give me what I want." The fighter pilot's voice had a cooing overtone.
"No way Eagle-One-Fiver. Last time I gave an airdale what he wanted, I was on penicillin for three weeks. Remain at one-two-zero."
"Axehorn, Habu-Zero-One requesting speed and altitude check." There was a rich vein of amusement in the voice.
Serafina took one look at the track readings and saw why. In a slightly strangled voice she replied "Habu Zero-One, I have you at Altitude Level Nine-Nine-Five, Ground speed, Two-Eight-Seven-Zero knots."
"Thank you Axehorn, and please thank CAP-Three-Three-One for his assist."
"Two thousand, eight hundred and seventy knots, ninety-nine thousand, five hundred feet. What the blazes was that bird."
"What bird, Sir? With respect Sir, I don’t know what you are referring to. You might note that call, if it had existed which it didn't, came in on a special circuit, if that existed, which it doesn’t." Serafina took pity on her Captain, he'd only been on board for three days and had come in from the Atlantic Fleet. It was rumored he'd done a six-month rotation in Hell before getting command of Normandy. "Sir, there are a lot of strange things around here that come out of inland that it’s better not to remember or ask questions about."
"Senior Chief, we're getting a warning from the DIMO(N) warning net. Cell Phone towers are dropping signals north west of San Diego. Probable portal opening, if so, it’s a small one."
"Nothing on radar." Serafina was tempted to up the transmission power a little but Normandy was only fifty miles of San Diego. If a normal AEGIS cruiser went to full transmission power this close in, she'd blow every television and radio set in the city, what an AEGIS-BMD would do defied rational imagination. "More precise location?"
"Around the El Capitan Reservoir. In the mountains. The trace has gone now. DIMO(N) say, probably one entity only passed through."
"Uriel." The hiss went around the CDC.
Captain Pelranius didn’t hesitate. "Sound battle stations. Assume one very hostile angel inbound. Send out the warning to Army and Air Force units as well. We don’t want the son-of-a-bitch to get away this time."
West of El Capitan Reservoir, California.
Uriel popped out of the portal over the oddly-shaped lake that he'd selected as his entry point. In the past, he would have set off to the community he had selected for annihilation, confident in the knowledge of his unchallenged supremacy but those days were gone. His wing was still stiff from the injuries he'd suffered at El Paso and his skin itched with the memory of that battle. So, he stayed down amongst the mountains and made sure that his position was secure before he started his sacred mission of bringing final peace to the humans who lived below.
Safe in the darkness, his senses stretched out, he could feel the existence of life here, some of it animal and of no great importance but more was human. Once, this whole area had been uninhabitable desert but humans in their arrogance had challenged that divine judgment and brought water to the sand. Great cities had grown up on the coast, cities that could not exist without the constant exercise of human ingenuity and there obstinate refusal to accept that things that were should not be challenged. The thought of human challenge was enough to make his skin itch more
Then it occurred to him that his skin wasn't itching as a result of his memories of the battle over El Paso, it really was burning. Only very slightly but it was there and it told Uriel much. He’d noted that it always preceded an attack and that made him guess that the humans knew he was coming. That would make things much, much harder. He decided that discretion was the better part of valor and he would approach his target from behind the ridgelines that were a little to the north of his present position. The humans wouldn’t see him until he was on top of them and then it would be too late. His new plan would take him over the small town of Eucalyptus Hills. Uriel didn't know the name, and didn’t care about it but he decided that the community would make a useful practice target for his powers.
Home of Caroline Howarth, Eucalyptus Hills, California.
The sirens going off only added to Caroline Howarth's distress. She knew what they meant, everybody did. The continuous wailing noise meant that a Netherworld attack was imminent and a portal had opened nearby. During the Curb Stomp War, the threat had been Baldrick Berserkers who would materialize somewhere and destroy anything they found. Now, with Yahweh responsible for the attacks, the sirens leant Uriel was on his way. Howarth had heard of El Paso and the result of a Uriel attack. Thirty thousand dead the reports said.
"Rex? Rex? Here boy." The rottweiler came galloping into the room at his human's call. He sat in front of her when she made the right hand gesture and waited patiently while she strapped a silver cap over his head. Rex didn’t understand this, but it was something that made his human happy and that was enough for him. He also noted that she was wearing a silver cap as well and that was good because it made the big dog feel part of the pack.
Howarth looked around. She'd modified this room as a shelter when she'd heard about El Paso. She couldn't line all the walls of her house with aluminum foil but she'd taken the room furthest away from the outside walls and covered the walls and ceiling of that room with as much tinfoil as she could afford. She closed the door then took tinfoil and taped it over the doorframe. Her dog watched her carefully, he could sense there was danger even if he couldn’t define it. But, his human was doing something about it and that was good. If the worst came to the worst, Rex knew he could bite with a pressure of more than 350 pounds per square inch and if the danger wanted to get to his human, it would have to get past him first.
Her preparation work finished, Howarth walked back to the center of her room and sat down with her dog, wrapping her arm around his thick neck. She knew something that Rex didn't, at El Paso, only a tiny handful of pets had survived the attack. She just hoped that she'd done enough to save hers.
USS Normandy, CG-60, Off San Diego, California, Earth
"Closed up, ready for action Sir."
Captain Pelranius nodded in acknowledgement. "Any sign of him?"
"No, Sir. Last report is still El Capitan. He must be using the hills as cover. Upping transmission power won’t help, it'll just increase reflections of those hills. We could lob an SM-2 into the general area and see where it's terminal homing in on but it would be just as likely to hit a CAP bird or a fast-moving car. And if he's sitting on the ground, it'll just go ballistic and could end up anywhere."
Pelranius looked at the map, trying to visualize the terrain. Guessing what he was trying to do, Serafina put up a tactical air navigation chart on one of the giant screens. Pelranius nodded in appreciation. "I'm trying to imagine what he's thinking. We think he nearly got wasted by a quartet of PAC-3s over El Paso, let’s assume he knows or guesses the missiles have to have a direct line of sight to their target."
"With respect Sir, PAC-3s do, we don’t. Not with our 156s. We can hit things way over the radar horizon. And we've got test 174s in the aft VLS nest."
"I know that, but he won't. He's never fought an AEGIS cruiser. Get the 156s and 174s warmed up. We want to have the best of the best on the line."
"Roger that, Sir. The Army pukes let him get away, we don't want to do the same now do we?"
"We surely do not. Now, if I was him, and I wanted to wipe out Sunny Dee, I'd come in from the north. Use these ridges as cover and ride in behind them. Around University City and Serra Mesa?"
"Bit close to Miramar for my taste. The bastard knows what our fighters can do."
"True. So a little further south. How about Lakeside and Santee?"
"Works for me Sir."
"Very good Senior Chief." Pelranius turned around to the rest of the watch crew in the Pit.
"We're going to be attacked by Uriel. I expect him to emerge around the towns of Lakeside or Santee. Don’t neglect other areas but keep those two under tight watch. When we start shooting, we'll have to shoot fast and well so everybody on your toes. Let's get the piece of shit before he wipes any more of our people out."
Eucalyptus Hills, East of Santee, California
Uriel could hear the wailing down on the ground. At first he flattered his vanity by trying to persuade himself that the sound was humans crying in fear at his approach but the noise had a strange, dead quality to it. That told him the sound was one of the human’s machines, doubtless telling of his arrival. He was keeping down low, using the ground for cover but that couldn’t last for long. Soon, he would have to crest the ridge ahead of him and skim over the community the other side. Then, and only then, could he bring them peace.
For a brief second he paused, remembering the lash of the steel fragments that had followed him through the portal over El Paso before it slammed shut behind him. But then his duty was remembered and the need to use the awesome sense of power that he had been granted. He soared over the ridgeline, seeing the lights of the town below him around him, and he sensed the activity below starting to slow down and soften as if the world were pausing out of respect for his presence. Uriel smiled down at the little creatures below him and his hands moved in his eternal benison. “Peace be with you and my peace I grant you.”
Home of Caroline Howarth, Eucalyptus Hills, California.
It felt like a blow, one that drove the breath out of her body and tried to still her heart. Caroline Howarth screamed in protest, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t logical, she was a young woman, still in her mid-thirties. She lived a healthy lifestyle, she looked after herself, her condition was as good as any and better than most. There was no logical reason why she should die. She summoned every ounce of willpower she could find, drove her lungs to expand and contract, forced her heart to keep pumping. The burden on her was crushing, smothering, driving darkness into her soul yet she kept fighting it, willing herself not to die. This was Uriel, she knew the name from the attack on El Paso, knew that somehow he willed people to die and then stole their souls. Caroline Howarth raged against that fate, summoning reserves of strength that she never knew she had. Then, she glanced down and saw the brown eyes of Rex staring up at her, confused and pained, but grimly determined not to desert her. She drew strength from that, knew that she could not die because to do so would be to condemn the dog who had trusted her. And so she fought.
Beside her, Rex couldn’t understand it. Something was crushing him, squeezing the life out of his body, His lungs, his heart seemed paralyzed and blackness was spreading through him. He growled, knowing this was the danger he had sensed and it had come from outside. He sensed his human fighting to stay alive and knew that he had to stay with her to protect her when the enemy came to their house. That sense of purpose allowed him to push the darkness back, to force air into his lungs to keep his heart pounding. There was another reason as well, he was bigger and stronger than his human and it would be embarrassing to die when she had fought for her life and won. He looked up at her and saw his human return the look and try to smile encouragingly. He felt her squeeze his paw, and the contact gave him yet more strength. Between them, the woman and the Rottweiler gave each other strength as they fought their lonely battle against Uriel. And so, across the town of Eucalyptus Hills, did all the other residents, drawing strength from each other, from family and friends, or strangers who had sought shelter when the sirens sounded. They called on courage, on the knowledge that there was no need for them to die, on a sheer mule-headed determination not to let Uriel win. Whatever it was, they fought the strange influence that would stop their hearts and empty their lungs.
Eucalyptus Hills, East of Santee, California
Uriel concentrated all his power on the small group of people beneath him. He knew now his mistake, the error that had cost him so dearly. He had been so used to the merest touch of his power being fatal to the humans that he had never thought about the numbers he was handling. Humans had spent most of their existence in small communities, a few dozen or a few hundred at most, and those he had wiped out without a thought. But in the last two centuries, while he had spent his time in Africa, human cities elsewhere had exploded in size and now contained hundreds of thousands or even millions. They spread his power too thin and the new-found ability they had developed to resist his power prevented him from wiping them out.
But, this community beneath him was different. It was small, he guessed around eight thousand souls, and he was concentrating every last drop of his power he could find on them. They were resisting hard, there was the barrier there, the one that shielded them from him and when he penetrated that, he found there was another, special to each one of them. His power washed down in great waves, pounding on the barriers, battering their resistance down. Somehow he sensed this struggle was titanic, of epoch-making importance. It was a battle he had to win for if the humans could fight and resist him on these terms then his power was done. So, Uriel basked in the cold glow of entropy as he tried to force his peace on the people below.
USS Normandy, CG-60, Off San Diego, California, Earth
“GOT HIM! Over s small town called Eucalyptus Hills. Right where you said he’d be Sir.” The last bit was said loud enough to echo around the Pit. One of the functions of the Senior Chiefs was to make sure that their Captains had the undiluted respect of the enlisted men. When a new Captain was on board, it did no harm to spread news of their achievements. Serafina glanced around, saw the Pit crew nodding. Work done.
“Right, Senior Chief, let’s take him out. Get a target designation beam on him and ready the 156s for launch.”
“156s Sir?”
“RIM-156. We’ll keep the 174s for when we lose line-of-sight. You can bet we will.”
Senior Chief Operations Specialist – Air Warfare Annette Serafina leaned forward and her hands started to run over the SPY-1D controls. USS Normandy was about to enter the Battle of Eucalyptus Hills.
"Anything on the plot?"
The Combat Direction Center, known as the CDC to the world in general and "the Pit" to the crew, resembled something inspired by a television movie. The four screens that dominated the compartment showed the coast of California up to a range that would sent the security weenies screaming into a catatonic trance if anybody unauthorized got wind of it. It wasn't just the ship's own sensors that were creating the massive coverage, Normandy was pulling in raw radar data from other ships up and down the coast and integrating it with her own. That sounded simple but it wasn't. It would need only minor differences in calibration for contacts that appeared on both sets of data to be duplicated and reduplicated until the whole system crashed. That had happened often enough while the Cooperative Engagement Capability system had been under development and it had taken years to fix it.
It wasn't just CEC that gave Normandy her enormous radar range. The cruiser was part of the AEGIS-ABM system. There was an incredible amount of alphabet soup attached to that particular modernization reflected Captain William Pelranius. The AEGIS system itself was Baseline 7.3cV(5) with the SPY-1D(V) radars baseline 5.3.8. What it all amounted to was that the radars on Normandy were an order of magnitude more powerful than those on non-ABM ships and the battle management technology was upgraded to match. That's why she was stationed off San Diego. After the attack on El Paso, all border and coastal towns were considered to be at risk and San Diego was both.
"We've got nothing Sir." The radar operator leaned back in her seat and flexed her shoulders. OSCSAW Annette Serafina had been staring at the display screens for more than an hour, watching the movement of aircraft up and down the California coast. The coverage wasn't as dense as it might have been two years or more ago. These days, with the war on, a lot of civilian aircraft had been drafted into military service and fuel shortages had curtailed much of regular airline activities. On the other hand, military flight were way up.
"Axehorn, this is CAP-Three-Three-One requesting speed and altitude check." Axehorn was Normandy's call sign.
"CAP-Three-Three-One, we have you at altitude level six-zero, ground speed one-five-zero knots" Serafina's voice was calm and neutral. The Civilian Air Patrol was doing its job, flying patrol missions and watching for anything unusual. With all the crazy nonsense that Yahweh had been throwing at the world for the last year, there was no telling what would come next.
"Axehorn, this is Eagle-One-Fiver, requesting speed and altitude check." The voice had a smug note to it.
"Eagle-One-Five, we have you at altitude level one-two-zero, ground speed five-six-five knots." She covered the microphone with her hand. "Navy airdale wanting to impress the Civil Air Patrol guy," Serafina explained. The captain nodded sympathetically.
"Axehorn, Eagle-One-Fiver, please give clearance for flight at altitude level three-fiver-zero."
Serafina glanced at the restrictions for the day and raised her eyebrows slightly. "Eagle-One-Fiver, that's a negative. Remain at altitude level one-two-zero."
"Come on honey, give me what I want." The fighter pilot's voice had a cooing overtone.
"No way Eagle-One-Fiver. Last time I gave an airdale what he wanted, I was on penicillin for three weeks. Remain at one-two-zero."
"Axehorn, Habu-Zero-One requesting speed and altitude check." There was a rich vein of amusement in the voice.
Serafina took one look at the track readings and saw why. In a slightly strangled voice she replied "Habu Zero-One, I have you at Altitude Level Nine-Nine-Five, Ground speed, Two-Eight-Seven-Zero knots."
"Thank you Axehorn, and please thank CAP-Three-Three-One for his assist."
"Two thousand, eight hundred and seventy knots, ninety-nine thousand, five hundred feet. What the blazes was that bird."
"What bird, Sir? With respect Sir, I don’t know what you are referring to. You might note that call, if it had existed which it didn't, came in on a special circuit, if that existed, which it doesn’t." Serafina took pity on her Captain, he'd only been on board for three days and had come in from the Atlantic Fleet. It was rumored he'd done a six-month rotation in Hell before getting command of Normandy. "Sir, there are a lot of strange things around here that come out of inland that it’s better not to remember or ask questions about."
"Senior Chief, we're getting a warning from the DIMO(N) warning net. Cell Phone towers are dropping signals north west of San Diego. Probable portal opening, if so, it’s a small one."
"Nothing on radar." Serafina was tempted to up the transmission power a little but Normandy was only fifty miles of San Diego. If a normal AEGIS cruiser went to full transmission power this close in, she'd blow every television and radio set in the city, what an AEGIS-BMD would do defied rational imagination. "More precise location?"
"Around the El Capitan Reservoir. In the mountains. The trace has gone now. DIMO(N) say, probably one entity only passed through."
"Uriel." The hiss went around the CDC.
Captain Pelranius didn’t hesitate. "Sound battle stations. Assume one very hostile angel inbound. Send out the warning to Army and Air Force units as well. We don’t want the son-of-a-bitch to get away this time."
West of El Capitan Reservoir, California.
Uriel popped out of the portal over the oddly-shaped lake that he'd selected as his entry point. In the past, he would have set off to the community he had selected for annihilation, confident in the knowledge of his unchallenged supremacy but those days were gone. His wing was still stiff from the injuries he'd suffered at El Paso and his skin itched with the memory of that battle. So, he stayed down amongst the mountains and made sure that his position was secure before he started his sacred mission of bringing final peace to the humans who lived below.
Safe in the darkness, his senses stretched out, he could feel the existence of life here, some of it animal and of no great importance but more was human. Once, this whole area had been uninhabitable desert but humans in their arrogance had challenged that divine judgment and brought water to the sand. Great cities had grown up on the coast, cities that could not exist without the constant exercise of human ingenuity and there obstinate refusal to accept that things that were should not be challenged. The thought of human challenge was enough to make his skin itch more
Then it occurred to him that his skin wasn't itching as a result of his memories of the battle over El Paso, it really was burning. Only very slightly but it was there and it told Uriel much. He’d noted that it always preceded an attack and that made him guess that the humans knew he was coming. That would make things much, much harder. He decided that discretion was the better part of valor and he would approach his target from behind the ridgelines that were a little to the north of his present position. The humans wouldn’t see him until he was on top of them and then it would be too late. His new plan would take him over the small town of Eucalyptus Hills. Uriel didn't know the name, and didn’t care about it but he decided that the community would make a useful practice target for his powers.
Home of Caroline Howarth, Eucalyptus Hills, California.
The sirens going off only added to Caroline Howarth's distress. She knew what they meant, everybody did. The continuous wailing noise meant that a Netherworld attack was imminent and a portal had opened nearby. During the Curb Stomp War, the threat had been Baldrick Berserkers who would materialize somewhere and destroy anything they found. Now, with Yahweh responsible for the attacks, the sirens leant Uriel was on his way. Howarth had heard of El Paso and the result of a Uriel attack. Thirty thousand dead the reports said.
"Rex? Rex? Here boy." The rottweiler came galloping into the room at his human's call. He sat in front of her when she made the right hand gesture and waited patiently while she strapped a silver cap over his head. Rex didn’t understand this, but it was something that made his human happy and that was enough for him. He also noted that she was wearing a silver cap as well and that was good because it made the big dog feel part of the pack.
Howarth looked around. She'd modified this room as a shelter when she'd heard about El Paso. She couldn't line all the walls of her house with aluminum foil but she'd taken the room furthest away from the outside walls and covered the walls and ceiling of that room with as much tinfoil as she could afford. She closed the door then took tinfoil and taped it over the doorframe. Her dog watched her carefully, he could sense there was danger even if he couldn’t define it. But, his human was doing something about it and that was good. If the worst came to the worst, Rex knew he could bite with a pressure of more than 350 pounds per square inch and if the danger wanted to get to his human, it would have to get past him first.
Her preparation work finished, Howarth walked back to the center of her room and sat down with her dog, wrapping her arm around his thick neck. She knew something that Rex didn't, at El Paso, only a tiny handful of pets had survived the attack. She just hoped that she'd done enough to save hers.
USS Normandy, CG-60, Off San Diego, California, Earth
"Closed up, ready for action Sir."
Captain Pelranius nodded in acknowledgement. "Any sign of him?"
"No, Sir. Last report is still El Capitan. He must be using the hills as cover. Upping transmission power won’t help, it'll just increase reflections of those hills. We could lob an SM-2 into the general area and see where it's terminal homing in on but it would be just as likely to hit a CAP bird or a fast-moving car. And if he's sitting on the ground, it'll just go ballistic and could end up anywhere."
Pelranius looked at the map, trying to visualize the terrain. Guessing what he was trying to do, Serafina put up a tactical air navigation chart on one of the giant screens. Pelranius nodded in appreciation. "I'm trying to imagine what he's thinking. We think he nearly got wasted by a quartet of PAC-3s over El Paso, let’s assume he knows or guesses the missiles have to have a direct line of sight to their target."
"With respect Sir, PAC-3s do, we don’t. Not with our 156s. We can hit things way over the radar horizon. And we've got test 174s in the aft VLS nest."
"I know that, but he won't. He's never fought an AEGIS cruiser. Get the 156s and 174s warmed up. We want to have the best of the best on the line."
"Roger that, Sir. The Army pukes let him get away, we don't want to do the same now do we?"
"We surely do not. Now, if I was him, and I wanted to wipe out Sunny Dee, I'd come in from the north. Use these ridges as cover and ride in behind them. Around University City and Serra Mesa?"
"Bit close to Miramar for my taste. The bastard knows what our fighters can do."
"True. So a little further south. How about Lakeside and Santee?"
"Works for me Sir."
"Very good Senior Chief." Pelranius turned around to the rest of the watch crew in the Pit.
"We're going to be attacked by Uriel. I expect him to emerge around the towns of Lakeside or Santee. Don’t neglect other areas but keep those two under tight watch. When we start shooting, we'll have to shoot fast and well so everybody on your toes. Let's get the piece of shit before he wipes any more of our people out."
Eucalyptus Hills, East of Santee, California
Uriel could hear the wailing down on the ground. At first he flattered his vanity by trying to persuade himself that the sound was humans crying in fear at his approach but the noise had a strange, dead quality to it. That told him the sound was one of the human’s machines, doubtless telling of his arrival. He was keeping down low, using the ground for cover but that couldn’t last for long. Soon, he would have to crest the ridge ahead of him and skim over the community the other side. Then, and only then, could he bring them peace.
For a brief second he paused, remembering the lash of the steel fragments that had followed him through the portal over El Paso before it slammed shut behind him. But then his duty was remembered and the need to use the awesome sense of power that he had been granted. He soared over the ridgeline, seeing the lights of the town below him around him, and he sensed the activity below starting to slow down and soften as if the world were pausing out of respect for his presence. Uriel smiled down at the little creatures below him and his hands moved in his eternal benison. “Peace be with you and my peace I grant you.”
Home of Caroline Howarth, Eucalyptus Hills, California.
It felt like a blow, one that drove the breath out of her body and tried to still her heart. Caroline Howarth screamed in protest, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t logical, she was a young woman, still in her mid-thirties. She lived a healthy lifestyle, she looked after herself, her condition was as good as any and better than most. There was no logical reason why she should die. She summoned every ounce of willpower she could find, drove her lungs to expand and contract, forced her heart to keep pumping. The burden on her was crushing, smothering, driving darkness into her soul yet she kept fighting it, willing herself not to die. This was Uriel, she knew the name from the attack on El Paso, knew that somehow he willed people to die and then stole their souls. Caroline Howarth raged against that fate, summoning reserves of strength that she never knew she had. Then, she glanced down and saw the brown eyes of Rex staring up at her, confused and pained, but grimly determined not to desert her. She drew strength from that, knew that she could not die because to do so would be to condemn the dog who had trusted her. And so she fought.
Beside her, Rex couldn’t understand it. Something was crushing him, squeezing the life out of his body, His lungs, his heart seemed paralyzed and blackness was spreading through him. He growled, knowing this was the danger he had sensed and it had come from outside. He sensed his human fighting to stay alive and knew that he had to stay with her to protect her when the enemy came to their house. That sense of purpose allowed him to push the darkness back, to force air into his lungs to keep his heart pounding. There was another reason as well, he was bigger and stronger than his human and it would be embarrassing to die when she had fought for her life and won. He looked up at her and saw his human return the look and try to smile encouragingly. He felt her squeeze his paw, and the contact gave him yet more strength. Between them, the woman and the Rottweiler gave each other strength as they fought their lonely battle against Uriel. And so, across the town of Eucalyptus Hills, did all the other residents, drawing strength from each other, from family and friends, or strangers who had sought shelter when the sirens sounded. They called on courage, on the knowledge that there was no need for them to die, on a sheer mule-headed determination not to let Uriel win. Whatever it was, they fought the strange influence that would stop their hearts and empty their lungs.
Eucalyptus Hills, East of Santee, California
Uriel concentrated all his power on the small group of people beneath him. He knew now his mistake, the error that had cost him so dearly. He had been so used to the merest touch of his power being fatal to the humans that he had never thought about the numbers he was handling. Humans had spent most of their existence in small communities, a few dozen or a few hundred at most, and those he had wiped out without a thought. But in the last two centuries, while he had spent his time in Africa, human cities elsewhere had exploded in size and now contained hundreds of thousands or even millions. They spread his power too thin and the new-found ability they had developed to resist his power prevented him from wiping them out.
But, this community beneath him was different. It was small, he guessed around eight thousand souls, and he was concentrating every last drop of his power he could find on them. They were resisting hard, there was the barrier there, the one that shielded them from him and when he penetrated that, he found there was another, special to each one of them. His power washed down in great waves, pounding on the barriers, battering their resistance down. Somehow he sensed this struggle was titanic, of epoch-making importance. It was a battle he had to win for if the humans could fight and resist him on these terms then his power was done. So, Uriel basked in the cold glow of entropy as he tried to force his peace on the people below.
USS Normandy, CG-60, Off San Diego, California, Earth
“GOT HIM! Over s small town called Eucalyptus Hills. Right where you said he’d be Sir.” The last bit was said loud enough to echo around the Pit. One of the functions of the Senior Chiefs was to make sure that their Captains had the undiluted respect of the enlisted men. When a new Captain was on board, it did no harm to spread news of their achievements. Serafina glanced around, saw the Pit crew nodding. Work done.
“Right, Senior Chief, let’s take him out. Get a target designation beam on him and ready the 156s for launch.”
“156s Sir?”
“RIM-156. We’ll keep the 174s for when we lose line-of-sight. You can bet we will.”
Senior Chief Operations Specialist – Air Warfare Annette Serafina leaned forward and her hands started to run over the SPY-1D controls. USS Normandy was about to enter the Battle of Eucalyptus Hills.
The Salvation War: Pantheocide - 24
Eucalyptus Hills, East of Santee, California
Uriel was stunned by the realization that the humans beneath him were fighting back. His mind and body were aching with the effort of keeping the pressure on them, fulfilling his eternal mission of blotting out their lives and snatching way their souls. And yet they were fighting back, defying him by keeping on living. Beneath the shelter of their shields, they were defying the Sword and Scythe of The One Above All. Even worse, Uriel could sense animals in there with them and they were fighting back too, as if they were following the lead of the humans and defying the judgment of the Great Father Above All. It was beyond Uriel’s understanding, the humans had brought their animals in under cover with them, their love for their pets exceeded their duty of obedience by a margin that Uriel couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
He was tiring, the need to continue his assault, maintain the effort to wipe out those beneath him, was already draining his last reserves of strength. He had never fought this way before, in the past his merest touch had been enough to drop the humans in their tracks before they even realized their time had come. Those days were long past and over South America and Mexico, he had sensed resistance, felt the effects of the shielding every human seemed to have. But this, this was different. The shields were much stronger and the time taken to push through them had allowed the humans below to prepare for the assault. They were refusing to die and , to Uriel, that was a thing beyond understanding.
The human resistance may have been beyond Uriel’s ability to comprehend but what happened to him next was all too familiar. His skin started to irritate, to itch madly with pains that jabbed deep into his skin. He knew what that meant, the humans were on to him and were tracking him. He looked down to see if any of the missiles that they loved so much were coming his way. That was Uriel’s first mistake. If he’d invested in a copy of World Naval Weapons, he would have looked up, not down. But he had never read a human book and the idea of looking up never occurred to him.
USS Normandy, CG-60, Off San Diego, California, Earth
Annette Serafina played the radar controls in front of her, manipulating the systems at her command, her electronic fingers reaching out through the darkness to find the monster who was trying to slaughter her people. “Got him! We have SPS-49 contact, tracking now. Sir, how about some music down here?”
“On its way.” Pelranius thought for a second and got the channel to the Comms Suite. “Put on Mars, The Bringer of War, Gustav Holst.”
Serafina listened to the opening bars while her computers established the target track. “Good choice, Sir.” SPS-49 operating full power. Hope there was nothing good on television over at Sunny Dee.”
Captain Pelranius nodded. The SPS-49 had a peak transmission output power of 2,400 kW. Once, when a cruiser had accidentally gone to full transmit power off Norfolk, it had blacked out television reception in Newport News and interfered with radio as far inland as Richmond. The incident coming to mind jogged his memory, there was a vital duty he had to perform. He took a key, inserted it in a slot on the console and turned it. “Senior Chief Serafina, I am authorizing you to utilize full war emergency power on the SPY-1.”
“Very good Sir.” Her voice was neutral, despite the implications of the words she had just heard. Even if she hadn’t been aware of them, the rumbling under her feet as the ship’s four LM-2500 gas turbines picked up speed and started to generate more electrical power would have told her. “I have Uriel locked in using the Spoogs. We’ll track using SPS-49 and designate with SPY-1. Firing RIM-156 now.”
The ship started to shake as the first of the salvo of RIM-156 anti-aircraft missiles left the silos. Within a second, four missiles were arching up from the ship, heading northwest towards the town of Eucalyptus Hills.
“I hope Uriel doesn’t see them and get behind the ridgeline again.” Pelranius looked at the air warfare crew and picked up a slight note of disdain that surprised him. What had he said?
“Won’t save him Sir. The 156s are on their way now and they have active terminal radar homing. All we have to do is get them into the acquisition basket and they’ll do the rest. They’ll even relay their radar pictures back to us to tell us what they’re doing.” Serafina dropped her voice to confidential levels. “ Don’t worry Sir, everybody makes that mistake, assuming we can’t hit a target that’s over the radar horizon. Been times when that was the last mistake they ever made.”
In an educational video, seen from above, Normandy would have looked as if she was surrounded by four great fans of radar energy from the planar arrays of the SPY-1 system. Then, as Serafina’s expert fingers played the controls and switched the system from surveillance to target designation mode, the fans started to split into narrow beams that coalesced into thin lines. Then, the lines started to merge as she combined their output into a single beam per face.
“How much power are you pushing down that beam?” Pelranius’s voice was awed.
“All of it, all our generators can give us.” Serafina’s voice was still neutral. The pencil beam she was generating was capable of tracking an object two feet across at a range of far over a thousand nautical miles and detecting the tiny variations in its trajectory caused be variations in earth’s gravity. At under a hundred miles, the power of that beam was ferocious. The textbooks said SPY-1 had a peak power output of 4,000 kW, a figure that caused great amusement to the AEGIS community. It was true enough, or had been in the days of a prototype system on board the old Norton Sound. Now, it was long obsolete, far surpassed by that of later versions, and that had been before the key had been turned to enable war emergency power. The target designation beam of an SPY-1 was a powerful weapon in its own right.
Home of Caroline Howarth, Eucalyptus Hills, California.
Caroline Howarth sat, curled up in the center of her refuge room, her arms around the dog beside her. She was tired, exhausted by the effort of keeping her body working against the constant assault of blackness that was trying to shut her down. She was frightened, terrified even for she knew she was just buying time. The blackness was spreading, it was getting more difficult to breath and her head ached from the effort of keeping her heart beating. She looked at Rex, saw the misery and exhaustion in his eyes, saw the long strings of drool running from his mouth. She squeezed him gently, encouragingly, to reassure him that they would win this one. All they had to do was hang on long enough, until the Air Force or the Navy got help here.
Beside her, Rex’s whole body ached with the effort he was making. It was all so very hard to understand, there was something out there that wanted him and his human to die but it wouldn’t come in and fight like a dog. It just hung around outside and tried to squeeze the life out of them. He could feel his human weakening, feel her body running out of reserves of strength. Carefully, using as little of his remaining reserves as he could, he licked her face, trying to transfer some of what little energy he had left into her. Then, as if responding to his gesture, he felt a tiny weakening in the pressure that was killing them. They were winning, they were outlasting the thing outside. Then, he heard thunder in the skies overhead and the pressure was gone.
Eucalyptus Hills, East of Santee, California
The burning irritation of his skin had reached almost unendurable levels but Uriel couldn’t see any of the missiles coming in at him. Nor were there any aircraft coming in to the attack. It was all very, very confusing. For the first time, Uriel was actually beginning to hate the humans who were causing him this trouble. Why couldn’t they just die the way they were supposed to? That was when the burning pain on the top of his body told him that he was in the worst danger of his life.
Uriel never stood a chance of evading the RIM-156 missiles that were streaking down upon him from above. They had tipped over at 150,000 feet and were now heading down in a Mach 6 dive . Their radar sets were fully active and they had locked on to the figure below them. They didn’t need designation any more, They had Uriel in their sights and they were going to blow him up. Uriel barely had a chance to register their presence before they exploded around him.
The only thing that saved Uriel’s life was that the missiles had proximity fuzes. He was a big angel and the computers in the fuzes calculated distances based on that. He also had a large radar image and that increased the distance away from him that the missiles detonated. Finally, he was slow, and the RIM-156 was designed to handle supersonic and hypersonic targets. The fuze simply wasn’t programmed for a target that moved at Uriel’s speed. None of those factors would have saved Uriel on their own, but put together, they just about made the difference between a living angel and a dead one.
Uriel screamed as the tungsten carbide fragments slashed into his body. They ripped into his skin, splattering silver blood into the air, tore at his wings, shredding the flying surfaces and cracking the bones open. His vision suddenly shrank as fragments tore out one of his eyes and scoured across his body. He staggered in the air, hurt worse than had ever happened to him before. Not even in the Great Celestial War had he taken punishment like this. He started to drop, frantically beating the sky with his injured wings in an effort to avoid plummeting to the ground. He knew that his attack on the people below had ended, that those that had not died would live. He had used too much of his strength, he was too badly injured to start the assault again. He would have to escape, retreat to heaven and heal his wounds. Above all, he would have to speak with his friend Michael-Lan who knew humans better than any other angel. Michael-Lan would help him, Michael-Lan would give him wise counsel. He desperately tried to form the portal that would allow him to escape but something disrupted his efforts. The air itself seemed to be crackling round him, swamping his efforts to open an escape route.
That was when something happened that was far beyond his comprehension. He was used to the burning pain of the humans, used to it inflaming and irritating his skin but what happened next was truly horrifying. The pain suddenly soared up, far beyond anything he had experienced to date. He looked down and to his horror saw the skin on his chest and side was burning. Then, he realized, that was wrong, he wasn’t burning, he was being roasted alive in mid-air. His skin was bubbling and peeling, the flesh beneath it turning brown, the fat running down his body as it melted. Uriel screamed and twisted, howling in demented agony, knowing that with this weapon, whatever it was, humans had finally far surpassed the late and unlamented Satan in the ability to create sheer, undiluted horror. Uriel lost his battle to stay airborne and fell out of the sky.
USS Normandy, CG-60, Off San Diego, California, Earth
“We got him!” Serafina’s triumphant cheer swept through the Pit, bringing the AAW crew to their feet, howling with delight. “All four 156s, they went off all around him. He’s toast!” The Pit descended into a chaos of backslapping and high-fives.
“Can we confirm that?” Pelranius was loath to put a damper on the celebrations but he had done a tour in Hell and he knew how hard these Netherworld creatures were to kill. If the stories were true, Uriel was one of the top-ranking Archangels in Heaven. If they were anything like as tough as the Archdukes…. Asmodeus had been blown up by a ton of C4, his head riddled with bullets from a .50 rifle and he had still needed a salvo of AT-4 anti-tank rockets to finish him. Beelzebub, hit by two Mavericks and riddled with 30mm fire from two Warthogs, Deumos, her brains scrambled and her body fried by rocket exhausts, Satan himself, two massive shaped charges to the chest and head. Uriel was in that league and Pelranius really doubted if four RIM-156s would be enough to do the job.
“Damn, no!” The cry of disappointment was heart-felt. “He’s still flying. Designating with SPY-1 now.”
Serafina flipped the designation beam she had formed up to maximum power, sub-consciously noting the rumbling turbines below her, and locked it in on Uriel. Almost immediately the creature started to writhe in mid-air then lost control of itself and started to fall. The pencil-beam tracked him down to where the ridgeline provided a radar horizon with dead ground beyond it. Serafina thumped in the control inputs and four RIM-174s exploded from the aft launch silo, heading out for the location Uriel was heading into. They were faster and longer-ranged than the RIM-156s and their terminal radar homing was optimized to pick up and track low-flying targets in highly-cluttered backgrounds. As Uriel fell, the SPY-1 beam tracked him down. On the way, it intercepted some power lines stretched along the ridge and destroyed them in a spectacular display of electrical flashes and the showering cascade caused by melting wire and blown insulators.
Home of Caroline Howarth, Eucalyptus Hills, California.
It was gone, it was over. She and Rex had survived. The blackness had vanished with the rolling thunder of the explosions overhead. They had to be missiles, just had to be. Either the Army or the Navy had come to the rescue and driven Uriel away. Air was flowing into her lungs again, without the dreadful effort to suck it in and force it out. She could sense blood flowing through her arteries and veins, bringing oxygen and life back to her body. Slowly, shakily, she got up, her legs reluctant to support her, and looked around her room. Then, she lost her balance and fell as there were another series of explosions from north of the township. They shook the floor, sending dust falling from the ceiling. A moment later there was a screaming noise that she guessed was the sound of the inbound missiles.
She turned around, fearing that Rex hadn’t made it, but the dog was stretched out on the floor, panting for air. Alive. She took a closer look, there was blood around his muzzle but he seemed to be all right. Then she looked closer, some of the brown and black hairs had turned gray. She stood up and went over to the silver foil that lined the walls. It wasn’t a good mirror but she could see there were thin lines, crow’s feet, around her eyes and mouth that hadn’t been there before and the luster of her black hair had dulled and been tinged with gray.
She was alive, and it seemed that the scars of the battle were a small price to pay for that. She decided what she did need was a cup of tea. “Hey, Rex, you want a nice steak?” He deserved a treat.
Rex thought about that carefully. He knew that there was a leg of lamb in the refrigerator and that was what he really wanted – and had intended to steal as soon as he could work out a way to do it. But, a steak would do just fine until his human was careless enough to leave the kitchen door open.
USS Normandy, CG-60, Off San Diego, California, Earth
“He’s down, behind the ridgeline.” Serafina was reading the displays and her fingers danced over the controls. “This is Axehorn calling all aircraft. We have Uriel down behind the ridgeline north of Eucalyptus Hills, he’s hurt bad but still living we think. All aircraft converge and search.”
“We’ve got word from the DIMO(N) net. No dropped frames so no portal formed, he’s still here.”
“Wonder why he doesn’t portal out?” Pelranius was intrigued.
“Sir, have you any idea how much energy we’re pumping out? I doubt if there’s a television left unexploded in South California. Just a guess, but I think we’re jamming him.”
“What about the aircraft closing in? Won’t they be at risk?”
“Not on surveillance mode and I’ve got the designation beams turned off. We can flip back to war mode in seconds if we need it.”
“Axehorn, this is CAP-Three- One-One I’m heading for Eucalyptus Hills now. Intend to stay below flight level ten. Please advise fast movers to stay above that.”
“Will do CAP-Three-One-One.”
There was a bleep and the special channel activated. “Axehorn, this is Habu-zero-one. I’m turning round to come back in. Require clearance on flight and speed.”
“Habu-zero-one, your choice, up where you are, nobody else can go.”
“Nice of you to say so Axehorn. Be advised I’ll have sideways-looking radar on. If something’s big and nasty down there I’ll spot it. What did you do to Uriel?”
“Whacked him with four RIM-156s and four 174s then fried him with a full-power designation beam.”
“Ohhh nasty. Well done Axehorn. Habu-Zero-One out.”
“Another conversation that never happened.” Pelranius spoke heavily.
“Exactly.” Serafina smiled at him and mouthed very quietly, “Aurora.”
Home of Caroline Howarth, Eucalyptus Hills, California.
Everything was out, radio, television, cellphones. Caroline Howarth had given up her landline telephone and used a cell phone for all her calls, now she bitterly regretted doing so. Her computer was down as well, and, looking out of the window she could see that Santee was blacked out. North of the town, helicopters were already searching the ridges and valleys while a light aircraft circled, hunting further out.
There was a banging at the door. Rex ran across and barked at the intruder, itching for a fight he could get his teeth into. She grabbed his collar and opened the door. A National Guard soldier was standing there, a clipboard in his hands.
“Whoa, old feller, I’m a friend. Miss Caroline Howarth?” He looked at the list, it said the registered owner of the house was 32 years old, this woman looked like a well-preserved fifty. “I’m sorry, is she your daughter?”
She shook her head. “I’m her. And Rex is four years old.” Then she saw the look on his face and it made her laugh, a laugh that turned into a cough. One that left speckles of blood on her hand. “You don’t fight the Angel of Death to a draw and walk away unscarred.”
Uriel was stunned by the realization that the humans beneath him were fighting back. His mind and body were aching with the effort of keeping the pressure on them, fulfilling his eternal mission of blotting out their lives and snatching way their souls. And yet they were fighting back, defying him by keeping on living. Beneath the shelter of their shields, they were defying the Sword and Scythe of The One Above All. Even worse, Uriel could sense animals in there with them and they were fighting back too, as if they were following the lead of the humans and defying the judgment of the Great Father Above All. It was beyond Uriel’s understanding, the humans had brought their animals in under cover with them, their love for their pets exceeded their duty of obedience by a margin that Uriel couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
He was tiring, the need to continue his assault, maintain the effort to wipe out those beneath him, was already draining his last reserves of strength. He had never fought this way before, in the past his merest touch had been enough to drop the humans in their tracks before they even realized their time had come. Those days were long past and over South America and Mexico, he had sensed resistance, felt the effects of the shielding every human seemed to have. But this, this was different. The shields were much stronger and the time taken to push through them had allowed the humans below to prepare for the assault. They were refusing to die and , to Uriel, that was a thing beyond understanding.
The human resistance may have been beyond Uriel’s ability to comprehend but what happened to him next was all too familiar. His skin started to irritate, to itch madly with pains that jabbed deep into his skin. He knew what that meant, the humans were on to him and were tracking him. He looked down to see if any of the missiles that they loved so much were coming his way. That was Uriel’s first mistake. If he’d invested in a copy of World Naval Weapons, he would have looked up, not down. But he had never read a human book and the idea of looking up never occurred to him.
USS Normandy, CG-60, Off San Diego, California, Earth
Annette Serafina played the radar controls in front of her, manipulating the systems at her command, her electronic fingers reaching out through the darkness to find the monster who was trying to slaughter her people. “Got him! We have SPS-49 contact, tracking now. Sir, how about some music down here?”
“On its way.” Pelranius thought for a second and got the channel to the Comms Suite. “Put on Mars, The Bringer of War, Gustav Holst.”
Serafina listened to the opening bars while her computers established the target track. “Good choice, Sir.” SPS-49 operating full power. Hope there was nothing good on television over at Sunny Dee.”
Captain Pelranius nodded. The SPS-49 had a peak transmission output power of 2,400 kW. Once, when a cruiser had accidentally gone to full transmit power off Norfolk, it had blacked out television reception in Newport News and interfered with radio as far inland as Richmond. The incident coming to mind jogged his memory, there was a vital duty he had to perform. He took a key, inserted it in a slot on the console and turned it. “Senior Chief Serafina, I am authorizing you to utilize full war emergency power on the SPY-1.”
“Very good Sir.” Her voice was neutral, despite the implications of the words she had just heard. Even if she hadn’t been aware of them, the rumbling under her feet as the ship’s four LM-2500 gas turbines picked up speed and started to generate more electrical power would have told her. “I have Uriel locked in using the Spoogs. We’ll track using SPS-49 and designate with SPY-1. Firing RIM-156 now.”
The ship started to shake as the first of the salvo of RIM-156 anti-aircraft missiles left the silos. Within a second, four missiles were arching up from the ship, heading northwest towards the town of Eucalyptus Hills.
“I hope Uriel doesn’t see them and get behind the ridgeline again.” Pelranius looked at the air warfare crew and picked up a slight note of disdain that surprised him. What had he said?
“Won’t save him Sir. The 156s are on their way now and they have active terminal radar homing. All we have to do is get them into the acquisition basket and they’ll do the rest. They’ll even relay their radar pictures back to us to tell us what they’re doing.” Serafina dropped her voice to confidential levels. “ Don’t worry Sir, everybody makes that mistake, assuming we can’t hit a target that’s over the radar horizon. Been times when that was the last mistake they ever made.”
In an educational video, seen from above, Normandy would have looked as if she was surrounded by four great fans of radar energy from the planar arrays of the SPY-1 system. Then, as Serafina’s expert fingers played the controls and switched the system from surveillance to target designation mode, the fans started to split into narrow beams that coalesced into thin lines. Then, the lines started to merge as she combined their output into a single beam per face.
“How much power are you pushing down that beam?” Pelranius’s voice was awed.
“All of it, all our generators can give us.” Serafina’s voice was still neutral. The pencil beam she was generating was capable of tracking an object two feet across at a range of far over a thousand nautical miles and detecting the tiny variations in its trajectory caused be variations in earth’s gravity. At under a hundred miles, the power of that beam was ferocious. The textbooks said SPY-1 had a peak power output of 4,000 kW, a figure that caused great amusement to the AEGIS community. It was true enough, or had been in the days of a prototype system on board the old Norton Sound. Now, it was long obsolete, far surpassed by that of later versions, and that had been before the key had been turned to enable war emergency power. The target designation beam of an SPY-1 was a powerful weapon in its own right.
Home of Caroline Howarth, Eucalyptus Hills, California.
Caroline Howarth sat, curled up in the center of her refuge room, her arms around the dog beside her. She was tired, exhausted by the effort of keeping her body working against the constant assault of blackness that was trying to shut her down. She was frightened, terrified even for she knew she was just buying time. The blackness was spreading, it was getting more difficult to breath and her head ached from the effort of keeping her heart beating. She looked at Rex, saw the misery and exhaustion in his eyes, saw the long strings of drool running from his mouth. She squeezed him gently, encouragingly, to reassure him that they would win this one. All they had to do was hang on long enough, until the Air Force or the Navy got help here.
Beside her, Rex’s whole body ached with the effort he was making. It was all so very hard to understand, there was something out there that wanted him and his human to die but it wouldn’t come in and fight like a dog. It just hung around outside and tried to squeeze the life out of them. He could feel his human weakening, feel her body running out of reserves of strength. Carefully, using as little of his remaining reserves as he could, he licked her face, trying to transfer some of what little energy he had left into her. Then, as if responding to his gesture, he felt a tiny weakening in the pressure that was killing them. They were winning, they were outlasting the thing outside. Then, he heard thunder in the skies overhead and the pressure was gone.
Eucalyptus Hills, East of Santee, California
The burning irritation of his skin had reached almost unendurable levels but Uriel couldn’t see any of the missiles coming in at him. Nor were there any aircraft coming in to the attack. It was all very, very confusing. For the first time, Uriel was actually beginning to hate the humans who were causing him this trouble. Why couldn’t they just die the way they were supposed to? That was when the burning pain on the top of his body told him that he was in the worst danger of his life.
Uriel never stood a chance of evading the RIM-156 missiles that were streaking down upon him from above. They had tipped over at 150,000 feet and were now heading down in a Mach 6 dive . Their radar sets were fully active and they had locked on to the figure below them. They didn’t need designation any more, They had Uriel in their sights and they were going to blow him up. Uriel barely had a chance to register their presence before they exploded around him.
The only thing that saved Uriel’s life was that the missiles had proximity fuzes. He was a big angel and the computers in the fuzes calculated distances based on that. He also had a large radar image and that increased the distance away from him that the missiles detonated. Finally, he was slow, and the RIM-156 was designed to handle supersonic and hypersonic targets. The fuze simply wasn’t programmed for a target that moved at Uriel’s speed. None of those factors would have saved Uriel on their own, but put together, they just about made the difference between a living angel and a dead one.
Uriel screamed as the tungsten carbide fragments slashed into his body. They ripped into his skin, splattering silver blood into the air, tore at his wings, shredding the flying surfaces and cracking the bones open. His vision suddenly shrank as fragments tore out one of his eyes and scoured across his body. He staggered in the air, hurt worse than had ever happened to him before. Not even in the Great Celestial War had he taken punishment like this. He started to drop, frantically beating the sky with his injured wings in an effort to avoid plummeting to the ground. He knew that his attack on the people below had ended, that those that had not died would live. He had used too much of his strength, he was too badly injured to start the assault again. He would have to escape, retreat to heaven and heal his wounds. Above all, he would have to speak with his friend Michael-Lan who knew humans better than any other angel. Michael-Lan would help him, Michael-Lan would give him wise counsel. He desperately tried to form the portal that would allow him to escape but something disrupted his efforts. The air itself seemed to be crackling round him, swamping his efforts to open an escape route.
That was when something happened that was far beyond his comprehension. He was used to the burning pain of the humans, used to it inflaming and irritating his skin but what happened next was truly horrifying. The pain suddenly soared up, far beyond anything he had experienced to date. He looked down and to his horror saw the skin on his chest and side was burning. Then, he realized, that was wrong, he wasn’t burning, he was being roasted alive in mid-air. His skin was bubbling and peeling, the flesh beneath it turning brown, the fat running down his body as it melted. Uriel screamed and twisted, howling in demented agony, knowing that with this weapon, whatever it was, humans had finally far surpassed the late and unlamented Satan in the ability to create sheer, undiluted horror. Uriel lost his battle to stay airborne and fell out of the sky.
USS Normandy, CG-60, Off San Diego, California, Earth
“We got him!” Serafina’s triumphant cheer swept through the Pit, bringing the AAW crew to their feet, howling with delight. “All four 156s, they went off all around him. He’s toast!” The Pit descended into a chaos of backslapping and high-fives.
“Can we confirm that?” Pelranius was loath to put a damper on the celebrations but he had done a tour in Hell and he knew how hard these Netherworld creatures were to kill. If the stories were true, Uriel was one of the top-ranking Archangels in Heaven. If they were anything like as tough as the Archdukes…. Asmodeus had been blown up by a ton of C4, his head riddled with bullets from a .50 rifle and he had still needed a salvo of AT-4 anti-tank rockets to finish him. Beelzebub, hit by two Mavericks and riddled with 30mm fire from two Warthogs, Deumos, her brains scrambled and her body fried by rocket exhausts, Satan himself, two massive shaped charges to the chest and head. Uriel was in that league and Pelranius really doubted if four RIM-156s would be enough to do the job.
“Damn, no!” The cry of disappointment was heart-felt. “He’s still flying. Designating with SPY-1 now.”
Serafina flipped the designation beam she had formed up to maximum power, sub-consciously noting the rumbling turbines below her, and locked it in on Uriel. Almost immediately the creature started to writhe in mid-air then lost control of itself and started to fall. The pencil-beam tracked him down to where the ridgeline provided a radar horizon with dead ground beyond it. Serafina thumped in the control inputs and four RIM-174s exploded from the aft launch silo, heading out for the location Uriel was heading into. They were faster and longer-ranged than the RIM-156s and their terminal radar homing was optimized to pick up and track low-flying targets in highly-cluttered backgrounds. As Uriel fell, the SPY-1 beam tracked him down. On the way, it intercepted some power lines stretched along the ridge and destroyed them in a spectacular display of electrical flashes and the showering cascade caused by melting wire and blown insulators.
Home of Caroline Howarth, Eucalyptus Hills, California.
It was gone, it was over. She and Rex had survived. The blackness had vanished with the rolling thunder of the explosions overhead. They had to be missiles, just had to be. Either the Army or the Navy had come to the rescue and driven Uriel away. Air was flowing into her lungs again, without the dreadful effort to suck it in and force it out. She could sense blood flowing through her arteries and veins, bringing oxygen and life back to her body. Slowly, shakily, she got up, her legs reluctant to support her, and looked around her room. Then, she lost her balance and fell as there were another series of explosions from north of the township. They shook the floor, sending dust falling from the ceiling. A moment later there was a screaming noise that she guessed was the sound of the inbound missiles.
She turned around, fearing that Rex hadn’t made it, but the dog was stretched out on the floor, panting for air. Alive. She took a closer look, there was blood around his muzzle but he seemed to be all right. Then she looked closer, some of the brown and black hairs had turned gray. She stood up and went over to the silver foil that lined the walls. It wasn’t a good mirror but she could see there were thin lines, crow’s feet, around her eyes and mouth that hadn’t been there before and the luster of her black hair had dulled and been tinged with gray.
She was alive, and it seemed that the scars of the battle were a small price to pay for that. She decided what she did need was a cup of tea. “Hey, Rex, you want a nice steak?” He deserved a treat.
Rex thought about that carefully. He knew that there was a leg of lamb in the refrigerator and that was what he really wanted – and had intended to steal as soon as he could work out a way to do it. But, a steak would do just fine until his human was careless enough to leave the kitchen door open.
USS Normandy, CG-60, Off San Diego, California, Earth
“He’s down, behind the ridgeline.” Serafina was reading the displays and her fingers danced over the controls. “This is Axehorn calling all aircraft. We have Uriel down behind the ridgeline north of Eucalyptus Hills, he’s hurt bad but still living we think. All aircraft converge and search.”
“We’ve got word from the DIMO(N) net. No dropped frames so no portal formed, he’s still here.”
“Wonder why he doesn’t portal out?” Pelranius was intrigued.
“Sir, have you any idea how much energy we’re pumping out? I doubt if there’s a television left unexploded in South California. Just a guess, but I think we’re jamming him.”
“What about the aircraft closing in? Won’t they be at risk?”
“Not on surveillance mode and I’ve got the designation beams turned off. We can flip back to war mode in seconds if we need it.”
“Axehorn, this is CAP-Three- One-One I’m heading for Eucalyptus Hills now. Intend to stay below flight level ten. Please advise fast movers to stay above that.”
“Will do CAP-Three-One-One.”
There was a bleep and the special channel activated. “Axehorn, this is Habu-zero-one. I’m turning round to come back in. Require clearance on flight and speed.”
“Habu-zero-one, your choice, up where you are, nobody else can go.”
“Nice of you to say so Axehorn. Be advised I’ll have sideways-looking radar on. If something’s big and nasty down there I’ll spot it. What did you do to Uriel?”
“Whacked him with four RIM-156s and four 174s then fried him with a full-power designation beam.”
“Ohhh nasty. Well done Axehorn. Habu-Zero-One out.”
“Another conversation that never happened.” Pelranius spoke heavily.
“Exactly.” Serafina smiled at him and mouthed very quietly, “Aurora.”
Home of Caroline Howarth, Eucalyptus Hills, California.
Everything was out, radio, television, cellphones. Caroline Howarth had given up her landline telephone and used a cell phone for all her calls, now she bitterly regretted doing so. Her computer was down as well, and, looking out of the window she could see that Santee was blacked out. North of the town, helicopters were already searching the ridges and valleys while a light aircraft circled, hunting further out.
There was a banging at the door. Rex ran across and barked at the intruder, itching for a fight he could get his teeth into. She grabbed his collar and opened the door. A National Guard soldier was standing there, a clipboard in his hands.
“Whoa, old feller, I’m a friend. Miss Caroline Howarth?” He looked at the list, it said the registered owner of the house was 32 years old, this woman looked like a well-preserved fifty. “I’m sorry, is she your daughter?”
She shook her head. “I’m her. And Rex is four years old.” Then she saw the look on his face and it made her laugh, a laugh that turned into a cough. One that left speckles of blood on her hand. “You don’t fight the Angel of Death to a draw and walk away unscarred.”
The Salvation War: Pantheocide - 25
Headquarters, League of the Holy Court, Eternal City
The problem was that the investigations into these conspiracies was bogging down in a maze of low-level minions whose importance, and worst of all, knowledge of the higher ranks, was minimal. Lemuel-Lan-Michael was now convinced that there were indeed two parallel conspiracies of radically different characters and objectives. Those differences meant that there were very few points of contact between the two, it seemed as if it had been pure luck that The League had picked up one of those few contact points. Without them having done so, and without the bottle of elixir to start the investigation rolling, neither conspiracy would have been discovered. The thought of that eventuality made Lemuel's stomach clench with terror. The whole foundations of Heaven could have been threatened.
He paced backwards and forwards in his office until the panic at what might have been faded, then resumed his seat. Once more, reading the reports from the handful of trusted agents who were investigating the main cabal, the differences between it and the second one that was his own interest, stood out. It wasn't just the differences in organization although they were striking enough. It was the beliefs that seemed to be so different, or more precisely, the contrast between the overt dogma of the First Conspiracy and the seeming lack of any defining ideology in the other. In his own investigations, he had been unable to find any ideological system that defined the Second Conspiracy. It seemed that the only link that existed to unify them was their taste for human products and goods.
Lemuel shook his head and returned to the report on the First Conspiracy. He had finally managed to find a Malachim whose membership in the higher ranks of the cabal wasn't matched by the protection extended by his Lord. That Lord had been one of the angels martyred in the pouring of the First Bowl of Wrath and his demise at the hands of the Humans had left his retinue adrift without patronage. Fortunately for Lemuel and unfortunately for him, their victim hadn't found a new patron before The League had picked him up. Lemuel read the interrogation results again and tapped the scroll on his desk, he would have to take this to Michael-Lan.
Michael-Lan's Office, Temple of Righteous Ardor, Eternal City
"And so what have you come up with Lemuel?" Michael-Lan smiled in greeting as Lemuel entered his office, knelt and swept his wings forward to cover his face. "Come, there's no need for such deference, we're old comrades after all."
"Michael-Lan, my investigators have now found out more about the cabal that concerned us." The phraseology perturbed Michael and he waved Lemuel to continue. "We now have an insight into the thoughts and beliefs of those who form this group. They believe that the humans are being unjustly treated here in Heaven, that having earned their salvation down on Earth, they should benefit from more of the riches and pleasures of the Eternal City. They believe that the decision to close the Gates of Heaven was mistaken and that, once again, worthy humans should be allowed to take up residence here."
"They challenge the wisdom of the One Above All?" Michael-Lan's voice shook with rage and outside the building, a roll of thunder echoed across the iridescent structure. That made Michael-Lan feel absurdly pleased with himself, he had always envied Yahweh's ability to conjure up thunderstorms at will.
"No, my Lord, even they would not dare look so high. They believe that The Nameless Lord of All has been mislead and deceived by treacherous and self-seeking advisors. They believe that if The All-Knowing Father was made aware of the injustices committed in his name, then he would drive out those advisors and remedy the results of their sinful hubris. They believe that The One Above All would appoint his son as his advisor and chamberlain to replace those advisors who betrayed his trust. My Lord Michael-Lan, it shames me to even speak the words but they name you as one of those advisors who have lead the One Above All Astray. Hence my need to come here so urgently."
Michael-Lan nodded slowly in acknowledgement. "You have done very well indeed my old friend." Interesting. Now who is it who wants me out? Salaphael and Azrael are both in reduced favor at this point. Either of them could have hatched this plot but the bit about Yah-Yah not being aware of these so-called injustices smacks of Salaphael. He's just dumb enough to believe all that. "And you believe that they are bringing up goods from Earth to bribe humans into becoming their supporters?"
That idea stopped Lemuel in his tracks. He honestly hadn't thought of that interpretation. He mulled it over for a few seconds then discarded it. "Michael-Lan, that would be one possibility but I believe the evidence runs against it. We have found no trace of human goods in the cabal beyond the single bottle of elixir. Nor does the ideology of the group run in favor of this suggestion. From what we have been able to assemble, they are only concerned with the practical policies here in Heaven and theological debates over salvation and the fate of the humans down on Earth. Material goods and wealth do not mean much to them. Their prime concern is prayer and worship. In that, of course, they do not represent any major change for who amongst us does not reverence the All-Seeing Father?"
Me for a start, Michael thought, and you would be surprised how many others. "So where does the supply of human goods fit into this picture? If they are not bribes to obtain the support of the humans, then what are they?"
Lemuel took a deep breath. "Michael-Lan, I believe there is a second conspiracy, one quite separate from the first. One that is deeper and more far-reaching than the first for it would change the very nature of Heaven. It would replace our devout worship of the All-Seeing Father with a hedonistic lifestyle based around luxury and indulgence. Our austere and spiritual existence would be replaced by one of excess and materialism. We would become like the humans down on Earth.
Well done Lemuel, you've got the objectives down perfectly. And has it ever occurred to you that becoming like the humans down on Earth is the only way Heaven can survive? And that with Yah-yah running things, that change will never happen? There are 750 million angels up hear in Heaven and if the humans from Earth break in and find out what 'salvation' really meant for the humans who were allowed to enter here, they're going to slaughter the lot of us. And mass slaughter is something humans are very good at. "A second conspiracy you say? Lemuel, old friend, are you sure that your search for conspiracy is not leading you astray? Remember what the humans say 'Look for a conspiracy and you will find it, even if it isn’t there.' Two parallel conspiracies is a hard thing to swallow."
"I know, Noble Leader. I felt the same thing and spent many hours in prayer and contemplation, searching my soul for the true light of belief and trying to rid myself of hubris and suspicion. I have been carrying out quiet and tactful investigations of the Second Conspiracy and, yes, it does exist. Recently we arrested Almedha, daughter of Brychan and submitted her to interrogation. Human methods of course. She confessed to her part although she knew little of what was happening other than that Ishmael was able to provide her with human spices to enliven her diet. But, what she did know was interesting for its omissions rather than its content. She made no mention of ideology of theology, made no suggestions of beliefs whether traditional or heretical. It appears that the Second Conspiracy extends to indulgence and nothing more."
"Saint Almedha." Michael spoke thoughtfully. "I would wish to speak with this human." He stepped away from his desk and called out for one of his Elohim messengers. When the herald arrived, he spoke very quietly to him and then sent him on his way. "She will be brought here soon. So, my old friend, where do we go from here?"
"We have been trying to break into the Second Conspiracy from the outside but our successes have been minor. We are barely able to confirm that such a conspiracy actually exists let alone learn much about it. It is strange, its security is much tighter than that of the First Conspiracy despite the fact that it lacks internal protection by subdivision. Investigating the First Conspiracy is like tunnelling through a wall, its just a matter of removing brick by brick. But the Second Conspiracy is like trying to grasp hold of smoke, every handful turns to nothing and slips away. We can get nowhere from outside."
"And so?"
"We must penetrate the Second Conspiracy and try to investigate it from the inside. I will do this myself, instead of seizing and interrogating any members of the Second Conspiracy we detect, I will try to ingratiate myself with them, suggest I share their aims and desires. That way, will with have sure information to act on."
"A wise plan, old friend, but one that is hazardous to you." Michael paused as his Elohim herald came back and spoke quietly into his ear. "A hazard of which we now have proof. I regret to inform you that Almedha, daughter of Brychan, has died under interrogation."
"I gave no orders for further interrogation!" Lemuel was furious. "I ordered that she be detained, nothing more. Who was responsible for this?"
"The guards claim that they were using their initiative to gain additional information. But, I would suggest that perhaps she was killed on the orders of others to shut her mouth. Your work will indeed be dangerous Lemuel, keep word of it strictly between ourselves and let none know of it."
White House Conference Room, White House, Washington D.C.
"In California, the hunt for Uriel is now entering its second day. The Archangel Uriel is believed to have been badly wounded during his attack on Eucalyptus Hills and is now in hiding somewhere in the hills of Southern California. United States Volunteers and aircraft from numerous military bases in the area are combing the area in their effort to find Uriel. Local law enforcement officials say that they have numerous leads on his location and believe that he will be found shortly.
"On the international scene, Thai troops of the Human Expeditionary Army have entered Moulmein and isolated the southern half of Myanmar from the main body of the country to the North. Spokesmen at HEA Headquarters state that the Myanmar leadership was inspired to open this war by Heavenly intervention and that the successful course of the campaign represents humanity's first successful counter-strike against . . . . . "
"Is that true?" President Obama glanced around the conference room for an answer.
"Even if it isn't, it is." Defense Secretary Warner noted the confusion on Obama's face. "Regardless of what the truth of the matter is, that has to be the interpretation we put on it. Most of the countries of the world have put the best of their armies into the HEA and left their own countries very vulnerable. That's an open temptation for the few countries that haven't joined in to exploit the situation. So, we have to make it clear that any attack on any country that's part of the HEA will be met by a response from the full force of that Army, otherwise countries will pull their contributions out and the whole war effort will fall apart. Which may be why we're seeing these threatened attacks of course. Not that we expect many, the only ones that seem pending other than this border war are a North Korean attack on South Korea and a Venezuelan assault on Honduras. The latter seems fairly remote at this time while North Korean behavior is odd, there's lots of movement and activity in the North but none of it means very much. Units move south, then east, then west, then back north before repeating the whole procedure."
"Just what is going on John?"
"We think, and this is an assessment General Petraeus shares, that Yahweh is trying to keep us penned up on Earth and chasing our own tails down here. That may mean he intends to build up a new army and invade in due course, or perhaps he hopes we'll get so frustrated we'll give up. Either way, he wants us down here, not up there. Can't say I blame him for that of course."
"Janet, the attack on Eucalyptus Hills, what's the latest news there?"
"The death toll is currently reported as being twelve dead from Uriel's attack plus three more on the ground caused by missile fragments."
"Twelve? Is that all? Doctor Surlethe, what's the scientific cut on this?"
"We can confirm the twelve Sir. Eucalyptus Hills has a population of 9,500 so if we'd seen the same mortality as at El Paso, we would have expected some 75 dead. Uriel scored much less than that so we can count that as a success for our defenses. Also, the pattern of death is interesting. Eucalyptus Hills was a very useful target from our point of view. It is a homogenous community, mostly relatively wealthy young families in their early-mid thirties. This eliminates wealth and age as variables so it gives us a good handle on what Uriel is actually capable of doing. That shows us a useful pattern, all twelve dead were people who lived alone. People who were in even small communities, their families for example or who took in people trapped outside when the sirens went off, survived."
"The power of love?" The voice was derisive.
"In a way, yes. Their stories are all the same, they felt an invasion of their minds, trying to shut off their ability to breath and their hearts to keep beating. They fought it, refused to accept death and mostly they won. We think the shielding provided by lining houses with metal foil and wearing tinfoil beanies bought them enough time to understand that the attack was underway and resist. In the past, people hadn't had that protection and they simply died before realizing they were being attacked. Having said all that, the communal aspect of resistance does appear very important. Having their families, friends, pets, other people around them gave them the encouragement and determination to keep fighting. Any military officer will tell you that soldiers in groups fight much better than troops on their own. But, I think this realization goes a long, long way back, right to our earliest folk memories. How many stories are there of a community threatened by a terrible enemy but who survived because everybody gathered in a single place and supported each other? Stories like that are a standard part of every country's mythology. We're prepared to bet those are folk memories of Uriel attacks that failed.
"So, assuming Uriel survives or is replaced by another Archangel with similar powers, our defenses should include gathering people into the largest possible groups and not leaving anybody alone. Bring the pets in as well, its interesting to note that pets that were brought in survived this attack, those left outside did not. One woman even claims that her dog helped her fight off Uriel. Might be true too, she was alone in her house apart from that dog. But, we need to build community shelters, heavily protected with metal shielding and large enough for people to gather together."
"Assuming Uriel lives. John, how is the hunt going?"
"The news broadcast has it right for once. We're still hunting and we know that Uriel is badly hurt. The ground troops found the spot where he came down, there's a dent in the soil where he landed and there's burned flesh and skin debris in the area. We think that the radars on the Normandy hurt him as much as the missiles, they effectively micro-waved him in mid-air. Those designation beams are powerful, they only warm an aircraft up a bit, that's how they detect stealth aircraft, warm them up and spot them on thermal viewers, but against unshielded flesh? Very nasty. Anyway, he ducked missiles over El Paso, but he couldn’t duck a high-energy beam. Incidentally, we don’t give much for his reproductive chances after that.
"Other than that, we're still searching. He's dragged himself off somewhere and he's hiding. The DIMO(N) net doesn’t report any portals forming so we think he's still out there. We can assume he's recovering, our experience is that daemons and angels don’t die of wounds. If they're not killed outright by damage that overwhelms them, they recover. So he's out there and he's getting better."
"Doctor Surlethe?"
"I concur Mister President, we have to find him before he regenerates. But, I find that information about high energy beam effects very interesting. Perhaps we're not using the right weapons against Uriel."
The problem was that the investigations into these conspiracies was bogging down in a maze of low-level minions whose importance, and worst of all, knowledge of the higher ranks, was minimal. Lemuel-Lan-Michael was now convinced that there were indeed two parallel conspiracies of radically different characters and objectives. Those differences meant that there were very few points of contact between the two, it seemed as if it had been pure luck that The League had picked up one of those few contact points. Without them having done so, and without the bottle of elixir to start the investigation rolling, neither conspiracy would have been discovered. The thought of that eventuality made Lemuel's stomach clench with terror. The whole foundations of Heaven could have been threatened.
He paced backwards and forwards in his office until the panic at what might have been faded, then resumed his seat. Once more, reading the reports from the handful of trusted agents who were investigating the main cabal, the differences between it and the second one that was his own interest, stood out. It wasn't just the differences in organization although they were striking enough. It was the beliefs that seemed to be so different, or more precisely, the contrast between the overt dogma of the First Conspiracy and the seeming lack of any defining ideology in the other. In his own investigations, he had been unable to find any ideological system that defined the Second Conspiracy. It seemed that the only link that existed to unify them was their taste for human products and goods.
Lemuel shook his head and returned to the report on the First Conspiracy. He had finally managed to find a Malachim whose membership in the higher ranks of the cabal wasn't matched by the protection extended by his Lord. That Lord had been one of the angels martyred in the pouring of the First Bowl of Wrath and his demise at the hands of the Humans had left his retinue adrift without patronage. Fortunately for Lemuel and unfortunately for him, their victim hadn't found a new patron before The League had picked him up. Lemuel read the interrogation results again and tapped the scroll on his desk, he would have to take this to Michael-Lan.
Michael-Lan's Office, Temple of Righteous Ardor, Eternal City
"And so what have you come up with Lemuel?" Michael-Lan smiled in greeting as Lemuel entered his office, knelt and swept his wings forward to cover his face. "Come, there's no need for such deference, we're old comrades after all."
"Michael-Lan, my investigators have now found out more about the cabal that concerned us." The phraseology perturbed Michael and he waved Lemuel to continue. "We now have an insight into the thoughts and beliefs of those who form this group. They believe that the humans are being unjustly treated here in Heaven, that having earned their salvation down on Earth, they should benefit from more of the riches and pleasures of the Eternal City. They believe that the decision to close the Gates of Heaven was mistaken and that, once again, worthy humans should be allowed to take up residence here."
"They challenge the wisdom of the One Above All?" Michael-Lan's voice shook with rage and outside the building, a roll of thunder echoed across the iridescent structure. That made Michael-Lan feel absurdly pleased with himself, he had always envied Yahweh's ability to conjure up thunderstorms at will.
"No, my Lord, even they would not dare look so high. They believe that The Nameless Lord of All has been mislead and deceived by treacherous and self-seeking advisors. They believe that if The All-Knowing Father was made aware of the injustices committed in his name, then he would drive out those advisors and remedy the results of their sinful hubris. They believe that The One Above All would appoint his son as his advisor and chamberlain to replace those advisors who betrayed his trust. My Lord Michael-Lan, it shames me to even speak the words but they name you as one of those advisors who have lead the One Above All Astray. Hence my need to come here so urgently."
Michael-Lan nodded slowly in acknowledgement. "You have done very well indeed my old friend." Interesting. Now who is it who wants me out? Salaphael and Azrael are both in reduced favor at this point. Either of them could have hatched this plot but the bit about Yah-Yah not being aware of these so-called injustices smacks of Salaphael. He's just dumb enough to believe all that. "And you believe that they are bringing up goods from Earth to bribe humans into becoming their supporters?"
That idea stopped Lemuel in his tracks. He honestly hadn't thought of that interpretation. He mulled it over for a few seconds then discarded it. "Michael-Lan, that would be one possibility but I believe the evidence runs against it. We have found no trace of human goods in the cabal beyond the single bottle of elixir. Nor does the ideology of the group run in favor of this suggestion. From what we have been able to assemble, they are only concerned with the practical policies here in Heaven and theological debates over salvation and the fate of the humans down on Earth. Material goods and wealth do not mean much to them. Their prime concern is prayer and worship. In that, of course, they do not represent any major change for who amongst us does not reverence the All-Seeing Father?"
Me for a start, Michael thought, and you would be surprised how many others. "So where does the supply of human goods fit into this picture? If they are not bribes to obtain the support of the humans, then what are they?"
Lemuel took a deep breath. "Michael-Lan, I believe there is a second conspiracy, one quite separate from the first. One that is deeper and more far-reaching than the first for it would change the very nature of Heaven. It would replace our devout worship of the All-Seeing Father with a hedonistic lifestyle based around luxury and indulgence. Our austere and spiritual existence would be replaced by one of excess and materialism. We would become like the humans down on Earth.
Well done Lemuel, you've got the objectives down perfectly. And has it ever occurred to you that becoming like the humans down on Earth is the only way Heaven can survive? And that with Yah-yah running things, that change will never happen? There are 750 million angels up hear in Heaven and if the humans from Earth break in and find out what 'salvation' really meant for the humans who were allowed to enter here, they're going to slaughter the lot of us. And mass slaughter is something humans are very good at. "A second conspiracy you say? Lemuel, old friend, are you sure that your search for conspiracy is not leading you astray? Remember what the humans say 'Look for a conspiracy and you will find it, even if it isn’t there.' Two parallel conspiracies is a hard thing to swallow."
"I know, Noble Leader. I felt the same thing and spent many hours in prayer and contemplation, searching my soul for the true light of belief and trying to rid myself of hubris and suspicion. I have been carrying out quiet and tactful investigations of the Second Conspiracy and, yes, it does exist. Recently we arrested Almedha, daughter of Brychan and submitted her to interrogation. Human methods of course. She confessed to her part although she knew little of what was happening other than that Ishmael was able to provide her with human spices to enliven her diet. But, what she did know was interesting for its omissions rather than its content. She made no mention of ideology of theology, made no suggestions of beliefs whether traditional or heretical. It appears that the Second Conspiracy extends to indulgence and nothing more."
"Saint Almedha." Michael spoke thoughtfully. "I would wish to speak with this human." He stepped away from his desk and called out for one of his Elohim messengers. When the herald arrived, he spoke very quietly to him and then sent him on his way. "She will be brought here soon. So, my old friend, where do we go from here?"
"We have been trying to break into the Second Conspiracy from the outside but our successes have been minor. We are barely able to confirm that such a conspiracy actually exists let alone learn much about it. It is strange, its security is much tighter than that of the First Conspiracy despite the fact that it lacks internal protection by subdivision. Investigating the First Conspiracy is like tunnelling through a wall, its just a matter of removing brick by brick. But the Second Conspiracy is like trying to grasp hold of smoke, every handful turns to nothing and slips away. We can get nowhere from outside."
"And so?"
"We must penetrate the Second Conspiracy and try to investigate it from the inside. I will do this myself, instead of seizing and interrogating any members of the Second Conspiracy we detect, I will try to ingratiate myself with them, suggest I share their aims and desires. That way, will with have sure information to act on."
"A wise plan, old friend, but one that is hazardous to you." Michael paused as his Elohim herald came back and spoke quietly into his ear. "A hazard of which we now have proof. I regret to inform you that Almedha, daughter of Brychan, has died under interrogation."
"I gave no orders for further interrogation!" Lemuel was furious. "I ordered that she be detained, nothing more. Who was responsible for this?"
"The guards claim that they were using their initiative to gain additional information. But, I would suggest that perhaps she was killed on the orders of others to shut her mouth. Your work will indeed be dangerous Lemuel, keep word of it strictly between ourselves and let none know of it."
White House Conference Room, White House, Washington D.C.
"In California, the hunt for Uriel is now entering its second day. The Archangel Uriel is believed to have been badly wounded during his attack on Eucalyptus Hills and is now in hiding somewhere in the hills of Southern California. United States Volunteers and aircraft from numerous military bases in the area are combing the area in their effort to find Uriel. Local law enforcement officials say that they have numerous leads on his location and believe that he will be found shortly.
"On the international scene, Thai troops of the Human Expeditionary Army have entered Moulmein and isolated the southern half of Myanmar from the main body of the country to the North. Spokesmen at HEA Headquarters state that the Myanmar leadership was inspired to open this war by Heavenly intervention and that the successful course of the campaign represents humanity's first successful counter-strike against . . . . . "
"Is that true?" President Obama glanced around the conference room for an answer.
"Even if it isn't, it is." Defense Secretary Warner noted the confusion on Obama's face. "Regardless of what the truth of the matter is, that has to be the interpretation we put on it. Most of the countries of the world have put the best of their armies into the HEA and left their own countries very vulnerable. That's an open temptation for the few countries that haven't joined in to exploit the situation. So, we have to make it clear that any attack on any country that's part of the HEA will be met by a response from the full force of that Army, otherwise countries will pull their contributions out and the whole war effort will fall apart. Which may be why we're seeing these threatened attacks of course. Not that we expect many, the only ones that seem pending other than this border war are a North Korean attack on South Korea and a Venezuelan assault on Honduras. The latter seems fairly remote at this time while North Korean behavior is odd, there's lots of movement and activity in the North but none of it means very much. Units move south, then east, then west, then back north before repeating the whole procedure."
"Just what is going on John?"
"We think, and this is an assessment General Petraeus shares, that Yahweh is trying to keep us penned up on Earth and chasing our own tails down here. That may mean he intends to build up a new army and invade in due course, or perhaps he hopes we'll get so frustrated we'll give up. Either way, he wants us down here, not up there. Can't say I blame him for that of course."
"Janet, the attack on Eucalyptus Hills, what's the latest news there?"
"The death toll is currently reported as being twelve dead from Uriel's attack plus three more on the ground caused by missile fragments."
"Twelve? Is that all? Doctor Surlethe, what's the scientific cut on this?"
"We can confirm the twelve Sir. Eucalyptus Hills has a population of 9,500 so if we'd seen the same mortality as at El Paso, we would have expected some 75 dead. Uriel scored much less than that so we can count that as a success for our defenses. Also, the pattern of death is interesting. Eucalyptus Hills was a very useful target from our point of view. It is a homogenous community, mostly relatively wealthy young families in their early-mid thirties. This eliminates wealth and age as variables so it gives us a good handle on what Uriel is actually capable of doing. That shows us a useful pattern, all twelve dead were people who lived alone. People who were in even small communities, their families for example or who took in people trapped outside when the sirens went off, survived."
"The power of love?" The voice was derisive.
"In a way, yes. Their stories are all the same, they felt an invasion of their minds, trying to shut off their ability to breath and their hearts to keep beating. They fought it, refused to accept death and mostly they won. We think the shielding provided by lining houses with metal foil and wearing tinfoil beanies bought them enough time to understand that the attack was underway and resist. In the past, people hadn't had that protection and they simply died before realizing they were being attacked. Having said all that, the communal aspect of resistance does appear very important. Having their families, friends, pets, other people around them gave them the encouragement and determination to keep fighting. Any military officer will tell you that soldiers in groups fight much better than troops on their own. But, I think this realization goes a long, long way back, right to our earliest folk memories. How many stories are there of a community threatened by a terrible enemy but who survived because everybody gathered in a single place and supported each other? Stories like that are a standard part of every country's mythology. We're prepared to bet those are folk memories of Uriel attacks that failed.
"So, assuming Uriel survives or is replaced by another Archangel with similar powers, our defenses should include gathering people into the largest possible groups and not leaving anybody alone. Bring the pets in as well, its interesting to note that pets that were brought in survived this attack, those left outside did not. One woman even claims that her dog helped her fight off Uriel. Might be true too, she was alone in her house apart from that dog. But, we need to build community shelters, heavily protected with metal shielding and large enough for people to gather together."
"Assuming Uriel lives. John, how is the hunt going?"
"The news broadcast has it right for once. We're still hunting and we know that Uriel is badly hurt. The ground troops found the spot where he came down, there's a dent in the soil where he landed and there's burned flesh and skin debris in the area. We think that the radars on the Normandy hurt him as much as the missiles, they effectively micro-waved him in mid-air. Those designation beams are powerful, they only warm an aircraft up a bit, that's how they detect stealth aircraft, warm them up and spot them on thermal viewers, but against unshielded flesh? Very nasty. Anyway, he ducked missiles over El Paso, but he couldn’t duck a high-energy beam. Incidentally, we don’t give much for his reproductive chances after that.
"Other than that, we're still searching. He's dragged himself off somewhere and he's hiding. The DIMO(N) net doesn’t report any portals forming so we think he's still out there. We can assume he's recovering, our experience is that daemons and angels don’t die of wounds. If they're not killed outright by damage that overwhelms them, they recover. So he's out there and he's getting better."
"Doctor Surlethe?"
"I concur Mister President, we have to find him before he regenerates. But, I find that information about high energy beam effects very interesting. Perhaps we're not using the right weapons against Uriel."
The Salvation War: Pantheocide - 26
Throne Room, The Ultimate Temple, Eternal City, Heaven
The Seraphim and Cherubim, along with all the other strange creatures that kept Yahweh amused, were developing a conditioned reflex. As soon as they saw Michael-Lan approaching to give his report on the progress of the war against the humans, they dived for cover. As he entered the Holiest of Holies, the badly-chipped marble of the temple walls suggested that the Master Mason had given up on repairing the damage from previous reports and was now just contenting himself with fixing the bits Yahweh could see. In the dim glow that filled the throne room, that wasn't very much.
In front of him, the One Above All Others sat staring moodily at the seven great, gold lamps, watching the clouds of scented smoke hang in thick, hazy clouds. He still hadn't recovered from the shock of Wuffles death and he had vetoed sending the Scarlet Beast and his rider to further vex the humans. Michael-Lan had been annoyed and surprised by that. He had planned on getting rid of them both that way. The humans would oblige him, he didn’t doubt that for a moment. They were killing off his enemies and rivals quite nicely and Yahweh was becoming steadily more isolated. He needed to get the veto reversed, that was one of his objectives today.
Michael-Lan took his accustomed position in the middle of the lamps and knelt down on both knees, prostrating himself and pressing his flawless lips to the cold, dark jade floor. The ceaseless chant of “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, who was, and is, and is to come. You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they were created and have their being", quieted, and then died to whispers. In the gloom, Michael-Lan saw their eyes shifting around trying to find the nearest cover from the inevitable explosion. In the faces of the 24 members of the Eternal Choir, Michael-Lan could see the malicious enjoyment that warred with fear at the prospect of the events to come. Good for you boys Michael thought, I'll try and live up to your expectations. Now, let the good times roll.
From the white throne, the voice of Yahweh thundered: “Michael-Lan, my general, what news do you bring me? Do the humans still defy my will?"
Of course they do, meadow-muffin. The serious question is how much longer you will defy theirs. "They cower in fear at our righteous wrath, Lord Above All Others, but still they remain recalcitrant. Humans blaspheme the Your Peerless Name. "Very inventively if I may say so "and they have evicted You from their places of learning and from their government offices. In all their cities and towns, from all their public places, and even from each person's home You have been cast out. No longer do they give glory to You, and they continue to do their evil deeds. Putting it bluntly, Father of All, they have decided that they do not want You. Your own Holy Church has disowned you and curse your name as a usurper who has replaced the One True God."
It was an all-time record, Michael-Lan had never got continuing thunderclaps and technicolor lightning this early in a meeting before. Marble fragments sprayed from the walls and lashed across the room. Michael-Lan glanced across to the traditional position of the Master mason and saw why the throne room hadn't been fully repaired. The mason had built himself a quite well-designed bunker in one corner. As Michael watched, a stick with a white flag on the end rose from behind the walls and waved backwards and forwards. The movement attracted the attention of a pair of Seraphim who abandoned their cover behind a table and fled to the bunker. They vanished behind the walls, then were unceremoniously thrown out. Fortunately for them, the storm of fragments was dying down and they escaped with only a few serious wounds.
"What of Uriel-Lan? Has he redeemed his earlier failures?" The voice boomed across the still-roiling clouds that surrounded the Great Throne.
"He has carried out another attack, on a small town outside the city of San Diego. It was a hard battle, so I understand, and the humans fought well. They used their cruellest weapons and they drove him off. It must be said that Uriel is also believed to have fought bravely before being forced to retreat. There are reports that he is badly injured and the humans still hunt him with their beasts and machines. If they catch him, it will go hard for him. Forgiveness and mercy are not human characteristics." Sorry, little humans, that libels you I know. So sue me. Michael hesitated for a moment, acutely conscious of all the lawsuits that were piling up over "Acts of God". On second thoughts, please don't. I can't afford it. And in truth, your forgiveness and mercy exceeds the divine by far.
"He is defeated yet may still live?" Yahweh's voice echoed concern.
"That is correct, Oh Lord Of All."
"I would see him here. I would seek his explanation of his failures at first hand Michael-Lan. Arrange for his location and rescue. At once."
Oh damn. "Your wish is my command Oh Lord Above All. Now, once again, may I bring to your attention the need to strike at the center of the Human spirit. I mean of course the City of Jerusalem. It would be a good target for the Scarlet Beast and for Dumah." And it would give the Israelis something to shoot at. I've always wondered how good they really are.
"Jerusalem. Yes that will strike at their hearts and souls." Yahweh paused for a moment, thinking of the sad fate of Wuffles and Michael could swear that he saw him brush a tear from one eye. "But make sure that both Fluffy and Dumah know what they must do and ensure that they take care. Now what of the Bowls of Wrath? Is the Fourth Bowl poured yet?"
"Not yet, Lord of All, the time is not yet ripe." Meaning neither I nor Belial have come up with a solution to that particular problem. Belial really is a great disappointment. "But I have news, the hurricane season is starting again on Earth, we can lash them with Your Divine Wrath once more."
"Let it be so. And get Uriel here."
The Montmartre Club, Heaven
"It really is most inconsiderate of him Raffie. He just won’t die."
"Perhaps the humans are less powerful than you believe."
Michael-Lan shook his head. "They're deadly all right. They're like the asp, very pretty to look at until they spread their hoods and sink their teeth into you. Then you die. Raffie, don't ever underestimate humans, Satan did and the mistake killed him. Yahweh's doing it and its costing him everything he has. Uriel's been really lucky so far, that's all. Plus the fact he's the most powerful enemy the humans have ever faced. But, they'll get him if we don’t rescue him."
"Who are you going to send?" Raphael was hoping desperately he wouldn't hear the word 'you'."
Michael-Lan was thinking that over. Instinctively, he would like to have sent a crew that were on his 'to be disposed of' list but that wouldn’t do. He was acutely aware of the fact that, in the great game he was playing, he was his own most powerful piece. "I'll do this myself."
Raphael relaxed so obviously that it made Michael-Lan grin. Then he waved at the stage. "The new girl is doing well up there."
"Maion? Yes she is working out well. She was sulky and uncooperative at first but Charmeine-Lan put her in with some of our less gentle clients when she was behaving badly and with the kinder ones when she was conducting herself properly. She got the message soon enough, enthusiasm and cooperation got her a better class of playmate, and she comported herself accordingly." Michael watched as Maion swung herself around the pole in the center of the stage, letting the feathers on the trailing edge of her left wing brush the audience sitting closest to her. She lifted one leg, wrapped it around her pole and started to slide down it. When she reached the bottom, she arched backwards, then straightened up. During the process, she dropped another part of her robe to the cheers of the crowd. "Yes she is doing well."
"Michael-Lan, what do you plan to do about Lemuel? He's getting closer."
"He is, isn’t he. What do you suggest I do?"
"Kill him."
Michael-Lan shook his head. "Bad move Raffie. Think about it. At the moment, the investigation he is officially running is actually helping us and he is the best person we could have in that job. The other investigation, the one that could lead to us, is private, or at least tightly confined. Now, if he dies, the first investigation gets disrupted and remember, we have rivals out there. People will look into his files, they'll find out about his second investigation and that'll make it all official. We'll be the subject of a real League of the Holy Court hunt and that will mean serious problems for us all. So Lemuel lives. What we will do is send him down a blind alley, one where he can find all sorts of interesting things that are utterly unimportant." Michael-Lan thought for a second. "Of course, the other option is to bring him into our little club here. Get him on our side. Human pleasures are seductive and having the best investigator in the League of the Holy Court working for us will be very useful indeed."
"Risky."
"Of course, but the rewards would be great. Ah, Maion's finished her dance." Up on the stage, the blonde angel was nude and knelt before the audience, sweeping her wings over to cover her head. An Erelim rose from his table close by the stage and took her hand, bringing her to his table. Michael waved unobtrusively and Charmeine-Lan came over to join him.
"Raffie, you know Charmeine-Lan, don’t you? She runs the girls who work here. Charmeine, we were just commenting on how well Maion seems to have settled in.
Charmeine-Lan thought for a second. "She was difficult at first but aren’t they all? Her addiction helps of course, if she goes short, she gets very cooperative very fast. But, once she'd settled in, everything worked out. In addition to her heroin, I've been keeping her on some other stuff, just to take the edge off so to speak. But she's worked out some very good variations on the reverential dances she'd been taught. I think she'll make it just fine."
"No trouble with clients?"
"She panicked the first time one got rough with her but that's all. Don't worry Michael-Lan, she's doing fine."
"Who, me worry." Michael-Lan threw his hands up in a traditional Alfred E Neuman gesture and his companions burst out laughing. Charmeine-Lan patted his hand and left. "Well, Raffie, one more round, then I've got to work out how to pull Uriel's nuts, if he still has ownership rights on them, out of the fire."
Second Regimental Headquarters, First Cavalry Division, Banks of the Irawaddy, Myanmar
"The trouble is that we haven't actually advanced more than 250 miles, nobody in this crazy offensive has." Senior Colonel Mahindra looked at the fuel bowsers that were feeding his armored cars and shook his head. It wasn't just that they were American fuel trucks, it was the fact they had just materialized in the middle of his laager. He still couldn't get used to the way his logistics train was working, he radioed for supplies and a helicopter with a sensitive and the equipment to open a portal arrived. Then there would be a black hole in the center of his camp and the trucks with his supplies would just drive out. He couldn't help thinking he had the strategist's dream here. A supply line that just materialized whatever he needed, where he needed it.
That wasn't the end of the matter. The advance was simply leapfrogging from one point to the next. Any attempts by the Myanmar army to form a systematic defense had proved futile, the advancing columns of armor just drove into one of the ubiquitous portals and appeared somewhere else, usually where it would do most damage. It didn’t really matter anyway, the Myanmar Army was collapsing into a rout. The troops that had invaded Thailand were still there, under assault by the 5th, 9th and 15th Infantry Divisions, but the rest of the army was dissolving. That surprised nobody, it was an army of unwilling conscripts with the highest desertion rate in the world. Faced with a mechanized enemy that could jump around the country at will, that army had come to the logical conclusion that being out of uniform was a better place than being in it.
"Any idea where we're going now?" Mahindra's chief of staff instinctively checked the vehicle roster. They were in remarkably good shape for a unit that had advanced so far so fast. Then, he kicked himself, as his Colonel had pointed out, they hadn't. They'd jumped around.
"Over the river, obviously. How and where is another matter." There was another problem, a humanitarian one. The Myanmar junta hadn't bothered to provide any systematic and effective relief to the population in the area devastated by Cyclone Nargis almost fifteen months earlier. Now, with the country opened up by the invasion, convoys of trucks were bringing relief supplies up to the impoverished people. The problem was that the relief agencies wanted to use portals as well and there just weren't enough sensitives to provide them all.
"Sir." A junior officer pointed towards the road leading back to Moulmein. A column of five Humvees, driven nose-to-tail was hurtling along the road in a cloud of red dust. Even as he watched, it stopped at the perimeter and then proceeded towards the vehicle laager. When it stopped, a group of officers debussed, led by a single short figure.
"Uh-oh." Colonel Mahindra prayed devoutly that everything in his regiment was in order.
"Colonel. I need your regiment to move out." General Asanee's eyes ran around the command tent taking note of the carefully marked-up maps and the updated status charts.
"Yes Ma'am. I have a company ready to move now. I can make a full regimental move in three hours."
"Three hours?"
"When we started to resupply, I made up a fast-response team and concentrated on getting them ready to go. Now that's done, we're refuelling the rest of the vehicles."
"Everybody bombed up?"
"Yes ma'am."
The General nodded. "Well done. I see no cause for complaint. Colonel, how would you like to be the first unit into Yangon?"
"Another jump ma'am?"
"That's right, kitten found a sensitive in a village just east of Yangon. We're getting better at doing that all the time. We'll form a portal from here to Hell and then one from there to the new assembly point. Once that's secured, we'll use it as a base for our own sensitives to establish two more jumpheads west of the city and block any routes out. Then, you take your regiment in and secure the city."
Mahindra looked at the map. "Any resistance likely at the first jump-head?"
"Recon says minimal at best. A Global Hawk's overhead but it can't see anything. All the reports we are getting says resistance is crumbling fast. Third of Second got held up at Pa'an because the local people insisted on winding flowers and rosaries around the guns on the tanks. If that pattern stays repeated, you should have no problems."
"Ma'am, I'd like to send the rapid response unit into the jump-head in about one hour. I'll have a full battalion ready to back them up by then. If the rapid response company hits problems, a full battalion will be enough to shoot them out of it, if they don’t run into trouble, then we gain time and we can get the base established earlier."
"Approved." The General leaned back and grinned. "This isn’t warfare the way our fathers learned is it?"
"No Ma'am. We've rewritten the book out here."
"We've rewritten it for campaigning under these circumstances, yes. Whether using portals this way will work in a full-scale war against serious opposition, that's another question entirely."
"North Korea Ma'am?"
"North Korea. Whatever they're up to. I suspect they're watching what's happening out here before deciding what to do in their own back yard. And also what happens to the Myanmar Junta. We're convinced Yahweh put them up to this attack, now the only question is whether he'll bail them out now it's all going pear-shaped."
The Seraphim and Cherubim, along with all the other strange creatures that kept Yahweh amused, were developing a conditioned reflex. As soon as they saw Michael-Lan approaching to give his report on the progress of the war against the humans, they dived for cover. As he entered the Holiest of Holies, the badly-chipped marble of the temple walls suggested that the Master Mason had given up on repairing the damage from previous reports and was now just contenting himself with fixing the bits Yahweh could see. In the dim glow that filled the throne room, that wasn't very much.
In front of him, the One Above All Others sat staring moodily at the seven great, gold lamps, watching the clouds of scented smoke hang in thick, hazy clouds. He still hadn't recovered from the shock of Wuffles death and he had vetoed sending the Scarlet Beast and his rider to further vex the humans. Michael-Lan had been annoyed and surprised by that. He had planned on getting rid of them both that way. The humans would oblige him, he didn’t doubt that for a moment. They were killing off his enemies and rivals quite nicely and Yahweh was becoming steadily more isolated. He needed to get the veto reversed, that was one of his objectives today.
Michael-Lan took his accustomed position in the middle of the lamps and knelt down on both knees, prostrating himself and pressing his flawless lips to the cold, dark jade floor. The ceaseless chant of “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, who was, and is, and is to come. You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they were created and have their being", quieted, and then died to whispers. In the gloom, Michael-Lan saw their eyes shifting around trying to find the nearest cover from the inevitable explosion. In the faces of the 24 members of the Eternal Choir, Michael-Lan could see the malicious enjoyment that warred with fear at the prospect of the events to come. Good for you boys Michael thought, I'll try and live up to your expectations. Now, let the good times roll.
From the white throne, the voice of Yahweh thundered: “Michael-Lan, my general, what news do you bring me? Do the humans still defy my will?"
Of course they do, meadow-muffin. The serious question is how much longer you will defy theirs. "They cower in fear at our righteous wrath, Lord Above All Others, but still they remain recalcitrant. Humans blaspheme the Your Peerless Name. "Very inventively if I may say so "and they have evicted You from their places of learning and from their government offices. In all their cities and towns, from all their public places, and even from each person's home You have been cast out. No longer do they give glory to You, and they continue to do their evil deeds. Putting it bluntly, Father of All, they have decided that they do not want You. Your own Holy Church has disowned you and curse your name as a usurper who has replaced the One True God."
It was an all-time record, Michael-Lan had never got continuing thunderclaps and technicolor lightning this early in a meeting before. Marble fragments sprayed from the walls and lashed across the room. Michael-Lan glanced across to the traditional position of the Master mason and saw why the throne room hadn't been fully repaired. The mason had built himself a quite well-designed bunker in one corner. As Michael watched, a stick with a white flag on the end rose from behind the walls and waved backwards and forwards. The movement attracted the attention of a pair of Seraphim who abandoned their cover behind a table and fled to the bunker. They vanished behind the walls, then were unceremoniously thrown out. Fortunately for them, the storm of fragments was dying down and they escaped with only a few serious wounds.
"What of Uriel-Lan? Has he redeemed his earlier failures?" The voice boomed across the still-roiling clouds that surrounded the Great Throne.
"He has carried out another attack, on a small town outside the city of San Diego. It was a hard battle, so I understand, and the humans fought well. They used their cruellest weapons and they drove him off. It must be said that Uriel is also believed to have fought bravely before being forced to retreat. There are reports that he is badly injured and the humans still hunt him with their beasts and machines. If they catch him, it will go hard for him. Forgiveness and mercy are not human characteristics." Sorry, little humans, that libels you I know. So sue me. Michael hesitated for a moment, acutely conscious of all the lawsuits that were piling up over "Acts of God". On second thoughts, please don't. I can't afford it. And in truth, your forgiveness and mercy exceeds the divine by far.
"He is defeated yet may still live?" Yahweh's voice echoed concern.
"That is correct, Oh Lord Of All."
"I would see him here. I would seek his explanation of his failures at first hand Michael-Lan. Arrange for his location and rescue. At once."
Oh damn. "Your wish is my command Oh Lord Above All. Now, once again, may I bring to your attention the need to strike at the center of the Human spirit. I mean of course the City of Jerusalem. It would be a good target for the Scarlet Beast and for Dumah." And it would give the Israelis something to shoot at. I've always wondered how good they really are.
"Jerusalem. Yes that will strike at their hearts and souls." Yahweh paused for a moment, thinking of the sad fate of Wuffles and Michael could swear that he saw him brush a tear from one eye. "But make sure that both Fluffy and Dumah know what they must do and ensure that they take care. Now what of the Bowls of Wrath? Is the Fourth Bowl poured yet?"
"Not yet, Lord of All, the time is not yet ripe." Meaning neither I nor Belial have come up with a solution to that particular problem. Belial really is a great disappointment. "But I have news, the hurricane season is starting again on Earth, we can lash them with Your Divine Wrath once more."
"Let it be so. And get Uriel here."
The Montmartre Club, Heaven
"It really is most inconsiderate of him Raffie. He just won’t die."
"Perhaps the humans are less powerful than you believe."
Michael-Lan shook his head. "They're deadly all right. They're like the asp, very pretty to look at until they spread their hoods and sink their teeth into you. Then you die. Raffie, don't ever underestimate humans, Satan did and the mistake killed him. Yahweh's doing it and its costing him everything he has. Uriel's been really lucky so far, that's all. Plus the fact he's the most powerful enemy the humans have ever faced. But, they'll get him if we don’t rescue him."
"Who are you going to send?" Raphael was hoping desperately he wouldn't hear the word 'you'."
Michael-Lan was thinking that over. Instinctively, he would like to have sent a crew that were on his 'to be disposed of' list but that wouldn’t do. He was acutely aware of the fact that, in the great game he was playing, he was his own most powerful piece. "I'll do this myself."
Raphael relaxed so obviously that it made Michael-Lan grin. Then he waved at the stage. "The new girl is doing well up there."
"Maion? Yes she is working out well. She was sulky and uncooperative at first but Charmeine-Lan put her in with some of our less gentle clients when she was behaving badly and with the kinder ones when she was conducting herself properly. She got the message soon enough, enthusiasm and cooperation got her a better class of playmate, and she comported herself accordingly." Michael watched as Maion swung herself around the pole in the center of the stage, letting the feathers on the trailing edge of her left wing brush the audience sitting closest to her. She lifted one leg, wrapped it around her pole and started to slide down it. When she reached the bottom, she arched backwards, then straightened up. During the process, she dropped another part of her robe to the cheers of the crowd. "Yes she is doing well."
"Michael-Lan, what do you plan to do about Lemuel? He's getting closer."
"He is, isn’t he. What do you suggest I do?"
"Kill him."
Michael-Lan shook his head. "Bad move Raffie. Think about it. At the moment, the investigation he is officially running is actually helping us and he is the best person we could have in that job. The other investigation, the one that could lead to us, is private, or at least tightly confined. Now, if he dies, the first investigation gets disrupted and remember, we have rivals out there. People will look into his files, they'll find out about his second investigation and that'll make it all official. We'll be the subject of a real League of the Holy Court hunt and that will mean serious problems for us all. So Lemuel lives. What we will do is send him down a blind alley, one where he can find all sorts of interesting things that are utterly unimportant." Michael-Lan thought for a second. "Of course, the other option is to bring him into our little club here. Get him on our side. Human pleasures are seductive and having the best investigator in the League of the Holy Court working for us will be very useful indeed."
"Risky."
"Of course, but the rewards would be great. Ah, Maion's finished her dance." Up on the stage, the blonde angel was nude and knelt before the audience, sweeping her wings over to cover her head. An Erelim rose from his table close by the stage and took her hand, bringing her to his table. Michael waved unobtrusively and Charmeine-Lan came over to join him.
"Raffie, you know Charmeine-Lan, don’t you? She runs the girls who work here. Charmeine, we were just commenting on how well Maion seems to have settled in.
Charmeine-Lan thought for a second. "She was difficult at first but aren’t they all? Her addiction helps of course, if she goes short, she gets very cooperative very fast. But, once she'd settled in, everything worked out. In addition to her heroin, I've been keeping her on some other stuff, just to take the edge off so to speak. But she's worked out some very good variations on the reverential dances she'd been taught. I think she'll make it just fine."
"No trouble with clients?"
"She panicked the first time one got rough with her but that's all. Don't worry Michael-Lan, she's doing fine."
"Who, me worry." Michael-Lan threw his hands up in a traditional Alfred E Neuman gesture and his companions burst out laughing. Charmeine-Lan patted his hand and left. "Well, Raffie, one more round, then I've got to work out how to pull Uriel's nuts, if he still has ownership rights on them, out of the fire."
Second Regimental Headquarters, First Cavalry Division, Banks of the Irawaddy, Myanmar
"The trouble is that we haven't actually advanced more than 250 miles, nobody in this crazy offensive has." Senior Colonel Mahindra looked at the fuel bowsers that were feeding his armored cars and shook his head. It wasn't just that they were American fuel trucks, it was the fact they had just materialized in the middle of his laager. He still couldn't get used to the way his logistics train was working, he radioed for supplies and a helicopter with a sensitive and the equipment to open a portal arrived. Then there would be a black hole in the center of his camp and the trucks with his supplies would just drive out. He couldn't help thinking he had the strategist's dream here. A supply line that just materialized whatever he needed, where he needed it.
That wasn't the end of the matter. The advance was simply leapfrogging from one point to the next. Any attempts by the Myanmar army to form a systematic defense had proved futile, the advancing columns of armor just drove into one of the ubiquitous portals and appeared somewhere else, usually where it would do most damage. It didn’t really matter anyway, the Myanmar Army was collapsing into a rout. The troops that had invaded Thailand were still there, under assault by the 5th, 9th and 15th Infantry Divisions, but the rest of the army was dissolving. That surprised nobody, it was an army of unwilling conscripts with the highest desertion rate in the world. Faced with a mechanized enemy that could jump around the country at will, that army had come to the logical conclusion that being out of uniform was a better place than being in it.
"Any idea where we're going now?" Mahindra's chief of staff instinctively checked the vehicle roster. They were in remarkably good shape for a unit that had advanced so far so fast. Then, he kicked himself, as his Colonel had pointed out, they hadn't. They'd jumped around.
"Over the river, obviously. How and where is another matter." There was another problem, a humanitarian one. The Myanmar junta hadn't bothered to provide any systematic and effective relief to the population in the area devastated by Cyclone Nargis almost fifteen months earlier. Now, with the country opened up by the invasion, convoys of trucks were bringing relief supplies up to the impoverished people. The problem was that the relief agencies wanted to use portals as well and there just weren't enough sensitives to provide them all.
"Sir." A junior officer pointed towards the road leading back to Moulmein. A column of five Humvees, driven nose-to-tail was hurtling along the road in a cloud of red dust. Even as he watched, it stopped at the perimeter and then proceeded towards the vehicle laager. When it stopped, a group of officers debussed, led by a single short figure.
"Uh-oh." Colonel Mahindra prayed devoutly that everything in his regiment was in order.
"Colonel. I need your regiment to move out." General Asanee's eyes ran around the command tent taking note of the carefully marked-up maps and the updated status charts.
"Yes Ma'am. I have a company ready to move now. I can make a full regimental move in three hours."
"Three hours?"
"When we started to resupply, I made up a fast-response team and concentrated on getting them ready to go. Now that's done, we're refuelling the rest of the vehicles."
"Everybody bombed up?"
"Yes ma'am."
The General nodded. "Well done. I see no cause for complaint. Colonel, how would you like to be the first unit into Yangon?"
"Another jump ma'am?"
"That's right, kitten found a sensitive in a village just east of Yangon. We're getting better at doing that all the time. We'll form a portal from here to Hell and then one from there to the new assembly point. Once that's secured, we'll use it as a base for our own sensitives to establish two more jumpheads west of the city and block any routes out. Then, you take your regiment in and secure the city."
Mahindra looked at the map. "Any resistance likely at the first jump-head?"
"Recon says minimal at best. A Global Hawk's overhead but it can't see anything. All the reports we are getting says resistance is crumbling fast. Third of Second got held up at Pa'an because the local people insisted on winding flowers and rosaries around the guns on the tanks. If that pattern stays repeated, you should have no problems."
"Ma'am, I'd like to send the rapid response unit into the jump-head in about one hour. I'll have a full battalion ready to back them up by then. If the rapid response company hits problems, a full battalion will be enough to shoot them out of it, if they don’t run into trouble, then we gain time and we can get the base established earlier."
"Approved." The General leaned back and grinned. "This isn’t warfare the way our fathers learned is it?"
"No Ma'am. We've rewritten the book out here."
"We've rewritten it for campaigning under these circumstances, yes. Whether using portals this way will work in a full-scale war against serious opposition, that's another question entirely."
"North Korea Ma'am?"
"North Korea. Whatever they're up to. I suspect they're watching what's happening out here before deciding what to do in their own back yard. And also what happens to the Myanmar Junta. We're convinced Yahweh put them up to this attack, now the only question is whether he'll bail them out now it's all going pear-shaped."