Chapter Twenty-One
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 was 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 that information had been crunched and processed by Norman and his team and fitted into a briefing that the military brass was very interested in hearing. It hadn't helped that the garrison of Fort Bragg was 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 horrifying 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 PowerPoint 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, like 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 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 are 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. The 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 calls down the fire of heaven in the presence of men.
"Now this beast is 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 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 like 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 gentlemen, 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 beeline 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 a 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, and 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 the 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 onto 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 trap.
“Get the mortar platoon loaded up. We’ll make a pushdown 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 after 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 for 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, 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 road 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 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. 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.”
2008 - Pentheocide
Re: 2008 - Pentheocide
Chapter Twenty-Two
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 workstation, 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 must 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. 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 though 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 on 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 the hillside was almost a pleasant experience, like standing in a fast-flowing stream of water. An Earthside punch was still uncomfortable, reminiscent of standing too close to a fire, but it was no longer agonizing.
"As soon as we get the word that the sensitive 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 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 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 backward 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 backward 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 part of the Third Army's rapid reaction force and had been flown up direct from Kanchanaburi. As they spread out and secured the town, the 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, 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, it’s easy when the punch comes through from the other side. Have you got all your vehicles through?"
"Not quite. Supply trucks and rear echelons are 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, it’s 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 heat 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, it’s 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 backward 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, it’s 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 forms and grows then collapses 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 turning it backward and forwards.
"He's right you know. It does illustrate what you've been saying."
Kuroneko finished his drink. "Makes you wonder if the old Chinese philosophers had this whole thing worked out, doesn’t it."
"Taoist, but here's a funny thing. The same symbol, 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 are stories that 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 it’s 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, that 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 it’s far beyond that. We need more refineries and more oil resources. The former we can build if we're given the go-ahead but 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 were 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 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, it’s 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 the 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?"
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 workstation, 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 must 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. 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 though 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 on 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 the hillside was almost a pleasant experience, like standing in a fast-flowing stream of water. An Earthside punch was still uncomfortable, reminiscent of standing too close to a fire, but it was no longer agonizing.
"As soon as we get the word that the sensitive 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 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 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 backward 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 backward 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 part of the Third Army's rapid reaction force and had been flown up direct from Kanchanaburi. As they spread out and secured the town, the 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, 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, it’s easy when the punch comes through from the other side. Have you got all your vehicles through?"
"Not quite. Supply trucks and rear echelons are 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, it’s 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 heat 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, it’s 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 backward 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, it’s 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 forms and grows then collapses 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 turning it backward and forwards.
"He's right you know. It does illustrate what you've been saying."
Kuroneko finished his drink. "Makes you wonder if the old Chinese philosophers had this whole thing worked out, doesn’t it."
"Taoist, but here's a funny thing. The same symbol, 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 are stories that 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 it’s 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, that 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 it’s far beyond that. We need more refineries and more oil resources. The former we can build if we're given the go-ahead but 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 were 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 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, it’s 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 the 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?"
Re: 2008 - Pentheocide
Chapter Twenty-Three
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 send 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 modernization reflected by Captain William Pelranius. The AEGIS system itself was Baseline 7.3cV(5) with the SPY-1D(V) radars baseline of 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 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 was 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. The 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 northwest of San Diego. Probable portal opening, if so, it’s a small one."
"Nothing on the radar." Serafina was tempted to up the transmission power a little, but Normandy was only fifty miles from 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) says, 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 its animal and no great importance but more was human. Once, this whole area had been an 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 their 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 because 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 leaned 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 acknowledgment. "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 its 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 must 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 were 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, so everybody keeps on their 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 on 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, 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, and 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, and 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 brown eyes of Rex staring up at her, confused and pained, but grimly determined not to desert her. She drew strength from that and 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. Now he knew 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 newfound 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 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 a 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 the news of their achievements. Serafina glanced around and 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.
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 send 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 modernization reflected by Captain William Pelranius. The AEGIS system itself was Baseline 7.3cV(5) with the SPY-1D(V) radars baseline of 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 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 was 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. The 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 northwest of San Diego. Probable portal opening, if so, it’s a small one."
"Nothing on the radar." Serafina was tempted to up the transmission power a little, but Normandy was only fifty miles from 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) says, 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 its animal and no great importance but more was human. Once, this whole area had been an 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 their 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 because 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 leaned 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 acknowledgment. "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 its 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 must 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 were 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, so everybody keeps on their 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 on 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, 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, and 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, and 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 brown eyes of Rex staring up at her, confused and pained, but grimly determined not to desert her. She drew strength from that and 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. Now he knew 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 newfound 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 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 a 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 the news of their achievements. Serafina glanced around and 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.
Re: 2008 - Pentheocide
Chapter Twenty-Four
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 away 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 undercover with them, and 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 at 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 must 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 were 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 could track an object two feet across at a range of far over a thousand nautical miles and detect the tiny variations in its trajectory caused by 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 a SPY-1 was a powerful weapon.
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 though she knew she was just buying time. The blackness was spreading, it was getting more difficult to breathe 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 into the attack. It was all very, very confusing. For the first time, Uriel was 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 anymore, 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 fuses. He was a big angel and the computers in the fuses 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 fuse 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 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 around 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 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 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 a 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 here. 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.”
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 away 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 undercover with them, and 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 at 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 must 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 were 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 could track an object two feet across at a range of far over a thousand nautical miles and detect the tiny variations in its trajectory caused by 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 a SPY-1 was a powerful weapon.
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 though she knew she was just buying time. The blackness was spreading, it was getting more difficult to breathe 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 into the attack. It was all very, very confusing. For the first time, Uriel was 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 anymore, 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 fuses. He was a big angel and the computers in the fuses 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 fuse 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 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 around 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 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 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 a 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 here. 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.”
Re: 2008 - Pentheocide
Chapter Twenty-Five
Headquarters, League of the Holy Court, Eternal City
The problem was that the investigations into these conspiracies were 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 backward 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 interest, stood out. It wasn't just the differences in the 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 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 have earned their salvation down on Earth, and 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 misled 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 led the One Above All Astray. Hence my need to come here so urgently."
Michael-Lan nodded slowly in acknowledgment. "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 on 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 here 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, the 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 are 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 the ideology of theology and 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 exists let alone learn much about it. It is strange, its security is much tighter than that of the First Conspiracy even though it lacks internal protection by subdivision. Investigating the First Conspiracy is like tunneling through a wall, it’s 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, and suggest I share their aims and desires. That way will 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 the word of it strictly between us 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 counterstrike 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 must 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. This 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 remote currently 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 can do. 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 breathe 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, and 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’s 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, it’s 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."
"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 demons 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 must 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."
Headquarters, League of the Holy Court, Eternal City
The problem was that the investigations into these conspiracies were 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 backward 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 interest, stood out. It wasn't just the differences in the 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 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 have earned their salvation down on Earth, and 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 misled 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 led the One Above All Astray. Hence my need to come here so urgently."
Michael-Lan nodded slowly in acknowledgment. "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 on 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 here 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, the 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 are 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 the ideology of theology and 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 exists let alone learn much about it. It is strange, its security is much tighter than that of the First Conspiracy even though it lacks internal protection by subdivision. Investigating the First Conspiracy is like tunneling through a wall, it’s 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, and suggest I share their aims and desires. That way will 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 the word of it strictly between us 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 counterstrike 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 must 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. This 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 remote currently 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 can do. 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 breathe 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, and 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’s 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, it’s 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."
"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 demons 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 must 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."
Re: 2008 - Pentheocide
Chapter Twenty-Six
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 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 Wuffle’s 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 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 they been, 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 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 cursed your name as a usurper who has replaced the One True God."
It was a 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 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 backward 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 cruelest 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 exceed the divine by far.
"He is defeated yet may still live?" Yahweh's voice echoed the 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 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." This means neither I nor Belial has come up with a solution to that 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 it’s costing him everything he has. Uriel's been 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 was 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 playmates, 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 backward, 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. Now, the investigation he is officially running is 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 investigate 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, I 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 Irrawaddy, 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 the 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 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 refueling 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 jump heads 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 say 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 backyard. And 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."
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 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 Wuffle’s 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 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 they been, 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 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 cursed your name as a usurper who has replaced the One True God."
It was a 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 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 backward 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 cruelest 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 exceed the divine by far.
"He is defeated yet may still live?" Yahweh's voice echoed the 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 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." This means neither I nor Belial has come up with a solution to that 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 it’s costing him everything he has. Uriel's been 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 was 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 playmates, 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 backward, 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. Now, the investigation he is officially running is 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 investigate 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, I 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 Irrawaddy, 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 the 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 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 refueling 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 jump heads 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 say 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 backyard. And 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."
Re: 2008 - Pentheocide
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Temple of Everlasting Acquiescence, Eternal City, Heaven
They had to be around here somewhere. Lemuel-Lan-Michael looked around for one of the angels he and Michael had picked out as likely openings for the attempt to infiltrate the Second Conspiracy. It had been a careful choice. The subjects had to be high-ranking enough to have real knowledge of the Conspiracy, lowly enough to be impressed by Lemuel's rank, ambitious enough to value the rewards that bringing such a high-ranking angel into the Conspiracy would bring, and innocent enough to lack any suspicion over why this plum should fall into their specific laps. A demanding set of requirements to be sure.
It didn’t help that the thick, clinging clouds of incense made searching the sanctuary of the Temple difficult. Lemuel had the uneasy feeling that the ones he was searching for were there, only just out of sight. This was new territory for him. His previous investigations had always been from the outside, the investigator probing the unknown. Now, he was inside. Or, at least, that was where he wanted to be. It made his mindset even less comfortable to know that he was on his own. He had no back-up, no group of hired humans or lowly Ishim to do the legwork for him. Even Michael wasn't here to help him. Michael-Lan was away and would be for some time.
Where Michael-Lan had gone was technically a secret, but word had already started to spread through the jeweled buildings and alabaster streets of the Eternal City. Uriel, the Sword and Scythe of the Peerless One Above All, was in desperate danger and Michael was on his way to personally rescue his old friend from the murderous intentions of the ruthless human killers. It was never spoken aloud, of course, never mentioned in more than the most subdued of whispers, but the voices on the wind said that Uriel had failed in his attacks, that he had let the great Michael-Lan down and fled the scene of battle. Lemuel promised himself that when this investigation was completed, he would hunt down those 'voices on the wind', locate those quiet whisperers and haul them before the League of the Holy Court on charges of blasphemy. Uriel was the Sword and Scythe of the Eternal Father. For him to fail was inconceivable.
"Perpetiel-Lan-Paschar. It is a pleasure to meet you here. Does it not bring joy to your heart to take time from your onerous duties and give thanks for the Boundless Blessings that Our Eternal Father has bestowed upon us?"
The Bene Elohim turned around at Lemuel's voice and dropped to his knees, covering his face with his wings. "This is true, Most Lordly Ophanim. The One Above All bestows such gifts upon us that there are not enough hours in all of eternity to give thanks for them. Even knowing that it brings joy to my heart to offer such adoration as is in my humble capacity. Most Noble One, may this humble one has the honor of knowing to whom I speak?"
"Of course. I am Samandiriel-Lan-Michael." Lemuel felt his spirit rebel as he told the lie here in the Eternal father's own temple but needs had to be filled when desperate circumstances demanded it. "It is the first time I have attended here. Truly this Temple does honor to the Lord Above All Others."
"It is but modest compared with the great bounties bestowed upon us." Perpetiel-Lan looked up from behind his wings. "And your presence here adds honor to our humble gathering."
"I was recommended here by friends who said that the devotion and worship of the congregation would restore my spirits. Come, friend, stand, there is no need for such humility. Compared with the Divine Presence, even the greatest of us is as nothing. Let us stand together in adoration of His Spirit."
Perpetiel-Lan rose to his feet, looking curiously at Lemuel. "Your spirits are troubled, Great One?"
Lemuel sighed a touch theatrically. "I fear so. It is this war with the humans. It does not go well and my heart aches to think of the pain human defiance is causing Our Eternal Father. I ask myself, is there not more we can do to ease His burdens? Can we not give our strength, such as it is, to help shoulder the burdens of this war? My spirit cries out, 'thou shalt do more' yet I can find no way to satisfy this righteous craving."
"Would you permit this humble servant to offer your Greatness an opportunity to do more?"
"If this would ease my heart, I would be indebted."
"There is a small group of us, we assemble in private where there are no interruptions or distractions. Without those, we can concentrate our whole power into a chorus of adoration for The One Above Us All. Although it is tiny in comparison with His Great Power, perhaps it is of some little worth. You would be welcome to join us Most Noble One. If you would condescend to be seen with such lowly ones as us."
"Your kindness shows the greatness of your heart. I would be pleased to join you for the adoration of The Highest."
"Then meet me here again, at the hour of Compline."
War Room, White House, Washington DC.
"It's not a weapon." Admiral Gary Roughead spoke wearily, repeating himself again. "Look, I don't think the crew on Normandy will be allowed to buy their own beer in San Diego for a long time to come, but they drove off Uriel with missiles, not some mystical death ray."
"But the reports we have say that the radar hurt him."
"It probably did, it’s a very powerful radar indeed and Uriel was, in its terms, very close to it. We have tight limitations on where the crew can be topside when the SPY-1 is operating. And we know from our experience with the Baldricks that they are sensitive to radar emissions. But it's not a viable weapon. Normandy burned out a significant proportion of her SPY-1 antenna faces during that engagement. I know, it was worth it, and she saved San Diego in the process but she'll still be in the dock for months and it'll cost a lot of money to fix her. For all that, the radar was a minor contributor to the battle at most."
"The ground crews found burned tissue at the point of impact."
"Most likely from the missile hits. Uriel's shot up and burned badly, but we did it with missiles and that's the real problem. He ducked missiles once by jumping through a portal, the only reason we got him this time is that the Standard missiles arc up and over, they came at him from above, not below. He was simply looking the wrong way. We can be sure he won't make that mistake again. We must get him with a weapon that doesn’t give him a chance to run through a portal. I'd guess that the radar irritated them badly, and probably caused him a lot of pain, but it really didn’t do that much damage. What did it do was point us in the direction we should be looking."
"How about the YAL-1A? If the targeting beams from a SPY-1 aren't powerful enough to do the job, what about the laser on the YAL-1?" General Norton Schwartz posed the question.
"How many YAL-1s are available?" President Obama asked the question a little self-consciously
"We have two built, two more in pieces, they were on the line when funding for the program was cut. They're still there. We can restart building them if the funding is restored."
Obama sighed. He'd wanted to do so much, to restore the funding of the social programs that had been neglected during the years of a Republican administration. Instead, he was pouring money into the military forces while those social programs continued to wither. It wasn't the way he had wanted to go at all. "Very well, we'll add funding in the next monthly supplemental. Can you divert funding from somewhere else to bridge the gap and get the aircraft started again?"
There was a quick consultation amongst the Chiefs of Staff. Eventually, Secretary Warner tapped his finger on the table. "We'll divert the required resources from the Navy P-8 program. We don’t need ASW birds currently so a slow-down there won’t hurt.
"Good. Next question. Munitions. How are we doing there."
"We're rebuilding stocks although not as fast as we would like. Problem is, a lot of our capacity is in things we don’t use anymore, 5.56mm rifle ammunition for example. Retooling the lines for munitions we do use, .50 Beowulf, .457 Winchester Magnum, for example, is taking time and production is only just picking up after the switch. Same across the board. We used to make a lot of 120mm sabot ammunition but our need for that is very low, what we do need are HE and HEAD. They're still in critically short supply. In some areas we're doing all right, we're stocking up again on 155mm artillery ammunition, mostly thanks to the Chinese. Their factories are becoming the arsenal of humanity. This long delay between assaults is really working for us. If Heaven had come straight at us after we'd crushed Hell, we'd have been in a desperate position. Now it's just disturbingly critical."
"Aircraft?"
"Good news Mister President." General Schwartz spoke proudly. "The first B-1C left the re-established production line yesterday and was delivered to the 40th Bombardment Group. They've been training using the B-1A we found after they gave up their B-29s. The next group to re-equip will be the 509th, they're stood down now. They lost all their B-2s at Whitman. Anyway, we've also stood up to Air Force Dimensional Strike Command to control all our strategic assets."
"SAC rides again?" Admiral Roughead spoke with studied neutrality.
"It does indeed. Modernized of course. Curt LeMay can stop spinning in his grave. Has anybody found him yet by the way?" There was a general shaking of heads. "Pity, he was the best operator the Air Force ever had, we could use him now."
"Ships? How are we doing there."
"It's our lowest priority area, Sir. But we've cut First Metal on two new CVNs, the USS Millard Fillmore and USS James Garfield. Newport News is working triple shifts on the Lyndon Johnson and Herbert Hoover, and they plan to have them out of the drydocks in time to start module assembly on the second pair. That will bring us up to 14 CVNs, assuming we pull Enterprise as per plans. Otherwise, we're just concentrating on DDG-51s, additional LHDs, and the LHA-6 class. And subs, of course, we're ordering three Virginias a year. With luck, we can start pulling the museum pieces out of service again soon."
"Doctor Surlethe, any advance on the scientific front?"
"Yes and no sir. We're making impressive gains in cosmology and a few things are starting to fit together. But we still can't find a way to get to Heaven. We know it's out there and we know where it is, in a cosmological sense, but we can't find the place. Until we do, of course, we can't attack them. We can make random stabs into Universe-Two, that's the name we're using for the Hell-Dimension now, but we could end up anywhere. One thing we have learned, it behooves us to be careful. We have no idea what we might run into up there.
"There's one thing that is confusing us, we got hammered by the first three Bowls of Wrath and we're only just recovering from them. But why the long delay on the Fourth? All we've had is the Leopard Beast attack on Fort Bragg that did relatively little damage. The Fourth is supposed to be fire from above, well, we've had that already from Belial so why aren’t we seeing it again. There's something going on here we don’t understand. The bad news is the weather attacks have restarted. Have you all heard about Taiwan? That cyclone made three passes over the island. No way that's a natural occurrence."
"Is aid on its way there? Hillary, international scene?"
"There is Sir, we're sending amphibious and naval forces, other countries are sending food and medicines. Otherwise, not much to report, Mister President. The Pope has stated that the Roman Catholic Church is forming a division of 'ardent volunteers' to join the fight and 'restore the True God to his throne'. He's offering it to the HEA."
"If they're so ardent, why aren't they already in the Army?"
"Good question John. But this does point to a problem. The Human Expeditionary Army is all armored units, pretty much every division-sized armored unit on Earth. That's the way it must be, our troops are pretty much safe behind the armor. But a lot of countries don't have armored units anything like that size and they're being left out. Worse, from their point of view, the countries forming the HEA and the 15 members of the War Council at Yamantau, have all the political power as well. The UN is pretty much isolated and marginalized. Those countries that aren't represented feel the same has happened to them.
"Sucks to be them." General Casey spoke levelly.
"It does indeed, but we must recognize this causes problems. The fighting in Myanmar and the threatening war in North Korea are manifestations of this problem. . .."
"I'd dispute that, those countries were going to blow up sooner or later anyway."
"Perhaps, but the division that's forming between the countries that are at the center of things and those that are not is exacerbating the situation. We don’t want a split in our ranks now, at least not before we have Yahweh's head on a stake in front of Capitol Hill. Also, some of those countries are helping the war effort, either supplying munitions or picking up the slack from efforts that have been diverted to the Salvation War. That's why I think we should encourage the Pope's initiative. It's a way of getting smaller countries together and making them feel they're part of things again. Perhaps the other surviving religions could do the same. There's a long human tradition of the Church Militant after all, and who amongst us has not gone down into the dungeons of Moria as a mace-swinging cleric?"
A guffaw of laughter swept the conference room. Eventually, Obama wiped his eyes and picked up the discussion. "Very well then, I propose that we support the Pope's suggestion at Yamantau. After all, even if the troops aren't that good for much, I'm sure Dave Petraeus can find a use for them. Even if they are all armed like the Swiss Guards."
There was another eruption of laughter. General Casey shook his head, "Actually Sir, it’s a war crime to use Swiss pikemen as mercenaries. Been that way for centuries. But I doubt if we'd find much use for pikes in today's battles."
College of Revised History, Phelan Plain, Hell
"So, the strength of the Phalanx was dependent on each man bearing his part. Any weakness in one gravely weakened the strength of the whole. That was why training was so rigorous and started so early. Every man had to trust every other and that meant they had to have a common background. Shared experience and shared knowledge made for a strong phalanx and that meant victory. I believe it is the same today even though modern weapons are so different from ours."
"Thank you, Aeneas. That was a fascinating insight into the thinking of society and the strategy that lay behind the cultural features of Sparta. I think I speak for us all in saying that we wait with the greatest anticipation for your next presentation."
The round of applause shook the classroom walls. Aeneas nodded briefly in response and left, trying hard to hide his resentment at being relegated to the role of a teacher. As he walked down the corridor, he bumped into a very familiar figure.
"Ori, how are you, old comrade."
"Bored and frustrated. And you?"
"Much the same. I understand why the today-people want to learn the truth about their past but why choose us to teach it? There must be many by now who can do better than us."
"Perhaps not, there are many who have been rescued but to find those who have worthwhile knowledge to pass on? Perhaps not so many." Ori glanced around. "But if you are truly sick of speaking to these numbskulls, perhaps there is somebody you should meet."
Ori led the way into the College canteen. A man, wearing the red-and-gray fatigues of the Human Expeditionary Army was sitting at a table, obviously waiting for the samurai. Ori gave him a wave and then introduced Aeneas to the stranger.
"And this is Sergeant Gray Anderson of the First Mechanized Infantry battalion, (Demonic)."
Aeneas picked up on the unit’s name immediately. "You mean the today-people are training demons to fight with our weapons." His voice was a hiss of disapproval.
"We are. Although only in a way. Single-shot rifles and lightly armed infantry fighting vehicles only, no artillery, no tanks, no missiles."
"Why?" Anger bubbled under the disapproval.
"Because today-people are in short supply. We have barely enough to keep the units we have up to strength, expanding the army further is hard. So, we're experimenting with training demons and recruiting the deceased, especially ex-soldiers, into the ranks.
"What do you mean 'we'. You're dead like us."
"I am, but I died quite recently. Never went through Hell."
"If you had, you would be less keen to see guns in the hands of demons."
"We're going to see that anyway. They'll get guns, somehow. Everybody who wants them can get them, that never changes. The only question is whether the ones we can trust get them first. Perhaps trust is a bad word there. Mistrust less if that makes you feel easier.
It didn't. Aeneas still remembered what had been done to him in the pits and that his wife and children were still out there, suffering.
"Aeneas, Gray has a proposition we might like to hear," Ori spoke quietly, he'd been as shocked as Aeneas at the initial idea of training Demons to fight as humans, but he'd had time to get used to it.
"It goes like this. We're training demons to fight like humans. It's not just shooting although that's a problem. Most demons shoot like the A-team." Aeneas was confused. Gray grinned at him. "Shoot all day, never actually hit anybody."
"How can Ori and I help, we're not gunmen."
"But you are soldiers. I listened to your speech there about teaching people to fight as units. That's what demons don’t do and breaking them of the individual-hero mindset is a real problem. There's a whole lot of pre-military training to be done and you two seem good candidates. You can learn to shoot at the same time. Of course, if you want to stay here and teach historians. . .."
It wasn't a decision. Ori and Aeneas looked at each other and their reply was perfectly timed. "When do we start?"
Temple of Everlasting Acquiescence, Eternal City, Heaven
They had to be around here somewhere. Lemuel-Lan-Michael looked around for one of the angels he and Michael had picked out as likely openings for the attempt to infiltrate the Second Conspiracy. It had been a careful choice. The subjects had to be high-ranking enough to have real knowledge of the Conspiracy, lowly enough to be impressed by Lemuel's rank, ambitious enough to value the rewards that bringing such a high-ranking angel into the Conspiracy would bring, and innocent enough to lack any suspicion over why this plum should fall into their specific laps. A demanding set of requirements to be sure.
It didn’t help that the thick, clinging clouds of incense made searching the sanctuary of the Temple difficult. Lemuel had the uneasy feeling that the ones he was searching for were there, only just out of sight. This was new territory for him. His previous investigations had always been from the outside, the investigator probing the unknown. Now, he was inside. Or, at least, that was where he wanted to be. It made his mindset even less comfortable to know that he was on his own. He had no back-up, no group of hired humans or lowly Ishim to do the legwork for him. Even Michael wasn't here to help him. Michael-Lan was away and would be for some time.
Where Michael-Lan had gone was technically a secret, but word had already started to spread through the jeweled buildings and alabaster streets of the Eternal City. Uriel, the Sword and Scythe of the Peerless One Above All, was in desperate danger and Michael was on his way to personally rescue his old friend from the murderous intentions of the ruthless human killers. It was never spoken aloud, of course, never mentioned in more than the most subdued of whispers, but the voices on the wind said that Uriel had failed in his attacks, that he had let the great Michael-Lan down and fled the scene of battle. Lemuel promised himself that when this investigation was completed, he would hunt down those 'voices on the wind', locate those quiet whisperers and haul them before the League of the Holy Court on charges of blasphemy. Uriel was the Sword and Scythe of the Eternal Father. For him to fail was inconceivable.
"Perpetiel-Lan-Paschar. It is a pleasure to meet you here. Does it not bring joy to your heart to take time from your onerous duties and give thanks for the Boundless Blessings that Our Eternal Father has bestowed upon us?"
The Bene Elohim turned around at Lemuel's voice and dropped to his knees, covering his face with his wings. "This is true, Most Lordly Ophanim. The One Above All bestows such gifts upon us that there are not enough hours in all of eternity to give thanks for them. Even knowing that it brings joy to my heart to offer such adoration as is in my humble capacity. Most Noble One, may this humble one has the honor of knowing to whom I speak?"
"Of course. I am Samandiriel-Lan-Michael." Lemuel felt his spirit rebel as he told the lie here in the Eternal father's own temple but needs had to be filled when desperate circumstances demanded it. "It is the first time I have attended here. Truly this Temple does honor to the Lord Above All Others."
"It is but modest compared with the great bounties bestowed upon us." Perpetiel-Lan looked up from behind his wings. "And your presence here adds honor to our humble gathering."
"I was recommended here by friends who said that the devotion and worship of the congregation would restore my spirits. Come, friend, stand, there is no need for such humility. Compared with the Divine Presence, even the greatest of us is as nothing. Let us stand together in adoration of His Spirit."
Perpetiel-Lan rose to his feet, looking curiously at Lemuel. "Your spirits are troubled, Great One?"
Lemuel sighed a touch theatrically. "I fear so. It is this war with the humans. It does not go well and my heart aches to think of the pain human defiance is causing Our Eternal Father. I ask myself, is there not more we can do to ease His burdens? Can we not give our strength, such as it is, to help shoulder the burdens of this war? My spirit cries out, 'thou shalt do more' yet I can find no way to satisfy this righteous craving."
"Would you permit this humble servant to offer your Greatness an opportunity to do more?"
"If this would ease my heart, I would be indebted."
"There is a small group of us, we assemble in private where there are no interruptions or distractions. Without those, we can concentrate our whole power into a chorus of adoration for The One Above Us All. Although it is tiny in comparison with His Great Power, perhaps it is of some little worth. You would be welcome to join us Most Noble One. If you would condescend to be seen with such lowly ones as us."
"Your kindness shows the greatness of your heart. I would be pleased to join you for the adoration of The Highest."
"Then meet me here again, at the hour of Compline."
War Room, White House, Washington DC.
"It's not a weapon." Admiral Gary Roughead spoke wearily, repeating himself again. "Look, I don't think the crew on Normandy will be allowed to buy their own beer in San Diego for a long time to come, but they drove off Uriel with missiles, not some mystical death ray."
"But the reports we have say that the radar hurt him."
"It probably did, it’s a very powerful radar indeed and Uriel was, in its terms, very close to it. We have tight limitations on where the crew can be topside when the SPY-1 is operating. And we know from our experience with the Baldricks that they are sensitive to radar emissions. But it's not a viable weapon. Normandy burned out a significant proportion of her SPY-1 antenna faces during that engagement. I know, it was worth it, and she saved San Diego in the process but she'll still be in the dock for months and it'll cost a lot of money to fix her. For all that, the radar was a minor contributor to the battle at most."
"The ground crews found burned tissue at the point of impact."
"Most likely from the missile hits. Uriel's shot up and burned badly, but we did it with missiles and that's the real problem. He ducked missiles once by jumping through a portal, the only reason we got him this time is that the Standard missiles arc up and over, they came at him from above, not below. He was simply looking the wrong way. We can be sure he won't make that mistake again. We must get him with a weapon that doesn’t give him a chance to run through a portal. I'd guess that the radar irritated them badly, and probably caused him a lot of pain, but it really didn’t do that much damage. What did it do was point us in the direction we should be looking."
"How about the YAL-1A? If the targeting beams from a SPY-1 aren't powerful enough to do the job, what about the laser on the YAL-1?" General Norton Schwartz posed the question.
"How many YAL-1s are available?" President Obama asked the question a little self-consciously
"We have two built, two more in pieces, they were on the line when funding for the program was cut. They're still there. We can restart building them if the funding is restored."
Obama sighed. He'd wanted to do so much, to restore the funding of the social programs that had been neglected during the years of a Republican administration. Instead, he was pouring money into the military forces while those social programs continued to wither. It wasn't the way he had wanted to go at all. "Very well, we'll add funding in the next monthly supplemental. Can you divert funding from somewhere else to bridge the gap and get the aircraft started again?"
There was a quick consultation amongst the Chiefs of Staff. Eventually, Secretary Warner tapped his finger on the table. "We'll divert the required resources from the Navy P-8 program. We don’t need ASW birds currently so a slow-down there won’t hurt.
"Good. Next question. Munitions. How are we doing there."
"We're rebuilding stocks although not as fast as we would like. Problem is, a lot of our capacity is in things we don’t use anymore, 5.56mm rifle ammunition for example. Retooling the lines for munitions we do use, .50 Beowulf, .457 Winchester Magnum, for example, is taking time and production is only just picking up after the switch. Same across the board. We used to make a lot of 120mm sabot ammunition but our need for that is very low, what we do need are HE and HEAD. They're still in critically short supply. In some areas we're doing all right, we're stocking up again on 155mm artillery ammunition, mostly thanks to the Chinese. Their factories are becoming the arsenal of humanity. This long delay between assaults is really working for us. If Heaven had come straight at us after we'd crushed Hell, we'd have been in a desperate position. Now it's just disturbingly critical."
"Aircraft?"
"Good news Mister President." General Schwartz spoke proudly. "The first B-1C left the re-established production line yesterday and was delivered to the 40th Bombardment Group. They've been training using the B-1A we found after they gave up their B-29s. The next group to re-equip will be the 509th, they're stood down now. They lost all their B-2s at Whitman. Anyway, we've also stood up to Air Force Dimensional Strike Command to control all our strategic assets."
"SAC rides again?" Admiral Roughead spoke with studied neutrality.
"It does indeed. Modernized of course. Curt LeMay can stop spinning in his grave. Has anybody found him yet by the way?" There was a general shaking of heads. "Pity, he was the best operator the Air Force ever had, we could use him now."
"Ships? How are we doing there."
"It's our lowest priority area, Sir. But we've cut First Metal on two new CVNs, the USS Millard Fillmore and USS James Garfield. Newport News is working triple shifts on the Lyndon Johnson and Herbert Hoover, and they plan to have them out of the drydocks in time to start module assembly on the second pair. That will bring us up to 14 CVNs, assuming we pull Enterprise as per plans. Otherwise, we're just concentrating on DDG-51s, additional LHDs, and the LHA-6 class. And subs, of course, we're ordering three Virginias a year. With luck, we can start pulling the museum pieces out of service again soon."
"Doctor Surlethe, any advance on the scientific front?"
"Yes and no sir. We're making impressive gains in cosmology and a few things are starting to fit together. But we still can't find a way to get to Heaven. We know it's out there and we know where it is, in a cosmological sense, but we can't find the place. Until we do, of course, we can't attack them. We can make random stabs into Universe-Two, that's the name we're using for the Hell-Dimension now, but we could end up anywhere. One thing we have learned, it behooves us to be careful. We have no idea what we might run into up there.
"There's one thing that is confusing us, we got hammered by the first three Bowls of Wrath and we're only just recovering from them. But why the long delay on the Fourth? All we've had is the Leopard Beast attack on Fort Bragg that did relatively little damage. The Fourth is supposed to be fire from above, well, we've had that already from Belial so why aren’t we seeing it again. There's something going on here we don’t understand. The bad news is the weather attacks have restarted. Have you all heard about Taiwan? That cyclone made three passes over the island. No way that's a natural occurrence."
"Is aid on its way there? Hillary, international scene?"
"There is Sir, we're sending amphibious and naval forces, other countries are sending food and medicines. Otherwise, not much to report, Mister President. The Pope has stated that the Roman Catholic Church is forming a division of 'ardent volunteers' to join the fight and 'restore the True God to his throne'. He's offering it to the HEA."
"If they're so ardent, why aren't they already in the Army?"
"Good question John. But this does point to a problem. The Human Expeditionary Army is all armored units, pretty much every division-sized armored unit on Earth. That's the way it must be, our troops are pretty much safe behind the armor. But a lot of countries don't have armored units anything like that size and they're being left out. Worse, from their point of view, the countries forming the HEA and the 15 members of the War Council at Yamantau, have all the political power as well. The UN is pretty much isolated and marginalized. Those countries that aren't represented feel the same has happened to them.
"Sucks to be them." General Casey spoke levelly.
"It does indeed, but we must recognize this causes problems. The fighting in Myanmar and the threatening war in North Korea are manifestations of this problem. . .."
"I'd dispute that, those countries were going to blow up sooner or later anyway."
"Perhaps, but the division that's forming between the countries that are at the center of things and those that are not is exacerbating the situation. We don’t want a split in our ranks now, at least not before we have Yahweh's head on a stake in front of Capitol Hill. Also, some of those countries are helping the war effort, either supplying munitions or picking up the slack from efforts that have been diverted to the Salvation War. That's why I think we should encourage the Pope's initiative. It's a way of getting smaller countries together and making them feel they're part of things again. Perhaps the other surviving religions could do the same. There's a long human tradition of the Church Militant after all, and who amongst us has not gone down into the dungeons of Moria as a mace-swinging cleric?"
A guffaw of laughter swept the conference room. Eventually, Obama wiped his eyes and picked up the discussion. "Very well then, I propose that we support the Pope's suggestion at Yamantau. After all, even if the troops aren't that good for much, I'm sure Dave Petraeus can find a use for them. Even if they are all armed like the Swiss Guards."
There was another eruption of laughter. General Casey shook his head, "Actually Sir, it’s a war crime to use Swiss pikemen as mercenaries. Been that way for centuries. But I doubt if we'd find much use for pikes in today's battles."
College of Revised History, Phelan Plain, Hell
"So, the strength of the Phalanx was dependent on each man bearing his part. Any weakness in one gravely weakened the strength of the whole. That was why training was so rigorous and started so early. Every man had to trust every other and that meant they had to have a common background. Shared experience and shared knowledge made for a strong phalanx and that meant victory. I believe it is the same today even though modern weapons are so different from ours."
"Thank you, Aeneas. That was a fascinating insight into the thinking of society and the strategy that lay behind the cultural features of Sparta. I think I speak for us all in saying that we wait with the greatest anticipation for your next presentation."
The round of applause shook the classroom walls. Aeneas nodded briefly in response and left, trying hard to hide his resentment at being relegated to the role of a teacher. As he walked down the corridor, he bumped into a very familiar figure.
"Ori, how are you, old comrade."
"Bored and frustrated. And you?"
"Much the same. I understand why the today-people want to learn the truth about their past but why choose us to teach it? There must be many by now who can do better than us."
"Perhaps not, there are many who have been rescued but to find those who have worthwhile knowledge to pass on? Perhaps not so many." Ori glanced around. "But if you are truly sick of speaking to these numbskulls, perhaps there is somebody you should meet."
Ori led the way into the College canteen. A man, wearing the red-and-gray fatigues of the Human Expeditionary Army was sitting at a table, obviously waiting for the samurai. Ori gave him a wave and then introduced Aeneas to the stranger.
"And this is Sergeant Gray Anderson of the First Mechanized Infantry battalion, (Demonic)."
Aeneas picked up on the unit’s name immediately. "You mean the today-people are training demons to fight with our weapons." His voice was a hiss of disapproval.
"We are. Although only in a way. Single-shot rifles and lightly armed infantry fighting vehicles only, no artillery, no tanks, no missiles."
"Why?" Anger bubbled under the disapproval.
"Because today-people are in short supply. We have barely enough to keep the units we have up to strength, expanding the army further is hard. So, we're experimenting with training demons and recruiting the deceased, especially ex-soldiers, into the ranks.
"What do you mean 'we'. You're dead like us."
"I am, but I died quite recently. Never went through Hell."
"If you had, you would be less keen to see guns in the hands of demons."
"We're going to see that anyway. They'll get guns, somehow. Everybody who wants them can get them, that never changes. The only question is whether the ones we can trust get them first. Perhaps trust is a bad word there. Mistrust less if that makes you feel easier.
It didn't. Aeneas still remembered what had been done to him in the pits and that his wife and children were still out there, suffering.
"Aeneas, Gray has a proposition we might like to hear," Ori spoke quietly, he'd been as shocked as Aeneas at the initial idea of training Demons to fight as humans, but he'd had time to get used to it.
"It goes like this. We're training demons to fight like humans. It's not just shooting although that's a problem. Most demons shoot like the A-team." Aeneas was confused. Gray grinned at him. "Shoot all day, never actually hit anybody."
"How can Ori and I help, we're not gunmen."
"But you are soldiers. I listened to your speech there about teaching people to fight as units. That's what demons don’t do and breaking them of the individual-hero mindset is a real problem. There's a whole lot of pre-military training to be done and you two seem good candidates. You can learn to shoot at the same time. Of course, if you want to stay here and teach historians. . .."
It wasn't a decision. Ori and Aeneas looked at each other and their reply was perfectly timed. "When do we start?"
Re: 2008 - Pentheocide
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Hills South of Barona, Southern California, USA
Uriel looked skywards and cursed. The aircraft was up there again, circling, methodically and patiently searching for him. It wasn't the fast ones that were the problem. He could hear them coming and ease his battered body into cover. It was the small, slow ones that were causing him grief. They flew down low, methodically checking out the valleys and ridgelines. Despite their bright colors, they were hard to see until it was too late. They would pop up over a ridgeline before he could respond, and it had only been a matter of good fortune that he hadn't been seen by one of them.
The worst thing about the small aircraft wasn't that they were so hard to evade. It was that they meant the humans were close. If Uriel listened very carefully, he could hear their approach. The roar of their vehicle engines, sometimes the sound of shots as a suspicious object was raked with gunfire. It wasn't a good time to be something that might look like a wounded angel when this hunt was underway. If he listened carefully, Uriel could hear the baying noise that chilled his blood. Humans had brought their dogs along to help with the hunt. He had little doubt that it was the dogs that were doing the tracking. Dogs to track, humans to kill, it was a deadly combination and one that was forcing Uriel to run for his life.
He listened very carefully, acutely aware that the humans had come close to blinding him with their missiles. One of his eyes still wasn't working, the other gave an only blurred vision. It was clearing slowly but even with the ability of angels to recuperate from near mortal wounds, his injuries were crippling. Yes, he could hear the baying of the dogs echoing through the canyons. The enthusiasm evident in the sound was worse than the threat it conveyed. The dogs were thoroughly enjoying themselves. They were pleasing their human partners, that was some of it. But wrapped up in the enjoyment and the pride in performing a task that the humans couldn't do was pure, cold hate. The dogs hated him, to them, this was personal. Faint though the baying was, Uriel could sense the dogs' desire to get their teeth into him for just a few good bites before the humans finished him off.
It was time to move again. Once again, he looked upwards, peering through his fogged vision to try and detect the little aircraft. For once, the sky was empty, the latest of the aircraft had dropped behind a ridgeline, probably to scan the ground in another one of the canyons. Uriel sensed something else though, an aircraft high up, so high that even with his vision perfect he would not have been able to see it. It was moving fast, so fast that it seemed silent as it passed, the sound of its passage only arriving later in a dull boom. Surely an aircraft so high and so fast wasn't a threat? Even if it was, it didn’t matter. Uriel noted that the sound of the dogs and the humans was getting louder. Even if the so-high, so-fast aircraft was a threat, he had to move.
He heaved himself up and started to move along the canyon. As he did so, he looked down, checking where he put his feet. He'd made that mistake on the first day after the humans had wounded him. He had been so busy checking the sky and the ground for his pursuers, that he'd ignored the warning rattle. The snake had bitten him and the pain in his leg from the bite still burned. Snakes always had been servants of the Eternal Enemy and even with Satan dead, they seemed still to carry on in their accustomed style.
The problem was that his options were narrowing quickly, narrowing in a very literal sense. The mountain range he was hiding in was shaped like a funnel and he was moving steadily towards the narrow end. North of his position was a human settlement; the south was a rock-covered plain that offered him no cover at all. Behind him were the humans with their dogs and guns, in front of him, a narrow series of canyons that offered the only way out. Only, beyond those canyons was another human settlement. Uriel would have to swing east to avoid it and that pinned him against a river. He desperately tried to remember what the ground had looked like when he had flown over it before. The riven ran through a valley, one that was lush with green vegetation that would offer little or no cover to a creature his size. Butif he could cross the river, there was a maze of mountains and canyons for him to hide in. So, north then east.
The thought of the river made him remember his thirst. His mouth was dry, as parched as the hills around him. He was also hungry, desperate for food. The demands of his body as it tried to repair the damage that had been inflicted on it during the battle multiplied his need for food and water. Without them, his healing process was slowed still further. Uriel looked around, saw the yellow-gray hills under the blue sky and bright yellow sun, and desperately wanted to be back in the clear white of Heaven. The thought made him try and form a portal for his escape, but the black ellipse eluded him. That power too had been taken from him by the humans. Just how badly had they hurt him. The thought tormented Uriel, he could feel the burn of the steel and tungsten fragments in his body but there were other injuries as well, ones he couldn’t name or describe. He could feel them though, feel the sickness they caused.
Summoning his strength, trying to subdue his pain and exhaustion, Uriel started his trek north, his wounded leg dragging behind him. Could he fly? His wings were torn and burned, at least some of the smaller bones broken. More as an experiment than with any intention of flying, Uriel tried to inflate his flying sacs. He could feel a tiny trickle of gas into them, but that was all. It didn’t matter. Uriel knew that any attempt at flight would simply lift him up to where the humans could see him. And there, their missiles and aircraft were waiting.
443rd Battalion (California), United States Volunteers
"Any word from the Civil Air Patrol?" Captain(V) Artemis Gordon spoke to the radio operator with longing in his voice. He was hot, tired, and dirty. The 443rd had been on the hunt for Uriel for four days without rest. Not that they wanted any, they needed it, but they didn’t want it. In fact, had a messenger turned up with orders for their relief, the men would probably shoot him. They wanted Uriel, they wanted him dead, and they wanted the 443rd to be the agent of his timely demise. Compared with that driving goal, heat, exhaustion, and dirt were minor inconveniences.
"No pop. Sorry, Negative Sir." Bobby-Lynne Gordon kept forgetting her father was also her commanding officer. "The airdales are still hunting."
Artemis Gordon nodded. The Civil Air Patrol, everybody who owned a private aircraft and wanted to get some fuel for it, was carrying the burden of the search, their little Cessnas and Beechcraft threading through the canyons and arroyos that made up the tangled mess Uriel had taken cover in. They weren't alone, up high, circling the area was one of the fabled Auroras. They'd come out of their dark world of secrecy as the hunt for Uriel had gained momentum and they were using their futuristic array of sensors to probe the hills for the wounded angel. They existed, that much was known at last, but what they were, that was still a secret.
"Hold On." Bobby-Lynne patted herself on the back for getting the language right for once. "Report coming in on the special channel. Our Friend Upstairs reports he's picking up movement on his radar. A large object, too big for humans or local wildlife, heading north. About eight to ten miles in front of us, heading around 10 degrees true."
"All right!" Gordon slapped his daughter on the shoulder and climbed out of the Ford Excursion SUV that served as the battalion command vehicle. It just looked so much better with the 20mm cannon mounted on the roof. Around him, his men were pouring water into bowls for the thirsty tracking dogs. The officers of the 443rd worked on the old cavalry principle, animals first, then men, finally self. The humans were desperate for water but every one of them made sure that the dogs get their fill first. Not just the tracking dogs, there were attack dogs here as well. Their handlers were feeding and watering them ready for the meeting with Uriel.
"Listen up men. Our Friend Upstairs thinks he's spotted Uriel north of us. Eight to ten miles. We need to get moving. Everybody into the trucks, we'll run up through Cabela Canyon, that'll take us to within a mile or so of the reported position. Harry, make sure those 106mm rifles of yours are ready, we'll need their hitting power."
"Sure thing Boss. We've got three rounds of HEAD per gun, then we're back to conventional HEAT."
"Whatever if it hurts the bastard. Everybody else, make sure your heads are wrapped up in foil, we don’t want to lose anybody. You can bet word's going out to the squids and airdales. They'll be turning up with their goodies as soon as they can get here. That'll keep Uriel occupied but you can bet in the final battle, he'll use all that stop-living power he's got to try and beat us off. So, let’s not give him any chances. Remember El Paso and all the other towns he's raped. Just remember he's been doing that for thousands of years against people who had no defense against him. People who had never done him any harm. So, everybody, kill Uriel. Don’t mess around, just kill him."
Gordon swung up into his Excursion and started to roll forward. All around him, people were packing up camp and mounting their vehicles. The dogs didn’t need orders, they jumped up on board. They had their own reasons for wanting to kill Uriel, reasons in which vengeance warred with the desire to please their humans. But dogs are supremely logical creatures and they saw no point in walking when they could ride. Gordon looked at the 443rd starting to move and felt strange contentment in his heart. There was something immensely satisfying about commanding good men – and women – on a dangerous but important mission. It certainly beat his day-time job as a Liberal Arts professor at the local University.
The Montmartre Club, Heaven.
"Look, people, I'm going to need your help here. Artie, Glen, Duke, Louis, Benny, Shep, can you all get together please, select some music you can all agree on, and do a rehearsal. Betty, Billy, Mahalia, Janis, Ethel, and Mamie, when the boys have picked the music they want, could you make up a chorus and do the vocals. We'll put a hold on the stage show while we get this done, the girls can hold the fort out there."
"Don’t we have to sing praises or sumpin?" Billie Holiday was curious.
"Not unless you want to." Michael-Lan's voice was soothing. He found this cajoling of his human employees irritating. Why he had to persuade them when he could simply order angels around confused him slightly, He had noted though that humans, especially the talented ones did not respond well to being given terse orders. A degree of explanation and polite requests got better results faster. "It's not the words that are important, it’s the music and the singing. It gets everybody's mind together. On the same page. That makes our powers so much more efficient. Ladies, this is a chorus of equals not a diva with her backup singers. You've got to work as a team."
Behind them, the band leaders were hunched over a table pawing through the music. Artie Shaw looked up and caught Michael's eye. "How about Black Velvet?"
Michael-Lan looked at the singers and they nodded. "That'll do fine Artie. Use the area here for your rehearsals, when you're ready, let me know and we'll do the performance. I'm not sure how long it'll take me to get through and make contact so we may have to do several runs through the score."
"No problem, Michael." Glen Miller hesitated. "May I ask what this is all about?"
"I've had orders from Yahweh. Direct orders even I can't duck or evade. I'll be honest with you, Uriel-Lan tried an attack on a city down on Earth and got badly shot up doing it. Yahweh wants him rescued so we can find out what happened. We've got to locate him and open a portal to him so I can go down and get him out."
The musicians started to exchange looks. Eventually, Miller spoke up for them. "Michael, we all know who and what Uriel-Lan is. If the people down there shot him up, well, we don’t feel right about helping you get him out. From our point of view, he's better off dead."
"From a lot of points of view, he's better off dead. I don’t like this mission any more than you do." Michael bit back the instinctive desire to yell orders at the humans and force their obedience. "But Yahweh wants him back up here alive. If I don’t pull it off, he'll ask why. Now he's nicely bottled up in his palace and knows little or nothing of what’s really going on. But if he starts asking questions, he'll learn. We don’t call him the all-knowing for nothing. He'll find out about this place and everything we've all worked for will get blown away. The humans down on earth have got the measure of Uriel's attacks, he's not doing much damage and they're hurting him worse every time." And why they haven't killed him yet is beyond me. " So, helping me won’t do any appreciable harm down below and will do us a lot of good up here. Not least of which, it'll stop Yahweh from taking over the war and hitting Earth in a full-scale invasion.
"Like the one Hell launched?" Artie Shaw asked the question with a degree of relish.
"Just like the one Hell launched. And the carnage will be dreadful, for both humans and us. That's what I'm trying to avoid. When the humans get here, and they will, they'll tear this place apart. You have the humans up here to worry about, I have the angelic host to look after. Believe me, rescuing Uriel-Lan is the best of some very bad alternatives."
The musicians looked at each other again and nodded. "Very well Michael, we'll get rehearsing."
Michael-Lan heard the instruments tuning up behind him and the first tentative notes of "Black Velvet" echoing out of the improvised rehearsal chamber. He walked through the corridor down to the main body of the club and stopped for a second to check the buffet was up to standard. Then he glanced around the room and picked out the next people he wanted to see.
"Perpetiel-Lan-Paschar, glad you could make it here. How goes the special task I have assigned you?" Michael picked up one of the chairs, spun it around, and sat on it.
"Very well, we contacted the subject. He's calling himself Samandiriel-Lan-Michael by the way. We took him to an adoration session yesterday evening, three hours of chanting praises to Yah-Yah."
Michael winced, that was a dedication to duty. "And he was happy?"
"Of course, he went away feeling very righteous. We're having him back for a six-hour session in a couple of days. Once we've got him on that, he'll be ready for movement to the next stage. We've got a plan to handle that."
"Good, you and your team deserve a round on the house for that. Remember, he's got to find out enough to keep him interested, and if by chance, he should become a convert. . ...."
"We'll talk to you about it before doing anything."
"Excellent." Michael-Lan stood up and left his nightclub. Things really were going splendidly.
417th Flight Test Squadron, Edwards Air Force Base, California
"And where do you think you're going, Mikey?" Colonel Samuel Allanson stood behind his co-pilot who was stuffing possessions into a travel bag.
"Oh, hello Sammy. I got transfer orders, with the ABL program axed, I've been assigned to the 40th Bombardment Group for conversion to B-1Cs. Sorry, I thought you knew."
"I did, you didn't." Allanson was grinning all over his face at the confusion on Mickey Jennings' face.
"Sorry?"
"The ABL program is on again, funding was restored by executive order last night. Your transfer has been countermanded; you'll be staying with the 417th. We should be getting two new birds as soon as they can be assembled. One of them will be yours."
"Hey, that's great." Jennings paused. "What is going on?"
"Uriel."
"I thought he was down somewhere in Southern California?"
"He is. And the Volunteers are closing in on him. But if he gets out or if Heaven turns out to have more like him, then it'll be the job of the 417th to hunt him, or them down, and kill him. The Big Brass think our laser will be just the job to slice and dice him."
"So the whole program will go splat again as soon as Uriel's dead or there aren't any more of him?" Unspoken was Jennings' thought that he'd prefer being in a bomber.
"Not from what I hear." Allansen looked around and dropped his voice. "From what the wind says, the really big brass at Yamantau have decided that these so-called gods are more trouble than they’re worth. After we've dealt with Yahweh, we're going hunting for the rest of them. If they want to live peacefully with us, fine. If they want to throw their weight around. . ...." Allansen pointed at the laser in the nose of the YAL-1A.
"It'll be slice and dice time – again."
Hills South of Barona, Southern California, USA
Uriel looked skywards and cursed. The aircraft was up there again, circling, methodically and patiently searching for him. It wasn't the fast ones that were the problem. He could hear them coming and ease his battered body into cover. It was the small, slow ones that were causing him grief. They flew down low, methodically checking out the valleys and ridgelines. Despite their bright colors, they were hard to see until it was too late. They would pop up over a ridgeline before he could respond, and it had only been a matter of good fortune that he hadn't been seen by one of them.
The worst thing about the small aircraft wasn't that they were so hard to evade. It was that they meant the humans were close. If Uriel listened very carefully, he could hear their approach. The roar of their vehicle engines, sometimes the sound of shots as a suspicious object was raked with gunfire. It wasn't a good time to be something that might look like a wounded angel when this hunt was underway. If he listened carefully, Uriel could hear the baying noise that chilled his blood. Humans had brought their dogs along to help with the hunt. He had little doubt that it was the dogs that were doing the tracking. Dogs to track, humans to kill, it was a deadly combination and one that was forcing Uriel to run for his life.
He listened very carefully, acutely aware that the humans had come close to blinding him with their missiles. One of his eyes still wasn't working, the other gave an only blurred vision. It was clearing slowly but even with the ability of angels to recuperate from near mortal wounds, his injuries were crippling. Yes, he could hear the baying of the dogs echoing through the canyons. The enthusiasm evident in the sound was worse than the threat it conveyed. The dogs were thoroughly enjoying themselves. They were pleasing their human partners, that was some of it. But wrapped up in the enjoyment and the pride in performing a task that the humans couldn't do was pure, cold hate. The dogs hated him, to them, this was personal. Faint though the baying was, Uriel could sense the dogs' desire to get their teeth into him for just a few good bites before the humans finished him off.
It was time to move again. Once again, he looked upwards, peering through his fogged vision to try and detect the little aircraft. For once, the sky was empty, the latest of the aircraft had dropped behind a ridgeline, probably to scan the ground in another one of the canyons. Uriel sensed something else though, an aircraft high up, so high that even with his vision perfect he would not have been able to see it. It was moving fast, so fast that it seemed silent as it passed, the sound of its passage only arriving later in a dull boom. Surely an aircraft so high and so fast wasn't a threat? Even if it was, it didn’t matter. Uriel noted that the sound of the dogs and the humans was getting louder. Even if the so-high, so-fast aircraft was a threat, he had to move.
He heaved himself up and started to move along the canyon. As he did so, he looked down, checking where he put his feet. He'd made that mistake on the first day after the humans had wounded him. He had been so busy checking the sky and the ground for his pursuers, that he'd ignored the warning rattle. The snake had bitten him and the pain in his leg from the bite still burned. Snakes always had been servants of the Eternal Enemy and even with Satan dead, they seemed still to carry on in their accustomed style.
The problem was that his options were narrowing quickly, narrowing in a very literal sense. The mountain range he was hiding in was shaped like a funnel and he was moving steadily towards the narrow end. North of his position was a human settlement; the south was a rock-covered plain that offered him no cover at all. Behind him were the humans with their dogs and guns, in front of him, a narrow series of canyons that offered the only way out. Only, beyond those canyons was another human settlement. Uriel would have to swing east to avoid it and that pinned him against a river. He desperately tried to remember what the ground had looked like when he had flown over it before. The riven ran through a valley, one that was lush with green vegetation that would offer little or no cover to a creature his size. Butif he could cross the river, there was a maze of mountains and canyons for him to hide in. So, north then east.
The thought of the river made him remember his thirst. His mouth was dry, as parched as the hills around him. He was also hungry, desperate for food. The demands of his body as it tried to repair the damage that had been inflicted on it during the battle multiplied his need for food and water. Without them, his healing process was slowed still further. Uriel looked around, saw the yellow-gray hills under the blue sky and bright yellow sun, and desperately wanted to be back in the clear white of Heaven. The thought made him try and form a portal for his escape, but the black ellipse eluded him. That power too had been taken from him by the humans. Just how badly had they hurt him. The thought tormented Uriel, he could feel the burn of the steel and tungsten fragments in his body but there were other injuries as well, ones he couldn’t name or describe. He could feel them though, feel the sickness they caused.
Summoning his strength, trying to subdue his pain and exhaustion, Uriel started his trek north, his wounded leg dragging behind him. Could he fly? His wings were torn and burned, at least some of the smaller bones broken. More as an experiment than with any intention of flying, Uriel tried to inflate his flying sacs. He could feel a tiny trickle of gas into them, but that was all. It didn’t matter. Uriel knew that any attempt at flight would simply lift him up to where the humans could see him. And there, their missiles and aircraft were waiting.
443rd Battalion (California), United States Volunteers
"Any word from the Civil Air Patrol?" Captain(V) Artemis Gordon spoke to the radio operator with longing in his voice. He was hot, tired, and dirty. The 443rd had been on the hunt for Uriel for four days without rest. Not that they wanted any, they needed it, but they didn’t want it. In fact, had a messenger turned up with orders for their relief, the men would probably shoot him. They wanted Uriel, they wanted him dead, and they wanted the 443rd to be the agent of his timely demise. Compared with that driving goal, heat, exhaustion, and dirt were minor inconveniences.
"No pop. Sorry, Negative Sir." Bobby-Lynne Gordon kept forgetting her father was also her commanding officer. "The airdales are still hunting."
Artemis Gordon nodded. The Civil Air Patrol, everybody who owned a private aircraft and wanted to get some fuel for it, was carrying the burden of the search, their little Cessnas and Beechcraft threading through the canyons and arroyos that made up the tangled mess Uriel had taken cover in. They weren't alone, up high, circling the area was one of the fabled Auroras. They'd come out of their dark world of secrecy as the hunt for Uriel had gained momentum and they were using their futuristic array of sensors to probe the hills for the wounded angel. They existed, that much was known at last, but what they were, that was still a secret.
"Hold On." Bobby-Lynne patted herself on the back for getting the language right for once. "Report coming in on the special channel. Our Friend Upstairs reports he's picking up movement on his radar. A large object, too big for humans or local wildlife, heading north. About eight to ten miles in front of us, heading around 10 degrees true."
"All right!" Gordon slapped his daughter on the shoulder and climbed out of the Ford Excursion SUV that served as the battalion command vehicle. It just looked so much better with the 20mm cannon mounted on the roof. Around him, his men were pouring water into bowls for the thirsty tracking dogs. The officers of the 443rd worked on the old cavalry principle, animals first, then men, finally self. The humans were desperate for water but every one of them made sure that the dogs get their fill first. Not just the tracking dogs, there were attack dogs here as well. Their handlers were feeding and watering them ready for the meeting with Uriel.
"Listen up men. Our Friend Upstairs thinks he's spotted Uriel north of us. Eight to ten miles. We need to get moving. Everybody into the trucks, we'll run up through Cabela Canyon, that'll take us to within a mile or so of the reported position. Harry, make sure those 106mm rifles of yours are ready, we'll need their hitting power."
"Sure thing Boss. We've got three rounds of HEAD per gun, then we're back to conventional HEAT."
"Whatever if it hurts the bastard. Everybody else, make sure your heads are wrapped up in foil, we don’t want to lose anybody. You can bet word's going out to the squids and airdales. They'll be turning up with their goodies as soon as they can get here. That'll keep Uriel occupied but you can bet in the final battle, he'll use all that stop-living power he's got to try and beat us off. So, let’s not give him any chances. Remember El Paso and all the other towns he's raped. Just remember he's been doing that for thousands of years against people who had no defense against him. People who had never done him any harm. So, everybody, kill Uriel. Don’t mess around, just kill him."
Gordon swung up into his Excursion and started to roll forward. All around him, people were packing up camp and mounting their vehicles. The dogs didn’t need orders, they jumped up on board. They had their own reasons for wanting to kill Uriel, reasons in which vengeance warred with the desire to please their humans. But dogs are supremely logical creatures and they saw no point in walking when they could ride. Gordon looked at the 443rd starting to move and felt strange contentment in his heart. There was something immensely satisfying about commanding good men – and women – on a dangerous but important mission. It certainly beat his day-time job as a Liberal Arts professor at the local University.
The Montmartre Club, Heaven.
"Look, people, I'm going to need your help here. Artie, Glen, Duke, Louis, Benny, Shep, can you all get together please, select some music you can all agree on, and do a rehearsal. Betty, Billy, Mahalia, Janis, Ethel, and Mamie, when the boys have picked the music they want, could you make up a chorus and do the vocals. We'll put a hold on the stage show while we get this done, the girls can hold the fort out there."
"Don’t we have to sing praises or sumpin?" Billie Holiday was curious.
"Not unless you want to." Michael-Lan's voice was soothing. He found this cajoling of his human employees irritating. Why he had to persuade them when he could simply order angels around confused him slightly, He had noted though that humans, especially the talented ones did not respond well to being given terse orders. A degree of explanation and polite requests got better results faster. "It's not the words that are important, it’s the music and the singing. It gets everybody's mind together. On the same page. That makes our powers so much more efficient. Ladies, this is a chorus of equals not a diva with her backup singers. You've got to work as a team."
Behind them, the band leaders were hunched over a table pawing through the music. Artie Shaw looked up and caught Michael's eye. "How about Black Velvet?"
Michael-Lan looked at the singers and they nodded. "That'll do fine Artie. Use the area here for your rehearsals, when you're ready, let me know and we'll do the performance. I'm not sure how long it'll take me to get through and make contact so we may have to do several runs through the score."
"No problem, Michael." Glen Miller hesitated. "May I ask what this is all about?"
"I've had orders from Yahweh. Direct orders even I can't duck or evade. I'll be honest with you, Uriel-Lan tried an attack on a city down on Earth and got badly shot up doing it. Yahweh wants him rescued so we can find out what happened. We've got to locate him and open a portal to him so I can go down and get him out."
The musicians started to exchange looks. Eventually, Miller spoke up for them. "Michael, we all know who and what Uriel-Lan is. If the people down there shot him up, well, we don’t feel right about helping you get him out. From our point of view, he's better off dead."
"From a lot of points of view, he's better off dead. I don’t like this mission any more than you do." Michael bit back the instinctive desire to yell orders at the humans and force their obedience. "But Yahweh wants him back up here alive. If I don’t pull it off, he'll ask why. Now he's nicely bottled up in his palace and knows little or nothing of what’s really going on. But if he starts asking questions, he'll learn. We don’t call him the all-knowing for nothing. He'll find out about this place and everything we've all worked for will get blown away. The humans down on earth have got the measure of Uriel's attacks, he's not doing much damage and they're hurting him worse every time." And why they haven't killed him yet is beyond me. " So, helping me won’t do any appreciable harm down below and will do us a lot of good up here. Not least of which, it'll stop Yahweh from taking over the war and hitting Earth in a full-scale invasion.
"Like the one Hell launched?" Artie Shaw asked the question with a degree of relish.
"Just like the one Hell launched. And the carnage will be dreadful, for both humans and us. That's what I'm trying to avoid. When the humans get here, and they will, they'll tear this place apart. You have the humans up here to worry about, I have the angelic host to look after. Believe me, rescuing Uriel-Lan is the best of some very bad alternatives."
The musicians looked at each other again and nodded. "Very well Michael, we'll get rehearsing."
Michael-Lan heard the instruments tuning up behind him and the first tentative notes of "Black Velvet" echoing out of the improvised rehearsal chamber. He walked through the corridor down to the main body of the club and stopped for a second to check the buffet was up to standard. Then he glanced around the room and picked out the next people he wanted to see.
"Perpetiel-Lan-Paschar, glad you could make it here. How goes the special task I have assigned you?" Michael picked up one of the chairs, spun it around, and sat on it.
"Very well, we contacted the subject. He's calling himself Samandiriel-Lan-Michael by the way. We took him to an adoration session yesterday evening, three hours of chanting praises to Yah-Yah."
Michael winced, that was a dedication to duty. "And he was happy?"
"Of course, he went away feeling very righteous. We're having him back for a six-hour session in a couple of days. Once we've got him on that, he'll be ready for movement to the next stage. We've got a plan to handle that."
"Good, you and your team deserve a round on the house for that. Remember, he's got to find out enough to keep him interested, and if by chance, he should become a convert. . ...."
"We'll talk to you about it before doing anything."
"Excellent." Michael-Lan stood up and left his nightclub. Things really were going splendidly.
417th Flight Test Squadron, Edwards Air Force Base, California
"And where do you think you're going, Mikey?" Colonel Samuel Allanson stood behind his co-pilot who was stuffing possessions into a travel bag.
"Oh, hello Sammy. I got transfer orders, with the ABL program axed, I've been assigned to the 40th Bombardment Group for conversion to B-1Cs. Sorry, I thought you knew."
"I did, you didn't." Allanson was grinning all over his face at the confusion on Mickey Jennings' face.
"Sorry?"
"The ABL program is on again, funding was restored by executive order last night. Your transfer has been countermanded; you'll be staying with the 417th. We should be getting two new birds as soon as they can be assembled. One of them will be yours."
"Hey, that's great." Jennings paused. "What is going on?"
"Uriel."
"I thought he was down somewhere in Southern California?"
"He is. And the Volunteers are closing in on him. But if he gets out or if Heaven turns out to have more like him, then it'll be the job of the 417th to hunt him, or them down, and kill him. The Big Brass think our laser will be just the job to slice and dice him."
"So the whole program will go splat again as soon as Uriel's dead or there aren't any more of him?" Unspoken was Jennings' thought that he'd prefer being in a bomber.
"Not from what I hear." Allansen looked around and dropped his voice. "From what the wind says, the really big brass at Yamantau have decided that these so-called gods are more trouble than they’re worth. After we've dealt with Yahweh, we're going hunting for the rest of them. If they want to live peacefully with us, fine. If they want to throw their weight around. . ...." Allansen pointed at the laser in the nose of the YAL-1A.
"It'll be slice and dice time – again."
Re: 2008 - Pentheocide
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Yangon, Myanmar
This was, on consideration, more impressive that the entry of allied forces into Paris in 1944. The liberation of Paris and that of Yangon sixty-five years later had many things in common. They included the population surging around the tanks and armored personnel carriers, slowing their progress to a crawl while they wound flowers around the gun barrels. The local girls hugged and kissed the soldiers, then rode on the tanks as they made their slow, stately progress down the road. Other occupants of the liberated city throw gifts to the troops. All those things were shared by the liberation of Paris and Yangon. Only, the liberation of Paris had not had elephants. The liberation of Yangon did. Four of the great beasts were leading the column of armored vehicles down the long road that ended up at the great Schwedagon Pagoda. Already the spire of the temple was jutting into the sky in front of them.
That reminded Senior Colonel Mahindra of another sight that the liberators of Paris would have found remarkable. Down each side of his regimental column were arrayed ranks of saffron-robed Buddhist monks, their alms bowls turned triumphantly right side up. Most of them had emerged from the safe houses where they had been in hiding since the failed Saffron Revolution two years before to walk beside the tanks, giving the M-41s the aura of a divine crusade. The few monks that hadn't been forced into hiding had made their rounds with their alms bowls turned face-down, implying that the favor of the gods had been withdrawn from the country. Now, they too had their bowls turned right side up.
"Any trouble?" The radio crackled with static, but the contralto voice was unmistakable.
"No ma'am. We came out of the portal at Mingaladon Airport, formed up, and drove straight in. No trouble at all, except the number of flowers on my tank is giving me hay fever."
There was a snort of laughter on the other end of the radio. "If that's your only problem, I'll have to try and find you some more. That might be difficult."
"No problems here ma'am. The only fighting going on is the local population hunting down the white shirts." The white shirts were the members of the USDA, the Union Solidarity and Development Association whose uniform was a white shirt and green pants. They'd been named the white shirts in deliberate reference to Hitler’s brown-shirted SA and fulfilled much the same function. Street thugs whose sole role was to beat down any opposition. They'd done that with enthusiasm but now the boot was on the other foot and those that could run were doing so. A lot hadn't made it, the mobs after their blood had cornered and killed them. The lucky ones had been lynched, the less fortunate had died bloodier deaths. All too often with their families beside them. Payback was a bitch.
"What are your people doing about that? Other than collecting garlands of flowers."
"I have my armored cars patrolling the cities, if they see any fighting, they break it up and take the USDA people into custody. We're holding them at the Inwa Hall, temporarily at least. We could use some help there; my people aren't policemen."
"I'll get some White Mice down to you as soon as I have some available. Until then, do the best you can. And take care Colonel, we're lucky we didn’t have to fight our way into the city, but things can still go sour. Also, be advised a third of the First is crossing the Aung Zaya Bridge, that'll put them behind you covering your rear. First of First is crossing over from Syria, which puts them on the other side of the Nga Moe Yake River. There shouldn't be conflict but be aware of blue-on-blue."
"Yes, Ma'am." Mahindra thought for a moment. "May I ask, where do we go from here?"
"North towards Naypyidaw of course. But we need to regroup and re-organize before pushing into Northern Myanmar. We're all over the place now." There was a brief pause. "There's no serious opposition anywhere, we're just rolling through. The Myanmar Army is collapsing like a house of cards. Be advised, that the invasion force they sent into our territory has surrendered to the Ninth Infantry. For all that, don’t drop your guard and don't let your people do that. I'll have more movement orders for you in 36 hours. Until then, make sure Yangon is secured."
Command Complex, Naypyidaw, Myanmar
"We need help, we need it now. This war was Michael's idea." Senior General Than Shwe was furious. He might not be the ideal general as envisaged by the profession of arms. In fact, most competent generals regarded him as a semi-trained butcher rather than a military officer. He had enough military knowledge to recognize a disaster as it unfolded around his ears. Almost superstitiously he touched his ears as the thought occurred to him. He didn’t want them decorating the Thai general's key chain.
Gabriel looked disparagingly at the human. "You were keen enough to launch the attack when it was suggested. No hesitation at all as far as I can remember. And you were pleased enough when it looked like you were winning." And you were very quick to follow Michael's suggestion. Now, Kim Jong-Il, he's being much more cautious.
"Michael told us that all the Thai troops were in Hell and that the border was weakly-guarded." Than Shwe looked at the map on the wall. In some ways, his lack of conventional military experience was minor assistance in trying to understand what was happening to his country. A trained, competent staff officer would have expected to see a situation chart that looked like a tide flowing over the border, reaching into the Myanmar heartland, fingers advancing where resistance was weakest, being held back where the defenses were holding out. The problem was that the rules had been changed out of all recognition. Instead of a tide, the map was covered with spots, apparently isolated but in fact, connected by links that led back to Hell. Each spot would appear and then spread outwards until it joined up with the others. Conventional defenses were pointless. Set up a defense around one area and the spots would appear all around it, isolating it and leaving it to wither. Looking at the map, Than Shwe guessed that it would not be long before those spots started to appear around Naypyidaw.
"And it was. Your troops advanced far in the first few days."
"Against border guards. If that were all, we would still be there. But the Thai had regular forces and deployed them quickly."
Actually, it appears they brought them in from Hell. This means that the human commander must have realized that Heaven's fingers were behind this whole affair. With shock, Gabriel realized that Michael-Lan had been out-thought on this one. The whole idea of these human wars was to force human countries to bring back their armies and split up their alliance. Instead, the human recognized the gambit and used elements of his army to destroy this invasion. In doing so he had convinced all the governments whose troops formed part of the human army in Hell that if they faced trouble, they wouldn’t just have their own army to protect them, they'd have everybody. So, the human alliance was stronger, not weaker. Damn the humans. They were good at this.
"What would you have Michael do?" The question was asked gently.
"Support us. Send us aid, troops, and equipment. We are loyal to Michael; it is time for him to be loyal to us."
"We can’t fight a human army head-on. Not yet. They must be weakened first. You must do the best you can." Stupid people. Believing your loyalty to the Angelic Host is enough to win our loyalty to you. Our loyalty is to ourselves, you do not merit it. You are servants for us, nothing more. Gabriel swept his wings forward and strode from the room. He had to make a trip to Korea and find out just why Kim Jong-Il wasn't moving."
Suwon Palace, North Korea
"Four months! You've been moving troops around for four months! Just when are you going to move south." Gabriel-Lan hammered his fist onto the table.
Kim Jong-Un didn't even blink. "And what do you know about mechanized warfare? How many armored units have you commanded in the field?" Gabriel jerked back slightly, not expecting a response. He opened his mouth to reply but the Korean cut him off. "That's right, none. So, how dare you tell us what we need to do and when we should move."
"But. . .."
"But me no buts. We have 15 armored divisions and the same number of mechanized units to move to assault positions, and almost fifty infantry divisions to do the same with. Three and a half thousand tanks, the same number of infantry combat vehicles, seventeen and a half thousand guns to move. Do you think any of that is easy? Each of those units must have a supply line. Do you know how many tons of supplies a tank division needs per day? Or a mechanized division? Or an artillery division? Those supply lines can't cross because if they do, the traffic jams will ensure nobody gets any supplies. Amateurs talk tactics Gabriel, professionals talk logistics. Launching an assault of this size takes months of preparation. We're professionals, keep out of our way and leave us to do our work."
Gabriel's jaw was dropping with the sheer impertinence of the human who was lecturing him. "I have seen your movements. They have no objective. This unit here." He tapped the symbol for an armored division.
"Moved east three weeks ago and then moved back last week. To the same place, it originally occupied."
"Of course it did. We had to move it to clear a supply line to the division here." Kim put his finger on the map. "And to do that, we had to put that division, the 324th Tank, somewhere where it could be supported while the line was established. And then when that was done, we moved it back. I'll say this again, Gabriel, and you can tell your master the same. We're the experts at handling armies, don’t tell us how to do our job and we won't tell you how to play harps and sing praises. Or perhaps your Michael would prefer to see those three and a half thousand tanks and seventeen thousand guns joining the Human Expeditionary Army. Now, I have work to do. You are dismissed."
Gabriel nearly passed out in shock and by the time he had recovered, Kim had stomped out of the room. The archangel had nothing left to do but leave quietly.
In the next room, Kim Jong-il laughed weakly and wiped his eyes. "I did well in choosing you, my son. To send that angel running away with his tail between his legs, was a sight to cheer my old age. 'You are dismissed.' I'll bet he has never been told that by a human before. Now, what are we doing."
"The angel put his finger on it father. We are just shuffling units around, moving them backward and forwards. Using activity as a substitute for achievement. We could launch the great attack tomorrow if we were as foolish as those idiots in Myanmar. We won't of course. Instead, I think we should join the Human Expeditionary Army."
"Why?"
"Two reasons. One is that if we do otherwise, we will become a meaningless footnote to history. Myanmar has shown that Hell gives the HEA a commanding position on Earth. They can strike anywhere they can open a portal and they can open portals anywhere. They are the dominant force on Earth now, whether they realize that or not. And secondly, father, so sorry but you have not got many weeks left. When you die, you will go to Hell. Your status there as the head of our Army for the greater good will be much greater than that of the man who kept our Army out."
"You are wise beyond your years. We will do as you say."
HQ, Third Corps, Third Army, Fourth Army Group, Human Expeditionary Army
General Asanee put down the speaker and glanced around the headquarters unit. It had direct video links with both the headquarters of the Fourth Army Group and the HEA command itself. The former was barely used, it was almost irrelevant in this sideshow. She used it to keep General Thimayya informed on what a part of his Army Group was doing. To all intents and purposes, she had an independent command here on Earth, answerable only to General Petraeus. That was a command link she used much more often. The link was open now, and ready for her to use.
"General, Sir. It's my great pleasure to advise you that our troops are securing Yangon. No significant resistance except for the local population taking overdue vengeance on the white shirts. I anticipate a hold of 36 hours while we regroup and get ready to push north. Oh, one of our recon teams has rescued Aung San Suu Kyi, there was some fear that the junta may have her killed so we pre-empted it. She's in our hands now, receiving medical treatment."
"Very good General. Aung San Suu Kyi will make a good candidate for a new leader. Carry on with your preparations for moving north but do not launch the attack. Not yet anyway. We've had word from Than Shwe that they wish to discuss a ceasefire and are asking for terms."
"What do they offer Sir?"
"Their primary demand seems to be that you don’t take Naypyidaw. Than Shwe seems to believe you want his ears. They also want refuge in a third country, enough money to live in luxury, usual things for deposed dictators. In exchange, they're offering full information on their relationships with Heaven and their trade with various Heavenly figures. We're hoping what they tell us will help crack open a way into Heaven."
"Very good Sir. I'll instruct our units to regroup and get ready to move but await further orders before doing anything other than defend themselves."
Interrogation Room, DIMO(N) Field Facility, Fort Bragg, North Carolina
How had they missed her? Agent-In-Charge Sith was both relieved that the leak, or at least one of them, inside the DIMO(N) facility, had been found but embarrassed that so obvious a security breach had taken so long to spot. It was her clothes that should have given her away, the loose blouse buttoned up around her neck, the long skirt. A young woman these days simply did not dress that way unless she had some specific reason, like kinds of religious beliefs. That wasn't why she had become a suspect. She'd been trapped by the oldest of all investigative techniques, information leaked to various people with subtle differences that identified the recipients. Then, when the net had started to close, everything else had dropped into place. A fundamentalist family, a preacher for a father, it had all made sense.
"Hey Kamikaze, we've got some help with the interrogation." Sith lifted his eyebrows. The nickname had come from a time long ago when he was a newly qualified agent and the Bureau had staged a raid on a bar that had been identified as the headquarters of a multi-state drug smuggling ring. For some reason unknown even to himself, he'd tied a Japanese hachimaki around his forehead before the team had broken in. Whatever the reason, the name had stuck. "Lugasharmanaska, this is Agent-in-Charge 'Kamizaze' Sith. The suspect is in the interrogation room."
"Pleased to meet you Luga. I enjoy your television show. Is it true nobody can lie to a succubus?"
Luga laughed and shook her head. "That was thought up by the show publicists."
"Oh well, I guess the powers that be think your pheromones will get us some co-operation. It's good of you to help us out"
"I was here anyway, Agent Sith, so it was not a matter of difficulty for me. I think that is what they hope yes. If not, perhaps the presence of a demon from hell will scare her? I understand she was very religious?"
"She wore this." Sith held out a crucifix and was interested to note that Luga didn’t shy away from it or cover her eyes. Another legend busted. "After The Message, to keep wearing that, yes I'd say she was religious. That's why she sold us out."
Inside the room, Kathryn Branch was terrified of what might happen. Her father should have been at Waco years before but had been delayed on his trip to the community and hadn't been there when the FBI had assaulted the building. Ever since that day, she'd been brought up to fear and hate the Federal agencies her father had held responsible for all the deaths. Then, The Message had come, and she and her family had laid down and waited to die as ordered. Only, the Archangel Michael himself had come down and picked her up, explaining that she had been chosen for a very special mission, to watch over the humans who were Left Behind. He had explained to her that she had become part of a very special group of humans chosen for this role, ones who were exempt from the ruling of universal damnation. And so, she had become one of the group, reporting back what she had found out. Then she had been drafted and assigned to DIMO(N) and her services had become of even greater value.
She looked up and saw two men from the FBI and a third figure, a tall woman with dead white skin and small red horns pushing through her hair. Branch recognized her immediately, the succubus that had a new career as a television star. The grim words ran through her mind 'you can't lie to a succubus.' She found herself realizing that Luga was quite attractive, then understood that its evil was already corrupting her.
"You are Kathryn Branch?" One of the FBI men spoke quite gently. Branch shook her head; she might not be able to lie with a succubus present, but she could say nothing. It took an effort because she had this continued urge to please the demon in front of her.
Five hours later, she had, with great effort, managed to continue her refusal to speak. Maintaining silence had taken every bit of strength she had but it had been worth it to see the frustration on the faces of the two FBI men. The demon just stared at her, emotionless, unblinking, evil.
"We're not going to get much out of her." Sith eventually sighed, "we can carry on tomorrow."
Luga stared at the girl. "I'm hungry."
"So am I. There are some nice restaurants in town."
"No, I'm hungry now. They look nice." Luga pointed at Kathryn Branch's breasts.
"Luga, you can't!" Sith was horrified.
"You can't stop me. I'm stronger and faster than you and it takes a lot of bullets to kill us. And I'm hungry now." Luga reached out and ripped open Branch's blouse, then grabbed one of her breasts. She pulled it, stretched it out, and opened her mouth exposing her fangs just a few inches from her supposed snack.
"Get her away from me!" Branch panicked, screaming the words, mixed out with weeping and fear. "Get that hell-spawn away from me. I'll tell you anything, just don’t let her . . .. ."
Luga stepped away and grinned at the two stunned FBI men. "There you are. You, humans, are so afraid of being eaten. Of course, you can't use her confession in court. Call me back if there are any more problems with her."
Kathryn Branch was already babbling out a long list of the people she had contacted in her espionage ring. As she left, Luga stopped and patted her on the head. "Kathryn, fangs for the mammaries."
Yangon, Myanmar
This was, on consideration, more impressive that the entry of allied forces into Paris in 1944. The liberation of Paris and that of Yangon sixty-five years later had many things in common. They included the population surging around the tanks and armored personnel carriers, slowing their progress to a crawl while they wound flowers around the gun barrels. The local girls hugged and kissed the soldiers, then rode on the tanks as they made their slow, stately progress down the road. Other occupants of the liberated city throw gifts to the troops. All those things were shared by the liberation of Paris and Yangon. Only, the liberation of Paris had not had elephants. The liberation of Yangon did. Four of the great beasts were leading the column of armored vehicles down the long road that ended up at the great Schwedagon Pagoda. Already the spire of the temple was jutting into the sky in front of them.
That reminded Senior Colonel Mahindra of another sight that the liberators of Paris would have found remarkable. Down each side of his regimental column were arrayed ranks of saffron-robed Buddhist monks, their alms bowls turned triumphantly right side up. Most of them had emerged from the safe houses where they had been in hiding since the failed Saffron Revolution two years before to walk beside the tanks, giving the M-41s the aura of a divine crusade. The few monks that hadn't been forced into hiding had made their rounds with their alms bowls turned face-down, implying that the favor of the gods had been withdrawn from the country. Now, they too had their bowls turned right side up.
"Any trouble?" The radio crackled with static, but the contralto voice was unmistakable.
"No ma'am. We came out of the portal at Mingaladon Airport, formed up, and drove straight in. No trouble at all, except the number of flowers on my tank is giving me hay fever."
There was a snort of laughter on the other end of the radio. "If that's your only problem, I'll have to try and find you some more. That might be difficult."
"No problems here ma'am. The only fighting going on is the local population hunting down the white shirts." The white shirts were the members of the USDA, the Union Solidarity and Development Association whose uniform was a white shirt and green pants. They'd been named the white shirts in deliberate reference to Hitler’s brown-shirted SA and fulfilled much the same function. Street thugs whose sole role was to beat down any opposition. They'd done that with enthusiasm but now the boot was on the other foot and those that could run were doing so. A lot hadn't made it, the mobs after their blood had cornered and killed them. The lucky ones had been lynched, the less fortunate had died bloodier deaths. All too often with their families beside them. Payback was a bitch.
"What are your people doing about that? Other than collecting garlands of flowers."
"I have my armored cars patrolling the cities, if they see any fighting, they break it up and take the USDA people into custody. We're holding them at the Inwa Hall, temporarily at least. We could use some help there; my people aren't policemen."
"I'll get some White Mice down to you as soon as I have some available. Until then, do the best you can. And take care Colonel, we're lucky we didn’t have to fight our way into the city, but things can still go sour. Also, be advised a third of the First is crossing the Aung Zaya Bridge, that'll put them behind you covering your rear. First of First is crossing over from Syria, which puts them on the other side of the Nga Moe Yake River. There shouldn't be conflict but be aware of blue-on-blue."
"Yes, Ma'am." Mahindra thought for a moment. "May I ask, where do we go from here?"
"North towards Naypyidaw of course. But we need to regroup and re-organize before pushing into Northern Myanmar. We're all over the place now." There was a brief pause. "There's no serious opposition anywhere, we're just rolling through. The Myanmar Army is collapsing like a house of cards. Be advised, that the invasion force they sent into our territory has surrendered to the Ninth Infantry. For all that, don’t drop your guard and don't let your people do that. I'll have more movement orders for you in 36 hours. Until then, make sure Yangon is secured."
Command Complex, Naypyidaw, Myanmar
"We need help, we need it now. This war was Michael's idea." Senior General Than Shwe was furious. He might not be the ideal general as envisaged by the profession of arms. In fact, most competent generals regarded him as a semi-trained butcher rather than a military officer. He had enough military knowledge to recognize a disaster as it unfolded around his ears. Almost superstitiously he touched his ears as the thought occurred to him. He didn’t want them decorating the Thai general's key chain.
Gabriel looked disparagingly at the human. "You were keen enough to launch the attack when it was suggested. No hesitation at all as far as I can remember. And you were pleased enough when it looked like you were winning." And you were very quick to follow Michael's suggestion. Now, Kim Jong-Il, he's being much more cautious.
"Michael told us that all the Thai troops were in Hell and that the border was weakly-guarded." Than Shwe looked at the map on the wall. In some ways, his lack of conventional military experience was minor assistance in trying to understand what was happening to his country. A trained, competent staff officer would have expected to see a situation chart that looked like a tide flowing over the border, reaching into the Myanmar heartland, fingers advancing where resistance was weakest, being held back where the defenses were holding out. The problem was that the rules had been changed out of all recognition. Instead of a tide, the map was covered with spots, apparently isolated but in fact, connected by links that led back to Hell. Each spot would appear and then spread outwards until it joined up with the others. Conventional defenses were pointless. Set up a defense around one area and the spots would appear all around it, isolating it and leaving it to wither. Looking at the map, Than Shwe guessed that it would not be long before those spots started to appear around Naypyidaw.
"And it was. Your troops advanced far in the first few days."
"Against border guards. If that were all, we would still be there. But the Thai had regular forces and deployed them quickly."
Actually, it appears they brought them in from Hell. This means that the human commander must have realized that Heaven's fingers were behind this whole affair. With shock, Gabriel realized that Michael-Lan had been out-thought on this one. The whole idea of these human wars was to force human countries to bring back their armies and split up their alliance. Instead, the human recognized the gambit and used elements of his army to destroy this invasion. In doing so he had convinced all the governments whose troops formed part of the human army in Hell that if they faced trouble, they wouldn’t just have their own army to protect them, they'd have everybody. So, the human alliance was stronger, not weaker. Damn the humans. They were good at this.
"What would you have Michael do?" The question was asked gently.
"Support us. Send us aid, troops, and equipment. We are loyal to Michael; it is time for him to be loyal to us."
"We can’t fight a human army head-on. Not yet. They must be weakened first. You must do the best you can." Stupid people. Believing your loyalty to the Angelic Host is enough to win our loyalty to you. Our loyalty is to ourselves, you do not merit it. You are servants for us, nothing more. Gabriel swept his wings forward and strode from the room. He had to make a trip to Korea and find out just why Kim Jong-Il wasn't moving."
Suwon Palace, North Korea
"Four months! You've been moving troops around for four months! Just when are you going to move south." Gabriel-Lan hammered his fist onto the table.
Kim Jong-Un didn't even blink. "And what do you know about mechanized warfare? How many armored units have you commanded in the field?" Gabriel jerked back slightly, not expecting a response. He opened his mouth to reply but the Korean cut him off. "That's right, none. So, how dare you tell us what we need to do and when we should move."
"But. . .."
"But me no buts. We have 15 armored divisions and the same number of mechanized units to move to assault positions, and almost fifty infantry divisions to do the same with. Three and a half thousand tanks, the same number of infantry combat vehicles, seventeen and a half thousand guns to move. Do you think any of that is easy? Each of those units must have a supply line. Do you know how many tons of supplies a tank division needs per day? Or a mechanized division? Or an artillery division? Those supply lines can't cross because if they do, the traffic jams will ensure nobody gets any supplies. Amateurs talk tactics Gabriel, professionals talk logistics. Launching an assault of this size takes months of preparation. We're professionals, keep out of our way and leave us to do our work."
Gabriel's jaw was dropping with the sheer impertinence of the human who was lecturing him. "I have seen your movements. They have no objective. This unit here." He tapped the symbol for an armored division.
"Moved east three weeks ago and then moved back last week. To the same place, it originally occupied."
"Of course it did. We had to move it to clear a supply line to the division here." Kim put his finger on the map. "And to do that, we had to put that division, the 324th Tank, somewhere where it could be supported while the line was established. And then when that was done, we moved it back. I'll say this again, Gabriel, and you can tell your master the same. We're the experts at handling armies, don’t tell us how to do our job and we won't tell you how to play harps and sing praises. Or perhaps your Michael would prefer to see those three and a half thousand tanks and seventeen thousand guns joining the Human Expeditionary Army. Now, I have work to do. You are dismissed."
Gabriel nearly passed out in shock and by the time he had recovered, Kim had stomped out of the room. The archangel had nothing left to do but leave quietly.
In the next room, Kim Jong-il laughed weakly and wiped his eyes. "I did well in choosing you, my son. To send that angel running away with his tail between his legs, was a sight to cheer my old age. 'You are dismissed.' I'll bet he has never been told that by a human before. Now, what are we doing."
"The angel put his finger on it father. We are just shuffling units around, moving them backward and forwards. Using activity as a substitute for achievement. We could launch the great attack tomorrow if we were as foolish as those idiots in Myanmar. We won't of course. Instead, I think we should join the Human Expeditionary Army."
"Why?"
"Two reasons. One is that if we do otherwise, we will become a meaningless footnote to history. Myanmar has shown that Hell gives the HEA a commanding position on Earth. They can strike anywhere they can open a portal and they can open portals anywhere. They are the dominant force on Earth now, whether they realize that or not. And secondly, father, so sorry but you have not got many weeks left. When you die, you will go to Hell. Your status there as the head of our Army for the greater good will be much greater than that of the man who kept our Army out."
"You are wise beyond your years. We will do as you say."
HQ, Third Corps, Third Army, Fourth Army Group, Human Expeditionary Army
General Asanee put down the speaker and glanced around the headquarters unit. It had direct video links with both the headquarters of the Fourth Army Group and the HEA command itself. The former was barely used, it was almost irrelevant in this sideshow. She used it to keep General Thimayya informed on what a part of his Army Group was doing. To all intents and purposes, she had an independent command here on Earth, answerable only to General Petraeus. That was a command link she used much more often. The link was open now, and ready for her to use.
"General, Sir. It's my great pleasure to advise you that our troops are securing Yangon. No significant resistance except for the local population taking overdue vengeance on the white shirts. I anticipate a hold of 36 hours while we regroup and get ready to push north. Oh, one of our recon teams has rescued Aung San Suu Kyi, there was some fear that the junta may have her killed so we pre-empted it. She's in our hands now, receiving medical treatment."
"Very good General. Aung San Suu Kyi will make a good candidate for a new leader. Carry on with your preparations for moving north but do not launch the attack. Not yet anyway. We've had word from Than Shwe that they wish to discuss a ceasefire and are asking for terms."
"What do they offer Sir?"
"Their primary demand seems to be that you don’t take Naypyidaw. Than Shwe seems to believe you want his ears. They also want refuge in a third country, enough money to live in luxury, usual things for deposed dictators. In exchange, they're offering full information on their relationships with Heaven and their trade with various Heavenly figures. We're hoping what they tell us will help crack open a way into Heaven."
"Very good Sir. I'll instruct our units to regroup and get ready to move but await further orders before doing anything other than defend themselves."
Interrogation Room, DIMO(N) Field Facility, Fort Bragg, North Carolina
How had they missed her? Agent-In-Charge Sith was both relieved that the leak, or at least one of them, inside the DIMO(N) facility, had been found but embarrassed that so obvious a security breach had taken so long to spot. It was her clothes that should have given her away, the loose blouse buttoned up around her neck, the long skirt. A young woman these days simply did not dress that way unless she had some specific reason, like kinds of religious beliefs. That wasn't why she had become a suspect. She'd been trapped by the oldest of all investigative techniques, information leaked to various people with subtle differences that identified the recipients. Then, when the net had started to close, everything else had dropped into place. A fundamentalist family, a preacher for a father, it had all made sense.
"Hey Kamikaze, we've got some help with the interrogation." Sith lifted his eyebrows. The nickname had come from a time long ago when he was a newly qualified agent and the Bureau had staged a raid on a bar that had been identified as the headquarters of a multi-state drug smuggling ring. For some reason unknown even to himself, he'd tied a Japanese hachimaki around his forehead before the team had broken in. Whatever the reason, the name had stuck. "Lugasharmanaska, this is Agent-in-Charge 'Kamizaze' Sith. The suspect is in the interrogation room."
"Pleased to meet you Luga. I enjoy your television show. Is it true nobody can lie to a succubus?"
Luga laughed and shook her head. "That was thought up by the show publicists."
"Oh well, I guess the powers that be think your pheromones will get us some co-operation. It's good of you to help us out"
"I was here anyway, Agent Sith, so it was not a matter of difficulty for me. I think that is what they hope yes. If not, perhaps the presence of a demon from hell will scare her? I understand she was very religious?"
"She wore this." Sith held out a crucifix and was interested to note that Luga didn’t shy away from it or cover her eyes. Another legend busted. "After The Message, to keep wearing that, yes I'd say she was religious. That's why she sold us out."
Inside the room, Kathryn Branch was terrified of what might happen. Her father should have been at Waco years before but had been delayed on his trip to the community and hadn't been there when the FBI had assaulted the building. Ever since that day, she'd been brought up to fear and hate the Federal agencies her father had held responsible for all the deaths. Then, The Message had come, and she and her family had laid down and waited to die as ordered. Only, the Archangel Michael himself had come down and picked her up, explaining that she had been chosen for a very special mission, to watch over the humans who were Left Behind. He had explained to her that she had become part of a very special group of humans chosen for this role, ones who were exempt from the ruling of universal damnation. And so, she had become one of the group, reporting back what she had found out. Then she had been drafted and assigned to DIMO(N) and her services had become of even greater value.
She looked up and saw two men from the FBI and a third figure, a tall woman with dead white skin and small red horns pushing through her hair. Branch recognized her immediately, the succubus that had a new career as a television star. The grim words ran through her mind 'you can't lie to a succubus.' She found herself realizing that Luga was quite attractive, then understood that its evil was already corrupting her.
"You are Kathryn Branch?" One of the FBI men spoke quite gently. Branch shook her head; she might not be able to lie with a succubus present, but she could say nothing. It took an effort because she had this continued urge to please the demon in front of her.
Five hours later, she had, with great effort, managed to continue her refusal to speak. Maintaining silence had taken every bit of strength she had but it had been worth it to see the frustration on the faces of the two FBI men. The demon just stared at her, emotionless, unblinking, evil.
"We're not going to get much out of her." Sith eventually sighed, "we can carry on tomorrow."
Luga stared at the girl. "I'm hungry."
"So am I. There are some nice restaurants in town."
"No, I'm hungry now. They look nice." Luga pointed at Kathryn Branch's breasts.
"Luga, you can't!" Sith was horrified.
"You can't stop me. I'm stronger and faster than you and it takes a lot of bullets to kill us. And I'm hungry now." Luga reached out and ripped open Branch's blouse, then grabbed one of her breasts. She pulled it, stretched it out, and opened her mouth exposing her fangs just a few inches from her supposed snack.
"Get her away from me!" Branch panicked, screaming the words, mixed out with weeping and fear. "Get that hell-spawn away from me. I'll tell you anything, just don’t let her . . .. ."
Luga stepped away and grinned at the two stunned FBI men. "There you are. You, humans, are so afraid of being eaten. Of course, you can't use her confession in court. Call me back if there are any more problems with her."
Kathryn Branch was already babbling out a long list of the people she had contacted in her espionage ring. As she left, Luga stopped and patted her on the head. "Kathryn, fangs for the mammaries."
Re: 2008 - Pentheocide
Chapter Thirty
Eastern District Federal Court, Raleigh, North Carolina
"Your honor, this is the most outrageous infringement – no, your Honor, infringement is too mild a word – the most outrageous flouting of my client's constitutional rights that it has even been my misfortune to encounter. Miss Branch was denied legal representation. . .... "
"Objection! Your honor, the defendant made no request for legal representation, in fact, she made no statement at all until her final breakdown."
"Sustained. Strike the reference to the defendant being denied legal representation."
"My client was also drugged and threatened with sexual assault and mutilation at the hands of a cannibalistic. . .. ."
"Objection! Miss Sharmanaska is not a human being therefore the accusation of cannibalism is contrary to fact. In any case, as the videotape records of the interrogation clearly show, the defendant was never threatened or hurt in any way. Nor was she deliberately drugged. At this point, we believe it would clarify matters greatly if the court were to watch these videotapes. We believe they clearly refute the statements made by the defense.
Judge Candlass looked at the courtroom, the federal attorney prosecuting the case, the FBI agents who had made the interrogation, and the succubus who had assisted them. His eyes were drawn to Lugasharmanaska, noting the yellow eyes with slit pupils set in darkly shadowed sockets, the dead white skin of the face and hands, changing to the shiny black of the rest of her body, the red horns emerging from the pinkish hair. She was, he thought, quite charming. Then he shook himself. "Very well, we will watch the videotape. How long is it?"
"Five hours and five minutes your Honor." The judge winced.
"Your Honor, the defense is prepared to stipulate that my client said nothing for the first five hours. The essential part of the tape is the last five minutes. We would be agreeable to showing just the first ten minutes of the tape to prove my client made no incriminating statements and the last ten to show the court the despicable assault upon her constitutional rights."
"That sounds reasonable." The judge spoke with relief. "Clerk of the Court, please show the tape in the manner described."
Up on the television screen, the grainy image showed Kathryn Branch refusing to answer the questions put to her. The two FBI agents couldn't even get her to confirm her name or any other personal details. She just sat there, ignoring their increasingly irritable questioning. Throughout the whole procedure, Lugasharmanska just sat there, emotionless, and unblinking, her yellow eyes fixed on Branch. Eventually, the Agent-in-Charge turned to his assistant.
"We're not going to get much out of her." Sith eventually sighed, "we can carry on tomorrow."
Luga stared at the girl. "I'm hungry."
"So am I. There are some nice restaurants in town."
"No, I'm hungry now. They look nice." Luga pointed at Kathryn Branch's breasts.
"Luga, you can't!" Sith was horrified.
Lugasharmanska turned slightly, and the video camera picked up her winking at Sith. Then she turned back to Bench and stared at her again. Branch went white, her eyes widening in fear, then she collapsed across the table, sobbing in fear. "Get her away from me!" Branch panicked, screaming the words, mixed out with weeping and fear. "Get that hell-spawn away from me. I'll tell you anything, just don’t let her . . .. ."
Luga stepped away and grinned at the two stunned FBI men. "There you are. You, humans, are so afraid of being eaten. Of course, you can't use her confession in court. Call me back if there are any more problems with her."
Kathryn Branch was already babbling out a long list of the people she had contacted in her espionage ring. As she left, Luga stopped and patted her comfortingly on the head. The tape continued to run, showing Branch continuing to pour out all the information she had on her spying activities. Then, it ended.
"Your honor, the prosecution submits that the tape clearly shows the defendant was neither drugged nor coerced. In fact, except for the brief, comforting, pat on the head, as she left, there was no physical contact at all between the law enforcement authorities and the defendant."
The Judge frowned and privately wished this case had gone before somebody else. Judge Simpkins perhaps, Candlass had never liked him. This case had the potential to be a career-ender.
"Your Honor, the key part of the defense case is not shown by this tape. Succubae are well-known to have pheromones that make those around them sympathetic to them and they also have the demonic ability to entangle people's minds and make them see and experience things that are not real. We contend that Miss Sharmanaska's presence in the interrogation room was equivalent to drugging my client and that she implanted the visions in her mind that led to her collapse. She may not have been physically coerced, but the threat of mutilation was very real Miss Sharmanaska herself confirms it when she said, and I quote, 'You humans are so afraid of being eaten.' And she herself said 'Of course, you can't use her confession in court.' I submit that my client's confession should be thrown out on these grounds. And, of course, any information derived from it should also be cast out as the fruit of the poison tree."
"Your Honor, Miss Sharmanaska is not a lawyer, her opinions are those of a lay .... lay," The prosecuting attorney hesitated then settled for the conventional, "person."
"I think Miss Sharmanska should answer for herself on this. Clerk of the Court, swear her in."
Lugasharmanaska took the stand and the Clerk approached her, a little nervously. "Repeat after me, I affirm that the evidence I shall give will be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so he. . .." From sheer force of habit, the Clerk had almost ended the oath with the traditional 'so help me God.'
Luga smiled at him and helpfully added "So help me, me?"
The Federal attorney took up the questioning. "Your name is Luga Sharmanaska?"
"It is now. My original name was Lugasharmanaska, one word. All demonic names are one word. But when I became an American citizen, it was split into two."
"Please explain to the court about these pheromones?"
"I do not know much, only what I have been told. All succubae know that we make those around us friendly and agreeable. We always thought it was magic, we called it miasma, and never questioned how it happened. Then humans came and asked questions. How and why. They found that our bodies emit pheromones that change the emotions of those around us. So, they say, do humans, although their pheromones are not as effective as ours."
"I see, so your pheromones are just a developed version of something all humans have. Can they make people do things against their will?"
Luga hesitated. "No, if somebody really doesn't want to do something, the pheromones won’t make them. For that, we must use trickery."
"And, for five hours, the defendant refused to speak although she must have known doing so would please you. Did that surprise you?"
"Not really. I said, if somebody is determined not to do something, my miasma won’t make them. But the government asked me to help protect itself from the defendant and who am I to refuse aid to the country that gave me refuge?"
"Your honor, please let the record state that Miss Sharmanaska has been of great assistance in the war effort, often at considerable personal risk, and has suffered severely during her efforts. Her loyalty is not subject to doubt. “We don’t doubt that she has no loyalty at all to anybody but herself. The Federal attorney was very careful not to give a hint of the thought. "You said trickery Miss Sharmanaska. How?"
"Before humans started to wear your silver hats, we could create images in your mind. I could make myself look like a wife so a faithful husband would lay with me not knowing who or what I was. The Incubi, our male equivalents could make themselves look like a faithful wife's husband for the same reason. Or I could project an image of empty space so that people would not see me at all."
"And you could project this image to multiple persons at one."
"Only if they were not wearing silver hats, yes. We used to do it all the time."
"What if they are wearing silver hats?"
"Then unless I was very close and concentrated on a single mind, I cannot entangle that mind. Even under ideal situations, penetrating a silver cap is exhausting."
Judge Candlass tapped his gavel. "I want to see this. Miss Sharmanaska, can you change your appearance please?"
"If you take your hat off. Who would you like me to look like."
The judge remembered his favorite poster from the 1980s. "Farrah Fawcett."
The Court recorder called the famous poster up on his computer and showed Luga the picture. She nodded and the judge took off his tinfoil cap. Even doing so made him feel uneasy and his head felt naked without its protection. It was no wonder that going around without a tinfoil cap was a sign of madness. Then he looked at the witness stand and saw Farrah Fawcett standing there in the trademark red swimsuit. He gasped, put on his cap, and, once more, he saw the succubus in her real form.
"Miss Sharmanaska, you must be the most dangerous person I have ever seen in this courtroom."
"Thank you, your Honor." Lugasharmanaska sounded pleased.
"Miss Sharmanaska, do you have any legal training?" The Federal Attorney returned to the case,
"No, only the studies of the Constitution required for me to become a Citizen."
"So your comment about not being able to use the information gained in court was your own, unqualified opinion?"
"In a way, although I thought the information, we gained would be secret and not revealed to anybody. That is what I meant.
"Ah, I see." Well done, Luga. That throws a spanner in the defense. "No further questions."
The Defense attorney rose to his feet. "Miss Sharmanaska, do you eat human meat?"
"Not now, no."
"Have you ever?"
"Objection your Honor. Relevance?"
"Goes to the credibility of the alleged threat."
"Overruled. Witness will answer."
"Once, yes. But that was before I joined humans."
"Did you project an image of you eating my client's breasts?"
"Not her breasts, no." Luga smiled to herself. She'd noted how lawyers played with words.
"Oh." The attorney was confused. "So, what did you project an image of?"
"I haven't said that I did."
"Well did you?"
"Yes."
"What of."
"Eating one breast. Singular. Not both." A ripple of laughter ran around the courtroom. That made Luga feel a lot easier in her mind, her pheromones were having their usual effect.
"Your Honor, there we have it. A hideous, coercive threat of permanent mutilation."
"Not permanent. It would grow back."
"Not on Earth it won't."
"Oh. I forgot that." Luga had honestly forgotten that bodies didn't regenerate on Earth.
"Irrelevant. Your Honor, I maintain that the statements we have heard today are enough to support the claim that my client's constitutional rights were trampled underfoot and that she was drugged and terrified into making her confession. In fact, I would go as far as to say she was tortured mentally until she confessed. She was threatened with dreadful physical harm by a creature she had been brought up to regard as the epitome of evil. I mean no disrespect to Miss Sharmanaska, her record of valued service to the human cause is well known and her television program is loved by millions. She was doing what she believed was helping her adopted country as best she could. We should respect that. But she is a demon and what she did was wrong. As such, her confession and all that stems from it should be ruled inadmissible and stricken from the record."
"Prosecution?"
"Your Honor. We have already disproved the charge that the defendant was denied her legal rights. The accusation that she was drugged also falls since the defense has admitted she spent five hours under interrogation without the pheromones having any effect on her. In fact, the interrogation was on the point of being ended as a failure, showing that the alleged drugging did not take place. As to the threat, the courts have always been prepared to accept that the law enforcement community has a degree of latitude in such things. It is commonplace, for example, to tell an alleged murderer that if he does not confess, the prosecution will seek the death penalty. The horrors of going to an American prison are also described to produce a confession. Who amongst us has not heard of going to prison being described as 'starting a new career as a bad man's girlfriend?' How often do we see the deal being offered 'five to ten if you confess, 25 to life if you do not?" Such threats and intimidation may not be a happy part of the law enforcement system, but they are accepted one that does not invalidate a confession. All that happened here was that the same such threats were made in a slightly more vivid and persuasive form than usual. There was no real danger of the defendant suffering physical harm. The law enforcement officers would not have permitted it and I feel sure that Miss Sharmanaska, with her pride in her American Citizenship, would not have carried out her threat. And I must point out that the information gained because of this interrogation will greatly benefit every citizen of the world. Remember, Uriel is still out there. We still face unknown dangers from Heaven. Can we afford to tolerate traitors in our midst? Your Honor, I implore you not to rule this information inadmissible."
Eastern District Federal Court, Raleigh, North Carolina
"Your honor, this is the most outrageous infringement – no, your Honor, infringement is too mild a word – the most outrageous flouting of my client's constitutional rights that it has even been my misfortune to encounter. Miss Branch was denied legal representation. . .... "
"Objection! Your honor, the defendant made no request for legal representation, in fact, she made no statement at all until her final breakdown."
"Sustained. Strike the reference to the defendant being denied legal representation."
"My client was also drugged and threatened with sexual assault and mutilation at the hands of a cannibalistic. . .. ."
"Objection! Miss Sharmanaska is not a human being therefore the accusation of cannibalism is contrary to fact. In any case, as the videotape records of the interrogation clearly show, the defendant was never threatened or hurt in any way. Nor was she deliberately drugged. At this point, we believe it would clarify matters greatly if the court were to watch these videotapes. We believe they clearly refute the statements made by the defense.
Judge Candlass looked at the courtroom, the federal attorney prosecuting the case, the FBI agents who had made the interrogation, and the succubus who had assisted them. His eyes were drawn to Lugasharmanaska, noting the yellow eyes with slit pupils set in darkly shadowed sockets, the dead white skin of the face and hands, changing to the shiny black of the rest of her body, the red horns emerging from the pinkish hair. She was, he thought, quite charming. Then he shook himself. "Very well, we will watch the videotape. How long is it?"
"Five hours and five minutes your Honor." The judge winced.
"Your Honor, the defense is prepared to stipulate that my client said nothing for the first five hours. The essential part of the tape is the last five minutes. We would be agreeable to showing just the first ten minutes of the tape to prove my client made no incriminating statements and the last ten to show the court the despicable assault upon her constitutional rights."
"That sounds reasonable." The judge spoke with relief. "Clerk of the Court, please show the tape in the manner described."
Up on the television screen, the grainy image showed Kathryn Branch refusing to answer the questions put to her. The two FBI agents couldn't even get her to confirm her name or any other personal details. She just sat there, ignoring their increasingly irritable questioning. Throughout the whole procedure, Lugasharmanska just sat there, emotionless, and unblinking, her yellow eyes fixed on Branch. Eventually, the Agent-in-Charge turned to his assistant.
"We're not going to get much out of her." Sith eventually sighed, "we can carry on tomorrow."
Luga stared at the girl. "I'm hungry."
"So am I. There are some nice restaurants in town."
"No, I'm hungry now. They look nice." Luga pointed at Kathryn Branch's breasts.
"Luga, you can't!" Sith was horrified.
Lugasharmanska turned slightly, and the video camera picked up her winking at Sith. Then she turned back to Bench and stared at her again. Branch went white, her eyes widening in fear, then she collapsed across the table, sobbing in fear. "Get her away from me!" Branch panicked, screaming the words, mixed out with weeping and fear. "Get that hell-spawn away from me. I'll tell you anything, just don’t let her . . .. ."
Luga stepped away and grinned at the two stunned FBI men. "There you are. You, humans, are so afraid of being eaten. Of course, you can't use her confession in court. Call me back if there are any more problems with her."
Kathryn Branch was already babbling out a long list of the people she had contacted in her espionage ring. As she left, Luga stopped and patted her comfortingly on the head. The tape continued to run, showing Branch continuing to pour out all the information she had on her spying activities. Then, it ended.
"Your honor, the prosecution submits that the tape clearly shows the defendant was neither drugged nor coerced. In fact, except for the brief, comforting, pat on the head, as she left, there was no physical contact at all between the law enforcement authorities and the defendant."
The Judge frowned and privately wished this case had gone before somebody else. Judge Simpkins perhaps, Candlass had never liked him. This case had the potential to be a career-ender.
"Your Honor, the key part of the defense case is not shown by this tape. Succubae are well-known to have pheromones that make those around them sympathetic to them and they also have the demonic ability to entangle people's minds and make them see and experience things that are not real. We contend that Miss Sharmanaska's presence in the interrogation room was equivalent to drugging my client and that she implanted the visions in her mind that led to her collapse. She may not have been physically coerced, but the threat of mutilation was very real Miss Sharmanaska herself confirms it when she said, and I quote, 'You humans are so afraid of being eaten.' And she herself said 'Of course, you can't use her confession in court.' I submit that my client's confession should be thrown out on these grounds. And, of course, any information derived from it should also be cast out as the fruit of the poison tree."
"Your Honor, Miss Sharmanaska is not a lawyer, her opinions are those of a lay .... lay," The prosecuting attorney hesitated then settled for the conventional, "person."
"I think Miss Sharmanska should answer for herself on this. Clerk of the Court, swear her in."
Lugasharmanaska took the stand and the Clerk approached her, a little nervously. "Repeat after me, I affirm that the evidence I shall give will be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so he. . .." From sheer force of habit, the Clerk had almost ended the oath with the traditional 'so help me God.'
Luga smiled at him and helpfully added "So help me, me?"
The Federal attorney took up the questioning. "Your name is Luga Sharmanaska?"
"It is now. My original name was Lugasharmanaska, one word. All demonic names are one word. But when I became an American citizen, it was split into two."
"Please explain to the court about these pheromones?"
"I do not know much, only what I have been told. All succubae know that we make those around us friendly and agreeable. We always thought it was magic, we called it miasma, and never questioned how it happened. Then humans came and asked questions. How and why. They found that our bodies emit pheromones that change the emotions of those around us. So, they say, do humans, although their pheromones are not as effective as ours."
"I see, so your pheromones are just a developed version of something all humans have. Can they make people do things against their will?"
Luga hesitated. "No, if somebody really doesn't want to do something, the pheromones won’t make them. For that, we must use trickery."
"And, for five hours, the defendant refused to speak although she must have known doing so would please you. Did that surprise you?"
"Not really. I said, if somebody is determined not to do something, my miasma won’t make them. But the government asked me to help protect itself from the defendant and who am I to refuse aid to the country that gave me refuge?"
"Your honor, please let the record state that Miss Sharmanaska has been of great assistance in the war effort, often at considerable personal risk, and has suffered severely during her efforts. Her loyalty is not subject to doubt. “We don’t doubt that she has no loyalty at all to anybody but herself. The Federal attorney was very careful not to give a hint of the thought. "You said trickery Miss Sharmanaska. How?"
"Before humans started to wear your silver hats, we could create images in your mind. I could make myself look like a wife so a faithful husband would lay with me not knowing who or what I was. The Incubi, our male equivalents could make themselves look like a faithful wife's husband for the same reason. Or I could project an image of empty space so that people would not see me at all."
"And you could project this image to multiple persons at one."
"Only if they were not wearing silver hats, yes. We used to do it all the time."
"What if they are wearing silver hats?"
"Then unless I was very close and concentrated on a single mind, I cannot entangle that mind. Even under ideal situations, penetrating a silver cap is exhausting."
Judge Candlass tapped his gavel. "I want to see this. Miss Sharmanaska, can you change your appearance please?"
"If you take your hat off. Who would you like me to look like."
The judge remembered his favorite poster from the 1980s. "Farrah Fawcett."
The Court recorder called the famous poster up on his computer and showed Luga the picture. She nodded and the judge took off his tinfoil cap. Even doing so made him feel uneasy and his head felt naked without its protection. It was no wonder that going around without a tinfoil cap was a sign of madness. Then he looked at the witness stand and saw Farrah Fawcett standing there in the trademark red swimsuit. He gasped, put on his cap, and, once more, he saw the succubus in her real form.
"Miss Sharmanaska, you must be the most dangerous person I have ever seen in this courtroom."
"Thank you, your Honor." Lugasharmanaska sounded pleased.
"Miss Sharmanaska, do you have any legal training?" The Federal Attorney returned to the case,
"No, only the studies of the Constitution required for me to become a Citizen."
"So your comment about not being able to use the information gained in court was your own, unqualified opinion?"
"In a way, although I thought the information, we gained would be secret and not revealed to anybody. That is what I meant.
"Ah, I see." Well done, Luga. That throws a spanner in the defense. "No further questions."
The Defense attorney rose to his feet. "Miss Sharmanaska, do you eat human meat?"
"Not now, no."
"Have you ever?"
"Objection your Honor. Relevance?"
"Goes to the credibility of the alleged threat."
"Overruled. Witness will answer."
"Once, yes. But that was before I joined humans."
"Did you project an image of you eating my client's breasts?"
"Not her breasts, no." Luga smiled to herself. She'd noted how lawyers played with words.
"Oh." The attorney was confused. "So, what did you project an image of?"
"I haven't said that I did."
"Well did you?"
"Yes."
"What of."
"Eating one breast. Singular. Not both." A ripple of laughter ran around the courtroom. That made Luga feel a lot easier in her mind, her pheromones were having their usual effect.
"Your Honor, there we have it. A hideous, coercive threat of permanent mutilation."
"Not permanent. It would grow back."
"Not on Earth it won't."
"Oh. I forgot that." Luga had honestly forgotten that bodies didn't regenerate on Earth.
"Irrelevant. Your Honor, I maintain that the statements we have heard today are enough to support the claim that my client's constitutional rights were trampled underfoot and that she was drugged and terrified into making her confession. In fact, I would go as far as to say she was tortured mentally until she confessed. She was threatened with dreadful physical harm by a creature she had been brought up to regard as the epitome of evil. I mean no disrespect to Miss Sharmanaska, her record of valued service to the human cause is well known and her television program is loved by millions. She was doing what she believed was helping her adopted country as best she could. We should respect that. But she is a demon and what she did was wrong. As such, her confession and all that stems from it should be ruled inadmissible and stricken from the record."
"Prosecution?"
"Your Honor. We have already disproved the charge that the defendant was denied her legal rights. The accusation that she was drugged also falls since the defense has admitted she spent five hours under interrogation without the pheromones having any effect on her. In fact, the interrogation was on the point of being ended as a failure, showing that the alleged drugging did not take place. As to the threat, the courts have always been prepared to accept that the law enforcement community has a degree of latitude in such things. It is commonplace, for example, to tell an alleged murderer that if he does not confess, the prosecution will seek the death penalty. The horrors of going to an American prison are also described to produce a confession. Who amongst us has not heard of going to prison being described as 'starting a new career as a bad man's girlfriend?' How often do we see the deal being offered 'five to ten if you confess, 25 to life if you do not?" Such threats and intimidation may not be a happy part of the law enforcement system, but they are accepted one that does not invalidate a confession. All that happened here was that the same such threats were made in a slightly more vivid and persuasive form than usual. There was no real danger of the defendant suffering physical harm. The law enforcement officers would not have permitted it and I feel sure that Miss Sharmanaska, with her pride in her American Citizenship, would not have carried out her threat. And I must point out that the information gained because of this interrogation will greatly benefit every citizen of the world. Remember, Uriel is still out there. We still face unknown dangers from Heaven. Can we afford to tolerate traitors in our midst? Your Honor, I implore you not to rule this information inadmissible."
Re: 2008 - Pentheocide
Chapter Thirty-One
Eastern District Federal Court, Raleigh, North Carolina
Judge Candlass looked across the court, making up his mind. "This is a hard case and breaks new ground. The society we face today is unimaginable two years ago. Creatures we once thought were mythical have proved to be all too real and they have powers that our laws do not even begin to cover. Until new laws are written, and writing law is not the role of the Judiciary, we must do the best we can by applying existing law to these new circumstances.
"Working on that principle, it is this Court's ruling that the statement from Miss Branch was obtained in violation of her rights under the Fourth Amendment. This states that 'the right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.' She was rendered insecure in her own person by the invasion of her mind, and it was this invasion that led to her confession. In addition, her rights under the Fifth Amendment were also violated. This states that 'no person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a grand jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the militia, when in actual service in time of war or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offense to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb; nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation.' Miss Branch was clearly compelled to be a witness against herself. For these reasons, this evidentiary hearing finds in favor of the Defense. The statements made by Miss Branch are inadmissible and may not be presented at her trial."
The judge paused for a second and took a breath. "This court takes no pleasure in making such a ruling. On a personal note, the idea that Miss Branch should seek the protection of the society she has so comprehensively betrayed is abhorrent. This brings us to a very important point. Recently, there has been much talk of judges needing to have 'empathy' or 'understanding of the situation of the accused'. This case shows us very clearly the deadly danger of that delusion. Miss Branch, if this court had empathy for you or understanding for your position, you would be taken from this court and hanged by the neck until you are dead, dead dead. But it is not the role of the law to have empathy for those who appear before it. It is the role of the law to be cold, stoic, and isolated. It is the duty of the law to treat every person who appears before it with dispassionate objectivity be they poor and humble or the highest of the high. For that reason, and that reason alone, the court has found in your favor on this matter.
"District Attorney, do the People have adequate evidence to continue this case without the inadmissible statement?"
"We believe we do Your Honor. We have the original honey trap information that specifically links the defendant with the leaks of data from the DIMO(N) field facility. Obviously, our interrogation of the defendant will continue."
"Without the presence of Miss Sharmanaska of course. Miss Sharmanaska, it is the opinion of this court that you acted in good faith, cooperating with the law enforcement authorities at their request as is the duty of a law-abiding citizen. No blame can be attached to you although I will rule that any interrogation in the presence of a succubus will be presumed to have infringed the suspect's Fourth and Fifth Amendment rights. As for you gentlemen from the FBI." The judge wagged his finger in the time-honored gesture. "Shame on you sirs. You conceived this attempted end-run around the Constitution and deceived this poor innocent succubus into becoming part of your schemes. The one redeeming feature is your forthrightness with this court, your clear explanation of what was done, and the refusal of yourselves and Miss Sharmanaska to conceal your actions. This matter will be referred to your superiors and they can decide on whether further disciplinary action is required. This evidentiary hearing is adjourned."
Eight hours later, Judge Candlass woke up in the middle of the night and mentally reviewed his statement. It occurred to him that one thing he has said was indisputably right. Succubae was dangerous, especially in a poorly ventilated courtroom.
Montmartre Club, Eternal City, Heaven
"Mama's dancin' with baby on her shoulder
The sun is settin' like molasses in the sky."
The chorus echoed around the club. The bandleaders had orchestrated the music to take advantage of the unprecedented assembly while the singers had harmonized perfectly. Michael absent-mindedly tapped his foot in time with the music. The song was about Elvis Presley, a subject that was one of some regret to Michael-Lan. He'd really wanted to rescue Elvis and bring him to the club here, but he'd failed. He couldn’t quite understand it, he'd never had any trouble before in intercepting a dead human and whisking them away before they turned up on the Plateau of Minos.
Around the club room, Michael's most trusted followers were also listening to the bands, the music surrounding them, and concentrating their minds. Yah-yah might be "The All-Knowing", thought Michael but he didn’t know squat about how the Chorus worked. He still held to the old belief that the constant chanting was necessary to generate energy and that stopping the chorus for any reason would have disastrous results. Michael knew differently, there was nothing magical about the chanting, it just acted as a framework that would allow the Angels to get their minds into perfect harmony. And that magnified their powers greatly. Any music would do, any music at all.
Michael-Lan closed his eyes, and let his mind wander, seeking the signal that would mark the exact spot where Uriel was dying in the hills of eastern California. Briefly, he measured the possibility of leaving him there unrescued and taking a quick holiday in his beloved Las Vegas instead. The idea seemed so attractive, yet it was quite impossible. He'd had a direct order to rescue Uriel and simply ignoring it was premature. One day, the time would be right to tell Yah-yah what to do with his orders, just the way the humans had, but that time wasn't now. Anyway, staying on Earth was hazardous these days, especially anywhere in North America.
There it was, weak and flickering, but it was there. Uriel's mind. Michael-Lan seized on it, amplifying the contact, and refining it to give an exact position. This had to be a quick, in-and-out job. If he stayed on Earth for more than a few minutes, the aircraft and missiles would be on to him. They had come so very close to killing Uriel, they could do the same for him. He and Uriel were the same, the first rank of the Chayot Ha Kodesh, the Archangels that represented the peak of the Angelic Host. In fact, Michael was more than half-convinced that Uriel possessed powers that exceeded his own and that was another reason why Uriel would have to go. The same conviction was why Michael wanted the humans to kill Uriel for him; he was by no means certain that he would win a direct confrontation with Uriel.
"We have him, Noble One." Another group of Angels, Erelim and Hashmallim, triumphantly shouted out the news. Their glee was two-fold, partly at being of service to their hero Michael-Lan who had brought life and pleasure back to Heaven. The other was relief that once the location process was over, the session could be ended, and the club could get back to its normal life.
"We have him!" Another group claimed their location.
"And us!"
Michael-Lan concentrated harder, drawing on the power of the Angels unified by the music. The spot of light that located Uriel contracted, shrinking until it became a single, almost dimensionless spot. For a moment, Michael hoped that it would continue shrinking until it vanished altogether for that would show that Uriel was dead, beyond saving. But no such luck, the spot remained, weak and indistinct but still there. "Wish me luck, this is going to be interesting."
Hills South of San Felipe, Southern California, USA
It was over, Uriel knew now it was just a matter of time, the humans had trapped him, and they intended to kill him. A dozen or so yards away, a rock exploded as another human shell plowed into it. The humans who had been chasing him were close enough for him to see their vehicles, to see the cloud of smoke from them as they fired at him. Already, they had come close, adding to his injuries. Uriel could feel his body beginning to give up. Angels, like their fallen siblings in Hell, had an uncanny ability to regenerate and recover from their wounds but the damage could mount up faster than they could repair it. When that happened, the system would collapse, and the Angel would die. Just as millions of the fallen ones had died under human artillery fire.
Overhead, the small, brightly colored aircraft was circling his position. They'd seen him, they'd called for the humans to close in on him. At first, he'd tried to bring his peace to them, but he was too injured, too weakened to summon the necessary power. A few birds had dropped dead, especially the ones circling over him with hungry looks on their faces, but the humans hadn't been affected. That left only his power to trumpet. It had been so long since he had done that, he wasn't quite sure whether he remembered how but his options had shrunk to almost nothing. In fact, they were less than that for Uriel knew that even if his trumpeting was effective, there were too many humans. All he could do was die bravely. That was the only real option left and Uriel wasn't even sure he could do that.
Another shell exploded near to him, this one sending up a cloud of dense white smoke. Overhead, one of the small aircraft had peeled away from the rest and was diving on him. White streaks shot out from under its wings and slammed into the ground all around him, sending more of the dense white smoke clouds upwards into the clear blue sky. Rockets, Uriel guessed what the humans were doing. They would see no point in closing in on him and risking their lives in a close-range fight. They would call in their aircraft to drop bombs and fire missiles instead. His fear had been right, he wouldn't get a chance to die bravely.
To the southeast, Uriel saw four streams of black smoke. Adjusting his vision to long-range, they became four aircraft, strangely shaped ones whose wings went up, their tails went down, and they seemed bent in the middle. And they were trailing the black smoke as they closed fast on him. Uriel summoned his strength and tried to trumpet. He managed a weak blast of sound but that was all, and the oncoming aircraft hardly seemed to notice the trumpet call. He could see them change course slightly, refining the direction that would take them straight to him.
Then, everything seemed to go dark around him, and strong arms were wrapped around his waist. "Come on, old friend, let's get you out of this mess." Michael-Lan braced himself and tried to take in the situation, carefully holding Uriel so that the critically wounded archangel would screen him from any bullets. He didn’t need much to tell him that the four approaching aircraft were the most serious threat he faced. Michael-Lan stared at them, concentrated all the power he could into his lungs, and emitted the most powerful trumpet blast he could manage.
1,500 meters west of Uriel, Southern California, USA
"Look at the Rhino's go, Pop. . . . . . Err, Sir." Bobby-Lynne Gordon kicked herself again and then pointed at the four Phantoms as they swept down into the attack. They could see Uriel now, surrounded by the white smoke of the white phosphorus shells and rockets. As her father had put it, the zoomies would almost certainly kill Uriel but the 443rd could make his eyes water with willie-pete first.
Off to their right, Sergeant Vincent Mitrakis had the best view of the endgame. He was using a high-powered optical scope attached to his Barrett Model 99 rifle to try and get a killing shot in before the fighter pilots claimed all the glory. Even with the Raufoss multi-purpose incendiaries, the army had issued, he doubted that he could get a clean one-shot kill in but it was worth trying and the great figure sprawled on the ground was already sorely injured. If he fired enough shots, he might just make it. Then he cursed, the white smoke from the marker rounds was fouling his line of sight. Something was roiling the smoke, spreading it. He swept his rifle across the target area and saw a black ellipse forming. Then, a huge figure, easily as large as Uriel but glowing so purely white as to make the clouds of white phosphorus smoke seem gray and dirty in comparison, stepped out and reached down to pull Uriel to his feet. Mitrakis moved the aim of his scope up to the new arrival's head and, as he did so, he gasped. The face on the angel was incredibly, stunningly beautiful. As handsome as the familiar Baldricks were ugly. Before he could recover from the shock, the new arrival looked at the four approaching Phantoms and opened his mouth.
Bobby-Lynne Gordon heard the note, unearthly pure in its beauty, echoing across the ravines. Even here, far away from its focus, it had a power and impact that briefly stilled the 443rd's efforts to finish Uriel. She could see that its effects on the chosen target were much more dramatic. One of the four Phantoms fell apart in mid-air, its wings torn from its body, its tail crumpled with the impact. A second, the one beside it was thrown out of control and it dived into the ground before its pilot could react. The two outer aircraft were also thrown out of control but to a lesser extent and their pilots managed to save their aircraft. That didn’t change the fact that the attack had been broken up and the great white angel had bought a few seconds of time.
Mitrakis took advantage of the opportunity and squeezed off his first round. He'd aimed for the head but the trumpet blast and the swirling air around the site foxed him, and he saw the bullet slam into the great white angel's shoulder. Through his scope, he saw the silver blood scattering in the air and a trace of smoke rising from the wound. Then, he was frantically working the bolt, trying to get another shot in. A round from a 106mm crashed into the ground a little short of his target just as he fired and that left his second shot going wild. Another frantic working of the bolt and a third shot slammed into the white angel, this time dead center on his chest. By this time, his target had shifted to Uriel to provide cover from this new direction. Then, with a cheerful wave to the humans, Michael-Lan stepped through the portal, and it slammed shut behind him.
"I don’t believe it, he got away!" Artemis Gordon stared at the blank area of scrub in frustration. "We had him cornered and he got away."
His daughter looked over the hills to where the funeral pyres of the two F-4s stained the sky black. "He'll be back. We'll get another chance at him. Boy, he was hot though."
HQ, Third Corps, Third Army, Fourth Army Group, Human Expeditionary Army
"General? General Petraeus is on line twelve for you." General Asanee took her eyes off the map and picked up the videophone receiver. "Sir, Asanee-actual here."
"How are you doing down there General?"
"We're ready to go, Sir. Fueled up, bombed up, everything in place. We can head north as soon as we get the order."
"That won’t be necessary. Than Shwe has surrendered, he's been spilling his guts to us for the last six hours. What we've got is interesting, to put it mildly. The Myanmar regime had been supplying large quantities of heroin, methamphetamines, marihuana, and ecstasy to a representative of Heaven. And when I say large quantities, I mean tons of the stuff. So, much so, the recipient uses an electrically powered trolly to take it all back."
"Very interesting. I see no reason why we can't continue supplying that filth to them can you. Opium wars and all that. Who was the representative, anybody we know?"
"Very much so. Michael-Lan-Yahweh. Just about the top angel in Heaven."
"Michael-Lan is running drugs into Heaven?" General Asanee's voice was incredulous and to her embarrassment, it went up into a squeak. She breathed for a second and carefully remembered her elocution lessons. When she resumed, it was back to her usual contralto. "Is he shipping them to customers here?"
"Not as far as we can make out. As far as some initial inquiries have determined, the stuff is going into Heaven and staying there."
"So Michael-Lan is running dope. Well, now that is interesting. You do realize we execute people for that."
Petraeus laughed. "He won’t fit in front of a firing squad."
"He doesn’t have to; we've changed to lethal injection." The General sounded sad for a second. "I spoke against that, there's no dignity in laying on a table being poisoned."
"General, you're missing the point. Michael-Lan picks the stuff up from the Myanmar Junta and takes it back through a portal to Heaven. We've been unable to crack Heaven open for over a year now. This offers us another possible way to get one. If he can be persuaded to pick up another consignment, we can monitor the portal and try to find out how to drive one of our own through."
"Another Sir?"
"Yes, the bad news is Uriel got away from us. Michael-Lan-Yahweh again, he did a combat pick-up and got Uriel out. But we have some recordings of that portal as well. If we can get a second batch of readings, we might be able to move."
"Another pick-up." General Asanee broke into a smile. "We could always send him something he didn’t expect with his cargo. Like a tracer or . . . . . ."
"Something that makes a very big bang? Ahead of you General. We're getting one sent over."
Eastern District Federal Court, Raleigh, North Carolina
Judge Candlass looked across the court, making up his mind. "This is a hard case and breaks new ground. The society we face today is unimaginable two years ago. Creatures we once thought were mythical have proved to be all too real and they have powers that our laws do not even begin to cover. Until new laws are written, and writing law is not the role of the Judiciary, we must do the best we can by applying existing law to these new circumstances.
"Working on that principle, it is this Court's ruling that the statement from Miss Branch was obtained in violation of her rights under the Fourth Amendment. This states that 'the right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.' She was rendered insecure in her own person by the invasion of her mind, and it was this invasion that led to her confession. In addition, her rights under the Fifth Amendment were also violated. This states that 'no person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a grand jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the militia, when in actual service in time of war or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offense to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb; nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation.' Miss Branch was clearly compelled to be a witness against herself. For these reasons, this evidentiary hearing finds in favor of the Defense. The statements made by Miss Branch are inadmissible and may not be presented at her trial."
The judge paused for a second and took a breath. "This court takes no pleasure in making such a ruling. On a personal note, the idea that Miss Branch should seek the protection of the society she has so comprehensively betrayed is abhorrent. This brings us to a very important point. Recently, there has been much talk of judges needing to have 'empathy' or 'understanding of the situation of the accused'. This case shows us very clearly the deadly danger of that delusion. Miss Branch, if this court had empathy for you or understanding for your position, you would be taken from this court and hanged by the neck until you are dead, dead dead. But it is not the role of the law to have empathy for those who appear before it. It is the role of the law to be cold, stoic, and isolated. It is the duty of the law to treat every person who appears before it with dispassionate objectivity be they poor and humble or the highest of the high. For that reason, and that reason alone, the court has found in your favor on this matter.
"District Attorney, do the People have adequate evidence to continue this case without the inadmissible statement?"
"We believe we do Your Honor. We have the original honey trap information that specifically links the defendant with the leaks of data from the DIMO(N) field facility. Obviously, our interrogation of the defendant will continue."
"Without the presence of Miss Sharmanaska of course. Miss Sharmanaska, it is the opinion of this court that you acted in good faith, cooperating with the law enforcement authorities at their request as is the duty of a law-abiding citizen. No blame can be attached to you although I will rule that any interrogation in the presence of a succubus will be presumed to have infringed the suspect's Fourth and Fifth Amendment rights. As for you gentlemen from the FBI." The judge wagged his finger in the time-honored gesture. "Shame on you sirs. You conceived this attempted end-run around the Constitution and deceived this poor innocent succubus into becoming part of your schemes. The one redeeming feature is your forthrightness with this court, your clear explanation of what was done, and the refusal of yourselves and Miss Sharmanaska to conceal your actions. This matter will be referred to your superiors and they can decide on whether further disciplinary action is required. This evidentiary hearing is adjourned."
Eight hours later, Judge Candlass woke up in the middle of the night and mentally reviewed his statement. It occurred to him that one thing he has said was indisputably right. Succubae was dangerous, especially in a poorly ventilated courtroom.
Montmartre Club, Eternal City, Heaven
"Mama's dancin' with baby on her shoulder
The sun is settin' like molasses in the sky."
The chorus echoed around the club. The bandleaders had orchestrated the music to take advantage of the unprecedented assembly while the singers had harmonized perfectly. Michael absent-mindedly tapped his foot in time with the music. The song was about Elvis Presley, a subject that was one of some regret to Michael-Lan. He'd really wanted to rescue Elvis and bring him to the club here, but he'd failed. He couldn’t quite understand it, he'd never had any trouble before in intercepting a dead human and whisking them away before they turned up on the Plateau of Minos.
Around the club room, Michael's most trusted followers were also listening to the bands, the music surrounding them, and concentrating their minds. Yah-yah might be "The All-Knowing", thought Michael but he didn’t know squat about how the Chorus worked. He still held to the old belief that the constant chanting was necessary to generate energy and that stopping the chorus for any reason would have disastrous results. Michael knew differently, there was nothing magical about the chanting, it just acted as a framework that would allow the Angels to get their minds into perfect harmony. And that magnified their powers greatly. Any music would do, any music at all.
Michael-Lan closed his eyes, and let his mind wander, seeking the signal that would mark the exact spot where Uriel was dying in the hills of eastern California. Briefly, he measured the possibility of leaving him there unrescued and taking a quick holiday in his beloved Las Vegas instead. The idea seemed so attractive, yet it was quite impossible. He'd had a direct order to rescue Uriel and simply ignoring it was premature. One day, the time would be right to tell Yah-yah what to do with his orders, just the way the humans had, but that time wasn't now. Anyway, staying on Earth was hazardous these days, especially anywhere in North America.
There it was, weak and flickering, but it was there. Uriel's mind. Michael-Lan seized on it, amplifying the contact, and refining it to give an exact position. This had to be a quick, in-and-out job. If he stayed on Earth for more than a few minutes, the aircraft and missiles would be on to him. They had come so very close to killing Uriel, they could do the same for him. He and Uriel were the same, the first rank of the Chayot Ha Kodesh, the Archangels that represented the peak of the Angelic Host. In fact, Michael was more than half-convinced that Uriel possessed powers that exceeded his own and that was another reason why Uriel would have to go. The same conviction was why Michael wanted the humans to kill Uriel for him; he was by no means certain that he would win a direct confrontation with Uriel.
"We have him, Noble One." Another group of Angels, Erelim and Hashmallim, triumphantly shouted out the news. Their glee was two-fold, partly at being of service to their hero Michael-Lan who had brought life and pleasure back to Heaven. The other was relief that once the location process was over, the session could be ended, and the club could get back to its normal life.
"We have him!" Another group claimed their location.
"And us!"
Michael-Lan concentrated harder, drawing on the power of the Angels unified by the music. The spot of light that located Uriel contracted, shrinking until it became a single, almost dimensionless spot. For a moment, Michael hoped that it would continue shrinking until it vanished altogether for that would show that Uriel was dead, beyond saving. But no such luck, the spot remained, weak and indistinct but still there. "Wish me luck, this is going to be interesting."
Hills South of San Felipe, Southern California, USA
It was over, Uriel knew now it was just a matter of time, the humans had trapped him, and they intended to kill him. A dozen or so yards away, a rock exploded as another human shell plowed into it. The humans who had been chasing him were close enough for him to see their vehicles, to see the cloud of smoke from them as they fired at him. Already, they had come close, adding to his injuries. Uriel could feel his body beginning to give up. Angels, like their fallen siblings in Hell, had an uncanny ability to regenerate and recover from their wounds but the damage could mount up faster than they could repair it. When that happened, the system would collapse, and the Angel would die. Just as millions of the fallen ones had died under human artillery fire.
Overhead, the small, brightly colored aircraft was circling his position. They'd seen him, they'd called for the humans to close in on him. At first, he'd tried to bring his peace to them, but he was too injured, too weakened to summon the necessary power. A few birds had dropped dead, especially the ones circling over him with hungry looks on their faces, but the humans hadn't been affected. That left only his power to trumpet. It had been so long since he had done that, he wasn't quite sure whether he remembered how but his options had shrunk to almost nothing. In fact, they were less than that for Uriel knew that even if his trumpeting was effective, there were too many humans. All he could do was die bravely. That was the only real option left and Uriel wasn't even sure he could do that.
Another shell exploded near to him, this one sending up a cloud of dense white smoke. Overhead, one of the small aircraft had peeled away from the rest and was diving on him. White streaks shot out from under its wings and slammed into the ground all around him, sending more of the dense white smoke clouds upwards into the clear blue sky. Rockets, Uriel guessed what the humans were doing. They would see no point in closing in on him and risking their lives in a close-range fight. They would call in their aircraft to drop bombs and fire missiles instead. His fear had been right, he wouldn't get a chance to die bravely.
To the southeast, Uriel saw four streams of black smoke. Adjusting his vision to long-range, they became four aircraft, strangely shaped ones whose wings went up, their tails went down, and they seemed bent in the middle. And they were trailing the black smoke as they closed fast on him. Uriel summoned his strength and tried to trumpet. He managed a weak blast of sound but that was all, and the oncoming aircraft hardly seemed to notice the trumpet call. He could see them change course slightly, refining the direction that would take them straight to him.
Then, everything seemed to go dark around him, and strong arms were wrapped around his waist. "Come on, old friend, let's get you out of this mess." Michael-Lan braced himself and tried to take in the situation, carefully holding Uriel so that the critically wounded archangel would screen him from any bullets. He didn’t need much to tell him that the four approaching aircraft were the most serious threat he faced. Michael-Lan stared at them, concentrated all the power he could into his lungs, and emitted the most powerful trumpet blast he could manage.
1,500 meters west of Uriel, Southern California, USA
"Look at the Rhino's go, Pop. . . . . . Err, Sir." Bobby-Lynne Gordon kicked herself again and then pointed at the four Phantoms as they swept down into the attack. They could see Uriel now, surrounded by the white smoke of the white phosphorus shells and rockets. As her father had put it, the zoomies would almost certainly kill Uriel but the 443rd could make his eyes water with willie-pete first.
Off to their right, Sergeant Vincent Mitrakis had the best view of the endgame. He was using a high-powered optical scope attached to his Barrett Model 99 rifle to try and get a killing shot in before the fighter pilots claimed all the glory. Even with the Raufoss multi-purpose incendiaries, the army had issued, he doubted that he could get a clean one-shot kill in but it was worth trying and the great figure sprawled on the ground was already sorely injured. If he fired enough shots, he might just make it. Then he cursed, the white smoke from the marker rounds was fouling his line of sight. Something was roiling the smoke, spreading it. He swept his rifle across the target area and saw a black ellipse forming. Then, a huge figure, easily as large as Uriel but glowing so purely white as to make the clouds of white phosphorus smoke seem gray and dirty in comparison, stepped out and reached down to pull Uriel to his feet. Mitrakis moved the aim of his scope up to the new arrival's head and, as he did so, he gasped. The face on the angel was incredibly, stunningly beautiful. As handsome as the familiar Baldricks were ugly. Before he could recover from the shock, the new arrival looked at the four approaching Phantoms and opened his mouth.
Bobby-Lynne Gordon heard the note, unearthly pure in its beauty, echoing across the ravines. Even here, far away from its focus, it had a power and impact that briefly stilled the 443rd's efforts to finish Uriel. She could see that its effects on the chosen target were much more dramatic. One of the four Phantoms fell apart in mid-air, its wings torn from its body, its tail crumpled with the impact. A second, the one beside it was thrown out of control and it dived into the ground before its pilot could react. The two outer aircraft were also thrown out of control but to a lesser extent and their pilots managed to save their aircraft. That didn’t change the fact that the attack had been broken up and the great white angel had bought a few seconds of time.
Mitrakis took advantage of the opportunity and squeezed off his first round. He'd aimed for the head but the trumpet blast and the swirling air around the site foxed him, and he saw the bullet slam into the great white angel's shoulder. Through his scope, he saw the silver blood scattering in the air and a trace of smoke rising from the wound. Then, he was frantically working the bolt, trying to get another shot in. A round from a 106mm crashed into the ground a little short of his target just as he fired and that left his second shot going wild. Another frantic working of the bolt and a third shot slammed into the white angel, this time dead center on his chest. By this time, his target had shifted to Uriel to provide cover from this new direction. Then, with a cheerful wave to the humans, Michael-Lan stepped through the portal, and it slammed shut behind him.
"I don’t believe it, he got away!" Artemis Gordon stared at the blank area of scrub in frustration. "We had him cornered and he got away."
His daughter looked over the hills to where the funeral pyres of the two F-4s stained the sky black. "He'll be back. We'll get another chance at him. Boy, he was hot though."
HQ, Third Corps, Third Army, Fourth Army Group, Human Expeditionary Army
"General? General Petraeus is on line twelve for you." General Asanee took her eyes off the map and picked up the videophone receiver. "Sir, Asanee-actual here."
"How are you doing down there General?"
"We're ready to go, Sir. Fueled up, bombed up, everything in place. We can head north as soon as we get the order."
"That won’t be necessary. Than Shwe has surrendered, he's been spilling his guts to us for the last six hours. What we've got is interesting, to put it mildly. The Myanmar regime had been supplying large quantities of heroin, methamphetamines, marihuana, and ecstasy to a representative of Heaven. And when I say large quantities, I mean tons of the stuff. So, much so, the recipient uses an electrically powered trolly to take it all back."
"Very interesting. I see no reason why we can't continue supplying that filth to them can you. Opium wars and all that. Who was the representative, anybody we know?"
"Very much so. Michael-Lan-Yahweh. Just about the top angel in Heaven."
"Michael-Lan is running drugs into Heaven?" General Asanee's voice was incredulous and to her embarrassment, it went up into a squeak. She breathed for a second and carefully remembered her elocution lessons. When she resumed, it was back to her usual contralto. "Is he shipping them to customers here?"
"Not as far as we can make out. As far as some initial inquiries have determined, the stuff is going into Heaven and staying there."
"So Michael-Lan is running dope. Well, now that is interesting. You do realize we execute people for that."
Petraeus laughed. "He won’t fit in front of a firing squad."
"He doesn’t have to; we've changed to lethal injection." The General sounded sad for a second. "I spoke against that, there's no dignity in laying on a table being poisoned."
"General, you're missing the point. Michael-Lan picks the stuff up from the Myanmar Junta and takes it back through a portal to Heaven. We've been unable to crack Heaven open for over a year now. This offers us another possible way to get one. If he can be persuaded to pick up another consignment, we can monitor the portal and try to find out how to drive one of our own through."
"Another Sir?"
"Yes, the bad news is Uriel got away from us. Michael-Lan-Yahweh again, he did a combat pick-up and got Uriel out. But we have some recordings of that portal as well. If we can get a second batch of readings, we might be able to move."
"Another pick-up." General Asanee broke into a smile. "We could always send him something he didn’t expect with his cargo. Like a tracer or . . . . . ."
"Something that makes a very big bang? Ahead of you General. We're getting one sent over."
Re: 2008 - Pentheocide
Chapter Thirty-Two
Temple of Ceaseless Compliance, Eternal City, Heaven
"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. Oh, nameless one, Lord and God of all, we prostrate ourselves in your present service. Please accent these trivial offerings of our strength and support that they may lessen the great burdens of your everlasting care for us."
Lemuel-Lan-Michael was sprawled on his face in front of the altar. This was a small temple, one that he had never heard of before and it seemed new somehow. He could smell the raw stone, the freshly sawn wood of the altar table. It also seemed to be a poor temple, the semi-precious stones that layered the walls were of inferior quality, and the workmanship seemed hurried somehow. That was all the information he could gain with the quick glances he had been able to make between choruses. Them the chant would start again, and he would go along with it. Being a part of this congregation was vital if he were to maintain his cover and infiltrate the Second Conspiracy.
It didn't help matters that the case was hitting his home life. He was having to be away more and more often, for longer and longer periods. It wasn't that his mate was complaining, the duties of a female mate in Heaven were clearly defined. Serving her mate was one of them, nagging him was not. But there were ways a female could convey her displeasure and recently Lemuel-Lan had been on the receiving end of them all. The message had been quite clear, his absences from his home were not appreciated and she was even implying that there might be more behind them than his work. There were those masters of a household who might have chastised their mates for such insinuations, but Lemuel-Lan was not one of them. Instead, he just resented the implications and let them seethe in the back of his mind.
The latest repetition of the chorus finished, Perpetiel-Lan-Paschar rose to his feet and extinguished the bowls of burning incense that had filled the room with their odor. When he had arrived, Lemuel-Lan had found the scent of the incense pleasant but now, after six hours immersed in the aroma, the thick, clinging clouds were sickening. They hung around him, irritating his throat and stinging his eyes. His throat felt sore from the constant chanting, his stomach was turned by the smell and his head ached. In short, in a phrase that he would never dare admit in public, he felt like hell. It was almost enough to make him feel that his mate was right and that added to his distress greatly.
"Perpetiel-Lan-Paschar, we have done well tonight. Six hours of adoration will surely aid The One Above All in his care for us."
"We can but hope so, Most Lordly Ophanim, but we must beware falling victim to the sin of pride. Even our most valiant efforts are nothing compared with those of The Nameless One. Please, Most Noble One, I crave your indulgence and beg you to excuse my impertinence, but do you feel unwell?" And if you don't, we'll have to double up the dosage next time.
"My throat is sore and my head aches. But these are minor things, nothing to be concerned about."
"Perhaps I may offer a little help?" Perpetiel waved to one of the other angels who disappeared into the shadows. A few seconds later he emerged, bearing with him a cup. "We have an elixir here, one that is a sovereign remedy for a sore throat. And these." He held out a pair of tiny white tablets. "Are of wonderous efficiency in quelling the pains of a headache."
"Thank you Perpetiel-Lan." Lemuel took the tablets and swallowed them, washing them down with the contents of the cup. Although it was dark red, it wasn't the wine he had expected. Instead, it was a fruit-flavored drink, deliciously chilled. It soothed his parched throat and calmed his stomach. As he stood in the temple relishing the flavor, he felt the throbbing in his head slowly start to subside. "These are indeed of marvelous effect. What are they?"
"The tablets are called Tylenol, Most Noble One. And the drink is called Gatorade."
"I have not heard of these?" Lemuel was curious but within the curiosity was a thrill of pleasure. Was he finally on to something?
Perpetiel looked guilty. "They are human products, Most Noble One."
Lemuel looked at him, his bearing crying out in condemnation. "Human products? Here? This is forbidden?"
"An old rule Most High, from the days when humans were foolish and ignorant. But if they help us provide support to The One Above All, is not their use justified? The ban on them dates when their use was for evil and was inspired by The Eternal Enemy. Yet now that Enemy is dead, killed by humans. Surely it is the use to which a thing is put that is important, not where it comes from?"
Lemuel nodded slowly, his headache already faded to memory and his stomach calmed. "There is much wisdom in what you say Bene-Elohim. If something aids Our Most Heavenly Father, then surely there cannot be sin in it."
"This is the teaching of our temple indeed. Here, Most Noble One, take this small bottle of Tylenol, as a gift in celebration of the honor you do our small temple."
"A kind gesture and one most appreciated. We will gather again tomorrow?" Perpetiel nodded, carefully hiding his smile. Lemuel-Lan took the bottle and placed it in his robes. For the last ten nights, every time he had turned to his mate, she had refused him, claiming she had a headache. Now, if nothing else, he finally had a solution to that problem.
Michael's Palace, Aukumea, Heaven
Michael-Lan twisted on the couch, his body writhing. "Get those wretched things out of me!"
"They have gone deep, Greatest of the Archangels. One may have broken a bone in your shoulder and the other has penetrated far into your chest. Already your wounds close around them. We will have to cut as deep to remove them."
"They're burning me alive!" Michael gasped with pain. "What did the humans do to me?"
"They shot you." The doctor spoke with unseemly relish. "Twice. With bullets the like of which I have never seen before. I don’t think they like you."
Michael-Lan opened one eye and looked carefully at the doctor. It occurred to him that the human was speaking to him much the same way as he, Michael-Lan, spoke to Yahweh. "Get the bullets out. Now."
"All right." The doctor didn’t seem at all sympathetic, but he got a long pair of probes from his bag and stuck them into the bullet hole in Michael's shoulder. The probes slid in deep, and he could feel their tips touching the chips of bone in the wound. As he had feared or hoped he wasn't quite sure which, the bullet had hit the bone in Michael's shoulder and splintered it. The bullet had penetrated more than 20 centimeters and the wound path ended in a gaping cavity, one that showed every sign of burn as well as explosive damage. The doctor reflected those human bullets had improved a lot since one had killed him a few years earlier. He probed again and this time he found the end of a solid object. Once he had it, it was relatively easy to get a grip on it and pull it out. He dropped it into a dish where it landed with a dull-sounding clinking noise.
"It's not iron or steel, something much denser and harder. Tungsten carbide probably. I'm going to have to lavage the wound."
"What?" Michael's voice was shaky. The pain from the surgery had distressed him more than he had let on.
"Lavage it. Wash the wound cavity out. There are a dozen or more fragments of bullet jacket in there, and something that looks like the residue of an incendiary mixture. Hold still, this will hurt."
The doctor worked for a few minutes then sat back. "Right, we started with your shoulder because that was the easiest one to deal with and it showed me what we face. Otherwise, I would have been poking around blind. Now, the one in your chest. I ought to put you out for this, it's going to be rough."
Michael nodded weakly, if the hit in his shoulder was the easy one to repair, he didn’t want to be awake when the main event started. He felt a mask being put over his face and his doctor's voice speaking quietly. "Lee-Ann, we're going to put Michael-Lan to sleep now. Keep a careful eye on his breathing and make sure he doesn't get too much of the anesthetic.
"Very good Doctor Gunn."
"David, please, or I'll call you Nurse Nichols. Shannon, how is our patient doing?"
"He seems stable Doctor. . .. Sorry, David. It's hard to say, his reactions are different from ours. He's sliding under now though."
"Good, let's get started. This could be risky ladies; we don’t know what the guys down there are using but it's nothing like the bullets that finished us. We can't be sure the wretched thing won't go off when we pull it out."
Shannon Lowney shuddered, the last thing she remembered from her life on Earth was the crazed man standing at the door of her clinic, firing at her. Then the blackness and waking up surrounded by the white light of Heaven, Michael-Lan standing by her to welcome her in.
Doctor David Gunn was probing the wound in Michael-Lan's chest. It was like the one in his shoulder but deeper, the bullet had penetrated more than 30 centimeters and gone straight through his sternum. There were bone fragments all over the wound and he had to remove each one of them. "The sternum is broken right across, whatever this bullet was, it must have been designed to penetrate armor. Suction, Lee-Ann, normal blood is bad enough, this silver stuff is a real nuisance. Another major wound cavity, the bullet looks as if it combined explosive and incendiary fillings. Both lungs are damaged and leaking blood, we'll have to over-fold to correct that. Metal fragments, at least a dozen of them."
"I'm beginning to see why we screwed Satan over so badly." Lee-Ann Nichols glanced around to make sure nobody had heard her comment. With Hell safely in human hands, being sent there wasn't the threat it had been once. Now, it might almost be interpreted as a promise. But who knew if the Angels hadn't already found a new punishment for humans who defied them? Anyway, the medical team who lived in Michael's palace had a luxurious life compared with those in the slums surrounding The Eternal City. She had a thought, suddenly, of the films she had seen of the Second World War, and of human guns surrounding The Eternal City and pouring artillery fire into it.
"Focus, Lee-Ann. This guy is our meal ticket remember. Without him, we'd be swabbing floors at best and screaming in Hell at worst."
"Like the man who killed us," Shannon spoke with a quiet hate. John Salvi had died in prison and his Second Life body hadn't been found yet, as far as they knew anyway. He was still somewhere in the Hell-Pit.
"I said focus." Gunn snapped at them. "You're lucky, the bastard who killed me is still alive, he'll duck Hell completely. More of these metal fragments are in the wound. We'll have to lavage again and the lungs are still leaking. Michael's a tough one, no doubt of that."
"All the angels are."
"True. Right, as far as I can see, the wound is clean, and we've got leakage down to a minimum. No bubbles. Let's get him sealed up. Get the extra sharp needles, penetrating this skin of his is a job all on its own."
A few minutes of cursing and swearing later, the bullet hole in Michael's chest was sewn up. Gunn flexed his fingers and dabbed some iodine on the spots where he had jabbed himself. In a way, it was quite a relief to see red blood again. "All right, he's done. Now, let’s look at the other one."
"Do we have to? You know who he is?"
"Yeah. But treating those who need it is part of the job description. Who and what they are doesn't enter the equation? It was people who disagreed with that who killed us, remember. Now, let's see. Fragmentation damage, one eye gone, multiple broken bones, radiation burns. . .... radiation burns? What are our boys using down there? There's been no word of them tossing a nuke."
"Shush David. They might not know about them." It was clear who Lee-Ann meant by "they".
"Surely they must. We know Michael-Lan's been to Vegas and they let a lot of them off around there in the fifties and sixties. Anyway, you're right. Don’t tell them anything we don’t have to. Now back to Uriel-Lan. Other burns, white phosphorus poisoning, severe concussion, and multiple penetrating bullet wounds. Oh my, we have our work cut out ladies. Clean up the theater and wheel him in."
The Oval Office, The White House, Washington D.C.
"We've had a message from Pyongyang, Mister President. Kim Jong-Il has offered to join the Human Alliance and contribute a fair proportion of the North Korean Army to the H.E.A."
"Has he now? What does he want?" President Obama was wary. His early optimism about international relations had become more clouded with experience.
"He wants a seat on the Council at Yamantau. . .. ."
"No way. The Council is the preserve of the nations that have been in this war since the beginning. The ones that put up a fight from the start. North Korea let our people do all the bleeding and dying, no way are they coming in and grabbing a seat now."
"Prime Minister Putin said the same thing, Sir. Only he added a few spectacular Russian obscenities. Very impressive vocabulary the Prime Minister has." Hillary Clinton looked quite respectful. She'd memorized the more lurid language for use in the next row with her husband. "They want free oil, enough to run their military and civil economies and then some, free food for their entire population. They want military equipment to bring their armed forces up to the latest standards including F-22s and M1A4s. Not the B2 version, they want the 120mm gun tanks. The list of military equipment alone goes on for quite a few pages.
Obama sighed. Negotiating with the North Koreans was positively painful. "Who do we send?" His tone was almost despairing.
"I thought Joe Lieberman Sir."
"Nice one. Do it. Now, what else?"
"Myanmar Sir. There's a ceasefire in place and we've left the previous junta in charge of the northern third of the country. For a while anyway. They're trying to contact Michael-Lan-Yahweh, they're telling him they have a huge stockpile of drugs they must get rid of before we capture it and burn the lot. So, they're offering it to him for whatever he wants to pay. Better a low price than none. But there's no reply yet. We're still hoping of course. If it doesn’t work, we'll head north and finish taking over."
"Thank you, Hillary. Janet, internal security?"
"We're clearing up after the FBI's screw-up. Judge Candlass made the right choice in my opinion, but it made rolling up the network that much more difficult. One thing does amuse our people, commenting on the whole mess, Lugasharmanaska said that succubae used to recruit the extremely religious by pretending to be angels."
"That's no surprise." Leon Panetta wasn't impressed. "False flag recruiting is as old as humanity. It all goes to show, that if you're going to betray your country, do it for the money. You'll never have any idea who you're working for."
The working group laughed. "Funny, that's what Luga said as well. The problem is though that the FBI can't use the list they wormed out of the Branch. Since they got the list illegally, any arrest they make based on it will be illegal and any information they got from those arrests will also be illegal. So, they must pretend it doesn’t exist. We've sent copies of it around the world though, if anybody on it turns up somewhere where the controls aren't so tight, well, you know the rest."
"That sounds like an extraordinary rendition." Holder was visibly angered.
"No, we're saying if anybody on the list leaves the country voluntarily and goes somewhere by their own choice, that's good for us. We're not picking them off the streets and sending them. The law enforcement agencies are continuing their investigations from the admissible evidence and that's quite productive. Anyway, we'll see how well we can stop up the leaks to Heaven."
"Doctor Surlethe, anything to tell us?"
"No good news, no, Sir. We have a portal signal from the Uriel rescue and we're analyzing it now. Once we’ve done that, perhaps we can duplicate it."
"We still haven’t got through to Heaven?"
"No Sir. After trying for more than a year, we're still stuck. One thing Sir, not scientific. We're coming up to the first anniversary of the victory over Hell. We ought to have a celebration, a big one. People are getting dispirited, and tired of the hardship and deadlock. Some good street parties, a few parades, lifting the meat ration for a week or so will work wonders."
Obama nodded. "Good idea. We'll announce it next week. Make it a three-day vacation and tell everybody there'll be another when Heaven falls. Thank you, people."
Temple of Ceaseless Compliance, Eternal City, Heaven
"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. Oh, nameless one, Lord and God of all, we prostrate ourselves in your present service. Please accent these trivial offerings of our strength and support that they may lessen the great burdens of your everlasting care for us."
Lemuel-Lan-Michael was sprawled on his face in front of the altar. This was a small temple, one that he had never heard of before and it seemed new somehow. He could smell the raw stone, the freshly sawn wood of the altar table. It also seemed to be a poor temple, the semi-precious stones that layered the walls were of inferior quality, and the workmanship seemed hurried somehow. That was all the information he could gain with the quick glances he had been able to make between choruses. Them the chant would start again, and he would go along with it. Being a part of this congregation was vital if he were to maintain his cover and infiltrate the Second Conspiracy.
It didn't help matters that the case was hitting his home life. He was having to be away more and more often, for longer and longer periods. It wasn't that his mate was complaining, the duties of a female mate in Heaven were clearly defined. Serving her mate was one of them, nagging him was not. But there were ways a female could convey her displeasure and recently Lemuel-Lan had been on the receiving end of them all. The message had been quite clear, his absences from his home were not appreciated and she was even implying that there might be more behind them than his work. There were those masters of a household who might have chastised their mates for such insinuations, but Lemuel-Lan was not one of them. Instead, he just resented the implications and let them seethe in the back of his mind.
The latest repetition of the chorus finished, Perpetiel-Lan-Paschar rose to his feet and extinguished the bowls of burning incense that had filled the room with their odor. When he had arrived, Lemuel-Lan had found the scent of the incense pleasant but now, after six hours immersed in the aroma, the thick, clinging clouds were sickening. They hung around him, irritating his throat and stinging his eyes. His throat felt sore from the constant chanting, his stomach was turned by the smell and his head ached. In short, in a phrase that he would never dare admit in public, he felt like hell. It was almost enough to make him feel that his mate was right and that added to his distress greatly.
"Perpetiel-Lan-Paschar, we have done well tonight. Six hours of adoration will surely aid The One Above All in his care for us."
"We can but hope so, Most Lordly Ophanim, but we must beware falling victim to the sin of pride. Even our most valiant efforts are nothing compared with those of The Nameless One. Please, Most Noble One, I crave your indulgence and beg you to excuse my impertinence, but do you feel unwell?" And if you don't, we'll have to double up the dosage next time.
"My throat is sore and my head aches. But these are minor things, nothing to be concerned about."
"Perhaps I may offer a little help?" Perpetiel waved to one of the other angels who disappeared into the shadows. A few seconds later he emerged, bearing with him a cup. "We have an elixir here, one that is a sovereign remedy for a sore throat. And these." He held out a pair of tiny white tablets. "Are of wonderous efficiency in quelling the pains of a headache."
"Thank you Perpetiel-Lan." Lemuel took the tablets and swallowed them, washing them down with the contents of the cup. Although it was dark red, it wasn't the wine he had expected. Instead, it was a fruit-flavored drink, deliciously chilled. It soothed his parched throat and calmed his stomach. As he stood in the temple relishing the flavor, he felt the throbbing in his head slowly start to subside. "These are indeed of marvelous effect. What are they?"
"The tablets are called Tylenol, Most Noble One. And the drink is called Gatorade."
"I have not heard of these?" Lemuel was curious but within the curiosity was a thrill of pleasure. Was he finally on to something?
Perpetiel looked guilty. "They are human products, Most Noble One."
Lemuel looked at him, his bearing crying out in condemnation. "Human products? Here? This is forbidden?"
"An old rule Most High, from the days when humans were foolish and ignorant. But if they help us provide support to The One Above All, is not their use justified? The ban on them dates when their use was for evil and was inspired by The Eternal Enemy. Yet now that Enemy is dead, killed by humans. Surely it is the use to which a thing is put that is important, not where it comes from?"
Lemuel nodded slowly, his headache already faded to memory and his stomach calmed. "There is much wisdom in what you say Bene-Elohim. If something aids Our Most Heavenly Father, then surely there cannot be sin in it."
"This is the teaching of our temple indeed. Here, Most Noble One, take this small bottle of Tylenol, as a gift in celebration of the honor you do our small temple."
"A kind gesture and one most appreciated. We will gather again tomorrow?" Perpetiel nodded, carefully hiding his smile. Lemuel-Lan took the bottle and placed it in his robes. For the last ten nights, every time he had turned to his mate, she had refused him, claiming she had a headache. Now, if nothing else, he finally had a solution to that problem.
Michael's Palace, Aukumea, Heaven
Michael-Lan twisted on the couch, his body writhing. "Get those wretched things out of me!"
"They have gone deep, Greatest of the Archangels. One may have broken a bone in your shoulder and the other has penetrated far into your chest. Already your wounds close around them. We will have to cut as deep to remove them."
"They're burning me alive!" Michael gasped with pain. "What did the humans do to me?"
"They shot you." The doctor spoke with unseemly relish. "Twice. With bullets the like of which I have never seen before. I don’t think they like you."
Michael-Lan opened one eye and looked carefully at the doctor. It occurred to him that the human was speaking to him much the same way as he, Michael-Lan, spoke to Yahweh. "Get the bullets out. Now."
"All right." The doctor didn’t seem at all sympathetic, but he got a long pair of probes from his bag and stuck them into the bullet hole in Michael's shoulder. The probes slid in deep, and he could feel their tips touching the chips of bone in the wound. As he had feared or hoped he wasn't quite sure which, the bullet had hit the bone in Michael's shoulder and splintered it. The bullet had penetrated more than 20 centimeters and the wound path ended in a gaping cavity, one that showed every sign of burn as well as explosive damage. The doctor reflected those human bullets had improved a lot since one had killed him a few years earlier. He probed again and this time he found the end of a solid object. Once he had it, it was relatively easy to get a grip on it and pull it out. He dropped it into a dish where it landed with a dull-sounding clinking noise.
"It's not iron or steel, something much denser and harder. Tungsten carbide probably. I'm going to have to lavage the wound."
"What?" Michael's voice was shaky. The pain from the surgery had distressed him more than he had let on.
"Lavage it. Wash the wound cavity out. There are a dozen or more fragments of bullet jacket in there, and something that looks like the residue of an incendiary mixture. Hold still, this will hurt."
The doctor worked for a few minutes then sat back. "Right, we started with your shoulder because that was the easiest one to deal with and it showed me what we face. Otherwise, I would have been poking around blind. Now, the one in your chest. I ought to put you out for this, it's going to be rough."
Michael nodded weakly, if the hit in his shoulder was the easy one to repair, he didn’t want to be awake when the main event started. He felt a mask being put over his face and his doctor's voice speaking quietly. "Lee-Ann, we're going to put Michael-Lan to sleep now. Keep a careful eye on his breathing and make sure he doesn't get too much of the anesthetic.
"Very good Doctor Gunn."
"David, please, or I'll call you Nurse Nichols. Shannon, how is our patient doing?"
"He seems stable Doctor. . .. Sorry, David. It's hard to say, his reactions are different from ours. He's sliding under now though."
"Good, let's get started. This could be risky ladies; we don’t know what the guys down there are using but it's nothing like the bullets that finished us. We can't be sure the wretched thing won't go off when we pull it out."
Shannon Lowney shuddered, the last thing she remembered from her life on Earth was the crazed man standing at the door of her clinic, firing at her. Then the blackness and waking up surrounded by the white light of Heaven, Michael-Lan standing by her to welcome her in.
Doctor David Gunn was probing the wound in Michael-Lan's chest. It was like the one in his shoulder but deeper, the bullet had penetrated more than 30 centimeters and gone straight through his sternum. There were bone fragments all over the wound and he had to remove each one of them. "The sternum is broken right across, whatever this bullet was, it must have been designed to penetrate armor. Suction, Lee-Ann, normal blood is bad enough, this silver stuff is a real nuisance. Another major wound cavity, the bullet looks as if it combined explosive and incendiary fillings. Both lungs are damaged and leaking blood, we'll have to over-fold to correct that. Metal fragments, at least a dozen of them."
"I'm beginning to see why we screwed Satan over so badly." Lee-Ann Nichols glanced around to make sure nobody had heard her comment. With Hell safely in human hands, being sent there wasn't the threat it had been once. Now, it might almost be interpreted as a promise. But who knew if the Angels hadn't already found a new punishment for humans who defied them? Anyway, the medical team who lived in Michael's palace had a luxurious life compared with those in the slums surrounding The Eternal City. She had a thought, suddenly, of the films she had seen of the Second World War, and of human guns surrounding The Eternal City and pouring artillery fire into it.
"Focus, Lee-Ann. This guy is our meal ticket remember. Without him, we'd be swabbing floors at best and screaming in Hell at worst."
"Like the man who killed us," Shannon spoke with a quiet hate. John Salvi had died in prison and his Second Life body hadn't been found yet, as far as they knew anyway. He was still somewhere in the Hell-Pit.
"I said focus." Gunn snapped at them. "You're lucky, the bastard who killed me is still alive, he'll duck Hell completely. More of these metal fragments are in the wound. We'll have to lavage again and the lungs are still leaking. Michael's a tough one, no doubt of that."
"All the angels are."
"True. Right, as far as I can see, the wound is clean, and we've got leakage down to a minimum. No bubbles. Let's get him sealed up. Get the extra sharp needles, penetrating this skin of his is a job all on its own."
A few minutes of cursing and swearing later, the bullet hole in Michael's chest was sewn up. Gunn flexed his fingers and dabbed some iodine on the spots where he had jabbed himself. In a way, it was quite a relief to see red blood again. "All right, he's done. Now, let’s look at the other one."
"Do we have to? You know who he is?"
"Yeah. But treating those who need it is part of the job description. Who and what they are doesn't enter the equation? It was people who disagreed with that who killed us, remember. Now, let's see. Fragmentation damage, one eye gone, multiple broken bones, radiation burns. . .... radiation burns? What are our boys using down there? There's been no word of them tossing a nuke."
"Shush David. They might not know about them." It was clear who Lee-Ann meant by "they".
"Surely they must. We know Michael-Lan's been to Vegas and they let a lot of them off around there in the fifties and sixties. Anyway, you're right. Don’t tell them anything we don’t have to. Now back to Uriel-Lan. Other burns, white phosphorus poisoning, severe concussion, and multiple penetrating bullet wounds. Oh my, we have our work cut out ladies. Clean up the theater and wheel him in."
The Oval Office, The White House, Washington D.C.
"We've had a message from Pyongyang, Mister President. Kim Jong-Il has offered to join the Human Alliance and contribute a fair proportion of the North Korean Army to the H.E.A."
"Has he now? What does he want?" President Obama was wary. His early optimism about international relations had become more clouded with experience.
"He wants a seat on the Council at Yamantau. . .. ."
"No way. The Council is the preserve of the nations that have been in this war since the beginning. The ones that put up a fight from the start. North Korea let our people do all the bleeding and dying, no way are they coming in and grabbing a seat now."
"Prime Minister Putin said the same thing, Sir. Only he added a few spectacular Russian obscenities. Very impressive vocabulary the Prime Minister has." Hillary Clinton looked quite respectful. She'd memorized the more lurid language for use in the next row with her husband. "They want free oil, enough to run their military and civil economies and then some, free food for their entire population. They want military equipment to bring their armed forces up to the latest standards including F-22s and M1A4s. Not the B2 version, they want the 120mm gun tanks. The list of military equipment alone goes on for quite a few pages.
Obama sighed. Negotiating with the North Koreans was positively painful. "Who do we send?" His tone was almost despairing.
"I thought Joe Lieberman Sir."
"Nice one. Do it. Now, what else?"
"Myanmar Sir. There's a ceasefire in place and we've left the previous junta in charge of the northern third of the country. For a while anyway. They're trying to contact Michael-Lan-Yahweh, they're telling him they have a huge stockpile of drugs they must get rid of before we capture it and burn the lot. So, they're offering it to him for whatever he wants to pay. Better a low price than none. But there's no reply yet. We're still hoping of course. If it doesn’t work, we'll head north and finish taking over."
"Thank you, Hillary. Janet, internal security?"
"We're clearing up after the FBI's screw-up. Judge Candlass made the right choice in my opinion, but it made rolling up the network that much more difficult. One thing does amuse our people, commenting on the whole mess, Lugasharmanaska said that succubae used to recruit the extremely religious by pretending to be angels."
"That's no surprise." Leon Panetta wasn't impressed. "False flag recruiting is as old as humanity. It all goes to show, that if you're going to betray your country, do it for the money. You'll never have any idea who you're working for."
The working group laughed. "Funny, that's what Luga said as well. The problem is though that the FBI can't use the list they wormed out of the Branch. Since they got the list illegally, any arrest they make based on it will be illegal and any information they got from those arrests will also be illegal. So, they must pretend it doesn’t exist. We've sent copies of it around the world though, if anybody on it turns up somewhere where the controls aren't so tight, well, you know the rest."
"That sounds like an extraordinary rendition." Holder was visibly angered.
"No, we're saying if anybody on the list leaves the country voluntarily and goes somewhere by their own choice, that's good for us. We're not picking them off the streets and sending them. The law enforcement agencies are continuing their investigations from the admissible evidence and that's quite productive. Anyway, we'll see how well we can stop up the leaks to Heaven."
"Doctor Surlethe, anything to tell us?"
"No good news, no, Sir. We have a portal signal from the Uriel rescue and we're analyzing it now. Once we’ve done that, perhaps we can duplicate it."
"We still haven’t got through to Heaven?"
"No Sir. After trying for more than a year, we're still stuck. One thing Sir, not scientific. We're coming up to the first anniversary of the victory over Hell. We ought to have a celebration, a big one. People are getting dispirited, and tired of the hardship and deadlock. Some good street parties, a few parades, lifting the meat ration for a week or so will work wonders."
Obama nodded. "Good idea. We'll announce it next week. Make it a three-day vacation and tell everybody there'll be another when Heaven falls. Thank you, people."
Re: 2008 - Pentheocide
Chapter Thirty-Three
RAF Bruntingthorpe, Leicestershire.
Bruntingthorpe Aerodrome had last been used by the Royal Air Force in 1962 when the 19th Tactical Reconnaissance Squadron of the USAF and its RB-66Bs had moved out and the station had closed. Since 1972 the aerodrome had become privately owned and used for several uses; it had recently become famous as the home of Vulcan B.2 XH558. Shortly after her first flight once more, an RAF bomber XH558’s home had been requisitioned by the Ministry of Defense, becoming home to the V-Bomber Flight and its four Vulcan B.2s and two Victor K.2s, and the RAF’s new Heavy Bomber Development Unit. The HBDU’s job was to prepare the RAF for the arrival of the B-1C Lancers that it had ordered from the Americans.
“What? Four aircraft in 2011?” Group Captain Martin Winters (he was still getting used to his new rank), the new Commanding Officer of the HBDU, shouted into his phone. “What are they doing, building them by hand?”
"That's not so far from the truth. They had the production line tooling in storage but reconditioning it and setting it up was a seriously difficult job. Rockwell moved a lot faster than anybody had a right to expect as it is. Now, they've got to get long-lead components. They're only moving as fast as they are because they're drawing down on the spares inventory for the B-1Bs to bridge the gap."
Winters fumed. “I thought that the Spams were supposed to be the Arsenal of Democracy and all that male bovine excrement.”
“I’m sorry, Sir.” His contact at MoD Main Building replied. “But the Americans are starting production of the C model Lancer from scratch. It's not a B-1B, it’s a modified and simplified B-1A. For the first six months, they’ll only be producing one aircraft a month, rising to two six months after that. The best-case scenario has the Americans operating eighteen new Lancers this time next year. Their priority will be to replace the B-29s and B-50s and replace the B-2s that were lost in the Whitman tornado. After that, they’ll probably be happy enough to give us four aircraft for training purposes. There is some good news, they’ve also promised to allow our personnel to go on exchange to America so they can get some hands-on experience with the B-1C.”
“Very nice of them I’m sure,” Winters replied, still far from happy. “I do hope that the Brass Hats and politicians are happy that the RAF’s bomber force will remain at four aircraft for the foreseeable future. Unless somebody else can come through with some spares.
"Between us Sir, the Brass have been trying that. They went to the Russians asking about Tu-95s and Tu-160s."
"Bears and Blackjacks? I don’t suppose. . .. ."
"Not a chance it turned out. Tu-160s are coming off the lines at one per month now, a big increase on the pre-war one per year. They're good birds, apparently, our people were impressed, but the Russians want them all. As for the Tu-95s, they're restarting the production line but they're having the same problems as the Septics. That left the Chinese of course. . .. ."
"I don't suppose they have anything we could use."
"Oddly, they've got the most productive bomber line now. The good news is that they're churning six Xian H-6Ks off the line a month. The bad news is that the H-6K is a modified Tu-16. Some Rolls-Royce people are over there now. Back in the '80s, the Chinese were playing with an advanced H-6 with Spey engines, they called it the H-8. It never got anywhere but the Chinese are trying again and the guys from Roller are helping them. Again, you're looking at years, not months. There's nobody else, not now. So, you're on your own resources. How are they looking?"
Winter thought for a moment. "Well, we might be able to get one, or maybe two more Vulcans flying, but that’s the limit, the remaining survivors are only good for spare parts. At least we’ll be able to retire the two Victors soon, now that our A330 tankers are in production.”
"You should hear the airlines moaning. It's been almost two years since they got any new aircraft. Airbus is building as fast as they can, but their entire output is going into military transports and aerial refuellers. Hell's a big place and we've a lot of ground to cover out there. Anyway, talking of spare parts, Sir, the bosses would like to know what the situation is.”
“Could be better, could be worse,” Winters replied. “We’ve been lucky in that Rolls Royce still makes the Olympus engine for maritime and industrial uses. It wasn’t too difficult getting part of the production line switched over to engines for the Vulcan. Other components were more of a problem, though you’d be surprised how many Vulcan and Victor spare parts were sitting forgotten in RAF stores. At current sortie rates, we’ve probably got enough to last six to eight months, by which time I hope new components will be in production."
“The Rolls-Royce Conway engines of the Victor were more of a problem, they’re not in production anymore and spares are in short supply, but so long as Airbus get their fingers out it shouldn’t be a great problem.”
“I’ll pass that along, Sir, thank you.”
Winters heard a click and knew that the connection had been severed. He replaced the receiver of his own phone and sat back in his chair wondering how he was going to draw up a training program for heavy bomber air and ground crew using six aircraft that had been designed in the 1950s; well challenges were what life in the Services was all about. Winters looked up at two pictures on his wall, one was a print of a new painting depicting XH558 flying through the skies of Hell, the other, of somewhat less artistic merit, was a photo-shopped picture of a B-1B Lancer in the markings of 617 Squadron. The latter had been hung up when there had been an early expectation of delivery of the Lancer B.1 (as the RAF were planning to call the B-1C), now it just served to mock Winters.
He stood up and removed the picture from his wall and placed it in a drawer and locked it away.
Training Camp, 1st Mechanized Infantry Battalion (Demonic), Dis, Hell
"What a phalanx they would have made." Aeneas looked sadly at the demons who were sitting around cleaning their rifles. "Keep them shoulder-to-shoulder in a phalanx and they would have made chopped turds of everybody."
"Even the Spartans?" Anderson enjoyed goading Aeneas.
"Even us." One of the delights of teasing the Spartan was that he took everything so seriously.
"Well, they did, didn't they." Ori was less easy to needle. "They took us apart repeatedly. That's where all the legends of humans fighting against armies of monstrous beasts come from. Sergeant Anderson says that even a few years ago, humans would have had bad problems with them. Still, that's all gone now. Just as our way of war is a thing of the past."
"Could you samurai have taken them?" Aeneas was genuinely interested in the concept.
Ori shook his head. "A small number perhaps. But our arrows would have taken many, many shots to bring them down, and to fight a demon with a sword is a desperate thing. Rifles are better and with them, each of us stands on equal terms with one of them."
"Which brings us back to tactics. Or lack of them."
"Having problems gentlemen?" Sergeant Gray Anderson pulled over a chair and joined his two drill instructors.
"The demons. You were wrong about them. They can fight as units perfectly."
"That's the problem." Aeneas finished off Ori's comment. "As long as they're in one large unit, they're fine. They move as a unit, fight as a unit, and keep their ranks perfectly. It's not on an individual level that you have your problem, it's the next level up. Split that big unit into two small ones and try to get them to cooperate, that's where it all comes apart. Each unit tries to outdo the other, each one wants to 'get the glory' and leave the other behind. They just can't get that idea out of their minds and we're not the people you need to change things."
"If anything, we see their point," Ori added the coda to Aeneas's lecture. He couldn’t help thinking that the weeks lecturing human historians on the realities of life in ancient Greece had done wonders for the previously reticent Spartan.
"I was rather afraid you'd say that." Anderson sighed. Trying to turn demons into modern soldiers was proving much harder than anybody had thought possible. The human way of war was a product of how modern humans thought at a very basic level. Demons seemed incapable of duplicating it.
"Let me give you an example of this." Aeneas was on a flow now. "Fire and maneuver. One squad lays down covering fire while the other maneuvers to a better position. Then that squad takes over the firing work from its new position while the first squad moves to its new and improved position. One squad takes a risk to cover the other knowing the other will do the same for it. But the demons just don’t understand that. Try it and one squad doesn't see why it should take a chance to help its rivals, the other knows that so it doesn't take chances either. So, nothing happens."
"So how does Caesar manage it?" Ori was interested. "He has mixed demon and human units?"
"As far as we can make out, he's keeping humans and demons in separate low-level units and spacing them out down the line. The humans lay down suppressive fire and provide the support, the demons do the actual assaults." Anderson thought carefully, "perhaps we could try that. It can't work any worse than the things we are trying now. Anyway, how's your musketry lessons going?"
Ori frowned. "Musketry?"
"Sorry, marksmanship. Musketry is an old term for the skills needed to handle a rifle properly. Making progress?"
"Yes indeed. It is good to get everything working together and make the rifle do what I wish." Ori had adapted to firing rifles quickly and his aim was improving daily. "But there is a part of my mind that hates what they stand for. What honor is there in warfare if a few weeks of training can turn out a rifleman who will cut down his enemy at a distance? A sword, a bow, these take great training to use but a rifle. With a little training, a peasant can shoot down a valiant warrior."
"That was the whole point," Anderson spoke dryly. After his retirement from the Army, he'd lived alone for a few years before advancing age made that impossible. Then his children had put him in an assisted living facility that, to him, had been a warehouse for people waiting to die. During that time, he'd read a lot. "It was guns and citizen-soldiers who ended the reign of absolute kings. Once the king no longer had a monopoly for firepower, their day was done."
"But you still had dictators." Aeneas had listened to his audience as well as spoken to them.
"We did, but they were different. They held power by force, not by an absolute right. Be that as it may, Aeneas, how are you getting on with the M-115?"
"It is a hard weapon. So, much to think about. The phalanx was so much easier."
"Isn’t that rather the problem the demons are having?" Anderson leaned back in his seat and waved to the bartender for three beers. "Let's drink to rifles boys. And in beer, not fungus ale."
MoD Main Building, Whitehall, London.
"Well, the spams blew it. They had Uriel cornered but they let him get away. Again." Field Marshal Dannatt sounded gloomily pleased.
"It's not all a complete loss, according to DIMO(N) we gained a lot of information on portals to Heaven that might crack the place open. We all know this siege is getting on people's nerves."
"Siege, Admiral?"
"What else do we call it? Heaven has us locked out and we're trying to find a way in so we can storm the place. Heaven's locked in and they're making sallies out to try and disrupt our efforts. If that isn't a definition of a siege, I don’t know what is. As for the spams, well, that was quite a spectacular rescue Michael-Lan-Yahweh pulled."
"Did you see the film of him stopping to wave to us as he pulled out? That took big brass ones."
"Courage has never been in short supply with the demons, nor with the angels I suspect. Although Uriel's chosen mode of attack doesn’t necessarily agree with that. But if Uriel keeps hitting the septics, they'll get him eventually. It's the information from Myanmar that I found much more interesting."
"The way the Thais pulled off their counterattack. Very innovative." Dannatt was genuinely impressed.
"That wasn't the Thais, that was the Human Expeditionary Army showing how Petraeus plans to fight future wars. The Thai Corps was just the maneuver element. But no, it was the drugs thing that interests me."
"Michael buying industrial quantities of hard drugs? Yes, that was rather curious. One wonders what he's up to. I understand the septics are watching what is left of Myanmar very closely."
"They are. But I rather think they have missed the point." Admiral West looked thoughtfully out of the window. It's been my experience that vices don’t come singly. Might it be a good time to ask, given Michael buys large quantities of drugs, what else he is buying?"
"I suppose he's going to South America for cocaine, but . . .. ."
"Not drugs, drink. Doesn’t it seem likely to you that if Michael has this immense need for drugs, he also needs to drink for the same reasons?"
"Whisky." The light was dawning in Dannatt's head.
"Exactly. Whisky. And brandy, vodka, schnapps, gin, whatever else that's drinkable. Has it struck you that one or two of the Scottish distilleries are doing very well despite the effects of the war? We should put a watch on all the distilleries, at the very least try to catch him buying the stuff. And we should tip the French, Germans, Russians off as well."
"And the Americans, they distill whisky."
Admiral West looked severely at the soldier. "The Americans do not make whisky. They make a light brown, whiskey-like fluid. A description that could also include horse's urine to which it bears a strong resemblance. Be that as it may, remember what I said about a siege. Well, think about this. Buying this stuff from Earth is a risky activity for Michael-Lan-Yahweh. Yet it's important enough for him to do and for him to do personally. Surely if it is that important to him, it's equally worthwhile for us to disrupt that supply. At the very least it will annoy him. At best, it'll disrupt his plans enough to force him into something desperate and that'll give us a chance to get him. When people are desperate, they make mistakes, bad ones."
"Yahweh hasn't put a foot wrong yet. Although the scholars are telling us Michael is the great general of Heaven. So, I suppose we should say that Michael hasn't put a foot wrong yet."
"I might not agree with that." From one corner of the room, Sir John Sawers, head of the SIS, spoke for the first time. "We don’t know of Michael making any critical mistakes, but we know nothing of what is happening in Heaven. He might have made that critical mistake already and we just haven't seen it yet. If anything, that adds importance to your suggestion Admiral. Any way we can keep pressure on Michael-Lan and Yahweh the better."
RAF Bruntingthorpe, Leicestershire.
Bruntingthorpe Aerodrome had last been used by the Royal Air Force in 1962 when the 19th Tactical Reconnaissance Squadron of the USAF and its RB-66Bs had moved out and the station had closed. Since 1972 the aerodrome had become privately owned and used for several uses; it had recently become famous as the home of Vulcan B.2 XH558. Shortly after her first flight once more, an RAF bomber XH558’s home had been requisitioned by the Ministry of Defense, becoming home to the V-Bomber Flight and its four Vulcan B.2s and two Victor K.2s, and the RAF’s new Heavy Bomber Development Unit. The HBDU’s job was to prepare the RAF for the arrival of the B-1C Lancers that it had ordered from the Americans.
“What? Four aircraft in 2011?” Group Captain Martin Winters (he was still getting used to his new rank), the new Commanding Officer of the HBDU, shouted into his phone. “What are they doing, building them by hand?”
"That's not so far from the truth. They had the production line tooling in storage but reconditioning it and setting it up was a seriously difficult job. Rockwell moved a lot faster than anybody had a right to expect as it is. Now, they've got to get long-lead components. They're only moving as fast as they are because they're drawing down on the spares inventory for the B-1Bs to bridge the gap."
Winters fumed. “I thought that the Spams were supposed to be the Arsenal of Democracy and all that male bovine excrement.”
“I’m sorry, Sir.” His contact at MoD Main Building replied. “But the Americans are starting production of the C model Lancer from scratch. It's not a B-1B, it’s a modified and simplified B-1A. For the first six months, they’ll only be producing one aircraft a month, rising to two six months after that. The best-case scenario has the Americans operating eighteen new Lancers this time next year. Their priority will be to replace the B-29s and B-50s and replace the B-2s that were lost in the Whitman tornado. After that, they’ll probably be happy enough to give us four aircraft for training purposes. There is some good news, they’ve also promised to allow our personnel to go on exchange to America so they can get some hands-on experience with the B-1C.”
“Very nice of them I’m sure,” Winters replied, still far from happy. “I do hope that the Brass Hats and politicians are happy that the RAF’s bomber force will remain at four aircraft for the foreseeable future. Unless somebody else can come through with some spares.
"Between us Sir, the Brass have been trying that. They went to the Russians asking about Tu-95s and Tu-160s."
"Bears and Blackjacks? I don’t suppose. . .. ."
"Not a chance it turned out. Tu-160s are coming off the lines at one per month now, a big increase on the pre-war one per year. They're good birds, apparently, our people were impressed, but the Russians want them all. As for the Tu-95s, they're restarting the production line but they're having the same problems as the Septics. That left the Chinese of course. . .. ."
"I don't suppose they have anything we could use."
"Oddly, they've got the most productive bomber line now. The good news is that they're churning six Xian H-6Ks off the line a month. The bad news is that the H-6K is a modified Tu-16. Some Rolls-Royce people are over there now. Back in the '80s, the Chinese were playing with an advanced H-6 with Spey engines, they called it the H-8. It never got anywhere but the Chinese are trying again and the guys from Roller are helping them. Again, you're looking at years, not months. There's nobody else, not now. So, you're on your own resources. How are they looking?"
Winter thought for a moment. "Well, we might be able to get one, or maybe two more Vulcans flying, but that’s the limit, the remaining survivors are only good for spare parts. At least we’ll be able to retire the two Victors soon, now that our A330 tankers are in production.”
"You should hear the airlines moaning. It's been almost two years since they got any new aircraft. Airbus is building as fast as they can, but their entire output is going into military transports and aerial refuellers. Hell's a big place and we've a lot of ground to cover out there. Anyway, talking of spare parts, Sir, the bosses would like to know what the situation is.”
“Could be better, could be worse,” Winters replied. “We’ve been lucky in that Rolls Royce still makes the Olympus engine for maritime and industrial uses. It wasn’t too difficult getting part of the production line switched over to engines for the Vulcan. Other components were more of a problem, though you’d be surprised how many Vulcan and Victor spare parts were sitting forgotten in RAF stores. At current sortie rates, we’ve probably got enough to last six to eight months, by which time I hope new components will be in production."
“The Rolls-Royce Conway engines of the Victor were more of a problem, they’re not in production anymore and spares are in short supply, but so long as Airbus get their fingers out it shouldn’t be a great problem.”
“I’ll pass that along, Sir, thank you.”
Winters heard a click and knew that the connection had been severed. He replaced the receiver of his own phone and sat back in his chair wondering how he was going to draw up a training program for heavy bomber air and ground crew using six aircraft that had been designed in the 1950s; well challenges were what life in the Services was all about. Winters looked up at two pictures on his wall, one was a print of a new painting depicting XH558 flying through the skies of Hell, the other, of somewhat less artistic merit, was a photo-shopped picture of a B-1B Lancer in the markings of 617 Squadron. The latter had been hung up when there had been an early expectation of delivery of the Lancer B.1 (as the RAF were planning to call the B-1C), now it just served to mock Winters.
He stood up and removed the picture from his wall and placed it in a drawer and locked it away.
Training Camp, 1st Mechanized Infantry Battalion (Demonic), Dis, Hell
"What a phalanx they would have made." Aeneas looked sadly at the demons who were sitting around cleaning their rifles. "Keep them shoulder-to-shoulder in a phalanx and they would have made chopped turds of everybody."
"Even the Spartans?" Anderson enjoyed goading Aeneas.
"Even us." One of the delights of teasing the Spartan was that he took everything so seriously.
"Well, they did, didn't they." Ori was less easy to needle. "They took us apart repeatedly. That's where all the legends of humans fighting against armies of monstrous beasts come from. Sergeant Anderson says that even a few years ago, humans would have had bad problems with them. Still, that's all gone now. Just as our way of war is a thing of the past."
"Could you samurai have taken them?" Aeneas was genuinely interested in the concept.
Ori shook his head. "A small number perhaps. But our arrows would have taken many, many shots to bring them down, and to fight a demon with a sword is a desperate thing. Rifles are better and with them, each of us stands on equal terms with one of them."
"Which brings us back to tactics. Or lack of them."
"Having problems gentlemen?" Sergeant Gray Anderson pulled over a chair and joined his two drill instructors.
"The demons. You were wrong about them. They can fight as units perfectly."
"That's the problem." Aeneas finished off Ori's comment. "As long as they're in one large unit, they're fine. They move as a unit, fight as a unit, and keep their ranks perfectly. It's not on an individual level that you have your problem, it's the next level up. Split that big unit into two small ones and try to get them to cooperate, that's where it all comes apart. Each unit tries to outdo the other, each one wants to 'get the glory' and leave the other behind. They just can't get that idea out of their minds and we're not the people you need to change things."
"If anything, we see their point," Ori added the coda to Aeneas's lecture. He couldn’t help thinking that the weeks lecturing human historians on the realities of life in ancient Greece had done wonders for the previously reticent Spartan.
"I was rather afraid you'd say that." Anderson sighed. Trying to turn demons into modern soldiers was proving much harder than anybody had thought possible. The human way of war was a product of how modern humans thought at a very basic level. Demons seemed incapable of duplicating it.
"Let me give you an example of this." Aeneas was on a flow now. "Fire and maneuver. One squad lays down covering fire while the other maneuvers to a better position. Then that squad takes over the firing work from its new position while the first squad moves to its new and improved position. One squad takes a risk to cover the other knowing the other will do the same for it. But the demons just don’t understand that. Try it and one squad doesn't see why it should take a chance to help its rivals, the other knows that so it doesn't take chances either. So, nothing happens."
"So how does Caesar manage it?" Ori was interested. "He has mixed demon and human units?"
"As far as we can make out, he's keeping humans and demons in separate low-level units and spacing them out down the line. The humans lay down suppressive fire and provide the support, the demons do the actual assaults." Anderson thought carefully, "perhaps we could try that. It can't work any worse than the things we are trying now. Anyway, how's your musketry lessons going?"
Ori frowned. "Musketry?"
"Sorry, marksmanship. Musketry is an old term for the skills needed to handle a rifle properly. Making progress?"
"Yes indeed. It is good to get everything working together and make the rifle do what I wish." Ori had adapted to firing rifles quickly and his aim was improving daily. "But there is a part of my mind that hates what they stand for. What honor is there in warfare if a few weeks of training can turn out a rifleman who will cut down his enemy at a distance? A sword, a bow, these take great training to use but a rifle. With a little training, a peasant can shoot down a valiant warrior."
"That was the whole point," Anderson spoke dryly. After his retirement from the Army, he'd lived alone for a few years before advancing age made that impossible. Then his children had put him in an assisted living facility that, to him, had been a warehouse for people waiting to die. During that time, he'd read a lot. "It was guns and citizen-soldiers who ended the reign of absolute kings. Once the king no longer had a monopoly for firepower, their day was done."
"But you still had dictators." Aeneas had listened to his audience as well as spoken to them.
"We did, but they were different. They held power by force, not by an absolute right. Be that as it may, Aeneas, how are you getting on with the M-115?"
"It is a hard weapon. So, much to think about. The phalanx was so much easier."
"Isn’t that rather the problem the demons are having?" Anderson leaned back in his seat and waved to the bartender for three beers. "Let's drink to rifles boys. And in beer, not fungus ale."
MoD Main Building, Whitehall, London.
"Well, the spams blew it. They had Uriel cornered but they let him get away. Again." Field Marshal Dannatt sounded gloomily pleased.
"It's not all a complete loss, according to DIMO(N) we gained a lot of information on portals to Heaven that might crack the place open. We all know this siege is getting on people's nerves."
"Siege, Admiral?"
"What else do we call it? Heaven has us locked out and we're trying to find a way in so we can storm the place. Heaven's locked in and they're making sallies out to try and disrupt our efforts. If that isn't a definition of a siege, I don’t know what is. As for the spams, well, that was quite a spectacular rescue Michael-Lan-Yahweh pulled."
"Did you see the film of him stopping to wave to us as he pulled out? That took big brass ones."
"Courage has never been in short supply with the demons, nor with the angels I suspect. Although Uriel's chosen mode of attack doesn’t necessarily agree with that. But if Uriel keeps hitting the septics, they'll get him eventually. It's the information from Myanmar that I found much more interesting."
"The way the Thais pulled off their counterattack. Very innovative." Dannatt was genuinely impressed.
"That wasn't the Thais, that was the Human Expeditionary Army showing how Petraeus plans to fight future wars. The Thai Corps was just the maneuver element. But no, it was the drugs thing that interests me."
"Michael buying industrial quantities of hard drugs? Yes, that was rather curious. One wonders what he's up to. I understand the septics are watching what is left of Myanmar very closely."
"They are. But I rather think they have missed the point." Admiral West looked thoughtfully out of the window. It's been my experience that vices don’t come singly. Might it be a good time to ask, given Michael buys large quantities of drugs, what else he is buying?"
"I suppose he's going to South America for cocaine, but . . .. ."
"Not drugs, drink. Doesn’t it seem likely to you that if Michael has this immense need for drugs, he also needs to drink for the same reasons?"
"Whisky." The light was dawning in Dannatt's head.
"Exactly. Whisky. And brandy, vodka, schnapps, gin, whatever else that's drinkable. Has it struck you that one or two of the Scottish distilleries are doing very well despite the effects of the war? We should put a watch on all the distilleries, at the very least try to catch him buying the stuff. And we should tip the French, Germans, Russians off as well."
"And the Americans, they distill whisky."
Admiral West looked severely at the soldier. "The Americans do not make whisky. They make a light brown, whiskey-like fluid. A description that could also include horse's urine to which it bears a strong resemblance. Be that as it may, remember what I said about a siege. Well, think about this. Buying this stuff from Earth is a risky activity for Michael-Lan-Yahweh. Yet it's important enough for him to do and for him to do personally. Surely if it is that important to him, it's equally worthwhile for us to disrupt that supply. At the very least it will annoy him. At best, it'll disrupt his plans enough to force him into something desperate and that'll give us a chance to get him. When people are desperate, they make mistakes, bad ones."
"Yahweh hasn't put a foot wrong yet. Although the scholars are telling us Michael is the great general of Heaven. So, I suppose we should say that Michael hasn't put a foot wrong yet."
"I might not agree with that." From one corner of the room, Sir John Sawers, head of the SIS, spoke for the first time. "We don’t know of Michael making any critical mistakes, but we know nothing of what is happening in Heaven. He might have made that critical mistake already and we just haven't seen it yet. If anything, that adds importance to your suggestion Admiral. Any way we can keep pressure on Michael-Lan and Yahweh the better."
Re: 2008 - Pentheocide
Chapter Thirty-Four
Home of Lemuel-Lan-Michael, Eternal City, Heaven
Onniel-Lan-Lemuel, mate of Lemuel-Lan-Michael, still resented the reprimands she had received from the guardians of the local temple. They'd noted the growing unhappiness in the Lemuel household and made their own quiet investigations. That had led them to summon her to the temple for advice and counsel. That was what they had called it anyway. Onniel remembered it as being her kneeling in front of the altar for five hours while the Temple Elders lectured her on her failings as a mate and her negligence as a householder. It had been all the worse for the fact that the session had been held in the nave of the temple, open to the view of all. Onniel had no doubt that word of her reprimands would be spreading around the community. She knew without any shadow of a doubt, that when she next went to the market, fingers would be pointed at her behind her back and caustic comments made about her failures.
It was made worse by the fact that she knew the comments were justified. She had treated her mate badly, resenting the way his position in the League of the Holy Court was taking up his time. Heaven was facing an existential crisis, that much was whispered in the markets and meeting places. Nobody admitted it but all knew the war with the humans on Earth was not going well. The sheer speed with which they had overrun Hell and killed Satan had been bad enough. The Angels who were old enough to remember the Great Celestial War had spoken of the long, drawn-out deadlock, the inability of either side to gain an advantage over the other. The pointless fighting that had gone on for millennia after millennia was still a sore memory that had led to Satan being called "the Eternal Enemy". Yet the human armies had not just withstood his assault, they had counter-attacked and defeated him within a few short weeks. It was whispered, very quietly, with great caution, if humans could score such a rapid victory against Hell, why could they not do the same against Heaven? And why wasn't Heaven crushing them?
Onniel knew the answers whispered in the street. The humans gained their power from the fact there were traitors in Heaven. There were those in high places who sided with them, obstructing the plans long developed by the All-Knowing and protecting the humans who defied His will. It was only as she had knelt before the altar with the constant chanting of condemnation and criticism pouring over her that she had finally realized the League of Holy Court was the primary line of defense against such treason. Lemuel was its leading investigator and in devoting himself to its work, he was directly shielding The One Above All from the treachery that threatened all of Heaven. Her petty grievances were of no importance at all compared with the vital work he was engaged in. That had been made clear in the remorseless censure that had been her lot. Lemuel and his work were important, she was not and if she couldn’t adapt to it, there were plenty of others who would be pleased to take her place. By placing her own petty needs ahead of those that affected all of Heaven, she was succumbing to the deadly sin of pride.
That ultimatum was the turning point, the prospect that had made her decide to change her attitude. The fact was, she liked being the mate of such an important person. It gave her power and influence, it meant that others stopped and gave way to her. If she were displaced and it became known that this had been so because the sin of pride had caused her to fail in her duties, her descent would be far and fast. She could not bear to contemplate that, so she had laid her grievances aside to labor on behalf of Lemuel. She had spent the rest of the day watching the servants clean the house until not a speck of dust remained anywhere. The stones that inlaid the walls had been polished until they glowed and the refractions of light from their hearts filled their rooms. Finally, she had sent other servants out to procure Lemuel's favorite foods and she had prepared their evening meal for them herself. It had been a long time since she had done that. Now, the table was laid, and everything was ready. She took one last look to ensure the room and meal were perfect, then went to greet her mate.
She reached the entrance hall as Lemuel closed the doors behind him. There, she dropped to her knees and swept her wings in front of her face. Lemuel barely nodded at her, still swept up in his attempts to understand the arrays of conspiracy that existed in Heaven. Onniel bit back a sarcastic comment and, instead gave the traditional greeting to her returning mate. "Most Noble One, your home is tranquil and a haven of rest. Food and wine have been prepared for your pleasure."
She saw Lemuel look at her and frown slightly. Had she got the formal greeting wrong? She hadn’t used it for a long time, but she was sure that she remembered it properly. It wasn't as if it was a long or complex chant.
"There will be no time for that. I must go out again, to worship The One Above All and continue my dedication to his service. I will be out very late again so do not wait up for me."
Onniel blinked and looked up at him. "But I have prepared our meal myself and remembered all your favorites. Surely this evening's worship can wait for such a short period?"
She saw Lemuel shake his head. "This is work of such great importance that it goes to the highest of the high. I must leave right away. If there is too much food prepared, throw the rest away, there is no need for us to be concerned about such things." Then Lemuel turned and left.
Almost blind with rage, Onniel forgot her new resolutions and ran back to where the meal table had been arranged. She grabbed the food-loaded central plate and hurled it at the closed doors, watching it explode against them with spiteful satisfaction.
Temple of Ceaseless Compliance, Eternal City, Heaven
Once more, Lemuel-Lan-Michael was sprawled on his face in front of the altar chanting his choruses of praise while his companions followed his lead. It was nice to find somewhere he was treated with respect due to his rank and position. That thought made him slightly guilty, not just because of the deception he was practicing on these people but because he was only going through the motions of prayer. His mind was focused on his home and the neglect that Onniel seemed to regard as an adequate performance of her duties. He had heard the crash behind the doors of his home and seen them shake as the things she had thrown struck them. There just was no way to understand what made women act as they did. He resolved to have another word with the local priests, obviously, they hadn't spoken to Onniel forcefully enough.
The Chorus completed, Lemuel, straightened up and eased the kink out of his back. His eyes were itching again, and he felt his chest filled with the urge to cough. Behind him, Perpetiel-Lan-Paschar smirked slightly, it was amazing what the addition of a little Mace to the bowls of burning incense could achieve. The humans really were so very clever, packaging such a useful chemical in those easy-to-use spray cans. Two of his co-conspirators had upped the effect of the Mace-doped incense by giving Lemuel a couple of discrete puffs of the undiluted product at suitable points in the chorus. As a result, Lemuel was in a slightly improved state of distress. Well, it was time to "cure" him.
"Some Gatorade, Most Noble One? To ease your throat and add extra harmony to the praises we sing to the One Above All. We have the green one this evening."
"That would be most acceptable." Lemuel liked the green Gatorade. He accepted the glass gratefully and drank the contents down, hot noticing the small quantity of hash oil that had been mixed in with it. He felt the warm glow though, and the world began to pick up a rosier hue. Then, to his embarrassment, his stomach rumbled slightly.
"Most Noble One, you have not eaten this evening?" Perpetiel-Lan-Paschar faked the concern beautifully.
"No, I came straight here, feeling a most urgent need to join in a chorus of praise to The Nameless One."
Perpetiel grinned to himself, this urgent need to pray was a lot more chemical than emotional. In fact, it put a whole new meaning on the phrase 'hooked on phonics’. The number of opiates he was consuming was beginning to have its effects on Lemuel. Even the Tylenol he took for his headaches, ones that were growing more frequent every day, was Tylenol 4 and contained sixty milligrams of codeine per tablet. It was time to up the ante a little.
"Most Noble One, you are not alone in this problem. One of our experiences here is that so many of our congregation come here straight from their daily duties and do not have time to eat. So, as part of our temple, we have a small eating place, one where food can be properly reverenced and then served to the needy. After all, is not sharing good fortune and spreading one's advantages to those in need also a form of service to the One Above All?"
Lemuel nodded, that made sense after all. He followed Perpetiel out of the main chamber of the temple to a central courtyard where the smell of cooking meat wafted deliciously across the garden. Perpetiel waved in the direction where two female angels were tending what appeared to be an old-style reverential altar, one where hot coal was placed underneath a metal grid and food offerings were placed over the flames, to cook in the heat. Humans had once made their offerings to The Almighty One that way, but they had ceased doing so. Lemuel reflected it was good to see the old traditions being restored. Perhaps if they hadn't fallen into abeyance, things would not have reached this pass. Then he shook his head, for some reason his thinking seemed a little fuzzy these days.
One of the angels had been working quickly. She had taken a small, round loaf of leavened bread and split it in half. Then, she placed some green leaves on the bottom half, added a red sauce, and put it to one side. A white sauce had been added to the top half before it too was put to one side. Then, she lifted a cake of cooking meat off the altar, placed it in the loaf, and handed it to him with a respectful smile. "It is called a hamburger Most Noble One. Enjoy it in the spirit in which it is intended."
Lemuel took a bite of the meal and found it was good. So, much so that he had finished it almost before he was aware of the juice dribbling down his chin. One of the female angels wiped it for him and respectfully offered him another hamburger. This one took him a little longer to eat but the sensation in his stomach was that of warmth and satisfaction. He suddenly realized he was happy, for the first time in a long time.
"This is most kind of you Perpetiel-Lan. Your community here is an example to us all. I am sure He Who Must Not Be Named would be profound in his recognition of your services to him and to our community."
Like Hell, Perpetiel thought. He'd massacre us all on the spot. "That thought is profoundly pleasing to us Most Noble One. Might I suggest you try these poor snacks? They are called fries."
An hour later, a well-fed Lemuel left the Temple, already writing his report in his mind. There was no doubt, no doubt at all, that this Temple was the center of human influence and the portal by which human goods were arriving in Heaven. The situation saddened him, it was obvious that the people here were working from the best of motives but the whole Temple of Ceaseless Compliance set-up was an example of how sin and depravity wormed their way into the heart under the guise of honest virtue. Lemuel sighed; he really didn't want to go home this evening. Compared with the temple, it was a cold, unwelcoming place and after Onniel's behavior earlier, he had no doubt that it would be even more so. Instead, he decided to go back to his office and write up the report that was forming in his mind. That decision made, as he stepped out of the door of the temple, he turned right for his office, not left for his home.
That change saved his life. The concentrated sound blast that hit the wall of the temple was above and behind him, not directly over his head. The outer wall collapsed under the blast, dropping a great pile of masonry where he would have been standing. Lemuel was caught on the outside of the avalanche; rocks hit him and threw him to one side. His skin was lacerated by the shattered sheets of sapphire that followed the masonry down. But he lived and was merely stunned by the explosion. Dumbly, his mind still fuzzy and confused, he realized that an attempt had been made on his life. This was unheard of, nobody ever tried to harm another being in Heaven. Well, not another Angel anyway, humans didn't count of course. Then a shocking thought struck him. The assassination wasn't aimed at him as a casual worshipper at the Temple of Ceaseless Compliance, it was aimed at him as an investigator of the League of the Holy Court. Somebody knew exactly who he was and had tried to take him out.
Inside the temple, the meeting was breaking up as the 'worshippers' getting ready to head back to the Montmartre Club for a few badly needed drinks. The crash of the front wall's collapse brought the hasty preparations to a grinding halt. Perpetiel led the race to see what had happened and stopped dead at the sight of Lemuel, sprawled out on the sidewalk with masonry on top of him.
"If I'd known we were going to kill him, I wouldn't have used the top-grade hamburger." Lailah-Lan sounded slightly grumpy. She was justifiably proud of her hamburgers.
"We weren't going to kill him. This is somebody else." Perpetiel looked at the figure on the ground. It was moving, trying to get up. "He's alive, get him inside, make sure he stays that way. Whoever did this might try again."
DIMO(N) Conference Suite, Pentagon.
"Books Luga?" Colonel Baylor was surprised. Somehow, he hadn't thought of Luga studying anything. Surreptitiously he put his foot near one of the floor vents. To his relief he could feel the air current, the system was running full blast.
"Law books. I have decided to study law. I think it is hard to live here unless I am a lawyer. There are so many laws covering so many things. So, I must study law."
"Didn’t you have laws in Hell?"
"Only one. If Satan gets mad, take cover. Other than that, the law is what the strongest person says it is. Here it is different."
"Our Luga becoming a lawyer. Now there's a terrifying thought." The voice came from the stenographer sitting in the corner. The interjection got her a stern glance from Colonel Baylor, stenographers by job definition were supposed to be neither heard nor seen.
"What about Heaven Luga? Do you know much about the laws there? Do they have any?"
"They do although I do not know much about them. They are the same as your ten commandants. That should not surprise you. They came from the same place after all. They have a sort of police in Heaven, it is called The League of the Holy Court. I think it is mostly concerned with keeping the humans in Heaven in order."
"There are humans in Heaven then?"
"Of course, there are many of them. The Angels use them as menial servants."
Baylor sighed. If Lugasharmanaska could be believed, and that was always open to question, everything in the Second Life was very different from the pictures that had been presented. "Right Luga, today, I'd like to talk about the wars here on Earth. Particularly about the other beings, ones we think of as gods."
"Why do you want to know about that bunch of losers?" Luga was openly scornful.
"They existed then?"
"Certainly. They probably still do. We ran them off Earth, Yahweh and Satan together did. They had a good-cop, bad-cop act going for them."
"I wonder who the Bad Cop was?" The stenographer got another angry glance from Baylor.
"Usually Satan. But we converted their followers and deprived them of power. By the time we'd finished they had so few followers, that it wasn't worth them staying. Only one of the groups really put up a fight and we had to strike a deal. If they went, their followers wouldn't be tormented in Hell."
"So that's what Gaius Julius Caesar meant when he said he and his friends were protected by powerful gods," Baylor spoke thoughtfully. "There always were rumors that he and some other Romans were part of a mystical cult. Whatever it was, it must have saved their necks."
"You'll have to talk to him about that.' Luga was dismissive. "There were quite a few others as well. I think they were the first ones out of the Hell-pit."
"Hardly surprising. So, there are other beings from other bubble-worlds in Universe-Two."
Luga took a moment to work that one out. "Certainly. But they haven't been seen on Earth for millennia. We saw the last of them off at least three thousand years ago."
Luga spoke for a couple of hours, describing the battle for control of Earth. "So, you see, most of the religions are based on memories of those other groups. That's all I know really."
Baylor relaxed, and the stenographer signed off on the transcript she'd created. Then, he leaned forward again. "Do you really want to become a lawyer Luga?"
"No, but I want to understand the law. These laws you have are a new concept to me. My television show makes me too much money for me to give it up."
Baylor couldn’t resist asking. "How much do you make on that show Luga."
She grinned exposing her long yellow fangs. "When we broadcast, one thousand dollars per day. Or, as my bank manager says, 'how now, green thou'."
Home of Lemuel-Lan-Michael, Eternal City, Heaven
Onniel-Lan-Lemuel, mate of Lemuel-Lan-Michael, still resented the reprimands she had received from the guardians of the local temple. They'd noted the growing unhappiness in the Lemuel household and made their own quiet investigations. That had led them to summon her to the temple for advice and counsel. That was what they had called it anyway. Onniel remembered it as being her kneeling in front of the altar for five hours while the Temple Elders lectured her on her failings as a mate and her negligence as a householder. It had been all the worse for the fact that the session had been held in the nave of the temple, open to the view of all. Onniel had no doubt that word of her reprimands would be spreading around the community. She knew without any shadow of a doubt, that when she next went to the market, fingers would be pointed at her behind her back and caustic comments made about her failures.
It was made worse by the fact that she knew the comments were justified. She had treated her mate badly, resenting the way his position in the League of the Holy Court was taking up his time. Heaven was facing an existential crisis, that much was whispered in the markets and meeting places. Nobody admitted it but all knew the war with the humans on Earth was not going well. The sheer speed with which they had overrun Hell and killed Satan had been bad enough. The Angels who were old enough to remember the Great Celestial War had spoken of the long, drawn-out deadlock, the inability of either side to gain an advantage over the other. The pointless fighting that had gone on for millennia after millennia was still a sore memory that had led to Satan being called "the Eternal Enemy". Yet the human armies had not just withstood his assault, they had counter-attacked and defeated him within a few short weeks. It was whispered, very quietly, with great caution, if humans could score such a rapid victory against Hell, why could they not do the same against Heaven? And why wasn't Heaven crushing them?
Onniel knew the answers whispered in the street. The humans gained their power from the fact there were traitors in Heaven. There were those in high places who sided with them, obstructing the plans long developed by the All-Knowing and protecting the humans who defied His will. It was only as she had knelt before the altar with the constant chanting of condemnation and criticism pouring over her that she had finally realized the League of Holy Court was the primary line of defense against such treason. Lemuel was its leading investigator and in devoting himself to its work, he was directly shielding The One Above All from the treachery that threatened all of Heaven. Her petty grievances were of no importance at all compared with the vital work he was engaged in. That had been made clear in the remorseless censure that had been her lot. Lemuel and his work were important, she was not and if she couldn’t adapt to it, there were plenty of others who would be pleased to take her place. By placing her own petty needs ahead of those that affected all of Heaven, she was succumbing to the deadly sin of pride.
That ultimatum was the turning point, the prospect that had made her decide to change her attitude. The fact was, she liked being the mate of such an important person. It gave her power and influence, it meant that others stopped and gave way to her. If she were displaced and it became known that this had been so because the sin of pride had caused her to fail in her duties, her descent would be far and fast. She could not bear to contemplate that, so she had laid her grievances aside to labor on behalf of Lemuel. She had spent the rest of the day watching the servants clean the house until not a speck of dust remained anywhere. The stones that inlaid the walls had been polished until they glowed and the refractions of light from their hearts filled their rooms. Finally, she had sent other servants out to procure Lemuel's favorite foods and she had prepared their evening meal for them herself. It had been a long time since she had done that. Now, the table was laid, and everything was ready. She took one last look to ensure the room and meal were perfect, then went to greet her mate.
She reached the entrance hall as Lemuel closed the doors behind him. There, she dropped to her knees and swept her wings in front of her face. Lemuel barely nodded at her, still swept up in his attempts to understand the arrays of conspiracy that existed in Heaven. Onniel bit back a sarcastic comment and, instead gave the traditional greeting to her returning mate. "Most Noble One, your home is tranquil and a haven of rest. Food and wine have been prepared for your pleasure."
She saw Lemuel look at her and frown slightly. Had she got the formal greeting wrong? She hadn’t used it for a long time, but she was sure that she remembered it properly. It wasn't as if it was a long or complex chant.
"There will be no time for that. I must go out again, to worship The One Above All and continue my dedication to his service. I will be out very late again so do not wait up for me."
Onniel blinked and looked up at him. "But I have prepared our meal myself and remembered all your favorites. Surely this evening's worship can wait for such a short period?"
She saw Lemuel shake his head. "This is work of such great importance that it goes to the highest of the high. I must leave right away. If there is too much food prepared, throw the rest away, there is no need for us to be concerned about such things." Then Lemuel turned and left.
Almost blind with rage, Onniel forgot her new resolutions and ran back to where the meal table had been arranged. She grabbed the food-loaded central plate and hurled it at the closed doors, watching it explode against them with spiteful satisfaction.
Temple of Ceaseless Compliance, Eternal City, Heaven
Once more, Lemuel-Lan-Michael was sprawled on his face in front of the altar chanting his choruses of praise while his companions followed his lead. It was nice to find somewhere he was treated with respect due to his rank and position. That thought made him slightly guilty, not just because of the deception he was practicing on these people but because he was only going through the motions of prayer. His mind was focused on his home and the neglect that Onniel seemed to regard as an adequate performance of her duties. He had heard the crash behind the doors of his home and seen them shake as the things she had thrown struck them. There just was no way to understand what made women act as they did. He resolved to have another word with the local priests, obviously, they hadn't spoken to Onniel forcefully enough.
The Chorus completed, Lemuel, straightened up and eased the kink out of his back. His eyes were itching again, and he felt his chest filled with the urge to cough. Behind him, Perpetiel-Lan-Paschar smirked slightly, it was amazing what the addition of a little Mace to the bowls of burning incense could achieve. The humans really were so very clever, packaging such a useful chemical in those easy-to-use spray cans. Two of his co-conspirators had upped the effect of the Mace-doped incense by giving Lemuel a couple of discrete puffs of the undiluted product at suitable points in the chorus. As a result, Lemuel was in a slightly improved state of distress. Well, it was time to "cure" him.
"Some Gatorade, Most Noble One? To ease your throat and add extra harmony to the praises we sing to the One Above All. We have the green one this evening."
"That would be most acceptable." Lemuel liked the green Gatorade. He accepted the glass gratefully and drank the contents down, hot noticing the small quantity of hash oil that had been mixed in with it. He felt the warm glow though, and the world began to pick up a rosier hue. Then, to his embarrassment, his stomach rumbled slightly.
"Most Noble One, you have not eaten this evening?" Perpetiel-Lan-Paschar faked the concern beautifully.
"No, I came straight here, feeling a most urgent need to join in a chorus of praise to The Nameless One."
Perpetiel grinned to himself, this urgent need to pray was a lot more chemical than emotional. In fact, it put a whole new meaning on the phrase 'hooked on phonics’. The number of opiates he was consuming was beginning to have its effects on Lemuel. Even the Tylenol he took for his headaches, ones that were growing more frequent every day, was Tylenol 4 and contained sixty milligrams of codeine per tablet. It was time to up the ante a little.
"Most Noble One, you are not alone in this problem. One of our experiences here is that so many of our congregation come here straight from their daily duties and do not have time to eat. So, as part of our temple, we have a small eating place, one where food can be properly reverenced and then served to the needy. After all, is not sharing good fortune and spreading one's advantages to those in need also a form of service to the One Above All?"
Lemuel nodded, that made sense after all. He followed Perpetiel out of the main chamber of the temple to a central courtyard where the smell of cooking meat wafted deliciously across the garden. Perpetiel waved in the direction where two female angels were tending what appeared to be an old-style reverential altar, one where hot coal was placed underneath a metal grid and food offerings were placed over the flames, to cook in the heat. Humans had once made their offerings to The Almighty One that way, but they had ceased doing so. Lemuel reflected it was good to see the old traditions being restored. Perhaps if they hadn't fallen into abeyance, things would not have reached this pass. Then he shook his head, for some reason his thinking seemed a little fuzzy these days.
One of the angels had been working quickly. She had taken a small, round loaf of leavened bread and split it in half. Then, she placed some green leaves on the bottom half, added a red sauce, and put it to one side. A white sauce had been added to the top half before it too was put to one side. Then, she lifted a cake of cooking meat off the altar, placed it in the loaf, and handed it to him with a respectful smile. "It is called a hamburger Most Noble One. Enjoy it in the spirit in which it is intended."
Lemuel took a bite of the meal and found it was good. So, much so that he had finished it almost before he was aware of the juice dribbling down his chin. One of the female angels wiped it for him and respectfully offered him another hamburger. This one took him a little longer to eat but the sensation in his stomach was that of warmth and satisfaction. He suddenly realized he was happy, for the first time in a long time.
"This is most kind of you Perpetiel-Lan. Your community here is an example to us all. I am sure He Who Must Not Be Named would be profound in his recognition of your services to him and to our community."
Like Hell, Perpetiel thought. He'd massacre us all on the spot. "That thought is profoundly pleasing to us Most Noble One. Might I suggest you try these poor snacks? They are called fries."
An hour later, a well-fed Lemuel left the Temple, already writing his report in his mind. There was no doubt, no doubt at all, that this Temple was the center of human influence and the portal by which human goods were arriving in Heaven. The situation saddened him, it was obvious that the people here were working from the best of motives but the whole Temple of Ceaseless Compliance set-up was an example of how sin and depravity wormed their way into the heart under the guise of honest virtue. Lemuel sighed; he really didn't want to go home this evening. Compared with the temple, it was a cold, unwelcoming place and after Onniel's behavior earlier, he had no doubt that it would be even more so. Instead, he decided to go back to his office and write up the report that was forming in his mind. That decision made, as he stepped out of the door of the temple, he turned right for his office, not left for his home.
That change saved his life. The concentrated sound blast that hit the wall of the temple was above and behind him, not directly over his head. The outer wall collapsed under the blast, dropping a great pile of masonry where he would have been standing. Lemuel was caught on the outside of the avalanche; rocks hit him and threw him to one side. His skin was lacerated by the shattered sheets of sapphire that followed the masonry down. But he lived and was merely stunned by the explosion. Dumbly, his mind still fuzzy and confused, he realized that an attempt had been made on his life. This was unheard of, nobody ever tried to harm another being in Heaven. Well, not another Angel anyway, humans didn't count of course. Then a shocking thought struck him. The assassination wasn't aimed at him as a casual worshipper at the Temple of Ceaseless Compliance, it was aimed at him as an investigator of the League of the Holy Court. Somebody knew exactly who he was and had tried to take him out.
Inside the temple, the meeting was breaking up as the 'worshippers' getting ready to head back to the Montmartre Club for a few badly needed drinks. The crash of the front wall's collapse brought the hasty preparations to a grinding halt. Perpetiel led the race to see what had happened and stopped dead at the sight of Lemuel, sprawled out on the sidewalk with masonry on top of him.
"If I'd known we were going to kill him, I wouldn't have used the top-grade hamburger." Lailah-Lan sounded slightly grumpy. She was justifiably proud of her hamburgers.
"We weren't going to kill him. This is somebody else." Perpetiel looked at the figure on the ground. It was moving, trying to get up. "He's alive, get him inside, make sure he stays that way. Whoever did this might try again."
DIMO(N) Conference Suite, Pentagon.
"Books Luga?" Colonel Baylor was surprised. Somehow, he hadn't thought of Luga studying anything. Surreptitiously he put his foot near one of the floor vents. To his relief he could feel the air current, the system was running full blast.
"Law books. I have decided to study law. I think it is hard to live here unless I am a lawyer. There are so many laws covering so many things. So, I must study law."
"Didn’t you have laws in Hell?"
"Only one. If Satan gets mad, take cover. Other than that, the law is what the strongest person says it is. Here it is different."
"Our Luga becoming a lawyer. Now there's a terrifying thought." The voice came from the stenographer sitting in the corner. The interjection got her a stern glance from Colonel Baylor, stenographers by job definition were supposed to be neither heard nor seen.
"What about Heaven Luga? Do you know much about the laws there? Do they have any?"
"They do although I do not know much about them. They are the same as your ten commandants. That should not surprise you. They came from the same place after all. They have a sort of police in Heaven, it is called The League of the Holy Court. I think it is mostly concerned with keeping the humans in Heaven in order."
"There are humans in Heaven then?"
"Of course, there are many of them. The Angels use them as menial servants."
Baylor sighed. If Lugasharmanaska could be believed, and that was always open to question, everything in the Second Life was very different from the pictures that had been presented. "Right Luga, today, I'd like to talk about the wars here on Earth. Particularly about the other beings, ones we think of as gods."
"Why do you want to know about that bunch of losers?" Luga was openly scornful.
"They existed then?"
"Certainly. They probably still do. We ran them off Earth, Yahweh and Satan together did. They had a good-cop, bad-cop act going for them."
"I wonder who the Bad Cop was?" The stenographer got another angry glance from Baylor.
"Usually Satan. But we converted their followers and deprived them of power. By the time we'd finished they had so few followers, that it wasn't worth them staying. Only one of the groups really put up a fight and we had to strike a deal. If they went, their followers wouldn't be tormented in Hell."
"So that's what Gaius Julius Caesar meant when he said he and his friends were protected by powerful gods," Baylor spoke thoughtfully. "There always were rumors that he and some other Romans were part of a mystical cult. Whatever it was, it must have saved their necks."
"You'll have to talk to him about that.' Luga was dismissive. "There were quite a few others as well. I think they were the first ones out of the Hell-pit."
"Hardly surprising. So, there are other beings from other bubble-worlds in Universe-Two."
Luga took a moment to work that one out. "Certainly. But they haven't been seen on Earth for millennia. We saw the last of them off at least three thousand years ago."
Luga spoke for a couple of hours, describing the battle for control of Earth. "So, you see, most of the religions are based on memories of those other groups. That's all I know really."
Baylor relaxed, and the stenographer signed off on the transcript she'd created. Then, he leaned forward again. "Do you really want to become a lawyer Luga?"
"No, but I want to understand the law. These laws you have are a new concept to me. My television show makes me too much money for me to give it up."
Baylor couldn’t resist asking. "How much do you make on that show Luga."
She grinned exposing her long yellow fangs. "When we broadcast, one thousand dollars per day. Or, as my bank manager says, 'how now, green thou'."
Re: 2008 - Pentheocide
Chapter Thirty-Five
Home of George and Rose Matthews, Cæsaraugusta, Cisalpine Gaul, New Rome, Hell
He was sitting in a cold, dark street, the constant rain soaking him to the bone while the bitter wind chilled him until every joint in his body ached. Starvation gnawed at him, cramping his stomach, and making his insides clench with pain. Soon, he would have to root through the garbage for something to eat, fighting the rats for the worm and maggot-riddled fragments of food in the filthy trash. Even when he found something, the relief it would bring would only be temporary, lasting just long enough to add emphasis to the agony of starvation when it returned full force. Even worse, while he was foraging, he would have lost his place around the fire and would have to fight his way back in. George Matthews sighed and started to dig into the trash. If he was lucky, he might find a piece of rotten meat.
"Wake up George, it's only a nightmare." He opened his eyes and saw his wife looking down at him, a gentle smile on her face. A younger face, much younger than he had remembered looking down on him before, in the moments between feeling the agonizing pain in his chest and left arm and the darkness closing in on him. Now, she looked as if she was in her mid-forties, a very well-preserved and elegant mid-forties. He felt no jealousy because he too had undergone the same rejuvenation and looked around the same age. That had been one of the subtle torments of Hell, to be restored to one's best only to suffer all the agonies that had made Hell what it was. But all that was in the past and now he had a future to look forward to. He had been found in the First Circle of Hell and taken to the reception camps on the Phelan Plain. There his name and particulars had been taken down and fed into a computer. There had been a celebration when the answer came up for so very few of those recovered found close family they could turn to. Amid the applause, he'd been told that his wife was waiting for him, that she already had a home waiting for him, and he could join her as soon as he wished.
Quietly, without saying anything, he had worried about that. How much had she been changed, what had she suffered here in Hell before she had been rescued? What sort of home had she managed to build here? Then he had met with her, she had run to him and held him, and everything seemed to be good again. She'd explained that she had died after Hell had been conquered and that she'd brought all her assets with her. She'd used them to buy this villa in the new city of Caesaraugusta, in the province of Cisalpine Gaul of the New Roman Republic. She'd registered it in both their names and owning property made them Roman Citizens. Even now, months into his Second Life here, he wondered at the good fortune that had led him to marry the woman who had so painstakingly built a home for him to return to. He shook the sleep from his head, got up from the couch, and hugged her. "Rose." There was a world of love and admiration in that single word.
"Oh, George." His wife returned the embrace and led him to their dining room. A simple breakfast was laid out on the table, some fresh bread, cheese, mushrooms, and wine. None of it was quite what it appeared, the cheese was made from the milk of female food beasts, the grain for the bread and the mushrooms were species native to Hell, and the wine was actually made from a fermented red fungus, but they tasted right and the truth was that humans here didn’t need to eat, not physically. They needed to eat emotionally, communal dining was too deeply ingrained in their psyche to be discarded, but the driving starvation he remembered from the Hellpit was a delusion. He sighed and looked out of the window. The villa was built on the banks of the Askaris River, their plot of land ending on the river itself. Across the Askaris was a low range of hills, ironically called The Alps. They were in the adjoining province, Transalpine Gaul, one that was still largely unoccupied. The rolling hills were tree-covered, and their dark red foliage complemented the lighter red of the river beautifully.
"What have we got happening today?" George carefully spread some cheese on a lump of bread and took a bite. The sharp, clean taste of the cheese was perfect for cutting through the residue of sleep. That was another thing humans here didn’t need but couldn’t really do without. Sleep.
"Well, we have the monthly election coming up. One of the Senators for Cisalpine Gaul has reached the end of his term, so we have to go and vote for his successor." There were 120 Senators representing the individual provinces of the Republic and each served a term of two years. Their elections were spread out so that 1/24th of their number were elected each month. So, far, most elections were unopposed. The whole political system was a work-in-progress after all. The previous month Second Consul Jade Kim had been up for re-election and she, too, had been unopposed.
"And I've had a message from Naomi and John. They'd like to come to visit now we're established here." A mischievous grin crossed Rose's face. "I suppose they must have forgiven me for taking all our money. It shook them when they found we can take it with us after all."
The couple looked at each other and laughed. "You did well there Rose, that John was always a bit full of himself I thought. Not nearly good enough for our Naomi. Anyway, they're welcome here. This villa's got the room for them, thanks to you. Now, time for work."
Rose nodded, put on her silver cap, and gathered up her bag. She'd started work as a seamstress in one of the new factories but had quickly been promoted to a shift manager. She and her husband didn’t need to work, not yet anyway. The funds she had brought from their First Life had been adequate to get them started but work was psychologically needed just as food and sleep were. George Matthews had a job on a road-building gang. That had worried his wife, she remembered, all too well, the heart attack that had killed him, but he had reassured her that his health was better than it had ever been on Earth. Anyway, as he'd explained to her 'working on the road is good, honest work and it feels good to be building something for our future'. She knew what he meant, the Republic was new and raw around the edges, but it was their future. "I've put your toga out for the election this evening and a new stola for me."
George nodded in appreciation. Most times people here wore the clothing they were familiar with, in the case of Rose and George, jeans and T-shirts, but for an election, formal Roman attire was required. Even if their senator hadn't been up for re-election this month, the fact it was election day still meant that he had to appear before his constituents to answer their questions and address their concerns. But since he was up for re-election, there would be a formal debate between the candidates on questions from the audience, followed by the vote.
Together, they left their home through the double set of doors that kept the dust out of their home and went out to the road that serviced their sub-division. Now, the area was served by a Beast-drawn bus but in due course, a proper motor bus would replace it. For a moment, George Matthews thought that the replacement had happened because he heard engines, but it was something different. A small column of military vehicles, a mix of Humvees and armored cars. Human vehicles are armed with long-barreled guns. They pulled up alongside the bus stop and a figure got out, one wearing a breathing mask. Obviously, he was still in his First Life.
"Ave Citizens." The officer's right hand was extended in a careful Roman salute, the clenched fist striking his chest above the heart and then extended towards the Matthews, upper arm close to the body, lower arms level with the ground, hand open, palm down. Not the way it had once been depicted at all, historians had been quite shocked when they had seen the real thing.
"Ave Colonel." George and Rose returned the salute. "May we be of assistance to you?"
"Colonel Paschal, DIMO(N). I have an appointment to meet with First Consul Gaius Julius Caesar and Second Consul Jade Kim in New Rome." Paschal flushed slightly, partly from the effort of remembering to get the formalities right, but also from embarrassment. "We seem to have lost our way. My driver insisted we stop and ask directions." Behind him, the female driver of the Humvee was grinning. Rose reflected that Hell and Earth had some things in common, a reluctance to ask directions being one of them
Rose smiled at the Colonel. "George and Rose Matthews. It's easy to go astray Colonel, the roads around here are being built and extended all the time. We Romans love good roads you know. Go straight on for about five kilometers until this road ends at a T junction. Turn left at the junction, that'll put you on the Aemilian Way. Stay on that, it'll take you all the way to Rome."
"Thank you, Citizens." Paschal looked at them curiously. "Please forgive the intrusion But are you Americans?"
"We were Colonel, but that was in our First Lives. We're Romans now."
Temple of Ceaseless Compliance, Eternal City, Heaven
"So just who dared to try and pull this off?" Michael-Lan winced slightly, the wound in his shoulder was healed, the one in his chest very nearly so but he still got a twinge if he moved too fast.
"Humans?" Lemuel put the question tentatively. It was the only answer he dared think of.
Michael-Lan almost snorted with laughter. "If this was human work, you'd be dead. The favorite expressions of humans where killing is concerned are 'if some is good, more is better, 'nothing succeeds like excess', and 'more dakka'. If humans wanted to kill you, you wouldn't just be dead, your body parts would be strewn over half the Eternal City. This wasn't human work; this was somebody else."
Lemuel-Lan thought about it carefully. His body ached from the wounds suffered when rubble had fallen on him and he'd taken some Tylenol to ward off the pain. "It must be the First Conspiracy." His voice had dropped so the words would not carry.
"Not the Second Conspiracy?" Michael-Lan dropped his voice to match.
"No, Most High One. I have infiltrated that group. There is heresy there, certainly, but it is well-intentioned. An excess of zeal has led the congregation of this Temple to use human products to serve Our Eternal Father more diligently. They have been led astray by good intentions and need only a little re-education to bring them back to the right path."
Michael-Lan nodded, making a note to reward the team who had worked here for a job well done. "Nevertheless, maintain your infiltration of the group and find out its extent. They may be well-intentioned but when we pick them up, we must arrest them all at once. No loose ends. Make sure you identify them all." And that should act as your orders to take you into the club. "You think it is the First Conspiracy then?"
"It must be, Noble Lord. I can think of none other. I would guess they have learned of our investigation into their organization and decided to strike. Perhaps a cell feared they were about to be discovered and wished to prevent that."
"It could be." Michael-Lan was thoughtful. This whole situation didn't make sense from most points of view. The rivalry between cliques of Angels was well-known but they never got to the point of assassination. At worst, blackening reputations in Yah-Yah's eyes and caused a loss of influence. That didn’t worry Michael, as the Great General, he was above such things and anyway, he was a past master at such games. Had one of the other Chayot-Ha-Kodesh decided to break the rules of millennia and start playing for keeps? Michael-Lan ran through the names in his mind. Of the Chayot of the First Rank, only Azrael, Zadkiel and Chamuel were likely candidates. Were the Chayot of the Second Rank trying a powerplay? Sariel, Raguel, and Remiel could be ruled out, Sariel was already a member of the Montmartre club, Raguel was one of Yahweh's most devoted followers and Remiel was a mindless nonentity. Jophiel and Haniel? They were possibilities certainly, but Michael didn’t think they would have the initiative to try something this radical. That left Barchiel and Salaphael. Michael couldn’t help but run the last name over in his mind. He was in mild disfavor and filled with resentment because of it. And he had the originality to think up an assassination plot. It was, after all, originality that had got him into trouble in the first place. It was not a valuable trait to have when Yahweh was around.
The simple fact that the attack on Lemuel had been tried was what worried Michael-Lan. It suggested that the First Conspiracy was moving closer to its goal of a take-over in Heaven. He knew enough to realize that any such effort would be a catastrophe, that it would result in a war at least as destructive as the Great Celestial War had been. Better the status-quo than fighting in the streets of the Eternal City. That would be casting the whole situation into the hands of the Humans. That thought made Michael-Lan stop cold. Could he be wrong? Was this a human strike at Heaven? He was going to great lengths to keep the humans on the defensive, to make sure their efforts were focused on Earth while the sheer effort needed to support their war machine slowly exhausted them.
But suppose they had found a way to infiltrate Heaven? He'd heard how they had started a rebellion in Hell itself and used it to assassinate the highest of the Demonic hierarchy. They'd even dropped the hammer on Asmodeus, the Hellish equivalent of a Chayot-Ha-Kodesh. Assassinating people were right in their line. That just left the question, why was Lemuel still alive. Anyway, there were no traces of explosives around here. The human preference would have been for a bomb, a big one packed into a vehicle. This attack had used a trumpet blast. That had to be angelic. Unless the humans were using an angel as a front. Humans manipulating an Archangel. That would be one for the books. Once more, Michael found affection for humans rising in him. They made life so interesting.
Then, another thought stopped Michael-Lan cold. Suppose, just suppose, it wasn't angels or humans? Suppose another player had re-entered the game? One who hadn't been part of it for millennia? It was possible that one of the others had seen the destruction of Hell, the death of Satan, seen the Humans fighting against Heaven, fending off the worst that could be thrown at them. The others might have decided that Heaven was so weakened by this war that it was time to strike back, to avenge the defeat that had driven them from Earth millennia ago. They might even see the opportunity of reasserting their domain over the Earth. If they did think that Michael-Lan felt sorry for them for tackling the Humans head-on meant death.
Despite his ingrained apprehension at the thought of the Others returning, Michael-Lan was entranced by the idea. It would certainly mean his plan needed revision but that's what plans were for. He could use this development, use it very effectively.
"Lemuel-Lan, continue here. I will look after the First Conspiracy. Return to your home."
"With respect, Most Noble One, I would prefer to go to my office. There is much to be done there."
Aha, you and Onniel are on the outs, are you? Took long enough. Time to throw some more temptation your way. A little tender loving care should do. "As you wish, old friend. Your devotion to duty honors me."
Michael watched Lemuel limp off and turned to the temple staff inspecting the damage to the outer wall. "Don’t sweat those guys, I'll get the master mason to deal with it. He owes me a few favors. Charmeine-Lan, how's Maion doing?"
"She's settled into her new life Michael-Lan. Sometimes her resentment at selling herself surfaces but not so often now. And a little assistance goes far."
"Good. We'll throw her at Lemuel soon. Once he's a little more frustrated and resentful at the way Onniel is treating him, you can take him to the Club. Just warn me when so I'm not there when he is. Charmeine, tell Maion to dance for him and coo over him. Just pay him unconditional attention, that'll do the trick. Once he's gone with her, he'll fall into line easily enough.
Throne Room, The Ultimate Temple, The Eternal City, Heaven
"Lord of All, I most humbly beg that your servant Uriel be excused from displaying the customary genuflections at your immaculate presence. His wounds suffered in carrying out your duty are crippling and render him unfit for such actions." Michael-Lan was sprawled out on the floor of the throne room, his peerless lips pressed to the alabaster tiles. Around him, the strange creatures that kept Yahweh amused during the long hours he spent in this room drifted slowly away into the billowing clouds of incense. It was a conditioned reflex after the number of lightning storms that had occurred in this room since the war with the humans had started.
"Uriel unable to pay due and proper respect?" The Voice of the Father of All echoed around the throne room, causing a rumble of thunder and a flicker of white lightning. In the background, the master mason made sure there was nobody between him and his bunker.
"That is the case One Above All Others, he fought valiantly at San Diego and was terribly wounded there. He received further injuries while fleeing from the pursuing humans and would have died."
"But for your rescue. My Wuffles did not flee from the humans even when their bombs tore at him." The roll of thunder had a distinctly sorrowful note as Yahweh remembered his late pet.
I'll have to get the rest killed as soon as possible Michael-Lan thought. Yah-Yah thinks better when he's mad with grief, leaving him only two eggs short of an omelet instead of three. "Indeed so, Immaculate Father of Us All. But the humans fought with unusual cruelty even for them. Uriel's condition is sorrowful indeed."
"Then let him enter." Uriel-Lan made a sorrowful picture indeed as he staggered into the throne room. His wings were twisted and bent out of shape, he showed burns all down his body and his legs were malformed. Michael-Lan's doctors had done their best and Uriel's massive healing power had done more but he was still a critically wounded Archangel. Michael-Lan was quite surprised he had made it to this meeting. Up on the throne, Yahweh seemed shocked at the sight. "The humans have done this to my faithful servant?"
The thunder cracked and a sheet of lightning rippled across the room, glancing off the walls and lighting the darker recesses of the antechambers. In the glare, Michael distinctly saw the Master mason vanishing into his bunker, his feet waving in the air before being hastily pulled to safety.
"I beg your forgiveness, Eternal Lord of All." Uriel's voice was shaky and seemed to crack as if he was forcing the words out through a throat half-closed. Which wasn't too far from the truth, being too close to the blast of exploding missiles had more damaging effects than were obvious. "My attempts to bring my peace to the humans have failed, they discovered how to resist me and defy Your will."
To Michael's great surprise, Yahweh didn’t incinerate Uriel on the spot. Better luck next time passed through his mind. Instead of throwing a tantrum, Yahweh was nodding seriously. "How did the humans manage this?"
"I do not know Greatest of All. They have missiles that never miss, they have weapons that burn and sear their enemies. They have a weapon I have never encountered before, that makes my skin burn and my flesh boil. All of these they have ringed around their cities. . .... "
"I do not care about such things." The crack of thunder silenced Uriel. "Their weapons are of no concern to me. How is it that they defy My Will?"
"They have barriers between their minds and the peace I bring them. It takes much effort to force through them and to get at the minds underneath. So, much so that it is only possible to bring peace to a few at a time. By the time I have forced my way into their minds, their missiles are tearing at me, and their weapons burn my flesh. Then, the further attack becomes impossible. Greatest Father of All, I swear to this with all my heart. For those who fly near a human city, death is certain. Each time I have tried, the humans grow more skilled at fighting me. The time I must enforce my peace grows shorter."
"Then your task is impossible?" Yahweh's voice was silky-smooth, and the menace was unmistakable.
"No, Holiest of Holy Ones. Once my injuries are healed, I will try again. Perhaps this time success will attend me."
"Lord Above All." Michael-Lan cut in with unsurpassed fervor. "Uriel's courage is indeed an example to us all. We can all draw strength from his devotion to Your Immaculate Presence." Just in case you were thinking of letting him off.
"Indeed so. Uriel your courage is indeed notable. Consult with my treasured servant Michael to decide on your next target."
"Lord Above All, might this humble servant suggest a possible strategy? If we send Uriel in to make his attack at the same time as the Scarlet Beast and the Whore of Babylon attack Jerusalem, perhaps we can split the human defense and score a crushing victory."
"A cunning plan Greatest of my Generals. Make it so. Is there anything else?"
"Most Immaculate Lord, the matter of treason we discussed earlier. There is reason to believe that it does not stem from inside Heaven but from outside. Today, an attempt was made to assassinate one of Your most faithful servants, an investigator of the League of the Holy Court. We must believe that there are those in this city who have linked their name to The Others."
Across the Eternal City, the thunderclouds roiled and spread, drenching the streets with the lurid glare of multi-colored lightning. Even the highest of the Host took cover inside buildings as hailstones the size of ostrich eggs pelted the streets, shattering on impact and crushing the more fragile of structures. The storm roared on, circling and recircling the Ultimate Temple. Eventually, it ebbed and terrified heads emerged from their hiding places to wonder at the destruction that they saw. Inside the throne room, Michael looked around the rubble where one of the curtain walls had collapsed, burying some of the exotic beasts that had taken cover behind them. In one corner, a hand emerged from the Master Mason's bunker and started to clear the rubble away from the entrance. I must get myself one of those. Michael-Lan thought. This is getting hairy.
"Arrest them!" Yahweh's voice was a scream that was eerily reminiscent of his deceased brother. "Arrest them all."
"Thy will be done." Michael-Lan genuflected and made his way out of the semi-destroyed throne room, picking his way between the piles of rubble as he went.
Home of George and Rose Matthews, Cæsaraugusta, Cisalpine Gaul, New Rome, Hell
He was sitting in a cold, dark street, the constant rain soaking him to the bone while the bitter wind chilled him until every joint in his body ached. Starvation gnawed at him, cramping his stomach, and making his insides clench with pain. Soon, he would have to root through the garbage for something to eat, fighting the rats for the worm and maggot-riddled fragments of food in the filthy trash. Even when he found something, the relief it would bring would only be temporary, lasting just long enough to add emphasis to the agony of starvation when it returned full force. Even worse, while he was foraging, he would have lost his place around the fire and would have to fight his way back in. George Matthews sighed and started to dig into the trash. If he was lucky, he might find a piece of rotten meat.
"Wake up George, it's only a nightmare." He opened his eyes and saw his wife looking down at him, a gentle smile on her face. A younger face, much younger than he had remembered looking down on him before, in the moments between feeling the agonizing pain in his chest and left arm and the darkness closing in on him. Now, she looked as if she was in her mid-forties, a very well-preserved and elegant mid-forties. He felt no jealousy because he too had undergone the same rejuvenation and looked around the same age. That had been one of the subtle torments of Hell, to be restored to one's best only to suffer all the agonies that had made Hell what it was. But all that was in the past and now he had a future to look forward to. He had been found in the First Circle of Hell and taken to the reception camps on the Phelan Plain. There his name and particulars had been taken down and fed into a computer. There had been a celebration when the answer came up for so very few of those recovered found close family they could turn to. Amid the applause, he'd been told that his wife was waiting for him, that she already had a home waiting for him, and he could join her as soon as he wished.
Quietly, without saying anything, he had worried about that. How much had she been changed, what had she suffered here in Hell before she had been rescued? What sort of home had she managed to build here? Then he had met with her, she had run to him and held him, and everything seemed to be good again. She'd explained that she had died after Hell had been conquered and that she'd brought all her assets with her. She'd used them to buy this villa in the new city of Caesaraugusta, in the province of Cisalpine Gaul of the New Roman Republic. She'd registered it in both their names and owning property made them Roman Citizens. Even now, months into his Second Life here, he wondered at the good fortune that had led him to marry the woman who had so painstakingly built a home for him to return to. He shook the sleep from his head, got up from the couch, and hugged her. "Rose." There was a world of love and admiration in that single word.
"Oh, George." His wife returned the embrace and led him to their dining room. A simple breakfast was laid out on the table, some fresh bread, cheese, mushrooms, and wine. None of it was quite what it appeared, the cheese was made from the milk of female food beasts, the grain for the bread and the mushrooms were species native to Hell, and the wine was actually made from a fermented red fungus, but they tasted right and the truth was that humans here didn’t need to eat, not physically. They needed to eat emotionally, communal dining was too deeply ingrained in their psyche to be discarded, but the driving starvation he remembered from the Hellpit was a delusion. He sighed and looked out of the window. The villa was built on the banks of the Askaris River, their plot of land ending on the river itself. Across the Askaris was a low range of hills, ironically called The Alps. They were in the adjoining province, Transalpine Gaul, one that was still largely unoccupied. The rolling hills were tree-covered, and their dark red foliage complemented the lighter red of the river beautifully.
"What have we got happening today?" George carefully spread some cheese on a lump of bread and took a bite. The sharp, clean taste of the cheese was perfect for cutting through the residue of sleep. That was another thing humans here didn’t need but couldn’t really do without. Sleep.
"Well, we have the monthly election coming up. One of the Senators for Cisalpine Gaul has reached the end of his term, so we have to go and vote for his successor." There were 120 Senators representing the individual provinces of the Republic and each served a term of two years. Their elections were spread out so that 1/24th of their number were elected each month. So, far, most elections were unopposed. The whole political system was a work-in-progress after all. The previous month Second Consul Jade Kim had been up for re-election and she, too, had been unopposed.
"And I've had a message from Naomi and John. They'd like to come to visit now we're established here." A mischievous grin crossed Rose's face. "I suppose they must have forgiven me for taking all our money. It shook them when they found we can take it with us after all."
The couple looked at each other and laughed. "You did well there Rose, that John was always a bit full of himself I thought. Not nearly good enough for our Naomi. Anyway, they're welcome here. This villa's got the room for them, thanks to you. Now, time for work."
Rose nodded, put on her silver cap, and gathered up her bag. She'd started work as a seamstress in one of the new factories but had quickly been promoted to a shift manager. She and her husband didn’t need to work, not yet anyway. The funds she had brought from their First Life had been adequate to get them started but work was psychologically needed just as food and sleep were. George Matthews had a job on a road-building gang. That had worried his wife, she remembered, all too well, the heart attack that had killed him, but he had reassured her that his health was better than it had ever been on Earth. Anyway, as he'd explained to her 'working on the road is good, honest work and it feels good to be building something for our future'. She knew what he meant, the Republic was new and raw around the edges, but it was their future. "I've put your toga out for the election this evening and a new stola for me."
George nodded in appreciation. Most times people here wore the clothing they were familiar with, in the case of Rose and George, jeans and T-shirts, but for an election, formal Roman attire was required. Even if their senator hadn't been up for re-election this month, the fact it was election day still meant that he had to appear before his constituents to answer their questions and address their concerns. But since he was up for re-election, there would be a formal debate between the candidates on questions from the audience, followed by the vote.
Together, they left their home through the double set of doors that kept the dust out of their home and went out to the road that serviced their sub-division. Now, the area was served by a Beast-drawn bus but in due course, a proper motor bus would replace it. For a moment, George Matthews thought that the replacement had happened because he heard engines, but it was something different. A small column of military vehicles, a mix of Humvees and armored cars. Human vehicles are armed with long-barreled guns. They pulled up alongside the bus stop and a figure got out, one wearing a breathing mask. Obviously, he was still in his First Life.
"Ave Citizens." The officer's right hand was extended in a careful Roman salute, the clenched fist striking his chest above the heart and then extended towards the Matthews, upper arm close to the body, lower arms level with the ground, hand open, palm down. Not the way it had once been depicted at all, historians had been quite shocked when they had seen the real thing.
"Ave Colonel." George and Rose returned the salute. "May we be of assistance to you?"
"Colonel Paschal, DIMO(N). I have an appointment to meet with First Consul Gaius Julius Caesar and Second Consul Jade Kim in New Rome." Paschal flushed slightly, partly from the effort of remembering to get the formalities right, but also from embarrassment. "We seem to have lost our way. My driver insisted we stop and ask directions." Behind him, the female driver of the Humvee was grinning. Rose reflected that Hell and Earth had some things in common, a reluctance to ask directions being one of them
Rose smiled at the Colonel. "George and Rose Matthews. It's easy to go astray Colonel, the roads around here are being built and extended all the time. We Romans love good roads you know. Go straight on for about five kilometers until this road ends at a T junction. Turn left at the junction, that'll put you on the Aemilian Way. Stay on that, it'll take you all the way to Rome."
"Thank you, Citizens." Paschal looked at them curiously. "Please forgive the intrusion But are you Americans?"
"We were Colonel, but that was in our First Lives. We're Romans now."
Temple of Ceaseless Compliance, Eternal City, Heaven
"So just who dared to try and pull this off?" Michael-Lan winced slightly, the wound in his shoulder was healed, the one in his chest very nearly so but he still got a twinge if he moved too fast.
"Humans?" Lemuel put the question tentatively. It was the only answer he dared think of.
Michael-Lan almost snorted with laughter. "If this was human work, you'd be dead. The favorite expressions of humans where killing is concerned are 'if some is good, more is better, 'nothing succeeds like excess', and 'more dakka'. If humans wanted to kill you, you wouldn't just be dead, your body parts would be strewn over half the Eternal City. This wasn't human work; this was somebody else."
Lemuel-Lan thought about it carefully. His body ached from the wounds suffered when rubble had fallen on him and he'd taken some Tylenol to ward off the pain. "It must be the First Conspiracy." His voice had dropped so the words would not carry.
"Not the Second Conspiracy?" Michael-Lan dropped his voice to match.
"No, Most High One. I have infiltrated that group. There is heresy there, certainly, but it is well-intentioned. An excess of zeal has led the congregation of this Temple to use human products to serve Our Eternal Father more diligently. They have been led astray by good intentions and need only a little re-education to bring them back to the right path."
Michael-Lan nodded, making a note to reward the team who had worked here for a job well done. "Nevertheless, maintain your infiltration of the group and find out its extent. They may be well-intentioned but when we pick them up, we must arrest them all at once. No loose ends. Make sure you identify them all." And that should act as your orders to take you into the club. "You think it is the First Conspiracy then?"
"It must be, Noble Lord. I can think of none other. I would guess they have learned of our investigation into their organization and decided to strike. Perhaps a cell feared they were about to be discovered and wished to prevent that."
"It could be." Michael-Lan was thoughtful. This whole situation didn't make sense from most points of view. The rivalry between cliques of Angels was well-known but they never got to the point of assassination. At worst, blackening reputations in Yah-Yah's eyes and caused a loss of influence. That didn’t worry Michael, as the Great General, he was above such things and anyway, he was a past master at such games. Had one of the other Chayot-Ha-Kodesh decided to break the rules of millennia and start playing for keeps? Michael-Lan ran through the names in his mind. Of the Chayot of the First Rank, only Azrael, Zadkiel and Chamuel were likely candidates. Were the Chayot of the Second Rank trying a powerplay? Sariel, Raguel, and Remiel could be ruled out, Sariel was already a member of the Montmartre club, Raguel was one of Yahweh's most devoted followers and Remiel was a mindless nonentity. Jophiel and Haniel? They were possibilities certainly, but Michael didn’t think they would have the initiative to try something this radical. That left Barchiel and Salaphael. Michael couldn’t help but run the last name over in his mind. He was in mild disfavor and filled with resentment because of it. And he had the originality to think up an assassination plot. It was, after all, originality that had got him into trouble in the first place. It was not a valuable trait to have when Yahweh was around.
The simple fact that the attack on Lemuel had been tried was what worried Michael-Lan. It suggested that the First Conspiracy was moving closer to its goal of a take-over in Heaven. He knew enough to realize that any such effort would be a catastrophe, that it would result in a war at least as destructive as the Great Celestial War had been. Better the status-quo than fighting in the streets of the Eternal City. That would be casting the whole situation into the hands of the Humans. That thought made Michael-Lan stop cold. Could he be wrong? Was this a human strike at Heaven? He was going to great lengths to keep the humans on the defensive, to make sure their efforts were focused on Earth while the sheer effort needed to support their war machine slowly exhausted them.
But suppose they had found a way to infiltrate Heaven? He'd heard how they had started a rebellion in Hell itself and used it to assassinate the highest of the Demonic hierarchy. They'd even dropped the hammer on Asmodeus, the Hellish equivalent of a Chayot-Ha-Kodesh. Assassinating people were right in their line. That just left the question, why was Lemuel still alive. Anyway, there were no traces of explosives around here. The human preference would have been for a bomb, a big one packed into a vehicle. This attack had used a trumpet blast. That had to be angelic. Unless the humans were using an angel as a front. Humans manipulating an Archangel. That would be one for the books. Once more, Michael found affection for humans rising in him. They made life so interesting.
Then, another thought stopped Michael-Lan cold. Suppose, just suppose, it wasn't angels or humans? Suppose another player had re-entered the game? One who hadn't been part of it for millennia? It was possible that one of the others had seen the destruction of Hell, the death of Satan, seen the Humans fighting against Heaven, fending off the worst that could be thrown at them. The others might have decided that Heaven was so weakened by this war that it was time to strike back, to avenge the defeat that had driven them from Earth millennia ago. They might even see the opportunity of reasserting their domain over the Earth. If they did think that Michael-Lan felt sorry for them for tackling the Humans head-on meant death.
Despite his ingrained apprehension at the thought of the Others returning, Michael-Lan was entranced by the idea. It would certainly mean his plan needed revision but that's what plans were for. He could use this development, use it very effectively.
"Lemuel-Lan, continue here. I will look after the First Conspiracy. Return to your home."
"With respect, Most Noble One, I would prefer to go to my office. There is much to be done there."
Aha, you and Onniel are on the outs, are you? Took long enough. Time to throw some more temptation your way. A little tender loving care should do. "As you wish, old friend. Your devotion to duty honors me."
Michael watched Lemuel limp off and turned to the temple staff inspecting the damage to the outer wall. "Don’t sweat those guys, I'll get the master mason to deal with it. He owes me a few favors. Charmeine-Lan, how's Maion doing?"
"She's settled into her new life Michael-Lan. Sometimes her resentment at selling herself surfaces but not so often now. And a little assistance goes far."
"Good. We'll throw her at Lemuel soon. Once he's a little more frustrated and resentful at the way Onniel is treating him, you can take him to the Club. Just warn me when so I'm not there when he is. Charmeine, tell Maion to dance for him and coo over him. Just pay him unconditional attention, that'll do the trick. Once he's gone with her, he'll fall into line easily enough.
Throne Room, The Ultimate Temple, The Eternal City, Heaven
"Lord of All, I most humbly beg that your servant Uriel be excused from displaying the customary genuflections at your immaculate presence. His wounds suffered in carrying out your duty are crippling and render him unfit for such actions." Michael-Lan was sprawled out on the floor of the throne room, his peerless lips pressed to the alabaster tiles. Around him, the strange creatures that kept Yahweh amused during the long hours he spent in this room drifted slowly away into the billowing clouds of incense. It was a conditioned reflex after the number of lightning storms that had occurred in this room since the war with the humans had started.
"Uriel unable to pay due and proper respect?" The Voice of the Father of All echoed around the throne room, causing a rumble of thunder and a flicker of white lightning. In the background, the master mason made sure there was nobody between him and his bunker.
"That is the case One Above All Others, he fought valiantly at San Diego and was terribly wounded there. He received further injuries while fleeing from the pursuing humans and would have died."
"But for your rescue. My Wuffles did not flee from the humans even when their bombs tore at him." The roll of thunder had a distinctly sorrowful note as Yahweh remembered his late pet.
I'll have to get the rest killed as soon as possible Michael-Lan thought. Yah-Yah thinks better when he's mad with grief, leaving him only two eggs short of an omelet instead of three. "Indeed so, Immaculate Father of Us All. But the humans fought with unusual cruelty even for them. Uriel's condition is sorrowful indeed."
"Then let him enter." Uriel-Lan made a sorrowful picture indeed as he staggered into the throne room. His wings were twisted and bent out of shape, he showed burns all down his body and his legs were malformed. Michael-Lan's doctors had done their best and Uriel's massive healing power had done more but he was still a critically wounded Archangel. Michael-Lan was quite surprised he had made it to this meeting. Up on the throne, Yahweh seemed shocked at the sight. "The humans have done this to my faithful servant?"
The thunder cracked and a sheet of lightning rippled across the room, glancing off the walls and lighting the darker recesses of the antechambers. In the glare, Michael distinctly saw the Master mason vanishing into his bunker, his feet waving in the air before being hastily pulled to safety.
"I beg your forgiveness, Eternal Lord of All." Uriel's voice was shaky and seemed to crack as if he was forcing the words out through a throat half-closed. Which wasn't too far from the truth, being too close to the blast of exploding missiles had more damaging effects than were obvious. "My attempts to bring my peace to the humans have failed, they discovered how to resist me and defy Your will."
To Michael's great surprise, Yahweh didn’t incinerate Uriel on the spot. Better luck next time passed through his mind. Instead of throwing a tantrum, Yahweh was nodding seriously. "How did the humans manage this?"
"I do not know Greatest of All. They have missiles that never miss, they have weapons that burn and sear their enemies. They have a weapon I have never encountered before, that makes my skin burn and my flesh boil. All of these they have ringed around their cities. . .... "
"I do not care about such things." The crack of thunder silenced Uriel. "Their weapons are of no concern to me. How is it that they defy My Will?"
"They have barriers between their minds and the peace I bring them. It takes much effort to force through them and to get at the minds underneath. So, much so that it is only possible to bring peace to a few at a time. By the time I have forced my way into their minds, their missiles are tearing at me, and their weapons burn my flesh. Then, the further attack becomes impossible. Greatest Father of All, I swear to this with all my heart. For those who fly near a human city, death is certain. Each time I have tried, the humans grow more skilled at fighting me. The time I must enforce my peace grows shorter."
"Then your task is impossible?" Yahweh's voice was silky-smooth, and the menace was unmistakable.
"No, Holiest of Holy Ones. Once my injuries are healed, I will try again. Perhaps this time success will attend me."
"Lord Above All." Michael-Lan cut in with unsurpassed fervor. "Uriel's courage is indeed an example to us all. We can all draw strength from his devotion to Your Immaculate Presence." Just in case you were thinking of letting him off.
"Indeed so. Uriel your courage is indeed notable. Consult with my treasured servant Michael to decide on your next target."
"Lord Above All, might this humble servant suggest a possible strategy? If we send Uriel in to make his attack at the same time as the Scarlet Beast and the Whore of Babylon attack Jerusalem, perhaps we can split the human defense and score a crushing victory."
"A cunning plan Greatest of my Generals. Make it so. Is there anything else?"
"Most Immaculate Lord, the matter of treason we discussed earlier. There is reason to believe that it does not stem from inside Heaven but from outside. Today, an attempt was made to assassinate one of Your most faithful servants, an investigator of the League of the Holy Court. We must believe that there are those in this city who have linked their name to The Others."
Across the Eternal City, the thunderclouds roiled and spread, drenching the streets with the lurid glare of multi-colored lightning. Even the highest of the Host took cover inside buildings as hailstones the size of ostrich eggs pelted the streets, shattering on impact and crushing the more fragile of structures. The storm roared on, circling and recircling the Ultimate Temple. Eventually, it ebbed and terrified heads emerged from their hiding places to wonder at the destruction that they saw. Inside the throne room, Michael looked around the rubble where one of the curtain walls had collapsed, burying some of the exotic beasts that had taken cover behind them. In one corner, a hand emerged from the Master Mason's bunker and started to clear the rubble away from the entrance. I must get myself one of those. Michael-Lan thought. This is getting hairy.
"Arrest them!" Yahweh's voice was a scream that was eerily reminiscent of his deceased brother. "Arrest them all."
"Thy will be done." Michael-Lan genuflected and made his way out of the semi-destroyed throne room, picking his way between the piles of rubble as he went.
Re: 2008 - Pentheocide
Chapter Thirty-Six
The Montmartre Club, Eternal City, Heaven
"I suppose I have to thank you again Michael-Lan." The Master Mason was stretched out on a couch with one of the female angels gently caressing him with her wings. "The idea of selling tickets to my bunker was a real money-spinner. I'm going to have to build another one just to hold all the applicants."
"Don't get greedy, Zacharael-Lan. There's a reason why greed is a deadly sin, the original list of deadly sins made a lot of sense. It took Yah-yah to bring the whole idea of deadly sins into disrepute. Greed's a good example, more enterprises have been brought down by over-reaching greed than anything else. Look at it this way, the more bunker spaces you build, the less you'll get for each of them. Keep them rare, keep them hard to get. That way you establish a loyal clientele."
"Just like you do with membership here?" Zacharael-Lan held out his glass and his angelic companion filled it for him.
"Just like I do here," Michael-Lan confirmed. "Except here, it's a matter of practical necessity. All the goodies that make life in Heaven tolerable come from Earth. I'm working on changing that but in the meantime, it’s true. Going to Earth to restock with this war on is getting harder all the time and it's never safe to mess around with humans. So, we must use the stocks we have carefully."
"How about those things I built for you. Greenhouses, you called them although they don't look green."
Michael-Lan laughed. "They do now. You should see them. Full to bursting point with various strains of Cannabis Sativa and Indica plants. Poor old Jesus is working hard sampling them all, trying to decide which ones give us the best high. Trouble is by the end of a test session; he's so potted he forgets the results and must start again."
Zacharael-Lan joined in Michael's merriment. "That I should have such work to do. Instead of patching the holes in the walls after The Irascible One's tantrums. The last one was a doozie, he managed to bring down two curtain walls and a load-bearing column. The palace roof is sagging at that point and the whole thing could fall in. You say your greenhouses are full?"
"They are, we're trying to keep the strains separate but I've got some more coming in and will need space to plant them. Or rather Jesus will, he loves working with plants. I've managed to get some White Widow seeds; they're supposed to be really something. So, if you can get around to building a new greenhouse?"
Zacharael-Lan made a mock motion of weighing things in his hands. "Hmm. Repairing The Irascible One's palace and stopping it from collapsing on one hand or building you a new greenhouse for pot plants on the other. No real conflict there, I'll be around with the supplies first thing. I'll charge the materials off to the repairs on the Ultimate Palace. Nobody will notice, I've been delivering stuff there in the morning, taking it back at night, and redelivering it again the next day for centuries. The Palace treasurer has probably paid for the same slabs of alabaster and jewels four or five times over. New greenhouse in the same place?"
"Think so, even if the Unbearable Father starts to look, he'll never think of starting with his own son's palace. Umm, Zacharael-Lan, could you do me a big favor?"
"Sure Michael-Lan. Name it."
"I'm going to be away for a few days again. I've got a big pick-up to make with the guys in Myanmar. They're clearing their stocks out and want me to collect them. In exchange for large additions to their 'retirement' funds of course. My fault, I got them involved in what I thought would be a nasty, long-running border war and they went and lost in a few days. Humans learned to use portals for maneuvering faster than I thought possible. Anyway, it’s a get-it or lose-it situation. I've organized an attack on Los Angeles for Uriel and another by Dumah and the Scarlet Beast on Jerusalem to act as diversions."
"Good. Never liked Uriel, far too much of a cold fish for me and there always was something a bit strange about him. And as for Dumah and Fluffy, he leaves his droppings everywhere and she's got altogether too high an opinion of herself. She's just an Erelim like me but she spends her life looking down her nose at all of us. No respect that's her trouble. Just because she gets on with that Scarlet Beast, she thinks she can get away with anything."
"Well, she has The Unbearable Father's ear so she can." And that's why she has got to go along with that wretched pet. "For a while, anyway. Anyway, I won’t be here so could you front for me for a few days? Gabriel and Raphael will do all the actual work, but we'll be having an outsider coming in and I'd rather he didn’t know how high the leadership here really goes. Having an Erelim in charge would be perfect."
"Lemuel-Lan?"
"That's right. Just make sure he has a really good time and doesn’t learn anything important."
The Palatine Palace, New Rome, Hell
"Ave Caesar." Colonel Paschal gave his Roman salute with a bit more confidence than before. He would have preferred to have used the military salute he was familiar with but his orders on the matter were quite strict. Gaius Julius Caesar was too important a player in the evolving social structure of Hell to risk offending so in his country, Paschal was to play by his rules. Paschal had a nagging suspicious that Caesar made the powers-that-be back on Earth nervous. The rate at which New Rome was growing and the speed with which its society was settling into a cohesive whole was a tribute to his ability. It also made him a potential threat and humanity already had more problems than it could handle.
"Ave." Caesar returned the greeting and salute formally. "Colonel Paschal, I believe? You have met the Second Consul Jade Kim?"
"Ave Consul. I believe we met when you were running the PFLH in the Hellpit. To create a successful insurgency from such an unpromising start was a remarkable achievement."
"Thank you, but without the aid of my husband, it would all have collapsed." Kim put a gentle but distinct emphasis on the words 'my husband'. Paschal couldn't help but reflect she was learning the political game very fast. Wasn't surprising, she was getting the lessons from a master.
As if he were reading Paschal's thoughts, Caesar took the lead in the conversation back. "How are you enjoying your first visit to our new Republic?"
"New Rome is a remarkable achievement, Sir. You seem to be recreating the old Republic of Rome with incredible speed."
"Celeritas, Colonel. Always Celeritas. Speed and decisiveness in maneuver are always the key to successful efforts. But I needn't tell an officer in a human army that, you've taken speed and mobility to levels I'd never imagined possible. We're not recreating the ancient Republic of Rome here though; we are trying to take its best features and adapt them to the modern world your generation has so successfully created. If we take the best parts of my era and combine them with the best parts of yours, then there are wonders we can achieve."
Paschal nodded in agreement, reflecting that despite the two millennia since his death, Caesar's ability to inspire people with enthusiasm for his plans was still unchanged. It wasn't surprising that Jade Kim had cast her lot in with him, although it was becoming apparent to Paschal that people's allegiances for their Second Life in Hell rarely had much in common with those of their First Life on Earth. Expecting otherwise had already proved to be a bad mistake. "If I may ask Sir, what part of our modern practices do you seek to change?"
Caesar thought for a second. "Voting. Here in Rome, the right to vote is restricted to those who have demonstrated their commitment to the Republic by owning land. And we make voting a solemn affair where Roman Citizens are expected to dress formally and hear the candidates debate the great issues of the day before casting their votes. A vote cast casually without thought or consideration is a vote wasted." Caesar spoke gravely, then seemed to brighten again. "But we are not here, I think to discuss political theory. If you will join us for Cena, perhaps we can continue then."
"Thank you, Caesar, I will enjoy that. My task here is a curious one. May I ask what gods you worshipped during your First Life?"
"The ones who protected me in the pit? And others of course. Why do you wish to know?"
"Caesar, our assault on Heaven is stalled. All access to the place has been shut down and we can't get at them. For almost a year now, we have been trying to force our way in, and for all that effort we still do not know how to do so. Yet, the inhabitants of Heaven can attack us almost at will. They direct storms against our cities, bring plagues upon us, and attack us with their beasts. We beat off their attacks with some loss to ourselves, but we cannot, we will not, remain on the defensive forever. Nobody ever won a war by defending themselves."
"That's true." Caesar laughed nostalgically. "Defeating the enemy means taking the war to them."
"Yes Sir. But we can't. But in our investigations, we've learned that the demons here in Hell fought other groups on Earth and expelled them. Although the fighting took place long before human history was recorded, we believe that memories of those other groups form the basis of many world religions. We have also learned that one such group, demons call them devils, was so hard to defeat that they struck a deal with Satan and Yahweh. That they would withdraw from Earth only if those who believed in them were protected from the torments of Hell. You, Sir, are the only person we know of who falls into that category. So, we seek to identify this other group. If they are loyal to those who believed in them and sought to protect them, they may be the kind of people we can deal with."
"Deal with as in plan with, or deal with as in shoot full of holes?" Kim spoke drolly although the intent behind her question was deadly serious.
"Their choice ma'am."
"A very Roman answer Colonel. When you die, have you thought of settling here in Rome?" Caesar was teasing him, and Paschal knew it, but it was a good question. "To answer your question, in public my family worshipped the Roman gods but in private I and a few others were members of the cult of Cybele. We kept that quiet, the authorities didn't approve of it. But a few of us kept up the faith in secret and were rewarded. Does that help you find a way to get your tanks into Heaven?"
"It might Sir. It gives us another avenue to research at least. Now, we'll try anything to break in and give Yahweh what's coming to him. And I don't mean that in a nice way."
"Good." Kim's voice was forceful and very determined. Subconsciously her thumb stroked the palm of her hand where a bronze spike had once been driven through it.
"I'd like to offer more help than just a name Colonel, but my army here is only adequate for defending what we have. And we are desperately short of equipment. Some of my soldiers still carry tridents instead of rifles. And we could use more armored cars and some helicopters. Not to mention more radios."
"MH-6s would be nice. If there are any going spare." Kim smiled fondly, she thought that she would like to get her hands on a helicopter again. Especially an armed one.
"I can't promise anything, I just don’t have that authority. But if you can make out a list of what you need, I can present it to my superiors. DIMO(N) has a shallow command structure, and the point is very close to the top. A word of advice though, with modern equipment, it's not getting it that breaks the bank, it's supporting it."
"Rather like a beautiful woman?" Caesar was teasing again but this time the gentle barb was directed at Kim who responded by punching his arm.
"Exactly Sir. The best modern equipment in the world is useless without proper support. We've walked all over armies that forgot that. A state with limited funds is better off with smaller amounts of equipment and investing the money in support facilities."
"That's good advice, Gaius." Kim had given Caesar the same lesson herself. "We're mineral-rich here, we've got iron, chromium, titanium, vanadium, you name it. And oil, lots of oil."
Naypyidaw, Myanmar
"And we want our gold back." General Asanee spoke quietly but very firmly.
"What gold?" General Petraeus know the answer but just wanted to hear her say it.
"In 1767, the Burmese launched an unprovoked attack on us and eventually stormed the old capital of Ayuthaya. They massacred all the inhabitants, burned the art treasures, the libraries containing our literature, and the archives housing our historic records, and then took all the gold in the city back to their capital. Now we want it back."
Petraeus tried to stop himself from grinning. "Was it a lot of gold? Where did you get it from?"
"All the gold in the country's treasury. We'd collected it for centuries, mostly from what is now Laos and Cambodia."
"Ahh, so it's their gold. Why didn’t you say so? After all, those countries could use the cash. They're broke."
"But they were our vassal states, their gold belonged to us." Asanee looked at Petraeus and realized her leg was being gently pulled. "It's a sort of cash float. Whoever wins the latest war gets the gold. And we won this one."
"General, this kind of thinking must stop if we're going to win this war. I don’t mean the one with Myanmar, this is just a mildly irritating sideshow. If that, it's more like a live-fire exercise in how to use portals for warfare."
"A live-fire exercise that cost the lives of more than six hundred of my men."
"Yes, I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have said that." Petraeus looked at her reflectively. He happened to know that she'd personally written to the family of every soldier killed in action under her command and had visited those families within reach. From her record, he guessed she would take the time to get to the others as soon as the war was over. "If it's any consolation, the H.E.A. has picked up your dead as they arrived in Hell and made sure they are looked after properly. By the way, there were some pretty good brawls in the receiving area when your dead and the Myanmar Army dead arrived simultaneously. In the end, we had to keep a contingent of military police on-site to break them up. In the future, we'll have to make sure war casualties get sent to different reception areas.
"Anyway, back to the issue. The political alliance that stands behind the Human Expeditionary Alliance is a fragile thing. It's held so far because of the pressure from outside but how long that will remain the case is a good question. If this damned stalemate holds, the chances are that some of the old issues we faced will reemerge and screw the whole thing up. Humanity HAS got to draw a line under the past and make a fresh start if this thing is going to work. If we don’t, the war effort will fall apart. I never thought I'd say this but North Korea's setting a good example. They're coming in from the cold, no matter how difficult they're making the process."
"So, we don’t get our gold back." Asanee sounded disappointed.
"Not a chance. You'll have to go and dig some more. Anyway, here we are."
Petraeus had to admit that General Asanee's command team had this kind of thing down to a fine art. long practice he supposed. As the two generals approached the conference room doors, two of her men moved ahead and ostentatiously flung them open. Petraeus and Asanee stalked into the room, the rest of their party following them in and spreading out so the Myanmar ruling junta members were covered by their guns. They rose reluctantly to their feet, acknowledging the fact that they were on the beaten side, waiting to hear the terms they were offered. The two H.E.A. generals just stared at them for a few moments before Petraeus broke the silence.
"You have sent Michael-Lan-Yahweh the messages as we instructed?"
Than Shwe nodded, his face a picture of anger, resentment, and humiliation.
"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."
"We have done as your terms dictated. We have sent Michael-Lan a message telling him that a large stockpile of heroin, methamphetamines, ecstasy and other drugs has been gathered here and he would come and collect it. Otherwise, we will have to destroy it. We have not yet received a reply."
"Good. We have some special weapons technicians with us. They need to see that stockpile right now."
The Montmartre Club, Eternal City, Heaven
"I suppose I have to thank you again Michael-Lan." The Master Mason was stretched out on a couch with one of the female angels gently caressing him with her wings. "The idea of selling tickets to my bunker was a real money-spinner. I'm going to have to build another one just to hold all the applicants."
"Don't get greedy, Zacharael-Lan. There's a reason why greed is a deadly sin, the original list of deadly sins made a lot of sense. It took Yah-yah to bring the whole idea of deadly sins into disrepute. Greed's a good example, more enterprises have been brought down by over-reaching greed than anything else. Look at it this way, the more bunker spaces you build, the less you'll get for each of them. Keep them rare, keep them hard to get. That way you establish a loyal clientele."
"Just like you do with membership here?" Zacharael-Lan held out his glass and his angelic companion filled it for him.
"Just like I do here," Michael-Lan confirmed. "Except here, it's a matter of practical necessity. All the goodies that make life in Heaven tolerable come from Earth. I'm working on changing that but in the meantime, it’s true. Going to Earth to restock with this war on is getting harder all the time and it's never safe to mess around with humans. So, we must use the stocks we have carefully."
"How about those things I built for you. Greenhouses, you called them although they don't look green."
Michael-Lan laughed. "They do now. You should see them. Full to bursting point with various strains of Cannabis Sativa and Indica plants. Poor old Jesus is working hard sampling them all, trying to decide which ones give us the best high. Trouble is by the end of a test session; he's so potted he forgets the results and must start again."
Zacharael-Lan joined in Michael's merriment. "That I should have such work to do. Instead of patching the holes in the walls after The Irascible One's tantrums. The last one was a doozie, he managed to bring down two curtain walls and a load-bearing column. The palace roof is sagging at that point and the whole thing could fall in. You say your greenhouses are full?"
"They are, we're trying to keep the strains separate but I've got some more coming in and will need space to plant them. Or rather Jesus will, he loves working with plants. I've managed to get some White Widow seeds; they're supposed to be really something. So, if you can get around to building a new greenhouse?"
Zacharael-Lan made a mock motion of weighing things in his hands. "Hmm. Repairing The Irascible One's palace and stopping it from collapsing on one hand or building you a new greenhouse for pot plants on the other. No real conflict there, I'll be around with the supplies first thing. I'll charge the materials off to the repairs on the Ultimate Palace. Nobody will notice, I've been delivering stuff there in the morning, taking it back at night, and redelivering it again the next day for centuries. The Palace treasurer has probably paid for the same slabs of alabaster and jewels four or five times over. New greenhouse in the same place?"
"Think so, even if the Unbearable Father starts to look, he'll never think of starting with his own son's palace. Umm, Zacharael-Lan, could you do me a big favor?"
"Sure Michael-Lan. Name it."
"I'm going to be away for a few days again. I've got a big pick-up to make with the guys in Myanmar. They're clearing their stocks out and want me to collect them. In exchange for large additions to their 'retirement' funds of course. My fault, I got them involved in what I thought would be a nasty, long-running border war and they went and lost in a few days. Humans learned to use portals for maneuvering faster than I thought possible. Anyway, it’s a get-it or lose-it situation. I've organized an attack on Los Angeles for Uriel and another by Dumah and the Scarlet Beast on Jerusalem to act as diversions."
"Good. Never liked Uriel, far too much of a cold fish for me and there always was something a bit strange about him. And as for Dumah and Fluffy, he leaves his droppings everywhere and she's got altogether too high an opinion of herself. She's just an Erelim like me but she spends her life looking down her nose at all of us. No respect that's her trouble. Just because she gets on with that Scarlet Beast, she thinks she can get away with anything."
"Well, she has The Unbearable Father's ear so she can." And that's why she has got to go along with that wretched pet. "For a while, anyway. Anyway, I won’t be here so could you front for me for a few days? Gabriel and Raphael will do all the actual work, but we'll be having an outsider coming in and I'd rather he didn’t know how high the leadership here really goes. Having an Erelim in charge would be perfect."
"Lemuel-Lan?"
"That's right. Just make sure he has a really good time and doesn’t learn anything important."
The Palatine Palace, New Rome, Hell
"Ave Caesar." Colonel Paschal gave his Roman salute with a bit more confidence than before. He would have preferred to have used the military salute he was familiar with but his orders on the matter were quite strict. Gaius Julius Caesar was too important a player in the evolving social structure of Hell to risk offending so in his country, Paschal was to play by his rules. Paschal had a nagging suspicious that Caesar made the powers-that-be back on Earth nervous. The rate at which New Rome was growing and the speed with which its society was settling into a cohesive whole was a tribute to his ability. It also made him a potential threat and humanity already had more problems than it could handle.
"Ave." Caesar returned the greeting and salute formally. "Colonel Paschal, I believe? You have met the Second Consul Jade Kim?"
"Ave Consul. I believe we met when you were running the PFLH in the Hellpit. To create a successful insurgency from such an unpromising start was a remarkable achievement."
"Thank you, but without the aid of my husband, it would all have collapsed." Kim put a gentle but distinct emphasis on the words 'my husband'. Paschal couldn't help but reflect she was learning the political game very fast. Wasn't surprising, she was getting the lessons from a master.
As if he were reading Paschal's thoughts, Caesar took the lead in the conversation back. "How are you enjoying your first visit to our new Republic?"
"New Rome is a remarkable achievement, Sir. You seem to be recreating the old Republic of Rome with incredible speed."
"Celeritas, Colonel. Always Celeritas. Speed and decisiveness in maneuver are always the key to successful efforts. But I needn't tell an officer in a human army that, you've taken speed and mobility to levels I'd never imagined possible. We're not recreating the ancient Republic of Rome here though; we are trying to take its best features and adapt them to the modern world your generation has so successfully created. If we take the best parts of my era and combine them with the best parts of yours, then there are wonders we can achieve."
Paschal nodded in agreement, reflecting that despite the two millennia since his death, Caesar's ability to inspire people with enthusiasm for his plans was still unchanged. It wasn't surprising that Jade Kim had cast her lot in with him, although it was becoming apparent to Paschal that people's allegiances for their Second Life in Hell rarely had much in common with those of their First Life on Earth. Expecting otherwise had already proved to be a bad mistake. "If I may ask Sir, what part of our modern practices do you seek to change?"
Caesar thought for a second. "Voting. Here in Rome, the right to vote is restricted to those who have demonstrated their commitment to the Republic by owning land. And we make voting a solemn affair where Roman Citizens are expected to dress formally and hear the candidates debate the great issues of the day before casting their votes. A vote cast casually without thought or consideration is a vote wasted." Caesar spoke gravely, then seemed to brighten again. "But we are not here, I think to discuss political theory. If you will join us for Cena, perhaps we can continue then."
"Thank you, Caesar, I will enjoy that. My task here is a curious one. May I ask what gods you worshipped during your First Life?"
"The ones who protected me in the pit? And others of course. Why do you wish to know?"
"Caesar, our assault on Heaven is stalled. All access to the place has been shut down and we can't get at them. For almost a year now, we have been trying to force our way in, and for all that effort we still do not know how to do so. Yet, the inhabitants of Heaven can attack us almost at will. They direct storms against our cities, bring plagues upon us, and attack us with their beasts. We beat off their attacks with some loss to ourselves, but we cannot, we will not, remain on the defensive forever. Nobody ever won a war by defending themselves."
"That's true." Caesar laughed nostalgically. "Defeating the enemy means taking the war to them."
"Yes Sir. But we can't. But in our investigations, we've learned that the demons here in Hell fought other groups on Earth and expelled them. Although the fighting took place long before human history was recorded, we believe that memories of those other groups form the basis of many world religions. We have also learned that one such group, demons call them devils, was so hard to defeat that they struck a deal with Satan and Yahweh. That they would withdraw from Earth only if those who believed in them were protected from the torments of Hell. You, Sir, are the only person we know of who falls into that category. So, we seek to identify this other group. If they are loyal to those who believed in them and sought to protect them, they may be the kind of people we can deal with."
"Deal with as in plan with, or deal with as in shoot full of holes?" Kim spoke drolly although the intent behind her question was deadly serious.
"Their choice ma'am."
"A very Roman answer Colonel. When you die, have you thought of settling here in Rome?" Caesar was teasing him, and Paschal knew it, but it was a good question. "To answer your question, in public my family worshipped the Roman gods but in private I and a few others were members of the cult of Cybele. We kept that quiet, the authorities didn't approve of it. But a few of us kept up the faith in secret and were rewarded. Does that help you find a way to get your tanks into Heaven?"
"It might Sir. It gives us another avenue to research at least. Now, we'll try anything to break in and give Yahweh what's coming to him. And I don't mean that in a nice way."
"Good." Kim's voice was forceful and very determined. Subconsciously her thumb stroked the palm of her hand where a bronze spike had once been driven through it.
"I'd like to offer more help than just a name Colonel, but my army here is only adequate for defending what we have. And we are desperately short of equipment. Some of my soldiers still carry tridents instead of rifles. And we could use more armored cars and some helicopters. Not to mention more radios."
"MH-6s would be nice. If there are any going spare." Kim smiled fondly, she thought that she would like to get her hands on a helicopter again. Especially an armed one.
"I can't promise anything, I just don’t have that authority. But if you can make out a list of what you need, I can present it to my superiors. DIMO(N) has a shallow command structure, and the point is very close to the top. A word of advice though, with modern equipment, it's not getting it that breaks the bank, it's supporting it."
"Rather like a beautiful woman?" Caesar was teasing again but this time the gentle barb was directed at Kim who responded by punching his arm.
"Exactly Sir. The best modern equipment in the world is useless without proper support. We've walked all over armies that forgot that. A state with limited funds is better off with smaller amounts of equipment and investing the money in support facilities."
"That's good advice, Gaius." Kim had given Caesar the same lesson herself. "We're mineral-rich here, we've got iron, chromium, titanium, vanadium, you name it. And oil, lots of oil."
Naypyidaw, Myanmar
"And we want our gold back." General Asanee spoke quietly but very firmly.
"What gold?" General Petraeus know the answer but just wanted to hear her say it.
"In 1767, the Burmese launched an unprovoked attack on us and eventually stormed the old capital of Ayuthaya. They massacred all the inhabitants, burned the art treasures, the libraries containing our literature, and the archives housing our historic records, and then took all the gold in the city back to their capital. Now we want it back."
Petraeus tried to stop himself from grinning. "Was it a lot of gold? Where did you get it from?"
"All the gold in the country's treasury. We'd collected it for centuries, mostly from what is now Laos and Cambodia."
"Ahh, so it's their gold. Why didn’t you say so? After all, those countries could use the cash. They're broke."
"But they were our vassal states, their gold belonged to us." Asanee looked at Petraeus and realized her leg was being gently pulled. "It's a sort of cash float. Whoever wins the latest war gets the gold. And we won this one."
"General, this kind of thinking must stop if we're going to win this war. I don’t mean the one with Myanmar, this is just a mildly irritating sideshow. If that, it's more like a live-fire exercise in how to use portals for warfare."
"A live-fire exercise that cost the lives of more than six hundred of my men."
"Yes, I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have said that." Petraeus looked at her reflectively. He happened to know that she'd personally written to the family of every soldier killed in action under her command and had visited those families within reach. From her record, he guessed she would take the time to get to the others as soon as the war was over. "If it's any consolation, the H.E.A. has picked up your dead as they arrived in Hell and made sure they are looked after properly. By the way, there were some pretty good brawls in the receiving area when your dead and the Myanmar Army dead arrived simultaneously. In the end, we had to keep a contingent of military police on-site to break them up. In the future, we'll have to make sure war casualties get sent to different reception areas.
"Anyway, back to the issue. The political alliance that stands behind the Human Expeditionary Alliance is a fragile thing. It's held so far because of the pressure from outside but how long that will remain the case is a good question. If this damned stalemate holds, the chances are that some of the old issues we faced will reemerge and screw the whole thing up. Humanity HAS got to draw a line under the past and make a fresh start if this thing is going to work. If we don’t, the war effort will fall apart. I never thought I'd say this but North Korea's setting a good example. They're coming in from the cold, no matter how difficult they're making the process."
"So, we don’t get our gold back." Asanee sounded disappointed.
"Not a chance. You'll have to go and dig some more. Anyway, here we are."
Petraeus had to admit that General Asanee's command team had this kind of thing down to a fine art. long practice he supposed. As the two generals approached the conference room doors, two of her men moved ahead and ostentatiously flung them open. Petraeus and Asanee stalked into the room, the rest of their party following them in and spreading out so the Myanmar ruling junta members were covered by their guns. They rose reluctantly to their feet, acknowledging the fact that they were on the beaten side, waiting to hear the terms they were offered. The two H.E.A. generals just stared at them for a few moments before Petraeus broke the silence.
"You have sent Michael-Lan-Yahweh the messages as we instructed?"
Than Shwe nodded, his face a picture of anger, resentment, and humiliation.
"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."
"We have done as your terms dictated. We have sent Michael-Lan a message telling him that a large stockpile of heroin, methamphetamines, ecstasy and other drugs has been gathered here and he would come and collect it. Otherwise, we will have to destroy it. We have not yet received a reply."
"Good. We have some special weapons technicians with us. They need to see that stockpile right now."
Re: 2008 - Pentheocide
Chapter Thirty-Seven
West of Hacienda Heights, Los Angeles, California
The location had been chosen with great care. Uriel's wings were still not fully healed and that had left his ability to fly impaired. In any case, he had come to the opinion that flying over his target, as has been his tradition, for millennia was no longer practical. Human aircraft and missiles made it far too dangerous. He had tried that tactic twice and both times it had come close to killing him.
This time, he was trying a different approach. The hills west of Hacienda Heights gave an excellent view over the city of Los Angeles. He would have line-of-sight access to some of the most populated areas of the mega-city beneath him and a huge number of people would where Uriel could bring his peace to them. He had thought long and hard about that. At El Paso he had tried to annihilate everybody and everything within his reach, only to fail and bring peace only to a small proportion of them. Based on that lesson, he tried to concentrate his power on a small community at Eucalyptus Hills. There, he had come achingly close to bringing his peace to the entire community. If it had not been for the aircraft and the missiles. . ..
Uriel felt unfamiliar feelings running through his mind. He hated the humans and their machines for what they had done to him and mixed in with the hatred was rage that his divinely ordered purpose should be denied. He fought the emotions, aware that they represented mortal sins, and tried to squash them. This time it would be different, this time he would stay on the ground where the missiles could not strike at him. It had taken days for the humans to corner him after Eucalyptus Hills, he would need only a fraction of that time to bring his peace to the community that would lay helpless at his feet.
To take them all or just concentrate on a few? That was the decision that Uriel faced. He had tried for all at El Paso and failed. He had tried for a few at Eucalyptus Hills – and failed. But the size of his target at El Paso meant that even failure meant that many souls had found their way to perfect peace. Uriel made his decision; he would try for all. Even a small percentage of a large number was better than a large percentage of a few.
Uriel made his decision. He had locked in on his target, he had selected his strategy. He knew what to do and where. Now, he would place his faith in the All-Knowing Father of All and honor His Immaculate Name by bringing more of these recalcitrant humans to their final peace.
al Za'im, West Bank
The air-raid sirens woke a very resentful Husni al-Sohl from well-deserved and much-needed sleep. The last year and a half had been a very strange time for him. Once a dedicated member of Hamas and a key member in one of its undercover cells, now he worked in an Israeli munitions plant, helping to churn out the sub-munitions that the world needed to fight off the satans who had declared war upon it. The Israelis he worked alongside were equally confused, once these same submunitions would have gone to arm missiles and artillery rounds. Ammunition that was intended to defend Eretz Israel against the hordes of terrorists and assassins that besieged it. Only, The Message had changed everything. Mankind had a common enemy that counted for more than petty local squabbles.
At least that was what Husni al-Sohl believed and the Israelis who worked beside him had said the same. They had all noted something rather peculiar. When the command to lay down and die had come from in high, the religious fanatics, the ideologues, and extremists who had shouted longest and loudest about the purity of their faith had been conspicuous by their absence from the dead. Those who had sent others out to die in suicide bombings, who had incited others to die for their beliefs, who had fired people's hearts but seemed curiously reluctant to do any other sort of firing had found many excuses for not obeying the command that formed a key part of The Message.
Oh, there had been those who had laid down and died, but they had been the quiet ones, the ones who had kept their religions in their hearts, not their mouths and their fists. The others, the ones who had made ostentatious public displays of their faiths, they'd used their alleged religion as a path to power. With The Message, some had slunk away and tried to hide, others attempted to carry on their foolishness. They hadn't lasted, their previous supporters had seen them for what they were and killed them. Now, they had all gone from both sides and things had settled down to an uneasy truce. There was too much history, too much spilled blood, for the truce to be anything but uneasy but al-Sohl and his Israeli co-workers both agreed that with the self-serving fanatics out of way, they could at least agree to differ quietly. And everybody needed the sub-munitions that the factory-made.
The sirens that had blasted him awake made him think, for one moment, that the bad days had returned, and he was back in Gaza with the Israeli helicopters closing in. So, many had died, blown apart as the missiles had plowed into their targets. Was al Za'im to be a target now? There was an Israeli border guard post only a few yards away. Had one of the idiotic morons who had brought so much death down tried to attack it? The fact that he hadn't heard any explosions suggested otherwise. Then his brain woke up fully and he realized they weren't air raid sirens. They were warnings that a portal was opening and that an attack would be coming through it soon.
"What is happening?" His wife had woken as well and was staring around with frightened eyes
"It is an attack. Perhaps it is Uriel, deciding to leave the Americans alone. Or some other devil." He grabbed her arm and hustled her to their shelter room, the one whose walls were lined with extra-thick layers of aluminum foil. As they went, he glanced out of the window and saw a black ellipse forming to the east of the township.
417th Flight Test Squadron, Edwards Air Force Base, California
The wailing sirens made the base look as if it had been a giant ant's nest and somebody had kicked it over. A stream of pick-up trucks was spreading out from the base buildings and heading for the aircraft that was already being prepped for flight by their ground crews. Some headed for the row of F-15Es, a few in the original lizard green camouflage paint but most in the red/gray mottled camouflage of Hell. The paint job wasn't affection, the paint itself was designed to protect the aircraft from the abrasion caused by flying through the dust of Hell's atmosphere. Others headed for the two B-1Cs that were parked in the test area. Their paint job was white as befitted prototypes that were under test. A very accelerated test program, the B-1s were desperately needed and the Air Force couldn't wait for a leisurely pre-war test and evaluation.
Two other pick-up trucks headed for strange-looking aircraft that were parked by themselves. Boeing 747s they had been, once, but now they had the firing turret of a chemical oxygen-iodine laser in their noses. They were YAL-1s and they had priority for the runway. Technically at least, although they had to get there before the others would make way for them. Getting the new and complex laser platforms started up was a battle in its own right. The YAL-1 was unlike anything else in the Air Force and procedures for its operation simply didn’t exist. An accelerated test program wasn't an option for the YAL-1, there was just too much that was new. Eventually, the systems were up and running, but by that time bomb- and missile-laden F-15Es were streaking off the runways, heading southwest. Los Angeles thought Colonel Samuel Allansen grimly. Uriel is hitting Los Angeles.
"Scalpel-One ready to roll." Mickey Jennings was already on the radio to the tower.
"Scalpel-Two ready to roll." The voice on the comms system followed a bare second later.
"Scalpel aircraft, form up behind the two B-1Cs. You are sixth and seventh in line for take-off."
"Sorry about that Scalpel-One." A British voice sounded over the channel. "We're past the last taxiway turnoff, we can't turn off and let you through."
"No problem. . .." Allansen hesitated, not certain who he was talking to.
"Winters, Group Captain Martin Winters, RAF Heavy Bomber Development Unit. I just arrived here yesterday, on exchange to get ready for our B-1s."
"Welcome to California. Tower, what the blazes is going on?" The YAL-1 edged forward as two F-15s went down the runway side-by-side. Behind them two more turned into position and started powering up, ready for their take-off runs. From the load hanging under their wings, Allansen guessed they were pushing the maximum weight limit as far as it would go and maybe just a little bit further.
"Small portal started to open over Los Angeles, Hacienda Heights area. It's Uriel, we're sure of it. Nobody's going to let him get away this time. There are aircraft converging on Los Angeles from all over. Including Navy and Marine birds so watch it. And there are two AEGIS ships running in at 30 plus knots."
The tower voice was interrupted by the scream as the next pair of F-15s streaked down the runway and staggered into the air, the aircraft obviously straining to stay flying. Yup, well over maximum take-off weight Allansen thought. The lead B-1C was turning onto the runway. "Good hunting Wing Commander."
"Thank you Scalpel-One. And good luck with that magic ray-gun of yours."
4th Street, Santa Monica, Los Angeles, California
In the street, cars were swerving to a halt as the sirens blasted out their warnings. From them, people were running to the buildings where doors were being held open so they could get to cover. The lessons of Eucalyptus Hills had spread quickly, people should get together, in the largest possible groups so they could share their strength against the onslaught from Uriel. Just in case anybody failed to hear the wailing sirens, the streetlights were flashing a visual warning.
"Come on, hurry up. Inside, quickly." The bouncers on the doors of Harvelles Blues Club were adapting well to their changing role. Normally their job was to prevent undesirables from getting in and throwing the unruly out. Now, it was to get as many people as possible in. They were manhandling people inside, pushing them through the doors as fast as they could. Outside, the street was blocked up rapidly with abandoned cars. The earliest refugees had put their cars between the trees lining the road, or in one case the bouncers could see, into a tree. Well, the insurance people could sort that out when the attack was over. It would have been much worse before gas rationing had taken so many vehicles off the street. "Wait, let these people through."
'These people' were a small group of teenagers probably high school students and all loaded down with cages. They were staggering under their loads and two of the bouncers moved out to help them carry their loads. They knew the teenagers by sight, they were working summer jobs at the pet store across the street, and it looked like they'd brought as many of the animals with them as they could carry.
"Many more left in the store?" The bouncer barked out the question.
One of the girls was almost in tears. "Too many, we brought as many as we could carry, but the rest, and the bigger dogs, they were just too many and too heavy."
"Doors locked?" The girl shook her head. "Right, get inside. You men, yes you over there, come with me. We'll pick up the other animals and bring them over." The group of men who'd just been drafted looked at the bouncer and decided that weight and bulk gave authority to his orders. The group ran across the street and vanished into the pet store to emerge a few seconds later with more cages and a variety of dogs on improvised leashes.
By the time they got back to Harvelles, the street was clearing as people got under cover. They herded their livestock through the doors, then the remaining staff slammed them shut. They had a well-rehearsed drill, the doors themselves were lined with aluminum foil but they reinforced it with additional layers mounted on wooden frames. Another lesson from Eucalyptus Hills, defending against Uriel meant using multiple layers of foil. The sirens had switched from their pitched wailing to a long, steady note. The attack was imminent.
In the main body of the club, the host was already up on stage, tapping his microphone. "Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, and other species." There was a quick burst of laughter as the crowded audience looked at the stacks of cages around the walls. "Welcome to Harvelles. You are all doubtless aware that Uriel is coming to visit us, and I can say with confidence that the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines have prepared a welcome for him that is in the best American tradition." Another roar of laughter and a series of war whoops. "All we have to do is stay under cover and wait out the attack."
He paused slightly to take a breath. "Now, we all heard how the Diegans rode out the attack down there, and is anybody here going to tell me that Angelenos can't do better than they did?" There was a roar of 'No' and the host made a 'winding up' gesture with his hands. "That's right, so the management will take it as a personal affront if any of our guests pass on. To encourage you all, the management has announced that all drinks will be on the house until either the attack is over, or the first person dies, whichever comes first. So, if you all want the free drinks to keep flowing, don’t die. And make sure your neighbors don't die either."
His address was interrupted by howls overhead that easily penetrated the building. The host looked up. "There we are, the Air Force is overhead already. Uriel is going to get a truly warm welcome and to add our contribution to the festivities, I ask you to put your hands together and give a true Harvelles welcome to The Key Frances Band."
The Palatine Palace, New Rome, Hell
"Ave Caesar. Ave Kim."
"Ave Paschal." The exchange of Roman salutes interrupted breakfast. Caesar's response was almost automatic, he was deeply engaged in reading a file. Jade Kim grinned at Colonel Paschal and tilted his head in Caesar's direction. "Gaius never stops, literally. Even in the middle of the night, he'll get up, slip away, and do a couple of hours more work. Titus tells me he was like that even when he was alive. Did you have a good sleep?"
"I did, thank you. It's a relief to find you have filtered air here."
"Even us Second Lifers prefer clean air if we can get it. Breakfast is fruit, bread, and wine. I hope that's all right? We're working on getting honey down here."
Paschal chuckled. "That'll be fine. I'm more curious about how you get the power to run the air cleaners and so on."
"Geothermal energy." Gaius Julius Caesar looked up from his file. "We've struck a deal with a company called Calpine. They've built a pilot plant to try and exploit geothermal energy here. If it works out, they'll build a lot more. We also have a pilot grid here; it's servicing New Rome. Apparently, Hell is a lot better for geothermal than Earth. Much lower investment costs. We could end up supplying California with energy." He took a bite of wine-soaked bread and looked again at his file. "Jade, I think we'll approve this."
"The Insula? I think so." Jade Kim looked at Paschal. "An Insula is like an apartment block; the occupants own the land in common and their own unit. Pretty much like a condo. Not everybody can afford their own villa although that's the way we want people to go. The Insula make a good first step. People who live there will satisfy the conditions for becoming Citizens and get them started."
Overhead, there was a whupping noise that almost caused Kim to drop her breakfast. Paschal grinned at her reaction. "I put the request through last night. These are a gift from the U.S. Government."
Kim recognized the sound instantly. "MH-6s? You got me an MH-6?"
"MH-6T. Three of them. They're new production, they've got all the Hell modifications built into them, not slapped on as an emergency refit. So, the filters are a lot more efficient, and they affect performance less. You've got all your old unit here?"
"I have. With the addition of Titus and Lucius, they're the Consular Guard now."
"Well, you'll need to be checked out on the T version, there's a new kit on it you'll have not seen before. But welcome back to the Little Bird community. Roman Chapter. Caesar, you're getting some M1117 armored cars as well. They're not new or first-line, they were ones in the factories in Detroit when the city got smeared. They were rescued from the lava, but they got beat up in the process. Rather than fix them, we're passing them through to you."
"Very generous of you." Caesar's voice was suspicious.
"The feeling is that you have a well-organized state here that's keeping the peace and setting a good example. There are others around that aren't. More like warlords leading gangs of brigands and terrorists. So, we're giving you some quiet backing. There'll be more kit coming through as soon as General Petraeus can get his staff to organize it."
"Let me guess." Caesar dipped another piece of bread in the wine. "Enough to defend ourselves, not enough to go around conquering people."
Paschal smiled. "Exactly."
West of Hacienda Heights, Los Angeles, California
The location had been chosen with great care. Uriel's wings were still not fully healed and that had left his ability to fly impaired. In any case, he had come to the opinion that flying over his target, as has been his tradition, for millennia was no longer practical. Human aircraft and missiles made it far too dangerous. He had tried that tactic twice and both times it had come close to killing him.
This time, he was trying a different approach. The hills west of Hacienda Heights gave an excellent view over the city of Los Angeles. He would have line-of-sight access to some of the most populated areas of the mega-city beneath him and a huge number of people would where Uriel could bring his peace to them. He had thought long and hard about that. At El Paso he had tried to annihilate everybody and everything within his reach, only to fail and bring peace only to a small proportion of them. Based on that lesson, he tried to concentrate his power on a small community at Eucalyptus Hills. There, he had come achingly close to bringing his peace to the entire community. If it had not been for the aircraft and the missiles. . ..
Uriel felt unfamiliar feelings running through his mind. He hated the humans and their machines for what they had done to him and mixed in with the hatred was rage that his divinely ordered purpose should be denied. He fought the emotions, aware that they represented mortal sins, and tried to squash them. This time it would be different, this time he would stay on the ground where the missiles could not strike at him. It had taken days for the humans to corner him after Eucalyptus Hills, he would need only a fraction of that time to bring his peace to the community that would lay helpless at his feet.
To take them all or just concentrate on a few? That was the decision that Uriel faced. He had tried for all at El Paso and failed. He had tried for a few at Eucalyptus Hills – and failed. But the size of his target at El Paso meant that even failure meant that many souls had found their way to perfect peace. Uriel made his decision; he would try for all. Even a small percentage of a large number was better than a large percentage of a few.
Uriel made his decision. He had locked in on his target, he had selected his strategy. He knew what to do and where. Now, he would place his faith in the All-Knowing Father of All and honor His Immaculate Name by bringing more of these recalcitrant humans to their final peace.
al Za'im, West Bank
The air-raid sirens woke a very resentful Husni al-Sohl from well-deserved and much-needed sleep. The last year and a half had been a very strange time for him. Once a dedicated member of Hamas and a key member in one of its undercover cells, now he worked in an Israeli munitions plant, helping to churn out the sub-munitions that the world needed to fight off the satans who had declared war upon it. The Israelis he worked alongside were equally confused, once these same submunitions would have gone to arm missiles and artillery rounds. Ammunition that was intended to defend Eretz Israel against the hordes of terrorists and assassins that besieged it. Only, The Message had changed everything. Mankind had a common enemy that counted for more than petty local squabbles.
At least that was what Husni al-Sohl believed and the Israelis who worked beside him had said the same. They had all noted something rather peculiar. When the command to lay down and die had come from in high, the religious fanatics, the ideologues, and extremists who had shouted longest and loudest about the purity of their faith had been conspicuous by their absence from the dead. Those who had sent others out to die in suicide bombings, who had incited others to die for their beliefs, who had fired people's hearts but seemed curiously reluctant to do any other sort of firing had found many excuses for not obeying the command that formed a key part of The Message.
Oh, there had been those who had laid down and died, but they had been the quiet ones, the ones who had kept their religions in their hearts, not their mouths and their fists. The others, the ones who had made ostentatious public displays of their faiths, they'd used their alleged religion as a path to power. With The Message, some had slunk away and tried to hide, others attempted to carry on their foolishness. They hadn't lasted, their previous supporters had seen them for what they were and killed them. Now, they had all gone from both sides and things had settled down to an uneasy truce. There was too much history, too much spilled blood, for the truce to be anything but uneasy but al-Sohl and his Israeli co-workers both agreed that with the self-serving fanatics out of way, they could at least agree to differ quietly. And everybody needed the sub-munitions that the factory-made.
The sirens that had blasted him awake made him think, for one moment, that the bad days had returned, and he was back in Gaza with the Israeli helicopters closing in. So, many had died, blown apart as the missiles had plowed into their targets. Was al Za'im to be a target now? There was an Israeli border guard post only a few yards away. Had one of the idiotic morons who had brought so much death down tried to attack it? The fact that he hadn't heard any explosions suggested otherwise. Then his brain woke up fully and he realized they weren't air raid sirens. They were warnings that a portal was opening and that an attack would be coming through it soon.
"What is happening?" His wife had woken as well and was staring around with frightened eyes
"It is an attack. Perhaps it is Uriel, deciding to leave the Americans alone. Or some other devil." He grabbed her arm and hustled her to their shelter room, the one whose walls were lined with extra-thick layers of aluminum foil. As they went, he glanced out of the window and saw a black ellipse forming to the east of the township.
417th Flight Test Squadron, Edwards Air Force Base, California
The wailing sirens made the base look as if it had been a giant ant's nest and somebody had kicked it over. A stream of pick-up trucks was spreading out from the base buildings and heading for the aircraft that was already being prepped for flight by their ground crews. Some headed for the row of F-15Es, a few in the original lizard green camouflage paint but most in the red/gray mottled camouflage of Hell. The paint job wasn't affection, the paint itself was designed to protect the aircraft from the abrasion caused by flying through the dust of Hell's atmosphere. Others headed for the two B-1Cs that were parked in the test area. Their paint job was white as befitted prototypes that were under test. A very accelerated test program, the B-1s were desperately needed and the Air Force couldn't wait for a leisurely pre-war test and evaluation.
Two other pick-up trucks headed for strange-looking aircraft that were parked by themselves. Boeing 747s they had been, once, but now they had the firing turret of a chemical oxygen-iodine laser in their noses. They were YAL-1s and they had priority for the runway. Technically at least, although they had to get there before the others would make way for them. Getting the new and complex laser platforms started up was a battle in its own right. The YAL-1 was unlike anything else in the Air Force and procedures for its operation simply didn’t exist. An accelerated test program wasn't an option for the YAL-1, there was just too much that was new. Eventually, the systems were up and running, but by that time bomb- and missile-laden F-15Es were streaking off the runways, heading southwest. Los Angeles thought Colonel Samuel Allansen grimly. Uriel is hitting Los Angeles.
"Scalpel-One ready to roll." Mickey Jennings was already on the radio to the tower.
"Scalpel-Two ready to roll." The voice on the comms system followed a bare second later.
"Scalpel aircraft, form up behind the two B-1Cs. You are sixth and seventh in line for take-off."
"Sorry about that Scalpel-One." A British voice sounded over the channel. "We're past the last taxiway turnoff, we can't turn off and let you through."
"No problem. . .." Allansen hesitated, not certain who he was talking to.
"Winters, Group Captain Martin Winters, RAF Heavy Bomber Development Unit. I just arrived here yesterday, on exchange to get ready for our B-1s."
"Welcome to California. Tower, what the blazes is going on?" The YAL-1 edged forward as two F-15s went down the runway side-by-side. Behind them two more turned into position and started powering up, ready for their take-off runs. From the load hanging under their wings, Allansen guessed they were pushing the maximum weight limit as far as it would go and maybe just a little bit further.
"Small portal started to open over Los Angeles, Hacienda Heights area. It's Uriel, we're sure of it. Nobody's going to let him get away this time. There are aircraft converging on Los Angeles from all over. Including Navy and Marine birds so watch it. And there are two AEGIS ships running in at 30 plus knots."
The tower voice was interrupted by the scream as the next pair of F-15s streaked down the runway and staggered into the air, the aircraft obviously straining to stay flying. Yup, well over maximum take-off weight Allansen thought. The lead B-1C was turning onto the runway. "Good hunting Wing Commander."
"Thank you Scalpel-One. And good luck with that magic ray-gun of yours."
4th Street, Santa Monica, Los Angeles, California
In the street, cars were swerving to a halt as the sirens blasted out their warnings. From them, people were running to the buildings where doors were being held open so they could get to cover. The lessons of Eucalyptus Hills had spread quickly, people should get together, in the largest possible groups so they could share their strength against the onslaught from Uriel. Just in case anybody failed to hear the wailing sirens, the streetlights were flashing a visual warning.
"Come on, hurry up. Inside, quickly." The bouncers on the doors of Harvelles Blues Club were adapting well to their changing role. Normally their job was to prevent undesirables from getting in and throwing the unruly out. Now, it was to get as many people as possible in. They were manhandling people inside, pushing them through the doors as fast as they could. Outside, the street was blocked up rapidly with abandoned cars. The earliest refugees had put their cars between the trees lining the road, or in one case the bouncers could see, into a tree. Well, the insurance people could sort that out when the attack was over. It would have been much worse before gas rationing had taken so many vehicles off the street. "Wait, let these people through."
'These people' were a small group of teenagers probably high school students and all loaded down with cages. They were staggering under their loads and two of the bouncers moved out to help them carry their loads. They knew the teenagers by sight, they were working summer jobs at the pet store across the street, and it looked like they'd brought as many of the animals with them as they could carry.
"Many more left in the store?" The bouncer barked out the question.
One of the girls was almost in tears. "Too many, we brought as many as we could carry, but the rest, and the bigger dogs, they were just too many and too heavy."
"Doors locked?" The girl shook her head. "Right, get inside. You men, yes you over there, come with me. We'll pick up the other animals and bring them over." The group of men who'd just been drafted looked at the bouncer and decided that weight and bulk gave authority to his orders. The group ran across the street and vanished into the pet store to emerge a few seconds later with more cages and a variety of dogs on improvised leashes.
By the time they got back to Harvelles, the street was clearing as people got under cover. They herded their livestock through the doors, then the remaining staff slammed them shut. They had a well-rehearsed drill, the doors themselves were lined with aluminum foil but they reinforced it with additional layers mounted on wooden frames. Another lesson from Eucalyptus Hills, defending against Uriel meant using multiple layers of foil. The sirens had switched from their pitched wailing to a long, steady note. The attack was imminent.
In the main body of the club, the host was already up on stage, tapping his microphone. "Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, and other species." There was a quick burst of laughter as the crowded audience looked at the stacks of cages around the walls. "Welcome to Harvelles. You are all doubtless aware that Uriel is coming to visit us, and I can say with confidence that the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines have prepared a welcome for him that is in the best American tradition." Another roar of laughter and a series of war whoops. "All we have to do is stay under cover and wait out the attack."
He paused slightly to take a breath. "Now, we all heard how the Diegans rode out the attack down there, and is anybody here going to tell me that Angelenos can't do better than they did?" There was a roar of 'No' and the host made a 'winding up' gesture with his hands. "That's right, so the management will take it as a personal affront if any of our guests pass on. To encourage you all, the management has announced that all drinks will be on the house until either the attack is over, or the first person dies, whichever comes first. So, if you all want the free drinks to keep flowing, don’t die. And make sure your neighbors don't die either."
His address was interrupted by howls overhead that easily penetrated the building. The host looked up. "There we are, the Air Force is overhead already. Uriel is going to get a truly warm welcome and to add our contribution to the festivities, I ask you to put your hands together and give a true Harvelles welcome to The Key Frances Band."
The Palatine Palace, New Rome, Hell
"Ave Caesar. Ave Kim."
"Ave Paschal." The exchange of Roman salutes interrupted breakfast. Caesar's response was almost automatic, he was deeply engaged in reading a file. Jade Kim grinned at Colonel Paschal and tilted his head in Caesar's direction. "Gaius never stops, literally. Even in the middle of the night, he'll get up, slip away, and do a couple of hours more work. Titus tells me he was like that even when he was alive. Did you have a good sleep?"
"I did, thank you. It's a relief to find you have filtered air here."
"Even us Second Lifers prefer clean air if we can get it. Breakfast is fruit, bread, and wine. I hope that's all right? We're working on getting honey down here."
Paschal chuckled. "That'll be fine. I'm more curious about how you get the power to run the air cleaners and so on."
"Geothermal energy." Gaius Julius Caesar looked up from his file. "We've struck a deal with a company called Calpine. They've built a pilot plant to try and exploit geothermal energy here. If it works out, they'll build a lot more. We also have a pilot grid here; it's servicing New Rome. Apparently, Hell is a lot better for geothermal than Earth. Much lower investment costs. We could end up supplying California with energy." He took a bite of wine-soaked bread and looked again at his file. "Jade, I think we'll approve this."
"The Insula? I think so." Jade Kim looked at Paschal. "An Insula is like an apartment block; the occupants own the land in common and their own unit. Pretty much like a condo. Not everybody can afford their own villa although that's the way we want people to go. The Insula make a good first step. People who live there will satisfy the conditions for becoming Citizens and get them started."
Overhead, there was a whupping noise that almost caused Kim to drop her breakfast. Paschal grinned at her reaction. "I put the request through last night. These are a gift from the U.S. Government."
Kim recognized the sound instantly. "MH-6s? You got me an MH-6?"
"MH-6T. Three of them. They're new production, they've got all the Hell modifications built into them, not slapped on as an emergency refit. So, the filters are a lot more efficient, and they affect performance less. You've got all your old unit here?"
"I have. With the addition of Titus and Lucius, they're the Consular Guard now."
"Well, you'll need to be checked out on the T version, there's a new kit on it you'll have not seen before. But welcome back to the Little Bird community. Roman Chapter. Caesar, you're getting some M1117 armored cars as well. They're not new or first-line, they were ones in the factories in Detroit when the city got smeared. They were rescued from the lava, but they got beat up in the process. Rather than fix them, we're passing them through to you."
"Very generous of you." Caesar's voice was suspicious.
"The feeling is that you have a well-organized state here that's keeping the peace and setting a good example. There are others around that aren't. More like warlords leading gangs of brigands and terrorists. So, we're giving you some quiet backing. There'll be more kit coming through as soon as General Petraeus can get his staff to organize it."
"Let me guess." Caesar dipped another piece of bread in the wine. "Enough to defend ourselves, not enough to go around conquering people."
Paschal smiled. "Exactly."
Re: 2008 - Pentheocide
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Michael's Palace, Aukumea, Heaven
"Do you have to do this?" Raphael-Lan was seriously concerned.
"If you want to stay hammered and stoned, yes." Michael-Lan grinned to take the sting out of his words. "We're going to be running short of a lot of supplies soon and this is a perfect opportunity to restock at fire-sale prices. I can't afford to not make this trip. Where's Gabriel by the way?"
"Down at the club. Theoretically supervising it but paying proper respect to Lailah-Lan. He was late with his tribute again." Raphael chuckled at the thought. "You know, if Yah-yah had known Lailah-Lan a few millennia ago, it would have saved us so many problems."
"I've thought the same thing myself. The things we could achieve if we only had pre-emptive hindsight. Or time travel. Humans have many stories about time travel you know."
"They can't do it can they?" Raphael was genuinely scared at the prospect. If humans could go back in time, they could create havoc. They could even go back to the time of the Great Celestial War and change that.
"No, they can't. And I think their top people have dismissed the idea as impossible." Michael saw Raphael relax and smiled. The idea of time traveling with humans had terrified him as well. "But if they did, it could work for us, we could nip the Yah-yah problem before it ever reached this level. It's a pity, but time travel is impossible, and we won't be facing it."
Raphael picked up his glass of whisky and sipped the contents. "How are our supplies of this?"
"Pretty good. I stocked up well as soon as Yah-yah came up with the idea of closing down the Earth operation." Michael sighed and looked around his palace. "All this idiocy because he threw a temper tantrum when humans refused to believe he created them."
"Well, he didn't." Raphael was just pickled enough to let his guard slip.
"I know that, and you know that, and the rest of Heaven knows that. Guess who doesn’t know that. That's right. Yah-Yah. Remember this Raphael, remember it well because you'll be running the show up here if anything happens to me. Yah-yah believes his own propaganda, believes it implicitly. Every myth, every legend he's imagined has become the truth to him and he won’t accept anything else. He'll drive out anybody whose thought patterns or beliefs differ from his. He hears what he wants to hear and nothing else. The Unbearable One believes what he wants to believe – and nothing else."
"If anything happens to you." Raphael paused as the implications of the words sank in. "You think the humans will kill you?"
"They might. They can. I don’t anticipate letting them succeed but they might pull something off. Only a fool expects everything to go the way they plan, Raphael. Another lesson for you. Success doesn’t depend on having the perfect plan. It depends on changing plans to match circumstances fast enough for the changes to be effective. And that means spotting deviations from the predicted course of events early enough to have time for those changes. If Yah-yah had watched humans and realized, they weren't developing the way he expected earlier than he did? Well, we wouldn’t be fighting this stupid war for a start."
West of Hacienda Heights, Los Angeles, California
Uriel stepped through the tiny ellipse and closed it behind him. It had only been open a few seconds and he had hoped that the opening would have passed unnoticed but one look at the city spread out beneath him was enough to end that expectation. The lights across the city were flashing and the wailing of the sirens was enough to wake the dead. A curiously apt phrase Uriel thought. He noticed something else, as soon as the portal behind him closed, the sirens changed from their wailing to a long, steady single note. The humans were aware he was here, and they knew his attack was about to start. He was becoming familiar with unusual sensations brought about by the humans so another one didn’t floor him. Its implications did for Uriel realized that he was afraid of humans.
He lifted his hand in the traditional benison and intoned the time-honored phrase. “Peace be with you and my peace I grant you.” His mind stretched out to the brilliantly lit city below and started to squash down on all the life therein. Some of the response was familiar, he could feel the wildlife withering and die under his touch. Other responses had become familiar over his last few incursions into this heresy-ridden and blasphemous country. He felt the solid blow of rejection, the grim determination of people not to succumb to his will. But there was something else there, a touch of something that hit Uriel much harder than just plain rejection. Some of the humans were welcoming his assault, they were using him as a measure against which they could test themselves. He was shocked beyond measure, the humans did not fear the god-like power that Uriel had over their lives, they were using it to assess themselves, to show they could do better than their rivals. They saw fighting Uriel as playing a game and they did so with the grim determination that they brought to every competition, every trial they faced. They were pitching themselves against the gods and they were doggedly certain that they were not going to lose. That was only one tiny step short of believing that they were gods themselves.
Then Uriel realized one other thing, one that he simply couldn't believe or accept. Some of the humans weren't just welcoming his attack as a chance to prove themselves, they were laughing at him.
Harvelles Blues Club, 4th Street, Santa Monica, Los Angeles, California
The Key Frances Band had lost the thread of their number when the assault from Uriel started. The sheer impact of the attack, driving the breath from their bodies and stopping their hearts made that inevitable. They and their audience were saved by the layers of foil that wrapped the club, from the outside walls down to the tinfoil hat that everybody present wore. It slowed down Uriel's attack, gave the intended victims time to know that their autonomic systems were being suppressed, and allowed them the few seconds they needed to adapt and fight the attempt to murder them. Around the room, people grabbed each other's hands and braced themselves for the battle that was now starting.
Near the bar, one of the cocktail waitresses dropped the tray of drinks she was holding and staggered against a customer. He grabbed her and kept her on her feet, quickly reading her nametag while he did. "Come on, Fantasia, keep going. You got a lot more drinks to serve, we're not all blasted yet."
"Then stop fondling my ass." Fantasia's voice was shaking but she's made it past the first few seconds of the attack and Eucalyptus Hills had suggested that was the critical bit. If people could switch from their breathing and heart beating being automatic to something that required a conscious effort to keep going, then their chance of making it went up many times over.
"But it’s a beautiful ass. Reminds me of mine." The customer winked at her and the waitress burst out laughing.
"Well, that's fine. I think. You can give one more pat for good luck then." She picked up another tray of drinks. "Hey, Joe, the first lot aren't coming out my pay, are they?"
"Sure is Fantasia, you gotta pay what the customers pay." The waitress giggled and set off carefully across the floor towards a table where the glasses were running low. The band had picked up the rhythm again although their playing was noticeably shaky. Her sight was seriously impaired with dark shadows rubbing out most of her peripheral vision and darkening the rest. She guessed the others were having the same problems because the management seemed to be turning the lights up. That wasn't the worst though, it was the ever-present pressure, the constant effort needed to breathe and live that was hardest. Finally, she reached the table.
"Free drink people? Got whisky, vodka, and brandy here and some mixers."
"Straight whisky for me, whatever type you've got." The man seemed to be suffering much less than most. Beside him, his wife panting hard while stroking a puppy she'd taken from one of the cages. Most of the tables seemed to have at least one adopted pet.
"You look like you're doing fine Sir." Fantasia managed to get the words out between breaths.
"Well, I got this pacemaker and it's doing most of the work for me." Her customer smiled and then looked at her with concern. Her skin was graying and there were shadows under her eyes. "You're welcome to sit with us and rest for a while if you want."
"Well, that's kind Sir. But I got my customers to serve." That was what was keeping her going, just the need to make sure that her tables were kept supplied and her customers happy. One trip from the bar to the tables and back at a time.
Mevaseret Tsiyon, Israel
The monster was horrible to behold. More than two hundred feet tall, brilliant scarlet that glowed in the moonlight, a huge misshapen head with seven faces scattered across it and ten horns sticking out. Giant bears paws for feet. And riding on its back, was a stunningly beautiful angel, clad in red and purple robes. The Scarlet Beast leaped through the portal that had opened on the hills east of Jerusalem and stared at the city spread out before it. In its eyes was nothing but the lust for destruction. It took a couple of paces forward, towards the city where the warning sirens were wailing, then stopped. It crouched slightly and then left a giant steaming pile on the ground behind it. Nobody had ever house-trained the Scarlet Beast.
Ravseren Daniel Orlevaw had his section of Romach 175mm guns dug in just north of Mevaseret Tsiyon and that gave him a direct line of sight to the great beast that had emerged above Jerusalem. His gunners were already loading rounds into the breeches of the three guns in his position. He should have had four, but one gun was away for repairs and the forces in Hell had top priority for spares and support. His fourth gun had been away for more than three months, and he doubted very much whether he would see it again for another three at least.
There was one good thing at least. Before the Israeli army had pulled back from that area, they had pre-measured the ranges to every spot on it. With GPS telling him exactly where his own guns were, it was a simple matter to work out the firing solutions that would put his 175mm rounds on top of the Beast's head. It took but a moment and the three guns crashed almost simultaneously, the muzzle flash tearing the sky apart. Orlevaw watched the target through his binoculars and cursed as the rounds exploded on the hillside far behind the Beast. He'd allowed for it to move at normal animal speeds, but this creature was capable of far more than that. While his guns reloaded, Orlevaw watched helplessly as the Beast tore into one of the small townships east of Jerusalem.
al Za'im, West Bank
"Leave your homes! Run for your lives! The Scarlet Beast Attacks!"
The jeeps raced through al Za'im, broadcasting their message as they went. The message was dire and there was little time. This was not a Uriel attack, the Israeli Army knew that Uriel was half a world away, assaulting Los Angeles, this was the Scarlet Beast and the Whore of Babylon. They were making their attack on the city of Jerusalem itself and anything that got in its way. Hiding was not an option, taking cover under metal foil and riding out the attack was not an option. The only way to survive was to run far and fast.
Husni al-Sohl, once a dedicated member of Hamas and a key member in one of its undercover cells, heard the message and knew what he had to do. The warnings were for civilians, women, children, and those without the courage to fight. These days there might be an uneasy truce between Israeli and Palestinian but when a greater enemy attacked, even uneasy and untrusting allies were well advised to stand together. And al-Sohl had an ace card in this battle, one that he knew the Israeli Army would badly need. Most of its soldiers and all its new equipment were fighting in Hell. The troops here, on the roadblocks, and in the general area were all reservists of the lowest category with old, time-expired equipment. Uzi 9mm machine pistols and 5.56mm rifles. Neither of them was much use against demons and against the Scarlet Beast they were mere toys.
Al-Sohl had something that was not a toy. It was a pick-up truck, a Toyota Tundra to be precise, and it was packed with explosives. The stories had been told across the West Bank, of how the Americans at the Battle of Hit had been losing, their troops forced back, torn apart, and eaten by the invading demons. How they had been pushed to the last line of defense, their backs to the river, when the martyrs in their explosive-filled trucks had saved the day. How they had driven their trucks into the demon formations, exploding them and taking the demons to Hell with them. They had broken the demon attack and that had allowed the Americans to regroup and bring up their helicopters to finish the job. And the stories were true for even the Americans had admitted the martyrs in their bomb-loaded trucks had played a vital part in that great battle.
He hustled his wife forward, pushing her towards another truck that was already filling up with people from the street. "Go, go!" He shouted at her. She looked at him and knew what he was planning. With a brief, heartbreaking nod, she boarded the truck and it rolled out, leaving him standing in the dust.
Husni al-Sohl walked back to the garage next to his house. It was much smaller than it had appeared from the outside but that was quickly corrected with a crowbar and hammer blows to the right places. The back wall collapsed, and the truck was exposed. al-Sohl climbed into the driving seat and turned the key in the ignition. To his relief, the engine turned over and ran smoothly. He left the garage and turned left. There was no doubt where he had to go, the great figure of the Scarlet Beast already towered over al Za'im
Over Jerusalem, Israel.
The A-4 Skyhawk was old, and it had already been grounded once because of a maintenance scandal. But needs must when the devil drives and that expression was never more apt than during the Salvation War. The old aircraft had been pulled out of storage, hastily refurbished, and issued to pilots that had already been retired themselves. Also, for maintenance issues the pilots wryly referred to their various medical conditions. But in their hearts, they were still pilots and Menachem Gerev felt at home in the cramped cockpit in a way he felt no where else. Once again, the old Skyhawks were riding to the rescue the way they had back in '73. Gerev had fought in that war and still remembered the first day when more than 30 Skyhawks had failed to return from their strikes over the Suez Canal.
Still, he could see his target, the great Scarlet Beast that was moving through the ridges east of Jerusalem. His aircraft was armed with retarded 500-kilogram bombs fitted with fuse extenders. The reports from Hell Had been very clear. It was hard to kill the demons and angels but massive damage and bleeding out would do the trick. With a little luck, his six bombs would do that. If they didn't, there were four more Skyhawks behind him who would take their turn. They were taking off as fast as they could be armed, each pilot desperate to get to the scene in time to save the city.
Gerev rolled out of level flight and started the long drive down towards the Scarlet Beast in front of him. Looking more carefully, he could see that the Beast had an angel on its back, her red and purple robes streaming back as her mount loped along. Well, that made things more interesting. He kept his Skyhawk under careful control, she was an old lady and had already reached the end of her years. Pushing her too hard would be a terminal mistake and this wasn't the time to make such errors.
As a matter of fact, it didn’t matter. The Skyhawk was too old and too slow for the job it was being asked to do. Making its bomb run at subsonic speeds, the scream of its engine could be heard well before it was within drop range of its target. Sitting on the back of the Scarlet Beast, Dumah heard the noise and saw the jet approaching. Her mind focused on it and she summoned her strength to emit a trumpet blast that rocked the clouds and shook the dust in the cracks of the rocks.
The old Skyhawk couldn’t take the shock. The trumpet blast crushed its structure as thoroughly as any mechanical scrapping equipment could have done. It folded up and disintegrated in mid-air, trapping Gerev in his cockpit. He was still there when the wreckage plowed into the ground just outside Jerusalem.
Triumph joined the exhilaration that came from riding the Scarlet Beast. Dumah reached forward and scratched it between some of its ears. "Well done Fluffy. We'll show them how humans should be treated, right?"
Then Dumah looked ahead of her. A small group of humans had formed up around some green vehicles and they were firing on her. She lifted her golden goblet to her lips and blew hard, sending a stream of dust-like smoke towards their positions. The men vanished under it and by the time it cleared, they were dead. sprawled out on the ground. As Fluffy galloped over the scene, one of his paws crushed the vehicle into fragments. Ahead of them, Jerusalem was wide open.
Michael's Palace, Aukumea, Heaven
"Do you have to do this?" Raphael-Lan was seriously concerned.
"If you want to stay hammered and stoned, yes." Michael-Lan grinned to take the sting out of his words. "We're going to be running short of a lot of supplies soon and this is a perfect opportunity to restock at fire-sale prices. I can't afford to not make this trip. Where's Gabriel by the way?"
"Down at the club. Theoretically supervising it but paying proper respect to Lailah-Lan. He was late with his tribute again." Raphael chuckled at the thought. "You know, if Yah-yah had known Lailah-Lan a few millennia ago, it would have saved us so many problems."
"I've thought the same thing myself. The things we could achieve if we only had pre-emptive hindsight. Or time travel. Humans have many stories about time travel you know."
"They can't do it can they?" Raphael was genuinely scared at the prospect. If humans could go back in time, they could create havoc. They could even go back to the time of the Great Celestial War and change that.
"No, they can't. And I think their top people have dismissed the idea as impossible." Michael saw Raphael relax and smiled. The idea of time traveling with humans had terrified him as well. "But if they did, it could work for us, we could nip the Yah-yah problem before it ever reached this level. It's a pity, but time travel is impossible, and we won't be facing it."
Raphael picked up his glass of whisky and sipped the contents. "How are our supplies of this?"
"Pretty good. I stocked up well as soon as Yah-yah came up with the idea of closing down the Earth operation." Michael sighed and looked around his palace. "All this idiocy because he threw a temper tantrum when humans refused to believe he created them."
"Well, he didn't." Raphael was just pickled enough to let his guard slip.
"I know that, and you know that, and the rest of Heaven knows that. Guess who doesn’t know that. That's right. Yah-Yah. Remember this Raphael, remember it well because you'll be running the show up here if anything happens to me. Yah-yah believes his own propaganda, believes it implicitly. Every myth, every legend he's imagined has become the truth to him and he won’t accept anything else. He'll drive out anybody whose thought patterns or beliefs differ from his. He hears what he wants to hear and nothing else. The Unbearable One believes what he wants to believe – and nothing else."
"If anything happens to you." Raphael paused as the implications of the words sank in. "You think the humans will kill you?"
"They might. They can. I don’t anticipate letting them succeed but they might pull something off. Only a fool expects everything to go the way they plan, Raphael. Another lesson for you. Success doesn’t depend on having the perfect plan. It depends on changing plans to match circumstances fast enough for the changes to be effective. And that means spotting deviations from the predicted course of events early enough to have time for those changes. If Yah-yah had watched humans and realized, they weren't developing the way he expected earlier than he did? Well, we wouldn’t be fighting this stupid war for a start."
West of Hacienda Heights, Los Angeles, California
Uriel stepped through the tiny ellipse and closed it behind him. It had only been open a few seconds and he had hoped that the opening would have passed unnoticed but one look at the city spread out beneath him was enough to end that expectation. The lights across the city were flashing and the wailing of the sirens was enough to wake the dead. A curiously apt phrase Uriel thought. He noticed something else, as soon as the portal behind him closed, the sirens changed from their wailing to a long, steady single note. The humans were aware he was here, and they knew his attack was about to start. He was becoming familiar with unusual sensations brought about by the humans so another one didn’t floor him. Its implications did for Uriel realized that he was afraid of humans.
He lifted his hand in the traditional benison and intoned the time-honored phrase. “Peace be with you and my peace I grant you.” His mind stretched out to the brilliantly lit city below and started to squash down on all the life therein. Some of the response was familiar, he could feel the wildlife withering and die under his touch. Other responses had become familiar over his last few incursions into this heresy-ridden and blasphemous country. He felt the solid blow of rejection, the grim determination of people not to succumb to his will. But there was something else there, a touch of something that hit Uriel much harder than just plain rejection. Some of the humans were welcoming his assault, they were using him as a measure against which they could test themselves. He was shocked beyond measure, the humans did not fear the god-like power that Uriel had over their lives, they were using it to assess themselves, to show they could do better than their rivals. They saw fighting Uriel as playing a game and they did so with the grim determination that they brought to every competition, every trial they faced. They were pitching themselves against the gods and they were doggedly certain that they were not going to lose. That was only one tiny step short of believing that they were gods themselves.
Then Uriel realized one other thing, one that he simply couldn't believe or accept. Some of the humans weren't just welcoming his attack as a chance to prove themselves, they were laughing at him.
Harvelles Blues Club, 4th Street, Santa Monica, Los Angeles, California
The Key Frances Band had lost the thread of their number when the assault from Uriel started. The sheer impact of the attack, driving the breath from their bodies and stopping their hearts made that inevitable. They and their audience were saved by the layers of foil that wrapped the club, from the outside walls down to the tinfoil hat that everybody present wore. It slowed down Uriel's attack, gave the intended victims time to know that their autonomic systems were being suppressed, and allowed them the few seconds they needed to adapt and fight the attempt to murder them. Around the room, people grabbed each other's hands and braced themselves for the battle that was now starting.
Near the bar, one of the cocktail waitresses dropped the tray of drinks she was holding and staggered against a customer. He grabbed her and kept her on her feet, quickly reading her nametag while he did. "Come on, Fantasia, keep going. You got a lot more drinks to serve, we're not all blasted yet."
"Then stop fondling my ass." Fantasia's voice was shaking but she's made it past the first few seconds of the attack and Eucalyptus Hills had suggested that was the critical bit. If people could switch from their breathing and heart beating being automatic to something that required a conscious effort to keep going, then their chance of making it went up many times over.
"But it’s a beautiful ass. Reminds me of mine." The customer winked at her and the waitress burst out laughing.
"Well, that's fine. I think. You can give one more pat for good luck then." She picked up another tray of drinks. "Hey, Joe, the first lot aren't coming out my pay, are they?"
"Sure is Fantasia, you gotta pay what the customers pay." The waitress giggled and set off carefully across the floor towards a table where the glasses were running low. The band had picked up the rhythm again although their playing was noticeably shaky. Her sight was seriously impaired with dark shadows rubbing out most of her peripheral vision and darkening the rest. She guessed the others were having the same problems because the management seemed to be turning the lights up. That wasn't the worst though, it was the ever-present pressure, the constant effort needed to breathe and live that was hardest. Finally, she reached the table.
"Free drink people? Got whisky, vodka, and brandy here and some mixers."
"Straight whisky for me, whatever type you've got." The man seemed to be suffering much less than most. Beside him, his wife panting hard while stroking a puppy she'd taken from one of the cages. Most of the tables seemed to have at least one adopted pet.
"You look like you're doing fine Sir." Fantasia managed to get the words out between breaths.
"Well, I got this pacemaker and it's doing most of the work for me." Her customer smiled and then looked at her with concern. Her skin was graying and there were shadows under her eyes. "You're welcome to sit with us and rest for a while if you want."
"Well, that's kind Sir. But I got my customers to serve." That was what was keeping her going, just the need to make sure that her tables were kept supplied and her customers happy. One trip from the bar to the tables and back at a time.
Mevaseret Tsiyon, Israel
The monster was horrible to behold. More than two hundred feet tall, brilliant scarlet that glowed in the moonlight, a huge misshapen head with seven faces scattered across it and ten horns sticking out. Giant bears paws for feet. And riding on its back, was a stunningly beautiful angel, clad in red and purple robes. The Scarlet Beast leaped through the portal that had opened on the hills east of Jerusalem and stared at the city spread out before it. In its eyes was nothing but the lust for destruction. It took a couple of paces forward, towards the city where the warning sirens were wailing, then stopped. It crouched slightly and then left a giant steaming pile on the ground behind it. Nobody had ever house-trained the Scarlet Beast.
Ravseren Daniel Orlevaw had his section of Romach 175mm guns dug in just north of Mevaseret Tsiyon and that gave him a direct line of sight to the great beast that had emerged above Jerusalem. His gunners were already loading rounds into the breeches of the three guns in his position. He should have had four, but one gun was away for repairs and the forces in Hell had top priority for spares and support. His fourth gun had been away for more than three months, and he doubted very much whether he would see it again for another three at least.
There was one good thing at least. Before the Israeli army had pulled back from that area, they had pre-measured the ranges to every spot on it. With GPS telling him exactly where his own guns were, it was a simple matter to work out the firing solutions that would put his 175mm rounds on top of the Beast's head. It took but a moment and the three guns crashed almost simultaneously, the muzzle flash tearing the sky apart. Orlevaw watched the target through his binoculars and cursed as the rounds exploded on the hillside far behind the Beast. He'd allowed for it to move at normal animal speeds, but this creature was capable of far more than that. While his guns reloaded, Orlevaw watched helplessly as the Beast tore into one of the small townships east of Jerusalem.
al Za'im, West Bank
"Leave your homes! Run for your lives! The Scarlet Beast Attacks!"
The jeeps raced through al Za'im, broadcasting their message as they went. The message was dire and there was little time. This was not a Uriel attack, the Israeli Army knew that Uriel was half a world away, assaulting Los Angeles, this was the Scarlet Beast and the Whore of Babylon. They were making their attack on the city of Jerusalem itself and anything that got in its way. Hiding was not an option, taking cover under metal foil and riding out the attack was not an option. The only way to survive was to run far and fast.
Husni al-Sohl, once a dedicated member of Hamas and a key member in one of its undercover cells, heard the message and knew what he had to do. The warnings were for civilians, women, children, and those without the courage to fight. These days there might be an uneasy truce between Israeli and Palestinian but when a greater enemy attacked, even uneasy and untrusting allies were well advised to stand together. And al-Sohl had an ace card in this battle, one that he knew the Israeli Army would badly need. Most of its soldiers and all its new equipment were fighting in Hell. The troops here, on the roadblocks, and in the general area were all reservists of the lowest category with old, time-expired equipment. Uzi 9mm machine pistols and 5.56mm rifles. Neither of them was much use against demons and against the Scarlet Beast they were mere toys.
Al-Sohl had something that was not a toy. It was a pick-up truck, a Toyota Tundra to be precise, and it was packed with explosives. The stories had been told across the West Bank, of how the Americans at the Battle of Hit had been losing, their troops forced back, torn apart, and eaten by the invading demons. How they had been pushed to the last line of defense, their backs to the river, when the martyrs in their explosive-filled trucks had saved the day. How they had driven their trucks into the demon formations, exploding them and taking the demons to Hell with them. They had broken the demon attack and that had allowed the Americans to regroup and bring up their helicopters to finish the job. And the stories were true for even the Americans had admitted the martyrs in their bomb-loaded trucks had played a vital part in that great battle.
He hustled his wife forward, pushing her towards another truck that was already filling up with people from the street. "Go, go!" He shouted at her. She looked at him and knew what he was planning. With a brief, heartbreaking nod, she boarded the truck and it rolled out, leaving him standing in the dust.
Husni al-Sohl walked back to the garage next to his house. It was much smaller than it had appeared from the outside but that was quickly corrected with a crowbar and hammer blows to the right places. The back wall collapsed, and the truck was exposed. al-Sohl climbed into the driving seat and turned the key in the ignition. To his relief, the engine turned over and ran smoothly. He left the garage and turned left. There was no doubt where he had to go, the great figure of the Scarlet Beast already towered over al Za'im
Over Jerusalem, Israel.
The A-4 Skyhawk was old, and it had already been grounded once because of a maintenance scandal. But needs must when the devil drives and that expression was never more apt than during the Salvation War. The old aircraft had been pulled out of storage, hastily refurbished, and issued to pilots that had already been retired themselves. Also, for maintenance issues the pilots wryly referred to their various medical conditions. But in their hearts, they were still pilots and Menachem Gerev felt at home in the cramped cockpit in a way he felt no where else. Once again, the old Skyhawks were riding to the rescue the way they had back in '73. Gerev had fought in that war and still remembered the first day when more than 30 Skyhawks had failed to return from their strikes over the Suez Canal.
Still, he could see his target, the great Scarlet Beast that was moving through the ridges east of Jerusalem. His aircraft was armed with retarded 500-kilogram bombs fitted with fuse extenders. The reports from Hell Had been very clear. It was hard to kill the demons and angels but massive damage and bleeding out would do the trick. With a little luck, his six bombs would do that. If they didn't, there were four more Skyhawks behind him who would take their turn. They were taking off as fast as they could be armed, each pilot desperate to get to the scene in time to save the city.
Gerev rolled out of level flight and started the long drive down towards the Scarlet Beast in front of him. Looking more carefully, he could see that the Beast had an angel on its back, her red and purple robes streaming back as her mount loped along. Well, that made things more interesting. He kept his Skyhawk under careful control, she was an old lady and had already reached the end of her years. Pushing her too hard would be a terminal mistake and this wasn't the time to make such errors.
As a matter of fact, it didn’t matter. The Skyhawk was too old and too slow for the job it was being asked to do. Making its bomb run at subsonic speeds, the scream of its engine could be heard well before it was within drop range of its target. Sitting on the back of the Scarlet Beast, Dumah heard the noise and saw the jet approaching. Her mind focused on it and she summoned her strength to emit a trumpet blast that rocked the clouds and shook the dust in the cracks of the rocks.
The old Skyhawk couldn’t take the shock. The trumpet blast crushed its structure as thoroughly as any mechanical scrapping equipment could have done. It folded up and disintegrated in mid-air, trapping Gerev in his cockpit. He was still there when the wreckage plowed into the ground just outside Jerusalem.
Triumph joined the exhilaration that came from riding the Scarlet Beast. Dumah reached forward and scratched it between some of its ears. "Well done Fluffy. We'll show them how humans should be treated, right?"
Then Dumah looked ahead of her. A small group of humans had formed up around some green vehicles and they were firing on her. She lifted her golden goblet to her lips and blew hard, sending a stream of dust-like smoke towards their positions. The men vanished under it and by the time it cleared, they were dead. sprawled out on the ground. As Fluffy galloped over the scene, one of his paws crushed the vehicle into fragments. Ahead of them, Jerusalem was wide open.
Re: 2008 - Pentheocide
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Over Los Angeles, California
"Just where the blazes is he?" Commander Mike Wong pulled his F-18H around, allowing its radar to scan the volume over Los Angeles. An older radar would have been swamped with returns, so many aircraft were crowding into the airspace over the city. But the AESA radar could cope with the workload, and in any case, they had an E-3 AWACs up controlling the air battle. Or what would be the air battle if they could find somebody to battle against.
"Not up here, Squid." The voice on the radio was gently mocking. An Air Force pilot taking the opportunity to goad his naval equivalent.
"Cut the unnecessary chatter." The controller in the AWACs bird snapped the order out. "We've got enough to do making sure you hot-shots don't fly into each other."
"Say again, Coronet, he's not up here. All contacts are accounted for. He's got to be on the ground. Unless he's already made a run for it."
"Negative on that Dolphin-One. Ground reports the attack is continuing, first deaths are being reported now."
Wong's mouth twisted as he pulled his F-18 into another turn. The theory was that the deaths from a Uriel attack would be exponential, a mere scattered handful at first but picking up numbers quickly as people's strength gave out. "If he is on the ground, he could be anywhere. We've got a real problem here."
Aboard E-3G "Coronet", Over Los Angeles
It was lucky Coronet had just arrived from the upgrade facility with her new displays and data processing computers. She'd been sent to Edwards for testing before the rest of her kind were pulled in for similar upgrades. Now, even the advanced data handling capability was being strained as far as it would go.
"The Squid is right, Sir. He just isn’t up here. He's got to be on the ground somewhere." Captain John Lacrosse stared at the displays showing the aircraft orbiting Los Angeles. He had a strange feeling that he was looking at Uriel's location right then, but he just lacked the insight to dig the answer out of the data. "Colonel, let's assume he is on the ground, right?"
"We can take that as being pretty definitive."
"Well, he usually flies over the target, but he's learned that's just too unhealthy for him. So, he's going to do the next best thing. Find himself some high ground and look down from there."
Colonel Findel thought that one over. "Do we know Uriel's capability is line-of-sight?"
"Do we know it isn't?"
"The DIMO(N) network location on the portal just said Los Angeles, it wasn't specific as to where. I don’t think it’s accurate enough for that. Uriel's down there somewhere. Even on the roof of a building."
"Doubt that Sir. Everybody with a heavy-caliber hunting rifle would be shooting at him. What we need is a display that shows us where the effects of the attack are being felt. That'll give us an idea. Problem is, we can't do it. Our equipment isn’t set up that way. Now if we had a JSTARS here it could be different. They're built to give land pictures."
Findel stared at the displays of the fighters circling the city, then glanced down at the brilliant lights of the city below. Finally, the penny dropped. "We have got a display; we've got the biggest one ever built."
The communications center was a few feet further forward from where he was standing. He took the few paces needed and patched through to the emergency control center on the ground.
"Report center? We need help up here. Uriel's grounded and we can't find him. We need to know what parts of the city are under attack and which ones are not. ... Yes, killing the lights in the unaffected part of the city will do fine. Just a minute or two should do it."
Down below, the lights covering more than half the city winked out. The E3Gs electro-optical system recorded the picture and by the time the lights came on again, the image was displayed in the airborne command center. The computers had superimposed a map on the image. Findel looked at it. Everything north of a line from Pico Rivera to Culver City was blacked out. So, was everything east of a line from La Habra to Huntington Beach.
"So, it is line of sight." Captain Lacrosse was relieved that his guess had been right. "And the only place that can give us that pattern is here, Hacienda Heights. If he were on Beverly Hills, he'd be hitting the whole coastline, not just this segment of it. And if he were south by lake Irvine, we'd have more coverage east. It must be Hacienda Heights. All we need is to flush him out."
"We can do that. If we assume he's in an unpopulated bit, it must be around here, by Turnbull Canyon. Get those two Bones on the line. We won’t flush him out, we'll blast him out.
Harvelles Blues Club, 4th Street, Santa Monica, Los Angeles, California
People were weakening, slowly but surely. Fantasia could see it and feel it within herself. The animals weren't doing so well, a tank of fish had already died and was floating on the surface of their aquarium. The reptiles were doing just as badly, the snakes and lizards were dead or dying. Looking around, she could see the dogs were doing their best but even they were in grave distress, drooling helplessly and whimpering. There was a distinct pattern, the animals that bonded best with humans were surviving, and those that did not were dying. As her drinks tray was refilled, Fantasia had a flash of insight, was the time-honored alliance of man and dog a relic of the time when both had sheltered together against the fury of a Uriel attack?
She was suddenly aware that her vision had almost dimmed out completely and she was on the verge of fainting. That would be certain death. She forced herself to breathe deeply, sucking oxygen into her lungs and echoing the beating of her heart in her mind. Up on the stage, the band was still playing but the drummer had peeled away from the score and was now tapping his drums in a fair simulation of a heartbeat. Fantasia focused on the sound and imagined her heart beating in time to it. The fuzzy gray from her vision cleared slightly.
"You OK Fanny?" The barkeep's face was a waxy white gray with sweat beading his forehead and lips.
"Yeah, think so, just slipped for a moment there."
"Well, don’t do it again." The mock severity was as near as anybody could get to be funny. "Your customers are getting thirsty out there."
She was halfway across the floor when the whole room seemed to shudder. That's all we needed. An earthquake. But the rolling thunder wasn't like any earthquake she'd heard. In fact, it wasn't like anything any American city had ever heard.
Israeli Army Roadblock, al Za'im, West Bank
"Turn back, can't you see the Scarlet Beast is down there?"
The Israeli sergeant commanding at the roadblock tried to wave the truck down. His men were setting up their machine guns to stage a last-ditch defense of this point against the beast that was now barely a kilometer away. Husni al-Sohl brought the truck to a halt and wound down his window/.
"Let me through. I am of Hamas and this truck is loaded with explosives. I can hurt that abomination much more than you."
The sergeant did a double-take at the words. Not so long ago, the words would have caused the truck to be raked by machine-gun fire. "You'll never get close enough."
"I will. Just put my foot down hard. I have the explosives on a simple dead man's switch, it’ll work. And Sergeant, there are two RPG-7s in the back and a dozen rockets. Your men will need them."
Al-Sohl felt the truck rock as the soldiers scrambled into the truck bed and unloaded the rocket launchers. He heard one of them whistling. "Just how much explosive is in the back of this thing?'
"Six hundred kilos of the best anfo Hamas can make. And another two hundred kilos of nails. Iron nails.
"Be careful you could damage the suspension carrying that lot." The sergeant grinned at al-Sohl then snapped out something almost unknown in the Israeli Army, a reasonable approximation of a decent salute. He and his men held it as the truck drove through their checkpoint.
The Scarlet Beast had moved some more and was across the highway that led east from Jerusalem. Al Sohn floored his accelerator and headed straight down the road at the great monster that was carving a swathe of destruction through the valley leading up to the city. He had his windows up tight and the air conditioning turned off, hoping that the seal would be enough to keep the strange dust the Whore was using to wipe out those who stood against her. The truck was shaking and shimmying on the rough road surfaces, for all Toyota's efforts, their pick-up trucks just didn’t have the strength and stability of the Dodge and Chevvy rivals. The speedometer continued to click upwards and by the time the Beast and its rider responded, it was too late for them to stop the manned missile that was being aimed at them.
Dumah blew her stream of smoke at the racing truck and al-Sohl lost sight of his target as the gray fog enveloped his cab. He felt his lungs seizing up as the poison took hold, but he was close enough now and his last conscious act was to release the dead man's switch in his hand. Around him, the picture of the inside of his truck shrank to nothing, a tiny white dot in the center of his vision.
Al-Sohl saw strange things, weird shapes, strange colors, and indescribable things that he forgot as soon as he saw them. Things that no human mind could ever recall because they were swamped out by the great white glow as the tiny dot in his vision swelled up and filled his vision. It changed, dimmed slightly then resolved into white and gray shadows. He blinked, his eyes slowly recovering, and the shadows started to make sense. The white glow was lighting, the shadow was a woman bending over him. A nurse.
"Mr al-Sohl? Husni al-Sohl?"
He tried to croak out an answer but all he could do was to nod his head.
"That's wonderful. We've been keeping an eye open for you as the dead came through. The Israeli Army asked us to."
"Did I kill the Beast?" The voice was still a croak.
The nurse hesitated. "No, but you hurt him badly enough that he broke off the attack to recover. That bought enough time to evacuate more civilians from the area. Your sacrifice saved a lot of lives, tens of thousands of them. You’re quite the hero you know. We've even got some virgins who've volunteered to come over and give you a proper welcome."
Presidential Palace, Naypyidaw, Myanmar
"You let us down!" Than Shwe's voice was accusing and peevish.
Michael-Lan stared down at the ridiculous figure with something close to disbelief. "Pardon?"
"You promised us you'd help us with the war against the Siamese. Now we will have to run, spend the rest of our lives in exile because you failed us."
"If you think I promised you anything, little humans, you are sadly mistaken. I merely pointed out the opportunities that we’re there for you. If you can't turn them into reality, then that's your fault."
"You owe us! We have been together for years; we closed our country off from the world so you could come here in peace."
"You were well paid for your services. Do you think I do not know how high the prices you charged for your goods are? And how low the values you gave me for the jewels and gold you got in return." You are really, pathetic, thought Michael, as if I, an archangel owes you anything or should treat you as anything more than humble menials. It is you who are duty-bound to us, not the other way around. We owe you nothing. Michael-Lan reflected that he rather liked humans but their constant demands to be treated as equals were wearing.
Still, despite these people's whining, they had done him proud on this trip. The power-assisted cart that he was using had been piled high with highly refined number four heroin and huge numbers of methamphetamine tablets. They'd said they were cleaning out all their stocks and that appeared to be just what they had done. Even with his own literally superhuman strength augmented by the electric motors on the cart, he had difficulty overcoming the inertia of the huge cargo. It really was very, very heavy.
"Here, despite your rudeness, I have a final payment for you." Michael-Lan fished inside his robes and tossed Than Shwe a large bag, one stuffed with precious stones Michael had 'liberated' from Yahweh's palace. "They are a generous payment."
Than Shwe counted the stones, running them through his fingers. "Generous indeed. And they will have to be now our country is collapsing before the Siamese Army. Our exile will be a long one."
Michael-Lan raised his eyebrows at the whining voice, then jerked hard on the cart to get it around the corner that led out of the storeroom into the corridor that led to the outside of the palace building. At least, when the palace had been built, they'd had his bulk and size in mind, so the corridors were high and wide. That made maneuvering the cart much easier. Michael reflected that the cart really was remarkably heavy.
Israeli Navy Submarine "Tekuma". Eastern Mediterranean
"The news is still bad?" Captain Alex Ben-Shoshan was almost hoping nobody would hear the question so he wouldn't get an answer.
"Very bad. The Scarlet Beast has broken into Jerusalem. It is laying waste to the city and destroying all that is sacred there. The Whore of Babylon spreads her contamination across the city, and none survive its poison. The Whore protects the Beast while the Beast destroys and together, they kill everything. The dead already numbers in the hundreds of thousands. " The Executive Officer on the submarine took a deep breath and stabilized his voice. The news from Tel Aviv had been shocking, the city had fallen, and surviving humans were streaming away from it in great columns. For the first time in the Salvation War, a human city had fallen to the netherworlders and its population was reduced to panicking refugees.
"What about our allies? Is there no help coming for us?"
"General Petraeus is sending aid, at least a corps of his army. But he must assemble them first, they are spread all over Hell, trying to stabilize the situation there. Then he must open a portal, move them through and get them ready to fight. By that time, there will be little left of us to save."
Ben-Shoshan sighed. The eternal strategic curse of Israel, the country was simply too small. All its vital areas were packed closely together and an attack on one could hardly avoid damaging the rest. If the Scarlet Beast and the Whore finished destroying Jerusalem and then moved to the country's heartland, it would all be over.
"Is there any word from Tel Aviv? Do they have orders for us?"
"Yes, Captain. For us, for Dolphin, and for Leviathan. We are to prepare for Operation Masada immediately. We are designated as the prime shooter with the other two backing us up. We must destroy the Beast before it moves out of Jerusalem. Authorization to fire can be expected very soon. Tel Aviv says we are to be ready."
"Then we shall. Order the munitions experts to prepare the packages and get our missiles ready to shoot." Ben-Shoshan laughed sadly. "When I joined the submarine arm and learned of our missiles, I had many ideas about the day we would finally use them. But never once did I think of a situation like this."
Over Los Angeles, California
"Just where the blazes is he?" Commander Mike Wong pulled his F-18H around, allowing its radar to scan the volume over Los Angeles. An older radar would have been swamped with returns, so many aircraft were crowding into the airspace over the city. But the AESA radar could cope with the workload, and in any case, they had an E-3 AWACs up controlling the air battle. Or what would be the air battle if they could find somebody to battle against.
"Not up here, Squid." The voice on the radio was gently mocking. An Air Force pilot taking the opportunity to goad his naval equivalent.
"Cut the unnecessary chatter." The controller in the AWACs bird snapped the order out. "We've got enough to do making sure you hot-shots don't fly into each other."
"Say again, Coronet, he's not up here. All contacts are accounted for. He's got to be on the ground. Unless he's already made a run for it."
"Negative on that Dolphin-One. Ground reports the attack is continuing, first deaths are being reported now."
Wong's mouth twisted as he pulled his F-18 into another turn. The theory was that the deaths from a Uriel attack would be exponential, a mere scattered handful at first but picking up numbers quickly as people's strength gave out. "If he is on the ground, he could be anywhere. We've got a real problem here."
Aboard E-3G "Coronet", Over Los Angeles
It was lucky Coronet had just arrived from the upgrade facility with her new displays and data processing computers. She'd been sent to Edwards for testing before the rest of her kind were pulled in for similar upgrades. Now, even the advanced data handling capability was being strained as far as it would go.
"The Squid is right, Sir. He just isn’t up here. He's got to be on the ground somewhere." Captain John Lacrosse stared at the displays showing the aircraft orbiting Los Angeles. He had a strange feeling that he was looking at Uriel's location right then, but he just lacked the insight to dig the answer out of the data. "Colonel, let's assume he is on the ground, right?"
"We can take that as being pretty definitive."
"Well, he usually flies over the target, but he's learned that's just too unhealthy for him. So, he's going to do the next best thing. Find himself some high ground and look down from there."
Colonel Findel thought that one over. "Do we know Uriel's capability is line-of-sight?"
"Do we know it isn't?"
"The DIMO(N) network location on the portal just said Los Angeles, it wasn't specific as to where. I don’t think it’s accurate enough for that. Uriel's down there somewhere. Even on the roof of a building."
"Doubt that Sir. Everybody with a heavy-caliber hunting rifle would be shooting at him. What we need is a display that shows us where the effects of the attack are being felt. That'll give us an idea. Problem is, we can't do it. Our equipment isn’t set up that way. Now if we had a JSTARS here it could be different. They're built to give land pictures."
Findel stared at the displays of the fighters circling the city, then glanced down at the brilliant lights of the city below. Finally, the penny dropped. "We have got a display; we've got the biggest one ever built."
The communications center was a few feet further forward from where he was standing. He took the few paces needed and patched through to the emergency control center on the ground.
"Report center? We need help up here. Uriel's grounded and we can't find him. We need to know what parts of the city are under attack and which ones are not. ... Yes, killing the lights in the unaffected part of the city will do fine. Just a minute or two should do it."
Down below, the lights covering more than half the city winked out. The E3Gs electro-optical system recorded the picture and by the time the lights came on again, the image was displayed in the airborne command center. The computers had superimposed a map on the image. Findel looked at it. Everything north of a line from Pico Rivera to Culver City was blacked out. So, was everything east of a line from La Habra to Huntington Beach.
"So, it is line of sight." Captain Lacrosse was relieved that his guess had been right. "And the only place that can give us that pattern is here, Hacienda Heights. If he were on Beverly Hills, he'd be hitting the whole coastline, not just this segment of it. And if he were south by lake Irvine, we'd have more coverage east. It must be Hacienda Heights. All we need is to flush him out."
"We can do that. If we assume he's in an unpopulated bit, it must be around here, by Turnbull Canyon. Get those two Bones on the line. We won’t flush him out, we'll blast him out.
Harvelles Blues Club, 4th Street, Santa Monica, Los Angeles, California
People were weakening, slowly but surely. Fantasia could see it and feel it within herself. The animals weren't doing so well, a tank of fish had already died and was floating on the surface of their aquarium. The reptiles were doing just as badly, the snakes and lizards were dead or dying. Looking around, she could see the dogs were doing their best but even they were in grave distress, drooling helplessly and whimpering. There was a distinct pattern, the animals that bonded best with humans were surviving, and those that did not were dying. As her drinks tray was refilled, Fantasia had a flash of insight, was the time-honored alliance of man and dog a relic of the time when both had sheltered together against the fury of a Uriel attack?
She was suddenly aware that her vision had almost dimmed out completely and she was on the verge of fainting. That would be certain death. She forced herself to breathe deeply, sucking oxygen into her lungs and echoing the beating of her heart in her mind. Up on the stage, the band was still playing but the drummer had peeled away from the score and was now tapping his drums in a fair simulation of a heartbeat. Fantasia focused on the sound and imagined her heart beating in time to it. The fuzzy gray from her vision cleared slightly.
"You OK Fanny?" The barkeep's face was a waxy white gray with sweat beading his forehead and lips.
"Yeah, think so, just slipped for a moment there."
"Well, don’t do it again." The mock severity was as near as anybody could get to be funny. "Your customers are getting thirsty out there."
She was halfway across the floor when the whole room seemed to shudder. That's all we needed. An earthquake. But the rolling thunder wasn't like any earthquake she'd heard. In fact, it wasn't like anything any American city had ever heard.
Israeli Army Roadblock, al Za'im, West Bank
"Turn back, can't you see the Scarlet Beast is down there?"
The Israeli sergeant commanding at the roadblock tried to wave the truck down. His men were setting up their machine guns to stage a last-ditch defense of this point against the beast that was now barely a kilometer away. Husni al-Sohl brought the truck to a halt and wound down his window/.
"Let me through. I am of Hamas and this truck is loaded with explosives. I can hurt that abomination much more than you."
The sergeant did a double-take at the words. Not so long ago, the words would have caused the truck to be raked by machine-gun fire. "You'll never get close enough."
"I will. Just put my foot down hard. I have the explosives on a simple dead man's switch, it’ll work. And Sergeant, there are two RPG-7s in the back and a dozen rockets. Your men will need them."
Al-Sohl felt the truck rock as the soldiers scrambled into the truck bed and unloaded the rocket launchers. He heard one of them whistling. "Just how much explosive is in the back of this thing?'
"Six hundred kilos of the best anfo Hamas can make. And another two hundred kilos of nails. Iron nails.
"Be careful you could damage the suspension carrying that lot." The sergeant grinned at al-Sohl then snapped out something almost unknown in the Israeli Army, a reasonable approximation of a decent salute. He and his men held it as the truck drove through their checkpoint.
The Scarlet Beast had moved some more and was across the highway that led east from Jerusalem. Al Sohn floored his accelerator and headed straight down the road at the great monster that was carving a swathe of destruction through the valley leading up to the city. He had his windows up tight and the air conditioning turned off, hoping that the seal would be enough to keep the strange dust the Whore was using to wipe out those who stood against her. The truck was shaking and shimmying on the rough road surfaces, for all Toyota's efforts, their pick-up trucks just didn’t have the strength and stability of the Dodge and Chevvy rivals. The speedometer continued to click upwards and by the time the Beast and its rider responded, it was too late for them to stop the manned missile that was being aimed at them.
Dumah blew her stream of smoke at the racing truck and al-Sohl lost sight of his target as the gray fog enveloped his cab. He felt his lungs seizing up as the poison took hold, but he was close enough now and his last conscious act was to release the dead man's switch in his hand. Around him, the picture of the inside of his truck shrank to nothing, a tiny white dot in the center of his vision.
Al-Sohl saw strange things, weird shapes, strange colors, and indescribable things that he forgot as soon as he saw them. Things that no human mind could ever recall because they were swamped out by the great white glow as the tiny dot in his vision swelled up and filled his vision. It changed, dimmed slightly then resolved into white and gray shadows. He blinked, his eyes slowly recovering, and the shadows started to make sense. The white glow was lighting, the shadow was a woman bending over him. A nurse.
"Mr al-Sohl? Husni al-Sohl?"
He tried to croak out an answer but all he could do was to nod his head.
"That's wonderful. We've been keeping an eye open for you as the dead came through. The Israeli Army asked us to."
"Did I kill the Beast?" The voice was still a croak.
The nurse hesitated. "No, but you hurt him badly enough that he broke off the attack to recover. That bought enough time to evacuate more civilians from the area. Your sacrifice saved a lot of lives, tens of thousands of them. You’re quite the hero you know. We've even got some virgins who've volunteered to come over and give you a proper welcome."
Presidential Palace, Naypyidaw, Myanmar
"You let us down!" Than Shwe's voice was accusing and peevish.
Michael-Lan stared down at the ridiculous figure with something close to disbelief. "Pardon?"
"You promised us you'd help us with the war against the Siamese. Now we will have to run, spend the rest of our lives in exile because you failed us."
"If you think I promised you anything, little humans, you are sadly mistaken. I merely pointed out the opportunities that we’re there for you. If you can't turn them into reality, then that's your fault."
"You owe us! We have been together for years; we closed our country off from the world so you could come here in peace."
"You were well paid for your services. Do you think I do not know how high the prices you charged for your goods are? And how low the values you gave me for the jewels and gold you got in return." You are really, pathetic, thought Michael, as if I, an archangel owes you anything or should treat you as anything more than humble menials. It is you who are duty-bound to us, not the other way around. We owe you nothing. Michael-Lan reflected that he rather liked humans but their constant demands to be treated as equals were wearing.
Still, despite these people's whining, they had done him proud on this trip. The power-assisted cart that he was using had been piled high with highly refined number four heroin and huge numbers of methamphetamine tablets. They'd said they were cleaning out all their stocks and that appeared to be just what they had done. Even with his own literally superhuman strength augmented by the electric motors on the cart, he had difficulty overcoming the inertia of the huge cargo. It really was very, very heavy.
"Here, despite your rudeness, I have a final payment for you." Michael-Lan fished inside his robes and tossed Than Shwe a large bag, one stuffed with precious stones Michael had 'liberated' from Yahweh's palace. "They are a generous payment."
Than Shwe counted the stones, running them through his fingers. "Generous indeed. And they will have to be now our country is collapsing before the Siamese Army. Our exile will be a long one."
Michael-Lan raised his eyebrows at the whining voice, then jerked hard on the cart to get it around the corner that led out of the storeroom into the corridor that led to the outside of the palace building. At least, when the palace had been built, they'd had his bulk and size in mind, so the corridors were high and wide. That made maneuvering the cart much easier. Michael reflected that the cart really was remarkably heavy.
Israeli Navy Submarine "Tekuma". Eastern Mediterranean
"The news is still bad?" Captain Alex Ben-Shoshan was almost hoping nobody would hear the question so he wouldn't get an answer.
"Very bad. The Scarlet Beast has broken into Jerusalem. It is laying waste to the city and destroying all that is sacred there. The Whore of Babylon spreads her contamination across the city, and none survive its poison. The Whore protects the Beast while the Beast destroys and together, they kill everything. The dead already numbers in the hundreds of thousands. " The Executive Officer on the submarine took a deep breath and stabilized his voice. The news from Tel Aviv had been shocking, the city had fallen, and surviving humans were streaming away from it in great columns. For the first time in the Salvation War, a human city had fallen to the netherworlders and its population was reduced to panicking refugees.
"What about our allies? Is there no help coming for us?"
"General Petraeus is sending aid, at least a corps of his army. But he must assemble them first, they are spread all over Hell, trying to stabilize the situation there. Then he must open a portal, move them through and get them ready to fight. By that time, there will be little left of us to save."
Ben-Shoshan sighed. The eternal strategic curse of Israel, the country was simply too small. All its vital areas were packed closely together and an attack on one could hardly avoid damaging the rest. If the Scarlet Beast and the Whore finished destroying Jerusalem and then moved to the country's heartland, it would all be over.
"Is there any word from Tel Aviv? Do they have orders for us?"
"Yes, Captain. For us, for Dolphin, and for Leviathan. We are to prepare for Operation Masada immediately. We are designated as the prime shooter with the other two backing us up. We must destroy the Beast before it moves out of Jerusalem. Authorization to fire can be expected very soon. Tel Aviv says we are to be ready."
"Then we shall. Order the munitions experts to prepare the packages and get our missiles ready to shoot." Ben-Shoshan laughed sadly. "When I joined the submarine arm and learned of our missiles, I had many ideas about the day we would finally use them. But never once did I think of a situation like this."
Re: 2008 - Pentheocide
Chapter Forty
B-1C “Spirit of Sheffield”, Over Los Angeles
“We’ve joked about doing this you know. Never thought we would.” Group Captain Martin Winters was keying the GPS coordinates for the 96 GBU-39 bombs nestling in the Spirit of Sheffield’s bomb bay. Behind him, he knew that the weapons systems operator on the second B-1C, Spirit of Detroit was doing the same.
“What, bomb a U.S. City? We had plans for that as well, and we weren’t joking. But then SAC had plans for everything.” Colonel Fitzhubert was an old SAC hand, recalled to the colors along with every other veteran with a pulse and a body temperature greater than ambient. Or so it seemed. “Double and triple-check those coordinates, we’re threading a needle with these things.”
That was an understatement, Winters thought. The bombs had to go down along a thin strip of rough country between the built-up areas on Hacienda Heights and the crowded city of Whittier down in the valley. They were lucky they had small-diameter bombs. He could imagine the chaos that two thousand-pound bombs could cause down there. “Everybody keeping out of our way?”
“You bet. The fighters are hanging back, waiting for us to flush the game. As soon as Uriel bales out of his cover, we’re out of here and they’re in. Guns and missiles blazing. And the two Scalpels of course.”
“How does that look?” The display showed the bright areas of built-up Los Angeles with a red spot indicating the predicted impact point of the bombs. They formed a dense mass, completely blanketing the Turnbull Canyon area. Spirit of Detroit was making her run at almost a 90-degree angle, pounding the area between Hacienda Heights and La Habre. They had a bad job, there were a small number of scattered homes in that area and the chance of people in them surviving was slight.
“Good job. Let’s hope it all works.” Fitzhubert swung the B-1 around and set the bomb-navigation system to make the optimum delivery run. Bombing people had come a long, long way in just a little less than a century. “And how do you like the B-1C?”
“She’s beautiful. Can’t wait until we get our hands on ours.” Winters paused and then spoke awkwardly. “I’d like to thank you guys for her name. On behalf of those who didn’t get out of the city.”
“It seemed right somehow. You know two of the Russian Blackjacks are named For Sheffield and For Detroit?”
Winter nodded. “The cities need to be remembered; it’ll be hard enough rebuilding them in our lifetimes. Ah, here we go.”
Underneath the B-1, the bomb bay doors had opened and the GBU-39s were spilling out in a steady stream.
West of Hacienda Heights, Los Angeles, California.
Uriel sat cross-legged on the ground, his wings folded behind him, every nerve concentrating on transmitting his will to the humans gathered beneath him. They were resisting him, fighting him even more strongly than the humans at Eucalyptus Hills and El Paso had fought him. It was as if the very fact that others had proved fighting was possible inspired these humans to try and outdo the earlier efforts. With almost grim despair, Uriel realized that was precisely what was happening, and its significance was not lost on him. Every city, every target he attacked from now on would fight harder than the last. His brain tiring from the effort just added pathos to Uriel’s sudden realization that Heaven was going to lose this war.
Whether paying attention to his surroundings would have made any difference to Uriel was dubious to put it mildly. The B-1s were flying so high that their sound barely reached the ground anyway and it was lost in the blizzard of noise from the circling fighters and the howling of the sirens in the city below. Uriel was lost in his effort to bring his peace to the humans below and even if he had heard the B-1s high overhead, there was little he could do about it. The bombs were already on the way down.
It was the first ripple of explosions that warned him of the mortal danger he was in. They snapped him out of his trance and broke the concentration of effort he needed to maintain his drive to peace. The bombs exploded several hundred yards to the north of him, their orange flowers looking curiously beautiful in the darkness. As the tide of fire grew nearer to him, Uriel saw something strange and terrible forming, a hideously beautiful silver-blue wall that seemed to devour everything in its path. The sight filled Uriel with terror for as an archangel more deeply associated with death than any other, he knew that the silver-blue wall meant death and it was coming for him. For a brief, terrible second, he thought of the oblivion he had sent so many millions into and he feared it. Worse, he feared that those others might be waiting for him there.
It was that thought that he would have to answer for what he had done to the humans in the name of his peace, that broke the spell. Uriel hurled himself into the air, clawing desperately for altitude, his efforts to bring his peace to the humans forgotten. All he knew was that he had to get away with that deadly silver wall and make a portal through which he would escape. In his heart, Uriel knew that he would never again bring his benison of peace to another human community. Even if he survived this night, the humans had broken his spirit. They’d won.
Harvelles Blues Club, 4th Street, Santa Monica, Los Angeles, California
The earthquake shook the club, rattling glasses behind the bar and sending them shimmying off the tables. For a moment, it looked as if the crowd was going to panic but the club host was on top of the situation. In any case, he had been listening to a police scanner and knew what the shaking really meant.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and other species.” Once again, the joke got an appreciative roar from the crowd. “There is no need to panic. The Air Force had found Uriel and the noise is their aircraft bombing his position on the ground. There are more fighters than we can count overhead and they’ll get him. Oh my, will they get him?”
The host paused, he’d suddenly realized something critically important. He wasn’t having to force himself to breathe, the pressure forcing him to die was gone. “And everybody, the Uriel attack is over. The bombing must have forced him to stop. We’ve won. Everybody, we’ve won. And to celebrate, everybody joins the band.” He spoke quickly and the band nodded gleefully. Then the thumping rhythm started, and the entire audience slammed their hands down in time and echoed the chorus.
“You got mud on yo’ face.
Yo’ a big disgrace.
We’re kickin yo ass all over the place.
We will, we will, rock you.
We will, we will, rock you.”
F-18H Over Los Angeles, California
“There he is! Damn, he’s a big bastard.” Wong pulled his F-18 around in a tight racking curve to bring its nose to bear on the great shape that was leaping into the sky. The monster was at least twice the size of the Greater Harpy Heralds he had killed on the first day of the Salvation War, its massive bulk starkly outlined by the orange-red explosions that swamped the area where it had been hidden just a few seconds before. Wong saw it trying to claw skywards, trying to get away from the jets that were already converging on its position. Uriel tried to face one of the jets and trumpets, but the sound blast was weak and feeble. Probably winded by the blast of the bombs that were still exploding underneath him Wong thought. Then, Uriel seemed to stagger in mid-air as two AIR-120 rockets from an F-15 plowed into him.
That was when Wong saw the one thing that none of the human pilots wanted to. A great black ellipse was forming in the sky ahead of Uriel. The monster was running for it, running to escape the pent-up vengeance that was waiting for him at the hands of the humans. The F-18 suddenly bounded forward as its throttles were firewalled and the afterburners turned raw fuel into thrust. Uriel was lurching in the air, Wong realized that he was already hurt, his flying ability degraded by cumulative injuries. He saw Uriel lose stability in the air as the supersonic shock wave from the F-18s passing hit him and the beast tumbled down before trying to regain a path to the ellipse and safety.
The F-18 was doing almost 900 knots when it went through the ellipse. Wong saw the dark of an Earth night replaced by the clear white light of Heaven, saw the green fields and crystal-clear sky surrounding him, and saw the ellipse behind. He had little time, he skidded his fighter around in a tight curve whose shock waves flattened the crops underneath and sent the humans laboring in the fields flat on their faces. Well, Wong thought at least they’ve learned about supersonic bangs today. Ahead of him, staring at the racing fighter was an angel, a white figure, taller than a human, with great wings folded behind him. Wong couldn’t resist the temptation; the Angel was on a direct line between his aircraft and the portal. It was the work of a split second to dip the nose slightly, thumb the cannon button, then watch the angel fall and disappear in a cloud of dust and explosions as the strafing passed bit home.
Then, white light and green fields were replaced by the darkness of Earth night, a night lit up by the city lights below and the streams of gunfire and the exhaust trails of missiles in the skies above. Wong saw almost instantly that the only reason why Uriel was surviving lay in the sheer numbers of human aircraft that were fighting him. He was alone, he had no allies, no friends, and everything that surrounded him was hostile. The human pilots were having to watch each other, avoid each other’s maneuvers and make sure they didn’t shoot each other down. It was an old story, there had been many such tales in the past, of heroic fights by one against many. They always had the same basic problem at their heart, the way a single fighter alone could use the numbers of enemies surrounding them to survive. But they all ended the same way, one day, the single fighter would run out of luck and die.
Uriel had been heading for the ellipse again when Wong’s F-18 streaked out of it. It was a perfect AIR-120 shot, the angel and the fighter were on a direct collision course, there was no need for deflection, no need for leading the target. Another quick thumb stroke on the firing button and four AIR-120s hurtled from their racks and closed the target. The last one missed, to avoid a collision Wong had had to swerve at the last second, and that had thrown his aim off, but the other three scored direct hits, one up high near Uriel’s chest, the other two low-down in his groin. Wong passed Uriel’s head so close that he could see every detail of his face. For the rest of his life, he would swear that Uriel’s eyes were crossed because of the pain and shock from the two AIR-120 hits to his groin.
He had worse problems than just trying to avoid colliding with Uriel though. Brilliant orange-red streaks passed his cockpit. Tracers, an F-16 was behind him, snapping out short bursts of cannon fire.
“Can it, you damned fool!” Wong screamed in rage.
“Sorry Squid. Saw you come out of the portal, and I thought you were one of them.”
“Bloody Air Farce.” Wong simmered down slightly and swerved his fighter around to line up for another pass. Uriel was still airborne, but he was staggering, trying to trumpet, create a new portal, and emit his killing waves all at once. Shock and injuries were overcoming him, and, in his anguish, he was trying to do everything at the same time, and as a result, he was achieving nothing. He was writhing and flailing in the middle of the mass of fighters that tormented him. Wong felt not the slightest shred of pity for him, and he lined his F-18 up for another pass at the dying archangel.
Presidential Palace, Naypyidaw, Myanmar
Captain Madeuce coughed, the spasms racking his body. The cloth he used to cover his mouth came away stained with dark green mucus, darker, red-gray dirt that was even more ominous than the infection-laden slime, and a spattering of bright red blood. None of it surprised him. The scientific name for what was killing him was Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, the common name was acute silicosis. To Madeuce it was ‘rocks in the chest’ and he knew he didn’t have much longer to go. Every time had seen the doctors, the prognosis had been worse. Their forecast had dropped from decades to years and now was but a few months. And those months would not be good ones.
It was his visit to the Hell-Pit that had killed him. He’d breathed the dense clouds of volcanic dust for over a week without any form of protection and the fine pumice had infiltrated every portion of his lungs. It was too heavy for the normal actions of breathing to expel so it had settled there, irritating the tissues around the particles. The lungs had dealt with the problem their traditional way, by producing mucus. Only, that had been absorbed into the pores of the pumice and what had started as fine dust had quickly set into solid cement. In its simplest, most accurate version, Madeuce was suffocating as his lungs filled with rocks. Just to make matters worse, the pumice agglomerates had sharp edges and were tearing at the delicate tissues around them. The doctors had tried everything they could think of, but it was no use. The damage was too great, and it all went to show that First Life human beings had no real place in Hell and even less in Hell-Pit.
“You all right boss?” His sergeant had real concern in his voice, he recognized the symptoms of asphyxia easily enough. The blue shadows under the eyes and around the lips, the constant heaving for breath, the blue-tinged fingertips.
“Will be soon enough.” Madeuce shook himself. He had this last job to do then he would be out of the Army. Total disability for the few months he had left. Then, things would get better. He’d been quietly contacted by some old friends who knew some other friends who were part of the new Roman Army. There were commissions for those who wanted them, who had talents that the new army needed. And it helped that Jade Kim was Second Consul. Madeuce looked back on his work with her with nostalgic affection even though he knew the fighting there had killed him as surely as a bullet, bomb, or artillery round. She’d remembered him as well and put in some glowing words on his behalf. So, his Second Life as a Tribune in the Legions was set up. He just had to live out his first one.
“Here he comes. That’s Michael-Lan-Yahweh himself. He’s one big sucker isn’t he.” The Sergeant sounded impressed.
“He’ll be one dead sucker soon.” Madeuce coughed again and wiped his lips. It was getting so that even coughing was wearing him out. “He’s opening the portal now. Is the kit getting all the readings?”
“Sure is Boss. And we’re data linking them right out of here, back to DIMO(N) field operations. They’re getting everything we pick up.”
“Right. He’s moving down there. Taking his crap with him.” Madeuce reached down and punched a code into a transmitter box, unlocked a keyed handle then lifted it and twisted it. “Surprise package now activated. It’ll blow in five minutes. Let this be a lesson to the whole team Sergeant, just say no to drugs.”
Down in the palace courtyard, Michael-Lan stopped pulling his cart and looked at Than Shwe with exasperation. The idiotic man was still whining about how Michael had betrayed him and left him to the mercy of the wretched Siamese. While Michael thought he did have some cause to be upset, in the final analysis he had brought all this down on his own head. One of the signs of wisdom was the ability to resist temptation. Michael reached out with his mind and detected the familiar ground he used for his transits to and from Earth. He found it, localized it, and then opened the portal. He waved a cheery farewell to the assembled Myanmar dignitaries and then pulled his cart through the portal to its destination.
It was a remarkably heavy cart. Michael-Lan was using a significant portion of his strength to pull it, even with the electric motor helping him. Once on the other side of the portal, he paused to catch his breath. It was a blessed relief to be away from that wretched Myanmar junta. They’d spent all their time whining at him, instead of shutting up and listening to the wisdom he could impart. Complaint after complaint, accusation after accusation. Nothing but the constant effort to shift the blame to other shoulders. Self-justifying miserable. . ..
Michael-Lan stopped suddenly. It was just as if they had spent all their time justifying themselves. Just as if. ...
He found himself looking at the cart he had pulled through the now-closed portal. It had been incredibly heavy for the load it represented. Neither Number 4 heroin nor methamphetamine pills were that heavy. An idea suddenly came to Michael-Lan, and he shook his head in admiration. “Clever, clever little humans.”
It was the work of a moment to start the motor on the cart and fix its towbar so it would move in a straight line. Then he reopened the portal, pushed the cart through, and closed it again behind the cargo. He wasn’t quite sure what was in there, but he did guess that he wanted to be as far away from it as possible as quickly as possible.
Captain Madeuce and his small team were already beginning to take down their equipment when he saw the portal suddenly reform and the cart loaded with a variety of drugs and a single fifty-kiloton nuclear warhead come rumbling back through it. He dived for the weapons control box, trying to slam his hand down on the emergency abort transmitter built into it. He almost made it.
Human Expeditionary Army, Field Headquarters, Yangon, Myanmar.
“Well, we always knew it was a win-win proposition.” General Petraeus looked at the mushroom cloud boiling over Naypyidaw on the direct feed from the Global Hawk reconnaissance drone. “If it worked, we got rid of Michael but if it didn’t, we got rid of those idiots in Naypyidaw. One of the nice things about governments that insist on putting themselves in remote locations with only their closest supporter for the company makes a clean sweep just that. Nice and clean.”
“We lost Captain Madeuce and his team.” General Asanee was looking at the mushroom cloud as well. With the last remnants of the Myanmar military junta gone, the country could be handed over to a reasonable civilian administration again. There was so much rebuilding to do, it would keep them occupied for decades.
“They got the information through though. Complete readouts on the portal Michael-Lan-Yahweh used to get back to Heaven. The DIMO(N) people are ecstatic, they reckon we can duplicate that portal within days. Then we can get the Army into Heaven and start taking that place apart. We did well here General, let’s hope the battles at Los Angeles and Jerusalem go as well.
B-1C “Spirit of Sheffield”, Over Los Angeles
“We’ve joked about doing this you know. Never thought we would.” Group Captain Martin Winters was keying the GPS coordinates for the 96 GBU-39 bombs nestling in the Spirit of Sheffield’s bomb bay. Behind him, he knew that the weapons systems operator on the second B-1C, Spirit of Detroit was doing the same.
“What, bomb a U.S. City? We had plans for that as well, and we weren’t joking. But then SAC had plans for everything.” Colonel Fitzhubert was an old SAC hand, recalled to the colors along with every other veteran with a pulse and a body temperature greater than ambient. Or so it seemed. “Double and triple-check those coordinates, we’re threading a needle with these things.”
That was an understatement, Winters thought. The bombs had to go down along a thin strip of rough country between the built-up areas on Hacienda Heights and the crowded city of Whittier down in the valley. They were lucky they had small-diameter bombs. He could imagine the chaos that two thousand-pound bombs could cause down there. “Everybody keeping out of our way?”
“You bet. The fighters are hanging back, waiting for us to flush the game. As soon as Uriel bales out of his cover, we’re out of here and they’re in. Guns and missiles blazing. And the two Scalpels of course.”
“How does that look?” The display showed the bright areas of built-up Los Angeles with a red spot indicating the predicted impact point of the bombs. They formed a dense mass, completely blanketing the Turnbull Canyon area. Spirit of Detroit was making her run at almost a 90-degree angle, pounding the area between Hacienda Heights and La Habre. They had a bad job, there were a small number of scattered homes in that area and the chance of people in them surviving was slight.
“Good job. Let’s hope it all works.” Fitzhubert swung the B-1 around and set the bomb-navigation system to make the optimum delivery run. Bombing people had come a long, long way in just a little less than a century. “And how do you like the B-1C?”
“She’s beautiful. Can’t wait until we get our hands on ours.” Winters paused and then spoke awkwardly. “I’d like to thank you guys for her name. On behalf of those who didn’t get out of the city.”
“It seemed right somehow. You know two of the Russian Blackjacks are named For Sheffield and For Detroit?”
Winter nodded. “The cities need to be remembered; it’ll be hard enough rebuilding them in our lifetimes. Ah, here we go.”
Underneath the B-1, the bomb bay doors had opened and the GBU-39s were spilling out in a steady stream.
West of Hacienda Heights, Los Angeles, California.
Uriel sat cross-legged on the ground, his wings folded behind him, every nerve concentrating on transmitting his will to the humans gathered beneath him. They were resisting him, fighting him even more strongly than the humans at Eucalyptus Hills and El Paso had fought him. It was as if the very fact that others had proved fighting was possible inspired these humans to try and outdo the earlier efforts. With almost grim despair, Uriel realized that was precisely what was happening, and its significance was not lost on him. Every city, every target he attacked from now on would fight harder than the last. His brain tiring from the effort just added pathos to Uriel’s sudden realization that Heaven was going to lose this war.
Whether paying attention to his surroundings would have made any difference to Uriel was dubious to put it mildly. The B-1s were flying so high that their sound barely reached the ground anyway and it was lost in the blizzard of noise from the circling fighters and the howling of the sirens in the city below. Uriel was lost in his effort to bring his peace to the humans below and even if he had heard the B-1s high overhead, there was little he could do about it. The bombs were already on the way down.
It was the first ripple of explosions that warned him of the mortal danger he was in. They snapped him out of his trance and broke the concentration of effort he needed to maintain his drive to peace. The bombs exploded several hundred yards to the north of him, their orange flowers looking curiously beautiful in the darkness. As the tide of fire grew nearer to him, Uriel saw something strange and terrible forming, a hideously beautiful silver-blue wall that seemed to devour everything in its path. The sight filled Uriel with terror for as an archangel more deeply associated with death than any other, he knew that the silver-blue wall meant death and it was coming for him. For a brief, terrible second, he thought of the oblivion he had sent so many millions into and he feared it. Worse, he feared that those others might be waiting for him there.
It was that thought that he would have to answer for what he had done to the humans in the name of his peace, that broke the spell. Uriel hurled himself into the air, clawing desperately for altitude, his efforts to bring his peace to the humans forgotten. All he knew was that he had to get away with that deadly silver wall and make a portal through which he would escape. In his heart, Uriel knew that he would never again bring his benison of peace to another human community. Even if he survived this night, the humans had broken his spirit. They’d won.
Harvelles Blues Club, 4th Street, Santa Monica, Los Angeles, California
The earthquake shook the club, rattling glasses behind the bar and sending them shimmying off the tables. For a moment, it looked as if the crowd was going to panic but the club host was on top of the situation. In any case, he had been listening to a police scanner and knew what the shaking really meant.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and other species.” Once again, the joke got an appreciative roar from the crowd. “There is no need to panic. The Air Force had found Uriel and the noise is their aircraft bombing his position on the ground. There are more fighters than we can count overhead and they’ll get him. Oh my, will they get him?”
The host paused, he’d suddenly realized something critically important. He wasn’t having to force himself to breathe, the pressure forcing him to die was gone. “And everybody, the Uriel attack is over. The bombing must have forced him to stop. We’ve won. Everybody, we’ve won. And to celebrate, everybody joins the band.” He spoke quickly and the band nodded gleefully. Then the thumping rhythm started, and the entire audience slammed their hands down in time and echoed the chorus.
“You got mud on yo’ face.
Yo’ a big disgrace.
We’re kickin yo ass all over the place.
We will, we will, rock you.
We will, we will, rock you.”
F-18H Over Los Angeles, California
“There he is! Damn, he’s a big bastard.” Wong pulled his F-18 around in a tight racking curve to bring its nose to bear on the great shape that was leaping into the sky. The monster was at least twice the size of the Greater Harpy Heralds he had killed on the first day of the Salvation War, its massive bulk starkly outlined by the orange-red explosions that swamped the area where it had been hidden just a few seconds before. Wong saw it trying to claw skywards, trying to get away from the jets that were already converging on its position. Uriel tried to face one of the jets and trumpets, but the sound blast was weak and feeble. Probably winded by the blast of the bombs that were still exploding underneath him Wong thought. Then, Uriel seemed to stagger in mid-air as two AIR-120 rockets from an F-15 plowed into him.
That was when Wong saw the one thing that none of the human pilots wanted to. A great black ellipse was forming in the sky ahead of Uriel. The monster was running for it, running to escape the pent-up vengeance that was waiting for him at the hands of the humans. The F-18 suddenly bounded forward as its throttles were firewalled and the afterburners turned raw fuel into thrust. Uriel was lurching in the air, Wong realized that he was already hurt, his flying ability degraded by cumulative injuries. He saw Uriel lose stability in the air as the supersonic shock wave from the F-18s passing hit him and the beast tumbled down before trying to regain a path to the ellipse and safety.
The F-18 was doing almost 900 knots when it went through the ellipse. Wong saw the dark of an Earth night replaced by the clear white light of Heaven, saw the green fields and crystal-clear sky surrounding him, and saw the ellipse behind. He had little time, he skidded his fighter around in a tight curve whose shock waves flattened the crops underneath and sent the humans laboring in the fields flat on their faces. Well, Wong thought at least they’ve learned about supersonic bangs today. Ahead of him, staring at the racing fighter was an angel, a white figure, taller than a human, with great wings folded behind him. Wong couldn’t resist the temptation; the Angel was on a direct line between his aircraft and the portal. It was the work of a split second to dip the nose slightly, thumb the cannon button, then watch the angel fall and disappear in a cloud of dust and explosions as the strafing passed bit home.
Then, white light and green fields were replaced by the darkness of Earth night, a night lit up by the city lights below and the streams of gunfire and the exhaust trails of missiles in the skies above. Wong saw almost instantly that the only reason why Uriel was surviving lay in the sheer numbers of human aircraft that were fighting him. He was alone, he had no allies, no friends, and everything that surrounded him was hostile. The human pilots were having to watch each other, avoid each other’s maneuvers and make sure they didn’t shoot each other down. It was an old story, there had been many such tales in the past, of heroic fights by one against many. They always had the same basic problem at their heart, the way a single fighter alone could use the numbers of enemies surrounding them to survive. But they all ended the same way, one day, the single fighter would run out of luck and die.
Uriel had been heading for the ellipse again when Wong’s F-18 streaked out of it. It was a perfect AIR-120 shot, the angel and the fighter were on a direct collision course, there was no need for deflection, no need for leading the target. Another quick thumb stroke on the firing button and four AIR-120s hurtled from their racks and closed the target. The last one missed, to avoid a collision Wong had had to swerve at the last second, and that had thrown his aim off, but the other three scored direct hits, one up high near Uriel’s chest, the other two low-down in his groin. Wong passed Uriel’s head so close that he could see every detail of his face. For the rest of his life, he would swear that Uriel’s eyes were crossed because of the pain and shock from the two AIR-120 hits to his groin.
He had worse problems than just trying to avoid colliding with Uriel though. Brilliant orange-red streaks passed his cockpit. Tracers, an F-16 was behind him, snapping out short bursts of cannon fire.
“Can it, you damned fool!” Wong screamed in rage.
“Sorry Squid. Saw you come out of the portal, and I thought you were one of them.”
“Bloody Air Farce.” Wong simmered down slightly and swerved his fighter around to line up for another pass. Uriel was still airborne, but he was staggering, trying to trumpet, create a new portal, and emit his killing waves all at once. Shock and injuries were overcoming him, and, in his anguish, he was trying to do everything at the same time, and as a result, he was achieving nothing. He was writhing and flailing in the middle of the mass of fighters that tormented him. Wong felt not the slightest shred of pity for him, and he lined his F-18 up for another pass at the dying archangel.
Presidential Palace, Naypyidaw, Myanmar
Captain Madeuce coughed, the spasms racking his body. The cloth he used to cover his mouth came away stained with dark green mucus, darker, red-gray dirt that was even more ominous than the infection-laden slime, and a spattering of bright red blood. None of it surprised him. The scientific name for what was killing him was Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, the common name was acute silicosis. To Madeuce it was ‘rocks in the chest’ and he knew he didn’t have much longer to go. Every time had seen the doctors, the prognosis had been worse. Their forecast had dropped from decades to years and now was but a few months. And those months would not be good ones.
It was his visit to the Hell-Pit that had killed him. He’d breathed the dense clouds of volcanic dust for over a week without any form of protection and the fine pumice had infiltrated every portion of his lungs. It was too heavy for the normal actions of breathing to expel so it had settled there, irritating the tissues around the particles. The lungs had dealt with the problem their traditional way, by producing mucus. Only, that had been absorbed into the pores of the pumice and what had started as fine dust had quickly set into solid cement. In its simplest, most accurate version, Madeuce was suffocating as his lungs filled with rocks. Just to make matters worse, the pumice agglomerates had sharp edges and were tearing at the delicate tissues around them. The doctors had tried everything they could think of, but it was no use. The damage was too great, and it all went to show that First Life human beings had no real place in Hell and even less in Hell-Pit.
“You all right boss?” His sergeant had real concern in his voice, he recognized the symptoms of asphyxia easily enough. The blue shadows under the eyes and around the lips, the constant heaving for breath, the blue-tinged fingertips.
“Will be soon enough.” Madeuce shook himself. He had this last job to do then he would be out of the Army. Total disability for the few months he had left. Then, things would get better. He’d been quietly contacted by some old friends who knew some other friends who were part of the new Roman Army. There were commissions for those who wanted them, who had talents that the new army needed. And it helped that Jade Kim was Second Consul. Madeuce looked back on his work with her with nostalgic affection even though he knew the fighting there had killed him as surely as a bullet, bomb, or artillery round. She’d remembered him as well and put in some glowing words on his behalf. So, his Second Life as a Tribune in the Legions was set up. He just had to live out his first one.
“Here he comes. That’s Michael-Lan-Yahweh himself. He’s one big sucker isn’t he.” The Sergeant sounded impressed.
“He’ll be one dead sucker soon.” Madeuce coughed again and wiped his lips. It was getting so that even coughing was wearing him out. “He’s opening the portal now. Is the kit getting all the readings?”
“Sure is Boss. And we’re data linking them right out of here, back to DIMO(N) field operations. They’re getting everything we pick up.”
“Right. He’s moving down there. Taking his crap with him.” Madeuce reached down and punched a code into a transmitter box, unlocked a keyed handle then lifted it and twisted it. “Surprise package now activated. It’ll blow in five minutes. Let this be a lesson to the whole team Sergeant, just say no to drugs.”
Down in the palace courtyard, Michael-Lan stopped pulling his cart and looked at Than Shwe with exasperation. The idiotic man was still whining about how Michael had betrayed him and left him to the mercy of the wretched Siamese. While Michael thought he did have some cause to be upset, in the final analysis he had brought all this down on his own head. One of the signs of wisdom was the ability to resist temptation. Michael reached out with his mind and detected the familiar ground he used for his transits to and from Earth. He found it, localized it, and then opened the portal. He waved a cheery farewell to the assembled Myanmar dignitaries and then pulled his cart through the portal to its destination.
It was a remarkably heavy cart. Michael-Lan was using a significant portion of his strength to pull it, even with the electric motor helping him. Once on the other side of the portal, he paused to catch his breath. It was a blessed relief to be away from that wretched Myanmar junta. They’d spent all their time whining at him, instead of shutting up and listening to the wisdom he could impart. Complaint after complaint, accusation after accusation. Nothing but the constant effort to shift the blame to other shoulders. Self-justifying miserable. . ..
Michael-Lan stopped suddenly. It was just as if they had spent all their time justifying themselves. Just as if. ...
He found himself looking at the cart he had pulled through the now-closed portal. It had been incredibly heavy for the load it represented. Neither Number 4 heroin nor methamphetamine pills were that heavy. An idea suddenly came to Michael-Lan, and he shook his head in admiration. “Clever, clever little humans.”
It was the work of a moment to start the motor on the cart and fix its towbar so it would move in a straight line. Then he reopened the portal, pushed the cart through, and closed it again behind the cargo. He wasn’t quite sure what was in there, but he did guess that he wanted to be as far away from it as possible as quickly as possible.
Captain Madeuce and his small team were already beginning to take down their equipment when he saw the portal suddenly reform and the cart loaded with a variety of drugs and a single fifty-kiloton nuclear warhead come rumbling back through it. He dived for the weapons control box, trying to slam his hand down on the emergency abort transmitter built into it. He almost made it.
Human Expeditionary Army, Field Headquarters, Yangon, Myanmar.
“Well, we always knew it was a win-win proposition.” General Petraeus looked at the mushroom cloud boiling over Naypyidaw on the direct feed from the Global Hawk reconnaissance drone. “If it worked, we got rid of Michael but if it didn’t, we got rid of those idiots in Naypyidaw. One of the nice things about governments that insist on putting themselves in remote locations with only their closest supporter for the company makes a clean sweep just that. Nice and clean.”
“We lost Captain Madeuce and his team.” General Asanee was looking at the mushroom cloud as well. With the last remnants of the Myanmar military junta gone, the country could be handed over to a reasonable civilian administration again. There was so much rebuilding to do, it would keep them occupied for decades.
“They got the information through though. Complete readouts on the portal Michael-Lan-Yahweh used to get back to Heaven. The DIMO(N) people are ecstatic, they reckon we can duplicate that portal within days. Then we can get the Army into Heaven and start taking that place apart. We did well here General, let’s hope the battles at Los Angeles and Jerusalem go as well.