Hell on Earth Trilogy: The Complete Apocalyptic Saga

by Iain Rob Wright

  Tony and his men ran out of petrol just south of Osmaniye. Seeing the roads clogged with traffic and wrecked vehicles, they headed west on foot, until they found a couple of civilians on scooters. It pained Tony to do it, but he threw the young men to the ground and took their vehicles from them. The four soldiers doubled up on the two bikes and took off as fast as they could, dodging around the crawling traffic whenever they could see a gap. Many of the civilians walked barefoot, climbing up buildings or hanging from streetlights. It was a free for all. Everybody wanted to find somewhere safe to dig in. High ground seemed to be most desirable, and people fought to get to the rooftops. They did not understand how little good it would do them when the demons arrived.

  With the underpowered scooters, the journey to Incirlik Air Base took a little over six hours. When they passed through the green pastures and farmland and finally reached the Air Force installation, it was like witnessing a miracle. Planes flew in and out of the runways with amazing regularity, splitting the air with their deafening roars every couple of minutes. American soldiers hurried about, like worker ants, carrying weapons or loading up vehicles. The place was alive.

  Tony was halted at the gate and had to give the names of him and his men, along with their ranks and service numbers. They were British soldiers, not American, which meant it took over thirty minutes for them to get clearance to enter. Once they had, they were warmly welcomed by a United States Air Force Colonel. The officer had unkempt grey sideburns peeking out from beneath his cap, and a fuzzy brown moustache.

  “Colonel Chase,” he said. “A pleasure to meet you fine gentlemen. You told my sentries that you closed a gate. We got word of it yesterday, but we were unsure whether to believe it or not. Is it true?”

  Tony nodded. “It opened in the Syrian Desert, but it’s closed now. How many more are there?”

  The colonel wore a grave expression as he spoke. “Over six-thou of them. It’s bad, Staff Sergeant.”

  “I gathered that. Sounds like we’re pretty much fucked.”

  “If you know how we can close those ungodly gates, then we have a fighting chance at least.”

  So Tony told the colonel what he knew—explaining how Aymun had thrown himself through one of the gates, and that the next thing anybody knew, it was collapsing in on itself like a faulty firework. The colonel remained silent the whole time he listened, expressionless but for the fleeting excited movements of his bushy eyebrows. When Tony finished, the U.S. Air Force Officer let out a long, weary sigh and shook his head. “So, to close the gates, men and women must give their lives? I’ve spent the last decade fighting martyrs and suicide fighters, and now that’s exactly what we need. Lord, if life isn’t ironic.”

  “People are already giving their lives,” Tony remarked. “Every second, by the sounds of things.”

  “That they are, Staff Sergeant, but not voluntarily. I’m not sure there’ll be many queuing up to sign on for such a task.”

  “They won’t,” agreed Tony, “but in the heat of battle, you’ll find your heroes. My men did, and it was a Syrian named Aymun. As long as we spread word of how to close the gates, you’ll be making sure people know what to do when things are hopeless. Aymun died so that the rest of us have a chance to turn things around. There’ll be others like him.”

  The colonel lifted his chin and nodded proudly. “I hope you’re right, Staff Sergeant. I’ll get you and your men back home as soon as I am physically able, but I hope you can appreciate the difficulty that entails at the present moment.”

  Tony waved a hand. “We’ll go wherever we’re most needed. I think home just got a whole lot bigger. Time to stop thinking in terms of boundaries and realise that we’re all in this together.”

  “Men fight for flags better than they fight for their fellow man,” said the colonel.

  “It’s time for a change,” said Tony.

  “Perhaps you’re right—in fact, I hope very much that you are. For now, make yourself comfortable. You and your men are my personal guests, so present yourself to the Administration department as such, and they’ll find you somewhere to rest up. I imagine you’re starving.”

  “Bleedin’ famished, sir.”

  The American colonel looked bemused and let out a hearty chuckle. “You and your lads are safe, for now, Staff Sergeant, so make the most of the rest. I’m sure there’ll be more battles ahead. Let’s hope we can win them.”

  Tony looked back at his three remaining, battle-beaten men and grunted. “Or lose well enough to make the enemy regret winning.”

  “I’ll catch up with you later, Staff Sergeant. I have duties…”

  “We can sort ourselves out. Thank you, Colonel. Get that information spread to every corner of the world. More of those gates get closed, the better.”

  The officer saluted and Tony did the same. Then the American turned on his heel and marched away. Tony joined his men, who were sitting on top of an ammo crate. There was a group of U.S. airmen nearby whispering amongst themselves. Word had already got out that these were the British soldiers who had closed the gate in the Syrian Desert. The Yanks were looking at them like revered war heroes.

  Corporal Rose got up and stood to attention. The two privates followed suit.

  “Stand down, men. I’m not a bloody officer, nor shall I ever be. I’m a squaddie like the three of you and damn proud I am, to have crossed the desert with you lads. We just left Hell lying in our wake. We kicked a bunch of demons’ arses and wiped our boots on their faces—and there’s gunna be a fuck-load more arses need kicking in the days to come, so we need to be ready. The world is at war. Not World War III, but the war that will decide whether mankind finishes its run right here and now, or if it lasts another ten thousand years. Our enemy is terrifying, and worse than anything mankind has ever faced, but we can make it bleed, and we can make it dead. Our enemy is strong, but we are stronger—we are men. Our enemy are demons from the pits of Hell, but we are British soldiers, and we are men. The world needs heroes, and I’m looking at three of the best right now. Don’t lose heart, and don’t think too hard. England is waiting for us, but there’s a war to win first. I will stand beside you in the fight ahead, and I ask that you stand by me.”

  “Fucking aye, ya crazy bastard,” said Corporal Rose. “I’ll follow you straight to Hell if you ask me to, Staffie.”

  The two privates said much the same thing.

  “Good,” said Tony, “then let’s go find out where the Yanks eat their grub and stuff our faces full of their hamburgers. It might be the last good meal we have for a long time. We’ll be dining on our enemy’s blood before long.”

  What Tony didn’t voice out loud was: Either that, or they’ll be dining on ours.

  The four British soldiers crossed the American Air Force base, focused only on their appetites. There would be time enough to worry about the fate of mankind tomorrow, for tomorrow, they would fight again. Tonight, they would rest.

  ~Guy Granger~

  Atlantic Ocean

  The coast of the United States was three hundred miles behind them, and the vast, blue ocean seemed to stretch on for eternity. Guy didn’t know what he would find in England, but there was no doubt in his mind that things would be tough. The U.K. had been hit as badly as America, but its citizens lacked the freedom to bear arms. The citizens of the U.K. would have only their bare hands to defend themselves against the demons. But Alice and Kyle had been with the British Army, as safe as they possibly could be. There was a chance, and a little hope was all a father needed.

  He strode across the launch deck and stood in front of his old friend, Frank. They had covered his body with the Hatchet’s Star Spangled Banner and placed him onto a plastic gurney. He had been positioned at the rear edge of the deck so that he could be slipped off into the sea, where he belonged.

  The men had assembled, a mixture of sailors, civilians, and a handful of children. Guy wasted no time in addressing them. “Men, women, and children, the days past have taken their
toll, and even a piece of our souls. The part of us that was innocent is no more, and our days of peace and pacifism are behind us, replaced by pain and war. You are all a part of something greater than each of us. Each of you represents humanity’s fighting spirit. All of you have survived horrors and faced intolerable nightmares. The human race will survive too, as each of you has survived. This ship is a weapon, and every man and woman aboard it, a warrior ready to wield it. Together, we will strike the enemy down and take back our world. We will make it safe again for our children, and resign this terrible period of history to textbooks and memory. John F. Kennedy once said, ‘Mankind must put an end to war before war puts an end to mankind’ and that has never been truer than now. I trust each and every one of you, and I will die to protect you. You must also be willing to die to protect others. It is not a choice, but a sacred duty. We are a part of mankind’s army, and we will win back peace. While the blood in our veins is warm, humanity will keep on fighting.”

  A brief cheer rippled through the crowd, but Guy halted it with the wave of his hand. “For now, we put to rest a great man; a man who devoted his entire life to serving his country and protecting the innocent. My oldest friend and a man I will always look up to—Chief Petty Officer Frank Theodore Jacobs. I would like to read you all a poem that I know Frank would have liked.” Guy unfolded the piece of paper in his hands and began to read:

  “Sunset and evening star,

  And one clear call for me!

  And may there be no moaning of the bar,

  When I put out to sea,

  But such a tide as moving seems asleep,

  Too full for sound and foam,

  When that which drew from out the boundless deep

  Turns again home.

  Twilight and evening bell,

  And after that the dark!

  And may there be no sadness of farewell,

  When I embark;

  For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place

  The flood may bear me far,

  I hope to see my Pilot face to face

  When I have crost the bar.”

  After a moments silence, Guy directed the men to tip Frank into the sea. He didn’t blink until his old friend had disappeared completely beneath the waves. The reason he shed no tears was because his sadness was propped up by pride—pride to have served with a man as honourable as Chief Petty Officer Frank Jacobs.

  Eventually, Guy headed to the pilothouse where a skeleton crew had remained to keep the ship on course. They all saluted him when he arrived.

  Tosco stood at the console, plotting their course.

  “Are we all set, Lieutenant?”

  Tosco nodded. “The journey should take us about four days, if we keep a decent speed. We’ve fallen too far south to make it any quicker.”

  “Four days is acceptable. I would like it to be four minutes, but I’m realistic. Thank you for joining me, Lieutenant.”

  Tosco chewed his lip as if he wanted to mention something. Eventually, he did. “Do you know what you’ll do when we reach England, Captain? Will you disembark?”

  “I’ll decide when we get there.”

  “I will stay behind. Perhaps, head back home, if we can refuel again.”

  Guy sighed. He didn’t want to have this conversation now, but it wasn’t going to go away. “Let me make one thing clear, Lieutenant. The Hatchet is my ship. If you head home, it will be because I ordered you to, not because you take the ship while I’m off doing other things. When I find Kyle and Alice, I will be bringing them home, so the Hatchet will wait for me to return.”

  Tosco looked embarrassed for a moment, then sniffed loudly and lifted his chin. “I think we both understand this ship is stolen from the U.S. government. Who it belongs to now is a matter of interpretation. I want you to find your children, Captain, but the Hatchet cannot sit around and wait for you. What if you take weeks to return? We all have jobs to do, and do them we must. Helping to rescue your children is a courtesy, not an obligation.”

  “Be very careful, Lieutenant. I made it clear when we embarked that anybody coming along would be expected to help me find Alice and Kyle. Whatever happens afterwards will be my decision.”

  Tosco smirked with all the confidence in the world. “If it comes to a popularity contest, Captain, you’ll lose.”

  “Then let’s not make it one. Just do your job, Lieutenant, and we’ll all get along just fine.”

  “I always do my job, Captain, and will continue to do so.” With that, the disgruntled Lieutenant left the pilothouse, leaving Guy to endure the sideways glances of his men. He was tired of having the same conversation with Tosco, but it would eventually come to a head. When it did, he just hoped he had Alice and Kyle safely in his arms. Then Tosco could do whatever the hell he liked.

  Guy looked out at the Atlantic Ocean and wished he could stretch his arms out across the vastness and touch his children’s cheeks. He longed to hold Kyle and Alice so badly that it hurt his chest. Please let them be alive, he prayed. Just let them be alive.

  ~David Davids~

  Slough, Berkshire

  David sat at Mina’s desk with his laptop open, ready to hit ‘upload’. Corporal Martin just got word from what was left of British Intelligence that somebody destroyed a gate in Syria and stopped the demons pouring through. It was hope. But hope was only as good as the amount you spread it. Closing a gate required a human sacrifice—someone to jump inside and break some kind of cosmic rule that short-circuited the portals. Mitchell posited that a living person could not enter Hell, and whoever had done so in Syria, had been the equivalent of a computer virus, corrupting whatever code kept the gates open. Typical of Mitchell to use such a technical metaphor, but what mattered most was the message—that the gates could be closed. Just so long as a person was prepared to step inside and end their lives. It would take a brave soul to make such a sacrifice, but David had faith that there were heroes out there. It was his job to give the world the opportunity to find them.

  Carol tapped him on the shoulder. “What are you waiting for, David?” She, and everybody else in the office, had gathered in a semi-circle around him, waiting for him to update the new website with all the information they had gained so far. News of refugee operations and safe areas, sightings of enemy armies, and a warning that demons could take human form—like Andras. The main thing they needed to know was how to close the gates. The gates were the demons’ means of reinforcements. Closing them would be vital to gain a foothold in the war.

  “I’m just a little nervous,” David explained, reaching up and adjusting the bandage over his missing eye. The cotton had stuck to his burned face and made him wince every time he moved. “This could be the moment the tides change. We hold the information on how to fight back. It’s… Momentous.”

  “We’re not the only ones who know,” said Martin. “British Intelligence is getting word out wherever it can.”

  David looked at Mitchell. “How many subscribers does the website have?”

  “Ninety-three thousand.”

  David nodded. “Enough to make a difference. Our entire careers have been about giving people the news, letting them know what they need to. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m about to achieve that goal.”

  “Just press send, you daft apeth,” Carol urged.

  David clicked the mouse and uploaded the website. Then he sat back and sighed. “It’s done.”

  There was silence in the room, and nothing happened. They hadn’t expected anything right away. The amount of comments on the website had been tapering even before Andras had deleted it, but there were still thousands of subscribers who were paying attention. Hopefully, some of them would make use of the information.

  David glanced around the room until he located whom he wanted. “Corporal Martin, let me know the moment we receive word of any more gates closing. We need to pray that the one in Syria was not a fluke. We need to pray that people fight back.”

  Martin nodded and
got to work. Carol went back to giving orders, and David just sat there at Mina’s desk. He had just finished what she had started. He was proud of the work they’d done together. We did it, Mina. We got something useful and sent it out, just like you wanted.

  Little Alice wandered over to him a couple of minutes later, carrying a mug of tea. She gave it to him, and he took a sip through his ruined lips; it was much stronger than before. “You’re getting very good at making tea, Alice. You were very brave yesterday, when you helped me fight Andras.”

  She nodded, looked afraid, yet brave at the same time. “He was one of them, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes, he was. You did the right thing. You could have run away, but instead, you fought. If all people are as brave as you, we’ll be okay.”

  “Kyle didn’t run. He fought.”

  David sighed and put his arm around the girl. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to know the lad better. I think I would have liked him.”

  “Mom and dad will be upset when they find out.”

  “They still have you, and for that, they will be grateful, trust me. Is Corporal Martin still trying to reach them?”

  “I think he’s busy.”

  “Well, I’m sure your mummy and daddy are waiting to hear from you. We’ll try them again soon.”

  Alice looked at him like she didn’t believe it, but she trotted away obediently. Of all the tragedy David had witnessed, seeing that little girl lost in a foreign country and watching her brother die was the saddest. He would do whatever he could to see her reunited with someone who loved her.

  For now, he left his seat and headed out of the office. He had something to attend to, and was very much looking forward to it. His face was a ruined mess, and he had witnessed the death of thousands—the man he had once been was gone, and it was time to do what was needed.

  Andras was still tied up when David entered the storage closet outside in the waiting area. Cleaning supplies and an old floor buffer had filled it previously, but now, it made the perfect cell for a paralysed demon.