The Salvation War 2: Pantheocide

by Slade, Stuart

  “What was that, Minister?”

  “They built the command complex in the mountain. They should have built it under the mountain. That’s what we did, there are 6,000 feet of quartz-laced granite on top of our national emergency command post. And even now, our engineers feel the urge to dig still deeper.”

  The car turned off the main road on to a side-track that seemed little more than a logging trail. It wound through the trees into a fold in the mountain where the snow drifted high against the rock walls that towered high on either side. Ahead of them was an entrance, for all the world looking like that of an old-fashioned mine. Obama didn’t notice how the fold in the ground curved around so that any blastwave travelling down the valley wouldn’t impact directly on the entrance. He did note that, once inside, massive blast doors closed behind him. The S-shaped curves continued inside the mountain, each one designed to mitigate the effects of a near-miss from the most powerful nuclear weapons in the American arsenal. There was only one way to destroy this massive underground fortress and that was to make repeated passes, each dropping a nuclear weapon into the crater from the one before. It was that job that had once been assigned to the B-52s and then to the B-2s.

  Obama left his limousine and was escorted to the elevators that led down into the bowels of the mountain. Even here, the paths were not direct, one elevator would take them part of the way, then there would be more S-curves before another took them further down. Eventually, the lifts and corridors ended in the lowest, safest levels of the complex.

  “Welcome Mister President. This is your first visit to Yamantau I believe.”

  The conference room had a table, a circular one, that occupied most of the floor. There were 15 seats around the table, one for each member of the council. Fourteen were identical, the 15th was subtly larger and more imposing. Obama had already been briefed on that, in this room, the Chairman of the Council was just the first amongst equals. Nations had gained their place in this room in one of two ways. Either they had the military and economic power to demand it or they had simply been in the right place at the right time to earn it. The United States, Russia, China, Great Britain, France, Germany, Australia, Japan, India, Iran, Israel, Brazil, Italy, Thailand and Singapore. The countries that had been in the fight since the beginning and had scored the first kills against humanity’s enemy. There was one great advantage of this council, since it met in secret and its existence was largely unknown, its membership was free of politics. Mostly.

  Vladimir Putin spoke from the Chairman’s seat. With the departure of George Bush, he was the most obvious candidate to take over the Chairmanship. The blood shed by the Russian Army along the Phlegethon River saw to that.

  “First order of business. The angels. What do we know of them?”

  At a side table, Doctor Surlethe stood up. The United States might no longer be Chairman here, but the country still overwhelmingly dominated the research and development effort and, of course, General Petraeus still commanded the Expeditionary Army. That made the American position still dominant.

  “We have autopsied the Angels killed in the Anthrax attack on our Nephilim. The Angels have similarities with both us and with the Baldricks, enough to suggest that at one time we had a common ancestor. The Angels are much more humanoid than the Baldricks, they look human, they have human features, they lack the weird and surreal mutations of the Baldricks. They do, however, have the battery of electrocytes that distinguish the Baldricks and can generate bioelectricity in much the same way. There are notable differences between Angel and Baldrick though. The most obvious is that Angels are white, most Baldricks black. Angels have feathered wings like birds, Baldricks scaled leathery wings like bats. Angel blood is white or silver, Baldrick blood can be any one of a dozen colors, except white.”

  Doctor Surlethe spoke for about twenty minutes describing the anatomical and other lessons that had been learned to date. Eventually, he got around to the subject of weapons. “It appears that Angels cannot throw lightning bolts, we don’t know why. They have a sound weapon, at first we thought it was a sound beam but we’re rethinking that. However, it is a sound pulse of some sort, in the air battle of Khabarovsk, an Su-35 actually outran it.”

  “Do we have any concept of how this weapon works? Is it a threat.” The Indian Prime Minister spoke with a beautifully precise intonation.

  “It is yes, precisely because we don’t know how it works. It caught our pilots by surprise, they’d got over-confident flying against the Baldrick Harpies that were virtually defenseless against them. I understand they’re evolving tactics to cope with the situation as we speak. But this brings us to a very important point. Let me show you a film. This comes from some experiments we performed here on Earth. We took one of Belial’s best tridents and copied it, then hooked it to one of our generators. The idea was to generate a super-bolt. Could have all sorts of uses. Watch what happened.”

  One of the great screens flared into life and showed what looked like a Baldrick trident being charged up by a generator. The contacts were closed but instead of a bolt arcing downrange, the charge short-circuited to the ground.

  “You see that? We can’t get an earth-made trident to fire a bolt, they arc to earth every time. Oh, by the way, guns made in hell work perfectly. This is a very important conclusion that we are impressing on our people. We used to think that the theories and laws of science that existed here on Earth are universal, well the tridents show quite simply that they are not. They are similar, very similar indeed, but they are not the same. Build a trident in Hell, power it by electricity made in Hell and it throws a bolt for up to two miles. Build a trident on Earth, power it with electricity made on Earth and it arcs to ground within a few inches. We now believe that the rules of physics here on Earth and the subtly different rules in Hell are both special cases of a general rule that sits above them. It is by understanding science in Hell and science on Earth that we can comprehend those differences and quantify them. By doing that, we can understand the general rules that previously we have only seen as our own special cases.”

  A patter of applause from fifteen Presidents and Prime Ministers followed the presentation. Putin tapped the table in front of him and smiled benignly at the conference. “Now, we come to the next point of the agenda. How do we blow Heaven up?

  Chapter Ten

  Suwon Palace, North Korea, April 2009

  “You know, that haircut is absolutely ridiculous.” Gabriel-Lan leaned back and looked at the figure sharing the room with him. He was used to the fact that he towered over humans but the difference was even more marked when he was dealing with this particular man who measured only five foot two. In fact, he looked a lot less than that now and the ludicrous hairstyle he had affected in earlier years had been replaced by a thinning, gray brush-cut. The man's body seemed to have caved in on itself, he was thin and stooped over, lines of age prominent in the shrunken mask that was his face.

  Around them, Kim Jong-Il's bodyguards bristled at the insult but they dared not move. Any other person who had made a remark like that would have been arrested on the spot and sent to a prison camp for a prolonged and gruelling execution. The guards had more sense than to try the same on Gabriel-Lan, the personal messenger of Yahweh. Kim Jong-Il's face was impassive as the insult registered, he also knew better than to argue with the great white figure before him. Still, he consoled himself with the knowledge that the benefits of dealing with these creatures far outweighed the annoyance of their supercilious arrogance.

  Gabriel-Lan might have looked sleepy, and being honest with himself, he was still hung over from his activities the night before in the Montmartre Club. That same wealth of excesses combined with the attentions of Mistress Lailah had left him slightly reluctant to sit down but duty required him to carry out the messages. Also, he was well aware that humans were dangerous. Satan had forgotten that and now he was dead, along with Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Deumos. Abigor was little more than the human's puppet while Dagon
was even less than that. Taking humans lightly was something that put an entirely new definition on the word ‘unwise’. He saw Kim Jong-Il's two female companions, one allegedly a nurse, the other certainly a female doctor, move forward carefully and quickly check on their patient. Looking at him, Gabriel-Lan came to the conclusion that Kim Jong-Il would be joining his father very shortly. One way or another.

  “Have you considered that a great window of opportunity opens before you?” Gabriel-Lan tried to put some enthusiasm into his voice. “The human armies are tied down in Hell, trying to bring peace to the lands they have conquered there. They cannot be withdrawn easily and their operations have left humans weak everywhere else. Especially south of the border. An assault now, aimed at reunifying Korea under your leadership would be exploiting this moment of weakness to best advantage.”

  “Much of the armor stationed in the South has indeed been withdrawn.” Kim's voice was as weak as his appearance suggested it might be. “But the border fortifications remain. And the Americans...”

  “The Americans are tied down in Hell, trying to pacify their occupation zone. And they have expanded their army so fast, their corps of leadership is spread very thin. Their army is but a shadow of what it once was.” And even that shadow is enough to roll over anything that gets in its way Gabriel-Lan added the thought silently to himself even as he repeated the words that Michael-Lan had given him. His official title might be The Messenger of The One Above All but Gabriel-Lan believed it was Michael who best understood the new universe that was exploding into existence around them. He'd warned the Nameless One, the Lord and God of all that starting this war with humans was foolish and could only lead to disaster, but Yahweh had been adamant. They had dared to question his words and for they he was bound and determined to deliver them to Hell. Only, it hadn't ended that way, the attempt to deliver humans up to Satan had instead delivered Satan up to the humans.

  Away from The Ultimate Temple, away from Yahweh's obsession with forcing absolute obedience and unqualified adoration from the humans, Michael-Lan had explained his strategy to Gabriel and impressed upon him the vital necessity of this mission. “If we fight the humans, head-to-head, we will lose.” Michael-Lan had almost become impassioned at that point. “They have advanced so far, so fast, their armies are invincible. At best we can bloody them but the more we win against them, the worse will be our defeat in the end. There is but one force that can destroy a human army and that is another army of humans. If we can prevent them from assaulting us in Heaven and fight them with another human army on Earth, then we might survive this war that Yah-yah has forced on us.”

  The memory of Michael-Lan's blasphemous corruption of Lord and God of All's name jerked Gabriel-Lan out of his reverie. Kim Jong-Il was still wittering on about the strength of the border fortifications and the danger that the Americans might intervene. Gabriel cut him off sharply. “It is truly said that it is the emptiest of vessels that make most noise. You have a reputation, Kim Jong-Il but you know what reputations are? Words and rumors. You are great with your words and make many speeches but they mean nothing. What matters now are deeds and where deeds are concerned yours are conspicuous by their absence. Perhaps it is time for your father to return to his homeland and for the Great Leader to show the Dear Leader what deeds are.”

  “But Great Leader is dead.”

  “So? When did that make any difference?” Gabriel-Lan reflected that Kim Il-Sung actually looked a lot better than his son did. Given their present states, Kim Il-Sung could actually be mistaken for Kim Jong-Il's son rather than his father. “And, anyway, you of all people should know that he is dead. By the way, he wants an explanation as to why you puffed him in the face with that cyanide spray. If you are unprepared to take action, perhaps we should allow him to return and demand that explanation. After all, he is the “Eternal President” of this benighted country. Perhaps he should take up the reins again.”

  “No.” Kim Jong-Il was almost panic-stricken. “You are right, the time has come for the Great Reunification Effort. We will get ready for it at once.”

  Gabriel-Lan rose to his feet and shook his wings to ease the cramps brought on by the confined room. “That is good news. I will watch your preparations with interest.” He left the room, leaving consternation behind him. As he did, he made a quick time calculation. If he got a move on, he would be back in time for another appointment with Mistress Lailah.

  Main Command Building, Naypyidaw, Myanmar

  “An impressive consignment. Your people have done well.” Michael-Lan checked the cargo manifest off with pleasure. Heroin number three and number four, raw opium, methamphetamines, ecstasy, DOM, it was all there in more than adequate quantities. Generous even, the supplies would restock his dwindling stash nicely.

  “We are pleased to supply our ally's needs.” Secretary-General Myint Oo addressed Michael-Lan as an equal which irked the Archangel greatly although he concealed his feelings behind a friendly smile. “We have established new factories for the synthetic products and driven our rivals for the heroin supplies out of business. We can increase supplies still further if you wish.”

  “That would be most acceptable.” Michael-Lan paused for a second. “Can you supply cannabis as well?”

  “Of course. For a price.” Myint Oo gave Michael the reminder gently but firmly.

  “Of course.” Michael-Lan fished out a bag and handed it over. “These should cover this shipment I think.”

  The bag was full of precious stones, diamonds, emeralds, rubies and sapphires. Myint Oo ran them through his fingers, extracting a few of the better stones for his own supply as he did so. The jewels were supposed to go to Myanmar's ruling junta where they would be exported as if they were products of Myanmar's precious stones industry and the proceeds into the junta member's bank accounts. It was a good deal, Michael-Lan got most of the drugs he needed for his purposes while the Generals in Mynamar lined their retirement accounts. Only one General had argued with the arrangement and he was now in Insein prison on a charge of corruption. That had amused Michael-Lan greatly, to accuse somebody of corruption in Myanmar was rather like accusing water of being wet.

  “There is another matter.” Michael-Lan spoke carefully. “Has it occurred to you that the Thai Army on the border is now weaker than it has been for many, many years?”

  “It has.” Myint Oo spoke equally carefully. “Their armored division and both cavalry divisions have gone to join the armies fighting in hell. That means their strategic reserve has been depleted and their defense rests upon their infantry divisions alone. Many of those are in the cities to protect against attacks from daemons.”

  “Does this not tempt you?”

  Myint Oo dropped his voice. There was no need to but the subject of the conversation seemed to demand it. “It might allow us to redress the wrongs done to us in history.”

  Oh, you little humans are wonderful. You can reach back into your past and find an excuse for anything. Even if you have to invent it. “If your government needs support, financial support, for such redress, there are many more where these came from. Perhaps the time has come for the redress you need.”

  “Perhaps. It is an idea that has much favor.” Myint Oo looked sunwards and then at the black ellipse that hovered a few feet away. “Michael-Lan, we have a small gift for you.”

  Michael-Lan hid his surprise with the same care as he had hidden his earlier irritation. “A gift?”

  Myint Oo waved and some workers brought over a flat-bed carriage that made a whining noise. “An electrically-powered trolley. It will make it much easier for you to take your supplies to the other side of... that.”

  Michael-Lan was genuinely touched by the consideration. “That is very kind of you. Thank you so much. And good luck with your redress of historical wrongs.” Whistling happily, he pulled down on the handle of the trolley and felt the electric motors in the wheels boost his effort. Then, with a cheerful wave, he pulled his cargo of street-corner pharma
ceuticals through the portal back to Heaven.

  USS Turner Joy, Returning From Hell Deployment

  “Bell-bottomed trousers, coat of Navy Blue,

  She loved a sailor and he loved her too.”

  Sophia Metaxas laughed as the chorus faded away, lost underneath the whine of the turbines and the roar of the destroyer's main gearing. The old destroyer had served for almost six months in Hell and was the worse for wear because of it although, oddly, she'd weathered better than some of the more modern ships. Greater tolerances in her construction probably had a lot to do with that. She'd pulled her weight as well, her three five inch guns had made short work of some local baldrick who had tried to buck Abigor's surrender order.

  Lieutenant Travis checked his instruments then looked rather hopeful. “We should be back in Norfolk by seventeen-thirty. We're entering the approach channels now.”

  Senior Chief Robert ‘Bob” Gaussington was looking at his engine instrumentation with an increasingly worried expression on his face. He picked up the telephone and got through to the bridge. “Commander Reynolds? We've got a problem down here. We're getting some bad readings on the water flow down here. Much more of this and we'll have problems keeping steam pressure up in the engines.”