The Salvation War 2: Pantheocide

by Slade, Stuart

  “Perhaps the strength of your prayers for Our Holy Father has taken too much energy from you. I have some food prepared, and more water. Would you honor me by taking refreshment before I go back down to the floor.” She went over to a side table and fetched the dishes containing Lemuel's breakfast. It was, of course, his favorite. He drank more water, feeling its coolness soothe the parched tissues of this throat while the hammering in his head started to ease.

  “Go back down to the floor?” Lemuel was confused.

  “I have no patron most noble Ophanim. So, I must go down to the floor of the club and serve those who are down there. If any want me and have the price then I must go with them. Some of them are nice.” Maion shuddered theatrically. “But if I had a patron, then I live in one of the apartments here and serve only him. I would still perform my reverential dances downstairs but would not have to work the floor.”

  Lemuel finished his food and grinned at her. “I think we can fix this. Maion, would you accept me as your patron?”

  “Oh, yes Sire.” Maion's eyes shone with genuine happiness. For the first time in more than a year she could see a way out of the trap she was in. “We must speak to Charmeine-Lan to make the arrangements.”

  “Then let us speak to her without delay.”

  By a “strange coincidence” Charmeine-Lan was just outside their room when Lemuel and Maion left in search of her. Unseen by Lemuel, Maion gave her the high-five success signal and that caused Charmeine-Lan to relax. The scheme had gone off perfectly. “Was Maion satisfactory Most Noble Ophanim?”

  “Very much so. I understand I can become her patron?”

  “That is so, although I must warn you that it is not an inexpensive undertaking. You must pay rent for her new apartment, and an allocation for her living expenses. For that you may visit her any time you please, you may eat in the club without charge and Maion will be reserved for your service alone. She will continue to dance in the club but that will be all. You will also need to give her an allowance so she can keep herself properly.”

  Lemuel nodded. Charmeine-Lan pulled a pad out of her robes and wrote quickly on it. “This will be the amount in question. Maion's allowance will be for the two of you to agree on though.”

  Lemuel looked at the number in shock. His heart had sunk when he had heard Charmeine-Lan listing the things he would have to pay for but the total amount was a small fraction of what he had expected. He could afford it easily and still give Maion a generous allowance. Watching him, Charmeine-Lan carefully his her amusement. The amount she had been told to charge was indeed a small fraction of the usual cost. Michael-Lan had told her the business would eat the difference.

  “Could we see Maion's new apartment please?” Lemuel spoke carefully, this was a major step for him and one he wasn't certain how he could justify to himself. Other than the fact that he was being frozen out by his formal mate and Maion had shown him the first tenderness he had known in months.

  “Certainly, come with me.” Charmeine-Lan took the couple up another flight of stairs. “We have a few apartments vacant. This is a nice one.”

  It was a simple suite of rooms, not so very different from the one in which he had spent the night with Maion. Lemuel looked around with his lower lip pushed out. In contrast, Maion's eyes were shining. “It's lovely Most Noble Ophanim.”

  “Hmm. Charmeine-Lan, is this the best you have?”

  “Well, we do have some better ones, but they're usually for... Well, let me show you one.” She led the couple down the hall and around a corner. “These apartments are much quieter and a little larger.”

  She opened the door and Maion gasped. This suite was much larger and more luxurious. The bare stone walls in the other suite were here covered with semi-precious stone and the furnishings were opulent rather than just comfortable. Charmeine-Lan gave Lemuel another note with the extra cost on it. Again, the amount was small enough to raise his eyebrows. “We'll take this one.”

  Maion dropped to her knees, her wings swept over her head. “Most Noble Ophanim, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Well, you can start by calling me Lemuel.” He patted her on the rump as she ran into her new apartment. “Charmeine-Lan, my work may call me away for unknown periods. So there shall be no misunderstanding, I will pay you for a year in advance. Is that acceptable?”

  “It is indeed. If you like, you can leave Maion-Lan-Lemuel's allowance for the same period with us and we will be sure she gets it on schedule.”

  Lemuel looked at her doubtfully. He could see several objections to that plan. “I will consider your kind offer and return to you on that. Now, I will give you a note of hand for the year's payment and you can reclaim the gold at your convenience.” The money would be drawn from the amount he and Onniel had saved over the years. And if Onniel found out and didn’t like it, she could leave.

  The business completed, Lemuel was about to join Maion in their new apartment when two rolls of thunder swept over the Eternal City.

  The Forum of Indefatigable Exaltation, Eternal City, Heaven.

  “Remember I once told you that humans went in for overkill? Well, this is what I mean.” Michael-Lan waved his hand at the devastation in the market. “First bomb was over there, it panicked people and crowded them into the killing zone of the second bomb here. Standard human tactics. They're good at this sort of thing.”

  “Humans did this? In the Eternal City?” The sudden change from his delight in Maion's company to his horror at the scene of carnage was more than Lemuel could endure.

  “I thought so.” Now the zinger thought Michael. “Only, after the bombing we have started to find these scattered around the City. He held out a crude poster.

  “The search for justice knows no mercy. We demand the release of all the political prisoners seized in recent raids. If our demands are not met, the blood of those who die in future will be on your hands. The League of Divine Justice.”

  “League of Divine Justice?” Lemuel was confused and still in shock. “Who are they?”

  “Not human. Humans would have made reference to ‘the people’ and phrased this differently. The reference to The Divine and the way this is written sounds to me like a group of Angels who are trying to copy humans.”

  “We have another conspiracy?” Lemuel looked even more shocked.

  “We surely do. We've just got rid of one and now we're faced with this. How's the investigation into the other thing you were looking into by the way?”

  Lemuel faked a complete lack of concern. “It's nothing to worry about. The more I look into it, the less there is to be concerned about. Just over-enthusiam, that's all. It doesn't amount to heresy or blasphemy, we might as well not worry about it any more. Compared with this horror... ” Lemuel stepped back as he turned to wave and felt his sandal slide on something. Looking down, he saw it was a part of an angelic wing. He barely avoided vomiting.

  Michael-Lan nodded sympathetically. “Your decision of course, but I think you are absolutely right. This atrocity must take precedence.” Especially since it means that I can now claim credit for the nuclear destruction of Tel Aviv and if anybody argues about it, we can link them straight to this. “We will have to get back to headquarters and see if Salaphael knows anything about this.” If he has any sanity left.

  Chapter Forty Nine

  DIMO(N) Test Facility, Camp Hendrick, Hell

  “Tucker! How are you, what are you doing here?”

  Tucker McElroy swept kitten up in his arms and kissed her before passing her around to the rest of his unit. He followed it by giving Dani a slap on the back that nearly knocked him off his feet. In all, it was a spectacular reunion.

  “We've just finished up our last job for the United States Army and are going back to be discharged. All of us.”

  kitten looked upset at the news. “Why Tucker? We thought you were happy in the Army. Won’t we be seeing you any more?”

  “Sure you will, we'll still be here in Hell and still in an Army,
just not the same one. Look kitten, you're still alive so you won’t really understand how we dead ones feel about things but it's not the same for us. Memories of what Earth and our first lives were like fade away pretty fast. We're been in Hell for almost two years now and what matters to us is what happens here and now. Also, don’t want to sound mercenary about this but, well, the prospects for a country boy getting much further than I have aren’t so good. For a dead country boy, promotion prospects are pretty limited.” McElroy glanced around and saw that Colonel Warhol had studiously made himself absent. “and the truth is, the Army don't really know what they're going to do with us. We can fight and so on better than First Lifers can in Hell but it's not the same thing. Lot of us are beginning to ask why we're fighting for First-Lifers in our territory. It's weird, kitten, but I'm beginning to understand why the Iraqis felt the way they did about Americans coming in. Sure, they saved them from a pretty nasty regime but why did they stay? Why didn’t they just get rid of Saddam Hussein and go?

  “It's the same here, why don’t the First-Lifers just go? This is our place, First-Lifers can't even live here without a whole shitload of technical support. I know there are some things that have to be done, like the rescue effort in The Pit, but for the rest of it? Take the job we've just done. Small group of humans trying to attack the supply convoys taking munitions to the HEA so they could set up their own state. We had to persuade them it wasn't a good idea. Well, we've done that but it just doesn't sit right you know? Anyway, so when our enlistment was up, we took a discharge. We, the whole gang, are off to New Rome. Caesar's hiring all the dead ex-Special Forces people he can find for his new legions.” McElroy broke off and grinned apologetically. “I'm sorry kitten, this has all been building up for some time and I needed somebody sympathetic to unload to. Now, how are you doing and what are you up to?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, McElroy saw Warhol start to drift back towards the group. Standing with her back to him, kitten was oblivious to the approach. “We're trying to turn portal-opening into a proper transportation system. We know that nephelim act as a sort of transponder, picking up my signals and repeating them back to me. Well, the scientists have built a beacon that can do the same thing. So, once those beacons are all over the place, we won’t need Nephelim at all on the receiving end. It'll just be like dialling a telephone number. People'll will come to a transit point here in Hell and then portal back to their desired point on Earth.”

  “Just like the Yulupki Delivery Service, only without the need for Nephelim.” Dani cut in. “And you're wrong Tucker, humans can't just leave Hell now. It's not just the rescue effort although that's a big part of it. There's so much here that we need. Oil, minerals, you name it. And then there's the strategic part. An Army based in Hell dominates Earth, it can land anywhere it wants, go anywhere it wants. It's the ultimate high ground. Also, a lot of First-Lifers don't feel too good about what happened in the Curbstomp War. Have you seen the battlefield along the Phlegethon? Mile after mile of mangled daemon bodies. They tried to stop our tanks with bronze tridents. Hollywood's already making films about that.”

  “As well as new-wave horror films.” Warhol had decided it was time to get the conversation on to safer ground. “Have you seen the advertisements for Hellboy IV? ‘The first horror film made starring *real daemons*.’ That could start a trend you know.”

  “It already has.” Dani grinned at the thought. “Did you hear the ACLU are suing the National Football League.? Apparently the Cubs recruited a couple of daemons for their offense and the other teams objected after they saw a daemon walking to the line with three or four humans hanging on to him. So the NFL made a ruling restricting the game to First-Life humans and the ACLU took umbrage. Called it racial discrimination. Big question here, does The Constitution apply to dead people?”

  “Second-lifers.” McElroy made the point politely but firmly.

  “Second-lifers. Sorry. Anyway, the question remains though and it’s a good one. Ted Kennedy's interview a couple of days ago really raised that question. Can the dead, Second-lifers, vote?”

  “Of course we can. Been doing it in Chicago for years.” McElroy inserted the barb with relish. It was, in his opinion, payback. Dani grinned acknowledgement.

  “And if they can vote, why can't they run for office? Puts a whole new slant on incumbrancy doesn't it? If the dead can hold office, we will literally never get them out. Now that is a truly horrible thought.”

  Training Camp, 1st Mechanized Infantry Battalion (Demonic), Dis, Hell

  “We're doing this the wrong way.” It was Ori speaking but he and Aeneas had discussed the issue at length and come to a satisfactory conclusion. That wasn't surprising since they had started off in almost perfect agreement.

  “What do you mean?” Sergeant Anderson would take any suggestion that offered hope at this point. The plan to produce units of daemonic troops was falling apart.

  “We're trying to make daemons fight using human tactics and methods. We can't do it, nobody can. Their minds are set in a specific configuration by millennia of practice and we simply can’t change that. We have to adapt human strategy and tactics to daemonic abilities, not the other way around.”

  Anderson tapped his fingers on the table. The idea sounded plausible but it ran against the whole concept of the 1st Demonic. That was to produce an army unit that was essentially similar to human forces but with daemonic personnel. One that could fit in with human units.

  “What have you in mind?” His voice was cautious.

  “The problem is that the daemons have no idea of unit coordination or mutual support. In a battle it's every daemon for himself and forget about those left behind. No matter how hard we try, every time we begin an assault, it ends the same way. The daemons do a hell-for-leather charge and then the defenders cut them to pieces. They're getting their minds around concepts like outflanking but covering fire and maneuver are beyond them.”

  “I find that hard to believe.” General Schatten spoke from behind the trio, his approach unseen by any of them. “They've been fighting each other for millennia. They must have evolved concepts like outflanking.”

  “Sir.” Sergeant Anderson had jumped to attention.

  “Relax people. One of you explain to me what these problems are.”

  “It is simply that daemonic units do not and will not cooperate. Aeneas's time lecturing in universities had given him an insight into how to pitch arguments. Yes, they will outflank another unit if they can but setting up an outflanking move is beyond them. It means that one unit does the work of pinning down the target while another gets the glory of defeating it. It's so deeply ingrained in them that they cannot behave any other way. We've tried everything. Short of shackling one unit in place that is. They just won’t do it. It's made worse by the way their old units were structured. They were like our phalanx, once they were committed to a specific direction, they had to go straight forward. Now, we've got them to thin out and we've got them to lay down and shoot and that's all very well but once the signal to advance, its ‘up boys and at'em’ and everything we've taught them goes out the window.”

  “Think of them as armies from the 17th century.” Anderson added, “with tridents instead of pikemen and throwing lightning bolts instead of musket fire. Their traditional tactics were very much the same, they'd try and disrupt the enemy formation with lightning bolts and then close to win battles by the push of the pike.”

  “Not really that dissimilar to how we fought.” Aeneas made the remark casually, unaware of how profound the insight really was.

  “They form ranks, the front rank discharging their tridents and kneeling to recharge while the rank behind steps forward and does the same. Then the next rank does that. And so the whole formation advanced to contact. Then everybody used their tridents as thrusting weapons. That tactical concept really is the whole of their playbook. Or was, until we arrived.” Anderson sighed. “Breaking the habit of a lifetime is hard enough, but when that
lifetime is millennia, there's no chance. We can change the details of how they do things but the grand pattern is too well established to break up. We thought bringing Ori and Aeneas in would help because their tactical background was similar to that of the daemons but it hasn’t. We're losing this battle Sir, we may have to give up on using daemonic units.”

  “Not necessarily.” Ori spoke reflectively. He too had benefitted greatly from the time spent lecturing disbelieving historians on Japanese history.

  “You have an idea?”

  “Not us, specifically, but something we've heard on the wind. Caesar has cracked this problem with his legions.”

  “He would.” Schatten sounded bitter.

  Ori ignored the interjection. “As the stories go, he's mixed humans and daemons in the same units. Daemons are the main body of troops, Second-Life humans run the support forces. Mortars, machine guns, artillery, armor and so on. In defense, the daemons lay down and fire their rifles along with everybody else. That much we've got them to do ourselves. When it comes to attacks, the daemons do the movement bit while the humans provide covering fire and artillery support. A daemonic charge supported by machine gun and artillery fire to pin down the opposition. In daemonic eyes, they're getting all the glory, in human eyes, the daemons are taking the brunt of the casualties. Suits both.”

  “And you want to try the same thing?” Schatten asked.

  “We do. We can't fail any more badly than we're doing at the moment.” Anderson and Aeneas sighed in obvious agreement.

  Schatten nodded. In any effective army, a wise general listened to his senior NCOs. “I expect you'll be receiving orders to that effect shortly. Thank you for your time gentlemen.”

  Conference Room, Yamantau Mountain, Russia