by Stuart Slade
Each Baldrick in the line had lifted his hand, indicating his weapon was ready. “All right, in your own time, aim and fire.”
Even through Anderson’s ear protectors, the crash of the rifles was painful. The Baldricks didn’t seem to notice and their big bodies absorbed the brutal recoil without problems. That was one of the things that had made Anderson uneasy, at six foot five, he was a big man and he wasn’t used to looking up at people who towered over him. He lifted his binoculars and looked carefully at the targets. Of the nine Baldricks in the unit, eight had put their shots inside the six-ring, one had even put his in the black. A big, really big, improvement. One shot seemed to have missed the target completely.
“Hunkhalaphinarexes! You closed your eyes again!” A groan went along the line of Baldricks, unit cohesion was building up and the failure of this one Baldrick was taken by them all as a reflection on their own ability. “Try again. Load up.” Anderson walked over to him and squatted on the ground. “You must keep your eyes open when you fire. Otherwise you’ll wander off-target. Now try again.”
The Baldricks watching were keenly aware that, in the old days, a recruit who fouled up this badly when firing his trident would have suffered a gruesome few days of imaginatively brutal torture. Hunkhalaphinarexes took a deep breath, forced himself to freeze his eyes open, and squeezed the trigger in the approved manner. The shot ripped a hole in the target, three o’clock in the eight-ring.
“Not bad at all Hunky, not bad. We’ll make a soldier of you yet. All right, fire ten round at your target, in your own time. Try and get a good, tight group. Remember, doing things right is what we want, doing it fast comes later.”
Anderson walked over to the unit’s carrier and climbed in the back. It was a highly modified version of the old M-113 with an extra roadwheel each side and new hull that had an open crew compartment in the back. Crew of nine, commander, driver and gunner with six dismount infantry. The gunner had a. 50 caliber machine gun mounted on the forward edge of the fighting compartment. The forward compartment had space for the driver and commander, the latter having a radio. Anderson picked the speaker up and patched through to his platoon command.
“One-Delta-Alpha Actual here. We’re finishing up on the range now. We’re coming back in about thirty minutes. The boys will need feeding.”
“Copy that Alpha-Actual, we’ll butcher a food-beast for them. How are they doing?”
“As well as can be expected. For recruits with so much to unlearn.” Anderson sighed gently, it was only a few months before he’d been in a nursing home, remembering his years of military service while marking time, waiting to die. Then, there had been the day he hadn’t woken up in his room but in the recovery ward on the Phelan Plain and the interview with the placement officers who had been waiting for him. One mention of the fact he’d spent thirty years training recruits for Her Majesty’s Army and he’d been found this job. The odd thing was, he was rather enjoying it and the memories of his life on Earth were becoming remote. Not fading, if he made the effort they were as clear as they had ever been, but he just didn’t think of them so much. His life was here now. “Hey Mitch, do me a favor, pick out a good-looking food-beast for my boys right, they’ve worked hard today.”
Chapter Twelve
Outside CBS Studios, New York, NY, May 2009
“I see your show got renewed.” Colonel Paschal looked around the inside of the stretched Hummer limousine. It wasn’t often that one saw limousines like this anymore, not with gas and diesel fuel being rationed the way it was. But, he guessed, his companion was a television star so the studio had certainly made some special arrangements somehow. Anyway, she needed a larger-than-normal vehicle.
“I was not surprised, given my audience ratings over the first run.” Lugasharmanaska settled back in her seat and poured herself a goblet of champagne from the bar in the rear of her Hummer. Paschal caught her yellow eyes looking sideways at him and guessed that she was already trying to work out what he wanted with her and to turn it to her own advantage. He also wondered if the CBS management had been fully aware of how effective her pheromones could be in a confined space. DIMO(N) was still failing to find a counter to their effect, the best that could be done was for anybody dealing with a succubus to be fully aware of the dangers and be on their guard. It didn’t always work.
Still, it might be that he was being unkind to her, ‘Tonight With Luga’ was the country’s top-rated evening chat show. Most of the country remembered fondly how she had boxed Bernie Madoff into a corner and he’d tried to bluff his way out by claiming she would have done the same in his position. Her reply, “Of course, but I’m a daemon from Hell, I’m supposed to be the epitome of evil. What’s your excuse?” had even caused the camera operators and stage crew to break out into howls of laughter. Paschal caught another sideways glance from her eyes and reminded himself that she hadn’t changed. She’d got a veneer of sophistication and style now, and her clothing sense had improved dramatically but she was still the same succubus who’d tried to play everybody around her. And was still doing so.
“You’re on four months hiatus I believe? Going to take a trip back to Hell?”
Lugasharmanaska shook her head. “I didn’t make many friends back home when I sided with humans.”
“You know Deumos is dead? She died of her injuries during the assassination of Satan. Brain got squeezed inside out and the exhaust from the missiles fried her.”
“I know that.” Lugasharmanaska more than knew it, she was intimately involved in the power plays that were going on between the various factions that were maneuvering to replace the late and not at all lamented Deumos. Not as a candidate of course, she had far too enjoyable a position here on Earth and being on the side of the humans brought with it many benefits. One of them was that each of the factions that did want to provide the Succubae with their new queen believed that she had great influence over the humans and could swing their support to her desired candidate. That was why she didn’t wish to visit Hell, if she did, the fact that her possession of any such power was a delusion would become all too obvious. As it was, they were competing with each other to offer her the most tempting considerations and privileges. It was, she had decided, much more profitable and much safer to be a Queen-Maker than a Queen. Anyway, she had her audience to think of.
“So, what plans do you have for the next four months?”
“I’m going to be resting.”
Paschal snorted with laughter. Lugasharmanaska was picking up the habits and traditions of show-business with slightly terrifying speed. If she carried on this way, she’d be addressing everybody as ‘darling’ soon. “In other words, you have no commitments and nothing substantial to do. Well, I can fix that. How would you like to return to DIMO(N) for a few months, help us out with giving Yahweh the same treatment we handed out to Satan?”
“How much, and do I get a percentage of the gross?”
Yup, thought Paschal, our Luga has been in show business too long already. “Voluntary service and no percentage I fear. Although your fans will be ecstatic to hear you’ve volunteered your service to help the war effort. Again.”
She studied his face carefully while the options ran themselves though her mind. The focus groups had pinned down her one drawback as an star was the doubts people had over her final loyalties. This was, Luga thought, unfair. She didn’t have any final loyalties. But, giving up her time on hiatus to help the human war effort would convince the dubious that she was indeed on their side.
“As long as volunteering gets me on the news. What do you want me to do?”
“We’re getting a battering from Yahweh. We’re taking losses, nothing we can’t afford but irritating nonetheless. The problem is, we can’t get back at him. Over the last six months, every possible way we can get to Heaven has been methodically closed down. So we’re pulling in every asset we can get our hands on to change that. And you, Luga, are one of them.”
She nodded. One thought run
ning through her mind was that The Eternal City was effectively a mass of precious stones and looting it would make her a fortune. Another was that poking Yahweh in the eye was always worthwhile. And if it increased the debts that humans owed to her, well, so much the better. “Right, I will rephrase my answer, what do you need to know?”
“Essentially, everything you can tell us about the Great Celestial War, how it was fought, where the fighting took place, how Heaven and Hell managed to get at each other. More than that, what sort of weaponry Yahweh brought to the party.”
“I can answer some of that right here. To get directly from Heaven to Hell or the other way is very hard indeed. It takes much effort and cooperation from both ends. There were very few such links and only one survived the war. Heavengate. Why don’t you use that?”
“It’s been closed.”
“Very sensible of Yahweh, or, I suspect, Michaellanyahweh.” Luga pronounced Michael’s name daemon-style, running all the parts into a single word. “Michael is Yahweh’s general. But weapons? Nothing compared to yours. He has his beasts of course and they are terrible to behold but compared to your tanks and aircraft?” Luga snorted with laughter.
Paschal thought that her laughter had a most engaging quality to it, then cudgeled himself over the head. Damn it, those pheromones were dangerous and the confines of a limousine were perfect for them to develop their effects. He swallowed, got a grip on himself, and continued. “That’s a good start. Anyway, our experts will need to speak with you.”
“Why do you not ask Abigor? He fought in that war, one of Satan’s best Generals. Or Belial, who was one of his worst.”
“We have no idea where Belial is. Anyway, we never rely on a single source.”
“Very wise.” So the humans haven’t found Belial yet? Very interesting. “Driver, take us to my apartment.”
Desert, South of Ciudad Juarez, Mexico. May 2009
“Does The One Above All know what He is asking?”
I don’t think ‘asking’ is quite accurate, thought Michael-Lan, screaming demands and issuing blood-curdling threats in almost incoherent rage would be a little more accurate. “Is there anything that is beyond the knowledge of The All-Seeing Father? Yes, He does know what He asks but there is no alternative. It is the Americans who are the center of the resistance to His Divine Will and it is they who must be made to suffer for their disobedience. The city close to here will be a suitable target I think. It is on the border so it should be easy prey for you.” It is also in Texas, whose state motto is ‘Shoot first, keep shooting, shoot some more and if anybody is left standing, ask some questions’. You’re in for an interesting time Uriel-Lan-Yahweh.
“There is no easy prey in this world Michael-Lan. There hasn’t been for many years but now things are much, much worse. Everywhere I go, humans scan the skies with their machines, if they see anything suspect, they send up their aircraft to investigate. Since the war started, every time they see something, they fire their missiles as well. Even the poorest and least of their countries have them now. And they have something else, something I do not understand. I have seen only hints of it but it is beyond my understanding.”
Michael-Lan nodded sympathetically. “Humans love their machines. Some of them even give them their own names and speak to them as if they are alive. Mexico is much poorer than America, come in from the south and the door should be open to you.”
“There is something else. Once, all I had to do was to will it and the humans died. No matter where, no matter when, they died without effort on my part. Now, it takes all my strength to snuff them out and even then, many survive. The animals of every kind die but the humans do not, not all of them. Since this war started, my task has become harder with every day that passes. Their aircraft are worst of all, once I could still the lives of the pilot and the aircraft would fall from the sky.” Uriel paused, remembering the times when he had seized upon one of the great passenger aircraft the humans used and snuffed out the lives of its crew leaving the aircraft to crash. To do the same to the human fighter aircraft had often been harder but now was virtually impossible. He had used all his strength and the effect had been beneath notice.
Michael-Lan frowned mightily. “Uriel-Lan-Yahweh, do you doubt the wisdom of The One Above All?”
Uriel stepped back in sheer shock at the accusation. “Never!”
“I am pleased to hear it. You are the Fire and Sword of The Most High, his most trusted servant and the bringer of wrath upon his enemies. The All-Seeing Father would be most disturbed if he was to hear that you believed there were humans who were beyond his reach. You can say that again, and hear it he will.
“You may tell The One Above All that tonight, Uriel will extinguish the city of El Paso.” Uriel drew himself up in a mixture or pride and offended dignity.
“I shall. Now, I must leave, I have business in the south.” Picking up a consignment of cocaine and some of those exquisite mushrooms. But no need for you to know that. Michael-Lan gathered his wings, inflated his sacs and took off, leaving Uriel staring after him.
2nd Battery, 365th Air Defense Battalion, El Paso, Texas. May 2009
“Sarge, we’ve got a bandit on the radar.”
“Sure it’s not civilian?” There was no need to ask whether it was military or not, there was no identification friend-or-foe system response and all military aircraft had such equipment. Of course, it could be on the fritz but that would then be a problem to sort out later. Better a blue-on-blue kill than a sky-volcano opening up over El Paso.
“If it is, its way out of the safe lanes. Could be a druggie chancing his luck of course.” Every airport was surrounded by safe lanes that civilian aircraft had, on pain of being shot out of the sky, use. Early on, a few pilots had chanced their arm and strayed out of those lanes only to have terminal arguments with missiles or fighters. The first resulting court case had gone to the Supreme Court in record time, where the Justices had ruled that responsibility for the shoot-downs lay with the pilots who had been flying in prohibited areas. Now, the only humans who flew in such areas were smugglers or the terminally stupid. The other alternatives were Baldricks or Angels and nobody objected to shooting them on sight.
“Air Force confirming. An AWACS has the contact as well, they read it coming in from the south, heading almost exactly due north. Speed 180 knots, altitude 7,500 feet.”
“Any word from the DIMO(N) net?” The land-lines were already opening up fast, they did every time something showed up somewhere it shouldn’t. Nobody could forget Detroit and the fifty thousand people who had died there. For a reason nobody could quite understand, the first sign that a portal was about to be opened was that cell phone reception went crazy. Monitoring the disruptions to service gave a warning to those beneath that something dreadful was about to happen.
“The DIMO(N) net reports no towers out, dropped frame rate is nominal. There’s no portal forming out there.”
“Confirm data. That makes it either a civilian bird way off course or a hostile flying in.” Corporal Baughn re-read the data from the displays. “It’s on a direct course for El Paso, or Ciudad Juarez, take your pick. I class this one has hostile.”
The battery commander glanced at the displays. “Confirm that. If it isn’t, he’s too dumb to live. Within range?”
“Sure, those are PAC-3s out there.”
“Get ready to fire.” There was a pause. “Hold one, the Air Farce are vectoring two F-16s in.”
“Trust the fly-boys to muscle in.”
“Not so fast. The fighters will be a decoy, they’ll herd him over us and distract him. Then, when the time is right, we’ll stick four PAC-3s up him and he’ll never know they were there.”
“Works for me.”
Over the Desert, South of Ciudad Juarez, Mexico. May 2009
Uriel glided silently through the darkness, savoring the signs of life that came from the bustling city beneath him. If he had his way, he would stay this far south, the city was a fat target a
nd even the human’s new-found resistance to his touch couldn’t save them from a savage death toll. But, he had his orders from The One Above All and they were not to be disputed. He would have to go further north, to the American city that lay beyond the river. It was easy to see where the divisor was; both cities were brightly lit but the part north of the river was almost garish in its multitude of lights and colors.
There was another reason why Uriel knew he was heading further north than he had been for many years. His skin was itching madly and it got worse by the minute. Somehow, the humans knew he was here and were already preparing one of their explosive welcomes for him. He sent out the first gentle touch of his mind, gauging reaction and response rather than actively trying to snuff out the existences of those beneath him. As he had expected, the resistance was there, it varied in its effects from a hindrance to a complete block, but it was there. It was time to conduct his attack.
Uriel concentrated and focused his mind on the northern part of the great sea of light underneath him. His touch was rejected, blocked, neutralized. He concentrated his willpower, pouring energy from his body into the attack, sending out great waves of his touch to blanket the ground beneath. In the part of his mind not conducting the onslaught, he visualized what must be happening on the ground below, the people simply dying as they stood or walked, slumping to the ground, their lives extinguished as if they had never been. His great wings in exultation as the power of his touch lapped the ground below. The resistance was still there, greater than in any of his attacks further south, but he could feel that at least some of the power he was emitting was finally taking its toll.
