Pantheocide

by Stuart Slade

  “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 name immediately. “You mean the today-people are training daemons 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 Daemons to fight as humans but he’d had time to get used to it.

  “It goes like this. We’re training daemons to fight like humans. It’s not just shooting although that’s a problem. Most daemons 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 in there about teaching people to fight as units. That’s what daemons 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?”

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Hills South of Barona, Southern California, USA

  Uriel looked skywards and cursed. The aircraft were 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 sounds of 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 really 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 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 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, 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, 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. But, if 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 their 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 l
east 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 One.” 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. Large object, too big for a human 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, as long as 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, lets 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 a 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 of 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, 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. Actually, 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 really 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 back-up 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 really 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. At the moment 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 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 mu
sicians 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 made contact with 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 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 gota 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 Allansen 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.”