by Stuart Slade
“Lemuel-Lan?”
“That’s right. Just make sure he has a really good time and doesn’t learn anything important.”
The Palatine Palace, New Rome, Hell
“Ave Caesar.” Colonel Paschal gave his Roman salute with a bit more confidence than before. He would have preferred to have used the military salute he was familiar with but his orders on the matter were quite strict. Gaius Julius Caesar was too important a player in the evolving social structure of Hell to risk offending so in his country, Paschal was to play by his rules. Paschal had a nagging suspicious that Caesar made the powers-that-be back on Earth nervous. The rate at which New Rome was growing and the speed with which its society was settling into a cohesive whole was a tribute to his ability. It also made him a potential threat and humanity already had more problems than it could handle.
“Ave.” Caesar returned the greeting and salute formally. “Colonel Paschal I believe? You have met the Second Consul Jade Kim?”
“Ave Consul. I believe we met when you were running the PFLH in the Hellpit. To create a successful insurgency from such an unpromising start was a remarkable achievement.”
“Thank you, but without the aid of my husband, it would all have collapsed.” Kim put a gentle but distinct emphasis on the words ‘my husband’. Paschal couldn’t help but reflect she was learning the political game very fast. Wasn’t surprising, she was getting the lessons from a master.
As if he was reading Paschal’s thoughts, Caesar took the lead in the conversation back. “How are you enjoying your first visit to our new Republic?”
“New Rome is a remarkable achievement Sir. You seem to be recreating the old Republic of Rome with incredible speed.”
“Celeritas, Colonel. Always Celeritas. Speed and decisiveness in maneuver are always the key to successful efforts. But, I needn’t tell an officer in a human army that, you’ve taken speed and mobility to levels I’d never imagined possible. We’re not recreating the ancient Republic of Rome here though, we are trying to take its best features and adapt them to the modern world your generation has so successfully created. If we take the best parts of my era and combine them with the best parts of yours, then there are wonders we can achieve.”
Paschal nodded in agreement, reflecting that despite the two millennia since his death, Caesar’s ability to inspire people with enthusiasm for his plans was still unchanged. It wasn’t surprising that Jade Kim had cast her lot in with him, although it was becoming apparent to Paschal that people’s allegiances for their Second Life in Hell rarely had much in common with those of their First Life on Earth. Expecting otherwise had already proved to be a bad mistake. “If I may ask Sir, what part of our modern practices do you seek to change?”
Caesar thought for a second. “Voting. Here in Rome, the right to vote is restricted to those who have demonstrated their commitment to the Republic by owning land. And we make voting a solemn affair where Roman Citizens are expected to dress formally and hear the candidates debate the great issues of the day before casting their votes. A vote cast casually without thought or consideration is a vote wasted.” Caesar spoke gravely, then seemed to brighten again. “But we are not here, I think to discuss political theory. If you will join us for Cena, perhaps we can continue then.”
“Thank you Caesar, I would enjoy that. My task here is a curious one. May I ask what gods you worshipped during your First Life?”
“The ones who protected me in the pit? And others of course. Why do you wish to know?”
“Caesar, our assault on Heaven is stalled. All access to the place has been shut down and we can’t get at them. For almost a year now, we have been trying to force our way in and for all that effort we still do not know how to do so. Yet, the inhabitants of Heaven are able to attack us almost at will. They direct storms against our cities, bring plagues upon us and attack us with their beasts. We beat off their attacks with some loss to ourselves but we cannot, we will not, remain on the defensive for ever. Nobody ever won a war by defending themselves.”
“That’s true.” Caesar laughed nostalgically. “Defeating the enemy means taking the war to them.”
“Yes Sir. But we can’t. But, in our investigations, we’ve learned that the daemons here in Hell fought other groups on Earth and expelled them. Although the fighting took place long before human history was recorded, we believe that memories of those other groups form the basis of many world religions. We have also learned that one such group, daemons call them devils, was so hard to defeat that they struck a deal with Satan and Yahweh. That they would withdraw from Earth only if those who believed in them were protected from the torments of Hell. You, Sir, are the only person we know of who falls into that category. So we seek to identify this other group. If they are loyal to those who believed in them and sought to protect them, they may be the kind of people we can deal with.”
“Deal with as in make arrangements with, or deal with as in shoot full of holes?” Kim spoke drolly although the intent behind her question was deadly serious.
“Their choice ma’am.”
“A very Roman answer Colonel. When you die, have you thought of settling here in Rome?” Caesar was teasing him and Paschal knew it but it was a good question. “To answer your question, in public my family worshipped the Roman gods but in private I and a few others were members of the cult of Cybele. We kept that quiet, the authorities really didn’t approve of it. But, a few of us kept up the faith in secret and were rewarded. Does that really help you find a way to get your tanks into Heaven?”
“It might Sir. It gives us another avenue to research at least. At the moment, we’ll try anything to break in and give Yahweh what’s coming to him. And I don’t mean that in a nice way.”
“Good.” Kim’s voice was forceful and very determined. Subconsciously her thumb stroked the palm of her hand where a bronze spike had once been driven through it.
“I’d like to offer more help than just a name Colonel, but my army here is only adequate for defending what we have. And we are desperately short of equipment. Some of my soldiers still carry tridents instead of rifles. And we could use more armored cars and some helicopters. Not to mention more radios.”
“MH-6s would be nice. If there are any going spare.” Kim smiled fondly, she thought that she would like to get her hands on a helicopter again. Especially an armed one.
“I can’t promise anything, I just don’t have that authority. But, if you can make out a list of what you really need, I can present it to my superiors. DIMO(N) has a shallow command structure and the point is very close to the top. A word of advice though, with modern equipment, it’s not getting it that breaks the bank, it’s supporting it.”
“Rather like a beautiful woman?” Caesar was teasing again but this time the gentle barb was directed at Kim who responded by punching his arm.
“Exactly Sir. Best modern equipment in the world is useless without proper support. We’ve walked all over armies that forgot that. A state with limited funds is better off with smaller amounts of equipment and investing the money in support facilities.”
“That’s good advice Gaius.” Kim had given Caesar the same lesson herself. “We’re mineral rich here, we’ve got iron, chromium, titanium, vanadium, you name it. And oil, lots of oil.”
Napyidaw, Myanmar
“And we want our gold back.” General Asanee spoke quietly but very firmly.
“What gold?” General Petraeus actually know the answer but just wanted to hear her say it.
“In 1767, the Burmese launched an unprovoked attack on us and eventually stormed the old capital of Ayuthya. They massacred all the inhabitants, burned the art treasures, the libraries containing our literature, and the archives housing our historic records and then took all the gold in the city back to their capital. Now we want it back.”
Petraeus tried to stop himself grinning. “Was it a lot of gold? Where did you get it from?”
“All the gold in the country’s treasury. We’d co
llected it for centuries, mostly from what is now Laos and Cambodia.”
“Ahh, so it’s their gold. Why didn’t you say so? After all, those countries could use the cash. They’re totally broke.”
“But they were our vassal states, their gold belonged to us.” Asanee looked at Petraeus and realized her leg was being gently pulled. “It’s a sort of cash float. Whoever wins the latest war gets the gold. And we won this one.”
“General, this kind of thinking has to stop if we’re going to win this war. I don’t mean the one with Myanmar, this is just a mildly irritating sideshow. If that, it’s more like a live fire exercise in how to use portals for warfare.”
“A live fire exercise that cost the lives of more than six hundred of my men.”
“Yes, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” Petraeus looked at her reflectively. He happened to know that she’d personally written to the family of every soldier killed in action under her command and had visited those families within reach. From her record, he guessed she would take the time to get to the others as soon as the war was over. “If it’s any consolation, the H.E.A. has picked up your dead as they arrived in Hell and made sure they are looked after properly. By the way, there were some pretty good brawls in the receiving area when your dead and the Myanmar Army dead arrived simultaneously. In the end we had to keep a contingent of military police on site to break them up. In future, we’ll have to make sure war casualties get sent to different reception areas.
“Anyway, back to the issue. The political alliance that stands behind the Human Expeditionary Alliance is a fragile thing. It’s held so far because of the pressure from outside but how long that will remain the case is a good question. As long as this damned stalemate holds, the chances are that some of the old issues we faced will reemerge and screw the whole thing up. Humanity’s got to draw a line under the past and make a fresh start if this thing is going to work. If we don’t, the war effort will fall apart. I never thought I’d say this but North Korea’s actually setting a good example. They’re coming in from the cold, no matter how difficult they’re making the process.”
“So, we don’t get our gold back.” Asanee sounded disappointed.
“Not a chance. You’ll have to go and dig some more. Anyway, here we are.”
Petraeus had to admit that General Asanee’s command team had this kind of thing down to a fine art. Long practice he supposed. As the two generals approached the conference room doors, two of her men moved ahead and ostentatiously flung them open. Petraeus and Asanee stalked into the room, the rest of their party following them in and spreading out so the Myanmar ruling junta members were covered by their guns. They rose reluctantly too their feet, acknowledging the fact that they were the beaten side, waiting to hear the terms they were offered. The two H.E.A. generals just stared at them for a few moments before Petraeus broke the silence.
“You have sent Michael-Lan-Yahweh the messages as we instructed?”
Than Shwe nodded, his face a picture of anger, resentment and humiliation.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
“We have done as your terms dictated. We have sent Michael-Lan a message telling him that a large stockpile of heroin, methamphetamines, ecstasy and other drugs have been gathered here and he would come and collect it. Otherwise we will have to destroy it. We have not yet received a reply.”
“Good. We have some special weapons technicians with us. They need to see that stockpile right now.”
Chapter Thirty Seven
West of Hacienda Heights, Los Angeles, California
The location had been chosen with great care. Uriel’s wings were still not fully healed and that had left his ability to fly impaired. In any case, he had come to the opinion that flying over his target, as has been his tradition, for millennia was no longer practical. Human aircraft and missiles made it far too dangerous. He had tried that tactic twice and both times it had come close to killing him.
This time, he was trying a different approach. The hills west of Hacienda Heights gave an excellent view over the city of Los Angeles. He would have line-of-sight access to some of the most populated areas of the mega-city beneath him and a huge number of people would where Uriel could bring his peace to them. He had thought long and hard about that. At El Paso he had tried to annihilate everybody and everything within his reach, only to fail and bring peace only to a small proportion of them. Based on that lesson, he had tried to concentrate his power on a small community at Eucalyptus Hills. There, he had come achingly close to bringing his peace to the entire community. If it had not been for the aircraft and the missiles… .
Uriel felt unfamiliar feelings running through his mind. He hated the humans and their machines for what they had done to him and mixed in with the hatred was rage that his divinely-ordered purpose should be denied. He fought the emotions, aware that they represented mortal sins, and tried to squash them. This time it would be different, this time he would stay on the ground where the missiles could not strike at him. It had taken days for the humans to corner him after Eucalyptus Hills, he would need only a fraction of that time to bring his peace to the community that would lay helpless at his feet.
To take them all or just concentrate on a few? That was the decision that Uriel faced. He had tried for all at El Paso and failed. He had tried for a few at Eucalyptus Hills – and failed. But the size of his target at El Paso meant that even failure meant that a large number of souls had found their way to perfect peace. Uriel made his decision, he would try for all. Even a small percentage of a large number was better than a large percentage of a few.
Uriel made his decision. He had locked in on his target, he had selected his strategy. He knew what to do and where. Now, he would place his faith in the All-Knowing Father of All and honor His Immaculate Name by bringing more of these recalcitrant humans to their final peace.
al Za’im, West Bank
The air-raid sirens woke a very resentful Husni al-Sohl from well-deserved and much-needed sleep. The last year and a half had been a very strange time for him. Once a dedicated member of Hamas and a key member in one of its undercover cells, now he worked in an Israeli munitions plant, helping to churn out the sub-munitions that the world needed to fight off the satans who had declared war upon it. The Israelis he worked alongside were equally confused; once these same submunitions would have gone to arm missiles and artillery rounds. Ammunition that was intended to defend Eretz Israel against the hordes of terrorists and assassins that besieged it. Only, The Message had changed everything. Mankind had a common enemy that counted for more than petty local squabbles.
At least that was what Husni al-Sohl believed and the Israelis who worked beside him had said the same. They had all noted something rather peculiar. When the command to lay down and die had come from in high, the religious fanatics, the idealogues and extremists who had shouted longest and loudest about the purity of their faith had been conspicuous by their absence from the dead. Those who had sent others out to die in suicide bombings, who had incited others to die for their beliefs, who had fired people’s hearts but seemed curiously reluctant to do any other sort of firing had found many excuses for not obeying the command that formed a key part of The Message.
Oh, there had been those who had laid down and died, but they had been the quiet ones, the ones who had kept their religions in their hearts, not their mouths and their fists. The others, the ones who had made ostentatious public displays of their faiths, they’d used their alleged religion as a path to power. With The Message, some had slunk away and tried to hide, others attempted to carry on their foolishness. They hadn’t lasted, their previous supporters had seen them for what they were and killed them. Now, they had all gone from both sides and things had settled down to an uneasy truce. There was too much history, too much spilled blood, for the truce to be anything but uneasy but al-Sohl and his Israeli co-workers both agreed that with the self-serving fanatics out of way, they could at least agree to differ
quietly. And everybody needed the sub-munitions that the factory made.
The sirens that had blasted him awake made him think, for one brief moment, that the bad days had returned and he was back in Gaza with the Israeli helicopters closing in. So many had died, blown apart as the missiles had plowed into their targets. Was al Za’im to be a target now? There was an Israeli border guard post only a few yards away. Had one of the idiotic morons who had brought so much death down tried to attack it? The fact that he hadn’t heard any explosions suggested otherwise. Then his brain woke up fully and he realized they weren’t air raid sirens. They were warnings that a portal was opening and that an attack would be coming through it soon.
“What is happening?” His wife had woken as well and was staring around with frightened eyes
“It is an attack. Perhaps it is Uriel, deciding to leave the Americans alone. Or some other devil.” He grabbed her arm and hustled her to their shelter room, the one whose walls were lined with extra-think layers of aluminum foil. As they went, he glanced out of the window and saw a black ellipse forming to the east of the township.
417th Flight Test Squadron, Edwards Air Force Base, California
The wailing sirens made the base look as if it had been a giant ant’s nest and somebody had kicked it over. A stream of pick-up trucks was spreading out from the base buildings and heading for the aircraft that were already being prepped for flight by their ground crews. Some headed for the row of F-15Es, a few in the original lizard green camouflage paint but most in the red/gray mottled camouflage of Hell. The paint job wasn’t an affection, the paint itself was designed to protect the aircraft from the abrasion caused by flying through the dust of Hell’s atmosphere. Others headed for the two B-1Cs that were parked in the test area. Their paint job was white as befitted prototypes that were under test. A very accelerated test program, the B-1s were desperately needed and the Air Force couldn’t wait for a leisurely pre-war test and evaluation.
