Pantheocide

by Stuart Slade

  “Gentlemen, Ladies, I have news of the utmost importance. A few minutes ago, we flew a Predator reconnaissance drone into Heaven. Doctor Surlethe has just arrived with the results.” President Obama sat down, noting the rapt interest that the 15 members of the council were devoting to Doctor Surlethe.

  Surlethe cleared his throat. “Members of the council, we can confirm that we are have broken through the walls that prevented us from entering Heaven. Early this morning, a Predator unmanned reconnaissance aircraft flew through a portal opened by one of the two angels who defected last night and spent ten minutes flying in Heaven airspace. We gathered air samples, radiation readings and visual imagery. Also, of course, we recorded the process by which Lemuel opened the gateway to Heaven. With some work and careful digitalization of that signal we should be able to modify our standard GSY-1portal opening system to work with Heaven as well as Hell.

  “Conditions in heaven are, as far as we can determine, near-perfect for us. The air is clean, identical to Earth in its make-up and contains no toxic elements. The light is brilliant white, we are recommending that First-Life humans going into Heaven wear sunglasses but there is no need for any other precautions. Unless something goes wrong or we find something totally unexpected, we are ready to invade.”

  “What is the terrain like?” The Singaporean Prime Minister asked the question.

  “Rolling hills, covered with green grass. Perfect tank country so I am told. Lots of hull-down positions to fight from, long open ranges. The geometry of Heaven is off by the way, just as it is in Hell. In fact, according to our initial measurements, the spatial distortion in Heaven is exactly the same as it is in Hell. We believe that this is strong confirmation that both Heaven and Hell are separate planet-equivalents in Universe-Two. This, of course, also suggests that any other bubble-planets we find in Universe-Two will obey the same physical laws.”

  Putin nodded happily. “Thank you Doctor. Do you have word on the other Angel, the one who was badly injured.”

  “She is still unconscious Sir. Deliberately so. The medical team do not wish to operate again on her quite yet, she is too weak for a further spell on the table. They hope they’ll be able to start reconstructing her wing joints in a day or so. Whether they will be successful or not, nobody knows.”

  “Very good. I now call for a vote of the Council. The motion is that General Petraeus be instructed to execute the invasion of Heaven.”

  The screen that dominated the conference chamber flicked over to show a line of 15 boxes. Each box was randomly assigned to a member of the council so that votes were secret. The code was simple, green for yes, red for no. There was a flickering and the majority of the boxes turned green. As the seconds ticked by, the remaining boxes filled with green as well. Eventually, the 15th and last blocked in with the same color.

  “Very well, the vote is unanimous. General Petraeus?” Another display screen came to life, showing the General sitting behind his desk. “The Council has voted unanimously to authorize the invasion of Heaven. How soon will you be able to execute the assault.”

  “We will have a bridgehead in 48 hours. Thereafter, we will be moving First, Second and Third Army Groups into their assault positions in Heaven. I’ve got the geographical information from our Angelic friend and used it to select the appropriate plans from the options we have prepared. We’ll be hitting the Eternal City from three sides. All we need to do is to get the beacons set up.”

  “Thank you General.”

  Putin turned around and looked at the members of the council, a broad grin on his face. The Americans may have got the credit for the assault on Hell, but he would go down in history as the man in charge when Heaven fell. “That leaves us with just one thing to decide. Shall we have milk or plain chocolate biscuits with our tea?”

  Headquarters, First Marine Division, Camp Pendleton, California.

  “How deep is this water?” General Mills tapped the rough sketch map of The Eternal City. A river ran from the Ultimate Temple to a vast lake in the city center.

  “Hundreds of feet according to our source.” The operations officer blinked at the sudden thought. “Sir, you’re not thinking of a direct assault are you?”

  “Of course not. Not unless we already have a surrender in our pocket. But it’s an option we should have.” He paused and grinned. “And it is in accordance with the prophecies.”

  Chapter Sixty Four

  Headquarters, 118th Armored Cavalry Regiment, Virginia National Guard, Phelan Plain, Hell

  The screen blacked out suddenly and the General sitting behind it looked as if he was about to explode. He managed to contain himself and when he spoke, his voice was courteous and calm. “Could you tell me what happened please?”

  “I’m afraid you just got killed.” Captain Ledasha Oates took a quick look at the Umpire’s situation log. “As I thought, General, you haven’t moved your command location for more than 30 minutes. The Opposing Force, the Opfor, picked up your radio transmissions and got your location by a combination of direction finding and deduction accurately enough to drop a rocket launcher salvo on you.”

  “But I only used the burst transmission facility sparingly. Is their, our, direction finding capability that good?”

  “They probably only got a loose fix but I would guess they looked at a map. They saw the crossroads in the suspect area and made a calculated guess you would set up either on it or very close to it. So they took the crossroads out.”

  The General gave a gusty sigh that set his beard shivering. “But a crossroads gave me good communications and allowed us to move quickly in multiple directions.”

  “And that’s what made it a good target General. You must learn to look at a map and see what the enemy will see. If it looks good to you for a reason, it will make a good target for the enemy by that same logic. Information isn’t quite a weapon in its own right but it’s an invaluable force multiplier. That applies both ways, you have to think of what the enemy knows and make allowances for it.”

  “So a good defensive position is a bad defensive position because it is obviously a good position.”

  “Exactly. That’s exactly right. And don’t worry too much about roads, our cross-country mobility is good enough so we can do without them.”

  General Robert E Lee sighed again, gently this time. “Did I do anything right in this exercise?”

  Oates looked at the print out again. “To be honest Sir, no. Your frontal attack was walking right into a fire trap and your flanking move was far too close to the main body. It was going to swing across the Opfor front, not into their flank. You were thinking in horse cavalry terms and didn’t allow for how much more ground a modern cavalry unit covers or the ranges its weaponry can cover. For us, four hundred yards is close range. And, Sir, you must remember artillery fire. As long as a forward observer has a line of sight, they can bring intense fire on your positions. That observer can be an unmanned aircraft just as easily as a traditional observer. Frankly Sir.” Oates bit her lip, wondered whether to sugarcoat the judgement and decided not to. “You’d have got the entire regiment wiped out. Again.”

  Another gentle sigh. “For the fifth time I believe. Please do not take my mistakes personally Captain, you are an excellent teacher.”

  Lee reached out and put his hand on Oates’s arm. She pulled it away quickly, flushing slightly as she did so. She dropped her voice so they would not be overheard. “General, a quiet word on etiquette. If you are going to touch a woman like that, reach out and put your hand over her arm without touching. She will see and if your touch is welcome, she’ll leave her arm where it is. If she doesn’t want to be touched, and there could be any number of reasons why, she’ll move it. Just a word to the wise.”

  “In my day, an inappropriate gesture towards a young woman would have been the responsibility of her father, brother or husband to answer. I suppose it was only to be expected that an Army that has women soldiers would expect them to guard their own honor.”
>
  “Your gesture was neither inappropriate nor unwelcome Sir. Just unexpected.” And in your day, I would be up against a whipping post having my back flayed raw for speaking to you like that. Oates shook herself slightly, it was difficult for her to keep remembering the cause for which this kind and gentlemanly officer had fought so hard. She couldn’t help herself, the question just burst out. “Meaning no disrespect Sir, but how could you? How could you have fought so well for a cause like that?”

  Lee looked at her, startled. “Captain, we are all products of our time. What seemed to be normal and reasonable back then is only now obvious for the foul thing that it was. I regarded Virginia as my home and I fought for my home.” Lee held his hand up to forestall any immediate answer. “I am not saying that the states rights argument is anything other than a feeble excuse. If the truth is of any meaning at all, the only states right that was in dispute was that of owning slaves. But Virginia with all its faults was my home. I just did not recognize, then, the gaping ugliness that laid at its heart. Today, looking at fine citizens and soldiers such as yourself and your fellow neg … African-Americans, I can see just how wrong I was. But, before Hell was overrun, I was trapped in the opinions and beliefs of my time. For that, for allowing my sense of duty to overcome my sense of what was right, I spent a century and a half rolling a massive boulder around in Hell. Now, all I can do is to ask your forgiveness.”

  Oates smiled, silently accepting the apology. “We can run another exercise this afternoon if you wish. An advance-to-contact perhaps?”

  “Like Gettysburg?” Lee halted for a second. “I suppose there is no word of my old warhorse Longstreet?”

  “No Sir. I am afraid not.”

  Lee sighed yet again. The truth was he felt lonely in this clean, aseptic and oh-so-deadly army. He had a hunch he would have preferred to start his military career again as an enlisted man than as a General. He doubted if life for a rifleman had changed that much. “I would enjoy that Captain, but I fear it is impossible. I have an appointment with General Petraeus this afternoon at two.”

  “Very good sir. Tomorrow morning then. If you would excuse me?”

  Oates left and Lee leaned back in his seat, looking at the master display and trying to imagine what his battles would have been like if he’d had this equipment then. Oddly, he thought, at least half of them would never have been fought at all. Then he heard voices raised in the next room, seeping through the partition.

  “Oatsy, you can’t talk to Massa Robert like that.”

  “Somebody’s got to Jimbo.” It was clearly his tutor speaking. “If he gets command of this regiment now, we’ll all be dead thirty minutes into the action. You’ve seen those exercise playbacks. He hasn’t got a clue how modern units communicate or move let alone fight. He’s a real nice man, but everything we take for granted, senses of space, time, distance and what they imply, they just aren’t there. To us, in our heads, twenty miles is a trip to the store. To him, in his head, it’s a long, hard day’s journey.”

  The voices faded away and Lee was left staring at the master display. The silver disks that held the records of his previous exercises were in a storage rack and he put the oldest one on, just as Oates had showed him. What he had done looked reasonable to him but it ended the same way as it always did, his regiment dying in a chaos of blood and fire. Oates was right, he just didn’t understand. By the time he had finished running through his records, it was time for his meeting and his mind was made up.

  General Petraeus’s Office, HEA Headquarters, Hell

  “General Robert E Lee, to see General Petraeus.”

  “Yes Sir. Please step right in.” The sergeant opened the door for him.

  Lee stepped inside and came to attention. “General Petraeus, Sir, I would like to withdraw my request for a combat command. I would still wish to serve my country and my flag in any other way you might find appropriate.”

  Petraeus looked up. “Sit down Robert. What made you come to this conclusion?”

  “Sir, for a week, I have been attempting to understand how your army works. With the aid of a very skilled and patient tutor. Sir, I regret to say I have failed completely. I am not fit to command and I must recognize that as a fact. One day, perhaps, but not now.”

  “Captain Oates taught you properly?” Petraeus was inwardly relieved. The thought of Robert E Lee commanding a modern unit was a political nightmare.

  “She did sir and her patience with me was apparently inexhaustible. She is a fine officer Sir, and deserves your interest. The fault is mine. I do not know what I need to know, nor do I know yet what I need to learn.”

  Petraeus nodded. “Robert, I do have another command for you if you want it, one for which you may be very well qualified. All the histories speak of your concern for your men, the lengths you went to for them and the loyalty you inspired in them. Every day now we are pulling victims out of the Hell Pit. Some of them are ex-American soldiers from various eras. Whatever the time they came from, and whatever side they fought on in the previous unpleasantness, they are now our responsibility. Many are deeply traumatized by their fate, others feel alone and unwanted in an era that is vastly different from any they knew. Yet, they are still our people. We are setting up a convalescent home for them, a refuge if you like. It needs a man like you, Robert, to run it. A man who can inspire loyalty and affection while still maintaining a strict discipline. That posting is yours if you wish it.”

  “To care for our veterans, soldiers from every era in our history.” Lee was entranced by the idea. “Sir, I do not just wish it, I desire it with all my heart.”

  “Then the position is yours. You may start tomorrow.”

  Lee saluted and left. Behind him, Petraeus smiled down at the paper in front of him. It was a politely-worded but firm report from Captain Ledasha Oates that stated in her opinion Robert E Lee was unfit to hold a combat command at his existing level of knowledge and some other posting should be found for him. It wasn’t often that political and operational needs converged, but it was nice when they did. Then he transferred his attention back to his large-screen monitors and asked himself the questions that had been on his mind ever since the invasion coordinates had come in. This is my plan, this is how we will carry out the invasion. Now, what can go wrong and if it does, how do we cope with it? What is out there that we don’t know about? Who will I be fighting when we arrive and how does he think? How can I win this war at minimum cost to the men and woman I command. Soon, he would know the answers because it was now time to move. In the final analysis, the decision and the responsibility was his, just as General Lee had recognized his responsibility and acted accordingly. Now, it was time for him to step up and shoulder his burden. He reached out and picked up the telephone on his desk.

  Fort Knox, Kentucky.

  “Are we ready to go?” Colonel Warhol looked around at the set-up to make sure everything was in place. A dozen or more V-22 Ospreys were standing by, their engines idling as they waited for the long-sought after Heavengate to form. All the equipment was set up, Lemuel-Lan was ready to open his portal from Earth to Heaven. The moment he did so, his signal would be monitored, recorded, digitized and fed into the waiting computers. That was all humanity had been waiting for, that one signal that would open up the gates of Heaven. They already had one from the first brief recon contact, now this data would confirm it. Across the open space of the testing ground, he could see another team getting ready to set up the link from Hell. Experiments had proved that having portals too close together would result in unfortunate effects, not the least being the merging of the two into a larger portal of uncertain destination. Portal science was beginning to be established as a real branch of scientific inquiry now, one day soon the links between it and the main body of scientific knowledge would be found and the glaring anomalies that currently existed would be explained. That applied to all the areas of study that had opened up since Hell had been discovered and not one of them was of any great interest to
Colonel Warhol.

  “kitten, you and Dani had better mount up. You’ll be going through as soon as the portal is open. You know how to find here, no matter what’s on the other side, punch through a portal of your own if this one closes behind you. We want to depend on him as little as possible.”

  “We got the briefing.” Dani sounded slightly surly. He didn’t like the implication that he had to be told things more than once. He tugged on kitten’s leash and the two of them boarded the closest of the Ospreys.

  “Hellgate is open now.” The message came over the radio but Warhol could see the black ellipse that had suddenly formed. It was strange how the sight of a portal had ceased to be awe-inspiring or threatening. Now they were no more significant than the ‘welcome to’ signs that graced American highways when somebody crossed a state line. To a military man, they were also far from threatening. Once, an opening Hellgate meant that a daemonic attack was imminent, now it showed that one of the armored units of the Human Expeditionary Army was within a few minutes drive. That simple fact had changed military planning out of all recognition. It had also created an entirely new branch of alternate history. Warhol was reading one such novel now, by some author called Turtleshell. It asked a simple question, what would have happened if Abigor had brought his Nagas along instead of leaving them behind? If he’d accepted the limitation they imposed on his mobility in favor of the ability to generate large, tactically significant portals? Still, such questions were for authors; Warhol was a soldier and soldiers deal with what is, not what might have been.

  “Lemuel-Lan-Michael?” Warhol looked at the message in his hand. “I’ve just had a message from Johns Hopkins. Maion is out of surgery, they’ve repaired the damage to her wings. She’s resting now, under sedation, but the operation was a success. Whether that will mean she can fly again, we just don’t know. We’ve never treated angels before, especially one with such major injuries.”