by Stuart Slade
There was a strange atmosphere at the demolition site. The humans who lived in the slums that surrounded the gate were watching the explosions silently, their attitude hard to analyze. Chard had been expecting them to be cheering the sight of Heaven’s gates falling to humans yet that was hardly the case. They seemed more bewildered than anything yet there was resentment and apprehension in the mix as well. A very different reaction from the adulation that had met the human troops when they liberated the Hellpit.
Up at the gate, cherry-picker hoist vehicles were already lifting his engineers up so they could blow the next section of wood clear from the gates. The first priority was to open a hole large enough to get the tanks and armored infantry carriers through. Once that was done, they could take their time with the rest.
Spearhead Battalion, Third Armored Division, Eternal City, Heaven.
“It’s good to have you back, Colonel.” General William Roland was being mildly sarcastic. Despite this particular battalion being part of his division, he had very rarely seen it. For some reason, General Petraeus had taken an interest in the unit and kept removing it from its parent division in order to undertake a variety of specialized missions. Roland wasn’t too perturbed by that, the battalion’s performance in those missions had brought credit on him as well. Also, during its unusual career, the battalion had grown from a normal tank battalion to a much larger combined-arms formation that was closer to a full brigade than a regular battalion. It even had its own artillery battery and a reconnaissance element, the latter had three Bradley cavalry vehicles and a CBNR section in Fuchs armored cars.
“It’s good to be back home, Sir.” Keisha Stevenson’s reply was properly courteous and enthusiastic.
Roland didn’t believe it for a moment. No officer who had made it from Lieutenant to Colonel in less than a year and who had spent most of her career performing special missions for the commanding general would welcome being back within the confines of a regular division. If Roland was right, she would be itching for a message from H.E.A. headquarters, assigning her to another special mission. Her return wasn’t an entirely unmixed blessing either. Her so-called battalion was so abnormal in structure that it simply didn’t fit in the command structure any more. “I’ll be returning you to Third Brigade. Your unit will lead the way in to The Eternal City as soon as that Brit Engineer down there has finished blowing a large enough hole in the gates.”
Stevenson looked at the gate where another great scab of wood was now being pulled out of the way. “Hokay. Very good Sir.” She paused a little. “We could get through now, Sir.”
“Even with your field kitchen in tow?” Roland looked at the trailer with a degree of suspicion. It didn’t look American somehow.
Stevenson felt that a note of explanation was required. “Yes Sir. We’re been operating independently for so long we need to be able to provide the men with hot food even when we’re outside normal supply areas.” Actually, Stevenson had discovered one of her conscripts was a graduate of Chef Gordon Ramsey’s kitchen. A few nights later, following an astoundingly well-planned and completely covert raid, a German infantry company waken up to find that they had mislaid their beloved “gulaschkanone” field kitchen trailer during the night. Her battalion had been eating well ever since. She noted that her General was eyeing the trailer suspiciously and decided it was time to change the subject. “Sir, with respect, may I ask how we got our name? We wanted to be the Wildcat Battalion.”
“Company clerk screwed up. He entered the division name in the space on the form for your battalion name and by the time we had unscrambled everything, another battalion had claimed ‘Wildcat’. Fortunes of war, Colonel.”
He was interrupted by another pair of explosions and the bone jarring crash as two more sets of gate segments were blown clear. All around, there was the same eerie silence from the watching humans in the slums. Stevenson waved at them. “They don’t seem to be that pleased to see us. Odd thing, these slums could almost be part of Dis. Same narrow, twisting streets, similar-looking buildings.”
“And no precious stones lining the walls.” Roland agreed. “You’ll be getting the move order shortly Colonel. Straight through that hole.”
Stevenson saluted and returned to her tank, clambering up the side and sliding into the turret. A few seconds later the order came through from her brigade commander to take her battalion through the shattered hole in the gate and set up a perimeter on the other side. It took a minute for her to contact the engineering officer who was methodically reducing the gates to splinters and get a pause on the demolitions. Then, the gas turbine powering her M1 surged and her tank rolled forwards through the jagged hole blown in the Himilheothon Gate.
Roland watched the vehicles follow her tank through, noting the precision with which they had been handled. He’d also noted that they’d been parked so that they could either go through the gate or detach and head off back through the slums with equal speed. Unlike the other battalions, Spearhead had made its way through the twisting streets here without damaging the buildings on either side. Together, the two impressions showed him why this particular unit was General Petraeus’s favorite for any unusual missions that turned up. Somehow, he didn’t think it would be part of his division for very long.
Street of Ceaseless Exaltation, Eternal City, Heaven
“The Fallen Ones are coming! The Eternal Enemy has broken into the City!” The voices were screaming with panic, crowds were already fleeing down the Street of Ceaseless Exaltation to get away from the Mahatalabhuva Gate. Or, rather, to get away from the military forces that were now moving through the hole blown in that gate. Rubibael-Lan-Dasarapael didn’t believe that The Fallen Ones really had broken into the city. Logically, it was just the women panicking at the sight of heavily-armed human troops. Rubibael adjusted his eyes for long-distance vision and focussed on the vehicles that were moving in. That was when he realized that logic had let him down. The occupants of the tracked vehicles were all too obviously daemons. The Fallen Ones were indeed coming.
It took a few minutes for the vehicles to reach his position, minutes in which Rubibael spent every second trying to persuade his legs not to run away. He managed it and instead watched the low, rakish-looking vehicles approach. They were painted red and gray with a purple crest bearing a golden eagle and the number 3 on each side. They had the letters SPQR as well, whatever they meant. He looked closely, there were other inscriptions on them as well, all equally meaningless. Just what was the significance of ‘No Step’ for example? Once more Rubibael had the demoralizing and humiliating feeling that these creatures did not consider him worth their attention. Then the roar of the engine in the vehicle enveloped him as the lead unit of Fallen Ones passed him.
To his surprise, the four vehicles that formed the van of the advancing column stopped a few yards past him and dropped their tail ramps. The Fallen Ones streamed out of the back, spreading across the roadway and establishing guard posts. One of them walked over to Rubibael. The two were roughly the same size, implying they were the same status but one look at the rifle the Fallen One was carrying and the big guns mounted on the nearest vehicle quickly dissuaded Rubibael of that idea.
“Out of the way, Never-Born.” The daemon’s voice was gutteral and curt, filled with menace.
Rubibael stared at him, more in shock than anything else. The Fallen Ones in the old pictures never wore clothes like these. They were the same as human soldiers wore, just larger and remodelled to fit the different anatomy of the Fallen One’s bodies. His mind, unable to absorb the sheer shock of their presence in The Eternal City, wouldn’t let him do anything more than stare at the soldier in front of him. Then, for the second time that day, he felt an agonizing pain in his foot as a rifle but slammed down on his toes.
“I said move.” The Fallen One repeated the order with a terrifying display of fangs.
“Drippy, do not, say again do not, eat that Jelly.” The voice came from a human who was sitting on top
of the great vehicle and it carried great authority. Suddenly, as if it was some great discovery, Rubibael realized there was a serious difference between those who had earned authority and those who just claimed it.
“Please Sarge, can I eat him just a little bit?” The Fallen One glared at Rubibael but there was amusement mixed up with the mock-ferocity.
“I said no, Drippy. Look at him, all fat and quivering like a scared hog. Full of cholesterol.” For some reason the remark made all the soldiers around him burst out laughing. “Just shove him outta the way and take up your post.”
Rubibael hobbled backwards, with a couple of pushes from the Fallen One’s rifle to help him on the way. Once he was clear, the Fallen One went back to the vehicle. By now a constant stream of vehicles was passing through the position. Once again, he set his eyes for long-distance vision and he looked up the road. Far ahead, another small unit had peeled off and was setting up another checkpoint. There, as here, it was quite clear that the humans commanded and the Fallen Ones served. In a blinding flash of insight, Rubibael realized that he was looking at the future for his people as well.
1/33 (Spearhead) Battalion, Third Brigade, Third Armored Division, Ninth U.S. Corps. Eternal City
“Hokay, so according to the sitrep, the Marines are holding the center of the city, we’re advancing towards them with the Russians on our left and the Chinese on our right. We’re right in the middle of our front so we won’t run into either anytime soon. Units on the extreme end of our lines might. Not soon though, damn this city is big. But, latest word from the herd, there are special forces teams all over. Seems like every bunch of snake-eaters decided to slip a team into the city to see what was going on.”
“Just our, Russians and Chinese main force units though?” Biker was concerned about a blue-on-blue shoot out.
Stevenson shook her head. “Caesar’s Third Legion is on our right. That’s a long way though. The Big Boss is bringing up representatives from all the other countries in the H.E.A. and they’ll be following us in. That way they can claim they took part on the final occupation of The Eternal City. But, lead elements are just the three of us.”
“Any resistance?” Biker looked at the maps spread out in the back of the Bradley command vehicle.
“Not resistance, no.” Stevenson was hesitant. “The Jellies are stunned, they don’t know what to do or what is happening. The combination of losing Yahweh and having us waltzing into their city has left them almost catatonic. The Second-Life humans up here, they’re different. They’re shocked, sure, but there’s a strong streak of sullen resentment running through the crowds. If there’s resistance, that’s where it will come from. Don’t be surprised if we get stones thrown at us or something along those lines.”
“That bad Ma’am?” Biker was being careful, there were several other members of the battalion present so he refrained from using the nicknames born in the privacy of their tank. A tank crew was one thing, a command group was quite another and he was meticulous about the difference.
Stevenson nodded. “It’s like the time I took a white boyfriend to a rib joint in the ‘hood. Great ribs, best ever tasted. But, the same brooding hostility was there. Nobody spit on his ribs or gave him a hard time but we could both sense it. He had the sense to keep his mouth shut and let me do the talking. Same would do well for us here. The Second-Life humans here don’t look on us as liberators or saviors. Near as I can judge, they see us as, at best, an invading Army that has yet to prove who we are and what we want. No way are we the second coming.”
“Actually, Ma’am, strictly speaking, we are the second coming.”
The lieutenant in charge of the artillery battery was feeling his way in this odd group. This was his first effort at a response that wasn’t strictly military. Stevenson reached across and gave him a light slap on the back of the head. “We know that but they don’t. So we better be damned careful here. We don’t want more trouble than we can handle. Supply section, how are we for fuel and ammunition?”
Most of the veterans of the fighting in Hell worried about that. The memories of their ammunition supplies dwindling while unending streams of daemons pouring into the killing grounds were too fresh, as were the parallel memories of pulling out to resupply and finding that they could pick up only a portion of what had been needed.
“Ammunition, all the vehicles have full loads and we’ve got some extra. Fuel, we’ve enough to maneuver here a little but we’ve come far enough in to run the M-1s near dry. Fuel convoy is behind us, it’ll be with us in an hour or so. Food, we’re fine. Marky is already at work.” A laugh ran around the command group at that. It was a constant amazement what that man could do with Army field rations.
“Hokay, we’re all set then. We’ll stay here, fuel up and then move on. We’ll get to the center tomorrow unless we hit trouble.”
V-22 Osprey ‘Command-One’ Over The Eternal City, Heaven.
“Units are moving up well. No resistance reported.” General Asanee looked down at the scene rolling past underneath. The grid layout of the city made navigation easy. The V-22 was simply following the wide boulevard that ran up the center of the American zone of occupation.. Ahead of them, the green of what had once been Yahweh’s palace grounds and the blue of the immense lake in the city center were visible. For all the amount of diesel exhaust pouring into the air, it was still clearer here than in most human cities. Asanee sighed to herself, smog would come to Heaven soon enough. She remembered when she had been a child back on Earth, she could look up and night and see a fabulous array of stars. Then electricity had come, light pollution had been born and the stars had slowly vanished. Now, when she went back to her home, only the brightest were visible amid the glare of neon lighting.
“No active resistance.” General Petraeus corrected her. “There’s the seeds of what could be passive resistance already. We could turn that into a fully-fledged human insurrection if we’re not careful. Remember what happened in Iraq and Afghanistan.”
Asanee nodded. A few years earlier, before the Salvation War had changed everything, she had been in Iraq. Her General had received a request from the Thai unit assigned to Iraq for heavy weapons and landmines to defend against an insurgent attack. She had been sent to investigate the request and judge whether the fears of attack were grounded. A quick visit had turned into a two-month stay and had coincided with the expected attack. It had been beaten off but she remembered all too well how the situation in the country had gone downhill during her time there. “The Chinese and Russians are joining us Sir?”
“They’ll be there. Dorokov is flying in on a Mi-24. I don’t know how Ti plans to arrive.”
The pitch from the V-22’s engines changed as the aircraft transitioned from horizontal to vertical flight. The pilot was bringing the aircraft in to land on a large open area at the top of the steps leading up to Yahweh’s palace. Those steps were too large for humans to climb comfortably. Anyway, bringing an aircraft in made a very unsubtle point. Asanee looked at the lake, its shimmering royal blue now criss-crossed with wakes from ships, AAV-7s and LCACs. It was an impressive sight. Then, there was a gentle bump as the V-22 landed.
The tail ramp dropped down and General Petraeus led the way out. As he emerged, a Marine Corps band struck up a long-familiar tune. It was the words that were slightly strange.
When the Army and the Navy
Finally gazed on Heaven’s scenes
They found the streets were guarded by
United States Marines.
Chapter Eighty Two
Throne Room, The Ultimate Temple, The Eternal City, Heaven.
“This place is a disgrace.” General Ivan Semenovich Dorokhov looked around in barely-veiled disgust. The command group from the Human Expeditionary Army had assembled outside what had one been Yahweh’s palace and entered the anteroom. The building was in a serious state of decay, one only partially concealed by the glittering arrays of precious stones. General Dorokhov looked at the iridescent displa
ys with curiosity. “Has the matter of reparations been discussed yet?”
“The Yamantau Council are still evaluating the matter.” General Petraeus was also surveying the scene that was unfolding before his party. “I believe they have yet to come to a conclusion. The last thing I heard from them was that reparations were required but how they were to be paid is entirely another matter. Who should pay them is also interesting. Yahweh is undoubtedly the responsible party but he is dead. The rest of the angels seem to be as much of his victims as we were. We all saw that concentration camp.”
General Ti Jen-chieh was also inspecting the walls. “I wonder how many peasants and workers died on how many worlds to fill this room with stones.” His words were met with a series of nods. Even a cursory inspection of The Eternal City revealed that far more than a single world had been looted to provide the ever-present displays of gleaming gems.
“And what happened to them after death?” General Asanee was more interested in the carving of the woodwork. Her family were carpenters and sculptors who worked in wood and the craftsmanship in the carving interested her. Personally, and admitting to herself that she might be biased in the subject, she thought the carvings were inferior to the ones her brothers produced. The rifle she was carrying was an example of their work. Technically it was an M16A6 chambered for .50 Beowulf but the plastic furniture had been replaced by painstakingly-carved and polished mahogany. It was a superbly elegant weapon.
