by Stuart Slade
The encampment was burning, the building set a fire from the copper plasma jets formed by the HEAT rounds. Some of the baldricks had been taking cover inside, their screams as they burned could be heard even inside the tanks as they waddled down the single street between the buildings, their guns crashing as they demolished what was left of the encampment. They were wreathed in the smoke, only vaguely semi-visible, the screaming roar of their engines the only thing that the baldricks could hear before they emerged from the cloud that hid the monsters. It was the roar of the engines that broke the baldricks more than the gunfire or the screams of the victims as the tanks cut them down or ground them into slush with their tracks. The baldricks that were left ran from the burning encampment into the open ground where they hoped to make their escape. These baldricks knew nothing of how tanks fought infantry.
Behind her, Stevenson could hear the crackle of 25mm gunfire as the Bradleys caught up with her platoon and added their own quantum of destruction to the holocaust that was engulfing the outpost. Her tank had reached the end of the street and it crashed through the wooden gate that gave access to the highway in front of her. A dozen, perhaps a dozen and a half baldricks were running away, trying to escape across the open ground. It was pitiful, Stevenson felt slightly sorry for them as her four tanks formed into their line and the canister shells scythed them down. Baldricks could run faster than humans, a lot faster, but that didn’t save them. The ones who survived the canister were cut down by the machine guns and then crushed under the tracks. If any had survived, they would have learned an important lesson that day. Mechanized warfare is a bitch.
Over to her left, another black pyre of smoke was staining the red sky. “Charlie, is that you?”
“Sure is Captain. We cut the corner and hit the secondary. Its ashes, there were eighteen, perhaps twenty Baldricks here, all dead. No casualties.”
“Bravo, any casualties back there?”
“Not a one Cap. We’re fine and we got some of the baldricks you missed on the way through.”
“Hokay, guys, form on me. We’re heading home.”
An hour later, Stevenson was staring at her map again. “It’s got to be here. We came back on an exact reciprocal of the way we came in. It’s got to be here.”
“Could they have closed it Hooters?” Crab’s voice was worried.
“I’ll tell you something else, we didn’t see that guard house we flattened on the way in. We weren’t that long, we should have seen the wreckage at least.”
Stevenson pressed her lips together. “Right.” Radio to company command channel. “All right guys, same drill as before. We go two ways, Bravo stays here and keeps in contact. We’ll find that hellmouth.”
This time it was Charlie that lucked out, at the end of their cast. They spotted the burned-out display stand and that gave Alpha Team the reference it needed. Twenty minutes later her command reassembled and drove triumphantly out through the Hellgate
As they crossed the ridge, Colonel Macfarland was waiting for them, impatience conflicting with congratulation on his face.
“Sir, both targets wiped out, no casualties, more than 100 baldricks dead. And Sir, something’s really screwy with directions in there.”
Chapter Thirty Seven
Tartarus, outer borders of Hell
Count Belial had long since stopped watching the bleak landscape roll past below. He had been flying for two days straight and even his inhuman endurance could not prevent the ride becoming extremely uncomfortable. The wyverns flew faster than any demon, while his own prized flock flew faster than anything the demons had ever encountered, thanks to Euryale's breeding program. Unfortunately it was also fast enough to transform the normally soft and welcoming clouds of ash into a blast that stung Belial's eyes and scoured his skin. The remoteness of his domain made the wyverns a necessity if he was to maintain any real presence at Satan's court, but Belial had also found them useful as a mercenary force. After millennia of facing virtually helpless lower-plane species, few demon lords bothered to maintain the kind of aerial combat forces seen in the Great Celestial War. They mostly depended on the harpies who, one on one, were no match for a Wyvern and its rider. The timely arrival of a few of his superior wyverns at a flier skirmish usually won him considerable favor with the victorious duke.
Whatever the merits of wyverns, right now Belial wanted nothing more than for this flight to end. From the moment he had left Satan's throne room, his mind had been churning on the details of the plan. The attack had to be spectacular, of that there was no doubt, but this time spectacle was not enough. Destroying a couple of human settlements would get him temporary adulation, but when the main attack began the glory-hungry dukes would soon see fit to consign his actions to historical trivia. They would say that his attacks merely kept the court entertained while the real forces were mustered. To gain real status he had to play a major and unquestionable role in the demon victory. His first thought was to burn the human capitals, but it was no use – the humans seemed to be divided into thousands of city states that had temporarily united into a planet-wide crusade against the demons. Destroying a mere pair of them would undoubtedly terrorize the local population but likely have little effect on the forces the humans could field. In fact, if their political leadership was anything like Satan, destroying it may actually give an advantage to the human armies. Belial laughed grimly at the joke he would never dare make to anybody.
Half a day into the flight, a revelation came to him, and with it the solution to his dilemma. Belial had been trying to comprehend why the humans fought so well now when they had never done so before. The reports of the few battered survivors had stressed the killing power of the human magic, but when pressed they had admitted that had never seen human mages conjuring the magic unassisted. What they had seen were and endless array of strange metal items; boxes that spat killing flame, spears that threw metal pebbles, sky chariots that loosed the deadly fire arrows and of course the iron chariots of legend. The humans had never shown any magical ability when the demons had visited before.
To Belial, it was obvious. The foundation of his painstakingly rebuilt power base was the superior weapons his forges produced. The difference between a typical bronze trident and a Tartaruan one was relatively slight. The painstakingly crafted copper laminations increased its power by around one and a half-fold, almost two-fold in the jeweled silver versions he made for the nobility. The secret tempering process produced prongs that bit deeper and snapped off with noticeably lower frequency than a common cast trident. The difference was not overwhelming, but it significantly tilted the odds in the small skirmishes that had been typical of Celestial warfare since the end of the Great War.
Even still the difference between an armed demon and an unarmed demon was not great. The tridents permitted the lesser demons to fling lightning, but it took many blasts to fell one demon and against celestials served only to thin out a charge before contact. The real fighting was done in close quarters. While tridents and swords had useful reach they often broke and did no more damage than tooth and claw. Belial saw that because the humans were so weak, they had been forced to invest tremendous effort into creating powerful weapons, weapons that could multiply their strength until it was sufficient to challenge a demon. In a flash, Belial saw the humans' scheme. When they had first seen the demons five millennia ago, they must have realized that weapons of unprecedented enchantment were the only thing that could offer them a hope of resisting the armies of hell. They had probably been refining their lore and stockpiling them in secret all this time, revealing their new magics only when threatened with outright extinction. Belial had not thought the short-lived humans capable of such patience and planning. Regardless, now that he understood where their strength came from, he could destroy it.
Belial felt the wyvern's weight shift beneath him and the pounding of its wing beats slowed slightly. Immediately he connected with its mind, ready to punish the creature for its laziness. Instead he was
relieved to find that the beast had sighted its roost and had begun a slow descent towards the palace. Belial raised his head into the slipstream, opening his eyes and blinking back the grains of pumice that battered against his face. The dusty red foothills of the Tartaruan range were dimly visible beneath them, dotted with flickering fires and columns of smoke rising from the forges. His capital sat in a deep depression between the upper foothills, now almost perpetually shrouded by smog. The palace itself had originally been a prison, carved laboriously from adamantine to house the most dangerous angelic prisoners of war. Many millennia ago Satan had found it most amusing to exile him to an abandoned ruin in a worthless backwater, but Belial had gradually transformed it into a great arsenal and an almost impregnable fortress.
The wyvern dropped into a glide, shedding speed fast as it circled over the dwellings of Belial's subjects. The great guardian-beast at the main gates spotted its master returning and loosed an ear-splitting discordant screech from its thirteen throats. The scurrying figures below had long since stopped being startled by the noise, but they did pause and look up, before falling to their knees in deference to their master. His steed began its final swoop down onto the basalt flagstones of the outer courtyard. Belial saw that Euryale was already waiting for him on the terrace, accompanied by assorted servants. As he drew up she was stared disapprovingly at his mount, clearly angry that he had pushed one of her prized specimens so hard.
"My Lord." Euryale's snake-like 'hair' writhed and glared at him, but her tone was flatly deferential.
She gestured to a pair of servants. "You two, take this beast to the roosts immediately. Feed him chopped flesh, not live and not too quick. Don't let him bloat himself. If he sickens I will hold you responsible."
The self-proclaimed gorgon queen turned back to Belial, who had begun striding up the steps towards the palace. She hurried to keep up. "So what news from Mekratrig's court? What great deeds have you accomplished while I mind your palace for you." Her tone carried bitterness rather than resentment; gorgons in general and Euryale in particular were not welcome in Dis. She too had been an outcast and she had even further to go before returning to favor.
"Not here." Belial paused to address the servants. "I want every baron, every captain and every senior overseer in my throne room in four hours time. Send the fastest fliers. Stop groveling and move!" The lesser demons took off, some literally while the flightless ran for the barracks, leaving count and consort to enter the palace and make their way to Belial's study.
No sooner had the bronze doors clanged shut than Euryale spat "So let me guess, Satan exiled you again and now we must prepared to be invaded by half the neighboring dukes."
"Silence wench!". Belial had seemed distracted, but now he fixed her with a gaze so terrible she immediately regretted her taunt. For a moment she thought he was going to strike her, but when he spoke again it was not with a roar but with pride tinged by glee. "Abigor has been proven a fool and a traitor. He allowed most of his forces to be slaughtered by the humans and then joined their side." The news had stunned every demon to hear of it and Euryale was no exception.
"Our lord Satan has chosen me to strike the next blow against the humans. My plan will deliver a decisive blow and stand in sharp contrast to Abigor's failure. They must have places like Tartarus, hidden places where they produce and stockpile their enchanted weapons. We will find these places and we will destroy them they way we destroyed the last two human cities. With most of their weapons gone and no way to make more, the human armies will falter and be swept away."
Belial's plan seemed mad to Euryale at first, but within seconds she began to see the logic. It was not the way wars had been fought; destroying crops and food stores was standard practice, but disarming the enemy had never been considered a viable or useful tactic. Yet the human magics were unprecedented and the humans were so very reliant on them. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense.
Headquarters, Randi Institute of Pneumatology, The Pentagon, Arlington, VA
“May I speak with you, Excellency?”
James Randi looked up at the figure that had just entered his office. He felt the start of a surge of affection and crushed it down ruthlessly. Damn, these succubi are dangerous ran through his mind. Even aware of their ability to induce empathy with anybody within smelling distance, the pheromones worked. “I’m not an Excellency or even a Sire. And calling me that doesn’t get you any favorable consideration, quite the reverse in fact. But if you want to call me James, or The Amazing Randi, then we can talk.”
Lugasharmanaska noted the abruptness and guessed it was the man over-compensating for the effects of her miasma. It was a pity the humans had found out about that. “James, I know we have the ability to talk to demons in hell now. Using your machines.”
“We can. One on one. Julie’s making Domiklespharatu a whimpering nervous wreck. It doesn’t get us very far but it’s giving her a bit of revenge for the torment he put her through. So?”
“My Liege-Lady is Deumos, the Princess of all the Incubi and Succubi in Hell. There are thousands of us you know. I would like to speak to her using your machines.”
The reply was so blunt it had to be honest. No wheedling or trickery, just a blunt request. Randi was amazed and suspicious. “And just why should we do that.”
“My mission was to seduce one or more leading politicians, bend them to my will and then learn from them as much about you humans as I could. I failed, the politicians who were leading in Bangkok resisted me. That failure could earn me my death. But I need to report to Deumos my findings.”
“Why, if you’ll be killed.” Randi thought for a moment. “Could she kill you here, by remote control so to speak?”
“No, but that does not matter now.” Lugasharmanaska gave what was her equivalent of a smile. “Anyway I have not failed any more have I? I am here with you now and this building is indeed a palace of power. I did not get here the way intended but I am here. And I ought to report my findings to Deumos.”
“And what findings might those be?” Randi was interested in how this conversation was going. He had the impression Lugasharmanaska was being honest for the first time since she had arrived here.
“I will tell her that you humans are going to win this war. That short of some incredible stupidity on your part, and you are not a stupid people, you can hardly help but win. Already she must know about the raid yesterday, it will do no harm to tell her it will be the first of many, each more destructive than the last. I will persuade her that her only chance of survival will be to join the human side, to stand with humans against Satan. She may stand with him and die for a certainty, or stand with humans and have a chance of survival. And she will believe me for I will be telling her the truth.”
“That never got anybody believed. I was telling people the truth about cheap tricksters like that Israeli idiot and malicious frauds who pretended to be mediums for decades and nobody believed me. Lugasharmanaska, let me take this to the powers that be. We’ll see what they say.”
It hadn’t actually taken much persuading. The chance of turning a demon lord was too good to pass up. Anyway, measuring the signals generated as Lugasharmanaska talked to Deumos would provide a whole world of valuable data. So, four hours later, the succubus was relaxing on a couch while the technicians worked on the wiring connecting her to the signals amplification system. A group of four Marines were in the room as well, their orders simple, if the Succubus tried anything, kill her. However, there was something else as well. Randi had given their leader a letter Lugasharmanaska had written, one that had made his eyebrows rise.
“OK, Luga. Off you go, try and get through.”
Lugasharmanaska screwed up her eyes and concentrated her very hardest. As the signal started to be generated, the electrical sensors around her head picked it up and started boosting it, driving it against the indefinable, unknown barrier that separated the dimensions. She grimaced slightly, she guessed the humans weren’t trying
to hurt her but the boosted signal was having the same effect on her mind as over-loud music had on human ears. Then, there was a snapping sensation. She was through.
“Your Royal Highness. It is Lugasharmanaska. I have much to report.”
“You have been gone for a long time kidling. We thought you were dead.”
“I was recognized and captured. I failed in my mission.”
“Then it would have been better for you if you had been dead.” The mock-affection had gone from Deumos’s mind voice.
“Highness. I failed in my mission, but I have also succeeded. I am in the human’s power palace now, speaking to you from there. I have become part of that power structure, a lowly part but still high enough to learn things you must know. Please, I beg of you, hear me.”
“Speak then kidling. Perhaps your words may earn forgiveness.”
“Highness. I have learned this and it is truth. The humans will not lose this war. They will win and Satan’s empire will come crashing down upon him. They have killing arts beyond our imagination and the ability to use them. They have not shown us a tenth of a tenth of a tenth of what they can do. Did you hear of the attack yesterday when the humans sent their tanks and mickvees into Hell itself? When they destroyed whatever they could find, killed all and destroyed all.”
