Armageddon?? (100 page)

“Bloody
hell!” He remarked in astonishment as he saw the first of the pair of new
aircraft flare out and release its braking parachute.

The
large white aircraft’s nose wheel touched down and it began to decelerate,
demonstrating the short-field capability that had been designed in from the
start. As it passed XH558 Winters took in its pale, bleached national roundels
and its serial number – XR220.

The
Vulcan’s co-pilot, Squadron Leader David Maxwell, noticed that Winters was
standing as if he was in a daze. He had not yet noticed either of the two
arrivals.

“What
is it, Boss…?” He said just in time to see the second aircraft, XR222, taxi
past. “No…that couldn’t be! Tell me the Sun has finally gotten to me and that
was a Tornado, not what I just thought it was.”

“I’m
afraid that’s what you thought it was, it’s the second one in fact.” Winters
replied.

“Well
they kept that pretty quiet, Boss. I never heard so much as a peep that anybody
was working on them.”

“Considering
that they’ve got no hours on the airframe and have been cosseted for the last
forty odd years it must have been fairly easy to get them flying again. Depends
how extensive the internal damage was I guess, I’d heard Healey had ordered
them cut up inside. Either the staff fixed them up while they were on show or
the orders sort of got lost. I suppose they looted the Concorde program for
engines and spares. I always heard Maggie Thatcher wanted the aircraft put back
in production so some work must have been done back then as well.”

“Way
I heard it, it was just the electrical wiring that was hacked up, they even cut
the cabling rather than disconnecting it. But they’ve been in
temperature-controlled and air-conditioned environments so the wiring may have
been the only thing that needed replacing. Winters turned to the great bomber
above and behind him. “Sorry, Old Girl, I’m afraid you’re no longer the star of
the show.”

Winters
could swear that he heard the bomber ‘harrumph’, evidently she disapproved of
such show-offs as the ‘Grey Ghost’. On the other hand it could just be the
airframe expanding and contracting as some bits of it heated up in the Sun and
others cooled down.

The
two new arrivals taxied to the end of the line of Buccaneers, shut down their
Olympus 22R engines and opened their cockpit canopies. Winters and Maxwell
recognized their aircrew as belonging to the Fast Jet and Weapons Operational
Evaluation Unit, which until recently had the number plate of 41 Squadron,
though that unit had reformed as a Jaguar GR.3A squadron. Since nobody had
flown an aircraft like these since Roland Beamont had test flown the first
prototype it was probably quite sensible to have the most experienced pilots in
the service fly them.

Behind
him, Maxwell shook his head. If this looting of museums went on, there wouldn’t
be an aviation collection left intact. Idly, he wondered what the Russians were
recovering from Monino and whether the Chinese would let the Americans have
their U-2 back. Then it struck him that this showed just how seriously humans
were taking this war. They were prepared to destroy their past, their history,
their background, everything that they normally held dear if by doing so they
could get one more combat aircraft, one more ship, one more tank into the
battle zone. They were fighting this war regardless of cost, regardless of
effort. All that mattered to them was winning. Suddenly he felt quite sorry for
Yahweh and Satan whose posturing had unleashed this fury upon them.

Mission
Control, Detroit

“Now,
this is going to present an interesting problem.”

“I
thought this test shot was pretty well worked out. There’s nothing that
problematical about a radio-controlled aircraft surely?”

“Not
that. The test will work or it won’t. We’ll just have to wait and see.” The
Targeteer gestured at the newspaper that was folded up and discarded on the
desk. “That will.”

Doctor
Kuroneko looked confused. “The election.”

“That?
It won’t really make that much difference who wins. The Republic is stronger
than a retired warhorse and a jackass combined. No, I meant the court ruling
from Texas. They’ve just sentenced a sex offender called James Kevin Pope to 40
life prison terms — one for each sex assault conviction — and 20 years for each
of the three sexual performance of a child convictions. They’ve made the
sentences consecutive so he’s got 4,060 years. He will be eligible for parole
in the year 3209.”

Doctor
Kuroneko still looked confused. The problem with the targeteers was that their
disinterested, inflexionless voices gave no hint as to whether they were joking
or not. “I’m sorry, I still don’t follow.”

“Well,
in the past, all such jail sentences were a bit absurd, after all, what were
they going to do? Hold parole hearings around a two millennia old grave? But
what happens now? Pope goes to jail, dies in his cell sooner or later, probably
sooner, ordinary decent criminals don’t like child molesters, and goes up to
the next level. Does he serve out the rest of his sentence there? Or does he get
a pass since he’s dead? And if you think we had trouble over capital punishment
in the past, wait until everybody starts arguing the issue now.”

“Excuse
me Sir, the transport aircraft is approaching the portal now.”

“Thank
you Captain. Any problems?”

“No
Sir, the C-119 is behaving like a charm. A very well-behaved old lady. The
museum we got it from looked after her well. It’s a pity to blow her up
really.”

“Not
really, the other option is to waste a modern transport and we need all the
ones we can get.”

In
the distance, the great waterfall of molten rock was still pouring down over
the city of Detroit. Most of the city itself was hidden behind the clouds of
smoke and steam that were rising from the blocked river and the burning city
center. Detroit had been a horrifying experience for everybody involved, much
worse than the disaster that had engulfed Sheffield. The river had been the
real factor that had made everything so grim, after the lava flow had blocked
it, the city had been flooded, drowning many of the trapped people before they
could be rescued. New Orleans had been bad enough, Katrina had left the city so
badly damaged it was doubtful if it would ever fully recover but Detroit was
worse. Even with FEMA actually doing their job this time, Detroit was still far
worse.

The
electro-optical display showed the view from the cockpit of the
remote-controlled C-119. The torrent of lava was filling the screen and the
temperature readout was reaching critical levels.

“It’s
time, touch her off.”

“Sorry
old girl.” The Captain at the remote flight controls whispered, turned a key on
the control board, then lifted a switch cover and pressed the button it
concealed. Just below the sky-volcano, a brilliant flash momentarily eclipsed
the orange-crimson stream.

The
watchers held their breath while the blast was absorbed by the portal. The lava
stream seemed to falter, spluttering as the black ellipse of the portal
fluctuated in size. There was a breath pause, the darkness seeming intense
without the great luminous stream.

“Do
you think it…” Doctor Kuroneko could hardly bring himself to say the word
‘worked’.

“No.”
The targeteer stared at the ellipse, it was reopening and a surge of lava
poured through, a much greater torrent than there had been before the blast. It
faded away again as the pent-up mass dropped through but only to return to its
previous volume.

“I
was afraid of that.” Kuroneko sounded distressed. “I think we’ll have to
explode the bomb from the other side to close the portal.”

“No
problem. We’ve got a for that plan in place. Several in fact.”

Site
of Satan’s Palace. City of Dis, Hell

“Work
faster you lazy fools. Our master may be waiting for you.” Belial screamed out
the challenge. He had assumed responsibility for the rescue effort, sending out
his demons to bring in every orc they could find. Now the crater was full of
them, digging out the shattered stone. Some had already been killed when the
stones had shifted and they had fallen into a void, only to be crushed when the
stones moved again.

Belial
looked down in growing frustration, there had been no survivors found yet and
his hopes were fading fast. All his efforts to win his way back into Satan’s
favor couldn’t be wasted, could they? Then, he was aware of a darkening, a
shadow over him. He turned and looked up, afraid this may be yet another
devilish human trick. But it wasn’t, with a surge of relief he recognized the
great wings and the seven heads that looked down on him. Euryale had bred this
creature herself, using all the skills and magics she could bring. A
cross-breed of a Greater Harpy and a Hydra, a mount that had no equal anywhere
else in Hell. It had been a gift for Satan, a great mount that was unique, that
Satan could use to overawe any who saw him. The seven great heads stared at him
and he wondered if they knew it was to his house that they owed their
existence. Or if they cared. The implication of the sight dawned on him and
relief surged through his body.

“Your
Infernal Majesty. You live!”

Satan
looked down on the figure below him. “Belial, you brought the humans here! You
betrayed me to them.”

“No
Sire, I was on my way here myself when the human aircraft struck. They dropped
their bombs but I was just far enough away to live.”

Satan
stared at him still, weighing up the scene before him. “And you started the
rescue effort. How many other Lords of Hell aided you?”

“None,
Your Majesty.” Because they are all dead he thought but no need to say that.
“But the lesser demons you see here rallied around to aid. All they needed was direction.
We gathered the orcs and started digging. We will not stop until we have an
accounting.”

Satan
nodded slowly and focussed his vision on Belial’s face, seeing the traces of
his tears from frustration and rage. “And you wept for me Belial.” Satan’s
voice was dumbfounded, disbelieving. “You wept for me and fought for my life
while others scurried away to save themselves. Such bravery and loyalty deserve
recognition. The realms of Asmodeus remain unawarded. From now on they shall be
the realms of Belial. I give them to you, holding them of course is up to you.”

Belial
looked around, he was heir to Asmodeus and faced wealth unparalleled. Then he
frowned slightly, Euryale hadn’t just created the giant flying hydra, she had
bred the golden wyverns, greater by far than the normal breed, as its
bodyguard. She had created twelve of them but there were only nine surrounding
the crater.

Satan
saw him look and deigned to give an explanation to his now-favored vassal. “I
was meeting with my Greater Heralds for information on the battle for they can
be trusted when the reports of others cannot. I was there with them when this
happened. On the way back, a group of human sky-chariots, you called them
aircraft? attacked us. Three of my wyverns were killed. They attacked me!”
Satan’s voice went into a pitched, intense scream. “I must have revenge. How
did the attacks you promised succeed.”

“Beyond
our best hopes Your Majesty. Sheffield and Dee-troyt have been destroyed, one
of my agents on Earth reports that the human herald Cee-En-En says that many
factories have been destroyed. My promise is fulfilled Your Majesty, I await
your further orders.”

“Destroy
more cities. And your next target will be?”

“Turin
Your Majesty. One prisoner identified it as a great arsenal city also. And
there is something strangely satisfying about the idea of pouring white-hot
lava over Turin. But Sire, we will need more Naga, to open more portals.”

“Then
take what you need from the other Lords.” Satan looked down at the pit where
the orcs were laboring to excavate the ruins. “And when those orcs have
finished digging down there, kill them all. I do not want their stories being
told.”

Chapter
Seventy

Recreational
Hall, Camp Hell-Alpha, Hell

“Aces
and Eights with a Queen on the side. Read’em and weep.” Sergeant (deceased)
Tucker McElroy reached out and scooped the pool off the table with a flourish.

Corporal
Gerry Links looked miserably at the empty table and his depleted stake. “I
guess you had to come up with the Dead Man’s Hand didn’t you? That a common
deal down here?”

“Depends
on the dealer.” McElroy leaned back and tried to make his mind up what to do
with his winnings. That was the trouble with Hell, there just wasn’t that much
to spend money on. No economy as yet, not for humans anyway. His reverie was
interrupted by a whack on his back.

“Hey
Tucker dude, Good to see you. I heard you got killed up at Hit.” Elmer Carleton
was an old acquaintance of McElroy’s, now part of 1st Brigade.

“I
was.” McElroy eyed him to see the effect. Living humans hadn’t quite got used
to the idea of speaking with the dead yet. Not in social circumstances anyway.
Carleton didn’t disappoint him, the corporal’s eyes started to bulge.