Sam made eye contact with her for a moment and then dropped his gaze. He didn’t know what to say. ‘Thanks’ seemed a little clumsy. He glanced out the window, lost in thought. Maybe it had been Grace that the Watcher had referred to all that time ago? Had Samyaza been talking about Grace and not his mother as he’d previously suspected? He wanted — no — needed his mother back and a part of him believed that she was the key to his salvation — hence the reason he was so desperate to find her. But it was Grace who had saved him. Had come through for him when he needed her the most. It was a sobering thought.
Even though it was still hours before dawn, a bright glow was coming from the river below them. It was vaguely ship-sized.
“Our fire ship,” said Adam, noticing the direction of Sam’s gaze.
“What?” said Sam and Grace together.
“Fire ship,” repeated Adam. “Old tactic. Back when ships were made of wood, admirals would load one with combustibles, set fire to it and point it in the direction of an enemy fleet. We’re doing the same thing here.”
Suddenly, Joshua’s disappearance and the rapid departure of his fleet were explained. They were trying to get out of harm’s way.
“What is it?” asked Sam. “It looks huge.” Indeed it did. It filled half of the Hudson River.
“It’s an old oil tanker. We found it abandoned on the coast and relatively sea worthy. Even had a fair bit of oil left if you knew how to get at it. We siphoned off what we needed and kept the rest on board for this.”
Sam watched as the helicopter banked over the massive ship. It was only a few hundred feet away from the dock containing the invasion fleet now, heading directly for them. Even as Sam watched, the Battlecruiser and its two escorting Destroyers were frantically powering out of harm’s way. They’d left their run a little late though. Almost in slow motion, the sheer scale of the impact creating awe in anyone watching, the oil tanker ploughed into the Destroyer on the Battlecruiser’s flank. The bow of the tanker broke the Destroyer in half but diverted the impact away from the Battlecruiser which was probably the Captain’s intention. Both ships erupted in flames. Oil from the breached tanker sprayed over a wide area, encompassing the Battlecruiser and igniting flames along its hull.
Sam lost sight of the unfolding drama as the helicopter banked again, heading towards another large ship coming into view at the river mouth.
“Sorry,” said Adam. “Can’t hang around. Both our choppers and jets have limited flight time. The ash plays havoc with their air filters. Even getting them airborne for this long was a mission.” He pointed in the direction of the new arrival. “Our flag ship,” he explained. “It’s the last aircraft carrier remaining to the U. S fleet. Nimitz class. The George Washington. We got lucky with this as every other carrier got wiped out by tsunamis.”
“What’s happening with Colonel Wheat?” asked Grace.
Adam frowned. “I don’t know. We lost contact with them.”
“What!” exclaimed Sam. “Didn’t anyone warm him about the Holland Tunnel? It’s teeming with Lemure!”
“No,” said Adam. “Grace told me but the warning came too late. We’d already lost contact with him by then.”
“Turn us around,” said Sam.
This changed things. If Colonel Wheat was lost then the U. S forces wouldn’t stand a chance against the invasion fleet. Unless he took out the leadership. That meant his brother. The Antichrist. And the sooner the better. They really couldn’t delay. He could’ve kicked himself for not killing Joshua when he’d had the chance. With any luck though, the fire ship might get him yet. “I have to get to the Chrysler building.”
He explained swiftly. As he did so, he could see Adam calculating. “We might be able to make it. Just,” said Adam. He issued several instructions into his mike and the Blackhawk suddenly turned back the way it had come.
“What’s our plan then?” said Grace.
“There’s no ‘our’ plan here,” replied Sam. “I’ll go in alone. You stay here.”
Grace started to splutter, but Adam interrupted her before she could protest. “Too risky,” said Adam. “I’ll call in one of the jets to do an airstrike. Take out the whole building.”
Sam shook his head. “Can’t chance it. I don’t know if there’s a chapel in the building. If there is, he could escape. I need to make sure. I failed last time — I won’t fail again.”
“And how do you propose to get yourself out before the airstrike?” asked Grace, clearly peeved.
“I’ll jump out the window,” said Sam, trying to sound nonchalant.
Grace’s look was incredulous. “But you just told us he was on the 32nd floor. How are you going to survive that?”
“Don’t forget what I am,” said Sam. The words sounded bitter even to him. “I can easily survive a fall that would kill a human.”
Adam was looking at him with a faint smile on his face. “There’s bravery and then there’s bravery. The jets are armed with iron warheads. They’ll take out several floors at least. You’d better make sure you’re no-where near that floor when the attack comes.” He unstrapped the watch from his wrist and threw it to Sam. “Here, take this. I’ll give you exactly ten minutes from when we drop you on the building. Then I’ll call in the airstrike.”
Sam nodded his understanding, strapping the watch to his own wrist.
“I’m coming with you,” said Grace.
Sam knew she’d do this. Be difficult. It was typical Grace behavior lately. He was about to argue with her when Adam forestalled him.
“No, Grace. I need you to liaise with the Resistance. If we’ve lost Colonel Wheat, we’re going to need them. You know their numbers and capabilities and they know you. Stay with me. Besides, you won’t be able to survive the fall or get out in time.”
Grace said nothing. She darted one angry look in Sam’s direction and then looked down at her feet, conceding defeat. She knew Adam was right, and Sam knew that the knowledge annoyed her. She hated being told what to do.
“Take this,” said Adam, suddenly changing the subject. He pressed a hand sized package into Sam’s palm. “I don’t know how you’re going to make it work, though — you may have to use gloves.”
The object was wrapped in cloth. Sam unwrapped it carefully. Inside were two roughly spherical shapes, both equipped with handles. Sam knew what they were — grenades. He’d seen soldiers with them many times before but they weren’t commonly used against demons, being made of steel. Technically they were fragmentation grenades, commonly known as frags. Once the pin was pulled, the device was on a timer and would explode, killing everything within a five meter radius. Sam didn’t have to ask why Adam warned him against it. They were both made of iron.
Adam was smiling. “Had a team working on them down south for the last few months. Made especially for this attack. Not only is it made of iron but it’s got iron ball bearings inside. Guaranteed to kill absolutely every demon in a room so make sure you’re not one of them when it goes off.”
Sam nodded his thanks and tucked the package into the pocket of his hoodie. Outside the window, he could see they were above Manhattan now, heading for midtown. They were joined by two more Blackhawks, flying on either side of them in a defensive formation. Adam must have called in extra support. Sam even saw a few jets flying overhead, providing some additional cover for them.
Adam nodded towards the open door. “There’s the Empire State. Or what’s left of it at any rate.”
Sam cast around for the iconic building. Finally he located it, looking anything but iconic. It was now about half the size of what he’d seen in pictures in magazines and on TV, a blackened and broken stump of a building. Sam couldn’t help but feel disappointed again. “What happened to it?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“Hard to be sure,” said Adam, “but if I had to guess, I’d say it was hit by a firestorm. Funny how those things can be so isolated.”
A firestorm had been Sam’s guess, too. It was a shame. The Empir
e State building had been around for so long and for it to now be destroyed when some other buildings remained virtually unscathed. Didn’t seem fair somehow.
The Blackhawk and their escort approached midtown. Suddenly, the door gunner with the M134 minigun opened up again. Sam craned his head out the door to see what he was firing at. Astaroth.
The great flying demons were circling around the helicopters. At least a dozen of them. The other Blackhawks were doing the same, firing almost continuously, fending off the Astaroth, trying to keep them from the doors.
There seemed to be more activity around midtown — especially fires. A few buildings smoldered, leaking lazy trails of smoke, but others were well lit. Either firestorms had done their worst or they had been deliberately lit by either side. On the ground below, Sam could see tiny figures running around. It was hard to tell who was who but he sensed both demon and human minds. He saw the telltale spark of gunfire a few times as they flew along overhead. A running battle seemed to be taking place, probably between the Resistance and the forces of the Antichrist. He doubted whether Adam’s had landed a ground based force yet and as for Colonel Wheat — well, he was potentially out of the picture altogether.
On his left, Sam saw an Astaroth get too close to the blades of the helicopter. As soon as it came in contact, it disappeared into a shroud of dust. Sam caught Adam’s eye and raised his eyebrows at the other man.
“Iron-tipped rotors,” Adam said, smiling humorously. “Retro-fitted. Thought that would surprise them.”
Sam felt suddenly elated, like the scene almost warranted laughter. It was pretty surreal. He reflected that was probably another reason why the helicopters couldn’t stay in the air for too long. The iron added just a bit too much extra weight.
The other Astaroth learnt the lesson their dead fellow provided rather quickly and altogether too well, keeping their distance from the blades. Sam saw two of them try another tactic, once again on the unlucky Blackhawk to his left. Working as a team, they divided the fire of the door gunner. While he was occupied shooting at one Astaroth trying to attack him from below, the other grabbed hold of the landing strut with two of its four arms. Sam estimated the creature weighed close to a ton — the Blackhawk could not just ignore such a sudden weight shift. It tipped over to its side. Sam watched helplessly as the gunner fell sideways out the other door, screaming. Both Astaroth forced themselves through the doors and into the interior. Within seconds, the helicopter was spinning out of control. It crashed into the streets below, the wreckage blossoming into flame.
Sam gritted his teeth impotently. His time would come soon though. Very soon. No sooner had the thought entered his head, than the Chrysler building hove into view. Joshua had been telling the truth. It was certainly a headquarters of some description. On the ground, Horned demons and Lemure were hundreds thick, completely surrounding the base of the building. They were under attack though. There seemed to be some sort of melee taking place as, presumably, the Resistance laid siege to it.
In the skies above the once gleaming metal crown of the building, many more Astaroth circled. A fighter jet shot past overhead, strafing the flying demons as it passed. Sam saw at least five disappear under the lethal barrage, punching a hole for the remaining two Blackhawks.
They shot through the gap, the door gunners pounding any Astaroth with hundreds of rounds from their miniguns. The Blackhawk containing Sam circled over the balcony on the 32nd floor with the other Blackhawk taking a supporting position nearby.
Sam couldn’t help but think back to just over three years earlier and his last encounter with his brother. That time, like this one, he had to storm a well-defended position to even get close to him. Sam sighed. It was never going to be easy, he reflected, reminding himself why he was doing this. Not for those in Heaven. Not for Him. This was for the innocents. Those who didn’t deserve to be the targets and subjects of the Antichrist’s rage. If Sam killed the Antichrist, surely he would save many innocents.
They were about twenty feet above the balcony. One of Grace’s squad began to prepare the descending ladder. Sam waved him away and tugged off his mike. He secured his swords, suddenly aware that his backpack was missing, feeling a little odd that the familiar weight was lacking. Grace saw his frown.
“What is it?” she mouthed.
“My backpack,” he replied, yelling over the noise of the rotor.
She gave him the briefest of smiles. “I know where it is,” she yelled back. “Don’t worry. You’ll see it again. And me too. Come back alive, Sam.”
He nodded.
“Good luck,” Adam shouted in his ear. “Remember, ten minutes. Don’t forget.”
“I won’t,” shouted Sam, quickly setting the stopwatch function on his newly acquired watch.
Grabbing hold of the safety handle, he leaned out. On the balcony below, several Horned demons stood motionless, staring menacingly up at the helicopters. Dozens of Lemure ran around frantically, desperate to attack the helicopters above but with no means to do so. Adam gestured and the gunner opened up on them, the large rounds punching holes in even the Horned demons’ armor, sentencing them back to Hell. The gunner cleared an area that was demon-free enough to satisfy Sam.
Suddenly, thoughts of Yeth intruded into his battle calmness. This was exactly the sort of situation where he would’ve liked Yeth to be with him. He wondered where his Hellhound was right now. Whether he was all right and had survived his encounter with the Devil’s Hand. He couldn’t risk summoning his demon. If there wasn’t a chapel inside the building, then Yeth would have to battle through several thousand demons to join his side. If there was, he was dooming his demon to death when the airstrike came. A part of him didn’t even want to try for fear that Yeth may not be able to answer the call because he was dead. The thought made Sam feel more upset than he’d believed possible, the Hellhound being his only real friend and companion these last three years. ‘Stop it,’ he told himself. The train of thought was beginning to ruin his battle mood.
Angrily, he cast the thoughts aside carefully and resolutely. He’d have to determine Yeth’s fate later and didn’t have time for distractions right now. Without another thought or backward glance, Sam jumped.
Chapter Twenty-five
Brotherly love
“… and in every sort of evil that deceives those who are perishing. They perish because they refused to love the truth and so be saved.”
2 Thessalonians 2:10
He landed heavily, bending both knees to absorb the impact. Even so, he still managed to crack the thick stone tiles that covered the balcony. Although completely unharmed, the impact still hurt. He didn’t even want to start thinking about how much agony falling 32 floors would involve.
The remaining demons immediately fell upon him. With an expression that any witnesses would have interpreted as pleasurable, Sam drew both swords. The weapons almost leapt into his hand, eager to be about their business.
Above, the lethal barrage of iron fire ceased raining down and the demons advanced more confidently. At first, Sam dare not look above, guessing that the gunner would not risk inflicting friendly fire, but then the noise of the rotors changed. He glanced upwards. Both Blackhawks were besieged by Astaroth, clearly preoccupied with the new threat. The pair veered off and disappeared from view, relentlessly pursued by the flying demons. Sam was alone.
The first demons to reach him were Lemure. He destroyed them with quick, efficient strikes of his swords, so quickly that they had no time to react. The four remaining Horned demons were a completely different kettle of fish, not to be dismissed as easily. Horned demons were never killed easily. Sam didn’t exactly fear them, but he was certainly wary. Their giant limbs — bigger and more powerful even than an Astaroth’s — deserved respect. They lumbered towards Sam, their stupid goat-like faces frozen in snarling rage, lowering their ram horns as they charged.
The first one reached him a fraction of a second before the others, raising its weapon in one of i
ts huge arms. Sam ducked under the enormous stone mallet that swept down upon him and then leapt straight upwards. His Katana speared out, taking the Horned demon in the side of its throat, a place where Sam knew its armor did not reach.
It disappeared while Sam was still in midair. He landed and rolled, scything out with both blades in a wide arc before him. The blades bit into the lower legs of the next charging Horned demon. Roaring, it toppled to the ground, shaking and splitting the tiles with the impact of its fall. Sam only just got out of the way in time, lunging sideways, forgetting that it would only be a death blow that would banish these demons back to Hell. The demon was out of the fight but it wasn’t dead. Yet.
The momentary distraction cost him dearly. The stone mallet of the third Horned demon smashed into his side. It was only a glancing blow, some instinct shifting his body slightly just before impact, but it was enough to crack what felt like every rib in his body. The impact blasted him sideways into the low stone balustrade of the balcony, almost toppling him over. He righted himself desperately, clutching his injured side with the fist holding his smaller blade, breathing heavily. He could already feel his ribs knitting together, but he needed more time.
The two demons still in the fight advanced upon him, only a few feet away. Still injured and backed up against the wall, Sam had nowhere to retreat to. But desperate times called for desperate measures. He sheathed both swords and yanked out one of the grenades, ignoring the burning sensation as his naked flesh made contact with the iron casing. He pulled the pin and dropped it at his feet and then vaulted the wall. As he floated over it, he grasped the lip with one hand, praying for the best.
The grenade detonated at the exact same time as he slammed into the side of the building, both impacts very nearly forcing him to lose his grip which would have hurled him from the face of the wall. He sensed the deaths of the Horned demons and breathed a silent prayer of thanks. It seemed someone — other than Gabriel — still cared about him up there. If the Horned demons hadn’t have succumbed, he really would’ve been in trouble.
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