Armageddon??

by Stuart Slade

  “They saved from their pensions to bribe the tea house owner to slip them their rice wine, I knew about it of course, everybody did, but these men were heroes and who denies a hero a little comfort in their old age? The truth was that their small savings wouldn’t buy them the drinks they needed but if the other villagers chose to make up the difference, that was their business, nobody else’s.”

  “And so, every day they would come down, and gather around their table, drink their tea and tell their stories. Of how they had held the hill in Korea against the Americans. Of how they had been outnumbered and outgunned and the American artillery never stopped shooting and their planes never stopped bombing but they had held the hill anyway. Every year the story got a little more fanciful, the attacks so much worse, their stand so much braver. They’d tell the stories to everybody who listened, and everybody did because these were old men, whose wives had long died and they were left alone. Lonely as only old men who had outlived their time could be. So the villagers listened to the stories and counted themselves lucky they had not gone to Korea.”

  “Then there came that day. The old men hadn’t arrived yet but something else did. A monster, a hideous monster from hell, the one the Americans call the baldrick. The village went black in its middle and the creature stepped out, looking only to kill and mutilate. Most of the men were far away, working in the fields or on the road and could not help. There were just the women and children left and they screamed when they saw the monster and they ran. But the monster could run as well, faster than they could and it started to kill them.”

  “As the Party Leader I had a Type 56 rifle in my hut and I got it. I fired a burst at the monster and I think I hit it for it stopped and shook itself. But it wasn’t dead, it seemed hardly hurt and it turned to come for me but it heard more screams where the children were running from the school. It forgot me and went to kill them. I fired again but it was too far away, more than 100 meters.”

  “Then I heard a shouted order, one that cut through the noise and screams. The old men were there, all ten of them and they had their old long 3-line rifles. They dropped to the ground in a line, their hands working the bolts of their rifles with the muscle-memory of skills never forgotten. They fired all at once, in a volley and their hands worked the bolts again for another.”

  “The monster staggered with the first volley and lurched with the second. It turned away from the children and came for the old men. The sergeant ordered independent fire and the rifles crackled but the monster kept coming at them. The old men’s hearts were brave but their eyes were dim with age and their hands shook, not from fear of course, but from infirmity. I doubt if one bullet in ten they fired was biting home. The monster had a three-point spear and it’s lighting flashed out, killing ‘the youngster’ as he fired his rifle. The others did not pause or hesitate but kept on firing until their pouches were empty. How they had kept their rifles and ammunition I do not know and do not intend to ask.”

  “With the monster close and their ammunition gone, they fixed their bayonets, they got to their feet and they advanced on the monster, their bayonets leveled. I had changed my magazine by now and I had run over to where I also could fire on the monster. The old men had surrounded it, it was slashing at them with its claws, but they parried its slashes and thrust their bayonets home. They were old men and slow, they could not evade all the blows from the monster and their numbers shrank even as I watched. But the monster was down, on its knees, and the old men, now down to three with their sergeant still leading them, kept thrusting. I had a clean shot and I emptied my rifle into it, saw it bleeding and dying on the ground. It fired its trident again and the lightning bolt hit me. It must have been weak with death for I did not die when the bolt hit my face.”

  “So, you see Doctor, my blindness is nothing to be sorry for. What finer sight could I, Party Leader of Mai Xiao Village, treasure as my last than those ten old men saving our children by bringing down the monster with their bayonets?”

  Okthuura Jorkastrequar, Tartaruan Range, borderlands of Hell

  Yulupki sat unhappily atop the Great Beast as it clambered up the side of the volcano. The track was so rough as to be virtually non-existent, it was really just a relatively level strip that had been cleared of boulders. It had been two months since this particular cone had last erupted and ash-laden smoke was still pouring out of many fissures in its sides. There was no guarantee that the lava would not again start pouring out while the ritual was in progress. However Belial had insisted on placing the portal as deep as possible into the magma, which meant the ritual had to take place on the rim of an active crater.

  She was sure the lumbering Beast had picked up on her distaste for its kind and was doing what it could to throw her off. Not that there was much chance of that, as the leather harness held her coils tightly to its back, but the lurching made it difficult to focus and prepare for the task ahead. Naga could manage short bursts of speed when pressed, but in general their speed was much inferior to even the common demon warrior, much less the cavalry or fliers. That made this indignity necessary but not any more tolerable.

  Finally the Great Beast attained the rim of the crater and Yulupki was afforded an expansive view of Jorkastrequar. A hundred yards below her a veritable lake of semi-congealed lava bubbled and hissed. Fortunately the copious smoke it was spewing was carried straight up into the sky by the strong thermals, otherwise visibility in the crater would have been near-zero. As planned, the forge demons had erected three great shrines to the barrier spirits, spaced equally around the rim. Each shrine consisted of a row of thirteen copper rods driven into the pumice at three yard intervals, each rod thirty feet tall and tapering from four inches diameter at the base to a sharp point at the top. The rods supported a great spider’s web strung in copper, silver and gold wire.

  Both the pattern of the web and the bifold curve of rods was the result of millennia of painstaking trial and error, carried out by naga searching for the arrangement that best pleased the spirits that dwelt between worlds. Rumor had it that the existence of the spirits had been discovered quite by accident. Long ago a lone naga had attempted to open a portal to gate a small force of warriors to another world. As luck had it she performed the ritual facing the warriors, who had at that moment presented their tridents in salute to a passing baron. The portal sprang into existence at twice the expected size. The passing baron commended the naga for the strength of her magery, which forced her into a desperate series of attempts to replicate the feat.

  Eventually that nameless naga discovered that a close packed arrangement of bronze rods could multiply the effect of her ritual many-fold. This could only be the work of unknown beings existing in the strange realm the portal crossed. The creatures clearly desired the shrines, but could not enter the physical world to construct them themselves. Thus a wordless bargain was struck; the demons would build the shrines, and in return the barrier spirits would aid the naga in their work, adding their psychic strength to the task of opening the portal. As long as the shrines were constructed according to the prescribed traditions, Yulupki had never known the barrier spirits to renege on their end of the deal. This was just as well, because they would need all the help they could get to meet Belial’s demands.

  In front of each shrine the demon workers had carved out six crude terraces, each of which held thirteen wooden pallets. Three quarters of the pallets were already filled with the long coiled forms of naga, each resembling a giant snake with a scaled and vaguely female humanoid torso in the place of a head. More continued to arrive as she watched, strapped to the backs of lesser Beasts that strained and staggered under their weight. For now Yulupki was basking in the waves of heat, but she knew that it would become unpleasantly hot by the end of the ritual; the insulating pallets would prevent burns to their undersides. Eager to begin the ritual, she commanded the Great Beast to take her to the nearest shrine.

  Great Hall of the Adamant Fastness, Tartaruan Range, Outer Rim of He
ll

  The great hall was filled to capacity with demons, including every minor noble from Count Belial’s domain save a few lesser baronets that could not be spared from overseeing production. They were seated at carved stone tables more commonly used for victory feasts. There was little sound other than the padding of servants running to and fro, running errands and bringing chunks of fresh meat refreshment. Save for these minor disturbances, every demon seemed to be concentrating intensely.

  The count himself paced back and forth on the raised platform in the centre of the chamber. Sharing the platform with him was the great gorgon Euryale, flanked by her handmaidens Lakheenahuknaasi and Megaaeraholrakni. To a human, the trio looked quite similar. All three were clad in nothing but their shining bronze scales, had for tresses a mass of tentacles each like a cyclopean snake, and possessed both great bat-like wings and a pointed tail that curled about their taloned feet. On closer inspection however, differences were apparent. Euryale’s curvaceous figure and enchanting voice (at least, to other demons) clearly favored her succubus heritage. Megaaerah’s anemically slim form and reputed skill at portal magery were much reminiscent of her naga cousins. Lakheenahuknaasi ‘s relatively compact and muscular form, not to mention her straightforward attitude, showed more of a kinship with the harpies.

  Also present on the platform was Captain James Shanklin, who was flanked by a pair of demonic guards and looking extremely pale.

  “I have one!” Castellean Zatheoplekkar’s shout broke the silence. “A male, in a city… called Not-Ingham.”

  Within seconds Belial Kornakat was towering over his vassal. “Show me.” Belial entered Zatheoplekkar’s mind and from there followed the psychic link to the possessed human. Through his eyes he saw a cramped, cluttered room, dominated by a large glowing picture of two seated humans. Curiously the picture seemed to be moving. Belial pressed harder, mentally wringing the mind of the man for information, faintly amused by the pain he was causing.

  “His name is Christopher Hughes. He lives alone, but in a crowded part of the city.” A rasping chuckle escaped Belial’s lips. “He believes us to be a fiction invented by their nobility, for the purpose of…” the demon struggled to extract sense from the human’s chaotic mind “placing all nations under the dominion of the You En.” He looked questioningly at the human traitor, who had been instructed to keep close by his side.

  Captain Shanklin found his hands trembling again. “My lord, I have never heard of this ‘U N’. Most likely it is a wild fancy of his. But I do know of Nottingham. It is a city of two hundred thousand souls a mere twenty-five miles south of Sheffield.”

  Euryale seemed less satisfied than her lord. “That is closer than ‘Birmingham’, but still, I would rather not send my handmaiden into the heart of a large human city. You have spoken at length on the potency of their new weapons. The chance of failure is too high.”

  Belial frowned. “Keep that one possessed.” he instructed Zatheoplekkar. “Very well. I will allow you another hour, no more. Then she goes.” He gestured at Lakheenahuknaasi, who looked nearly as uncomfortable as Captain Shanklin.

  Fifty minutes later, the only other Nephilim that the assembled demons could locate was in Leeds, which if their tame human was to be believed seemed little better than Nottingham. Lakheenahuknaasi considered her options. She could wait until nightfall, but if she flew low over a settlement filled with humans she was still likely to be seen. If the rumors about the fate of Abigor’s harpies were true this could be a suicidal proposition. Perhaps it would be better to enthrall a few humans and get them to sneak her out of the city somehow. Undignified, but less likely to get her killed by the humans. On the other talon, delaying for long enough to disrupt the Count’s schedule would likely get her killed on her return, if she was allowed to return at all.

  Lakheenahuknaasi ‘s musings were interrupted by an excited squeal. “Sire, sire, I have one! A human woman! She is in an uninhabited wilderness, somewhere to the west of the target.” He shrank back as the Count forced his way into the psychic link. “As you can see my lord, vanity was her undoing.”

  This time Belial let loose with a full-blown maniacal laugh. “Indeed I can Guruktarqor.” The human female was cleaning her hair in some kind of indoor waterfall. For some reason, the mysterious effect that was protecting humans from entanglement had ceased to work with this one. A few minutes of vulnerability were enough to allow the demons to find her and gain purchase in her mind. “That one will be going directly to the eighth circle.” He nodded to Euryale.

  All eyes were now on the hall’s central platform, which now stood empty save for the gorgon queen. She spread her wings and closed her eyes, joining the psychic link to the possessed human girl and focusing intently on that target. Static discharges resembling miniature sheet lightning danced over her wing membranes as she poured psychic force into the connection. Several pregnant seconds passed before finally the familiar black sphere of nothingness swelled into existence in the centre of the room.

  Belial gestured to a waiting squad of lesser demons. “Entertain me.” The small strike force was eager, loyal and expendable. Roaring battle cries, the demon warriors charged single-file into the portal and disappeared. The count closed his eyes, concentrating on distant events. A vicious grin slowly spread over his face. His eyes snapped open again and fixed on Lakheenahuknaasi. “Now it’s your turn.”

  Chapter Forty Four

  Command Building, Camo Hell-Alpha. Martial Plain of Dysprosium

  “When can I take my command to battle?”

  “Say what?” General David Petraeus stopped admiring his fifth star and gazed at the massive baldrick in his office.

  “I have over 300 tridents. Where would you like us to fight? Now that we have joined you.”

  Petraeus looked slightly bewildered. “You and your men are prisoners of war. We don’t expect you to fight.”

  Now is was Abigor’s turn to be bewildered. “But we surrendered to you. So we should fight for you now.”

  “Not according to our rules you don’t. When an enemy surrenders, they get put in a prisoner of war camp. We look after them and feed them until the war is over, then we send them back home.”

  Abigor’s jaw dropped open. If Hellish Armies fought that way, both side’s foot soldiers would surrender as soon as possible. In hell, surrendering meant changing sides, not a way out of the fighting. “You humans are impossible.”

  Petraeus thought quickly. He guessed he would need a convincing story to make sure Abigor forgot any idea of joining the fighting. Anyway, his baldricks would be a liability on a battlefield dominated by artillery and armor. “Look, the Free Hell Army is much too valuable to us to throw away on a battlefield. We know nothing about Hell, what its like and how its run. You can do far more for us by telling us everything you know than by fighting.”

  Meaning we are useless to the humans Abigor thought grimly, but if that were the case, why was he being kept alive? Still, to be a source of information was better than nothing.

  “Excuse me Sir. General Ivan Semenovich Dorokhov to see you.”

  “Thank you Private. Send him in.” There was a brief pause while the Russian entered the room, his jaw dropping at the sight of Abigor’s huge form sitting sprawled in one corner. “Ivan Semenovich, it is good to have you with us. May I introduce Grand Duke Abigor, formerly in the service of Satan and now commander of our allies in the Free Hell Army.”

  Dorokhov looked slightly flustered, starting to salute, changing his mind, and wondering what to do next. In the end he settled for a curt nod of the head. Abigor was equally flustered, normally he’d have hit the ground and groveled, throwing in a good foot-licking as well but he’d quickly learned humans had nothing but contempt for such displays. In the end, he returned the nod.

  “Are your troops in position, Ivan Semenovich?”

  “First Shock Army is setting up along the banks of the Phlegethon. We have four armored divisions, two artillery divisions in pos
ition with the Army artillery setting up. Do you know how many enemy there are?”

  “Abigor tells us 243 legions, that’s over 1.6 million Baldricks. Don’t know how they divide up yet.”

  “That depends on who is their commander.” Abigor’s voice was thoughtful. “Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Dagon were the three appointments I heard but that was for the invasion of Earth. Do you know which?”

  “Its not Asmodeus. He’s dead.”

  “What?” Abigor was stunned. “Asmodeus dead? For all his mania, Satan has never dared kill a Grand Duke before. He wouldn’t even kill me, he preferred to send me where you could do this.”

  “Satan didn’t kill him, we did. Or rather, the people we have fighting in the hell-pit did. Apparently he led some of his army against our guerillas, walked into a trap and they got him. Asmodeus is dead all right. Thoroughly blown up”

  Abigor was awed. “You have done the unthinkable. Even in the Celestial War, no Grand Duke was ever killed. Not even Yahweh achieved such a thing.”

  “So its Dagon or Beelzebub then.” Petraeus wanted to get the conversation back on track. “What does that mean for General Dorokhov?”

  “It will not be Dagon. Many of his legions are Krakens, sea creatures. It will be Beelzebub. They do not call him Lord of the Flies for nothing. His army has 27 legions of Harpies. The rest will just be infantry.”

  “180,000 harpies. I hope you have plenty of triple-A Grazhdanin Ivan.”

  “One Tungaska or Shilka for every three vehicles. And many brigades of surface to air missiles. Some old but they still work. All radar-guided. And all the BMPs have shoulder-fired missiles on board. Sometimes it is good to have great warehouses. We are dug in and waiting. Abigor, this Great Celestial War, what happened?”