by Stuart Slade
Kuroneko got the unpleasant feeling that he’d just seen the birth of a new part of America’s strategic arsenal. “You take this attack very lightly Sir.”
“Not in the least. I find the concept of opening a volcano directly over one of our cities to be quite disturbing. Not least because if they can do it once, they can do it again. So we can expect to see another attack like this. That raises a lot of questions for my colleagues and I to address, one of which is why they chose Sheffield and what that might tell us about future targets. But that is for us to think about, your job Doctor is to make sure there are as few of these attacks as possible.”
Dr Kuroneko realized that everyone was staring at him. He gulped, then stared at the table for a second. When he brought his head up, his eyes were hardened with determination.
“First we must understand what happened. What data have the Brits sent so far?”
Incident Command Centre, Sheffield Airport, United Kingdom
After many years of being virtually empty, Sheffield City Airport had been scheduled for closure in early 2008. The defense buildup allowed the runway to be kept open and the ILS operational for contingency use, but there was still no scheduled traffic. Now the tiny apron was packed with transport aircraft, offloading fire-trucks and earthmoving equipment before departing full of casualties on stretchers. The lava flows had crept ominously close, buffeting the approaching aircraft with thermals, but for now the wind was blowing the smoke and toxic fumes away from the site. Less than a mile off the M1 motorway and possessing a largely vacant business park, the airport was an obvious choice for the forward command centre, and control staff from all the emergency services had been streaming in all day. Not all the traffic had been civilian; the airport now featured two Rapier FSC launchers and several hastily dug machine gun emplacements.
Chief Fire Officer Howard Spurrier had been on duty for thirty hours now, but between the adrenaline and numerous cups of black coffee he hadn’t noticed his fatigue. In fact he had no choice but to stay focused on the details of the operation least the horror of it overwhelm him. He’d lost over a hundred of his own people so far, with more killed by collapsing buildings and falling rocks every hour. The other services were taking similar casualties as they risked their lives to pull civilians from the rubble. As for the city itself… well, his original calm detachment had vanished as soon as he stepped out of his doomed former command centre. The sight of whole crowds being pursued by the lava, screaming, blistering, bursting into flames before falling and being consumed by the rushing inferno… they’d all be haunted by it for the rest of their lives.
“CFO Spurrier I presume?”
He jerked his gaze from the electronic map projection and stared at the newcomer. She was tall, dark haired, casually dressed and wearing what struck him as an indecently placid expression.
“Who the hell are you?” Howard snapped.
“Keavy McManus. I’m the vulcanologist… you should’ve been told I was coming.”
Assistant CFO Colin Lloyd had spent most of the last twelve hours talking into a headset and updating the tactical picture. He cupped the microphone inside his hand for a moment and announced in a hoarse voice. “Sorry sir… slipped my mind… she’s the best available, the home secretary approved her personally.” Colin immediately went back to assigning tasks to the newly arriving units.
“You’re an academic?” Howard’s expression left no doubt that he had little time for academics telling him how to manage a disaster. “Find a desk, stay out of my way, let me know if discover anything relevant.” He turned back to the map.
Keavy strode over and stood in front of him, forcing the man to look at her. “Yes, I write papers and I teach. I’ve also helped plan relief and containment operations in Hawaii, Iceland and Italy. I probably have more practical experience with lava flows than anyone in Britain – and you have none, so you’d better start listening to me.”
Howard blinked. “Ok then, Miss McManus.” He pointed at the map. “We’re trying to use the Don valley to pipe the lava through the central industrial area. The plan is to turn the Meadowhall region into a cooling pond…”
Keavy cut him short. “I know, I brought myself up to date on the plane, they emailed me all this stuff. You’re not thinking long term enough though. I assume you want to save the motorway viaduct if possible?”
“Yes, and the new rail freight terminal, they’re finally rebuilding the Tinsley marshalling yard you know…” Even after all the destruction, Spurrier just couldn’t help letting a little pride creep into his voice. “Wait, how long do you think this eruption could last?”
Keavy was scanning the inventories, rosters and situation reports littering the table. “It’s Mrs. McManus by the way… Anyway, can’t tell for sure of course… the survey team isn’t set up yet, military still wouldn’t let them through last time I heard… You see the thing is…”
She looked up. “To get that kind of pressure they had to be draining from well inside the throat – but not too deep, since it isn’t spraying up thousands of meters. The flow rate slackened off in the first hour, then built up again. On earth, lava like that would come from a shield volcano. My guess is draining all that lava off the top of the vent triggered a full scale eruption, most of which is getting sucked through to us. Could be days, weeks or months before it lets up… no way to tell without seeing the geology at the other end.”
It was Keavy’s turn to gesture at the map. “If it doesn’t let up ash buildup and fumes will render this whole area uninhabitable anyway. But we can buy the crews enough time to dismantle and move the factories. Now, about your dyke placement…”
Cliffton Council Estate, Nottingham, United Kingdom
The screen flicked between grainy images of burning and collapsing buildings, of streams of glowing lava progressing inexorably through city streets and of people running in terror from it all. Some were apparently less terrified than others, because they’d taken the time to record the disaster on their cellphones and digicams. The later images were clearer but less dramatic; they showed bulldozers flattening buildings and creating ramparts from the rubble, lines of fire crews trying to halt the advance of the flames and rescue crews carrying stretchers out of damaged buildings. The montage ended on images of gridlocked roads lined with armed soldiers and refugees wandering aimlessly about.
Meanwhile the text continued to scroll across the bottom of the screen: ‘Central Sheffield destroyed by volcanic activity, thousands dead, presumed demonic attack may be linked to High Peak incident. Prime Minister asks nation to remain calm and stay vigilant for any further Baldrick activity…’
“The city has now been completely sealed off by army units. This is the closest we can get, as the government has made it clear that civilians will not be allowed through the perimeter.”
The BBC News correspondent was standing on a flat roof, lit by a harsh floodlight. The sky behind him was filled entirely by a diffuse orange glow, the smoke now completely obscuring the area around the portal. A deep rumbling was clearly audible.
“The lava still appears to be flowing… the fire services are starting to get the fires under control, but they’re contending with toxic smoke and collapsing buildings.”
A bright flare appeared in the background, hazy but quite distinct from the central glow. A couple of seconds later a crackling roar could be heard, while the speaker flinched visibly.
“That was probably the gasometer at Attercliffe, we were told that there was some difficultly pumping the gas away with the power out.” The speaker composed himself.
“The emergency services are making a tremendous effort to limit casualties and contain the damage. They aren’t the only ones… we’ve heard numerous reports of ordinary people pulling casualties out of the rubble, in the first hour after the attack… I understand construction workers have been arriving at the cordon and volunteering to help with the firebreaks.”
Christopher Hughes stared at the television
in horror. Not that this was a matter of choice; he had tried to look away, but his limbs seemed frozen and the effort brought only blinding pain. The terrible presence of them made it difficult to even think clearly. It was obvious that he’d made a horrible mistake. The shadow government wasn’t the enemy after all, they’d probably been secretly preparing humanity to fight the demons for decades, if not centuries. Christopher withdrew to a corner of his own mind, mentally whimpering at the thought of how many people the demons would make him hurt before they were done with him.
Tapton Hall, Western Sheffield, United Kingdom
Since the opening of the portal, Lakheenahuknaasi’s universe had consisted mostly of pain. The first shot had merely smashed a finger in her left wing and tearing a ragged hole in the membrane. The last two had ripped through her right leg, shattering the femur, mangling the knee and nearly amputating the appendage. She had fallen from the sky, trailing a spray of blood behind her, desperately trying to extend her glide far enough to escape the tide of lava. She managed to stay in the air for almost a minute, tossed about by the blast wave and then the inrushing winds. Finally she could manage no more and aimed for a clump of foliage that had offered some scant hope of concealment. The ground rushed up Lakheenahuknaasi’s world went black.
She had awoken to a fresh agony; someone had shoved her hand into a fire. Barely able to avoid screaming with the pain, the gorgon hauled herself upright. The clump of bushes was starting to burn, nearby trees had been set on fire by a projectile thrown from the volcano. Lakheenahuknaasi could hear human screams but also shouted orders and the growling their chariots made when moving. No doubt their army had moved in to try and control the chaos and if she didn’t move right now they would doubtless capture her and torture her to death in revenge.
The gorgon crawled forward, dragging her broken wings and mutilated leg behind her. There was a large square stone building ahead, presenting a wall full of square windows, many broken by the initial shock. She just had to hope that it had been deserted. After what seemed like an eternity she was at the base of the wall, feeling horribly exposed in the open. She could spare only seconds to rest before she had to drag herself through the nearest broken window. The jagged glass couldn’t penetrate her scales but it tore fresh rips in her wings; a pain that seemed trivial compared to what she’d already endured. Lakheenahuknaasi had collapsed onto some sort of cot and promptly fainted from blood loss.
When she awoke again it was to a repetitive banging sound. Humans were coming. It sounded like doors opening forcefully, mixed with footsteps. Sometimes it was accompanied by a splintering crack. They were searching the building and the sound was definitely getting nearer. For the first time in her life, Lakheenahuknaasi was paralyzed by fear of the humans. What horrors would they inflict when they found her?
Great Hall of the Adamant Fastness, Outer Rim of Hell
Demonic laughter echoed throughout the hall, as the assembled nobles took turns forcing themselves into the human’s mind. Servants scurried about with plates of freshly slaughtered livestock and cages of live vermin delicacies. The atmosphere was entirely festive; Belial’s court lacked the sophisticated entertainments of his wealthier peers, but the strike force had taken to chanting battle songs and many of the nobles were joining in. They were not exactly skilled singers at the best of times and the copious quantities of fermented fungus being consumed were not helping matters. No one seemed to mind however.
Euryale had just arrived back from the volcano and her normally bright bronze scales were still streaked with ash. She pushed her way through the rowdy lesser demons and arrived at the central table.
“Ah, Euryale, you return to witness my triumph.” Belial pushed a heavy goblet of faintly glowing liquid into her hand. The fine liquor was made from juices squeezed from the crushed abdomens of a rare insect; it was rarely seen in Tartarus. “The attack destroyed scores of their great towers, razed hundreds of workshops and killed many thousands of humans.”
“Most pleasing, my Lord. However…”
The count continued on as if he hadn’t heard her. It looked like he’d already put away quite a bit of the glow wine. “Of course I appreciate your efforts. Such a shame Baroness Yulupki isn’t here to receive similar praise.”
Euryale snorted. It gave her great pleasure to envision the naga being hauled over to the second volcano on the back of a lurching Great Beast and hating every minute of it. She’d requested a wyvern of course but Euryale had made sure that they were ‘none available’ and then chosen the most cantankerous Great Beast in the stables..
“And what of your handmaiden? Lac-nina-urk-nasee wasn’t it?”
The gorgon rolled her eyes, confident that Belial was too drunk to notice. She put down the goblet and replied carefully, shouting to be heard over the din. “As I was about to say, my lord, neither I nor any of my servants have been able to contact her. Most likely she was killed by the humans.”
The count’s face flickered with a moment of concern before brightening again. “Oh well, no matter. She died gloriously. A gorgon for a whole city seems like a fair trade to me.”
Euryale grit her fangs. “In that case I hope your ‘stratagem’ will not require the destruction of many more cities. Now if you would excuse me…” The gorgon queen whirled around and stormed off, the point of her tail quite deliberately flicking the goblet from the table as she went. Belial surged to his feet and began to summon psychic force to smite the insubordinate wench, but then paused. What if he had to kill her? Best not risk that until after the second attack he had promised Satan was complete. He shrugged, laughed and settled back into his throne. There would be plenty of time to clip the gorgon’s wings later. Hopefully metaphorically, Belial mused, but you never knew with females.
In a corridor of the palace Euryale was also having second thoughts. Belial’s casual willingness to sacrifice her kindred had stoked her rage. True, she was just as willing to send any number of lesser demons to their deaths to achieve her own aims. But lesser demons teemed in multitudes. Millennia after the purge, there were still precious few gorgons in existence and Euryale was not about to allow Belial to undo her progress.
Still, he was not that hard to manipulate as long as she applied herself. Defiance like that risked a confrontation and even if she somehow won the physical contest, she doubted she’d last long as ruler of Tartarus. Losing her temper like that risked…
The gorgon’s thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a servile demon trying to attract her attention. “Ah my lady, I abase myself before your glory and humbly ask…”
“What is it?” Euryale snapped, lacking the patience for the usual groveling.
“The six flights of wyvern riders that the count bid depart, which beasts should we…”
“What is this?” The gorgon queen fixed the servant with a multi-eyed stare. “Where are my wyverns going and why?”
“To the grand army, for the destruction of the human invaders!”
Euryale shook her head. Belial seemed bent on squandering precious assets. “Did he say why he is risking my, ah…, his wyverns when Beelzebub must have two score legions of harpies to throw against the human sky chariots?”
The stunted orc seemed to be trying to shrink into the floor. Likely he thought there was no safe answer to this question.
“My lady, it is my understanding… the wyverns are to be loaded with hail javelins and bags of brimstone .… I do not think they are intended to fight the human sky chariots.”
Euryale stared for a moment before she realized what the count was doing. It wasn’t about Satan’s favor, the magma attack was a far better way to gain that, it was simply a merchant taking an opportunity to demonstrate his wares.
“Very well. Attend me.” She set off for the wyvern roosts.
Chapter Fifty
Seafire One, over the Midlands, England. Acting Captain Sharkey Ward, RN (yes, the ‘acting’ part of his rank did slightly irritate him) did not need to do any fanc
y navigation on the way to Sheffield. The waterfall of lava flowing out of the sky and the huge smoke plume rising over what had once been the centre of the city was a give away. Below his Sea Harrier FA.2 the main roads leading towards Sheffield were a sea of blue lights. Ward, and his wingman Commander Andy Auld, RN, who was also a recently recalled former Sea Jet pilot, had been assigned to help provide reconnaissance support to ground forces, and also provide local CAP if necessary. For the later role both aircraft were armed with four AMRAAM missiles and a pair of 30mm ADEN cannon pods, while for the former a BAE digital recce pod with the capability to download its imagery to ground stations was fitted to the centre-line pylon between the cannons.
The Sea Jet’s Blue Vixen radar showed that the airspace around Sheffield was extremely busy. At low level there were dozens of helicopters, both military and civil, there was also a queue of transport aircraft waiting to land at Sheffield airport. Higher up there were a pair of Jaguar GR.3As each fitted with the Digital Joint Reconnaissance Pod, while above them were a pair of Tornado GR.4s fitted with RAPTOR pods. Far above these aircraft was a single Canberra PR.9 rescued from a museum, using its sophisticated recce fit to take high altitude pictures of Sheffield and the surrounding area as part of the efforts to predict where the lava flow would go next. Those on the ground would certainly not want for aerial imagery. Just to cap it off a Sentry AEW.1 was now also airborne over the area providing RAF Boulmer with assistance in traffic control, and radar coverage.
“Boulmer, Seafire One requesting permission to enter exclusion zone. Over.”
“Roger, Seafire One. Please remain at your current altitude and avoid the airspace around the city, also remain clear of the portal area.”