by Stuart Slade
Like Lakheenahuknaasi before her, she recoiled in distaste from the telepathic clamor which filled the humans realm. Megaaeraholrakni was undeniably the superior witch though, or perhaps just less interested in comprehending the human babble, for within ten seconds she had pushed through the barrier to contact her waiting queen. It was time for this place to burn, so that this silly rebellion could end and she could get back to her studies.
Free Hell, Banks of the River Styx, Fifth Circle, Hell
You Are Now Entering Free Hell
The sign meant that they’d done it. For the first time in its history, there was an area of Hell where humans ruled. After the assassination of Asmodeus, the baldricks had stopped their advance and dug in. A de-facto border now existed, on one side of it the Baldricks continued their network of fortifications, on the other, humans had established their own administration. An uneasy truce existed between them, one that could be summarized from the human point of view as “don’t put your hoof over the border and we won’t blow it off”. It seemed like a small, practical agreement but in an insurgency there was no such thing as a small agreement between the government and the insurgents. Any agreement at all reflected a level of equality between insurgents and authorities and that made it an epoch-defining defeat for the baldricks. They’d been forced to deal with the dead humans as equals and concede ground to them.
“Friend, if I could speak with thee for a moment. I have a request for thine attention.”
The archaic language snapped Captain (deceased) Jade Kim’s attention back to the reality of Free Hell. For a moment, she thought that it was one of the recovered dead, but the breathing mask showed it was a volunteer from Earth, one who had come to help with the task of finding the victims of this place and rescuing them. Behind him she could see another one of the crosses being hauled out of the swamp and figures starting to work, freeing the poor soul attached to it. Kim remembered her own time nailed to a cross and drowning in sewage and she shuddered.
“There’s a problem?”
“There is friend. Many have been rescued from the swamps and have recovered enough to travel. Some wish to stay here with thee to fight.” The speaker’s voice showed his dislike of that concept. “Others, they wish to leave this place. Can thou contact earth and arrange a way out for them?”
Kim relaxed, this had been anticipated. “Some don’t like our company huh? They know they can’t survive on Earth, right?”
“They have been told this, yes. And they understand but still wish to leave.”
“Well, they can. The plan is we’ll portal them back to Earth and then they’ll be relayed straight back to an area of Hell that’s under human control.” To her amusement, her companion looked around in alarm. “No, not like this one. We’re holding a pretty big area between the Phlegethon River and the sea, its called the Martial Plain of Dysprosium. There’s refugee camps being set up in there for the people we rescue. They’ll be looked after until we’ve won. I have no idea what will happen then, I don’t think anybody has. The catch is, I can’t contact out, DIMO(N) has to contact me. We have a schedule for that. Next contact is in a few hours, get the evacuees ready to move then.”
“Thou are kind. Thank you.”
The man turned to leave but Kim was seized with curiosity. “Excuse me, but could I ask a question of you. A personal one?”
“Certainly friend. I will answer if I can.”
“How come you people didn’t just die when we got The Message. A lot of religious people did, too many of course. But none of your people. Why?”
He smiled gently beneath his mask. “Friend, hast thou ever heard of Testimony of Integrity?” Kim shook her head. “It is one of our central beliefs. It says that we should always tell the truth but it means more than that. It means we should always deal fairly with people, we do not believe we should trick others by making statements that are technically true but whose meaning is false. It is our belief that this is how God deals with us and we deal with others. When The Message came, it did so as an inner revelation at our meetings. Those who received it stood to testify but at once there were doubts as to whether this was a true revelation for it ran against the Testimony of Integrity. How could a God who had for so long demanded we base our lives around the concept of fair dealing countenance such an enormous betrayal? Surely this could not be so and The Message was a trick, perhaps by Satan himself. So our meetings all decided to wait and see what would happen. Then the fighting started, we saw the baldricks invade and we heard what they did. We still do not believe that The Message came from Our God but it does not matter. The Message was true and we must wait to see what the whole truth is. Before then, our beliefs, the Testimony of Peace does not allow us to fight but it does allow us to come here and aid those who have suffered for all too long. So here we are.”
Rather you than me Kim thought to herself. Better to fight baldricks that spend the time here scrambling around in the mud, finding the souls in torment here then rescuing them. Unconsciously she shifted the M115 on her shoulder. Especially since modern weapons gave her such an enormous advantage over her enemies. The baldricks had numbers but even that advantage would fade as more and more souls were liberated from the torment in which they were held. And that, of course, raised issues all of its own.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a long rolling thunder, one that was very far away yet she could still feel the vibrations through her feet. Her companion was standing politely beside her, waiting for her to speak again, but the sound made him glance up.
“I did not know that there were thunderstorms in this place.”
“There are not.” Kim spoke absently. “That’s artillery fire.”
Chapter Fifty Six
Command Post, Northern Front, Phlegethon River Bulge, Hell
“My Lord, this is against all our traditions.”
“And humans fighting back is not? If they defeated Abigor, then they are adversaries worthy of note. Abigor’s description of the great battle was quite clear, the Beast charge at the start of the fighting was a disaster for his cavalry. We must learn from those mistakes. Even if we can never admit the source of our learning.”
Lapradanultrox looked out across the array of forces now moving down on the northern flank of the great bulge in the Phlegethon river. The sight was a strange one to demonic eyes, the great square blocks of the legions divided into much smaller groups. Even more oddly, the cavalry legions had been completely broken up, dispersed amongst the infantry. One Beast supporting each group of 27 foot-soldiers. Behind the hills that ranged along the river, the great flock of harpies, almost 180,000 of them were waiting to launch their attack. This was also unprecedented, the mores of demonic warfare were clearly established. The Harpies reconnoitered to find the enemy, the Beasts charged to crack a hole in the enemy defenses, the infantry closed to destroy the broken army.
That was the way it had always been and that was the way Abigor had fought. And his army had been destroyed in the most catastrophic defeat ever inflicted on demonic arms. Not even the Celestial Enemy had ever done the damage the humans had inflicted on Abigor. Lapradanultrox appreciated Beelzebub’s desire not to repeat the same experience on an even more cataclysmic scale but to cast away every basic principle of warfare? Beelzebub’s decisions were courageous in more ways than one. Such a break with the past would be heroic, if he won. It could easily be considered treason if he lost.
“But where is our great blow? How shall we defeat the enemy without the one massive strike to break his will? How can we crush their defense without the concentrated blow of the Beasts?” Lapradanultrox looked again at the strange formation.
“Look at the humans, Lapradanultrox, look at them. Where is the defense for us to breach? They have not drawn a line, not even one behind a ridgeline as Abigor described. Instead there is a field of death ahead of us, as deep as we can see. Our cavalry cannot charge through it, they will lose speed and momentum before they get far enough to matter and
they will be destroyed. We cannot charge through the defense the humans have constructed, we mush chew our way through it. The foot soldier groups, each with the extra strength of a Beast to support them, will take on those small defense positions and we will chew our way through.”
“This will be a bloody day.” Lapradanultrox adjusted his vision for long range and scanned the human defenses that were waiting, silently, mercilessly.
“Bloody day? I think not. This battle will not be over in a day. It will go on for days until the human army has been crushed. Like it or not, Lapradanultrox, the days when a battle would be decided honorably in a single day are gone. The humans have won the first battle of all, we now fight on their terms and no matter what happens, things in Hell will never be the same again. Now, sound the advance to contact.”
Below them, the great Army started to move forward. Word was being passed to the assembled harpies, to swarm into the air and commence their assault on the humans. That was Beelzebub’s plan, to hit the humans with his foot soldiers, harpies and Beasts all together so that the humans would be overwhelmed.
Then, far away behind the human lines, beyond the region where the dust-laden atmosphere closed out vision, Beelzebub saw something strange and inexplicable. A sheet of flickering light, like the bolts thrown by the tridents of his foot soldiers and nagas, but covering the horizon in great sheets, reflecting off the clouds overhead.
“Human magery!” Lapradanultrox’s voice rose into a scream. “The human mages have started their work. The battle is joined.”
Artillery Battalion, Rear Echelon, Phlegethon River Front
This particular battalion had guns that were an odd hybrid, old D-30 122mm guns mounted on a new truck chassis. A product of the emergency mobilization that had all of Russia in ferment. The guns had come from storage, the trucks had once been intended for the civilian market, although why civilians would need 8 x 8 trucks had never been quite clear. It was rumored Americans wanted them for conversion into SUVs. But, the design for the self-propelled guns had been drawn up for the export market where wheeled, self-propelled artillery had been a big growth sector. Those plans had been modified quickly for the Great Salvation War and the truck-mounted guns had poured off the lines as fast as the factories could be converted. Artillery was the God of War, a God that had never let the Russian Army down.
Lieutenant Sergei Aleksandrovich Ehlakov commanded this battery of six guns and he had his assigned fire-plan. It was laid down, strictly, severely, the targets clearly designated for destruction on a finely judged schedule. It was not his place to select targets or to swing his guns from one place to another. He was not an American officer who would swing his guns from one point target to the next, his place in the scheme of things was as a part of a machine that delivered massive, total destruction. His task was to keep his guns firing, to drench the battlefield with high explosive so that the enemy could not move forward to attack the defense lines. He had his support of course, the big trucks carrying ammunition and all around him, the little jeeps with their anti-aircraft guns welded on to the beds. His D-30s had come from store and so had the anti-aircraft guns. Quadruple 14.5 mm machine guns, twin 23 mm cannon, whatever had been in storage was here, to protect the guns from attack.
“Battalion Control Tovarish Lieutenant. The enemy is moving. Commence fire plan in six-zero seconds.”
The gunners were waiting, the first shells already in the breeches of the guns. Who would have the honor of firing the first shell against the enemy horde descending upon them? The first of the thousands that would descend like rain on that enemy and grind his forces into the mud. Would his guns, here on the northern flank, succeed in opening this great battle? Or would the guns further south have that honor? Ehlakov watched the figures on his clock changing as they reached the appointed second. Then, the strained silence turned into a mighty roar that crushed his eardrums and seemed to drive him into the ground. The ground that was already shaking in a rolling sea-like motion as the long lines of guns recoiled, their spades digging deep into the ground, before they returned to their position and their gunners could stuff more shells into their chambers and send another ‘package’ to its recipients. Now, all that Ehlakov could see were his men dropping into the methodical, routine motions as the shells were brought forward and fired. He looked down to his next target, in two minutes he would have to shift to the next aiming point.
Third Platoon, Second Company, Third Battalion, Fourth Regiment, 247th Motor Rifle Division, Phlegethon River Front, Hell
“Here it comes Bratischka. The enemy advances and our gunners make their reply. Soon it will be our turn.”
Lieutenant Anatolii Ivanovich Pas’kov dropped into the turret of his BMP-2 and fastened it in place. There was nothing to be gained by staying outside now. The word passed down from on high was that humans were more or less safe inside their armored vehicles. They should fight from them, not outside them. Pas’kov felt agreeably comfortable with that advice. Overhead, he could hear the express-train roar of the artillery shells overhead, heard it even through the metal shell of his BMP. “Outbound” he yelled, instinct taking over. For a quick second he wondered what it would be like to be outside, under the tons of descending metal that was aimed at the demons, then he decided he didn’t care and certainly didn’t want to find out. Being inside his faithful BMP-2 suited him just fine.
Outside, seen through the vision blocks of the BMP, Pas’kov could see a mass of black covering the opposite banks of the river. A terrifying sight, he’d heard the numbers of the enemy were counted in the millions but he’d never quite imagined what “millions” looked like. Now he knew. The artillery had its work cut out.
Tornado GR.4, 617 Squadron, Royal Air Force.
“You know, it’s a pity we phased the old JP-233 out of service.”
“You can say that, you never used one.” Squadron Leader Desmond Young had been one of the pilots who had used the JP-233 on its one and only operational deployment, 17 years ago in the Gulf War. He wasn’t quite certain which had been worse, the light displays as the submunition dispenser had fired its cargo, the violent changes in pitch as the weight distribution had changed or the Iraqi anti-aircraft fire that had been all around them. All in all, it had been an exciting night and Young had been only too pleased to hear that the JP-233 had been withdrawn from service. Officially that was because of the anti-land mines treaty but the real reason was that the crews had made their discontent with the weapon very plain.
“Targets dead ahead.” In the back seat, Flight Lieutenant Wyngarde had the target area marked on the rolling map in front of him. Navigating in Hell was weird, nothing seemed to work quite right, an aircraft couldn’t just retrace its route to get home. A crew that relied on instinct to navigate could get hopelessly lost. Still, the navigation systems people were working on that, they had the beacons set up and, with them, a modernized version of the old Gee navigation equipment first used by Bomber Command in World War Two. It might be an old system but it worked, even in Hell. “Clear of the prohibited zone.”
That was crucial, the last thing the Tornadoes needed was to get caught in the mass of descending Russian shells. So, the bombers had flown a looped route, one that took them parallel to the Phlegethon River and over the area where the drones had said the enemy harpies had gathered. Young didn’t need navigation systems to see where his target lay, it was directly ahead, marked by the beginnings of a cloud of harpies taking to the air. The strike was a few second late but that didn’t matter too much.
The eight Tornadoes swept over the harpy assembly area, raining more than 60 BL-755 cluster bombs on the creatures below. The ground vanished under a rippling wave of explosions as the Tornadoes swept over the scene and turned for the run home, the airborne harpies floundering in their wake. Long before the Tornadoes crossed the Harpy grounds, they had pulled back into a steep climb, releasing their bombs as they did, so the bombs were tossed into the mass of harpies, rather than dropped on
them. By the time the bombers reached the center of the target area, they were already clear of the harpy cloud and climbing steeply.
“We’re clear Peter, Dragon-one to all dragon elements, weapons delivered, time to go home and get some more.”
Wyngarde looked over his shoulder at the explosions still rolling over the ground now far below them. “Drop confirmed Boss. And to think they wanted to take our cluster bombs away.”
Command Post, Northern Front, Phlegethon River Bulge, Hell
The flickering lightning seemed never to stop, it was rolling backwards and forwards along the horizon. Overhead, Beelzebub heard a dreadful screaming noise, obviously the battle-cry of the human mages. It was squeezing his mind, causing his vision to blur, and as it peaked, he saw the whole of the river bank under his army erupt into volcanoes that spewed mud, water and bits of demon skywards. A rippling surge of explosions that blanketed the whole area. That was when Beelzebub felt something very strange, a wind, a warm wind that picked up force as the human mage bolts pounded into his Army. Overhead the same winds rippled the clouds of dust that saturated the atmosphere, forming them into strange patterns that swirled and changed even as he watched them. Like the blood of a human kidling stirred into a cup of wine.
“My Lord, the magery, it is causing winds to blow and storms to form.”
So the humans could control the weather as well as their other accomplishments. That thought did not make Beelzebub any happier. The descriptions he’d heard of the human magebolts had been bad enough, although he’d dismissed Abigor’s more colorful descriptions as being part of his alibi for defeat. But he’d never mentioned strange winds and patterns in the sky. The idea hardly had time to form in his mind before the explosions that were shattering his army along the banks of the Phlegethon shifted back to engulf a new zone and spread their death toll amongst another portion of his Army. Beelzebub looked at the carnage forming on the ground in front of him and knew that Abigor hadn’t lied, if anything he had understated the truth. He’d mentioned the human mage bolts that struck from afar and devastated the ground but he’d never said anything about a concentration of magery like this.