Armageddon?? (101 page)

“So
you’re dead, dude.” The words were interspaced with disbelief and confusion.

“Sure
am. You sitting in on the game? Got a stake?”

“No,
unless you want to stake me.”

“You
know the rules down here Elmer. I give you a stake, you got to sign your soul
over to me as security. Now, if you’ll just sign here, in blood of course….”
McElroy looked at the retreating back of the Corporal with great satisfaction,
then turned to Links. “Never fails. Too many Hollywood movies. Looks like the
game’s over Gerry, want to go for a burger?”

“I
didn’t think you dead ones ate?”

“We
don’t have to but we still like food. Don’t have to sleep either but its still
good to. Demons eat, don’t ask me why we don’t and they do. Leave them
questions to the egg-heads. Let’s go get that burger.”

Field
Trials Unit, Left Flank, Phlegethon River Front, Hell

It
didn’t quite look like any vehicle Edovin had seen before. A bit like an
American Bradley but it had eight roadwheels and a lower, sleeker
superstructure topped with a bulky turret. For all the vehicle’s size, the gun
mounted in that turret seemed remarkably small. At the back of the gun mount
was a drum-like radar.

“Lieutenant
Edovin, Georgii Aleksandrovich reporting for duty Tovarish Lieutenant.”

The
American officer turned around and looked quickly at the Russian. “Ah, you’re
our liaison officer. I’m Mickey Marston. Good to have you on board. The ole’
bus will be a bit cramped until we’ve shot off some of the ammunition but it’ll
be OK afterwards. Make yourself at home. Got any kit with you? That’ll have to
go inside, new rules, nothing flammable outside the armor. Too many vehicles
lost to harpy-fire already.”

“Yes
bratischka, my Shilka was one of them. What is this vehicle.”

The
American laughed. “A bit of everything. It’s basically an M-2 Bradley, believe
it or not. We had a thing called the Future Combat System, a crackpot scheme to
have a new standard vehicle for the Army that would do anything. Well, the
contractor had to produce something to show where the money went so they built
this stretched Bradley. Fooled the Congresscritters into thinking something was
happening. Then, The Message came and the war started. FCS was cancelled and
the production of Abrams and Bradleys got restarted. This was shoved into a
shed somewhere until we realized how dangerous the harpies were and it got dug
out. Now, the Navy had just adopted a Swedish 57mm gun for a couple of its
programs, they’ve been cancelled as well of course, so GD Land Systems stuck
the gun in a new turret, fitted a radar stripped out of old F-18s for fire
control and kludged the whole thing together. So here we are, four prototype
vehicles each with a radar-controlled 57mm gun and 1,200 rounds of ammunition.

“Rate
of fire?” Edovin looked at the vehicle, for a hastily-thrown together
improvision it looked remarkably capable if ungainly.

“240
rounds per minute. Three round burst-limiter on the gun. Throws a six pound
shell.”

“Sir,
we got the mount up order.” One of the vehicle crew, presumably who had been on
radio watch, yelled out the message.

“Right,
Georgy, mount up, we got to go shooting.”

The
American Lieutenant had been right, the vehicle was cramped inside despite its
size. Ammunition everywhere, some in ready-to-use racks, the rest stowed around
wherever space could be found. That was something humans were learning fast,
combat vehicles needed ammunition stowage above pretty much everything else.
There were information screens as well, but they were mostly turned off, the
Russian Army just didn’t have the combat information systems the Americans had,
but then few did. Once screen was lighted and it showed the dots that
represented the airborne harpies over the remains of the attacking baldrick
formation. The baldricks were perilously close to breaking through. Marston
flipped some more switches and additional screens lit up. The were fuzzy for a
second and then cleared, showing the array of tanks that were waiting. Over a
thousand after the latest reinforcements had arrived, mostly Russian by a
division of Germans, a brigade of Indian T-72s, even some Turkish M48s. The old
M48s were more useful than might be suspected, their 90mm guns could kill a
baldrick just as well as a 125 but the M48s had twice as much ammunition as the
more modern vehicles.

“Roll.”
Marston’s voice snapped out the order and the anti-harpy vehicle started
forward, it’s three companions keeping alongside it, spaced out to cover the
maximum amount of front. Edovin looked at one of the displays, it showed the
long barrel of the 57mm gun, it was probably the electro-optical sight. Without
warning he was thrown off his feet as the turret swung fast to a new bearing
and the gun cracked out three rounds, so fast the bursts seemed to blend into
each other. On the electro-optical screen, a harpy exploded as the rounds tore
into it. Edovin had barely time to register the score when the turret lurched
again and another burst cracked out.

“Sorry
about the turret.” Marston yelled over the noise of the diesel and the sound of
the 57mm ammunition sliding around. “Navy thing, swinging it so fast.”

That
made sense for a point-defense gun. Edovin thought and wondered if somewhere
surplus Russian Navy point defense guns were being mounted in a chassis for
this role. If not, it would be a good idea to report the idea. He bounced off
the side of the turret again, the swings of the gun and the rapid cracks of its
shots were almost continuous as the experimental gun started carving the
surviving harpies out of the sky. Beside them, the waves of tanks accelerated
towards the baldricks ahead,

140th
Guards Tank Regiment, 5th Guards Tank Division “Don” Southern Flank, Phlegethon
River

This
was it, the great scything blow that would send the baldricks staggering back
across the river in defeat. Just as Zhukov’s tanks had once advanced through the
mud to send the fascists back across the Dneiper and the Dneister rivers. Major
Evgenii Yakovlevich Galkin knew his history well, one German Army had been
destroyed at Stalingrad but six had been wiped out in the great Mud Campaign in
those first months of 1944, and three Panzer armies had been wrecked so badly
they were never worth much afterwards. Today, it would be the start of an equal
destruction, one that would be known to the world in a way the great Mud
Campaign had never been.

The
baldricks had forced their way through the Russian defenses at last, it had
taken them time and they’d been bloodied terribly in doing so but they had made
it through. Now, just when they thought they could see the clear ground beyond
the killing fields, this mighty wave of tanks would sweep them away. Glakin
looked quickly through the remote control on his turret top machine gun, the
briefing had been very clear. The flying harpies were the main threat, they
could hurt armor with their fire. Kill them first. The baldricks foot soldiers
were less of a threat, they could be shot and crushed just as tanks had always
crushed the infantry that had dared to oppose them. The briefing was being
obeyed, the sky over the baldricks was black with anti-harpy fire. Every gun
that could be found was here, there were even ancient ZSU-57s, twin 57mm guns
in an open turret on an old T-54 tank chassis. Their crews had courage for
their turret gave them no protection if the harpies got close.

Off
to the right were the Americans with their experimental anti-harpy tank. They
were struggling to keep up with the fast Russian tanks and their gun was
swinging wildly, with short bursts at odd intervals. At first Galkin thought
the American crew were panicking but then he realized those short bursts were
tearing the closest harpies out of the sky. It was speed of reaction, not panic
and Galkin was suddenly impressed. Around the tanks and anti-harpy vehicles
were armoured personnel carriers. This time they were not carrying infantry to
screen the tanks, they were the refuge for any crew that lost their vehicle. If
a crew had to bail out, the nearest APC would hasten over to pick them up
before the harpies could kill them.

Speaking
of harpies, Galkin saw one staggering close to his tank. His machine gun spat
out a burst and the creature flopped from the sky. It had probably been dying
anyway but it never hurt to make sure. Then the tank lurched slightly as it ran
over the body. Never hurt to make very sure. Galkin looked at the sky again,
the anti-harpy fire was slackening off to a faint shadow of its previous self,
the gunners running out of targets at last. As if to confirm his thoughts, the
radio crackled briefly, orders for all guns to cease firing on airborne targets
and concentrate on the ground. Then the message was suddenly reinforced,
friendly aircraft were coming in. Galking grinned to himself, the baldricks
were about to learn the joys of being on the receiving end of close air
support.

He
looked again, this time at the baldricks up ahead. Mostly just a battered,
exhausted mass of foot soldiers but he could see one of the great rhinolobsters
with a coiled naga on its back. The lightning was flickering out from the
creature as it attacked one of the vehicles racing across the plain. Then,
Galkin saw the aircraft coming in. he ran through the shape in his head,
straight wings, twin tail, two engines, between the wings and the tail, an
American A-10. This, he thought, should be good.

It
was, the A-10s nose erupted into flame and the Rhinolobster and its burden
vanished under a cloud of dirt and dust thrown up by the torrents of shells.
When it faded, the creatures were lying on the ground, smashed and eviscerated.
The A-10 turned slightly, climbed a little then changed course to unleash a
hail of rockets on to another group of baldricks off to the left. The aircraft
knew exactly where to go, Galkin guessed that they were being steered in by the
Americans somehow, by an airborne command aircraft perhaps? Or even those new
anti-harpy vehicles?

The
lines of baldricks were approaching fast and it was time for the Don Division
to strike its own blows. The foot soldiers had lined up, forming ranks as the
tanks had appeared, now those ranks vanished as the 125mm shells tore into
them. Galking could almost sense the weariness and despair in their minds as
they saw their lightning bolts bouncing off the tanks, realized that the tanks
were not going to stop. The turret of his tank was filling with smoke as his gun
swung from one group of baldricks to the next, firing their shots into the mass
of infantry. They were close enough now so he could see individual features of
the baldricks as they crumpled and died under the onslaught. He had his own
commander’s gun firing, sweeping the tracer bullets across the enemy ranks,
watching the baldricks fold as they were mown down. The tank’s main gun was
silent, the last few rounds were being kept for emergencies and the gunner was
using his co-axial machine gun in its place.

Still
closer, the baldricks still there – and then they broke, broke and ran from the
tanks that were already far too close for any retreat to bring safety. Galkin’s
tank tore into the mass, its machine guns still firing, the driver spinning the
T-80U on its tracks, grinding the baldricks underneath the vehicle as it plowed
through their ranks. They were running, all around the tanks they were running,
the machine gunners spraying them with fire, chasing them down and crushing
them. Galking could hear the rattle as bullets bounced off his armor, the tanks
were hitting each other in the wild frenzy of the slaughter but it didn’t
matter. Machine gun bullets couldn’t hurt the tanks. Nor could the baldricks
although they tried, breaking their tridents on the armor, trying to tear at
the tanks with their hands. They fought, hopelessly, bravely, uselessly.

Off
to his left, Galkin saw baldricks, a dozen or more of them in a ditch, behind a
mound. Were they hiding? Or wounded and looking for a place to die? It didn’t
matter, he gave his orders and the tank swung around, parallel with the ditch.
Then he felt one side drop as the treads went into the ditch and he drove along
it, crushing the baldricks sheltering within. Glakin heard screams, perhaps the
baldricks, perhaps just the metal tracks as they ran over the suspension
rollers. Then his tank levelled again and he made another turn back to his
original route. The Phelgethon River lay ahead, the gains the baldrick army had
fought for two days to secure and for which they had sacrificed so much had
been wiped out by the tanks in less that twenty minutes.

South
of the City of Dis  This time Belial had taken his wyvern low, down beneath the
dusty brown overcast that was nearly ubiquitous in hell. With the human 'aircraft'
still very evident, screaming and roaring somewhere over the Phlegethon river,
Belial thought it best to stay inconspicuous. What he saw beneath him steadily
drained away the elation from his sudden elevation. Countless demon warriors,
streaming towards Dis, some still as ordered legions but many as individual
squads or even disorganised crowds. The horrible wounds that marked many of the
demons, the battered or missing equipment, the cries and wails both audible and
telepathic, all made it clear that this was an army retreating in defeat.
Belial had cast his mind out, trying to make contact with a commander to learn
what manner of catastrophe had inflicted such ruin on the grand armies of hell.
It was no use though, despite being leagues from the front lines his mind still
rang from the impossibly powerful psychic emanations from the massed human
mages. The din made it impossible to hold a coherent conversation from a
thousand feet up and Belial couldn't risk stopping. 'But where are all the
harpies?' he thought.