Armageddon?? (58 page)

“Forget
it. No way.”

“You
don’t have any choice, Private Chestnut. You’re in the Army now. We have
reinstated the draft you know.” Schatten’s voice was richly amused by the
sudden change on the man’s face.

“You
can’t make me do the portal thing. Or anything else. And I won’t. Not unless I
get my money.”

“It’s
Sir to you. No, we can’t. But I must advise you that you’re being assigned to a
field test program. We know that sensitives can contact Hell, but what happens
if we put a sensitive in hell and try to contact out? We need to know that but
kitten was much, much too valuable to use that way. Still is. But you’re not.
So, we’re assigning you to Camp Hell-Alpha and you’ll stay there until the
program is complete. Of course, if you don’t co-operate that may take a very
long time. You two.” Schatten gestured at the two Special Forces men. “Take
Private Chestnut away and show him how the Army works.”

“It’ll
be a pleasure Sir.”

“I
thought it might be.” The two Special Forces men led Chestnut out and closed
the door behind them. A few seconds later there was a muffled thud and the door
shook, followed by an apologetic “oops”. The Marine in the room suddenly
developed a satisfied expression in his face,

Major
General Asanee had sat down beside kitten. “How are you doing?”

“Well,
thank you ma’am.”

“Good,
for I have some news for you. If our three new recruits work out a bit better
than Mis…. than Private Chestnut…. did, you’ll get some leave soon. My Learjet
is waiting to take you to Bangkok for your operation, as I promised, my
government will pay the account. Until then, I’d like you to meet somebody, one
who has already been through the procedure. She’ll tell you what to expect and
how to do things afterwards. She’s waiting outside, as soon as you’re done
here, you two can get together.”

Deep
Tunnel Stygia ('The Slime Pit'), Shaft 14, Slocum Mine, Tartarus

Captain
James Shanklin stood knee-deep in the stagnant water, listlessly hacking away
at an exposed copper vein. It had been something like a century now that he'd
been in this literally God-forsaken place, give or take a decade. It was all so
unfair. Hadn't he died for King and Country, like you were supposed to? He'd
gone to church... mostly. He'd been a faithful husband... almost. There had
been that one time, a year before the German shell ended his life, just after
that fresh-faced young private had joined the squad. In the earthly hell of the
Somme they all thought they had only weeks to live, surely God could forgive a
man for seeking whatever companionship and release he could under such
conditions?

It
would seem that God could not. James dimly recalled spending decades in an
empty wasteland scoured by a constant terrible storm, wandering without ever
finding rest or shelter. Then he was brought here, seemingly to mine copper for
all eternity. The last few months had been particularly intolerable. He was
sure that other prisoners were stealing ore from his crates when he wasn't
looking, because he'd been sentenced to work in the slime pit almost every
week. Worst of all, the pointless riots meant that all the humans were now kept
chained up at all times. The corroded bronze manacle had already rubbed his
ankle raw. The formerly lax demon supervisors seemed to have found a new
motivation for their calling, as they were more eager than ever to apply their
whips.

The
rumors had been going around the mine since the demons had first questioned
them about human weapons. At first there was nothing but a welter of
speculation, but as of late they had taken a decidedly grim turn. New workers
were arriving, fresh from earth and bringing tales of their homes falling to an
irresistible demonic onslaught. City after city was apparently being raped,
pillaged and burned by the fiendish legions. Some refused to believe, harping
on about inconsistencies in the stories, but James knew they were just grasping
at straws. He had seen what being in the midst of brutal slaughter could do to
the mind first hand, at Flanders and Neuve Chapelle; if anything the confused
ranting of the new arrivals only confirmed the horror of what they had
witnesses. In his mind all of humanity was clearly doomed to suffer,
individually and collectively.

Into
this uniformly depressing picture had come an unexpected ray of hope. At the
start of this shift, they had been assembled in the loading area again and
Medusa had a different message for them. Reading from a slate chalked with
strange runes, she had implored the workers to reveal the location of the human
arsenals. Only then would the demons be able to spare the remaining cities from
total destruction. Any human who helped make this possible would be rewarded
with dominion over one of the surviving settlements, to rule it in Satan's name
for the rest of time.

For
Captain Shanklin the struggle with his conscience had been a brief one. He had
been loyal to the King and the Empire had sent him to a fair approximation of
this place, rendered in stinking trenches and screaming shellfire, only to
throw away his life fighting over a patch of worthless French mud. He had been
faithful and his God had abandoned him. Even in this place, his fellow men
seemed to wish him only further suffering. No, he no longer gave his loyalty to
anyone but himself. James resolved to grasp this chance. He was already in
hell, he could hardly damn himself a second time by supping with the devil. Besides,
if the people of Sheffield saw sense and surrendered, perhaps he would be able
to save his home from total destruction. What more noble deed could be expected
of him?

A
dull pounding echoed down the tunnel, muffled by the standing water. An overseer
was coming; at regular intervals the hoof-beats paused and were replaced by
screams as another miner was given a taste of the barbed whip. The pounding
became splashing as the demon approached. James' hands began to tremble as he
waited for it to reach him, sweat beaded on his forehead as he prepared to
betray everything he had ever known. At last the monstrous creature came into
sight. The demon seemed to combine the worst features of a gorilla and a goat
into a vast brutish humanoid. The sight of the human's motionless pick had just
registered on its face and it began to raise its great spiked lash.

“Wait!”
shouted Captain Shanklin, “I can help! I can tell you where all the Empire's
steel comes from! I can lead you to the forges that make Britannia's great guns
and railways!”

The
demon paused with whip raised, uncomprehending. James shouted desperately. “The
weapons that are giving your armies pause! The metal they are made from, you
call it 'enchanted iron'. I can show you where most of it is made!”

For
a moment it looked like the demon would ignore him, but then it slowly lowered
its whip and reached into the water. The chains confining the humans had no
locks; if the demons were capable of such craftwork, they did not waste it on
lowly human prisoners. Instead there was simply an unwelded bronze link too
thick for a human to bend, but which the overseer's supernatural strength could
easily open and close. The demon's clawed hands emerged holding the end of the
chain, with which it yanked the human forwards.

“Come.”
James has no choice but to follow the brute up through the winding tunnels
towards the main shaft, the chain pulling him roughly to his feet when he
tripped and fell. “I hope you're lying, little human, because I'd love to make
a feast of your entrails.”

They
turned off the main tunnel into an area James had never entered before. It
seemed to be a kind of office, well lit with numerous torches and filled with
carved stone tables and stools. Slates filled with chalked runes lay on the
tables and hung from the walls, along with thin fired-clay tablets covered in
more runes. His eyes only had seconds to take this in before Medusa entered the
room, her snake-hair writhing gently. James averted his gaze as quickly as
possible, falling to his knees in the manner he'd seen the lesser demons use
during the rare visits of the senior overseer.

“This
one claims to know where the humans make their enchanted iron.”

Lakheenahuknaasi
stared at the wretched human cowering before her. Its form was still dripping
with rank water. She hoped this one had something useful. Euryale had gambled a
lot on this wild scheme, and if it failed she would undoubtedly ensure her
handmaidens suffered with her. Lakheenahuknaasi aimed a tentacle at the human
and shot a single enthralment dart into the man's shoulder, enough to make it
difficult for him to lie to her without robbing him of his wits. He reeled,
shook his head and then tried to look at her out of the corner of his eye, in
that annoying manner humans seemed to have. Lakheenahuknaasi smiled at him,
unaware that her fangs made the gesture more threatening than reassuring. “So,
you have something to tell me, yesss?”

Throne
Room, Palace of Satan, Dis, Hell

Satan
had thrown some temper tantrums in his time but this one exceeded any those
present could easily remember. Most of the Orc domestic staff had died one way
or another, and the only reason why the massacre had stopped there was that
Satan had run out of energy. While his magic built up again, he contented himself
with screaming abuse at the gathered nobles. Eventually even that led to an
exhausted silence. He looked around at the stunned nobility, his eyes
flickering from one to the next, trying to catch even the slightest whiff of
treason.

“How
many members of my guard were killed?”

“Nine,
Sire.”

“And
you claim that humans did this.” There was a sly inflexion on the ‘you claim’.

“They
did Sire, they were seen by a Greater Herald that flew not far away. He saw the
Iron Chariots killing them.” That was a trump call, Satan wouldn’t argue with
testimony from one of his own Greater Heralds.

“And
after the battle they crossed over the bridge and destroyed the camp the other
side of the Phlegethon. Then they retreated back to their side of the river
where a Flying Chariot joined them.”

Satan
screamed again, and a lightning bolt struck down the speaker where he stood.
“Their side of the river? Who else thinks such treason?” His eyes ran around
the room, seeking for treason again, or an excuse to kill, there wasn’t much
difference really. “The humans are still at the Dysprosium Bridge.”

“They
are.” Beelzebub spoke carefully. “But they destroyed it. The Phlegethon is
unbridged there now.”

“Then
destroy them. Take your legions, all of them, and destroy them. Belial, is your
plan ready to carry out? Or will you be seeing your furnaces from the inside?”

“We
are ready Your Majesty. We have the information we need and the chorus is set
up.” And I can only hope that’s true Belial thought. It wasn’t when I left two
days ago, and when I get back, I’ll have little time left.

“Then
you will time your attack to match Beelzebub’s assault on the Human Army. How
soon can you move your army.”

Beelzebub
cast an eye at Belial and thought carefully. “Four days Your Majesty.”

“Then
that gives you two more days than I promised Belial. Use them well.”

Behind
the scene, Deumos watched carefully, absorbing every nuance, every undercurrent
in the great room. And through her mind kept running the phrase “the humans
cannot lose.”

Then,
the audience was disturbed by a Greater Herald who stumbled in, exhausted from
a too-rapid flight. “Your Majesty, terrible news. Asmodeus is dead.”

Chapter
Forty Two

Banks
of the River Styx, Fifth Circle of Hell

“Are
you sure this is going to work?” Lieutenant (deceased) Jade Kim was concerned.
This was by far the most ambitious scheme she and the Special Forces H Team
assigned to her had attempted. It was taking up a frightening amount of
resources, all their Semtex, their claymores and their concentrated strength.
More than twenty humans, six deceased, fourteen living, and a small group of
deceased spectators. Hell was going to hell Kim thought, they’d be having
embedded reporters here next.

Beside
her, Lieutenant Rollings watched the bottleneck in the road below. The ambush
had been very carefully set up and additional troops brought in to bring it
off. The problem was, the plan depended upon the baldricks keeping to their
usual, predictable, selves. Faced with a problem, they invariably responded the
same way, presumably the one that had been tested and proved successful over
more years than humans could comfortably contemplate. If they continued to work
that way, then this ambush would also work. If they didn’t, then the team here
would be seriously weakened. There was a back-up plan for that, if necessary,
the whole group would bail out through a portal, the living humans would stay
back on Earth while the deceased would quickly re-insert into another region of
Hell to join one of the new groups that had started up.

The
strategy had been in operation ever since the baldrick forces had started their
campaign to suppress the PFLH. They’d begun their encampments around a massive
fortification near the now-severed bridge over the Styx. They’d started
building them in a checkerboard fashion, each one within sight of the next,
moving slowly forward as the lines of outposts were complete. The baldrick
commander didn’t seem to be short of troops, that was for certain, and his
strategy was quite obvious. To slowly shrink the ground the PFLH had to
maneuver in until they were forced to fight in a static battle against
overwhelming odds. It was a familiar strategy, one that had been used against
guerilla forces since the days of Caesar’s battles in Gaul and probably for a
long time before that. Still, Rollings had been taught his trade well and knew
how to handle this particular problem. After all, the U.S. Army had been taught
that particular lesson in the jungles of Vietnam by some real experts in
guerilla warfare. Idly, he wondered just where the dead Vietcong were, they’d
make excellent recruits for this particular war.