Armageddon?? (95 page)

With
the two boats pushing together the barge was soon downstream of the Ambassador
bridge and clear of the steam and smoke. Marcie could now see the people on the
deck clearly; most still slumped motionless, but a few moving around, trying to
help the wounded. She let out a long, relieved whistle – these people were
alive, and clear, thanks to her and the Stormont. Many more hadn’t made it
though – and the current definitely seemed to be getting stronger, which meant
the channel was becoming blocked. On the plus side, she thought blackly, a
little flooding would make controlling the fires easier.

Lady
Wood, near Grimethorpe, United Kingdom

“Sir,
the dog team has found a body. Could be one of our officers.”

Inspector
Heaton looked up from his clipboard, which held a map of local area annotated
in felt-tip pen. Laptop computers had their uses but he preferred good old hard
copy where possible.

“Already?
Where are they?”

“About
a quarter mile due north.”

The
forensics team were still examining the rear of the abandoned van. “Mitchell,
got a body for you, are you done there?”

“Pretty
much Inspector. The blood is definitely Baldrick, no surprises there. Still no
idea about those needles, we'll have to wait for the lab work.”

“Ok.
Constable Dasari, escort them over to the K-9 team please. I'll shift the
sweeps north... oh, and here come the squaddies.”

Inspector
Heaton didn't recognize it, but the bulky 4x4 roaring down the track was a
Panther CLV. He did recognize the machine gun and grenade launcher on its
remote weapon mount, though he'd never seen both mounted together like that
before. The vehicle came to a stop and Heaton found himself facing a
dark-haired officer with a prominent moustache, flanked by two soldiers
carrying battle rifles.

“Brigadier
Lethbridge-Stewart.” The newcomer thrust out his hand and Heaton reflexively
shook it. “I take it we have a confirmed Baldrick presence?”

“You
could say that. That van was driven here from Sheffield and the back is coated
in dried green blood. Plus we've just found...”

Inspector
Heaton clicked the channel selector on his radio and spoke into it. “Sergeant
Taylor, any ID on the body yet?”

The
voice that responded sounded vaguely sick. “Yes sir... make that two bodies.
They're badly torn up but they're definitely our lads. Sir, the way the
entrails are torn out... I think the demon was eating them. They've got more of
those needle things, sticking out of them.”

Lethbridge-Stewart's
eyebrow shot up. “Inspector, pull your men back. They're not trained for this.”

“And
yours are?” Heaton was affronted at the implication that his officers couldn't
handle one murderer, however vicious and depraved.

“Not
just trained, combat tested. Don't ask, you're not cleared for it. Look, I see
you've already got a perimeter in place, good work. You can hold that until my
troops can relieve you. But more Baldricks could portal in at any moment.”

Heaton
gulped. “Yes sir.” He started barking orders into the radio.

Somewhere
in Hell, On The Way To Tartarus

Hello,
Memnon, can we talk?”

Memnon
recognized the voice in his head. One of the humans making a scheduled contact.
The conversation would make a good excuse to rest.

Yes,
I am resting for a while. Tell my Master Abigor that I am doing well, that I
have covered almost two thirds of the distance to Tartarus.

There
was a brief pause and when the voice came back, it was tinged with respect. You
have made good time then. We had expected you to be only half way by now. Way
to go Memnon!

Memnon
basked in the praise, that was a nice thing about humans, when somebody did a
good job, they noticed and praised it. Didn’t scream in rage and demand to know
why the achievement hadn’t been commonplace in the past. Memnon thought about
that, nobody in Hell really tried to exert themselves because if they excelled
in anything, that would become the standard they would be held to from that
point onwards. ‘Just good enough’ was the watchword.

My
Lord demanded that I move as fast as I could. I just obeyed his commands

Nevertheless
you’ve done well and bought us a little time we didn’t expect. Take some of it
to rest up. Is there anything you need? We can open a portal to you if we need
to.

I
am doing well thank you. I hunted on the way up and fed well. Soon I will be at
Tartarus.

Good.
Find yourself somewhere safe, not too far from Belial’s fortress so we can
portal our team to you. We’ll be in contact again this time tomorrow.

Memnon
settled back on his rocks and relaxed, feeling very good about himself. It was
nice to work for people who appreciated his efforts.

CNO’s
Office, the Pentagon, Washington D.C.

“We’ll
need a portal at least 200 feet wide and at least the same high. For safety,
three hundred feet. That’ll mean we can get a CVN through and run the SSNs in
submerged. How many of my CVNs do you want to send to hell.” Admiral Gary
Roughead paused for a second. “I still can’t believe I just said that.”

Secretary
Warner grinned in reply. “It does take getting used to doesn’t it. Anyway, we
want to send two carriers through initially, with full air groups. By the way,
they’ll be joined by the Admiral Nakhimov and the Pyotr Veliky. They’re on
their way over to Norfolk now. Screening ships as required.’

Roughead
drummed his fingers. “That leaves us with eight CVNs this side. Pretty thin,
even with Newport News working triple shifts on the two new ones. Overrunning
Hell is one thing but this is our home, we have to be secure here.”

“The
Lyndon Johnson and Herbert Hoover? Even working flat out, they’re four years
away. We looked at re-commissioning some of the old dinosaur-burners but
they’re too far gone. We’ll have to make do with eight this side I’m afraid.”

“And
they’ve lost their E/F-model Superbugs. We can send Truman and Stennis through.
They’ve got three squadrons of Bugs and one of Rhinos each. We’ve fleshed the
squadrons out, they’re at eighteen birds each right now. Gives them 72 attack
birds each. I wish we’d never pulled the A-6s from service. We’ve got some
SLUFs coming back though. Question. How do they get back? I’m told its
virtually impossible to hold a big gate open from this side.”

“It
is, but we’re going to push this one through from hellside to the AUTEC site
off Bermuda. We’re going to try and make it large enough so that it’s
permanent, like the one in Iraq. That way, if we lose the Iraqi one, we’ve got
this as a backup. Has to be a sea gate so we can get freighters through to
supply the forces we’ve got deployed in hell right now.” Secretary Warner
thought for a second. “Like it or not Admiral, hell is part of our environment
from now on. It’s there, no matter what happens. We have to have solid contact
with the place, communications, everything else we take for granted. This
second permanent portal won’t be the last, there’ll be more, many more. Our
world literally has gotten to be a whole lot bigger.”

Chapter
Sixty Six

Beelzebub’s
Command Post, Northern Front, Phlegethon River

There
was nothing left, nothing that Beelzebub could see anyway. He could see what
was left of his harpy flock, the ground black with bodies where human magery
had slaughtered them. A few survived, some because they were outside the area
affected, others by some weird fluke that defied definition. Others were
staggering around, their movements jerking and ill-coordinated. But of the
foot-soldiers who had been caught under the dreadful barrage of mage-bolts,
there was nothing left. The ground was bare, harrowed, even the vegetation was
gone. Swallowed up by the rolling earth that had thrown Beelzebub himself from
his feet and shaken him until he thought every bone in his body would break.

He
cudgeled his brain, trying to get the thoughts in his head back into some sort
of order. The blow had been shattering, a huge part of his army had been
squeezed along the banks of the Phlegethon, most of his harpies had been
concentrated over the human defenses. Just what had he got left of the 243
legions that had started this battle? Not all his legions had been in the waves
that had fallen victim to the human mages, surely not all of them had died. He
clawed his way to his feet, shouting for a harpy to carry his messages.

One
presented himself, dirty, stained, muddy but alive. “Sire, I come from
Pritograshnaris, Commander of the sixth line of your Army. He begs your
forgiveness sire, but he reports that he must halt his advance while he
re-organizes his force. His forty legions are in disarray my Lord.”

“Casualties?”

“Not
many Sire, the human mage-fire fell short of his line. His formations were
disrupted by the earthquake caused by the mage-fire, the foot soldiers could
not remain standing while the ground rolled under them. Many are injured but
they can still fight….” The harpy stopped, awkwardly, not knowing quite what to
say next. Or, rather, not knowing how to phrase the message so that he could
survive delivering it.

“What.”
Beelzebub snapped the response out.

“My
Lord, the soldiers, they are reluctant to advance still further. They fear the
mage-fire will come back for them and they fear the magery that destroyed the
harpies still lingers there.” The harpy dropped his head and waited for death.

Beelzebub
reflected that it had been a long time since he had last eaten and he could use
a snack. However, harpies were in short supply after that terrible mage-blast.
It was an unfamiliar feel for a Lord who had built his forces around his
harpy-flock. He needed this one alive. Snacks could wait. Anyway, his foot-soldiers
were right, the human magery was lingering, he had seen some of them flee
forward to escape the mage-fire, across the river and they had died convulsing
and twitching just as the harpies had done. The human defenses were still
there, he adjusted his vision to long range and saw the hole torn in their
lines, a hole that barely scratched its depths and one that new Iron Chariots
were already moving in to fill. He knew what would come next, the chariots
would charge and crush his force. It suddenly dawned on him that his 40
surviving legions were the only organized military force between the humans and
Dis.

“Go
to Pritograshnaris, tell him to suspend the attack. Form a defense line on the,
no, behind the hills. If the humans can fight from behind hills, then so can
we. Dismount the naga from their beasts and get them ready to fire on the human
attack. Human magery and mage-fire have broken this attack, now we must break
theirs. After you have delivered that message fly south and see
Chiknathragothem. Tell him that our attack here has stalled due to magery of
unprecedented power. It is now down to him to break through the human defenses
and repel their army. We shall block the road to Dis. He must be the hammer and
we shall be the anvil with the humans crushed between us. Now go.”

Thankful
to be alive, the harpy left. Beelzebub stared after him, then concentrated on
the area in front of his position, where the first five line of his army had
once been. Incredibly, survivors were moving down there, pulling themselves out
of the very earth itself. They were picking themselves up, retreating,
staggering would be a better word, back to where his new defense line was
forming. His decision to end the attack was the right one, but even if he
hadn’t made it, what was left of his army would have made it for him. For the
first time in his long life Beelzebub knew the full meaning of defeat. It
didn’t mean that the benefits of fighting on did not match the costs, it meant
that an army could no longer fight. In his heart, Beelzebub knew that this war
was lost, that it had been lost before it had even started.

“Sire.”
A Greater Herald was landing. Beelzebub was shocked, the creature was gray and
visibly shaking. “Sire, something terrible had happened.”

Satan's
Palace, City of Dis, Fifth Ring, Hell

The
four B-1s had already made three runs over the target area, assembling their
radar picture and ensuring the primary drop point had been properly identified.
Their fourth run was the real thing. At almost the same instant, the four B-1Bs
released the MOPs. The four massive bombs began accelerating at 0.8 Gs and
quickly turned nose-down, presenting a small, hardened cross-section to the
granite they were about to strike. As they fell, the radar in the nose of each
B-1B tracked the fall and the approximate trajectory, and automatically radioed
small corrections to each corresponding bomb, causing the fins to slightly
turn, adjusting its course. In just under forty-seven seconds, the four bombs
had all covered the five-and-a-half mile drop, and at precisely the same time
they struck the bronze roof of Satan's palace in a square twenty meters across.

As
it happened, an unlucky orc was standing directly beneath one of the bombs,
which was now hurtling down at more than 1,250 miles per hour; he was crushed
into a paste before he realized what had hit him, and his remains were carried
down in front of the bomb as it crashed through the floor into the basement,
and then through the basement floor into the rock foundation of Satan's palace.
Each of the four bombs traveled approximately 130 feet into the granite
underneath Satan's palace before the fuses in their tails initiated. The
combined 120,000 pounds of steel and high explosive detonated an instant
thereafter.