Armageddon

Chapter Eighty Two

HMS Astute, Northern Seas, Off Tartarus, Hell

“The spams said the Seawolfs were fast, they never said they were that fast.” Captain Phillips looked up from the chart plot with irritation in his voice. “We’re falling further behind all the time. How long until we’re off the coast of Tartarus?”

Lieutenant-Commander Michael Murphy grimaced slightly. “We’re not doing so bad ourselves, the old S and T boats couldn’t hold speed like this. Even so, our ETA off Tartarus is in 30 hours. Unless, of course, we have to take a detour. We’re in a deep water channel now but I’ve no idea how long we’ll be able to use it.”

Captain Phillips drummed the chart display with his fingers. “And I don’t like charging around blind like this. We’ve got no idea what the topography is here, we could charge straight into an underground mountain. Just like that spam boat did a couple of years back. That was in an area that was pretty thoroughly charted. We’ve got no clue what’s down here. We don’t even know if it’s like Earth or not.”

“You get the feeling we’re the guinea pigs for the big boys following behind?”

“That’s exactly what I think. Florida and Georgia are thumping along behind us somewhere and my bet is we’re doing the mapping for them. And all the subs are trailblazing for the carriers and amphibs. One good thing, at least the spam boats are already on station. So if there was anything really bad up there, we’d be getting word by now.”

Murphy nodded, in complete agreement with his Captain. The plan was for Seawolf and Connecticut, their torpedo rooms stuffed full of Tomahawk missiles, to stay way offshore while the Jimmy Carter went in and unloaded a group of special forces personnel. They’d be doing beach surveys and preparing the way for the amphibious forces coming up. If Belial was still alive, and if he was planning to continue his lava attacks, the Tomahawks would be the first line of attack. Not all the missiles had conventional warheads; the baldricks might believe their fortresses were tough but they’d never seen what a nuclear ground burst could do. The marines coming over the beach were the second act in the elimination of the threat to Earth’s cities.

“Thirty hours then. And let’s just hope we don’t hit anything.”

56th Stryker Brigade Combat Team, City of Dis. Hell

The gates of Dis creaked mightily as they opened, the great bronze hinges squealing as the doors swung outwards. They pivoted slowly, opened by great winches powered by straining teams of orcs whose labors were soon to be ended. What to do with the orcs? That was a very good question, one that human politicians hadn’t even begun to get their minds around yet. The orcs would be freed from their millenia of slavery, that was certain, but how to go from there? Nobody knew, it was just one more set of problems in a vast array that grew by the hour.

It had seemed so easy. Bust into Hell, trample on anybody who gets in the way and free the humans held in torment. And still the list of problems still grew longer by the hour. Still, that was something the soldiers in the field didn’t have to worry about. Their job was to win the war and they’d done just that. The gates swinging open in front of them were proof of the victory. They’d taken humanity’s oldest, most fundamental enemy and crushed them. Now, the city gates were swinging open in homage to the victors.

Colonel Chisholm waved his arm in the traditional cavalry gesture and his command Stryker eased forward. The information from Abigor, backed up by the product from the photo-reconnaissance aircraft had been that the streets in Dis were narrow and poorly surfaced. Too narrow for the Abrams and Bradleys to pass so the job of being the first American unit into Hell had fallen to the 28th Mechanized Infantry Division, Pennsylvania National Guard (Federalized). Along with America’s other infantry divisions, the 28th had been reorganized with three Stryker Brigades and a single armored brigade and was ideally suited to the move into Dis.

Inside Dis, Chisholm was reminded of films he’d seen set in the medieval era. Same kind of buildings, cobbled streets, highly suspect sanitation. The strikers were moving slowly, edging through the clutter than lined the roads and alleyways, the crews keeping a sharp look-out. Dis might have surrendered, the government here might have changed hands but that didn’t mean the war was over. There were a lot of Iraq veterans in the 56th who knew full well that ‘end of major combat operations’ was not the same as ‘peace’. Too many people had forgotten that and not come back. If there was going to be a firefight, the Strykers were going to be ready to give out as much punishment as necessary.

“Any word from the Russians?”

“Some Sir. They’re not hitting any opposition either.”

Chisholm nodded. This was a delicate, dicey operation. The humans were coming in as conquerors, they wanted to be perceived as liberators, as the people who would make things better. Flattening half the city was not a good way to start. The Israelies had been politely but firmly excluded from the initial occupation for exactly that reason. Their instant response doctrine was just that bit too vigorous for this particular situation. There were other situations where their operational doctrine would be appropriate, but not here, not now.

Around them, the baldricks were watching. Mostly females and kidlings, the latter sometimes making shy, quick waves at the troops passing. That was a worry, a wave could easily be mistaken for a throw, and that wave could easily turn into a real attack. Despite the apparent calm, Chisholm could feel his stomach knotting up. This was the real danger, nerves would tighten and tighten until they suddenly snapped and somebody did something very stupid.

“Sir, over there!” Chisholm heard the call and very nearly did something very stupid with his Mark 19 grenade launcher. But, it hadn’t been an attack warning, instead the private was pointing at a female with pink skin and blonde hair. A human female. Chisholm held up his hand and the column stopped. Then he waved the woman over. She came out of the shadows and knelt by the Stryker, looking down at her feet.

“Who are you? What are you doing here? And stand up, stop grovelling.”

“Balthechildis, Noble Sire.” The woman rose to her feet, unsteadily, tentatively. Even when standing she still looked down, avoiding the eyes of the men in the armored vehicles.

“Why are you here?” Chisholm tried to moderate his voice, who knew what this woman had suffered during her stay here? “And I’m not a Noble Sire. I’m a Colonel. Colonel James Chisholm.”

“I am a servant No… Colonel. In the house of Anthrapixicatis. I was brought here when I first came.”

“Are there others like you? Servants of the baldricks… the demons?”

“Some, Colonel, those who wanted human servants took them when we arrived.”

“And how long ago was that? Where did you come from?”

“I do not know how long Colonel, I was a wife in a Frankish settlement of the Danemark. I died in childbed.”

“This Anthrawhatyoucallededhim. Did he treat you well?”

“Yes Colonel. I was not whipped too often.”

Chisholm wanted to say something but he changed his mind. Too many problems could start that way. “Very well, Balthechildis, you don’t belong to him any more. Go outside the city, follow the vehicles along back to the gate. Outside are some people who will help you. You’re free now.”

The woman obediently started walking back the way Chisholm had indicated. Beside him, the vehicle sergeant spoke very softly. “He treated her well, didn’t whip her too often. What sort of place is this?”

“This is Hell Sergeant, you know that. And I guess Stockholm syndrome works down here as well. Think about hit from her point of view, being a servant up here must be a prime choice compared with what goes on in the pit. Roll forward.” He flipped on his radio for transmission to Division HQ. “Sun-Ray Alpha Actual Here. Spread the word, there are humans in Dis, servants and others. Keep a watch for them and send them out to the reception teams when we spot them.”

The message went out and a few seconds later his radio came alive again. “Sun-Ray Alpha Actual, this is Sun-Ray Prime. Be advised your earlier message is confirmed. Russian, British and Czech units all report finding humans in apparently menial positions.” The voice on the other end sounded as if it was trying to stop laughing. “Lead elements of the French cavalry division report they have found what appears to be a bordello staffed with humans.”

“Trust the French to find a brothel.” One of the troopers in the command Stryker looked around at the sordid streets of Dis reflectively. “That we should be so lucky.”

The vehicle procession started again, the crews scanning the ever-growing number of faces watching from the buildings. Eventually they came to a large open area, backed by a second wall, one thinner and lower than the great outer wall. From behind it, plumes of smoke, faint but discernable, were rising. The heat was noticeable, not quite burning his face but giving him the same feeling he had when he’s been out in the sun too long. Chisholm looked at his map just to confirm what his eyes had just told him. “This is it people. The other side of that wall is the Hell Pit. Now, our problems really start.”

Underground Fortress of Palelabor, Tartarus, Hell

Belial was in an expansive mood. In the five days since the demonstration of his new Great Tridents, the workshops had produced half a dozen more, each with a naga assigned to it. Perhaps the disaster at the second portal had been a good thing after all, it had left a good number of crippled naga that were fit for little more than power sources. They could all be used up in powering his new weapons. Entering the Great Hall of his fortress, Belial saw something that made him freeze in his tracks. A figure, only marginally smaller than he was, with great wings that stretched out. Most of his court was prostrate on the ground in front of it.

“Belial.” The great voice boomed out, shaking the stone walls of the fortress.

“I am here Messenger of Satan.” There was no mistaking who this creature was. One of the surviving Greater Heralds, a member of the Corps of Diabolical Heralds.

“No Belial, Not a Messenger of Satan. Here me now. Satan is dead. The Lord Abigor now rules in his place. By my Lord Abigor’s ruling, the war with the humans is over. The City of Dis has surrendered and even now the humans move in to occupy it. My Lord Abigor commands you to lay down your arms and surrender to the humans. The war is lost, the fighting must end. So says my Lord Abigor.”

The Greater Herald crashed a staff down on the floor, sending chips of stone flying.

“NEVER!” Belial’s voice thundered around the hall, causing a stir of alarm from the assembled court.

“It is His Infernal Majesty Abigor’s will.” The Greater Herald spoke what was to him a simple truth not to be countermanded.

“Abigor is a traitor, a coward who surrendered to save his own life. Now he is a mindless puppet of the humans. I say he is unfit to rule. I spit upon his will and his commands. If Our Rightful Lord Satan has died, then it is I, I who was his favorite, I who was the only one to strike a blow against the humans, I who shall assume his throne.”

“So you may claim. But Abigor occupies the throne and has been acclaimed as ruler of Hell. He has challenged any who might disagree not to argue it with him but to do so with the humans. Those same humans who have destroyed every army in Hell at trifling cost to themselves. They stand behind Abigor now. And I note that the Adamantine Fortress has already been the subject of their wrath. It looks a little damaged from the experience. Submit Belial. And make your peace with the humans. My message ends.”

Belial looked at the Greater Herald and then looked at the Great Trident beside him, one that had just been delivered and was fitted with a naga in place and was charged up. His foot reached out and he kicked it so the barrel was in line with the Herald. One closed contact and the bolt flashed out, striking the Greater Herald full in the chest. The creature went down, its chest torn open, its blood already starting to burn its flesh. There was an awed silence in the great hall, nobody, dared to kill the Greater Heralds. Unless they were human of course, they killed everything that got in their way, Greater Heralds included. But demons never killed the personal representatives of the rulers of Hell. Belial looked at the audience and measured his power. It was growing fast and had just been confirmed.

“So perish all traitors to Hell. Surrender? Never. My orders from Satan were to destroy human cities and that is what we shall do. This Herald of the Traitor Abigor has received my reply to his insulting message. Now the humans shall receive my reply to theirs. Their cities shall burn. Yulupki, the chorus is ready?”

“It is Sire, although two more days…”

“Will be two days too long. We move out tomorrow at dawn. Are the shrines at Okthuura Jorkastrephas ready?”

“They are.”

“Then there is no reason to wait. My first act as the new ruler of Hell will be to bring the humans to their knees. I say this again, their cities will burn. This is their legacy from Satan just as my supreme power is his legacy to me.”

Belial gazed around the great hall again, drinking in his new-found power and status. His planning and scheming had worked better than he had any right to expect. With Satan dead and Abigor a traitor, all hell would rally to him. From a humble and forgotten count to the Supreme Ruler, the Infernal Majesty of Hell, he had much to thank the humans for. Not that he intended to show any gratitude for their services to him of course.

City of Dis. Hell

The Humvee drove down the street, the center of a convoy of five vehicles. The first pair contained troops from DIMO(N), the fourth was a communications truck, the last contained more troops. The center vehicle contained Julie Adams and a mass of electronic equipment. Every so often, her mind reached out, amplified by the electronics and touched a mind she knew all too well.

“He’s here Jack. That building there.”

“Got it ma’am.” The convoy came to a halt and the troops started to dismount, their. 50 caliber M4s swinging into firing position with comfortable ease. It seemed a long time since the M4 carbine had fired the puny. 223 caliber round.

Julie dismounted also, touching her hat to make sure the tinfoil screen that stood between her and madness was still in place. These days, every cap on sale, be it a baseball cap or a British bowler had its tinfoil lining – and the days when a man or women was seen without a cap were also long gone. Building contractors were making a fortune, rebuilding houses, apartment blocks and office complexes with continuous metal linings built into their walls. Just one part of the way humanity was reacting to its new reality.

The soldiers kicked the door of the house down without any real effort. It was flimsy, a nothing when matched with steel boots. Inside a group of demons, some male, some female, cowered at the sight of humans with guns. They knew what guns were now, there wasn’t a family in Dis that hadn’t lost many of its males to humans with guns.

“Domiklespharatu. Where is he?” Julie rapped the words out, impatiently, angrily. She was carrying Desert Eagle handgun, also chambered for. 50AE ammunition. It was a very popular hand gun these days for people who liked semi-automatic pistols. People who liked revolvers tended to go for the Smith and Wesson 500. Then she looked around the house. It wasn’t what she had expected. She’d thought Domiklespharatu was a prince living in a great palace somewhere, not a hut that was barely more than a hovel. A slightly better hovel than those around it, agreed, but still a hovel. Across the room, one of the females gasped, another pointed to a curtain-covered doorway.

Julie went through it, brushing the dirty curtain to one side. “Remember me Domiklespharatu? Remember what…”

Then she stopped. It was Domiklespharatu all right, but he was as little as she had imagined as this house had been. He was cowering against a wall, shaking with fear, his eyes already beginning to glaze over. As she watched, he started to lose control of his bowels, urinating on the floor in sheer panic. And it was hardly surprising, Domiklespharatu was barely a half-grown kidling.

“It was a game, it was just a game,” he was whimpering with fear, trying to drop to his knees to grovel in front of her yet he had lost the muscle control needed to do it.

“Just a game.” Julie looked at him with loathing. All the misery she had endured for years was ‘just a game’. “And you think that made it all right.” She lifted up her Desert Eagle, feeling the comfortable bulk of it in her hands. She had dreamed of this ever since her tinfoil hat had brought her sanity back.

Domiklespharatu looked down the bore, his mind seeing it grow by the second. “My father said it was all right. He gave you to me to play with. It was just a game. Please, I didn’t know you’d…”

“You didn’t know I’d come here. You didn’t know you would have to face what you did to me.”

That did it. Domiklespharatu lost whatever was left of his composure and burst into child-like crying. Julie stared at him, her gun still aimed, held steadily in the approved two-handed grip. ‘It was just a game’, the words running through her mind. As if that made it all right. Then she thought some more, about the people on earth who thought that adding ‘just kidding’ to the end of a phrase made everything all right, no matter how rude or offensive they’d been. Or the humans on the internet who thought that they could do what they liked to people’s lives because they’d never have to face the victims of their ‘games’. Were they actually that different from Domiklespharatu? If she killed this one, shouldn’t she kill them as well? She thought of one friend of hers whose life had nearly been wrecked by an internet user who’d tricked him into doing a highly illegal search on the FBI’s server. Wasn’t he just as bad as Domiklespharatu?

The Desert Eagle was still aimed at the sniveling wreck on the floor. Quietly, one of the DIMO(N) troopers stood behind Julie, watching her aiming the pistol at the baldrick. “Is that really worth a bullet ma’am. Bit of a waste if you ask me.”

“You didn’t have him in your mind for all those years Jack. You didn’t have him tearing at you, wrecking you. If it hadn’t been for James and all the others who sorted this thing out, I’d still be like that.” Then she sighed and the barrel of the Desert Eagle lowered. “But you’re right. He’s not worth it.”

Julie Adams walked over and spat on Domiklespharatu. “We won, you little shit. Just like I told you, we came for you and we never stopped and we won. And when we did, you weren’t worth the effort of killing. Just remember that. You weren’t worth the effort of twitching my finger and blowing your brains all over that wall.”

Julie turned and left the house, sliding into the front passenger seat of the Humvee. “You know Jack, that felt good.”