Pantheocide

Chapter Forty Nine

DIMO(N) Test Facility, Camp Hendrick, Hell

“Tucker! How are you, what are you doing here?”

Tucker McElroy swept kitten up in his arms and kissed her before passing her around to the rest of his unit. He followed it by giving Dani a slap on the back that nearly knocked him off his feet. In all, it was a spectacular reunion.

“We’ve just finished up our last job for the United States Army and are going back to be discharged. All of us.” kitten looked upset at the news. “Why Tucker? We thought you were happy in the Army. Won’t we be seeing you any more?”

“Sure you will, we’ll still be here in Hell and still in an Army, just not the same one. Look kitten, you’re still alive so you won’t really understand how we dead ones feel about things but it’s not the same for us. Memories of what Earth and our first lives were like fade away pretty fast. We’re been in Hell for almost two years now and what matters to us is what happens here and now. Also, don’t want to sound mercenary about this but, well, the prospects for a country boy getting much further than I have aren’t so good. For a dead country boy, promotion prospects are pretty limited.” McElroy glanced around and saw that Colonel Warhol had studiously made himself absent. “and the truth is, the Army don’t really know what they’re going to do with us. We can fight and so on better than First Lifers can in Hell but it’s not the same thing. Lot of us are beginning to ask why we’re fighting for First-Lifers in our territory. It’s weird, kitten, but I’m beginning to understand why the Iraqis felt the way they did about Americans coming in. Sure, they saved them from a pretty nasty regime but why did they stay? Why didn’t they just get rid of Saddam Hussein and go?

“It’s the same here, why don’t the First-Lifers just go? This is our place, First-Lifers can’t even live here without a whole shitload of technical support. I know there are some things that have to be done, like the rescue effort in The Pit, but for the rest of it? Take the job we’ve just done. Small group of humans trying to attack the supply convoys taking munitions to the HEA so they could set up their own state. We had to persuade them it wasn’t a good idea. Well, we’ve done that but it just doesn’t sit right you know? Anyway, so when our enlistment was up, we took a discharge. We, the whole gang, are off to New Rome. Caesar’s hiring all the dead ex-Special Forces people he can find for his new legions.” McElroy broke off and grinned apologetically. “I’m sorry kitten, this has all been building up for some time and I needed somebody sympathetic to unload to. Now, how are you doing and what are you up to?”

Out of the corner of his eye, McElroy saw Warhol start to drift back towards the group. Standing with her back to him, kitten was oblivious to the approach. “We’re trying to turn portal-opening into a proper transportation system. We know that nephelim act as a sort of transponder, picking up my signals and repeating them back to me. Well, the scientists have built a beacon that can do the same thing. So, once those beacons are all over the place, we won’t need Nephelim at all on the receiving end. It’ll just be like dialling a telephone number. People’ll will come to a transit point here in Hell and then portal back to their desired point on Earth.”

“Just like the Yulupki Delivery Service, only without the need for Nephelim.” Dani cut in. “And you’re wrong Tucker, humans can’t just leave Hell now. It’s not just the rescue effort although that’s a big part of it. There’s so much here that we need. Oil, minerals, you name it. And then there’s the strategic part. An Army based in Hell dominates Earth, it can land anywhere it wants, go anywhere it wants. It’s the ultimate high ground. Also, a lot of First-Lifers don’t feel too good about what happened in the Curbstomp War. Have you seen the battlefield along the Phlegethon? Mile after mile of mangled daemon bodies. They tried to stop our tanks with bronze tridents. Hollywood’s already making films about that.”

“As well as new-wave horror films.” Warhol had decided it was time to get the conversation on to safer ground. “Have you seen the advertisements for Hellboy IV? ‘The first horror film made starring *real daemons*.’ That could start a trend you know.”

“It already has.” Dani grinned at the thought. “Did you hear the ACLU are suing the National Football League.? Apparently the Cubs recruited a couple of daemons for their offense and the other teams objected after they saw a daemon walking to the line with three or four humans hanging on to him. So the NFL made a ruling restricting the game to First-Life humans and the ACLU took umbrage. Called it racial discrimination. Big question here, does The Constitution apply to dead people?”

“Second-lifers.” McElroy made the point politely but firmly.

“Second-lifers. Sorry. Anyway, the question remains though and it’s a good one. Ted Kennedy’s interview a couple of days ago really raised that question. Can the dead, Second-lifers, vote?”

“Of course we can. Been doing it in Chicago for years.” McElroy inserted the barb with relish. It was, in his opinion, payback. Dani grinned acknowledgement.

“And if they can vote, why can’t they run for office? Puts a whole new slant on incumbrancy doesn’t it? If the dead can hold office, we will literally never get them out. Now that is a truly horrible thought.”

Training Camp, 1st Mechanized Infantry Battalion (Demonic), Dis, Hell

“We’re doing this the wrong way.” It was Ori speaking but he and Aeneas had discussed the issue at length and come to a satisfactory conclusion. That wasn’t surprising since they had started off in almost perfect agreement.

“What do you mean?” Sergeant Anderson would take any suggestion that offered hope at this point. The plan to produce units of daemonic troops was falling apart.

“We’re trying to make daemons fight using human tactics and methods. We can’t do it, nobody can. Their minds are set in a specific configuration by millennia of practice and we simply can’t change that. We have to adapt human strategy and tactics to daemonic abilities, not the other way around.”

Anderson tapped his fingers on the table. The idea sounded plausible but it ran against the whole concept of the 1st Demonic. That was to produce an army unit that was essentially similar to human forces but with daemonic personnel. One that could fit in with human units.

“What have you in mind?” His voice was cautious.

“The problem is that the daemons have no idea of unit coordination or mutual support. In a battle it’s every daemon for himself and forget about those left behind. No matter how hard we try, every time we begin an assault, it ends the same way. The daemons do a hell-for-leather charge and then the defenders cut them to pieces. They’re getting their minds around concepts like outflanking but covering fire and maneuver are beyond them.”

“I find that hard to believe.” General Schatten spoke from behind the trio, his approach unseen by any of them. “They’ve been fighting each other for millennia. They must have evolved concepts like outflanking.”

“Sir.” Sergeant Anderson had jumped to attention.

“Relax people. One of you explain to me what these problems are.”

“It is simply that daemonic units do not and will not cooperate. Aeneas’s time lecturing in universities had given him an insight into how to pitch arguments. Yes, they will outflank another unit if they can but setting up an outflanking move is beyond them. It means that one unit does the work of pinning down the target while another gets the glory of defeating it. It’s so deeply ingrained in them that they cannot behave any other way. We’ve tried everything. Short of shackling one unit in place that is. They just won’t do it. It’s made worse by the way their old units were structured. They were like our phalanx, once they were committed to a specific direction, they had to go straight forward. Now, we’ve got them to thin out and we’ve got them to lay down and shoot and that’s all very well but once the signal to advance, its ‘up boys and at’em’ and everything we’ve taught them goes out the window.”

“Think of them as armies from the 17th century.” Anderson added, “with tridents instead of pikemen and throwing lightning bolts instead of musket fire. Their traditional tactics were very much the same, they’d try and disrupt the enemy formation with lightning bolts and then close to win battles by the push of the pike.”

“Not really that dissimilar to how we fought.” Aeneas made the remark casually, unaware of how profound the insight really was.

“They form ranks, the front rank discharging their tridents and kneeling to recharge while the rank behind steps forward and does the same. Then the next rank does that. And so the whole formation advanced to contact. Then everybody used their tridents as thrusting weapons. That tactical concept really is the whole of their playbook. Or was, until we arrived.” Anderson sighed. “Breaking the habit of a lifetime is hard enough, but when that lifetime is millennia, there’s no chance. We can change the details of how they do things but the grand pattern is too well established to break up. We thought bringing Ori and Aeneas in would help because their tactical background was similar to that of the daemons but it hasn’t. We’re losing this battle Sir, we may have to give up on using daemonic units.”

“Not necessarily.” Ori spoke reflectively. He too had benefitted greatly from the time spent lecturing disbelieving historians on Japanese history.

“You have an idea?”

“Not us, specifically, but something we’ve heard on the wind. Caesar has cracked this problem with his legions.”

“He would.” Schatten sounded bitter.

Ori ignored the interjection. “As the stories go, he’s mixed humans and daemons in the same units. Daemons are the main body of troops, Second-Life humans run the support forces. Mortars, machine guns, artillery, armor and so on. In defense, the daemons lay down and fire their rifles along with everybody else. That much we’ve got them to do ourselves. When it comes to attacks, the daemons do the movement bit while the humans provide covering fire and artillery support. A daemonic charge supported by machine gun and artillery fire to pin down the opposition. In daemonic eyes, they’re getting all the glory, in human eyes, the daemons are taking the brunt of the casualties. Suits both.”

“And you want to try the same thing?” Schatten asked.

“We do. We can’t fail any more badly than we’re doing at the moment.” Anderson and Aeneas sighed in obvious agreement.

Schatten nodded. In any effective army, a wise general listened to his senior NCOs. “I expect you’ll be receiving orders to that effect shortly. Thank you for your time gentlemen.”

Conference Room, Yamantau Mountain, Russia

“The latest word on the dust storms?” Prime Minister and Council Chairman Putin put the question tersely.

“Still occurring around the world although they’ve slowed down after the initial spate.” Doctor Surlethe consulted the file. “It’s the same pattern as all the others, we get an initial surge of attacks and then they peter off to a nominal level. We’ve actually had the quietest storm season in the Atlantic for a long, long time. The dust storms are a real problem though, they’ve hit some of the most productive farmland we have. For the first time on a worldwide basis, we face a real possibility of running low on food.”

“Can we use sea-based resources to make up the difference? How about seaweed; we can help with providing advice there.” The Japanese Prime Minister looked around at the other fourteen members of the council who weren’t too enthused by the idea of a seaweed diet.

“Can we import food from Hell to make up the difference? I understand that farming is already becoming established there.” Gordon Brown seemed much more at home with the idea of munching wheat grown in Hell than seaweed from Earth.

“That would seem a worthwhile subject for investigation. Doctor Surlethe, perhaps you could form a team to investigate alternative food sources. I must point out though that the ultimate answer to all of these food problems is to invade and conquer Heaven. Thus putting an end to this war.” Putin paused for a second. “Has the dissection of Uriel’s body given us any more data we can use?”

Surlethe paused for a second to change flash drives on his computer. As he did so, he glanced quickly upwards, thinking of the incredible weight of rock that was between him and fresh air. He shuddered slightly and opened up the appropriate files.

“We have dissected Uriel and provided tissue samples to all interested laboratories. He was one big mother so there was enough to go around.” He paused to allow a chuckle at his phrasing to pass around the room. One of the primary reasons why Council of Fifteen meetings worked so much more smoothly than the old United Nations had done was that they were secret and the participants could allow themselves to be more human. “Anyway, we’re all agreed, examination of the DNA does confirm that humans, daemons and angels all had a common ancestor a long, long time back. As far as we can determine, the angelic/daemon line split away from ours in the far distant pass while the daemons and angels split more recently. The extreme variation in physical form exhibited by daemons is comparatively recent and is not exhibited by angels. In fact, if the dating shown by our studies and the stories told to us by daemon informants are correct, the physical variation of daemons post-dates the move of the daemon population from Heaven to Hell.

“Although they differ in size, with Uriel being by far the largest angel we have killed to date, angels are all fundamentally the same. A white, feathered, six-limbed humanoid. One important thing, we examined Uriel’s genitalia and those of other angels we have killed. If our analysis is correct, by our standards, angels are sterile. Daemons, of course, are not. Now, I must be clear about this, ‘by our standards, sterile’ does not mean impotent. It does appear angelic males at least have very low fertility. We haven’t killed any females yet so we don’t know about them.”

“What about the Whore of Babylon?” The Singaporean Prime Minister was mentally assessing the implications of what Surlethe had just said.

“She survived, as far as we know, at least her body wasn’t found. Nor was that of the Scarlet Beast.”

“That brings us to an important point.” Putin interrupted the presentation. “Have we killed the treacherous swine in the Tekuma yet?”

“We have every ship in the Mediterranean hunting for them. It’s only a question of time. She’ll have to snort soon and when she does, we’ll have her. Present orders are ‘all weapons are free’. We can’t take a chance of her having any more missiles on board.” President Obama was glad to be able to get a word in at last.

“Does he?” Putin’s question was short, sharp and vicious.

“We don’t know.” The Israeli delegate’s answer was shame-faced. “We have lost our naval headquarters, and with that our records of what was where. If we can believe them that is. The official load-out for a Dolphin is five missiles, but she could, theoretically have up to twenty.”

“Why stop at twenty?” Putin’s question had a derisive edge to it.

“Because that’s all we had. Fifteen left now of course. We think the other two boats have five each but that would still mean Tekuma might have five more. Dolphin and Leviathan are due back in port soon. We can check their missiles then.”

“A question.” Gordon Brown spoke up again. “Do we want the crew alive? We need to question them, find out what happened.”

“We can do that anyway.” Prime Minisyer Abhisit Vejjajjiva sounded amused. The implications of the human occupation of Hell still hadn’t quite sunk in to most people. “They don’t have to be alive to answer questions and we can ask them in Hell just as well as we can here. Better in fact, one of my cousins has a detachment of military police waiting for them at the Phelan Plain reception center. By the way, I have some cheerful news. The body of Philip Phelan, the security guard at the New Market Mall has been found in the Fourth Circle of Hell and he is currently in the reception center names after him, recovering from his ordeal.”

A burst of applause ran around the room. Putin smiled happily, a slightly unnerving sight. “We must find suitable honors for him. Now, next subject on the agenda. How are we going to invade Heaven.”