Pantheocide

Chapter Fifty

Control Room, INS Tekuma, Mediterranean

“Battery charge state?” Ben-Shoshan was a very worried man. He’d been snorting for over an hour and that was a very indiscrete thing to do. Even though he couldn’t understand why, he was in no doubt that Tekuma was the subject of a concentrated hunt. Perhaps they just wanted to find him after he had killed the Scarlet Beast? That was plausible, he had carried out the necessary evasive actions after his missile launch. But, he was an experienced submariner and he could sense when the hunt was hostile and this one was. For some reason, everybody wanted him dead. Why, that was another matter entirely. Unless, of course, things were not as they had seemed.

“Sixty percent and rising Sir.” The Engineering Officer sounded a little less stressed out than he had an hour earlier. That didn’t change the fact that even a sixty percent charge was normally regarded as being a matter of serious concern.

“Very good. Continue the charge. Communications, any messages from Tel Aviv? Or anybody else for that matter.”

“No Sir, communications circuits are silent. Nothing by way of our mast and the bell-ringer system is quiet also.”

Ben-Shoshan tapped his fingers, that was very odd indeed. The bell-ringer circuit, a very low frequency communications array, could get a message through to him almost anywhere. The penalty for that capability was a very low data transmission rate so bell-ringer messages were usually single letters that either triggered pre-set plans or ordered the submarine to periscope depth to receive a more detailed transmission. But, to snort, he had to run at periscope depth anyway so he had ordered the communications mast raised. There had to be other transmissions out there, just had to be.

“What about other people’s transmissions? Any intercepts of note?”

Yitzchak shook his head. “Routine stuff, nothing more. Most front-line units are in Hell, I suppose that leaves the air pretty quiet here.”

Not the ASW units. Ben-Shoshan thought. They had relatively little role in Hell and nobody flew there if there wasn’t a good reason for them to do so. The place was murder on airframes and engines. Routine missions and training were carried out here on Earth where the air was clean and the skies blue. “Keep a full communications watch out. I want to know the moment we hear anything directed to us. Or related to us.”

“Very good, Captain.” Yitzchak paused then continued. “Running at periscope depth like this, we can’t hear much. The receiver head is too close to the water. If we surfaced, we might be able to pick up more.”

“That would allow us to charge batteries faster as well.” Engineering liked that idea.

The idea of surfacing in unfamiliar surroundings without guaranteed security was anathema to Ben-Shoshan. Nevertheless, he had to know what was going on. And, once his batteries were fully-charged he had a lot more options open to him. “Very well, bring her to the surface. Engineering, I want those batteries charges as fast as the generators can do it. Communications, I need information as soon as possible. Get it.”

Oh, I will, thought Yitzchak. Once I can get outside and get my tinfoil hat off, you’ll get your orders Captain Ben-Shoshan

B-25J “Heavenly Body”, Mediterranean

There were a startling number of B-25s operational, two whole groups of them in fact. Most were B-25Js, some with a solid nose packed with machine guns, others with glazed noses. Once they had all been civilian-owned and had been stripped of their guns. Now, they were back in the Air Force and their guns were once more in place. Heavenly Body actually had working turrets above her fuselage and in her tail. She’d been lovingly cared-for and painstakingly restored. Although most people didn’t know it, quite a few of them had seen her in one of the many films she had appeared in.

The museum salvage aircraft were vanishing from the order of battle now that new production was slowly coming on line to replace them. Not the B-25s though, they were docile, easy to fly and easy to maintain. That was why they had survived in the Air Force long after most other aircraft of their generation had been retired. They couldn’t operate in Hell very easily, the atmosphere in Hell was bad on jets, it was really rough on piston-engined aircraft. But, as multi-crewed trainers here on earth, they filled in for other aircraft that had more urgent operational requirements.

Captain Samuel Tyson was the only experienced crewman on board. Everybody else, engineers, radiomen, gunners and navigators, were trainees. His radioman, well, actually radiowoman, was on her first flight after finishing the 90-day accelerated training course. The rest of his crew were hardly more experienced, yet to Tyson this was a positive thing. There was an immense sense of satisfaction in taking a group of raw trainees and turing them into competent crew members. Also, one good thing about this, as a training bird, Heavenly Body had a full set of modern communications equipment. Only one old radio was left, that had been part of her original equipment fit from her service in the Second World War. It had been left on board purely for nostalgic reasons and, in Tyson’s eyes, it was supremely ironic that the radio message he had just been handed had come over that ancient valve radio.

“Listen up, boys and girls. We’ve just had a message from Naples. That renegade sub the ASW boys have been hunting? Well, she’s turned up, long way to the west of where everybody thought. The surveillance people got her snorting and their latest information is that she’s running on the surface. Her position is some sixty miles from us and we are by far the closest asset available. P-3s and surface ships are closing in but the P-3s are at least an hour out while the surface ships won’t be on scene for four or five. We can be there in ten minutes and our orders are to do it and be as obnoxious as possible. Fred, you got the data, plot the course.”

Tyson thought for a second. Fred Williams had an old-fashioned navigator’s position in the glazed nose. One of the things about Hell was that the absence of GPS had brought back a return to old-fashioned navigation techniques. And so, a new generation of navigators was being trained to use such unheard-of technical developments like maps and compasses. “And Fred, get the. 30 in the nose ready. Trudy, swing your top turret forward, lock it so we can have it and the four fuselage. 50s ready to fire in a concentrated pattern. Jim, Stan and Eggy, get your waist and tail. 50s ready to spray her as we go past. If she stays on the surface, we’ll make multiple passes until she changes her mind. Damn, I wish we had some bombs on board. Fred, where’s that course?”

“Two-seven-seven Boss. Estimated time of arrival eight minutes if we really push it.”

“Consider it pushed.” Tyson firewalled the throttles and put the nose down. The old B-25 surged forward in response. Above and behind him, he heard the mid-upper turret swing forward. Trudy laFonteyn was training to be a gunner on an AC-130 only there weren’t enough of them to use as trainers. Not yet anyway. But, Tyson guessed she’d be doing the best she could with the twin. 50s she did have. Heavenly Body shook slightly as her airspeed crept up to 275 knots, the fastest she had been flown for many, many years. It occurred to Tyson that the old lady was about to fire her guns in anger for the first time in her long life.

Sail, INS Tekuma, Mediterranean

Lieutenant Midyan Yitzchak looked carefully around the observation deck built into the sail. Both the enlisted men on the sail had their eyes glued to the powerful binoculars mounted on either side of the platform. They were scanning for any sign of ships or aircraft, their attention fixed on the horizon, not on the officer who shared the deck with them. Yitzchak took a deep breath and unobtrusively slipped his tinfoil cap off. His mind open and exposed, he closed his eyes and waited for a message from his Heavenly Master.

“Aircraft, aircraft!” One of the lookouts yelled the warning.

The words snapped Yitzchak out of his trance. Frantically, he crammed his tinfoil hat back on his head and slammed his hand on the communication speaker. “Aircraft approaching.”

“Where? What type? How far? Get a hold on yourself Lieutenant.”

“Twin-engined propeller job. Green. Five miles out, bearing oh-nine-three.”

Yitzchak took a deep breath and relayed the information. Then, he took the binoculars and looked more closely at the aircraft. “It’s American, Captain, I think its an old warbird, a B-25. It’s coming straight at us.”

Yitzchak heard Ben-Shoshan give a sight of relief. “Good, now we’ll find out what’s going on. Give him a wave as we pass overhead. Then get below and see if you can raise him on the radio.”

B-25J “Heavenly Body”, Mediterranean

“Here we go. She’s still on the surface. Why she hasn’t dived is beyond me.”

“Subs don’t crash dive any more. Usually they get down and stay down. Her crew might not know how to get down fast. Or they may believe they have a better chance on the surface.” Lieutenant James Purdue was the co-pilot and was also training on the B-25 because all the more suitable aircraft had more important things to do. As the only Navy man on the Air Force B-25, he felt obliged to pose as the expert on all things naval. Which he wasn’t, but at least he tried.

“Gunners, ready, firing… Now.” Tyson squeezed the firing button for the four. 50s mounted on the fuselage sides and head the guns starting to hammer. The top-turret guns and the. 30 in the nose followed a split second later, adding their share to the hail of bullets that stirred up a white fountain just aft of the submarine’s stern. He lifted the nose slightly and walked the long burst along the submarine’s hull, dropping the nose again as the tracers tore into the bridge structure. He was able to hold the fire there for only a second or so before he had to climb out. As Heavenly Body climbed away, Tyson started to pull her around, hearing the waist and tail guns adding their contribution to the mayhem that had just been unleashed below.

“Payback for the Liberty.” Perdue’s voice had a grim satisfaction in it.

“Don’t worry about that crap now.” Tyson snapped the words out. He was flying an aircraft more than sixty years old and he had no real idea when the wings were going to come off. He still wanted to get the nose around quickly enough for another pass at the submarine below. It was just a matter of whether the old aircraft could take the strain.

Sail, INS Tekuma, Mediterranean

Yitzchak was the only man on Tekuma not surprised by the strafing pass. He had watched the B-25 make its run towards the submarine and realized what the pilot was going to do. So, he had made certain he was well-placed by the access hatch when the nose of the aircraft lit up with flame and the tracers streaked through the air towards him. He had already been through that hatch when the storm of bullets engulfed the bridge and sent fragments of the composite sail structure flying through the air. The two enlisted men had never had a chance. They’d already started waving to the American aircraft when it opened fire and were still doing so when the machine gun fire scythed them down. By then, Yitzchak had slammed the hatch shut and hit the emergency dive siren.

“What’s happening up there?” Ben-Shoshan was stunned by the sudden ferocity of the attack.

“American aircraft, it strafed us. The watchkeepers are both dead.” And if they aren’t, they will be when the submarine submerges.

“Why?” Ben-Shoshan stopped himself, that was a stupid question. “How do you know they are dead? Did you check?”

“They were hit by heavy machine gun bullets, they couldn’t be alive.” Yitzchak felt the submarine diving and the rattle as another barrage of machine gun fire hit her.

Ben-Shoshan stared suspiciously at his communications officer, then dismissed the matter for further consideration at a later time. “Where’s the thermocline?”

“There isn’t one Captain.” The navigation officer looked up from the chart. “We’re too shallow here. I recommend we run north towards deep water. There’ll be a layer there.”

“Make it so.” Tyson breathed deeply. “Just why are the Americans attacking us?”

B-25J “Heavenly Body”, Mediterranean

The submarine had gone down, surrounded by the splashes from machine guns and the fountains as she drove herself under with her engines. Aboard Heavenly Body, the noise of the crew cheering was drowning out the engines and Tyson even got the feel that the old B-25 was ridiculously pleased with herself. “Calm down everybody. Job’s not over yet. Trish, get through to Naples and tell them, we’ve spotted the submarine at this position and driven her down with strafing. We did some damage to her, her sail was looking pretty chewed up. Got that?”

“Yes Boss. Getting through now.”

“What do we do now?” Perdue was disappointed that the attack was over.

“Not much we can do. We’ve no bombs on board, no depth charges and nothing that can track a submerged submarine. We’ll just have to stay here until the P-3s arrive.”

“Boss, navigator here. I can see that sub.”

“What?” Tyson was surprised by the report.

“Water’s clear. I can see the sub under it. She’s heading north. OK, lost her now. It’s a matter of sun and reflections on the water; I can see her when the angle is right, not otherwise.”

“Better than nothing. Keep your eyes peeled.” Tyson settled back in his seat and quietly rued the decision to take off with an auxiliary fuel tank in the bomb bay. Still, how could he have known that a routine navigation and communications training exercise would suddenly turn hot?

Lemuel’s Home, Eternal City, Heaven

Lemuel-lan entered the vestibule of his house, noting the absence of Onniel but scarcely regretting it. Idly, he toyed with the idea of ejecting her and bringing Maion here in her place. That would cause a sensation, a scandal that would harm him quite severely. As a member of the League of Holy Court, he was supposed to set an example to others. Well, that idea was out of play in reality even if he had to keep up the appearances. Treacherously, an idea played through his mind, what if he accused Onniel of being part of Salaphael’s conspiracy? Or even worse, the ones who were planting bombs in the city? Then, his mind rebelled at the concepts. Such things were more suited to the followers of the late Eternal Enemy than to the Angelic Host.

“I suppose you will be going straight out again.” Onniel’s voice rang across the hallway, petulant and peevish. Lemuel compared it with Maion’s gentle voice and her exquisite devotion to ensuring that his time with her was perfect in every detail. Truly, Maion deserved the status and luxury of this home much more than Onniel did.

“I thought not. With the arrests completed, the great surge of work is now over. The Immaculate Father Of All is supreme over the conspiracies that troubled him so my duty, for now, is done.”

“Well don’t let me stop you from amusing yourself.” Onniel stalked out and slammed the door behind her.

Lemuel sighed and decided he had time to relax before the evening meal was served. He went to the pool that formed the centerpiece of his home and carefully immersed himself in it, swirling his wings through the limpid water so that his wing-feathers were washed clean. Now, if he was in Maion’s apartment, she would be in here with him, carefully combing his wings so that the feathers lay neatly and cleanly on each wing. As he relaxed in the gently-rippling water, once again Lemuel considered the possibility of bringing her back here. And, if Onniel didn’t like it, she could take care not to let the doors hit her rump on the way out.

The servants who were waiting in the dining area were nervous and, on seeing the table, Lemuel could see why. The fruit was curling and stale, the sauce was crusted at the edge. The wine was warm to the touch instead of properly chilled. Lemuel took a deep breath and looked down at his domestic staff. They were quaking with fear now, knowing that the explosion for this apology for a meal was due.

“There is an explanation for this?” Lemuel’s voice was quiet and tolerant. He suspected what the explanation was and he couldn’t blame the servants.

The Ishim shuffled their feet, trying to come up with a story that wouldn’t cause problems. The humans said nothing, this was Angelic business and their job was just to serve. Lemuel waited for a few seconds, then looked again at the plates.

“The meal was served earlier and this is what is left?” Again, his voice was quiet and reasonable.

“Most Lordly Master, Her Ladyship demanded it so. And insisted that the remains be left on the table for you if you came home.” The Ishim cringed, awaiting the blast of anger that was rightfully due.

Lemuel shook his head. This was an insult that would have driven many members of the Angelic Host into outrage. Onniel was taking advantage of his better nature in order to get away with abuse that would normally merit her receiving severe chastisement. “Clear these remains away. You were given your orders and obeyed them, as is your lot. The fault here lies elsewhere. But these are my orders as head of this household and they shall not be changed or disobeyed. No meals are to be served here except in my presence. The staff may eat of course when they wish but the formal meals of the household will be in my presence only. As I have spoken, so shall it be.”

“Your words are our command Most Lordly Ophanim.” The Ishim genuflected and withdraw while the humans closed in to cleat the plates away.

Lemuel-Lan nodded and left the room, heading for the main doors. As he went to leave the house, he saw Onniel watching him with a spiteful smile on her face. He gave no indication of her presence having registered on his awareness but he had already decided that his home lay elsewhere.