Pantheocide

Chapter Sixty Eight

Helicopter Base, Third Legion. Heaven

“What you’re going to be doing is very dangerous isn’t it.” First Consul Gaius Julius Caesar looked along the line of MH-6T helicopters. Their pilots were mostly inside or around them, doing the final checks necessary before take-off but the pilot of Diana-One was sitting on a Hellfire missile, speaking to her husband. Second Consul Jade Kim was going to back to war, this time in a way she was trained to do. At the head of a helicopter attack squadron.

“Very. Last time I tried this, I got killed. Things are different now, we have fighters up to cover us if we run into flying angels and the ground here is nearly perfect for what we will be doing. Lots of cover we can duck behind.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Don’t try and stop me doing this Gaius or we will have a falling-out.”

“Stop you? I’m applauding you. A Consul leading from the front is in the best possible Roman tradition. I just wish I could come with you. Just waiting here doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Both Consuls in the same helicopter is a bad idea Gaius. We’re getting our new state working properly at last, we don’t want it decapitated. In fact, you and I should never be on the same aircraft together. Can’t you oversee the ground troops or something?”

“I’m not wanted there. Oh, nobody has said anything, but it’s obvious I’m just in the way. I can’t understand what they are doing or why. The strategic stuff, that I already have in hand but I’ve given the orders and other people are executing them.”

“Welcome to being a modern general Gaius.”

“It doesn’t please me. What’s worse, on the ground, what’s happening makes no sense to me. So I have to sit here, out of the way, while I watch and learn.” He poked his breastplate ruefully. “They tell me my armor just makes me a better target.”

“And they’re right. I can see that gold shining on my optronic display from miles away. I hope the angelic commanders have the same shiny breastplates, I’ve got four Hellfires loaded up ready for them.” She grinned very nastily. “So you can say bye-bye to at least thirty of their top commanders by the time we’ve finished. Then we’ll be back here to re-arm and refuel.”

She stood up, hugged Caesar and rested her head quickly on his chest, her flight helmet making a dull thud as it hit his breastplate. “Now, wish me good hunting and a full bag of kills.”

Caesar gave her a Roman salute which she gravely returned, then she slid away and climbed into her MH-6. Her hands moved over the engine controls, starting the ignition sequence. While the rotor was spooling up, she glanced quickly at her co-pilot. A newbie, a police pilot who’d crashed his helicopter trying to pick up survivors after a hurricane had devastated a South Carolina town. Before that, he’d flown UH-1s for the Army. She’d have preferred it if she could have had her original copilot on board but all her veterans were spread out across the other helicopters.

“Ready for lift-off?” He grinned at her and gave a thumbs-up. “All Diana Birds, lift off.”

Her hands moved on the controls again and the helicopter lifted, its nose dipping as she gained forward momentum. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the figure of Caesar shrinking and she watched him give another salute. Then, he was gone and she concentrated on the flight plan. The Global Hawk overhead was tracking a large formation approaching the hill held by Third Legion. The position was being relayed directly to her, showing up on her navigation screen. The same screen gave her details of the terrain between that position and her flight of nine helicopters. It was time to do something about that.

“All Diana Birds. Separate into three-ship formations and spread out to attack positions. It’s time to party.”

She led her element of three helicopters down into a valley, the young trees underneath bending and swaying as the MH-6s passed. The map showed it leading to a low ridge with the center of the Angelic column just over the other side. In other words, a perfect set-up for the kind of ambush the MH-6 was designed to execute. Overhead, Kim saw a flash of light, surprisingly yellowish in the brilliant white light of Heaven. Reflection from the cockpit of a fighter, probably a Lawn Dart she thought. The filthy atmosphere in Hell had been rough on single-engined aircraft. After the initial panic had subsided, they’d been pulled out and flying missions in Hell had been assigned to twin-engined birds. Here in Heaven it was different and the single-engined fighters had come back into their own. The yellow reflection was almost certainly from the gold-inlaid cockpit canopy of an F-16.

Kim brought her helicopter into a hover behind the comforting screen of the ridge, then allowed it to rise slowly. As soon as the mast-mounted sight was exposed, she got a good view of the army that was advancing on the positions held by Third Legion. It didn’t actually look that much different from the last force she had ambushed this way and her skin crawled slightly when she remembered how that had turned out. The dominant color here was white, not black, but there were still the columns of troops marching on the ground while overhead flew their cover. This time they were angels, not harpies.

Then her face broke out into a broad grin as black clouds of smoke erupted in the center of the flying groups. The Lawn Darts had launched a salvo of missiles at them and were now racing in to the attack. The Angelic ability to hit aircraft with trumpet blasts had been a nasty surprise but countermeasures were available. Primarily, to move fast. If the aircraft came in beyond the speed of sound, the angels would be most unlikely to see them before they were hit by rocket and cannon fire. Once the jets were past, by definition the trumpet blast couldn’t catch them. A dozen or more angels were already dying in the missile blasts as a quartet of F-16s streaked through them. Then, the fighters were up and away, climbing for altitude and distance, leaving chaos behind them.

Kim let her helicopter rise until it was just over the ridge and rippled off her four Hellfire missiles. She’d already designated one angel whose size marked him out and the gleam of his armor made him vulnerable. He was still looking up, searching for the fighters that had slashed through his formation so quickly when the Hellfire struck him. He vanished in the rolling black and red cloud that marked a missile hit while Kim shifted her designator to another likely-looking angel. A few seconds later, her last missile had struck home and her MH-6 dropped below the ridge. She spun the Little Bird around and poured on the throttle. Bitter experience at work here, she would not hang around.

“We got problems Boss.” Her copilot gave the warning she dreaded. Behind them, at least two dozen angels had crossed the ridge in pursuit. I’ve been here before. The thought running through her mind was treacherous because it made her hands shake.

“Falcon Flight, Diana-One-actual. We need help down here.”

“On our way Diana-One.”

The voice on the radio was heavily-accented and she couldn’t place it. There was no doubt about the pilots skill though, they slashed down in a power dive, breaking up the angelic formation with a dozen AIM-120 missiles then hammering the survivors with AIM-9s and cannon fire. One of the F-16s was caught by a trumpet blast and lost a wing, the crippled bird nosing over before plowing into the ground. The group pursuing Kim’s formation broke up and fled under the impact. Angels don’t match daemons for sheer bloody-minded guts, she thought. “Well done Falcon Flight. We’re clear now.”

“Compliments of the Polish Air Force Diana-One. We’ve got reserves up here if you need more cover.”

“Thank you, we’re on our way back to reload now. New Roman Republic owes you one. Call me in New Rome sometime. Good hunting.”

“No debts owed Diana-One, just had a message from Diana-Five. Our pilot punched out and one of your people picked him up as soon as his feet touched. So, all square. And good hunting for you also.”

Her helicopters were skimming back through the valleys, returning to her forward base. Well, that went better than last time. Kim found herself humming cheerfully as she started to plan the next strike.

Forward Edge of the Battle Area, Hill 117, Third Legion, Heaven.

It wasn’t just the weapons humans had that made the difference, it was the fact that they thought about everything they did. The foxhole he was in proved that. Dripankeothorofenex had assumed that digging a hole and sitting in it was easy, a simple task fit only for a kidling. Not the way the humans did it. They had looked at his scrape in the ground and laughed at him. “Now that is one pathetic effort Drippy,” their human commander had said, mixing disapproval with dismay. Then, he had gathered all the daemons into a group and shown them how to dig a proper foxhole. An officer digging, that was something Dripankeothorofenex had never seen before. The hole had been deep and narrow to offer as much protection as possible from overhead blasts. Then the back wall had been hollowed out so the daemons inside could crouch under some cover when artillery was pounding them.

The dirt had been piled in front of the pit so the two occupants could fire out to the sides on a diagonal but not directly forwards. “What do we do when the enemy is in front?” Dripankeothorofenex had asked. “Don’t sweat it Drippy, your buddies on either side will deal with them. You protect them, they protect you. The mound in front will protect you from incoming fire.”

And there it was, a simple hole in the ground turned into a warrior’s work of art. Beside him, his buddy Maskelodoroarnathsan was watching his assigned zone. Neither tried to lift their heads over the mound to their front. As their officer had explained, the armored carriers were behind them and they would be hosing down the area in front of the infantry positions. That meant their streams of shells would be only a few inches above their heads. “Do you see anything?”

Maskelodoroarnathsan shook his head. “Nothing yet. Wait, listen.”

Dripankeothorofenex swivelled his ears forward and listened hard. Faintly, in the distance, he heard a chanting, one that had been all too familiar to his clan during The Great Celestial War. It was nearly drowned out by the rumble of diesel engines idling behind him but the words were clear, carried by the perfection of the tones. More clearly than anything else, it told him who the enemies were for neitheir daemons nor humans gave out war cries like this. Daemons were taught to believe that a silent enemy was more fearsome than a noisy one while humans never believed in telling their enemies anything about anything. But still, he heard the words echoing across the peaceful hills of Heaven.

“Requiem?ternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis. Dies ir?, dies illa, Solvet s?clum in favilla.”

Then peace was gone forever from those hills for overhead the sky itself started to scream. Dripankeothorofenex crouched down in his foxhole for he knew what that terrible screaming sound was. Across Third Legion there were other daemons who knew it as well, the survivors of Hit, of the Phlegethon River, of all the battles where human artillery had left the ground mounded high with the bodies of those who dared to challenge them. Beneath his feet, the ground shook as the first salvoes pounded into the Heavenly formation that was approaching. Dripankeothorofenex could see nothing of them for his unit was dug into position on a reverse slope and the Angelic Host was still advancing up their side of the ridge. The spotting for the artillery fire was being done by one of the small remote-controlled aircraft the humans liked so much. That gave him great comfort for how he had heard many tales of how the humans also liked to hide behind ridgelines when they brought their deadly arts to bear on their enemies. Now he too, a daemon, was armed with human weapons and was soon to be fighting like a human.

“Kyrie Eleison!! Kyrie Eleison!!” The rhythmic chanting had turned into the screaming battle-cry of the Angelic Host. Dripankeothorofenex took a chance and lifted his head so that he could see out of his firing position towards the direction of the attack. For a brief moment, he thought he was back in Hell and he felt a quiet moment of peaceful tranquility as he looked at the roiling red and black clouds thrown up by the human artillery barrage. The dust and smoke was forming clouds that drifted upwards, changing the clear white light of heaven into a filthy red glare that made him quite homesick. Then the noise crashed in on him and he realized that it was time to go to work.

“Fix bayonets!” The human battlecry at last. Dripankeothorofenex took the two foot long triangular steel out of its sheath and clipped it to the end of his rifle. For a moment he missed the trident he had been brought up to use but this was a human weapon so it had to be better. The human levies came over the ridgeline in small groups, their formations shattered by the pounding of the long-range guns far behind the human lines. What had once been the traditional concentrated charge of the Angelic host had already been broken up and that left it weak and vulnerable. Dripankeothorofenex shouldered his Martini-Henry, pushed down the lever underneath and inserted a 20mm round into the chamber. Idly, he wondered what an MG151 was for that was the gun this round had been originally been used in. Lever up to close the action and he was ready. The first of the Host to enter his arc of fire was a human, dressed in the white robes and glowing golden breastplate of the Angelic Host. Only now, the robes were stained and black and the breastplate had been dented. A careful aim, and his instructor’s voice echoed in his ears. “Pick your man, mark your target as he comes. Lead him by just a fraction.” And the recoil of the Martini-Henry jarred his shoulder.

His target spun and went down. He might have risen, he might not. Dripankeothorofenex had lost interest in him as he worked the action on his rifle, picked another target and repeated the drill that had been hammered into him and sent another member of the Angelic Host tumbling. Now, he could see why the foxholes were designed the way they were. The angels were charging straight at them and their arrows and trumpet blasts hit nothing but the piles of dirt. Concrete or stone would have shattered under the blasts but soft earth just absorbed the energy. But, as the enemy advanced, they were moving into the deadly crossfire from the daemonic riflemen.

Out, across the battlefield, he saw an angel, a large one, possibly even an Ophanim, rising over the ridgeline, his wings carrying him up as he fired arrows from the bow in his hands. Suddenly, the angel was in chains of red fire, the brilliant links securing him to the ground. Cannon fire, Dripankeothorofenex thought, the three 23mm cannon on the armored personnel carriers. Several of the tracked vehicles were concentrating their guns on the angel, tearing it apart in mid-air. The Ophanim was lurching, trying to recover from the impact of the long bursts of gunfire but it never had a chance. It burst into blue flame as its flight sacs ignited and crashed to earth.

To his amazement, he realized he was still loading and firing, even while his mind had been absorbed by the spectacular death of the angel, his hands and eyes had been firing shot after shot at the host members in his arc of fire. Overhead, the red streaks of tracer were screaming past. His section’s own armored carrier was using its guns to rake the Host that still pressed in on the defense line. He was tempted, so tempted to lift his head and look over the parapet so he could see what lay in front of him but he forced the temptation from his mind and concentrated on the mantra. “Pick your man, mark your target as he comes.” And another member of the host crumpled to the ground from the bullet strike. Only this one got up and turned to stare at him. It was an angel, a lowly Ishim, no bigger than a daemon but stronger and faster than the humans. It didn’t matter. Dripankeothorofenex didn’t hurry and as the angel opened his mouth to trumpet, he carefully shot the white figure between the eyes. The angel dropped and stayed down Was it dead? He didn’t care.

“They’re coming over!” The warning echoed in the radio earpieces along the line. The armored personnel carrier cannon were scything down the angels but there were too many of them to be killed and too few guns to do all the killing. A human had run up the mound in front of his foxhole and was trying to slash down with his sword. Dripankeothorofenex intercepted the blow using his rifle, knocking it to one side, then thrusting forward as the human tried to jump down. The long spike bayonet went right through him and Dripankeothorofenex used his strength to hurl the body on his rifle over his head so that it landed behind him.

As he turned back, he saw Maskelodoroarnathsan sprawled out on the back wall of the foxhole, his body terribly ripped by a swordblow. He was shaking, twitching uncontrollably, the effect of the energy charge that the angel’s sword had dumped into his body, Angel? Dripankeothorofenex looked at his enemy, the angel who had killed his buddy. A Bene Elohim at least, possibly even a full Elohim. The daemon could even see himself reflected in the golden armor, a black figure in the red-and-gray uniform, helmet and body armor of the human infantry. He and the Angel locked eyes, each measuring up the other. The Angel’s sword was dead, lacking the dancing lights that revealed its lethal charge. It would be live again soon enough. He tried a tentative thrust but this angel was experienced and didn’t fall for the feint while all the time his sword started to regain its charge. Dripankeothorofenex thrust again and this time the angel reacted, slashing down at the bayonet-tipped rifle. He turned his rifle on its side, intercepting the slash on the wood so the charge wouldn’t arc through the metal of his rifle. The sword and rifle met and it was the sword that gave way, thrown to one side.

It was the opening and Dripankeothorofenex used it to the max. He thrust had and strong, no mere feint this, and the long blade struck home, piercing the angel’s side and sending him staggering back. A savage yank and the bayonet came out of the wound, dripping with white blood. Then Dripankeothorofenex thrust again and again, into the stomach, the groin, the heart, the throat all the points his instructors had told him to go for. The angel went down, sprawling next to Maskelodoroarnathsan and the sight of his buddy gave Dripankeothorofenex new heart. There was vengeance to be won and he thrust again at the dying angel, his bayonet slicing through the angel’s eye into its brain. A pig-sticker, that was what the instructors called the vicious triangular bayonet and they had explained that the wounds it inflicted never quite healed right. Then he heard a sound before him and spun to confront an Ishim who had jumped into the trench behind him. Confused for a split second, he had thought the battle with the Elohim had taken hours but it could only have lasted a few seconds, he nearly let the sword hit him but he parried the swing at the last second. Then he thrust and saw his bayonet sink deep into the Ishim’s stomach. Suddenly, Dripankeothorofenex knew the fierce joy of fighting with the bayonet, how the long steel spike on the end of his rifle could gain him mastery of the battlefield. It could defeat sword, it could beat spear, it could beat trident. Here, at close quarters, the bayonet ruled. The Ishim was screaming as Dripankeothorofenex’s thrust carried him backwards to slam his body against the wall of the foxhole and he was screaming as he pulled the trigger, using the recoil to pull the blade clear. The Ishim slumped to the floor, his screams turning to weeping as the bayonet slashed down once again.

The foxhole was empty, the angels who had made it through the barrage were dead. Dripankeothorofenex understood what had happened, the occupants of the foxholes on either side of him had seen the angels break into his position so they had concentrated their fire to prevent any more gaining ground on him. They had saved him, and just possibly Maskelodoroarnathsan as well. Overhead, the frightful noise of the battle was joined by a curious reverberating roar, one that Dripankeothorofenex would never have recognized a few years earlier. Overhead, a helicopter emerged from the smoke and clouds of dust, a dull red helicopter with a purple circle bearing a golden eagle and the number three painted on its fuselage. A stream of orange fire was pouring from its nose, hammering the ground somewhere in front of his position. Then it was gone again.

Suddenly, Dripankeothorofenex realized he didn’t have a target. With Maskelodoroarnathsan dying, he had to cover both firing loops but there was nothing to shoot at in either. Another roar gained his attention, the APC was pulling up and his officer jumped out of the back. “Get on board Drippy, this isn’t over yet.”

The daemon was suddenly tired but he waved at the scene in the foxhole. “Maskelodoroarnathsan is hurt Sir.”

The officer jumped down and quickly looked at the casualty. “We’ll get help here for him. Into the APC, now.”

Dripankeothorofenex joined the scramble into the back of the APC. The human gunners on the side guns grinned at them and waved quickly at the scene in front. The ground was carpeted with bodies, some the small shapes of the humans, others the larger winged bodies of the angels. “You guys done good. Drippy, we watched you work with the bayonet. That was fine work man.”

They had called him a man! Dripankeothorofenex couldn’t believe that he, a lowly daemon had been accepted by these humans as one of them. He clapped one of them on the back, being careful to make it just a friendly tap. The APC lurched forward, leaving behind another with red crosses painted on its side. The medics had arrived for Maskelodoroarnathsan. “Where are we going Sir?”

“We fought off the attack. Cost us but we did it. First Daemonic down the line is in trouble, so we’re hitting the force attacking them from the side. Like a door swinging open. We’ll show them what Romans are made of.”

“I’d rather show them what Angels are made of.” Dripankeothorofenex thought again of how he had killed the Elohim with his bayonet. Around him the surviving members of the squad laughed and cheered at his joke. Third Legion was advancing into its counter-attack and a legend was being born,