Pantheocide

Chapter Seventy Four

One mile from Ground Zero, Heaven.

The small group of armored vehicles cautiously approached the cobalt-blue crater lake at Ground Zero. The troop of Challenger 2s and accompanying platoon of Warriors spread out to cover the two Fuchs NBC Reconnaissance Vehicles. Very pointedly, the infantry on board the Warriors did not dismount while the Fuchs started taking readings and soil samples.

“It’s still pretty hot around here, Sergeant.” Corporal Peter Matheson, one of the vehicle’s operators, reported.

“To be expected I suppose.” Sergeant James Franks, the vehicle commander, replied. “Nobody is going to coming through here anytime soon. The Big Boss is routing the entire army group around this place, not through it. It’s the Boffins who will find our readings and samples interesting. I hope they appreciate them.”

Franks had been a member of the CBRN Reconnaissance Regiment for ten years, having served in 1 Royal Tank Regiment for ten years beforehand. However as soon as The Salvation War had begun he had tried, unsuccessfully, to transfer to a tank regiment so that he could see some proper action. Unfortunately for him, CBRN specialists were too thin on the ground to make the transfer possible. After all, at the start of the war, nobody had known how quickly it would go nuclear. Now he was finally getting the chance to put his training into action for the first time.

Several other NBC reconnaissance teams were exploring the area around the initiation, most equipped with the Fuchs, or M39 Fox, as American units knew it, but none had gotten as close to GZ itself as the two vehicles commanded by Sergeant Franks. However Franks did not want to hang around too long, not even with the NBC protection system carried by the British vehicles.

“Should we risk taking a sample from the lake?” He wondered out loud and tried to ignore the frantic shaking of heads from his crewmates.

A mile or so away, Lieutenant Tom Potter, the OC of 2 Troop, A Squadron, The Royal Scots Dragoon Guards, was a nervous man. Like a lot of people, he had a morbid fear of radiation and he hated to be this close to the site of a nuclear initiation. Even if it had been a low fallout air-burst. That actually made him a very good CBRN recon team escort commander. Now, he traversed his commander’s independent sight to watch the progress of the nearest Fuchs as it continued to move slowly around the lake taking soil samples. “I wish those prats would get a move on. I’ve no desire to glow in the dark, or grow an extra head.”

Back by the lake, Sergeant Franks had successfully managed to get a sample of the highly irradiated and very poisonous water from the lake. Now he was keen to withdraw from the area as soon as he could. “Okay, back us up.” Sergeant Franks told the driver who obeyed with unseemly alacrity. The two Fuchs withdrew first, the Challengers and Warriors following a moment later.

“What was it like, Sergeant?” Franks’ troop commander asked an hour after he had returned to base.

“Pretty eerie, Boss.” The sergeant replied. “It looked like everything that could have burned had done so and we were driving on a sheet of glass for last couple of miles. Weirdest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. We went though all the training into dealing with this sort of thing, yet nothing really prepared us for seeing it close up.”

“It’s worse further away. You were at Ground Zero, you didn’t see what the outlier margins are like. Fires are still burning out there. Being dead is one thing, the angels and humans out there didn’t die at once. Some of the angels are in a pitiful state. They’re encased in massive, fast-growing cancers. Like that Indonesian tree-man. Nobody here knows what to do about them. They’ve never seen anything like them. As far as we can make out, cancer was unknown until the Big Boss popped that nuke.”

Franks shook his head. “I know, I know. Still, after having seen Ground Zero, all I can say is I’m pretty glad I wasn’t under it when it went off.”

“Tell the angels that. If they don’t jack it in soon and the rumor mill is right, there’ll be a lot more coming.”

Headquarters, Human Expeditionary Army, Heaven.

“By the holy half-chewed cigar of Saint Curtis, will you look at the size of that place?” General Norton A. Schwartz looked down at the pictures of The Eternal City with something approaching awe. Large areas were obscured, partially at least, by the smoke clouds from the fires at Ground Zero. Yet the rest was stunning in its sheer size. The Eternal City was a lot bigger than Dis.

“At least 1,500 kilometers per side. Those walls are thick, fifty meters at least, and a hundred meters high. Major redoubt at each corner with even thicker and higher walls. Three gates along each wall. Each gate flanked with guard towers.” The photographic analyst looked up ar his audience. “The slums where the humans live are outside the walls of course. They add another band around the city. Those slums look pretty much like Dis as far as density and configuration are concerned. People packed together, narrow twisting streets.”

“Meaning we’ll be in for a hell of a street fight before we even get to the city walls.” Petraeus sounded gloomy. He could see himself being forced into a decision that he really did not want to take.

“At least.” Marshal Dorokov sounded even gloomier. The days when the Russian Steamroller had infinite amounts of men at its disposal were long gone. All the trouble that had cropped up in the Russian Zone of Occupation in Hell had stretched his manpower resources even thinner. “And punching holes in those walls will not be easy.”

“It will.” Petraeus disagreed politely. “We can nuke our way in. But, anything short of that and we’ll be in a world of hurt.”

There was a saddened sigh around the briefing room. “Once we’re through, Sirs, things might be easier. The city itself is thinly populated. Most of the buildings are these big palaces and the streets are very wide, very straight. We could just roll down them and shoot the buildings on either side to crap. With all these trees, the place is more like a park than a city.”

“The distance is the real problem.” Sir Michael Jackson sounded seriously depressed. “We can’t get to the center from outside, not without stopping and refuelling. This place has the same ground area as Algeria. It isn’t a city, it’s an urbanized country.”

“Perhaps we ought to rename it Coruscant.” The photo interpreter grinned at his own joke.

The grin slowly faded as Petraeus just stared at him. When the interpreter was feeling thoroughly miserable, Petraeus spoke carefully. “That might not be a bad idea. Its present name is certainly inappropriate. We’ll make that suggestion to our political masters.”

“Sir, if I might make a suggestion, Sir.” General James Conway covered the awkward gap caused by the interpreter’s faux pas. “My staff has been looking at this problem and we think we have a solution. Or part of one anyway. If you can detach the Marine Corps from First Army Group, we can portal an amphibious task group and carrier battle group to that lake in the center of the city. Lemuel-Lan-Michael says it’s so deep nobody knows where the bottom is and its almost a hundred kilometers across by fifty wide. We can land the landing force right in the middle of the city, barely ten kilometers from Yahweh’s palace.”

“Don’t we need a beacon or something?” Jackson was intrigued by the idea.

“We thought we would borrow one of those big Japanese flying boats. The Shin Meiwas. Fly it in through a portal, land on the lake with a sensitive on board. That can act as a beacon. Enterprise is fitted to generate her own portals. She can open the way up and take her battle group in to the city. Then the amphibs can follow through.”

Petraeus shook his head. “That’s an occupation plan, not an invasion. If Heaven folds, we can consider it.” He looked more closely at the photographs that showed the area of Yahweh’s palace. “What’s going on here?”

“The Ultimate Temple Sir?” The photo interpreter spoke a lot more carefully than he had done before. “That foxes us completely. We took these shots from a Global Hawk a few minutes ago. She’s still over the scene sir, and the anomaly is still there. It looks like there are two thunderstorms directly over Yahweh’s palace. Take a look at this.”

He slid another photograph over. It was a close-up shot of an Angel’s face. Taken from more than 50,000 feet over the city and crystal clear in detail it showed one thing that was indisputable. The angel was terrified.

Petraeus reached out and tapped the anomaly. “Just what is going on down there.”

The Ultimate Temple, Heaven

Yahweh had gone beyond raving anger. He was now possessed by a cold, deadly determination to destroy the opposition to him that had so suddenly and unexpectedly erupted. Opposition from a quarter he had never even begun to suspect. He was summoning his strength to wipe that opposition out. In the meantime, another part of his mind was trying to understand how his most trusted servant could have turned against him.

“Michael-Lan-Yahweh, it is still not too late. Submit to my justice, cleanse yourself of the sin of pride and I may yet spare you from the full force of my wrath. Do not force this to its inevitable conclusion.”

“It’s Michael-Lan-Michael now. I am your servant no longer. And it is already far too late. It was too late the day you betrayed the humans and closed the gates of Heaven in their face. It was too late the day you had the incredible stupidity to tell them that was what you had done. It was too late the day you condemned those who had made it here to being menial servants instead of living in the paradise you promised them. I will not submit to your justice for you have shown you do not understand the meaning of the word. How could you condemn humanity to everlasting torment and still speak of justice? You say you may spare me the full measure of your wrath? Be careful Yah-yah. The humans are coming and they will not spare you the full measure of theirs. Already their armies are encircling the Eternal City and starting to choke off its life-blood. Perhaps if you were to throw yourself on their mercy, they might hold their hands. Humans are oddly merciful to those they defeat. Usually. In your case though…” Michael-Lan-Michael shook his head.

The music in his earpiece had changed to Mars, The Bringer of War. Whoever put this program together had done well. Michael thought. Let’s hope it’s enough.

The sheet of multi-colored lightning that enveloped him came with almost no warning. The only slight hint Michael had was that Yahweh had reserved some of the power for his own defense and the sparkling globe that protected him had become visible a tiny fraction of a second before the onslaught started. Grimly, Michael realized that Yahweh’s appeal had simply been intended to lure him off guard. Had he fallen for it, he would have been caught completely unawares. As it was, his own protection, his own blast of lightning, was only just barely adequate to prevent him being crushed out of existence. He could feel it crushing under the strain, buckling under the relentless pressure of Yahweh’s power. Michael reached out, sensing the mental energy of those minds that were in step with his own, incorporating it with his own. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the situation stabilized with Michael in the middle of the storm yet untouched by it.

Yahweh’s scream of frustration shook the whole Temple and echoed around the Eternal City. Word was already spreading of the cataclysmic events taking place within the Ultimate Temple and, all over the city, angels of every rank stood and watched as the cloud of storms engulfed the Temple. Inside, Yahweh was reaching out for his allies, to add their power to his. By instinct, his first instinct was to call on Uriel.

Michael-Lan-Michael felt the call go out and relaxed ever so slightly. Had the call been received, this confrontation would have been over. Uriel had been Yahweh’s sword and shield. His massive power had been beyond that even of Michael and his ability to bring death wholesale had made him an enemy of unshakeable power. Together, Yahweh and Uriel were utterly unbeatable. Only, Uriel was dead. Methodically blasted apart by humans. Michael remembered the days and weeks he had spent maneuvering Uriel into attacking one human fortress after another. Always trying to throw him into the teeth of the human defenses and staying awake nights when time after time, Uriel had escaped. Michael’s coup would have remained forever an abstract concept if Uriel had not died at the hands of humans for killing him had been far beyond Michael’s power.

He felt Yahweh reaching for his sword and shield, his mind seeking to lock with that of Uriel. But, all it reached was a blank emptiness. Uriel was dead and the reality of that suddenly sank in on Yahweh’s rage-engulfed mind. He reached out further for his less-powerful allies, seeking for the tiny margin of power that would allow him to overwhelm the rebel who stood before him. He ran through the list, trying to bring in each of his allies. Each to be met by the grim silence of death,

Colepatiron, killed by humans.

Nesupeh, killed by humans

Sacereor, killed in a terrorist bombing

Neripon, killed by humans

Erikehan, killed by humans

Irnasodeor, accused of treason and died under interrogation

Esetatuteh, killed in a terrorist bombing

Tonolpalon, killed by humans

Lesoteminiel, killed by humans

Hisralraman, killed in a terrorist bombing

Ritosehon, accused of treason and died under interrogation

Zaslohael, killed in a terrorist bombing

Umadipsah, killed by humans

Pinaliel, killed by humans

Michael-Lan-Michael sensed the lack of response from Yahweh’s greatest and most powerful supporters. He also felt the rejection of Yahweh’s touch by those who had forsaken him. All of the Chayot ha Kodesh that had survived refused to aid Yahweh and by implication threw their support to Michael. He sensed Yahweh’s growing desperation as the truth was slowly forced on him. Every one of his allies had been killed. Either thrown against the humans and died under their guns and missiles or blown up when the terrorist bombings in the Eternal City had struck their temples. It dawned on Yahweh at last that those terrorist bombings had been nothing of the sort. They had been carefully planned assassinations and Yahweh finally understood who had been behind them.

Tahenael, killed by humans

Arsasaum, assassinated by Michael

Tcuadahiel, assassinated by Michael

Zunael, killed by humans

In desperation, Yahweh turned to the one ally he was sure he had left. Michael-Lan-Michael felt Yahweh reach out to his son, Elhmas, for the support he needed. For a tiny fragment of a second, Michael thought that Elhmas had answered the call and the chill of defeat started to sweep though him. But, Michael crushed it down even as the grim silence made the answer obvious. Elhmas was dead, destroyed so thoroughly by humans that not even a shadow of him was left.

Michael felt the assault on his existence beginning to ease very slightly. He had survived another round but he knew that he was dangerously close to using all the power that he had available to him. He had called on his allies, he had taken every effort they had offered to him. He had destroyed Yahweh’s allies and forced him to fight this fight alone, unaided. For all that, he was barely a match for the immense power of Yahweh. In fact, it was an open question whether he was a match at all.

As the pressure on him slackened, Michael allowed his own energy output to decline. He needed to conserve strength and economize on that he was drawing from his allies. Slowly, his consciousness expanded away from the duel to take in his surroundings. The throne room, once resplendent in its brilliance was blackened and charred. The floor was covered with the precious stones from the walls, many cracked, blackened and charred from the energy discharges that had flooded the chamber. Poor stones. Michael thought. Looted from worlds beyond number and brought here to be baked. Too bad.

He took a deep breath and looked through the shimmering arrays of lightning that still crackled and swirled around him. Then, he spoke once more, his voice loaded with scorn. “Is that the best you’ve got?”