Authors: Stuart Slade
He
could see something else, the ground ahead of him was littered with
strange-looking bars, painted gray-yellow so they were hard to see against the
sand and rock. There were a lot of them though. Curiously, Krykojanklawas
glanced to one side, there were a lot fewer where the cavalry had ridden to its
death. Even as he watched, a demon in the front rank stepped on one of the bars
and the explosion threw him in the air, spraying yellow body fluid as his legs
spiraled away from his body. The bars were human magic, Krykojanklawas realized
the truth as additional explosions added their noise to the death toll that was
already far higher than the Greater Demons had expected. He didn’t care much
about the expectations of the Greater Demons though, what he did understand was
that stepping on the bars was death. He’d heard about human explosives, how
they could blast even a Lesser Demon apart so that all that remained was stains
and rags of flesh. If they could do that to a Lesser Demon, what could they do
to a Minor Demon like him? Krykojanklawas had just seen the answer and it
didn’t please him.
So
there were a lot fewer bars where the cavalry had died? Krykojanklawas did the
obvious and started to edge sideways, being careful not to step on the bars,
heading for where the ground was just littered with the scraps of flesh and
mutilated bodies of beasts and their riders. All along the ranks of the
legions, the other demons were starting to do the same.
The
Royal Dragoon Guards, Al Badiyah Al Janubiyah, Western Iraq
“Here
they go….” Bass watched with interest. There had been a ripple of explosions as
the advancing horde reached the outer edge of the minefield and the first
victims stepped on the bar mines. The mines had been intended for anti-tank
work but their fuses had been adjusted so they’d be set off by much lesser
pressures. That had worked, a handful of baldricks had died but the rest were
starting to funnel in towards the area partially cleared by the cavalry charge.
Bass lased them again, the advance had slowed right down as the baldricks tried
to pick their way through the minefield. Poor sods. Bass thought, he could
almost feel it in his heart to be sorry for them. Almost, but not quite.
Watching
through the high-powered optics of his Challenger II, Bass could see the ranks
of baldricks stretching, bucking and surging. He knew what would be happening
in there, the NCOs and officers trying to prevent the lines drifting into the
cleared zone, trying to force the baldricks to keep moving straight ahead,
accepting the losses from the minefield. Idly, he wondered what the Iranian
division was thinking, hidden far off to the left, but doubtless watching what
was happening. He’d heard they’d cleared minefields by marching infantry
through them. Looked like the baldricks were doing the same.
Overhead,
Bass heard the scream of shells. “Outbound,” the sound easily distinguishable
from the ominous “Inbound”. He wondered quickly how long it would be before the
baldricks learned to tell the difference. He looked again through the optics,
seeing the shells impact on the mass of baldricks hung up on the flanks of the
cavalry graveyard. The artillery forward observers were doing their job,
directing the artillery in on the flanks, trying to compress the advancing army
into a huddled mass. That was happening already in the graveyard, the baldricks
lucky enough to be facing that area were moving in but the ones to either side
were sliding in also and the resulting congestion was slowing their movement to
a crawl. The spams called this “shaping the battlefield”, a typically
melodramatic term in Bass’s opinion but descriptive enough.
Anti-Aircraft
Battery, Brigadier Carlson’s Headquarters, Al Badiyah Al Janubiyah, Western
Iraq
“There
are satans approaching. Raid count 20.” The Iranian Lieutenant rapped the
report out in Farsi, then translated to English for the benefit of Sergeant
Major Harper. “Prepare to engage.”
“With
respect, Lieutenant, might I suggest we wait for a short while and let the
situation develop?”
The
Iranian frowned slightly, more from curiosity than annoyance. “Sergeant, we
have modernized Osa-M missiles here. We have more than 20 kilometers of range.”
Harper
settled back slightly. He’d been expecting some of the harpies to leak through
the fighter screen, no fighter cover in history had managed to eliminate the
threat of just one or two survivors getting past. The sheer numbers of harpies
had meant more than that would although this was a larger group that he’d
expected. “Lieutenant,” Harper’s voice was very quiet so nobody else could
overhear, “how long have you been in the Army.”
“Three
years Sergeant.”
“I’ve
been serving my Queen for twenty. Let me give you a little advice. We blast
those harpies now, when they’re 20 kilometers away and the brass will think our
job is easy and move us somewhere dangerous. Now, we wait until they’re five
kilometers away and the brass is really sweating, then blast them, we get to be
heroes, get a commendation and possibly even a three-day pass. And we get to
keep this nice soft billet.
“Ahhh.”
The Lieutenant was impressed and a felt a little honored at receiving such a free
gift of valuable expertise. Truly there was much a young officer could learn
from a veteran such as this. “We will hold fire until… five kilometers?””
Harper
nodded fractionally so the officer gave the orders to his men, adding the
explanation he’d been given as if it was his own idea. He could see his men
nodding as the logic appealed to them.
At
five kilometers, the four Osa-M missile launchers opened fire, pushing 24
missiles at the 20 harpies now closing in on the base. One harpy made it past
the missiles only to be sawn apart in mid-air as the ZSU-23/4s caught it in a
crossfire.
Back
in the battery command vehicle, the telephone rang. Carlson’s voice was on the
other end. “Well done Lieutenant, that was a getting us a little worried. I’ll
send a commendation to General Zolfaghari.” He paused slightly. “You left it a
bit late didn’t you?”
“Needed
to get a proper tactical picture Sir. We’ve only six ready rounds on each
launcher and I didn’t want to get caught reloading.” Out of the corner of his
eye, the Lieutenant saw Harper giving him a discrete sign of approval.
“Very
wise.” Carlson paused for a second. “We gave you Sergeant-Major Harper as
liaison didn’t we? Please tell him I would like a few words with him later.”
Local
3751, ATK Medium Caliber Systems, Mesa, Arizona
“Look,
it's like this see. The plant is going to triple shift work whether we like it
or not. We’ve talked with the bosses and this is what we’ve come up with.
Morning shift from 6am to 2pm. Afternoon shift from 2pm until 10pm. Graveyard
shift from 10pm until 6am. Graveyard pays double time. Shifts switch around
monthly so everybody gets a crack at the double time.”
“What
about weekends?”
“Forget
them. Everybody works four days on, one day off. That’ll be staggered so
there’s a full shift working the plan all the time. 24/7.”
“Four
days on, one day off? That’s not fair.”
“Shadap
Al, the boys on the front line don’t get one in five off, why should we.” A
mutter of agreement ran around the room.
“What
happens if we don’t approve the deal?”
“Mexicans.
Or the Army gets the sub-munitions from Israel. Or wherever. Anyway, I’ll put
it to the vote. All those for accepting the management offer?” Hands went up
all over the room. “And against?” A scattering of hands, mostly those the organizer
recognized as those who voted against everything. “It’s carried. New
arrangements start tomorrow. Management will tell you which shift you’re
starting on and your day off.”
A
few hundred yards away, another meeting was being held. One where the worker’s
spouses were being gathered. Once it would have been an all-women gathering,
these days a few men were there as well.
“So
that’s the new arrangements. Look, the guys on the production lines are going
to be working their asses off, they don’t need to be worried about problems at
home. So if there is a problem, deal with it, don’t go whining. If you can’t
deal with it, see us here at the Union. We can help. Above all that, help each
other. You older women, you’ve been through this before. You know the problems
the young mothers will face, be there for them. Even if its just baby-sitting
so she can get out of the house and have some peace for an hour, do it. Watch
out for the oldsters as well, nobody will be around as much as they were so we
all have to look out for each other. We know nobody else will. Don’t think some
guardian angel will be looking out because we know they’re the enemy as well
now.”
Across
America and the world the same meetings were being held, the same messages
given. Under them all was another simple, deeper message. The whole world was
at war.
Chapter
Twelve
Headquarters,
Randi Institute of Pneumatology, The Pentagon, Arlington, VA
“I
see you finally got your new offices.” Julie Adams looked totally different
from her first visit here less three weeks ago. Her hair was washed and
shining, she was wearing skillfully-applied make-up and was smartly,
fashionably, dressed. As with all the latest fashionistas she was wearing chic
aluminum foil hat that covered her head and extended down the back of her neck.
Producing elegant headwear out of aluminum foil had proved a challenge but the
French and Italian designers had come through with flying colors. Julie’s
aluminum hat had more to do with her change in appearance than her clothes or
make-up. For the first time in many, many years her eyes were quiet and rested,
she looked at the world with peaceful confidence not abject terror.
“They’re
nice aren’t they.” The Amazing Randi was sitting behind his desk, sorting
through the letters received by his unit, trying to pick out the genuine
prospects from the fakes. It was a harrowing job. “Our General bullied the
decorators until they did what we wanted. By the way, the walls are foil-lined,
we’ve got monitoring equipment here and we can’t pick up any extra-dimensional
signals. So it looks like we’re safe. I guess the next set of building codes
will stipulate aluminum foil in all walls and ceilings.
“Anything.”
Julie shuddered at the memories of what Domiklespharatu had done to her.
Randi
smiled again, understanding her expression like any skilled cold-reader.
“Julie, would you like to get your own back? Punish Domiklespharatu by hurting
him the way he hurt you?”
“Sure.
Of course. Can I?”
“Come
to the laboratory.” The two went into the next room. There was a comfortable
reclining chair with some electronics behind it and a swinging table with a
microphone. “Don’t ask me how any of this works, I’m a conjuror, not a
physicist.”
“It’s
quite easy James.” One of the men in white coats was talking. “The baldrick
mind control works by quantum entanglement, essentially they transmit their
mind signal to a victim and force its mind pattern to match theirs. When we
intercepted the baldrick signal, we identified both the baldrick’s pattern and
that of Miss Adams. So we just reversed the procedure and we’re going to try
and entangle its mind pattern. The catch is its much easier for hell to
transmit to us than us to transmit to them. So, since we’re not short of raw
electrical power, we’re going to boost it upwards until we can transmit to
hell. If we’ve done this right, you can speak into this microphone and
broadcast straight into Domiklespharatu’s mind.”
“Thank
you gentlemen, I still don’t understand how it works but you’ve done wonders,
that I know. If this goes well, what we plan to do is to open a new radio
station transmitting to everybody in hell. And, Julie, you’ll be our first
newsreader. Now settle down and start to try.”
Julie
slipped into the chair and pushed her headset on. Earphones and a simple
microphone. Behind her, the systems specialists started to ease the power up,
seeking the threshold that would tell them they had breached the barrier
between the dimensions. In her seat, all Julie could hear was the signals hum,
slowly increasing in pitch and intensity. Then, suddenly it stopped, there was
an eerie silence at the other end and Julie could sense the suspicious
questioning as Domiklespharatu felt a new presence in his mind.
“Remember
me Domiklespharatu? I’m Julie Adams, the woman you got your kicks from
torturing. Well, I’m back only I’m in your mind now. I can get into your head
but you can’t get into mine any more. So guess what, Domiklespharatu, its my
turn to have some fun and yours to suffer. Let’s see, where shall we start? Oh
yes, here’s a good one. We’re coming for you and all your kind. You had the
impertinence to invade us and we’re slaughtering your kind here. You don’t
stand a chance against us. We’re coming for you and we’re going to free all of
our people you hold and hand those of you that survive over to them. We’re
going to hand you over and watch all our people do to you what you have been
doing to them. There’s a new order coming and we’re the ones on top. So, you’d better
start running Domiklespharatu because we’re coming for you and we won’t stop.
Not now not ever. You’ve pissed off the human race Domiklespharatu and, oh boy,
what a price you’ll pay for doing that. Oh, and tell that freak you have in
charge there, he’d better find a good lawyer. He’ll need one for the war crimes
trial.”