Armageddon?? (59 page)

The
dance had started with attacks on the leading edge of the outpost line. When
one row was completed, somewhere the next row had to start with a unit being
pushed forward. That unit, nine baldricks strong had been ambushed and wiped
out. There was no doubt about it, the M-107 rifles were a murderously effective
tool when used right and they could cut down the baldricks from ranges that the
demons couldn’t easily grasp. After losing the first couple of advance units,
they’d tried pushing several forward at once. A rapid-fire series of assaults
had done for them as well. As the baldrick casualties had mounted, fighting an
enemy they couldn’t see or touch, their morale must have started to plummet
because they were showing less and less desire to be moving forward.

Well,
that had led to the next stage, the baldrick commander had started to push
bigger units forward, a full 81-baldrick company rather than the nine-baldrick
squad. Interesting that, Rollings thought, they’d jumped the 27-baldrick
platoon completely. That might be a measure of the morale problem down there or
perhaps a shortage of junior leaders. Armies that had problems with their NCO
numbers frequently dropped the platoon as an effective combat element and
treated it as a training ground for company-level NCOs. Whatever. The baldricks
had pushed a full company out to secure the basis for their next row of
outposts. They’d expected that unit to be attacked and the PFLH had obliged
them. They’d taken out the two outposts behind it, isolating it from aid and then
laid siege. Of course, the baldricks had done what every army did in such
circumstances and sent in a relief force, in this case, two more full
companies.

They’d
learned the lesson the U.S. Army had learned about that very quickly. The
relief force had itself been ambushed, it had been swamped by a hail of rifle
and rocket fire that had driven it back in disarray. That battle had cost the
Special Forces the life of one of its troopers, fried by a lightning bolt. He’d
been too keen, he’d kept firing from the same position rather than changing
after every shot. He was doubtless somewhere out here, trying to escape and
rejoin the fight as a trooper (deceased). If he could be located, they’d rescue
him, DIMO(N) were working on that. By the time the battle was over a couple
more of the Special Forces people had been wounded and the team had to be
replaced, that was where Rollings and his group had come in.

With
their first rescue column mauled and repulsed, the baldricks had thrown in a
bigger one, probably the rest of the battalion, almost 500 strong. It had been
lead by a major demon, a huge creature who had been carefully photographed and
the images sent back to DIMO(N). They’d identified him as Asmodeus, one of the
Great Dukes down here. They’d added that it was the custom for senior leaders
to lead in person at a critical point in a battle and that had been interesting
from several points of view. Not least of which was the fact that the baldricks
obviously considered this engagement a critical one. He’d lead the relief
force, the PFLH had refrained from engaging it and the outpost garrison had
then been relieved.

That
had set the style for the next period of fighting. The PFLH would besiege an
outpost, inflicting casualties on it but not taking it. If a smaller relief
column set out, it would be ambushed and its mauled remains sent scurrying back
with its tail between its legs. But if Asmodeus himself led the force, it would
be left unattacked. For the last couple of sieges, the baldrick commander had dispensed
with the small relief column and led a full battalion himself, obviously
convinced that his presence deterred any further attack.

So,
the battlefield had been shaped and the blow set up. The baldricks were indeed
predictable, it was easy to determine where their future outposts would, if
they had such things as checklists, Rollings could have written one for them
and they wouldn’t have known the difference between his and their own. He’d
been able to choose his ground carefully, the place where he would attack his
outpost and the place where he would ambush the relief column. This time, the
presence of Asmodeus would be the reason for the attack, not one to pull back.

“There
they are Broomstick.” The column was approaching, a way off yet, but still visible,
a shining black mass against the gray-green slime of the Fifth Circle. “And the
Tall Fellow is leading them again.”

“What’s
that above them.” Kim spoke urgently, her binoculars traversing the scene.

“Damn.
Harpies. That’s a new wrinkle. They smarten up faster than we thought. They’re
staying close in though, they still don’t understand how far away we can reach.
Nine of them?”

“Nine,
Chris. Confirm they’re close in.” Her radio blipped and she listened briefly.
“Three of my people back at Outpost 11-1 have taken a few more shots but the
baldricks there have learned as well, they’re keeping their heads down. Those
that still have a head that is.” Over the last few weeks, Kim and her team had
pulled a dozen or so people out of the mud. Nine had been more or less useless,
civilians, ancient, modern and in between, without any useful skills and she
had sent those to Rahab. Three had been soldiers, two modern U.S. Army people.
One of them had been killed in Vietnam, another in Operation Desert Storm.
They’d taken little in the way of instruction and had checked out on the M107
and M114 fast. The third had been a French Poilu who’d died at Verdun. He’d
taken a bit more training but his attitude to the battle had been an
inspiration. His constant muttering of “they shall not pass” and his assertion
that Hell was an improvement on the mud and slime of Verdun had become unit
legends.

Rollings
watched the column enter the killing ground he had chosen. The Tall Fellow was
leading on a Giant Rhinolobster, by far the biggest that had ever been seen,
right at the head of his troops where good demonic practice said he should be.
Rollings judged his moment carefully and twisted the first of his detonators.
The explosive pattern was the same one that Kim had used weeks earlier to kill
her first baldrick rider, an X-shape of Claymores but this time, the X had six
of the directional mines in each of its arms, saturating the entire head of the
column with the clouds of pre-shaped metal fragments. Rollings didn’t stop to
admire his handiwork, there was too much to be done. He twisted the second
detonator, setting off the huge semtex charge that was directly underneath
Asmodeus. Over a thousand pounds of the Czech high explosive was buried there,
covered with rocks for fragmentation, but it was the sheer blast that Rollings
was relying on. The explosion had the striking power of an 8,000 pound aerial
bomb and the explosive blocks had been laid in a dish-shape to focus that blast
upwards. Asmodeus disappeared in the rolling orange ball of fire and smoke,
even as his troops were scythed down by the claymores.

Above
the column, the harpies were flung around by the huge blast, tumbled in
mid-air, left stunned and disorientated. Several had been hit by flying rocks
and dropped to the ground, others on the rim of the blast pattern started
scanning the ground trying to pick up the authors of the devastating blow. Even
as they did so, one burst into flame as a .50 SLAP round from an M-107 ruptured
his body and his acid blood set his tissues on fire.

Two
of the harpies were luckier, they had been on a far swing, away from the sight
of the devastating concussion, and they spotted two humans on the ground,
firing at the baldricks around the blast sight and so absorbed with that they
simply didn’t notice the threat looming above them. The harpies dived on them,
grabbing them with their claws, rending their flesh from their bodies, their
calls of triumph blending with the screams of the dying humans. One of the
Special Forces heavy weapons team saw the attack and swung his .50 caliber
Browning machine gun onto the scene, chopping both harpies out of the sky, too
late to save their victims. The machine gunner noted that grimly and made it
his duty to get the rest of the harpies before they could do any more harm

On
the ground, the smoke was clearing, revealing the huge crater where the head of
the relief column had been. The mud had been blasted away down to bedrock,
figures of baldricks were scattered around but of the Great Rhinolobster there
was no sign. It must have been part of the horrible tangle of eviscerated body
parts that strewed the area. Rollings surveyed the area intently but it was Kim
who spotted Asmodeus first. He’d been shielded, partially, by the rhinolobster
he had been riding but he had been thrown hundreds of feet and the lower part
of his body was hideously mangled. She shouldered her M-107 and took careful
aim through the telescopic sight, putting round after round into the Great
Duke’s head. Asmodeus was still moving, trying to drag himself along by his
hands, trying to get away from the blows that were destroying him. He felt his
strength fading, then there was another blast and his struggle ended.

Kim
saw the great body cease moving and watched as two rockets plowed into it,
ending the work of destruction. She saw the rest of the column looking at the
scene in appalled silence as the stunning realization that a Great Duke of Hell
had just died sank in. For a moment everything on the battlefield was still, an
eerie silence with neither humans nor baldricks firing. Then it was broken by
the hammer of the .50 machine gun as it started to rake the survivors. That did
it, the baldricks broke and ran.

“Sorry
about your men Chris. We’ll watch out for them. If kitten can find them, we’ll
get them out for you.”

“Thanks
Broomstick. We’d better get out of here, those harpies were a nasty surprise.
We want to be a long way away before the baldricks get their act together and
come hunting.”

Throne
Room of the Adamant Fastness, Tartaruan Range, Outer Rim of Hell

“There
had better be good news.” Belial had had his days on wyvern-back to absorb the
news of the death of Asmodeus and there was no upside to that story. One of the
greatest Dukes of Hell was dead, killed by humans. If they could kill him, they
could kill anybody. They could even kill……. Belial stopped himself, if Satan
detected that thought, Belial’s end would be horrible beyond contemplation. “We
must avenge Asmodeus.”

“Please
tell the court what you told me, about the forges of Sheffield.”
Lakheenahuknaasi asked, as sweetly as she could manage following the stunning
news of the death of the Great Duke. Her mind was also calculating, if the
humans could kill the Great Dukes, then they had to be stopped before they won
this war. And if they couldn’t be stopped, wasn’t it time she……?

Captain
Shanklin was shaking with fear at the sight of the vast ornate room filled with
huge armored demons. Their stares seemed to bore straight into his mind,
rendering any notion of backing out now ludicrous.

“Well,
m'lords and ladies, you see, all our guns, all our shells are made of steel.
You call it 'enchanted iron', not that that's a bad thing to call it of course,
since it just be iron with some special additives.”

This
caused a minor stir in the court. One of the great armored demons spoke;
“Human, do you know the secret of this alchemy? Could you transform plain molten
iron into the enchanted iron?”

James
gulped. “Perhaps, m'lord, it being the case that I was a foreman at the
Bessemer works before the Great War... I would have to see your furnaces...”

As
his words trailed off the great antlered demon on the throne spoke in a
thundering voice. “I am sure that Baron Trajakrithoth's question was purely
hypothetical. Our lord Satan has decreed that hell does not need iron and that
no demon shall attempt to make weapons from it. Our furnaces smelt bronze,
brass, copper, silver and gold, no iron.” Those words did not seem to be
directed at the human, but the next ones were. “Now, what of this 'Sheffield'?
It has many furnaces, many forges?”

”Aye,
the city of Sheffield makes more steel than anywhere else in the Empire. The
best steel too, and many things from that steel, cast and machined.” Despite
all that he'd been through, there was still a hint of pride in Shanklin's
voice.

The
demon lord was clearly pleased and James sagged with relief. “Excellent. Where
can I find this city of steel?”

“Why,
in Yorkshire, centre of the British Isles, m'lord. Look sixty miles north from
Birmingham, or thirty miles west from Manchester, or even twenty miles south
from Leeds.”

Belial's
expression did not show any hint of recognition at the names of the various
British cities, but the rough triangulation seemed to satisfy him for now.
“Very good... Jaameshankel.” The count waved his hand dismissively, which
Lakheenahuknaasi took as a command to lead the human away.

“You
said you had another trai... ah, informant, Euryale? One who knows of the iron
chariots?”

“Yes,
my lord.” The gorgon queen turned to address another of her retinue. “Present
your new friend, Megaaeraholrakni.”

The
second handmaiden stepped forward, her clawed hand keeping a tight grip on the
shoulder of a short, bald human. The man swayed unsteadily; Megaaeraholrakni
had dosed him heavily with her poison, not wanting to risk him having a
last-minute change of heart. She whispered into his ear, “these... men... are
very interessted in your 'tankss', please tell them what Dee'Troyt can offer
them.”