Armageddon?? (74 page)

The
three of them trudged through the forest, moving quickly and quietly. The
gnarled black trees were thick, and their sickly foliage was slimy with some
sort of excretion. Fortunately, this deadened what noise they made.
Unfortunately, it reduced their effective range of hearing that much further,
but the odds of encountering anything out here were low. Low, but not zero.
Aeanas spotted the clearing first. Silently, he tapped Cassidy on the shoulder.
She tapped McElroy, and all three halted. "Clearing ahead."

Aeanas
didn't even bother to nod. He slid back into the woods and worked his way to
the far side of the clearing. When he was settled, he could spy McElroy just
barely, but it was enough. Aeanas could at least see the hut's entrance, so he
was not surprised when a demon stalked out of it and into the clearing. What
shocked him was that the demon appeared to be somewhat aged, or perhaps infirm.
He was not a mass of protruding muscle and claw; he was much thinner than most
demons, and he had almost an erudite air to his mannerisms. He was still, of
course, extremely tall, but his gait was that of someone who doesn't wish to
strain himself, like that of an elderly or sick person.

The
demon walked around to the side of the hut, where a garden of sorts grew. He
plucked a bulbous, red plant from the earth and went back inside his hut,
shutting the heavy wooden door behind him. The clearing was silent. The three
of them moved quickly and silently across the clearing. Aeanas held his spear
in a two-handed grip, at the ready. He was trained, of course, to have
incredible power and precision when thrusting single-handed, so the added might
of his shield-arm was all the more devastating. When they reached the door,
Aeanas took up a position to one side of it, Cassidy to the other. McElroy
stood in front of it, looked to both of them, then knocked on the door three
times, politely, but firmly. The door swung outward after a moment, towards
Cassidy. The demon took a half-step out and froze, a universal look of shock
upon his face.

"Howdy!"
McElroy crooned. "You know where the river of fire is? We wanted to go for
a swim, but we got lost!"

As
he spoke the word, "lost," Aeanas thrust. In a smooth motion and with
precise aim, he drove the spear up into the demon's open mouth, encountering
only feeble resistance when the point struck and passed through the soft
palate. It stopped just before striking the brain, but after punching into the
sinus cavity of the monster. With even greater fluidity, Aeanas twisted sharply
and pulled the point free.

Blood
pouring from the demon's mouth and nose, it finally started to move. Aeanas
thrust again, taking the demon through its throat. Twisting the spear, he now
used it as leverage to wrench the demon backwards into the hut and off its
feet, and it fell with a crash. Now McElroy and Cassidy got in on the action,
each slamming their tridents into the creature's belly.

"Hurry!"
McElroy hissed.

Aeanas
obeyed. Unmindful of the numerous lacerations that the demon was opening up on
him with its swiping claws, he summoned all his strength and pounded the
spearpoint through the demon's eye and into its brain. Swirling it a bit, the
demon instantly went limp. After a moment, Aeanas turned back to McElroy and
Cassidy, who had shut the door behind them and were eying him with something
like awe. McElroy pointed. "Looks like he might've got you."

Aeanas
looked down. Sure enough, a few greasy coils of his intestines were protruding
from a deep gash just above his groin, with blood sheeting over his genitals
and down his legs--it was certainly a sight he'd seen before. Shrugging, Aeanas
stuffed his guts back inside of his body with his fist while Cassidy and McElroy
wrapped a piece of cloth around his midsection, securing with a length of rope.
By the time they were done, the bleeding from his other wounds had nearly
stopped.

"Alright,"
McElroy began, "we'd best clear out and head back to base." He looked
to Aeanas. "You OK to walk? You need a minute to rest?"

"I
will be fine," Aeanas grunted. The pain was searing, but the fact that it
abated steadily was what made it bearable.

"Good
man," McElroy said. He turned to Cassidy. "Anything we can use?"

She
was poring over the variety of desks and shelves all around the tiny hut.
"Ethanol!" She set aside a second jar. "Or close enough. I
didn't realize these things knew how to distill. We should report this."

"Are
you sure it's not methanol?" McElroy asked.

"Yup.
Methanol smells sweet, like antifreeze. This is probably demon moonshine. Want
a swig?"

McElroy
shook his head. "I wasn't much of a drinker back on Earth, and I don't see
much reason to start now. Least of all with Satan's version of white
lightnin'."

Cassidy
shrugged, and took a pull. Frowning as it went down, she rasped, "Yup,
that's ethanol all right. Absolutely devastating. But it's good, 'cause it
means they can distill..." she went quiet for a few minutes, moving from
jar to jar. She fetched another satchel and loaded up the now-capped jars in
them, passing it to McElroy.

"Geez,
this crap's heavy. Let's go." McElroy opened the door a crack and peered
outside, stepping out after a moment. Cassidy followed him and Aeanas came out
last.

They
stayed that way until they got back to base. McElroy started typing the details
of what they had seen into his computer, ready for the transmission back to
earth. Standing over him, Cassidy read what he wrote and a tear trickled down
her face. Now that the patrol was over they could let themselves feel what they
had shut out before.

McElroy,
is it all right to talk? kitten?”

No,
kitten is away on leave at last. My name is Indira, I have taken over from her
for a while. Have you anything to report?

Too
much Indira. Far too much. McElroy went through the report on the scene at the
village.

That
is terrible.

This
is a terrible place. Can you resupply us now?

Yes,
we have rifles, ammunition , explosives coming through. But, I must also tell
you that your group has been selected for a special mission. One that will take
you outside the Pit.

You
couldn’t have said anything better Indira. No place could be worse than this, I
guess that must be the whole point.

Chapter
Fifty Two

Secure
Accommodation Block, Camo Hell-Alpha, Martial Plain of Dysprosium

“The
Enemy is Dust, dust that gets in your boots, your hair, your eyes, your lungs.
Dust in vital systems and gears and axles. Dust is the common enemy DRS
Technologies helps to manage, banish or thwart in Hell, every minute of every
day. The enemies DRS fights can be huge or as small as a grain of sand. And the
solutions can range from providing expert service personnel to developing novel
technologies. Like self-lubricating sealed axles for tank trailers. Systems that
let pilots see through the clouds of dust in Hell’s atmosphere. And
fully-sealed, fanless mobile computers. The goal: to help our forces achieve
their objectives in Hell. Bring us your problems, your toughest challenges, we
are always looking for a new enemy to conquer and take us one step nearer to
completing or mission to save our dead.”

Memnon
laid the copy of Defense News to one side, marveling at the casual ease with
which the humans spoke of finding solutions to problems. As if problems were
games to be won, not hardships to be endured. Almost without thinking he flexed
his great wings, now regrowing strong and true. Another problem humans had
solved. They’d seen the mangled stumps that had been growing before and he’d
explained that the fragments of steel from the missile warheads were the
problem. Iron didn’t agree with demon bodies. They’d nodded and come up with a
plan. They’d amputate the new growth and remove the iron fragments, then allow
new wings to grow back. They weren’t sure it would work, but it was a good
chance, their “medic” had said. Memnon had agreed, he had nothing to lose after
all.

They’d
taken him into a section of the great building that was all white. Then they’d
said they would put him to sleep for the operation. Memnon had refused that,
refused angrily. Who were they to put him to sleep like a kidling? He was a
Lesser Herald, he could endure whatever pain the humans had in store. The
doctor had agreed and said that they’d just give him a little injection to help
his muscles relax, make it easier to cut his mutilated wings off. Now, if he’d
just count backwards from ten……

And
Memnon had woken up when it was all over, his failed wings removed and the
searing hurt of the iron fragments removed from his back. And he had learned something
about “medics” and “nurses”. They could be even sneakier than other humans. But
he’d watched as his new wings had regenerated and they were true wings, ones
that would support him in flight.

The
doors banged and some humans came in, soldiers in the odd clothes they wore.
The ones that had a strange pattern that made them hard to see. “Memnon, my
name is Colonel Paschal.”

“Colonel.”
Memnon stood up and tried to hold himself erect the way humans did. Not grovel
on the floor and lick his boots as a high-ranking demon would demand. The
Colonel looked at him and nodded slightly, like most of the human troops in
Hell, he found the baldrick displays of submission sickening.

“Memnon,
do you know of a place called Tartarus?”

“Certainly.
It is the stronghold of a minor lord called Belial. I have had little to do
with him, he is of little account. A defeated loser surrounded by others of his
kind.”

“Well,
he’s just become important to us. Critical question, you know where Tartarus
is, you can get there?”

“Of
course, Now my wings are well again, I can fly there. If I go as fast as I can,
it will take me….” Memnon stared at the ceiling and calculated distance. “A
minimum of 70 of your hours.”

“Seventy
hours. Nearly three days.” Now it was Paschal’s turn to think. “How soon can
you leave?”

“As
soon as my lord commands. I have sworn fealty to Abigor and he to you. So when
your lord orders it I will leave. What message must I give to Belial?”

“Oh,
you? Nothing. We have a message for him,. One he won’t forget in a hurry. Your
job is just to get to Tartarus, stay close to Belial’s fortress and wait,
unseen. We will contact you there and send you the message we will wish
delivered to Belial.”

Memnon
nodded, now he could see why the humans had restored his wings, they needed his
services as a Herald. Was Belial planning to defect to the humans as he and
Abigor already had? If so, then he, Memnon, would be well placed in the favor
of these strange new lords to whom he had sworn fealty.

Outer
Ring, Sixth Circle of Hell

“All
set up?” McElroy looked around at his unit. Well, it wasn’t his any more, but
he still had a proprietorial feel over it, even though the living troops from
Earth had inflated its numbers and provided a proper command structure. The
strike team was now nearly 60 humans, living or deceased, and they were about
to teach the baldricks a lesson in applied firepower. And applied vengeance.

“All
units, get ready. Mortar teams, prepare to open fire on my command.” The voice
on the radio was heavily accented. European, where in Europe was beyond
McElroy’s ability to identify. Their equipment was Russian, or at least
Eastern-Europe though. That meant Poles? Or Czechs perhaps. No matter, they
were somebody’s special forces troops and whoever they were, they were very
good.

“Fire!”
The accented word came over the radio and McElroy heard the coughing thump of
the mortars opening fire. They were the big ones, 120mms, the biggest modern
artillery deployed within the Hell-Pit. Despite their size, their crews went to
work with a vengeance. A good mortar crew can get six bombs in the air before
the first strikes home and these crews were better than good. McElroy watched
the ripple of explosions walk across the market place, the fragments scything
down the baldricks as they stood around the stalls. They’d never been under
mortar fire before, they had no idea what it was that was killing them and they
just stood there, bewildered, while the bombs crashed down around them.

Mortars
are deadly weapons, their rate of fire and high payload making them great
killers of creatures caught in the open. Their worst limitation is ammunition
supply; especially when the weapons were man-packed in the way these were. The
crews were already running short and they kept back one round each as a final
envoi for when the humans withdrew, Their role was taken over by three machine
grenade launchers, AGS-17s, that pumped their small rounds into the target,
picking off the groups of baldricks left standing by the 120s.

Down
below, McElroy saw the baldricks starting to react. Cries of “human magery”
echoed up the slope and figures broke from their paralysis to try and get away
from the unexpected danger. The problem was, they had pitifully few places to
go and far more then half their number were already down.

“Move
in.” The orders were curt, tense. McElroy brought his M115 up to his shoulder
and squeezed off three rounds at a baldrick that seemed unusually active in
trying to rally resistance. The figure went down, sprays of green blood
erupting from its body. Then it was his section’s time to move forward. The
others were laying down intense fire, pinning the baldricks in position. The
deceased humans got to their feet, running forward to their next position, a
shallow depression about half way down the slope. It took seconds to reach it,
seconds that seemed like hours, but they made it and spread out, giving
covering fire for the next group to move forward.