Armageddon?? (105 page)

“Does
that make them untrue? How many millions have died already? I you do not know,
I will tell you. More than three and a half million. Of Beelzebub’s army, 476
legions, only 39,000 survive of the more than 3 million who set out. The rest
are rotting on the banks of the Phlegethon River. And the humans advance on Dis
even while we sit here speaking.”

Deumos’s
words were interrupted by the howl of jet fighters overhead. Both Great Dukes
paused and looked up. The jet noise receded and was followed by the dull sound
of explosions, a long way off. Somebody had just been bombed. The noise did not
cause any great surprise, the sounds of human aircraft and their deadly cargoes
were familiar. Familiar but still terrifying.

“And
their aircraft fly over Dis without opposition.” Deumos smiled briefly. “And
what are your plans Dagon.”

“I
have been ordered to fight. To attack the human armies. Those orders still
stand.” Dagon was uncomfortable, he had chosen to sit far away from Deumos, by
an open window so the air gods would protect him from the strange magic that
the Succubae used to bend others to their will.

“You
will fight.” There was a note of derision in Deumos’s voice. “To what end? How
will your army achieve that which eluded Beelzebub?”

“I
do not know.”

“I
do. You will fight, you will lose, your army will be destroyed, you will be
killed. End. Have you learned nothing? The humans are the Lords of War, they
cannot be defeated. They squash our armies with casual ease and they still hold
back the most powerful and deadly of their weapons. For every move we make,
they have a counter, already sitting in their arsenal, ready to be used.”

“But
Yahweh?”

“You
think Yahweh will aid us? He will sit and watch Hell and Human fight until one
is gone, then he will attack the survivor. That is what humans think, it is
what I and my Succubae think, and we can be very sure it is what Yahweh thinks.
And the end of Hell is coming fast Dagon. It is days away, perhaps weeks at
most. Have you heard the news from the pit?” Dagon shook his head. “An entire
army, ten legions that were once part of the host of Asmodeus have rebelled.
They have declared their fealty to the humans and attacked those who would make
war on the humans. In the pit, human and demon now fight side by side, as
allies. A great area of the pit, a segment of the Fifth Ring and a smaller
section of the Sixth are now in human hands and those still faithful to Satan
die if they go there. That area spreads hourly as the humans rescue their dead
and many of them join the human army. Free Hell they call it.”

The
demons rebelling and joining the humans. It seemed incomprehensible. Not just
joining the humans but doing so as the junior partners in the alliance. Dagon
shook his head, Deumos was right, Hell was dying. His mind ran over the options
available to his army. They were few indeed and all of them led to death.

“What
do you suggest Lady?” Dagon asked the question but he knew the answer.

“The
humans hold Satan responsible for what has happened here. The legions in the
pit have the right answer and we must follow their example. We must make peace
with the humans, we must pay whatever price they ask for that peace. And, the
first thing they ask will be Satan’s head. Detached from the rest of his body
and very, very dead. You have said how Satan moves around too much for the
humans to catch him. So we must do the deed. Kill him and set up a new
rulership in hell, one that can make peace with the humans.”

“With
you as ruler.” Dagon’s voice was openly scornful. The Succubae were despised,
the idea of one ruling Hell was unthinkable. Most demons would die rather than
allow it.

“Of
course not. I am not stupid Dagon, I know what will be accepted and what will
not. I cannot be ruler in Hell. But you Dagon, you can be. You are one of the
very few surviving Great Dukes, you have your army to keep order. You have not
fought the humans yet, they do not know much about you. We can turn that to our
advantage. For we must make you acceptable to the humans, a leader they can
accept.”

Ruler
of Hell, successor to Satan Mekratrig. Dagon rolled the idea around in his
mind. It beat inevitable death on the battlefield. “And how shall we do that,
Lady?”

“The
humans have been driven by the way we treat their dead. So we try to show you
did what you could to help them We will set up an underground movement, we will
call it.” Deumos ran the information Lugasharmanaska had sent her, searching
for a suitable name. “Demons for the Ethical Treatment of Humans. We will forge
documents, information, to show the humans we were trying to stop the torment
of Hell, have been doing so for many years. Humans will see these and accept
us. And make you the new ruler of Hell. All that we need is for Satan to die.”

Dagon
ran the picture through his mind, then came across a great block that stood in
the way. “But without the life energy from humans, how do we ascend to the next
level. Satan collects it, it is our tribute to him. He uses it to boost us to
the next level when we die. What will happen when he is gone.”

“Then
we will control the human life energy. And we can use the existing energy
stored for our own ends, to cement the allegiance of those underneath us. And
we will make an agreement with the humans, we will continue to milk the energy
from some and release the rest. They will agree to that.”

Dagon
nodded. “It is agreed Lady. Now, how do we make this fine-sounding plan
reality?”

Belial’s
Stronghold, Tartaruan Range, Northern Region of Hell

Euryale
smoothed lotion on her burns and relaxed on her couch. Quietly, she closed her
eyes and sent her mind searching for Lakheenahuknaasi. She found the mind she
sought and opened contact, feeling the mind-voice in her head, sensed the
respect tempered with ambition.

“What
have you learned Lakheenahuknaasi?”

“Much,
Highness. I have learned about human weapons, seen what they have. Highness, we
have not seen a tenth of what they can do.” The near-panic in
Lakheenahuknaasi’s mind-voice was evident. “The deadliest weapons they have are
still unknown to us.”

“But
you have learned how to make them?”

“Highness,
I have learned we cannot make them. The instructions in the magic tome are here
but they are full of things we do not understand. And when we look up the
things we do not understand, those descriptions also are filled with things we
do not comprehend. Everywhere we look, we are faced with the impossible. All I
have studied has shown us how little we know, and what we do not know will kill
us. Above all, Highness, know this. The humans have no magic. None at all.”

“Impossible.
We have seen what their magery does.”

“No
Highness, we have seen what their machines can do. They have no magic, in fact
the best and cleverest of the humans laugh at the very idea of magic. They say
it is a foolish game to amuse little children. They call it conjuring and those
who practice it do not pretend it is anything but trickery. The humans have no
magic so they build machines to do magical things for them. And those machines
are what destroys us. Highness. I will say more. There is no magic, for I no
longer believe we have magic either. There are simply things we do not
understand.”

“Very
good Lakheenahuknaasi. Anything else?”

“Yes,
Highness. Our Lord was wrong when he said there were a few great places that
build the human machines. There are not. The places that make human machines
are everywhere and now they all build weapons. What we face is not a stockpile
that has been built up over thousands of human years but what they produce
today. We cannot destroy them by striking at their production, we must strike
their leadership.”

“And
do you know where that is?”

“Yes.
In a city called London. A place called Pah-Lee-Amant.”

Chapter
Seventy Three

Vulcan
XH-558, Over Western Iraq.  XH558 was flying her first operational sortie since
returning to RAF service, a survey flight of Hell. With her long endurance she
could stay on station for a long time and increase humanity’s knowledge of the
geography of Hell. Wing Commander Winters was quietly proud of what the British
had achieved in mobilizing their air force, pulling it back from the shadow it
had nearly become to a viable multi-role force with a seriously destructive
capability. They had managed to put a higher percentage of their museum and
reserve aircraft back into service than the Spams had managed. Winters wondered
if that meant that British museums kept their exhibits in better condition or
that the RAF was simply that much more desperate? Even the old Swordfish from
the Battle of Britain Flight was back on duty, patrolling over coastal cities
in case a Gorgon turned up to open the skies and pour lava over them. There was
a joke running around, if one of the amphibious baldricks turned up, it would
get an 18 inch airborne torpedo right where it hurt most.

While
the other three Vulcans, XL426, XM584 and XM603 were being loaded up with
1,000lb bombs in preparation for bombing missions in support on British troops
in Hell, XH-558 had received a different fit. In the forward part of the bomb
bay was a reconnaissance crate containing a number of different radar, IR and
visual sensors which would record the ground conditions below the bomber. They
would record to digital storage in the aircraft, but could also download to
ground stations. As well as the ultra-modern sensors in the bomb bay the Vulcan
would be using its H2S bombing radar and a digital video camera someone had
installed in the visual bomb aiming blister. Two air sampling pods were also being
carried under the wings.

Unlike
the Americans the RAF had not bothered to alter the tactical camouflage schemes
of its aircraft, as yet. They did not have the manpower to spare at the moment,
and to be honest were not really convinced that it was necessary. The most they
were willing to do was to paint the two TSR.2s into a similar two-tone grey to
that worn by the Tornado GR.4 and Buccaneer S.2B and they hadn’t even done that
yet. The aircraft had carried out their first strikes in their gleaming white
prototype paint. Repainting the Vulcans wasn’t even on the cards, so the
Vulcans were still resplendent in their green and grey wrap-around tactical
schemes.

In
the aft portion of the bomb bay was an additional fuel tank to reduce the
aircraft’s dependence on air-to-air refueling, something that had not yet been
practiced in Hell, at least not by the RAF. That was about to change. The Spams
were counting on aerial refueling to get their bombers all the way up to
Belial’s stronghold and they needed a test of the system to see whether it
worked. XH-558 had got that job as well. Plus one or two more. The Vulcan
currently had its H2S radar radiating as it closed with a tanker aircraft to
top up its tanks before entering the Hellmouth. The first of three planned
refuellings, two of which would take place in hell itself.

“You
should see her soon, Skipper.” The Radar Navigator, Squadron Leader James Bolam
reported.

Wing
Commander Winters strained his eyes to see their tanker, reflecting on the fact
that his eyesight was not quite as good as it had once been. There, he spotted
an object ahead of them trailing a vapor trail.

“I’ve
got her, Jimmy, shut down the radar so that we don’t microwave the crew.”
Winter said.

“Right,
David, let’s see if we can put all that refueling practice to practical use.”

“X-Ray
Hotel Five, Five Eight, this is Spartan One, is that you lighting up my ECM
display, over?” A voice in Winters’ and Maxwell’s ears said rather
unexpectedly.

“Yes
it’s me, Spartan One, good to hear your voice, Stu; I’d heard that you were
back flying tankers.” Winters replied. “Are you ready to give me some fuel,
over?”

“Yup,
we have the centre hose trailing, now be gentle with me.” The tanker pilot
replied, using a feminine voice to finish the sentence.

As
XH558 closed in on the tanker it revealed itself as a hemp painted Victor K.2,
in this case XL231, Lusty Linda / Spirit of Godfrey Lee. The Victor was one of
the many RAF aircraft that had been forward deployed to Basra airport, it had
seemed appropriate to refuel one V-bomber with another one.

While
Winters carefully lined up the Vulcan behind the Victor Maxwell maintained
careful control of the throttles. The refueling probe made contact with the
basket first time and the transfer began, though as usual aviation fuel leaked
over the bomber’s canopy, partially obscuring the view. This was a problem
which had first arisen during the ‘Black Buck’ missions of the Falklands War.
The RAF engineers had never quite found out yet why the probes, which had been
perfectly serviceable in the nineteen sixties until they had been removed,
should now leak fuel like it was going out of fashion.

“Ooh,
you are a big boy.” A sultry female voice said over the radio.

Winters
looked at Maxwell somewhat surprised. Below him he could hear the rest of the
crew roaring with laughter.

“Ah,
do you have a split, sorry female crew member, Stu?” He asked.