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.”
