less. We can test out our new device in Detroit instead.”
“There’s another thing we can do.” Doctor Surlethe’s voice was clinical. “We can deprive the baldricks of their own navigation beacons. I propose we test the entire population for the Nephilim genetic ancestry and quarantine those carrying it in isolation camps until the war is over.”
There was another stir in the room, this time of anger. In one corner, Karl Rove leaned back in relief, somebody else had made a political error of grade one levels. Secretary Kempthorne was the one who took up the cudgels though. “And we know what to look for do we?”
“Well, we will, after some investigations.”
“And then you propose to place people in indefinite confinement without them having committed an offense on the vague off-chance that a baldrick might use one of them?”
“Better that than an incinerated city.”
“Even though we already know that wearing tinfoil hats offers complete protection against mind entanglement?”
“But there are a few people out there who won’t. There are always eccentrics who deny that the tinfoil hat is absolutely essential to prevent baldricks taking over their minds.”
“And you want to indefinitely jail an unknown number of people, possibly millions, because one or two might refuse to wear their hats?”
“Well… Put like that….”
“And that’s how it will be put ladies, gentlemen, Karl.” Rove winced, he hadn’t been forgiven after all. “We will make it a legal requirement to wear a tinfoil hat and enforce it. But there will be no mass detentions. We did that in 1941 and the stain is with us still. Thank you, we will have another meeting in six hours time when we can get some of the rest of the world in with us. Karl, Dr Surlethe, I wish to speak with you two privately.”
Chapter Sixty
Indian Air Force Jaguar-IS “JM-414” Over the Southern Front, Phlegethon River Bulge
Statistically (as confirmed by the Federal Aviation Administration) 80 percent of cockpit voice flight records recovered after aircraft crashes, end with the words ‘Oh Shit.’ The speaker may have been the pilot or the co-pilot (or, it is rumored, in some cases the aircraft itself although this possibility is denied, derided and generally rejected) but the ultimate words remain the same. So, Flight Lieutenant Aniruddha Mehta’s exclamation when a wyvern came out of nowhere and removed his Jaguar’s entire vertical fin and rudder assembly was entirely in accordance with tradition. It was no consolation when the Wyvern almost thereafter immediately had a terminal encounter with a U.S. Navy F-18E and gone down after taking two hits from AIR-120 rockets and a burst of 20mm cannon fire. The fact was that JM-414 was going into a flat spin and there was nothing Mehta could do about it.
Mehta hadn’t seen anything like the creature before, not outside mythology and fantasy art. It was a huge flying creature two legs, one pair of wings and small steering fins on the lower tail and upper neck. Mehta estimated is size as roughly 12 meters long and its wingspan around 40 meters. It had been fast, it had dived on him in a collision course with an approach speed of around 400 knots. As it had passed it had taken a swing at his aircraft with the great spiked ball on the tip of its tail, a ball covered in strong scales. It had totally wiped out his fin and that had killed JM-414 as surely as a missile hit. He looked downwards, he was over the battle area but whether he was on the baldrick or human side was another matter. On the other hand, he had no real options in the matter, JM-414 was uncontrollable, going into a flat spin and would soon break up. His only choices were to eject or ride the aircraft in. He opted for the former and felt the slam in his back as the ejection rocket blasted him through the disintegrating canopy of his aircraft.
U.S. Navy F/A-18E “Eagle One” Over the Southern Front, Phlegethon River Bulge
The Indian pilot was out of his stricken aircraft, that was one good thing. What would happen on the way down and when he reached the ground was quite another. Lieutenant Commander Michael Wong really didn’t have time to worry about him. The sky was full of flying things, harpies, a wide variety of human aircraft and now these wretched giants that had appeared out of nowhere. They were about the same size as the Greater Heralds he had killed right at the start of the Salvation War and which were now proudly represented by the two great red kill marks under his cockpit.
“Eagle One to Regent. New sighting, big creature, looks a bit like a traditional dragon. One just took out an Indy Jaguar. Pilot’s out, call in CAESAR for a pick-up,”
“Very good Eagle One, for your information, new sighting is a Wyvern. They’re reported to be hitting the ground troops hard. Report status.”
“All AIM-120s gone. Two AIR-120s left, cannon and fuel low. The sky’s full of shit out here. Target rich environment.”
“Well say goodbye to it Eagle Flight. Return to Earth-Yankee base for refuel and rearm. Also for your information, the O-club is open there.”
That was a step in the right direction Wong thought. The tempo of flight operations precluded a beer but even soda would cut through the dust of Hell that seemed to get everywhere. His squadron was lucky, after being detached from Ronaldus Magnus they’d been assigned to one of the satellite air bases that surrounded the Hellmouth. What it must be like for the air crews, mostly A-10 and Su-25 drivers, who were based in Hell was difficult to contemplate.
Wong swerved his aircraft around and took aim at a harpy that was coming dangerously close. He lead it a little bit, squeezed the button and saw one of his remaining AIR-120s streak across the sky towards the bird-like creature. It saw the rocket and tried to evade but it was too late and the harpy vanished in the explosion that was part rocket and part its own body chemistry. “Formate on me Eagle Flight, we’re outta here.”
The navigation beacon was dead ahead, closing fast. “Eagle Flight to Regent, we’re closing on the portal now.”
“We have you Eagle Flight, you’re clear to transit. Hand over to Yankee once you’re though.” That was lucky, the amount of traffic through the portal could mean aircraft stacking up for hours. That was a disturbing thought, the whole human war effort in hell was being funneled through a bottleneck that was 1,800 feet wide and 1,200 feet high. If it closed now, the whole lot would be cut off. Then there was the quiet, undramatic switch from the red murk of Hell to the clear blue skies of Earth. Wong felt the engines surge in power as the filter vanes in the intakes rotated to clear the airflow.
“Yankee control here, Eagle Flight, you’re clear to land. Turn to oh-eight fiver and come straight in on runway 85.” Wong swung the F-18 to the bearing and saw the comforting rectangle of the new concrete strip up ahead. Something the Russian pilots, flying birds with undercarriages that looked like they could handle landing on a plowed field made fun of. Landing was proving an interesting experience, the modern aircraft were OK but the old birds brought out of store, or the boneyards, were a different matter. Pilots used to F-16s and F-18s were having a hard time adapting to the ‘hot and heavy’ characteristics of the old types. Wong wondered how Ronaldus Magnus was getting on with her older aircraft.
The runway was approaching fast now, Wong made minute adjustments to line himself up and cut power back so his aircraft drifted down in to the concrete. A different feeling entirely from the spine-crunching ‘controlled crash’ of a carrier landing. Over on the parking strip, Wong saw that a group of F-4s and A-7s had arrived. Rhinos and SLUFs, this war was getting more like a time machine every day. His F-18 stopped rolling and he added a touch of power to taxi off the runway on to the parking strip.
The debriefing hut was still a temporary structure, little more than a tent. Wong went inside and sighed to himself. One of the other F-18 pilots, a Lieutenant George Witz, was standing over the officer behind an interview desk. One of the problems with the mobilization was that it was calling back the bad as well as the good. Witz was one of the bad, Wong believed that first time around he’d probably resigned rather than be eased out. Now, he was cursing steadily, damning his aircraft, his missiles, the ground control. The AIR-120 was his present target and his denunciation of the unguided rocket was colorful even by fighter pilot standards. Wong sighed and went up to the first vacant desk. The officer behind it smiled at him, she already had his camera gun “film” up on her laptop. There was a lot to be said for digitization.
“Right Mike, we got you down for 14 harpies and a wyvern. Four AIM-120 kills, two gun kills and eight AIR-120
