“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.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, lover.” The same voice said.
“Err…can we land somewhere soon, Boss.” The Tactical navigator said, chocking back laughter. “I think I need to visit the bog.”
“I’m not landing so you can knock one out, Flight Lieutenant Pervert.” Winter replied laughing.
Once the tanks were filled up again Winters dropped back and took station off the Victor’s port wing.
“Thanks for the top up, Stu. I think we’re going to need it, over.”
“You’re welcome, Martin. Good luck, I would say ‘see you in Hell’, but I think that would be inappropriate, over.”
“See you when we come back out.”
