of static and Czernik thought she could hear the drone of the relay aircraft’s piston engines. “Electric Strike Leader, we have word from Detroit. Sky volcano has vanished, the lava has ceased to fall and the portal has closed. Mission confirmed as successful. Rivet Crown out.”
Czernik relaxed in her seat, as much as was possible in the poopy-suit she was wearing. That was one thing the air force still had to sort out, a decent means of in-flight relief for female crew members. And it was still a long way to go back home.
B-1B “Dragon Slayer” 128th Bomb Squadron, Georgia Air National Guard, Over Tartarus
“The sky volcanoes are down!” Rivet Crown just confirms shut-off.” Trafford relayed the message to the crews and heard the explosion of cheering in the four aircraft. “Now let’s get that bastard Belial.”
Even if this part of the strike was a failure, the mission would still count as a success. The volcanoes had to come first, partly so the bombing conditions for the two Foxhound-Electric aircraft would be perfect but also, as the old proverb insisted, business had to come before pleasure. So, taking out Belial and his fortress had to wait for second place. But, the main formation’s time had come and the four B-1s dropped into the appropriate formation.
“Bomb-nav system on, target designated, approach height 45,000 feet, speed 522 knots. Intervalometer on. All Foxhound aircraft synchronize now.” The master bombing system on Dragon Slayer sent out an electronic bleep that aligned all four bomb-nav systems on the aircraft to within a thousandth of a second. Ahead of them was the great square that Abigor had described as “The Adamantine Fortress” and carefully drawn for them. The special forces team that was on the ground below had photographed the installation as well and those illustrations had made up the target pack. Now, the bombers had a radar image of the target and the set was complete.
A mix of BLU-116 Advanced Unitary Penetrator bombs and Mark 83 conventional bombs were stowed within the cavernous forward bomb bay of the B-1s. Trafford had wondered why the BLU-116s were being used rather than the Massive Ordnance Penetrators that had made such a spectacular ruin of Satan’s palace but it had been explained that there were mines underneath the Adamantine Fortress and there were human slaves in those mines. It was, therefore, desirable to destroy the fortress without too high a probability of caving in the mines underneath. The BLU-116 fulfilled that role perfectly. The Mark 83s had been substituted for anti-personnel cluster bombs at the last minute, supplies of the cluster bombs were running very low and they were being saved for even more pressing targets. With the assault on Dis just days away, Trafford could see why.
He felt the snap as the bomb bay doors opened and the vibration as the aircraft’s bomb load started to pour out of its forward bay. That would give the aircraft a C-of-G problem until the fuel in the tank occupying the aft bomb bay had been consumed. But, that extra fuel tank gave them a margin of safety in the event of problems with the intricate chain of tankers that were supposed to get the bombers home. Beneath him, Trafford saw the target area disappearing under a rolling cloud of explosions. Mission accomplished.
South of the Adamantine Fortress, Hell
“Will you look at that!” Tucker McElroy whooped and smacked the nearest member of his team soundly on the back as the fortress they were observing disintegrated into a rolling cloud of brilliant orange and black explosions, punctuated by the roar of the blasts and brilliant flashes of light as the structure of the building shattered under the hammering of the bombs. The whole of his team were dancing with delight as the ground shook under their feet and the air around them roiled from the devastating destruction that was being meted out. Through the blasts, McElroy could see the whole structure collapsing into a pile of formless wreckage. Revenge was definitely an under-rated pastime he reflected.
Beside him Memnon watched the bombing with awe, he’d heard claims that Satan’s palace had been destroyed but he had dismissed them as exaggerations and propaganda. Now, with Belial’s palace crumbling before his eyes he forced himself to remember that where destruction was concerned, nothing was beyond the abilities of the humans. Nothing in hell anyway.
“That’s show the bastard to pour lava on our cities.” McElroy was still whooping with delight. “And once we’ve finished with this place, we’ve got a few other scores to settle as well.”
“With Yahweh?” Memnon was curious. “You humans plan to deal with him as well.”
“Of course.” McElroy paused. “We’ve already got one of his minions. Some bastard called Appollyon or something. One of our tank-heads blew him away in Iraq. The shit-head had slaughtered an entire family and sat there drinking tea surrounded by the bodies. Until an Abrams turned up and blasted him. He died, just like the ones down here.”
Memnon remembered the incident and thought about correcting McElroy’s version of events but decided it probably wouldn’t be a good idea. Anyway, if the mistake meant the humans were going after Yahweh as well, who was he to argue? Yahweh had always been a great one for saying nothing happened without a reason, so he couldn’t complain about this could he? Besides, only two beings, Apollyon and Memnon, knew what had really happened that night and Apollyon wasn’t talking. That made Memnon think back on the creature he had been then and compared it with his present status. The thought made him uneasy, these people had taken him in, cared for him, cured his wounds, respected him for his abilities and applauded his efforts. Compared with the savagery of the demons and the arrogant, supercilious cruelty of the angels, weren’t they the examples to be upheld and emulated?
“Beware, for the angels have powers and abilities all of their own.” Memnon spoke slowly. “We beat them in the Great Celestial War only by great efforts and much sacrifice. You will not find them as easy to beat as the enemy here. I know some, Abigor knows more. What we know we will tell you but I warn you there are many more weapons that the angels can deploy against us than we know.” Memnon looked again at the crumbing ruin of Belial’s fortress then frowned. He focused his vision to great distances and saw the columns heading north. “And I fear Belial anticipated your raid. He had evacuated the Adamantine Fortress and headed north. Why I cannot tell you.”
Cabinet Conference Room, The White House, Washington D.C.
The conference room was bitterly cold, primarily because the air conditioning had been turned up to its maximum setting. Demons liked warmth and President George Bush saw no reason why their visitor should be comfortable. Also, the air purification system was running full blast and the air current out through the vents in the floor were enough to rustle papers.
“This is crunch time Lugasharmanaska.”
“Crunch time Sir?”
“Time to make a choice. You’ve been playing both ends against the middle ever since you surrendered to us. We knew it of course and it suited us to let it continue. Now, it doesn’t. You’re going to have to pick sides. You’re either with us or with Deumos. That means with us or against us. Which? Make up your mind.” Bush sat in his seat with a gentle smile on his face. One he usually reserved for people he was allowing to hang themselves.
Lugasharmanaska stared back. She’d long accepted that her miasma no longer worked but the blunt statement shocked her. Succubae weren’t used to be given ultimatums. She tried to buy time, to think this through. “My choices Sir?”
“You can stay here with us, work with us without reservations, or go back with Deumos. Take your pick.”
The succubus weighed options briefly. “I will work with you Sir. My place is here now.” It hadn’t taken much, when Deumos had contacted her, asking to arrange this meeting Lugasharmanaska had quickly probed her mind, as much as she was able, and detected a tinge of anticipation that did not bode well for her. She had a strong suspicion that despite her efforts, Deumos did not look well upon her and had a gruesome revenge in mind. The humans were a safer bet, much safer.
“Good. Welcome to the team. You may leave now.” Lugasharmanaska left with her guards. She may have joined the team but Bush intended to take no chances. “Show Deumos in.”
The Queen of the Succubae or whatever she chose to call herself, was big, Bush reflected. The creature was walking crouched and bent-over and was still finding it hard to fit into the confined spaces of the White House. Even when she sat on the floor by the table, her horns still nearly touched the roof. Bush had no doubt that the gas chromatographs measuring pheromone levels in the room were going off the chart.
“You are Deumos.” That was a nice, stupid way to start the conversation Bush thought, years in politics and winning elections had proved to him that being underestimated was a valuable attribute. “To what do we owe the honor of this visit?”
“There may soon be some changes in the power structure of Hell. I wish to discuss a way of ending this war with you.” Deumos’s voice was a deep, grinding rasp that she probably thought was seductive.
