the sneering pride on his features, the snarl of command on his lips or the lash of rebuke in his eyes.
Haunted.
He looked haunted and humbled yet he was proud now, not a pride borne of Dukedom granted to him in the mists of ancient history but pride in personal knowledge that he had faced the human magic and lived. Pride in that he was still here. He was a Duke of Hell yes, but now he was a survivor. Memnon watched him speak gently to one of the survivors and he heard a brief whisper in his ear.
“Follow him. Follow him till the end of your story.”
Memnon nodded numbly and rose wiping the gore and gristle from his snout. He strode up to the lord and spoke.
“My lord?” When Abigor turned to regard him Memnon knew he had found his leader.
Throne Room, Palace of Satan, Infernal City of Dis
There was, once again, silence in the great Throne Room.
“And what was Yahweh’s message?” Satan’s voice was loaded with contempt.
“He said this. ‘The One Above All has spoken yet he sees vile repugnant defiance from humanity. The Great Chorus must not be disturbed. The Chanting must not cease. Your ilk were given this world and we see nothing but abhorrent failure. We do not want to take a more active role. Uriel awaits on the ether like a sword of Damocles. Last he moved upon man, the Land of Khemet wept bitter tears. Do not force our hand. Cow them. Stop the defiance. Should they find a way to disrupt the Chorus we will end this charade once and for all.’ That and that alone, Majesty.”
The silence in the room deepened. This was unheard-of, the great ones never interfered with the domains of others. When they did, it meant a war. There had been one between Satan and Yahweh already and nobody wanted that experience repeated. Still, Yahweh never interfered in the work of hell, just as Satan never did so with Heaven. Or anywhere else for that matter.
“Despite those ill-chosen words, crushing the humans is a necessity. All our armies are being brought to full strength of 81 legions.” That was almost 550,000 demons in each. “Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Dagon will command three such armies including their own for our renewed assault in Earth.” A gasp went around the room, that meant Satan was committing 729 legions out of the professional Army force of 999 legions, 939 now that Abigor’s Army had been destroyed. They would only have 210 legions left in Hell to train the reservists and conscripts that made up the rest of Hell’s nominal force of 6,666 legions. Almost 5 million demons would be turned loose on Earth. There had never been a military exercise like this, not even in the war with Yahweh.
“Sire, I beg you.” Abigor’s voice was urgent, his mind filled with the picture of what must surely come. “The portal is a death trap even for such a force. There is a ridge that dominates in and humans fight from behind ridges. By now they will have every chariot, every fire-lance, every seeker lance they have aimed at that portal. As our demons funnel through it, they will be destroyed. The death will continue until the portal is blocked by our dead.”
“I know.” Satan’s voice was still calm and oily. “That is why you will take your Army and seize that ridgeline.”
“My Army has been destroyed. Barely 300 are left in condition to fight.”
“Then make up the numbers with your mates and your kidlings. The youngest and the oldest. If they can carry a trident they go. If they cannot, they can go anyway and fight with bare hands. You will leave none of your clan behind. If they can crawl to that ridge, they will go.”
Abigor shook at the sentence. It meant death for him and all of his line, that was clear. He rose to his feet, nodded and left.
“And now, Herald, what shall I do with you?”
“Majesty, I would join Abigor and go with him.”
“So be it.” Memnon turned and left, following Abigor from the throne room.
“Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Dagon. You have many reservists in your ranks. Train them properly before launching your assault. There is no hurry.”
Asmodeus frowned. “But Sire. What about Abigor?”
“Abigor who?”
Chapter Thirty One
Army Training Centre, Cultybraggan, near Stirling, Scotland.
Warrant Officer Class II William Bell watched with some satisfaction as the company he had helped train entered the firing range to practise their musketry skills. The men who made up D Company, 7th (Fife) Battalion The Black Watch, had shown great promises; there had been many bright individuals among them, who were potential Non Commissioned Officers, and also possibly officer material, and all had been keen to learn. That was something of a relief, the problem with any rapid force expansion was finding good NCOs and reasonable competent officers. The British Army had paid badly for that particular problem in the past, Bell hoped that this time around it would be different.
He was also rather pleased that General, sorry Field Marshal Dannatt, as he was now, had decided that as the army was expanding that the recent regimental amalgamations, which had been deeply unpopular in Scotland, would be reversed. Hence The Black Watch, 3rd Battalion The Royal Regiment of Scotland had once again become the 1st Battalion, The Black Watch, and the regiment had regained its independent identity. The alternative, as Dannatt had pointed out, was to have battalions with absurdly high numbers, and anyway the public better identified with the more traditional regimental names. That argument had carried the day and regiments were demerging all over the U.K.. The parades as the merged regiments had formed, then split apart, their colors being cased and replaced by the old traditional standards were a frequent news item on television these days.
Bell himself had served for the full twenty-two years in the 1st Black Watch, retiring as a Company Sergeant- Major. Like all other army pensioners he had been recalled to the colours to help train a new generation of National Servicemen. It was highly doubtful that he would actually go into action with the new battalion once it was operational, but he was certainly fit enough to continue to serve in his current training role, or transfer to the re- established Home Service Force.
As the first platoon began to shoot at the targets, Bell remembered the first month after conscription had been brought in. The army had been totally unprepared, the last time they had to train thousands of new recruits had been 1960, and arguably they had not faced a situation quite like this since the raising of the Kitchener Armies in 1914. There had been not enough uniforms, weapons, equipment, or accommodation, as in 1914-1915 new recruits had to be billeted amongst the civilian population while new hutted accommodation was constructed.
At least now the worst of the shortages were over, everybody now had uniforms and at least most of the normal equipment that an infantryman should expect to have. Moreover the new L1A2 Self Loading Rifle chambered for. 338 Lapua rounds had begun to come off the production lines in some numbers. The first orders had gone to FN-Herstal over in Belgium. Years of being players in the export market had meant they were geared up to switch between calibres quickly. The omnipresence of the 7.62x51 NATO and, later, the 5,56x45 had eroded that capability but enough had remained for them to start producing the new rifles within a week of receiving the orders. Initial priority had gone to regular and Territorial units in the Middle East, which had at least freed up numbers of L85A2 and L86A2s for the National Servicemen to train on, but now the first L1A2s had begun to be issued to conscripts for familiarity training. British production was ramping up as well and once that happened, the re-equipment of the rest of the Army would follow.
Today was the day that the 7th Black Watch would get their first chance to fire the new rifles, having spent the previous week learning how the weapon worked, how it should be cleaned, and what its various features were. Bell himself had examined one of the rifles closely himself and had realised that although it was semi-automatic, just like the old 7.62mm L1A1 SLR the old matchstick/paper clip trick would work on it. However it was debateable whether firing a. 338 rifle on full automatic was a good thing. The old 7.62 NATO had been hard to control on full auto, the. 338 was way out there. Given the muzzle climb, it might be good for shooting down harpies though.
“In your own time, commence firing!” The range officer called out.
‘CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!’
