thought, but there was no need to worry the mates and kidlings with that possibility. Despite all his fears, the ridgeline was approaching fast as he jog-trotted across the desert. For preference, he and his veterans would have been at a full run to cover the ground as fast as possible but they had to measure their pace to the abilities of the weakest members of their group. This attack was a sick joke and Abigor knew it.
Yet it had succeeded. They reached the ridgeline and deployed on it. The mates and kidlings were exhausted by the run across the desert, the veterans were barely fazed by its exertions. Abigor was keeping them relatively closely bunched. He knew it was wrong, that he should be dispersing his people out so they would not be slaughtered in mass by the human mage-magic but that was not his intent. He knew his group could not survive and keeping them bunched would mean a quick death for them all as the humans concentrated their fire on them. He had seen to many demons screaming their last seconds away as they had been torn apart yet still lived. He did not want his kidlings and mates to die that way.
The minutes ticked by, Abigor marvelling that the humans had taken so long to react. He glanced behind him, the forces that were supposed to have followed him out were nowhere to be seen. That, he had expected. He had known from this start that this ‘attack’ was really just a mass execution. Then, overhead, Abigor heard the screaming howl of mage-bolts as they started to descend upon him. It was all over.
Combat Team Alpha. By the Hellmouth, Western Iraq
“Any movement Hooters?”
“All still out there. Nothing happening.” Stevenson’s combat team had drawn the hellmouth watch assignment for the day. She had her platoon of Bradleys in the center, holding a ridgeline while her two platoons of Abrams tanks were spread out to either side. If the baldricks emerged, they’d fight in the best traditions of the U.S. Army, they’d protect their artillery observer while he called down unimaginable firepower upon their enemies. “Wait one, there’s movement. Here they come again.”
Down in the desert, figures were emerging from the hellmouth. They were a disorganized stream, undisciplined, nothing like the neat formations that had emerged before. They were spread out in the desert, running straight at the dug-in Bradleys but to Stevenson’s already experienced eye, this wasn’t an attack. Anyway, was that all of them?
“Alpha-actual to Domino. We have hellmouth activity. Baldricks emerging, number estimated at..” Stevenson did a quick count, there were around 400 at most. “Four hundred, say again four-zero-zero. Heading for our position.”
“Four hundred? Are you sure of that?”
“Sure am. Four hundred, no follow up force. There’s something very wrong about this.” She thought for a second and looked through the high-powered optics on her tank. She blinked and looked again. “Sir, this force is a joke. There are some regulars down there but there are some small ones that can hardly lift their weapons. Others don’t have any at all.” She looked again, at the way the formation was breaking up as it crossed rough ground. For the first time she appreciated the amount of training the earlier formations had shown. Their lines had never wavered, never broken no matter how rough the ground or intense the fire brought down in them. This mob were not even in the same class. “Sir, these baldricks aren’t soldiers, most of them aren’t. They look more like civilians.”
“Understood.” There was a pause. “Deny contact, ring them off, don’t let them go anywhere but hold your fire until ordered otherwise. Give them at least 1500 meters clearance”
“Very good Sir.” Stevenson broke contact and changed to her command frequency. “Third platoon fall back, let them have the ridgeline, we don’t need it. First and second, move up to flanking positions. Hold fire.”
There was a cloud of dust and black smoke as the Bradleys backed off their ridgeline and headed for the one about 2,000 meters to the rear. They were already in position when the baldricks ran up on to the ridge and started to deploy into a defensive perimeter. A tight one, Stevenson thought, perfect for artillery. Didn’t baldricks ever learn?
“Report.” The single word came over her radio.
Stevenson looked carefully. “We’re in position. Sir the enemy force is at least 50 percent civilian. There are small ones running around, I think they’re playing, it looks like their children of some kind. And others are behaving like their mothers.” She flipped her optics up to full power. “Well what do you know, our big friend the football player is up there.”
“Very good. Hold positions, do not open fire. This is going right up the chain.”
Stevenson relaxed in her seat, watching the baldricks. There were some real soldiers across there, they were watchful, their tridents at the ready. But the rest? No way were they soldiers. Women and children was Stevenson’s guess. Hokay, I guess now is when we find out what sort of people we really are she thought to herself. The minutes ticked by until almost an hour had passed.
“Alpha-Actual. This is Command-One.”
Whoa, that meant General Petraeus himself. “Alpha Actual Sir.”
“Get ready, there’s artillery fire coming in. IP between you and the baldricks. Safe distance from both but its tight. FYI, we’re going to try and get this lot to surrender. As soon as the shells have landed, expose your vehicles but do not, I repeat do not, open fire. One shot from you without orders, Captain, and you’ll be burning shit for the rest of your career.”
“Understood Sir. Expose but do not fire.”
Overhead there was a howl of descending 155mm shells from a Paladin battery. The salvo was beautifully placed, one shot to each side of the baldrick group, two in front of it, two behind. A perfect hexagon that was just, only just, far enough out to be safe. “All Alpha Vehicles, move up onto the ridge crest. Do not under any circumstances fire. Repeat, do not under any circumstances open fire. Require verbal repeat and acknowledgement of that order from each vehicle.” She listened as the acknowledgements came in. Then, her Abrams lurched as she moved up to the crest of the ridge.
On The Ridgeline, Hellmouth, Western Iraq
Abigor’s skin crawled as he expected the lash of mage-fire and iron fragments but the desert erupted in a neat hexagon around his unit, the bursts harmless. Oh, they buffeted and shook the ground but there were no screaming, disembowelled demons on the ground to show they had landed. Then, all around him, Iron Chariots appeared. In front, to either side, behind him. The humans really did love surrounding their enemies so that none could escape when the killing started. But the Chariots remained silent. No fire lances, no seeker lances, the chariots just sat there and watched him. The silence was eerie after the crash of the mage-bursts. The kidlings had stopped their games, the mates their weeping, everybody was just waiting. It dawned on Abigor they were waiting for him. Everybody, demon and human were waiting for him.
If they were waiting for him to start fighting, what happened if he did not? Why had the humans given him a chance denied to him by Satan? What would happen if he took that chance? It couldn’t be any worse than what would happen if he didn’t. Abigor made his decision and stood up, throwing his trident away. Then, he raised his hands to show he was unarmed. “All of you, throw down your arms. Stand up and raise your hands like mine. So that the humans can see we are unarmed.”
Across the desert, the Iron Chariots kicked up a cloud of dust and started to move in.
Combat Team Alpha. By the Hellmouth, Western Iraq
“Sir, they’re surrendering. They’ve thrown down their arms and are standing up. They’ve raised their hands, all of them.”
“Captain Stevenson, move in, carefully. This may be a trick but if it isn’t we have a priceless opportunity here. Do not fire, even if fired upon.”
That means I’m the sacrificial goat. Stevenson thought. She gave the order and her command started rolling closer to the group on the hill crest. They were motionless as her tanks and armored infantry vehicles closed in. When they were less than fifty meters away, the big one, the one Stevenson thought of as the football player, dropped to the ground and sprawled out on the sand. She checked her intercom, making sure it was set so only her crew could hear her. “Reminds me of one of my ex-boyfriends guys. I wonder if he wants me to trample him too?”
There was a suppressed series of snorts from her crew. She stopped the vehicle and got out, climbing down the outside of the turret and on to the ground.
“I am Captain Keisha Stevenson, United States Army. I am authorized to accept your surrender.”
“I am Great Duke Abigor. I am, or was, commander of sixty legions. I offer you my surrender and fealty.”
