slain, saying the dead got what they deserved and so on. Anyway, the local population went berserk and lynched them. I mean really lynched. Phlops’s body was lashed behind a pick-up truck and dragged around city limits as a lesson to anybody else who might have the same idea in mind.”
“I sincerely hope the people responsible have been punished.”
“Of course, Phlop’s body started to come apart on the second circuit of the city limits. So the police pulled the truck in and charged the driver with dumping toxic waste. No other charges, nobody saw anything or could identify anybody. Oh yes, somebody tipped off a group of deceased troopers in Hell and they were waiting for Phlops when he turned up there. I understand the attitude adjustment was emphatic. But, Mister President, there are a whole load of issues that come out of this. What about capital punishment for example? Pretty much all the logical base behind many of our legal decisions has been swept away and we need to address that.”
The members of the Cabinet nodded thoughtfully. It wasn’t just criminal law that was being affected, the whole legal concept of death was being re-evaluated. Already the health services were beginning to ask how knowledge of Hell should affect the decisions they had to make. Did it really make sense to keep a dying person alive but in a vegetative state when all that was doing was delaying their transfer to a healthy life in an increasingly-comfortable Hell dimension? The philosophers were agonizing over these and many more related questions.
“Let us leave legal matters to the Supreme Court.” Obama spoke decisively. “Let them interpret existing law first before we start making new ones. That’s what they get paid for.”
Training Camp, 1st Mechanized Infantry Battalion (Demonic), Dis, Hell, May 2009
“Spread out, don’t bunch up. Stay grouped together like that and a single inbound artillery round will take you all out at once.”
The Baldricks forming the skirmish line stretched out on either side of their armored personnel carrier obediently shuffled further out, spreading their line as the gaps between them opened. For warriors who had spent millennia training to fight with their shoulders actually touching those on either side of them, it was an aching readjustment. The problems weren’t helped by the fact that all these Baldricks were veterans, some of the few survivors of Abigor’s and Beelzebub’s armies that were fit for military service.
Standing behind them, Sergeant Gray Anderson shook his head sadly. It was much easier training new recruits, they didn’t know anything. These Baldrick veterans were full of bad habits that they had to lose if they wanted to live on a modern battlefield. The shuffling stopped, Anderson sighed to himself, and repeated his instructions. “Spread out! Right out. At least twice as far as you are doing at the moment. Otherwise, you will all die.”
That was a grim comment, the whole psychology of the Baldricks had changed since they had come under the lash of human artillery fire. As far as anybody could tell, they were more or less immortal unless somebody (or something) killed them. As a result, they hadn’t really feared death before but now, after seeing nine of every ten men in their units dying, the fact and fear of death was ingrained in their minds.
“All right, now, look to your front. The targets are set up at the two hundred yard mark. Two hundred yards is as far as you’re likely to see the enemies you are shooting at. Beyond that range, we use area fire and suppressive fire. Load one round, take your time, aim at your target and fire.”
Taloned hands drew a. 940 inch nitro-express round from their ammunition pouches. A quick pressure on the lever under the Martini-Henry rifle and the breech block dropped down. A quick pressure and the round was slid into the chamber, then the lever was lifted to seal the breech. The Martini-Henry was an old design, dating from a hundred and fifty years earlier, but it was uniquely suited to this application. It was immensely strong and could take the very powerful. 940 cartridge that exploited the Baldrick’s strength and size. The designers had corrected all the problems with the old version and had produced a weapon that was powerful, reliable and accurate. It was also single-shot so the automatic weapons carried by the humans still had the edge. Anyway, the human troops had artillery.
Each Baldrick in the line had lifted his hand, indicating his weapon was ready. “All right, in your own time, aim and fire.”
Even through Anderson’s ear protectors, the crash of the rifles was painful. The Baldricks didn’t seem to notice and their big bodies absorbed the brutal recoil without problems. That was one of the things that had made Anderson uneasy, at six foot five, he was a big man and he wasn’t used to looking up at people who towered over him. He lifted his binoculars and looked carefully at the targets. Of the nine Baldricks in the unit, eight had put their shots inside the six-ring, one had even put his in the black. A big, really big, improvement. One shot seemed to have missed the target completely.
“Hunkhalaphinarexes! You closed your eyes again!” A groan went along the line of Baldricks, unit cohesion was building up and the failure of this one Baldrick was taken by them all as a reflection on their own ability. “Try again. Load up.” Anderson walked over to him and squatted on the ground. “You must keep your eyes open when you fire. Otherwise you’ll wander off-target. Now try again.”
The Baldricks watching were keenly aware that, in the old days, a recruit who fouled up this badly when firing his trident would have suffered a gruesome few days of imaginatively brutal torture. Hunkhalaphinarexes took a deep breath, forced himself to freeze his eyes open, and squeezed the trigger in the approved manner. The shot ripped a hole in the target, three o’clock in the eight-ring.
“Not bad at all Hunky, not bad. We’ll make a soldier of you yet. All right, fire ten round at your target, in your own time. Try and get a good, tight group. Remember, doing things right is what we want, doing it fast comes later.”
Anderson walked over to the unit’s carrier and climbed in the back. It was a highly modified version of the old M-113 with an extra roadwheel each side and new hull that had an open crew compartment in the back. Crew of nine, commander, driver and gunner with six dismount infantry. The gunner had a. 50 caliber machine gun mounted on the forward edge of the fighting compartment. The forward compartment had space for the driver and commander, the latter having a radio. Anderson picked the speaker up and patched through to his platoon command.
“One-Delta-Alpha Actual here. We’re finishing up on the range now. We’re coming back in about thirty minutes. The boys will need feeding.”
“Copy that Alpha-Actual, we’ll butcher a food-beast for them. How are they doing?”
“As well as can be expected. For recruits with so much to unlearn.” Anderson sighed gently, it was only a few months before he’d been in a nursing home, remembering his years of military service while marking time, waiting to die. Then, there had been the day he hadn’t woken up in his room but in the recovery ward on the Phelan Plain and the interview with the placement officers who had been waiting for him. One mention of the fact he’d spent thirty years training recruits for Her Majesty’s Army and he’d been found this job. The odd thing was, he was rather enjoying it and the memories of his life on Earth were becoming remote. Not fading, if he made the effort they were as clear as they had ever been, but he just didn’t think of them so much. His life was here now. “Hey Mitch, do me a favor, pick out a good-looking food-beast for my boys right, they’ve worked hard today.”
Chapter Twelve
Outside CBS Studios, New York, NY, May 2009
“I see your show got renewed.” Colonel Paschal looked around the inside of the stretched Hummer limousine. It wasn’t often that one saw limousines like this anymore, not with gas and diesel fuel being rationed the way it was. But, he guessed, his companion was a television star so the studio had certainly made some special arrangements somehow. Anyway, she needed a larger-than-normal vehicle.
“I was not surprised, given my audience ratings over the first run.” Lugasharmanaska settled back in her seat and poured herself a goblet of champagne from the bar in the rear of her Hummer. Paschal caught her yellow eyes looking sideways at him and guessed that she was already trying to work out what he wanted with her and to turn it to her own advantage. He also wondered if the CBS management had been fully aware of how effective her pheromones could be in a confined space. DIMO(N) was still failing to find a counter to their effect, the best that could be done was for anybody dealing with a succubus to be fully aware of the dangers and be on their guard. It didn’t always work.
Still, it might be that he was being unkind to her, ‘Tonight With Luga’ was the country’s top-rated evening chat show. Most of the country remembered fondly how she had boxed Bernie Madoff into a corner and he’d tried to bluff
