below and will do us a lot of good up here. Not least of which, it’ll stop Yahweh taking over the war and hitting Earth in a full-scale invasion.
“Like the one Hell launched?” Artie Shaw asked the question with a degree of relish.
“Just like the one Hell launched. And the carnage will be dreadful, for both humans and us. That’s what I’m trying to avoid. When the humans get here, and they will, they’ll tear this place apart. You have the humans up here to worry about, I have the angelic host to look after. Believe me, rescuing Uriel-Lan is the best of some very bad alternatives.”
The musicians looked at each other again and nodded. “Very well Michael, we’ll get rehearsing.”
Michael-Lan heard the instruments tuning up behind him and the first tentative notes of “Black Velvet” echoing out of the improvised rehearsal chamber. He walked through the corridor down to the main body of the club and stopped for a second to check the buffet was up to standard. Then he glanced around the room and picked out the next people he wanted to see.
“Perpetiel-Lan-Paschar, glad you could make it here. How goes the special task I have assigned you?” Michael picked up one of the chairs, spun it around and sat on it.
“Very well, we made contact with the subject. He’s calling himself Samandiriel-Lan-Michael by the way. We took him to an adoration session yesterday evening, three hours of chanting praises to Yah-Yah.”
Michael winced, that was dedication to duty. “And he was happy?”
“Of course, he went away feeling very righteous. We’re having him back for a six-hour session in a couple of days. Once we’ve got him on that, he’ll be ready for movement to the next stage. We’ve gota plan to handle that.”
“Good, you and your team deserve a round on the house for that. Remember, he’s got to find out enough to keep him interested and if by chance, he should become a convert…. “
“We’ll talk to you about it before doing anything.”
“Excellent.” Michael-Lan stood up and left his nightclub. Things really were going splendidly.
417th Flight Test Squadron, Edwards Air Force Base, California
“And where do you think you’re going Mikey?” Colonel Samuel Allansen stood behind his co-pilot who was stuffing possessions into a travel bag.
“Oh, hello Sammy. I got transfer orders, with the ABL program axed, I’ve been assigned to the 40th Bombardment Group for conversion to B-1Cs. Sorry, I thought you knew.”
“I did, you didn’t.” Allansen was grinning all over his face at the confusion on Mickey Jennings’ face.
“Sorry?”
“The ABL program is on again, funding was restored by executive order last night. Your transfer has been countermanded, you’ll be staying with the 417th. In fact, we should be getting two new birds as soon as they can be assembled. One of them will be yours.”
“Hey that’s great.” Jennings paused. “What is going on?”
“Uriel.”
“I thought he was down somewhere in Southern California?”
“He is. And the Volunteers are closing in on him. But if he gets out or if Heaven turns out to have more like him, then it’ll be the job of the 417th to hunt him, or them down, and kill him. The Big Brass think our laser will be just the job to slice and dice him.”
“So the whole program will go splat again as soon as Uriel’s dead or there aren’t any more of him?” Unspoken was Jennings’ thought that he’d prefer being in a bomber.
“Not from what I hear.” Allansen looked around and dropped his voice. “From what the wind says, the really big brass at Yamantau have decided that these so-called gods are more trouble than they’re worth. After we’ve dealt with Yahweh, we’re going hunting for the rest of them. If they want to live peacefully with us, fine. If they want to throw their weight around….” Allansen pointed at the laser in the nose of the YAL-1A.
“It’ll be slice and dice time – again.”
Chapter Twenty Nine
Yangon, Myanmar
This was, on consideration, more impressive that the entry of allied forces into Paris in 1944. The liberation of Paris and that of Yangon sixty five years later had many things in similar/ They included the population surging around the tanks and armored personnel carriers, slowing their progress to a crawl while they wound flowers around the gun barrels. The local girls hugging and kissing the soldiers, then riding on the tanks as they made their slow, stately progress down the road. Other occupants of the liberated city throwing gifts to the troops. All those things were shared by the liberation of Paris and Yangon. Only, the liberation of Paris had not had elephants. The liberation of Yangon did. Four of the great beasts were leading the column of armored vehicles down the long road that ended up at the great Schwedagon Pagoda. Already the spire of the temple was jutting into the sky in front of them.
That reminded Senior Colonel Mahindra of another sight that the liberators of Paris would have found remarkable. Down each side of his regimental column were arrayed ranks of saffron-robed Buddhist monks, their alms bowls turned triumphantly right side up. Most of them had emerged from the safe houses where they had been in hiding since the failed Saffron Revolution two years before to walk beside the tanks, giving the M-41s the aura of a divine crusade. The few monks that hadn’t been forced into hiding had made their rounds with their alms bowls turned face-down, implying that the favor of the gods had been withdrawn from the country. Now, they too had their bowls turned right side up.
“Any trouble?” The radio crackled with static but the contralto voice was unmistakeable.
“No ma’am. We came out of the portal at Mingaladon Airport, formed up and drove straight in. No trouble at all, except the number of flowers on my tank are giving me hay fever.”
There was a snort of laughter on the other end of the radio. “If that’s your only problem, I’ll have to try and find you some more. That might be difficult.”
“No problems here ma’am. The only fighting going on is the local population hunting down the white-shirts.” The white-shirts were the members of the USDA, the Union Solidarity and Development Association whose uniform was a white shirt and green pants. They’d been named the white-shirts in deliberate reference to Hitlers brown- shirted SA and fulfilled much the same function. Street thugs whose sole role was to beat down any opposition. They’d done that with enthusiasm but now the boot was on the other foot and those that could run were doing so. A lot hadn’t made it, the mobs after their blood had cornered and killed them. The lucky ones had been lynched, the less fortunate had died bloodier deaths. All too often with their families beside them. Payback was a bitch.
“What are your people doing about that? Other than collecting garlands of flowers.”
“I have my armored cars patrolling the cities, if they see any fighting, they break it up and take the USDA people into custody. We’re holding them at the Inwa Hall, temporarily at least. We could use some help there, my people aren’t policemen.”
“I’ll get some White Mice down to you as soon as I have some available. Until then, do the best you can. And take care Colonel, we’re lucky we didn’t have to fight our way into the city but things can still go sour. Also, be advised Third of First is crossing the Aung Zaya Bridge, that’ll put them behind you covering your rear. First of First is crossing over from Syriam, that puts them on the other side of the Nga Moe Yake river. There shouldn’t be conflict but be aware of blue-on-blue.”
“Yes Ma’am.” Mahindra thought for a moment. “May I ask, where do we go from here?”
“North towards Naypyidaw of course. But we need to regroup and re-organize before pushing into Northern Myanmar. We’re all over the place at the moment.” There was a brief pause. “There’s no serious opposition anywhere, we’re just rolling through. The Myanmar Army is collapsing like a house of cards. Be advised, the invasion force they sent into our territory has surrendered to the Ninth Infantry. For all that, don’t drop your guard and don’t let your people do that. I’ll have more movement orders for you in 36 hours. Until then, make sure Yangon is secured.”
Command Complex, Naypyidaw, Myanmar
“We need help, we need it now. This war was Michael’s idea.” Senior General Than Shwe was furious. He might
