Armageddon?? (13 page)

Well,
what was happening now wasn’t fair either. The screen showed the disposition
and order of battle of the Hellish forces in great detail. The Predators and
Global Hawks were doing sterling work, tracking every move the baldricks made.
Zoom down far enough and the display could show how and where individual
baldricks were deploying and spending their time. It was painfully obvious that
the baldricks had no such capability. They were charging head-first into a
trap, unwavering, unconcerned with what the humans were doing. Petraeus was
doing his best to help them, his aircraft had been carefully hitting the
command structure of the enemy forces, slowly but surely breaking up their
ability to adapt to changing circumstances.

It
was far worse even than that. The baldricks were moving slowly, as a
professional, Petraeus recognized them for what they were, an infantry army
that moved like one. Slowly, ponderously. They had their cavalry out as screens
of course but it was a myth that cavalry forces could move much faster than leg
infantry, they could in a tactical sense but the difference strategically was
marginal at best. The harpies had been more of a worry, there had been an
effort to use them as an advance guard but they’d been shot out of the sky by
the F-16s based at Kirkuk and Incirlik. The small detachments, usually three at
a time hadn’t stood a chance against the fast jets and after a while, their
commander had stopped sending them out.

In
contrast, the Allied forces were mobile almost to the point of insanity. They
could slash at an enemy formation, disengage, regroup and slash again while
their enemy was still wondering what to do about the first attack. Petraeus had
moved the whole of his First Armored Division against the northern flanking
force. Petraeus grimaced, the northern force was identical to that bearing down
on the British Brigade but the British formation was the weakest of all of his
combat groups. It was a calculated risk, nobody could be strong everywhere and
the British position was the easiest to defend in depth. If the baldricks broke
through there, Petraeus had two brigades of the Fourth Infantry Division north
of the battle area and the 82nd Airborne in Kuwait ready to pinch off the
breakthrough.

In
the center, Petraeus had positioned his 25th Mechanized Infantry Division, the
10th Mountain Division and the 15th Marine Expeditionary Brigade. They were his
stop line, intended to hold the main body of the baldrick force. Only, Petraeus
didn’t intend to stop them If the baldrick commander had anything like the
command capabilities at Petraeus’s disposal he could have seen what the
American General actually had in mind. The main body of the baldrick force
would indeed be pinned on the American Corps in front of Baghdad but while they
threshed there, the allied northern and southern forces would be closing in on
their flanks and rear. By the time they realized what was happening, the racing
tanks of the First Armored would be between them and the hellmouth. It had all
the makings of a military catastrophe.

Petraeus
knew that if he pulled this off, it would go down as one of the greatest
envelopments of all time, comparable with those the Germans had pulled off at
the start of their war with Russia. That was one of the things that made
Petraeus uneasy, for all the scale of those early victories, the Germans had
lost the war with Russia and most skilled strategists knew that they had never
really had a chance of doing otherwise. What was facing the baldricks was an
unparalleled military disaster yet Petraeus knew in his heart that this was
just the opening move. He had no idea of the military resources hell could
throw at Earth and until he had a handle on that data, he was fighting blind.
All he could do was make sure the casualty rate was as lopsided as possible.

“Sir.
Message just in. The Iranian Shamshar Division is arriving and taking up
position to the south of the British. They’ll be in defensive position by dawn.
General Zolfaghari has ceded operational command of the defense to Brigadier
Carlson as officer-in-position.”

“Thank
you Charles. Send my compliments to the General and my appreciation of an
advance to contact well-executed.” There was more to that message than met the
eye and the recipient would know it. Ceding overall command to an officer of
lesser rank had been a magnanimous gesture, one that spoke volumes about the
character of the Iranian general. Privately, Petraeus promised himself that he
would see Zolfaghari received full credit for his part in this operation. Then
his mind went back to the battle that was about to unfold. What could go wrong?
What hadn’t he foreseen? What were his options when everything dropped in the
pot?

He
looked again at the huge display on the wall. Four new symbols had just
appeared, the Iranian regiments covering the southern flank of the British
brigade. Everything was set up, the pieces were in position. Behind the allied
lines, the truck convoys with their supplies of ammunition and fuel were
waiting to support the lunge forward. With them were his reserves, Stryker
brigades, more mechanized infantry. Again Petraeus reflected on just how unfair
this battle was going to be. A human general would have known how and where the
great ambush would be mounted, to a human, brought up on armored warfare and
battles of maneuver, the Iraqi road network made the positions and deployments
entirely predictable. The baldricks painfully obviously had no concept of those
matters. Truly, this was a bronze age Army fighting a force from the 21st
Century. That didn’t change the fact that this was a – literally – hellishly
big bronze age army.

“I’m
going outside for a few minutes. Get some fresh air.” Petraeus spoke to his
deputy, settled his aluminum-lined baseball cap on his head and left the
command center, his bodyguards following. Outside, it was still night, the
stars shining brightly down. In front of the command building sat four of the
hulking M1A2 Abrams tanks, silent shadows in the darkness. Petraeus walked over
to them, absent-mindedly returning the salutes from their crews as he racked
his brain trying to think of outcomes and eventualities that might have missed
his attention. It was no good, as far as he could see, he’d done all he could,
it was time to rest and let the battle unfold.

Then
he patted the massive sloping armor of the nearest tank. “Well, honey-bunny.
It’s all down to you and yours now.”

Headquarters,
Army of Abigor, Western Iraq.

Abigor
stood over the wooden table, looking down at the parchment scroll that was
pinned to it. It was a map of the area, with thick lines drawn on it,
representing his forces as they fanned out across the countryside. His plan was
simple, three thrusts, each aimed at a major population center. The city called
Kirkuk in the north, Baghdad in the center, Basrah to the south. His mounted
troops would brush any enemy opposition out of the way and leave the cities
isolated. Then, his infantry would besiege them, cut off their supplies and
starve the defenders. When the cities collapsed, they would storm the walls and
ravage the inhabitants amid scenes of horror that would panic the remaining
humans. They would stream away from his advance amid utter terror and he would
slaughter them while they did so. Humanity would die screaming for its
defiance. As it should.

Where
to go next? Once the fertile crescent of the Tigris-Euphrates had been cleared,
what to do? Keep heading east into Persia or head west towards Jerusalem?
Ravaging the area the humans called “The Holy Land” would be satisfying and it
would give Satan an opportunity to goad Yahweh over the fate of his “Chosen
People”. That made Abigor grin, how could the humans have believed Yahweh for
so long? Accepting every bit of good fortune that came there way as one of his
gifts, dismissing every disaster as a test or trial. Abigor couldn’t help but
think that humans must be terminally deluded. Perhaps that was why they were
resisting now? They were hoping their Yahweh would change his mind and come to
aid them? They were in for a disappointment if they were, it simply wasn’t
happening.

Abigor
tapped the parchment with a claw, thoughts irritating the outer edges of his
mind. Just why did his commanders keep exploding? Obviously the humans had
something to do with it, putting things together it had become obvious that the
commanders exploded when the human’s flying chariots were around. Yet how? The
chariots flew so high up they could hardly be seen. Sometimes the only clue
they were there was the great white streak they left across the sky. How could
they hit so precisely from so high? It was impossible. Abigor’s customary scowl
deepened. Perhaps it wasn’t the humans after all. Promotion by assassinating one’s
superiors was a well-known tactic in hell, smiles upon as long as it was
successful. A commander who couldn’t even protect himself was unfit to be in a
position of authority. And yet, and yet…. Some commanders had noted another
pattern, it was always the leaders who rode ahead of their command, their
banners flying proudly that died. Some had started to hide themselves in their
units, keeping their banners furled and marching on foot like the rest. It
showed lack of pride and hurt the morale of the units but those commanders
lived.

Problems,
more problems. The truth was that Abigor wasn’t quite sure where his units were
or how much resistance they were facing. The distance he and his kind could
read minds was limited to line-of-sight and with so many dead commanders lost
from his ranks, communications were spotty at best. He’d tried sending out
small groups of the flying demons to get information on the positions of his
units but the human flying chariots had killed them. Those flying chariots were
a nuisance, they’d made the demonic fliers too vulnerable to use except in
large groups. Just how did humans get them to fly so high or move so fast? Some
of them were so quick they arrived before their noise could be heard.

Abigor
stretched and walked outside his tent, his clawed feet clicking on the stones
in the sand. Above him, the stars shone brightly, their light apparently
amplified by the clear, dry desert skies. That was a unique thing about this
dimension, Abigor’s home had no stars, no planets, not like these. It was a
place that existed in and of itself, self-contained and alone. Heaven was the
same, another self-contained, isolated entity that was complete within itself.
Bubbles in a formless void.

Idly,
Abigor wondered what would happen to this planet once the humans on it had been
harvested. It would make a nice private retreat for his personal use, would
Satan allow him to keep it? He had conquered it after all. In his heart, he
knew that would not be the case, Satan wouldn’t allow any of this realm to
establish a presence outside it for to do so would be to give them the chance
of establishing a power base independent of his reign. This planet would be
abandoned, left to develop without humans. Perhaps to see another species of
intelligent life develop and in its turn be harvested to serve the beings from
the higher dimension. Abigor had heard that there were creatures living in the
sea that were almost as intelligent as humans.

Another
problem, another worry that flittered on the edge of his mind. He and his kind
were used to being able to read human minds and control their thoughts, even
across the dimensional rift. Once he and one of Yahweh’s angels had held a
competition to see who could cause the most minor fatal accidents in one day;
he’d won that, 106 to 102. But now, it was becoming harder and harder to find
humans who could be affected by the demons mind control. Something was getting
in the way, something was stopping the demons possessing the minds of anybody
they chose. Already, nearly all the important people, the leaders, their minds
were closed off. Even the lesser people, the peasants, were becoming immune. It
was so hard to find one who could be possessed now.

Abigor
shook himself. Why was he worrying, a few days and it would all be over.
Humanity would be a panicked mass, fleeing for its survival and a few days
beyond that it would be gone forever. There wasn't any point in worrying about
details.

Chapter
Ten

The
Royal Dragoon Guards, Al Badiyah Al Janubiyah, Western Iraq

“Time
to mount up.” Guardsman Bass finished the last of his tea and shook his mug
over the sand. His Challenger II was ready to move, one of the 56 tanks lined
up along the ridge. It was still dark but the eastern horizon was glowing red
as the sun approached it’s first appearance. That’s why the tanks were along
this ridge, with the sun behind them the baldricks would be advancing with the
glare of the dawn directly in their eyes. It was a small point perhaps but the
officers were paid to think of things like that. He climbed up on to his tank
and slid into the turret beside the 120mm gun, settling comfortably into the
familiar seat. “Boiling vessel on?”

The
loader nodded, the tank was going to seal down, they’d fight that way. Nobody
knew what the baldricks would do when they found themselves under fire so
orders were to expect the worst and make sure the tea urn was ready to use.
Bass felt his ears click as the positive-pressure system powered up. The air
inside the tank was at a higher pressure than that outside so that if there
were any leaks in the tank, the flow would be out, not in. They had rations,
everything they needed without depending on the outside world. They even had
some empty cases from the artillery so they could relieve themselves without
leaving their armored home.