Philip Simpson - Tribulation

He explained swiftly. As he did so, he could see Adam calculating. “We might be able to make it. Just,” said Adam. He issued several instructions into his mike and the Blackhawk suddenly turned back the way it had come.

“What’s our plan then?” said Grace.

“There’s no ‘our’ plan here,” replied Sam. “I’ll go in alone. You stay here.”

Grace started to splutter, but Adam interrupted her before she could protest. “Too risky,” said Adam. “I’ll call in one of the jets to do an airstrike. Take out the whole building.”

Sam shook his head. “Can’t chance it. I don’t know if there’s a chapel in the building. If there is, he could escape. I need to make sure. I failed last time — I won’t fail again.”

“And how do you propose to get yourself out before the airstrike?” asked Grace, clearly peeved.

“I’ll jump out the window,” said Sam, trying to sound nonchalant.

Grace’s look was incredulous. “But you just told us he was on the 32nd floor. How are you going to survive that?”

“Don’t forget what I am,” said Sam. The words sounded bitter even to him. “I can easily survive a fall that would kill a human.”

Adam was looking at him with a faint smile on his face. “There’s bravery and then there’s bravery. The jets are armed with iron warheads. They’ll take out several floors at least. You’d better make sure you’re no-where near that floor when the attack comes.” He unstrapped the watch from his wrist and threw it to Sam. “Here, take this. I’ll give you exactly ten minutes from when we drop you on the building. Then I’ll call in the airstrike.”

Sam nodded his understanding, strapping the watch to his own wrist.

“I’m coming with you,” said Grace.

Sam knew she’d do this. Be difficult. It was typical Grace behavior lately. He was about to argue with her when Adam forestalled him.

“No, Grace. I need you to liaise with the Resistance. If we’ve lost Colonel Wheat, we’re going to need them. You know their numbers and capabilities and they know you. Stay with me. Besides, you won’t be able to survive the fall or get out in time.”

Grace said nothing. She darted one angry look in Sam’s direction and then looked down at her feet, conceding defeat. She knew Adam was right, and Sam knew that the knowledge annoyed her. She hated being told what to do.

“Take this,” said Adam, suddenly changing the subject. He pressed a hand sized package into Sam’s palm. “I don’t know how you’re going to make it work, though — you may have to use gloves.”

The object was wrapped in cloth. Sam unwrapped it carefully. Inside were two roughly spherical shapes, both equipped with handles. Sam knew what they were — grenades. He’d seen soldiers with them many times before but they weren’t commonly used against demons, being made of steel. Technically they were fragmentation grenades, commonly known as frags. Once the pin was pulled, the device was on a timer and would explode, killing everything within a five meter radius. Sam didn’t have to ask why Adam warned him against it. They were both made of iron.

Adam was smiling. “Had a team working on them down south for the last few months. Made especially for this attack. Not only is it made of iron but it’s got iron ball bearings inside. Guaranteed to kill absolutely every demon in a room so make sure you’re not one of them when it goes off.”

Sam nodded his thanks and tucked the package into the pocket of his hoodie. Outside the window, he could see they were above Manhattan now, heading for midtown. They were joined by two more Blackhawks, flying on either side of them in a defensive formation. Adam must have called in extra support. Sam even saw a few jets flying overhead, providing some additional cover for them.

Adam nodded towards the open door. “There’s the Empire State. Or what’s left of it at any rate.”

Sam cast around for the iconic building. Finally he located it, looking anything but iconic. It was now about half the size of what he’d seen in pictures in magazines and on TV, a blackened and broken stump of a building. Sam couldn’t help but feel disappointed again. “What happened to it?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Hard to be sure,” said Adam, “but if I had to guess, I’d say it was hit by a firestorm. Funny how those things can be so isolated.”

A firestorm had been Sam’s guess, too. It was a shame. The Empire State building had been around for so long and for it to now be destroyed when some other buildings remained virtually unscathed. Didn’t seem fair somehow.

The Blackhawk and their escort approached midtown. Suddenly, the door gunner with the M134 minigun opened up again. Sam craned his head out the door to see what he was firing at. Astaroth.

The great flying demons were circling around the helicopters. At least a dozen of them. The other Blackhawks were doing the same, firing almost continuously, fending off the Astaroth, trying to keep them from the doors.

There seemed to be more activity around midtown — especially fires. A few buildings smoldered, leaking lazy trails of smoke, but others were well lit. Either firestorms had done their worst or they had been deliberately lit by either side. On the ground below, Sam could see tiny figures running around. It was hard to tell who was who but he sensed both demon and human minds. He saw the telltale spark of gunfire a few times as they flew along overhead. A running battle seemed to be taking place, probably between the Resistance and the forces of the Antichrist. He doubted whether Adam’s had landed a ground based force yet and as for Colonel Wheat — well, he was potentially out of the picture altogether.

On his left, Sam saw an Astaroth get too close to the blades of the helicopter. As soon as it came in contact, it disappeared into a shroud of dust. Sam caught Adam’s eye and raised his eyebrows at the other man.

“Iron-tipped rotors,” Adam said, smiling humorously. “Retro-fitted. Thought that would surprise them.”

Sam felt suddenly elated, like the scene almost warranted laughter. It was pretty surreal. He reflected that was probably another reason why the helicopters couldn’t stay in the air for too long. The iron added just a bit too much extra weight.

The other Astaroth learnt the lesson their dead fellow provided rather quickly and altogether too well, keeping their distance from the blades. Sam saw two of them try another tactic, once again on the unlucky Blackhawk to his left. Working as a team, they divided the fire of the door gunner. While he was occupied shooting at one Astaroth trying to attack him from below, the other grabbed hold of the landing strut with two of its four arms. Sam estimated the creature weighed close to a ton — the Blackhawk could not just ignore such a sudden weight shift. It tipped over to its side. Sam watched helplessly as the gunner fell sideways out the other door, screaming. Both Astaroth forced themselves through the doors and into the interior. Within seconds, the helicopter was spinning out of control. It crashed into the streets below, the wreckage blossoming into flame.

Sam gritted his teeth impotently. His time would come soon though. Very soon. No sooner had the thought entered his head, than the Chrysler building hove into view. Joshua had been telling the truth. It was certainly a headquarters of some description. On the ground, Horned demons and Lemure were hundreds thick, completely surrounding the base of the building. They were under attack though. There seemed to be some sort of melee taking place as, presumably, the Resistance laid siege to it.

In the skies above the once gleaming metal crown of the building, many more Astaroth circled. A fighter jet shot past overhead, strafing the flying demons as it passed. Sam saw at least five disappear under the lethal barrage, punching a hole for the remaining two Blackhawks.