Stuart Slade - Pantheocide

Stevenson looked at the gate where another great scab of wood was now being pulled out of the way. “Hokay. Very good Sir.” She paused a little. “We could get through now, Sir.”

“Even with your field kitchen in tow?” Roland looked at the trailer with a degree of suspicion. It didn’t look American somehow.

Stevenson felt that a note of explanation was required. “Yes Sir. We’re been operating independently for so long we need to be able to provide the men with hot food even when we’re outside normal supply areas.” Actually, Stevenson had discovered one of her conscripts was a graduate of Chef Gordon Ramsey’s kitchen. A few nights later, following an astoundingly well-planned and completely covert raid, a German infantry company waken up to find that they had mislaid their beloved “gulaschkanone” field kitchen trailer during the night. Her battalion had been eating well ever since. She noted that her General was eyeing the trailer suspiciously and decided it was time to change the subject. “Sir, with respect, may I ask how we got our name? We wanted to be the Wildcat Battalion.”

“Company clerk screwed up. He entered the division name in the space on the form for your battalion name and by the time we had unscrambled everything, another battalion had claimed ‘Wildcat’. Fortunes of war, Colonel.”

He was interrupted by another pair of explosions and the bone jarring crash as two more sets of gate segments were blown clear. All around, there was the same eerie silence from the watching humans in the slums. Stevenson waved at them. “They don’t seem to be that pleased to see us. Odd thing, these slums could almost be part of Dis. Same narrow, twisting streets, similar-looking buildings.”

“And no precious stones lining the walls.” Roland agreed. “You’ll be getting the move order shortly Colonel. Straight through that hole.”

Stevenson saluted and returned to her tank, clambering up the side and sliding into the turret. A few seconds later the order came through from her brigade commander to take her battalion through the shattered hole in the gate and set up a perimeter on the other side. It took a minute for her to contact the engineering officer who was methodically reducing the gates to splinters and get a pause on the demolitions. Then, the gas turbine powering her M1 surged and her tank rolled forwards through the jagged hole blown in the Himilheothon Gate.

Roland watched the vehicles follow her tank through, noting the precision with which they had been handled. He’d also noted that they’d been parked so that they could either go through the gate or detach and head off back through the slums with equal speed. Unlike the other battalions, Spearhead had made its way through the twisting streets here without damaging the buildings on either side. Together, the two impressions showed him why this particular unit was General Petraeus’s favorite for any unusual missions that turned up. Somehow, he didn’t think it would be part of his division for very long.

Street of Ceaseless Exaltation, Eternal City, Heaven

“The Fallen Ones are coming! The Eternal Enemy has broken into the City!” The voices were screaming with panic, crowds were already fleeing down the Street of Ceaseless Exaltation to get away from the Mahatalabhuva Gate. Or, rather, to get away from the military forces that were now moving through the hole blown in that gate. Rubibael-Lan-Dasarapael didn’t believe that The Fallen Ones really had broken into the city. Logically, it was just the women panicking at the sight of heavily-armed human troops. Rubibael adjusted his eyes for long-distance vision and focussed on the vehicles that were moving in. That was when he realized that logic had let him down. The occupants of the tracked vehicles were all too obviously daemons. The Fallen Ones were indeed coming.

It took a few minutes for the vehicles to reach his position, minutes in which Rubibael spent every second trying to persuade his legs not to run away. He managed it and instead watched the low, rakish-looking vehicles approach. They were painted red and gray with a purple crest bearing a golden eagle and the number 3 on each side. They had the letters SPQR as well, whatever they meant. He looked closely, there were other inscriptions on them as well, all equally meaningless. Just what was the significance of ‘No Step’ for example? Once more Rubibael had the demoralizing and humiliating feeling that these creatures did not consider him worth their attention. Then the roar of the engine in the vehicle enveloped him as the lead unit of Fallen Ones passed him.

To his surprise, the four vehicles that formed the van of the advancing column stopped a few yards past him and dropped their tail ramps. The Fallen Ones streamed out of the back, spreading across the roadway and establishing guard posts. One of them walked over to Rubibael. The two were roughly the same size, implying they were the same status but one look at the rifle the Fallen One was carrying and the big guns mounted on the nearest vehicle quickly dissuaded Rubibael of that idea.

“Out of the way, Never-Born.” The daemon’s voice was gutteral and curt, filled with menace.

Rubibael stared at him, more in shock than anything else. The Fallen Ones in the old pictures never wore clothes like these. They were the same as human soldiers wore, just larger and remodelled to fit the different anatomy of the Fallen One’s bodies. His mind, unable to absorb the sheer shock of their presence in The Eternal City, wouldn’t let him do anything more than stare at the soldier in front of him. Then, for the second time that day, he felt an agonizing pain in his foot as a rifle but slammed down on his toes.

“I said move.” The Fallen One repeated the order with a terrifying display of fangs.

“Drippy, do not, say again do not, eat that Jelly.” The voice came from a human who was sitting on top of the great vehicle and it carried great authority. Suddenly, as if it was some great discovery, Rubibael realized there was a serious difference between those who had earned authority and those who just claimed it.

“Please Sarge, can I eat him just a little bit?” The Fallen One glared at Rubibael but there was amusement mixed up with the mock-ferocity.

“I said no, Drippy. Look at him, all fat and quivering like a scared hog. Full of cholesterol.” For some reason the remark made all the soldiers around him burst out laughing. “Just shove him outta the way and take up your post.”

Rubibael hobbled backwards, with a couple of pushes from the Fallen One’s rifle to help him on the way. Once he was clear, the Fallen One went back to the vehicle. By now a constant stream of vehicles was passing through the position. Once again, he set his eyes for long-distance vision and he looked up the road. Far ahead, another small unit had peeled off and was setting up another checkpoint. There, as here, it was quite clear that the humans commanded and the Fallen Ones served. In a blinding flash of insight, Rubibael realized that he was looking at the future for his people as well.

1/33 (Spearhead) Battalion, Third Brigade, Third Armored Division, Ninth U.S. Corps. Eternal City

“Hokay, so according to the sitrep, the Marines are holding the center of the city, we’re advancing towards them with the Russians on our left and the Chinese on our right. We’re right in the middle of our front so we won’t run into either anytime soon. Units on the extreme end of our lines might. Not soon though, damn this city is big. But, latest word from the herd, there are special forces teams all over. Seems like every bunch of snake-eaters decided to slip a team into the city to see what was going on.”

“Just our, Russians and Chinese main force units though?” Biker was concerned about a blue-on-blue shoot out.