“We got problems Boss.” Her copilot gave the warning she dreaded. Behind them, at least two dozen angels had crossed the ridge in pursuit. I’ve been here before. The thought running through her mind was treacherous because it made her hands shake.
“Falcon Flight, Diana-One-actual. We need help down here.”
“On our way Diana-One.”
The voice on the radio was heavily-accented and she couldn’t place it. There was no doubt about the pilots skill though, they slashed down in a power dive, breaking up the angelic formation with a dozen AIM-120 missiles then hammering the survivors with AIM-9s and cannon fire. One of the F-16s was caught by a trumpet blast and lost a wing, the crippled bird nosing over before plowing into the ground. The group pursuing Kim’s formation broke up and fled under the impact. Angels don’t match daemons for sheer bloody-minded guts, she thought. “Well done Falcon Flight. We’re clear now.”
“Compliments of the Polish Air Force Diana-One. We’ve got reserves up here if you need more cover.”
“Thank you, we’re on our way back to reload now. New Roman Republic owes you one. Call me in New Rome sometime. Good hunting.”
“No debts owed Diana-One, just had a message from Diana-Five. Our pilot punched out and one of your people picked him up as soon as his feet touched. So, all square. And good hunting for you also.”
Her helicopters were skimming back through the valleys, returning to her forward base. Well, that went better than last time. Kim found herself humming cheerfully as she started to plan the next strike.
Forward Edge of the Battle Area, Hill 117, Third Legion, Heaven.
It wasn’t just the weapons humans had that made the difference, it was the fact that they thought about everything they did. The foxhole he was in proved that. Dripankeothorofenex had assumed that digging a hole and sitting in it was easy, a simple task fit only for a kidling. Not the way the humans did it. They had looked at his scrape in the ground and laughed at him. “Now that is one pathetic effort Drippy,” their human commander had said, mixing disapproval with dismay. Then, he had gathered all the daemons into a group and shown them how to dig a proper foxhole. An officer digging, that was something Dripankeothorofenex had never seen before. The hole had been deep and narrow to offer as much protection as possible from overhead blasts. Then the back wall had been hollowed out so the daemons inside could crouch under some cover when artillery was pounding them.
The dirt had been piled in front of the pit so the two occupants could fire out to the sides on a diagonal but not directly forwards. “What do we do when the enemy is in front?” Dripankeothorofenex had asked. “Don’t sweat it Drippy, your buddies on either side will deal with them. You protect them, they protect you. The mound in front will protect you from incoming fire.”
And there it was, a simple hole in the ground turned into a warrior’s work of art. Beside him, his buddy Maskelodoroarnathsan was watching his assigned zone. Neither tried to lift their heads over the mound to their front. As their officer had explained, the armored carriers were behind them and they would be hosing down the area in front of the infantry positions. That meant their streams of shells would be only a few inches above their heads. “Do you see anything?”
Maskelodoroarnathsan shook his head. “Nothing yet. Wait, listen.”
Dripankeothorofenex swivelled his ears forward and listened hard. Faintly, in the distance, he heard a chanting, one that had been all too familiar to his clan during The Great Celestial War. It was nearly drowned out by the rumble of diesel engines idling behind him but the words were clear, carried by the perfection of the tones. More clearly than anything else, it told him who the enemies were for neitheir daemons nor humans gave out war cries like this. Daemons were taught to believe that a silent enemy was more fearsome than a noisy one while humans never believed in telling their enemies anything about anything. But still, he heard the words echoing across the peaceful hills of Heaven.
“Requiem?ternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis. Dies ir?, dies illa, Solvet s?clum in favilla.”
Then peace was gone forever from those hills for overhead the sky itself started to scream. Dripankeothorofenex crouched down in his foxhole for he knew what that terrible screaming sound was. Across Third Legion there were other daemons who knew it as well, the survivors of Hit, of the Phlegethon River, of all the battles where human artillery had left the ground mounded high with the bodies of those who dared to challenge them. Beneath his feet, the ground shook as the first salvoes pounded into the Heavenly formation that was approaching. Dripankeothorofenex could see nothing of them for his unit was dug into position on a reverse slope and the Angelic Host was still advancing up their side of the ridge. The spotting for the artillery fire was being done by one of the small remote-controlled aircraft the humans liked so much. That gave him great comfort for how he had heard many tales of how the humans also liked to hide behind ridgelines when they brought their deadly arts to bear on their enemies. Now he too, a daemon, was armed with human weapons and was soon to be fighting like a human.
“Kyrie Eleison!! Kyrie Eleison!!” The rhythmic chanting had turned into the screaming battle-cry of the Angelic Host. Dripankeothorofenex took a chance and lifted his head so that he could see out of his firing position towards the direction of the attack. For a brief moment, he thought he was back in Hell and he felt a quiet moment of peaceful tranquility as he looked at the roiling red and black clouds thrown up by the human artillery barrage. The dust and smoke was forming clouds that drifted upwards, changing the clear white light of heaven into a filthy red glare that made him quite homesick. Then the noise crashed in on him and he realized that it was time to go to work.
“Fix bayonets!” The human battlecry at last. Dripankeothorofenex took the two foot long triangular steel out of its sheath and clipped it to the end of his rifle. For a moment he missed the trident he had been brought up to use but this was a human weapon so it had to be better. The human levies came over the ridgeline in small groups, their formations shattered by the pounding of the long-range guns far behind the human lines. What had once been the traditional concentrated charge of the Angelic host had already been broken up and that left it weak and vulnerable. Dripankeothorofenex shouldered his Martini-Henry, pushed down the lever underneath and inserted a 20mm round into the chamber. Idly, he wondered what an MG151 was for that was the gun this round had been originally been used in. Lever up to close the action and he was ready. The first of the Host to enter his arc of fire was a human, dressed in the white robes and glowing golden breastplate of the Angelic Host. Only now, the robes were stained and black and the breastplate had been dented. A careful aim, and his instructor’s voice echoed in his ears. “Pick your man, mark your target as he comes. Lead him by just a fraction.” And the recoil of the Martini-Henry jarred his shoulder.
His target spun and went down. He might have risen, he might not. Dripankeothorofenex had lost interest in him as he worked the action on his rifle, picked another target and repeated the drill that had been hammered into him and sent another member of the Angelic Host tumbling. Now, he could see why the foxholes were designed the way they were. The angels were charging straight at them and their arrows and trumpet blasts hit nothing but the piles of dirt. Concrete or stone would have shattered under the blasts but soft earth just absorbed the energy. But, as the enemy advanced, they were moving into the deadly crossfire from the daemonic riflemen.
Out, across the battlefield, he saw an angel, a large one, possibly even an Ophanim, rising over the ridgeline, his wings carrying him up as he fired arrows from the bow in his hands. Suddenly, the angel was in chains of red fire, the brilliant links securing him to the ground. Cannon fire, Dripankeothorofenex thought, the three 23mm cannon on the armored personnel carriers. Several of the tracked vehicles were concentrating their guns on the angel, tearing it apart in mid-air. The Ophanim was lurching, trying to recover from the impact of the long bursts of gunfire but it never had a chance. It burst into blue flame as its flight sacs ignited and crashed to earth.