“How about this proposal to suspend construction of the Queen Elizabeth class for the duration of the war? Surely we need these ships more than ever?” West wondered.
“They’ll never be finished on time to use in this war, Minister.” Air Chief Marshal Sir Glenn Torpy, the Chief of the Air Staff, argued. “Since the Americans have cancelled the F-35 we don’t have a fighter to fly off them, apart maybe from Harriers. I would have thought that the navy would want to concentrate on building cheap, easy to build warships that they can use now.”
West could see Admiral of the Fleet Sir Jonathon Band, First Sea Lord and Chief of the Naval Staff turning a shade of puce. It was no secret that Band and Torpy had disagreements over the CVF project.
“Just as you are procuring cheap aircraft like the Typhoon, Tornado and Nimrod.” Band commented. “I see you’re also holding on to many of those expensive museum pieces.”
“There’s a big difference, Admiral, between procuring aircraft and two massive warships. By the time a few pieces of steel are cut for these ships I will have dozens of new aircraft in service.” Torpy countered. “Those ‘museum pieces’ you refer to, the Buccaneers, TSR. 2s, Jaguars, Vulcans and Canberras are very useful platforms until something better comes along.”
“You’ve wanted to kill CVF from day one.” Band said angrily. “I never thought a war with Heaven and Hell would give you the chance.”
Admiral West held up his hand. “Gentlemen, that’s enough. There is a historical precedent for this decision. In 1939, the Royal Navy had to cancel the Lion class battleships. They were excellent ships, greatly needed and undoubtedly valuable additions to the fleet. The problem was, they wouldn’t be ready until after the war was over and they used resources that were needed for much more urgently-required forces. So, they were suspended, the materials assembled for them were used for other programs and the labor they would have absorbed diverted elsewhere. Today, we face the same problem with CV(F), and I must tell you the answer is the same. We cannot afford those ships, they must be suspended to allow more important programs to be pushed through. I am sorry, but that decision is final. In their place, we will be building additional amphibious warfare ships and a war-emergency version of the Type 45 to escort them.
“We also need to look at something to replace the F-35 in the role of JCA. That is a problem in its own right, frankly I see little chance of getting more aircraft from the Americans, they need every aircraft they can build.”
“Looks like Hornets all round then, Minister.” Air Chief Marshal Stirrup said.
“If we can get them, a big if. One thing that is potentially good news. The Chinese have offered to reverse-engineer the TSR-2 using experience they gained in pirating the Su-27 design. They claim they can get a prototype flying in 18 months and deliveries starting in 30. The deal is, they’ll give us the first 100 aircraft off the production line in exchange for the engines and one of the two White Ghosts to act as a pattern aircraft. We can’t just keep one in service so the other TSR-2 will go back to a museum, only this time with an honorable war record to her credit.
“Can the Chinese do it?” Stirrup was genuinely curious
“They got their copy of the Su-27 out fast, the Russians are hopping mad about it. So yes, I think our Chinese friends can pull it off.”
Band looked at Torpy with barely-hidden loathing. Watching them, West couldn’t help reflect that it was a rare event that Her Majesty’s Government was on better terms with the Chinese than with its own Navy.
Throne Room, The Ultimate Temple, Eternal City, Heaven
Michael-Lan once more entered the Holiest of Holies and his eyes adjusted to the dim glow that contrasted so strongly with the clear, white light that saturated Heaven. Even after his millennia of experience, the sight of the great white throne, with its flashing lightning and pealing thunder surrounding the One Above All Others, never failed to awe him. Before the throne were the seven great, gold lamps, burning their ceaseless incense so that the clouds of scented smoke hung thick and hazy, the smell clinging to everything. There had been a time when Michael loved this room but that was before humans had opened his eyes to what it really represented. As a showman, he admired it, as a General who valued efficient and effective administration above all else, it filled him with frustration at the wasted effort. It hadn’t always been like this, uncounted millennia before when the Great Celestial War had been fought, there hadn’t been this stress of unqualified adoration and infinite submission. ‘All Power Corrupts and Absolute Power Corrupts Absolutely.’ The human motto ran through Michael-Lan’s mind and its implications disturbed him.
At the four corners of the room flew four Seraphs, creatures with huge heads and six wings rooted in their atrophied bodies. They appeared to be nothing other than head and wings, their distorted physique making them of little use other than chanting their ceaseless cry: “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, who was, and is, and is to come.” The refrain was echoed by the twenty-four members of the Yahweh’s Private Choir. They were ancient even by the angels’ standards, and were constantly on their faces before the throne, murmuring, “You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they were created and have their being.” Michael-Lan gazed at them sympathetically, they had spent their lives yearning for an eternity in Paradise, now they had it, they spent their time yearning for another death. They had wasted their time on Earth, building up their virtues for their afterlife and now they knew the full extent of the way they had squandered their time. That might not be as crude and agonizing a torture as the ones Satan had dreamed up but it was one all the same.
Michael-Lan had once had a choir just like this one. A century ago he had released them from their eternal chanting and now they sang in his nightclub, choosing their own program and relishing the freedom to do so. They were loyal servants, trustworthy as only those released from a nightmare could be.
Michael stopped in the middle of the lamps and knelt down on both knees, prostrating himself and pressing his flawless lips to the cold, dark jade floor. As though sensing intentions, the four Seraphim quieted, and the twenty-four elders’ murmurs died to whispers. From the white throne, the voice of Yahweh thundered: “Michael, my good general, what news do you bring me?”
“Oh nameless one, Lord and God of all, I prostrate myself to your presence. The First Bowl of Wrath is poured, even now the humans who bear the Mark of the Beast sicken and die from its poison. Not less than twenty of my highest servants, ones in whom I espoused a special interest, gave their lives so that your Almighty Will should be fulfilled. They went to their end, singing thy praises and filled with ecstasy at their privilege.”
They were not filled with ecstasy, thought Michael quietly, he’d made sure that the doomed group had been well isolated from his night club and the growing web of influence it gave him. His stocks of ecstasy were limited and he made sure it was distributed carefully. And, they didn’t die singing, they almost certainly died screaming because that was what human weapons did to their victims.
Michael-Lan sneaked a look at Yahweh, poised on his great throne amid the clouds of burning incense. His mind flitted to the possibility of adding some really good grass to the incense but it veered away from the prospect. The risks were too high, the rewards too low. Yahweh had a dreamy expression on his face, contemplating the sacrifice of those who had laid down their lives so that his wishes could be fulfilled. Michael-Lan decided that he needed building up a little before the blow was struck
“And the rest of the humans?”
“They suffer as the elements themselves turn against them. The very winds and waters rage in anger at their defiance of your divine will. Their dead number in the tens of thousands and their weeping drowns out the words of their leaders.”