“We’re to get into uniform and make ourselves obvious. Start patrolling around this area, make sure everybody sees armed humans on the streets. And we’re to make it obvious we’re in charge. The message says, don’t throw our weight around but make it clear our word is the one that counts. Got the message flimsy here.” Dempsey passed the yellow paper over.
Crowleigh nodded. Dempsey had summarized the message very well. Time to give orders. “Right lads. Into uniform and pick up our arms. You heard Dempsey, we’re to patrol our patch in a military manner and take no shit from anybody.” There was a chuckle around the team. Crowleigh’s Scottish burr had added a note of class to the orders he had summarized.
Street of Ceaseless Exaltation, Eternal City, Heaven
“This can’t be happening.” Rubibael-Lan-Dasarapael didn’t actually know who he was speaking to, if anybody at all. He wasn’t even sure if he was speaking to himself. He was simply trying to comprehend the unbelievable sight that was now unfolding before him. It was as if saying the words was enough to bring them into a reality in which he had a place. As a humble Ishim, he had never had any ideas above his station but, lowly as he was, he had always had the humans to look down on. The doors set in the massive gate before him were open and humans were pouring in as if they owned the place. That was when Rubibael-Lan had expressed his disbelief. Only, it wasn’t an expression, it was a howl of anguish.
“Move back. Get away from the gates.” The human spoke sharply, without much attempt at friendliness. The steel helmet that covered his head and the nape of his neck gave him a ferocious look that was out of place in the Eternal City.
“I cannot. It is my place to y. o.. o.. o.. o.. w.” Rubibael jumped in the air and howled with pain as a rifle butt slammed down on his foot. He hopped up and down on one leg, trying to nurse his bruised toes with his hands. His wings fluttered as he used them to stay balanced.
“When I tell you to move, you move. Understand? We’re going to blow the gates and you don’t want to be here when they come down.”
Rubibael nodded and hobbled off down the street, abandoning his position as marker distributor for the Mahatalabhuva Gate. He looked behind to see if the human was laughing at him but the man had seemingly forgotten all about him and was doing some of the mysterious things that these humans did. Somehow that made it all the more humiliating.
USS Turner Joy, DD-951 AUTEC Transition Point, Earth
“It’s really all over?” Sophia Metaxas was hanging on the hatch leading to the comms room, listening to the roar of cheering and singing that was spreading throughout the ship. If the news was false, there would be a very unhappy crew.
Commander Reynolds was already in the crowded compartment. “Hi Sophia. It’s true. It hasn’t been announced over the civilian networks yet, not officially anyway, but it is confirmed. We won. Heaven’s folded. Yahweh is dead, Michael is in charge. Temporarily at least.”
Sophia gave a piercing scream of delight and her hat hit the overhead. Halfway through the celebration, the comms equipment started to rattle again. The message came in and was spooled out. Reynolds tore it off and read it carefully. “Uh-oh.”
Her stomach clenched as the words came out. Surely it wasn’t going to be revealed as a hoax or simply denied was it? “Problems? Please don’t tell me the war is still on.”
“It isn’t. It’s over all right. But there’s a portal being punched through from Heaven to here. We’re to be first through.”
“You mean we’re going to lead the fleet into Heaven?” Rochelle Emerson had just come up from the engine rooms. “That’s wonderful.”
“No, it isn’t. Reynolds was profoundly cynical. “They’re sending us in because we’re an old, steam powered destroyer with a crew of hired misfits that nobody will really miss if everything goes sour. Oh yes, and because we still have our spray equipment on board so if we run into the crap that killed off the seas around here, we can start to get rid of it.”
Sophia looked around at the wreckage that had once been a near idyllic tropical island. The island was a brown wasteland, scoured of life. The beautiful green trees and parks, the white-roofed houses, they had all gone. Swept away or shattered into fragments by the succession of super-hurricanes that had devastated Bermuda. The one-beautiful beaches were scarred by the wrecks of ships that hadn’t made it to the Hellgate before being overwhelmed by the storms. Just off Turney Joy’s port bow was the wreckage of a Spanish destroyer that hadn’t made it through. She was red with rust now and had rolled over, partly crushing a French corvette alongside her. The seas themselves were dead, the Red Poison had killed nearly everything in the area off and the sealife was taking a long time to recolonize the area. In a way, Bermuda was symbolic of Earth after the Salvation War. Battered, bloody and hurt so badly it would take a long time to recover. But, recover it would and it was something else as well. Victorious. Bermudans would come back and rebuild their homes, Sophia knew it and in a way she envied them. This old destroyer was just about the only thing left of her life. When it was gone, she really would have nothing.
“Where are we going?” Her voice was subdued as the realization of what this victory had cost sank in.
“A place called Lake of Placid Contemplation. Apparently, it’s right in the middle of the Eternal City. If we get there and rule it safe, then all of these will be following us.” Reynolds waved at the ships surrounding them. The aircraft carriers George H.W. Bush, Enterprise and Harry S Truman, the cruisers Pyotr Veliky, Sejong Daewang, Cowpens, Port Royal and Almirante Grau. Two dozen destroyers at least, most of them AEGIS ships or their equivalent. Then there were the amphibs. There hadn’t been a collection of amphibious warfare ships like this since Inchon more that half a century before. At least six LHDs, a dozen or more LPDs and LSDs, two French LHAs, the Mistral and Tonnerre, a seven-ship British amphibious squadron, some of the big Russian amphibious hovercraft. Those were just the ones she could see. The sea was studded with ships and Sophia realized they were all waiting to go to the Lake of Placid Contemplation. She hoped it was a big lake.
“We’ve got a picture of the lake coming through now.” Reynolds held it up and Sophia sighed with relief. It looked as if it was indeed a big lake.
Just Inside The Himilheothon Gate, The Eternal City, Heaven
“Who the hell are you? We’re trying to decide how to blow this thing up.” The Officer of Engineers was irate for a number of reasons, one of which was he’d had a conversation with his doctor a few hours before. The lump in his tongue was cancer, a fast-growing, very malignant cancer. It was already spreading and it was far too late to operate. It always had been, this type of cancer was a killer. Lieutenant Chard would be going home soon, to spend the last couple of months with his family before the cancer got so bad there would be no point in going on. He had already decided to sign out when that happened.
Another thing annoying him was the task he had been set. Blowing this gate open. The problem was, if he just blew the hinges, the gate would fall down all right. Only it weighed somewhere between 38,000 and 88,000 tons and that weight of door hitting the ground in a 100-meter arc would cause a fair earthquake. From what he had seen of the buildings around here, it wouldn’t take much of a shock to bring them down as well. So, he was going to blow the gate in a series of sections using linear shaped charges to carve off large sections of the meter-thick wood. That was another part of his forward planning. He already had a truck waiting and it would rush some of the wood back to Earth where he could spend his retirement carving it into furniture. After all, a man had to leave some heirlooms to his descendants.
The final straw was this man who had suddenly appeared in front of him, waving documents that gave him permission to film something or other using this gate. Just what he needed when he was running against the clock. Every kind of clock.