[Demonworld #2] The Pig Devils Page 23

  “We drew first blood!” Heffer shouted in his booming voice. “First blood against a staggered enemy! Move, you dogs, move, move, move!”

  He wondered at the lack of aerial resistance they’d met. Either Barkus had hit them but good, or these peaceniks were softer than he’d thought. He remembered how Barkus had whined about their air power. Such a coward! The land that had broken Barkus would make Heffer a blood-drenched hero. He would gather renown and tech and arms from this conflict, and would sweep back into Pontius a savior, or even a god...

  He and his Ugly reached the outskirts and faced squalid gray buildings. Masses of berserkers and Left Arm Ugly were already there, hunkered against buildings, firing ahead, changing clips, firing grenades, shouting into radios. Heffer’s radio man tapped his shoulder and pointed to a wide building off to the side, the one that others had already marked for him. They ran toward it.

  It was dark inside. Ugly with torches saluted him with raised fists. He saw blood on the walls, on the floor, civilians lying facedown or propped up, mouths hanging slack. Heffer signaled some Ugly, who joined him and his radio man as they climbed the winding stairwell.

  They stepped onto the roof and found more Ugly standing with binoculars. Ahead, a great cloud of black smoke choked out the light, coal and the embers of destruction thrown up from the destruction of the energy plants. The black cloud was lit from beneath by intermittent flashes of zeppelin bombs. Heffer took some binoculars and scanned the avenue ahead and below. White and blue-armored enemy were loading shells into artillery, then leaping away as the things shook and ejected empty shells; over and again they repeated the process. A giant, armored machine rolled up, then was joined by another behind it. The heavy machines were gray and deadly looking, with long barrels that blasted, shook, and belched smoke into the air. He looked back at his own men. He saw chunks of buildings disappear and collapse, saw the avenue shatter and fly into the air. Ugly were tossed into the air and fell like limp sacks of meat. They maneuvered around buildings, crouching, gathering like ants, firing their guns over and over.

  He slapped his radio man, said, “Get those dogs to maneuver around that way, west of their line, they’re just gonna get torn up! Forget that area there, God dammit! They-” He glanced at the central avenue, saw a line of tanks rolling forward to back up the others. Three more... four more, blasting in a line beside the first two. Saw his own Ugly crouching, firing, then retreating to either side. As the tanks blasted, pieces of berserkers rained down on all sides. He saw white-armored infidels cheering, running forward, shooting their long rifles.

  There was a flash of lightning. Several blinding arcs slammed into the ground, then a cluster of Guardians flew into pieces. Smoking chunks scattered on the blackened ground. Two great dragons fell into the square, shrieking at such a pitch that Heffer staggered back even at this distance. The towering monsters whirled about, impossibly fast. Lightning arced from the mouth of the red dragon as it twisted its head about in a line; Guardians were torn from the ground and sent flying, the ammunition from their guns igniting in the clips. The dragon’s huge, dark brown brother reared back imperiously, then charged forward and slammed into the side of a tank. The heavy tank buckled, scraped along the ground, then was tossed into the air. The dragon lowered its horned head again, slammed the tank again as it hit the ground, continued forward, and pushed the ruined hulk into a second tank, then into a third. Guardians all around the dragon ran, firing their guns and tripping. Sparks showered along the armored flanks of the dragon, but the gunfire went unnoticed as the dragon pushed one tank into another, bending them, throwing them to the side and onto their backs. Guardians desperate to help their friends raced forward. The massive tail of the beast swung about, knocking men over and smearing them into the ground in long streaks of blood and sausage. Heffer could barely pull his eyes away from the incredible sight, but just as he did so, he saw the red dragon, further in the distance, as it vomited bolts of destruction toward a line of artillery; great explosions rocked the area and caved in the sides of buildings. Guardians ran in panic, and many disappeared under falling concrete.

  The Ugly below Heffer cheered, then charged ahead. The few Guardians who had run into side avenues were overwhelmed by berserkers. The Ugly filled the avenue and retrieved Guardian guns. They fell on men who removed their white helms and begged for mercy; Heffer saw nearly a dozen scalps and red-stained axes waving in the air. Heffer knew that most of the difficult work of leading was over. Now the southern part of Haven belonged to a horde of shrieking saints hungry for blood.

  * * *

  Secundus Shem Udo and his white-suited entourage ran from South Front Command. Guardians in jeeps signaled to them, waving wildly.

  “Worthless!” shrieked Udo. “Work with the power out? Damned hell!”

  “I’ve got Sevrik Clash on the wire!” shouted a tech, forcing a radio into his face as he lumbered into the jeep.

  “Dammit all!” Udo gritted as he took the radio, shouting, “Sevrik, I’m calling a full retreat from the south, there’s just too-”

  “Don’t do it!” Sevrik shouted on the other end. “Udo, we’ve got to hold this ring or they’ll be hitting us from all sides!”

  “Well I think they already are!” Udo shrieked. The wheels of the jeep squealed and the thing shot forward. “There’s just waves and waves and they’ve got some kind of demons hitting all our artillery-”

  “They’ve already reached your artillery?! Are you okay?”

  “I had the artillery at the front! But they’re heading this way right now, so-”

  “That artillery has a range of miles, Shem! You’re pulling out too soon! Just - damn it, Shem - give me command of your forces! I’ve already got my boy on the line. Shem, I’m going to send you my Rangers and my Reav-”

  “Too late, Sevrik, man, it’s too late! I’m heading into the center, going to form a perimeter around the Ministerial Palace. I’ve got to protect the Minister!”

  Udo heard a strange gurgling sounds on the other end. “To hell with the Prime Minister! Article 17, Udo, in time of war the shadow government assumes control. That’s us, Secundus! Ministerial apparatus has nothing to do with it!”

  Udo hardly knew what Sevrik was talking about. All he felt was the wail of frustration exploding in his brain, the terror from hearing his commanders shrieking from the radios in the command center, blaming him, expecting him to do something miraculous to save them. Then the terrible silence as the fog of war consumed them.

  “Udo, do you realize how many civilians there are in the south?”

  “Not my men, not anymore! Sevrik, you do what you have to do, and I’m going to do what I have to do, and let’s just leave it at that.”

  “You fool! Either get back to your command center or give me control!”

  Shem Udo clicked the radio off and threw it at the tech’s chest, who fumbled to catch it. The jeeps sped north, where a great black cloud churned overhead.

  * * *

  Mevrik Clash’s jeep churned up the snow and fishtailed around a curve in the pass. The pilot beside her braced a foot on the dash, face pulled to one side as the jeep flew uphill at suicidal speed. Her mind was a crystal-clear blur of white, body moving unconsciously, a soldier locked perfectly in the surreal world she had been trained to inhabit.

  She rounded the last bend, a blind curve, and laid on the horn. Sideswiped the open barbed wire gate, tore the thing free, heard it grinding and pulling at the rear, heard a rear tire explode. She skidded to a stop at the edge of the burning ruin of the airfield.

  Coils of smoke rose from the hulks of shattered gunships and troop transports. Guardians ran to and fro, firing into the air, while others with .50 caliber machineguns fired from turrets. The darkened sky was clouded with zeppelins overhead, payloads dropping, exploding in concrete showers all around, men screaming, radios bleating unintelligibly. Jeeps wove about the airfield while Guardians in the back fired into a coiling black cloud that danced about the
field. Mevrik leaped from the ruined jeep and heard the other pilot running beside her. She saw great black wings extend from the fog, a massive dragon leaped forth, a mountain of sword-covered flesh slammed into one jeep and flipped it into another, spilling Guardians onto the concrete. The beast glared, spreading terror with its gaze, then folded its wings and arched its back; there was a blur, then the jeeps all around it were skewered as enormous spears of death slammed into the concrete. She saw sparks, wheels flying, men impaled or smashed into the ground by the black, quivering stakes. Mevrik stopped and grabbed her co-pilot. The flesh dragon charged ahead, straight into a machinegun nest, ignoring bullets as it collided with sandbags. When it lifted its black head she saw twitching men skewered all along its neck and chest. The black fog rolled about the dragon, covering it once more. An explosion nearby jolted her awake.

  She saw a jeep full of lightly armored Guardians peeling away from the airstrip. She cried out, waving to the men. The jeep grinded to a rolling stop just ahead of her. She saw Guardian pilots from Wing-8, rivals to her own unit.

  “The hell is going on!” she screamed, running toward them.

  “Main airstrip’s finished!” said one.

  “Finished!” She could not believe it. The staging grounds for Haven’s fleet, the pride of all Wing units… gone.

  “We’ve got no communications from Strips Three, Four, or Six!” shouted another. “We’re headed to Five right now, see if they’ve got anything we can use.” This was a man who, last week, she had called a punk bitch in a Guardian bar because he and some others from Wing-8 had sugared the gas tank of her unit’s transport vehicle.

  “Where’s the rest of your unit?” said the first, as she clambered onto their jeep.

  “No idea,” she said. “Let’s go!”

  She looked back as they sped off, the jeep weighed down by highly-trained, useless pilots. She saw a long, serpentine demon sweep out of the fog and knock a rumbling tank onto its side like cardboard. The mouth of the thing stretched open, then a noxious black smoke sprayed forth, covered the scrambling Guardians on the ground, snuffing out the sound of their screams.

  * * *

  Wodan trudged through black sludge. Unchecked fires raged in the aftermath of the plants’ destruction in the west and had spread to storehouses; a great, black, swirling cloud hung over Central Haven, casting it into darkest night. Wodan could see the shadowy outlines of buildings, the flash and rumble of bombs dropping before and behind him. The headlights of jeeps and tanks flew through the streets, ignoring him. Through flashes of red he saw the panic of civilian faces peering from windows.

  The Ministerial Palace lay ahead, alone in the square, huge and imposing. On the street he saw the outlines of Guardians moving about sandbagged road blocks. A large tank idled nearby while jeeps moved all around. He leaned against the side of a building and studied the encampment. He suspected Aegis Vachs was underneath the building, guarded in some bunker.

  The more he watched, the more he realized that getting in would be impossible. There were too many Guardians, too many eyes on alert, too many massive spotlights swinging around the square. Just then Wodan remembered his friends on the ship, laughing and cheering when they saw Haven on the horizon. Rachek, Brad, Maxil, Agmar… he saw their faces clearly, so happy to be at the end of their long and difficult journey. Nothing, nothing, was impossible.

  Wodan stalked away from the square.

  He would have to come up with a plan if he was going to kill his pig.

  * * *

  The Smith radio man shouted to the Smith at the map, who made marks with his pen before shouting, “Barkus! That’s six airfields wasted! And the primary air strip has been ground into dust! Enemy is retreating through the passes!”

  Barkus watched smoke rising from the fires far below. “Fine, fine,” he grated. “Order troop transports to set down, anywhere, wherever they are. How are the others doing?”

  The radio man conferred with the mapper, who eyed Barkus sideways. “Western front blasted all of the small plants, and did even better than we planned,” said the Smith. “But our western forces were devastated after that.”

  “What are they doing?” said Barkus, eyes glinting.

  “Drifting around the city. Dropping their payloads wherever. No troops left to speak of.”

  “Too bad for them!” said Barkus, chuckling. “And Heffer?”

  “He smashed through the southern front! His boys are going wild, making their way through the city. Quite a bloodbath, they say!”

  “Arrogant prick,” Barkus said, spitting over the side. “Navigator!” The Smith jogged over to Barkus. “We’re going to set down by one of their armories. A big one, mind you. I don’t care how heavily it’s defended. Order that troop transport over there to land with us.”

  The Smith navigator nodded, then conferred with the radio man. Barkus began to despise the solidarity between the three Smiths. He marched to the other side of the ship and looked at the troop transport he had in mind. He couldn’t make out any movement within. Many zeppelins were clustered all around.

  “Barkus!” shouted the radio man, grating on his nerves. “Getting reports of enemy helicopters taking off at points south of us!”

  Barkus nodded, said, “Okay.”

  Barkus snapped his fingers behind him, said, “I want that troop transport ready to rock, Smith.”

  “I know, but I’m not getting any answers from them.”

  “What?”

  He raised his binoculars. He saw movement on the troop transport; strange black forms stalked about the platform, crouching, passing things between them.

  “Enemy onboard!” screamed Barkus, pointing at the far transport.

  Heavy machineguns and grenade launchers on the sides of the infected troop transport opened up, firing all around. Barkus crouched, then peered over the side. He saw another zeppelin’s balloon contort, then flare up suddenly as it was torn by bullets. Another zeppelin, a huge bomber, exploded violently. The trees far below shone white for a moment. Then another zeppelin burst into flames, then another.

  “Blast that thing!” screamed Barkus. “It’s been infiltrated!”

  Zeppelins all around turned slowly, then fired on the other. Barkus saw the movement of Ugly troops rushing up from belowdecks. The black-clad killers ran and leaped off the sides of the ship. He counted ten or more black forms falling, arms outstretched. Suddenly the infiltrated zeppelin exploded into a tremendous fireball, killing dozens of Ugly troops within. Only one of the black killers fell limp through the air; the others held their bodies into X shapes. Just before they hit the trees below, small parachutes popped out of their backs and jerked them to a slow fall. They disappeared into the trees below. In the end, seven of Barkus’s zeppelins were in flames, spiraling slowly towards the earth below. Hundreds of troops and thousands of dollars of explosives had been destroyed.

  “What the hell were those monsters?” Barkus shrieked.

  * * *

  Three Third Force jeeps tore through the streets, packed full of Guardians running to save their lives from the Ugly horde. They heard a strange demonic chorus of savagery echoing along the avenues to their left. The Guardians looked into the darkness as they sped through an intersection and saw dozens of Ugly on a rampage, firing guns into windows and kicking open doors. They heard bullets whiz by their heads as they passed. The Third Force Guardians thanked the gods they were leaving those brutes behind.

  A great shape flew overhead. Their hearts sank as a gigantic red flesh dragon slammed into the road ahead and tore up concrete underfoot, scraping its wings against buildings on either side and shattering windows as it turned to face them. One jeep braked, turned hard, and flipped. The Guardians inside saw the street rise up in slow motion, then they fell hard and scattered and saw the jeep flipping overhead. Another jeep braked, fish-tailed, and slammed into a building sideways and sent up a shower of sparks, men hanging onto its sides desperately. The foremost jeep had no time to r
eact, for the dragon was already lurching forward, massive hand thrown forward. The jeep collided with the reptilian hand, men flew forward, glass everywhere, bodies shattered on the street at inhuman speeds. The men thrown clear were the lucky ones; the dragon squeezed the jeep and a few inside, battered nearly senseless, felt the crushing power of the monster’s claws as it bent metal and crushed steel. Tires exploded and the dragon threw the hull to the side.

  The dragon stepped toward the flipped jeep and its staggering crew, licking its mouth and sending sparks raining onto the street far below. One Guardian helped his friend to stand, shouting, “Get up, man, get up!”

  Several Ugly rushed past their dragon god and ran to the jeep idling with its side against a building. Its driver lay back, limp. A rider shook his head stiffly. Three Guardians in the back rose stiffly and called out to another who had fallen to the street below. At once they saw the Ugly bearing down on them, calling out madly. The three in the back unslung automatic rifles and fired down on the attackers, tearing up body after body; the savages crashed to the ground in bloody heaps with others tripping and sliding over one another. The Guardians emptied their clips into the savages. They could hear lightning spew forth across the avenue and friends screaming horribly. The remaining Ugly ran to open doorways, then fired at the jeep. A berserker among them dashed forward, screaming, axe in hand. He leaped off the bumper, flew through the air, and tackled all three and sent them flying over the back. The Guardian in the street, unable to walk back to the jeep, emptied his handgun into a doorway, heard bodies fall, heard bullets fly by his ear, then felt the armor and bones at his chest shatter. He fell limp.

  Only two Ugly were left to creep from the open doorways. They glanced about suspiciously, then charged at the dazed Guardian survivors and clubbed the men’s skulls to mush with the butts of their rifles. They paused to rest, then felt a great spray of blood splash onto them; nearby, their berserker comrade hacked up the remains of the other Guardians with wild swings from his battleaxe.