Galkin nodded. Odd coincidence. “My father also fought at Prokohorovka. And later.”
There was a long silence, neither man quite certain what to say next. Eventually Galkin spoke carefully. “Our fathers caused great destruction, between them, at Prokhorovka. Now we can join together and inflict the same those who threaten us both.”
The German nodded. “We can. As soon as our commanders let us off the leash.”
Chapter Sixty Five
Winder Street, Detroit, Michigan
“Go ahead and blow it Taguba.” Lieutenant Preston didn't need binoculars this time; the old factory was right in front of him. The weathered brick building appeared to have been a food processing plant, before being boarded up and abandoned. Now it would provide much-needed material for the bulldozers.
The demolition was on a smaller scale than the intersection they'd destroyed earlier, but at this range it was just as loud. The building didn't collapse completely, but it was good enough for the dozers to get to work without risk of being crushed. Right now this was a relatively safe area, the lava seemed to be flowing down towards the river and the inrushing wind made Detroit's wide highways function as acceptable fire breaks. That situation could change at any moment though, and securing a safe perimeter was vital. The improvised levees and wide areas of cleared rubble behind them were the only way to do that.
“Good job.” Actually it was pretty sloppy, Preston thought, but right now morale was a much higher priority than perfecting combat demolitions technique. “Move on to the next block.”
“Thank you sir, will do, Taguba out.” The Sergeant's voice was muffled by the filter mask but still clearly enthusiastic. Probably adrenaline. Preston hoped he didn't use it all up too quickly, this was going to be a very long shift.
“Sir, looks like those Guardians are back.” Private Russell was pointing to the south and sure enough a pair of boxy, angular shapes were emerging from the gloom. The first one didn't slow, heading straight past them towards the field hospital still being set up at the outer perimeter. The trailing armored car rolled to a halt; much of the paintwork was burned black, the hull bore dents and gouges and smoking debris still clung to parts of the body. The side hatch swung open to reveal a familiar face.
“Lieutenant, thought yah should know… the Lafayette's gone up completely now, we won't be pulling any more people out of there.” Preston nodded grimly. Neighborhoods full of trees were a death-trap in a fire this big. The man continued; “The fire's moving west along the bank, it looked to me like the FD are gonna try and hold it at Chene Street…”
He was interrupted by a sudden drawn-out roar, distinct over the omnipresent deep rumble and thuds of the lesser collapses.
“Hell, that was probably the Ren-Cen going. One of the towers at least. The lava must've hit the river by now.”
“Thank you…” Preston struggled to remember the man's name. “…Mr O'Reilly. We'll get down to Chene and see if we can help as soon as we're done here.”
“Right. We'd better drop this lot off and get back in there. Todd, let's go.” The hatch slammed shut and the M-1117 moved off.
Looking back to the destroyed plant, Lieutenant Preston was glad to see one of the dozers already plowing through the far corner, pushing rubble towards the slowly growing levee.
Belial’s Stronghold, Tartaruan Range, Northern Region of Hell
“It's a simple question, Baroness, was it sabotage or incompetence? When our Master returns in triumph from Satan’s court, he will want an answer.” The emphasis Euryale put on the naga's rank dripped contempt. The gorgon stared down at the prostrate Yulupki, her pose imperious despite the nasty burns and tears that marked her bronze flesh. As soon as Belial had left for Satan’s court, mounted on the fastest wyvern in the stables, Euryale had dropped the ‘critically injured’ pose and started to get her arrangements in order. “Of course it amounts to the same thing, since you personally assured the our Master that sabotage was impossible and any attempt would be suicide for the naga that tried it.”
Baroness Yulupki was a much less imposing sight, sprawled on an unkempt couch and still writhing with pain from the injuries she had received in the disastrous ritual. “That would have been true, if the witchesss the other nobles sent been worthy of the name!” she snapped back. “This group might as well have been hatchlingsss, it was obvious that they had never worked as a large chorusss before.” She glared at the memory of seeing yet another limp snakelike form being dragged over the crater rim by the winged silhouette of one of Euryale's handmaidens. The humiliation tasted bitter to the naga leader. “Of course if I'd had a reassonable amount of time to train them…”
“So, what are you going to tell Belial? That his plan was unrealistic? Or that you could not make a gang of hatchlings obey you?”
“I will tell him that this disassster was the result of your ssservant's incompetence!” Yulupki was screaming at this point. ”That a gorgon cannot be trussted with sseriousss witchcraft or expected to ssurvive the least bit of human resissstance!”
Euryale flashed a fanged smile back, but it was a humorless one. “You expect that to be believed, do you?”
She was fairly confident that she could prevail over Yulupki, but a fight over blame would leave both of them looking bad. The plan could be disrupted even more, and she didn't put it past Belial to throw a tantrum and dismiss both of them – and if it hadn't been for the apparently successful destruction of the human city, the consequences would've been much worse. Euryale stared down at Yulupki, waiting for her to falter. It didn't take long. The naga looked away and began to hiss softly; “Well, I mean, I will make it clear…”
Euryale cut her off. “It was obviously sabotage. You detected the culprits, but the unexpected incompetence of the foreign naga masked their actions until too late. They were in the delegation from…” The gorgon's voice trailed off expectantly.
Yulupki looked startled. “I can't be ssure, most likely thosse of Bezeelbub, but it could have been the ssenior ones from those Asmodeusss ssent or even…”
“…the delegation from Asmodeus.” Euryale continued smoothly. ”I hope at least one survived as you know how the Count enjoys dispensing appropriate punishment.”
Euryale sighed. From the look on her face Yulupki obviously still didn't get it. “Getting Belial angry at Bezeelbub will only cause unnecessary problems. Asmodeus on the other hand, firstly he is dead… oh, you didn't know? Of course not, silly me, your commendable dedication has left you a little out of the loop.” At this point Euryale was simply toying with her rival. “Yes, Asmodeus is dead, and his outer holdings lie ripe for Belial's taking. I think a little extra incentive should get things moving nicely. Understand?”
Yulupki couldn't bring herself to reply, but nodded silently.
“We understand each other then. Excellent.” It would be a long time before that one dared challenge her again, Euryale thought smugly.
Detroit River, Michigan
The Stormont ploughed through the fast-flowing water, its engines straining hard to push the massive flat barge in front of it. Its usual cargo of trucks had been replaced with as many humans as would fit onto the deck; the ferry had become one of the few escape routes for residents trapped in the inferno that had been downtown Detroit.
In the wheelhouse Captain Marcie Mahaffey drummed her fingers on the throttle levers, trying to will the ship to go faster. As a girl she’d always wanted to be a trucker, much to the derision of her male relatives. In retrospect, her ambitions had a lot to do with the fact that truckers spent most of their time in places more interesting than her hometown. Somehow, though, she’d ended up on the great lakes freighters, where it had taken near ten years of hard work before she got her master’s license. At last she had a ship to call her own, even if it was just a tugboat. Now fate had come calling and it was up to the Stormont and her crew to save hundreds of lives.