Armageddon???? (Part Fifty Up)

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Post by JN1 » 2008-03-14 02:24pm

CaptainChewbacca wrote:You know, this fic is really making me want to run with my own idea from a few years ago, called 'Christ the Destroyer', where during the temptation of Jesus in the desert, he DOES bow down to Satan in order to take dominion over all the nations of the world.

A very bleak concept.
Indeed it does.
On a lighter note I do remember watching a comedy sketch show where Satan was trying to tempt Christ and finally succeeded by offering him some bubble wrap. :lol:

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Post by Kodiak » 2008-03-14 02:27pm

I just had a thought regarding the Nephilim. It has been stated that in order for Baldricks to open a portal, they need to center in on a Nephilim. If the traits of the Nephilim are genetic, is it possible to test for those markers using standard DNA tests? DIMON has 2 in their custody, and likely others will avail themselves. If it is possible to find them, I think it's not unreasonable that the gov. will round them up.
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Post by Shroom Man 777 » 2008-03-14 02:30pm

And what happens when the demon teleports to Earth using the Nephilim? Since the Nephilim is a "landing site", does the poor dude explode bloodily as the demon is summoned?

cause, DUDE, that is SO Warhammer 40,000!
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Post by JN1 » 2008-03-14 02:39pm

Raesene wrote:Her Majesty seems to have survived - probably as the only head of a church :-)
I had imagined that the Archbishop of Canterbury was one of those suggesting to the PM that Britain should just accept the inevitable, so the C of E is probably gone. Dr. Williams would be one of the new residents of HMP Belmarsh.
I was going to include a line mentioning that the government had seased the land and assets of both the C of E and RC church in the UK, but it slipped my mind I'm afraid. :oops:
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Post by The Vortex Empire » 2008-03-14 03:12pm

I wonder where the next berserker will pop up.

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Post by Shroom Man 777 » 2008-03-14 03:22pm

Please make it Russia. The image of Russia dusting off a whole legion of T-34s for its home guard in reaction to this, having T-34s policing the streets of Moscow and stuff, is just pure awesomeness.
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Post by CaptainChewbacca » 2008-03-14 03:28pm

Shroom Man 777 wrote:Please make it Russia. The image of Russia dusting off a whole legion of T-34s for its home guard in reaction to this, having T-34s policing the streets of Moscow and stuff, is just pure awesomeness.
Don't you think a 70mm shell against a Baldrick at urban ranges is a bit overkill? What about the building BEHIND the critter?
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Post by Shroom Man 777 » 2008-03-14 03:39pm

It's an iron chariot, it could send the thing fleeing. Or at least, frighten it enough so folks can blow it to bits.

Can't the T-34 carry other kinds of weapons? Co-axial machineguns, RPGs, etc. ?
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Post by Stuart » 2008-03-14 03:58pm

Apartment in Queens, New York
He carefully wrote out the name and address on the plain manila envelope with his black sharpie. It whispered across the surface as his elegant but simple strokes spelled out the name James Randi. He stopped for a moment, the quiet dulcet tones of the classical music in the background was swelling up now and he listened. He ignored the palsied shaking of his left hand. There was no time for fear.

His eyes drifted down to the small pile of photos stacked up next to the open envelope. The top photo was a wide angled shot of an African village, thatched huts and low hanging solitary trees with scrub brush everywhere. It was almost clichéd as if he had taken a photo of an African village set in the back lot of Paramount. He only wished that were true. In the wide angled shot there were plumes of black smoke rising up in several locations throughout the center of the village. His thoughts, unbidden as always, drifted back to that moment in time. His eyes lost their focus on the photo and he was no longer in his quiet home in a non-descript neighborhood of Queens. He was stalking through the deep scrub brush of the African village.

The heat was oppressive and the sweat clung to his body unwilling to leave and unable to really cool him in this Subsaharan warmth. He had heard of the atrocities committed here in Darfur and like many of the Western journalists here he was losing hope that anyone cared about the Africans dying in the wastes of this forsaken place. As he walked into the village he was painfully aware of how alone he was here and how exposed should rebel or government forces decide to descend on this village and finish what they had obviously started. He could already hear the lamentation of the women. It was a mournful yet desperate dirge that refused any succor or solace.

It was the wailing of the women, the gnashing of the teeth of the men that must have attracted it here. The sounds of death in the old ways. The way people used to mourn before things got so civilized. But he was getting ahead of himself, wasn’t he? He stepped between huts and abandoned carts, weaving through the debris and the occasional crater caused by some form of ordinance. Perhaps the government had sent another of it Russian made bombers up north to deal more death to these villagers. It had happened before.

He camera whirred and clicked in rapid fire sequence as he took his shots while moving through the village, a discarded doll, a shoe left in the dirt, blood smeared across a doorway. It was all a flowing narrative and he was capturing it as best he could in this miserable heat and squalor. The smell struck him as soon as he approached the town center and he immediately knew what the fires were. People were burning. He pulled his camera up before him like a weapon, fingers tense as he prepared to take his shots.

He stepped over a dead mule, the flies already swirling in angry buzzing clouds. His eyes narrowed on the ruined town center. The market was on fire and there were people trapped within some of the flaming wrecks. A lot of people. The bombs struck at midday when many of the villagers were gathering what they could for dinner. The people who did this knew precisely what they were doing when they carried out the attack. He began snapping photos, lens quietly clicking as it focused in on the flailing limbs of the trapped and burning, capturing the expressions of pain and anguish. The lost hope was stamped across the faces of relatives. He had to keep taking the pictures because if he stopped, even for a moment, he could actually begin to comprehend what he was actually seeing and he would lose all sense of composure and self control.

People were trapped in the rubble and being burned alive and there was nothing anyone could do about it. He captured, with numb resolve, the desperately futile attempts by relatives and good Samaritans to douse the flames with buckets of water or dirt. He continued snapping pictures as they worked furiously. Suddenly a young girl rushed up to him and began tugging at his arm and speaking to him in machine gun like delivery. She was begging him, begging in the most heart wrenching manner for assistance. All he could do was drop his camera for a moment and shake his head sadly. Tears welled up in her eyes and she pulled now, almost as if trying to physically drag him to the scene. He continued to shake his head and then weakly responded in his stilted version of her dialect that he could do nothing.

She shook her head and wailed, slapping herself on the sides of her forehead and falling to her knees. She sunk down into the packed earth and sobbed into it as if it were her mother’s breast. Her body shifting back and forth furiously as if trying to burrow into the ground to escape her grief and her cries were like knives in his heart. He stared down at the sight dumbly, unsure what to say or do. His Western mind was unprepared for this level of grief.

“It is like music don’t you think, Jude?”

He froze. The voice was soft like silk sheets on skin. The person stood beside him, materializing out of the air like a shadow escaping the noon day sun.

“The anguish, the terror, the guilt. When death comes for humanity it is the most feared and awesome event in their too brief lives.” His eyes slowly turned to regard the person. He stood taller than Jude, black as obsidian in the sun and wearing simple white shirt opened at the chest with filthy khakis. His feet were clad in battered hiking boots. The boots were splattered with what he guessed were ancient blood stains. “Imagine it, Jude. You come into this world and breath for the first time you have simultaneously taken one more step towards death.” The newcomer turned his head slowly to face him and it was so achingly graceful that Jude wanted to weep. “The moment you are born you are dying. That is the paradox in which you live.”

Jude shook his head slowly. “Who are you?” he asked quietly. There was an awesome sense of power around him, like standing next to a livewire and he was dimly aware that the activity around them, the dying and the screams were all slowing down and muted as if the world were pausing out of respect for his conversation with the stranger.

The stranger smiled softly as if at a private joke. “I am a traveler in your world, I come and go as I please and where I go death follows me.”

“You’re not human.” Jude replied without thinking and immediately had no idea why he just said that.

“I am more than anything you have ever known, Jude, son of Gregory. I am the sword, the scythe of the One Above All and in my passing entire nations have wept bitter tears. The first born tremble at my name.”

Unspoken, Jude heard a single name whispered with reverence in his head. “Uriel.”

The black Adonis like being said nothing but pursed his lips as if contemplating his next words carefully. “Follow me.”

“What?” Jude stammered.

“Follow me, Jude. I have many roads yet to travel and this continent pleases me. The people here still know how to grieve. They are still connected on a primal level to death and mortality. Your sterile world repels and abhors me. Death in your world is a clinical state with consequences tied up in paper work and inconvenience. Here. In this place.” Uriel slowly raised his arms as if to embrace some unseen thing on the ether. “Death is still felt.”

“This is insane.”

“No, this is life and death happening now. There is something coming. A great message that might make even your great Empires in the West feel again. I wanted to bask in the cold glow of entropy one last time before I must leave this place.”

“I’m talking to the angel of death…” Jude whispered to himself in disbelief. “I finally lost it. I’ve seen too much.”

Uriel suddenly reached out, at least Jude guessed he reached out because he must have done it between the blinks of an eye, for the in the next instant Uriel’s hand grasped Jude’s chin tightly and forced him to look into his eyes. And in the angel’s eyes he saw pool of white within white and something else. Something dark and chittering like a mad insect.

“FOCUS child of Seth.”

Jude’s hair grayed at the temples and he felt a palsy come over him, hands shaking and his bowels released their contents without hesitation. He stood in abject terror, rooted in place and suddenly everything Uriel wanted and said was the sole thing in Jude’s universe.

“Follow me, you will know my wake for in it there is pestilence, war and famine. Follow me throughout this continent and see my great works. For when I am gone there will be none like me again in this universe. I am the One Above All’s scythe, where I go, humanity dies. I am not just some quaint Angel of Death, I am entropy incarnate. I weep for your world for my touch is far more merciful than what is to come. The Morningstar has always been too…blunt an instrument for my taste.”

Jude said nothing but his tongue lolled in his mouth and his vision began to fade. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears and the roar of blood., His heart was slowing, inexorably slowing to a dull thrumming and he could feel ice collecting where Uriel’s fingers touched his flesh, his blood had instantly recoiled at the touch and remained away from the points of flesh on flesh contact.

“Within your bloodline is carried the ancient gift like the one borne by the Witch of Endor and all that ilk. You can see me for what I am. So follow me, Jude, I choose you as my final witness in these dark days. A prophet for a new age.”

Uriel released Jude’s chin and watched the young man for a moment as blood rushed back into his face and graying cold clammy skin slowly regained its luster. His hair remained grey and his cheeks had sunk in slightly. There was no doubt these were scars that would remain. One did not touch the divine without scars remaining to mark its passage.

Uriel looked back over the crowd of screaming refugees, the world apparently was coming back up to speed and volume and nodded as if coming to a decision. “Peace be with you and my peace I grant you.” He whispered and suddenly every single living thing in the town square down to the angrily buzzing flies dropped to the earth in an instant. Uriel nodded in satisfaction turned in a slow beautiful motion and strode away. In the glaring noon day sun Jude saw the hint of ebony wings jutting from his back. He numbly looked around and then realized what had happened and acted as only he could. He lifted his camera.

He snapped back to the here and now and saw that he had finished writing the address. He sighed softly and coughed. Blood speckled down on the white coffee table. Yes, one did not walk with the Angel of Death and remain untouched. He gently took the stack of photos and scanned them one last time before slipping them into the envelope. Each photo a place in Africa, each one a record of devastation and death and each one followed by a photo of a black man, black enough to have been carved from obsidian like a walking statute and beautiful, so beautiful that in many instances the photos of his face simply blurred as if man’s technology simply could not capture the sheer grace of the being, and in many of these photos there were the onyx wings unfurled like a predatory hawk as it strode through the wreckage of its passing.

Every prophet needed his gospel. Every prophet needed to warn the people. Jude Sanchez was no different. He had to warn the world that Baldricks were not the only thing that stalked them from beyond. He sealed the envelope.

Hampshire, England.

The knock at the door came while Commander Nigel ‘Sharkey’ Ward, DSC, AFC, RN (Retired) was eating his breakfast. Cursing the interruption at this hour of the morning he made his way to the door.

“Yes, what is it?” He asked before taking in who his visitor was.

To his surprise he saw a very young looking Sub-Lieutenant, Ward noticed the wings on his sleeve marking him as a naval aviator, with two armed bluejackets, both wearing the brassard of the Naval Police, standing behind him.

“Commander Ward, Sir.” The young officer said.

“Yes, how can I help you, Sub?”

“Your presence is required at Yeovilton, Sir.” The Sub-Lieutenant replied, handing Ward a sealed envelope.

He was shocked to discover that is was from the First Sea Lord and Chief of the Naval Staff, Admiral Sir Jonathan Band, himself. It informed him that the Royal Navy was returning the Sea Harrier FA.2 to service and as part of this was recalling as many retired Sea Jet pilots to service as it could. As the senior Sea Harrier pilot, and pioneer in operating the aircraft, his services were required for refresher training. Admiral Band also offered him a promotion to Captain should he accept this post, if not he would simply be conscripted as a pilot at his former rank.

“Give me ten minutes to pack a few things, Sub, and those two Regulators won’t be necessary.”

Bruntingthorpe Aerodrome, Leicestershire.

The aerodrome echoed to the sound of four Rolls-Royce Olympus turbojet engines being throttled up to full power. A great delta winged shape emerged from behind one of the hangars and made its way towards the runway; Vulcan XH558 was back in service.

Taking their lead from the USAF, the Royal Air Force had been scouring the countries aviation museums for aircraft that might possibly be returned to service. A small collection of various kinds of Tornado and Harrier were already on their way to RAF St. Athan, or BAE Preston for refurbishment, while a small collection of Blackburn Buccaneers was currently being assembled. Finally the air force’s attention had focused on the only remaining airworthy Avro Vulcan B.2 left in the world. They were also now looking at the Vulcans and Victors maintained in taxiable condition, as well as those held in static condition.

Meanwhile the volunteers of the Vulcan Operating Company had either found themselves back in the RAF, or conscripted into the air force. The technicians, assisted by a team brought in from the rest of the air force, had been working hard for the last couple of weeks turning XH558 from a display aircraft into a warplane once again. One advantage that they had discovered was that the modern electronics that they had installed took up less space, and were lighter than the 1950s equipment that the aircraft had once carried; that left more capacity for fuel and weapons. Spares was a potential issue, though at least the VOC had assembled enough to keep XH558 going for a while, and fortunately Rolls-Royce still had the details of how to build the Olympus engine. If push came to shove though, some spare parts might have to be manufactured from scratch.

If returning XH558 to service was successful it would serve as the model for XL426 and XM655, both of which were potentially airworthy, and for any of the other surviving Vulcans and Victors that were in reasonable condition.

For the entirety of the past week RAF armorers had been conducting weapons fit tests, confirming that yes, the Vulcan could still carry 1,000lb bombs, and just as their counterparts in 1982 had discovered, that she could carry three 1,000lb Laser Guided Bombs in its bomb bay. They had also double checked that it could still carry another weapon it had once carried too.

As one of the aircraft chosen to carry the ill-fated Skybolt missile XH558 had two underwing pylons that had been used in the Falklands War to carry Shrike missile and ECM pods. These pylons had been reactivated so that once again they could be used for weapons, or jamming pods.

Today XH558 was heading off to the RAF bombing range at Garvie Island to test her newly restored capability, her belly full with twenty-one 1,000lb bombs. Her pilot and co-pilot advanced the throttles forward to the stops and the bomber began to accelerate down the long runway, once used by SAC bombers on Reflex Alert and roared into the air as if she was young again.

“London Military this is X-Ray Hotel 558, requesting permission to climb to flight level thirty and proceed on flight plan, over.”

“Roger that, 558. Welcome back to air force, over.”

(Thanks to Stravo and Jan who wrote the first and last parts of this respectively.)
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Post by Burak Gazan » 2008-03-14 04:00pm

CaptainChewbacca wrote:
Shroom Man 777 wrote:Please make it Russia. The image of Russia dusting off a whole legion of T-34s for its home guard in reaction to this, having T-34s policing the streets of Moscow and stuff, is just pure awesomeness.
Don't you think a 70mm shell against a Baldrick at urban ranges is a bit overkill? What about the building BEHIND the critter?
Rule #37 applies:

There is no such thing as overkill. There is only "open fire" and " I need to reload" :twisted:
"Of course, what would really happen is that in Game 7, with the Red Sox winning 20-0 in the 9th inning, with two outs and two strikes on the last Cubs batter, a previously unseen meteor would strike the earth, instantly and forever wiping out all life on the planet, and forever denying the Red Sox a World Series victory..."

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Post by R011 » 2008-03-14 04:00pm

CaptainChewbacca wrote:
Shroom Man 777 wrote:Please make it Russia. The image of Russia dusting off a whole legion of T-34s for its home guard in reaction to this, having T-34s policing the streets of Moscow and stuff, is just pure awesomeness.
Don't you think a 70mm shell against a Baldrick at urban ranges is a bit overkill? What about the building BEHIND the critter?

It would be an 85 mm. I don't believe any T-34 -76 survived besides museum exhibits and hard targets. I think most of them were destroyed by the Germans.

As for collateral damage, these are the guys who used poison gas in a hostage situation. Somehow I don't think ex-KGB officer Tsar Valdimir will be very concerned - and his media will blame any casualties on Hell.
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Post by Kodiak » 2008-03-14 04:08pm

The. Angel. Of. Death.

You have GOT to be kidding me. It'll be interesting to see what Randi does with the photos. I'm imagining one of those picture-map-board things that became so famous for tracking down Saddam and his family, only with Demons. Excellent characterization of Uriel, Stuart. I literally had goosebumps.
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Post by JN1 » 2008-03-14 04:18pm

Uh, oh. The mention of the Angel of Death is somewhat worrying.
Thanks again for letting me play in yet another of your sandboxes. It's great fun to contribute to this story, even if I think I may be building up trouble for myself in the future. :lol:

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Post by DarthShady » 2008-03-14 04:23pm

I am intrigued as to why the angel of death is giving us a warning?

This fic is beyond AWESOME!!!

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Post by CaptainChewbacca » 2008-03-14 04:33pm

Not just the fourth Archangel, but the Witch of Endor? That's off the everloving chain, my friend!

For those who don't know, she's the only 'good' necromancer we see in the Bible, 1st Samuel Chapter 28. She summons Samuel's soul so the king can talk to him.
I am intrigued as to why the angel of death is giving us a warning?
I don't think Uriel is giving us a warning. I think Jude saw something in his time with Uriel that he thinks can be of help to the allies.

Edit: Stuart, a clarification. Is the thinking that over the years the DNA has been disseminated enough that ALL humans are at least somewhat Nephelim, or will we be encountering them as a discrete species/subspecies later on?

Edit mk 2: Extra bonus trivia- There were more than one species of semi-divine 'giants' in biblical/aramaic mythology. There was the nephelim, but there were also the Emim, Rephaim, and Anakim.
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Post by JN1 » 2008-03-14 05:02pm

They had also double checked that it could still carry another weapon it had once carried too.
I'm surprised that nobody has attempted to guess what 'another weapon' might be.
As for collateral damage, these are the guys who used poison gas in a hostage situation. Somehow I don't think ex-KGB officer Tsar Valdimir will be very concerned - and his media will blame any casualties on Hell.
Maybe he can arrange for Satan to drink something containing Polonium? of course the Kremlin and the Russian media would probably deny they had done so and accuse Satan of being in league with Islamic terrorists. :lol:
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Post by CaptainChewbacca » 2008-03-14 05:03pm

JN1 wrote:
They had also double checked that it could still carry another weapon it had once carried too.
I'm surprised that nobody has attempted to guess what 'another weapon' might be.
Nukes, I figured. Why, is it not nukes?
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Post by JN1 » 2008-03-14 05:08pm

CaptainChewbacca wrote:
JN1 wrote:
They had also double checked that it could still carry another weapon it had once carried too.
I'm surprised that nobody has attempted to guess what 'another weapon' might be.
Nukes, I figured. Why, is it not nukes?
You were right. They used the drill version of the WE.177 as a test fit, having to take it out of a museum to do it.

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Post by Burak Gazan » 2008-03-14 05:14pm

I thought Nukes, that was the original mission for the V-bombers after all :wink:

This fic is rapidly approaching legendary status :D
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Post by MKSheppard » 2008-03-14 05:14pm

Am I the only one who thinks that when Heaven intervenes in the war; they try something really nasty that they think will overawe us; but we simply respond in kind with even nastier shit?

Atomic, Bacteriological, and Chemical Warriors Unite!

Hell, I can just imagine us "Sunday Punching" Heaven with a reborn SAC.
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Post by Kodiak » 2008-03-14 05:20pm

CaptainChewbacca wrote: Edit mk 2: Extra bonus trivia- There were more than one species of semi-divine 'giants' in biblical/aramaic mythology. There was the nephelim, but there were also the Emim, Rephaim, and Anakim.
Interesting translations of those names:

Nephilim: According to various translations means 1. Those who are wondrous, 2. The warlike ones, and 3. Those causing others to fall. Any of those could be telling as research into the Nephilim continues.

Rephaim: The Dead Ones. This also bodes ill for the the people of earth.

Emim: The long-necked ones. I honestly don't know what to make of that.

I look forward to more of this epic saga
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"Are you an idiot? What demand do you think there is for aircraft carriers that aren't government?" - Captain Chewbacca

"I keep my eighteen wives in wonderfully appointed villas by bringing the underwear of god to the heathens. They will come to know God through well protected goodies." - Gandalf

"There is no such thing as being too righteous to understand." - Darth Wong

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Sidewinder
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Post by Sidewinder » 2008-03-14 05:30pm

Within your bloodline is carried the ancient gift like the one borne by the Witch of Endor and all that ilk.
Considering CaptainChewbacca's post, I assume "the Witch of Endor" isn't a reference to the Nightsister in the Ewok movies. In which book of the Bible is the Witch mentioned?
Please do not make Americans fight giant monsters.

Those gun nuts do not understand the meaning of "overkill," and will simply use weapon after weapon of mass destruction (WMD) until the monster is dead, or until they run out of weapons.

They have more WMD than there are monsters for us to fight. (More insanity here.)

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CaptainChewbacca
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Post by CaptainChewbacca » 2008-03-14 05:39pm

Sidewinder wrote:
Within your bloodline is carried the ancient gift like the one borne by the Witch of Endor and all that ilk.
Considering CaptainChewbacca's post, I assume "the Witch of Endor" isn't a reference to the Nightsister in the Ewok movies. In which book of the Bible is the Witch mentioned?
First Samuel, Chapter 28. Specifically, verse 7: Behold, there is a woman that divineth by a ghost at En-dor.

Basically, Saul kicked all the witches out of Israel, but then he needed one and she was the only one left. She used some magical tool to summon the ghost of Samuel, who predicted Saul's reign would come to an end. He died the next day in battle.

Here's a link to the chapter.
Stuart: The only problem is, I'm losing track of which universe I'm in.
You kinda look like Jesus. With a lightsaber.- Peregrin Toker
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Darth Wong
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Post by Darth Wong » 2008-03-14 05:43pm

Stuart wrote:
Darth Wong wrote:One thing that's been bothering me: isn't it a bit odd for a demon who wants to imprison and torture every last human being to be shocked at the ruthlessness of humans who run down fleeing enemies? Or is his shock merely a reflection of his sense of entitlement at being a "superior" being to whom such savagery should not rightfully be applied?
Its the latter. For a human comparison, its the difference between us being appalled by the idea of one human killing another yet we cheerfully kill cattle to make hamburgers. To the demons, humans are just cattle who are essentially being farmed for an asset they can provide. In those terms Hell is a slaughteryard feedlot. The problem they face now is that humans are fighting back and proving very good at it. How would we react if the cattle in a feedlot not only fought back but consistently won?
Ah. Thanks for the clarification.
BY the way Mike, welcome to the world of Armageddon and thank you for your insights so far. If you want to contribute a few parts (perhaps from a Canadian or engineering perspective) feel free. Pmail any bots to me and I'll blend them into the storyline.
Thanks for the offer, but I haven't written any kind of fiction in many years. Anything I had to contribute would be choppy at best. Also, I kind of doubt Canada would play a major role here; if I recall Dante's Inferno correctly, Satan himself was imprisoned in a frozen lake at one point. I don't think demons are particularly fond of sub-zero temperatures, nor are they tactically effective. I suppose they could show up here in summertime, or one could show up in a mall during wintertime and then realize to his chagrin that he can't go outside without freezing to death.

One particular mental image I had was that of a baldrick appearing in a newly rejuvenated factory in Ohio and running roughshod in there, since you went to the trouble of describing the industrial rejuvenation in the first place and even naming some characters. It can take a surprisingly long time to bring a factory back up to speed if major equipment has been damaged; in many cases nowadays, spare parts must be shipped from overseas. For older machines, no spare parts may be available at all, although I've known mechanics who were wizards at creating stuff on the fly, including very small complex gears and such (it's always the old grizzled guys who are good at that; the young guys are usually just button-pushers). The industrial infrastructure behind the human war machine may be grumbling back up to speed, but there are plenty of potential bottlenecks.

Mind you, the demons are a long way from understanding our infrastructure well enough for targeted attacks of that nature, although they might just get lucky with random chance.
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"It's not evil for God to do it. Or for someone to do it at God's command."- Jonathan Boyd on baby-killing

"you guys are fascinated with the use of those "rules of logic" to the extent that you don't really want to discussus anything."- GC

"I do not believe Russian Roulette is a stupid act" - Embracer of Darkness

"Viagra commercials appear to save lives" - tharkûn on US health care.

http://www.stardestroyer.net/Mike/RantMode/Blurbs.html

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Darth Raptor
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Post by Darth Raptor » 2008-03-14 05:58pm

Restoring all these jet planes seems like an odd thing to before we know if they can even fly in Hell. From the descriptions, the atmosphere sounds like the air above a volcano, which does Bad Things to jet engines. Unless they're prepping them for operations against Heaven, which we know *nothing* about.

And I, for one, hope the angels aren't completely eradicated. Rawr. <3

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