Descent into Tartarus Read online

  After he'd fed Dude, Dan went out back to the unattached garage and started looking for his hiking gear, especially the backpack. It took him about an hour to dig it out, along with a light that attached to his baseball cap, a box full of green glow sticks and a small bedroll. He stopped and looked at what he'd dug out. He wasn't sure what he'd need. He made a mental note to ask the tall, skinny fellow what to expect.

  Later, he had everything spread out on the dining room table, and was cleaning the backpack when he noticed movement to his left. Something just went past.

  He turned to look, and there was nothing out of place, and no one in the house. He checked on Dude, currently sleeping off his supper on the couch. As he turned, he spotted a black shadow move in the hallway. He froze and reached for his service weapon, then remembered he'd already locked it up.

  He pressed himself against the wall as he peeked around to see what was in the hallway. After the last few times, he knew this wasn't good news.

  Nothing. The hallway seemed clear.

  He sighed and turned back to the dining room and spotted the black cloud hovering over the couch and the sleeping cat. He watched as the darkness began to solidify near Dude. That's when panic began to set in.

  He began to edge towards the fireplace. Keeping an eye on the dark shadow. As he crept along the wall, the darkness seemed to notice him. There was a shift in the cloud, like it was turning towards Dan.

  He quickly looked to the mantle, and the photo of his mother. There was a set of rosary beads draped across the portrait. He edged closer as the dark cloud began moving towards him. His hand reached out and snatched the beads from the photo. He held the rosary out towards the cloud, which was getting closer.

  In a panic, Dan threw the beads at the cloud and yelled: "Be gone foul beast!"

  The beads landed on the couch next to Dude, who glared at Dan in annoyance.

  But, the cloud was gone.

  Then Dan heard a clapping from the dining room, he turned to see Thanatos shaking his head.

  "Be gone foul beast?" Thanatos said. "Seriously, I have no idea where you got that one, my friend."

  "It worked, it's gone," Dan pointed out, trying to defend himself.

  "Yes. Ah, no, it was my presence that chased it away," Thanatos explained.

  He walked across the living room and went down the hall. Dan followed, closely.

  "Where did it go?" Dan asked.

  "Likely into this closet. There's a portal in there," Thanatos explained as he slowly opened the closet door. He examined the area and shut the door. "You may want to find a place for your cat, some of these things love cats. And not as pets."

  "Alright," Dan said. "Did you just drop by here to tell me that?"

  "Of course not, I dropped by to see if you've made up your mind." Thanatos turned and walked back into the living room.

  Following, Dan said, "I've thought about it, and I'm still not sure I'm the one you need for this rescue mission."

  "Nonsense," Thanatos said, turning to face Dan. "You are exactly what is needed. An unknown factor. You can go undetected into places where other immortals can't."

  "I'm not totally convinced, you know," Dan countered. "I'm a cop, and not a mythological hero."

  "Don't sell yourself short - you've got the skills and the experience," Thanatos said, now smiling. "You don't remember, do you?"

  "Remember what?" Dan was visibly confused. It made him uncomfortable.

  "As a kid, before I took your mother to her idea of heaven. Think back!" Thanatos encouraged.

  "I have no idea," Dan confessed.

  "You and a school chum used to spend hours on weekend playing a game. Dungeons and dragons! The Underworld operates a lot like that game does. There are even dragons!"

  "Dragons?"

  "One of the leaders of the civil war is a dragon demon named Bune," Thanatos explained. "Except Bune can shape shift and is often seen as a human. Well, human-like."

  "A dragon demon?

  "Oh, he's only a dragon when he needs to fly around and intimidate people. And when he is, he often sprouts two extra heads. Just for show, I assure you." Thanatos paused to laugh.

  Thanatos went into the dining room and surveyed the gear Dan had laid out on the table.

  "Good choice," he said, tapping the backpack. "You will need to remember this; modern devices tend not to work down there."

  "Why is that?" Dan was baffled.

  "The Underworld is a projection into this dimension of a location that is actually two or three dimensions removed from the earthly plane," he told Dan. "Sometimes we find that surface weapons, for example, work erratically. I know that black powder typically fails, so guns are useless. Down there? I'm not sure, no one has ever tried." Thanatos held up the light sticks.

  "Those just need a simple chemical reaction to work," Dan pointed out.

  "So does gunpowder," Thanatos said.

  "Yes, but gunpowder needs a spark or flame to cause the reaction," Dan explained.

  "Like I said, it's erratic in what works or doesn't work," Thanatos said.

  "Well, I figure you can guess what my decision is," Dan said, replacing the light sticks into the backpack.

  "Yes, I am quite pleased. Shall I tell Gaia and the sisters to expect you shortly?" Thanatos began to fade away.

  "Oh, one last question, if you don't mind," Dan said. Thanatos solidified again.

  "How do I get into the Underworld, without having to die first?" Dan asked.

  "Oh, easy. There are several portals a mortal can make use of to gain entrance. Most are in Greece, and there's one or two on this continent."

  "What? Like the one in my hall closet?" Dan pointed to the hallway.

  "Yes, except I have no idea where that one goes. It's new," Thanatos said.

  "New? When did it show up?"

  "Did you have an earthquake recently?"

  "Yes, about a week ago, right when all this started," Dan replied.

  "Yes, sometimes a portal opening up will cause a small earthquake. Or a larger one, depending," Thanatos said.

  "Depending? On what?"

  "How big it is and if it's for immortals or not. This one? Tiny. I figure it leads direct to Tartarus," Thanatos said, thinking. "Yes, it was probably used to spirit Megaera away."

  "Can I use it? I'd get much closer to where she's held, right?"

  "You're just as likely to drop into a Tartarus prison cell. Then you'd be stuck there until you happen to die of starvation or a lack of water," Thanatos explained as he faded from view.

  Dan stared at the spot where Thanatos had been, then he sighed. He looked at Dude, still sleeping off his dinner. He had to go find the cat carrier. Getting him into it would be an adventure.

  Earlier that evening, Dan had brought the cat carrier inside. He tried to keep it hidden away, but Dude spotted it and bolted out of the living room and hid under Dan's bed.

  After packing the car with his backpack and hiking boots, he went back inside to put Dude in the cat carrier.

  That was thirty minutes ago.

  Now, Dan was lying on his stomach and trying to coax the cat out from under the bed with an open can of tuna. Dude wasn't about to fall for that trick. Last time he was stuffed into the carrier, he was taken to the vet and poked with needles. He didn't even want to remember the obscenities that occurred when the vet had taken his temperature. He wasn't about to move, not as long as that torture cage was still in the house.

  Dan knew that if he tried to grab Dude, he'd likely wind up with a shredded hand for his efforts. He finally stood up and went into the kitchen. He rummaged around the cabinet below the sink and found an empty spray bottle. He washed it out and loaded it with tap water.

  He returned and peered under the bed. Dude hadn't moved from the wall, dead center between the sides of the large king-sized bed.

  "All right, buddy. You're coming with me, even if I have to haul the hose in through a window and blast you with water." He showed Dude the water bot
tle. Dude just glared at Dan.

  Dan shook the bottle in one last warning. Then he aimed and shot a stream of water at Dude, who scrabbled on the hardwood and shot out the other side of the bed. Dan stood and watched a streak of orange fly out from the bed and into the hallway.

  Dan shut the door and pursued the cat. He'd closed all the doors, so Dude had no option except the living room, dining room, and kitchen. He'd blocked the couch, so Dude was left with running frantically in circles.

  Finally, Dan stopped in the dining room and readied a large bath towel. He held it out in front of himself and walked towards Dude, now sitting beside the cabinets against the back door. He crouched and got closer to the cat, who was currently pressed tight against the side of the cabinets.

  As Dan tried to reach out and make a grab, Dude bolted and shot for the living room. Dan chased after him and cornered him again, this time behind the recliner. Dude was trying to duck behind the couch and was trying to pull the cushions Dan had used to block the back of the couch.

  Dan grabbed Dude around the middle and the cat appeared to give up, resigned to his fate. Until Dan started to put him into the cat carrier, then all four legs shot out and he held on to the sides. Dan lifted Dude up, kneed the carrier over and tried putting him in from the top.

  After a fifteen-minute struggle, Dan had Dude in the carrier and he was ready to pack up. He had no idea where to take Dude, but he wasn't about to let Dude stay in a house with a demonic portal in a hall closet.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Minoru Genda inspected Sorath's dragon pilots. He considered them to be his pilots. He had hand-picked this bunch from a group of recruits that passed a simple test; ride a dragon. He eliminated most when they fell from the riding harness, for they were foolish enough to believe they could hold on when a dragon began evasive maneuvers. He dressed in his usual tan jodhpurs and tall leather boots, gleaming in the perpetual twilight of the Underworld. He slapped his riding crop against his gloved hand as he paced in front of the pilots. His shirt was supernaturally smooth and worn without decorations or medals.

  Standing in front of the copper-colored dragon, Mabel, is Grimme Gudmundson. Tall, lanky, an unkempt mass of blond hair atop a thin face, with weather-beaten blue eyes. People called him "Grimes" when he was alive. In life, he was raised in Minneapolis, then at twenty, he grew tired of the endless winters and headed south. In Kansas City, he found himself at a rodeo that was holding a bull-riding contest. With more luck than brains, he gave it a shot riding a bucking bull, and won. He continued on the rodeo circuit until a bull in Ft. Worth threw him, trampled him, and he died on the scene.

  As a result, he knew all about adjusting leather harnesses and there wasn't anything the huge dragon could do to knock him off her back. He and the dragon eventually became good friends. He'd named her "Mabel" after his long-time girlfriend in Kansas.

  Mabel was an immense copper-colored dragon, with enormous wings she kept folded back, her scales had an oily sheen in the dim light. Her head was triangular, with small horns above her nostrils. The shape of her mouth gave her a perpetual amused look.

  Next to him was another Asian: Manzo Oonishi, a Japanese bomber pilot who'd dropped two large bombs into the side of the aircraft carrier USS Franklin, in an attack close to the Japanese mainland. He was one with his dragon, an orange monster known as the Apalala, a creature deadly with its flame. The man's skills as a pilot allowed him to deliver pinpoint devastation to any enemy he encountered.

  The Apalala was a slender, worm-like dragon, reddish scales that were dull, with frills appearing over its yellow eyes. A pointed, horse-like head ended in a beaked mouth with a small trickle of vapor gently rising from its mouth.

  And then there was the German: Warner Hammerfeldt. A stocky man, balding with heavy black eyebrows over dark brown eyes. He was wearing the uniform of his old outfit, the Luftwaffe. He was a lowly mechanic, and after his last airplane had suffered engine failure, they transferred him into the camps to be a guard, where he excelled at torturing prisoners. After capture, a small tribunal had convicted him of war crimes and they sentenced him to die by firing squad. After they executed him, he was angry that there was no actual Valhalla awaiting him when he died.

  Instead he found himself face-to-face with a purple imp who dragged him through a gate and into Tartarus, which was ridiculous, since it was supposed to be JUST for the Greeks, not anyone from the northern tribes.

  Hammerfeldt's mount was another reddish dragon, a common Drake. Small for a dragon, and Genda chose this one for the German as it had proved easy to maneuver. Genda was not happy having to include the German. The leader of the ground forces, Rommel, had wanted a German as a pilot, and this was the man they chose. It was as if Rommel was doing it as a punishment because Goering not being allowed to fly a dragon himself.

  Genda walked along the pilots, lined up in front of their dragons.

  "Today, gentlemen, we will train for air cover and support. Picking out targets and destroying them while our own troops advance toward the enemy," Genda told his men. "Sorath has suffered a minor setback, but we expect to begin our attack against the Palace within the next six weeks, so we must be as sharp as possible. There will be several high-ranking observers, including Herr Rommel and Herr Goering."

  He stared into the eyes of the pudgy German. He continued the lecture; "Some of us feel as if we're too good for training, and so, we must train harder. All commands must be obeyed at once!" He snapped his voice and brought his riding crop down across Hammerfeldt's head, making him grab at his face. He straightened up and glared at the small man tormenting him.

  "You fly off again, away from the group, leaving your wing leader, I will personally feed you to the dragons. Is that clear?" Genda spat.

  He walked back to where his huge dragon awaited.

  "Pilots! Mount up!" Genda ordered, then he leapt onto the back of his dragon and strapped himself into the flying harness.

  The other pilots followed suit. Hammerfeldt glared at Genda and silently vowed to flame him when he wasn't looking. He pulled the lap belt tight and awaited take-off clearance.

  "We fly south to the training area. I am informed there will be actual human targets for our training." Genda smiled and added, "Some humans who we caught trying to infiltrate our compound, no doubt sent by Hades' people. Our leader has ordered that they die in the most horrible way possible. If true death is possible."

  He held his left arm straight up and kicked his dragon into a running start, across a dirt field. When his left arm dropped, the other pilots urged their dragons into flight. Mabel could easily lift off, not needing a running start like the other dragon breeds. Grimes felt the air rush past his face as he settled in, adjusting his flying goggles. He kept an eye on the fat German, watching his dragon struggle to get airborne.

  Less beer and bratwurst, that boy needs salad, Grimes thought to himself.

  After the dragons had gotten airborne, they lined up into a left echelon formation and headed to the southern edges of Tartarus. Grimes always flew to the leader's right, staggered back one dragon's length. He turned to observe the German struggling to stay in the position, at the tail end of the left side of the formation. Mabel easily stayed with Genda, flying gently.

  After an hour flying, Genda spotted the training area. He signaled to Grimes, who nodded.

  Flaming dragons produced a great deal of soot and smoke, so he made sure his goggles were tight and took the lead. Mable dived for the huddled humans, now staring up in horror at the flying beasts bearing down on them. Grimes lost sight of the targets as they scattered. Mable shot orange flame out in a long, strong stream, easily leading the running humans. No man was a match for a flaming dragon. Consumed by flames, they fell, screaming[1].

  Grimes turned to watch Oonishi make his run. It was a perfect flame pattern. More humans fell, engulfed in flames.

  Now for Hammerfeldt. His dragon wobbled into strafing position, then the German tried putting his goggles on,
far too late in the attack run. Grimes shook his head.

  He gained altitude and joined up with Genda. He flew close enough to Genda so that Grimes could see the anger in the commander's eyes. They both watched as Hammerfeldt struggled to gain altitude. By now, the engulfed humans had burned into ashes. Their souls would regenerate in a few hours, and they'd be able to use them again as targets for more training.

  Genda surprised Grimes by breaking formation and heading towards the fat German. With no warning, the commander pulled up next to Hammerfeldt and pulled on his harness release, dropping the German towards the ground. Genda circled the man as he fell, and when he hit the dirt, he had his dragon flame the man before he could even stand up.

  Grimes and Oonishi followed and landed softly next to the crisp and blackened remains of the German. Genda was allowing his dragon to chew on Hammerfeldt's legs.

  "I told you. Once you reappear, I shall allow all the dragons to feast on you. Perhaps, in a few weeks, you'll be thinner and more willing to follow orders." Genda grinned at the other pilots. "Allow them to feast. Nothing but the finest in German cuisine for our dragons!"

  Mable waddled forward and pulled on Hammerfeldt's arm, as Oonishi's mount snapped at the man's head. Hammerfeldt's eyes widened as the dragon engulfed his head, cutting off his scream.

  In the distance, Rommel turned to his companion, the rotund Goering. Even in death, the man was immense. Sweat drenched his florid face, which he wiped away with a stained handkerchief.

  "At least that was entertaining," Rommel said.

  "I've seen enough. They will have to do, best we can use them for is interdiction," Goering complained. "The engineers tell me the portals limits the dragon's powers on the surface, where they're just useless, overgrown lizards."

  "Then you can be the one to tell his foulness," Rommel grinned.

  "My pleasure, Herr Rommel," the fat man said, wiping his forehead again.