Chapter 1

"Well, Baal, what is the excuse for this month? I had expected some more positive results from your work with the American Civil War. Granted, a lot of good men were killed, but so were a lot of My adherents. And, since the war, I expected more from the persecution of the ex-slaves, and the puny efforts of the Carpetbaggers and Scalawags are simply pathetic. Your talk of your efforts being blocked by a pair of "superheroes" sounds very lame to Me. What have you done to advance My schemes?"

"Forgive me, Dread Lord Satan, but my efforts have been more productive in another area. I have instigated a march north from the Isthmus of Panama. My plan is to lay waste to the area and draw the two troublemakers into a trap I am setting up. Meanwhile, while their attention is diverted farther south, I can follow through on Your plans for the western United States. Even if I cannot kill them, I expect to be able to keep them occupied long enough for Your plans to succeed."

"That sounds like a satisfactory plan. Just remember that you don't want to kill any more of the humans than necessary. They are more valuable to us alive and suffering than they are dead. Which of My minions are you using in this march?"

"I am using the Ghosts from deeper levels of Hell, Dread Lord. They are stupid, but follow orders well, so that all I have to do is give them an order, and they carry it out without my close attention. Mop up is being done by the demons from Level 1; they are more intelligent and can improvise as necessary."

"You fool, neither one of those creatures has the ability to withstand a physical attack. Why didn't you select a hardier group?"

"Dread Lord, there are so many of these creatures that the loss of a few makes no difference in the plan. If they are 'killed, ' they just rematerialize back at their normal location in Hell, and no harm is done. There are so many of them that no human army can stand against them."

"Oh, all right, maybe you are correct. But, remember this, Baal, I expect hard, positive results this time or you will be replaced!"

"Yes, Dread Lord Satan, I will always remember that!

Fire Bringer had TPed to Panama to investigate the newspaper reports of a "ghost" army playing Hell with the people of the area. What he found was far beyond his expectations. There was a distinct line of demarcation between the conquered land and the free. Behind this line, the people were living a bare hand-to-mouth existence; there was little food, certainly not enough for the people to survive on. Rape, pillage, and murder were the rule instead of the exception, and all of this was human on human. There was no sign of the invading army beyond only a mile or so behind the line.

The unconquered land was fairly free of strife and turmoil. The people had to work to survive, just as any free people had to do, but there was abundant food and little crime. It was not Heaven and Hell on Earth, but it sure was close to it. The rulers, both local and national, were smart enough to know that a completely downtrodden people could not support their rulers in luxury, so there was some effort to help the peasants live better, if only to help the rulers live better.

The attacking army rarely killed anybody, instead, they simply killed only those who directly opposed them. Mainly, the attacking army focused on destroying food stuffs and the means of producing or acquiring it. This seemed a calculated plan to cause as much havoc and suffering as possible among the inhabitants without wiping them out at once. The vast majority of deaths came from starvation or from murders resulting when desperate people tried to take what food there was still available. Cannibalism did not seem to be far away.

Fire Bringer knew that he had to act at once, but what should he do? Should he attack the army to keep them from advancing, or should he concentrate on feeding the conquered people who were still alive? It was obvious to him that he could not do both if he had to act alone. Therefore, he sent out a panicked call for Shadow to join him—he needed all of the help that he could get!

When Shadow arrived, she, too, was appalled at the suffering she saw. Fire Bringer had kept her up to date on what he discovered, but there was nothing like seeing for herself. Shadow immediately took on the humanitarian side of the problem. She quickly scanned the world for sources of food in bulk that was waiting for a buyer. This was TPed to the war-torn area and gold was left behind to pay for it—there was no time to be coy and hide her existence. As fast as she could, she set up food kitchens to feed as many people as possible.

This attracted the attention of the demons who made up the rear echelon of the Devil's Army, and she was suddenly busy fighting them off to the right and left. She was overwhelmed by the numbers and had to back off to reassess her situation.

Meanwhile, Fire Bringer devoted himself to stopping the northward march of the army of ghosts. He quickly discovered that these were not really ghosts in the popular sense. Their bodies were translucent, so that they appeared to be vaporous or ethereal, but they were, in fact, quite solid and substantial. He was able to block their advance with a wall of frozen air for a short time, but this didn't last long. The ghosts did not pass through the wall, but simply vanished for a moment and reappeared on the other side of the wall, as if they had been TPed past the barricade. This was the final proof that the ghosts were not "natural" creatures.

The ghosts carried clubs for weapons, they needed nothing else. There were so many of them that they simply overwhelmed a defender by sheer numbers and beat him to death or, rarely, into submission. Most of the defenders used muskets to battle the ghosts, and these muskets were effective in stopping an individual ghost, but the long reload time made it impossible for the defenders to mount a successful defense. Fire Bringer tried to help by using his exploding limestone rocks, and he could stop a charge of the ghosts by this means, but he, too, was swamped by numbers. He had to find a better way, but he could not think of one at the moment.

Back in the USA, Silas Prim was leading his pack train across the Staked Plains toward a rendezvous with a delegation of Navajoes. He was transporting a shipment of mint quality Spencer repeating rifles with an ample supply of ammunition. He had three teamsters helping him and they had all they could do keeping their animals alive in the desolate country. The workers had been promised a bonus if all of the animals arrived in good condition.

The Indians were waiting at the appointed site and received Silas Prim as a welcome friend. They were satisfied with the quality of the rifles and the quantity of ammunition, so they paid him the agreed upon price in gold coins that they had stolen from various places. As a bonus, they received Prim's workers to play with after he had left with his money. Of course, none of these workers survived "play time." Silas Prim was well on his way back for another shipment of rifles by the time the Indians were ready to return to their camp.

These Navajoes were planning a major war to exterminate the Hopi, their ageold enemy, and the rifles were just what they needed to finish up the job. Silas Prim was in a hurry to pick up his next shipment, since he had an appointment with a Hopi delegation in a few weeks. Prim's contacts in Washington, DC, were doing a good job of supplying him with the surplus guns that the US Army no longer wanted as they continued to slim down after the great war. The greed and stupidity in Washington, DC, was what kept people like Prim in business. Prim was in a hurry for another reason, he had received word that the Cheyenne were in the market for Henry rifles. Damn! Life was good for men like Prim!

Fire Bringer wondered if he would gain anything by supplying the local soldiers with repeating rifles. He was concerned by the amount of training that they would need to make the transition from musket to repeating rifle. For one thing, the musket was never aimed, it was just pointed in the right direction and the trigger was pulled. On the other hand, the rifle was aimed and the trigger was squeezed. Both actions could be hard to learn after months or years of being exposed to the musket. The only way to know was to try.