Apocalypse Burning (17 page)

“War,” Goose said.

“Yes. Three rulers from the south—I’ve not yet been able to ascertain who those people and what the nations will be—will oppose the Antichrist. Millions will die in that war.”

Goose winced at the thought. Even after everything he’d seen in Sanliurfa, he wasn’t so dead inside that he couldn’t experience dread at those coming times.

“After that, the third Seal Judgment, a black horse, will usher in famine. From what I’ve read, the famine will last two to three months. More of those left behind will die.”

“Then the fourth Seal,” Goose said. “The pale horse. Pestilence and plague.”

Baker nodded. “At the end of the first year, or shortly thereafter, a quarter of the world’s present population will have perished.”

The thought was staggering.

“Those things, First Sergeant,” Baker said, “are the horrors that God has spared your child from. Chris will not suffer the war or the famine or the plague that could have ended his life so painfully.”

Goose felt humbled, regretting—at least for the moment—that he’d ever thought that Chris should have remained on the earth with him. He was being selfish. In this instant—
Please, God, help me to understand and remember why You did what You did—
he understood what his son had been saved from.

“Millions will die during the fifth Seal Judgment,” Baker explained. “When the sixth Seal Judgment takes place, God will cause an earthquake that creates devastation that reaches around the globe. Every living person will feel His wrath over the murder of His saints.”

In his mind, Goose watched the mountain tumble again to save the retreating American, U.N., and Turkish forces from the advancing horde of Syrian armor only a few days ago. No one had ever found a scientific reason for the mountain to fall at that precise moment. But there was no doubt that the earthquake had spared hundreds of lives.

“All of this in twentyone months,” Goose whispered, overcome by the magnitude of the coming events.

“Yes,” Baker replied. “The seventh Seal will bring about the beginning of the next twentyone-month period, the time of the seven Trumpet Judgments.” He shook his head. “I’m still trying to decipher all those portents and omens. I will, but it will take time.”

Goose shifted his leg again, feeling the pain gnawing at his knee. “Time may not be something we have, Corporal. The Syrians are no doubt preparing their next assault, and it could be the final one. We don’t have much left to give.”

“We have time,” Baker pointed out in a soft voice. “Seven years. All of that the worst period mankind has ever seen. If we survive it, we will witness the Glorious Appearing of Christ.”

Glancing at his watch, Goose saw that the time was seven minutes till seven. The number resonated within him.

“Perhaps you and I won’t see the end of those seven years or the Second Coming,” Baker said, “but we need to prepare as many of the others as we can so they may prepare yet others.”

Goose pushed himself up, favoring his injured knee. “It’s almost 0700. We’d better get to it. Today we’ll dig in a little deeper, hold on a little harder, and try to make it through whatever the Syrians have waiting for us.”

Baker stood as well. “I hope this talk has helped ease your mind, First Sergeant.”

“All the prophecies of terror and death coming to claim the world?” Goose shook his head. “It’s hard to face all that, Corporal. Not and feel easy about anything.”

“At least you know there is a plan in place.”

Goose nodded and drained his coffee. He placed the empty cup back on the table. “I just wish I had known that God was going to take the children like that.”

“Why?”

Goose looked at the other man as he pulled his rifle over his shoulder, then clapped his helmet on his head. “It would have been easier.”

“What would?”

“If I had known that God was going to take my son from me, that the end of the world was so near, I wouldn’t have brought Chris into this world.” Goose was surprised at how tight his voice got and how much he instantly regretted what he’d said. He could barely remember the world before Chris, and it was almost impossible to imagine the world now without him. He hadn’t been thinking, just speaking with the pain in his heart instead of the love.

Baker dropped a hand on Goose’s shoulder. “God blessed you with your son, First Sergeant. Never lose sight of that. For the few short years you had your son, you were shown God’s love.” He paused. “Without Chris in your life, you would not have become the man you are today. You would not have become the man God needs now to help others learn what is going on. Try to keep that in mind.”

Goose swallowed hard and choked his anger back. “It’s not that easy. I want to be angry. I want Chris back, more than I want to understand.”

“I’ll pray for you.”

“Thank you.”

“And keep something else in mind, First Sergeant,” Baker said.

Goose looked at the man.

“Just remember that when your tour of duty is finished in this world—” Baker smiled through his own tears—“you have a son waiting to welcome you into his arms again in the next. God blessed me with that understanding. I keep that close to my heart every day. Most of us are going to die at some point in this conflict. We’re all on short time. There will be few veterans of this war left in this world at the end.”

Goose nodded, then turned toward the door. The first thing he noticed was the sudden blackness that filled the sky. Amazed, he walked out of the coffee shop, drawn into the rubble-strewn street as were so many others. They all gazed at the sky in awe and fear. It was hard not to think that anything ominous didn’t have to do with the Syrians poised to sack the city as they had so many times in the past.

For a moment, Goose thought the dark sky was from a dust storm blowing in from the south. Turkey had a few of those, and the extra dust, dirt, debris, and particulate matter blown into the atmosphere by the SCUDs, bombs, and artillery added to the already considerable problem.

But the dark masses swirling against the blue sky weren’t dust clouds. Goose smelled the thick, cloying odor of fresh rain coming. The scent caught him as it always did, tickling his nose and tightening his lungs for the briefest of moments. The wind whipped through the street, picking up litter and papers and shingles and sending them scurrying. A chill chased the wind. In seconds, the heat index had dropped ten or fifteen degrees.

The coffee-shop owner, a middleaged man with sad eyes and a large mustache, joined Goose and Baker on the street. He spoke his native language, then caught himself and said, “I’m sorry. I was just commenting on the rain. It seldom rains this time of year, and usually only a light shower or two when it does. Not a storm like this promises to be.”

Goose nodded. “The weather reports I looked at last night didn’t forecast any rain.”

The wind plucked at Goose’s clothing. The primitive feeling that he’d always experienced but never understood filled Goose. Storms excited him, left him on the edge of breathless and vibrating with energy. Megan and Wes Gander had never understood Goose’s fascination, and would often come out to him as he watched a storm, telling him that he would be safer inside.

But Chris had viewed storms with the same intensity that Goose did. Although his son had watched the wind and the lightning and listened to the peal of thunder coursing across the heavens while safely held in Goose’s arms, Chris had loved the storms as much as Goose did.

Lightning blazed across the dark mass of clouds. In the same instant, rain fell. Thick, fat drops marked the street and the surrounding sidewalks and patios like tracer fire. The drops formed miniature craters in the thick layers of dust and dirt that coated the street. Then the sky opened up and the deluge began.

His spirits pulsing within him, his mood lightened by the storm, Goose pulled his helmet off and tilted his face up to the sky. Wind tousled his hair and rain pocked his features, cold and hard and heavy as .50-cal rounds. Before his next drawn breath, the rain became a solid curtain that pounded the city.

“Never,” the owner said, retreating to the open doorway of his coffee shop with both hands over his head, “have I seen such a thing as this. I have lived here all my life, and there has never been a storm like this.”

Goose weathered the storm, feeling the cleansing power of it. But the rain meant something else too. A smile lit his face as he turned to Baker.

“What?” Baker asked.

“It’s raining,” Goose stated simply.

Evidently caught up in the infectious nature of Goose’s joy, Baker smiled back. He shook his head in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s a lot of dirt between here and the Syrian outpost,” Goose said. “A lot more between that and Aleppo, from where the Syrian army transports are getting staged.”

“So?”

“If it rains long enough, all that dirt’s going to turn into mud.” Goose pulled his helmet back on, already drenched in his BDUs but not minding. “Syria needs tanks, APCs, and heavy artillery to take this city. They can’t move those through mud. At least, they won’t want to because they’ll be sitting ducks for the limited air force we have here. Even if they didn’t worry about being attacked, mud is hard on tracked vehicles. Mechanic crews will be working repairs and teardowns the whole way.”

Understanding dawned on Baker’s face. He held his hands up to the sky, letting the rain strike his palms. “We’re being given some time to heal. Praise God.”

“Pray that it keeps raining,” Goose advised. “I’ve got to find Captain Remington.” If the rain held, it was going to change a lot of their strategy. He prayed that it would and took comfort in the raindrops drumming the street around him as he flagged down a jeep. Whatever the reason, the Rangers were being given a chance. And Goose intended to make the most of that chance.

5

United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 0013 Hours

“Can’t sleep?”

Sitting in a patio chair in her backyard, looking out over the fort and play set that her son would never enjoy again, Megan glanced back toward the voice.

Jenny, one of the young girls living at Camp Gander, stood in the doorway. She looked tired and disheveled in a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt she had borrowed from Megan.

“No,” Megan admitted.

“You know,” Jenny said, “I’ll bet the doctor’s office might have something you can take to help you relax.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Megan admitted. “A couple of the other counselors suggested the same thing. But I need to keep a clear head.”

“They’ve got stuff that can do that too.”

“I’ll wait. I can’t keep up this pace forever. I’ll drop soon enough.”

“True,” Jenny said. “But it would be nice if you dropped somewhere short of the emergency room.”

Megan offered a smile. “I’ll try.”

Nodding toward the phone, Jenny asked, “Did you call Goose?”

“I tried. There’s some kind of storm that’s blown into southern Turkey unexpectedly and is interfering with the phone lines.”
God, please let that be it. Don’t let Sanliurfa have fallen.
Megan glanced at the small television that had been brought out to the patio area. With all the teens in the house, it was hard to hear the reporters at times. Bringing the set outside had been a compromise she could live with. “I’ve been watching the news but there’s not much coming out of Sanliurfa right now.”

“I know. All the news on every channel seems to be centered on Nicolae Carpathia. He’s kind of shaking things up. Mind if I join you?”

“The last I saw you, you were asleep on the couch.”

“Well, that didn’t last as long as I’d hoped.” Jenny crossed the patio and sat in the chair beside Megan. “Lieutenant Benbow called earlier.”

“Oh?”

Jenny nodded. “While you were at the commissary.”

The trips to the commissary were on a daily basis. At present, the commissary was staying open twenty-four hours a day to meet the needs of the base population and because they’d finally been able to get enough employees to cover all the shifts.

“I would have told you earlier,” Jenny apologized, “except I fell asleep on the couch before you got back.”

“Did he want me to return his call?”

“No. He asked how you were doing. Whether you were resting or taking time to work on the notes he’d asked you to make.”

Megan gestured to the legal pad on the patio table. The top page was still blank. She couldn’t seem to marshal her thoughts regarding Gerry Fletcher. “I’m trying.”

“I asked him what was going on, but he wouldn’t tell me. He just asked me to help you out if I could. So I’m going to ask you what’s going on.”

Megan hesitated.

“Don’t shut me out, Megan,” Jenny said. “I know you could use a friend right now. God knows I’ve been there plenty of times myself.”

Taking a deep breath, Megan said, “All right, but we’re going to need coffee for this.”

“Not coffee. Hot chocolate. Coffee will keep you wired but hot chocolate may get you to unwind. I’ve got some in a thermos.” Jenny vanished into the house and returned in a moment with the thermos, two cups, and two pieces of pumpkin roll. The orange bread wrapped around a creamy white filling.