Apocalypse Dawn (41 page)

“She is. And she’s important to me.”

“If there’s anything I can do.”

Tamara nodded. “I’m not going to worry about it anymore. At least, I’m going to try not to. Whatever happens, I really feel like it’s in God’s hands.” She glanced around the room. “Just like the people who disappeared here. I think they’re in God’s hands.” She wiped her eyes. “And you know what else?”

“What?”

Tamara’s voice broke, but she recovered. “I think my mom is in God’s hands right now, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“If this is the Rapture, if God has come and taken His church, I know my mom was one of those.”

Tamara’s conviction touched Jim in ways he’d never felt before. For a moment, her emotion embarrassed him. When she discovered that what she suddenly found herself believing wasn’t actually the case, she was going to be hurt deeply. But a quiet unease had threaded through his thoughts, never to be denied again. What if she is right? What if God has come for his people? The thought was terrifying. He felt a cold breeze across the back of his neck. If it was true, then he had been left behind.

“I tried to call home before we were pulled in to fill the vacant posts in here,” Tamara said.

“Was your mom home?” Despite his doubts, Jim found himself drawn to the answer.

“I don’t know. The phone lines aren’t going through right now.”

That stood to reason, Jim mused. If the amount of disappearances they were logging in the different military operations they monitored, as well as the disappearances from their own ranks that had left only piles of clothing and tons of questions and fear behind, were reflected around the United States, then the phone companies and communications corporations had been hard hit as well.

“If this event-” Jim started.

“The Rapture,” Tamara said.

He nodded. “If the Rapture has occurred, then what happens to us?”

“To the people left behind?”

“Yeah.” Just saying that made Jim’s mouth suddenly dry. Nothing he’d ever trained for in his life had prepared him for this. Then he remembered all those Sunday mornings in church that he had resented. The sad fact was that he could have been prepared.

“The Tribulation.”

Jim turned the word over in his head. He had heard the word several times, but it made no sense now. “What is the Tribulation?”

“After the Rapture, God will leave the world more or less intact. The people who are left behind will then have the choice of believing and giving themselves to him, or they can continue to deny His existence and love. During the seven years of the Tribulation, Christians will become more persecuted by nonbelievers than at any time before.”

“I thought the believers would have all been raptured.”

“They will have,” Tamara said softly. “I believe they have been. But there will be new believers, Jim. Don’t you see? You’re asking questions now that you would have never asked before.”

Jim broke eye contact by reaching for his coffee cup. He was surprised at how much his hand shook as he lifted it. This was too much. It was all coming too fast.

When the Klaxon rang, he spilled a little of the tepid liquid in his lap.

“All right, ladies and gentlemen,” Colonel Hatton announced over the PA system. “The Russians have taken to the air. We’ve just escalated from DEFCON 3 to DEFCON 2.”

The colonel’s words hammered Jim’s mind, shattering his thoughts and crystallizing his fear. DEFCON 2 meant that B-52s, escort fighters, and supply planes would take off and prepare to strike Russian targets. He gazed in wideeyed disbelief as the Stratofortresses he had onscreen suddenly jerked to life and hurtled down runways.

“Jim,” Tamara said.

“Yeah,” he replied in a thick voice.

“You okay?”

“We’re watching what could be the end of the world. Do you know that?”

“It won’t be the end,” she stated quietly. “There’s a lot that will happen before that happens. Things will get much worse.”

“Worse than the end of the world?”

“Yes.’

As Jim watched, the B-52s leaped into the air, clawing their way into the night skies like birds of prey. Even peering down on them on the large monitor, the flying dreadnoughts looked sleek and deadly when they should have looked more like a child’s toys. “Do you think God planned for DEFCON?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think happens to the people who die after the Rapture?”

Tamara quietly thought. “I think it depends on how their relationship with God has changed.”

“And if it hasn’t changed?”

“I don’t think things would go very well for them.”

Jim nodded. “If we live through tonight, do you think we could talk more about this?”

Tamara reached over and gave his forearm a reassuring squeeze. “Sure.”

The Mediterranean Sea

USS Wasp

Local Time 0937 Hours

DEFCON 2, Chaplain Delroy Harte thought to himself as he jogged aft through Wasp’s second level. God, look over me as I strive to bring Your message to frightened and paranoid ears.

The chaplain hurried through the large mess hall, past the officer’s wardroom that functioned as a restaurant or theater or town hall or conference room depending on the scheduled need, until he reached the command and control centers caged protectively under the ship’s island structure for extra defense.

The C&C areas remained dark, but the glow of computer monitors and large display screens warred with the gloomy shadows that filled Wasp’s bowels. Men spoke quietly, and their voices punctuated the steady hum of computer mainframes and peripheral devices.

Seven theaters of operation existed within the C&C post. The Tactical Air Control Center monitored the airspace around the Amphibious Readiness Group and assigned the daily flight sheets, matching men and machines as well as zones and time frames. The Tactical Logistics Group managed the onboard supplies, weapons, and vehicles as well as the debarkation of the Marine troops. Information was cleared and stored in the Joint Intelligence Center, and hard-drive space was filled with information concerning the world if Wasp was ever cut off from the Pentagon as she had been before Captain Remington had managed the coup with the Romanian communications network. The Ship Signals Exploitation Space was shut off from nearly everyone aboard ship because of the degree of secrecy involved in using enemy signals against those enemies. When involved in heavy operations that could threaten Wasp, the ARG commander and staff stayed in the Flag Plot deep within the ship where they could most be protected.

The Landing Force Operations Center was jam-packed with hightech computer systems that tied the Marine commander of the MEU(SOC) with embarked Marine units while away from the ship. From there, fed with the information from spy-sats and in constant communications with his away teams, Colonel Henry Donaldson, the MEU(SOC)’s commander-in-chief, could direct all action his Marines took.

Two Marines stood guard in front of the door. They held their assault weapons at port arms.

“Chaplain Harte,” one of the Marines greeted.

Delroy drew himself up tall and straight. Before leaving his quarters, he’d showered and shaved and put on a fresh uniform. Before telling Colonel Donaldson and Captain Falkirk what he had to tell them, he wanted to look his Navy best. Appearance counted for a lot in the military.

But he also carried his father’s old Bible. To Delroy, the creases in the imitation leather cover and the dog-eared pages were hash marks and medals of valor in a service that had gone largely unnoticed outside Josiah Harte’s community. Maybe the uniform was his armor, but the Bible was his shield and buckler.

“Sergeant,” Delroy replied. “I need to speak with Colonel Donaldson.”

The sergeant looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, sir. Colonel Donaldson left strict orders that he was not to be disturbed.”

“‘Not to be disturbed?’” Delroy couldn’t believe it. His anger and frustration seeped through his grip before he could restrain them. “We just lost hundreds of Marines along the Turkish border, Sergeant. The United States is at DEFCON 2, preparing to possibly go to war with Russia because that country is certain we’re responsible for the disappearances that have taken place there. Can anything be more disturbing?”

The young sergeant blinked in shock and confusion. “Sir, I-“

“Sergeant,” Delroy put the crisp clear tone of command in his voice as he stepped forward, “do you see these bars and that star on my shoulder?”

“Yes, sir.” The Marine backed down slightly but didn’t give up much ground.

“I am a commander in the United States Navy,” Delroy said.

“Yes, sir. I know that, sir. But I was given orders by my colonel that-“

“Son,” Delroy said in a quietly fierce voice, “either you let the colonel make the decision whether or not to see me, or I’m going to walk right over top of you.”

The sergeant braced at that. The private accompanying him took a step away and circled Delroy. The chaplain stood his ground. At six and a half feet tall, driven as he was by the need to tell what he knew to be true, Delroy knew he must have presented a fearsome figure to the men.

The ship’s crew still told about times Delroy had waded into fights aboard ship and in taverns off base and broke up fights between military personnel. He’d even broken up a fight involving two Navy SEAIs that had earned him a lot of respect among his fellow military men, although the number of the Special Forces men had grown in the telling over the years. Wasp took pride in having a two-fisted chaplain.

“Sir-“

‘Sergeant!” Delroy’s voice came out in a bellow. “I said open that door! And I mean now, mister!”

The sergeant stood resolute in front of the door, shifting the rifle to better use the weapon as a club if he had to.

Delroy knew he had the attention of several men around him. He almost felt embarrassed. Then he remembered how Chief Mellencamp’s body had disappeared from inside the body bag, and how there had been loose piles of uniforms scattered around Wasp. The text from Numbers 32:23 came to his mind: “But if you do not do so, then take note, you have sinned against the Lord; and be sure your sin will find you out.” He knew he couldn’t back away from the task that had been laid before him. The chiefs passing and the responsibility of the letter and the disappearance of the body while he’d been there to bear witness; those events hadn’t been by accident.

And what about Terry? Delroy’s conviction wavered a little when he thought about his son’s passing. He steeled himself. Terry’s death couldn’t mean nothing. He wouldn’t let it. Surely even there he would find God’s hand. Surely he could believe in that after everything that had happened today.

The door behind the sergeant yanked open.

“What’s going on here, Sergeant?” Colonel Donaldson stood ramrod straight, looking fresh as a daisy despite the fact he’d been up long, hard hours preparing for the Marine wing’s insertion into Turkey.

Nineteen years a Marine, Donaldson looked every inch of his calling. He stood a couple inches over six feet with the compact and wiry build of a good second baseman. His sandy colored hair was thinning on top, although that was partially masked by the flattop crew cut, and going gray at the temples. Camo BDUs outlined the hard lines of his body.

“Chaplain Harte,” the sergeant said. “He wanted to see you.”

Delroy’s breath came hard and fast, and he could feel his heart blast-pumping in his chest.

Donaldson eyed the chaplain with challenge and curiosity, though there was more of the former than the latter. “Is that right, Chaplain?”

“Yes, Colonel.”

Donaldson’s chin rose as he stepped out into the hallway. His big hand wrapped around his jaw, and his stubble crackled. “I don’t know what could possibly prompt you to interrupt a planning session I’m having, Commander. Especially after I gave specific orders no one was supposed to get in.”

“Sir,” Delroy said, straightening. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but rest assured that I wouldn’t have interrupted if it wasn’t important.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

For a fleeting moment, Delroy felt afraid. It was a natural reaction, given the circumstances. He’d hoped to persuade Captain Falkirk and Colonel Donaldson to grant him a few minutes alone to explain his reasoning.

He hadn’t expected the audience he had in the men stationed in the C&C centers around them.

“Yes, sir,” Delroy said. “I wonder if we might talk in private.”

Donaldson folded his arms across his broad chest. “This is fine for me, Chaplain Harte.”

Delroy felt the colonel’s anger, saw the white-hot emotion edged in the sharp angles of the man’s body. Most of that anger, the chaplain reasoned, wasn’t directed at him but was just seeking a target the same way water constantly sought the lowest level.

“Yes, sir. I see that, sir.” Delroy gripped his father’s Bible in both hands. He took strength from the book, and in his mind he heard his father, thundering from the pulpit as he presented God’s love and the fiery threat of hell and eternal damnation to his congregation.

Terry’s voice was in there, too, words ripped from the morning that Terry had shipped out for the battlefield. Despite his training, de spite what faith he’d possessed, Delroy had been frightened, and Terry saw that emotion in him. “Don’t be afraid, Dad. I’m not. You see, I believe in you and I believe in God. Between Him and you, how can anything happen to me?”