Apocalypse Burning (46 page)

“Well?” Keller prompted.

Goose nodded. “It’ll be tough, sir.”

“There are a lot of guys there, a lot of armor.”

“Yes, sir,” Goose agreed. “But if we stick to the plan, if Bravo goes in and secures the cav—takes out the security there and booby-traps the units—then we go in and take out our four assigned targets, we should have confusion going everywhere. Bravo will scoot for the airfield, and we’ll take out the fuel supplies.”

“Those rooms are supposed to be big.”

“Yes, sir,” Goose agreed. “They’d have to be big, sir, to hold all the fuel the captain says they have there. That’s what makes this a primary target.”

“And it gives us a chance for a little payback,” Keller said.

“Yes, sir. Captain Remington believes that the Syrians have never seen how Rangers work behind enemy lines. He figures if we introduce them to our work, they’ll dodge shadows for a while and not be so hasty in their advances.”

Keller looked up and squinted against the rain. “Right now we’ve got them vulnerable.”

“Yes, sir.”

Keller scraped his boot through the mud. “But this mud isn’t exactly friendly.”

“No, sir,” Goose replied. “This is where we apply that old saying ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’”

“I didn’t know that applied to mud and rain.”

Goose grinned. “Tonight, sir, tonight it does.”

“Okay,” Keller said, “pass the word. We hold back until 2100; then we move Bravo into position and start leapfrogging through this.”

“Yes, sir,” Goose said, sliding away to go find Corporal Tommy Brass. His knee quivered and ached after fifty-three klicks and a full pack. He was surprised it had held together the whole distance. But he’d prayed the whole way, and he knew his team needed him.

Goose moved silently through the night, just another shadow drifting through the rain. But the Ranger first sergeant was one of the most lethal shadows on the move.

United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 1108 Hours

“Okay,” Lieutenant Benbow said in the small room the provost marshal’s office had given them for privacy, “I’ve got to admit to you, Trimble managed to do some real damage in there.”

Sitting beside Megan, Jenny McGrath felt like that was one of the biggest understatements of the century. She was afraid for her friend and didn’t know what she could do to help.

More than anything, Jenny wanted to know what would happen to Megan if the jury found her guilty today. In the beginning of the trial, Major Trimble had promised all concerned that it would be speedy.

“I know I didn’t help in there,” Megan said. Her voice was a shadow of its former self, as if she was all washed out and didn’t have anything more to give.

“Under the circumstances, I think you did the best you could,” Benbow said.

Jenny put her hand on top of Megan’s in a gesture of support. She was surprised at how cold her friend’s hand was.

“What do we do now?” Megan asked.

Benbow shifted in his chair. “I’m going to work on the cross. Since Trimble called you to the stand and introduced a lot of these other elements, I’ve got some latitude to bring in more of the information we have about Boyd Fletcher.”

Jenny didn’t understand much of the legal work. She did know that in a civilian trial Megan would never have had to take the witness stand unless she’d wanted to. In a military court, she’d had no choice. And Trimble had been able to call her to testify, which was also something that wouldn’t normally have been allowed.

“I’m going to do a hatchet job on Boyd Fletcher,” Benbow said. “Maybe I can earn us some sympathy from the jury there.”

“They think I threw Gerry’s clothes over the side of the building,” Megan said in a dull voice. “Trimble has made me out to be some kind of … of … conniving crackpot.”

Benbow sighed. “I have to admit, I didn’t see this coming.” He looked at his notes. “I don’t know, Megan; maybe I can talk them into a deal. Trimble has laid the groundwork for a possible mental-health defense.”

“And he did that as well,” Megan said.

“I think so. He was just putting a golden parachute into place for you.” Benbow smiled a little. “I was watching Arthur Flynn while this was going down. He’s not a happy guy. Trimble, jerk that he is, is so set on getting you and breaking down your testimony that he’s killing the civil suit.”

“So if I’m crazy I could get off,” Megan said.

Benbow nodded.

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

“No, Megan. I don’t think that.”

“Do you think I threw Gerry’s clothing over the side of the building?”

“No, I don’t believe that either.”

Megan took a breath. “Then do you believe me when I say the Rapture occurred that night?”

Benbow pushed out his breath in a long sigh. “When it comes to that, I just don’t know. I mean, it could have been an incredible stroke of good luck that an electromagnetic event like the one Rosenzweig and Carpathia are suggesting happened when it did and zapped Gerry Fletcher before he fell to his death.”

“No,” Megan said. “I refuse to believe that was luck. I gave up my final hour with my son for a reason, Doug. It has to be a good reason. I was up on that rooftop to save Gerry Fletcher for as long as I could or—or—” Her voice broke.

A knock sounded on the door.

Benbow glanced up and waved the person inside. “What is it, Corporal?”

“Sir,” the corporal said, “I’m looking for a Miss Jenny McGrath. I was told she was in here with you.”

Jenny turned around and looked at the young corporal. “I’m Jenny McGrath.”

“Yes, miss,” the corporal said. “I’m sorry to inform you, miss, but there’s been an accident.”

“An accident?” Jenny’s heart jumped inside her chest.

“Yes, miss. It’s your father. He’s in the hospital in Columbus.” The corporal hesitated, looking unsure. “It’s pretty bad. They said you should hurry.”

Church of the Word
Marbury, Alabama
Local Time 1409 Hours

Seated at the desk someone had brought into the cramped office space at the back of the church, Delroy stared down at his daddy’s Bible. Over the years, reading that book, remembering how his daddy had read to him from it and elaborated on all the stories of the Old and New Testaments, had brought Delroy a lot of contentment and peace.

That had all seemed to end when Terrence had been killed. Almost the same day that he had learned the news of his son’s death, Delroy had laid that Bible down, packed it away, and not looked at it. He’d used other Bibles in the intervening five years, but his daddy’s Bible had been a grim reminder of God’s seemingly hollow promise to Delroy Harte, the young boy.

Delroy put his forefinger in the Bible to mark his place, then rubbed at the leather exterior where his daddy’s blood had soaked in all those years ago. No one knew why his daddy had been killed. Josiah had been at the church by himself that night, and circumstantial evidence—the description of the car, the gun being owned by Clarence Floyd’s dad and being a unique German pistol from World War II, and the fact that Josiah had given young Clarence a dressing-down in public over his use of harsh language around women—wasn’t enough to hold him for questioning, according to the district attorney. There’d been no chance of convicting Clarence Floyd for murder.

When the congregation had met Delroy this morning and shown him the office, he’d taken his pictures from his duffel and put them on the desk. Pictures of his daddy and momma, Terrence, and Glenda now shared space atop the empty desk.

He glanced at the legal pad in front of him, not surprised to find that he hadn’t taken a single note. There hadn’t been any notes the last time he’d looked either.

Daddy
, Delroy thought,
I got a lot of people out there waiting on me, expecting me to have something powerful to tell them. I look inside myself and I find I don’t have one thing to say. Was that why I was brought here? To say nothing?

He looked at Glenda’s picture. She hadn’t been back. It looked like Phyllis was going to be proven wrong about that. He should have bet her. At least he’d have had twenty bucks to show for his trouble.

Daddy, you and God are going to have to help me out here, but I definitely feel like I’m in over my head.

After a brief prayer, he went back to searching through the Bible, trying to find something right, something that he could give the people who had shown up. Hundreds of sermons lay at his fingertips. Over the years he had delivered them all, getting so they came with practiced ease.

But what do you give folks looking straight down both barrels of the Tribulation?

Looking up, he glanced at the small TV set on the corner of the desk. The news station showed a brief piece about Nicolae Carpathia and the United Nations; then it shifted over to Penny Gillespie at Fort Benning, Georgia. Curious, Delroy reached over and turned up the volume.

“—no excuse for this morning’s brutal attack on a fine woman like Mrs. Megan Gander,” the news reporter was saying. “Unfortunately, no one in the courtroom seems predisposed to keep Major Trimble from badgering her.”

Delroy continued listening for a few moments, thinking how bad it must be to face the kind of prosecution and persecution Megan Gander must be going through. He said a quick prayer for her, then reached up to turn the television off.

At that moment, a young man in uniform pushed through the crowd in front of the provost marshal’s office. He waved a rectangular box at Penny Gillespie. “Ms. Gillespie.
Ms. Gillespie.
”

The reporter finally noticed the young man and brought him up to her.

“Ms. Gillespie, my name is Private Lonnie Smith. I’m stationed here at Fort Benning.” He took a deep breath and looked out at the crowd surrounding him, as if noticing for the first time he had their complete attention. Nervously, he turned his attention back to Penny Gillespie. “I was there that night. When that boy, Gerry Fletcher, fell from the rooftop.”

“You saw that happen?”

Delroy was intrigued. Maybe Mrs. Gander was getting a break, and it sure sounded like she was in need of one.

“More than that,” Private Smith said. “I filmed the whole thing on my video camera.” He pushed the rectangle at her. “This is it.”

Penny took the tape. “I don’t understand. Why haven’t you come forward before now?”

“Ms. Gillespie, I didn’t think they’d actually try her for anything. That boy vanished. She didn’t have anything to do with that. It was God who did that.”

“I know, Private Smith. But that’s not what Mrs. Gander is on trial for.”

“I understand that now. I was just—I just got caught up in what I was going through myself.” The young man hesitated. “I didn’t believe what I saw at first, but as I watched that tape—over and over—I saw it again and again. It changed my life. I swear it did.” He took a deep breath. “Wednesday night, I was saved. I went forward when the preacher called, and I was baptized.” He looked at the reporter. “I’ve never believed in God a day in my life until that day. I thought my life didn’t matter.”

Penny Gillespie smiled. “Private, if this tape really has on it what you say it has, I’d say your life matters a whole lot. Come on inside here with me.”

Delroy watched the reporter and the young private enter the provost marshal’s office. A boy getting raptured by God’s own hand. That would be a sight to see.