by Mel Odom
For now, no one used the headset radios. They wouldn’t be used until the op was in play at the Syrian base. For the moment, Operation Run Dry was all alone in the world.
Goose hurried through the other Rangers, helping men, encouraging men, and getting them all headed back west, trying to stay ahead of the sun. Getting dropped off by the Chinooks was only the first stage of the op. If Syrian military forces had become interested in the helos, there could have been problems from the get-go. In that case, Remington would have warned them and ordered an exfiltration.
But for the moment, they were forty-seven klicks east of Sanliurfa, more or less behind enemy lines. No one would come to their aid once the helos got out of range, and that state of affairs was only minutes away.
“Let’s go,” Goose said as he hurried through the soldiers. “Let’s go. You’re burning daylight.”
The men responded, pulling their gear and themselves together and falling into their respective squads under their sergeants.
The Syrian fuel depot that Remington had somehow uncovered and mapped out for the op lay fifty-three klicks to the west. They had fourteen hours to get into position, and no way to get there except on foot.
Goose felt twinges from his bad knee but so far the pain showed no signs of increasing. While jump preparations were being made, he’d had one of the med corpsmen inject him with cortisone. The painkiller would help keep the pain at bay, but it wouldn’t prevent further damage to the knee. And if the knee gave out on him, prevented him from taking part in the mission, the other Rangers would have no choice but to leave him behind.
Please, God, Goose prayed as he pushed himself into that distanceeating lope he’d first learned in basic and spent all his adult life working with, please see me through this. My men need me.
The Rangers fell in behind him, letting him take the lead until three men sped forward and took up point and wing positions. They stayed with the terrain, avoiding the spots with running water and treacherous mud, finding the high ground at a glance and keeping up the pace.
Goose took his M-4A1 in both hands, holding the assault rifle across his chest as he pushed himself up to speed. His injured knee felt stiff and distant, causing him some momentary panic; then it started to warm and loosen, giving in to the familiar motion.
Just help me get through this one, Lord, Goose prayed. I’ll try and see if I can’t get through the next one on my own.
14
Church of the Word
Marbury, Alabama
Local Time 0819 Hours
“You don’t look like a man who got much sleep last night, Chaplain,” Deputy Walter Purcell commented.
“It wasn’t your bed’s fault,” Delroy said, stifling a yawn.
“Well,” Walter said, nodding his head, “you put in a hard day yesterday, I’ll have to say that for you. Probably a lot more than you should have.”
“I shouldn’t have left when I did,” Delroy said, remembering how chaotic yesterday had been.
After Phyllis and her children had arrived at the church, followed by the young couple who had been just as troubled and needing answers, more and more people had come from the neighborhood. Delroy had not done a head count, but he guessed that three or four hundred had come in for counseling.
He felt bad that he didn’t have a proper place to welcome them, or even enough chairs to sit them in. After the new arrivals started coming, he’d tried to get the church in order, surprised at how he could hear his mother’s voice in the back of his head telling him that she didn’t want people in the church if it wasn’t fit to keep hogs in.
The church back in those days had always looked homey and neat as a pin. But yesterday Delroy hadn’t had much of a chance to clean. There had been too many people with questions about what had happened, about what was going to happen next.
After the discussions they had divided up among themselves and started cleaning the church. Of course, the ladies had initiated most of that effort, but the men had quickly fallen into line. They’d collected brooms and mops and trash bags at first, then chairs for people to sit in. By evening, men had come with tools and glass and paint, and they’d quietly set to work repairing and restoring the church.
At first as Delroy had talked to the neighborhood folk, he’d taken strength from their presence. It was surprising how much it seemed they had to give. Finally, though, when even he had been forced to admit his voice was giving out, he’d allowed Walter to take him back to the Purcell home, eaten the meal Clarice had prepared, and had fallen into bed. When he got up this morning, he’d discovered Clarice had washed and ironed his dress whites.
“You couldn’t have went on, Chaplain,” Walter said, waving the excuse away. “Why, if you had’a, you wouldn’t have been able to go back today.”
Delroy accepted that. “I know.”
Walter pointed. “We’re gonna stop up here at Mitchell’s Donut Shop. Gonna rent us a five-gallon coffeemaker and buy plenty of grounds. I figure it’s gonna be another long day.”
After they’d parked in front of the small building, Delroy followed Walter inside the shop. The smell of donuts greeted him but didn’t tempt him. In addition to doing his laundry, Clarice Purcell had prepared a breakfast that even a sailing man had to respect. And Delroy had eaten his fill.
Delroy insisted on paying for the rental and the coffee, and Walter finally agreed to go halves. While Walter picked up the equipment from the back, Delroy’s attention was drawn to the television hanging in one corner of the shop’s small dining room.
“… trial begins today here at Fort Benning, Georgia,” a woman reporter was saying as she stood in front of a building marked OFFICE OF THE PROVOST MARSHAL. “Colonel Henry Erickson is sitting at the bench of this military court.”
The scene changed to show a woman with dark hair and dark eyes.
“As you may recall from my interview with Mrs. Megan Gander on last night’s show,” the woman reporter said, “Mrs. Gander is on trial for dereliction of duty here at Fort Benning.”
The news caught Delroy’s attention even more. It seemed like he remembered the name. People at the church yesterday had been talking about Megan Gander, but he couldn’t quite remember what they’d said.
“Mrs. Gander tried to save a young boy from jumping to his death on the night of the disappearances,” the reporter went on. “According to her story and the stories of a few others I have talked to, the boy did indeed fall from that building. But he disappeared, just like all the other children.”
The story clicked into place in Delroy’s head. He’d wanted to see the story, but there had been no television at the church. By the time he’d arrived at the Purcell home, he’d forgotten all about it.
“Many people don’t believe those disappearances followed a pattern,” the woman reported. “There are many doubters out there who subscribe to the theory advanced by Chaim Rosenzweig and Romanian President Nicolae Carpathia that some bizarre chain of events involving built-up nuclear energy and electromagnetism caused the disappearances of so many people around the world. But Mrs. Gander contends that the Rapture occurred that night, that the hand of God came down and took all the believers from the world, leaving behind those who had missed out on the opportunity to have a personal relationship to Him through Jesus Christ, our Savior.”
“Quite a story, isn’t it?” Walter asked as he returned to the front counter with the coffeepot. “I got a chance to watch the interview last night.”
“What did you think?” Delroy asked.
“Well, I’ll tell you,” Walter said, “I don’t think I’d have believed as much of it as I did if I hadn’t heard you talking about the same thing all day yesterday.” He nodded toward the television. “That Mrs. Gander there, she appears to be a fine woman. A stand-up woman. But she’s going up against the United States Army, and that’s no easy thing. I think she believes what she’s saying, but she doesn’t know as much about the Tribulation as you do.”
�
�We’ll all learn about it,” Delroy said. “Those of us who have been left behind. We’ll see it firsthand.”
“Yes, sir, I believe you when you say that.” Walter glanced back at the television. “But that lady there, she’s gonna need to pull a rabbit out of her hat to convince them military folks. I listened to an interview with Major Augustus Trimble last night, too, and you can see he’s all ready to lock up Mrs. Gander there as a nut job. If I wasn’t comin’ around to seein’ things the way you’re talkin’ about ‘em, I’d be inclined to agree with him.”
“I know,” the counterman said. “News was talking about the Gander woman this morning, telling about how she hypnotized some girl she was counseling to get her to shoot herself.”
“Why would she do a thing like that?” Delroy asked.
The counterman shrugged and rang up Walter’s charges. “Don’t know. Guy on the news was kinda suggesting that the Gander woman had convinced the kid she’d get to heaven faster that way.”
Delroy shook his head and glanced back at the screen.
“We’re asking anyone with information that might help Mrs. Gander today in court to come forward,” the reporter said. “I’m going go be here all day for anyone that wants to stop by and talk. I’m Penny Gillespie for Dove TV.”
“Hey,” the counterman said, snapping his fingers, “aren’t you that new preacher everybody is talking about? The one that’s preaching at the old black church over in Shackleton?”
“I’m not a new preacher,” Delroy said. “I’m a navy chaplain. My name is Delroy Harte.”
The counterman thought for a moment. “There used to be a preacher here named Josiah Harte.”
“My daddy,” Delroy said.
“My father used to go there when Josiah preached.” The counterman smiled at the memory. “As I recall, there wasn’t a lot of white faces in that church.”
“They were always welcome,” Delroy said, remembering there had been a few white people in the congregation, and wondering which one of them might have been the counterman’s daddy.
“I know. I remember my father taking me there. He always said that that church was one of the best when it came to singing the gospel. And he loved to listen to your father pound that pulpit. He always said he’d never met a preacher that could bring a man to meet Jesus faster or more sure than Josiah.”
Delroy smiled and felt tightness in his chest. “I appreciate your kindness.” He held his hand out and shook the counterman’s.
“Not a problem.”
Delroy turned to go. The counterman called to him before he stepped through the door. “Preacher … uh … Chaplain,” the counterman said, looking a little nervous.
“Aye,” Delroy said.
“People I’ve seen in here this morning, some of them say you’re going to be at the church today.”
“I am.”
The counterman shrugged. “I was thinking, I get off here about eleven, and I was wondering if it would be okay if I came by. Thought maybe I’d bring my wife and a couple of my teenagers.” He rubbed his chin. “Things that are going on around here, not much of them are making any sense. People I talked to, they said you had some good words to say.”
Delroy smiled in wonderment.
“You see, Son,” Josiah had told him so many times, “it ain’t so much that a preacher has to go out an’ find him a congregation, or even work on buildin’ hisself one. God, well, He just knows when people’s right for one another. You only gotta listen to Him. You take it upon yourself to serve the Lord as a shepherd, Son, why God will give you the sheep.”
“What’s your name?” Delroy asked.
“Eddie,” the counterman replied. “Eddie Fikes.”
“Well, Eddie Fikes,” Delroy said, “when you get time, you come on down to the Church of the Word. Bring your family. You’ll be welcome.”
Eddie smiled. “I’ll do that, Chaplain. I know some other people that might like to drop by, too.”
“Well, then, bring them on.” But a small part of Delroy was wondering if he wasn’t biting off more than he could chew. The ride to the church was mostly silent as Delroy continued to wonder what he was going to do, what he was going to say.
“You want my opinion?” Walter said when they were within blocks of the church.
“Is there any force in this world that’s going to keep you from giving it to me?”
Walter appeared to consider the question for a moment; then he shook his head. “Nope.”
“Well, as my daddy would say, I guess you’d best let that dog run.”
“Well, sir, you’re overthinkin’ things. You just need to relax. Go with the flow.” Walter looked over at him. “Your daddy an’ God have prepared you for this place an’ this time, Delroy.” He shook his head. “What I saw yesterday in that church, well … it’s just meant to be, Delroy. That’s all I gotta say. It’s just flat meant to be. You just listen to your heart an’ to your faith. You’ll do just fine.”
“There’s a danger in being too prideful,” Delroy said.
“An’ if you get there,” Walter said, “I’ll thump a knot on your skull myself.”
In spite of the tension he felt, Delroy laughed. “You probably would.”
Walter laughed with him.
Only minutes later, they pulled up to the church. The sight took Delroy’s breath away.
At least two hundred people—men, women, and children—stood in the churchyard. Many of them were painting the church’s exterior, some standing on the ground, some up on scaffolds and ladders. The early morning sunlight glinted off the church’s new windowpanes. The sign in front of the old place had been rehung and repainted.
Church of The Word
A Gathering Place of God’s Faithful
Stunned, Delroy stepped from Walter’s truck. The church wasn’t as pristine it had been all those years ago, but it was a monumental change for the better from yesterday.
Phyllis, looking more chipper and less worried than she had yesterday, came forward. “Good morning, Chaplain.”
“The church,” Delroy said, unable to say anything further for the moment.
“I know,” Phyllis said. “Nobody wanted to leave after what you got started yesterday, so we up an’ divided our ownselves into shifts. Some gettin’ materials, an’ them what was handy usin’ ‘em.” She shrugged. “’Course, they ain’t nobody in this neighborhood what don’t fit a paintbrush to they hand. So we got paint.” She smiled brightly. “We even got pews.”
“Pews?” Delroy repeated.
“One of the men knew where some was. Locked up in a storage business what he works at. He cut a deal with the owner, got them pews for a song, and trucked them over here in the dead of night. Come on in an’ see for yourself.”
Dazed, knowing that he was looking on the work of the Lord, Delroy followed the woman into the church.
The walls all sported a new coat of paint. The floors had been shined. They still showed several scars and rough places, but all the litter and dirt were gone. A pulpit stood at the front of the church. A scarred piano stood to the left of the pulpit.
And in the center of what had appeared as a cavernous empty room only yesterday, pews covered the floor. Bibles and hymnals filled the slots. They didn’t match and they weren’t new, but they were there.
Overcome, Delroy knelt and clasped his hands. There were some things that had to be said that way. “Thank You, God, for this place and these people. Work Your best through me that I might give them what they need and what You want them to have. You know their needs, Lord. You know their needs are strong. Let them lean on You for a little while, so that others may lean on them and bring them to know more of You. In Jesus’ sweet name, I pray.”
When he opened his eyes, he was astounded to see that all of the people—inside the church as well as outside—had knelt to pray with him.
He stood, and the church stood with him.
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georg
ia
Local Time 1047 Hours
“State your name for the record,” Major Augustus Trimble said from the opposing counsel’s table.
Seated in the witness chair, Megan Gander looked out at the faces gathered in the military courtroom. A knot of congealed, greasy fear rolled in her stomach. Out of all those faces, most of them in army uniforms, she was surprised at how few of them she knew. Working in Joint Services, she’d met a number of people here on the base, but almost none of them were in the courtroom today.
She did have her few supporters. Jenny McGrath sat in the back in the audience seats. Lieutenant Doug Benbow sat at the defense table with his notes and portfolio in front of him.
Boyd and Tonya Fletcher sat just behind the opposing counsel’s table. Boyd looked stern and angry, like some prophet from the Old Testament come down from the mountain to deliver a message of God’s wrath about to be visited upon someone. In this case, Megan knew who Boyd Fletcher’s wrath would be visited on if he had his way.
A well-dressed man wearing an impatient look sat beside the Fletchers. From time to time, he spoke on a cell phone, always in a whisper that never reached Colonel Henry Erickson’s ears where he sat as judge. However, the constant calls had drawn the colonel’s attention all the same. Megan supposed the man was Arthur Flynn, Boyd Fletcher’s civil attorney.
She swallowed hard and leaned forward to speak into the microphone. “My name is Megan Gander.” Her voice boomed over the court, followed by feedback from the equipment, embarrassing her.
“Mrs. Gander,” Trimble said, covering one ear with one hand, “you don’t have to lean into the microphone like that. The audio pickup is quite good enough to do the job.”
“I’m sorry,” Megan whispered.
“Now, Mrs. Gander, you will have to speak up louder than that. That is not spy equipment.” Trimble paced in front of his table.
Lieutenant Benbow stood. “Colonel, Major Trimble is badgering the witness.”