"Here they come!" Commander Washington shouted to alert the wall of men behind him.
The army of Islam parted around the chariot on which the Mahdi stood to observe, spilling onto Bridge Street like a tsunami of human flesh amidst cries of war that shook the soldier's core.
"Hold the line!"
The unstoppable force collided with the immovable object as the red sun peaked in the sky, two incredible masses of living, breathing tissue slamming into one another with a force that could be heard for miles around. Those already upon the Temple Mount had armed themselves with simple stabbing or bludgeoning instruments and used them without remorse; cutting, slicing, impaling and pounding wildly at the bodies of the invaders fighting with only their bare hands.
David and Denisa watched from above as a torrent of red rose out of the crowd like lava spewed from mouth of an angry volcano in the throes of eruption. It was a brutal sight to behold; bodies being ripped and torn apart as others were trampled under foot through the sheer force of the advancing mob.
David kept his eyes on Washington, the man fighting valiantly in the guise of William Wallace with a grace and power that commanded a respect that was intangible and beyond description. He dropped two -- three -- five -- ten at a time as he swung his deadly hammer with the power of Atlas in great circles that cleared the space around him.
The man let loose a primal roar that seemed to shake the world, his training and intensity making him unstoppable on the battlefield. The attackers split into flanks around him, none daring to challenge him head-on as he worked them like so many heavy-bags in the musty gym of Rocky Balboa. People cowered as he approached them, desperate to keep away from the machine of death that defined the front line of this army.
"Prepare to give the order..." Denisa demanded as she watched the death toll rise through her binoculars.
David cleared his throat and raised a steel cone they had found to his lips; the stand-in for a mega-phone that would allow him to command the masses.
"Ready!" he shouted.
The Mashiach surveyed the landscape, Muslims flowing onto the mount like water, living bodies taking the space where one now dead had stood just a second before.
"Now!" She cried, watching for the destruction that would follow soon.
"Fire!"
A hailstorm of sharpened wooden projectiles took the sky, a hundred roughly made arrows fired from a hundred hand-made bows by amateur archers posted near the Dome Of The Rock. Nearly three-quarters flew up in a perfect arc as was intended, the remainder cart wheeling end over end before landing within the front quarter of their own pack. Those that didn't impale friendlies dove like bombers into their targets, embedding themselves in the flesh of the attackers and striking many dead or incapacitated.
A great cheer rose from the defenders of Israel, their offensive outdoing that of the Muslim contingent storming the stronghold. The adulation was short lived, however, as the Mahdi gave a command in Arabic that sent many of his people ducking under his capsule near the camels.
When the fifty-or-so soldiers reappeared they brandished swords and shields, apparently strapped to the underside of their leader's chariot for the journey. They cried out as they lunged into the fray, slicing as viciously as their counterparts had when they had held the upper hand.
Commander Washington ducked and parried, many men falling at his side under the siege. He weaved and countered, dispatching some of the armed men to little avail as those without weapons snatched up the articles dropped by others killed in the action.
In no time it had become an all-out skirmish, blades and tines being jabbed into the bodies of fighters from both sides of the ring. The first lines protecting the Dome started to fold, Muslim combatants pressing forward over the corpses of their brethren as though they were no more than fallen leaves.
Washington dodged to avoid a thrust but was quickly gashed by another attack, the razor-fine edge of a scimitar slicing through his right arm, cutting through to the muscle and breaking him down to his knees.
Ali Sabra took note, pointing to the wounded warrior and smiling as he made the gesture of slicing his throat with his free hand.
The Commander caught the signal, returning it with an icy glare as he stood and transferred his hammer to his left hand. He wound up fiercely and struck down the scumbag that had cut him, stepping on his chest and delivering a kill-shot to the face with the heavy sledge afterwards.
The Mahdi was not amused, ordering more fighters into the breach as his people continued to slowly creep towards the holy shrine.
"They're getting closer, T.J.!" Michelle Jackson shouted to her husband over the noise of war that consumed them. "We have to do something!"
"Leave it to the young!" Terry returned. "There's nothing we can do right now!"
Turning to the entrance to the Well of Souls, Terry cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted.
"Father Jennings!" He called. "They're drawing closer!"
"I need more time!" The priest returned. "Keep fighting!"
The outlook from the tower was grim, David and Denisa watching as line after line collapsed under the growing assault of Ali Sabra's force. She shouted words of encouragement to her people, hoping beyond hope that they could withstand the attack.
David scoured the horizon for any sign of help from beyond, but there was nothing. It appeared that the remainder of the disciples had failed to make the quest to the front despite the urging of the preacher. The battle looked hopeless, from his perspective. Many of the invaders had fallen, but the hoard coming in from the Muslim quarter still looked deep and strong.
Washington was still dominant and invaluable to the fight, despite the fact that he fought now with just one arm. He had ditched his heavy mallet for a more agile dagger retrieved from one of the dead. He cut through hostile flesh like a ginsu master, somehow staying aware of the masses that surrounded him and managing to kill only those who opposed him.
A howl took to the wind from a third-party to the struggle; a crowd of figures pouring over the crest of the Western wall. David looked quickly to determine whether these were friend or foe, but even those at ground level who knew the story that had brought the Commander into their midst could tell right away based upon the bright-orange clothing that decorated the newcomers. They looked sadistic in the glow of the fire burning all around on the horizon, the group presumably keeping pace with the closing inferno after leaving their prison until mounting their insurrection.
Creeper was the first to touch down on the soil atop the Mount; Chrome and countless others falling in behind. Matea fiddled with an implement in his hands before making a throwing motion, unleashing a smoking canister that sailed high above the army.
The ordinance landed near Washington, the seasoned veteran recognizing it immediately as a tear-gas grenade. He covered his mouth and nose as he fell back, kicking the canister further on towards Bridge Street. Several more floated through the air, exploding in a cloud of white when they touched down between the Israeli and Muslim battalions.
The wind tossed the gas about, gagging and burning the eyes of many on both sides. Ali Sabra's contingent fell back to regroup, buying the fresh fighters in orange time to make their way to the front lines.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Washington asked his old partner when Matea patted him on the shoulder.
"A little birdie told me we should come." He smiled in response. "Had an awfully scraggly beard, for a robin."
Chrome and several others donned gas-masks, no doubt pillaged from the institution they called home before it was swallowed up by fire. They carried wooden batons and riot shields, unleashing their pent-up rage on those within their reach.
"Amazing!" David cheered from his perch. "They're moving back!"
"What's going on out there?" Jennings shouted from his hole as the din grew louder.
"Somebody just showed up!" Terry answered. "And they're takin' names!"
The Mahdi was furious, waving his arms about wildly as he barked orders to his troops. Wisps of smoke danced into his face, silencing him momentarily as he fanned it away and coughed violently.
The orange-clad warriors stood firm at the threshold of the Mount, having reset the score to zero with their surprise attack. Denisa snatched the make-shift megaphone from David and belted out commands, fallen lines reforming - though there were fewer now than there had been.
As the last of the noxious gas blew off into the distance, a new salvo of hand-to-hand attack was unleashed. The Muslims' antiquated wooden shields struck against the modern tactical plastic versions wielded by the pardoned prisoners. Their wooden knight sticks didn't fare as well, however, when chopped at by sharpened steel blades with malice.
The field of orange slowly dissolved in a gradient of red as the new recruits were picked apart. Creeper stood tall by Washington, assuming their familiar back-to-back stance of war. Chrome saw the brilliance in their strategy and joined them, forming a triangle of doom that spun clockwise as they mowed through many men. David took note that the field of Islamic soldiers was thinning, though they still stretched far into the expanse.
Ali Sabra jumped up and down in place atop his capsule, disturbing the camels on which it sat. He shouted with anger and resolve, calling for the next phase of his plan to be initiated.
Suddenly a band of young fighters rushed the field; many looking no older than ten or twelve. They cried out to their God as they raced into the front line, the opposing fighters shocked and too disturbed to hack at their tiny forms.
Washington and Matea had seen this before; they grabbed Chrome by his fluorescent jumpsuit and pulled him back away from the charging bodies.
The children buried themselves into large groupings of defenders and grabbed hold of individuals at their centers. One by one they started to explode; wolves with sheep's clothing draped over top of deadly payloads rigged to blow. Several ran to the skeletal structure of the temple under construction and quickly turned it to splinters and bits of stone.
"Jesus Christ!" David bellowed. "They're monsters!"
"They're insidious," Denisa responded. "But they're just as human as you or I."
Chrome looked upon the scene in horror; watching babies sacrifice their lives in the name of a hunk of land. Showers of blood erupted each time a boom reported, the first several rows of men being vaporized in clouds of smoke.
"They're kids!" He wailed in anger. "Not bombs!"
He watched as one of the mini-missiles nearby did his duty, noticing a small button clenched in the child's hand which he pressed to trigger the explosion. Another young man approached, the two soldiers and Chrome pinned against a wall and unable to scramble away.
"No!" The prisoner ordered as he stepped forward and let loose with an incredible slap across the boy's face.
Chrome quickly yanked the control from the child's hand, wrestling with the stunned youth and undressing him where he stood. The boy nearly nude, the man pulled the bomb from his body and shoved him into Creeper and the Commander.
"Chrome?" Washington asked as the man looked to the Mahdi. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"He's evil!" He responded, his face contorted with disgust. "He must die!"
The prisoner bolted through the chaos, Creeper shouting for him to stop. He darted passed friends and enemies alike in a determined charge towards Ali Sabra's throne.
Denisa had a bird's-eye view as the man dressed in orange threw himself against one of the camels carrying the enemy king. The Mahdi shielded his face as Chrome pressed the button, a massive blast ripping his body apart and doing no favors to the hump-wearing creature. With its legs obliterated where it stood, the camel collapsed to the ground. Ali Sabra's mount was toppled, the man rolling down to the dirt as the surviving beasts reared up and made tracks back through the crowd.
The battlefield was foggy now, the haze of modern warfare obscuring the action. It was clear that many were lost in the surprise attack from the children. Those that survived slipped in puddles of blood as they tried to regroup into formation in the hope of protecting the Dome.
Washington and Matea were shaken, but they had seen worse before. They returned to the front, though it was much further into their territory than it had been before. All involved were exhausted, gasping for breath as they fought on. Their intensive training gave the SEALs an edge, their cardio advantage making them unstoppable as they held off the advance.
The action was fast; Michelle's head swiveling back and forth as her aged mind raced to keep up.
"We must help them, T.J.!" She exclaimed once again.
"I told you, Mocha!" Terry barked back. "There's nothing we can do!"
The woman surveyed the scene, seeing so many dead strewn about the ground. Near one of them was a sword that looked light and caught her eye. She considered carefully but quickly, refusing to stand idly by.
"The Hell there isn't!" She cried, running off towards the weapon.
"Wait!" Terry yelped as he tried to grab her from behind. She was already in stride, however, and would not be easily caught. "Mocha!"
T.J. looked around as well, his wife barreling headlong into action with the sword held high. He saw little choice, at this point; he couldn't let her fight alone.
"Damn it all to hell!" He groaned, stomping his feet in a tantrum.
He stormed off into the fog, stopping to fetch a sickle along the way. Trying to catch up to his wife, he sliced through many foes. The woman was full of spunk, however, and was already bathed in red -- far, far ahead.
"Look at her go!" David laughed as he jabbed Denisa. "Misses Jackson's on a tear!"
"Go on, girl!" The Mashiach yelled with glee.
The Mahdi had risen to his feet, his face and robes washed in soot. His humiliation was obvious, the man enraged now as he physically shoved people into the battle.
Creeper was drunk with adrenaline, having sent countless tangos off down the river Styx. The energy made him careless, getting him into trouble quickly. He found himself surrounded in a crowd thick with the enemy. Washington tried to slash his way through the circle, but he wouldn't be in time.
"Creep!" The Commander wailed as Matea was impaled through the back with rusted iron rake.
His body pierced by several teeth, the soldier melted to the ground. Washington avenged him; killing all who had been near. Though it was contrary to his training, The Commander dropped down to his friend's side to check on his condition. The man was breathing, but just barely.
"Tony!" Washington cried, examining the punctures in his back. "Tony, hold on!"
"Ouch." Matea groaned, fighting through the pain. "That definitely sucked."
"Behind you!" A voice warned from the mayhem.
The Commander wasn't able to react in time and would've surely been killed by the enemy winding up at his back - if not for the intervention of an angel in the form of Michelle Jackson.
"Hi-Yah!" The woman chirped daintily as she separated the attacker's weapon from his body; still held tightly in his hand. "Stand back, soldier!" She exclaimed. "Grandma's got it all under control!"
Washington checked to see that he was clear before returning his attention to his friend in the dirt.
"You gonna be able to hold on, Creep?" He asked.
"I dunno, Rob." Matea answered. "They got me pretty good this time."
"I'm gonna pick you up." Washington advised. "It's gonna hurt like hell, but I have to get you out of here!"
"Where do you think you're gonna take me?" Creeper laughed. "I think Disneyland is closed."
Without delay the Commander snatched him up, carrying him off and depositing him near Denisa and David's nest.
"Watch him!" He ordered, returning to the fight.
The battle was hours old, yet no impending climax was in sight. Denisa's bag of tricks was empty; it was down to sheer force of will. Thousands had died in t
he carnage, their bodies piling up on the Mount. There was a trail of dead stretching from Bridge Street to beyond the mosque, weapons now flying not far from the Dome.
Every able-bodied person still stood and fought, but the defenders of Jerusalem were simply overwhelmed. For each of the invaders killed, two more stepped into their place. The Muslim feet upon the Mount now outnumbered those under the command of the Mashiach. With the bottle-neck cleared, even more pressed forward and taxed the front.
"It's hopeless!" Denisa conceded in realization of the odds. "There are just too many of them."
"We can't give up." David remarked, examining the blaze drawing in around them. "There's nowhere to run!"
When it seemed all would be lost a foreign and persistent chop-chop-chop overpowered the quieting sounds of the skirmish.
"What's that?" Denisa wondered, scanning the limited space where fire was not.
The noise grew louder, seeming to be rain down on them from above. It became deafening as a very focused wind assaulted the ground below. The gladiators were distracted, lowering their weapons in a combination of disbelief and fatigue as they looked to the sky.
David was the first to spot it, seeing it descending into view from above the thick blanket of clouds. It made no sense at all, but it was clear...
Where had it come from?
How did it still function?
Who was the pilot?
"Holy Shit!" He gasped. "It's a fucking helicopter!"
Denisa saw it now, the familiar sounds all too recognizable. By all accounts it shouldn't be; no motors had functioned in an age, nothing -save the birds- had taken flight since the fateful day the world stood still. It was there nonetheless; as real as anything in her sight on this dark day in the history of man.
The bird turned sharply and disappeared into the looming wall of fire; looking uncontrolled as it spiraled away. A tiny spec remained at altitude where it had been, something falling through the sky en route to the field below.
It descended at incredible speed, looking heavy in its freefall. No parachute deployed as it drew closer, the object tumbling through the blue like a bomb towards the ground.
A dull and hefty thud shook the Earth when it touched down, the form holding tight in a crater forged around it on impact.
"Oh my God!" Denisa curdled as she beheld the impossible. "How?"
"What is it?" David asked her softly, not sure he wanted to hear her answer.
"It can't be!"
"Denisa -- what is it?" He repeated.
The woman didn't speak at first, simply staring in disbelief. As the machine stood she finally answered, terror resonating in her voice.
"Darius!"
Chapter 38
Unholy Advent: Deception Of The Christ Page 37