by Tim LaHaye
Frost appeared on the windshield. “That’s the first time I’ve seen that in this part of the world,” Abdullah said. “In America, yes, but not here.” He turned on the wipers, but they merely spread the ice crystals and blocked the view.
Rayford played with the controls until he got the heater and defogger blasting, quickly clearing the window. But even with the heater on full, he was chilled. And the sky turned darker. Strangely, there were still no shadows on the ground. The light of Christ continued to permeate, except for the blackness of the sky that ringed Him and His mounted followers.
Suddenly a voice came from the sky, loud and authoritative, but it was not Jesus’. “It is done!”
Lightning burst from the clouds and explosions of thunder followed. And then came hail—if you could call it that. These were not mere ice chips—not even golf-ball or softball size. The first chunk Rayford saw looked the size of a dining-room table, half a foot thick. It landed about twenty feet below the Hummer and embedded itself a couple of feet into the ground. The concussion sounded like a bomb.
The few remaining Unity Army soldiers behaved like madmen, tearing their hair, some shooting themselves, others begging comrades to shoot them. Another chunk of ice hit a grenade launcher and flattened it. Soon hundred-pound blocks of ice began pelting the entire area, smashing bodies, destroying trucks and cars and Jeeps.
The royal Humvee, with Leon driving erratically, narrowly escaped three chunks, one of which caught a running aide squarely atop the head and crushed him to the ground. The gigantic hailstones were soon dropping steadily, and there was no escape. It was as if God were burying the bloody battlefield in a thick layer of ice.
“You getting this hail in Jerusalem?” Rayford radioed Mac.
“Nope. No hail. Looks like it’s threatening rain or snow, but so far we’re just freezin’ our tails off.”
Survivors remained only in scattered spots, but instead of trying to find cover or protecting their heads or even falling to their knees and begging for mercy, they lifted their faces to the sky, shouting, apparently railing against God, flashing obscene gestures at Jesus and His army. Soon they were crushed under the monstrous hailstones.
The temperature returned to normal as quickly as it had dropped, and the clouds rolled away and disappeared. The whole of creation seemed bright as day again, and while the sun still had not been seen since before Jesus came, the desert was soon toasty again. Rayford turned off the heat and opened the windows, and he and Abdullah lit out after Leon and Nicolae.
The ice quickly began to melt, and the water mixed with the torrent of blood. “Stop here,” Rayford said, as they watched the blood-and-water mixture rise higher than the tires on the potentate’s Humvee. The vehicle was soon bogged down in a reddish brown mud. Rayford heard Carpathia shrieking at Leon to get them out of the mess and on toward Jerusalem. But they quickly found all avenues of escape blocked by the rising muck. When it reached the middle of the door of their vehicle, Carpathia ordered Leon out to push while he climbed into the driver’s seat.
“But, Excellency, I will drown!”
“You will do no such thing. Do you want your king to get out?”
“No, my lord, of course not. But I-I, ah—”
Leon pushed open the door and the liquid invaded the vehicle. “Hurry, man!” Nicolae shouted. “Shut the door!”
Leon stepped gingerly into the drink, which reached his waist and made his robe balloon out. He had wisely left his fez in the Humvee. “It’s freezing!” he squealed. “My legs are going numb!”
“Of course it is freezing! It has ice in it! Now start pushing!”
“It stinks!”
“Push!”
It took Leon a moment to make his way behind the vehicle, and the footing beneath the surface was clearly uneven. Once he nearly plunged all the way under and had to grab the fender to stay upright. His robe was a mess, his hands and face pale, his hair mussed. Rayford could see he was shivering to his core.
When he got behind the Humvee, Carpathia apparently floored the accelerator, for all he accomplished was to kick up a rooster tail of liquid and steam that covered Leon. The Humvee didn’t move.
“Try to rock it!” Leon shouted.
“That is what you are there for! Grab under the bumper and lift!”
“Lift a Humvee!?”
“Rock it!”
Finally they coordinated Leon’s lifting and pushing and Carpathia’s alternated gunning the engine and letting up, and the big thing began to sway. When it finally started to move, Leon lost his balance and pitched forward, going completely under. He came up sputtering and trying to wipe his face.
Nicolae pulled the Humvee to slightly higher ground and Leon rushed to get in the passenger side. But when he opened the door, Carpathia was already there.
“I am not driving, Leon! How would that look?”
Leon trudged around in front of the car and yanked open the door. Just before climbing in he pulled his sodden robe over his head and left it in the rising river of blood. He clambered aboard in his underwear, assuring Nicolae that he had other clothes in the back.
“Well, put them on immediately!”
The Humvee rocked and bounced as Leon found dry clothes and dressed in the car. Apparently deciding his ornate cap would not work with the new outfit, he tossed it out the window as he slowly pulled away, looking for yet higher ground. The blood had already risen more than four feet.
When the skies cleared and the temperature rose, Mac rubbed his bare arms and emerged from what had been meager cover under sparse trees not far from the Temple Mount. Though not in the uniform of the Unity Army, he must not have looked like a rebel either, as he was virtually ignored. Many of the normal nonfighting citizenry were milling about among the thousands of soldiers, who spent much of their time sitting around. Some platoons were moved here and there, seemingly on the whim of a general or a commander, but all fighting had ceased. The Global Community forces had occupied all of Jerusalem except the Temple Mount, and they had that surrounded. Occasionally a general with a bullhorn tried to persuade the tiny band of rebels inside to surrender and avoid inevitable bloodshed.
Mac was amused that the general assumed the rebels had no access to outside information. But having talked with them, he knew they had radios and even some televisions. They would know what had happened at Petra and Bozrah, and soon they would probably even know the outcome of the battle at Armageddon.
It seemed weird to Mac that soldiers could sit around smoking and playing cards, only occasionally glancing into the sky to see what Jesus was up to. Maybe this was all part of the hardening of hearts, but Mac thought that he, in the same situation, would recognize that his end was near. Theirs was clearly a supernatural foe who had not even been slowed by the most powerful army in history. The war was as good as over.
And yet Nicolae Carpathia, the great deceiver, despite winning not even a skirmish since the appearing of Christ, had somehow convinced his troops that Jerusalem was the key. If they could take the Holy City, he would be returned to his rightful throne, the Son of God would be defeated, and all would again be right with the world.
The only thing that argument had going for it was the current situation in Jerusalem. The idea of the rebels holding anything when they were surrounded and outnumbered a thousand to one was laughable and pathetic. Except, as Mac knew, they were on the right side.
Rayford had assumed he was way past being shocked by now. What could he see that would be more surreal than the last several hours? Yet as Abdullah kept a careful but watchful distance from Carpathia’s Humvee, all Rayford could do was stare at the result of the last so-called battle. Of course, there had not been a battle at all. The Unity Army had rattled its sabers, loaded its weapons, and made a lot of noise. And Jesus had killed them all, with mere words.
Of course those words were the words of God, and the effect was overpowering. Mile after mile after mile, Abdullah drove next to a river of blood several mil
es wide and now some five feet deep. Carpathia’s whole-world fighting force of several million troops had been reduced to perhaps a million. That was still huge, of course, and from a human standpoint the rebels could never match it. But the devastation to the Unity Army in a short period should have made plain to Carpathia that his days were numbered.
Rather, to hear him talking earnestly to Leon in the car and to the remaining troops by radio, what had happened served as mere motivation. “Our goal remains,” Carpathia said, “and our task is clear. Take the Father’s city, wipe out His chosen people, and kill His Son. This has been our design from the beginning. We have drawn Him out, and we will soon have Him where we want Him. Remain loyal, remain true, remain vigilant, and you will be rewarded.”
Jesus, meanwhile, had turned to the remnant and addressed them directly as Rayford and Abdullah listened.
“You are of God, little children, and have overcome Antichrist, because He who is in you is greater than he who is in the world. He is of the world. Therefore he speaks as of the world, and the world hears him. You are of God. He who knows God hears Me; he who is not of God does not hear Me. By this you know the spirit of truth and the spirit of error.
“Beloved, love one another, for love is of God; and everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. He who does not love does not know God, for God is love. In this the love of God was manifested toward you, that God has sent His only begotten Son into the world, that you might live through Him. In this is love, not that you loved God, but that He loved you and sent Me to be the propitiation for your sins.
“Rayford, if God so loved you, you also ought to love one another.”
Rayford was always pierced when he heard his name, as he knew Abdullah and all the others had to be. Then Jesus moved from the personal exhortation to clearly explain what had just happened.
“And they gathered them together to the place called in Hebrew, Armageddon.
“Then the seventh angel poured out his bowl into the air, and a loud voice came out of the temple of heaven, from the throne, saying, ‘It is done!’ And there were noises and thunderings and lightnings. And great hail from heaven fell upon men, each hailstone about the weight of a talent. Men blasphemed God because of the plague of the hail, since that plague was exceedingly great.
“An angel came out of the temple of heaven, crying to Me with a loud voice, ‘Thrust in Your sickle and reap, for the time has come for You to reap, for the harvest of the earth is ripe.’ So I thrust in My sickle on the earth, and the earth was reaped.
“Then another angel came out of the temple which is in heaven, he also having a sharp sickle. And another angel came out from the altar, who had power over fire, and he cried with a loud cry to him who had the sharp sickle, saying, ‘Thrust in your sharp sickle and gather the clusters of the vine of the earth, for her grapes are fully ripe.’
“So the angel thrust his sickle into the earth and gathered the vine of the earth, and threw it into the great winepress of the wrath of God. And the winepress was trampled outside the city, and blood came out of the winepress, up to the horses’ bridles, for one thousand six hundred furlongs.”
The remnant, full of the glory of God, had been turned and was pointed toward Jerusalem. Chaim believed the Lord would protect them, but strangely, Jesus now moved on ahead with His army. And while the children of Israel seemed to be moving supernaturally fast again, they fell far behind Him and soon lost sight of Him.
Chaim noticed others looking at each other with concern, and he wanted to reassure them. But his place as leader and spokesman had been taken, and he felt no prompting to try to reassert himself. His job was done, and he felt he was just part of the remnant now. They would go where God pointed them and trust the Lord to be their rear guard.
Mac was surprised to discover that the radio waves—and he assumed television as well—were still controlled by the Global Community. That, he knew, would not last long. As he made his way throughout Jerusalem, trying to give Rayford and Abdullah a picture of what they’d find when they arrived, he listened to GC reporters and anchors putting Nicolae Carpathia’s spin on everything.
There was no mention, of course, of what could have at least been described as an apparition in the sky—some trick by the enemy to scare everyone. Talk about the proverbial elephant in the room. Mac was certain everyone on earth knew who rode on the clouds. The question was what Jesus was going to do and when He was going to do it.
Jerusalem was replete with makeshift jails and prisons and holding tanks where the captured rebels were starved and tortured. GC personnel reported on these with apparent glee as evidence that victory was at hand. One commentator said that the rebels who thought they were holding the Temple Mount area were themselves in only a larger prison of their own making, for they were helpless to stand against the Unity Army, and there was nowhere they could flee.
It was apparent to Mac that word was beginning to spread throughout the city that the potentate was on his way. The place became a center of activity. Card games ended. Sitting around became a thing of the past. Platoons were coming to attention, areas policed, and the path to the front lines cleared. Every few minutes the news carried a fresh, live quote, right from the commander in chief’s own vehicle.
“As we approach what many have referred to as the Eternal City,” Carpathia said, “I am pleased to announce that following our victory here, this shall become the new Global Community headquarters. My palace shall be rebuilt on the site of the ruins of the temple, the destruction of which is on our agenda.
“As beautiful as New Babylon was, in truth it has been my objective all along to one day relocate the seat of government, commerce, and religion to this city, which has meant so much to so many for so long. So, loyal citizens of the New World Order, I trust you will watch with great satisfaction as we complete our takeover of this place, as we root out and destroy the last pocket of resistance, and as we render impotent the One whom the enemy reveres as the reason they have never been able to join our noble cause.
“This One who flits about in the air quoting ancient fairy-tale texts and forcing sycophants to mindlessly run along worshiping Him will soon meet His end. He is no match for the risen lord of this world and for the fighting force in place to face Him. It does not even trouble me to make public our plan, as it has already succeeded. This city and these despicable people have long been His chosen ones, so we have forced Him to show Himself, to declare Himself, to vainly try to defend them or be shown for the fraud and coward that He is. Either He attempts to come to their rescue or they will see Him for who He really is and reject Him as an impostor. Or He will foolishly come against my immovable force and me and prove once and for all who is the better man.
“While I do not expect this to be an extended campaign, as this is the last battle I ever hope to wage, I am bringing in the whole of our resources. Every man and woman under my command and every armament and munition at our disposal shall be employed to make this the most resounding and convincing military victory in history.
“My pledge to you, loyal citizens of the Global Community, is that come the end of this battle, no opponent of my leadership and regime will remain standing, yea, not one will be left alive. The only living beings on planet Earth will be trustworthy citizens, lovers of peace and harmony and tranquility, which I offer with love for all from the depths of my being.
“I am but ten miles west of Jerusalem as we speak, and I will be dismissing my cabinet and generals so they may be about the business of waging this conflict under my command. The Most High Reverend of Carpathianism, Leon Fortunato himself, will serve as my chauffeur for my triumphal entry. Citizens are already lining the roadway to greet me, and I thank you for your support.”
Mac hurried into position where he could get a look at the Humvee and the motorcade of military vehicles following it. He stood on a rise on the west side, where he could see the parading army that extended to the horizon. As the procession neared the city, he
could hear drums and trumpets, and if he was not mistaken, even from that distance, the royal Humvee looked a mess. Rayford had told him it had been sloshing through the blood in the Valley of Megiddo, but apparently no one had reminded the potentate to get it cleaned.
When it came into view, Mac’s suspicions were confirmed. It was ringed with mud and blood to the windows. But sure enough, civilians lined the roadway on either side, cheering, waving, clapping, saluting, and throwing flowers. Carpathia opened the moonroof, stood on the front seat, and appeared in the open air, waving with both hands and blowing kisses.
Enjoy it while it lasts, pal.
“Mac, do you see us?” Rayford radioed over the secure frequency.
“No. Where are you?”
“Third row, behind the Humvee.”
“Nobody cares?”
“It’s as if they don’t even see us.”
“What’s the plan?”
“As the Humvee reaches Jaffa Road, it will head for the Jaffa Gate, along with a third of the fighting force. The other two-thirds will split off north and south, surrounding the Old City. Once everyone is in place, Carpathia will lead the charge through the occupied Armenian and Jewish Quarters to the Temple Mount. They plan to batter through the Western Wall and overtake the rebels.”
“Plan to.”
“Exactly.”
Mac finally spotted Rayford and Abdullah’s Hummer and was struck by how much it looked like it belonged in the procession. As the cavalcade approached Jaffa Road, Mac began jogging that way, hoping to catch up with his friends when they peeled away from the group.
The cheering crowds grew larger as the cars neared the Old City, and as they slowed, the marching band caught up, its music blaring and drums pounding. Mac was reminded of Memorial Day parades as a child when his father had hoisted him on his shoulders and he had thrilled to the rat-a-tat-tat of the snares and the thumping undercurrent of the big bass drums. Back then, of course, he never heard “Hail Carpathia.”