“The demonic team that controls our enemy is from the world powers. Those are the ones that specialize in manipulating and influencing people, animals, and the weather. Most of the demons dancing around the air over Salem are the spiritual forces of evil in the heavens.
“What you need to do, Carlos, is talk to our angels Joe, Thomas, and the four they brought with them, and coordinate their spiritual fight against the six demons of the Directorate with our battle here on the ground.”
Into the air Carlos said, “Thomas, Joe, can you hear me?”
“Right here, Carlos. We’re very impressed with your defensive emplacements. Nice job.”
“Thanks, guys. Now you’ve seen what’s going on over there across the road in the cemetery, right?”
“Yeah,” said Thomas. “Nothing we haven’t seen before. Same deal with Hitler, Stalin, Idi Amin, Papa Doc, Yahya Kahn, Saddam Hussein—long list there, so yeah, we have caught their act over there. A high-ranking demon named Botis has taken possession of their chairwoman, Frances O’Donnelly. He got bored with the rituals going on in Salem and decided to see what kind of mayhem he could wreak over here. He’s one of their high authorities, an Earl if you will, who oversees a gang of sixty filthy dark angels. The sword in Frances’ hand belongs to Botis.
“Sad story with that Frances,” said Joe. “We almost had her on our side there for a while with the help of a believer named Anna Stone, but she couldn’t resist the kind of power that Botis promised to give her. This type of thing happens a lot with smart, high-achieving people.”
“Frances’ subordinate leaders have fallen under her control,” said Thomas. “Some have become disciples of the dark side. Some, like their troop commander, Romano Goldstein, are simply intimidated by her. The troglodytes that they have enslaved and trained as fighters have no idea what they’re doing. Their mental faculties have been destroyed and replaced by the Directorate’s control mechanisms. Even their basic functions have been taken over by those psychopaths.”
Carlos said, “Hang on a second,” and he related the angels’ report to Sandy.
“I saw this O’Donnelly woman kill their operations chief,” said Sandy to Carlos. “Ask the angels who’s running all their telekinesis equipment.”
“Nobody,” said Joe. “Frances shut it down and she has replaced all those high-tech systems with demonic energy. Satan has taken command of the Directorate through his chain of command—his rulers, authorities, and powers of darkness.”
“So what kind of tactics can we expect from her and her attack force now that they are instruments of the devil?” said Carlos.
“These guys will be hard to stop now,” said Thomas. “They have no normal survival instincts. That means they have no fear of death. They will charge headlong into lethal fire. When one of their own goes down, they will simply step over them, even use the bodies as shields or sandbags. Think of them as residents of hell in human form.
“Frances has no regard for their lives. She will order them to charge into your defenses in one mass attack and push rapidly until they get to the cliff. Your warriors will take out most of them, but the rest of them will survive and overcome Cielavista.”
Carlos listened to Thomas’s intel briefing with unimpassioned attention. The courage that the Spirit had imparted in him disallowed worry or panic. This knowledge about their demon-possessed enemy was simply new data for him to consider as he modified his tactical plans.
“Thanks, Thomas,” said Carlos.
Then to Sandy, “Our plan for dynamic defense will work well against these demoniacs.”
“Yes, I believe you’re right, Carlos. What modifications to our battle plan do you see?”
“Nothing major, Sandy,” said Carlos. “Company Striker-Charlie will conduct a feint against the charging enemy, fall back as if defeated, and draw them into the valley, forcing them into a confined avenue of advance. Just as we modeled it after Joshua’s Battle of Ai.
“Striker-Delta will ambush them from the heights, and Striker-Charlie will counterattack. The only new instructions for our warriors is to warn them that the enemy is on a suicide mission.
“And, Sandy, we must not be reluctant to evacuate Cielavista. Saving the lives of our people is more important than holding ground.”
“Yes, Carlos, I realize that. We have the small boats and the Sea Ray launch to shuttle our forces from here to our rally point on the beach north of here. We have vehicles prepositioned there to take us as far away as we need to go,” said Sandy.
“This wind,” said Carlos. “I’m concerned about how our boats will do in these swells.”
“I’ve been working on that,” said Sandy. “This storm’s name is Gina. She tells me that she has been sent to assist us in our battle by playing havoc with the enemy’s fiery arrows.
“Why are the four angels with Joe and Thomas carrying those trumpets?” Sandy said.
“You got me,” said Carlos.
Then to Thomas, “What’s with the trumpets?”
Thomas said, “The Directorate army still has the ability to go invisible with their humming. That awful chord they generate conceals their movements from our troops. The notes from your harmonicas in the key of C major won’t broadcast far enough to dissolve that umbrella, so these trumpets will get rid of it. One trumpet plays a low C, one plays an E, one the G and the fourth plays a middle C.”
“Great,” said Carlos. “That way, our attack force, Striker-Charlie, can engage them right at the perimeter and lure them back into the valley where our ambush forces can engage them.”
“Yes,” said Thomas, “and your warriors will be relieved of their harmonica duty. They will have both hands free to fight.
“Michael and the main body of our angel force will disengage from their fight in Salem before noon today, and they’ll join us. We’ll have much more impact on the battle here with the whole platoon fighting with you.”
Carlos relayed the angels’ briefing to Sandy. She said, “Carlos, tell them that we are so grateful that our Lord has sent them to support us in this battle.”
“They said they’re just doing their jobs. Another day at the office,” said Carlos.
“Okay,” said Sandy. “You have work to do up top. I’m sending Althea with you. She has a note from me to Hank. Would you have someone check up on him for me? He’s a loose cannon, and he has no sense of caution. With Henry gone and Gabriella missing, that boy’s all the family I’ve got.”
Carlos looked into his dear friend’s eyes. He held her look there for several minutes. Both leaders were exhausted, but their adrenaline was pumping energy into their brains and bodies.
“Sandy, I can tell you know more than you are revealing. Whatever God has shown you is what He desires to happen. His ways are different than ours.”
Sandy gave Carlos a gentle shove on both shoulders, “Go back to work, Commander Carlos. Lead our troops to victory.”
Carlos and Althea jumped from ledge to rock, up the cliff to the battlefront.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Henry and Beto decided to sail a wide circle from Marblehead Harbor to Cielavista. Water Walker handled the high winds and four-foot swells with poise. Their radar told them the stormy weather system was localized on the coast between Salem and Gloucester and they would have a smoother, safer ride twenty miles out.
“Tanker ahead,” said Beto. “Looks like she’s anchored.”
“We’ll swing wide to her port side,” said Henry, swinging the ship’s wheel to the right.
“Water Walker to tanker,” said Henry into the radio mic.”
“Water Walker, this is Hyundai Spartan” said the voice in the speaker. “We have you heading wide to our port. Have a good night.”
“Good night to you and God Bless,” said Henry.
Beto said, “South Korean?”
“No, though with the Hyundai name you’d think so. It’s a Greek freighter,” said Henry, “made in Korea.
“We’ll swing one mor
e mile northwest and then head back into shore at Cielavista. We’ll get there around noon.”
Beto said, “I’ll put on a pot of coffee for you. I’m gonna get some sleep. Wake me up in a couple hours and I’ll relieve you so you can sleep for a few hours.”
“Sounds good, my friend.”
The Greek Tanker, Hyundai Spartan, disappeared in the darkness behind them.
Thomas and Joe—swords drawn—circled above the Directorate’s forward line of attack. Four demons left their posts at the head of each enemy column and charged upward at the angels. Hovering back-to-back the veteran warriors calmly engaged the raging, drooling fiends, delivering scathing wounds to the first two. The demons were cunning, well trained in spiritual warfare. They charged at the angelic champions from all sides, above and below firing darts from their fetid mouths, flicking arrows from their tails. Thomas and Joe were tireless, almost bored with the same centuries-old tactics they had encountered thousands of time. But they knew the battle had to be waged. And they also knew that as they kept these four busy in the air, they would be of no use to Botis, their boss, down below who was leading the fight against the heroic warriors of Task Force Saber.
The angels nodded at each other, signaling their next move. In an instant they rocketed up beyond the exosphere. The demons were outdistanced, but they followed the angels upward toward the moon.
“They fall for this every time,” said Thomas.
“Where shall we lose them this time?” said Joe.
“Dark side of the moon?” suggested Thomas.
“Sounds good.”
In a matter of seconds the angels circled the earth’s moon and disappeared. The demons were once again confused and searched the cosmos for their spiritual adversaries to no avail.
Thomas and Joe returned to their support role over Cielavista. They grinned as Botis growled at the loss of half his squad. Botis’ howl rumbled out of Frances’ throat, terrifying her subordinate commanders.
“What was that?” Romano asked. Frances just looked at him with fiery eyes and he skulked away.
Thomas said to Joe, “Look, that’s their commander,” pointing his sword to Frances. “Remember the change of command at their meeting at the Canyon Ranch? She took charge of the board and Randal Sanford became the ground force commander. Then after the debacle at the Nubble Light they reduced Randal to a squad leader, and Goldstein took charge of the army. But now Frances O’Donnelly has total command, and Botis has her under his demonic control.”
“What could possibly go wrong for them?” said Joe.
“Here they go,” said Thomas as he watched the four columns of Directorate soldiers take their positions for the second attack on Cielavista.
Randal Sanford ordered his two columns to move down the road to their left and spread out. “Firdos, you take the far left flank. Carlene, form your team to his right. Wait for my order to attack.”
Romano Goldstein moved his two columns to Sanford’s right and formed them up in attack position.
The dark cobalt sky was slowly yielding to the morning twilight. A violent offshore wind raked across the treetops. Randal’s boots were soaked through from the heavy dew on the grass in the cemetery. His flabby body shivered in Halloween’s coldest hour. He stood behind his squad, pistol in hand, the stub of an unlit cigar clenched in his teeth. Let’s go, Frances. Let’s get this over with. See what you can do with this mob.
He looked back at Frances. Where in the devil did that come from? Randal thought peering through the morning mist. Frances held a goat’s horn in her hand. She raised it to her lips and a horrendous noise filled the air over the attack force, amplifying the dissonant humming that buzzed around the assembly. Randal was terrified.
“Charge!” Randal squealed.
Jacob and Antonio aimed their SAW machine guns at the attacking line of giants and raked down their front line. The crack and roar of gunfire filled the woods on their left and right as the Task Force Saber gunners unleashed a lethal wall of bullets. They could hear the crunch of boots on the gravel road in the center of the sector. It was Striker-Charlie charging the enemy line.
The wind caught the enemy’s fiery arrows that had rained down on Task Force Saber’s positions, and blew them back over the attackers, striking the massive men on their helmets and shoulders.
Jacob reloaded a fresh drum of ammo into his machine gun while Antonio maintained a steady stream of suppressive fire on the advancing enemy. The masses of charging giants were within a few yards of their fighting position and the two fighters looked at each other for an instant. Roberto had not given the word to move back to their second battle position.
“We stay until ordered to move,” Antonio said to his battle buddy.
A volley of enemy arrows sailed at them, three of them flying directly into their gunport. Jacob jerked backwards as an arrowhead banged into the shoulder of his Kevlar vest. They returned fire on their attackers.
Antonio and Jacob noticed a pudgy, red-faced soldier stomping through the underbrush behind the charging line of fighters. He was screaming.
“Get them!” yelled Randal. “Move to the right now, fools! They’re counterattacking our middle. Move to the right and smash the FITO force that’s attacking us.”
Through the dim morning light, Antonio and Jacob watched the foot soldiers mechanically obey the screams of their leader and turn to their right and pound through the trees after Striker-Charlie.
“Our strategy is working, Bud,” said Jacob. “Let’s take out as many of these Philistines as we can and wait for the order to move back to join Anvil-Bravo on the cliffs.”
“This might get in your way,” said Antonio, and he broke the enemy arrow off Jacob’s vest with the arrowhead still imbedded in the Kevlar.
From behind them a familiar voice said, “Time to move.” It was Brian, the messenger. He held his hand out to assist them out of the foxhole they occupied for the last twenty-four hours.
“It was a lovely home, wasn’t it, Jacob?” Antonio said.
“Yes; we’ll miss it, I’m sure.”
In a crouch they followed Brian as he rolled up the warriors on the perimeter and led them through their prearranged route to their new fighting positions on the cliffs.
Randal Sanford was sweating and heaving through the thickets and briars of Cielavista.
“Romano,” he called, as his depleted squad linked up with the other columns from the right of the attack line.
The two executives, now demoted to squad leaders, met in the cluster of attackers heading down the narrow pass toward the FITO force that was advancing toward them.
“How does it look on your side?” Randal said.
“We seemed to be making progress with limited casualties, but now our dear commander has ordered us to join forces against this counterattack,” said an exhausted Romano Goldstein.
Over their heads, what sounded like the roar of a jet engine blasted through the air. The two men looked up to see a fiery ball flying in the direction of the counterattacking FITO force. Clumps of molten fire fell from its wake.
“Oh, god, what’s next?” said Randal.
The fireball ascended up and hovered there over the lead elements of the Directorate’s column. The distorted face of Frances O’Donnelly, now ten feet in diameter and totally engulfed in flames, scowled down at the confused mass of men charging down the valley at the defenders. From her head a fiery serpent’s tail flagged out behind, dripping hot molten liquid onto the attackers.
“Charge on, you fools. They are weak. They are falling back. Push on, you slackers,” Botis’ voice bawled out from the flaming glob. Two of his henchmen darted in and out of the fireball, moronically laughing and screaming.
Randal was crowded in with the army of the Directorate all massed into the kill zone of Task Force Saber’s ambush. He could see that his formation was only eight abreast, with the rest of the force stumbling in a useless herd behind them. In their fury, the mindless brutes began slashin
g at each other.
Then the forest exploded. Claymore mines detonated on both flanks. A hail of bullets rained down on Randal’s unsuspecting foot soldiers. They fell in heaps, wounded, wailing and dying.
Randal fell to the ground beneath two bleeding bodies. He squirmed out from under the weight and crawled after Romano. It was becoming clear to Randal, exhausted as he was, that Romano had figured out the enemy’s tactic before they sprung their trap. Randal grabbed Firdos and crawled along with Romano’s small patrol back through the woods around the ambushers. They huddled in a grove of pines, some with minor wounds, all of them shell-shocked. Firdos was sitting next to his beloved leader, Carlene. Randal listened to the bedlam in the valley. Romano formed a plan and he briefed his terrified soldiers.
From her post on the ledge, Sandy cried out to God for more protection. So far they had suffered no deaths. The wounded were evacuated down the tunnels to the Sea Ray. The launch shuttled them up the coast to their field hospital.
The battle plan was working. The enemy’s force took the bait and chased Striker-Charlie into the confines of the valley and found themselves facing withering fire from Striker-Delta’s ambush. Striker-Charlie maneuvered to their ambush position, trapping the enemy in a three-sided casket.
Sandy watched her sky-screen as Botis, Frances, and two lunatic demons glided over the mob. She was amazed at how totally Frances was possessed. And to think at one point she was almost ready to abandon the dark side. But now she was lost to the forces of hell.
A small enemy patrol had deserted the main body and was hiding in the woods. Hank had been right about Romano Goldstein. The doctor had a sixth sense for survival and he was now using it to command a viable commando team. Randal Sanford and his minions, Carlene Wood and Firdos Gaffardi, were part of it.
Proof Through the Night Page 25