Stones of Fire

92

‘Jesusfuckingchrist! I can’t see!’ Boyd Braxton yelled, raising his arms to stave off the blinding green beam. ‘I can’t see a damn —’

The truck swerved. Jerking to the right. Then the left. It began to lose speed.

‘Put your foot on the gas!’ Stan yelled over the gunny’s foul-mouthed screams. ‘We must fulfil the prophecy! Do not give in to your fears!’

Averting his head from the burning light, Stan leaned over Braxton and grabbed the steering wheel, knowing that fear was the tool of the devil. Fear was what he had felt that long-ago night in Beirut. When his best friend, his comrades, his CO were ripped to shreds by an Islamist bomb. When he had stood shaking in the bomb’s aftermath, snot dribbling from his nose, piss puddling at his feet. Afraid to grab his weapon and take action. Afraid to do anything other than drop to his knees and beg God’s mercy.

That’s when the angels came to him. Gabriel and Michael. The same two angels that adorned the lid of the Ark. They took his fear from him, asking only that he take up the Lord’s fight.

And every day since, he had done just that.

This day would be no different.

For he knew no fear.

He had complete and certain faith in the sanctity of his mission.

The same faith that had guided Abraham and Moses in their darkest hour. The same faith that had enabled David to face the mighty Goliath.

‘You come at me with a sword and spear. I come to you in the name of the Lord!’

Those were words to live by. Words to die by.

‘The battle for the Temple will soon be upon us! Praise be to the Lord!’ he joyfully shouted, retaking control of the truck, steering it straight towards the green beam of light.