Thomas Greanias - The Promised War

Their odyssey ended in a ghostly hall with a vaulted ceiling. The rotting wooden beams could barely support the caved-in roof, so a giant concrete pillar had been built to hold up the ramparts above.

And next to the pillar was the walled-up gate, its bricks a shade different from the rest of the interior wall.

But there was a problem. A lone stonemason stood before them in a dirty apron, wiping the grease from his hands with a blackened cloth. He wore a handkerchief knotted over his head, his angry eyes in his soot-smeared face looking Deker over.

"This is my relief?" he asked Ram.

"No. This is," Ram said, and snapped the mason's neck.

Deker watched the mason crumple to the floor and stared at Ram. "What did you do that for?"

Ram said, "He's going to die anyway, isn't he? Either by your mud bricks or by Bin-Nun's sword."

Deker couldn't really argue with that logic and didn't have the time. The clock was ticking and he had to get to work.

Thanks to Ram, he had located the critical structural element in the north wall. It wasn't the walled gate, as he had expected, but the concrete pillar. It was an impressive meter wide in diameter and ten meters tall.

"The mud bricks will remove this pillar, and removing this pillar will allow the rest of the wall to collapse on itself," Deker tried to explain to Ram as he set out his C-4 bricks. "Just like a tree falling down."

Ram looked up at the pillar thoughtfully and frowned. "But if you do that, then it will fall on top of the houses in the city below."

Deker said nothing, but he could see the reality sinking in as Ram had pictured it. Deker hoped Ram didn't have any relatives there. But from the size of Rahab's extended family, that seemed unlikely.

"What about the walled gate?" Ram asked. "That part of the wall seems weaker."

"This is better," Deker said. "I can't explain it now."

He could definitely blow open the walled gate. The blast would turn the bottom five meters of the fortress wall to rubble. The problem was at the top of the wall. The ramparts above were reinforced like a bridge for the troops to march between watchtowers. Deker would need to blow up the top several meters of the wall to get it to fall properly. Otherwise the rubble would block the Israelites from entering the fortress.

The key was this pillar. A single shot down the center would take it out.

He didn't need all ten bricks to take out this pillar and its section of the wall. But he had only one shot, and it would be messy. Ordinarily he'd use hundreds of small shots and control their timing with a handheld computer. Also, he'd usually have several days to prep this kind of blast. Now, however, he was trying to do it in less than an hour.

The big slowdown was loading the C-4 properly into the bottom of the pillar. Normally, he'd drill a few hundred holes for his explosives, each one less than two centimeters in diameter and a few centimeters deep. Tonight he was basically slapping bricks to a pillar, and had to take his time to place them properly.

He had one chance.

Deker worked quietly the next few minutes until he realized things were too quiet. Too late, he knew something was wrong and turned to see Ram holding a dagger.

"You!" Ram shouted, as if he'd never seen him before. "Spread your feet! Hands against the wall!"

Deker did as he was told and could feel the rough hands run over his body. "What are you doing?"

Ram spun him around and pushed the edge of his dagger under Deker's chin. "Say nothing," he said, his face close to Deker's, breathing heavily. "Nothing."

Ram must have heard something, because several torches bobbed up and down in the darkness and a deep voice boomed, "Ram, is that you?"

Deker remembered the voice from Rahab's terrace.

Hamas.

"Look what I found!" Ram said, and kicked Deker in the groin.

The blow sent Deker doubling over in agony. He slid against the wall to the floor, groaning in pain.

Ram then reached down and pulled him up by the hair. "You're in the hands of the Reahn National Guards now, Hebrew."

In spite of his jarring pain, Deker managed to stand up on his feet.

"Excellent work, Captain Ram," said Hamas, and Deker felt his eyes look him up and down, registering that the general was unimpressed with this Hebrew specimen. "Although I must say I was expecting a bit more coming from Bin-Nun."

Deker stared as Hamas walked toward him with several guards behind him, mouth in a snarl.

"I see you've killed one of my men, Hebrew." Hamas smiled. "When I'm done with you, you'll wish you were as fortunate."

A giant forearm swung out of nowhere across Deker's face, and everything went black.

There was a flash of light, and Deker felt another blow to his head. He opened his eyes in time to see Ram pull back his iron-hard fist and then bludgeon him in the face again.

"The invasion plans, Deker," said another voice with a thick Aramaic accent. "That's your name, Hebrew, isn't it?"

Deker blinked to see that he was in some dank cell, and that a large figure was standing next to Ram. The figure bent over, and his smooth face with hooded eyes and long hair came into focus.

Hamas. I've been captured. Maybe Ram has taken the credit.

A hand reached out toward the silver Star of David hanging around Deker's neck and roughly dangled it before his eyes. The IDF insignia in the center came in and out of focus, and Deker felt a profound aura of deja vu settle over him.

"The Hebrew invasion plans," Hamas repeated. "Or Ram will have to kill you."

Deker spit in Ram's face, just to show Hamas they were on different sides and to let Ram know that he needn't fear exposure-yet. Everything depended on how this all played out.

"What invasion?" Deker asked as Ram wiped the spit from his face.

Hamas said, "Ram, show him."

Ram grabbed him by his hair and dragged him across the floor with his chains and propped him up by the window. Deker looked out to see a cloud of dust in the distance. There was the glint of the golden Ark, seven priests with their trumpets in front of it. Armed guards marched before the priests and behind the Ark. They formed the clasp of a great necklace of Israelite soldiers encircling the city, six men deep and more than five hundred cubits away beyond the range of the archers.

"That invasion," Hamas said as he stood behind him, and Deker could smell his foul breath. "Behold the dust kicked up by the vast host of Israelite troops. Bin-Nun has been circling the city for six days now. Did you really think you could frighten us into surrendering with tall tales of Yahweh's divine power?"

Deker tried to piece together how long he had been held in captivity here. Surely it couldn't have been six days. But his mind was a jumble of beatings and blackouts, and he had no clue. He turned to look the general in the eye. "Whether I live or die, Hamas, you already know that Bin-Nun is going to win no matter what."

Hamas smiled. "It's been six days, Deker. Without you, they have already failed. Including your comrade Elezar. He only lasted two days before he died."

Elezar dead? Deker didn't believe it. Dogs like Elezar never died; they always survived somehow. That the Israelites were circling the city, however, was no lie. He could see it with his own eyes.

The familiar feeling of dread that so often overwhelmed him returned with a bitter vengeance. Deker cursed himself for his failure and resolved that, whatever else happened, he wouldn't break.

"Your cause is lost, Hamas."

"It's Bin-Nun who looks lost to me, Deker," Hamas said. "Is he waiting for a signal from you? Is that why he circles without striking? Or are you the one waiting for a signal from him?"

Deker said nothing.

"Ram, give him a signal."