Mel Odom - Apocalypse unleashed

“You have a young son, don’t you?”

A ball of pain suddenly knotted up in Goose’s throat. He tried to speak and couldn’t. He settled for a nod.

“Where is he now?” Miller’s gaze didn’t waver.

Goose kept his gaze level, but he felt tears burning his eyes. He wanted to speak, but he could barely breathe.

“All those children disappeared like that.” Miller’s voice grew soft and husky. “A miraculous thing by all accounts.”

Goose forced himself to sit with his forearms resting on his knees. His hands knotted before him, knuckles white.

“You talked to Joseph Baker about this, Goose. Before he was killed, he told me that the two of you had spoken.”

“We did.” Goose’s voice was a hollow whisper in the dank quiet of the cellar.

“He told you he believed this was the time of Tribulation and that the children had been taken to heaven because they were innocents. Do you believe that?”

Hesitating, Goose stared at the chaplain. Finally he forced the words to come. “I want to. God help me, I truly want to.”

“But you continue to doubt?”

“Yes, sir.” Shame burned Goose’s face.

Miller was silent for a moment. “Everyone I’ve talked to who knows you speaks of what a good man you are.”

Goose didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing.

“They respect you, and as men love fellow warriors, they love you too. But if you’re a good man, Goose, why aren’t you in heaven with your son?”

Anger stirred in Goose, dark and rich and almost unconquerable. His legs tightened and almost lifted him from the field cot, but a muscle spasm in his left knee blinded him with pain. By the time he had the pain pushed out of his mind, the anger had gone too.

“Your son is safe,” Icarus, the rogue CIA agent, had told Goose. “ God came and took your son up as He took all the other children.”

“I don’t know, sir,” Goose stated quietly.

“Do you believe in God?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you ever given yourself to Him?”

“I was baptized, sir. Back in Waycross. Momma saw to it all of us were.”

“Your mother made that decision for you?” Interest gleamed in Miller’s gray eyes.

Goose shrugged. “Momma was a powerful churchgoer when she was alive, sir. She talked Daddy into getting baptized before they were married. When the time came, she let me know she wanted me baptized too.”

“So what did you do?”

“I got baptized.”

“Did you talk to God about this?”

“No, sir. Didn’t have to. Momma was enough.”

“Have you ever asked God into your heart, to forgive your sins, to work His will through you?”

Goose immediately felt uncomfortable. “Momma and Daddy taught me wrong from right, sir. I wasn’t ever no trouble to them. Everything I’ve done, I’ve been proud of.”

“It’s not enough to be a good man in this world, Goose. Unless you’re perfect-and nobody is-then you’ve got to let God work through you, too.”

“I figure He’s had me do things from time to time. I’ve gone to church, and I’ve given time and money to help out.”

“That’s just lip service. God wants a personal relationship with you.” Miller paused and licked his lips. “He may have chosen to put you through this, through these times, to build that personal relationship with you.”

When he spoke, Goose’s words had a hard, dangerous edge to them that he didn’t expect. “Then God picked a bad way to try to get me on His good side. You don’t take a man’s son from him without an explanation. You don’t strand a bunch of soldiers in harsh and unfriendly lands just so they can get chopped to pieces by an invading army or by warlords gathering around like carrion feeders. Meaning no disrespect to you, I don’t approve of God’s ways of doing things. And I ain’t feeling any too friendly toward God about now.”

Downtown Sanliurfa

Sanliurfa Province, Turkey

Local Time 0549 Hours

Driving his personal Hummer along the downtown street, Remington was cognizant of the suspicious and hostile stares he drew from the citizens who’d decided to press their luck by staying in the city. He disregarded them almost automatically. The way people felt about him was something to factor into his plans but nothing that could deflect or cripple his efforts.

And Remington knew that whatever fear and respect he commanded was nothing like the hold Goose seemed to have on so many of the soldiers in his unit.

They’re my men, Remington thought angrily. I’m the one that decided to go to OCS. I’m the one that took the risks and the abuse everyone handed me while I busted my butt to make something of myself. Goose didn’t do that.

Officer Candidates School hadn’t been an easy choice for Remington. He and Goose had shared a blue-collar background, though they were from different parts of the country.

Goose had elected not to take his chances with the college boys and elite. Remington had risked his pride and ego by signing up; then he’d sacrificed a large part of his life pursuing the grades he’d needed to earn his second lieutenant’s bars.

He’d progressed rapidly after that, always pushing his way up through the ranks. He hadn’t earned any friends there, either. As it stood, he was an ill fit among the officers and the enlisted.

Until recently, though, he’d always had Goose. He cursed bitterly. The problem was, he still had Goose. The sergeant didn’t even have the decency to die when Remington had set him up.

Twice.

But Remington felt confident Goose wasn’t going to come out of the box he was in now.

United States 75th Army Rangers Outpost

Harran

Sanliurfa Province, Turkey

Local Time 0551 Hours

Miller was quiet for a moment. “I didn’t always approve of God’s ways either. I suspect that’s why I’m here.” He paused. “As a chaplain, I’ve been thirty years in the army. I’ve always told myself I was doing God’s work. But I stopped being a big fan of it over twenty years ago.”

The electric lantern flickered for a moment, then swung slightly from side to side. Goose watched it with interest.

“I’ve held dying soldiers in my arms.” Miller’s voice cracked. “Watched young men die scared and in pain. I’ve tended women who’d been raped and savaged by enemy soldiers-or even by men whose eternal salvation I was supposed to secure. I’ve buried children in Iraq, Kosovo, South Korea, and a handful of countries in Africa.” He blew out a breath. “At some point I started asking myself if this was truly God’s work.”

“Momma always said the devil was loose in the world,” Goose said. “She told me he was the reason bad things happen to folks.”

Miller nodded. “Your mother was right, of course. But somewhere in that, I lost sight of it. But it’s not just Satan. It’s men. They have free will. They can choose to be close to God or distant from Him. I suspect a lot of them get out of the habit of making that choice or figure once they make it that they don’t have to tend to the relationship.”

Goose studied the pain he saw etched on the chaplain’s face. Men who talked of war had such looks. Goose had seen it in his own face every now and again. “You could have gotten out of the military a long time ago,” Goose pointed out.

Miller grinned wryly. “I could have. You could have too. Why didn’t you?”

“Ain’t in me to be anything other than what I am.”

“The private security sector has grown a lot over the last few years. You could have signed on with a firm, got a bigger paycheck, and been closer to home. Probably been home more often.”

“Yes, sir. It’s been pointed out to me. I’ve had offers. Men I’ve trained are there now.”