Turning, Delroy faced the young ensign. “How strong is your faith, son?”
“My faith?” The ensign appeared uncomfortable. “In the captain? I have to admit, I’ve never seen anything—”
“In God,” Delroy interrupted. “How strong is your faith in God, Ensign?”
“It’s good.” The ensign glanced longingly at the door over his shoulder.
“Does the question make you uncomfortable?”
The ensign nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t like talking about stuff like that, Chaplain.”
“But you took an oath, Ensign,” Delroy said. “‘I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.’ U.S. Code, Section 502.” He breathed in, remembering his own swearing-in ceremony, remembering Terry’s.
“Why do you think the phrase, ‘So help me God,’ is in there?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir. I guess it always has been.”
Delroy nodded to himself. “You can go, ensign.” He glanced down at Chief Mellencamp’s Bible in his two big hands.
“Chaplain Delroy.”
“Yes, Ensign.”
The man hesitated and looked uncertain. “Did I do something wrong, Chaplain? I didn’t mean to offend.”
Delroy looked up, feeling bad and embarrassed. With everything else going on, the loss of lives along the Turkish-Syrian border and the unexplained disappearances of so many military personnel, it was incredible to see that a crewman could still be concerned with leaving just the right impression on an officer.
“No, Ensign, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Delroy replied. “This is just a trying time. I only asked because I struggle with my own faith now and again, and it’s good to hear others talk about theirs.” He held up Mellencamp’s Bible. “That was one of the reasons the chief and I enjoyed each other’s company so much.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Would you check on the other lists?” Sweeper teams still moved within Wasp. Most of the missing had already been confirmed, but Captain Falkirk had wanted a thorough ship’s search before those names were officially designated MIA.
“Of course, Chaplain.” The ensign excused himself and left.
Delroy returned to his chair behind the desk. He sat with Chief Mellencamp’s Bible in his lap for a time, thinking back on their friendship and all the confusing questions that raced through his thoughts. Then he noticed the paper sticking out of the Bible.
Opening the book, Delroy found several sheets of legal pad paper folded up in Revelation. The chief’s Bible had been well used. Mellencamp’s neat, precise handwriting covered the generous margins, and the pages were marked with a rainbow of highlighter colors. The chief had his own code for the information he highlighted, but he used it only for proof of his own steel-trap memory.
As chief petty officer, Mellencamp had carried long lists of men, supplies, and necessary tasks in his head. Delroy had protested, in fun between two good friends, that the chief was extraordinarily equipped and his own arguments should be given the benefit of a handicap. But Mellencamp had loved God’s Word—the Old Testament and the New—and could quote passages from several books, as well as psalms.
The fact that the chief had been preparing information based on Revelation was no surprise. Lately, every conversation Delroy had entered into with Mellencamp had turned in that direction. The chief had been convinced that these were the end times, that the Rapture—when God would come and call his church home from the earth—was very near.
Delroy’s eyes were drawn to the words his friend had scrawled upon the paper.
We will be called home to heaven. No warning bell. No chance to say good-byes. One moment in this world, the next, standing in God’s perfection.
And what of the people left behind?
Hypnotized by the question Mellencamp had written across the page, Delroy followed the chief’s thinking and found himself flipping through the pages of Revelation. In minutes, he was digging out books from the neat, compact shelves behind him. Fear and horror and hope all began to dawn in his heart.
The end of the world: It was real and it had come. Navy Chaplain Delroy Harte became more convinced of that with each passing minute, and his thoughts became consumed with the carnage, the lies, and the treachery that were in store for those left behind.
22
United States 75th Rangers 3rd Battalion
Field Command Post
35 Klicks South of Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 0922 Hours
“How bad is it, Goose?” Captain Cal Remington paced the interior of the command post, scanning the computer monitors that revealed the graveyard of helicopters where the LZ had once been. He spoke over the private frequency chipped into his first sergeant’s headset, keeping his voice pitched low enough that no one around him could overhear.
“It’s bad, sir,” Goose said. “About as bad as it could be.” The first sergeant listed the details in a verbal code Remington and he had worked out years ago when Remington had taken command of the company.
Anyone listening would have been lost in the gobbledygook of baseball players, stats, records, and play references. After spending so many years together and being used to each other’s ways, the Ranger captain translated the code in his head immediately without writing anything down.
After the mysterious disappearances and the casualties along the border during the first wave of the Syrian attack, the Ranger companies were down to roughly a third of their original strength. The U.N. peacekeeping forces were
