“If this event—” Jim started.
“The Rapture,” Tamara said.
He nodded. “If the Rapture has occurred, then what happens to us?”
“To the people left behind?”
“Yeah.” Just saying that made Jim’s mouth suddenly dry. Nothing he’d ever trained for in his life had prepared him for this. Then he remembered all those Sunday mornings in church that he had resented. The sad fact was that he could have been prepared.
“The Tribulation.”
Jim turned the word over in his head. He had heard the word several times, but it made no sense now. “What is the Tribulation?”
“After the Rapture, God will leave the world more or less intact. The people who are left behind will then have the choice of believing and giving themselves to him, or they can continue to deny His existence and love. During the seven years of the Tribulation, Christians will become more persecuted by nonbelievers than at any time before.”
“I thought the believers would have all been raptured.”
“They will have,” Tamara said softly. “I believe they have been. But there will be new believers, Jim. Don’t you see? You’re asking questions now that you would have never asked before.”
Jim broke eye contact by reaching for his coffee cup. He was surprised at how much his hand shook as he lifted it. This was too much. It was all coming too fast.
When the Klaxon rang, he spilled a little of the tepid liquid in his lap.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen,” Colonel Hatton announced over the PA system. “The Russians have taken to the air. We’ve just escalated from DEFCON 3 to DEFCON 2.”
The colonel’s words hammered Jim’s mind, shattering his thoughts and crystallizing his fear. DEFCON 2 meant that B-52s, escort fighters, and supply planes would take off and prepare to strike Russian targets. He gazed in wide-eyed disbelief as the Stratofortresses he had onscreen suddenly jerked to life and hurtled down runways.
“Jim,” Tamara said.
“Yeah,” he replied in a thick voice.
“You okay?”
“We’re watching what could be the end of the world. Do you know that?”
“It won’t be the end,” she stated quietly. “There’s a lot that will happen before that happens. Things will get much worse.”
“Worse than the end of the world?”
“Yes.”
As Jim watched, the B-52s leaped into the air, clawing their way into the night skies like birds of prey. Even peering down on them on the large monitor, the flying dreadnoughts looked sleek and deadly when they should have looked more like a child’s toys. “Do you think God planned for DEFCON?”
“Yes.”
“What do you think happens to the people who die after the Rapture?” Tamara quietly thought. “I think it depends on how their relationship with God has changed.”
“And if it hasn’t changed?”
“I don’t think things would go very well for them.”
Jim nodded. “If we live through tonight, do you think we could talk more about this?”
Tamara reached over and gave his forearm a reassuring squeeze. “Sure.”
24
The Mediterranean Sea
USS Wasp
Local Time 0937 Hours
DEFCON 2, Chaplain Delroy Harte thought to himself as he jogged aft through Wasp’s second level. God, look over me as I strive to bring Your message to frightened and paranoid ears.
The chaplain hurried through the large mess hall, past the officer’s wardroom that functioned as a restaurant or theater or town hall or conference room depending on the scheduled need, until he reached the command and control centers caged protectively under the ship’s island structure for extra defense.
The C&C areas remained dark, but the glow of computer monitors and large display screens warred with the gloomy shadows that filled Wasp’s bowels. Men spoke quietly, and their voices punctuated the steady hum of computer mainframes and peripheral devices.
Seven theaters of operation existed within the C&C post. The Tactical Air Control Center monitored the airspace around the Amphibious Readiness Group and assigned the daily flight sheets, matching men and machines as well as zones and time frames. The Tactical Logistics Group managed the onboard supplies, weapons, and vehicles as well as the debarkation of the Marine troops. Information was cleared and stored in the Joint Intelligence Center, and hard-drive space was filled with information concerning the world if Wasp was ever cut off from the Pentagon as she had been before Captain Remington had managed the coup with the Romanian communications network. The Ship Signals Exploitation Space was shut off from nearly everyone aboard ship because of the degree of secrecy involved in using enemy signals against those enemies. When involved in heavy operations that could threaten Wasp, the ARG commander and staff stayed in the Flag Plot deep within the ship where they could most be protected.
The Landing Force Operations Center was jam-packed with hightech computer systems that tied the Marine commander of the MEU(SOC) with embarked Marine units while away from the ship. From there, fed with the information from spy-sats and in constant communications with his away teams, Colonel Henry Donaldson, the MEU(SOC)’s commander-in-chief, could direct all action his Marines took.
Two Marines stood guard in front of the door. They held their assault weapons at port arms.
“Chaplain Harte,” one of the Marines greeted.
Delroy drew himself up tall and straight. Before leaving his quarters, he’d showered and shaved and put on a fresh uniform. Before telling Colonel Donaldson and Captain Falkirk what he had to tell them, he wanted to look his Navy best. Appearance counted for a lot in the military.
But he also carried his father’s old Bible. To Delroy, the creases in the imitation leather cover and the dog-eared pages were hash marks and medals of valor in a service that had gone largely unnoticed outside Josiah Harte’s community. Maybe the uniform was his armor, but the Bible was his shield
