Updike listened to the General’s attempt at bravado. In truth he couldn’t care less about the military superiority of the City Defenders. Updike’s was not that kind of an army-their commands came from on high-from God Himself. They had started this mission without survivors and no one planned to live through the battle.
“General.” Updike kept his voice low. He found that words spoken above a whisper intensified the pain in his head. “Prepare the troops for battle. I will bless them.”
“Captain Updike, I…” Bolton’s face was a leathery discord of expression. He took a breath into his dead lungs, and let it out with a wheezing laugh. “I was going to say that we’ll be slaughtered in an all out attack, but that doesn’t apply.” He looked down at his fingers. “Nobody wins; we’re here to end it.” The General’s shoulders sagged so much that Updike thought he was going to fall apart. Then Bolton’s face rose smiling, and he saluted. “So we’ll end it. I’ll prepare the troops, sir.”
But Updike held him with a gesture. “General Bolton, I believe that prayer may strengthen us at this time. My orders are not hopeless.”
The General snapped to attention, as straight as his broken body would allow-then left to carry out his orders.
Updike lowered himself to his knees, pushing aside his jumble of thoughts and pain. In order to bless his troops he had to be clear with God.
“Dear Father in Heaven…” he began. “Forgive me my weakness. Forgive me my doubt. Give Your servant the strength to carry out the commandment that You have laid before him. I have sinned Lord, but I can be redeemed as I pray the actions of this army will redeem humanity. Strengthen my arm that it can bear Your sword of Righteousness, and give power to my voice that it might carry Your Word. Bless these troops for their courage.” And he hesitated, then: “And forgive my brother Able for like a good shepherd he gathers strays to the flock.”
“ANGELS!” A cry rose up around him, gathered strength-became a raucous chant. He drew his head up swiftly.
Far overhead was a vision from Heaven. A legion of Angels flew-hundreds in three wedges they soared over the heads of the Army of God. They shimmered, resplendent in robes of white and armor of gold. Their burning halos made comets of them. A great clear blast echoed down, full of promise, full of hope and power. The horn of Gabriel had sounded.
“Hallelujah! To arms! For God!” All around him cries of hope and joy were flying. But Updike could not pry his eyes away from the legion streaking toward the City. “To arms!” He leapt to his feet, ran to the command vehicle and climbed onto the transport. Oliver jumped into the seat beside him, smiling brightly.
Bolton was already on board, radio screeching. “Captain Updike!” He could not resist some mirth. “Remind me to have you pray in my next hour of need.” Then the dead commander’s face fell. “I need to watch our air cover-wish I could get them a radio up there. Where the hell are my binoculars?” He searched the seat around him.
But Updike had them. He watched one group of Angels swoop down into the shallow valley in the distance-the same depression of land scouts said concealed a large force of City Defenders, tanks and armor. Like eagles, the Angels folded their wings back and hurtled toward the earth. Swords and shields blazing, they struck. Great gouts of fire and smoke billowed into the night sky. Shock waves rolled across the land, trees shook and burst into flame.
“They’re destroying the City’s mechanized units!” Updike shouted. “Oh Lord! We’ve got to charge before the jetfighters come in!”
General Bolton barked instructions into his radio. The command transport lurched ahead. “On my order, Hellfire units, on my order-lay a barrage on pre-set coordinates. On my order!”
The Hellfire units were big guns positioned at the rear of the Army of God. They would pound any resistance that remained in the valley-and plow a fiery road to the City. Updike raised the binoculars. In jerking pictures, he watched the Angel forces break up-one rolling northeast and one climbing northwest. There was a deep thundering sound across the landscape and jetfighters like black arrowheads rocketed southward through the vanguard of Angels. Flaming swords whirled. Balls of fire exploded in the midst of the Divine beings-broke their formations. Updike gaped in horror as missiles and ordnance exploded in the ranks. Pieces of flaming wreckage hit the battlefield with thunderous impacts.
Then the jetfighters spontaneously exploded, scattering flaming debris over the land south of the City. A second later Updike’s transport was buffeted by Gabriel’s sounding, the horn’s peal cracking the windshield as it passed. The Angels to the northeast suddenly disappeared in surging blasts of flame. Fifty explosions went off close to the ground-and the blowing of the horn rattled and shook the battlefield again.
“Driver! Slow down!” Bolton barked. “We don’t want to get too far ahead and there’s bound to be pockets of resistance.” The General’s voice held something like excitement. “Our force to the southwest has positioned its cannon, they’re attacking.”
In answer, the night sky flickered and glowed with explosions. More jets flew to the north, the streaking flames of Angels close upon them.
The command transport slowed when the road ahead became impassible with earth and debris. Bolton radioed for bulldozer crews!
Updike leapt out of the transport and climbed to the top of a rise. The air battle continued as fierce fire and concussion over the City but the moment he raised the binoculars he knew that something had changed. Mysterious glowing red objects hurtled skyward at the Angels. They looked like missiles at first-antiaircraft defenses-but as he watched, he saw their flights change and adapt to suit the movements of the Angels. There was design and intelligence in the movements.
Then, the flaming red objects joined with the Angels. Distant concussions rolled across the distance and shook the earth as they collided. The binoculars gave him only glimpses. A robed Angel cloaked in golden flame-red electric fire burned over a black creature with the wings of a bat-or a dragon. Demons? Devils? Something was taking the battle back to the Angels.
Updike looked to the rear. The Army of God was approaching. The rapid advance had forced commanders to load their vehicles with as many soldiers as they could carry. Behind by three miles or more, line after line of the walking dead marched. The other transports would join Updike and Bolton in minutes. The infantry would ring like an anvil soon after. The preacher’s head suddenly flared with pain-searing messages raced through his tortured synapses. Red memories burned him. Thousands of times per second came the word: Betrayal.
82 – Doomsday
The burning Angel hurtling past the Prime’s office window was his first indication that events had jumped dramatically past him.
The second was the sudden appearance of his Demon Ally.
“The First-mother was taken,” the thing sniveled. “ All the delicious children were taken by her Guardian, and poor Lillake was killed!”
“WHAT?” the Prime screamed, whipping around. The Angels were smashing his F-55 jetfighters to pieces. It was obvious that the Army of God had called in their own powerful allies. “Nursie?” He knew the ancient Demon was getting a trifle dotty in her old age, but she was powerful.
“Dead!” the Ally wept. “The Principal too… And worse. Consumed by Divine fire.”