The War After Armageddon (34 page)

“They’re the hordes of the Anti christ. Beyond redemption. Their religion was born in blood, it was spread in blood, and it will end in blood.” Montfort turned his head slightly but kept his eyes locked on Harris. “Gary, you can’t think in the old ways any more. This isn’t geopolitics in some classroom. The old, secular regime is finished. This is the final struggle . . . for new heavens and a new earth. We’ve worshipped too long at false altars, fallen for the dev -il’s snares, for the folly of believing that those who have been washed in the blood of Jesus Christ must accommodate themselves to the wickedness of the damned. And what have we gained, Gary? What did our tolerance bring us? What did all our efforts at extending the hand of brotherhood, our ecumenical absurdities, what did all of it gain for us?
Nothing.
Nothing beyond the ever-greater madness, the ever-greater demands, the megalomaniacal vanity of an utterly failed civilization, the sickness unto death of this satanic realm of Islam and the heathen occupation of
our
holy shrines . . . and the massacre, the slaughter, of our own kind. Tell me, Gary: What would you have us do? Please. Give me your solution. After all the devastation . . . the nuclear destruction of two great cities in our homeland . . . do you really believe there’s room left for compromise?”

“Absolutes are for God’s Kingdom.”

“We’re going to build God’s Kingdom. Here. Now.”

“By killing over a billion people?” Harris shook his head. “Even if you could pull that off . . . I wouldn’t want any part of a God who thought that was a good day’s work well done.” Rubbed raw in the spirit, Harris asked, “What about the
love
of Jesus Christ, Sim? Don’t the Gospels mean anything to you? Or to your ‘Military Order of the Brothers in Christ’? Are you proposing that Christ’s lost years were spent in a Roman legion, spearing the local nuisances? That He just forgot to mention that killing was perfectly legit? Or that the editors cut the battle cries from the Sermon on the Mount?”

“The Book of Revelation follows mankind’s rejection of Christ’s message. We nailed the Son of God to a cross and abused Him, scorned Him. The Book of Revelation is God’s response.”

“Bullshit. The Book of Revelation is the scribbling of a nutcase in a cave. It’s Christianity’s Koran. It was only included in the New Testament because the message Jesus left behind made the early church’s bureaucrats nervous—not least, the idea of living humbly and sharing with the poor, or the fact that Jesus thought women were human beings. You’d be happier as a Muslim yourself, Sim.”

“You’re no theologian, Gary. You know not of what you speak.”

“Do you? Do
you
, Sim? Do you bear the love of Jesus Christ in your heart? Do
you
truly feel the solace of His mercy? You call yourself a Christian, but you’d just as soon cut out everything in the Bible between the Book of Joshua and the Book of Revelation. You’re no Christian, Sim. And your kind aren’t Christians. No man who could order the massacre of every human being in Jerusalem—then in Nazareth, for God’s sake—could ever claim to be a Christian.”

Montfort sat back and crossed his legs again. A cock crowed in the distance.

“And what about the home front?” Harris drove on. “What about the United States of America? What would Jesus have to say about your political antics, Sim? Remember that bit about ‘Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s’? Remember that part? Or ‘My Kingdom is not of this world’? Did I get that right? Did I miss the footnotes? Isn’t it enough that the American people are still overwhelmingly Christian? Do we really have to become an official religious state? Like Iran used to be? Or the Sultanate of Baghdad now? Didn’t things work pretty well for us over the past two and a half centuries? What were we denied as Christians?”

“The United States was, is, and shall be a Christian country. We have lived in error for many generations, but now we must accept our role as the New Jerusalem.”

“Well, you did a fuck of a job on the old Jerusalem.”

“Don’t mock, Gary. Don’t mock what you don’t understand.”

“I understand that Jesus Christ brought love and mercy into this world.”

“And we crucified Him. We had our chance. We failed Him. Now He returns with a sword.”

“Con ve nient. Show me
that
passage in the Gospels.”

“Luke 22, Verse 36, ‘he that hath no sword, let him sell his garment and buy one.’ But you haven’t answered
my
questions, Gary. Tell me, please. Instruct me: After fourteen centuries of warfare between our faith and Islam—begun by a conquering, bloodthirsty faith and continued unto this day by its spawn—after all the Christian suffering, the enslavements, the relentless bloodshed, the hatred, the captivity of our churches . . . haven’t we had sufficient proof that we can’t coexist? That it’s us or them? Would you prefer it to be the Muslims who prevail? Should we just surrender? Would our enemies lay down
their
swords? To put it in secular terms for you, religions are competitors in a great struggle for survival. Religions
can’t
cooperate, not really. It’s not in their DNA. God tells us all that there can be only one path to salvation, one truth, but we refuse to hear. In our vanity and pride, we think we know better. ‘All religions share a universal spirit.’ Do they, Gary?
Do
they? You love to cite the Gospels. Well, where does Christ say, ‘Choose the faith you find con ve nient, they’re all the same to me’? You know better. As a Christian yourself, if a confused one. Christ tells us, in the clearest words He ever spoke, that those who do not believe in Him cannot be saved. He
damns
them. Or do you think He was just in a bad mood that day?” Montfort swept a hand back over his shining hair. “For fourteen centuries, we tried to find a way to live in peace with the forces of the Anti christ. For fourteen hundred years, we wandered aimlessly in a spiritual desert, bereft of comfort because we denied our purpose. And now, at last, our wanderings are over. We have been touched by the fire of God’s Word: There is only one true faith, and there shall be only one true faith, and this land will be purged with fire.”

“You sound like Charlton Heston in one of his lesser roles. What are you telling me, Sim? That a billion-plus dead Muslims won’t be enough? That the Hindus are next? And after them, the Buddhists? Then the Jews? Before you get started on the Catholics?”

Montfort waved his concerns away. “This is a struggle between God and Satan. Our faith is that of the One True God. Mohammed was the messenger of Satan. Allah
is
Satan. Islam is the faith of Satan, of the Anti christ, and must be expunged for this world to be redeemed.”

“And the Jews? How about the Jews, Sim? You’ve made them a lot of promises. Where do they fit in?”

Montfort fidgeted in his chair. “The Jews aren’t a problem.”

“You’re really going to hand everything back to them? To re-create Israel? With what’s left?”

“The Jewish people will receive justice.”

“Sim, if I were a Jew and I heard
you
say that, I’d run for the trees.”

“Don’t try to create further dissension. Please, Gary. I’ll get down on my knees if you like. Join us. Before it’s too late. We’re doing God’s work. Men
follow
you. As they follow me. Together, we could do great things.” Montfort leaned in closer than he had yet done, close enough for Harris to imagine he smelled scorched breath. “It’s not too late for you to see the light.”

“I see your light, Sim. It comes from burning heretics at the stake.”

“Don’t wait too long, Gary.”

“I’m still waiting for that cock to crow again. A second time. And a third.”

“Rhetorical flourishes don’t suit you,” Montfort said. “You never had a mind for subtleties. You’ve always been a practical man. Al-beit with some mushy idealism thrown in. It would help you if you behaved practically now. If you can’t believe, Gary, just go through the motions. Faith will come.”

“Isn’t that a Catholic regimen, Sim? Sounds odd, coming from a good old Protestant boy like you. Although I do recall you were a great one for skipping chapel at VMI. I suppose you hadn’t yet traveled the road to Damascus.”

Montfort sighed. “Speaking of roads, I’ll have to get on the road myself. Figuratively speaking.”

“Careful of those helicopters, Sim. They fall out of the sky. Unexpectedly.”

Montfort stood up. Harris followed. The MOBIC commander was almost a full head taller. Charlton Heston, indeed.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Montfort said. “I’ve had a report that a CHART disappeared. In or around Nazareth. Could you look into it for me?”

“You’re not supposed to have any CHARTs in my area of operations, Sim. You know that. As a matter—”

“Just trying to do my duty as a Christian,” Montfort cut him off. “I didn’t think you’d mind. But see if you can find them, won’t you, Gary? For old times’ sake? The officers and men selected for our Christian Heritage Advance Rescue Teams are a little too courageous for their own good. I worry about them.”

“Wheels within wheels within wheels. You really are amazing, Sim.”

“And one other thing. I’ve got an order for you from General Schwach. You’re to detach one armored brigade and put it under my command to reinforce my corps. And not a depletedbrigade, either. One that hasn’t been shot up, that hasn’t been overcommitted. I’ve also got authorization to assume the primary responsibility for the advance into northern Galilee and beyond, once my corps elements have reached your sector. Which should be any moment now.”

“All right.”

Montfort’s eyebrows tightened. “Not even one word of protest? You’re making progress, Gary.”

“You can have your brigade, Sim. And you’re getting one that hasn’t taken any significant casualties. I’m chopping Avi Dorn’s outfit to you. From the Israeli Exile Force.”

“But—”

“Come on, Sim. What did you expect? You’ve been working some scam, some deal, with Avi. I’m not
that
stupid. I figure it’ll be easier for the two of you to coordinate things when he falls directly under your chain of command.”

“I expected—”

“A U.S. Army brigade? Sim, you’re not prejudiced against the Israelis, are you? After all those speeches you made back home? All those interviews? On your way out, just tell Mike Andretti where and when you want Avi to link up with your people. I’ll let Mike know I blessed it.”

The confident, studied impassiveness that ruled Montfort’s features had disappeared again. For an interval of suspended time, the MOBIC commander looked as if he would fill the room with sulfur simply by breathing.

“Anything else?” Harris asked.

“Goodbye, Gary.” Montfort did not extend his hand. Slowly, as if wearing ankle weights, he crossed to the door. But halfway through the portal, he turned back toward Harris.

“Yes. There is something else. I’m told you’re going blind. I’m concerned that you might be unfit for command.”

“I see
you
, Sim. Clearly.”

“And one other thing, Gary,” he said. “Did your wife ever tell you I fucked her?”

HEADQUARTERS, III (US) CORPS, MT. CARMEL RIDGES

Flintlock Harris sat back down after Montfort left. Drained, he brushed back his hair with his hands, pulling his eyelids open. Trying to think clearly. His body yearned for sleep, but his mind paged from thought to thought, unable to staple them together.

Bored flies drifted past the lamp. The dead air smelled of backed-up drains. One room was much the same as another in Sim Montfort’s Holy Land.

At any moment, John Willing would bring in the paperwork that absolutely had to be signed before Harris could go to sleep. The general dreaded the thought of straining to read anything smaller than a billboard. But paperwork was as much a part of soldiering as the rest of it.

Montfort knew. About his eyes. Enough to make that remark. Who else knew? How would Montfort use the information? Had he used it already? Was it already in the “Fire Harris” file back in D.C.?

On the other hand, old Sim was rattled. Badly. If Harris heard one clock ticking, Montfort heard another. The Christian general
who threw away his regiments of believers. How much time did Montfort have? The impatience, the unaccustomed insecurity, was obvious. An assassination really wasn’t Montfort’s style. It wasted too many resources, left too many debts to others, revealed too much. Sim had overplayed that one—and lost the hand. Badly. Harris was confident that his competitor wouldn’t try any similar stunts soon.

The down side was that Montfort, turning hasty on the battle-field, might drag them all down with him. With just one big mistake. Despite Sim’s rapid conquest of Jerusalem, Harris wasn’t ready to write off al-Mahdi as a military commander. Or al-Ghazi, for that matter. Sim would push as hard as he could now, running against a stopwatch only he could hear. And when a leader did that, it was all too easy to lose sight of the enemy’s counterdesigns.

Harris could picture the MOBIC corps charging into a classic Middle Eastern trap, the kind that Muslim armies had used for over a thousand years, first luring the opponent on, and then, when the attacker found himself overextended, sweeping in on his forces from the flanks. He scribbled a note to Van Danczuk to send Montfort the study the G-2 shop had done of historical patterns in Jihadi warfare. And to mark it “urgent.” Montfort and his men were Americans, too. Troublesome, even revolting, as their differences were, they were still on the same side.