faced his men. "Gentlemen, much of what you'll be hearing and seeing over the next few days, weeks, months, perhaps even years, will be classified. Get used to that idea. Get ready to be guarded, even with your loved ones. However, as far as this briefing goes, I'm going to surprise you by saying that nothing you just heard is anything you need to keep to yourself. The sooner the civilian population and the rest of the troops know we're at war, and how well the first wave has gone, the better. We'll be having briefings later, but for now, except for Davis, you're dismissed."
Some of the men bolted out the door, most walked out, some sat in their chairs, too stunned to move. If they hadn't seen Ott waiting for them to leave so he could talk privately with Harvey Davis, they might have sat there for a long time indeed.
After the last man was out and the door was shut, Ott pulled a chair over to where Harvey was, and sat facing him. To Harvey's surprise (he was, after all, expecting to be chewed out), Ott nodded toward the door, by extension indicating the men who'd just gone through it, and said, "You've read ancient Northam history, haven't you, Davis?"
"Some, sir."
"I feel like I've got George Washington's army in the early days, except that it's my fault. I've had some of these men for years, and I let them get ragtag and undisciplined."
"I expect the motivation of being at war will help considerably, all by itself, sir."
"Harvey, if you'd told me when we were kids that I'd ever be saying this to anybody, especially to you, I'd have laughed my head off, after punching yours. But I'm not up to this by myself, and you're not the man you used to be. Will you pray with me?"
"Glad to. Anthony would be better – can you believe I said that? – but I'd be glad to."
Ott smiled, despite his fears. That Tony Davis had turned out to be anything other than a professional criminal was one of the great mysteries of life, and an advertisement writ large for the powers of the very God to whom he was preparing to pray.
Anthony dropped Renzo off with Nurse Chan, who cried and jumped up and down when she saw him, even before she was told what had happened.
Renzo being in excellent hands, Anthony went to check on Joel and company. Amy was in the waiting room, holding some of the already-wilting flowers from the copter, with friends and Joel's dad keeping vigil with her. She and Anthony searched each other's eyes. "They're not sure yet on whether they'll have to amputate, but he was stable, finally, last we heard," Amy said. "You look like you have good news."
Anthony grinned. "We are having us a baptism this Sunday of a brand new little baby," he drawled.
This tossed some people into confusion, but Amy laughed. "It's a boy, right?" she said.
Trevin Lexington perked up. "Oh, tell me it's Renzo," he said. "He's been wrestling something awful spiritually. Tell me it's Renzo."
Anthony nodded.
Trevin whooped and did a little dance, before doubling over, grabbing at his leg. "Oh, that hurt. Oh, that hurt. Oh, ouch, that was not a good idea," he said, still with a happy grin on his face. "Where is he? Can I go see him?"
"That's probably a good idea. I left him with Nurse Chan and Garrity, at Billet 32."
"Give him a hug from me," Amy said.
Trevin hesitated, as it struck him that perhaps he should stay.
"Go on. I have enough help here, and I'll have someone find you if there's news or if we need anything," Amy said, waving him along.
Being especially sensitive at the moment of a man sometimes needing to be two places at once, Leo said, "This is going to be a long haul. I'll take this watch. You can have the next one."
"Excuse me, folks. I'll see you later," Trevin said, as he headed off on crutches.
Anthony sat beside Joel's father.
"Pastor, has anyone told you yet that we're at war? Really at war, all around the world? And have been for two weeks?" Lyle Johnson asked.
"No, I hadn't heard that yet," Anthony said. He looked around. People nodded.
"Our side started it, too! I hate that," Lyle said.
"I don't," Amy said, while fingering a flower's leaves and petals. "Not if that's what it takes to let me take my kids up into the sunshine to live like human beings on God's green Earth. I don't know if this is the best way to do it, and God knows I'm not looking forward to the hardships and casualties, but I'm glad we're not pretending we can avoid evil by hiding from dictators. We just brought it down into the tunnels with us. Why not go back above ground and live like we're supposed to?"
"You can say that, with my son in there fighting for his life after being shot up by the enemy?" Lyle said.
"I can say that because your son agrees with me. We'd rather be mown down for being Christians, than make it to a ripe old age living like we think peace and quiet and relative safety matters more than righteousness, and faithfulness, including sharing the Gospel with everybody, not just amongst people in our own little community-protected circles."
"If I live to be a hundred and twenty, I am never going to understand you Christians," Lyle muttered.
"Not unless you become one, probably not," Anthony said. He winked at Amy.
She made a little pantomime with a flower, like she was using a miniature fishing pole.
"Oh, my, how I would like to fish for fish as well as men," Anthony mused, playing along.
"Is this what this war comes down to for you? Getting to go fishing?" Lyle stammered.
Anthony shook his head. "No. But what you need to understand is that we think that we're at war in any case – a spiritual war – and that to know there is evil in the world and to not be taking a stand, to live like cowards when we're called to be brave in the name of our Lord, is simply unbearable. We know our days are short here on Earth. We don't want to waste them. Even more than that, we can't stand seeing people trapped in the spiritual darkness we escaped thanks to Jesus. If you'd found a way out of a pit, wouldn't you like to help someone else out?"
"Depends on who it was," Lyle said.
"I'll give you points for honesty," Anthony said. "But I don't think that way."
"We're all right here, if you have other people to go see," Amy said.
"Thanks. I do. I'll be praying for you guys," Anthony said.
"Thanks."
Anthony wandered around the base, talking with whoever flagged him down, and with those too wrapped up in their excitement or fear to notice him before he said hello. After a while, he noticed that he really wasn't needed there. His brothers in Christ were building one another up, and also offering support and comfort to unbelievers. He thanked God for the reassurance that his flock was growing up as well as growing numerically, and headed off to town. En route, he stepped into the church to pray. There were people scattered around the church, in huddles and in pairs, and also people by themselves. With the exception of Auntie Sandra, everyone was deep in prayer. Sandra was feigning prayer, and trying to get people to notice how pious she was being. As he watched, she moved down a prayer bench to get closer to Bella Charbonneau, all other potential audiences having eased away so they could pray without interruptions. After Sandra got settled where she wanted, Bella shocked her by moving right beside her. Bella put her arm around the bothersome old lady, and invited her to pray with her.
Anthony slipped to an open spot on another prayer bench, got on his knees, and sought God's help in facing what was ahead. "Dear God, I know this is going to be hard, with hard decisions every day, and temptations to do wrong in the hopes of bringing about right. I don't even think war is how we should be doing this. Your apostles didn't raise armies, nor did the earliest Church, and history since then has been full of victories that You brought about through prayerful people bravely holding their ground and turning the other cheek, even when it meant their death: Romania, Albania, China, Californitopia, the Philippines, and on, and on. Even here, Lord, even right here, generations ago, in pre-Era days. Not that I think that we should choose our actions based on what's seemed to work by worldly standards. I know better than that. But, God
, I don't know what we should do. I really don't know. After almost every Great Awakening in Northam, there's been a civil war that has overthrown some great evil, whether it was tyranny or slavery or the government-sanctioned slaughter of innocents. Lord, is that what You want from us? Is it? I have my doubts – but I just don't know. I'm relieved that we're finally fighting evil and ignorance instead of pretending it's somebody else's problem as long as we can somewhat insulate ourselves from the variations that bother us most. I know that's wrong, and I know it's been suffocating Your people. I know You've asked us to invest the 'talents' You've given us until You return; instead, we've buried them along with ourselves. I know that's wrong. I'm willing to do what You ask. Please, Lord, help us. Please, Lord, help me."
Someone had left the church door wide open. The sound of singing came from down the tunnel, a man's voice ringing out with a hymn. The words were adapted from Isaiah. "…on wings like eagles!" Trevin Lexington appeared in the doorway. Someone had lent him a wheelchair, to give him a rest from getting around on crutches. Renzo was pushing the chair. Trevin stopped singing as soon as he saw the room had people praying in it. He grimaced, and put a hand over his mouth, as a way of apologizing to the people he'd interrupted, without saying anything that might bother somebody else.
Someone smiled a reassurance at him, and then someone else, and soon heads