World War III

by Heath Jannusch

  “He vanished,” said Shannon, just as shocked by the old man’s sudden disappearance.

  “It’s almost like he began to glow,” added Tyler, “before fading away into thin air!”

  When Casey was sure that the old man was gone, he climbed up into the cab and closed the door behind him. “That was strange,” he said, starting the engine and putting the truck into drive.

  “Yeah it was,” agreed Shannon.

  “So what’s the verdict?” asked Tyler.

  Casey paused for a moment, deep in thought. “We’re heading to the Redwood Forest,” he said, putting the truck into motion.

  “But that’s in the wrong direction,” complained Tyler. “That area is swarming with enemy troops! Why would we go there?”

  “I’m not sure,” admitted Casey, “but I have a feeling it’s important.”

  Dogfight

  World War III – Day Seven

  The Sky above Clearview, Nevada

  Lieutenant Colonel Kye Williams was returning to his base in Fort Worth, Texas, when three enemy fighters took up positions behind him. This was Kye’s seventeenth trip to the front line, and he was now the only man left in his squadron. He would like to have stayed in the fight longer but was running dangerously low on fuel and ammunition, and had no choice but to return to base to refuel and rearm.

  On this last mission to the coast, Kye had seen U.S. troops pulling back and abandoning coastal cities. The invading army’s forces were too much for the outnumbered American soldiers. As Kye watched the carnage below, he was thankful that he was fighting high up in the sky and not down on the ground in the thick of the battle. Despite being a good shot with a rifle, he knew that he stood a much better chance of survival up here.

  Kye was about halfway across the snowcapped Sierra Nevada Mountains, when the Russian MIG’s spotted him and locked on. They’d expected Kye to try and make a run for it and were ready to give chase. But instead Kye swung back around and attacked them, a maneuver they weren’t expecting nor prepared for.

  As Kye plowed into the MIG’s head on, he opened up with his 25mm cannon and watched with satisfaction as they broke formation. Kye concentrated all of his fire power on the center MIG, ignoring the other two for the moment. He had less than fifty rounds left and would have to make each one count. His hope was to either hit the pilot himself or damage the fighter jet beyond repair.

  The 25mm shells from his four barreled cannon peppered the MIG, as the two fighter jets played chicken at a speed of over two hundred miles per hour. Even at the high rate of velocity, Kye could tell that the Russian’s canopy was speckled with bullet holes. An instant before the two jets collided, Kye veered off to the left, narrowly avoiding a collision with the enemy fighter. He breathed a sigh of relief, as he watched the MIG plow into a jagged mountain top in a ball of fire. Kye assumed that the pilot must have been shot, because he never ejected.

  “One down, two to go,” said Kye, as he scanned the horizon, looking for the other two MIG’s. But before he’d had a chance to find them, they found him.

  Bullets from one of the MIG’s sprayed the side of Kye’s aircraft as they locked on. He immediately put the jet into a dive, with the MIG hot on his tale. Unfortunately, Kye had used almost all of his ammo on the first MIG and was now left with only a few rounds, and one air-to-air missile.

  Kye dropped to the deck. Soaring approximately twenty feet above the ground, he saw a group of armed civilians shading their eyes towards the sky, and watching the dog fight. Flying passed the group, he was surprised and grateful to see them firing on the MIG with their rifles. Although their bullets didn’t seem to hurt the MIG, or probably even hit it, they did force the pilot to pull up, disengaging from Kye’s F-35 before he could get a clear shot.

  As Kye pulled back on the stick and climbed in elevation, he saw the third MIG dead ahead. The enemy fighter didn’t appear to see Kye, so he immediately engaged. Once the Russian was in his crosshairs, Kye fired his last air-to-air missile. The MIG quickly began to zigzag, trying to outrun the missile, but the pilots attempt to escape was futile. Within seconds, the missile had overtaken the MIG and smashed into one of its wings.

  Kye watched with satisfaction, as the MIG began to spiral down towards the ground. An instant later he saw the canopy fly open and the pilot eject. A red parachute immediately deployed and the Russian slowly fell to earth. For a moment, Kye considered going after the pilot with the remaining five shells in his 25mm cannon, but then changed his mind.

  In his helmet-mounted display system, Kye could see the last MIG engage the civilians on the ground, firing on them with a vengeance. The Russian pilot was no doubt angry with them for messing up his shot while on Kye’s tale. The civilians quickly scattered, seeking shelter in different directions, as the MIG continued to fire on them relentlessly.

  Glancing down at his fuel gage, Kye let out a sigh. He was dreadfully low on fuel, and even if he headed back to base now, there was a good chance he wouldn’t make it. The only ammo remaining was the five rounds in the 25mm cannon, almost certainly not enough to destroy the fully armed MIG. But Kye couldn’t just abandon the civilians, especially after they’d helped him, and possibly even saved his life.

  In a daring decision, Kye swung the F-35 around and headed straight towards the MIG. The Russian pilot saw Kye coming and immediately disengaged from the civilians, focusing all of his fire power on Kye. The two fighter jets headed straight towards one another in a game of chicken. The MIG fired a constant barrage of bullets, as the distance between the fighters closed quickly. Kye, on the other hand, held his fire, not wanting to waste the precious little ammo that he had left.

  Bullets from the MIG speckled Kye’s F-35, crashing through the canopy and narrowly missing his head. More bullets thudded against the side of his aircraft and along his left wing. An alarm in his helmet began to beep, notifying Kye that he’d just lost his left engine. He quickly grabbed hold of the ejection cord with his left hand, and squeezed the trigger on his side stick controller with his right.

  After firing the remaining five bullets in his 25mm cannon, he pulled hard on the ejection cord. The twin-catapult system fired, sending the ejection seat, and Kye, high into the air an instant before the two fighter jets collided in a fiery ball of flame. A large, white parachute deployed from the ejection seat and Kye slowly floated towards the frozen, snow covered ground below.

  Kye quickly scanned the sky around him, but there was no sign of the Russian’s parachute. The MIG’s pilot must not have gotten out in time. Perhaps he believed that Kye would pull up before the collision and wasn’t prepared to punch out. After all, what type of person intentionally guides a fighter jet head on into another one?

  As Kye slowly floated to the earth, he noticed the small band of civilians heading towards him. They’d all piled into an old, blue, pickup truck and were now speeding towards the mountains. A thick cloud of dust rose from the dirt road behind them, as they hurried along.

  It’s nice of them to be in such a hurry to retrieve me.

  A gust of wind carried Kye high above the mountains and sent shivers down his spine. Below him he could see a white blanket of snow covering the mountainside and dotted with large, green pine trees. It was going to be a rough landing, but that wasn’t what bothered Kye. He was much more concerned with the convoy of enemy troops, also headed on a course to intercept him. If they got to him before the civilians, then he was as good as dead.

  Hunting Party

  World War III – Day Seven

  Clearview, Nevada

  The day following the departure of Lex and Cleo, and the convoy of U.S. Marines, Shiloh decided to organize a small hunting party. Over the past few weeks the town’s food supply had been running dangerously low. If they didn’t do something about it soon, people would starve.

  After recruiting some volunteers from the town’s militia, Shiloh, Ian, Mason, Cole and Alfonso piled into Shiloh’s ‘58’ Apache Chevrolet, and set off. They decided t
o hunt far from town, near the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The sound of gunfire might attract danger and they didn’t want to take any unnecessary chances. If someone meant them harm, the last thing they wanted was to draw attention to their small town.

  The small hunting party parked the powder blue truck near a cluster of pine trees and then split off in two groups. Ian, Cole and Alfonso went in one direction, while Shiloh and Mason went in the other.

  “We’ll meet back here in three hours,” said Shiloh, as the two groups parted company.

  Ian, Cole and Alfonso headed for a nearby meadow where deer were known to graze. With any luck they’d be able to bag a couple of large bucks. Shiloh and Mason hiked higher up into the foothills where they could see the surrounding terrain. After finding a good spot, they set up a blind using fallen logs and broken branches. Unlike Ian, who liked to scare the game out of hiding, Shiloh preferred to pick a nice, quiet spot and let the game come to him. Although both methods were effective, Shiloh’s required less energy and provided more shelter in the event of wind, rain and snow, or in this case, foreign invaders. After building the hide, Shiloh and Mason climbed in, sat down on a bed of pine needles and patiently began scanning the surrounding tree line.

  “You ever been hunting before?” asked Shiloh, handing Mason a canteen full of water.

  “Thanks” said Mason, eager for the water. “I’ve never been hunting like this, no.”

  “What do you mean, like this?” asked Shiloh, casting a curious glance in his direction. Looking into Mason’s eyes, Shiloh finally knew what a 1,000 yard stare looked like.

  After a moment lost in thought and another gulp of the cold water, Mason finally answered. “I’ve never hunted animals before.”

  “Oh,” replied Shiloh, a little apprehensive. “Then what have you hunted?”

  “Well,” Mason paused, wondering how he should proceed. He liked Shiloh and trusted him. The last thing he wanted was to lose that bond and he wasn’t sure how he would react to the truth. “I’ve hunted men,” he said finally, deciding that an honest and straight forward approach was always the best.

  “You’ve hunted men?” asked Shiloh, shocked by Mason’s cool demeanor. “Care to elaborate a little more?”

  “As an undercover CIA operative, my missions varied,” explained Mason. “Sometimes, my orders were to find specific individuals for one reason or another.”

  “And did your orders require you to kill those individuals?” asked Shiloh, with renewed curiosity.

  “Not all of them,” replied Mason, matter of fact. “Sometimes my orders were to capture them, and other times to rescue them. I’m not an assassin, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “Then what exactly are you?”

  “I was the one the government called upon when they needed something done, but didn’t want it connected to them. But now,” he paused, as if in deep thought, “I’m just a man trying to survive and protect my family.”

  “Yeah,” frowned Shiloh, “I heard that you lost your children during the vanishing. I lost my family in a car accident six months before everyone vanished.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Mason, “that’s rough.”

  “It is,” agreed Shiloh, “but at least I’ll get to see them again.”

  “Oh, right,” smiled Mason, “you’re one of those Christians who believe in life after death.”

  “That’s right,” replied Shiloh. “From the moment I accepted Christ as my Lord and Savior, my life’s been changing for the better.”

  “That was a pretty quick transformation,” observed Mason. “How do you know for sure that God really exists, I mean without a doubt? It’s not like you’ve ever seen him or anything, have you?”

  “No,” admitted Shiloh, “but I’ve seen His creations. God is everywhere and in all things. I’ve learned that the simplest answer is usually the correct one, and God is the simplest and most logical explanation of all.”

  “But how can you be sure that God created the earth and everything in it?” asked Mason. “Where’s the proof?”

  “The proof is in the creation itself,” answered Shiloh. “For example, have you ever met the person who created that rifle in your hands?”

  “No,” answered Mason.

  “Yet even though you’ve never actually seen the person, you still believe they exist, and believe that the rifle didn’t just evolve from a stone or something, right?”

  “Well of course,” replied Mason. “Where else could the rifle have come from if someone didn’t build it?”

  “That’s exactly my point,” smiled Shiloh. “You know that the person exists because the rifle is too complicated to be an accidental accumulation of its components. Wherever there’s a creation, there must be a creator, regardless of whether or not we see him.”

  “That’s a little different, don’t ya think?”

  “Why?” asked Shiloh.

  “Well because the rifle has a function,” said Mason. “It was built for a purpose.”

  “Doesn’t the earth and everything in it, also have a purpose?” replied Shiloh. “Think about it. Without the stars there’d be no sun, without the sun there’d be no glucose to feed the trees and plants, without the trees and plants there’d be no oxygen, and without oxygen you and I couldn’t exist. Even the moon is necessary for life to exist on earth. If it was half as far from earth the tides would drown the entire planet, twice every day. And if it was farther away, life on this planet couldn’t exist.” Shiloh paused for a moment, while Mason pondered what he’d just said.

  “It’s just like the gun in your hand,” he continued, “which is made of dozens of tiny pieces. If you took away just one piece, the rifle wouldn’t function. And just like the rifle, all of God’s creations were designed with a purpose, and a specific function. It seems evident to me that God created everything in just the right way so that life could be possible.”

  “I see your point,” agreed Mason. “But I still think it’s a hard pill to swallow. What about the theory of evolution?”

  “What about it?” Shiloh asked. “It’s just a theory, and not even a very good one. In fact, the more I think about it the more I realize that Rupert’s correct in saying that evolution is nothing more than a religion.”

  “A religion,” repeated Mason, “how so?”

  “Well,” said Shiloh, “that depends on your definition of science. If you mean science that can be observed with consistent results, then I have to disagree with the theory. You cannot observe millions and especially billions of years. Would you agree that a large part of religion is based on faith? Believing in something or someone that you can’t actually observe in the flesh?”

  “Sure, I guess so,” agreed Mason.

  “Well then evolution fits in perfect with every other religion,” explained Shiloh. “The process has never once been witnessed, repeated, nor proven. Why do you think that is? I’ll tell you, because it doesn’t exist. The theory of evolution is nothing more than a charade, designed by Satin with the sole purpose of undermining man’s belief in God, the Creator. In fact, it was the same religion that Adolph Hitler prescribed to. His justification for genocide.” Shiloh took a deep breath. “The idea that everything just happened to come together to create something perfect out of nothing is based in faith and not a scientific approach to understanding the universe and everything in it. If I were to disassemble your rifle and lay all of the individual parts on the ground next to each other, how long do you think it would take for the rifle to become re-assembled in its original form?”

  “Never,” said Mason, “unless someone came along and put it back together.”

  “Exactly,” replied Shiloh, “things don’t just come together on their own and create something out of nothing. It requires an engineer or a designer. Evolutionists would have us believe as time passes things become better and stronger, whereas the second law of thermodynamics has proven that everything breaks down over time. It wouldn’t take long for the
pieces of that rifle to begin to rust and break apart. It’s bad enough that the theory of evolution implies that man came from a rock or a puddle of bacteria, but it can’t even explain where the rock or the puddle of bacteria came from. Nor does it account for how we know the difference between right and wrong or explain how the Laws of Physics were created. It basically says that in the beginning there was nothing, and then from nothing came something and that something eventually turned into everything.”

  “Well, of course I don’t believe that we originated from a rock,” said Mason, “that’s absurd!”

  “I agree. Not only is the implication utterly inaccurate but it’s also insulting. And we wonder why students are walking into schools and committing mass murder. From the moment they enter the school system, they’re taught that they’re nothing more than animals, so of course they’re going to act like animals.” Shiloh paused for a moment, after catching a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye.

  Did the branches near the edge of the tree line move?

  “Why do you think they continue to teach it if it’s not true?” asked Mason.

  “Because, it’s part of their agenda to separate people from their faith in the true Creator,” answered Shiloh. “Satan has convinced the world that he doesn’t exist, and now he’s trying to convince the world that God doesn’t exist either. It’s all part of his great deception.”

  “What about micro-evolution?” Mason asked.

  “My family has practiced selective breeding for generations. That is essentially what micro-evolution is, but that doesn’t prove that you can get a lizard from a fish. Scientific gene studies have shown that genes lose information from generation to generation. In other words, the opposite of what evolutionists expected and would have us continue to believe.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” said Mason, deep in thought. He was finally beginning to see that not all Christians had blind faith. Shiloh had done a lot of research before making this decision and Mason felt a little ashamed that he hadn’t given it much thought over the years.