Dawn Over Doomsday

by Jaspre Bark

  It was also their key bargaining tool with their masters, when they wanted to come in out of the cold. The ability to produce new strains of the Doomsday Virus had helped. If they'd been able to find out where the six hosts were hidden they'd have been in an even better position. Unfortunately when they fled their masters, Sinnot and his colleagues had split up into cells. The cell who had hidden the hosts did not survive The Cull.

  Even still the secret of changing their blood group was enough to bring them back into the fold. For all their power, their masters could not isolate themselves enough to prevent infection. So Sinnot and his associates had come slinking back with their tails between their legs, but at least they were alive. They'd started work on guaranteeing their masters complete biological domination of their whole species once again.

  They'd built this complex in Little Bighorn to start over. It was supposed to be impregnable and it was supposed to be totally secret. In the last twenty-four hours it had proved to be neither. He daren't go and tell that to his masters without a solution. They wouldn't like the idea of being the spoils of some war of faith.

  "Why can't we just release something into the atmosphere on the surface?" said Bennet. "Something we can immunise ourselves against and let that take care of them?"

  "We don't have anything that'll spread fast enough," said Sinnot. "Nothing for which we've got a fool proof antidote. We can't protect ourselves fully against any virus we have that's virulent enough to do the job."

  "Haven't we got a workable strain of the Doomsday Virus?" said Roth.

  "No," said Sinnot. "And there's no way we could release it without the proper controls in place."

  "What about something from the armoury? There's those prototype sub-sonic bombs."

  "And how would we launch them?" said Bennet with his customary sneer.

  "We could use the micro gliders," said Roth. "We could send the guards up and get them to drop the bombs."

  "The micro gliders are for aerial reconnaissance only," said Bennet. "You can't use them to go dropping bombs on people. They're not equipped for that."

  "Also, we can't control the detonation or the blast radius enough to be safe," Sinnot said. "The sub-sonic bomb shreds all matter, organic and non-organic. We'd have to detonate it high above the ground so we didn't do as much damage to the complex as we would to the armies."

  "What are we going to do then?" said Roth, there was more than a hint of panic in his voice. "We've only got forty armed guards in the place. There's over two thousand out there already and more coming. We can't possibly fight them all off and it's only a matter of time until they break in."

  "Maybe," said Sinnot. "Maybe not."

  "What do you have in mind?" said Bennet.

  Sinnot smiled. "Stealth."

  "Stealth? Can you elaborate?"

  "We offer both sides exactly what they came here for. Or at least that's what we'll lead them to believe."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Colt looked out of his tent at the makeshift camp they'd erected in the parking lot of a half-built mall just off Highway 87. Earthquakes, plagues and nuclear strikes had ensured that this temple to consumerism had never been finished. All that remained was concrete and girders. When God didn't want a thing built, He didn't want it built. Even still, Colt couldn't help thinking that an earthquake or a plague or even an A-bomb by itself would have been enough. All three, now that was overkill.

  They were a day's march from Little Bighorn. By all accounts the Injuns had got there already. Colt was waiting for Simon Peter to return with the scout's full report. The smells of roasted rodents wafted through the camp as the bodies of rats, possums, rabbits and hares were turned on spits.

  To stop the men from fighting or getting drunk to relieve their boredom, Fitch and Golding were leading them in song. A special hymn they'd concocted for the occasion:

  Mine eyes have see the glory of a million red skins dead,

  They thought they'd fight our wives and kids but got our men instead.

  To victory we march just as our saviour Colt has said

  His truth goes marching on...

  Colt should have smiled as they burst into their 'Glory Glorey Hallelujahs', but he wasn't in the mood. He was a day or so away from the biggest and most crucial fight of his whole career, leading an army against the most Godless people left in America. He faced the opportunity "to correct history and make certain the right side wins this time," as he had put it in his speech to the troops.

  Only his heart wasn't in it, thanks to the Prophet. The man had insisted on accompanying the troops despite Colt telling him it was not the place for a man of peace. The Prophet was convinced his prophecy would be fulfilled and that they would win without a drop of blood being spilled. Personally, Colt thought they had more chance of finding an intact hymen in a cathouse, but the Prophet wouldn't be told.

  Colt was still dwelling on this when he heard Simon Peter's cough at the opening of his tent. "C'mon in," he said.

  Simon Peter stepped inside.

  "So what's the news son?"

  "Well sir, it's just as we feared. The Injuns have taken the pass which leads to the plateau. There's about five or six hundred of them holding it at the moment. The rest of them, about maybe one and a half thousand, are all camped out on the south side of the plateau."

  "Any chance we can storm the pass? Maybe catch 'em napping?"

  "Sir, it's too narrow for that and they're too well fortified. They'd pick us off one by one if we came down the middle and if we tried a pincer movement we'd still be fighting up hill. They could potentially hold us off for days. Even if we took the pass they could still fall back onto the plateau. There's only a tiny bridge leading to that so they could pick us off as we came."

  "So that's it then? Game over, let's all go home and let them take over the country. Is that what you're saying?"

  "Sir, no sir. Over on the north side the chasm between the mainland and the plateau is not as great. There's one spot where the distance to cross is only nine or so feet. What's more it's behind a rocky outcrop. So you can't see it from the south side of the plateau or the pass where the Injuns are."

  "Is that right?" said Colt, as though he was only half listening. He had his back to Simon Peter and was staring up at a wooden crucifix that was hanging from the central pole of his tent.

  "Sir, I don't want to speak out of turn but I think I might have guessed what you're planning to do."

  "Have you now?"

  "Well sir, as you're no doubt aware I sent some of our men to explore the construction site behind us and they've found some working rivet guns and welding torches. There's also a lot of girders in perfectly good condition. We've got enough men and vehicles to carry them over to the plateau to put together a bridge long enough to cross over without the Injuns seeing us. We've also got more than a few men in our command with construction experience. So I imagine you're going to order several squads to transport the materials to Little Bighorn, in advance of the main body of troops, with enough time to build them a bridge for when they arrive. Am I right sir?"

  Colt didn't answer.

  "Sir am I right?"

  Colt turned from the crucifix and faced Simon Peter. "Are you right?"

  "About your plans sir."

  "Yes I think you must be."

  "Do you want me to pass your orders on to the men sir? I could get them started straight away."

  "Yes I think that would be a good idea."

  "Sir, I hope I'm not out of line in asking this, but is everything alright?"

  Colt looked directly at Simon Peter and spoke sharply. He didn't like being asked such a direct question. "You have your orders soldier. Dismissed."

  The truth was that everything wasn't alright. Everything hadn't been alright since he'd met with the Prophet for their prayer meeting the night before last. From the Prophet's point of view the purpose of the meetings were to win Colt's soul back to the path of righteousness. From Colt's perspective h
e was trying to keep the Prophet on a tight leash.

  Colt was concerned about the Prophet preaching his prophecy concerning a bloodless victory. He didn't want his men getting too complacent. They were about to face an army of two and a half thousand redskins. He didn't want them walking into battle with just a Bible and a belief in divine intervention.

  Colt had challenged the Prophet about the truth of his vision. "Come on Robert," he'd said. "Now I ain't questioning every vision you've ever had. I'm sure some of 'em did come direct from God. Hell, I'll even believe He's got some express courier service between Him and you using angels, if you want me to but you gotta admit this whole business with the bloodless victory, well it's mighty convenient wouldn't you say? I mean it was great when we were on a recruitment drive. But now we need the men to face up to the hard realities of armed combat."

  The Prophet had smiled. "I can only preach what my conscience dictates and what the Lord himself tells me."

  This had not convinced Colt. "Don't you see how it could endanger the men's lives? Why it's plain irresponsible to preach those things. What are they going to do when they walk into battle and real bullets start flying?"

  "Pray."

  "Prayer don't stop bullets Robert."

  "It can move mountains."

  "Really? Well I ain't never seen a mountain moved that way."

  "That's because you haven't been looking in the right places. And because you haven't been praying right."

  "And what have I been doing wrong?"

  "Pray with me Samuel and I'll pray to the Lord to send you a vision. For Christ himself to remove the scales from your eyes."

  So Colt had knelt with the Prophet in prayer. Mainly just to prove to him how wrong he was. The Prophet spoke to the Lord and Colt joined him. Only this time it seemed the Lord was listening.

  Colt had his eyes closed and he had the definite feeling there was someone else there in the room with them. Not right next to him, like one of his men, but hovering just above his head.

  Colt opened his eyes and he wasn't in the tent anymore. He was on a hillside just outside an ancient city. In front of him there was a post in the ground. No, there were three posts. Only they weren't quite posts. Colt began to look up.

  Then he stopped himself. He closed his eyes and shook his head. This wasn't real. He was inside a tent in Montana. The Prophet must have slipped him something. He opened his eyes again and the hillside was still there, only it was starting to get indistinct. He looked through it and saw the Prophet in the tent with him, still praying.

  The Prophet looked over at him and smiled and pointed upwards. Colt turned to look and he was back on the hill. Slotted into the top of the post in the ground was a crossbeam. Hanging from that crossbeam by the nails in his hands was a man, with two other men hanging from the crosses either side of him.

  No, it wasn't just a man. Colt took one look into his eyes and he knew who it was. In those eyes there was more suffering and more love than Colt knew existed in the world.

  It was all true. He really had suffered all those centuries ago and He had gone on suffering ever since. He would continue to suffer for as long as there were men and women who needed to atone for their actions.

  He did this because of love. The love of a creator who gives life to the universe as a sacred gift and asks for nothing in return. The love that compels Him to put on human form and come down and suffer with His creations for as long as there is human suffering. To show them that no matter how low they sink, no matter how great their despair and how terrible their degradation, He is always there with them and always will be.

  "No!" Colt shouted and jumped to his feet. It was all too much for him to take. The vision evaporated and he was back in the tent next to the Prophet. The vision was gone but the meaning wasn't. They were responsible for that perfect, sacred man's suffering. Everyone alive was. Colt was, in everything he did. Yet He suffered willingly. He submitted to those agonies because He loved us all.

  Colt could hardly bring himself to speak the man's name. A name he had been raised with, fought and killed for. A name he was going to go to war for, and thereby cause the man even more suffering. Christ, his saviour.

  "No!" Colt shouted and knocked the wooden crucifix off the tent pole.

  The Prophet got off his knees and took hold of Colt's shoulders. "Samuel. Did you see it? Did you see it?"

  "Get off of me!" yelled Colt and he pushed the Prophet to the ground.

  The Prophet stood again. "But don't you see what this means? Samuel, don't you grasp its meaning?"

  "Get out of here," Colt pushed the Prophet out of his tent. Of course he grasped the meaning. That's what he couldn't take. Every time he closed his eyes the vision was there. Challenging everything he had ever fought for, was the very thing he thought he was fighting for.

  "Go on get out," Colt shouted as the Prophet stumbled backwards into the camp, looking hurt and confused. "You stay away from me, you hear? Don't you come anywhere near me again!"

  The Prophet pulled himself up to his full height and left with as much dignity as he could muster.

  "Looks like someone had a lover's quarrel," said a voice from around one of the campfires.

  Colt went apoplectic. "Who said that? Which one of you lousy, stinking cowards said that?"

  A hush fell across the whole camp.

  Colt bore down on the fire from where he'd heard the comment. Around fifteen men sat huddled there. "Which one of you was it? Come on tell me or I'll have the lot of you shot."

  Three of the men pointed to one bearded individual. He was shaking with fear. He patently regretted what he'd said. "I'm sorry Mr Colt sir. Truly I am. I didn't mean nothing by it. Just a dumb quip was all."

  Colt saw the man was wounded. His shoulder was crudely bandaged.

  He remembered that an advance party had traded shots with a group of Injuns two days before. They'd killed two of the redskins but suffered the first casualties of the war. This man must have been among them. He sat in front of the fire with a filthy coat draped around his bandaged shoulders and shivered from the night air and his fear of Colt. Colt could see the man was suffering and he was reminded of the endless suffering of the man on the cross.

  One of his sergeants stepped up next to Colt. "I'll have the man disciplined right away sir."

  He nodded to two men around the fire who leapt to their feet and hauled the bandaged man to his.

  Colt's every instinct told him he should punish the man. Such insubordination should never be tolerated in the ranks. He had to maintain his own standing in front of the other men. But his instincts were stifled by an untapped well of compassion that suddenly rose inside him. He knew its source. It was the vision. Like a creeping weakness it seemed to sap all his strength and anger.

  Cot turned his back on the man. "Don't bother," he muttered to the sergeant. "He's suffered enough." Then he walked back to the tent and under his breath he said. "He'll never stop suffering."

  The morning after Simon Peter had outlined the plan about the bridge, Colt stood looking at it. It wasn't entirely complete but it was an impressive sight. Put together with steel girders the bridge spanned the chasm at its narrowest point. It was just wide enough for three men to cross it side by side.

  Simon Peter and his team had worked through the night to build it. They hadn't been seen by the UTN, they'd have been shot if they had. Colt was impressed by their bravery and their industry. By late afternoon it would be ready.

  Colt had arrived in advance of the other troops. The whole army was proceeding along a special route that would allow them to arrive at the north side of the plateau without the redskins seeing them. The plan was to get the main force to march straight across the bridge the moment they arrived and get as many as possible onto the plateau before the Injuns noticed.

  Colt was gambling on sending a tight phalanx of soldiers into the centre of the Injun's ranks to catch them by surprise and rout them. Then the rest of his troops would adva
nce as they arrived on two outward fronts like the horns of a bull.

  It was a risky manoeuvre that until a few days ago would have had Colt's adrenalin pumping. Now his heart wasn't entirely in it. It was taking all the mental energy he had to repress the memory of the vision. And to stop himself thinking about the futility of bloodshed and the families of all the men he was sending to their deaths. Damn that fool Prophet.

  "Err, sir," said Simon Peter breaking Colt's stream of thought. "There's a man on the other side of the bridge who wants to see you. He's asking to speak to our leader."

  "What," said Colt. "Who the hell is he?"

  "He says he from the complex. He wants to make a deal with us."

  "A deal. What kind of a deal?"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  "It's quite simple really," said Joe Black Feather. "We have two armies camped out on our doorstep. We think we know what you're after. We can't keep both of you out so our best bet for survival is to strike a deal with the side most likely to win."

  "And you think that's us?" said Hiamovi.

  The Iroquois smiled. "Well, I hope it is. You got here first and you've got the best tactical position. So it's a safe bet to say you've got the upper hand. As project leader it's my call as to which side to pick and, well to be fair, I'd rather fall in with my own people."

  "And what about your associates?" said Hiamovi pointing to the man and woman with Joe. "They don't look like our people."

  "No but with respect, I see a lot of white faces among your ranks too."

  "Fair point. So what are you offering?"

  "Am I right in assuming that you're here for the Doomsday Virus?"

  "If that's the virus that you can tell who to kill and who to spare then, yes, that's what we're here for. We won't leave without it and we're prepared to fight."