by Terry James
“Do you know much about the…bene elohim?”
“The bene elohim means the ‘sons of God,’ or the ‘sons of the mighty.’ They are the angels, created directly by God. They are most referenced in the Biblical books of Genesis and Job as the angels that left their first estate, their given habitation,” Prouse said after a momentary pause for recall. He said, then, “They apparently were part of the angelic creation that followed Lucifer in his rebellion.”
“Yes. That was my findings,” Christopher said, his eyes narrowing, his brows wrinkling in a frown of agreement, remembering his brief time of research.
“What’s this about, Chris? You went ghost-white when I mentioned the nightmare.”
Christopher said quietly, “Randy, it was just like you described. I saw a dark, human-like thing in the rain, by the big tree. It started for me. But this glowing figure, pulsing with light and energy of some kind, it intercepted the dark form.”
“And, you say this thing, this experience, wasn’t a dream. You believe it really happened?”
“It was real, Randy. As real as me sitting here now, talking with you,” Christopher said.
“What happened next?”
“I looked away. It was so bright when they, they locked up.”
“They fought?”
“Yes. They fought, and they--their surroundings got so bright that I had to look away. When I looked again, they were both gone.”
“And that’s it? The thing didn’t come back?” Prouse said, watching Christopher’s face while the minister concentrated.
“No. There’s more. The phone, which had been totally knocked out by the storm, rang. I answered it. After a few second of the line being dead, there was this voice…”
“Whose?”
“I have no idea. It was deep, strange…”
“What did it say?”
“It said that I am ‘to watch…to watch for the bene elohim.’ It said, ‘As in the days of Noah, so it shall be. Watchman. Watch, therefore, for the bene elohim…’”
The phone on Prouse’s desk rang, causing the young minister to jump. Prouse answered.
“Hello. Yes, he’s here,” he said, then handed the receiver to his guest. “It’s for you.”
After listening, a grim look on his face, Christopher said, “Yes. Okay. I’ll be there in about 45 minutes.”
“A problem?” Randall Prouse said, standing with his guest.
“There’s been a crash. An aircraft from Randolph. The wing commander was killed. They think that the husband of one of my parishioners might have been on board, too.”
Transit flying, as well as all other flying, was cancelled until 6 a.m. Tuesday. Randolph was in a near lock-down mode because of Col. Ervin Beery’s death in the crashed T-38.
Rumors flew that he was drunk when he took the aircraft on the test run. Others said that he committed suicide. There was also the growing rumor that there was another pilot in the plane when the ranchers saw it nose earthward in full afterburners.
The crater was more than 30 feet deep in the rough, barren land populated only by rattlers, horned toads and jackrabbits. The T-38 was in thousands of pieces, few of them larger than the size of a half-dollar.
Pieces of the titanium tail cone and the main landing gear stainless steel struts were the only identifiable parts of the plane.
The pilot’s lap belt clasps had been found, still together. The only thing of the pilot that was even slightly identifiable was two teeth, the end of one thumb, and an eyeball.
Rescue workers and investigators poured over the wreckage site, putting down red markers and yellow markers when things of interest to the investigation were found.
Maj. Herman Roarke looked into the deep crater, seeing charred wreckage and blackened earth, from which smoke continued to rise. “Well, now we know what happens when one goes straight in doing almost Mach two,” he said.
Maj. Red Germand only grunted. Ervin Beery had been his immediate superior and love him or hate him the colonel had been a force in his younger days. Germand had found him a fair superior, always ready to back his people. Red Germand admired loyalty in any officer. He tried to be that kind of officer.
“Won’t be much we can do piecing this one together, Red,” Maj. Roarke said, watching workers picking up tiny fragments in preparation for tagging, then piecing the jigsaw together in a hangar on the west side of Randolph. The retrieval would go on 24 hours a day until every piece of the aircraft that was recovered was tagged.
“The eyewitnesses said they will swear the bird was in afterburners,” Red Germand said, disbelief in his voice. “Why?”
“If the colonel had a heart attack, he could have jammed the throttles fully-forward, and fallen forward on the stick. That could account for it,” Roarke said.
Germand shook his head no. “Very unlikely. The inertia reel would keep him, and the chute pulled back against the seat. It would take a conscious effort, not an accidental push, to put that bird into burners.”
Herman Roarke was in no position to argue. He had no wings. He was one of the few officers assigned to aircraft crash investigations who had not been a flyer.
“What about the rancher who saw the crash? You’ve talked to him,” Germand said. “Did he say anything to you about seeing some sort of object near the 38 just before it went in?”
Roarke said after a few seconds of thinking about Germand’s question, “This is second hand. I haven’t talked with him at length. But, the rancher…and, actually one of his ranch hands, out looking for a cow or something, saw something, according to Col. Buford. They both told him that it was shiny, like a bright star, only much bigger--and it just seemed to hang there, while the bird nose-dived. I don’t know this for sure, but I would have to guess that they forgot about it with the sight of the T-38 nose-diving in afterburner. When they again thought to look, the object, whatever it was, apparently was no longer there.”
“Are you sure you don’t want someone from the base, a counselor, or someone, to stay close by tonight?” the Air Force Protestant chaplain stood in the foyer, holding his service hat, his tone subdued.
“Thank you, chaplain. My pastor will be here soon. And, thank you for calling him,” Laura said, wiping her cheeks with a tissue.
The captain left after again offering his condolences and assuring that he wanted to help in any way he or the Air Force could.
Mark sat close to Lori on the sofa, while she, like her mother, continued to mop tears from her face.
“Why was he not listed on the flight?” James Morgan’s daughter said, half-sobbing through her question. “How do we even know he was on that plane?” Her words, were, Mark realized, meant to give herself and her mother hope. Hope that wasn’t there. He decided that it was best to just say it to establish the fact that her husband, and his father, was gone. It would be best to end the doubt.
“Lori, I talked to the line chief, Chief Master Sgt. Helstrom. He said that Col. Beery didn’t want to go to the trouble of officially listing your dad as part of the flight. It was, for some reason, something he just didn’t want made official. Probably just forgot about it, and when Col. Morgan showed up, didn’t want to take time to do it right.”
“He was upset when he left this morning,” Laura said. “He said he was going to talk it over with Col. Beery. He had high regard for him.”
Laura broke down, but pulled her self together by sniffing, straightening her shoulders, and taking a deep breath. “They both just probably wanted to discuss things on that test flight. James always felt more relaxed on one of those silly airplanes than he did down here with the rest of us.”
Mark knew the feeling. But, he didn’t say so, feeling Lori convulse while he held her close.
“I’m glad you’re here, Mark. Thanks for caring,” Laura sniffed. “It means a lot to Lori and me.”
“I got permission to wait until 1100 hours to take off,” he said. “Wish I could stay longer. I don’t know why this change of assignment.
” He fell silent, thinking that they didn’t need to hear his thoughts on the matter.
“Have you thought any more about that thing the other night? The voice that told you that you would be contacted?”
Lori’s question seemed to give her strength to pull away from her heavy grieving. Maybe it would help to talk about it, Mark considered.
“Oh, I’ve thought about it. It’s hard not to think about it. The weird human-like thing in the dream, or whatever, saying he was Dad. Then, the change of orders, the President, the deputy director. How can you get that off your mind?”
“Do you think Dad’s…his…” Lori couldn’t bring herself to mention the word “death” in trying to ask if Mark thought her father’s crash in the T-38 was a part of the things involved with the night visions.
Mark, reading her unspoken thought, intervened. “I’m going to find out. I promise, I won’t stop until I get answers,” he said.
“It does have something to do with everything, you know,” Laura said, in an unemotional tone that said there were no more tears to be cried. “All of the things he went through--that we’ve all been through, they’re not coincidence.”
The three of them sat silently for a moment, each reflecting upon the way their lives had changed and now would be changing even more.
“I’ve decided to not do the summer program at Austin,” Lori said. “You’re going to need me with you,” she said, going from the sofa, to bend over the chair where Laura sat and hug her.
Laura wouldn’t, couldn’t argue the point. She did need Lori right now. Very much.
“Will you stay with us tonight, Mark?” Laura asked. “We would like that.”
Lori looked at him, pleading through swollen, reddened eyes.
“My things are packed up in the F-4,” Mark said. “I’m officially out of officer’s quarters. And, I’ve got my flight suit on. I’ll stay, if it will help.”
The doorbell rang, and Mark could see in their expressions that Lori and her mother were, without saying it, asking him to answer.
“Christopher Banyon,” the man said, looking upward at the taller man who opened the door.
“I’m Mark Lansing,” he said, offering his right hand. “You’re Mrs. Morgan’s pastor?”
“Yes,” Banyon said, craning his neck to look around Mark. “And, this is Susie.” He turned to the young woman who smiled. “My fiancé,” Banyon said.
After greetings and introductions, Laura said, “Pastor, one thing I’m learning. You think you know how someone feels who’s lost somebody…” She started to choke on emotion but caught herself. “Well, let me tell you…” She let the thought go unspoken.
Rev. Banyon held Laura’s hand, patting it. “There’s no way to know unless you’ve been there,” he said.
“There have just been so many strange things happening lately,” Laura said, still trying to regain control. “It seems like the world is crashing right now.”
The minister said nothing but continued to pat her hand while she talked. “Do you believe that Satan actually punishes people?” Laura’s words made her daughter uncomfortable, and Mark felt her body tighten when her mother asked the question.
“With the things that have been happening, Rev. Banyon, it’s almost like the things you’ve been talking about are happening to my family.”
“Oh? What things? I mean, what have I been talking about that makes you think that Satan might be responsible?” Banyon asked.
“The, what do you call them? The fallen angels. The ones you said you believe have returned to doing the same things they did during times just before the Great Flood in Noah’s time.”
The pastor raised his eyebrows with Laura’s words. She sensed his surprise, wondering why it would startle him.
He had to know more.
“Mrs. Morgan, Laura. I’m sorry if I’ve said something that adds to your suffering at this time.”
“Oh, no. The things you’ve been saying are things we--I, at least--need,” she said, her voice more in charge of her emotions. “The things you’ve been saying make me wonder…” she hesitated, thinking that perhaps she shouldn’t go on with the thought.
“Tell me about it, Laura. Believe me, I want to hear about it,” he said, more for himself than to comfort her, he considered, feeling a twinge of guilt.
Laura didn’t know if she should say more. Others were involved. Lori and, especially Mark, were involved.
She looked at Lori and Mark, who sat on the sofa close to each other. Laura saw on her daughter’s face the look that said, “Dad wouldn’t like you telling this.” Mark’s expression was one of curiosity, wondering what she would say next.
Her husband, Lori’s father, was gone. She had to tell her pastor. Susie was a sweet little girl and would never betray the trust of her husband-to-be in hurtful gossip.
“James had been having nightmares, I guess they were. He had had them for years, ever since a strange accident in 1947. Only, it wasn’t an accident.”
Laura looked at Mark, who knew what was coming next.
“My husband and…” she nodded toward Mark. “…Mark’s father, Clark Lansing, were flying in a small plane in New Mexico. James and Clark saw some UFOs, two flying saucer-type craft.”
She felt the pastor’s hand grip hers more tightly.
“Clark just, just vanished from the back seat of that little plane that day. He’s never been seen again. At least, not as he was before that day.”
“What do you mean, Laura?” Banyon’s words were strident, anxious.
“She means that I believe I’ve had contact with my father since…just the other night,” Mark said.
“What kind of…what was this contact?” the minister said, the pitch of his voice raised.
Mark could see that Banyon’s interest went further than mere curiosity. The preacher looked panicked.
“At the time, I swore it was a real experience. That my dad really did come into my bedroom, while I was in the BQ for officers on Randolph. But, now I don’t know. Maybe it was a nightmare.”
“Tell me, Mark, about this visitation,” the pastor said, having released Laura’s hand and moved to sit on the sofa with Lori and Mark.
“I…I’m sorry. I don’t mean to seem crass or interfering. But, I would like to know all about this,” he said.
“This whatever it was appeared in the middle of the room, near the end of the bed. It seemed to be made of a black, boiling cloud. Its form was human-like. You know, it had a head, arms, legs--like a boiling cloud-man of some kind.”
“And it sparked with electricity. It looked menacing, and it had no facial features,” Banyon interrupted Mark’s description, finishing it for him.
Everyone sat in stunned silence. The pastor’s face paled, his eyes wide, his mouth open.
“How did you know that?” asked Mark, voicing Lori and Laura’s thoughts.
“What did this…this being say to you?” Banyon said.
“He said he was my father. He told me that I would be contacted. The thing said I was to do what they told me to do. He said he was alive and well, and that we would be together again soon.”
“What is it, Pastor? What is this about? Do you know?” Laura asked.
“A watchman watches,” Christopher Banyon said in a whisper, to no one in particular.
Laura had taken the two sedatives just before Christopher Banyon arrived. The Air Force doctor had given her the sleeping pills after she learned James had died with Ervin Beery in the crash. They were powerful, overcoming the high emotional state she was in now, as the drowsiness overtook her.
Lori helped her mother to the bedroom and saw to it that she was dressed for bed and tucked in. Lori kissed her mom on the cheek and shut off the light. “I think maybe she can sleep,” Lori said, shutting the bedroom door and walking to sit near Mark.
“How about you?” Mark said, holding her hands in his while they sat on the sofa.
“I’ll try,” she said, smiling through her tears
.
He dabbed them away with a tissue. “We’ll both try,” he said, rising from the sofa. “Unless you need me to talk for a while.”
She shook her head. “No. You have a flight tomorrow. Don’t want to lose you, too,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion.
He pulled her to her feet, and after a light kiss, embraced her. “You’re not going to lose me. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried. Remember, I love you, Lori Morgan,” he said.
“I love you, Mark Lansing,” Lori responded. She wondered fleetingly how someone could know so much anguish, and, at the same time, so much happiness.
Christopher had left Susie’s front door at 10:45. It was later than they usually stayed out together, even on dates.
He was grateful that she had been with him while he tried to console Laura Morgan and her daughter. Susie would be a valuable asset to any husband. But, she would be an asset beyond value to a minister.
Why had she picked him, of all the men she could have chosen? She told him it was “God-ordained,” using the vernacular she knew he would appreciate.
She had laughed softly when she said it, her way of self-deprecation that she knew he would understand, and that would make him laugh. How on earth did the Lord ever find in him anything that made him worthy of her?
He drove now toward the church building; his blue Volkswagen moving through the empty streets bordered by closed businesses and houses whose occupants slept. It was 1:45 a.m., and he was wide-awake.
He needed the books and study materials to prepare for Sunday’s sermon. Might as well put the time of insomnia to good use. He would pick up the things and take them home. By then, he would be sleepy, he hoped, but the study materials would be there, and he could study at home when he awoke.
He would get the book on the Nephilim, by--he couldn’t remember whom. He knew right where to find it. Third shelf, about four or five books from the left corner. Randy Prouse recommended it highly. Christopher had purchased it upon his friend’s recommendation but had never cracked it open.
