Rapture Advent of the Last Days

by Jocolby Phillips

  “Allah!” was the shout of the man who ran out of the alcove. Several well-aimed shots dropped him to the ground before he could take another step or say another word.

  “Okay, go white light, check the bodies for Zardari,” Christopher ordered. “The centigray levels are higher in this area, but safe for now. So quickly look for some semimetallic-looking spheres, which will likely be the nuclear material.” He accessed his comms and, hoping against hope for a reply, shouted, “Green 9, Green 9, do you hear me? Over. Jackson, answer me. Jackson, do you hear me?” The hush over the radio nearly broke Christopher’s psyche. Had his trust in his plan cost the lives of good men? He fell against a wall and slid to the floor, exhausted. In the last week, it seemed all he held dear had been stripped from him. Aloud he pleaded, “I need something, God. Please give me something to work with.”

  * * *

  “Gabriella, are you seeing any movement from Sergeant Major Jackson’s personal locator?” President Rodgers’s low-voiced question sounded very loud in the quiet of the White House Situation Room.

  “No, sir… I don’t think…” Gabriella was overcome with emotion. The thought of losing Jackson and five other members of Omega was too much to comprehend.

  The president’s fighter pilot training kicked in. “I understand your feelings, but we still have boys in the fight. What about Major Barrett? It seems they are exploiting the target location right now. How’s that going? What about the 101st quick reaction force? What is their ETA?” President Rodgers pushed Gabriella to refocus on what could be done. She said grimly, “Sorry, sir. The quick reaction force should be in Ishkashim in fifteen minutes. From the readings I am getting from Christopher’s sensors, the nuclear material is somewhere near them. I am picking up some movement with Jackson’s locator beacon. I just hope it’s not the enemy.”

  “Okay, let’s prepare to get more assets in that area,” President Rodgers commanded. “Those boys have likely stirred up the hornet’s nest.”

  * * *

  Jackson’s face stung as he felt the warm flow of blood down his left cheek. It hurt to breathe, but other than a raging headache and likely having a hard time getting out of bed tomorrow, he was okay. He murmured, “Thank you, Jesus. I don’t know why You kept me alive, but I am grateful and will honor You.” He turned to the semi-crushed fuselage of the Chinook helicopter and shouted, “Hey, anybody still with me?”

  “Sarge,” was the muffled cry from two other soldiers pinned by a fallen jump seat row.

  “Hold on, boys. I’m coming,” Jackson replied. As he half stood, he cried out due to the pain in his right side. Broken ribs for sure, but there was nothing he could do about it right now. He crawled over to the pinned-down soldiers and used the end of his rifle as leverage to lift the jump row off their legs. The pain from his efforts almost made him pass out. “You guys all right?” he asked through clenched teeth, his breathing labored.

  “I think my left leg is broken,” his weapons sergeant replied.

  “I feel dizzy, and my back hurts, but I’ll make it,” replied the other soldier.

  “Good news, you’re both going to live. Bad news, we need to move away from this crash site and figure out how to get into the fight,” Jackson said.

  One look toward the cockpit and Jackson knew without a doubt that Angel 64 and his copilot were gone. The right front side of the helicopter was half buried in the earth. Three of his other soldiers were missing from the aircraft, meaning they likely had been thrown from the open ramp during the rotation to the valley floor. It’s a miracle Angel 64 was able to gain enough control to pilot the machine into its current position instead of doing a complete nosedive.

  “Green 6, this is Green 9, over.” Nothing. “Green 6, this is Green 9, over,” Jackson repeated into his radio handset. Silence persisted over the radio with every call he made to Christopher. “My comms are acting up. Well, let’s move down to the bottom of this.” He pointed to a creek bed below the crash site. “That way, if trouble shows up looking for us, we can at least be hidden and maybe get the jump on them.”

  As Jackson limped along, helping his “able-bodied” soldier carry their weapons expert with a broken leg, the still, small voice came to him, saying, “A thousand may fall by your side and ten thousand at your right hand, but it shall not come near you.”

  “Thank you, Lord,” Jackson responded. “I am grateful.”

  “What’s that, Sarge?” the two soldiers asked in response to Jackson’s utterance.

  “Nothing, boys. I am just glad we’re alive. We’re gonna make it. Trust me.”

  * * *

  Christopher pulled himself off the ground, knowing Jackson would want him to soldier on. He may have been physically standing, but mentally he was sucking his thumb in the corner, analyzing the actions that led to the disaster tonight. Why can’t I trust God? Why do I associate the pain of my childhood so closely with God? I cost Jackson and those men their lives tonight. Then in an effort to pull himself back into the current situation, he mentally shouted at himself, Enough!

  “Hey, I think we’ve identified Zardari. He was the guy running at us from the little nook. We’re searching for the nuke stuff now,” Barnes reported.

  “Okay, let me know if you get something. Any word on the quick reaction force?” Christopher replied.

  “ETA is fifteen minutes.”

  “Thanks. Let’s find those nuclear pits and then head over to the crash site. We should be able to navigate there using the coordinates from Jackson’s personal locator. We will have the quick reaction force meet us there and help with recovering the fallen members of our team to take home.”

  “Sounds good,” Barnes said before leaving Christopher to continue the search for the nuclear pits.

  * * *

  Jackson was glad he had decided to move away from the crash site because, like moths drawn to a flame, he watched a “jingle truck” with at least three heat signatures in the back heading their way. He had helped the weapons sergeant put in two claymore mines at the top of the bank that led to their position. If trouble wanted a piece of him tonight, it was going to get all it could handle and then some.

  “Okay, guys, we’re gonna hunker down and wait,” he directed. “If we see people up top, I will pop off the claymores, and you boys light up anything that comes down that hill or gives you a clean shot, got it?”

  “Roger, Sarge,” the Omega soldiers replied.

  Jackson prayed for strength and courage to fight bravely to the end, if necessary, as he heard the truck come to a halt and saw the glow of flashlights and heard men speaking as they searched through the wreckage. He felt a chill as he watched a white light heading for the creek bank and heard voices growing louder. He didn’t hesitate to set off the two claymores when he saw two faces staring down at him and his men. The claymores cracked off, followed by brief screams before silence invaded the valley once again.

  “Hey, Smith,” Jackson told his teammate with two working legs, “let’s get up this hill and make sure nothing’s waiting for us.”

  Jackson “ran” up the hill—which someone watching would have said looked more like a duck waddling than a man running—ready to bring justice to anybody waiting for him. What he found was destruction and relief, knowing he and his soldiers were at least temporarily safe. Now he needed to let the rest of Omega know their location and situation. He put out the call again. “Green 6, this is Green 9, over.” Christopher was outside of the target house, heading for a chicken coop from where the most energetic radiation signature was emanating, when his radio crackled with a familiar voice.

  “Green 6, this is Green 9, over.” The weak but undeniable voice of Jackson Williams rang in Christopher’s ears, and his knees almost buckled in relief.

  “Jackson, I hear you. How are you?” Christopher asked.

  “Well, that sucked, and I don’t need to go to the bathroom anymore,” Jackson responded.

  With a grin, the major replied, “Hang tight, you ol
d dog. We’re about to pick up the nuke pits then head your way.”

  “Green 6 or any green element, this is Bandit 6, commander of the quick reaction force, we’re five minutes out. Please provide coordinates to the LZ.”

  “Bandit 6, this is Green 9, coordinates to follow,” Jackson responded.

  “We’re loading the pits into containers now. We’ll see you guys soon,” Christopher promised.

  “Just make sure you leave trouble over there,” Jackson commented. “I’ve had enough for one day.”

  * * *

  President Rodgers had long abandoned sitting as he watched the Omega Team once again accomplish the impossible. However, the cost was steep to prevent the spread of nuclear weapons. Two great pilots and three special ops soldiers had paid the ultimate sacrifice in service to their nation and the world tonight—a sacrifice that billions of people would never even know about.

  “Gabriella, I’ll be at Dover when those men are flown home. I want you to know that the Omega Group has yet again gone above and beyond the call of duty,” President Rodgers commended.

  “Thanks, sir, I am…it’s been a long day, sir. I’m heading to my apartment—or the place that holds my air mattress, according to you—to get some sleep,” Gabriella said.

  “Well earned, and again, great job,” President Rodgers replied.

  Gabriella left the White House in the soft glow of a late fall sunset, knowing that her team was well into the early hours of the next day and on their way home. While she was glad that Jackson had survived and the loose nuclear material had been recovered, she realized that the chaos of the last few days seemed to be the new normal. She wrestled with herself, thinking that perhaps her suffering was at her own hands, arrogance in her own intelligence, missing the fact that God never wanted her to go through any of this. She found herself wishing desperately for some tangible evidence that God was real, that the new world around her was part of some plan.

  CHAPTER 8

  As Satan observed the nations of the world from a favorite vantage point, he contemplated the news he’d received a few days ago—a message he had feared for millennia. The final countdown to his demise had begun, with God rapturing His beloved Church. Satan awaited a report from his longtime lieutenant Strife. “Is He ready? It seems God has finally made His move,” Satan asked.

  “Yes, my lord, He is ready, and we are ready,” Strife responded bitterly.

  “Then we shall make God’s precious Earth and humanity suffer. We will make the next seven years with my chosen leaders the worst the world has ever witnessed. Leave me,” Satan commanded grimly.

  As Strife left his master to prepare the “appointed leader,” he thought back in his mind to the circumstances that led to his master and all his followers being bound to the cursed Earth. He could still vividly picture the moment from time immemorial when his master’s loathing for humanity was born.

  Strife remembered a time and place before he was Strife, when his name was Harmony…

  Lucifer was standing on a luminous gold-and-ivory balcony, watching over an angelic chorus preparing for the celebration commemorating God’s completion of His masterpiece, Earth. He looked across Heaven feeling a tremendous sense of accomplishment. Lucifer, as the chief of praise and worship to God, orchestrated continuous music illuminating the glory of God, but he also had power over the air and heavens, providing celestial displays that demonstrated the anointed cherub’s creative gifts.

  Harmony remembered, however, that Lucifer had begun to sense that his handiwork as a creator wasn’t fully appreciated and wondered why there was such fuss over the creation of yet another planet, one so small in comparison to many found in the vast cosmos. As Lucifer’s deputy and a leader among Heaven’s innumerable angelic host, he was the fateful messenger who delivered the pronouncement that would spark his boss’s war on humanity.

  The deputy’s words had come fast, resonant with both excitement and uncertainty.

  “Harmony, what is it, old friend?” Lucifer questioned.

  Harmony had exclaimed that he knew why the celebration over Earth was demanding such extravagance.

  “Well!” Lucifer said in a harsh tone. “I am sorry, Harmony, but there is much to do before the grand finale of the Earth celebration.”

  “Earth was created to house God’s greatest creation, called man.”

  “Man? What is man?” Lucifer asked suspiciously.

  “God created man, male and female, in His image and only a little lower than the angels. Man is designed to praise God and bring glory to Him. Man will have a unique relationship with God, to be His children.”

  Harmony’s next question was an attempt to end the awkward silence on the balcony overlooking the golden court, where the chorus of angels now sang, “Glory to God in the Highest.” How could he have known the eternal ramifications of what would follow? He asked, “What is our role now with man worshipping God?”

  Lucifer was in such a state of shock that he heard little of what Harmony had said after the disclosure of man’s purpose, his face puckered in thought and heat flushed over him. He spat out, “The thought of this thing called man being created to replace me as the center of praise and worship in the universe is a slight too far. I will not be taken for granted, and God will answer for this disgrace!”

  Harmony noticed the change first, as Lucifer’s heart was filling with pride. “Lucifer! Your countenance is falling.” Lucifer had been deaf to Harmony’s words, murmuring and becoming more consumed with each passing moment with how much he had done for God—how he had arranged and created so much glory. Harmony remembered the devastating effects he witnessed as Lucifer’s heart was overtaken by pride, displacing the Holy Spirit from his being and changing his visage. Lucifer, overcome with anger and pride, glanced at his hands and finally heard Harmony, who was now trembling as he shouted, “Lucifer, you’re changing!”

  Lucifer, seeing his once bright body now void of the ever-present light of God’s Spirit, screamed with such ferocity that the choir below paused momentarily. He had turned to Harmony, demanding, “Are you with me or against me? God is not worthy of our praise. Worship me, Harmony, and we will rule the Heavens and Earth. I, Lucifer, am fit to be your Lord as I am an equal creator with God and will place my throne above the Highest.”

  Harmony thought back to the terror that had filled him as the beauty and majesty that had defined his beloved leader and friend became displaced by a sense of emptiness and distance that he had never experienced. Lucifer seemed to be out of the presence of God. Harmony knew what Lucifer suggested was wrong, but he felt Lucifer was justified in being angered by God’s creation of man. Harmony knew better than most all Lucifer had created and done to praise God. He remembered feeling every fiber of his being resisting his movement as he dropped slowly to his knees in front of the seething Lucifer and bowed his head. And he promised, “I swear my allegiance to you, my lord.”

  In the same instant, Harmony felt disdain for the ever presence of God that occupied Heaven. Lucifer didn’t even acknowledge Harmony’s act, only commanding his first follower to convert as many of the angels as he could to their cause.

  “Move quickly, as time is against us,” Lucifer ordered.

  As Harmony raced through Heaven, recruiting whom he could, Lucifer advanced toward the Great Throne of God. Michael, the archangel of Heaven’s army, stopped Lucifer’s advance.

  “Lucifer, end this rebellion and repent of your sin against God,” Michael emphatically implored the anointed cherub.

  “You’re a fool, Michael, always at the beck and call of your Master. You have free will but act like a slave. Bow to me now, and I will find a place for you in my kingdom,” Lucifer promised.

  Harmony remembered watching Michael give up on reasoning with Lucifer, knowing that his heart was given over to his rebellious actions. The archangel prepared the army of Heaven for battle, drawing flaming swords. Harmony stood behind Lucifer with a vast army of angels arrayed in the outer cou
rts of the Temple of Heaven against Michael and the faithful of God.

  “Heaven and the universe are ours to take,” Lucifer had declared to his forces, which drew flaming swords to begin the assault on the Throne of God.

  The battle that raged between once-united servants of God for mere seconds ended with an authoritative voice. The Son of God, the commander of Heaven’s armies, spoke and all of Heaven ceased moving.

  Lucifer, Harmony, and the angels who followed them fell to their faces, still blaspheming the names of God even while overcome by the power of the God of the Universe. God removed the titles and privileges associated with the names of Lucifer and his angels. Lucifer was given a new name—Satan, or adversary—forever to be known as an enemy of God. Harmony was renamed Strife for his actions in the brief War of Heaven. Each angel who aligned with Satan faced direct judgment from God the Father, doomed to ultimately suffer eternal punishment and separation from His presence in a dreadful dominion called Hell.

  Michael and his angels gathered Satan and his followers and cast them to the Earth. Harmony remembered that as his new lord fell to the Earth like lightning, Satan swore that his forever purpose would be corrupting the Earth and separating God from His most loved creation, man.

  Strife shuddered with renewed anger against humanity as he recalled his disgraceful fall. As he prepared the son of perdition, nothing was left to do but bring as many humans with them to Hell as possible in the short time remaining.

  * * *

  As the disappearance of millions occurred, Draven Cross was awakened by what seemed like a shout saying, “It’s time.” It was then that he heard the sirens and turmoil rising up to his third-story home in Knightsbridge, London. He reached for the phone, which dialed his executive assistant Gemma Sutherland, and said, “Tell me what is happening.”