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quietest and most dangerous, "they did not know that
you were here. If you still maintain that you and
your--your comrade aborted the division invading
through Deimos, don't you think you might have
incurred a special wrath, a wrath now transferred to
us? Perhaps they consider you Demonic Enemy Num-
ber One. Did that cross your mind?"
Fly remained silent. Good man. So did Arlene.
I stared at the woman; she was not at all bad-
looking, not what I would expect of a female Marine.
I had never served with one in my three years of active
duty service; she looked tough, but not like an Ameri-
can Gladiator.
In fact, the swell of her breasts and hips was quite
womanly; she would be a sturdy woman, well able to
bear many children and face the rigors of life under
siege. I could almost see her standing in a doorway,
babe in arms ... or lying bare on the bed, awaiting
me--
Ow! My conscience hammered on my head. What
are you DOING, you godless sinner! Here I was, in the
presence of the representative of Jesus Christ Himself,
and I was mentally undressing this woman!
Get thee behind me, Satan: thou art an offense to
me: for thou savorest not the things that be of
God, but those that be of men.
I concentrated on verses from the Bible and the
Book of Mormon, mentally reciting them so quickly I
lost all track of the trial and Miss Sanders.
When I blinked back, Fly and Arlene looked chas-
tened, humble. They clearly repented of their foolish
act and had found their way back to friendship with
God. Pride and Arrogance were banished--well, for
the moment.
The President sighed heavily. "Go and be stupid no
more. And prepare for an attack, for surely one
arrives within an hour or two." He nodded to the
bishop, who, as General of the Armies of the Lord,
had primary responsibility for readying our defenses.
I already knew my station: Jerry and I manned the
dike west of the city, along with two thousand other
stalwarts.
I had an idea. "Mr. President," I called. He turned
back, pausing at the door. "Sir, I'd like to suggest that
Taggart and Sanders be assigned to the defense along-
side me."
He stared at me, and I squirmed. "Any particular
reason? They've already had their chance and
botched it."
"That, sir, is the reason. Let them atone for their
mistake. They may have cost the lives of righteous
men; let them at least stand beside those men and put
their own lives on the line. Let them be at peace."
I glanced at Fly and Miss Sanders, and was tremen-
dously relieved to see a grateful look on their faces. I
was right about them: stupid, maybe; but they had
honor, and they probably felt like children whose
rough play accidentally killed the pet dog. I sure
would.
The President was a hard man; but he was a just
man--else the Lord would not have allowed him to
serve as President of the Twelve; the Father has His
ways of making His pleasure known. He shook his
head, but said, "I think you're too forgiving a man,
Albert; but you know them better than I ever could.
Take them, if your C.O. approves."
The bishop was smiling, though not in a friendly
way. "He'll approve," he prophesied.
Less than half an hour later we were at the line. I
took care to see that both Fly and Miss Sanders were
armed, so they would know we still extended our
trust. It was part of the healing process. And the
President's prophecy came true, albeit a little late: in
fact, it took the forces of darkness two hours to mass
and attack, not one.
Squinting into the distance, I saw first a column of
dust at the ragged edge of vision. We watched for
several minutes before even hearing the sound; you
can see a long, long way in the Utah desert, where ten
miles seems like one. The dust came from a column of
Bradley Fighting Vehicles, the same type in which I
had trained as a gunner before going to sniper school.
Thank the Lord they hadn't yet had time to scrounge
any M-2 tanks!
As they roared up, we surprised them: the antitank
batteries opened up at two klicks. In the still air, the
artillery captains had the eyes of angels; they dropped
the first load of ordnance directly on the advancing
line. The laser spotter-scopes helped.
Once the troops knew they were not up against
cowed, frightened refugees, they separated and ad-
vanced while evading. I took a risk, standing atop the
dike and focusing through binoculars mounted on a
pole. It was the BATF in the vanguard, as usual,
backed up by FBI shock troops. Reporting the battle
order over my encrypted radio, I saw the gold flag of
the IRS and realized we would doubtless have to face
flamethrowers and chemical-biological warfare shells.
The bastards. Regular Army filled in the gaps and
supplied most of the grunts--cannon fodder, as we
called them.
They brought a contingent of brownies and bapho-
mets, but no molochs, praise God. Probably didn't
have any nearby. But I'd bet my last bullet there'd be
molochs and shelobs aplenty before the week was out.
There were a few of the unclean undead, but most
of the soldiers, horribly enough, appeared to be living
allies of the demons. I hoped to spare Fly that
knowledge, that our own species would willingly
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