Pierced by a Sword (52 page)

Instead, the Kolbe Foundation became a center of prayer. Every day, thousands of people showed up in good or bad weather at six o'clock to pray the Rosary and to hear Lee Washington preach from a platform set up on the charred remains of the Kolbe Center. Joe had decided not to rebuild it. Thousands were baptized–sometimes whole families at a time. Everyone prayed for peace.

The Catholic Church
in America was in utter confusion. Priests who had been thrown out of parishes from around the state came to the Kolbe Foundation to say Mass and hear confessions. Authentic Catholics no longer doubted that the Great Schism was in full force, but found themselves in a minority.

7

From
Dark Years History
(New Rome Press, 31 R.E.)
by Rebecca Macadam Jackson

...Texas seceded from the United States
and the World Union. The Lone Star State had a major economic trump card: its own oil supply. The National Guard was renamed the Lone Star Army and William "Chip" Williams was appointed Supreme Commander by the new President of Texas, a descendant of Sam Houston. Tens of thousands of unemployed men enlisted in the new army within a few weeks.

Texas immediately began signing non-aggression treaties
with neighboring states: Alabama, Oklahoma, Louisiana, New Mexico, and Arkansas. The effect of Protestant Christianity on this development can not be underestimated. Texas's conservative, Christian legislature immediately outlawed abortion, repealed no-fault divorce, and rejected almost all the liberal social nostrums of the World Union and the secularized United States. Prayer was allowed in
public schools in Texas for the first time since the early 1960s (and now the whole state had something to pray for–survival)! Refugees flocked to Texas from all over the country.

These events rocked the world. Texas was immediately condemned as a rogue nation in the legislature of the World Union in Amsterdam, and the president of the United States was instructed to bring it into line.

Two months
after the Declaration of Independence of Texas, Utah followed suit, declaring itself the Mormon Nation. When the LDS took control of the state government, the first theocracy in the modern history of North America was born. LDS rank and file members buzzed with the rumor that the beginning stages of Joseph Smith and Brigham Young's famous White Horse Prophecy were at hand.

According to the White
Horse Prophecy, the Constitution of the United States would one day hang by a thread and would be saved by members of the LDS, who would be appointed by God to take control of the federal government. All good Mormons keep a year's worth of supplies in their homes in anticipation of this period of trial. A new government would eventually be established in Independence, Missouri (according to the
prophecy), and the LDS would await the Second Coming of Christ...

...The East Coast never quite recovered from the Quakes, but everyday life slowly but surely took on a semblance of normalcy. Massive graves were constructed for the dead. Military vehicles with blue United Nations insignias became a common sight in American cities. German and Russian soldiers brutally suppressed criminals. Many
U.S. troops were transported to Europe to help keep peace there. U.S. dollars–worthless in the deepening depression–were exchanged two to one for World Dollars and debit cards. Precious metals in the form of old coins, jewelry, and the like were exchanged at three World Dollars to one U.S. Dollar. On October twentieth, roughly four months after the earthquake, U.S. dollars were declared illegal–no
longer legal tender. People rushed to beat the deadline with the few dollars they still had. Swedish-made debit card machines, hooked up via satellite to a central computer located in Brussels, began to appear in those stores able to open their doors after the Quakes. The transformation was relatively smooth–the World Union had learned a few tricks in similar switch-overs in Europe during the previous
few years. Europe was held up by the media as a model of peace and prosperity. (It was not widely known that this was propaganda. Europeans, in turn, were rarely aware of the truth of events transpiring in the former United States.)

In accordance with the mandates of the World Union, eastern states began setting up euthanasia centers for elderly people. Older folks were encouraged in media campaigns
to go to "Omega Centers" for the good of their nation and for the sake of the futures of their children. When the postal service began to deliver again, form letters were sent to those over the age of seventy-five who were deemed to have a "low quality of life" by State Health Departments. These letters offered huge World Dollar credits to heirs. Senior citizens could submit their case to a
panel of "independent" medical professionals to find out if their children qualified for the credit. Brochures and television commercials hailed the Omega Centers as a solution to the debt problems of the United States. "Don't Be a Burden: Be A World Patriot" the campaigns urged...

8

Sunday Evening
5 January
Newark, New Jersey

Harlan Gello appeared on a CNI news program as a spokesman for the
Health Ministry of the World Union. He told about the light that awaited those who allowed themselves to be injected with pain-free, deadly drugs at the Omega Centers. He was passionate and eloquent. "You have nothing to fear. You are a powerful spiritual creature. Your godhood awaits you." He pointed out that his own book had prophesied great tribulations such as the Quakes, to be followed by a period
of peace–the omega point.

Almost all the propaganda–slickly produced in Europe–had underlying New Age themes. The World Union constantly promoted itself as being accommodating toward religion. After all, if the governments of the world could unite in peace, why couldn't the religions of the world? Toward that end, candidates for Omega Centers were encouraged to invite their clergy members to participate
in the "final act of love."

As Father Chet watched Gello on the tube, the priest resolved to do whatever he could to expose the Omega Centers for what they truly were: abortuaries for the elderly.

9

Saturday Morning
18 January
Newark, New Jersey

Chet knew that he might end up in jail when he began to publicly protest the Omega Center next to the remains of the Prudential Building in downtown Newark.

The Special Police came in a van, arrested him, and brought him to a temporary jail building. They punched him in the face with gloved hands. They struck him in the ribs with a billy stick covered by Chet's own jacket. They gave no explanation for the beating. Eventually, Chet was put in a room in an old school building with twenty other Christians and Catholics who had also been arrested for
resisting various World Union proclamations.

Ignoring his pain and the hunger in his belly, Chet began making the rounds of his new mission territory.

He thought of Saint Maximilian Kolbe and decided to imitate him–no matter what the cost. To love his captors. To minister to the people in this room with him. To bring Christ to them through the sacraments. To keep his sense of humor.

Chet reminded
himself with a wry smile:
When Kolbe found out that the Nazis were about to send them to Auschwitz, Kolbe told his friars, "Wonderful, we're going on a trip and our fare has been paid by someone else!"

You signed up for this. They might kill you tomorrow or in three years. Don't waste a minute.

He walked over to a woman holding a sleeping girl in her arms. He lowered himself into a catcher's crouch.
The sleeping child could not have been more than five years old. He asked the woman, a blond with dirty hair, if she was a Catholic. She nodded.

"Would you like to have your confession heard?" he asked gently, smiling. No amount of hunger could take the gleam out of Chet's eye.

She nodded again.

"Good. Great! You're not going to be confessing to me, you know. You'll be whispering into the ear
of Christ..."

The woman carefully handed her child over to her husband. Father Chet made the sign of the cross and began...

10

Tuesday Morning
21 January
The Loop, Chicago, Illinois

Five days after the Fall of Chicago, the Russian general who masterminded the lightning strike across Lake Michigan surveyed his new city. He had a patch over his left eye. He had lost the eye in combat during his
years in Afghanistan. He had instructed a field surgeon to cut a notch out of the bridge of his nose. That way, he could still see to his left past the notch using his right eye. The loss of his eye had forced him out of combat and into the War Strategy Department, where he flourished.

General Ivan Blatovsky liked to ride tanks. He was atop the turret of his favorite tank in the world. He knew
everything about tanks in general and this tank in particular. He had helped design this model, the K-45, the fastest tank in the world. It was not heavily armored, but it flew like the wind during battle. It had a small gun–but this gun was extremely accurate, had the longest range in the world, targeted quickly, and took advantage of the high-tech ordnance he also helped design.

Blatovsky had
lobbied for his tanks. After Tbilisi, the fools from Amsterdam finally decided to start churning out K-45s in big numbers in a huge factory outside of Saint Petersburg. Traditionally, Russians preferred slow, simple, heavily armored behemoths. Blatovsky was considered a maverick for pushing the K-45 and for following the tradition of World War II German panzer commanders. Blatovsky was a speed freak.

If they had K-45s down in Texas, this war would be over,
he thought.
Those morons in Amsterdam! When will they begin listening to me? They want me to go west when we should be going east. Fools!

After this they will listen,
he told himself as he scanned the blackened, smoky ruins of the Chicago skyline. He looked over his shoulder and saw the huge supply ship unloading K-45s by the hundreds. He
smiled.

It took only a few thousand soldiers and less than two days to win the battle of Chicago.
Boldness, speed, surprise, and planning won this great city for me. The City of Big Shoulders–Hah! These Americans don't even know their own history. Washington did the same thing at Trenton during their so-called Revolutionary War–

He heard an electronic beep inside his helmet.

"General, sir, we
are ready to take you to River Forest, sir." The voice came from a man in a staff car parked in front of the Palmer House, less than a hundred yards away.

"River Forest?" The general had trouble pronouncing the name of the Chicago suburb.

"Yes, sir. River Forest. To inspect the detainment camp. Commander Gelitsin chose the location. You approved it three days ago. It will be ready to hold over
100,000 prisoners in less than a week. Ahead of schedule, sir."

"Yes, of course. Bring the car here," he ordered curtly, flicking his mike over his helmet. He saw the staff car leave its parking spot in front of the Palmer House.

America's first real gulag–and fate has given me the honor of building it! There's one for the history books!

Chapter Twenty-Two

1

Early Thursday Morning
1 May
Salt Lake City, The Mormon Nation

Sandra Brixton walked past the Cathedral of the Madeleine every night after leaving the radio station. She was a producer of a late night, live talk show. Sandra rarely looked at the cathedral on her way to her apartment. Tonight was different. For some reason she felt compelled to glance up at the roof of the Gothic
church.

When she did, she saw the Blessed Mother. The Mother of God did not look real. She looked more like a bright white hologram than flesh and blood. Sandra shook her head and blinked her eyes to make sure the vision was not real.

But the lady floating on the church roof was still there, her arms outstretched at her sides, facing the city center.

Sandra felt goose bumps over her arms and legs.
She stood entranced for several minutes, awestruck. Distracted, she dropped her handbag. This broke her reverie. She turned and ran back to the radio station. Maybe she could catch Billy Corcoran, the host of the show she produced, before he left for the night.

2

Thursday Afternoon
1 May
Anderson, Indiana

There was a picnic table in the center of the war room. Two laptop computers and a map were
on it. Faxes and satellite photos of Indiana and Ohio were tacked to the walls next to a picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. The "war room" was the living room of a farmhouse owned by the White brothers of Anderson, Steve and Joe. At the moment, Steve and Joe White were down at the bottom of the long hill, part of an infantry unit. The old bachelors had given their home to the cause. The farmhouse
had a big bay window with a panoramic view of Interstate 69. Sandbags were lined up all around the concrete walls of the farmhouse, leaving only the bay window exposed.

Satellite photographs faxed from Houston and reports from the short wave network placed the huge Second World Union Army just outside of Columbus, Ohio–only a day or two away on Interstate 69. Ohio had held off the World Union
Army for almost two months before falling, making a desperate last stand just east of Columbus.

Jimbo Sullivan looked gravely at Nathan and shook his head. It was not in the grizzled Marine's nature to turn tail and run.

We can't run anyway,
Nathan thought dejectedly.
They'll catch up to us in a matter of days–and annihilate our armored assets. Then it's guerrilla war. Unless there's a miracle
in Anderson.

"Short wave out of Columbus says scouts see evidence that they've split a third of the Second Army off to send it up I-71 to Cleveland," Nathan reported. "It seems like they're trying to secure the industrial sector, Commander. Maybe we can hold them off a bit longer here in Anderson if they're a smaller force. We've got good positions over the Interstate. We've set up antitank missile
positions here, here, and...here, just like you said." Nathan pointed.

The four other men on the staff–a former lawyer from LaPorte, two farmers (veterans of Vietnam) from Terre Haute, and a radio operator from Evansville–grunted as they looked where Nathan indicated.

Jimbo looked at Nathan, then down to the map. Jimbo's neck was beyond tan. It was dark brown from long days and nights outside
in the winter wind and the summer sun. He spent up to twenty hours a day training officers and setting up the Resistance's limited assets. Nathan supposed that this was why Marines were called
leathernecks.
(In this, he was mistaken. Marines are called leathernecks because their original uniforms had collars made from leather.)

Nathan had driven from Indianapolis this morning, where he had tried,
unsuccessfully, to get more tank and artillery ordnance from a former National Guard Depot.

Nothing doing. Can't blame them. They're just as scared as we are.
He had taken his Mustang for its speed, using up precious gasoline. Fortunately, several refiners in Gary had been willing to supply Jimbo's little army with gas and diesel. Nathan had bartered Mishawaka corn for the fuel, which he split
between local farmers and the Resistance.

Half my job is bartering.
Slinger had donated several million dollars to the Resistance, but that had run out a long time ago.

Nathan's most important procurement came from Camp Atterbury to the south. In the basement of an old field house, he had found a large cache of long-forgotten, hand-held antitank missiles. Jimbo had deployed over forty men with
the weapons on either side of the anticipated battlefield.

Jimbo was proud of Nathan. He had told him so this morning when Nathan arrived with the bad news from Indy.

"I'm proud of you. You've done all you could do, little brother," Jimbo said, trying to cheer him. Jimbo had called Nathan "little brother" ever since their days on the playgrounds in Bloomfield, New Jersey. "We wouldn't have been
able to field this army without you."

These words had given Nathan a boost. It was practically a speech for the elder Sullivan. Jimbo led with a minimum of words.

Jimbo looked at his watch. Time for the daily Rosary with the troops. He picked up his rifle and Nathan followed him. Even some of the Protestant soldiers joined in the "voluntary field Rosary," as Jimbo called it.

"Jimbo? What do you
ask for when you pray the Rosary? Do you pray for victory?"

The short, barrel-chested Marine seemed surprised by the question.

"I never pray for victory, little brother. I pray for God's will. For me and for my men. For you, too."

They jumped over a wood fence on the White's property. Nathan felt an urge to say what had been on his mind for over a month. "We're going to get our clocks cleaned,
aren't we?"

Jimbo kept his eyes on the tanks and troops at the bottom of the hill.

"Maybe. Probably. Then we'll move on to the next thing. Ever read about the battle of Thermopylæ, Nathan?"

"Yeah, a long time ago, at Our Lady of Lourdes. I still remember it. A couple hundred Spartans lost a battle to the Persians. Spartans were tough as nails. The original Marines. Every one of them died, including
their king, but I can't remember his name. Begins with an
l–"

"Leonidas," Jimbo filled in.

"But they bought enough time for the rest of Greece to prepare for battle. Eventually, the Persians lost."

Jimbo was not surprised at Nathan's memory. He said nothing.

"You mean we're like the Spartans?" Nathan finally asked.

"Yeah. Those weren't Ohioans who bought us time with their blood in Columbus. Those
were Americans. One of my best friends, Michael Whitmore, commanded a Buckeye Battalion there. He might be dead for all we know.

"We're fighting for America. We're fighting for Maine, for South Carolina, for Montana. For freedom. I'd rather be dead than not have freedom. That might sound simpleminded to you–"

"No it doesn't," Nathan interrupted, a certain fire in his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I was out
of line," Jimbo apologized. "You're here. That's enough."

"Forget it," Nathan said quickly. "Go on."

"Well, I've never been much of a mystic. I just say my prayers and do my job. I've tried to do good by Doris and the boys. God knows she's put up with a lot, sharing me with the Corps and all..." Jimbo trailed off.

Nathan had never heard the man open up so personally before. Then it struck him.
Jimbo is ready to die. He's not afraid. He's just ready. Willing. He's telling me this for a reason beyond giving me a military lesson.

"Like I said, I'm not a mystic. But I'm not a doubter either. Every night before I go to sleep, I talk to Mary. I've done that since I was a little boy. In the morning, at Mass, I talk to Jesus, but at night I talk to His mother until I fall off to sleep. I taught
Chet to do that, too. Last night, I was having second thoughts about the Resistance, and I told Mary. I asked her why. I know we're going to lose. She knows, too. And we can't run, either. The terrain is too open. We can't hide tanks."

Nathan realized that Jimbo's mind was like a computer; it was constantly evaluating data. It caused him to run off on tangents.
Maybe that's why he doesn't say
much,
Nathan thought.
Just listen. The punch line is coming.

"Then I dreamed I was in the battle of Thermopylæ. It was so real. I was a Spartan. I saw men falling on either side of me. Blood was everywhere. I must have killed a hundred men with my sword, which was exactly like my Marine officer's sword–you know how dreams are.

"I saw Leonidas up ahead, battling scores of Persians. There were huge
rocky cliffs on either side of us. At the end of the dream, I was the last Spartan standing. Leonidas was dead at my feet. When the last Persian raised his sword, I saw it was Xerxes himself, the King of the Persians.

"But Xerxes was frowning, like he knew killing me wouldn't win the war. Even though the Persians had won this battle, they had lost. We won. He lost. I woke up as he ran his sword
through me. My rosary was in my hands.

"It might sound like a nightmare, but it wasn't. I was having the time of my life. I know what I am. I'm a Marine. That's all. It doesn't have to be more than that for me. You're different, Nathan."

Nathan felt an urge to protest. He opened his mouth to speak but Jimbo waved him off. He recalled his last conversation with Father Chet. The Sullivan brothers
had a sense of purpose. A willingness to be true to their vocations without counting costs ahead of time.

"Don't say anything–let me finish. The dream was a sign. It was an answer to my question to Mary–the question
Why?
She's saying that there's a reason for everything–even death. I don't know why we're buying time for tomorrow. But I do know there's a good reason. I just don't need to know what
it is. Maybe Mary is planning something big. I want you to tell Doris for me–"

"You're not going to die!" Nathan snapped, gesturing with a clenched fist.

"Nathan," Jimbo said evenly. "That's out of our hands. You'll tell Doris?"

"Tell her what, man?"

"Tell her I'll take care of her from heaven if it comes to that. She'll understand."

Nathan dropped his hand in resignation.

"Sure, I'll tell her.
But you're not going to die. All you Sullivans are rockheads, you know that?"

"Then why do you always hang out with us?" Jimbo asked without a trace of humor in his voice.

Nathan did not reply. At the bottom of the hill, a former autoworker atop the turret of a tank spotted the two officers and waved.

3

Early Thursday Morning
1 May
Salt Lake City, The Mormon Nation

John Lanning was awakened by
the ringing phone at his bedside.

"There's something incredible happening at the Cathedral of the Madeleine," said the voice at the other end. "Some kind of phenomenon. A vision or something. There are almost four hundred people watching it right now."

The voice was Billy Corcoran's. Lanning had been a guest on Corcoran's show several times during the brouhaha over his conversion.

Lanning rushed
to the window overlooking the valley, carrying the phone with him. On top of the cathedral, over a mile away, there appeared what looked like a glowing white bulb-like a Christmas light.

"I see it," Lanning said.

"Tell me, Mr. Lanning, you seem to be Salt Lake City's expert on all things Catholic–" Corcoran began.

"–well I would hardly call myself an expert–" Lanning interrupted.

"–whatever, Mr.
Lanning. In your experience or research, have you ever heard of such a phenomenon?"

"Let me think," Lanning said, buying time. Then he remembered reading about something in a book called The Final Hour by Michael Brown. "If it's not a cruel prank or a hologram or something, what all those people are watching is similar to what happened at Zeitun, Egypt, in 1968, on top of a Coptic church there.
Hundreds of thousands of Muslims, Eastern Orthodox Christians, and Western Christians witnessed the Mother of God almost nightly for a year, and less frequently for several years afterwards. Come to think of it, Mary also appeared over a church in the Philippines, witnessed by hundreds of thousands, in the early nineties. I have a book with documentation," Lanning paused. "I'd be happy to come down
to the station and show it to you..."

Corcoran gladly took the bait. "Sure, John. You're no stranger to the Billy Corcoran Show. Come on down the hill! Time for a commercial folks. We'll be back with John Lanning, controversial ex-Mormon convert to Catholicism, within the hour. Don't touch that dial."

Lanning heard a change in the electronic tone of his line. Billy Corcoran came on the line, off
the air.

"Thanks John. What a wild night! Sandra Brixton, my producer, was the first one to see it. I can't believe it. But I watched it with my own eyes. What's going on?"

"I don't know what's going on. I know Sandra from her days at WXYX–good producer. Knows her stuff. Look, I've got to get dressed. We can talk when I get to the station."

"Fine. How long?"

"Fifteen minutes, Billy. I want to
see this for myself. The similarities to Zeitun are startling. One other thing..."

"What's that, John?"

"Aren't you afraid of the authorities?" Lanning asked. "I hear rumors that they might be cracking down on stations that aren't broadcasting according to the teachings of the LDS. They've already closed down that rock station in Provo–"

"Look John," Corcoran cut him off, "they'll never do that
to a talk format. The Mormon Nation has promised religious freedom and freedom of speech to all citizens. Non-Mormons will go bananas if they start pulling licenses. I'll broadcast whatever I please, whenever I please. It's surprising to hear that kind of thing from you, of all people. You stood up to those stuffed shirts pretty damn well yourself once upon a time–"

"But that was when Utah was
part of the United States, and before the depression," Lanning interjected. "There's really nothing to stop the LDS from doing whatever it wants to those who, ah, disagree with the aims of the Mormon Nation. Things are different now."

"Tell me about it, John. The Mother of God is appearing on the roof of the church across the street! See you in fifteen." He hung up. Billy Corcoran, a transplant
from Sacramento, was neither a Mormon nor a Jack Mormon. He was nothing when it came to religion. But he was always willing to pursue a good story. Lanning admired him, but got the distinct impression that the broadcaster didn't quite understand the Mormon Nation.