Resurrection

Chapter 40 : Prophets of War

Let the elders hear this, and let it reverberate down for generations to come. This plague that was coming was not in the form of locusts but in religious acolytes who swarmed over every territory, allowing empires to flourish over first nations, first butchering the land and exploiting the people, finally leaving them with a brand of religion to try and clean up in the aftermath of their empirical purge. This was coming to a head in holy lands and beyond. Global terrorism was merely a side effect of global religion and imperialism. Our latest incursion was war of its own merit but on a smaller but not less satisfying scale.

Terrorists had a very sophisticated system of communications, forming a unique part of a clandestine cell formation. I have seen these at play since the Napoleonic era but especially in a post 9/11 world. Frequently terrorists were communicating using the dark web and encrypted conversation. This was tough on law enforcement agencies that heavily relied on communication technology to track their leads. In my case, nothing could escape my specific surveillance tactics: granted you had to be within a reasonable distance but that was the only limitation.

Like my foray into the gang warfare world with the NTs, I quickly stumbled upon a world of muttered conversations and mass localised psychology before I happened to be in the right place at the right time. This was not coincidence. I created coincidence. After some strange conversations across a number of public gatherings, I happened upon an internet café where a group of students were gathering occasionally and casually to text and chat. To everyone else these were clean shaven, decent professional men but to me this was part of a sleeper cell.

And so it came to pass that the Guardians of Christ were dispatched out the front of a terrorist sleeper cell, ready to wreak havoc. Ready to strike their first blow in our fight for religious civil war. Each of the men spilled out the back of the van, a collection of rifles held to their chest and led by the fearless self-loathing Ned, who jogged out in a perfectly crass stumble, brandishing a 12 guage shotgun ready to decimate anything within 30 feet of him. Each of the men were assigned a North and South Formation as per the house design. Ned asked:

"Where will you be, our fearless leader?"

"In the rear with the gear." In my most nauseating Texan twang.

I received a sly grin from our guardian David, a former Vietnam vet who had heard something similar.

Consider all clichés of the calm before the storm as you nervously await a firefight. However in my case, it was the foreplay, the tender touch of the loins before the cosmic fuck. Like my pursuit of Goldie, I was breathless with orgasmic anticipation.

The house was decidedly so mundane and so clear-cut, so goddamn bless America it was the perfect front for a sleeper cell. The perfectly trim lawns and the desperately symmetrical front porch design with all of the appropriate outside decor. I was surprised there was no Uncle Sam flagpole hoisting the stars n stripes up for us all to salute as we ran on in. It favoured the colonial design, with a red brick façade. Luckily for us, the front door was only a lighter wooden frame. I spoke into our comms.

"Front door. Go!" I said.

Ned's partner David kicked the door in, wood splintering at the hinges with a flimsy lock. There was only a security chain still desperately holding it in. David was able to dislodge it. He and another enforcer had weapons drawn, held smoothly against their shoulder and poised for violence. Ned yelled out:

"I should help cover the rear." He said.

"You'd like that wouldn't you Ned?" I firmly replied.

"What?" He asked.

"Nothing. Stay put and enter with the front team."

I could sense one of the cell on the second floor.