Omega Days (Volume 1) - By John L. Campbell Page 0,77
Xavier needed to box for the Marine Corps, both within his branch and in intra-service competition. He was good, and they made him better, teaching him control. There was talk about Olympic competition, perhaps even getting him ranked. Marines, however, regardless of their assignment, were riflemen first, and went where they were told. In 1992, PFC Church found himself in Mogadishu, Somalia, where everyone, regardless of age or gender, was a potential threat. It was where he learned the workings of the AK-47, the preferred weapon of the opposition.
Out on patrol with his Marine squad one morning, he heard a sudden rustle of sandals on gravel to the right. Church turned, saw two people with AK’s pointed at him, and opened fire. Both went down before they could get off a shot, and while his buddies back-slapped him, he walked up to see what he had done. They were boys, no more than nine-years-old.
Despite the manly bravado and discipline of the Corps, and justified or not, Xavier Church just couldn’t accept that he had killed children. The Marines quickly realized he could no longer hack it, and quietly transitioned him out of the service. After a string of meaningless jobs, he found himself as a custodian in a Catholic high school, where a priest named Daniels took interest in him. A dialogue opened, and without realizing it Xavier opened his heart as well, expressing his guilt, his feelings of worthlessness and emptiness. He needed something to fill the void. Under the priest’s sponsorship he was sent to the seminary, subsequently took his vows and was assigned to Saint Joseph’s, where he could help those lost young souls on the street. There he helped create both the youth center and boxing club.
And, he thought, looking at the faces staring back at him, where you pretended to be a man of God for years and murdered yet another pair of boys. Where you broke your faith and let your entire community fall into hell on earth while you ran to save your own life.
No, there were parts of his life he simply didn’t need to share.
Then why mention it, he asked himself?
Tricia crawled up to her knees and clasped her hands in front of her. “Is this it, Father? Is this Armageddon? Are we all in hell now?”
Xavier looked down and shook his head. “I don’t have the answers you’re looking for, Tricia.”
She continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “Has God turned his back on us? Can we still get into heaven?”
The priest looked at her. “I’m sorry.”
Her face twisted, got ugly, and she pointed a finger. “You’re a priest! You have to know! You can’t say you don’t know!” Then she started to cry and fled into the darkened office, her sobs muffled among the empty cubicles.
Over by the wall, Pulaski sat back and looked at the ceiling. “A priest.” He laughed softly, and for a long time.
TWENTY-ONE
Oakland International Airport
The Air Force wanted to call it an ‘Administrative Separation.’ That was their terminology, a less-than-honorable umbrella for an assortment of discharges from service, which included psychological instability. Due to the highly classified nature of his work, however, the higher-ups converted it to an Honorable Discharge. They clearly didn’t want someone who knew the things he knew leaving disgruntled.
He was disgruntled, of course. The unfairness of it all chewed on him for years.
“I’m sure you can understand why people are concerned, can’t you, Airman?”
“No, not really.”
“You don’t see how your behavior, especially considering your responsibilities, might cause others to be uncomfortable? Perhaps question your fitness for duty?”
“No. I’m good at my job.”
The shrink tapped a pen against his knee. “No one doubts that. But your C.O. is worried you could compromise the mission.”
“He’s a Godless philistine. He doesn’t understand our true purpose.”
“And what is that, exactly?”
“Colonel Chandler says we serve our country by keeping America safe. He says it all the time. He refuses to accept that we’re merely instruments of God, waiting for the day when He commands us to scourge the sinners of the world by fire.”
“I see.” Tap, tap went the pen. “You’ve been quite vocal with this opinion.”
A smile. “It’s the responsibility of the faithful to spread the word. No one listens, though, and they’ll all burn for their lack of faith.”
“But not you?”
“I’ll burn too, of course. But I will be raised up.”
The shrink flipped a page on the clipboard. “Have you always expressed these strong religious beliefs?” He already knew the answer. If the young