Automatic weapons' fire pinged off the hull of the tank as David pushed its heavy engines toward the breaking point. The large metal monster roared across the open field closing in on the enemy bunker in a race against the unknown. If the troops inside had anti-tank rockets, they were fucked. Had the tank's main gun been functional, the bunker would have posed no threat, they could have just sat back from a safe distance and picked it off. But the main gun had been damaged in an engagement the day before, too badly for any field repair to fix.

Marcus, the gunner, sat behind David, blind to the chaos outside and without time to bring the sensors of his station online. Commander Barnes stood in the open turret above, howling, with his thumbs held down on the trigger of the anti-personnel machine gun spitting an unending stream of death into the enemy infantry clustered outside the bunker's walls.

David swung the tank hard to the right as a blur of fire and metal streaked by. A rocket impacted only a few feet behind the tank and the vehicle shook from the explosion as Barnes flopped down inside. Two-thirds of the commander's head was gone, torn away by random shrapnel, and blood was splattered everywhere as Marcus leapt to move Barnes aside and climb into the turret.

Outside, the enemy infantry line had broken. The ground was littered with bodies, some still twitching, wrapped in blood-stained gray uniforms. The few survivors ran away from the field, but where were they going? One direction led to a mine field, the other to the river. The crew inside the bunker was surely re-loading and David knew he wasn't lucky enough to face a second missile. He pushed the tank to the limit again in a dead-on charge. Its main gun struck the concrete walls with the sound of grinding metal and breaking stone before the tank itself plowed its way inside. Marcus screamed, echoed by the enemy screaming too as the tank's massive treads ground them underneath it. As the tank thudded into the bunker's rear wall, David's world went black.

He awoke later. The world was now dark around him. Only the dim glow of warning lights on the control panel kept him from wondering if he was dead. The smells of smoke and death lingered inside the tank's crew compartment. Barnes's crumpled form still lay behind him, and Marcus's legs dangled from the open turret. The sky was dusk and silent, which told David the enemy troops were either dead or gone. He took a look at the controls more closely and realized the tank was shot to hell. There was no hope of moving the vehicle free of the wreckage, even if he could bring himself to drag Marcus's body down so he could try.

He unsnapped the safety belts which held him in place and crawled over Barnes's body toward the gunnery station. Their sensors were his only hope of seeing the outside world and really knowing what kind of mess he was in. He cursed as one of his hands slipped in a pool of something slick and cold, sending him falling on top of Barnes. Shuddering, he pushed himself and hurried even faster to the station. He gave the sensors a hard boot and brought them to life. Four tiny screens lit up and he blinked as his eyes adjusted to their dim light. Two of the sensor screens showed nothing more than the debris covering the front end of the tank, the others showed the bodies of the enemy scattered along the path they had plowed from the distant tree line. Nothing moved in the night.

David let out a sigh of relief and slumped back into the gunner's seat. His hand fumbled inside his shirt pocket and produced a pack of crumpled cigarettes. He pulled one out and instantly threw it aside. The tobacco was wet and sticky with blood. He felt himself in the darkness to reassure himself it was not his own. A movement out of the corner of his eye jerked his head back around to the sensor screens. Someone had come out of the trees. David felt his breath catch in his throat as he stared, then he relaxed. He could tell even through the sensors' distorted colorations that the man wore a NATO uniform. David's hopes soared and he leaned forward to touch the tank's hull, but before he could begin banging on it in hopes of getting the man's attention, the sound of chattering AK-47s ripped through the stillness. The man's form danced as the bullets sent him sprawling. David held his breath and didn't move as two figures wearing the enemy gray came into view.

They approached the downed man cautiously. David imagined he would have done the same, a battlefield was no place to take any kind of chance except a desperate one. Fortunately, the pair paid the remains of the bunker and the disabled tank no heed, their focus on the NATO trooper.

David's mouth dropped open as the trooper leapt to his feet and, pulled his machete from his belt, and sliced through the enemy troops before either could react, all the while screaming in a language David had never heard before, yet had a strange feeling he recognized. One of the other soldiers managed to bring his weapon up and unleashed a point blank burst straight into the NATO trooper's face. The trooper was knocked backward and collapsed to the ground once more. It was only then that David noticed the enemy's eyes. They glowed a sickly yellow in the night. The thing in the gray uniform was not human. Its face was like something out of a nightmare, leathery and coated in scales. It darted to the fallen NATO trooper, yanked a jagged dagger from its belt, and sawed off the man's head. The head came free with a crunch and the snapping of bones. David cringed as the act was accompanied by a piercing shriek and bright lights spilling from the fallen NATO trooper, yellow and glowing like the sun, spilling from the headless neck like honey, pooling beneath the body . . . and then gathering like solid light and vanishing into the air above. David felt his world swirling around him as the blackness overtook him again.

"I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit He prunes so that it will be even more fruitful."

David heard this through smoke and haze, through a thick layer or unreality as his mind swirled with darkness. He didn't know where it came from, but he recognized it. Someone was quoting *John*.

"Will you bear fruit, David?"

He came awake then.

While he was out, the world had died. The air was still, thick with anticipation of something big. Even the crickets were quiet.

David sat up, rubbed his head, and flinched when his fingers grazed over the bump.

"Shit," he breathed through clenched teeth.

He took a deep breath, worked his weak legs under his body, and pulled himself up. He was still hunched inside the tank, and his legs warned him to grab something before they gave out. He stood still, breathing deep, until he convinced them to hold out a little longer.

The heat inside the tank worked with nature to give the bodies around him a ripe odor and now that he had his legs under control David's stomach began to revolt.

"No," he told himself. "Not yet. Get outside first."

At the thought of outside, he went to the sensors again and looked, remembering the sight that had sent him into that black void in the first place. His mind told him the sensors would show the grinning faces of gray-uniformed soldiers, just waiting for him to wake up so they could hear him scream as they sent him the way of Barnes and Marcus.

The screens were blank. Sometime between then and now, they must have gone offline for good.

He picked up his headset and tried to radio back to base, but it seemed the tank was out of commission all around, good for nothing more now than . . . storing dead meat, he thought.

He wanted to laugh, but there was no part of him that saw the humor.

*Well I can't stay in here,* he thought.

The smell and the heat were just too much. The combination made his head swim. He made sure he had his weapon and extra ammo, then grabbed Barnes and Marcus's weapons too.

The turret was still open, offering some small amount of fresh air, and the promise of escape. David drew his weapon and raised himself slowly. He peered over the edge of the metal and saw nothing, but that didn't mean anything.

He reached down to brace himself and get some leverage and when he did his eyes fell on Barnes's head. Well, where his head had been. He saw the mess and knew it was no longer a question. He vomited all over the Commander's remains.

Bent over and retching, his stomach seizing and releasing, David closed his eyes, hoping he would stop vomiting if he just didn't see the bodies.

Finally his stomach settled and he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, took another breath, and scurried out through the top of the turret.

His gun was ready, the safety off, and his eyes were alert.

He climbed onto the top of the tank, stayed low and leapt to the ground, keeping his head down.
Mosquitoes buzzed and flew in front of his face. Sweat ran down his temple, tickling him. His breathing came very loud in his ears.

The sounds from inside the ruined bunker were minimal, nothing that indicated another living person. Outside, the field surrounding them was also bare. Wind blew through the tall grass, but the wind and mosquitoes aside, David had the sense that he was truly and undeniably alone.

The thought didn't make him feel any safer.

Not after what he'd seen.

With that in mind, he picked his way through the rubble and climbed outside, going for the headless corpse that lay just yards away in the grass.

The ground underneath was soft, the grass swished as he waded through it. When he reached the body, what he noticed right off was the blood. What he noticed was that there wasn't any. What he also noticed was that this wasn't even a standard issue uniform. It *looked* like one, but the insignia were wrong. Close, but no cigar, wasn't that old saying?

It was if someone had known what the uniform should look like, but didn't understand what it meant, and had thrown it together overnight.

He knelt beside the corpse. Something yellow had come out of the neck, he remembered that, even if he couldn't believe it. He tilted his head, leaned forward, and peered into the top of the body.
It wasn't the ragged-meat and bone he'd expected, but what looked like a solid hunk of clay carved into the form of a man. Beneath the body was no better.

Poking up in white tufts, from inside the faux-uniform tunic, was what looked like giant wings.
David reached out to touch it, to pull the fabric aside and get a better look, but as his fingers touched the thing, a shock flashed up his arm. He snatched his hand away, and the body vanished into smoke and ash.

He sat there for a long moment, staring at the pile of dust beside him.

In the distance, the world had gone black. The wind whistled and the crickets chirped once more. David had dropped his weapon sometime and now saw it lying at his knees. He picked it up, then got off the ground, and turned back to the tank and the damaged bunker. He turned, and looked into the face of Marcus, standing only a few yards away.

David's jaw hung open and his gun fell again from his limp fingers.

"I kinda thought you'd react like that," Marcus said.

David closed his mouth and tried to swallow, but his throat was constricted with a scream that wanted to come out.

"Don't scream," Marcus said. "It's a natural reaction, but I have to ask you not to do that."

David blinked, got his throat working, and asked, "What?"

"Long story," Marcus answered. "I couldn't tell you anyway. I'll just say that what you saw over there isn't all that uncommon, not during wartime."

"Not uncommon? Bodies vanish into thin air all the time?"

"Well, he didn't exactly vanish into thin air. There was some smoke. And the ash."

David walked past Marcus, into the tank, and came out a second later with a gray and black box. Without a word, he passed Marcus again and headed toward the tree line. He had no idea where he was going, what he was doing, or what was next, but he did know that if this was the world now, he wanted no part of it. Soldiers that come back to life, corpses with wings that explode when you touch them, and *whatever* it had been with the black scales that had killed that man in the first place. No thanks.

"Um, what do you have there?" Marcus asked.

David ignored him and when Marcus asked again, David stopped, whirled, and said, "The log for the gunnery sensor controls."

"Why?" Marcus's voice had a hitch in it, like he wasn't too confident David understood what he was doing.

"I know what I saw," David said. "If the sensors saw it too, I'll leave it up to someone in charge to figure it out, but I'm going home, and I don't mean back to base, I'm going *home*, and I'm never going to think about this again."

Marcus took a few steps toward David, high-stepping over the knee-deep grass, but David had already turned and was further ahead now.

"You don't want to do that, Dave," Marcus called, still trying to catch up.

David vanished into the trees.

Marcus ran now, plowing through the grass. "You'll never make it back anyway, you know," he called after David. "It's too far and you don't know if there's hostiles out there or what."

No response from David. For all he knew, the man was already out of range.

I could head him off, Marcus thought.

*And how would you do that?* a voice asked in his head.

His initial response was *How do you think?*, but he cut that off before it formed; too long among the people and he was starting to react like one of them.

By Your Grace, he thought.

*No,* came the reply. *You must stop him, but don't give him more than he's already seen.*

Marcus sighed. "Okay."

He picked up the pace and was soon tearing through the trees, ducking, bobbing, and leaping, racing to catch David.

David meanwhile strode through along, single-minded and determined.

The log was clutched to his chest as it contained the secret of life. And when he thought about it, since he wasn't sure *what* the hell it contained, it might be that very thing.

The rubble of the bunker behind him, the ruin of the tank, the bodies of those caught in a war that might not even be their own--after all, what were the things he'd seen doing in the middle of this? When he thought about it, he had to ask himself what the war was even about. Did the ones in charge even know? If what he saw was real . . . when he thought about, he realized he was thinking too much.

The heat was horrendous, pressing in and making his steps more sluggish, like trekking through wet cement. The mosquitoes landed, filled themselves on his fluids, and retreated again, satisfied and fat. David's pack bounced against his body, heavy with equipment that jingled like keys in a dozen pockets.

Behind him, faint, but growing louder, was Marcus's calling voice.

There was a crash, a yell, and more calling.

"David," Marcus yelled. "Wait up, you can't do this. You have to hear me out. I can explain."

At that, David considered stopping, but his body was on automatic and it took a conscious effort to stand still.

Marcus caught up, and David immediately wanted to start moving again. Marcus's shirt was torn across the shoulder. Tufts of white poked up through the fabric.

"Please," Marcus said. "Please, just wait and let me explain."

"Ten minutes ago you said you couldn't tell me. Which is it?"

That got silence from Marcus. David had a point. So what was he going to say anyway?

"Well," he started, "I can't exactly tell you. Not everything, not the fine details. But . . . I can explain . . . about what happened back there."

David let out his breath, cleared his throat, and swatted at a mosquito drinking from his arm. "Okay then. What was that?"

Marcus held out his hand.

"Just give me the log first."

"Are you crazy?"

"Guess not, then. Okay." Marcus stood back, kept his distance from David, but his eyes glued to the metal box.

"You tell me," David said, "why I can't take this back."

"What would they say?" Marcus asked.

"What would who say? I don't even know what to say. Tell me, Marcus."

"Imagine it then for a second. Imagine how people would react to know what's in that log. They'd ask questions, they'd investigate, they might even find answers."

"So?"

"So they can't," he said. "They can't look any further into what's on there than you have."

David watched him. Fifteen minutes ago, this man had been dead. Now here he was, trying to dissuade David from understanding something that was probably beyond comprehension anyway, with feathers sticking out of the rips in his shirt. The feathers shifted in the hot wind.

"You mean what would happen if they saw an angel beheaded?"

"Something like that."

"That's not on here. All I saw from the tank was the other thing. What was that? A demon?"
Marcus shrugged.

"In about as literal a sense as you can guess."

"Now tell me why I can't take this back."

Marcus scratched his head.

"What kind of reaction would you expect," he asked, "from a world full of people who discover every war they've ever fought, every battle they've waged, and every man who's ever died in the service of one country or another, has only done so because *our* war has, from time to time, spilled over?"

Marcus was right. He couldn't imagine a very warm response to that information. He had an uncle who'd died in one of those wars, and his family had never recovered from the loss. When his mother found out David was also going over to fight the bad guys, you'd have thought he told her he was headed off to . . . well, she wasn't very happy. God knew what she would do if she found out her brother had died needlessly.

"Well, at least we're on the side of the angels, right?"

Marcus shook his head.

"Not that easy. Some of us over here, some over there. Same with the other side. It's a mix. The point is to destroy them before they destroy us, regardless of what earthly 'side' we find ourselves on."

"Just doesn't get easy, does it?"

"'fraid not."

David shook his head, turned around, and headed off again. When Marcus didn't call after him, he stopped. A soft CLICK came from under his foot. He swallowed hard. He knew what the noise was. He froze as Marcus walked into view. The angel's face was full of sadness, yet he seemed almost relieved in a way too.

"Marcus," David whispered, "Help me."

"I can't. It's not allowed. I'm not that kind of angel."
David found the courage to look down at the mine. "You can't just leave me here," he pleaded.

"I have no choice. The Creator works in ways even I and my kind don't always understand. I'm sorry." And with that, Marcus was gone, fading away to nothing before David's eyes. Only his voice lingered. "Goodbye, David. Bear fruit for the Father and He'll watch over you ."

Alone, the field seemed huge and barren, nothing in view for miles, except grass. Even the breeze had abandoned him.

David flung the sensor log into the brush with disgust. He hoped it would survive the blast, prayed it would. Perhaps someone else would come along and get it into the proper hands. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped off the mine. The forest shook with the thunder of the explosion.

Soon the area was crawling with black-scaled things. There was no attempt to hide by wearing the uniforms of the enemy. More than a few of them sat on their haunches, passing around bits of David's charred flesh which they gnawed on hungrily. The general looked down at the still-intact sensor log. In his clawed hand he clutched a standard-issue sidearm used by the NATO forces that he had taken off Barnes's body back at the tank as his squad tracked David and Marcus through the woods. He emptied his clip into the log and then sneered, showing blood-stained yellow teeth to the sun above.