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The minister walked through the rolling hills of Cecil County, Maryland just south of the Mason-Dixon line and smiled at the fireflies God had sent to light his way. A mist rose from the ground to water the plants, just as it had in the days before the flood.

The minister loved nights like these. The world never felt so pure as it did now. He hoped that the next sheep he ministered to would return from time to time to visit his resting place and enjoy the beauty of the place the minister had chosen for him.

The minister reached his spot and readied himself behind a weeping willow tree that overlooked the banks of a small creek, one of the many thousands of little streams that emptied into Chesapeake Bay a few miles east. The tree was fitting for the minister’s mission.

The sheep he was about to send home would soon have his tears wiped away.

The willow with its drooping branches and hanging leaves could be interpreted as a symbol of his grief, or it could be a sign that his grief was coming to an end.

As soon as he passed this symbol of sorrow, he would be welcomed into a land where no tears were ever shed.

His smile faded a little as he thought of the news report he’d seen earlier that evening. Staff Sergeant Barnes’s death had been reported as a tragedy. The news story had focused on the tears his children shed, the hole he would leave in their lives.

The minister’s heart went out to those children.

He understood their grief, of course. It was natural for those left behind to selfishly desire that their loved ones remain with them here where their eyes could see and their hands could touch.

Faith was never tested more powerfully than when it was tested by death.

If only people would remember the words of the Holy Scripture! Death wasn’t the end. Far from it. Death was the beginning of a new and better life, one filled with joy and peace beyond anything even imagined here on Earth.

I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him.

The minister's mouth moved as he recited the verse, but no sound escaped his lips.

He didn't want to scare his sheep into fleeing.

Maybe it was wrong of him to deliver his mercy so swiftly.

Maybe he should allow his sheep's Faith to be tested that the reward of eternal life would be all the sweeter, but he couldn't bring himself to do that.

This soldier of God had suffered so much already in this life.

The minister wanted him to drift peacefully into the arms of God, not cry out in fear as he crossed the river.

The minister hoped God would forgive him for this.

He turned to happier thoughts. This would be the third sheep he had liberated, the third one he had sent home to the rest he had earned.

The guilt this man carried would fall from his shoulders.

The grief he felt would be banished. He would no longer be a man out of place.

Satan’s efforts to chain him to a world he should have fled long ago would be defeated.

Finally, he would receive the death he had earned as a good soldier of God.

He would be allowed to rejoin his brothers and sisters in arms and lift not weapons but hands in praise to the Most High.

His face spread into a grin. Someone would understand soon enough. Someone would recognize what the minister was doing and explain to the world that the minister was helping to free these sheep. He wasn’t a murderer; he was a shepherd.

As he waited, his mind drifted back to his encounters with all three of the men he was rescuing.

The first man, Paul Martinez, had been so angry when the minister met with him.

He had railed against God for saving him alive when his comrades had died.

He had cursed the name of the Most High.

The minister had tried to comfort him, but even then, he wondered why a merciful God would allow a great leader to carry a guilt he hadn’t earned.

At the time, he had considered it a test of Paul's Faith.

He had told him so, exhorting him to trust in the omniscience of God that there was a reason for all things that occurred.

Now, he realized that it wasn't God who had saved Paul but Satan.

As he had with Job, the Accuser persecuted Paul for no other reason than his cruel spite and vindictiveness to the servants of God.

Kevin Barnes hadn't shown anger but a deep abiding grief.

He had spoken at length about the people killed in the explosion.

He knew all of them well. He knew their families.

He knew the pain that so many would experience at their loss, and he regretted that he couldn't save them.

It was a pointless regret. Of course, he couldn't be expected to save them.

Their fates were in God's hands, not his own, and it wasn't his negligence that led to their deaths, but the actions of Satan working through the disciples of Hell.

But there was no consoling Kevin. Not then. Now, of course, he was comforted by the loving hands of Jesus Christ.

This third would soon receive succor. Gunnery Sergeant Carl Jameson would no longer have to take medicine to sleep through the nightmares of his helicopter crashing. He would no longer be plagued by the screams of his dying comrades. He would laugh and sing with them in front of the throne of God.

The minister couldn’t wait to free him. He couldn’t wait to give him relief from his pain.

He couldn’t wait for the inevitable moment when he would be discovered at rest, and those others suffering as these three did would know that there was a minister looking out for them, someone who would bring them rest. Someone who would end this fucking nightmare and silence the voices of the goddamned incessant, soulless dead.

The minister flinched as that last thought crossed his mind.

He had been so focused on the glory of the task he was about to complete that he hadn’t guarded his heart.

Satan had found a way in and was trying to lead him astray.

He was trying to distract the Minister with the memories of the dead, taking his focus away from the living.

He closed his eyes and clasped his hands together. Once more, his lips moved soundlessly.

God, please forgive me. Please forgive me for straying from your perfect path. Please help me return to my ministry of love. Please just keep them quiet until I’ve finished delivering this soul into your hands.

Images flashed across the minister’s mind. Men with limbs torn off. Women mangled beyond recognition. The sightless, empty eyes of the dead.

And the screams. The screams, the screams, the screams, the screams, the screams !

“God, please,” he whispered, aloud this time. “Please help me.”

A branch snapped to his right. He froze, and his eyes snapped open. He sat stock still, listening intently.

He was coming! His sheep was coming! The minister could hear his footsteps crunching along the dirt path that followed this creek.

The minister forgot about the screams and the faces of the dead. Tonight was about eternal life, eternal freedom from death. Tonight, he would minister to another sufferer. His own suffering could wait. God would call him home when it was his time.

He drew his knife and waited until Jameson passed him, jogging steadily down the path, his breath escaping in even puffs through his mouth.

Once Jameson was past, the minister moved.

He had been spared combat even if he hadn’t been spared its horrors, but he had trained well and kept up with that training after his departure from the service.

Jameson never saw him coming. There was no fear, no pain, no grief. One moment, Jameson was tethered to this world, and the next, his soul was free.