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The minister stuck his shovel into the ground and put his hands on top of his head, drawing in deep breaths as he admired his work.

The grave was finished. He’d dug this one a little deeper than Barnes’s grave to make room for Jameson’s larger size.

Despite jogging every day, Jameson had managed to pack on considerable weight since leaving the service.

That was why the minister was so out of breath.

Thank Heaven he’d never stopped weight training.

He looked back at Jameson’s body and smiled softly.

For a man who still exercised regularly to gain weight meant he had horrible eating habits.

Those habits were brought on by depression, and that depression could come from nowhere else but the memory of the helicopter that had crashed and taken twenty-nine of his fellows from him along with four aircrew.

“Rest now,” he said softly. “You have been a good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your Lord.”

He sat next to the shovel, his heart slowing but still beating heavily. He would give himself a few extra minutes before he buried Jameson. He was older now and needed to rest.

That brought the question to his mind of who would replace him when he was too old. Could someone replace him? Could he know who could be trusted with his secret?

He would just have to commit that to God.

It would be a mistake for him to allow his pride to make that decision for him.

He might believe that he had met someone who could understand his secret and take over his ministry, but if he was wrong, then he would be captured by the forces of Satan and persecuted.

He didn’t mind that so much. Nothing any man could do to him would persecute him as much as the memories did ( God, the screams!

) but he would feel absolutely horrible if people like Carl Jameson had to continue suffering because the man assigned by God to give them the deaths they deserved couldn’t complete his task.

He looked out across the battlefield and marveled at how peaceful it was. If anyone needed a sign of how much God cared for his warriors, then one need only look across these battlefields and see the paradise God had created in place of the carnage.

This was his favorite shrine so far. This place was once a site of conflict between the greatest evil of American history and the men who stood bravely to oppose that evil.

The Union forces had risen against the slaveholders and resisted their fight to continue profiting from that evil trade.

This would be a good place to bury a man who had given everything in the fight against the greatest evil to threaten the modern world.

He wondered who he would liberate next. He had liberated only men so far. Perhaps he would seek out Captain Ashley next.

Captain Jenna Ashley was the commander of the 53 rd Medical Squadron for eleven years, including six deployments.

The minister had served with her for five of those six deployments as the chaplain assigned to the unit.

Each time, he had watched her die a little more inside.

Each fighter who died under her care was another gray hair on her head.

Each day that the wounded wept for their fallen comrades caused her to stoop lower.

Finally, it had become too much. The minister had walked in on her weeping in her office, not softly, but huge, wracking sobs that drove her to her knees, crying out in anguish.

The minister had comforted her there, holding her close and trying to tell her that everything was all right.

She was doing all she could for the wounded, and none of the dead were her fault.

He would never forget what she told him then.

“It’s not the dead, Thomas,” she said. “It’s the living.

It’s the ones who survive. They get to go home haunted by the cries of their dead.

The voice of their blood cries to them from the ground.

It cries to me, and I have to lock my service weapon in the armory to make sure I don’t use it on myself every day.

I can’t even imagine how much pain the survivors face having known the dead personally, considered them friends, brothers, sisters. I can’t do it anymore. I’m sorry.”

The minister had no idea what to say in response to that, so he said nothing and just continued holding her until her sobs subsided. She left the next day. The replacement commander was a stern, middle-aged officer who had locked his emotions away for so long that he no longer had access to them.

The minister didn’t remain with the unit long enough to see what happened to him. Perhaps he also succumbed to the weight of the screams over time.

But the minister knew that Captain Ashley suffered.

She hadn't earned a warrior's death, but perhaps she'd earned a compassionate one.

She had tried to aid those suffering from the barbs of the enemy, and she had helped many of them to their own warrior's death.

Surely, God would understand if the minister showed her mercy.

He would leave that up to God too. His judgment was human and therefore flawed. He would look for Ashley, and if Ashley was nearby, he would go to her. If not, he would take it as a sign that God intended her to survive.

In the meantime, there were others. Lieutenant Carter, Corporal Patterson, Chief Petty Officer Shin… so many who continued in a life they weren’t meant to lead and suffered when they were meant to be free.

Perhaps he would release a sermon after this. Not a long one, just a short series of thoughts on equitable death. He would release it anonymously to keep the forces of Satan blind to his activities, but he needed to help others understand the mercy he showed.

That was for later, though. He had work to do tonight, and it was time he finished that work.

He got to his feet and hooked his arms under Jameson's armpits. He took a deep breath and dragged Jameson to the grave. He had cleared the path of rocks and branches earlier, so the way was smooth.

He kept pulling until Jameson’s heels fell into the grave. Then he gently lowered the man’s head to the earth. He straightened and took a deep breath, then positioned the man’s arms and straightened his legs. Finally, he took the coins from his pocket and laid them over Jameson’s eyes.

When he was finished, he stood straight and looked down at the man he had delivered. He looked so peaceful like this. Like he was sleeping.

Well, he was resting but not sleeping. His soul was glorifying God in the presence of all of His angels. This was only his body, only the flesh. The minister buried him as an honor to his memory and as a message to the world, not because it was necessary to minister to Jameson.

The minister’s smile widened. It was such an honor to serve God in this capacity. The screams that plagued the minister—the thorn in his flesh that God had sent to persecute him—were silent now. He was doing the work of his Heavenly Father, and the Holy Spirit was comforting him as a reward.

“And one day, Carl, I will have the same comfort you have. I will join you around the throne of God, and I will worship the Savior with you and the others I’ve delivered into His hands.”

He looked up at the sky and lifted his hands, breathing deeply of the cool, sweet air of the wilderness while he gazed at the stars. The moon was new tonight, and the colors of the cosmos flamed brilliantly: blue, red, yellow, and bright white.

The words of the prophet Daniel came to his mind. And they that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament; and they that turn many to righteousness as the stars forever and ever.

He took another deep breath, then reached for his shovel. He had just scooped the first load of dirt when he heard a noise. He frowned. It sounded like a dog barking.

The pounding of footfalls followed that. The minister looked through the willows and saw a flashlight approaching. A moment later, he heard the dog bark again.

For a brief moment, Satan whispered in his ear. He could take the shovel, wait for the dog and smite it, then flee the officer of the law behind the flashlight.

But the Holy Spirit whispered again, echoing the words told the angel of pestilence when God smote the Israelites for King David’s pride. It is enough. Stay now thine hand.

The minister lowered his shovel and raised his hands. The dog stopped in front of him, snarling and barking. The officer followed, commanding the minister to get on the ground and spread his hands wide.

The minister complied, offering a prayer as he did so. Not my will, but thine be done.