Manny’s heart thudded like the tolling of a church bell. For a while he couldn’t hear anything else. He felt himself gripped by a sudden claustrophobic terror. The worst thing wasn’t even the thought of being cut open, torn apart. It was the thought of being trapped inside that little metal box, forced to kill and die in the name of a cause he abhorred. Manny knew he’d started to shake, but there was nothing he could do to quell the terror. I wonder if this is how Oscar felt before the end…

Dr. Arnst put a hand on his shoulder. Manny assumed it was meant to reassure him. It did not have that effect.

“Emmanuel, I know this is quite a lot to take in. But all you really need to know is that you’ve been blessed—truly blessed—with the chance to play a real role in making the Heavenly Kingdom a reality. The Storming Battalion is God’s elite, the holiest of our Martyrs. I’m sure, once the shock wears off, you’ll realize what a privilege this is.”

Manny heard footsteps. He didn’t need to look to know his guards were stepping back up behind him. He felt the noose tighten, and his hope slip ever-farther away. Where the hell is Roland?

“I, um, uh,” he stuttered, “can I have some time to th– to pray on this?”

“Of course, Emmanuel,” Dr. Arnst’s smile never looked false or forced. He put a hand on Manny’s shoulder. “It will be a few minutes before we’re ready to begin the operation. I commend your devotion. This is an ideal time to pray for guidance.”

A few minutes? His heart pounded so hard he thought it might beat its way free from his chest. He was sure Dr. Arnst must have heard it. But if he did, he said nothing about it. Instead, the doctor led Manny over to a small carpeted area that looked to have been set aside as a prayer room for the soon-to-be-martyred members of this “battalion.” It consisted of a half-dozen chairs (at least they’re padded), a three-foot tall, white stone statue of Christ on a cross, and two small end tables, each with a couple of dog-eared Bibles.

Manny sat down. Bereft of any better idea, he grabbed a Bible and flipped it open to a random page.

“King Nebuchadnezzar made an image of gold, sixty cubits high and six cubits wide…”