The White man has been both the provider and master of all he surveys. Throughout the history of the world, White men have helped establish great cultures and economies that none before or after them has ever matched.
–Christian Soldiers
Pastor Dalton opened the meeting the first meeting of The Christian Soldiers with a short prayer.
“Father in heaven, forgive us for our many sins and indiscretions. We are your humble servants with a crusade in your name. We will lead the children of Jerusalem back into the holy land as we seek your vengeance against the people of Babylon. Control our hands to strike, our eyes to shoot, and our hearts to share your victory with the world. Amen.”
The men sat and looked to Pastor Dalton for further guidance.
“Let’s pay tribute to Brother Blair for his deed at the devil’s sanctuary. His courage was unquestionable. His discipline was unrelenting. Perhaps he can speak to the failure to strike the mocha child. It was unfortunate, but he claimed one soul in the battle.” Dalton locked eyes with his congregants as he stood above a relief map of the central coast of California.
“My scope malfunctioned,” Blair said calmly. “I’m responsible for the result. Three shots fired and one in the skull of the nigger carrying the child. The minister and the half-breed child escaped. After leaving the manifesto, I exited the warehouse by the back parking lot and escaped in traffic.” He held his arms tightly folded across his chest in shame.
“What can we learn from this?” the pastor asked as the Prather brothers stared at the map, actually seeming interested in learning more about their plans. This was the first time Dalton had laid eyes on them.
“I have recalibrated the scope and acquired six semiautomatic rifles and the same in handguns, with an ample supply of rounds,” Blair reported. “We have a secluded shooting range in Montebello to practice for the next assignment.”
“Amen, brother,” Carl and Mike replied in unison.
“This will be our major victory,” Dalton intoned. “Jimmy, please take us through the fundamentals of our plan.” He leaned over the map and picked up a red grease pencil to point with.
“Over here,” he said, jabbing the tip at a spot on the map “is where we are now, the Cramer Springs Resort. Our transport garage is here. Our ammunitions armory is just down this road.”
The Christian Soldiers huddled over the map, their noses brushing the edge of the antique parlor table in the basement meeting room in the shuttered resort. Dalton marked a new spot on the map with a scuff of red lead.
“Brothers, here’s our next assignment,” he said. “The birthing centers of Kublai Khan.”
