(Text-only transcript of historical tacsim #616-02, available in full at...)

Around the Legion, infantry, even HMMV and tank drivers, are eviscerated by the "Sword of His Mouth" as Jesus proclaims His majesty. But not the tankettes, not the attack quadcopters, shielded by innocent blood and driven by innocent minds. That was the play. That was the countermeasure. The secondary heart system was more than a life support device, it was a way to turn Scripture against itself. For every miracle, there had to be a contingency...

Dink, who due to his status as an amputee had embraced the "cyborg" aesthetic more than anyone, even to the point that he'd sleep in his copter's cockpit whenever he could talk a L into allowing it, gets the first mission kill. Angels who had been ethereal, simply transparent to bullets and missiles until then, are suddenly shown to be vulnerable.

Andy makes a command call. Angels are known to have perfect eyesight and hearing, far better than humans and even most field instruments. "Flashbangs out, one point five seconds! Shut down cameras, two seconds! The terrain is clear, blind forward by echelons, 50kph!"

The Legion responded in an instant. Flashbangs, designed to disorient and blind with an intensely bright light and deafening sound, went off around the angels. These devices were primarily used against human targets, but in the logic of war, it was worth a shot against the divine entities.

As the blinding light went off, the tankettes and copters momentarily powered down their cameras and optics, shielding them from the potential blinding effects of their own weapons. The field was darkened, and for a brief moment, the world was drowned in an eerie silence, filled only with the ringing aftermath of the flashbangs.

It was an audacious move, but it worked. Several of the angels, even with their divine senses, appeared disoriented. Their radiant glow dimmed momentarily, and they lost their bearing in the air. It was a small window of opportunity, but it was all the Legion needed.

"Engage! Engage!" Andy's voice boomed over the radios. The tankettes, armed with their high-velocity rounds, opened fire, targeting the momentarily stunned angels. Quadcopters dove from above, missiles locked onto the ethereal beings.

It was a chaotic dance of steel and divinity. Angelic blades clashed with armored plating, divine light met with explosive rounds. The angels, despite their surprise, were no easy targets. They regrouped quickly, and the skies were filled with dazzling displays of aerial combat as they engaged the quadcopters.

Dink's initial success had turned the tide. The Legion was on the offensive, pushing the angels back. The sheer audacity of the human children, their unexpected tactics, had taken the heavenly host by surprise.

But Jesus, untouched, continued His advance, His voice echoing across the battlefield, proclaiming verses, causing devastation with each word. The Legion knew they couldn't hold Him off forever.

But for every tankette destroyed, for every copter brought down, two more stepped up. The bond formed during the training, the unity of purpose, drove them forward. Their innocence, combined with their tactical training, made them formidable opponents.

Andy's tankette moved with precision, coordinating strikes, providing cover fire. They had trained for this, simulated it countless times. It was no longer a matter of faith or belief; it was about survival, strategy, and the bond formed among the Legion.

Hours felt like minutes. The battlefield was a blur of fire, light, and motion. But amid the chaos, one thing was clear: the Legion was giving it their all, not backing down, even against insurmountable odds. Carpatescu was nothing if not media-savvy, and remote cameras made sure that the world watched. In that moment, these kids became symbols of resistance, of the indomitable human spirit.

And while the legion of innocents engaged the heavenly host, one man on an old fashioned jeep drove towards Jesus; when the motor sputtered and died, be it from EM noise or supernatural influence, he climbed out and walked on, with a slight limp. It was Carpatescu. It took an eternity for Nicolae to reach Jesus.

Around Andy, the battle got quieter, more sporadic, as the two unconventional armies clashed into each other over and over, each time losing someone, forever. Andy was the only centurion remaining; most of the unmanned drones had been sacrificed to buy a second or two of time for a legionary to dodge an angelic blow, and even most of Andy's friends were either gone, or their vehicle was sufficiently damaged that it had gone into life-support mode, a mission kill either way.

Andy saw Dink crash his copter into the mighty form of the Archangel Michael; the two hit the ground together, leaving a crater. Michael raised his sword arm, and a broken wing. Dink's copter did not respond to a network ping - there was a tiny chance that Andy's friend could be still alive, but no more than that. If Andy were to take the shot, that tiny chance would be gone, but so would be Michael, the general of the host of Heaven. A split-second decision.

Andy's fingers twitched over the controls, every instinct honed by training and the heat of battle screaming to take the shot. The screen before them displayed the trajectory, the risk assessment, the potential outcomes. But beyond that, there was something else. An intangible weight of responsibility and choice.

Images flashed in Andy's mind: Dink joking around during training, the laughs they shared, the hard moments they pushed through together, the time when Dink comforted Andy after a particularly rough simulation. They were more than just soldiers side-by-side; they were brothers-in-arms.

But here was Michael, the Prince of the Heavenly Host, vulnerable and in range. Taking him out would significantly disrupt the angels' coordination, potentially saving more of the Legion and turning the tide of the battle.

Andy took a deep breath, feeling the weight of command heavy on their young shoulders. A heartbeat. Another. A decision made.

The tankette's weapons aligned, and an anti-angel HESH shell flew towards Michael, even as the world seemed to move in slow motion. The explosion engulfed both the Archangel and the wreckage of Dink's copter.

A feeling of emptiness and resolve filled Andy, as they turned their attention back to the unfolding scene between Carpatescu and Jesus, knowing the ramifications of their choice would forever be imprinted on their soul.

( This note was added to the entry by the author several decades later )

Dink would've told me to take the shot, if he was even still alive. I'm sure of it. I tell myself every other day that I'm sure of it. Heh. Dink and Andy, Archangel-slayers...


The fight does not last long after that. It's quiet. Just like in La Mort d'Arthur, Andy realizes that he can hear crows come down onto the battlefield to eat, a far cry from the cacophony of fire that the battle started as. A few legionaries are alive, most with disabled vehicles. The last white rider is cut down by an autocannon burst.

Andy calls up the few legionaries who can still pilot, and drives the tankette towards Jesus, until the vehicle powers off; batteries spent, or supernatural intervention, no way to know. The two remaining attack copters gently fall from the sky; one manages to activate its ballistic parachute, the other does not. Andy gets out of the tankette, suddenly feeling exhausted when the secondary heart is disconnected, but finds it in themself to keep walking towards the God and the Man.

The battlefield, once alight with energy and chaos, now lay in a still and somber silence. The remnants of a war most fierce painted a grim tableau. The sun seemed to hide behind a haze, its rays cutting through weakly, as if even it didn't want to witness the aftermath. Andy's steps were heavy, the weight of the day pressing on every movement. The uniform that was once pristine was now covered in dust, streaks of dirt, and spots of something Andy didn't want to think about. Their eyes, however, remained resolute. Ahead, Carpatescu stood facing Jesus.

From this distance, Andy could not discern their words, but the two seemed locked in an intense dialogue. Whatever was being said between them, it was clear that it held the essence of the entire confrontation. Approaching closer, Andy could hear snatches of their conversation.

Jesus' voice, though firm, held a hint of sorrow, while Carpatescu's was tinged with defiance, anguish, and something that could be perceived as regret.

"...freewill is the gift I have given to all. You had a choice, Nicolae."

"And I made it," Carpatescu retorted, looking at the children who fought on his side, his gaze resting on Andy momentarily. "And so did they. We all fought for each other, for humanity. You can only fight for Your glory, for Yourself."

"It doesn't matter. Humanity's deeds are as filthy rags to Me. It was written, and it is done."

"But it didn't go as written, did it? What are You going to do, create a new Archangel Michael tomorrow to chain me and throw me into Hell? Rewrite everyone's memory so that things went as planned?"

"It is within My power."

"But it is not within Your right! If you do it, then You'll spend eternity knowing that Your plan wasn't perfect. And if you make Yourself forget, there goes your omniscience - in fact - how do You know You haven't retconned things before?"

Andy understood the paradox, and stared on.

Jesus wept.

Carpatescu's face broke into a mad, desperate grin. "You're trapped by the prophecy too, aren't You. It doesn't matter what I do or what You do. We have a part to play tomorrow and neither of us has any choice."

Jesus nodded gravely. "It is written than the Antichrist and the False Prophet shall have their part in the Lake of Fire."

Carpatescu sighs. "Very well. I accept my fate. I was doomed from the beginning. But. The kids go free. Now. No retcons, no brainwashing. What I did to them was unforgivable. What You would do to them, infinitely more so."

"My will be done."

Carpatescu offered a hand to shake; Jesus did not take it.

Andy and the surviving legionaries just walked away to safety after that; Andy considered making a small deviation to take one of Michael's feathers, but felt that there would be no point.

That evening, the Sheep and Goats Judgment went off without a hitch, if such can be said of a massacre greater than all of history's wars combined. All non-Christians were consigned to hell, a fissure in the earth eating them up.

All, that is, but the children of the Tribulation. Most were too young to understand what had just happened to their parents and caregivers. Some understood. A select few understood all too well.

( A full multimedia record of the Sheep and Goats judgment is available at... )

Amidst the smoke and the screams, a paradoxical serenity enveloped the vast expanse. Those who remained were either too young to comprehend the gravity of the events or, like Andy and the few remaining Legionaries, were in a state of stunned, detached silence.

The judgment unfolded with surreal and terrifying grandeur. The skies, bathed in a golden radiance, bore witness to the descent of Christ, His voice a deep resonance that echoed the very heartbeat of the universe. He sat upon a grand throne, with multitudes of believers surrounding Him. They were like a sea of glowing beings, rejoicing in their salvation while lamenting the judgment befalling the rest.

The division was stark and immediate. Those who had accepted Christ were cloaked in a divine luminescence, while the rest - non-believers, sinners, and rebels - were marked with a palpable darkness. Their judgment was swift. They were cast away from the Holy presence, a terrifying chasm in the earth swallowing them whole. Their wails of terror and regret were heart-wrenching.

Amidst the chaos, the children of the Tribulation stood apart. They were untouched, unsullied, their innocence shielding them from the fury of the divine. Many were crying, lost and abandoned, clutching onto any remnant of familiarity they could find. Those who understood the gravity of what had just transpired wore expressions of shock, horror, and profound sadness. The Legion, though hardened by war and combat, were not immune to the profound pain of the scene before them.

Andy, trying to be strong for his fellow kids, his fellow legionaries, felt a weight in their chest. The battle was over, but the war within their soul had just begun. They looked around at the remnants of the Legion, at the lost children wandering the landscape, and felt the enormity of the task that lay ahead. Had they been spared by a last-minute pact? Were they prophesied to survive all along regardless? What did this temporary salvation mean in a world forever changed?