We Strike at Dawn

     

The snorting of horses punctuating the pre-dawn hour.

     The restless shuffling of armored men, that clinking of metal on metal.

     The still, wet air that fills the lungs with anticipation.

     All this fell under the cool observation of Marcus, commander of the 305th, as he sat mounted on his white charger. From this far away, the city below looked asleep. His men surrounded him like a sparkling lake, latent moonlight reflecting off weapons and armor. No one spoke a word. The order had come down from General Dorian to assemble before dawn as silently as possible, surprise was of the utmost importance.

     Not that they had anything to fear, mind you, the Commander himself was riding with them. No, He wanted to catch the enemy that occupied his beloved city unaware, to rescue as many innocents as possible. Swift and decisive, that's how it would be done.
  
     Marcus hadn't been there when the Commander had arrived, but he had heard the fanfare, felt the ground shake. The troops were saying that Mount Olivet had split in two. Whatever the case, Marcus was finally seeing his work pay off. For years he had fought to ready the Commander's forces, alerting them to the coming war and uniting them from the four corners. They day was fast approaching, he had said, and people had listened. They had begun sharpening their swords, polishing their armor, and training for battle in the secret of their homes.

     Then the news came, the Commander had arrived and He was gathering those who remained loyal for a final campaign to sweep the world. Through the old, neglected channels, He spread the word. Jerusalem. The campaign would start from the Holy City. They would cleanse the center of the spiritual world, and radiate out from there. Marcus had set out immediately.

     Now, standing here, his breath quickened with anticipation. At the front of the mass of warriors, some seven hundred yards ahead of where he sat, the Commander waited. Mounted on an enormous white horse, in regal solemnity, he awaited the dawn. Then, as the darkness around lightened, as if on cue, the soft scraping of  a thousand swords split the silence of the night. All around, men stretched the stiffness of night from their muscles and readied themselves.

     The Commander turned his horse to face the assembled throng of warriors. A smile lit His solemn face. With his left hand gripping the reigns, he thrust his right skyward, sword extended. The first ray of light burst over the horizon, igniting the cold steel like burning tungsten. Then, with a rolling laugh, He wheeled around and charged down the hill. All around, trumpets burst their voices through the silence, joining a harsh chorus of voices shattering the dawn with war cries. The sun broke the horizon then, illuminating the valley floor and filling each of the soldiers with light. They each shone with the brilliance of a hundred candles. Light spilled from their eyes and mouths, their very pores shone with the radiance.

 The Son was leading them into battle.