“It’s so fuckin’ flat,” Bob said to his bench-mate as the bus’ air brakes hissed the end to their journey.  ”I’d heard the stories of how flat Montana is…but holy fuck.”

Norm chuckled and stroked his beard.  ”Ah, yup.”  His rolls of belly shuddered with his laughs.  ”Fuckin’ Montana.”  His voice had a similar southern accent to Bob’s but was much deeper.  As well, his large frame was much shorter than Bob’s, which was quickly reminded as they all stood to get off the bus.

The bus had halted in a parking lot for a small baseball stadium.  It had been the last bus to arrive.  There were two line ups of men, with one leaving the stadium and the other for those going in.  Some had already been inside for the last presentation. and were being taken out of the parking lot to a further destination.

Bob put on his Atlanta Braves ball-cap and waited his turn to get into the stadium.  It was nearly an hour before he got through the gates and could see what was happening.

A tiny make shift stage was over top of where the pitcher’s mound should be.  The stands held less than 5,000 but were packed.  The baseball diamond, however, held nearly 20,000 men milling about.  The stage was black and had a black skirt around it.  In the center, a large pine cross rose high above.

One elderly man wearing a thick wool sweater to protect himself from the cool September breeze held a microphone and waited for all to settle.  He raised one arm to gain the attention of those in the stadium and held the microphone to his lips.  A high old voice echoed over the stadium speakers, “Gentlemen.  If I might have your attention please.”

Bob stood on the fringe of the grass nearest the fence and just against the third base wall.

The crowd’s dull roar slowed and stopped.

“Thank you.  I am Archbishop Theodore, Archbishop of Los Angeles.  I would like to thank you all for coming on such short notice.  As you are all acutely aware, our world changed two days ago.”

The crowd noises turned to something of an angry growl.

Theodore lowered his hand and patted the air to return to silence.  ”These aliens, so far as the general public is concerned, are benign and harmless.  Apparently they claim they were in some sort of worker or slave ship that crash landed “

“Bullshit!” a random voice screamed out from the crowd causing the Archbishop to swing around.  A murmur of voices told the other to silence.

“No, my sons, language aside, he is correct.  Pope Peter and his advisers believe this to be the leading edge of an invasion force.  Luckily they landed on the wrong side of our borders, but they are a threat nonetheless.”

A few “Amen”s were yelled out from the crowd.

“Darn right, Amen.  This is why each and every one of you was approached and was trained.  This is the moment we knew would come.”

More yelps from the men.

This time he stopped and waited for the crowd to quiet.

Sunlight began to filter as it passed just below the risers of the western stands and brought a chill to the air.

“During the first Crusade, our church put together a grand army.  The Templars, no doubt you have heard of them,” he said, now playing the fire-brand preacher as he pointed into the crowd to get individuals agreeing and nodding to make it personal.  ”They went to Jerusalem to take back the Holy Lands from the infidels.  They were above the laws of the land and held to a higher power, the laws of the Almighty God.”

A few cheers from the crowd.  ”Lord, save us!”  ”Save our home!”  ”Save our kids!”

“You are our new Templer, gentlemen, and Earth is our Holy Land that must be defended!  We must make our way across that northern border and send any invaders home, or to the abyss!”

The cheers grew louder, back to a dull roar.

“Each and every one of you was hand-picked to be here!  Each and every one of you is ready to help protect us and do the Lord’s bidding!”

Clapping and stomping of approvals rained down.

“Go to your camps, get a night’s rest and be ready at dawn.  At dawn, we shall begin the ultimate quest of humanity to protect that which the Lord God made for us!”

The men in attendance erupted in cheers.

Bob stood with his mouth open.  He looked around at all the men smiling, slapping backs and giving each other high-fives.  His mind was reeling, however, as this did not feel right.  He smiled and cheered as well, simply for fear of what would come if he showed his disagreement, but his thoughts burrowed deep and screamed at him that something was wrong about this.

Each bus left the parking lot and drove further north.  While the men were in the stadium, each coach had been stocked with a cooler of sandwiches, beer, water and sodas.  The priest on each bus went over their instructions for the next day.  Three hours later, the bus caravan weaved through the side roads falling signs towards Pike Lake.  Old abandoned farms had been set up as tent cities with unusual light beckoning to them as they stepped off the buses.   The Canadian border was a mere two hundred yards to their north.

Bob and Norm shared a tent with four other men.  The fields were quickly quieted as the new soldiers all slept under the watchful guard of some local militia.  Save for the local wildlife, it was a quiet night that quickly cooled to below freezing as the ground and tent tops began to accept the first snowstorm of the season.

Bob pulled the curtain across behind him and lowered onto the tiny kneeler. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been…” He cocked his head in thought for a moment. “It has been two weeks since my last confession.”

“Bob,” the priest’s voice whispered from the darkness. “I am pleased you have come.”

“Wayne, I don’t know what to think. Aliens landing in Canada, for fuck sake. That’s not right.”

“I know, Bob. This is why we need your help.”

“My help?”

“Remember what we discussed?” The voice waited with no sound other than the intake of breath from both men.

Bob’s mouth fell open as he realized what was being said. “You mean…”

“Yes, Bob, it is time.”

“What about Martha? What about the family?”

“They will be provided for. The Pope, himself, has put out this call.”

Bob’s mind flashed to his high school days with Wayne, long before their paths had veered in different directions. Wayne hearing the call of the Church while Bob went home to work a dying farm.

“The Pope?” Bob asked.

“Yes.”

“Wants me?”

“Wants believers.”

“I believe, Wayne. I am fucking ready.”

“Keep your voice down.”

Bob bent his head forward. “Sorry, Father.”

“When will your men be ready to move?”

“A few hours as I just hafta tell ‘em.”

“How many?”

A moments thought brought new silence. “Twenty-five.”

“Excellent work, Bob. You will be rewarded for this. We will meet here in the church at eight. Bring only what you need, but expect to travel. We will have a bus waiting.”

“We will be ready, Wayne,” Bob whispered. “Penance?”

A chuckle from the priest. “Three Hail Mary’s and an Our Father. If we do this, you will never require penance again.”

Bob smiled widely as he stepped out of the confessional and into the white church.

The building was huge, and for the most part, empty. Martha knelt in a pew, hands clasped and head bent.

Bob knelt beside her.

She whispered, “What did he say.”

Crossing himself, Bob answered, “Time to go.”

“Really?”

“Order from the Pope, his-self.”

Martha grinned. “That’s beautiful.”

Bob rushed through his prayers and stood up. “I gotta get the fellas”

As they got in the truck, Martha asked further, “Where will the protest be?”

“I don’t know.” He turned the key and the good gas engine roared to life. “Wayne said there would be a bus.”

The remainder of the ride was an uncomfortable silence. Bob hit the phones hard once home. For two hours he called all the men on his list. Fifteen answered and agreed to be at the church, without question. The other ten he left messages for, and all but one phoned back to confirm. The only call not returned was by Phil Smith, who was currently sitting behind the wheel of his Ford Expedition, dead from a heart attack…his body would not be found until the next day when his wife alerted authorities of his disappearance.

With two hours before he had to leave, Bob took Martha to bed. As usually, he was mechanical in his love-making and, twenty minutes later, he jumped in the shower while Martha used her own hand to get her orgasm without him knowing. By twenty minutes to eight, Martha was driving Bob back to the church.

In the dusk, about twenty men were milling around the parking lot with their wives and girlfriends. Each was giving a goodbye kiss or hug, all expected to be back together in a few days. Each man had a weapon slung over one shoulder and a duffel bag of clothing over the other that had been pre-packed for anticipation of this call coming.

The hiss of air brakes announced the bus coach arriving before it pulled into the church lot.  The twenty-five men said their final goodbyes and cues up to climb on to the bus.  Quickly, it pulled away stopping at a second church where it filled to capacity of forty-five.  The bus left the outskirts of Mobile just as the sun light vanished beyond the horizon.

This evening, this particular activity was happening in most cities all around the United States.  Thirty-six hours later, as Bob noted a sign on the highway stating that they were entering the city of Great Falls, Montana, the group on this bus from Mobile had no clue that almost a million pilgrims were already waiting in Great Falls…with millions yet to arrive.