White Wasteland Jeff Kirkham (book series for 12 year olds TXT) 📖

army seriously. It would add fuel to the fire Chad planned on lighting under their butts.

The officer—Elder Clawson—interrupted only once. “Not Mormons. We’re not called Mormons anymore. ‘Latter-day Saints.’ The prophet asked everyone to stop using the term ‘Mormons.’ It’s vulgar.”

“Latter-day saints?” Chad laughed. “Isn’t that a bit of a mouthful?”

“I suppose, but we strive to obey the prophet, above all else. He’s God’s mouthpiece on Earth, so we try not to second-guess, even when it’s a bit of a mouthful.”

Chad cocked his head. He’d never spent time among the Amish, Jehovah’s Witnesses or Quakers. This was new to him—this unquestioning compliance to religion. He could only imagine the evil a man could do with that kind of conformity.

Chad continued, and described the northern prophet, embellishing a bit, since he’d never met the man.

“You mean to say that Elder Thayer from the Quorum of Twelve Apostles is alive and leading the Church?” Elder Clawson rubbed the back of his neck, doing a poor job of hiding his consternation.

“Yes sir. He’s alive and well. I’m not sure about any of the other church leaders. I hadn’t heard.” He could see the wheels turning in his new commanding officer.

“Interesting…okay,” the Elder returned his attention to Chad. “What can I do for you? The boys said you wanted to join the Army of Helaman. They said you weren’t a Latter-day Saint yet.”

“Yes sir. I’d like to help any way I can. They’ve got me reading this,” Chad held up the weathered Book of Mormon.

The Elder chuckled. “Looks like that Book of Mormon’s been to war too. Well, I pray you find the same plain and precious truths I found in its pages.”

Chad smiled and nodded. “So, you’re an Elder. What’s that mean?”

“‘Elder’ is an office in the Melchizedek Priesthood, restored to Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery by Peter, James and John.”

Melchizedek Priesthood was mentioned somewhere in the Bible, but Chad would have to dig down on the Joseph and Oliver thing later. “The missionaries you guys send out are ‘elders’ too. Right?”

“Correct. In my case, it means that I’ve been called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.”

“So you’re an apostle and a military leader?”

The Elder chuckled again and motioned toward the camp. “What else would you expect in the army of God?”

“I like it,” Chad laughed. He meant it sincerely. He loved the idea of armies being commanded by a holy man. The Old Testament had always floated his proverbial boat—with its no-bullshit God casting down fire from the sky and sending armies to wipe out entire civilizations. That version of God rang true to Chad’s own experience. Chad felt like he was dangling on God’s meat hook until he righted his wrongs. At least with the God of the Old Testament, one knew what to expect.

An apostle who was also a military leader should listen to a man with Chad’s experience. No matter how inspired, an army still needed to know where to dig the foxholes.

“Out of curiosity, who laid out the encampment?” Chad asked. The answer would reveal a great deal about the Army of Helaman.

“Ah, well. That’s something the prophet did himself. He’s a bit of a military buff and he organized the army. Sets us in order. Once or twice a week, he comes here to chip in with command and to prophesy for us.”

Clear enough, Chad thought. A leader who “chipped in with command,” probably felt like he was the smartest guy in the room. He needed to meet this prophet guy and decide for himself. Maybe he was the smartest guy in the room. If so, Chad could respect that. On the other hand, if the prophet was a megalomaniac dictator, he could definitely work with that too. To move the needle, history usually required an honest-to-goodness tyrant.

Chad could feel it in his bones: he stood at a historic moment. “What can I do to help?”

“Latter-day Saints don’t do a lot of military service,” Elder Clawson stuffed his hands into his fatigue pockets. “They put me in charge because I was the chief of police of Orem City. I guess the prophet figured I knew something about guns and tactics. Truth is, I’m making it up as I go. We have almost two thousand men who’ve signed up so far. Among them, we probably have thirty who served in the military and are under the age of sixty. Nobody was an officer in combat. We do have a former Air Force general, but he’s over seventy. We’re doing our best—putting some of the veterans in charge—but they don’t always agree with each other on how things should be done.”

“I’d love to help with that,” Chad interrupted.

Elder Clawson hesitated. “Sure. That’d be great. We can have you consult with our veterans and maybe feed them suggestions.”

Chad wondered why he was waffling. His Navy SEAL credentials usually carried more weight than that. Why not put Chad in charge, whole hog, right away?

“What happens after I give your vets a few notes. What do you want me to do then?”

Elder Clawson held out his hands as if to slow Chad down. “Just keep up with the Book of Mormon reading. I want to hear how that goes for you—after you’ve had a chance to read and pray.” He nodded at Chad’s blue book on the picnic bench.

Chad understood now; without being a bona fide Mormon, he couldn’t be trusted. The reticence didn’t offend him at all. He preferred a bit of sweat with his faith. No pain, no gain. A religion that demanded nothing of a man got what it paid for.

Chad didn’t see God as a Kindergarten teacher, loving all the kids the same amount no matter how they pissed their pants or finger painted their smocks. Some kids got more love than others: kids who went the extra mile. Kids who “looked for work” as they taught recruits in BUD/S. God loved kids who put the smack-down on evildoers—on that point the Old Testament was clear. God