Isaiah had smiled. "It sounds like my older brother. Father was at wit's end sometimes, when Peter got in fights. Started fights! All in the service of what he thought of as right. Peter must have averaged a fight a week. I don't think Father had ever been in a fight in his life."
He hadn't been in one himself, he realized. Not even close. He'd never thought about that before.
"So your father was more-Christlike than your brother?"
Isaiah chuckled ruefully. "I'd say so. Yes."
"So if the Lord was going to choose one of them to fight a battle… "
"But the Lord doesn't need someone to fight for him! He's God! He can do whatever he pleases." Even as he said it though, Isaiah realized how many Bible stories-Old Testament stories-told of God sending men to fight his battles.
"True, as far as it goes," Hawkins replied. "But I'm thirty-one years old, and I haven't seen much evidence of God taking direct personal action in human conflicts. Looking back at history, I can name a number of powerful rulers-let alone other people-who did terrible things over many years. In the twentieth century alone there were two rulers each of whom executed millions of people, or starved them to death. And caused the deaths of millions more in what came to be called the Hitler War. If God was inclined to act personally, surely he'd have stopped them. Sent down a bolt of lightning to fry them, or just not let them choose to do such things.
"Instead, one of them, named Hitler, decided he wanted to conquer the other one, named Stalin. So he invaded Stalin's country, the biggest country on Terra. And Stalin gradually wore him down. It was a worldwide war, with most nations involved on one side or the other, but Hitler couldn't have been stopped if it hadn't been for Stalin, who was probably as evil as he was."
Hawkins paused, pursing his lips thoughtfully. It seemed to Isaiah his sergeant wasn't really sorting his thoughts. More like he was figuring how to put them.
"So I don't think God acts directly," the sergeant said at last. "I think he lets humans of good will work things out the best they can. At least that's what Gopal Singh taught. In the case of Hitler and Stalin, there were two other powerful rulers, named Churchill and Roosevelt, who helped Stalin when he most needed it. Even though they both knew and feared Stalin, too. But stopping Hitler seemed more urgent."
The names had meant nothing to Isaiah. Terran history hadn't been taught on New Jerusalem, only some of the lessons learned from it. He wondered if Elder Hofer had learned some of them from the Hitler War. He must have known about it; he'd lived back in the 21st and 22nd centuries. Back before ever his people emigrated.
Sergeant Hawkins had grinned at him then. "I got carried away talking," he said. "What was your question again?"
"Uh… about killing. It feels like a sin to me, war or not, and I'm supposed to do a lot of it when we get back to New Jerusalem." He'd paused. "And I'm not sure I can do it."
"Umm. As a child, did you ever do anything wrong?"
"Yes I did, but mostly in my mind. I got angry more often than anyone suspected. A time or two I even cursed. Within the privacy of my mind, I even did acts of violence and lust. But never in physical action, except the sin of Onan, and even in my mind probably not as much as lots of folks. I believe I was born with a softness of spirit."
Again the sergeant had chuckled. "In Sikh schools we're taught that Jesus of Nazareth said `You must be born again' to see the kingdom of God. In the Gopal Singh Dispensation, we believe that people really are born again. Again and again, mostly not recalling our earlier lives. Born again to live in all kinds of circumstances, good and bad. Male and female. Sometimes doing really cruel things, and gradually developing a sense of responsibility for them. Until in time we learn not to do them anymore. Except in extreme situations, like some wars." He grinned at Isaiah. "It's my impression that you're an old experienced soul, who just now happens to be wearing a young body."
Isaiah's thoughts returned to the now, and he looked down at his new body. His bot body: large, hard, and fearfully strong. If he were inclined to violence, it would be a terrible body. But maybe violence was all right, in the service of God.
That wasn't what Sergeant Hawkins had been leading up to though, because he'd gone on speaking. "There are souls of all ages," he'd said. "All a part of the One, some call it the Tao, others the All-Soul. You say God. And mostly, I suspect-mostly it's younger souls who take up the sword, for good or bad. During the Hitler War, I suspect the generals on both sides were mostly souls who'd lived enough lives to feel sure of themselves, but not enough to be seriously troubled by killing. Bad men and good men, but none of them Christlike."
Isaiah had frowned thoughtfully. "Jesus got mad once," he said. "Violent. He shouted at the money changers in the temple, tipped their tables over and ran them out."
"Well then," the sergeant had said, "you've answered your question yourself, haven't you?"
He'd nodded, but not very confidently. It had seemed-still seemed-there was more to it than that. "I guess I pretty much have," he'd answered.
Hawkins had laughed, a friendly, sympathetic sound. "We're human beings. Strictly speaking, there's not too much we can be entirely sure of. Not even those of us who feel absolutely sure. But the One doesn't hate us or punish us for making mistakes. We do what seems right to us, make our mistakes as many times as necessary, and learn from them."
The sergeant had gotten up then. "I guess we've looked at your question about as well as we can right now," he'd said. "Sooner or later we'll get it solved, maybe on New Jerusalem, or maybe between lives."
They'd separated then, Isaiah going to the hut. He'd told Sergeant Hawkins things he couldn't have dreamed of telling anyone before. When he'd been eleven New Jerusalem years old, his father had taken him aside and spoke to him about the sin of Onan, and told him that in God's eyes it was a very small transgression, when done privately. As if to set his mind at ease. But he'd never expected to tell anyone about it; surely not till he had a son of his own.
Maybe the sergeant didn't know what the sin of Onan was; probably he didn't. But even if he did, it had seemed to Isaiah the sergeant wouldn't think ill of him for it.
He remained a little uncomfortable with what his sergeant had said about living a whole string of lives though. It seemed-heretical. But Jesus had said, "You must be born again." It seemed there was more than one way of taking that. And in a way, it kind of fitted with some of the things Elder Hofer had taught. Though he didn't think Elder Hofer would much like the idea.
During the months since then, it seemed to Isaiah that somehow or other that conversation had defanged the issue of killing Wyzhnyny, because it no longer really troubled him. He still wondered now and then-maybe feeling a little discomfort-but it didn't plague him now.
A sudden booming snagged his attention. Artillery fire. The surveillance buoys had reported that the Wyzhnyny had quite a bit of artillery left, here and there. Probably hidden from the Dragons. The army didn't much use artillery, unless you counted field mortars and tanks. Mostly it depended on aerial attack to deliver destruction behind hills and the like. He wondered if War House was going to regret that.
Then his lieutenant's voice spoke in his sensorium. "Load up, men. Time to get your feet wet."
To Isaiah, the command produced a sensation like he'd felt when they'd loaded on the floater for their first parachute jump: a sinking feeling in the belly, even though he didn't have a belly any longer. As his long metallic legs strode up the ramp of an APF, he heard the artillery's followup sound: the crashing of shells much nearer than the guns that fired them.