OPERATION WRATH OF GOD, Chapter 9

Copyright © 2026 Robert Ensor

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.First published February 2026.The author’s moral rights have been asserted.

All Bible quotations, unless otherwise stated or referenced, are taken from the online World English Bible (WEB), which is in the public domain. It is available at the following link: https://ebible.org/eng-web/index.htm. Sometimes I paraphrase the Bible and when I do so, I reference the chapter and verse. Direct quotations from the WEB are indicated by quotation marks. English language Bibles are translated from Hebrew and Greek manuscripts. I am no linguist, and I don’t know any linguists, so I have had to rely on others’ translations and romanizations of the Hebrew and Greek texts. Occasionally, I have examined the original Hebrew and Greek of the Bible, zeroing in on key words where the received English translation is debatable or misses the full meaning of the original. To clarify, the WEB refers to the Antichrist, the beasts, and the False Prophet, but makes no reference to any ‘Khan’ or ‘Lavani’, which are names for the Antichrist and the False Prophet given for the purposes of this book.

Disclaimer: I am not a doctor or a therapist and nothing in this book should be considered medical advice. Nor should it be considered a substitute for diagnoses, prescriptions and treatments from qualified doctors. If you have symptoms, I recommend that you see a doctor to rule out anything serious and get proper care.

Chapter 9: Plan C

Amir came to, tasting warm coppery blood in his mouth. There was a sharp pain in his forehead, just below the helmet. His ears were still ringing, but gradually, distinct sounds returned through the diminishing whine. He looked to his left and saw Abdul lying next to him, crushed by falling masonry. The side of his head looked like a smashed egg. There was no need to take his pulse. He was obviously dead.

‘Are you okay?’ It was Azim’s voice.

He was running towards Amir, moving bits and pieces of rubble out of the way. Azim had blood pouring down his face and uniform, too. His NVG’s were down; it was very dark after Khan had cut the power and doused the braziers.

Next thing he knew, Amir was grabbed by the arm and hauled to his feet. ‘You’re okay. We have to move. The Sacred Guard are coming. Move. Move!’

Amir had a wound on his forehead, a few cuts and bruises on his arms and legs from falling masonry, and he was covered in dust. But after a quick check to pat the dust off, he confirmed that he was basically fighting fit. He pulled down the NVG’s on his M80 helmet. There was a faint electronic whine and the whole world was rendered anew in shades of green. Amir grabbed his rifle from the rubble and slung it over his back. They ran down the stairs.

There was a gap ahead in the crumbling staircase. A gap of about two metres. Amir judged that it was doable because they were headed downwards. Azim jumped it. He stumbled afterwards and rolled down the stairs, but he got to his feet and kept moving. Amir followed him.

Out on the street, the operators saw the quadcopter drone hovering overhead. They took cover behind the corner of the office building. Amir pulled the EPMG out of his backpack. He aimed the directed energy rifle at the drone and pulled the trigger; it quickly fell out of the sky and crashed into the roof of a mud-brick house.

‘The fact the drone was still in the air after the blackout means that not all electronics have ceased to function…’ said Amir.

‘You think he did this on purpose?’

‘I think Khan’s people may have deliberately shut off the lights to enhance the confusion among the populace, to render them sitting ducks, unable to defend themselves against an army equipped with night vision goggles. We go to plan B,’ Amir said.

The contingency plan in the event of their being compromised was to get out of Babylon and exfiltrate Iraq via the coast with the aid of CIA agents disguised as Saudi fishermen, which would be much harder to arrange without a functioning SATCOM radio.

Now they were out of the crumbling building, Amir began to register the distant gunshots, the explosions, and the whirring of drones overhead. The drone strike on the office had been lost in the noise and chaos of larger events.

Azim saw a house down the street explode. The blast illuminated a squad of soldiers, one of whom carried a rocket propelled grenade launcher (RPG). Other soldiers kicked doors down. There were gunshots inside, and the men came out carrying jewels, tablets, watches and smartphones. These soldiers wore Iranian Army uniforms (Isaiah 13:7). Multinational crowds of civilians were running in the opposite direction (Revelation 18:4; Isaiah 13:14). The hindmost were gunned down by the Olive Branch soldiers.

The picture became clearer. The Antichrist’s forces were slaughtering all the civilians, blowing up the buildings, and generally raping and pillaging their own capital city (Isaiah 13:16; 14:20; Revelation 17:16).

‘We can use this chaos to our advantage. To escape the city,’ Amir said.

Azim nodded.

As ‘soldiers’, they were not going to be the targets of the sack, unless they were suspected of dissent or imposture, since the army were the ones carrying it out in conjunction with the other armies who were here, the Sacred Guard and possibly the police.

That’s why all the soldiers had been called in to Babylon from around the country, and even from Iran, Lebanon and Syria, Amir realised. ‘Security for the upcoming speech’ was a cover story, and not only for Azim and Amir. The real reason was that the extra soldiers were needed to assist Khan with the Sack of Babylon.

On the next street, another wave of civilians ran past them (Isaiah 13:14). Men, women, children. A mother carried a crying baby in her arms. Seeing Amir and Azim, some ran in the other direction, or made for side streets. Amir and Azim let them go, unharmed; they could get away with such inaction while they were unobserved by the other soldiers.

‘Let’s avoid the main roads and thoroughfares as much as possible,’ said Amir.‘Wilco,’ said Azim.

Around the next corner was a gang of Iraqi soldiers standing outside a house. All the soldiers had their NVG’s down. Electronics, jewellery and other valuables were heaped on the street. They had a family lined up against the wall: a man, his wife, a daughter in her late teens, a young son and a baby. Two of the soldiers took the mother and the eldest daughter inside. The Father cried out in protest and was shot in the head. Then they shot the boy, and the baby (Isaiah 13:16).

The mother ran screaming out of the house and was casually shot in the back. Azim and Amir turned and kept walking in the other direction. Then a middle-aged man in a shirt and jeans ran from another building on Azim and Amir’s side of the street. The soldiers who had just massacred the family yelled to Azim, ‘Kill him!’

There was a moment’s hesitation. Then Azim raised his rifle and shot the runner in the back. He fell, face first. He was bleeding out on the road. Azim walked a few paces closer and executed the man with a close-range headshot, before he even had a chance to beg for mercy. Amir was stunned at Azim’s ruthlessness, but tried his best to hide it.

‘Come on, let’s clear the next house!’ yelled Azim, playing along.

The soldiers cheered, the wild glint of bloodlust in their eyes. They’re possessed, thought Amir. And we’re helping them?

Amir got close to Azim as they approached the door of the next house.

‘What are you doing?’ he muttered.

‘Staying alive. Growing up in Iraq, I had to learn how to blend in.’

‘So you’ve gone over to the enemy?’

‘The blood of the innocent is my camouflage. Camouflage we can use to get close to the head of the serpent.’

‘And cut it off,’ Amir said, comprehending Azim’s strategy. ‘What about Plan B? What about our orders?’

‘I have switched to Plan C.’

‘Plan C?’

‘Remember, these people are already dead. It is unfortunate, but if we do not do it, someone else will.’

‘That’s what executioners have always said.’

‘This is not America. This is Babylon. Nobody gets out alive unless they kill. They are not even keeping the women. If we are dead, then Khan will survive. We survive, we may get the chance to complete our mission.’

Amir acquiesced. As CO, he could override Azim, but he was still mentally kicking himself for not taking the shot. Part of him wanted a second chance, to atone for his error.

Many civilians were executed. The gutters ran red with blood. The Antichrist had cut the power and doused some of the braziers, but the flames of the burning mud-brick houses formed plenty of light to see the lurid scenes of butchery and looting in the Iraqi capital. Men, women, children (Isaiah 13:16) – no one was spared, unless they could help facilitate the sack.

Azim was right in that regard. Amir pretended that his gun was jammed while the soldiers shot family after family. Another soldier, a private, snatched it off him and test-fired it into a captive man’s head.

‘Works just fine,’ he said, handing the blood splattered weapon back to Amir and gesturing at an old man on his knees, his hands bound by cable ties. The old man cursed Amir in Arabic. Amir looked to Azim, who nodded at him. Amir raised his gun and shot the old man point-blank in the head.

Afterwards, Amir wondered whether it would have been better if they had allowed themselves to be killed as impostors. As a Christian, he had one eye on the Last Judgement, and he was pretty sure killing unarmed civilians would count against him.

Azim helped a platoon of Iraqi soldiers torture a man into revealing where he had hidden his gold by cutting his ear off. The man gave up his stash, hidden behind a loose brick. The staff sergeant said, ‘We have the gold. He is of no further use to us. Kill him.’ Azim stared at the man. He was in his white vest and underpants. He did not sob or plead. He remained stoic, but shed a silent tear, and was trembling with fear. Azim shot him in the head, killing him instantly. He felt absolutely wretched, but it was the only way to maintain cover. The slaughter, the terrible things they did, could only be justified by killing Khan, the man who was responsible more than any other, who had taken the baffling decision to annihilate his own capital, a city full of people who worshipped him as a god.

‘We have to do something now, or we may as well have fallen on our swords and kept our hands clean,’ said Amir, when the two operators had a moment alone.

Azim grunted.

They rounded the corner to the next street. Screaming, shouting. More than fifty civilians, all running away from them. The platoon fanned out on the street and mowed the civilians down mercilessly. Azim and Amir deliberately shot high and wide, hoping it would go unnoticed in the confusion. The platoon took a breather to smoke looted cigarettes and drink from their canteens and beer bottles. Sacking cities, massacring people, it was thirsty work.

‘Why is Khan doing this?’ Amir asked.

Azim shrugged. ‘Why did Uday torture Olympic athletes who did not win? Why did he hurt them so badly they could no longer compete? Why did Saddam drain the marshes?’

‘There’s more to it than “he’s just a power-mad dictator.”’

‘Khan no longer needs his worshippers. They are to him “useless eaters”, no? Most of them no longer work. They just collect their income. If he tries to take away their income, they starve. Maybe some revolt. The bots work better, and they work cheaper. They are more loyal. In his mind, these people are of more use to him dead than alive. Alive, they are a drain on resources, leeching off the state. Dead, they cost him nothing, and he can plunder them to help finance his armies…’ he said, drifting off.

‘Which means there could be a new campaign?’ whispered Amir.

‘Hey! It is not your place to question the Messiah, to ask why. Shut up and do your jobs!’ yelled the burly staff sergeant, who was walking behind them.

Azim apologised. The staff sergeant glared at them, spat in their direction and walked off.

Amir leaned closer and whispered. There was a more disturbing aspect to the sack that they had yet to discuss.

‘Almost everyone in Babylon has the Security ID. Why not just flip the kill switch? Take them out all at once, cleanly, clinically. Why put them through the horrors of the sack? Or if he wanted a massacre, why let them run?’

‘Again. Why did Saddam and Uday decide to joke about sanctions being lifted, at a time when there were food shortages?’

The way Azim said it, the implication was clear: all dictators are power-mad sadists with insatiable bloodlust. And all the dictators in history had been leading up to Khan, the final tyrant.

‘We should run ahead of the platoon. That way, we have a better chance of being able to save someone unseen by our “comrades”,’ said Amir.

‘Good thinking. Yes, I am sick of killing defenceless civilians. I did not sign up for this.’

Azim and Amir ran ahead of the platoon they were with. This was relatively easy given their superior physical fitness. They were cheered on by some of the men, who thought they were eager for bloodshed. The staff sergeant shouted at them to slow down. He was worried that they wanted the pick of the plunder. The operators ignored him and kept going. Soon they came to another mudbrick house, entered, and discovered a family. Four kids, a mother, a father.

Azim aimed his M4 at them and looked at Amir. Amir nodded. The two men started shepherding the family out of the house in a bid to save their lives. ‘You must go now! We are friends!’ yelled Azim. They pushed the civilians into the back garden, hoping there was a gate to the rear alley.

A beastbot smashed through the garden fence. There was a moment of silent horror as the seven-foot tall bot performed a preliminary scan with his machine vision. The red light flashed behind his eyes. The beastbot shot the entire family with his chest-mounted machine gun. When the gun barrel turned to Azim, his heart skipped a beat. The green light flashed, because of his false Security ID, and his fake job as a soldier. The same happened with Amir. The beastbot turned around and stalked off, to continue its rampage elsewhere.

Back in the operations centre of Wargames, Burrows and sixteen other employees had watched everything on the big screen from a satellite feed. They were tracking Azim and Amir by the RFID chips in their hands. There were six staff sat at their own individual computer monitors. The facility was run out of Scrumpton House, a manor house made of honey-coloured Cotswold sandstone, formerly owned by the aristocratic Scrumpton family, one of the early investors in the East India Company.

Sally Hughes, the director of Wargames, was in her early forties, pale, lean, and thin-lipped. Her strawberry blonde hair was tied back in a tight military bun, that made her look even more severe. She had previously served with RAF intelligence and MI5.

Since Amir’s radio had been damaged, no one could communicate with the men on the ground, and Amir was in command. Hughes had a hotline to the MI6 Situation Room at Vauxhall Cross; if something really significant occurred to them during the mission, they could phone in advice, as they had projected the aftermath of the operation and the UK defence strategies for mission success and failure in conjunction with MI6. Burrows had also given six the date and time of the speech from God well in advance, but this had to be corroborated with hard evidence for anyone to really take it seriously and put a target package together. In light of his new boss’ dismissive attitude, John had considered quitting Wargames to work as an independent contractor with the Secret Intelligence Service (SIS).

Having just witnessed Azim and Amir’s failure to assassinate Khan, and the Sack of Babylon, John said, ‘I told you so. The Antichrist can only be killed by Jesus when he returns. No one else can do the job. It is written.’

The civil servants and ex-military types in the room, including Sally Hughes, glared at John. Hughes had ignored Burrows’ reservations about the mission and omitted them from the final report to Whitehall, which is why he was twisting the knife.

‘Yes, well, it’s easy to be a professor of hindsight,’ she said, frostily.

‘I knew it would happen beforehand. That’s foresight, not hindsight.’

‘Yes yes, we all know you’re Scrumpton’s answer to Cassandra,’ said Major (Ret.) Erik Peeves. He wore glasses and had a flabby body.

Burrows sighed. That was his nickname in Whitehall.

‘Cassandra was right about the Sack of Troy, you know. The Trojans were just too blinkered to listen to her. Bit like how I was right about the Sack of Babylon, when you lot dismissed the prediction because it made no strategic sense.’ He was unable to resist slipping that one in there.

‘If you know what’s going to happen next, instead of gloating like a child, tell us how to get our operators out of there!’ said Hughes, doing her frosty schoolmarm routine.

‘They’re not going to get out,’ John said, flatly. He squirmed uneasily in his blazer. He hated wearing ‘smart casual’ and would rather be sat here in his hoody and tracksuit bottoms.

‘What do you mean?’

‘The only way prophecy works is that it’s all predestined and God tells the prophets what is going to happen. I’m not expressing an opinion or a personal preference: I am telling you, those men are not escaping. It’s all in that report you obviously didn’t even read.’

Sally blushed. He was embarrassing her.

‘What are we to do then??’

Behind her exasperation, Hughes genuinely wanted to know what Burrows would say next. He had been right so many times, it was becoming increasingly hard not to ignore him, though she was trying her level best.

‘You just don’t get it, do you? War, famine, poverty, tyranny, corruption…humans cannot solve these problems alone.’

‘And God can?’ she asked.

‘He will. When he returns.’

‘It’s been a long time since he was here last. Why the delay?’

‘To allow sufficient time for everyone to hear of the gospel message in at least one of their incarnations, so that everyone will have had a chance to accept or reject the Messiah. There also has to be time for everyone who is going to be saved in this era, to be saved. “This good news of the kingdom will be preached in the whole world for a testimony to all the nations, and then the end will come.”’[i]

‘Until then, we’re just supposed to – what – shrug our shoulders and give up?’

‘I didn’t say that. There’s a difference between giving up and letting the situation unfold.’

‘Why? How does this fit into God’s plan?’

‘It fits well. He had his reasons for giving me the intel on the speech. The Americans aren’t the only ones running an operation called wrath. This is all for the best.’

‘Our men just missed their chance to kill Hitler 2.0, and were forced to massacre civilians – and you say, that’s for the best?’

‘Wait and see.’

 Read the next chapter here: https://www.robertensor.com/post/operation-wrath-of-god-the-rapture-the-second-coming-the-campaign-of-armageddon-and-the-kingdom-o-10

[i] Matthew 24:14.