Steven Clark Bradley's Blog: Author Steven Clark Bradley
June 22, 2013
New Book Cover by Bradley's Banners and Book Covers for "What is and isn’t Working for the Alcoholic and Addict: In Their Own Words"
I just finished this awesome design for Author Alberta Sequeira’s book, What is
and isn’t Working for the Alcoholic and Addict: In Their Own Words. The Author stated, "This is a powerful book of personal stories from thirty-four alcoholic and drug
users from all walks of life. With multiple addicts telling
their stories, there is a higher rate for a reader to find one relating to them
and say, “That’s me!” I think this cover tells potential readers immediately what they need to know to get this book and help them overcome or to help a family member or a friend defeat the power of their addictions. I can definitely say that you can know this book by its cover!
What is
and isn’t Working for the Alcoholic and Addict: In Their Own Words is a
book of personal stories from thirty-four alcoholic and drug users from all
walks of life. With multiple addicts telling their
stories, there is a higher rate for a reader to find one relating to them and
say, “That’s me!”
Do you ever wonder why some
alcoholics and drug addicts recover and put their lives together while others
die from this horrible worldwide problem? What gives them the physical and
mental strength to fight this battle and come out winning? These questions, and
the author’s tragedy from losing her husband and daughter from their alcohol
abuse, encouraged this writing.
Here is a book, not only for the substance
abusers, but for family members, society, doctors, and counselors to learn, not
only what the addict is looking for with support to help them through with
their recovery, but new ways to help the addicted. You will learn that childhood
emotional wounds mold us into what we become in adulthood.
Review:
Alberta Sequeira’s book is a valuable
compilation which immerses you deeply within the delusional workings of the
alcoholic and drug addicted mindset. What better source of insight and
understanding could there be than the thoughts and beliefs of those afflicted
with the disease? Search no further. There is none!
~Thomas M. Cirignano --- Author
_______________________________
It is a first-class book cover on the self or
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Front Book Covers Designs: $60.00 - Front & Back Cover
Designs: $ 90.00 - Marketing Banners: $50.00 - Video Trailers: $80.00
Email Bradley's Banners & Book Covers at scbradley_2000us@yahoo.com /
Telephone: (626) 321-8247
June 12, 2013
What’s happening in Istanbul? A letter from Turkey
"Every man can follow his own conscience, provided
it does not interfere with sane reason or bid him against the liberty of
his fellow-men." - Mustafa Kemal Atatürk
Ispent 4 years in Turkey and I know this good and democratic people
well. I can truly say that the most memorable and wonderful place I have
lived, out of 35 countries, in my life, is the Democratic Republic of
Turkey. Turkey is not an Islamic republic. It follows the democratic
constitution of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, and which he wrote for a secular nation.
ThoughTurkey has had a history of abuse in the past and had a tough time
getting to true freedom, since the rise of power of the great and
freedom-loving president, The Late Turgut Ozal, whom I personal met
three times, Turkey has enjoyed real freedom and a vibrant democratic
election process. I can say that having lived there and married there
and worked in Bilkent University there for over 4 years.
I
witnessed two major elections there and they were free and honest. So,
it gives me great pain to see the present Pro-Islamic Government of Recep Tayyip Erdoğan in
Ankara seeking to curtail the people's right to protest and to seek to
implement more and more Islamic rules with which free societies cannot
co-exist. Erdoğan is a dictatorial leader who is seeking to squash the peaceful protest in Istanbul that has now spread into the seat of government in Ankara, where I lived.
Oneof the major tenants of a free nation is its people's right to protest
peaceably. This situation has highlighted the growing revelation that
the present government in Turkey is too pro-Islamic and brutal to the
nation of people and that refuses to allow their people to follow a
constitution that has always guaranteed their right to be free.
Thisshould not shock anyone here nor should it cause us to judge the
Turkish people for their protest. They are smarter and braver than we
are now in America, because the same evil and dictatorial abuses of
power are taking place right here in "The land of the Free and Home of
the Brave." That term is no longer fitting in Obama's America.
Two Tyrants putting their heads together!
I stand with the FREE PEOPLE of the Republic of Turkey and say...Ne mutlu Türküm diyene! - Steven Clark Bradley
Read
this letter and see what it takes to oppose tyranny and ask yourself if
you are willing to stand up and be arrested to maintain your right to
be free as these brave Turkish people are willing to do.
(Sumandef Hakkinda writes on what's behind the movement - and how Turkish media are refusing to report it)
To
my friends who live outside of Turkey: I am writing to let you know
what is going on in Istanbul for the last five days. I personally have
to write this because most of the media sources are shut down by the
government and word of mouth and the internet are the only ways left for
us to explain ourselves and call for help and support.
Four
days ago a group of people who did not belong to any specific
organization or ideology got together in Istanbul’s Gezi Park. Among
them there were many of my friends and students. Their reason was
simple: To prevent and protest the upcoming demolishing of the park for
the sake of building yet another shopping mall at very center of the
city. There are numerous shopping malls in Istanbul, at least one in
every neighborhood! The tearing down of the trees was supposed to begin
early Thursday morning. People went to the park with their blankets,
books and children. They put their tents down and spent the night under
the trees. Early in the morning when the bulldozers started to pull the
hundred-year-old trees out of the ground, they stood up against them to
stop the operation.
They
did nothing other than standing in front of the machines. No newspaper,
no television channel was there to report the protest. It was a
complete media blackout. But the police arrived with water cannon
vehicles and pepper spray. They chased the crowds out of the park.
In
the evening the number of protesters multiplied. So did the number of
police forces around the park. Meanwhile the local government of
Istanbul shut down all the ways leading up to Taksim Square, where Gezi
Park is located. The metro was shut down, ferries were cancelled, roads
were blocked. Yet more and more people made their way up to the center
of the city by walking.
They
came from all around Istanbul. They came from all different
backgrounds, different ideologies, different religions. They all
gathered to prevent the demolition of something bigger than the park:
The right to live as honorable citizens of this country.
They
gathered and marched. Police chased them with pepper spray and tear gas
and drove their tanks over people who offered the police food in
return. Two young people were run over by the tanks and were killed.
Another young woman, a friend of mine, was hit in the head by one of the
incoming tear gas canisters. The police were shooting them straight
into the crowd. After a three hour operation she is still in the
Intensive Care Unit and in a very critical condition. As I write this we
don’t know if she is going to make it. This blog is dedicated to her.
No hidden agenda
These
people are my friends. They are my students, my relatives. They have no
'hidden agenda', as the state likes to say. Their agenda is out there.
It is very clear. The whole country is being sold to corporations by the
government, for the construction of malls, luxury condominiums,
freeways, dams and nuclear plants. The government is looking for (and
creating when necessary) any excuse to attack Syria against its people’s
will.
On top of all that, the
government’s control over its people’s personal lives has become
unbearable as of late. The state, under its conservative agenda, passed
many laws and regulations concerning abortion, cesarean birth, sale and
use of alcohol and even the colour of lipstick worn by the airline
stewardesses.
People
who are marching to the center of Istanbul are demanding their right to
live freely and receive justice, protection and respect from the state.
They demand to be involved in the decision-making processes about the
city they live in. What they have received instead is excessive force
and enormous amounts of tear gas shot straight into their faces. Three
people lost their eyes.
Yet
they still march. Hundred of thousands join them. A couple of thousand
more passed the Bosporus Bridge on foot to support the people of Taksim.
No
newspaper or TV channel was there to report the events. They were busy
with broadcasting news about Miss Turkey and 'the strangest cat in the
world'.
Police
kept chasing people and spraying them with pepper spray to an extent
that stray dogs and cats were poisoned and died by it.
Schools,
hospitals and even 5 star hotels around Taksim Square opened their
doors to the injured. Doctors filled the classrooms and hotel rooms to
provide first aid. Some police officers refused to spray innocent people
with tear gas and quit their jobs. Around the square they placed
jammers to prevent internet connection and 3G networks were blocked.
Residents and businesses in the area provided free wireless networks for
the people on the streets. Restaurants offered food and water for free.
People
in Ankara and Izmir gathered on the streets to support the resistance
in Istanbul. Mainstream media kept showing Miss Turkey and 'the
strangest cat in the world'.
***
I
am writing this letter so that you know what is going on in Istanbul.
Mass media will not tell you any of this. Not in my country at least.
Please post as many articles as you see on the Internet and spread the
word.
As I was posting articles that
explained what is happening in Istanbul on my Facebook page last night
someone asked me the following question: 'What are you hoping to gain by
complaining about our country to foreigners?' This blog is my answer to
her.
By so called 'complaining' about my country I am hoping to gain:
Freedom of expression and speech,
Respect for human rights,
Control over the decisions I make concerning my on my body,
The right to legally congregate in any part of the city without being considered a terrorist.
But
most of all by spreading the word to you, my friends who live in other
parts of the world, I am hoping to get your awareness, support and help!
Please spread the word and share this blog. Thank you!
Sumandef, TRUE FREEDOM-LOVING AMERICANS STAND WITH YOU AND YOUR TRUE FREEDOM-LOVING PEOPLE! - Steven Clark Bradley
May 30, 2013
Two New Book Trailers for The Second Republic and The Consortium
The Second Republic Trailer - What Would You Do?
What would America do if we were faced with a horrendous terrorist attack that no amount of security could stop? In "The Second Republic - Patriot Acts Part II," the President of the United States is confronted with a radical underground secret cabal that has targeted America with a domestic bio-terror attack that dwarfs the assault unleashed on September 11, 2001. This second book in the Patriot Acts trilogy takes the reader inside the White House where treachery and terrorism boils below its underbelly. While trying to avoid invoking emergency powers that could destroy American constitutional freedoms, a former Special Ops officer, now the President of the United States, races to stop a deadly virus, which has killed thousands of innocent Americans. This Fisher Harrison saga, The Second Republic, is an action thriller that could appear on any of today's headlines, on any given day with a plausible scenario for the death of humankind that is too frighteningly conceivable for comfort.
The Second Republic Trailer - What Would You Do?
http://youtu.be/BCpeVBXdL9E
Amazon.com
Barnes & Noble.com
The Consortium Can We Hold OnThe Consortium Patriot Acts Part III reaches deeply into the hidden and sinister world of the international banking system and the global power brokers who profit from it. In September, 2008, the Federal Reserve Chairman and the Secretary of the Treasury came to President and issued him a suicide threat. They told the president to give them $800 billion dollars or in twenty-four hours the American economy would die and in forty-eight hours, $5 trillion dollars would disappear with the entire world economy. The President said yes. The Consortium considers what would have happened for the United States and for the whole world political and economic system would have been if the president of the United States had said, NO?? After reading it, watching or reading the news will never be quite the same.
The Consortium Can We Hold On
http://youtu.be/i6qZ_je5ECY
Amazon.com
Barnes & Noble.com
May 15, 2012
Re-Constitution - Open Your Eyes! by Steven Clark Bradley
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What would you do if you could restart life all over again? Think of the wrongs you could right and the situations you could repair, and the opposite could happen too. This is brand new writing from my eighth novel I am working on called Re-Constitution. I hope you find this excerpt a really amazing read, and I know you will. take a look at what I am delving into now as I write something that is both mystical and intense. I know you're going to love this!
Author Steven Clark Bradley
Chapter Three
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 6:56 p.m.
“Open your eyes, Colonel Hawk. Come on man.”
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 6:57 p.m.
Marine Corp Colonel Nathan Hawk opened his eyes, but only for a second, because the light was so bright that flooded his vision. His eyelids refused to stay open, and he heard a voice from somewhere; it sounded so far away, and indeed it was, but it gave him hope nonetheless.
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 6:58 p.m.
“What’s his name?” A Marine Corps doctor shouted. Colonel Nathan Hawk, sir. He’s with special ops and was mopping up the perimeter for the pullout.
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 6:58 p.m.
Nathan Hawk heard a voice and heard his name as though in the middle of a hard-pouring rain, muted and hazy.
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 6:59 p.m.
“Colonel Nathan Hawk, we’re running out of time here.” The doctor bent down and pulled Nathan Hawk’s eyelids open one at a time. “I don’t get it. We have no brain activity but his heart is still beating.”
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 6:58 p.m.
Nathan Hawk heard the doctor’s words and even understood them, though, the meanings were unclear and seemed to hit his ears in a swirling motion like he was traveling through time or racing through a swirling tunnel.
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:00 p.m.
The doctor opened Hawk’s other eye and shined the light into it. There was no dilation, movement or activity. “Did I miss that class or something? The guy is dead but his heart says no. he’s dead, but his heart is still alive.” The military doctor looked up and saw his team starring at him. “Sounded crazy, huh?”
He grabbed the chart from his nurse’s hand and started flipping through the pages. “No brainwaves, no movement; eye color is normal; skin is warm, breathing is steady; brain is dead. This has to be a malfunction. Recalibrate the equipment and run it all again.” He read Colonel Nathan Hawk’s short bio. Special Operations End Detail; decorated for Valor, three purple hearts… “It’s your real heart that puzzles me Colonel” The doctor said out loud.
“Excuse me, sir? We just ran the check on the monitors and the computers and they are working fine.” The nurse told him.
The doctor looked away from the chart and he saw everyone in their surgical gowns and masks looking blankly and gawking dumbfounded at him. “Run it all again. I already told you that once!” He said with a not quite angry tone.
“Sir, we already did that and…”
The doctor pulled his mask down and smiled gently and took a deep breath. “Look, this is not an order, OK. It is more of a request. I know you ran it all and I know you did it right. It is just our duty as medical practitioners to this highly decorated man, a fellow Marine; we owe him that much. Let’s calm down here and just do it again. This guy is dead, but his heart says he’s alive.”
The doctor looked around the room and scanned their reactions. “I can’t pay my medical school bills because I am stuck here in Iraq. I spend close to a quarter of a million dollars for books and training that told me that what we see right before our highly trained eyes is impossible. Anyone have an answer for me why or how this can be?” No one responded and looked frozen in space. “Well, I haven’t got one for you either! So, let’s try to find one. If the machinery is haywire, we’ve got it figured out,” he placed his stethoscope to Colonel Hawk’s chest. “I know my ears work, and they are tell me boom, boom, boom, and that means he’s alive. That part’s easy; about the brain thing, well, if this equipment is functioning, everyone better take a writing class, cause there’s a book in your future.”
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:01p.m.
Colonel Hawk’s eyes sprung open. He stared straight upward and felt his radio vibrating and squawking with a voice screaming at him to wake up. He wondered if it were God or a guardian angel trying to rouse him. Hawk saw trees, thick, green trees that were shrouded in rich glimmering light sneaking through as the wind moved their branches. Had he died and gone out of that dreadful place he had remembered being in moments earlier? Then it all came back to him.
Hawk tied to think his way through the maze of bewilderment his mind was racing through. There were several voices barking out orders in Arabic, and he knew they were and who they were looking for; him. He turned off his radio that was leading the enemy right to him. Colonel Nathan Hawk tried to get his bearings and to play it all back in his mind.
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:03 p.m.
The doctor looked at his medical assistant. “Get Wells in here.”
“Wells, sir?” The assistant looked confused and puzzled.
“Yeah, you know that egghead that was sent here to do some research; you know the Einstein wired-looking guy with a cup of coffee in his hand all the timed.”
“That’s … he’s a scientist?”
“So I am told. He’s supposed to have an IQ of 182. So, send him in here. I have something maybe he can’t even figure out either. All I know is this warrior on this table is both alive and dead, but as long as his heart is beating without assistance, we’re staying with him.”
A group of men and women in long white medical gowns looked down at Colonel Nathan Hawk’s lifeless body while technicians recalibrated the medical equipment. The doctor bent down looked in at Hawk about six inches away from the wounded warrior’s face. “Normally, you outrank me, but this is an order. Colonel Nathan Hawk; open your eyes!” he shouted.
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:04 p.m.
Colonel Hawk felt someone’s hot breath splashing across his face. Then, the shouting voice made his mind wake up and remember. Running! I was running and firing … and my men … they were screaming. Yes, I remember! They were screaming and … and falling … then it hit and I hit the ground and...
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:05 p.m.
Suddenly, the emergency room door flew open and a man ran into the room with no medical clothing on and rushed over to the lifeless anomaly lying on the bed. Dr. Samuel Wells looked down at what he thought was a dead body. “Oh, I’ve seen a few of these kinds before, but I can never get used to them.”
The doctor was hopeful and he and his medical staff got really quiet and moved in close to the Sam Wells. You’ve seen this situation before, really?” The doctor said with interest and hope for an answer. “Oh, yes,” Dr. Wells said. “But, dead bodies always give me the heeby-jeebies!” Everyone’s expressions changed. Egghead, indeed. The Military doctor thought. “Sir…”
“Wells.” Sam said as he walked around the room somewhat frantically looking at all the equipment and the tools on the tray and picking one up and observing it closely and setting it down to take another one. “It’s Dr. Sam Wells, doctor of environmental engineering.” He picked up another one and looked at it so closely he almost seemed to sniff it as a dog would. He sat it back down. “Graduate of Columbia School of Environmental Sciences, Masters from Princeton; good school Princeton.” He walked to the end of the bed and took the chart in his hand and looked down at it. He’s a bright one! Thought to himself. “Doctorate from MIT, K.E.Y.M.O.U.S.E.!!!” He started chanting and laughed as he looked up at every one looking at him as though he was an alien from another world. But Sam kept on chuckling. “But, you can call me Sam.” He said politely and saw the red line flowing upward and downward on the EKG monitor. “Oh, this man is alive?”
“Yes, Doctor…” Sam stuck a finger in the air and waved it to the left and the right. “Oh yes,” The Marine Corps doctor said with a small smile across his face as all the staff giggled obviously thinking Dr. Wells was crazy. “Oh yes, um, Sam, he is alive, but he’s dead too.” The doctor looked over at the monitor technicians. They all gave him thumbs up. “You see, his heart is beating, his blood is flowing, he has good respiration, but he’s brain dead.”
Sam Wells’ eyes lit up and he looked lucidly at the doctor. “I … I drink a lot of coffee, possibly more than I should, seeing I am a bit nervous anyway.” Everyone laughed. Sam did too. “My expertise is in bio and environmental sciences, and I know very little about medicine really; maybe the words ‘very little’ are not accurate and ‘know nothing’ would be a better choice of words, though I do know a little.” Everyone in the room began shuffling around. Sam Wells was obviously making them nervous as well with his nervous jabbering as he kept talking and scratching his head and holding his empty hand out as though he had a cup of coffee in it. “So, not to say I am not interested at all in your field, it is really an amazing science too … but, isn’t that impossible?” Sam heard everyone in the room exhale. Nathan Hawk’s body had no movement at all.
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:06 p.m.
Nathan Hawk closed his eyes tightly and rolled to his right and off the path his group had been patrolling. The memory of the attack on his group flashed through his mind like a burst of lightning. The past three minutes raced through his mind so fast that Hawk grabbed the sides of his head. The sound of the exploding mortars that had hit his patrol only minutes before and had thrown him and his men to the ground replayed through his mind and he felt it all over again through his body. He saw it all so clearly that it hurt; the recon mission, explosions and pieces of unidentified flying stuff hurling through the air and tearing his men apart.
Iraq had been pacified, or so it had been declared by the President, the Pentagon and his direct commanders on the ground. It had made a good pretext for the Britons to leave, having done a great job in their own right. There were still those stubborn pockets of hoodlums out there though still refusing to lay it all down.
Hawk and his men had done the same recon duty for weeks and it had become good exercise and a way to chat as he and his five men walked the same paths with their guns drooped over their shoulders without their voices muffled in the least. It hardly seemed the type of mission for special operations military types to be doing. The dangerous part of their mission in Iraq was over, or so they had been told and so it seemed.
This war was over, right? Hawk asked himself silently as he lay on his stomach with his rifle pointed straight out in front of him. We were simply bringing up the rear and keeping it all in place. He thought.
The Brits were long gone, Bin Laden was dead and Al-Qeida was broken or at least mollified and gone off to lick their wounds and blowup some meaningless targets just to let the world know they were still alive. Now for Hawk, the daily routine had amounted to nothing much more than walking the beat of some shopping mall and looking for children who had lost their mom or dad. Now they had suddenly graduated to combat status and he recalled the massive sound of RPG’s and tracers of fire being fired overhead.
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:06 p.m.
Sam Wells felt strange to once in his life be totally speechless. Everyone in the room watched him and was a little bit afraid that the normally agitated nervous and eccentric man was acting lucid. He looked up at the doctor and seemed to have an idea. The doctor looked at Sam with a hopeful look on his face.
“I am sorry.” Sam said. “I know I have some special gifts from God, but I am still just a human. Could I look at his uniform he was wearing?”
One of the nurses brought Colonel Nathan Hawk’s military field suit he came into the medical center in and that was cut off of him. Sam started rummaging through every single pocket he could find. He found nothing but a bunch of leaves that we stuffed into his left side front pants pocket. At first, Sam thought they had simply gotten stuck in there when the mortars had exploded, but then he wondered why there were so many. Sam looked around at the medical staff that was all checking Hawk’s vitals. Sam took out the leaves and stuck them into his pocket and held one in his hand.
Environmental Science was his expertise and he had never seen anything like that green almost translucent piece of foliage in his hand. As he held it up to the light it glistened in the light and he knew it was something different.
“What you got there Dr. … Sam?” The doctor asked him. Sam was startled and almost stuck it into his pocket with the other ones, but pretended it was of no interest to him. “Oh this? Just a leaf. Seen one seen’em all!”
The doctor turned around to look at the EKG monitor which was exactly as it had been since hawk had been hooked up to it. “Well Sam, we’ve got us a real…” Sam was gone and the door to the emergency ward was just latching shut when the Doctor looked at it. “That’s one hell of a strange guy!”
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:09 p.m.
Nathan Hawk extended out his right arm and his head blindly and all his eyes could see was the bodies of his men who were not moving. As Hawk’ senses returned, he turned his head to the right, he saw the marine he had been chatting with when all hell had broken out. He was obviously dead.
Hawk felt his own chest and reached behind him and felt his back. He found three holes in his vest. He pulled his hand up to his eyes and saw no blood. He had simply been knocked out by the impact of some large shells that had not penetrated the Kevlar inside the vest. He turned his comrade’s body over and his face was gone. He had taken a couple of the large rounds right to the face and was killed on impact, Thank God he didn’t survive in that condition. thought Hawk.
Hawk heard a voice again, but it was in Arabic this time. He jumped up to his knees and looked around quickly.
“Yallah …Yallah.” Hawk heard the voices in Arabic calling out and trying hard to quickly find where he and his dead men were located. He pulled out a bottle of pills that he had already determined to take before falling into enemy hands and having his head slowly sliced off like a sacrificial lamb. Then, they were there, in the breaches, so close he could hear the leaves rustling. There’d be no way to run, not with their guns, and he had already cheated death once today.
Dr. Sam Wells’ laboratory
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:12 p.m.
Dr. Sam Wells quickly went into his makeshift laboratory that he had set up in a tent just outside the medical facility. He walked in and strapped the entrance shut tight. The whole time he had walked from the facility, he had had the leaf held up right in front of his eyes and cause two people to almost be knocked tot eh ground. He had not even noticed. His mind was totally focused on the little green plant that shimmered in the light as he held it up. It was almost translucent and it made his hands feel strange, like something coursing through his skin and kind of itch on the inside. Poison Ivi? He wondered, but he knew it wasn’t that at all. His leg itched terribly behind the pocket he had stuffed the other leaves into. He left them there anyway.
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:14 p.m.
Hawk’s mind raced and he debated whether to swallow the pills and die quickly or to just pretend to be so. Before he could make up his mind, he saw the silhouette of one of the long-haired-bearded men break through the foliage. Fate had made the decision for him. He saw the boots and heard orders be shouted back and forth at each other. He poured out the contents of the bottle and pulled his automatic rifle under him and held his finger on the trigger.
Hawk lay flat on his back and extended his right hand with his palm open, revealing the deadly tablets. He quickly turned his head and saw only one of his men still moving. He saw a set of boots appear out of the brush and approach them in the opening where they had been attacked. Hawk closed his eyes and waited.
The terrorist insurgent walked slowly and radioed something back to his group. Hawk understood nothing except the proverbial, “Allah Wakbar” at the end. He lay completely still. The Marine Corps training had kicked in, which amounted to being patient to live to kill another day. The Al-Qeida terrorist turned and headed in Hawk’s direction. He knew it even with his eyes closed by virtue of the loud approaching steps that the terrorist’s overkill attitude had never learned to quash.
Hawk tensed inwardly and gripped his gun solidly under his back. Hawk knew that the timing was everything and it had to be just right. He was fairly sure that only one of his men was still alive from his group. He also knew that marine to his left was regaining consciousness, because loud grunts and groans were emanating from him. Hawk’ task was not to get the hell out of there, but to take his comrade with him even if he had to carry him out.
The terrorist came close to Hawk’ rigidly still body.
Dr. Sam Wells’ laboratory
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:17 p.m.
Sam tore off a tiny piece of the leaf and placed on a slide and slid it under his microscope. He placed his quivering eye to the instrument and focused it. “What the hell is that?” Sam shouted and ran to the tent door and fell straight backward as collided with the barred exit he had strapped shut. He quickly untied the tent door.
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:17 p.m.
Hawk started counting with 10 as his moment to act. When the terrorist came next to Hawk, he looked down and started to bend down to check out Hawk’ vitals. Just as he bent all the way down and when Hawk was ready to make his move, the marine to Hawk’ left groaned loudly. The terrorist stood upright quickly and hurried over to the groaning Marine. The enemy combatant saw the American flaying on the ground and took his automatic and pointed it at the still breathing Marine. As the enemy Islamic soldier of terror placed his finger on the trigger, Hawk rolled suddenly to his left, lifted his automatic and fired four shells into the terrorist. He fell with a thud to the ground.
Shouts reverberated through the trees in the rich underbrush of the area of Southern Iraq, the most fertile area of the country; very close to where the forbidden garden sprawled outward at the intersection of the Euphrates and Tigress rivers. Suddenly, like the sound of horses’ hooves, Hawk could hear what seemed to be hundreds of enemy combatants coming his way. Then, he heard the shots from their weapons firing as they evident ran in his direction firing at will as they approached. Hawk stood up, or at least tried to. His legs didn’t want to cooperate at first, but he managed to lift himself up to a world the twirled in circles for a moment or two.
The shots he had taken to his vest had knocked him out and had left him dizzy and out of focus, but he got his bearings soon enough. He looked at the other four men who were on the ground. Three of them were dead, he was sure, or hoped, because he’d not have time to check them out. He knew that one was alive and ran over to him. He turned him over and looked at him and slapped him lightly across the face as the pounded earth around him grew nearer and nearer.
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:17 p.m.
“You got a what?” The voice at the other end into the phone that the Marine Corps had held to his ear. The doctor pulled it away from his ear and the whole medical staff heard the sound of the base commander’s voice. “Yes sir, that is right. He has no brain patterns at all, but a good pulse and strong heart rhythm. It goes against everything I have …” The doctor heard the emergency room doors fly open and four Military police rushed in pushing a stretcher over to the body of Colonel Nathan Hawk. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Doctor, I’ll have four men over to you in a moment.”
“Well, you are efficient, sir, but this man is my patient.” the Marine doctor said almost out of protocol.
“Not anymore! He’s property of the US Military, at least for now.”
The four huge Marines each grabbed a corner of the sheet Colonel Hawk’s body was laying on and picked him up and put him on the stretcher and wheeled him out along with the monitors he was attached to.
Sam Wells ran into the facility hallway and saw a patient being wheeled down the hallway.
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:21 p.m.
“Baker, are you with me, Baker?”
Private Baker only grunted and that was proof enough for Hawk. Hawk hoisted him up forcefully and threw Baker over his shoulder.
“Sorry dude, but no time for fear nor gentleness right now.” Hawk said in a panic-stricken voice just as a bullet whizzed past his head followed by screaming and even faster movement from the terrorists’ feet. He lifted Baker over his shoulder and stood up to run.
Hawk had to evaluate his perilous situation, but he had no time. He took off running deeper into the brush and foliage that was growing thicker with each over-weighted step. It was almost like watching some movie he had seen before making a decision to join the Marines. He had seen the Hollywood heroics, but now, here he was running for his and Baker’s lives and had no idea where to go and nowhere to hide effectively. This was a movie without a screenplay.
Improvise, dude. This is what all the training was for! He thought.
He could see the forest, or whatever it was, thickening up ahead. In front of him, he saw a deep, rich green spread out as far as he could see to the left and to the right like no vegetative growth he had ever seen. It was a great place to hide, but would be an impossible place to find his way out of. He kept running toward it simply because the danger behind him was so much greater than that which loomed in front of him.
Soon his mind seemed to have caught his second wind and his feet and mind simply took over. He felt the air rushing past his face and he knew he had reached a threshold of either collapsing right there or running faster than he had ever done in his whole life. Shots rang out behind him with screaming voices in Arabic that Hawk could not understand in words but fully comprehended the full weight of their danger they posed for him and Baker.
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:24 p.m.
Sam Wells barreled into the emergency room. He looked at the bed and knew who the patient was he had seen being wheeled down the hallway. “Where’s the colonel?” Sam asked already knowing the answer.
“He’s state property now, and we’ll never know what this crazy thing was all about.” The doctor lamented. Sam knew, but he didn’t breathe a word of it. “Can I ask you, where was his body found?”
The doctor took the chart and angrily and with great frustration quickly flipped through the pages. “He was found just inside the forbidden zone.”
“Inside the what? You mean where the Iraqis think the garden of God was supposed to have been? You no Adam, eve, apples, oranges I don’t know was it a pineapple?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” The doctor asked with surprise. “Is there anything you don’t know?”
“That’s where the Tigris and Euphrates rivers converge, and that has to be where the garden was…you know the Garden of Eden. It has to be the place, if you believe the bible, and I do.”
“You are a strange one, Dr. Sam Wells, a religious Einstein?”
“Einstein believed in God, perhaps. Oh an yes, Doctor. There is one thing I have never learned. I’ve never learned how to give up.” Sam said with real amazement in his voice.
The phone rang. “Have you seen that loony-toon who’s been around here for the past week; what’s his name?” “Wells, sir, Sam Wells.” The doctor said and looked right at Sam. “Yes sir,” he said looking at the now empty bed where his miracle patient had been lying. “He’s right here.” He said as he heard the door slam shut. “Sir, he’s headed to his laboratory and I think he’s not going to be there for long.” The commander slammed the phone down.
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:26 p.m.
Baker suddenly roused and looked back at the scenery that grew smaller as Hawk ran forward.
“Where the hell…”
“Just shut up, Bakeman. I’m getting us out of here. Don’t move or I’ll break stride. You still got that pistol?” Hawk asked with fleeting breath.
“Yea, here under my vest.”
“Get it out and if you see one of the Allah suckers, send him to paradise.”
“Yes sir.” Baker affirmed as he pulled out the gun and pointed out into the air whizzing past him.
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:36 p.m.
Sam ran as quickly as his genus legs would carry him to his temporary lab. He almost jumped inside the tent and fell to the floor. He jumped up and gathered his papers and his few belonging and threw them all into a paper back and made sure to get his coffee cup which he accidently slammed against the desk and shattered it. He actually stopped and looked at it in sadness. “Oh, hurts the heart! That was my favorite cup!” he said out loud. And ran out of the lab.
As he ran out into the hallway, he heard the pounding steps of several military police racing to his area. Sam quickly ran to his car and tried to drive as normally as he could, but he never looked normal at any time. “Ha-ha, sometimes being obtuse is a blessing. He scruffed up his hair and just played himself.
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:43 p.m.
Hawk heard a shot and felt Baker’s body go limp and heavy. He knew that his comrade was gone. Hawk thought he should carry him away, but his probably dead body was now heavier than ever with buoyancy at all. He wondered if he should lay him down on the ground and see if he were possibly alive, but that would only spell two kills for the terrorists. He was torn, but his own death, as selfish as it seemed, was far weightier at the moment than trying to save an already dead man.
Instead of stopping respectfully and lowering Baker’s body to the ground, he raised his right arm and without slowing down, he catapulted Baker’s body off his shoulder and it hit the ground hard and loudly. Hawk didn’t let it slow him down. He ran faster than ever now. He felt the same way he always had as a child when he’d hold three bats and swing them before taking his turn at the plate. The loss of Baker’s body from his shoulders made his legs feel all the more light as the terrorists followed suit. His stride broke into the quickest his sprinting legs had ever moved.
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:52 p.m.
Sam pulled up to the gate and showed him his badge. The guard looked at him and looked inside the car and then scanned the badge. It cleared and he raised the barrier and same put the car into drive and tried to pull out of the base as normally as he could.
The phone inside the gate station rang and Sam immediately heard the guard scream out an order at him. “Halt! Halt!” Sam looked back and saw the guard in the rearview mirror behind his car with his pistol drawn. Sam ducked down just as a bullet crashed through his rear window and out the front one. “Oh Jesus, help me!” Sam prayed. “I need a cup of coffee!” he sat back up and saw a truck heading right for his and shoved the wheel to the right and narrowly missed it as the horn’s screeching blast flew past him with the a marine’s extended middle finger greeting him. “Asshole!” the driver shouted. Sam headed to a local bus station to take a bus to the Turkish border.
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 8:03 p.m.
Nathan Hawk had been told that fear and that innate pulse for preservation of life and limbs were his best friends in just such a situation. He looked ahead of him and he saw the thick glimmering foliage right in front of him. He just needed to get ahead of his pursuers and to run into the thick area and then break to the left or right and lay low so he could pick them all off either one by one or all at the same time. It sounded feasible. In reality, it was his only option. Five more feet and shots rang out. They couldn’t be more than thirty feet behind him. Then he heard their feet pounding the earth. Three more feet and he increased speed and then just as he was about to dart into the thick green area ahead, his body slammed into some kind of invisible wall like a huge pane of pristine glass that made his momentum come to a crushing and painful screeching halt.
When Hawk hit the barrier that was completely invisible, his body crashed and then was propelled backward about five feet. On his back, he looked up and saw nothing there, but he strangely felt no pain and simply stood up and ran to his right. He saw about twenty terrorists running toward the imperceptible obstruction and felt his lips move into a smile. He wanted to watch them crash into it, but he had to get out of sight. He gave all his attention to finding a place to hide, but he couldn’t move. He seemed to have crushed his back when he hit the invisible barrier, but he had no pain.
He pulled himself, sliding on his back around and watched the terrorist as they got only about ten feet from the barrier. They were running and the first five slammed into it with such a crushing speed that two of them were killed instantly from the sheer trauma of the impact. Hawk knew he had smashed into it with no less force, but he had awakened looking straight up into the sky. The others stopped and looked up and down, to the left and right and tried to feel what was there stopping them.
“Iblis! Shetan!” One guard began to scream.
Another pounded the butt of his gun into the side of the man’s head.
“Shhh. Dur.” he whispered.
Hawk watched as the sounds that filled the forest grew deathly silent. He watched the area where the men stood. That thing, whatever it was seemed to change. It was not clear anymore and it seemed to form a spinning mass of molten colors that revolved and twirled until suddenly, in front of the terrorists stood a towering figure. His face shown like the sun at noon day and it had wings that were extended and shimmering that appeared to cover the whole area of the entrance way.
The terrorist insurgents looked up at him. He was beautiful and perfect to behold. It looked down at them and smiled and they bowed to him. When they looked back up into its face, the smile turned into a frown and then melted into a scowl and transformed into a face of anger and a visage of rage. The men rose to run away. The great strange entity reached behind him and pulled out a massive sword.
“You have been judged and found wanting.” it cried out.
It raised the great sword over its head and swung it from left to right. The blade connected with every fleeing neck and their heads fell to the ground followed next to their bodies which took another couple of steps before limply crumbling downward.
Hawk watched with eyes that would not blink. Live by the sword, die by the sword. He thought. Hawk looked into the great image’s eyes and the face of fierce anger melted back to a peaceful and harmless smile. It waved its hand and reached out and took hold of Hawk pulled him over to the entranceway. Colonel Nathan Hawk turned and looked at a massive expanse of rock and walls of stone. Then he heard it again, “Open your eyes, Colonel Hawk.”
The great beast pulled Hawk beyond the barrier into the lush green area. Hawk looked around and could not believe how beautiful it all was, but his legs were paralyzed from his waist down. He felt perfectly at peace until he again heard the voice. “Colonel Nation Hawk, open your eyes, sir.”
Bosrah Bus Station
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 8:31p.m.
Sam had bought his ticket from one part of hell to another on the western border of Iraq. He had sat down and pulled out a bible he had brought with him. He opened it to the first book of the sacred text, the Book of Genesis Chapter three verses twenty-one to twenty-four. “The Lord God made garments of skin for Adam and his wife and clothed them. And the Lord God said, “The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil. He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forever.” So the Lord God banished him from the Garden of Eden to work the ground from which he had been taken. After he drove the man out, he placed on the east side of the Garden of Eden cherubim and a flaming sword flashing back and forth to guard the way to the tree of life.”
Sam held one of the leaves he had taken from Colonel Hawk’s pants pocket and held it up to the light. “The tree of life?” Sam said out loud and smiled broadly.
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 8:43 p.m.
The great shimmering beast reached out to a beautiful large and shining tree that was just beyond the invisible barrier. It pulled several leaves from the tree and placed them in Hawk’s pocket. Then, it took one and gave it to Nathan Hawk and made a gesture for him to eat it. Hawk hesitated and then placed it in his mouth and swallowed it. He felt energy course through his body, then he felt want seemed to be a huge bolt of lightning jolt his body and made his chest arch upward.
Military Transport
10,000 feet over Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 8:47 p.m.
“Sir, it’s not working! His heart is stopping; we’re losing him; his heart is stopping.” “Then, jolt him again!”
The medical personnel recharged the defibrillator. “Clear!” and Colonel Nathan Hawk felt the electrical current again jolt his body upward.
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 8:51 p.m.
The great beast reached down and touched hawks chest and smiled. “You have been judged and been blessed with grace.” It then pointed his arm out and a loud voice and a strange language it shouted Live!
Hawk inhaled suddenly and his whole being felt sheer pain throughout his entire body as his lungs inflated with life-giving air and his blood began to flow. He saw lights swirling and heard a loud roar filling wherever he was. As his eyes cleared and his ears tuned in, he saw five men and women staring down at him with medical masks over their faces and white medical gown on. He turned his head from side to side and realized the noise he thought was the war zone that had almost killed him was a military medical transport taking him somewhere far from Iraq. A doctor bent down and looked into Hawk’s face. Colonel Nathan Hawk, thank God you’ve finally opened your eyes.
What would you do if you could restart life all over again? Think of the wrongs you could right and the situations you could repair, and the opposite could happen too. This is brand new writing from my eighth novel I am working on called Re-Constitution. I hope you find this excerpt a really amazing read, and I know you will. take a look at what I am delving into now as I write something that is both mystical and intense. I know you're going to love this!
Author Steven Clark Bradley
Chapter Three
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 6:56 p.m.
“Open your eyes, Colonel Hawk. Come on man.”
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 6:57 p.m.
Marine Corp Colonel Nathan Hawk opened his eyes, but only for a second, because the light was so bright that flooded his vision. His eyelids refused to stay open, and he heard a voice from somewhere; it sounded so far away, and indeed it was, but it gave him hope nonetheless.
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 6:58 p.m.
“What’s his name?” A Marine Corps doctor shouted. Colonel Nathan Hawk, sir. He’s with special ops and was mopping up the perimeter for the pullout.
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 6:58 p.m.
Nathan Hawk heard a voice and heard his name as though in the middle of a hard-pouring rain, muted and hazy.
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 6:59 p.m.
“Colonel Nathan Hawk, we’re running out of time here.” The doctor bent down and pulled Nathan Hawk’s eyelids open one at a time. “I don’t get it. We have no brain activity but his heart is still beating.”
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 6:58 p.m.
Nathan Hawk heard the doctor’s words and even understood them, though, the meanings were unclear and seemed to hit his ears in a swirling motion like he was traveling through time or racing through a swirling tunnel.
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:00 p.m.
The doctor opened Hawk’s other eye and shined the light into it. There was no dilation, movement or activity. “Did I miss that class or something? The guy is dead but his heart says no. he’s dead, but his heart is still alive.” The military doctor looked up and saw his team starring at him. “Sounded crazy, huh?”
He grabbed the chart from his nurse’s hand and started flipping through the pages. “No brainwaves, no movement; eye color is normal; skin is warm, breathing is steady; brain is dead. This has to be a malfunction. Recalibrate the equipment and run it all again.” He read Colonel Nathan Hawk’s short bio. Special Operations End Detail; decorated for Valor, three purple hearts… “It’s your real heart that puzzles me Colonel” The doctor said out loud.
“Excuse me, sir? We just ran the check on the monitors and the computers and they are working fine.” The nurse told him.
The doctor looked away from the chart and he saw everyone in their surgical gowns and masks looking blankly and gawking dumbfounded at him. “Run it all again. I already told you that once!” He said with a not quite angry tone.
“Sir, we already did that and…”
The doctor pulled his mask down and smiled gently and took a deep breath. “Look, this is not an order, OK. It is more of a request. I know you ran it all and I know you did it right. It is just our duty as medical practitioners to this highly decorated man, a fellow Marine; we owe him that much. Let’s calm down here and just do it again. This guy is dead, but his heart says he’s alive.”
The doctor looked around the room and scanned their reactions. “I can’t pay my medical school bills because I am stuck here in Iraq. I spend close to a quarter of a million dollars for books and training that told me that what we see right before our highly trained eyes is impossible. Anyone have an answer for me why or how this can be?” No one responded and looked frozen in space. “Well, I haven’t got one for you either! So, let’s try to find one. If the machinery is haywire, we’ve got it figured out,” he placed his stethoscope to Colonel Hawk’s chest. “I know my ears work, and they are tell me boom, boom, boom, and that means he’s alive. That part’s easy; about the brain thing, well, if this equipment is functioning, everyone better take a writing class, cause there’s a book in your future.”
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:01p.m.
Colonel Hawk’s eyes sprung open. He stared straight upward and felt his radio vibrating and squawking with a voice screaming at him to wake up. He wondered if it were God or a guardian angel trying to rouse him. Hawk saw trees, thick, green trees that were shrouded in rich glimmering light sneaking through as the wind moved their branches. Had he died and gone out of that dreadful place he had remembered being in moments earlier? Then it all came back to him.
Hawk tied to think his way through the maze of bewilderment his mind was racing through. There were several voices barking out orders in Arabic, and he knew they were and who they were looking for; him. He turned off his radio that was leading the enemy right to him. Colonel Nathan Hawk tried to get his bearings and to play it all back in his mind.
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:03 p.m.
The doctor looked at his medical assistant. “Get Wells in here.”
“Wells, sir?” The assistant looked confused and puzzled.
“Yeah, you know that egghead that was sent here to do some research; you know the Einstein wired-looking guy with a cup of coffee in his hand all the timed.”
“That’s … he’s a scientist?”
“So I am told. He’s supposed to have an IQ of 182. So, send him in here. I have something maybe he can’t even figure out either. All I know is this warrior on this table is both alive and dead, but as long as his heart is beating without assistance, we’re staying with him.”
A group of men and women in long white medical gowns looked down at Colonel Nathan Hawk’s lifeless body while technicians recalibrated the medical equipment. The doctor bent down looked in at Hawk about six inches away from the wounded warrior’s face. “Normally, you outrank me, but this is an order. Colonel Nathan Hawk; open your eyes!” he shouted.
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:04 p.m.
Colonel Hawk felt someone’s hot breath splashing across his face. Then, the shouting voice made his mind wake up and remember. Running! I was running and firing … and my men … they were screaming. Yes, I remember! They were screaming and … and falling … then it hit and I hit the ground and...
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:05 p.m.
Suddenly, the emergency room door flew open and a man ran into the room with no medical clothing on and rushed over to the lifeless anomaly lying on the bed. Dr. Samuel Wells looked down at what he thought was a dead body. “Oh, I’ve seen a few of these kinds before, but I can never get used to them.”
The doctor was hopeful and he and his medical staff got really quiet and moved in close to the Sam Wells. You’ve seen this situation before, really?” The doctor said with interest and hope for an answer. “Oh, yes,” Dr. Wells said. “But, dead bodies always give me the heeby-jeebies!” Everyone’s expressions changed. Egghead, indeed. The Military doctor thought. “Sir…”
“Wells.” Sam said as he walked around the room somewhat frantically looking at all the equipment and the tools on the tray and picking one up and observing it closely and setting it down to take another one. “It’s Dr. Sam Wells, doctor of environmental engineering.” He picked up another one and looked at it so closely he almost seemed to sniff it as a dog would. He sat it back down. “Graduate of Columbia School of Environmental Sciences, Masters from Princeton; good school Princeton.” He walked to the end of the bed and took the chart in his hand and looked down at it. He’s a bright one! Thought to himself. “Doctorate from MIT, K.E.Y.M.O.U.S.E.!!!” He started chanting and laughed as he looked up at every one looking at him as though he was an alien from another world. But Sam kept on chuckling. “But, you can call me Sam.” He said politely and saw the red line flowing upward and downward on the EKG monitor. “Oh, this man is alive?”
“Yes, Doctor…” Sam stuck a finger in the air and waved it to the left and the right. “Oh yes,” The Marine Corps doctor said with a small smile across his face as all the staff giggled obviously thinking Dr. Wells was crazy. “Oh yes, um, Sam, he is alive, but he’s dead too.” The doctor looked over at the monitor technicians. They all gave him thumbs up. “You see, his heart is beating, his blood is flowing, he has good respiration, but he’s brain dead.”
Sam Wells’ eyes lit up and he looked lucidly at the doctor. “I … I drink a lot of coffee, possibly more than I should, seeing I am a bit nervous anyway.” Everyone laughed. Sam did too. “My expertise is in bio and environmental sciences, and I know very little about medicine really; maybe the words ‘very little’ are not accurate and ‘know nothing’ would be a better choice of words, though I do know a little.” Everyone in the room began shuffling around. Sam Wells was obviously making them nervous as well with his nervous jabbering as he kept talking and scratching his head and holding his empty hand out as though he had a cup of coffee in it. “So, not to say I am not interested at all in your field, it is really an amazing science too … but, isn’t that impossible?” Sam heard everyone in the room exhale. Nathan Hawk’s body had no movement at all.
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:06 p.m.
Nathan Hawk closed his eyes tightly and rolled to his right and off the path his group had been patrolling. The memory of the attack on his group flashed through his mind like a burst of lightning. The past three minutes raced through his mind so fast that Hawk grabbed the sides of his head. The sound of the exploding mortars that had hit his patrol only minutes before and had thrown him and his men to the ground replayed through his mind and he felt it all over again through his body. He saw it all so clearly that it hurt; the recon mission, explosions and pieces of unidentified flying stuff hurling through the air and tearing his men apart.
Iraq had been pacified, or so it had been declared by the President, the Pentagon and his direct commanders on the ground. It had made a good pretext for the Britons to leave, having done a great job in their own right. There were still those stubborn pockets of hoodlums out there though still refusing to lay it all down.
Hawk and his men had done the same recon duty for weeks and it had become good exercise and a way to chat as he and his five men walked the same paths with their guns drooped over their shoulders without their voices muffled in the least. It hardly seemed the type of mission for special operations military types to be doing. The dangerous part of their mission in Iraq was over, or so they had been told and so it seemed.
This war was over, right? Hawk asked himself silently as he lay on his stomach with his rifle pointed straight out in front of him. We were simply bringing up the rear and keeping it all in place. He thought.
The Brits were long gone, Bin Laden was dead and Al-Qeida was broken or at least mollified and gone off to lick their wounds and blowup some meaningless targets just to let the world know they were still alive. Now for Hawk, the daily routine had amounted to nothing much more than walking the beat of some shopping mall and looking for children who had lost their mom or dad. Now they had suddenly graduated to combat status and he recalled the massive sound of RPG’s and tracers of fire being fired overhead.
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:06 p.m.
Sam Wells felt strange to once in his life be totally speechless. Everyone in the room watched him and was a little bit afraid that the normally agitated nervous and eccentric man was acting lucid. He looked up at the doctor and seemed to have an idea. The doctor looked at Sam with a hopeful look on his face.
“I am sorry.” Sam said. “I know I have some special gifts from God, but I am still just a human. Could I look at his uniform he was wearing?”
One of the nurses brought Colonel Nathan Hawk’s military field suit he came into the medical center in and that was cut off of him. Sam started rummaging through every single pocket he could find. He found nothing but a bunch of leaves that we stuffed into his left side front pants pocket. At first, Sam thought they had simply gotten stuck in there when the mortars had exploded, but then he wondered why there were so many. Sam looked around at the medical staff that was all checking Hawk’s vitals. Sam took out the leaves and stuck them into his pocket and held one in his hand.
Environmental Science was his expertise and he had never seen anything like that green almost translucent piece of foliage in his hand. As he held it up to the light it glistened in the light and he knew it was something different.
“What you got there Dr. … Sam?” The doctor asked him. Sam was startled and almost stuck it into his pocket with the other ones, but pretended it was of no interest to him. “Oh this? Just a leaf. Seen one seen’em all!”
The doctor turned around to look at the EKG monitor which was exactly as it had been since hawk had been hooked up to it. “Well Sam, we’ve got us a real…” Sam was gone and the door to the emergency ward was just latching shut when the Doctor looked at it. “That’s one hell of a strange guy!”
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:09 p.m.
Nathan Hawk extended out his right arm and his head blindly and all his eyes could see was the bodies of his men who were not moving. As Hawk’ senses returned, he turned his head to the right, he saw the marine he had been chatting with when all hell had broken out. He was obviously dead.
Hawk felt his own chest and reached behind him and felt his back. He found three holes in his vest. He pulled his hand up to his eyes and saw no blood. He had simply been knocked out by the impact of some large shells that had not penetrated the Kevlar inside the vest. He turned his comrade’s body over and his face was gone. He had taken a couple of the large rounds right to the face and was killed on impact, Thank God he didn’t survive in that condition. thought Hawk.
Hawk heard a voice again, but it was in Arabic this time. He jumped up to his knees and looked around quickly.
“Yallah …Yallah.” Hawk heard the voices in Arabic calling out and trying hard to quickly find where he and his dead men were located. He pulled out a bottle of pills that he had already determined to take before falling into enemy hands and having his head slowly sliced off like a sacrificial lamb. Then, they were there, in the breaches, so close he could hear the leaves rustling. There’d be no way to run, not with their guns, and he had already cheated death once today.
Dr. Sam Wells’ laboratory
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:12 p.m.
Dr. Sam Wells quickly went into his makeshift laboratory that he had set up in a tent just outside the medical facility. He walked in and strapped the entrance shut tight. The whole time he had walked from the facility, he had had the leaf held up right in front of his eyes and cause two people to almost be knocked tot eh ground. He had not even noticed. His mind was totally focused on the little green plant that shimmered in the light as he held it up. It was almost translucent and it made his hands feel strange, like something coursing through his skin and kind of itch on the inside. Poison Ivi? He wondered, but he knew it wasn’t that at all. His leg itched terribly behind the pocket he had stuffed the other leaves into. He left them there anyway.
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:14 p.m.
Hawk’s mind raced and he debated whether to swallow the pills and die quickly or to just pretend to be so. Before he could make up his mind, he saw the silhouette of one of the long-haired-bearded men break through the foliage. Fate had made the decision for him. He saw the boots and heard orders be shouted back and forth at each other. He poured out the contents of the bottle and pulled his automatic rifle under him and held his finger on the trigger.
Hawk lay flat on his back and extended his right hand with his palm open, revealing the deadly tablets. He quickly turned his head and saw only one of his men still moving. He saw a set of boots appear out of the brush and approach them in the opening where they had been attacked. Hawk closed his eyes and waited.
The terrorist insurgent walked slowly and radioed something back to his group. Hawk understood nothing except the proverbial, “Allah Wakbar” at the end. He lay completely still. The Marine Corps training had kicked in, which amounted to being patient to live to kill another day. The Al-Qeida terrorist turned and headed in Hawk’s direction. He knew it even with his eyes closed by virtue of the loud approaching steps that the terrorist’s overkill attitude had never learned to quash.
Hawk tensed inwardly and gripped his gun solidly under his back. Hawk knew that the timing was everything and it had to be just right. He was fairly sure that only one of his men was still alive from his group. He also knew that marine to his left was regaining consciousness, because loud grunts and groans were emanating from him. Hawk’ task was not to get the hell out of there, but to take his comrade with him even if he had to carry him out.
The terrorist came close to Hawk’ rigidly still body.
Dr. Sam Wells’ laboratory
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:17 p.m.
Sam tore off a tiny piece of the leaf and placed on a slide and slid it under his microscope. He placed his quivering eye to the instrument and focused it. “What the hell is that?” Sam shouted and ran to the tent door and fell straight backward as collided with the barred exit he had strapped shut. He quickly untied the tent door.
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:17 p.m.
Hawk started counting with 10 as his moment to act. When the terrorist came next to Hawk, he looked down and started to bend down to check out Hawk’ vitals. Just as he bent all the way down and when Hawk was ready to make his move, the marine to Hawk’ left groaned loudly. The terrorist stood upright quickly and hurried over to the groaning Marine. The enemy combatant saw the American flaying on the ground and took his automatic and pointed it at the still breathing Marine. As the enemy Islamic soldier of terror placed his finger on the trigger, Hawk rolled suddenly to his left, lifted his automatic and fired four shells into the terrorist. He fell with a thud to the ground.
Shouts reverberated through the trees in the rich underbrush of the area of Southern Iraq, the most fertile area of the country; very close to where the forbidden garden sprawled outward at the intersection of the Euphrates and Tigress rivers. Suddenly, like the sound of horses’ hooves, Hawk could hear what seemed to be hundreds of enemy combatants coming his way. Then, he heard the shots from their weapons firing as they evident ran in his direction firing at will as they approached. Hawk stood up, or at least tried to. His legs didn’t want to cooperate at first, but he managed to lift himself up to a world the twirled in circles for a moment or two.
The shots he had taken to his vest had knocked him out and had left him dizzy and out of focus, but he got his bearings soon enough. He looked at the other four men who were on the ground. Three of them were dead, he was sure, or hoped, because he’d not have time to check them out. He knew that one was alive and ran over to him. He turned him over and looked at him and slapped him lightly across the face as the pounded earth around him grew nearer and nearer.
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:17 p.m.
“You got a what?” The voice at the other end into the phone that the Marine Corps had held to his ear. The doctor pulled it away from his ear and the whole medical staff heard the sound of the base commander’s voice. “Yes sir, that is right. He has no brain patterns at all, but a good pulse and strong heart rhythm. It goes against everything I have …” The doctor heard the emergency room doors fly open and four Military police rushed in pushing a stretcher over to the body of Colonel Nathan Hawk. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Doctor, I’ll have four men over to you in a moment.”
“Well, you are efficient, sir, but this man is my patient.” the Marine doctor said almost out of protocol.
“Not anymore! He’s property of the US Military, at least for now.”
The four huge Marines each grabbed a corner of the sheet Colonel Hawk’s body was laying on and picked him up and put him on the stretcher and wheeled him out along with the monitors he was attached to.
Sam Wells ran into the facility hallway and saw a patient being wheeled down the hallway.
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:21 p.m.
“Baker, are you with me, Baker?”
Private Baker only grunted and that was proof enough for Hawk. Hawk hoisted him up forcefully and threw Baker over his shoulder.
“Sorry dude, but no time for fear nor gentleness right now.” Hawk said in a panic-stricken voice just as a bullet whizzed past his head followed by screaming and even faster movement from the terrorists’ feet. He lifted Baker over his shoulder and stood up to run.
Hawk had to evaluate his perilous situation, but he had no time. He took off running deeper into the brush and foliage that was growing thicker with each over-weighted step. It was almost like watching some movie he had seen before making a decision to join the Marines. He had seen the Hollywood heroics, but now, here he was running for his and Baker’s lives and had no idea where to go and nowhere to hide effectively. This was a movie without a screenplay.
Improvise, dude. This is what all the training was for! He thought.
He could see the forest, or whatever it was, thickening up ahead. In front of him, he saw a deep, rich green spread out as far as he could see to the left and to the right like no vegetative growth he had ever seen. It was a great place to hide, but would be an impossible place to find his way out of. He kept running toward it simply because the danger behind him was so much greater than that which loomed in front of him.
Soon his mind seemed to have caught his second wind and his feet and mind simply took over. He felt the air rushing past his face and he knew he had reached a threshold of either collapsing right there or running faster than he had ever done in his whole life. Shots rang out behind him with screaming voices in Arabic that Hawk could not understand in words but fully comprehended the full weight of their danger they posed for him and Baker.
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:24 p.m.
Sam Wells barreled into the emergency room. He looked at the bed and knew who the patient was he had seen being wheeled down the hallway. “Where’s the colonel?” Sam asked already knowing the answer.
“He’s state property now, and we’ll never know what this crazy thing was all about.” The doctor lamented. Sam knew, but he didn’t breathe a word of it. “Can I ask you, where was his body found?”
The doctor took the chart and angrily and with great frustration quickly flipped through the pages. “He was found just inside the forbidden zone.”
“Inside the what? You mean where the Iraqis think the garden of God was supposed to have been? You no Adam, eve, apples, oranges I don’t know was it a pineapple?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” The doctor asked with surprise. “Is there anything you don’t know?”
“That’s where the Tigris and Euphrates rivers converge, and that has to be where the garden was…you know the Garden of Eden. It has to be the place, if you believe the bible, and I do.”
“You are a strange one, Dr. Sam Wells, a religious Einstein?”
“Einstein believed in God, perhaps. Oh an yes, Doctor. There is one thing I have never learned. I’ve never learned how to give up.” Sam said with real amazement in his voice.
The phone rang. “Have you seen that loony-toon who’s been around here for the past week; what’s his name?” “Wells, sir, Sam Wells.” The doctor said and looked right at Sam. “Yes sir,” he said looking at the now empty bed where his miracle patient had been lying. “He’s right here.” He said as he heard the door slam shut. “Sir, he’s headed to his laboratory and I think he’s not going to be there for long.” The commander slammed the phone down.
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:26 p.m.
Baker suddenly roused and looked back at the scenery that grew smaller as Hawk ran forward.
“Where the hell…”
“Just shut up, Bakeman. I’m getting us out of here. Don’t move or I’ll break stride. You still got that pistol?” Hawk asked with fleeting breath.
“Yea, here under my vest.”
“Get it out and if you see one of the Allah suckers, send him to paradise.”
“Yes sir.” Baker affirmed as he pulled out the gun and pointed out into the air whizzing past him.
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:36 p.m.
Sam ran as quickly as his genus legs would carry him to his temporary lab. He almost jumped inside the tent and fell to the floor. He jumped up and gathered his papers and his few belonging and threw them all into a paper back and made sure to get his coffee cup which he accidently slammed against the desk and shattered it. He actually stopped and looked at it in sadness. “Oh, hurts the heart! That was my favorite cup!” he said out loud. And ran out of the lab.
As he ran out into the hallway, he heard the pounding steps of several military police racing to his area. Sam quickly ran to his car and tried to drive as normally as he could, but he never looked normal at any time. “Ha-ha, sometimes being obtuse is a blessing. He scruffed up his hair and just played himself.
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:43 p.m.
Hawk heard a shot and felt Baker’s body go limp and heavy. He knew that his comrade was gone. Hawk thought he should carry him away, but his probably dead body was now heavier than ever with buoyancy at all. He wondered if he should lay him down on the ground and see if he were possibly alive, but that would only spell two kills for the terrorists. He was torn, but his own death, as selfish as it seemed, was far weightier at the moment than trying to save an already dead man.
Instead of stopping respectfully and lowering Baker’s body to the ground, he raised his right arm and without slowing down, he catapulted Baker’s body off his shoulder and it hit the ground hard and loudly. Hawk didn’t let it slow him down. He ran faster than ever now. He felt the same way he always had as a child when he’d hold three bats and swing them before taking his turn at the plate. The loss of Baker’s body from his shoulders made his legs feel all the more light as the terrorists followed suit. His stride broke into the quickest his sprinting legs had ever moved.
Marine Corps Medical Facility
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 7:52 p.m.
Sam pulled up to the gate and showed him his badge. The guard looked at him and looked inside the car and then scanned the badge. It cleared and he raised the barrier and same put the car into drive and tried to pull out of the base as normally as he could.
The phone inside the gate station rang and Sam immediately heard the guard scream out an order at him. “Halt! Halt!” Sam looked back and saw the guard in the rearview mirror behind his car with his pistol drawn. Sam ducked down just as a bullet crashed through his rear window and out the front one. “Oh Jesus, help me!” Sam prayed. “I need a cup of coffee!” he sat back up and saw a truck heading right for his and shoved the wheel to the right and narrowly missed it as the horn’s screeching blast flew past him with the a marine’s extended middle finger greeting him. “Asshole!” the driver shouted. Sam headed to a local bus station to take a bus to the Turkish border.
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 8:03 p.m.
Nathan Hawk had been told that fear and that innate pulse for preservation of life and limbs were his best friends in just such a situation. He looked ahead of him and he saw the thick glimmering foliage right in front of him. He just needed to get ahead of his pursuers and to run into the thick area and then break to the left or right and lay low so he could pick them all off either one by one or all at the same time. It sounded feasible. In reality, it was his only option. Five more feet and shots rang out. They couldn’t be more than thirty feet behind him. Then he heard their feet pounding the earth. Three more feet and he increased speed and then just as he was about to dart into the thick green area ahead, his body slammed into some kind of invisible wall like a huge pane of pristine glass that made his momentum come to a crushing and painful screeching halt.
When Hawk hit the barrier that was completely invisible, his body crashed and then was propelled backward about five feet. On his back, he looked up and saw nothing there, but he strangely felt no pain and simply stood up and ran to his right. He saw about twenty terrorists running toward the imperceptible obstruction and felt his lips move into a smile. He wanted to watch them crash into it, but he had to get out of sight. He gave all his attention to finding a place to hide, but he couldn’t move. He seemed to have crushed his back when he hit the invisible barrier, but he had no pain.
He pulled himself, sliding on his back around and watched the terrorist as they got only about ten feet from the barrier. They were running and the first five slammed into it with such a crushing speed that two of them were killed instantly from the sheer trauma of the impact. Hawk knew he had smashed into it with no less force, but he had awakened looking straight up into the sky. The others stopped and looked up and down, to the left and right and tried to feel what was there stopping them.
“Iblis! Shetan!” One guard began to scream.
Another pounded the butt of his gun into the side of the man’s head.
“Shhh. Dur.” he whispered.
Hawk watched as the sounds that filled the forest grew deathly silent. He watched the area where the men stood. That thing, whatever it was seemed to change. It was not clear anymore and it seemed to form a spinning mass of molten colors that revolved and twirled until suddenly, in front of the terrorists stood a towering figure. His face shown like the sun at noon day and it had wings that were extended and shimmering that appeared to cover the whole area of the entrance way.
The terrorist insurgents looked up at him. He was beautiful and perfect to behold. It looked down at them and smiled and they bowed to him. When they looked back up into its face, the smile turned into a frown and then melted into a scowl and transformed into a face of anger and a visage of rage. The men rose to run away. The great strange entity reached behind him and pulled out a massive sword.
“You have been judged and found wanting.” it cried out.
It raised the great sword over its head and swung it from left to right. The blade connected with every fleeing neck and their heads fell to the ground followed next to their bodies which took another couple of steps before limply crumbling downward.
Hawk watched with eyes that would not blink. Live by the sword, die by the sword. He thought. Hawk looked into the great image’s eyes and the face of fierce anger melted back to a peaceful and harmless smile. It waved its hand and reached out and took hold of Hawk pulled him over to the entranceway. Colonel Nathan Hawk turned and looked at a massive expanse of rock and walls of stone. Then he heard it again, “Open your eyes, Colonel Hawk.”
The great beast pulled Hawk beyond the barrier into the lush green area. Hawk looked around and could not believe how beautiful it all was, but his legs were paralyzed from his waist down. He felt perfectly at peace until he again heard the voice. “Colonel Nation Hawk, open your eyes, sir.”
Bosrah Bus Station
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 8:31p.m.
Sam had bought his ticket from one part of hell to another on the western border of Iraq. He had sat down and pulled out a bible he had brought with him. He opened it to the first book of the sacred text, the Book of Genesis Chapter three verses twenty-one to twenty-four. “The Lord God made garments of skin for Adam and his wife and clothed them. And the Lord God said, “The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil. He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forever.” So the Lord God banished him from the Garden of Eden to work the ground from which he had been taken. After he drove the man out, he placed on the east side of the Garden of Eden cherubim and a flaming sword flashing back and forth to guard the way to the tree of life.”
Sam held one of the leaves he had taken from Colonel Hawk’s pants pocket and held it up to the light. “The tree of life?” Sam said out loud and smiled broadly.
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 8:43 p.m.
The great shimmering beast reached out to a beautiful large and shining tree that was just beyond the invisible barrier. It pulled several leaves from the tree and placed them in Hawk’s pocket. Then, it took one and gave it to Nathan Hawk and made a gesture for him to eat it. Hawk hesitated and then placed it in his mouth and swallowed it. He felt energy course through his body, then he felt want seemed to be a huge bolt of lightning jolt his body and made his chest arch upward.
Military Transport
10,000 feet over Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 8:47 p.m.
“Sir, it’s not working! His heart is stopping; we’re losing him; his heart is stopping.” “Then, jolt him again!”
The medical personnel recharged the defibrillator. “Clear!” and Colonel Nathan Hawk felt the electrical current again jolt his body upward.
Special Operations End Detail
Bosrah, Iraq,
June 6, 2011, 8:51 p.m.
The great beast reached down and touched hawks chest and smiled. “You have been judged and been blessed with grace.” It then pointed his arm out and a loud voice and a strange language it shouted Live!
Hawk inhaled suddenly and his whole being felt sheer pain throughout his entire body as his lungs inflated with life-giving air and his blood began to flow. He saw lights swirling and heard a loud roar filling wherever he was. As his eyes cleared and his ears tuned in, he saw five men and women staring down at him with medical masks over their faces and white medical gown on. He turned his head from side to side and realized the noise he thought was the war zone that had almost killed him was a military medical transport taking him somewhere far from Iraq. A doctor bent down and looked into Hawk’s face. Colonel Nathan Hawk, thank God you’ve finally opened your eyes.
October 18, 2011
The Consortium - Don't Be Afraid To Fight This War...
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The Consortium finishes the Patriot Acts Trilogy...
In Part One we saw an evil plot between Iran and right-wing radical American Nazis to destroy the nation. In Part II, the plausible scenario of a biological terror attack ruthlessly is hatched by enemies of the state. In Part III of the Patriot Acts series the world banking and global power brokers are explored.
In September, 2008, The Fed and the treasury came to President George W. Bush and issued him a suicide threat. Secretary Henry Paulson walked into the Oval Office and put a gun to his own head and said, $800 Billion or in 24 hours we die and 5 trillion dollars would disappear with the entire world economy. President Bush said yes. What if he had said NO?
Chapter Fifteen
The White House,
Washington, D.C.
March 11, 2012 3:42 p.m.
“I am placing the nation under emergency powers effective upon my signing of this document. The authority of the Emergency Powers Act will not be enforced until tonight, but the temporary powers of the moment do immediately grant the president the power to appoint anyone to vital vacant seats in the Executive Branch. Technically, the speaker has not officially recalled Congress back from recess. I love that word recess; it suits them perfectly.” Fisher chuckled.
Michelle handed Fisher the document and he placed his signature in the appropriate place. Then, Michelle gave President Harrison a second document. Fisher read it out loud.
“By the powers under the State of National Emergency act of 1977, the president has the power to appoint any vital vacant seat and it shall not be automatically removed when and if emergency rule is lifted, and only shall the president’s appointments be removed by resignation, end of life issues or impeachment for high crimes and misdemeanors, as prescribed by law and the Constitution of the United States of America.
“Therefore, I hereby appoint Hamilton W. Smith to be Vice President of the United States.” Fisher signed the appointment letter and looked at Hamilton. Fisher thought he looked excited and terrified at the same time.
“Hamilton Smith, would you raise your right hand?” Fisher asked.
Hamilton raised his hand and slightly pulled it down two times before Fisher recited the words and Hamilton repeated them. Secret Service came to the door and Fisher, Michelle and Vice President Hamilton Smith all walked out of the Oval Office and headed to two different escorted cars which would depart for two different escorted places.
Hamilton’s destination was in hiding in an undisclosed location, while Fisher’s destination was for the whole world to see. Fisher leaned over to speak to Hamilton as they walked down the White House hallway.
“Hamilton, way back in time, at Iron Mountain prison in Alaska, you remember.” They stood in front of two different limousines and Fisher took his new vice president’s hand and congratulated him. “Well, Hamilton, I just wanted to take back some words from way back when I said in a moment of foolish jesting. Because you’re not just a Smith; you are Vice President Smith.”
In Route to Raven Rock
Mountain Defense Base
March 11, 2012, 3:52 p.m.
“Approach, I need assistance. This is Captain Ray Jerrod; the coordinates you have sent us do not work. You are taking us into the wall of the mountain.” Jerrod pulled and banked left. Jerrod was a good pilot, and he knew this was not an error. Such errors don’t just happen.
A mountain wall appeared before the pilot and he heaved the yoke back all the way. He feared a stall as he had aimed the nose almost straight upward. Margaret and Nate were strapped in, but both had passed out from forces that neither this plane nor human bodies were built to withstand.
“Control, this is GB1 taking evasive action maneuvers and …”
“We’re gonna make it.” The pilot screamed out and straightened out the airplane. “Get back there and check on them.” The navigator specialist got out of his seat and opened the cockpit door. He saw the First lady slumped over and her baby had started crying.
He quickly walked over and called out her name. “Mrs. Harrison … Mrs. Harrison, are you alright?” Margaret’s eyelids began to move and her eyes blinked and finally, she moaned and cried out,
“Where’s my baby?”
Over Iceland,
the Atlantic Ocean
March 11, 2012 7:55 p.m.
Roger, GB1.” The control officer passed his microphone to a tall man with wavy hair in a nicely knitted suit. “He’s all yours Mr. Berkowitz.”
“Well, Peter, so you are a man of character, whatever that means, but I like you. You’re the other side of me.”
“You lie; I am nothing like you. I breathe air not money and power.” Peter suddenly shouted into Berkowitz’s ear piece, making him wince a bit.
"Well, it lives. I thought you had found Jesus or something and were on your way to paradise. Very well, here goes nothing.”
Berkowitz took a card from his pocket and swiped it and his screen came up. He logged onto the same channel that Peter Barlowe used to control his forces. Then he punched in his personal code and a signal was instantly sent to the pilot of the GB1. As the code streamed it found the command to find the micro-circuit lying dormant in the back of the scalp of one Captain Ray Jerrod, the pilot who was now trying to fly the First Lady and her son to safety. The subject was found and it instantly sent the command to obey Berkowitz’s command. It also registered inside the data crunching computers of Homeland Security, the Pentagon, the NSA and the CIA.
In Route to Raven Rock
Mountain Defense Base
March 11, 2012, 3:57 p.m.
Pilot Captain Ray Jerrod felt Berkowitz’s commands overtake him slowly. He thought it was air sickness then it was like an instantaneous bout of the stomach flu and then just before he was sure he was going to die, he went calm and felt fine. It was the strangest feeling he had ever had.
In Route to Raven Rock
Mountain Defense Base
First Lady’s Cabin
March 11, 2012, 3:57 p.m.
“It’s OK honey, we’re OK now,” Margaret told her baby, which she knew was a lie.
“Mrs. Harrison, I want to stay here with you and help, but I have to assist the pilot. Are you OK?”
“Thank you; my son is OK, so I’ll be fine.” Margaret had the greatest urge to scream out for her husband and only let it resonate in her head. Fisher, where are you? Fisher, I love you.
Over Iceland, the Atlantic Ocean
March 11, 2012 7:57 p.m.
Berkowitz spoke to the pilot. “Captain, you are a true patriot, full of everything our money could buy, and that’s a hell of a lot. The problem is, I am not, and I don’t need to be. These are your orders.”
En route to Joint Session of Congress
Washington, D.C.
March 11, 2012 4:05 p.m.
President Fisher Harrison rode in his limousine for the just over a two mile ride between 1600 Pennsylvania Ave NW and 100 Constitution Ave NE. He looked out the windows and the two most prominent things he saw were throngs of people with great distress stretched across their faces waving and shouting out well wishes to their a president they trusted. He also saw throngs of soldiers as far as the eye could see. They were all there in battle fatigues and seemingly ready to fight a war or to start one. Of course they all think I ordered them out here.
Fisher saw one man in particular holding up a large sign with the map of the United States prominently displayed with drops of blood dripping down. It read, ‘Is America’s Democracy Bleeding?’Another sign showed a flag shaped into the United States with all the colors running into each other. The words across it read, ‘Why are these colors running?’
They all spoke to him and he knew these fine people loved him, but not as much as they simply needed him, and it gave Fisher great fear and trembling to imagine three hundred million Americans thrown to the dictatorial rule of whatever political charade the Consortium would raise up to hide behind.
Fisher’s motorcade continued on and stress seemed to form all over Fisher’s body, and he felt a trembling inside his arms, hands and legs. He knew it was all far too big for his feeble arms to carry. Fisher waved and didn’t know if the people outside could see him or not, but he caught a glimpse of an old man in a Air Force uniform and holding a sign that was plain and simple, but which bore words that were just like a ray of light in a dark and frozen world to Fisher Harrison. He had needed to read its message before taking on a great nemesis such as the Consortium.
“Driver, I want you to stop the car for a moment. Do you see the big plain sign behind us?”
“Yes, sir, but that against protocol.”
"I realize that, but I need you to ask him, not tell him, but ask him if the president could see him for just a moment.”
The driver radioed to one of the cars behind the president’s to talk with the man. A moment later, a Secret Service agent was standing by the president’s door with the older gentleman. Fisher lowered the window and looked at the sign that told him how to proceed. It gave him hope and told him God had heard his pleas. Fisher read the words. He had heard President Tate use them before. Then Fisher spoke them out loud. “Don’t be afraid to fight this war.”
Fisher looked up at the man standing by Fisher’s window and the old man saw that the president had tears in his eyes. His face had taken on a deep shade of red due to the adrenaline woven together with sorrow.
“Please forgive me for accosting you this way, but your sign touched me so much and it is a direct answer to me from God through you. We need direction, my brother.”
“Mr. President, the honor and privilege is all mine. Would you like to have it, sir? The sign I mean.”
”That’s really generous of you, but it is of much greater value right where you are. Right now, you just might be more powerful than I am, in this awful situation; and isn’t that the way it’s truly supposed to be?”
“Here, let me sign it and that means I will follow your advice, my friend.” Fisher said and placed his signature on the poster.
“I will never forget this day, Mr. President.”
“Please don’t, and remember how your simple message gave a president great resolve. What a truth and stress reliever to know someone is bigger than our feeble abilities to control the deeds and intents of evil men and women.”
Fisher put his arm out the window and shook the elderly man’s hand. “I wish I could get out and thank you appropriately, but these guys might kill me trying to protect me. I will do my best to preserve that you have worked so hard to have and to pass on to your children. Thank you for letting God employ you, sir. ‘Don’t be afraid to fight this war.’ I really love that. Pray for America.”
President Fisher Harrison had no idea how his resolve would soon be placed under maximum danger.
In Route to Raven Rock
Mountain Defense Base
March 11, 2012, 4:12 p.m.
The Navigator Specialist reentered the cockpit and strapped himself in for what he knew would be a rough landing.
“Ray, did they radio you?”
“Yes, they did.”
“And … what’d they tell you?” The navigator looked out ahead and saw the well hidden runway. “Great, Captain, you did it.”
Captain Ray Jarrod looked over at his Navigation Specialist and pulled out his side arm.
Jarrod said the words exactly as he had been instructed. “Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?”
The navigator laughed “Yea Captain …” He looked at the pilot and saw his friend and comrade, Captain Jarrod’s sidearm staring back at him. “Yea I have been told that a few times. What are you doing, Captain?”
“Well, they’ll never tell you that again.” Captain Ray Jarrod squeezed the trigger and unloaded three shots into the navigator’s head. Then, his next orders flashed through his mind.
He switched on the intercom and spoke to the First lady. “Mrs. Harrison, we have the runway in sight...”
The Consortium finishes the Patriot Acts Trilogy...
In Part One we saw an evil plot between Iran and right-wing radical American Nazis to destroy the nation. In Part II, the plausible scenario of a biological terror attack ruthlessly is hatched by enemies of the state. In Part III of the Patriot Acts series the world banking and global power brokers are explored.
In September, 2008, The Fed and the treasury came to President George W. Bush and issued him a suicide threat. Secretary Henry Paulson walked into the Oval Office and put a gun to his own head and said, $800 Billion or in 24 hours we die and 5 trillion dollars would disappear with the entire world economy. President Bush said yes. What if he had said NO?
Chapter Fifteen
The White House,
Washington, D.C.
March 11, 2012 3:42 p.m.
“I am placing the nation under emergency powers effective upon my signing of this document. The authority of the Emergency Powers Act will not be enforced until tonight, but the temporary powers of the moment do immediately grant the president the power to appoint anyone to vital vacant seats in the Executive Branch. Technically, the speaker has not officially recalled Congress back from recess. I love that word recess; it suits them perfectly.” Fisher chuckled.
Michelle handed Fisher the document and he placed his signature in the appropriate place. Then, Michelle gave President Harrison a second document. Fisher read it out loud.
“By the powers under the State of National Emergency act of 1977, the president has the power to appoint any vital vacant seat and it shall not be automatically removed when and if emergency rule is lifted, and only shall the president’s appointments be removed by resignation, end of life issues or impeachment for high crimes and misdemeanors, as prescribed by law and the Constitution of the United States of America.
“Therefore, I hereby appoint Hamilton W. Smith to be Vice President of the United States.” Fisher signed the appointment letter and looked at Hamilton. Fisher thought he looked excited and terrified at the same time.
“Hamilton Smith, would you raise your right hand?” Fisher asked.
Hamilton raised his hand and slightly pulled it down two times before Fisher recited the words and Hamilton repeated them. Secret Service came to the door and Fisher, Michelle and Vice President Hamilton Smith all walked out of the Oval Office and headed to two different escorted cars which would depart for two different escorted places.
Hamilton’s destination was in hiding in an undisclosed location, while Fisher’s destination was for the whole world to see. Fisher leaned over to speak to Hamilton as they walked down the White House hallway.
“Hamilton, way back in time, at Iron Mountain prison in Alaska, you remember.” They stood in front of two different limousines and Fisher took his new vice president’s hand and congratulated him. “Well, Hamilton, I just wanted to take back some words from way back when I said in a moment of foolish jesting. Because you’re not just a Smith; you are Vice President Smith.”
In Route to Raven Rock
Mountain Defense Base
March 11, 2012, 3:52 p.m.
“Approach, I need assistance. This is Captain Ray Jerrod; the coordinates you have sent us do not work. You are taking us into the wall of the mountain.” Jerrod pulled and banked left. Jerrod was a good pilot, and he knew this was not an error. Such errors don’t just happen.
A mountain wall appeared before the pilot and he heaved the yoke back all the way. He feared a stall as he had aimed the nose almost straight upward. Margaret and Nate were strapped in, but both had passed out from forces that neither this plane nor human bodies were built to withstand.
“Control, this is GB1 taking evasive action maneuvers and …”
“We’re gonna make it.” The pilot screamed out and straightened out the airplane. “Get back there and check on them.” The navigator specialist got out of his seat and opened the cockpit door. He saw the First lady slumped over and her baby had started crying.
He quickly walked over and called out her name. “Mrs. Harrison … Mrs. Harrison, are you alright?” Margaret’s eyelids began to move and her eyes blinked and finally, she moaned and cried out,
“Where’s my baby?”
Over Iceland,
the Atlantic Ocean
March 11, 2012 7:55 p.m.
Roger, GB1.” The control officer passed his microphone to a tall man with wavy hair in a nicely knitted suit. “He’s all yours Mr. Berkowitz.”
“Well, Peter, so you are a man of character, whatever that means, but I like you. You’re the other side of me.”
“You lie; I am nothing like you. I breathe air not money and power.” Peter suddenly shouted into Berkowitz’s ear piece, making him wince a bit.
"Well, it lives. I thought you had found Jesus or something and were on your way to paradise. Very well, here goes nothing.”
Berkowitz took a card from his pocket and swiped it and his screen came up. He logged onto the same channel that Peter Barlowe used to control his forces. Then he punched in his personal code and a signal was instantly sent to the pilot of the GB1. As the code streamed it found the command to find the micro-circuit lying dormant in the back of the scalp of one Captain Ray Jerrod, the pilot who was now trying to fly the First Lady and her son to safety. The subject was found and it instantly sent the command to obey Berkowitz’s command. It also registered inside the data crunching computers of Homeland Security, the Pentagon, the NSA and the CIA.
In Route to Raven Rock
Mountain Defense Base
March 11, 2012, 3:57 p.m.
Pilot Captain Ray Jerrod felt Berkowitz’s commands overtake him slowly. He thought it was air sickness then it was like an instantaneous bout of the stomach flu and then just before he was sure he was going to die, he went calm and felt fine. It was the strangest feeling he had ever had.
In Route to Raven Rock
Mountain Defense Base
First Lady’s Cabin
March 11, 2012, 3:57 p.m.
“It’s OK honey, we’re OK now,” Margaret told her baby, which she knew was a lie.
“Mrs. Harrison, I want to stay here with you and help, but I have to assist the pilot. Are you OK?”
“Thank you; my son is OK, so I’ll be fine.” Margaret had the greatest urge to scream out for her husband and only let it resonate in her head. Fisher, where are you? Fisher, I love you.
Over Iceland, the Atlantic Ocean
March 11, 2012 7:57 p.m.
Berkowitz spoke to the pilot. “Captain, you are a true patriot, full of everything our money could buy, and that’s a hell of a lot. The problem is, I am not, and I don’t need to be. These are your orders.”
En route to Joint Session of Congress
Washington, D.C.
March 11, 2012 4:05 p.m.
President Fisher Harrison rode in his limousine for the just over a two mile ride between 1600 Pennsylvania Ave NW and 100 Constitution Ave NE. He looked out the windows and the two most prominent things he saw were throngs of people with great distress stretched across their faces waving and shouting out well wishes to their a president they trusted. He also saw throngs of soldiers as far as the eye could see. They were all there in battle fatigues and seemingly ready to fight a war or to start one. Of course they all think I ordered them out here.
Fisher saw one man in particular holding up a large sign with the map of the United States prominently displayed with drops of blood dripping down. It read, ‘Is America’s Democracy Bleeding?’Another sign showed a flag shaped into the United States with all the colors running into each other. The words across it read, ‘Why are these colors running?’
They all spoke to him and he knew these fine people loved him, but not as much as they simply needed him, and it gave Fisher great fear and trembling to imagine three hundred million Americans thrown to the dictatorial rule of whatever political charade the Consortium would raise up to hide behind.
Fisher’s motorcade continued on and stress seemed to form all over Fisher’s body, and he felt a trembling inside his arms, hands and legs. He knew it was all far too big for his feeble arms to carry. Fisher waved and didn’t know if the people outside could see him or not, but he caught a glimpse of an old man in a Air Force uniform and holding a sign that was plain and simple, but which bore words that were just like a ray of light in a dark and frozen world to Fisher Harrison. He had needed to read its message before taking on a great nemesis such as the Consortium.
“Driver, I want you to stop the car for a moment. Do you see the big plain sign behind us?”
“Yes, sir, but that against protocol.”
"I realize that, but I need you to ask him, not tell him, but ask him if the president could see him for just a moment.”
The driver radioed to one of the cars behind the president’s to talk with the man. A moment later, a Secret Service agent was standing by the president’s door with the older gentleman. Fisher lowered the window and looked at the sign that told him how to proceed. It gave him hope and told him God had heard his pleas. Fisher read the words. He had heard President Tate use them before. Then Fisher spoke them out loud. “Don’t be afraid to fight this war.”
Fisher looked up at the man standing by Fisher’s window and the old man saw that the president had tears in his eyes. His face had taken on a deep shade of red due to the adrenaline woven together with sorrow.
“Please forgive me for accosting you this way, but your sign touched me so much and it is a direct answer to me from God through you. We need direction, my brother.”
“Mr. President, the honor and privilege is all mine. Would you like to have it, sir? The sign I mean.”
”That’s really generous of you, but it is of much greater value right where you are. Right now, you just might be more powerful than I am, in this awful situation; and isn’t that the way it’s truly supposed to be?”
“Here, let me sign it and that means I will follow your advice, my friend.” Fisher said and placed his signature on the poster.
“I will never forget this day, Mr. President.”
“Please don’t, and remember how your simple message gave a president great resolve. What a truth and stress reliever to know someone is bigger than our feeble abilities to control the deeds and intents of evil men and women.”
Fisher put his arm out the window and shook the elderly man’s hand. “I wish I could get out and thank you appropriately, but these guys might kill me trying to protect me. I will do my best to preserve that you have worked so hard to have and to pass on to your children. Thank you for letting God employ you, sir. ‘Don’t be afraid to fight this war.’ I really love that. Pray for America.”
President Fisher Harrison had no idea how his resolve would soon be placed under maximum danger.
In Route to Raven Rock
Mountain Defense Base
March 11, 2012, 4:12 p.m.
The Navigator Specialist reentered the cockpit and strapped himself in for what he knew would be a rough landing.
“Ray, did they radio you?”
“Yes, they did.”
“And … what’d they tell you?” The navigator looked out ahead and saw the well hidden runway. “Great, Captain, you did it.”
Captain Ray Jarrod looked over at his Navigation Specialist and pulled out his side arm.
Jarrod said the words exactly as he had been instructed. “Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?”
The navigator laughed “Yea Captain …” He looked at the pilot and saw his friend and comrade, Captain Jarrod’s sidearm staring back at him. “Yea I have been told that a few times. What are you doing, Captain?”
“Well, they’ll never tell you that again.” Captain Ray Jarrod squeezed the trigger and unloaded three shots into the navigator’s head. Then, his next orders flashed through his mind.
He switched on the intercom and spoke to the First lady. “Mrs. Harrison, we have the runway in sight...”
October 2, 2011
The Consortium - Patriot Acts III - Automated Response
What would you feel if America fell and the nation was taken over by a dictatorial power? Would you adapt? Or, would you lay down body and soul to protect your homeland? Read Chapter four of Steven Clark Bradley's newest work in progress, The Consortium - Automated Response and feel what could happen unless we are vigilant and devoted to the United states of America.
The Consortium
Automated Response
Patriot Acts Part III
Chapter Four
SPU Facility,
Falls Church, Virginia
March 7, 2011 10:49 a.m.
“It’s over.” Peter Barlowe told himself. The truth was obvious and the reality of it was flooding his mind with thoughts from his past. Memories of things long forgotten were now somehow engulfing him; like someone had switched something on or had powered something down in his brain. It felt like his conscience knew that his whole life had come crashing down.
Peter Barlowe tried to get his mind around it all and the events that had just taken place. “I’ve somehow always known, but seemed only like a dream.” Peter Barlowe whispered to himself and trying to make his mind absorb it.
He pulled a jacket and pants out of the bag he had assembled in his office just before all hell had broken out and the Falls Church facility was overrun with armed military personnel.
“I’m going down, that’s for sure.” he realized while stretching a lightweight shirt over his torso and fitting the skullcap over his head.
But I can see it all so clearly now; must be what it feels like to come out of a comma. he thought. “I have to tell the president.” he decided and whispered this time quietly, while he pulled the pants up over his clothes and got his feet into the right position.
They’re looking for me, and I might even turn myself in. He debated with himself. For now, Peter Barlowe, the defunct Superintendent of the dead and gone Strategic Perception Unit, pulled the gloves over his hands and set the eyepiece in place.
The chameleon suit would give him time. Peter rushed into a janitor’s room and quietly closed the door. He had to figure out how he preferred to die. “It ain’t a thing to be taken lightly.” He tried to persuade himself.
Peter carefully got down on the floor and sat in the absolute blackness and listened to the sounds of hundreds of feet walking up and down the maze of hallways that made up the Falls Church facility.
“They can’t have any idea what they have just unleashed.” Peter told no one except himself.
He didn’t care at all what had happened to Jaime O’Rourke. “He was better off dead anyway.” Peter paused in reflection and then whispered. “So uncivilized; he took us to ruin, though he was probably just following orders, and didn’t we all?”
Thoughts that he had lost for so many years were now clearly focused in his mind; his past, his school, his friends, his bedroom and then his mom and dad were all flying past his mind’s eyes; all the things he seemed to have forgotten during his time in the SPU.
Seated in the darkness, the sounds of military personnel voices, radio relays and footsteps subsided and he succumbed to the pull of his mental visions, from so many years earlier.
Edgecombe County, North Carolina
September, 1969, 1:52 p.m.
“Just deal with it.” was the last thing Peter Barlowe’s father ever told him, before he died.
Twelve year old Peter Barlowe walked into his home in Edgecombe County, North Carolina just as he had as far back as he could remember. There, to the right, he saw his father, Marshall sitting on the edge of the couch; his face buried in his palms, shaking and weeping a torrent of tears.
“Dad, where’s mom?”
Peter Barlowe looked at the things that were scattered around his father, on the couch and the floor. He saw pictures of his childhood, his mom, Betty and his dad’s great-great grandmother, Winnifred Atkinson Barlowe’s portrait. The floor was littered with old folders everywhere; all of them opened with their contents spilling out.
What’s he looking for? Peter wondered. “Dad, where’s mom? You’re starting to scare me.”
Marshall Barlowe looked up at his son with a face that screamed out disaster and guilt.
“Mother, you want your mother? Well, boy, you haven’t got a mother anymore; you’ve never had one. The Consortium made sure of that. You’re nothing but a hybrid”
Young Peter Barlowe took in his father’s words. The pitch, the expression across his father’s face and the grave sound of his father’s voice, and the most devastatingly terrible things of all were the words themselves. It all told the young twelve-year old boy that his life was about to be drastically altered and to remain permanently in disrepair.
Marshall Barlowe sat on the edge of the couch with his eyes weeping into his palms. He raised his head and gazed at the boy he had always loved, though in the affection department, Marshall Barlowe had rarely attempted to display any, though he possessed a lot of love for young Peter Barlowe.
The expression Marshall Barlowe saw stretched across his son’s face made the man hurt inside so badly that he had to use his right hand to force the gun in his left hand down so he wouldn’t raise the barrel up to his own head and pull the trigger earlier than he figured he’d be forced to do.
“Peter, I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t; I swear I did. Everything about that damn place is automated, and it’s only the beginning. Don’t try to run; cause, they’ll kill you. This isn’t what the SPU was for.”
Peter looked over at his father and took in the words that even he, at his young age, realized would be the last ones his father would ever say to him.
“Peter, I love you, I always have. But, you cannot give up what’s ours and what was started by my kin, my blood; to make us competitive, not to kill presidents and senators.”
Peter walked slowly closer to his father and saw the gun in his hand.
“Dad, what’s wrong? I know about the SPU. I know what the Consortium is too. I’m not afraid; tell me what I have to do.” Tears rolled down the boy’s face and young Peter Barlowe felt his knees wobbling under him. He took a deep breath and steadied himself.
Marshall looked at Peter with regret etched all over his face.
“My boy, Michael O’Rourke has taken the line; he’s the Consortium’s hand-picked thief, and he stole it from Eldridge Harrison and killed him.”
Marshall saw the confounded stare in his son’s eyes.
“Peter, I know, you’re young, way too young to endure what has happen here today. I …”
“Yea, that … what has happened, dad? Where is my mom?” Peter demanded.
“Mom, you got no mom, never did. Listen to me, you can’t run. If you run, they’ll kill you, and I can’t stop it now. Once a thing like this gets rolling, there’s no stopping it. This will never be far from you, Peter. Once they take you …”
“Take me, take me where?” Peter looked around desperately to see who was trying to take him away.
“You have to grow up fast and stop the system. The new line will build it, and they’ll use it too, to control everyone.”
“Dad, I don’t understand anything you’re talking about.”
“That’s not important. They’re going to take you, Peter, and when they do, you’ll be chipped. No one knows the things we’ve done; we don’t even know ourselves. No one even comprehends how many masters we’ve served; all the while exacting all the power, funding, technology and information they could take as their booty.
“The SPU and every president has been the puppet of the Consortium since Wilson. When O’Rourke’s crowd gets their claws on the codes we have, from every nation that’s anything, no one will ever be able to stop the Consortium, all provided by the SPU and Michael O’Rourke.
“Peter, you’ll forget these things after they block out this day, and God knows how many other days, nights, even years they will expunge from your memory. But, my only hope is that you will find a way around the control that will be placed upon you. You’ll have to teach your mind to control it and to listen to you.”
“What are you talking about? Whose gonna control me?”
“You will have to force your will over the control. It can be done, but you’ll have to constantly force this day back into your mind. That’s the best I can do.” Marshall Barlowe stared back at Peter and rose from the couch.
“Peter, There are so many things you do not understand. Listen carefully; they’ve built a system that will give the Consortium complete control over everything. It is military, economic and social calamity that no nation on Earth will survive in its present form. They’re going to take the whole thing down. You have to deal with it. Let them have you, teach you and prepare you, but never let them own you. One day, you will bring them all down.
“I have raised you since you were barely ten pounds. I have so much sadness to tell you though that I am not …”
Young Peter Barlowe heard a cracking sound and turned his head toward the shattering sound of breaking glass that followed and hit the ground at the same time. He turned back to his father and saw a blood-spewing hole erupt in the center of his father’s forehead. Blood shot out of his dad’s head and splashed over Peter’s face. Peter saw a set of papers lying on the floor that were marked, Berkowitz Holdings.” He heard the back door fly open and slam loudly against the wall. He quickly took the papers and folded them and shoved them under his shorts and lay silently and exposed on the living room floor and saw four sets of feet enter the room. He saw them walking over to him and then they grabbed him and lifted him up.
“Peter, we got here as soon as we could. You’re dad’s had a nervous breakdown, I’m afraid.”
“Mr. O’Rourke, you just killed my dad. He told me everything. I will not go with you. Did you kill my mom too, you lying bastard?”
“Listen, calm down. I didn’t kill anyone. Your father was about to kill you too. Come on now, you’re delirious, and I’ve got just the thing to help you forget all about this.”
Michael O’Rourke walked over to Peter and put his arm around his shoulder. Peter pulled away from him and punched the much larger man in the ribs. O’Rourke felt it, too.
"I don’t know what to believe, but you can never make me believe that.” Peter shouted.
“Of course you don’t, Pete. But I can make you believe or forget anything I want you to. In fact, I fully intend to tell you what to believe, my boy.” O’Rourke looked at his men. “Make the call.”
“Yes sir.” O’Rourke’s man walked over to the house phone and dialed a number.
“Secure Routing, what’s your request?”
“I need a secure line to Copenhagen.”
“One second to find an empty secure trunk line. I’m dialing now. Your call is connected.”
“Sir, we have it all in play.” O’Rourke said
“Did you kill Barlowe Sr.?”
“Yes sir, but have not found his documents yet.”
“Then burn it all down. Those are the only copies that can transfer my holdings to someone else.”
“Burn the house, you mean?”
“What, are you deaf? I said, burn the whole damn thing. I liked Eldridge Harrison, he was a great man, but just too full of remorse to keep him around. Barlowe was of less value, but he had damnation in his hands with those documents. So, burn the whole damn thing and chip the boy. His real dad was no dummy, and I am sure the fruit of his father’s loins is of the same caliber. You got that?”
“As we speak, sir.” The phone went dead. O’Rourke slammed the phone down.
“Get him outta here; one of you, get back in here and burn this place.”
Michael O’Rourke, the new chief of the Strategic Perception Unit could not believe it had come off so flawlessly.
“Finally, the SPU’s all mine.”
Three large men picked up Peter Barlowe and cuffed him and led him outside. As they walked him out the back door that had been kicked off its hinges, Peter saw the lifeless body of his mother sprawled across the blood-splattered table, with a large knife protruding out of her chest.
“You killed my mom. You bastards killed my mom.” Peter screamed and fought to get away from his abductors.
Two of the men carried twelve-year-old Peter Barlow out of the house and to a black car with US Government plates. They jostled him into the car and he looked to his left at another young unconscious body next to him, in the back seat.
“Fish, Fisher is that you?”
“Oh, you know young Fisher Harrison, don’t you? Don’t worry about him; he’s OK. He’s been visiting us for a few days from Indiana. As a matter of fact, why don’t you join him?”
The SPU operative placed a mask over his own face and closed the backseat divider and pressed a button his on his dash board that sprayed half the normal dose of gas that he’d have administered to an adult. The young boy pounded on the divider but soon, he felt his strength give way to a sleepy, foggy haze and everything went dark.
Inside SPU Center
Falls Church, Virginia
March 7, 2011 11:04 a.m.
“I remember.” Peter said quietly, but more loudly than he had intended with his head swimming and his heart pounding in his chest, he felt numb as the darkness of 1969 faded in his mind’s eyes and he peered and gaped into the darkness of 2011. He fine-tuned his ears to the sounds of soldiers, as they walked up and down the huge Falls Church facility corridors.
“It’s an automated response.” Peter recalled from his thoughts of the past that had flooded every chamber of his previously barricaded mind.
Memories started flashing and streaming through his mind and he saw what this horrible system would do. His mind could almost feel the skin around his face pressed back and felt a searing heat blistering his face by the destruction that his mind pictured.
Would this be the ultimate price for working for the devil? Peter wondered. It’s like I’ve been there before, like something’s been put back in place in my mind. He remembered when he and O’Rourke had met them. Berkowitz, yes that’s right. Now, there’s a man devoted only to power; someone who’d only give up his throne if he could take us all with him. Peter Barlowe remembered everything.
“Peter, listen carefully, they’ve build a system that will take down the whole thing down.” his father had said. “Just before they blew him away.” Peter whispered. “…if they take us down, everything goes with us.” He had heard the words so often since he had become part of the SPU. The memory shot through his mind and he gripped the sides of his head.
“We’ve chipped every soldier, Marine, Seaman and Airman since 1988, and neither Reagan, Clinton nor Bush knew a thing about it. Even Tate didn’t get that information.” He groaned in mental agony.
He heard in his mind what his handlers had engrained in his young mind after he had been chipped. “Your dad killed himself.”
No, you killed him. Peter Barlowe, heard his mind silently cry out.
“Your father killed your mother; stabbed her in the heart.”
“You lie!” He started to scream out loudly, but he clasped his hand over his mouth and looked down at his watch. “Only two minutes.” He told himself. “I have to stop it.” He heard the sound of heavy footsteps voices approaching his location. He stopped breathing and listened carefully.
“This O’Rourke guy is dead.” One soldier said to the other. “Yea, Harrison’s not gonna take any crap.”
“Jaime’s dead? That leaves only me to take all the heat.” Barlowe realized.
He positioned himself with his back to the wall of the cleaning room and switched his flashlight on. Peter looked down at the chameleon suit he had put on. He pulled the mask over his face and pressed a button on the inside of his jacket. The suit came to life and he took on the colors and blended into the room, but the suit’s one flaw was the initialization process that produced a low whining sound that the SPU techs had not managed to rectify.
“Did you hear that?” One soldier asked the other. Barlowe heard the soldiers walking toward the door.
“I have to get to the chamber and reset the failsafe or lookout it’s a brave new world.” His watch told him he had forty-eight seconds.
He heard the footprints coming his way and saw light break through the darkness as the cleaning room door slowly opened. He pulled his legs back prepared himself.
Two US Army soldiers aimed their weapons into the room and looked inside. They saw nothing and walked into the room. When they came close enough to trip over Peter, he drove the force of both his adrenalin-laced legs into the chest of one of the soldiers, crushing his chest instantly. Peter leapt to his feet and rapidly raced down the corridor, firing as he ran as fast as his legs would take him.
The Army advance soldier was one of a team of ten sent to conduct code enforcement and to shoot anyone on sight who threatened US Forces in any way. The soldier ran into the corridor and saw Peter. The one soldier still left breathing ran after him and radioed his commander.
“I got him, Peter Barlowe …”
“One second…”
“One second, I ain’t got one second…”
“Who are you, what company?”
“Taggart, sir, Advanced Infantry Clearance.”
“Give it to me, soldier.”
“I got Barlowe. You know, like the number two … sir.”
“You’ve got a shoot to kill on that dirt bag, Taggart. You Copy?”
"You better believe it … sir. He’s in the left corridor.”
“Secretary Blake wants Barlowe dead. Do you copy that?”
“That’s affirmative and happy to oblige; engaging now.”
Taggart crouched forward and advanced with his weapon held tightly and impatiently ready. When Taggart turned the corner, Barlowe sprayed bullets in every direction. Taggart took cover and returned fire, even though he couldn’t see anything except the holes that Barlowe was inflicting upon the facility walls.
“Sergeant, you still with us? I can’t see you, Taggart.” Taggart’s commanding officer looked around at his personnel busy at backing up their forces at their consuls. “That’s his name, right?”
“Yes sir, it’s Taggart.”
“That’s affirmative, still in pursuit and the bastard’s invisible and shooting. Not in the talking mood, for the moment, sir!”
“Copy that.”
Barlowe turned to run and a bullet grazed the chameleon suit’s programs controller, which rendered him instantly visible with only twenty-two seconds left to stop the automated response.
“I think I’ve brought a knife to a gunfight.” Peter knew he had no chance to stop it and the failsafe was the only chance Barlowe had to remain a free man, even if no one else would be.
Barlow turned and looked at Taggart. The rest of Taggart’s men ran up behind Barlowe, with their weapons drawn and trained directly on him.
“Get down on the floor, now!” Taggart screamed.
Barlowe got down and looked at his watch. “Hmm, seven seconds.” He told himself as he looked up at the soldiers.
“I said get down flat and face down on the floor!” Another of the armed soldiers shouted.
“Listen to me. You’ve got to stop the clock.” Three, two, one.
“This is your last…” Taggart, who had appeared deadly ready to blow Barlowe away suddenly dropped his weapons to his sides and stood calmly and relaxed.
Throughout the whole facility, every man and woman in uniform simply stopped searching and stood at attention, waiting for their next orders.
International Monetary Fund Headquarters
Copenhagen, Denmark
March 7, 2011 5:05 p.m.
“Good, oh will you look at that?” Warren Berkowitz said in great amazement watching from his IMF office.”
“Ha-Ha, will you look at that?” Berkowitz pressed a button.
“Yes sir.”
“Patch me into the intercom.”
“One second please … The line is yours, Mr. Berkowitz.”
Berkowitz stood up and stared at his screen with Barlowe lying face down on the floor for a moment. The soldiers were all standing at attention in their various areas of the facility; spread out on various screens across Berkowitz’s wall. He did not bat an eye.
“Thank you for your service, Peter Barlowe.” Berkowitz’s voice echoed throughout the facility. Barlowe raised his head and looked in every direction.
“Mr. Barlowe, this is Warren Berkowitz. We have met before, you know.”
“Yes, I know, I remember you, one of several slimy internationalists who have kept me alive since I was brought to you.” Peter said. He looked upward and defiantly screamed. “I remember everything!”
Peter rose to his feet and looked around in amazement. They were almost robotically compliant. Some of the best forces the nation had were down in the underground facility. Now, every one of them had amassed in a ring around Peter Barlow. They all still moved and looked very alive and totally acquiescent. Taggart just stood there and looked at Peter and appeared normal in every way.
Richmond Control,
Richmond Virginia
March 7, 2011, 11:06 a.m.
“Secretary Blake, we’ve lost contact with Taggart … with everyone.”
“What did you just say?”
“Sir, all communications are shut down. I have no live connections right now.”
“Who the hell’s in charge of this country right now?” the Secretary queried and demanded to know.
Inside SPU Center
Falls Church, Virginia
March 7, 2011, 11:07 a.m.
“You’re an amazing man, Mr. Barlowe. You are the first, if my memory serves me as well as yours evidently does you. Is that right, gentlemen? Is he not the first to get it all back.” Everyone agreed, as they almost always did.
“Actually, I would be the second, Mr. Berkowitz.” Peter said. “The first one is the President of the United States.”
“Ah, yes, you would be right on that one. We have plans for him, just as we have for you. As you can see, or at least hear, we’ve come a bit out of the shadows. Hard to believe you’ve worked for us all your life already and have never been as close to death as you are right now. That puts you at quite a crossroads just now. Now, don’t feel bad. We too, have a crossroad or two ahead of us in the next few days. Sorry, I am addicted to adrenaline.”
“Peter, we have initiated a new program and we want you to direct it, enforce it. It’s really not that different from what you’ve been doing since you joined the SPU as a child. The SPU was our little sect all the time, anyway. This will mean serving under a new protocol now, a new set of rules. Get up and take off that amazing suit we paid to develop for you.”
Peter Barlowe slowly removed the suit.
“You are under the orders of the Consortium now. So, you really have two options. Roll with it and continue your service to the Consortium or call it a day and we’ll see you in hell. Peter Barlowe, it’s actually that simple. If you are with us, return to your base and await my orders.”
Barlowe looked around at the military personnel.
“They’re all chipped, aren’t they?”
“Is that what you call it? So are you, but you somehow beat it. We want your heart, not your mind or your motivations. The secret to keeping power is to never stop amassing it. You know that bit about absolute power corrupting absolutely? Well, it’s absolutely true. Amazing changes will take hold of this nation and the world in the next few days. If you’re in, your orders are in your SUV parked at the back of the base, the black one. I need a house divided against itself in one year from today.” Berkowitz replied. “But, I need an answer now.”
“I think I have already given you one. What’s this about an automated response.”
“Wonderful.” Berkowitz said. “It is great not to have to kill you after all we’ve invested in you.”
Berkowitz pressed a button on his console.
“This is your commander. Take Mr. Barlowe to base and be as you were until you get further orders.”
Richmond Control
Richmond Virginia
March 7, 2011, 11:09 a.m.
“Sir, we are connected. Everything seems normal, but that was not normal, right Captain?”
“Not like any normal I’ve ever seen.”
Inside SPU Center
Falls Church, Virginia
March 7, 2011, 11:09 a.m.
“Okay, Peter my boy, let the year begin. You will have everything you need to get the job done and rid the world of this evil country once and for all.” Berkowitz looked at his troops and told them to take Peter to the base. Peter was amazed when he heard the echo of hundreds of voices resonating throughout the facility with the same two words.
“Yes, Sir.”
September 16, 2011
Blogger - Agenda 21 Introduction by Steven Clark Bradley
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If you would like to learn more about the Agenda 21 and the environmental green movement and the true war it is about to unleash, check out the link posted below titled, The Green Agenda. This is the real stuff. It's your freedom; how are you going to feel when it's gone?
The Green Agenda
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Here is the new introduction to my first book of my blogger series. Called Blogger Agenda 21. What you are about to read is fiction in that I have placed it in a fictional setting with fictional characters, but the scenario described in the introduction to my book is real, true and already in motion. Agenda 21 is a real United Nations' effort to imprison the who globe in a tightly knitted scheme to reduce all to cattle, but real cattle will be of greater value. I hope you read this and feel the eeriness of it all. The great secret is though is that it is REAL!
Blogger - Agenda 21 Introduction
Effective execution of Agenda 21 will require a profound reorientation of all human society, unlike anything the world has ever experienced a major shift in the priorities of both governments and individuals and an unprecedented redeployment of human and financial resources. This shift will demand that a concern for the environmental consequences of every human action be integrated into individual and collective decision-making at every level.” - Excerpt, UN Agenda 21
Introduction
Blogger - Nathan Hawk
Underground Controversy Network Podcast
December 2, 2012
“Thank you for reading my Weekly Grime Podcast about how your freedom is being stolen right out from under you. In fact and in truth, the nation The United States of America is, for all practical purposes, gone already anyway, right? Not at all! We still have a constitution and we must insist it be followed.
“Hey you! Yeah, that’s right, you, and all of you. All of you who love freedom have to stand up and insist that the nation we created when we voted to uphold the constitution, at the beginning of the republic return and that the government be limited and the people’s freedom be king. All of you and me, we all have a responsibility to leave a free society behind for our children. You all out there in this underground Controversy network all know Dr. Sam Wells. He is a national treasure and often a very personal headache for me. Well, Sam Wells has written down what he’d like to say about a UN designed environmental program America has already signed onto. It is called Agenda 21, and its final implementation will take place, it may mean the end of liberty and what may well be the establishing of a world-wide totalitarian society.”
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“Um, yea, uh I am Sam Wells, the name probably means something deep. Did you comprehend the comedy of what I just said? Jokes are not what stimulates the brain cells inside my head, but here’s something that will activate your fear inducers, though!
“You see, well you couldn’t actually see it yet in your mind because I have not actually told you yet; but I am about to. See, well you couldn’t actually …”
“Sam,” Blogger said. “Tell us about it, OK?” Blogger gently persuaded Sam.
“Um … right. In 1992, the United Nations, which is not united nor a nation, successfully passed the environmental action plan called Agenda 21 for sustainable development in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Agenda 21 is the global-transformational result of the United Nations Conference on Environment and Development (UNCED) held in the Brazilian city. Oh I like Brazil! Brazilian women are the best lovers. Let me tell you about Lola. That girl was …” Sam Wells looked at Blogger. He stopped talking and looked directly into the most powerful camera he had ever designed and built.
“Agenda 21is an all-inclusive plan of action that, when fully implemented, will absorb every living person globally, nationally and locally by organizations of the UN, governments, and major groups in every area where humans directly affect the environment.”
Blogger looked at the counter that kept him up to date on the traffic to his sites across the internet. It was buzzing. In his own peculiar mesmerized the podcast audience with offbeat character pure sincerity and innocence. Over three million listeners were tuned in. That many listeners would normally fry a server, but not the ones that Sam Wells built, and he was always improving their speed and power and memory.
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“The world applauded the killing of America’s number one enemy, Osama Bin Laden.” Sam said in a steady voice now. “Yet, under the American people’s noses, silently, Agenda 21 is currently extending its reach into the very fabric of American society. Every single corner of the globe is being readied to usurp power over the American Republic by America’s real enemy, the United States government.
“Most people don’t even know about it or have only heard of it as a conspiracy theory, but it is slinking into everything we do, what we buy and what we sell, where we live and what we eat and how we prepare it. It will eventually affect what you drive, where you work and how you heat and cool your home and work place and it may well be irreversible. Agenda 21 is the United Nation’s designed program presented and approved in Rio in 1992.” Blogger threw an M&M at Sam Wells and hit him in the head. Sam turned with perturbed look on his face and Blogger mouthed the words, “I’m up now.” And Sam shouted the words back. “Oh your turn, OK! Here’s Blogger, my friends.”
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“Well, there’s nothing like a smooth transition and that was nothing like a smooth transition.” Blogger joked with his listeners and mocked at Sam. Sam started to throw a peanut at Blogger but stopped and looked at it and found it more logical to eat it than to throw it at Nathan Hawk and plopped it into his mouth.
Blogger got his message out to the underground world. “American conservatives snickered at the possibility of such shifts in power ever being possible, and the right laughed it off. It seemed crazy and impossible, at that time, to ever happen here. But, indeed, that was another time, a different era. We are not witnessing failures of the Arthur administration. What America and the entire world see is the slow and silent implementation of Agenda 21. It is happening, and it is taking shape and gaining power and authority right now.
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“In ‘Realspeak’ as opposed to ‘Newspeak’, Agenda 21 is a totalitarian comprehensive environmental program that, when fully implemented, will direct where you live, how much water you can use, and how and where you can travel. Officially, Agenda 21 is being marketed as a worldwide effort to ensure that all human beings will have access to adequate housing, health care, water and food. The means by which this diabolical accord will achieve its sinister aims will require a massive redistribution of wealth from prosperous countries to poorer countries. Predictably, capitalistic countries, like the United States, will suffer lower standards of living, while poor nation’s standards will rise. And, they call that progress; it is, in actual fact, suicide.
It is important to note that Presidents George H.W. Bush, Bill Clinton, and Thomas Arthur have all have signed onto Agenda 21, through Executive Orders. Hundreds of governors, mayors, and county commissioners have also signed onto this agreement that will, in effect, end the super-power status of the United States, which has already happened, as a matter of fact. Under the controls and subjugation of Agenda 21, the future, your future, America’s future is even now being relegated to mediocrity, an idea of the past, a nation that squandered its standard of living; a nation controlled and being dismantled by President Thomas Arthur.
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Arthur has made sure that your children’s standard of living shall be lowered into a new dark age, without the current power base of a healthy, gun-laden and faithful American citizenry. America’s slightest gesture of pulling out of the accord and this totalitarian regime of Thomas Arthur will take you down. What Agenda 21’s tentacles are already latched onto is only now emerging, but it is evident and clear that President Arthur was put in office with the dismantling of the United States of America as his mandate. In that devilish effort, he has been masterful.
Sound like Fiction? It is not. Agenda 21 is real and its related programs will eliminate many things we hold dear and common in the developed free world. The things we as free Americans have enjoyed and have taken for granted are declared “unsustainable” in Agenda 21 and will be abolished. Here are some things that will no longer be legal under the ever-extending grip of Agenda 21.
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Once this accord is fully in place, all private property rights of ownership will be a thing of the past. All forms of irrigation, pesticides & commercial fertilizer will become illegal as well as livestock production and most eating of meat. Privately owned vehicles will no longer be allowed and personal travel will be severely regulated much like the Soviet Union regulated its citizens in its totalitarian communist regime. The use of fossil fuels for power generation or mechanized travel will no longer be permitted under Agenda 21, and single-family dwellings will be abolished.
The economy will flounder as most forms of mineral extraction and timber harvesting will be unacceptable. Finally, the key to the implementation of all the terms found inside Agenda 21 is the UN’s mandate to reduce the human population to less than 1 billion people. We can already see that abortion, infanticide, rules against resuscitation of the elderly, the infirm and the willful negligence of providing the needed care for the mentally ill or mentally handicapped around us. These are but a few of this evil regime, along with their obtuse objectives will use to achieve this evil goal. This simply means that insurance will be no assurance at all, except for your funeral.
The mechanisms for empowering and installing Agenda 21are, for the most part, not coming from Washington D.C. or state legislatures. It is bleeding in through local city and county governments. Agenda 21 brings with it surreptitious code words, such as “smart growth,” “social justice,” “bio-diversity,” and “sustained development.” You can already hear them on a daily basis. Translated, these terms effectively mean total environmental dictatorship and the reestablishment of the pagan practice of the worship of Mother Earth.
Is this a joke? Ask the more than one hundred seventy nine countries, including the United States, who have already signed on to the Agenda since 1992. Many more have joined since then. Agenda 21 is already in progress in 600 U.S. cities. In Los Angeles County, you can no longer be given a plastic bag in the stores, and the County law forces stores to sell paper bags to force consumers to bring their own bags. It is easy to find lists of municipalities and county governments that have voted into law specific programs from Agenda 21.
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The express purpose of Agenda 21 is designed to control every aspect of human life on every square inch of planet earth. As the Judeo-Christian ethic and biblical worldview dim in the world, humankind finds itself falling to the bottom of the food chain. Under Agenda 21, animals, plants and trees are regarded as more important than humans. We can already see abundant evidence of this process in motion today. The real underlying message of Agenda 21is that humanity is the problem, and nature must be conserved and take priority. It is even affirmed in the official forty-chapter document that “Mother Earth must not be scratched.”
Many socialistic, communistic, and liberal organizations and international leaders are behind Agenda 21 and its related programs. It will take dedication of time and effort on our part to truly understand all the implications of this pervasive program. Think of the world your children will inherit if we don’t stop it and similar battering on our freedoms. Do not make the mistake of writing this off as some conspiracy theory. There will be many conspiracy eventually wrapped around this lie, but Agenda 21is not a theory. It’s here; just look around you.
Agenda 21 is just another attempt by man to recreate heaven on earth. Let me paraphrase David Chilton, in his book Paradise Restored. His idea as he sees it is that humanity has been trying to get back into the Garden of Eden ever since we were expelled. Each time we try, we create another hell on earth. Agenda 21 will be no different. In reality, this will not spawn a new age of enlightenment, but will, by design, in fact, build impenetrable walls from within which, no freedom-loving person will survive.
Nathan Hawk, Blogger
Underground Controversy
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Visit my website at: http://storiesthatreadyou.com/
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If you would like to learn more about the Agenda 21 and the environmental green movement and the true war it is about to unleash, check out the link posted below titled, The Green Agenda. This is the real stuff. It's your freedom; how are you going to feel when it's gone?The Green Agenda
September 11, 2011
July 4, 2011
IT'S GONNA BLOW" - BLOGGER UNDERGROUND CONTROVERSY
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Here is the introductory chapter of my next novel series titled "Blogger - Underground Controversy. This novel looks into the repercussions of the Internet Neutrality law that will limit all of us from saying what we wish to over the net. I think you will feel the stark reality of America with the inalienable right of FREEDOM OF SPEECH torn to shreds. This novel is of yet still in its infancy, but it will make you want to protest and stand up for your rights that only God gave you. Take a read and you might find 'Blogger' is a story that reads YOU!
(This is a work in progress)
IT'S GONNA BLOW
Chapter One
Deepwater Horizon Oil Rig
The Mississippi Canyon Coast Block 252
40 miles South East of the Louisiana
April 20, 2010, 9:27 PM
“Will you take a good look at that? Look at the size of that.” Deepwater Horizon Control-Room Supervisor Jeremy Daniels said with amazement as he and Fox News reporter, Matthew Downy stared at the large randomly-shaped spot on the screen in front of them.
“What is it?” Downy asked Daniels.
“Well, Mr. Downy, what you are looking at is the most profound and massive oil reserve ever found anywhere. It’s all crude mixed with a lot of frozen methane gas.”
“It’s huge, and how does it compare to let’s say, Saudi Arabian reserves?” Downy asked. His cameraman tapped him on the shoulder. “We go live in twenty-five seconds.”
“OK, take the Saudis’ reserve, add Iran and the North Sea British reserves and you could almost equal what we have found right here.” Supervisor Daniels had a genuine dumbfounded look stretched across his face. “Just some five miles below the gulf floor, that’s for sure the biggest pool of crude I’ve ever seen in the Mississippi Canyon. The test is getting it from down there to up here.”
“Five, four, three, two, one …” The cameraman said with his fingers to Matthew Downy.
Deepwater Horizon Oil Rig
The Mississippi Canyon Coast Block 252
40 miles South East of the Louisiana
April 20, 2010, 9:30 PM
“This is Matthew Downy aboard British Petroleum’s Deepwater Horizon, a massive semi-submersible oil rig where the crew of the Deepwater Horizon is celebrating a ten-year perfect safety record. They have been drilPeng in Block 252 for over a week and made it to eighteen thousand feet in the past two hours. But, they broke the massive drilPeng bore, when, just after the eighteen thousand mark, they smashed into something, some five miles below the ocean floor. I am speaking with Jeremy Daniels who is the control-room supervisor. Mr. Daniels, what could break such a massive drill bit as that? It must be at least a foot in diameter.”
“Well, sir, I‘ve never seen a break like that one before, myself. It didn’t get sheared off, like normally happens. It seems to have melted and twisted. It had nothing left to drill with. Don’t worry though. I’ve never seen an obstacle yet we couldn’t drill through.”
“Mr. Daniels, you told me, before we went on the air, that it’s a bit more dangerous actually when we get that far down below the gulf floor. Could you explain why that is in laymen’s terms to us?”
“Well, I mean that far down, the rocks contain a lot of frozen methane gas that the chemicals and the heat we generate could melt and cause quite a massive explosion, if we’re not careful. Just think about it, from the sea floor, the Deepwater Horizon rig has penetrated more than 18,000 feet, almost another five miles down into the earth's crust with pipe.”
Deepwater Horizon Oil Rig
The Mississippi Canyon Coast Block 252
40 miles South East of the Louisiana
April 20, 2010, 9:42 PM
"Mr. Daniels, I hear those huge engines revving up.” The cameraman shifted the lens over to the huge motors that both twirled and pounded the seawater-laden mud that was forced to give way to the pipe that would be fitted deep into the Earth.
“Yeah, that’s right. See them lights glowing and hear them alarms waiPeng? It means they're at a constant state now, and that’s good. It's just, Beep, beep, beep, and it never stops inside my head. I’ve been doing this so long; I hear it every night as I fall asleep and every morning when I wake up. I’m told it will never leave me, even if I live thousands of miles away from any oil rig. We have hit the impediment now and we’re spinning but not getting anywhere.”
“So, what’s the procedure for such a blockage? It can’t be tree roots that far down.”
“Hell, no one knows what’s down that far. I’m not sure there’s been a submersible invented that can handle the pressure. We do have a device that we’ve decided to try. It’s a torque compressor that forces the bore to pound as it turns. It’s a lot like some hand drills everyone has. But there’s an incentive, which I have never used in my thirty odd years of doing this. It is a sudden thruster that is supposed to break through anything. Today, we’ll see. First we have to back it out twenty feet and then ram it forward.”
The Deepwater Horizon Supervisor, Jeremy Daniels looked at the FOX News cameraman. “Is this still being recorded?”
“Yes sir, as we speak.”
“OK, just before we do this, let me just say for the record, this is being done against my recommendation that we try other means. It’s just that this rig costs BP over five hundred thousand dollars to run a day. Here, time really is money. OK, let’s go for it.”
Daniels pushed the throttle forward and the motors started to scream out as they sucked in air and the hydraulic gathered pressure to pound the blockage open at five miles below the ocean floor.
The Fox News Journalist covering the site was forced to put the ear protectors on and scream out his words to Daniels.
“The beeping is starting to get drowned out by the sound of the engines.” Suddenly, the rig’s lights got so bright that they physically exploded. Computer monitors began shattering throughout the rig. “What was that?”
“Well, this is a day of firsts. So, I guess the answer to your question is, I don’t know.”
Deepwater Horizon Oil Rig
The Mississippi Canyon Coast Block 252
40 miles South East of the Louisiana
April 20, 2010, 9:54 PM
Daniels checked all the buttons and switches and read the meter. Daniels screamed out his words to the reporter. “We have full pressure and dig capacity now. I am going to engage to rotors and let it dig a little bigger pathway. Daniels tilted the bore to the left and right to make the initial wound into the belly of the Earth a bit bigger and wider to have more leverage as he prepared to ram the obstacle that was stopping them from achieving their goal of striking black gold or Louisiana Tea. After Daniels felt the impediment, he retracted the bore fifty feet when he was only supposed to retract it twenty.
“I’m applying the hammer now and watch us break open this bastard in … I told them a fifty feet ram was too much and dangerous, but investors need results, so, let’s give them some…” Daniels raised the bore fifty feet and watched his meters. He made sure the pressure and the thrust was right and began to lower the bore again. When he had reached five feet from the bottom of the shaft, he revved the motors to fifty percent and engaged the Hammer and the bore raced down the shaft to the bottom and rammed into the floor of the shaft, the hammer erupted and pummeled the underwater surface and the ocean surface literally began to sway slightly and then with a sound like a large firecracker resounded. Everyone on the deepwater Horizon heard what sounded like a shattering sound and red goo began to float up to the surface of the gulf.
“Oh my, that’s not good!” Daniels yelled out. “That’s gonna fill the tube with methane and the whole damn thing’s gonna blow!”
Daniels tried to reverse the bore but it would not do anything. Then he felt it in the controls. “It’s sinking … the bore is going deeper!” Daniels looked at the screens and there was nothing but haze, which was getting thicker and thicker.
“The bore five miles below us is too deep now!” The Deepwater Horizon seemed to be off balance.
“I feel like I just latched onto a huge fish or whale or something and it’s pulPeng me down with it!” Then it happened.
Daniels looked at the screen with the camera’s image cleared saw the red-hot bore tumbPeng downward into the center of the Earth. Suddenly, Daniels and the Fox News men saw the same thing. The underwater floor suddenly opened up and the gulf bed seemed to collapse within itself.
Deepwater Horizon Oil Rig
The Mississippi Canyon Coast Block 252
40 miles South East of the Louisiana
April 20, 2010, 9:55 PM
The sharp blades on the end of the bore were red hot. It fell deeper and deeper into the fissure that had opened up, tumbPeng downward like a flaming lance. The depth display read forty-four thousand feet and descending. Suddenly, Daniels gave up as he and the Fox News crew saw the tip of the bore reach some massive deep stones that were covered with white crystals. The hot blades on the tip of the bore struck the rocks and the frozen methane crystals suddenly broke off the rocks, liquefied and ignited. The supervisor broke the glass covering over the evacuation button and pressed down on it and he and the two Fox News people ran out of the control room and outside, to the edge of the rig.
Deepwater Horizon Oil Rig
The Mississippi Canyon Coast Block 252
40 miles South East of the Louisiana
April 20, 2010, 9:56 PM
A geyser of seawater erupted onto the rig, shooting as high as 240 feet into the air. It was followed by the eruption of a mushy blend of mud, gas and water. The workers heard the waiPeng cry of the evacuation horns and a loud rumbPeng sound from below. They all knew they were about to all be incinerated and started running in every direction to get on the life boats and jumping into the slimy water below them.
“Oh that’s not good at all!” Daniels said as he peered out over the edge of the Deepwater Horizon. “Because, that’s mud and it could only have come from about fifty thousand feet down.” Daniels said. He looked up and down the rig and then at what had started churning up on the top of the gulf.
“That’s a deadly gas that was frozen deep below but melted when the super heated bore came into contact with the rocks. That slushy material you see starting to foam up onto the surface is the result of an explosion of the released methane gas that came into contact with the bore.”
Daniels saw it bubbPeng and then quickly dissolving into a fully gaseous state. Then it all ignited into a series of explosions and then a firestorm erupted. Workers immediately attempted to activate the blowout preventer, but it failed.
Daniels knew what was coming next. He saw it coming too. He quickly jumped into the gulf waters that were running increasingly red with crude that was rising up from the deep while screaming.
“It’s gonna blow!”
The Deepwater Horizon was on the leading edge of the world's oil exploration strategy. The vast deepwater methane hydrate deposits of the Gulf of Mexico were not a secret in big energy circles. They represented the most lucrative untapped new frontier of unconventional energy and a potential source of hydrocarbon fuel thought to be twice as large as all the petroleum deposits ever known.
The volatile compounds of Methane hydrates natural gas compacted into molecular cages of ice, which had been stable in the extreme cold and the crushing weight of deepwater. Unexpectedly, the situation became mortally more dangerous. As the Deepwater Horizon swayed, from the deep underground explosions, the gases from below, built up inside the drill column of the well and immediately became destabilized by the heat of the red hot blades and decrease in pressure.
Suddenly like a fire-breathing dragon rising right up out of the water, a fireball engulfed the Deepwater Horizon and the entire oil rig went up in flames and exploded with a raging orgy of fire that created live running human torches whose flesh burned so fast, that they could not even make it to the edge of the rig to jump into the flaming gulf. Those who had already leapt into the gulf were no better off. The salt water had become a lake of fire and they all were burned alive. Some of the workers’ bodies literally melted to the Deepwater Horizon’s metal floor, before the rig literally dissolved from the searing heat. It killed everyone except for eleven.
Deepwater Horizon Oil Rig
The Mississippi Canyon Coast Block 252
40 miles South East of the Louisiana
April 20, 2010, 10:22 PM
The 400 feet by 250 feet Deepwater Horizon Oil Rig was roughly twice the size of a football field, according to Transocean, who were the owners of the massive rig and who had leased it to British Petroleum. A column of boiPeng black smoke rose hundreds of feet over the Gulf of Mexico.
Several huge choppers arrived overhead of the seething caldron that had been one of the world’s most high tech oil rig only minutes before. The choppers got as close to the furious flames as they could and a Geological technician in each one pointed a scanner toward the water and used a laser to highlight abnormalities in the Earth’s floor. The aimed their reads at the water directly below the Deepwater Horizon. What they saw was instantly streamed into the Oval Office.
The office of the Attorney General
Washington DC
April 20, 2010, 11:22 PM
“Sally, I need to talk to the President right now. Have you been looking at the TV?”
“No, been pretty busy here. He’s in the basement at the driving range, General Bolder.
“Connect me to his blackberry now, if you could?”
“Please hold, sir.” The President’s secretary found President Thomas Arthur.
“Harold, you can wake me up, tell me we’ve been invaded, but it better be important to interrupt me on when I’m practicing my swing.”
“Sorry, Mr. President, but if I didn’t interrupt you today, you’d be forced to fire me and deservedly so. I have just streamed a video to your blackberry.”
“Yes, I have it. One moment please, Harold.” President Arthur watched the oil rig go up in flames.” Those poor people! He thought. “Harold, the Oval in fifteen!...”
Available Now!!! Available Now!!! Available Now!!!
The Second Republic: E-Book version
Get it at: http://www.writewordsinc.com/serepaacvo2...
What would America do if we were faced with a horrendous terrorist attack that no amount of security could stop?
In “The Second Republic – Patriot Acts Part II,” the President of the United States is confronted with a radical underground secret cabal that has targeted America with a domestic bio-terror attack that dwarfs the assault unleashed on September 11, 2001.
This second book in the Patriot Acts trilogy takes the reader inside the White House where treachery and terrorism boils below its underbelly. While trying to avoid invoking emergency powers that could destroy American constitutional freedoms, a former Special Ops officer, now the President of the United States, races to stop a deadly virus, which has killed thousands of innocent Americans.
This Fisher Harrison saga, The Second Republic, is an action thriller that could appear on any of today’s headlines, on any given day with a plausible scenario for the death of humankind that is too frighteningly conceivable for comfort.
The Second Republic - Patriot Acts II
Now Available
Get it at:
The Second Republic (E-Book)
When Too Much Security Can Kill You!
Click Here To Read An Excerpt From
The Second Republic
______________________
Steven Clark Bradley
Patriot Acts
by
Steven Clark Bradley
Where is Patriot Acts available?
This new exciting novel is easy to find and available all over the net. Here are a few links to help you secure you own copy of Patriot Acts.
Patriot Acts (Print Version) at Amazon,com
Patriot Acts (Print Version) at Cambridge Books
Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Ebooks on the net
Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Amazon.com
Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Fictionwise.com
Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Mobipocket.com
I hope everyone who reads this will not just think
it is entertainment or the irrational rambling of a scared
American. I am not afraid; I am convinced that no one
will secure our future except us.
That is why I declare the main theme of Patriot Acts
in one key phrase:
No unconditional Talks
Just patriot Acts!
Check Out Steven Clark Bradley's
Free E-Book Offer Here!
Here is the introductory chapter of my next novel series titled "Blogger - Underground Controversy. This novel looks into the repercussions of the Internet Neutrality law that will limit all of us from saying what we wish to over the net. I think you will feel the stark reality of America with the inalienable right of FREEDOM OF SPEECH torn to shreds. This novel is of yet still in its infancy, but it will make you want to protest and stand up for your rights that only God gave you. Take a read and you might find 'Blogger' is a story that reads YOU!
(This is a work in progress)
IT'S GONNA BLOW
Chapter One
Deepwater Horizon Oil Rig
The Mississippi Canyon Coast Block 252
40 miles South East of the Louisiana
April 20, 2010, 9:27 PM
“Will you take a good look at that? Look at the size of that.” Deepwater Horizon Control-Room Supervisor Jeremy Daniels said with amazement as he and Fox News reporter, Matthew Downy stared at the large randomly-shaped spot on the screen in front of them.
“What is it?” Downy asked Daniels.
“Well, Mr. Downy, what you are looking at is the most profound and massive oil reserve ever found anywhere. It’s all crude mixed with a lot of frozen methane gas.”
“It’s huge, and how does it compare to let’s say, Saudi Arabian reserves?” Downy asked. His cameraman tapped him on the shoulder. “We go live in twenty-five seconds.”
“OK, take the Saudis’ reserve, add Iran and the North Sea British reserves and you could almost equal what we have found right here.” Supervisor Daniels had a genuine dumbfounded look stretched across his face. “Just some five miles below the gulf floor, that’s for sure the biggest pool of crude I’ve ever seen in the Mississippi Canyon. The test is getting it from down there to up here.”
“Five, four, three, two, one …” The cameraman said with his fingers to Matthew Downy.
Deepwater Horizon Oil Rig
The Mississippi Canyon Coast Block 252
40 miles South East of the Louisiana
April 20, 2010, 9:30 PM
“This is Matthew Downy aboard British Petroleum’s Deepwater Horizon, a massive semi-submersible oil rig where the crew of the Deepwater Horizon is celebrating a ten-year perfect safety record. They have been drilPeng in Block 252 for over a week and made it to eighteen thousand feet in the past two hours. But, they broke the massive drilPeng bore, when, just after the eighteen thousand mark, they smashed into something, some five miles below the ocean floor. I am speaking with Jeremy Daniels who is the control-room supervisor. Mr. Daniels, what could break such a massive drill bit as that? It must be at least a foot in diameter.”
“Well, sir, I‘ve never seen a break like that one before, myself. It didn’t get sheared off, like normally happens. It seems to have melted and twisted. It had nothing left to drill with. Don’t worry though. I’ve never seen an obstacle yet we couldn’t drill through.”
“Mr. Daniels, you told me, before we went on the air, that it’s a bit more dangerous actually when we get that far down below the gulf floor. Could you explain why that is in laymen’s terms to us?”
“Well, I mean that far down, the rocks contain a lot of frozen methane gas that the chemicals and the heat we generate could melt and cause quite a massive explosion, if we’re not careful. Just think about it, from the sea floor, the Deepwater Horizon rig has penetrated more than 18,000 feet, almost another five miles down into the earth's crust with pipe.”
Deepwater Horizon Oil Rig
The Mississippi Canyon Coast Block 252
40 miles South East of the Louisiana
April 20, 2010, 9:42 PM
"Mr. Daniels, I hear those huge engines revving up.” The cameraman shifted the lens over to the huge motors that both twirled and pounded the seawater-laden mud that was forced to give way to the pipe that would be fitted deep into the Earth.
“Yeah, that’s right. See them lights glowing and hear them alarms waiPeng? It means they're at a constant state now, and that’s good. It's just, Beep, beep, beep, and it never stops inside my head. I’ve been doing this so long; I hear it every night as I fall asleep and every morning when I wake up. I’m told it will never leave me, even if I live thousands of miles away from any oil rig. We have hit the impediment now and we’re spinning but not getting anywhere.”
“So, what’s the procedure for such a blockage? It can’t be tree roots that far down.”
“Hell, no one knows what’s down that far. I’m not sure there’s been a submersible invented that can handle the pressure. We do have a device that we’ve decided to try. It’s a torque compressor that forces the bore to pound as it turns. It’s a lot like some hand drills everyone has. But there’s an incentive, which I have never used in my thirty odd years of doing this. It is a sudden thruster that is supposed to break through anything. Today, we’ll see. First we have to back it out twenty feet and then ram it forward.”
The Deepwater Horizon Supervisor, Jeremy Daniels looked at the FOX News cameraman. “Is this still being recorded?”
“Yes sir, as we speak.”
“OK, just before we do this, let me just say for the record, this is being done against my recommendation that we try other means. It’s just that this rig costs BP over five hundred thousand dollars to run a day. Here, time really is money. OK, let’s go for it.”
Daniels pushed the throttle forward and the motors started to scream out as they sucked in air and the hydraulic gathered pressure to pound the blockage open at five miles below the ocean floor.
The Fox News Journalist covering the site was forced to put the ear protectors on and scream out his words to Daniels.
“The beeping is starting to get drowned out by the sound of the engines.” Suddenly, the rig’s lights got so bright that they physically exploded. Computer monitors began shattering throughout the rig. “What was that?”
“Well, this is a day of firsts. So, I guess the answer to your question is, I don’t know.”
Deepwater Horizon Oil Rig
The Mississippi Canyon Coast Block 252
40 miles South East of the Louisiana
April 20, 2010, 9:54 PM
Daniels checked all the buttons and switches and read the meter. Daniels screamed out his words to the reporter. “We have full pressure and dig capacity now. I am going to engage to rotors and let it dig a little bigger pathway. Daniels tilted the bore to the left and right to make the initial wound into the belly of the Earth a bit bigger and wider to have more leverage as he prepared to ram the obstacle that was stopping them from achieving their goal of striking black gold or Louisiana Tea. After Daniels felt the impediment, he retracted the bore fifty feet when he was only supposed to retract it twenty.
“I’m applying the hammer now and watch us break open this bastard in … I told them a fifty feet ram was too much and dangerous, but investors need results, so, let’s give them some…” Daniels raised the bore fifty feet and watched his meters. He made sure the pressure and the thrust was right and began to lower the bore again. When he had reached five feet from the bottom of the shaft, he revved the motors to fifty percent and engaged the Hammer and the bore raced down the shaft to the bottom and rammed into the floor of the shaft, the hammer erupted and pummeled the underwater surface and the ocean surface literally began to sway slightly and then with a sound like a large firecracker resounded. Everyone on the deepwater Horizon heard what sounded like a shattering sound and red goo began to float up to the surface of the gulf.
“Oh my, that’s not good!” Daniels yelled out. “That’s gonna fill the tube with methane and the whole damn thing’s gonna blow!”
Daniels tried to reverse the bore but it would not do anything. Then he felt it in the controls. “It’s sinking … the bore is going deeper!” Daniels looked at the screens and there was nothing but haze, which was getting thicker and thicker.
“The bore five miles below us is too deep now!” The Deepwater Horizon seemed to be off balance.
“I feel like I just latched onto a huge fish or whale or something and it’s pulPeng me down with it!” Then it happened.
Daniels looked at the screen with the camera’s image cleared saw the red-hot bore tumbPeng downward into the center of the Earth. Suddenly, Daniels and the Fox News men saw the same thing. The underwater floor suddenly opened up and the gulf bed seemed to collapse within itself.
Deepwater Horizon Oil Rig
The Mississippi Canyon Coast Block 252
40 miles South East of the Louisiana
April 20, 2010, 9:55 PM
The sharp blades on the end of the bore were red hot. It fell deeper and deeper into the fissure that had opened up, tumbPeng downward like a flaming lance. The depth display read forty-four thousand feet and descending. Suddenly, Daniels gave up as he and the Fox News crew saw the tip of the bore reach some massive deep stones that were covered with white crystals. The hot blades on the tip of the bore struck the rocks and the frozen methane crystals suddenly broke off the rocks, liquefied and ignited. The supervisor broke the glass covering over the evacuation button and pressed down on it and he and the two Fox News people ran out of the control room and outside, to the edge of the rig.
Deepwater Horizon Oil Rig
The Mississippi Canyon Coast Block 252
40 miles South East of the Louisiana
April 20, 2010, 9:56 PM
A geyser of seawater erupted onto the rig, shooting as high as 240 feet into the air. It was followed by the eruption of a mushy blend of mud, gas and water. The workers heard the waiPeng cry of the evacuation horns and a loud rumbPeng sound from below. They all knew they were about to all be incinerated and started running in every direction to get on the life boats and jumping into the slimy water below them.
“Oh that’s not good at all!” Daniels said as he peered out over the edge of the Deepwater Horizon. “Because, that’s mud and it could only have come from about fifty thousand feet down.” Daniels said. He looked up and down the rig and then at what had started churning up on the top of the gulf.
“That’s a deadly gas that was frozen deep below but melted when the super heated bore came into contact with the rocks. That slushy material you see starting to foam up onto the surface is the result of an explosion of the released methane gas that came into contact with the bore.”
Daniels saw it bubbPeng and then quickly dissolving into a fully gaseous state. Then it all ignited into a series of explosions and then a firestorm erupted. Workers immediately attempted to activate the blowout preventer, but it failed.
Daniels knew what was coming next. He saw it coming too. He quickly jumped into the gulf waters that were running increasingly red with crude that was rising up from the deep while screaming.
“It’s gonna blow!”
The Deepwater Horizon was on the leading edge of the world's oil exploration strategy. The vast deepwater methane hydrate deposits of the Gulf of Mexico were not a secret in big energy circles. They represented the most lucrative untapped new frontier of unconventional energy and a potential source of hydrocarbon fuel thought to be twice as large as all the petroleum deposits ever known.
The volatile compounds of Methane hydrates natural gas compacted into molecular cages of ice, which had been stable in the extreme cold and the crushing weight of deepwater. Unexpectedly, the situation became mortally more dangerous. As the Deepwater Horizon swayed, from the deep underground explosions, the gases from below, built up inside the drill column of the well and immediately became destabilized by the heat of the red hot blades and decrease in pressure.
Suddenly like a fire-breathing dragon rising right up out of the water, a fireball engulfed the Deepwater Horizon and the entire oil rig went up in flames and exploded with a raging orgy of fire that created live running human torches whose flesh burned so fast, that they could not even make it to the edge of the rig to jump into the flaming gulf. Those who had already leapt into the gulf were no better off. The salt water had become a lake of fire and they all were burned alive. Some of the workers’ bodies literally melted to the Deepwater Horizon’s metal floor, before the rig literally dissolved from the searing heat. It killed everyone except for eleven.
Deepwater Horizon Oil Rig
The Mississippi Canyon Coast Block 252
40 miles South East of the Louisiana
April 20, 2010, 10:22 PM
The 400 feet by 250 feet Deepwater Horizon Oil Rig was roughly twice the size of a football field, according to Transocean, who were the owners of the massive rig and who had leased it to British Petroleum. A column of boiPeng black smoke rose hundreds of feet over the Gulf of Mexico.
Several huge choppers arrived overhead of the seething caldron that had been one of the world’s most high tech oil rig only minutes before. The choppers got as close to the furious flames as they could and a Geological technician in each one pointed a scanner toward the water and used a laser to highlight abnormalities in the Earth’s floor. The aimed their reads at the water directly below the Deepwater Horizon. What they saw was instantly streamed into the Oval Office.
The office of the Attorney General
Washington DC
April 20, 2010, 11:22 PM
“Sally, I need to talk to the President right now. Have you been looking at the TV?”
“No, been pretty busy here. He’s in the basement at the driving range, General Bolder.
“Connect me to his blackberry now, if you could?”
“Please hold, sir.” The President’s secretary found President Thomas Arthur.
“Harold, you can wake me up, tell me we’ve been invaded, but it better be important to interrupt me on when I’m practicing my swing.”
“Sorry, Mr. President, but if I didn’t interrupt you today, you’d be forced to fire me and deservedly so. I have just streamed a video to your blackberry.”
“Yes, I have it. One moment please, Harold.” President Arthur watched the oil rig go up in flames.” Those poor people! He thought. “Harold, the Oval in fifteen!...”
Available Now!!! Available Now!!! Available Now!!!
The Second Republic: E-Book version
Get it at: http://www.writewordsinc.com/serepaacvo2...
What would America do if we were faced with a horrendous terrorist attack that no amount of security could stop?
In “The Second Republic – Patriot Acts Part II,” the President of the United States is confronted with a radical underground secret cabal that has targeted America with a domestic bio-terror attack that dwarfs the assault unleashed on September 11, 2001.
This second book in the Patriot Acts trilogy takes the reader inside the White House where treachery and terrorism boils below its underbelly. While trying to avoid invoking emergency powers that could destroy American constitutional freedoms, a former Special Ops officer, now the President of the United States, races to stop a deadly virus, which has killed thousands of innocent Americans.
This Fisher Harrison saga, The Second Republic, is an action thriller that could appear on any of today’s headlines, on any given day with a plausible scenario for the death of humankind that is too frighteningly conceivable for comfort.
The Second Republic - Patriot Acts II
Now Available
Get it at:
The Second Republic (E-Book)
When Too Much Security Can Kill You!
Click Here To Read An Excerpt From
The Second Republic
______________________
Steven Clark Bradley
Patriot Acts
by
Steven Clark Bradley
Where is Patriot Acts available?
This new exciting novel is easy to find and available all over the net. Here are a few links to help you secure you own copy of Patriot Acts.
Patriot Acts (Print Version) at Amazon,com
Patriot Acts (Print Version) at Cambridge Books
Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Ebooks on the net
Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Amazon.com
Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Fictionwise.com
Patriot Acts (Electronic Version) at Mobipocket.com
I hope everyone who reads this will not just think
it is entertainment or the irrational rambling of a scared
American. I am not afraid; I am convinced that no one
will secure our future except us.
That is why I declare the main theme of Patriot Acts
in one key phrase:
No unconditional Talks
Just patriot Acts!
Check Out Steven Clark Bradley's
Free E-Book Offer Here!
June 22, 2011
The Passing of a Giant - The Most Intelligent of idiots - The Memoirs of Author Steven Clark Bradley
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Willis Bradley, was a man of great humor and deep thought, as with me, his son, there was an ocean of imagination waiting to be tapped. I realized that not so much from his words, but rather from his actions. My patriarchal father was a very fair man. He made tons of mistakes with us kids, and we deserved them all. Yet, my father taught me two very power lessons in my life. He taught me how to say, ‘I’m sorry’ and to forgive even when pardon was not sought. Willis Bradley was the most common great man I have ever known.
Steven Clark Bradley
Knox. Indiana
June, 1997
The Passing of a Giant
I read somewhere once that you know you are not a child anymore when you realize that one day, you are going to die. One of the most wonderful things about childhood is that everything is lived for the future. Children generally never look back and always look forward. They think about the next day off school, the next holiday and the upcoming summer vacation.
I had lived in the rough and tumble world of Middle East Asia and Africa where death was a constant reminder of one’s mortality. So, with death and fighting and war and all that goes along with such societies, death became, for me, something that touched others and left me alone. That make-believe idea that everything would always be good and that those I loved would always be there was shattered on June 16, 1997.
My father, Willis Bradley, was a man of great humor and deep thought, as with me, his son, there was an ocean of imagination waiting to be tapped. I realized that not so much from his words, but rather from his actions. My patriarchal father was a very fair man. He made tons of mistakes with us kids, and we deserved them all. Yet, my father taught me two very power lessons in my life. He taught me how to say, ‘I’m sorry’ and to forgive even when pardon was not sought. Willis Bradley was the most common great man I have ever known.
The only thing that I wish my father had done, in his life, was to share more of what made this serious, jovial, loving, very strong tempered and completely merciful man who he was. My dad suffered from a serious inability to see how much god had used him. He was my greatest example of a great man seeking forgiveness and giving it to others so freely. Willis Bradley was the greatest man I have ever known.
Since his first heart attack in 1981, he had suffered several heart related problems and medical procedures. In 1987, while I was living in France, my father suffered another very serious heart attack. I was forced to fly home. My daughter, Amber, wouldn’t speak to me all day, when she knew I was leaving. I swear I tried to hug that girl at least ten times that day, and she just would not respond. That night, I was leaving home to take a train to Paris and then board a plane to Chicago, where my very sick father was going to have bypass on his heart. I will never forget how when I picked up my bags to walk out to my taxi, Amber ran to me and jumped in my arms and hugged me and told me four times, “You’re my daddy.” It was an unforgettable moment.
My dad was about to have his heart stopped and have new veins attached to his heart and implanted with a defibrillator and have his heart restarted when his heart began to flutter and get of rhythm. This wasn’t the first time he had been hospitalized, but it was definitely the worst one. Every child our father had raised stood around his bed. He knew we loved him and cherished him, and no matter what happened, we were there with him. I recall my dad looking into each of our faces and said, “I want you all to forgive me. I am sorry for my mistakes. I love you all.” We all cried, of course, and I looked at my brother Gary. “It should be us who asked his forgiveness.” Of course Gary agreed. We all watched him disappear into the operating room, and we saw him when he came out. That was a strong old man and I was proud to be his son. That operation helped my father live more than ten years longer.
In 1997, my father’s heart was just tired. He had fought the good fight with his uncooperative body and now simply put, he was weary. His defibrillator, which normally would erupt in his chest about once a month, was now going off at least four to five times a day. He was as terrified of the large dose of electrical current, which had always kept the beat of his heart steady. He told me he feared that jolt with painful increasing frequency and almost as much as actual death.
By the time Nuran had left for Turkey, for two months, in May of 1997, it was obvious that my father was tired and weakened beyond the point of recovery. I am thankful for the chance I had to stay with him for almost five weeks before his heart gave way for the last time. For me, there it is nothing short of amazing to see how God cares for even the smallest of details. I had already driven three hundred miles to bring my children up to my mom’s and dad’s house and they had been able to get to know their grandfather and to spend Father’s Day with me and their grandfather.
I recall my father’s face, on what would be his last father’s day. He looked gaunt, weak and worn. His frazzled look spelled only one thing in my mind, my seventy-five year old father was going to die very soon. He really did his best to be strong and seemed to love his day with the family he knew loved him, but it was easy to see that his time was short and I wanted to live it all with him.
I can still see and hear my conversation outside with my sister Diann and her husband, John. I just could see it all in my head and the most amazing realization of my dad’s soon passing filled my mind and was as clear as the sun that was shinning. I looked at my sister and brother in law and spoke what I knew would come true.
“You all should be here tomorrow, because Dad’s going to die tomorrow.”
Neither of them responded, but they looked at me with expressions of slight disbelief. I cannot say I had a vision or a bright light. It was just a point of understanding that had fixed itself firmly in my mind. My whole family gathered around our father for what would become an amazing family portrait that would become his last one with all of us together. I wished Nuran was there. She loved my dad and indeed he loved her back. I knew the whole situation would have torn her up, so I didn’t say too much to her, since she was so far away. My children seemed oblivious to the whole sad situation, and I was glad. Death does not mean much to children since they have their whole lives out ahead of them.
On June 16, 1997, my father was having a very bad day. He had felt dizzy all day, and in the afternoon I heard him fall to the floor. I rushed to his room and lifted him to his knees and there, at the side of his bed, with my arm wrapped around his shoulder, my father prayed to Jesus to take him home. He told his Lord that he was tired and that he was ready, but I certainly was not.
Over the past five weeks, I don’t think I had left my father’s side once except to run to the store for my mom. It would be my oldest daughter, Crystal’s thirteenth birthday, in a few days and I wanted to do something special for her. I took all three of them to the park and we had a wonderful time together. I found it to be a very difficult juggling act to be daddy and son to an expiring father at the same time. We spent about three hours together to celebrate Crystal’s birthday and returned home.
I noticed immediately that there were several cars parked in my parents’ driveway and several people outside. I parked my car and knew something terrible had happened. I recall distinctly looking at the front door when my brother’s pastor walked out and saw me, he shook his head to the left and right and the expression on his face had said it all. I had not left my dear dad’s side for several weeks and I took the chance to spend some time with my children and he had died while I was gone.
I truly cannot remember all that happened to me, at that very moment, but simple took off running and fell to the ground in disbelieve and sat there and wept a million tears. I had so wanted to spend his last moments with him, when he passed, but had missed it. My children gathered around me and comforted me and I was so glad they were there to live that awful moment with me. When I saw my mother, who had just lost her husband of almost fifty-four years, was stricken and broken and sat in her chair with tears streaming down her face.
When my father had collapsed onto the living room floor, she called my brother Gary and then she got down on the floor with my father and cradled his head in her arms. She told him she loved him and hugged him. She told me he opened his eyes once and smiled at her and then looked up and smiled, and he was gone. Gary came and did CPR on him but it was to no avail. My dear, godly and beautiful father had met the one who had given him life in the first place. I knew where he was, but I wanted him back. Instead, one day I shall go to meet him in a place much better than the one he left.
The whole very terrible situation was very difficult for my beautiful wife, Nuran. My dad and she had developed a very close relationship, and she loved my dad very much. For the past two years almost, my father had picked her up at work and brought her home and she loved his personality and his character. When I called Nuran in Turkey and told her that dad was gone, she couldn’t even speak. She asked me if we could talk later and before we hung up, I heard her start to sob and her heart broke. I will never forget the love Nuran showed my parents, at all times, even when it was not easy. She rests in my heart as one of my heroes because of her love and concern for the special people in my life.
Willis Bradley was not wealthy. He had only attended school until the fourth grade. He was loved and respected, but he had done nothing that would put him into history books. Yet, in my eyes and in the eyes of anyone who knew him, he was a giant. He had a heart full of love, wittiness, compassion and faith in his God. There is no one who stands in my mind today as the perfect example of Christ more than Willis Bradley, my father. I find that I am more like him than I had ever thought, and it is a wonderful complement every time someone compares me to him. Willis Bradley left behind two daughters, three sons, a house full of grandkids and hearts that truly admired and loved him. His was not just the death of a man. To us, and to anyone who knew him, his was the passing of a giant.
The Most Intelligent of Idiots: The Memoirs of Author Steven Clark Bradley
Willis Bradley, was a man of great humor and deep thought, as with me, his son, there was an ocean of imagination waiting to be tapped. I realized that not so much from his words, but rather from his actions. My patriarchal father was a very fair man. He made tons of mistakes with us kids, and we deserved them all. Yet, my father taught me two very power lessons in my life. He taught me how to say, ‘I’m sorry’ and to forgive even when pardon was not sought. Willis Bradley was the most common great man I have ever known.
Steven Clark Bradley
Knox. Indiana
June, 1997
The Passing of a Giant
I read somewhere once that you know you are not a child anymore when you realize that one day, you are going to die. One of the most wonderful things about childhood is that everything is lived for the future. Children generally never look back and always look forward. They think about the next day off school, the next holiday and the upcoming summer vacation.
I had lived in the rough and tumble world of Middle East Asia and Africa where death was a constant reminder of one’s mortality. So, with death and fighting and war and all that goes along with such societies, death became, for me, something that touched others and left me alone. That make-believe idea that everything would always be good and that those I loved would always be there was shattered on June 16, 1997.
My father, Willis Bradley, was a man of great humor and deep thought, as with me, his son, there was an ocean of imagination waiting to be tapped. I realized that not so much from his words, but rather from his actions. My patriarchal father was a very fair man. He made tons of mistakes with us kids, and we deserved them all. Yet, my father taught me two very power lessons in my life. He taught me how to say, ‘I’m sorry’ and to forgive even when pardon was not sought. Willis Bradley was the most common great man I have ever known.
The only thing that I wish my father had done, in his life, was to share more of what made this serious, jovial, loving, very strong tempered and completely merciful man who he was. My dad suffered from a serious inability to see how much god had used him. He was my greatest example of a great man seeking forgiveness and giving it to others so freely. Willis Bradley was the greatest man I have ever known.
Since his first heart attack in 1981, he had suffered several heart related problems and medical procedures. In 1987, while I was living in France, my father suffered another very serious heart attack. I was forced to fly home. My daughter, Amber, wouldn’t speak to me all day, when she knew I was leaving. I swear I tried to hug that girl at least ten times that day, and she just would not respond. That night, I was leaving home to take a train to Paris and then board a plane to Chicago, where my very sick father was going to have bypass on his heart. I will never forget how when I picked up my bags to walk out to my taxi, Amber ran to me and jumped in my arms and hugged me and told me four times, “You’re my daddy.” It was an unforgettable moment.
My dad was about to have his heart stopped and have new veins attached to his heart and implanted with a defibrillator and have his heart restarted when his heart began to flutter and get of rhythm. This wasn’t the first time he had been hospitalized, but it was definitely the worst one. Every child our father had raised stood around his bed. He knew we loved him and cherished him, and no matter what happened, we were there with him. I recall my dad looking into each of our faces and said, “I want you all to forgive me. I am sorry for my mistakes. I love you all.” We all cried, of course, and I looked at my brother Gary. “It should be us who asked his forgiveness.” Of course Gary agreed. We all watched him disappear into the operating room, and we saw him when he came out. That was a strong old man and I was proud to be his son. That operation helped my father live more than ten years longer.
In 1997, my father’s heart was just tired. He had fought the good fight with his uncooperative body and now simply put, he was weary. His defibrillator, which normally would erupt in his chest about once a month, was now going off at least four to five times a day. He was as terrified of the large dose of electrical current, which had always kept the beat of his heart steady. He told me he feared that jolt with painful increasing frequency and almost as much as actual death.
By the time Nuran had left for Turkey, for two months, in May of 1997, it was obvious that my father was tired and weakened beyond the point of recovery. I am thankful for the chance I had to stay with him for almost five weeks before his heart gave way for the last time. For me, there it is nothing short of amazing to see how God cares for even the smallest of details. I had already driven three hundred miles to bring my children up to my mom’s and dad’s house and they had been able to get to know their grandfather and to spend Father’s Day with me and their grandfather.
I recall my father’s face, on what would be his last father’s day. He looked gaunt, weak and worn. His frazzled look spelled only one thing in my mind, my seventy-five year old father was going to die very soon. He really did his best to be strong and seemed to love his day with the family he knew loved him, but it was easy to see that his time was short and I wanted to live it all with him.
I can still see and hear my conversation outside with my sister Diann and her husband, John. I just could see it all in my head and the most amazing realization of my dad’s soon passing filled my mind and was as clear as the sun that was shinning. I looked at my sister and brother in law and spoke what I knew would come true.
“You all should be here tomorrow, because Dad’s going to die tomorrow.”
Neither of them responded, but they looked at me with expressions of slight disbelief. I cannot say I had a vision or a bright light. It was just a point of understanding that had fixed itself firmly in my mind. My whole family gathered around our father for what would become an amazing family portrait that would become his last one with all of us together. I wished Nuran was there. She loved my dad and indeed he loved her back. I knew the whole situation would have torn her up, so I didn’t say too much to her, since she was so far away. My children seemed oblivious to the whole sad situation, and I was glad. Death does not mean much to children since they have their whole lives out ahead of them.
On June 16, 1997, my father was having a very bad day. He had felt dizzy all day, and in the afternoon I heard him fall to the floor. I rushed to his room and lifted him to his knees and there, at the side of his bed, with my arm wrapped around his shoulder, my father prayed to Jesus to take him home. He told his Lord that he was tired and that he was ready, but I certainly was not.
Over the past five weeks, I don’t think I had left my father’s side once except to run to the store for my mom. It would be my oldest daughter, Crystal’s thirteenth birthday, in a few days and I wanted to do something special for her. I took all three of them to the park and we had a wonderful time together. I found it to be a very difficult juggling act to be daddy and son to an expiring father at the same time. We spent about three hours together to celebrate Crystal’s birthday and returned home.
I noticed immediately that there were several cars parked in my parents’ driveway and several people outside. I parked my car and knew something terrible had happened. I recall distinctly looking at the front door when my brother’s pastor walked out and saw me, he shook his head to the left and right and the expression on his face had said it all. I had not left my dear dad’s side for several weeks and I took the chance to spend some time with my children and he had died while I was gone.
I truly cannot remember all that happened to me, at that very moment, but simple took off running and fell to the ground in disbelieve and sat there and wept a million tears. I had so wanted to spend his last moments with him, when he passed, but had missed it. My children gathered around me and comforted me and I was so glad they were there to live that awful moment with me. When I saw my mother, who had just lost her husband of almost fifty-four years, was stricken and broken and sat in her chair with tears streaming down her face.
When my father had collapsed onto the living room floor, she called my brother Gary and then she got down on the floor with my father and cradled his head in her arms. She told him she loved him and hugged him. She told me he opened his eyes once and smiled at her and then looked up and smiled, and he was gone. Gary came and did CPR on him but it was to no avail. My dear, godly and beautiful father had met the one who had given him life in the first place. I knew where he was, but I wanted him back. Instead, one day I shall go to meet him in a place much better than the one he left.
The whole very terrible situation was very difficult for my beautiful wife, Nuran. My dad and she had developed a very close relationship, and she loved my dad very much. For the past two years almost, my father had picked her up at work and brought her home and she loved his personality and his character. When I called Nuran in Turkey and told her that dad was gone, she couldn’t even speak. She asked me if we could talk later and before we hung up, I heard her start to sob and her heart broke. I will never forget the love Nuran showed my parents, at all times, even when it was not easy. She rests in my heart as one of my heroes because of her love and concern for the special people in my life.
Willis Bradley was not wealthy. He had only attended school until the fourth grade. He was loved and respected, but he had done nothing that would put him into history books. Yet, in my eyes and in the eyes of anyone who knew him, he was a giant. He had a heart full of love, wittiness, compassion and faith in his God. There is no one who stands in my mind today as the perfect example of Christ more than Willis Bradley, my father. I find that I am more like him than I had ever thought, and it is a wonderful complement every time someone compares me to him. Willis Bradley left behind two daughters, three sons, a house full of grandkids and hearts that truly admired and loved him. His was not just the death of a man. To us, and to anyone who knew him, his was the passing of a giant.
Get a copy at:
Amazon
http://www.amazon.com/Most-Intelligent-Idiots-Memoirs-Bradley/dp/1451278888/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpi_5
Barnes and Noble
Goodreads
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Author Steven Clark Bradley's Author'sPage:
http://www.amazon.com/Steven-Clark-Bradley/e/B002BLJKI4/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1
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A Bridge To Cross - The Most Intelligent of Idiots - the Memoirs of Author Steven Clark Bradley
http://stevenclarkbradleyspatriotacts.blogspot.com/2011/06/bridge-to-cross-most-intelligent-of.html
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Read The Most Intelligent of Idiots - The Love of God in Chandraghona by Steven Clark Bradley
http://undergroundcontroversy.blogspot.com/2010/09/most-intelligent-of-idiots-love-of-god.html
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Read The Most Intelligent of Idiots - A Stranger Just In Time:
http://stevenbradley.blogspot.com/2010/09/most-intelligent-of-idiots-memoirs-of.html
The Most Intelligent of Idiots: The Memoirs of Author Steven Clark Bradley
Author Steven Clark Bradley
Steven Clark Bradley has been to thirty-four countries including Pakistan, Iraq, Turkey and Africa. He has a Master’s in Liberal Studies from Indiana University and speaks French and Turkish. He has b
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