Author Steven Clark Bradley

Part Two Brothers at War - The Heartlessness of Terrorism

stevenbradley | March 28, 2009 16:24

Steven Clark Bradley, Author of the hard-hitting novels, Patriot Acts & Nimrod Rising, presents Part Two of his expose on the conflict in the State of Israel, which he witnessed firsthand. The current conflict and the ultimate events of this war between the Jews and the Palestinians is a major theme of Nimrod Rising. Read and learn about the experiences that led Mr. Bradley to write these very important novels. With America confronted with a severe economic crisis, surrounded by potential enemies with a White House sending America into territory that may well change her fundamentally forever, with Iran ready to set the world ablaze and ready to embark on a nuclear strategy, it behooves us to know what is happening in some of the most entrenched hot spots in the world. Israel and the Palestinian Authority certainly rank near the top of that list. Read Part Two Brothers at War - The Heartlessness of Terrorism and ask yourself if peace is even possible.

Part Two Brothers at War - The Heartlessness of Terrorism

The morning was as sunny and hot as the evening was cool and breezy, but the day started and the other ended the same way, with death. I had risen at 7:30 AM and went to contribute to my caffeine addiction. Though I found no coffee, at around 8:15 AM, no less than 15 minutes later, I saw ambulances and police vehicles racing down King David Street towards Gilo, on the road to Bethlehem. I had planned to go to Bethlehem at 11:00Am. I ran into the King David Hotel and learned of the deadly bus bombing that had just killed seven children and 12 adults. So, I hailed down a taxi and headed towards bedlam.

The sight was so much more devastating to see in person than anything one might see on TV. There was a certain charred smell in the air, and I knew what it was. It was hard to think that the blasted out bus was the scene where nineteen innocent souls who were destroyed, amongst whom were seven children had had their young lives cut short. It made me feel guilty to take pictures, but their story had to be told. They had awaken that morning and died before the afternoon in this attack which would prove to be the worst attack in Jerusalem in 40 years. Though I was refused entry at first into the scene, I was finally able to enter in from the left side of the blocked off crime scene. Bits of personal effects and clothing items were strewn everywhere. It all brought crashing home to me that so many had suffered so terribly right there.

The day after the terrible carnage of the suicide blast had left an indelible image burned into my mind, I spent a lot of energy and time trying absorb and understand the thoughts and emotions that flooded my mind. I was in Israel to write objectively and to explain both sides, but my angry and saddened mind kept telling me how much I hated the other side. I have four children. I have a family. I want them to outlive me! Such thoughts coursed through me and I had to get them into some type of perverse perspective in order to accomplish my task. So my whole morning was a day of trying to take in what I had seen the day before. There was a report that two bombers were in the new city. One was gone and the last one was a reportedly still out there. The population seemed convinced there would be a second bombing, soon. They proved how well the people of Israel had refined their sense of danger.

I was seated in the Rosemary café on King David Street for a bite to eat when I heard it all over again. The wailing sirens gave evidence all around that the angels of death and war had stuck again in the city of David. We got to the scene on the Northeast side of Jerusalem, which was almost in the West Bank, and I managed to get up close to the bus stop where the bomber had taken out his hatred on those who had never given him a reason to hate them. I saw a black colored vinyl bag on the ground next to the bus stop, and I did not have to ask what it was. Seven victims were claimed there. Ultimately, seven died in this blast and over two dozen were injured. When I was finally ordered out of the area, I walked past a soldier who was dressed in full fatigues and heavily armed. It was seriously and powerfully

moving to witn

ess such a toughened up man with tears flowing from his eyes. It was sure that this attack would not go unpunished. Two times in two days was unusual.
Is This Really The World You Knew As A Child?

I find it impossible to fathom how someone could be so out of hope and so full of hate that they could deliver death to such small and completely blameless victims. One soldier pleaded with me, "How can the people ever trust anyone again. Once they have killed your children, who is to be trusted?" This soldier's worn and bi

tter shoes, I did not want to

wear.
In fact, children from both sides have been brutally killed. Children from both sides are growing up to hate each other and to distrust everyone around them. The only difference is that the Israeli children still have a solid family structure intact and a government to give them slightly more than a semblance of normality. The same cannot be said for Palestinian kids who have had all their security torn away from them, partly by Israel but also by their own leaders who have taken their people down the road of terrorism and death. Both sides love their children; both sides want the best for their children and both sides must do more to save their children, both physically and emotionally.

A part of humanity's future dies with each one that perishes, Jewish or Arab and new seeds of hatred take root with each blast. There could be no greater reason to find peace than to save the children. Though I had already be

gun to understand the Palestinian situation better, seeing these blasts only brought more resolve to me that there is no justification for such a crime against humanity and that such attacks only hurt the Palestinians' hopes. I had to get inside the Palestinians' heads to understand what could motivate them to do such acts.

In talking to many Palestinians about the deadly phenomenon of suicide bombing, I think I found the deadly recipe. As one Palestinian man at the Old city of Jerusalem put it, "How can we be equal partners or even equitable as adversaries with Israel? We do not have tanks or planes. The peace Israel wants makes us conquered, not liberated. When a man or woman has had their mother and father, perhaps her husband and children were destroyed by an invading nation, what have they left? They cannot work, go to school nor feed themselves. One can subsist in America. You have the laws and the institutions to help t

he sick and the hungry. On a good day in the West Bank, we are at subsistence level. When you get to the point when survival is worse than death, all you have left is your God, your stones and your body." Take this scenario and combine it with hatred and revenge and you have just produced a suicide bomber. I knew I would have to go to the West bank.

Probably the best thing that happened in Jerusalem was meeting two freelance journalists, Gregory Harms and Vicram Sura. We decided to work together on a trip to the West Bank. We planned the short trip to Ramall

ah and argued the finer points of the Palestinian issue. During the day I met the General Secretary of the Federation of International Journalists, Aidan White. He had just returned from the Gaza and was going to Ramallah. He gave me his card. The same evening, I contacted

Mr. White and found him to be very helpful. He gave us the number of the President of the Palestinian Journalist Syndicate, Mr. Naim Toubasi. Having had the opportunity of meeting Mr. Aidan White and Naim Toubasi made all the difference in the journey, which followed.

Are You Ready For Nimrod Rising?

There were normally many of the small cramped minivans or shurups heading to Ramallah, but not this morning. There was nothing except taxis. The border had just been closed, which was a tale-tale sign that something was in the works for the Israeli army. We knew we still had a small window of opportunity to get into Ramallah and we at least had to try, though there were no guarantees about getting back out. Though we had never met Mr. Toubasi, he had said he would meet us, and he was our only hope to get a true picture of what had been the fate of Ramallah. We all three piled into a taxi and headed to the former western border of Jordan, now called the West Bank.

The ride to the capital of the Palestinian authority caused me to pay attention to my surroundings. I had already been to Iraq twice and I knew what that feeling in the pit of your stomach was all about. It told you that you had temporarily left your sphere of normality and security and that you were not quite sure of what could ensue and that my need to know had overtaken my requirement of safety.

The valleys of the Holy Land are breathtaking. They were the hosts of many biblical wars. The valley of Megiddo still waits for the final bloodletting at Armageddon. As we past in the taxi toward the Qualandiya checkpoint, the valley to my left changed quickly. In the valleys of Israel, you can see growing affluence and a stubborn insistence on truly possessing what the Jews regard as their biblical birthright. This is the amazing thing, considering that the Jewish state has been virtually at war since before the founding of the nation. I could tell that when we had left Israel and were in the West Bank. The buildings began to look older and there began to be signs of destruction and desertedness everywhere. Suddenly, we were out of the urban area of Jerusalem and in front of us was a line of Palestinians, lined up to cross over the massive checkpoint to their jobs and hopefully back to their families in the evening.

Though the Palestinians wait at this massive checkpoint without violence, as they seek to carry on their daily lives by enduring what they regard as humiliation, the deep-seated hatred and anger of the men and women as they dealt with overheated and crying children was pervasive. There are no accommodations for women and children, an idea which seemed far too thoughtful and merciful according to the Jewish soldiers I talked to. After about one hour, I finally was ab

le to pass. I immediately was confronted with the ravages of a war of incursion by the Israelis responding to attacks of Palestinian suicide bombers on the lives of the innocents in Israel. Buildings were demolished all around me

with snipers having been spotted and heard from the hillside homes on my left and right. The sun was hot and shots were fired and we stood out in the midst of the war between Isaac and Ishmael.

Nimrod Rising In Depth

Excerpt From Nimrod Rising!

Domes and Demons

September 15, 2020

The fireplace was ablaze with swirling orange and yellow flames. The fire was accented with periodic pops and crackles from the cinders that were characteristic of the smoldering flames that had engulfed the world and had left it in ashes. One would have thought that Manassa Dormin had been worried about his hold on power, but confusion and mayhem was his forte! He was a master at consolidation and collision of forces. He had used and played his moves faultlessly and had now sent previous allies against each other. As he sat in his lavish office in his new capitol, in New Babylon, he was enjoying all that he had accomplished. He had learned that tearing down a world was in some ways more difficult than building one.

Dormin had to completely obliterate the people’s trust in men or women to protect them from terror. The coalition he had put together between
Islamic terrorist and militia crazies had been so effective in bringing the population of the world into a form of rage that made the breakdown of all their cultural and political traditions easy to destroy. Now, Dormin was on the verge of bringing the mayhem into the Middle East, in a manner that it had never been seen before. Dormin had already taken steps towards Israel, and it had torn apart his happy group of killers. The militia types had supported his moves, but his flimsy Muslim alliance with the American breed of terrorist had immediately shredded their former agreements and Hamid Assad’s faithful turned against the Supreme Consort.

Dormin had cajoled, pleaded, almost begged. After there was no putting humpty-dumpty back together again, he played the part of a grieved leader well. He went home and rejoiced in his new move towards the total desolation that would soon appear. He would let the house of cards completely fall. In fact tonight, the night was quiet, but it would not be for long. Dormin sat in his the huge office that was more than any man could need; especially in the days that now found death on the streets and close at hand in homes across the world. The mahogany mantelpiece, the Corinthian leather sofa and armchairs and the wine that the leader of the enslaved world was twirling in his glass mocked the destruction that he was shielded from. He sat looking deeply into the dancing flames in the fireplace and then peered longingly down into the wine that shimmered in its glass. It reminded him so much of the power he craved and had amassed for himself and for the master. He was not seated there to find a way of keeping his conscience at bay, for he possessed nothing even close to producing some kind of emotion for the dead or soon to be so. His desire for the dead was to rid his eyes of their presence and to see the living walk headlong into a voluntary abyss of death.

Dormin sat in his seat and recalled it all so delicately. He had even amazed himself, tonight, as he reflected on where he had been, where he was going and where he would be when the goal of divine knowledge and longevity would be his and his master’s. He looked and saw the flames begin to dance to his presence. The flames looked like nymphs dancing to his name and he
could hear their voices singing, “The forest bows to your wishes, the clouds release their voices and tears on your command and you are the darkness that closes the light to every seeing soul!”

He closed his eyes and took it all in and knew somehow that it would not last, but he refused to listen to the other voices that warned him that it was all simply but a moment in time that would not compare to an eternity in torment unless he could get Shepard, his son to cooperate. He would worry about that later. Tonight he would relish an act that would set the last days of the puny human tragedy into play! It had taken far too long. He knew that the history of man was so short in comparison to that of the world of his master’s realm that had endured before time had been conceived. So, Manassa Dormin would claim this moment. It had been such a great distance from there to here.

It had started so innocently. There had never been a brute or tyrant who had contemplated such a course the first time they had sucked on its mother’s breast. Nevertheless, life started with immediate all-consuming and demanding hunger! His had commenced no differently, and it had simply not subsided, as it should have. It had changed and the lust and appetites had deepened, evolved, or devolved, however one interprets the lust for power. Man is born with dependence on the host, but he becomes wise fast in the various ways of getting what he wants, when he wants it. The baby screams, kicks his legs into the air, craps in his pants and then demands it be changed. Men and women use guns and knives to get virtually the same things by much more brutal instinctive means, but comfort and the power to achieve it and maintain it was all that mattered anyway. He, like all others, grew up and preferred to do some things for himself. Dormin simply did not know how to give up. He was addicted to thinking about himself and taking whatever he wanted. And now he could do just that! He possessed it all and there was no disputing that such power was powerful stuff.

Dormin sat in his plush armchair and looked lovingly into his glass of the last of the best Bordeaux, the last that had been produced before the great fall, and that only he possessed. He took the remote and pressed a button that caused the wall in front of him to slide to the left, revealing a huge array of screens. He pressed another button and they all came to life. All the channels he had allowed to continue to broadcast were there before his eyes. There was no volume. He did not need it a

nd did not want to hear the rubbish that was being spewed to those who still had the ability to have a signal to the blank tube that reposed quietly in most homes. He did not need to be told what was going to take place, because he knew already. He had willed it to be so, and it would light the fuse to the Middle Eastern powder keg!

A talking head mutely moved his lips on CNN. A beautiful woman on MSNBC accentuated her words with the luscious lips of a ripe fruit that said, forget the news, aren’t I gorgeous? The Fox
News channel had refused to play the game and had been closed years before since they had remained unafraid. He just sat and waited.

~~~

The lights in Jerusalem were always so inviting at night. Ten men sat in the Bets Muel Hotel waiting for a signal that would change the world forever. They had been to all the beautiful sites during the day. Why not, they would never be the same again after tonight. They were now busy slipping dark skintight pants over their legs and pulling pitch-black shirts over their muscular bodies with patches on their sleeves that read, ‘MESSE’. They had a certain sadness in their demeanors but were about their business, nonetheless. They each took their utility belts and strapped them on and then placed their ‘tools’ to their belts and looked at each other and simply waited. It was 11:30 PM, thirty minutes from the start of Ramadan.

~~~

Power was a lot like wine, to Manassa Dormin. The color was red like blood and it glistened when it moved around in the light. Like the rich color, also power was similar to the taste of good, aged wine. It was a bitter and sweet taste that burned the tongue slightly, but went down and had an acquired taste all its own. The slight pain that the bite of the bittersweet grapes produced somehow demanded that one take more after having tried it just once, even though the first drink had not tasted so good. It was like flying and feeling queasy but eventually going so high that one would never come back down! Power was lustful like the deep rich texture of the liquid that he now was admiring and that, symbolically, said he had something that few, if any, had ever had before! Dormin was in love with power, the power to give life and to take it at will, depending on how he felt, at a given moment. Power was like wine, because it could be denied to the ones desiring it and it could be given in such great quantities that the indulger became inebriated with its allure, only to be liquidated freely because of being too enamored with oneself to realize that they were but pawns on the checkered board of war! Yet, tonight was Manassa Dormin’s, not that every single other day was not. Nonetheless, tonight would light up the world and kill so many more weak and unfaithful humans. The land belonged to his master. Tonight it would all be blown to Tenebre and he would find his ticket into the holy land. It took death to introduce death. What he had prescribed, ordered and would carry out tonight would culminate in meeting Elyon on the great field of battle.

Dormin picked up his secure phone. He pressed a special code and when the voice spoke at the other end. ‘Dome and rocks tumble together!’ He hung up the phone and sat back in his chair and relished the ability to do as he pleased. His self appreciation was interrupted by a voice behind him.

“Hello Father.”

~~~

The ten men in black suits of death had placed well-tailored suits over their uniforms of death. They were seated silent and poised and resolved for the task ahead of them. The leader’s phone rang and he answered simply, ‘We are on it’. They all stood up together and took their brief cases and left the room and entered the elevator at the end of the hallway. When they got down into the lobby they headed out to the door. “Did you get some good sites in today?” The receptionist asked. The leader walked over with a happy smile on his face. “We did, but tonight is going to be a real blast! What a beautiful country. Shalom, my beautiful Jewish princess!” He took her hand and kissed it.

~~~

“Not now boy, I don’t have time for your arguments and snide remarks! I’ve got a war to get started here!” “Who am I?” Shepard asked. “Who are you? Are you really my father? Whatever happened to you?”

Manassa Dormin looked up and took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. He rose to his feet. In spite of himself he was filled with a dilemma. He really felt a twinge of something that he thought was dead forever. It was blood, kinship. He knew that. This time, it was not the blood of Nimrod but the blood that he and Shepard shared together. “Come on in Shepard. I apologize. I have been so disappointed in you, but you are indeed my son, and I cannot deny that and it pains me to feel things such as kinship when I have worked so hard to rid myself of human affection.”

Shepard walked into the office and looked around at the books, the symbols of power and the various symbols of the origin of his power. He looked at the large group of screens in front of Dormin. There were newscasts, but one of them was focused directly on a close-up shot of the
Dome of the Rock Mosque in Jerusalem. There were no voices, just the sounds of cars passing on the streets around the mosque and passersby.

“Shepard, there is a new world coming, and it will not be ruled by those who took our power from us. It is only a short time now.” Dormin’s phone rang. “Excuse me Shepard.”

Shepard watched the screens and could see what was happening. He saw ten men in suits and carrying briefcases walking up to the mosque. Shepard put all his attention on the screen now.
“No! You wouldn’t do that!” “Do what? Oh, that? As we speak my boy, as we speak!”

“Sorry…” Dormin said to the person on the other end of the line. “Yes, go to phase two.”
Dormin turned back towards Shepard. “Yes my man, it is time to set the powder keg ablaze, my boy! We will then come to Israel’s aide and build a temple fit for a Devil! Ha-Ha, yes, it will bring about the final battle that will defeat the world, break the will of Elyon’s promise and take us to the day when we will stand before the great Tree of Life and read the scroll and take our rightful place next to the master while he transforms this broken and battered world into his own liking, having full power, complete knowledge and ready to do battle against the Watchers right up to the gates of Mount Elyon!”

“Dear old Dad, ever the great dreamer. You are perfectly mad! How can you expect to defeat your own maker! It is madness, I tell you!” Dormin motioned toward the screen. “And this…is this madness? Of course it is and it is lovely to behold! Man killing man! The master has perfected the tradition and this is his grand crescendo!”

Shepard watched the screen and saw the men taking off two manholes in the back of the mosque and one behind the Wailing Wall. It was 11:47 PM.

~~~

The commander took his radio and hit the orange button on the side. It told all the other operatives that the show would go on. He and each of the select group of special ops quietly slid into a manhole, and then pulled the cover back in place. They had all spent a lot of time with their children before flying to Israel from the former French, Italian, Japanese and Russian states with visas as businessmen on a trip to, ‘The Support the Jewish State’ conference. The night before, they had made passionate love to their wives and had taken out the best insurance policies. They had kissed their kids many times, before the day of their trip arrived, and then they boarded their planes and never looked back. Tonight would be their last night alive.

The commander gave the green light to enable their packages and to go to their designated locations. Each operative programmed their devices and walked to their locations. With handheld GPS devices that guided their ways underground and around the Dome, each walked briskly to the proper place. It was 11:54 PM, once they got to where they were to stay and radio the commander. Two went to the underground area at the entrance of the mosque. Now 11:55 PM, two others were seated with programmed devices at the back of the mosque. At 11:57 PM, two more were planted on the left side. Two were attached on the right side of the sacred house at 11:58 PM. The last two were still in their suits and walking at the entrance above ground at 11:59.

~~~

“Sir,” Shepard shouted “Do not do this!” Shepard’s eyes were glued to the screen. The full moon was visible just over the place where Mohammed was said to have ascended into heaven and where Abraham was to have sacrificed his son, Ishmael. In one minute, Ramadan would be declared with a perfectly round moon overhead and a mosque full of worshipers, now in their prostrate positions and contemplating the prayer they were about to utter. Shepard watched the place and the screen shifted to the interior of the mosque. At 11:59 and Thirty seconds, thousands of bare feet could be seen, both inside and outside the historic religious shrine. Men bowed before Allah on their knees, with the arms outstretched and their palms facing heaven, and women bowed before Allah in distinct and special areas of the mosque.

“Stop this father!” “Stop it? It is my finest hour, or minutes!” Dormin declared smiling and rubbing his hands together gleefully, 11:59 and forty-five Seconds. Shepard could no longer talk. He saw the worshipers looking to the left and the right to greet the demon and the angel that were said to sit on everyone’s shoulders, 11:54 and Fifty Seconds. “Watch this, my son!” The seconds ticked away, 11:54 and Fifty-five seconds 56 seconds, Fifty-seven, Fifty-eight, Fifty-nine, Sixty.

The Earth started shaking from below and above! Just before the power of the five simultaneous blasts shook the ground, the fallen Watchers controlling the special Ops warriors leapt out of each one with speed and great laughter. Each warrior looked suddenly at each other and screamed out in horrible fear, knowing that they had just caused World War III and had just killed themselves, totally against their own wills. The bombs erupted with so much force that cars and other vehicles, above ground, were rocking back and forth, like an Earthquake, before the explosion finally burst forth from beneath the ground. The worshippers looked at each other for a second and then rose and tried to run, but the force of the bombs hit so fast and with so much power that their bodies were torn apart, before they could rise to their feet! Shepard was holding his breath so deeply that he nearly passed out! Dormin was shouting! “It needs to fall! It has to come down!” worried why the dome had not yet crumbled!

Suddenly, the ceiling that held up the ornate and historic golden dome started to crack and burst just before it fell in one massive, colossal collision to the ground followed by the walls and the Wailing Wall as well. “See there Shepard!” Dormin gleefully proclaimed, “That is power! The power to clean up the neighborhood, in any way I choose! The power to use any means to get what the master requires, and he requires blood and souls and I…I am the only one to deliver it all to him, besides you of course!” “Power?” Shepard answered back angrily. “That’s not power! That’s murder, but that is what gets you off, isn’t Dad; screams, blood, destruction, pain? But I do have to hand it to you for one thing.” “And what would that be? You are the one person in history to make Hitler look humane in comparison to you!”

“I don’t know whether to slap you or thank you, Son!” Dormin snapped back at Shepard. “I am building your destiny and mine, so let the whole thing ride and we’ll cash in all our chips later, what you say, Shep? I don’t know how many times I have heard Elyon’s believers’ claims concerning the Nazarene or of his angels having banished the master from an area or casting out demons. My own opinion regarding this is the “demons” aren’t really “demons” but angels, who were impersonating demons. Why? Because, it makes the master appear to be under the control of Elyon, and in many cases frightens those who lack knowledge. Fear is used to control. I do know something about that, myself. Death is just so much less drastic in our eyes! After all, death will come to us all, my boy, at least most of us!”

“Look at the death all around us! Look at the death tonight! You want me to serve this ‘master?” Shepard lamented. “What is your problem? They are but tools…pawns! You have to break some eggs to…” “Yes, I have heard it before! My mother had told me about you, I mean, Alex Maefield. She said you loved Elyon.” “She was not wrong except about the person of Elyon. Elyon is a usurper!” Dormin declared. “How can that be? He made you, He made everything! It is not logical, not even for marauding brain-dead pagans like you! Your ‘master’ must be insane! He knows the book is true but refuses to admit it!”

Shepard walked around in the ornate office. The symbols of Dormin’s consecration to the master were abundant. Shepard saw a large plaque hanging on the wall behind Manassa Dormin’s desk.

The Commandments of the Master

“ALL MY TEACHINGS ARE EASILY APPLICABLE TO ALL TIMES AND ALL CONDITIONS.
I TEACH AND GUIDE THOSE WHO FOLLOW MY INSTRUCTION.”
“I EXERCISE DOMINION OVER ALL CREATURES AND OVER THE AFFAIRS OF ALL WHO ARE UNDER THE PROTECTION OF MY IMAGE.
I AM EVER PRESENT TO HELP ALL WHO TRUST IN ME AND
CALL UPON ME IN TIME OF NEED.”
“I ALLOW EVERYONE TO FOLLOW THE DICTATES OF HIS OWN NATURE, BUT HE THAT
OPPOSES ME WILL REGRET IT, SORELY.”
“NO GOD HAS A RIGHT TO INTERFERE IN MY AFFAIRS AND I HAVE MADE IT AN IMPERATIVE RULE THAT EVERYONE SHALL
REFRAIN FROM WORSHIPPING ALL ELYONS.”
“WHEN TEMPTATION COMES, I GIVE MY COVENANT TO HIM THAT TRUSTS IN ME.”
“I DO NOT ALLOW FRIENDLY ASSOCIATION WITH OTHER PEOPLE.”
“NOR DO I DEPRIVE THEM THAT ARE MY OWN AND THAT OBEY ME OF ANYTHING THAT IS GOOD FOR THEM.”
“I APPEAR IN DIVERSE MANNERS TO THOSE WHO ARE FAITHFUL AND UNDER MY
COMMAND.”
“I LEAD TO THE STRAIGHT PATH WITHOUT A REVEALED BOOK; I DIRECT ARIGHT MY BELOVED AND CHOSEN ONES BY UNSEEN MEANS.”
“THREE THINGS ARE AGAINST ME AND I HATE THREE THINGS.”
“THOSE WHO KEEP MY SECRETS SHALL RECEIVE THE FULFILLMENT OF MY PROMISES.”
“IT IS MY DESIRE THAT ALL MY FOLLOWERS UNITE IN A BOND OF UNITY, LEST THOSE WHO ARE WITHOUT PREVAIL AGAINST THEM.”
“REJECT ALL THE TEACHINGS AND SAYINGS
OF SUCH AS ARE WITHOUT. I HAVE NOT TAUGHT THESE TEACHINGS,
NOR DO THEY PROCEED FROM ME.”
“HONOR MY SYMBOL AND IMAGE, FOR THEY REMIND YOU OF ME.”
“I EXERCISE DOMINION OVER ALL CREATURES
AND OVER THE AFFAIRS OF ALL
WHO ARE UNDER THE PROTECTION OF MY IMAGE.
I AM EVER PRESENT TO HELP ALL WHO TRUST IN ME
AND CALL UPON ME IN TIME OF NEED.”

Dormin glanced over at Shepard and saw him reading the plaque. “I watched that movie, you know? What was it again? Oh yes, “The Exorcist.” some 12-year-old girl who was possessed by the Mesopotamian Watcher “Pazuzu.” Never met that one! This movie topped the charts for years! Woooo, the ultimate in fear and trepidation! There have been few actual claims concerning cases of “possession.” The master does not possess anyone! He simply remakes them. Souls are important to my master; and I been giving him quite a few lately, wouldn’t you agree? Humanity is his creation. People choose to dedicate their souls to Lucia and become a part of a massive force of energy that we can tap into in order to accomplish our desires and objectives. Behold its power before your eyes now! You…me, we are different! He lives in us, and it is our heritage!

“He does not live in me.” Shepard insisted. “Yes, I was born with a curse, but so was every living soul since your master managed to corrupt Elyon’s plan, but His purposes remain! I am as redeemable as anyone. So are you, but oh, I forgot, you are dead and they, like that ugly putrid thing inside you do not have the benefit of redemption! That’s right, is it not, Father? That’s one of the reasons your wicked master is so pissed off? Concerning your, ‘benefits’? I see suicide centers, street body trash trucks, death, death, death. It does not matter what name you put on a suicide center, it still means death! Yours is a lust for power, greed and evil, but above all, death!”

Dormin just stared at Shepard for a moment and then responded. “Elyon is the greedy one! He only frightens ignorant human beings back into His energy bank of souls. Shepard, my son, when I was twelve years old, Satan came to me in Church one Sunday. Of course I rejected him, but in a church of all places!”

“It is not about the place where you worship, my evil father; it is about who lives inside you and your insides are already dead!” Shepard insisted. Shepard walked over to a display on a table, against the opposite wall. He looked down on an alter that had been devoted to Dormin’s master. Spread across the table, 6-lit candles surrounded a golden pyramid in the middle. Incense were burning on all four corners of the table covered with a black tablecloth with a pentagram emblazoned in the center. Behind the table, on the wall was another pentagram with an upside-down cross hanging from it. A long dagger hung, halfway out of its sheath, to the left of the cross. Shepard reached down to touch the table and some demons promptly appeared. These demons were on the lower end of the demonic hierarchy. They were the ones with the red eyes, gargoyle like with rubbery wings. This order of demons mainly carried out tasks as Messengers and protectors. They quickly cleared the path when Chief Watcher Azazel appeared and approached the area they were in. Out of respect, they covered their faces with their wings. Shepard saw them and stared at them. He was strangely unafraid and Azazel bent down low in a bow before, the Son of Nimrod, the 666th.

“Elyon was powerless to stop the master. He did nothing to stop this tonight.” Dormin reveled.
“He has his reasons” Shepard answered back. “And you and I both know, your days are numbered!”

“Ha-Ha, you believe that? Your mother has corrupted you!” “My mother taught me the truth and it set me free!”

“One of the most important things we can do as servants of the master is to establish a strong relationship with him. He is calling you Shepard. It is why you were born! Your mother suffered to bring you into this wretched world and if I had killed her, you’d be doing my job now, and I could enter into my rest! For ions, people have looked to books, writings and other information about you. The doors are all open now, but your confusion is understandable, Son. There are so many mistaken assumptions, that later upon meeting him and getting to know him, you will find are false. There have been so many lies and so much misinformation written and presented about my master. Nearly all, if not entirely, have been invented and spread by his enemies, people who don’t know him, people out to make a fast buck and people indoctrinated with Elyon or other right hand path teachings.”

“Once you become close to the master he will send you a guardian Watcher who will reveal the world of our master.” “Your master, not mine!” Dormin stared angrily at Shepard and then continued. “They will accompany you when you visit places on the astral. I have had beautiful experiences, learned so much. After knowing your guide friend for a while, you will learn so much more about him. What he likes or dislikes. They are all individuals as we are.”

“You mean one like that ugly beast in your eye that always tries to scare me.” Shepard interjected. “I’m a man now, and I am not afraid of it, but I have no desire to know it!”

“There are many beautiful and interesting places in Tenebre!” Dormin closed his eyes and relished his time with the master and seemed to desire it so much.

“If one is patient, if you are open, your Watcher may take you there. There are many fun and pleasant experiences on the astral. The more we visit the astral, the easier it becomes. Our guides take us when we are ready.

~~~

Outside and under what was left of the Dome Mosque, the UWC Special Ops were all blown to smithereens, but enough remnants of their uniforms with MESSE emblems emblazoned on their arms still remained. The Dome was a burning heap of ancient stone, smoke and blood. Shepard turned and headed out of the room. “Don’t you leave til I say you can!” Shepard was angry, perhaps the angriest he had ever been in his life. He stopped and turned around and faced Dormin.

~~~

Elif felt the underground blast and ran to Jesse and Tolga’s room. She saw Sally Mike coming out of their rooms. “Did you hear that?” Elif asked Sally “Yes! If it was what I think then the world is in for a great deal of trouble!”

They checked on the children and then walked out to the veranda and looked towards the Mount of Olives and saw the smoke and flames boiling over the horizon and the beautiful dome was no longer there!

~~~

Shepard looked so deeply at Dormin that he felt as if his own eyes would explode! “That’s better! Now it is time for a bit of…” Shepard held out his right arm with his hand shaped as though he was squeezing Dormin’s neck! He began closing his fingers together and Dormin could no longer talk!

“Wha wha ar yo doing? Dormin strained to get out the words and fell to his knees. Shepard walked over close to Dormin and looked down at him still holding him in his grip. “You evil bastard!” Shepard screamed. “I am nothing like you! I could kill you now…” Dormin was turning red and fell to the floor! “But I know I would simply be giving into the same evil voice you cannot refuse! I will never end up as heartless as you are! I have found a greater force than you or your master, and I will not be your key, your servant or your killer!”

Dormin thought he was going to die. Abaddon was writhing in pain as well. Finally, the demon leapt out of Dormin’s body. Dormin’s body fell limp and ceased to move. Abaddon ran over to Shepard to take him in his claws but Shepard turned his grip on the demonic beast and the huge demon fell to the floor and kicked its feet and screamed out curses against Elyon! He held the beast and directed it back to Dormin and the beast slithered back inside the dead body. Dormin started trying to breath again.

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Part One: Brothers at War A First-Hand View of Jacob's Trouble

stevenbradley | March 21, 2009 11:10

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Steven Clark Bradley, Author of Patriot Acts, Nimrod Rising, Stillborn and Probable Cause is a world-wide traveler who has been to 34 countries. Here is Part One of his three-part series "Brothers At War" which he wrote concerning the constant conflict facing the tiny but powerful State of Israel. One of the huge themes in Steven Clark Bradley's novel, Nimrod Rising, is the series of events that lead up to the final culmination of world war in Israel known as Armageddon. Read part one of "Brothers at War" and learn about the author, Steven Clark Bradley and his experience that led him to write the powerful novel Nimrod Rising.

Part One: Brothers at War

A First-Hand View of Jacob's Trouble

The trip had been planned quickly. I had witnessed the conflict in the Holy Land long enough on TV. I had to see this tiny but very significant country whose actions could cause the world to tremble. I had to write about it and see it for myself. It had come to me as one of those things that I just could not refuse. I felt that there was a story on both sides that was being written piecemeal and that there had to be a way to tell it in the big picture.

Here I was at O'Hare, ready to go. Israel was not the summer getaway it used to be, but I have never been a tourist anywhere I have ever been, and I did not intend to be one now. 911 did have a tremendous impact on me, as with most Americans, and it caused me to take my sizzling, hemorrhaging world more seriously. I knew that there was something historically afoot and I had to be part of it. It gets boring just watching history. Sometimes you have to be part of it and hopefully along the way make a little history too.

To say it appropriately, I had been to 33 countries, previous to travelling to Israel. I have been privileged to be as far East as the Eastern border of Bangladesh, as far North as Iceland and as far South as Senegal, West Africa. Every one of these regions has added something to my life and has made me think differently than before I visited them. The Muslim, the Catholic, the Hindu all gave special memories to me. Nevertheless, all of them combined never influenced the core of my heart like the Jews and the Palestinians in the middle of this war of stones, bomb-blasted bodies and sacred history being waged in the Holy Land. The truth is that both the Jewish and the Palestinian are wonderful peoples. From both of these rich cultures are masses of distressed people who want nothing more than peace. They want to keep their traditions, raise their children and simply live a life that is free of persistent fear.

The Israelis who worked at my hotel became my friends and were far more open about the tragic conflict than one might imagine. I sought to encourage them to trust in their faith and the future promises to their land. I tried to listen pretty well, also. Three workers at my hotel, Biet Shmuel had lost family members on the bus bombing on June 18. It was hard to be positive, but they needed lifted up while their world was crashing down.

Notably, the Palestinians were quite friendly to me from behind eyes that were angry, broken and insecure that even their tear-stained veils could not hide. Having spent time with one family in particular, I can say that they have a deep bond together. They are not nomads with nowhere to go. They are where they all expect to stay, along side of Israel if need be. They are honest and committed to give all for their land, even their blood if need be. Ahmet was the Café manager at my hotel. After talking to him for an hour I realized that this man was very smart. He could speak beautiful English, Hebrew and his mother tongue, Arabic. Take this man out of his entrapped milieu and set him free to be productive and he would make a lot of money. He told me, "I like everyone here. They are all very good people.

Of course I would like there to be a place for my people, but now I have a little boy and I want to live. I am treated very well in Israel. I love my family." These were deep words to me. He is a wise man, having earned respect on both sides of the conflict. Therefore, it is not a fair assumption to declare either side as purely evil or always good, clearly wrong or clearly right. They are two great peoples who have become strategically out of options. That meant that I would need to be ready to write the story as I saw it and to suppress any preconceived notions that I had possessed concerning who was wrong or who was right. I would have to be neutral. I would have to hear both halves of the story. I would ease into the situation after a quiet flight to the Holy Land. It was not to be.

I did my patriotic duty and was at the airport more than three hours early. Quickly, an Israeli security agent came up to me. He took my passport, looked at the eight year old picture inside it and did not quite believe it was me. I totally agreed. I told him that both the picture and the real thing were ugly. He asked me, "Why are you going to Israel now?" At times, I was asking myself the same question. "Don't you know what's going on there?" I told him that of course I did and that I was not afraid. I answered all his questions and I was informed five minutes later that they would not let me go on that flight. I would have to wait for the next morning and no explanation why was being offered. So, after a good night at the Radisson, on ELAL's tab, I boarded my flight the next morning. This experience and the six times that my bags were completely emptied and x-rayed and squeezed and shaken during my trip showed me that this was going to be the closest thing to being a war correspondent that I had ever experienced. This proved to be true as I was confronted head on with the post 911 world and two peoples under siege.

Arriving in Tel Aviv was like landing in the center of the world. History was invented in the Middle East, and Jerusalem was every bit the face of the Eternal City. The traffic ran "a la Middle East", but all the lights worked and few horns blared. I was tired and sleepy, but one doesn't go to Jerusalem during the intifada for sleep, and indeed I did little of it.

The old city of Jerusalem is stunning to see. I had to touch those ancient walls that had served as a fortress for kings. I walked around the walls past the Jaffa gate, the new Gate and finally came to the Damascus Gate. This was the Arab quarter. There were thousands of people there and it was like I had walked out of one country and into another. Covered women and loud voices screaming in Arabic gave me a chance to hear from the other side of the story here and that was what I wanted. Having lived in many Muslim countries, I felt comfortable and walked into the crowd. All together, I spoke to twenty-six different Arab men on my first day. None of them expressed approval for the bombers. The thick quiet serenity of the old city was deceiving. These merchants knew that they had no choice but endure the hard times. The quiet would not long endure though. As I walked, eyes trailed after me and before me. Was it my camera, my Western face or the fact that I was a foreigner who, in their minds, had but one interest, a story, and not necessarily a desire to understand the plight of their people, who had been repudiated by the developed powers of the world and by their own Arab brothers? Overhead that day, in the old city, an army helicopter circled overhead. The word was that there were two bombers in the city and that spelled murder. In all, I spent my first week speaking to many of these normal fathers and children who did not have the slightest hunch what their futures would hold.

It is difficult for placated, satiated Westerners to even marginally contemplate the nightmare of the Palestinians. Their society is far more open than that of many other Muslim peoples. They lead the pack, in the Muslim world, for literacy. Therefore, it is not inconceivable that the Palestinian people could produce good, competent leadership. Freedom for democracy and fair elections would bring in new leadership. If the UN and the USA can convince the Palestinian people that any elections must be fair and democratic, the people will vote for new leaders, because the Palestinians, I have met in their own homes, want peace. Their businesses are failing because the tourists are gone, and their families are in danger. Fairly though, the large majority of Palestinian Israelis stated to me that they were content to be citizens of Israel as long as they could achieve equal rights and be respected as equal partners with the Jewish state. None of them ever expected that prospect to become a complete reality, but they preferred to live in the relative safety of the Israeli side of the disputed borders.

In speaking with Jewish citizens, it was related to me that this was not possible in the present climate. Who could know who was legitimate and who was not? Was a weak Arafat of the past better than a future strong leader from Hamas, Islam Jihad, Al Aksa Martyrs' Brigade or some other terrorist group or faction? How could Israel make a lasting peace deal with a nation that was even divided amongst its own people, as we see today in The Gaza? One young woman who was a Palestinian lawyer expressed it to me this way, "I have so many friends who are Jewish. We really love each other and have always done everything together.

Now, we are not allowed to contact each other and God knows how much I miss them." The bottom line is that from both sides, these are scared, brutalized, bewildered people. They are not all militants and they not all combatants. They wake up, try to go to work and try to pay their bills. When they look at their children, they feel proud and afraid for their offspring's futures. Little is heard about the rank and file residents of the Holy Land, because they do not yield powerful stories of hatred and death. Perhaps if the media would go out and talk to them, the whole world would have a greater sense of hope for future peace in the Middle East. What I experienced next demonstrated why peace is so illusive in Israel...

Steven C. Bradley

About 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 been an Assistant to a Prosecutor, a University Instructor and freelance Journalist in Iraq, Israel and Turkey. Steven is the author of four dramatic thrillers, Patriot Acts, Nimrod Rising, StillBorn & Probable Cause.

You can find my books almost anywhere across the net and in an increasing number of bookstores. Here are a few links to help readers get copies of my Stories the will read them.

Patriot Acts @ Amazon.co (Print & Electronic Editions)

Patriot Acts @ Cambridge Books
Patriot Acts @ Fictionwise.com (eBook Edition)
Patriot Acts @ Mobipocket.com (ebook Edition)
Patriot Acts @ Ebooks on the net.com

Here are some links to your websites where visitors can read more about Author Steven Clark Bradley, and his writing?

Author Steven Clark Bradley Interviewed by Geri's Book Reviews

stevenbradley | March 21, 2009 09:11

When did you first realize that you wanted to be a writer?

I have always been a storyteller. It seems to have been something I was born with. It was actually my son who challenged to stop writing as a hobby and to start publishing my several manuscripts I had written. As a child, I started writing dreams and ideas and it was all part of the process of learning how to paint a tableau with words. Probably the hardest thing was learning to get over what I call ‘the middle of the book’ syndrome. Perseverance is one word that best describes the main character trait that all dedicated writers possess. I can attest to that as I developed the characters, setting, atmosphere and all the million things that go into holding a story together.

What type of books do you enjoy writing?

It is such a driving passion to tell stories that could make one pause and reflect on where we were and where we are, to gain a better understanding of where we are going. The only problem is that when we look at where we are and perceive of where we're going, then the story always, inevitably come out shocking and ... dare I say spooky. It is never my intension to paint a bleak picture, but the truth can set us free. All of my books center on a major theme that typifies the human experience and tragedy. I look at my novels as my footprints in the sands of time that will live after I have been covered by the earth. I want to leave my books as my last will and testament, my final word to a world that my children will inherit, stories that make us look back so we can gain our bearings on the present to ensure a better future.

Did a special person in your life inspire you to become a writer?

Since my earliest years, until now, I have seen that life is carried forth by those who left behind accounts of the life that was common in the past. Every generation has the responsibility to share their thoughts and emotions for the future ones. So, I would not say that any one person has been my catalyst for my writing exploits. Instead, I feel that I am motivated to write by an ideal, the need to put into practice the freedom I possess from God to present the issues of our current day in a brave, realistic and plausible manner. With all that, there are certain writers who have pushed me forward. Thomas Clancy is a great mentor for me. He has had a great affect on me and made me know that freedom is not free. So, I am driven by my desire to demonstrate the freedom of our fingers to ensure that such liberty is never trampled on or disregarded.

Have you written any books based on a true life story?

I have lived in many cultures and that has given me a love for the differences amongst us, but my life has also opened up hundreds of doors or directions to write my stories. Because I have lived in so many cultures, I can say that all my books are, to a great extent, about myself. I love to fictionalize things that I have actually lived. It gives me an ability to describe things in such a realistic manner and takes the reader with me on a journey that will both tantalize them and at times, frighten them into taking stock of their own lives. I am a student of American culture and write about the changes in our society. Yet, every place I have been and in everyone I have met there has always been that same driving force; the desire to leave those who follow us something that says we were here! This is an intrinsic passion for every writer, ultimately.

The genre of stories I have written and the views I have expressed in my books are an intense effort to say something about my current society and to perhaps warn Pluribus Unum of the things that threaten the life we now have. I consider my books to be hard-hitting stories that may frighten the reader, as a result of the realism and the plausibility of the evil unleashed on an apathetic and ill-mannered world when faithlessness falls upon the just and the unjust.

Who is your favorite Author?

The writer who has most influenced me is Francis A. Schaeffer. Though he was a greatly respected Philosopher and not a novelist, his uncanny ability to show the cause and affect aspect that the decisions we make and as inhabitants of our world greatly spell victory or defeat of our way of life, so Schaeffer’s call to renew our respect for human life influences me to this day and is exemplified in all my novels. I think I am his antithesis in that his call was to show what faith would do for society and I write of a world devoid of any, and what woe it would work. No one else has assisted in the formation of my world view more than Francis Schaeffer, and I feel I am carrying forth his message in creating stories that show that none of us is an island and that we all have a major impact on the world around us, rather we know it or not.

Are your characters created from people you've known in real life, or are they from the imagination?

Well, almost all my characters are patterned after either great and honorable and bad and disreputable men and women I have met, and many I have known. I can recall sitting back in my chair and closing my eyes and picturing these people and asking how the person the character is patterned after would respond to something, what expression they would have on their faces or what actions would be instigated as a result of a given situation. I have met a great many people and that is a big help in creating my characters.

How many books have you written?

I have written and published four novels. Whether probable Cause which is a story of the tragic results of infidelity, Stillborn, which is a study of the lethal outcome of a life started and lived without love, compassion or human contact or Nimrod Rising which describes what a world could become when we leave behind all the human values that separate us from the rest of creation. Finally, Patriot Acts is an expose of the dangers of pretending that catastrophe is not out there when it is staring us in the face. Since I have traveled widely around the world, I have been privileged to possess the ability of giving a fair accounting of the life we share on this part of the small globe we call home. I also know how easy it would be to see liberty all blown away into the sands of time to only be disinterred by a yet to form people far different than our own. So, the stories that flood my mind are to help us stop, perceive, reflect…perhaps alter our actions and cause us to look at where we are, where we have been and determine, perhaps with more clarity, where we are going.

Where can your books be purchased?

You can find my books almost anywhere across the net and in an increasing number of bookstores. Here are a few links to help readers get copies of my Stories the will read them.

Patriot Acts @ Amazon.co (Print & Electronic Editions)

Patriot Acts @ Cambridge Books
Patriot Acts @ Fictionwise.com (eBook Edition)
Patriot Acts @ Mobipocket.com (ebook Edition)
Patriot Acts @ Ebooks on the net.com

Describe how you felt the first time you were Published.

The freedom to write so freely in a free land is such a wonderful thing. It is something to be cherished lest it be whittled away to finally be axed to death until we die for what we believe. It would not be the first time, nor the last. That is why I feel that there is nothing greater than writing & creating something from nothing. It's the closest thing to the divine! The freedom to say what we believe is not bequeathed to us by any man or woman. The ability to create worlds and personalities, to describe something so powerfully that it can make the reader laugh with joy, shiver in fear or cry in sorrow and empathy and then to breathe into them the breath of literary life is a gift from God; a process that starts in human imagination and comes to life on the printed page. It is the thing that separates us from the rest of creation! It is exactly what God did when He stepped into nothing and created something that lives and breathes! The process that takes hours of exciting and painstaking work, getting the manuscript to a publisher, getting it approved and edited and reedited and then printed and to actually see it in your hand! There is a world of intrigue and mystery in my hand and I am its creator. That’s a pretty powerful feeling!

Do you have any current work in progress for a new release?

I currently have two projects going. My third published novel, Nimrod Rising was actually three novels in one volume. I am deeply into part four of Nimrod Rising which is tentatively titled, Generations. That title is subject to change. I also am writing a children’s book titled Aiden’s Ashes which is a collaboration with one of my students, 15 years old, mind you! He is a great writer and really gifted. So I am working together with him on a really great story. I have three other works started. I always get an idea down on paper so I don’t forget it later. It is a real juggling act to market one’s novel while ever writing another one. It is tough work and it demands that the writer be dedicated to his or her trade and never grow weary of challenge before them.

What are some links to your websites where visitors can read a BIO on you as author, and your writing?

Goals, at least in my head, are guideposts, markers that can take us to a certain point. I am always careful to make my goals alterable, since many of the side streets we venture down mentally as writers produce the most unique stories, stories that stand out and proclaim the message the most clearly and brightly. Since my stories are always message driven more than mere entertainment, though I love entertaining material, I have to always have my heart tuned and my mind open. I am an ever growing, constantly learning, very dedicated writer. I try very hard not only to write about today as I also seek to point the way in which today’s lifestyles, whatever they may be, shall either take us towards a reasonable position of faith and unity or shall shove us headlong into a pitiful humanity where man is reduced to mere trouble, scarcely meriting bread and water, such as in the case of Terri Schiavo. Remember her? She could be you…me…any of us, in a world that makes human life so cheap that it renders death itself as the sole solution, with dignity. I guess I am saying that I drive my goals, they do not drive me.

At this point and time in your life, are you exactly where you wanted to be in your writing endeavors?

I am never satisfied with any product I create, I know that I must go the extra mile to get the story to people and to make sure it is at the point where I can be sure the readers will grasp the overall and underlying message. So, I am never where I want to be because I keep pushing the bar further out and continually giving an extra push to achieve. There is always another word, another issue, another story to tell. I suspect, I’ll never feel I have arrived. I tell my students that the times when you feel you are learning nothing, or that they are not achieving their goals, that those are the times when they are most likely learning the most. With every new thing we learn or try, there is a new feeling of inadequacy, but that is because it is new and still being implemented in my mind. The times of euphoria are not the times to sit back. I never feel I have arrived or that I am where I want to be. That drives me to be creative and to reach higher.

In your opinion, what are some factors that can help authors reach their dream of accomplishment?

Winston Churchill said, “The Pessimist sees problems in every opportunity, but the Optimist sees opportunities in every problem” These thoughts often enter an author’s mind once they get into the middle of a novel and need that second wind to get over the hump of taking the story to the next level by pouring themselves into it. It’s this inner voice that makes us press on when we feel so unsure until the story starts to write itself. Some call that this “Literary Critical Mass” when the story becomes a living thing and logic flows and literary inertia seem to take over. Actually, this drive makes all of the characters come alive so that eventual readers will become one with the story until you accomplish your task! To wisely persevere, you need to see the costs or difficulties and benefits or positives of what you are doing. An honest and good decision requires honest and good information. The more you understand yourself, the more certain you will be about your decisions and the more likely you will find the strength to persevere. All of this serves to develop your own writing style and makes you unique and singular in your message. You’ll probably find that you’re having more fun than you actually thought you would!

You want to write a book, you have an amazing idea that you need to get on paper before you lose it and you do not know how to get started. Ever feel that way? Writers do all the time. It takes time to make your image in your mind into a world with living breathing characters that do a multitude of things and have a multitude of personalities.

Writers draw their ideas from the world around them. They also most often pattern the characters, the good the bad and the not so bad characters after people they have met. My novels are full of distinct, international, good, bad and evil people. We all have met people whom we have categorized in one group or another. Click on the link below to learn about the main characters of the story of Nimrod Rising. Who is the hero, heroine, villain. Click here and learn about characters that are as real as it gets!

As an author, have you ever experienced writer's block?

I like to say that I let the story tell me what is next. When I cannot get the drift of the next part, I have to relax and listen and let the natural progress of the book direct me. I do get writer’s block, but I know that perseverance is one word that best describes the main character trait that all dedicated writers possess. I can attest to that as I developed the characters, setting, atmosphere and all the million things that go into holding a story together and bringing the new world into the realm of plausible and real.

In your opinion, what advice can you give to authors to prevent writer's block?

The best way to describe this important word is three simple words: “Never giving up!” Sometimes, when we find ourselves wanting to quit something, we feel pulled in two directions. Have you ever heard these voices in your head? “There’s no use in continuing!” or perhaps “I have failed and I give up!” These feelings are almost always untrue and are usually caused by depression, fatigue or loneliness. There are so many other personal things in our lives that cause such feelings of hopelessness. We are also drawn by voices in our heads that tell us not to give up. “Think of all the time you’ve invested!” or “Think how hard you have worked!” It’s that second voice that helps you continue on and is what I call “Wise Perseverance.” Below, you will find links to the mind of Steven Clark Bradley and what drives him to write with such great passion. Each link gives a different perspective of the writing process.

As a child, did you have any favorite books that you enjoyed reading?

I loved the Chronicles of Narnia as an older teenager and of course read Mark Twain, but I loved Nancy Drew books. I was a strange child, which means I have not changed that much. I was into history and political material, at a very early age. I read lots of history and loved political magazines, believe it or not.

As a child, did you enjoy reading a lot?

As I said earlier, I was a bit strange, as a child. I remember I read through almost all the World Book Encyclopedias in my school library, which gave me my great love for travel and culture, and which gave me ideas for stories like no one else has written.

If you had the opportunity for one day to live the life of a famous author, who would it be?

I think I would be Vince Flynn. This author is one of the best I have read in terms of painting the picture so real that I can see it in my mind. He too writes about real-life situations that are now confronting the world. Each of his books are strong, assertive and passionate with drama and action, but with action that could be really taken. He is the best writer I have read.

Many authors feel a sense of self-satisfaction after publishing a book. Some feel a sense of achievement, can you relate to such feelings?

I can say that each novel feels like another one of my literary children was born. All the hard work, all the revisions, the TLC that goes into making it powerful and readable and clear, expressive and addictive to the reader comes together when it sits in my hand. The greatest thing is to finally read it in book form and I forget that I am the writer and loving it. It is one of the greatest feelings I have ever had. My novel, Nimrod Rising represented more than 12 years of hard work. There is no feeling like that.

How do you balance your current occupation with your goals for writing?

This is the easiest question to answer; I never sleep. I have been blessed with the strange ability to be rested with as little as 5 hours sleep a day. I have been that way all my life. My wife too is just wonderful. She knows that what I do demands lots of time and she is my best supporter and full of understanding. I am a language teacher and I find that my writing and my teaching fit well together. I do feel times of stress, and I realized that during those times, it is important to take a break, recharge the batteries and write with pleasure and never because I feel I have to.

How did you feel at your first book-signing, or the first time you signed one of your published books?

I was surprised that people actually wanted to buy them. I found that I was really able to communicate the story as I spoke about it and made me feel really confident and I understood that that was what I was really good at. I am a people person and love the face to face. Getting book-signings and public appearances are hard to line up, but they not only sell books, such events encourage the writer to be ready to carry out the same tough work that we did on the previous book, because it is our passion.

If you won the lottery tomorrow, would that change your plans in your writing career? If so, how?

I have never thought of money as my claim to fame. Of course, I would go crazy to win that much money and I’d head down the list helping some people I’d love to bless, but I’d use it to further my writing and to ensure my stories were read. I am not driven by money, another point in which I am strange, I guess. Yet, I am a writer and the artist gene is alive and well in my head.

As writers, we begin with a manuscript that becomes published, and then we learn the meaning of promotions. In your opinion, what was the most difficult task?

The hardest task is getting book stores to believe in you and getting your story to readers. Finding a good agent is like pulling teeth, as well. I think the publishing and book store industry is geared against writers, to a great extent. It is true that there are a lot of bad books; badly written, badly edited and many publishers are into money and care less about authors. It got me down for a while, but I told myself that I write for the message and that there were just some things that would just have to do for myself. Though writing the book is challenging and meticulous, it is fun and enjoyable, because that is what we do. I am not an editor, an agent nor a publisher. Yet, I have had to do almost all those things. It has taught me a lot and I am glad for the struggle, because I come to discover other talents that I did not know I had.

Some writers need to listen to soft music to help them write those chapters for a new release, some prefer looking at the ocean, or flowers. Do you have any particular scenery, or object that you wish to focus on when writing?

I find that I always listen to music when I write. I love to listen to movie soundtracks as I write. The music is written to set moods and feelings for particular scenes. This has been perfect for me to give my mind the mood of the part I am writing. Music is powerful helps me write with the language the story dictates.

If you had books published in one Genre such as horror, and became daring to write a novel for a different genre, what would it be?

Every story has a genre of its own. I never set out to write a horror story. I like to say that I write about the world around us. I touch subjects that most of us do not dare broach. My books do not all fit into any one genre. I want to warn people about the loss of faith and the world that we do not see colliding with our own, so I wrote Nimrod Rising. I wanted to warn about the dangers of child abuse and the creation of criminal monsters, so I penned Stillborn, suspense drama. I wanted to show what infidelity could do to an exceptionally good man who lost everything and how it could transform him into a raging maniac, so I wrote Probable Cause. I wanted to demonstrate how lethargy and pretending that a terrorist danger is not present could place the nation at large in the forefront of a national disaster, and I wrote Patriot Acts. I want to be broad in my writing and I cannot predict what I will write next, not until the story tells me.

Get Your Copy Of Patriot Acts Today!
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Is Patriot Acts A Plausible Scenario? You Be The Judge Part 2 - The Right-Wing Phenomenon

stevenbradley | March 10, 2009 12:21

Recently, I wrote about a question I had posed to readers whether they thought the scenario of my novel Patriot Acts was plausible or far fetched. I demonstrated, through articles by well-known writers on the Middle East, that Iran had a mindset for nuclear war. This week it was reported that Iran had already enriched enough nuclear material for a bomb that could be produced by the end of 2009. Yesterday, it was further stated that Iran actually had enough material for as many as fifty nuclear devices.

It is obvious that the plot of Patriot Acts is one that could most easily transpire. Yet, Iran needs to build a network throughout the United States of hoodlum and enraged Patriots who have let their rage grow bigger than the reason for it. In Patriot Acts, just as Iran needs to link into such groups, The radical right-wing militia groups that are even now amassing in their hidden away shelters getting ready to take back their liberty while infringing upon the freedom of others from whom they had received no offense.

A Patriot can disagree vehemently with the elected leader of his country, yet, pray so stalwartly for his growth of faith, and God's hand of protection, praying that he be wise & even as an opponent, remain ready to stand up and lay down his life, in the President's defense. How many liberals would have pledged thus for George W. Bush? Let’s face it, Conservatives, those who believe the Constitution, we are those who hold it as unchangeable and for all time, without regard for c

hanges in culture and without sway even in the face of the loss of values and/or faith. Have we really slowed down and ask ourselves if we really know how easy it would be to lose this nation? I mean for it to be buried under the sands of time, a relic to be studied in amazement at how the Mighty had fallen.

Democracy is a strange thing, because you cannot keep it unless you truly love it. It is hard, arduous and constantly under attack by those who speak of freedom but who lay in wait to get us to sell our birthright for a false “security” and the green god of America. The American people seem to have grown tired of self-rule.

The leaders of today grew up at a time when entitlement meant that they could, while others could not. With the times that are, even now, staring America in the face render the radical and the seriously pissed off to gather together, by any means, to set aside whatever morals or principles that would certainly otherwise impede them and to set their minds on taking whatever they might need from whatever outstretched hand offered it. In paraphrase of the words of Obama’s Chief of Staff, Rom Emanuel, neither side will let a crisis go to waste.

America is not like the ancient nations of Asia. China, South Korea and many others which have history span thousands of years of history. Their governments could fall, but they would always be a people. America is a hybrid nation, and it has always been that ability to work together, regardless of the differences that made us great. Yet, America is like fine crystal, gloriously valuable, beautiful to behold, but so very delicate to the touch, when it comes to the current revolution of change, which is even now transforming America into highly controlled, powerfully ruled and dangerously sensitive nation that no longer follows nor values the very principles we, ourselves established. America’s fabric would unravel as fast as the constitution was shredded; only to be replaced with a very efficient and brutal regime that will work woe against any who might seek to bring back the America of the past. This is the world we now face, and in the midst of such tyranny and abuse, those who would seek to destroy what they consider to be an imposter would be easy pickings for a nation like Iran to deliver an attack so devastating, from which, The United States could not easily recover.

WARNING TO ALL MILITIAS

Such groups are very active throughout the United States. You have seen some videos of several militia groups in this article, because I wanted to demonstrate that these people are truly out there and they are stronger than ever and are serious about wreaking havoc on the United State. There are many State Militia organizations that serve a great role in the nation. Those are the true patriots who love America and is ready to defend her against enemies, foreign and/or domestic. They do not represent the force of treachery that is described in Patriot Acts.

Patriot Acts reveals just what such people could do to a nation that has closed its eyes to the disaster that is about to befall them. For this reason, I feel that Patriot Acts is a very important novel; one that can get America’s attention and can perhaps help us to once again truly care. Steven Clark Bradley

Today, America is at war with religious radicals who are hell-bent on destroying Western civilization. We have seen what radical religious fanatics can do to bring a peaceful nation to war. Read "Last Ounce of Devotion" from my next novel, Patriot Acts and see what would happen if our own brand of fanatics, right here at home, teamed up with the Islamic radicals with whom we are at war abroad? The concept is both challenging and lethal! What can turn a child into an extremist?

How can a child who was born in the land of the free be transformed into a man who seeks to destroy the land of his birth? I think you will find this chapter stimulating and frightening by virtue of its plausibility and the probability of seeing this scenario played out within the borders of the United States of America. The actions taken to protect The United States of America are not radical reactions to terrorism. They are Patriot Acts!

Excerpt From Patriot Acts
Last Ounce of Devotion by Steven Clark Bradley

Northern Indiana - 2009

Toto, Indiana was no ordinary almost-village. It had some great little stores that sold just about anything. It had countryside, farmland, an abundance of wild reefer, a large contingent of KKK want-a-be’s and the largest concentration of militia groups in the nation. These were not just a bunch of bed and breakfast warriors, but good husbands. They were involved daddies and mommies, devoted believers…at least on Sundays. There were serious and lower-scale business men ready to fight for each other as one with those they employed. All of them were unswervingly ready to give their last ounce of devotion to create a world where freedom was shouted loudly while bigotry reigned king. The larger towns and small cities around the Podunk spot of Earth that was Toto, Indiana were the fastest growing small cities of the state. Knox, Indiana was the County Seat and had progressed from the “Bloody Bucket Bar” to the “Court House View Tap”. No one was being thrown out of the windows anymore, but the same crazies still drank their fill but were too old to carouse any longer like they used to. The almost town place, North Judson still had a sense of the rustic and, like Knox, was a fundamentally good place to bring up the next generation of defenders of the Constitution, at least that was how they mostly viewed it along Toto Road, the one road that entirely spanned the county. Staying on Toto Road was like a place of refuge. One could traverse the county, into the depth of this country enclave and still feel secure inside their car. Thoughts of turning left or right off of Toto Road could only be carried out safely by those born in Starke County. Strangers are not too well digested in the land of a thousand armies.

The folks around Toto, Indiana did not like them strangers coming in there and looking all over their Jeeps, gawking at their arsenals all set up for the day that the United States Government would most certainly tear up the Constitution and cast it to the wind. The globalists elected to the offices of the land, down from the most menial, elected position in the nation and up to the most powerful office in the world, would most certainly need to be overcome by the people’s sheer willingness to keep what they had yearned and striven for. Almost every car was known that drove up in there. Today was no different in road traffic than any other, except for the special passenger that the old Ford Escort was carrying, as it turned off Indiana Highway 35 North and onto Toto Road heading due west.

~~~

Len Garret sat with his feet up on his coffee table and thought about all he had lived through that had brought his to the point of departure that was at hand. He had some visitors who’d be arriving shortly. For the moment though, Garret held a bottle of Tequila in his hand and stared straight up at the portrait of his father that was hung prominently over the Fireplace. Garret had commissioned the painting himself, as a tribute the man who had both beaten him on a regular basis and who had instilled in him a stiff determination to never give into the internationalists, globalists, traitors, fags, or any other lowlife epitaph that he could recall hearing his father use for those who ran the country. Though Len Garret’s father was a feared and respected memory, that painting over the fireplace served more as a constant reminder that he had unfinished business to conduct than as an act of true feeling for the old man about whom even Len Garret himself had wondered a few times if his father Russell Garret had gone mad. “Even so, if Dad was crazy then guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”Len Garret thought as his eyes grew heavy. His father’s greatest wish would be realized, starting today…everything would start today.

~~~

The old Ford Escort was heading west on Toto Road. For the driver, driving this patch of asphalt was an everyday occurrence. For the dark-faced passengers in the back seat, they had sworn that such a wild and overgrown area would certain spell some kind of mischief against them. Weren’t all these retched people along this backwater place Christians? That point, alone made this journey one that made these guests shaky and worried. Yet, it was about something that would make the world change forever and well worth the risk. The Escort drove into the miniopolis of Toto and turned left onto County Line Road. There was no turning back. It was like a little bit of Vegas in Hicksville, USA.

~~~

Len Garret’s fingers felt the skin covering his own visage as he looked at his father’s face. He started staring at the painting profoundly, so deeply, just like a thousand other times, and his eyes flickered, closed, then opened and the remained shut and a world that had long disappeared took on a shape and life, and he saw it all afresh. It was a day he recalled easily, because it had caused him to grow into the man he was today, having had his childhood cut short. He saw that boy again. He had seen him too often after having had his order to his brain to stay awake disobeyed. Each time he ventured into the recesses of his slumbering mind it was like opening the wounds that had closed up outwardly, but still raw and hemorrhaging on the inside.

He saw the boy, in his reverie, seated in the huge hall reading the document that his father had so loved while glancing around at the armed men and women stationed about him. His father had given his last ounce of devotion when the country he had almost given his life for ultimately took it away along with his daughter and wife. In the service of his country and while seeking the protection of his people, which was the goal and stated purpose of the sacred parchment anyway, and which he had believed until realizing that it was really nothing more than a not-so-hidden or secretive organization. But then, politicians did specialize in perception, and he had fallen prey to their tactics, though not necessarily of his own will. He knew he was young, just Seventeen years old seated there in the grand hall waiting for something, a ruling, a judgment.

He was not exactly a child, but except in such cases as this boy, most children his age still never thought about such things. He only knew that his moment had come too early. He wanted to kill them all one minute and run home and play his half-life video game, the next. His mind now knew that his day of games was over. He knew he would see his death, and now forcefully knew that childhood was not a never-ending run and that he was a child no more, for he knew he would die. . .

You can read the rest of this passage out of Patriot Acts or the whole novel by getting your very own copy by clicking on one of the links below.

Do You Remember When America Changed Forever

Get Your Copy Of Patriot Acts Today!

Patriot Acts @ Amazon.co (Print & Electronic Editions)

Patriot Acts @ Cambridge Books
Patriot Acts @ Fictionwise.com (eBook Edition)
Patriot Acts @ Mobipocket.com (ebook Edition)
Patriot Acts @ Ebooks on the net.com

You can read more of Steven Clark Bradley's work at any
of these blogs listed below:

Author Steven Clark Bradley
From The Mind of Steven Clark Bradley
Steven Clark Bradley @ Inspired Author
Steven Clark Bradley - Nikki Leigh Virtual Book Tours
Steven Clark Bradley @ The Power of The Written Word
Steven Clark Bradley @ Communati.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Blogtalk Radio.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Facebook
Steven Clark Bradley @ Twitter.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Xanga.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Amazon.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ yuku.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Bookmarket.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Published Authors.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Word That Work
Steven Clark Bradley @ Goodreads.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Myspace.com

Is Patriot Acts A Plausible Scenario? You Be The Judge Part 1

Is Patriot Acts A Plausible Scenario? You Be The Judge...

stevenbradley | March 04, 2009 07:32

Patriot Acts - Special Handling

Once I had an editor tell me that it seemed inconceivable to him that anyone could work to destroy his or her own nation. It is normal that people have a hard time envisioning that America could face such a devastating attack from foreign or domestic terrorist as is presented in Patriot Acts. We seem, as a people, to have an uncanny knack for forgetting the past or a dangerous lack of ability to think of a future where America could be at her knees in the face of such a terrible attack that we have nowhere to turn.

In Patriot Acts, America finds itself under covert nuclear attack from a unified force of the Islamic Republic of Iran and radical American Militia groups; setting aside their political and religious differences to carry out the widest and deadliest attack on America in the nation's history. In the midst of an unsure, newly inaugurated presidency, the attack is discovered and the new President must forgo the honeymoon and take grave and massive actions to spare the nation.

In this post, I have added two articles about the nation of Iran, which is the root of terrorism in the world today. Recently, The United Nations announced that Iran now has enriched enough nuclear material to build a nuclear bomb. Even now, Iran’s nuclear sites are coming online and that should make America and the world take notice that we are about to have a new enemy that will make the Iran of yesterday pale in comparison to the enemy they are about to become.

Please take a look at the two articles about Iran’s militaristic actions and their desire to attack Israel, which would be tantamount to an attack on the United States itself. After you read them, go on and read the excerpt from my novel Patriot Acts. I think you’ll find it highly plausible and eye-opening. Today, we do not need more talk or carrot sticks for this evil government in Tehran. We need, Patriot Acts! - Steven Clark Bradley

PROF. BERNARD LEWIS WARNS OF IRANIAN LEADERS’

“APOCALYPTIC MINDSET”

President Ahmadinejad is driving Iran’s foreign policy. Incoming Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu and I have discussed the subject and I believe he understands the seriousness of the situation. Unfortunately, neither President Obama administration nor the new Congressional leadership seems to understand whom they are facing in Tehran.

In that context, I was encouraged to see a transcript of a panel discussion last week in which Princeton Professor Bernard Lewis, arguably the West’s foremost expert on Islam and the Middle East, warned of the “apocalyptic mindset” of the current Iranian leadership and said Ahmadinejad in particular cannot be deterred by the arms control strategies that worked with the Soviet Union.

Excerpts: “In Islam, as in Judaism and Christianity, there is a scenario for the end of times, where the final battle between the forces of good and the forces of evil will occur. For Christians and Muslims alike, this means between ‘us’ and ‘them.’ The ‘us’ being differently defined, the ‘them’ being more or less the same. From the view of a certain section within the Iranian leadership, it’s not by any means unanimous, that time is now. For a group… whose main leader is [Iranian President Mahmoud] Ahmadinejad, the apocalyptic time has come. “Ma’adi,” the Muslim messiah is already here. The final battle has already begun. That is important for another reason, and that is concerning Iran’s nuclear weapon. The Soviet Union had weapons right through the cold war, but neither side used them because they were aware the other side would use them as well. It was called mutual assured destruction (MAD) which was the main deterrent of using the weapons. For most of the Iranian leadership, MAD would work as a deterrent. But for Ahmadinejad and his group, with their apocalyptic mindset, MAD is not a deterrent, but an inducement. They believe that the end of time has come and the sooner the better. So the good can go enjoy the delights of paradise and the wicked, meaning all of us here, can go to eternal damnation.

NETANYAHU GETS THE NOD

AS U.N. SAYS IRAN HAS

ENOUGH URANIUMTO

BUILD FIRST NUCLEAR BOMB

Benjamin Netanyahu received the official word today from Israeli President Shimon Peres that he has six weeks to put together a coalition to lead the next government of Israel. The announcement came as the U.N. announced that Iran now has enough uranium to build its first nuclear weapon.

Given the seriousness of the growing crisis with Iran, Netanyahu is calling for a broad “unity government” that would include Tzipi Livni’s Kadima party.

“For decades we have not withstood so many challenges at the same time,” said Netanyahu. “To face up to these challenges we need to join hands and unite all the forces within the people. I call on all parties, those who recommended me and those who didn’t. I turn to [Kadima leader Tzipi] Livni and to [Labor leader Ehud] Barak — let us join hands and pledge for the future of Israel. I hope to meet with you first and discuss a wide unity government.”

Livni, however, today said she refuses to serve with Netanyahu. ”Today, the foundations of a right-wing extremist government under Netanyahu were set,” Livni wrote in a text message sent to 80,000 Kadima members. “The path of such a government is not our own and we have nothing to look for there. You didn’t vote for us in order to provide a kosher certificate for a right-wing government, and we need to provide an alternative of hope from the opposition.”

The big question for Netanyahu, however, may not be how best to form his government, but how his government — whatever form it takes — will interact President Barack Obama, given the deep fissures between the two men over how to stop Iran from becoming a nuclear-armed power.

“Iran is developing nuclear weapons and poses the greatest threat to our existence since the War of Independence,” said Netanyahu. “Iran’s terror wings surround us from the north and south” Based on my conversations with Israel’s next Prime Minister, I believe Netanyahu fundamentally understands the apocalyptic, genocidal Islamic eschatology driving Iran’s current leaders. By contrast, I am convinced that President Obama or Secretary of State Clinton do not understand at all the End Times beliefs of the current leaders of Iran, and are thus making wrong policy choices based on their lack of understanding. Let us pray, therefore, that as Mr. Netanyahu forms his government and then meets with President Obama and top U.S. leaders that he is able to help American officials understand who they are dealing with in Tehran, and find a way to work together to stop Iran before it is too late.

What's Being Said About Patriot Acts?

Excerpt From Patriot Acts - Special Handling

Saturday, February 21, 2009

Fisher Harrison’s eyes were closed in a drug-induced stupor, but his mind was replaying the day his family abandoned him! He saw it all afresh and looked out over a terrain that was lifeless, and yet there were living crawling things all around him, in the shrubs, in the bald headed trees and all around his feet. Some of the things were insects, others were reptilian but the large majority of them were human. Down the highway of death all about him was the burnt out carnage of a war that was caused by a man set on seizing the Middle East and setting it ablaze and resulting from a President’s lack of resolve to finish a job barely halfway completed. Cars, Trucks, both civilian and military, the carcasses of tanks and men alike were strewn about like God had reached down and picked it all up at once and tossed it into space and let it fall at will! Bodies of men with their limbs blown off were everywhere with the detached limbs of another comrade’s arm, leg or head laying next to them. This highway of madness Fisher Harrison saw so clearly as he looked at the residue of 100 hours of slaughter that had taken Saddam Hussein out of Kuwait. Fisher Harrison lamented, as he knew that his brothers in arms had been removed from their advance to kill the tyrant only to be assured that they’d have to return one day to repeat it all over again, only at a far more wretched price! They were all gone!

Fisher looked over the horizon in every direction to see if even a cloud of smoke could be seen from a retreating Bradley or Abrams. There was nothing! They were gone; all gone except for him! The only remaining American thing he could still see was the chopper he had escaped from death in; the chopper where 7 of his fellow Special Black Ops had not been so lucky. As Fisher took out his long-range viewers the only hint of the war left were thick, black clouds rising into the sky from the incinerated oil wells in Kuwait and the various cars, trucks, and military hardware that had not yet burned themselves out!

Fisher saw movement to his left. He walked over to a car that was burnt beyond recognition. Inside was the dead body of a young Arab girl, about 16. On top of her was an Iraqi soldier still breathing and still inside her where he had been when an exploding shell had impacted close to the car where he had been reviling her. His breathing was shallow and his eyes opened slowly as he regained consciousness and he mumbled!

“Allah Wakbar…”

The soldier’s eyes opened and Fisher saw him look down at the girl he had been raping when he had been knocked unconscious. The soldier had not seen Fisher but looked down at the dead girl under him and he started to laugh. It had seemed ironic to him that she had escaped her pain by dying and he had been forced to continue in his by living. The soldier slapped the dead girl across the face and then spat on her just before he pulled himself out of her. He stood up and looked down at the young Iraqi girl, one of his own, and laughed again before turning around to see Colonel Fisher Harrison’s gun staring in his face.

“American! You are American! War over! God bless America! God bless America!”

Fisher kept the gun directly about six inches from the Iraqi’s face and aimed between the Muslim Rapist’s eyes!

“Thank you, God always blesses America! Give your Allah my regards!”

Fisher squeezed the trigger and the Iraqi’s face exploded before Fisher’s eyes!
Fisher Harrison didn’t flinch! Killing was his job. It was what he did without the slightest increase in his pulse.

He heard a sudden sound of rotors twirling and saw the tornado-like affect of a Black Hawk heading his way and stirring up the desert floor. He looked straight ahead of him and up and saw a chopper and his heartbeat picked up speed when he thought of his brethren coming to take him out of this field of twisted metal, war-ravaged breathless faces and smoldering death!

The chopper continued its approach and then the pilot and his Ordinance Specialist saw Fisher! The chopper flew toward him and hovered overhead. Fisher started waving his arms until he saw the expression on the pilot and Or. Spec’s faces. Fisher then just stood there under the chopper holding his hands up with sand and debris being propelled all around him and in him realizing they had not come to rescue him but to kill him, to get him out of the way!

Fisher stared into their faces less than one hundred feet above him with a huge caliber round staring back at him. The pilot could not take his eyes off Fisher! Fisher was sure he had seen tears run down both of their faces! Fisher too had the same sort of eyes looking back at them pleading with them to take their brother home!

Fisher turned his back to them and fell to his knees and looked at the death all around him. He raised his arms and cried out!

“Who are we? What have we become? What can we defend?”

This was a case of ‘Special Handling’! Perhaps his own brothers would make him one with his dead comrades, but if so it would be a shot in the back! Why would he bravely take a bullet to the forehead when the nation he had so bravely fought for was about to so cowardly make him disappear?

The pilot just hung there in the air and Fisher resolved himself to his fate and knew there would be justice, even if not in this life! Fisher finally turned around and looked up at the two soldiers hanging in the metal whirling bird hanging not so far above him. He saw the pilot lean over and say something to his Or. Spec. Then the Or. Spec held a radio like the one Fisher had at his side. He flashed Fisher four fingers and Fisher turned the radio to channel four and could now hear all communications between the chopper and base camp. The chopper maneuvered about ten feet to the right of Fisher.

Inside the cockpit, Kuwait command enquired of the soldiers’ mission.

“Have you located the target?”

“That’s affirmative! Target in sight, Sir.”

“Execute then for God sake!”

“Roger that! Executing now sir!”

Then the chopper that had moved away from Fisher loaded its gun and the Or. Spec stuck his head out of the craft and Fisher saw him very plainly and clearly! Fisher had told himself he would never forget his face, but he eventually would. The Or. Spec waved at Fisher to get down on the ground. Fisher concurred and the Or. Spec fired off fifteen rounds just to Fisher’s right. Fisher knew they had missed and knew they had chosen to miss!

The chopper then maneuvered direct over top of Fisher and the Or. Spec took a large plastic bag full of blood and dropped it down from the chopper so it would fall directly on Fisher whose body was still splayed out flatly in the corrupted sand of the Highway of Hell! It busted open on impact! The Or. Spec then took a camera and shot several photos of Fisher lying there, apparently dead! The Or. Spec then looked down at Fisher and Fisher looked up and the soldiers above who had placed their right extended fingers to their foreheads and saluted Colonel Fisher Harrison!

"Kuwait Command, this is Merciless One”
“Merciless one? That is not your call sign.”

“Target is down! I repeat target is down!”

“Do you have verification?”

“That’s affirmative, Sir and we have just killed one of our own and have earned any call sign we chose!”

“You are to maintain radio darkness!”

“Sir, after we get this bird safely to her nest, consider the both of us as having resigned our commissions and never fly for this force again! And you can then take your darkness and stick it up your ass! Sir! Merciless One, over and out!”

“Come in Mercy One, Mercy One, do you read me...?”

The chopper lifted high into the sky and flew away! Fisher saw it leaving, growing smaller and then vanish! Fisher rolled over on his back and looked straight up and screamed!

“What have we become!?” and his eyes forced themselves open!

Get Your Copy Of Patriot Acts Today!
Patriot Acts @ Amazon.co (Print & Electronic Editions
Patriot Acts @ Cambridge Books
Patriot Acts @ Fictionwise.com (eBook Edition)
Patriot Acts @ Mobipocket.com (ebook Edition)
Patriot Acts @ Ebooks on the net.com

You can read more of Steven Clark Bradley's work
at any of these blogs listed below:

Author Steven Clark Bradley
Frokm The Mind of Steven Clark Bradley
Steven Clark Bradley @ Inspired Author
Steven Clark Bradley - Nikki Leigh Virtual Book Tours
Steven Clark Bradley @ The Power of The Written Word
Steven Clark Bradley @ Communati.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Blogtalk Radio.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Facebook
Steven Clark Bradley @ Twitter.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Xanga.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Amazon.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ yuku.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Bookmarket.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Published Authors.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Word That Work
Steven Clark Bradley @ Goodreads.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Myspace.com