Nails from Bullets

A Soldier's Story of Redemption

Goree

• Publisher: Resource Publications
• Year: 2016
• eBook ISBN: 9781498298346
• Topic: Theology & Religion
• Subtopic: Religion

What happens to a soldier's soul when he dies? Does he pay for his sins, or will God forgive him and offer eternity in heaven? The fog of war confuses the boundaries between what mortals think of as the good guys and the bad guys. Just assume for a moment that God's angels and Satan's demons battle over mortal souls. Satan would have to train his army of evil warriors to excel in this business. How does he set up his boot camp? What methods does he encourage his dark knights to use against humans?Enter the worlds of heaven and hell to see how both God and Satan seek the souls of mankind's armies. What you will find is God's love and Satan's hate is the same for both soldier and civilian. Don't stop reading this book once you enter the realms of heaven and hell. Your eternity's destination could be in the balance!

“The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong.”

Eccl 9:11

1

The Knife

Dereck, the Rhodesian Light Infantry soldier, rubbed his bare arms. He couldn’t talk out loud, so his thoughts pounded in his brain.

The night air was freezing. How could it be so hot by day and freezing at night? Sweat-soaked khakis makes it harder to stay warm after the sun goes down. Sunburned arms, and the back of his neck and legs didn’t help, either.

Pitch black. Even if he stuck his arm straight out in front, he couldn’t see his hand.

Darn this thick bush. No matter how he tried to move quietly, there was always something to step on step over.

Twigs, dried leaves, and the darn vines and branches all made a racket.

Slowly, move slowly. Carefully place one foot at a time. Heal down, then gently place the rest of the foot in a rolling motion.

The rest of his squad was to his right. Confidence in their abilities boosted his spirit.

Stop! What’s that noise? It’s something big. Freeze!

Fear raged through his chest and sent adrenalin pumping into his bloodstream.

Banza, the freedom fighter or terrorist, depending on your frame of reference, stopped dead in his tracks.

Stand still. Perfectly still. Don’t even breathe.

Several minutes ticked by. Who knew how long? Seemed like an eternity.

OK, now let your breath out very slowly, but darn you, keep still!

Like his opponent, Banza recalled his training. Stay alive.

He didn’t hear another sound. Probably just some small animal, he hoped.

Splat.

Why did he swat that mosquito? He knew better. A noise like that carried a mile in the bush on the still night air.

Tired. I’m so very tired. My muscles ache. I wish I could lie down and go to sleep.

Running all day playing cat and mouse with the white soldier had sapped his energy. He could probably sleep all day and still not be rested.

Banza had told his group leader to prepare a more careful ambush, but the man hadn’t listened. Now they were all dead. If the team leader was alive right this very moment, Banza would beat him to a pulp.

The RLI—Rhodesian Light Infantry patrol had been tracking him all day. His AK rifle was useless. Ran out of shells hours ago. All he had was his knife. And his wits.

Yes, I will be all right. I won’t lose my life tonight.

Discipline. He remembered the bush discipline. Okay. Lift your leg and foot slowly. Doesn’t matter how tired you are. Rather be tired than dead. Move slowly. Carefully.

He heard nothing now. Not even the breeze rustling the leaves. Those RLI guys were amateurs. They wouldn’t find him.

Darn! The blister on his heel must be an inch deep.

Blasted Quarter Master. Banza had told him he needed a different pair of boots. The man wouldn’t listen. Take them or leave them, he’d said. Well, if or when Banza returned to base, he’d kill him.

Fatigue. Exhaustion. Banza had never been this tired before.

War was not like the game of soccer where everybody shook hands at the end of the game, and went home to rest. In this arena, there was only the winner and the dead.

Dereck sniffed like an old hunting dog searching for its quarry. What’s that smell?

In the same instant, Banza drew in a deep breath. There’s a soldier close by. He slowly knelt and placed his AK 47 down as quietly as he could, and then eased his knife out of its sheathe.

Whites all smell alike. I know one of them is near my position. Banza’s body tensed like a lion just moments before it pounced on its next meal.

With a smirk, Dereck cocked his head. Blacks have an unmistakable stench. Oh, God what a terrible smell. Intense body odor mingled with campfire smoke.

Slowly he raised his FN rifle but instead of bracing it on his shoulder, he placed the butt between his arm and his body. His finger curled tighter around the trigger. He needed to squeeze and not pull the trigger, but in close quarters, any shot that left him alive and the terrorist dead, was all that mattered.

Then he paused to sniff the air without making a sound, because even the sucking of air through his nose could give him away.

Free of his AK 47, Banza raised his knife slowly with his left hand. First, to waist height then to chest level while gripping the handle tighter and tighter. Yes, that feels right. No anxiety, no fear. He held extended his right arm, with a slight bend at the elbow. Poised now, like the stinger on a scorpion.

Banza imitated the leopard, knees slightly bent, torso about to explode with energy. Then it occurred to him perhaps he should bend down just a few inches lower. It would make him less of a target. So he bent his knees to just shy of a squatting position.

Instinct kicked in. His white adversary was only a few feet away.

Dereck’s intuition rang like the Liberty Bell in his head. He’s close. Darn bush. Can’t see a thing.

A twig snapped.

Both opponents sucked in air. They were determined to kill each other.

No one else would have heard the twig snap. However, these two heard it as though a logger chopped down an oak tree.

Banza searched the sky for any light. A sliver of moon peeked out from the clouds. Just for a moment, as a cloud sluggishly drifted past the moon, a ray of light revealed his would-be killer less than a foot away.

Has he seen me?

Idiot. He’s going to die for breaking that twig.

He tensed as he prepared to thrust his knife forward into the soldier’s body.

Dereck berated himself. Fool. Why’d you break that twig? He mentally regrouped and focused. I can smell him but I can’t see him.

While the brief light from the moon momentarily acted like a flashlight, he searched the vicinity, but the terrorist was nowhere in sight.

Standing as still as a statue, Dereck froze. Never mind mosquitos were feasting on his bare skin.

What was that? A breath, a knee joint creaking? Someone or something moved to his righ...

Table of contents

• Introduction
• Nails from Bullets
• Chapter 1: The Knife
• Chapter 2: The Terrorist’s Death
• Chapter 3: The Terrorist’s Conversation with God
• Chapter 4: The Medic
• Chapter 5: The Red Helicopter
• Chapter 6: Nails from Bullets
• Chapter 7: Ascension
• Chapter 8: Grace
• Chapter 9: The Choice
• Chapter 10: Prelude
• Chapter 11: Copilot
• Chapter 12: Orientation to Death and Hades
• Chapter 13: How to Use Your Swords to Capture Souls
• Chapter 14: Advanced Class on Winning Souls for Satan
• Chapter 15: Man Prefers a Complicated Lie Over the Simple Truth
• Chapter 16: Comfort, Convenience, Complacency, and Indifference
• Chapter 17: How to Win Adolescent Souls
• Chapter 18: Sky Pilot
• Chapter 19: The Water of Life
• Chapter 10: Enter the Fog of War
• Epilogue