One of the things I love about writing for Blackfive is the abundance of authors and their books we get to see here on B5. Whether it's Jimbo putting up one by Elise, or Laughing Wolf reviewing someone, or even Matt finding time to read a book or 3, we get exposed to some fantastic writing, and that is something I cherish. If you recall, I reviewed some books just before Christmas that you should be reading; one of those was one of the few fictional books based on the Iraq setting. Today, we have another treat from author Ken Timmerman. And it combines subjects that he knows all too well- Christianity and Iraq. Ken is an author of considerable note, and one that does his research. I'm going to share with you the lead chapter of his latest book, and you'll see what I mean. For any of you that have served in Iraq, you'll immediately notice Ken 'gets it'. His stories appear regularly in Newsmax, and for those completely in the know, will recall he and Amb. Bolton were both nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize back before those were available in Cheerios boxes. The book, St Peter's Bones (Cassiopeia Press, 2011) comes out this week. I had a chance to review a pre-published copy, and I have to tell you, a more timely book (even in fiction) could not be planned. The story revolves around the persecution of Christians in Iraq, and the conspiracy to drive them out. Given the activity and the sentiment around the Egypt bombing of a Christian church, one can see the parallels between Egypt and Iraq and Christians. It's a sad state of affairs, as Iraq has a long, storied history with various religions and cultures, and for centuries was considered quite 'cosmopolitan' in their views and acceptance of both Christians AND Jews. Not any more. And I'm blaming Hezbollah and Iran for it. Take a read of Ken's latest, and you'll see. Below the fold, you'll get a chapter preview. I hope you'll enjoy it. I certainly did. You can find it on Amazon here: St Peters Bones. More on Ken is found here. 1 Al Qaim, Iraq There was just a sliver of moon as we moved through the date palm grove on the outskirts of al Qaim. Up ahead of us, the window of the crumbling mud-brick house glowed faintly through the blanket someone had hung over it from the inside. We had left our HUMVEEs back on the main road, more than a kilometer away. My heart was pounding as much from fear as from exertion. I felt sure its loud thumping would give us away. Sgt. Manny Diaz, of City of Commerce, California, led our small team of Special Forces operators as we ran quickly but quietly from tree to tree. Deron was on point. Willy, Frank and Mojo covered our flanks and our rear with me in tow. When we went out on operations like this, they always allowed me to carry weapons for my personal protection, even though I was a civilian. Anybody looking at us would have thought I was just another member of the team, until I opened my mouth. Catching my breath, hidden by the still-warm tree trunk, I gripped my Glock 19 in both hands, aiming vaguely at the ground. But truth be told, my hands were trembling. It was early March. By this time in the war, five years after the U.S. deposed Saddam Hussein, the Americans had finally begun to take Iraq’s borders seriously. Al Qaim shared a rocky desert with Syria, and was the preferred insertion point for al Qaeda and their Baathist allies to bring foreign jihadis, money, and material into my country. It was also the site of one of Saddam’s nuclear weapons plants. When the UN arms inspectors finally discovered it, they were embarrassed and said nothing, since they had believed it was just a fertilizer plant as Saddam had always claimed. In the distance we could see the ruined tower of the uranium distillery framed against the evening sky. Somebody with a sense of humor had strung white Christmas lights from it in the form of a heart. That was one of the many things that had changed since the fall of Saddam. People actually laughed and made jokes, without always looking over their shoulder. I am not a violent man by nature. Many of my countrymen, who can take the life of a man as easily as others brush their teeth, would undoubtedly call me a coward. I remember how I dreaded my eighteenth birthday, because I was sure to be called up for military service. With Saddam, the next war was always just around the corner. We used to say that the lucky ones were sent out on construction details, building gigantic palaces for the megalomaniac who ran our country. But some of them weren’t so lucky; whatever they saw, Saddam didn’t want them to tell anyone. We said they were “growing old in secret,” to disguise what we all knew had happened. Saddam had them taken out into the desert and shot. Until recently, we wore balaclavas on operations like this. The American press referred to them as ski masks, but that is not accurate. The face gear the SpecOps guys gave us was thin and made out of a nylon-based fiber so we could operate in the heat. It was nothing like a ski mask, except that it covered the face. But now, as the United States was seeking a graceful exit from Iraq, we “terps” had been ordered to participate in the interrogations without our balaclavas. This was intended to show that the dangers we faced had somehow decreased, and that the war was winding down. My elder cousin Gewargis resigned when that order was given, even though he’d been working with the Americans from the beginning. Gewargis, who grew up in my uncle’s tiny electronics shop with a...
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Posted
Jan 17 2011, 06:00 PM
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