Posted by: James Atticus Bowden | September 28, 2016

Next Novel, First Installment. On the Far Frontier: Book One, First Post.

Here is the first installment of my next novel.  I’m going to put it out for inspection and comment.  I’ll revise accordingly.  This is the first 12 pages of about 300.   48 are written in first draft – with 252 or so to go.

I look forward to seeing what you give me as feedback.

For my Christian friends, this is NOT a G-rated novel.  It’s about life in the distant future which speaks to life now and life past.

Expect typos and other errors.

Enjoy.

On the Far Frontier

Book One: First Post

James Atticus Bowden

Copyright 2000-2016

Chapter One
“The Speed of Light is an absolute limit throughout the Universe!” Cale daydreamed about his favorite rant from the Academy. The oddest professor there made the most profound effect. “No one can go faster than light. Ever,”Cale’s seat belt tugged tightly. The braking from Mach 2 on the land rail started a very long way from the Fort Hope terminus. Fort Hope was the furthest point out on the far frontier of the Other continent. Alien Country! And I’m posted here to fight’em.

His heart pounded. Cale saw the uneven line of the Great Escarpment stretch across the whole horizon for the first time. The Escarpment is so huge! Nothing beats seeing it for real. Praise the Parent Pilots! Awesome.  Cale looked across the open, flat, nothingness for wrecks of the great space ships, the Arks of the ancestor Pilots who brought all life and people to this planet. Cale smiled recalling Professor Josi B.’s theatrics, “The limits imposed by the speed of light shape everything on this frontier planet except one thing and one thing alone!” My first duty post. A bachelor living on this piece of frontier with the Potways. Weirdo cult.

Potways. Religious cult of clans found mostly on the Other Continent. Constitute a majority of the population on the frontier. Tolerated, but not encouraged by Great Galactic Order (GGO) Colonial Government.
“And what would that one thing be?” Professor Josi B. craned his neck like a vulture looking for a victim. “Mister Smit C., yes, you Mister Smit C., what would be the one thing that the speed of light does not dictate on this furthest forward planet of the Great Galactic Order?”  Before the cadet could answer Professor Josi B. banged the lectern with his fist and screamed shrilly, “Destiny, Mister! Destiny! The speed of light doesn’t determinethe destiny of this world! Humankind determines the destiny of our frontier world! Praise be the Pilots!” He lowered his voice to growl,

“Humankind, that even means you, Mr. Smit C., defends the border of our Great Galactic Order against the Alien invader. Even though all communications from the Center of the G.G.O. ceased,” the Professor paused for a deep breath.  “Humankind makes this planet a place of civilization, peace and prosperity. Are you equal to this mission? Frankly speaking, the miserable graduates of this military academy are the best hope for shaping any destiny into one which includes our survival. Sad, such, is our state of affairs. You are The Army. Upon the shoulders of The Army we survive. Or not.”

The brakes hissed louder. Minutes passed like an excruciatingly long sigh. The chair on the bubble roof was worth every chit. Cale listened in and out as the guidevoice droned on softly, “At this latitude only low growth forest survives.” It sure doesn’t look like the tall trees and warm, rolling hills of home. ‘Back Old’ as they supposedly say out here. There’s another saying. Throughout his last two standards at the Academy, Cale studied everything about his first post he could get his hands on. These frontiersmen say Spring comes as ‘fast as a train pulsed from the port fusion engine.’ It should be Spring by now. All I see is snow.

The guidevoice thanked him for purchasing their Land Rail services and signed off. This newly commissioned combat leader was happy to pay. Cale would know as much as he could about the unit, the mission, the enemy, the troops, the terrain, the locals, the history, culture – you name it – before his first duty day.

The Great Escarpment barely changed across the horizon as the buildings of Ft. Hope’s outskirt buildings quickly grew higher in perspective. It seemed to rise just a little bit higher. The Escarpment must be a long, long way away. And really, really big.

Cale recalled his last image of the awkward, painfully, intellectual Professor Josi B. “Yet, praise be to the Pilots, our people of this far frontier know only of the heroism and brilliance in combat of your forebears from this most military Academy. They don’t know how weak you are. You must leave my tutelage and go grab life to achieve a destiny for us all. Go beyond your weakness. Do it well, Cadets. Do it well!” Everybody snickered. Me, too. But, he’s the ‘P’ I remember the most.

The car came to the hard stop. The brakes protested. Cale grabbed his kit and headed for the exit. I’m going to try my code for real. I’ll be tested. Bring it on.

The ground flight engineer waited at the door to wish passengers well. She saw his gray ‘business dress’ uniform some distance away. She took off her skull cap and shook her short blonde hair out. Cale saw her from a distance too. Her shapeless flight suit couldn’t hide her female curves.

Try/test my code. Old expression for experimenting with software code for functionality. Later changed to mean testing an individual’s DNA code for errors. Archaic expression, usually associated with men in a test of manhood.

Cale smiled a crooked grin, “Thanks for the great ride. Is this your regular route?”

“Yes, Sir, it is,” she offered her hand. She gave him a quick once over as thoroughly as any inspecting officer. There were no service slashes or combat icons on his frock coat. The highly polished gold rank insignias on his shoulders and at the center of his chest proclaimed most junior officer. His face said it first. The bright, light blue shoulder service piping spoke direct combat branch. The pink collar piping said Academy graduate. The black and gold wreathed knife on his forearm shouted ‘Alpha’ school grad. Cale saw her eyes flicker at his Alpha patch as they shook hands. He held her hand long enough to be just right. He looked into her eyes just that little too much too. He said, “I’ll look around for you.”

Alpha School. The toughest training allowed in the GGO Armed Forces was meted out in the school designed to separate the Alpha Males from all other officers and enlisted combat leaders. Graduates were trained to assume command in the most complex and dangerous, demanding combat scenarios.

She kept her eyes in his. “You can find me. Alphas can find anything. Right?” she smiled.

“Alphas Always. Ground Flight Engineer Tust,” Cale read the name tag held up and out by her ample breasts. He raised his eyebrows and smiled. He turned from the crush of people behind him to go. Cale looked back as he stepped out. She was taking a second glance too. Good. Very good. Remember Tust. Tust like bust. Blonde, built, Ground Flight Engineer, Tust.

The train terminus in the military colony town of Fort Hope was built low and thick like the bunker it was meant to be. There was a cold dust in the air. The food kiosks poured out new and striking smells. Overpowering foreign scents. The people moved in a blur. Cale followed the flow.

No signs. No directions for incoming military. No one in uniform. Where’s my unit rep? They have to know I’m coming in today. His orders specified that very train for transit. Cale worked up a sweat, despite the cold, carrying his full kit with sling bag and boxy helmet case slung over one shoulder. He kept one hand free for military courtesies.

Cale stepped to the bright outside into another wall of smells and cold wind. No one’s waiting here for me. He threw his stuff in the back of the lead taxi.

The grizzled driver needed a shave and bath as much as he needed to finish his dripping sandwich. “Hey, I’m on break!” he motioned to his meter with both hands wrestling his smelly sandwich.

“You’re the first car in the pick up line. You have to go first,” Cale slid in behind his cargo. The driver frowned and took another bite. Cale looked hard at the quadrant screen. “What’s your license number? Name?”

“Close the door. Let’s go,” the driver shoved his sandwich in his mouth. He flipped the switch disengaging the charging unit from the heating post. The engine quickly whined up to the right RPM. They lurched forward.

“Fort Hope, please,” Cale used his officially polite tone.

The driver gulped hard and licked his oily fingers, “New recruit, huh?”

“New Officer,” Cale answered gruffly. One quadrant of the back seat screen pulsed with icons for the white ‘t’ and the blue ‘x’ alternating with the words ‘Lamb’s Cross’ and ‘Lion’s Cross’. Potway symbols. “New here.”

“I know where you go, Sir.”

The driver slowed to enter a round traffic circle full of vehicles. A huge statue on a high square base covered in flowers overpowered the bustle. A giant woman was lunging forward. Her lips curled on her teeth in a defiant, silent scream. Her eyes were ablaze in stone. She thrust a crying baby by the scruff of the neck forward like a shield. Her other hand coiled a long knife back by her hip ready to strike. Each side of the base proclaimed, ‘No Surrender.’

Cale twisted in his seat to take it all in. “That’s the monument to the Massacre at ’84 Easterly Settlement. Right?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Why fresh flowers? In the winter? Is this the day?

“No, no. The grandmothers take care of that monument everyday,” pride filled the driver’s voice. “They’ll tell you why. There’s some who seen their great-grandmothers and heard them speak of the Alien fighting. Course not actually at Longitude ’84. No one that far forward survived.” The driver eased his exit off the circle. “Yeah, yeah. Their kin in other settlements survived. Of course, they seen the sensor spots and know what happened.”

“It’s been a hundred fifty-two Standards,” said Cale.

“It was yesterday, Sir.” They passed a line of older women walking, bundled darkly against the cold, carrying bright fresh flowers.

“Must be expensive.”

“That’s Potway women for you.”

They were still in the city when Cale saw the arching gate and hard walls of Ft. Hope. I imagined it was way out from the town. I guess the town grew out to it. ‘G.G.O.’ was stamped in the concrete pillars. The arch bore one word, ‘Duty.’ The sensor suite at the outer gate was broken. The rusted box hung loosely by a single screw. A voice came on the taxi’s internal speaker, “Proceed to the next gate.”

At the next barrier the guard and driver smiled and nodded mutual recognition. The guard motioned for Cale to lower his window. Cale complied and held up his wrist. The guard’s eyes looked with bored indifference at the rank hologram slowly rotating over the wrist band data display. He slowly came to a half-hearted position of attention and saluted sloppily. Cale returned the salute sharply.

The cab’s navigator voice gave instructions in metallic monotone. I know why they have drivers here and operators on the frontier for everything that a good robot could do. People can’t be hacked remotely. Still, weird stuff. Inefficient. They went around a big open field and past long dirt-buried bunkers. Ammo bunkers. The first long, low building that looked fit for an office had a sign out front. “‘A’ Cohort, 1st Fighters, 21st Battle Group” and in larger letters ‘Duty.’ Cale tapped his chit card against the driver’s quadrant display.

The driver didn’t help him unload. Cale piled his things in the right order to lug them into the first combat unit of his military career.

Cale took a deep breath. His insides quivered. Now. He picked up his kit and went into the building. The door sensor announced his entry. “Officer present.” The words echoed down the hall as he strode past each embedded watchdog.

The orderly was standing at attention when Cale stepped into the Cohort office. The junior team leader was a short swarthy fellow suited in the combat utility uniform. His five o’clock shadow was shaping up his face well before noon. His eyes swallowed Cale with curiosity. His eyes lingered on the Academy pipette on Cale’s collar, then darted to his Alpha School patch. He saluted, “Alpha Cohort, First of the Twenty-First. Duty, Sir.”

“Warrior Leader, Officer Third Grade, Cale B. reporting for duty,” said Cale evenly. He masked his internal tremors totally. He handed the personnel disk from his identity case to the orderly. The young team leader, probably a year or two older than Cale, took it quickly into the next room. Cale read the walls carefully.

The unit’s history was handsomely documented in 3-D displays. It was a proud battle history. First to find, or more correctly – be found by – aliens and fight them. Holding frontier outposts against impossible odds, killing a lot of aliens in tough fights, suppressing two revolts, and supporting humanitarian assistance whenever nature caused disasters. Now, patrolling through the longest so-called truce ever. Except for the quick fire fights that happen when least expected. And, the long patrols that never come back. Here’s a memorial for guys they lost last year. Which is why I’m here. I’m going to fight. I know no one on the frontier calls it ‘peace’. Only folks Back Old take the safe luxury to speak of a lasting peace. The Top Sub was at Cale’s elbow before Cale knew he was in the room.

They exchanged salutes nose to nose. The Top Sub locked his eyes on Cale’s eyes. “Glad to have you here, Sir. The Old Man’s been expecting you. This way, Sir,” said Top Sub Dant. He was as dark-skinned as the orderly and a powerfully built man twice the orderly’s size. He had a thick brush mustache and shaved bald head. Suddenly, he turned and pointed at the orderly. “Hey, Jacs! Where’s the duty driver?”

“I don’t know First Sub. Last I seen he was getting the duty vehicle out to go pick up the new officer.”

Top Sub, First Sub. Top Sub is the military rank for senior subordinate soldier of a combat cohort – not an officer. First Sub is the form of address.

“So, where the Dark Space is he?”

“I’ll call him. Maybe he didn’t get the duty vehicle past the inspectors.”

“Call him now,” Top Sub Dant raised an inquiring eyebrow to Cale.

“I never saw him. Came here by myself,” said Cale. The Top Sub clenched his jaw and snorted through his nose.

Cale’s first commanding officer was hunched over a tactical engagement table. The holographic images flashed as he fingered the surface for new data. Warrior Leader, Officer First Grade, Commander Toll wore his combat suit and personalized command helmet. He was covered in dust and grime from the field. He stunk badly.

“Okay, that’s it Swen. Break it off and come back to home station,” Toll’s orders were short verbal jabs. “We’ll work on your immediate action drills later. Remember, time, distance and speed. Time, distance, speed! Tell your men that they did proud today and last night. The second fight was second to none in this exercise. Good job. Duty, out.” Toll pulled off his helmet. His head plug came out with a slurping sound. He was average height, wiry and a dirty blonde.

“First Sub, get a hold of First Fight and the Third Herd and tell them to drag their sorry butts home. They fell off my comms again. I don’t even want to talk to them now. And I don’t want them to hear what I’ll say right now. Just get them in gear.”

“Will do, Sir. We got a new leader for the Third Fight,” Top Sub Dante nodded to Toll’s rear.

“Well, I’ll be alienized!” Toll smiled broadly. His eyes stabbed Cale’s with their intensity. Toll’s quick inspection once over from top of the head down to toes, back to top the head missed nothing. His eyes returned for another jab in Cale’s eyes. Toll gave a hard military grip to Cale’s hand and elbow. “Welcome to Alpha Cohort, Warrior Leader. Awful Alpha Always Able.”

alienized. Literally, to be melted by high powered microwaves directed by the aliens. Or, in common speech to otherwise be rendered useless or finished.

Cale snapped to attention. He saluted sharply, “Sir, Warrior Leader Cale B., reports for duty.”

Toll returned the salute and pointed to a chair by the training table. He leaned back on the table and crossed his arms. “We wondered when you’re ever going to get off leave after Alpha School,” Toll’s blue eyes were warm. Their warmth seemed almost out of place with the menacing large scars on his forehead and cheek.

            “I took the authorized amount, Sir, no more,” Cale stuttered.

            “Yeah, sure, Warrior Leader,” Toll walked over to his console and sat down as with a sudden heaviness. “How much weight did you lose in Alpha School?”

“Sixteen kilos, Sir.”

            “Humph,” Toll snorted. “They’re getting too soft. Put it back on, yet?” Toll reached into his low pant pocket and pulled out a snack bar. He offered it to Cale.

            “Got back ten, Sir. No, thank you, Sir,” Cale sat as stiffly as a New Cadet in indoctrination training.

            “I may never let you stay back in garrison long enough to get it back, Cale,” Toll used his name without rank unexpectedly. He bit the snack bar in half. “Cale, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been short a warrior leader for entirely too long a scum-sucking alien-loving time,Toll’s eyes took another very slow measure of Cale. Cale kept eye contact with youthful fierceness.

            “You’re going to take the sorry rag bags of our third herd and make them into soldiers. That’s not going to be easy. It’s not going to be overnight. But, you’re going to do it. I’m putting you in the field,” Toll looked at his console, “First thing next seven cycle you go to Training Area 12. I’m keeping you there until I run out of ammunition and credits for field training this standard. Questions?”

            “Where are they now, Sir? When can I link up?”

            Toll smiled genuinely at the right answer, “They’ll be in very late tonight. You get your gear and get settled here on post. Be back at first formation and you can meet the sorriest Fight serving the Galactic Order. If there is, in fact, still a Galactic Order.”

            Cale rose quickly, saluted and left the room. How much of that was gut check? How bad is the Third Herd? Who cares? The Third Fight’s mine. They’re going to be best soldiers in the whole Galactic Order anyway. Screw it, if the Galactic Order is gone. Conquered by aliens, or whatever, then they’ll be the best on this free planet. That’s my plan. Didn’t need the pep talk, Sir.

            Top Sub had the duty orderly take the new Warrior Leader to process in. Full combat/vehicle crew kit, personnel – officer’s records section, calibrate individual wrist weapon on the virtual range, and put in the unit codes on his helmet comms interface.

Cale eased into the chair in the cramped warehouse room called an office. When Cale lifted the flap of skin on the back of his head protecting the female receptor plugged through his skull into his brain, the Cohort Comms Sub couldn’t help himself, “Been a long time since I seen a skull flap with no tattoo.”

“Yeah?” Cale controlled his irritation. “I could’ve put on an Alpha School tattoo. But I’m thinking there’s other things to come.”

“Lots of young Leaders have an Academy tat. Or an Alpha School tat,” the Comms Sub changed his tone of voice markedly. He spoke more softly. “I likes my own tat, Sir.” He leaned forward to show off his skull flap. It read ‘Duty’ with POTWAY symbols and swirls covering all the skin.

“Been in the Twenty-First your entire term?”

“Been here, in Alpha, for all me terms, Sir. Got three done now.”

“Anyone got more than you here?” This Sub is behind on promotion because he stays planted here in one unit, or he has been busted. Cale looked for a sign on the slightly chubby, acne-scarred Sub. Where did he grow up that they didn’t have DNA snip and clip to fix simple acne?

Skull Flap. A 6 x 2.5 centimeter flap of living flesh that covers and protects the surgically implanted receptor in the skull to reach the upper medulla of the brain. All service members undergo the surgery at the completion of basic training when they are officially inducted into the service of the Great Galactic Order.

“Oh, there’s somes that got more. You’ll know ‘em, Sir. You’ll know ‘em when we go to the field. Mostly POTWAY men likes me. Borns here, serves here, dies here.”

“Got my download done, Sub?” said Cale.

“Yes, Sir. You’ll be in the net as soon as you put in your helmet plug. You know your receptor gots more holes than I seen before.”

“Maybe you’re way over due for upgrades, Sub. It’s been in for five standards. I’m not a new recruit, Sub. My academy time was as military as anything you’ve ever done. It’s been five long standards since I was a civ. “Thanks.” Cale stood up and followed the orderly. The final in-processing station was in Officer country. The orderly helped carry all his stuff to the waiting room and left. Cale signed into the Officer’s Mess, Billets, Athletic Union, Education Fund, Troop Entertainment and Welfare Fund, and anything else the pretty civ secretary put in front of him. Early forties. Nice figure but filling out fast. She wore a POTWAY wedding ring on both hands. She wore garish jewelry with more POTWAY symbols and too much perfume. She didn’t look in his eyes, but had a professional cheeriness about her. Fake enough to keep her easy office job. Bet she gets hit on every day.

As Cale left to find his billet, he heard a commotion down the passage. At the far end the sign read “Warrior Leader and Wife Fred and Frie L. Memorial Hall.” A reception of some sort was breaking up. A tall Sub held the door open for the Battle Group Commander in business dress, some local civ – a well-dressed older guy and a striking, dark-haired woman. Cale checked out the woman. She looked to be in his age target range. She was laughing. Maybe a little too much to be a subordinate in the group. Why is she there? Her dark hair fell over her back as she tilted her head to enjoy her own laugh. She was tall with a very womanly figure. Something about the cut of the clothes looked POTWAY. They went out a side door before Cale could drink in more details. Hmm.

 

End of Installment 1.  Ver. 1.0

Posted by: James Atticus Bowden | July 21, 2016

Vote Your Conscience

Morning has broken -July 21, 2016.  God makes all things new.

Morning has broken -July 21, 2016. God makes all things new.

Last night, Sen. Ted Cruz gave a great speech about the future vision that should be shared by Republicans.  He urged all Americans to vote in November.  On election day, we should vote up and down the ballot for candidates who will defend the Constitution.  We should vote our conscience.

Voting our conscience is great advice.  It supposes that voting involves thought.  Most voting is emotional.  The hysterical reaction of Trump supporters and many Establishment Republicans confirms this fevered aspect of politics.  The bile spewed speaks to the individuals slinging it.  Likewise, Cruz exercised his emotion, based on honorable principles to protect family, to not endorse someone who savaged his wife, marriage, and father.  Well done, Ted. Good man.

If Ted’s honorable defense of family costs him his political future, it was a worthy profile in courage.

After batting back and forth with the Cruz critics last night, I rested well.  Morning broke with the picture above.  God makes all things new every day.  His beauty fills my heart with happiness.

America can survive HRH Hillary the First or Trump.  It’ll be harder, more challenging, to come back after 4 years of institutionalized corruption – See Germany in the 1930s, the Soviet Union in the 1920s – with HRH.  It can be done.  Whether it will be done or not, depends on how many Americans share the values, principles and the courage of conviction of Ted Cruz.

It’s going to be a long four years ahead.  Either way.  We’ll need more sunrises like today to sustain us.

Posted by: James Atticus Bowden | June 14, 2016

Why the U.S. Army’s Birthday Matters

Happy Birthday to The United States Army.  Our Continental Army took the field on June 14th, 1775 – over a year before the Declaration of Independence.  The Army is 241 years young.  It stays young with the 18 year olds coming in every year.  It’s up to the leadership of the Army to be wise enough, knowing the lessons of generations of soldiers, to spend their lives sparingly and let them grow old someday, but spend their lives without reservation if the mission demands that awful price.

That life and death distinction is why the U.S. Army’s birthday matters.  Sailors, Marines, Airmen and Coasties get injured and killed in training and combat, too, but upon the life and death of soldiers rests the fate of the American Nation.  All wars are ultimately decided on the ground.  Even obliteration without occupation isn’t decisive.

The one nuclear war, our bombing of Japan, without the threat of the imminent invasion might have been decided differently.  Lucky for us that the Japanese didn’t know we’d used our nuclear arsenal of two weapons.  The infantry is the decisive arm of Land Warfare.

As the Nation was born and borne on the bayonets of the Army, so will the Nation’s defense ultimately lie in the hands and skills of soldiers.  The Navy is necessary to get to any overseas conflict and to keep conflicts from getting to America.  The standing Navy is required by our Constitution.  The Air Force brings air and space power that enables victory, but doesn’t attain it.  The Marine Corps supports the Army in Land Warfare, but isn’t the Army.  Since America became a world power with the Spanish American War and started fighting overseas, Marines contribute, but don’t decide the outcome. (The exceptions are the small wars around the Caribbean in the early 20th Century and the shores of Tripoli in the early 19th Century.)

The scale of effort in our Land Warfare is clear.  WWI: 1 Marine Brigade in an Army Division/30 or so Army Divisions in France, WW II: 6 Marine Divisions/90 Army Divisions, Korea through OEF/OIF roughly 2 Marine Divisions or Brigades/10 Army Divisions or Brigades in every theater.  Yet, The Army is being cut to be smaller than it was before WW II, while the USMC is about 5 times larger than it was before WW II.  The Army sucks at politics.  It always has.

The culture of the Army – especially its senior leadership is “National Servant”.  The Army could be cut back, as it was after the Revolution, to Carlisle Barracks, PA and West Point, NY and the soldiers would salute smartly.  That’s precisely why Americans should care about the U.S. Army’s birthday.

Sooner or later, the Army will be called to fight and win another special operation, raid, battle, campaign or war in Land Warfare.  An Army that is too small, morally corrupted by political correctness, institutionally impotent with the political elevation of the National Guard and Special Operations (and Reserves next?), and paying the bills for a Marine Corps bigger than all the marine corps of the world put together – will pay another bitter price in the blood of young Americans and wasted national treasure.

The Army will live up to its motto – “This We’ll Defend”.  But, it will cost America dearly.  Again.

 

I hope The Army perseveres.  I was commissioned into an armed mob in June 1972.  The task of rebuilding the Army was a lot of hard work.  It paid off.

This was the last time we rebuilt the Army.

This was the last time we rebuilt the Army.

 

I regret that others might have to do it again.  I’m counting on the Regulars, Officer and Non-Commissioned Officers, to make it happen.  Just like America trusts the Regulars of the 3rd Infantry, The Old Guard, to keep doing their duty.

This We'll Defend.

This We’ll Defend.

Posted by: James Atticus Bowden | June 14, 2016

Cousin Susan Gone Home

Dear Cousin and wonderful woman - Sister in Christ.

Dear Cousin and wonderful woman – Sister in Christ.

I got to say good-bye to Susan Lee Bowden Taylor a few weeks before she died and became present in the Lord.  For many years, I’ve told my close kin on parting, “There’s nothing unsaid.  If something should happen and we don’t see each other again in this life, it’s all been said and done between us.  Love you and yours.”  When Susan and I chatted last she knew she had terminal illnesses – yes, plural.

Susan looked me straight in the eye and said, “I’m not afraid of dying.  I know where I’m going.  I don’t want to suffer needlessly.  I’ll do what I can to live as well as I can as long as I can.”  If you knew her voice, you could her the melodic cadence of her speech and the accent on each syllable as you read the words.  I read her eyes and body language. She was courageous.

Susan shared how she wished her Momma could be with her at this difficult time.  Her Mother, when told by her doctor she had about 6 months to live, said, “You don’t know that.  You’re not God.”  She lived another 5 or 6 years – and well.

Susan was given up to 10 months to live.  She passed in about 10 days.  Not from lack of will, but in God’s Providence, because she would have suffered awfully.

The last time I saw her she told me about her funeral arrangements.  She asked me to speak.  I wrote it up and planned one last visit for her to edit and me to tease her about it.  But, the last trip became the funeral time.

Her traditional service for a believing Christian

Her traditional service for a believing Christian

There was plenty of family there.  Cousins from Tennessee drove a long way.  One niece of mine could make it, and generously did, from California.  Made me proud and grateful to be their cousin and uncle.   Her brothers and one daughter spoke well.  I know what it takes to speak at your parent’s funeral.  And, of course, one of my daughters and my son who attended, relived their Mother’s funeral from two and a half years ago.

I prayed for strength and was given my voice to say my piece properly.

Susan Lee Bowden Taylor

I’m Susan’s cousin Bubba. Everyone should have a cousin or uncle Bubba.  I’m Susan’s third cousin who’s closer than first cousins. She is my dear friend. My sister in Christ.

Susan Lee Bowden Taylor.

Her name conjures that voice and those eyes. Susan’s voice was magnolias and honey. It was Southern and ladylike. It was a soft and rich as a summer night is hot and humid in West Tennessee.   Susan’s blue eyes were a bright light that would be blue ice – if ice could be as warm and loving as her eyes.

Susan was as gentle as her Father, Warner, and as courageous as her Mother, Jan. Those qualities are in the right order and legacy. Like both parents, she loved family, family, family. Friends, as adopted family, are included.

Her devotion to Phil was absolute. Her affections, protection and generosity to her daughters, Ginger and Amy, was boundless. Her joy in her grandsons was a heart overflowing. Her concern and kindness to other kin, friends and folks was genuine Christian love.

Susan lived gracefully, well and strong. She bore the sufferings of diseases for many years with true grit. She took the challenges and folly in life in stride and added her gentle laugh. She’d turn her head – shaking it gently – arch her eyebrows and laugh. It was a good benediction to all things not worth worrying about.

In my family’s annual pilgrimages home to Memphis and Covington with many trips to Germantown, it was great to see so many relatives. But, the fun began when Susan showed up. She never failed to light up the room. As pretty as she was as a girl and a woman, her inner beauty shined as brightly as those blue eyes.   My People, our Bowden-Maley Clan, which produces strong women and real matriarchs, is much poorer to not have her for another 20 years. Thank You, Lord Jesus, we know we’ll see her again in the sweet bye and bye. Bye, Susan.

Wish I had her young and mature pictures of her other beauty

Wish I had her young and mature pictures of her other beauty

The church had a long reception for her community.  We gathered at her daughter Ginger’s house for long hours afterwards.  It’s our West Tennessee, Scot-Irish family version of a wake.  Stories, laughter and tears, chatter and bonding with kin – but not as much drinking as other wakes.

I’m grateful for Susan.  I can’t believe she is gone.  Known her for as long as I have memory of knowing any relative.  We’ll miss her at the family reunion like we miss her Mother Jan and cousin Tootsie (Elizabeth).  I feel her absence in this life.

Susan Bowden Taylor and Nellie Katherine Kyle Bowden - both absent the body, present the Lord.

Susan Bowden Taylor and Nellie Katherine Kyle Bowden – both absent the body, present the Lord.

Posted by: James Atticus Bowden | May 22, 2016

Losing an Election

The wisdom philosophy of Ricky Bobby rivals the great Yogi Berra and Popeye.

The wisdom philosophy of Ricky Bobby rivals the great Yogi Berra and Popeye.

Yesterday, I lost my bid to be a delegate from 2 CD VA to the RNC Convention.

Congratulations to the winners.  Best wishes.

And, now, a short epistle on politics and self.

Politics.  The dynamics of the 2nd Congressional District, Virginia are different from the 1st Congressional District, Virginia – which was my political home for 25 years until the recent re-districting.

The behemoth. which is Virginia Beach in a district with parts of James City County, Hampton, and Norfolk and all of Williamsburg, York County, Eastern Shore, and Poquoson, presents a different picture.  The “elephant in the room” isn’t adequate to describe Va Beach’s girth politically.  Virginia Beach is 52% of the vote – anytime there is a vote.  The simple math to 50% plus 1 is = for every per cent a candidate goes below 50 per cent of Va Beach, the candidate must do a bit better than an additional per cent in ALL of the other cities and counties.  It can be done – Jeff Ryer won a seat on State Central – but it is much different math than winning in our old 1 CD.

The dynamics of how the Stolle Family Inc. and Towne Bank Assoc. operate in party politics is different. Busing in folks from their ethnic cultural center is fair play – and would make any old party boss proud – from Tweed to Tammany to Daley to Crump to Byrd, etc..   It’s just different to me in local politics.  The 1 CD was old Tidewater.  A unique political culture where authority is rarely challenged.  Elected officials are given more deference and respect quite differently than 50 miles west of I 95 or north of Aquia Creek.

The mechanics of how to win a convention are the same.  Bring your voters.  Know them by name.  Or, convert the delegates soon after they sign up and know them by name.  Or, you lose.

Personal. I’ve lost 2 elections since 1997.  My one run for public office, 7 weeks after Cong.  Jo Ann Davis died, was a loss in 2007.  I won all my runs for party office until yesterday.  Yesterday was interesting.

I signed up to be a RNC delegate to support Ted Cruz.  When Ted Cruz suspended his campaign, I thought about quitting.  A conference call with people I trust and support encouraged me to continue.  Then, I threw out a fleece in prayer.  “If it is meant to be, let me win.  If it isn’t, let me lose.  Let it be in Your Will.  I’ll praise either way.”

I got the delegate lists – eventually.  Sent emails to those with email addresses.  Virginia Beach had none.  I chose not to make the 900 phone calls to try to engage the VA Beach delegates individually.  Posted my flyer on Facebook.  Produced the flyer and handed it out at the Convention.  Picked up a few votes and lost many more with that.  Gave my little speech and have no clue what that did – if anything.

So, while I say I threw out a fleece, I didn’t do everything I could to win.

Unless lightning, or more accurately – a meteor, strikes and the RNC Convention goes to a second vote, it would have been a very awkward affair for me.  My lack of support for Trump would have make it awkward for the Trumpbots around me at the exultant Trumpfest of ecstatic  Trumpian euphoria.  It’d be fun to be with my fellow Conservatives from Virginia – who would vote Cruz on a second ballot.  My vote for the most Conservative platform and open, fair, transparent rules in 2020 would have been only one vote.

So, when I lost yesterday, I praised the Lord.  I was relieved and grateful.  I felt like I did my duty to run – and run openly.  The rejection was fair and square.  No harm, no foul, no problem.

But, my inner man – the sin of pride – still prods me about not doing everything possible to win.  I hate losing.  Even though I’ve lost and failed enough in life to get used to it, I don’t.  It’s in my Bubba-Atticus, or Bowden-Maley-Henderson-Holland-League, or Scot-Irish, or Southern, or Evangelical Christian, or whatever DNA to never quit.  Never, never, never, never, never, never – get the picture? – never quit.

I hope that is said in my eulogy to small crowd gathered – He never quit.

So, I’m sharing a little self so the Holy Spirit might nudge others to think about themselves.  I fight the sin of pride – wanting to win always – while serving the Risen Savior.  I’m not proud of that.

I’ll stay in the U.S. Culture War fight, which means staying somewhat involved in politics, until I can’t do anymore.  I’ll do what I see as my duty to the best of my ability.  I’ll do my best against my inner sin of pride – and desire to win always.

Of course, I’ll do what I was told to do on March 15th, 1987.  Read and write.

Now, I have to sort out what I will decide, say and do before the Great Election of 2016.  I just don’t know right now.  Need a lot more prayer – and counsel from good men and women.

Coach Harris, my Virginia HS wrestling coach, a college All-American, said this with vigor! Great speech.

Coach Harris, my Virginia HS wrestling coach, a college All-American, said this with vigor! Great speech. Winning in Him is everything.

Posted by: James Atticus Bowden | May 11, 2016

2 CD Virginia Convention, 21 May 2016

Helping Cynthia Dunbar become our Virginia National Committeewoman at RPV Convention

Helping Cynthia Dunbar become our Virginia National Committeewoman at RPV Convention

Dear Delegates,

Please vote for me, James Atticus Bowden, to be a 2 CD Virginia delegate to the RNC Convention in Cleveland.

I’ve lived my life as a man under authority, so I’ll vote as instructed by our 1 March primary results on the first ballot.  On a second and all subsequent ballots, should they happen, I’ll vote for Ted Cruz to be our Republican candidate for President.

I’ll never vote for a person who didn’t enter the Presidential race and compete for delegates – regardless of the pressure.  I’ll keep voting for Ted Cruz if there are multiple ballots.

Since Trump may win the nomination on the first ballot, I’m asking to represent you on votes to keep the platform Conservative and make the 2020 nomination and convention process more fair, open and transparent.   

I supported Cruz for his loyalty and devotion to the Constitution – more than any issue.  I am likewise committed to the Constitution. When I was 17, I left my home in Virginia and swore an oath to defend the Constitution against all enemies foreign and domestic at West Point, NY. I have never taken a step back.

I would be honored to represent you – our Conservative values – at the RNC Convention.

I served in 5 Divisions in the Army as an Airborne, Ranger, Infantry officer and as an assistant professor at West Point.  I joined the Republican Party in Poquoson the week I retired from active duty.  I worked in following years as a Defense contractor – mainly on ‘Futures’ and research and development.   I was elected and served as the Chairman of the Poquoson City Committee, 1 CD member of the State Central Committee, and Chairman of 1 CD.  I’ve taught Sunday School at my church since 1990.

In 2002, I was Vice-Chairman to Roger Pogge on the kNOw Campaign to defeat the Transportation scam referendum.  On April 15th, 2009 I gave one of the Tea Party speeches at Newport News in the cold rain.  I’ve written op eds and blog posts since 2001 on many Virginia and national issues. In short, I have been an activist for our conservative causes for years.

I’m a fiscal, social, national defense Conservative by choice and conviction.  My ancestors are from Isle of Wight County and Amelia County.  My family moved back when I was 6.  My military home of record is Virginia.  I raised 3 children with my late wife right here in Tidewater. 

I hold an abiding respect and deep love for our Commonwealth.  I believe in Virginia’s future for my 5 grandchildren, their generation and generations to come. 

I’d appreciate your vote very much.

Sincerely,

James Atticus Bowden

Poquoson

Before Cruz suspended his campaign.

Before Cruz suspended his campaign.

 

Posted by: James Atticus Bowden | March 7, 2016

Virginia Voters Blind Rage

Sampson was blinded. His righteous anger was a deadly rage.

Sampson was blinded. His righteous anger was a deadly rage.

Trump won Virginia’s primary on the wave of a boiling rage. Blind rage.  The anger is against The Establishment. The anger is against the Republican Establishment as much as it’s against the Democrat/Progressive/Socialist/Commie/Nom de Jour establishment Establishment. I expected it – and called it a wildfire – a decade ago. I was wrong then, not on substance, but on timing. And, as we know from comedy to war, timing is everything.

I thought when Republicans brought us the largest tax increase in Virginia history in 2004, there would be a revolt at the polls. Then, Republicans passed HB 3202 – the spectacularly, unconstitutional, regional government transportation scam – the worst legislation since Massive Resistance. A few fat cats were killed in primaries and Republicans lost the long hard won majority in the General Assembly, but the whole fetid alley of feral Virginia Republicans wasn’t cleaned out. When our Republicans won the majority again, they passed a new largest tax increase in Virginia history in 2013.

The Establishment got their money man, Fast Eddie Gillespie to run as the stand out failure in the epochal, earth quake anti-Obama side of the Establishment election in 2014. There were no consequences, just excuses. In 2015, the few challenges to The Establishment in Virginia were swatted aside. When the Virginia Attorney General violated his oath of office, only one Republican, Bob Marshall, tried to impeach him. His courage to do his duty was summarily dismissed.

Last year, 2015, and this year Virginia’s Republican congressional delegation did nothing to stand up to abusive, unconstitutional Supreme Court rulings. Nothing. A few fellows got to vote against the Speaker of the House’s unconditional surrender to Obama, when their votes weren’t going to matter. No profiles in courage here.

So, is it any surprise that Trump took Virginia?

Other writers weave Trump’s triumphs as a tale of demographic voting blocs being squeezed as a class, losing privileges of race, hurting from challenges and mockery of their religion and culture, displaced by immigrants, and ignored by the very people and Party they voted to fix things. I see it in simple terms of inevitable, foreseeable corruption. Nothing a revolution can’t fix.

Our Republic is ruled – across all three branches of the Federal government – by an Establishment corrupted by politics as usual because politics is just a corrupt business. Not public service. It’s the business of power and money because of the status of the USA as a Super-Power – whether it’s in decline or not. Career politicians are the problem. Replacing them for a ‘revolutionary season’ of 12 to 20 years with people who don’t need the job and money, can’t be bought, and are passionate to restore the Constitution and Rule of Law is the best fix. Finding and electing such patriots is a lot of hard work.

Only a handful of incumbent Republicans can be trusted to what is right instead of what they are told.  Nationally, Ted Cruz is one such leader.

So, what I expected in 2005 and thought I saw in the Tea Party in 2009, may finally be happening in 2015-16 across Virginia. The wildfire, the storm, the tidal wave, the earthquake, the blind rage, whatever it is, is here. But, Trump isn’t the answer. He is riding a bubble that he is going to pop himself. Furthermore, no one, currently, is leading a fight to clean out and replace the Republican Establishment in Virginia.

Most of Trump’s success is the national failure and betrayal by Republicans.  Yet, some of the Trump and Cruz vote in Virginia is the responsibility of Virginia Republicans – the majority of those elected to party and public office.

Russ Moulton and allies work to influence Republican Party of Virginia elections – to exceed and consolidate the successes of 2012. Cynthia Dunbar is running for National Committeewoman. Yet, there isn’t a vision for what to do, when and how, about the whole R Establishment across the Commonwealth. Additionally, along with the absence of an achievable plan, there’s no champion. No Patrick Henry to give voice. No George Washington to lead. Yet.

Posted by: James Atticus Bowden | February 29, 2016

Why Virginians Should Vote Cruz

The Establishment (R& D) hates and fears Cruz more than Trump.  I trust Ted.

The Establishment (R & D) hates and fears Cruz more than Trump. I trust Ted.

Tuesday, March 1st Virginians vote in the primary for President of the United States of America. Virginians should vote for Ted Cruz. I’ve been looking for the grassfire revolution to reclaim our government from The Establishment for a decade.  Cruz gets what’s wrong and what needs to be done.   Virginians, please vote for Cruz. I beg you, as an old man who has loved this God’s Country, our Commonwealth of Virginia, since I was a little boy.

  1. Restore the Constitution. Cruz will restore the Rule of Law and the Constitution. Nothing is more important than this for the survival of our Republic. He will undo all of Barry Soetero’s Executive Orders on Day One. Rubio would do much, but not all, the same. Trump has an entertainer’s understanding of the Constitution.
  2. Beat Hillary. Cruz will crush HRH Hillary the First in the swing states where the election is determined and the cheating must be overcome. Rubio might win, too. Trump will lose ‘yugely’.
  3. Repeal Obamacare. Cruz will repeal every word. He’ll establish individual Health Savings Accounts, interstate portability, and other reforms to increase supply and quality of medical services and cut costs. Trump will replace with another statist, Federal-socialized medicine and individual (anti-Constitutional) mandate.
  4. Fix Illegal Immigration. Cruz and Trump will build walls. Rubio will build a wall in some places. Trump, somehow, says he will deport and re-admit 11 million people. Rubio will revert to the Amnesty he supported in the Gang of 8 bill. Cruz will start by deporting the illegal aliens with criminal records. Let’s see if that takes 8 years to determine who gets deported next.
  5. Rebuild the Economy. Cruz’s flat tax will make the economy so great, it will make the Reagan boom and Kennedy tax cuts look weak. Millions more jobs. Trillions more in tax revenue. Restore the freedom of opportunity. Rubio and Trump tinker with the Marxist graduated income tax and will get weaker results based on crony capitalism.
  6. Rebuild the Military. Everyone one says they will re-build, fight ISIS, and lead again.  I’d have to see who the senior military advisors are to evaluate how well they will. I’d trust Cruz or Rubio to deal with the bad guys who wish us harm.
  7. Protect Life. Cruz will open investigations on Planned Parenthood for trafficking in baby parts. Rubio might do something similar. Trump is still saying the abortion industry provides women’s health services. Trump’s tax returns will show how much he gives to Planned Parenthood.
  8. Reduce Government Spending. Cruz will eliminate whole Federal departments doing things not provided by the Constitution. He will stop Common Core. Not sure Rubio would actually eliminate the departments. Trump will do what is politically expedient and beneficial to the crony capitalism that counts – His.
  9. Change the Supreme Court. Cruz clerked there. He will nominate strict construction judges and change the lower courts with his appointments. Rubio will compromise to look good. Trump might nominate his sister, a serving judge he said who would be great, or another pro-abortion Liberal and tip the balance as badly as Hillary would.  The wrong appointments – from Hillary beating Trump or Trump himself will destroy our freedoms.
  10. Trust Character. Character counts. Especially in the White House. All candidates are flawed men. Cruz is the consistent, courageous, Constitutional Conservative. Rubio betrayed his voters by supporting Amnesty. No one can make the Conservative or Christian case for Trump – merely a political one leaning on thin reeds. No one can make the moral character case for this draft dodger, unrepentant serial adulterer, braggart, boorish, rich bully with a proud and haughty look. We can trust Ted that his “Yes” means Yes and his “No” means No.

    Please restore the Constitution, our liberty and freedoms, and our opportunities with Ted Cruz. Vote Cruz!  Our Commonwealth produced the ideas of our Revolution, Declaration of Independence, Constitution and Bill of Rights. We produced heroes that made our freedom happen from the very start of America at Jamestown to today. Our heritage is our guidance.

The best candidate since Reagan.

The best candidate since Reagan.

Posted by: James Atticus Bowden | February 26, 2016

Conservative and Christian Judas Goats for Trump

Judas goats lead sheep to the slaughter

Judas goats lead sheep to the slaughter

I know I’m calling out evil before the primaries finish, but it’s needed.

Every Conservative leader and Christian leader who endorses Donald Trump is a Judas goat.  The Christian pastors, heads of universities and professedly Christian organizations are charged by the Lord Jesus Christ to feed his lambs, care for his sheep, feed his sheep.  Supporting Donald Trump for President of the United States of America is leading his sheep to the slaughter – just like a Judas goat does.

The slaughter comes after HRH Hillary the First or whoever the Communists nominate as the Democrat candidate soundly beats Trump in the general election.  The change the Liberals will make in the Supreme Court means the Constitution will be shredded more than it already has.  And, since bullies always overplay their hand, the PC Totalitarians will try to crush Christians.  Don’t think so?  Preach that homosexuality is a Biblical sin in Canada or Western Europe and see what happens.  Speak against Islam and see what happens.

Or, let’s pretend Trump wins the election.  He will likely appoint the same dangerous Liberals to the Court.  He may not persecute Christians like the Liberal Puritans, but he will do serious damage to America.    He will do nothing to restore the Rule of Law and restore the Constitution.  Trump will try to bully and rule like Barry Soetero.  He is a wannabe Mussolini II, but isn’t as good an actor.

Fundamentally, Trump is a man of low or no character.  Character counts in the White House.  It matters in the great decisions that befall the most powerful man on temporal earth.   The Caesars never dreamed of having such power.   Yet, Christian leaders can’t use the spiritual gift of discernment to see what is wrong with Trump?  What is wrong with their vision – and the eyes of their heart?

Why would a Christian or Conservative leader ever chose Trump over Cruz?  What is their testimony – couched in their Christian or Conservative values – that leads them to Trump? If they say Trump has evolved from his pro-partial birth abortion, pro-homosexual marriage, unrepentant serial adultery, cowardly draft dodging, etc. – not to forget his proud and haughty look, his abounding personal pride and bragging, childish petulant personal attacks, etc. – chapter and verse litany of who not to endorse for any office ever, then they have been played as fools.

The Conservative and Christian leaders for Trump are as blindly hypocritical as the leaders of the Temple who condemned Christ.  They are as cynical as the leaders who led the crowd to shout for Barabas because of their anger against Rome was greater than their concern for condemning an innocent man.  They are as untrustworthy as the actual Judas who sold out for 30 pieces of silver.

It was fun to watch Trump mock the media last Summer.  I share Trump’s voters’ anger and contempt for The Establishment – Republican and Democrat.  But, now that voting has begun, it is too serious a time to nominate a carnival barker, a con man, an entertainer, and a rich man who couldn’t get through the eye of the needle. It is shameful for every Conservative and Christian person in any position of authority.

May God bless America and save us from such Judas goats among us, from the likes of Judas himself.  At least we know who you are.  I won’t forget – to my dying day.  You have lost my respect.

I wish I could be 30 years younger to fight for America to return to the Rule of Law and restore the Constitution.  To restore the Judeo-Christian culture to the states who want to be a safe place for Christians and Jews.

Christians who support Trump are like Judas himself.  They betray truth for coins of the realm.

Christians who support Trump are like Judas himself. They betray truth for coins of the realm.

Trump would be like Mussolini II.  Probably not as tough and a bigger bully.

Trump would be like Mussolini II. Probably not as tough and a bigger bully.

Posted by: James Atticus Bowden | February 22, 2016

Evangelicals for Trump?

Christians are not supposed to be stumbling stones to weaker Christians and others.

Christians are not supposed to be stumbling stones to weaker Christians and others.

“Evangelicals for Trump” is like “Christians for the Lions or Gladiators”. It makes a loud clashing sound when you say it. It’s shocking. But it’s real – at least for Trump in South Carolina. In fact, it may be more like Ethiopians for Mussolini – the big man most like Trump. Yet, I think I know why so many Evangelicals voted for Trump. It’s the anger.

Anger trumps reason. Emotion overrides intellect in voting – always. The rage against Republicans, The Establishment (R and D), and the absence of a public presence on so many issues – made Trump the champion for millions of voiceless Americans. Including millions of Evangelicals. I get the rage. I feel its burning. But, Evangelicals shouldn’t let rage become blind rage.

Yes, I understand how much you hate the “Romans”. Hold true, righteous anger. But, it’s wrong to be in a mob screaming insanely to free Barabbas – so he might kill more Romans, when a better man stands ready to serve.

No, Cruz isn’t Jesus. But, Cruz will restore the Rule of Law and the Constitution. Trump will only be liberal, democrat, New York, showbiz Trump. Which is precisely why Evangelicals for Trump sounds so discordant.

Republicans for Trump doesn’t read rightly. What is Republican about Trump?

Conservatives for Trump. Or, Constitutionalists for Trump is wrong. What is Conservative or Constitutionalist about Trump?

Evangelicals for Trump begs – what is Evangelical about Trump? Seriously. Evangelicals believe in the Bible. Biblical wisdom should apply in all cases, so make one fit for Trump.

Put partial-birth abortion, Trump and Christian together in a sentence. Compose one that works. Trump supported partial-birth abortion. He still wants federal funding of Planned Parenthood – the abortion killing ground to harvest and sell baby parts.

Trump is a draft dodger. A moral coward. Peter was too, but Peter was ashamed.

Trump is a serial adulterer. David committed adultery, but David was broken-hearted in Psalm 51.

Trump’s attempted eviction of a widow isn’t “plead the case of the widow.” (Is 2:17)

Trump doesn’t tithe from his wealth.

Furthermore, “The Lord detests all the proud of heart.” (Prov 16:5)

“The proud and arrogant man – the “Mocker” is his name, he behaves with overweening pride.” (Prov 21:24)

“There are six things the Lord hates, seven that are detestable to him.” (Prov 6:16) Including “haughty eyes”, “lying tongue”, “a heart that devises schemes”, and “a man who stirs up dissension among brothers”.

So, what is the Evangelical case for Trump?

There isn’t one. There’s just the blind rage.

All the Evangelical Christian leaders seeking Trump’s money or favor – like Falwell at Liberty University – need to be mindful. “Be careful, however, that your exercise of your freedom does not become a stumbling block for the weak.” (1 Cor 8:9 – First, not “One”, Corinthians!)

I beg Evangelicals-for-Trump to read The Word and let the scales fall from their eyes. If not, make the case for Trump from an Evangelical perspective. Much as you make the case for partial birth abortion from an Evangelical perspective – since Trump supported it.

Cruz will do far more, better, faster to support every issue Republicans, Conservatives and Evangelicals care about than Trump. He knows what to do, when and how. Trump barks, but Cruz has a bite.   Trump talks about fighting, but Cruz has fought and won while out-numbered. The Establishment hates Cruz – and fears him – far, far more than they care about the deal-making Donald. Don’t be an Evangelical for Trump, be an Evangelical to triumph with Cruz.

 

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