Can a Day be About Just One Thing? A Combat Veteran’s View

Can a Day be About Just One Thing? A Combat Veteran’s View

As a Christian, I regularly attend worship services. During one such time of worship on a Sunday morning in November, the pastor decided to recognize the fact that each eleventh day of that particular month is also a day that our nation sets aside to recognize and offer gratitude to our veterans.

Legacy of Service

I should also inform you, dear reader, that I am a veteran. Among the living in my family I can also state that my father, my sister and her husband my brother-in-law, even my father-in-law can claim that same title.

I actually have a long heritage of service in my family tree going all the way back to the American Revolution and can name the battles and wars and conflicts in which my non-living ancestors served. For myself, I have served in two wars and spent nearly 8 years of my life in combat zones.

So, there it is. A veteran who came from veterans who married the daughter of a veteran in a worship service in early November. Naturally, I am in that number.


If I am completely honest, whenever I am recognized for my service, it is always meaningful. Truthfully, most times recognition offered by civilians is actually unwelcomed for a number of reasons.

First, at heart I am a humble man, and ironically a very private man, and accepting accolades for my military service can feel prideful to me.

Secondly, and purely intellectually, I also know that these same people will praise a goal, a home run, a hole in one, or a well-timed pass for yardage with equal or even greater zeal. So it often feels hollow, and even a bit insincere, when offered because I understand that they have little genuine understanding of what military service truly means.

To carry on even further in this vein of naked honesty, I think I often stoically endure recognition only for my children’s sake. They can look up to those years of service, those military accomplishments spelled out in the arcane hieroglyphics of medals, ribbons, badges, rank, and service stripes on my uniform and they can count the wars I survived just like counting the scars on my skin.

They can see the brutal and violent past that I endured and, indeed, often carry with me even still today, and they can know that they have no need to ever feel ashamed of their heritage.

So I make myself muster a tight lipped smile that somehow still doesn’t reach my eyes while seeking out any nearby fellow veterans with whom I can share a knowing single nod. We share that look and that nod and we recognize each other privately, silently, and our eyes meet, and that says more about my heart than any red carpet or standing ovation ever could.

Please Stand

On this particular Sunday in November, as has become the custom, all of the veterans present were asked to stand and be recognized. Along with my fellow veterans in the room, I did as I was asked.

We were each handed some gift, some token, some tchotchke, by the ushers which I have to say was so unremarkable that I will cease to remark upon it right now. Suddenly, and very loudly, a video played to the tune of “Letters from the War” by Mark Schultz and, since I’m already being brutally honest, I found it trite.

I stood there in my sock feet and tried to ignore the fact that my leg ached from standing. Just to minimize the pain, I had kicked off my shoes the moment I sat in the pew as I very often did.

I tried to ignore the eyes upon me as I stood there in pain pretending the entire time that I wasn’t in pain. I tried to ignore the music blaring throughout the narthex. I tried not to mock the effort in the corners of my mind while the lyrics tried their very best to jerk at least a few tears from members of the congregation.

I counted my breaths and waited for it all to be done and over so we could get back to the business of worship. The veteran’s day box is checked, now let’s all turn to the book of John.

Brethren In Arms

Then I started to notice something. There were an awful lot of men standing. Young and old, single and married, of every race, they stood with the same looks of discomfort and embarrassment as I surely wore. And I realized that for the first time in a very long time, I was in a church on a military installation.

These men were my brothers in arms. There were veterans here who had poured out sweat and blood under the same middle eastern sun as I. There were veterans here who had served in the jungles of Vietnam.

There were veterans here who had welcomed in the new year on the frozen Chosen somewhere south of the thirty-eighth parallel. And God Bless them, there were even a few who had battled the Axis powers in the Pacific or in Europe.

In that moment, I was no longer feeling like the “veteran” title was a little understood word. This was not a congregation intent on just checking a box on a very long to-do list. I wasn’t standing there like some misunderstood freak of nature at a carnival sideshow.

At the conclusion of this worship service, no stranger would corner me and solicit my opinion of this or that current military operation with the sole intent of lecturing me at length about just what his or her grossly ignorant opinion about it was. After all, they get the most current and accurate information from the oh-so trusted journalists at CNN, do they not?

No. In that moment, I was standing beside my brothers in arms. I was surrounded by family. I found myself silently nodding a nod of recognition whenever my eyes met the eyes of one of my comrades. I nodded a lot.

Christ said, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” John 15:13 (KJV).


No Greater Love

I was standing not in a church, but in formation, in perfect unison with men who loved me, and would literally kill for me, or literally lay down their lives trying. And I would do the same for any one of them. In that moment, it struck me just how Christlike that attitude of service is, and how honored I was to be numbered among those brave men.

The video ended. The church grew very suddenly quiet. The pastor, a chaplain and also a veteran, spoke very briefly into the silence, speaking about his own military service, men and women he had served alongside, things he had seen and done. His words infused additional meaning into the feeling that I experienced.

My brother in the pulpit knew and understood, and his tight-lipped smile spoke every word for him that he would never utter, and he nodded as he met our eyes, and we all nodded back.

As I took my pew I considered that if every veteran could experience this feeling, this kind of recognition, this kind of veterans’ day service, that it would do a great deal of good.

I thought about how I could perhaps volunteer or facilitate it in other congregations. I thought about the significance of our nation setting aside a single day and declaring it a Federal Holiday for the sole and pure purpose of honoring veterans.

The purity of that intent reached me not for the first time, but certainly that day in the most significant way. I briefly wondered if the men who had just been standing felt as I did. I wondered if they felt valued, cherished, recognized, and honored as I felt.

Changing Tides

Then it all went bad.

The next words spoken from the pulpit, and I should note they were not spoken by the chaplain, were, “Let’s also remember all of our military spouses out there. We all know what they had to go through. Today is about them, too.”

My immediate and obviously acerbic question to the speaker may have been something coldly logical like, “What about the veterans who have no spouse? Can today just purely be about them or should they get married right quick? Do you only want to dilute today’s meaning from the married veterans or should girlfriends and boyfriends count, too?”

I should point out, before I write anything more, that I love my wife, Hallee Bridgeman, and I am unspeakably proud of each and every one of my wife’s accomplishments. I hope and pray that this truth is self-evident to anyone who meets us.

What She Is

My wife and I actually married practically on the eve of my first deployment to Afghanistan way back in 2002. We didn’t even live in the same time zone until after we had been married for more than a year. She is a war bride. She has endured many lonesome years without me right there by her side.

At no small sacrifice and rather great personal risk, she has given me fine strong arrows in my quiver in the form of children, all of whom are the very blood in my veins. She is the most amazing and natural cook I have ever met. Her creativity with any dish surpasses my understanding or explanation.

And as you probably know, she has written many books, all best sellers, each of which are a testimony of her deep and abiding faith.

I love her with a visible passion. I provide for her at great sacrifice. And I will protect her with every cell and fiber of my body. Say whatever you want about me. I’ll probably laugh and maybe even agree with you. Say something about my wife, son, and I will do my very best to put you on the floor. I will defend that woman with my very life. That is how important she is to me.

What She Is Not

She is all those things and more. What is not is this. She is not a veteran.

It is true that she is a spouse to a veteran and even the daughter of one and the daughter-in-law of one. It is true that every night I spent apart from her, she spent apart from me.

It is true that she has witnessed the bad dreams that sometimes come or dealt with the irritability I rarely display after a completely sleepless night. It is true that my silence about certain topics that took place in combat zones frustrates her.

It is true that she knows every ache and pain that resulted from years of service. But she has never been in combat.

She And Me

She never saw any of the things I saw. She never smelled the terrible smells that one never has to have smelled before in life to instinctively recognize what caused them. She never executed the lawful orders of those appointed over her that proximately or ultimately resulted in human lives lost or taken.

Her eyes have never looked into the helpless eyes of entire towns of little children who are hurting because they are on the wrong side of an equation that makes up the brutal politics of warfare.

She has never known in her soul that there is nothing anyone can do to ease that hurt and she has never had to reconcile her own part in that equation.

She never laughed and worked and sweated and bled and stood shoulder to shoulder beside the once living man whose ashes we later scattered while his parents, brothers, sisters, young widow, and very young children stood stoically watching and maybe wondering just how much of those ashes were really once their son, brother, husband, father.

She never has bad dreams about any of that. She never spends a sleepless night keeping any of those memories at bay. She doesn’t have any of those memories.They are absent in her because she isn’t a veteran.

Every night she slept alone in our spacious warm bed built for two in our climate controlled home under the security of our well-made roof, I slept on the bare ground under a poncho liner, or on a cot which was either too short or not wide enough, or in a hammock above the dirt floor of a GP Medium tent, or in a “barracks” circus tent alongside a few hundred smelly, sweaty, annoyed men, or sitting upright in a MAC terminal or onboard a helicopter or high powered aircraft whenever I felt safe enough to let my guard down and close my eyes.

No matter where I never really slept beyond the surface sleep of instant wakefulness. No matter where, it was nearly always in the most inhospitable of conditions.

While I ate “meals” that literally could pass for pig slop, usually liberally laced with sand and purposefully without flavors, she ate fresh fruit, vegetables, and lean meats all seasoned and prepared by the most amazing cook I have ever met in my life.

While she could plan a picnic to watch fireworks on Independence Day, I could prepare myself every single day to hunker down in a damp bunker while we were being rocketed or return fire if we were ambushed or rush to the med-shed because they needed a pint of my oh-so-precious O-negative blood.

While she could work out carpools to music lessons or little league practice, I could avoid what might or might not be an improvised explosive device that could take me and everyone with me right out of this world.

I say none of this in a prideful way. My wife gets it. She respects it.

And she does NOT want veterans’ day to be about her. Or any other spouse. Or anyone at all who is not actually a veteran. At all.

In fact, she wants it to be about her veterans. Her husband. Her father. Her father-in-law. Her sister-in-law. To name just a few.

Besides every single day of my life on earth, there is actually a day set aside when I can formally express my gratitude and give thanks to my spouse for the sacrifices she made. That day also happens to be in November. It just isn’t on Veterans’ Day.

Lumped Together

What is this compulsion, in our modern culture here in these United States, to dumb absolutely everything down? What is this irrepressible need we seem to have to dilute the power of a single pure idea and pollute it with so many irrelevant impurities?

Why is this acceptable to us as Christians or as a society at large?

Why can’t a single day just be about just one single thing? Why can’t it be purely, intentionally, and solely about just that one thing?

As a living veteran, why in the world would anyone – anyone – think it is even tangentially appropriate to “thank me for my service” on Memorial Day? Oh? Really? Thanks for not dying I guess?

See, there are men I served alongside who didn’t come home alive to their loved ones. Memorial Day is about THEM and not even one jot or tittle about anyone or anything else.

Why not let Memorial Day be entirely about Memorial Day? Why not actually memorialize our honored dead on that day we set aside to do so?

And in case you haven’t guessed already, yes, there is a larger point.

God Is Supreme

I am a Christian. Because that declaration means different things to different people, I will clarify by saying that I believe that there is just one God, Jehovah, and I believe that He condescended to communicate His will to mankind in the form of prophecy and scripture we know today as the Holy Bible.

I believe that the Bible is perfect, inerrant, God-breathed truth from cover to cover. I even believe the cover. I believe that in the beginning man sinned against God and the consequence of that sin is death.

I believe that about 2000 years ago, the Messiah arrived in the form of Yeshua, called Christ Jesus of Nazareth, and that he redeemed us from our sin. I believe that through him and him alone we are saved from an eternity of darkness. I believe these things purely and completely.

While I love my fellow man and respect every well-considered opinion, I do not respect the gross fallacies of secular humanism or this culture’s evangelism of so-called “enlightened” atheism.

I do not assume that life, the universe, and everything just randomly “happened” as a result of pure chance because the overwhelming evidence supports the fact that life, the universe, and everything was intentionally and intelligently designed (i.e.: created) for a purpose.

So here is the larger point.

The One Thing

After weeks of prayerful meditation, I believe that the Holy Spirit spoke to me on that November Sunday and allowed me to feel the things I felt to come to a conclusion in order to make this exact point. Why can’t we content ourselves with letting one single day just be purely about just one single thing?

I think the answer is more than just that it isn’t cool. I truly believe that Satan has convinced us that all things are relative, including the things that happen in the sacred holy spaces of our places of worship.

Focusing all of our energy on just one thing is somehow uncool and unpopular and nothing we can take pride in, right?

Christmas can’t be purely about Christmas anymore. From that very same pulpit on Christmas Eve, when our church bulletins arrived late during our service, a congregation member (not by any pastor I feel I must clarify) announced that we should thank “Santa and his elves” that the bulletins arrived at all.

There are churches today that host “Holiday” parties during which someone pretending to be Santa Claus hands out presents to children. Because there just isn’t enough Santa Claus outside of the church walls, I guess.

I suppose they have their reasons why they would rather put an entirely fictional character on center stage than to commemorate and venerate the birth of Christ the Messiah, that occasion when our creator God condescended to enter into His creation and gift us, generations of undeserving sinners, with his only begotten son, the lamb of God, the lion of Judah, our savior and Lord.

Likewise, resurrection Sunday can’t be purely about the resurrected Christ.

There are congregations who hide Easter Eggs all over the church grounds and have someone dressed as the Easter Bunny hand baskets of chocolate coated rabbits to children.

I suppose they would rather have an entirely fictional character with unquestionably pagan roots take center stage than focus on the actual gospel truth message that Christ the Messiah returned from death itself and by the shedding of his blood gave all of humanity the gift of eternal life.

Who am I but one sinful man? I sinfully and pridefully took offense when I, as a veteran, could not enjoy the very secular holiday of Veterans’ Day and let that one day just be purely and solely about veterans?

How many times have I repented God’s heart when I cannot focus solely and purely on the truth? Every time I dilute and pollute the truth of God’s word with secular nonsense, am I offending my Lord?

Am I simply helpless to collude in the spreading of the lie that there is some fictional character waiting to shower children with gifts and candy instead of celebrating the truth of the living son of God?

Christ is the only pure and single and exclusive way to the Father, the only way to eternal life, so how does this please the creator of the universe when I pollute the Father’s house with impure, diluted, polluted secular commercialized messages? Have I exchanged the truth of God’s law for commercialism?

If Christ were to walk into my congregation today, would he dress up like Santa Claus or hop in with a basket of sugary sweets do you suppose?

Would he even recognize our worship as worship? If he did, would he make a whip from cords and metaphorically overturn our highly commercialized practices of worship?

Or can we find it within ourselves to make worship of Christ the lord be purely and specifically about just one thing – Christ himself?

Gregg Bridgeman


American Military Veteran


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Australian Review of Sabotage: Beginnings

Although this is book 3 in the Savage Souls MC series, it is actually a prequel which gives you a much needed insight to just who the Savage Souls is and what led him to become the cold calculating heartless leader of the outlaw MC.

Justice is his name….and believe me his brand of justice is swift, hard, and deadly….and as you will see in this book he has never had a choice to be otherwise, because to do so would mean death..for him and those who’s life depend on him.

This story takes place back when Justice was a covert CIA operative working to take out the extremely deadly and highly unstable military assassins that he had trained to go where no government or agency would ever acknowledge to do whatever it took to eliminate whoever the perceived enemy was.

This assignment is deep within enemy territory in the Middle East and pits him against the most deadly and unstable killer of all…Ben Ford aka: Grey Man

To complete this mission Justice has been teamed up with Batya, a former Massoud…and the woman he would love with his entire being!

This is no love story that even comes close to being romantic in the traditional sense, this is however a completely compelling and totally horrific assault on your senses as it draws the reader into its twisted and graphically violent world.

One that will leave you reeling, and wondering if you can read anymore, while knowing that you can’t stop, because you are now inside with these characters….and like them, you need to see it through to get out alive!

I won’t sugar coat it….this book is extremely graphic and violent, it will raise the hairs on your arms at times, it will make your spine tingle and your mouth go dry… will also make your heart ache and have you reaching for the tissues…you will be trapped on the scariest roller coaster of emotions and unable to get off!

You will question your sanity at times as you find yourself empathising with a serial killer….and when you are grateful for the level of violence dished out to others!
I warn you now, if you suffer from any PTSD this book could be a trigger for you…so be prepared!

The Author has a unique style of weaving a story that is filled with technical terminology (just enough to show the gravity of the situation, but not enough to baffle the uninitiated) suspense, violence and an all consuming love so fierce that both would die for the other…and we never doubt a second of it.

I thoroughly loved this book, both because it tells the much needed back story of Justice and because the skillful writing leads the reader through the battlefield while showing us how each character’s mind works, what makes them love the way they do…and why violence is as necessary as the air they breathe to stay alive.

It also shows us how and why a persons mind shuts down and reinvents itself to cope and survive, and it does that with both confronting scenarios and delicate subtlety at times….and that is a skill in itself.

Although this book could be read as a stand alone, I do recommend that it be read as a companion to the Savage Souls MC books: Broken (Savage Souls MC book 1) is free on Amazon. It is your choice in which order to read these books, although I did read book 1&2 first.

Author’s Note:

I really think this is the most accurate depiction of the work that I’ve read. Reviews are vital for helping potential readers of the work, and also for the authors. Deep and insightful thoughts such as this make improvement possible –

Thank you,



1 Star Review Reveals Professional and Personal Failure

coward lion

1 Star Review Reveals Professional and Personal Failure

Becoming a writer took lots of effort to peel away the protective layers of self-defense and social scepticism that callouses the spirit of a life-long law enforcement officer.

Opening yourself to others isn’t something humans do easily. Once you make the commitment to do it, or at least try to, there are the natural expectations of judgement.

After a life of public service, you carry the thickened skin as a shell against the meaningless and trivial assaults.

I respect the head on confrontation from those who disagree with me as opposed to the cowards who lurked behind thin veils of tattered anonymity.

Readers’ reviews are important to me as an author. I’ve learned from the critical reviews that include explanations as to why they didn’t like the work or what they felt was lacking.

Those who post a low rating usually don’t care for the violent, realistic subject matter. That’s also why I post warnings at the beginning of any book with rough material included.

Smelled Fishy

A current review caught my attention because it was rated as a 1-Star, with a long message below. I haven’t served in policing’s highest capacity because of being a fool. There was a story inside this review, and with that story, someone I knew personally.

I wouldn’t want a reader to think I’d sink to criticizing reviewers, but with what I intuitively perceived in that one review, how could any investigator worth his salt not be intrigued!

Have you gotten the giggling hang up phone call late at night, and chewed on your bottom lip trying to figure out who wasted their time and yours with such foolishness? This was that time.

Reading between the lines, I suspected without confirmation. Then I simply clicked on a few hyperlinks that led to what I already knew. I’ll reference him as DUD.

It wasn’t that DUD made a conscious attempt to slam my work, but that as someone who is supposed to be professionally trained, he was too ignorant of the process for accomplishing his mission.

Mystery Solved

DUD was placed on a SWAT team I commanded as a sniper. He didn’t submit to the required physical fitness tests, or standard requirements of membership. He was someone’s friend.

DUD had no discipline in his personal or professional life. Part of his lazy nature was that he slid grotesquely out of shape. Sloppy from the start, his appearance of food stained uniforms often gained him disciplinary actions.

He was removed from SWAT with one swift bi-annual fitness and shooting qualification. As shameful as he was assigned, he was removed. At least his slothful nature didn’t cost real cops their lives.

Slug Life

DUD continues in a secondary capacity as an investigator with another agency. His self-imposed life of avoiding honest labor continues, but now I know so does his resentment.

Low-lives are what gives law enforcement a bad name. He cuts corners in his daily routine, so it’s a condition of cutting corners in his profession.

While he tried to compose an anonymous, stinging commentary of my work, his carelessness only continued to illustrate a few things:

1. DUD is still sloppily cutting corners.
2. DUD has seriously questionable parental qualities if he’d be okay with his teenage son reading about violent rape and domination – [I would be OK with my teenage son reading this]
3. DUD should read the book before attempting an analysis of the work – more sloppy efforts.
4. For the sake of victims, I hope DUD. isn’t as shiftless in his profession, though I know he actually is.
5. Even for a retired cop, I’m still something DUD realized the day I dismissed him from SWAT, and what he was was reminded of with this post – I’m not some slob who hides behind nameless comments on a message board. You will be hearing from me personally. Very soon.

DUD not only left a silly review of my 1st book in the Savage Souls MC Series, Broken, but he unintentionally showed that his 1 Star Review Reveals Professional and Personal Failure.
1Broken final for Barnes and Noble

A Coward’s Path by DUD

I was not impressed at all by this book. I had read it because of the previous reviews stating how appalled they were from some of the scenes, so this peeked my curiosity. This was not at all edge of your seat, or pushing any boundaries. I would be OK with my teenage son reading this. It was a sex scene, plain and simple, that seemed to be what so many other reviewers had a problem with. Pfft. I’ve seen worse scenes on TBS for crying out loud.
The author doesn’t have much, or any, military experience, and it shows from how all of these characters are supposedly from different branches of the military and yet just thrown into titles and such, with some obtaining positions in the military that would take years and years to achieve. The author takes this same bravado to then go into describing outlaw motorcycle clubs. Basically just following Hollywood’s cue on what has been spoon fed to the masses for years, and running with it. I know my wife gets mad at me for spoiling movies and such for pointing out inaccuracies with military since I served, but I can only take so much. When I pulled this book up, it was estimated that I would finish in one and one half hour. It took me three days to finish this monstrosity because I had to constantly set this book down to take a break. I would have just stopped around the 80% mark, once I was sure I had read what so many previous reviewers had stated was disgusting and hideous, but I pushed on to see if there was some big reveal at the end. OMG! If you didn’t know what the big twist was at the end, then you probably never knew that the kids would be going to a chocolate factory owned by none other than Willy Wonka in “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory”. It was blatantly obvious what was going to happen with one particular character, and I knew that from the start of it all. No mystery there.
I’m also no English major, but there were many instances where the author starts on one train of thought, and mid-sentence changes it another way. Even repeating the thought, or object of the sentence in another fashion, within the same sentence. It was as if he edited it on the fly, and never did a re-read of his book. He wrote the book once, let all his ideas hit paper, and then left it for the audience to read and edit.
And what is up with these characters’ names? They are all verbs and adjectives. I couldn’t even keep up with who was who because of such stupid names like “Fury”, “Justice”, “Vengeance”, “Mercy”. I guess this is the author trying to do code names within a club, but these are not how nicknames or club names are given out. No one would be called “Vengeance”. It is annoying and makes it harder to track characters in your mind.
I’m glad this one is free because there is no way I would pay money for this book, much less any in the series. In fact, I still feel like I am owed $2, just for wasting my time to read this book. Do yourself a favor, and just pass on this one. Much better stuff out there.

King of the Road: What Outlaws Ride

King of the Road: What Outlaws Ride

Harley Davidson (HD) is as synonymous with outlaw motorcycle clubs (OMC) as hot dog, baseball and apple pie.


It’s American made.

Long before the wildly popular Sons of Anarchy television series, the biker allure began after the return of World War II military veterans.

They bonded together on the civilian side of life and shared common interests as most groups do. Motorcycles provided that common passion and their desires for freedom from the postwar doldrums brought them together.

In that era, most veterans lived modestly, and the HD was a cheap bike. Most supplies of HD were surplus military motorcycles decommissioned after the war.

The other bikes available at that time were British, but cost much more than the local HD. The other countries that eventually entered the motorcycle import business were still recovering from the war.

By the time the Japanese began manufacturing and importing motorcycles, the American outlaw bikers resisted anything associated with their former enemy. Most important, veterans who fought for this country, still felt strongly about it. As they still do today.

Japan’s motorcycles quickly became associated with mainstream biking. This flew in stark contrast to the outlaw lifestyle that objected to anything about average society. Outlaws existed in society’s fringe, and took pride in their counter-cultural stance.

On a practical note, the Japanese flood of bikes also killed most of the American motorcycle companies. HD was the main manufacturer remaining.

HD became a cultural image associated with the badboy lifestyle. Even during the 1980-90’s when HD’s were parked in every doctor, dentist and lawyer’s driveway, the chance to play American rebel still held a strong appeal in the nation’s psyche.

But bikers who love bikes, say, “It’s not what you ride, it’s that you ride.”

Sonny Barger, an original Hells Angels said:

Hell’s Angels started riding Harley-Davidsons mostly because, unlike today, they didn’t have much choice. In 1957, it was either ride a Harley or settle for a Triumph or BSA. They’d already stopped building Indians.

It’s always been important for Hell’s Angels to ride American-made machines. In terms of pure workmanship, personally I don’t like Harleys. I ride them because I’m in the club, and that’s the image, but if I could I would seriously consider riding a Honda ST1100 or a BMW.

We really missed the boat not switching over to the Japanese models when they began building bigger bikes. I’ll usually say, “Fuck Harley-Davidson. You can buy an ST1100 and the motherfucker will do 110 miles per hour right from the factory all day long.”

 In the Savage Souls MC Series, everyone in the club rides a HD. While each has their favorite bike, they all agree on one thing; They Live to Ride: Ride to Live. Check out my MC Series – The first book in the saga, BROKEN is FREE – Check it out and leave a review.

Game Changers


Game Changers:

What happened on April 20, 1999? Law enforcement may not recall the date, but we know the outcome. It’s when our patient world of Contain, Control & De-escalate shifted to a pursuing response of Active Shooters. Overnight, SWAT took a back seat to the Patrol Officer, as rapid response required immediate deployment to neutralize the threat.

The nation was so shocked following the Columbine High School massacre that no one seemed to mind the tactical and equipment shift to better arm first responding beat cops for confronting weapon wielding madmen.

What a difference the world of policing has experienced from Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold to Tashfeen Malik and Syed Rizwan Farook.

Not only has the political climate tugged the rug from under our collective battered police boots, but the cultural tenor begs we lay down our arms. Or at least keep them holstered until a video review can be debated over social media.

Global terror has landed square in the lap of the good old red, white and blue. Our fighting military forces, God bless them are the best on this planet, but this is not their battle.

Had every Navy SEAL been stationed just 110 miles south at Coronado, there’s still no way they could’ve activated to respond to the Inland Regional Center. The United States military’s function is not to provide domestic, civil law enforcement services.

Local Cops

It’s the beat officer writing the citation a few blocks away and the motor cop working the car crash at the intersection that will drop everything to respond.

In San Bernardino, as in Columbine, local law enforcement were the first responders during the period of crisis. Even our brothers and sisters in the federal alphabet soup of law enforcement are post-incident response at best.

A 2013 FBI report stated there was 1 active shooter incident every 3 weeks. Who responded? The same local cops still taking criticisms from video voyeurs running in the opposite direct of the danger.

Big Blue, you’ve got a choice to make. On top of everything else heaped on your backs, have you got the legs to carry the hometown battles to terrorists?

We’ll be asked in a few months what happened on December 02, 2015. Most will scratch their heads. But we’ll know. It’s the day the game changed.

Join me at Chief Scott Silverii, PhD

Thank You



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Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends

[John 15:13]