A Beacon of Hope presents a collection of poetic letters that author Reveral L. Yeargin has been writing since 1986. He has been inspired by the Lord to write words of encouragement and inspiration to share with those who believe in God. Through Yeargin's inspiring poetry, God has spoken with His Spirit so that everyone can read, study, and apply the wisdom from them to their everyday life. Each of these poetic letters is an inspiration of people, places, and things. These letters have been written to clarify our views because all of us are searching for answers to many of life's challenging questions without knowing where to search to find the answers. A Beacon of Hope is vessel for gaining peace of mind for those things that we don't understand, thus allowing us to understand and embrace the paths that have been set before us in love. My prayer is that you receive this with an open heart and after you get it continue to trust in God God can if you trust Him and He will if you continue to place your hope in Him Every tiny tree hopes to become full grown and you should have the desire to please your God I see you as a complete success because you fixed your heart on climbing the highest mountain There is no greater place in heaven or on this earth to put your hope than to hope in God -from "A Beacon of Hope"

THIS WE WILL DEFEND

A NovelBy T.S. Pessini

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2012 T.S. Pessini
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4685-4623-1

Chapter One

Detection

Frantz Farm Friendsville, Maryland Friday, October 1

He placed the cross-hairs of his rifle scope on the center of his target's forehead. He inhaled a deep, cool breath of air and exhaled while applying pressure to the trigger with his right index finger as he whispered, "This one's for my daughter."

ONE DAY EARLIER

Oakland, Maryland Thursday, September 30th 1300 hours

Skip and Kristine Daggard sat waiting for the traffic light to change at the intersection of Route 219 Garrett Highway and Memorial Drive. His attention was focused on the four Oriental occupants of a maroon colored Geo that was just driving onto Route 219 from Memorial Drive. The question raised in his mind was instantaneous, "What's wrong with that picture?"

He studied the occupants in a nonchalant manner as the vehicle turned left, heading toward the center of Oakland while the female passenger glared at him.

"Are you listening to me?" Kristine Daggard raised her voice about three octaves.

Warm temperatures and a bright autumn sun had created an Indian summer.

"Skip!"

"What?" Skip Daggard shouted back at Kristine.

Kristine turned around looking between the front bucket seats. "Pay attention, Eilis. This is your father's favorite sport—mentally disappearing."

Skip glared at Kristine then redirected his attention back to the maroon Geo Prism.

Skip jumped and swiveled his head as his blue eyes narrowed to slits.

"Yes, I punched you!" Then she leaned toward Skip as she whispered, "What is so damn interesting about that oriental female? Remind you of `Nam, or maybe Korea?"

Skip's movement was snake-strike fast. He reached over and pulled Kristine's head forward and planted a juicy one on her wet, red lips. "You haven't learned much in five years have you?"

"Oh yes, I've learned a well-full. We're retired ... remember? So whatever is going on in your over-loaded subversive imagination, forget it. We're not spies anymore; just John and Jane Public."

Skip was now three vehicles behind the Geo, which was stopped at the light near Sheetz gas station. He continued to analyze the question in his mind by turning it over and studying it from different viewpoints, but he was not able to grasp any solid reason for his inquiry. Then his subconscious supplied him with the needed information. Skip said, "Korean! They're Korean."

"What?"

"Take out a notebook and pen from the glove box. When you get the chance, write down the license plate number."

The clear, blue sky was bright. The sun warmed his face through the windshield of his Chevy TrailBlazer. "But there is something else ... something ... something else ... what is it?"

Kristine did as she had been directed, but leaned over and punched Skip in his right upper arm again. He maintained his surveillance on the Geo but smiled. This was the woman he had fallen in love with. Yet, he had almost killed her when she had revealed her true identity so he could take out a traitor in the White House.

"Stop," Kristine demanded. "Please, Skip stop."

He followed the Geo through Oakland to the intersection of Route 135 East and Route 39 West. The Geo turned right onto Route 39 West heading toward Kingwood, West Virginia. Skip continued to follow. His vehicle was now two cars behind the Geo. He glanced at her then turned back to his quarry. "I can't," he said, a remorseful tremor in his voice.

She saw the bridge was coming up and prepared to copy the plate number. "You mean you won't. I know you. Once the game begins ..."

As the Geo crested the bridge over the train tracks, Kristine was able to copy the plate number: Y7U130AN, DC for the state, and the registration month and year: 09-12. And now Skip was offered a clear picture of the four occupants. He sat straight up and his body became rigid. He turned toward her with a slow, swivel movement of his head. His face was pale-white. "I know what it was," he whispered, "I know what caught my eye. I know what's wrong ... they're soldiers."

Kristine stared straight ahead. Slowly, she turned her head toward him. "Oh ... my ... God! Disengage ... please disengage. Skip, please ... stop. Make the right after the bridge and let's go to Pizza Hut for supper as we planned."

They were still two car-lengths behind the Geo. Skip sat frozen in place. His words were crisp and clear, "The Communist Coalition force your father and the Russian Secret Service had lost several years ago is here, Kristine. Our enemy is in hiding within the belly of America."

Kristine studied his face. Nothing! "How can he do that?" she asked herself although she knew the answer. She had learned more about Skip's horrors and secrets while they were in the hidden room in the Lincoln Tunnel than she had during the two previous years of their engagement. At times, in the middle of the night, she would lie awake sweating, reliving that nightmarish moment when Skip was applying pressure to the trigger of his Colt, its cold muzzle pressed against her head.

She responded to his last statement. "They're here! My God, Skip we've only postponed the inevitable ... war."

He sighed, "Yeah, I wonder if they were here when we killed President Mantle?"

She nodded. "Perhaps that's why my father and the Russian Secret Service lost them."

Skip was oblivious to his immediate surroundings. His focus was now on his quarry, and the game—the fox and the hound, and the game had just taken on an immediacy of great importance. He felt his heart beating against his chest and the adrenaline rush. This is what he had been born and bred for...his purpose—his mission in life. What was it Bryanna, his ex-fiancée had said just before he had left for Vietnam? Oh yeah! "You were born OD green and you will die OD green, Skip Daggard, but come home to me. Don't be a hero. I can't take medals to bed."

But he didn't come home to her because of who he had become. Bryanna didn't get any medals, just a flag on behalf of a grateful nation, and a chance at life and happiness, courtesy of himself.

Skip shook his head to clear out haunting images of his past. "Yeah, while the Russians were looking for them in Europe, they were slipping in our back door."

Kristine looked at him. To her surprise, Skip was smiling.

Skip slowly turned his head and stared at her through his blank, blue eyes. "They almost got away with it."

She smiled back at him as she placed a gentle hand on his right thigh. She felt her pride for her husband mount. This was another aspect of her husband which made him a dangerous adversary; the enemy could never know when or where he would appear.

He looked at her again. This time sadness was permeating from his eyes. "I hope I'm wrong, and they're not soldiers, just tourists."

Terra Alta, West Virginia Thursday, September 30th 1345 hours

Colonel Chin Lee knew that she and her fellow comrades were being followed. She had noticed the man in the dark green Chevy TrailBlazer trying to be too inconspicuous when they were at the traffic light in Oakland. She had been more inconspicuous stealing glances through her outside rearview mirror while she allowed this cat and mouse game to continue. Colonel Lee also knew who the driver of the TrailBlazer was: NSA's infamous Skip...