"Brooke gets a lead on a story that could make her career or kill her."
Reviewed by Shellie Surles
Posted August 2, 2014
Thriller | Military | Mystery
Scott Jensen is very high up in the Department of Defense
Intelligence division. When an Apache helicopter is shot
down over Afghanistan and a squad of soldiers is almost
wiped out Scott must find out how the enemy got such
powerful weapons. As Scott starts looking into a very rich
man and friend of the President he is shut out of the
investigation and pressured to leave it alone. The only
thing Scott can do is go to an old friend Brooke Kinley a
reporter and leak her information she needs to start an
investigation. Scott puts his career in danger and without
realizing it he puts his and Brooks's life on the line. As
Brooke begins her investigation she goes into the Canadian
wilderness and discovers people are willing to kill to make
sure America suffers even greater losses than a downed
Apache. Now from her location and Scott from his must do
what they can to save the nation from a devastating
PATRIOT, is an action adventure based on the intelligent
and determined reporter Brooke Kinley and her college flame
Scott Jenson who is an Deputy Director in Defense
Intelligence. Each character approaches the investigation
from their own angle, with people helping them. A.S. bond
makes this work and keeps the story exciting and the search
ongoing. You know there is a mole and you are never quite
sure how far up the chain of command the corruption goes.
The characters are people you can connect with and will
enjoy reading about. No one person is super human and they
all work well in conjunction with each other. PATRIOT by
A.S. Bond is a book I would recommend to readers who enjoy
Learn more about Patriot
What would you do for your country? In Afghanistan, a US
Army Patrol is devastated by an enemy with sophisticated
weaponry, while in D.C., Pentagon staffer Scott Jenson tips
off the ambitious young reporter Brooke Kinley about a
billionaire businessman's involvement in terrorism. But why
is the White House determined to protect this businessman,
and why does the answer seem to lie in the Canadian
wilderness? In a dangerous journey to the remotest parts of
the world and the darkest corners of men's hearts, Brooke
races to prevent a catastrophic attack on America, but can
she uncover the real traitor?
Advance Praise for Patriot:
"'Patriot' moves at a cracking pace, Homeland channelled by
Bear Grylls... the name's Bond, AS Bond, watch this space."
Nick Hazlewood, screen writer and author of 'Savage'.
Patriot is a pulse pounding, high octane adventure thriller
with an insider's view of Washington and a heroine who is as
happy running rapids as she is asking difficult questions at
the Pentagon. For fans of Clive Cussler, Tom Clancy or
Excerpt“Scramble Scramble Scramble!” The call came at the start of
the shift. For
Captain Brad Jones and his crew, every trip into combat
began with those
three words and a siren, now yowling over the desert
airfield. Barely seven
minutes later, Brad guided his AH-64E Apache gunship into
the air. In the
front of the tandem cockpit, Brad’s friend, Gunner Chuck
Willows, sat at the
controls of the Target Acquisition and Designation System.
This was a mission they had flown several times; racing to
the scene of an
ambush to take out a Taliban position.
“Be advised, we have a small arms fire report and three
voice of Joe Blake, Detachment Command back in the Tactical
Centre, crackled in Brad’s ear. “And there are two civilian
embedded with the platoon.”
“Copy that.” Two miles out from the target, Brad flew the
Apache above the
bed of a dried up wadi. Lower than much of the surrounding
knew it would be invisible to the enemy until the last
possible moment. The
ground flashed by, a herd of goats fled in terror and a
small boy waved a
stick at the helicopter. Tomorrow’s enemy, thought Brad as
he banked to the
left, following the dry water course.
“Half a mile, Captain.” Chuck called out the range to
“Going visual.” Brad eased up the Apache to a hundred feet.
Ahead, he saw
smoking ruins of an Afghan compound sheltering the American
patrol and the
flash of gunfire from insurgents on other side of the
“This is Crazy Horse One Seven, we have forty individuals
with weapons, two
hundred meters from the compound, over.” reported Chuck to
“Crew, we have personnel west of your position, over.”
“We have visual on the target. No strobes. Repeat, no
position of friendlies, over.”
“Roger that. Friendlies going green, over.”
Moments later, clouds of luminous green smoke billowed up
from the compound.
“Copy that Command, we have visual on the friendlies. Be
advised we’re gonna
set up an inbound run, over.” Brad levelled out the chopper.
“Range Mike Bravo 565888617.”
“Mike Bravo 56888617 copy that.”
“Clear to fire.”
A staccato of 30mm rounds from the Apache’s cannon sliced
into the fields and
the enemy fire over the compound lessened.
“Good shooting.” said Command, as Brad banked away from the
“We got multiple enemy positions here.” Chuck watched the
screen and counted
the heat signatures of at least two dozen more Taliban
hiding in the fields.
“This is gonna go high risk. There’s a group with rocket
launchers at four
“You got auto range on it?” asked Brad.
Chuck pressed a button and Brad felt the deck tremble as a
shot away from the Apache. On the other side of the valley,
exploded a Taliban position, taking a rocky outcrop with it
and leaving a
huge crater in the hillside. The smell of cordite filtered
Immediately, Brad swung away the gunship, taking it out of
RPG range. Flying
this low and slow made them easy targets.
“We’re taking fire from the north!” shouted Chuck, as if on
cue. Red lights
blazed across the central warning panel in the Apache.
“What the hell?!” muttered Brad, as he instinctively pulled
into a hard evasive turn, raising the collective for full
power, and pushing
forward the cyclic to gain speed. Flares and chaff deployed
from pods, designed to confuse and misdirect any heat or
“I got visual on the launch. Incoming – get us outta here,
“I’m on it.” Brad focused on flying the chopper as hard and
as fast as he
could towards the wadi.
The missile flew an almost perfect circle, 2000 feet above
its internal microprocessors comparing the heat and the
signatures from its target with the data profile in its
systems. As though
making a conscious decision, the missile banked over and
“It’s on our ass, man.” reported Chuck. “Do your thing.”
“Where the f*** did the Taliban get a SAM?” Brad shouted as
he drove the
Apache down into the wadi, hoping to lose the missile in the
tight turns and
confusion of the terrain.
Behind them and closing, the missile passed through the
cloud of metallic
chaff, its sensors registering them as a possible target,
electromagnetic signature detectors instantly overrode the
missile pressed on, homing in on the fleeing Apache.
Brad, his hands clenched and sweating on the controls, took
a bend, and
glimpsed a group of insurgents hit the ground below him. A
small – a very
small - part of his brain registered a flash of bright
blonde hair among
them, then he saw the missile take the bend too.
“I can’t lose it – f***, what is that thing? Chuck, on my
mark, hit it with
all the CM we have left and brace yourself. I’m gonna try
Brad gave the Apache full power and headed straight towards
the high bluff
“3,2,1 MARK.” Chuck nailed the countermeasures button and
braced himself for
the move. Brad yanked back on the controls, pointing the
gunship’s nose at
the sky and putting it in a high vertical climb, more like a
than a helicopter. Struggling against the effects of the G
force required to
pull this unconventional manoeuvre, he prayed the missile
would lose their
trail in the counter measures and impact on the wall of the
At the same instant the missile passed through the chaff and
easily made the
turn up and out. The vertical climb slowed the helicopter
and the missile
closed the gap until it was within a meter or two of its
quarry. The onboard
proximity censors matched the helicopter’s EM signature and
detonated. Brad and Chuck were briefly aware of an intense
light, before a
wave of heat and pressure enveloped them.
The Apache hurtled into the sky, its rotor blades spiralling
they gouged into the sand. The fuselage continued to
until it seemed finally to surrender, and smashed into the
hot, dry earth
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