A Heavenly Interception

CHAPTER ONE

The Contest

Like an excited child asking his teacher for permission, the referee's hand flew up. Ippon! he said crisply. The point brought the fight to an abrupt stop.

Johnny had been awarded the full point, with a front kick to Tony's midsection. After feinting with a right punch, Johnny had deftly raised his right knee and thrust out his right foot. The ball of his foot had caught Tony in the lower ribs, delivering the scoring blow.

They were fighting in the National Karate Tournament. Tony stood taller than Johnny. Height ran in Tony's family and, at an impressive six foot and two inches, Tony used his height and slender build to his fighting advantage—mostly. Johnny was stockier and of average height, which put him a few inches shorter than his friend and current opponent.

His flexibility and speed, in this instance, conquered Tony's height.

Tony didn't know what was worse, the blow to his ribs or the seconds he had left to try and recover the score. They had been tied at three half points each, but the full point, the Ippon, had taken Johnny into a clear lead. The score now sat at five and a half points to three.

One more point against Tony would take Johnny's score to six, giving him full match point and victory. Tony knew he had to fight adventurously to try and recover the Ippon in a very short space of time. The corner adjudicator had already shouted a warning for thirty seconds left. His only hope now was a draw.

Tony had to push aside the pain throbbing from his lower rib cage. This was not a time to think about the bruising, it was a time to muster up every bit of energy he had left.

The referee lined the young fighters up.

Hajimei. Immediately upon the referee's command to start, Tony leapt into the attack.

Only seconds had passed. Yamai! shouted the corner adjudicator. The fighters stopped instantly.

You've got to be kidding! exclaimed Tony to no one in particular. Among the sound and commotion of the tournament, the only people to hear him were Johnny and the man scoring the fight.

The referee approached the two young contenders. Well done, boys. That was an exhilarating fight.

He then turned to Tony. Regardless of the outcome, son, you fought well.

He stood with one contender on each side, waiting several seconds as a few words were spoken over the microphone. It was the typical winner's announcement, bathing the contender in short-lived glory.

The referee raised Johnny's hand and a congratulatory cheer rose up from the crowd. It was then that it truly sank in; Tony had been defeated by his opponent, long-time friend and neighbor, Johnny Black.

George, their instructor, was saddened.

He had entered himself and his two favorite students into the tournament. As luck would have it, the boys had been drawn to fight each other in the second round; an elimination round. It was evident to all that one of George's most prized students would not be going on to potentially represent Australia in the Internationals.

But a decision had been reached and George's younger brother, Johnny, had been the victor today—a bittersweet victory at best.

As Tony left the fighting mat, George intercepted him at the edge of the fighting arena. I don't know what to say. You fought well, said George.

Thank you, Sensei, said Tony, respecting the traditions of Karate and his Sensei instructor.

That was a tough fight, said Johnny, trying to lift the spirits of his young friend.

I'll be okay. It just sucks we had to meet in the second round.

Tony was competitive by nature, which accounted for the 'dark cloud' hanging over his head. But his friends and fellow Karate students realized his emotional state would be short lived.

But before it was, there was a bit more to be said.

To be eliminated so soon—it's unfortunate, but it's the luck of the draw, I'm afraid, said George, who now had to concentrate on his own fighting efforts.

He had won his second-round fight. Three more wins had him a guaranteed place on the International Team. There was still about half an hour before Johnny would go up against his next opponent and closer to an hour before George would fight his.

These events never ran on time.

George kept his eyes on the back wall of the stadium. The display board was enormous. It gave a great visual from every corner of this huge gymnasium, which was big enough to hold four basketball courts and plenty of spectators.

They were now announcing the fighting agendas through to the finals.

Jesus! exclaimed George, his seriousness quickly turning to jest.

What? asked Johnny.

It's you and me, little bro. Fourth round!

The random draw had not served the South Australian team well. It potentially meant only one South Australian fighter could go on to represent the team of six, which would be sent to Munich, Germany, to fight at the International Karate Championships.

The clock ticked by ever so slowly. In the scorching heat, the next thirty minutes seemed to take an age. But it wouldn't be long before the moment of truth arrived.

Stretch out, instructed George.

Tony went with his friend to one corner and helped with his warm-ups.

Soon the announcement was made and the time to fight had come.

Johnny lined up with a fighter from interstate, an opponent from country Western Australia. Johnny stared across the mat, focused on his opponent's mid-section. He slowly ran his eyes up his opponent, stopping when he got to about six feet and four inches. He was very skinny, quite tall and had no issues with demonstrating his speed and flexibility into the open air of the fighting arena. This didn't faze Johnny; height and build meant nothing, but fighting spirit was everything.

Watch your distance, said George.

Close in quick, use your hands, added Tony.

The strategies were being fired upon Johnny one after the other, but Johnny had to focus on his fight, concentrate on relaxing and releasing the tension. It was only then that he would be able to strike with the speed of speeds.

Standing on the outer edge of the ring, Johnny stood with feet together and hands down by his side; straight and upright, like a soldier at attention. He then bowed from the waist. Tilting his upper body forward slightly, he paused for the briefest of moments and then returned to attention. This was considered courteous and was used as a sign of respect before the fight.

He then walked over to the middle of the ring, shook his opponent's hand and took up his position on the fighting mat.

Johnny's opponent bounced around on the spot, little jumps and hops back and forth and side to side. As the fight had not yet begun, he was not allowed to move off the marked starting point.

Maybe it was nerves or maybe it was his way of loosening up before the start. Either way, Johnny chose to do the opposite and remained in his fighting stance, feet planted solidly on the ground. His right foot was slightly ahead of his left, his right fist out in front, his left a fist's length away from his belly button. Johnny remained calm and focused on his tall opponent as he watched every bounce.

Hajime, said the referee. The fighter from Western Australia continued to dance around, only now more vigorously. Trying to look for the scoring opportunity, he moved from side to side with great agility.

Johnny remained solidly planted, trying to entice an attack. He had to close the distance. His opponent was agile and flexible. Combined with his above-average height, he was a formidable opponent.

Suddenly, the Western Australian threw a deceptive move. He aimed his roundhouse kick to the body, but then redirected it to the head. Johnny fell for it.

Ippon! shouted the referee. The execution was a clean strike to an open and unguarded face, unopposed and with mild contact.

The cocky young fighter from the west bounced around like he had won a gold medal in the Olympics.

C'mon, Johnny, you can get it back! shouted Tony from the sidelines.

Johnny had taken the point personally, losing sight of the ultimate objective. It must have been very obvious because his brother's words had got to him.

Let it go, Johnny. Focus on the fight, demanded George.

The referee lined up the two fighters. Once again, one danced while the other had his feet planted solid. The fighting styles had now been differentiated and set. The referee swung down his arm. Hajime.

Soon the cocky opponent had dropped to one knee. He put his guard up and, by crouching and covering up, made his body and head area as small and as guarded as possible. Johnny stepped back, confused by the tactic.

Fight, fight! demanded Johnny.

The Western Australian knew exactly what his unethical tactic meant to his opponent. Simply put, he had shut down Johnny's opportunities to technically score a point.

Johnny showed off well-executed technique after well-executed technique.

His attacks were timed to just touch the body and head striking areas, as per the rules of the tournament. No excessive power strikes to the head were allowed, while a bit more force was permitted for body strikes.

Johnny maintained his integrity, keeping his techniques well controlled and beautifully executed. Finding the opening and making contact earned a half point, a full point if the attack was undefended. However, Johnny could simply not score a point.

C'mon, ref! shouted Tony, frustrated.

The crowd did not take well to the unsportsmanlike tactics and began to boo the fight. Johnny didn't know what to do; he could keep throwing out kick after kick until the end of the round, but it would serve little purpose.

Even the referee didn't know what to do and allowed the fight to continue.

The boos got louder, as shouts of disappointment came in from the spectators.

Technically, the cocky Western Australian had not done anything wrong other than exploit the rules of the competition.

Johnny's patience was turning into anger. His calmness festered into the beginnings of rage, bubbling up like a volcano ready to spit out its lava.

It had all got a bit too much for him.

He stepped back just enough to throw his strongest roundhouse kick. There was no holding back this time, as he followed through with all of his speed and might.

The roundhouse smashed through the opponent's guard, smacking him square on the lower jaw. The cocky fighter went down for the count.

Johnny knew what this meant for his chances to get into the finals. He wasn't too fussed and was more engrossed in the cheers of the crowd, lapping up every moment. He smiled back at the crowd, acknowledging their cheers of approval. His hands went up a little and he did his own little dance in his own precious little spot on the fighting mat.

The referee stopped the fight. He pulled Johnny to his corner and called the medic to the mat.

The cocky young fighter was holding his jaw in extreme pain.

As tradition dictated, Johnny kneeled on the mat facing away from his opponent, looking directly into the eyes of his brother, who shook his head in disbelief. George didn't have to say a word; his eyes said it all.

It didn't look too good for the drowsy and concussed Western Australian, who stood up, nursing his dislocated jaw. The medic went to have a quiet word with the referee. After a short exchange, the referee called off the fight. Johnny was about to learn defeat did not necessarily equate to winning.

Johnny was immediately disqualified. His opponent had won the fight, but could not go on to the next round.

Johnny bowed and walked off, refusing to acknowledge his unsporting opponent.

Bloody referee! He should never have allowed that! said Johnny.

You threw it all away, and for what? said George disapprovingly.

What did you want me to do—dance around for three minutes while pretty boy sits there and does nothing? Johnny was growing impatient. Deep down, he knew what he had thrown away, but, unfortunately, he had got caught up in the moment and had done something he would come to regret.

C'mon, guys, let's get a drink. Tony tried to mediate the small feud between the brothers.

As the trio walked off, the crowd was still cheering. Johnny stopped, turned and smiled back, giving the cheering crowd a wave.

It was still a half hour before George was due to fight. Johnny hoped George would not spend the time on a lecture about sportsmanship.

Back in the tournament, the excitable crowd and sweaty participants contributed to the stale air that filled the large stadium. There were several fighting arenas set up; more than enough fighting entertainment for the fans and friends of the competition.

The finals were drawing near and the pressure to perform was high. George's time was fast approaching. By the third round, there were only two states which still had teams: the host state of Victoria and South Australia. There was only one fighter left representing South Australia, and George couldn't be prouder of his efforts to represent his home city of Adelaide.

George's next fight went like clockwork; a clean and fair fight with an array of fighting techniques thrown by both opponents. George had clearly out skilled his opponent, obtaining an easy win of five half points to one.

The next round for George was an instant win. The young cocky fighter from Western Australia had been incapacitated. The forfeit, thanks to his younger brother, saw George go straight into the final round.

This gave George the opportunity to watch the fight that decided his next opponent. George watched intensely, trying to ascertain weaknesses, strengths and potential opportunities.

Both were good fighters, but fought completely differently. One opponent moved a lot, danced and pranced, bobbing in and out looking for the opening. The other preferred to mix it up a bit. He settled, then stepped side to side unpredictably, and then simply held his stance, like a cheetah waiting to pounce. When he moved, he moved with speed and ferocity.

The battle was long and intense, but the eventual victor was the dancer.

Final fights were being fought and Australian representatives were being decided on. Australia was sending a team of six fighters and, so far, five had been chosen.

This was George's moment and, as tradition dictated, George bowed and entered the fighting arena. Before commencing, the two fighters faced off briefly. When the fight began, George's opponent danced and pranced around as he had done in his previous fight, with his home city of Melbourne supporters cheering him on.

This Karate practitioner was well known and well respected throughout his home state. Gino! Gino! Gino, echoed around the stadium.

Many had left their stadium seats to surround the center mat. The last fight of the day and the ultimate decision maker.

George had to block this from his mind and focus on the task at hand. George switched his fighting style, never settling, trying to remain as unpredictable as possible.

He was steady and stationary for a little while and then pranced and danced, switched and changed, and never allowed his opponent to anticipate what might come next.

The fight was very much a face off, with very few techniques being thrown.

Neither participant wanted to over expose himself. Whilst there was intense concentration on the fighting mat, the crowds were starting to lose interest in a fight which appeared to drag on and on.

It remained a battle of minds, until George saw an opportunity arise.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward slightly and twisted, executing a back kick. The heel of his foot went straight out and caught the light-footed fighter square in the ribs.

The opponent staggered back, trying to catch the wind that had been knocked out of his body. The strike was fair and within competition regulations. George was awarded the full point.

Nursing his ribs a bit, isn't he? Johnny said loudly to Tony.

Some cheeky laughter followed between the two friends, who were sitting right by the fighting arena. The fight may have been boring, but these two young friends were excited for their instructor and mentor.

The winded opponent fought cautiously for the rest of the round. George had not only knocked the wind out of him, but also his fighting spirit.

He continued to move with grace and speed, but seldom attacked. George tried to score, but found it hard to land a scoring point.

The fight ended.

Not the most exciting of fights, but a most exciting outcome for the three South Australians.

George was jumping in the air as Tony and Johnny jumped all over him, cheering for their sensei's victory. A victory that would have him represent his country in the sport to which he had dedicated his life.

George's victory was their victory.

CHAPTER TWO

Why Can't I Settle in Heaven?

A former wife, mother and grandmother walked the open plains with her eyes fixed on the distant horizon.

Why won't I settle in Heaven? I am not sure I like playing nurse to wounded souls, Angels or spirits. It seems like the attacks come more frequently now. I sometimes feel like I am back in war-torn Greece, a place I left a long time ago. But the memories of war never leave.

Damn you, Devil!

The Devil has all of Heaven worried. His attacks on Heavenly ground were few and far between, but now—now it seems like it happens every other day.

We're holding our own, but we pay the price of war. And so it seems, death exists even in Heaven. Figure that out!

There are rules here, too; the rules of Heaven. But why should I go through it? The Angels have that part rehearsed to a tee. And I need to stick around for this. These newly arrived souls are about to be lectured by the Angels and then it's up to me to play counselor.

That I don't mind so much. It gives me a sense of motherly purpose.

Pam stood on the outer edge of a gathering of freshly arrived souls, whose formal introduction to Heaven was about to be had. She knew what she had to do and she was good at it. However, this particular part of the process was not for her. For now, she did not interfere and remained an outside observer.

When an earthly soul enters the spiritual plane, by default it will enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Angels and loved ones that have already crossed over will then try and nurture the newly arrived soul, said the Angel Raphael.

It can be a difficult transition for some, added the Archangel Gabriel.

Like Olympic athletes, the Angels stood tall and toned. Their chiseled faces and handsome features would have put them in line for any male modeling position, but their morals and egos were above that.

Angels stood for the greater good and lived for the Heavenly cause. Above all, they were the protectors of Heaven and those who walked in its loving presence.

Being rewarded for good looks and muscular physique was not high on the angelic agenda. What was, however, was fighting the evil that lurked beyond the Transitional Border, a sinister presence that lived deep within a land of fire and brimstone.

Lucifer is always on the lookout for newly arrived souls. Souls he can perhaps nurture in a different way, an evil way, said the Angel Raphael.

The Angels were advising a few young adults who had tragically lost their lives in a boating accident. Their death had been quick and painless, but their transition into Heaven was taking a bit more time.

The youngsters had been given some time to themselves to reflect on their lives and come to terms with the realization they had now crossed over.

They now had to move on.

The initial period alone helped prepare them for what was to come, and understanding some of the fundamental laws of Heaven could sometimes help those who had died in sudden circumstances.

It still took time to heal a soul whose death had been tragic and unfortunate, but time was something Heaven had plenty of.

When the life lived has been good and worthy of a Heavenly place, then the counseling, the mentoring and the transition from an existence on Earth to an existence in Heaven is of no consequence. The soul quickly learns to adapt to his or her new existence and is willing to help out in the Heavenly matters and the way of our God almighty, said the Archangel Gabriel.

Now, in your new existence as a member of Heaven's family and in our true form of Heavenly light and pure energy, should this be damaged, should this energy force dissipate and therefore, for a better term, die, then it will, by default, re-enter Heaven. And yes, death exists in Heaven, instructed the Angel Raphael.

But there is much counseling involved, added the Archangel Michael.

"Heavenly souls can rarely comprehend dying. There is a lot of time and energy spent in dealing with this type of Heavenly phenomenon.

Lucifer knows this and is always on the lookout to exploit such confusion, always trying to tempt the soul into leading an existence of temptation and evil; taking the soul to live a life in the depths of brimstone and sulfur—a place we call Hell, continued Michael.

This conversation was perfectly executed, each Angel knowing his cue, when to come in and what to say. A speech they, with no doubt, had delivered before many newly arrived spirits over the course of the existence of man.

Archangel Michael went on. "Now, there is choice in the matter. Do we, as a heavenly entity, counsel the confused spirit with the help of loved ones who have crossed over? Or do we send the soul down to live its next incarnation as man or woman? And should we decide to re-incarnate and send the soul down to live its next existence, then it is mostly done with the help and guidance of Heaven.

"As Angels and spirits who serve the way of the Holy Trinity, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, we try and direct this man or woman to live a life of good and righteousness.

This will make their next transition into the heavenly plane a much, much easier task.

The young new arrivals to Heaven listened intently as they were being lectured. They sat in awe, mesmerized by the beauty and presence of the three Angels.

There was little difference between the Archangels Michael and Gabriel and the Angel Raphael. They all stood impressively tall, with athletic builds and handsome features.

However, the Archangels Michael and Gabriel were of a sturdier build than Raphael, as they were the warrior-class Angels; the fighters and protectors of Heaven.

Their heavenly beauty was strengthened by the awesome, white swan-like wings poised on their shoulder blades. As the Angels spoke, their angelic wings were fully extended, close to four meters in total wingspan, perfectly trimmed with not a feather out of place. They added visual grace to the delivery of a heavenly lecture.

The young new arrivals continued to listen as the Angels progressed with their heavenly lesson.

There was empathy in their voices. The Angels, however, were not sympathetic. Sympathy suggested the angelic hierarchy shared in the grief or emotion of loss. This was not the case; they simply identified with the emotion of crossing over. It was Earth which provided the preparation for a lifetime in Heaven.

The Angels knew Heaven was the better place and Earth was the afterlife. Their lecture was always delivered from that viewpoint. It was in Heaven that they would all find their place and purpose in life.

The Angels continued their instructive talk. It does not always go to plan, my young friends, said Raphael. "Sometimes the spirit is so disturbed that when it starts to