Paul rode his Sportster down the lonely back county highways with no destination in mind. The Lord would lead him and direct him to whatever or whoever needed him. Sometimes, the mission was painfully obvious, and other times, Paul went by instinct. As he traveled, he recalled the early days when he was new to the mission field. His friend, brother, and mentor had taught him along the way. He smiled as he thought about Red. Big Red was a piece of work too-a dry sense of humor but fiercely loyal to only one, God's only son. He would talk consistently about the mission field. "Dude, it's an amazing thing to serve God. He is everywhere, man. Like, I mean in everything we see. Everyone we meet needs a touch from him, and he has sent us to do some touching. Sometimes it's just a kind word, and other times we need to get in some dude's face." He would laugh at his own joke. "Man, I'm here to tell ya that some guys just don't get it. Ya got to be creative, bro, in a spiritual way. But most of all, ya got to look out for the unexpected. The enemy of this world is clever and a liar. If we ain't careful, we get caught up in the lie. Dude, be on your guard all the time." Red was right. Paul was now on his own, and the journey was tough. The attacks came from every angle, and all it took was a small distraction, and the door to destruction swung open. Paul knew he would persevere if he kept his eyes on Jesus. The battle was on, and the war raged, but with God, all things were possible. The giants would fall, and strongholds will collapse before the Lord of truth and His messenger on two wheels. And for this mission, God had chosen Paul Johnson, the Iron Angel.