Month: October 2019

What happens after the action-packed start – Part 31

Our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.

The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission.

The folder had half a dozen single-page sheets with a photo attached to each with a standard-issue army paper clip.  There was no top secret in pale red ink diagonally scribed across any of the pages which somehow diminished the exercise.

I guessed this was the hand-picked team selected for me to take on our suicide mission.  It didn’t have the officer overseeing the mission, or the go-between Jacobi.  Not exactly a useful man to have along in a firefight, because he would be too busy working out who would pay the most if or when he survived.

It still astonished me that we hired people like Jacobi, fully knowing that they would sell out their own mother if the price was right.  I was going to reserve one bullet in my gun to execute him the moment he even looked the wrong way.

Trust him, I did not.

Nor any 0f the six members of that hand-picked team.

Sergeant Barnes.  Tall, wide, deadly, that last attribute courtesy of a line in his resume that said he killed three soldiers of the army we were supposed to be training and supporting.  No meaningful reason was given as to why he did, only that he’d just finished serving a five-year sentence, cut short by a month so he could join this force.  Hand to hand combat, and a handy man to have if you’ve got a handheld rocket launcher handy.

Private Williamson.  Had been a Corporal, but considered that too much of a burden, having men look up to him, and having to give orders.  He decided to go AWOL instead.  Used to be a butcher before signing on to see the world, and as described very handy with a knife.  Refused to use a gun, and refused orders too, which was the reason why he was in the stockade, with his friend, the next man on the list.

Private Shurl.  If we needed a man who excelled at sword fighting, he was our man.  A very accomplished swordsman, but I doubt we were going to need a man of his talents because enemy swordsmen seemed only to exist in the old movies.  I guess Lallo was expecting the three musketeers or something.  Other than that, he was a useful radioman and would be handling the communications once we were on the ground in enemy territory.

Corporal Stark.  His claim to fame was reading maps.  He was also an expert on the ground in the country whose borders we were about to violate.  He lived in the country for several years with his wife, who came from there, and who’d been killed by the dictator in a case of mistaken identity.  Stark would have to be carefully managed.

Staff Sergeant Mobley.  A man who had been up and down in ranks for a long time, suggesting a bad attitude, his latest bout leaving him fresh from a stint in the stockade.  He had no valid reason to be in on this disaster and yet had volunteered.  That took courage, to apply for a suicide mission with little hope of return.  I suspect he had an agenda that no one else knew about.

And, lastly

Lieutenant Lesley Davies.  A woman marine, no longer a lieutenant but just another soldier who obviously didn’t understand the concept of taking one step back when everyone else steps in another direction.  It didn’t say what it was she did wrong, but my guess there were a few men out there frightened of meeting her on a dark night.  Some women are dainty, some women are large, and then there’s Davies, a powerhouse that could be dangerous if out of control.

Out of all of that team, she was the one who interested me the most.

There was a knock on the door, interrupting my thoughts.  I called out, “Enter”, surprised the person outside hadn’t just shoved their way into the room.

The door opened, Monroe walked in and closed the door behind her.

“Let me guess,” I said.  “You’re running point.”

“And save your sorry ass from those recruits.  Not a brain between the lot of them, and we need people who can think, given the nature of the forthcoming exercise.  The brains trust has decided the rescue team reports to us.  I didn’t ask for it by the way.  This is one of Lallo’s sick jokes.”

Maybe he had a problem with her too and was hoping she wasn’t coming back.

“You and me both,” I said.

She threw another folder on the table.  “Operational orders, wheels up at 0600 tomorrow.  Make sure you get a hearty meal before we leave, it might be your last for a while.”

I shrugged. 

“Suit yourself.”  She went back to the door, gave me a curious look, and left.

I opened the file and looked at the one piece of paper in it.  It was marked Top Secret in red diagonally across the page, probably specially done by Lallo to make me feel important.  It had departure time, the weather, the flight time, how long the stopover would be before going on to the target.

Tightly planned, no room for missing connections, though this was the army, not an airline taking us, no room for errors.  New intel said that we had five days before the prisoners were to be executed.

No pressure then.
© Charles Heath 2019

Are you confused yet: For, Four, Fore

Can it be more confusing when trying to explain the word ‘for’ to those learning English as a second language, when all variations sound the same?

Let’s try…

For, a preposition if you want to get technical, well  this one is probably one of the more interesting variations, and can be used,

He was done for, meaning  there was no hope for saving his life

For he’s a jolly good fellow, though we may sing it, it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s true

Basically, it can be best described as,

Intended to belong with or using in connection with or suiting the purposes or needs of.

 

And, as a preposition, its use is endless, just look it up on the internet.

As a prefix, well, let’s not go down that path and move on,

Four, this is the easiest of all the variations as it simply represents the number

Fore, oh yeah, now we can open the can of worms, or is it Pandora’s box

The best way to describe this variation is that it can be a prefix, one that stresses the fact that something is near the front

For example,

He was standing in the foreground, which means there was a backdrop behind him, hopefully, a pretty landscape, not a rubbish dump

 

Then alternatively,

I heard the word ‘fore’ yelled very loudly just before the golf ball landed inches from my foot.

Another close shave, or near death experience.

I thought, and it seems incorrect, that going golfing was meant to be fun, not the equivalent of walking onto a battlefield, dodging golf balls to the frantic screams of ‘fore’.

It can also be used in a nautical sense by referring to the front and back or a ship/boat/vessel as fore for the front and aft for the back.

I doubt a captain would tell a sailor to go to the fore of the ship when he could better explain it with a bow, or just plain front, but where’s the fun in that?

Looking for locations: Somewhere in Tuscany, Italy

The thing is, all hilltop towns in Tuscany are quaint.

My problem was, we saw so many unless you wrote down the name when you were there, they become a blur.

This one had the main road in, and then you could go in one of two directions, left or right.

They were not made for cars, and the streets are so narrow, often you find mere inches between the walls and the side of the car.

Instead, there are lots of narrow walkways and alleys to explore.  I’d hate to be given an address of a house, and then try to find it.  I doubt even a GPS would be about to locate it.

This is the main street into the town

Sorry, you can only go right

Pedestrians share the road with cars, and it’s no surprise that in Europe, and particularly Italy, a lot of their cars are very small.  Now I know why!

They also have lots of arches, and I wonder if that’s someone’s bedroom overlooking the roadway

There’s very little room for gardens, and every bit of building space is utilized

Who knows where this alleyway leads

What seems to be a guard tower on the outskirts of the town, overlooking the valley below, perhaps waiting for invaders of a different sort

Perhaps you don’t like the idea of having neighbours.

And, of course, there’s always a church, and the door is always open

We have this sport called football, Australian style

In Melbourne, it’s an institution even a religion.  Traditionally it is played on a Saturday afternoon and luckily for us, we are attending such a game.

The stadium is the mcg, one of the best in Australia.  Shortly after the start, I’d estimate there are about 40,000, but eventually, there was 53,000, spectators here for a clash between the two Melbourne based teams.  It is not unheard of to have in closer to 90,000 spectators, and the atmosphere is at times electric.

For the die-hards like me who can remember the days when there were only Victorian-based teams,  in the modern-day form of the game, to have two such teams is something of a rarity.

However, it’s not so much about the antics on the field as it is the spectators.  They are divided into three groups, the members, the private boxes and the general public.

But in the end, there is no distinction between any of them because they all know the rules, well, their version of them, and it doesn’t matter who you are, If there is something that goes against your team, it is brings a huge roar of disapproval.

Then there are ebbs and flows in the crowd noise and reactions to events like holding the ball attracting a unified shout ‘ball, or a large collective groan when a free kick should have been paid or by the opposite team’s followers if it should have been.

It is this crowd reaction which makes going to a live game so much better than watching it televised live.  The times when players take marks, get the ball out of congestion, and when goals are scored when your team is behind and when one is needed to get in front.

This is particularly so when one of the stars goes near the ball and pulls off a miracle 1 percent movement of the ball.  These are what we come to see, the high flying marks, the handball threaded through a needle, a kick that reaches one of our players that looked like it would never get there, an intercept mark or steal that throws momentum the opposite way.

This game is not supposed to be a game of inches but fast yards, a kick, a mark, a handball, a run and bounce.  You need to get the ball to your goal as quickly as possible.

That’s the objective.

But in this modern game, much to the dismay of spectators and commentators alike, there is this thing called flooding where all 36 players are basically in a clump around the ball and it moves basically in inches, not yards.

It is slow and it is ugly.

It is not the game envisioned by those who created it and there is a debate right now about fixing it.

Here, it is an example of the worst sort.  This game is played in four quarters and for the first two, it is ugly scrappy play with little skill on display.  The third shows improvement and it seems the respective coaches had told their players to open it up

They have and it becomes better to look at.

But this is the point where one team usually gets away with a handy lead, a third-quarter effort that almost puts the game out of reach.  The fourth quarter is where the losing team stages a comeback, and sometimes it works sometimes it does not.

The opposition gives it a red hot try but is unsuccessful.  Three goals in a row, it gave their fans a sniff of hope but as the commentators call it, a kick against the flow and my team prevails.

It is the moment to stay for when they play the winning teams song over the stadium’s loudspeaker system, and at least half the spectators sing along.  It is one of those hair raising on the back of your neck moments which for some can be far too few in a season

We have great hopes for our team this year, and it was worth the trek from Brisbane to Melbourne to see it live rather than on the TV

Leaving the ground with thousands of others heading towards the train station for the journey home there is a mixture of feelings, some lamenting their teams, and others jubilant their team won.  There is no rancour, everyone shuffles in an orderly manner, bearing the slow entry to the station, and the long lines to get on the train.

Others who perhaps came by car, or who have decided to wait for a later train or other transport, let their children kick the football around on the leaf-covered parkland surrounding the stadium.

It is an integral part of this game that children experience the football effect.  Kicking a ball with your father, brothers, and sisters, or friends on that late autumn afternoon is a memory that will be cherished for a long long time.

It’s where you pretend you are your favourite player and are every bit as good.  I know that’s what I used to do with my father, and that is what I did with my sons.

But no matter what the state of the game, it is the weekend the football fans look forward to and whom turn out in their hundreds of thousands.  It is a game that ignites passions, it brings highs and it brings incredible lows.

And, through thick and thin, we never stop supporting them.

Where does time go?

NaNoWriMo starts in a few days time and I thought I had it under control, the preparatory work that is.

Nothing could be further than the truth.

I was looking at the outline last night, and it was as if I had the finished book in my hands and I was doing the second reading, part of the endless editing process.

Plot holes bigger than sink holes were appearing before my eyes.

The start is, quite frankly, lame.

There something missing in the middle and there seems some disjointed writing that seems to have no relevance to anything before, so..

Back to the drawing board and …

Panic.

What I need is some thing to hook the reader from page one, not put them to sleep.

OMG.

How the hell am I going to get this mess into some sort of shape before the start.

I guess there’s no time like the present.

Being Inspired – the book

Over the past year or so I have been selecting photographs I’ve taken on many travels, and put a story to them.

When I reached a milestone of 50 stories, I decided to make them into a book, and, in doing so, I have gone through each and revised them, making some longer and into short stories.

50 photographs, 50 stories.  I’ve called it, “Inspiration, Maybe”

It will be available soon.

InspirationMaybe1v1

Past conversations with my cat – 21

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This is Chester. He’s waiting for me.

Or he is on guard mode. He does this sometimes when he hears the click of the back gate latch.

He has better hearing than me.

I’m not sure what he’s going to do if the visitor is 6 foot 10 and carrying an Uzi but it’s good to know we’re both going down fighting.

But, nothing.

It’s the wind again.

I guess if a cat could sigh, he would.

And winge about the vagaries of weather interrupting his afternoon nap.

That gives me an idea…

“Echoes From The Past”, buried, but not deep enough

What happens when your past finally catches up with you?

Christmas is just around the corner, a time to be with family. For Will Mason, an orphan since he was fourteen, it is a time for reflection on what his life could have been, and what it could be.

Until a chance encounter brings back to life the reasons for his twenty years of self-imposed exile from a life only normal people could have. From that moment Will’s life slowly starts to unravel and it’s obvious to him it’s time to move on.

This time, however, there is more at stake.

Will has broken his number one rule, don’t get involved.

With his nemesis, Eddie Jamieson, suddenly within reach, and a blossoming relationship with an office colleague, Maria, about to change everything, Will has to make a choice. Quietly leave, or finally, make a stand.

But as Will soon discovers, when other people are involved there is going to be terrible consequences no matter what choice he makes.

http://amzn.to/2F7gqAL

newechocover5rs

 

Reality television, just why am I watching this stuff?

If I was ever in doubt that there was one medium that could produce a thousand storylines, it’s watching reality television.

It is truly horrible, and is somewhat akin to a ‘train wreck’.  Why, then, do we watch it?  And why on earth am I watching it?

Currently, where I live, there was a show called ‘Married at first sight’.  Going by the title, you can guess the premise, two people are matched by ‘science’ and meet for the first time at the altar.  They then live together, with and without external influences for a number of weeks before deciding if they want to continue after the show ends.

As it happens, the experts here have yet to get it right in a number of series (or, I think they may have succeeded on one occasion).

Whilst the fact it looks to be scripted, a fact the Producers vehemently deny, it is impossible to wrap your head around some of the antics, and especially the words used by the ‘participants’.  Decent people do not ‘act’ in the manner of some of these people, and more often than not, several of the ‘participants’ are labeled by the public as ‘actors’.

I guess, in most reality television, ratings can only be achieved by controversy.

Certainly, the Twitterverse goes off after an episode, championing the good and railing into the bad.  Each will, good or bad, get their fifteen minutes of fame.

And, is it not surprising we have learned one of the participants is going to write a ‘no holds barred’ account of her time in the show, but given the fact all participants have to sign an NDA,  I don’t whether it will ever hit the bookstores.

I was considering doing the same, from an armchair perspective.   But, sadly, when I thought about it, it would never sell.  No one could believe or even identify with the antics these people get up to.

It’s the reason why Big Brother disappeared.

But, never fear, there’s a new disaster, I mean series, on TV called Love Island.  I’ve seen the promos.  Perhaps I should leave it at that!

It’s heating up

Round about now, in our part of the southern hemisphere, spring is nearly a month gone and leading into November, we start having hot days.

Today, is is going to be 30 degrees Celsius.

This is the calm before the storm, because round about now, we not only have to contend with the heat, we also have the humidity, sometimes reaching 100 percent.

Those days, every move you make, causes endless perspiration.

So, best not to go outside if you can avoid it.

Some years ago we out in air conditioning and it’s been great for summer. Then, the climate change became a factor in everything, and saw huge increases in the cost of water, and in particular, electricity.

Our bill for summer frequently topped a 1,000 dollars for the three months, and getting worse every year.

So, last year we put on solar panels. What a difference. The air conditioning costs very little and our bills are now about 300 dollars for the three months.

More money then for holidays.

Watching the ice hockey has put in my mind a trip to either Canada or America, to coincide with the Maple Leads playing. In Toronto, if they play there it costs a small fortune for tickets, last time over 1,800 dollars, and they lost. As it happened when we were in New York, they were playing the New Jersey Devils, so we jumped on the train and went. It cost 280 dollars, and they won.

I think there’s a message there.

New York, here we come.

Aside from the lure of ice hockey, there’s the cold. The idea of minus 19 degrees may faze some people, but not us. If you can imagine endless days at 35 degrees Celsius with 100 percent humidity, you would understand why we prefer to be anywhere but home.

But, of course, there’s quite a few places where ice hockey is played, and where it is equally as cheap to go and see them play, so I’m checking out the draw.

And I can check put some new locations for my stories.

That’s what I call win-win.