Category: Book

Writing a book in 365 days – My Story 46

More about my story – And more on the subject of Beta readers!

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The Beta Reader Gauntlet: Navigating Feedback That Feels Like a Punch to the Gut

Here’s the thing.

Every writer knows this quiet dread, this cold sweat moment that hits long before the manuscript is even finished: What if the beta readers find a fundamental flaw in the story? What if the very foundations you’ve painstakingly laid turn out to be cracked, crumbling, or just plain wonky?

It’s a terrifying thought, but let’s be honest with ourselves: it’s a very real possibility.

The Unseen Chaos of Creation

When you’re deep in the trenches of writing, especially over an extended period, the process itself can create inconsistencies. We’ve all been there:

  • Disjointed Aspects: Plot threads we thought we’d tied up suddenly unravel, or new ones appear from nowhere, leaving logical gaps.
  • Character Trait Drift: Isabel started as a shy introvert, but by chapter 15, she’s leading the charge and cracking jokes. Did she have an arc, or did we just forget her initial persona?
  • Name Changes & Forgotten Details: That minor character, Officer Jenkins, who mysteriously became Sergeant Miller a few chapters later. Or the key plot point about a missing locket, which was actually a ring earlier in the draft.
  • Lost Flow: Life happens. We write in bursts, in fragments, around jobs and families. The initial spark, the driving rhythm of the narrative, can get fragmented, leaving jarring transitions or a meandering pace.

These internal shifts, often invisible to our own eyes because we’re so close to the material, are precisely what beta readers are designed to unearth. And boy, can that unearthing feel brutal.

The Character Conundrum: Loved vs. Loathed

Then there’s the beloved protagonist. You’ve poured your heart and soul into them. They’re complex, relatable, flawed – everything a great character should be. You send your manuscript out, excited for feedback, only to get this:

“I absolutely adore Elara! She’s so resilient and genuine.” …followed by… “Honestly, Elara was pretty annoying. I found her whiny and self-absorbed.”

Is there something wrong with your character? Is the conflicting feedback a sign of a fundamental flaw, or simply a matter of taste? This is where the true beta reader dilemma kicks in.

It’s tempting to panic, to immediately question everything you thought you knew about your protagonist. But before you rewrite their entire personality, let’s unpack this.

The Truth About Character Reception: No character, no matter how perfectly crafted, will be universally loved. Some of the most iconic characters in literature and film are divisive for a reason – their complexity sparks strong opinions. The goal isn’t universal adoration; it’s usually about creating a character who resonates meaningfully with your intended audience, or who effectively serves their role in the story.

Ask Deeper Questions:

  • Why did they find them annoying/likable? Is the “annoying” feedback due to genuine inconsistency or a lack of motivation for their actions? Or is it because the character embodies traits that simply rub that particular reader the wrong way (which might be the point of the character)?
  • Does the character achieve their intended purpose? If your character is meant to be a bit abrasive at first, but grows, then initial annoyance might not be a flaw. If they’re meant to be inspiring, and everyone finds them annoying, that’s a problem.
  • Is there a pattern? If one person finds them annoying and ten others love them, perhaps it’s an outlier opinion. If six out of ten find them annoying, it’s time to investigate further.

The Million-Dollar Question: At What Point Do You Consider Changes?

This is the ultimate balancing act of the beta reader process. You can’t implement every single suggestion, or your story will become a disjointed Frankenstein’s monster. But you also can’t dismiss everything.

Here’s a framework for deciding when to make changes:

  1. Look for Patterns, Not Just Individual Comments: If multiple beta readers (especially those with diverse reading tastes) highlight the same plot hole, character inconsistency, confusing timeline, or pacing issue, pay attention. This is a flashing red light. A single comment might be an anomaly; a pattern is a problem.
  2. Does It Resonate with Your Gut? Often, when a beta reader points out a flaw, there’s a quiet voice in the back of your head that says, “Yeah, I kind of knew that.” Trust that feeling. If the feedback confirms a nagging doubt you already had, it’s likely a change worth making.
  3. Distinguish Between “Preference” and “Problem”:
    • Preference: “I wish the villain had a different motivation,” or “I prefer faster pacing.” These are subjective. Consider them, but don’t feel obligated to change unless they align with a broader pattern or your own vision.
    • Problem: “I didn’t understand why the character did X, it felt out of character,” or “The plot felt like it stopped completely in the middle section.” These indicate a structural or logical issue that needs addressing.
  4. Consider the Scope:
    • Fundamental Flaws: Issues with plot, character arc, world-building logic, or core themes require significant attention. These are the “punch to the gut” feedbacks that, while painful, are vital to fix. They often require rewriting entire sections.
    • Mid-Level Issues: Pacing problems, confusing descriptions, minor character inconsistencies. These might require trimming, expanding, or clearer exposition.
    • Minor Edits: Typos, grammatical errors, word choices. These are easily fixable during the copyediting stage.
  5. Give Yourself Time: Don’t react immediately. Read all the feedback, then walk away for a few days (or even a week). Let your emotions settle. When you return, you’ll be able to assess the comments more objectively.

The beta reader process is less about them finding flaws and more about them helping you find the strongest version of your story. It’s a crucible, yes, but one that hones your craft and your manuscript. Embrace the chaos, learn from the feedback, and have the courage to make the changes that will truly elevate your narrative. Your stronger story (and thicker skin) will thank you for it.

“Echoes From The Past”, the past doesn’t necessarily stay there


What happens when your past finally catches up with you?

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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.

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newechocover5rs

In a word: Dry

We all know what this means, without moisture, in other words not wet.

It could also mean dull factually, as in reading some non-fiction books, and quite often those prescribed as mandatory reading at school.

You could also have a dry sense of humour, where you have to be on your game to understand, or get, the humour.

It could also describe boredom by saying that it’s like watching paint dry.

For those who like a bit of a tipple, the last place you want to go is a dry bar, where no alcohol is served.

Perhaps this should be mandatory for weddings and funerals, places where feelings often run very high and do not need the stimulus of half a dozen double Scotches.

And speaking of alcohol and cider in particular, you can have it sweet, dry, or draft. Many people prefer dry, sometimes the drier the better, especially wine, and oddly martinis.

Aside from whether they are shaken or stirred.

But the most fascinating version of dry is dry cleaning. Just how can you ‘dry’ clean clothes?

Would that be what they call an oxymoron?

An excerpt from “What Sets Us Apart”, a mystery with a twist

See the excerpt from the story below, just a taste of what’s in store…

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whatsetscover

McCallister was old school, a man who would most likely fit in perfectly campaigning on the battlefields of Europe during the Second World War. He’d been like a fish out of water in the army, post-Falklands, and while he retired a hero, he still felt he’d more to give.

He’d applied and was accepted as head of a SWAT team, and, watching him now as he and his men disembarked from the truck in almost military precision, a look passed between Annette, the police liaison officer, and I that said she’d seen it all before. I know I had.

There was a one in four chance his team would be selected for this operation, and she had been hoping it would be one of the other three. While waiting for them to arrive she filled me in on the various teams. His was the least co-operative, and the more likely to make ad-hoc decisions rather than adhere to the plan, or any orders that may come from the officer in charge.

This, she said quite bluntly, was going to end badly.

I still had no idea why Prendergast instructed me to attend the scene of what looked to be a normal domestic operation, but as the nominated expert in the field in these types of situations, it was fairly clear he wasn’t taking any chances. It was always a matter of opinion between us, and generally I lost.

In this case, it was an anonymous report identifying what the authorities believed were explosives in one of the dockside sheds where explosives were not supposed to be.

The only reason why the report was given any credence was the man, while not identifying himself by name, said he’d been an explosive expert once and recognized the boxes. That could mean anything, but the Chief Constable was a cautious man.

With his men settled and preparing their weapons, McCallister came over to the command post, not much more than the SUV my liaison and I arrived in, with weapons, bulletproof vests, and rolls of tape to cordon off the area afterward. We both had coffee, steaming in the cold early morning air. Dawn was slowly approaching and although rain had been forecast it had yet to arrive.

A man by the name of Benson was in charge. He too had groaned when he saw McCallister.

“A fine morning for it.” McCallister was the only enthusiastic one here.

He didn’t say what ‘it’ was, but I thought it might eventually be mayhem.

“Let’s hope the rain stays away. It’s going to be difficult enough without it,” Benson said, rubbing his hands together. We had been waiting for the SWAT team to arrive, and another team to take up their position under the wharf, and who was in the final stages of securing their position.

While we were waiting we drew up the plan. I’d go in first to check on what we were dealing with, and what type of explosives. The SWAT team, in the meantime, were to ensure all the exits to the shed were covered. When I gave the signal, they were to enter and secure the building. We were not expecting anyone inside or out, and no movement had been detected in the last hour since our arrival and deployment.

“What’s the current situation?”

“I’ve got eyes on the building, and a team coming in from the waterside, underneath. Its slow progress, but they’re nearly there. Once they’re in place, we’re sending McKenzie in.”

He looked in my direction.

“With due respect sir, shouldn’t it be one of us?” McCallister glared at me with the contempt that only a decorated military officer could.

“No. I have orders from above, much higher than I care to argue with, so, McCallister, no gung-ho heroics for the moment. Just be ready to move on my command, and make sure you have three teams at the exit points, ready to secure the building.”

McCallister opened his mouth, no doubt to question those orders, but instead closed it again. “Yes sir,” he muttered and turned away heading back to his men.

“You’re not going to have much time before he storms the battlements,” Benson quietly said to me, a hint of exasperation in his tone. “I’m dreading the paperwork.”

It was exactly what my liaison officer said when she saw McCallister arriving.

The water team sent their ‘in position’ signal, and we were ready to go.

In the hour or so we’d been on site nothing had stirred, no arrivals, no departures, and no sign anyone was inside, but that didn’t mean we were alone. Nor did it mean I was going to walk in and see immediately what was going on. If it was a cache of explosives then it was possible the building was booby-trapped in any number of ways, there could be sentries or guards, and they had eyes on us, or it might be a false alarm.

I was hoping for the latter.

I put on the bulletproof vest, thinking it was a poor substitute for full battle armor against an exploding bomb, but we were still treating this as a ‘suspected’ case. I noticed my liaison officer was pulling on her bulletproof vest too.

“You don’t have to go. This is my party, not yours,” I said.

“The Chief Constable told me to stick to you like glue, sir.”

I looked at Benson. “Talk some sense into her please, this is not a kindergarten outing.”

He shrugged. Seeing McCallister had taken all the fight out of him. “Orders are orders. If that’s what the Chief Constable requested …”

Madness. I glared at her, and she gave me a wan smile. “Stay behind me then, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Believe me, I won’t be.” She pulled out and checked her weapon, chambering the first round. It made a reassuring sound.

Suited up, weapons readied, a last sip of the coffee in a stomach that was already churning from nerves and tension, I looked at the target, one hundred yards distant and thought it was going to be the longest hundred yards I’d ever traversed. At least for this week.

A swirling mist rolled in and caused a slight change in plans.

Because the front of the buildings was constantly illuminated by large overhead arc lamps, my intention had been to approach the building from the rear where there was less light and more cover. Despite the lack of movement, if there were explosives in that building, there’d be ‘enemy’ surveillance somewhere, and, after making that assumption, I believed it was going to be easier and less noticeable to use the darkness as a cover.

It was a result of the consultation, and studying the plans of the warehouse, plans that showed three entrances, the main front hangar type doors, a side entrance for truck entry and exit and a small door in the rear, at the end of an internal passage leading to several offices. I also assumed it was the exit used when smokers needed a break. Our entry would be by the rear door or failing that, the side entrance where a door was built into the larger sliding doors. In both cases, the locks would not present a problem.

The change in the weather made the approach shorter, and given the density of the mist now turning into a fog, we were able to approach by the front, hugging the walls, and moving quickly while there was cover. I could feel the dampness of the mist and shivered more than once.

It was nerves more than the cold.

I could also feel rather than see the presence of Annette behind me, and once felt her breath on my neck when we stopped for a quick reconnaissance.

It was the same for McCallister’s men. I could feel them following us, quickly and quietly, and expected, if I turned around, to see him breathing down my neck too.

It added to the tension.

My plan was still to enter by the back door.

We slipped up the alley between the two sheds to the rear corner and stopped. I heard a noise coming from the rear of the building, and the light tap on the shoulder told me Annette had heard it too. I put my hand up to signal her to wait, and as a swirl of mist rolled in, I slipped around the corner heading towards where I’d last seen the glow of a cigarette.

The mist cleared, and we saw each other at the same time. He was a bearded man in battle fatigues, not the average dockside security guard.

He was quick, but my slight element of surprise was his undoing, and he was down and unconscious in less than a few seconds with barely a sound beyond the body hitting the ground. Zip ties secured his hands and legs, and tape his mouth. Annette joined me a minute after securing him.

A glance at the body then me, “I can see why they, whoever they are, sent you.”

She’d asked who I worked for, and I didn’t answer. It was best she didn’t know.

“Stay behind me,” I said, more urgency in my tone. If there was one, there’d be another.

Luck was with us so far. A man outside smoking meant no booby traps on the back door, and quite possibly there’d be none inside. But it indicated there were more men inside, and if so, it appeared they were very well trained. If that were the case, they would be formidable opponents.

The fear factor increased exponentially.

I slowly opened the door and looked in. A pale light shone from within the warehouse itself, one that was not bright enough to be detected from outside. None of the offices had lights on, so it was possible they were vacant. I realized then they had blacked out the windows. Why hadn’t someone checked this?

Once inside, the door closed behind us, progress was slow and careful. She remained directly behind me, gun ready to shoot anything that moved. I had a momentary thought for McCallister and his men, securing the perimeter.

At the end of the corridor, the extent of the warehouse stretched before us. The pale lighting made it seem like a vast empty cavern, except for a long trestle table along one side, and, behind it, stacks of wooden crates, some opened. It looked like a production line.

To get to the table from where we were was a ten-yard walk in the open. There was no cover. If we stuck to the walls, there was equally no cover and a longer walk.

We needed a distraction.

As if on cue, the two main entrances disintegrated into flying shrapnel accompanied by a deafening explosion that momentarily disoriented both Annette and I. Through the smoke and dust kicked up I saw three men appear from behind the wooden crates, each with what looked like machine guns, spraying bullets in the direction of the incoming SWAT members.

They never had a chance, cut down before they made ten steps into the building.

By the time I’d recovered, my head heavy, eyes watering and ears still ringing, I took several steps towards them, managing to take down two of the gunmen but not the third.

I heard a voice, Annette’s I think, yell out, “Oh, God, he’s got a trigger,” just before another explosion, though all I remember in that split second was a bright flash, the intense heat, something very heavy smashing into my chest knocking the wind out of me, and then the sensation of flying, just before I hit the wall.

I spent four weeks in an induced coma, three months being stitched back together and another six learning to do all those basic actions everyone took for granted. It was twelve months almost to the day when I was released from the hospital, physically, except for a few alterations required after being hit by shrapnel, looking the same as I always had.

But mentally? The document I’d signed on release said it all, ‘not fit for active duty; discharged’.

It was in the name of David Cheney. For all intents and purposes, Alistair McKenzie was killed in that warehouse, and for the first time ever, an agent left the Department, the first to retire alive.

I was not sure I liked the idea of making history.

© Charles Heath 2016-2020

NANOWRIMO – November 2025 – Day 17

…

The Third Son of a Duke

…

Melbourne in March 1915. 

It’s the tail end of a hot summer.

Our protagonist is expecting to see all of his friends made on that epic voyage a year before.

It’s a moment of profound disappointment.

But it is to be expected.  He cannot expect that the world was going to sit still and wait for him to decide what he’s going to do.

After all, he was supposed to be up in Queensland chasing down errant cattle for what then was a foreseeable future.

Rose is off, having visited the cousins in Footscray, and was seeking new adventures in Bairnsdale, though it’s not clear how she met anyone from there, or how it is she found herself as chief bridesmaid at a wedding in Maffra.

Louise, the new possible love of his life, had taken what little nursing training she had and parlayed it into becoming a volunteer nurse for the army, having just left, not a week or two before, to head to the front to care for the wounded.

He might just find her in Egypt, making this story almost an epic love story.

And Margaret, still in Melbourne, who got the letter he sent that morning, which is why she is at the station to greet him.

He has mixed feelings about Margaret, which he has had since their encounter in Naples.

If it wasn’t for Louise…

…

2325 words, for a total of 27190 words.

Writing about writing a book – Research

Day 24 – The perils of a patrol in the jungle

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The Threshold of Contact: A Tactical and Psychological Reconstruction of the U.S. Infantry Patrol in the Vietnam War

This reconstructs the experience of a typical long-range reconnaissance patrol (LRP) undertaken by U.S. combat infantry during the Vietnam War (1965–1973). It moves sequentially through the mission profile: the logistical and psychological dynamics of insertion into the Area of Operations (AO); the gruelling physical and mental challenges posed by the triple-canopy jungle and climate; the sustained tension of anticipating contact with an invisible, adaptable enemy; and the immediate chaos and medical exigencies of the resultant firefight. Drawing on military doctrine, veteran testimony, and historical analysis, the paper argues that the patrol was the fundamental tactical unit defining the conflict, characterised by a unique fusion of high-technology logistical support (air mobility) and primitive small-unit jungle warfare, where the most significant adversary was often not the enemy’s firepower but the pervasive psychological burden of constant, indiscriminate danger.

1. Introduction: The Infantry’s War

The conflict in Southeast Asia was largely fought through small-unit operations, making the infantry patrol the definitive mechanism of engagement. Unlike previous wars defined by linear fronts, Vietnam was characterised by “search and destroy” missions and area denial, mandates that required soldiers to enter remote terrain and actively seek an elusive enemy—the Viet Cong (VC) or the North Vietnamese Army (NVA).

This paper focuses on the sensory, logistical, and traumatic reality of the patrol. It aims to transcend simple narrative by analysing how doctrine, technology, and environment intersect to create a unique combat psychology. The typical patrol was a multi-stage process, beginning with the transition from the relative safety of a Forward Operating Base (FOB) to the hostile solitude of the jungle, a journey that tested the limits of human endurance even before contact was made.

2. Threshold of Engagement: Insertion into the AO

The modern American soldier’s entry into battle was typically mediated by air mobility, primarily the Bell UH-1 Iroquois, or “Huey” helicopter. This stage of the operation, termed the Initial Insertion, was a critical psychological pivot point.

2.1 Logistics and Sensory Overload

The patrol—usually a squad (10–12 men) or platoon (30–40 men), depending on the mission profile—gathered at a designated staging point. Gear loads were immense, often exceeding 70 pounds: M-16s, bandoliers of ammunition, claymore mines, radios (PRC-25), medical supplies, and basic rations.

Insertion occurred via air assault, a rapid deployment designed to minimise exposure to enemy fire. The ride itself was an assault on the senses: the deafening whop-whop-whop of the rotors, the smell of aviation fuel, and the intense scrutiny of the LZ (Landing Zone) below.

Analysis: The helicopter insertion served two tactical purposes: speed and surprise. Psychologically, however, the insertion was a jarring transition. As the slick dipped down and the adrenaline-fueled dash out onto the hot LZ occurred, the pervasive noise suddenly vanished with the aircraft’s departure. The immediate, suffocating silence of the jungle replaced the mechanical roar, marking the psychological shift from external support to absolute self-reliance.

If the AO was coastal or riverine (e.g., the Mekong Delta or I Corps near the coast), insertion might occur via PBR (Patrol Boat, River). This method offered better stealth but was slower and exposed the unit to riverbank ambushes, requiring heavy pre-patrol suppression fire. Regardless of method, the objective was the same: move quickly away from the insertion point, as the enemy monitored all helicopter or boat traffic and would immediately begin converging on the unit’s known location.

3. The Slog: Doctrine, Terrain, and the Invisible Enemy

Once in the jungle, the patrol transitioned into its primary phase: movement through hostile terrain, guided by strict Standard Operating Procedures (SOPs) designed for survival.

3.1 Physical Deterioration and Environmental Adversity

The Vietnamese jungle was an environmental antagonist. Movement was agonizingly slow, often limited to less than 1,000 meters per hour. The terrain was characterised by triple-canopy jungle, creating perpetual gloom, or thick, razor-sharp elephant grass.

The relentless tropical climate (humidity often exceeding 90% and temperatures in the high 90s°F) rapidly induced heat exhaustion and dehydration. Soldiers were routinely soaked, either from sweat, torrential rain, or wading through marshes. This environment severely degraded both equipment and human performance, leading to endemic afflictions like trench foot, immersion syndrome, and severe psychological fatigue.

3.2 Tactical Movement and Psychological Burden

To mitigate the risk of ambush, patrols employed classic small-unit tactics: staggered columns, moving in fire team wedges, maintaining a minimum 10–20 meter separation between men to prevent mass casualties from a single explosion.

The most critical role was the Point Man, who walked 50–100 meters ahead of the main body. The point man was the unit’s eyes and ears, tasked with detecting tripwires, disturbed earth indicating booby traps, or subtle signs of enemy passage (broken branches, cigarette butts). This position carried the highest possibility of initiating contact, making it a role of intense psychological pressure and high casualty risk.

Doctrine meets Psychology: The very nature of the enemy—often unseen, rarely engaging in set-piece battles—forced an aggressive paranoia. The invisible enemy dictated that every step, regardless of noise or environment, carried the potential for lethal contact. This systemic ambiguity, where the soldier was always exposed but never sure when the attack would come, was arguably the most exhausting aspect of the patrol.

4. Anticipation and the Noise of Silence

As the patrol proceeded deeper into the AO, the tactical objective shifted from movement to reconnaissance and the active search for signs of enemy presence (e.g., trails, bunkers, rice caches). This pre-contact phase was defined by hypervigilance.

4.1 The Threat Matrix

The patrol was constantly navigating a complex threat matrix that included:

  1. Snipers: Single shots designed to induce panic and force the unit into a defensive posture.
  2. Booby Traps: Anti-personnel devices (like the Punji stake or buried artillery shells) that inflicted non-lethal but debilitating injuries, creating a requirement for medevac that often lured the patrol into a subsequent ambush.
  3. Ambush Sites: Pre-sited kill zones manned by VC or NVA units, typically placed along known trails or natural chokepoints.

4.2 The Peak of Tension

The hours leading up to contact were marked by sensory distortion. Exhaustion and fear amplified every natural jungle noise—a bird call, a shifting branch—until it registered as a potential threat. Squad leaders continuously communicated via hand signals, minimising radio use to deny the enemy signals intelligence.

The common expectation was that contact would begin with a sudden, overwhelming initiation by the enemy. The VC/NVA doctrine prioritised ambush and swift withdrawal, aiming to inflict maximum casualties in the first 30 seconds before the American unit could bring its superior firepower (artillery and air support) to bear.

5. Contact and the Casualty Toll

The moment of contact shattered the strained silence. It was typically instantaneous, violent, and disorienting.

5.1 The Initiation of Fire

On a typical patrol, contact was initiated by an enemy ambush team concealed along a flank. The trigger was often the point man stepping past a designated firing marker, leading to a sudden burst of automatic fire (AK-47s) and sometimes Rocket-Propelled Grenades (RPGs).

The initial burst was aimed at the front and rear of the column—the lead element (to disable command and radio) and the trailing element (to block withdrawal). This tactic, known as “hugging the belt,” pinned the patrol down.

5.2 The Crucible of the Firefight

The immediate response was dictated by rigorous training:

  1. Go Prone: Drop immediately and seek cover, returning fire to the point of muzzle flash.
  2. Establish a Base of Fire: The patrol’s designated machine gunner (M60) immediately suppressed the enemy position, even before visual confirmation.
  3. Flanking Maneuver: The squad or platoon leader, if not immediately disabled, attempted to coordinate troops to flank the enemy position, thereby escaping the pre-sighted kill zone.

The sensory reality of the firefight was overwhelming: the deafening crack of incoming rounds, the smell of cordite and burning foliage, and the frantic shouts for ammunition and corpsmen.

5.3 Casualties and the Medical Crisis

Within the first minute of contact, casualties inevitably occurred. The sudden transition from movement to medical triage under direct fire defined the immediate outcome of the engagement.

WIA (Wounded in Action): The Corpsman (medic) became the immediate focus of survival. Risking his own life, he assessed the wounded, applying pressure dressings, tourniquets, and administering morphine. The priority was stopping life-threatening hemorrhage and preparing the casualty for evacuation, often necessitating a dangerous move into the line of fire. KIA (Killed in Action): If a soldier was killed, securing his weapon and radio became imperative, secondary only to securing the living.

5.4 The Medevac Lifeline

The U.S. advantage lay in its casualty evacuation system. The patrol leader immediately called for a Dustoff (medevac helicopter) via the Forward Observer (FO) or Radioman. Retrieving the wounded required clearing an LZ nearby or hoisting the casualty through the jungle canopy—a process often undertaken while the firefight was still ongoing, protected by covering fire from the remaining patrol members and supporting air power (gunships). The psychological significance of the Dustoff arriving was immense; it represented the return of technology and support to the isolation of the jungle.

6. Conclusion: The Legacy of the Patrol

The infantry patrol in Vietnam was an ordeal defined by logistical precision, environmental hostility, and profound psychological stress. It was a contradiction: fighting a pre-industrial ambush war with the support of a highly mechanised military machine.

The experience detailed—from the deafening insertion to the silent anticipation, and finally, the violent, chaotic contact—underscores that the true nature of the war was personal and small-scale. Success was measured not in capturing territory, but in surviving the day, inflicting proportional losses, and ensuring the wounded were extracted.

The legacy of the patrol experience is foundational to modern military psychology and small-unit tactics. It highlights the sustained, debilitating toll of jungle warfare and the unique resilience required of soldiers charged with seeking out an invisible enemy in a theatre where every foot of ground was a potential death trap.

The cinema of my dreams – I never wanted to go to Africa – Episode 40

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.

 

I left the others out the front of the hut in Barnes charge, except for Williamson who stayed inside, feigning illness.  If everything went according to plan, a sketchy plan at best, Monroe would slip the diamonds to Williamson, and then melt back into the bush, heading back towards the fork in the road heading to the airstrip.  She would then report on what troops were between us and our objective.

I signaled for Davies to join me.

The commander and the man who’d reported to him earlier strode across the compound to a smaller building that might pass as a jail.  There was a guard out the front who jumped up and snapped to attention when the commander came up the steps.

“Open the door.”

The guard fumbled with a ring of keys, found the one for the door, and unlocked it.

The commander looked at me.  “You may speak to them for five minutes.”

“Alone.  You have my word we’ll not try anything.”

He nodded at the guard.  “Bottom of the steps.  Don’t let them out of your sight.”  To me, he pointed to another building about 50 yards away, “I’ll be there, don’t keep me waiting.”

We waited for him to come down the steps and start striding to his office, then went up the stairs, and I knocked on the door.  “My name is James, and I’m here with Davies to take you home.  We’re coming in.”

I opened the door slowly pulling it towards me, and the odor that came out of the room was that of people who had not been allowed to wash for several days, if not longer.  Once the door was fully open and the interior lit, I could see two stretchers and two men sitting up, struggling with the light in their eyes.

At least they were able to sit up.

Our information was they had been captive now for about seven months, and, looking at them, they didn’t seem to appear to badly off.  They showed signs of weight loss, and pallid skin, but not to the point of being maltreated or starved.

“Who did you say you were?”  The man on the left was about 50ish, grey thinning hair, and I suspect once a lot bulkier than he was now.  There was an air of brashness about him, but that would have been beaten out of him long ago.  Now he was just a shell of his former self.

“Sgt James, and Lieutenant Davies.  Part of the rescue team sent to bring you home.  A Colonel Bamfield sent us.”

“You took your time.”

Th either man spoke.  Younger, a military type, perhaps the other man’s bodyguard.  He had a few scars, so I expect he had offered some resistance and paid for it with the butt of a gun or two.

“We tried once, but it failed.  There were not the people who had been holding you at the time though, were they?”

“No.  If that was an attempt, they were the people who came to ‘rescue’ us, only it was a means for them to use us for ransom.  It’s taken them a while to find the right people.  Bamfield you say?  Who is he?”

“Runs the military’s operations that the military doesn’t want to acknowledge.  We’re here, but we’re not here if you know what I mean.”

The older man shook his head.  “It doesn’t matter.  What happens now?”

“I go and have another chat with the commander.  We exchange gifts, and we leave.”

“You do realize that’s not going to happen,” the military type said with a degree of despondency.

“How so?”

“There are about 50 men here, possibly more, all armed, and all waiting for you to arrive.  I expect they’ll take the ransom and then kill all of us.”

“Yes, I had thought that might be the case.  But, don’t worry.  We have a few tricks up our sleeve.  So, gather your belongings, if you have any, and wait for us to come back and get you.”

“Are you going to drive out of here?”  The military man spoke again.

“A short distance, yes.  There’s an airstrip not far from here, so all we have to do is get there, and we’re halfway home.”

“There’ll be government troops there.  It’s used for people coming in to visit the national park and they provide local security.  Boroko knows the Captain in charge there, and they have an arrangement.  He’ll know what your options are, and you’ll just be walking into a trap.”

That had always been a possibility, but Bamfield wouldn’t send us there unless there was a chance we could use it for our escape.  But, what the man was saying was just another wrinkle in a plan that had lots of wrinkles.

“Provided you get a mile from this place before being attacked.”

“All very interesting points,” I said.  “But, like I said, pack your stuff and let me worry about the details.  Feel free to take in some fresh air while we’re gone.  It won’t be long.”

“I’ll stay,” Davies said.

“OK.”

I took a last look at the two, both now struggling to their feet.  They might not be in as good a condition as the commander had said.  As long as they could cover about half a mile at best, everything would be fine.

I walked slowly back to the hut where Williamson had just emerged, and I went over to him.

He handed me a package that hardly made a dent in my pocket.  It was probably the reason why diamonds were used, small, and easily transportable.  Gold bars would have been a different, and far more difficult, proposition.

From there, I walked more briskly to the commander’s hut and as I approached he came out.

“Everything in order?”

“It is.”

I pulled the package out of my pocket and handed it to him.  “You can check the contents while I wait here.”

A smile, like a cat who swallowed the canary.  A nod to a soldier standing behind me, I could hear the weapon being trained on me.

“I guess this is where…”

A second later the soldier crumpled to the ground, a bloody mess where his head had just been.  A second raised his gun and suffered the same result.

“Call off your dogs’ commander.  I’m sure we both don’t want to see people die needlessly.”

Two hands for a signal to lower weapons.

“Your missing people.”

“Out there, strategically placed.  Excellent marksmen too.  At the moment they’re showing restraint.  It’s up to you how long that lasts.”

He motioned to the guard at the prisoner’s hut to take them to the cars, “Join them, Sargeant James, I’ll be along when I’ve checked the diamonds.”

By the time the two men had joined the rest of the team at the cars, the commander had come out of his office and was walking towards us.

“Three cars, we’ll keep the other.  I assume you’re heading towards the airstrip.”

“It’s one of our options.  I hear the government had a platoon of soldiers there under the command of a Captain.  You might want to warn him we’re coming.  You might also want to warn whoever you have in the field between here and there we’re coming.”

“I can’t guarantee your safety once you leave the compound.  If there is anyone out there, it will not be my men.  We have an agreement remember.”

“Good.”  

While we were talking the others had got themselves into the cars and started the engines.  Time was of the essence.

We walked down to the barrier, and once again he ordered his guards to remove it.

Once they had the cars drove past and then the last car stopped just the other side, waiting for me.

“I wish you good luck, Sargeant James.”

“Let’s hope the atmospherics don’t interfere with my call to my people.  I’d hate to see this place destroyed because of a misunderstanding.”

I hadn’t seen Jacobi since just after we arrived, and he had headed straight to the commander’s hut.  No doubt they had a lot to talk about.

I got in the car, and we drove off.

I was half expecting a hail of bullets, but all I could see was the two guards replacing the barrier and the commander standing behind it, arms crossed, still looking like the cat who swallowed the canary.

 

© Charles Heath 2020

Writing a book in 365 days – 304

Day 304

What is ‘style’

…

What Is Style, Anyway? A Deep Dive into Its Many Faces

You hear the word “style” thrown around everywhere. “Oh, she has great style!” “That’s not really my style.” “We need to adopt a new brand style.” But have you ever stopped to consider just how multifaceted and powerful this seemingly simple concept truly is?

From the clothes we wear to the way we craft a sentence, style is an invisible force shaping perception, conveying meaning, and defining identity. Let’s peel back the layers and explore the various aspects that make up the rich tapestry of “style.”

1. Your Signature: Personal Style

This is perhaps the most intimate and immediately recognizable form of style. Your personal style is your unique fingerprint on the world – the way you speak, dress, decorate your home, or even how you approach a problem.

In writing, your personal style is your distinctive voice. It’s the rhythm of your prose, your preferred vocabulary, your unique way of structuring sentences, and the characteristic tone you adopt. It’s what makes a reader say, “Ah, I can tell this is by [Your Name]!” early on in a piece. It’s developed over time, shaped by your experiences, personality, and influences, and it’s what makes your work authentically yours. Whether it’s a dry wit, a poignant lyricism, or a straightforward reportage, your personal style is your artistic DNA.

2. The Blueprint: Categorical & Aesthetic Styles

Beyond the individual, style often manifests in broader categories or aesthetic movements. These are frameworks that have evolved over time, often tied to specific historical periods, philosophies, or artistic intentions.

Think about architecture: you immediately picture different elements for Gothic (soaring arches, intricate details, dramatic light) versus Minimalist (clean lines, functional forms, understated elegance).

In literature, these categorical styles define genres and movements:

  • Minimalist Prose: Characterised by sparse language, short sentences, and a focus on showing rather than telling. It strips away excess to convey essential meaning.
  • Gothic Style: Evokes a sense of dread, mystery, and romanticism, often featuring dark settings, supernatural elements, and heightened emotions.
  • Free Verse: A poetic style that disregards traditional meter and rhyme schemes, allowing the poet to create their own rhythm and structure, often mimicking natural speech patterns.
  • Stream of Consciousness: A narrative style that attempts to depict the multitudinous thoughts and feelings that pass through the mind.

These styles provide a common language and a set of shared conventions that allow artists and audiences to connect within a recognised context. They are not rigid cages but rather rich traditions from which to draw inspiration or, indeed, to deliberately diverge.

3. The Adaptable Garment: Contextual & Required Style

Sometimes, style isn’t about personal expression or aesthetic preference; it’s about purpose and audience. This is where contextual and required style comes into play – the practical application of tailoring your approach to fit a specific need.

  • Publisher Guidelines: If you’re submitting a manuscript, adhering to publisher style guides (e.g., APA, MLA, Chicago, or an in-house guide) is non-negotiable. This dictates everything from formatting and citation methods to hyphenation rules and preferred spellings. It ensures consistency, clarity, and professionalism.
  • Audience-Specific Writing: A story written for a children’s magazine will have a vastly different style than an academic paper or a pulp fiction novel. The vocabulary, sentence structure, themes, and overall tone must be carefully calibrated to resonate with the intended readers. You wouldn’t use complex metaphors for toddlers, nor overly simplistic language for a literary journal.
  • Platform & Medium Specifics: Articles for a fast-paced online news site demand punchy headlines and concise paragraphs, while a feature in a glossy print magazine might allow for more expansive prose and evocative imagery. Each medium has its own stylistic conventions that best serve its purpose and audience.
  • Brand Voice: Businesses and organisations develop a “brand style” or “voice” to ensure all their communications are consistent and reflect their identity, whether it’s formal and authoritative or playful and approachable.

This aspect of style is less about artistic freedom and more about effective communication. It’s the mark of a skilled practitioner who understands how to adapt their craft to meet external demands without necessarily sacrificing their core personal style. It’s about being versatile enough to wear many hats.

The Art of Balancing Act

Ultimately, mastering style involves a fascinating dance between these three aspects. How do you maintain your unique personal voice while writing in a minimalist style for a publisher with strict guidelines aimed at a niche audience?

The answer lies in understanding that style is not monolithic but a dynamic interplay. Your personal style forms the foundation; categorical styles offer a palette of expressive tools; and contextual styles provide the framework for effective delivery.

Embrace the journey of discovering your own unique style, explore the vast landscapes of established aesthetics, and cultivate the wisdom to adapt your approach when the situation demands it. For understanding “style” in all its forms, you unlock a powerful key to self-expression, communication, and connection.

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Oslo

Oslo’s Quiet Gems: 5 Distinctive Attractions That Skip the Tourist Crowds

Oslo is a city defined by breathtaking fjords, modern architectural marvels, and world-class museums. While favourites like the Opera House and the bustling Vigeland Sculpture Park deserve their accolades, sometimes the best travel memories are forged in the quiet corners—those distinctive spots overlooked by the masses.

If you are seeking authenticity, tranquillity, and attractions that offer a truly unique Norwegian flavour without the elbow-to-elbow experience, put down the guidebook and follow our list.

Here are five distinctive Oslo attractions where you can slow down and savour the discovery.

1. Ekebergparken (Ekeberg Sculpture Park)

While Oslo has many incredible viewpoints, few combine panoramic vistas with world-class contemporary art quite like Ekebergparken. Located on the hillside southeast of the city centre, this park is less of a museum and more of an experience.

What Makes it Distinctive? The park features works by international greats like James Turrell, Marina Abramović, and Louise Bourgeois, cleverly integrated into the natural forest landscape. Beyond the art, the site itself is historically significant, featuring ancient rock carvings and WWII bunkers. Critically, these park trails offer one of the best and least crowded settings for capturing the iconic view immortalised in Edvard Munch’s “The Scream.”

Why It’s Uncrowded: It requires a short tram ride up the hill (Line 18 or 19 to Ekebergparken stop), which deters many tourists from sticking solely to the central harbour area.

2. The Emanuel Vigeland Mausoleum

Prepare yourself for a truly unique, slightly macabre, and deeply rewarding experience. While Gustav Vigeland’s towering statues draw millions, his highly eccentric brother Emanuel created a private, haunting masterpiece—his own mausoleum and final resting place.

What Makes it Distinctive? The entire interior of the small, unmarked structure is a dark, barrel-vaulted room adorned with frescoes collectively titled Vita (Life). The ceiling-to-floor artwork depicts dramatic, often heavy themes of human life, death, and sexuality. The atmosphere is deliberately intense: the lights are kept very low, and the acoustics are so sensitive that a caretaker politely requests silence to enhance the feeling of solemn isolation.

Why It’s Uncrowded: It has extremely limited opening hours (usually Sunday afternoons only), making it challenging to visit—which is exactly why it remains a hidden gem for dedicated travellers.

3. Hovedøya Island (The Main Island)

For an immediate escape from city life, hop on a short ferry ride (Boat B1, B2, B3, or B4) from Aker Brygge and head to Hovedøya, the largest and most historically rich island in the Oslo Fjord.

What Makes it Distinctive? Hovedøya offers a perfect blend of lush nature, bathing spots, and fascinating ruins. Within minutes of arriving, you can explore the preserved Cistercian monastery ruins dating back to 1147. Later, the island served as a military base, and you can still find remnants of old defensive structures. Wander the trails, enjoy a picnic by the water, or simply study the medieval stone walls, all while enjoying the crisp fjord air.

Why It’s Uncrowded: While popular with Oslo locals in the height of summer, international tourists often overlook the entire island system in favour of mainland attractions. The short boat journey feels like a genuine adventure but keeps the large tour groups away.

4. Damstredet and Telthusbakken

While Oslo is a modern capital, pockets of its wooden house past remain beautifully preserved. A short walk uphill from the central areas of the city brings you to the charming, picturesque streets of Damstredet and Telthusbakken.

What Makes it Distinctive? These two winding cobblestone streets feel like stepping into a storybook. Lined with perfectly maintained, brightly colored wooden houses from the 18th and 19th centuries, the whole atmosphere speaks of quiet history. Damstredet in particular offers splendid photo opportunities and a glimpse into how many Oslo residents lived before the major urban modernisation programs.

Why It’s Uncrowded: This attraction is purely residential and free. It requires no ticket and isn’t featured on organised group tours. It’s a perfect addition to a self-guided walking tour between the city centre and the tranquil Vår Frelser Cemetery (another quiet spot worth stopping at).

5. The Tøyen Botanical Garden (Botanisk Hage)

Located just outside the buzzing central districts in the Tøyen neighbourhood, Oslo’s Botanical Garden is a serene and scientifically significant outdoor museum that most tourists walk right past on their way to the newer attractions.

What Makes it Distinctive? Managed by the Natural History Museum, the garden is Norway’s oldest and most diverse living collection. Visitors can explore various climate zones within the beautiful Palm House and the Victoria House (home to massive water lilies). The highlight is often the peaceful Scent Garden, designed specifically for the visually impaired, and the historic Old Garden, showcasing plants used for food and medicine throughout Norwegian history.

Why It’s Uncrowded: Despite its beauty and central location near the Munch Museum, the garden offers ample space and shaded trails, meaning the large foot traffic in the area quickly dissipates once you enter the gates. It’s a perfect green lung for contemplation.

Seeking the Authentic Oslo

By prioritizing these five distinctive, yet uncrowded, locations, you gain a deeper understanding of Oslo’s rich history, its commitment to art integration, and the beautiful relationship Norwegians have with their surrounding nature.

Skip the queue, find your quiet corner, and enjoy the authentic pulse of this incredible Nordic capital.

Have you discovered a quiet spot in Oslo that you love? Share your hidden gem in the comments below!

What I learned about writing – Book covers are very important

And, of course, the description.

Probably one of the hardest things for a first-time author is not so much the writing but what is needed after the book is written.

You need a good description.  Short, sharp, incisive!

There’s a ream of advice out there, and I have read it all.

And, still, I got it wrong.

Then there is the cover.

I wanted simplistic, a short description to give the reader a taste of what’s in store, and let the story speak for itself.

No.

Apparently, a good cover will attract the reader to the book.

When I tendered my books on various sites to advertise them, sites such as Goodreads, and ThirdScribe, all was well with what I had done.

Then I submitted my books to a third site and they rejected the covers as too simplistic and the descriptions mundane, and wouldn’t post them.

Wow.

There’s a huge blow to the ego.  And just the sort of advice that would make a writer think twice about even bothering to continue.

But…

Perhaps the person who wrote that critique was being cruel to be kind.

At any rate, I am changing the covers, and rewording the descriptions.

Will it be a case of ‘what a difference a cover makes’?