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 hut was a barracks, with bedding and ablutions for twenty men.  Since this was one of two, I assumed the other hut housed the twenty soldiers that the Colonel had alluded to.  There would be no more than one or two others including the Captain.

Hopefully, there were not more in Nagero.

The two hostages had been taken to the Captain’s office where I assumed there was probably a brig for them to be locked in.  Not quite what I was expecting, but no plan was ever perfect.

I went to the rear and sat down at a table that could accommodate about ten.

Davies and Shurl joined me.

I looked at Shurl.  “Good work, and glad they didn’t shoot you.”

“So am I.  Monroe had joined the others.  I had to make a lot of noise before they found me, so I don’t think this is a crack troop.”

“The Captain, or whatever he is, looks sharp,” Davies said.

“New command perhaps.  Can’t believe his luck, I’m guessing.  Did you get a look at the plane?”

“As much as I could without looking like I was looking at it.  It’s been well maintained, and I have no doubt we can get it off the ground.  It just depends if we need help to get the engines started.  It’s possible they don’t, though it’s not usual for this type of plane.  We shall see when the time comes.”

“Can you take off at night?”

“It’s a bit dangerous without lights.  I see they have a lighting system, so I suggest, if and when we break out of here you get someone to find the switch.”

“Noted.”

“Any idea when that’ll be?”

“I’m sure we have people working on that as we speak.”

The door at the entrance to the hut opened and the Captain stood next to his officer, with a gun pointed loosely in our direction, just in case we got the idea we could escape.

“Mr. James.  Time to tell me all about your escape plans.”

“I’m not so sure they could be called that, now.”

His tone hardened.  “Don’t keep me waiting.  I have people waiting for my report.”

I shrugged and got up.  “Just make sure everyone is ready to move when the time comes.  Tell Baines that I expect him to find the generator and get the lights working.”

The Captain’s impatient look told me not to keep him waiting any longer.

The Captain led the way, and his officer kept the gun pointed at me, just in case of what I’m not sure.  Inside his office, rather spacious, and with a door which likely led to some form of accommodation and the brig where the hostages were being held.  The door was closed so I couldn’t see, so it had to be an assumption.

The officer remained in the doorway, while the Captain sat behind a large desk, and gestured for me to sit the other side.  It didn’t look like a comfortable chair.

I thought I’d start the ball rolling.  “I’m assuming that there isn’t always an army guard on this airstrip?”

“No.  When we heard you were coming for the prisoners, a detachment was sent.  Fortuitous wouldn’t you say?”

“For who.”  Time to sow some seeds of discontent.

“What do you mean Mr. James?”

“Your mate back at the militia camp just pocketed two million US dollars’ worth of diamonds for those two men.  What was your cut?”

A shocked look, one that eased back into benign slowly.  No cut from that look, I’d say.

“We pride ourselves on being above bribery.  That was the old way of doing things.”

“Clearly the militia don’t agree.  Are you going to give them back to the commander so he can raffle them again?”

The Captain didn’t seem to understand the word ‘raffle’.

“Sell them back to us for another two million.  Maybe you should talk to your superiors and see what they think.  If you left us go, I can arrange for five million, for you and your friends to share.”

Disdain, or disappointment.

“What did I just say about bribery.”

“That it’s not the way things are done.  Maybe not in the capital, but this is the boondocks, and you’re the man in charge.  Five million can go a long way, but I suspect if you tell your superiors, you won’t get to see any of it.  Or perhaps you should take a few men over to the Militia commander’s camp and demand your share, or just take it.  After all, Captain, who is in charge of this sector, him or you?”

At least he was thinking about it.  Five million was a lot of money, but in US dollars, that could take him anywhere.

I remembered my old instructor saying, one, ‘every man has his price’.

I just had to find the Captains.

“Aside from trying to bribe me, Mr. James, what were you hoping to achieve here?”

“A rescue.  I know we tried once before and not succeeded, but you know how it is, if you at first don’t succeed, try, try, try again.”

“That it failed before should be a warning that we are not as weak as you might think we are.  The US Army is not necessarily the best in the world.”

“So I’m beginning to discover.  Did we train you?”

“No.  I spent some time in England, training with the British Army.”

So that was where he got his accent and ramrod stiff never a crease out of place posture.

“But,” he said, “this not about me, but you.  And your so-called film crew.  How did you expect top escape through this airstrip, flights are restricted, and you can’t possibly fly in a Hercules?  The runway is not long enough.

“No, we were hoping for something a bit smaller than that, but we’ll find out tomorrow what it is.  I’ll be standing on the patio looking as surprised as you are when it arrives.  Now, let me ask you a question.  Do you know who those men are that you have in detention?”

“Militia prisoners.”

“For doing what?”

“I don’t ask questions.  I obey orders.

“Then I’ll tell you.  They were trying to set up a trade agreement for some precious metal you have in abundance here.  Good for the country for income, and employment.  Might even help you get on better terms with the rest of the world.  Unless of course, you don’t want to.”

“I am a soldier, not a politician.  That’s their problem.  I was told to hold you until my superiors arrive.”

“Who told you?”

“The Colonel.  He’s based in Ada.”

So, we had a leak.  Surprising given the limited circulation of the plan.  It might be down to Jacobi, but somehow, I didn’t think it was him.  He had several opportunities to turn on us and he didn’t.

“So, you’re saying we basically drove into a trap?”

“Yes.  So much for the smart Americans who have all the technology and answers.

I could understand his contempt, especially when the attempt had failed so badly.  Pity then he didn’t understand what was about to happen to him.

© Charles Heath 2020

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.

Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.

And, so, it continues…

——

Mayer fought the urge to panic, and then consider giving himself up.  He remembered what the Standartenfuhrer said, and knew that it was not an option.

He slid back into the forest, then far enough back, stood, and ran, the thick snow not only hampering his speed but also covering the sound of his flight. 

He stopped and listened for the sound of the following soldiers, but all he could hear was the sound of a locomotive and his breathing.  His heart was pounding, not used to such exercise or fear.

The soldiers must have stopped where the running person had fallen, and then on the verge of the tree line when the Standartenfuhrer had been shot.

He kneeled down and struggled to catch his breath.  He had the bad the Standartenfuhrer had thrust upon him as they got out of the car, and hoped it had a map, but it was too dark to look now.

From earlier, he remembered the other side of the railway tracks had trees too, and the road that led to the border, the village, if there was one, and the railway station.  There would also be a small shunting area, freight sheds, or something else to hide in, maybe even a signal tower.

Somewhere warm, and with some light, so he could plan his next move.  He was not sure what the Standartenfuhrer Had planned, but it certainly could not be by car the whole way, and they would not make the rendezvous by walking.

The plan had to include going by train.

Brenner pass was along the main track from Austria to the south of Italy, and from an earlier look at a map, the train would go through F, Verona, Bologna, to Florence where he would find the next guide.

Details of that guide hopefully were in the bag, a bag that he would have to hide or lose if he was captured because it would give away the escape route and resistance members who helped those fleeing Germany.

If he had the time or could think straight.  The cold was making that very difficult.  And there was the shock of losing the Standartenfuhrer.

It took five minutes to regain a certain amount of calm and be able to think. 

First, he had to get back to the tree line and see where he was, in proximity to the village, and the railway tracks.

That took about ten minutes carefully picking his way through the trees.  There was no path, it was dark, and he kept hitting low branches and getting covered in snow. There was enough down the back of his neck to make him very uncomfortable.

When he reached the tree line he looked back from where he had been, about a kilometer, and he could see the torches of the soldiers milling around where he and the Standartenfuhrer had been.  The train was still there, the locomotive’s light blazing in front, lighting a short distance of the track in front of it, almost blindingly bright. 

He was not sure why it was waiting on the track.

Looking the other way, there were two sets of tracks, a wide clear area, then another track with several flat cars and a guards van sitting in darkness, all of which were covered in snow.  They were not being used, so the van might provide some shelter.

He just had to get over there, about 100 meters distant.  The problem was there were lights, not very bright, at regular distances, but short enough that a man might present a shadowy outline if anyone was looking.

If he stayed low and run fast, it might just work.

A train whistle in the distance, coming from Italy caused him to shrink back into the cover of the trees.  Another train was coming.  It was oddly busy at a very late hour.

The locomotive also had a bright light that lit up the edge of the tree line, so he had to go further back to get away from it, and wait until the train passed.  It had a lot of flat cars with tanks and troop carriers on it, going back to Germany.  There were no soldiers so perhaps the equipment was needed elsewhere, maybe that final push to England he kept hearing about.

Once that train passed, the one that had been waiting finally restarted its journey south and slowly rumbled past him.  It was almost like a passenger train with no priority had had to wait until essential war trains passed.

When that train had gone, the surrounding area descended into a quiet, also silent field.  The snow had begun to fall heavier, which would be advantageous, and after several long looks in both directions, he ran, crossing the tracks, the empty space, and then to the guard van where he hid between it and the freight car until he caught his breath.

And see if anyone had seen him, expecting whistles and shouting coming from up the track.

Another look showed that only two torches remained back where there had been frenetic activity.  He hoped they considered they had caught the people they were looking for.

He went down the side of the guard’s van to the door, climbed the ladder, and tried the door.  It was unlocked.  There was no reason why it would be locked.

He went in and shut the door, and immediately it was warmer, and certainly dryer.  IT was impossibly dark inside, so he felt around in the bag and found a torch.  Someone had been clever enough to add a torch, some first aid equipment.  The papers included a map.

He checked the cabin for windows and found the shutters were closed, so he didn’t have to stifle the torches light.  A further check showed a bed at the end of the cabin, with a blanket, musty but dry.

There was a stove, a kettle with water, and a tin of tea leaves.  He wasn’t going to start a fire, so no tea.  There was no food, so the hunger would have to remain for a while longer.  The water tasted alright, but he could melt some snow if he needed more.

A place to stay, at least until daybreak when it would be wise to get into the forest on the roadside, and head towards the village, or perhaps wait for a train and see if he could hide on it for the trip south.

First, he needed some rest.

——-

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

There’s something to be said for a story that starts like a James Bond movie, throwing you straight in the deep end, a perfect way of getting to know the main character, David, or is that Alistair?

A retired spy, well not so much a spy as a retired errand boy, David’s rather wry description of his talents, and a woman that most men would give their left arm for, not exactly the ideal couple, but there is a spark in a meeting that may or may not have been a setup.

But as the story progressed, the question I kept asking myself was why he’d bother.

And, page after unrelenting page, you find out.

Susan is exactly the sort of woman to pique his interest.  Then, inexplicably, she disappears.  That might have been the end to it, but Prendergast, that shadowy enigma, David’s ex-boss who loves playing games with real people, gives him an ultimatum, find her or come back to work.

Nothing like an offer that’s a double-edged sword!

A dragon for a mother, a sister he didn’t know about, Susan’s BFF who is not what she seems or a friend indeed, and Susan’s father who, up till David meets her, couldn’t be less interested, his nemesis proves to be the impossible dream, and he’s always just that one step behind.

When the rollercoaster finally came to a halt, and I could start breathing again, it was an ending that was completely unexpected.

I’ve been told there’s a sequel in the works.

Bring it on!

…

The book can be purchased here:  http://amzn.to/2Eryfth

…

To write a private detective serial has always been one of the items at the top of my to-do list, though trying to write novels and a serial, as well as a blog, and maintain a social media presence, well, you get the idea.

But I made it happen, from a bunch of episodes I wrote a long, long time ago, used these to start it, and then continue on, then as now, never having much of an idea where it was going to end up, or how long it would take to tell the story.

That, I think is the joy of ad hoc writing, even you, as the author, have as much idea of where it’s going as the reader does.

It’s basically been in the mill since 1990, and although I finished it last year, it looks like the beginning to end will have taken exactly 30 years.  Had you asked me 30 years ago if I’d ever get it finished, the answer would be maybe?

My private detective, Harry Walthenson

I’d like to say he’s from that great literary mold of Sam Spade, or Mickey Spillane, or Phillip Marlow, but he’s not.

But, I’ve watched Humphrey Bogart play Sam Spade with much interest, and modelled Harry and his office on it.  Similarly, I’ve watched Robert Micham play Phillip Marlow with great panache, if not detachment, and added a bit of him to the mix.

Other characters come into play, and all of them, no matter what period they’re from, always seem larger than life.  I’m not above stealing a little of Mary Astor, Peter Lorre or Sidney Greenstreet, to breathe life into beguiling women and dangerous men alike.

Then there’s the title, like

The Case of the Unintentional Mummy – this has so many meanings in so many contexts, though I imagine that back in Hollywood in the ’30s and ’40s, this would be excellent fodder for Abbott and Costello

The Case of the Three-Legged Dog – Yes, I suspect there may be a few real-life dogs with three legs, but this plot would involve something more sinister.  And if made out of plaster, yes, they’re always something else inside.

But for mine, to begin with, it was “The Case of the …”, because I had no idea what the case was going to be about, well, I did, but not specifically.

Then I liked the idea of calling it “The Case of the Brother’s Revenge” because I began to have a notion there was a brother no one knew about, but that’s stuff for other stories, not mine, so then went the way of the others.

Now it’s called ‘A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers’, finished the first three drafts, and at the editor for the last.

I have high hopes of publishing it in early 2021.  It even has a cover.