Tag: $amwriting

“Quickly, quickly…” – a short story

It was odd having a voice in your head, well, not really in your head as such, but in your ear, and sounding like it was in your head.

You could truthfully say you were hearing voices.

It was the next step after going through some very intensive training, having someone else as your eyes and ears when breaching a secure compound, and avoiding the enemy.

I’d signed on for this extra training thinking one day it would land me in the thick of the action. Some of the others thought I was mad, but someone had to do it, and the fact it was quite dangerous added just that extra bit to it.

But as they say, what you learn in training, and practise in a non-hostile environment, is nothing like being in that same situation in reality.

Now on was on my first assignment, part of an elite team, packed and taken to what was to everyone else, an unspecified location, but to us, it was the point of incursion.

The mission?

To rescue a government official (that was how he was described to us) who had been illegally detained in a foreign prison.

Our job?

To break him out and get out without the knowledge of the prison staff, or anyone representing that government. Yes, what we were doing was highly illegal, and yes, if we were caught it was more likely than not we would be executed as spies.

…

We were under cover in an abandoned farmhouse about three miles from the prison. We had been brought in under cover of darkness, and had only a few hours to set up, and then wait it out until the following night.

It was now or never, the weather people predicting that there would be sufficient cloud cover to make us invisible. Two of us were going in, and two remaining strategically placed outside to monitor the inside of the prison through a system of infrared scanners. We also had a floor plan of the building in which the prisoner was being held, and intelligence supplied, supposedly, by one of the prison guards who had been paid a lot of money for information on guard movements.

To me, it was a gigantic leap of faith to trust him, but I kept those thoughts to myself.

We had been over the plan a dozen times, and I’d gone through the passageways, rooms, and doors so many times I’d memorised where they were and would be able to traverse the building as if I had worked there for a lifetime. Having people outside, talking me through it was just an added benefit, along with alerts on how near the guards were to our position.

I was sure the other person going with me, a more seasoned professional who had a number of successful missions under his belt, was going through the same motions I was. After all, it was he who had devised and conducted the training.

There was a free period of several hours before departure, time to listen to some music, empty the head of unwanted thoughts, and get into the right mindset. It was no place to get tangled up in what-ifs, if anything went wrong, it was a simple matter of adapting.

Our training had reinforced the necessity to instantly gauge a situation and make changes on the fly. There would literally be no time to think.

I listened to the nuances of Chopin’s piano concertos, pretending to play the piano myself, having translated every note onto a piano key, and observing it in my mind’s eye.

My opposite number played games of chess in his head. We all had a different method of relaxing.

Until it was 22:00 hours, and time to go.

…

“Go left, no, hang on, go right.” The voice on my ear sounded confused and it was possible to get lefts and rights mixed up, if you were not careful.

It didn’t faze me, I knew from my study of the plans that once inside the perimeter fence, I had to go right, and head towards a concrete building the roof of which was barely above the ground.

It was once used as a helipad, and underneath, before the site became a prison, the space was used to make munitions. And it was an exceptionally large space that practically ran under the whole of the prison, built above ground.

All that had happened was the lower levels were sealed, covered over and the new structures built on top. Our access was going to be from under the ground.

Quite literally, they would not see, or hear, us coming.

The meteorological people had got it right, there was cloud cover, the moon hidden from view, and the whole perimeter was in inky darkness. Dressed in black from head to foot, the hope was we would be invisible.

There were two of us heading to the same spot, stairs that led down to a door that was once one of the entrances to the underground bunker. We were going separate ways in case one of the other was intercepted in an unforeseen event.

But, that part of the plan worked seamlessly, and we both arrived at the same place nearly at the same time.

Without the planning, we might easily have missed it because I didn’t think it would be discernable even in daylight.

I followed the Sergeant downstairs, keeping a watchful eye behind us. I stooped at the point where I could see down, and across the area we had just traversed.

Nothing else was stirring.

As expected, the door was seamless and without an apparent handle. It may have had one once, but not anymore, so anyone who did stumble across it, couldn’t get in.

Except us. We had special explosives that were designed to break the lock, and once set, would not make a lot of noise. Sixty seconds later we were inside, and the door closed so no one would know we’d broken in.

I was carrying a beacon so that the voice in my head could follow my progress. The sergeant had one too, and he led.

“Straight ahead, 200 yards, then another door. It shouldn’t be locked, but it might be closed.”

In other words, we had no way of knowing. Our informant had said no one had been down in the dungeons, as he called them, since the munition factory closed, and had been sealed up soon after the prison building had been handed over for use.

We were using night goggles, and there was a lot of rubbish strewn over the floor area so we had to carefully pick our way through which took time we really didn’t have. It looked as though our informant was right, no one had been down there for a long time. We were leaving boot prints in the dust.

We reached the door ten minutes later than estimated. Losing time would have a flow-on effect, and this operation was on a very tight time constraint.

“Once you are through the door, there’s a passage. Turn left and go about 50 paces. There should be another passage to your right.”

“Anyone down here?”

“No, but there is a half dozen prison officers above you. Standard patrol, from guardhouse to guardhouse. Unless they can hear you through five feet of solid concrete, you’re safe.”

My instincts told me five feet of concrete were not enough, but I’ll let it ride for the moment.

The door was slightly ajar and it took the two of us to pull it open so that we could get past. Behind it was the passage, going left and right. Trusting my invisible guide was not getting mixed up again, I motioned right, and we headed down the passage.

Despite the fact we should be alone, both of us were careful not to make any noise, and trod carefully.

At 50 or so paces, the passage came into sight. The sergeant went ahead. I stayed back and kept an eye in both directions. The passage before us was the one that would take us under the cell of the captive we were sent to retrieve.

There would be no blasting our way in. The floor to the cell had a grate, and when removed, a person could drop down into the ‘dungeon’. Currently, the grate was immovable, but we had the tools to fix that.

The sergeant would verify the grate was where it was supposed to be, then come back to get me.

Five minutes passed, then ten. It was not that far away.

I was about to go search when the voice in my head returned, but with panic. “We’ve been compromised. Get the hell out of there, now. Quickly…”

Then I heard what sounded like gunshots, then nothing.

A minute later there was a new voice. “I don’t know who you are, but I’d strongly advise you give yourself up to the guards. Failure to do so within one hour, I’ll execute the two men I now have in custody.”

Ahead of me there was a sudden explosion, followed by a cloud of dust and fine debris.

Hand grenade, or mine, it didn’t matter. The sergeant wouldn’t be coming back.

I sighed.

Plan B it was.

…

© Charles Heath 2021

Searching for locations: Queenstown, New Zealand

Queenstown is as much about skiing in Winter as it is hiking in Summer or any other time.  It is, in fact, the ideal place for a holiday any time of the year.

We have stayed there simply to relax, though with all that scenery, and stuff to do, it’s nearly impossible to stay indoors all the time.

Usually, we stay in a place called Queenstown Mews, not far from the lake, and it gives us the perfect opportunity to walk down to the lake and follow the shoreline around to the town, and have coffee and cake as a fitting reward for the exercise.

Along the way, there is the view of the Remarkables:

And, further around, behind the park and gardens, a spectacular view across the lake towards Walter Peak farm:

To get to the farm you can either drive a very, very long way or take the T.S.S. Earnslaw, otherwise known as the ‘Lady of the Lake’.

This vessel plies Lake Wakatipu from Queenstown to mostly Walter Peak Farm but has been known, on occasions, to go to Kingston or Glenorchy.

Here it’s sitting at the pier at Queenstown, ready to depart for Walter Peak Farm.

earnslaw1

And this is it returning to Walter Peak Farm to take the visitors back to Queenstown.

earnslaw2

We have been to Walter Peak Farm for Afternoon Tea and Dinner, and both occasions were an amazing experience.  You can also get up close and to the animals

There are other experiences to be had in Glenorchy. and the views whilst driving there are every bit as spectacular, especially as late afternoon settles in:

And in visiting the Lord Of the Rings filming locations.

Then there is Kingston, where the road follows the lake and you are literally between the mountains and the lake:

Kingston used to have a train running, which then became a tourist attraction, but for the moment does not seem to be running currently.

But for me, the real experiences is travelling on the vessel.

Not bad for 103 years old.

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 4

Here’s the thing.

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and back on the treasure hunt.

…

“Who the hell is that horrible man?” I asked, still staring after the car, long after it had gone.

I knew trouble when I saw it, and that man was serious trouble.

And the fact he believed there was a treasure map…

“My uncle Rico, he was the one my mother always credited leading my father astray.  Whatever they had been doing back then, it was never anything legal.”

So, he knows about the treasure map?”

“He knows nothing.  He thinks he knows something, he thinks I know something, but he’s not going to get it out of me.”

“What if he comes after me next?”

It was a daunting prospect, and just looking at Rico was enough to scare me.  If he had a machete to back up his insistence I tell the truth?  I shuddered.

“You tell him the truth.  We have a map, we bought it at the bar like everyone else.”

He was right.

“Boggs?”

His aunt yelled out his name in a manner that meant he was in trouble.

He motioned to keep quiet and follow him.

He took one step before she added, “You take one more step away from this house, and you’ll have more than Rico to worry about.”

A shrug, a wan smile, and then he turned back.  “Nothing more today.  See you at the Bar tomorrow, and we’ll start the search.

“Surely you don’t think that map is real?”

“Real enough, with missing pieces, we have to track down.  Tomorrow.”He turned and went back into the house, the wooden screen door slamming shut behind him.

Followed by the raised voice of an angry Aunt.  “What is all this malarkey about a treasure map, and what the hell were you doing in a bar?  I bet it was that Johnson kid leading you astray again.”

Never, according to her, Boggs’ fault, and always mine.

I guess it was time to take one for the team!

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2021

NaNoWriMo – April 2022 – Day 22

First Dig Two Graves, the second Zoe thriller.

…

Rupert follows Worthington and Arabella to and from the concert, and then observes them over dinner, wondering what it is that’s missing in his life until they go back to the room for the night.

To him, it seems like it’s just a sex weekend with cultural embellishments.

Until he spies Worthington on the move at two am, leaving the hotel on foot.  It turns into a meeting between him and two other men in the park before Worthington returns to the hotel, business concluded.

It has to be something to do with John and Zoe, otherwise, the meeting would have been in the hotel, not the deep recesses of the park.  Rupert has photographs and gives them to Sebastian for identification.

At least they now know the reason for Worthington being in Vienna.  Arabella just makes it look more casual.

John breaks his plan to Zoe over breakfast, and she is surprised.  It’s a good plan, and once she had dealt t=with the problems, it would be a go.

And, she added quite sombrely, if they all survive.

The bad news was she would be leaving the next morning to visit an old friend, Dominica, who probably isn’t so friendly now, to get information.  And, no, she was not sure what would happen after than, but if she could, she would call him.

With the two me identified, and the danger they presented, Sebastian had to move to plan B and sets it up.  He deliberately doesn’t tell either of them because he knows they would strenuously object.

The plan:  sniper to shoot them from a building across the road, not to kill, but to slow them down.  It would be difficult to be out plotting when in the emergency ward of a hospital.

But, as usual, things don’t quite go to plan.  Worthington is hit and wounded, though not severely as Sebastian had hoped, but Arabella moved slightly just before he pulled the trigger, and he couldn’t see what happened but what he could see, it looked very, very bad.

…

Today’s writing, with Sebastian dusting off his sniper rifle, 1,882 words, for a total of 56,217.

The A to Z Challenge – Q is for “Quirky relatives”

One of the recurring memories I have of my childhood was the annual pilgrimage to Grand Marais, Minnesota, located on the North Shore of Lake Superior.

It was the place where my father grew up, along with three brothers and a sister, and where his parents had been born, lived, and eventually died.

The other memory, that his parents never came to visit us, we always had to go to them.  That, and the fact my mother hated them, that animosity borne out of an event at their wedding that no one ever spoke about.

Not until a long, long time later, after my father had passed away.

We stopped going when I turned eighteen, though I don’t think that was the reason.  Mt grandparents hadn’t died or gone anywhere, it was just the week before our pilgrimage was to begin, my father announced there would be no more visits.

You could see the relief on our mother’s face, much less ours because they were, to put it mildly, quirky.  Steven, the youngest brother put it more succinctly, weird and creepy.

Perhaps it had been the house, a large sprawling two-story mansion that had been added to over the years, and reputed to have thirteen bedrooms.  Thirteen.

They had a butler, a housekeeper, a chauffeur, and several housemaids.  Odd, because I got the impression my grandfather didn’t work, and yet they were, reputedly, very wealthy.  Equally odd, then, that wealth didn’t extend to my father.

Which, in the final analysis, was probably the reason why we stopped going.  He had been cut out of the will.

…

Of course, none of this would have reached my consciousness if I had not received an email from one of the sones of my fathers, brother, and uncle who had never visited us, I’d seen probably three times in my life, and who had lived with his parents in the mansion.

I’d not seen, or heard of any children of any of the other brothers, or sisters, so this was a first, and aroused my curiosity.  I had thought that our part of the family had been exorcised from all their collective memories.

Apparently not.

And, that curiosity would soon go into overdrive because with the email came an invitation to come and stay, and meet the other members of the family. 

I had a sister, Molly, and called her once I got the email, and she said she had one too.

Was she going?  Hell yes.  It, for her, was going to be the unearthing of all the secrets.

What secrets, I asked, knowing full well there had been a few, but she had simply said I’d have to wait and see.

…

The drive brought back a lot of memories, and unconsciously I found myself listening to the same songs we did when Dad droves us.

Molly had come to my place, and we drove there together.  In itself, it was a good reason for us to reunite after so long being apart.  It was even more profound considering we did not live all that far apart, it was just life and family that got in the way.

She, like myself, found herself reliving the annual pilgrimages, her memories being hazier than mine, but that was because she was a lot younger.

She had been the one to leave home first, finding our restrictive parents unbearable.  My departure took longer because my mother had implored me to stay, and not leave her with ‘that unbearable man’.

That final few miles from the outskirts of town, past the waterline, then inland was hushed with anticipation.  I last remembered the house, although forbidding, as impeccably maintained, with gardens, I was sure, that featured in ‘Architectural Digest’.

This vision as we approached was so different than the last, in the last vestiges of the evening, a dark forbidding place still, only a lot more sinister.  The gardens had been abandoned long ago, and everything was overgrown.

The fountain out front, the centerpiece of the gardens, was buried and gone.

The house had also fallen into disrepair, and I was surprised the local authorities hadn’t condemned it.

I parked the car in the driveway, and we sat there, staring at it.

“That motel back down the road is looking good,” Molly said.

The invitation also included staying in one of the thirteen rooms.

“Depends on how many ghosts there are.”

“The motel or here?”

I shrugged.  “I guess we’d better get to the front door before it’s dark, just in case.”

Closer to the stairs leading up to a veranda, I could see the different shades of timber when rotten planks had been replaced.  We made it to the front door, Molly hanging on to me just in case.

I pulled a ring dangling from a chain and heard a gong go off inside the house.  A minute passed, two, then the door creaked open, and an old man in a dinner suit was standing there.  “Mr. Garry, and Miss Molly, I presume.

He stood to one side before we answered, and we went in.

The inside was utterly different from the outside, having been renovated recently, much brighter than I remembered from the endless wood paneling.  The old man ushered us into a large lounge room, on one side a huge log fire was burning, and around the walls, where there wasn’t a bookshelf full of books were family paintings.

“It’s like a mausoleum,” Molly said.

I recognized a lot of those faces in the paintings, including one of our father and mother together, probably not long after they were married.  The men of that family all looked the same, except when it came to me, I looked more like my mother.

“Much better than it used to be.”

“I don’t remember much.”

To one side there was a large staircase that you could go up one side and down the other, and as children, we used to run up and down, and generally be annoying.  Sliding down the banister was strictly forbidden, until after everyone went to bed.

I was half expecting to see the old man come from the depths of the house, but instead, a man that I could easily mistake as my father came through from the rear, where, I remembered, there was a room before the kitchens.

“Garry, I presume.  And Molly.  My God, it’s been too long.”

A shake of the hand for me, and a hug for Molly. 

“David, or Jerry?”

“David.  You remember.  We used to run amok in this place.”  He grinned.

He was the wild one, and all I did was follow.  There were about seven of us, in the end, before we stopped coming.

“The others will be here tomorrow, and they’re dying to meet you.  My dad was the last man standing, and he left the place to me, not that it was much by that time.  I’ve spent years doing it up, but there’s a long way to go before it returns to its former glory.  By the way, there are no ghosts in the bedrooms, and they are modernized with their own bathroom.  I saw you out in the car before, looking horrified.  Just a word to the wise, that motel does have ghosts.  The jury is out on whether grandfather still roams the hallways, but I guess that’s something you’ll find out tonight.  He was a horrid man by all accounts.  Sorry, my wife says I babble when I’m nervous.”

“He does.”  A woman, a few years older than Molly came out from the back.”

“Angelina?”

“You remember me.”  She smiled.

I remembered her, had for a long time because back then, she was the first girl I thought I was madly in love with.  The fact she was a cousin didn’t seem to matter.  She just ignored me anyway.

And her beauty had not diminished over the years.  “How could anyone forget you?”

“Yes, I had that effect on boys, didn’t I?  It’s good to see you again.”

We both scored a hug, and yes, being close to her again did increase my heart rate just a little.

“Come,” David said, “sit and we’ll have a drink.  Have you eaten?”

“Not for a while.”

“Then we were about to have a bite, I’m sure there’s plenty for everyone.  Sit, and we’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“No wife, husband?”

“Yes on both accounts, but we would never bring them here.  This family is difficult enough for us let alone outsiders.  The rest of the group, well, you’ll see, are just plain quirky relatives.  If you ever saw the Addams Family, TV series or movies, well, they’d fit right in here.  But you’ll see.  More on that soon.”

He and Angelina disappeared outback and silence fell over the room.

“Why do I get the feeling we might be murdered in our beds tonight?”

It was beginning to look like that was a possibility.

…

When David returned with the old man, Angelina, and what looked to be a maid with food and drinks, we sat down again, turning our fears of being murdered into a severe frightening of ghosts.

The old man was enough to think ghosts were alive in the house.  It couldn’t possibly be the butler from the last time I saw him because he would have to be about 120 years old.

When all of us were settled, David began.

“There is another reason why I asked both of you here, along with all the others, by the way, there are around ten of us.  Your father never told you the truth, or perhaps anything, of the situation when he stopped coming to visit his parents, did he?”

“He just said it was a difference of opinion, that his father would never see reason, didn’t like my mother or her family and gave up trying to be civil.”

“It was worse than that, he told him that if he didn’t give up your mother, he would cut him off from the family fortune, which eventually he did.  It’s probably why you found life a little tougher for a few years.”

That was one way of putting it, we were taken out of our private schools and had just about all our leisure activities curtailed, and the worst, no more holidays.  Mother even had to get a job, which disappointed her family, but they were not as rich as my father’s family was, so couldn’t help us financially.

“It was difficult.”

“Well, the good news is, your grandmother, our grandmother, was not as quirky or pedantic as her husband and never forgot the service your father did for her when he could.  In that regard, she has left a bequest to both you and your sister, Molly.  It’s been a long, hard battle to get it through the system, but it’s finally sorted.”

“I liked grandmother more than grandfather,” Molly said.

“Most of us did.  He was a rebel himself, going against his family, a very interesting bunch themselves.  Our quirkiness probably came from them, the last of the relatively unknown banking and railroad tycoons more famous in the 19th century than today where we are relatively forgotten.  It is of course a blessing in disguise.  But you ask, what is that quirkiness worth?”

“Not much I would imagine, after all this time.  Our father taught us the value of money, so it’ll be nice to have some extra.”

“Some extra.”  He smiled.  “It’s about 125 million dollars, each.  Enough I would say that you can now afford some quirks of your own.”

© Charles Heath 2022

NaNoWriMo – April 2022 – Day 20

First Dig Two Graves, the second Zoe thriller.

…

There’s a certain air of inevitability in the air, that the bad guys are going to succeed in tracking down Zoe, using the very person who wants to keep her safe.

IT’s not exactly the result of a sneaky plan using lies and deception to get what Worthington wants, it’s more a fact that the woman he is about to use had already made a bed for herself that others would hardly want to lie in.

Arabella was not a woman who understood or practiced monogamy.  She was always a rebel, always had more than one man on the go, and had only married for the convenience, and the money and lifestyle that went with it.

Having children had been a bore, and once they were delivered, they were someone else’s problem.  She was then able to go back to her jet-set lifestyle, touring and cruising the world.

It was also a world that which Worthington and his brother had moved in, and Worthington had been and still was, one of her lovers.  It was what made it so easy for him to enlist her, though she was not really interested in what her son John was up to.  He was too much like his father, and she needed little reminder of him.

For Worthington, he could not believe his luck, for a second time.  It was as if the Gods were lining up the ducks all in a row for him.

But she agreed to a weekend in the best hotel eating the best food and going to a very exclusive concert, where they would be mingling with ‘almost’ royalty.  She loved to drop names.

However, the secret was not a secret the moment she was seen with Worthington by Sebastian, all be it by chance.  Sebastian would have to find John and alert him to the dangers that were about to present themselves in the benign form of his mother.

Could things get any more complicated?

…

Today’s writing, with Zoe languishing in a dungeon waiting for a white knight, 1,650 words, for a total of 52,769.

The cinema of my dreams – I never wanted to go to Africa – Episode 42

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 was not sure how the Congo commander was going to react when four cars with people who looked more like mercenaries than a film crew turned up at the front gate.

Not that we had the film equipment to use as a cover. I guess that was the reason the kidnappers had removed it from our cars. One less reason to believe our story. I would have been curious to hear just how the commander had described us to his Congo counterpart.

Or what sort of treatment we were going to get. I don’t think the hostages were going to like the idea of becoming hostages again, albeit with a new set of ransom demands, and probably a lot of harsher treatment. Mercenaries could be rough, but they needed resources, and trying to negotiate with overly damaged goods wouldn’t set much of an example.

The Government military, on the other hand, would not be too particular. And capturing an invading enemy force, spies if you will, well, that was going to be a feather in the cap of the airfield commander.

But would he tip his hand at the gate or wait till we pulled up outside the headquarters building. If there was one.

We were about to find out. The gate was in sight and flanked by two very bright lights which we had all seen for about the last half mile, flickering through the undergrowth. The road was well made, and we would have made good time, but I deliberately slowed down to give Monroe time to get into place.

Another brief report from the Colonel told me they reckoned on 20 troops deployed at different parts of the field, just in case we decided to ‘sneak’ in on foot.

At the gate the road widened into a large turning circle for turning back cars.

I stopped right on top of the gate. A non-commissioned officer came out of a small shack by the gate and joined two men standing either side of the gate. Weapons weren’t pointed in our direction, but that could change quickly.

I was going with the film crew going home story first.

“Who are you?” I noticed the officer had a clipboard and made a show of looking at it, and the page underneath. “You are not on my list.”

“Probably not. We have been filming a documentary, and it’s time to go home. We have an aircraft coming in tomorrow morning to pick us up.”

One of the guards came through the gate and went down one side of each car, then came back up the other side, peering in through the windows. Back at the gate, he spoke to the officer.

“You have weapons. That is unusual for a film crew isn’t it?”

Highly, if we were anywhere else in the world. “We were warned about militias. Luckily we didn’t run into any.”

“Then, before you enter the airfield I suggest you, and your men, surrender any weapons.”

“Of course.” I relayed the instruction back through the cars. The soldier then came down the car and collected the weapons in a bag. As I’d assumed, we were not going to gain admission to the airstrip armed. It was probably also a law which in any country made perfect sense.

Once the soldier returned the officer had the gate opened, and came over to me.

“Fill in the form, and we’ll get you on your way soon enough.”

He handed me the clipboard, and then stepped away, taking out a radio unit of his own and spoke into it in a language I didn’t understand. Perhaps we should have kept Jacobi with us for a little longer so he could interpret.

When I filled out the form and handed it back, he said, “Drive up the road about a half-mile to a hanger and park your cars out the front. I suggest when getting out of the cars not to make any sudden or suspicious moves.”

Like we’d been told almost word for word back at the commander’s camp. Interesting.

The men at the gate didn’t follow us, but I did see, coming from two separate points back from the runway, or what looked to be the runway, two groups of five soldiers in each, in a proper formation. That was not the actions of a motley militia.

Serious soldiers perhaps.

It didn’t take long to reach the hanger, quite large, but in a sorry state of repair. Beside it was two old army huts that were in better repair and lit up. At the top of the steps of one stood the commander, a Captain. Clean, fresh, snug-fitting uniform, looking the part. Newly promoted, with something to prove.

With him were another six soldiers, armed and ready. That made 16 plus him. Where were the others?

Another non-commissioned officer came out of the hut and briefly spoke to his commander. Then he went back inside, and the commander came down the stairs to greet me. The rest of the team stood together, in front of the third car, and about 20 feet away. They were trying their best to cover the two hostages.

“Good evening Mr. James.” Reasonably good English, polite, but there was a slight edge to his tone.

“Good evening.”

“May I ask, which way do you come?”

“From Faradje, on the way to Nagero. I was going to drive into Nagero but changed my mind. Best to get here and be ready.”

“I heard there were some elements of the militia on the road. Did you meet any?”

“No. I was told that this country is quite safe and that we would not be harmed, thanks, I’m told to the good services of the Government’s military. You will be pleased to learn that it is quite safe, a point I will be spreading when I return home. Hopefully that will bring in more tourists.”

“If, as you say, you’ve been making a documentary, it seems odd to me that on one hand, you don’t have any equipment, and on the other, that you have not included Garamba.”

“A valid observation. We had to call the shooting off because two of our crew are ill and need to be returned home, and we left the equipment back in Faradje, our last stop, ready for the replacement crew who will be scheduled to fly in, in the next week or so.”

I had considered what I might say and tried to make it sound plausible, but in the end I don’t think it mattered what I said, especially if the other commander had forewarned the Captain of our impending arrival.

“Yes. That may be true, or it might not. I’m assuming the two sick members of your team are over next to the film crew. In that case, I believe both of us know that those men do not belong to your crew, but are escaped prisoners.”

He gestured towards his men and they went over to the group and extracted the two hostages.

Seemingly it was game over.

“So Commander Ntumba called you after we left?”

“Not a lot happens here without my knowing it. It was in his best interest to inform me.”

Something in the distance caught his eye, and I moved my line of sight to match his. Shurl, hands in the air, with two more soldiers behind him, coming from the bush line on the other side of the runway.

Commander Ntumba would also have told him about our sniper, as I’d surmised, and there was no mistaking the look of glee on his face. Outsmarting what he would consider a crack team of mercenaries from the United States.

I turned back and shrugged.

“Yes, he also told us about your sniper Mr. James. You didn’t think he was going to sneak up on us like he did Commander Ntumba did you?”

“It was worth a try,” I said in my best-defeated tone.

“Right. For the time being you will be kept in detention until I speak to my commander. You will not be leaving this airport. Your rescue plane, when it arrives, will be detained. I will have further questions for you later. Film crew indeed. Take them to B Block,” he said to the officer, then headed back up the stairs to his office.

As far as he was concerned, it had been all too easy.

© Charles Heath 2020

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 3

It has been cooler for the last week or so, and the ideas for the treasure story have not been flowing.

Now, it’s back and I’m back in the cinema of my dreams, figurative following the treasure ‘map’!

 

This was not the time to panic.

There could be any number of explanations for what I just saw.  Boggs had certainly got me wrapped up in his mysterious treasure hunt, and immediately my mind jumps to conclusions.

I took a deep breath.  There had to be a rational explanation.

Boggs lived with his aunt, his parents had gone away one day and never came back.  He had no brothers or sisters, so he assumed rightly or wrongly, they’d abandoned him.

For the last few years, Boggs and I had been looking for his parents.  That’s how he found the treasure map, in a box of stuff his father had left at his brother’s loft.

Now, his aunt was Spanish, or perhaps that was not totally correct, she was Mexican who spoke Spanish.  Her husband was Boggs’ father’s brother, and they had no children, so they had treated Boggs as their own.

Perhaps the men were known to his Aunt and they were taking him home before he got into trouble.

It didn’t explain why they were talking about the treasure map, whether it was the one being sold by the bar owner or the one Boggs found.  Boggs had it with him, so if they were after it, they probably had it by now.

We’d come to the beach by bus, and I took it back, then walked the mile or so to Boggs’s house.  It was about three streets away from where I lived.

When I turned into the street, there was the kidnapper’s car out the front of Boggs’s Aunt’s house.  A minute or so later I went in the gate and up to the front door.

It was open, so I loitered in the shadows and listened.

A man’s voice, and Boggs’s Aunt.

Again I was struggling with my Spanish, “You should be keeping control of your brat, he’s getting into trouble, in bars and such places.”

“Drinking?”  His Aunt sounded incredulous.

“Perhaps, I know not, but asking bad men questions about the treasure.  Where is the map?”

So they hadn’t taken it off Boggs.  What did he do with it?

“What map.  He has no map, none that he’s told me about.  Besides, that treasure’s a myth, made up by Dooley to get tourists in his bar, if that’s the var you said he was at.  Don’t tell me you’ve been sucked into that myth?  Isn’t it about time you got a real job?”

“Just make sure your brat stays away from the bar.”

I could hear footsteps heading towards the front door and ducked into the bushes just as he came out, slamming the door into the wall before stomping off to his car.

I waited till he drove off before coming out, and walking into Boggs, grinning.

“See, I told you it was real.”

The horrid uncle, the map, or the myth?

 

© Charles Heath 2019

The cinema of my dreams – I never wanted to go to Africa – Episode 41

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.

 

“That was far to bloody easy.”  I heard Monroe’s voice come over the radio, not long after we left the camp.

“It was a bit easier than I thought.  But I did make it quite clear if we didn’t all leave in one piece we’d reduce his camp to rubble with everyone in it.”

“He knows the territory.  Something’s waiting for us out here.”

Something indeed.

Back at the camp, not only had the commander’s men search for the hidden weapons, and, when everyone checked, were still there, they had also taken off the crates with the film equipment.  I was not sure what the commander was intending to do with the equipment, but what disappointed me was the fact we hadn’t taken the time to rescue the rocket launcher.

Now the commander had it.

If he bothered to search the crates properly.  I suspect he was yet to do so.  What we had rescued and successfully hidden were the C4 explosives and detonators.  They might come in useful at the airstrip.

Just before we reached the fork in the road, where we would be turning left to head towards the airfield, and surprisingly had not run into any of the commander’s men, we stopped and let Monroe and Shurl out to make a sweep towards the airstrip, not too far away.

I also called up Mobley to see how he was.

The Colonel answered.  “Everything is under control now.”

I didn’t like the sound of that.  “What happened?”

“The kidnappers send out a team to intercept us on the way to the airstrip.  It wasn’t a stretch to imagine they would know what we were planning because they’d know we would not be retracing out steps to Uganda.  Got them before they got a shot off.  I suspect there are Government troops at the airstrip, it’s too important to let anything happen to rich foreigners coming to see their wildlife reserve.  There are several troop carriers, and we’ve seen a few men on the outskirts patrolling.  There’s several at the gate if you could call it that.”

“Is there a plane there?”

“As it happens there is.  A grand old DC3.  It’s not a charter plane, so I’m guessing it belongs to an overentitled American big game hunter or the photographic variety.  At least I’m hoping that’s the case.”

“What do you recommend?”

“Not to storm the field.  You’re going to have to find another means of getting here, preferably without any fanfare.”

My first choice was to go in and get out, with as little firefight as possible, particularly in case they started shooting at the plane.  If I was reading between the lines properly, the Colonel was telling me there were more troops there than we could handle quickly and quietly.

“Very good.  Can you get sight on just how many troops are there, and if you can see who’s in charge?”

“Will try.”

Monroe had been standing next to me during the exchange.

“Three in place, two more on the perimeter, if we can cover as many as possible, you might be able to take the rest from the inside.”

Secreting the weapons again, maybe.  It was a possibility, but going in with hidden weapons, and then found by the guards at the gate, who would be more efficient and careful searchers than the kidnappers, it would create hostility and itchy trigger fingers.

“No.  We have to find some way of letting them feel as though they have complete control of the situation.  They know we’re coming; the commander would have told them.”  The only reason why he was still the cat who ate the canary.  He might even have told them he had some men waiting as the first line of defense.

The airstrip commander would then know we were armed and relatively dangerous.

It was time for yet another dangerous gambit.

I picked up the radio.  “Colonel?”

A second later, “Sergeant?”

“Whatever happens in the next twenty minutes or so, just ignore it.  It’s not much of a plan, but it will get us onto the field.”

“And then?”

“Hopefully some divine intervention.”

Monroe looked skeptical.  “You’re going to just drive up to the gate and surrender?”

“Not exactly.  It won’t be fait accompli until we reach the terminal, or hanger, or whatever the commander has set up as headquarters.  They’ll have most of our weapons, yes.  But they won’t have all of us.”

“No.  But they’ll know we have a sniper, so one of you are going to have to allow yourself to be captured, just to ease their minds.”

“Leaving one of us and Mobley and the Ugandans.  Can we trust them?”

“I hope so, otherwise this could go badly.  But, today, I’m an optimist.  We’ve got this far.”

Trying to show more confidence in the plan that I had.  It was always a worry when you had to trust people you didn’t know.  That had been the problem the last time.  At least this time we had managed to get the hostages.  It was always going to be a problem getting them out.

Monroe gave me one of her special, you’re a fool, looks.  “I hope you know what you’re doing.”  She then nodded in Shurl’s direction and they disappeared into the bush again.

I gestured to Davies to come over.

“Did you find out what sort of plane it is?”

“Hopefully.  The Colonel tells men there’s a DC3 off the airstrip.  I assume you can fly one.”

She smiled, the first time since this operation had started.  “Sure can.  I spent three summers putting one back together.  My dad has a sort of airplane museum.  A DC3, a DC4, and a Lancaster, a very sorry looking Lancaster at that.  Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Then try to not get shot.”

“Do my very best not to.”

Once again, it was time to go.  Going into the unknown was getting to be the norm, but hopefully, this would be the last time.  I didn’t consider it wise to advise the hostages, they had their own problems to worry about.

 

© Charles Heath 2020

Endless flight – a short story

It had been billed as the longest commercial flight in the world.  London to Sydney.

Previous times it had been flown, it was devoid of passengers and cargo, except for a few reporters and airline staff; not more than about 20.

The plane, state of the art, was capable of flying twenty-one hours straight.  We would only need Nineteen and a half.  It was the first flight of its kind, and we were the first to participate in what was being touted as history-making.

I was on board only because I’d won a competition.  To be honest, I couldn’t believe my luck.

I guess it was the same for the other 287 of us on board.  With baggage and cargo included, oh, and not forgetting fuel, I guess our biggest concern was getting off the ground.

It wasn’t long before that fear had been dispelled, though for a moment more than one of us thought we might not get into the air.  There were collective sighs of relief when we finally lurched into the air.

Once the seat belt sign went off, the First Officer spoke to the passengers, more or less telling us we were going to make history and to sit back and enjoy the in-flight service.

I guess it was ironic that as someone who didn’t like flying I was in this plane.  The thing is, I didn’t expect to win the competition.  But, I was on board for the experience and was going to make the most of it.  I’d brought half a dozen crossword books.

I woke from an uneasy sleep about two hours before I e plane was due to land.  The cabin lights had come on, and breakfast was about to be served.

Everyone else was in varying states of awareness.  Some hadn’t slept at all, which was what usually happened to me, and they looked like I felt.  Bleary-eyed and half awake.

I looked at the flight path in the headrest in front of me, and it said we had about an hour and fifty minutes, and from the outset, precisely on time.  We’d had headwinds and tailwinds but neither had any lasting effect on our arrival time.

Something else did.  After breakfast had been cleared away, and we were all getting ready for the last hour of the flight, word came through from the flight deck that we had to go into a holding pattern due to a problem on the ground.

The first question on everyone’s mind, did we have enough fuel.  The Captain, this time, allayed that fear.

But, I was sitting over the wing where I could see the engine.  I was not an expert but I thought I’d heard a murmur, the sort an engine made where the fuel supply was running out.

Perhaps not.  Perhaps it was my overwrought imagination after not enough proper sleep.

Another half-hour passed, and I could feel a change in the plane’s flight.  I was now listening and waiting and interpreting.  The Captain said the problem was resolved and we were cleared to land.

That’s when the engine outside my window stuttered, if only for a fraction of a second.

Fortunately, we were well into our descent, and I could see the ground below.  Now, going through some low cloud, the ride became bumpy, and I was sure it was covering the more frequent stuttering of the engine, and once, I was not the only one to hear it.

As the wheels went down and clunked into place, I think the engine stopped, though I couldn’t be sure, because there was little or no change in the plane’s flight other than a slight change in the plane’s speed but not its rate of descent, and none of us would have been any wiser had the pilot, in his usual calm manner, not told us there was a small problem with one of the engines but there was no problem with landing, and we would be on the ground in ten minutes.

In fact, the landing was, as any other I’d been on, flawless, even though I was sure I heard a slight stutter in the other ending, but by that time we were on the ground.

The only difference between this and any other landing was the accompaniment of several emergency services trucks, and the fact we were not going to a gate.  Instead, we were taken to a bay not far from the runways, and then calmly taken off the plane.

From the ground, just before being loaded onto a bus, I could see the plane, and it looked the same as it had any other time.

What did bother me was several words spoken by what looked to be an engineer.  He said, “That plane was literally flying on vapor.  What you’re seeing is 228 of the luckiest people in the world.”

If ever there was an excuse to buy a lottery ticket…

© Charles Heath 2020-2021