Tag: Serial

What happens after an action-packed start – Part 12

It’s still a battle of wits, but 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 the enemy if it is the enemy, doesn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

If at first, you don’t succeed, try a few threats, or leverage

 

He took a deep breath, gave me a look a parent would give a miscreant child, and started again.

“What’s the deal with you and Commander Breeman?”

Yes, he does know about her proclivities, but he was hardly in a position to condemn her.  He, too, had a ‘thing’ for the female trainees under his command, and one in particular.

“She has to eat, I have to eat, in the same mess as it happens.”

He gave me another of his penetrating glares.

“Nothing else?”

“That would be against regulations, as I think you are fully aware.”  I returned his glare but with more intensity.

“What did you discuss over the dinner table?”

Odd question.  Not operational matters, if that was what he wanted to hear.  But what we spoke about had little relevance to work.

“Cars.”

It was true.  She liked restoring old cars from the mid-war period, some of which had been used as props in period movies.  I had an old Cadillac, the sort that would fail any fuel economy test.

I could see it was not the answer he was looking for.  He would have to ask a specific question in order to get a specific answer one way or the other.

“Did she mention the no-fly zone?”

I thought about it for a moment, and then said, “No, there are no cars out there to speak of.”

“Flippancy doesn’t become you, Alan.”

Perhaps not, but it was all he was going to get.

And for added emphasis, I said, “Like I said to your predecessor, I don’t know how or why you would have to ask the pilot.”

He stood abruptly, nearly knocking the chair over.  Angry.

“You know something, Alan, otherwise you would not have been on that helo.  She threw you under the bus, and the quicker you realize that the better.”

Then he walked out, slamming the door behind him.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

What happens after an action-packed start – Part 13

It’s still a battle of wits, but 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 the enemy if it is the enemy, doesn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

If at first, you don’t succeed, try a few threats, or leverage.

Or just get rid of the problem

 

Back in my cell, delivered more forcibly than when they escorted me to the interrogation room, I had time to consider his words.

A tactic, I told myself.  Classic divide and conquer.

It was obvious that he wanted me to corroborate his suspicion that Breeman had sent the helicopter out to find his operation.  Did it sound like something she would do or any other commanding officer whose jurisdiction this operation fell under?

Why hadn’t they told her?  If t was military and being run by our side, why would they keep it secret from their own people, especially when something like what just happened, could happen?

It didn’t make sense.

Unless, of course, it was the CIA.  They seemed to be a law unto themselves, except in this case they needed something to incriminate her with in order to have her removed, and replaced with a more sympathetic commanding officer.

It was all too much for a gunnery sergeant like me to understand.

At least I didn’t know anything so I couldn’t tell them anything.  A little solace perhaps, but the trouble was, they’d never believe me.

I sighed.  Perhaps some sleep before they returned for the next round.

They came in the middle of the night.  Or day, I had no idea what it was outside because there were no windows in my cave cell.

They had no intention of being polite, I was dragged up by the scruff of the next and tossed in the direction of the door.  When I stumbled, still half asleep and unable to see properly, one of the guards kicked me and said he would do it again if I didn’t get up.

He did anyway because I took too long.

My ribs were hurting when I breathed, as I staggered in front of them, one behind me giving me a shove every two or three steps, perhaps hoping I’d stumble again so he could kick me.

At the interrogation room, a different one this time, he shoved me in and shut the door.  I didn’t hear a key in the lock, so perhaps they were hoping I’d try to escape.

There was only one chair in the room, and I sat in it.  I couldn’t sit up straight because it hurt, so I had to slump over.

A half hour later a man and a woman, both with white coats like a doctor would wear, came in.  Nothing was said.  The man took up a position behind me, then held me so I couldn’t move.

The woman then joined him, produced as a syringe, and jabbed it in my neck.

The man let me go, and a few seconds later I fell off the chair onto the floor hitting my head in the process, and a few more after that, it was lights out.

At least there was no more pain.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

It’s Friday again, another week flies by

But, unlike last Friday when I was lamenting the appalling lack of progress with everything I was trying to achieve, this week is looking better.

Thew treasure hunt is back on with another episode and a plan for the next

I wrote five more episodes for the action-packed start story and published two, so there’s three in the bank for the next week

I’ve been working on another five of my ‘a picture paints a thousand words, or less’ stories and published three, and the other two are nearly completed

At the Castello di Briolio (or the Castello that looks like it) I have been considering the direction for Episode six, and this will be written in the next week

I hope!

I realized there’s another story with five episodes, our man on the spot being caught up in a bank robbery gone wrong.  I need to go over these episodes as a refresher and start on the sixth.

Something, I guess, to look forward to.

And what’s scary is that there;’s another story, inspired by our stay at Lake Louise, the rescue of a countess from the Nazi’s during WW2, from a mothballed hotel in the, well, I’m calling it the alps in Germany.

Problem is, some of this I can find, and other parts have gone missing, along with my structure of the German military ranks.  I don’t want to do this all again,. so the search continues.

Novel wise, nothing got touched.

However, during the week I think I came up with a novel way to promote book sales and get reviews.  Maybe it;’s a newish idea, maybe it’s old and done before, and maybe it will work, or hasn’t and been forgotten.

Need your input, so read about it here: http://bit.ly/2SZzJGk

Of course, I still need to create new posts on the blog, and this takes time and effort, taking me away from writing.

As for the travel blog, that still needs me to complete about half a dozen posts in various stages of completion.

I let you know how that pans out next week!

What happens after an action-packed start – Part 10

It’s still a battle of wits, but 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 the enemy if it is the enemy, doesn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

Nor does it help when his old mentor walks through the door.

 

I don’t like surprises.  This dislike had started with a surprise birthday party about 10 years ago and since then I’ve assiduously tried to avoid them.

Of course, there are also surprises you have no control over, and I liked them even less.

Bluff and bravado would only carry me so far.  These people whoever they were would not accept that I knew nothing about what had just happened.

Which I didn’t.

It was not the A interrogation team with a chest full of torture tools and dressed in hazmat suits, but when the harbinger of my fate walked into the room, it was something a lot scarier.

A man I knew well or thought I did until he walked in the door, I had the utmost respected for.

Colonel Bamfield.  My first Commanding Officer, the man who cut me some slack, and made me into a soldier.

Now, all I had was questions, but I was on the wrong side of the table.

The first, what the hell was going on here?

My first inclination was to stand and salute a superior officer, but he was not wearing the uniform, not the proper uniform I was used to seeing him in.  My second inclination was to ask him what he was doing in that room with me, but I didn’t.

Speak when spoken to, and don’t volunteer information.

He too tried the silent treatment, or maybe it was that he was as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

Then, still standing behind the table, looking down on me, he said, “That was some jump you made from a moving helicopter.”  Was there a touch of admiration in his tone?

“Life or death.  Anyone one else is that situation would do the same.”

“Less than you’d think.”

Establishing camaraderie.  Or trying to.  I waited for the next question.

It wasn’t a question but a statement, “We have a problem Alan, and it’s not just with you.”

 

© Charles Heath 2019

What happened to February, I seem to have missed it

I’m on my late night reading of blog posts by the bloggers I follow, and a lot are saying February has gone, and are weighing up their achievements for the month.

I don’t think I got anything constructive done, notwithstanding the intent of making a new years resolution list and stick to it.  The only sticking was sticking it to the wall in from of my desk.

Oh, I finally got down on paper and onto the writing blog most of the episodes of the four stories I started while I was away.  It was easy to write on the plane, especially when there are 12 to 13 hours to be spent in an uncomfortable chair.

Anything to ease the pain, and take the mind elsewhere.

And, no, I did not incorporate a plane crash, but I did have a helicopter crash.

I did not get to the two novels that need to have editing finished.  That’s now slated for March.

But, the grim thing about two months disappearing like it has, the first I’m getting older, and feel like I have one foot in the grave, and the other, one-sixth of the year is gone and Christmas is approaching.

Don’t you worry, the supermarkets and larger chain stores will have the Chrismas decorations out on display before you know it.

I hope we still are calling Christmas, Christmas, because in these days of political correctness, and the will not to upset anyone other than the Christians (no, I haven’t noticed a sizable build up of lions and the building of a huge arena, yet!).

But…

I’m still working through the ramifications of my (probably stolen) idea of mutual purchase and honestly reviewing books (because we all know the value of an honest review) by fellow authors with ebooks on Amazon that sales are sluggish.  That’s because mine are.

More about the idea can be found here http://bit.ly/2SZzJGk

It all goes back to the marketing strategy of getting reviews, and this is the hardest part.  So, why don’t we do each other a solid?

What’s the upside?  You get sales, which lift’s your book in the saleable scale that Amazon uses space rocket technology to work out.  The author gets a review and some income, perhaps so he or she can purchase the next book to review, (or another well-deserved cup of coffee) and it keeps the author’s presence on Amazon, who seems to be closing down those who are not ‘performing’  (I guess using the same space rocket technology to decided that as well).

Comments on the practicality of the scheme or the fact it might or might not work are always welcome at cwheath555@gmail.com.

Roll on March

Saturday has come and gone

Although the main reason for its existence is to follow Friday, in some cases, it is the first day of the weekend.

Once upon a time, Saturday used to be a working day, you know, those days when we worked a 48 hour week.  Then it became a 44 hour week and we only worked in the morning.

Sd time progressed, we started working 40 hour weeks and had both Saturday and Sunday off.  Sunday, of course, was always a non-starter.  The churches made sure you were able to go to church on Sunday.

As time progressed, weekends started to begin of a Friday, with the day in question being granted by employers as a Rostered Day Off, provided you made up the time during the preceding two week period.

Now it seems the standing joke is we should work weekends, and have the week off.  Odd, it hasn’t quite caught on yet.

But, as usual, I digress…

After a week that got out of control, Saturday was supposed to pull it back into some sort of shape.

In a sense, it happened.  I looked at that list of things I had to do, picked one and got on with it.

PI Walthenson now had the intro to the plot diversion, and I’ve started putting the final edited versions of episodes 46 on, on the blog, ready to post them next week.

That done, I moved onto the helicopter story, otherwise titled ‘What happens after writing an action-packed start’, currently sitting at Episode 8, and now, with a solid few hours, had episodes written to 14.  These will be edited and transcribed to the blog for publication this or next week.

I never thought maintaining material for a blog would be so hard.

But…

Now I can say last week wasn’t a total disaster.

A story inspired by Castello di Brolio – Episode 3

Another story inspired from a visit to an old castle in Italy.  It was, of course, written while traveling on a plane, though I’m not sure if it was from Calgary to Toronto, or New York to Vancouver.

But, there’s more to come.  Those were long flights…

 

There were eleven stormtroopers and eight on Johansson’s group. One of those would be in the communications center, leaving, at worst, eighteen men out looking for me.

I also assumed that Jackerby would approach the search in much the same manner as I would, the men in pairs, as in one on one situations, he knew that I would have the advantage.

Four pairs would be inside, doing a room to room search, from the top down.

Five would be outside, one group in the center, one group at each of the corners, all working the perimeter, all in constant communication with each other.

In normal circumstances, I would be caught.

These were not normal circumstances.

Jack padded his way just ahead of me, stopping every few yards and both sniffing and listening.  At a junction he would stop, waiting, then make a decision which way to go.

I had to trust his instincts.

Just ahead of me there was a cracking sound followed by falling rocks and a shaft of light.

An opening in the roof where it was too close to the surface.

Jack went quite still.  Voices.

“Be careful. Or you’ll fall down that hole.  They should have told us the ground around here is on top of an old mineshaft.”

“Could be where they buried the bodies hastily before they left.”

The man was referring to the story the Germans had killed about a hundred of the nearby villagers and buried them in a mass grave near the castle.  No one had been able to verify the account, nor had anyone found any skeletal evidence.

Yet.

“Let’s get out of here,” I whispered to Jack.  “The last thing I want to see is a ghost.”

 

© Charles Heath 2019

A story inspired by Castello di Brolio – Episode 2

Another story inspired from a visit to an old castle in Italy.  It was, of course, written while traveling on a plane, though I’m not sure if it was from Calgary to Toronto, or New York to Vancouver.

But, there’s more to come.  Those were long flights…

I calculated the odds.  Twenty to one.  I wasn’t going to add Jack to the team, because he could never understand what was going on.

I was finding it hard myself.  Someone I had trusted with my life, for a very long time, was not the person I thought they were.

That was the basis of the message I’d received.  I hadn’t believed it.  Not at first.  But it had one other piece of information as proof, one when I thought about, made sense of everything that had been happening.

The word coincidence had become overused in the last week.

Jack had found the passage when he and I had been doing some reconnaissance of the old castle.  I thought it odd that no one knew of any secret passages when all of these old places usually had at least a few.  The lord of the manor would want to be able to move about secretly, visiting mistresses, escaping from enemies, or just sneaking about checking up on staff and family

We’d found one that ran from the guard tower to the grand hall.  A lot of cobwebs, a musty odor, and signs it hadn’t been used for a long time, it was perfect for my soon to be unannounced arrival.

The passage ended at a large wooden cabinet which had a compartment that opened out into the hall.  From within, it was possible to hear conversations and see a veiled view of any activity.

Johansson and my commander, Wallace.  He was not supposed to be here, he’d been the one who sent me the warning, about another of the command officers, Nicholson.

I could see Wallace was angry.  “I thought I told you I wanted this mess sorted out before I got here.”

Just then Jackerby came in and looked flustered.  “He’s gone.”

“What the hell do you mean, he’s gone.  Gone where, for God’s sake.  There’s nowhere to go.”

Who’s gone, I wondered.

Jack was nudging my leg.  What was he trying to tell me?

“He was in the south tower with that mangy dog of his, where he usually hangs out.”

Me.  They were referring to me.

“Then he can’t be far.  Find him and bring him, to me.  Pity that bomb didn’t kill him and we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

So, there was a traitor.  It just wasn’t who I thought it would be.

I kneeled down, “Well, Jack,” I whispered.  “It looks like we are both in serious trouble.  What’s say we get out of here?”

A lick on the side of my face told me all I needed to know.

© Charles Heath 2019

A story inspired by Castello di Brolio – Episode 1

Another story inspired from a visit to an old castle in Italy.  It was, of course, written while traveling on a plane, though I’m not sure if it was from Calgary to Toronto, or New York to Vancouver.

But, there’s more to come.  Those were long flights…

 

“You have got the guards set up on the back wall,” I asked Jackerby, the officer in charge of the rearguards.

“Can you see them?” he said in a tone that dripped sarcasm.

 

I didn’t like Jackerby, he seemed far too sure of himself and his men, and so far, we hadn’t had to rely on them.

But that time was coming, and sooner than any of us wanted to believe.

“No.”

“Then no one else will either.  Trust me, no one will be coming over the back wall.  I’ll be in the command post, and it has a clear view of anything coming.”

“Excellent,” I said, trying to sound more confident that I felt.

 

Jackerby was Johannson’s man.  He had recruited him, in circumstances that seemed a little too coincidental for my liking.  Johannson was too easy going for me, and although he had not made a mistake, yet, I felt sure one was going to happen on my watch.

I think that’s why I’d been sent to keep an eye on operations.

There’d already been one attempt at an incursion, and we’d been saved by a dog, one I found on the roadside, injured by the same roadside bomb that had nearly killed me as well, and brought him with me.  The thought of doing so, at the time, had been on the end of a single idea, a dog could not betray me, men and women could.

And the fact its name was Jack seemed to me to be rather poetic, if not somewhat ironic in the circumstances.

There was a coded communication in my pocket, one I’d received earlier in the afternoon, uncoded from the signal room.  My special code.  A warning of a second incursion.

Tonight.

 

Jack and I were in the guard tower at the south-western corner of the castle.  It overlooked the valley and gave a clear view of anyone or anything coming from that quadrant. 

Of course, if it came by air, you’d expect to hear it.

I didn’t, but Jack did.  He suddenly stood and made a small moaning noise, as if he knew quiet communication was needed.  The stiffness in his body told me it was danger.

I heard it, before I saw it, a glider, and following the swooping sound, the land of men on the gravel walkways just down from the tower.  A precision flight and precision landing of a dozen stormtroopers.

And Jackerby’s guards were nowhere to be seen.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

What happens after the action packed start – Part 8

It’s now turning into a battle of wits, now our hero realizes he’s in a spot of bother.

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 the enemy if it is the enemy, doesn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

 

I think I won the battle of wits, or whatever it was.

A few moments later he sat on the other side, pushing the chair back from the table, and me, as a deliberate act.

Distancing.

Besides adopting the speak when spoken to route, I was also adopting that age-old modus operandi of not volunteering anything.  If they knew anything they would have to tell me what they knew.

So, to begin with, another round of silence.

Then, after a few more minutes, s thin knowing smile, as if he knew everything I’d do before I did. 

 Perhaps he was a psychology professor.

“What we you doing in a no-fly zone?”

Well, that answered at least two questions right there.  We were where we were not supposed to be, and, as a stab in the dark, knowing how good the pilot was, we had deliberately strayed there.

On orders, or curiosity.  No, orders.

The reason, suspected enemy or other activity in a designated area being used as cover.  Had the Commander known about this and ordered a discreet incursion.

It felt more like a routine operation.

“I was not the pilot.  You’d have to ask him, although that might be difficult now he’s dead.”

“The nature of you pre-op briefing, then?”

“There wasn’t one, or if there was, I wasn’t included.”

“That would be a violation of regulations would it not?”

“You’d have to ask the military lawyers.  I just make up the numbers, and do as I’m told.”  I could add more but don’t volunteer information.  Let them dig for it.

“Then why were you on board?”

He asked that question as if it was a surprise to him or someone else.

I think at that moment I realized there might be bigger fish that might get fried from this interview.  

There was an arrangement in place that if the pilot wanted to go up for extra hours, he had to take someone like me along, for situations like that which had happened.

This had been sanctioned by the Commander, but I don’t think it included heading out to hot spots.  If this man was from our side, he might be on a witch hunt.

I looked at him in a new light.

This man was trouble of a different sort.

 

© Charles Heath 2019