Tag: Story

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 28

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 instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

 

I didn’t get to go wandering into the next ward to see Boggs, if he was there, because the head of ER had decided I was well enough to be discharged.  It seems they had kept me there just in case there might be problems with concussion after being whacked on the head.

I still had a dull ache in my head, but they gave me a few days supply of pain killers and sent me on my way.  After I signed some papers to that said anything happened to me outside the hospital was my fault, and that I’d been duly warned about the possible consequences of concussion.

That list of consequences always ended in death, but that could happen by being run over by an ambulance arriving outside the ER just as I was leaving.

I don’t know why, but I’d expected someone to be there, though I was not sure who.

It was a short walk to the main entrance to the hospital, and then a bit of a puzzle to be solved in trying to find the appropriate person who could tell me where Boggs was.

Twenty minutes later I came to an abrupt woman in a hospital uniform with a clipboard in her hand, and a solemn look on her face.  If the brick wall could be personified, this was it.

Nurse Jamieson.  No first name.  No sense of humour.

She looked up at me with utter disgust that someone would dare interrupt what she was doing, something I had not worked out yet unless staring at a screen saver on her computer could be said doing something.

“Can you tell me where Wiliam Boggs is, please,”  I said it nicely, and politely.

“Are you a relative?”

“No, I’m his best friend.”

“That’s not what I asked.  You can hear properly can you?”

“Yes.”

Then, what did I ask you, just before?”

“Was I a relative?”

“And the answer?” followed by what I thought she said, “not that we don’t already know the answer to that one.”

“No.”

“The go away.  Close relatives only.”

“Then if I can’t see him, can you tell me how he is?”

Too late.  Nurse Jamieson had gone back to the mesmerising screen saver.  Perhaps it was being used by some intergalactic alien to brainwash her.

I shook my head and headed back towards the main entrance.

“Excuse me?”

I heard a voice from behind, approaching quickly but quietly.  Another nurse, a different coloured uniform.  Bad nurse, good nurse, was this the latter?

I turned as she reached me.  “Yes?”

“I heard you were looking for Boggs.”

Last name, only used by friends, not that he had many, and none who were female unless he’d been holding out on me.  No, he didn’t know any girls.

“Yes.  He’s my best friend.  Do you know him?”

“A friend of his cousin, Annabelle.  I can take you to him, but you won’t be able to stay very long.”

Annabelle?  I don’t remember him telling me anything about a cousin called Annabelle, but he did say there were family members he still hadn’t met, but that was because of longstanding feuds.

“Is he alright?”

“Nothing a little rest won’t cure.  He looks worse than he is.”

I followed her back along a passage off the main foyer to an elevator, and then up to the sixth floor.  

A sign on one of the ways pointed to what was called ‘Recovery’.  We walked halfway down that passage then stopped at a room.

“He’s in there.”

The door was open, but there was a screen pulled across the entrance blotting out those who walked past from looking it.  I pushed the screen back a short distance and saw the end of the bed.

When I stepped in and reclosed the screen, I realized the bed was empty, though someone had been in it.  I stepped further into the room, and around the corner, sitting in a chair, was Nadia.

© Charles Heath 2019

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to write a war story – Episode 19

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 in 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…

 

Marina drove the truck slowly and carefully, without the benefit of headlights on a night that have become very dark when cloud cover moved in.  A good night to be out on foot, but not in a few tons of metal.

It seemed to take longer to go back to the old factory, if that was what it was, or it may have just been my imagination.  Certainly, it was rather tense in the cabin.

I wondered if what Chiara had said about not trusting me had made Marina have second thoughts of taking me back.  From where we were, I would have no idea where it was, and if she dropped me off, I could not find it again.

And that fear came true a few minutes later when she pulled off to the side of the road, near some trees, and stopped, turning off the engine.

The silence crept over us like a fog.

Such was the atmosphere I found myself whispering, “What’s wrong.”

“Lights.  Appearing briefly and disappearing.  Like someone is following us.”

She sat still for about five minutes, looking intently at the rear vision mirrors, and at times turning around to stare of the small window at the back of the cabin.

I did too, but I couldn’t see anything, nor had I, but I hadn’t thought to look in the rear vision mirrors because I thought we were safe.  How wrong I was, to assume that.  If there was one lesson I should learn from what I was doing, was that I should know what’s going on around me and that at no time could I ever believe I’m safe.  The moment I did and let my guard down, I would be dead.  I’d been told that in London, and in a relaxed moment, I’d forgotten it.  How many others had done the same and died?

A shake of her head, she got out of the truck, and quietly closed the door.  I did likewise and joined her at the rear.

“What’s happening?”

“I’m going to check back over the road, see if there’s anyone following us.  There have been too many instances of lights for it to be coincidental.”

“Since we left the church?”  In thinking that, it meant that either Chiara or Enrico may have inadvertently, or deliberately, told someone about the meeting.

I hope it’s just my imagination, but it was shortly after we left I saw the first light.”

“Could be a local farmer stumbling around at night.”

“It could, but no one is that silly to be caught out after dark.  There was a curfew, and most of us like to believe there still is.”

She looked back down the road, but all I could see was inky blackness.  The moon was still hidden by dark clouds above, and it looked like there was going to be rain.

“I’ll come with you.”

“You’d be better off staying here.  The last thing I need is a soldier stomping around in the dark.”

Thanks for the compliment, I thought.  “Then I’ll have to be quiet, and try not to stomp.”

Even in the darkness I could feel rather than see the scowl on her face.

“As you wish, but don’t get in my way, and don’t make me shoot you.”


Short and wiry, she was built for stealth and speed, unlike the bulky soldier I was.  Not that I was overfed and fat, but I was still a larger target than she was.  I could just see her outline in front of me, and she was moving very quietly.

I was trying very hard to emulate her.

Then I saw it.  A light going on briefly, then off, definitely in the direction we had just come from.

She had stopped and I nearly ran into her.

“You were right,” I said quietly.

“I was hoping I wouldn’t be.”

So had I.  The last thing we needed was trouble, trouble that would have to be eliminated.  She couldn’t have anyone else knowing about their hiding places, and meeting points.

A few minutes further along, we both heard a strange sound at the same time.

A wheel scraping against a fender?  There was no engine noise.  It became louder, then we saw what it was.  Someone riding a bicycle.  Close to the edge of the road so as to remain hidden from view because of the turns in the road, which would account for seeing the light at odd times.  At the front, there was a light that was taped to show only a thin slit of light.

I saw her look around, then take hold of a long branch that had recently fallen off one of the trees, pared it down, and then waited.  I could see what she was going to do.

When the bike came alongside, moving slowly because it was up a hill, and the rider was labouring hard, she poked the stick through the spokes of the front wheel, the rider just seeing her at the last moment, and not being able to avoid her.

The result was predictable, the rider went flying over the handlebars and crashed into the hard ground with a thud and a loud grunt.  

My role was to jump on the rider so he, or she, couldn’t escape.  Marina was right behind me and jammed a dirty rag in the persons mouth as I held them very tightly under me.

“Now what?”

This was not going to work for very long as the person under me was beginning to kick and thrash about.  In a few seconds, the gag would be spat out and the silence would be shattered.

I heard the gun before I saw it, a whooshing sound near my ear just before it hit the head of the captive, and suddenly there was no more movement or sound.

“A moment’s silence.”

We rolled the figure over, and looked at the face, just visible in the near darkness.  We had just been blessed with a shard of moonlight for a few seconds.

A man.

“You know him?” she asked.

Another look, just as the clouds shut off the light, and I thought so.

“One of the soldiers from the castle.  How would he know we were meeting at the church?”

“He might not.  Nor might he be following us, but just unlucky.”

“How so?”

“Chiara sometimes entertains men from the castle.  Part of our eyes and ears.  She was not part of the resistance when Fernando was in charge so they would just use her like any other enemy soldier would.”

“So this was a mistake.  If he doesn’t return, then they’ll get the wrong idea.”

“Unfortunately.  He has to be dealt with.”

“Killed?”

“No time to get squeamish on me.  He’s an enemy soldier.”

An enemy I preferred to be some distance away from before shooting to kill.  Up close and personal makes it so much harder.

“Come on.  Grab his shoulders.  There’s a gully over there, so we can make it look like he ran into a tree, tipped off the bike and hit his head on a rock.”

“Or a gun.”

“A few hits with a rock will fix that.  I’m sure there’s no one up there that can do autopsies on bodies.”

No, there wasn’t.  I just hoped I was not going to be the one that had to hit him.


Ten minutes later it was done.

We carried him to the gully, and at a suitable place laid the body as if it had landed off the bike and onto the rocks, where Marina picked up a large one and hit him several times with a lot of force the last making a sickening sound, and the blow that killed him.

I went back and collected the bicycle and staged it to meet the crash criteria, and then left.

For all intents and purposes, he had died falling off his bike after wandering off the road in the dark.

Both of us hoped it would not cause Chiara any trouble.

And, it was the first person I’d seen killed up close, and I doubted, in the coming days it would be the last.  It was not a sight I was going to forget in a hurry.

© Charles Heath 2019

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 27

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 instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

 

I was taken to the hospital, despite the fact the paramedics deemed that I might not be as badly concussed as they first thought.  At the very least, I got a ride in the ambulance and painkilling pills that were very effective.

They kept me in the emergency department in between being taken for X-Rays, and I think something they called a CT Scan.  Whatever it was, it didn’t help my claustrophobia.  When that was completed, my mother was waiting in the cubicle.  Benderby, looking concerned, stood behind her.

After the attendant left, he said, “I’ll be going now.  Take all the time you need to recover Sam; I’ll make sure you don’t lose any wages over this.  And you can be assured that it will not happen again, and we will get the people who did this.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I’m just glad nothing worse happened to you.”

He said something to my mother in hushed tones and then left.  My mother had got over her initial reaction, and a more curious look had replaced the one of fear.

“Tell me you didn’t try to apprehend those thieves yourself, Sam.”

“No, I didn’t.  I didn’t know there was anyone in the building until I was hit from behind.  I’m not sure what they thought they were going to find there that was of any value, it’s just parts for some of the products built there.”

“People will steal anything for money these days.  You should know that.  Times are not as good for some.  Perhaps it’s not a good idea for you to work there is this is going to happen again.”

“You heard Mr Benderby.  He’ll make sure security is improved, and I suspect I was in the wrong place at the wrong time because I don’t normally go into the warehouse itself, that someone else’s purview.  So, stop worrying, and go home.  I’m fine.”

I wished she would go.  I wanted to check if Boggs had been brought in and see what had happened to him.  I also wanted to know if the perpetrator was Vince.  If it was, Nadia was first on my list for a visit when I got out of the hospital.

It seemed to mollify her concern.

“Mr Benderby said to tell you if you need a ride home, to call this number,” she gave me a piece of paper with a phone number on it, “and a driver will come.  He’s been very nice about everything.  You will thank him.”

“I will.  Yes.  Now go home.  Get some rest.  And stop worrying about me.”


Ten minutes later, I got off the bed and stood.  Well, I tried to stand, but my head wasn’t quite ready to accept that it was in command of everything else.  It took only seconds for the room to start spinning, and I had to lie down again.

My reconnaissance was going to have to wait for an hour or so.

A nurse came and checked my blood pressure and pulse, both high but not off the chart, and she went off looking concerned.

A few minutes after that an orderly went by with another bed, empty but recently used, and I recognised him as another of the boys Boggs and I went to school with.  He was destined for bigger things, but it seems he, too, never got out of the neighbourhood.

He saw me looking at him, stopped, and his expression told me he’d recognised me.

“Sam?”

“Angelo?”

“The same.  I’ll be back after I’ve dropped off this bed.  Won’t be long.  I won’t ask how you are, you must be sick if you’re in that bed.”

True.  And it was natural to ask, ‘How are you?’ when you see someone after having not seen them a while, even if you are in a hospital.  A weird custom indeed, which occupied my thoughts till he returned.


Angelo had been the smartest kid in our class, and we had all assumed that he would become a doctor, or a lawyer, one of those jobs that made piles of money.  He was also the boy whom all the girls swooned over.

Being his friend had benefits.

Unfortunately, Boggs and I, not being the two brightest kids, didn’t register on his friend’s scale.  In his favour, he was not a bully like Monty was, but I guess that went with being one of the school’s star athletes, but he did simply ignore us.

Now, it seems the mighty had fallen.  It was a destiny that seemed to befall anyone who came from our neighbourhood.

The same could be said for Monty, who got a sports scholarship to further his sporting career, but he too stumbled at the second hurdle, being done for performance-enhancing drugs, and banished to the boondocks from whence he came.

Now, as far as I knew, he was working for the Colosimo’s.

Angelo seemed bright enough.  That impression was confirmed when he returned with two bottles of soda and handed one to me.

“Hopefully it won’t kill you,” he said, sitting down.

“Shouldn’t.  I’m here because someone hit me over the head.”

“Bar fight?”

Once, in the old days, that might be the case.  “If only I could take the bragging rights, but no.  I work over at Benderby’s warehouse, and someone broke it.  Seems I got in the way.”

“Benderby’s eh?  Thought you said you’d die before ever working for them.”

True, we all said the same, in school, as naïve children who hadn’t yet learned how tough the world was going to be.

“Needs must.  My mother isn’t getting any younger, and it’s a struggle.  But I guess you already know that.  You were going to be a doctor, not a trolley pusher.”

His shook his head.  “As you say, reality trumps dreams.  Education costs, my parents couldn’t raise the money, and, well, I think you know the rest.”

A minute’s silence for the death of whatever dreams we may have had passed.

“Have you seen Boggs.  He’s here somewhere.”

“I saw him in ER, didn’t look too good, but I think it was mostly superficial wounds.  Apparently, some unknown assailants beat him up.  You two still hang out together?”

“Off and on.”

You weren’t with him when this happened.”  He nodded towards the bandage on my head.

“No.”  but, I thought, it was most likely the same person who inflicted both injuries.  Had Boggs set us both up for some reason?  It had to do with the treasure, and now Vince was in on the act.

“Does Boggs still go on about that Pirate treasure he reckons is buried here somewhere?  I mean, his dad used to bang on about it, and there’s no doubt it got him killed.  You reckon someone went after Boggs over it?”

Angelo hadn’t forgotten that even in school, Boggs had said he was going to be a treasure hunter when he grew up, and he had a map that would be the basis of his first quest.  That same map he told me was his father’s.

That same map that had got both of us beaten up.

“Is he here, somewhere?” I asked.

“Next ward.  Last I saw he was out; they gave him a sedative so he could rest.”

Squawking sounds came out of Angelo’s communicator, and only he seemed to know what it meant. 

He stood.  “Got to go now.  Perhaps we can catch up later.”

 

© Charles Heath 2019

‘Echoes from the Past’ – There is more than just a skeleton in the closet!

It seems like everyone has a potential skeleton in their closet. How well we know of our relatives and family members close and far is something we don’t necessarily delve into, unless it’s for the purpose of genealogy.

Even then it can be difficult because there is always that one person no one will talk about, whether they know of them or of their reputation from afar. That potential skeleton.

Of course its a whole different ball game if you have tried to forget them, and finally believing that they and the past have finally been erased.

Or has it?

The story starts out in New York at Christmas. I’ve been there that time of the year and it brought back memories, mostly of the snow and cold, and Central Park under a white blanket.

And the playful sqirrels.

In the setting of impending holidays and family reunions, we focus in on a man with a past, a man who is not who he says he is, a man who wants nothing less than an ‘ordinary’ life ‘like everyone else’. A man who wants to believe his past is but a distant memory.

He feels it is time, 20 years having passed, and surely the trail for his adversary, the man who killed his parents and was gunning for him, had gone cold.

That belief, and everything that went with it, disappears in a flash when he realizes his past has finally caught up with him, and it comes down to making a stand or getting the hell out of town. It’s not a hard decision. Will has the escape route planned, and has one foot out the door.

Except …

This time, after breaking his golden rule, don’t get involved, there’s more at stake.

This is a very interesting collection of characters, all of whom have their own dark secrets, and as each layer is peeled away we gradually become more invested.

…

Available for $0.99 at Amazon now:

…

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to write a war story – Episode 18

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 in 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…

 

It was clear, however, that Marina was familiar with the man and very annoyed with the woman.

When I took a longer look at the man, I realised he was not a man at all, but a boy in his teens, blessed by the fact he looked older than he was.  My guess, about 16.  I was surprised he had not been conscripted into the war, there seemed very few young men in the area.

Marina went straight over to him and snatched the elderly rifle he was holding away from him, the glared at Chiara

“Are you stark staring mad.  Enrico is not supposed to be out in the open, hell, it’s been a battle to keep him hidden away.  What will his parents think when they discover he’s here?”

“Pleased,” Enrico said.  “My father said it’s about time I did something to rid of the Germans, of the English too for that matter.  None of you has any right to be here.”

Fervently spoken, and to the wrong person, it would earn him a bullet to the back of the head.  But I agreed with him.

“All well and good,” Marina said to him, “but now there’s no easy way of doing that.  We must be careful, and you must stay put with your parents.  What we’re doing isn’t a game, you are neither trained or equipped to take anyone on, except perhaps rabbits.”

Back at Chiara.  “Take him home, and never bring him back here.  You don’t want to be the one who has to tell his mother if he gets killed.  Now, both of you go now, before I shoot both of you myself.”

“This is not the end of the matter,” Enrico said.

“And when you’ve taken him back, come back here.  We need to talk.”

Chiara said nothing, just nodded sullenly.  I think she believed the less said the better and did as she was asked, nodding her head in his direction, and adding a few choice phrases in Italian to him that I couldn’t understand.  It also just occurred to me that she had not asked Chiara the questions about the two men from the castle.  I guess that would have to wait until the safety of Enrico was settled, and she returned.

“Make sure they’re safe,” she said to Carlo, and he disappeared, leaving us alone.

“I thought all of the young men had been taken away by the Italian Army.”

“Not all.  We managed to hide a few away, but as you can see, despite our best efforts, they don’t seem to appreciate the trouble they could get into.  We used to have about a hundred young men from 14 through to 20 at the start of the war.  Two have found their way back, casualties of war, the rest, we may never see them again.  Enrico just doesn’t see the trouble he could get into.”

“It’s called youthful enthusiasm.  In the first world war, joining up, or going to war, was a lark.  It was a little less so this time because most of the parents knew from firsthand experience what it was like and tried to shield them.  And if you didn’t join up, questions were asked, and quite often jail, except for some who landed cushy jobs away from the fighting.”

“You were not so lucky?”

“No, I was one of those mad buggers who thought joining up to fight would be an adventure.  That quickly faded when the enemy started shooting at me.”

“And now you’re here, and a spy to boot.  That’s what they’ll hang on you if you get caught.”

“Then I shall try very hard not to get caught.  Again.”

 

Chiara came back about an hour later.  It seemed to me it was a lot safer to move around at night with the blackout, and I doubted Thompson would spare any men from the castle to check up on the local farmers.

And while I was at the castle, I didn’t hear anything raised about the local resistance, which I thought odd at the time, but now I knew why.  Most of them had joined him.  Better that than be hunted down and killed.

Chiara still looked sullen.  A closer look showed she was not very old herself, barely out of her twenties, and surprising that the Italian army, or Thomson for that matter, had not rounded her up for ‘duties’ at the castle.

There were a number of the local women working up at the castle, but they were mostly staff, or more likely forced labour, though I had thought we, when I believed it to be a British outpost, would be fairer to the locals than either the Germans or their own Italian military.  It’s odd how you tend to look at certain situations because of who you are, and the fact you would not do similar things at home.  The Germans, however, we would always treat differently, because they were the enemy, and because we expected the worst from them.  At that moment, though, wouldn’t the Germans think the same of us if the positions were reversed?

Best not to think about that.  My view of the war and the people in it was clouded enough.

Chiara, however, clearly thought the worst of me, and of those in the castle, and certainly didn’t think I was as neutral as I appeared.  A gun always in hand, I was sure she would shoot me again with the least provocation.

We sat, both Chiara and Marina with their weapons on the table in front of them.  I wasn’t trusted enough to be given a weapon.

Marina’s first question was directed at Chiara, “I’m told there were two men from the castle following Sam, and that he told you about them.”

“He did.  We did not see them.  We didn’t take the path, because, as you know, it’s not safe.”

It was a reasonable answer.  If the men at the castle were unfamiliar with the area, as I’m sure they would be, because they hadn’t been there for very long, and I doubt Thompson would want to advertise the nationality of those at the castle unless he had to, they would stick to the clearly-marked roads and paths.

I had on my way to the castle, from a different direction.  It didn’t explain why I had not been met by the leader of the resistance as arranged, but that was now explained, both by the former leader trying to kill me in a roadside explosion, and then what I learned at the castle in the last few days.

“Even so, there’s not that much distance between the two, and it is possible to shadow them.”

“I keep well away from them.  Perhaps Leonardo saw them.  He doesn’t have to worry about what they might do because they use him to supply food.  Maybe he knows more.”

“Perhaps I shall ask him next time I see him.  We need to know who from the castle is about and when so that we don’t get caught.”

“I’ll remember next time.  Is that all?”

“Yes.”

Chiara picked up her gun, gave me an extra-long sullen stare.  “I don’t trust this one, Marina.  You 

need to be careful.”

“I will.”

We waited a few minutes until after she had departed, and then Marina said, “We should be going too.  This place is a little eerie at night.  There are far too many ghosts for my liking.”

I shuddered, then followed her out.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to write a war story – Episode 17

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 in 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…

 

Jack was the first to realise that Marina was coming back, hearing her outside long before I did.  He stood up and looked in the direction of where he expected to see her.

A minute later she appeared, looking and sounding out of breath, as if she had been in a hurry? 

Chased, or had some urgent news?

“Is everything OK?” I asked, waiting till she came in and shut the door behind her.

The building we were in used to be a factory or a repair shop.  The strange smell I’d picked up a few hours ago was that of machine oil.

“We need to have a chat with the two who picked you up.”

“Where are they now?”

“I’ve organised to meet them at another facility we have.  Not everyone comes here.  It’s why we are still here.  Francesco nor any of the resistance he took with him were aware of this location.

I considered myself lucky to be among the few.

“Is there a reason why I need to be there?”

“Yes.  But it’ll wait until we get there.  Let’s go.”

She had barely got in the door, nor caught her breath.  It was just enough time to collect a spare clip of ammunition for a gun she had on her, but I couldn’t see.

I followed her out into the darkness, not realising it was night, for the first time since I’d arrived, and once outside, realised that it was an underground bunker rather than a building on an allotment, so it couldn’t be easily seen from any direction.  It was surrounded by trees and bushes, looking as though they had not been tended properly for some time.

It was as much as I could see, close by because it was a moonless night.

We went up some stairs and came out in a clump of bushes, and walked several yards where there was a disguised walkway zig-zagging through the bushes.  It, too, would be hard to see from a distance.  When we came out the other side, I could just barely see a car parked under a tree, looking rather worse for wear, and I thought it had been abandoned there. 

When Marina told me to get in, I realised it was, like everything else, well disguised.

The surrounding area was that of forest and farms.  It was hard to imagine that this part of the world was in the grip of a world war, and not too far away, there was the castle, and further north, the Germans and what was left of the Italian military forces dug in for a last-ditch effort.  The tide was turning, but ever so slowly.

It was hard to imagine just how dangerous it was for those defectors to try and get through without being shot.

And, just for good measure, Marina said, there were quite a few soldiers, disguised as ordinary workers who had infiltrated the villages, and surrounding farms, and reporting back what they saw and heard.

We were, in going about in the vehicle, attracting unwanted attention, but it was why we were doing this at night, she said, perhaps gleaning from my expression the fact I was worried about getting caught.

“The people at the castle tend not to go out at night for fear of being picked off.  I’m surprised you didn’t learn this when you were there.”

“I suspect the suspended any activities from the moment I arrived.  One of the prisoners told me that all movements of people had stopped, and they were waiting to be shipped out.  Obviously, they thought I might discover what was going on.  They definitely stopped me from going below the main floor.”

“I was told you have some knowledge of the castle layout?”

“Some.  We have old plans back in London, but I suspect those would be out of date now and since the German occupation.  The only time I got to look downstairs was when I tried to escape and found an old below ground exit, then when they locked me in a cell, and then when I was set free.  It matched much of what I remember seeing on the plans.  But, I suspect there’s more because I didn’t get to see the holding cells with the other prisoners.”

“Perhaps Carlo can help you with that.”

“We spoke about it.  I think he’s going to pay them a visit and exact revenge.”

“I told him we have to wait for some reinforcements.”

“No word from London?”

“Not yet.”

We stopped and parked the car between a church and what was left of what might have been a rectory, set aside from some other buildings that looked like part of a village.  It was not that dark that I couldn’t see that several of the buildings had been bombed, minus roofs, and one had the front section reduced to rubble.  No attempt had been made to clean it up.

“German tanks,” Marina said.  “An early landing party of your army parachuted in about a kilometre behind the church.  The local commander mobilised his forces and chased them into those buildings, which, at the time, housed four families.  They were given the option to surrender.  They didn’t, so the commander gave the order to raze the buildings to the ground, with them in there.  Along with the four innocent families.  No one survived.”

“The church?”

“The commander thought it would be bad luck to destroy the house of God.  The soldiers should have hidden in there.  They shot the priest anyway.”

It seemed odd to me that any sort of group would parachute into this part of Italy for any reason, castle withstanding.  There was, as far as I knew, nothing of interest or importance here.  Perhaps I’d ask when I made it back to London.  If I made it back.

I followed her through the rubble and in through a side entrance to the church.  Inside it was dark, and Marina was using her torchlight sparingly in case someone was watching.  From what I could see, the inside of the church was untouched, but everything was covered in dust from disuse.

“No one thought to send another priest?” I asked.

“No.  When they heard what happened to the last one, they decided to wait until the war was over.  Besides, with everything that’s happened, the people around here believe God has abandoned them.”

Perhaps he had.  I know that I wasn’t all that religious to begin with, but a lot of people I knew had lost their faith in a God that allowed such tragedies to happen.

We passed through a door at the back of the church, behind the nave, and into what looked like the vestment room.  To one side was another door, and then steps down.  The church had a cellar.

At the bottom of the stairs, there was a large storage area lit by a portable lantern.

Carlo was standing to one side, his weapon ready to use.

Opposite him were a man and a woman, the woman I’d seen before, she was the one who shot me with the tranquilizer.  The man, I’d not seen him before.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to write a war story – Episode 16

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 in 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…

 

The message I sent to Forster, in London, was short and to the point,

‘Castle in hands of Germans led by Thompson, others, and a further 12 soldiers parachuted in.  Defectors, our original soldiers? and villagers held captive in dungeons.  Resistance limited to five plus self.  Available resources cannot retake castle and will have difficulty in intercepting incoming package.  Suggestions?’

Marina read it and added her name before it was sent.  Now, all we could do was wait for a reply, though I was not sure what Forster would make of my request for suggestions.  I was supposed to make decisions in the field, but that was when we had a full complement of resistance fighters.  What I’d discovered was the worst-case scenario, and everyone in London was hoping that would not be the case.

I wondered what happened to the two men who had been following me, hoping I would lead them to what were now the remaining resistance members.

“Did you see the two men from the castle that had been following me?  I told the two who had captured me, a man and a woman, though the man emphatically denied he worked for the resistance, about them before the woman shot me with a tranquilizer gun.”

Martina looked puzzled.  It was obvious the two hadn’t mentioned anything about my situation to her.

“That did not come up in the debriefing.  The man is, in fact, a farmer, Leonardo, who doesn’t advertise his involvement, and only works with us if we need him.  Chiara tends to shoot first and ask questions later.  You were lucky her gun wasn’t loaded with bullets.  What is this story of yours, then?”

“One of the guards released me from my cell, and then set me free with the intention of following, not too close, to see if I led them to you.  I was hiding from them when they passed by, shortly before you people turned up.  They would have had to see them if they came from the village.”

The implications of what I just said only dawned on me after I said it.

“That might mean…” I said.

She put her hand up, not wanting me to continue.

“It doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but I will have to talk to them.  If anything, they would have avoided them or ignored them.  We don’t use that track from the village to the castle for the simple reason we might run into any of them.  Whether they were originally our allies, or not, we never trusted them.”

“Did they bring me here?”

“No.  We have a separate meeting point for intercepts like yourself and the defectors.  Then, if we think it’s safe to do so, we bring them here.  Only three of us know about this place, and two of us are here now.”

“The third?”

“You’ll meet him later when he brings some food and wine.  His name is Carlo.  He used to be a gardener at the castle, and his mother was the cook.  The Germans killed her the first time they were here, and now he hates Germans.”

Good for us, very bad for anyone at the castle, particularly if they are German.

“Pity we didn’t know about that earlier so we could organise a trap for them  We could do with two fewer adversaries, and quite possibly we might get some information out of them.  They might be still in the village.”

She stood, and put on her coat, and put a gun in the coat pocket where she could easily reach it.  “I’m going to have a word with Chiara, and warn Carlo that you’re here.  He’s a little trigger happy too.  Nothing much is going to happen until we hear back from the Colonel.  I suggest you get some rest, we have a few long days ahead.”

Carlo was a surprise.  Six foot ten, over 250 pounds, and carrying a sten gun over his shoulder, not a man to become an enemy of.  He came into the room without warning, and it was clear he was expecting to see me, and equally that I might be the enemy.

It was clear that he knew how to use the weapon, and had it ready in case he had to use it.

“You this Anderson character?”

He was more English than Italian, but could certainly pass for an Italian.

“I am.”

“From up yon castle?”

“Escaped?”

“How?”

“The lower level, where there are a few storerooms turned into cells.  The passage ran alongside the outer wall to a room that had a door to the outside.  Not one you’d easily pick.”

“Neat the communications room?”

“Probably above there.”

“You know the castle?”

“A little.  I used to be an archaeologist before this war came along, and had been to the castle before the war.  I’m familiar with the above-ground parts, but not so much below.  You were, I was told, a gardener?”

“Once.”

“Then you’d know your way around?”

“Possibly.  Why?”

“Because at some point we’re going to have to retake the place, and it would be good to have someone who knows their way around.  At least, better than I do.”

“Taking prisoners?”

“No.    We will be assuming anyone there whose not a prisoner is hostile.”

“Good.  Count me in.”

He dropped a basket he’d brought with him on the table in the corner.  “Dinner.”  Marina will be back shortly.

“You’re not staying?”

“Guard duty.  So you can eat in peace.”

With that, he was gone.  A large man, but a very quiet one.  I didn’t hear him arrive, and it was very nearly the same when he left.  A useful man in a fight indeed.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

Searching for locations: We’ve just arrived in Beijing International Airport, China

Instead of making a grand entrance, arriving in style and being greeted by important dignitaries, we are slinking in via an airplane, late at night. It’s hardly the entrance I’d envisaged. At 9:56 the plane touches down on the runway.  Outside the plane, it is dark and gloomy and from what I could see, it had been raining.  That could, of course, simply be condensation.

Once on the ground, everyone was frantically gathering together everything from seat pockets and sending pillows and blankets to the floor.  A few were turning their mobile phones back on, and checking for a signal, and, perhaps, looking for messages sent to them during the last 12 hours. Or perhaps they were just suffering from mobile phone deprivation.

It took 10 minutes for the plane to arrive at the gate. That’s when everyone moves into overdrive, unbuckling belts, some before the seatbelt sign goes off, and are first out of their seats and into the overhead lockers.  Most are not taking care that their luggage may have moved, but fortunately, no bags fall out onto someone’s head. The flight had been relatively turbulent free.

When as many people and bags have squeezed into that impossibly small aisle space, we wait for the door to open, and then the privileged few business and first-class passengers to depart before we can begin to leave. As we are somewhere near the middle of the plane, our wait will not be as long as it usually is.  This time we avoided being at the back of the plane.  Perhaps that privilege awaits us on the return trip.

Once off the plane, it is a matter of following the signs, some of which are not as clear as they could be.  It’s why it took another 30 odd minutes to get through immigration, but that was not necessarily without a few hiccups along the way. We got sidetracked at the fingerprint machines, which seemed to have a problem if your fingers were not straight, not in the center of the glass, and then if it was generally cranky, which ours were, continue to tell you to try again, and again, and again, and again…That took 10 to 15 minutes before we joined an incredibly long queue of other arrivals,

A glance at the time, and suddenly it’s nearly an hour from the moment we left the plane.

And…

That’s when we got to the immigration officer, and it became apparent we were going to have to do the fingerprints yet again.  Fortunately this time, it didn’t take as long.  Once that done, we collected our bags, cleared customs by putting our bags through a huge x-ray machine, and it was off to find our tour guide.


We found several tour guides with their trip-a-deal flags waiting for us to come out of the arrivals hall.  It wasn’t a difficult process in the end.  We were in the blue group.  Other people we had met on the plane were in the red group or the yellow group.  The tour guide found, or as it turned out she found us, it was simply a matter of waiting for the rest of the group, of which there were eventually 28.Gathered together we were told we would be taking the bags to one place and then ourselves to the bus in another.  A glance in the direction of the bus park, there were a lot of busses.

Here’s a thought, imagine being told your bus is the white one with blue writing on the side.

Yes, yours is, and 25 others because all of the tourist coaches are the same.  An early reminder, so that you do not get lost, or, God forbid, get on the wrong bus, for the three days in Beijing, is to get the last five numbers of the bus registration plate and commit them to memory.  It’s important.  Failing that, the guide’s name is in the front passenger window.

Also, don’t be alarmed if your baggage goes in one direction, and you go in another. In a rather peculiar set up the bags are taken to the hotel by what the guide called the baggage porter.  It is an opportunity to see how baggage handlers treat your luggage; much better than the airlines it appears.


That said, if you’re staying at the Beijing Friendship Hotel, be prepared for a long drive from the airport.  It took us nearly an hour, and bear in mind that it was very late on a Sunday night.

Climbing out of the bus after what seemed a convoluted drive through a park with buildings, we arrive at the building that will be our hotel for the next three days.  From the outside, it looks quite good, and once inside the foyer, that first impression is good.  Lots of space, marble, and glass.  If you are not already exhausted by the time you arrive, the next task is to get your room key, find your bags, get to your room, and try to get to be ready the next morning at a reasonable hour.

Sorry, that boat has sailed.

We were lucky, we were told, that our plane arrived on time, and we still arrived at the hotel at 12:52.  Imagine if the incoming plane is late.

This was taken the following morning.  It didn’t look half as bland late at night.

This is the back entrance to Building No 4 but is quite representative of the whole foyer, made completely of marble and glass.  It all looked very impressive under the artificial lights, but not so much in the cold hard light of early morning.

This the foyer of the floor our room was on.  Marble with interesting carpet designs.  Those first impressions of it being a plush hotel were slowly dissipating as we got nearer and nearer to the room.  From the elevator, it was a long, long walk.

So…Did I tell you about the bathroom in our room?

The shower and the toilet both share the same space with no divide and the shower curtain doesn’t reach to the floor.  Water pressure is phenomenal.  Having a shower floods the whole shower plus toilet area so when you go to the toilet you’re basically underwater.

Don’t leave your book or magazine on the floor or it will end up a watery mess.

And the water pressure is so hard that it could cut you in half.  Only a small turn of the tap is required to get that tingling sensation going.

It’s after 1:30 before we finally get to sleep.

As for the bed, well, that’s a whole other story.

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to write a war story – Episode 15

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 in 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…

 

The new leader of the resistance was the woman, Martina, best if I didn’t know her last name.  Fair enough.  There had been a necessary restructure after the infiltration, and untimely deaths of over half their number.

When I asked what happened to the former leader, I learned that he, and all but five other members were captured and taken to the castle.  They were now, for all intents and purposes, double agents, working for the Thompson at the castle.

The remaining five, of which Giuseppe and Martina belonged, had been forced to hide, dodging the men sent from the castle to hunt them down and kill them.

It was both the lack of reporting from the castle, followed by a message received regarding a possible traitor inside the resistance we had received in London, that set everything in motion, including my arrival to ascertain what was happening within the resistance group, and also at the castle.  Until that information reached us, there had been no reason to suspect that anything was wrong, and that the plans set in place to facilitate the defection of useful German scientists and, in some cases, high ranking officers, or that it had been infiltrated and to put it bluntly, original members had been killed and replaced.

I hadn’t realised who was in charge until the paratroopers had arrived and I’d become a prisoner.  Part of my brief had also been to verify the layout of the castle in accordance with old plans we had found using my archaeology background as a front, and Id managed to explore certain areas before Thompson had become suspicious and basically stopped me.  I’d searched part of the lower levels of the castle, but hadn’t got as far as the dungeons, where I eventually discovered becoming one myself, they were keeping many more prisoners.

I hadn’t long enough in the dungeons to discover whether any of the prisoners were part of the original team sent, whether there were any defectors being still held there, except for two that I’d seen, and definitely one I talked to, but there had to be more.

And, now that I’d found the remaining members of the resistance, it was my intention to return to rescue then, and retake the castle.  What was going to make it difficult, if not impossible, was the fact there were only five, and they were all busy trying not to get caught.  Still, I had to try, and I asked Martina if it was possible to get everyone together for a meeting.

Martina just laughed.  Whether it was my request or my plan to retake the castle was the cause of her mirth.

“With what?”  she said incredulously, “there are only five of us left, and we spend most of our time keeping one step ahead of the turncoats.”

“How many of them are there?”

“Too many, led by that bastard Francesco.  He didn’t like taking orders from a woman, thought we’d picked the wrong side, especially when the Germans killed about fifty of the villagers when we refused to give ourselves up.  They killed his wife and mother  after he refused to send them away.”

That didn’t seem right to me, to align yourself with that sort of enemy, not after what they had done.  Except there was no telling what anyone might do in the face of such an adversary, or circumstances.  But I had to ask, “Why would they?”

“They’ve got hostages from the village up there, in the dungeons.  That’s how they turned them.”

Damn.  I was not going to be able to turn them back, not when the lives of their friends, even family, was being threatened.

“Is that the case for those who didn’t surrender?”

“No.  Our relatives left when we could see what was going to happen.”

“So, the problem we have is, freeing the hostages, freeing the soldiers if there are any of the original group, retake the castle, and get the pipeline working again.”  And, I thought to myself, pull off seven miracles in fifteen minutes.

I was putting forward what was for all intents and purposes impossible.

“There’s more,” she said.  “There is a high-value scientist coming, last advice was that he was in transit from Germany to here.  We know, and they know, courtesy of Francesco.  They want him captured; we want him safely delivered to the submarine waiting to take him to England.  He’s due in three days, and he doesn’t know the castle’s allegiances have changed.”

“Then we’ll have to intercept him.”

“Yes, but we don’t know what he looks like, but we do have a code name.  Francesco and the castle don’t have that, only his real name.”

A name I saw on a highly confidential document on Forster’s desk the day he briefed me on my current mission.  Blackfoot.  I thought it was an operation.  I think that was the code name for the defector.

“Blackfoot?”

“How did you know?”

“A lucky guess.” 

The question I had was, why didn’t he tell me about it?  Did he think I was going to get captured and tortured?

“Well, you’re right.  But it means Francesco and his men are going to be looking extra hard for us, because without that codename, as soon as they fail to confirm their identity to him, he will kill himself rather than go back, which I’m guessing will be their least preferred option.  And to make matters worse, London’s orders are quite specific, this man must be delivered alive.  He has critical information they need, and which will hasten the end of the war”

“Then I think we should tell London the nature of our situation and see what they come up with.”

 

© Charles Heath 2019

Searching for locations: Sydney to Beijing, China – Every flight is different

Sydney to Beijing – Qantas A330-200
Boarding 11:45, everyone on board by 12:02, for a 12:10 departure. Pushing back 12:12 Take off 12:27

Lunch
Airline food is getting better but the fact they serve it up to you in a metal tray with a thick aluminum lid does nothing for the quality of the food inside.  I get what the chef is trying to do but often there is too little of one thing and too much of another and what you finish up with is slop in a tray.  Sometimes it’s edible sometimes it’s not.  Sometimes the meat is tender and other times it’s like boot leather.  As it is today. I think it’s pork, I should have had the chicken.  Or perhaps it was chicken.  I hate it when you can’t tell what it is that you’re eating. But, the drinks were good.

Rest or Sleep, maybe
It’s going to take 11 hours and 20 minutes from Sydney to Beijing, a long time to sit in a plane with nothing much to do other than crosswords, read a book or newspaper or magazine, listen to music on your own device, or the in-flight entertainment, watch a movie again by the in-flight entertainment – if it works – or try to get some sleep. I started with the crosswords but got bored quickly. I fiddled with the in-flight entertainment, looked at the movies and tv shows but none really interested me, not then at least, so I set it to the flight path. Not exactly stellar entertainment, but it’s always interesting to know where the plane is. Or is it? If we crash, what good would it do me to know it’s somewhere over the ocean, not far from Manila, or somewhere else.  It’s not as if I could phone someone up, on the way down, to let them know where we are. But, just after dinner, we still haven’t left Australia

However, by the time I’ve finished fiddling with and dismissing all of the entertainment alternatives, it’s back to the flight path and now we are…

Somewhere approaching the Sulu Sea, which I’ve never heard of before, so it looks like I’ll have to study up on my geography when I get home.

OK, Manila looks like somewhere I’ve heard of, so we have to be flying over the Philippines.  Not far left of that is Vietnam.  Neither of those places is on my travel bucket list, so I’ll just look from up here and be satisfied with that.

Working, or not
Chronic boredom is setting in by the time we are just past halfway to our destination. We are over 6 hours into the flight and there no possible way I’m going to get any sleep. I brought my Galaxy Tab loaded with a few of my novel outlines, and planning for missing chapters, thinking I might get a little thinking time in.  Plane rides, I find, are excellent for getting an opportunity to write virtually unhindered by outside interruptions, if, of course, you discount the number of times people brush past, knocking your seat, the person in front lowering the seat into your face, or people around you continually asking you to turn off your light because they’re trying to sleep. Sorry, I say, but you can suffer my pain with me.  It’s one of the joys of flying with over two hundred others in a claustrophobic environment.  Besides, aren’t the lights supposed to be slanted so only I get the rays of light?  Except, I guess when the fixed light doesn’t line up with where the airline has fixed the seat (usually so they can squash more people in).So, sorry, not sorry, take it up with the airline.

Back to work, and I put in some quality time on a part of the story that had been eluding me for a while.  I knew what I wanted to write, but not how I was going to approach it, so that blissfully quiet and intense time worked in my favor, something that would not have happened back hope. I won’t bore you with the synopsis, just suffice to say it’s finally down on paper, digitally that is, and it’s a huge step forward towards finishing it. There is, of course, the end play, the reading of the will but not before there’s a few thrusts and parry’s by some of the players, but all in all the objective was to showcase a group of people with their strengths and weaknesses pushing their characters in various directions, some at odds with what is expected of them. But enough of that.   A quick check of our position shows we’re still over water but closer to our destination, so much so, we might start the pre-landing rituals, starting with food.

Dinner
7:00 – Dinner is served, well, the lights go on and a lot of tired people try to shake the sleep, and sleeplessness, out of their systems. Then flight attendants that are far too cheerful, and must have beamed in from somewhere else, serve another interesting concoction that says what’s in it but you can’t really be sure of the ingredients.  It comes and it goes.

9:10 – We begin our descent into Beijing, you know, that moment when the engines almost stop and there’s a sickening lurch and the plane heads downward. 9:56 – We touch down on the runway, in the dark and apparently it has been raining though from inside the plane you’d never know. 10:10 – the plane arrives at the gate,  the usual few minutes to open the door, and, being closer to the front of the plane this time, it doesn’t take that long before the queue is moving.

Early or late, it doesn’t matter.  After clearing customs and immigration, we have to go in search of our tour guide, waiting for us somewhere outside the arrivals terminal.