Charles Heath's writing blog

I'm back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written. The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I'm not very good at prioritising. But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn't take long to get back into the groove. Did he just witness an execution? I could see the cogs in his mind turning over.  Calculating what it would take to get past me. Running would only help me. Walking, well, he wasn’t going to get far. A fight?  He might be more experienced, but I was more angry, now controlled anger aided by rational thinking.  There would be no blindly lashing out. Reconnaissance, Surveillance, and Self defence. We were ten yards apart when he stopped, moving to one side near the wall.  I’d seen him looking for a weapon, but luckily none were on offer.  Someone kept this laneway very clean. A car had been parked at the end, and I’d seen him try the doors.  Locked.  It w

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: "You!" It was spoken in anger, a short, terse, word spat out with its intended effect. "I could say the same.  How they'll did you get picked for this detail?" Old flames were meant to be distanced from, and I had taken the initiative.  We'd had an office romance, against unwritten rules, and it ended badly, though through no fault of mine, but I had been the one to make the greatest sacrifice.  A grade demotion, and assigned to a new division and in turn the shittiest jobs. Like this one, surveillance from a distance on a suspected tanker that was allegedly bringing drugs into the city by the sea.  It was, in my view, a pie in the sky scenario dreamed up by a CI to save his skin. "I was hoping you could tell me." To be honest, I never wanted to see Judy Haskell again.  She was a climber, using whatever and whoever to

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: Perhaps, for the first time in months it was good just to be outside, revelling in the fresh air, even though it was very cold. The fact I could feel the cold was a minor miracle in itself.  Had anyone asked me a year ago if I believed in miracles I would have laughed at them.  It's strange how you take so much for granted when everything is going fine. Then, all it can take us a second, in fact for me, less than a second, to have your whole world tipped upside down. Yes, in a fraction of a second. And then to be told how lucky I was to actually come out alive, and with the distinct possibility of making a full recovery. Some might also think it odd that I would come back to the scene of the event, because, for everyone, there had been no progress in finding out what had happened. In bare terms, I'd been shot, not intentionally, but as a resul

This is a story inspired by a visit to an old castle in Italy. It was, of course, written while travelling 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... And sadly when I read what I'd written, off the plane and in the cold hard light of dawn, there were problems, which now in the second draft, should provide the proper start. They always come for you just before dawn. I could hear the words being spoken by Sergeant Major during lesson one of torture training.  Not us giving it to them, but them giving it to us.  Why?  For some reason at that hour of the morning, you were still asleep, or half asleep, and totally unprepared. So, lesson number one, if you found yourself in that situation, waiting, you needed to prepare. Easy to say, not so easy to do.  He then went on to outline the methods to employ when faced with an imminent interrogation.  The problem was, he

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. Lallo gave me a minute or two to read what amounted to two lines, that my co-operation was expected, and to be given.  It wasn’t exactly addressed to me personally, but a blanket authorization to interview anyone involved in that operation. I handed the letter back, but not before I noticed it had been unfolded and refolded several times as if it had been used before.  Had Lallo already interrogated Treen, the only other survivor? Lallo’s first question: “Do you know who was responsible for organising that operation?” It was rather an odd question, asking a Sergeant who was assigned at the last minute. “Look, a

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. Before the waterfront cleanup, the Shingle Inn was another of those places respectable people didn’t go to.  And those from out of town only stayed there if everything else was taken, or they were looking for a reason to visit a hospital. I knew this not because it was advertised on the radio or television, or it was in the newspapers, or it probably was but I never read any of them, but because several of my senior year classmates went there on a dare to sample ‘the fare’. They learned the lesson the hard way so all the rest of us wouldn’t make the same mistake. So, the question I had to ask myself when I reached the safety of a bus

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: I'd seen the Trevi Fountain in the movies, but, until now, it just seemed like any other fountain, only larger. In reality, it was much more than that, and, so it seemed, it was also that for many other people.  Mid-afternoon on a warm sunny day, they were all standing in awe. Perhaps some were making a wish, and I saw several toss coins in.  There would be a lot of money in there and I couldn't help but think about what sort of job it would be to retrieve it. Odd too, I thought, if they hadn't, how many old and rare coins might be somewhere on the floor.  Of course, I only thought of the aesthetic value rather than the practicality of the water system that the Romans had built long before such feats of engineering were being contemplated. No, I was here on holiday.  After years of travelling to a great many places for my job, one that never rea

This is a story inspired by a visit to an old castle in Italy. It was, of course, written while travelling 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... And sadly when I read what I'd written, off the plane and in the cold hard light of dawn, there were problems, which now in the second draft, should provide the proper start. A voice with a German accent, a male, middle-aged.  A scientist?  He sounded very frightened. “Apparently I’m on the wrong side.” “Englander?”  The voice sounded very close, perhaps the cell next to mine. “Yes.  Seems the men upstairs are not, even though they look like my fellow soldiers, so you can imagine my surprise when I discovered they were German.  Did you come here looking for a better life away from the Reich?” “I heard rumours of such a place in Italy where if you had certain information, they, the British and Americans would h

I'm back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written. The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I'm not very good at prioritising. But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn't take long to get back into the groove. Is it going to be revenge or just plain bewilderment? There were protocols to handle every situation.   It’s why I was stuck in a room with a dozen others for nearly six months, learning the ropes. That’s what Alex called it.   He’d also said it was a waste of time because by the time we made it out into the field all the bad guys would be locked up.   Patience wasn’t one of his virtues. That’s why Alex didn’t make it through the first cut. It had been a long six months but it had been worth it when ten of us out of the original intake of 24 made it.   I considered myself lucky. Now three of those men were missing, and I believed they were dead, or if no

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. It didn’t take much effort to come to the only viable explanation why a buried operation had been brought back to life. Colonel Bamfield. And it didn’t take much more effort to realise that operation had been one of his, not that any of us knew that at the time, but for whatever reason it had gone badly and now he was looking for answers. Answers to what though? It was a simple extraction; two operatives had their cover blown and were in hiding.  A seven-man team in two choppers, get in, collect them, and get out.  Seven men were overkill, but they were important operatives with vital intelligence. I was a last