Charles Heath's writing blog

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. “So,” Lallo said, “you’re telling me you landed separately, Treen and his group advanced towards their position without waiting for your team, that shortly after landing you heard gunfire exchanged, that the members of your team broke ranks and went to help their comrades, and that all of them, as far as you were aware at the time, had been killed or captured.” “Yes.” “And the two operatives you’d come to rescue?” “At the time, I had no idea what their status was, but I did make a preliminary assumption that if our mission was blown, then they would hardly be left alive, unless the enemy thought they had some strateg

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. Just the person to see next I couldn’t imagine what those details were.  But if it was a setup, it was a very elaborate one, by people who knew our systems and procedures.  Naturally, the first thought that sprang to mind, someone who was working here, or used to. Then I had another thought, what if none of us was meant to survive the operation, and hat we had been selected specifically because we were new to field operations.  At the briefing, we had been told this was simple surveillance, observe and report, nothing more. Usually we had one experienced member and three new team members, the experienced member was there to continue on the job training and ev

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. Short of jumping over the side, there was no way we were getting away.  And judging from the expression on Rico’s face, now very plain to see halfway along the pier, he was not happy to see us. Boggs stepped off the deck and joined me on the pier, just as Rico made it to where we were standing, just as it started in a gentle up and down motion with the water, churned up by a passing speed boat, but it was fear rather than the pier’s motions making me feel sick. The sound of another boat caused me to glance in the opposite direction, out towards the sandbar, where I could see another large boat coming in our direction very quickly, and by

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. As we all stood either on or off the boat, two things were clear to me.  The first, Rico’s genuine surprise at finding the body on his boat, and the second, how quickly the authorities had circled in for the kill. I know calling 911 was supposed to get a rapid response to dire situations, but to get from the police station to the pier would take at least five minutes longer than it had, and that was breaking all the speed limits. I might be jumping to conclusions, but someone wanted Rico to be found with an unexplainable body.  His recently departed friend’s maybe? Johnson waited until the officer off the boat had finished his call, and

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: I held the envelope in my hand, turning it over and over, considering tossing it in the bin and becoming a tourist for a few days and then go home. I shuddered.  I was not cut out to be a tourist. I opened it. Short and to the point. 'Take the tram to the top of the peak.' It didn't say when I had to go or be there, or what I was supposed to do when I got there. I cursed Suzanne. I decided to freshen up and change before going out.  I had no intention of dragging this out any longer than I had to. At the concierge desk, I asked for directions.  I could have looked it up myself, but I knew from experience, that the concierge staff in such a hotel would know more than I could discover in any tourist document. Being on the Kowloon side, or the mainland I would have to take the Star Ferry over to Hong Kong island, and the ferry terminal wasn't very far

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. An interrogation continues “So, take it from the top, give me a detailed rundown on the operation, from the briefing to coming here.” That was an interesting request.  My usual report would not go into so much detail, and I had been compiling it on the go because if left until the end, crucial details were always omitted. And, with the explosion, a lot of details had been mislaid in my mind, with more important or over-arching problems, getting a more prominent place in my memory.  It was a valuable lesson learned on reporting, we’d received from a man who most of my classmates thought odd, to the point of paranoid. “I received the text message the night be

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: The letter came as a surprise. It was short and to the point. "There is a ticket enclosed.  Pack light, and be prepared to travel at short notice.  Your next instruction will be at your destination." It was a game, not one I particularly liked, by Suzanne had this wry sense of humour that I allowed her to indulge in.  But, Her family were wealthy, and apparently, my family needed their investment, and my wishes and even hopes and desires were lost in translation. But I thought after the last time we had agreed by to do this any more, but meet in a more conventional manner. "You look annoyed, Michael," my father said. I may be an executive in the company hierarchy with responsibility only to the managing director, and autonomy that others in the same position would find useful, but that autonomy didn't run to going off unannounced for what could be

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. The pier had been moving gently up and down in response to a passing speed boat that had flouted the minimum speed law, like most of the speed boat owners. On board the boat, the movement was more pronounced, and it was a bad time to remember that I get seasick, even standing on the pier.  My stomach was suddenly queasy. Boggs was standing by the hatch that led down below.  It was locked with a big padlock so there was no way we were getting below.  Along the side of the boat was a raised section with windows, but there were curtained off, and the material was faded and looked dirty. Boggs walked along the narrow walkway to the bow, and

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. “As I understand it, you were to fly to the drop off point about two miles from the abandoned farm where the operatives were hiding, and not far from the farm, where a group of enemy soldiers had set up camp.  The plan was one team was to create a diversion, while the other rescued the operatives.” It sounded quite simple and equally workable when said out loud, now. But, at the time and on the ground, nothing could be further from the truth.  It had sounded equally simple when we discussed the final plan before we moved out.  My team would provide the diversion; Treen’s would affect the rescue. “In your post ope