Charles Heath's writing blog

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. 

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. When I woke, I was outside the warehouse near an ambulance, and when I opened my eyes, I could see my mother, looking close to hysterical.  Further back, behind her, was Benderby himself, looking concerned. A voice was saying, on the other side, “Just take it easy.  You’ve had a nasty knock to your head.”  I tried, instinctively, to move my hand there, but it was not responsive. That scared me. I tried wiggling my toes, and it felt like something was happening.  That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Then I realised there were more people around the gurney I was lying on and a lot of chatter about a break-in and possible casualties.  There wa

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 w

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: What was hiding behind that wall? It was a question that had fuelled the imaginations of generations. The official story was that it was a government-run rehabilitation centre for soldiers who had participated and were injured in past conflicts. It sounded a plausible, and realistic explanation. But... Very few had got near the wall, let alone climb it to see what was on the other side. There were rumours. One was that on the other side was yet another wall with a large courtyard in between, and some of the most exquisite gardens to be seen. Another was there was a low large flat roof building suggesting it went down into the ground, peeps and experimental reverse skyscraper, going down instead of up. And a final version said that it was exactly what everyone was being told, a rehabilitation centre because that person had seen aged soldiers in uniform, sitting in

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: 200 acres of manicured gardens was an understatement.  I could see only a small part of them from the front gate, as my car drew level with the front entrance. Ahead of me, and every other visitor was the driveway, and either side a continuous row of multicoloured roses. Invitations were being collected and participants directed to the specially allotted car parking spaces in a tree-lined area not far from the main house, or should I say mansion  It was so large it was visible from about two miles away, the most visible parts the two towers at the end of the East and West wings, where I was told there were spectacular views of the ocean one way and the hills the other. Heidi was there at the front gate, waiting, and got in the car after I handed over my invitation.  Another oddity, she seemed well acquainted with the staff, and, if I was not mistaken, seemed to hold some autho

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. Nothing good ever comes of snooping Ever had the heart-stopping feeling when you’re in the wrong place, and someone has interrupted you?  Especially if you shouldn’t be there, or that you have no right to be there. I stood quietly in the corner and hoped whoever the visitor was would go away.  No answer meant no one was home, didn’t it? Unless… I heard a key in the door, and it turn in the lock. I moved quickly to the other side of the door so I would be shielded when the person came into the room.  Too late to get out, I was of two minds what to do.  Hit them over the head and flee, or ask them what they were doing, before they asked me that same question

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. Nothing good ever comes of snooping Why didn’t it surprise me that he was playing all ends against the middle if that was the expression?  But it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he was one step ahead of me. But, he could have trusted me with more information so that I could help him find the files.  Perhaps that was because he feared Severin might track me down, as he had, and, if I had found them, run the list of losing them to his foe. I was still on the fence about who was on the right side and who was on the wrong side, or whether they were both of questionable character.  What made it difficult to understand was how Severin could run an operation in

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 “

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. I had to wonder if Lallo had already called the number on the phone he had handed Jacobi, and then considered, if that was the case, there would be no need for Jacobi to call anyone.  Or Lallo had got an answer, just not the answer he was expecting. Jacobi looked at the phone, and I got the impression he was weighing his options.  The first was how long Lallo would hold him in custody.  That I think we could both assumed to be forever if necessary.  There was, no doubt, a cell at a black site with his name on it already.  The second, if he did call his contact, would that contact co-operate, though it was hard what it was La