MISDIRECTION
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MiSDirection is a Historical Fiction Novel that takes you back to the dark days of WWII as Germany looks set to conquer all Europe and invade Britain. Reinhard Heydrich, Head of Germany's SD, their top security service, is a master of deception and intrigue and pivotal in all that Hitler does.
In May 1941 he flies his country's new president into Scotland at the same time as Rudolf Hess makes his fruitless flight. Heydrich tells the Duke of Kent that Churchill dropped bombs on London so as to attack Berlin and start the terror war, hoping Germany would retaliate. Heydrich also details a planned Japanese attack on America and suggests the Duke of Kent should inform them. Is it a genuine peace mission or part of a well-orchestrated plot to give Germany strategic advantage? Churchill, forced into admitting his guilt to the King, justifies his actions before setting out to silence those involved in the 'peace talks'. When Heydrich learns that Churchill has sent Czech assassins to Prague to kill him, he throws himself into the greatest conspiracy of his life... Below are some excerpts for you to read: |
The flea-ridden band of raw recruits greedily mopped up the eggs and biscuits they had yesterday liberated from a Romanian farm and, if they did what they were told and survived the day, their platoon leader Rudolf Hess promised they would be treated to chicken and potatoes for dinner. He grabbed his rifle and briefed them to stay close to him and keep their heads down. Crouching low, eyes skinned for booby traps, he led them through woodland where birds were in chorus to welcome the sun. He angrily signalled to his men to stop their nervous chatter, which risked alerting the enemy in a forward trench they were trying to capture. They were halfway now and well within the range of enemy fire but all was quiet and he was confidently urging his men on...he barely heard the shot before a searing pain spread through his chest. As his men returned covering fire, he had crawled back to his own lines, in agony.
Later while recovering his health he had decided to apply to become a fighter pilot. He was delighted when accepted as suitable material. He had shown high aptitude in training and was looking forward to a dashing début as a lieutenant at his allotted airfield in northern France when, barely without warning, the ‘War-to-End-Wars’ was fizzling out before he could fire an airborne shot in anger...read chapters 10 and 11 here.
Later while recovering his health he had decided to apply to become a fighter pilot. He was delighted when accepted as suitable material. He had shown high aptitude in training and was looking forward to a dashing début as a lieutenant at his allotted airfield in northern France when, barely without warning, the ‘War-to-End-Wars’ was fizzling out before he could fire an airborne shot in anger...read chapters 10 and 11 here.
The Rising Sun - Chapter 10
On 27th September 1940 Hitler and Mussolini duly signed the tri-partite pact with Japan, the purpose of which the parties agreed, was to keep the U.S. out of the war.
Heydrich though, was convinced that the information coming to him from his sources in the States, Singapore, Hong Kong and above all Japan itself, made it inevitable that America would be dragged screaming into a war with Japan that would do the Fatherland no favours. He remained convinced that his briefing to Hitler regarding revealing Japanese intentions was sound. Yet he had to acknowledge that the Führer could not set a date for the Hess venture because the Americans would need to see unambiguous proof that a Japanese attack on their fleet was more than the wild thoughts of a drunken Japanese zealot that had been blown up out of all proportion by German Intelligence. Sorge had provided conclusive proof in November that the Japanese were building a further six aircraft carriers, giving them eleven carriers which they certainly would not need against Siberia, Hong Kong or even French indo-China By January 1941 the Japanese were, he was reliably informed, establishing a navy base in northern Japan that replicated the peculiar shape of the America’s substantial navy base in Hawaii and that it had an adjacent airfield, which in juxtaposition of proximity and bearing was similar to that of Hickam Field at Pearl Harbour... |
The Rising Sun - Chapter 10 Hanna Reitsch
“Super little ‘plane this, flies itself really,” shared Osikawa, “you could almost do it with your eyes closed.”
Hanna giggled, “I bet you can’t!” “What?” “Fly it with your eyes closed, say for five minutes holding your heading and altitude – no more than 5% either way – I regularly do it for ten minutes or more.” “Never tried it, but I’ll give it a go.” “I know you, Mitsuoto, you’re cheating, you are looking through your lashes.” She reached into her bag and found her yellow scarf that she wrapped around the protesting man’s eyes, “Now try it!” He flew steadily on, maintaining his height by pulling back on his stick as the engine note increased and pushing as it laboured. He felt as if he were flying on a switchback, which was not helped by Hanna’s infectious giggling, “They all find it easy to start off with, but it gets to you, within a minute you’ll be breaking out in perspiration.” “We will see...now what is the wager?” “If you don’t do it, you must buy me lunch.” “And if I do?” “That’s a surprise, but it’ll be something you’ll remember forever.” “You’re on then, it’s the heading that’s hardest, but I’m confident about holding the height.”... |
ASSURANCE
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Assurance is a mystery suspense novel painting a picture of post-war Britain where train travel is the norm, even for bigwigs. What do the powerful do when an assurance salesman sitting nearby strikes up an innocent conversation? Some might reveal seemingly irrelevant personal facts and harmless white lies to evade involvement, but become tempted by his sales patter. After the death of a loved one, the assurance company pays a substantial sum each is not really entitled to, until inevitably those white lies come home to roost.
Could this have happened to many powerful figures and thus helped to transfer control into the hands of big business? Nowadays the undemocratic power of multinationals seems immutable. Yet in the naivety of 1954, Foreign Office number two, Alex Holmes, takes a train journey that leads him to discover a Britain on the verge of domination. He sets out to identify the perpetrators but cannot decide exactly who is behind it all. Even the brilliant Alex fails to discover it is a carefully conceived plot laid by a ghost twelve years earlier to control the world without firing a single shot. Alex is on the verge of piecing together the clues when Sally, his mistress, tears his world apart. Would you, like Alex, have tried to resist and unmask the sinister power or would you have accepted the inevitable? Below are some excerpts for you to read: |
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Waterloo Station clock
'Am I? Am I really...really in love with her?'
A few months ago, Carl, the tramp-like figure sitting on a luggage trolley, knew he would not have understood. However, today, just lip reading his target’s mournful words he shared his pain. He could see that the blue-suited man was near the end of his tether. Thirty minutes ago, Carl had found it quite amusing as every arriving taxi interrupted the middle-aged man’s circuit of distress beneath the huge Waterloo station clock. Yet Carl, too, was seething now. All his carefully laid plans were back in the melting pot.
“Give it a few minutes more,” Carl willed him from behind his newspaper, when the troubled man consulted his gold wristwatch yet again. Minutes dragged by. Then, with a telling shake of his head at the departure board, the man woefully hoisted his pigskin case. He was on the verge of leaving – she was not coming. Carl cursed himself for telling his Director that he had things under control. Time was against him now; there was little chance of pushing a more amenable girlfriend his way, even if he could cause a rift.
A movement beneath his broadsheet distracted him and he looked down to see a lame pigeon pecking at his shoelace, “You’re on a hiding to nothing old son,” he muttered, “the same as me.” The desperate bird limped off on its quest for survival among the throng of rush-hour commuters. Carl resumed his observance over the grim headlines proclaiming officially that Russia had already exploded its first Hydrogen bomb.
A shock of long curly auburn hair above porcelain skin clambered out of a weary taxi. As soon as the man saw her, he dropped his case and dashed forward, his torment clearly changing to relief then to anger with each stride. “Where the dickens have you been Sally? I told you five o’clock!”
A few months ago, Carl, the tramp-like figure sitting on a luggage trolley, knew he would not have understood. However, today, just lip reading his target’s mournful words he shared his pain. He could see that the blue-suited man was near the end of his tether. Thirty minutes ago, Carl had found it quite amusing as every arriving taxi interrupted the middle-aged man’s circuit of distress beneath the huge Waterloo station clock. Yet Carl, too, was seething now. All his carefully laid plans were back in the melting pot.
“Give it a few minutes more,” Carl willed him from behind his newspaper, when the troubled man consulted his gold wristwatch yet again. Minutes dragged by. Then, with a telling shake of his head at the departure board, the man woefully hoisted his pigskin case. He was on the verge of leaving – she was not coming. Carl cursed himself for telling his Director that he had things under control. Time was against him now; there was little chance of pushing a more amenable girlfriend his way, even if he could cause a rift.
A movement beneath his broadsheet distracted him and he looked down to see a lame pigeon pecking at his shoelace, “You’re on a hiding to nothing old son,” he muttered, “the same as me.” The desperate bird limped off on its quest for survival among the throng of rush-hour commuters. Carl resumed his observance over the grim headlines proclaiming officially that Russia had already exploded its first Hydrogen bomb.
A shock of long curly auburn hair above porcelain skin clambered out of a weary taxi. As soon as the man saw her, he dropped his case and dashed forward, his torment clearly changing to relief then to anger with each stride. “Where the dickens have you been Sally? I told you five o’clock!”
Deaf Before Dishonour - Chapter 1
He made light work of his bulky suitcase and waited in the vestibule while they settled in an empty compartment. With a sense of relief, he steadied himself as the train snatched its way from the station, Devon-bound. He liked this thing about trains – the benefit of a captive audience that rarely had total privacy. As the train clattered through Clapham Junction, he was ready. Dragging his large case slowly along the corridor, Carl came to a stop outside their compartment and looked in. Ignoring their frowns, he slid open the door and manoeuvred himself into their world.
“This is a first class compartment, you know,” said a plummy voice. The exasperation showed on the protesting man’s face but Carl turned and backed into their compartment, struggling with his enormous suitcase. “I say, don’t bring that monstrosity in here – I’ll call the guard!” he blustered. Carl cast the couple a smile and proceeded to hump his suitcase on to the luggage rack. “Did you hear me?” said the man, yet Carl’s raincoat joined his case and resolutely he sat as far from the couple as possible, ignoring the man’s clear fury. Carl closed his eyes and counted to himself. The man’s hand was on his shoulder well within the two minutes he had predicted and it began shaking him quite violently. Carl stirred and peered quizzically at the outraged face. “Did you hear me? I said this is a first class compartment!” Carl shrugged, then reached in his jacket pocket for the ever-present notebook and held it up like a crucifix to a vampire. The man’s anger seemed to drown in a sea of embarrassment as he read the bold but telling word on Carl’s notebook, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise, please forgive me.” Carl smiled at the man – not a smile of forgiveness – what was there to forgive? No, this was a smile of deep satisfaction. Should he speak? Was it necessary? No, it wasn’t necessary, but perhaps it was appropriate. “I do apologise for embarrassing you, but I’m afraid I am as deaf as a post – have been since the war, did you want to tell me something?” Carl said with a smile, as he offered the flustered man the notebook and a pencil. “N...no, it doesn’t matter, I beg your pardon.” ‘So far so good,’ Carl thought as, with eyebrows raised, he continued to wave the notebook beneath the protesting man’s nose... |
Brief Encounter - Chapter 2
She came in sheepishly, balancing a tray with coffee and biscuits and cast around for somewhere to put it, “Please excuse the mess, but I become so absorbed and I have very few visitors.” She awkwardly stacked some music into a pile with her free hand and set the tray down on top of the piano, her embarrassment taking control.
“Play for me,” whispered Carl. “...I’m sorry?” “I would like you to play something for me.” She looked at him with disbelief, “What would you like me to play?” “The piece they used in the film Brief Encounter, Rachmaninov – you know Trevor Howard and...?” “Celia Johnson – the Adagio from the second piano concerto?” she said, handing him his coffee. “You’ve seen it then?” “Seen it? I cried so much the first time I saw it, I had to go back twice more to watch it properly and there’s hardly a month goes by that I don’t play the film version. In fact, it brings back so many memories that I’ve written my own particular variation.” “Play yours for me, will you?” “I’ve never played it for anybody else,” she said, clearing an armchair for him, “but yes, why not.” An adjacent stack of music with the proportions of a small table became the unlikely perch for his coffee cup and he lowered himself gratefully into the chair’s musty comfort. Elizabeth’s face reflected her need for music but a bright red blush eclipsed her contented smile as she took her seat and prepared to play. For what seemed an eternity but was no more than twenty minutes, Elizabeth played the haunting melody as Carl had never heard it before. His keen eyes wandered around the room inquiringly but, other than the silver-framed photograph of a dashing airman, there was nothing to tell him anything about her except that she was wedded, if not widowed, to her music. As the mood of the melody changed, he closed his eyes and became lost in its poignancy, brought alive in his mind as the film lovers parted for the final time. The piano led him through the scene in the station buffet and even the hardened Carl could feel his eyes moisten as the music paused. That was the cue for Trevor Howard’s portrayal of the emigrating Doctor Harvey whose hand tried to relay all of the feelings he held in a single discreet parting gesture... |
