Roland Yeomans's Blog, page 33

DARK SECRETS OF PAST PRESIDENTS

 

Ghost of Mark Twain here at Roland's with Midnight a'studying me from the fireplace mantle.

Crystal Collier (from yesterday's comments), 

Roland, and I share the same distrust of any politician.  Roland's studied history, and I have lived it!

Take the presidents ...


DID TEDDY ROOSEVELT ORDER A MASSACRE?

When old Teddy Roosevelt was sworn to office the Phillipine-American war had been raging for two years already, 

Roosevelt had been in office for not even a fortnight when he heard the terrible news 

that 50 US soldiers had been killed on the island of Samar. 

This being the biggest single military loss since the battle of the little Bighorn 25 years prior, 

Roosevelt sort of lost his calm and ordered General Jacob H. Smith to "sort this mess out once and for all"

 thus leading to the massacre of thousands at the "Balangiga massacre" namely most being civilians.
 
Smith was quoted saying to his troops, 

"I want no prisoners. I wish for you to kill and burn; the more you kill and burn the more it will please me." 

Smith was noted for being a brutal man having played his part in the Wounded Knee massacre, was this the reason Smith was chosen for the task? 


It is noted that when the General was court martialed and found guilty of this massacre 

Roosevelt reprimanded and retired Smith. 


DID ANDY JACKSON INDULGE IN THE FIRST ETHNIC CLEANSING?

He expelled 100,000 Natives from their homelands. 

As a soldier Jackson had already acted mercilessly towards the natives, killing and exiling large numbers of them, 

and as US president he signed the "Indian Removal Act,"

which was effectively a death sentence for thousands more. 

 This law permitted the relocation of Native American tribes 

such as the Cherokee,Seminole and Chickasaw peoples in order to create territories for white settlers. 

 The move was so rapid and so badly organized that an estimated 25% of those deported 

died of hunger, hypothermia or exhaustion. 

This terrible chapter in US history is known as the Trail of Tears. 


DID HONEST GEORGE START A WORLD WAR?

 The history of the USA begins with George Washington. 

At the age of 22, when he was still a British Officer in the American colonies, 

Washington was involved in an incident that is still debated by historians today. 

 In May 1754, the French sent a diplomat out to secure the territory, 

but Washington ambushed the Frenchman, the French negotiator and up to 13 of his soldiers were killed. 

 This incident caused theFrench and Indian wars in North America, which culminated two years later into the Seven Years War (1756-1763), 

A bloody conflict between the great European powers of the time.

 Many historians consider this the first world war as it was the first to be fought in America, Europe and Asia. 


WAS RONNIE REGAN A F.B.I. INFORMER?

 From Hollywood actor to the most powerful man in the world. 

  In the years following WW2 he spied on his fellow actors in Hollywood for the FBI, 

reportedly under the codename T-10.

 Film actors were part of the Screen Actors Guild union 

and in the mind of the former head of the FBI, J. Edgar Hoover, every union was a secret society of communists.

 In return, the FBI actively supported Reagan's political career right up until his presidency.


JOHNSON NAMED HIS JOHNSON "JUMBO"

Why the poor man envied Kennedy his affairs and commenced to have more.  

 Johnson would make passes at secretaries, 

and it was known that any who accepted would be promoted to private secretary,

 two words that in this context, children,  should probably have air quotes around them anytime they are uttered. 

By the time he was done, virtually all of his secretaries, plus his two mistresses, got the Johnson Treatment.

The man had issues and would whip out his "Johnson" (or Jumbo as he called it) in public.  

During a Cabinet meeting, when asked why the U.S. went into Vietnam, 

Johnson reportedly whipped it out and bellowed, “This is why!”


WAS OLD GROVER A DATE RAPIST?

Old  Grover Cleveland – A presidential secret that most people don’t know about him is that

He was accused of being a rapist. 

Maria Halpin, a store clerk, claimed he violently raped her after a night out.

 She then had a child, the paternity test was never known, but he did pay child support ...

after placing the child in an orphanage and putting the store clerk in an insane asylum!


OLD HARDING WAS AN INSPIRATION TO JOHNSON

Twenty-ninth president Warren Gamaliel Harding (1865-1923) repeatedly made love to a young girl, Nan Britton, in a White House closet. 

On one occasion, Secret Service agents had to stop his wife from beating down the closet door!


TO JEFFERSON ALL MEN WERE CREATED EQUAL ... UNLESS YOU WERE HIS SONS.

The Thomas Jefferson Foundation 

(why do I not have a foundation I ask you?!)

from DNA and historical evidence believe that, years after his wife’s death, 

Thomas Jefferson was the father of the six children of his slave, Sally Hemings, 

mentioned in Jefferson's records, including Beverly, Harriet, Madison, and Eston Hemings. 

Madison and Eston were released in Jefferson's 1826 will. Jefferson gave freedom to no other entire slave family.


PRESIDENT WOODY ALLEN, AH, I MEAN GROVER CLEVELAND

 A longtime close friend of Oscar Folsom, Grover Cleveland, at age 27, met his future wife shortly after she was born. 

He took a keen interest in the child, buying her a baby carriage and otherwise doting on her as she grew up. 

When her father, Oscar Folsom, died in a carriage accident on July 23, 1875, 

without having written a will, the court appointed Cleveland administrator of his estate. 

This brought Cleveland into still more contact with Frances, then age 11.

 Sometime while she was in college, Cleveland's feelings for her took a romantic turn. 

He proposed by letter in August 1885, soon after her graduation. 

 They did not announce their engagement, however, until just five days before the wedding.


Well, children, I'd tell you more but I've gone and depressed myself and bored Midnight! 

WHAT IS FREE?

 JULY 4TH

The date resonates with the images offreedom and fireworks. But in this troubled land, FREE has many meanings ... 


  FREE!  
The fireworks were spectacular.

That was my word for the day. Spectacular. I had another word picked for tonight.

Free.

Mama told me sitting on this sil was dangerous. I could fall off and kill myself. That was funny and sad at the same time.

Funny in that my window being so high above the other apartment buildings made for a …

spectacular view of these fiery (that had been last night’s word) comets going off so bright in the darkness.

Sad in that there were worse things than dying. I flinched as I heard Mama’s boyfriend yell louder just beyond my door where Mama stood.

Yeah, there was living.

At first, she just cried when Dr. Doom, as I called her boyfriend, started … visiting my room late at night.

When I started to walk funny, she seemed to find courage from somewhere and tried to stop him.

Not that it worked. He was bigger and meaner than Mama.

Oooh!

That was a big cloud of fireworks. It seemed to just spread out across the whole dark night …

like the fear in my chest was spreading as I heard Dr. Doom yell even louder.

I studied the fireworks leaping and flaring like some ballet of fiery angels. I jerked as I heard Mama yelp and hit the floor hard.

The exploding stars of green, red, and gold seemed to call out to me.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw her boyfriend lumber into the room like some mean bear.

I smiled and sighed. Time for my word of the night. I tumbled off the window sill into the darkness.

 
I spread my arms wide as if I were flying.


The wind caressed my hair, my face. I smiled bigger.

 I was free. Free! Fre …

ARE YOU A HIDDEN PENNY?

When Annie Dillard was six growing up in Pittsburgh, 

she used to take a precious penny and hide it for someone else to find.

She would cradle it at the roots of a sycamore or 

in the hole left by a chipped out piece of sidewalk or some other hidden place.

Then, she would take a piece of chalk and draw huge arrows leading to it from either end of the block.

When she learned to write, little Annie would label the arrows: 

SURPRISE AHEAD or TREASURE.
As she would draw the arrows, 

she would be greatly excited at the thought of the look on the happy face of the lucky discoverer of her precious penny.


She would never lurk about waiting to see who it was.

It was enough just to know of the pleasure she was giving some lucky stranger.


And her imagination provided much more pleasure than the actual reality of seeing those faces I would suppose.

 Life is like that



How many lonely people do we pass 

that believe that they have drawn obvious arrows to the hidden treasure that they are?

Do they wonder why no one finds them?

Each person in our lives is a hidden penny ...

precious like Annie's penny, for they are all they possess of worth.

In a similar fashion, even our least read Indy Book

can become a needful Hidden Penny

to a browsing reader who finds surcease or solace in our hardly read book.

So, writer feeling unappreciated, take Heart:
  
Your book may prove a balm  to a lonely soul.  


“All great and precious things are lonely.” - John Steinbeck
Have You Ever Been  A Hidden Penny?

ROMMEL

 

Due to the blistering heat, my workload, and my heart, my novel has languished ... but in air conditioning. 

When we last left the bleeding Richard Blaine, he was being led at Luger point into the office of Field Marshal Rommel.

ROMMEL

“Meeting the enemy never goes asyou think.”

 – Major Richard Blaine

 

Thelieutenant, barked orders to thesergeant, “ Oberscharführer Heinz, take your injured men to the infirmary.”

WhenHeinz hesitated, the lieutenant snapped, “Now, Heinz while you still have therank and before the Field Marshall finds out you ignored his orders to take theprisoner directly to him.”

He wentbut not before he looked long and hard at the Lugar in the officer’s hand.

I wincedas my cracked ribs protested when I spoke to the Lieutenant. “You can’t blameHeinz. The Field Marshall has been pushing his men hard, getting ready for thesupposed invasion.”

He studied me and answered myGerman with English. “I do not recall asking you for your thoughts on thematter. Now, move! Mach Schnell!”

Since my left eye was swellingshut, I gave him my best “Eat worms and die” glare out of my right one. But since he was holding aloaded automatic, he bore up well under it. Or maybe it was just hard tointimidate a Nazi on the eve of Overlord.

My cracked ribs slowed me down. Iregretted not shooting Heinz when I had the chance. The Lieutenant jabbed me inthe ribs to get me going faster. Of course, it was right on top of one of thecracked ones.

It was a dumb move on his part.You do not physically touch an enemy with your weapon … unless the end of itended in a bayonet. I was tempted to snatch the thing from his hand.

‘Not yet,’ chidedSentient.

‘Not ever,’ Imind-thought back to her. ‘I am getting slower by the second.’

‘My doing, Blaine. I want him tounderestimate you. When the time comes, I will make sure you are fast enough.’

‘I am the one who will get shot.’

‘Gods! If I had a wedge ofcheese, I would give it to you to go with your whine.’’

The Lieutenant jabbed me in thesame rib again. “Ow! That rib is cracked.”

“Do I look as if I care? Now,walk. The Field Marshall will be upset at this delay.”

I was about to snap ‘Do I look asif I care?’ when I reconsidered. Another jab might fully break that rib. Idecided to irritate the hell out of him another way.

“Lieutenant, your last name is Hauptmann,right? But isn’t that the term for ‘Captain’ in the Wehrmacht? Does that causeyou any trouble?”

“Shut up!”

I smiled drily. “That’s what Ithought.”

With that, we stood at a half-opendoorway. He shoved me into the waiting room beyond. He stalked to the heavilywaxed door which obviously led to the Field Marshall’s office.

I raced to the door, flinging itopen, and said in my most perfect German, “Major Richard Blaine accepting yourgracious invitation, Field Marshall.”

Hauptmann shoved me aside, onlyto have his general bark at him. “Lieutenant! What is the meaning of this? Iasked for this prisoner to be brought directly to me. And you bring him to mebloody, naked, and unbound!”

“Hardly, naked, sir. I have onswimming trunks.”

He gave me a stern look. “I mustcommend you on your excellent German.”

“It should be excellent, sir. Itaught it for a year at West Point … along with French, Italian, Russian, andJapanese.”

He flashed me a paper-cut smile.“All the languages of your enemies, then?”

“Not all, sir. I still can’tunderstand the language of females. And aren’t they the enemies of all usmales?”

He gave a belly laugh at that,lighting up his whole face. Then, again, maybe the war hadn’t given him a lotto laugh about lately. I pulled back from my compassion. The mother of hisillegitimate daughter committed suicide over his return to his fiancée.

His face became granite again.“How is my old friend, Montgomery?”

I smiled, “He named his petspaniel dog, Rommel.”

He snorted, “Again, you make melaugh for real. I must adopt another dog and name him ‘Monty.’”

“He’d like that I believe.”

“Why do you say that? We areenemies.”

“Funny thing about enemies, sir.If you are lucky enough to have the right sort of enemy, you can grow torespect, admire him. Not his politics surely, but his character. GeneralMontgomery considers you a chivalric opponent and the poster boy of the CleanWehrmacht.”

His right eyebrow shot up. “Iadded that last part myself.”

His eyes grew shrewd. “Why didyour Major Laska hate you so much that he betrayed you into my hands?”

I shrugged and winced at the painof my two cracked ribs. “I refuse to genuflect in his presence.”

He sputtered a laugh. “There areofficers like that in my Wehrmacht as well.”

He frowned. “You were notsurprised at my mention of Major Laska’s betrayal, were you?”

I shook my head. “No. He was theonly one to know my exact destination. So, when a U-boat appeared not only atmy stern, but at my bow, it stretched coincidence beyond the limits ofcredulity.”

I frowned at the shafts of thedawning sun coming from the three windows behind him. “How did he let you know inthe first place?”

Rommel looked like he tastedsomething foul. “We have recently infiltrated a local cell of the resistance. Wegrew to suspect we had been found out when useful intelligence dried up fromthat source.”

He smiled with all the warmth ofa winter sun. “When, lo and behold, we received a cipher so crude a child couldhave deciphered it. It gave the particulars of your mission and a summation ofyour character so derogatory that the Gestapo just had to research you.”

Rommel patted a thick folder. “Doyou really have an I.Q. of 400?”

“I think it is higher. I wasn’ttrying on the test. Does it talk about my love life? If it does, it lies. My lovelife was just getting interesting when the draft notice showed up.”

The lieutenant snapped, “Showsome respect to the Field Marshall. You stand there naked in his presence withsuch insolence.”

I fixed him with my best SisterAmeal stare. “My lack of clothing reflects on my captors not on me.”

Rommel said, “Just so. Just so.Hauptmann, fetch the Major his clothing.”

“Ah, in its removal, it was destroyed… by Sgt. Heinz.”

“Yes, I see. Well, privateHeinz and I will discuss that later.”

Rommel massaged his forehead. “Therehave to be some discarded uniforms in this chateau.”

I shook my head. “I will not wearthe uniform of my enemy … sir.”

He gave me a sharp look and tooka deep breath. “I can respect that.”

I limped to the coat rack in the corneras Hauptmann carefully followed me with his Luger. “But I will wear your long coat,sir.”

The lieutenant husked, “You dare?”

I forced a smile. “Not just forthe warmth, but for the looks on the Gestapo enforcers when they start in onme. I hear the Gestapo Book of Etiquette and Good Manners is a very slimvolume.”

Rommel gave me a Sister Amealsmile. “Indeed, it is. Come, sit down. We have a few minutes before theyarrive.”

He shook his head at me as I put onhis coat. “Why do you fight for a country that betrayed you?”

“I don’t fight for my country,sir.”

Hauptmann and Rommel both said asone, “What?”

“I fight for the woman I love,Helen Mayfair. I would do nothing that would make her think less of me.”

I limped to his desk and reachedfor a pencil. The lieutenant cocked his pistol. I sighed.

“I do not have to kill the FieldMarshall. The Gestapo will do it for me.”

Rommel frowned, and I whisperedlow, “Unternehmen Walküre.”

I said louder, “The next timethat bespectacled Hans Speidel approaches you on his mad scheme, shoot him. Onewoman committing suicide over you is enough.”

The lieutenant’s hand holding theLugar began to tremble. So, he was in on it, too. I sighed.

“If you are going to shoot,shoot. Better a fast death than slow torture.”

His trigger finger whitened,tightened, and Rommel snapped, “Hauptmann, no!”

He turned to me. “How do youknow?”

I said, “My men ….”

“Your Spartan 3oo? But there areonly 12 of them. Why 3oo?”

I smiled crooked, “If they are theright twelve, they can do the work of three hundred.”

I smiled sadder. “They call me amagician. And that is as good a thing to call me as anything else.”

The lieutenant said low, “I canthink of others.”

I turned to Rommel. “Another satisfiedcustomer. I’ll take two pencils and that blank page if you don’t mind. I’lldraw you the face always in my dreams.”

My right hand blurred as I reachedfor the pencils, and a folder by Rommel’s left hand disappeared. What wasSentient up to? And would it get me killed faster than my own mouth would?

As I sketched in the style ofLeonardo da Vinci, Rommel cleared his throat and changed the subject, “Do youreally think there is going to be an invasion? That the British will invade?”

“You’ve got them on the ropes,sir. What other choice do they have?”

“Well, if they are, this is goingto be the first time that the British Army will do some fighting.”

“What do you mean?”

“They always get other people todo the fighting for them, the Australians, the Canadians, the New Zealanders,the South Africans. They are very clever people these English.”

Rommel grew serious. “Well, wheredo you think the invasion is coming?”

“If I knew, do you think Laskawould betray me to you so that the Gestapo could torture it out of me? But ifit was up to me, I wouldn’t invade by land at all.”

Once again, Rommel and Hauptmannspoke as one, “What?”

“The Allies have air superiority.They own the skies over Europe. Me? I’d save 133,000 Allied lives and bomb youall into submission.”

“You swine,” growled Hauptmann.

“That’s Major Swine to you.”

The door swung roughly open, anda squad of black uniformed Gestapo soldiers bristled into the room. “We havecome for the prisoner.”

“Showtime,” I smiled, throwing upmy arm to cover my face and leapt out the middle window.

Merde. It was a long way down. Butwhat had I said? Better a fast death than slow torture.

JIHAD

 

It seems the whole world is bent on getting even for something, doesn't it?
“The only people  who you should get even with  are those who have helped you.”
― John Southard 
"The best revenge is to live well."  - Oscar Wilde


 Where is the survival benefit in feeling the need to get even?


 Life isn't a game, and simply getting even doesn't mean you've won the battle; it just means you've lost your self-respect.
  "For every minute you are angry  you lose sixty seconds of happiness.”  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson



Brooding over an injustice only makes the event,which took minutes,possess weeks or years of our lives.

Let it go. 
WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN THE URGE TO GET EVEN POSSESSES YOU?

WHAT YOU CAN CONTROL

 

With pandemics, riots, 
senseless violence,  

What we can control in our lives
Seems non-existent.

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What you can control as a writer  these days  seems to amount to very little,  too, doesn't it?

You cannot control being knocked down,but you can control getting upone more time than they knock you down.

There is no secret formula to become a best sellerelse we would all be Stephen King.

The common concept of Social Media Marketingis NOT the answer

How tired are you of reading BUY ME! novel tweets?
How frustrated are you of FB requests to like a Book Page?

It is like selling a kiss.
Even if you make a sale,there is no satisfaction to it. 
It is like kissing your sister.
So what control do we have?

We can choose to grow as a writer, as a human being.
Each story we write we strive to make better than the last.

We do not market an individual book.
We market ourselves. We are the Brand that will sell.

If each blog post we write is evocative or funny or touching,then, our readers will feel those qualitieswill be in any new novel we write.

Take   The HAUNTING of Hill House.

Based on the evocative book by Shirley Jackson,the series will inspire you to rise above theordinary limits of whatever genre you are writing.

How do you make each new story, new novel better?
You start with the hearts of your characters.Make them people to root for, to like, to mourn when life extracts its tuition from them.

Hill House is filled with decent, charming peoplein an originally crafted series of dangerswhose explanation at the end will have you crying.

Each of your characters,like each character in Hill House,should have have a scene
where they come alive in the minds of the readers,giving them an  "Yes, I've been there" moment.

What do you control?  What are your chances of success?
You are like a WWII fighter pilot.
All you can do is your best.Fly the heart out of your dream.
You may be shot out of the sky.But before then,you will have flown!

DON'T CHASE YOUR DREAMS

It's become a mantra of our generation 

and of all those seminars where "experts" charge you $89.99 to tell you:  

It starts with a dream ...
   ...add faith and it becomes a belief.

Add action ...
   ... and it becomes a way of life.

Add perseverance ...
   ... and it becomes a goal in sight.

Add patience and time ...
   ... and it becomes a dream come true.

Sadly, no.

Many who follow that course of action never achieve their dreams.

 Christopher Nolan 

shared some respectful, realistic graduation advice at Princeton's commencement ceremony on Monday morning.

It ran counter to what speeches like that say.

 " In the great tradition of these speeches, generally someone says something along the lines of  'Chase your dreams,' 

But I don't want to tell you that because I don't believe it," he told the students at Class Day. 

"I want you to chase your reality."

"I feel," he said,

"that over time, we started to view reality as the poor cousin to our dreams, in a sense. ... 

I want to make the case to you that our dreams, our virtual realities, these abstractions that we enjoy and surround ourselves with — 

they are subsets of reality."

The end of Inception where the camera cut to black just as the spinning top looked to be wobbling was Nolan's statement --

Cobb didn't care anymore.  He was with his kids ... all levels of reality are valid.

Nolan said, 

" But the question of whether that's a  dream or whether it's real is the question I've been asked most about any of the films I've made. 

It matters to people because that's the point about reality. Reality matters."

" I think our generation went out into the world believing 

that if we could connect the world, if we could allow the free exchange of ideas across geographical boundaries, economic boundaries, 

if we could all talk, these problems would go away. 

Unfortunately, I think by now, we have to acknowledge that we were wrong, 

that's not the case. Communication is not everything."


I agree with Nolan that reality matters, that if we sacrifice the bounties of the here and now 

for the grasping of that Brass Ring that may never come close to our fingers ...


We have ceased to live fully, to be entirely in the moment ...


and our fiction will be paler and less authentic than winning prose needs to be.


Hemingway's work is still valued and talked about ... for he lived life fully ...


He inhaled life and breathed out prose that pulsed with reality.

What do you think?

THE MAGIC OF WRITING WELL_ 6 tips from JOHN STEINBECK

 

 “Every reader, as he reads, is actually the reader of himself.

The writer's work is only a kind of optical instrument he provides the reader so he can discern what he might never have seen in himself without this book.

The reader's recognition in himself of what the book says is the proof of the book's truth.”
―  Marcel Proust

John Steinbeck:

"If there is a magic in story writing, and I am convinced there is,

no one has ever been able to reduce it to a recipe that can be passed from one person to another.

The formula seems to lie solely in the aching urge of the writer to convey something he feels important to the reader.

If the writer has that urge, he may sometimes, but by no means always, find the way to do it.

You must perceive the excellence that makes a good story good or the errors that makes a bad story. For a bad story is only an ineffective story.”

John Ernst Steinbeck, Jr. (February 27, 1902 – December 20, 1968) was an American writer.

He is widely known for the Pulitzer Prize-winning novel The Grapes of Wrath (1939)

and East of Eden (1952) and the novella Of Mice and Men (1937).

Now, for John Steinbeck's 8 tips to make your writing great:

1.) Abandon the idea that you are ever going to finish. Lose track of the 400 pages and write just one page for each day, it helps. Then when it gets finished, you are always surprised.


2.) Write freely and as rapidly as possible and throw the whole thing on paper. Never correct or rewrite until the whole thing is down. Rewrite in process is usually found to be an excuse for not going on. It also interferes with flow and rhythm which can only come from a kind of unconscious association with the material.


3.) Forget your generalized audience. In the first place, the nameless, faceless audience will scare you to death and in the second place, unlike the theater, it doesn’t exist. In writing, your audience is one single reader. I have found that sometimes it helps to pick out one person—a real person you know, or an imagined person and write to that one.


4.) If a scene or a section gets the better of you and you still think you want it—bypass it and go on. When you have finished the whole you can come back to it and then you may find that the reason it gave trouble is because it didn’t belong there.


5.)Beware of a scene that becomes too dear to you, dearer than the rest. It will usually be found that it is out of drawing.


6.) If you are using dialogue—say it aloud as you write it. Only then will it have the sound of speech.

TRAPPED

 

Betrayed by Major Laska into the hands of Rommel's men, Richard Blaine finds himself brought to the headquarters of the infamous Field Marshall.

BEATEN

“If you kick me when I’m down,you best pray I don’t get up.”

 – Major Richard Blaine

 

They brought me, with a minimumof beatings (I had much worse back at St. Marok’s), to Rommel’s headquarters atLa Roche-Guyon.

Very impressive architecture andlocation, and you don't see too many chateau’s built into the cliff faceitself. La Roche was originally hollowed out of the cliff in the 12th centuryand was added onto over the centuries. There were a lot of stairs, so a certainlevel of fitness was required.

Fear does a lot for my fitness,so I jogged up them … much to the disgruntled curses from the bow-leggedsailors behind me.  Hey, they shouldcomplain. I had my hands bound behind me. You try jogging up stairs like that.

 I noticed as I walked down a long hall thatone of the rooms had four excellent tapestries. Helen would love to look atthem I told myself. Rommel’s office was behind the three windows above the lamppost to the right of the main road.

The chateau entrance was to theright of where the road trailed off. The lower buildings to the left were thehorse stalls and carriage house.

Sentient finally got over heranger at me and began speaking to me again, ‘Rommel will rush back on June 6,the night of the invasion, from his wife’s birthday party arriving late thatevening. He will be returning from the battlefield south of Caen July 17 whenhis Horsch car is said to be strafed, and he wounded.’

It was disconcerting to hearSentient speak so calmly and confidently of things yet to be.

‘What I am allows me to becertain. Of course, that “accident” will be but a ruse. Hitler will soondiscover that Field Marshall Rommel has allowed himself to be ensnared into theplot to assassinate him. Hitler will give Rommel a choice: persecution of hisfamily or a cyanide pill for himself.’

Just as if what she had beensaying hadn’t been horrendous, Sentient bubbled on as if a tour guide, ‘Thepigeonnier is quite stunning, is it not?  And the keep has the most beautiful viewacross the Seine. The present Château de La Roche-Guyon was built in the 12thcentury, controlling a river crossing of the Seine, itself one of the routes toand from Normandy.’

Sentient either did not pick upon my horror, or she flat did not care. Either frame of mind would be withinher nature.

‘The Abbé Suger described its bleakaspect: "At the summit of a steep promontory, dominating the bank of thegreat river Seine, rises a frightful castle without title to nobility, called LaRoche. Invisible on the surface, it is hollowed out of a high cliff. The ablehand of the builder has established in the mountainside, digging into the rock,an ample dwelling provided with a few miserable openings. donjon (keep) on thehill behind.’

By that time, we had reached the“interrogation room.” Once there, the brown shirts stripped me naked. Then,they went to work on me. It was almost a relief, for at least, Sentient stoppedspeaking within my head.

 Sentient did move my chin twice or thrice toshatter the bones in one brute’s hand, numb another’s with a stab of my chininto a nerve (I reminded myself to remember that one,) and cause excruciatingpain that wouldn’t stop in another bully boy.

With that, one brown shirt hadhad enough and pulled his luger. I sighed. At least I had drawn blood before Idied. Too bad it wasn’t Laska’s.

You couldn’t have everything. Imean, where would you put it all?

I whispered, “Helen, I am sorry Icouldn’t make it back to you. My last thought will be of you.”

‘Oh, please!’

The door to the stone room burstopen, and an elegant officer in a neatly pressed uniform snapped in German,“Are we the Gestapo that we beat a bound, naked man?”

He turned to me and said inproper English. “And you an officer, no?

I said in proper German, “Anofficer, yes. A major actually. And quite clever of you this ploy to get myrank. It will do you no good. I was betrayed to you by another major with moreseniority but less class.”

He laughed at that, then notingthe goons holding their hands and groaning. “Obviously, they have sown to thewind and reaped the whirlwind.”

He gestured to the open door.“The Field Marshall is awaiting you, Major. Too bad you could not havepostponed your visit until late May. My British wife says the weather in Londonis beautiful then. Alas, you will be long dead by  that time.”

“No!” cried the brute who as ofyet had not holstered his Lugar. “He dies now!”

He pointed it at me.

The scent of pineapple and cherryblossoms filled my head. No copper snowflakes, but my vision blurred. Notagain! Could I at least die as myself?

When Sentient controlled me, shemust boost my strength. It was as good a guess as any. Sentient was hardly ablabber, ah, mind.

Not-Me snapped the thick cordsaround my wrists behind my back as if they had been strings. She must make mefast as Mercury, too, for I snatched the Lugar from his meaty hand faster thanmy fogged over eyes could follow.

And then, she did what she sooften did: she left me in full control again without a single smart thing tosay.

Head spinning from her coming andgoing, I came up with the brilliant rejoinder, “Your breath stinks.”

I ejected both the clip and thebullet in the chamber that I luckily knew how to do. Muscle memory maybe. Iflipped the Lugar and handed it to the dumbfounded elegant officer.

“Tell the Field Marshall that hismen don’t properly maintain their weapons.”

His face pale and drawn, he said,“I believe that was one of the few things an enemy could say that would stinghim.”

I snorted, snatched my swimmingtrunks off the floor, and put them on with a grunt of bruised muscles. “And ahearty ‘Heil Hitler’ to you, too.”

No longer quite so cheery, he ledme out the door, pointing his own Luger at me the whole way to Rommel’s office.

The stone floor was cold to thesoles of my naked feet, but not as cold as the blood in my veins.

How was I going to get out ofthis one?

BEATEN

 

Betrayed by Major Laska into the hands of Rommel's men, Richard Blaine finds himself brought to the headquarters of the infamous Field Marshall.

BEATEN

“If you kick me when I’m down,you best pray I don’t get up.”

 – Major Richard Blaine

 

They brought me, with a minimumof beatings (I had much worse back at St. Marok’s), to Rommel’s headquarters atLa Roche-Guyon.

Very impressive architecture andlocation, and you don't see too many chateau’s built into the cliff faceitself. La Roche was originally hollowed out of the cliff in the 12th centuryand was added onto over the centuries. There were a lot of stairs, so a certainlevel of fitness was required.

Fear does a lot for my fitness,so I jogged up them … much to the disgruntled curses from the bow-leggedsailors behind me.  Hey, they shouldcomplain. I had my hands bound behind me. You try jogging up stairs like that.

 I noticed as I walked down a long hall thatone of the rooms had four excellent tapestries. Helen would love to look atthem I told myself. Rommel’s office was behind the three windows above the lamppost to the right of the main road.

The chateau entrance was to theright of where the road trailed off. The lower buildings to the left were thehorse stalls and carriage house.

Sentient finally got over heranger at me and began speaking to me again, ‘Rommel will rush back on June 6,the night of the invasion, from his wife’s birthday party arriving late thatevening. He will be returning from the battlefield south of Caen July 17 whenhis Horsch car is said to be strafed, and he wounded.’

It was disconcerting to hearSentient speak so calmly and confidently of things yet to be.

‘What I am allows me to becertain. Of course, that “accident” will be but a ruse. Hitler will soondiscover that Field Marshall Rommel has allowed himself to be ensnared into theplot to assassinate him. Hitler will give Rommel a choice: persecution of hisfamily or a cyanide pill for himself.’

Just as if what she had beensaying hadn’t been horrendous, Sentient bubbled on as if a tour guide, ‘Thepigeonnier is quite stunning, is it not?  And the keep has the most beautiful viewacross the Seine. The present Château de La Roche-Guyon was built in the 12thcentury, controlling a river crossing of the Seine, itself one of the routes toand from Normandy.’

Sentient either did not pick upon my horror, or she flat did not care. Either frame of mind would be withinher nature.

‘The Abbé Suger described its bleakaspect: "At the summit of a steep promontory, dominating the bank of thegreat river Seine, rises a frightful castle without title to nobility, called LaRoche. Invisible on the surface, it is hollowed out of a high cliff. The ablehand of the builder has established in the mountainside, digging into the rock,an ample dwelling provided with a few miserable openings. donjon (keep) on thehill behind.’

By that time, we had reached the“interrogation room.” Once there, the brown shirts stripped me naked. Then,they went to work on me. It was almost a relief, for at least, Sentient stoppedspeaking within my head.

 Sentient did move my chin twice or thrice toshatter the bones in one brute’s hand, numb another’s with a stab of my chininto a nerve (I reminded myself to remember that one,) and cause excruciatingpain that wouldn’t stop in another bully boy.

With that, one brown shirt hadhad enough and pulled his luger. I sighed. At least I had drawn blood before Idied. Too bad it wasn’t Laska’s.

You couldn’t have everything. Imean, where would you put it all?

I whispered, “Helen, I am sorry Icouldn’t make it back to you. My last thought will be of you.”

‘Oh, please!’

The door to the stone room burstopen, and an elegant officer in a neatly pressed uniform snapped in German,“Are we the Gestapo that we beat a bound, naked man?”

He turned to me and said inproper English. “And you an officer, no?

I said in proper German, “Anofficer, yes. A major actually. And quite clever of you this ploy to get myrank. It will do you no good. I was betrayed to you by another major with moreseniority but less class.”

He laughed at that, then notingthe goons holding their hands and groaning. “Obviously, they have sown to thewind and reaped the whirlwind.”

He gestured to the open door.“The Field Marshall is awaiting you, Major. Too bad you could not havepostponed your visit until late May. My British wife says the weather in Londonis beautiful then. Alas, you will be long dead by  that time.”

“No!” cried the brute who as ofyet had not holstered his Lugar. “He dies now!”

He pointed it at me.

The scent of pineapple and cherryblossoms filled my head. No copper snowflakes, but my vision blurred. Notagain! Could I at least die as myself?

When Sentient controlled me, shemust boost my strength. It was as good a guess as any. Sentient was hardly ablabber, ah, mind.

Not-Me snapped the thick cordsaround my wrists behind my back as if they had been strings. She must make mefast as Mercury, too, for I snatched the Lugar from his meaty hand faster thanmy fogged over eyes could follow.

And then, she did what she sooften did: she left me in full control again without a single smart thing tosay.

Head spinning from her coming andgoing, I came up with the brilliant rejoinder, “Your breath stinks.”

I ejected both the clip and thebullet in the chamber that I luckily knew how to do. Muscle memory maybe. Iflipped the Lugar and handed it to the dumbfounded elegant officer.

“Tell the Field Marshall that hismen don’t properly maintain their weapons.”

His face pale and drawn, he said,“I believe that was one of the few things an enemy could say that would stinghim.”

I snorted, snatched my swimmingtrunks off the floor, and put them on with a grunt of bruised muscles. “And ahearty ‘Heil Hitler’ to you, too.”

No longer quite so cheery, he ledme out the door, pointing his own Luger at me the whole way to Rommel’s office.

The stone floor was cold to thesoles of my naked feet, but not as cold as the blood in my veins.

How was I going to get out ofthis one?