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Chapters one & two from Josiah Trenchard Part One: The Might of Fortitude
This is the whole of the first and second chapters from my first novella "Josiah Trenchard Part One: The Might of Fortitude".
It is available now on Amazon.
Apologies for the formatting, this is the best I can do on Goodreads. All of my books are correctly formatted as per Amazon's guidelines.
I hope that you enjoy it!
Chapter 1 "Mars"
Bullets whined through the air like angry mosquitoes and the ground heaved as a massive explosion tore the Tarmac road into shreds. The sound of the explosion was deafening; even the rasping lungs of the two soldiers who were running for cover shook and rattled with the deep resonant boom. The air that they desperately tried to suck in smelled of sulphur and builder’s dust and the purple sky gave everything a sickly, pinkish hue. The ruined landscape of Mars’ largest city, Belatu-Cadros, was as close as they had ever come to the depths of hell itself.
The two troopers ducked behind the crumbling corner of a demolished building and covered their heads with their arms until the hail of dust and debris had subsided. When the explosion had spent itself, the younger of the two looked to his comrade and grinned, pushing up the protective visor of his black helmet to reveal clean eyes on a dirty face.
‘What’s pissed these guys off so much anyway!’ he called above the constant sound of gunfire, clearing his throat loudly and spitting thick, black mucus to the ground.
The older of the two soldiers squared his broad shoulders and grinned back at his comrade, snapping his visor up. ‘For god’s sake Trench, don’t you ever watch the news?’
A stray bullet pinged off the masonry above their heads and the two soldiers instinctively ducked. In the distance, someone was screaming. The sound ceased abruptly after a short burst of gunfire.
‘Politics bores the fuck out of me Bird,’ Trench replied, still grinning. ‘I don’t care why these fuckers are pissed at the government; I’m just here to make sure that they stop shooting at poor munters like me!’
A United Worlds attack gun-ship roared overhead, its deafening jet engines rattled the buildings as it passed slowly over and caused a thick dust to rain down. The gun-ship hovered for a moment in the purple sky while the gunners hanging out of the side strafed a nearby building with their mini-guns, decimating the structure and silencing the sporadic gunfire that was coming from the Insurgents within. As relative silence fell, the gun-ship sped off over the massive chimneys of the distant atmosphere processing plant and then dwindled slowly into a tiny dot against the vast extinct volcano of Olympus Mons.
‘Whatever the reason they started this,’ began Bird, ‘we have to find out where they’re getting their weapons from, and that means interrogating the Insurgent leaders.’
There was another erratic burst of rifle fire from a nearby building.
‘Come on Trench,’ shouted Bird above the din, waving his arm in the direction that he intended them to go. ‘Let’s move it. This low gravity is making me sick to my stomach. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can get back up to the ship for a shower and some scran!’
‘Sounds good to me,’ replied Trench eagerly.
The two soldiers snapped down their visors once more and dashed across a dangerous stretch of open ground, their black uniforms covered with dirt and thick orange dust. They reached the door to a large, officious looking building, and booted it open before carefully entering; rifles raised and torch beams dancing through the hazy air.
Bird lowered his rifle and let it hang from the strap while Trench covered the room. It was a large entrance lobby, deserted and covered with dust. Bird studied the display on his portable G.P.S. unit and once satisfied, raised his wrist towards his mouth and pressed the communicator switch on his bracelet cuff-link radio.
‘Lieutenant Bird to mobile command H.Q. Come in, over,’ he called.
There was a burst of static before the reply came through.
‘Mobile command H.Q. here. What is your status, over?’
Lieutenant Bird spoke calmly and clearly into the radio. ‘We have suffered heavy losses to our squad. Only Sub-Lieutenant Trenchard and I have reached the target building. What are your instructions, over?’
There was a pause while H.Q. passed the information up the chain of command.
After what seemed like an eternity, the very short reply came through ‘Backup unavailable at this time. Proceed as planned, over.’
Another gun-ship roared overhead, the vibrations from its engines dislodging a heavy rain of dust. Lieutenant Bird gave Trench a worried look. ‘Instructions confirmed, wilco. Lieutenant Bird out!’
Trench pulled a sour face. ‘They still want us to go in without any backup?’ he said incredulously.
Lieutenant Bird nodded grimly. ‘Looks like, yeah,’ he replied.
‘I swear,’ said Trench angrily as he activated the laser target pointer on the top of his rifle, ‘that if I get out of this alive, I’m going to stick my boot so far up the Captain’s arse that he will be able to taste the dog shit that I just trod in!’
Lieutenant Bird grinned and switched his own laser pointer on, the pencil thin beam of red light showing up clearly in the dusty atmosphere. ‘Lead on mate,’ he ordered.
Bird and Trench worked their way slowly and ever deeper into the structure. The room that they were looking for would be right at the heart, in the most protected underground bunker. They rounded a corner and found an inert body lying on the cold concrete floor, covered with blood. The young woman, barely a teenager, was dressed in the uniform of the local militia. Her hand still grasped her pistol and her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.
‘Another one!’ exclaimed Trench.
Lieutenant Bird knelt by the body to check for a pulse. The body was still warm, but quite dead.
‘Just like the others,’ said Bird softly. ‘Throat slit and left to bleed to death. It’s a very clean cut too.’
‘Special forces?’ asked Trench with a furrowed brow.
Bird thought for a moment. The wound was very long and precise. ‘No,’ he replied thoughtfully. ‘This is more like an execution.’ Then he prised the pistol from the dead girl’s grip and examined it thoughtfully. ‘This pistol is Navy issue,’ he said with a scowl. ‘It’s an older model than ours, but it’s definitely military. Someone’s definitely supplying them with illegal arms.’
‘If the Insurgents are using those weapons on us, then who the hell is getting all Ninja on them?’ hissed Trench.
‘I don’t know,’ said Bird quietly, dropping the pistol and staring thoughtfully into the distant gloom ahead.
Trench gestured to the bloody boot prints that led off down the corridor in front of them. ‘Whoever it was has fucking small feet!’ he observed.
‘…and they’re ahead of us,’ said Bird, a dark, foreboding expression falling across his face.
The two soldiers instinctively dropped into a walking crouch and carefully made their way along the corridor, aiming their rifles ahead of them.
They found three more bodies along the route before finally arriving at the entrance to a control room, full of computers and other electronic paraphernalia. Carefully, they edged around the door, which was hanging off its hinges, blasted into pieces by an explosive charge.
The scene inside was carnage. Bodies lay everywhere, the command staff of the Martian Insurgents. Every single one of them was slashed and drained of blood, which pooled on the floor, resembling used engine oil in the dim red light of the bunker. In the very centre of the room, a slim figure dressed head-to-toe in black was finishing off the last of the unfortunate command staff with what looked like a short sword. The figure expertly slashed the terrified man from shoulder to gut, spilling his blood and internal organs onto the cold concrete floor. The man crumpled and lay twitching on the floor next to the disfigured bodies of his fallen comrades.
Trench and Bird inched gently into the room, the tiny red dots from their rifles aimed steadily at the black figure’s head and chest. The figure looked down and studied the red dot on its chest for a moment, cocking its head to one side inquisitively, before looking straight up into Bird’s eyes as if daring him to fire.
‘Don’t move!’ shouted Lieutenant Bird. ‘You are under arrest by order of the United Worlds peacekeeping force under section…’
The figure suddenly leapt, more quickly than it would seem a human was capable of doing. Bird and Trench reacted a moment too slowly and strafed the room with case-less rounds, attempting to keep up with the figure that leapt and dodged their every volley. With a sudden rush, the figure swung off a roof girder and lunged at Trench, catching him with its sword across his neck and chest. He dropped his rifle, clutching at his throat with his gloved hand in an attempt to stop the warm flow of blood that poured from the gash. Then he fell to the floor gasping for air.
Lieutenant Bird angrily attempted to zero in on the black-clad figure and managed to skim a bullet across its thigh. The figure howled with pain and anger. It brought the sword down hard in a wide arc that sliced cleanly through the metal barrel of Bird’s rifle. At the same time, the figure leapt feet first at Bird’s stomach. Bird’s broad frame crumpled like a squashed beer can and he whacked his head violently on the sharp edge of a console. Despite his helmet, he fell to the floor unconscious.
Trench couldn’t speak. The blood was filling his convulsing windpipe, bubbling and popping like a bowl of Rice Krispies. He was losing his grasp on his throat as well as on consciousness. The black-clad figure dropped onto its haunches beside Trench’s face and calmly wiped the blood off its sword on his uniform, before sliding it expertly into a sheath tied to its back.
As Trench slid into the numbness of unconsciousness, the figure brought its face, hidden under a stretchy black mask, close to Trench’s ear and whispered. The voice was soft, feminine, and had the slight hint of a chocolaty Japanese accent. ‘You’re lucky…’ she said as she pulled Trench’s dog tags out from beneath his uniform and studied them. ‘…Sub-Lieutenant Josiah Trenchard. My orders weren’t to kill United Worlds troopers. Catch you next time?’
Then the figure reached over and activated the inbuilt distress beacon that was part of Trenchard’s bracelet cuff-link radio, stood up, and raced away down the darkened corridor. The last thought that went through Trench’s oxygen starved mind before everything went black was… that bitch has a really nice arse!
Chapter 2 "A Man of War"
The heavy metal hatch screeched slowly open and Commander Josiah Trenchard stomped angrily down the creaking ramp. He stopped at the base and threw his heavy harness to the scuffed tread plate floor with a resounding clunk. He’d had a really hard day. He had a pounding headache, and was keen to get out of his sweaty, blood-stained uniform as quickly as was humanly possible. He looked down at his black sleeves, spattered with blood and bone fragments from troopers in his platoon; people he knew well, good friends. They would be coming back from that crappy little ice-moon below in a bag. That was if they could find all the bits!
He scratched irritably at the long scar on his neck that was just visible as it disappeared underneath his crumpled uniform. It always itched when he was sweaty and stressed. The underwater tunnels that he’d been fighting in had been hot as hell and humid to match. He was desperate for a shower but he had a job to do first. He needed to get this over with.
‘O.K., bring them down,’ he shouted impatiently to the waiting troopers inside the sturdy little craft, an edge of sadness and weariness creeping into his voice.
One by one, twelve dishevelled prisoners, brow beaten and manacled together, were ushered down the ramp by the battle weary United Worlds troopers. Trenchard studied the prisoners closely as he pulled a crumpled packet of cigarettes out from his inside jacket pocket, lit one and took a long, satisfying drag. Hardly anyone smoked these days, but Trenchard had an addictive personality. Whether it was booze, coffee or nicotine, Trenchard usually required them in large quantities. He was getting some dirty scowls from the nearby Techs, but they could all fuck off! They hadn’t just been into battle. He needed this cigarette more than he needed air right now. He let the smoke linger inside his lungs for a long moment, savouring the head rush, before blowing the smoke out of his mouth to one side. Then he ran his grubby, yellow stained fingers across his greasy, shaved scalp and thought back on the day’s events as he took another long satisfying drag.
A stocky man strode over and stood by Trenchard. His insignia identified him as Trenchard’s Lieutenant Commander. He too was glaring angrily at the prisoners and then he spoke quietly to Trenchard through gritted teeth.
‘This should have been a straight forward mission, damn it boss! I’ve just about had enough of the bloody Insurgents stirring things up. What the fuck do they want with one of Jupiter’s moons anyway? I mean, Europa for fucks sake! It’s in the arse end of nowhere. There’s nothing of value here!’
Trenchard grunted in agreement. ‘I think these fuckers just like to cause mischief wherever they can,’ he replied.
Not much had changed since the Martian rebellion four years ago, Trenchard thought to himself, scratching reflectively at his scar again. It was a solid reminder of the uprising in Belatu-Cadros. That was where the Insurgents had first learned to fight, learned to make bombs, and learned to kill!
‘The Insurgent leaders must have persuaded the colonists on Europa to declare independence somehow. If there’s one thing that the United Worlds government hates, then it’s pokey little back water colonies trying to avoid paying their taxes by suddenly getting all holier than thou!’ Trenchard groused.
The massive star-ship that Trenchard was currently based upon, the “Hand of Valour”, had been sent to Europa to deal with the recent uprising. It had arrived in orbit of Europa and Trenchard’s platoon had been blasted towards the small moon, expecting an easy victory. He played back the journey from the Hand of Valour to the surface of Europa in his head, remembering the sudden thrust of acceleration as they blasted off. He recalled the shaking and jostling, as the tiny Space-Air-Water Drop-ship fell through the thin atmosphere of Europa. He could almost feel the sudden jolt of deceleration as the tiny ship plunged into the icy ocean and dived towards the atmosphere processor, deep beneath the ice on the ocean floor. That was where the trouble had really started…
‘I don’t understand it boss,’ said the Lieutenant Commander bitterly. ‘It should have been a piece of piss to gain entry to the atmosphere processor. These guys are supposed to be civilian engineers and technicians. It was a straight-forward op!’
Trenchard nodded. ‘It should have been,’ he agreed, ‘but that was before the fucking Insurgents armed the colonists and taught them how to make I.E.D.’s. They’re spreading their political hatred to as many people as will listen. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened. It’s fucking Belatu-Cadros all over again.’
The Lieutenant Commander gave Trenchard a respectful smile and a nod. Every trooper knew about Belatu-Cadros. It was where the war against the terrorists had really begun. In the early days the enemy were only fervent amateurs, and they had done enough damage as it was. Someone had obviously taught the Europan colonists guerrilla tactics. The bastards had started blowing up barrels of oil packed with nails and bolts as the troopers went into the airlocks. Trenchard shuddered as he felt the heat of the explosion in his mind. He could see the troopers falling all around him, feel their fear, and taste the air that was thick with smoke and the tinny smell of blood and burning flesh.
‘How many did we lose?’ asked Trenchard grimly.
‘At least half of the squad,’ replied the Lieutenant Commander, ‘mostly to deep tissue shrapnel wounds.’ He turned and spit onto the ground. ‘Bastards!’
Trenchard looked down at the deep, fresh wound on his own arm as he pulled back his ripped sleeve and scratched at it, wincing in pain, idly plucking out shards of metal from the wound. He would have another scar; another permanent reminder of battle and death. It had been a hard battle; too hard. He was remarkably pissed off!
‘I don’t know about you,’ said Trenchard, ‘but I feel like I want to rip someone’s head off and piss down their neck!’
The Lieutenant Commander grinned. All it would take was one more little push, and Trenchard might just forget that he was supposed to set a good example to the other troopers. The chained prisoners standing in a line in front of him were the ring leaders. Most of them were from other colonies, far away. They were Insurgent agitators, trying to persuade the people of Europa to revolt against the rule of the United Worlds. Well these guys would pay, thought Trenchard grimly.
‘Is that all of them?’ he asked his Lieutenant Commander.
The stocky man nodded and replied, ‘All present and accounted for Sir.’
Something caught Trenchard’s eye. On the other side of the vast hangar bay, other S.A.W. craft were returning from the frozen surface of Europa. Trenchard watched a couple of the missile shaped craft land with a thump and whistle of engines. Through the rectangular hole at the end of the runway, the white moon of Europa hung in the blackness like a well worn billiard ball, criss-crossed with dark scarlet cracks. He would be glad to see the back of that crappy little moon he thought, as he dropped the spent cigarette to the floor and stubbed it out with his blood splashed boot. He walked over to the prisoners and eyeballed them angrily before beginning his well rehearsed tirade.
‘You fuckers picked the wrong people to mess with today,’ he shouted.
In the background, another S.A.W.’s hatch opened and a weary trooper stomped out. He was wearing a scruffy red ribbon tied around his greasy dishevelled hair that he pulled off and wrung the sweat out of before replacing it onto his head. He saw Trenchard tearing shreds out of the prisoners and began to walk over, grinning broadly.
‘In case you hadn’t been watching the I.N.N. news reports recently,’ began Trenchard, ‘President Smith has just brought back the death sentence for terrorists,’ he continued, unaware of the approaching trooper behind him.
The grinning trooper stopped just behind Trenchard with his arms folded, seeming to take great pleasure in the entertainment.
‘Section forty two allows me to execute terrorists! I’d quite happily carry out the sentence right here,’ Trenchard threatened, dramatically drawing his pistol from its holster and clicking a round into the barrel.
‘Smith’s wrong!’ said one of the prisoners in a trembling, but determined voice. ‘You are wrong! We want freedom to self rule, not martial law forced on us by thugs like you!’
Trenchard narrowed his eyes and walked closer to the prisoner, who was defiantly staring at him with unbridled hatred in his eyes. Trenchard finally snapped. He’d had enough. He pressed the pistol hard to the man’s forehead. The man did a good job of putting on a brave face, but Trenchard could see the terror welling in his eyes.
‘Do you think that blowing up booby traps packed with sharp metal is the answer?’ he growled. ‘Do you think that it’s honourable or even fair? You might not like the United Worlds but at least we keep the peace. You lot would be kicking ten tons of shit out of each other if it wasn’t for us! Would you prefer that? Don’t you realise that we’re protecting you useless bunch of fuckwits?’
The prisoner’s face reddened, but he remained tight lipped.
‘Unfortunately, unlike you criminals, “thugs like me” have to follow the rules.’ Trenchard pulled back the pistol, disarmed the mechanism and slid it safely back into its holster. It had left a perfect red imprint of the barrel on the man’s forehead. ‘But mark my words. If any of you terrorist arseholes put so much as one bollock out of line, I will put you down like a fucking rabid dog! Understood?’
The prisoners remained solemnly silent.
Trenchard placed his hands behind his back and tried to relax his aching shoulders. ‘Take them away,’ he ordered, exhausted.
As the prisoners shuffled dejectedly away towards the holding cells to await transport back to Earth for trial, Trenchard became aware of childish sniggering behind him. He turned around to find the trooper with the bright red head band, leaning lazily on the butt of his rifle and chuckling with obvious glee.
‘Very impressive Trench,’ said the man in a broad Geordie accent. ‘You made them fuckers shit their pants all right!’
Trenchard scowled at the grinning trooper. ‘Haven’t you got something better to do Dasilva?’ he growled.
Lieutenant Commander Dasilva grinned and winked. ‘Whey aye, but I couldn’t miss the show man. It was champion!’
Trenchard looked around to make sure that the prisoners were out of ear shot, and then broke into a broad grin himself. ‘Piss off Eddie! Do you know how hard it is to keep a straight face with you pratting around behind me?’
‘Aye well, you seemed to manage all right enough,’ said Dasilva with a grin, then his face dropped, suddenly serious. ‘Did you lose many?’
Trenchard grimaced. ‘Twelve… you?’
‘Most of the squad,’ replied Dasilva, ‘just four of our lot made it back, and Commander Fisher took some shrapnel in his hand.’
‘Shit!’ said Trenchard as helpfully as he could. ‘How’s he taking it?’
‘Fisher?’ said Dasilva, ‘Ahh, he’ll be all right. The man’s as tough as old boots, got footballs for knackers! He’s more upset about losing good troopers. That prick reporter on the news is going to have a field day with this!’
Trenchard took another cigarette from its packet and offered one to Dasilva, who refused.
‘I just have this creeping feeling that maybe…’ said Trenchard in a soft voice that was almost a whisper. He tailed off, deep in thought. ‘This sort of thing used to be sorted out peacefully by the politicians. The United Worlds is supposed to be a democracy Ed. We’re meant to uphold the law and protect the people. Recently, things have been… different. High Command didn’t even give them a chance to negotiate this time; we just waded straight in feet first. This mission wasn’t honourable.’ Trenchard narrowed his eyes. ‘Know what I mean?’
Dasilva looked around nervously. ‘Yeah, I know mate,’ he hissed out of the corner of his mouth. ‘But keep it to yourself man, or Ciaputa will have you up on a subordination charge.’
Trenchard’s shoulders slumped and he sighed deeply. ‘Oh… I don’t know Ed. I’m probably just tired, but this doesn’t feel right anymore. It’s not what I signed up for.’
Dasilva gave a quick nod of affirmation. ‘You can’t do anything about it mate, other than vote that is. Smith and Chang are running things right now and they’re talking tough! Pretty soon there’ll be another election and the government will change again. Someone else will be in charge and they’ll try diplomacy again instead of the hard line. Trust me, you’ll see.’
Trenchard nodded knowingly. ‘I hope you’re right. I could do with a fuckin’ big drink,’ he sighed, stretching and clicking the bones of his neck.
‘With a bit of luck,’ said Dasilva, ‘we’ll all be back at base on Cairn soon and we should all be due some leave after that mess down there,’ he said, jerking his thumb towards Europa. ‘Fancy a pint in Mike’s and then a curry?’
Mike’s Bar was the local haunt for the troopers at their home base on Cairn. The thought of its sticky floor and sticky beer was very tempting. Trenchard was about to reply when the dull, toneless voice of the ship’s Guardian computer echoed over the tannoy system.
‘COMMANDER TRENCHARD, REPORT TO COMMODORE CIAPUTA ON THE BRIDGE IMMEDIATELY.’
Dasilva looked up and listened to the message with a puzzled expression. ‘What does that frigid old bitch want?’ he asked with more than a hint of bile.
Trenchard shrugged. ‘God only knows, but it can’t be good. I’ll see you later.’
With that, Trenchard picked up his heavy harness from the floor and trudged off towards the bridge, past the tail fin of the S.A.W. where the Navy’s proud slogan of “Honour, Strength and Unity!” was painted in bold white letters. It was a motto by which Trenchard had tried to live his life. Recently, it was becoming harder to adhere to.
As he left, Dasilva shouted cockily after him, ‘Keep your hands in your pockets mate, or she’ll freeze your bollocks off!’
The bridge was a dome that was built onto the outside of one of the massive rugby ball shaped habitation pods, that rotated continually around the hull of the Hand of Valour on giant metal spokes to provide gravity. The domed floor of the bridge faced space-side, with the main hull and engine core of the ship above the crew’s heads. An iris shaped hatch in the ceiling slid apart gracefully with the sound of grating metal and Trenchard was lowered down on a circular platform towards the deck below.
He waited respectfully at attention for a moment as he studied the bridge watchstanders busying themselves at various control stations set around the curved walls of the room. At the front of the bridge was a large reinforced rectangular window that gave a view of space ahead. Clustered around a large tactical hologram in the centre of the room were several high ranking officers.
Trenchard coughed politely and a female officer in her late forties who was wearing a bright scarlet immaculate uniform, seemed to notice him for the first time. By the look on her face, his presence seemed to annoy her somewhat.
‘Ahh, there you are Trenchard,’ said Commodore Constantine Ciaputa in a clipped, tight voice that sounded like the lid of a heavy wooden box snapping shut.
Ciaputa handed a tablet screen that she was holding to an aide who rushed over from one side. She shooed the aide away irritably and the young officer dropped his head and respectfully stepped away again.
‘You sent for me Sir?’ enquired Trenchard as politely as he could muster. He was tired, dirty and aching. He was in no mood for a telling off from his boss. Ciaputa was the worst kind of officer. She had worked her way up the ranks by doing as little as possible and brown-nosing her superiors. Trenchard severely doubted whether she had ever seen any combat action at all.
‘Yes Commander, I did,’ replied Ciaputa with a curled lip. ‘At ease.’
Trenchard relaxed his shoulders and placed his hands behind his back, widening his stance.
Ciaputa studied Trenchard as if he were something that she had found crawling around under a rotten tree stump. Then she seemed to come to some kind of internal decision. ‘I’ve had word from Admiral Fife at High Command. A new position has become available and you have been selected.’
‘Sir?’ said Trenchard with a raised eyebrow. He didn’t like the sound of this. He was comfortable aboard the Hand of Valour. The quarters were quite big compared to some of the smaller ships in the fleet. He had respect here. He had worked hard to get where he was and didn’t want to leave so soon. Had he done something wrong? Ciaputa seemed to be taking pleasure from Trenchard’s disquiet. She smiled a greasy smile as she continued.
‘The prototype Wolverine class vessel has just come into operation. Four of the hunter-killers are being sent into the Asteroid Belt on a seek-and-destroy mission. One of the Wolverines, the “Might of Fortitude”, is short of an X.O. It seems that the Captain of the vessel has specifically requested you to be his executive officer... although god only knows why?’
‘Thank you Sir,’ said Trenchard. It was astounding how Ciaputa could congratulate and belittle in the same breath.
‘The Breath of Vengeance is going to meet us when we dock at Cairn. You will transfer over to her immediately upon arrival. I’m afraid your leave is cancelled as the mission has been brought forwards and you are required straight away. That is all.’
And with that, Ciaputa turned back towards the glowing green tactical hologram. She snapped her fingers at the aide, who rushed back over and handed her the tablet screen once more.
Obviously the audience was over. For a moment, Trenchard didn’t move. He was still shocked by the sudden re-deployment.
Ciaputa glanced irritably back at Trenchard over her shoulder, seemingly annoyed that he was still here. ‘Dismissed,’ she said sharply and then turned back to her work.
Trenchard stepped back onto the elevator platform and left the bridge in an even worse temper than before. No leave, he thought angrily! Why the hell did the Captain of the Might of Fortitude need him so damn urgently anyway? The Wolverines were a little bigger than the old Hunter class, but they were still cramped fucking sewage pipes compared to the Hand of Valour. This day had started shitty and had just gotten worse and worse!
Deep below the rocky surface of the desolate planetoid Cairn was a blast shielded, circular bunker. Its twelve foot thick concrete walls were resin bonded and electronically shielded. The “War Room” could withstand any attack from orbit and all attempts at espionage. The room resembled a cave or basement. It had a clammy, dank feel and the atmosphere was oppressive and the lighting subdued.
The man in the centre of the room was clearly agitated; he paced back and forth with his hands clasped tightly behind his back and a tight lipped expression on his stony face. He wore the bright red uniform with four diagonal black stripes of an Admiral and he looked as if he had the worries of the whole navy bearing down upon his shoulders.
Suddenly the reinforced titanium blast door screeched open and another figure walked casually into the room. This second man was tall and broad shouldered. His face too was stern and had the polished ebony finish of an Afro-Caribbean lineage. His uniform was also bright scarlet but had a single downward pointing black V that ran from his shoulders towards his stomach. There was only one man in the whole fleet who had the privilege to wear that uniform; Admiral of the Fleet Adisa.
Adisa came to a halt in front of the first man, who had stopped pacing and was staring into Adisa’s eyes as if his life depended upon it.
“Well?” asked Adisa in a deep resonating voice, emphasised by the acoustics of the War Room.
The other man spoke in what could only be described as a dour Scottish accent.
‘The Breath of Vengeance is preparing to leave Sir. The Wolverines will be launched on schedule,” he said. ‘I will personally be overseeing the mission.’
‘And is your man aboard?’
The Scottish man nodded curtly. ‘He will transfer over in a couple of days once the Hand of Valour returns to Cairn. He’ll be meeting the Captain of the Might of Fortitude as planned.’
Adisa paused and screwed up his mouth, deep in thought.
‘This had better work Fife,’ he said. ‘We’re placing a great deal of trust in this man of yours. I checked his record. He’s not exactly an exemplary officer!’
Fife took a deep intake of breath before answering.
‘His mission reports are exemplary. He was fundamental in our victory in Belatu-Cadros on Mars, and on Horizon.’
‘Admitted,’ replied Adisa. ‘He also has seven reports for insubordination, four aboard the Hand of Valour, and several other disciplinary matters on his record. He smokes, he drinks…’
‘He fights hard!’ snapped Fife, cutting off Adisa in mid-sentence.
Fife was probably the only Admiral in High Command who would have dared to interrupt Adisa. Taking a deep breath, Adisa narrowed his eyes and fumed quietly for a moment with tightly drawn lips.
‘He might not be the most… conventional officer in the navy, but he’s a fighter! Don’t worry Sir. If anyone can pull this off, he can…’ said Fife firmly.
‘You had better be right!’ Adisa growled.
You can buy this book here:
http://www.amazon.com/Josiah-Trenchar...
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Josiah-Trench...
Also available are Part 2: Morgenstern, Part 3: Berserkergang, Part 4: Onamuji and coming soon is Part 5: Belatu-Cadros...
Jonathon Fletcher
It is available now on Amazon.
Apologies for the formatting, this is the best I can do on Goodreads. All of my books are correctly formatted as per Amazon's guidelines.
I hope that you enjoy it!
Chapter 1 "Mars"
Bullets whined through the air like angry mosquitoes and the ground heaved as a massive explosion tore the Tarmac road into shreds. The sound of the explosion was deafening; even the rasping lungs of the two soldiers who were running for cover shook and rattled with the deep resonant boom. The air that they desperately tried to suck in smelled of sulphur and builder’s dust and the purple sky gave everything a sickly, pinkish hue. The ruined landscape of Mars’ largest city, Belatu-Cadros, was as close as they had ever come to the depths of hell itself.
The two troopers ducked behind the crumbling corner of a demolished building and covered their heads with their arms until the hail of dust and debris had subsided. When the explosion had spent itself, the younger of the two looked to his comrade and grinned, pushing up the protective visor of his black helmet to reveal clean eyes on a dirty face.
‘What’s pissed these guys off so much anyway!’ he called above the constant sound of gunfire, clearing his throat loudly and spitting thick, black mucus to the ground.
The older of the two soldiers squared his broad shoulders and grinned back at his comrade, snapping his visor up. ‘For god’s sake Trench, don’t you ever watch the news?’
A stray bullet pinged off the masonry above their heads and the two soldiers instinctively ducked. In the distance, someone was screaming. The sound ceased abruptly after a short burst of gunfire.
‘Politics bores the fuck out of me Bird,’ Trench replied, still grinning. ‘I don’t care why these fuckers are pissed at the government; I’m just here to make sure that they stop shooting at poor munters like me!’
A United Worlds attack gun-ship roared overhead, its deafening jet engines rattled the buildings as it passed slowly over and caused a thick dust to rain down. The gun-ship hovered for a moment in the purple sky while the gunners hanging out of the side strafed a nearby building with their mini-guns, decimating the structure and silencing the sporadic gunfire that was coming from the Insurgents within. As relative silence fell, the gun-ship sped off over the massive chimneys of the distant atmosphere processing plant and then dwindled slowly into a tiny dot against the vast extinct volcano of Olympus Mons.
‘Whatever the reason they started this,’ began Bird, ‘we have to find out where they’re getting their weapons from, and that means interrogating the Insurgent leaders.’
There was another erratic burst of rifle fire from a nearby building.
‘Come on Trench,’ shouted Bird above the din, waving his arm in the direction that he intended them to go. ‘Let’s move it. This low gravity is making me sick to my stomach. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can get back up to the ship for a shower and some scran!’
‘Sounds good to me,’ replied Trench eagerly.
The two soldiers snapped down their visors once more and dashed across a dangerous stretch of open ground, their black uniforms covered with dirt and thick orange dust. They reached the door to a large, officious looking building, and booted it open before carefully entering; rifles raised and torch beams dancing through the hazy air.
Bird lowered his rifle and let it hang from the strap while Trench covered the room. It was a large entrance lobby, deserted and covered with dust. Bird studied the display on his portable G.P.S. unit and once satisfied, raised his wrist towards his mouth and pressed the communicator switch on his bracelet cuff-link radio.
‘Lieutenant Bird to mobile command H.Q. Come in, over,’ he called.
There was a burst of static before the reply came through.
‘Mobile command H.Q. here. What is your status, over?’
Lieutenant Bird spoke calmly and clearly into the radio. ‘We have suffered heavy losses to our squad. Only Sub-Lieutenant Trenchard and I have reached the target building. What are your instructions, over?’
There was a pause while H.Q. passed the information up the chain of command.
After what seemed like an eternity, the very short reply came through ‘Backup unavailable at this time. Proceed as planned, over.’
Another gun-ship roared overhead, the vibrations from its engines dislodging a heavy rain of dust. Lieutenant Bird gave Trench a worried look. ‘Instructions confirmed, wilco. Lieutenant Bird out!’
Trench pulled a sour face. ‘They still want us to go in without any backup?’ he said incredulously.
Lieutenant Bird nodded grimly. ‘Looks like, yeah,’ he replied.
‘I swear,’ said Trench angrily as he activated the laser target pointer on the top of his rifle, ‘that if I get out of this alive, I’m going to stick my boot so far up the Captain’s arse that he will be able to taste the dog shit that I just trod in!’
Lieutenant Bird grinned and switched his own laser pointer on, the pencil thin beam of red light showing up clearly in the dusty atmosphere. ‘Lead on mate,’ he ordered.
Bird and Trench worked their way slowly and ever deeper into the structure. The room that they were looking for would be right at the heart, in the most protected underground bunker. They rounded a corner and found an inert body lying on the cold concrete floor, covered with blood. The young woman, barely a teenager, was dressed in the uniform of the local militia. Her hand still grasped her pistol and her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.
‘Another one!’ exclaimed Trench.
Lieutenant Bird knelt by the body to check for a pulse. The body was still warm, but quite dead.
‘Just like the others,’ said Bird softly. ‘Throat slit and left to bleed to death. It’s a very clean cut too.’
‘Special forces?’ asked Trench with a furrowed brow.
Bird thought for a moment. The wound was very long and precise. ‘No,’ he replied thoughtfully. ‘This is more like an execution.’ Then he prised the pistol from the dead girl’s grip and examined it thoughtfully. ‘This pistol is Navy issue,’ he said with a scowl. ‘It’s an older model than ours, but it’s definitely military. Someone’s definitely supplying them with illegal arms.’
‘If the Insurgents are using those weapons on us, then who the hell is getting all Ninja on them?’ hissed Trench.
‘I don’t know,’ said Bird quietly, dropping the pistol and staring thoughtfully into the distant gloom ahead.
Trench gestured to the bloody boot prints that led off down the corridor in front of them. ‘Whoever it was has fucking small feet!’ he observed.
‘…and they’re ahead of us,’ said Bird, a dark, foreboding expression falling across his face.
The two soldiers instinctively dropped into a walking crouch and carefully made their way along the corridor, aiming their rifles ahead of them.
They found three more bodies along the route before finally arriving at the entrance to a control room, full of computers and other electronic paraphernalia. Carefully, they edged around the door, which was hanging off its hinges, blasted into pieces by an explosive charge.
The scene inside was carnage. Bodies lay everywhere, the command staff of the Martian Insurgents. Every single one of them was slashed and drained of blood, which pooled on the floor, resembling used engine oil in the dim red light of the bunker. In the very centre of the room, a slim figure dressed head-to-toe in black was finishing off the last of the unfortunate command staff with what looked like a short sword. The figure expertly slashed the terrified man from shoulder to gut, spilling his blood and internal organs onto the cold concrete floor. The man crumpled and lay twitching on the floor next to the disfigured bodies of his fallen comrades.
Trench and Bird inched gently into the room, the tiny red dots from their rifles aimed steadily at the black figure’s head and chest. The figure looked down and studied the red dot on its chest for a moment, cocking its head to one side inquisitively, before looking straight up into Bird’s eyes as if daring him to fire.
‘Don’t move!’ shouted Lieutenant Bird. ‘You are under arrest by order of the United Worlds peacekeeping force under section…’
The figure suddenly leapt, more quickly than it would seem a human was capable of doing. Bird and Trench reacted a moment too slowly and strafed the room with case-less rounds, attempting to keep up with the figure that leapt and dodged their every volley. With a sudden rush, the figure swung off a roof girder and lunged at Trench, catching him with its sword across his neck and chest. He dropped his rifle, clutching at his throat with his gloved hand in an attempt to stop the warm flow of blood that poured from the gash. Then he fell to the floor gasping for air.
Lieutenant Bird angrily attempted to zero in on the black-clad figure and managed to skim a bullet across its thigh. The figure howled with pain and anger. It brought the sword down hard in a wide arc that sliced cleanly through the metal barrel of Bird’s rifle. At the same time, the figure leapt feet first at Bird’s stomach. Bird’s broad frame crumpled like a squashed beer can and he whacked his head violently on the sharp edge of a console. Despite his helmet, he fell to the floor unconscious.
Trench couldn’t speak. The blood was filling his convulsing windpipe, bubbling and popping like a bowl of Rice Krispies. He was losing his grasp on his throat as well as on consciousness. The black-clad figure dropped onto its haunches beside Trench’s face and calmly wiped the blood off its sword on his uniform, before sliding it expertly into a sheath tied to its back.
As Trench slid into the numbness of unconsciousness, the figure brought its face, hidden under a stretchy black mask, close to Trench’s ear and whispered. The voice was soft, feminine, and had the slight hint of a chocolaty Japanese accent. ‘You’re lucky…’ she said as she pulled Trench’s dog tags out from beneath his uniform and studied them. ‘…Sub-Lieutenant Josiah Trenchard. My orders weren’t to kill United Worlds troopers. Catch you next time?’
Then the figure reached over and activated the inbuilt distress beacon that was part of Trenchard’s bracelet cuff-link radio, stood up, and raced away down the darkened corridor. The last thought that went through Trench’s oxygen starved mind before everything went black was… that bitch has a really nice arse!
Chapter 2 "A Man of War"
The heavy metal hatch screeched slowly open and Commander Josiah Trenchard stomped angrily down the creaking ramp. He stopped at the base and threw his heavy harness to the scuffed tread plate floor with a resounding clunk. He’d had a really hard day. He had a pounding headache, and was keen to get out of his sweaty, blood-stained uniform as quickly as was humanly possible. He looked down at his black sleeves, spattered with blood and bone fragments from troopers in his platoon; people he knew well, good friends. They would be coming back from that crappy little ice-moon below in a bag. That was if they could find all the bits!
He scratched irritably at the long scar on his neck that was just visible as it disappeared underneath his crumpled uniform. It always itched when he was sweaty and stressed. The underwater tunnels that he’d been fighting in had been hot as hell and humid to match. He was desperate for a shower but he had a job to do first. He needed to get this over with.
‘O.K., bring them down,’ he shouted impatiently to the waiting troopers inside the sturdy little craft, an edge of sadness and weariness creeping into his voice.
One by one, twelve dishevelled prisoners, brow beaten and manacled together, were ushered down the ramp by the battle weary United Worlds troopers. Trenchard studied the prisoners closely as he pulled a crumpled packet of cigarettes out from his inside jacket pocket, lit one and took a long, satisfying drag. Hardly anyone smoked these days, but Trenchard had an addictive personality. Whether it was booze, coffee or nicotine, Trenchard usually required them in large quantities. He was getting some dirty scowls from the nearby Techs, but they could all fuck off! They hadn’t just been into battle. He needed this cigarette more than he needed air right now. He let the smoke linger inside his lungs for a long moment, savouring the head rush, before blowing the smoke out of his mouth to one side. Then he ran his grubby, yellow stained fingers across his greasy, shaved scalp and thought back on the day’s events as he took another long satisfying drag.
A stocky man strode over and stood by Trenchard. His insignia identified him as Trenchard’s Lieutenant Commander. He too was glaring angrily at the prisoners and then he spoke quietly to Trenchard through gritted teeth.
‘This should have been a straight forward mission, damn it boss! I’ve just about had enough of the bloody Insurgents stirring things up. What the fuck do they want with one of Jupiter’s moons anyway? I mean, Europa for fucks sake! It’s in the arse end of nowhere. There’s nothing of value here!’
Trenchard grunted in agreement. ‘I think these fuckers just like to cause mischief wherever they can,’ he replied.
Not much had changed since the Martian rebellion four years ago, Trenchard thought to himself, scratching reflectively at his scar again. It was a solid reminder of the uprising in Belatu-Cadros. That was where the Insurgents had first learned to fight, learned to make bombs, and learned to kill!
‘The Insurgent leaders must have persuaded the colonists on Europa to declare independence somehow. If there’s one thing that the United Worlds government hates, then it’s pokey little back water colonies trying to avoid paying their taxes by suddenly getting all holier than thou!’ Trenchard groused.
The massive star-ship that Trenchard was currently based upon, the “Hand of Valour”, had been sent to Europa to deal with the recent uprising. It had arrived in orbit of Europa and Trenchard’s platoon had been blasted towards the small moon, expecting an easy victory. He played back the journey from the Hand of Valour to the surface of Europa in his head, remembering the sudden thrust of acceleration as they blasted off. He recalled the shaking and jostling, as the tiny Space-Air-Water Drop-ship fell through the thin atmosphere of Europa. He could almost feel the sudden jolt of deceleration as the tiny ship plunged into the icy ocean and dived towards the atmosphere processor, deep beneath the ice on the ocean floor. That was where the trouble had really started…
‘I don’t understand it boss,’ said the Lieutenant Commander bitterly. ‘It should have been a piece of piss to gain entry to the atmosphere processor. These guys are supposed to be civilian engineers and technicians. It was a straight-forward op!’
Trenchard nodded. ‘It should have been,’ he agreed, ‘but that was before the fucking Insurgents armed the colonists and taught them how to make I.E.D.’s. They’re spreading their political hatred to as many people as will listen. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened. It’s fucking Belatu-Cadros all over again.’
The Lieutenant Commander gave Trenchard a respectful smile and a nod. Every trooper knew about Belatu-Cadros. It was where the war against the terrorists had really begun. In the early days the enemy were only fervent amateurs, and they had done enough damage as it was. Someone had obviously taught the Europan colonists guerrilla tactics. The bastards had started blowing up barrels of oil packed with nails and bolts as the troopers went into the airlocks. Trenchard shuddered as he felt the heat of the explosion in his mind. He could see the troopers falling all around him, feel their fear, and taste the air that was thick with smoke and the tinny smell of blood and burning flesh.
‘How many did we lose?’ asked Trenchard grimly.
‘At least half of the squad,’ replied the Lieutenant Commander, ‘mostly to deep tissue shrapnel wounds.’ He turned and spit onto the ground. ‘Bastards!’
Trenchard looked down at the deep, fresh wound on his own arm as he pulled back his ripped sleeve and scratched at it, wincing in pain, idly plucking out shards of metal from the wound. He would have another scar; another permanent reminder of battle and death. It had been a hard battle; too hard. He was remarkably pissed off!
‘I don’t know about you,’ said Trenchard, ‘but I feel like I want to rip someone’s head off and piss down their neck!’
The Lieutenant Commander grinned. All it would take was one more little push, and Trenchard might just forget that he was supposed to set a good example to the other troopers. The chained prisoners standing in a line in front of him were the ring leaders. Most of them were from other colonies, far away. They were Insurgent agitators, trying to persuade the people of Europa to revolt against the rule of the United Worlds. Well these guys would pay, thought Trenchard grimly.
‘Is that all of them?’ he asked his Lieutenant Commander.
The stocky man nodded and replied, ‘All present and accounted for Sir.’
Something caught Trenchard’s eye. On the other side of the vast hangar bay, other S.A.W. craft were returning from the frozen surface of Europa. Trenchard watched a couple of the missile shaped craft land with a thump and whistle of engines. Through the rectangular hole at the end of the runway, the white moon of Europa hung in the blackness like a well worn billiard ball, criss-crossed with dark scarlet cracks. He would be glad to see the back of that crappy little moon he thought, as he dropped the spent cigarette to the floor and stubbed it out with his blood splashed boot. He walked over to the prisoners and eyeballed them angrily before beginning his well rehearsed tirade.
‘You fuckers picked the wrong people to mess with today,’ he shouted.
In the background, another S.A.W.’s hatch opened and a weary trooper stomped out. He was wearing a scruffy red ribbon tied around his greasy dishevelled hair that he pulled off and wrung the sweat out of before replacing it onto his head. He saw Trenchard tearing shreds out of the prisoners and began to walk over, grinning broadly.
‘In case you hadn’t been watching the I.N.N. news reports recently,’ began Trenchard, ‘President Smith has just brought back the death sentence for terrorists,’ he continued, unaware of the approaching trooper behind him.
The grinning trooper stopped just behind Trenchard with his arms folded, seeming to take great pleasure in the entertainment.
‘Section forty two allows me to execute terrorists! I’d quite happily carry out the sentence right here,’ Trenchard threatened, dramatically drawing his pistol from its holster and clicking a round into the barrel.
‘Smith’s wrong!’ said one of the prisoners in a trembling, but determined voice. ‘You are wrong! We want freedom to self rule, not martial law forced on us by thugs like you!’
Trenchard narrowed his eyes and walked closer to the prisoner, who was defiantly staring at him with unbridled hatred in his eyes. Trenchard finally snapped. He’d had enough. He pressed the pistol hard to the man’s forehead. The man did a good job of putting on a brave face, but Trenchard could see the terror welling in his eyes.
‘Do you think that blowing up booby traps packed with sharp metal is the answer?’ he growled. ‘Do you think that it’s honourable or even fair? You might not like the United Worlds but at least we keep the peace. You lot would be kicking ten tons of shit out of each other if it wasn’t for us! Would you prefer that? Don’t you realise that we’re protecting you useless bunch of fuckwits?’
The prisoner’s face reddened, but he remained tight lipped.
‘Unfortunately, unlike you criminals, “thugs like me” have to follow the rules.’ Trenchard pulled back the pistol, disarmed the mechanism and slid it safely back into its holster. It had left a perfect red imprint of the barrel on the man’s forehead. ‘But mark my words. If any of you terrorist arseholes put so much as one bollock out of line, I will put you down like a fucking rabid dog! Understood?’
The prisoners remained solemnly silent.
Trenchard placed his hands behind his back and tried to relax his aching shoulders. ‘Take them away,’ he ordered, exhausted.
As the prisoners shuffled dejectedly away towards the holding cells to await transport back to Earth for trial, Trenchard became aware of childish sniggering behind him. He turned around to find the trooper with the bright red head band, leaning lazily on the butt of his rifle and chuckling with obvious glee.
‘Very impressive Trench,’ said the man in a broad Geordie accent. ‘You made them fuckers shit their pants all right!’
Trenchard scowled at the grinning trooper. ‘Haven’t you got something better to do Dasilva?’ he growled.
Lieutenant Commander Dasilva grinned and winked. ‘Whey aye, but I couldn’t miss the show man. It was champion!’
Trenchard looked around to make sure that the prisoners were out of ear shot, and then broke into a broad grin himself. ‘Piss off Eddie! Do you know how hard it is to keep a straight face with you pratting around behind me?’
‘Aye well, you seemed to manage all right enough,’ said Dasilva with a grin, then his face dropped, suddenly serious. ‘Did you lose many?’
Trenchard grimaced. ‘Twelve… you?’
‘Most of the squad,’ replied Dasilva, ‘just four of our lot made it back, and Commander Fisher took some shrapnel in his hand.’
‘Shit!’ said Trenchard as helpfully as he could. ‘How’s he taking it?’
‘Fisher?’ said Dasilva, ‘Ahh, he’ll be all right. The man’s as tough as old boots, got footballs for knackers! He’s more upset about losing good troopers. That prick reporter on the news is going to have a field day with this!’
Trenchard took another cigarette from its packet and offered one to Dasilva, who refused.
‘I just have this creeping feeling that maybe…’ said Trenchard in a soft voice that was almost a whisper. He tailed off, deep in thought. ‘This sort of thing used to be sorted out peacefully by the politicians. The United Worlds is supposed to be a democracy Ed. We’re meant to uphold the law and protect the people. Recently, things have been… different. High Command didn’t even give them a chance to negotiate this time; we just waded straight in feet first. This mission wasn’t honourable.’ Trenchard narrowed his eyes. ‘Know what I mean?’
Dasilva looked around nervously. ‘Yeah, I know mate,’ he hissed out of the corner of his mouth. ‘But keep it to yourself man, or Ciaputa will have you up on a subordination charge.’
Trenchard’s shoulders slumped and he sighed deeply. ‘Oh… I don’t know Ed. I’m probably just tired, but this doesn’t feel right anymore. It’s not what I signed up for.’
Dasilva gave a quick nod of affirmation. ‘You can’t do anything about it mate, other than vote that is. Smith and Chang are running things right now and they’re talking tough! Pretty soon there’ll be another election and the government will change again. Someone else will be in charge and they’ll try diplomacy again instead of the hard line. Trust me, you’ll see.’
Trenchard nodded knowingly. ‘I hope you’re right. I could do with a fuckin’ big drink,’ he sighed, stretching and clicking the bones of his neck.
‘With a bit of luck,’ said Dasilva, ‘we’ll all be back at base on Cairn soon and we should all be due some leave after that mess down there,’ he said, jerking his thumb towards Europa. ‘Fancy a pint in Mike’s and then a curry?’
Mike’s Bar was the local haunt for the troopers at their home base on Cairn. The thought of its sticky floor and sticky beer was very tempting. Trenchard was about to reply when the dull, toneless voice of the ship’s Guardian computer echoed over the tannoy system.
‘COMMANDER TRENCHARD, REPORT TO COMMODORE CIAPUTA ON THE BRIDGE IMMEDIATELY.’
Dasilva looked up and listened to the message with a puzzled expression. ‘What does that frigid old bitch want?’ he asked with more than a hint of bile.
Trenchard shrugged. ‘God only knows, but it can’t be good. I’ll see you later.’
With that, Trenchard picked up his heavy harness from the floor and trudged off towards the bridge, past the tail fin of the S.A.W. where the Navy’s proud slogan of “Honour, Strength and Unity!” was painted in bold white letters. It was a motto by which Trenchard had tried to live his life. Recently, it was becoming harder to adhere to.
As he left, Dasilva shouted cockily after him, ‘Keep your hands in your pockets mate, or she’ll freeze your bollocks off!’
The bridge was a dome that was built onto the outside of one of the massive rugby ball shaped habitation pods, that rotated continually around the hull of the Hand of Valour on giant metal spokes to provide gravity. The domed floor of the bridge faced space-side, with the main hull and engine core of the ship above the crew’s heads. An iris shaped hatch in the ceiling slid apart gracefully with the sound of grating metal and Trenchard was lowered down on a circular platform towards the deck below.
He waited respectfully at attention for a moment as he studied the bridge watchstanders busying themselves at various control stations set around the curved walls of the room. At the front of the bridge was a large reinforced rectangular window that gave a view of space ahead. Clustered around a large tactical hologram in the centre of the room were several high ranking officers.
Trenchard coughed politely and a female officer in her late forties who was wearing a bright scarlet immaculate uniform, seemed to notice him for the first time. By the look on her face, his presence seemed to annoy her somewhat.
‘Ahh, there you are Trenchard,’ said Commodore Constantine Ciaputa in a clipped, tight voice that sounded like the lid of a heavy wooden box snapping shut.
Ciaputa handed a tablet screen that she was holding to an aide who rushed over from one side. She shooed the aide away irritably and the young officer dropped his head and respectfully stepped away again.
‘You sent for me Sir?’ enquired Trenchard as politely as he could muster. He was tired, dirty and aching. He was in no mood for a telling off from his boss. Ciaputa was the worst kind of officer. She had worked her way up the ranks by doing as little as possible and brown-nosing her superiors. Trenchard severely doubted whether she had ever seen any combat action at all.
‘Yes Commander, I did,’ replied Ciaputa with a curled lip. ‘At ease.’
Trenchard relaxed his shoulders and placed his hands behind his back, widening his stance.
Ciaputa studied Trenchard as if he were something that she had found crawling around under a rotten tree stump. Then she seemed to come to some kind of internal decision. ‘I’ve had word from Admiral Fife at High Command. A new position has become available and you have been selected.’
‘Sir?’ said Trenchard with a raised eyebrow. He didn’t like the sound of this. He was comfortable aboard the Hand of Valour. The quarters were quite big compared to some of the smaller ships in the fleet. He had respect here. He had worked hard to get where he was and didn’t want to leave so soon. Had he done something wrong? Ciaputa seemed to be taking pleasure from Trenchard’s disquiet. She smiled a greasy smile as she continued.
‘The prototype Wolverine class vessel has just come into operation. Four of the hunter-killers are being sent into the Asteroid Belt on a seek-and-destroy mission. One of the Wolverines, the “Might of Fortitude”, is short of an X.O. It seems that the Captain of the vessel has specifically requested you to be his executive officer... although god only knows why?’
‘Thank you Sir,’ said Trenchard. It was astounding how Ciaputa could congratulate and belittle in the same breath.
‘The Breath of Vengeance is going to meet us when we dock at Cairn. You will transfer over to her immediately upon arrival. I’m afraid your leave is cancelled as the mission has been brought forwards and you are required straight away. That is all.’
And with that, Ciaputa turned back towards the glowing green tactical hologram. She snapped her fingers at the aide, who rushed back over and handed her the tablet screen once more.
Obviously the audience was over. For a moment, Trenchard didn’t move. He was still shocked by the sudden re-deployment.
Ciaputa glanced irritably back at Trenchard over her shoulder, seemingly annoyed that he was still here. ‘Dismissed,’ she said sharply and then turned back to her work.
Trenchard stepped back onto the elevator platform and left the bridge in an even worse temper than before. No leave, he thought angrily! Why the hell did the Captain of the Might of Fortitude need him so damn urgently anyway? The Wolverines were a little bigger than the old Hunter class, but they were still cramped fucking sewage pipes compared to the Hand of Valour. This day had started shitty and had just gotten worse and worse!
Deep below the rocky surface of the desolate planetoid Cairn was a blast shielded, circular bunker. Its twelve foot thick concrete walls were resin bonded and electronically shielded. The “War Room” could withstand any attack from orbit and all attempts at espionage. The room resembled a cave or basement. It had a clammy, dank feel and the atmosphere was oppressive and the lighting subdued.
The man in the centre of the room was clearly agitated; he paced back and forth with his hands clasped tightly behind his back and a tight lipped expression on his stony face. He wore the bright red uniform with four diagonal black stripes of an Admiral and he looked as if he had the worries of the whole navy bearing down upon his shoulders.
Suddenly the reinforced titanium blast door screeched open and another figure walked casually into the room. This second man was tall and broad shouldered. His face too was stern and had the polished ebony finish of an Afro-Caribbean lineage. His uniform was also bright scarlet but had a single downward pointing black V that ran from his shoulders towards his stomach. There was only one man in the whole fleet who had the privilege to wear that uniform; Admiral of the Fleet Adisa.
Adisa came to a halt in front of the first man, who had stopped pacing and was staring into Adisa’s eyes as if his life depended upon it.
“Well?” asked Adisa in a deep resonating voice, emphasised by the acoustics of the War Room.
The other man spoke in what could only be described as a dour Scottish accent.
‘The Breath of Vengeance is preparing to leave Sir. The Wolverines will be launched on schedule,” he said. ‘I will personally be overseeing the mission.’
‘And is your man aboard?’
The Scottish man nodded curtly. ‘He will transfer over in a couple of days once the Hand of Valour returns to Cairn. He’ll be meeting the Captain of the Might of Fortitude as planned.’
Adisa paused and screwed up his mouth, deep in thought.
‘This had better work Fife,’ he said. ‘We’re placing a great deal of trust in this man of yours. I checked his record. He’s not exactly an exemplary officer!’
Fife took a deep intake of breath before answering.
‘His mission reports are exemplary. He was fundamental in our victory in Belatu-Cadros on Mars, and on Horizon.’
‘Admitted,’ replied Adisa. ‘He also has seven reports for insubordination, four aboard the Hand of Valour, and several other disciplinary matters on his record. He smokes, he drinks…’
‘He fights hard!’ snapped Fife, cutting off Adisa in mid-sentence.
Fife was probably the only Admiral in High Command who would have dared to interrupt Adisa. Taking a deep breath, Adisa narrowed his eyes and fumed quietly for a moment with tightly drawn lips.
‘He might not be the most… conventional officer in the navy, but he’s a fighter! Don’t worry Sir. If anyone can pull this off, he can…’ said Fife firmly.
‘You had better be right!’ Adisa growled.
You can buy this book here:
http://www.amazon.com/Josiah-Trenchar...
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Josiah-Trench...
Also available are Part 2: Morgenstern, Part 3: Berserkergang, Part 4: Onamuji and coming soon is Part 5: Belatu-Cadros...
Jonathon Fletcher
The Captain's Blog welcomes: B R Crichton
Today the "Captain's Blog" welcomes B R Crichton. Here is a little about him...
B R: I was born in Zimbabwe in 1975, and I was very lucky to be educated there when the government schools were still well funded. I was always a good creative writer, but never really considered it as a career until I was at college in Dundee after moving to Scotland in 2002. I wrote a book called 'The Gift of Chaos', which I will never publish. I have heard it said that every writer should put at least one book in the bin before writing a proper one, and that is what I have unintentionally done. It was a useful exercise in clearing my mind of clutter, and I learned a lot about planning and story structure.
Now I live in Blairgowrie, Perthshire, with my lovely wife Lesley, children Sandy and Laura, and a third due in July (Third and last. Separate beds from now on!). There are also two half-witted, but very lovable Rhodesian Ridgebacks to guard the ol' homestead.
Jon: So tell me a little about the book you've written?
B R: It's a Fantasy novel. I would definitely call it low fantasy; which I have heard described as 'non-rational events occurring in a rational setting'. I suppose what that means is, there is a great deal in that world that is very similar to our own, although there are elements of the story that could not occur in reality. Like most writers, I write what I would like to read. I have tried to avoid too much in depth world creation that is quite prevalent in the fantasy genre, and also avoided delving too much into the history of the world in an effort to explain its current state. I have kept the pace brisk throughout, so, although it covers a lot of ground, it does not get bogged down in peripheral events.
The Rage Within is a complete story in its own right. That is to say, it has an ending that can be seen as such. However, life goes on, even fictitious lives, and so I am working on the first of a three book sequel at the moment. Readers can choose whether or not to follow the characters beyond the end of this first book without feeling obliged to because of loose ends.
Jon: Without spoilers, can you tell the readers what your story is about?
B R: "The Gods are dead. They are all but forgotten. One of their kind remains who has sworn to un-make all that his enemies created; but he has lost the ability to wield his power alone. He needs the anger of a mortal to unleash the destruction he craves, and Kellan Aemoran is more angry than most.
Having witnessed the murder of his family by a cruel Empire, Kellan is cast out into the world to fend for himself. A presence more powerful than anything seen since the age of the Gods has taken root in his soul, and is feeding on his rage.
With a band of mercenaries led by ‘Scurrilous’ Blunt, and an unlikely guide, Kellan must face his enemies in a land thrown into chaos; those enemies within as well as without. But he is a danger to all those he loves, and to save the world he must find a way to do the impossible…
Kill an immortal."
So there it is in a nutshell. Besides the protagonist, Kellan, I had a lot of fun with the mercenaries, and these are also important to the progression of the novel, and they have their own sub-plots within the main story. The people who have read it tell me that the mercenary leader, 'Scurrilous' Blunt was just an outlet for my own personality; and I find it hard to deny. For the majority of the book, the story unfolds in two parallel tales, one of Kellan's childhood, and the other his adulthood. This was a useful way to draw comparisons, and provide explanations for some of the events.
Jon: So would you describe your story as sword & sorcery, like Conan, or is it set in a contemporary "modern" world?
B R: Definitely more Conan, but not so much in the way of sorcery as such. I have avoided any overt magic, and have tried to be more subtle than magic wands and enchanted jewellery; not that there is anything wrong with that, I just wanted this book to be a little more grounded for reasons that become more apparent in the sequels. It is set in another world but has a very medieval feel to it.
Jon: How much did your life in Zimbabwe affect your writing, if at all?
B R: That's quite hard to answer since I have no idea what or if I would have written had I been brought up anywhere else. But, it must have had some sort of influence. Across much of Africa, the very worst of human excesses go on unchecked and in plain view, to a far greater degree than the UK, Western Europe or North America. The wealthiest Africans make Her Majesty look like a pauper, and the vast numbers of poor have no support whatsoever. Here in the UK, the worst our politicians can do is lie to us, and we have the ability to replace them. In many African countries today, the worst their leaders can do is declare them and enemy of the state, and have them, their family, village or tribe killed. It happens far more than is reported in our press. Despite all of this, it is a place of incredible energy and optimism, with the overwhelming majority of people simply trying to go about their lives like anywhere else. So perhaps that is the greatest influence; seeing the strength of the human spirit shine through against a backdrop of injustice and a legacy of hatred.
Jon: Was it a culture shock moving to Scotland?
B R: I had been to the UK a couple of times to visit my grandparents (My father was born just outside Dundee), so I knew what to expect. And yes, the weather in Zimbabwe is great. But you can have too much of a good thing; the temperature seldom drops below 20 degrees Celsius, and long before that the locals are reaching for their jumpers! Drought and water rationing are the by-products of all that sun though.
Jon: What made you move over here?
B R: Itchy feet. I really wanted to experience something new. Dundee was the obvious choice because of my family connections.
Jon: Anger seems to play a large part in your story. How much of that comes from you?
B R: Grrr! What are you saying? Probably more than I would like to admit. But then, it's a very human response to adversity; look for someone to blame and smite them! I'm more grumpy than angry though. Mostly.
Jon: If you could be an immortal god, what would you be the god of and what would be your special power?
B R: That's a tricky one. Perhaps the God of weather would be fun. I could favour those who please me with fine barbecue weather every weekend, but those who earn my wrath could have horizontal rain instead. (Just when they get the fire lit!) Either that or the God of something really trivial. That way, I wouldn't have to go in to work every day, and just go fishing instead.
Jon: So you're about to sit down to write. What three things must you have or do before touching the keyboard?
B R: Peace, a packet of Haribo Tangfastics or Starmix, and a good strong cup of tea!
Jon: If you had to compare your book to another work, be it a book, film, or TV show, what would that be?
B R: Mmmmm. Tough one. It's not easy comparing your work to something from an established talent without sounding cocky, but if Robert Jordan and Joe Abercrombie had a lovechild (and let's face it, that's a little unlikely), with David and Leigh Eddings as the Godparents, then that lovechild would probably write something like 'The Rage Within'.
Jon: What do you like to read? What's the best book you've read and the worst?
B R: Lately I've been reading a lot more Science Fiction than Fantasy. I avidly follow Neal Asher, Richard Morgan and Alastair Reynolds. The great Iain M Banks sadly died during this interview, but his novel 'Use of Weapons' is probably the one book I would recommend to someone if they were only going to read one Scifi book in their life. Peter Brett's Demon cycle has me hooked as well at the moment.
Best book? 'Use of Weapons' or if I'm allowed a series, 'The Dragonlance Chronicles', by Weis and Hickman; its what really got me into fantasy.
Worst book? I had to read 'To Kill a Mockingbird' for my Higher English exam, and just couldn't get into it. It can't be a bad book, it's far too popular, but it just wasn't for me. Probably being told that I had to like it because it was a classic didn't help.
Jon: If you could have any other fictional character guest star in your stories, who or what would it be?
B R: Rowley Birkin QC from 'The Fast Show' could perhaps make an appearance in a village inn to lighten the atmosphere. Anyone who hasn't seen him should look him up on youtube; one of the best characters in television.
Jon: If there was a piece of music that would be suitable as the theme tune for your book, what is it!
B R: Ah. Beethoven's 9th Symphony. An epic piece with every emotion packed in, and an ending to blow your socks off.
Jon: Anything you'd like to add or tell your prospective readers?
B R: I didn't set out to change the world with this book. It was written to entertain; pure and simple.
Jon: And now for a wonderful excerpt from Bruce's book...
Then Kellan heard voices from up the slope. They were searching for him. He rose quickly and ran again, glancing over his shoulder from time to time, listening for his pursuers. Suddenly he crashed into a pile of branches, sending him sprawling on the damp, rocky ground.
He slowly looked up, and to his horror saw feet, dangling not a hand's width from his face. Every fibre of his being urged him not to look up, to run blindly away, but before he could stop himself he had raised his head.
He screamed. Before him, hanging from a bough, was his father. Face swollen and purple, eyes glazed. And then, like hammer blows, one by one he saw the other five victims, scattered about the edges of the small clearing, tongues bulging from between purple lips. He scratched at his face, trying to erase the images, but his father’s lifeless eyes glared through his frantic hands.
Gagging on the bile that filled his throat, he tore himself away from that place and ran, stumbled, crawled across the stones and dust. Horrors clawed at his back no matter how quickly he went, always just a hair’s breadth from tearing him down and devouring his mind. The back of his neck burned as he plunged on down the mountainside, too terrified to look back. Then his terror was joined by something more powerful.
He felt something terrible rise within him; a horrifying, yet welcome release from the visions that filled his mind. Even as he stumbled on down the slope, he felt a furnace of rage start to burn in the pit of his belly, and a roaring in his ears cut out the sounds of snapping branches and stones sent tumbling down the steep slope. He felt no pain when he tumbled and skidded on the sharp rocks, was barely aware of his surroundings at all, only the volcano building in his core.
On he ran down the mountainside, not caring where he was going, only away. Away from the memory of his mother’s death, his father’s dangling corpse. Away from blood, and swollen faces; headless bodies; terror. Unaware of passing time or distance he plunged on, fuelled by anger, giving himself freely to it, offering his soul to the rage within so that it could scour those images from his mind. He did not care if his being was swept away with it, so long as it took those awful memories and gave him peace, or oblivion.
He fell; weightless in free-fall for blessed seconds before hitting the icy river. The shock smashed away the muzzy walls that had almost shut him from the world outside, forcing him back to reality. Rage shattered like glass, giving way once again to fear, and despair as the foaming waters whisked him down rapid after rapid, tossing him, plunging him, dragging him down before throwing him up for a brief staccato gasp of air, then on down the torrent.
Then into free-fall once more, the roar of the waterfall echoing round the steep sided valley, but in those moments in space, a calm fell upon him. A perfect stillness. Detached as he was from the world, those blessed seconds freed him from his pain, both from the overwhelming sense of loss he felt, and from the damage to his battered body. The world was an arm’s length away, and rushing beside him as he began the calm slide downwards. Here in this place, above the water with its icy needles, below the jagged peaks with stones that cut flesh, he was untouchable, and utterly, utterly safe. He was in the womb, wrapped in soft torpor, the only sound, that of his mother’s heart. It had time to beat twice.
Then into the depths once more.
This time with no more fight to give.
www.brcrichton.com
Jon: A big thank you to B R Crichton for spending the time to talk to me about his writing.
Source: Uploaded by user via Jonathon on Pinterest
B R: I was born in Zimbabwe in 1975, and I was very lucky to be educated there when the government schools were still well funded. I was always a good creative writer, but never really considered it as a career until I was at college in Dundee after moving to Scotland in 2002. I wrote a book called 'The Gift of Chaos', which I will never publish. I have heard it said that every writer should put at least one book in the bin before writing a proper one, and that is what I have unintentionally done. It was a useful exercise in clearing my mind of clutter, and I learned a lot about planning and story structure.
Now I live in Blairgowrie, Perthshire, with my lovely wife Lesley, children Sandy and Laura, and a third due in July (Third and last. Separate beds from now on!). There are also two half-witted, but very lovable Rhodesian Ridgebacks to guard the ol' homestead.
Jon: So tell me a little about the book you've written?
B R: It's a Fantasy novel. I would definitely call it low fantasy; which I have heard described as 'non-rational events occurring in a rational setting'. I suppose what that means is, there is a great deal in that world that is very similar to our own, although there are elements of the story that could not occur in reality. Like most writers, I write what I would like to read. I have tried to avoid too much in depth world creation that is quite prevalent in the fantasy genre, and also avoided delving too much into the history of the world in an effort to explain its current state. I have kept the pace brisk throughout, so, although it covers a lot of ground, it does not get bogged down in peripheral events.
The Rage Within is a complete story in its own right. That is to say, it has an ending that can be seen as such. However, life goes on, even fictitious lives, and so I am working on the first of a three book sequel at the moment. Readers can choose whether or not to follow the characters beyond the end of this first book without feeling obliged to because of loose ends.
Source: Uploaded by user via Jonathon on Pinterest
Jon: Without spoilers, can you tell the readers what your story is about?
B R: "The Gods are dead. They are all but forgotten. One of their kind remains who has sworn to un-make all that his enemies created; but he has lost the ability to wield his power alone. He needs the anger of a mortal to unleash the destruction he craves, and Kellan Aemoran is more angry than most.
Having witnessed the murder of his family by a cruel Empire, Kellan is cast out into the world to fend for himself. A presence more powerful than anything seen since the age of the Gods has taken root in his soul, and is feeding on his rage.
With a band of mercenaries led by ‘Scurrilous’ Blunt, and an unlikely guide, Kellan must face his enemies in a land thrown into chaos; those enemies within as well as without. But he is a danger to all those he loves, and to save the world he must find a way to do the impossible…
Kill an immortal."
So there it is in a nutshell. Besides the protagonist, Kellan, I had a lot of fun with the mercenaries, and these are also important to the progression of the novel, and they have their own sub-plots within the main story. The people who have read it tell me that the mercenary leader, 'Scurrilous' Blunt was just an outlet for my own personality; and I find it hard to deny. For the majority of the book, the story unfolds in two parallel tales, one of Kellan's childhood, and the other his adulthood. This was a useful way to draw comparisons, and provide explanations for some of the events.
Jon: So would you describe your story as sword & sorcery, like Conan, or is it set in a contemporary "modern" world?
B R: Definitely more Conan, but not so much in the way of sorcery as such. I have avoided any overt magic, and have tried to be more subtle than magic wands and enchanted jewellery; not that there is anything wrong with that, I just wanted this book to be a little more grounded for reasons that become more apparent in the sequels. It is set in another world but has a very medieval feel to it.
Jon: How much did your life in Zimbabwe affect your writing, if at all?
B R: That's quite hard to answer since I have no idea what or if I would have written had I been brought up anywhere else. But, it must have had some sort of influence. Across much of Africa, the very worst of human excesses go on unchecked and in plain view, to a far greater degree than the UK, Western Europe or North America. The wealthiest Africans make Her Majesty look like a pauper, and the vast numbers of poor have no support whatsoever. Here in the UK, the worst our politicians can do is lie to us, and we have the ability to replace them. In many African countries today, the worst their leaders can do is declare them and enemy of the state, and have them, their family, village or tribe killed. It happens far more than is reported in our press. Despite all of this, it is a place of incredible energy and optimism, with the overwhelming majority of people simply trying to go about their lives like anywhere else. So perhaps that is the greatest influence; seeing the strength of the human spirit shine through against a backdrop of injustice and a legacy of hatred.
Jon: Was it a culture shock moving to Scotland?
B R: I had been to the UK a couple of times to visit my grandparents (My father was born just outside Dundee), so I knew what to expect. And yes, the weather in Zimbabwe is great. But you can have too much of a good thing; the temperature seldom drops below 20 degrees Celsius, and long before that the locals are reaching for their jumpers! Drought and water rationing are the by-products of all that sun though.
Jon: What made you move over here?
B R: Itchy feet. I really wanted to experience something new. Dundee was the obvious choice because of my family connections.
Jon: Anger seems to play a large part in your story. How much of that comes from you?
B R: Grrr! What are you saying? Probably more than I would like to admit. But then, it's a very human response to adversity; look for someone to blame and smite them! I'm more grumpy than angry though. Mostly.
Jon: If you could be an immortal god, what would you be the god of and what would be your special power?
B R: That's a tricky one. Perhaps the God of weather would be fun. I could favour those who please me with fine barbecue weather every weekend, but those who earn my wrath could have horizontal rain instead. (Just when they get the fire lit!) Either that or the God of something really trivial. That way, I wouldn't have to go in to work every day, and just go fishing instead.
Jon: So you're about to sit down to write. What three things must you have or do before touching the keyboard?
B R: Peace, a packet of Haribo Tangfastics or Starmix, and a good strong cup of tea!
Jon: If you had to compare your book to another work, be it a book, film, or TV show, what would that be?
B R: Mmmmm. Tough one. It's not easy comparing your work to something from an established talent without sounding cocky, but if Robert Jordan and Joe Abercrombie had a lovechild (and let's face it, that's a little unlikely), with David and Leigh Eddings as the Godparents, then that lovechild would probably write something like 'The Rage Within'.
Jon: What do you like to read? What's the best book you've read and the worst?
B R: Lately I've been reading a lot more Science Fiction than Fantasy. I avidly follow Neal Asher, Richard Morgan and Alastair Reynolds. The great Iain M Banks sadly died during this interview, but his novel 'Use of Weapons' is probably the one book I would recommend to someone if they were only going to read one Scifi book in their life. Peter Brett's Demon cycle has me hooked as well at the moment.
Best book? 'Use of Weapons' or if I'm allowed a series, 'The Dragonlance Chronicles', by Weis and Hickman; its what really got me into fantasy.
Worst book? I had to read 'To Kill a Mockingbird' for my Higher English exam, and just couldn't get into it. It can't be a bad book, it's far too popular, but it just wasn't for me. Probably being told that I had to like it because it was a classic didn't help.
Jon: If you could have any other fictional character guest star in your stories, who or what would it be?
B R: Rowley Birkin QC from 'The Fast Show' could perhaps make an appearance in a village inn to lighten the atmosphere. Anyone who hasn't seen him should look him up on youtube; one of the best characters in television.
Jon: If there was a piece of music that would be suitable as the theme tune for your book, what is it!
B R: Ah. Beethoven's 9th Symphony. An epic piece with every emotion packed in, and an ending to blow your socks off.
Jon: Anything you'd like to add or tell your prospective readers?
B R: I didn't set out to change the world with this book. It was written to entertain; pure and simple.
Jon: And now for a wonderful excerpt from Bruce's book...
Then Kellan heard voices from up the slope. They were searching for him. He rose quickly and ran again, glancing over his shoulder from time to time, listening for his pursuers. Suddenly he crashed into a pile of branches, sending him sprawling on the damp, rocky ground.
He slowly looked up, and to his horror saw feet, dangling not a hand's width from his face. Every fibre of his being urged him not to look up, to run blindly away, but before he could stop himself he had raised his head.
He screamed. Before him, hanging from a bough, was his father. Face swollen and purple, eyes glazed. And then, like hammer blows, one by one he saw the other five victims, scattered about the edges of the small clearing, tongues bulging from between purple lips. He scratched at his face, trying to erase the images, but his father’s lifeless eyes glared through his frantic hands.
Gagging on the bile that filled his throat, he tore himself away from that place and ran, stumbled, crawled across the stones and dust. Horrors clawed at his back no matter how quickly he went, always just a hair’s breadth from tearing him down and devouring his mind. The back of his neck burned as he plunged on down the mountainside, too terrified to look back. Then his terror was joined by something more powerful.
He felt something terrible rise within him; a horrifying, yet welcome release from the visions that filled his mind. Even as he stumbled on down the slope, he felt a furnace of rage start to burn in the pit of his belly, and a roaring in his ears cut out the sounds of snapping branches and stones sent tumbling down the steep slope. He felt no pain when he tumbled and skidded on the sharp rocks, was barely aware of his surroundings at all, only the volcano building in his core.
On he ran down the mountainside, not caring where he was going, only away. Away from the memory of his mother’s death, his father’s dangling corpse. Away from blood, and swollen faces; headless bodies; terror. Unaware of passing time or distance he plunged on, fuelled by anger, giving himself freely to it, offering his soul to the rage within so that it could scour those images from his mind. He did not care if his being was swept away with it, so long as it took those awful memories and gave him peace, or oblivion.
He fell; weightless in free-fall for blessed seconds before hitting the icy river. The shock smashed away the muzzy walls that had almost shut him from the world outside, forcing him back to reality. Rage shattered like glass, giving way once again to fear, and despair as the foaming waters whisked him down rapid after rapid, tossing him, plunging him, dragging him down before throwing him up for a brief staccato gasp of air, then on down the torrent.
Then into free-fall once more, the roar of the waterfall echoing round the steep sided valley, but in those moments in space, a calm fell upon him. A perfect stillness. Detached as he was from the world, those blessed seconds freed him from his pain, both from the overwhelming sense of loss he felt, and from the damage to his battered body. The world was an arm’s length away, and rushing beside him as he began the calm slide downwards. Here in this place, above the water with its icy needles, below the jagged peaks with stones that cut flesh, he was untouchable, and utterly, utterly safe. He was in the womb, wrapped in soft torpor, the only sound, that of his mother’s heart. It had time to beat twice.
Then into the depths once more.
This time with no more fight to give.
www.brcrichton.com
Jon: A big thank you to B R Crichton for spending the time to talk to me about his writing.
The Captain's Blog welcomes Jenny Thomson...
Today the Captain's Blog welcomes Jenny Thomson, author of "Dead Bastards" and "Hell to Pay".
Jon: Tell us a little about yourself...
Jenny: I've been a freelance writer since I got my first piece published at 15, although I've had spells as a TV extra - I narrowly missed out on being an extra in World War Z when it was filming in Glasgow. I've been a big zombie fan since I watched the original Night of the Living Dead. Dead Bastards was published in December of last year and I've been overwhelmed with the response I've got. Zombie fans are fantastic. My crime thriller Hell To Pay was just published by Sassy Books and it's my first Die Hard for girls book. Like Dead Bastards, the book has a strong female character. I love The Walking Dead, but hate the way they've ruined most of the women characters by making it more about who they sleep with than fighting walkers.
Jon: Can you tell us what "Dead Bastards" is about?
Jenny: Glasgow couple Emma and Scott are in bed when there's a knock at the door. It's Scott's pal Archie and he looks like he's been mugged, but when he dies and comes back to life, they realise that the zombies are here. Teaming up with zombie expert Kenny, would be suicide bomber Doyle and Mustafa who works in the local shop, they have one goal. Just don't get bitten.
Jon: So what is it about zombies? I've been hooked on zombie films since my sister made me watch "Return of the Living Dead" when I was twelve and couldn't sleep for a month. What did it for you?
Jenny: I've been hooked on zombies since I first watched Night of the Living Dead. The way the movie's shot almost has a documentary feel about it and it's done in such a matter of fact way, you think, "Hey, this could happen."
Jon: So what makes your zombie story different from all the others?
Jenny: Dead Bastards is set in Glasgow and because it's not set in America there aren't many guns around, so people have to improvise when it comes to killing zombies. That makes it much tougher to survive. I have a strong female lead character, Emma, who can wield a baseball bat as good as any man. There's also a lot of dark humour and that's a very Scottish thing. Scots can stare into the bowels of hell and still find something to laugh about. I've also come up with a unique way that the zombie virus is transmitted that nobody, to my knowledge, has ever used before.
Jon: What's the most gruesome way that a zombie is dispatched in your book?
Jenny: At the start of the book, Scott hacks a zombie snowman to death with his axe. The body parts fly all over the shop because he can't see the man under the snow and has to keep on hitting him again and again to make sure he's finished him off. One of my characters, Mustafa, has to kill his own dad, who's a zombie, with a Samurai sword. In the movies, you see men doing it in one swoop, but Mustafa takes a few goes. It's always more gruesome when you have to kill a relative, but there's an element of absurdity about it too, because you think, "hey, is he ever going to hack this head off - it's so much easier in the movies." Throughout the book, I've tried to make things realistic. These people aren't killing machines, they've had no training. It's hard for them to kill anyone even when it's a case of kill or be killed. Eventually, though, they get to the stage where it's just routine and they've adapted to this new reality.
Jon: Is there anything different about your zombies, or are they the standard, shambling, moaning brain eaters?
Jenny: I've gone for the classic shambling zombies, although they can fairly shift when there's food walking by. To me it was important not to mess with the zombie genre because it's fine as it is. Because their brains are decaying or have completely decayed and have turned to mush, zombies shouldn't really be sprinting like Usain Bolt as the brain controls movement.
Jon: If you were caught up in a zombie apocalypse, what would be your weapon of choice?
Jenny: A gun if I could get one, but if not a chainsaw would be pretty cool. Watch all those zombie body parts fly off and blood everywhere. You'd definitely know that thing was dead. A katana like Michonne in The Walking Dead would also be cool - one swoop and the walker's headless or you could aim for the torso and split it in two. A scythe like the one they use to cut long grass would also be fantastic. Those things are sharp. Hey, I've thought of those things, a bit too much folk would say.
Jon: Are there any more books in the "Dead Bastards" series?
Jenny: For now Dead Bastards is a one off, but I might write another very different zombie book. If I can find the time. I'm writing the Die Hard for Girls revenge series of books. The first "Hell To Pay" is just out on paperback and it will be out on Kindle July 26th. The second is out next year. The next zombie book, that's just an idea at the moment, would be about a detective who goes from walled city to walled city investigating murders carried out by inhabitants. People live in these protected places because they haven't yet eradicated all the zombies and travel between them would be highly dangerous. The most common murder method used would be to throw someone out of these walled city so it's a case of death by zombie.
Jon: Do you have anything else that you want to tell your readers?
Jenny: Dead Bastards is a book with real people. They're not law enforcement or soldiers, so they react in a very realistic way to what's happening. The zombies in Dead Bastards are traditional Romero zombies and not the ones in the World War Z movie that zombie aficionados have been complaining about. I came up with the title for the book because in Scotland if the dead started to rise that’s what we’d probably call them. Well, you wouldn’t immediately think zombies if it was actually happening to you:) The castle in the book is real, although I've changed the name.
For writing tips, check out my blog at
http://ramblingsofafrustratedcrimewri...
I also have a dedicated zombie site at
http://deidbastards.blogspot.co.uk
and one for my Die Hard for Girls book at
http://diehardforgirls.weebly.com
The first book, Hell To Pay is out now in paperback and the follow up, Throwaways, is out next year.
If I'd to offer writers any advice it would be to write as many different things as possible, because you will face countless disappointments along the way. Hell to Pay, a revenge thriller, will be published by Sassy Books, on July 26th 2013 It's the first book in a series dubbed Die Hard for Girls. Read an excerpt here on my Amazon author page:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Jenny-Thomson...
http://ramblingsofafrustratedcrimewri...
http://jennifer-thomson.blogspot.co.uk/
Jon: Thank you very much to Jenny for sharing her life and afterlife with the Captain's Blog... Keep that chainsaw handy folks, the apocalypse is coming for you!
Source: Uploaded by user via Jonathon on Pinterest
Jon: Tell us a little about yourself...
Jenny: I've been a freelance writer since I got my first piece published at 15, although I've had spells as a TV extra - I narrowly missed out on being an extra in World War Z when it was filming in Glasgow. I've been a big zombie fan since I watched the original Night of the Living Dead. Dead Bastards was published in December of last year and I've been overwhelmed with the response I've got. Zombie fans are fantastic. My crime thriller Hell To Pay was just published by Sassy Books and it's my first Die Hard for girls book. Like Dead Bastards, the book has a strong female character. I love The Walking Dead, but hate the way they've ruined most of the women characters by making it more about who they sleep with than fighting walkers.
Jon: Can you tell us what "Dead Bastards" is about?
Jenny: Glasgow couple Emma and Scott are in bed when there's a knock at the door. It's Scott's pal Archie and he looks like he's been mugged, but when he dies and comes back to life, they realise that the zombies are here. Teaming up with zombie expert Kenny, would be suicide bomber Doyle and Mustafa who works in the local shop, they have one goal. Just don't get bitten.
Source: Uploaded by user via Jonathon on Pinterest
Jon: So what is it about zombies? I've been hooked on zombie films since my sister made me watch "Return of the Living Dead" when I was twelve and couldn't sleep for a month. What did it for you?
Jenny: I've been hooked on zombies since I first watched Night of the Living Dead. The way the movie's shot almost has a documentary feel about it and it's done in such a matter of fact way, you think, "Hey, this could happen."
Jon: So what makes your zombie story different from all the others?
Jenny: Dead Bastards is set in Glasgow and because it's not set in America there aren't many guns around, so people have to improvise when it comes to killing zombies. That makes it much tougher to survive. I have a strong female lead character, Emma, who can wield a baseball bat as good as any man. There's also a lot of dark humour and that's a very Scottish thing. Scots can stare into the bowels of hell and still find something to laugh about. I've also come up with a unique way that the zombie virus is transmitted that nobody, to my knowledge, has ever used before.
Jon: What's the most gruesome way that a zombie is dispatched in your book?
Jenny: At the start of the book, Scott hacks a zombie snowman to death with his axe. The body parts fly all over the shop because he can't see the man under the snow and has to keep on hitting him again and again to make sure he's finished him off. One of my characters, Mustafa, has to kill his own dad, who's a zombie, with a Samurai sword. In the movies, you see men doing it in one swoop, but Mustafa takes a few goes. It's always more gruesome when you have to kill a relative, but there's an element of absurdity about it too, because you think, "hey, is he ever going to hack this head off - it's so much easier in the movies." Throughout the book, I've tried to make things realistic. These people aren't killing machines, they've had no training. It's hard for them to kill anyone even when it's a case of kill or be killed. Eventually, though, they get to the stage where it's just routine and they've adapted to this new reality.
Jon: Is there anything different about your zombies, or are they the standard, shambling, moaning brain eaters?
Jenny: I've gone for the classic shambling zombies, although they can fairly shift when there's food walking by. To me it was important not to mess with the zombie genre because it's fine as it is. Because their brains are decaying or have completely decayed and have turned to mush, zombies shouldn't really be sprinting like Usain Bolt as the brain controls movement.
Jon: If you were caught up in a zombie apocalypse, what would be your weapon of choice?
Jenny: A gun if I could get one, but if not a chainsaw would be pretty cool. Watch all those zombie body parts fly off and blood everywhere. You'd definitely know that thing was dead. A katana like Michonne in The Walking Dead would also be cool - one swoop and the walker's headless or you could aim for the torso and split it in two. A scythe like the one they use to cut long grass would also be fantastic. Those things are sharp. Hey, I've thought of those things, a bit too much folk would say.
Jon: Are there any more books in the "Dead Bastards" series?
Jenny: For now Dead Bastards is a one off, but I might write another very different zombie book. If I can find the time. I'm writing the Die Hard for Girls revenge series of books. The first "Hell To Pay" is just out on paperback and it will be out on Kindle July 26th. The second is out next year. The next zombie book, that's just an idea at the moment, would be about a detective who goes from walled city to walled city investigating murders carried out by inhabitants. People live in these protected places because they haven't yet eradicated all the zombies and travel between them would be highly dangerous. The most common murder method used would be to throw someone out of these walled city so it's a case of death by zombie.
Source: Uploaded by user via Jonathon on Pinterest
Jon: Do you have anything else that you want to tell your readers?
Jenny: Dead Bastards is a book with real people. They're not law enforcement or soldiers, so they react in a very realistic way to what's happening. The zombies in Dead Bastards are traditional Romero zombies and not the ones in the World War Z movie that zombie aficionados have been complaining about. I came up with the title for the book because in Scotland if the dead started to rise that’s what we’d probably call them. Well, you wouldn’t immediately think zombies if it was actually happening to you:) The castle in the book is real, although I've changed the name.
For writing tips, check out my blog at
http://ramblingsofafrustratedcrimewri...
I also have a dedicated zombie site at
http://deidbastards.blogspot.co.uk
and one for my Die Hard for Girls book at
http://diehardforgirls.weebly.com
The first book, Hell To Pay is out now in paperback and the follow up, Throwaways, is out next year.
If I'd to offer writers any advice it would be to write as many different things as possible, because you will face countless disappointments along the way. Hell to Pay, a revenge thriller, will be published by Sassy Books, on July 26th 2013 It's the first book in a series dubbed Die Hard for Girls. Read an excerpt here on my Amazon author page:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Jenny-Thomson...
http://ramblingsofafrustratedcrimewri...
http://jennifer-thomson.blogspot.co.uk/
Jon: Thank you very much to Jenny for sharing her life and afterlife with the Captain's Blog... Keep that chainsaw handy folks, the apocalypse is coming for you!
The Captain's Blog proudly presents: How to format your Word document correctly for Kindle...
Today on the “Captain’s Blog”, I’m going to give you the basic tips on how to format your book in order to successfully publish on Amazon Kindle. If you’re anything like I was before I published for the first time, then you’ve probably written your book, most probably in Microsoft Word and are thinking “Right! What do I do next?”
Formatting your book is really difficult… the first time. You’ll almost certainly have done some of the formatting wrong and will have to re-edit the whole book.
DON’T PANIC!
It’s alright. Breathe slowly and I’ll get you through this. I had to completely re-edit the whole of my first book and take out every single tab and return. It took HOURS. But, when you have done this once, you’ll know for next time and the formatting will become second nature to you.
All of my advice in this blog is distilled from a wonderful FREE guide that you can download from Amazon called “Building Your Book for Kindle” by Kindle Direct Publishing. Here is the link:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Building-Your...
I heartily recommend that you get this book. It is helpful and detailed, but sometimes the instructions are a little hard to follow. That’s why I went through the whole guide and made my own notes. It is those notes that are the basis of this blog.
I’m assuming that being a writer, you have a reasonable grasp of Microsoft Word. The instructions below work for my, rather old version of Word (2002). You may have to experiment to find out how to do the same thing if you have a more recent version of Word or you are using another word processor.
Unless you’re including pictures inside your book, file size shouldn’t be a problem, but it must be kept less than 50 meg. I looked into adding pictures and on my first run, my brain melted, so I didn’t bother. I’ll leave it up to you to work that one out. I’m concentrating here on a purely text novel. Do NOT paste in images, it won’t work.
So, let’s begin…
1) Do NOT use tabs!
This is the biggest mistake. I made it and as mentioned above, I had to re-format my whole book. Instead of using tabs, you set the automatic first line indentation as follows:
Format > Paragraph > Indentation and Spacing > Indentation > Special > First Line 1.27cm (1 Inch)
This sets every first line in a new paragraph automatically to one inch, which gives a professional “book” look. The measurements are set in your preferences to either cm or inches. Do not forget however to remove the indentation at the very start of each new section within a chapter. Simply click before the first word of the new section and press backspace. This is a mistake that I see in a lot of indie books and it doesn’t look professional. Look at a print book and you’ll see no indent at the start of a chapter and each subsequent new section.
2) Do NOT use returns to put spaces in-between sections.
The way that a Kindle reader works means that it doesn’t recognise things like font size and returns. If you do use returns then the book might look wrong on a Kindle viewer. To insert a space between sections…
Format > Paragraph > Indents & Spacing > Spacing > After > 12pt.
I use 12pt to separate sections and 24pt after a Chapter heading. You can use whatever you wish. To make sure that you don’t have any errant returns hiding in your book…
View > Show Paragraph Marks (Tick ON)
This will show a mark wherever there is a return. If you’ve used the method above, there should be no marks.
3) No Headers or Footers (Like page numbers)
A reader of your book can set the font size to whatever they want. This means that there are no set page sizes. That in turn means that headers and footers generally don’t work and mess up the formatting. Don’t use them.
4) Do not use different font sizes.
Similarly as outlined above, different font sizes will not show properly on a Kindle because the reader can change the font size to whatever they want. Stick to one font size for the whole document. I use Times New Roman 12 Point, 1.5 Line Spaced.
5) Justify both sides.
This seems obvious, but it makes the final document look more like a book page.
6) Insert page breaks at the end of chapters.
Again quite obvious, but necessary to separate the chapters so that your “Table of Contents” navigator will work properly.
Insert > Break > Page Break
7) Chapter Titles.
This bit is VERY important. The look of your Chapter headings can be as you wish within reason. They should be the same font and size as the rest of the document. I usually centre mine and make them bold. I don’t use underlining, but that’s a personal preference.
In order for your Table of Contents to work properly, you need to tell the Word document that this is a Chapter Heading and not body text. There are other ways to do this in Word, but this is the simplest way and it works for me. Highlight the whole Chapter Heading with your mouse, then…
View > Toolbars > Outlining
With the Chapter Heading selected, change the text in the Outlining box from “Body Text” to “Level 1”. I know for a fact this works differently in later versions of Word, but it took me five minutes to find out how to do it. The main point is to make your Chapter Headings “Level 1” rather than “Body Text”, however you do it.
So that’s how to deal with the bulk of your novel. Now let’s talk briefly about the front end of the book. You should have the following pages right at the start AND in this order.
TITLE PAGE:
This should have the book title and authors name. They should be centred and I make mine bold and all caps too. Insert a page break after the author, just as at the end of each chapter.
COPYRIGHT PAGE:
Look at some other books to see what language they use and place something similar here. The free guide will help you. Again it should be centred. Page break afterwards.
DEDICATION:
“To my darling whatsit, this book is for you my dear because you are geet lush!” Centred: Page break after.
CONTENTS PAGE:
This is a bit trickier. To insert a Table of Contents (TOC) first create a page after the Dedication. Put the title “Table of Contents” at the top then a single return. Click underneath the title on the next line down.
Insert > References >Index & Tables > Table of Contents (Click on the Tab).
Set “Show Levels” to “1” and un-click “Show Page Numbers”
This will insert an automatic TOC with all the Chapter Headings that you made into “Level 1” earlier. If you don’t like the font or bold or justification, you can simply highlight the whole TOC and change it. If you need to change chapter titles, add or remove chapters at a later date, you’ll need to update the TOC. To do this simply click anywhere inside the TOC and press F9. You’ll see the whole TOC refresh.
Now you need to Bookmark the Table of Contents. This will enable readers to navigate straight back to the TOC from anywhere in the book and then skip to a chapter of their choice.
Highlight and select the page title “Table of Contents” at the top of the page with the mouse.
Insert > Bookmark > Type in “TOC” then click “Add”.
If you want to check that this works, scroll down to a later section of your book and then click…
Edit > Goto
A box comes up that enables you to navigate to bookmarks that you’ve inserted. Choose TOC and it should take you straight there. You can insert any bookmarks that you like, but I stick to just the TOC.
Your Cover:
According to the guide, your book cover artwork should be a JPEG which is 1000 x 1600 Pixels. I create all my covers as 2000 x 3200 Pixels at 300 dpi initially. Then I save a copy at half that size ready for upload. Try and stick to just the Title and Author on the cover. Too much text clutters up the cover, save that for the product description. Your cover should still be legible when zoomed down to a thumbnail, as most people will see it that way on Amazon.
Lastly, before you upload your book to Kindle:
Spell check AGAIN! Make sure you haven’t missed something obvious.
Double check the formatting. Check your TOC works and there are no tabs, returns etc. Go through EVERYTHING above.
Get someone else to proof read your book, preferably someone with language and grammar experience. My wife does mine and she is a qualified teacher. She is exceptional, but occasionally even she misses something. Don’t just rely on friend who may read the book for the story, but not bother to point out your mistakes.
Once all that is done, save the Word document as “Filtered HTML Document” or “Web Page Filtered” (depending on your version of Word). When the message pops up “Remove Office Tags?” click on yes.
Your book is now ready for Uploading! Hurrah!
Log onto http://kdp.amazon.com/
Click on “Sign In” and then once you’ve put in your e-mail and password click “Add New Title”.
Follow the instructions on screen. I won’t go into details here as the on screen instructions are pretty good and there is a very thorough help page.
When you’ve put in your book details, uploaded the book content and the cover, preview the book using the online Kindle pre-viewer. Review the front matter. Ensure the TOC links work for every chapter. This is laborious, but I go from the TOC to every chapter and then back again until I get to the last chapter. Check the Artwork looks okay. Close the pre-viewer.
Hit save and the website will take you onto the page where you decide the price for your book. Again, follow the on screen instructions and then hit “Save and Publish!” That’s it, you are now an author!
Now comes the hard part. You thought that writing the book was difficult? Next you have to promote it. I wish you all the best. Drop by Twitter and say hi if you have any further questions. @JonGardener
Good luck!
Jon.
Formatting your book is really difficult… the first time. You’ll almost certainly have done some of the formatting wrong and will have to re-edit the whole book.
DON’T PANIC!
It’s alright. Breathe slowly and I’ll get you through this. I had to completely re-edit the whole of my first book and take out every single tab and return. It took HOURS. But, when you have done this once, you’ll know for next time and the formatting will become second nature to you.
All of my advice in this blog is distilled from a wonderful FREE guide that you can download from Amazon called “Building Your Book for Kindle” by Kindle Direct Publishing. Here is the link:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Building-Your...
I heartily recommend that you get this book. It is helpful and detailed, but sometimes the instructions are a little hard to follow. That’s why I went through the whole guide and made my own notes. It is those notes that are the basis of this blog.
I’m assuming that being a writer, you have a reasonable grasp of Microsoft Word. The instructions below work for my, rather old version of Word (2002). You may have to experiment to find out how to do the same thing if you have a more recent version of Word or you are using another word processor.
Unless you’re including pictures inside your book, file size shouldn’t be a problem, but it must be kept less than 50 meg. I looked into adding pictures and on my first run, my brain melted, so I didn’t bother. I’ll leave it up to you to work that one out. I’m concentrating here on a purely text novel. Do NOT paste in images, it won’t work.
So, let’s begin…
1) Do NOT use tabs!
This is the biggest mistake. I made it and as mentioned above, I had to re-format my whole book. Instead of using tabs, you set the automatic first line indentation as follows:
Format > Paragraph > Indentation and Spacing > Indentation > Special > First Line 1.27cm (1 Inch)
This sets every first line in a new paragraph automatically to one inch, which gives a professional “book” look. The measurements are set in your preferences to either cm or inches. Do not forget however to remove the indentation at the very start of each new section within a chapter. Simply click before the first word of the new section and press backspace. This is a mistake that I see in a lot of indie books and it doesn’t look professional. Look at a print book and you’ll see no indent at the start of a chapter and each subsequent new section.
2) Do NOT use returns to put spaces in-between sections.
The way that a Kindle reader works means that it doesn’t recognise things like font size and returns. If you do use returns then the book might look wrong on a Kindle viewer. To insert a space between sections…
Format > Paragraph > Indents & Spacing > Spacing > After > 12pt.
I use 12pt to separate sections and 24pt after a Chapter heading. You can use whatever you wish. To make sure that you don’t have any errant returns hiding in your book…
View > Show Paragraph Marks (Tick ON)
This will show a mark wherever there is a return. If you’ve used the method above, there should be no marks.
3) No Headers or Footers (Like page numbers)
A reader of your book can set the font size to whatever they want. This means that there are no set page sizes. That in turn means that headers and footers generally don’t work and mess up the formatting. Don’t use them.
4) Do not use different font sizes.
Similarly as outlined above, different font sizes will not show properly on a Kindle because the reader can change the font size to whatever they want. Stick to one font size for the whole document. I use Times New Roman 12 Point, 1.5 Line Spaced.
5) Justify both sides.
This seems obvious, but it makes the final document look more like a book page.
6) Insert page breaks at the end of chapters.
Again quite obvious, but necessary to separate the chapters so that your “Table of Contents” navigator will work properly.
Insert > Break > Page Break
7) Chapter Titles.
This bit is VERY important. The look of your Chapter headings can be as you wish within reason. They should be the same font and size as the rest of the document. I usually centre mine and make them bold. I don’t use underlining, but that’s a personal preference.
In order for your Table of Contents to work properly, you need to tell the Word document that this is a Chapter Heading and not body text. There are other ways to do this in Word, but this is the simplest way and it works for me. Highlight the whole Chapter Heading with your mouse, then…
View > Toolbars > Outlining
With the Chapter Heading selected, change the text in the Outlining box from “Body Text” to “Level 1”. I know for a fact this works differently in later versions of Word, but it took me five minutes to find out how to do it. The main point is to make your Chapter Headings “Level 1” rather than “Body Text”, however you do it.
So that’s how to deal with the bulk of your novel. Now let’s talk briefly about the front end of the book. You should have the following pages right at the start AND in this order.
TITLE PAGE:
This should have the book title and authors name. They should be centred and I make mine bold and all caps too. Insert a page break after the author, just as at the end of each chapter.
COPYRIGHT PAGE:
Look at some other books to see what language they use and place something similar here. The free guide will help you. Again it should be centred. Page break afterwards.
DEDICATION:
“To my darling whatsit, this book is for you my dear because you are geet lush!” Centred: Page break after.
CONTENTS PAGE:
This is a bit trickier. To insert a Table of Contents (TOC) first create a page after the Dedication. Put the title “Table of Contents” at the top then a single return. Click underneath the title on the next line down.
Insert > References >Index & Tables > Table of Contents (Click on the Tab).
Set “Show Levels” to “1” and un-click “Show Page Numbers”
This will insert an automatic TOC with all the Chapter Headings that you made into “Level 1” earlier. If you don’t like the font or bold or justification, you can simply highlight the whole TOC and change it. If you need to change chapter titles, add or remove chapters at a later date, you’ll need to update the TOC. To do this simply click anywhere inside the TOC and press F9. You’ll see the whole TOC refresh.
Now you need to Bookmark the Table of Contents. This will enable readers to navigate straight back to the TOC from anywhere in the book and then skip to a chapter of their choice.
Highlight and select the page title “Table of Contents” at the top of the page with the mouse.
Insert > Bookmark > Type in “TOC” then click “Add”.
If you want to check that this works, scroll down to a later section of your book and then click…
Edit > Goto
A box comes up that enables you to navigate to bookmarks that you’ve inserted. Choose TOC and it should take you straight there. You can insert any bookmarks that you like, but I stick to just the TOC.
Your Cover:
According to the guide, your book cover artwork should be a JPEG which is 1000 x 1600 Pixels. I create all my covers as 2000 x 3200 Pixels at 300 dpi initially. Then I save a copy at half that size ready for upload. Try and stick to just the Title and Author on the cover. Too much text clutters up the cover, save that for the product description. Your cover should still be legible when zoomed down to a thumbnail, as most people will see it that way on Amazon.
Lastly, before you upload your book to Kindle:
Spell check AGAIN! Make sure you haven’t missed something obvious.
Double check the formatting. Check your TOC works and there are no tabs, returns etc. Go through EVERYTHING above.
Get someone else to proof read your book, preferably someone with language and grammar experience. My wife does mine and she is a qualified teacher. She is exceptional, but occasionally even she misses something. Don’t just rely on friend who may read the book for the story, but not bother to point out your mistakes.
Once all that is done, save the Word document as “Filtered HTML Document” or “Web Page Filtered” (depending on your version of Word). When the message pops up “Remove Office Tags?” click on yes.
Your book is now ready for Uploading! Hurrah!
Log onto http://kdp.amazon.com/
Click on “Sign In” and then once you’ve put in your e-mail and password click “Add New Title”.
Follow the instructions on screen. I won’t go into details here as the on screen instructions are pretty good and there is a very thorough help page.
When you’ve put in your book details, uploaded the book content and the cover, preview the book using the online Kindle pre-viewer. Review the front matter. Ensure the TOC links work for every chapter. This is laborious, but I go from the TOC to every chapter and then back again until I get to the last chapter. Check the Artwork looks okay. Close the pre-viewer.
Hit save and the website will take you onto the page where you decide the price for your book. Again, follow the on screen instructions and then hit “Save and Publish!” That’s it, you are now an author!
Now comes the hard part. You thought that writing the book was difficult? Next you have to promote it. I wish you all the best. Drop by Twitter and say hi if you have any further questions. @JonGardener
Good luck!
Jon.
Free sample: prologue from Warrior of the Space Navy
image: 
Unity Book One
Warrior of the Space Navy
Prologue
“A Clear Message”
Deep within the asteroid belt that lies in orbit between Mars and Jupiter a desperate struggle had begun. A huge cargo hauler was engaged in a deathly dance through the void. Sitting on its back was an ugly black lump of a ship, a mongrel that was constructed out of the salvaged parts of the unfortunate space vessels that it had defeated and torn apart. The black ship had the unmistakable markings of the Martian pirates painted across her prow, a helmeted skull and crossed rifles. Just underneath the grisly image, painted in blood red, was the name of the vessel; the S.S. Satanskin.
The Satanskin was clinging onto the back of the cargo hauler using claw-like docking clamps that bit fiercely into the metal hull of its prey like a lion’s claws biting into the back of a gazelle. Docking tubes protruded from the underbelly of the black beast to meet deep wounds that had been cut into the skin of the crippled cargo hauler. Through each tube a steady stream of heavily armoured pirates now marched. Each pirate wore an armoured E.V.A. spacesuit and carried a deadly weapon. Every pirate had a fearsome design boldly painted across the visor of their suit, a skull, a demon, a snarling tiger shark or other bestial images intended to intimidate and terrify their victims. They poured into the cargo hauler like an army of ants, intent on stripping the ship clean and killing every living soul on board.
Inside the bridge of the cargo vessel the Captain stood firm with his officers beside him. He knew that he was about to die. Pirates didn’t take prisoners. They left no-one alive who could identify them. The men and women around him were shaking with terror. They held their puny looking pistols in sweating hands and stared fixedly at the hatch to the bridge as if they expected the devil himself to burst through on wings of fire. As it turned out, they were not far wrong.
With a shower of sparks the metal hatch fell inwards and landed on the deck with a clang that reverberated throughout the ship like the mournful toll of a funeral bell. Two of the officers began to fire their pistols at the incoming hoard and were instantly mown down by automatic rifle fire. The remaining crew immediately dropped their weapons and raised their hands in terror, falling to their knees as the armoured pirates surrounded them.
The Captain was a proud man, never one to cower. He stood tall with his hands clasped firmly behind his back, awaiting the death that he knew was coming for him with as much bravado as he could muster. Death came through the hatch in the shape of a huge man who was wearing an E.V.A. spacesuit that was painted with vivid black and red diamond patterns. When the Captain saw the suited figure even his stiff upper lip began to tremble.
‘Harlequin!’ he hissed through teeth that were clenched tightly in an attempt to stop them chattering.
‘I see that my reputation precedes me?’ said the helmeted figure as he came to a halt directly in front of the defiant Captain.
Harlequin’s voice sounded metallic, electronic and weirdly distorted as it came through the communication system of the Extra Vehicular Activity spacesuit. The towering figure stared calmly down at the Captain. He was a clear foot taller than the Captain. In his gloved hands he carried a coil of hemp rope which he continually twisted and pulled.
‘It precedes you like a bad smell!’ hissed the Captain as hatred burned in his eyes. ‘You’re surrounded by the foul stench of death and decay. You will burn for an eternity in the fires of hell for the crimes that you have committed!’
Harlequin began to chuckle, a sound that seemed detached from the death and destruction that surrounded him. The Captain couldn’t tear his eyes away from the rope that Harlequin continually wrought in his hands.
‘I don’t believe in hell Sir,’ said Harlequin, ‘at least not in the sense of an afterlife. There is hell enough before death for men like you and me. I give you a choice brave Captain, one choice for you and your gallant crew. Live or die. Join my crew; pledge your allegiance to me and my ship and you will live. Refuse and you die, here and now.’
There was absolute silence. Then the Captain snarled, ‘I’ll never join filthy, murderous scum like you.’
A moment passed and then a young man to the Captain’s left stepped forwards and spoke in a quavering voice. ‘I’ll join you,’ he said hoarsely.
‘Good lad!’ said Harlequin and then motioned to two of his men.
As they led the young man away back towards the Satanskin, he averted his eyes from the accusatory stare of the Captain. Then Harlequin rounded on the Captain and the remains of his crew.
‘Anyone else?’
Nobody moved or spoke.
‘Fine,’ said Harlequin and pointed with his gloved hand to the crew standing either side of the Captain.
Immediately the automatic rifles of the surrounding pirates mowed down the remaining bridge crew. A hail of bullets and chilling screams surrounded the Captain. After a second he was the only one left standing amidst a pile of twitching corpses.
Harlequin eyeballed the man through his painted visor. The Captain was still standing resolutely on the spot with his hands clasped firmly behind his back. Blood now spattered his face from his fallen crewmembers, but the man had not even flinched.
‘My, you are a tough son of a bitch!’ goaded Harlequin. ‘You should have joined us. I could have used a stalwart man like you. Now it’s going to be worse for you mate.’
The Captain finally began to shake, his resolve crumbled, anger and fear taking control. ‘Go to hell! Get it over with. Just kill me you bastard!’
‘Oh I will kill you, to be sure, but it won’t be quick,’ said Harlequin darkly. ‘I have a message to deliver.’
Then Harlequin turned to his men. ‘String him up!’ he ordered.
Several of the other pirates quickly took the rope from Harlequin’s hands and used it to tie the Captain to an overhead girder. The quaking man was hung by his outstretched arms in a crucifixion position and then hauled up until his feet were hanging a clear foot above the deck. Harlequin walked towards the Captain and looked up into his face. By now the man was utterly terrified.
‘What are you going to do?’ the Captain asked in the quiet voice of a broken man.
‘I told you,’ said Harlequin. ‘I’m going to send a message.’
Harlequin turned to a pirate who was standing next to him and nodded. The man brought a small holographic camera up, focussed it on Harlequin and the Captain and began to record. Harlequin bowed dramatically to the camera and then straightened up.
‘This message is for the Admirals of the United Worlds Space Navy’s High Command and President Smith’s government. It is from my new allies in the Insurgent organisation. They are very unhappy with how you have treated their people on the outer worlds. Your heavy-handed approach is uncalled for, barbaric and brutal. So as an object lesson they have asked me to make an example.’
Harlequin moved aside slightly to let the camera see the strung up Captain more clearly.
‘This cargo hauler was on its way to your naval base on Cairn carrying supplies. Nothing vital I’ll admit, but you will be on short rations for a while. More to the point is that this ship was under your employ. It was subcontracted to the Space Navy. Cairn is from where you launch your attacks. Cairn is your safe haven. Therefore it is Cairn that will suffer! In retaliation for your attacks and subjugation of the free people, we make this promise. We will attack any civilian ship that attempts to bring supplies to the naval base on Cairn. I repeat, all supply ships that attempt to reach Cairn will be destroyed and their crews slaughtered. Cairn will be cut off and your enlisted troops will slowly starve!’
Harlequin stepped closer towards the Captain.
‘…and just so you believe that our resolve is firm…’
Harlequin turned towards the Captain. He slowly drew a knife from a sheath on his belt and held it up so that it glinted in the light. Harlequin leaned in closely towards the Captain and whispered softly.
‘I’m sorry mate, but this is going to hurt you more than it hurts me.’
Then Harlequin began to cut.
With every slice, with every deft cleave, the Captain’s blood-curdling screams could be heard echoing throughout the entirety of the doomed vessel. When he had finished Harlequin turned towards the camera, still holding the bloody knife. Blood covered his visor and dripped down his spacesuit to pool on the deck. Behind Harlequin what remained of the Captain swung to and fro like meat on a hook in a butcher’s window.
‘That ends today’s object lesson. You can be sure that there will be others. Farewell and adieu.’
Unity Book One: Warrior of the Space Navy, is available now from Amazon...
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Warrior-Space...
http://www.amazon.com/Warrior-Space-N...
Unity Book One
Warrior of the Space Navy
Prologue
“A Clear Message”
Deep within the asteroid belt that lies in orbit between Mars and Jupiter a desperate struggle had begun. A huge cargo hauler was engaged in a deathly dance through the void. Sitting on its back was an ugly black lump of a ship, a mongrel that was constructed out of the salvaged parts of the unfortunate space vessels that it had defeated and torn apart. The black ship had the unmistakable markings of the Martian pirates painted across her prow, a helmeted skull and crossed rifles. Just underneath the grisly image, painted in blood red, was the name of the vessel; the S.S. Satanskin.
The Satanskin was clinging onto the back of the cargo hauler using claw-like docking clamps that bit fiercely into the metal hull of its prey like a lion’s claws biting into the back of a gazelle. Docking tubes protruded from the underbelly of the black beast to meet deep wounds that had been cut into the skin of the crippled cargo hauler. Through each tube a steady stream of heavily armoured pirates now marched. Each pirate wore an armoured E.V.A. spacesuit and carried a deadly weapon. Every pirate had a fearsome design boldly painted across the visor of their suit, a skull, a demon, a snarling tiger shark or other bestial images intended to intimidate and terrify their victims. They poured into the cargo hauler like an army of ants, intent on stripping the ship clean and killing every living soul on board.
Inside the bridge of the cargo vessel the Captain stood firm with his officers beside him. He knew that he was about to die. Pirates didn’t take prisoners. They left no-one alive who could identify them. The men and women around him were shaking with terror. They held their puny looking pistols in sweating hands and stared fixedly at the hatch to the bridge as if they expected the devil himself to burst through on wings of fire. As it turned out, they were not far wrong.
With a shower of sparks the metal hatch fell inwards and landed on the deck with a clang that reverberated throughout the ship like the mournful toll of a funeral bell. Two of the officers began to fire their pistols at the incoming hoard and were instantly mown down by automatic rifle fire. The remaining crew immediately dropped their weapons and raised their hands in terror, falling to their knees as the armoured pirates surrounded them.
The Captain was a proud man, never one to cower. He stood tall with his hands clasped firmly behind his back, awaiting the death that he knew was coming for him with as much bravado as he could muster. Death came through the hatch in the shape of a huge man who was wearing an E.V.A. spacesuit that was painted with vivid black and red diamond patterns. When the Captain saw the suited figure even his stiff upper lip began to tremble.
‘Harlequin!’ he hissed through teeth that were clenched tightly in an attempt to stop them chattering.
‘I see that my reputation precedes me?’ said the helmeted figure as he came to a halt directly in front of the defiant Captain.
Harlequin’s voice sounded metallic, electronic and weirdly distorted as it came through the communication system of the Extra Vehicular Activity spacesuit. The towering figure stared calmly down at the Captain. He was a clear foot taller than the Captain. In his gloved hands he carried a coil of hemp rope which he continually twisted and pulled.
‘It precedes you like a bad smell!’ hissed the Captain as hatred burned in his eyes. ‘You’re surrounded by the foul stench of death and decay. You will burn for an eternity in the fires of hell for the crimes that you have committed!’
Harlequin began to chuckle, a sound that seemed detached from the death and destruction that surrounded him. The Captain couldn’t tear his eyes away from the rope that Harlequin continually wrought in his hands.
‘I don’t believe in hell Sir,’ said Harlequin, ‘at least not in the sense of an afterlife. There is hell enough before death for men like you and me. I give you a choice brave Captain, one choice for you and your gallant crew. Live or die. Join my crew; pledge your allegiance to me and my ship and you will live. Refuse and you die, here and now.’
There was absolute silence. Then the Captain snarled, ‘I’ll never join filthy, murderous scum like you.’
A moment passed and then a young man to the Captain’s left stepped forwards and spoke in a quavering voice. ‘I’ll join you,’ he said hoarsely.
‘Good lad!’ said Harlequin and then motioned to two of his men.
As they led the young man away back towards the Satanskin, he averted his eyes from the accusatory stare of the Captain. Then Harlequin rounded on the Captain and the remains of his crew.
‘Anyone else?’
Nobody moved or spoke.
‘Fine,’ said Harlequin and pointed with his gloved hand to the crew standing either side of the Captain.
Immediately the automatic rifles of the surrounding pirates mowed down the remaining bridge crew. A hail of bullets and chilling screams surrounded the Captain. After a second he was the only one left standing amidst a pile of twitching corpses.
Harlequin eyeballed the man through his painted visor. The Captain was still standing resolutely on the spot with his hands clasped firmly behind his back. Blood now spattered his face from his fallen crewmembers, but the man had not even flinched.
‘My, you are a tough son of a bitch!’ goaded Harlequin. ‘You should have joined us. I could have used a stalwart man like you. Now it’s going to be worse for you mate.’
The Captain finally began to shake, his resolve crumbled, anger and fear taking control. ‘Go to hell! Get it over with. Just kill me you bastard!’
‘Oh I will kill you, to be sure, but it won’t be quick,’ said Harlequin darkly. ‘I have a message to deliver.’
Then Harlequin turned to his men. ‘String him up!’ he ordered.
Several of the other pirates quickly took the rope from Harlequin’s hands and used it to tie the Captain to an overhead girder. The quaking man was hung by his outstretched arms in a crucifixion position and then hauled up until his feet were hanging a clear foot above the deck. Harlequin walked towards the Captain and looked up into his face. By now the man was utterly terrified.
‘What are you going to do?’ the Captain asked in the quiet voice of a broken man.
‘I told you,’ said Harlequin. ‘I’m going to send a message.’
Harlequin turned to a pirate who was standing next to him and nodded. The man brought a small holographic camera up, focussed it on Harlequin and the Captain and began to record. Harlequin bowed dramatically to the camera and then straightened up.
‘This message is for the Admirals of the United Worlds Space Navy’s High Command and President Smith’s government. It is from my new allies in the Insurgent organisation. They are very unhappy with how you have treated their people on the outer worlds. Your heavy-handed approach is uncalled for, barbaric and brutal. So as an object lesson they have asked me to make an example.’
Harlequin moved aside slightly to let the camera see the strung up Captain more clearly.
‘This cargo hauler was on its way to your naval base on Cairn carrying supplies. Nothing vital I’ll admit, but you will be on short rations for a while. More to the point is that this ship was under your employ. It was subcontracted to the Space Navy. Cairn is from where you launch your attacks. Cairn is your safe haven. Therefore it is Cairn that will suffer! In retaliation for your attacks and subjugation of the free people, we make this promise. We will attack any civilian ship that attempts to bring supplies to the naval base on Cairn. I repeat, all supply ships that attempt to reach Cairn will be destroyed and their crews slaughtered. Cairn will be cut off and your enlisted troops will slowly starve!’
Harlequin stepped closer towards the Captain.
‘…and just so you believe that our resolve is firm…’
Harlequin turned towards the Captain. He slowly drew a knife from a sheath on his belt and held it up so that it glinted in the light. Harlequin leaned in closely towards the Captain and whispered softly.
‘I’m sorry mate, but this is going to hurt you more than it hurts me.’
Then Harlequin began to cut.
With every slice, with every deft cleave, the Captain’s blood-curdling screams could be heard echoing throughout the entirety of the doomed vessel. When he had finished Harlequin turned towards the camera, still holding the bloody knife. Blood covered his visor and dripped down his spacesuit to pool on the deck. Behind Harlequin what remained of the Captain swung to and fro like meat on a hook in a butcher’s window.
‘That ends today’s object lesson. You can be sure that there will be others. Farewell and adieu.’
Unity Book One: Warrior of the Space Navy, is available now from Amazon...
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