David Cook's Blog - Posts Tagged "fiction"
The Soldier Chronicles
For a long time I've thought about turning stories in ebook format. Now, as life for me has calmed down abit after the birth of my son, the time is right.
The chronicles started life as backstories to a novel I wrote and is still unpublished called 'The Desert Lion'. I wrote it between 2006-2008 and when sending off to get representation, I didn't want to sit around twiddling my thumbs - I had a few ideas and expanded some of the characters of that book - of which will be a dozen volumes.
So with back stories and those characters with their own unique stories I continued writing them. I wanted to tell of faraway battles and lands which will be brought to life as companion pieces from the years 1794-1815.
I then turned my attention to a favourite hero from England's past - Robin Hood. So all the Napoleonic stories went on hiatus.
With my Robin Hood story, 'The Wolfshead' (being edited as I write this) taking centre stage I then became a father and the writing stepped dutifully aside for me to take on this new role.
But now after two years the chronicles have seen ebook daylight.
I did speak to Bernard Cornwall a few years ago about sending my completed works off for representation, and he said to me, 'Once it's done, sit back and have a whiskey'.
I think I will...
The chronicles started life as backstories to a novel I wrote and is still unpublished called 'The Desert Lion'. I wrote it between 2006-2008 and when sending off to get representation, I didn't want to sit around twiddling my thumbs - I had a few ideas and expanded some of the characters of that book - of which will be a dozen volumes.
So with back stories and those characters with their own unique stories I continued writing them. I wanted to tell of faraway battles and lands which will be brought to life as companion pieces from the years 1794-1815.
I then turned my attention to a favourite hero from England's past - Robin Hood. So all the Napoleonic stories went on hiatus.
With my Robin Hood story, 'The Wolfshead' (being edited as I write this) taking centre stage I then became a father and the writing stepped dutifully aside for me to take on this new role.
But now after two years the chronicles have seen ebook daylight.
I did speak to Bernard Cornwall a few years ago about sending my completed works off for representation, and he said to me, 'Once it's done, sit back and have a whiskey'.
I think I will...
Paget meets the future Duke of Wellington
This piece is from BLOOD ON THE SNOW, which is to be released in September:
It was Christmas Eve.
Icicles hung from branches and redcoats broke through the ice with bayonets to get water from the streams for the cooking pots. Breakfast for some consisted of flour dust cooked into little dumplings, stale bread, or acorns and old berries found beneath the oaks and bushes. Several officers shot at a plump of ducks passing over, the musket bangs echoed as men looked up in anticipation, but none of the birds fell from the sky and they cursed poor their luck rather than their marksmanship. The vast majority of men had nothing to eat. Bellies were painful and swollen from cramps. Some had to run into the hedgerows to void their bowels. Dysentery and fever were rife.
Grave was a small impoverished town about nine miles southwest of Nijmegan on the left bank of the River Maas. It had been heavily fortified over the centuries, often billeting military troops from Austria, Spain and France who of late had added embankments, ditches and gun emplacements to the ancient walls that surrounded the town. The large castle was rebuilt and it was here that the Dutch had surrendered to the French just days ago after a brief siege, but it was a poor place filled with memories of destruction, sieges, starvation and misery.
‘You see, they can’t even bloody well hold onto one of their own towns,’ Major Osborne grumpily gave his opinion of the Dutch as he and Colonel Paget espied Grave from a thicket of pine trees less than a mile to the south. He had spent his night in a grotty little farmstead and awoke covered in flea bites. Rain showed above the far hills as a dark stain. ‘That’s what happens when you arm shit-stinking, clog-wearing peasants with firelocks. They’re not an army, they’re a goddamn rabble.’
Paget did not reply, he was still smarting Osborne’s impertinence and ill-advice from the conversation at the bridge. Instead, he looked to where General Sir David Dundas, commander of the British right, and his staff were talking, making notes and giving orders just ahead of the tree line. Paget had grown to dislike Osborne’s company and so he clicked his tongue and trotted over towards the group of officers without saying a word to the major.
This wasn’t to be Paget’s first battle, but he was nevertheless anxious to make a name for himself and not to let the regiment down. It was a fine battalion and men like Captain Vivian Richard Hussey Vivian had paid good money to get transferred here. Vivian had made a name for himself in the last few years and now wanted to transfer to a cavalry regiment, but it was a damned good regiment with a proud history and Paget hoped to continue with its legend.
‘Should be a decent day’s fighting,’ said a voice over to his left.
Paget turned to see an unknown officer trotting along a muddied track and who was also heading towards Dundas.
‘So I hear,’ Paget replied genially. ‘Edward Paget, 28th,’ he said and outstretched his hand when he was close enough.
‘Arthur Wesley, 33rd,’ said the officer. ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance.’
‘Likewise,’ Paget said. ‘33rd, eh?’ he said staring at Wesley’s red facings. ‘I heard about Boxtel.’
Wesley grunted slightly from the mention of the name. The regiment had been part of the British and Hanoverian force that had launched a counter-attack after the French had pushed the Dutch from the town. But the manoeuvre had failed despite the regiment’s superb volley fire which had shattered the French attack.
‘I overheard that Sir David reckons the French at Grave will try to keep us pinned back whilst Pichegru marches his army to trap us like fish caught in the nets,’ Wesley said. ‘There can’t be more than a four thousand of the Jacobins here. One whiff of a volley and they’ll retreat behind the towns walls and we’ll have to endure another siege,’ he added bitterly. ‘What this army needs to do is consolidate. We’re scattered to the winds and all that’s left for us to do is drift away like autumn leaves caught in a breeze.’
Wesley was in his twenties, slim, straight-backed and Paget noted he had piercing eyes and a sharp, hooked nose. There was something strange in his manner, impressive in his tone and utterly decisive in his manner.
Paget gave a firm nod of agreement. The trick was to win this small victory, and still bring the British Army to safety in one piece. That would not be easy, and it was all down to other men’s decisions.
‘We can’t endure a winter siege,’ he said. ‘We have to hope the locals lock the gates behind the French and then they’ll be forced to simply surrender.’
Wesley brayed with laughter which caused a few of the older officers around Sir David to scowl at him. He turned to see a sullen company of redcoats march past.
‘Driving rain and snow makes men careless, for they are too consumed with their own misery to care,’ Wesley commented. ‘Or perhaps they are wretched because of their own officers?’
Paget grunted. ‘I agree, Wesley. But what to do, eh?’
Wesley pursed his thin lips and stared across at the flat landscape, almost as though he was mesmerised by the bleak beauty of it. ‘Have you heard that Robespierre’s been toppled?’
‘The Directory,’ Paget said with disgust. ‘One dictator ruling the country is removed so that a whole group of dictators can do the same job. We’re fighting a mob, Wesley.’
‘Agreed, but the damned mob has beaten us at nearly every turn,’ Wesley replied with a wry smile. ‘They’ve seen off the Austrians who have scuttled back across the Rhine and they’ve taken Antwerp, Brussels, and their armies are chasing us every day away from the sea. We’re to help the eastern defences, but we’re done here, Paget. We’re heavily outnumbered, but still there’s nothing right now to cause us undue concern,’ he said calmly. ‘I heard that the government wants to recall some of our regiments for the Sugar Islands.’
Paget stared. ‘Good God,’ he uttered, thinking of the West Indies. ‘That will leave us with even less manpower.’
‘True, Paget, true,’ Wesley replied. He brought out an expensive telescope and trained it at the walls where the Tricolour of France flew high from the castle’s main tower instead of the Dutch Tricolour. Tall pine trees hid the outlying land and the River Maas. Then he traversed it across the fields to the west to a tiny village called Escharen. He watched dark streaks of smoke that betrayed home cooking fires.
‘Grave should give the men spirit, Wesley,’ Paget considered, ‘but I hear that Pichegru is less than two days away. There will be no time to lay a siege, any blockhead can tell you that, so we’ve got to beat them with volleys and finish them off with the cold steel.’
The trick was to win this small victory, and still bring the British Army to safety in one piece, Paget considered. That would not be easy, and it was all down to other men’s decisions. Men of higher rank, but not notably men of sound leadership.
Wesley smiled, liking Paget’s comments. ‘The French haven't tasted defeat yet. But we shall see, Paget, we shall see,’ he said smiling and closed his eyepiece. ‘I don’t know where we’re heading, but I do hope our paths will cross again.’ He touched his bicorn hat and clicked his heels to spur his horse forward away from the group of officers.
Paget watched him leave and turned to greet a couple of the officers he knew from his Westminster days. It was good to catch up with friends before battle.
It was Christmas Eve.
Icicles hung from branches and redcoats broke through the ice with bayonets to get water from the streams for the cooking pots. Breakfast for some consisted of flour dust cooked into little dumplings, stale bread, or acorns and old berries found beneath the oaks and bushes. Several officers shot at a plump of ducks passing over, the musket bangs echoed as men looked up in anticipation, but none of the birds fell from the sky and they cursed poor their luck rather than their marksmanship. The vast majority of men had nothing to eat. Bellies were painful and swollen from cramps. Some had to run into the hedgerows to void their bowels. Dysentery and fever were rife.
Grave was a small impoverished town about nine miles southwest of Nijmegan on the left bank of the River Maas. It had been heavily fortified over the centuries, often billeting military troops from Austria, Spain and France who of late had added embankments, ditches and gun emplacements to the ancient walls that surrounded the town. The large castle was rebuilt and it was here that the Dutch had surrendered to the French just days ago after a brief siege, but it was a poor place filled with memories of destruction, sieges, starvation and misery.
‘You see, they can’t even bloody well hold onto one of their own towns,’ Major Osborne grumpily gave his opinion of the Dutch as he and Colonel Paget espied Grave from a thicket of pine trees less than a mile to the south. He had spent his night in a grotty little farmstead and awoke covered in flea bites. Rain showed above the far hills as a dark stain. ‘That’s what happens when you arm shit-stinking, clog-wearing peasants with firelocks. They’re not an army, they’re a goddamn rabble.’
Paget did not reply, he was still smarting Osborne’s impertinence and ill-advice from the conversation at the bridge. Instead, he looked to where General Sir David Dundas, commander of the British right, and his staff were talking, making notes and giving orders just ahead of the tree line. Paget had grown to dislike Osborne’s company and so he clicked his tongue and trotted over towards the group of officers without saying a word to the major.
This wasn’t to be Paget’s first battle, but he was nevertheless anxious to make a name for himself and not to let the regiment down. It was a fine battalion and men like Captain Vivian Richard Hussey Vivian had paid good money to get transferred here. Vivian had made a name for himself in the last few years and now wanted to transfer to a cavalry regiment, but it was a damned good regiment with a proud history and Paget hoped to continue with its legend.
‘Should be a decent day’s fighting,’ said a voice over to his left.
Paget turned to see an unknown officer trotting along a muddied track and who was also heading towards Dundas.
‘So I hear,’ Paget replied genially. ‘Edward Paget, 28th,’ he said and outstretched his hand when he was close enough.
‘Arthur Wesley, 33rd,’ said the officer. ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance.’
‘Likewise,’ Paget said. ‘33rd, eh?’ he said staring at Wesley’s red facings. ‘I heard about Boxtel.’
Wesley grunted slightly from the mention of the name. The regiment had been part of the British and Hanoverian force that had launched a counter-attack after the French had pushed the Dutch from the town. But the manoeuvre had failed despite the regiment’s superb volley fire which had shattered the French attack.
‘I overheard that Sir David reckons the French at Grave will try to keep us pinned back whilst Pichegru marches his army to trap us like fish caught in the nets,’ Wesley said. ‘There can’t be more than a four thousand of the Jacobins here. One whiff of a volley and they’ll retreat behind the towns walls and we’ll have to endure another siege,’ he added bitterly. ‘What this army needs to do is consolidate. We’re scattered to the winds and all that’s left for us to do is drift away like autumn leaves caught in a breeze.’
Wesley was in his twenties, slim, straight-backed and Paget noted he had piercing eyes and a sharp, hooked nose. There was something strange in his manner, impressive in his tone and utterly decisive in his manner.
Paget gave a firm nod of agreement. The trick was to win this small victory, and still bring the British Army to safety in one piece. That would not be easy, and it was all down to other men’s decisions.
‘We can’t endure a winter siege,’ he said. ‘We have to hope the locals lock the gates behind the French and then they’ll be forced to simply surrender.’
Wesley brayed with laughter which caused a few of the older officers around Sir David to scowl at him. He turned to see a sullen company of redcoats march past.
‘Driving rain and snow makes men careless, for they are too consumed with their own misery to care,’ Wesley commented. ‘Or perhaps they are wretched because of their own officers?’
Paget grunted. ‘I agree, Wesley. But what to do, eh?’
Wesley pursed his thin lips and stared across at the flat landscape, almost as though he was mesmerised by the bleak beauty of it. ‘Have you heard that Robespierre’s been toppled?’
‘The Directory,’ Paget said with disgust. ‘One dictator ruling the country is removed so that a whole group of dictators can do the same job. We’re fighting a mob, Wesley.’
‘Agreed, but the damned mob has beaten us at nearly every turn,’ Wesley replied with a wry smile. ‘They’ve seen off the Austrians who have scuttled back across the Rhine and they’ve taken Antwerp, Brussels, and their armies are chasing us every day away from the sea. We’re to help the eastern defences, but we’re done here, Paget. We’re heavily outnumbered, but still there’s nothing right now to cause us undue concern,’ he said calmly. ‘I heard that the government wants to recall some of our regiments for the Sugar Islands.’
Paget stared. ‘Good God,’ he uttered, thinking of the West Indies. ‘That will leave us with even less manpower.’
‘True, Paget, true,’ Wesley replied. He brought out an expensive telescope and trained it at the walls where the Tricolour of France flew high from the castle’s main tower instead of the Dutch Tricolour. Tall pine trees hid the outlying land and the River Maas. Then he traversed it across the fields to the west to a tiny village called Escharen. He watched dark streaks of smoke that betrayed home cooking fires.
‘Grave should give the men spirit, Wesley,’ Paget considered, ‘but I hear that Pichegru is less than two days away. There will be no time to lay a siege, any blockhead can tell you that, so we’ve got to beat them with volleys and finish them off with the cold steel.’
The trick was to win this small victory, and still bring the British Army to safety in one piece, Paget considered. That would not be easy, and it was all down to other men’s decisions. Men of higher rank, but not notably men of sound leadership.
Wesley smiled, liking Paget’s comments. ‘The French haven't tasted defeat yet. But we shall see, Paget, we shall see,’ he said smiling and closed his eyepiece. ‘I don’t know where we’re heading, but I do hope our paths will cross again.’ He touched his bicorn hat and clicked his heels to spur his horse forward away from the group of officers.
Paget watched him leave and turned to greet a couple of the officers he knew from his Westminster days. It was good to catch up with friends before battle.
Liberty or Death 4th Edition
Well, the 4th edition is now live at Amazon and at Smashwords for all platforms.
I used Catherine Lenderi to give the novella a good going over and the result is the definitive version.
What's changed?
Well, whatever mistakes got passed my eyes in the previous proof-reads. Nothing major to the storyline.
But the biggest change has to be the addition of THE EMERALD GRAVES 2nd edition at the back of the paperback LIBERTY OR DEATH version at CreateSpace. I decided to add this to this version only due to the giveaways and, although doesn't alter the ending, it gives an insight to the Battle of Vinegar Hill and Mullone's desperation to apprehend the French spy, De Marin.
I hope you enjoy it.
I used Catherine Lenderi to give the novella a good going over and the result is the definitive version.
What's changed?
Well, whatever mistakes got passed my eyes in the previous proof-reads. Nothing major to the storyline.
But the biggest change has to be the addition of THE EMERALD GRAVES 2nd edition at the back of the paperback LIBERTY OR DEATH version at CreateSpace. I decided to add this to this version only due to the giveaways and, although doesn't alter the ending, it gives an insight to the Battle of Vinegar Hill and Mullone's desperation to apprehend the French spy, De Marin.
I hope you enjoy it.
A request
Please could you click on the link below and choose to support me via twitter, facebook or tumblr. If I reach 100 people in the next couple of weeks then Thunderclap will promote BLOOD ON THE SNOW to hundreds of thousands of people worldwide for free! THANK YOU!
https://www.thunderclap.it/projects/1...
https://www.thunderclap.it/projects/1...
Blood on the Snow paperback version
Blood on the Snow is now available from CreateSpace as a paperback version!
Now you can hold it in your hands. Go on, you know you want to!
http://fb.me/75Jua3I7Q
Now you can hold it in your hands. Go on, you know you want to!
http://fb.me/75Jua3I7Q
HEART OF OAK 3RD EDITION
The 3rd edition of HEART OF OAK is now available to download from Amazon worldwide and Smashwords for all the ereaders out there.
If you have previously downloaded it, please update your devices to this latest edition.
http://goo.gl/Zo0hQo
If you have previously downloaded it, please update your devices to this latest edition.
http://goo.gl/Zo0hQo
Win a paperback copy
Enter the Goodreads giveaways for HEART OF OAK and BLOOD ON THE SNOW for a chance to win a signed paperback copy - GB only this time though :)
MARKSMAN
Pop over to my facebook page to see the latest mock-up of the cover for MARKSMAN, the 4th story in The Soldier Chronicles.
https://www.facebook.com/#!/davidcook...
Personally, I'm very excited. I think it's superb - I love the colours. There are a couple of changes to make: the British 95th Rifleman pictured is to be given a lighter tone, so he's more visible, but not too much for he's up in the shadowed rocks, waiting to pick off a French officer. And the tagline is to be moved.
Other than that, Jenny Toney Quinlan has done an exceptional job - it really brings the story to life, particulary of the foothills of Spain, where the guerrillero's were king's.
Let me know what you think?
https://www.facebook.com/#!/davidcook...
Personally, I'm very excited. I think it's superb - I love the colours. There are a couple of changes to make: the British 95th Rifleman pictured is to be given a lighter tone, so he's more visible, but not too much for he's up in the shadowed rocks, waiting to pick off a French officer. And the tagline is to be moved.
Other than that, Jenny Toney Quinlan has done an exceptional job - it really brings the story to life, particulary of the foothills of Spain, where the guerrillero's were king's.
Let me know what you think?
FIRE AND STEEL RELEASED
FIRE AND STEEL is an anthology of the first 5 books of The Soldier Chronicles historical series. The stories; all novella's, are snap-shots of life as a different soldier in the long years of war 1793-1815.
FIRE AND STEEL is out for the Kindle, paperback to follow in November.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Fire-Steel-So...
FIRE AND STEEL is out for the Kindle, paperback to follow in November.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Fire-Steel-So...
