I'm pleased to announce that the latest anthology from Terry Grimwood's
The Exaggerated Press,
Darker Battlefields, was published this past weekend and launched at Edge-Lit 5 (
see my report here). Edited by Adrian Chamberlin, it's a collection of six novellas set during periods of war and features my 18.5k word story
The Exercise.
Odette, by Richard Farren Barber
The Searing, by Paul Edwards
Winter Storm, by Anthony Watson
The Envious Siege, by Adrian Chamberlin
The Exercise, by Mark West
Descensus Christi Ad Inferos, by Dean M Drinkel
The book is available in print
This all started in late January 2015 with a message on Facebook from Adrian and Frank Duffy, asking if I'd like to be involved. Since I've never written a story set during a war and I fancied the challenge - plus Terry produces some lovely books - I agreed. I came up with the basic premise (soldiers on exercise during World War 2 who find themselves trapped in a building) on that evening's walk and then sat down with Mum & Dad a few evenings later, spending a lovely hour or so chucking around ideas (Dad is a WW2 buff so he was able to answer every technical question I raised, whilst Mum reminded me about the reeds in east Anglia and suggested having someone fall in a stream).
Once I decided to use shell-shock as a means of 'making my monster', I researched it on the web (and discovered that, by 1943 - when my story is set - it was being called "post concussional syndrome") and found some unsettling and distressing films on YouTube.
As a couple of little in-jokes, the hero is called Ray Ward (my Grampy, who served in WW2, was called Ray -
I blogged about him here) and the Major who runs the operation is Desmond Boothroyd (I was watching a lot of
Bond films at the time). I also homaged
Star Wars, when Major Boothroyd paraphrases Luke by saying "Well, my boy, if there’s a bright centre to operations in this country, you’re at the point it’s furthest from and that would be about three miles east of Potter Heigham.”
I had a lot of fun writing this and set myself the goal of not having any viewpoints (apart from the first chapter) other than Ray - if he doesn't see it or hear it, the reader doesn't either. It made things tough a couple of times, but I also think it adds to the disorientation when the bad stuff starts to happen, because you're not quite sure what it is you're seeing. I enjoyed writing the action, I enjoyed the camaraderie of the squad, I loved my monsters and the set-piece in the infirmary - which my friend David managed to make even more vicious with some helpful comments - was great fun to work on too.
Corporal Ray
Ward stood at the verge at the crossroads and watched the truck drive away,
three squads still sitting in the back and looked at his own men. His lance corporal, Joe Kelly, stepped up
next to him and turned to the squad.
“Right, fall
in you lot, first things first, let’s get off this fucking road.”
The men fell
into line as Ray surveyed the area.
Across the road was an orchard, the trees widely spaced and heavy with
fruit. The easterly road, coming off the
crossroads, cut between it and, a hundred yards down, there was a gateway. “Down there,” said Ray, pointing, “it’ll get
us out of sight.”
“You heard
the corporal,” said Joe, “let’s move it.”
The squad
fell into step and marched down the road, the noise of their packs and weapons
scaring a flock of crows that took off from the trees. The gate was old and bent, secured to its
post with some old rope and beyond it was a concrete yard and the remains of a stone-built barn. Ray climbed over the gate and the others
followed him into the trees. The light
was muted, the angle of the sun not enough to cut through the foliage and in
the first clearing, Ray shouldered his pack to the ground and rested his rifle
against it.
“At ease, boys,” said Joe and waited until
they’d taken off their packs before moving to Ray’s left side. “Fall in.”
Ray surveyed
his squad. He’d only met them last week,
at the start of training at Thetford camp and, like most of the other
corporals, had thought at first it was a joke.
Fresh off the trucks, the men were given a number and told to stand in
the PT yard and over the next couple of hours, as more trucks rolled in, more
soldiers gathered until there were five men in each group.
For reasons
that weren’t explained, the exercise would consist of five-man squads, smaller
than the normal minimum of eight. Each
squad would be led by a corporal, assisted by a lance corporal.
It had been a
hard week, for many reasons, but Ray felt quite confident with his men, though
Joe Kelly was his secret weapon - perhaps ten years his senior, he had a lot of
experience and an authority that made the men listen. Ray liked him and they seemed to have a
mutual respect.
Arthur
‘Gracie’ Fields was the designated navigator.
Tall and thin, with Groucho Marx glasses and sandy hair, he was
good-humoured but quiet. He knew his way
around a map and had found the way out of a dense wood for the squad in one of
the Thetford exercises - by such a margin that the other squads were sent back
in to do it again.
Alan ‘Porky’
James was balding prematurely though he appeared to be barely into his twenties
and so only a few years younger than Ray.
Stocky, taciturn and as hard as nails, he was the radio operator and
carried the unit on his back, the antennae waving over his head. It took Ray a day or so to realise he was
called ‘Porky’ because he came from Melton Mowbray.
The last
member of the squad was Danny Price, known as ‘Half’. Tall and handsome, he had the look of Clark
Gable and made full use of the resemblence.
It was alleged, during mess break one day, that if Half was posted
somewhere for more than a day, he’d find a girlfriend there. Quick witted and sharp, he was adept at
getting things for less than market value, a good skill for the squad.
“Okay boys,”
Ray said, “this is the situation. We’ve
had a week of training, a week of getting to know each other and I think we’re
going to work together well. I don’t
know any more about the exercise than you do, but I do know I don’t want us to
get caught and sent back to Thetford for spud bashing.”
A murmur of
agreement.
“What time do
you have Joe?”
The lance
corporal looked at his watch. “Oh-eight-fourteen.”
Ray checked
and nodded. “Check your watches men,” he
said and waited until they had done so.
“First things first, we need to find out where we are.”
“We’re east
of Thetford,” said Half.
“How far?”
asked Joe.
“We left
barracks at oh-seven-hundred,” said Ray.
“We got here
about oh-eight-hundred,” said Half, “so call it an hour.”
“But we had
three drop offs before us,” said Gracie, “about five minutes each time.”
“Good point,”
said Joe. “If we assume an average of 40
miles an hour, that gives us forty miles, less the fifteen minutes for the
drop-off. I reckon about 30 miles, give
or take.”
Ray looked at
Gracie. “Give us a rough idea,” he said.
Gracie pulled
a large, folded map from his pocket, knelt down and spread it on the ground. Half and Porky knelt on either side of it,
holding it down and Ray walked around so he could see the details.
Gracie put
his compass on the map. “We maintained
an east-northeast route for the most part, so thirty miles would put us east of
Norwich, though we could be as far south as Loddon and as far north as Wroxham,
depending on the angle.” He pointed to
both places on the map and people nodded their assent.
“Did you hear
the co-ordinates from Sergeant Lloyd?” asked Ray.
“Yes corp,”
said Gracie and checked the gridlines.
“We’re getting picked up at a place called Happisburgh.”
“Anybody
heard of it before?” asked Joe but nobody had.
“What’s the
distance between us, assuming we’re the southern end of where you estimated?”
“If we’re
near Loddon, we’re looking at about thirty miles.”
Ray turned to
Joe, who bit his lip as he worked it out in his head. “Pick-up’s at oh-six-hundred tomorrow, so
we’ve got twenty two hours to do thirty miles.”
“We need to
sleep though,” said Ray, “just in case they hit us with another exercise
tomorrow.”
“Okay, five
hours sleep gives us seventeen hours to do thirty miles. Piece of piss.”
“It doesn’t
seem so bad,” agreed Ray. “They’ll
probably have plenty of patrols out, trying to spot us.”
“No doubt,”
said Joe, “meaning it’s thirty miles across country.”
“Which is
going to take longer,” said Gracie.
“Fine,” said
Ray and stepped back to face the squad.
“We know what we’re doing, let’s have a piss stop and then get moving.”
As the men
moved into the treeline to empty their bladders, Ray held Joe back. “Listen, I don’t plan to use this, but just
so as you know,” he said, “just in case.”
He opened his pack and pulled out a 38 Webley revolver.
“Nice,” said
Joe.
“I picked it
up off a dead officer at Dunkirk. It did
me proud then and I’m more than happy with
it now.”
“Fine by me,”
said Joe.
They went to
pee and by the time they got back, the men had pulled on their packs and rifles
and were waiting.
“Plot us a course Gracie,” said Ray.
Gracie
checked his compass and at eight-thirty exactly, with Joe on point and Half
bringing up the rear, the squad began to walk through the orchard, away from
the road.
