Into the Dark Part 2

Carries on from Part 1

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Some days she questioned why she had got into Archaeology in the first place. It had been something she had been interested in and with nothing else going to do on her home world of Rowlatt apart from farming it seemed like a logical step to escape. Get paid to do what she enjoyed and rarely have to leave a library or choose her assignments, or so she thought. At least at Dremerdius she had her own quarters, a subaltern to assist her with moving some of her papers from one desk to the other and a senior officer who didn’t care what she did as long as their was a report every month about surveys or on her work on Dremerdius IV and even then she had doctored a few of the results. She still remembered remonstrating with him when the order from above came down but he just shrugged and told her it was out of his hands. Small minded office busy body just wasn’t interested as long as it didn’t affect him.

She climbed out of the lift and froze at the sight of the Forward observation post’s access door. Her stomach rolled as she worried what was about to be unfolded. Last time she had been summoned to a meeting she found herself out here. Then again what was the worst that could happen? She took a deep breath and opened the door to a large glazed room that overlooked the main prow, in the middle of the room Commander Devonshire was hopping excitedly from one foot to the other in front of a beaming Captain Kinnock. She recognised the head of xeno-biology, some of the geologists and Captain Wilson the head of the security detail. This couldn’t be good.

“Ah! Jane.” Commander Devonshire turned around with a huge beaming smile. “How was the equipment? Never mind, we’re going to be working with it soon!”

It caught her somewhat by surprise. All this time she had got used to the idea of cruising around the black void of utter nothingness and resigned to finding nothing. Then again, it was only a matter of time before they bumped into something out here in the void. Her scientific inquisitiveness quickly peaked and almost against her will she started thinking about what could be found, would there be alien life? Would there be some lost civilisation buried or abandoned on the plains? Despite the nagging feeling that this would be a pointless empty world that may not even have a breathable atmosphere.

“Really sir?” She tried to sound enthusiastic “What’s or ETA?”

“Next week.” Devonshire grinned broadly. “Probably by Tuesday.”

“We’ve labelled it G-490.” Captain Kinnock beamed. “Long range scans show it to have a tolerable atmosphere and weather.”

“You’re going to be one the first onto this world. I’m really envious of your opportunity Jane.” Devonshire was still chattering on oblivious.

First on the world. It sounded like it should be a really exciting prospect, to trail blaze onto a new world, to see what no one else had seen before and in a way it did but at the same time she couldn’t help but think this was incredibly dangerous being on the first barge on the planet. Surely she could still trail blaze from the second shuttle? Let Security go forward and secure the landing zone or whatever they did and then send in the archaeologists and geologists. How useful would an archaeologist be in an emergency or battle situation that didn’t involve digging? She couldn’t remember the last time she fired her sidearm, possibly time to dig it out from the box under her bed and practice. She didn’t want to be caught out armed with nothing but a trowel by an alien ambush.

“Nothing to worry about Lieutenant we’ll keep you safe. My troops will be right by you all the way.” Captain Wilson approached, his face completely deadpan. He was one of those professional looking soldiers, one who fought his way through three wars single handed armed with nothing but a fruit knife and if anyone would keep the survey teams safe it would definitely be him, even if he was on his own. Many archaeologists or non-combatant specialists often became annoyed by soldiers getting involved and clogging up their dig sites but for this mission she felt somewhat relieved that an armed presence would be securing the area and keeping watch and Wilson was the sort of level headed veteran who would keep them out of trouble.

Devonshire was beaming at her again, it was a facial expression that seemed alien to his usual serious demeanour, she had never thought he could be giddy about anything, not even as a teenager. She had always presumed that he had been in his mid forties since he was a child.

“Isn’t this exciting?” he enthused.

“Indeed sir.” She smiled. His excitement was infectious and there was a flame within her that was starting to burn brighter as she thought about the prospect and raised herself out of the rut she feared she lived in and the dark dank boredom this voyage had brought. She could spend the four month journey home reconsidering her next move in life and what she wanted, now she should just make the most of this opportunity to break up any monotony.

“I think the best thing we can do now is prepare for the dig. Jane, you should go and make sure the equipment is ready for deployment and working properly.”

The flame snuffed out but she managed a resigned nod and half smile. “Of course sir.”

Prisoner

I opened the other phial and poured it into the glass beaker and began to mix the two viscous golden liquids together with the glass rod viciously with a repetitive clink clink of glass on glass. 

"How long will this take?" the filtered voice of my captor echoed breathlessly in my ear. I could see their helmeted visage reflected on a dozen different bottles on my work bench.

"I am going as fast as I can, you cannot rush this delicate reaction" I said slowly not ceasing my work for a heartbeat.

"I took you because you were supposedly the best and most efficient." Again, the slow metallic voice bereft of emotion.

I remembered that night, being awoken from my bunk by an armoured glove gripping my night shirt and throwing me to the flagstone floor. The pale green armoured figure casually aiming a shock rifle steadily at me whilst I bundled some clothes into a bag.

Being shoved at rifle point out into the corridor, past the dead security guard hunched over a blackened blaster wound and out into the cold night towards the customised insectile vessel hidden out in the woods. The memory of seeing my roommate's lifeless grey eyes staring across at me, her mouth open in a silent sigh as the blood ran from deep slash in those dainty wrists into a dark pool. Sigardson was her name, she'd only been at the facility a few days but was enthusiastic about her work in Quantum theory and the crystalline drives that powered our great warships. She had been innocent, I was innocent!

"You took me because I was easy to catch." I said testily, ceasing stirring and looking up into those lifeless black eye plates. "Now do you want this to work or not?"

I felt the steel blade gently pushing against my chest almost immediately, I'm not sure when or from where it was drawn but the promise was definite.
"Pretty ballsy Professor, now finish the job or you'll end up like your pal Sigardson."

My mouth worked quicker than my brain and I heard myself saying "Why? Can you mix this accurately?"

The blade shifted from a gentle threat to clear and present danger as it now broke the skin of my abdomen enough to make me recoil and for blood to begin staining my pale grey jumpsuit.

"Back to work." Metallically filtered or not, you could hear the menace in the voice. I obeyed immediately.

As I stirred and added the sodium chlorite as well as the hydrogen monoxide.

"How did you know Sigardson?" I muttered.

"I didn't know her. We spoke before she died. She was not who I wanted and a possible lose end."

"So you killed her?" I tried not to let my attention falter from the reaction in front of me.

"I was merciful." the voice was blunt.

"Merciful? You slit her wrist and left her to bleed to death." I choked a little.

"Professor, what do you think is going on here? My employer needs this compound and as quickly as possible, they're up against something far more evil than me. I did her a favour, if the others had got their hands on her, and they would have, then... She'd have died but not well."

My stomach churned. What was I a part of? Maybe the mercenary was right and Sigardson did go the right way, but what will happen to me when I am no longer useful. I took the first step in that direction.

"I've finished," I muttered. "hand me that bottle would you?"

The blade vanished from my side and I heard the click of the shock rifle as it was laid against the laboritory wall, I glanced sideways at it and at the slim armoured figure at the next work station looking for the stoppered conicle glass I'd indicated. I quickly began running the math on my chances.

"Don't even think about it." There was a firmness in the mercanry's voice that like a boot on a spider, crushed any thoughts I had. "Unless you have my DNA you can't pull the trigger."

I sighed and took the flask when it was held out for me by the same gloved fist that had pulled me out of bed that night.

"Are we done here?"

I gently poured the compound into the flask and placed the orange stopper into it. "Yes all done." I held it out for the merc to take, if I was to die here they could carry their own damn formula.

"You carry it, I may need to blast us out of here professor." My captor moved deftly but surely towards the door and peered out into the metallic corridor beyond. "Looks clear. Keep behind me and if rounds start flying stay low. You're no good to me dead. Although if the Syndicate's goodn get their hands on you you'll wish I had cut your wrists too."

I looked over the table briefly to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything - an old habbit of mine that held no relevance to this new life I found myself living. Then my eyes fell on something on the floor next to the table and my heart lept! There was an universal key card, it looked rather battered but looked to be in working order. I examined it from a distance and my heart stopped when I saw the familiar chipped corner of my cell key. It must have fallen out of the mercanry's utility pouches. I quickly scooped it up and followed the armoured figure to the doorway clinging to the phial because my life genuinely depended on it surviving the journey back to the ship. After that... Well that depended on the Merc.

Reunion

It was one of those awful London winter's days where the sun's light never permeates through the clouds and the rain never stops falling. It was the kind of rain that cuts through your clothes driven by the chilly wind that came off the Thames freezing you to your very bones.


I was stood on the quarter deck of HMS Belfast on duty as security, my regulation Navy cap sopping wet and clinging and a period woollen cloak pulled around myself in a futile attempt to keep warm and dry but I could no longer feel anything.


My mind wandered to keep itself occupied and I compiled my shopping list, a to do list of household jobs - I even began composing a letter to my Great aunt in France to whom I hadn't spoken to in four years. I lazily scanned the shoreline looking for something, anything to peak my interest but there was nothing only a few people hurrying along the South bank for cover from the rain. No one wanted to be out on a day like this and those who were hurried so they tried to get back inside all save one. A woman stood opposite me on the shore under a broad black umbrella. She wore a thigh length rain coat buttoned and belted against the elements. Dark leggings tucked into calf high boots clung to her as the wind and rain plastered her. Slowly she raised her free hand and waved gently.


My eyes widened as I raised from my stupor. Had she waved at me?


I looked closer at her face, the short brown hair, the elfin shape face and a smile that seemed to sparkle as much as her eyes did. My heart began to swell at the realisation that she was back. 


I began moving before I had realised what was going on, breaking into a sprint I powered down the gang way skidding slightly in a puddle as I turned the corner but I didn't care what any on lookers would think. All that matters was her.


It had been eight months since I had seen her last. We had stood on the street corner outside the gastro pub after an over priced lunch and said our goodbyes. We'd hugged and stared into each other's eyes leaving so much unsaid.


The next morning she had left for South east Asia and Australia.


Every day I kicked myself for not telling her how I really felt and every day I missed her. Now, after eight months of torture she was back.


I tried to come to as a dignified stop as I could but the slippery surface meant I skidded with a fair amount of flailing but I did not fall. Caroline waited statue like and elegant the embodiment of order to my chaos.


"G'day" she smiled cheekily and my heart began to melt. 


I had a thousand things I wanted to say and ask but all I could muster was a feeble "Hi" before lapsing into an awkward silence as I wracked my brains for anything to resuscitate the dying conversation. "When did you get back?"


"Yesterday morning. I was going to call you but I was so tired after the flight I had to sleep" she paused "I really missed you Chris"


Hearing her say my name lit a fire within me that burned and sparked with excitement reigniting long lost and buried feelings. I'd been preparing myself for her never to come back or to have met someone out there.


"Every night as I lay in bed I'd find myself thinking about you or wondering what you were up too. Even when I was stood in areas of great natural beauty or swimming on the Great Barrier reef and all I could think was you would love it here." She furrowed her brow and looked down at her feet. "I kept thinking how much I hated you for it. You invaded my head and have taken up so much of my waking thought. I realised that the reason was because..." she faltered leaving a pregnant pause that left me on the edge of my seat, it felt like an eternity passed before she spoke. She sighed as if it cleared her mind before looking into my eyes and starting again. "Chris, I..." another sigh and she looked out across the water and in a distant voice "As crazy as it sounds I need you in my life." her voice dropped to a whisper that was almost lost on the wind. "I love you."


It hit me like a thunder clap winding me. After those years of uncertainty, pain and sleepless nights she was telling me what I had dreamed of hearing but I couldn't give her an answer. 


Caroline stared at me reading a million different things in my silence and getting the wrong answer. Her eyes began to narrow and the corners of her mouth started to turn down. I knew that look and what was to follow and I had to act quickly.


I stepped forward and embraced her wrapping my arms around her and pressing my wet body against her. She tried to struggle for a second in surprise but then melted into me her eyes lost the glower of the building anger and returned to quizzically studying me.


"I've always loved you. From the first days on gallery, at Winter wonderland and every day you were away from me has been an agony."


A smile broke across her face and her eyes seem to sparkle in the darkness of that wet autumnal morning. 


I kissed her soft pink lips and she put both hands on the sides of my face leaving the umbrella to blow away along the South bank. I couldn't help thinking about how long I had waited for this day, to feel her touch, to hear her say the words I'd been longing to hear, for us to finally be together. I wanted this moment to never end, this was how I had always envisioned it.


She pulled away and our eyes met again, my heart racing.


"We should get out of here, have a coffee and talk." she said.


I glanced over my shoulder at the Ship at anchor, the gathering crowd of Yeoman, the look on the Chief's face. I was in trouble but I really didn't care.


"Sure, where shall we go?" I asked unhooking my radio and pass.


"I know a good place opposite Sydney Opera house, if you'll come with me?"


I smiled at her broadly, setting my work stuff on the ground and taking her by the hand. "Sure, lead the way."

 

The Bunker

I heard the two gunshots from where I lay slumped over my desk. They sounded far off down the corridor and deeper into the bunker complex. It had been a reoccurring sound these past few days, more and more people preferring to follow the Fuhrer's example than face the Russian horde that would be here within the next few days.

The majority of the others had been started to disappear even before Hitler shot himself but after Fegelein was brought back that had stopped. Mohnke had led a couple of groups of soldiers, officers, secretaries and functionaries out last night in the vain attempt to get through the Russians and out to our lines. I should have gone with them but...

I looked down at the black and white picture of Tanja on my desk, even in the darkness of the picture her eyes sparkled and shone with inner beauty. Her blonde plats an unflattering pale grey. I remembered the last time I had seen her in the flesh on that sooty railway platform eight months ago in Breman. So many things we weren't allowed to say to each other, admit what we both knew was going to happen. The busy station dissolved into a microcosm of just the two of us, our eyes locked and that moment seemed to stretch on for an eternity, the last moment we would be together, we told each other all we needed to with just that eye contact. She knew the likelihood of me returning to her was low, the war was lost and even though I had been invalided out of the front line I would get caught up in Berlin.

I'd seen reports from the bombing and the damage that Bremen had received, had read every casualty report as it came in with that tight knot in my stomach half expecting to see her name on the list, to know that she was gone and each time I was relieved to see that she wasn't there and she must still be alive or in captivity now. She had always been resourceful - I'm sure she has got out and is safe. Safer than I am.

I took another sip of brandy from the Fuhrer's personal stock and let it burn down my throat and into my churning gut and slammed the glass down on the hard wood desk. What did it matter anymore?

I tried to stand but my legs were unsteady from the alcohol and the long periods of sitting in contemplation. Reaching out to steady myself I knocked the brandy glass to the floor shattering it into a crystalline cloud and leaving an amber puddle over the documents that were scattered over the workstation. Tanja's picture too, fell over and her high cheek boned visage was torn and gashed by the glass that was meant to protect it.

I dropped to my knees in tears clutching the remnants of the frame and pleading with her for forgiveness. Forgiveness for leaving her to join the army, forgiveness for being duped by the vision of a lunatic, forgiveness for the suffering I had caused her and others like her. My mother beset with worry, my father disappointed I hadn't followed him into the Navy, my brothers who had followed me and not come home and even the mother of that Russian Soldier I had killed outside Kiev. To all the mother's who had lost sons due to my orders out there be they German or foe. My soldiers, Gefrieter Wittman, Oberfeldwebel Hoenisch even Leutnant Teuber who had fallen at my side as we marched into that Russian village well behind the lines, killed by a partisan sniper. I yearned for forgiveness from all of them, something that I knew most could not give me, for what can the dead grant the living?

Wiping a tear from my eye I pulled myself up and stepped out of the darkened room and into the concrete corridor lit by the harsh strip lights that ran along the ceiling. It smelt of damp, blood and death. Papers were scattered where they had fallen, furniture broken by drunken debauchery as those who felt they had nothing left to live for tried to destroy all that was left of their former existence.

I walked for what seemed miles, deeper and deeper into that dark hell, slowly drawing my Luger in case I ran into a Russian patrol but I saw no signs of life, only the dead slumped over their desks, eyes shut and blood and brains sprayed over the walls or the white eyed death stares of cyanide poison. Rounding a corner I came across the fresh bodies of the two men who had recently been Generals Krebs and Burgdorf. Their gloved hands still held the pistols that had taken their lives, the barrels still pointed at the temples of their ruined heads blood and ickour over their uniforms, the walls and carpets.

I felt the brandy in my stomach pushing to escape in one violent jolt but I managed to force it all back down and control myself. I had seen worse in Russia, a lot worse. I was an Oberleutnant in the German Infantry not a school boy balking and running to the protection of my mother's skirts.

But i was running.

Whilst my mind fought to control my stomach it had failed to stop my legs and now I was in full tilt back the way I had come, back to the safety of my office.

I slammed the door shut and poured myself another brandy before collapsing on the floor cradling the amber liquid and rocking back and forth in terror like that frightened school boy. This was where I was going to die, there was no way out. The Russians would be here soon and they would kill me where I lay or worse, cart me back to one of their dreaded camps in Siberia to die of disease or starvation or worse survive and return to Germany a hollow shell of a man who had seen too much, a coward who had not died on his feet.

I looked at myself in the mirror next to my bunk and saw a dishevelled drunk, a disgrace to the uniform and the Iron cross I wore on my breast.

What would Teuber say of me now? Or Thielman? Or Hoenisch? Or Tanja?

I was overcome with rage and I launched the brandy at the mirror sending a spray of glass and shards of mirror across the room in an explosion of light reflecting debris. I began incoherently shouting at the spectres of the dead, demanding them to speak, chastising them for not being here, for not knowing what I am going through.

The white hot rage did not last long and I lapsed once more into depression and self loathing. Fresh out of glasses I pulled myself to my feet and crossed to the decanter of Brandy on my desk reaching out for another mouthful of relief but at the last moment I pulled my hands short as my eyes met her eyes, the gentle smile, her beautiful hair.

She's still alive, I told myself. I must get to her, but not as this dishevelled wretch but as the man she last saw on the platform in Bremen. I was an officer and a gentleman of the Wehrmacht.

I moved like a man possessed over to the wardrobe and withdrew a clean uniform and began to change into the fresh tunic and trousers. I neatly re pinned the Iron Cross first class and my other meagre awards, including my black wound badge, on my breast and neatened up the ribbons before turning on my boots and polishing them to a mirror shine. I quickly shaved and combed my hair before clipping on my belt and pistol holster. The visage in the shattered remains of the mirror looked more like a respectable German officer, a man who could control his own destiny even if I felt I could not!

My mind began to sharpen, shirking off the dullness induced by the Brandy and I formulated a check list of what I would need to take with me. I pulled on my Steel helmet and great coat before snatching up some spare ammunition and heading out of the door towards the stores and armoury.

The corridors held no fear or apprehension for me now, this would not become my tomb as it had the others, I am going to live, I am going to escape and get back to Tanja and my family.

The store rooms were fairly depleted but I managed to scrape together some supplies, a few dried sausages, some tins of meat and potatos, a canteen of brandy for the cold nights and two canteens of water, who knew when I would get a chance to drink clean water again? A few other necessities like matches, blankets, a Karbiner 98 rifle and three pouches of bullets and a torch finished off the list and I began to head for the exit, full of hope.

Outside Germany lay in ruins, the streets were shattered and the people in terror and beaten but in here... In the bunker they were deluded, separated by the thick concrete and tonnes of earth between them and the surface. It had been like the last days of Caligula in the wake of the Fuhrer's death and all sense of structure had gone. I had stayed apart from it save for heavy drinking in the locked office but now, now I was completely free.

I reached the great metal doors and heaved them open to reveal the sunlight of the May morning, the cool fresh air that hit my face - I couldn't help but smile at the freedom and the promise that it offered. I just needed to head west and try and avoid any patrols.

I'm coming home to you Tanja, I will see you again, I will not die here alone and forgotten in this wasteland.

WAR RECORD Oblt. Klaus Schiller

Born: Bremen 4th May 1920,

Enlisted: May 1939

Served: 137th Infantry Division in Greece, and Army group Centre in Russia.

Wounded on 23rd September 1943 on patrol. Invalided out.

Moved to Army Intelligence for Army Group Centre.
Moved with Krebs back to Berlin and OKH

MIA 1st May 1945. Last seen in the Fuhrer's bunker on 30th April

The past, the future, Sarah Chalke and Obi-Wan Kenobi

So, I had a bit of a strange dream last Sunday night...

I was say with my younger (18 year old) self in a comedy club whilst he was on a date with Scrubs actress, Sarah Chalke.

It gets weirder...

Sarah Chalke - the one who got away?

Ewan Macgregor was hosting the night and in homage younger Chris had dressed up as Obi-wan Kenobi in true Star Wars nerd fashion.

The date was not going well and soon Sarah left and I pursued her, eventually telling her that she was one of the two women in my life that I wished things had been different with and that she'd not gotten away.

I spent the following morning dissecting this and came up with a couple of thoughts.

One was that I need more sleep, maybe cut out watching Scrubs or finally accept that Stella left Ted at the altar in How I met your mother.

The other was something a little more introspective than that.

Although I'm happy with family life part of me has been seriously hankering for my student days when life was so much easier. If I had no lectures or work I could pretty much do nothing where as now I'm pretty much busy all of the time and time is the most valuable commodities I have.

Why wouldn't I feel fond of that time?

I think my subconscious mind decided to remind current me of one unfortunate truth... Student Chris was a dork.

Social skills were somewhat limited when dealing with members of the fairer gender. I couldn't read a signal if it was a 90 foot neon sign.

For me, there had been but one faithful love in my life - Star Wars. I'd immersed myself into the Galaxy far far away, probably to escape the problems in the real world. All the time I had the Empire, I had no need of anything else. Unfortunately it over spilt into day to day life and it took living with Caz to break free and become more normal. I was taken out more and socialised with people and although my geekiness continued it really did begin to tapper off.

Now, I struggle to remember half of what I kinew - and I knew a hell of a lot of pointless information like Stormtrooper service numbers, the names of starships, the life cycles of Sarlacs...

I suppose my brain was trying to tell me that, although we all look through rose tinted glasses at our past, there are shocking realities that we, understandably ignore and that the past should remain the past. There is no reason to spend your future trying to maintain the past or indeed an idealised version of the past that was not attainable in the first place.

Then this afternoon whilst cruising the Internet I hit upon something else:

 

 

The final line from JD says it all for me...

What is in a name?

he stepped over the smoking body of the fallen hero. The fool had dared enter his sanctum and interrupt his machinations. He had paid the price for his impudence, his corpse would serve well in a gibbet as a warning to any future adventurers who were fool enough to think they could match their wit with him.

"Garq!" The necromancer bellowed "Where are you hiding you witless worm?"

The grey skinned halfling stepped out of the shadows scratching his trunk through the rough spun sack that served as a tunic held up by a length of rope.

"Give me one good reason as to why I don't turn you inside out and dangle you over the moat as a treat for the fish?"

The snivelling wretch recoiled raising his hands defensively. "I'm sorry master, but please, if you kill poor Garq who will remove charred corpse from your chamber?"

Stroking his wispy silver beard and slowly immersing himself in his plan the Necromancer turned back to the rotting body from the crypt manacled to a work bench before him.

"Be gone worm, have his armour and weaponry taken to the armoury."

"Yes Master."

Necromancy was not an exact science and required a lot of care and attention to detail. Deftly moving the crystals back to their original positions and lighting the human tallow candle he began to chant an ancient incantation that he had found in the long forgotten library of the buried city of Ke'toth under the mountains. There amongst the shadows and twisted denizens that existed in the dark dampness he had practised his art on the peons and diggers he had hired to help him find the ity. After two weeks only he and a few of his creations stepped back into the sunlight out of a team of thirty.

He smiled as he remembered the irony of watching the life drain out of them to be replaced with a new light, one that felt no pain or pleasure and served only him.

He waved his hands over his newest subject and repeated the incantation trying not to become too elated as the pale blue cloud formed over his head and then funnelled with amazing force through the mouth  as the wizard reached a crescendo.

All was still and silent as he waited what seemed an eternity before slowly pale blue light filled the long dead eyes and muscles strained to escape the metallic bonds accompanied by a dry wail of frustration.

The Necromancer laughed, heady with his victory. Soon he would have an army of unstoppable dead and all would fear the name of the lichlord Barry the Necromancer king!

Its a long way to Sunny Medway - a drinkers lament

(Sung to the tune of "It's a long way to Tipperary")

After work in London A Kentish lad stopped one day,

Had a beer with his friends, the time he had was great,

Chatting to friends, eating snacks and drinking lots of beer,

'til Chris, he saw the time and he declared he was late

It's a long way to sunny Medway,

It's a long way to go,
It's a long long way to Sunny Medway,
To the sweetest wife I have,
Good-bye Prince of Wales,
Farewell The Three Stags,
It's a long, long way to sunny Medway
And I'm running quite late

Its a long way to sunny Medway,
It's a long way to go,
It's a long long way to Sunny Medway,
To the sweetest wife I have,
Good-bye Stella Artois,
Farewell Kronenberg,
It's a long long way to Sunny Medway,
And my wife'll be cross...

Chris, he sent a text to his anxious wife at home,

Saying if you don't receive this can you text and let me know,
If I make mistakes in spelling, please Miss Samantha dear,
Remember It's the phone that's drunk and not poor old me!

It's a long way to sunny Medway,

It's a long way to go,
It's a long long way to Sunny Medway,
To the sweetest wife I have,
Good bye Toni Flatly,

Farewell Caroline Bell,

It's a long long way to sunny Medway,

But my train's in five...

It's a long way to sunny Medway,

It's a long way to go,

It's a long long way to Sunny Medway,

To the sweetest wife I have,

Good bye Waterloo east,

Farewell London Bridge,

It's a long long way to sunny Medway
And I'm on the wrong train!

Characters and development

I've always been a fan of character driven stories. Rich diverse characters are as important as a good plot.

I've read books where the plot has been intriguing, like Star Wars; Deathstar, but the characters have been like generic cardboard cutouts drifting through it and become neither likeable nor detestable. Sort of like characters in a 90's teen slasher movie, they are there to fill a purpose and that's it.

Others, that are part of a series will try to rely on your past experiences of the character and take it as a given. There has been no real character development of Leia Organa-Solo in a Star wars book for decades, since Courtship of Princess Leia really. Then, we all know Princess Leia don't we?

It can work in a small trilogy, the Darth Bane series for example uses the whole first book developing Bane from a troubled youth to hardened soldier, wide eyed apprentice to embittered Sith master with a mission. As you've seen this journey you don't need to re-establish it in the final two books but the development goes on and you can see the rich character grow and react.

I admit that some books go to far the other way and whilst you know the characters like you would an old friend nothing seems to happen. This is indeed the case for Dostojevski's The Idiot.
Rich vivid characters but a slower paced plot which can leave readers feeling like they've waded through marmalade to get to the end.

I found Sarah Waters' The Nightwatch and The little stranger hit the nail on the head for plot vs character development. By the end you are really interested in what happens to each of the characters and how their journey ends.

The problem comes with character generation, it is really easy to stray into generic stereotypes; the brash fighter pilot, the damsel in distress, the galant knight - it takes little imagination on the part of the reader or author. It's like type casting the same old actors in movies and takes something away from the enjoyment.

So what am I doing in my character development?

Some of the people I've met in my lifetime cannot be made up and I must admit I've borrowed heavily from my friends and acquaintances and how they'd approach situations. For example Lieutenant Bell is based on my friend Caroline and how she felt about work about two years ago where as Doolan and Jonathan are two separate parts of my own personality, youthful naivety versus the realist who has realised now it is time to grow up.

I've kept the plot as a broad arc with incidents and events (some lifted from history) and given the characters to deal with them within their own personalities. That's probably why it is taking me so long to write the bloody thing!

I've always tried to write strong female characters. It is easy, especially for male writers, to keep the females as purely the love interest or in need of rescue by the gun toting hero. I've always thought that was wrong and it is refreshing to see that this is changing in books and movies. Charlotte/Caroline and Stacey are not girly girls but are trying to prove themselves in a male dominated world and profession. For Doolan, her abilities speak for themselves and she is lucky to have a female superior who has already tread the path that she is on. Hopefully they'll be well received!

Escape from reality; Skyrim

Another Personal blog.

I love the Xbox game Skyrim. I've spent many hours riding around the province, exploring the valleys, mountains, tundra and caves. I've dealt with a lot of its' denizens both hostile and friendly and yes, killed quite a few too!

But it is just a game I hear you cry.

It is more than that. I've always wanted a fully immersible game, one you can interact with fully. Grand Theft Auto was good for that, the whole of the San Andreas to drive around, loads of side missions to do and plenty of people to interact with but it lacked substance. The dialogue was very limited and you could only access certain buildings.

Skyrim offers so much more. You can get into pretty much all of the buildings (depending on lock picking skill), talk to pretty much most people with most having individual dialogue and you are free from the oppressive need to do the Story missions.

This is what I have always wanted in a game, the freedom to do what I want a wander where I like.

There are problems. I've chosen the side of the Legion in the Civil War & thus I'm attacked by Stormcloaks as well as thieves, undead, beasts, dragons and magic wielding hill folk on my travels. Most can be outrun or fought but it makes journeying interesting.
I'm fairly law abiding having been caught stealing once but otherwise have no issues with the Hold's constabulary.

Aela, my Skyrim wife

I've got two houses, one in Riften and one in Whiterun, a Housecarl and a wife; Aela the Huntress. Although I don't see her often I do take her cool equipment and weapons for her.

I'm starting to sound like a geek aren't I?

Well, I am a geek. I like the escape from this world, the boring grey work, the trains, the bills, everything...

I like sitting astride my horse surveying the valley below, the mammoth being herded by giants, the deer chewing grass, the ruined Dwarven cities and ramshackle Nord fortifications. I can deeply immerse myself in this world and forget, just for an hour or two, that Chris exists - there is only Uglúk the Orc warrior charging into battle in armour made of Dragon scales armed with a two handed black Ebony sword. Slayer of men, bane of giants, hunter, blacksmith, miner, Companion, Werewolf and Legionary.

What isn't there to like?

Escapism is one of the best things a human being can do. Although I try and write, I draw a lot of parallels from my own life and friends. Most of the heroes are oppressed, shy, feel undervalued, desperate to escape. I read extensively too but there is nothing like dipping (or plunging) into another realm and mine is Skyrim. It is where I feel happy.