tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57404425020840020442024-03-05T03:22:25.206-08:00Andy Farman's NovelsThe Armageddon's Song alternative history series.
'Of Demons and Blue Moons'.Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-6222435443014815272020-01-16T07:47:00.000-08:002020-01-18T17:00:53.781-08:00For inclusion in the new edition of, ‘Of Demons and Blue Moons’.<br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">For inclusion in the new edition
of,</span></i><span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> ‘Of Demons and Blue Moons’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Copyright©2019_AndyFarman<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ZuxrbNatB4f7rRm-jnwaLtYF0h05PXX30nX7_HSRsQ_Hufsvh8o-mETVqGiNmgKSjpoKJJEZFapcPtS4xLFBh86INcIdi0DQiTHiVO3ajl__-f1kpsZA-8BRTvf0iTeRNW0YEz6LyH4_/s1600/Fae+-+Princess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1470" data-original-width="1086" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ZuxrbNatB4f7rRm-jnwaLtYF0h05PXX30nX7_HSRsQ_Hufsvh8o-mETVqGiNmgKSjpoKJJEZFapcPtS4xLFBh86INcIdi0DQiTHiVO3ajl__-f1kpsZA-8BRTvf0iTeRNW0YEz6LyH4_/s320/Fae+-+Princess.jpg" width="236" /></a></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Place</span></u><span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> - <i>Sky
Citadel, the capital of the Sky Realm in the supernatural world. An hour before
dawn.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Characters</span></u><span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> - <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i>Scott Bennett</i></b><i>, former cab
driver and Royal Marine, now in service in the dimension of the supernatural as
squire to an ever young and beautiful demon hunter, the time and dimension
slipping warrior princess, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Aimee Adriana</b>,
although most know her simply as, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">‘Fae’</b>,
since her expulsion from the faerie realm, hundreds of years before.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She laughed at his expression. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Fidelity is not one of my
requirements when I take a lover, Mr Bennett, and none whom I take to my bed
are under any illusion that I will remain faithful to them. Faeries never are, even
less so those with a demon in the genepool, such as I.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He was sat beside her on the bare
granite of the battlements, cleaning and oiling his Model 1911 .45. He
reassembled the weapon, inserting a full magazine, cocking it and applying the
safety catch before holstering it, for what use is a firearm that is unready
for instant use?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The metallic sound of the action
drew stares from the armed and fully armoured werewolf sentries on the nearby
walls, their yellow eyes looking at the firearm, but with only passing interest.
They understood edged weapons, claws and fangs, not devices from the world of
humans, so the light of guttering torches and braziers showed them turning back
to resuming their staring out into the black night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“And you, Princess,” he asked of
the beautiful girl beside him, naked but for jewellery and his cloak, draped
across her shoulders. “Have you never remained faithful, not even when you were
in love?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I did try once, but that is
another story, and fidelity is a human expectation, one that is not always
lived up to, whereas Faevolk are not so inclined, but we are not dishonest. My
last love was human, and he was already married to another, so rest assured he
was not faithful to either of us, but his wife loved him with a depth that
equalled one’s own. When he died, quite suddenly, she immersed herself in a
quest to ennoble his name, whilst I sought out the poppy, which he had
introduced me to.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Drugs,” Scott was disapproving.
“So it was he who got you hooked on opium.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Nobody makes me indulge in
anything against my will, Mr Bennett. He was writing a study on sexuality and I
was the test subject in the chapter dealing with narcotic use and coitus. Though
admittedly it was all rather surreal, one’s lover, very detachedly taking notes
whilst an artist sketched, and I indulged myself in orgies whilst high, as one
is wont to do when an opportunity arises.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“So where is this work, was it
ever published?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“No, his wife sought to cleanse
his reputation, post mortem, and the book, all but one page, was burned, as was
every scrap of his research. The surviving page bore my portrait, beautifully
rendered in pen and ink, which she issued to the staff at their home. With my
picture came an order that of all his admirers who may wish to enter the
grounds and view his mausoleum, I alone was to be denied entry.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He said nothing, just watching
how that still hurt after more than a century.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I did of course gain entry, and
she set the dogs on me… or rather she attempted to do so, but what dog would
dare molest the offspring of the hellhound, hm?” Her smile was somewhat wan,
though. “Of his many lovers, it was I whom she most feared, the one he was most
likely to abandon her for, or at least that was her assumption. I knew he loved
me, in his own way, but I knew that she was always his true love. I therefore
have but two mementos, a shirt he had left in my tent, in India, where we first
met, and a soldier’s pith helmet, which was immensely more functional than
one’s riding bonnet.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Scott recalled the man’s shirt
she had worn shortly after their first meeting, its fabric thin with age and
use, and her statement that it afforded her comfort. The pith helmet would be
the one that appeared beneath his hospital bed, along with other items and the
large bag. He had never asked about the curious cap badge, depicting as it did,
in silhouette, a nude young woman, with long flowing hair, astride the back of
a rearing tiger, and now was not an appropriate moment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Who was he?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“A soldier, an explorer, a
linguist, author and translator, Mr Bennett. He was, Sir Richard Burton,
although when we first met, during the mutiny, he was a humble lieutenant and,
in his words, <i>“fit for nothing but to be shot at for six pence a day". </i>He<i>
</i>was with Beatson’s Horse, whilst I was secretly tracking down the main
culprit in starting the whole mess, a demon in human form. India was in
turmoil, and quite unsafe for a young lady to travel alone and unmolested, so
one rode with the colourful ‘Beatson’s Horse’ for a month, if one can describe
side-saddle as <i>riding</i>, but I do so enjoy the smell of a campfire and
sleeping under the stars. I treasure those weeks in India, indeed.” Fae sighed
wistfully. “We followed different paths, and it was not until he lectured at
the Royal Society, in Holborn, that they again crossed.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As always, he was interested in
her past, but the events in Ahuja still remained unexplained<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“And Leon?” Scott prompted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I have loved six times and
mourned beside the graves of five. Prince Torvelin of Estar; Bellatina, a slave
girl from the Eastern kingdoms; Peridale, the first Fractured Lord, Sir
Richard, and King Leon, the Luna Knight, to give him his official title.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“And the sixth?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She did not immediately answer;
instead she ignored her glass and drank from the bottle before pausing, as if
choosing her words before speaking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“A mistake.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Reaching behind the gold chains
at her left ankle, she retrieved a small, soft leather bag that she had
secreted there, but her movements were not as adroit as they had been.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The withdrawal shakes of the
addict were causing her fingers to become awkward and she fumbled the simple
act of undoing the thin leather strap that secured it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Scott reached over and took it
gently from her, deftly untying the strap and opening the small pouch, which
contained only enough hand rolling tobacco, cannabis leaf, and opium powder,
contained within a tiny twist of paper, for a single joint. The cigarette
papers were older than he, judging by the art deco design on the half empty
packet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Abadie’ Papier à Cigarettes<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Opening the cover, he saw several
signatures and a dedication. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘</span></i><i><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">à Mimi,
celui qui est parti’</span></i><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> MC.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“To Mimi, the one that got away,” translated Scott. He did not know who
MC was, but after squinting at the small signatures he looked at Fae in
surprise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Scott Fitzgerald, Henry Miller, Ernest Hemingway and Salvador Dali?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“And Maurice Chevalier, whose pet name for me was, Mimi.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Didn’t he sing a song about someone called Mimi?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Perhaps.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Scott prepared her joint, carefully sprinkling the opium along its
length before rolling it for her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This time, he flicked open his zippo with a metallic click. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She gripped the reefer between her perfect and pursed lips, though requiring
elegant fingers from both hands to quiet the tremors as she held it to the
flame. That small flame illuminated her beautiful face, and it wrenched at
Scott’s heart that one so lovely could be unable, or unwilling, to escape the
grip of opium’s terrible addiction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She inhaled, the trembling in her hands gradually giving way to calm as
all of her troubles were lost in the poppy induced tranquility that settled
upon her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">After a minute or two, she spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I spent a lovely summer in France and met Maurice at the Casino de
Paris, where he was a headliner, and he thought me to be the mysterious, <i>Princess
Aimee</i>, a refugee from the fighting in the Balkans and sole survivor of an
obscure royal line.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She smiled at the memory.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“He introduced me to the other Scott, along with the original <i>Rat
Pack</i>, decades before, Sinatra and Co, hijacked the title.” She grinned as
she spoke. “Salvadore, Henry and Ernest, who were all complete gentlemen, I must
add, not at all as history has painted them.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She closed her eyes, her upper body swaying languidly for a few
moments, lost to a 1920’s tune that only she could hear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“They defended my </span><span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">honour</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">, on several
occasions when one had been deliberately plied with a rather wonderful 1905 <i>Veuve
Clicquot,</i> by a roguish silver fox of a Russian archduke.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She took another toke from the reefer, smiling gently in recollection.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“On the last occasion, they invaded the Hotel George V and employed a
bust of Napoleon as a battering ram to force the doors to the archduke’s suite.
On affecting an entry, they then engaged in fisticuffs with the archduke’s
retainers before rescuing me from the silver fox’s bed.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Fae grinned, wickedly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“One was laughing like a drain as Ernest carried me, draped over one shoulder
and quite naked for all to see, down that wonderful winding staircase, with
Maurice, Henry and Mr Fitzgerald, all valiantly fighting a rearguard action.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“And Salvadore?” Scott prompted, noting that his name was not included
with the rest of the retreating forces.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Dear Sali, physical exertion was never his forte and whenever he felt
the urge to exercise he would inevitably lie down until it passed… so he took
the elevator to the foyer, where the <i>Gendarmes’</i> were waiting in ambush.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“They were arrested?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Indeed they were, and banned for life by the management, or until
their next splash of fame, whichever came sooner.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She sighed happily and brought the tale to its conclusion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“So much wasted bravado and effort, for they lacked your impeccable
timing, Mr Bennett, being too late by half, although, sadly, the contents of
the archduke’s cellar were more potent than the man himself.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Despite himself, Scott laughed aloud.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“One simply lacked the heart to reveal that their efforts on behalf of
my</span><span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> honour</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> were all
for naught,” she continued. “That ship had sailed long before, cruised the oceans
and all seven seas, visiting too many ports to number. Been reflagged, renamed,
had mounted many a diverse main mast, and had her bottom scraped a time or ten.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She watched him, with a soft smile on her lips and a little wonder in
her gaze as her words reduced him to tears of laughter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“But only
you, dear Mr Bennett,”</span></i><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> she whispered,
too quietly for him to hear. <i>“Only you could see my every new day as being
that of a maiden voyage.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Scott put his arm back around her as she rested her head on his
shoulder, and sat quietly, watching the horizon turn cobalt, the vanguard of a
new day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He enjoyed the dawn, it recharged the spirit, and it was not until the
sun was revealed in its entirety did he</span><span style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> realise</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "cambria" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> that Fae was asleep and he was therefore alone with her, his beautiful princess, but had she been a plain pauper in rags he would still have
thought the moment to be pretty damn special.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-17241809247083863632018-03-20T04:26:00.004-07:002018-03-23T05:16:24.268-07:00Please support my writing on PatreonThree hospital admissions, five surgical operations and procedures in five months, have me back on the road to recovery but my medical insurance did not cover it all, so my budget for writing and commissioning book illustrators was wiped out.<br />
Just $1 a month would be of immense assistance in getting the books completed and published once more.<br />
Have a look at the page and see what is on offer, as just looking will not cost anything.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzU7pM05luX7Xl7g6ZJDjO9wqbMORGJfDQL0a8bFEeS9cOBC0Zp_IJFWox1HyJ37d9yWW5adGISKEKOXjl1R_1VlJfoa4MBTNfMxyMaZCVitDz3voSWkerzUpm2Hkkc4aIXFaZkyiCPPz-/s1600/patreon+announcement1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="590" data-original-width="800" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzU7pM05luX7Xl7g6ZJDjO9wqbMORGJfDQL0a8bFEeS9cOBC0Zp_IJFWox1HyJ37d9yWW5adGISKEKOXjl1R_1VlJfoa4MBTNfMxyMaZCVitDz3voSWkerzUpm2Hkkc4aIXFaZkyiCPPz-/s640/patreon+announcement1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Thank you for your understanding and support!<br />
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<br />Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-68788416365069559502018-03-08T19:15:00.001-08:002018-03-10T06:33:37.543-08:00'Of Demons and Blue Moons - Warrior Princess'Being such a long lived character, Fae had a lot of previous adventures that were only mentioned in the first in the series, so I am currently writing 'Warrior Princess', with its fabulous original cover by Yuri Platov.<br />
It is a series of short stories, starting with Fae's time as a scout for Alexander The Great during his conquest of Persia.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisWzHjeQFAQzWsgvRgbAW8G7GMv7yUX1o4SwSduTISwH_5ijhVStE0ZFbIbOdb2sXHVO21MIAyp_0VvTA2rMdjpPgpIPNrtWc35SP0BcCezyj_MhNVcBKmuDpHsxmuVbhsWZuoRxwHhIrK/s1600/OD%2526BM+Warrior+Princess+cover+BLUE-A+%2528small%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1107" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisWzHjeQFAQzWsgvRgbAW8G7GMv7yUX1o4SwSduTISwH_5ijhVStE0ZFbIbOdb2sXHVO21MIAyp_0VvTA2rMdjpPgpIPNrtWc35SP0BcCezyj_MhNVcBKmuDpHsxmuVbhsWZuoRxwHhIrK/s400/OD%2526BM+Warrior+Princess+cover+BLUE-A+%2528small%2529.jpg" width="288" /></a></div>
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<br />Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-47220731070772635162017-08-27T09:44:00.004-07:002018-03-10T03:14:29.156-08:00Radio show guest<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.podomatic.com/podcasts/pwr/episodes/2017-08-17T06_22_47-07_00"><b><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Paperback writer slot, Impact Radio, Detroit.</span></b></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq_eaNJdkUxcw_CwnrCBnY55l9KlYhuFJ-68Ry0gXm7eZOYcJIQCKky3eNJGYelMJ_2yDybfXgqyhoZoEeGJHzDSdB_WxppNg842WedwMdWLILudQ0m3J-U_gqrOdpfqjatwCHd_WO-QPR/s1600/paperback+Andy+Farman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="451" data-original-width="496" height="580" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq_eaNJdkUxcw_CwnrCBnY55l9KlYhuFJ-68Ry0gXm7eZOYcJIQCKky3eNJGYelMJ_2yDybfXgqyhoZoEeGJHzDSdB_WxppNg842WedwMdWLILudQ0m3J-U_gqrOdpfqjatwCHd_WO-QPR/s640/paperback+Andy+Farman.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg03NBUJTPICYBg7_hFCEdv52CGf-F6gi2DNgdHsDj4-j49JPRV0WM1lzrD11sLJe_KBO86ivwHhnYAD6OdTUT3errditFGTo_GOByfmPnyO4-qUlTlCYh5F_jeeSpNWt11cRu5ldNlom_s/s1600/Impact+Radio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="740" data-original-width="1349" height="351" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg03NBUJTPICYBg7_hFCEdv52CGf-F6gi2DNgdHsDj4-j49JPRV0WM1lzrD11sLJe_KBO86ivwHhnYAD6OdTUT3errditFGTo_GOByfmPnyO4-qUlTlCYh5F_jeeSpNWt11cRu5ldNlom_s/s640/Impact+Radio.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-25399425036053287772017-08-27T04:27:00.003-07:002017-08-27T04:27:39.143-07:00Kiki Yonitale, the reference model for Crown Princess Sabrisse.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: start;">Many thanks indeed to Ms Kiki Yonitale for agreeing to be the visual reference for illustrations of 'Crown Princess Sabrisse' in 'Of Demons and Blue Moons 2'</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAwdtqCLrucF9BTbLaUpIoxw7UulX9H2zjUPEvwzJitbiVuN45xVxdTgQURydkYX8GEsk0BNozARW6ZU_g0V8cRNyGjCM8Aa6tnF2zmQpbUiMHz3tGDt5wvWN4GhlZ2K4XWxJp4FjeGMDH/s1600/Elle-D+aka+Princess+Sabrisse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="989" data-original-width="1213" height="520" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAwdtqCLrucF9BTbLaUpIoxw7UulX9H2zjUPEvwzJitbiVuN45xVxdTgQURydkYX8GEsk0BNozARW6ZU_g0V8cRNyGjCM8Aa6tnF2zmQpbUiMHz3tGDt5wvWN4GhlZ2K4XWxJp4FjeGMDH/s640/Elle-D+aka+Princess+Sabrisse.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-7672940893585058922017-08-17T08:43:00.000-07:002017-08-17T08:50:59.919-07:00My guest spot on radio, the 'Paperback Writer' slot on Impact Radio USA, in Detroit. <span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">My thanks to Paul Reeves for leading me through my first guest spot on radio, the 'Paperback Writer' slot on his show Dr. Paul's Family Talk at <a href="https://www.podomatic.com/podcasts/pwr/episodes/2017-08-17T06_22_47-07_00">Impact Radio USA</a>, in Detroit.
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Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-25299331208021478982017-06-27T02:00:00.000-07:002018-03-09T00:47:13.681-08:00'Of Demons and Blue Moons'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9x3G6pDKbQc7ZcjymvGTx-6ET7Xg7vT40nevvEBKGfj8BUfq0SIy1MGlMBnvdQDdiNpleFCBdf56i84wkZvjln9aHNfAGT7SenWo85O2ogV6a1zUH91-uA9uZCaK_ZyS5A8f_qx8k_EbO/s1600/faebanner16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="484" data-original-width="1600" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9x3G6pDKbQc7ZcjymvGTx-6ET7Xg7vT40nevvEBKGfj8BUfq0SIy1MGlMBnvdQDdiNpleFCBdf56i84wkZvjln9aHNfAGT7SenWo85O2ogV6a1zUH91-uA9uZCaK_ZyS5A8f_qx8k_EbO/s640/faebanner16.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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'Of Demons and Blue Moons' - the writing for the new edition is now complete and I just await the artwork for the new interior illustrations commissioned from Sanju Nivangune, Yuri Platov, Richie Pulvera and Fabrice Fermont with the kind permission of <a href="https://scontent.fceb2-1.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t31.0-8/10626374_398876843620045_32678955807665477_o.jpg?oh=c5af4eb32afaa685b4f50a1691492a3a&oe=5A1156A3">Katya Clover</a> and <a href="http://c8.alamy.com/comp/BAGA3P/tracey-elvik-pin-up-indoors-BAGA3P.jpg">Tracey Elvik</a>, whose likeness are the reference images for the lovely ghost, 'Clover Iwasaki', and the beautiful, but evil, 'Lilith', queen of witches and succubus.<br />
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Cover by <a href="http://sanjun.deviantart.com/">Sanju Nivangune</a></div>
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Cover by <a href="http://sanjun.deviantart.com/">Sanju Nivangune</a></div>
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'Of Demons and Blue Moons 2' - the writing is underway and in addition to Tracey and Katya I have three new models, <a href="https://c.podium.works/content/r/h1280/photo/22705/6234/56e4a1ead9692.jpg">Julia Yaroshenko</a>, <a href="http://reezq.deviantart.com/art/the-look-137013454">Luana Lani</a>, and <a href="http://photoport.deviantart.com/art/Natali-545804145">Natalia Andreeva</a>, aka, Delilah G, who have also given their permission to become the references for 'Pixie', a legendary tracker, The Crimson Witch, the time slipping creator of Fae's 'Sword of the Dead', and Princess Natalya of Paladin, a warrior and mercenary.<br />
<br />Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-41532482553588481782017-06-27T01:03:00.003-07:002018-03-08T17:34:30.191-08:00'Shaw-USMC: Soldiers, Spies and Lies'The second in the 'Henry Shaw' prequel to the WW3 series, opening again with more back story on his father, and role model. The veteran Dwight Shaw, now a major in the reserves, recalled for service in Korea in 1950 and serving as temporary company commander of an infantry company during the invasion of North Korea.<br />
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Henry, in Vietnam, survived his wounds from the firebase siege but is now being pressured into revealing the identity of Duan, the monk who had told him of the North Vietnamese arms cache.<br />
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Terry Jones, CIA, is involved in the plot to oust President Diem, but he has already discovered that not all the plotters are working off the same hymn sheet.<br />
<br />
Megan Granger-McVanie, CIA, is still attempting to discover if their is a mole at work, in the embassy or in the CIA offices. To complicate matters, her cover may have been blown on a separate assignment and her life is at risk.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Shaw-Soldiers-Spies-Prequel-Armageddons-ebook/dp/B072BHTD7J/ref=la_B00CK3D6EW_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1498550373&sr=1-1">'Shaw-USMC: Soldiers, Spies and Lies'</a><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjU_S3MbHjpO-C_CVJT1cKMhAmI_OgPyhAKTJLZE5Pp0ra3-i_kj2_eRZ5N5diMGAyTS-ZZrgXsGcXEqspDjt22SYFdvuPOJTfwlVa53P3Kwd0_5sMh1ZbfigOimS1N3T-x2tffx8kwAcp/s1600/SHAW7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1526" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjU_S3MbHjpO-C_CVJT1cKMhAmI_OgPyhAKTJLZE5Pp0ra3-i_kj2_eRZ5N5diMGAyTS-ZZrgXsGcXEqspDjt22SYFdvuPOJTfwlVa53P3Kwd0_5sMh1ZbfigOimS1N3T-x2tffx8kwAcp/s320/SHAW7.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
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Cover art by <a href="http://sanjun.deviantart.com/">Sanju Nivangune</a></div>
<br />Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-35234001976648359482016-08-09T12:21:00.002-07:002018-07-20T05:30:21.883-07:00Writing and publishing tips<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">I am not an authority on publishing,
but I have experienced the pitfalls, however, this free advice is not an exhaustive guide
so feel free to PM me with questions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Unfortunately, no matter how good, or
bad, your book is, 90% of the writers services out there, including well-known
companies, will say what you want to hear just to get
your money.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">No matter how good or bad the book,
100% of 'Book to Script' services are lying to you, unless of course you are
already a top ten New York Times acclaimed author, your book will not be in a
Hollywood producer’s hands by Monday week.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Penguin, an established company, have been prosecuted, due to the above, with their proof writers also adding
errors to ramp up the cost, in addition to an ongoing right to a percentage of royalties on top of $500 for simply typesetting, formatting, and pressing an ‘upload’ button. (They offer to sell
you a how-to to do it yourself, and they charge $200 for that.)<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><i style="font-family: helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: 37.7953px;">*Quite honestly, it is not that hard, and there are templates for typesetting paperbacks that work perfectly for eBooks, and free, step by step videos on YouTube for converting Word into eBook format, that are very easy to follow.*</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><a href="https://davidgaughran.wordpress.com/2013/05/04/the-author-exploitation-business/">Penguin, the-author-exploitation-business/</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">If you do have a spare three grand
for editing, but already have a great cover, too bad, they only do packages of
services and will charge for cover work that you do not need and they never
actually do, but that part of the package sets you back $400.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkcaoR6dREBY2jL-1Pr0tAM-dIT9zKLLT5S75zh_FjzRLXYBMZWMH0xNxVVkgZ_DB_f8-wyIPV2DSVnBk2CYD5pg6mZLX3p7dbebnVu5qyVhtO10356du0-Ddoh3SbaPUTLdHrPoiXObNM/s1600/stock-book-cover-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkcaoR6dREBY2jL-1Pr0tAM-dIT9zKLLT5S75zh_FjzRLXYBMZWMH0xNxVVkgZ_DB_f8-wyIPV2DSVnBk2CYD5pg6mZLX3p7dbebnVu5qyVhtO10356du0-Ddoh3SbaPUTLdHrPoiXObNM/s400/stock-book-cover-10.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stock Cover</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Privately sourced, a book cover can
cost between $5 and $500, with the low end being off-the-shelf and not
necessarily relevant to your story, whereas the other end of the scale is a
bespoke piece of original art, but I will come on to artists later as they are
a separate headache for the uninitiated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF7yB8f2NhvCy3lJRTcMX4EP2CkZvIMHua67zbw14VsXEpq2krRP-Z81dqWa39KkfOTiqlrEz52E8gBSgWwzE1x-o-CjCw9KxujyBBwEmAMwUCX-o0cMxiokK2M8FzqpB9QF8ceHj_m0ih/s1600/a50fe177-3522-4421-b7fc-3e5eedb882bf.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF7yB8f2NhvCy3lJRTcMX4EP2CkZvIMHua67zbw14VsXEpq2krRP-Z81dqWa39KkfOTiqlrEz52E8gBSgWwzE1x-o-CjCw9KxujyBBwEmAMwUCX-o0cMxiokK2M8FzqpB9QF8ceHj_m0ih/s400/a50fe177-3522-4421-b7fc-3e5eedb882bf.jpeg" width="271" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px; text-indent: 37.7953px;">Bespoke Cover</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">If you go to the small ads it is
worse, with many editorial services making the manuscript only slightly more
readable. Some foreign language translations can charge £10k for 100,000 words, but by using google translate they turn it into farcical Yoda type dialogue, all done inside
of a fortnight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">"Much anger
you have....”,</span></i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"> and rightly so.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Brace yourselves, the actual cost of
translating 100,000 words is at least twice that amount and will take 4-6 months as it also requires foreign language proofreading by an independent editor. The
estimate for translating my first book series (662k words) into French was £128k,
so obviously it is only available in English.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">If you do start hitting the keys,
with a view to becoming the next Harry Cole, or George RR Martin, you run into the
new writers Catch 22.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">You cannot send manuscripts to
publishers, only accredited agents can do that, and agents will only take on
clients who have a celebrity status, or who have previously been published
(traditionally, not independently).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">There is even the class snobbery that
I encountered, “Great story, but you don’t have a college degree in sociology, media,
or the arts” to be dealt with.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">*I am not usually a
fan of anyone using back door advantages, but as the odds are stacked against
most of us, I would advise using any family, or friend, connections you know of
with agents and publishers in order to give your manuscript a chance, if you go
the traditional route.*<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">The guidelines are set in stone so get
it properly edited and proofread, and of absolutely not one word over 100k or
it goes in the recycling. <br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"> <b>Trad –
v- Indie<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Traditional publishing reaches a
wider audience, so potentially you receive greater royalties, however, the
books have to be absolutely no larger than 100k words, the publishing house
takes a share of the royalties, plus it may bill you for advertising, and they
pay your royalties to your agent, not to you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Traditional publishers will pay out
every three months and they also have you by the family jewels as they only
print what they think the public like, i.e., whatever is 'trending' (I hate
that word).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">You will write for one market,
America, and you may have a great book on the go about Cornish Pixies, or a
contemporary Pride and Prejudice, but if they say that they want hot looking
teenage, vegetarian vampires, who walk by day, or Elizabeth to be a submissive
who is attracted to a billionaire called Darcy, despite his ropes, whips and
shackles, you write their version or you don't get published.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">You should also get a professional to
check the fine print of any contract; it is not unknown for the publishing
house to own the copyright of everything you write for a stipulated period,
even unpublished work. In such cases you will have to buy the copyright to your
own work if you want to try another print house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Indie writing will never be as cool
as being in an indie band. Many publishers will not entertain anyone who has
been independently published, and bricks and mortar bookstores will be cutting
their own throats if they stock your work, as the big publishers will cease to
supply them. Very unfair, but quite legal due to the EU.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">eBooks are a viable alternative and
they were exempt VAT until the big publishers persuaded the EU to cancel value
added tax on paper books and load it onto eBooks, where most indies dwell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">I can still pay the bills, and I sell
a few more paperbacks and hardbacks than before, as a result of the EU action,
but eBooks are where the money is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">I once wrote eBooks for all the
online electronic publishers, Apple, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords etc, but only
Amazon will plug indie books and I know this because I could not have fed a
goldfish on the sum total of the others sales. The others push what the
publishing houses pay them to promote, not Indie work, and, Apple is far more
interested in music and film. Apple iBooks site is badly indexed, without even
an icon of the book covers or descriptions of the story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<b><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Interior
illustration for eBooks on Kindle<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Learn to read and write HTML/CSS code,
or easier yet, just pay a teenager to do it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Amazon Kindle use a code called MOBI,
which was written in the 90s, and Amazon still use MOBI 0-0-1, which will not
convert images properly on anything except kindle readers, iPads and iPhones.
The images are tiny on Tablets and everyone else’s smart phones.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">If you do not do this, Amazon will
take your book down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<b><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Artwork<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">If you go for traditional publishing
then do not bother. They stylise it, and any existing cover will be binned
along with interior images.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">As an Indie, bear in mind that a book
cover is a ‘lure’; it has to catch the eye, even as a 1” x 1.5” onscreen icon.
Dark colours do not do that, no matter how beautiful the work, so choose colours wisely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.0cm;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">I used Photoshop to create the first
five of my covers, but my advice is that you should probably get a
professional, not your neighbours son or daughter who has an O Level in art. </span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">A
bad cover repels potential buyers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Artists<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">You have to pay at least half upfront,
and in $US, even for proof of ability, so do not ask for freebies, even from
unknowns, and get yourself a PayPal account before looking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Many artists, even the established
ones, are often flaky, up themselves, or both. Getting the image you paid for, and getting it in this lifetime, can be akin to herding cats.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">A website is not proof of ability, nor the photographic evidence that it displays.</span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">I found a very affable gentlemen who had an encyclopedic knowledge of comic book art and sword and sorcery novels, plus their cover artists and interior illustrators. He had been a fan of the artwork since his youth and had spent his redundancy payout in an attempt to emulate Frank Frazetta, McClaverty, Ken Kelly etc etc, as an artist. His proof of ability was impressive, but nothing that followed was anything near as good.</span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">I have five beautiful ladies, all serving or retired glamour models, <a href="https://scontent.fceb2-1.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t31.0-8/10626374_398876843620045_32678955807665477_o.jpg?oh=c5af4eb32afaa685b4f50a1691492a3a&oe=5A1156A3">Katya Clover</a>, <a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v475/veedubbya/tracey-elvik-2_fs.jpg">Tracey Elvik</a>, <a href="https://c.podium.works/content/photo/22705/6234/56e4a1ead9692.jpg">Julia Yaroshenko</a>, <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSIwNgriRf5Zi3-4KQ9MTf7Rk0zBdKElLpNQSXlrfwNqyYRCfsUglvo4ZX0wOnOccOVrYjQHx0cwBD1ggE0o9tb3cVgK1sfBdOVM9E0Ak11yHqnSZAyz6XbQxoNR3hlmpRzOozaIw80fdb/s1600/RachelGarley01_original.jpg">Rachel Garley</a>, <a href="http://stat18.privet.ru/lr/0a1bf2248ef1cc09e310350765558cde">Luana Lani</a>, and <a href="https://pixxxels.org/image/oks5va6it/">Natalia Andreeva</a>, aka, Delilah G, who permit me to use their image as artist's references for characters in book illustrations. In return, they get the original artwork to frame, but obviously the image has to be flattering, and this particular artist managed to turn them into 40+, haggard and in no way resembling the character.</span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Whoever drew the proof of ability image is a mystery, but it certainly was not him.</span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">He returned my deposit without argument, and I hope that he does eventually achieve that skill which he needs as he really was a nice guy. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">There are more fakes and wannabes
than there are real artists<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">An email agreement is a legally recognised
contract, so remember that.<br /><br />Even if you are not much of an artist, it can save time and money to remember that a picture paints a thousand words (plus, English may not be your artists first language) and if, for example, your story involves a beautiful exotic dancer distracting werewolf sentries, then roughly draw it, like this, or patch and paste images together, so that your artist knows what you are on about.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">When you are establishing working
practices you will want to see a sketch of what you have described (or sent
them along with your own rough image). Some artists will state that they will
only make a set number of free changes before charging extra, but it is up to
you, every artist is different, however, never be tempted to make changes
yourself without at least asking their permission, or first buying the
copyright. They own the work, even if you paid them to create an image that was
your idea. Your book could be banned and you could wind up in court as
copyright gives an artist tremendous power, for example, if you ask for a book
interior, or cover, and print off a copy to frame on your wall, you are
breaking the law if you did not buy the copyright first. Additionally, just to
drive home the power of copyright with another example, in theory, a portrait
artist can sue you in order to hang wallpaper that does not detract from the
impact of his masterpiece. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Colour interiors quadruple the books
minimum retail price and therefore hinders sales.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Complex images (too much background detail) do not translate well
onto smart phone screens, so keep it simple</span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Ensure all images are at least 300DPI/PPI
(Dots Per Inch / Pixels Per Inch) but a higher DPI is better if you want images on Amazon Kindle as they greatly compress the book files on uploading, resulting in loss of high definition.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Use 'Microsoft Office Picture Manager' to reduce, or increase, the size of an image without losing image definition.<br />
<br /> <b>Audio books</b></span><br />
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Audio books are the only format I have not published in, but I looked very carefully at the possibility as it can also be achieved online.<br />
For a traditionally published writer, it is doable IF the publishing house picks up all the costs.<br />
For an Indie of limited means, the cost of voice actors, and the major chunk of royalties the audio book publisher claims, is prohibitive, and if you offer the actor(s) a percentage of the royalties by way of payment, you will be unlikely to ever see a profit.<br />
That, at least, is how it currently stands with audio books.</div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br />No Links for myself as I am not after anything in return, but links for the Indie hearted and also to my favourite, very reliable, artists for book covers and interior illustration. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Sanju Nivangune (covers, line work and digital painting of 'Shaw' and 'Of Demons and Blue Moons', traditional pencil for Katya Clover as 'Clover Iwasaki', and Tracy Elvik as 'Lilith' for OD&BM2's cover.)</span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><a href="http://sanjun.deviantart.com/">http://sanjun.deviantart.com/</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Yuri Platov - Yuri speaks some English, which is fortunate as Google Translate is truly awful at Russian.</span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /><i>Natalia Andreeva as the Griff (Griffin/Dragon hybrid) riding warrior princess, Natalya of Paladin.)</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzeFtmzfr9WVpqAMwKnWhjLs6U7J63HwOOfoQavON08k62YSTMyuJRwObmuKaCnz7qckz_vYqKZ17tK-NZ1Xx0pLDi0RT1qNzwZ87PdEYqUe2kzMZkIVo47uONGwBl4L_U5Zm1vFnMxYYE/s1600/Natalia+dragon-rider-2dk-copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzeFtmzfr9WVpqAMwKnWhjLs6U7J63HwOOfoQavON08k62YSTMyuJRwObmuKaCnz7qckz_vYqKZ17tK-NZ1Xx0pLDi0RT1qNzwZ87PdEYqUe2kzMZkIVo47uONGwBl4L_U5Zm1vFnMxYYE/s320/Natalia+dragon-rider-2dk-copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"> <a href="https://plus.google.com/114659079300331219001">Yuri Platov - Digital pencil and paint on Google</a></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><a href="http://yuriplatov.deviantart.com/">Yuri Platov at deviantart.com</a></span>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Richie is gifted, she produces very detailed pencil portraits. (Luana Lani as a witch who prefers aircraft to broomsticks, and Natalia Andreeva as 'Princess Natalya of Paladin')</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://richpulvera21.deviantart.com/">Richie Pulvera - Traditional graphite pencil</a><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 13.5pt; text-indent: 1cm;">Get started as a Kindle writer</span></div>
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<span style="color: #0000ee; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><u><a href="https://kdp.amazon.com/">https://kdp.amazon.com/</a></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Print-On-Demand Paperback (absolutely
free, the books are only printed when ordered.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><a href="https://www.createspace.com/MarketingCentral">https://www.createspace.com/MarketingCentral</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Print-On-Demand Hardback (again, it
is free, but the Createspace templates are 100% better. However, you can use
the Createspace templates on Lulu’s upload system without bother)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><a href="https://www.lulu.com/">https://www.lulu.com/</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Word to eBook formatting vid by Ben
Macklin for PC, <i>*but do not do the patch and paste to notebook, not for Kindle books,
save it as an RTF file instead, otherwise it removes all italics and styling as well as the HTML unfriendly code that is hidden within Microsoft Word*.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ET1Z270rdlQ">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ET1Z270rdlQ</a><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-indent: 37.7953px;">Word to eBook formatting vid by Tom Corson-Knowles for MAC </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8sMzotvhGQg">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8sMzotvhGQg</a><br />
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But never forget, at the end of the day the fiction writer will never be as popular as a rock star <sigh><br />
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Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-56886972941024522562016-04-17T12:52:00.000-07:002018-03-08T21:38:48.921-08:00'Shaw - Lt: USMC'<div>
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Well, the writing of Shaw went on and on, passing 200k words and looking to need another 30-50k to finish the tale, so I have made his story into two books, with 'Shaw - Captain' still ongoing.<br />
Great map work by <a href="http://deimos-remus.deviantart.com/">Nathan Anderson</a>, nothing too complex but HD enough to storyboard the action. Great cover by <a href="http://sanjun.deviantart.com/">Sanju Nivangune</a>.<br />
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The first of two prequels featuring Henry Shaw, USMC: Terry Jones, CIA and Peter Dawnosh, Royal Marine Commandos.<br />
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In the WW3 series, Henry was Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Terry was Director of the CIA and Peter Dawnosh was Prime Minister of Great Britain, but in 1963 they are in a place that few Americans had ever heard of, Vietnam.<br />
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The country is under attack from the communist North but within its borders it is a cauldron of dissent due to corruption and religious persecution.<br />
With surplus equipment and a shoe string budget, US advisors are attempting to train and equip the South Vietnamese armed forces to defend themselves in order that the USA can withdraw.<br />
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2Lt Henry Shaw, USMC, is an advisor and assigned to a firebase close to the border in Quang Tri Province. Henry will not compromise in terms of honour and integrity and this brings him into conflict with the commander of the ARVN special forces for the province.<br />
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Major Joshua Washington, US Army, Korean War veteran. Despite racial prejudice, Joshua came up through the ranks and he is determined to fix the flaws in modern US military thinking. Infantry skills have been lost due to an over reliance on missiles to win battles and wars. Joshua knows that poor training costs lives, but that is not going to happen on his watch, not if he can help it.<br />
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Lt Peter Dawnosh, Royal Marines: Peter comes to Vietnam as an observer with three other instructors. The 'Empire Quartet', as they are known, a Brit, an Australian, a Gurkha and a Maori, all veteran jungle fighters with experience in post-WW2 Malaya and Borneo, and unwilling to passively observe from the relative safety of a firebase.<br />
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Terry Jones, a young CIA field agent who left four East German agents dead in the snow of a Berlin park, is now in Vietnam with a new cover, that of a First Officer with Air America. Terry has a key role in a forthcoming major operation, but is a mole in CIA Station - Saigon feeding intelligence to their hosts and to the communists?<br />
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Megan Grainger-McVanie, CIA operative with a near-genius IQ. Megan specialises in pillow talk, using her cover as Bethany Robertson, an air hostess with loose morals and an eye for rich, powerful men. So far, two operations have been blown, seemingly by accident. Megan must discover if a leak exists, and the mole's identity, before the country can be saved from itself.<br />
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Small unit actions, firefights on jungle trails and The Almo re-enacted on a lonely hilltop, far from home. These are combined with a tale of political corruption and the murky world of espionage in 1960s SE Asia.<br />
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Excerpt:-<br />
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Henry, three advisors and a dozen Montagnards were firing at targets they could see, and into cover from which muzzle flashes or gun smoke were being emitted. The roar of gunfire was deafening and with hardly a breath of breeze in the air the blue haze of cordite hung over the narrow river like an ever thickening blanket between the opposing forces.<br />
This was not a contest they could win, their ammunition was limited to what they carried and they had to keep moving. The gunfire had pinpointed their position for all the enemy in the area and to stand and fight meant being pinned down and surrounded.<br />
Joshua shouted to those on his right, pointing to himself, self-designating as their fire team leader before yelling at the top of his voice.<br />
<i>“GO!” </i><br />
The advisors fell back ten feet, while the major covered them, keeping up the rate of fire.<br />
Crawling low to avoid the incoming small arms fire that was chewing up the underbrush, filling the air with wood chips and diced leaves, the advisors then turned, resuming the firefight.<br />
A Montagnard went down screaming, hit by shrapnel through the lower back, and Joshua grabbed a shoulder strap, dragging the slightly built man back into deeper shadow when he too was struck a blow and knocked on his face. He felt no pain and could not locate the wound although his right hip and thigh felt wet.<br />
<i>“Break Contact!”</i><br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/SHAW-USMC-PREQUEL-ARMAGEDDONS-SONG-ebook/dp/B01E7MS0WG/ref=la_B00CK3D6EW_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1460922587&sr=1-2">'Shaw - Lt: USMC' on Amazon</a></div>
<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/ANDY-FARMAN/e/B00CK3D6EW/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">All books by Andy Farman on Amazon</a><br />
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<br />Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-70934705112871331792016-02-20T02:56:00.000-08:002016-02-20T02:56:02.399-08:00The 'Sword-of-the-Dead' by Andy Farman<br /><br />
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The Shisha-no-Ken katana (the Sword-of-the-Dead) from the book series <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Demons-Blue-Moons-supernatural-illustrations/dp/151516831X/ref=la_B00CK3D6EW_1_6?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1455962679&sr=1-6">'Of Demons and Blue Moons'</a></div>
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<span style="line-height: 1.5;">The hellhound seemed to read her thoughts.</span><div align="left">
“If you mean to recruit the human then you must move swiftly for they know who slew their brother… he may be dead by the end of this day.”</div>
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“What do they intend?”</div>
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It coughed, bringing up a stinking sludge that pooled on the floor.</div>
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“There are six more Shadows and you cannot defeat them all, one will either seduce you or behead you, and then you will be reunited with your mother as a succubus for all eternity, as damned as I am.”</div>
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“I asked you what it was that they have done?”</div>
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Cerberus ignored the question, nodding one head at the yellow bile staining her carpet.</div>
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“I bring you a gift.”</div>
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Within the mess she saw the gleam of gold and knelt with care, a wary eye upon the hellhound as she extended her free hand and dipped the index finger into the mess. The bile vanished at the application of faerie magic, leaving a beautiful chain of gold from which hung diamonds, rubies, emeralds and a single sapphire, thirteen in all.</div>
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“Hold it up to the light, girl.”</div>
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She did so and within each stone she saw movement.</div>
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“It is the <i>Shisha-no-Ken, </i>the Sword of the Dead,” Cerberus declared, “You must wear it about your hips at all times.”</div>
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Fae looked from the exquisitely lovely item of jewellery to the hound.</div>
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“Sword?”</div>
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“It will not become a weapon until you have worn it… to wear it is to be accepted by the souls of the swordsmen and warriors trapped within the gems, and their skills become your skills… put it on now as time is short.”</div>
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She stepped back warily, putting distance between the beast and herself. She ruined a perfectly good leather-bound armchair by stabbing the tip into it, where it was within easy reach.</div>
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Warily, she stripped off the shirt, standing naked as she clasped the belly chain and draped it about her hips.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrXLwquVuxvFRhkEhYQKme7tk-B1Y4olcwwLA91nxl25GLaRcaEuztL2XkcjVxtZuyGV5JOyId40zxL7MFwmZtHOdbjenN-CMCESYPyeWoLVNGFBF21TsYpirqoJ0KJkQIgApLuNdjhL-9/s1600/belly_chain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrXLwquVuxvFRhkEhYQKme7tk-B1Y4olcwwLA91nxl25GLaRcaEuztL2XkcjVxtZuyGV5JOyId40zxL7MFwmZtHOdbjenN-CMCESYPyeWoLVNGFBF21TsYpirqoJ0KJkQIgApLuNdjhL-9/s400/belly_chain.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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It looked lovely, but nothing happened, nothing at all.</div>
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She glared accusingly at the hound from whose throats now issued rumbling laughter.</div>
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“Where days of sweet words fail, it is but the work of a moment for a gift of gold and jewels to have a beautiful girl naked, and you are every inch the beauty that your mother was.”</div>
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Her hand moved towards the dagger’s handle.</div>
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“I but jest at your expense, girl… remove the chain but retain a grasp of one end.”</div>
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“Which end?”</div>
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“It matters not.” </div>
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Unclasped at the hip the free end swung down, changing, no longer a fabulously expensive adornment but now the weapon was a Katana, the blade of a Samurai warrior.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhruKR8BNQWt2dOBOGZR7h9nGMV64OQEDVWgHV44l_E9AH0GsLqtA5WgzlXT-cD3paDuoMRAQViviCbbYpMS74f7GFIGmVzWtln-Ie0lOzXaziCU2_bPwjHInLdMuI-DSuJptR8egEbwU6m/s1600/FAE-+07B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhruKR8BNQWt2dOBOGZR7h9nGMV64OQEDVWgHV44l_E9AH0GsLqtA5WgzlXT-cD3paDuoMRAQViviCbbYpMS74f7GFIGmVzWtln-Ie0lOzXaziCU2_bPwjHInLdMuI-DSuJptR8egEbwU6m/s640/FAE-+07B.jpg" width="464" /></a></div>
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She gasped, shuddered, going up onto tiptoes with her back hollowing and her eyes wide with surprise as she was invaded. The thirteen souls that were captives within the gems shouted their joy within her head, exploring her, enjoying the sensation of again having a body and senses, even if that body was female and a novelty to all but three. Once ‘at home’ they took stock of the situation and whispered suggestions to Fae as to how best to deal with Cerberus.</div>
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In an instant she knew each warrior’s name, their history and the crimes that had led each to be imprisoned in the jewels.</div>
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<i>Nikuya, </i>‘The Butcher’, whose name said it all.</div>
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<i>Funanori, </i>‘Sailor’, a naval officer turned pirate.</div>
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<i>Chīfu, </i>‘Chief’, headed a company of sell-swords.</div>
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<i>Shōgun, </i>‘General’, lost a war but refused seppuku, the ritual suicide.</div>
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<i>Uma, </i>‘Horse’, also gifted in ways not connected to the martial arts and his popularity with his superiors wives and daughters were his undoing.</div>
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<i>Nōnēmu, </i>‘No Name’, a samurai who betrayed his master and bore a further curse which prevented him from uttering his name.</div>
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<i>Chīsana, </i>‘Tiny’, a mountain of a man, food was his vice.</div>
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<i>Paiku, </i>‘Pike’, master horse archer, slew his own family in a fit of misguided rage.</div>
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<i>Kasasagi, </i>‘Magpie’a gifted warrior, turned master thief.</div>
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<i>Kinu no yōna, </i>‘Silky’, a con artist.</div>
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The three girls had been known as the <i>Ninja Mitsugo, </i>The Ninja Triplets, <i>Rōzu, </i>‘Rose’; <i>Keshi,</i>‘Poppy’ and <i>Kurōbā, </i>‘Clover’, a trio of dancers, singers and assassins who fell in love with their final target and slew each other out of jealousy.</div>
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After a moments distraction, their combined experience, skill and dexterity became as second nature to Fae, and once ‘at home’ they took stock of the situation and whispered suggestions to Fae as to how best to deal with Cerberus. She could tune them down but not completely out although they were well practiced at knowing when to be silent.</div>
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She may well be their first mistress but she was not their first host.</div>
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Fae was most adept with Gladius, Rapier, Sabre and Claymore, although she had handled countless others in the category of ‘sword’.</div>
<div align="left">
“It was made by a master.” She hefted it easily, feeling its weight and despite never having held such a weapon before it became an extension of her arm, the blade sang as she swung it, pirouetting first one way and the next, moving smoothly into each of the prime stances.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1nuAEb7X8s3ZOvVMZTYKzPAxK_JGkLboQ7bTKmRUtOvwJU-9y39wi3KFTz-zC3jBc_h8-cjH44nkKBUZ89oG9RGAQoTTm3nljIZUaj2CiTKboh8CSh3ryvFs4VHYh1dQfSqU-YegzrbML/s1600/Fae+from+Of+Demons+%2526+Blue+Moons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1nuAEb7X8s3ZOvVMZTYKzPAxK_JGkLboQ7bTKmRUtOvwJU-9y39wi3KFTz-zC3jBc_h8-cjH44nkKBUZ89oG9RGAQoTTm3nljIZUaj2CiTKboh8CSh3ryvFs4VHYh1dQfSqU-YegzrbML/s640/Fae+from+Of+Demons+%2526+Blue+Moons.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-78445875422435607322016-02-12T01:57:00.001-08:002016-02-12T02:21:14.048-08:00Conundrum timeWhich image to go with?<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">The very talented French artist, <a href="http://ange10.deviantart.com/">Fabrice</a>, is creating some 22 pen and India ink images for the major characters Bio pages.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">In the paper version the reader can see these at the rear of the book in the indices, and in the Kindle it will be managed via hyper-linked pages for rapid navigation.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">The all important character is the eternally beautiful Fae, with her many centuries worth of wisdom and experience, especially with sword, bow and spear.</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"><br />Which of these two versions of Fae most closely fit you idea of what she should look like?<br />Vote 'A' or 'B'</span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"><br /></span></span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpbAuMPZfZypPDmrPAYj-Z5_e43I-JtVxwyq4-PbHlc-34PUsbwvwD4rjdfLYre2Wa4cVYX_0WztTRdNQVXnCmVAo8VstSz3ZOiwoYBsX3vKjuKOK6wW5ZUfF6HgkZ5ikDHzqFOQj8DG7q/s1600/Which+Fae-_A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpbAuMPZfZypPDmrPAYj-Z5_e43I-JtVxwyq4-PbHlc-34PUsbwvwD4rjdfLYre2Wa4cVYX_0WztTRdNQVXnCmVAo8VstSz3ZOiwoYBsX3vKjuKOK6wW5ZUfF6HgkZ5ikDHzqFOQj8DG7q/s640/Which+Fae-_A.jpg" width="438" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMsJTu-7VOr1_x3gnC1ttSG4uAz_ssTTHsftVU_2kp93ntia05I4QemVY939gslbz3jzjzMThOgsOkoCCT9t764Qd5cW0qeA4h82DchdP57USj0KZtKkaLbWdYdjtIussVjG5XOj1GA95j/s1600/Which+Fae-_B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMsJTu-7VOr1_x3gnC1ttSG4uAz_ssTTHsftVU_2kp93ntia05I4QemVY939gslbz3jzjzMThOgsOkoCCT9t764Qd5cW0qeA4h82DchdP57USj0KZtKkaLbWdYdjtIussVjG5XOj1GA95j/s640/Which+Fae-_B.jpg" width="436" /></a></div>
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<br />Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-51527335842834265232016-01-29T05:08:00.001-08:002016-01-29T05:08:16.929-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6c8M9NgL-bN5GY9tN04_HZ-ZeIpf2JpbnSWPNZoR1h3S0fXc1FiGYvp8-LdfbU3orVSsU0rBfYTYEAiTcogfa6fiBrKAZXO9wAVDqbcMlhpuGBJ8nYZ51kRGWfVfGOJv7mIt8YTNYa6AI/s1600/Katya_Ninja_shadedbg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6c8M9NgL-bN5GY9tN04_HZ-ZeIpf2JpbnSWPNZoR1h3S0fXc1FiGYvp8-LdfbU3orVSsU0rBfYTYEAiTcogfa6fiBrKAZXO9wAVDqbcMlhpuGBJ8nYZ51kRGWfVfGOJv7mIt8YTNYa6AI/s640/Katya_Ninja_shadedbg.jpg" width="420" /></a></div>
Many thanks again to the lovely and charming Katya Clover for her permission to use her image as a book character, 'Clover Iwasaki'<br />'Clover, into the light, from deaths dark shroud' by Sanju Nivangune<br />Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-25355977829266688822015-11-28T22:41:00.002-08:002015-11-28T22:56:13.618-08:00Cover, 'Of Demons and Blue Moons', the first in the series <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8foJj9AnaivTTBePZgDLG4v0xOlsz6TWcVi8-XLaw4H4e58o-Bh_YSAaod0OtpM0oRZ5AscxqCY_MlY1TYHvLLbhIPDO1sD3bn3tqz_mo2haWRzPNdLnwi-Gb2WuWIfAPykqvzkrASF3f/s1600/Demons1_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8foJj9AnaivTTBePZgDLG4v0xOlsz6TWcVi8-XLaw4H4e58o-Bh_YSAaod0OtpM0oRZ5AscxqCY_MlY1TYHvLLbhIPDO1sD3bn3tqz_mo2haWRzPNdLnwi-Gb2WuWIfAPykqvzkrASF3f/s320/Demons1_small.jpg" width="230" /></a></div>
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Sanju Nivangune is about to begin the second books cover. Alas, Amazon refused to advertise the first book, despite strategically placed hair bra and parapet. Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-19152412483728027682015-09-27T04:17:00.000-07:002015-09-27T08:25:51.502-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqMyt9-DaHVfk-gwWj6apkCXpHtzaXREDjT7EHHSuERjU5Mm6PuTmoCWF_pMfqPCJ8kYsroRjeVePU-puYHbnI1405PB_j2Q39k3Oofv5e1lBEqYN6XxAgThq64rep54sdh9hIX3VRPu9h/s1600/bird+dog+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqMyt9-DaHVfk-gwWj6apkCXpHtzaXREDjT7EHHSuERjU5Mm6PuTmoCWF_pMfqPCJ8kYsroRjeVePU-puYHbnI1405PB_j2Q39k3Oofv5e1lBEqYN6XxAgThq64rep54sdh9hIX3VRPu9h/s400/bird+dog+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">'Shaw' excerpt:<br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The wind was howling through the
cabin, drowning out the baby’s cries, and without his seat straps Mike had
freer movement to turn and check but communicating was difficult. Passengers
were a rarity and he had no headset for the observer’s position<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Mother and baby were physically
unharmed, as was Henry, so only Mike had any injuries, the flying glass had
opened the left side of his face, which was bleeding heavily. He had also been hit
in the left side of his chest, but try as he may, he could not detect an entry
or exit wound, nor any trace of bleeding, but the pain was slowly taking hold.
It was puzzling, the bullet had all but driven the breath from him, and so
there should be an obvious wound in evidence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Mike explained briefly, but adding
that he was not currently experiencing any light headedness or weakness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Barfight Zero Nine checked out the
battered Bird Dog, top, bottom and rear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Rodeo, Barfight?”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Go ahead?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“You have a few holes, an antennae
that appears to have been shot away… and as well as some oil leaking from the
engine cowlings underside, you are losing either coolant or fuel in a slight
vapour trail.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The Continental O-470 engine was
air-cooled so it would not be glycol that he was losing. Mike checked his
gauges, the engine temperature was okay, so too was oil, at the moment, but he certainly
seemed a little light on fuel. The Bird Dog had a maximum range of 530 miles
and he had been half full when he was on the ground at LZ Audrey, so that equated
to 265 miles, plenty of reserve for him to reach Quang Tri, 136 miles distant,
the nearest airfield. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">After some quick calculations he
knew that with the current loss rate he had barely enough to make it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Quang Tri’s single runway ran
NW/SE and he was flying into the headwind from the east, which was not helping
his predicament whilst he still had fuel. However, once the propeller shuddered
to a halt he could well need that easterly, at least until he turned onto
finals and lost its benefits. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> He was currently flying at 5,000ft and
declared his intention to climb to 10,000ft. He would have preferred to fly
higher but he was not a paediatrician and did not know how the baby’s little
lungs would cope in an unpressurised cabin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The Bird Dog had a 9:1 glide ratio,
meaning that it could cover 9 kilometres for every thousand metres of altitude
lost. In theory at least, that gave him 90 kilometres, a shade under 56 miles,
to play with once the fuel ran out. That was always assuming that the fuel
outlasted the oil. His oil pressure was reducing and the engine temperature had
climbed a couple of degrees. If the oil ran out first he would have to shut the
engine down in order to avoid a fire.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The sky was a deep blue and only
out at sea could he see the first clouds forming.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Time passed as clouds and the
Cessna closed on each other, the small flat six ran smoothly and it was, Mike
decided, the kind of day to be chilling beside a beach with cold beer at hand
in the Keys, not shot up in a SE Asian war.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He tapped each gauge in turn,
seeking an accurate indication of the fuel and oil that still remained. The oil
pressure gauge was hovering over empty but the fuel was already in the red. His
engine temperature was high, but not dangerously so, but that could alter
pretty damn quickly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The faint outline of the Thach Han
River appeared, glistening in the sun, 30 miles distant. Beside the river lay
the airfield, not yet identifiable in the heat haze.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Barfight Zero Nine stayed with
them but the other five Barfighters and Jupiter’s T-28s peeled off, entering
the circuit and landing to refuel and rearm. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">There was no warning, no dramatic
moment with the engine coughing and spluttering, the 213hp Continental simply
stopped as the last drop of fuel was consumed. The propeller,</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">its blade angle design
the result of mathematical equations and skilful engineering to ensure the efficient
conversion of brake horse power from the engine into useful thrust, was now as
useful as a dead stick, hence the term. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">It was not silent in the small cabin
without the engine noise, the wind still whistled through the shattered windows
and bullet holes but at a greatly reduced rate. The air speed indicator wound
down from 130 to a mere 45MPH.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<br /></div>
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<br />
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">It was still busy on the ground
with the constant arrival of aircraft requiring rearming and refuelling, but
that came to abrupt end as Barfight informed the tower that Rodeo Zero Seven
was ‘dead stick’, no engine. In Flight Ops they chalked ‘WOB’ on the board next
to Mikes call sign and sortie number as Barfight declared ‘07’ had wounded on board.
The ambulance and fire truck had scrambled and were sat a safe distance from
the end of the runway with motors idling, waiting to follow the aircraft as it
touched down, or indeed if it ploughed into the trees short of the runway
threshold. There was an unmarked route through the wire entanglements and mines
beyond the perimeter which the drivers had memorised for such eventualities.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Rooney got the word early, of
course, and left the mess hall to watch, standing near the runway with crossed
fingers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Seven of the Trojan T-28s, which
had been involved in the rescue, landed first and the crews also made their way
over. Major Sherman, the 19</span><sup><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> TASS detachment’s CO, sought them out for a first-hand account of what
had befallen Phoenix Zero Four and Rodeo Zero Seven.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Were is he?” asked a voice, and
Rooney saw that it was Hector Ortega, wiping his grease and oil covered hands
with a kerosene soaked rag, Airman Lynch was at his side, shading his eyes from
the sun as he peered up at the sky.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Probably planning on short
finals.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Why is that?” asked young Lynch. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Winds from the east, not the
north west, the way the runway is laid out,” Rooney explained. “When he turns
in he’ll drop a-ways… hot day like this the air is less dense, it could be like
riding a winged brick when he turns onto the approach.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Damn, we just got done fixing it
only this morning.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Well look at it this way, maybe it
was your doing such a good job is the reason he is coming back at all, Airman.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Rooney noticed that Captain
Dunstan was stood a little apart from everyone else, and he thought that 19
TASS’s Executive Officer looked exactly like those people who go to watch NASCAR
just for the chance to see someone die. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">They heard the sound of Rodeo’s
shepherding T-28 first; it was circling above a slowly moving speck that had to
be the Cessna O-1A Bird Dog.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">As the line Mike was taking closed
on that of the runway’s approach he began a gentle turn, reluctant to lose a
single unnecessary foot in altitude. They had lost 8,000ft in gliding this far,
which highlighted the difference between what an engineer’s slide rule says should
occur and what actually happens in reality. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Their rate of descent increased as
they lost the wind’s air flow over the wings, causing Juiqi to call out in
fear. They were indeed descending more rapidly than Mike was happy with. He applied
left rudder, yawing 40° into the wind and leeching some of its buoyancy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Just off the line of approach was
a dark area on the ground, a true blot on the landscape, an area which had
proven to be a popular mortar baseplate position for hit and run attacks by the
Viet Cong. In order to deny to the enemy the cover of trees and foliage, that
area had been thoroughly napalmed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Mike guided the Bird Dog above it
and smiled as they were buffeted from below by the small, but welcome, thermal that
the dark area produced. Seeking out dark patches on the ground, such as woods,
ploughed fields and built-up areas, was a well-known technique used by glider
pilots and birds, but unlike lightweight gliders and avians, his aircraft was
too heavy to fully capitalise on it, it could not soar upwards in a spiral to
greater altitude.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Every little bit helped though, at
this point.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Having transited that small area,
Mike renewed his former south easterly course.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">As the Bird Dog grew larger, and
lower, those on the ground gave voice to their feelings, shouting encouragement
that Mike could not of course hear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Ground crews stopped what they
were doing to watch the drama unfold and clerks left the air conditioner’s balm
to step outside and watch, and then to join in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Rooney, Hector and Airman Lynch
were shouting as loudly as anyone, it was infectious and even the base
commander had stepped out of his office to watch. Only Gordon Dunstan wore a veiled
look of anticipation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The voices fell silent as the
glide became a dive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">‘Ground Rush’ is a sensation
familiar to all parachutists, as well as any air traveller who has stared at
the ground as they came into land, that transition of the senses from ‘floating’
to ‘falling’. Henry’s view was a little limited but that sensation arrived as
Mike cancelled their yaw to the left and the aircraft’s nose dropped steeply.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Peering awkwardly around the
girl’s shoulder he could see that the minefield set before the airfield’s
perimeter was looming up, not the runway.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Mike’s eyes flicked from the
altimeter to the air speed indictor and back, picking his moment before cashing
in the airspeed that the dive had built up, trading it for lift, pulling back
on the column with wings level. They soared above the mine field and cleared
the 8 foot high coils of stacked barbed wire, separating it from the runway,
with three feet to spare. As the speed bled off and gravity was about to take
over he flared, settling the Bird Dog onto the tarmac in a perfect three
pointer and rolling to a halt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">He was blocking the runway but in
a moment there was no shortage of willing hands to push it clear across to the
hangar it had left only a few hours previously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Mike climbed painfully from his
seat after retrieving Ali’s photo and returning it to his wallet. He was
favouring his left side, almost hunched over, and drying blood coated the left
side of his face from the cheek bone on down, matting into the cotton of his
flight suit. He turned back to the runway, raising a hand high in a gesture of
thanks as Barfight Zero Nine touched down on the tarmac.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="left" class="CSP-ChapterBodyText" style="text-indent: 11.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Juiqi and the baby were taken to
the ambulance and Henry helped Mike fend off the congratulatory slaps on the
back as they followed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-78933672690802216282015-08-11T04:26:00.001-07:002015-08-11T04:27:17.869-07:00Great cover but banned from kindle advertising<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisnBxfQ2S86AibXYRwBsl73O4rHRuRJUGgDHnxwEB9kWXL1RNAK4cFlEHdIdweHlL33AOVb5qZ_I4v6qerOCBJSAEmbjf97FcTruNZ1EpBBz1Awty5hfjw7HkAPnbAlKF6SfdDfnFyJ_ty/s640/%2521cover_colorkindleAD.jpg" width="426" /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Demons-Blue-Moons-supernatural-illustrations/dp/151516831X/ref=la_B00CK3D6EW_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1439288881&sr=1-1&refinements=p_82%3AB00CK3D6EW%2Cp_n_feature_browse-bin%3A2656022011">Of Demons and Blue Moons</a></div>
<br />Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-76391025578004474412015-06-06T18:32:00.002-07:002021-03-19T11:40:41.074-07:00Fae, aka Crown Princess Aimee Adrianna of the Guardian Rings<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<b>Posh, Warrior Princess, Faerie, Witch, Succubus and the worlds worst driver...</b> <o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRtE-soVkRZCuqKEUerEwDP0wloo_LxEt2cGUSzjBHtXZFp0N9fvauF_514M2M-JG9I6bAC02x-gGaT2PWMCHgHpTzcxrU5-r0I-LCvkBw5iStRZ1kiBKt-Px8OoTr_toDImBtSa13uGgL/s1600/BookCoverPreview.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRtE-soVkRZCuqKEUerEwDP0wloo_LxEt2cGUSzjBHtXZFp0N9fvauF_514M2M-JG9I6bAC02x-gGaT2PWMCHgHpTzcxrU5-r0I-LCvkBw5iStRZ1kiBKt-Px8OoTr_toDImBtSa13uGgL/s1600/BookCoverPreview.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirF7Atj-9ZiGFBDvCVuktRfa_tPfc5ZvEwJlIYuDJZOyDgEiGaXq_7bmyOMasdAOs17jlk7dDwjKtVow0SN03US3nP8Bolux0QhXxU1ZbPE1QjLZagUUyJjS0d42tUUm9AmzYCW8UCmOVR/s1600/cover_color.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirF7Atj-9ZiGFBDvCVuktRfa_tPfc5ZvEwJlIYuDJZOyDgEiGaXq_7bmyOMasdAOs17jlk7dDwjKtVow0SN03US3nP8Bolux0QhXxU1ZbPE1QjLZagUUyJjS0d42tUUm9AmzYCW8UCmOVR/s640/cover_color.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9UlsmtKas28-FDnihdtLPIN6J4fikn39APX8tBxYRhiIPNYVdTzUkIx_XxpdY1RgkgbobFwc8N_GWOvBbFMw7EBXBhq2hFI8MsoyvXODhOZPL9N0G2ycw26jdBWFMPZzyCdENsV-wcDNl/s1600/Faesword.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="621" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9UlsmtKas28-FDnihdtLPIN6J4fikn39APX8tBxYRhiIPNYVdTzUkIx_XxpdY1RgkgbobFwc8N_GWOvBbFMw7EBXBhq2hFI8MsoyvXODhOZPL9N0G2ycw26jdBWFMPZzyCdENsV-wcDNl/s640/Faesword.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfIoBOzAvNnj6wjJmqKbETCLU89_5AqvNIAN9AaiGPhVF1DchRfvrgZs0rInXVjBlcCO5mFRHu-fxqeKs_ZbKcEXXXYBRKYe5aXO2CGzWZO7oj1x5LYrm3_eLXM2dhjzuNxkFB13fEakkM/s1600/fae_mirror-whitebg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="585" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfIoBOzAvNnj6wjJmqKbETCLU89_5AqvNIAN9AaiGPhVF1DchRfvrgZs0rInXVjBlcCO5mFRHu-fxqeKs_ZbKcEXXXYBRKYe5aXO2CGzWZO7oj1x5LYrm3_eLXM2dhjzuNxkFB13fEakkM/s640/fae_mirror-whitebg.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I am, as you may know, attempting to portray <b><a href="https://www.facebook.com/DemonsBlueMoons">'Of Demons and Blue Moons‘</a></b> central character, Fae, as a complex individual.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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She is exceedingly old, wise with the years, a walking
encyclopaedia, and outstandingly beautiful, appearing to be any age between 19
and 29, depending on her mood and circumstances.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fae is also the possessor of longevity and extreme libido
whilst being unburdened by inhibition. Quite apart from moonlights Achilles
heel, Fae is desperately lonely, a feature she hides well. The cause of the
loneliness is her longevity and others lack of it. She has been in love five
times and five times, she has stood beside a grave as a loved one’s coffin was
lowered inside.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fae is very posh and proper on the surface, a very ladylike
young woman styled on the 1920s and 1930s.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As a half Faerie and half Succubus, she can feed off either
sexual energy or extremely large meals. She prefers the former as it also goes
some way in assuaging the loneliness, seducing strangers in doorways and
alleyway, constant one-night stands that do not allow for affection from either
her or from her partners.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Combat wise, she would hand any ten Bruce Lees their arse
in nought seconds flat. However, her mother, Lilith, has her outmatched and nor
can Fae see the Shadow Demons that Lilith and the devil have created.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Fae is destined to be the mother of the Shadow Demon to rule
all Shadow Demons, and also the human ruler who will lead mankind to its own
destruction, at least if the devil and Lilith have their way.<o:p></o:p></div>
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She is often called ‘Slut’ but I want her to be ‘Hedonist’ in a reader’s opinion<o:p></o:p></div>
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Cerberus is Fae’s father, but he was turned into the
hellhound later, as punishment for allowing Lilith to seduce him.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<o:p> Dragon's, demons, lusty warriors, both male and female, strippers, supermodels, a satyr dwarf stalker and a former Royal Marine, they are all to be found within the pages.</o:p><br />
<o:p><br /></o:p>
</div>
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<o:p>It will be ready for publication very soon!</o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<o:p>Andy Farman</o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ziSwN35McATYeVMN9C6XrgLrs3EtFSqLHGwk7Zj4tYkIiSza2rgj43_iOnA1HopEl7REHKH9eDNUU98bRN80wjzXngcz0QeK5WSt0v4RWZMLvT3dKea34IY6E4pPR8i0djl9kuCRkwWl/s1600/lilith_witch_alt+300DPI+tint.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ziSwN35McATYeVMN9C6XrgLrs3EtFSqLHGwk7Zj4tYkIiSza2rgj43_iOnA1HopEl7REHKH9eDNUU98bRN80wjzXngcz0QeK5WSt0v4RWZMLvT3dKea34IY6E4pPR8i0djl9kuCRkwWl/s640/lilith_witch_alt+300DPI+tint.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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Cover by <a href="http://sanjun.deviantart.com/">Sanju Nivangune</a></div>
Interiors by <a href="http://pvproject.deviantart.com/">Piero Vettori</a><br />
Models: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Katya-Clover/280610402113357?ref=profile">Katya Clover</a> and Tracey Elvik<br />
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'Fae' by Vettori</div>
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'Cerberus' by Vettori</div>
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Fae, the Devil's Advocate dress and the Shisha-no-Ken belly chain.</div>
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The 'Inverted Griffin' of 'Cassandra's Spears'</div>
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The 'Kraken' of Erik Voldargamar's 'Kraken 100'</div>
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Fae's 'Fleur Di Lis with Paw faction' of the Royal House of Ring</div>
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Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-41524327265379694562015-05-06T06:38:00.003-07:002021-03-19T11:19:49.314-07:00Katya Clover as 'Clover' the dragon rider<a href="https://twitter.com/andy_176382/status/595908054853373952"></a><br />
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Interior illustration from my forthcoming supernatural novel <a href="https://www.facebook.com/DemonsBlueMoons">'Of Demons and Blue Moons'</a><br />
Original interior art by Piero Vettori<br />
Original cover art - <a href="http://sanjun.deviantart.com/">Sanju Nivangune</a><br />
Model - Katya Clover <a href="http://2clovers.com/clover/">2Clovers</a> (<b>NSFW</b>)<br />
Dragon - <i>'Stumble Fish'</i> an absolute softie, really he is.<br />
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<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;"><i>Stumble Fish</i> followed suit at Fae’s first thought. Female rider's mind</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">control over male dragons was equal to that of the male riders and</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">female dragons. Conversely, the female dragons were smaller and mature</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">male dragons did not take kindly to puny male riders ordering them</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">about. In another season, <i>Song Singer</i> would begin to resent male</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">rider's commands. A female rider could never successfully control a</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">female dragon as the dragon regarded all other females of any species</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">as rivals. Female dragons were very territorial and more than a few</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">had sought out their mate’s rider, killed and eaten her.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">Their heads were big, but that was due to thick bone, not grey matter.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">From two hundred feet up, Fae saw a slight movement in rocks above the</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">canyon and the dragon swung right so as not to alert it by casting a shadow over its way.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;"><i>Stumble Fish</i> spread its wings wide and landed lightly, on the far side of an</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">outcropping.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">Fae quickly removed her chaps and boots before releasing the leather</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">ties securing her hunting bow and quiver of arrows. The heavy oak war</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">bow and bodkin tipped arrows were overkill for what she now intended</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">to stalk. She next removed the belly chain, she would not need the</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">katana but the tinkling of the jewels and sparkle of gold and gems did</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">not lend itself to clandestineness. The warrior souls entered her with</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">expectation, as they always did, but she sheathed the long blade and</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">hung it down her back by its strap, safely out of the way.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">Slipping noiselessly to the ground,naked but for her weapons, Fae ran around the side of the</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">outcrop that was still in shadow, her feet making no sound</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">despite the silence of the desert. Once she had gone, <i>Stumble Fish</i></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">stepped over the canyons lip, gliding down the rest of the way to join</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;"><i>Song Singer</i> and Scott.</span>Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-24252051204501958742015-04-20T19:20:00.000-07:002015-04-20T19:20:35.750-07:00Sample 'Shaw, Lt - USMC'<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 14.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">On their own, a minefield and barbed
wire entanglements would not keep a VC or NVA sapper out of the </span>fire-base<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> lines,
it would just slow them down. It took alert men with guns, booby traps and trip
flares to achieve that.</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 14.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Night did not bring any relief from the
mortars; it joined forces with them to provide cover to the sappers who may
soon attempt to infiltrate the perimeter.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 14.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Schermuly, mortar and artillery
illumination rounds, plus flares dropped by ‘Spooky’ helped to aid the
defenders but the light from the flares was, of course, also of assistance to
the enemy, in particular to his snipers.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 14.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Earlier in the day, the enemy had
mortared the flanks of the </span>fire-base<span style="font-size: 12pt;">, dropping HE rounds upon the slopes until
they noted the lack of secondary explosions. The impossibility of having a
mined, cover-free, kill zone in a fertile jungle setting was presenting itself
as a problem for security once more.</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 14.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">For the previous four hours, the enemy
had largely concentrated his fire between the western and northern sides of the
perimeter. The occasional round would land somewhere else but generally the
pressed men of the ARVN company elsewhere on the perimeter counted their
blessings. The same could not be said of the veterans, those advisors,
Montagnards and visiting troops with a previous war, or a </span>fire-fight<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> or ten,
under their belts, these men did not get to call themselves veterans by accepting
given situations at face value. The enemy was up to something.</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 14.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Empire Quartet was waiting at a
small gap in the sandbags on the </span>south-east<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> side of the perimeter. It was, in
effect, a modern day sally port, a secure entryway through the fortifications.
Only wide enough for one man to squeeze through at a time it was near invisible
from the outside. A weighted frame, wrapped in barbed wire and bedecked with
nails acted as the ‘door’, one that could only be opened from the inside. None
of the men wore webbing equipment or carried firearms; they were armed with
various edged weapons. WW1 era trench knives served the two sons of ANZAC,
these knives incorporated a knuckleduster and a sharp, bone penetrating, stud
on the hilt for cracking skulls. The trench knives made Peter’s Fairbairn/Sykes
fighting knife and Dip’s Kukri seem positively civilised in comparison.</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 14.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt;">With all visible skin blacked out with
camouflage cream they waited in the darkness next to a fighting position manned
by a trio of the largely untrained ARVN troops who had been foisted upon 'Ben' Gunn.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 14.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The moon was about to slip below the
horizon but by its light Dip could see the nearest ARVN soldier’s eyes, which
were wide and fearful. In a way, Dip Rai sympathised with the men who had been
dumped here because they expendable and their high command apparently expected
the </span>fire-base<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> to fall. It was the unspoken policy of the general staff to follow
President Diem’s wish to preserve the best troops and equipment for use against
internal coup attempts, not military incursions by hostile external forces.</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 14.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Most of the ARVN at </span>Fire-base<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Zara were
getting it into their heads that it was sink or swim, time to fight or die, not
hide amongst the villagers as a few had attempted before the civilians were
evacuated.</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 14.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Beyond them, over the sandbag wall and
wire, lay the dark hillside that sloped away until it met the jungle. The
intervening ground was their kill zone, which the manuals stated should be
prepared by the clearance of undergrowth and the removal of any natural
undulations or folds in the ground that may offer cover to an enemy. Even
before mortaring had left shell holes to hide in there had been a foot high
growth of grass and plant life taking hold. It was not a lot of cover for
attacking infantry but it was ample for a stealthy man to approach the perimeter.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 14.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt;">The defenders remained alert and
expended schermuly para-illuminators at infrequent intervals but unfortunately
the distinctively loud crack of the percussion cap igniting the propellant is
then followed by a sky rocket ‘whoosh’, accompanied by a trail of sparks,
giving three seconds warning that it is going to get bright for at least forty
seconds. By the time the flare is alight beneath its tiny parachute the enemy
is already hugging the ground.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 14.45pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Replacing the trip flares and booby-traps that the
mortaring had destroyed was the </span>fire-bases<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> best insurance against surprise
intrusions.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxccpVRRjE5wgjtxPw8rOTzTjfpkxwYQAalXLV1lp5U88XxyRmtRWkJtWk-qH8U_L4Zk7T-Upj1Qmewb3-zCZEfOsGMhzxXVth_R9OdyvV1lVdHy3o9B-K3Ixw6HyS_S7HUSzdIEw1VxW_/s1600/firebase_zara2cc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxccpVRRjE5wgjtxPw8rOTzTjfpkxwYQAalXLV1lp5U88XxyRmtRWkJtWk-qH8U_L4Zk7T-Upj1Qmewb3-zCZEfOsGMhzxXVth_R9OdyvV1lVdHy3o9B-K3Ixw6HyS_S7HUSzdIEw1VxW_/s1600/firebase_zara2cc.jpg" height="411" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span>Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-6073179984015322552015-04-17T20:48:00.000-07:002015-04-18T05:52:15.357-07:00Armageddon's Song, Volume 6, ArtworkAs my map illustrations did not find universal favour in the previous volumes I have stretched my art skills a bit in a couple of instances in order to put a face to some of the aircraft in the prequel that younger readers may never have heard of:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-5JP7X1IZjJEC0l9OZgme2IFQGRgIaMz0toWeewWY_E8q4p8PN36EmRyUb_BOSgqQQmAbmrOnFmk8U8RmVceu1Nf_stZDr9FwVet-C7ucosi_-ISzJf9uQ6CUgMQZR-aprcwyZEXkVOr4/s1600/vol6artwork.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-5JP7X1IZjJEC0l9OZgme2IFQGRgIaMz0toWeewWY_E8q4p8PN36EmRyUb_BOSgqQQmAbmrOnFmk8U8RmVceu1Nf_stZDr9FwVet-C7ucosi_-ISzJf9uQ6CUgMQZR-aprcwyZEXkVOr4/s1600/vol6artwork.jpg" /></a></div>
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Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-23423674395939183042015-04-14T01:13:00.001-07:002015-04-14T01:13:55.918-07:00<a href="https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/hyperbole-does-cut-andy-farman">Why Apple are failing to sell books.</a>Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-31759380229142473532015-04-03T01:27:00.003-07:002015-04-03T01:27:34.117-07:00Removal of the 'Map Illustrated' editions.Unfortunately it is just not possible to view anything other than the most basic of maps on a small screen. Kindle may allow you to upload a file of 200MB in size but they then compress it and picture definition and resolution suffer accordingly. Apple only permit a maximum upload of 10MB which is half the size of the map illustrated book files, so there is the same state of affairs in existence if you reduce the quality before uploading.<br />
<br />
I do apologise to those who complained to Amazon but you seem to have forgotten that each book is a novel, not an Atlas, the maps were to enhance the story, not the other way around.<br />
The maps will remain in the hardcover and paperback versions of course, but until some software is invented that gives good quality graphics at a low byte count the maps will not return to the electronic books.<br />
Sorry!Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-17881569409730435692015-04-01T16:43:00.000-07:002015-04-02T02:21:00.476-07:00Sample: 'Of Demons and Blue Moons'<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 14.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">The beat of wings
grew closer, no longer gliding silently out of the night sky and suddenly a
naked and heart-stoppingly beautiful woman alighted, though a touch heavily,
upon the roadway. Great bat wings, one sliced deeply enough by Fae’s blade to
prevent any further gliding, remained partly open, dripping blood from the
wound and a forked tail flicked in a feline display of ill-temper. The gloss of
her jet black hair held an electric blue tinge that exactly matched her eyes.
She walked in the identical fashion to which Fae walked, with a sinuous roll of
the hips and a gentle bounce of firm breasts that was completely provocative, even
if the sideways glance this young woman treated Scott to was one of unveiled contempt.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 14.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">She looked somehow
familiar…?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 14.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;"> As she passed Scott he saw that she also wore
upon her right buttock the same mark that Fae carried upon hers. Their bodies
were almost identical, aside from tan and colouration, and even their age,
though hard to judge, seemed similar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 14.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">Scott expected Fae
to leap into the attack but instead she merely stood poised to defend herself,
allowing the raven haired vision of deadly beauty to stride by unmolested as she
approached the flung trident. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 14.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">As if he had
suddenly been doused in ice water the shock of recognition came to him. That
hair, those eyes, that face and body, the girl’s blatant ‘on-heat’-stride,
performed as if upon a fashion house catwalk, but he could only point
stupidly, open mouthed, for a moment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 14.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“</span>Isn't<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> that…?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 14.4pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">“Yes,” Fae cut in. “One’s
mother.”</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYWnKB1j_hcMGKh3Nxzhvp4xqOh-BYS-EM-GcrazVALim3Q887-MYn9yxSEkTib6qdb-7mCkpL7shnatbfZsPK10f9xu5OummcVLYWNwtMF_ZGdbPNiBEsA2WLkTH9yobzaurKEhbIGxXv/s1600/!FAE%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYWnKB1j_hcMGKh3Nxzhvp4xqOh-BYS-EM-GcrazVALim3Q887-MYn9yxSEkTib6qdb-7mCkpL7shnatbfZsPK10f9xu5OummcVLYWNwtMF_ZGdbPNiBEsA2WLkTH9yobzaurKEhbIGxXv/s1600/!FAE%2B1.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p>Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-14575132468349252992015-03-27T10:51:00.000-07:002015-03-28T07:05:15.053-07:00'Shaw' sample<b>The inclusion of a SAR crew as characters was unplanned, I intended only to write a hot extraction but it took on a life of its own. An estimated 300 words became 4000+ as that part of the story more or less wrote itself over the course of eight hours, yesterday. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>The Lin Tau trail</b><br />
<br />
Up on the trail, at the same time as the message was being transmitted, Tin stepped to the side of the trail to watched his men tramp sullenly uphill, avoiding his gaze.<br />
He removed his pith helmet and wiped the sweat from his face and the headgears leather brow band. This was the second day in a row without rain and there was barely a cloud in the sky so the rainy season was well and truly over. The ground was drying out, so the misery of carrying several pounds of cloying mud on your boots was absent but this was small comfort to his men. Any farmer who had yet to plant a root and corn crop was going to find the work arduous; the sun would bake the ground to the hardness of concrete over the next few days.<br />
He had felt accusing stares aimed at the back of his head as they obviously felt that their officer was somehow to blame for the uphill hike. Tin, however, was not in a popularity contest and to his mind the sooner the South was beaten, the sooner he could get back to his studies.<br />
His radio’s frequency range spanned the medium and high frequency bands, just 1.5 to 6MHz, the downed aviator(s) from the crashed T-28, for that is who they believed were transmitting, had a VHF radio, 30 to 300MHz. He could not hear when they transmitted but signals intelligence could and kept Tin updated. Tin had assumed that by the time he had got this far that the enemy aviator’s position would have been triangulated, but that was certainly not the case. He regretted not collecting Thet from the ammunition supply labour crew; the Montagnard was by far the best tracker in his small unit. His best bet now was to find the crashed aircraft and track the enemy on foot.<br />
Taking his new map from his pocket, he quickly orientated it in order to pinpoint their current position. They were due east of the clearing near the pagoda and this trail bisected it. By staying on the trail, they could pass the pagoda and pick up the old trail that had been the centre of the previous night’s battle. The crash site was not far from there.<br />
Tin replaced the helmet and snapped at the man at point, urging him to greater effort.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
_._</div>
<br />
<br />
<b>Phoenix Zero Four</b><br />
<br />
Captain Leo Marx, USNR, Lieutenant (JG) Christian Durant, USN, Petty Officer 3rd Herman Frey and Seaman Efren Lubay were the crew of Phoenix Zero Four. Captain Marx was enjoying his second war, the first being at the controls of a Sikorsky H-5 in Korea. His civilian job did not cut it in the excitement stakes, ferrying passengers between Idlewild, New York International Airport, and the Pan Am Building.<br />
Lt (JG) Durant was not entirely enamoured with his first war, although he had only been into three hot LZs in his two months in-country, his fear transmitted itself to the aircraft when he had control. He was beginning to think he was not cut out for a life of danger, and privately yearned to be home in Vermont, New England.<br />
Petty Officer Frey was Zero Four’s crew chief and he hailed from Georgia. Herman kept himself to himself but he did not particularly like Vietnam because it was full of Vietnamese. Herman was bipartisan in his bigotry though as he did not like white people from the next town either. It made for a slightly uncomfortable working relationship with the rescue swimmer, Seaman Efren Lubay, a Filipino from Luzon, who had joined the USN via the Philippine’s Enlistment Program. Seaman Lubay, on the other hand, had previously been unemployed for two years since graduating from nursing college, there being more nurses on the job market than there had been posts. Efren was aware of the crew chief’s prejudices but he kept his mouth shut and did his job.<br />
Efren was manning his M-60 machine gun, clamped to a ball-socket mount at one of the two portside windows in the troop compartment. The mount was not standard, it had been fabricated in a shanty built machine shop at Subic Bay by a cousin of Efren’s, in between converting US surplus four seater jeeps into eighteen seater jeepneys. The Filipinos are the kings of mechanical adaption. <br />
On the starboard side, the aircrafts single cargo door had been slid open and locked in place. There were pintle mounts available for the Choctaw’s other M-60 position but it impeded entry and exit through that cargo door. Herman had his M-60 suspended from bungee cords in the doorway, which was a best-alternative-option move. It limited the door gunners to short, three to five round, bursts but it was better than what their opposite numbers on the Shawnee’s had going for them. Both M-60s had canvas catchment bags on the side to catch the spent cases and links. Only in the movies is the spent brass allowed to be ejected unchecked where it can be sucked into an air intake or up into the rotors.<br />
Offensive armament for the Choctaw had been tried out by the US Army in the form of 2.75in rockets in boxy, un-aerodynamic, launchers, and .50 calibre machine guns in fixed, forward firing, positions but the aircraft was not of a sufficiently robust design for gunship adaption. It was a troop/cargo and anti-submarine platform. Even the attempt to enhance its defensive weaponry had been halted as ill-advised as the 1917 model .30 Browning caused vibration that was detrimental to the aircraft’s handling characteristics. The French had mounted 20mm cannon in the cargo doors of some of their H-34s in an effort to create a gunship, but the weapons were limited to single shot operation because of all the above reasons and it required a great deal of maintenance to keep their Choctaw gunships airworthy.<br />
<br />
Captain Marx kept a good lookout for other aircraft as they neared the Highlands. If the fighting around Zara escalated further they could well have additional close air support sorties, launching from Tan Son Nhut, traversing this piece of sky.<br />
“Phoenix Zero Four, Rodeo Zero Seven?”<br />
“Go?”<br />
“Hold dry at eight grand, three minutes out from Audrey, copy?”<br />
“Phoenix copies.”<br />
He heard two clicks in his headset as Mike acknowledged and Leo flicked over to ‘intercom’ on the cyclic control.<br />
“You got it.” He told Lt Durant, declaring that he was handing over the flight controls. He felt the young officer placing his feet on the tail rotor control pedals and grip the cyclic and collective.<br />
“I got it.” Christian already had butterflies in his belly and everyone else in the aircraft felt the moment of transition, from rock steady to slightly jerky.<br />
Leo watched Christian and felt the nervous movements on the controls before his hands and feet left them. Reaching down to the comms panel on the centre console, which sat between both pilots positions, he disabled the pilots intercom feed to the crew chief and gunners headsets in the troop compartment.<br />
“Young man, you have to learn to relax on the controls... just tune out the fact that this is a war zone.”<br />
“Sorry, sir.”<br />
“Sorry doesn’t cut it anymore, Christian.” He looked from his map and down at the ground. “Orbit here.”<br />
Leo reached down, but his finger paused above the intercom feed switch.<br />
“Once Rodeo gives us the ‘Go’, you are flying the actual extraction, understood?”<br />
Christian’s head turned towards him, his nose beaded with sweat, and looked at the aircraft commander with worried eyes before looking forward once more.<br />
“Understood, sir.”<br />
Leo Marx re-enabled the troop compartment intercom feed and resumed the business of looking out for conflicting traffic, with regular glances at the instruments.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>On the Lin Tau Trail.</b><br />
<br />
The sudden appearance of the little spotter plane, and the sound of its firing smoke markers, caused Tin to reassess his intentions.<br />
He had be working under the assumption that the T-28’s survivor(s) would follow their escape and evasion doctrine by putting as much distance as possible between them and the crash site before calling for rescue. It now seemed certain that they had done otherwise and were in the vicinity of the large clearing the helicopters had used to snatch the villagers from his grasp. Perhaps someone was too wounded to follow that course of action?<br />
The T-28s had then taken them by surprise, suddenly overflying him and his men, seemingly following the line of the trail on a bombing run. He and his men had scattered before realising that they were not the target and in fact were undiscovered, semi concealed by overhanging branches. The sound of helicopter rotors came to them immediately, echoing elusively as it circled somewhere, making it impossible to discern its direction or the distance to it.<br />
The use of small-arms against enemy aircraft had been drummed into the men during training, the need to aim ahead of an aircraft by a given number of aircraft lengths, as dictated in other armies, was impractical in this terrain. Volume fire, that was the method taught, to make a snap judgement on the aircraft’s line of flight, and firing with all available weapons at an imaginary fixed point that the enemy must fly through.<br />
Tin briefed his men quickly and had an air sentry, with a whistle; follow two hundred yards behind, just in case the enemy fighter bombers returned, taking the same line as previously flown.<br />
With the machine gunner assistants just an arm’s distance from the gunner’s backs Tin resumed their hurried hike towards the clearing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>LZ Audrey.</b><br />
<br />
Mike orbited LZ ‘Ted’, hoping to induce an element of uncertainty into the minds of any VC or NVA still in the area. However apart from a brief glimpse of what had to be Henry, emerging from the jungle shadows on Audrey’s southern edge, only a Buddhist monk in his saffron robes, watching Mike from the pagoda’s roof, were sign of any other human activity in the vicinity.<br />
“Phoenix this is Rodeo… Jupiter’s East/West ordnance run did not attract any ground fire, same story with their egress bearing.”<br />
His radio crackled, Leo Marx voice responding calmly.<br />
“Copy.”<br />
It was never going to get better than this.<br />
“Go!”<br />
<br />
“Phoenix copies… approaching from the east… will advise on egress intentions when the survivors are on board,” replied Leo before looking across his shoulder at Christian Durant and pointing with emphasis in the direction of LZ Audrey.<br />
This was the acid test and Christian felt his heart begin to pound as he turned onto a heading of 225° and lowered the collective, beginning a rapid descent and gaining speed.<br />
The perspex canopy and lightweight magnesium airframe were not proof against bird-strikes, let alone bullets, and not even flak jackets were available to flight crews so Christian felt vulnerable every time he climbed up into the aircraft’s elevated pilot’s positions. The pilots sat forward, and above, the troop compartment where the enemy could always see them in their aircraft fuelled by 115/145 Avgas, 337 gallons of it when full and built of the same stuff that makes flares burn bright and hot.<br />
The aircraft did not have a built-in fire extinguisher system, just the crew chiefs hand-held one. The drill for dealing with engine, clutch and transmission fires on start- up, aboard ship, was to shut down, kill the fuel feed, climb out and help push the thing over the side. A fire on a H-34 Choctaw was impossible to put out.<br />
When the army had been given the task of trialling and assessing the H-34 they had recommended parachutes being worn at three thousand feet and above, stating that an in-flight fire would turn an emergency auto-rotating Choctaw into a torch with still a thousand feet to go.<br />
Parachutes, like flak jackets, were not issued.<br />
Little details like those seemed to plague the young Lt (JG) Durant. <br />
<br />
The roof of the pagoda was already visible above the trees, the LZ was situated 200m before that, not hard to spot owing to the napalm burning on its northern edge.<br />
Leo unzipped the top of his olive green, one piece, flight suit and fished out his binoculars; he wore them on a strap around his neck for easy access. Putting them to his eyes and peering ahead through the cockpit canopy he panned them across the clearing and its surrounds. It was on a very gentle gradient just before the steeper slope down to the coastal plain and the breeze was carrying the burning jungle’s black smoke away to the north west. The surface of the LZ was unobscured by smoke from the fire.<br />
“Christchurch this is Phoenix, throw smoke!”<br />
A few moments later, Christian and Leo spotted a growing splash of red against the green background.<br />
“I see red?” Leo transmitted.<br />
“Red is correct.”<br />
With the survivors position pinpointed Leo switched briefly to intercom.<br />
“Here we go… twenty seconds, get ‘em onboard and we are gone in thirty.”<br />
Leo positioned his feet just clear of the pedals and lightly curled his fingers around both collective and cyclic, ready to take control if Christian was hit.<br />
Christian’s mouth was dry, his heart was beating a tattoo and he could do nothing to stop the slight shaking of his hands. They descended below the level of the clearing and he felt Captain Marx give him a quick, critical, look.<br />
Christian arrested their descent, catching it on the collective and beginning an ascent parallel to the hillside, keeping the trees sixty feet or so below the Choctaw’s fixed undercarriage.<br />
He could now see faint wisps of the red smoke appear above the trees.<br />
Three things happened at once, a small hole appeared next to the compass, the perspex above his head shattered, showering him in shards, and something warm and wet hit the right side of his face.<br />
He could feel strikes on the fuselage now, the airspeed indicator gauge exploded, sending glass splinters flying about the cockpit, which started to fill with smoke from smouldering wiring inside the instrument panel, stinging his eyes and making him cough. Petty Officer Frey was screaming in pain on the intercom and the master fire light shone red, like a beacon, through the smoke.<br />
“Sir!”<br />
A quick glance to his right revealed Captain Marx sitting upright but unresponsive; his face was missing due to a high velocity round entering through his groin, deflecting off a collar bone and exiting via the bridge of his nose.<br />
Christian depressed the transmit button on the cyclic control stick.<br />
“TAKING FIRE!... WOUNDED ON BOARD…!”<br />
The Choctaw breasted the crest of the slope and Christian felt through his backside the beginnings of a stall. The RPMs were falling and they lacked both height and enough forward momentum to reach LZ Audrey. He continued transmitting. “SHIT!... WE’RE GOING DOWN!”<br />
Flicking from ‘TRANX’ to ‘INT’ he barked a warning. “BRACE! BRACE! BRACE!”<br />
<br />
In the troop compartment, Efren had pulled Herman away from the open door. A round had first entered through the thin belly, missing the main fuel tank, a 115 gallon, self-sealing bladder, and then it penetrated the deck before hitting the crew chief in the lower left leg. It missed the bone but nicked the posterior tibia artery below the knee. The round had exited without causing further wounds but had then all but severed Frey’s safety line. Efren could do nothing about the crew chief’s wounds until the aircraft stabilised, and the shouted warning on the intercom to brace made that doubtful. He held tightly on to Herman Frey to prevent him sliding out of the open cargo door. What remained of the safety line was unlikely to take his weight.<br />
<br />
Christian allowed the aircraft to sideslip to the left, applying pressure to the left pedal, turning the damaged helicopter to face the line of trees marking the edge of the slope.<br />
Nose down, the tree tops seemed to rush at him but they cleared the edge, just, brushing the tree tops and the starboard gear carried off a souvenir, trailing behind like ten feet of green bunting.<br />
They were hit again as they passed back into view of enemy troops on a steep trail, his side window shattered and the pedals bucked once, hard. He thought that he felt a slight vibration in those rotor pedals now, but they were gaining airspeed and this was translating to the rotors.<br />
The stricken machine dropped below the level of the attackers, the incoming fire ceased and the RPMs grew.<br />
In a detached way, Christian was vaguely aware that for a person of his nervous disposition he was taking this awfully well, the shakes had gone and even his heart had ceased its kettle drum solo.<br />
<br />
The Choctaw had something in common with the T-28 Trojan and B-17 Flying Fortress, it was also powered by a Wright Cyclone radial engine. Mounted at a 45° angle in the nose, with a drive shaft running up between the pilots seats to the clutch and gears sited above the troop compartment. A titanium firewall across the engine compartment bulkhead gave some protection from engine fires, but no such measures existed to inhibit a fire caused by damaged and overheating gears.<br />
His hand hovered before the fuel pump switch, hesitating, but the things he had been taught to do now were to turn off the fuel pump, lower the collective and auto-rotate down to a suitable landing site. There was none of those currently available, just jungle, with shoulder to shoulder trees.<br />
The combination of the shattered side window and perspex panel above his head had cleared the smoke in the cockpit. He pulled back gently on the collective and their descent slowed, putting them back on an even, though shaky, keel.<br />
Therefore, they had airspeed and increasing RPMs and despite the fact that something was broke they weren’t falling out of the sky. The fire warning light was still shining brightly however.<br />
He turned onto the bailout heading, 124°, taking them towards the nearest friendly forces, and keyed the intercom.<br />
<br />
As soon as the machine began flying straight and level, Efren elevated Herman’s injured leg, propping it up on one of the benches lining three sides of the troop compartment. It caused even louder screams from the crew chief but he ignored them and tore open the leg of the fatigues. Before he could get to work though, Lt Durant’s voice sounded in his headset.<br />
“Lubay?”<br />
“Sir?”<br />
“How’s the chief?”<br />
“Arterial bleed… got to clamp it.”<br />
“Stop what you are doing and stick your head out the door, look up at the gearbox and also forward, under and back… any sign of fire, any smoke trail?” the lieutenant asked. “Do it now.”<br />
Efren put opened field dressings in the crew chief’s hands and placed them against the entry and exit wounds.<br />
“Press hard!” he instructed via the intercom. “Back in a second.”<br />
Checking that his own safety line was undamaged and secure, Seaman Lubay braced himself, reaching up to get a firm grip on the winch strut. Efren leaned far out in order to see upwards, before lying on his belly to look beneath the fuselage.<br />
The 90 knot slipstream tore at him, threatening to tear him loose and set him dangling above a green jungle canopy, speckled with patches of white mist, five thousand feet below.<br />
Efren edged back into the safety of the troop compartment.<br />
“Lieutenant?”<br />
“Speak to me.”<br />
“No fire, not much smoke… some, but not much… and a hole in the tail, maybe baseball size.” Efren realised he had not heard Leo Marx’s voice since they were hit. “How’s the Captain, sir?”<br />
Leo was dead, Christian knew this because blood was not jetting out of his awful wounds, and it couldn’t without a living heart to pump it. He was, however, leaking blood courtesy of gravity, his seat was awash and it was running down to the floor of the cockpit, pooling below the aircraft commanders set of pedals.<br />
“Dead.”<br />
The cockpit and troop compartment were separated and there was no way Efren could reach it in flight, so he could not have aided Captain Marx anyway, even if Leo’s wounds had not been immediately fatal.<br />
Efren had liked the captain, a good officer and one who had not held Efren’s skin colour against him, unlike the crew chief.<br />
The chief was pale with shock and blood loss, barely able to continue the direct pressure and Efren got to work, looking for the damaged artery.<br />
The vibration was increasing, making it difficult to clamp it off. He checked his watch, noting the time as he would have to release the clamp again briefly every ten minutes. Limbs need blood or you lose them.<br />
<br />
With the shot-up instrument panel, Christian had to guess at their airspeed but the still functioning RPM gauge explained why they were gradually losing height, the altimeter read 4100 but the vibration was making it hard to make out the digits.<br />
He was continuously looking for clearings, but the Choctaw was a biggish aircraft, from forward blade’s tip to those of the tail rotor’s measured 65.7 feet, with 56 foot diameter blade span. He had not seen any 70 foot long by 60 foot wide clearings, not yet anyhow. He did not have binoculars of his own with which to assist his search, although Leo’s were in easy reach, still hung about his neck but blood had fill the eyepieces.<br />
Looking at his own map for clearings was tricky, unlike fixed wing aircraft there was no automatic pilot and no way to trim it so that it flew straight and level without a hand on the controls. He got his map out but the gale howling through the cockpit whipped it open, plastering it to his face before ripping it away and out of the gaping panel above his head. Leo’s map was still in the captain’s lap but as equally as unusable as the binoculars, and for the same reason.<br />
After five more minutes he picked out the line of the highway from Lin Tau to Quang Tri, but the term ‘highway’ was open to interpretation. The jungle closely flanked the two-lane road, which was 30 feet wide, at best.<br />
Ten miles on, the first paddy fields, two of them, appeared before the road and Christian saw armoured vehicles stationary on the highway, a whole bunch of them stretching back towards Quang Tri.<br />
This, he thought, must be ‘Marvin’s’ 17th Mechanised Regiment.<br />
They were not big fields but they were big enough, of sufficient size to feed the small hamlet along one edge, and plenty big enough to put the Choctaw down safely, he decided.<br />
A high, wide dyke ran between the fields, with broad spanned fig trees growing atop where they could provide shade to field workers on hot days.<br />
Like all paddy fields, they were a communal concern for the hamlets and villages they served. They were also the communal latrine, the residents producing a constant supply of fertilizer. A near perfect food chain with 100% recycling.<br />
Unless the surface were to be churned up the smell was barely noticeable, provided you happened to be upwind, of course. It would take a fortnight for the hot season to dry them out.<br />
<br />
Christian gently reduced speed on the throttle, which topped the collective, and immediately the vibration decreased but the aircraft wanted to turn to the left.<br />
He applied counter pressure on the pedals but they bucked violently, so he increased power. The bucking relented but the vibration returned two fold.<br />
He had to do something to reduce speed and altitude because sure as eggs were eggs they couldn’t stay up there all day. The chief needed a hospital and the aircraft needed repair.<br />
He could barely make out their altitude, three thousand and something, the dial was almost a blur. He braced his feet on the pedals and reduced power again, cautiously, and lowered the collective gently.<br />
It bucked like a bitch whilst trying to turn left, almost throwing his feet off the pedals and after a few seconds he could tell that at their current rate of decent they were going to overshoot the fields and highway to land in the trees beyond. He could slow to a near hover and descend at a steep angle under reduced power with both feet on the right pedal, and the aircraft was not going to like that, it was already shaking like a dog with ticks! If the vibration was related to the engine feeding power to the tail rotor then perhaps that was the cause of the increasing vibration?<br />
His best course of action was therefore to throttle back, brace the right pedal and auto-rotate down before pulling on the power and flaring to a safe landing in the accepted manner, was it not?<br />
It turned out that it was not one of his better ideas.<br />
<br />
Christian turned into the wind, all but closed the throttle and lowered the collective to enter autorotation. The aircraft dropped, although under his control and with an eye on the altimeter, which was unwinding rapidly. His legs were almost straight, restraining the aircraft from turning left.<br />
It was working!<br />
Fantastic!<br />
At 500 feet he poured on the power and pulled back on the collective to recover from the auto rotation.<br />
A giant hit the airframe with a baseball bat as the tail pylon sheered.<br />
He lost almost all fore and aft cyclic control and the aircraft began to spin like a sycamore seed.<br />
He really did not have time to be scared, five hundred feet is not a lot of room to play with. He closed the throttle and turned off the fuel pump, master battery switch and magneto.<br />
They were nose heavy, of course, because of the engine sitting below his feet. When the airframe hit the the ground first, if it landed evenly on its undercarriage, the momentum would carry the main rotors down to slice through the cockpit and the gear assembly above the troop compartment would smash down to crush or trap anyone who was in there.<br />
The only way to prevent that was to ensure the blades hit the ground first and the aircraft landed half on its side, preferably the left.<br />
Just before they hit, Christian applied full left cyclic and the world tilted to the right. The blades struck the morass of the field’s surface on the left side, digging deep but not under power so they bent rather than sheared, braking the rotor head to a halt. The left side of the helicopter had hit hard enough for the air to be driven out of Christian’s lungs and for his safety harness to leave deep welts in his flesh. A great wave of dark effluent was flung outwards, its crest higher than the tops of the fig trees on the dyke that it pebble dashed.<br />
As hoped, in those last few seconds before impact, the aircraft came to rest with the sunlight streaming through the open cargo door, an escape route for the chief and Lubay. Just as well, for the aroma of faeces and the ammonia scent of old urine was being joined by that of Avgas fumes.<br />
The co-pilots seat was on the left side so that side of Christian’s body was submerged. He kept his mouth firmly shut as he fumbled to release his harness.<br />
<br />
Captain Marx’s body hung suspended by his seat’s straps and Christian climbed up past him and out of the right side cockpit hatch without try to recover him from the wreckage. He was dead but the crew chief was not, and Lubay could not lift him out of the wreck unaided.<br />
Once out and standing on top of the, now uppermost, starboard side, Christian went to the cargo door and looked inside the troop compartment. At 200lbs, Petty Officer Frey was twice the weight of 5’2”, Seaman Lubay, but the Filipino was trying to get him out rather than extracting himself.<br />
Christian heard a splashing in the paddy field behind him and turned to see two US advisors and several ARVN troopers hurrying towards the downed machine. Steam was pouring out of the nose cone and gear compartment as hot metal encountered the field’s filthy water. From a distance it could be mistaken for smoke preceding a fire, but they came at a run anyway.<br />
As their rescuers climbed atop the machine, Christian lowered himself into troop compartment and helped Lubay lift the semi-conscious crew chief up. Hands reached down, grabbing Frey and lifting first him out, and then Lubay and Christian.<br />
Again on top of the wreckage, Christian could smell the smoke that was now issuing from the cockpit. He went towards the open hatch but a hand caught his shoulder, restraining him.<br />
“Don’t be a fool!”<br />
It was one of the advisors, an army major, and Christian knew he was correct even if leaving Leo Marx did not seem right.<br />
Jumping down, they hurried in the wake of the remainder, wading to the dyke and clambering up its side.<br />
He turned to look back at the Choctaw, seeing the first flicker of flames through the perspex of the cockpit canopy and then the fumes from the remaining two hundred gallons in ruptured tanks within the belly ignited explosively.<br />
Phoenix Zero Four blew herself apart and burned, her dead AC still strapped to his seat.<br />
It was too sad a sight for him to watch and he turned away, only then noticing they had an awful lot of company on that dyke.<br />
A half dozen trestle tables, covered with crisp white sheets had been placed there, and atop those sat the regimental silver of the 17th Mech’s Officer's Mess. Ornate, burnished tableware holding roast quail, saffron rice and imported, honey roast ham, amongst other dishes. It was the officer’s campaign lunch, a throwback from French Colonial days. Only the sheets were not crisp and white anymore, the silver no longer shone and the food was no longer edible, being thoroughly drenched in effluent, as were the officers.<br />
It probably did not help much that he started to laugh.Andy Farman's Novelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11336741730623224256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5740442502084002044.post-50250715692035062342015-03-20T13:00:00.001-07:002015-03-20T13:00:43.900-07:00<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
Fae, half Faerie princess, half Succubus and complete badass! Dad's a demon and Mum is a witch so it is fortunate she is on the side of the good guys... well at least most of the time.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
'He crouched to look inside, seeing only ancient gas and electric meters, along with unwanted household items, all covered in dust along with a stack of old newspapers, long yellowed with age.<br />“Trust me,” she said, reading the suspicion in his mind.<br />Careful not to bang his head on a stair joist<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">, he entered, found the switch and gaped in surprise when he flicked it on as the cluttered items vanished with the light. Instead of bric-a-brac he found boxes of ammunition and some two dozen weapons. He switched off the light and again found himself amid clutter and cobwebs, obviously one of Fae’s magical wards was at work.<br />“One would suggest that you choose something befitting the issuance of close quarters mayhem as well as something with a little distance… such as the M82 Barrett with a 29” barrel as opposed to the 20” version? Although you will find that the Zeiss 6–24×72 scope is superior in half-light conditions when compared against the Leupold & Stevens Mk4 M5 rifle scope that some are known to favour. The sights’ weight differential is a shade over an ounce but the long term benefits should be obvious… not that one claims to be an expert, of course.”<br />He stuck his head out to look quizzically up at her.<br />“If it is all the same to you I would rather not lug thirty pounds of ironmongery around.”<br />“If you wish to split hairs it is actually 30.2lbs, unloaded, but that should not be a problem for a big strong boy like you,” she winked at him. “However I merely jest at your expense as there is of course no iron involved.”<br />“Why ‘of course’?”<br />“Iron is a poison in the supernatural world.”<br />He frowned and pointed back to the fireplace in the room they had just left.<br />“I saw you stoke the fire with an iron poker?”<br />“Indeed you did, but one is not currently in the supernatural world, now is she?”<br />Fae shooed him back inside.<br />“May I suggest that you at least test the weight as I imagine you may indeed be favourably impressed?”<br />The Barrett slid easily out of its rack, weighing no more than about 10lbs.<br />“What is it made of?”<br />“I have on many occasions been called a minx, a slut, jezebel, trollop, harpy, whore, daughter of Satan, spawn of Beelzebub, and a bad cook, but thus far one has never been accused of being a metallurgist Mr. Bennett, so how on earth would I know?”<br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/DemonsBlueMoons?notif_t=page_new_likes" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">https://www.facebook.com/DemonsBlueMoons…</a></span></div>
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