Sample: Volume 4 'Crossing the Rubicon'

Sample: Volume 4

RAAF Pearce, nr Perth: Western Australia: Same time.

It was warm and sunny, far too nice to be in school on a day like today. The heavy old wall clock ticked away hypnotically as Nikki and the rest of Miss Goldmeyer’s second grade class cast longing looks out of the window. 
After a long and bitter winter the spring was here at last.
Chalk scratched upon the slate blackboard as Miss Goldmeyer hurried to write out their assignment before the lunchtime bell sounded its gentle chimes.
   “NBC RED ONE!…STATION SCRAMBLE!...NBC RED ONE!...STATION SCRAMBLE!”
Miss Goldmeyer placed down her chalk and turned to face the room full of six year olds.
   “Girls, quickly and quietly now, open your desks, put away your books and man your aircraft!”
With a jolt Nikki came awake, the klaxon screaming in between the tannoy's order for a general scramble, to get all serviceable aircraft off the ground and warning of a suspected incoming nuclear, biological or chemical weapon attack.
   “NBC RED ONE!…STATION SCRAMBLE!...NBC RED ONE!...STATION SCRAMBLE!”
Candice was fighting with the zipper on her sleeping bag as Nikki rolled free of hers, tugging hard she released her RIO and grabbed her helmet before sprinted for the door.
   In the corridor she was shocked to see two armed personnel, ‘Adgies’, Air Defence Guards in full nuclear biological and chemical warfare suits with respirators and helmets, looking like bipedal insects with torches gesturing at them to go left, not right, down the central corridor of the accommodation block. Panting she burst through the doors at the far end to see an open back four ton truck, its canvas removed and with its tailgate down just starting to pull away, it was almost full. Aircrew from a half dozen different nationalities were stood holding on to the tubular frame meant to support the missing canvas roof and sides.
1 Squadron RAAFs flight of F/A 18Fs attached to Peerce tore down the runway in pairs, a perfect minimum interval take-off, and Nikki found the need to scream at the top of her voice in order to be heard over the Super Hornets.
   “WAIT!”
The truck did not stop but the driver was keeping the speed right down as he watched them in his wing mirror, and the two USN aviators sprinted after it.
Hands reached down, Nikki tossed her helmet into one helpful pair of hands and grasped another, being hauled physically aboard where Candice joined her a moment later.
Someone pounded on the truck cabs roof and the driver floored the accelerator.
Several of the other passengers were pulling on NBC suits one handed, hanging onto the trucks roof frame with the other; others were in various stages of donning theirs. Neither Nikki nor Candice had been issued that item. Theirs was in the stores aboard the Nimitz awaiting their collection, and their signature for them of course.
An already suited RAAF squadron leader had a mobile pressed to one ear and his other arm looped around the roof frame with the palm pressed hard against the other ear, trying to listen.
   “Is this a drill?” Candice asked.
   “Hell no.” a voice answered. “The bastards nuked Sydney.”
   “But our ship is there!” She blurted.
   “Not any more it’s not, darlin’.”
   “Fuck!” exploded Nikki angrily. “That’s the second time.”
Someone shone a penlight at the name-tag on her flight suit.
   “Oh, you’re that Pelham!” another faceless voice said, with a little bit of awe.
   “No such thing as too many veterans in the ranks, welcome aboard Lieutenant Commander.” said another.
The truck held Australians, New Zealanders, Taiwanese, Singaporeans, Filipino’s, Japanese and Americans. Nikki was unique in being the only American present to have seen air combat in World War Three, but the Asiatic crews on the truck had all lost that particular cherry.
The Anzacs still had that bitter-sweet, and terrifying experience to come.
   The truck went onto two wheels as it made the turn towards the dispersal, the driver working the gears but barely coming off the gas as he applied the clutch. The tailgate rose and fell with a crash, bouncing open and closed, dangerously unrestrained, the locking pins and chains whipping against the paintwork. No one was going to risk broken fingers and other bodily harm by capturing the tailgate, so a clear space existed where the whipping chains held sway, the crewmen and women pressing together defensively back towards the cab.
   “Brace! Brace!”
The driver made no attempt to slow for the speed ramp but steered so that the front wheels took it square together. First the front wheels left the tarmac and then the rear axle, Candice screamed as the truck became briefly airborne before slamming down hard on the front axle and bouncing wildly.
   “God, but it’ll be a relief to get off this truck and back into combat!” Nikki said with feeling and the laughter erupted, a nervous release for some of the other passengers.
   They were not the only vehicle delivering pilots to the flight lines and Nikki could even see crew on push bikes pedalling furiously.
Shouted conversations were taking place around Nikki during the breakneck ride, but these were drowned out by Pratt & Whitney turbofans and General Electric turbojets.
   The first aircraft to release their parking brakes were Australia’s last pair of F111Cs, leaving their camouflage net ‘hangars’ and taxiing at high speed, anti-shipping ordnance in the shape of four AGM-84 Harpoons each carried on under-wing pylons. Right behind the F111s were a trio of Republic of Singapore F5 Tigers with a mixed AA and anti-radiation load-out.
   As soon as he could be heard the Australian squadron leader shouted for attention, putting away the mobile phone he had been pressing to his ear.
   “Listen up, we’re doing this one on the hoof so I’ll keep it simple. RV for everyone is 100 miles due West at Angels fifteen. ‘Barrier Reef’ is the call-sign for AWACS on this and they are working on an anti-shipping strike so keep your ears to your radio but no speaking unless first spoken to. Radio silence people, let’s not give the bastards advance warning we are on the way!”
No writing was required and no questions were asked.
   “Any Navy here?”
Only Nikki and Candice qualified there.
   “Can you Elephant Walk?”
   “Yessir, I flew Tornado’s on attachment with the RAF in Germany.” Nikki replied, but Candice looked blank.
The squadron leader nodded, satisfied and address everyone present.
   “Once again, observe radio silence until you are called by Barrier Reef.” He paused for emphasis. “Watch the Marshals', keep it tight and we’ll all get off the ground and get a shot at payback!”
   As the truck reached the dispersed aircraft it slowed but did not stop and aircrew dropped over its sides, rolling as they hit the ground only to rise and sprint to their charges.
Nikki leaped out, landing and rolling before running the remaining distance. She couldn't find the damn entrance under the camouflage netting at first and was cursing as it was hauled up by rope from inside.
However long she had been asleep had been enough time for the ground crew to fuel and arm their Tomcat. Two AIM-7 Sparrows, four AIM-9 Sidewinders and a pair of AIM-54 Phoenix sat on the pylons.
   “What’s an Elephant Walk, sir?” shouted Candice to the Australian squadron leader as they both landed on the grass and arose.
   “About fifty miles a day, lieutenant.”

   The ground crew, suited up already in the charcoal impregnated trousers and smocks but without gas-masks on, had already started up their F14 and the crew chief held up for her the weapons safety pins that had been removed. The aircraft was hers and ready for combat. Nikki was lowering herself into her seat as Candice climbed the ladder.
   Candice fumbled with straps.
   “Relax Ma’am.” A technician shouted and deftly connected radio jacks, oxygen and her flight-suits air bladders.
   “First time?” meaning her first for real mission with war shots.
She nodded.
   “You’ll do just fine!” he yelled over the engine noise.
A ground marshal’s illuminated wands signalled them forwards urgently and a moment later Nikki got the thumbs up that all personnel and equipment were now clear.
   She released the parking brake.

The marshals were linked together on a stand-alone radio channel, working in unison.
   “What’s an Elephant Walk, Nikki?” asked Candice.
   “This.” Nikki replied simply.
The marshal waved them forward with both wands before pointing one wand angled down to their right wheel and the other moving up and back.
   The Tomcat left the ‘hangar’ behind and turned right onto the taxiway.
Candice twisted around, looking at aircraft of all types that had appeared in front and behind.
   “You've seen pictures of herds of elephants walking one behind the other, holding the tail of the elephant in front with their trunks?”
   “Sure?”
   “That’s how this procedure got its name. It’s the fastest way to get everyone off the ground but its kinda tricky.” Just as if to highlight the point the jet blast from the F16 ahead of them caused the Tomcat to rock violently.
   “I guess we don’t do this that much in the navy?”
   “Not until they build a carrier the size of an airbase, no.”
It was like a conveyor belt; the line of aircraft moved steadily on and as they reached the end of the taxiway the aircraft immediately turned onto the runway where scant seconds later, when the preceding aircraft were only a couple of hundred yards down the tarmac they received clearance to take off.
Every airworthy aircraft on the base was on the taxiways or hurtling down the runway.
   The marshals’ job now was to keep an eye on the interval between each aircraft to avoid collisions or aircraft being flipped over by jet blast. The marshals had their respirators still in pouches around their waists and ear defenders on their heads instead.  
   Nikki and Candice had their oxygen masks unsecured.
Eventually they were near the end of the taxiway in third place, a marshal signalling the two F-16s ahead of them to turn onto the runway and run up their engines

   A flash overhead made them look up sharply through the canopy but there was nothing to see and it was not repeated.
The marshal pointed the illuminated wands sharply down the runway and hunkered down in a squat, clear of wings and the ordnance hung off the F16s hardpoint’s.
The Falcon’s pilots opened the throttles and the two aircraft powered down the runway.
   “Our turn now.” Nikki said, looking at the crouching marshal.
He did not rise and the glow of the F16s engines got further and further away. As they lifted skywards Nikki frowned.
   “What’s the delay?” Candice asked, puzzled.
A cold shiver ran down Nikki’s spine.
   “Put your mask on Candy!” she hurriedly clipped hers in place and ensured the oxygen was flowing.
   “What?”
   “Mask on, do it now!” she ordered.
The marshal remained squatting on the edge of the runway, his back to them. 
Had an aircraft been making an emergency landing he would have signalled them to hold, but he had not moved a muscle.
Nikki came off the brakes and the Tomcat turned left onto the runway, but Nikki did not wait for the marshal, she immediately pushed the throttles forward to full military power, the afterburner kicking in.
   “What about the marshal?” an alarmed Candice exclaimed.
   “He's dead, Candice.”

Andy's books on Amazon
ANDY FARMAN on Goodreads

World markets for writers.

Markets are an odd thing, particularly on Amazon. I am writing a series of novels about a, obviously, fictitious World War Three. There a mixture of characters from the many nations on both sides of the fight, good and bad, but America is not the focus; it is one of the players and shares the stage.

It sells very well on Amazon.co.uk with eighty plus reviews but it is not as well received in the USA with fifty odd. Those who like it the most on Amazon.com tend to be Australian rather than American, according to the reviews, which is odd as so far I have only featured a single Australian submarine and its crew.
Canada has a lot of mentions and a main character is SACEUR, Supreme Allied Commander Europe, a canny soldier. However, I think I have sold fewer than fifty copies on Amazon.ca. Looking at my fellow alternative historians I see they fare just as poorly north of the Great Lakes.

The reasons I have been given for Americans less than rapturous receipt of the book is that they are used to being the focus, the cavalry coming over the hill to save the planet, and it is not an unreasonable a viewpoint. Additionally, a vast number of Americans writing about America is going to typecast the flavour of what they expect to read.
‘Flavour’ or 'Flavor' now there is another item, spelling. I get complaints from some Americans that they find my ‘bad’ spelling an irritation. Once I have finished this fourth and final book in the series I will publish a US edition of all the books, one with fewer U’s and more Z’s and I will get back to you on how well that floats.

Foreign language translation remains beyond the means of most Indies. How the book translators have not priced themselves into extinction is a mystery as they expect you to pay their mortgage, grocery bills and kids private school fees for three months while they work on your book.
If you want independent proof reading of their work? well that is another five grand.

I would like to break into the Chinese market, it is massive and only a stones throw across the South China Sea from my house, but that not only involves a translator but an entirely different way of writing.
The State controls everything and they have a paranoia about world opinion. No novel involving Chinese aggression will see print (or pixel), no stories of China and military conquest of another country will be permitted and therefore online publications and eBooks of strange storms sweeping individuals and units back in time, or across to a parallel universe abound, because the State is happy for Chinese armoured brigades to kick 18th century Samurai ass.

If anyone has suggests, or a pair of magic red shoes to break into those markets, please feel free to share.

Andy's books on Amazon
Andy on Goodreads

Volume 3 'Fight Through'

It was a strange experience with this one. A chunk of the book written in 2004, and believed lost, was found on an old floppy disc. Parts of it I hardly remembered writing. It was however the style which was most notable, to me at least. I wrote those words at a time when there was an immense amount of stress at work. I had been a front line copper for twenty four years and the earlies, late's and night duty shifts were starting to tell on my health in the form of blackouts caused by high blood pressure.
It had always been my intention to return to the front line after a years break up in the offices, but my wife was rather more practical.
"Why do you want to go back 'on team'?"
"To finish my thirty years  chasing burglars over back gardens, not sat behind a desk."
"Why? Will you get a medal?"
"No."
"Will they put up a statue?"
"No."
"Then you are an idiot."
As usual she was right.
There followed six more years as a police officer but performing a role that had absolutely nothing to do with being a policeman. I had a great time for the last years and no operation I planned ever went wrong in a critical fashion, because I planned them the army way, not the police way.
Those six years reprogrammed my head. Try being Mr Nicey when dealing with incidents in the inner cities, it does not work, you have to have a level of aggression just below the surface. You have to take charge.
'Civvies' fell into four categories. 'Suspects', 'Victims', 'Witnesses' and 'Family', I just did not deal with anyone outside of those categories until I wound up in a suit and tie, sat in a teachers office in Peckham listening to plans for an under 6's end of term fancy dress carnival of a pixies and frogs theme.
Clearly there was fifth category, 'Normals'. I had to learn to get along and work with normal people from then on.

So the head which wrote the confrontation between the President and Henry Shaw, is no more, I just hope that the words coming from the new 'me' can still provide a good read.

Andy's books on Amazon

Andy on Goodreads

The Armageddon's Song Companion

The plan is to have the 'Cast' and the 'Terminology & Acronym' tables in a proper format, one that does not become a splodge on uploading. I will also add a bit of background to some of the characters as well as some trivia unearthed during the research for the books.

My aim is to have a free kindle 'Companion', and if I can produce it really cheaply, then as a 30 page handout in paper form also.

Update - 30th November 2013 - It did not happen unfortunately, but I forgo royalties to keep the price down. The second edition is out now for free for five days on Amazon though.

Andy's books on Amazon
Andy on Goodreads

I was asked who the characters in Armageddon's Song are based upon, and to be honest there are a few who are amalgams of people I have met throughout my life.

'The President' is an easy one, as I tend to picture a situation and hear dialogue form before I write it I found that the 'ideal' of a President I was trying to describe was not a real person but rather one created by Aaron Sorkin, at least so far as speech and mannerisms in my minds eye anyway. President Josiah Bartlet as portrayed by that great American actor Martin Sheen pretty closely fits the bill. Mine of course is a little more complex as you will discover. A good man by nature who may have trouble sleeping some nights owing to the dirty political waters he is forced to do business in.

Regimental Sergeant Major Barry Stone, 1st Battalion Coldstream Guards is a mix of three terrifying individuals (if you happened to be a young soldier in the British Army in the early 1970's) RSM Torrance, Scots Guards, who reigned over the Infantry Junior Leaders Battalion at Park Hall, Oswestry in Shropshire.  Garrison Sergeant Major 'Black Alec' Dumon  The Guards Depot, Pirbright, Surrey and later Garrison Sergeant Major London District, and finally Regimental Sergeant Major Barry Smith, 2nd Battalion Coldstream Guards. Sarn't Major Torrance was outwardly fierce but inwardly fair and an ideal individual to be dealing with a couple of thousand 15 year old schoolboys who had to be turned into the next NCO corps of the British infantry.
'Black Alec' is of course a legend. Those dark sunken eyes and unblinking, cold stare. 'Captain Black & The Mysterons' except for that voice, the gruff Yorkshire accent that barked a command out on one side of a parade square and the flowers in their beds outside Battalion Headquarters a quarter mile away would wilt and die.

RSM Smith was a pretty good actor I think. The act was to make everyone, including young subalterns, believe he was permanently angry and a heartbeat removed from downright furious.
I was on barrack guard one night when one of the old soldiers, an 'old sweat' with a few campaigns under his belt, and as it turned out at least one demon, went berserk. He had a rifle and bayonet attached  to it in a barrack room he was trashing. The Picquet Officer wanted to arm the Picquet Sergeant, with obvious consequences should the soldier in question make a fight of it, which he would have. The RSM intervened, whatever old trauma was troubling the soldier, he knew about it. He sent everyone away except for a couple of us and he waited out the storm, entering on his own an hour later and spoke in a normal voice for long minutes before exiting and handing me the rifle before leading the soldier to the medical centre, speaking quietly to him all the time.
Next day RSM Smith was of course again a heartbeat removed from downright furious.


General Henry Shaw USMC, another easy one, but also oddly out of time.  It was back in 2004 when I added General Henry Shaw and in my mind Henry is Tom Selleck as 'Frank Reagan' except that 'Blue Bloods' wasn't screened until 2010. Possibly Mr Selleck played another role around that time which was solid, professional and reliable to the end in character. If I say so myself I do like General Henry Shaw, I could serve under a leader like that.

Sir James Tennant, the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police is to me 'Foyles War' Michael Kitchen a very good British actor of the finest type.

Keeping it real

The heady-ish rise up the ranks in authorishness, or should that be 'being more authorish'? 
Neither of course are correct and the Grammar Gestapo are doubtless closing in as we speak.
Some of my fellow indie authors make a great deal about correct grammar and will launch into blog debates at length, preaching to the choir when what they should be doing is writing, and carving out a successful career.

To that end I have been watching my own, less than meteoric rise, up the ranks care of Amazon.com's 'Rank' application on Author Central.
Up from 280,000th at the end of April 2013 to 3,816thth today, which sounds far more impressive than it actually is.
In the interests of keeping it real, if a public library had upon its shelves each day that same number of different books available for the reading public to check out, I would be the least read book.
Best I tell Mum to stop clearing a space on the mantle shelf in expectation of it being occupied any time soon by the Oscar of all writing awards that the Daddy of all Authors is awarded.

From Pixels to Ink

This is my third career, the first lasted seven years and consisted of running around the countryside with guns.
The second involved running around cities with a silly bit of wood called a truncheon, but the last six were cool because I got to hang with TV and movie crews on location, eat really good free food, and fast track through the notoriously slow and strict security at the BBC, all with a flash of the badge.
Going to Buckingham Palace for briefings and meetings was cool too but I had to use the tradesmen's entrance at the side.

But I digress.

The point I was trying to make was that all that experience did not teach me how to format in HTML, how to increase DPI from 72 to 400, or what a gutter was, other than the usual usage of the term.

I converted my two Kindle formatted novels, and the abridged editions into print format and uploaded them to a print on demand company which assured me the cost of production would be $6.10 minimum list price to produce the 500+ pages in each.
The novels were re-uploaded twice as this guttering business had not taken, but then I received an email all was satisfactory. I logged on, pressed 'Proceed' and looked upon the finished product, and the price...$16.10.

The printers have not explained this discrepancy, but it was obvious that hardbacks at paperback prices may sell but paperbacks at hardback prices never will.

My trilogy, at least in print, is now a six part 'ology', which required work on the covers so as not to confuse the buyer.

The Kindle books sell five hundred times better than the paperbacks though, as in I have sold one.

Well it kept me busy I suppose.

Next thing to do is get them translated.

Andy Farman's Novels on Amazon