A cleaner finds a jacket lying on the floor of a top secret laboratory and then suddenly discovers there is a dead body inside the jacket. The police investigation is hampered by the secret research being conducted at the laboratory in the Fylde. Painstakingly the police review the suspects, but it becomes clear that the murderer probably came from overseas, prompted by the need for an organisation to find out what type of research has been achieved in the laboratory.
One clue leads to an investigation amid the Vietnamese community in Nottingham, but the suspect appeared to have fled to Madrid where there are no extradition facilities for mere suspects. The police consider how they can lure the suspect back to the UK; then a little boy with a stick brings them some luck as he unearths a security card from the laboratory; the parents of the murdered scientists offer some clues about people who had been trying to contact the victim.
A simple murder investigation becomes an international chase for the killer as the police forces in Germany and France become involved when it is discovered that the suspect was originally recruited by Stasi in East Germany before unification, but then fled to Marseilles and then on to England to escape custody following a murder conviction.
At the end of the row of workbenches he turned the corner, and suddenly realised there was somebody actually inside the jacket and lying on his back on the floor.
“Are you alright, mate?” he asked as he walked towards the jacket.
It was only when he saw the listless eyes in the face of the man lying on the floor that his brain clicked into gear.
“Oh, my god!” he thought to himself, “that man looks dead!”
His immediate thought was to run for help, and then he remembered the security system at each door, which needed a pass code, that he looked at the nearest bench with a telephone unit.
He quickly dialed a number for security.
“This is Monty,” he reported, “I think there’s been an accident in this laboratory, and maybe the man is dead.”
“Stay where you are,” said the voice from security, “we’re on our way.”
Monty had been a soldier and had seen active service as a rifleman, but he never liked looking at dead bodies, so he walked towards the body and the jacket, but did not get too close. Now as a civilian he was not happy, disliked having to work hard, and resented authority.
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Had he known what would leap out from the darkness and claim his depraved soul on this particular night, President Richardson would have repented for his countless sins before going to bed. Unfortunately, death never forewarns its victims.
President Richardson was always a deep sleeper. Nothing ever seemed to wake the man. But tonight was different. Tonight, he would face his killer.
The president’s eyes widened with a gasp as he looked at the intruder towering above him. It was the figure who men like him feared: the infamous Guardian.
The masked vigilante’s dagger was at Richardson’s throat while his gloved hand roughly seized the president by his sweat drenched hair. Richardson could neither scream nor beg for mercy, helplessly staring into The Guardian’s merciless eyes.
The room was dark, but the president could make out his assailant’s red and black mask almost perfectly. The mask’s features were a repeat of what he witnessed countless times in his nightmares.
Bitter air blew in through the open window; the white sheets around the president were drenched in his sweat. The only sound that could be heard was the low whistle of the cold breeze. Covered in a grey cloak over his tactical suit, The Guardian could smell the terror dripping off of Richardson’s body. The intruder yanked Richardson closer by his hair while keeping the sharpened dagger right against his throat. Shrouded in darkness, the intruder sadistically smiled under his mask.
The captive president tried to say something, but all that came out was a muffled sentence. In a sadistic growl, The Guardian spoke. “You knew one night I would come for you.”
The president did not reply.
“If you’re waiting for your guards to show up, then you’ll be disappointed.” The edge of the blade moved closer to Richardson’s throat. “But you’ll be joining them soon enough!”
Richardson’s heart fell upon hearing those words. His mind frantically searched for a way out, but his heart knew there was no escape from this monster. Already knowing the inevitable, Richardson still let out a cry. “…please…”
The intruder cackled. “Matthew Richardson, I am the creation of your sins. And they have sent me to claim your soul.”
A quick scream.
They live among us. We know they are there. No government can control them; no authority can stop them. Some are evil. Some are good. All are powerful. They inhabit our myths and fairy tales. But what if they were real, the witches, wizards, and fairy godmothers? What if they were called "adepts" and were organized into guilds for mutual protection and benefit? And what if they started mucking around with the affairs of "lessers" (that is, those humans not able to match their powers)? During the height of the Cold War, Michael Vaughan is a rogue without a guild. He survives by working for the CIA as NOC (Non-Official Cover). Shortly after the funeral of President Joe Kennedy, Jr., he is sent to Cuba to assassinate Castro. There he finds himself in a cat-and-mouse game with adepts working for Fidel.
Monday morning Clarkson is on the hotel roof top, the sun already hot on his back. Around 8:30 the balcony door opens at Bobrowski’s room. A waiter wheels a food cart out before him. With a practiced flourish the man snaps a table cloth and places it on the table top. Placing the plates and silverware on the table first, he brings the silver domed food platters from inside the cart. Checking the table to be certain everything is in place, the waiter goes back into the room pushing the cart.
Ally and Fay are the first two people to appear. Clarkson brings the rifle up and sets it on the roof’s ledge. The women are pouring coffee into cups and beckoning the men to the table. Clarkson pulls the rifle stock to his cheek. Two men come out on the balcony. Clive sits with his back to Clarkson. Reggie sits across from Clive.
Claire Fairthorpe rushes back to her room to get her Walther pistol specially equipped with a silencer. The fat man rises from the bed and grabs her wrist. “Come back to bed my sweet little dumpling, I am ready for you again.”
Claire yanks her wrist from his grip and takes the pistol from a dresser drawer. Turning back toward the man Claire points the pistol at him. “Do not be here when I return, you fill me with disgust.”
He puts his hands up defensively and turns away. Claire grabs her purse and rushes from the room. At the cab stand in front of her hotel she steps in front of a couple and slams the door closed. She yells at the cab driver, “Get me to the Harbor Hotel now!”
Throwing money to the driver when they arrive at the hotel she bolts from the cab. Facing toward the front of the hotel she sees two wings of the building that jut out from the center rooms. She knows where Bobrowski’s room is but now must decide which of the wings Clarkson would choose. She rushes to her right.
“Son of a bitch,” mutters Clarkson. Clive’s head is in the way of his shot. Clarkson takes the rifle down and moves further out to his right. The shot will have to be at an angle he did not foresee. Laying the rifle on the ledge he puts a blanket down to kneel on. Looking through the scope he brings the center of the crosshairs to bear on the left side of Reggie’s head.
Claire reaches the roof top of the building’s wing she chose. Opening the door to the roof slowly, she looks through the gap. Not seeing anyone she goes through the door. The roof is empty, no one is at the ledge overlooking the rooms below. “Damn it! Wrong wing.” Fairthorpe runs back to the door.
Ally and Fay are putting the food on plates and setting the plates before the men. Clarkson waits for the women to sit down. With the women settled he pulls the rifle’s stock into his shoulder and sights through the scope. Ally’s head is just forward bending toward her food. Reggie’s head is perfectly in the crosshairs. Clarkson takes a deep breath.
After her parents mysteriously disappeared at the age of thirteen, Evangeline Evans has been on her own. As a military pilot for Olympus, the most powerful and technologically progressive Citadel of the new world, she keeps her reasons for finding them a secret. Without warning a terrifying disease that could destroy civilization begins to infect citizens across the city.
Only the race known as Angels—who brought advanced technology to Earth—seem to be immune to its devastation. Evangeline and her husband Jack, an Artificial Intelligence designer, are swept into a secret war between the Dissidents in the Low Technology Zones and The Quorum of Zeus. The Human race is on the precipice of Extinction. Who will prevail? Angel or Human? High Tech Olympian or Low Tech Dissident? But the better question is… Who SHOULD prevail?
The Russian state of Sverdlosk was the Soviet Union’s center of fringe military research during the cold war. There, terrifying biological weapons, capable of inflicting unspeakable horror, were intensively researched and developed. Every single medium and long range armament in the Soviet arsenal was repurposed to deliver these lethal agents to anywhere on the globe. The cold war eventually ended. The research did not.
Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.
Sun Tzu – "THE ART OF WAR"
The cartels murdered his father. For former SEAL Rob Kincaid, the War on Drugs just became personal.
As the leader of the Red Squadron Security Agency, Rob is used to working under the radar - taking on government jobs that wouldn’t exactly pass congressional oversight. Being thirsty for revenge, he’s more than willing to take on Operation Snow Plow, a clandestine FBI plan to eliminate the cartels once and for all.
But as Rob digs deeper into the plan, he realizes this isn’t a typical government black op. Instead, he uncovers a shocking web of lies and conspiracies that can be traced back to the very core of Operation Snow Plow.
As he attempts to unravel that web, he finds himself plunged into a high stakes game of odd man out, where he has been targeted as the odd man.
A hand wrapped around my arm and I was pulled back to sit again. The contact of that hand was gentle, but I could feel the change. Power pulsed through my system. It was happening again.
“Nia, listen to me, okay? It wasn’t your fault,” Kane’s voice said, the olive-green of his aura both bold and calming.
Wait. Aura? How was that possible? I had felt the change, felt my body absorb something just like it had that morning, but for some reason, the colors were still there. My body was filled by a wild strength, as though I had the ability to lift a car off the ground one-handed.
What was wrong with me? What was I?
Sitting perfectly still, totally relaxed suspended in space, Brody was 50 feet down, according to the depth gauge strapped to his arm, in crystal clear water sat motionless and waiting. His Rolex Submariner was counting off the seconds; so far one hundred and twenty had slowly ticked past, free diving is all about relaxing, you stop thinking, sitting in a trance like state, a Buddha hanging serenely in the ocean, holding a six-foot pole with a razor sharp spear!
His lungs were relaxed and full, life was all around him in the depths constant movement and color from every direction. The current was very slight pushing him to the North East, his body felt warm even at this depth. Glancing up to monitor his position, clearly visible above, the small wooden sailing craft was safely anchored to the reef. Earlier he had slipped off the boat swimming until the bottom disappeared into nothingness, taking a deep breath then duck-diving, finning for a few strokes, until the lead weights around his waist started slowly pulling him down.
Hassan was sat on the boat fiddling with the engine nervously, tidying the ropes and sails, continuously glancing at the place where his new customer had just disappeared. They had met on the Jetty a few days earlier, Hassan had spotted this new ‘Muzungu,' a white guy, jumping off the weekly ferry. Hassan approached with his best tourist grin plastered across his face and offer to help the newcomer with the dive tanks and other equipment, as usual, this quickly flourished into finding accommodation and a bite to eat. Hassan usually earned his daily cash catching fish, but Brody had come to dive. They made an agreement, Brody would hire him and his dhow with the small rusty outboard on a daily basis until he left the island. Giving Hassan a regular stable income for his mother, father, and sister, plus himself. This deal sat well with Hassan it was guaranteed money, a rare thing on the Island, he figured he could also do some fishing while he waited on the boat.
Brody’s watch was still ticking away the seconds, he had about a minute left, he loved it down here. So silent and peaceful, away from the dreams and memories he fought against daily. His lungs started to tighten, looking up again to the bottom of the boat; it seemed to be getting further away with every second ticking by, but Brody always wanted to push that little bit more, always one more step. He held on, then taking careful aim, the lovely Coley Coley was swimming about twenty feet away from him in circles, interested in this motionless creature just sitting, not swimming, not moving, not breathing. Brody aimed and fired, the bolt from the spear gun was dead on target, just behind the pectoral fin, it went straight through the fish’s heart. Brody’s practiced aim was proving to be unstoppable here, but the water was crystal clear he could see the bottom another sixty feet below him.
The fish was easily 12 pounds, a good size, there were a ton of them living off this reef. Brody believed in free diving for fish as this seemed fairer than using his tanks, at least the fish had some advantages over him in this alien environment.
The Coley Coley struggled then went limp, they were known for being the least energetic of the large eating reef fish in tropical oceans, Brody quickly dragged it in then started for the Dhow above.
When His head broke the surface, it was still only 07:00 but the temperature was already nearly 100 degrees, he felt the tropical sun burning his head immediately. Paddling to stay afloat Brody threw the line to Hassan, who gratefully took it and started hauling in the dead fish before the Sharks got a scent of it.
Hassan shouted, “Hey boss that was long, I thought you had joined the fish and swam away!”
Hassan always hid his fear that his boss and paymaster would disappear over the side and never come back!
He was a Swahili, the coastal tribe of East Africa, born in the water, they were natural boatmen, and could tell the weather, the wind, and tides before they could walk. They knew the best reefs, fishing spots, mooring points and also the best of what the town had to offer. Hassan had led Brody to a lovely secluded house or shack depending on the way you looked, it was on the beach and quiet with just the wind in the palms and the waves lapping on the shore, he had taken it without a second glance.
Brody did four more dives for fish that morning, he only wanted one but knew Hassan would be able to sell them in the market, his family would eat well tonight. Brody also knew the Swahili’s were so generous he would get more food than he could eat, cooked by Hassan’s mother, so the sentiment was not entirely altruistic.
After the last dive Hassan coaxed the outboard back into life which took a while, Brody pulled the big stone anchor off the bottom, and they set off back across the lagoon.
Brody sat on the small wooden deck of the boat gutting the fish as they slowly headed back towards the village where his shack was. The journey would take about an hour as the outboard had seen much better days and was just being prayed over too last until they reached home. He had gutted so many fish it was second nature; his mind started to wander. He was so lucky to have found this place, a tranquil paradise in the middle of nowhere; he could live peacefully and forget the past he so wanted to lose.
William Brody was born in the UK, in North London on the estates near Wood Green. The place was good enough, his mother and father both wanted the best for him. His dad worked for the local council, and his mom in an insurance office on the high street. Life was all right, a bit mundane but okay, Brody enjoyed school but was not so good at the education part. Sports, especially swimming, was great but sitting in the classroom was not so much fun. His reports always said that he could do better and must try harder. The inner cities didn’t have a lot to offer Brody, inheriting his father’s wild Irish ways he longed for the outdoors. When the school offered outdoor pursuits or camping his name was at the top of the list, every Friday his bike would be loaded with camping gear, cycling off into the evening, not returning until late Sunday night.
Whenever school was too much, he would head down to Canary Wharf on the Thames and watch the boats go by, smelling the tidal river as it raced in and out. His dream was to join the Merchant or the Royal Navy and sail the seas for the rest of his life; he could think of no better way to spend his days, afloat on the water he loved so much.
On his sixteenth birthday he applied for the Merchant Navy but was turned down as his grades in school were frankly rubbish, plus the few scrapes with the law did not help. The next stop was the Royal Navy, the recruiting officer was acting the same way.
The Sargent said, “Look, lad, you can do better at these exams and come back after a couple of years.”
Brody was not happy he asked out of exasperation, “What else is there?”
The recruiting Sargent looked him up and down, then said, “Well lad, you look damn fit, what about the Royal Marines.”
He had not thought about them before, it would be at least near or on boats. One second later the forms were signed, his dad breathed a deep sigh of relief and handed the lad over to the Royal Marines.
With a jolt Brody was back to the small fishing boat, all the fish had been gutted, they were only a few minutes from the small jetty. Hassan expertly maneuvered the Dhow up against the wooden poles. They landed the five Coley Coley, Hassan immediately seemed to find a basket made from coconut fronds, they appeared to use them for everything, then raced off along the dusty track towards the small fish market. Brody knew Hassan would get a good price for the fresh fish, the local boats had not left before 04:00 this morning it was a good eight hours round trip.
Hassan gave one of the fish to his younger sister to take home to their mother for the feast tonight. Since Brody had landed on the Island, their fortunes had changed, they were starting to enjoy his company, the rent from the little house on the beach also helped.
Brody collected his gear and headed off down the beach to his pad, it would be noon soon, this place would touch one hundred degrees, combined with ninety-five percent humidity, no fans or air conditioning made the situation almost unbearable. He usually found some shade and slumped in a hammock for the rest of the day or wandered the beach looking for interesting shells. Often meeting local fishermen, sitting on the beach mending nets, chatting with them was enjoyable, they did not have a word of English nor him Swahili, but they were good natured and happy to have someone with new stories to tell.
The Marines then the Special Boat Service had instilled in him the importance of learning the language and culture, mixing with the locals was second nature. Brody sat and patiently learned one word after the other, earlier in the week the old men had taught him ‘Samaki,' the Swahili word for Fish, he was going to use that tonight at the meal.
Right now all he wanted to do was head back to the little house and take a snooze, free diving was always tiring, the dull ache inside his head was growing as he wandered back to the shack. Although this was a strictly Muslim Island, the elders always managed to find a local drink called ‘Mnazi’ made from fermented coconut juice. When he got to the shack two old men were sitting on the porch, they had gnarled fingers and hands like tree bark, once fishermen but were too old for that hard life now. They mended nets, sharpened hooks and told stories about when the fish were bigger, and the ocean was more terrible. They also liked to sneak a drink, with three wives each and who knew how many children who could blame them! These old reprobates had snuck off and decided Brody’s house was a good idea, they could blame the ‘Muzungu,’ white man, if they got caught.
The ‘Mnazi’ was sweet like treacle, the old men had three small wooden cups with short hollow sticks for straws poking out of the top. The bottom of the straw had old sail cloth wrapped around the base as a filter. The ‘Mnazi’ came in ancient, battered gourds and was dutifully poured equally into each cup, pieces of coconut husk floated on top of the milky drink. It did not smell so good either but it was potent, the trick was to hold your nose for the first couple of shots then the smell seemed to disappear.
They had a good haul, Brody knew he would drink too much. The sweet, rough liquid was intoxicating, Brody had drunk his fair share of booze over the years, it had caused problems in the service on more than one occasion, but had all been covered up and glossed over as he was a good soldier. But that was then, and this was now, he was his own boss, no demands rules or regulations.
They enjoyed the drink; telling stories in English and Swahili as the alcohol flowed, he understood the Swahili much better, and them English. After four hours they were like old friends all the gourds were empty, they were just formulating the best plan ever, to steal a boat and head for the mainland for more booze. When Hassan came trotting down the path towards them he was horrified that the old guys had made Brody drink, they didn’t care and were falling asleep in the house.
Brody was drunk slurring his words, thinking he knew what he was saying, he was speaking to Hassan in Swahili that made no sense. Hassan left them to get his food the plan was to invite Brody for dinner with his parents, but as they were strictly Muslims, this would not be a good idea.
Angel’s house, Encino, Ca: April
“Nigga, you know I’m a thug!” Angel said without a smile on her face. “You need to quit trippin’ and get the fuck outta my face! I’m about through with yo’ ass anyway!” Angel snapped. “Bitch, who you think you talkin’ to?” Donta snapped. Angel kept her eyes glued to the TV screen, watching the college basketball national championship game between the USC Trojans and the Duke Blue Devils. “Angel! Bitch, you hear me! Who the fuck you talkin’ to?” Donta asked, on the verge of extreme agitation. He was now standing between Angel and the TV, blocking her view intentionally and pissing Angel off in the process.
“Move, Donta, I can’t see my fuckin’ TV!”
“Girl, my brother just got smoked a few days ago and you hollerin’ about some TV? Fuck that TV!”
Donta screamed at the top of his lungs. Angel could see Donta was wound up now. There were rumors Donta snorted heroin. Looking at the subtle brown flakes in the corner of his nose, Angel knew the rumors were true. Donta was the kind of dude grown ass men were afraid of and every other bitch would have been shaking in his presence, especially with him being upset, high and unpredictable—that is, everyone except Angel, who was a self-proclaimed thug and stood behind her claim with both feet. When it comes down to it, Angel was really not someone to mess with. Angel was sick and tired of Donta’s shit—from the verbal abuse, to the rumors of infidelity and drug abuse—so whether or not he had just lost his brother, she was done with him; and now seemed just as good a time as any to let him know she was through with him and ready for a change. She honestly didn’t care what he thought about it and surely didn’t give a damn about his feelings on the matter.
“I’m gonna tell yo’ bitch ass one more time to move away from in front of the TV. I can’t see my baby daddy!”
The fuck she say that for? Donta lost it then! He threw the nineteen inch TV across the room and in one motion he turned and faced Angel. He reared back and savagely backhanded her across the face with such force it caused her nose to bleed instantly. Donta had reacted instinctively, but through his heroin-induced high, he somehow had a moment of clarity: he realized his actions and became immediately apologetic.
“Baby, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!” Donta had gone off on Angel in the past, but even through all of his rants and verbal abuse, this was the first time he had ever put his hands on her and he knew he had fucked up big time. When he saw Angel’s reaction, he knew this was a critical mistake. “Mothafucka!!! Nigga, have you lost your motherfuckin’ mind??!! No, Hallman, Koffi you didn’t just hit me! Nigga, you have until I count to ten. I’m getting my gun and if yo’ bitch ass is still here by then, I’m gonna put some holes in your mothafuckin’ ass!” Donta knew without a shadow of doubt, Angel was serious.
Angel stormed past Donta and headed upstairs, counting out loud. By the time Angel got to five, Donta was pulling down the street of their Encino home. Angel let off two shots from the second floor bedroom window. The first shot hit the sunroof, while the second shot hit the rear windshield of his Mercedes S500 as he floored the powerful German automobile down the street, around the corner and out of sight. Angel proceeded to take a towel and ice from the freezer to stop the bleeding of her nose. Afterwards, she went into the living room and turned on the seventy-inch plasma HDTV on the wall to continue watching the game. Placing the chrome .380 on the marble table, she picked up her cell phone and called her older brother, Adam Charles Evans, or ACE as everyone called him. He was a thug for real, who loved Angel with all his heart and since the death of their parents in a fatal car accident a year ago, the other was all each one had—and she was his heart! Ace picked up on the second ring and after seeing the caller ID, was very cheerful when he said, “Hello? What’s good, baby sis?”
“Hello… ACE?” Angel said, sounding nasal.
“What’s wrong, baby sis? You sound all funny ‘n shit—you got a cold or somethin’?” Ace said.
“Naw… ya fuckin’ boy… that crazy-ass nigga actually hit me!”
“You okay, girl? You hurt?” Ace said, now sounding genuinely concerned and inquisitive.
“I’m cool! I don’t even know why I told you…. I’m just mad I guess.”
“Where that nigga at now?” Ace demanded, now sounding serious and calculating, like the coldblooded killer he was.
“Oooh, calm down, brother, I put two slugs in his precious Benz, so he probably gonna come see you and try and get that shit fixed.” Pausing, Angel managed a little smile and a slight chuckle when she continued with, “Shit, I’ll bet he would have rather I put a slug in his ass instead of his other girlfriend; his precious little car!” She laughed again, a little harder this time and said, “Ace, promise me you won’t do anythin’! Don’t get me wrong: I’m through with his punk ass, but you know how you get when it comes to me and I don’t need you doin’ extras and gettin’ into trouble”
“Angel, you trippin’, girl… why y’all get into it?”
“Cuz I told him I’m leavin’ his punk ass for my baby daddy! Oooh, he is lightin’ Duke ass up!!”
“Yeah, I’m watchin’ the game now…. Oooh, so he your baby daddy now? Girl, you a trip!”
“Ace, I’m dead serious! We getting’ married! He already my man.
Don’t even trip on that, big brother, I got this! Nigga, you know I’m a thug!”
“Girl, you a trip! I’m headed over there after a while.”
“Ace, I’m so serious—don’t touch him! Promise me you won’t touch him!”
“All right, girl”
“I’m serious, Ace! Promise me!”
“Dang, girl, all right! I won’t lay a finger on that nigga, you got my word. I won’t touch him! Shit… you cookin’?” Ace asked, trying to change the subject.
“Nigga, you better make Terri’s ass get in the kitchen! I’m your sister, she’s ya bitch!”
“I bet if I was your baby daddy you would…,” Ace started to say, but never finished.
“Yeah, but you ain’t!” Angel said, cutting him off. “That’s nasty, boy…. Bye, brother!”
Angel quickly hung up the phone before Ace could respond. She was giggling to herself, thinking how pissed Ace must be as he hated to be hung up on. When he called back, she broke out into full laughter of the possible messages he would leave on her machine after she refused to answer the phone. Watching the second half of the game, Angel saw one of the greatest comebacks in NCAA history as the USC Trojans came from seventeen down at the half to winning by eleven, led by their All-American shooting guard, her “baby daddy” number twenty-one. He scored twenty-five second-half points for a game-high of thirty-five to go with fifteen assists, eleven rebounds and seven steals. He was given game and tournament MVP honors after leading the USC Trojans to back-to-back national titles, making himself all but a shoo-in to become the number one pick in the upcoming NBA draft lottery occurring in two months.
“..... And do you, Iris Anne Evelyn Wright, take Charles Power, as your lawful wedded husband, for better or worse, in sickness and health and for richer or poorer............”
In the country town of Murrumburrah, Charles and Georgina Power from Cootamundra were seated in the front pew of Saint Paul’s Church of England. This was for the marriage of their son Charles to Iris Anne Evelyn Wright. (Iris’s mother had passed away several years before)
The Prominent stories on page one, of the Cootamundra Herald that morning had read; -
“Mr. Fisher says it will probably be arranged that federal Parliament shall sit in the daytime only, leaving the evenings free.”
“Coadjutor -Archbishop Kelly succeeded Cardinal Moran by right of succession and is now Archbishop of Sydney.”
“The police force in Perth is asking for an increase in pay of Is 6d per 'day on account of the increased cost of living.”
As the sun rose on that beautiful, crisp Saturday morning, no one realised that such a day of joy and hope would be marred in only three more years by sadness and loss. Events developing in Europe would have such a devastating effect on the newlyweds. As the wedding party gathered at the little church, all these other matters were far away from everyone’s thoughts. Today was a day of hope and joy!
The church, on the top of the hill at Murrumburrah, was bursting at the seams. The family had gathered in this picturesque town from throughout the Cootamundra District, and far away. Uncles, aunts, cousins, brothers and sisters, they were all there.
As he was waiting at the altar with his elder brother, Edward (who was his best man) for his bride to arrive, Charles looked around at the seated congregation. In the right front row could see his father Charles senior and mother Georgina at either end of the front right pew. Between them were his younger siblings Wallace, Leslie, Austin, Phyllis, and Thomas. Immediately behind them were his other siblings William, James, Thomas, and Georgina.
The next two pews were occupied by Aunt Eliza and Uncle Randal Schofield along with the cousins Ethel, James, Austin, Randall, Herbert Charles, Henry, and Frederick.
The other side of the church was for mainly Iris’s family, – Arthur, Leslie, Thomas, and Dorothy. There was a space left for Albert, who was standing in for Iris’s mother who had passed away twelve years prior.
Iris’s uncles and aunts and a couple of cousins were in the next few pews but, in the excitement, he couldn’t remember their names. He did, however, see Aunt Mary and Uncle Paul Kingston along with their children, James, Thomas, Alice and William, who arrived at the last minute.
His thoughts returned with the arrival of the bridal party. The bride looked radiant! She was followed by the bridal party, comprising Albert Wright, 26 (standing in for Iris’s father) Mary Anne Kingston (Matron of Honor), and Alice Power (bridesmaid). The wedding must have had some effect on Albert because; within two years, the young police constable himself would marry his sweetheart, Ellen O’Brien.
The wedding breakfast was a jovial affair with the younger children playing and getting into all sorts of mischief. Most of the younger cousins enjoyed the time together while; the older boys gathered around and seem to see who could drink the most. The older girls had all helped with the food, and it would be true to say that the feast was one that will be remembered for some time.
No doubt the refreshments for the wedding came from Tooth & Company Limited. And being the brewers of White Horse Ale, they were also wine & spirit merchants and being cordial manufacturers.
Charles and Iris made the perfect couple and in so many of their laid back ways they signified the hope of a new nation. Australia was only eleven years old as a nation. Earlier that year, the site procured for the new Australian Federal House of Parliament a few short miles away to the east in a paddock called, Canberra.
The Power family were genuine pioneers of the district. Private Thomas Power (son of William Power and Honor O’Donnell) was born about 1805 in Ireland. He married Isabella Hastie on the 19th of Sep 1828 in Manchester, England.
He was a member of the 1st /50th (West Kent) Regiment, Queens own of foot. Along with his wife (Isabella) and infant daughter (Jane), he sailed to Sydney aboard the convict ship Hooghly. Shortly after arrival (the 18th of November) at Port Jackson they departed (the 5th of December) for Norfolk Island to take up his new post.
They returned to Sydney on completion of the posting and raised their family before eventually settling in the Cooma area. Their son Edward John Power was born in 1837 in Sydney. He married Mary Ann Chalker (daughter of Joseph Henry Chalker and Eleanor "Ellen" Kelly) in 1858 in Queanbeyan. He died in 1876 in Adaminaby.
Charles Power (son of Edward John Power and Mary Ann Chalker) was born in 1859 in Cooma; He married Georgiana Belcher (daughter of John George Belcher and Frances Fanny Nancarrow) in 1883 in Cooma. She was born on 18th Sep 1864 in Cooma.
Robert Coleman-Wright was born on 2nd January 1824 in Bristall, Leicestershire, England. He married Elizabeth Bennett on 17th June 1850 in Adelaide. Elizabeth had been born on 1st February 1830 in Uxbridge, Middlesex England. She died on 20th September 1916 at Essendon. Victoria; He died in 1893 at Talbot Victoria.
Gilbert Wright was born in 1857 in Amherst Victoria. He married Annie Case (daughter of Henry James Case and Helen Abdy) in 1886 in Junee. She was born on 10th Mar 1869 in Queanbeyan. She died on the 11th of November 1899 in Junee. Gilbert died at Lake Cargellico, on the 30th October 1933.
Iris’s grandmother (Helen Abdy) was the first non-aboriginal child born in Armadale. Helen was descended from Sir Anthony 1st Baronet Abdy.
The newlyweds settled at Cootamundra. By October next year, their family began to grow.
Charles Gilbert Roy Power was the first son and two years later Edward Charles Power arrived. Eight other children followed on in due course.
The new responsibility settled Charles and he was no longer seen drinking as often at the Cootamundra Star hotel and he had steady work with Jack Clarkson. There was one occasion when Charles ran afoul of the law.
The Cootamundra Herald 16th March 1915 reported;-
“Charles Power, jun., was charged with being drunk in Parker. St. on February 6th, 1916, in Cootamundra Court. He was also charged with assaulting Constable Burgess while in the execution of his duty. Mr. McMahon appeared for defendant.
Constable Burgess stated: “At about 10.15 on date, in question I arrested Power rears the Star hotel for being drunk; on the way to the police station the accused struck me on the jaw with his fist; I threw him to the ground and tried to hand cuff him; while on the ground the defendant kicked me on the 'wrist and leg; Constable Cusack came to my assistance, and we handcuffed him”. He then addressed Mr. McMahon, “It was after 10 o'clock; there were a lot of people about at the time; he never denied that he was drunk; he never complained of me twisting his arm, and never tried to pull away; I fell on the ground with accused: Defendant called out to several people in the street to bring a doctor to the station to see if he was drunk.”
Constable Cusack deposed “I saw the defendant at the Star hotel about 10 o’clock on 6th Defendant was drunk; while I was coming down to the lock-up with a man named Glanville I saw defendant hit Constable Burgess; I let Grenville go, and assisted Constable Burgess to put the handcuffs on him.”
To Mr. McMahon: “I was arresting Glanville at the time; I was coming down behind when defendant struck, Constable Burgess; while the constable and accused were in hotel a crowd of people came around the corner; I never heard defendant call out, 'bring a doctor.!”
Constable Stuart deposed: “Accused was very drunk when brought ' to the lock-up; I had previously cautioned him that evening.”
William James Clear deposed: “I remember seeing defendant on the date in question; he was drunk,”
Charles Power, jun., deposed: “I was in town on 6th inst. Constable Stuart did not speak to me that evening before I was arrested; I saw ' Constable Cusack arresting a man;'' I was standing at the hotel door when Constable Burgess caught hold of my hand, and -said, -'You come along with me too'; I asked why? And he said, 'You, are drunk'; while coming along he twisted my arm behind my back; I tried to pull away; 1 did not strike Constable Burgess; his head bumped my hand; I did not kick at the' constable while we were on the ground; Constable Cusack came and cuffed me; I had been talking business to Jack Clarkson for some time, and after that to two ladies.”
To Senior-Sargent Suprex : “I was at the Star hotel from 10.30; Constable Stuart did not caution me; I was perfectly sober all the time; I wanted the doctor to prove that 1 was not drunk; I have been locked up before for drunkenness.”
Jack Clarkson deposed: “Charles has been working for me lately; I met defendant at the Star hotel, and paid him his wages; he was sober: it was between 9.30 and 10 p.m.”
Leo Clarkson deposed: “I saw defendant at the Star Hotel 'about 10 p.m.; he was sober then; I was in there when the defendant was arrested.”
Charles was convicted on both charges for drunkenness he was fined 20/, and for assault, he was fined £3. Fourteen days was allowed to pay.
Iris was not impressed!
As Iris’s mother had passed on, she also had taken on the responsibility of caring and guiding her sister and brothers who had also moved close by.
Charles’s parents were alive, and all of his siblings lived in the surrounding district. Charles Snr. was away droving a fair amount of the time but his wife Georgina, was a beacon for the family and was always on hand to assist Iris, whenever help was needed
In the Riverina the years of 1911 – 1914 were idyllic. The weather was great, and no one had a care in the world.
Arthur Wright thought he was the head of the family (at least he told his younger siblings and cousins such. He did concede that Albert was older, but as he was in the police force in Sydney, Arthur was the man in charge.)
As the younger boys grew into manhood, they chose their profession with gusto and hope.
By 1914 the world was changing!
1914 - War Clouds gather over Europe
Britain was still regarded as the mother country, as the majority of the Australians at the time were descended from British and Irish convicts. There was nothing more important as the British Commonwealth in the psychic of most Australians of the time, although there seemed to be a distrust of the British hierarchy.
The immediate trigger for war was the 28th of June 1914 assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria, heir to the throne of Austria-Hungary, by Yugoslav nationalist Gavrilo Princip in Sarajevo. This set off a diplomatic crisis when Austria-Hungary delivered an ultimatum to the Kingdom of Serbia, and international alliances formed over the previous decades were invoked. Within weeks, the major powers were at war and the conflict soon spread around the world.
On the 28th of July, the Austro-Hungarians declared war on Serbia and subsequently invaded as Russia mobilised in support of Serbia, Germany invaded neutral Belgium and Luxembourg before moving towards France, leading Britain to declare war on Germany.
On the 30th of July, 1914, a cablegram in secret cipher from the British Government to the Government of Australia informed it that there was imminent danger of war.
On the 4th August, Great Britain declared war on Germany. Australia pledged a force of twenty thousand to be placed at Britain's disposal. Prime Minister Andrew Fisher, declared that Australia would support Great Britain in the war against Germany'... .to the last man and the last shilling.
The nation awoke on the 6th August 1914 to read in the Sydney Morning Herald;
“A state of war exists between Great Britain and Germany.”
“The Austrians attacked the Servians at Semendria, and were repulsed with heavy losses.”
“The churches are packed with people praying for the success of the army.”
“The Prime Minister officially announced yesterday that war had broken out between Great Britain and Germany.”
“With a view to establishing a mobile reserve, it has been decided to mobilise the 8th Infantry Brigade.”
“The 16th Infantry Battalion will furnish a reserve for the defence of Newcastle.”
“Three thousand professional unionist musicians have offered for active service in Australia. “
“The Governor-General has received a message from the King, expressing his appreciation of the messages from the Dominions.”
There was no doubt that life in Australia was going to change!
Australia goes to War
By August 1914 Voluntary recruitment for the Australian Imperial Force (A.I.F.) commenced and the Australian Red Cross was established to raise funds to purchase comfort supplies for Australian service personnel overseas.
The formation of variously named 'patriotic funds' in all States to raise money to send extra food and clothing to service personnel overseas were established
In September the Australian Naval and Military Expeditionary Force (ANMEF) seized German New Guinea and nearby German-ruled island territories.
C.E.W. Bean was appointed as Australia's official war correspondent in October 1914.
So much happened so quickly and November saw the first division of the Australian Imperial Force (A.I.F.) sailed from Albany, Western Australia, for Egypt. HMAS Sydney sank the German cruiser, Emden, at the Cocos Islands, Indian Ocean.
For Australia, the war had commenced!
A Family Goes to War
At the outbreak of war the family boys were:
• Edward Power, 30, was married to Adele and worked as a general labourer.
• Charles (often referred to as Jerry) Power, 29, was married to Iris, had 2 children and worked as a labourer
• Albert Wright, 27, was a police constable in Sydney
• Leslie Wright, 24, was a grazier and was married to Myrtle
• Austin Schofield, 22, was a labourer
• William Henry Power, 21, worked as a labourer with his father
• Thomas Kingston, 20, was a Tailor’s Apprentice
• Arthur Wright, 19, was an Engineer
• Austin Power, 16, just started work as a Compositor with the local printer.
• Thomas Wright, 16, was a Jockey
• James Power, 15, was still at school
• Thomas Power, 13, was still at school
• Wallace Power, 9, was still at school
Austin Schofield was the first family member to answer the call. On Thursday the 17th of June 1915, Austin made his way to Liverpool to enlist (at this stage there were no facilities to join the forces outside the capital cities). He was assigned to the 8th reinforcement company of the 2nd Battalion A.I.F.
Seven days later on the 24th of June William Power was to enlist with the 8th reinforcement company of the 1st Battalion A.I.F. He was given the regimental number of 2893.
Arthur Wright was the next to enlist. On the 9th of August, he joined the 11th reinforcement Company of the 1st field engineers.
The following day Austin Schofield embarked on the troopship, HMAT Runic A54 for Gallipoli.
Ten days later (on the 18th of August 1915) young Austin Power was down at the newly opened recruitment office at Cootamundra. With his brother and two cousins already enlisted and with the opening of a recruitment office at Cootamundra, Austin decided to quit his job as a compositor with a local printer and enlisted.
He was sent to the 12th reinforcement company of the 4th Battalion A.I.F., outside of Liverpool where he was to commence his training.
Austin was only 17½ when he enlisted, and it took his mother (Georgiana) by shock when she found out a couple of weeks later what had happened.
She drew her breath and drafted this letter on the 28th of September requesting that the Army releases him from military duties due to him being underage.
Dear Sir, I am sorry, but I must object about my son Austin Power being in camp on active service as he is under the age of eighteen. He was seventeen last August, and I don’t see how the doctor passed him as he is a cripal(sic) in one foot – through burns when a child and has been treated for a ?????? and has been under a doctor for the last two years for a weak heart. I know that every boy should go that is of age and I have one son gone and a son-in-law, a brother and two nephews so I want you to give Austin his discharge and if you would oblige and don’t tell him that I objected as he would be very much upset. Just tell him that he is not fit for the army as I am sure he is not and I must object to him going until he is eighteen. You will oblige.
Mrs. C Power Cooper St.
It is interesting to note that during that period; the army did not ask for date of birth. Instead, all they asked was his age and where he was born. By 1917 this had changed and on the enlistment papers a new line, asking for date of birth, was added.
On the 7th of October, the army discharged him, and he returned to Cootamundra. As he had left his job, he had to find new employment. His family left Cootamundra in 1917 and moved to Marrickville and Austin became a glassworker in the local area.
William Power completed his basic training at Liverpool before he joined His Majesties Troop Ship A8 Argyllshire. It set sail for Egypt on the last day of September. Arthur Schofield had already left eight weeks prior on the HMAT A54 Runic.
Whenever a troopship, with any member of the family, departed, Constable Albert Wright always attempted to see his brothers or cousins sail off to war. Iris often joined him and where possible, spent time with them before their sailing.
Troopships travelled in a convoy with battleships for protection. Submarines were now an added threat, so convoys had to adopt new formations and changing patterns to elude the enemy.
The ships that were used for transport were owned by steamship companies (they were requisitioned by the government who paid a daily rate for them). Others were former German cargo ships, seized at the beginning of hostilities.
They were specially outfitted by the government to meet their new wartime role. This included increased numbers of berths; often in cargo holds. Conditions on board were cramped, to say the least. The lower decks were hurriedly fitted out with mess tables and hammocks and resembled large overcrowded barrack rooms.
Their quarters were all the way forward in the first hold. Having to sleep in hammocks William was pleasantly surprised to find they were very comfortable. It was his first experience of a hammock as it was with most of his comrades.
Shipboard life comprised drills, exercise sessions, games and sports that were all taken in shifts along with guard duties, and even mealtimes.
Weekly Sunday services were held on the deck. It was during one of these services they were told the on board death of one of the soldiers from illness.
A funeral service was held aboard the Shropshire, and the whole convoy of ships stopped out of respect.
It occurred to him how a vastly different experience of death in wartime was. They knew nothing about visions of death that most of them would face in the coming months.
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In the Dark by Chris Patchell Narrator: Corey Gagne , Lisa Stathoplos Series: A Holt Foundation Story #1 Published by Audible Studios on 09-27-17 Genres: