Strofortress Joyride. Short story

  Logline: It begins as an innocent nostalgia flight, becomes a challenge, and ends up placing the USSR and the US on a red war alert. Then the jaunt gets really scary. Synopsis: The ancient Stratofortress – was taken and flown by two retired-USAF officers-not pilots, approaches the Soviet border. Fuel’s low and they’re lost. Four USAF F-18’s have orders ‘to destroy’ before it crosses the border. Foxbats loiter soviet side. The Russians want the Stratofortress. Submerged are two submarines, a US Trident, and USSR Delta cla Aircraft Bone Yard. Part-Stratofortress area.   Foreword. On April 15 1952, the World’s biggest Intercontinental Bomber took off on its maiden flight. The Boeing B-52 Stratofortress resembled a giant prehistoric Pterodactyl as...

Mad Mike Calvert. An SAS commander & Chindit Brigadier.

Burma 1944, l-r Calvert, Shaw, Lumley Calvert, Michael (1952). Prisoners of Hope. London: Jonathan Cape. Against overwhelming odds; Mike Calvert left, Officers, Shaw and Lumley; Joanna’s father a Chindit officer. Against overwhelming odds. Grossly outnumbered, The Chindits’ had just taken Moguang, the last Japanese held a stronghold, Sections of: The Court Martial of SAS Commanding Officer; Brigadier James Michael Calvert – Mad Mike About 20+ years ago I submitted synopses of my stories to various English prodcos (production companies) Pearl Catlin had an office at Pinewood studios and asked if I’d write a screenplay on spec., about a British soldier? I leapt at the chance, without any idea how to. That story is about: Brigadier James Michael Calvert DSO –...

Dartmoor Bogs

Contrary to the belief of summer visitors to Dartmoor, Bogs do not abound in this Devon wilderness. The theme is good for trade in the scattered thatched village Pubs on the Moor, where during the long summer evenings; locals have their fill, often bought by overseas tourists encouraged by exaggerated accents, funny shaped hats, and twisted shepherds crooks. In fact, there are fewer than 30 bogs throughout the 300 square miles of Moors, made famous by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles’. Charles Morgan Number Z00196654 (Z for maximum-security prisoner) is a ‘Lifer’ a hard man, now 47 years old and inside for the double murder of two former business colleagues. That now de-funked business was bank robbing. He was quite...

Female Agents-Spies WW2

This is the 1st of my idea to have a TV series featuring Female spies during WW2. All are true. Need help to get off the ground. I hope no one pinches my concept, as I’ve put a great deal of time into it. If anyone wants to take this concept further, just email, please. Two Eggs on your plate for breakfast told spies flying that night. All the buildings in the prestigious square were sort after by international companies wanting Berkley Square on all letterheads and correspondence. One however was not fussed over such matters. It was owned by the government and named, Ministry of Economic Warfare. The only difference there was not a brass nameplate. Everyone who worked here was sworn to silence for what they were paid to do. The lady featured in my...

The Giant’s Playground. Action scene from screenplay.

Background, a fully loaded United States VLCC Very Large Crude Carrier is caught in a giant Whirlpool and looks doomed. The largest US Aircraft Carrier tries sling-shotting it out. In Final Draft -screenplay format. EXT or INT = Exterior/Interior. Lines after=Scene Action. CREWMAN in Caps Character. VO=Voice over INT. BRIDGE USN AIRCRAFT CARRIER – DAWN On duty: an assortment of OFFICERS, CREW, SPECIALISTS. ADMIRAL FOX watches the tanker. Then switches attention to monitoring satellite pictures of tanker’s plight. A massive swirling Whirlpool, so large the outer edge seems calm. The rest – or what can be seen, is a terrifying mass of churned-up water. Twenty-foot waves rise suddenly, then collapse. The tanker is 100 yards in from the outer edge. A calm...

Cell 27 and the Match. Short story (from Where the Devil says Goodnignt.)

True story Suz, the young scrounger, rolled a single cigarette in the stained thick ragged-edged newspaper and took the only match in the cell. Displaying it like a gold medal, she waved her fingers. “No one breath,” she ordered, as she rubbed the door hinge to dry the edge, placed the match against it and pulled gently down. It buzzed, flickered and went out. She stared at the reduced head, wondering if there was enough left. Yaga stepped forward and rubbed the metal hinge. “Fingers crossed ladies,” she whispered. Failure was surely the only result. Nevertheless, forty-one women prayed like never before. Turning the head – or what remained of it – to face the metal, Suz cupped her right hand and pulled again, but not as strongly or quickly. It smoked...