Ask the Author: Gideon D. Asche
Answered Questions (3)
Gideon D. Asche
Write! Write! Write! Write!
Gideon D. Asche
Espionage and the history of espionage are the things I know so the next book will be called HUMMINGBIRD.
It is about a very unassuming old man who turns out to have been one of the youngest SOE agents in WWII . According to Norm’s personnel jacket he turned 19 years old 3 weeks after he was dropped into France in 1944, his actual age was probably closer to 16. While mostly fiction, Norm is based on a real man I knew as a child and the stories we heard about him.
The incident with the children in the intro is true. Shirley was my cat.
=============================
Hummingbird – Intro
0330hrs: 5 August 1944: 700FT Above Eastern France.
The low rumble of engines and the smell of hydraulic fluid deadened the boy’s senses; or maybe it was the rum. At least the headache was going away. Norm had been given a “Hot Toddy with a much greater measure of rum than a boy of his stature ever needed. Van, the Dutch Jump Officer, got word on the intercom that the target was five minutes ahead. The Dutchman patted Norm on the head then showed him five fingers to let him know the drop was imminent. The boy had his fear under control.
One long ring of the bell and the red light illuminated. “Two Minutes!” the jump officer held up two fingers and mouthed the words; there was no point in trying to communicate verbally. Between the sound of the two huge engines and the air rushing in around the hastily installed, poorly sealed, jump door modification it would have been lost in the cacophony of 1940’s flight.
Van went to great pains to show the boy that his static line was connected to the airframe and helped him shift his position so his legs were hanging out the now open hatch. Three rings of the bell; the Green Light illuminated and the boy simply scooched off the edge into the darkness. With any luck their airspeed was slow enough and the jumper was heavy enough that he dropped straight down right through the slipstream. Both flight officers waited for the telltale thump-thump-thump of a jumper who did not; it never came and the excited call of “He has canopy” crackled in the pilots’ headsets as the jump officer verified his charge had an open parachute and a ride to the ground. The jump officer whispered a short prayer under his breath and shouted out the hatch “Fly Hummingbird, Fly!!”
The satisfaction of a successful drop gave way to a feeling of despair as the Dutchman accepted the probability he had just sent the boy to his death. Van was not usually onboard for insertions. He trained operators and gave briefings but normally RAF Air Crewmen handled the drop. It was who was being inserted that provoked Van to make sure he was with the boy when he stepped into the mouth of the Dragon. Van along with the other SOE training officers had developed affection for the boy; he had to remind himself the boy was actually 19 or maybe 17 at the youngest but he was surely older than the 14 years he appeared to be.
August 2013
(70 years, almost to the day, later)
I was visiting an old military friend of mine at his new house and I noticed he recently installed three hummingbird feeders hanging in different places around the deck. At one point my friend suggested I reach up and touch the feeder closest to me; which I did… I should have known there was something amiss just because it was him suggesting it.
I was immediately forced into a hasty retreat by what sounded like a tiny Cobra Gunship with his “mini-gun-a-blazing”. Whatever it was… It was everywhere at once and I found myself dodging what appeared to be a miniature attack helicopter making gun runs on my head. I jumped back and exclaimed “What in the hell was that???” My buddy just laughed… ”What was That?... That was Norm”. About then his wife came out with snacks and noticed my look of apprehension. “You met Norm didn’t you?”…she chuckled; “it is best to stay away from his food”.
The little war-bird made another pass at me and I got a good look at the most spectacular specimen of an “Anna’s Hummingbird” I had ever seen. In fact it was the only Anna’s Hummingbird I had ever seen up close, or been attacked by. Two inches from crown to tail three inches if you count the beak; iridescent ruby throat and head; with an attitude that made you want to shoot tequila with the little guy. I liked Norm immediately.
Over the course of the day as my buddy and I were engaging in our favorite hobby, converting cheap beer into urine, we entertained ourselves by narrating Norm’s exploits. Every time one of the other species of hummingbird stopped in for a meal, Norm would immediately go into action and protect his trough.
By early evening we had seen Norm engage and eliminate the enemy in at least five separate engagements including one in which he took out two enemy aviators on one sortie. We did a quick regulations check and declared Norm to be an “Ace ”. We played the National Anthem on my phone, stood at attention and presented the award. Norm, true to form, made a gun run on us to accept the honor. My friend’s wife witnessed the ceremony and cut us off for the night.
Months passed and Norm became our unofficial mascot; rarely did any joke or conversation not include Norm or his exploits. New visitors were compelled to join us in paying homage to Norm with a salute at the outset of any BBQ. Norm became our “Go-to-Guy”. Someone misses a pass in an OU football game; “Idiot coach should have sent Norm in…” Terrorists make a threat… “INFIL Norm with a team; he’ll teach em a lesson…” Congress can’t get something done... “Send Norm to kick ass and take names…”
Then it dawned on me one day: I had no idea why we called him Norm; of all names… why Norm? If I had to name something as tough as that little bird I would have named him “Hercules” or “Apollo” or “Nick Rowe” or something that just sounded tough… But NORM? Who calls anyone NORM? It invokes the image of a professor or a Glee Club Captain not a warrior of Norm’s caliber.
The Next time I visited my friend I asked him where he got the name Norm and asked; “Why not some tough guy name?” My friend told me that Norm was a childhood hero that he had known most of his life; in fact he could not remember not knowing Norm.
He said Norm was: “Just an old skinny guy in the neighborhood who let the kids play in his driveway and helped everyone with their math and foreign language homework. It was nothing for one of the parents to call Norm and ask if they could send the kids to his house for an hour so they could run errands or such. He didn’t visit anyone and as a general rule no one but kids ever visited him. Even then, only a few of us had ever been past the garage or front room of his house.
I inquired further and my buddy went on to tell me: There was a war going on in 1968 and my neighborhood had fewer men than families. Most of our fathers or brothers were in the fight. Norm was a male role model, a fixture in the neighborhood that everyone relied on for one thing or another. Most adults took him for granted but not us Kids; Oh No, Absolutely NOT; we knew Norm was special. We somehow always felt safe around him like the “boogey man” better walk soft and ask permission around Norm.
It wasn’t Norm’s size or build; he was just old to us, balding with wisps of grey hair around his ears and in them; mostly in them. To look at him he was nothing more than skinny old guy with a limp. Norm never spoke unless he had something to say. Yet there was still something about him that said he was not to be messed with. Then one day… One great day… we found out why…”
My buddy laughed out loud and a child’s smile seemed to overtake his entire face. It was one of the few times I ever saw that old paratrooper smile with any enthusiasm. He reached over and tapped me on the leg and continued:
“When I was 11, there was this kid who lived on the alley; he had a big yellow tomcat named “Shirley”, a stray. Shirley, like Norm, was a fixture everyone liked. One day this other kid; a high school bully from across the Avenue, over where the rich kids lived, grabbed Shirley from a little girl who was petting him and got bit several times. I saw it and he deserved to get bit. There was blood everywhere and the bully was screaming like he was dying as he ran home.
An hour later the bully, his father and another man showed up in a big Lincoln car. They said they were going to take the cat to the “vet“. We all knew what that meant; they were from the other side of Spruce Ave, the nice houses, they had money … we were military dependents, the children of draftees who couldn’t afford a deferment. In short we were dirt to them. We all knew Shirley was never coming back. I took off in a dead run toward Norm’s house. Three other kids had the same epiphany and were a step or two behind me. In our frenzy we managed to somehow convey the urgency of the situation to Norm.
Old Norm had a bad limp and didn’t move real fast most of the time and none of us ever saw him in a hurry, except for at that very moment. He swiftly covered the half block to where the bitten boy’s father already had Shirley in a birdcage and was trying to get him into the car. Five or seven other kids were screaming and yelling; doing their best to hinder his progress. Several other kids had run home to get their mothers so by the time Norm got there the crowd had grown to 20-plus children and six or eight mothers.
Norm spoke as soon as he arrived, he didn’t yell or shout; he simply spoke in his raspy quiet voice that could somehow be heard above the roar of two dozen frantic children. Every child quieted and looked his way. A gentle soothing calm fell over us… Norm had arrived!
Most of us, at one time or another, had occasion to look into Norm’s eyes. He was always there to help any of us cope with our fear of that “Black Sedan”. It was a rare week in 1968 that someone didn’t get a visit from two officers in that “Black Sedan”. Norm was always there to offer support to the wife and children of a fallen warrior. Norm’s eyes were usually grey, soft, comforting and kind, but not that day. No… On that spring day in 1968 they were black and shark like, as if death and mayhem were at home in them.
Norm Spoke again: “You … Aint … Takin … The Boy’s Cat.” Norm took 3 steps toward the boy’s father. The man put the cage with the cat on the hood of his car and both men approached Norm as if they were going to beat him down. The two men were about half Norm’s age and between them they outweighed him by 160lbs.
There was a moment where virtually everyone there thought maybe Norm had bitten off more than he could chew. That moment was cut short when the bitten bully’s father pointed his finger at Norm; right in the old guy’s face. I could see Norm’s eyes harden as the man screamed “Now… You listen here BUDDY…” All of a sudden Norm moved.
We had all seen Saturday morning wrestling shows on TV and Kato from the Green Hornet was everyone’s idea of a super powered martial artist but Norm was about to show us reality. He didn’t include any theatrics, no Karate yell, no dance, nothing but speed and violence. He simply reached out with his left hand and took possession of the man’s finger. We all heard it dislocate with a hollow “THONK”.
Norm jerked the man toward himself by the now dislocated finger and drove his right thumb into the base of the man’s throat followed by two or three closed fisted blows to the bully’s father’s face. The man’s knees buckled and he made a sound similar to a large water-balloon hitting a parked car. Norm spoke once more; just to him and in a whisper this time. Deliberate and almost inaudible; “You - are – not – my - buddy… You – will – not – dishonor – real - men …” Norm released his finger and took one baby step toward the other man who took three giant steps backwards seeking refuge behind the car.
Norm addressed the second man: “Now you pay attention to me boy; cause you haven’t angered me YET; and I might just allow you to leave here in one piece …” The bully’s father made an attempt to stand. He was met by some kind of a donkey kick. Norm didn’t even look at him, it was like his leg just automatically extended returning the man to the “rest position”; he didn’t try to get up again.
Norm continued… “I am going to count to the number ONE and if my little Pisano here does not have his cat in his arms… when I get to the number ONE… I can assure you… Neither of you… will leave this place under your own power... DO YOU COPY ?” We all jumped as he raised his voice from a whisper to a commanding shout at the end.
The second man immediately handed Norm the cat as he tried to keep his distance. He helped the boy’s father, who was still gasping for air and writhing in pain, to his feet. Norm turned and slowly walked back toward his house. He stopped just for a moment, turned and spoke one last time. “Gentlemen… if you should decide to come back across the Avenue…. These children WILL tell me and I WILL assume you are looking for me…” He paused and smiled for effect. “I assure you…. you WILL find me.” Norm turned and walked away leaving a gaggle of gape mouth kids and a few neighborhood mothers trying to figure out what we had just witnessed.
We got brave and taunted the bully and his father to go ahead and come back again. I yelled, “Norm won’t be so kind next time Bozo!...” Someone else hollered “Ya… Norm will mop the ally with you next time…” Norm turned to us and just gave a look that said “Basta! Enough!” We stopped immediately, but I thought I saw Norm smile just a little as he heard our taunts.”
I was as gape mouthed as any kid who was actually there as I imagined that bigger than life man standing up for a bunch of children and a stray cat; A STRAY CAT! Who risks their life for a stray cat? Norm was a character I needed to write about. I told my friend I was going to write a story based on Norm and to my surprise he said NO! I petitioned him with my best reasoning and sincere groveling. I was a writer, why would he tell me about Norm and not let me write about him. Again He said “NO!”
I must have finally worn him out with my incessant groveling and whining because he finally capitulated but only on one condition: “If you want to write about Norm” he said “you will tell the whole story; Norm’s true story.” My friend showed me a French Croix de guerre and a US Purple Heart. I realized Norm was my buddy’s father.
I actually knew him; I even attended his funeral in 1988, with my buddy, while we were still active duty. I always thought the wake was a little “top heavy”; there were at least seven officers in attendance that had two or more stars on their epaulets. It was more Generals and Admirals than I had ever seen in one place at one time.
Norm’s story took most of the rest of the evening; I took notes and here it is.
Let it be known … If I ever have a son… his name will be “Norm”.
===================================
So... would you continue reading?
Hummingbird will be out in the spring...
It is about a very unassuming old man who turns out to have been one of the youngest SOE agents in WWII . According to Norm’s personnel jacket he turned 19 years old 3 weeks after he was dropped into France in 1944, his actual age was probably closer to 16. While mostly fiction, Norm is based on a real man I knew as a child and the stories we heard about him.
The incident with the children in the intro is true. Shirley was my cat.
=============================
Hummingbird – Intro
0330hrs: 5 August 1944: 700FT Above Eastern France.
The low rumble of engines and the smell of hydraulic fluid deadened the boy’s senses; or maybe it was the rum. At least the headache was going away. Norm had been given a “Hot Toddy with a much greater measure of rum than a boy of his stature ever needed. Van, the Dutch Jump Officer, got word on the intercom that the target was five minutes ahead. The Dutchman patted Norm on the head then showed him five fingers to let him know the drop was imminent. The boy had his fear under control.
One long ring of the bell and the red light illuminated. “Two Minutes!” the jump officer held up two fingers and mouthed the words; there was no point in trying to communicate verbally. Between the sound of the two huge engines and the air rushing in around the hastily installed, poorly sealed, jump door modification it would have been lost in the cacophony of 1940’s flight.
Van went to great pains to show the boy that his static line was connected to the airframe and helped him shift his position so his legs were hanging out the now open hatch. Three rings of the bell; the Green Light illuminated and the boy simply scooched off the edge into the darkness. With any luck their airspeed was slow enough and the jumper was heavy enough that he dropped straight down right through the slipstream. Both flight officers waited for the telltale thump-thump-thump of a jumper who did not; it never came and the excited call of “He has canopy” crackled in the pilots’ headsets as the jump officer verified his charge had an open parachute and a ride to the ground. The jump officer whispered a short prayer under his breath and shouted out the hatch “Fly Hummingbird, Fly!!”
The satisfaction of a successful drop gave way to a feeling of despair as the Dutchman accepted the probability he had just sent the boy to his death. Van was not usually onboard for insertions. He trained operators and gave briefings but normally RAF Air Crewmen handled the drop. It was who was being inserted that provoked Van to make sure he was with the boy when he stepped into the mouth of the Dragon. Van along with the other SOE training officers had developed affection for the boy; he had to remind himself the boy was actually 19 or maybe 17 at the youngest but he was surely older than the 14 years he appeared to be.
August 2013
(70 years, almost to the day, later)
I was visiting an old military friend of mine at his new house and I noticed he recently installed three hummingbird feeders hanging in different places around the deck. At one point my friend suggested I reach up and touch the feeder closest to me; which I did… I should have known there was something amiss just because it was him suggesting it.
I was immediately forced into a hasty retreat by what sounded like a tiny Cobra Gunship with his “mini-gun-a-blazing”. Whatever it was… It was everywhere at once and I found myself dodging what appeared to be a miniature attack helicopter making gun runs on my head. I jumped back and exclaimed “What in the hell was that???” My buddy just laughed… ”What was That?... That was Norm”. About then his wife came out with snacks and noticed my look of apprehension. “You met Norm didn’t you?”…she chuckled; “it is best to stay away from his food”.
The little war-bird made another pass at me and I got a good look at the most spectacular specimen of an “Anna’s Hummingbird” I had ever seen. In fact it was the only Anna’s Hummingbird I had ever seen up close, or been attacked by. Two inches from crown to tail three inches if you count the beak; iridescent ruby throat and head; with an attitude that made you want to shoot tequila with the little guy. I liked Norm immediately.
Over the course of the day as my buddy and I were engaging in our favorite hobby, converting cheap beer into urine, we entertained ourselves by narrating Norm’s exploits. Every time one of the other species of hummingbird stopped in for a meal, Norm would immediately go into action and protect his trough.
By early evening we had seen Norm engage and eliminate the enemy in at least five separate engagements including one in which he took out two enemy aviators on one sortie. We did a quick regulations check and declared Norm to be an “Ace ”. We played the National Anthem on my phone, stood at attention and presented the award. Norm, true to form, made a gun run on us to accept the honor. My friend’s wife witnessed the ceremony and cut us off for the night.
Months passed and Norm became our unofficial mascot; rarely did any joke or conversation not include Norm or his exploits. New visitors were compelled to join us in paying homage to Norm with a salute at the outset of any BBQ. Norm became our “Go-to-Guy”. Someone misses a pass in an OU football game; “Idiot coach should have sent Norm in…” Terrorists make a threat… “INFIL Norm with a team; he’ll teach em a lesson…” Congress can’t get something done... “Send Norm to kick ass and take names…”
Then it dawned on me one day: I had no idea why we called him Norm; of all names… why Norm? If I had to name something as tough as that little bird I would have named him “Hercules” or “Apollo” or “Nick Rowe” or something that just sounded tough… But NORM? Who calls anyone NORM? It invokes the image of a professor or a Glee Club Captain not a warrior of Norm’s caliber.
The Next time I visited my friend I asked him where he got the name Norm and asked; “Why not some tough guy name?” My friend told me that Norm was a childhood hero that he had known most of his life; in fact he could not remember not knowing Norm.
He said Norm was: “Just an old skinny guy in the neighborhood who let the kids play in his driveway and helped everyone with their math and foreign language homework. It was nothing for one of the parents to call Norm and ask if they could send the kids to his house for an hour so they could run errands or such. He didn’t visit anyone and as a general rule no one but kids ever visited him. Even then, only a few of us had ever been past the garage or front room of his house.
I inquired further and my buddy went on to tell me: There was a war going on in 1968 and my neighborhood had fewer men than families. Most of our fathers or brothers were in the fight. Norm was a male role model, a fixture in the neighborhood that everyone relied on for one thing or another. Most adults took him for granted but not us Kids; Oh No, Absolutely NOT; we knew Norm was special. We somehow always felt safe around him like the “boogey man” better walk soft and ask permission around Norm.
It wasn’t Norm’s size or build; he was just old to us, balding with wisps of grey hair around his ears and in them; mostly in them. To look at him he was nothing more than skinny old guy with a limp. Norm never spoke unless he had something to say. Yet there was still something about him that said he was not to be messed with. Then one day… One great day… we found out why…”
My buddy laughed out loud and a child’s smile seemed to overtake his entire face. It was one of the few times I ever saw that old paratrooper smile with any enthusiasm. He reached over and tapped me on the leg and continued:
“When I was 11, there was this kid who lived on the alley; he had a big yellow tomcat named “Shirley”, a stray. Shirley, like Norm, was a fixture everyone liked. One day this other kid; a high school bully from across the Avenue, over where the rich kids lived, grabbed Shirley from a little girl who was petting him and got bit several times. I saw it and he deserved to get bit. There was blood everywhere and the bully was screaming like he was dying as he ran home.
An hour later the bully, his father and another man showed up in a big Lincoln car. They said they were going to take the cat to the “vet“. We all knew what that meant; they were from the other side of Spruce Ave, the nice houses, they had money … we were military dependents, the children of draftees who couldn’t afford a deferment. In short we were dirt to them. We all knew Shirley was never coming back. I took off in a dead run toward Norm’s house. Three other kids had the same epiphany and were a step or two behind me. In our frenzy we managed to somehow convey the urgency of the situation to Norm.
Old Norm had a bad limp and didn’t move real fast most of the time and none of us ever saw him in a hurry, except for at that very moment. He swiftly covered the half block to where the bitten boy’s father already had Shirley in a birdcage and was trying to get him into the car. Five or seven other kids were screaming and yelling; doing their best to hinder his progress. Several other kids had run home to get their mothers so by the time Norm got there the crowd had grown to 20-plus children and six or eight mothers.
Norm spoke as soon as he arrived, he didn’t yell or shout; he simply spoke in his raspy quiet voice that could somehow be heard above the roar of two dozen frantic children. Every child quieted and looked his way. A gentle soothing calm fell over us… Norm had arrived!
Most of us, at one time or another, had occasion to look into Norm’s eyes. He was always there to help any of us cope with our fear of that “Black Sedan”. It was a rare week in 1968 that someone didn’t get a visit from two officers in that “Black Sedan”. Norm was always there to offer support to the wife and children of a fallen warrior. Norm’s eyes were usually grey, soft, comforting and kind, but not that day. No… On that spring day in 1968 they were black and shark like, as if death and mayhem were at home in them.
Norm Spoke again: “You … Aint … Takin … The Boy’s Cat.” Norm took 3 steps toward the boy’s father. The man put the cage with the cat on the hood of his car and both men approached Norm as if they were going to beat him down. The two men were about half Norm’s age and between them they outweighed him by 160lbs.
There was a moment where virtually everyone there thought maybe Norm had bitten off more than he could chew. That moment was cut short when the bitten bully’s father pointed his finger at Norm; right in the old guy’s face. I could see Norm’s eyes harden as the man screamed “Now… You listen here BUDDY…” All of a sudden Norm moved.
We had all seen Saturday morning wrestling shows on TV and Kato from the Green Hornet was everyone’s idea of a super powered martial artist but Norm was about to show us reality. He didn’t include any theatrics, no Karate yell, no dance, nothing but speed and violence. He simply reached out with his left hand and took possession of the man’s finger. We all heard it dislocate with a hollow “THONK”.
Norm jerked the man toward himself by the now dislocated finger and drove his right thumb into the base of the man’s throat followed by two or three closed fisted blows to the bully’s father’s face. The man’s knees buckled and he made a sound similar to a large water-balloon hitting a parked car. Norm spoke once more; just to him and in a whisper this time. Deliberate and almost inaudible; “You - are – not – my - buddy… You – will – not – dishonor – real - men …” Norm released his finger and took one baby step toward the other man who took three giant steps backwards seeking refuge behind the car.
Norm addressed the second man: “Now you pay attention to me boy; cause you haven’t angered me YET; and I might just allow you to leave here in one piece …” The bully’s father made an attempt to stand. He was met by some kind of a donkey kick. Norm didn’t even look at him, it was like his leg just automatically extended returning the man to the “rest position”; he didn’t try to get up again.
Norm continued… “I am going to count to the number ONE and if my little Pisano here does not have his cat in his arms… when I get to the number ONE… I can assure you… Neither of you… will leave this place under your own power... DO YOU COPY ?” We all jumped as he raised his voice from a whisper to a commanding shout at the end.
The second man immediately handed Norm the cat as he tried to keep his distance. He helped the boy’s father, who was still gasping for air and writhing in pain, to his feet. Norm turned and slowly walked back toward his house. He stopped just for a moment, turned and spoke one last time. “Gentlemen… if you should decide to come back across the Avenue…. These children WILL tell me and I WILL assume you are looking for me…” He paused and smiled for effect. “I assure you…. you WILL find me.” Norm turned and walked away leaving a gaggle of gape mouth kids and a few neighborhood mothers trying to figure out what we had just witnessed.
We got brave and taunted the bully and his father to go ahead and come back again. I yelled, “Norm won’t be so kind next time Bozo!...” Someone else hollered “Ya… Norm will mop the ally with you next time…” Norm turned to us and just gave a look that said “Basta! Enough!” We stopped immediately, but I thought I saw Norm smile just a little as he heard our taunts.”
I was as gape mouthed as any kid who was actually there as I imagined that bigger than life man standing up for a bunch of children and a stray cat; A STRAY CAT! Who risks their life for a stray cat? Norm was a character I needed to write about. I told my friend I was going to write a story based on Norm and to my surprise he said NO! I petitioned him with my best reasoning and sincere groveling. I was a writer, why would he tell me about Norm and not let me write about him. Again He said “NO!”
I must have finally worn him out with my incessant groveling and whining because he finally capitulated but only on one condition: “If you want to write about Norm” he said “you will tell the whole story; Norm’s true story.” My friend showed me a French Croix de guerre and a US Purple Heart. I realized Norm was my buddy’s father.
I actually knew him; I even attended his funeral in 1988, with my buddy, while we were still active duty. I always thought the wake was a little “top heavy”; there were at least seven officers in attendance that had two or more stars on their epaulets. It was more Generals and Admirals than I had ever seen in one place at one time.
Norm’s story took most of the rest of the evening; I took notes and here it is.
Let it be known … If I ever have a son… his name will be “Norm”.
===================================
So... would you continue reading?
Hummingbird will be out in the spring...
Gideon D. Asche
Jinnik was initially just an exercise in mental health...
It was suggested that I write the things I would not talk about and maybe some of the nightmares would go away.
It didn’t help much … but the result was Jinnik. And I hope you enjoy it.
One of my former employers was not eager to have some of the story told so I was “Compelled” to fictionalize some names and kill off the main character in the first chapter but this is just about as accurate a record of what it was kike to work as contract intelligence operator behind the Iron Curtain during the worst of times. It was however the best of times for those of us privileged with being in the game.
Jinnik is simply a collection of the best days of my career with the body of my night terrors mixed in to snap the reader back to the reality of the Cold War….
I assure you the cold war was never cold.
It was suggested that I write the things I would not talk about and maybe some of the nightmares would go away.
It didn’t help much … but the result was Jinnik. And I hope you enjoy it.
One of my former employers was not eager to have some of the story told so I was “Compelled” to fictionalize some names and kill off the main character in the first chapter but this is just about as accurate a record of what it was kike to work as contract intelligence operator behind the Iron Curtain during the worst of times. It was however the best of times for those of us privileged with being in the game.
Jinnik is simply a collection of the best days of my career with the body of my night terrors mixed in to snap the reader back to the reality of the Cold War….
I assure you the cold war was never cold.
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