Post #238 December 14 2020 “Excerpt from “The Eureka Gambit” I started my newest novel The Eureka Gambit on 2 November this year. So far, as of this writing, I’m 105 pages into the first draft. It seems to be going well and I’m actually a little ahead of schedule. It’s possible that I may have to add some extra scenes to bulk up the first draft toward 200+ pages, as this is what readers would normally expect from a novel-length work. If you’re not familiar with the plot, here’s a brief synopsis: Major premise: Hitler approves a plot to abduct Roosevelt, Stalin and Churchill as they arrive and assemble for the Teheran Conference in Nov 1943, to prevent an invasion of western Europe. The plot involves ransoming off the lives of the Big Three for a cessation of hostilities in Europe and recognition by the Allies of current borders and military gains by the Third Reich. Recognizing a new order in Europe. The operation succeeds and Roosevelt and Churchill are abducted. Stalin escapes the attempt with injuries. Roosevelt and Churchill are spirited away by low-flying aircraft to a remote site in Turkey, then taken by train through the Balkans to a mountain hideaway in the Austrian Alps. Now Hitler has a bargaining chip for dealing with the U.S. and U.K. He also knows about the proposed Operation Overlord and one of his conditions is that Overlord be scrapped. A rescue effort must be mounted. Vice President Henry A. Wallace must coordinate with King George VI of England to coordinate rescue operations. Below is an excerpt from the first draft: Surreptitiously, Otto Skorzeny checked his watch. 1450 hours. Ten minutes to H-hour. The embassy main building was in reality a large rectangle, with the conference hall along the same side as the service drive, giving onto a pleasing view of the lindens and a few decorative sculptures and flower beds. A large oval table dominated the room, topped in green baize, with miniature flag stands and water pitchers in the middle. The room was lined along three walls with folding chairs, for staff and aides to attend the meetings. At ten minutes to five in the afternoon, the sun dappled the oaken floor and the table, slanting in through tapestried windows in stark shafts of lights. The air inside was stuffy, thick with cigarette smoke and tension. Winston Churchill was talking, making a point by jabbing the air with a cigar. “General Morgan has been charged with the responsibility for carrying out preliminary planning for Overlord. His Majesty’s Government has already expressed a willingness to have the overall command of Overlord placed under a United States commander.” Stalin puffed on a pipe, but said nothing, while Churchill went on. “Also, Marshal Stalin, you should know that in the Mediterranean, the British have large air and naval forces under direct British command.” Looking over at Roosevelt, Churchill added that, “The President can name the Supreme Allied Commander for Overlord if he accepts our offer to serve under a United States commander.” Now, Stalin poked the air with the stem of his pipe. “I do not presume to take part in the selection of a commander for Overlord, but we would like to know who this man will be….” Fifty feet away, inside the kitchen stores room, Skorzeny, Eisler and the White detachment had already extracted their weapons from produce bags, checked action and crept to the door to the kitchen. On the other side of the cooking range, past several Filipino mess stewards and cooks stirring pots on a stove, Skorzeny caught the eye of Fritz Born and Jurgen Holtz, stashed away in another stores closet and a pantry. Skorzeny counted down the last minute. It seemed to last an eternity. Sechs…funf…vier…drei…zwei…eins…NOW! As one, the commandos of Operation Long Jump burst out of the stores rooms and pantries and immediately shot down two of the cooks, who slumped to the floor in awkward positions, blood pooling below their faces. A voice cried out. It was Born. “Grab those fire extinguishers! We can use them!” Inside the conference room, the debate continued, momentarily stalling at the crack of gunfire. Along a side wall, Mike Reilly came instantly alert and felt for the heft of his Colt. Churchill was droning on. “It’s essential that a commander for Overlord be appointed without delay, ideally within the next fortnight. I am concerned with the complexity of the problems before us. We must remember that the thoughts and wishes of nearly a hundred and forty million people rest with us and—” Churchill stopped in mid-sentence, for in that moment, Mike Reilly and half a dozen armed Soviet civilian aides had bounded out of the room in a dead sprint. A great commotion outside the conference hall had erupted. There were shouts, then gunfire. An explosion slammed opened the gilded doors and smoke boiled into the conference room. Chaos reigned even as the participants ducked for cover under a hail of bullets. Just emerging from the kitchen, Otto Skorzeny peered through dense white smoke. He’d just ordered one of the fire extinguishers rolled into the hall. A few well-placed rounds had burst the tank and white mist blanketed everything in sight. Skorzeny consulted a crude hand-drawn map on his wrist, scribbled by Max himself from decades-old plans from a Tehran construction firm. “This way!” he hissed. Hans Eisler and most of White detachment were right behind him. They crept low, along the walls. Shots rang out from inside the smoke and the commandos returned fire, their Sten guns and MP-40s spraying death into the mist. Heavy thuds hit the floor. They crept cautiously, made a slight dogleg left and Eisler nearly tripped over a fallen Russian body, still twitching and bleeding out from neck wounds. The conference hall was just ahead on the left. Shadows materialized deep in the mist and Eisler sprayed the figures again. His fire was immediately returned and a cry erupted from behind him; one of the commandos had been hit and gone down. “Against the wall!” Skorzeny ordered. He motioned the soldier carrying the other fire extinguisher forward. “Roll it in there and blast the thing!” The commando, a scharfuhrer named Decker, hustled up. After a few bursts from their machine guns, Decker tossed the tank inside and more rounds lit off the extinguisher, which hissed, squealed, gushed and spewed white foam and mist everywhere. “Grenades!” Skorzeny yelled. Two Blendkorper smoke grenades were tossed in after the extinguisher. Seconds later, they burst and blanketed the room with opaque gray and white smoke. “Come on!” With hand signals, he indicated Eisler should take three men and move right. Motioning behind him, he signaled Born and Holtz to follow him to the left. Cautiously, they crept inside the conference room. Shots rang out. Shouts, Russian, English and German cascaded about the room. Bodies hit the floor. Groans and shouts of pain erupted. Underneath the mahogany table, Winston Churchill found a prostrate Franklin Roosevelt, lying on his side in a fetal position, both shielded by advisors and guards. Mike Reilly’s face hovered nearby, wreathed in smoke. Churchill remarked over the shots, “By God, that’s German we’re hearing!” “Stay down, sir!” Reilly yelled. Then the lights went out and Churchill felt the body shielding him go slack. Whoever it was had been shot. Blood poured onto the marble floor and onto the Prime Minister’s hands and arms. As he started to extricate himself from the slick mess, Churchill froze. Strong hands were pulling him out from under the table. Behind him and over top of the table, thick and boiling throughout the room, smoke and flames crackled. So that’s the excerpt. What do you think? This scene dramatizes the actual kidnap attempt inside the Soviet embassy in late November 1943. I hope to provide more excerpts in the future. The next post to The Word Shed comes on December 21. After that post, The Word Shed will take a two-week hiatus for the Christmas and New Year’s holidays. See you on December 21. Phil B.