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Its Your Money
Kenneth R. Wade Ph.D
 
 
My Enemy - My Friend - My Father
Alfred Nestor
 
 
Johnny Dupl'eau
Paul McDermott
 
 
A Journey Of Thought
Raquel Cheney
 
 
D'Personally Yours...
Donna Parkinson
 
 
The Project
John Hope
 
 
Twenty Something
Sherryl Shairi
 
 
About Me
Beryl Davis
 
 
The Shaman's Drum
Jean Marie Feddercke
 
 
Star Crossed Dreams
Carl Harris
 
 
Heart Song
Char
 
 
New Beginnings On The Endz
Donna Parkinson
 
 
Broken
Jin Robinson
 
 
Perfume and Opium
Leon Gratton
 
 
Bob Taylor And The Alien
George McNutt
 
 
Dead Relics
Leon Gratton
 
 
God Speaks - No - God SHOUTS In This Book
Beryl Davis
 
 
A Different Perspective
Donna Parkinson
 
 
Chatting To The Driver
Various Mad Jock supporters
 
 
Shades Of Gray
M E Steinhart
 
 
quickSilver
Carolyn Brandt
 
 
Warm Up The Winter
Mary Merryweather Travis
 
 
Who Needs Einstein
Alan Peat
 
 
The Only Way Is UP
Alfred Nestor
 
 
Reach Me Down The Moon
Ron Grant
 
 
Smoky Mountain Musing
Nancy Childers
 
 
One of Those Days
Janet L Vick
 
 
Serious & Satirical
Dr Karen J Stevens Ph.D
 
 
Inspired
Angela Edgar
 
 
'Memories of you' and other poems
Carl Harris
 
 
The Baggy Trousered Philanderer
Rols Sperling
 
 
'Live 'til I die'
Mary Merryweather Travis
 
 
Poems of Love & Seduction
Curtis Gould
 
 
Silver Pearls
Henriette
 
 
Mummy's Naughty Knot
Helen Wray
 
 
Pot of Gold
Bruce Bartling
 
 
Do It To It
Gungalo
 
 
Toward the Heliopause
Joan Michelson
 
 
Poetry from my Heart
Char
 
 
The Fruit of My Pen
Michael Schuh
 
 
More Words
Geoff Collier, Eddie Lundon, Rols Sperling, Paul Jevons and Maura Mc Creave
 
 
The Inkwell Anthology - Preview
 
 
How Loud Can I Shout?
Lin Priest
 
 
Tandem Hearts
Allen Brady
 
 
Home verses Away
Dennis Harrison
 
 
Arc of Dazzling Golden Light
Lin Priest
 
 
Words
Rols Sperling
 
 

The Only Way Is UP

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Book cover

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Herbert had no idea what might be waiting for them when they reached the surface, so before they began their rendezvous with the mine he ordered his torpedo officers to load their torpedoes, open the outer doors and make ready to fire on his command. The first explosion threw the officers around like the proverbial rag dolls and as the aft end of the submarine completed its upward arc and the submarine began to dive like a spear towards the seabed, the mechaniker in charge of number one bow torpedo was thrown forwards against his control panel and hit the fire button.

‘I can tell you John,’ said Alex as he downed his scotch in one, ‘that the bell-bottoms of those poor men from the Rountree are all now a uniform shade of brown. I know you well enough by now to have no serious doubt that you meant to do whatever it is you just did, but you could have shared your vision with me, damn it. I was re-writing my will out there and was cutting you out.’

The second bush to have spoken then said ‘Imeacht gan teacht ort’ which Alex recognised as another fairly unfriendly greeting. Roughly translated it means “piss off and don’t come back” so he said very slowly and deliberately ‘please, we are armed British sailors but mean our Irish friends no harm whatsoever. It would help however if the German bush can give an indication of what it proposes to do.’

The sailor knew, and he was very certain of this, that there couldn’t possibly be any one behind him unless they were walking on water so at first he ignored the feeling [that he was being watched]. It didn’t however go away and however silly it was he just had to look over his shoulder to check. He turned his head and there in the water just behind him was a long snout with a large mouth, a full set of teeth and some bulging staring eyes.

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