The Lost Command

Here is a free short story I write in he late nineties and revised in 2013. Intergalactic invasion attacking Earth.

The Lost Command
By
Ed Benjamin
The supreme commander of the expedition looked about the command vessel and lamented.  One expected losses, but the losses in arriving at the target planet were very significant.  Their home planet was 640 light years from their objective.  Each group of 350 craft had been encapsulated into modules so that the invasion force of 1400 ships could survive the jump through the space warp.  After the entry into near space had been completed, the control center had determined that two of the modules had broken up in hyperspace and the fleet had lost all 700 ships. 
The next calamity occurred when the remaining two modules had entered the target solar system and one capsule spun out of control crashing into the frozen wastes of the eighth planet from the star.   The remaining squadron had proceeded toward the objective, the third planet from the sun. 
This journey through the solar system continued at a slower pace.  The trip from the eighth planet to the third planet took approximately three times as long as the trip through the wormhole. 
The intelligence section spent its time wisely.  The analysts studied the broadcasts of the microwave transmissions received in the lower communications band.  Apparently the occupants of this world had not yet mastered the intricacies of higher band transmissions.  These transmissions did indicate that the inhabitants were on the verge of creating a viable civilization.  The planet contained the raw materials that the commander’s home world needed to alleviate the overcrowding that threatened their existence.  Once determined that this planet was suitable, the leaders made their decision.  They would invade, destroy the life forms ruling the planet, and colonize it.
The mission proceeded.  As the capsule prepared to loose the remaining squadron of 350 ships into the waters of the ocean, a fire broke out and only a hundred or so ships managed to escape into the depths of the planet’s ocean.  Radar did not detect these craft because the home world had miniaturized the attacking ships.  Size did not matter to the success of this mission. 
Once in the water, Phase II of the operation commenced.
After some confusion, the commander was able to rally the ships into a recognizable formation and require them to adopt the disguise of small marine crustaceans that abounded in plenty in these northern waters.  In looking over the remnants of the squadron, the commander found it hard to distinguish his ships from the other crustaceans that frequented the same waters.  That settled, the commander began preparations for activating the Incubula.  This incubula, once activated and dispersed through the atmosphere of the planet, would carry the seeds of destruction for every living being on the planet.  Then, his fellow travelers from home could make the journey and colonize the planet in earnest.
As the commander began to prepare to give the activation orders, he noticed that the formation was becoming very ragged.  He gave orders for the ships to align in a chevron formation.
All of a sudden, the command ship began to roll and it tumbled through a fine mesh-like affair.  Then the ship and all the other ships of the squadron traveled down a long dark space.  The occupants of the craft began to scream as a powerful acid ate through the walls of each ship dissolving it.  All the ships were destroyed before the incubula could be activated.  The mission had failed.
The planet, that its occupants called Earth, was saved.
The two whales swam side by side.  One whale let out a powerful belch.
“What’s the matter?” one whale asked.
“Dunno, must have been a bad bunch of krill.”
“Do you think they could have been something else?”
“If it was, it was something very similar to it.” 
The End

LOL! In war, you have to expect losses, however, in my book, REDEMPTION, my protagonist, Harry Miles attains a great victory in combat then manages to turn that victory into defeat.

You can check it out here.

https://geni.us/HarryMiles

Shit Happens

Shit Happens

By

Ed Benjamin

You know as well as I do that Life Happens no matter what.

The key most people agree is what YOU DO WITH IT.

I have a character in my book, Redemption, Sam Ryan, who had the distinction of being the second youngest guest in the infamous Hoa Lo Prison in Hanoi, North Vietnam during the Southeast Asia conflict. Known as the “Hanoi Hilton,” it’s the place where North Vietnam kept many American Prisoners of War (POWs).

As part of Sam’s back story, when Sam was the Captain of his High School football team, his coach used to egg the players on with the phrase, “Shit Happens, but life goes on.”

Sam adopted that phrase while he enlisted in the Air Force during boot camp and when he became a tail gunner on a B-52H strategic bomber dropping bombs over North Vietnam.

After his release from captivity, Sam limped due to an argument he had with a guard at the Hanoi Hilton – the guard won by smacking against Sam’s knee with a stick.

The Air Force assigned him to aircraft maintenance and Sam spent the remainder of his 30 years’ service fixing airplanes. All the maintenance people he supervised got to know the phrase, “Shit Happens, but life goes on.”

He used that phrase to egg them on to better performance fixing airplanes.

After Sam retired and opened a small automotive repair shop in the Hill Country of Texas, a friend talks Sam into trying to resurrect a devastated former Air Force TOP GUN fighter pilot who spiraled downward into an abyss of hopelessness and alcohol abuse.

Will Sam’s “Shit Happens, but life goes on” mantra help Harry to regain his soul? Or will something else happen?

Will Harry gain Redemption?

Well, I hope I have spiked your curiosity to find out.

You can order the book at this link here  

By the way, if you are a member of the Kindle Unlimited program, you can read this siory for free on Kindle Unlimited – the link is on the sales page. Thank you for reading

Ed

Letters of Room 13

The Letters of Room 13 will grab your soul

This remarkable book engages the reader from the very beginning. Simply stated, these letters will grab your soul.  The author recounts the transformative experience of people who have occupied Room 13 of a resort/business center simply called The Centre.

All the guests of Room 13 come from different backgrounds and the experiences they undergo cause important, cathartic, life-changing changes in their lives. The changes the people undergo are painful for some, but every night in the room results in a in-depth reframing for the occupant. Each person comes to grip with an deep facet of his or her personality and finds the night metamorphic as they emerge with a new understanding of life.

In one sense, this is a fantasy since the room always appeared appointed with the furnishings, and accoutrements necessary to create the ambiance to enhance and effect the psychic change.  

The author has undoubtably performed an extensive amount of research and her clear, positive style makes it easy for the reader to understand.

I was heartened by the hint on the last page that a sequel may be forthcoming. I can’t wait!

Obviously I highly recommend everyone, regardless of their taste in books, buy and read this book.  

Santa Claus

Santa Claus

by

Ed Benjamin

©1995, ©2013 & ©2019

When Sam Graham got off the bus in Central City; he felt  the cold wind whip around his body, fluttering his clothes. Sam turned the collar of his overcoat up so his ears and the back of his head were protected from the fierce, frigid wind. Kneeling against the pull, he picked up his bag and walked to a nondescript brownstone hotel on First Avenue.

Sam quickly went inside and registered, paid one week’s rent in advance, then hurriedly went up to his room on the seventh floor. Inside his drab hotel room, he sat on the single bed and fingered a loose ringlet in the corded bed cover. After some time, he reached into his pocket and laid a ten-dollar bill, two ones, and some change neatly on the bed.  He stared at the money for what felt like a long time.

As he unpacked his bag, Sam took a bottle of pills and placed them in the top drawer of the bedside dresser.  Once completely unpacked, he left his room and got a hamburger from a little place he had passed down the street. When he returned, he pulled out the bottle of pills and placed them on top of the dresser so he could study them as he lay on the bed. In the neon flicker of the hotel sign, he stared at the bottle until his eyes drifted shut. Soon after, Sam fell asleep.

The only job he could find was playing Santa Claus in a local department store. Every morning Sam would rise at ten, wash up, and go to the store to start his long shift.  He ate at the lunch counter. Fortunately, lunch came with the job. Afterwards, he would change into his big red suit, sit in the chair next to the toy department, and listen to the excited voices of the children at his arrival.

Although he wasn’t a particularly zealous Santa Claus, the children seemed to like him, so the store manager kept him on. The holiday season would be over in two weeks anyway, and help at a minimum wage was hard to find this time of year.

At nine every night, Sam would change back into his street clothes and stop somewhere to eat on his walk back to his room. Once his belly was full of cheap diner food, he would return to his room and lie on the bed. His eyes never left that bottle of pills until sleep forced them to close.

On the third day of his seasonal job, Sam met Joey. Joey was one of many kids in line waiting to see Santa. When it came to be his turn, Joey climbed into Sam’s lap and didn’t say anything. Sam guessed Joey was about seven years old, and he had short black hair and gloomy brown eyes. His clothes were typical for the neighborhood: faded jeans, wool plaid shirt, and a zip-up windbreaker with a patch on the left sleeve. Sam didn’t think much about the boy who just sat there silently in his lap for ten minutes. Sam went through his usual lines of dialogue, but nothing provoked a response from Joey.  Getting tired of the boy, Sam gently guided the boy from his lap and sent him on his way. Wordlessly, Joey walked off, and the next child in line came forward.  That night, Sam could feel the warmth from the boy’s body on his knees as he lay there looking at the bottle.  For a moment, something stirred in his memory as he looked out the window. His gaze shifted back to the pills before he went to sleep.

The next day, Joey was back in line.

“Ho-ho-ho, what’s your name, little boy?” Sam asked the still outwardly meek child as he climbed up into Santa’s lap.

As he did the day before, Joey said nothing. He just sat there. Again, after a few minutes, Sam brushed Joey off his lap to keep the line moving.

And, like a bad rerun no one asked for, Joey was back in line the very next day. Trying to stay in character and not let his frustrations show, Sam asked for the little boy’s name.

“Joey,” the boy finally answered.

Surprised, Sam followed up with, “How old are you, son?”

“Seven.”

“What do you want for Christmas?”

Instead of answering, Joey just climbed out of Sam’s lap and walked away. Beyond confused, Sam watched him leave through the side door. Sam also noticed something else that raised many questions in his own head – Joey was always alone.

The next day,  Sam asked the store manager if he knew anything about a shy boy named Joey.  The manager said he didn’t. On this day, Joey didn’t show up until almost closing time. Again, he didn’t speak. He just sat there on Sam’s lap, resting his weary head on Sam’s silken arm. Since there was no one else in line, Sam let him stay.

When the store started to close, Joey got down and started to walk away. As Sam left his chair to go change, he noticed the young boy had stopped in the toy department to look at some footballs.  Sam changed quickly and rushed to the side door where Joey had exited and rushed out into the street.  Straining his eyes in the streetlight, he thought he saw Joey at the end of the block. Sam hurried to the corner. But when he got there, Joey was nowhere in sight.

That night, Sam didn’t take the bottle of pills out of the dresser. He lay there gazing out the window. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the echoed harmony of Christmas carolers.  It sounded like a recording being played over the loudspeakers of some store.  Funny, he hadn’t noticed it before.

On Monday, he went in to work early. In the toy department, he bought a football and a board game. With the last bit of change in his pocket, he bought a pair of woolen gloves. The lady at Customer Service didn’t charge him extra for wrapping the items. After all, he was Santa Claus.  When they were wrapped, he put them in a brown paper bag and headed to his station to start his shift.

As expected, Joey came in around six o’clock that evening. There were several children ahead of him in line, so he turned and left. Sam was going to call out, but Joey was already gone. At eight o’clock, Joey came back and did his silent routine. When he got off Sam’s lap to leave, Sam handed him the paper bag. Without a word, Joey took the bag and left.

The next day was Christmas Eve. Sam had changed his clothes early because the store was closing at six o’clock. Dusk settled in deep among the cold city streets and alleyways. 

Done with his shift, Sam was walking out of the store when a small, thin woman pulled at his coat sleeve.

“Mister,” she said, “are you Santa Claus?”

She was about forty years old. Her black hair was disheveled and tinged with grey strands, her eyes rimmed in dark, saggy skin.

“Yes… I mean, I was,” Sam answered.

The streetlight seemed to make the scar on her upper lip glisten when she talked. “I just wanted to say thank you. I’m Joey’s mother.”

“It’s all right,” he said, warmed slightly from her earnest words. “I did it for me., mostly.”

When Sam got back to his room, he took the bottle of pills out of the bedside drawer and flushed its contents down the drain. 

Bathed in neon light, Sam smiled and thought, “Maybe next year, somebody will need a Santa Claus.”                                       

                                                                      The End

I hope you enjoyed this story. 

It has been around for some time. I like to share it every year.

If you are interested, I do have other publications, which I sell through various retailers such as Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Apple, and others

You can access these stories by searching for my name “Ed Benjamin” at the various venues.

Ed

Messenger of God Iran Attacks

I am not sure anyone reads this but I do want to announce my nesest story.

It is called MESSENGER OF GOD: IRAN ATTACKS. If there is interest, I plan to start a series and this will be Episode One.

If this launches, I will hopefully find an incentive to finish my book via a series of episodes.

You can buy the story below.

Yeah, this is shameless self-promotion.

The Two Iranian Air Forces

The Two Iranian Air Forces

When researching my book, “Redemption,” I noted Iran has two air forces. The Iranian Air Force serves as an element of the Iranian armed forces to conduct military operations in time of war and support the armed forces in defending Iran’s borders and maintaining internal order. The Aerospace Force of Army of the Guardians of the Islamic Revolution (the Revolutionary Guards Air Branch) possesses a political mission — to protect the country’s Islamic Republic system and other missions, as determined by Iran’s Supreme Leader.

The Revolutionary Guards Air Branch draws its members from the elite of the Iranian Air Force who have proven their loyalty to the Islamic government. The Aerospace Force of the Army of the Guardians of the Islamic Revolution is the air force within the Army of the Guardians of the Islamic Revolution (also known as the Islamic Revolutionary Guards or “Revolutionary Guards”).

The Revolutionary Guards Aerospace Forces operate on a parallel basis and shares facilities with the regular Iranian Air Force; but it is not an equal relationship. Members of the Revolutionary Guards have the better planes and receive higher priorities for parts and materials. The government also pays its members more than the regular Iranian Air Force pays members of equivalent rank. The members of the Revolutionary Guards Aerospace Forces also receive better housing and perks than the members of the regular Iranian Air Force.

Each of the two Iranian air forces have a mix of some very effective aircraft, but as I am writing my book, I decided to use literary license and provide the Revolutionary Guards Aerospace Forces with a fourth generation highly effective fighter, the Su-27 fighter, NATO code-named “Flanker” to engage in combat with the F-15C fighter.

I have also fashioned an excerpt from the book into an eBook short story entitled, “Mar, A Harry Miles Redemption Story.” Mar is the Farsi name for “snake.” It describes maneuvers Mar uses while flying his Su-27 and gives you some insight to his character.

If you are interested in reading this eBook story, you can find it on Amazon and other online retailers.

A link to all online retailers may be found here:
https://www.books2read.com/u/boZrAV

For Amazon only, click below.

https://tinyurl.com/ycey32hz

The Lost Prologue

The Lost Prologue

Sometimes you just pick something floating in the air.

I have been involved in a six year quest to finish a book-length novel as a sequel to my novella, Harry’s War. I have vacillated back and forth with this story in my head for six years and stopped writing it for several reasons … telling myself I was busy with my technical writing career, allowing the local writing community to convince me my writing did not measure up, feeling sorry for myself because I am such a terrible writer, etc.

I finally ended up with a 250 plus page draft and hired an expensive substantive editor to critique it. After seeing over half of my 250 pages dismissed as chaff to the story and sulking over it for the last three or four months, I am now engaged in repairing my story and even accepting most of her suggestions.

I’ve found writing, even my technical writing, is as Thomas Edison put it, “98 percent perspiration and 2 percent inspiration.”

Sometimes, however, as I am pretending to write with my two fingers valiantly banging away at my keyboard, something just seems to float out of the air and find its way into my story.

One such thing is the prologue I drafted to start my book. It may not make it in the book because of another suggestion by my editor to add a chapter she deleted as the prologue instead of this one. If I kept both, I thought it may be awkward.

If I deleted it, the prologue would to end up in the graveyard of broken dreams somewhere within my computer files never seen by the eyes of humankind.

Whether or not it makes it into the final version of the book, here is the prologue I saw floating in the air one day, and I reached out and pulled it into my story.

By publishing it here on my blog, I at least know it will not become lost.

————————————————————————————

Our Story Begins

One of those moments existing in a different world…a netherworld. Some would say the space, the silence existing between life and death. Others would disagree and state it was just one millisecond of time where the soul considers its own existence—a silence seeming to stretch out and last an eternity. In the grand scheme of things, the nothingness existing only a fraction of a second… This dot of time, an infinitesimal portrait of life – where decisions are made, mind precedes matter, time seems to stand still, and decisions inalterably change the destiny of a soul.

Within the bowels of one of those tiniest, microscopic moments, our story begins.

————————————————————————————–

Thank you for reading it.

Sincerely,

Ed

Jo Nesbo’s MacBeth – My Two Cents

Normally I. would not place z post on my website reviewing a book, but MacBeth by Jo Nesbo is extraordinary. After I read the book and went to post a review on
Amazon, I noticed a great many people had panned the book giving it 2 or 3 star reviews.

While I appreciate everyone is entitled to their own opinion, I believe many missed the point of the book. The publisher has indicated they are focused on asking current best-selling authors to retell Shakespeare’s plays in modern terms. Jo Nesbo has performed a credible job in retelling “MacBeth” and setting it in a Norwegian village in the 1970s.

Before I read Jo Nesbo’s version, I went and reviewed a detailed summery of the Shakespeare play several times so I could get the sequencing of events down. Mr. Nesbo did a great job of adapting the tale to late1970s Norway.

In large part, the events in the book parallel the events in the play. So, any criticism of Mr. Nesbo’s plotting must apply equally to William Shakespeare.

This is my two cents worth

Tight Writing

I just finished reading “The Wanted” by Robert Crais.

As I reflected on the book, I realized the one thing that kept me coming back to his books was his ability to express himself and to convey emotions with sparse, condensed text. His plotting is good but most books by traditionally published authors have good plots.

When I think about what I call ‘tight writing,’ another author comes to mind.

I have read just about every word John Sanford has written and I believe he is another author who believes in ‘tight’ writing. I do know Mr. Sanford was a Pulitzer prize winning reporter in another life, so undoubtedly, that’s the source of his ability.

Think about it! Which authors grab you as purveyors of tight prose? Does their writing drag you into the story?

I’ve just reviewed some pages I have written for my forthcoming book to check my ‘tight’ writing. Rewrites coming up.

I hope this post was ‘tight’ enough.

Until next time,

Ed

Welcome to My Posts

Hello, welcome to my little place on the World Wide Web, EdBenjaminBooks.com.

I am a 78 year old retired member of the United States Air Force and operate a one person business to help companies get business with federal, state and local governments.

I am also a fiction and nonfiction writer and I love the idea of  writing and self-publishing books for my readers to enjoy. I am now branching out into the morass of the Internet to let m ore people know about my writing and hopefully attract new readers.

I wish my grandchildren didn’t live so far away, then maybe they could teach me more about how to manage and publish this website.

I do have to admit after spending a week or so how to figure out to publish a page, I do feel a certain sense of accomplishment when something works.

I hope to be publishing posts of interest to you. I have a Contact Me page and if you have a comment on my posts, I am looking forward to seeing it.

I am trying to figure out how to link a mailing list to my site. It is now UNDER CONSTRUCTION.