Monday, March 11, 2013

My Red Cross by Kev Richardson
Historical, 452 pages
Cover art by Trisha FitzGerald


A Red Cross Agent in occupied France juggles peoples' heartbreak with Nazi officialdom, dances with Gestapo capers while trying to balance belligerence.

A journey through homesickness? This love or that love? Evaluating importunity and running red lights on conscience?

A tale of learning to cope with false friendship, stumbling through intrigue, discovering where acting crumbles and bravery blossoms?

I was utterly dumbfounded.

Do I suddenly like and admire this guy? Or is he a Goebbels disciple with the gift of influencing millions? Bloody hell. Am I an Englishman in this war or a neutral? And can Germany, or Nazism, win this war anyway?

At least I don't have to commit one way or the other. All he's done is ask a question. Should I agree, if only to stop his pestering, then I break my first RC vow. Yet nor do I want to agree or disagree with him. I need him onside so I can do my job properly. Anyway, his entire concept is based on an 'if'. 'If' Germany wins the war! And bloody Christ, I don't want that to even be part of my consideration, let alone a forecast!

My mind was in a whirl, yet not such that I thought his offer worth even a smidge of consideration. It was preposterous. Yet I envied the fellow having a faith in which he could envisage such a future. Yet a blind faith. Faith of an indoctrinated mind. Ill-considered and dangerous.

I just want to quickly get out of this little anteroom-through those curtains that suddenly make it claustrophobic. I just want quickly out of this impossible situation he is trying to embroil me in.

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