In Here We Go Again,
I talked briefly about the necessary sacrifices that have to be made when
editing a larger book into a trilogy. One of those sacrifices is the occasional
scene which has to be cut in order to make the book work better in its new
format.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to cut many scenes at all from
Pegasus Falling. True, entire chapters were excised, but they will appear in
book two, so all is not lost. But there were one or two scenes which ended up
on the cutting room floor, so to speak. As their absence is intended to improve
the book rather than detract, that’s not to say that they were no good. Indeed,
in some cases it was a bit of a wrench making the decision to pull them. One passage in
particular springs to mind.
Any author / editor / reader will tell you that the opening passages of a book are hugely important in getting the reader on board. First impressions, and all that. The opening chapter of Pegasus
Falling is actually chapter six of The
Cypress Branches. I was very aware that this chapter was never written with
the intention of opening a book and in my opinion, the opening couple of scenes didn’t
have the snappiness needed to hook the reader straight away.
The opening scene is, of itself, not a bad scene. Set in the
Ops room during the operation briefing just before Sammy’s battalion is
deployed to Arnhem, it sets the scene well for the coming action. It was our
first glimpse of Sammy, who, being the awkward bugger he is, asks some
pertinent questions. It also opens with some army badinage and boyish humour
which was undoubtedly fun for William to write. But as I read through the manuscript, it was clear that it just didn’t have the flair needed to get the
reader’s pulse going.
So, the difficult decision was made to delete it from the
final draft. Also deleted was a short introduction to the Doorns, the family
whose house is commandeered by the paratroopers with such devastating effect.
Again, well written, nice to have, but not a great way in to a novel. There was
no information in there absolutely necessary for the reader to understand the
novel. So, that too went.
Am I comfortable with that decision? Yes. Because I’m
certain that if William had been involved in the decision, he would have come
to a similar, if not the same conclusion as me. He may well have gone away and re-written it to
make it more of an opening scene. But under the circumstances, that just wasn’t
an option.
Here are the scenes, as originally written with just a light copy-edit and proofing. These scenes were
immediately followed by what has now become the opening to
Pegasus Falling.
Have a look at the new opening (you can use
Amazon’s Look Inside feature or download the ebook preview at
Goodreads) and I think you’ll agree it was a good decision.
The battalion assembled in the ops room for the operation
briefing. A long trestle table stood upon a dais behind which sat a group of
officers; the battalion commander, a major from army intelligence, a RAF
meteorologist and a captain from the Pathfinder Company. The wall backstage was
concealed behind curtains. Captain Stan Parker, Sammy to his men, sat among the
babbling paratroopers, forearms on knees, staring at the floor. He was already
bored by the whole affair. He looked up as the voice cut through his musing.
‘Right! Come to order and pay attention, the sooner we get through here, the
sooner we can get away...’ He wondered why intelligence officers appeared to
have a gift for making the crassly obvious sound like intuition. ‘Curtains
please!’ The drapes covering the wall were drawn back to reveal a large map.
‘Right!’ The officer approached the map and tapped it with a long wooden cue.
‘Operation Market Garden!’ He looked around at the sea of faces. ‘Now, why do
you think this operation has been given such a name?’
‘The NAAFI’s run out of water
cress?’
‘No, Jerry’s developed a new
pilotless cucumber to attack London
with.’
‘Doodlecumbers, they call
‘em...deadly.’
‘They ain’t cucumbers really,
they’re dildos. They want to attack the moral fibre of our women.’
‘Why? Are we falling down on the
job?’
‘Fallin’ down, that’s a good’n.’
‘Alright, alright!’ He waited for
the laughter to subside. ‘It is because it will take place in Holland, a country famous for market
gardening.’
‘‘Olland’s more famous for gin,
why didn’t they call it Operation Mother’s Ruin?’
‘SHUT...UP!’ The battalion
commander, Lieutenant Colonel John ‘Jack’ Frost, gave them one of his iciest
looks. ‘Right, Major, get on with it, and stop asking silly bloody questions.’
‘Right, Sir. Now, Operation
Market Garden is a plan devised by the high command to speed up the Allied
advance into Germany
by forcing a crossing of the Rhine. As you
will see from this map, the main front is very broad, stretching from
here...all the way up to...here. The plan is a bold one. British XXXth Corps,
under the command of Lieutenant General Sir Brian Horrocks, will smash through Holland up to...here,
crossing into Germany
proper...here. Any questions so far?’
‘Where do we come in?’
‘HERE!’ someone shouted.
‘Yeah, why are all the towns in Holland called “Here”?’
‘Now come on, lads.’ The troops
settled. ‘OK. Crucial to this plan is the capture, intact, of three bridges.
The first across the Meuse, or Maas as the
Dutch prefer to call it...’
‘They don’t prefer it, they just
can’t bloody say it, it’s double Dutch to them.’
‘...the second across the Queen
Wilhelmine canal near Eindhoven...’
‘HERE!’ they chorused.
‘...and the last across the lower
Rhine at Arnhem...’
‘HERE!’
The officers on stage could
barely contain their laughter as the hapless major pressed on. ‘The first two
bridges have been assigned to our American comrades-in-arms, the Eighty Second
Airborne. The last, and most crucial, the bridge at Arnhem, is assigned to
First Airborne. The American One Hundred and First Airborne division will be
dropped er...here, to take Eindhoven,
secure the road to Grave and contain any German counter attack.’ The major
placed his pointer on the table and sat down.
The colonel rose and looked at
his men. ‘Right, lads, you’ve heard the plan, are there any questions before
the major goes on to detail our part in this?’
‘Where’s the DZ?’
‘We are coming to that
now...Major.’
‘Right Sir, next map please...OK,
here is your objective, the bridge over the Lower Rhine
at Arnhem. The
main assault is by First Brigade, reinforced on days two and three by the Poles
and the Gliders. It will establish a salient on the north bank of the river
against enemy counter attack whilst you, Two Para, take and hold the bridge
until the tanks of the Guards Armoured Division reach you. Divisional HQ will
be established in the village
of Oosterbeek, here. As
you can see, once XXXth Corps is over the bridge, they have a straight run
across open flat terrain into the industrial heart of Germany, driving
down...here, into the Rühr, thus encircling the enemy in a giant pincer
movement.’
‘Yeah, but where’s the poxy DZ?’
‘The three brigades will drop...’
He hesitated then tapped the map rapidly with his pointer, indicating the three
dropping zones. ‘Second Battalion will muster just west of Oosterbeek.’ He
tapped the map again.
‘That looks miles from that
bridge, what’s the scale?’
‘It’s twelve kilometres, eight
miles, give or take.’
‘Eight miles? Give or take what?
We’ve got a route march just to reach our objective?’
‘Yeah right, what’s the point
being a para? We might just as well have stayed in the poxy infantry.’
‘What’s stopping us getting
closer to that bridge then, mountains?’
‘The planners considered the
possibility of the Division being scattered on both sides of the river. It is
imperative that we secure a bridgehead on the north bank. So they deliberately
chose a site a little inland of the river.’
‘A little inland? Eight miles?’
‘It’s a good job they didn’t go
over the top yanto, mate or we’d be taking fucking Berlin.’
Sammy raised his hand. ‘Yes,
Captain.’ The major sounded relieved. ‘You have a question?’
‘Intelligence report.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Intelligence report. This is the
third of these junkets I’ve attended and we always have an intelligence report,
you know, enemy dispositions, local hazards, anything which may be of use to a
bunch of blokes dropping in on a place they have never seen in their lives.
What opposition can we expect?’ The major looked at the colonel, uncertain how
to proceed.
The colonel stood. ‘British
Intelligence reports nothing unusual for an operation of this nature. Arnhem is somewhat off
the beaten track. There is a small garrison here, at Elst, and a larger one
here, at Apeldoorn. The Germans will not expect such an audacious assault and
we do, of course, have the element of surprise.’
Sammy nodded. Surprise, after an
air armada of hundreds of planes has spent three days crossing the north sea
and most of Holland and thirty thousand paratroops and gliders have drifted
gracefully to earth in broad daylight, ten thousand of them a full two hours
march from their target, he thought. ‘It had occurred to me, Sir, that if we
can see the strategic advantage of crossing the Rhine at Arnhem, it may just
have occurred to Jerry. But then again...’ He hesitated as he silently
considered the prospect. “Nothing unusual for an operation of this nature”,
probably means they will kick the shit out of us. ‘...you mentioned only
British intelligence, Sir, how about reports from Dutch resistance?’
‘I am not aware of any reports
from that quarter, Captain Parker.’ Sammy nodded and returned his gaze to the
floor. ‘Right, we have just to hear from the pathfinders and the Met boys, then
you can get a good night’s rest before we kick Jerry’s arse this one last time.
Good luck, lads.’ The colonel raised his fist. ‘Geronimo!’
‘GERONIMO!’ they chorused
exultantly.
Jan Doorn lived with his wife Marie and daughter Druschke in
a large house close to the bridge which carried the road across the Nieder Rijn
from the village of Oosterbeek to the city of Arnhem and onward across open
country to the German border. He came to the village when his father, a doctor,
opened a general practice and surgery there. As a child he played by the river,
fishing and rafting often following it to its confluence with the river Ijsel.
He met his wife, a student of Fine Arts, at the university
of Utrecht where, like
his father, he studied medicine. The couple fell in love and after graduating,
married and came to live in the house of Jan’s parents. He assisted in the
practice and when his father died, the couple assumed the mantle of village
doctor and wife. The invasion of the Low Countries
in 1940, the air onslaught upon Rotterdam
and the brutal persecution and deportation of Dutch Jews and forced labourers
made Jan Doorn implacably bitter toward the Germans. His outspoken criticism
caused his wife much concern and she was grateful there was no German garrison
in Oosterbeek.
‘You should be more careful, Jan,
you know how touchy they are, especially now that the second front has opened.’
He looked at his wife, waving his
hand defiantly. ‘That’s where they belong, over there in Germany, those
swine. They have no place here and the sooner they go home the better. If they
had any sense they would leave now before the Allies get here.’
‘Geography was never your strong
point, Jan, was it?’ She laughed as she spoke. ‘This country is crisscrossed by
rivers and dikes and most of it is below sea level, the Bosche can inundate us
any time they choose. There are only three bridges of any size between here and
the Flemish border and all can be blown. Why else would the Bosche have chosen
to build that huge rest and refit depot over at Elst? No, my love, the Allies
won’t come this way. We will be liberated only after they are beaten and a good
thing too.’
He stared at her aghast. ‘Marie!
How can you say such a thing? Do you like having them here?’
She smiled patiently. ‘You are
such a sentimental fool, my darling. We are a tiny country with an ocean of
water to the west and an ocean
of Teutons to the east
and we shall always be at the mercy of both, for our survival depends on them.
What difference does it make if they stay a few more months if it means sparing
our country the devastation which has already befallen France and Belgium?’
He shook his head in
bewilderment. ‘I shall never understand you, Marie.’ He smiled at her tenderly.
‘Perhaps that’s why I love you so much...Now, I have to make a few calls. With
luck I shall be back in time for dinner.’
‘But Jan, it is Sunday, for God’s
sake.’
‘It is always Sunday, for God’s
sake, my love.’
He was still laughing at his own
joke as he rode off on his bicycle.
Labels: chapter one, Cypress Branches, editing, how to begin a book, how to start a novel, opening lines to a novel, opening scenes, Pegasus Falling, self publishing, self-publishing, William, William E. Thomas, writing