Sowerbutt's Fire

The fire that Tipper lit under the gas pipe in the empty building had done the trick. A column of blue and yellow flames shot into the air.

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Sowerbutt's File

“The history of the British people must uplifting and glorious,” Churchill said. “All these murky messages, these dark secrets must be buried forever. Entomb them in your file, Brendan, and pray that they remain untouched by any future hand.”

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Sowerbutt's Generals

Churchill sat at the large table, strewn with maps. “Do they think they outrank me? The generals believe they are a law unto themselves and not subject to the will of His Majesty’s duly-elected Government."

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Sowerbutt's Coffin

A curious assortment of eyes watched the coffin being lowered into the grave at the cemetery, a stone’s throw from Mile End Road in London’s East End, still flattened after the recent war.
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Sowerbutt's Request

The Brigadier said: "I must ask you to keep all the events of the last few hours strictly to yourself. As a serving member of His Majesty’s Armed Forces, you are subject to all the provisions of the Official Secrets Act of 1911."
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Sowerbutt's Parachutist

The 55-year-old stopped, almost dropping his Boer War-issue Lee Enfield rifle. “Gawd’s sake, it’s a bleeding parachutist. Must be a Jerry invader.” 
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Sowerbutt's Guards

The airfield was sealed tight with men watching Faldo Road, strung along the boundary tracks, stationed in Brooke End Green Farm where the elderly farmer had pocketed a tenner for his troubles and in the seven pill boxes thrown up hurriedly a few weeks earlier.
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Sowerbutt's instructions

Spaghetti grinned: “Who’s the VIP, guv? Must be somebody important to go to all this fuss. And they told you to shoot to kill if necessary with any intruders."
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Sowerbutt's Message

Brendan Bracken said: “The messenger also brought a message from El Caudillo that he is prepared to fly to London to mediate an end to the war.”

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Sowerbutt's Whale

The pink whale sank below the waves again. Seconds ticked by, then Churchill erupted again from the soapy water, spluttering and sending water splashing over the sides of the tub onto the thick towels.

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Sowerbutt's Bombs

Sowerbutt buried himself in the Mirror, reading several letters calling for reprisal air raids against Berlin. “Teach the Jerries a lesson they won’t forget,” said one. “I want 100 dead Jerries to make up for my darling Peter,” said another.

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Sowerbutt's Sarcasm

“Impressed on all my friends, old boy, that Luton has the best pubs. Rustic charm, good whiskey and friendly natives,” the military man smiled. “What do they say, John? Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” Sowerbutt replied. 

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Sowerbutt's Fire

Shapiro watched goggle-eyed as Tipper lit a twist of cloth and tossed it towards a pool of paraffin not far from the sacks of fertiliser. He later told Sowerbutt he was not sure who made the yard door first, he had never expected the fat little man to move so fast.

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Sowerbutt's Stubble

Sowerbutt slowly opened his razor-sharp clasp-knife and began shaving stubble from the shaking teacher’s face. 
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Sowerbutt's Blade

Sowerbutt ran the needle-sharp point of the blade across the teacher’s exposed throat, leaving a thin red line in its wake. 
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Sowerbutt's Guard

Tipper snapped at the guard: “You can pace up and down, you can smoke, you can take a piss, but you will not leave your post.”
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Sowerbutt's Resort

The Coronel smiled. “Benidorm will become the holiday capital of Europe. Your English factories are working again, as are the French and even the Germans with all their damned American money. The workers want their sun, their San Miguel and, above all, their sex.”

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Sowerbutt's Theft

The Englishman palmed his razor-sharp claspknife and tapped it on his leg; he remembered lifting it years earlier from a girl guide during a brief encounter at Poplar Rec. 
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Sowerbutt's Resort

The Coronel smiled. “With your help, Benidorm will become the holiday capital of Europe. Your English factories are working again, as are the French and even the Germans with all their damned American money. The workers want their sun, their San Miguel and, above all, their sex.”

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Sowerbutt's Body

The smoking body swayed in the light wind, the billowing parachute above shielding what had happened from the Heinkel 111 bomb-aimer, peering through the Plexiglas several thousand feet above.
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Sowerbutt's Letters

By the time the body hit the roadway with a sickening crunch, the letters and other papers secured in a calfskin pouch hanging around the dead man’s neck had burnt to ash.
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Sowerbutt's Sentry

A khaki figure appeared out of the dark, puffing and swearing to himself. “Can’t see my bleeding hand in front of my face in this blackout,” Lance-Corporal Alf Duggett of the Hyde Home Guard muttered.
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Sowerbutt's Visitor

The 55-year-old stopped, almost dropping his Boer War-issue Lee Enfield rifle. “Gawd’s sake, it’s a bleeding parachutist. Must be a Jerry invader.” 
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Sowerbutt's Secret

The Brigadier said: "I must ask you to keep all the events of the last few hours strictly to yourself. As a serving member of His Majesty’s Armed Forces, you are subject to all the provisions of the Official Secrets Act of 1911."
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Sowerbutt's Parachutist

A mile or two to the north of the Leather Bottle, an SS Brigadefuhrer, also dressed in Luftwaffe overalls, had landed safely in a small meadow near the River Lea.
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Sowerbutt's Grave

A curious assortment of eyes watched the coffin being lowered into the grave at the cemetery, a stone’s throw from Mile End Road in London’s East End, still flattened after the recent war.
https://www.amazon.com/Colour-Red-Deal-Sowerbutt-Novels-ebook/dp/B00RL9FGKM? 

Sowerbutt's Rank

Churchill sat at the large table, strewn with maps. “Do they think they outrank me? The generals believe they are a law unto themselves and not subject to the will of His Majesty’s duly-elected Government."

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Sowerbutt's Flight

Brendan Bracken said: “The messenger also brought a message from El Caudillo that he is prepared to fly to London to mediate an end to the war.”

https://www.amazon.com/Colour-Red-Deal-Sowerbutt-Novels-ebook/dp/B00RL9FGKM?