Monday, 19 November 2018

Start Here

Horst, bleeding from his wounds thrust the gun into my hand, gasping for each breath as if each where to be his last, "You have to write a blog..." he uttered.

"What? Why?" I began to ask, but it was too late, Horst had expired at my feet.

I grabbed the car keys from his pocket, fired off a couple of rounds at our unseen enemies in the swirling fog, and ran to the Lancia.

What did he mean - write a blog? There was only one way to find out. I fired up the engine, and jabbed at the accelerator.