After a few delays, I’m posting the next two chapters on consecutive days, as together they’re over 2,000 words… short chapter today.
I’m still juggling life problems, so it’s been tough writing my next Freedom Flights episode. I’m aiming to post it by the end of the month.
Now enjoy another Fevered Fuse chapter. Links to previous chapters can be found via my updated Snowdon Shadows page on the left-hand sidebar.
*Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome.
FEVERED FUSE
A Snowdon Shadows Mystery
by
Roland Clarke
(Police Procedural Fiction)
***
Chapter Four
Revenge
Friday 1st April 2016
Images, memories flicker on the edge of my mind as I skim stones.
The smell of musk and jasmine.
A name hovers out of reach as warmth floods my chest, and invisible fingers tease my body.
Someone I loved. I stare at a white mark on my finger. From a ring? Am I married?
My first love?
I tap my bracer, and letters tumble out.
Gwawr had signed ‘Enigma Code’. A nudge – a clue.
C for Cryptology – my Cryptograph. My weird juggling of the initial letters of clues to get an acronym.
But who hovers in my past?
B for Bran Blevins – my secondary school’s star rugby player.
Sunlight scatters across the llŷn.
Bran was not the first. Not musk and jasmine.
N for Nerys.
Nerys Jernigan kissed me – another girl. We fell in love. Shared lips and secret fondles.
Faced our fears and the taunts. Who realised? I knew how to stay low-key – as a Goth. My identity – at first.
Nobody discovered my first tattoo – or even the second. Except Nerys.
But we were outed by the bullies. C for Cadell.
Cadell Pryce, the choirboy-look-alike from Hell with the manic smile. He wielded the school bullies like a gang leader. They called us ‘dykes.’ D for Dykes and Degenerates.
A threat we thwarted. O for Outsiders and Organised.
My defiant words echo in my head.
“We have to stand up to them, resist—”
R for Resist and Rebels.
Nerys persuaded me to teach our friends Jiu-Jitsu.
At first, the situation didn’t escalate.
The bullies were suspicious. They sensed the change. We stuck together whenever we could – deterrence. Created a Goth patrol. Stalemate for a few weeks.
Our black garb spread, as did our concealed thorny-rose tattoos.
Mine is visible now on my naked ankle. I caress my rose, remembering fingers tracing its leaves. My caresses climb up my legs, between my thighs – until I shiver.
A chill wind stirs the lake, fractures the peace, shatters the calm. It disturbs my lonely urges. I tremble and glance around.
Can’t I have such drives? What do I need?
Water calms me – cools my confused feelings. Another swim.
Swimming in a lake is safe – safer than a pool.
The stink of chlorine makes me shudder and remember.
Bodies bomb me, hands grab me, push me underwater. That acrid taste fills my mouth. I lash out. Wriggle free – but no escape.
Dive deeper and away.
They follow. Trapping me with their bodies and arms. I can’t breathe. Water engulfs me. My vision glazes – after I see a leering face.
A black arrow darts past – grapples with an attacker. Then another arrow shoots past.
Hands pull me onto the side. Lips reviving me.
Is that a tongue?
Focus through the fog. Musk and jasmine disperse chlorine. The tongue is teasing and tasty. I want more.
We made time for more – three weeks of passion on the beach. Secret and forbidden.
Forbidden in the Welsh chapel eyes of my nain and taid.
Something, someone, forced us apart. Changed us.
I shudder and clutch my body, pressing my left breast to calm my pounding heart. Through tears, I remember my taid’s words. ‘In the eyes of the Lord, we can’t be the judges. But our reputation in the community.’ I perjured myself in the eyes of God. I pretended to like a guy.
Did one weakness destroy another? The shakes don’t settle. My pounding blood floods my head.
The ‘C-O-R-D-O-N’ I let divide us. C for Convert. O for Organised. R for Resistance. D for Degenerate. O for Outsiders. N for Nerys.
Was my enforced ‘change of heart’ so easy? Did I conform? Get married?
B for Bran Blevins. The perfect match in my family’s and God’s eyes. Leaving Nerys as a doomed first love. A schoolgirl crush – betrayed.
Apologies for the delay in posting the next two chapters. I’ve been juggling life problems and writing my latest Freedom Flights episode. Once that was posted on Thursday, I could schedule this post.
In Chapter One, Sparkle thinks about creating a ‘mnemonic’, which I am changing to an ‘acronym’ to be more accurate, although an acronym is a type of mnemonic
I would like to know how often you would like me to post, for instance, three times a week? I realise daily might be too much, whereas weekly breaks the flow.
That is more of a problem if I post short segments. So, second question: what’s the best length? Under 300 words? Around 1,000 words? This time, Chapter Two is 264 words – similar to Chapter One. Chapter Three is 1,706 words, which might be too long. However, there are longer chapters that I’ll have to post in parts to make them more readable.
Your feedback will be much appreciated. Many thanks.
Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome.
*
FEVERED FUSE
A Snowdon Shadows Mystery
by
Roland Clarke
(Police Procedural Fiction)
**
Chapter Two
Speed Kills
Monday 11th July 2011
Lime-green is not cool. I’m resolute. Well, I try to be.
I wanted a Kawasaki Ninja, even if it wasn’t black. My scooter bored me. Will this blood-red Aprilia motorbike satisfy me instead?
B for Blood not Black. OK.
Speed is the addiction to drive away my frustrations.
But my tad says speed’s another killer he must curb. It’s his job.
I soar around a bend, then open the Aprilia’s throttle down the last straight towards Tremadog. The distinctive blue and yellow markings lurking behind a stone wall warn me and I slow – Heddlu.
I can’t have Sergeant Anwyl’s North Wales Police colleagues reporting his daughter for speeding. Seventeen is never an excuse. I must evade a first offence. Bad career move.
The town is busy, although not heaving like nearby Porthmadog which draws the tourists now the warmth of summer has banished the rain for a few days. Reason to avoid going that way and getting held up. I have a better way to save time. No marks for getting to college late.
The main road north is busy, and I wait for my chance to dive across the roundabout, then cut through to the coastal road along the Llyn Peninsula.
Control the speed. Other adrenaline boosts will come. Time to negotiate traffic.
The shadow of the railway bridge looms. As I slow for the roundabout beyond, a brick dislodges.
It falls. I swerve – into the ditch.
Instinct causes me to smash my bike. Tumbling. Alive.
Sheep bleating. Ewes and lambs. Whistles. Commands to dogs.
A distant tractor.
A farm. Familiar and hovering at the edge of my mind.
Smells are an elusive clue. Blossom scents drift in on the cool breeze. Baking bread tempts my nostrils and stirs my stomach. Clean laundry spoilt by sweat – mine.
So hungry. How long have I been unconscious? Or asleep?
Finally, vision. Shafts of sunlight creeping across a wooden floor. Towards the bed with its blood red sheets – wrinkled and tossed off. Embossed bracer undisturbed on my wrist. Black nightdress not hiding the bruises. Superficial. So, something protected me. Motorcycle leathers and a helmet.
As I stir, the nightdress rides up revealing a spiral seashell tattoo on my right hip. Hidden, unlike the red briar roses on my right arm and ankle.
When did I get so many?
But facts fragment like a mirror crashing without end. Like my motorbike tumbling in pieces.
Use that last memory. Bad move as my head throbs. But the accident is an anchor in a storm of memories.
I shuffle the sounds and smells into order.
Home. Well, at the family farm in Snowdonia. Mam must be cooking.
What meal?
The light on the floor suggests middle of the day – lunch?
Once she’s finished home schooling my chwaer. Lack of hearing hasn’t dulled my sister’s mind, and Gwawr has ambitions. Sign language and lip-reading have taught the family to adjust to her world without sound – to understand more.
My problems dissolve to nothing in comparison.
Was the accident connected?
I’ve been confused for years about who I am. My identity as a girl. Is that why I was attacked? If it was targeted bricks on the edge of my vision – edge of my memory?
Concussion causes memory loss, but enough remains.
Revenge. Mine or theirs? I’m presuming it was an attack. Wasn’t it?
Who by? Names taunt out of reach.
Get dressed. Food might trigger clarity.
I open my wardrobe and clues tumble out. Black clothes – tick. Long sleeve wetsuit – tick. Doc Martens – tick. Scuffed motorcycle leathers.
Why aren’t I in hospital? I should have been taken to one.
Why am I hearing lambs in mid-summer? Spring?
How many months have I skipped?
A wall calendar tells me. Five years.
What have I lost? Missed?
I want answers even if my mind won’t co-operate.
Who gave me the extra tattoos? The spiral seashell on my hip makes my heart race. Why?
Choosing the right gear is not hard. Bomber jacket the final touch over a T-shirt. Doc Martens setting off the jeans and studded belt. All black. They trigger a reaction. I tap my bracer. A for Assault. B for Bike. R for Revenge.
A knock at my door derails the thought process.
I respond in Welsh. “Dewch i mewn.”
Nothing happens, even when I repeat “Come in” in English.
I open it. Stare at Gwawr. Or is it? She’s older. Not the pre-teen in my head, but a beautiful teenager. No longer our childhood protégé, but an attractive woman.
Bury the confusion.
Too late. She reads me so well.
I sign, “Head spin moment.”
“We were worried about you, cariad.”
Embrace her. Tears.
My last memory is not who I am. I’m not that speed-obsessed seventeen-year-old.
The gap in my head is a chasm of years.
Hide this turmoil. The holes will vanish.
“I sensed you were awake.” Her smile betrays concern. “Everyone will be pleased. We feared the worst. But we aren’t meant to give clues. Doctor’s orders.”
Standard procedure for amnesia.
How do I know that?
“Mam’s food always inspires me.” My observation impels Gwawr to link arms and lead me down the stairs, saying.
“Always my inquisitive sister.”
Mam is carrying a steaming pot to the wooden table by the kitchen. More names – more memories. Mam’s parents, my nain and taid, sit at either end of the farmhouse table.
Everyone looks at me and cries out.
“We prayed for you to wake.”
“We missed you.”
“Welcome back.”
Hugs and kisses for the resurrected.
“Let’s eat. I’m starving.” Mam’s vegetable soup is superb – thick and hearty. The bread, fresh and memory laden. “I can’t remember the last time I ate properly. Before I left for college?”
Years have passed, but I want a reaction – information.
“Is that your last memory?” Mam struggles to hold back her tears. “Anything else?”
I ensure I’m facing Gwawr as I speak. She’s mastered reading lips, if we enunciate clearly.
“I remember where I am. The family farm, Tyn-y-llyn. Tick – who you all are. And who I am. Yes, crashing my bike on the way to college is the most vivid image, even if some of the details have gone.”
Mam stands up. “I need to call Doctor Vaughan.”
“Is he the one treating my amnesia? If that helps us. I realise the accident must have been years ago. But it’s where my mind returns to.”
And there are fragments demanding attention as they drift on my periphery.
Why? The doctor might clarify – if he wants to.
Childhood memories. Another home.
Before the divorce. Did I cause the break-up? For the same reason I was attacked?
My identity.
But the speeding teenager on the bike isn’t me now.
“Did I smash up another bike?” Searching faces is better – sometimes – than asking simple questions. “That bridge over the A498 was the perfect spot for an assailant. I always slow there. Position myself for the roundabout—”
I’ve been there since. On another bike – a black Ninja.
“Taught by the best.”Gwawr signs the clue.
Who is the best? Motorcycle cops. Tad’s colleagues.
So, the accident had positive consequences – their help. Or was their involvement in place already?
More questions. More rabbit holes for my mind.
Nain and taid grasp each other’s hands – glance at me then each other. Shaking more than old age brings.
“Please, give me time. Everything is there.”
I stand. Touch my toes, then my nose.
Tap my bracer as my tattoos tingle a thought.
S for Siblings.
“Time to walk down to the lake. I have to swim.”
“Not in those clothes, cariad. You have—”
“A wetsuit upstairs. Thanks, nain.”
#
My skin remembers the fabric – warm, protective, close-fitting. Neoprene. Perfect for wild swimming in any weather.
I change, keeping the bracer on as usual.
Gwawr joins me in her suit. She brings towels in case the sun fails us.
We jog to the shimmering water, the llyn that gives our home its name. Generations of Pughs have worked these mountain pastures above the lake.
We lay the towels on rocks warming in the sun. I climb another rock and dive in. It was always safe here. Embraced by the water, the moorland, and the sky.
I dive deep, feet propelling and arms pulling. Breath retained, released slowly. Push for the far bank. It’s possible. Determination.
But something feels wrong. This isn’t the water I crave. No waves pounding the beach. I grab for a fleeting image, but it shatters leaving just a taste – sea salt.
Why?
The coast road to college in Pwllheli by the sea. Except I’m no longer that teenager.
I dive back into the freshwater. My sister a rippling shadow beside me.
My mind knows but teases me. Sidestep the jagged edges. Lateral game-play. The childhood quirk. Gwawr looks the same age as I was when I crashed. Seventeen with my life unclear. College awaiting a real vocation. Indecisive. Torn between parents. Sheep in my blood but an urge to help people.
C for Crafty and Curveball and Clues.
Gwawr will play by my rules. Not the doctor’s orders.
Back on the home shore, the chance to probe.
“How’s college? Better than mine was?”
She dries herself, humming melodically, then signs.
“My sneaky sister. Research will get me to Uni – history probably. I’m tempted by law. But potential clash. Any suggestions? Advice?”
Law sounds like tad’s calling – law keeper. Heddlu.
“Not farming then.” I glance at my hands. Not calloused enough to be a true Pugh. “None of us had Alwyn’s gift with machinery, except Uncle Ivor tinkering with the tractors.”
“And Owen serves by fighting fires. Uniforms don’t appeal to me. And you always were a fighter. The teenage champion outsmarting law and order. Age has never stopped you – or troublemakers.”
Encouragement to delve. Have I got time? Time is different for a historian than for police like tad. A fighter for justice. What do I believe is worth fighting for? Did I challenge tad? Or did I heed his example?
“For truth and justice – and the Welsh way of life. From sheep to streets. Never a dead end then.”
“Can I leave you, Sparkle? Until your doctor comes. I have an essay to write on the Enigma Code.”
I gesture back to the farmhouse and smile my agreement. Her clues have been enough triggers for my mind.
C for Cryptology as in the Enigma Code.
A for Assault. B for Bike. R for Revenge. S for Siblings.
CRABS
Acronyms – my mind triggers. The rivets on my wet bracer help. And the tattoos tingle with new thoughts.
A number tumbles through my brain. For what? Evidence 101.
BRACERS if E is for Evidence and a second R is for Risks and Riding.
Could tad have persuaded me to join the police? At 18? Could I stand the discipline? I’ve never conformed, even if chapel keeps me from straying too far. But I’ve taken risks – risked the censure of others.
Where did those risks take me? Was the accident the price I paid? Did someone attempt to stop me? Even try to kill me? I had enemies even then and earlier.
But murder seems extreme. Or did I deserve it? I was a target. I took risks and stood up for the underdog. Do I still? Or was that my lesson? A lesson that decided my fate and career.
I skim stones across the llŷn and shift focus, unleashing my mind.
Episode 47 of Freedom Flights is set in July 2025 and this is the last part. Some events foreshadowed in this episode will take a few months to play out, while others may be resolved in the next episode. I have also continued to try writing each scene in 3rd-person limited POV.
I’m trying to foreshadow future incidents without making my characters react as if they know what will happen later in 2025… although they might fear what could happen. Also, I want each episode to focus on just a few RL incidents from a specific month, along with character and squadron development.
Therefore, until a just and lasting peace for Ukraine is reached and rebuilding begins, I will continue to write more episodes. Perhaps after that, I can finish writing the pre-2022 growth of the Chayka Family and Chayka Air, their aviation business based in Canada.
We must never forget the brave people fighting for freedom, with too many losing their lives. Let’s pray Western aid and weapons continue to reach Ukraine, despite unexpected interruptions. Assistance must arrive on time to change their fortunes and prepare for the genuine peace that must come soon.
Links to the previous episodes can be found on my Freedom Flights page via the left-hand sidebar.
Episode 47. Rapid Aggravation. Part 2. Escalation Of Terror.
2025
Friday, July 11th – Squadron Command Centre, Chayka Field, Volyn Oblast, Ukraine
Reactions to the massive attack on Lutsk were still rippling around the base after two days. Therefore, Kalyna & Vasy Chayka had scheduled a meeting with the base’s section leaders to discuss key matters unresolved after that night’s events.
“Before we talk about anything else, we wish to reiterate the entire squadron’s condolences to Capitaine Marielle Simonova Oliynyk over the tragic loss of her husband, Captain Andriy Oliynyk,” said Kalyna. “Vasy and I feel his name should be recorded alongside our departed sisters, as our base was among the enemy’s targets on that night.”
“As you all know, he has been posthumously awarded the title of Hero of Ukraine with the award of the Order of the Golden Star,” added Vasy. “The President and Air Force Commander also awarded Andrij the next military rank of major. They passed their condolences to his widow, Capitaine Simonova, who we informed them was a foreign Mirage pilot serving Ukraine.”
The Chayka majors embraced Marielle, who was momentarily in tears. Then she thanked everyone.
She added, “I’ve been devastated after Andriy died defending this base and Volyn Oblast. His final words to me were, ‘I needed to be with you once more, Amante. Live for our daughter, Zoya, and for me,’ and I felt them deeply. But those words and his memory gave me the strength to push through my inner turmoil. We need to keep fighting for Ukraine and remember all those who gave their lives for freedom. I still have my duties to this squadron and to Zoya.”
“For anyone who doesn’t realise, Zoya means ‘life’ in Ukrainian,” said Vasy. “The original Vasy Chayka, my grandmother christened two precious kids, Zoya.”
Kalyna laughed.
“Goat kids, but definitely precious. Let’s move on. Due to our actions and those of others, fewer properties were destroyed, and the casualties were reduced beyond what was expected from such a massive attack.”
Vasy added, “Some of you will have heard President Zelenskyy’s saying, ‘Our interceptor drones were used — dozens of enemy targets were downed, and we are scaling up this technology.’ Here at Chayka Field, we’re noting that enough data has been collected for our drone engineers to improve our interceptors. Mariyka, do you want to add anything?”
“We’re always making improvements,” said Mariyka Shevchuk. “We must attempt to outthink the Russians. They are continually devising ways to bypass our defences. But we have innovative ideas too, from inventors in Ukraine and allied nations. The key is ensuring the enemy needs to deal with our strikes.”
Everyone acknowledged that truth.
“Oil strikes are one area,” said Nadia Lysenko. “The attacks on Russian oil facilities must be a blow. However, as Zelenskyy said, more sanctions are needed as countries buying their oil are fueling Moscow’s war machine. What is the US administration doing?”
Tamila Medved explained a lot of the muttering.
Patriot system on duty in Ukraine / Illustrative photo credit: Ukrainian Air Force
“Before the assault came, there was a temporary pause on shipments of some weapons, including missiles for our Patriot batteries. Although Trump reversed that in one of his anti-Putin moods, it couldn’t have stalled the Russians. Since the attacks, Trump has grown impatient with the lack of progress, so he’s promised to send ten Patriot interceptors to Ukraine because Putin is killing too many people.”
She paused before asking, “Will Putin suck up to Trump to make him flip stances again? How many more like my brother and Andriy must die?”
Nobody could answer that.
A moment later, the Chayka cousins gave some good news.
“Our underground facilities proved themselves, especially the rear exits,” said Kalyna.
“And our first school survived,” added Vasy. “Building it seven metres underground, making it safe during an air raid, impressed pupils and teachers so much that it has led other families to enrol their kids.”
“After our rescue efforts in Lutsk,” said Corynn Amsel. “We have three more handlers wishing to train as SARM volunteers.”
**
Monday, July 21st – K9 Training Area, Chayka Field, Volyn Oblast, Ukraine
Corynn Amsel and her colleagues were impressed with each of the prospective K9 handlers and their canine talent.
“We could use all three,” said Ailish Delaney. “The advantage of smaller and slimmer dogs in tight situations has become apparent a few times.”
“Our larger dogs struggle crawling through narrow entrances,” added Isla Clacher. “And when they succeed, they can injure themselves… often grazes but still needing treatment.”
Once they all agreed on the need for such K9s, Corynn asked the three handlers to call their dogs back from their set tests.
“We all believe you would be invaluable additions to our SARM teams. So, for now, you will be assigned as follows: Yuliya Kostyuk with her Beagle, Freckles, to SARM 1, Havryil Tkachenko with his Springer Spaniel, Zorro, to SARM 4, and Danyila Zinchenko with her Airedale Terrier, Tonka, to SARM 5. Please, can the existing teams welcome their newest recruit, then each SARM should run through the training routines in turn.”
Airedale Terrier 14 months old, undocked and trimmed normative. 22 July 2011. Author: Zuni1520
*
As the teams completed all the training runs, veterinarian Taisiya Martynyuk, assisted by vet-tech Danylo Karpenko, checked all the dogs for injuries.
When they had examined them all, Taisiya turned to Danylo.
“We could face an interesting challenge as some of these dogs are neutered or spayed, which in some cases aids their performance and health, preserves their natural instincts and behaviour, which are essential for certain work. However, any of the bitches need to be separated from the others just before they come into heat.”
“Meaning they need to be monitored by the handlers and us,” replied Danylo. “Have any of the handlers discussed breeding?”
“Only the Douglass sisters with their two Dobermans. But with two Beagles, we need to talk to Ailish about whether she’s ever considered Rosheen as perfect for breeding.”
“If she has, then we must ask Yuliya what she knows about Freckles’ bloodline.”
**
Thursday, July 31st – Sviatoshynskyi District, Kyiv, Ukraine
The aftermath of Russia’s latest drone and missile attack on Kyiv overnight on July 31. (Interior Ministry / Kyiv City Military Administration / Telegram)
While firefighters ensured buildings were safe for search teams to enter, Night Owl medic Alicja Dubicka heeded Chief Paramedic Osinniy’s conclusion from the briefing.
“Remember, if your K9 colleagues find anyone who needs hospital treatment, we can call in Golf or Hotel medevac, depending on casualty numbers.”
Alicja followed her SARM 4 teammates into the first apartment, noting how Kenina, the German Shepherd, and Zorro, the Springer Spaniel, worked together to search every room. Their handlers, Isla Clacher and Havryil Tkachenko, had quickly created an effective team, which allowed Alicja to focus on her role.
“There’s someone in here,” said Havryil, as Zorro indicated a closet.
Inside was a woman, trapped behind a jammed door. Fortunately, the fire had bypassed the closet, so Alicja’s task was more reassurance than wound treatment.
However, over the next few hours, SARM 4 found more severe casualties, requiring Alicja to apply more of her medical training. When the team helped pull an elderly man from a collapsed house, she knew more was needed as she treated his surface injuries. She finished her patient notes while Isla informed Osinniy.
The paramedic arrived carrying a stretcher with Iryna Forsberg from the Golf Griffon medevac.
“We’ve landed in the closest space,” said Iryna. “Is the patient ready to load? Osinniy has a second pickup.”
“Ready for the stretcher. He needs to be treated soon, but not urgently,” said Alicja, handing Osinniy her notes. “Where’s the second patient?”
“A few streets over. SARM 2 has a couple, both needing treatment at a hospital. The district was hit hard with the usual double taps. Ten dead confirmed, and the rescue operation is ongoing for us all.”
*
Solomianskyi District, Kyiv, Ukraine
The consequences of Russian overnight attack in Kyiv, Ukraine on July 31, 2025. (Anna Donets / The Kyiv Independent)
With so much broken glass from all the shattered apartment windows, Danylo Karpenko was already treating injured paws, since not every K9 handler could afford the protective boots. The Owls had ordered three pairs from their support network, but until they arrived, paw wax and care were needed.
Danylo wasn’t surprised when Yuliya Kostyuk and Freckles returned after SARM 1 finished searching another apartment block. But her Beagle seemed unharmed, or rather not limping.
“The wax and being attentive work well for his paws,” said Yuliya. “But narrow spaces are still hazardous. Freckles squeezed through one and caught his harness on something. He wounded his shoulder, so I treated the wound, but Aldona suggested you should double-check.”
She handed him a rusty nail as he knelt to inspect Freckles.
“Nasty,” he said, examining the offending object. “But your wound care is perfect. We’ll monitor for infection back at base since the nail could be contaminated.”
“We must keep Freckles fit if he has breeding potential, as you say. Ailish would be disappointed if Rosheen had to mate with a stranger’s Beagle.”
Before Danylo could respond, a radio message came from the State Emergency Service Chief for Solomianskyi District.
State Emergency Service workers near a house damaged due to Russian overnight attack in Kyiv, Ukraine on July 31, 2025. (Anna Donets / The Kyiv Independent)
“All SAR teams to my coordinates. We have numerous people trapped under the rubble of all nine floors of an apartment building’s end section.”
Danylo followed Yuliya, catching up with the rest of SARM 1 at the horrendous scene. Aldona Jagoda was talking to the SES Chief.
“We can search with two K9s, but it will take time. If there are no more available units, we have more we can call on.”
“Do that, and then we can start,” replied the Chief. “All our units are covering multiple incidents across Kyiv.”
While Aldona contacted the other teams, Danylo called Taisiya.
“When you’re free, we could do with your and Tryzub’s aid. Are you with SARM 2?”
“With SARM 2, who is answering Aldona’s request for aid. Osinniy is back from the hospital, so flying over in Golf.”
*
First responders work at the site of Russian drone, missile attack in Kyiv in the early hours of July 31. (Interior Ministry / Telegram)
Osinniy and the four SARM medics worked into the night, as the K9 units found casualties. Most were trapped and injured, so they were treated, or in two cases, flown to the hospital.
However, when the body of a young child was found beneath the rubble, Osinniy felt the same despair she sensed when she was a medic at the front. It was also etched on everyone’s faces, and an elderly woman expressed it as she choked out ten grim words.
“It’s not a war — it’s a destruction of a nation.”
Osinniy went over and comforted the woman, guessing she had lost everything in the attack. After describing her escape from the collapsing building, the woman stared at the rubble.
“I don’t even know what I am waiting for,” she said, tears flowing from her blue eyes.
Then she explained that her daughter, along with two grandsons aged 21 and 17, were still under the rubble.
“We won’t give up on them,” said Osinniy, holding back her own tears. They would continue working in shifts, especially the nine dogs, who needed regular breaks to remain focused and effective.
*
Shortly after midnight, Corynn Amsel watched the strained faces as the Black Hawk took off from Kyiv, heading to base. Nine tired K9s, including her own Rikke, dozed after their lengthy search of numerous shattered homes.
Osinniy and the other medics were accompanying three more seriously injured patients to the hospital in the Griffon.
Corynn knew too many Kyiv residents had died overnight, thirty-one at the last count, and over 150 had been wounded. Tragically, more casualties were expected as the rescue operation continued.
“Were we wrong leaving those relatives waiting by the ruined buildings down there?” asked Danylo, sitting opposite her. “I guess we couldn’t help.”
“Not even though they wanted to find out the fate of their loved ones,” said Taisiya, beside him. “All our dogs were too exhausted to be useful.”
Corynn reflected on the four teams’ rapid response to the devastation and the human cost. She realised the time and repeated the official announcement.
“After these nightmare attacks, today has been declared a Day of Mourning in Kyiv. Flags will be flown at half-mast on all municipal buildings. All entertainment events are banned in the city all day.”
“We should honour this at Chayka Field,” added Taisiya. “I also heard our Foreign Minister Andrii Sybiha has requested that the U.N. Security Council immediately hold a meeting over Russia’s aggressive, large-scale attacks on Kyiv.”
On Independence Square in Kyiv, people put flags with the names of civilians and defenders killed by Russian invaders in Ukraine. This memorial is a place of remembrance and a reminder of the sacrifices in the fight for freedom. TinyStrawberry23 – reddit
In my 7th January IWSG post, I discussed what I was considering doing with ‘Fevered Fuse’, the first of my Snowdon Shadows novels, featuring Sparkle Anwyl. Having pulled back from the traditional publishing route after a few reactions/comments to the first rejection, I began looking at serialising it on Substack, but I only have four followers. Here I have 980, even if the number drops for most posts.
Therefore, I have decided to post ‘Fevered Fuse’ on Writing Wings in serial form, starting today with Chapter One. However, as soon as I realise fewer people are interested than the numbers reading Freedom Flights, then I’ll no longer bore you. The next episode of Freedom Flights has been delayed due to personal issues.
Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome.
FEVERED FUSE
A Snowdon Shadows Mystery
by
Roland Clarke
(Police Procedural Fiction)
Chapter One
Shadow Assailant
Friday 25th March 2016
Was the text a trick?
‘Urgnt meet @ SA. Plz. CU1900. C’
My tattoos tingle, so I tap on a random rivet fastening my leather wristband. My mind imagines the initial letters of clues to get a anagram. One tap for each letter. My Cryptograph habit is as constant as my wrist bracer.
T for Text and Talsarnau. C for Cadell or Carys?
Neither come inside the Ship Aground. Not Cadell the manic offender, nor Carys the disarming importer. Both need me sometimes. Why here in Talsarnau?
But nobody approaches me as I remain drinking and watching. Listening to Welsh gossip. Reading lips slurring our language.
Do people know what I am?
Tattoos tingle and fingers tap out letter clues on my black biker bracer.
N for No-show. M for Mystery. O for Offender and I for Importer.
Are these clues I should pursue?
S for Ship and Secrets. A for Aground and Absent. C for Cadell and Carys. R for Reason and Ruse.
I leave.
Nobody follows as I trudge to my motorbike in the shadow of a tree. Moonlight glints on metallic black, and I mount, easing on my helmet.
NARCOTICS.
C for Cryptology – my Cryptograph. Are my weird acronym mind-games misleading me? But the childhood quirk has kept me ahead and alive – and some say indispensable.
Who sent the text?
Cadell, who bullied and stole, but never touched drugs.
Carys, whose brother dealt in replica art. She has a way with everyone – especially us girls.
ROMANTICS
My phone rings.
I answer on my earpiece. ‘Sparkle Anwyl.’
A moving shadow makes me duck. But the blow smashes me off the bike.
Darkness engulfs me as the words lime-green is not cool swamp my throbbing brain.
Although I knew January’s Insecure Writer’s Support Group post was moving closer, I needed to give this month’s question more thought. That meant reassessing my writing intentions.
Although I’ve stopped submitting my Snowdon Shadows police procedural, Fevered Fuse, to publishers, I haven’t abandoned it. Too much went into it, from my time and inspiration to my editor’s input over the years, and to the beta readers’ and other readers’ encouragement.
Although Substack was an option, I must increase my Substack followers before I post any of ‘Fevered Fuse’ there. Otherwise, I could release it in serial form to Sparkle Anwyl’s fans, but only after another novel featuring the quirky lesbian detective is finished. Another option is to submit the shorts covering Sparkle’s early cases, which are the origin of ‘Fevered Fuse’.
Three draft Snowdon Shadows novels exist: Fates Maelstrom, Seeking a Knife, and Ruined Retreat, offering years of work.
Naturally, my heart is still in Wales, although I remain 100% behind the brave people of Ukraine.
As for my Ukraine saga, Freedom Flights, our Ninja Captain was correct in saying, “I know you are passionate about Ukraine. Keep after that story. Don’t let people forget”. The people of Ukraine are why I keep writing. I’m still attempting to write enough episodes to cover two earlier months every current month. Except in December, I only covered events that took place between June 1st and early July 2025. I will eventually post the second part of the July episode.
Slava Ukraini
Heroiam slava!
**
Every month, IWSG announces a question that members can answer in their IWSG posts. These questions may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience, or a story. Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something to say.
Remember, the question is optional!
January 7 question – Is there anything in your writing plans for 2026 that you are going to do that you couldn’t get done in 2025?
For a few hours, I was unsure which unfinished opus needed to come out of the vault, after I ignored it in 2025. However, I spent New Year’s Day working on ‘Fates Maelstrom’ after my number one reader, Rebecca Douglass, gave the opening three chapters her seal of approval. One day of writing became four, as I was convinced this had to be completed… well, draft six became my 2026 priority, alongside Freedom Flights.
I started ‘Fates Maelstrom’ back in 2012 as a psychological mystery set on Dartmoor in Southwest England. However, when the plot was relocated to North Wales, I added a new character – Welsh detective, Sparkle Anwyl. This was planned as the first of the Snowdon Shadows series, until various Sparkle shorts evolved into ‘Fevered Fuse’. So, Fates Maelstrom v6 is set after the Fevered Fuse events and features some of the same characters, like Kama, which creates interesting backstory challenges. Also, the plotlines have developed since v5, and the POVs, which were 3rd person, are now just Sparkle’s 1st-person POV.
The crucial issue is allocating writing time over 2026. My intention is to commit to writing per month, Freedom Flights for three weeks, and Fates Maelstrom for one week.
Please note that the Snowdon Shadows page on this site is not totally up to date… yet.
Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG, and our hashtag is #IWSG.
Purpose: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!
Posting: The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group Day. Post your thoughts on your own blog. Talk about your doubts and the fears you have conquered. Discuss your struggles and triumphs. Offer a word of encouragement for others who are struggling. Visit others in the group and connect with your fellow writer – aim for a dozen new people each time – and return comments. This group is all about connecting!
Episode 47 of Freedom Flights is set in July 2025 and will be released in two parts, with the second part released next week. Some events foreshadowed in this episode will take a few months to play out, while others may be resolved in Part 2. I have also continued to try writing each scene in 3rd-person limited POV.
I’m trying to foreshadow future incidents without making my characters react as if they know what will happen later in 2025… although they might fear what could happen. Also, I want each episode to focus on just a few RL incidents from a specific month, along with character and squadron development.
Therefore, until a just and lasting peace for Ukraine is reached and rebuilding begins, I will continue to write more episodes. Perhaps after that, I can finish writing the pre-2022 growth of the Chayka Family and Chayka Air, their aviation business based in Canada.
We must never forget the brave people fighting for freedom, with too many losing their lives. Let’s pray Western aid and weapons continue to reach Ukraine, despite unexpected interruptions. Assistance must arrive on time to change their fortunes and prepare for the genuine peace that must come soon.
Links to the previous episodes can be found on my Freedom Flights page via the left-hand sidebar.
Episode 47. Rapid Aggravation. Part 1. Record Assault.
2025
Wednesday, July 9th – Squadron Command Centre, Chayka Field, Volyn Oblast, Ukraine
The map shows the number of combat drones over Ukraine overnight Wednesday, July 9. Image: Ukrainian Intelligence Telegram channel.
Reacting to the news that the Russians had launched hundreds of drones at Ukraine from multiple locations, Kalyna & Vasy Chayka activated their defence strategy. The squadron’s jets and attack helicopters took off from various dispersal points to attack any drones threatening Western Ukraine.
The Medevac and SAR teams were scrambled to react to any impact emergencies in the area, while the base’s defences were activated to counter the rare drone strikes on Chayka Field.
As Kalyna monitored the progress of their units through Conchita Martinez and Marielle Simonova, Vasy tracked the massive assault.
Suddenly, Vasy projected the UAF’s latest map of the drones’ course.
“They’ve all flown over the Central cities and changed course… primarily towards the Northwest. Let our teams know.”
*
SE border of Volyn Oblast, Ukraine
Captain Jeong Chae-Yeong closed the distance between Kilo KAI LAH-1 Miron and the first swarm of drones.
Sergeant Raisa Vezzoso aimed the Tryzub 90.5 laser at the nearest Shahed strike drone, destroying it.
Her crewmate, Warrant Officer Kang Eun-Ji, scanned for potential decoy UAVs that were dissimilar to real attack drones, then marked them for their sisters.
“Bravo to Echo. Decoys noted,” said Marusya Dudziarz from one of the two Tigers on Drone Response with them. “Destroying Shaheds with our Tryzub laser.”
“Charlie to Echo. Same,” said Adela Klymenko, from the second Tiger.
Before Adela could say more, a transmission came from base.
“Chayka to Drone Response. 700 attack and decoy drones are all targeting Lutsk. Regroup with jet flights. Transmitting target intercept coordinates. Over & Out.”
Nilda & Leandra Silveira positioned their F-16s on the flanks of the three Night Witch flights, preparing to engage the incoming Shahed drones well beyond the city’s ground defences.
The three attack helicopters with the Tryzub 90.5 lasers flew behind and below the five Mirage 2000-5Fs and two flights of MiG-29s.
Another squadron’s F-16 flight was quartering ahead to engage the first swarm, but using traditional anti-drone tactics, from expensive missiles to risky cannon fire.
Like the other thirteen jets from Chayka Field, the Silveira twins’ F-16s each carried twelve on-base-built interceptor drones. Even after identifying potential decoys, Nilda knew that each of the squadron’s 180 interceptors needed to take out two drones. She prayed that ground defences could destroy the remaining drones after the helicopter lasers had killed some more.
“Gold Leader to Witches Wing. Launch first interceptor wave when drone front in range. Target only actives,” said Adriana Pavlenko. “When debris clears, launch second wave. Turn and repeat interception.”
As the drones appeared on screen, Nilda avoided likely decoys and targeted an active cluster on her flank, then launched.
Fourteen other interceptors closed on the approaching menace, while every jet launched a second interceptor as drone fragments fell away. Then all fifteen turned in formation to face the tidal wave, now closer to Lutsk.
Nilda realised the swarm was barely broken.
*
Lutsk, Volyn Oblast, Ukraine
Daniela Stasiuk told Rihi, her Dutch Shepherd, to search the side of the collapsed warehouse for any accessible entrance, as the regular doorways were still blocked after the drone attack.
“There were five people inside when it was hit,” said the foreman. “I was supervising a truck leaving. Otherwise…”
“You’d be inside with your colleagues,” added Corynn Amsel. “Did the truck escape the blast?”
“Unscathed, as the driver was well clear. But it may be worth your dog checking the building’s far side, while I call for clearance equipment.”
Corynn led her German Shorthaired Pointer, Rikke, around the warehouse to where the roof had collapsed, bringing down the corner walls. She instructed Rikke to search for access. The GSP steadily followed the rubble’s edge, then froze, her muzzle and bent foreleg pointing to a barely noticeable space. Corynn moved close enough to inspect the small gap and then carefully cleared some bricks.
“Rihi is,” replied Daniela. “The rest of us are outside, searching for a way to get you out. First, though, are you all together, and is anyone injured?”
“We weren’t when the attack came, but we’ve moved together in the loading bay. Two of us were injured when the roof caved in. Avrora has head gashes, but the bleeding has stopped. Yosyf’s leg was crushed when the main doors here collapsed as he tried opening them after the attack. He needs medical help, please.”
“I’m Aitana, this team’s medic. I’ll do what I can, while your foreman shows us where the loading bay is blocked. What’s Yosyf’s visible condition?”
The woman described what she could as the clearance team began to move the rubble.
“He’ll need a painkiller. In the dog’s harness, there’s a section with a red cross. Unfasten it. Inside, you’ll find three syringes of morphine. Inject one into Yosyf’s arm under the skin. Tell me when that’s done.”
A minute later, that was confirmed.
“In the same section of Rihi’s harness, there’s a bandage and ointment to stem the worst of the bleeding from Yosyf’s leg. Maybe not enough for all his wounds, but I’ll be with you soon.”
As soon as the doorway to the loading bay was clear, the SARM team went inside, where Rihi was comforting the trapped group. Daniela rewarded her K9, while Aitana examined and readied Yosyf for medevac. Then Corynn and Daniela placed him on a stretcher, and Aitana checked Avrora’s head wounds and checked that nobody else was injured.
Corynn called for Golf Griffon to transfer Yosyf under Aitana’s care.
“Golf to SARM 2 leader. Chayka Field just advised that the Russians recently launched seven Kh-101 and Iskander-K cruise missiles and six Kinzhal ballistic missiles toward Lutsk. Air defences should deal with them. Over.”
“SARM 2 leader to Golf. Presumably, SARM 3 has been informed. Over,” asked Corynn, praying their colleagues were safe.
“Golf to SARM 2 leader. ETA 03.45. Informed SARM 3. Assigned to search a severely damaged garage cooperative for survivors. Over & out.”
Aslög Hellström continued to use the MSHORAD system to scan a four-kilometre radius around Chayka Field. The first fast, but accurate detection of the unexpected UAVs had allowed her and Estera Sówka to activate the base’s ground defences.
Estera’s sister, Andżelika, had ensured the Night Owls were alerted, along with base facilities.
Like the base commanders, Aslög and Estera were monitoring UAF and local frequencies. They’d noted UAF’s warning of seven cruise missiles and six Kinzhal air-launched ballistic missiles heading for Lutsk.
“We need to be prepared for more UAVs or missiles,” said Aslög. “We can’t trust that was a stray cluster.”
“Not when the Russians attempted to raid Chayka Field earlier this year,” replied Estera.
*
Warned of the drone attack, Mariyka Shevchuk & Sergei Kovalyov had cleared the Zvenigora and the Canteen in case any attacks hit the terminal. They’d advised everyone to shelter in the ground-floor corridors, which were designed to double as air raid shelters.
The warning spread throughout the building, proving invaluable when a second drone wave struck the base.
Sheltering in one corridor, Mariyka and Sergei emerged and began checking how everyone had fared.
One surprised woman emerged from a room that had become their first school.
“The children and I heard something, but we felt nothing.”
“These underground facilities were designed to be safe,” said Sergei. “Especially rooms like this school. They’re seven metres underground, so secure during an air raid.”
*
A Ukrainian F-16 loaded with AIM-120s and AIM-9s. Ukrainian Air Force
Andriy Oliynyk launched his last AIM-120 AMRAAM at the approaching Kh-101 cruise missile and turned his F-16 away to escape the blast.
“Tailor to Chef. Another mad manoeuvre,” radioed Fedir Kravets. “Stop flirting… with death. You’re married. Over.”
“Dive right,” screamed Leandra Silveira. “Avoid the missile fragments.”
Andriy dived right but felt his Falcon shudder, and the turbofan engine struggled to keep them flying.
Then his left eye throbbed as if he had been stabbed in the head. Liquid ran down his face… blood. He fought to stay conscious… and flying… away from houses.
“I need to land as my wounds can be treated.”
“We’ll guide you down,” radioed Fedir, bringing his F-16 alongside.
“I’ll take the other side,” said Leandra. “My sister will lead.”
“Chayka Field is near,” said Nilda. “They’ll need a warning.”
“Red Leader to Chayka Tower. Prepare all emergency services for crippled jet. Over.”
“Chayka to Red Flight. Crash response. For you, Valquíria, or Leoa? Over.”
“Neither. Friend. Over and out.”
With comrades guiding him down, Andriy fought the Falcon every metre, praying Amante would be there… flying with him.
“Stay with us, Andriy,” said Fedir. “You’re almost down and home.”
As the wheels touched the ground, he tried slowing the jet as he blacked out.
*
The F-16 skidded to a grinding stop off the runway. The base fire truck and ambulance moved in, and as the voluntary firefighters doused the plane with foam, the paramedics freed Andriy and stretchered him off to the ambulance.
“How serious are his wounds?” asked Fedir, praying they were better than they looked.
“That’s for Doctor Proulx to say,” replied Estera Sówka, from the vehicle.
“We’ll follow,” said Leandra. “Once our jets are in the hangar.”
Their maintainers gestured that they would secure the F-16s for the pilots.
A Night Owl waved Fedir, Leandra, and Nilda over to a jeep, then followed the ambulance.
*
Kalyna and Vasy were assessing the damage after debris had hit the terminal building. A fire in one section had been under control before the jet crashed.
However, parts of the mezzanine had fallen into the Sanctuary, trapping people in two corridors. Although it had been possible to evacuate them through the emergency exits, a K9 team, Kseniya Łaska and Nyx the Doberman, was checking the rubble for any missing personnel.
Meanwhile, Zofia Bukowska, the Owl’s explosives expert, and K9 handlers, Tetyana and Zoriana Douglass, with their Doberman Pinschers, Borago and Steinarr, were checking the upper levels for unexploded ordnance.
Fortunately, the Medical Centre and the Veterinary Clinic had already been relocated to secure underground areas.
Although Taisiya Martynyuk and her East European Shepherd, Tryzub, were patrolling the terminal until the first attack, she was now on duty with Danylo Karpenko for the other K9 units at the base.
“Let’s pray no K9s are injured tonight,” said Danylo.
“Although there are sometimes wounds to paws from things like broken glass and brick shards,” added Taisiya.
*
In Doctor Proulx’s Medical Centre, Andriy’s wounds were being treated by Sacha, assisted by Osinniy and Estera.
Fedir, Leandra and Nilda were anxious to reassure Marielle that her unconscious husband would pull through.
Shaking and trying to speak, she continued studying the displays with his vital signs.
“Wouldn’t he be better… treated at a larger clinic?” She scanned the low readings. “I know you’re ex…perienced, Sacha, so what can you do?”
“If we’d moved him elsewhere when he crashed, he’d be dead. His oxygen supply was damaged by debris, and he’s lost a lot of blood from where he was wounded. We’re giving him a blood transfusion and have him on oxygen, nutrients and various medications.”
Marielle glanced at the numbers.
“How long will he remain comatose? Those levels look so low. Why?”
Sacha held Marielle’s hands.
“We’ve induced this coma as his brain is injured. This is a lifesaving procedure that can help it recover, given time.”
“But can you save him? He’s my angel. Please. I’m carrying his child. He wants a daughter… so he mustn’t die.”
“We’re doing everything we can. The CT scan revealed where the damage is, so I might need to operate. But only when more medics are back from Lutsk.”
*
Throughout the surgery, Marielle fought back her tears, arms around friends, none of whom left. Others arrived to comfort her. She tried to suppress her fears, not ready for life on her own.
Eventually, a few hours later, Andriy was wheeled back from the theatre.
“We removed the blood clots and performed some essential operations,” said Sacha. “He should come round soon, but I fear his injuries were too severe. Yet, he’s fighting to be with you for longer. This time is valuable.”
Marielle thanked Sacha and the medical team before sitting beside her only love. She stroked his forehead, his hands, then his face, before kissing him.
She talked to him about plans they’d made with their families and their friends, praying he could hear her.
Meanwhile, Fedir was playing Andriy’s favourite music, so Marielle hummed along.
She was holding his hands when he opened his eyes and spoke.
“I needed to be with you once more, Amante. Live for our daughter, Zoya, and for me.”
Andriy’s eyes closed as he died in Marielle’s arms, and she felt a jolt of his power leaving through her.
Writing Wings 