Afghanistan: the More Things Change, the More they Stay the Same

Zoë Sharp

 ‘The Taliban Islamic militia have come and conquered with stunning speed.’

 

You might think these words were used to describe the situation in Afghanistan in August 2021 as the Taliban took control of the country. In fact, they were written by British journalist David Loyn in September 1996, to describe events as the Taliban last came to power after the departure of Russian forces in 1988/89.

 

The more things change, it seems, the more they stay the same.

 

The past few weeks have seen the withdrawal of coalition troops from Afghanistan after a conflict lasting twenty years. I doubt history will look kindly on the manner in which this evacuation took place. Although I agree with the words of German field marshal and military strategist, Helmuth von Moltke: “No plan survives contact with the enemy.” I’m paraphrasing here, but you get the gist.

 

Even so, I think Field Marshal von Moltke would be shaking his head in horrified wonder at the chaotic scenes we’ve watched on the nightly news, as crowds of desperate Afghans and foreign nationals tried to get aboard the last flights out of the Hamid Karzai International Airport in Kabul, even as the Taliban were re-taking the city. The sight of people clinging to the outside of a US transport plane as it rolled along the runway, and then falling as it took off, is not one I will soon forget.

 

On August 8, President Biden had announced, “The likelihood there’s going to be the Taliban overrunning everything and owning the whole country is highly unlikely.” This was despite the fact that, as far back as May 20, the UN had reported that the Taliban “now contest or control an estimated fifty to seventy percent of Afghan territory outside of urban centres, while also exerting direct control over fifty-seven percent of district administrative centres.”

 

By August 14, the Taliban controlled all border crossings, with the exception of the airport. The following day, they began their assault on the capital, which surrendered within hours.

 

I realise I’m an outsider in all this, but I still wonder why—when political and military commanders knew well in advance that they were ending operations in Afghanistan—they didn’t begin evacuation of Afghan nationals who had worked alongside the coalition forces via Bagram Airfield, while they still had control of it. It would appear from reports I’ve seen that the last US troops left the base—shutting off the electricity and disappearing into the night—July 1, without a formal handover to the Afghan Armed Forces. Most of the AAF only realised the US troops had gone when the lights went out and the looting started. Although the AAF quickly regained control of Bagram it, too, fell to Taliban forces on August 15.

 

On August 26, a suicide bomber detonated around 25 pounds of explosives and shrapnel outside the Abbey Gate of the airport, killing at least 170 people and wounding 150 others. The Islamic State group IS-K claimed responsibility. This further hampered the evacuation efforts.

 

Although reports claim that 122,300 people were airlifted out of Kabul, tens of thousands were left behind. We are told that some are now living in fear of reprisals for having aided the coalition. Women are frightened of consequences for simply gaining an education, a job, or going about without a chaperone.

 

So far, the new Taliban government appears to be playing nice. They promise we will not see a return to the human rights abuses of the 1990s, when public floggings, amputations, and executions by stoning were commonplace. They even promise that women may continue their education, and return to their government jobs—although not at any kind of high level, obviously…

 

Only time will tell.

 

For me, it was heart-breaking to watch events as they have unfolded in Afghanistan. I took a particular interest as I’ve highlighted the situation there in two of my books. The first of these was Dancing On The Grave, the first of my Lakes crime thrillers. This story features an ex-military sniper who is suffering from PTSD after serving in Afghanistan. The treatment of a teenage Afghan boy who operated as his spotter plays a huge role in the plot.

 

The latest book to feature Afghanistan is a prequel to my Charlie Fox series, Trial Under Fire, which came out in August. The action of this book follows Charlie years before the series proper starts, back when she is still in the British Army and is on what should have been a routine patrol with her unit in Helmand province. At that time, female personnel were not supposed to be put in combat situations. But a helicopter crash and the arrival of a Black Ops team soon throws that out the window. They need Charlie’s ‘very particular set of skills’. How can she say no?

 

This week’s Word of the Week is dustsceawung, which is an Old English word for which there is no direct translation. It means to contemplate the fact that dust used to be other things—we came from dust, and will return to being dust when we are gone. It is supposed to shift one’s focus from the material things in life to subjects with deeper meaning.

 

As well as Trial Under Fire, my latest book out is the Charlie Fox short story collection, Fox Five Reloaded. Available for pre-order is the first in a new series, The Last Time She Died, which will be out in October 2021.

Occupational Hazard: Author's Elbow

Zoë Sharp

Over the years, I have put my series main character, Charlie Fox, through the mill. She has been shot (more than once), stabbed (also more than once), pushed off her motorcycle and then shot (OK, that was just the once), shot down in a helicopter, mildly tortured, Tasered, experienced various broken bones, been punched more times than either of us can count, and buried by an earthquake.

So, I suppose it’s only fair that for the past month or so I’ve been suffering from the process of actually writing about all this stuff. Despite not attempting to play tennis since I was about twelve, I am now the proud owner of tennis elbow, or lateral epicondylitis, if you want to be proper about it.

Charlie Fox would, no doubt, be greatly amused at my expense.

The problem is usually caused by ‘strenuous overuse of the muscles and tendons of the forearm, near the elbow joint’. In other words, too much chipping away at the word-face and using a computer mouse.

I began to realise I’d got a problem on the run-up to Christmas. Pain in the outside of my forearm up near the outer knobble of my elbow, problems picking anything up that also entailed gripping with my hand, and discomfort regardless of my arm being bent or straight. Gripping and twisting motions, such as opening a jar, turning on a tap, or using a screwdriver produced the worst effect.

If the muscles and tendons in the forearm are over-strained, tears and inflammation occurs near the bony lump (the lateral epicondyle) on the outside of the elbow. I’ve previously had similar problems with my left elbow, although on the inner side, which is golfer’s elbow.

And no, I don’t play golf, either.

I confess that, since the beginning of November, I’ve been working pretty much continuously on the sequel to DANCING ON THE GRAVE. (And yes, I know I originally said that was a standalone but events have somewhat overtaken me.) And now, as the end of January approaches, I’m almost done. In fact, I’ve just extended my self-imposed deadline by a week into February, just to give my elbow half a chance to recover.

My problem was not just caused by too much keyboard time. I think I can also put it down to poor ergonomics. I was using an old table in lieu of a desk, so the height of seat-to-desktop was never quite right because of the frame. It was also not quite deep enough for me to get the keyboard far enough onto the surface, and the top was slightly warped, leading to a raised ridge under my forearms.

So, for Christmas, my pressie to myself was a custom desktop, made from 15mm plywood on an Ikea height-adjustable frame. I’ve even covered the surface in dark green pleather, like a proper olde-fashioned desk. I also got a new upright mouse when my old one gave up the ghost, and a padded wrist rest. I have been using a curved ergonomic keyboard for years, plugged into a separate monitor.

But, nevertheless, this is a case of fitting new padlocks to the stable door, long after the horse has naffed off into the distance.

In lieu of being able to get a doctor’s appointment, I’ve been treating this in a number of ways. (As many as I can think of!)

I’ve looked up the appropriate exercises, and while doing any kind of strenuous work I’ve been using an elbow brace that consists of a Velcro strap with a padded lump that goes on top of your forearm. In theory this takes some of the strain off the inflamed area.

I’ve also been using an ice pack at regular intervals. I have one that contains gel and never freezes solid, so I’m not in danger of frostbite when I forget and leave it on for far too long. It’s in a cover that Velcros around my arm, which means it stays in place nicely.

I borrowed a TENS machine to zap myself with. TENS stands for transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation, which uses low-voltage (or should that be low-amperage?) current through two or four pads placed strategically around the elbow. It’s like being constantly prickled but better than the alternative.

The scientific jury is still out, apparently, on the effectiveness of a TENS machine but I used one when I damaged my back a few years ago and it was about the only thing that allowed me to function. It’s having much the same effect this time.

Just as long as I don’t shuffle my feet across a synthetic carpet and then grab a metal door handle, I should be fine.

Apart from that, I’ve just been on occasional doses of painkillers and anti-inflammatories. If anyone has any other suggestions, I’m all ears!

Like I said, Charlie Fox would be laughing her arse off…

This week’s Word of the Week is selenology, meaning the study of the moon. Also, selenography, the study of the features of the surface of the moon. From the Greek name for the moon, Selene.

Upcoming Events:

Newcastle Noir

May 1-3, Newcastle City Library, Newcastle upon Tyne.

CrimeFest

June 4-7, Mercure Bristol Grand Hotel, Bristol.

Lost, Found, Searching—What Does Your Internet Search History Say About You?

Zoë Sharp

At the moment, as well as the usual last-minute panic over the upcoming Christmas period, I am neck-deep in writing the latest book. It's a follow-up to last year's DANCING ON THE GRAVE, featuring CSI Grace McColl and DC Nick Weston. And yes, that book was supposed to be a standalone, but the reception was such it's now part one of a Lakeland-set trilogy.

So far, I’m cautiously optimistic that the story reads well. It’s certainly flowing well but, as every writer knows, that can change as easily and quickly as turning off a tap.

A quick glance at my browser shows I have about eleven tabs open. This brought to mind a meme I saw ages ago that said something to the effect that you know you’re a crime writer if a trawl through your Internet Search History would be likely to get you arrested.

So, as it’s nearly the end of term and we’re allowed to bring in games and wear our own clothes, I thought I’d put this to the test. (Well, literarily rather than literally.)

Obviously, I’m ignoring pages such as my email program and social media (where’s the fun in that) but apart from that, first up is a page from Scientific American which answers the question (surely on everyone’s lips) ‘After a person’s pulse and breathing stop, how much later does all cellular metabolism stop?’ The article which follows is penned by Arpad Vass at the Oak Ridge National Laboratory. The short answer, in case you’re interested, is between four and ten minutes.

Next is a page from a company called Aftermath, who are US ‘specialists in trauma cleaning and biohazard removal’ which has a very interesting article on ‘Dead Body Smell / Six Common Decomposition Smells’. Go on, admit it—you really want to go and take a look at this, don’t you?

The only thing that mildly alarmed me was the banner picture with this piece, which was of an attractive-looking woman. Then I thought, well, what suitable illustration do you use…?

Oh, and in case you were wondering, along with the usual suspects, such as the odour of strong faeces and rotting fish, are the slightly more surprising smells likened to garlic (dimethyl disulphide and trisulfide) and mothballs (indole).

Next, and this is not strictly there for research purposes but because it was entertaining, is the homepage of The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest ‘where “www” means “wretched writers welcome”’.

For those of you unfamiliar with this, it is an annual prize awarded by the English Department at San Jose State University in the name of Edward Bulwer-Lytton—he of the famous opener much beloved of Snoopy’s literary efforts:

It challenges entrants to ‘compose opening sentences to the worst of all possible novels.’  This year’s Grand Prize winner was Maxwell Archer from Mt Pleasant, Ontario, Canada:

‘Space Fleet Commander Brad Brad sat in silence, surrounded by a slowly dissipating cloud of smoke, maintaining the same forlorn frown that had been fixed upon his face since he’d accidentally destroyed the phenomenon known as time, thirteen inches ago.’

A worthy winner, as I’m sure you will agree…

My next open tab contains the results of an image search for gypsy and Romani symbols. This includes the flag, which denotes the green of the open fields below the blue of the open sky and the red circle at the centre is both a Hindu chakra and the sixteen-spoke wheel of the traditional gypsy caravan, denoting movement.

Next in line is a piece in the Washington Post about a new technique for recovering serial numbers that have been filed away. This article dealt with serial numbers where it was not possible to recover them by means of acid-etching techniques and went into detail on the process of Electron Backscatter Diffraction. This, apparently, can detect the damage to change to the underlying material beneath an embedded serial number, even after the outer layers of metal have been removed, and retrieve a complete number in less than an hour.

Next, a page from the UK National River Flow Archive concerning a particular broad-crested weir just north of Kirkby Stephen in Cumbria. I wanted to know not only about the construction of the weir itself, but its likely water flow characteristics. This led to quite a few other pages, including a full report on various different types of weirs at a website called The Constructor, entitled ‘What is a weir? Types of weirs and flow over weirs.’ There, I could find out about the types of weir likely to be most dangerous to swimmers or canoeists.

So, when people ask me what I’m reading at the moment, I usually say, “Rather a lot of non-fiction…” What’s on your TBR pile in the non-fiction line?

This week’s Word of the Week is hok-hornie-mush, which according to a book that’s open on my desktop with the catchy title of ROMANO LAVO-LIL WORD BOOK OF THE ROMANY OR ENGLISH GYPSY LANGUAGE, means a policeman.

Talking of Books: A Look At Audio

Zoë Sharp

One of the best pieces of advice I ever received about writing fiction was to read the words aloud. Reading your own work really helps you to pinpoint those clunky bits of narrative or dialogue, or those descriptive scenes that go on for just a bit too long.

Better yet, I’ve found, is to get somebody else to read your work back to you. After all, you as the author know how the rhythm of the story should run and where the emphasis should go for maximum dramatic effect.

"Listen very carefully. I will say this only once..."

But, if those clues are not present in the way the words are presented on the page, then your reader is never going to be able to reproduce that same rhythm in their head. I’ve always believed that more than the subject matter, the characters or the plot, it’s the individual voice of the writer that turns casual readers into continuing fans.

When you pick up a book by an author unknown to you, before you’ve finished the first paragraph—often even the opening sentence—you just know if you like the sound of that writer’s voice. I had this with the first Robert B Parker novel I picked up, the first Ken Bruen and the first Lee Child. More recently, I happened across the Wyatt Storme series by WL Ripley. They all have such a distinctive style that flicks a switch inside my head. Something in the back of my mind goes, “Yes!” and I have to read on.

I confess I have this same feeling when I start to listen to an audiobook by a particular narrator. There are some books by authors I love, but I simply can’t stand the way the narrator sounds. And vice versa, some narrators are so good, I’d listen to them read from their shopping list if I got the chance.

Much as listening to Rowan Atkinson go through an imaginary school register is a riot, for some reason I’ve never found his Mr Bean character funny.

Lewis Hancock falls firmly into the category of narrators I could listen to all day. (I wonder if I could persuade him to record that Rowan Atkinson sketch…?) I know I’m not the only person who thinks so. I’ve listened to all kinds of books he’s read, some of which would not have been my usual choice. But with Lewis speaking the words to me, I am invariably glued to the story.

I was lucky enough to have Lewis as the narrator for THE BLOOD WHISPERER and he made a wonderful job of it. I have to confess, though, that the extract they chose for Amazon UK sample is taken from the one mildly kinky sex scene in the book, which I’m not sure is entirely representative. I swear I can hear the smile in Lewis’s voice as he’s reading it.

Last week, I spent a day in Manchester at Greenbank Studios in Sale, listening to Lewis record part of DANCING ON THE GRAVE, which came out in print and digital formats last year. The audio edition will be out very soon from Oakhill.

Lewis spends a lot of time before he gets to the recording stage prepping a print-out of the manuscript. He adds his own punctuation so he’s not taken by surprise by convoluted sentence construction—although I do try not to include too much of that.

Lewis Hancock, in an uncharacteristic serious moment.

He also checks pronunciation of unfamiliar places and names, and chooses suitable voices for the different characters if they’re not specified in the text. (And there’s nothing worse, he reckons, than mentally rehearsing one accent for a character, only to find out near the end of the story that they speak with another. Or—worse still—it not being mentioned until book two…)

The technician at the studio was Liam Wheatley. It was his job not only to handle the actual recording of the narrative, but to monitor the quality of the sound and check for errors.

Liam Wheatley at the flight deck.

Watching Liam work was amazing. Originally from a screenwriting background, he’s been working for Greenbank since 2014 and can actually read the waveform of the audio track. So, if there was unexpected background noise, or Lewis tripped up on a sentence, he was able to instantly pinpoint the location. He’d take the cursor back to partway through the last clean section, which he’d play to Lewis in the sound booth next door, cutting back to recording just before the error so Lewis could pick up the narrative again. And he did it in less time than it’s just taken me to explain the process.

This means that Lewis feels able to stop and go back if there’s a piece he’s just read that he’s not happy with, without worrying about slowing the job down too much.

Liam also follows the text on screen, and pays enough attention to point out the occasional missed or transposed word. Sadly, not everybody takes such care over the text.

He takes just as much trouble over post-production. The system he uses, Pro Tools, marks all the pick-up points so Liam can go back later to close up any extended pauses. He also removes any page-turning noises, mouth clicks or breaths. Having listened to THE BLOOD WHISPERER, as well as other recordings done by this partnership, I can vouch for the quality of Liam’s work.

Spending the day watching Lewis and Liam work was illuminating. Here are just a few of the notes I took during it:

• Try to pick names that are easy to pronounce quickly, unlike Frederickson, Blenkinship, and Sibson.
• Quick swaps between characters with very different accents can be very tricky.
• Exciting bits flowed better. It seemed easier with some impetus behind the words.
• It’s very hard when using a Geordie (Newcastle) accent, to have a character say angrily, “With all due respect, sir!” and not have him come out sounding Scottish.
• The words "bull bars" can sound remarkably like "ball bars", which conjures up entirely the wrong image!
• It would make life much easier for the narrator if you invented a character who spoke with a stutter or a lot of phlegm in his voice…

So, my question this week is, do you listen to audiobooks more now than you used to? Do you follow certain authors or certain narrators particularly? What irritates you about an audiobook recording? What do you like best about them?

My thanks to Lewis and to Liam for their patience and forbearing. I tried not to stick my oar in too often, guys!

If you’re looking to have an audio recording made of your work, it would be well worth talking to Liam at Greenbank Studios. Contact him at GreenbankLiam@gmail.com.

This week’s Word of the Week is vicissitude, meaning a passing from one state to another, an alternation, mutation or change, usually for the worse. It comes from the Latin vicis meaning change.

Upcoming Events:

March 8-10

CRIME & PUBLISHMENT—The Mill Forge, Gretna

Workshops on Getting Your Action Scenes Right

Caro Ramsay is also teaching at this event—Breaking Bones For Fun

May 9-12

CRIMEFEST INTERNATIONAL CRIME FICTION CONVENTION—Mercure Bristol Grand Hotel, Bristol

Friday, May 10, 13:40-14:30

Contemporary Issues: Reflecting How We Live

Candy Denman, Paul Gitsham, Cara Hunter, Amanda Robson, Zoë Sharp (Participating Moderator)

Saturday, May 11, 11:20-12:10

Ten Year Stretch: The CrimeFest Short Story Anthology

Peter Guttridge, Caro Ramsay, Zoë Sharp, Michael Stanley (Stan Trollip), Kate Ellis (Participating Moderator)

Sunday, May 12, 09:30-10:20

The Indie Alternative

Beate Boeker, Adam Croft, Barry Faulkner, Lynn Florkiewicz, Zoë Sharp (Participating Moderator)

In Full Retreat: Writing in France

Zoë Sharp

I went to France at the beginning of July planning to get a start made on the new Charlie Fox book. I’m happy to report that the tentative 15,000 words I’d hoped for morphed into 20,000 once I got into the writing, and I’m even cautiously pleased with the way it’s going so far. I promised myself I’d have a break when I hit that point, and do some driving around to look at locations for later on in the story, but at the same time, I’m anxious not to lose too much momentum.

No chance of getting out of practise with the writing itself, though. I also had a last-minute Q&A to write for the #BlogTour I did at the start of the month for the launch of the new crime thriller standalone, Dancing On The Grave. Thank you so much to everyone who took part or supported me along the way.

And then I was reminded that I’d promised to provide a short story for a proposed anthology earlier in the year. The editor contacted me and asked for a brief sentence or two about the story, and particularly the setting of it. Within a week, if possible.

Argh!

My mind was a complete blank.

Me and fellow crime thriller author Libby Fischer Hellmann at
the American Cemetery, Omaha Beach in Normandy

When I came out to Aveyron in southern France, I had with me my author friend, Libby Fischer Hellmann. She needed to finish a book just as I needed to start one. Incredibly useful to have someone else along on the 1100km drive south, though, as trying to drive a UK-spec right-hand-drive car through a French toll péage, where all the payment booths are set up for left-hand-drive vehicles, can be a bit of a problem.

French toll péages can be tricky in a right-hand-drive UK car!

We did quite a bit of touring about in the afternoons, having spent the mornings dutifully scribbling. And when I picked up another visitor, who arrived the afternoon following Libby’s departure, I had already seen one or two of the nearest and most popular.

Chateau de Bournazel with medieval crane in evidence...

So, I found myself sitting with my notebook outside a fabulous French castle on a baking day, waiting for them to finish sightseeing, and suddenly a short story came floating by. Needless to say, I grabbed it with both hands. By the time my visitor returned, I had the main points mapped out, and I finished off fleshing it out sitting in the garden, with one of my feline muses for company.

Spatz, one of my muses

So, I’ve been trying to work out what it is about being here in in the Aveyron valley area that’s been so good for my inspiration. It can’t be the weather per se, as it’s been similar weather in the UK.

It can’t be the presence of the feline muses, either, as I have two on hand back in Derbyshire. (Who would be mortified if they knew I’d been unfaithful to them by sleeping with other cats on my bed here!) Perhaps it’s the lack of distraction. Good internet for research, but no TV. Friendly locals, but no close friends except on the end of a phone line or Skype call. And no other purpose than writing except to keep the place running—easier said than done after an ant invasion, near-miss lightning strike that knocked the power out in the house, and neighbouring dogs chasing the cats around the garden, at which point Inkypuss went and hid in the rafters of one of the outbuildings. We spent ages searching for her and fearing the worst.

Inkypuss, showing there is Something of the Night about her...

French road signs are entertaining to me as a Brit—particularly the fact the Stop signs have ‘Stop’ on them, rather than ‘Arrêt’, but are still the distinctive octagonal shape as at home and in the States, so they are instantly recognisable even if obscured by snow. And whoever designed the signs warning of the approach to a pedestrian crossing must have been a closet fan of The Beatles…

Abbey Road, anyone?

 This area is very arable. It suddenly becomes understandable, if the French farmers object strongly to some aspect of government policy, why it creates a serious problem for their politicians. The chestnut-coloured and cream cattle are beautiful muscular animals in the fields. Every garden is full of hydrangeas.

Hydrangeas are everywhere in this part of France, both pink and
blue ones often growing alongside each other.

 By the time you read this, I will be on the way up-country heading for the ferry home from Calais on Monday. We have several side trips planned for the journey, so expect to hear more about that part of the trip very soon.

Me driving over the famous Millau Bridge (the Bridge in the Clouds)

Meanwhile, I exceeded my cautious target of 15,000 words by another 5000, I’m well into writing the short story. I plan on making lots of notes for both novel and story while on the road—or during the overnight stops, at least—so I can leap back into my August workload of writing as soon as I get back. Hopefully, still thoroughly invigorated by my time away.

Vive la France!

This week’s Word of the Week is deracinate, meaning to uproot (usually a person) from their natural social, cultural or geographical environment. It comes from the 16th Century French déraciner, from dé (removal) and racine, meaning ‘root’, from the Latin radix.

“We still don’t know how it worked!” the Amazing Thai Cave Rescue

Zoë Sharp

Members of the Wild Boars soccer team

The story started on June 23 2018, when a group of 12 boys finished football (soccer) practice and went, with their assistant coach, into Tham Luang Nang Non, (which translates to ‘Great Cave of the Sleeping Lady’) a cave system in the Chiang Rai Province of northern Thailand, almost on the border with Myanmar.

The reason the boys, aged 11 to 17, from the Wild Boars junior association football team, decided to go into the cave isn’t clear—maybe for them it was the equivalent of a trip to Alton Towers. And it does look to be a natural wonder. A huge karstic cave system beneath the Doi Nang Nom mountain range.

The Doi Nang Nom mountain range, Thailand

Unfortunately for the boys, the monsoon rains arrived earlier than they expected. As the water levels inside the cave rose, the boys and their 25-year-old coach found themselves marooned on a small plateau almost two miles underground.

There they remained, undiscovered, for nine days.

What those nine days must have been like for the boys, I can only imagine. But they must, surely, have thought nobody was ever going to come, or even find out what had happened to them.

The fact they survived in such apparent good spirits despite oxygen levels running low and lack of food, has been credited in part to the presence of the young coach Ekaphol Chantawong, a former monk who encouraged them to rest and meditate to alleviate the boredom and stress. Sadly, I have a suspicion that once the euphoria of subsequent events has subsided and the media begins to look for a continuation of the story—ie, who to blame—this young man’s life may take a more unpleasant turn. Everybody loves a heroic figure, but the media seems to love nothing more than bringing such a hero figure to their knees.

Eventually, on July 02, the boys were discovered by a British cave diver, John Volanthen. By that time, cave rescue experts had been drafted in from all over the world to supplement the Thai Navy SEALs and local volunteers.

I regret that, in the early stages, the details of the story passed me by. I was getting ready for my trip to southern France, and the imminent launch of my new standalone, DANCING ON THE GRAVE. And, I confess, I was trying to tune out anything connected to the World Cup. The fact that the boys were collectively described as a football team in the news did not serve to make them register strongly in my mind. (I seem to remember that when I initially heard an entire football team had gone missing, I even thought they might one of the those entered in the World Cup who had disappeared while in Moscow.)

It wasn’t long before I was as hooked as everyone else and reading the regular updates on the excellent The Guardian website. And as more complications and difficulties emerged, the more hooked I became. It was a rollercoaster of highs and lows that gripped you by the throat and wouldn’t let go.

They found the boys alive—great. They were trapped two miles underground—oh no. The Thai authorities brought in heavy duty pumps and had shifted, by the end of things, more than one million cubic metres of water out of the cave system—amazing. More monsoon rains were forecast and some were predicting it might be months before the boys could be safely extracted—what?!

By July 05, after attempts failed to locate a point directly above the boys’ position in order to drill through 600 metres of rock to reach them, the only logical option was to bring them out underground. This would involve using scuba gear and air tanks for much of the first mile, which was extensively flooded despite the pumping crews’ best efforts.

None of the boys had ever scuba dived before, and there were doubts if a mask small enough could be found to fit the youngest boy and seal reliably throughout the journey. Plus, when they were found the boys had been surviving only on small amounts of water. They were in a weakened condition.

Elon Musk's solution was a mini submersible, but it's doubtful
that the craft would have made it through some of the
incredibly narrow passages inside the cave.

But, by now they’d been trapped for thirteen days. The oxygen levels inside the small pocket that contained them had fallen to 15 percent. Medical experts warned that at 12 percent, the boys would start to fall into coma. Still, it was a choice fraught with danger, as was tragically illustrated by the death of Saman Kunan, a former Thai Navy SEAL diver.

former Thai Navy SEAL diver, Saman Kunan, who died during the rescue operation

But they were fast running out of options. The monsoons were forecast to let rip at any moment. When heavy rains failed to materialise on July 07, as predicted, the authorities realised they had to make best use of what might be their only reprieve.

The resilience of the boys at this point was quite remarkable. It is reported that they were excited by the prospect of going diving as much as being rescued. The original plan was to bring the strongest out first, but Australian doctor Richard Harris who went in to assess their condition, found they were all equally fit. Eventually, the boys decided among themselves, with the coach making the final pick.

The first two boys were given a sedative as a precaution against panic, then and brought out tethered to two divers for much of the first part of the journey. At a dry area known as Pattaya Beach, they were loaded onto wraparound stretchers and taken the rest of the way, aided by a daisy chain of other supporters along the route until they finally reached the largely dry third chamber, which was the Forward Operating Base for the rescue attempt. From there, they were hooked up to a pulley system and guided through the cramped, muddy terrain by more than a hundred further rescue workers.

If this had been a staged event instead of an emergency response, it would have been years in the planning. The authorities had a couple of days to co-ordinate teams from all over the world. Fortunately, the hand-signal language of diving is much the same everywhere.

The divers involved admitted that it was only as the first boys were being ferried to hospital that they allowed themselves to believe they might be able to pull the whole thing off. Even so, the slightest problem would have seen the plan collapse and might, perhaps, leave some of the boys compelled to stay underground and wait out the monsoon season.

the boys are ferried to hospital as they are brought to the surface

Having managed their amazing feat of co-ordination and co-operation—not to mention skill and bravery—to bring out four of the boys on July 08, the divers then went back and did it all over again the following day. And again the day after that, successfully bringing out the entire team. The coach left himself until last.

Even after the last of the Wild Boars was safely out of the cave, it seemed that the Sleeping Lady had one last drama to throw at them. A water pipe burst and the main pump stopped working, causing the last of the rescue workers to run to escape the rapidly rising water. It will be months, they reckon, before they can return to retrieve their equipment.

the rescued Wild Boars recovering in hospital isolation

Hollywood, as you might expect, has already announced not one but two movies in the works about the event. It is hard to see how they can possibly make this remarkable example of human ingenuity and teamwork any more dramatic than it was in real life.

This week’s Word of the Week is karstic, meaning the topography in a region where the rock is soluble (such as limestone or dolomite) and over time forms sinkholes, caverns and underground streams and passages. Karst is thought to derive from a pre-Indo-European word, karra, meaning stone, or from the Latin carsus, stony ground.

an example of karstic topography in Madagascar

Events:

I am currently in the midst of a Blog Tour for my latest standalone crime thriller, DANCING ON THE GRAVE, which came out on July 01. The tour started out at ShotsMag Confidential on July 09, and will finish up at Sean's Book Reviews on July 22. It's a mix of guest articles and reviews, so I hope you'll join me somewhere along the way. Full details on my website here.