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Nav Logan Bio

Mainly, it was poems and the occasional short story. Maerlin's Storm was first written over a decade ago. It wasn't something I planned to do. I didn't wake up and say, I am going to be an author; far from it. Like many things in my life, it all started with a dream. The next morning, I wrote a poem about it. Later, the poem became a story. It grew from a small seed and suddenly became a beanstalk. People read it and enjoyed it, but then life became busy again and for many years the story sat, collecting dust.

I tried writing a follow up, but it initially petered out due to other commitments. It would have stayed on the shelf, forgotten, but my wife bought me a Kindle. (She may live to regret that moment of madness, but I love her dearly for it).

Agent Down by Nav Logan

The young cadet, Private Black, rushed into the living room, “Code Red, we have a Code Red!”

The Officer In Charge yawned (O.I.C.), and considered ignoring the young cadet, but he was in an agitated state, so she played along. “What’s the matter this time?” she asked.

“We have a 12-44!”

The O.I.C hesitated, “What’s a 12-44 again?”

“Agent down, Ma’am! She’s unresponsive,” replied the cadet, hopping from foot to foot.

“Well done, Cadet. I was just checking to see whether you remembered that particular lesson,” lied the OIC. “Now, calm down… deep breaths. Panic never achieved anything.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the cadet replied, trying to pull himself together. He failed miserably, however, his body kept twitching. He was eager for action.

O.I.C sighed, “Oh, very well! Lead on. I can see that I’ll get no peace until I sort this out.”

She followed him down the corridor to a door at the far end.

Even the O.I.C didn’t have the proper security clearance to enter this room, (not that that had deterred her before, of course).

Unusually, the door was ajar.

This was how the Cadet had noticed the situation within.

The O.I.C carefully peered around the door.

This could be a cunning trap by High Command to lure the unexpected, but she hadn’t gotten to where she was today by falling for such an obvious trap.

Nevertheless, no one was about, (or at least no one apart from the unresponsive woman on the bed within).

Turning to the cadet, the O.I.C commanded, “Well, what are you waiting for? Get in there and check for a pulse!”

The cadet knew that he had no authority to enter this inner sanctum, but he could hardly ignore a direct order from a superior officer either, could he?

Slowly, reluctantly, he slunk within, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.

“Hurry up!” hissed the O.I.C. “Every second matters!”

Reaching the bed, the cadet did a summary inspection of the woman’s vitals. “Breathing… shallow…breath smells awful too! Pulse… faint and erratic. Eyes shut… I can’t see her pupils, Ma’am!”

“Mmmm…. That doesn’t sound good. Try doing some mouth to mouth.”

“… But Ma’am?”

A withering look from the O.I.C. stemmed all argument.

The cadet began mouth to mouth.

A full minute went by as the O.I.C watched for any response.

The prone figure didn’t stir.

“It’s not working,” the O.I.C declared. “I’ll call for back up while you begin C.P.R.”

“C.P.R!... But Ma’am, I’ve only ever done that on a cushion before!”

“You can do this, Cadet Black! Stop whining. This agent’s life depends on you stepping up to the mark.”

Suitable abashed, the young cadet climbed onto the bed and began chest compressions,

In his head, he was singing The Bee Gees hit track: ‘Staying alive’, to maintain a suitable rhythm.

After every few chest compressions, he paused to perform mouth to mouth.

The O.I.C was halfway to the kitchen when a shrill scream erupted from the bedroom.

The kitchen door opened, and the Master of the House, (otherwise referred to as High Command,) stuck his head out into the hallway.

“Are you alright, luv?”

The Mistress of the House shrieked loudly from the bedroom, “Get… Out…!”

The young labrador pup, (Cadet Black) fled the bedroom, a slipper narrowly missing his head as he bolted down the corridor, “IIIIINNNCOOOOMMMINGG!” he yelped.

“You left the bloody bedroom door open again, you idiot!” yelled the Mistress of the House.

The Master of the House winced, and berated the dog, “Bad dog, Blackie!!” he muttered half-heartedly. You could tell that his heart wasn’t in it.

The cat smirked contentedly and sashayed imperiously back into the living room, and the warm spot by the window. As she began grooming herself, she thought, ‘Hopefully, the Master of the House would soon realize the folly of bringing a dog home and get rid of the stupid mutt.’

Still, Tiddles (Otherwise referred to by her preferred title: Officer in Charge), enjoyed the pranks she played on the puppy in the meantime. They passed the time between feeding and grooming, and they gave her a euphoric feeling of superiority.

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