Pauls' 45 5 stars are growing & both books are now available in print & ebook .pdf
Nombre del archivo original: Pauls' 45 - 5 stars are growing & both books are now available in print & ebook.pdf
Título: The President’s Legionnaire
Autor: Paul Sinkinson
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The President’s Legionnaire
By Paul Sinkinson
Copyright & Publishing
No part of this book may be reproduced
or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical,
including recording, photocopying, or by
information storage and retrieval system,
without the written permission of the
Copyrights and Published
by Paul Sinkinson
This is a work of fiction. This story
is the product of the author’s imagination
or is used fictitiously and is not to be
construed as a real story, with the
exception of Historical and factual
Names and Places.
During the writing of this novel I
have had encouragement and assistance
from many people, and they all know
who they are and have my great
appreciation and thanks.
I must mention the main ones.
Firstly, the mad bunch of friends and
family who live locally here in France
or dotted around the World. Their
support and humour is always
welcomed. There are too many to name
individually. But I must mention Hazel
Goss in the UK and Karen Calvert in
France, who read the first manuscript for
me and did some early corrections,
editing and tuning.
Those directly involved are:
Paul Smith, who runs the successful
Wise Grey Owl Book Promotion Site
www.wisegreyowl.co.uk - free to
authors - has kindly offered his
comments on the first draft of the book,
and I've been grateful for the help. He
said he liked it, better than the last one
even, and then added, "When's the next
one? Can't wait".
David P. Perlmutter is a bestselling
author who heads “My Way Marketing”.
Thanks to Steve Caresser – Jason
Sinner – Laura Wright LaRoche the
ePrintedBooks Team who have done the
final editing, formatting, book cover and
published my work as an ebook and
Many thanks to all of you.
This work, my second novel, is
dedicated to a number of people who
have been a Major influence in my life.
Firstly, I must mention my wife,
Muriel, without whose support over the
years my work and leisure time would
have proved impossible.
Next my Father, Ernest, who sadly
passed away in 2014 a few days after
his 96th birthday having suffered a stroke
three years earlier. He was my best
friend, work partner, instructor, teacher
and inspiration and gave me the
necessary values required in life.
My Mother, Elsie, who was born in
Australia, passed away in 1996. Along
with Ernest, she moulded me to be the
way I am and gave me the
encouragement and beliefs that nothing
was impossible and to always follow
Note from the author:
For those of you who like using
Google maps to follow the location that
the story takes place in, please visit:
Main Place Names
The Chateau: A fictional Château
Estate at in the Dordogne Region of S.W.
Laval: Town in North France and
farmstead home of Jean Maillot and
town of Charles de Gaulle
GABON: West African Country
Franceville: City in Gabon
Libereville: Capital City of Gabon
Main Place Names Continued:
Yvoire: Town on the side of Lac
Toulouse: City in S.W. France
Lagrasse: Village in the wine
growing area of Corbieres, Languedoc
Ribaute: Village in the wine
growing area of Corbieres, Languedoc
Le Chateau de Sauveterre –
Fictional Chateau near Ribaute
Port La Nouvelle: Small port on
French Mediterranean coast
Etang de Vacarres: Lake in the
French Camargue region
Mas de Fielouse; An area of land in
La Gacholle; A Lighthouse on the
Port de Bouc: A port in the
Pau: Town at the base of the French
Urdos: Village in the French
Pyrenees near the Border with Spain
Canfranc Station: A large railway
station in the Spanish Pyrenees
Tavascan: Tiny village in the
Spanish Pyrenees where Patrick Turner
(Roughly in order of the storyline)
Hans Berger: Corsican born to
Austrian/French parents. Ex Nazi. Mafia
Bill Turner: Australian WW2 Battle
of Britain Hero. Pilot to General de
Father to Patrick Turner
Jean Maillot: Colonel and head of
French Military Intelligence
Charles de Gaulle: President of
France also referred to as DG in the
Gaston Leveque; Close friend and
Political Advisor to Charge de Gaulle
Lofty Brown: Ex. British Soldier &
Resistance fighter. Currently a Farmer in
Joe Hardcastle: Ex. British Soldier
& Resistance fighter. Currently a Farmer
Alice Maillot: Daughter of Colonel
Jean Maillot and Intelligence Liaison
Craig MacIntosh; Head of CIA
Black Operations offshoot based in
Mark Stacey: Agent of CIA Black
Gerda Berger; CIA Agent and
assassin. Daughter of Hans Berger.
Rolfe Huber: Ex. Nazi SS Officer
now working for World Syndicate and
Max Huber: Son of Rolfe Huber
Henri Roux: Ex. French Soldier.
Antoinne Gorsini: Fictional Capo –
Head of Corsican Mafia in Marseilles
Fighter. French Equestrian Operator in
Adelaide Maillot; Wife of Colonel
Jean Maillot and mother of Alice
Kate Turner (nee Delahunty):
Deceased wife of Bill Turner and
mother Patrick Turner
Gorsini Fictional Family Members
and Bodyguard; Associates of Corsican
Mafia from Marseilles
CM’s Abbreviation by CIA black
operations team for Corsican Mafia
Authors Notes 2:
During the writing of my novel I
have used a number of expletives.
As the majority of the characters
were ex. military, military or members
of the criminal fraternity, I feel these
would have been the natural vocabulary
of the characters during the period.
I have therefore left these words in
the story, and I trust that readers will
understand and not be offended.
The Cover Images:
For the cover, artistic license has
been used for the images to achieve the
Previous novel by Paul Sinkinson
The Frenchman’s Daughters –
available as a kindle ebook and
paperback on Amazon.com and other
Amazon regional websites
Table of Contents:
About the Author
Back to Top
The President’s Legionnaire
By Paul Sinkinson
The intruder had lain in a shallow
hollow most of the night under the cover
of his camouflage netting. His face was a
multi-colour of camouflage grease under
his balaclava. Keeping his movements to
the minimum, he peered through the
scope mounted on his rifle and viewed
the area 200 metres in front of him.
Through the shroud of grey mist, he
focused on the glass bubble of a
helicopter that was parked on flat ground
below him. Behind, on the higher
ground, he could make out the ghostly
outline of the imposing Château; there
were no guards.
After flexing the muscles in his arms
and neck and gently rotating his wrists
and ankles, he relaxed and closed his
eyes to cat nap. It was going to be a long
This man was no ordinary intruder,
he was a hunter; a killer; an assassin; his
name was Berger.
The sound of a vehicle starting up
somewhere on the estate alerted him. He
didn’t panic, but repositioned himself so
that he could scan the area around him.
As yet, he could see no activity, just hear
the faint sound of an engine running; he
Looking towards the Château he
could make out a light from the lower
floor windows and wisps of smoke
rising from the chimney of one of the
nearest cottages. The whole of the river
valley was shrouded in a mist. He felt
cold and damp, and hungry. He
rummaged in his bag searching for an
apple and his water bottle. I’ll only take
a sip of water, otherwise I’ll need to
pee, he thought.
There was more activity fifteen
minutes later when the vehicle that he’d
heard running revved for a moment or
two; it moved out from the Château with
its lights on down the gravel track to the
He fumbled in his bag again, this
time for his binoculars and then focussed
them on the vehicle. Its driver looked
middle aged, maybe in his early fifties.
Berger could make out the grey hair
poking from under the man’s baseball
cap: He’s the pilot, he thought, and he
bid the man good day.
The pilot was a stocky guy whose
ample chest and arms filled the leather
bomber jacket he was wearing. Berger
watched as the man opened the cockpit
door, reaching in for something before
proceeding to use a wash leather to wipe
the outside glass areas of the aircraft. He
wiped and then wrung out his leather a
number of times to remove the dew.
The pilot walked around his
machine and undertook the routine flight
checks. Before long he‘ll be taking off,
thought Berger; he was wrong. The pilot
collected a clipboard from the cockpit,
closed the helicopter door and jumped
back in his vehicle and drove in the
direction of the Château. With no
evidence of anyone else in the area,
Berger decided to move out of his hiding
place and relieve himself. In the cover
of the undergrowth, he did a few more
exercises to aid his circulation,
followed by a few more sips of water
and then ate another apple before
crawling back to his hiding place. It
would soon be daylight.
Still concealed at seven in the
morning, he heard the vehicle at the
Château start again. Peering from under
his canopy he watched as the vehicle
drove down to the helicopter and parked
nearby. In the improving light conditions
he could see the vehicle was an old
The pilot dismounted and again
checked around the machine before
climbing into the cockpit. A few minutes
later Berger heard the whine of an
engine and saw the helicopter blades
rotate. Shortly afterwards the machine
slowly rose vertically and hovered
momentarily before turning and heading
off in a northerly direction, initially
following the line of the river valley.
He relaxed, knowing that he would
have at least two and a half hours to wait
before he needed to ready himself for the
helicopter’s return. He closed his eyes
Two hours later the mental clock in
his brain awoke him and he started
preparations for his morning’s work.
Removing the magazine from his
rifle, he ejected the ammunition onto a
clean cloth. Meticulously, he wiped each
and every round before reloading it.
Then he refitted the magazine.
Following this, he cleaned the
lenses on his scope before using his
binoculars to check the small strips of
wool that he’d fastened to the trees
surrounding the landing strip during the
early hours of darkness. A mist still hung
in the valley, and each of the strips of
wool was hanging limply; there was no
wind. They would be useless to him as
the helicopter came in to land, but they
would give him an early indication of
the conditions before the aircraft’s
He replaced the binoculars back in
his bag and rolled into a prone position.
With his rifle he practised his ritual of
setting the sight on the target area.
Earlier, when he was setting out the
wool strips, he’d paced out the distance
to the landing site and then placed a
small stick in the grass a few metres to
the side of where the helicopter had
been initially set down. Now, he sighted
on the stick until it was sharply in focus
and then flipped the lens covers down to
protect them before making himself
comfortable again. He cleared his mind
as he waited for his prey.
Not long afterwards, the intruder’s
meditation was disturbed by the sound of
a vehicle. It was being driven at some
speed down the gravel track from the
Château’s main entrance. As the vehicle
bounced around on the rough and uneven
track the intruder recognised the outline
of it immediately; it was a Land Rover.
The vehicle turned sharply and then
came to a halt on the track above the
landing area. Two people disembarked.
Using his binoculars once again, he
focussed on the new arrivals as they
huddled at the rear of their vehicle; the
larger of the two men lit a cigarette.
binoculars in his bag. As he did, he
heard the sound of the returning
helicopter. To prepare himself he took a
number of deep breaths to help oxygen
charge his bloodstream, then took up his
shooting position with the rifle. Calmly,
he flipped up the lens covers and sighted
up again on the small stick before
ensuring his body was in a comfortable
position to maintain accuracy.
His hand moved with the precision
that only an expert acquires after many
years of practice. He placed a round in
the firing chamber.
Automatically, he removed the
He’d observed the pilot arriving the
day before and knew the machine would
circle and come in from the south, hover
for a few moments at tree height, before
Then the pilot would be directly in
line with his sighted rifle.
The helicopter came into view,
flying a wide circle around the edge of
woodland to approach the landing site; it
was around 200 metres above the
ground. The pilot side slipped the
machine, gently losing height. As
anticipated, he was lining up to put
down directly facing the intruder.
Positioning the cross hairs of his
sight on the pilot Berger breathed in
deeply; releasing it slowly he
maintained the focus on the target and
applied the first pressure on the trigger.
The helicopter hovered above the
landing area; he took up the second
pressure on the trigger; his sights
remained on the man’s heart.
The target was stationary; the trigger
released; the recoil was minimal.
Through his scope he watched as the
helicopter canopy disintegrated; the
bullet hit its target; the pilot was thrown
backwards. In one smooth movement his
assassin positioned his weapon and
fired a second round; this time the target
was the pilots head as it lolled forward.
Through the lens of his scope he saw
blood spatter sideways and backwards
as the man’s skull exploded. Another
excellent kill, he thought.
With the loss of control, the
helicopter yawed and turned on its axis;
the nose dipped before the rear dropped,
snapping the tail rotor off on impact. The
main rotor raised the machine from the
ground, rotating it before it canted over
at forty five degrees and cart-wheeled
into the trees on the forest edge where it
disintegrated, bursting into a huge
fireball of burning fuel and mangled
metalwork. Without sympathy, Berger’s
lip curled into a smile of satisfaction. No
survivors, he thought.
The President of France was dead.
Berger stowed his rifle in its carry
case, abandoned the camouflage net,
picked up his bag and moved off.
The two men waiting by the landing
area stood for a moment in shock and
disbelief as the scene developed in front
of them. The larger of the two
understood what had happened. He too
had been watching the pilot closely and
saw the impacts of the bullets. There
was no time for any emotion.
Gunshot! Sniper! The shot could
only have come from the opposite
direction, he thought.
He turned and saw a blur of
movement amongst the trees. Standing
next to the Jeep, closer to the landing
site, his colleague had reached the same
conclusion a fraction of a second earlier.
In a single movement he’d jumped into
the driving seat and driven off across the
paddock in the direction of the gunshot.
The taller man dashed back to the
Land Rover. Manoeuvring the vehicle
down the steep bank from the gravel
road onto the paddock, he set off in
pursuit of the Jeep.
It was to be an unfortunate day for
the Jeep driver. The assassin saw him
coming and withdrew his rifle from its
carry bag. As the Jeep crashed through
the undergrowth towards him, he shot the
driver in the head. The vehicle slowed
immediately and came to rest in a bush
nearby. The kill, thought Berger,
reminded him of shooting a charging
rhino. He dragged the dead man from the
vehicle, dropped his own kit in the back,
and drove off along the forest track
towards the estate boundary. In his haste
he’d not seen the Land Rover in hot
A sixth sense, gained from years of
personal survival, made him glance over
his shoulder towards the burning
helicopter; the Land Rover was close.
He drove on; accelerating through the
undergrowth, heading towards the river,
searching his entry track that he knew
was narrow. It would be much too tight
for his pursuer in the larger vehicle, he
Muttering to himself as he avoided a
low branch, he exclaimed, “I wonder if
the guy is armed? Shit! I don’t suppose it
matters, I haven’t got time to risk
stopping to fire back.”
He drove on.
In the Land Rover his pursuer was
still two hundred metres behind when
the assassin’s vehicle entered the
narrower tracks along the river bank. He
knew that these led up to higher ground
to steep woodland before dropping back