Blog Tour and Book Excerpt for "Last Train to Freedom"

DK Marley
4 days ago
4 min read

Book Title: Last Train to Freedom

Series: n/a

Author: Deborah Swift

Publication Date: 8th May 2025

Publisher: HQDigital

Pages: 361

Genre: Historical Fiction

Any Triggers: WW2, so mild violence

Last Train to Freedom

by Deborah Swift

Blurb:

'Taut, compelling and beautifully written – I loved it!’ ~ DAISY WOOD

'Tense and thought-provoking' ~ CATHERINE LAW

1940. As Soviet forces storm Lithuania, Zofia and her brother Jacek must flee to survive.

A lifeline appears when Japanese consul Sugihara offers them visas on one condition: they must deliver a parcel to Tokyo. Inside lies intelligence on Nazi atrocities, evidence so explosive that Nazi and Soviet agents will stop at nothing to possess it.

Pursued across Siberia on the Trans-Siberian Express, Zofia faces danger at every turn, racing to expose the truth as Japan edges closer to allying with the Nazis. With the fate of countless lives hanging in the balance, can she complete her mission before time runs out?

‘Such an interesting and original book…. Informative, full of suspense and thrills.’

~ Netgalley Review

Buy Link:

Universal Buy Link: http://mybook.to/TransSiberian

Author Bio:

Deborah Swift is the English author of twenty historical novels, including Millennium Award winner Past Encounters, and The Poison Keeper the novel based around the life of the legendary poisoner Giulia Tofana. The Poison Keeper won the Wishing Shelf Readers Award for Book of the Decade. Recently she has completed a secret agent series set in WW2, the first in the series being The Silk Code.

Deborah used to work as a set and costume designer for theatre and TV and enjoys the research aspect of creating historical fiction, something she loved doing as a scenographer. She likes to write about extraordinary characters set against a background of real historical events. Deborah lives in England on the edge of the Lake District, an area made famous by the Romantic Poets such as Wordsworth and Coleridge.

Author Links:

Website: www.deborahswift.com

Twitter https://twitter.com/swiftstory

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authordeborahswift/

Pinterest https://www.pinterest.co.uk/deborahswift1/

Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/deborahswift.bsky.social

Book Bub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/deborah-swift

Amazon Author Page: http://author.to/DeborahSwift

Instagram https://www.instagram.com/deborahswiftauthor/

Book Excerpt:

‘We think the rumours are true,’ Tata said. ‘The line got thicker. Tanks. More troops. More activity. Mr Sovik’s sister has binoculars. She can see it from the school windows.’

Jacek had helped himself to goulash and was now blowing over the bowl. ‘So Mrs Sovik’s sister is the expert now, is she? The troops have been there three weeks. It’s just a training exercise, that’s what Masha’s father says. He’s friends with the Russians at border control, and he says Lithuania’s staying neutral. You’re getting in a panic over nothing.’ Jacek drew himself up, and his body language told her he was not going to give in, no matter what Tata might say.

Tata could feel it too and his face turned tight and grim in a way that meant he was about to boil over. ‘I’m not wasting breath arguing. Get your things together, Zofia, the things you can carry. Jacek, I’m serious. It’s what your father would want. Do as I say.’

Jacek ignored him, until Tata came to stand over him at the table.

‘Get ready—’

‘You go,’ Jacek said. ‘I’m staying here.’

‘We go together as a family. I promised your father we’d stick together.’

Zofia winced. Bringing up their father was always her uncle’s trump card, but she knew it would only rile Jacek.

Jacek’s expression was steely. ‘You made plenty of other promises, and you broke every single one. I remember you promising to defend Poland with your last breath. And then what happened? You turned tail and ran. You and my father both. Only he got shot and you survived. Don’t you lecture me on promises.’

A clatter on the stairs made them look to the door. Mrs Marks gripped the doorframe, panting. She was a thick-waisted woman in a floral apron, with eyebrows that were always up as if surprised. She took a moment to catch her breath before she could speak. ‘The Russians. They’re over the border. Truckloads of them. They’re heading this way. Douse the fire.’

She blustered away downstairs with Tata running after her, full of questions. Jacek leapt up from the table to follow them both. Not to be left behind, Zofia threw water over the hot coals, shoved the spoon back into the pan and ran after them.

The downstairs shop was half-empty, the air floating with dust, and the dark mahogany shelves bare of stock. Zofia steered her way past the packing cases as the Marks’s sons, Andrius and Darius, hustled back and forth shouting instructions to each other. She dodged past them to the open door, where Mr Marks was loading everything onto their delivery cart. It was already piled high with boxes, and Mrs Marks’s pinch-faced parents were waiting to leave, perched amongst the furniture, like two crows.

Unthinkingly, she helped Mr Marks hoist a box onto the cart, seeing that the main road was queued with traffic. She skirted round the cart to look over towards the town, where a snaking line of vehicles with bundles strapped to their roofs was blocking the route. Coaches, cars, trucks, motorcycles. Anyone with petrol was heading away, out of town.

How had the roads filled so quickly?

‘Holy Shabbat. What did I tell you?’ Tata shouted to Jacek, who was on tiptoe, peering over the cars, staring west.

Mr Marks heaved up a dining chair, the back of his waistcoat patched dark with sweat. He barely paused in his loading to speak. ‘We’re heading for the Polish border. We’ll be safer there. Because of Andrius and his music.’

Zofia was shocked. They’d go to Nazi-occupied Poland? ‘What about the piano? Don’t you want that?’ She couldn’t believe they’d just leave everything.

‘No. If the Reds come, having such a thing is a death sentence. And anyway, how could we even move it? If they find Andrius, the Russians will separate us, send him to a camp in Siberia, make him do hard labour. At least the Germans have culture.’

Culture? So shooting Jews like her father was ‘culture’ now, was it?

‘Jacek. Better pack,’ Tata insisted.

Zofia left Tata arguing with her brother and went to look from the upstairs window. She passed the piano, its inky black hood serene. How could such a thing be a death sentence? It didn’t make sense.