The second book in R.A. Mathis’ SHTF series has just gone live on Amazon. I was fortunate enough to have read an advance copy (after nagging the author a little bit–that’s how much I liked the first one: Falling Down), so I’m ahead of the curve.
I reviewed the first book here; then the author and I had a conversation about our books and TEOTWAWKI in general here and here, if you want to get up to speed. You can also read an excerpt.
Executive Orders follows the three main characters from Falling Down as order is established from the chaos. But order isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be–especially when the chaos was purposely orchestrated to bring it about.
Unfortunately, I think the author’s take on how easy it is to manipulate the masses is spot-on (which is to say: even easier, when they’re facing starvation and other severe hardships, than it is now).
America’s “second founding” is how characters in this story refer to the whole order-from-chaos/pheonix-rising-from-the-ashes plan to swallow the USA into the globalist dictatorship certain insiders have referred to as the New World Order . They have utterly destroyed the US economy; taken down the power grid; hijacked the Armed Forces; implemented martial law; begun to kick off their population reduction and relocation initiatives; blamed the patriot resistance for all the above; obliterated what individual rights Americans had left; and made the average Joe beg for servitude by using food shortages as a weapon. This is all right out of the globalist playbook.
I was a bit surprised at how much freedom and initiative Sheriff Hank was able to enjoy, given the stranglehold Big Brother has on everyone and everything. In retrospect, perhaps he was merely given enough rope to hang himself. And scapegoats are always needed in situations like this.
The stranglehold was achieved very quickly. The author has illustrated just how fast our way of life can permanently change. (The same government/media complex that so expertly herds the population using the Hegelian dialectic before the fall will have an even easier time herding with the simple carrot-or-the-stick paradigm.) They waste no time weaponizing the surviving population (now reduced to property of the State), starting with the very youngest.
I got irritated with Sheriff Hank a couple times, due to his naivite`…but, to be honest, he’s no more naive than most people are, or will be, in real life. Will normalcy bias linger on, even after normalcy has been shredded, napalmed and nuked into oblivion? Yes, it probably will, while evils are sufferable.
This is a dark vision of the near future. However, there were just enough glimmers of hope to read on. And Mathis has set the stage for the resistance to bring some major smoke on the bad guys in the third book.
Latest reports are that five police are dead and seven are wounded from snipers who targeted police. Early reports suggest that one suspect tipped off police about bombs planted around the city. Dallas Police used a bomb of their own to kill one of the suspects.
Phrases like “ambush” and “military tactics” are being used to describe the attack, but media talking heads are not known for accurate reporting and too few details are known as yet to describe how it went down.
According to the Chief of the Dallas Police, one shooter stated his motivations included a desire to kill white people and white police, and anger over police brutality in other cities.
Some of us have been warning for years that there will be more and more of these high-profile shootings until disarmament of law-abiding citizens is achieved. Of course this is dismissed as “conspiracy theory” even though Eric Holder’s “Justice” Department was caught red-handed arming violent criminals just for this purpose.
Here are just a couple items this shooting accomplishes:
Upping the hysteria for “gun control.”
Another step toward a race war that the government will need to rescue us from (at the cost of personal liberties, of course).
Distraction from Hillary’s scandal being covered up by Clinton puppets in the FBI and the office of Attorney General.
The most important thing to know about this book is that it’s fun. It is, in fact the most fun I’ve had reading a book in a long time. Other books have perhaps explored more profound emotions but if you want to spend a few hours alternating between a grin, a rolling chuckle, and laughing out loud you probably won’t do better with anything contemporary.
What we have here is the memoir of a screaming nutjob, as told to author Michael A. Armstrong. The nutjob in question, James Ignatius Malachi Obediah Osborn is a multiple alien abductee, fierce fighter in the Resistance movement against the Alien Occupying Government. He can spot ‘em among the general population, because he knows their disguise tricks. Or maybe he’s just nuts, hard to say.
That’s where a lot of the tension in the story comes from. Some of what he believes is pretty convincing. Some of it just seems Loony Tunes.
After a scary encounter with the grays in Florida Jimmo heads for Alaska where the adventure continues. Aside from maybe being nuts Jimmo is a pretty competent fellow who can find work and do it well, fighting fires while fending off alien attacks.
He purports to be a spec ops veteran of Desert Storm, although while others were defeating Saddam he was further out in the desert, hunting grays with Delta Force. Thing is, he still talks the talk right. The guy has definitely been somewhere and done something.
Another thing this books does well is present the society of adventurous spirits who have absconded to Alaska as the last frontier where you can get a decent latte. A more brave and gaudy collection of tatted, pierced and bizarrely coifed expats can hardly be imagined. And, to paraphrase Ronnie Hawkins, Jimmo gets more trim than Frank Sinatra.
Warning: if you have a problem with people who unabashedly talk nasty, well, maybe you should read Jane Austen instead.
Michael A. Armstrong was born in Virginia, raised in Florida, and has lived in Alaska since 1979. He graduated from New College of Florida, and received a master of fine arts in writing from the University of Alaska Anchorage; his master’s thesis, PRAK, was published by Warner Books/Questar as After the Zap. Armstrong has published in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, Asimov’s, and Analog, as well as numerous anthologies. A writer in the Janet Morris Heroes In Hell series, he most recently was published in Lawyers in Hell.
He now lives in Homer, Alaska.
Number Two in the Wings of War series, this novel gets its name from an air interdiction operation against a segment of the Ho Chi Minh Trail.
Author Mark Berent was a fighter pilot in Vietnam who also took the initiative to find out what the war on the ground was like. That means his characters/stories have, as a backdrop, a fairly cohesive strategic and tactical overview (such as a strategic concept was, in Vietnam).
Jet jock Court Bannister has finished his first combat tour and has managed to earn a slot in Test Pilot School for the second time. That’s a step toward becoming an astronaut, which is his ambition.
Meanwhile, Toby Parker is also stateside, officially earning his wings. His hoity-toity family is pleased with the enhanced status he lends them by having become a hero, but not so pleased with his intentions of remaining in the Air Force. Given his alcoholism and increasingly rebellious behavior, not everone in the Air Force thinks he should stay in, either.
Wolf Lochert, fighting a whole different sort of campaign on the ground, is an unconventional warrior in an unconventional war who is just too unconventional for the typical snooty brass who are overseeing the lose/lose experimental quagmire in Vietnam.
Both pilots are privileged offspring of wealthy parents, but also way too cowboy for their chains-of-command. By saving another test pilot’s life, along with an expensive aircraft, Bannister is judged unfit for the astronaut program. Parker is an outstanding flier, but his reckless antics get him barred from flying fighters. Both of them wind up returning to Vietnam.
The author, back in the day.
A fatal barroom brawl lands Wolf Lochert in military prison, and his fate appears grim.
From available information, it would seem that Berent was a good pilot. While I wasn’t there, hence can’t confirm or deny, I can confirm that he is a great storyteller. Tom Clancy said Berent spun yarns of “good men in a bad war” and that sums up Wings of War quite well. His three primary characters work within the idiotic constraints they are saddled with, and pursue a victory that is forbidden by Washington.
The author interprets the jargon and explains some technical details which might otherwise confuse some readers; but doesn’t interrupt the story flow long enough to be a nuisance. He’s also got some “character sketches” that will probably resonate with anybody who has served some time in the military.
With all this you get a Soviet MiG pilot, a wartime sting operation, plus glimpses inside the Hanoi Hilton and the Johnson State Department.
Steel Tiger is credible, informative, and great fun to read.
Rolling Thunder is the first novel in Mark Berent’s Wings of War series. The title comes from a strategic bombing campaign during US involvement in Vietnam.
Here’s a little about the author:
Lt Col Berent began his Air Force career as an enlisted man, then progressed through the aviation cadet program. He attended pilot training at Columbus Air Force Base, Mississippi and then Laredo Air Force Base, Texas flying the T-6, T-28 and T-33 aircraft and then moved on to F-86s at Nellis Air Force Base, Nevada. He served on active duty for 23 years until retirement in 1974. He began his operational flying career in the F-86 and F-100 flying at various posts throughout the United States and Europe. He later served three combat tours, completing 452 combat sorties, first in the F-100 at Bien Hoa Air Base, South Vietnam, the F-4 at Ubon Royal Thai Air Base, Thailand, and then in Cambodia for two years to fly things with propellers on them and through a fluke in communications timing, to personally run the air war for a few weeks.
He has also served two tours at the United States Space and Missile System Organization (SAMSO) at Los Angeles, California working first in the Satellites Control Facility and later as a staff developmental engineer for the space shuttle. In his expansive career he has seen service as an Air Attaché to the United States Embassy, Phnom Penh, Cambodia and also as Chief of Test Control Branch at the Air Development and Test Center at Eglin Air Force Base, Florida. He also served as an instructor at the Air Force’s Squadron Officer School.
…His decorations include the Silver Star, Legion of Merit, Distinguished Flying Cross with one oak leaf cluster, Bronze Star, Air Medal with twenty four oak leaf clusters, Vietnam Cross of Gallantry, Cambodian Divisional Medal, and numerous Vietnam Campaign ribbons...
Quite a guy. And Berent tells a rip-snorting story of the air war over Vietnam.
The characters are great–Hollywood prodigal Court Bannister, soul sick rich boy Toby Parker, and devout killer Wolf Lochert. Much like W.E.B. Griffin, Berent seems to like privileged, wealthy characters who don’t have to serve, but do anyway and prove to be natural, superb warriors. Not easy for me to relate, but the author did a fine job winning my sympathy.
Bannister is a jet jock who flies the F-100 Super Saber during his first combat tour. While males all over the USA were finding ways to escape serving in Vietnam, Bannister turned down his dream of Test Pilot and Astronaut training to serve there.
Toby Parker wasn’t even a pilot, but circumstances threw him into a situation where his exceptional skill and bravery earned him recognition as a hero. Unfortunately, a drinking problem might just ruin his career and reputation.
Wolf Lochert is a Special Forces officer and the consummate warrior. He’s no dummy, but one of his most trusted indigenous soldiers is determined to frag him when the opportunity presents itself.
You will probably learn more relevant information about Vietnam in this one novel than you can from any and every history book that covers US involvement in the conflict. I’ve read plenty of fiction and non-fiction about Vietnam, and this has become my favorite so far–just from one reading.
I’ve also read Steel Tiger, the second in the series, and have started Phantom Leader. Reviews are forthcoming. It’s a fantastic series and well worth your time.
Some years ago I passed along some information from a one-time publishing insider, as part of a post at The Two-Fisted Blog:
During a given fiscal year, a tradpub house only has so many books it can publish. First dibs go to the proven heavy hitters like Stephen King, whose grocery list would become a New York Times Bestseller as long as his name is on it. Next in line (and this is nauseating, if not surprising) are the writers who “know people” inside the industry. There is a little more scrutiny/quality control here than for the big name authors, but this is where a lot of the worthless drivel comes from. Next on the pecking order are female minorities. Then male minorities. (Homosexuals have been given quota parity with racial minorities for quite a while. Now they are one of the most powerful special interest groups in existence and I have no doubt this is reflected in the current pecking order.) Then women in general (which sometimes includes men who write for female audiences and/or who write female protagonists, plus men who use female pseudonyms). Everyone not heretofore mentioned is at the bottom of the slush pile, competing for the very smallest portion of the publishing pie.
…Somewhere in there (unless the author is a celebrity with clout), the book must pass the ideology test–the politics must resonate with that of the New York Publishing Cartel, and any characters in the book who believe differently had better be either from the Archie Bunker/Frank Burns/Denny Crane cookie cutter or, better yet, the next Hitler or Darth Vader.
I am not joking when I say that one of the best possible investments in your writing career, as a straight male who wants to get published, would be to hire a fat transgender “woman” of color and simply ghostwrite for “her,” or else acquire pictures of one and add “agoraphobic” to your Twitter resume of socially appealing forms of oppression—so no one expects to ever meet you.
No occupational field has inhaled diversity quotas this much. Looking at lists of award winners, grant recipients and editorial board members, made up predominantly of women, one would think that men are half-way illiterate. But in truth, far-left badges are ravenously shared and traded by the NY literary establishment, with many magazines and agents expressing a preference for “underrepresented writers,” not to mention all the literary events based around LGBT youth, minorities, inner-city kids, etc.
This whole “underrepresentation” mantra is blatantly dishonest to the point of absurdity, of course. But in the mind of a creative SJW, they must compensate for centuries of “oppression” with every contract; every book; and every character. The lack of cross-dressing perverts on the bookshelves in days of yore must be avenged!
Witness Garth Risk Hallberg, whose novel City on Fire recently received the possibly highest advance ever given to a novel: $2 million. Right from the first page, Hallberg introduces us to an interracial gay couple comprised of a wealthy but negligent white man who walks out on his long-suffering, paragon-of-virtue black boyfriend.
Or consider the “masculine” baseball novel The Art of Fielding, which revolves around a college dean and his affair with a black male student…
…It’s impossible to know where the virtue-signalling impulse ends and the story-telling begins. Possibly, they are trying to avoid the fate of Jonathan Franzen, who, despite being a bespectacled, militantly Democratic bird-watcher who writes an excess of female characters, faces a wrathful literary establishment who can’t quite countenance a straight male writer who has opinions about things.
It was foolish of me to have ever assumed I could be tradpubbed by the NYPC. And while I never sold my soul to make it past the gatekeepers (write the obligatory “strong female characters,” pander to the sodomiphiles; incorporate anti-American messages; etc.); I really regret watering down my earlier fiction for the benefit of those who would have never appreciated my restraint anyway.
High Couch is a classic. It is also, so far as I know, sui generis. In a long life of writing and editing in which I have written nine books, edited more than two hundred and read thousands I do not know of another book like it, not even remotely. On one level it is an exciting sci-fi adventure. On another it is a sword and sorcery epic, and on yet a third it answers Freud’s famous question, “What do women want?”
A brilliant woman has decided to give the game away, and guess what? Feminists have attacked her for it.
The writing style is heroic, but readable and fun. The characters are recognizable, the plot is satisfying, and the world it creates is like nothing you have seen before, but is still believable. It also contains what I consider the most erotic single sentence in all the thousands of books I have read:
“Flesh toy, come here!”
If that doesn’t set up a scene in your mind then you have no business reading fiction.
I’m not going to give the plot away. I’m just going to recommend it. Highly.
Janet Morris began writing in 1976 and has since published more than 30 novels, many co-authored with her husband Chris or others. She has contributed short fiction to the shared universe fantasy series Thieves World, in which she created the Sacred Band of Stepsons, a mythical unit of ancient fighters modeled on the Sacred Band of Thebes. She created, orchestrated, and edited the fantasy series Heroes in Hell, writing stories for the series as well as co-writing the related novel, The Little Helliad, with Chris Morris. She wrote the bestselling Silistra Quartet in the 1970s, including High Couch of Silistra, The Golden Sword, Wind from the Abyss, and The Carnelian Throne.
This quartet had more than four million copies in Bantam print alone, and was translated into German, French, Italian, Russian and other languages.
In the 1980s, Baen Books released a second edition. The third edition is the Author’s Cut edition, newly revised by the author for Perseid Press.
I don’t usually agree with Vox Day concerning race. And since he seems to believe that the solution to every single problem or issue known to man is separatism…we don’t agree on a whole lot of anything I guess.
Everywhere you go, from San Jose to Melbourne, the race war will find you. Vibrants don’t give a damn that you are a good anti-racist. They could not care less that you deplore racism with every bone in your body. They are totally indifferent to the guilt and shame you feel over the actions of your ancestors. They understand, as you do not, that there is no such thing as racial equality, there is no such thing as a “proposition nation”, and there is no such thing as a Brotherhood of Man.
They hate you for the very simple reason that you are not them. And they will attack you, unprovoked, every chance they get.
Like it or not (and I don’t), he is absolutely correct in his statements here. My personal experience has taught me this, as defeatist as it may sound.
Where I disagree with Vox and his ilk (pun intended) is how inevitable this was. They insist that genetic differences demand set patterns of cognitive conformity, and imply that race alone has brought us to the brink of ruin. But we didn’t have to let the divide-and-conquer strategy work. (Plus, the traitors who pushed America onto the slippery slope were lilly-white–and no dark-skinned boogeyman held a spear to their heads.)
Nevertheless, here we are. Self-fulfilling prophecies have manifested; perverted revisions of history are clung to as gospel; and speaking the truth accomplishes little besides identifying yourself as a target to those who haven’t already targeted you.
You may pride yourself on being colorblind (as I once did). But the “vibrants” are not. They won’t become colorblind, and have no intentions to do so. How much suffering you experience will depend on how stubborn you are about accepting this reality.
“One of your own kind… Stick to your own kind.”
You will be judged according to your “skin uniform” and little else in days ahead. If you are white, the “vibrants” hate you already. That hatred is just below the surface and ready to turn violent at the drop of the next catalyst.
I won’t even address Islam here. Anyone with a functioning brain is aware of how dangerous Muslims are–whatever their racial makeup.
Right now, as offensive as this concept is, if you encounter somebody of African descent, there is a 94-98% chance they will gleefully destroy your life, liberty and property, and that of your posterity, when opportunity presents itself. Opportunity at the ballot box today or in the bullet box tomorrow. Their education (from all and whatever sources) has taken advantage of mankind’s fallen nature to program them in the direction they desire to go, anyway, and they are absolutely convinced that they are entitled to anything they can get, by whatever means is most convenient for them.
Most Hispanics are the same or similar. And frankly, the rising undercurrent of white tribalists will eventually be no different. (The redneck parasite class already has the entitlement mentality.) Maybe you’re white, but you’re not white enough. Or not the right flavor of white, see? Comment threads around the web are already demonstrating these trends.
“Vox is gonna have his Day tonight…” Sorry–couldn’t resist.
When the cold civil war turns hot, and you encounter somebody of a different color, are you willing to risk your life, your family’s life, and the life of your proven allies, on the 2-6% chance that the individual is the exception and not the rule? Or will you put them in the dirt with 94-98% certainty you did the right thing? Or will you pause to weigh all the possibilities, assuming the other guy will give you a minute to sort it out? Maybe you’re uncomfortable even considering this scenario. Does your discomfort now guarantee you’ll never have to make such a choice?
Vox has been blogging frequently against the “proposition nation.” That’s the “America is an idea” sentiment that I myself have expressed, because Americans are ruled by law, not by men–whatever color the men in question happen to be.
To be honest, Vox is using the accurate definition of “nation.” God established the nations, and the distinction was/is purely genetic. So a polyglot like the USA is not, technically, a nation.
The USA is a country–a country founded on this conviction:
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.–That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, –That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.
The country built on that foundation (that fundamental, you might say) is what I once volunteered to put my life on the line for. I am an American. I have not consented to change my citizenship to a regime that is destructive of these ends. No such fundamental transformation of my country to such a regime is legal. Everyone in Congress, the Supreme Court and the White House took an oath to preserve my country and its law. Just because they are lying traitors does not obligate me to surrender my unalienable rights protected by that law.
You may insist that such a country doesn’t exist anymore. Judging by what’s going on, you’d appear to be right. In fact, I have suffered certain infringements myself. But that doesn’t mean I’ve surrendered. It also doesn’t mean I will always suffer, while evils are sufferable. It only means I pick my battles and won’t piss away what I do still have in order to make some martyr statement that two-legged sheep won’t heed or even appreciate.
You can choose to forfeit your own rights. Most North America-dwellers are choosing that, will, or have already. That does not obligate me to do likewise.
I’m an American. I don’t care what you think that means to you. What matters is what it means to me. If you are against the foundational truths summarized in the excerpt above, you are my enemy, whether you look like me or not, and whoever your ancestor was. That’s where my line is drawn. That means one side will call me a cuck; and the other side will call me a racist. Both sides will be shooting at me one day, probably. It doesn’t inspire a warm fuzzy, but I can live with that.
Where is your line drawn? If you think matching skin tones is more important than matters of life, liberty, property, and what god you will serve, sin loi. If you don’t, then please examine the alliances you’re making.
In the past I’ve usually posted something about D-Day when June Six rolls around. This year, however, the death of an iconic heavyweight is all the buzz–and much less likely to confuse and engage the apathy of the historically challenged.
I don’t have a copy of The Great Heavyweights on the computer I’m using right now, so I can’t excerpt from it, so let me sum up Cassius Clay/Muhammed Ali first:
The man could take an extraordinary amount of punishment–especially to the body.
He was also extremely difficult to hit–probably the most elusive heavyweight there’s ever been, partially thanks to his very unorthodox defensive style.
His hand speed was also impressive for a heavyweight–though not quite in the league of Floyd Patterson’s.
His lateral movement was the quickest of any heavyweight in his time.
However, he did not have a great punch. He wore his opponents down with attrition and head games. He was a master at psychological warfare.
Judges and referees consistently let him get away with illegal tactics that no other boxer gets away with on a regular basis. He was also awarded decision victories against fighters who kicked his ass.
Despite his claim to be “the Greatest” (regurgitated by every black person on the planet, and plenty of non-blacks as well) he was not the greatest boxer; and not even the greatest heavyweight.
Now that that’s out of the way, let’s look at one way he changed sports in the USA.
Watch the little fight promo segment starting around 5:44.
Can you imagine a jock talking about himself and an opponent this way today? And most jocks in any sport spoke this way once upon a time.
I wish I could locate some interview clips of the Rock I’ve seen in the past. Once a reporter repeated some trash talk from a scheduled opponent, then stuck the microphone in Rocky’s face for his reaction. With no change in demeanor or tone, he said “That’s for him to prove on the (date of the fight).”
Keep in mind: this guy was a cruiserweight according to the scales, fighting pros who were 10-20 pounds heavier, all his career. He had very little in the way of skills, and was matched against some extremely tough men–the worst of them were friggin’ tanks. I don’t know if there’s a dude alive today who could take a punch like those guys could. And they were mostly complete fighters–not obsessed with headhunting like those who followed. Yet Marciano fought 49 bouts with 43 knockouts (most of them in the first round) and never lost a professional fight.
What am I getting at, you ask? It’s not just what he said, but what he didn’t say. If anybody ever had excuse for an ego trip, talking trash about how bad he was and how he was going to make a grown man scream like a woman, the Rock was it.
Watch the beginning of this clip. (“Sugar” Ray Robinson is possibly the best pound-for-pound boxer who ever lived. And yes: Ray Leonard and Shane Mosely were called “Sugar” because it was hoped they would be as good as him.)
Now look at this class act, here:
It’s far from just this individual–pretty much all of them are this way (with rare exceptions, like Evander Holyfield). And it’s not even just boxing–jocks in every sport are full of themselves and ready to talk smack whether asked to or not. They don’t even have to be good; they’ll do it anyway. In fact, it’s not even just jocks. Hang out in the inner city (of any city) and you can’t help but notice overbloated egos on display–and you’ll see it in all races and ethnicities.
What happened between the first two clips and the third?
Ali happened.
Egomaniacal jocks weren’t just accepted after Ali; they were preferred. Pride became a virtue and humility ugly.
Of course there were men with huge egos before–but they had to dial it down in public lest the average Joe see how ugly and petty they actually were. But, in general, even gifted men didn’t indulge in delusions of invincibility; and alpha dogs spoke louder with actions than with words.
Ali elevated smack-talking into its own sport.
Nowadays the male (and far too many females) of the species become experts at self-aggrandizement first, then worry about actually developing skills second…if ever.
The IX is the most inventive science fiction novel I have read since Stranger In a Strange Land. That’s saying a lot. The plot is highly complicated, and yet so clearly and gracefully written that it is easy to follow.
In the far future in a galaxy far far away the Arden are besieged by the Horde and though it will take a long time it is clear that their defenses will eventually crumble and they will be destroyed … unless.
The Ardenese, in an act of creative self-immolation sacrifice their lives to save their DNA, in hopes that someone will eventually reseed the planet with its original inhabitants. Their lead computer, The Architect, also recruits defenders through time and space, specially selected for qualities that are not apparent to the Ardenese, from a far off planet called Earth. They snatch great fighters from different eras just before they were about to die anyway. So they’re thrown into a probable suicide mission with their bonus time.
There are problems integrating fighters who were snatched in the act of trying to kill each other, and from far different times, the IX Legion of Rome and Scottish tribesmen, the US Cavalry and Indian tribes, and 22d Century Royal Marine Commandos and terrorists, all welded into an integrated force.
The ending is to wildly inventive and too brilliant to give away here. Suffice it to say I ended the book with tears in my eyes.
Andrew P. Weston is a Royal Marine and Police veteran from the UK who now lives on thel Greek island of Kos. An astronomy and law graduate, he is the creator of the bestsellers The IX, and Hell Bound, (a novel forming part of Janet Morris’ critically acclaimed Heroes in Hell universe). Weston is also a member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America, the British Fantasy Society, and the International Association of Media Tie-in Writers.
When not working he devotes spare time to assisting NASA with two of their remote research projects, and writes educational articles for Astronaut.com and Amazing Stories. He has also been known to do favors for friends, using his Royal Marine Commando skills.
Red-Blooded American Men Examine Pop-Culture and the World
serweight according to the scales, fighting pros who were 10-20 pounds heavier, all his career. He had very little in the way of skills, and was matched against some extremely tough men–the worst of them were friggin’ tanks. I don’t know if there’s a dude alive today who could take a punch like those guys could. And they were mostly complete fighters–not obsessed with headhunting like those who followed. Yet Marciano fought 49 bouts with 43 knockouts (most of them in the first round) and never lost a professional fight.
