Imagine a world where aliens have invaded and the humans are faced with an alliance with the ancient vampires in order to defeat the alien menace. But Peter must face a powerful threat – one that has plagued him in his dreams.

A device beeps on the professor’s wrist. ‘Peter, Lucia follow me!’ as he rushes off to his laboratory. He barges into his lab and checks his computer terminal: it is making a beeping sound. A button is flashing red.
‘Sacre bleu!’ mutters the professor. He is joined by Lucia and Peter. The professor is muttering to himself as he looks at the screen. Lucia and Peter sit down and look at the professor.
‘Is there something you need to tell us, Professor?’ Lucia asks. She knows he is hiding something.
‘Your visions have been getting worse, haven’t they Peter?’ she asks, looking at her lover.
‘I cannot hide anything from you, Lucia,’ replies Peter wiping his brow, knowing that she hears his tortured mutterings during his sleep. She often comes to his room, to sleep with him, and comfort him. It seems normal now.
The professor clears his throat, avoiding their gaze.
‘I have been analyzing the movements of the mothership. I have been looking for something specific. Very specific. The mothership has ejected one of its sections, and it has fallen to the Earth. Italy to be precise. Sicily. Mount Etna.’
‘There is something in that section Professor, I can feel it,’ says Lucia.
‘The thing from my dreams,’ adds Peter. Lucia touches his hand, feeling his pain. ‘What have you not been telling us, Professor?’ Peter is searching for the answer to his dreams.
‘I am sorry young Peter. I did not tell you before, you have so much on your shoulders already.’
Peter stands up, his deep voice booming. ‘What is it Professor? Tell me!’
The professor clears his throat again. ‘You must complete one final test, Peter, before you become Caius. I have read the Book of Borossus from start to finish. It is very clear on this.’
‘What test?’ asks Peter now sitting down.
‘There is an ancient creature. An ancient demon who lives in the depths of the mountains of the Sumeri home planet, Ergal 5.’
‘Why didn’t you mention this before Professor?
‘I am sorry mon ami I…I didn’t want to alarm you. They have brought it onto their ship. I have been tracking it.’
‘It is a demon,’ says Peter. ‘No wonder I haven’t been sleeping lately.’
‘Oui, my boy, and not a nice demon,’ replies the professor.
‘There are good and bad demons?’ asks Peter.
‘Yes Peter, I am a good demon,’ Lucia winks at Peter. Peter leans across to the professor ignoring his vampire lover.
‘I can feel like it…it speaks to me in my dreams. It frightens me, I don’t mind telling you. Tell me more Professor,’ replies Peter.
‘His name is Bael. He is the first of the 72 spirits of Solomon that he used to build his temple with. Bael has 66 legions of hell at his disposal. He is equal in rank to the Archangel Raphael, so very powerful.’
‘But less powerful than the Archangel Michael, my patron?’ adds Peter.
‘Correct, but even Michael would be wary of Bael. He is a king of Hell and can take many shapes or forms, including a toad or a human. He is very cunning and clever, beware if he speaks to you.’
‘He is known to me,’ says Lucia.
‘The Sumeri are fools if they think they can control it. It will use them for its own evil ends, mark my words,’ sighs the professor.
‘That demon will not share power with da filthy Sumeri. It is a deceiver,’ hissed Lucia, showing her fangs.
‘Remember Peter, demons were once God’s angels, and so they can make themselves look beautiful and claim to have more knowledge than they really do, but ultimately they only want to cause chaos and misery.’
‘It seems to be the opposite of me,’ sighs Peter.
‘It is the anti-hero. You’re the opposite Peter. To become Caius, you must defeat it. And you must do it alone.’
‘Ok. I will get hold of Kojak. We leave for Sicily tonight,’ says Peter with a grim but resolute look on his face.
‘I’m coming with you,’ insists Lucia.
‘I will tell the general. He will not be pleased,’ adds Professor Picard scratching his beard.
‘I have more things to worry about than grumpy generals Professor.’
‘Oui. You must stop it, Peter—else it wreaks havoc to all our ruin!’



Bulletproof Pete, Lucia the vampire and the rest of the team wait in the darkness below a massive alien ship in the inky blackness above.

It is close to midnight. Peter is leading an eight-man team including Vinnie, Handsome Mike, Sebastian, Lucia, Felix and two other vampires, Abel and Arnoldo. A massive black alien ship glistens above them in the darkness, slowly turning and emitting unnerving grinding noises. Vinnie looks up.
‘I wonder if Gill is up there.’
‘Unlikely. I suppose if anything, she would be on board the London ship, but then again, who knows?’ Peter is double-checking their equipment, including the cumbersome nuclear device.
‘Have you got the alien comms device?’
‘Strapped into my rucksack,’ replies Vinnie.
Lucia is tense and focused.
‘Prepare yourselves. Peter, I will carry you, and Felix will take Vinnie seeing as you have so much equipment.’
Pete turns to Vinnie. ‘Just got a coded message from Artie. He’s on top of the NatWest tower ready to strike the London ship. I wished him good luck from both of us.’ Then Peter thinks about Des and the boys.
Peter marshals his team together and looks at his watch again, knowing that precise timing and coordination are critical to success. He reminds his team that they must retain the element of surprise, as around the world, other Special Forces are launching their operations simultaneously. They check their watches. 11:59pm.

Midnight is zero hour.
Everyone is tense, ready for the off.
‘One minute to go. Stand by…’ Peter gets into the zone, his adrenaline pumping through his body.
Suddenly, two men come out of the darkness, Gregg, and Fred. Fred gingerly approaches Peter as Vinnie levels his PR1 pistol at them.
‘Who the fuck, are you?’ asked Peter.
‘Excuse me, we think our women are on that ship.’
‘Are you kidding? We’re starting an operation! Thirty seconds stand by…’ shouts Peter, annoyed.
Vinnie holsters his PR1.
‘Pete, these guys are looking for their women, just like us. Let’s cut them some slack, eh?’
‘What makes you think we can help you?’ asks Peter looking at his watch.
‘You’re going to the ship, aren’t you? asks Fred.
‘Is nothing a secret? Jesus. Lucia, can you find a vampire to carry these two? We go in ten seconds!’ shouts Peter, furious that his operation has been interrupted.
Gregg and Fred pick up some parachutes and are strapped to Abel and Arnoldo. As Peter looks at Gregg and Fred he mutters under his breath, ‘This mission is fucked up already,’ unhappy that their mission may be compromised. But deep down, he knows that he would have done the same. Fred looks up at the ship.
‘How are we going to get to the ship?’
Peter looks at his watch. Midnight.
‘No talking. Go. It’s a GO!’ Peter orders.

The vampires transform, and large leathery wings appear. They carry them all up to the ship in the inky blackness. Fred and Gregg are terrified as they see a red-eyed demon smiling at them. Gregg screams out loud.
Peter is furious, ‘Shut the fuck up, or I will shoot you myself!’
After five minutes, they land on the ledge of the massive black ship. Fred and Gregg shiver against the wind and cold. Vinnie retrieves the comms device and hands it to Lucia. Peter is examining the black panels on the outside of the ship.
‘I’m hoping there is an interface lock here.’
Using his head torch, Peter searches for an interface. He finds one and gestures to Lucia. Vinnie shivers.
‘Hurry up, I’m freezing my bollocks off here.’
Lucia slides back the panel and fits the device. It lights up, and some alien characters appear. She studies the strange language.
‘Let me see now, the professor gave me these codes. The alien language is not so different from Sumeri…that’s it.’
Lucia presses some buttons and a bay door opens into the spaceship. Peter holds up his hand.
‘Quick! Move it.’ They all move in except the two new recruits. Peter shoves Gregg and Fred through the opening as they stumble onto the floor of the ship. Vinnie and Handsome Mike keep a lookout while Peter orders Sebastian to take personal responsibility for Fred and Gregg. Sebastian grabs them both by the scruff of the neck and barks at them in his earthy Geordie accent.
‘You two. I may be a priest, but I’m ex-SAS, and I love these boys as my brothers so if you give us any more trouble I will shoot you. Understood?’ They nod nervously.

The air is musty and stale; the corridors are dimly light and dirty, with cables and wires sticking out everywhere. Vinnie coughs on the air as he keeps lookout. ‘Whoever built this ship had a bad day at the office,’ mutters Vinnie, coughing again.
Peter and Lucia are engrossed in the computer terminal in front of them. ‘Lucia, do you know the layout of these spaceships?’ asks Peter.
‘No. I do not. I shall login and view the schematics. The rest is instinct. I can smell these aliens…’
Lucia uses the device again at the terminal tapping some keys to view the ship’s layout. A diagram pops up which Lucia studies, figuring out their current location and the location of the centre of the ship, translating the Sumeri language in her head.
‘Do you know where the women are being held?’ whispers Fred. Lucia nodded, looking annoyed at the interlopers.
They are taken by surprise, as a robot turns into a corridor towards them. They dive for cover into a storage room. The robot stops at the open bay door, presses some buttons, and the door slides shut. Then it returns to its duties. The team ventures back out to the corridor. Lucia looks at the schematics again.
‘Lucia, any ideas?’
‘Peter, follow me. Stay silent.’
A terrified Fred looks at Lucia.
‘Who, what are you?’
‘My name is Lucia, I am a vampire, our ancient enemy is da aliens da humans seek to destroy. Humans and vampires have now united.’
‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend,’ quips Peter.
‘Well put, Mr. da Bulletproof.’
‘I’m looking for my wife,’ Fred whispers.
‘I will help you. As they say, look for friends in unlikely places,’ says Lucia.
‘Can we crack on!’ says Peter, impatient and still furious.
‘Shall we begin our business, gentlemen?’ says Lucia.
A frightened Gregg looks nervously at Lucia.
‘Whatever you are, I am grateful for your help. I’m scared.’
‘So am I,’ says Fred. Peter is annoyed but sympathetic.
‘I get scared sometimes. It’s natural—shows you’re alive,’ replies Peter scanning the area for alien activity.
Lucia is trying to focus.
‘Silence, please!’
They walk down dark, poorly-lit corridors, some of which seem to be falling apart, either due to lack of maintenance or poor construction. The smell is awful.
‘I think they built these ships in a hurry,’ whispers Peter.
‘Pen and inks as well,’ coughs Vinnie through the stale air.



This recounts the history of the ancient alien race called the Sumeri, who live on Ergal 5. Their emperor is desperate and looks to earth history as the answer to all his problems.

Countless millennia ago, there was an elected government on Ergal 5, the home planet of the Sumeri aliens—there was a democracy. Now, the political structure of the Patricians was an imperial military dictatorship; democracy was dead. Disobedience was severely punished, with dissenters taken away to camps for ‘indoctrination’, and never heard of again.
Their dictator was his Imperial Majesty, Emperor Herg-Zuk.
He explained to his people that, due to the dire situation, emergency measures were now enshrined in law; martial law was in effect. Anyone flouting the permanent curfew was simply shot. Many thought that he was mad, launching into fits of anger if anyone disobeyed his orders. He would hold rallies in which fanatical followers would chant his name and swear oaths of allegiance.
In the Imperial Palace in the capital Sumer, Emperor Herg-Zuk was sitting in the Golden Throne room. Its high ceilings were adorned with murals, and long tapestries hung from the walls. His Golden Throne was made of solid gold and studded with precious jewels. He was reading his favourite book, Mein Kampf, by a certain Adolf Hitler. He liked to read Earth books, especially this one, and like many of the Patrician class, he studied Earth history and culture; it was a fashionable pastime among the Sumeri elite.
The humans had a great literary heritage, for a weak, inferior race, and what a jolly, talented fellow this Shakespeare must have been, most entertaining. He had come across Mein Kampf during one of their occasional raiding parties on Earth. He had heard of this Adolf Hitler and had even tried to abduct some of their Nazi scientists, seeing as they were in such short supply on their home planet, but limited resources had restricted their half-hearted attempts—too many local wars to deal with.
His Imperial Majesty was most impressed by the Nazi movement; strong, ruthless and effective. From the ashes of the Earth World War I they had built a strong military and economy against all the odds. He must find someone on the Earth planet who is sympathetic to their cause, yes he must find someone. He remembered his conversation with his loyal Marshal, Zurg-Uk, his trusted Chief of Staff.
‘Our system is failing Marshal. Our DNA is failing, our crops are failing, our financial system is failing, our welfare system is failing, our enemies are eyeing us as weak and frail. This cannot be allowed to continue!’
He banged down his dog-eared copy of Mein Kampf.
Marshal Zurg-Uk breathed in, as he imagined the stupid ideas this book was filling his master’s head with. The emperor stood, his eyes alight with passion as he looked at the imposing figure of his marshal, larger and stronger than most Sumeri.
‘We shall adopt a new system of strength and national unity, for the common good. I will dissolve the Senate. I am fed up with their incessant meddling. Anyone not of our pure race will be deported or exterminated. We shall expand our territory and take what is rightfully ours.’
‘You mean to adopt the Nazi ideology, your Imperial Majesty?’
‘Yes, Marshal.’
‘But the Nazis lost the war, O great one,’ Zurg-Uk gently reminded his emperor, remembering his Earth history.
His Imperial Majesty’s face grew a darker shade of green as he looked at his marshal. Zurg-Uk thought his leader’s face was going to explode.
‘That’s because they fought a war on two fronts, they should never have invaded Russia. We will not make the same mistake!’ he exclaimed as he banged his fist on the throne.
He was in full flow now, and nothing would stop him,
‘That would have given them time to develop their atom bomb, V3 rockets, and their jet fighters. They could have won the war! Zurg-Uk, they could have won!’ he repeated clutching his book.
‘Yes, your Imperial Majesty. Well, they could have, if they hadn’t invaded Russia. And if it wasn’t for that professor, what was his name? Ah yes, Alan Turing, who broke the Nazi Enigma machine code. Brilliant fellow,’ he mused. Then he looked up at the emperor, and realised he had made a grave error and should have kept his mouth shut. He saw the blood vessels on his emperor’s head expand and his face turn even greener.
‘Yes, yes if it wasn’t for that meddlesome Turing, the Nazis could have won the war.’ The emperor sat down indignantly on his golden throne, his golden robes flowing down to the floor, a deep frown on his face.
‘You shall address me as Your Imperial Majesty Emperor Herr Herg-Zuk Marshal, is that clear?’
‘Yes, your Imperial Majesty,’ The Marshal bowed low, wishing to ingratiate himself, once again, with his master even if he was quite mad.
‘I will issue new orders,’ he stood letting his golden robes flow about him.
‘With immediate effect, all dissenters, political activists, and troublemakers will be executed. All our slave clones will be put to work in our military facilities. They can work sixteen hours per day. We can always manufacture more if they wear out. This important work is being overseen by Lord Grim-Uk.’
‘Yes, Your Imperial Majesty,’ the Marshal bowed again.
‘All disabled, mentally ill and infirm will be put through our processing facilities. We no longer have the resources to look after them. They must be sacrificed for the greater good.’
The marshal hesitated.
He knew what that “processing” meant; he had a sister who was disabled.
He coughed politely.
‘Herr, my sister…’
‘Ah yes, I remember you telling me. Don’t worry Marshal,’ the emperor smiled, ‘as a loyal member of our elite, one of the Patricians, I will give you special dispensation. To my loyal followers, we shall form a party of national unity, and we shall adopt a new salute. The Narzuk Salute.’
The emperor stuck his hand out, in a salute.
‘Henceforth, you shall be called Narzuks, the Sumeri military elite. You shall wear a black uniform like the great Nazi Gestapo.’
Marshal Zurg-Uk thought he was quite mad but kept quiet. He just had to follow orders and bide his time. He still remembered that difficult conversation twenty years ago. Now he was standing before the emperor once again; much water had gone under the bridge. He liked that human saying.

They were joined in the resplendent Golden Throne room by a black-uniformed Sumeri general, who shifted nervously on his feet, as he saluted. He looked up at the awe-inspiring Great Golden Throne, and the emperor, who was looking down at him with disdain. The general was wearing all his shiny medals, hoping to impress his emperor.
‘Ah General Kurk-Ik, thank you for joining us.’ The general looked at his superior, Zurg-Uk, for reassurance.
The emperor gazed levelly at Zurg-Uk and the general. They both looked impressive in their gold, braided black Narzuk uniforms, decorated with medals, the emperor recalling their deeds against their own people and military expeditions to other planets. Good loyal Narzuks.
Zurg-Uk remembered receiving his ‘Order of the Eagle’ for his campaign of intimidation of clones and Plebeians on home planet Ergal 5 and the wars against neighbouring planets, desperate for their resources. He had tried to mitigate the worst excesses of some of the more fanatical Narzuk troops; he still had some principles after all. He was tired of war, but he wore his medals with pride.

But former allies were now enemies. Desperate times.
They both bowed before their master. Two clone servants stood by his side, heads bowed. Imperial guards dressed in red stood either side as they approached the throne.
‘Your Imperial Majesty,’ they both bowed low.
Herr Herg-Zuk raised his hand for them to stand. He pressed a button on his throne, and a holographic image of Earth appeared.
‘Gentlemen,’ he smiled. They smiled back and waited in silence.



Bulletproof Pete, aka Caius, meets Lucia the ancient vamire for the first time, but he has the feeling they have met before.

In walks Cassian and Lucia. There was complete silence as they stood there, their presence dominating the room.
‘May we join you, gentlemen?’ spoke Cassian with a deep Eastern European accent.

President Wilson sat open-mouthed. ‘Yes, yes of course.’
General Scott stood up, looking with disdain at the ancient vampires. ‘How did you get past security? This is a secure facility.’
‘Years of practice, General Scott,’ Cassian smiled thinly.
Wilson beckoned to the new arrivals. ‘Please be seated. I must say I am surprised to see you again but welcome!’
They acknowledge the professor. ‘Cassian, Lucia. I thought you were never coming!’ beamed Professor Picard.
‘Gentlemen, this is Cassian and Lucia. I’m hoping we can find some common ground together.’
‘Preposterous!’ says Smith from the CIA standing up. ‘We don’t make deals with vampires!’ Scott nodded his head in agreement, turning red.
‘Please,’ said President Wilson, looking sharply at Smith.

Cassian and Lucia, were seated at the main table, the participants looked uneasily at the pair of white-faced, blue-eyed and fanged beings, who looked around the audience, returning the stare, gauging them one by one. Smith started sweating as Cassian probed his mind, unearthing his darkest childhood nightmares. Lucia stopped as she looked at Peter with the faintest hint of recognition.
Peter had never seen a woman so beautiful as Lucia. She had, soulful eyes, like those of a wild Spanish gypsy, deep and passionate. It was as if time had stopped. There was something about her he recognised; a distant, vague memory, just out of reach, but nevertheless very real. Peter’s heart thumped as he had another vision, this time of an ancient land, and a city on seven hills, and a large wall surrounding it. Hyssop, lavender, and rosemary, the smell of them, the warm, scented air, and a woman, dark and mysterious.
Then the vision was gone. He felt a small stabbing in his heart. He clutched his heart as if clutching a wound. But then it disappeared.
Vinnie nudged Peter to pay attention. Peter came out of his trance, as if in a dream, but then his thoughts turned to his wife, and he felt a bit guilty. Deep in his heart, Peter loved Jennifer, he always had.
But this Lucia; she was magnetic.

Cassian and Lucia stared pointedly at Peter as if searching for something. Lucia opened her mouth as if to speak. The telepathic link was very strong. Peter was aware of it, his sixth sense kicking in, pictures flashed in his mind as he stared at her. Lucia spoke telepathically to her master.
‘Is he the one?’ Peter could hear her thoughts.
‘I am the one,’ he replied. Cassian and Lucia locked eyes on Peter.
Cassian then stood up and spoke, his black medieval suit seemed out of time, but his wiry frame and thin face exuded terrible, hidden power. His blue eyes surveyed the room, looking into the frightened souls sitting around the table.
‘We have not forgotten you. You underestimate how much we admire you, humans. We have come to help you.’
A hostile looking Scott stood up. ‘Let me be blunt. Can we trust them, sir?’ Looking at Wilson.
‘Do you have any better ideas general?’ Wilson threw his hands in the air exasperated.
Cassian and Lucia looked offended. Peter and Vinnie looked confused. A very frustrated president stood up. ‘Bill, please, we need all the friends we can get at the moment!’ Wilson opened his hands in a welcome gesture. ‘Cassian, our situation is desperate. We need to find a way of fighting back. We need some sort of plan. How many of you are there?’
Cassian ignored Scott and looked at the president with his penetrating blue eyes.
‘Mr. President, we bring many legions of Vampiri to da fight. They are making their way to your Sirius bases around the world as I speak.’ Scott is enraged, his face reddening.
‘The locations of those military installations are top secret!’
Cassian gave a hint of a sarcastic smile.
‘You humans are transparent to us.’
Wilson is annoyed at his general, shaking his head.
‘Let Cassian speak, General. Cassian, continue please!’
‘Da aliens: First of all we can tell you what we know about them already, based on our past dealings with them. They are taking women for their filthy experiments and breeding program. The aliens, Da Sumeri, as we call them, are a dying race. Their DNA is failing. Most of their women are barren.’ Professor Picard now spoke.
‘Mais oui, the same will happen to the human race in a million years, our DNA will also start to fail. It was the subject of my dissertation for my anthropology doctorate.’ Cassian continued.
‘Thank you, Professor. That is why they have been kidnapping human women, picking da best genetic material and conducting experiments on them, trying to breed a new race—half-human, half-alien. I can tell you now, these women are suffering.’
Peter listened intently to Cassian, his heart beating faster, hoping Jennifer was safe in their home, hidden deep in the Brecon Beacons.
‘My wife has been kidnapped by these alien bastards!’ said Vinnie tears in his eyes. Peter put his arm around him, ignoring the rest of the meeting, then looked at Cassian.
‘Cassian, we must do something, we must join forces. It is the only way.’
‘God help us,’ grunted Scott. The professor crossed himself looking sharply at Scott. Then he stood up.

‘Young Peter is right – it is the only way. Humans and Vampires must unite!’



Bulletproof Pete, aka Caius, is an ancient warrior reincarnated many times to fight battles throughout the ages. Here he is reliving his time as a centurion in the Roman army.He is in Egypt fighting for Caesar.

Peter was dreaming. He was going back in time to a former life. He was a young man; he had been promoted to centurion in Julius Caesar’s army, and he was responsible for one hundred men. They were good men—battle hardened and disciplined, and most of all loyal: they would follow him to the death.
He was in an officer’s tent preparing for battle, his hard muscles rippling beneath his tanned skin as he put on his armour and sheathed his short sword. He glanced across at his superior officer, tribune Atticus, who was responsible for a cohort, part of a legion consisting of six centuries. Atticus saluted him.
‘Caxus, strength and honour.’
‘Strength and honour, Atticus. May the Gods be with us today,’ he replied in his deep voice, his blue eyes shining.
‘Yes Caxus, may they be with us,’ he said as he sipped some wine and offered some to Caxus—who declined. Atticus scratched his balls as he grumbled,
‘The sooner we get out of this flea-infested hell hole the better, Caxus. This heat vexes me.’ Then Caxus had a brainwave.
‘I will let my men cool themselves in the Nile, so they will be ready for battle.’
‘Good idea,’ replied Atticus as he laid out battle plans on a papyrus, wiping his brow from the heat and dust which blew inside the tent.
‘Caxus, we are short of officers, you will lead my cohort the morrow.’
‘Six hundred men’, thought Caxus. Atticus looked Caxus in the eye, looking for any sign of weakness, or trepidation, but there was none—his promotion was well deserved.
‘Caxus, our emperor Julius Caesar is horrified that his brother in law, Pompey was murdered by the miserable agents of Ptolemy. Even though they were at war, he loved and respected Pompey and wants revenge. We are combining with the Egyptian forces of Cleopatra to defeat Ptolemy.’
‘Cleopatra is the sister and co-regent of Ptolemy?’
‘Yes Caxus.’ Atticus pointed at a map. ‘His forces are based here, just South of Alexandria, ten leagues distant. Our main forces will be led by Julius Caesar; you will travel north by night up the Nile and hide your men in the bulrushes. Then when Ptolemy attacks you will come out of hiding and attack his army from the rear. He will not be expecting this.’
‘By your command Atticus,’ Caxus saluted his tribune. At that moment Julius Caesar walked in and talked to Atticus—regal, statesman-like and clever. Caxus’s heart pounded as their great general talked and banged his fist on the table. ‘The legions of Mithridates of Pergamum and Antipater from Judea are delayed by two days: we must hold out till then!’
‘By your command Caesar,’ said Atticus bowing. Then Caesar looked at Caxus, smiled, and walked out abruptly. Atticus was anxious as he looked at Caxus. They both knew their plan had to succeed or they would all die.
It was midnight, and Caxus and his cohort of men, fully rested, fed and bathed, walked in silence to the waiting boats. A cavalry soldier dropped a spear, clanging on the wooden deck of the longship. His comrades looked at him sharply; it was rumoured there were enemy spies in the camp. Secrecy was paramount; if the enemy found out their mission it would all be over. They would be defeated. Caxus walked up to the clumsy soldier and kicked him up the arse, making him fall headfirst into the Nile, coughing and spluttering.
Their ship was a wooden galley ship with a single row of 25 oars on each side powered by galley slaves; he wanted his men rested, not rowing oars. They got underway and slid silently through the water. He had ordered that no fires be lit, and silence be maintained. There were six galleys, each with a hundred men, who either slept or whispered as they navigated up the Nile. He could not sleep; he never slept well before a battle as he walked down the side of the wooden ship, feeling the cool breeze on his face, looking up at the stars as they twinkled in the night sky. All was peace and beauty.
The morrow would be different. Caxus recalled battles in a hot and dusty landscape, spears and shields: running, cries of anguish, cries of conquest, clashes of shields, the smell of blood, then lying in the dust after the battle looking at a blue sky, the vultures circling above. But he survived the last battle. He would not predict the outcome of the forthcoming battle but would let nature take its course: he left it to the gods to decide.
He saw his friend Virgil, rough and bearded, sharpening his short sword. ‘The sooner we beat this bastard Ptolemy, whatever his name is, we can get back to Rome—and get out of this heat!’
‘Virgil, imagine us toasting our victory in the Athena in Rome, and it will be so.’ Caxus smiled at his oldest friend and recalled their happy times in the immundas popina, drinking and partying with bare-breasted women. Virgil had a faraway look in his eye, as he smiled, burped and farted. Caxus laughed, and slapped Virgil on the back, then walked to the prow where the air was cleaner.
Caxus woke with a start. The sun was rising over the Nile, and his men were stirring. The morning air was still, silent and peaceful. The peace before the storm. He walked over to Virgil, who was already dressed for battle.
‘Wake the men, I want them in battle order!’ Caxus ordered, then added, ‘Hide the boats among the bulrushes on the west bank, then wait for my orders.’ He knew surprise was their secret weapon; he walked along the wooden deck, among his men putting a finger to his mouth, warning severe punishment for those who disobeyed. He crouched down and whispered with Virgil, eating some bread and water in the morning sunshine. Six centurions, each responsible for one hundred men, now gathered, as agreed on their commander’s boat. Caxus stood and looked at each one in turn, gauging them. They did not flinch. They were all good, battle-hardened soldiers, veterans of several campaigns, and bore the scars to prove it.
‘We have traveled past Ptolemy’s army,’ said Caxus.
‘How far?’ said one centurion.
‘We are now at their rear. They are one league distant.’ Caxus pointed, then added, ‘to the South.’
‘We must wait until Caesar engages them in a full-frontal assault. Meantime we creep up from the rear in a pincer movement; then we attack. We must put fear into their hearts, then we will win.’
Virgil and the centurions nodded and saluted their commander. ‘We MUST maintain the element of surprise, else we are meat for the vultures. Virgil…’ At that moment a soldier from Gaul who had been caught drinking wine the previous evening, dropped his sword on a metal plate, which clanged loudly in the still morning air. Incensed, Caxus walked up to the quaking soldier and kicked him in the balls, then grabbed him by his battle tunic, and looked into his tearful eyes.
‘Any more trouble from you, soldier, and you will spend the rest of your miserable life in the salt mines. You go in the front line!’ Caxus ordered, then threw him onto the wooden deck of the galley.
They climbed in silence out of the boats and started wading through the cool Nile water into the rushes by the bank. Caxus had ordered ten men to stay behind on each boat, but the rest of his men now hid amongst the reeds and rushes below the banks of the Nile.
Waiting for the moment.
Caxus and Virgil crept up the muddy bank to the desert above. A mere fifty yards away Caxus could see the tail end of the enemy, the stragglers. Some enemy soldiers in their chariots trundled past, carrying spears and arrows, their chariots generating a dust cloud. Each chariot was pulled by two horses. Caxus counted two hundred chariots, each with two men carrying spears. Each chariot stored arrows and spears – a mobile fighting platform. And they had a blade attached to each wheel to dismember the enemy; a terrifying weapon.
Behind him he heard a loud cough among the reeds and rushes. He looked at Virgil in horror; then they crawled back several yards, praying not to be seen.
The nearest chariot stopped.
Caxus’s heart thumped as he lay still as stone. A charioteer wearing a helmet and dark makeup around his eyes looked at them. Another chariot stopped. Four of the enemy were now looking in their direction.
Searching, listening.
Caxus lay rigid, daring not to breathe, as the wary Egyptians looked at them. Caxus touched an idol on a string around his neck, and prayed to the war god, Mars. The warriors in their chariots seemed to stare for an eternity, then they trundled on behind the main force: the Egyptian army of Ptolemy.
Caxus breathed a sigh of relief and looked at his friend, Virgil. They waited until the rear of the enemy was half a league distant, then he and his men moved out of the reeds and rushes and crept along the bank of the Nile, Caxus leading, using whatever cover they could find. They could not walk in open desert, since they would be spotted. They followed Ptolemy’s army, silently and discretely, swords drawn.
Waiting for the moment.
The sand was blown by the wind in the silent desert. Only the sound of nervous horses being kept in rein by the charioteers reached them.
The tension was palpable; Caxus could hear shouting, about a mile distant, then more shouting; Egyptian voices, then the drumbeats of a Roman army—Julius Caesar’s army. They would engage soon. Caxus held up his hand, holding back his men, timing his moment, for such moments can mean victory or defeat, a few small moments in time. Caxus picked up some sand and rubbed it into his hands, earthing himself, and saying a short prayer to the war God Mars. The roaring became louder, but they had still not engaged; they were throwing insults at one another.
‘Caxus!’ Virgil said in a loud whisper. Still he held his hand up, waiting for the right moment, for he knew it would not be long now, he could feel the tension in the air, like a brewing thunderstorm. Then there was a great roar and the two mighty armies engaged, the Egyptians unaware of the impending attack from the rear.
‘Attack! Attack!’ shouted Caxus in his deep voice! Caxus’s men ran like madmen towards the charioteers at the rear of the enemy, swords at the ready. The Egyptians were taken by surprise, Romans jumping onto the chariots and making short work of them. They could not turn their chariots around in time, for they were swamped by shouting Roman soldiers, hardened veterans of many wars, and they stood no chance. Soon half the charioteers were dead or dying, and vultures started to circle overhead.
The rest ran into the desert.
The rear of Ptolemy’s army, the foot soldiers, now realised the danger as they glanced behind them, as a full cohort of Roman soldiers fell amongst them. The back of the Egyptian army was composed of young men, inexperienced in battle, and they did not put up much of a fight, as the Roman army slashed its way through, hacking and stabbing and lunging with their spears. Many deserted, disappearing into the heat of the desert, never to be seen again.
Ptolemy’s army of six thousand men was now down to five thousand, with a thousand either dead or deserted. He looked ahead of him, to see Caesar leading a mere fifteen hundred men, but his confidence was waning; there was a disturbance from the rear. Ptolemy could hear shouts of anguish and anger and fighting. Who was attacking him from the rear?
He still had more than enough men to finish off Caesar – but he had not accounted for Caxus, who hacked and slashed his way through the enemy, his rippling muscles and expert swordsmanship making short work of surrounding soldiers, who turned away in fear when they saw him, like an enraged Greek god. But he was bleeding. His face and body were covered in blood and his left foot was injured, he had a slash in his side from an Egyptian spear, wielded by a giant of a man, who had thrust repeatedly, but then Caxus had deflected the spear point and driven his sword deep into the stomach of his enemy, who had dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach in agony.
The battle was being fought in the heat of the desert. Ptolemy’s army was now down to four thousand men, Caesar one thousand, as the battle raged. Almost two thousand of Ptolemy’s army were now attacking Caxus’s Cohort of men in a furious battle, but the Romans were standing their ground through grit and courage. Caxus looked around at his men, he had lost one hundred already, good men, brave men. They were preventing the slaughter of Julius Caesar and his men, but Caxus might not hold out, his men were tiring under the ferocious onslaught by crack Egyptian swordsmen; they were running out of time.
They needed a miracle.
Then he heard a horn, a battle horn. His heart leaped. He could hear the stomp of a Roman army in battle march behind them and could see a cloud of dust in the distance. Then out of the dust, his heart leapt as he could see thousands of Roman soldiers—disciplined, fierce and ready for battle. One of his centurions ran up to him.
‘The legions of Mithridates of Pergamum and Antipater from Judea have arrived!’ he exclaimed in jubilation.
Ptolemy’s army looked around in panic as they saw ten thousand men march towards them from the North, marching towards Caxus. Caxus saw a look of panic in the Egyptians’ eyes, looking this way and that, looking for an escape route, to the east was the Nile, to the south was Caesar’s army, to the north was Caxus’s cohort and the approaching Roman army. Suddenly, the mood changed in the Egyptian army. Sensing defeat, thousands of the Egyptians dropped their weapons and ran east into the open desert.
Caxus dropped to the ground in relief, retrieving a bandage from a bag and wrapping his foot wound inflicted by an Egyptian spear. Soon the fresh Roman army marched past him and then proceeded to massacre the remains of Ptolemy’s army, the rest running off into the desert.
Caxus shouted in joy as he saw his friend Virgil stagger out of the desert. They clasped hands and then walked to the Nile and bathed the battle blood from their bodies, catching their breath and resting on the bank. Further down the river they could see some Egyptians struggling to swim across the river. Some were nobility.
‘These Egyptian bastards are not good swimmers,’ laughed Caxus.
‘We are stronger than them, Caxus.’
‘Yes, we are stronger, we are Roman,’ replied Caxus. ‘Come, my old friend, let us find Caesar.’ They strolled back up the bank and out of the hot, dry and dusty desert. They could see Romans on horses, and a Roman general. Bloodied and dirty, Julius Caesar, climbed off his horse, walked up to Caxus, and put his hands on his shoulders, looking him in the eye. Caesar had found him instead.
‘Caxus, you are a friend of Rome. Come to my tent, we will talk.’
They were in the tent of Caesar, eating grapes and drinking wine. Amongst the throng of officers, Caesar walked forward with two other generals. ‘Ah Caxus, let me introduce you to Mithridates of Pergamum and Antipater from Judea. This is the young man I’ve been telling you about.’ The two men greeted Caxus warmly.
‘Julius Caesar tells me you are a one-man army. You saved the day and saved our friend Julius.’ Caxus smiled and bowed.
‘You came in the nick of time, not sure how much longer we could have held out,’ replied Caxus, as Caesar clapped him on the back. ‘What became of the little shit Ptolemy?’ asked Caesar.
‘We saw him drowning in the Nile, my Lord.’
‘They are not good swimmers,’ said Virgil.
‘And who is this fellow?’ asked Caesar.
‘This is my oldest and trusted friend Virgil, my Lord.’
‘Any friend of Caxus is a friend of mine,’ said Caesar as he clapped Virgil on the back—which made him burp loudly. Caesar looked shocked, looked at Mithridates and Antipater, then they all burst out laughing. ‘Come, I have this special wine, Caxus, let us drink and celebrate our victory together.’.
‘Have you seen Atticus?’ asked Caxus. Caesar shook his head.
But then across the tent, Caxus saw a vision: a woman with jet black hair and blue eyes, and striking beauty, like a goddess. Her blue eyes smouldered with passion, like a wild Spanish gypsy. She stood motionless and looked at him, as his heart pounded.
‘You look like you have been struck by lightning young Caxus. Do you like her?’ asked Caesar.
‘Yes, my Lord.’
He was dreaming again, he was wearing leather sandals and a toga, and there were stone buildings around him, people shouting as they sold bread and wine in the market stalls scattered along the street between dwellings. He was middle-aged and walked with a slight limp—an old battle wound earned fighting as a centurion in Caesar’s army. He could smell fragrant fresh fruits and a multitude of herbs. There were displays of shellfish, fish and the smell of blood-red slabs of meat around, which buzzed with hoards of flies; this was summer, so there was no ice or snow from the mountains.
This was the Aventine Hill, one of the seven hills on which ancient Rome was built. He greeted a wealthy wine trader who bought wine from his lands in the north. They exchanged pleasantries and then he was walking up a hill. The air was cleaner here, he could feel the warm sun on his face. As he continued up the hill he came to his villa, surrounded by a stone wall. A guard in Roman military uniform stood sentry outside saluted him—one of his loyal soldiers—and as he got closer the thick wooden door was unbolted from inside and opened by the new servant girl. She smiled shyly at him, her brown eyes sparkled and he looked at her long hair flowing over her shoulders, like a Greek goddess. He looked at her for a moment, then beckoned to his wife, who was relaxing on a sofa in the garden, amongst the flowers and herbs.
He could smell rosemary as he walked up to her and kissed her soft red lips, tasting the red wine she was drinking, and looked into her eyes, her jet-black hair flowing thick over her shoulders. Her gown slipped showing one of her breasts as she kissed him. He cupped it in his hand; her eyes blazed with passion as their tongues met. Then he sat down, and the servant girl offered him some grapes. He smiled as he ate them. Then his wife took some, the juice running from her mouth, as she took the girl by the arm, pulling her, and then kissed her on the lips. The girl giggled and Caxus could feel his passion rising as he watched them kissing and play-making, looking shyly at him; egging him on. ‘Come join us,’ said his wife to him as she took the girl’s hand and walked through the garden, through the flowers and herbs, towards the bedchamber, hand-in-hand, laughing and giggling. They both turned around and smiled at him, his wife throwing kisses at him, like two goddesses on a picnic.


I am Caius aka “BulletProof Pete”

Hello, I am Captain Peter Morgan aka “BulletProof Pete” (that’s what my fellow SAS friends call me anyway.) I live in the Brecon Hills with my family, in a secret hidden valley away from the stresses of modern life. I thought I could run away from who I really was – some sort of super hero, with super human powers – but I never asked for this

I was born with it.

From an early age I knew I was different. My father was also in the SAS but I only found out after he died. On a black mission. He named in Cai, he said it was an old  welsh name meaning Kay, the bravest of Arthur’s knights. Maybe he knew something –  I knew I was different. Faster, stronger – than all the other boys at school. People started to notice.  Then I joined the army. Later I passed SAS selection with my best friend Vinnie. Vinnie’s an oddball – his family are gangsters from the East End of London. He had a choice, be a gangster or join the army. But Vinnie is my brother and I don’t care what people say about him, we have each other’s backs –  We are brothers in arms.

I keep getting these visions – when I was Lost in the desert in Yemen. I was on the point of death. Then I had a strange vision of a priest and an ancient book of prophecy, and a sword of unspeakable power. Then the Archangel Michael appeared in all his glory, powerful, majestic and kind and gave me a golden cup. Michael tells me my name is Caius (the Latin name for Cai) and tells me I have a destiny to fulfill.

I cannot escape my destiny. No one can.

My visions continue, a dark cave, something diabolical within, fear grips me – but one day I must face it whatever it is. It gives me nightmares. Then a blackened sky and an ancient race of aliens invade earth in a monstrous ship. Then a woman of strange beauty appears in my dreams trying to contact me. She lives in an ancient stone city on seven hills. Long dark hair, fierce blue eyes and a wild gypsy look about her.  Then I’m on a battle field, in the desert, in a Roman uniform, fighting Egyptians, then I’m lying in the sand, vultures circling above me.

I almost forgot my nickname – “BulletProof Pete,” because I never get hurt, so  many missions, so many battles, and not a scratch. Now the yanks want me to fight for them. But I’m British, I fight for Albion. Now I’m fighting for the yanks. Politics – it wasn’t my choice – seems I’m a pawn in a bigger game. This Lucia though – when I first saw her it was like I was struck by lightning. The attraction is magnetic and a sense that I have known her before.

I have a sword and only I can summon it – it is the Holy Sword of my patron – the  Archangel Michael. Aeons old. Omnipotent and all powerful – but loving also. The sword nearly destroyed me the first time I summoned it. But I’m getting used to it. But do I control the sword or does it control me?

I am BulletProof Pete, but I am also Caius, the warrior who incarnates every 1000 years to save mankind. I must become the hero everyone wants me to be. It is my destiny.

For myself. For my family. For mankind.

Read about my story in HERO – the Dominion First Blood series – click the link below.

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The Blind Beggar Pub

The Blind Beggar is a famous pub on Whitechapel Road in Whitechapel, East London, England. It is was here that the first modern Brown Ale was brewed for Manns Albion brewery. It was built in 1894 and takes its name from the legend of Henry de Montfort, a son of Simon de Montfort (who led the rebellion against King Henry III of England).

The Blind Beggar pub is notorious for the murder of George Cornell (one of the rival Richardsons gang) by Ronnie Kray. On 9 March 1966, East End gangster, Ronnie Kray, one of the Kray twins, walked into the saloon bar of the Blind Beggar Pub and in full view of the customers, shot George Cornell through the head, as he was sitting at the bar,

It is also the location of William Booth’s first sermon, which led to the creation of The Salvation Army. The pub is also a popular starting point for the Monopoly Pub Crawl, and was previously owned by Bobby Moore.

Henry de Montfort legend
in 1265, Henry De Montfort was wounded and lost his sight in the Battle of Evesham. He was nursed to health by a baroness, and together they had a child named Besse. Percy’s Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, published in 1765, tells the story of how he became the “Blind Beggar of Bethnal Green” and used to beg at the crossroads. This story of how he went from landed gentry to poor beggar became popular in the Tudor era.

My visit to the Blind Beggar Pub
As the Blind Beggar Pub is in my book, Dominion First Blood, I decided to visit the pub and got chatting with a friendly local, Bob Fox, retired from the 2nd Royal Regiment Infantry. We had a couple of pints of beer together and he reminisced of the days when Mad Frankie Fraser (a notorious member of the Richardson gang) used to visit the pub and pointed out where George Cornell was shot.

This friendly pub (the gangster days are gone now!) is run by Landlord David Dobson. It has an excellent selection of ales and craft beers and friendly staff.

In my book, Dominion First Blood, the Blind Beggar is the local pub of East End gangster Vinnie “the Terminator” Carson.

Our hero, Bulletproof Pete is helped by childhood friend Vinnie (two SAS heroes) and Lucia, a sexy vampire. What can possibly go wrong?


HERO Out now on Amazon in paperback and kindle


One Man Can Make a Difference-How one Englishman saved 669 Jews from the Holocaust

Amongst the recent furore about far right violence in Charlottesville, USA involving Neo-Nazis, KKK and White Supremacists,  comes a story so compelling that it restores your faith in human nature – that there are good people in this world who do good things.

I’m talking about the remarkable story of Sir Nicholas Winton, son of  a British banker, who during World War II organised the evacuation of 669 Jewish children destined for Nazi concentration camps, from German occupied Czechoslovakia.

One Man Can Make a Difference-How one Englishman saved 669 Jews from the Holocaust

Nazi anti-Semitism had reached boiling point on 9 November 1938. Throughout German occupied territory, including Czechoslovakia, a wave of violent protest broke out against the Jews. Synagogues were burned, businesses attacked and windows smashed in what became known as Kristallnacht – the ‘Night of Broken Glass’.

Kristallnacht set warning bells ringing. As a result, Britain agreed to open its borders to refugee Jewish children.

Sir Nicholas, a Jewish stockbroker, knowing time was running out for Jewish families, made arrangements for trains to carry Jewish children out of occupied Prague to England, fighting bureaucrats every step of the way.

How did he do it? He placed adverts in newspapers and organised foster families for Jewish children in Britain. He rescued 669 mostly Jewish children who traveled on eight trains, known as Kindertransport, across four countries. From Prague / Bohemia they travelled through Sudetenland, (annexed by Nazi Germany), then through Germany itself (no doubt a perilous passage) and then escape from the Hook of Holland to Harwich, then to London. Sir Nicholas and his team fought British custom officials to allow all the children in despite their incomplete documents. Many of the parents were to perish in Auschwitz concentration camp. The last batch of 250 children never left Prague as the war had just started. Only two survived.

Unknown Hero. He met his wife Grete in 1948, but remarkably never told her about his wartime heroics. In fact nobody knew about his unheralded acts of courage until she found some diaries in the loft some fifty years on listing all the Jewish children that were rescued.

He was made an MBE and knighted by the Queen in 2003 and became known as the British Schindler.

His son Nick said of his father’s brave legacy: “It is about encouraging people to make a difference and not waiting for something to be done or waiting for someone else to do it.”

My book Dominion First Blood, although a work of fiction, stands as a warning against Nazi ideology and all it stands for. In my story, Professor Picard is a young Jewish boy who flees Nazi Germany with his parents to occupied France – narrowly escaping death. While his parents join the French Resistance he hides in the loft reading books. Back to the modern day, Earth is invaded by desperate aliens who have adopted the Nazi ideology. Mankind seems doomed but one man stands alone to fight the alien menace.

Our hero, Bulletproof Pete is helped by childhood friend Vinnie and Lucia, a sexy vampire. What can possibly go wrong?


HERO Out now on paperback and kindle


I Never Understood Quantum Computing Until I Watched This Video

Some light Sunday afternoon entertainment. I suggest you get yourself a large cup of coffee, or even better, a large scotch (single malt) before reading this….

Have you ever had the weird feeling you’re watching a film you’ve seen before but now it seems different? The dialog seems a bit different from what you remembered – did they really say that? Then you dismiss the thought as a result of bad memory.

I never understood quantum computing (until now) ….How can two different states exist at the same time?  e.g. True and False at the same time? Its simply not logical. To our binary view of the world this is impossible.
But then quantum computing only makes sense if there are multiple universes – a copy of our universe, but slightly different, in one universe you are mild mannered IT Consultant Bill Smith, in another you are Bill Smith, IT Company owner – two different states at the same time (but two different dimensions). In one dimension an actor in a film says one thing, in another dimension the actor says something slightly different.
 A quantum computer has two discrete states which occur simultaneously i.e. on and off can occur at the same time. To our view of the world this is impossible but not in a quantum computer where multiple states can occur at the same time which may explain the Mandela effect.
What is the Mandela effect?

The first part of the video talks about people who remember films differently from what they remember, as in Darth Vader said “I am your father…” not, “No, I am your father.” This is called the Mandela effect. This is very interesting and thought provoking. Then it talks about multiple universes and multiple timelines where the same things happen but slightly differently.

Have you ever had the weird feeling you’re watching a film you’ve seen before but now it seems different?

If you love science fiction action adventure books and films like Independence Day, UFOS, Vampires, Government Conspiracies then you will love my new book out on Amazon.

In my book DOMINION First Blood eccentric french polymath Professor Picard builds a quantum computer to download information from an alien robots head. If you love Science Fiction, fantasy, UFOs and alien books then you will love my new book DOMINION First Blood out now on Amazon. Here’s the video trailer

HERO Out now on paperback and kindle


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How Scary Would An Alien Invasion Be?


Very Scary.

An alien invasion would make World War Two look like a walk in the park.


Because there would be very few places to hide. From the aliens that is. In World War Two parts of Europe: Switzerland, Portugal, Spain, The Americas, Most of Africa and parts of Asia were not invaded by the AXIS powers. Refugees, and others, with spirit and bravery, had a chance to escape to a safer place, where the evil Nazis could not persecute them. Armies had the option of retreating back to their own lines, to fight another day.


If you think back to the Independence Day film, the aliens had a strategy. Satellite spaceships invaded earth and controlled all the major cities and population cities, then destroyed them. The satellite ships were controlled by a Mothership, directing the alien forces, firstly destroying the ability to communicate, satellites etc. Then destroying the ground forces, and airforce and navy. Ninety percent of our military would be wiped out within the first 48 hours of an alien invasion.

Then the aliens would destroy the infrastructure; power, water, gas supplies would be cut off, things everyone takes for granted, at least in the developed world. Could you imagine a world without electricity? I don’t think most people can, to be quite honest. The major cities would be evacuated – traffic jams running for miles, with people running out of petrol.

Where would people go?

Caves, forests, mountains, hidden valleys, hideaways, cellars, basements.

How would people survive? I think most people would struggle without electricity and fresh water. Its the people who have survival skills that will survive. Start watching Bear Grylls and Ray Mears.

Major cities would be evacuated, but some isolated communities may stay in their homes, if they are well hidden. But even if you did manage to stay in your own home there would be no electricity, no gas no water. That makes alternative energies so attractive; solar power, wind power, recyclable water systems – self-sufficiency. In the Philippines a lot of people drill a borehole down to the water table to pump fresh water for washing and drinking.

Most people would be hiding out in the woods, building makeshift camps (I remember doing this as a young boy with my friends building camps and getting chased by Crown Estate Forest Rangers, but that’s another story).

How long could you survive in the woods?

You could build a log cabin from fallen trees (like I used to). You would need a supply of fresh drinking water, a stream or suchlike. Without this you would survive less than a week. Food? There is deer, rabbits, foxes (not good eating) and squirrels, but you have to catch them first. So you would need to develop hunting skills, and how to skin an animal. Most people would be squeamish about this. And of course how to create a fire. Firesticks are very useful, but they can be tricky – you would need to find good dry tinder to get a fire going. Somebody with survival skills with  a good knife, a firestick and a cooking pan could survive for months, maybe years.

In my new book I discuss the existence of a secret worldwide organization to fight an alien invasion. It has secret underground bases, new technology, new weapons to fight the alien menace. This would be critical for humankind to stand any chance of survival and fight back against the aliens.

In my new book series “DOMINION: First Blood” Book One HERO (out NOW on Amazon), the world suddenly becomes a very scary place. The alien invaders totally dominate – crushing all resistance. But the human’s fight back, with ingenuity, and cunning. An SAS super-hero called Bulletproof Pete teams up with sexy vampire Lucia – the humans ally themselves with a race of ancient vampires in a bitter war against the aliens. But no-one can defeat the human spirit.

Read the story. Links below.

**HERO is free to download until the 30th June 2019**




See the Movie Trailer for this book -Please share


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