Anglo-Force: Saltwater Grudge Chapter Two: The Cliff’s Silent Witness

James left the handkerchief where it lay and took the watch with him.

            The bus from Cromer to West Runton ran every forty minutes, and he caught the one that pulled away from the stop on Cadogan Road at ten past one. A handful of pensioners sat near the front, shopping bags wedged between their feet. A young mother with a pushchair folded into the luggage rack stared at her phone. No one looked at him. He took a seat halfway down, next to a window filmed with salt, and watched the town thin out into hedgerow and ploughed field.

Anglo-Force: Saltwater Grudge Chapter One: A Watch in the Mailbox

The wind came off the North Sea in long, querulous gusts that rattled the sash window and found every gap in the frame. James Watt sat with both hands curled around a mug that had gone tepid twenty minutes ago, watching a gull beat itself steady against the grey. The bird hung there a moment, wings working, then peeled away toward the pier.

Here's Another Way to Read My Stories

Those of you who've been playing close attention to this blog may have noticed a change around here. If you don't what I mean take a look at the image above, paying attention to the part I've highlighted for you.

You'll see this on most of the fiction pages now. If you tap, or click, or whatever, on the words "Download this story in PDF format here" it will hopefully open a new browser window where you'll be able to read the entire story in PDF format. This means that instead of visiting and reading each chapter individually you'll be able to download and keep the entire story whenever, and wherever, you want, and the best thing about is it's FREE!!!!!

I haven't uploaded all of the stories yet, so keep checking back if you want to add my fiction to your collection.

If any of this doesn't work and you can't access the PDF files leave a comment on my Facebook page. 

Social Media Discoveries 82: Matteo Mancuso, Wolfie's Just Fine, Savage Existence, Woodship and More!

We've made it to episode 82 of Social Media Discoveries. Bloody hell, how did we get this far? Answers on a postcard to the usual address, whatever that is.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Sixteen: The Dawn of a New Age

The morning light, usually a comforting, golden wash across Arthur’s London Crown Prosecution Service office, felt oddly sterile, a harsh fluorescent glare compared to the bruised, metallic dawn that had broken over the Tower of London just hours before. The silence, too, was a stark contrast to the cacophony of sonic blasts, the whirring of drones, and the desperate shouts that had echoed through the night. Arthur sat at his desk, the events of the previous evening a heavy, visceral weight, yet strangely, it was accompanied by a newfound clarity, a steel-hard resolve he hadn’t possessed before. He reviewed the news reports scrolling across his laptop screen, each headline a carefully crafted lie: ‘Unexplained Technological Malfunction at Historic Landmark’, ‘Tower of London Incident: No Casualties Reported’, ‘Authorities Investigate Drone Anomaly’. Inspector Solo and his police force had done a commendable job of damage control, weaving a narrative designed to prevent widespread panic. They had managed to contain the truth, for now.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Fifteen: Clash of Eras (Climax)

A metallic tang, like old blood and ozone, coated Arthur’s tongue. He swallowed hard, the taste a stark reminder of the night’s grim purpose. The wind whipped at his white kevlar body armour, a cold caress against his face as he stood on the ancient battlements of the Tower of London. Below, the Thames flowed, a dark, indifferent ribbon under the sickly glow of the city’s emergency lights. Excalibur, a beacon of ancient power, hummed faintly in his grasp, its familiar weight a comfort against the encroaching dread.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Fourteen: The Eve of Battle

The laptop, still warm from Arthur’s hurried journey, clunked softly as he placed it on the ancient oak table in Magus’s hidden study. Dust motes danced in the single beam of moonlight slicing through a high, leaded window, illuminating the room’s chaotic charm – towering stacks of leather-bound tomes, arcane instruments glinting in the gloom, and the pervasive scent of old paper and something indefinably magical.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Thirteen: The Pendragon’s Resolve

The persistent hum of the server racks in the building’s basement usually provided a comforting white noise, a steady pulse to the Crown Prosecution Service’s diligent work. This morning, however, it felt off, a low thrumming beneath the floorboards that vibrated with an unsettling discord, a subtle disruption to the expected rhythm of an otherwise ordinary London morning. Arthur Pendragon sat at his desk, surrounded by stacks of meticulously organised legal documents, each file a testament to his successful career. Yet, his gaze kept drifting from the intricate legal precedents and witness statements to the small, intricately carved wooden box nestled on the corner of his blotter. It was the same box Magus had given him, a twin to the one Solo now possessed.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Twelve: Converging Paths

There was something deeply unsettling about it all, a gnawing suspicion that stretched beyond the usual grime of London’s criminal underworld.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Eleven: Orsine’s Grand Design

“The world, Peter, is an organism,” Giacomo Orsine began, his voice a low, resonant purr that filled the opulent penthouse office. He stood before the panoramic window, the late afternoon sun casting long, dramatic shadows across the polished floor. “And like any organism, it requires… periodic realignment.” Peter Oswald, his cybernetic limbs gleaming under the artificial light, stood rigid, his gaze fixed on Orsine. Lucy Black, ever the silent observer, leaned against a minimalist sculpture, her expression unreadable, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Ten: The Shadowed Knight

Arthur Pendragon pushed open the heavy oak door of the old London bookstore, the bell above chiming a mournful note that echoed his mood. The scent of aged paper and dust, usually a comforting aroma, felt oppressive today. He navigated the labyrinthine aisles, his boots scuffing softly on the worn wooden floorboards, until he reached the familiar, unassuming entrance to Magus’s hidden study. His face was a mask of exhaustion, etched with the sleepless hours of the previous night and the chilling memory of Oswald’s bitter words. The anonymous email, with its damning evidence of Orsine’s sprawling network, still burned in his mind.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Nine: A Glimmer of Recognition

The acrid scent of stale coffee and desperation hung heavy in Arthur’s office, clinging to the worn fabric of his chair and the stacks of legal briefs that mocked his current paralysis. Outside, London’s relentless hum had softened to a late-night thrum, but inside, the silence was punctuated only by the whirring of his laptop fan and the frantic beat of his own heart. Hours had passed since Davies’s concerned query, hours spent staring at the cold, hard data that had irrevocably shattered his world.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Eight: The Drone’s Shadow (Midpoint Reversal)

The gentle hum of the Crown Prosecution Service building, a constant, almost soothing drone of air conditioning and distant keyboard clatter, usually provided a comforting backdrop to Arthur Pendragon’s methodical work. Today, however, it felt like a fragile barrier, barely holding back the tide of unsettling thoughts that had plagued him since his last session with Magus. He’d spent the morning wrestling with a labyrinthine corporate fraud case, a digital Gordian knot of offshore accounts and shell companies, his mind constantly snagging on anything remotely connected to advanced technology.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Seven: Balancing the Scales

A dull ache throbbed behind Arthur’s eyes, a persistent drumbeat accompanying the residue of stale coffee and the cloying scent of cheap courtroom air. He’d spent the day dissecting a labyrinthine corporate fraud, his brain feeling like a tangled ball of yarn. Now, the weight of the ancient, leather-bound book in his hand was a physical manifestation of his fractured existence, a constant reminder that his life as a Crown Prosecutor was merely one half of an increasingly bizarre equation.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Six: Forging a New Arm

A faint hum, almost imperceptible, emanated from the polished chrome and carbon fibre of the prosthetic arm. Peter Oswald flexed his fingers, watching the intricate mechanics respond with a fluid grace that defied their artificial nature. It was late morning, the London skyline a muted grey beyond the panoramic windows of the Orsine Foundation Headquarters, yet within this gleaming research and development lab, a different kind of dawn was breaking for him.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Five: The Wizard’s Summons

A peculiar shimmer, like heat rising from tarmac on a summer’s day, seemed to ripple just at the edge of his vision as Arthur Pendragon hurried down a narrow London street. It was late evening, the streetlamps casting long, watery shadows, but this shimmer wasn’t from the artificial light. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, yet it drew his gaze to a small, unassuming shopfront he couldn’t recall ever having seen before, despite living in the area for years. The shop, nestled between a bustling kebab shop and a boarded-up dry cleaner’s, had a hand-painted sign above its door: ‘Magus Books – Rare and Esoteric Texts.’

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Four: The Serpent’s Embrace

There was no clean way out of this, not for him.

Weeks had bled into a monotonous blur since the blast, each day a fresh torment. Peter Oswald sat hunched in a wheelchair, the panoramic window of the Orsine Foundation’s consultation room offering a dizzying vista of London’s skyline. Below, the city thrummed with a vibrant, indifferent pulse, a stark contrast to the hollow ache in his bandaged stumps. Phantom pains, like cruel, invisible claws, raked at the ghost of his left leg and right hand. He was gaunt, his face a landscape of etched bitterness, every line a testament to the system that had chewed him up and spat him out.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Three: Echoes of a Calling

“Another one for the rubbish bin, then?”

            Arthur Pendragon glanced up, a faint smile touching his lips as Eleanor, his colleague, leaned against the doorframe of his orderly London office. The late morning sun, filtered through the grime of the city, cast long shadows across his meticulously organised desk. Files, stacked in neat piles, waited for his attention, but his gaze had been fixed on the anonymous envelope he’d just opened.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter Two: The Shattered Shield

Arthur blinked, the lingering unease from the night before still a cold knot in his stomach. The desert air, sharp and frigid in the pre-dawn hours, bit at his exposed skin. He adjusted the strap of his rifle, the familiar weight a small comfort against the vast, oppressive silence that stretched out before them. Peter, ever the pragmatist, had already begun their cautious advance, his silhouette a dark smudge against the faint blush of false dawn painting the eastern horizon.

Anglo-Force: Pendragon Chapter One: Dust and Duty

The grit of fine sand, borne on a wind that had spent days scouring the desert, chafed against Arthur Pendragon’s eyelids. He blinked, the taste of dust a constant companion on his tongue, and wiped a gloved hand across his brow, already slick with sweat beneath his helmet. A familiar weariness settled deep in his bones, a dull ache that had become as much a part of him as his rifle. He felt a subtle, almost imperceptible pull, a whisper of something more, a vague sense of duty that stretched beyond the immediate horizon, but he dismissed it as the lingering exhaustion of this unforgiving landscape. He was here by choice, on the front line, having deliberately eschewed any comfortable staff position within the Adjutant General's Corps, a path his family connections could easily have paved. He wanted a 'normal' military career, to earn his stripes like any other bloke.