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Camouflage Press
Her Majesty's Men
Her Majesty's Men (paperback)
Paperback: 278 pages, 100,000 words
ISBN 978-0-9559880-1-1 (print)

Her Majesty's Men (PDF)

Her Majesty's Men (Kindle edition)

Her Majesty's Men is the story of two soldiers in the British Forces and of a friendship taking unexpected turns. In the eyes of the Army they are just two mates who are close. But from the revelation of personal secrets, ensuing hatred and aggression, through terror and danger, to loyalty, triumphant strength and courage, grows their own realisation of what they are: comrades first and foremost, but something else too, something more significant.

The two Royal Engineers, Sgt Tom Warren and SSgt Alex Turner, learn to understand the real meaning of loyalty and strength. Their fight for survival cuts through all the discipline and rules, to tie them together in a unique bond of companionship and trust.

 Reviews of Her Majesty's Men

Publisher: Camouflage Press
Publication Date: November 2008



Here he was again, under the shower and with none other than SSgt Alex Turner in the stall opposite. They were bloody Royal Engineers and couldn't even fix shower stalls with fucking doors?

And why on earth was he always carefully planning to avoid having a shower at the same time as that goddamned bastard when ultimately, it never worked out. Tom turned his back on the other man and listened with growing desperation to the whistling and humming from behind. Trying to drown the sound of that deep voice with hot water pattering past his ears and drumming onto his short hair.

Goddamned motherfucking bastard!

Keeping his eyes scrunched shut, Tom reached blindly for the shower gel to sluice the caked mud off his skin, when the currently hated voice cut across the running water of a dozen shower stalls.

"Hey, Tom! Throw me your shampoo, will you? Just ran out and got to keep the mane clean,"

Tom groaned when the subsequent chuckle reached his ears.


If anyone noticed his strangled voice, he could always use the strenuous exercise as an excuse. Running twenty miles in full gear across a natural terrain obstacle course was no walk in the park, even for him.

Bloody 'mane', what a lame joke. Alex Turner's hair was crew-cut short and blond. White blond in fact. Pissin', bleedin' sun bleached blond above a deeply tanned face and ... and skin ... and those …

"Fuck!" Tom hissed, glad for the running water. Making a long show out of washing. Bad enough having to turn round in a moment. Of course that dickhead had to be in the opposite stall, the inconsiderate prick. Didn't matter that Alex was his best mate, getting regularly plastered together on Saturday nights in the pub round the corner.

Yeah. Fuck. Sure. Whatever.

"Are you blind and deaf or just piss-poor slow, Tom?" That voice again, this time with much more authority and a hint of laughter. Nice, loud, dark, resonating in the showers.

"Jesus, can't you let a guy wash the muck out of his own hair first?" Anger, that was good, worked wonders; stupid jokes did, too. Lots of shoulder clapping, arm wrestling and beer guzzling was equally useful. Getting smashed when off duty and drowning, killing, obliterating thoughts of The Impossible.

Tom employed his annoyance to great effect as he whirled around, soap suds clinging to his smooth skin. Not a scar worth mentioning, not a blemish that could be used for identification. Instead expanses of honey bronze over a muscular broad frame.

Tom looked good, the girls told him. He was positively devastating, gushed those who tried to get into his pants; he was a goddamned tease and useless prick they snarled later, when he left the nightclub without them. He would soon be running out of believable excuses.

"Here's the bloody shampoo and get going, Alex, I'll need it back." Not looking, just not looking. Blessing the soap in his eyes, thankful for the hazy film before his vision.

"Cheers, mate." The blur in front of Tom's eyes moved closer and then the traitorous soap abandoned him, washed out of his eyes by a rogue stream of water. Deserted by the merciful filter, he was left defenceless and presented with a vision he could damn well do without.

As if he even needed to see Alex to know exactly what he looked like. A knowledge which instantly dried his mouth, constricted his throat and made swallowing near impossible. The rest of the physical reactions that followed without fail were too terrible to be considered.

Shit. Again. Yet a-fucking-gain.

The inevitable happened. He had to turn his back immediately or he'd race out of the room in terror at his hardening cock. He could hear the accusations in his mind.

Raving poofter. Screaming fag.


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