John doesn’t belong here. He didn’t want to fight in the Great War in the first place then he was ripped out of battle and dumped in an alien land filled with soldiers from every era of human history. Haunted by the death of his wife and desperate to get back to his son, John joins the rag-tag group of soldiers, who have fourteen days to reach the silver gates.
Danger lurks everywhere and in the most bizarre forms. Sharks in the trees, subterranean wolves and even John’s body turns against him when his hand melts into his machine gun, leaving him crippled and defenceless. His companions change too: the Maori with his plant abilities; the Celt who can run at incredible speeds; the Arab with his ability to read minds.
Struggling with their new abilities, the army cross a scarred plain littered with ancient battles and populated by surviving alien soldiers. To complete their challenge the Humans must win a battle and soon encounter a blue-shelled warrior-race, the Brakari, led by their all-powerful leader, Belsang, and the twisted General Panzicosta.
Allies are made and deals done, but time is running out and battle is imminent.
Each warrior must use their enhanced powers, but will John be able to fight and will the Humans survive?
A shape moved in the branches.
‘Who’s there?’ John shouted.
A naked man covered in paint leapt down. ‘Prohiba!’ he yelled as he landed.
‘Shit!’ John stumbled back.
‘Prohiba homusionem!’ the man’s wild eyes widened and he jabbed a three-pronged spear at John’s chest.
John was too surprised to be scared and his first thought was how lucky he’d just been for a piss or he would have ruined his trousers. The thought tickled him and he smiled.
‘Ego ridiculam?’ the man barked.
Who was this nutter? Probably some local farmer angry with the army for straying onto his land.
‘Sorry mate, I don’t understand you,’ John lifted the machine gun off his shoulder and checked the magazine was locked in. ‘Je na comprend pas.’
‘Quid agis homusionem?’ the farmer barked, hopping from foot to foot in his sandals.
‘Listen, I don’t understand you. I’m just trying to get back… home,’ John shoulders dropped: he’d had enough of all this fighting.
The painted man stared at John and twisted his head in a manner that unnerved him. He had seen it before: a lad in his battalion, Miller, had lost all emotion: no smile; no fear. The next day he bayonetted his commanding officer and was shot running across no-man’s land in his underpants.
‘Don’t you try nothing!’ John lowered his gun.
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