Well I have just read âDeath Or Glory â The Last Commandoâ by Michael Asher, and Iâm impressed. Impressed that such a festering turd of a book could ever be published. Impressed that a man who has made a point of criticising othersâ literary efforts (McNab & Ryan) would come out with such unadulterated warporn. Donât get me wrong, I enjoy good warporn (Sven Hassel, Bernard Cornwell etc). But this ainât good. The story centres around Sgt Tom Caine of the Middle East Commando, a cashiered Royal Engineer Lieutenant (whoâs managed to make it up to Sgt pretty sharpish). Heâs a rebellious fellow who âseems to take orders as a point for discussion,â with choicely described over developed arm and shoulder musculature. He also has a thing about protecting women, which is convenient. If all of this reminds you of a certain Richard Sharpe (albeit in reverse for the career), well imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. After disobeying orders and saving his troop, Caine is offered the choice of court martial or a suicide mission to save a female WRNS courier whose plane has crashed behind enemy lines. So off he toddles with a crew straight from Warporn Central Casting. Heâs got a huge Gunner called Wallace (Think Tiny crossed with Patrick Harper) a sniper called Copeland (the Legionnaire), even an ex RMP called Todd Sweeney (Julius Heide?) whoâs a bit of a tit. Along with a load of other bit part actors, as well, they toddle off across the desert in the best armed convoy known to man (all vehicle and weapon specs specs lovingly described, if occasionally inaccurately â 5.5mm Boys AT Rifle!). on their way they have running battles with Brandenburger Commandos, get strafed by the RAF and the Luftwaffe, have a crap orgy with some Italian desertersâ wives, are befriended by local arabs, get tortured by an evil Gestapo man, rescue the girl, get betrayed, escape, and kill lots of Nazis. Oh and everyone gets wounded, but carry on killing. Written in a more engaging style ( Bernard Cornwell, Simon Scarrow etc) this plot would hold together (or at least Iâd be prepared to ignore some howlers), but unfortunately, it scans like a teenagerâs effort after attending his first ACF drill night. Here a passage to illustrate my point: âA bayonet sliced Padstowe through the solar plexus, missed his heart by a beat. Another jagged his kidney. Padstowe reeled, choked up blood, felt the earth rear up before him in yellow shrouds. He saw his mate Turner, who had just run 30 yards from his sangar, blunderbussing jerries with a Bren from the hip. Jerries jitterbugged, gurgled gore, fell back, tippled over in the sand. Two Huns worked behind Turner, blasted him with rounds, semi-automatic. Turner felt the hits, went numb, saw Padstowe fall in a heap. He squeezed metal, steam-shovelled .303 tracer, fire gutted Jerries, wiped them out. He took in the dead Huns, he swayed, he boked blood, he jettisoned the Brenâ. And thereâs bloody pages full of this cack, I just picked that page at random! Itâs like Sven Hassel on acid. In fact, itâs not even warporn. Itâs a combat-teen wet-dream. Not only is the style awful, the characters have a modern viewpoint on everything. Talking about âgiving respectâ, referring to themselves as âGruntsâ, the WRNS Doris screaming âFcuk youâ as she kills another bucket full of Huns/Jerries/Nazi scum with whatever gun she had at that point. The dialogue, which is interspersed with âblighter, crikey chaps,â etc, never rings true. In all this is the worst book Iâve ever read. Commando comics have better plot lines and more developed characters. If it had been just a little bit better, I would have thrown it away after the first chapter. But itâs SO awful that I couldnât stop myself from turning the next page. I just kept thinking it couldnât keep on being this cack. But I was wrong. So wrong. In fact I would recommend anyone to read this book. Because misery loves company.