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David Cook

Goodreads Author


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born
in Romsey, The United Kingdom
March 23, 1973

gender
male

twitter username

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member since
September 2011


About this author

David Cook is from Chandlers Ford, Hampshire, but now lives in Leicestershire with his wife and young son.

David has been interested in history since his school days, and developed a love for the Napoleonic Wars era from his father, who painted and amassed a lead model army of the Battle of Waterloo. From there David became fascinated with The English Civil Wars and English medieval history, particularly the legend of Robin Hood. David is writing a novel titled The Wolfshead, a story of Robin Hood, but based on the original medieval ballads as the source.

For more information and updates on that story please visit http://thewolfshead.tumblr.com

Liberty or Death is the first novella in The Soldier Chronicles series, which will be companion st
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David Cook Habits? I suppose making sure I have everything to hand when I write. A drink. Reference material. Peace and quiet!
David Cook Hi Daniel,

No there wasn't. Mullone started life as an intelligence officer in my unpublished Egyptian novel and is a slightly different character to…more
Hi Daniel,

No there wasn't. Mullone started life as an intelligence officer in my unpublished Egyptian novel and is a slightly different character to that in Liberty or Death/The Emerald Graves as it was written 2006-2008. I'll change it. Basically when I wrote LOD I needed him to be more compassionate to the cause as he is Irish and has seen the horrors of warfare for many years. He is wise, intelligent and gentle, but he's a soldier still as he shows his prowess at new Ross.
Cahill is his sidekick. A different character and it was fun part to write him in. Mullone needed someone who he can rely on. Cahill is Mullone's right-hand man. Together they're a team and inseperable.(less)
Average rating: 4.84 · 261 ratings · 99 reviews · 4 distinct works · Similar authors
Liberty or Death
4.75 of 5 stars 4.75 avg rating — 109 ratings — published 2014 — 3 editions
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Heart of Oak
4.84 of 5 stars 4.84 avg rating — 80 ratings — published 2014 — 4 editions
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Blood on the Snow
4.94 of 5 stars 4.94 avg rating — 53 ratings — published 2014 — 3 editions
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Marksman
5.0 of 5 stars 5.00 avg rating — 19 ratings — published 2014
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* Note: these are all the books on Goodreads for this author. To add more, click here.

Liberty or Death Heart of Oak Blood on the Snow Marksman
The Soldier Chronicles (4 books)
by
4.835249042145594 of 5 stars 4.84 avg rating — 261 ratings

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"Check out my new blog here: http://englishhistoryauthors.blogspot.co.uk/2014/11/the-experimental-corps-of-riflemen.html"
David Cook rated a book 5 of 5 stars
Out of the Box Regifted by Jennifer Theriot
Out of the Box Regifted (Out of the Box, #2)
by Jennifer Theriot (Goodreads Author)
read in November, 2014
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Forgiveness and love - excellent.
Dogshit Saved My Life by Karl Wiggins Liberty or Death by David        Cook Heart of Oak by David        Cook Blood on the Snow by David        Cook A Rather Unusual Romance by Stevie Turner Vote on this list »
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Beyond Wizardwall by Janet E. Morris
Beyond Wizardwall
by Janet E. Morris (Goodreads Author)
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Symbiotic Mates, Volume 3 by Gale Stanley
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Symbiotic Mates, Volume 2 by Gale Stanley
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Hybrids [Adam by Gale Stanley
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Symbiotic Mates, Volume 1 by Gale Stanley
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Tomcats [Lyon's Theorem of Seduction by Gale Stanley
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Urban Affairs [Claiming Korey by Gale Stanley
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More of David's books…
“What do we do if we come across trouble, sir?' Cahill asked, slapping at a fly. 'As much as I enjoy giving the rebel turds a walloping, it should be down to the Militia to keep the buggers in check.'
'They are doing their job,' Mullone said, glancing at a free-standing Celtic Cross that had once been a prominent feature beside the road, but was now strangled with weeds, besieged with dark moss and deeply pitted with age.
'If you call plundering, fighting and torture work, sir.'
'You don't have much faith in the peace talks then, Seán?'
'No, sir. There's more chance of me taking holy orders and becoming the Pope than there is of peace,' Cahill replied. 'The negotiations that spout from the politicians mouths are nothing but wet farts.'

-from Liberty or Death”
David Cook, Liberty or Death

“What do we do if we come across trouble, sir?' Cahill asked, slapping at a fly. 'As much as I enjoy giving the rebel turds a walloping, it should be down to the Militia to keep the buggers in check.'
'They are doing their job,' Mullone said, glancing at a free-standing Celtic Cross that had once been a prominent feature beside the road, but was now strangled with weeds, besieged with dark moss and deeply pitted with age.
'If you call plundering, fighting and torture work, sir.'
'You don't have much faith in the peace talks then, Seán?'
'No, sir. There's more chance of me taking holy orders and becoming the Pope than there is of peace,' Cahill replied. 'The negotiations that spout from the politicians mouths are nothing but wet farts.”
David Cook, Liberty or Death

“Ready yourselves!' Mullone heard himself say, which was strange, he thought, for he knew his men were prepared.
A great cry came from beyond the walls that were punctuated by musket blasts and Mullone readied himself for the guns to leap into action. Mullone felt a tremor. The ground shook and then the first rebels poured through the gates like an oncoming tide. Mullone saw the leading man; both hands gripping a green banner, face contorted with zeal. The flag had a white cross in the centre of the green field and the initials JF below it. John Fitzstephen. Then, there were more men behind him, tens, then scores. And then time seemed to slow.
The guns erupted barely twenty feet from them.
Later on, Mullone would remember the great streaks of flame leap from the muzzles to lick the air and all of the charging rebels were shredded and torn apart in one terrible instant. Balls ricocheted on stone and great chunks were gouged out by the bullets. Blood sprayed on the walls as far back as the arched gateway, limbs were shorn off, and Mullone watched in horror as a bloodied head tumbled down the sloped street towards the barricade.
'Jesus sweet suffering Christ!' Cahill gawped at the carnage as the echo of the big guns resonated like a giant's beating heart.
Trooper O'Shea bent to one side and vomited at the sight of the twitching, bleeding and unrecognisable lumps that had once been men. A man staggered with both arms missing. Another crawled back to the gate with a shattered leg spurting blood. The stench of burnt flesh and the iron tang of blood hung ripe and nauseating in the oppressive air.
One of the low wooden cabins by the wall was on fire. A blast of musketry outside the walls rattled against the stonework and a redcoat toppled backwards onto the cabin's roof as the flames fanned over the wood.
'Here they come again! Ready your firelocks! Do not waste a shot!' Johnson shouted in a steady voice as the gateway became thick with more rebels. He took a deep breath.
'God forgive us,' Corporal Brennan said.
'Liberty or death!' A rebel, armed with a blood-stained pitchfork, shouted over-and-over.”
David Cook, Liberty or Death

“What do we do if we come across trouble, sir?' Cahill asked, slapping at a fly. 'As much as I enjoy giving the rebel turds a walloping, it should be down to the Militia to keep the buggers in check.'
'They are doing their job,' Mullone said, glancing at a free-standing Celtic Cross that had once been a prominent feature beside the road, but was now strangled with weeds, besieged with dark moss and deeply pitted with age.
'If you call plundering, fighting and torture work, sir.'
'You don't have much faith in the peace talks then, Seán?'
'No, sir. There's more chance of me taking holy orders and becoming the Pope than there is of peace,' Cahill replied. 'The negotiations that spout from the politicians mouths are nothing but wet farts.'

-from Liberty or Death”
David Cook, Liberty or Death

“What do we do if we come across trouble, sir?' Cahill asked, slapping at a fly. 'As much as I enjoy giving the rebel turds a walloping, it should be down to the Militia to keep the buggers in check.'
'They are doing their job,' Mullone said, glancing at a free-standing Celtic Cross that had once been a prominent feature beside the road, but was now strangled with weeds, besieged with dark moss and deeply pitted with age.
'If you call plundering, fighting and torture work, sir.'
'You don't have much faith in the peace talks then, Seán?'
'No, sir. There's more chance of me taking holy orders and becoming the Pope than there is of peace,' Cahill replied. 'The negotiations that spout from the politicians mouths are nothing but wet farts.”
David Cook, Liberty or Death

“He had panicked.
Tessier cursed his own stupidity. He should have remained in the column where he would have been protected. Instead, he saw an enemy coming for him like a revenant rising from a dark tomb, and had run first instead of thinking.
Except this was no longer a French stronghold. The forts had all been captured and surrendered and the glorious revolutionary soldiers had been defeated. If the supply ships had made it through the blockade, Vaubois might still have been able to defend the city, but with no food, limited ammunition and disease rampant, defeat was inevitable.
Tessier remembered the gut-wrenching escape from Fort Dominance where villagers spat at him and threw rocks. One man had brought out a pistol and the ball had slapped the air as it passed his face. Another man had chased him with an ancient boar spear and Tessier, exhausted from the fight, had jumped into the water. He had nearly drowned in that cold grey sea, only just managing to cling to a rock whilst the enemy searched the shoreline. The British warship was anchored outside the village, and although Tessier could see men on-board, no one had spotted him. Hours passed by. Then, when he considered it was clear, he swam ashore to hide in the malodorous marshland outside Mġarr. His body shivered violently and his skin was blue and wrinkled like withered fruit, but in the night-dark light he lived. He had crept to a fishing boat, donned a salt-stained boat cloak and rowed out to Malta's monochrome coastline. He had somehow managed to escape capture by abandoning the boat to swim into the harbour. From there it had been easy to climb the city walls and to safety.
He had written his account of the marines ambush, the fort’s surrender and his opinion of Chasse, to Vaubois. Tessier wanted Gamble cashiered and Vaubois promised to take his complaint to the senior British officer when he was in a position to. Weeks went past. Months. A burning hunger for revenge changed to a desire for provisions. And until today, Tessier reflected that he would never see Gamble again.
Sunlight twinkled on the water, dazzling like a million diamonds scattered across its surface.
Tessier loaded his pistol in the shadows where the air was still and cool. He had two of them, a knife and a sword, and, although starving and crippled with stomach cramps, he would fight as he had always done so: with everything he had.”
David Cook, Heart of Oak

“I’ll find out who’s inside. Wait here and keep alert!’ Hallam rasped. He skirted the main path to skulk towards one of the shuttered windows on the building’s eastern wall. There was a crack in the wood and he gently inched closer to peer inside.
There was a hearth-fire with a pot bubbling away and a battered table made of a length of wood over two pieces of cut timber. A small ham hung from the rafters, away from the rats and mice. He couldn’t see anyone but there was a murmur of voices. Hallam leaned in even closer and a young boy with hair the colour of straw saw the movement to stare. It was Little Jim. Thank God, the child was safe. Snot hung from his nose and he was pale. Hallam put a finger to his lips, but the boy, not even four, did not understand, and just gaped innocently back.
Movement near the window. A man wearing a blue jacket took up a stone bottle and wiped his long flowing moustache afterwards. His hair was shoulder-length, falling unruly over the red collar of his jacket. Tied around his neck was a filthy red neckerchief. A woman moaned and the man grinned with tobacco stained teeth at the sound. Laughter and French voices. The woman whimpered and Little Jim turned to watch unseen figures. His eyes glistened and his bottom lip dropped. The woman began to plead and Hallam instinctively growled.
The Frenchman, hearing the noise, pushed the shutter open and the pistol’s cold muzzle pressed against his forehead.
Hallam watched the man’s eyes narrow and then widen, before his mouth opened. Whatever he intended to shout was never heard, because the ball smashed through his skull to erupt in a bloody spray as it exited the back of the Frenchman’s head.
There was a brief moment of silence.
‘28th!’ Hallam shouted, as he stepped back against the wall. ‘Make ready!”
David Cook, Blood on the Snow

“Ready yourselves!' Mullone heard himself say, which was strange, he thought, for he knew his men were prepared.
A great cry came from beyond the walls that were punctuated by musket blasts and Mullone readied himself for the guns to leap into action. Mullone felt a tremor. The ground shook and then the first rebels poured through the gates like an oncoming tide. Mullone saw the leading man; both hands gripping a green banner, face contorted with zeal. The flag had a white cross in the centre of the green field and the initials JF below it. John Fitzstephen. Then, there were more men behind him, tens, then scores. And then time seemed to slow.
The guns erupted barely twenty feet from them.
Later on, Mullone would remember the great streaks of flame leap from the muzzles to lick the air and all of the charging rebels were shredded and torn apart in one terrible instant. Balls ricocheted on stone and great chunks were gouged out by the bullets. Blood sprayed on the walls as far back as the arched gateway, limbs were shorn off, and Mullone watched in horror as a bloodied head tumbled down the sloped street towards the barricade.
'Jesus sweet suffering Christ!' Cahill gawped at the carnage as the echo of the big guns resonated like a giant's beating heart.
Trooper O'Shea bent to one side and vomited at the sight of the twitching, bleeding and unrecognisable lumps that had once been men. A man staggered with both arms missing. Another crawled back to the gate with a shattered leg spurting blood. The stench of burnt flesh and the iron tang of blood hung ripe and nauseating in the oppressive air.
One of the low wooden cabins by the wall was on fire. A blast of musketry outside the walls rattled against the stonework and a redcoat toppled backwards onto the cabin's roof as the flames fanned over the wood.
'Here they come again! Ready your firelocks! Do not waste a shot!' Johnson shouted in a steady voice as the gateway became thick with more rebels. He took a deep breath.
'God forgive us,' Corporal Brennan said.
'Liberty or death!' A rebel, armed with a blood-stained pitchfork, shouted over-and-over.”
David Cook, Liberty or Death

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