Under the Black Ensign by L. Ron Hubbard was originally published in the August 1935 issue of Five Novels Monthly. Galaxy Press was republished a lot of the Pulp Magazines stories of the Golden age in book form.Being borned in the early '50's I just missed the Golden Age of stories in magazines. ...
Tom Bristol is a press-ganged sailor aboard a British naval ship in the Caribbean. An innocent mistake results in his being condemned to a flogging that will surely result in his death. When a pirate vessel interrupts his flogging and captures the British ship, Tom gladly joins the pirate band—an...
There seems to be an inordinately large number of detractors of this work of science fiction; that for my part seems undeserved. For me, I loved most everything about this book, the social commentary, the science fiction, the author’s conceived universe, the satire and comic relief, the pulse po...
London 1975. As the great World War grinds to a halt a force more sinister than Hitler's Nazis has seized control of Europe and is systematically destroying every adversary -- except one.In the heart of France a crack unit of British soldiers survive, overcoming all opposition under the leadershi...
The Mission Earth series is a big, bloated, fun and funny dekalogy* of pulp and satire and non-stop action. It's not a serious work, nor was it intended to be; I believe Hubbard wrote it simply out of fondness for the field, the way it was when he was beginning his career. He surely didn't need t...
A monumental work -- acclaimed as agenuine masterpiece -- L. Ron Hubbard's 1.2-million-word-ten-volume MISSION EARTH dekalogy brilliantly blends science fiction and action/adventure on a vast interstellar scale with stinging satire -- in the literary tradition of Voltaire, Swift and Orwell -- on ...
The reviews here are largely based on the bipolar division into the scientology apologists, on the one hand, and the anti-scientology bigots, on the other hand. I consider myself neither.This book contains fabrications, inventions, unsubstantiated claims and outright falsehoods.It is the beginnin...
As the mighty Voltarian Confederacy crumbles in flaming combat, riots and civil war, Jettero Heller and Countess Krak struggle desperately to save it from ruin.
Ole Doc Methuselah was the name by which he was known on a myriad of scattered planets, for he was the most famous member of the most elite organization of the cosmos, the Solders of Light. But he was no soldier in the military sense, for the enemies he fought were disease, corruption and the war...
This is the second in a series of ten books about a double-crossing alien agent trying to foil plans for an invasion of Earth. It sounds interesting, but it's really no more than a vessel for Scientologist ideology and LRH's personal vendetta against the federal government. And while I'm not enti...
The Mission Earth series is a big, bloated, fun and funny dekalogy* of pulp and satire and non-stop action. It's not a serious work, nor was it intended to be; I believe Hubbard wrote it simply out of fondness for the field, the way it was when he was beginning his career. He surely didn't need t...
This could be the worst book I've ever read. At some point even a train wreck gets so bad that you want to turn your head and stop looking. The book starts out boring, gets hilariously bad, offensively bad, then probably another kind of bad that I haven't even imagined (I'm still reading it). ...
A monumental work -- acclaimed as agenuine masterpiece -- L. Ron Hubbard's 1.2-million-word-ten-volume MISSION EARTH dekalogy brilliantly blends science fiction and action/adventure on a vast interstellar scale with stinging satire -- in the literary tradition of Voltaire, Swift and Orwell -- on ...
The end is near! The Voltarian terrorists have won! Earth is history! But don’t believe everything you read. Or hear. Or see. Because the road to victory is paved with bad intentions—and lies, betrayal and deception are all in play. So who are the players in this treacherous game . . . ? ...
O. Muriel illustrated by HUNTER BONYUN ABOUT THE AUTHOR When Meghan Muriel was seven years old, she glanced at the fantasy novel she was reading at the time and wondered how anyone could write so many words—forget the part about holding the reader’s attention. Destiny sealed, she has since wanted...
Fanner Marston, a tattered speck upon a ridge, looked eastward, looked to the glory he sought and beheld it. Throat and tongue swollen with thirst, green eyes blazing now with new ecstasy, he knew he had it. He would gain it, would realize that heady height upon which he h...
Accordingly, an Army bomber sped southeastward, via Anchorage, to Seattle where, at Boeing Field, a very discouraged Johnny alighted, his face falling after he had thanked the officer pilot and the need for forced spirits was done. “Aw,” said Irish, as they rode in a taxi into urban Seattle, “the...
At least, he appeared to be convinced, as he gave up. A wind was blowing down from the northern plains, digging up big clouds of yellow dust. It stirred in the skirts of the olive green overcoat and lifted and lowered its left lapel. Mitchell’s cheeks were sunken and his e...
At first she had argued unceasingly with herself against the unreasoning love she knew she bore for the tall, flame-haired frontiersman. She told herself that it was the drama she had experienced with him. She added that it was the strangeness of his type which had attracted her. But no amount of...
Twenty-five thousand packed the stands and made a blurred sea surging up from the other side of the track. The arena boss and the judges and wranglers were hurrying on important errands across the wet green turf of the arena. Flags and Indians and violent-shirted punchers made the day loud and br...
I clean and sort. Eddie approves for archival. We are cogs, endlessly pinching, prodding, and polishing homicide victims’ last memories on aging holodesks in a dark room. My desk lines up against a wall, so I don’t see people’s faces when they walk in the door. While the computer renders the siph...
O’Neal, I can’t let you kill yourself with that ship!” Lucky Martin said it earnestly and loyally and, as he always did, he meant just exactly what he said. And, as Number One test pilot in the United States, Lucky Martin’s opinions on the subject of ships was not commonly...
JIM COLLINS lowered his troubled head and hunched his broad, capable shoulders against the rain. Idly he kicked at a paper which lay in his path on the sidewalk and then, as his foot opened a soggy page, he stared ruefully at the headlines which greeted his eye. POLICE DISCOVER NEW LEAD IN HUNT F...
Stub’s state of mind was that of a man watching another holding a cannon cracker and not knowing just when he’d let that cracker explode. At least once a day Stub wondered why he had ever allowed himself to become associated with as nerve-racking a fellow as Blacky Lee. One never knew what was go...
“Aren’t you with the FBI?” Norton looked at him from under his hat brim. “Fagler said you were and I wanted to know what you thought about it. I’m Paul Wagner.” “Well?” “I wanted to know what you thoug...
It stood in a backwash of the Amur and looked like some gigantic animal skeleton of prehistoric days propped up in the black water. The chain buckets were running up and returning empty in an endless stream. Water poured out from pipes and steam rose busily over the shacks on the deck of the barg...
But dawn was nothing more than a graying of the sky and water, and the twilight of day only gave the storm greater strength. The Venture rolled and bucked and shuddered in the sea, plunging ahead a foot for every fathom up and down. Peg Mannering had wearied and Spar had sent her into his cabin. ...
said the girl, “when a group of men shot down our ship and attacked us.” Ole Doc picked a thoughtful tooth, for the fish he had caught had been excellent—deep fried, southern style. He felt benign, chivalrous. Summer was in full bloom. He was thinking harder about her hair than about her narrativ...
The yacht Valiant plowed diamonds out of the turquoise channel, sweeping swiftly and gracefully . . . The flippant little ship, picking up knots, slapped the waves of its wake against the frowning walls of Fort Santa Cruz on one side and Fort São João on the other. It refused to be dwarfed by the...
One moment the Moroccan sunlight was warm and peaceful upon this high pass of the Atlas Mountains. The next lashed the world with the sound of flaming Sniders and Mannlichers and flintlocks. Gray and brown djellabas swirled behind protecting rocks. Bloodshot eyes stared down sights. Scorching lea...