Been listening to Chris Nuttall's Ark Royal series on Audible. It's hugely enjoyable for a bit of walloping po-faced silliness. Long story short? A couple of hundred years in the future aliens attack! They wipe out all the modern space carriers Earth sends to face them, but one lumbering, iron clad behemoth captained by a disgraced drunk still stands in their way.
It's not going to challenge any of Iain M Banks' Culture novel's for literary awseome and there are times I shake my head at moments of balsa wood dialogue and exposition. But what the hell. They're great fun, which is all you want from a space opera, and I will undoubtedly read or listen to every one.
I was nonetheless part way through Vol 2 The Nelson Touch on the way back from the school run this morning when I was suddenly brought undone by the following passage:
"Beside him, wearing combat battle dress, was Major General Roger Ross, a heavy set man with a reputation for winning against impossible odds. The United States Marine Corps had sent their best and brightest to the fight... They called Ross, the Rhino."
You can imagine my distress.
I thought we had something special, Rhino. I thought I was the only one.