Resonance Portal Wars – Book 1 by Mike Rawson

The secret history of WW2 they never told you

Resonance Portal Wars Book 1

The Reich found the key in a crashed UFO. The Allies found the doorway. Two worlds are about to collide.
Antarctica, 1945. SS Engineer Hans Kammler has uncovered a secret never meant for human hands: an alien crystal recovered from a downed UFO. But when he activates the artifact, he doesn't just win the war—he shatters reality.

Portals thunder open across the globe, bleeding the dying realm of Ilyndor into our own. Now, Captain Ian Fleming faces a mission that no military manual could prepare him for. On the other side of the rift, orc warlords ride monster wolves through the ruins of civilizations, and elves desperately cling to the last remaining leylines.

An Impossible Alliance. A War Beyond Earth.
To stop the Reich from weaponizing a god-like power, Fleming must forge an alliance with Commander Lithariel, an Elven warrior bound to a failing magical Pattern. Together, they must lead a ragtag unit of commandos, spies, and shamans into the heart of the storm.

Element 115 is rewriting the laws of physics. The Dark Portal is hungry. And if Fleming fails, Earth won’t just be conquered—it will be erased.

This is the secret history of WWII you were never told.

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Excerpt from Resonance Portal Wars – Book 1 © Copyright 2026 Mike Rawson

Hunting Skorzeny

Normandy, France — June 1941, 0430 — Operation Tilt

Captain Jack Phillips checked his watch—0430 hours. Right on schedule.

The air hung heavy with salt and damp earth, Normandy’s underbrush carrying the musk of soil mixed with the distant tang of the sea. Overhead, the canopy swallowed the starlight, draping the world in restless shadows. Beyond the treeline, waves whispered against the shore, their rhythm nearly drowned out by the crisp clicks of magazines locking into place, the rasp of knives sliding from sheaths, and the low, steady breaths of men preparing to kill or be killed.

Phillips crouched in the wet foliage, eyes fixed on the clearing ahead. His Number 4 British Commando team held position, weapons ready, nerves wound tight. The insertion had gone unnervingly well. Paddling rubber dinghies through the frigid Channel waters, they had reached the shore unchallenged. The French Resistance’s diversion two miles south had worked—too well. No German patrols. Not a single sentry in sight.

Phillips didn’t believe in luck.

Luck got men killed.

Tonight, they hunted Otto Skorzeny—Hitler’s favorite commando. The mission was clear: capture or eliminate.