There was a good long while there, in the nineteen-eighties, when anybody and everybody who was writing what were then called "techno-thrillers" would have breathless publicists out there telling the world that their oeuvre was "the next Tom Clancy." Inevitably, it was not. But... and you have to think about this a little... it's all right. Your techno-thriller isn't as good as Tom Clancy's, and that is fine and my novels aren't as good as Mark Helprin's, and that is fine, too. Not everyone has the same gifts or the same talent, and that is fine as well. All you can do is the best you can. If your work gets compared to someone who is better than you, even if the comparison is inapt, that's not the worst place in the world to be, now is it.
I say this because if you read GONE TO SEA IN A BUCKET, you may see that someone has compare his series to Patrick O'Brian's stately Aubrey/Maturin series. And this is... absolutely not fair. David Black is not Patrick O'Brian, neither am I, and neither are you. And this is fine. You wouldn't want to be Patrick O'Brian if you could. And you wouldn't want to try to mimic Patrick O'Brian because that would be a really bad idea. C.S. Lewis (who you would also be well-advised not to mimic) was once asked if he could write a sequel to THE SCREWTAPE LETTERS, with an angel giving heavenly advice, and he said, in so many words, absolutely not because every word would have to be redolent of the heavenly perfume, and as such, wouldn't be readable. It's the same with O'Brian; if anyone else tried to write that way he'd end up sounding, as my mother would say, like a dying calf in a hailstorm.
So, look. If you're coming to GONE TO SEA IN A BUCKET looking for Patrick O'Brian, you are out of luck. And that is fine, because the comparison is not only unfair but lazy. The only thing that the authors have in common is an interest in, and respect for, the institution of the Royal Navy, and it ends there. GONE TO SEA IN A BUCKET is about WWII submarines, which Jack Aubrey (to say nothing of the early twentieth-century Royal Navy) would have considered to be monstrous infernal engines crewed by pirates. Its hero, Harry Gilmour, is a raw reservist (who wouldn't, though, have been entirely out of place in the wardroom of HMS SURPRISE). Although Black shares O'Brian's love of naval argot and cuisine, he has both feet firmly in the twentieth century; there is no Regency-era language or mannerisms to be found.
What Black and O'Brian share is a love of naval action, and here GONE TO SEA IN A BUCKET delivers in spades. Gilmour turns out, after a slow start, to be a competent and enterprising officer, and Black puts him in the midst of trouble frequently.
No. It's not O'Brian. But you wouldn't want it to be, and it's good stuff.