Category Archives: fiction

When It Goes Hot

03 Sunday Jul 2022

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Hello, and happy pre-4th happiness! I’ve been most busy lately, revising and, to a degree, re-writing a novel. You know the one. It’s done now and soon to be off to the (real) publisher. And, I wrote the full rough draft of a new novella. And, I have the three-quarters-complete draft of yet another. Busy, busy, busy. But, I know the world hasn’t stopped declining while I peck away at a keyboard.

I’ve been predicting some inevitabilities for a while now. Over a year ago, I wrote:

The Empire has two final wars left in it. There’s the Balkanization domestic war, already in progress, and the last of the foreign mistakes.

Now, as Civil War 2.0 steadily simmers, WW3 has also opened up with Russia’s counter-attacks against the satanic forces of ZATO. Fun. Back to the domestic front, Vox Day, who called all of this years before me, comments on Paul Fahrenheidt’s admissions about the coming times. Apologies for including the whole thing, but it’s worth including:

The USA’s Last War

Paul Fahrenheidt reluctantly comes to terms with the inevitability of the USA’s dissolution and theorizes about how it will proceed.

Depending on when/how this war pops off, I predict casualties just shy of (possibly breaking) 100 million. This is all casualties, including civilian deaths caused by war-related disease, malnutrition, and collateral damage.

The current urban population of the United States is just shy of 275 million. The supermajority of it is concentrated in a half-dozen cities and metropolitan areas on both coasts of this country, most in the projected territory of Team Blue. While I hold that the Civil War will not be “Urban v. Rural,” to say the divide will play no part is dishonest.

Team Red and Team Blue will face different problems, and in all likelihood, different casualty counts. While Team Blue will not have sufficient hinterlands for its massive population (provoking an inevitable starvation crisis that will lop off a significant number of people in said cities,) Team Red will not have enough people to work its own hinterlands, causing a similar (though much less pronounced) food crisis.

The fact of the matter is that the supermajority of food planted, harvested, and distributed by the United States is so automated that a food crisis will occur no matter which way the states go, until smaller man-powered farms can fill the deficit. Either way, we’re looking at tens of millions dead (at least) within the first few months. This is to say nothing of the interrupted power grid, scarcity of medical supplies, outbreaks of cholera, typhus, polio, etc., and any other number of monsters unleashed by kinetic warfare.

I haven’t even addressed the fighting yet.

In a purely military sense, the Second American Civil War will closer resemble the First World War than the First American Civil War. What I mean is that a number of new weapons have been developed by the U.S. Government in the last twenty years, and have only been deployed in limited quantities overseas. Like the advances of weapons prior to WWI, commanders will have very little idea how to properly use them at first, which will contribute to a massive amount of casualties on the front end of the war. Except the otherwise competent WWI Generals will be replaced by careerists, amateurs, and (more likely than not,) women.

I won’t speculate on the tactical particularities of the Second American Civil War. At the war’s beginning, I suspect America’s forces in being to split (unevenly) between Red and Blue. Depending on whether both sides claim to be the Government, or a Government (the difference is important,) you’ll see Active and National Guard units stack on either side of the fence. State Defense Forces, State & Local Police Departments, and Paramilitaries of both stripes will generally go the way their state or sensibility goes.

No matter which way you slice it, I suspect the war will turn into a variety of sieges of Blue cities by Red armies. This is exasperated by the fact that every state in Team Red is geographically contiguous, while every state in Team Blue is split into about three or four islands. The Republicans in the Spanish Civil War faced the same problem, and Franco’s plan to defeat in detail was made the path of least resistance by the drawing of the battle lines.

These sieges will be an absolute bitch. Not only will the massive concentration of urban buildings act as a natural fortress, the United States Interstate System was built to simultaneously serve as military infrastructure and urban fortifications. Ever notice how the Interstates loop around major cities like walls? Ever notice spaces dug for mortar pits, ammo dumps, staging areas for motor-pools (rest stops,) and that each major city has an international airport within that loop of Interstate wall? This is to say nothing about Air Defense assets, which combined with the International Airport will almost assure local air superiority for the defenders of blue cities. Also consider that the Urban battlefield has become 4d, as metro systems and other such tunnels will need to be fought through and won.

The war’s outcome will never be in doubt. But it will be long, and it will cost more lives than we’ve ever thought possible. I can assure the dear reader that America will never be the same afterwards.

Although this time, it’s much more likely that the centrifugal forces will triumph over their centripetal rivals.

I’m always a little puzzled when people asked me why I left the United States more than two decades ago. Yes, of course, I saw this coming. I didn’t know precisely when it would happen, but it didn’t require a great brain to discern that a) it could happen within my lifetime and b) it would almost certainly be something my children would witness.

Consider this: when “the movement of peoples” is synonymous with “war and genocide” in the eyes of regular historians, and when the greatest military historians literally regard “immigration” as being essentially equivalent to “war”, what else could possibly be the result of the greatest movement of peoples in human history to date.

As for what will set it off, while I had previously considered both economic and diversity factors, at this point, it appears more likely that it will be a consequence of WWIII. The partition wars of India and Pakistan may prove a timeline guide in this regard; if we’re correct to assume that WWIII began with the Russian invasion of Ukraine in 2022, that would put the onset of the Dissolution War in 2030, only three years prior to my original estimate of 2033 for the collapse of the political entity.

There may be a little time left for those who’d like to relocate somewhere where one isn’t surrounded by outright enemies. Sadly, fleeing – previously a very wise course of action – is a rapidly-diminishing option. It is, however, time to pick a side. If one does not, if one chooses to pretend things will forever be as they were, and that nothing is wrong, and that another idiotic election of more women and foreigners is just what the doctor ordered, then no worries: being a casualty is the default setting.

And hey, tomorrow, use those fun fireworks as a chance to get used to living with a lot of BOOMS around. We’ll be hearing more than we like. Rock. And. Roll.

BTW: I think Fahrenheidt has it exactly the opposite of harsh reality regarding die-offs rates in a hypothetical USSA-RUS nuclear exchange. For reasons. Otherwise, he’s spot-on, including the CV2 casualty rates, and especially as to the hideous evil of the retarded, damnable Boomers. Cheers!

At Long Last

17 Friday Jun 2022

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Let’s see what Scrivener can do!

A learning curve may need mounting. Yet, I look forward to a full, positive review, hopefully in the form of more new novels and some exciting shorts.

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(Weak Christmas Fiction) COLUMN: Buddy’s Christmas Tree

23 Thursday Dec 2021

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Buddy’s Christmas Tree

*Hello and Season’s Greetings, Friends! This is what may have to pass for the annual Christmas (micro) fiction. This, of course, is the weakly weekly column, geared to those in the PPN audience. Please enjoy!

 

A studio in a converted garden shed, one December evening…

Perrin babbled away, again: ‘…now, ladies and gentlemen, we’re joined by the most wonderful actress and woman in the world, the lovely and gracious Gal Gadot! Hey, Gal! How’s the high life in Hollywood? Boy, oh boy, did I enjoy Red Notice! Thank you for coming on again so soon…’ The conversation would go on for several hours.

From high on his little FRC box perch, Buddy, Jr. looked on with pity. What a shame, he thought; the big guy should get out more, maybe bite the bullet and date that pretty secret agent woman. He cleared his throat and said, ‘Well, now, I’m running out for a bit. Kind of like you should. Uh. Okay, you just talk to yourself, again, for a while. Bye now.’ Perrin continued to gibber happily – to no one – about movies, and Goodles, and other things he knew nothing about. 

Ignored, as usual, the tiny lizard made his way down the cheap cardboard-like paneling. As he crossed the cold, unforgiving concrete floor, he passed the very spot where Buddy Senior’s tenure had abruptly ended. He crossed himself. Then, he carefully darted here and there through a maze of cigar boxes, empty coffee bags, and other rubbish. Next, he climbed over and past various boxes and crates bearing such odd labels as “RDX” and “Titanium Diboride.” By the door, he stopped and put on his extremely small coat, hat, and mittens. 

A gust of cold wind blew in the crack under the door where the weather stripping had broken away. Buddy was just about to exit when the Old Drunken Spider wobbled in, carrying with him a cricket (that we all know was just sleeping). ‘The big fool talking to himself again?’ the old creepy-crawler asked with a hiccup.

‘No!’ Buddy said emphatically. ‘This time it’s for real. He’s got Wonder Woman on Zoom!’ After a quiet moment, they both fell out laughing.

‘Almost had me there, Greenie!’ the spider chuckled as he staggered sideways a bit. ‘Well, if he’s having another … interview, I’ll just go to the other end and entertain my guest here.’ He patted the cricket – who was still sleeping. ‘You take care out there; it’s starting to snow if you’ll believe it.’

After staring at the mouth-watering sleeping cricket for a second, Buddy said ‘thanks and good evening,’ tipped his tiny hat, and ducked under the poorly-fitted door. Walking under the rusting, dented hulk of what had once been an SUV, he remembered his long years spent forgotten in the glove compartment. Those metal wires sticking out of the tires must be for extra traction, he thought as he emerged into the wide-open space behind the driveway. With little white flakes falling all around, he made his way through the yard and down the lane.

Over on the corner, under the soft rays of an old street lamp, Buddy found the Tiny Postman busy gathering letters from the tiny, special Santa Mail mailbox. 

‘Good evening, Tiny Postman!’ Buddy said. ‘All those gonna make it in time?’

‘Evening, Buddy,’ said Tiny Postman. And, yes, these are just in time. Say, you live in the shed. Any idea if this sad story will feature any other FP characters? Or a real plot?’

‘No, I’m afraid not,’ Buddy said with a shrug. ‘It’s just self-deprecating nonsense, a sleeping cricket, me, and my quest to find the perfect you-know-what.’

‘Ah, well. Maybe next Christmas. Anyway, are you off to the little magic place in the woods?’

‘That’s the place!’ Buddy exclaimed. ‘I’d better hurry. I hear they’re having a party tonight.’

The diminutive friends parted ways and Buddy hurried on. As a surprisingly healthy snow began to fall in earnest, he crossed the vacant lot and entered the woods. As he made his way into the trees, he passed several more friends. With each step, he grew more excited. Finally, he rounded a corner and stood beneath the most magical, special tree in the glade – the Northern Operations Tree of the Prepper Elves! Buddy clasped his little mittened hands together and smiled. He knew that inside that tree was a very special little tree all for him. But then, with genuine shock, he read the sign on the door: CLOSED. GONE TO CHRISTMAS PARTY AT FPHQ. BACK IN JANUARY.

Crushed, Buddy made his way back through the woods. He lamented Perrin’s cheapness and general aversion to travel. They themselves could have been at that party. Should have been. Maybe there, Buddy could have gotten his special little tree. But, as it sometimes happens, some things just aren’t meant to be. Back in the vacant lot, he ran into the Angry Cat. That encounter is the stuff of a story for another day. Needless to say, Buddy survived. He walked slowly through the snow with his head down until he again moved under the wreck of the Old Bug-Out Vehicle and Mobile Prepper Studio.™ Suddenly, he noticed something – something near the shed door that had not been there when he’d left.

Down on the ground by the crack under the door was a very small box with a bow on top. There was also a tiny card with his name on it. He carefully read the tiny card:

Dearest Buddy, Jr,

Here’s a present for the cutest little plastic lizard in the prepping world.

Merry Christmas, from your biggest fan.

Love,

GG ♡

Before he went inside to hang up his tiny coat and hat and mittens, Buddy opened the box. And, what do you suppose he found inside?!

The End

(Not very good, but at least it’s over! Merry Christmas!)

A Review of “A Fatal Mercy, The Man Who Lost The Civil War,” by Thomas Moore (1948 – 2021)

28 Saturday Aug 2021

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A Review of “A Fatal Mercy, The Man Who Lost The Civil War,” by Thomas Moore

 

*We can add to Tom’s long list of achievements his proper raising of three sons and his very positive influence on his step-children. Within two or three hours of learning of his death yesterday, I had a few ideas and thought, “wow, I need to run that by Tom.” I’m still in the hit in the face stage; shocked to follow, I suppose. Here, I repost my 2019 review of his last major novel, an instant classic on several fronts. He was approached, though I don’t think the porject evolved far, about turning A FATAL MERCY into a TV or Netflix mini-series, which, if done correctly, would be excellent. Don’t wait for that; buy the book. 

 

The boy had it right in quoting his grandfather: “courage and fortitude are never in vain … no good cause is ever lost because all good causes are lost causes.” Even if he didn’t exactly understand the last part of it, that quote expresses an oft-felt theme, if not a rule, of life and of a higher civilization. It is the theme of his grandfather’s story from 1863 through 1913.

 

Was Drayton FitzHenry the man who lost the War for Southern Independence? The man himself certainly thought so, perhaps with good reason. Then again, the reader can, likely will, come to understand that there may have been a good reason behind the losing. The story is simple in its complexity, and visa versa.

 

Moore has really written two books in one. A Fatal Mercy is an in-depth study of the human condition and of Christian morality, Western in origin – Southern by the grace of God. On the one hand, the book is a stirring rendition of The War. In that alone, it is fantastic martial fiction, at once woven by an elegant and commanding imagination and steeped in painstakingly researched history. The story is compelling, riveting.

 

That is especially high praise from me. Unlike my father, I am not a “Civil” War buff. As a child, the old man dragged me from battlefield to battlefield, constantly uttering information gleaned from his (separate) War library. I certainly gained a respect – and the good manners to at least phrase “Civil” with those all-important quotation marks – but I never developed the … obsession. This book, all through its 727 pages, engendered some of that. This is a work my father would have read – and liked. Those of you who knew him, know that is higher praise.

 

Perhaps highest of all, is what that aforementioned history and the associated culture, presented alive and burning, generates with regard to what I see as the second grand interpretation, a thoughtful, reasoned, and unapologetic defense of relevant antiquity, classical knowledge, honor, and the grandeur of Western Civilization.

 

I am a student of classical Greco-Roman tradition. Here, Moore writes as well and true as any: “One reason we study the Classics, apart from the value of the knowledge itself, is for what they may teach us about our times.” With this sentiment, Cicero concurs: “To be ignorant of what occurred before you were born is to remain always a child. For what is the worth of human life, unless it is woven into the life of our ancestors by the records of history?”

 

Today, most Americans, Southerners included, are ignorant of history, children easily led astray from their ancestral heritage. Moore addresses this issue, with direct examples, slightly dramatized, through the eyes of his protagonist. Drayton’s book-long dilemma revolves around a momentary eye of the storm at Gettysburg. Rather, around the eye of the fish hook, as Shelby Foote put it if we stretch Foote’s geographic definitions to include Little Round Top (and it is, topography-wise, a sub-eye). See: The Civil War, a Narrative, Stars in Their Courses, p. 479, Random House, New York (1963).

 

Of that terrible battle and its defining outcome, Bruce Catton wrote: “There was no pattern to any of this, except for the undesigned pattern that can always be traced after the event.” Never Call Retreat, Encounter at Gettysburg, p. 186, Doubleday, New York (1965). If this is true – and who doubts Catton – then Drayton’s dilemma is understandable. Drayton lived out the maxim: “Iniuriam facilius facias quam feras – Easier to do a wrong than to endure one.” – Syrus, Maxims. As he refrained from the former, so he endured the latter. Both counts are attributable to – and tribute to – his wisdom and honor.

 

And, there is an honor, and a wisdom, about Drayton FitzHenry that is rare among literary creations. Odysseus has it, as does Frodo. That wisdom moves beyond the narrative of the War, the horrors of Reconstruction, and into the following age. Along with other, innumerable truths, a lesson and a warning speak directly to us. It finds different ways of expression:

 

  • The kindly nature of a freed slave towards her former master;
  • The correct realization that the War ended the original American Republic, freeing one class of slaves only to create another;
  • Understanding the force and effect of the demonic legal trilogy of 1913: to this end, three separate quotes, conjoined (by me, for my purposes): “Power transmutes into Empire. Empire begets hubris. Hubris brings ruin. … [O]ur virtues will be needed by America, perhaps even the world, more than ever. … We must do the best we can and leave the consequences to God.”

Moore’s articulate, enrapturing characters witness the end of a Republic. We stand at the very possible end of an Empire. Then, in the fable, and now, in our reality, both intelligent free will and resolve to honor Providence properly combine. Sayeth the poet: “Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo – If I can’t move Heaven, I’ll raise Hell.” – Virgil, The Aeneid, VII, 312. The men at Gettysburg, of both sides, did exactly that. A Fatal Mercy does the same, does both in fact, recalling the horror and heroism of combat while instilling pride in the genteel, the cultured, the learned, the respecting, and the respectable. It is all of powerful magnitude.

 

The Author states: “My principal goal was not just to write the best contemporary novel of the War, but also to place my protagonist in an excruciating moral and emotional dilemma and see how he would resolve his inner conflict.” Moore has done that, and greater still. This book is a timeless Classic.

 

Also: The letters… The burning of the letters, Chapter Seventeen, moved me. The reader will, I trust, understand soon enough.

 

(Picture: Amazon/Green Altar Books – Shotwell/Moore)

 

A Fatal Mercy, The Man Who Lost The Civil War, Thomas Moore, Green Altar Books, Columbia, SC (2019).

Always Trust Ironsides

07 Wednesday Jul 2021

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The Hoax and other matters have taken a slight toll on the fiction, it’s true. Fear not! Dr. Ironsides and friends are making slow, steady progress. As you’ll see in a moment, the CIA’s former best was in action recently and was astoundingly accurate in his assessments of matters straddling the real and fictional worlds.

Readers know or guess that this blog now doubles as a Gal Gadot fan club. In May, I explained why as part of my exploration of GG’s sweet tweet and the organized cyberwarfare response against her.

Many Gadot-bashers are, I deduce, robots and paid shills. There’s just too much homogeneity and synchronization across many of the comments on multiple platforms. That made me realize something; this isn’t really about Gaza and it’s certainly not about Gal Gadot. It has the signature of the Unrestricted Warfare described by PLA Cols. Liang and Xiangsui in 1999. There are multiple fifth-generation conflicts being waged around the world by multiple parties for multiple reasons. Some of them concern Israel, the Arab-Muslim Middle East, and the United States. Who and why? I have no definitive idea. However, a popular movie star provides an attractive vehicle for spreading the overwhelming chatter. Strange things do happen – more frequently than one imagines.

Last month, I went ahead and gave her credit for ridiculously grand things. My suspicions about the 5GW elements were also confirmed.

As I noted then, I immediately sensed something nefarious behind the vicious attacks on our Wonder Woman. Immediately. I mentioned some obvious signs of SJW attack, 5GW, a book people won’t read, and the existence of various wars most wouldn’t understand or even acknowledge. About a week later, I was backed up by some Israeli publications, the engineers at Twitter, and a consulting company in France.

Again: It’s me, immediately, or the “experts,” later.

However, Big Tom delivers instantly and more accurately than I could ever hope for. At the end of May, in an unpublished short story to which only a select few were privy, he met a young fictional actress suspiciously like the real GG. It turns out that she had just experienced the exact same kind of backlash over a peace Tweet. She asked and he answered:

‘Who, if you had to guess, doctor, do you think is behind the ruse?’ she pressed.

‘That,’ he said while thinking, ‘could be anyone. One or more factions of your people – within or without. Could be Hamas. Iran. My old employer. China. Bank for International Settlements. It could be some loose collection of malcontents in southeast Asia or somewhere. Facegram or Twithead could, if they cared, try to run down some IPs. …’

That doubly awkward moment when your character creation meets a fictional dead-ringer for your celebrity crush and hits the speculative nail on the head. Malaysia is somewhere in southeast Asia.

Malaysian groups waged cyber warfare against Israeli and pro-Israel social media accounts during May’s conflict between the Jewish state and Gaza-based terrorist organizations, according to a new report from the Israel-based Meir Amit Intelligence and Terrorism Information Center.

The report found that during Operation Guardian of the Walls from May 10 to May 21, a network of anti-Israel groups emanating from the southeastern Asian Muslim nation massively attacked mainstream social media and messaging platforms against Israelis and supporters of Israel.

The attacks took the form of harassing and trolling pro-Israel accounts and suspending and blocking the accounts, according to the report.

The targets included former prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu, Hollywood actress Gal Gadot…

Rather than say I was right about anything, let me just warn certain Malaysian trolls to pray Tom Ironsides stays confined within the pages of novels.

How It Might Happen – the Weekly Column!

19 Friday Mar 2021

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And, this week, it’s another short work of fiction based on highly plausible real near-future events. This one runs exclusively or initially here because 1) I assume it’s the TOO Real Story, and 2) I was notified by TPC’s excellent internal staff communication system that the venerable paper is going on a 2-week Spring Break (woot!) hiatus. Accordingly, my next two weekly columns will be a little “harder” and will run here (possibly elsewhere – developing [slowly] that). Here goes:

 

 How It Might Happen

 

Brynlee pulled her thong up to fully expose the new marijuana leaf tattoo riding high on her plump, white right cheek. She was delighted TikTok was working again (it had been off-and-on for a few days for unknown reasons) though she was moderately distressed the comments feed still wasn’t active. ‘Weah muh boiz? Weah beo-chez? Thot bee hawt!’ she slurred as she began to twerk for the camera. ‘Yaw git high why I shake dis booty, shake dis booty, shake diss booooo-tay!’ 

The noise from the living room really bothered her—almost as much as the loss of instant gratification from her ten thousand loyal followers. ‘Turn dat sheeit dow!’ she screamed. ‘Dat bee dee nooz?’

Suddenly, Marqueena, the seven-year-old daughter she’d had with Darnell, a man she barely remembered, stormed into the kitchen. Sober eyes would have detected the fear and distress on the cute little face, half ivory, half ebony.

‘Which ship is daddy on?!’ the little girl asked with a shout.

‘Gah! Gurl, waay,’ the attention whore exclaimed as she tapped off her phone. ‘Wuh? Why? He on dat Ray-gan, da airpane sheep.’

With an ear-splitting scream, the child crumpled to the floor in a sobbing heap. Between wails, she bleated, ‘Daddy! Daddy!’

Her wasted, worthless mother stepped over her writhing body and ventured to the doorway. From there, she witnessed something on the 80-inch screen that almost drove the booze and drugs from her underpowered mind. She looked just in time to see the third playing of the first hypersonic anti-ship missile as it plowed into the starboard side of CVN-76. Four more bright flashes followed in rapid succession. Within minutes, over one hundred thousand tons of steel, billions of dollars, and six thousand men—Darnell included—sank to the ocean floor.

While little Marqueena rolled and cried, pounding the linoleum with her fists, Brynlee stupidly muttered, ‘Day-um. Muh check…’

The horrific martial scenes on the television were replaced by a stunned Tucker Carlson. With great effort, he spoke again, ‘And, that was Sunday night. Three days ago. They’ve been lying for three days, lying as if nothing was wrong. Well, it is. It’s worse than wrong, it’s unbelievable. It’s terminal.

‘It took Russian and European reporting, that they tried to block, to break the truth openly. For three days, President Harris, or Pelosi, or whoever the hell is supposed to be running this failed nation has been lying to us. A training exercise? Retaliatory strikes. Mission accomplished? Your sailor will contact you when routine radio silence is lifted! Lies. Lies. Lies!

‘Here’s what we know—now!—that really happened. The Iranians knew the strikes were coming and they were ready. Not a single US cruise missile or bomber got through. Tehran obviously has this Russian S-400 or S-500 system and it obviously works. They also have, according to new reports we’ve been able to verify, advanced ultra-high-velocity sea-skimming missiles. That’s what sank the Reagan along with three support ships. 

‘Our Navy is so weak, so unprepared that they can’t even recover the very few survivors. The Iranians, to their great credit, have been picking up our wounded, treating them, and offering to return them as soon as possible. They, it seems, have Allah’s grace; we’ve lost it.

‘Within an hour of the Battle of the Arabian Sea, China moved against Taiwan, their first step being to sweep the US Pacific Fleet aside. That’s when we lost the Roosevelt and the Nimitz and other support ships, lost them to even more advanced weaponry and tactics. That’s when we lost most of our island-based assets in the South China Sea and the Philippine Sea. China, by the way, is not interested in recovering any of our MIAs. Also, by the way, there is practically nothing we can do about any of this.

‘That’s when, that’s how we lost an estimated thirty-thousand casualties in one hour. That’s why Vladimir Putin sternly reminded Washington of the new Russian defense alliances with Beijing and Tehran. That’s when the failed, satanic, blood-thirsty fools in the White House started lying. That’s how we know this paper tiger has no teeth. Just maybe, maternity flight suits and transgender sex change operations weren’t the right priority. Well, regardless of how we look at it, America’s imperial age just ended.’