The English writer Sudo Nonym, a regular over at Free Speech Backlash, sent yours portly a treasure-trove of fiction stories for readers here to enjoy.  Many of these stories have already run at FSB, but Tom, the proprietor over there, is cool about cross-posting and republishing, and I’m never one to say no to intriguing content—especially when someone else has done 90% of the work for me!

Also, he has two eBooks on Amazon (that’s an Amazon Affiliate link; I receive a portion of any purchases made through that link at no additional cost to you—TPP)!

But I digress.  Today’s story is the second chapter or part of a longer piece, The Man from Historical Accuracy.  The premise is simple:  a bureaucratic agency, Historical Accuracy, tweaks history to keep things trucking along as they should.

With that, here is Sudo Nonym with Chapter 2 of The Man from Historical Accuracy:

Chapter 2

MHA Two. Germany 1933.

The Nazis are in power. Early on, they flex their newfound muscles and begin to look abroad for political adventuring.

He sat patiently as they deliberated. This time they didn’t even trouble to ask him to leave the room. Goebbels, the little cripple, whispered in the Fuhrer’s ear. The great man nodded in some agreement and indicated that Goebbels should continue the conversation.

Goering was bored. He looked out of the window and up into the sky. A biplane puttered its way from one extreme of the window to another. Only when it flew out of sight did he return his attention to the meeting.

‘So what do you suggest Herr…?’ he said.

They could never remember his name. A handy little transmitter box in his pocket made sure of that. He wondered idly how he could remember his own name but didn’t ever seek enlightenment. The scientific types were there to worry about that. Worried enough to know that the man they provided with boxes of magic tricks could arrange a world in which they no longer existed or worse, a world where they would have to eke out an existence in savagery; in hostile conditions.

‘I suggest you start building aircraft, civilian aircraft which can be easily converted to military use. Your country is big enough to carry out trials without attracting suspicion.’

‘And where do we get the pilots from?’

‘Sponsor flying clubs, offer inducements to army people, start weekend training. Make it look like a social thing. Be sneaky.’

‘Yes, we can teach people to fly but where will they acquire fighting experience?’

‘There will be a civil war in Europe soon, in Spain actually. Support the winning side.’

‘And which side will that be?’

‘The side you support. You must choose but I doubt you would support communists.’

‘How do you know these things? We have our spies everywhere and yet you always know more, and before. It’s almost as if you can visit the future!’

Which one though? he thought. Yes, my fat friend and murderer, which one?

About the Author

Sudo Nonym, the name inspired by favourite American Sci-fi author Jack Vance, is British English and spent his earlier years in the RAF. No stranger to weapons, ejection seats and bomb disposal he took his experience out into the World to some 70 countries. Probably easier to list where he didn’t go but USA was a favourite from Vegas to New Orleans, the Alamo to Pikes Peak, Washington to Florida, Albuquerque to Charlotte and wondered at St Louis where the pioneers set off for the Rocky Mountains. Regrets? Not having a KFC in Kentucky.

Sudo Nonym to protect the innocent in a dubious world, he has 3 grandkids and lives with his wife of 40 years in a secret location with a cat and untidy workshops where he finds it easier writing about his inventions than actually making them work.

Writing themes include time travel, spies, speculation over other worlds and, not to chase or challenge the climate change theories, to complain bitterly were something to go wrong we’re not going the right way to prepare for it. Houses that float on water or tall pilings at least, boats to move about and inexpensive flying machines rather than the preserve of the rich or those with the application to fly them. Money where mouth is, he is a licensed private pilot.