Justin’s Comments (group member since Mar 13, 2016)

Justin’s comments from the Science Fiction Microstory Contest group.

You bet Tom! I'm really glad you enjoyed "Bulldog"! I agree with you that this topic I picked is difficult in that if you are not as familiar with the history discussed (Castro playing baseball is one example) then, while the story may be interesting, the impact of the change you've chosen is less simply because you don't know it.

I love military history, particularly WWII, and I am a huge Churchill fanatic (currently reading a massive biopic about him) so the details I pulled are relatively fresh in my mind, and I knew where to go look them up.

Andy's story, where he took a personal history and created a new sequence of events in his own life, was fantastic. But I had to ask him to clarify who everyone was, what had happened, etc. Once he answered that, more of the story made sense to me.

Anyway, thanks for the feedback!

Oh Heather.

I have changed the title back to its original form: The Lost Bulldog.

Remind me never to join a debating club with you!

I very much appreciated your in depth explanation as to why Lost is better than Last. And I ended up having to agree with you. Usually I'm very decisive about these things, so I'm a little disappointed at my lack of certainty about this particular story that I so thoroughly enjoyed conceiving.

However, I do value the constructive comments and feedback this group provides and I accept it in the spirit in which it was offered.

I am glad you made the connection between the Corporal and his later iteration, because initially I had not even made that connection myself!

Thanks again for your great commentary!

After rereading it today, I felt "Last" sounded better than "Lost" and fit the context of the story better.

"History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it." WSC

Changed my story title by one letter. Author's prerogative. :)

Story is up! I had to cut so much out!! But I am very happy with it if I do say so myself!

No further urban legends to report here!

The Lost Bulldog


Ploegsteert Sector of the Western Front, Belgium
March 8, 1916
6th Battalion, Royal Scots Fusiliers

The Lieutenant-Colonel slowly chewed his damp cigar, ignoring the torrential rain pouring off his commandeered French army helmet. He also ignored the rain of steel falling heavily after the telltale flashes from the German lines. There was a time when such things had scared him, now they were simply a bloody nuisance. Well, he would show the Boche the English could fling shells as good or better. He staggered through the sucking mud and fetid water of the trench his battalion occupied. Several large rats retreated at his approach.

He poked his large, roundish face into the flickering light of the artillery plotting room. “Are we zeroed in lads?” he asked with his distinctive lisp.

A young corporal looked up from his makeshift desk. “Yes sah!” he replied smartly, but the Colonel sensed there was more.

“Then why aren’t we firing back?”

“Because the phone line between us and the bat’ry has gone dead Colonel.” Another German shell thudded outside, sending a cascade of dirt over the plotting table.

“Good Lord man, haven’t you sent a runner to inspect it?” More thunder rumbled as the rain intensified.

“Yes sah. We sent one as soon as the line went dead, but he never returned.”

“I shall fix it then. Give me the wire.”

“Colonel?”

“That’s an order Corporal. Pray give me the wire before we are all blown to hell.”

The young Corporal stood up swiftly, saluted, and quickly passed the telephone wire to his commanding officer. The roundish face ducked back into the night, the telephone wire unspooling rapidly behind him.

***
London, England
March 8, 1941

Constance Findley lazily stirred her tea as her son Alistair sat at the dining room table, eating his porridge ration. Her husband Jack, a veteran of the Great War and significantly older than her, grumbled and groused from his overstuffed chair at the latest wireless report.

“Mummy, is Daddy going to fight the Germans?” asked Alistair between bites.

“No dear. Daddy already fought the Germans once. He doesn’t have to do it again.”

“I may bloody well have to at the rate things are going! That Chamberlain has really buggard things up. Peace in our time. Bah!”

“Jack dear, language.”

“Sorry love.”

Suddenly an air raid siren began to wail. Instinctively Jack bolted out of his chair, grabbed Alistair under his arm and herded a bewildered Constance towards the backyard.

***
London, England
March 8, 1945

Constance Findley paced frantically in the shattered remains of her parlour while her son Alistair munched on a stale cracker at their makeshift table. The air raid sirens had started hours ago and continued their dirge over London without ceasing. She waited fearfully for a call she prayed would never come-and then it did.

“Hullo?” she whispered.

“Connie! Connie! Are you there?”

“Jack! Oh thank God!”

“Connie listen to me! They’ve broken through and there’s no stopping them. My unit is sending a lorry to collect you and Alistair.”

“But,”

“They’ll take you west. I’ll find you!”

“Jack!” The line went dead.

***
May 8, 1945
Woodstock, Oxfordshire, England

The archivist-historian stepped gingerly over the shattered glass and broken furniture that lay scattered across bullet-riddled marble floors. His SS “escort” had clearly disregarded his orders, and gleefully destroyed the works of art and culture he had hoped to preserve for future generations. Goose-stepping schwachsinniges!

As he rounded a beautiful column fashioned in the English Baroque style, he came face to face with the palace’s last defender. She was a handsome woman of about 60, and lay sprawled across an armchair with her head flopped back, mouth agape. On the floor beside her were several spent shell casings and one of the ubiquitous Sten guns the entire country seemed armed with. Yet it was the small picture frame she still clutched that drew his attention.

Respectfully, he closed the woman’s eyes, noted the bullet holes in her chest, then gently pulled the picture frame out of her death grip. Turning it over he saw a very old letter with tattered edges, yellowed, with dried tear stains that had browned with age. Graced by a gilded imperial crest, it read:

March 10, 1916

My Dear Mrs. Churchill,

The Queen and I offer you our heartfelt sympathy in your great sorrow.

We pray that your country’s gratitude for a life so nobly given in its service may bring you some measure of consolation.

George R.I.


(750 words in story) Justin Sewall © 2016

Well Dean you did a great job. I liked it. I wouldn't have thought alternate history and sports, but it's stories like these help broaden my mind to different plot possibilities. Nicely done.

Thanks Davon!

It is a supportive group, and highly talented from what I've experienced since I joined in April. Makes it fun to contribute.

Perhaps a better challenge would be for someone to start a storyline, then the next person continue it, and so on. It would be interesting to see where a story would go with everyone contributing a 750 word "chapter." Maybe someone will pick up this challenge and make it one of the monthly conditions.

Hi Chris and Heather,

There is no restriction on beginning in, referencing, or coming back to a "normal" timeline. Without time travel, time machines, or alien intervention, you'll have to.

Chris, your story works perfectly and fulfills the requirements for this month's challenge.

Basically, find an event in history, change something about it, then show the effects of that change going forward in time.

I hope that clarifies it a bit more. Everyone is free to ping me with any further questions.

Again Chris, nice job!

Hey thanks John! It was certainly fun writing this one.

Richard, I enjoyed both of your stories involving Hitler - particularly Mein Kamph. Great detail!

Paula, your story has that great mystical touch woven throughout like your other stories. I just don't know the history presented in it. Although it is grounded on Earth, it feels like it could be on a different planet somewhere.

Tom, A Son Unto Caesar. Absolutely brilliant! I love how the changes in your timeline continued to ripple outwards even out to the distant future.

Dean, I don't know much about Castro's youth. Did he really play baseball? What a twist. Who is Nolan? Nolan Ryan perhaps?

Great stories all around. Mine is still growing and I'm happy with its direction so far.

I appreciate it J.J.!

I'd like to second that Paula. I'm sure that's a bit of effort to provide a critique of everyone's stories. It is greatly appreciated! I always like to hear what I did well and what I need to work on.

At the risk of repeating myself, thank you!

Thank you Carol! I sincerely appreciate the compliment and your support!

Hi Paula, yes it is. Although I have to draw the line at romance novels. :) I will say that a lot of my reading is sci-fi and history (especially military history) but I'm certainly open to other genres. My offer still stands.

Jack, great story. I had an inkling that's where you were going. Nicely done.

Reminds me of the scene in "Interstellar" when they are discussing the moon landings in school and how they were a ruse to ruin the Soviet economy and never really happened. Meanwhile Matthew Mcconaughey's character is looking at them like they've grown a third eye...

I've heard about that and have wanted to watch the mini-series on HULU. Perhaps I should read the book first. The elasticity of the timeline, and having it snap back into place after a disruption can certainly be an aspect of this month's theme.

Andy wrote: "Justin - Yes, I didn't get back to schoool until the following May. I was in fact very fortunate as my only problem was that I couldn't walk, and I recovered pretty much completely. For those very ..."

Then I think your story is even more amazing for the way you have woven your own personal history into it. Thank you for sharing it!