Reds fanfic

This update originated from this contribution of mine, where an Irish diplomat explains the cultural divisions within Comintern, based of his own experiences in foreign affairs. But I realize now that such a person could gain enormous public respect and admiration for a career that proved to be colorful, especially if they wrote about it.

Competing Ideologies!

Competing Ideologies is a 1996 FBU-Irish comedy-satire film, directed by Monty Pyhton alumnus Terry Jones. Set in Moscow during the 1960s, it tells the story of a beleaguered Irish diplomat in who finds himself endlessly harassed by three Comintern agents who compete to be the ones to convert him to the worker's cause, and scrutinized by his Irish superiors who suspect him of Red sympathies.

Summary

Harold Finnegan (Brendan Grace) [1] is a low-level Irish diplomat based in the embassy in 1963 Moscow. Like every Irish diplomat in Comintern, he is under severe surveillance by his own government, since Comintern seeks to ferment revolution in Ireland and tries to recruit Irish citizens when it can. Finnegan is humiliated by two G2 [2] agents when they discover his stuffed elephant during a sweep of his apartment, and browbeaten by his holier-than-thou superior Enda McFeeny (Peter O'Toole).

While sulking at bar, Finnegan is bought a beer by a self-proclaimed Russian violinist named Alexei (Yakov Smirnoff), really a Soviet agent and international recruiter who secretly photographs them both as proof that he is successfully recruiting an Irish diplomat. The picture is quickly intercepted by Melissa (Christina Applegate), a young American diplomat and political radical who wants to recruit Finnegan through her sex appeal to increase her own profile, to the chagrin of Michael (Fred Savage) her co-worker and a political moderate who believes that harassing civilians does not do the cause any good, and that letting people come of their own volition is the wiser option. Melissa herself faces competition from Alberto (Andy Garcia) a Cuban exile who believes that Irish history of resisting the English will make him, a Cuban, successful negotiator.

The methods of the three agents, from gifts, to attempts at seduction, to mailing him propaganda, only exasperate the guy more and more, and bring him under greater scrutiny from the G2 agents. Eventually, the stress drives Finnegan into a drinking binge, and he gets hit by a car after wandering into the street while intoxicated. Even worse, G2 agents find a saucy letter sent by Melissa to him, and they send the evidence to McFeeny, who sends the hospitalized Finnegan a note of dismissal.

Feeling responsible for the behavior of his fellow agents, Michael visits Finnegan incognito, and discovers the man hates Communism more than ever, and blames Communism for letting his family down. Michael furiously confronts all three of the agents for what they did to Finnegan, violating the principles of socialism by using a human being as an asset, and orders them to try and save his job.

Using their spy skills, the three agents discover that McFeeney slept with a Russian prostitute, and paid for her abortion, a transgression that could cost him his job. They successfully blackmail him to reinstate Finnegan or be exposed by the Irish press. Finnegan is reinstated and promoted, and he goes home happily, while the agents resolve to use more humane methods in the future.


Background

Terry Jones was inspired by Sean Fitzpatrick's groundbreaking 1993 work, Diplomacy: The Hidden Rules.

Born in 1928, Sean Fitzpatrick worked as a diplomat for Ireland for 37 years, between 1953 and 1990, spending much of his time in Red nations, including a term as Ireland's ambassador to the UASR between 1985 and 1987. While Fitzpatrick's work was renowned for its unorthodox methods in instructing diplomacy, Jones saw comedy gold in autobiographical sections in The Hidden Rules, when Fitzpatrick describes the countless times he claims that some Red recruiter tried to bring him into the socialist cause, and how they used grossly intrusive methods to do so.

Many scenes in the movie such as when Grace's character tried to hide the sacks of Socialist letters he had received from G2, and when Applegate's character tried to give Grace's character a bikini car wash were confirmed by Fitzpatrick as completely true.

[1] Hilarious OTL Irish comedian.

[2] Ireland's CIA.


 
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@The_Red_Star_Rising Since youre the Warhammer God in this here TL, what's the status of Fantasy? I hope to god there isn't an End Times or Age of Sigmar equivalent.

And lord almighty, is there a movie for Abhorash and the Blood Dragon Vampire Sect? Because that would probably be one of the best action movies ever (alongside a film for Egil Styrbjorn and his Chaos Warriors, of course, hopefully revoloving around the seige of Castle Lyonesse)
 
@The_Red_Star_Rising Since youre the Warhammer God in this here TL, what's the status of Fantasy? I hope to god there isn't an End Times or Age of Sigmar equivalent.

And lord almighty, is there a movie for Abhorash and the Blood Dragon Vampire Sect? Because that would probably be one of the best action movies ever (alongside a film for Egil Styrbjorn and his Chaos Warriors, of course, hopefully revoloving around the seige of Castle Lyonesse)
There is the return of Nagash but that's about as far as that goes.

The lore only factions also get a lot more focus so places like Ind, Cathay, Nippon, Araby, the Hob Goblins, the Amazons, Estalia, Tilea, Kislev, Norsca, the Southlands (split into Akghan and the Shadowmen), and Albion have their own army books; as do things like the Sarhuadin, Zoats, Chaos Dwarfs, Slaugth, and the Sea-Elves.
 
I'm sorry, I could not resist discussing how America's original birthday would evolve in the UASR. Happy 4th of July, comrades!

Stars and Stripes: The Fall and Resurrection of 4th of July

july-4th-independence-hall-parade-900VP.jpg


Philadelphia Comrade

July 4, 2017

Once again, the City of Brotherly Love has become a giant party. The streets are crowded with military parades, with onlookers happily waving the old Stars and Stripes and wearing red, white, and blue. In the old Independence Hall, the annual re-enactment of the Signing of the Declaration of Independence has gone on successfully, as has been televised to the rest of the nation. In public parks, re-enactments of the various battles of the Revolution are taking place, watched by people enjoying their barbecues. In bakeries and collective kitchens, pastries often colored red, white, and blue raise insulin levels.

It is hard to imagine that 70 years ago, the holiday was virtually extinct. But the old American birthday had indeed nearly vanished with the Second Republic [1], only to be rescued by a man's rediscovery of his heritage, and an opportunistic desire to exploit international class tensions.

Decline and Fall

By the early 20th century, July 4th was imbued into the national conscious. For many, it was a celebration of the virtue of "freedom", a term that had been rendered bland and overused. The famed abolitionist Frederick Douglas famously asked about the meaning of the Holiday and freedom in a nation of slaves, but his speech seemed eerily relevant in the Gilded Age, when all Americans had become slaves to the capitalist system, and when black and white brothers were turned against one another by the lingering prejudices of the time.

The holiday appeared to be little more than bread and circuses, with men celebrating freedom even as their landlords and managers robbed them of security. But the holiday would soon vanish as the American proletariat woke up to their oppression.

By 1921, the chaos of Bienno Rosso and the class war had seemingly subsided. But underneath the image of normalcy, the conditions for revolution were bubbling.

In the Old City of New York, the sign of the coming paradigm shift appeared on the 4th of July. In the cities working class neighborhoods, the energy that characterized previous celebrations was no longer there. More men celebrated May Day then they did Independence Day. For many, the near suppression of their local election had driven many to question old American traditions.

As one historian put it ,"the bourgeois element of 4th of July had become apparent, and hardcore socialists began to see this celebration of bourgeois freedom as bad taste."

That year, more people celebrated May Day then they did 4th of July. But even in the aftermath of watered-down capitalist repression, most Americans still bonded with the holiday, even in the early years of the Great Depression.

But with the downfall of the Second Republic underneath MacArthur's reaction, the 4th of July became one of its casualties, with MacArthur's distorted red, white, and blue patriotism playing no small role.

Many of the symbols of the Constitutional Republic, from the Stars and Stripes, went into the ash-heap due to their association with a regime that falsely promised liberty. MacArthur's orgies of celebration also drove many Socialist Americans away from a holiday that held no meaning. By 1939, few cared America's old birthday, with its rebellion largely forgotten.

But in 1948, a person would rediscover his heritage, and through political manipulation of growing tensions with England, lay the groundwork for its revival.

Vernon Caldwell, a soldier of the Second World War, had been born in Vermont on a small dairy farm in Cabot in 1924. Inspired by his ancestors who had fought on the Union side during the first American Civil War, he had eagerly signed up to fight in the Second World War. Upon his return, he, like many other American soldiers grew disillusioned with their former British allies, and their imperialistic ways.

While cleaning his attic in his parents' farmhouse, he discovered documentation that linked his ancestry back to a member of the Green Mountain boys, the militia of the American Revolution that famously captured Fort Ticonderoga. As postwar relations grew with England and the UASR, Comrade Caldwell found a means by which that old enmity of England could be exploited as a new enmity with England grew.

On July 4th 1949, Caldwell, who had become Chairman of the Cabot Council, would launch the first serious celebration of the 4th in 17 years. Caldwell, while standing before city hall, declared a desire to honor "the brave men who were the first in history to resist British imperialist ambitions," ignoring the fact that the resistance was for bourgeois commercial interests and the founders were often slaveowners.

With the public growing ever more disdainful of the British imperialists, the crowd went into a cheerful frenzy over such remarks. Men and women once again began their great celebration of independence from England. By the late 1960s, with the capitalist and communist worlds officially locked in a bitter struggle, the revival of the 4th of July and its anti-British rhetoric spread across much of the US. Even the old American flag, once a symbol of capitalist hypocrisy, enjoyed a comeback during the 4th.

But in the current de-facto detente, the 4th has become a simple celebration of food and fun, with re-enactments being a part of the party rather than the party itself.

However, the 4th remains concentrated in the areas of the First American Revolution, the old Thirteen Colonies, such as Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, and Maryland. Further west, the connection to the 1776 rebellion declines, as does the holiday. As the saying goes, "the further west you go, the less white and blue".

But to the crowd of Philadelphians and other Eastern Americans, the 4th is seen as the beginning of a great nation's destiny from colony to leader of human liberation.

[1] I think in the rewrite, that's what Jello used to describe the ITTL United States after the First Civil War.
 
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Section Zero

Section Zero is an ongoing American comic book series, written by Brian K. Vaughn, and produced by the Image Comics Collective.

Based on the psychic experiments done during the First Cultural Revolution under the purview of Upton Sinclair, it posits an alternate world, where, instead of having no real results, it instead exposes several individuals who do in fact have some degree of psychic abilities. (though Sinclair's wife, Mary Craig Kimbrough is not among them). To assauge potential public outrage, however, their existence is classified, and those willing can volunteer for a secret part of state security, dedicated to "problems beyond the jurisdiction of normal beings." They are primarily used for secret missions during the Second World War (their direct use discouraged by fears of losing control).


The series has arcs spanning the history of the UASR. The first arc takes place in the 1960's, and revolves around an attempt by Section Zero agents to determine the location of a Franco-British experimental submarine, trying to beat out their Franco-British counterparts. Though the first arc is a simple espionage thriller with a superpowered element, the series began to delve more into the stranger programs of the Cold War, but also had the American and Franco-British teams ally against a common enemy (sometimes a fascist terrorist or a secret alien invasion in a memorable arc set in the 1980's). It also delves into the initial experiments, and their clandestine activities during World War II.

The series has received overall positive reviews for its tone, stories, and use of its historical setting.

------------------------
I decided to take the ASB story I described way back when. I will definitely go into some story arcs another time.
 

QueerSpear

Banned

If the part of Socialist America is talking about the UASR, then the Socialist Labor Party should not exist.

One of the PODs is that the democratic socialists (Eugene Debs-wing) do not split off from the syndicalist SLP to form the SPA, thus creating a unitary party for the American left. The Socialist Labor Party is the Communist Party, it changed its name after the creation of the Comintern.
 
If the part of Socialist America is talking about the UASR, then the Socialist Labor Party should not exist.

One of the PODs is that the democratic socialists (Eugene Debs-wing) do not split off from the syndicalist SLP to form the SPA, thus creating a unitary party for the American left. The Socialist Labor Party is the Communist Party, it changed its name after the creation of the Comintern.
No - it's drafts for the world where the USSR won the Cold War. According to my ideas, the Socialist Labors are critics of the official Communist Party on the left.
The official Communist Party is Marxists-Leninists and Trotskyists.
The Socialists are Left Communists, New Leftists, Syndicalists.

Drafts are a record for ideas that have not yet clearly formed.
 

QueerSpear

Banned
No - it's drafts for the world where the USSR won the Cold War. According to my ideas, the Socialist Labors are critics of the official Communist Party on the left.
The official Communist Party is Marxists-Leninists and Trotskyists.
The Socialists are Left Communists, New Leftists, Syndicalists.

Drafts are a record for ideas that have not yet clearly formed.

Oh- quite good. I guess that a POD is a shorter and thus less destructive Stalin rule?
 
I entered the lifeguard academy as a kid with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I left it feeling lighter than an air balloon.

It helped that my fears of being tormented all summer by some beach babe bitch proved to be unfounded. Carmen, despite appearances, was nothing like that. In fact, she proved to be the most refreshing girl I had met. Not just because of her skills in bed.

My nervousness was largely because I was a skinny diner boy, and she was a goddess in both body and spirit. Yet around her, I didn't feel the need to walk an emotional tightrope. When she gave consent, she allowed me consent. And when I made a few mistakes in bed, like banging my skull on the headboard four times, Carmen didn't demean or belittle me. Those forty minutes was about making me feel welcome.

After finishing, we laid there for a few minutes, my arm around her right shoulder. I felt like king of the world, with Carmen as my queen. Carmen, however, felt more like the winner of an academic decathlon, since my skills in bed weren't the best, but she wasn't creating a clear picture of it.

"You were good," Carmen said happily.

"What do you mean, good," I asked suspiciously.

"Out of all the guys I had," she crooned, "you were in the middle."

"Upper middle or lower middle," I pushed.

"God," she said, somewhat exasperated. She got off her bed, grabbing a pair of panties she left on the ground, and lifted her legs to put it on,"we had forty minutes of sex. If I didn't like it, I would have thrown you out." She bent down to put on a bra. "Can you help me hook this on," she said seductively.

"Well," I said nervously. She didn't take my reluctance well.

"We saw each other naked, and you're still afraid to help me put on a bra," she asked with mocking disbelief. My face turned a shade of red over that. Her face softened and she climbed back over to give me a kiss on the lips. "Don't worry. I get the prude doesn't just vanish overnight. We got a lot of work to do." She gave me a smile. "Yes, you weren't the best, but don't worry. You'll have so many girls while your here, you'll get more experience in no time." While she turned around to put her bra on, I mulled over her words.

'You'll have so many girls while your here', she said to me. I don't know why, those words made me feel uneasy. She was basically telling me to fuck as many girls here as possible. Obviously, that was kind of acceptable in this place, but it made me question what our thing was. I joked about bringing her to Canada just to make my mom blow a gasket, but now that we had done it, where do we go from here? If she's telling me to do more fishing, does it mean she's done with me? Are we having an open relationship? Do we even have a relationship? She said 'we lot of work to do' in regards to my behavior. Does that mean I'm some kind of project for her? My thoughts were broken by the opening of the door, which brought Carmen's attention. In burst her African-American friend, clad in more conservative but still racy shorts and a tank top

"Carmen, she said," her voice full of urgency. ,"You gotta-," she paused when she saw me relaxing in bed, and gave me a nasty grin. "Well, well, well," she said, coming to the foot of the bed,"if it isn't the Canuck Prude."

"Maybelle," Carmen said warningly, but the girl, whose name was Maybelle continued to ignore me.

"We see the capitalist bitch," she uttered scornfully, stressing the 'bitch' ,"is now the red bitch!"

"Maybelle," Carmen said again, with more iron in her voice. The girl somehow took the hint, and dropped it. I guess good friends can communicate so well with so little." Harry," she said diplomatically, "meet Maybelle Johnson. Maybelle, meet Harry."

"Listen," I said to Maybelle remorsefully, "I'm sorry I didn't thank you girls for defending me. I had... issues. But even so, I still should have apologized."

"Maybelle," Carmen said," he's a good guy. I'll explain it all later to you, Sandra and Nia, but please lay off Harry alright." Maybelle caught the sympathetic tone in her voice, since she gave me a reassuring smile. That made me feel even better, since I knew Carmen was going to tell these girls the truth. Until Maybelle opened her mouth.

"C'mon Harry," Maybelle said hungrily,"let me see that bare ass." I flinched and immediately covered myself with the bed sheets. Making Maybelle laugh like a hyena. Maybelle, was like Ian, only black and with breasts.

"Even when you've had Carmen, you are still a prude," she said mockingly.

"Maybelle," Carmen said, butting in, "let's work to knock down his emotional barriers one at a time OK? And what were you bursting in here for again."

"Well," Maybelle said happily, "Jack Harris is cleaning the pool." Carmen let loose an ear splitting scream. She started getting dressed much more quickly.

"Sorry Harry, I got to go. Classes start at 14:00 anyways," she said frantically. As she was done, she and Maybelle ran out, screaming "See you tomorrow Harry."

That last word made me feel relieved. Even if I didn't know where our relationship was going, and maybe she didn't either, she still wanted to be my friend. That me a little conflict, but a little more reassured, since she seemed to like me.

****
I returned to the diner, which I saw had some garbage lying around. So I immediately started sweeping the floors. I immediately was met by Mr. Tugliamo, who was giving me a look of profound concern.

"Comrade Harry," he said as he marched over to me,"did you resolve the issue?"

"It has been resolved," I said simply, with a happy smile on my face.

"Good," Mr. Tugliamo said, a happy smile on his own face, "I'm glad that my fellow comrade can work peacefully." He walked away to his small office.

I resisted the urge to snort. I was just a wage slave. I think he was taking this whole brotherhood thing too seriously. But then again, it did feel good that he gave me time to resolve my issues.

I saw Sarah and Francois giving me a somewhat chilly look. I guess my issues had not been resolved completely. They took my words seriously, so I guess I needed to shape up to climb out of the whole I had fallen into with them, but I had to focus on the floors. At three I was sent back to the register, to again take orders for those picky, wasteful customers.

When 16:00 arrived, I cheered internally, as did my tired writing wrist. My shift was over and I could go back to Manhattan. I was just about to leave when another customer came to the door. I sighed realizing that even though the shift was over, I still felt obligated to serve this customer. Only to see Sarah push me away.

"Can I take your order," Sarah said happily to the customer. She turned her head toward me. "Harry, you should leave when your shift is over," she said cheerfully. "Don't feel the need." Her eyes widened at me. "Go home, don't be a scab," she said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

"Okay," I said, giving up, "see you tomorrow." She gave no response. "A bientot, Francois," I told Francois.

"A bientot," he said, and I walked out.

I could tell right away that Francois was a lot nicer. Being an intimidating looking person, he must strive to be patient, considering those hands look like they could rip my head off. Sarah, meanwhile, was someone who had less patience with me and my bourgeois behavior. She was disgusted with the fact that I put up with abuse, rather than try and fight back or tell the boss. Apparently, me trying to work past my normal hours, which my father made me do, was also bad behavior on my part. I hoped she would get over it by tomorrow, since having bad working relations would not look good on any reports.

Anyways, I had to go back to the island of Manhattan for my classes. Right now, I was walking toward the parking lot where the bus would park, where my friends and I agreed to meet. I saw them there already. Fred was standing around quietly, while Ian and George were talking, with George looking positively worried.

"How long will it take my suit to come back," I heard George ask Ian.

"Don't worry," Ian said insincerely,"the louse won't be there when the dry cleaner is done." Ian saw me approach. "Hey, Harry," he said walking over to me, I guess to escape Ian's questioning. He saw my happy grin. "So I guess things worked out well today."

"I'll talk about it later," I told Ian, maintaining my grin. I wasn't really sure if things worked out well. Yes, I resolved the biggest elephant, but my relationship with Carmen was still circling around in my mind, and Sarah herself was going to be a very difficult co-worker. However, I did make love to a beautiful girl, and I was definitely going to tell Ian all about that.

"Okay," said Ian. Suddenly the bus pulled up. It stopped, and all four of us, and a few other beach-goers clambered in. We soon began our 45 minute journey back.

***

From 15:30 to 20:00, me and my friends had to summer classes. When you go a pioneer vacation, one tends to forget you still have school, especially if you work somewhere like a beach. But it is clear they don't want your mind to slacken, so they send you to a couple of classes so come the fall, your mind isn't addled by summer laziness.

Anyways, we took our classes in a small school located a block from our apartment, administered by NYU. The building was about the size of a tenement house, with a glass modernist exterior. Inside, it looked like the school back home, only with UASR flags. The building was somewhat empty, I guess, since most of their clientele were taking vacation.

The classes I had today (and Wednesday) were physics and history. I will not talk about physics. I passed it, that is all you need to know.

History was a course that would, however, would influence me in a way I never thought possible. Ian and I both had that course. We entered the classroom. To my surprise, I saw Anne, the girl who was afraid of her shadow, sitting down next to us. I decided to wave to her hello, to which she gave me a surprised look.

There were also about 9 other students in the room, all them lost in their own conversations. I could tell right away that none of them were Canadian. The girls there wore mini skirts and tank tops, while all the guys wore shorts, with some of them going around bare-chested. Some of them walked around in sandals. We got an impression over how libertine schools were here that these teenagers dressed in a way that would have gotten them suspended back in Grand Falls. Hell, wearing a skirt that revealed the knees would have gotten you yelled at by the school administration. Not only that, but the building was air-conditioned and they still chose to dress like that.

Ian and I , by contrast, were wearing jeans and T-shirts, while Anne wore some blouse and a skirt that went down to her ankles. We must have looked like prudes to them.

Ian and I chose to sat next to each other, while we awaited for out teacher. We both went back to our philosophical discussions.

"So was she someone who liked to be dominant or was she someone who liked to be submissive," asked Ian.

"Well, Carmen seemed happy with a little domination, but I think she liked it when we worked together," I responded. "What about that Cherry girl? What did she prefer."

"When she came onto me," said Ian, still surprised that girls could be like him,"but then, after we got into the janitor's closet, she started begging me." He gave a thoughtful pause. "These girls seem to be more assertive, but when they get us where they want us, they seem to strive to make us feel good." We were interrupted by the sound of the students rising and their conversations ending. Ian and I were confused, until we saw the sounds of sneakers toward the door.

This was the teacher, Flora Baines according to the schedule. Her clothing was quite loose, compared to the teachers in Grand Falls, but slightly more conservative than the girls in this class. She definitely looked like a party girl compared to Anne. She wore a skirt that went down to the knees, and some short sleeved blouse that showed off some of her stomach. Her hair was grayish red perm that went down to just around her shoulders. I noticed that she, like a lot of the girls here, were very buff.

I rose, following what the other kids were doing, but Ian continued to sit.

"Ian," I whispered, "get up, they're rising for the teacher." Ian took my advice, and suddenly jumped up. I noticed in the corner of my eye, Anne doing the same. The teacher walked in front of the desk, behind her a clean chalkboard.

"You may sit now," she said, in an unusually motherly voice. She then went over to the chalkboard. "I am Comrade Fiona Baines," she said, scrawling her name on the board. "Welcome comrades to American History 100", she said. "For some of you, this was a way to get your Gen-Eds done early." She paused, giving us a very teasing smile. "But don't be fooled. You may think that just because this is a summer course, that this will be easy. You will learn history, how to write it, how to argue it. You're not just here to read and reports, you're here to participate. If you don't do any of this, you will fail," she said, her smile getting frighteningly wider. "Free education maybe a right in this country, but that does not mean you should waste it. Let us now say the Pledge of Allegiance". The other students began to rise. Ian and I sat there, while Anne put up a shaky hand.

"Yes Comrade," Mrs. Baines said. "What do you wish to know?"

"Um," Anne replied meekly. "well Mrs. Baines," Baines gave Anne a confused look. "I don't really know..."

"Oh, your one of the Canadian students right," Mrs. Baines asked sympathetically. Anne nodded her head, nervous about all the weird stares the other students were giving her.

"My friend and I are also Canadian," I said raising my hand, all the other heads turning to me. "And we don't know the pledge."

"Didn't your program tell you about this," asked Mrs. Baines. She then gave me an annoyed frown. "Or did you people not read the guide." Ian and I flinched at that, as did Anne, who looked like she got her hand caught in the cookie jar.

"Well," I began, but Mrs. Baines held her hand up.

"Comrades," she said happily. "Let us welcome our new Canadian comrades with a happy hello, and congratulations for joining the Revolution." Suddenly, the class started applauding us, excepting for this tall blonde girl who was giving us a very stern look. Ian relished the attention, of course. I was kind of confused, while Anne still looked nervous.

'This teacher was like Damelus, only with paler skin,' I thought to myself with annoyance.

"So let's say the pledge slowly, so our Canadian comrades can learn it," she said. "Put your hand on your chest and repeat after us." She read each part slowly, so all of us could follow along with her.

"I pledge allegiance, to the flag, of the Union of American Socialist Republics. I will fight for the workers, the soldiers, and downtrodden, night and day, from the day I'm born to the day I die." She stopped, took attendance, and when into the lesson.

"For our course, we will be studying and dissecting history after the establishment of the UASR in 1933," she then handed a stack of papers to the front, which were being passed out,"in front of you is the syllabus, which will teach you our lessons, the chapters you need to read, and our exams."

"So let us jump into a controversial subject," she said happily. "Let's discuss revolutionary justice. Was it victor's justice, or was it a tool to stamp out reaction. Who would like to give their opinion." The tall blonde raised her hands, and rose to spoke.

"Terror was needed to stamp out bourgeois oppression, as Comrade Lenin had used during the Soviet Revolutionary War..." Ian and I tuned out that boring history in favor of our own historical discussion.

"Man, that teacher would look so hot on her knees," said Ian wistfully. I agreed, but I made a counter-statement.

"I think she would look better on her sides," I replied,"Imagine what she would look like in a plaid skirt..."

"Do you two have something to share with the class," Baines barked. "Comrade Ian, what do you have to share with us."

"Well Mrs. Baines," Ian said nervously, "I would say that," he paused,"history is often written by the winners. Couldn't the bourgeois, if they had won, called their suppression 'an act of liberty'." Baines was surprised, and a little impressed by her answer.

"How dare you," screamed the Russian girl,"how do you proletariat pretenders bring the proletariat on the same level as the capitalist parasites!" Ian and I were sweating at the ferocity of this girl.

"Svetlana," said Mrs. Baines calmly,"we are all entitled to our opinions."

"But these capitalist stooges sought to compare..."

"Svetlana", Baines screamed. Svetlana calmed down, but still gave a mean look to Ian.

"Comrade Ian that was a good argument," said Baines,"and remember, you can all me Comrade Baines, or even Flora if you want." Ian shook his head.

"Comrade Harold," Baines said,"what was your argument?" I paused, since I was never good at thinking on the fly. "See me after class," she said.

'Good going asshole,'I thought to myself. 'Your first day, and you get in trouble already'. I just continued listening to the lesson about the post-Red Revolution pacification miserably.

At the end of class, everybody piled out. Ian left as quickly as possible, wanting to avoid the Russian girl. I couldn't blame him, having had a very poor interaction with Russians today myself. I walked over to Baines, who was sitting at her desk, probably ready to read me the Riot Act and give me detention. For some reason, I saw Anne standing behind me, I guess waiting to speak to Baines about something.

"What don't you like about history, comrade," Baines asked me. I was expecting some angry speech about how I'm a waste of life, as Mr. Harrison would say. This caught me off guard, since no teacher ever really cared about what I thought about class.

"What," I asked.

"What don't you like about my class," Baines repeated.

"Is this a trick question," I asked her, still confused.

"It's clear you don't care much for history," Baines said. Otherwise, you and your friend wouldn't have gossiped about how attractive I was. I blushed at that, to which Baines gave me a happy smile. "Don't worry about that. I don't really mind. Just tell me about what you don't like about history."

"Well," I said, my awkwardness vanishing ,"I just think its a collection of boring facts." She gave a thoughtful pause.

"Well Comrade," Baines said,"if you want to, I think there are ways the class can be more interesting for you. Would you like to hear them?"

"Sure," I said intrigued. A teacher that knew a disliked a course was nothing new. But a teacher who wanted to make the course interesting was something else. I guess here, the teachers do try and be your friend.

Part 14: Back To School, Memoirs of the Red Turn (2006), Harold MacDevon


PROLOGUE

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13
 
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These are very good memoirs, bookmark. They really resonate with me, as the 4 Canadian teens really remind me of how I was during my teenage years.

Really makes me wonder how different i'd be as a kid living in the UASR. I probably wouldn't show up with a shirt, that's for sure.
 
These are very good memoirs, bookmark. They really resonate with me, as the 4 Canadian teens really remind me of how I was during my teenage years.

Thank you, I'm glad I've created characters that have an emotional impact on you. I was hoping ol' Harry would be someone that left you with mixed feelings.

Really makes me wonder how different i'd be as a kid living in the UASR. I probably wouldn't show up with a shirt, that's for sure.

I think I'd be thinner.
 
Given my background, if I was born in a familiar form in universe (my parents met because of a newspaper ad), I might be in India or the FBU. If the Indian community is relatively large in the UASR, I might go there.
 
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