Harry Kellogg III - The Red Tide - Stalin Strikes First

I would like to thank all who have wittingly or perhaps even unwittingly, assisted us in developing this story. Our fellow alternative historians on the great forumalternatehistory.com have been of immense help in keeping us real. Without their input we would not have known about some of the littler known details of World War II. We in turn have helped to educate them about the world in 1946. A mutual give and take that I hope has benefited us all.

I’m speaking in the plural because the next book in the series will feature additional authors who will entertain us with some very different stories of the individuals who make up the World War Three 1946 Universe.

We invite others to join us as well at the alternatehistory.com website. “Personal Message” me and we can get stated.

We encourage Fan Fiction and much like the Star Wars or Star Trek world of Fan Fiction we do have to control the overall story. The universe of World War Three 1946 is set and the overall plot line cannot be changed but you can join in with your first person stories of individuals caught up in the maelstrom that is World War Three 1946.

wwiii1946@gmail.com

And a special thanks to Thomas Figueroa, my undaunted editor. Who slogged through all my misspellings.

I was buried alive… a nightmare come true. Apparently a living nightmare; I think, therefore I’m alive; a Descartian paradox. I was cold, it was dark and I was feeling nothing. For the moment feeling nothing was good. No explosions or shouting and no danger. Yes, most of the time now nothing was life. I was alive because of nothing, yet would also die because of nothing. Eventually nothing means a lack of food, water and even air.

I could feel panic starting to spread throughout my body. It was another sign that I was still alive, wasn’t it? Is this what death is, blackness, silence, nothing? No, they had not killed me yet. God knows they’ve tried. Was it possible that it was over? I think not. So many times before I thought the end was near and so many times, it wasn’t.

My life, up to now, has caused millions of people to have nothing, to lose everything. I suspect that they would have died of nothing anyway if I had not existed, just not so soon or as quickly.

I blink and can’t tell if my eyes are open or not. Somehow the air was still good. Someone had designed that well. I could still feel the cold wall at my back… another good sign. The ambient temperature at this depth was a constant fifty eight degrees. Without any variations, and with no outside power or inside heat, it stayed at fifty eight degrees. Dead silence, dead cold, even my sense of smell had shut down. I suppose it stank, or at the very least smelled like my last meal. I was out of water, so one way or another, I had to rise from the dead and survey my surroundings soon.

Buried with, and surrounding, me is the complete history of World War Three. I’m sure you recall the saying “History is written by the victors.” Well, not this time. This time, I have the truth about both sides. No more glorious leaders, marching into battle with standards waving. No more armies of adoring, fanatical, supporters, cheering themselves hoarse.

I would argue that probably, the most significant event in our time happened on May 2nd, 1896. I am here to set the record straight and to convince you of the accuracy of my theory. I know you all have been taught the official version of what happened on another May 2nd, in the year 1946.

This manuscript, and the other materials I offer, are an attempt to correct the official record. You can consider the prevailing tales of the war after Hitler’s war to be historical fiction or alternate history. What I am about to impart to you is indeed the truth and historical fact. The final chapters are yet to be written. I don’t know the ending. Both sides are trying to kill me in order to prevent me from telling the truth. Currently, they have not succeeded.

Possibly like the Nag Hamadi Codices, the visual evidence, manuscripts, recordings and official documents buried here with me may lay dormant for years, decades or even centuries. Like the Nag Hamadi Codices, these files will alter the perceptions of future generations and shed light on the truth.

By using diaries, official documents hidden maps, plans and top-secret memos, I will present for you the unofficial, yet historically accurate, history of the conflict, known as World War Three and how it has affected the course of human history up until today. This is not a sanitized version, with the edges worn off. This is the unvarnished truth as seen through the eyes of our fellow travelers through this period, many of whom have given the last full measure, to ensure that this record is preserved.

I suppose that if the scientists are correct, somewhere, there are multiple parallel universes to ours where their history is decidedly different. This, is the story of our history and not theirs. This, is the history that matters to us, here and now, in this universe.

For the most part, I will forego introducing the sources of these entries or the interjecting comments. This is the unvarnished and mostly un-narrated story of World War Three.

There is a famous photo in many history books of Stalin surrounded by his cronies and lap dogs of power. All are labeled and given names except for one. He is labeled as “unknown”. The importance of this photo is in the identity of the person labeled “unknown”. He is the first person on the left in the back row. He is the key to World War Three. His name is Sergo Peshkov. If he had not been born in Moscow on May 2nd, in 1895, the following would never have happened. I’m sure some other kind of conflict would have occurred, but not the conflagration we now call World War Three.

As a boy Sergo is fascinated by birds and flight. All he dreams about is feeling the wind on his face and the freedom of the hawk and eagle. When he first hears that man is trying to fly, he becomes obsessed with all things related to putting man and machine together in a divine harmony that can transcend gravity. He dreams of soaring with the hawks and kestrels on his grandfather’s farm.