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#361
February 5th, 2012, 10:35 PM
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That song is actually one I consider thematic of this TL, certainly this era of it. I love that dark weird west sound.
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The Stars at Night - A Texas Timeline! 2012 Turtledove winner, yeehaw! 
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#362
February 9th, 2012, 08:45 PM
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In future updates, can we have more electoral college maps like we had for 1856? Thanks
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#363
February 26th, 2012, 04:28 PM
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So how goes the rebellion?
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#364
February 27th, 2012, 12:04 AM
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Your wish ... is my command! It's been a weird few weeks, but hopefully now I can update more. And I'll get on answering people's questions! After this entry I think we'll have one dealing with domestic fallout, one with international stuff, and a return to a less narrative-heavy structure. Maybe! And remember: Never Fear! Texas Perseveres!
Part 29 Burn it Down When Georges Boulanger, fifteen French soldiers, and several dozen motley townspeople rolled into the flyspeck known as Wichita Falls, it was the biggest sensation the aspiring town had ever known. Their daring, breakneck flight of over two hundred miles gained its name there, one which would cling to the incident despite later issues with its players: The Second Runaway Scrape. News travelled to Wichita Falls slow, but when it got there, the welcome party slowly began to morph into a mob. And Georges Boulanger and his tiny command set off again, to Houston. Houston FRENCH PUSH INTO CITY, MASSACRE DOZENS. That sounded pretty fair to Albert Parsons. He had been working at the Houston Star for years as a printer’s devil, then writing minor articles, but with the exodus of some of the more senior staff, he was finally able to do some front-page writing himself. But now that he had reached this height of success, he found he wanted more. The Houston Star was a rag - a powerful, popular rag, but a rag nonetheless. Parsons was thinking about starting his own paper. If that religious idiot could do such a roaring trade, why couldn’t he? The idea had begun germinating when he was assigned to cover the recent troubles in France. Seventh-page events in Houston, but front page in Parson’s mind. Those communards were fascinating, brave men and women, and their ideas appealed to Parsons, somehow. But the French had crushed them, just the way they had stabbed the Republic in its back in its hour of need. “The Franch -” god damn it. He leaned over and corrected the copy with a pen. He had been excited about finally using the ‘type-writer’ which the Star had only recently purchased, but it was proving more of a hassle than anything. He started again. “The French forces, having fired upon an assemblage of unarmed women, boys, and old men, retreated like cowards in the face of Texian fury. As the slave rebellion finally drew to its bloody close, outrage spread. Many men found their wives or sons were missing or known dead. A body of several dozen armed Texian militiamen approached the French encampment, but were repulsed by gunfire. A second approach was similarly turned back, with several casulties. At this point, the French headquarters caught flame by unknown means. As the French attempted to fight the flames, they were forced into the teeth of the militias, but through their treachery encircled and annihilated those brave patriots. At last report, the French have come under increasing attacks from the people of Houston. The foreign force is attempting to close its iron grip over this great city-” There was a knock at the door. Parsons turned to tell a printer’s devil to answer. The door splinted and fell inward, and French bluecoats poured in. Parsons sprang to his feet. “What is the meaning of -” “This newspaper is inciting violence against the French army by lies and slander,” bellowed a fat bluecoat with a monstrous moustache. “This office is now closed! Go to your homes!” “I think not-” Parsons stepped forward, but a younger soldier pushed him aside. The fat man used a short stick to rifle through the papers on the desk, then peered at the copy in the type-writer. He raised the stick. Parsons leapt forward. “No!” It was too late. The fat man brought the stick down, once, twice, three times into the delicate machinery. “You son of a bitch!” Parsons took one step towards the fat man, then something hit his head. Then everything was dark. === The conflict between the French and Texas was a strange one. The French were a rogue army, technically, at this point, stateless. They were very nominally under the command of Napoleon IV, and considered themselves still the army of France. France, however, did not. The French forces had no desire to remain in Texas, thinking that France was still embroiled in such turmoil that they would be able to easily land, restore order, and take control. The French commanders desperately tried to contain the trouble with the Houstonians, and perhaps in a calmer time they could have. But the men who surrounded them had been submerged in the fire and death of the slave rebellion, and their blood was up. They were armed, many hadn’t slept in a day or more, and more than a few were at that point drunk - with victory or otherwise. When rumors swept through the city that the French had executed dozens of women and children in cold blood - rumors stoked through rapidly turned out, single page Special Editions of the Daily Theocrat - more violence was practically inevitable. The true turning point was the fire at the French barracks. To this day no culprit has been identified, but it is likely the blaze was begun by a Texian militiaman. Fire had been used widely by both sides in the slave rebellion, leaving a large part of the city a smouldering ruin. Regardless, when the French were forced from their walls, they were pelted with Texian bullets. It seemed that every time they killed one man, three more grew in his place, hydra-like. This isn’t far from the truth - militia forces were spread over the city, and as the news reached them, they moved towards the French forces in small waves. Seeing that defense was no longer viable, the French moved to offense. They were aware of Houston’s situation - most men of fighting quality were off combatting the Comanche, and the city’s defenses and remaining able men had been rocked by the rebellion. The French commanders perhaps believed that once they took control of the city, the situation could be stabilized, and after the violence died down, they could negotiate a peaceful status quo ante with the government and the city fathers. Again, perhaps in another time. But not in a Texas ill with war and paranoia of sudden alien enemies within and without. Not in 1872. Not in William Walker’s Texas. === William Walker’s face had taken on all the colors of the flag he held so dear. When he heard the news from Houston, he had turned white, then red. Now he looked a bit blue. He was staring sightlessly at the large map of Texas. The chits representing Johnston’s forces were still facing the redskins across the Picketwire [1]. One of his assistants was placing representations of the frogs in Houston. Walker began to ring Cato for a glass of water, before he remembered. Vice-President Jones was tapping his wooden hand on the table distractedly. “What are we going to do, Bill?” William Walker hated being called Bill. But now he barely noticed. “I’ve been saying for years. Those goddamn French … I knew it … the Republicans have been selling us out. And look where we are now! This is the price of a weak Texas!” He wheeled towards Jones. “What are we going to do? We’re going to kill every last one of those sons of bitches.” === The battle had been raging for three days. If it could even be called a ‘battle’ - it was more a collection of skirmishes varying in intensity, as the Texians and the Sun Dance army dueled across the Picketwire. The Sun Dancers had laid waste to the northwest, but this was their first true face-off against the Texians. And while they had held strong, the Texians had been winnowing down the Sun Dance forces. Now they were massing for a final attack. It was a clash John Rayner knew they would lose. He sat watching the Dog Soldiers prepare for death. They took a single arrow from their quivers and pierced them through the rear of their long loincloths, pinning them to one spot of earth. They would not move from that ground until victory. Or death. With them was John Brown. The tall old man was loading several pistols, and placing them in his clothing one by one. As he did, he was humming hymns to himself. Rayner had watched as John Horse, then Quanah Parker had tried to move the man known as White Buffalo. The battle may have been nearly lost, but not the war. The Comanche had long utilized harrying tactics and calculated retreats, and they would do so again, drawing the Texians into the dangerous wastes of the northwest, picking them off in smaller numbers. But White Buffalo would not move. “I’m an old man,” he said to Rayner as he ran his thumb across the edge of an ancient sword, “and I long for the Kingdom of Heaven. And besides,” he looked up and smiled. “I have always wanted to make a last stand.” He said something to one of the Dog Soldiers in Cheyenne, and the warrior smiled grimly. Rayner had no illusions about moving John Brown. He only wanted to capture the man’s final hours. “Defeat can be as vital to victory as victory itself,” Brown said. “Right now this army is arrogant and vain. Every faction thinks itself strong enough to fight apart. They need to understand they depend on one another. Their blood must mingle in the dirt.” “I suppose that could be true.” Rayner was diplomatic with Brown. The man didn’t seem quite right, and was wildly unpredictable. “Look around, son. What do you see?” The arm he spread encompassed a scrubby stretch of dirt punctuated by a muddy river. “A battlefield, sir?” “A birthplace. The birth of a nation.” Brown held the view in his gaze for a few seconds more, then went back to humming and preparing for the coming of the Lord. When Rayner realized their conversation was over, he gathered his things and prepared to meet with John Horse’s braves. By the end of the day they would be retreating, but as he looked back at the tall silhouette, he knew Brown was on a different path. His truth was marching on. === Johnston’s horse stepped over the body of an old man. His satisfaction was grim. It had been a hard fought, pyrrhic victory. Now came his dubious reward - months, if not years of chasing Comanches and rumors of Comanches throughout the northwest. This was by no means over. He felt old. He turned from surveying the dead redskins pinned to the ground. Someone was approaching at full gallop. One of his messengers. At least with the battle won, the news couldn’t be be too terrible. === With the crisis in the east, Johnston faced a dilemma. The Sun Dance army had been driven back, but neither shattered or defeated. Walker was demanding as many men as could be spared, but that wasn’t many - and what’s more, as rumors spread of rampaging Frenchmen harrowing the east, many easterners began quietly slipping away, followed by not insignificant numbers of southerners who feared the French would move down the Gulf Coast to seize Galveston and Corpus Christi. This didn’t leave the westerners particularly happy, nor Johnston. Finally, Johnston made the agonizing decision to split his forces more or less in half, and to lead them against the French. A large part of the forces sent back towards Houston were easterners and southerners, as the General figured they were likely to head there one way or the other. The remainder of the army was divided into forming a defensive position at the Picketwire, scout units, and groups to investigate the viability of the existing forts in the area. The First Texian Army, as it was quickly designated, turned towards Houston. By this time, though, the French had become aware of Austin’s virtual declaration of war. Houston had been secured, more or less, with the attacks fading to guerilla level, rather than outright combat. General Billot, spurred on by Napoleon IV, devised what he called a “guerre éclair” strategy [2] - basically applying the ‘ successful’ Houston strategy to the nation’s nerve center. French forces would quickly move on Austin, seize the machine of government, and negotiate a ceasefire with Walker at bayonet point, securing their safety and means of returning to France. What could possibly go wrong? The movements of some two thousand men towards the national capital was difficult to hide, however, and the news reached Austin quickly. The First Army was still trying to cover the vast distance from the Picketwire, but there was some military presence which Walker had maintained in Austin. The militia was called out, and greatly expanded with all able-bodied local men. Some members of the government fled west. Walker stayed. And with him the Vice-President, Secretaries of State and War, and other functionaries who feared the President more than the French. Barricades were built, buildings were turned into fortresses. The capital, which had been refurbished with sturdy limestone during the Reagan administration, was fortified and turned into an armory. Hope was strong that the First Army would beat the French to the city. It was not to be. It was a cool morning in early March when the French entered Austin. They were ill-prepared for the reception that awaited them. After passing through abandoned farms and small houses on the capital's outskirts, Colonel Jean Danjou’s forces were swarmed with gunfire as they neared the center of the small city [3]. Perhaps recalling the days that had begun their ordeal, the French soon turned to the flame, and Austin was once again a scene of blazing buildings. It was a grueling slog of a day, and dusk was approaching by the time the French finally stormed the capitol. It was Danjou himself who led the soldiers inside. History does not record what happened within. Only what happened after. === Jean Danjou ducked behind a life sized statue of a tall, thin man in a Texian fringed coat, firing his pistol from behind the statue’s leg. A returning volley shattered the sculpture’s face, and flecks of stone scoured Danjou’s own. A shot from one of Danjou’s men caught the Texian soldier in the neck, and he fell to the marble floor, gurgling as his blood painted it crimson. After a moment to ensure there were no more militiamen, Danjou and his men moved forward, towards an enormous set of double doors. They would have to break them down - Danjou cast a glance at the faceless statue. But - non - one of his men tried a door, and it slowly creaked open. The room within was dark. Danjou motioned for his men, and they swung into the room, scanning for enemies. They signaled that it was clear, but to maintain caution. Danjou quickly ducked inside. It was enormous. Now that he was inside, he could see the sun’s dying rays pouring in through windows high above his head. It was the chamber of the Texian congress. There were covered shapes everywhere, but no men. The cowardly leaders of Texas must have fled. Squeak. Or not. “Howdy, boys.” Danjou was looking for William Walker. He had found him. Walker reached into his coat pocket. The French soldiers tensed, but he only withdrew a cigar. He planted it in his mouth and withdrew a match. He slowly lit the cigar, puffing on it with satisfaction. He carefully shook out the match. “William Walker. I am Colonel Jean Danjou. I have been dispatched to retrieve you for negotiations with Emperor Napoleon IV.” “What? What’s that, son? My hearing hasn't been right since the war, and you people talk funny. I can’t hear a damn thing you’re saying.” Danjou cautiously stepped closer. He had his hand on the butt of his pistol, and doubted the old cripple could draw a weapon with his hands clearly visible, but this one was not to be trusted. He stood towering over the seated man. “I said, I am Colonel Jean Danjou. I have been dispatched to retrieve you for negotiations with Emperor Napoleon IV.” “Oh! Have you now? Well, Colonel Dan-jou, I’m afraid I can’t head to Houston just now.” Danjou was at a loss. Had the man gone mad in defeat? “This is not an offer, President Walker.” The President puffed on his cigar, then held it out to inspect it. Unsatisfied, he drew another match from the box in his lap and the flames leapt high, leaving the cigar’s tip a merry red. Besides the crepuscular light from the high windows, it was the only illumination in the room. “Well, son, how about I meet his Highness somewhere else?” “I … that may be acceptable.” “That’s good.” Walker took a few more puffs, letting the last breath of smoke out slowly, savoring the tobacco. “Why don’t you tell your Emperor that I’ll meet him in Hell.” Walker dropped the cigar. Danjou’s eyes flicked to the floor for a second. The cigar’s tip cast just enough illumination for him to see the black line running from beside Walker’s chair to one of the covered shapes. He didn’t have time to yell. It wouldn’t have made any difference. === Witnesses outside the city claimed the blast was visible up to ten miles away, and the sound of the explosion even further. The entire capitol was destroyed, collapsing in on itself and killing all within. Chunks of the rotunda were later found embedded into a tannery five city blocks from the scene. Despite the death of their commanding officer and dozens of their soldiers - either caught in the capitol itself or injured nearby - the French had taken Austin. Or what was left of it. Over the next day, they moved to fully secure the situation. One officer, in search of a headquarters suitable for himself, led a small group into the abandoned home of a wealthy merchant. At least, it appeared abandoned. There was fierce resistance from within, and ultimately French reinforcements were necessary to eliminate the defenders. While searching the house for the valuables they assumed were stashed there, the French soldiers discovered an unexpected prize in the servant’s quarters. Surrounded by empty bottles and partially eaten food, in nothing but a dressing gown, was George Washington Lafayette Bickley. [1] OTL’s Canadian River. [2] A botched translation which ultimately made it south of the border would lead generations of Mexicans - after this and the Guerre des Pâtisseries - to think the French were violently obsessed with dessert. [3] Austin’s population at this point is only around 9,000 total. And that’s with slaves, a population that hit a, er, steep decline in the preceding few weeks.
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The Stars at Night - A Texas Timeline! 2012 Turtledove winner, yeehaw! Last edited by Sicarius; March 9th, 2012 at 04:41 AM..
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#365
February 27th, 2012, 12:12 AM
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Holy Fucking Shit!!
 Walker just committed suicide not just for himself, but for Texas!
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#366
February 27th, 2012, 12:42 AM
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Its official. Walker might be a racist dumbass, but his picture has just been added to the Official Wall of Badasses. So I'm guessing the slave rebellion was squashed immediately, and now there is only Comanche? I can't imagine Bickley will be worth much. The government knows he's insane by this point, and I can't imagine public opinion will be willing to trade much for a former President. Has there ever been a timeline where John Brown has died of old age? Maybe its good Jones is in charge now; he seems like an able guy, and technically the people elected him since Walker hasn't been put in the public eye. What other generals have been resurrected to fight in the war?
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#368
February 27th, 2012, 01:00 AM
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I'm sure they'll work something out >;D
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The Stars at Night - A Texas Timeline! 2012 Turtledove winner, yeehaw!
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#369
February 27th, 2012, 01:11 AM
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#370
February 27th, 2012, 01:58 AM
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THAT WAS THE BEST UPDATE EVER!!!
however, it is a little hard for me to sympathize with the French now after Walker just pulled the most badass thing possible to spite them. Seriously, the guy is now the Martyr of Texas, there is no possible way he can be remembered as anything but the ultimate patriot, even IF he was a shitty president. Perhaps General Johnston will become the de facto leader of Texas
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The Weighted Scales: A World of an Aborted Rome Apparently it's the best Ancient TL of 2011. Oh Baby!
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#371
February 27th, 2012, 03:14 AM
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I see a future statue in the middle of the new Austin of Stephen Austin and William Walker, arms clasped together in unity waving the Texan flag.
The fact that he was bound to a wheel chair might be hidden from the public for publicity reasons  Edit: By the way, is Parsons dead, or was he just knocked out? Last edited by Rooster Cogburn; February 27th, 2012 at 04:19 AM..
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#374
February 27th, 2012, 12:59 PM
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The Stars at Night - A Texas Timeline! 2012 Turtledove winner, yeehaw!
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#375
February 27th, 2012, 07:41 PM
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I know this sounds terrible considering you just posted yesterday, but whens the next update?
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#376
February 28th, 2012, 04:03 PM
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The Weighted Scales: A World of an Aborted Rome Apparently it's the best Ancient TL of 2011. Oh Baby!
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#377
February 28th, 2012, 08:20 PM
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We must know what to expect next! And Sic, whats the average reaction in the U.S.?
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#379
February 29th, 2012, 12:06 AM
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Hah, well, I'm glad people liked it! I'll try to get the next update out soon - it's going to address the reactions in Texas and abroad, and I'm not sure if I'll split that into one part or two, depends on the length. Hopefully before the end of the weekend!
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The Stars at Night - A Texas Timeline! 2012 Turtledove winner, yeehaw!
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#380
February 29th, 2012, 01:41 AM
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