Blue Skies in Camelot: An Alternate 60's and Beyond
- Thread starter President_Lincoln
- Start date
I don't understand why you were being so aggressive?
I just like alot of 2000s media and aesthetic, especially internet stuff.Fair, fair. It's just that I had to grow up in it, and trust me, it was terrible.I don't understand why you were being so aggressive?
Thanks, @TheDetailer!
I'm thrilled that you're enjoying the timeline. I'm happy to say that since the timeline is currently into 1971, we've reached the Beyond part of the title. As for how far into the future we go... that part remains to be decided. I have ideas and sketches of thoughts that would take us all the way to at least 2017 ITTL, some of which I like a lot and would very much enjoy the chance to use. I don't like to plan too far ahead either, though. It's a balancing act!I can confidently say that I want TTL to at least reach into the mid-90's, but the real goal is to eventually make it all the way to the present if I can.
Chapter 65
Chapter 65: Take Me Home, Country Roads - An Attempt to Save a Valuable Hostage
“It is well that war is so terrible, or we should grow too fond of it.” - Robert E. Lee
Lt. George Walker Bush awoke on the morning of February 3rd, 1971 in much the same manner as he had every day since his capture some five months before: exhausted, humiliated, and with every inch of his body screaming out in pain. Waking was its own form of sorrow. The night before, he’d dreamt that he was back in Texas, attending opening day for the Houston Astros. Wonder how they’ll do this year, Dad. He thought to himself, still delirious. I hear the new lineup might be able to get something done out there. His eyelids slid open beneath a set of dark, deeply set bruises. Such was his weariness that for a moment he couldn’t remember where he was. Whether the dream had been real or illusion. Hillary, you sure look swell in that sundress… Say, after the game, you want to take a ride in my truck through the country? We could hit my favorite swimming hole. Maybe take a skinny dip... if we can keep it to ourselves. As he started to come to, the pilot found himself hanging as he had been the night before, by his wrists from a rusted copper pipe. Sleep was no longer a respite, a break from the all consuming Hell around him. Instead, it had become merely another instrument of torture on the part of his captors. Just when Bush thought he had grown accustomed to the torment, his imagination would give him a sweet morsel of relief only for morning to rip it away once more. His conscious thoughts were no longer coherent enough to long for home. They remained relegated to merely feeling the wear and tear of his muscles. His right leg was broken, that much was clear. The damned commies broke it the week before, after they’d grown tired of pulling out his fingernails, yanking his hair, and whacking him intermittently with bamboo poles. Combine this with the standard issue starving, the dehydration, and Lt. Bush hardly had anything left. Hanging from the pipe, Bush’s eyes wandered around his meager cell, noticing that his filthy tray from “dinner” the night before had still yet to be removed by his captors. With whatever corner of creative brain power he could spare, Bush wondered, with horror, what might be coming for breakfast.
Through a hole in the wall about a baseball’s size in diameter, the pilot could make out the cell next to his and the prisoner trapped as he was, within. Private First Class Al Gore Jr., a Tennessee native and son of a powerful U.S. Senator had become the closest thing Bush had to a friend in this wretched place over the course of their captivity. When they could muster the energy, the two shot the shit and kept each other sane with conversation. Without games or drinks or freedom of movement, possible activities were somewhat limited. But their talks were encouraging, fun even, and provided a welcome break from interrogation. The two Americans had plenty in common: both were sons of influential U.S. politicians and felt that they were heirs to a dynastic legacy. Both had attended prestigious prep schools in New England and then went on to find mixed academic success in the Ivy League. Bush with his “C” grades and cheerleading passions at Yale, and Gore with his A’s and B’s, student council Presidency and pot smoking with roommate Tommy Lee Jones at Harvard. They both enjoyed sports. Bush, like his father adored the national pastime and dreamed of possibly owning his own baseball team someday. Gore served as captain of a football team, threw discuss on his high school track and field team, and played basketball as well. They possessed their share of differences as well, of course. The greatest of these was the political divide between them. Bush was tried and true to his pedigree, bone deep New England Country Club Republican, and believed, even as he hung from the ceiling in agony, that the War in Cambodia was righteous, justified, a crusade against totalitarian evil. Gore was more socially liberal than his segregationist father, but otherwise agreed with his old man’s New Deal economic principles, and like his own idol, Jack Kennedy, believed that war in Southeast Asia was a never ending cycle of death and unnecessary foreign entanglement. He’d enlisted in the army to try and help his dad get reelected. Now he was a prisoner of war and had no way of knowing if the gambit paid off. He and his fellow inmate made a game of their arguments most nights. Gore would comment that their situation was the inevitable result of potentially disastrous foreign meddling. Bush would counter that if the U.S. didn’t fight to contain communism abroad, they would soon to be forced to do so at home. In the end they would agree to disagree. It was hard to have the gumption to fight each other when they were fighting to survive. Being cooped up together made their disagreements seem quaint, silly even. The real enemy, they knew, was not each other, but the madmen who often waited just outside their doors, looking for new ways to abuse them.
Hoping to keep their spirits up, the Americans would often turn their conversations toward home, and the lives they had waiting for them there. Bush told his comrade what it was like to kick up dirt on a Texas oil field on a Friday night with some friends and a cold beer. Gore shared his original hopes of becoming a novelist before attending a speech of President Kennedy’s on campus convinced him to major in government during his freshman year, 1965. The Air Force Pilot poured his heart out about Hillary, vowing that should he ever see home again, he was going to spend every day for the rest of his life trying to convince her to marry him. The Army PFC shot back that he had a girl of his own, one he’d met at his high school senior prom, a girl who’d been crazy enough to become his fiance, in fact. Mary Elizabeth Aitcheson, who went by “Tipper”, followed Gore to Boston to attend college near him and couldn’t wait for his return. They had already started planning their nuptials when Al shipped out for Phnom Penh. The boys congratulated each other on their finds, but that morning in February, it didn’t seem like their conversation would be as playful as usual.
“Al,” Bush moaned as his bindings chafed against his wrists. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” The Texan would have wept if he weren’t so dehydrated. Sweat trickled freely down his body in the swelter of the Cambodian compound. “I… I want to go home, but I feel so weak. My damn leg’s been broken for weeks and I hurt so bad. I just want it to stop.”
Gore stiffened his tired body and showed his best iron resolve. “I know, George. But you’ve got to hang in there. You quit, and the commies win, is that what you want?” His cellmate whimpered and cried out again in pain. When his appeals to Bush’s pride and patriotism seemed unlikely to work, Gore changed tact. “Think about that girl of yours back home, uh, Hillary. Why I bet she’s sitting back and counting down the days in her mind until you return to her again. Are you gonna let yourself go back to her a broken shell, or as a man?”
The Texan stared at Gore and shook his head. “I’m so scared, Al. What’re they going to do to us next? My hands are bleeding all over, this leg has to be infected, and we haven’t had a decent meal in months. Fuck, the last time I saw sunlight was when they dragged me out to record that propaganda piece with that crazy fucker of theirs.” Bush was referring to a video Pol Pot had recorded shortly after the pilot’s capture and sent to the United States as an explicit threat against further offensives into Northern Cambodia. Unbeknownst to Bush and Gore, Pol Pot had long since abandoned his country and sought refuge in Hanoi, where he whispered in the ear of General Giap, encouraging him to throw caution to the wind, invade South Vietnam, and throw out the imperialists once and for all. Every day, American units under General Abrams and their ARVN counterparts closed the clamp a little tighter on the Khmer Rouge. Prisoner camps were liberated nearly by the day, and back home, decorated Purple Heart winner John Kerry was raising eyebrows with speeches in favor of completing the war to “stop the appalling human rights violations” by the Khmer Rouge and their allies. A former die hard pacifist of the idealistic Kennedy Democrat variety, Kerry was forever changed by his experiences overseas, and was rapidly becoming a fierce interventionist. He found that his new foreign policy aligned much closer with that of Senator Henry M. “Scoop” Jackson of Washington (D), who offered the upstart Kerry a position on his staff.
Bush regained his composure enough to keep speaking. “Al, if I die, please don’t tell anyone how weak I was. I want my Dad to believe that I went down like he would have, like a hero.”
Gore’s eyebrows furrowed and his response roared like enclosing thunder. “You are not weak! You are a hero, damn it! You flew dangerous missions and knew the risks when you signed up, but you did it anyway. By God, we’re being subjected to things no man should ever have to see. It’s not weakness to want it to end, George, it’s sanity. Now you’ve got to dig way down deep and find some way to hold it together, because we will get out of here, you and I. I don’t know what you learned with your beer buddies down in Texas, but in Tennessee, we don’t leave friends behind. You are coming home with me.” Though still engulfed in pain and loathing, Bush did feel better for his compatriot’s words. He admitted that he may have misjudged Gore when he thought him bookish and uptight. In that moment, he knew that if they did in fact make it back, the two would always be lifelong friends.
From outside their cells, the pair heard yelling interrupt their conversation. At first they thought it must have been the guards ordering them to be quiet, but then the orders were followed by spurts of intense gunfire and howls of pain. By the rapport and frequency of the shots, the Americans thought that they recognized their origins. By God. Bush thought. Those are M-16s firing out there! “Hey!” Bush called with every ounce of volume and force he could manage. “We’re in here! Help!”
An excruciatingly slow minute passed, full of shots ringing out, echoed by shrieks which ended abruptly. Bush’s heart beat out of his chest as a squad of soldiers passed around the corner of the prison and into he and Al’s line of sight. More shadow than man, one of the warriors approached and Bush saw a dirty olive colored helmet resting on a head above an American flag stitched onto his shirt sleeve. “Lt. Bush, Private Gore.” This angel said in a voice like hard gravel. “The nightmare is over. Time to wake up.”
The return of Bush, Gore, and several other American Prisoners of War via air rescue off the U.S.S. Enterprise, the very ship Bush had launched from when he was shot down over the Laotian border, was the result of an elaborately planned, perfectly executed operation by the CIA in coordination with the Joint Chiefs and ordered by President George Romney himself. Announcing the success of the secret mission to the American people through an Oval Office address on the morning of February 11th, Romney had first informed Senator Al Gore Sr. (D - TN), Vice President Bush, and their families that their children would be coming home to stay. The mission was not only a resounding success tactically, but politically as well, drawing the public’s eye for a time away from the ongoing congressional investigations into several members of the President’s cabinet after the release of the Hoover files, and bringing some much needed “hurrah” to the Commander in Chief’s sagging popularity. The image of the wounded Lt. Bush returning home to his parents largely washed away his father’s sin of the affair with Fitzgerald. With George Sr. and Babs hand in hand while they held their boy, the Vice President looked once again like a bona fide family man, his son: a conquering hero. President Romney for his part, refused to take advantage of the rescue and simply concluded his speech by thanking the men and women of the armed forces and insisting that the treatment of American POWs showed that “there is still much work to be done for freedom and peace in Southeast Asia”.
As George “Dubya” Bush, Al Gore Jr., and their fellow countrymen landed on the tarmac in Dover, Delaware on the morning of February 14th, as a very special Valentine’s Day Present was waiting for them there. Taking a break from their studies at Garland Junior College and Yale Law School respectively, Tipper Aitcheson and Hillary Rodham both received calls from the parents of their beaus and accepted invitations to meet them at the airport when they came home after nearly a year overseas. With tears in their eyes and relief swelling in their hearts, the girls ran to their significant others and threw their arms around them. Gore lifted Tipper in his arms and swung her around and around until he thought she might fly away. Bush wanted to do the same but due to his still healing leg was trapped in the confines of a wheelchair. Nonetheless, his joy was no less real than Al’s, and when Hillary bent down on one knee to hug him, George pulled her close and kissed her. They remained locked like that for a while, a snapshot of love and the triumph of hope against a sea of darkness and sorrow. “I Love you, George.” She said when they finally broke the silence. “I Love you too, Hillary. I Love you so much.” Dubya wished he could take that moment and hold it in a bottle forever. Time, as always refused to stand still for the young lovers. Within a few months, Hillary was back to studying law at Yale, preparing for her launch into politics someday, and Lt. George Walker Bush was honorably discharged from the U.S. Air Force. His leg would recover, though permanent nerve damage would mean that he would forever walk with a cane and a slight limp. A bona fide war hero, the 24 year old Bush was put into consideration for numerous medals, and met with immediate offers from his father’s political contacts to go into the field himself, perhaps running as a Republican for a House seat in his native Texas. But Dubya had little interest in public life, all truth be told. Instead, he returned to New England to pursue an M.B. from the Harvard School of Business, never let go of his hopes of one day owning a Major League Baseball team, and of course, married Hillary the first chance he got, during the summer of 1971. True to his word, he remained close friends with Al Gore, who married Tipper later that year as well. Dubya and Al would share warm correspondence, frequent phone calls, and even vacation together whenever possible. It seemed like life was, despite the hardship and horror, finally returning to some sense of normalcy. But destiny was not yet through with these noble young Americans, they each still had a tremendous story left to tell.
…
A world away, in a smoke filled room in the Kremlin, Soviet First Secretary Yuri Andropov and Foreign Minister Andrei Gromyko also met on Valentine’s Day to discuss the quickly upcoming Soviet-American summit, scheduled for March 2nd, 1972 in Helsinki, Finland. The two nations originally hoped to hold the event in Moscow, but during the last handful of negotiations between the advance teams in Washington, American Secretary of State Richard Nixon insisted that the location be changed. Soviet Ambassador Dobrynin related to his government that Nixon had refused to let President Romney go to the USSR on the grounds that “the Andropov regime had reneged on its promise to President Kennedy and the American people to cease financial and material support to America’s sworn enemies in Southeast Asia.” Dobrynin explained that he had denied this charge immediately and with force, but Nixon had not budged, even after repeated attempts to explain their falsehood. Andropov and Gromyko were unconcerned with this development. Dobrynin had been left out of the loop on the renewal of Soviet aid to Cambodia and Vietnam on purpose. What he did not know could not hurt him, and could not be leaked or confirmed unnecessarily to the Americans. “Tell Nixon that Helsinki is an acceptable location for us if it is to the Fins.” Gromyko spoke his Russian in excited bursts, like he was racing to end the phone call he had begun with their Ambassador to the U.S. “We will not argue with the misguided Yankees. Let them believe what they will for the time being. It is not as though they will act on any of these lies.” On the other side of a massive conference table in the otherwise empty room, Yuri Andropov puffed at a Marlboro cigarette and poured himself a glass of scotch. A connoisseur of the finer things, and a secret fan of western vices and music, the First Secretary listened, intent but stone faced.
“Of course, Comrade.” Dobrynin replied. “Thank you for your time.” A click on the other end of the line signalled an end to the call.
Gromyko sighed and stretched his neck. “First Secretary,” he said, hardly suppressing a yawn. “Is there anything else?” The Foreign Minister knew that the work of the People’s Government was never truly done, but it was nearing midnight, and he wished to return home to Lydia and the children as soon as possible. Late nights such as this one were the exception, not the rule of late, and Gromyko had grown accustomed to early retirements and long evenings spent at home with his family. Not since the overthrow of Mao and the death of a Soviet attache in China had he been forced to spend so much time burning the midnight oil with his nation’s leader. The very thought of the Chinese coup typically sent Gromyko into a furious rage. The attache that had been killed was a good man, a friend of the Foreign Minister’s son, Anatoly, and was butchered by a foreign government with absolutely no reprisal sought by the USSR. Gromyko had struggled to maintain his cool over it, but when Yuri Andropov told him that their payback would be gradual, he became more intrigued than incensed. Besides, only a fool would dare to cross the new First Secretary at the moment. The KGB and military were both firmly in his pocket, not to mention the hardliners on the Politburo, who sung his praises by the day as he toured the Eastern Bloc, firming up the Iron Curtain. Gromyko knew that the only way to affect decisions now was to be in the room when they were being made. He could only do that as a friend to the First Secretary, not as an enemy.
Andropov sipped idly from his scotch, then set the glass on the table. “Talk to me for a moment, Andrey. I know the night is cold and your bed is warm, but humor me for just a couple of minutes. Then, you may go.” The Foreign Minister sat back down, leaving his overcoat on the back of his chair. “Thank you.” Unlike his underling, the First Secretary’s cadence was slow, deliberate, menacing even. Gromyko could easily understand why many in the government were openly afraid of their leader. “The topics for the summit with the Americans. What have we agreed to discuss with them in Helsinki?”
Gromyko reached for a folder and slid it open to find the list. “A number of things, sir. An anti-ballistic missile treaty; the strategic arms limitation treaty; trade between the eastern and western blocs, and the missions between our nations into space.” Andropov raised an eyebrow, so the Foreign Minister elaborated on this final point. “Comrade Khrushchev's initial agreement with President Kennedy only called for ten years’ cooperation on space travel and research. That is set to expire in three years’ time, and we must decide whether we wish to continue cooperation or to once again go it alone.”
The First Secretary nodded. “We have achieved tremendous things by working together in space. A man and a woman have landed on the Moon, and planted our flags. It is in both of our nations’ best interest to continue this, surely? And with Japan and France now launching space programs as well, perhaps the time has come to expand our partnership even further?”
Gromyko grimaced slightly. “Perhaps, Mr. Secretary. At the moment, the Ministry and I are concerned that the Americans will try to pull out of the agreement. Their President has been giving speeches about cutting ‘wasteful spending’ and their NASA has been mentioned by some in their Congress as a potential place to begin those cuts.” The Foreign Minister paused and poured himself a glass of water from a nearby pitcher. “Through Comrade Dobrynin, I hear that Nixon is advising President Romney to ‘stand tough’ against us at the summit. But I believe that this is mostly a hollow threat. The American public has no knowledge of our aid to the Khmer or Vietnamese. As far as they are aware, we are still abiding by the promises Khrushchev made to Kennedy back in ‘65. If the President makes any moves against us, we can leak to the press that he is stonewalling efforts at detente, paint him as a dangerous warmonger. With his re-election in the balance this coming year, he will not want to rock the boat too much.”
“You are not worried about this Romney, then? He is a pushover?” Andropov asked bluntly. “We will have the treaties on our terms?”
Gromyko nodded.
“Excellent. Well then, I believe the path before us is clear. You are free to go, Andrey, say hello to Lydia for me. But before you leave, do me a favor. Get me a line with our Ambassadors in Havana and Hanoi, and see if you can find a reliable way for me to get a message to Mugabe, down in southern Africa.” Andropov stood from the table and let his gaze drift slowly to the large map of the world hanging above the room. His eyes like two chips of Siberian ice, the First Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union spoke with cold, quiet, authority. “All over the world, the revolution spreads and the death of imperialism becomes manifest. It is only a matter of time before the west crumbles under the weight of its own arrogance, and we are left the world’s sole superpower. Then we may remake the world in our image, free from the chains of capitalist oppression.” He turned and saw an uncertain Foreign Minister staring back at him. “Do not be afraid, Andrey. There is nothing to fear for us. Only a slow coming, well earned triumph awaits.”
Next Time on Blue Skies in Camelot: The Romney Cabinet is Investigated and the Race for ‘72 Begins
Great chapter, One question is Bush still going to have his OTL religous revival? He could have it happen after going off the bender with alchoalism due to PTSD and going into recovery. If he does have it, it be immensly useful for hillarys carrer as it could give her an link with Buckleyites and Religous voters.
Awesome. Bush and Gore are free, and Yuri's making plans of his own. I think he's in for a surprise.
Great chapter!!! I’m so elated to see Dubya and Al freed along the former’s reunion with Hillary!
Also damn you Andropov!! Well looks like the Vietnam War is reigniting soon...unless Giap decides to not go through with it.
Also damn you Andropov!! Well looks like the Vietnam War is reigniting soon...unless Giap decides to not go through with it.
Thank you guys!
I'm really glad you enjoyed the update, and your thoughts on the Andropov bit are interesting to read as well. I'll be sure to keep up with this in subsequent updates.
Ambitious, aren't you, Andropov? Might want to try decentralizing the economy and empowering the soviets (well, any that are left after Stalin collectivized everything) first, try to cut down on the corruption. Ten bucks says Giap's smart enough to not listen to Pol Pot, especially given how completely fucking insane Pol Pot was.
What's McCain doing?
Great chapter as usual.
What's McCain doing?
Great chapter as usual.
Ambitious, aren't you, Andropov? Might want to try decentralizing the economy and empowering the soviets (well, any that are left after Stalin collectivized everything) first, try to cut down on the corruption. Ten bucks says Giap's smart enough to not listen to Pol Pot, especially given how completely fucking insane Pol Pot was.
What's McCain doing?
Great chapter as usual.
Thanks Worffan!
Good to hear your thoughts here as well. McCain is still serving in the Navy as a Captain. I'll be sure to add more detail on his career as we move forward too!
you know another thing I just picked up, this will be abit of a black eye to Pacifists and New Leftists back home. Now that the war is in its end phases and American victory is certain,they look awfully foolish for advocating withdrawal, especilly with all the Khmer Rouges atrocities being revealed providing a nice little World War two and Holocust anaoluges.
Also, what's Powell doing? I'm quite a big fan of his politics, so I'd be interested to see whether he goes further than he did OTL.
An excellent question, your majesty!
Powell actually plays a role in an update soon to come, but I will say for the time being that he is currently serving as a Lt. Colonel in Cambodia.
Hooray! Dubya and Gore are back! And alive as well! It’ll be interesting to see the two develop over time, especially if they find themselves in politics.
Andropov is definitely planning something interesting. If the Vietnam War explodes again, especially with the North backed with Soviet weaponry, then the US is about to get another headache. Hopefully, the insanity of Pol Pot would turn Giap off from invading.
The Helsinki summit will be interesting to see how the two world leaders interact with each other. How they see each other will definitely affect the direction of the Cold War.
Great to see another update!
Andropov is definitely planning something interesting. If the Vietnam War explodes again, especially with the North backed with Soviet weaponry, then the US is about to get another headache. Hopefully, the insanity of Pol Pot would turn Giap off from invading.
The Helsinki summit will be interesting to see how the two world leaders interact with each other. How they see each other will definitely affect the direction of the Cold War.
Great to see another update!
Thanks ImperialTheorist!
Happy you enjoyed the update. If President Romney and his administration expected that wrapping up the tangled mess in Southeast Asia was going to be easy, they're in for a rude awakening.
Great stuff @President_Lincoln ! Really good.
Looking forward to see where Bush and Gore go after this...
Looking forward to see where Bush and Gore go after this...
Thanks @theg*ddam*hoi2fan!
I'm looking forward to taking us there. I will say that even if they fade into the background for a bit while they settle into family life and their careers, you definitely haven't heard the last of Dubya and Al.