So what, you're going to put football games, fraternity/sorority parties & studying above your obligation to completing the Icarus Trilogy? Good for you ... I suppose
.Icarus Rising
- Thread starter AnywhereButOTL
- Start date
So what, you're going to put football games, fraternity/sorority parties & studying above your obligation to completing the Icarus Trilogy? Good for you ... I suppose
.Hey, I'm about to go overseas for two years with no internet, so whatever you choose is fine for me, Anywhere!
I look forward to finishing this timeline when I get back, as well as the sequels: "Icarus Maintains Level Flight" (1976-80); "Bushfeldingeria: Falling and Rising in the Decade of Icari" (1980-84); "Icarus Falls 2: Fall Harder" (1984-88); and "Icarus 6: Clinton's Revenge" (1988-1992).
I look forward to finishing this timeline when I get back, as well as the sequels: "Icarus Maintains Level Flight" (1976-80); "Bushfeldingeria: Falling and Rising in the Decade of Icari" (1980-84); "Icarus Falls 2: Fall Harder" (1984-88); and "Icarus 6: Clinton's Revenge" (1988-1992).
Hey, I'm about to go overseas for two years with no internet, so whatever you choose is fine for me, Anywhere!
I look forward to finishing this timeline when I get back, as well as the sequels: "Icarus Maintains Level Flight" (1976-80); "Bushfeldingeria: Falling and Rising in the Decade of Icari" (1980-84); "Icarus Falls 2: Fall Harder" (1984-88); and "Icarus 6: Clinton's Revenge" (1988-1992).
Best of luck on your trip. As for the sequels…I'm not sure I enjoy writing the Icarus series that much. Truth be told there have been times where I was seriously tempted to write up a thermonuclear firestorm and just be done with the whole thing, but I keep it going all the same. There will be more when you get back, I cannot necessarily say how much, but there will be more eventually.
And a tremendous thanks from the rest of you as well, you've been lovely people.
That would be greatly appreciated, I always enjoy reading what you people think of my work.
I was thinking of law or government actually, writing is a hobby for me and I doubt I'll ever make a career of it but given the positive responses to what I've posted I may have to reconsider if I write anything that's actually publishable (too many people could be offended if I publish the Icarus saga, what with my less than appealing portrayals of Richard Helms, Donald Rumsfeld and co.). Thank you though, that means a lot to me.
Well, the first thing to do is research once you've gotten a scenario down, which I did not do at first when writing IF (and it shows, good Lord does it show…). Next is to decide on a writing style; I do third person vignettes (mostly) because I enjoy establishing characters and writing dialogue, I'm very much a dialogue person and think that it's a useful way to effectively throw the 'show, don't tell' rule aside without cheapening the story.
Your writing style may be entirely different and that is alright, nobody writes exactly alike, you may divorce yourself from the nitty gritty and write a timeline in broader, more sweeping strokes that cover months or even years in an update instead of days or (in the most extreme cases) weeks with mine. Also, don't put your writing down and do not compare yourself to people who you consider better at the craft than you. There are a hundred thousand writers out there who hesitate when putting pen to paper when the thought of 'why should I bother when Shakespeare/Faulkner/King etc. can and has done it far better than me?' flits across their mind. Don't do that. Chances are that your writing will earn you valuable experience in ironing out your own flaws.
For instance, when I first started writing I had a tendency to write deus ex machinas into my stories left right and center (an eagle swooped down into the path of the arrow, luckily the hero had a background in chemistry that had conveniently never been mentioned before, etc.) and I've gotten rid of that (mostly, a certain Fernando Chavez would probably disagree) over the years in favor of actually thinking my plots through before I write them. I suspect that you will do similar things and I wish you the best of luck.
Send me a message if you ever need advice, I may not answer immediately but I will as soon as I can.
So if anyone wants to create a tv tropes page for Icarus Rising, here it is:
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Literature/IcarusRising
I think I will let someone else start because I actually haven't read the series from the beginning and don't feel qualified.
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Literature/IcarusRising
I think I will let someone else start because I actually haven't read the series from the beginning and don't feel qualified.
I already made one for Icarus Falls, and despite being a finished Epic, not a lot of people have added.
Was the timeline not as popular back then when it started? Perhaps a lot of the current readers, like me, haven't read the whole thing from the beginning.
It took awhile to gain some steam, but I think that it was pretty popular since its 30th update or so. I don't think that the TV Tropes article has ever been a priority. It'll take some time to read the whole thing, but it's definitely worth it and it could help with expanding the TV Tropes page.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xt_Kn4DggPg
I know this is off-topic but for some reason, I'm looking forward to the eventual debut of the orbital solar cannon that's supposed to come out later in this timeline (I think in '74)?
I couldn't help but think of Diamonds are Forever when it came to the satellite, since the movie came out in '71 OTL. SPECTRE hijacked the satellite in this movie.
Maybe Paladin can hijack it in this timeline?
I know this is off-topic but for some reason, I'm looking forward to the eventual debut of the orbital solar cannon that's supposed to come out later in this timeline (I think in '74)?
I couldn't help but think of Diamonds are Forever when it came to the satellite, since the movie came out in '71 OTL. SPECTRE hijacked the satellite in this movie.
Maybe Paladin can hijack it in this timeline?
For some reason, I always assumed that you were much older and had long finished college already.
Congrats on college, and on being an awesome writer
Well thank you. College has so far proven to be very interesting, and I'm glad that I decided to go somewhere very far away from my home.
Same here. What is this site, a holding pen for over-intelligent teens?
Probably. I'm used to being the most well read person in my (small) hometown but college…the people there blow me out of the water daily. I'm fairly certain that I've met at three future Presidents of the United States already.
I highly recommend Rejection and Revenge, which is a very well written timeline. I was invited to contribute but unfortunately did not have the time to. I do hope to take the author up on his offer at some point, possibly when the Icarus saga is over and done with.
So what, you're going to put football games, fraternity/sorority parties & studying above your obligation to completing the Icarus Trilogy? Good for you ... I suppose
I suppose I can sacrifice a grade point average or two to complete this. I knew that I needed to come back when I found myself staring at the world maps in class, wondering just how the war in Pakistan was going or how much land the Kurds would have absorbed by the time Iraq collapsed.
Good start at college, AnywhereButOTL!
We'll wait.
Gracias. Your wait is over, my integration into college has been mostly completed so I can continue this. Probably not at a very rapid clip, but better than no updates whatsoever.
Paladin doesn't really exist anymore but the solar satellite will play a role in the upcoming story.
I'm back, here is sixteen pages and 9,300 words words worth of all American wholesome goodness.
47.
“His name is James Flagg, though he’s asked us to call him Jim. He’s from Little Rock and works as an electrician. No history of mental illness, but from what he’s saying I would not be surprised if his doctors missed something.” Brooke cocked an eyebrow, he was listening to a security agent relay the first details regarding the identity of the man who had shot at him.
“And what is that?”
“He claims that you’re the AntiChrist.” Rogers, who had been sipping a cup of coffee, stifled a nervous laugh.
“Seriously?” The agent nodded.
“Yes. Interestingly enough he actually voted for Bush during the election, but now he’s saying that that was a mistake and that you deceived him with some sort of demonic powers. We have people heading over to interview the people he worked with and see what his family has to say. He’s been very cooperative though, says that he worked alone, which seems to be the truth, but did mention that there will be more of the faithful out to try and kill you. Something about his shot being an example that others will do their best to follow.” Brooke nodded, he had sometimes read about religious fanatics claiming that one public figure or another was the AntiChrist, but to his knowledge nobody in the United States had ever been shot at because of those accusations. He sighed.
“Did his bullet get anywhere near me?” Brooke had been shot at before, during the war, and knew from experience that the round had passed far enough away from him that he hadn’t heard it breaking the sound barrier, but some strange, morbid curiosity made him want to know just how close the assassin had come to actually hitting him.
“He missed by about thirty feet. The bullet lodged in the decor below you and to your right. He used a snub nose revolver so he’d have been lucky to hit you even if he’d been standing right next to you.” Brooke smiled grimly.
“I guess so. Bring me news on what his family and friends say, I need to attend to some business with the UN.” The agent nodded and departed with a crisp salute and Brooke made his way to the Oval Office, feeling a heavy sense of dread every step of the way.
“I’m tempted to discontinue operations in the White House,” he said offhandedly, “there’s a lot of bad memories for me in here.” The Oval Office had been completely cleansed of any trace of the violence that had taken place in it only a few weeks before but at the moment only the West Wing was completely operational. The upper floors had been gutted and wouldn’t be completely repaired until the end of the year and the kitchen had been similarly destroyed, which made the White House a prime location for caterers all around the city. That necessitated all sorts of extra security in order to make sure that poisoning was never a danger, but it was better than the staff starving, or subsisting on military MREs, as had been the case for nearly a week after the bomb had gone off.
“I understand,” Rogers said as they stepped into the Oval Office, “maybe we could. You are the President after all.” Brooke looked down at the carpet under his feet. He had gone with a beautiful shade of deep blue, like the sky just before sunset. In front of a heavy wooden desk (the Resolute desk was still undergoing repairs and would likely have to be completely rebuilt) the presidential seal was surrounded by one long Abraham Lincoln quote that Brooke had found reverberating through his mind as he faced the nation during his first full day as President.
‘Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.’
Sitting down at the desk, he looked at the ever growing pile of responsibilities that lay before him.
“I watched a man lose his mind in this room,” he said, “right where I’m sitting. As soon as this initial rush of events is over with then I will put some thought into finding a new place to conduct my presidency from.” Rogers nodded, he himself felt somewhat skittish walking past the stairs to the destroyed upper floor. It had been from there that the blast of debris that had nearly killed him had come. Brooke was right, the White House had become a haunted place, and the sooner they left, the better.
_______
“This is a very important moment that you all are witnessing,” Ron Paul told the journalists that had assembled before him, “for this moment marks the day that Americans all across the nation looked around them and said ‘enough! We are sick of the martial law and surveillance, we are sick of the regulations and high taxes, and we are sick of the same old choices in every election.’ The American people want change, and it is not any kind of change that Daniel Inouye, Edward Brooke or even Barry Goldwater can promise them. What the American people want isn’t a base on the moon or more environmental regulations. What the American people demand is for the government to leave them alone and give them the freedom to live their own lives, free of the horrors that have been unleashed on this nation ever since we turned away from those principles.
The American people want change, and I am willing to give it to them. As of today I am leaving the Republican party alongside a number of my compatriots and joining the Libertarian Party. While I have spent three years in congress thus far as a Republican, I have watched in dismay as the party has trended ever further into authoritarianism and ignored the will of the people.
Within the party itself petty political maneuvering has replaced the integral core of liberty that we all swore an oath to protect, and I, just like the rest of the nation, am sick to death of it all. The Libertarian platform cares about America and about the constitution, and I urge all of you listening to look into your heart and abandon the Democrats, the Republicans and the Freedom Party before they drag this nation even further away from the glory that it once held. God bless you, and God bless the United States of America.”
_______
“There go your libertarians Barry,” Charles Percy said to Goldwater, barely containing the anger in his voice, “what was that about you having everything under control?” Goldwater looked stunned, and more than a little furious.
“I didn’t think that that little fucker had the balls...” He said quietly, watching as Ron Paul began to take questions on the television screen. He looked happy but some of the men behind him were glancing at one another, probably wondering if they’d made a mistake by joining Paul in his venture.
“The whole party is imploding,” Percy fumed, “we cant afford to make stupid mistakes like that. Brooke is buddying up to the fucking Democrats, the Freedom Party is harvesting the goddamn conservatives, and now Ron fucking Paul just defected and took his entire clique with him. We’re running out of people to lose.” Goldwater didn’t even try to debate that point, things had been bad for a long time but this latest set of catastrophes made the old problems look utopian by comparison. The party was splitting at the seams and even the President didn’t seem to want to deal with the whole mess.
“I’ll make sure their party is stillborn,” Goldwater said bitterly, “they’ll regret this.” Percy didn’t doubt it, but said nothing as Goldwater strode stiffly from the room. Waiting until the door closed behind him, he buried his head in his hands and stared down at the whorls and lines in the wood of the desk. He felt helpless, like a rudderless ship buffeted by waves that it couldn’t turn to meet. Goldwater, even if he was in no less of a desperate situation, at least seemed to have a plan. Percy envied that, and wondered just how bad the next few months would be for the party.
_______
“Suicide?” Brooke stared in shock at Rogers for a moment, then collected himself. On the other end of the conference call they were listening to, a harried UN official sighed.
“Yes Mr. President. The Secretary General shot himself in the head with a revolver. He left behind a resignation note but right now we have no clear replacement. Barely a quarter of the nations of the world are even planning on attending the next summit, there are disjointed boycotts from virtually all of Africa and the Middle East...voting for someone to replace Mr. Waldheim simply isn’t possible right now.” Brooke gritted his teeth.
“What are the chances of the UN collapsing within the next few days?” The UN official was silent for an uncomfortably long time.
“A lot higher than I’d like to admit. It’s chaos here, nobody is sure what to do, funding is being threatened for a hundred programs from a dozen different angles, our manpower is evaporating and our operations in China, Bangladesh and India have been hamstrung. If the nations of the world cannot figure something out and have a comprehensive summit within the next week or so then things are going to fall apart and the UN will effectively cease to exist.” The official’s words were chilling, and Rogers seemed especially frightened. He had dealt with the UN for most of his professional career, having it vanish was unimaginable.
“Is there anything that we can do to make sure that humanitarian operations in Asia aren’t derailed?” The official seemed grateful not to have to ask for help himself.
“Yes. We’d appreciate, uh, funding in the event of a collapse.” The request was a great deal more benign than some of the other possibilities that Brooke had been expecting, but even as he considered it he wondered what he would be getting out of it. Bangladesh and India were both solidly anti American nations and Brooke still had doubts as to whether or not he would be able to make it out of his term without going to war with one or the other. Spending money on them could help assuage the hostility that their people felt towards him, but on the other it could also simply disappear, with nothing left to show for it. Before he could come to a decision Rogers was saying something.
“We need to make sure that the laws, regulation and legislation passed by the UN aren’t discarded in the event of a collapse. There’s simply too many nuclear test ordinances and space related laws to risk any of it being left behind, at least by the major powers of the world.” The official coughed.
“That is very possible. The main obstacle is getting all of the major powers to sign such an agreement. If you can get the Soviets to do so then everything should be alright. The world will slowly follow suit.” Brooke hoped that the official was right and continued to ruminate over the question of funding, and just what he was going to do with American assets in Asia.
_______
Cernan was leaning against a wall with Funk, Brand and Schmitt, watching grainy footage of the very first orbital maneuvers being made to put the Mars craft together. Paine had vanished to go discuss budgetary concerns with a pair of SAC officers and so the four astronauts were alone in the room.
“We’re leaving in three months.” Brand said, more an observation than anything else. He had been saying similar things over the course of their training, the time left until departure always ticking downwards. Funk nodded.
“We are. Anyone else terrified?” Three hands raised silently and Funk nodded.
“Reassuring. I know.” Schmitt said, and Cernan chuckled. On the screen the engines of the craft had been secured in place. The footage had been sped up in order to compress the docking and assembly to a mere ten minutes instead of the six hours that it had actually taken. As a result white suited figures zipped and zoomed across the massive engines, pausing occasionally, one bouncing away into space before using his rocket pack to zip back over to the craft. Cernan shifted and nodded at the craft on screen.
“Funny to think that we’ll be departing in that gigantic thing and returning in just a tiny little capsule. All we’ll leave behind are a few chunks of metal in Mars orbit, a rover, a flag and a few stages orbiting the sun. Maybe a few loose taxpayer dollars here and there...” That made Funk laugh. The Mars mission’s crash development had cost a spectacular amount of money, especially since a great deal of the necessary technology had had to literally be invented in order for the mission to have a shot at success.
But despite the tough times that the program had endured, the future looked very bright. Paine had a veritable army of famous and influential people on call to defend his agency against funding cuts, everyone from John Glenn to Audie Murphy had made at least one pro NASA speech over the past year or so, and the Mars crew had gotten to meet them all.
The level of fame that they had achieved still stunned them, and Paine had been forced to hire a small team of people to sort their mail after an almost biblical flood of fan mail commenced shortly after their identities were made public. Funk seemed to be the most popular and though at least some of the mail she received was composed of death threats, letters telling her not to risk her life on a man’s mission and marriage proposals, a good chunk of it came from people, largely female, all across the nation who had been awe inspired watching a woman set foot on the moon and subsequently get ready to head to Mars.
To Funk it presented an interesting paradox. Though NASA had progressed socially by at least twenty years over the space of only four, the rest of the nation had hardly budged. Things like the pay gap, sexual harassment and rampant sexism both at home and in public were still very real. She had even heard more than a few snide comments made by some of her fellow astronauts, though either she or nearly anyone she had worked with was quick to shut them up. Women’s rights still had a long way to go, and while she seemed to rapidly be becoming an icon (she had received a banner in the mail a week before with her face on it and a title reading: WE CONQUERED THE MOON, WE CAN CONQUER DISCRIMINATION TOO!) she knew that she would need to remain quiet in order to keep her career intact. Funk didn’t intend to stop being an astronaut once Mars was over and done with. She still needed to make good on her promise and secure Allen Shepard a visit to the lunar base, along with herself of course. Once that was done with, then she could look at the future and decide just what to do with it.
_______
Almost the instant he had become Majority Leader, Inouye had been bombarded with questions regarding his support of the ROC. He had espoused it on the campaign trail in order to win over the hawks, and now, with the unpleasant revelations of the Rumsfeld Papers, it had come around and sunk its teeth into him. Inouye had known that the ROC were not democratic and not particularly interested in being anything other than a right wing police state, but what they were was an American ally, and the only chance of peace and stability in mainland China.
This he accepted as he prepared to respond to the attacks being waged against him. Fortunately the Hawaiian Republican party had been even more insistent with its support of the Chinese and Inouye couldn’t see any of his opponents getting much mileage out of the controversy without being tarred as hypocrites.
Beyond a state level the potential for all of this was quite bleak indeed. Ever since he had watched Johnson, Humphrey and dozens of others be buried he had fantasized about bringing his party back to the White House and ending the malevolence and abuse that had killed so many of his friends. It was a selfish desire he realized, but one that he had been thinking about a lot lately.
The thing was, he could do it too. Despite his willingness to let Brooke have the very poisoned chalice that was the presidency, at least for the moment, many people in the nation felt cheated by the election and wanted Brooke out. Inouye wasn’t sure how to approach that. On the one hand he wanted nothing more than for the nation to pull together and work to fix the crises that were tearing it apart. But another part felt elated by the accusations of illegitimacy being leveled against Brooke. They would help pave a road to the presidency for him...but at what cost?
Inouye supposed that he would side with Brooke on this one and demand that the nation leave the man alone. The presidency was his for the next four years, after that Inouye had plans, and while those plans wouldn’t bear fruit for a long time, he looked forward to when they would.
_______
Lee was at a party, his chest being jabbed repeatedly by a very drunk officer. The man was trying to make a point of some sort about how phrenology was coming back into vogue in Scandinavia but Lee was hardly listening. Every time the officer tapped his chest his medals clinked against each other, he had gotten another one for reporting Sergeant Chou, a new device for promoting internal security. Lee had smiled for the cameras and shaken hands with a stream of officers before being notified that he would be attending a gala.
He hadn’t listened to the details of what the gala was supposed to be celebrating but nearly everyone there was in uniform, and the atmosphere was decidedly tense underneath the evening’s veneer of alcohol and nationalistic decor.
There were more than a few American officers at the party and as Lee had passed by a few of them earlier he had heard one cynically ask the other why they couldn’t just drop a dozen nukes on Uyghurstan and be done with it.
That proposal had made some sense to Lee but he supposed that if the high command wasn’t doing it then they probably had a damn good reason to explain their reluctance.
The officer laid his hand on Lee’s shoulder and chuckled at a slurred joke that he had made. Lee had no idea what the man had just said but laughed along anyways before delicately extricating himself and slipping away through the bustle of people. He felt out of place and surprisingly vulnerable in the midst of these people. Most of the men he was looking at had been military officers for their entire careers, few knew what it was like to be an enlisted man.
“Hello sergeant, you speak English, correct?” Facing the man who had addressed him, Lee saw that he was speaking to an American General, easily the highest ranking man in the room. He was older and looked very tired. The ribbons and medals on his chest dictated a life of service ranging from Burma to Pakistan, and he seemed to be very interested in Lee.
“Yes sir.” The general waved Lee’s formalities away.
“You don’t need to call me sir, I’m retiring as of next week.” At that moment Lee recognized the man from a television broadcast, he had been speaking to an anchor about the campaign in Pakistan and the importance of building the country back up after the war was won.
“Happily I hope?” The general shrugged.
“I’m leaving an institution that I’ve been part of for thirty four years. I know that I’m doing the right thing but I’ll miss it. How long have you been in?” Lee blinked, somewhat surprised that the general was making such amiable smalltalk with him.
“Five years. I have no plans to leave, not until the wars are over at least.” The general nodded.
“You may be serving for a good while longer then. Your name is Lee, right?” Lee nodded.
“Yes.”
“I’m Frederick Weyand, good to meet you Lee.” Weyand extended a hand and Lee shook, still caught somewhat off guard. It had been a long time since he had had a decent conversation with someone.
“I’ve seen you on television,” Lee said, “you were the chief US commander in Pakistan.” Weyand nodded.
“Guilty as charged. Of course that job has since passed to Lieutenant General Haig, my second in command. I suppose you’ve heard of him as well?” Weyand didn’t seem very pleased with Haig taking over his old position, Lee wasn’t sure why.
“The papers that your President’s former Chief of Staff leaked,” Lee said carefully, “Haig was mentioned in them. That’s all I know.” It was true, while Lee was aware of some of the contents of the papers he had not been allowed to read them, neither had anyone else in the Republic of China. Doing so was to spread defeatism and encourage acts of treason against the state. Weyand also had to be aware of this rule but that didn’t stop him from speaking.
“He sent a cable to Westmoreland, not me, Westmoreland, asking for him to petition the President for permission to use nuclear weapons against the jihadists in Pakistan.” Lee nodded.
“That’s reasonable.” Weyand blinked, he had clearly not expected Lee’s response. Lee watched the general carefully, wondering if he would start trying to debate him on the finer points of military tactics.
“I suppose we’ll agree to disagree,” he said after a pause, “but I must ask. You’ve spent years fighting in the aftermath of a major nuclear war, you’ve seen the devastation that atomic bombs bring...you have a Beijing campaign ribbon on your uniform so you must have seen the last PRC detonation of the war...so why would you want to use even more of them?” A good question, Lee hadn’t considered it before. Weyand was correct, he had seen atom bombs go off, he had marched within view of the blackened ruins of entire metropolises rendered cold and dead. But he had also survived to see the world continue to spin and the sun rise and fall like nothing had happened.
“I think that you Americans are too frightened of the atom bomb,” he said, “you’ve built up such a...a taboo around using it you convinced the world that if nations were to use atom bombs in combat then the entire globe would go up in flames. But we’ve seen the mushroom clouds of six nuclear wars now and civilization is still intact. The atom bomb is a weapon, nothing more, and not using a weapon when it could end a potentially devastating conflict and save the lives of thousands of your soldiers and allies is irresponsible. That’s what I think.” Weyand was silent for a few moments, considering Lee’s point.
“Well said. I may not be able to sway your opinion but I do hope you realize that if we succumb to the casual usage of nuclear weapons then we may see more devastating consequences than what we’ve seen already. Cancer rates in the world have tripled since the first exchanges, they’re eight times higher here in Taipei than they were in 1968. The entire Asian continent has been destabilized and will likely not be peaceful again for decades to come, weather patterns have been profoundly disrupted and there is massive drought in western Africa as a result...nothing good has come of the atom bomb’s introduction to combat. Using it more often will not alleviate these problems, unless you mean in the event that the planet is emptied of life entirely, in which case I suppose you would be correct, but only in the sense that there would be nobody around to suffer anymore.” Weyand’s argument was made in a flat but entirely pleasant tone of voice. It was clear that he respected Lee’s ability to hold a contrary opinion, even if he did view it as cataclysmically wrong. Lee wasn’t sure how to respond.
“If we’re having a debate then I concede,” he said, forcing a smile, “I think you know more about the subject than I do.” Weyand nodded slightly.
“I suppose I might. But aside from the topic of atom bombs, is there anything you’d like to talk about? I’m sort of starved for good conversation here.” Lee raised an eyebrow, he suspected that he knew what Weyand meant.
“Starved?” He asked anyways.
“I served on the frontline for much of my career,” Weyand said, “and I’ve always enjoyed speaking to the enlisted men. They may not have gone to Ivy League schools, or the Chinese equivalent for that matter, but they tend to be better conversationalists in my experience.” Lee chuckled, he wondered how stuffy the American officers were in comparison to their ROC counterparts.
“I haven’t spoken to many Americans,” Lee said, “so I don’t know much about how your army works, but I guess you have plenty of rich men’s sons as your junior officers?” Weyand shrugged.
“Depends. We do our best to discourage nepotism but you cant catch it all.” Lee thought of the news reports that he had seen about America lately. From what was shown it didn’t seem that things were going so well.
“I’m surprised that you don’t have a draft, if we didn’t have one then we wouldn’t have gotten nearly as far as we did.” Weyand nodded.
“We had one during Vietnam, it didn’t help. In my experience a volunteer force is always more motivated and combat capable than a conscript force.” Lee shrugged. He supposed that that was true, but whereas the Americans had the luxury of numbers, his nation was not so lucky.
“With what’s happening in your southern states you may need another draft soon. National Guard and police isn’t going to cut it.” Weyand grimaced.
“You may be right. I hope that the instability that our nations are experiencing is solved soon. I’ve grown to like this part of the world, it would be sad to see another chunk of it fall into chaos.” Lee nodded grimly.
“Once the subversives are removed from society then we can continue to progress.” Weyand gave Lee a strange look.
“Sure. In any case it was good talking to you, maybe I’ll catch you around at some point.” Lee nodded and shook hands with Weyand again. Both men knew that they wouldn’t see each other again but mentioning that would be impolite. Lee turned back to the party as Weyand departed, exchanging pleasantries with a junior officer on his way out the door, then found himself face to face with an older officer, the insignia of a Colonel on his shoulder.
“I see you met General Weyand,” the colonel said, “he’s a good man, the Americans are doubtlessly sad to see him retire.” Lee nodded.
“He’s a good conversationalist.” The colonel glanced over his shoulder to where a small knot of junior officers was growing ever drunker. He scowled.
“This whole display is getting too hedonistic for my liking, would you care to join me in a quieter setting?” Lee didn’t hesitate in nodding, the noise was beginning to grate on him. Slipping into a side room Lee closed the door behind him, dulling the din somewhat. The colonel sat down and withdrew a silver cigarette case, extending it towards Lee. Glancing inside, Lee could see that the cigarettes were finely made, definitely foreign and most definitely better than the half tobacco ration cigarettes that were provided to enlisted men. He took one and lit it, lighting the colonel’s as well.
“So you’re a war hero now,” the colonel said, blowing a little bluish plume of smoke into the center of the room, “how does it feel?” Lee shrugged.
“Can I speak frankly?” The colonel nodded.
“I just want to go back to the front. We’re going to invade Uyghurstan soon, anyone can see that, and I want to be there to help finish the job. We’re never going to get Tibet back so Uyghurstan is the last piece of China that we need before our nation is back together.” Another plume of smoke curled and rolled across the room, the colonel was silent for a few moments.
“Your enthusiasm is commendable,” he said, “but there is no way that you are going back to the front.” Lee wasn’t surprised by the colonel’s words but felt a deep sense of disappointment nonetheless. So he wouldn’t see the destruction of his nation’s last enemy. Terrible. “But.” The colonel continued, “you can help the nation out in other ways.” Lee sighed.
“By being a drill instructor.” He said tonelessly. He wondered how long it would take before he stopped feeling envy towards the men he was going to be sending off to combat.
“No.” Lee looked up sharply, surprised.
“No?” The colonel chuckled.
“I guess you haven’t heard. You are going to go on a morale raising tour across the nation. You may end up becoming a drill instructor later, once your fame has faded, but for now you are being talked about. You fought ceaselessly and bravely for three years, got taken out of combat and almost immediately nailed a traitor in the ranks. You’re a model soldier, and a lot of people in very high places have seen use in that.” Lee supposed that he ought not to be surprised, but the colonel’s words still sent little thrills of mingled delight and fear through him. Also more than a little disappointment. There was definitely no way he was going to the front now.
“Will I be able to meet the President?” He asked, and the colonel shrugged.
“Most likely. You’ll hear about the finer details later, after this whole dog and pony show is over. As soon as boots hit the ground in Uyghurstan then the people of the nation will need a lot of distracting, or else these riots will get worse. And we don’t need that right now.” Lee nodded, he felt almost like he was dreaming, like he would wake up at any moment to find himself in a fighting hole somewhere, back where he belonged.
“What about my family? What do they get out of it?” The colonel didn’t seem sure.
“Extra rations, money and some extra protection from the police most likely.” Lee nodded, maybe that would help if Chen decided to try to rebel and go out protesting again. The memory still made him angry, what had happened to the obedient little kid he had known when he first left for the front?
“That’s good.” Lee said distractedly, and the colonel got up, flicking his half smoked cigarette into an ashtray.
“I’ll see you around,” he said as he moved towards the door, “and don’t feel too down about the front, you’re of more use here than off fighting in some jihadi infested hellhole.” Lee begged to differ but didn’t say anything. Instead he stayed put in the room and smoked his cigarette down to the filter, wondering just what this morale tour would mean for him.
_______
Bundy was shaking and swore loudly as he broke another match. That was the fourth so far, and still his cigarette remained unlit. Another three had been soaked in blood and somehow he didn’t think that they would ignite.
“You fucker,” he hissed, then glanced over at the corpse, “you fucking bitch.” The fifth flared up with a burst of light and he lit the cigarette. He hardly ever smoked but it seemed appropriate here. The light of the match lit the dim space of the basement and cast jagged shadows in the corners. It was dim, the girl had knocked over the lamp during her struggling. Bundy had thought that he had tied her legs but somehow the tape had given way and she had lashed out, missing him but connecting with a shoddy old lamp. There was broken glass on the floor and he had entertained himself by cutting her back with it for a while after he had strangled her, but now the glow of killing had faded and he felt disgusted by the mess that the stupid bitch had made.
Looking at her torn clothes, heaped in the corner, he could see the corner of the button she had been wearing. A BUSH/BROOKE pin, just like a million others except for one critical difference. Bush’s name and face had been scratched away, leaving only Brooke smirking up at him. That had infuriated him but he kept calm, instead striking up a conversation with her. He had been carrying a box of books as he spotted the perversion she was wearing and in an instant he had put together a splendid little plan.
Affecting a limp he had struck up a conversation and asked innocently where she had been going. His car was parked nearby and as they drew near he had asked her for help with the box. She had been all too happy to help him and he had been all too happy to hit her in the head with a telescopic baton. He had tied her with tape, her legs too loosely as he had found out later, and went to a quieter place to finish the job.
It had been his first kill in nearly two years and as he sat and smoked, looking at the scene and mentally listing all of the pieces of potential evidence that he would need to get rid of, he wondered why he had ever stopped in the first place.
It had had something to do with law school, he supposed, more than a few people had told him that he was going places in the future, and that meant no killing. But though law school had been interesting, Bundy had no interest in becoming a lawyer. The only thing he had ever found nearly as satisfying as ending a life was political work. In both conventions he had attended he had watched, fascinated, as political figures fought each other tooth and nail for a shot at ultimate power. It was exhilarating, and in the lulls between speeches he had fantasized about being the next onto the stage, disseminating his views before a rapt audience. He would be good at it too, he knew that much. But first he had get a start in it before he could ever go for the big leagues. That was how life worked unfortunately, and as he finished his cigarette and stubbed it out on Edward Brooke’s laminated face, he decided that the girl lying crumpled before him would be the last.
His most productive move after all had been getting someone to do his dirty work for him, and wasn’t politics just that multiplied by a thousand? Bundy chuckled, he would miss it, he knew that much, but somehow he could already tell that the power would fill that hole quite nicely indeed.
_______
“This is Mission Commander Haise speaking, adjust your trajectory two degrees to the left...that’s it, perfect.” Floating, a long white cord winding through the void behind him, Fred Haise was overseeing a docking and trying not to admire the view too much.
Space was always stunningly beautiful, but the vista that was below him had taken his breath away when he first went on EVA. Haise and four others were orbiting the moon at an altitude of three hundred ten kilometers, close enough to see fine details on the surface of the body, but far enough away to be able to take in just how vast and empty the space they were operating in really was.
Haise had felt fear clench at his heart when he had first glanced around him and seen just how far away earth, and the rest of humanity, was. He was a quarter million miles away from any sort of help, assembling a space station with four other intrepid souls. They would be doing this for a month before their tour ended and they were replaced with another crew.
Haise had been in space before, helping to construct the orbiters in low earth orbit, but the isolation that he felt now was almost overwhelming. Even the smallest mistake would result in certain death, chances of rescue were nonexistent. But even if the work was mind numbingly precise at the best of times and downright unforgiving at worst, he knew that he got more satisfaction out of it than anything else he had done.
The view was spectacular, and even if him and his crew had to retreat inside of the station’s main body every time the station went around the dark side of the moon and communications were lost with Houston, he was still impressed by how quickly the work was proceeding.
The station would be able to comfortably hold twelve people when it was finished, and would act as an emergency supply depot for the lunar base. The base itself wouldn’t even begin construction until the end of the year but Haise hoped that he would have a spot helping out. He had always wanted to set foot on the body below him, and building the base seemed to give him the best opportunity to do so.
Making his way over to the newly docked vessel, he checked his watch. I was about time to head inside and wait until they had passed around the dark side of the moon. Signaling the rest of his crew, they made their way to the airlock. Soon it would be time for dinner, then bed. Another day of work completed, with the promise of at least twenty six more on the horizon.
_______
While Gaddafi had never expected the IRA cells he was funding to ever amount to much, the chaos that they had spread in Ulster delighted him to no end. He had suspicions that other foreign nations had aided the Northern Irish rebels as well, and while that wasn’t important to his own plans, he did appreciate the trouble that the British were being subjected to.
At least sixty people had been killed in the latest spate of violence and the British Prime Minister, who looked like he was contemplating strangling the Irish himself, had sent in the tanks, announcing that troop levels in Northern Ireland would be increased by fifty percent and the IRA destroyed once and for all. One of Gaddafi’s advisors, who was well versed in European politics, had mused that perhaps Enoch Powell and the more conservative faction of the Prime Minister’s party were behind the move, but Gaddafi hardly cared. The British were tearing themselves apart and his Irish side project was bearing fruit.
His other side plans stretched around the globe and strained his budget, but if even half of them worked then he knew that a little bit of financial difficulty would hardly matter compared to the benefits that Libya would reap.
He sometimes supported anti-apartheid groups in South Africa, the Eritrean independence movement in Ethiopia, the Free Aceh movement, though that one seemed to be being bombed to dust at the moment, and various other extremist groups tugging at the fabric of society. But most of his attention was solidly on the Middle East now, there was a great deal of interesting things happening there, and he was involved, either directly or not, in nearly all of them.
He had been giving the Kurds weapons so that they could fight the Iraqis, the Iraqis weapons so that they could fight the Kurds, and the jihadists everywhere money so that they could stand up against the House of Saud, the Shah and the American backed Zionists.
The Israelis had effectively walled themselves off from the rest of the Middle East, and though Gaddafi’s proxy groups had done their best to pick a fight with them, nothing much had happened besides strategic bombing and mass executions. The Israelis knew perfectly well that they were overextended and that any sort of major offensive operation would leave them open to weaknesses.
That didn’t bother Gaddafi much though, that was just one plan, he had others. He even had one or two concerning Uyghurstan, though his influence in that part of the world was shaky at best. He had recommended that more dirty bombs be used in Pakistan but the government had refused, they had no interest in figuring out whether the Americans were bluffing or not with their threat of invasion.
That made Gaddafi angry. He had no use for an intact Uyghurstan, in fact an intact Uyghurstan was even a hinderance. If he was to completely dominate the region in terms of oil, uranium and stability then all of his rivals would need to be divided, invaded or otherwise destroyed. That was already the case in the Middle East, where the only surviving major power besides Israel was Turkey, and even they were starting to get bogged down in Syria and Lebanon. Western Africa was similar, and while Gaddafi would have preferred for Rhodesia and South Africa to implode as well, he supposed that he had time to see if that could be done.
But for now his attention was focused solidly on Uyghurstan. If they went down, and dragged the Americans and Chinese with them, then he would have nothing to fear when he initiated his real plans. Those would take a while to get ready, but he already knew that when he launched them, they would go off without a hitch.
_______
After four days of debate and a spirited filibuster attempt by the Freedom Party and the new Libertarians, Frank Church’s EPA expansion bill passed congress and went on to be signed by the President. Brooke did so with a flourish and then promptly federalized the national guard in every state except for Hawaii and Alaska. If the violence in the south was to be stopped then he would need more manpower to make sure that the region remained peaceful.
Most of the southern governors grumbled and even threatened to refuse Brooke access to their guardsmen, but their words proved to be so much hot air and Brooke got exactly what he wanted, even above the scandalized uproar generated by his detractors.
One of the only exceptions to the furor was Governor Carter of Georgia, who, true to his word, had spent every single day since Bush’s night of terror touring the state and making sure that everything was alright. Most of the cities had escaped serious rioting but the countryside was another matter entirely and Carter held prayer services for the victims, becoming a very public figure almost immediately as a result. Carter was careful not to praise Brooke’s move but did not threaten him either. The President remained absent from the governor’s speeches, there was an election coming up, and since the state Republican party didn’t seem keen on running anything other than a sacrificial candidate, it was becoming clear to Carter that the main opposition would be the Freedom Party.
Lester Maddox, who had left the governor’s mansion only four years before, looked very much like he would be the Freedom nominee, and Carter didn’t like that at all. Though Maddox was reviled throughout most of the capitol for his egregious mishandling of the 1969 riots in Atlanta, he did have undeniable pockets of popularity throughout the more rural areas of the state. To deny that he was a serious threat would have been naive.
Though the election was still nearly two years away, Carter was already making sure that the way was clear for George Busbee, who Carter had decided would make a fine successor, to seize the nomination with as little party infighting as possible. Carter’s tenure as governor had so far made him popular with the nation but he maintained little more than a lukewarm reception from the people of Georgia, who were growing sick of the ongoing violence and deteriorating economic conditions.
The possibility of leaving office an unpopular man didn’t concern Carter, he had been careful not to involve himself with Busbee very much, in the event that his popularity dove and Busbee needed to prove that he wasn’t associated with him. That wasn’t likely though, Carter knew what he was going to do for the remainder of his time in office, and if it all worked out then he would leave office a well regarded man, and hopefully usher in another Democratic governor. The state’s senators and a considerable chunk of its legislature were already Freedom Party, Carter didn’t even want to know what would happen if a governor Maddox was able to exercise his powers to the fullest of their extent.
_______
“We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news. The Prime Minister of the United Kingdom has resigned no less than five minutes ago, citing the ongoing vote of no confidence against him and leaving the office open to a successor who has yet to be revealed. This is the latest development in a series of crises that the Heath cabinet has faced, culminating with worsening economic conditions within the nation and extensive involvement with the former American President...” The bartender thought about turning the television off but decided against it. Every last trace of noise had drained from the pub, even the most intoxicated drunk staring in disbelief at the screen.
“Fuck.” Somebody said flatly, probably a Tory.
“Good riddance.” Said someone else, maybe a Labour or Liberal supporter. That got a few grumbles in return but nobody started fighting. That was good, the bartender didn’t want to break anything up.
“Enough of this,” someone said shakily as the newscaster began listing off a few possibilities for what could happen in the aftermath, “put on the goddamn game or something.” The bartender did so but the shock still didn’t dissipate, motion in the room had ceased, even as a few grainy figures on the television screen kicked at a ball.
“Fucking Manchester.” Somebody grumbled, but the silence still held. Things had changed very suddenly, and nobody was sure what to think yet.
_______
When Anthony Barber had begun lunch he had been Chancellor of the Exchequer, but as he finished to the decidedly unwelcome news of Edward Heath’s resignation, it became very clear that he was now something else entirely.
Heath had decided not to take on a Deputy Prime Minister, and neither had he named a successor, which meant that Barber, as Chancellor, was the most likely choice to take over the ailing Conservative government. Truth be told, the prospect of doing so did not excite him one bit. Heath’s popularity amongst both the people and other political parties of the nation had fallen precipitously ever since the American government had imploded, and the trust that he commanded from the nation was hardly any better. Despite the best of his efforts, inflation and unemployment had only continued to get worse in the aftermath of the Mideast War and now this.
Now, as he got up, he was surrounded by aides and advisors, all telling him just how dire the situation was and what he would need to do in order to make sure that the government survived the year. Barber said nothing, he was wondering what the Labour and Liberal MPs would be doing to take advantage of the situation.
_______
“I’m still not pleased that you’re running for senate instead of lieutenant governor, like we talked about.” Glenn was on the phone with an Ohio Democratic party official, who was starting to realize that Glenn could not be swayed from his planned course of action.
“I’m aware,” Glenn said, “and I apologize for challenging Metzenbaum...I know he wants the seat but the thing is that I want it more. He can try for lieutenant governor for all I care.” The official made some unheard blustery comment before calming down.
“John,” he said pleadingly, “Howard Metzenbaum doesn’t want lieutenant governor either, and he’s been in politics for a lot longer than you, being a senator is hard work, you need to have spent time in the political game before you shoot for the top, and I’m not sure if your speeches before congress are the equivalent of Metzenbaum’s experience...” Now Glenn sighed.
“Do you want me to find you someone to try for lieutenant governor? Because I am going for senate and I will blow Metzenbaum out of the water if he doesn’t get out of my way.” The official shouted something to someone on the other end of the line, then sighed again, this time louder.
“Those votes you got at the convention last year are going to your head,” Glenn wasn’t sure if the man was joking or not, either way he sort of wanted to slap him, “but yes, if you can find me a suitable Ohio Democrat to run for lieutenant governor next year then I will leave you and Metzenbaum to duke it out.” Glenn didn’t hesitate.
“Jerry Springer.” The official was silent for a few seconds.
“Springer? That’s...that’s not a bad idea. What, are you buddies with him?” Glenn leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling of his office. He felt sad all of the sudden.
“He was a good friend of Bobby Kennedy, I met him a few times when I was out spending time with Ted and Bobby. He’s a good guy, one of the more honest congressmen I’ve met.” The official whistled.
“That’s good. That’s very good. I’ll relay the news and get back to you on what everyone says, alright?” Glenn affirmed and hung up the phone. He hated talking to the state’s Democratic offices and had been engaged in some fairly stormy conversations recently over the possibility of running for lieutenant governor as opposed to senator. Glenn had always maintained that he was gunning for the senate on the basis of becoming more visible to the public, but the real reason was more personal.
He had always wanted to serve alongside the Kennedies and interact with the members of the chamber. When they had been cut down, barely three weeks before, he had not reacted to the news for a bizarrely long time. At first he felt a sense of duty to make sure that the crisis didn’t tear the nation apart, then a sense of creeping unease at the aftermath. It hadn’t been until he had watched Brooke’s speech from the Capitol building that the enormity of the loss had hit him. Sitting next to his wife, watching a ragged and wide eyed President try to hold things together, he had broken down and wept for his dead friends.
Since then he felt like he had been operating on autopilot, only thinking about the future made him feel any better. The future held elections that he could win, goals that he could achieve and work that he could use to leave his sorrows behind. All the past held was ashes and death, he had seen far too much of that in his lifetime.
Achieving the senate would give him a sense of closure, even if he couldn’t share it with Ted and Bobby he could have the victory for the friends that they had left behind.
_______
In a very similar boat was George McGovern. The night of the 6th was more a collection of blurred images followed by a flashbulb of absolute and stunning pain. Everything since then had been crystal clear, even though he wanted nothing more than for it all to just go away.
Since the 6th he had not spoken more than a few sentences each day. He did his work mechanically, sometimes skipping meals, sometimes sitting in his office and staring hard at the chair in front of him, thinking of when one friend or another had sat there. He had last spoken to Ted Kennedy about hangover cures two days before his death, his last conversation with Bobby had been about the possibility of taking a vacation and going to Florida.
Florida still seemed nice. McGovern had lost others as well, he would never talk to Gerald Ford again, neither would he exchange small talk with a senior aide who had been killed in the White House blast. Seeing strangers occupying the seats of the dead, and different people running congress still gave him deja vu whenever he entered the chamber.
He had considered resigning his seat during the darkest night, when reports about violence flooded in nonstop from the south, the Freedom Party bayed for Brooke’s resignation and the grief that he felt cut like a knife. But he hadn’t. He had stayed put and though he felt like he was viewing events from a thousand miles away, he still did his best to work hard and try to smile. He wasn’t quite there yet but at the moment that was all that he could do.
_______
The news that NATO was officially disbanding caused the pound to drop 4% on the world market in less than twelve hours. The lira plummeted 9%, the dollar 2%, and a small handful of other currencies were virtually annihilated. Amongst those was the Cuban peso. But whereas the pound, the lira and the dollar were in wide usage and supported by a network of nations even in the midst of the economic turmoil of the new year, the peso was not.
Ordinarily the Soviet Union would have been there to soften the impact of any blow suffered by the currencies of its allies, but the Soviet Union was very nearly bankrupt and though in no danger of collapse, was also in no position to resuscitate the Cuban economy.
Similarly, the peso would have also had a base of gold and other precious materials to fall upon, but those had been spent in the desperate years since the Soviet Civil War, and there was not nearly enough left to prevent the peso from falling first ten, then twenty, then forty eight points in the space of twenty four hours.
In about the same amount of time that it took to fly transatlantic, the peso had entered hyperinflation and the economy of Cuba had decreased in value by roughly eighty five percent. While the internal economy of Cuba remained largely unchanged, for the time being, Castro, in the presidential palace, began to do the math regarding how many pesos it would take to purchase Cuba’s imports for the next year, and realized that he was short on money by an eight figure amount.
Castro was not the only one to realize the dire situation and by the end of the week tanks and soldiers were on the move, and not just on Castro’s orders. In a town five miles to the north of Havana seven people were shot to death by a military patrol for throwing rocks. The local police, having heard enough rumors about a potential collapse of the nation, returned fire and killed one of the soldiers. The first shots of the Cuban Civil War had just been fired.
47.
“His name is James Flagg, though he’s asked us to call him Jim. He’s from Little Rock and works as an electrician. No history of mental illness, but from what he’s saying I would not be surprised if his doctors missed something.” Brooke cocked an eyebrow, he was listening to a security agent relay the first details regarding the identity of the man who had shot at him.
“And what is that?”
“He claims that you’re the AntiChrist.” Rogers, who had been sipping a cup of coffee, stifled a nervous laugh.
“Seriously?” The agent nodded.
“Yes. Interestingly enough he actually voted for Bush during the election, but now he’s saying that that was a mistake and that you deceived him with some sort of demonic powers. We have people heading over to interview the people he worked with and see what his family has to say. He’s been very cooperative though, says that he worked alone, which seems to be the truth, but did mention that there will be more of the faithful out to try and kill you. Something about his shot being an example that others will do their best to follow.” Brooke nodded, he had sometimes read about religious fanatics claiming that one public figure or another was the AntiChrist, but to his knowledge nobody in the United States had ever been shot at because of those accusations. He sighed.
“Did his bullet get anywhere near me?” Brooke had been shot at before, during the war, and knew from experience that the round had passed far enough away from him that he hadn’t heard it breaking the sound barrier, but some strange, morbid curiosity made him want to know just how close the assassin had come to actually hitting him.
“He missed by about thirty feet. The bullet lodged in the decor below you and to your right. He used a snub nose revolver so he’d have been lucky to hit you even if he’d been standing right next to you.” Brooke smiled grimly.
“I guess so. Bring me news on what his family and friends say, I need to attend to some business with the UN.” The agent nodded and departed with a crisp salute and Brooke made his way to the Oval Office, feeling a heavy sense of dread every step of the way.
“I’m tempted to discontinue operations in the White House,” he said offhandedly, “there’s a lot of bad memories for me in here.” The Oval Office had been completely cleansed of any trace of the violence that had taken place in it only a few weeks before but at the moment only the West Wing was completely operational. The upper floors had been gutted and wouldn’t be completely repaired until the end of the year and the kitchen had been similarly destroyed, which made the White House a prime location for caterers all around the city. That necessitated all sorts of extra security in order to make sure that poisoning was never a danger, but it was better than the staff starving, or subsisting on military MREs, as had been the case for nearly a week after the bomb had gone off.
“I understand,” Rogers said as they stepped into the Oval Office, “maybe we could. You are the President after all.” Brooke looked down at the carpet under his feet. He had gone with a beautiful shade of deep blue, like the sky just before sunset. In front of a heavy wooden desk (the Resolute desk was still undergoing repairs and would likely have to be completely rebuilt) the presidential seal was surrounded by one long Abraham Lincoln quote that Brooke had found reverberating through his mind as he faced the nation during his first full day as President.
‘Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.’
Sitting down at the desk, he looked at the ever growing pile of responsibilities that lay before him.
“I watched a man lose his mind in this room,” he said, “right where I’m sitting. As soon as this initial rush of events is over with then I will put some thought into finding a new place to conduct my presidency from.” Rogers nodded, he himself felt somewhat skittish walking past the stairs to the destroyed upper floor. It had been from there that the blast of debris that had nearly killed him had come. Brooke was right, the White House had become a haunted place, and the sooner they left, the better.
_______
“This is a very important moment that you all are witnessing,” Ron Paul told the journalists that had assembled before him, “for this moment marks the day that Americans all across the nation looked around them and said ‘enough! We are sick of the martial law and surveillance, we are sick of the regulations and high taxes, and we are sick of the same old choices in every election.’ The American people want change, and it is not any kind of change that Daniel Inouye, Edward Brooke or even Barry Goldwater can promise them. What the American people want isn’t a base on the moon or more environmental regulations. What the American people demand is for the government to leave them alone and give them the freedom to live their own lives, free of the horrors that have been unleashed on this nation ever since we turned away from those principles.
The American people want change, and I am willing to give it to them. As of today I am leaving the Republican party alongside a number of my compatriots and joining the Libertarian Party. While I have spent three years in congress thus far as a Republican, I have watched in dismay as the party has trended ever further into authoritarianism and ignored the will of the people.
Within the party itself petty political maneuvering has replaced the integral core of liberty that we all swore an oath to protect, and I, just like the rest of the nation, am sick to death of it all. The Libertarian platform cares about America and about the constitution, and I urge all of you listening to look into your heart and abandon the Democrats, the Republicans and the Freedom Party before they drag this nation even further away from the glory that it once held. God bless you, and God bless the United States of America.”
_______
“There go your libertarians Barry,” Charles Percy said to Goldwater, barely containing the anger in his voice, “what was that about you having everything under control?” Goldwater looked stunned, and more than a little furious.
“I didn’t think that that little fucker had the balls...” He said quietly, watching as Ron Paul began to take questions on the television screen. He looked happy but some of the men behind him were glancing at one another, probably wondering if they’d made a mistake by joining Paul in his venture.
“The whole party is imploding,” Percy fumed, “we cant afford to make stupid mistakes like that. Brooke is buddying up to the fucking Democrats, the Freedom Party is harvesting the goddamn conservatives, and now Ron fucking Paul just defected and took his entire clique with him. We’re running out of people to lose.” Goldwater didn’t even try to debate that point, things had been bad for a long time but this latest set of catastrophes made the old problems look utopian by comparison. The party was splitting at the seams and even the President didn’t seem to want to deal with the whole mess.
“I’ll make sure their party is stillborn,” Goldwater said bitterly, “they’ll regret this.” Percy didn’t doubt it, but said nothing as Goldwater strode stiffly from the room. Waiting until the door closed behind him, he buried his head in his hands and stared down at the whorls and lines in the wood of the desk. He felt helpless, like a rudderless ship buffeted by waves that it couldn’t turn to meet. Goldwater, even if he was in no less of a desperate situation, at least seemed to have a plan. Percy envied that, and wondered just how bad the next few months would be for the party.
_______
“Suicide?” Brooke stared in shock at Rogers for a moment, then collected himself. On the other end of the conference call they were listening to, a harried UN official sighed.
“Yes Mr. President. The Secretary General shot himself in the head with a revolver. He left behind a resignation note but right now we have no clear replacement. Barely a quarter of the nations of the world are even planning on attending the next summit, there are disjointed boycotts from virtually all of Africa and the Middle East...voting for someone to replace Mr. Waldheim simply isn’t possible right now.” Brooke gritted his teeth.
“What are the chances of the UN collapsing within the next few days?” The UN official was silent for an uncomfortably long time.
“A lot higher than I’d like to admit. It’s chaos here, nobody is sure what to do, funding is being threatened for a hundred programs from a dozen different angles, our manpower is evaporating and our operations in China, Bangladesh and India have been hamstrung. If the nations of the world cannot figure something out and have a comprehensive summit within the next week or so then things are going to fall apart and the UN will effectively cease to exist.” The official’s words were chilling, and Rogers seemed especially frightened. He had dealt with the UN for most of his professional career, having it vanish was unimaginable.
“Is there anything that we can do to make sure that humanitarian operations in Asia aren’t derailed?” The official seemed grateful not to have to ask for help himself.
“Yes. We’d appreciate, uh, funding in the event of a collapse.” The request was a great deal more benign than some of the other possibilities that Brooke had been expecting, but even as he considered it he wondered what he would be getting out of it. Bangladesh and India were both solidly anti American nations and Brooke still had doubts as to whether or not he would be able to make it out of his term without going to war with one or the other. Spending money on them could help assuage the hostility that their people felt towards him, but on the other it could also simply disappear, with nothing left to show for it. Before he could come to a decision Rogers was saying something.
“We need to make sure that the laws, regulation and legislation passed by the UN aren’t discarded in the event of a collapse. There’s simply too many nuclear test ordinances and space related laws to risk any of it being left behind, at least by the major powers of the world.” The official coughed.
“That is very possible. The main obstacle is getting all of the major powers to sign such an agreement. If you can get the Soviets to do so then everything should be alright. The world will slowly follow suit.” Brooke hoped that the official was right and continued to ruminate over the question of funding, and just what he was going to do with American assets in Asia.
_______
Cernan was leaning against a wall with Funk, Brand and Schmitt, watching grainy footage of the very first orbital maneuvers being made to put the Mars craft together. Paine had vanished to go discuss budgetary concerns with a pair of SAC officers and so the four astronauts were alone in the room.
“We’re leaving in three months.” Brand said, more an observation than anything else. He had been saying similar things over the course of their training, the time left until departure always ticking downwards. Funk nodded.
“We are. Anyone else terrified?” Three hands raised silently and Funk nodded.
“Reassuring. I know.” Schmitt said, and Cernan chuckled. On the screen the engines of the craft had been secured in place. The footage had been sped up in order to compress the docking and assembly to a mere ten minutes instead of the six hours that it had actually taken. As a result white suited figures zipped and zoomed across the massive engines, pausing occasionally, one bouncing away into space before using his rocket pack to zip back over to the craft. Cernan shifted and nodded at the craft on screen.
“Funny to think that we’ll be departing in that gigantic thing and returning in just a tiny little capsule. All we’ll leave behind are a few chunks of metal in Mars orbit, a rover, a flag and a few stages orbiting the sun. Maybe a few loose taxpayer dollars here and there...” That made Funk laugh. The Mars mission’s crash development had cost a spectacular amount of money, especially since a great deal of the necessary technology had had to literally be invented in order for the mission to have a shot at success.
But despite the tough times that the program had endured, the future looked very bright. Paine had a veritable army of famous and influential people on call to defend his agency against funding cuts, everyone from John Glenn to Audie Murphy had made at least one pro NASA speech over the past year or so, and the Mars crew had gotten to meet them all.
The level of fame that they had achieved still stunned them, and Paine had been forced to hire a small team of people to sort their mail after an almost biblical flood of fan mail commenced shortly after their identities were made public. Funk seemed to be the most popular and though at least some of the mail she received was composed of death threats, letters telling her not to risk her life on a man’s mission and marriage proposals, a good chunk of it came from people, largely female, all across the nation who had been awe inspired watching a woman set foot on the moon and subsequently get ready to head to Mars.
To Funk it presented an interesting paradox. Though NASA had progressed socially by at least twenty years over the space of only four, the rest of the nation had hardly budged. Things like the pay gap, sexual harassment and rampant sexism both at home and in public were still very real. She had even heard more than a few snide comments made by some of her fellow astronauts, though either she or nearly anyone she had worked with was quick to shut them up. Women’s rights still had a long way to go, and while she seemed to rapidly be becoming an icon (she had received a banner in the mail a week before with her face on it and a title reading: WE CONQUERED THE MOON, WE CAN CONQUER DISCRIMINATION TOO!) she knew that she would need to remain quiet in order to keep her career intact. Funk didn’t intend to stop being an astronaut once Mars was over and done with. She still needed to make good on her promise and secure Allen Shepard a visit to the lunar base, along with herself of course. Once that was done with, then she could look at the future and decide just what to do with it.
_______
Almost the instant he had become Majority Leader, Inouye had been bombarded with questions regarding his support of the ROC. He had espoused it on the campaign trail in order to win over the hawks, and now, with the unpleasant revelations of the Rumsfeld Papers, it had come around and sunk its teeth into him. Inouye had known that the ROC were not democratic and not particularly interested in being anything other than a right wing police state, but what they were was an American ally, and the only chance of peace and stability in mainland China.
This he accepted as he prepared to respond to the attacks being waged against him. Fortunately the Hawaiian Republican party had been even more insistent with its support of the Chinese and Inouye couldn’t see any of his opponents getting much mileage out of the controversy without being tarred as hypocrites.
Beyond a state level the potential for all of this was quite bleak indeed. Ever since he had watched Johnson, Humphrey and dozens of others be buried he had fantasized about bringing his party back to the White House and ending the malevolence and abuse that had killed so many of his friends. It was a selfish desire he realized, but one that he had been thinking about a lot lately.
The thing was, he could do it too. Despite his willingness to let Brooke have the very poisoned chalice that was the presidency, at least for the moment, many people in the nation felt cheated by the election and wanted Brooke out. Inouye wasn’t sure how to approach that. On the one hand he wanted nothing more than for the nation to pull together and work to fix the crises that were tearing it apart. But another part felt elated by the accusations of illegitimacy being leveled against Brooke. They would help pave a road to the presidency for him...but at what cost?
Inouye supposed that he would side with Brooke on this one and demand that the nation leave the man alone. The presidency was his for the next four years, after that Inouye had plans, and while those plans wouldn’t bear fruit for a long time, he looked forward to when they would.
_______
Lee was at a party, his chest being jabbed repeatedly by a very drunk officer. The man was trying to make a point of some sort about how phrenology was coming back into vogue in Scandinavia but Lee was hardly listening. Every time the officer tapped his chest his medals clinked against each other, he had gotten another one for reporting Sergeant Chou, a new device for promoting internal security. Lee had smiled for the cameras and shaken hands with a stream of officers before being notified that he would be attending a gala.
He hadn’t listened to the details of what the gala was supposed to be celebrating but nearly everyone there was in uniform, and the atmosphere was decidedly tense underneath the evening’s veneer of alcohol and nationalistic decor.
There were more than a few American officers at the party and as Lee had passed by a few of them earlier he had heard one cynically ask the other why they couldn’t just drop a dozen nukes on Uyghurstan and be done with it.
That proposal had made some sense to Lee but he supposed that if the high command wasn’t doing it then they probably had a damn good reason to explain their reluctance.
The officer laid his hand on Lee’s shoulder and chuckled at a slurred joke that he had made. Lee had no idea what the man had just said but laughed along anyways before delicately extricating himself and slipping away through the bustle of people. He felt out of place and surprisingly vulnerable in the midst of these people. Most of the men he was looking at had been military officers for their entire careers, few knew what it was like to be an enlisted man.
“Hello sergeant, you speak English, correct?” Facing the man who had addressed him, Lee saw that he was speaking to an American General, easily the highest ranking man in the room. He was older and looked very tired. The ribbons and medals on his chest dictated a life of service ranging from Burma to Pakistan, and he seemed to be very interested in Lee.
“Yes sir.” The general waved Lee’s formalities away.
“You don’t need to call me sir, I’m retiring as of next week.” At that moment Lee recognized the man from a television broadcast, he had been speaking to an anchor about the campaign in Pakistan and the importance of building the country back up after the war was won.
“Happily I hope?” The general shrugged.
“I’m leaving an institution that I’ve been part of for thirty four years. I know that I’m doing the right thing but I’ll miss it. How long have you been in?” Lee blinked, somewhat surprised that the general was making such amiable smalltalk with him.
“Five years. I have no plans to leave, not until the wars are over at least.” The general nodded.
“You may be serving for a good while longer then. Your name is Lee, right?” Lee nodded.
“Yes.”
“I’m Frederick Weyand, good to meet you Lee.” Weyand extended a hand and Lee shook, still caught somewhat off guard. It had been a long time since he had had a decent conversation with someone.
“I’ve seen you on television,” Lee said, “you were the chief US commander in Pakistan.” Weyand nodded.
“Guilty as charged. Of course that job has since passed to Lieutenant General Haig, my second in command. I suppose you’ve heard of him as well?” Weyand didn’t seem very pleased with Haig taking over his old position, Lee wasn’t sure why.
“The papers that your President’s former Chief of Staff leaked,” Lee said carefully, “Haig was mentioned in them. That’s all I know.” It was true, while Lee was aware of some of the contents of the papers he had not been allowed to read them, neither had anyone else in the Republic of China. Doing so was to spread defeatism and encourage acts of treason against the state. Weyand also had to be aware of this rule but that didn’t stop him from speaking.
“He sent a cable to Westmoreland, not me, Westmoreland, asking for him to petition the President for permission to use nuclear weapons against the jihadists in Pakistan.” Lee nodded.
“That’s reasonable.” Weyand blinked, he had clearly not expected Lee’s response. Lee watched the general carefully, wondering if he would start trying to debate him on the finer points of military tactics.
“I suppose we’ll agree to disagree,” he said after a pause, “but I must ask. You’ve spent years fighting in the aftermath of a major nuclear war, you’ve seen the devastation that atomic bombs bring...you have a Beijing campaign ribbon on your uniform so you must have seen the last PRC detonation of the war...so why would you want to use even more of them?” A good question, Lee hadn’t considered it before. Weyand was correct, he had seen atom bombs go off, he had marched within view of the blackened ruins of entire metropolises rendered cold and dead. But he had also survived to see the world continue to spin and the sun rise and fall like nothing had happened.
“I think that you Americans are too frightened of the atom bomb,” he said, “you’ve built up such a...a taboo around using it you convinced the world that if nations were to use atom bombs in combat then the entire globe would go up in flames. But we’ve seen the mushroom clouds of six nuclear wars now and civilization is still intact. The atom bomb is a weapon, nothing more, and not using a weapon when it could end a potentially devastating conflict and save the lives of thousands of your soldiers and allies is irresponsible. That’s what I think.” Weyand was silent for a few moments, considering Lee’s point.
“Well said. I may not be able to sway your opinion but I do hope you realize that if we succumb to the casual usage of nuclear weapons then we may see more devastating consequences than what we’ve seen already. Cancer rates in the world have tripled since the first exchanges, they’re eight times higher here in Taipei than they were in 1968. The entire Asian continent has been destabilized and will likely not be peaceful again for decades to come, weather patterns have been profoundly disrupted and there is massive drought in western Africa as a result...nothing good has come of the atom bomb’s introduction to combat. Using it more often will not alleviate these problems, unless you mean in the event that the planet is emptied of life entirely, in which case I suppose you would be correct, but only in the sense that there would be nobody around to suffer anymore.” Weyand’s argument was made in a flat but entirely pleasant tone of voice. It was clear that he respected Lee’s ability to hold a contrary opinion, even if he did view it as cataclysmically wrong. Lee wasn’t sure how to respond.
“If we’re having a debate then I concede,” he said, forcing a smile, “I think you know more about the subject than I do.” Weyand nodded slightly.
“I suppose I might. But aside from the topic of atom bombs, is there anything you’d like to talk about? I’m sort of starved for good conversation here.” Lee raised an eyebrow, he suspected that he knew what Weyand meant.
“Starved?” He asked anyways.
“I served on the frontline for much of my career,” Weyand said, “and I’ve always enjoyed speaking to the enlisted men. They may not have gone to Ivy League schools, or the Chinese equivalent for that matter, but they tend to be better conversationalists in my experience.” Lee chuckled, he wondered how stuffy the American officers were in comparison to their ROC counterparts.
“I haven’t spoken to many Americans,” Lee said, “so I don’t know much about how your army works, but I guess you have plenty of rich men’s sons as your junior officers?” Weyand shrugged.
“Depends. We do our best to discourage nepotism but you cant catch it all.” Lee thought of the news reports that he had seen about America lately. From what was shown it didn’t seem that things were going so well.
“I’m surprised that you don’t have a draft, if we didn’t have one then we wouldn’t have gotten nearly as far as we did.” Weyand nodded.
“We had one during Vietnam, it didn’t help. In my experience a volunteer force is always more motivated and combat capable than a conscript force.” Lee shrugged. He supposed that that was true, but whereas the Americans had the luxury of numbers, his nation was not so lucky.
“With what’s happening in your southern states you may need another draft soon. National Guard and police isn’t going to cut it.” Weyand grimaced.
“You may be right. I hope that the instability that our nations are experiencing is solved soon. I’ve grown to like this part of the world, it would be sad to see another chunk of it fall into chaos.” Lee nodded grimly.
“Once the subversives are removed from society then we can continue to progress.” Weyand gave Lee a strange look.
“Sure. In any case it was good talking to you, maybe I’ll catch you around at some point.” Lee nodded and shook hands with Weyand again. Both men knew that they wouldn’t see each other again but mentioning that would be impolite. Lee turned back to the party as Weyand departed, exchanging pleasantries with a junior officer on his way out the door, then found himself face to face with an older officer, the insignia of a Colonel on his shoulder.
“I see you met General Weyand,” the colonel said, “he’s a good man, the Americans are doubtlessly sad to see him retire.” Lee nodded.
“He’s a good conversationalist.” The colonel glanced over his shoulder to where a small knot of junior officers was growing ever drunker. He scowled.
“This whole display is getting too hedonistic for my liking, would you care to join me in a quieter setting?” Lee didn’t hesitate in nodding, the noise was beginning to grate on him. Slipping into a side room Lee closed the door behind him, dulling the din somewhat. The colonel sat down and withdrew a silver cigarette case, extending it towards Lee. Glancing inside, Lee could see that the cigarettes were finely made, definitely foreign and most definitely better than the half tobacco ration cigarettes that were provided to enlisted men. He took one and lit it, lighting the colonel’s as well.
“So you’re a war hero now,” the colonel said, blowing a little bluish plume of smoke into the center of the room, “how does it feel?” Lee shrugged.
“Can I speak frankly?” The colonel nodded.
“I just want to go back to the front. We’re going to invade Uyghurstan soon, anyone can see that, and I want to be there to help finish the job. We’re never going to get Tibet back so Uyghurstan is the last piece of China that we need before our nation is back together.” Another plume of smoke curled and rolled across the room, the colonel was silent for a few moments.
“Your enthusiasm is commendable,” he said, “but there is no way that you are going back to the front.” Lee wasn’t surprised by the colonel’s words but felt a deep sense of disappointment nonetheless. So he wouldn’t see the destruction of his nation’s last enemy. Terrible. “But.” The colonel continued, “you can help the nation out in other ways.” Lee sighed.
“By being a drill instructor.” He said tonelessly. He wondered how long it would take before he stopped feeling envy towards the men he was going to be sending off to combat.
“No.” Lee looked up sharply, surprised.
“No?” The colonel chuckled.
“I guess you haven’t heard. You are going to go on a morale raising tour across the nation. You may end up becoming a drill instructor later, once your fame has faded, but for now you are being talked about. You fought ceaselessly and bravely for three years, got taken out of combat and almost immediately nailed a traitor in the ranks. You’re a model soldier, and a lot of people in very high places have seen use in that.” Lee supposed that he ought not to be surprised, but the colonel’s words still sent little thrills of mingled delight and fear through him. Also more than a little disappointment. There was definitely no way he was going to the front now.
“Will I be able to meet the President?” He asked, and the colonel shrugged.
“Most likely. You’ll hear about the finer details later, after this whole dog and pony show is over. As soon as boots hit the ground in Uyghurstan then the people of the nation will need a lot of distracting, or else these riots will get worse. And we don’t need that right now.” Lee nodded, he felt almost like he was dreaming, like he would wake up at any moment to find himself in a fighting hole somewhere, back where he belonged.
“What about my family? What do they get out of it?” The colonel didn’t seem sure.
“Extra rations, money and some extra protection from the police most likely.” Lee nodded, maybe that would help if Chen decided to try to rebel and go out protesting again. The memory still made him angry, what had happened to the obedient little kid he had known when he first left for the front?
“That’s good.” Lee said distractedly, and the colonel got up, flicking his half smoked cigarette into an ashtray.
“I’ll see you around,” he said as he moved towards the door, “and don’t feel too down about the front, you’re of more use here than off fighting in some jihadi infested hellhole.” Lee begged to differ but didn’t say anything. Instead he stayed put in the room and smoked his cigarette down to the filter, wondering just what this morale tour would mean for him.
_______
Bundy was shaking and swore loudly as he broke another match. That was the fourth so far, and still his cigarette remained unlit. Another three had been soaked in blood and somehow he didn’t think that they would ignite.
“You fucker,” he hissed, then glanced over at the corpse, “you fucking bitch.” The fifth flared up with a burst of light and he lit the cigarette. He hardly ever smoked but it seemed appropriate here. The light of the match lit the dim space of the basement and cast jagged shadows in the corners. It was dim, the girl had knocked over the lamp during her struggling. Bundy had thought that he had tied her legs but somehow the tape had given way and she had lashed out, missing him but connecting with a shoddy old lamp. There was broken glass on the floor and he had entertained himself by cutting her back with it for a while after he had strangled her, but now the glow of killing had faded and he felt disgusted by the mess that the stupid bitch had made.
Looking at her torn clothes, heaped in the corner, he could see the corner of the button she had been wearing. A BUSH/BROOKE pin, just like a million others except for one critical difference. Bush’s name and face had been scratched away, leaving only Brooke smirking up at him. That had infuriated him but he kept calm, instead striking up a conversation with her. He had been carrying a box of books as he spotted the perversion she was wearing and in an instant he had put together a splendid little plan.
Affecting a limp he had struck up a conversation and asked innocently where she had been going. His car was parked nearby and as they drew near he had asked her for help with the box. She had been all too happy to help him and he had been all too happy to hit her in the head with a telescopic baton. He had tied her with tape, her legs too loosely as he had found out later, and went to a quieter place to finish the job.
It had been his first kill in nearly two years and as he sat and smoked, looking at the scene and mentally listing all of the pieces of potential evidence that he would need to get rid of, he wondered why he had ever stopped in the first place.
It had had something to do with law school, he supposed, more than a few people had told him that he was going places in the future, and that meant no killing. But though law school had been interesting, Bundy had no interest in becoming a lawyer. The only thing he had ever found nearly as satisfying as ending a life was political work. In both conventions he had attended he had watched, fascinated, as political figures fought each other tooth and nail for a shot at ultimate power. It was exhilarating, and in the lulls between speeches he had fantasized about being the next onto the stage, disseminating his views before a rapt audience. He would be good at it too, he knew that much. But first he had get a start in it before he could ever go for the big leagues. That was how life worked unfortunately, and as he finished his cigarette and stubbed it out on Edward Brooke’s laminated face, he decided that the girl lying crumpled before him would be the last.
His most productive move after all had been getting someone to do his dirty work for him, and wasn’t politics just that multiplied by a thousand? Bundy chuckled, he would miss it, he knew that much, but somehow he could already tell that the power would fill that hole quite nicely indeed.
_______
“This is Mission Commander Haise speaking, adjust your trajectory two degrees to the left...that’s it, perfect.” Floating, a long white cord winding through the void behind him, Fred Haise was overseeing a docking and trying not to admire the view too much.
Space was always stunningly beautiful, but the vista that was below him had taken his breath away when he first went on EVA. Haise and four others were orbiting the moon at an altitude of three hundred ten kilometers, close enough to see fine details on the surface of the body, but far enough away to be able to take in just how vast and empty the space they were operating in really was.
Haise had felt fear clench at his heart when he had first glanced around him and seen just how far away earth, and the rest of humanity, was. He was a quarter million miles away from any sort of help, assembling a space station with four other intrepid souls. They would be doing this for a month before their tour ended and they were replaced with another crew.
Haise had been in space before, helping to construct the orbiters in low earth orbit, but the isolation that he felt now was almost overwhelming. Even the smallest mistake would result in certain death, chances of rescue were nonexistent. But even if the work was mind numbingly precise at the best of times and downright unforgiving at worst, he knew that he got more satisfaction out of it than anything else he had done.
The view was spectacular, and even if him and his crew had to retreat inside of the station’s main body every time the station went around the dark side of the moon and communications were lost with Houston, he was still impressed by how quickly the work was proceeding.
The station would be able to comfortably hold twelve people when it was finished, and would act as an emergency supply depot for the lunar base. The base itself wouldn’t even begin construction until the end of the year but Haise hoped that he would have a spot helping out. He had always wanted to set foot on the body below him, and building the base seemed to give him the best opportunity to do so.
Making his way over to the newly docked vessel, he checked his watch. I was about time to head inside and wait until they had passed around the dark side of the moon. Signaling the rest of his crew, they made their way to the airlock. Soon it would be time for dinner, then bed. Another day of work completed, with the promise of at least twenty six more on the horizon.
_______
While Gaddafi had never expected the IRA cells he was funding to ever amount to much, the chaos that they had spread in Ulster delighted him to no end. He had suspicions that other foreign nations had aided the Northern Irish rebels as well, and while that wasn’t important to his own plans, he did appreciate the trouble that the British were being subjected to.
At least sixty people had been killed in the latest spate of violence and the British Prime Minister, who looked like he was contemplating strangling the Irish himself, had sent in the tanks, announcing that troop levels in Northern Ireland would be increased by fifty percent and the IRA destroyed once and for all. One of Gaddafi’s advisors, who was well versed in European politics, had mused that perhaps Enoch Powell and the more conservative faction of the Prime Minister’s party were behind the move, but Gaddafi hardly cared. The British were tearing themselves apart and his Irish side project was bearing fruit.
His other side plans stretched around the globe and strained his budget, but if even half of them worked then he knew that a little bit of financial difficulty would hardly matter compared to the benefits that Libya would reap.
He sometimes supported anti-apartheid groups in South Africa, the Eritrean independence movement in Ethiopia, the Free Aceh movement, though that one seemed to be being bombed to dust at the moment, and various other extremist groups tugging at the fabric of society. But most of his attention was solidly on the Middle East now, there was a great deal of interesting things happening there, and he was involved, either directly or not, in nearly all of them.
He had been giving the Kurds weapons so that they could fight the Iraqis, the Iraqis weapons so that they could fight the Kurds, and the jihadists everywhere money so that they could stand up against the House of Saud, the Shah and the American backed Zionists.
The Israelis had effectively walled themselves off from the rest of the Middle East, and though Gaddafi’s proxy groups had done their best to pick a fight with them, nothing much had happened besides strategic bombing and mass executions. The Israelis knew perfectly well that they were overextended and that any sort of major offensive operation would leave them open to weaknesses.
That didn’t bother Gaddafi much though, that was just one plan, he had others. He even had one or two concerning Uyghurstan, though his influence in that part of the world was shaky at best. He had recommended that more dirty bombs be used in Pakistan but the government had refused, they had no interest in figuring out whether the Americans were bluffing or not with their threat of invasion.
That made Gaddafi angry. He had no use for an intact Uyghurstan, in fact an intact Uyghurstan was even a hinderance. If he was to completely dominate the region in terms of oil, uranium and stability then all of his rivals would need to be divided, invaded or otherwise destroyed. That was already the case in the Middle East, where the only surviving major power besides Israel was Turkey, and even they were starting to get bogged down in Syria and Lebanon. Western Africa was similar, and while Gaddafi would have preferred for Rhodesia and South Africa to implode as well, he supposed that he had time to see if that could be done.
But for now his attention was focused solidly on Uyghurstan. If they went down, and dragged the Americans and Chinese with them, then he would have nothing to fear when he initiated his real plans. Those would take a while to get ready, but he already knew that when he launched them, they would go off without a hitch.
_______
After four days of debate and a spirited filibuster attempt by the Freedom Party and the new Libertarians, Frank Church’s EPA expansion bill passed congress and went on to be signed by the President. Brooke did so with a flourish and then promptly federalized the national guard in every state except for Hawaii and Alaska. If the violence in the south was to be stopped then he would need more manpower to make sure that the region remained peaceful.
Most of the southern governors grumbled and even threatened to refuse Brooke access to their guardsmen, but their words proved to be so much hot air and Brooke got exactly what he wanted, even above the scandalized uproar generated by his detractors.
One of the only exceptions to the furor was Governor Carter of Georgia, who, true to his word, had spent every single day since Bush’s night of terror touring the state and making sure that everything was alright. Most of the cities had escaped serious rioting but the countryside was another matter entirely and Carter held prayer services for the victims, becoming a very public figure almost immediately as a result. Carter was careful not to praise Brooke’s move but did not threaten him either. The President remained absent from the governor’s speeches, there was an election coming up, and since the state Republican party didn’t seem keen on running anything other than a sacrificial candidate, it was becoming clear to Carter that the main opposition would be the Freedom Party.
Lester Maddox, who had left the governor’s mansion only four years before, looked very much like he would be the Freedom nominee, and Carter didn’t like that at all. Though Maddox was reviled throughout most of the capitol for his egregious mishandling of the 1969 riots in Atlanta, he did have undeniable pockets of popularity throughout the more rural areas of the state. To deny that he was a serious threat would have been naive.
Though the election was still nearly two years away, Carter was already making sure that the way was clear for George Busbee, who Carter had decided would make a fine successor, to seize the nomination with as little party infighting as possible. Carter’s tenure as governor had so far made him popular with the nation but he maintained little more than a lukewarm reception from the people of Georgia, who were growing sick of the ongoing violence and deteriorating economic conditions.
The possibility of leaving office an unpopular man didn’t concern Carter, he had been careful not to involve himself with Busbee very much, in the event that his popularity dove and Busbee needed to prove that he wasn’t associated with him. That wasn’t likely though, Carter knew what he was going to do for the remainder of his time in office, and if it all worked out then he would leave office a well regarded man, and hopefully usher in another Democratic governor. The state’s senators and a considerable chunk of its legislature were already Freedom Party, Carter didn’t even want to know what would happen if a governor Maddox was able to exercise his powers to the fullest of their extent.
_______
“We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news. The Prime Minister of the United Kingdom has resigned no less than five minutes ago, citing the ongoing vote of no confidence against him and leaving the office open to a successor who has yet to be revealed. This is the latest development in a series of crises that the Heath cabinet has faced, culminating with worsening economic conditions within the nation and extensive involvement with the former American President...” The bartender thought about turning the television off but decided against it. Every last trace of noise had drained from the pub, even the most intoxicated drunk staring in disbelief at the screen.
“Fuck.” Somebody said flatly, probably a Tory.
“Good riddance.” Said someone else, maybe a Labour or Liberal supporter. That got a few grumbles in return but nobody started fighting. That was good, the bartender didn’t want to break anything up.
“Enough of this,” someone said shakily as the newscaster began listing off a few possibilities for what could happen in the aftermath, “put on the goddamn game or something.” The bartender did so but the shock still didn’t dissipate, motion in the room had ceased, even as a few grainy figures on the television screen kicked at a ball.
“Fucking Manchester.” Somebody grumbled, but the silence still held. Things had changed very suddenly, and nobody was sure what to think yet.
_______
When Anthony Barber had begun lunch he had been Chancellor of the Exchequer, but as he finished to the decidedly unwelcome news of Edward Heath’s resignation, it became very clear that he was now something else entirely.
Heath had decided not to take on a Deputy Prime Minister, and neither had he named a successor, which meant that Barber, as Chancellor, was the most likely choice to take over the ailing Conservative government. Truth be told, the prospect of doing so did not excite him one bit. Heath’s popularity amongst both the people and other political parties of the nation had fallen precipitously ever since the American government had imploded, and the trust that he commanded from the nation was hardly any better. Despite the best of his efforts, inflation and unemployment had only continued to get worse in the aftermath of the Mideast War and now this.
Now, as he got up, he was surrounded by aides and advisors, all telling him just how dire the situation was and what he would need to do in order to make sure that the government survived the year. Barber said nothing, he was wondering what the Labour and Liberal MPs would be doing to take advantage of the situation.
_______
“I’m still not pleased that you’re running for senate instead of lieutenant governor, like we talked about.” Glenn was on the phone with an Ohio Democratic party official, who was starting to realize that Glenn could not be swayed from his planned course of action.
“I’m aware,” Glenn said, “and I apologize for challenging Metzenbaum...I know he wants the seat but the thing is that I want it more. He can try for lieutenant governor for all I care.” The official made some unheard blustery comment before calming down.
“John,” he said pleadingly, “Howard Metzenbaum doesn’t want lieutenant governor either, and he’s been in politics for a lot longer than you, being a senator is hard work, you need to have spent time in the political game before you shoot for the top, and I’m not sure if your speeches before congress are the equivalent of Metzenbaum’s experience...” Now Glenn sighed.
“Do you want me to find you someone to try for lieutenant governor? Because I am going for senate and I will blow Metzenbaum out of the water if he doesn’t get out of my way.” The official shouted something to someone on the other end of the line, then sighed again, this time louder.
“Those votes you got at the convention last year are going to your head,” Glenn wasn’t sure if the man was joking or not, either way he sort of wanted to slap him, “but yes, if you can find me a suitable Ohio Democrat to run for lieutenant governor next year then I will leave you and Metzenbaum to duke it out.” Glenn didn’t hesitate.
“Jerry Springer.” The official was silent for a few seconds.
“Springer? That’s...that’s not a bad idea. What, are you buddies with him?” Glenn leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling of his office. He felt sad all of the sudden.
“He was a good friend of Bobby Kennedy, I met him a few times when I was out spending time with Ted and Bobby. He’s a good guy, one of the more honest congressmen I’ve met.” The official whistled.
“That’s good. That’s very good. I’ll relay the news and get back to you on what everyone says, alright?” Glenn affirmed and hung up the phone. He hated talking to the state’s Democratic offices and had been engaged in some fairly stormy conversations recently over the possibility of running for lieutenant governor as opposed to senator. Glenn had always maintained that he was gunning for the senate on the basis of becoming more visible to the public, but the real reason was more personal.
He had always wanted to serve alongside the Kennedies and interact with the members of the chamber. When they had been cut down, barely three weeks before, he had not reacted to the news for a bizarrely long time. At first he felt a sense of duty to make sure that the crisis didn’t tear the nation apart, then a sense of creeping unease at the aftermath. It hadn’t been until he had watched Brooke’s speech from the Capitol building that the enormity of the loss had hit him. Sitting next to his wife, watching a ragged and wide eyed President try to hold things together, he had broken down and wept for his dead friends.
Since then he felt like he had been operating on autopilot, only thinking about the future made him feel any better. The future held elections that he could win, goals that he could achieve and work that he could use to leave his sorrows behind. All the past held was ashes and death, he had seen far too much of that in his lifetime.
Achieving the senate would give him a sense of closure, even if he couldn’t share it with Ted and Bobby he could have the victory for the friends that they had left behind.
_______
In a very similar boat was George McGovern. The night of the 6th was more a collection of blurred images followed by a flashbulb of absolute and stunning pain. Everything since then had been crystal clear, even though he wanted nothing more than for it all to just go away.
Since the 6th he had not spoken more than a few sentences each day. He did his work mechanically, sometimes skipping meals, sometimes sitting in his office and staring hard at the chair in front of him, thinking of when one friend or another had sat there. He had last spoken to Ted Kennedy about hangover cures two days before his death, his last conversation with Bobby had been about the possibility of taking a vacation and going to Florida.
Florida still seemed nice. McGovern had lost others as well, he would never talk to Gerald Ford again, neither would he exchange small talk with a senior aide who had been killed in the White House blast. Seeing strangers occupying the seats of the dead, and different people running congress still gave him deja vu whenever he entered the chamber.
He had considered resigning his seat during the darkest night, when reports about violence flooded in nonstop from the south, the Freedom Party bayed for Brooke’s resignation and the grief that he felt cut like a knife. But he hadn’t. He had stayed put and though he felt like he was viewing events from a thousand miles away, he still did his best to work hard and try to smile. He wasn’t quite there yet but at the moment that was all that he could do.
_______
The news that NATO was officially disbanding caused the pound to drop 4% on the world market in less than twelve hours. The lira plummeted 9%, the dollar 2%, and a small handful of other currencies were virtually annihilated. Amongst those was the Cuban peso. But whereas the pound, the lira and the dollar were in wide usage and supported by a network of nations even in the midst of the economic turmoil of the new year, the peso was not.
Ordinarily the Soviet Union would have been there to soften the impact of any blow suffered by the currencies of its allies, but the Soviet Union was very nearly bankrupt and though in no danger of collapse, was also in no position to resuscitate the Cuban economy.
Similarly, the peso would have also had a base of gold and other precious materials to fall upon, but those had been spent in the desperate years since the Soviet Civil War, and there was not nearly enough left to prevent the peso from falling first ten, then twenty, then forty eight points in the space of twenty four hours.
In about the same amount of time that it took to fly transatlantic, the peso had entered hyperinflation and the economy of Cuba had decreased in value by roughly eighty five percent. While the internal economy of Cuba remained largely unchanged, for the time being, Castro, in the presidential palace, began to do the math regarding how many pesos it would take to purchase Cuba’s imports for the next year, and realized that he was short on money by an eight figure amount.
Castro was not the only one to realize the dire situation and by the end of the week tanks and soldiers were on the move, and not just on Castro’s orders. In a town five miles to the north of Havana seven people were shot to death by a military patrol for throwing rocks. The local police, having heard enough rumors about a potential collapse of the nation, returned fire and killed one of the soldiers. The first shots of the Cuban Civil War had just been fired.
Just as one area seems to become peaceful another area seems primed for chaos. :sigh:
Glad to see this back Anywhere.
Glad to see this back Anywhere.
Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.
Here's the the rise of Jerry Springer! Springer 1984? I'm also looking forward to the Cuban Civil War.
Here's the the rise of Jerry Springer! Springer 1984? I'm also looking forward to the Cuban Civil War.
Cuba won't be chaotic for long, there's too many powerful nations nearby for it to turn into another Central Asia.
And thank you, I'm glad to be back as well.
Thank you. I don't believe I've seen you on here before so welcome to the timeline.
Jerry Springer was born in London to non-American parents so unfortunately he cannot become President. He will be going places though. Not the White House. But places.
I almost never plan things out beyond a few months so I cannot assure you that he survives his term. We shall have to see.
Good to see this back.
Good to see the story back, AnywhereButOTL!
Thank you all very much.
48.
Gorbachev had met with American leaders and diplomats before, but always with Kosygin sitting beside him. Now there was nobody. Secretary of State Connally had asked for a private meeting, and Gorbachev watched as the American made his way to the table. Gorbachev had never met Connally before and while he had heard that the man had a reputation for being mild mannered and pleasant, he was still on edge as Connally extended a hand.
“Mr. Governor, pleasure to meet you.” Gorbachev nodded.
“Very good to see you too Mr. Secretary.” The titles felt stiff and awkward. Kosygin had apparently been on a first name basis with Bush despite his distaste for the former President, and Gorbachev wondered if asking Connally what he preferred to be called would be out of line. As he was wondering, Connally beat him to the punch.
“Do you mind if I call you Mikhail?” Gorbachev blinked, half frozen for a moment before nodding.
“Go ahead. What do you prefer?”
“Call me John.” Connally said, and pulled out a sheaf of papers. Gorbachev opened one of them, the first page contained a list of UN legislation and nuclear test treaties. Important agreements that would be lost if the UN were to implode.
“I think that we’re already in the same boat concerning the laws and agreements that are to be saved,” said Gorbachev, “what else is there?” Connally shut the sheaf.
“The General Secretary is dying isn’t he?” The sudden question caught Gorbachev off guard, but there was no deviousness hidden within it. Connally already knew the answer, he just wanted confirmation. Gorbachev wondered how to answer for a long time.
“Alexei is very ill right now,” he allowed, “that’s why I’m here instead of him.” Connally was silent for a few moments.
“I just hope that your ascension will be peaceful,” he said, “I don’t want to deal with a Soviet Union run by hardliners, especially so soon after the Cold War was ended.” Gorbachev shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Connally was testing his responses, he was all too aware of that, seeing what he thought about the feasibility of keeping the Cold War ended.
“I agree,” he said carefully, “we may not be allies but I do hope that we’re not enemies either. We need to work together in order to keep the world from imploding into chaos in the aftermath of President Bush’s crimes.” Connally didn’t show how he felt about that answer, which made Gorbachev nervous. He hid his worry though, he was doing well so far he thought, he hadn’t done anything wrong. Connally was still an unknown factor though, the man knew more about him than he did of him, and that also scared Gorbachev.
He had listened to Kosygin grouse about how Bush no longer considered the Soviet Union a superpower, and now he wondered if Connally held the same opinion. Probably. He was going to be in charge of giving Gorbachev’s country emergency food aid for the next six months after all. That was a lot of leverage, and yet, curiously, he didn’t seem to be using it.
“I agree,” Connally said finally, “and you shouldn’t be nervous. I’m not here to gouge you or get you to do anything that you don’t want to. I’m here to broker an agreement between our nations, and try to figure out some tough geopolitical questions as well.” Connally’s tone was calm and reassuring, he knew that Gorbachev was new to the game of international politics. That didn’t relax Gorbachev one bit. He had seen Bush rip concessions from Kosygin with tactless ease and did not want the same to be done to him. He would be in charge of the entire nation soon, and being seen as weak by the Americans would be disastrous.
“We agree on the UN question,” Gorbachev said, “do you mean Uyghurstan when you mention geopolitics?” Connally smiled faintly.
“I suppose so. We both agree that they are way out of line and are exporting terrorism and radiological weapons to battlegrounds in Central Asia, Pakistan, China and the Middle East. I realize that we declared the region a hands off zone the last time that our nations had a major summit, but that’s going to have to change if we want to stabilize the region.” Gorbachev had seen this coming. The fighting on the Kazakh border had been intensifying ever since the bombing of Mecca, and more troops were eventually going to have to be sent in order to quell the slowly growing violence. Dealing with Central Asia and Uyghurstan would have to be done eventually, but at the same time he knew that the Red Army was nowhere near ready for a large scale campaign like that.
“The current plan for the violence in Kazakhstan does not include an invasion of Central Asia,” Gorbachev said, “anti Soviet feelings are very high in Central Asia due to the atomic campaign waged there by Brezhnev. If Central Asia is to be pacified you’ll have to look elsewhere for manpower unfortunately.” Connally had expected an answer like that, and he noticed that Gorbachev had been careful not to state the real reasons. The Red Army had been mauled, first by the civil war, then by an ugly attempted coup that had killed several hundred people and caused thousands of others to disappear. The Soviets were in no shape to be fighting a major war, but neither was the United States.
Involvement in China, Pakistan and various conflicts all across the world had stretched American military might to the breaking point. Unless Brooke decided to use ICBMs against the trouble areas then there would be no American military involvement in Central Asia beyond special forces. What spare forces that the United States did have were being saved up for a potential invasion of Uyghurstan, and even there the ROC was going to be doing most of the lifting. The military had burnt through its volunteer reserves, and with the National Guard federalized and fighting civil unrest in the south, there were no reinforcements coming anytime soon.
Connally supposed that a draft could be enacted, but in the current political climate the word ‘draft‘ seemed to lengthen and morph into something more akin to ‘political suicide’. No, that would not work.
“Would other, more covert means be possible? If an invasion is off the table, especially in the event that it becomes necessary for us and the Chinese to go into Uyghurstan, could we count on Soviet backing in the region?” Gorbachev almost sighed with relief. Now he was back on solid ground again, he had concrete answers now, given to him by Kosygin.
“The short answer is yes,” Gorbachev said, “the long answer involves a full summit in which our commanders sit down and discuss strategy and the various roles that our forces will play in the region. Central Asia is a very dangerous, volatile place, we’ll need to establish bases of support and find a regime to back so that we can mold the area into a neutral zone, like Austria was during the Cold War.” Connally nodded, evidently he found that answer quite agreeable. At the same time he knew that Gorbachev was cutting his losses. Judging from the Central Asian refugee communities conglomerating in Afghanistan and elsewhere, those who had escaped the chaos in their homelands despised the Soviet Union, hating the United States just a little bit less. Covert operations in the region would have to be truly covert, and Connally briefly wondered who they were going to have to support in order to pacify the whole area.
“I’ll schedule it. There are other issues to focus on as well, such as the blight. It’s spread into Central Asia, possibly into Uyghurstan and Pakistan as well. We wont know until plants start growing. Our scientists have been working on a genetically modified wheat plant that’s shown some signs of resistance to the blight but we still have a long way to go before that’ll be complete. The Europeans are most definitely going to jump ship as soon as the export bans are lifted at the end of 1974, so I’m going to need to count on your nation for support in the cleanup phase.” Gorbachev nodded, feeling more secure. This was also an area where he had been coached by Kosygin on which answers were acceptable to give to the Americans.
“The progress that our scientists are making is indeed impressive, but it’ll be at least another year before we can start handing out samples of the crop in order to see just how effective it is at stopping the blight. Even then there will be those who do not trust it, especially in those nations that lack state run economies. I’d recommend making it a crime not to plant the blight resistant crop, or else you’ll see random patches of blight outbreaks for many years to come. If we can scrub it from the earth by the end of the decade then that would be a tremendous success.” Connally nodded.
“There will only be limited amounts of this new crop to hand out for the first year or so,” he said, “we’re going to need to assemble a triage list, like we did when the blight first broke out.” Gorbachev nodded slowly.
“Our nations will get it first, that much is non-negotiable, we developed it after all. It is also important to deliver supplies of it into India.” Connally shook his head.
“Gandhi and his cronies wouldn’t take it from us. They hate the United States for bombing them and they hate the Soviet Union for not stepping in. We’ll leave India to rot if they get contaminated. At least until a more sensible government is in power.” Gorbachev frowned.
“You may be right but it is important to make an effort, so that at very least we can come out looking like the good guys when people in India start dying of starvation. It’ll also make it easier for whichever government comes after Gandhi to come to us for help once they rid themselves of that clown.” Connally said nothing for a few moments, then nodded curtly.
“I’ll think about it. Our nations have a lot of work to do over the next few months, and this, sadly, is only the tip of the iceberg.” Gorbachev sat back as Connally retreated from the room to discuss events with his aides and advisors. Picking up the phone, Gorbachev dialed Kosygin. He had made headway with the Americans, and while he already knew that Kosygin would criticize him for being too welcoming, he was proud of what he had done. Connally seemed like a decent guy, and if everything continued to work out, then these new agreements could prove to be a very bright light in the midst of an endless night.
_______
“Cuba?” Brooke asked, feeling somewhat sorry that he had sent Connally off to Moscow to meet with the Soviets. Defense Secretary Clifford nodded, he looked somewhat concerned.
“Yes sir. We’re hesitant to say whether it’s a full blown civil war or just civil unrest, but according to some unconfirmed reports coming in, the military seems to have split apart. Some of it is supporting Castro, most of it seems intent on fighting against Castro, and a small portion has just fled into the countryside. It’s a mess.” Brooke nodded and glanced at Rogers, who looked similarly perplexed.
“I honestly didn’t see this coming.” He said, Clifford flipped a page, revealing a set of schematics.
“This is SR-71 overflight surveillance data,” he said, the pictures showed a section of Cuban land to the south of Havana, “the rebellious military units have begun to congregate somewhere around here, in Bejucal. At least one plane coming out of Havana has been shot down so the rebellious military units have managed to at least partially encircle the city.” Brooke’s frown deepened.
“What about Guantanamo?” Clifford shook his head.
“Most of the violence has been in the northern part of the country. There have been isolated reports of gunfire within the city but nothing has touched the base.” Brooke looked at the overflight photos. Bejucal was very close to Havana, only a few miles by road.
“Any idea who’s leading the breakaway faction of the military?” Clifford shook his head.
“We’ll find out in the next few days. In any case, we need to decide what we’re going to do, and get ready for refugees to start coming across the Gulf.” That made Brooke wince, his men were already stretched thin down there trying to deal with American refugees from the fighting, what were they going to do with the thousands of homeless Cubans who would soon be arriving?
“Speaking of which,” Rogers said, “how is the Cuban community in Florida reacting to this?” Clifford was silent for a few moments.
“We don’t know that either.” He said finally, and Brooke stood.
“Find out who’s in charge of the breakaway faction of the military and try to stop the Cubans from reenacting the Bay of Pigs if you can...I need to speak to FEMA.” Brooke exited the room and Clifford shook his head.
“I hope that Connally has better news than this.” He muttered, Rogers got up, he had a meeting with the Speaker of the House in less than an hour.
“Don’t worry Clark,” he said, trying to sound reassuring, “you’re doing fine.” Clifford nodded but rogers could tell that the Secretary of Defense was deeply worried. That did not sit well with him at all.
_______
“Parliament is deeply unhappy with the concessions made by the Americans...as well as the recent announcement that humanitarian efforts are to be based off of at least one American aircraft carrier.” Gandhi gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the headache throbbing deep within his skull. It hadn’t gone away for three days now, no matter how many pills he took.
“Fuck Parliament.” He growled, and Bansi Lal shook his head.
“I know that they’re misguided,” Lal said, “but you have to work with them in order to keep the nation on your side.” Gandhi scowled. Lal was trying to calm him down, he knew that, but he didn’t want to be calm. He wanted to line up the dissidents who criticized him and have them shot.
“They’re ceremonial,” Gandhi said, “they have no real power and yet they try to tell me what to do anyways. I’d like to see any of them act differently. They’d have done the exact same goddamn thing or else there would be American nukes raining down on us right now!” Lal nodded.
“Yes, but that wont stop them from criticizing you. You’ve brought the country to a very critical juncture and right now you need to step carefully otherwise they may attempt to overthrow you. Either them or the Sikhs.” That made Gandhi’s frown deepen as what felt like a broken bottle stabbed at something tender behind his eyes.
“The Muslims too,” he muttered, “the Naxalites, the untouchables, the fucking bleeding hearts...is there anyone that I can trust?” Lal nodded.
“You can trust the Army,” he said, “they’re glad that you’ve kept them out of danger for all of this time. You can trust the Hindutva...to a point.” At that Gandhi’s frown eased a little bit.
“The Hindutva,” he said, “that’s not such a bad idea. You’re a good man Bansi, I hope you’ll excuse me, I need to attend a meeting.” Lal glanced at Gandhi’s schedule as the man left. There was no meeting on it, Gandhi had a large blank spot covering the next few hours. Lal wondered what his boss was doing but decided that he would figure it out eventually. So long as it didn’t involve the Parliament then he would be fine with it. He prayed that that wasn’t too much to hope for.
_______
Salim was walking and deep in thought when somebody tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped and almost threw a punch but stopped himself when he saw a uniform. It was the soldier once again, the very same man that had first given him the Hindutva pamphlets.
“I thought I recognized you,” the man said with a smile, “how are you?” Salim forced a smile.
“I’m well. Still recovering from the mess outside of the American embassy.” The soldier nodded, his smile vanishing. He motioned to a nearby bench and they sat down.
“That’s part of why I’m here,” he said, “I’m looking for other members of our Hindutva chapter. We’ve been ordered to mobilize for something big.” Salim wondered what that could be. If it was another misguided crusade against the Americans then he already knew just how quickly he would be walking the other direction. But if it was something else...that could be fun.
“Something big?” The soldier nodded.
“It’s being hushed up of course, you are to speak to nobody about this except your fellow Hindutva members. We meet at the usual spot on February 1st at eight o’clock at night. Will you be there?” Salim nodded, he supposed that it couldn’t hurt, even if he was feeling hesitant after the embassy debacle.
“Nothing involving embassies, right?” The soldier shook his head.
“The Americans evacuated their embassy. Same with the Chinese, the Soviets and everyone else that let them bomb us. There’s just a bunch of empty buildings now, so unless we decide to go for a brisk hike across the border and attack their troops in Pakistan then we will not see a single American.” That gladdened Salim considerably, he had been unaware of the evacuation of the American embassy.
“Of course.” The soldier stood and glanced across the streets, which were choked with people. A half dozen policemen stood along the street, assault rifles gripped loosely.
“I’ll see you at the meeting.” Salim nodded and watched the soldier disappear into the crowd before getting up and resuming his walk. He had been paid well for his work clearing the slum and would soon be taking a train to go and help clear another one. The Hindutva meeting would be before that though, he could listen to what they had to say and still have time to leave the city. Hindutva hadn’t ended up being quite as much fun as he had hoped, but it was still a good way to spend time. Better than dealing with the parasites at least. Much better.
_______
A nation away, Colonel Schwarzkopf was learning about the aftermath of an assault mounted by his men against a fortified mortar emplacement above his embattled troops. The assault had succeeded, though four men were dead and another five wounded badly enough to need immediate evacuation. The enemy had been completely routed though, nineteen killed with enough blood trails leading away that the fire team atop the ridge had tacked a half dozen probable enemy kills onto the end of their report.
Schwarzkopf had called a helicopter to evacuate the wounded men. There was little danger of enemy fire atop the ridge, and by the time the chopper arrived they would have been able to clear a decent landing zone from which they could offload supplies. Already he had men hiking to the captured firebase with light mortars. Now that the jihadists had lost the ridge they would be forced to trek through the mountains, where Schwarzkopf’s air support could pick them off at will.
The battle was slowly being won, and as soon as artillery was placed atop the ridge then Schwarzkopf knew that the fight would be over. Even now the jihadists seemed to be growing desperate. Just the day before he had received news of a column of retreating jihadists who had been laden with wounded and broken supplies. They had been mowed down by a pair of gunships, but the mere fact that they were moving in the daytime indicated that they were growing desperate and possibly even deserting the fight altogether.
The idea of the battle being over gladdened Schwarzkopf immensely. He was proud of the job that his men were doing, but every single casualty tore at him and he often laid awake at night, listening to the occasional ragged exchange of fire and wondering if there was something different that he could have done in order to prevent one man or another from being killed or maimed. No answers ever materialized though, and so Schwarzkopf carried onwards, relaying news to the rear and receiving information in turn.
Multan was in the process of being decontaminated, the possibility of an invasion of Uyghurstan was growing by the day, and the insurgency in southern Pakistan had completely collapsed. The northern mountains appeared to be the only bastion of extremism left in the entire country, and the fact that he was beating the jihadists quite handily encouraged Schwarzkopf, even if he knew that the war wouldn’t yet be over for a long time to come.
He had requested extra fuel to be brought to him for when he felt that the jihadists were weak enough to be moved against without him sustaining any serious casualties. The terrain further to the north was tricky and even one lucky shot against one of his tanks could kill more men than had been lost in the entire month long fight.
He had a supply line going south now, and expected the fuel to arrive within the week. That, along with the artillery, were the final elements of the campaign that would need to be added before he could win the entire thing. If he was lucky this would prompt a collapse of the entire jihadist front and send them packing back to Uyghurstan. the thought of that was welcome. The thought of chasing them across the border, as had been threatened by the President and many other powerful people, was not.
Schwarzkopf did not enjoy the idea of trying to occupy Uyghurstan, even if the Chinese would be doing most of the work. Pakistan was a nation of twenty two million people and subduing even half of it had taken thirty months and more than four thousand American casualties. Uyghurstan was similar in population, and had a lot more guns. Uyghurstan also very possibly had access to nuclear weapons, and the thought of being used as a guinea pig to determine that fact did not leave good thoughts in Schwarzkopf’s mind.
Of course, the invasion had not happened yet, and maybe it wouldn’t. After all, when the bombing of India had been happening he had heard many rumors about a potential invasion of India, and that, thank God, had not happened. When jihadist forces advanced on Riyadh there had been word of an invasion of Saudi Arabia, and that had not happened either. Perhaps Uyghurstan would be the same?
One could only hope.
Gorbachev had met with American leaders and diplomats before, but always with Kosygin sitting beside him. Now there was nobody. Secretary of State Connally had asked for a private meeting, and Gorbachev watched as the American made his way to the table. Gorbachev had never met Connally before and while he had heard that the man had a reputation for being mild mannered and pleasant, he was still on edge as Connally extended a hand.
“Mr. Governor, pleasure to meet you.” Gorbachev nodded.
“Very good to see you too Mr. Secretary.” The titles felt stiff and awkward. Kosygin had apparently been on a first name basis with Bush despite his distaste for the former President, and Gorbachev wondered if asking Connally what he preferred to be called would be out of line. As he was wondering, Connally beat him to the punch.
“Do you mind if I call you Mikhail?” Gorbachev blinked, half frozen for a moment before nodding.
“Go ahead. What do you prefer?”
“Call me John.” Connally said, and pulled out a sheaf of papers. Gorbachev opened one of them, the first page contained a list of UN legislation and nuclear test treaties. Important agreements that would be lost if the UN were to implode.
“I think that we’re already in the same boat concerning the laws and agreements that are to be saved,” said Gorbachev, “what else is there?” Connally shut the sheaf.
“The General Secretary is dying isn’t he?” The sudden question caught Gorbachev off guard, but there was no deviousness hidden within it. Connally already knew the answer, he just wanted confirmation. Gorbachev wondered how to answer for a long time.
“Alexei is very ill right now,” he allowed, “that’s why I’m here instead of him.” Connally was silent for a few moments.
“I just hope that your ascension will be peaceful,” he said, “I don’t want to deal with a Soviet Union run by hardliners, especially so soon after the Cold War was ended.” Gorbachev shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Connally was testing his responses, he was all too aware of that, seeing what he thought about the feasibility of keeping the Cold War ended.
“I agree,” he said carefully, “we may not be allies but I do hope that we’re not enemies either. We need to work together in order to keep the world from imploding into chaos in the aftermath of President Bush’s crimes.” Connally didn’t show how he felt about that answer, which made Gorbachev nervous. He hid his worry though, he was doing well so far he thought, he hadn’t done anything wrong. Connally was still an unknown factor though, the man knew more about him than he did of him, and that also scared Gorbachev.
He had listened to Kosygin grouse about how Bush no longer considered the Soviet Union a superpower, and now he wondered if Connally held the same opinion. Probably. He was going to be in charge of giving Gorbachev’s country emergency food aid for the next six months after all. That was a lot of leverage, and yet, curiously, he didn’t seem to be using it.
“I agree,” Connally said finally, “and you shouldn’t be nervous. I’m not here to gouge you or get you to do anything that you don’t want to. I’m here to broker an agreement between our nations, and try to figure out some tough geopolitical questions as well.” Connally’s tone was calm and reassuring, he knew that Gorbachev was new to the game of international politics. That didn’t relax Gorbachev one bit. He had seen Bush rip concessions from Kosygin with tactless ease and did not want the same to be done to him. He would be in charge of the entire nation soon, and being seen as weak by the Americans would be disastrous.
“We agree on the UN question,” Gorbachev said, “do you mean Uyghurstan when you mention geopolitics?” Connally smiled faintly.
“I suppose so. We both agree that they are way out of line and are exporting terrorism and radiological weapons to battlegrounds in Central Asia, Pakistan, China and the Middle East. I realize that we declared the region a hands off zone the last time that our nations had a major summit, but that’s going to have to change if we want to stabilize the region.” Gorbachev had seen this coming. The fighting on the Kazakh border had been intensifying ever since the bombing of Mecca, and more troops were eventually going to have to be sent in order to quell the slowly growing violence. Dealing with Central Asia and Uyghurstan would have to be done eventually, but at the same time he knew that the Red Army was nowhere near ready for a large scale campaign like that.
“The current plan for the violence in Kazakhstan does not include an invasion of Central Asia,” Gorbachev said, “anti Soviet feelings are very high in Central Asia due to the atomic campaign waged there by Brezhnev. If Central Asia is to be pacified you’ll have to look elsewhere for manpower unfortunately.” Connally had expected an answer like that, and he noticed that Gorbachev had been careful not to state the real reasons. The Red Army had been mauled, first by the civil war, then by an ugly attempted coup that had killed several hundred people and caused thousands of others to disappear. The Soviets were in no shape to be fighting a major war, but neither was the United States.
Involvement in China, Pakistan and various conflicts all across the world had stretched American military might to the breaking point. Unless Brooke decided to use ICBMs against the trouble areas then there would be no American military involvement in Central Asia beyond special forces. What spare forces that the United States did have were being saved up for a potential invasion of Uyghurstan, and even there the ROC was going to be doing most of the lifting. The military had burnt through its volunteer reserves, and with the National Guard federalized and fighting civil unrest in the south, there were no reinforcements coming anytime soon.
Connally supposed that a draft could be enacted, but in the current political climate the word ‘draft‘ seemed to lengthen and morph into something more akin to ‘political suicide’. No, that would not work.
“Would other, more covert means be possible? If an invasion is off the table, especially in the event that it becomes necessary for us and the Chinese to go into Uyghurstan, could we count on Soviet backing in the region?” Gorbachev almost sighed with relief. Now he was back on solid ground again, he had concrete answers now, given to him by Kosygin.
“The short answer is yes,” Gorbachev said, “the long answer involves a full summit in which our commanders sit down and discuss strategy and the various roles that our forces will play in the region. Central Asia is a very dangerous, volatile place, we’ll need to establish bases of support and find a regime to back so that we can mold the area into a neutral zone, like Austria was during the Cold War.” Connally nodded, evidently he found that answer quite agreeable. At the same time he knew that Gorbachev was cutting his losses. Judging from the Central Asian refugee communities conglomerating in Afghanistan and elsewhere, those who had escaped the chaos in their homelands despised the Soviet Union, hating the United States just a little bit less. Covert operations in the region would have to be truly covert, and Connally briefly wondered who they were going to have to support in order to pacify the whole area.
“I’ll schedule it. There are other issues to focus on as well, such as the blight. It’s spread into Central Asia, possibly into Uyghurstan and Pakistan as well. We wont know until plants start growing. Our scientists have been working on a genetically modified wheat plant that’s shown some signs of resistance to the blight but we still have a long way to go before that’ll be complete. The Europeans are most definitely going to jump ship as soon as the export bans are lifted at the end of 1974, so I’m going to need to count on your nation for support in the cleanup phase.” Gorbachev nodded, feeling more secure. This was also an area where he had been coached by Kosygin on which answers were acceptable to give to the Americans.
“The progress that our scientists are making is indeed impressive, but it’ll be at least another year before we can start handing out samples of the crop in order to see just how effective it is at stopping the blight. Even then there will be those who do not trust it, especially in those nations that lack state run economies. I’d recommend making it a crime not to plant the blight resistant crop, or else you’ll see random patches of blight outbreaks for many years to come. If we can scrub it from the earth by the end of the decade then that would be a tremendous success.” Connally nodded.
“There will only be limited amounts of this new crop to hand out for the first year or so,” he said, “we’re going to need to assemble a triage list, like we did when the blight first broke out.” Gorbachev nodded slowly.
“Our nations will get it first, that much is non-negotiable, we developed it after all. It is also important to deliver supplies of it into India.” Connally shook his head.
“Gandhi and his cronies wouldn’t take it from us. They hate the United States for bombing them and they hate the Soviet Union for not stepping in. We’ll leave India to rot if they get contaminated. At least until a more sensible government is in power.” Gorbachev frowned.
“You may be right but it is important to make an effort, so that at very least we can come out looking like the good guys when people in India start dying of starvation. It’ll also make it easier for whichever government comes after Gandhi to come to us for help once they rid themselves of that clown.” Connally said nothing for a few moments, then nodded curtly.
“I’ll think about it. Our nations have a lot of work to do over the next few months, and this, sadly, is only the tip of the iceberg.” Gorbachev sat back as Connally retreated from the room to discuss events with his aides and advisors. Picking up the phone, Gorbachev dialed Kosygin. He had made headway with the Americans, and while he already knew that Kosygin would criticize him for being too welcoming, he was proud of what he had done. Connally seemed like a decent guy, and if everything continued to work out, then these new agreements could prove to be a very bright light in the midst of an endless night.
_______
“Cuba?” Brooke asked, feeling somewhat sorry that he had sent Connally off to Moscow to meet with the Soviets. Defense Secretary Clifford nodded, he looked somewhat concerned.
“Yes sir. We’re hesitant to say whether it’s a full blown civil war or just civil unrest, but according to some unconfirmed reports coming in, the military seems to have split apart. Some of it is supporting Castro, most of it seems intent on fighting against Castro, and a small portion has just fled into the countryside. It’s a mess.” Brooke nodded and glanced at Rogers, who looked similarly perplexed.
“I honestly didn’t see this coming.” He said, Clifford flipped a page, revealing a set of schematics.
“This is SR-71 overflight surveillance data,” he said, the pictures showed a section of Cuban land to the south of Havana, “the rebellious military units have begun to congregate somewhere around here, in Bejucal. At least one plane coming out of Havana has been shot down so the rebellious military units have managed to at least partially encircle the city.” Brooke’s frown deepened.
“What about Guantanamo?” Clifford shook his head.
“Most of the violence has been in the northern part of the country. There have been isolated reports of gunfire within the city but nothing has touched the base.” Brooke looked at the overflight photos. Bejucal was very close to Havana, only a few miles by road.
“Any idea who’s leading the breakaway faction of the military?” Clifford shook his head.
“We’ll find out in the next few days. In any case, we need to decide what we’re going to do, and get ready for refugees to start coming across the Gulf.” That made Brooke wince, his men were already stretched thin down there trying to deal with American refugees from the fighting, what were they going to do with the thousands of homeless Cubans who would soon be arriving?
“Speaking of which,” Rogers said, “how is the Cuban community in Florida reacting to this?” Clifford was silent for a few moments.
“We don’t know that either.” He said finally, and Brooke stood.
“Find out who’s in charge of the breakaway faction of the military and try to stop the Cubans from reenacting the Bay of Pigs if you can...I need to speak to FEMA.” Brooke exited the room and Clifford shook his head.
“I hope that Connally has better news than this.” He muttered, Rogers got up, he had a meeting with the Speaker of the House in less than an hour.
“Don’t worry Clark,” he said, trying to sound reassuring, “you’re doing fine.” Clifford nodded but rogers could tell that the Secretary of Defense was deeply worried. That did not sit well with him at all.
_______
“Parliament is deeply unhappy with the concessions made by the Americans...as well as the recent announcement that humanitarian efforts are to be based off of at least one American aircraft carrier.” Gandhi gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the headache throbbing deep within his skull. It hadn’t gone away for three days now, no matter how many pills he took.
“Fuck Parliament.” He growled, and Bansi Lal shook his head.
“I know that they’re misguided,” Lal said, “but you have to work with them in order to keep the nation on your side.” Gandhi scowled. Lal was trying to calm him down, he knew that, but he didn’t want to be calm. He wanted to line up the dissidents who criticized him and have them shot.
“They’re ceremonial,” Gandhi said, “they have no real power and yet they try to tell me what to do anyways. I’d like to see any of them act differently. They’d have done the exact same goddamn thing or else there would be American nukes raining down on us right now!” Lal nodded.
“Yes, but that wont stop them from criticizing you. You’ve brought the country to a very critical juncture and right now you need to step carefully otherwise they may attempt to overthrow you. Either them or the Sikhs.” That made Gandhi’s frown deepen as what felt like a broken bottle stabbed at something tender behind his eyes.
“The Muslims too,” he muttered, “the Naxalites, the untouchables, the fucking bleeding hearts...is there anyone that I can trust?” Lal nodded.
“You can trust the Army,” he said, “they’re glad that you’ve kept them out of danger for all of this time. You can trust the Hindutva...to a point.” At that Gandhi’s frown eased a little bit.
“The Hindutva,” he said, “that’s not such a bad idea. You’re a good man Bansi, I hope you’ll excuse me, I need to attend a meeting.” Lal glanced at Gandhi’s schedule as the man left. There was no meeting on it, Gandhi had a large blank spot covering the next few hours. Lal wondered what his boss was doing but decided that he would figure it out eventually. So long as it didn’t involve the Parliament then he would be fine with it. He prayed that that wasn’t too much to hope for.
_______
Salim was walking and deep in thought when somebody tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped and almost threw a punch but stopped himself when he saw a uniform. It was the soldier once again, the very same man that had first given him the Hindutva pamphlets.
“I thought I recognized you,” the man said with a smile, “how are you?” Salim forced a smile.
“I’m well. Still recovering from the mess outside of the American embassy.” The soldier nodded, his smile vanishing. He motioned to a nearby bench and they sat down.
“That’s part of why I’m here,” he said, “I’m looking for other members of our Hindutva chapter. We’ve been ordered to mobilize for something big.” Salim wondered what that could be. If it was another misguided crusade against the Americans then he already knew just how quickly he would be walking the other direction. But if it was something else...that could be fun.
“Something big?” The soldier nodded.
“It’s being hushed up of course, you are to speak to nobody about this except your fellow Hindutva members. We meet at the usual spot on February 1st at eight o’clock at night. Will you be there?” Salim nodded, he supposed that it couldn’t hurt, even if he was feeling hesitant after the embassy debacle.
“Nothing involving embassies, right?” The soldier shook his head.
“The Americans evacuated their embassy. Same with the Chinese, the Soviets and everyone else that let them bomb us. There’s just a bunch of empty buildings now, so unless we decide to go for a brisk hike across the border and attack their troops in Pakistan then we will not see a single American.” That gladdened Salim considerably, he had been unaware of the evacuation of the American embassy.
“Of course.” The soldier stood and glanced across the streets, which were choked with people. A half dozen policemen stood along the street, assault rifles gripped loosely.
“I’ll see you at the meeting.” Salim nodded and watched the soldier disappear into the crowd before getting up and resuming his walk. He had been paid well for his work clearing the slum and would soon be taking a train to go and help clear another one. The Hindutva meeting would be before that though, he could listen to what they had to say and still have time to leave the city. Hindutva hadn’t ended up being quite as much fun as he had hoped, but it was still a good way to spend time. Better than dealing with the parasites at least. Much better.
_______
A nation away, Colonel Schwarzkopf was learning about the aftermath of an assault mounted by his men against a fortified mortar emplacement above his embattled troops. The assault had succeeded, though four men were dead and another five wounded badly enough to need immediate evacuation. The enemy had been completely routed though, nineteen killed with enough blood trails leading away that the fire team atop the ridge had tacked a half dozen probable enemy kills onto the end of their report.
Schwarzkopf had called a helicopter to evacuate the wounded men. There was little danger of enemy fire atop the ridge, and by the time the chopper arrived they would have been able to clear a decent landing zone from which they could offload supplies. Already he had men hiking to the captured firebase with light mortars. Now that the jihadists had lost the ridge they would be forced to trek through the mountains, where Schwarzkopf’s air support could pick them off at will.
The battle was slowly being won, and as soon as artillery was placed atop the ridge then Schwarzkopf knew that the fight would be over. Even now the jihadists seemed to be growing desperate. Just the day before he had received news of a column of retreating jihadists who had been laden with wounded and broken supplies. They had been mowed down by a pair of gunships, but the mere fact that they were moving in the daytime indicated that they were growing desperate and possibly even deserting the fight altogether.
The idea of the battle being over gladdened Schwarzkopf immensely. He was proud of the job that his men were doing, but every single casualty tore at him and he often laid awake at night, listening to the occasional ragged exchange of fire and wondering if there was something different that he could have done in order to prevent one man or another from being killed or maimed. No answers ever materialized though, and so Schwarzkopf carried onwards, relaying news to the rear and receiving information in turn.
Multan was in the process of being decontaminated, the possibility of an invasion of Uyghurstan was growing by the day, and the insurgency in southern Pakistan had completely collapsed. The northern mountains appeared to be the only bastion of extremism left in the entire country, and the fact that he was beating the jihadists quite handily encouraged Schwarzkopf, even if he knew that the war wouldn’t yet be over for a long time to come.
He had requested extra fuel to be brought to him for when he felt that the jihadists were weak enough to be moved against without him sustaining any serious casualties. The terrain further to the north was tricky and even one lucky shot against one of his tanks could kill more men than had been lost in the entire month long fight.
He had a supply line going south now, and expected the fuel to arrive within the week. That, along with the artillery, were the final elements of the campaign that would need to be added before he could win the entire thing. If he was lucky this would prompt a collapse of the entire jihadist front and send them packing back to Uyghurstan. the thought of that was welcome. The thought of chasing them across the border, as had been threatened by the President and many other powerful people, was not.
Schwarzkopf did not enjoy the idea of trying to occupy Uyghurstan, even if the Chinese would be doing most of the work. Pakistan was a nation of twenty two million people and subduing even half of it had taken thirty months and more than four thousand American casualties. Uyghurstan was similar in population, and had a lot more guns. Uyghurstan also very possibly had access to nuclear weapons, and the thought of being used as a guinea pig to determine that fact did not leave good thoughts in Schwarzkopf’s mind.
Of course, the invasion had not happened yet, and maybe it wouldn’t. After all, when the bombing of India had been happening he had heard many rumors about a potential invasion of India, and that, thank God, had not happened. When jihadist forces advanced on Riyadh there had been word of an invasion of Saudi Arabia, and that had not happened either. Perhaps Uyghurstan would be the same?
One could only hope.
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