I decided to create this thread as a sort of more in depth version of the TL Ideas you have, but lack the wherewithal to execute thread. Sort of a dumping ground for POD’s that pop into your head, but that you lack the interest in pursuing. But rather than just list the POD, I decided to create this thread as a sort of collection of “first chapters” of these never to be finished TL. Thought this would be a fun project, and a cool place to read some literal mini-TL’s. Just a few things on this:
I realize some POD’s may work and others don’t. This is more of a brainstorming thing rather than an actual timeline, so if I (or anyone else) posts something that you feel is total ASB, its fine to say so, but don’t linger on it because the TL is probably not going anywhere.
Second, feel free to steal these if you want. I have these ideas pop into my head, and once I decide I won’t do a TL, I still like to put the original idea down. If you want to take that first update and run with it, feel free. You have my permission!
If you have your own POD/TLIAD type of things you want to post here, feel free! This will be a community thing, so feel free to take advantage of this. But if you have plans on finishing the TL, keep in mind that unless you say otherwise, anything posted here will be treated as community property. Anyone can take over any of these TL’s posted here if they want unless it is specifically requested by the original author not to do so. So without further delay, I’ll start…
____________________________________________________________
February 15, 1969:
The King shifted uncomfortably in his chair as his advisors looked over the documents. He was still unsure of this new American ambassador. The former American Congressman had eyes on bigger things, that much was clear. He was too young, and too ambitious. And perhaps more troubling was his clear desire to use his office as an opportunity to polish his resume. He made no secret since coming to the country that he would be the Ambassador to the United Nations before the end of the year, that this was just a stepping stone. Still, they both shared a common fear, even if it were for different reasons. A coup that deposed the royal family could scuttle this young mans career as a diplomat before it even got off the ground. He couldn’t be known as the man who let another Arab ally fall to the Nasserites.
“This, this is incredible,” the General said as he closed the file, “I must say, I find it hard to believe.”
“We have our methods of finding information your grace,” the Ambassador said calmly as he sipped his fruit juice, “keep in mind, the Italians, the British and the Americans share a common goal here.”
The King looked at his staff for some sort of sign. His nephew appeared almost catatonic with shock.
“How could this be?” he mumbled under his breath, “an Israeli?”
“Well, we are not saying that,” the ambassador said with a chuckle, “what we do believe is this: he’s Jewish, or at least half Jewish.”
“Are you absolutely sure?” the General asked as he dropped the folder, “can you be positive of this?”
The ambassador smiled.
“No, we are not 100% sure. But General, the Central Intelligence Agency has only been on this case since I was appointed last month. In less than six weeks this is what we came up with. We can keep digging, but it’s going to look bad for you if it we find the smoking gun. If it comes out that you knew as early as February and you did nothing. But let's be honest. This should be sufficient for our needs.”
The King felt his heart beating rapidly. He knew that the Americans were very close to the Israelis. And yet this ambassador had little problem doing…this. The King could read between the lines. This information was going to be released by the Americans. They wanted this man eliminated, and if the King wouldn’t do what was suggested, they would act unilaterally. This ambassador would take whatever steps needed isolate the Movement…and destroy it.
Perhaps it was true. Perhaps the man did have Jewish blood in him. And if that came out, that would be to the citizens of this country. Even Nasser himself would distance himself from the increasingly troublesome officer. But still, the King couldn’t believe this new ambassador, or his rabidly anti-communist President who just took office last month. He realized they would stop at nothing to quash any perceived threat to their world order. They would destroy anyone who threatened American influence in the Middle East.
“What do you suggest?” the King asked softly.
“We have a plane waiting at Wheelus Air Base,” the ambassador said with a smile, “have your men seize him and bring him to us. Then we will fly him to Israel. Once it comes out that this Jewish officer was plotting your overthrow on behalf of the Israelis, we can expand our activities to destroy the Free Officer’s Movement. Hell, we might even be able to get that son of a bitch Nasser himself. It will give you an excuse to kill every Soviet agent who is plotting in your military, and it will give us the perfect opportunity to discredit the Baathist movement all over the Middle East. We plan to send plenty of photos of that son of a bitch walking off the airplane in Israel to every friendly Arab regime in the world.”
“You want to fly him to Israel?” the King asked incredulously, “what makes you think they will take him?”
The ambassador laughed.
“Whose idea do you think this is your grace?”
“And what if he refuses to get off the plane and seek refuge in Israel?” the General asked, “what then?”
“Your Grace,” the ambassador replied, “he is going to walk out of that airplane on his own free will. Because if not, if he is still on that airplane when it leaves Tel Aviv…well, let’s just say he won’t be on the plane when it lands back at Weelus Air Base.”
The king felt his head spin. He couldn’t believe that he was indirectly conspiring with the Israelis…but he also couldn’t ignore this opportunity. He could purge the military and crush the Free Officer’s Movement once and for all with this information. Their leader…a Jew! How could the Movement survive? He could have every officer and every member of the growing Ba’ath party liquidated with this information…and who would dare stand up and defend them?
“I agree.” The King said firmly, “General, send your men to arrest the Zionist spy.”
The General smiled as jumped to his feet.
“I would like to thank you Ambassador Bush-“
“Please your highness, call me George.”
“Thank you George. I will not forget all you’ve done to help this country.”
The ambassador smiled.
“Well, if I ever end up in the private sector working for some oil company, you can repay the favor then.”
The King chuckled as he stood up. It all seemed so surreal…one of the greatest threats to his country was about to be put on an American plane and shipped to Tel Aviv. He smiled as he wondered to himself what sort of life Colonel Muammar Gaddafi would end up having after a reluctant citizen of Israel.
_____________________________________________________________________
December 8, 1980:
The woman caressed the handle of the knife in her jacket. She knew that this time, there could be no mistake. Not after Zeppelin. Not after Jimmy Page. Over four years in a mental institution…and all she wanted to do was to help him. To warn him about…the bad energy. But this time, she would make no mistakes. She would not take “no” for an answer. She somehow knew that once the knife entered him that he would be protected…protected from the evil. She had to get close enough to cut him, though. To save him. To release him.
“Cold night, huh?” the photographer said as he blew into his hands.
The woman ignored him. She was sick of the small talk and tried to make it clear to them that she was here for a more important purpose than a simple autograph. This was something…divine.
“Well, damn shame you weren’t here a couple of hours ago,” the photographer said with a laugh, “he was signing for fans then.”
The woman glared at the photographer.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” the photographer asked as he stared at her face intently, “I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
The woman dropped her eyes to the ground. The last thing she needed now was to be recognized.
The photographer continued to stare at the woman before walking away towards the door.
“He’s coming!” a young man whispered, as he bumped past her, “He’s coming back.”
The woman’s eyes lit up. This was it. This was the opportunity that she had been waiting for…for her entire life. This was the chance to free him.”
The limousine stopped just a few feet from the young man with the album. Other fans began to arrive as the man and his wife and child stepped out of the limousine. There was only a small window, and she knew she needed to act now.
“Helter Skelter!” she screamed as she pulled out the knife and ran towards the man. She swung the knife once before she felt a strong arm grab her and forcefully throw her to the ground.
“Goddamn it!” the doorman yelled, “drop it!”
The woman looked up to see the man clutching his arm. Blood dripped down onto the pavement, but she could tell that she had failed. She would not prevent it from happening. She would not be able to free him.
“I’m sorry Charlie!” she wailed as the doorman shook the knife out of her hand.
The doorman looked up at the photographer.
“Good looking out Paul,” he said as the woman continued to scream.
“Thanks,” the photographer said nervously as he looked up at the injured man. A concierge was making a tourniquet for him with his jacket as the woman tried to shield her young child from the scene. Paul Goresh still felt relieved. The man’s injuries, though frightening, were clearly superficial. This could have ended in disaster had it not been for the quick thinking doorman, an ex-CIA agent who took his warning seriously.
“Jose,” Paul Goresh had said just moments ago, “You better keep an eye on that one.”
The photographer then saw a small coin purse on the sidewalk. He bent over and picked it up, opening it to reveal an ID…and a photograph of Charlie Manson.
“Jose, check this out,” Paul Goresh said as he walked over to the doorman who was still holding the woman down, “I found her ID. It says here her name is Lynette Fromme.”
The gruff doorman nodded but paid little attention to the ID card.
“Leave all that alone,” he said firmly, “it’s evidence. And make sure nobody touches that gun over there.”
Paul Goresh looked off and saw the unmistakable sight of a handgun on the pavement just a few feet from where they were standing. Near it was a book laying on the ground. He walked over to it and picked it up.
“Jesus Paul,” the doorman said, “I told you not to touch anything! It’s all evidence!”
“No Jose,” the photographer replied, “this wasn’t hers. That fan must have gotten spooked when this psychopath tried to stab John Lennon. But I remember this was his. It’s his copy of Catcher in the Rye.”*
*I do realize Squeaky Fromme was in jail at this time OTL, to be honest; this POD comes before all of this occurs and in hinted in the first paragraph. The actual POD is that Squeaky Fromme goes crazy on Jimmy Page in 1975 when she tried to “warn him about the bad energy” and is subsequently institutionalized. As a result, there is no assassination attempt on Ford.
I realize some POD’s may work and others don’t. This is more of a brainstorming thing rather than an actual timeline, so if I (or anyone else) posts something that you feel is total ASB, its fine to say so, but don’t linger on it because the TL is probably not going anywhere.
Second, feel free to steal these if you want. I have these ideas pop into my head, and once I decide I won’t do a TL, I still like to put the original idea down. If you want to take that first update and run with it, feel free. You have my permission!
If you have your own POD/TLIAD type of things you want to post here, feel free! This will be a community thing, so feel free to take advantage of this. But if you have plans on finishing the TL, keep in mind that unless you say otherwise, anything posted here will be treated as community property. Anyone can take over any of these TL’s posted here if they want unless it is specifically requested by the original author not to do so. So without further delay, I’ll start…
____________________________________________________________
February 15, 1969:
The King shifted uncomfortably in his chair as his advisors looked over the documents. He was still unsure of this new American ambassador. The former American Congressman had eyes on bigger things, that much was clear. He was too young, and too ambitious. And perhaps more troubling was his clear desire to use his office as an opportunity to polish his resume. He made no secret since coming to the country that he would be the Ambassador to the United Nations before the end of the year, that this was just a stepping stone. Still, they both shared a common fear, even if it were for different reasons. A coup that deposed the royal family could scuttle this young mans career as a diplomat before it even got off the ground. He couldn’t be known as the man who let another Arab ally fall to the Nasserites.
“This, this is incredible,” the General said as he closed the file, “I must say, I find it hard to believe.”
“We have our methods of finding information your grace,” the Ambassador said calmly as he sipped his fruit juice, “keep in mind, the Italians, the British and the Americans share a common goal here.”
The King looked at his staff for some sort of sign. His nephew appeared almost catatonic with shock.
“How could this be?” he mumbled under his breath, “an Israeli?”
“Well, we are not saying that,” the ambassador said with a chuckle, “what we do believe is this: he’s Jewish, or at least half Jewish.”
“Are you absolutely sure?” the General asked as he dropped the folder, “can you be positive of this?”
The ambassador smiled.
“No, we are not 100% sure. But General, the Central Intelligence Agency has only been on this case since I was appointed last month. In less than six weeks this is what we came up with. We can keep digging, but it’s going to look bad for you if it we find the smoking gun. If it comes out that you knew as early as February and you did nothing. But let's be honest. This should be sufficient for our needs.”
The King felt his heart beating rapidly. He knew that the Americans were very close to the Israelis. And yet this ambassador had little problem doing…this. The King could read between the lines. This information was going to be released by the Americans. They wanted this man eliminated, and if the King wouldn’t do what was suggested, they would act unilaterally. This ambassador would take whatever steps needed isolate the Movement…and destroy it.
Perhaps it was true. Perhaps the man did have Jewish blood in him. And if that came out, that would be to the citizens of this country. Even Nasser himself would distance himself from the increasingly troublesome officer. But still, the King couldn’t believe this new ambassador, or his rabidly anti-communist President who just took office last month. He realized they would stop at nothing to quash any perceived threat to their world order. They would destroy anyone who threatened American influence in the Middle East.
“What do you suggest?” the King asked softly.
“We have a plane waiting at Wheelus Air Base,” the ambassador said with a smile, “have your men seize him and bring him to us. Then we will fly him to Israel. Once it comes out that this Jewish officer was plotting your overthrow on behalf of the Israelis, we can expand our activities to destroy the Free Officer’s Movement. Hell, we might even be able to get that son of a bitch Nasser himself. It will give you an excuse to kill every Soviet agent who is plotting in your military, and it will give us the perfect opportunity to discredit the Baathist movement all over the Middle East. We plan to send plenty of photos of that son of a bitch walking off the airplane in Israel to every friendly Arab regime in the world.”
“You want to fly him to Israel?” the King asked incredulously, “what makes you think they will take him?”
The ambassador laughed.
“Whose idea do you think this is your grace?”
“And what if he refuses to get off the plane and seek refuge in Israel?” the General asked, “what then?”
“Your Grace,” the ambassador replied, “he is going to walk out of that airplane on his own free will. Because if not, if he is still on that airplane when it leaves Tel Aviv…well, let’s just say he won’t be on the plane when it lands back at Weelus Air Base.”
The king felt his head spin. He couldn’t believe that he was indirectly conspiring with the Israelis…but he also couldn’t ignore this opportunity. He could purge the military and crush the Free Officer’s Movement once and for all with this information. Their leader…a Jew! How could the Movement survive? He could have every officer and every member of the growing Ba’ath party liquidated with this information…and who would dare stand up and defend them?
“I agree.” The King said firmly, “General, send your men to arrest the Zionist spy.”
The General smiled as jumped to his feet.
“I would like to thank you Ambassador Bush-“
“Please your highness, call me George.”
“Thank you George. I will not forget all you’ve done to help this country.”
The ambassador smiled.
“Well, if I ever end up in the private sector working for some oil company, you can repay the favor then.”
The King chuckled as he stood up. It all seemed so surreal…one of the greatest threats to his country was about to be put on an American plane and shipped to Tel Aviv. He smiled as he wondered to himself what sort of life Colonel Muammar Gaddafi would end up having after a reluctant citizen of Israel.
_____________________________________________________________________
December 8, 1980:
The woman caressed the handle of the knife in her jacket. She knew that this time, there could be no mistake. Not after Zeppelin. Not after Jimmy Page. Over four years in a mental institution…and all she wanted to do was to help him. To warn him about…the bad energy. But this time, she would make no mistakes. She would not take “no” for an answer. She somehow knew that once the knife entered him that he would be protected…protected from the evil. She had to get close enough to cut him, though. To save him. To release him.
“Cold night, huh?” the photographer said as he blew into his hands.
The woman ignored him. She was sick of the small talk and tried to make it clear to them that she was here for a more important purpose than a simple autograph. This was something…divine.
“Well, damn shame you weren’t here a couple of hours ago,” the photographer said with a laugh, “he was signing for fans then.”
The woman glared at the photographer.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” the photographer asked as he stared at her face intently, “I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
The woman dropped her eyes to the ground. The last thing she needed now was to be recognized.
The photographer continued to stare at the woman before walking away towards the door.
“He’s coming!” a young man whispered, as he bumped past her, “He’s coming back.”
The woman’s eyes lit up. This was it. This was the opportunity that she had been waiting for…for her entire life. This was the chance to free him.”
The limousine stopped just a few feet from the young man with the album. Other fans began to arrive as the man and his wife and child stepped out of the limousine. There was only a small window, and she knew she needed to act now.
“Helter Skelter!” she screamed as she pulled out the knife and ran towards the man. She swung the knife once before she felt a strong arm grab her and forcefully throw her to the ground.
“Goddamn it!” the doorman yelled, “drop it!”
The woman looked up to see the man clutching his arm. Blood dripped down onto the pavement, but she could tell that she had failed. She would not prevent it from happening. She would not be able to free him.
“I’m sorry Charlie!” she wailed as the doorman shook the knife out of her hand.
The doorman looked up at the photographer.
“Good looking out Paul,” he said as the woman continued to scream.
“Thanks,” the photographer said nervously as he looked up at the injured man. A concierge was making a tourniquet for him with his jacket as the woman tried to shield her young child from the scene. Paul Goresh still felt relieved. The man’s injuries, though frightening, were clearly superficial. This could have ended in disaster had it not been for the quick thinking doorman, an ex-CIA agent who took his warning seriously.
“Jose,” Paul Goresh had said just moments ago, “You better keep an eye on that one.”
The photographer then saw a small coin purse on the sidewalk. He bent over and picked it up, opening it to reveal an ID…and a photograph of Charlie Manson.
“Jose, check this out,” Paul Goresh said as he walked over to the doorman who was still holding the woman down, “I found her ID. It says here her name is Lynette Fromme.”
The gruff doorman nodded but paid little attention to the ID card.
“Leave all that alone,” he said firmly, “it’s evidence. And make sure nobody touches that gun over there.”
Paul Goresh looked off and saw the unmistakable sight of a handgun on the pavement just a few feet from where they were standing. Near it was a book laying on the ground. He walked over to it and picked it up.
“Jesus Paul,” the doorman said, “I told you not to touch anything! It’s all evidence!”
“No Jose,” the photographer replied, “this wasn’t hers. That fan must have gotten spooked when this psychopath tried to stab John Lennon. But I remember this was his. It’s his copy of Catcher in the Rye.”*
*I do realize Squeaky Fromme was in jail at this time OTL, to be honest; this POD comes before all of this occurs and in hinted in the first paragraph. The actual POD is that Squeaky Fromme goes crazy on Jimmy Page in 1975 when she tried to “warn him about the bad energy” and is subsequently institutionalized. As a result, there is no assassination attempt on Ford.
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