The Time of Eagles

Hopefully this answers some questions :)

I might not be online until Monday after today - depends on whether I can find a computer, and if only in an internet cafe whether I can afford to get there and to pay for it (not hugely likely but possible)

Have a very Merry Christmas, readers all !

Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
It was a miracle that they had held out so long, but the Fredonian assault had doubled in the last few days, and General Pershing knew full well why. The American presidential election was almost upon them, pitting incumbent President Raphael Semmes II against East Tejan Governor Edward House. Both sides were speaking fiery rhetoric, and Topeka was attempting to destablise both, or either, by taking the jewelled prize on the Pacific shore

His aides ran around whooping at the Fredonian casualties like so many Apache, but Pershing met nightly with his surgeons and chaplins and knew that American losses were increasing also, and not only that but that as a percentage of available manpower the smaller US numbers were a larger fraction.

This night he sat in his bunker, some twenty feet beneath the surface of the inner trench line, and wrote a letter home. His family had settled in Missouri, but upon the declaration of independence of the Trans-Mississippi Frederation had migrated back Eastward, first to Kentucky, then to New Orleans. His roots were a microcosm of American history, his place of birth a sign of the hopeful age, his growing to maturity a symbol of the desperate years that had followed the civil war

"Sir..." the man stood in the shadow of the entrance well and waited
Pershing looked up and frowned,
"I do not know you" he said
"Not yet, sir", the man stepped forward and tossed a bowler hat onto a solitary peg, "Senator Taft's compliments sir"
"Indeed ?" the general regarded him cooly, "And to what do I owe these compliments ?"

The newcomer found himself a chair and sat, uninvited,
"The future, general. It is the future..."


Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
The commissioning ceremony was short but magnificent, Captain Stefan Kolchak taking command of the newly-completed armoured cruiser as the flags flew high and the brass band played. After every worthy had departed, he strode the deck of his ship, the 10"-gunned Bayan, her design now surely a match for any comparable ship, whether Egyptian, or German or American.

It had been an agonising wait, delivered safe to Constantinople only to be told that war with Egypt would not be following, and that he was on paid leave until such time as the ships building in the Constantinople shipyards were completed. He had served on a commission of enquiry into the actions of Grand Duke Alexei Konstantinovich, and greatly illuminated his own understanding as a result - but not that of the people, for the Imperial Court had ordered the report suppressed

The other fleet captains had only found out the details on the eve of this ceremony, it being thought by the authorities that a familiarity with them might be of some use in preventing the like from ever occurring again - though with the ways of Man, one could never say never again. Alexei Konstantinovich had woven a complex web of intrigue, pulling in Greek and Armenian groups, some Georgians although that disparate people had split along sub-ethnic lines and the Mingrelians, especially, had remained loyal to the empire. The Grand Duke had clearly had belief that a coalition of interests would give him sufficient numbers to pull off a stunning coup de main, but his nationalist allies, his own followers, both those bought and those won, and various socialist and anarchic groups he had made common cause with - these were not the pillars of a strong conspiracy, but the bamboo canes holding up a weak one in the storm

As far as the Okhrana had managed to piece things together Alexei Konstantinovich had been planning to create an independent empire out of the viceroyalty, with himself as emperor and with the backing of Egypt, whose complicity was probably limited to agreeing to see what happened. On the one hand this was maddening, that Cairo escaped definitive blame, but on the other what use war with Egypt when the very weapon for that war had been lost in the event that might have precipitated it ?

The events off Alexandria were, in retrospect, no great surprise - but obviously they had come as a surprise at the time, not least to the renegade Grand Duke who had clearly expected to be able to sail the Russian fleet in, and then get Egyptian help in subduing Loyalists amongst the crews. When fighting had broken out aboard the ships, the shaky coalition had fallen apart, and although upon some major vessels the renegades had taken control, the majority of the fleet had been lost, or so badly damaged as to not be worth the while for Cairo to repair it - why bother when their own ships were of a superior standard ? Of those which had finally staggered back to Constanintople, some yet remained in the roads, their damage now decaying into an apparently permanent feature as the dockyard had broken its back to get newer and better ships into commission

Ships like the Bayan, an irony in herself. By all accounts the Grand Duke's disaffection with the Imperial Court had arisen out of years of frustration at the parsimonious naval budget, but the very act of his rebellion seemed to be the act which had spurred Tsar Nikolai to finally dedicate funds to the fleet. The Bayan was the first of four ships of her class, the others would follow over the next six months, and then the ironclad battleships building across the ways would be launched, and all haste made to get those into commission

Perhaps Alexei Konstantinovich's treachery would prove to be a good thing, for all that news of it had brought riots and demonstrations across the industrial cities of the empire. The Tsar had been forced to call the Duma into session, and his advisors urged him to complete the reforms which he set in motion. But Nikolai II was a canny man, one of the most intelligent Romanovs to sit the throne since Aleksandr I's day, and although now sixty-three years of age, he remained at the height of his faculties. To rule an empire like Russia took great skill and no little deviousness, and Nikolai was well aware that only his exalted position allowed him to make the reforms he did. If he were to reform himself out of that position, could he really trust the Duma to rule in the best interests of the empire ? It was a question hardly worthy of an answer

Kolchak smiled and headed up towards the bridge. On the morrow, the Bayan would head South for her proving cruise, Egyptian ports most definitely not upon her itinerary. Instead, he would take her West, dropping by Athens to remind the Greeks who was boss in the Balkans, then visiting Janina, the Two Sicilies, France and Spain before turning back home via Malta and a visit to the Knights of Saint John who still ran what he thought of as the mis-named republic. Perhaps it was no less a republic than Ragusa, but at least there it was the merchant patricians who ruled the city state, not some antiquated order of chivalry. But he would be polite to their Master, and reaffirm Russia's special relationship. Kolchak smiled - with her fine lines, and her heavy guns, the Bayan would be eminently suited for such a task


Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
Flinders woke to the sound of gunfire. For a moment he just lay there, his eyes open, resting upon the English-language Delhi Times which he had left on the table beside the bed, its headline proclaiming the re-election within the United States of President Semmes. Then as the reality of what he was hearing broke in upon his half-hungover state, he leapt out of bed, landing with precision upon the varnished wooden boards of his lodgings, and began to pull on his clothes.

Somewhere in the distance an artillery piece fired, then a new sound intruded, one which he had some difficulty in placing. It was only as he fastened his gunbelt around his waist, that he recognised it for the drone of an airship. A moment later there came the dull crump of some explosive device, then again, and he realised that the airship must be bombing a position somewhere to the North. Just what the Hell was going on !

The passageway outside of his rooms was in uproar, but the melting pot of civilisation had no greater understanding of events than did he - Fredonian accents, Russian voices, Hindi and Dutch, they all spoke the same confusion. Not waiting for his superior - who could be anywhere, if he had even come home the previous night, Flinders rushed out onto the street.

Even here, there was the same sense of being a spectator in events that nobody as yet understood. The sound of gunfire was louder, and now several artillery pieces could be heard banging away at who knew what, for who knew why.
"Thats a Beedle" said a voice beside him
He jumped despite himself, then turned to the woman at his side. American, perhaps New England, her accent was certainly not of the West coast variety
"Arnold Flinders, ma'am" he nodded
She smiled at this
"Anna Roosevelt" she said simply, and then pointed an elegant arm, "There - a Beedle"

Roosevelt, that was a New England family, something which hardly surprised him for if there was any country on Earth that would let its women-folk go wandering round the globe unescorted it was the Confederacy. He followed her gesture, and saw indeed that on the Northern edge of his vision, one of Beedle's new airships was steadily circling, dropping bombs upon...well, upon who ?
"Do you have any idea what's going on ?" he asked her, leaving off the ma'am which had seemed to so amuse her
"Yes" she said, "I do"
He waited, and with another one of her beguiling smiles she went on,
"Your mission here comes to a climax"

He wondered why it sounded as if she was talking dirty to him, perhaps just the residue of sleep and dreams of temple whores, and forced his mind to work
"My mission ?" he asked, surprised
"You are hardly an innocent traveller" she said
"Nor, I suppose are you ?" he guessed
"Perhaps", she looked demurely at the ground, a false act he was sure but one she pulled off with seemingly genuine feeling, "I would say that the French have beaten you to it...except that that", she indicated the airship, "seems to indicate that someone has beaten the French in turn"
"I had a late night", he said, and rubbed his eyes, "None of this is my doing"
"Your superior ?" she asked, and his eyes widened in surprise, "Or Calcutta directly ?"

He blinked
"Damnation" he swore quietly, "You are probably right, ma...." he caught himself, "If someone is spiking the French, then maybe it is us after all"
"Who crews the factory airships ?" she asked
He blinked, then understood. The vessel on the horizon was not in Mughal colours, but in the tan-and-grey proving colours of the Beedle Factory.
"Mainly Britons", he ranscacked his memory, "Some Columbians I think, a few Germans"
"But no French ?"
"Hardly ma'am !" he laughed, forgetting himself

A patrol of turbanned guards suddenly wheeled round the corner, and came clattering towards the crowd gathered beside the dusty roadway. Their mounts were already foaming, snorting with exertion, and Flinders guessed that their Captain had ridden in from the barracks outside the city. Cries of encouragement rose up from the majority of those lining the street as the patrol thundered past, several officers raising a hand in brief recognition
"There are no French here" Anna Roosevelt was scanning the impromptu crowd, "Nor any Prussians"
"It is well for them" Flinders essayed
"But may bode ill", she frowned, "It indicates that their communities had word of their intentions"
"Intentions which seem to be being thwarted" he pointed out
"So far" she said
And he wondered what she knew


Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
Christmas Eve but nobody's thoughts were on world peace and brotherly love, at least not in any sense other than to bemoan the lack of such things in the city. San Diego was on the edge of an abyss, the outer trenches had been carried, and only heroic defence had kept the inner lines in American hands. Scarrcely any building remained standing in the city centre, and most of the population was living like rats in the cellars. The railroads still ran, but only a single line from the South remained intact, the rest bombed by the Barton airships, the repair crews having only the strength to mend the one line, night after night after night bringing it back into operation. Rusting hulks of battered rolling stock lined the edge of the route, like silent mourners at a funeral, and the few trains that did make the city came in at speed, anti-aircraft guns blazing from every second railcar, heading straight into the subterranean receiving yard that had been built beneath the ruins of the old station. Frenzied activity unloaded the supplies before the train sped out as swiftly as it had come, usually attracting less enemy attention, though even here Mexican insurgents sometimes roamed, taking up sections of the line and derailing the unwary.

General John Pershing stood in his underground command post beside the harbour, his ears tuning out the sound of Fredonian armoured cruisers firing upon the shattered dockside. His eyes were only for the piece of paper in his hand, his mind a whirl of contradictory thoughts. Once more he looked from the letter up to the face of its bearer. Colonel Leonard Wood was impassive, just waiting, nothing more.

Pershing reviewed his knowledge of the man. He had an unusual history, born in the Confederacy but choosing to emigrate to the Union after completing his medical degree at Yale. As far as Pershing could recall, Wood had claimed that the pacifist nature of New England politics denied him any realistic chance of glory, and had requested enlistment in the Union army as an officer. He had had to start low down and prove his worth in countless tours of the UPCA, but eventually he had risen to his current rank...and ought to count his current position as commandant of Fort Worth in West Tejas, but instead he was here, delivering this letter in person to him

He made a decision and turned to the telegraph officer, seated behind a partition in the cramped command post
"Captain, contact General Parker immediately. Insist that I require absolute verification. This could be a Fredonian ruse...or worse, a Mexican one ! No offence, colonel"
Wood blinked but nodded; he supposed that were he in Pershing's shoes he would be loathe to simply believe a hand-written letter also. Of course, if Pershing did believe it, then the colonel would be in his shoes

It had all started before the presidential election of course, Pershing began to put his thoughts into order. The unexpected visitor from Taft, the hints at some greater purpose, but the time was not quite right. He had expressed an interest - who would not, when Taft all but ran the National Democratic Party and the election remained in the balance ? He had assumed that the victory for Semmes would have killed the Ohio senator's plans, but maybe not. General Parker was a ND sympathiser, hardly a secret in an army as politicised as that of the United States, and maybe this unexpected order had something to do with it... Not maybe, surely it did ? How could it not ?

"Verification, sir" said the telegraph officer, "General Parker requests that you expedite compliance immediatly"
Pershing allowed himself a snort of amusement - nobody could be faking that aspect of Parker's personality ! He looked once more at the letter in his hand, and allowed his mind to adjust to the new reality.
"Colonel Wood", he looked the other in the eye, "I am handing over the defence of San Diego to your command. Please take good care of her !"
"I relieve you, sir!" was all that the other said

Pershing did not look back but mounted the steps up to the surface on the double. The aide who had brought the colonel here from the railhead emerged out of the shadow of a building, leading two horses by their reins,
"If you are ready, general ?" he said, urgently
It was never good to hang around in San Diego
"Completely ready" Pershing agreed, and leapt into the saddle, "Let us go"
The aide needed no prompting in that


Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
"General", the Major of Artillery saluted as he entered the command post
General Robert Donner accepted it as his due. Victor of Santa Fe, he had been transferred to the San Diego front to take over the attack, sealed orders from Topeka commanding him to take the city regardless of cost. If anyone were the man to do it, he was.
"You are able to comply with these orders ?"
The major nodded slowly,
"It is an abomination" he said quietly, "but we can do it"

At dawn of the next day the attack began. Instead of the deep dull booming of the usual bombardment, there came a high-pitched whine, and then the dull crump of something else exploding. As the Americans manned their trenches, the sharp acrid whiff of chemicals drifted across the morn. By Midday they were dying by the hundreds

Colonel Leonard Wood stood in the underground receiving chamber of the single remaining railroad line and looked at the manifest that he had been given.
"They are firing gas bombs at us" he snapped angrily, "What use is all this rubbish ?"
The commander of the train shrugged,
"I only deliver, sir, I do not load it up"
"But you know who does - tell them this, we need masks, anything that can ward off the gas"
"Yes sir"
"And we need aerial cover ! Those damned airships have free reign at the moment"
"Yes sir, I believe that Goodyear are working up one of Count Zepellin's designs"
"Let us hope they do it soon, then"
"Yes sir"

"Sir, we made good progress", the Fredonian captain was young, and wounded, one arm in a sling, a bloody gash upon his forehead, "Colonel Norton sends his regards"
"Thank you", General Donner looked up from his maps, "How stand the inner defence lines ?"
"Breached but not broken, sir" the captain had the decency to look embarassed
"Another gas barrage tomorrow..." Donner began
"Sir", the captain interrupted him, "We are already seeing counter-measures. The American commander is no fool"
"For all that he is a New England traitor !" the general spat

Dawn brought another barrage from the Fredonian lines, but this time the Americans were ready. Anti-gas measures were crude and rudimentary, urine-soaked neckerchiefs, sealed canvas bags, but they cut down on immediate casualties and allowed the Americans to rise up from their bolt-holes and fire back on the waves of Fredonian attackers.
Battle in the trenches was fierce and bloody, but for the moment the US forces were able to hold out


Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
all I can say is...WOW!

Thank you :)

I hope you like the next few chapterettes I just posted. I've written more but its taking me forever to post on my parents 56 kbps internet connection that is not even managing to achieve that speed !

Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
William McKinley had not asked for elevation to the position of Secretary of State of the United States, but President Semmes upon his re-election had felt the need for a new team at the highest level, and McKinley had been co-opted by the URP national committee. For all of his sixty-four years, McKinley was still a spry and active individual, and had been anticipating a pleasant retirement in the Ohio Senate; sad times indeed, these of the war, but he had felt that they would not penetrate to Cincinatti. But, of course, they had, and he had not been given a choice. One did not turn down one's president in the middle of a war

Today, despite the February cold, the Secretary of State stood in a field in Georgia and watched the Goodyear zepellin begin to raise itself above the ground. Built to the most advanced design that the USA had been able to purchase from the Germans, it was a robust and sturdy vessel, a substantial achievement considering it was the first major vessel of this type constructed within the United States. Sure, light versions had abounded for a while in the 1890s but the success of the Cayley aeroplanes had sucked government subsidies and orders into that development, and such monies were never particuarly abundant in the first place

"Excellent, no ?!" Goodyear executive Raymond Bobbit enthused at his side
"Very impressive" McKinley agreed, "How many of these can you provide ?"
"This is the only prototype, of course" Bobbit said airily, "We will have another one ready by April"
"One by April ?!" McKinley was aghast, "I do not think that will save San Diego !"
"Hardly !" agreed the Goodyear executive with a laugh.

McKinley felt then the cold stab of responsibility. These others did not see it, but all of this was intricately wound up with events elsewhere. To the Goodyear team a zepellin was a zepellin, an achievement to be celebrated, a contract to be built upon. Only to such as him did it also signify possible salavtion - or doom if it was not delivered in time


Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
1907

Leonard Wood laughed harshly, looking at the paper in his hand,
"Field promotion ?!" he laughed harshly
"They don't want a colonel to surrender this place" the Captain said
"They should not want anyone to surrender it !" Wood growled
"Its a bit late for that, sir"

Outside, the fighting was intensifying. The collapse of the inner trench line had let the Fredonians into the city proper, and the battle would have been described as house-to-house were there any houses left standing. As it was, the tattered remnants of the US Army fought amongst the ruins, but the Fredonians were stronger, fitter and more numerous. It was a losing battle, and they were being forced back upon themselves, back upon the few remaining fortified positions. But it was just a delaying action, and the few remaining commanders of the US armed forces were beginning to think of saving as many of their people as possible from the impending disaster

A young lieutenant staggered down the entrance, blood pouring from a wound to his brow,
"Sir !", his voice was haggard, "The Fredonians have over-run the underground station !"
General Wood nodded; given recent events it was no surprise,
"Where is the defensive perimeter ?"
The man simply stared at him

"Sir !" the radio operator had seen his position grow from that of a new-fangled device stuck in the corner to the central operating space in the command post, "Communication from Tijuana", he listened carefully, struggling to hear amidst the battle-induced static, "Insufficient rolling stock to try again..."
Wood waved it aside,
"Without a terminus, it scarcely matters whether they can run us a train or not"
"As you will, sir"
Wood ignored him, running a hand through his hair, repeating to himself
"Without a terminus, whether there is a train or not is immaterial"

A man came out of the inner sanctum, surgeon in smocks once white, now red with blood. He cast aside his gloves, and looked straight ahead at the general,
"How many more ?!" he demanded
"When is the apposite moment...?" Wood wondered
"Kill it now !" the surgeon snapped, "Bring an end to this slaughter !"

"Sir ?" the young lieutenant stuttered, "Surrender ?"
"Without resupply it is inevitable" Wood snatched his attention to the young warrior, "Prolonging the conflict is simply increasing the death toll"
"We are happy to die", the lieutenant saluted
Wood looked carefully at him,
"What is your name ?" he asked
"George Patton, sir"
"Have you ten men you can trust ?"
"Yes sir...if they still live"
"Can you disengage and withdraw ?"
"The Southern front is still open, sir...if you know where to look"
"And you know ?"
"Yes sir"
"Take as many men as you can and get out"
"Is this an order, sir ?"
"It is an order..."

One hour later, under a flag of truce, General Wood led his command staff towards the frontline. The long and bloody siege of San Diego was finally over


Best Regards
Grey Wolf

Note - although in OTL, Patton was born in California, the different pattern of wars and settlement seem more likely to have his family end up in the SW Territories of the USA in this ATL. Of course, you could argue that butterflies mean he never exists at all, but what fun is that ?! It makes it more interesting to have a FEW OTL analogues floating around :)
 
1907

"I fail to understand..." Edward House eased his tired body into a seat, "What are you saying ?"
Senator William Taft sipped at his glass of water and looked across to where General Parker stood still and stiff. A silent communication occurred between them.
"A few minutes, Governor"
The use of the term only cast a greater shadow over House; he still had East Tejas, but he had failed miserably in his bid for election to the White House. Somehow it had all gone wrong, somehow the United Republican Party had managed to get President Semmes re-elected. Just how this had happened completely escaped his understanding

The door opened and a dapper man walked in, exchanging a joke with the plains clothed men on duty there as he passed. He slipped a packet of papers across to the Ohio senator, and took a seat beside House.
"Good afternoon" he said to the Tejan
House nodded, and mumbled something. He looked morosely around the room, and wondered again what on Earth he was doing here. Half the people he recognised, the other half he had no idea who they were. Regardless, they all seemed to have more of a purpose than he felt himself

Suddenly a silence fell upon the room. House wrenched himself out of his despair, and looked towards the far door where two men had just come in. One was the tall, bespectacled figure of the Governor of Virginia, the other looked vaguely familiar but House was unable to place him. Moustachioed, and with his hair swept back across a well-formed brow, the man looked somehow uncomfortable in the suit he was wearing. The others rose to his feet and applauded, House belatedly doing both though still in a paroxysm of confusion.

"Gentlemen", another man, until now seated at the rear spoke up. House recognised him as Charles Culberson, one of West Tejas's two senators, "We are here today to return these United States to the path of greatness, to avenge the fallen, and to bring in the future"
Taft nodded, and then took over,
"May I present to you all, the next Dictator of the United States, General John Pershing !"
There was, this time, thunderous applause. Only House stood, mouth agape, looking around him with disbelief. For everyone else this was the moment they had been waiting for.


Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
1907

"Five days, sir"
Admiral Lucien Maverick nodded at the battleship's captain, and returned to the bridge rail from the chart table. The news from Egypt had been devastating - as they had passed through the Suez Canal, they had learned of the fall of San Diego. Now, his fleet was heading halfway across the world, its primary aim already obselete.

Ten ships he had, all flying the Stars and Stripes, none of them new vessels, but all of them good enough fighting ships, certainly as good as anything Fredonia and Oregon could muster, though perhaps not as good as the newest Ching ships out of the Shanghai or Canton yards. But he did not intend to go anywhere near China, and although he did not doubt that the Ching had warships in the Pacific, certainly a squadron based upon the Kingdom of Hawaii, these would not include any of their very newest vessels

All the ships under his command, with the exception of the fast corvette Admiral Decatur, had been purchased from European nations - five from Austria, individual ones from Britain, Portugal, the Ligurian Republic and the Two Sicilies. The USA's erstwhile allies in Sweden and Germany had shied away under political pressure, whilst the Egyptians had been happy to provide fuel, supplies and passage through the Canal, but the empire never liked to part with a single one of its ships. Maverick had to smile - Cairo had offered to sell him the ex-Russian warships taken off Alexandria, but Washington had vetoed that; to accept would have set off an explosion of diplomatic problems. Besides, they were hardly either modern or in good condition, that was behind the whole issue of Alexei Konstantinovich's rebellion.

Paris and Berlin had protested at his purchases, even so, but no universal convention outlawing the sale of warships to belligerent powers existed, despite many moves over the preceding century to agree one. So, he had gathered his fleet, hired out Egyptian auxilaries, and headed South at best possible speed. The rendezvous had been agreed long before, the Omani island city of Zanzibar having no qualms about hosting a fleet from the world's largest slave-holding nation.

It only remained to be seen whether the battle squadron from the US arrived in time, and whether they had any more up-to-date orders for him


Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
x30

March 1907

Inauguration Day. Of course, waiting until March was an anachronism, Semmes thought, but it meant a better chance of pleasant weather than if it had been held in December, or January for that matter. It was still quite chill and windy here in Washington, but the sun was shining in the sky and some warmth yet beat down upon their faces.

The White House had survived the Great War, no British forces ever setting foot in Washington, though Redcoats had ravaged the Northern New England cities. Even during the Civil War, New England forces had never penetrated this far. Pennsylvania, Northern Ohio and the Maryland/Delaware peninsular had been the centres of conflict, and by the time those had been lost the war was over. There had been no point fighting on afterwards, and with disasters on other fronts thrown in, the Union had capitulated. Of course, the old building had been added to constantly, and had been redesigned, and redeveloped almost continually throughout its elevn or so decades of existence, but its soul remained the same White House that had seen Adams and Pinckney, Burr, Clay, Calhoun and Kearny, to name only some of its elected inhabitants.

Raphael Semmes II did not like to think of those others, the Interegnum he privately called it. Morton, Sherman, Forrest, the American Dictators who had ruled from the late 1860s to the mid 1890s, no he did not see anything of them as having been fit to occupy this grand old building. He did not doubt that each man had had his own good qualities - Forrest, after all, had cut short his term to restore the democratic process, whilst Sherman had, belatedly, overseen the first of the New Navy Acts. No, it was not the men themselves that made them unfit to have occupied the building to his mind, it was their title - Dictator of the United States ! It was disgusting...

Semmes now looked down from the podium on the edge of the White House lawn, beside Pennsylvania Avenue. Red-bereted soldiers of the Presidential Guard stood to attention, rifles and pistols drawn and ready. It was wartime after all, even if such matters ought not to reach as far East as Washington - but you could never be sure.

He saluted as a squadron of cavalry trotted past, his mind doing two things at once, his public face to the world, and his internal thoughts still dwelling on the history he was heir to. Next came a long line of civil war veterans, wheelchairs and canes very much in abundance. The Civil War of course had been a disaster for the Union, one it had taken decades to recover from, but thanks to the dispersal of industry, the inherent strength of the economies of Georgia and Virginia, and most especially to the American Spirit they had done so.

But now was it all in doubt again ? He believed in the long-term, but sometimes it was hard to hold that faith. Time had given him a fleet powerful enough to win control of the Western coast, but time had also defeated him, taken San Diego from his hands. It was a ruin, a battered, blasted, shattered ruin but it could be rebuilt, but next time was that to be in Fredonian hands ? What was time doing to him ? Was he even sane to try to personalise it - Time ?

He blinked and looked out onto the road, it was empty. The crowd either side was beginning to stir in impatience. Where was the next formation to pass by the for the salute ? He looked to his guards; ah, one of the oficers was climbing up towards the podium.
"Sir, you are needed in the White House immediately"
Semmes frowned; they were barely halfway through the ceremony and al the important symbolic acts had yet to be done.
"If it is necessary...Captain?", he frowned at the confusing insignia on the man's shoulders, "If it is necessary, I will skip to the acceptance speech - that cannot be abandoned"
"You must come now the man said

Semmes was about to protest again, then felt the jutting of cold steel into his back
"You will come now" he said
And Semmes realised what was happening. He sagged, and allowed the man to begin the descent from the podium. Then he lashed out with a foot, sending the officer tumbling to the ground below,
"There is a coup !" he shouted at the stunned crowd, "They are trying to steal away democracy"

Somebody shot him


Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
Edward House was drunk. He hardly ever drank, so this was not a difficult state for him to get into. But he felt that he needed it; this week had been, if anything, worse than the one in which he had lost the election.

This night he sat in the exclusive bar of the Victory Club in Campeche, his gubernatorial capital in East Tejas. To his mind the name of the club was as harsh a joke as anything which had happened during this week so terrible, but it was a familiar home from home, and tonight he needed the familiarity

He was complicit! He had been at that meeting! But even were he not, had he not, it would not matter. Taft and Wilson had combined to make him their presidential candidate, now they had combined to make Pershing Dictator. Who would believe that he had not been in on that plan from the beginning ?! He was a doomed man - or, at best, a lackey. What was there to do ?

"Another" he slurred, waving his glass at the barman
A refill was poured and he took it automatically, imbibing again. What was he to do ?! There was no point in open resistance - if they could shoot down Semmes in cold blood, in full view of the world's press, then they would kill a mere state Governor without any qualms. But how could he work with them ? How could he not ? Oh, his head !

Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
David Ogilvy, 11th Earl of Airlie had thought Zanzibar a punishment posting, a nowhere hole where his job as Consul was so much shit dealing with getting drunken sailors out of the city's hellhole jail, and dealing with the occasional unscrupulous businessmen. London had not embargoed trade with the Omani sultanate, although of course all dealings which had any touch, however tangental, with slavery were out of bounds.

Now, though, Ogilvy saw a very different sight than ever he had thought to do before. Admiral Maverick's ten warships had now been joined by the balance of the American fleet under Commodore Moffett, and the harbour here at Zanzibar was full of US ensigns, US warships, and most especially US sailors, and turmoil reigned everywhere. The news from Washington had stunned them all, but not least the Americans in their ships which had been heading across the world to do Semmes bidding. Confusion reigned among the American commanders, and the US Consul was no help, a chinless wonder who was as shocked as they were by events back home

With bodyguard in tow, Ogilvy left the British consulate, and walked down the street. American sailors packed out the dockside establishments, Omani slavers stamped their ground, their blacks huddled in the slave pens, buyers in their finery dining in the cofee houses and halal restaurants. All the world was here, if you liked it rough, degraded and vile. Ogilvy rather did not, but it was not his choice

"I would speak with you, sir"
He turned. A man in ill-fitting Arabic robes approached, and handed over a parcel wrapped in oilcloth
Ogilvy parted the folds and found himself staring at a US Navy commodore's cap
"It is too dangerous", the man said, "You cannot know who is on what side"
"American ?" Ogilvy was confused
"Henry C Moffett"
"I see", Ogilvy took a deep breath, "The consulate is out of the question and dressed like that you would raise serious questions in any tavern"
"I have scouted a coffee house by the viceroy's palace"
"Lead on, sir"

The place was small, but the clientele was mixed - Arabs, British, Portuguese, Batavians and French. Two more Britons in the company of another Arab raised nothing more than a curious eyebrow, before the hirsute owners of such went back about their business. The law was a shifting beast, and not quite legal transactions took palce here all the time - no doubt they thought this was just another one.

"Many of the men are disturbed" Moffett told the British diplomat, "There have been brawls, not just in the taverns but aboard the ships"
"Revolution does that" Ogilvy said
Moffett looked as if he was about to protest, but then sighed - if a military coup was not a revolution, then what was it ?
"The officers on several ships are pushed to the limits"
"While I can sympathise..." the British Consul began
"It has taken a few days, but through indirect routes I have been able to take a straw poll"
"A what ?"

Moffett sighed; he was tense, and it had been a very trying few days
"Six of the captains will follow me"
"Where ?"
Moffett sat back and stared at the Briton - was he being deliberately obtuse, or did it go with the territory; minor diplomaty in a nowhere posting ? He considered his options - the Portuguese might play along, but Portugal was hardly a power anyone would take any notice of. France had indicated clearly enough that she was wont to align against the USA - but who knew the mind of a Frenchman ? Events in Washington might have inclined them otherwise. Only Britain was decidedly neutral.
"I can bring one ironclad, three armoured cruisers and two corvettes over" he said, quietly, "but we need assurances"
"Assurances ?" Ogilvy was out of his depth
"That you will protect us"


Best Regards
Grey Wolf

I guess for purposes of legal disclaimers I should say that butterflies would make the real Ogilvy into someone slightly different, so any implied discredit to the 11th Earl's memory is not intended here. I was going to give him a unique British middle name, but I couldn't work out what would serve in this timeline
 
Hector Bobbit lowered himself into the chair, and waited. Across from him, the Foreign Minister of the Spanish Republic still stood, taking last minute consultations with his aides.
Bobbit puffed on a cigar, and waited. He was sure they would come round - this offer was too good to turn down, no matter how suspicious the Madrid government would be.

Bobbit was unconcerned. Until a couple of weeks ago he had been merely the Naval Attache, but when the previous ambassador had resigned in protest at the coup, and taken half his staff out with him, Washington had promoted him to fill the gap. It was funny, if it was anything. Perhaps because he came from a good Ohio family, and his father had known Senator Taft he was still in the job. Maybe it was his brother's doing, a senior executive at the Goodyear corporation. Either way, he was grateful in a remote way, but felt no need to show it. Loyalty to Washington was all, and that he would show !

Don Pedro finally completed his discussions and lowered himself into the chair on the other side of the mahogany table. He picked up a gold-wrapped fountain pen and nodded at the US Ambassador,
"Shall we sign ?" he said
"Let us" Bobbit told him

And so they signed. Spain guaranteed the US possession of the protectorate of Miskitia. The USA would be unmolested in moving its army from the UPCA to South California, and in return Spain would get a free hand against the UPCA. It was a dastard's bargain, but it would serve the USA's need in the immediate term


Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
Lieutenant George Patton led his men out of the hills, and stood upon the roadway. The dust from below increased until it manifested itself as the largest concentration of motor trucks that the twenty-two year-old veteran had ever seen. Some might have questioned that definition of veteran, but Patton had served at the San Diego front since the start of the siege, and seen it through to the bitter end. Since then he had led a guerilla force, operating in the no-man's land between Fredonia's extended lines around the fallen city, and the shattered US lines.

Now, it seemed salvation was on its way - a new American army, landed at the Northern end of the Gulf of California and marching North towards the battle front. It was an hour before the trucks reached them, slowing upon seeing them standing there, a scar-faced officer leading a half dozen men towards them,
"What is this ?" the man asked
"Lieutenant George Patton", he added his unit identifier, "Late of the defence of San Diego"
Scarface frowned,
"How come you here ?" he demanded, suspicion high in his voice. Clearly he suspected them of desertion, or worse
"General Wood ordered us to break out and await reinforcement"

There was a pause whilst Scarface sent a man running back to the sixth or seventh truck along, clearly where the next senior officer in the chain of command resided. Ten minutes later, he came back, and saluted them both,
"Sir, Colonel Garcia says to extend a welcome to Lieutenant Patton and his men, and let them ride in truck forty-seven"
"As he wishes", Scarface waved Patton and his men to one side, "Count to forty-seven" he advised
It took some time


Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
It was a hot day for late Spring, made all the more so by the constant firing of he Chinese artillery as they bombarded the battered remains of the Shogun's army, now holed up in the imperial city of Edo. Overhead, a solitary airship circled, the others of China's small Santos-Dumont fleet still covering the recent landings that had swept up the rest of the Shogun's army

Arthur Ashburton sat in the cab of a truck, and watched the final denoument to China's invasion of Japan play out. The truck was one of a score built in Shanghai from French designs, part-financed by French money. Britain had a much lesser role within the Empire, the result of direct historical conflict, for all that it was decades ago. Still, though, London had been repairing some of the damage in recent times, and an Observer Mission to the invasion

The Japanese had fought hard, the armies of the Shogunate out-gunned, under-developed, but fighting with tenacity as the Chinese had forced their way inland. After time, Hokaido and the Southern islands had fallen, but the Shogunate had established strong lines of defence around Southern Honshu. That was where the second invasion had come in, the Chinese navy having total command of the seas.

They had pressed inland, and now the Shogun's last army was penned up in the imperial city, the Shogun having kept a tight grip upon the emperor lest the old man take it into his head to do a deal with the enemy and proclaim himself vassal to Peking. No, they would all die together.

Ashburton had been impressed, strongly so, and wondered just what sort of force was being unleashed upon the world with a resurgant and expansionist China now victorious in Japan...


Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
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