The Time of Eagles

David Ogilvy had never expected to be a hero, but here he was, being feted across the streets of London, sitting in a carriage beside the Foreign Secretary whilst crowds cheered him as "The Hero of Zanzibar". He was still not entirely sure how it had all happened - he had given his word to the confusing American officer who was dressed like an Arab, and an hour later the Consulate force of Royal Marines had been holding a line against enraged US sailors whilst skeleton crews from six of their vessels hoisted the Union Jack.

Royal Navy and Omani vessels had interposed themselves between these six, and the rest of the American fleet, but those sailors remaining loyal to the Dictator in Washington had tried to force the issue on land. The Marines had seen them off, whilst British cruisers had turned out additional armed guards to protect them. The next day the remains of the US fleet under Admiral Maverick had sailed, departing Zanzibar for points East.

Harmsworth's Mail Times had proclaimed him a hero - the man who had broken the American fleet, the man who had gained six warships for Britain, the man who had averted war with the Americans by his quick action. Ogilvy had protested to the Foreign Office that he had merely been doing his duty, responding to one crisis after another, and they had believed him, but informed him that appearance was what mattered. A cruiser had been ordered to bring him home at best speed, and now here he was, elevated to Deputy Foreign Secretary, and feted with a triumph in the streets of London

He did not know what he felt. He half-expected there to be someone sitting beside him whispering that he was mortal, but there was only the Foreign Secretary, looking stiffly unamused, and uttering hardly a word. The crowds seemed happy, but it was not so much they were happy at him, but at what he had done, and the consequences of that. They would forget him soon enough, he thought.

Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
Luis Garcia was a native of Monterrey city. He had signed up in the professional army when he was just sixteen, back in the days of Dictator Sherman, and had risen steadily in rank ever since. A posting to the United Provinces of central America had not necessarily been inevitable because of his ethnic origins, but was very much in keeping with army policy. After all, it helped to have someone who spoke the common language of their allies, and whilst the UPCA senior officers could all speak English, many of the more junior could not.

He had grown to like the federation and its people, serving tours both along the Southern border in mid-Panama and along the Northern border in Honduras. It had been a strain to be marooned down there when the war had broken out to the North, and like many of his fellow officers Garcia, by-then a Colonel, had requested a transfer to front - San Diego or Santa Fe, he had expressed no preference. But, as in most cases, the request had been refused. And he had remained under the command of the US Army of Central America based in San Jose

But...this ! At first they had reacted with joy at the news that the USACA was being shipped to help retake San Diego, then gradually they had learnt of the deal which had been struck with Spain - the dishonourable, filthy stinking deal which had left their UPCA allies...no, not allies anymore, their friends...in the lurch. A disgusting business politics, and the ships had seethed with resentment, at least as far as the mid-Gulf of California, when spirits began to rise as they neared their objective. Unloading, and driving North through the hills the old spirit had returned.

He smiled at the memory of the hold-up in the hills, that young lieutenant and his ragtag group - there was a fighter, that was for sure ! And truck forty-seven, ha ! Oh sure there had been room aboard that truck...after all, it only held the portable latrines ! But Patton and his men had not complained - he supposed they were getting a lift, and that was better than walking

Now, they were dug in South of San Diego, the railroads back East open, and bringing in artillery, ammunition and supplies...at least most of the time. Occasional Mexican bandit activity still disrupted the railroads, but fierce reprisals had cut down on these. The Dictator was less worried about upsetting the civilian population of the Territories than President Semmes had been. Garcia could understand the logic, but in the long-run were they storing up more trouble for the future ?

"Here they come !" Seargant Jesus Lopez was pointing to the sky
Colonel Garcia dragged himself out of his reverie and stepped outside. Yes ! There above them were three Goodyear Zepellins, vast airships bristling with guns and flying in towards the front.
"That'll teach those Fredonian bastards !" Lopez cried
Garcia watched and waited. Sure enough, a half dozen Barton airships headed South to engage the new arrivals. He smiled now - heavier and larger than their earlier Santos-Dumont airships, the Bartons were no less dwarfed by the new Goodyears.
"Battle is joined", he said


Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
Madeleine walked the half-deserted corridors of the White House, carrying as usual a neat stack of papers to be filed, and the occasional buff cardboard folder tied with ribbon. The incoming regime had purged the White House of over half its staff, leaving many administrative posts unfilled. The Special Batallion of the Presidential Guard, the men who had controlled the operation of the coup, were the only armed personnel allowed, other than the Dictator himself.

For her part, Madeleine had simply waited in the background, and been kept on through inertia. Secretary to President Semmes, it was admitted that she knew more of the workings of state than any of the incoming personnel, whilst as a woman nobody in the misogynistic United States thought to consider her a political risk. If they had looked more deeply, they would have discovered she was a Patterson cousin, with close links to the family of Union hero General Jerome P Bonaparte II himself, a man who had abandoned his Maryland home at the end of the Civil War and come to live out his retirement in Virginia.

If they ever looked deeper than that, she knew she may have a problem, but the war hero's descendants would probably vouch for her, and prevent a deeper examination. For all that JPB II himself had been a Union hero, the end of the Civil War had split his branch of the family, and his brother had remained in Maryland - within the New England Confederacy. In addition, it went without saying that the Massachusetts Bonapartes had been staunch New Englanders, but that had happened to a lot of families, split by the war, and divided ever after by the peace.

No, Madeleine reckoned herself safe, and as long as she continued to do a good job, inconspicuous as a person but shining out as an administrator, she reckoned that the Dictator would keep her on. For a while after the coup she had refrained from any communication with her Ohio contact, but once Dictator Pershing began running things through her again, she had risked taking up the line once more. So far all she had done was run a few minor items up to New England, her Ohio source testing the water to see whether the new regime had imposed more stringent checks on contact with his family in West Connecticut state. It appeared that they had not, and that this route into the NEC remained firm.

She was now about to test it with something far more serious...


Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
x39

The street was full of workmen, crowded all over the scaffold like so many monkeys in the trees of Delhi. The shattered shells of the French and Prussian embassies alone were not being worked upon, neither of those two nations being welcomed back so soon after the failed palace revolution. The Mughal Emperor had not formally declared war upon them, as his advisors had said quietly what would have been the point ? But neither nation was welcome in the emperor's dominions, and a great change now lay upon central India

Anna E Roosevelt eyed the work with a certain calm pleasure. France and Prussia had been so arrogant, so typically European to believe that by backing a rival claimant, no better than a base pretender, to the Mughal throne they could assert some sort of protectorate over the empire. But they had been thwarted, and in being thwarted had been shamed before the world. She smiled with a definite pleasure at that image

The Mughals had rallied a divergent array of forces in their defence - Beedle airships fresh out of the factories, information emanating from British Intelligence in Calcutta, and aid gladly received from the Sikh Empire which had no wish to see French influence advance up to its very borders. Anyone caught supporting the revolt had been executed at once; later had come the mass beheadings of those associated with the pretender, a travesty of justice to more civilised eyes, but one which made sense in dynastic terms - the victors did not leave the friends and allies of the defeated pretender alive to make their plans of revenge.

Delhi had remained tense for weeks afterwards, but it had become obvious by now that that blood-letting had been the sole release of tension. The French and Prussians who had been taken prisoner had been paraded naked and in chains through the city, and now languished in a hell-hole of a prison, but the Emperor had let it be known that he had no plans to execute them. He also seemed to have no immediate plans to release them, despite high-profile Russian intercession.

Through her contacts, but more especially through her observations, Anna was aware that it was emissaries from the Sikh Empire who were thwarting Russia's purpose. Whilst the Sikhs may have co-operated with the Russians in the dismemberment of the Central Asian khanates in the latter decades of the nineteenth century, they had no liking for them as a people. Any boon granted to the Russians was likely to come back to haunt the court that was foolish enough to grant it, and the Sikhs made sure that the Mughals understood this viewpoint.

Anna turned a corner, away from the clatter and bang of the workmen, and walked past a small but imposing building bearing the Union Jack on a flagpole which jutted out over the street. A small brass plaque proclaimed it to be the "British Trade Mission", a separate establishment from the diplomatic quarter, but she knew well what it really was. As a reward for their part in supplying the information which had helped to defeat the coup, the British had been permitted to open an Intelligence base in the heart of Delhi itself. It was not much of a secret, certainly a very easy front to penetrate, but secrecy was not so much its purpose as information.

She stepped aside as a long automobile growled past, its Indian driver resplendant in cap and gloves, his passenger sitting still and watchful in the covered rear section. She watched its passage with interest; it was yellow and red, bearing the name Lanchester on the hood - a British marque, but that did not make it British-owned. There were no flags upon the wings, and no guards in evidence, marking it out to her eyes as being privately owned. It made as if to turn the corner, then swung sharper to the left and into a courtyard through a gate.

She watched for a moment longer, then resumed her walk, running over in her head what she knew of the occupants of that building. Not a lot... She had the idea that it was some sort of wine importers, perhaps from one of the Italian states, but it was a piece of information which seemed sadly lacking in realistic detail. It would bear some investigating that evening

She was now approaching her destination, the teeming freight terminal of the Eastern railroads. British, Danish, Portuguese, Batavian and New England merchants were thronging the great hall, checking goods in and out, all of them having benefitted from the sudden disappearance of French and Prussian trading enterprises, by Imperial Decree. It was one of the New Englanders she was here to meet, and as she scanned the crowd, she saw him approach, supervising the unloading of a dolly and marking his scrawl across a ledger that the senior New England factor held out for him

She did not think for one moment that he had written his real name there. With a slight smile and a tiny nod, she moved forward to coincide with him


Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
William Benson was new to the role, and well aware of the suspicion that he, as a Georgia man, was generating in the largely Ohian and Virginian-led administration of the Dictatorship. But with the recent mutiny at Zanzibar, and the sterling efforts to get the rest of Maverick's fleet to the Pacific, it was felt that having a new hand at the Navy Office was a necessity for Pershing's government. Aged fifty-two - only fifty-two some of his critics decried - he had been elevated from his shore command of the Southern ports, to the top job in the service.

Today was to be a testing day. He looked around the Cabinet Room at the White House, and watched as aides continued to brief the Dictator, who was at the same time reeling off instructions on various matters to Madeleine, his Secretary. The commander-in-chief of the army, General Parker, sat next to him, head buried in the most recent reports from the San Diego front. Various aides hovered behind him, but none seemed inclined to interrupt - probably most wise of them, the admiral thought !

It was only when the hefty figure of William H Taft strode in from an adjoining room that the Dictator shooed away the rest of his aides, and brought the meeting to order. Taft was combining the roles of Secretary of State, and Secretary of War, whilst at the same time retaining his seat as Senator for Ohio. No doubt it broke several laws under the Democracy, but this was a revival of the Dictatorship, and Morton's first such government, four decades ago now, had established different standards. Nobody questioned Taft - who in fact would dare ?

"Important matters are afoot" declared the Dictator
"Afloat is perhaps more accurate" Taft said, then waved down the table to Benson, "Admiral, a summary please"
Benson stifled the need to shuffle his papers. He had prepared this speech several times, and knew it off by heart, but the glare of the big man was enough to unnerve even the strongest of wills. Many said that if Taft had not been born in Ohio he would have followed a different path, perhaps becoming a Judge, or a Governor, but instead the legacy of living in the Divided State had bred him hard, and had inculcated within him, as within in all remaining Ohians, the desire to serve at federal level, to never again let the interests of elsewhere dictate the path of their state.

"We have received two communications from Admiral Maverick, routed via Honolulu.", Benson began, "In the first he explains how several hundred dissident seamen have been purged from the fleet, and placed under arrest aboard a half dozen merchantmen, sequestrated for that purpose. They remain at anchor in the Kingdom of Hawaii, with US Marines guarding the prisoners."
"We should just shoot the bastards" Taft opined
"Mutiny is punishable by death" General Parker concurred
"I believe that Admiral Maverick was concerned about the effect that such a policy would have on the morale of the rest of the fleet, men who were until just recently serving alongside the dissidents."
There was a pause, then Taft nodded,
"True - we can always have them shot later"

Benson paused, thought better of making any direct reply, and went on to the second matter,
"Admiral Maverick's second communique gives detail of his intention to depart the kingdom on the morning after the message was sent, and of his estimated time of arrival off the North American coast."
"He is proceeding with his original mission ?" Dictator Pershing asked, to be clear
"Yes sir, he is"
"Go on" urged Taft

"Our agents in California report that panic is beginning to grip the Fredonian port cities. Fredonia doesn't have the warships to counter the ironclads in Maverick's fleet, and their only ally who does, the Ching, are still bogged down in mopping up remaining Japanese resistance. Our agent in the Los Angeles diplomatic circle believes that China will send a half dozen armoured cruisers West, but it will suffice only to protect their direct convoys with Oregon and Fredonia against any ships which Maverick might detach against them. Such a force cannot fight a fleet action against us."
"And these agents are reliable ?" asked the Dictator
"They always have been, sir. Its the only evidence we can base our trust upon."
"Hmm" the Dictator looked across to Taft

Taft nodded almost imperceptibly, and Pershing let it drop. Benson let the silence drag on a moment too long before he realised it was up to him to continue
"Er", he said, "Goodyear Zepellins operating out of Tijuana and Yuma now control the skies over Southern California. They report frantic activity in the Los Angeles navy yard, and also increased traffic into the Barton Airship Works at both its Los Angeles and Santa Barbara facilities. "
"What sort of activity ?" interjected Pershing
"Photographs taken from the airship Reunion appear to show numerous avisos and submarines being constructed, many on hastily-laid slips, others under roughly-erected sheds."
"Cheap, quick but efficient for coastal defence" Taft commented
"Anything else ?" asked General Parker

"Only that we are making a similar effort at Guaymas", Benson said to the army man, "We are shipping submarine hulls in sections across from Campeche and Tampico, to be assembled in the Gulf of California, as well as fitting out a score of new avisos."
"A type of vessel which I assume Admiral Maverick has none of ?" asked Pershing
"That is correct, sir. Sailing such small warships from Europe would have been impractical, perhaps even impossible"
"Will we have enough ?" asked the Dictator
"Yes sir. We already have sufficient avisos and corvettes at Guaymas to ensure that no Fredonian force can pass into the Gulf of California. When Admiral Maverick makes his position known, we will have a second force fitted out ready to join up with him and protect his fleet"
"Very well", the Dictator nodded

After this pause, it was Taft who spoke,
"General Parker," he said, "Perhaps you can outline the type of help that the USACA is going to need from Admiral Maverick in order to succeed in retaking San Diego"


Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
Davy John Malcolm was not a name that many people knew; in fact, until his sudden elevation from the reclusive position of Lieutenant Governor, few outside of Georgia had ever heard of him at all. Now, appointed Governor of that state by Dictatorial writ, he stood side-by-side with Stephen W Wilson, his fellow Governor of Virginia, and watched as the ceremony unfolded before them.

In truth it was not a ceremony that the state of Georgia could find any solace in, but he was here by his Dictator's command to oversee the transfer, and unless he wanted to go the same way as his predecessor his only choice was to obey the command. It was in fact due to his predecessor that this was now happening to Georgia, although at the time his policy of sticking closely to President Semmes had seemed an excellent idea. Malcolm himself had approved whole-heartedly of it, though had never had much to say on it - which was, presumably, why he was still around to now see the turnaround complete.

Semmes' administration had awarded the contract for the construction of a fleet of Goodyear Zepellins to the State Works of Georgia, under contract from the Ohio-based company. This was nothing new, and indeed the State Works of Georgia and Virginia constantly vied for such government contracts. But Ohio was very dear to the heart of the new administration, and Secretary of War and State Taft was not going to put up with Goodyear merely owning the rights, they must also own the process.

Sequestration was not a new thing - indeed, the very existence of large-scale State Works in both Virginia and Georgia had benefited massively from foreign confiscations at the end of the Civil War. Now, it was Georgia's turn to be on the receiving end.

Out on the field before them, the State-appointed Director of this facility was coming to the end of the elaborate ceremony. He strode up to the Goodyear representative, Raymond Bobbit and saluted,
"Sir !", his voice boomed towards the watching stands, "I hereby hand this facility over to the Goodyear Corporation"
Bobbit allowed just the right length of delay to imply his superiority, and then returned the salute,
"Director, I hereby accept the transfer on behalf of the Goodyear Corporation"

Around the Governors upon the stand, the crowd, imported from Southern Ohio, broke into rapturous applause. A series of cheers rang out for Bobbit - he had promised the Dictator that if Goodyear regained direct control of the building programme he would guarantee to double the zepellin fleet by the end of the Summer. He had staked his life on it - in fact as well as in common parlance

Governor Malcolm looked down at him and allowed a thin smile to spread across his face. He wondered whether the man would be alive to see the Fall


Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
Grey,
What's the level of popular support for the naval rebels against the military dictatorship in the U.S.?

Best Regards,
Archangel
 
Grey,
What's the level of popular support for the naval rebels against the military dictatorship in the U.S.?

Best Regards,
Archangel

I would imagine that the public never learn about it - unlikely that any US copy from Zanzibar or Honolulu gets allowed into papers, whilst British newspapers are probably not allowed in at all. People in the border region with Canada and Columbia might learn in time, but the NEC border is gonna be controlled, whilst the rest is a warzone more or less.

In time they will learn of course,but this is only 1907 and how much did populations in WW1 learn about what their govts wanted to keep from them ?

Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
Grey,
What's the level of popular support for the naval rebels against the military dictatorship in the U.S.?

Best Regards,
Archangel

The US Dictastorship system claims to be a linear descendant of the ARW, and doesnt see itself as being the military in charge, for all that the Dictator has always been a military figure

More on this later

Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
"Your Excellency"
Manuel Gonzalez looked up from his desk and nodded his head. At seventy-four, he had had a hard life, but had come through it intact, and with his reputation unsullied. Mexico's revival in the late nineteenth century had been slow, but sure, and it was somebody who embodied this who had been wanted to lead the country into the new century. The people had chosen him.

"Sir", the man who had come in wore the blue and gold of a senior staff officer in the Mexican armed forces. He took a seat beside the desk, and balanced a portfolio of reports upon his knee.
Gonzalez did not break off from what he had been doing, and kept his guest waiting the better part of two minutes whilst he completed signing his name on a batch of orders which he had already checked and then had typed up for him earlier.
"Yes, Marshal" he said, "What can I do for you ?"

Marshal Calderon was typical of the breed of Mexican officer who had entered the service in the massive reforms after the years of defeat to the United States. His exalted rank, and indeed his whole service, was a veritable symbol of these reforms, a professional elite at whose apex he was standing.
"Reports from the Panama border indicate a massive build-up of Spanish forces - both from their dominion of Granada, and elite units shipped in from Spain itself. There can be little doubt that they are about to attack the United Provinces."
"I never had any doubt of that" Manuel Gonzalez commented

"The USA is completely distracted, and as long as we refrain from giving more than verbal support to guerillas in Sonora and Chihuahua we should be at liberty for once to pursue an independent policy with regard to the UPCA"
"I trust that those reports you are carressing contain all of this in detail ?"
"Yes, Excellency"
"And that there are no, ah, dissenting opinions the nature of which you are being careful to not quite conceal from me ?"
"Only with regard to whether our army could defeat that of Spain once we have both swept aside the United Provinces' forces"
"Ah, to think so far ahead !" Gonzalez smiled, "I am an old man, Marshal, perchance I will not live so long"
"I am sure you will, sir"

Gonzalez nodded, and the smile disappeared
"Yes, you are most probably right. Merciful release will continually be denied to me"
"As you say, sir"
"As I say, indeed" Gonzalez shook his head, "What of the naval situation ?"
Marshal Calderon briefly consulted a pink sheet of paper, a summary he had made earlier,
"US forces are now reported to be operating in strength off San Diego, and fully committed to the war against Fredonia. I doubt that we have any need to fear intervention."
"And Spain, they are more my concern Marshal ?"

"Yes sir. Granada's forces consist of six armoured cruisers and a dozen avisos, with nothing in between. Home fleet forces must be in evidence to have transported army units across the Atlantic, but are probably of an order no larger than armoured cruisers."
"I am sure that Admiral Obrago would be happier to know more than a probability of what enemy forces he faces."
"Until we have clearer information..."
"Obviously, Marshal" Gonzalez interrupted him, "I merely point out that your report lacks concise information on this."
"Yes sir"
"And that we would be better to correct it before we commit our forces"
"Yes, Your Excellency"

Marshal Obrago rose to his feet and bowed, it being evident that the interview had come to an abrupt halt.


Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
A really great line. Unfortunately I am demonstrating how far behind I am.

Thanks for commenting - I'm in the middle of writing an email to you, and should have it sent from my parents' tonight.

Of course, the fact that the timeline moved off on a tangent after the chapter you quote shows up the usual problems with my writings! I don't even know if I completely contradicted that segment or not - I guess I ought to revisit it...

Best Regards & Best Wishes for a better 2009
Grey Wolf
 
Scarface was not a bad sort when you got to know him; he always delighted in immersing newcomers in a fog of confusion, but once you settled in, he no longer saw you as a newcomer, and treated all his men fairly. Young Lieutenant Patton and his men came directly under his command, and after a day's fighting at the front had become as firm friends as any he ever had.

Saddled from birth with the forename Houston, Captain Schneider had learnt his trade the hard way, and as his nickname bore out, he had the scars to show it. In his last tour of duty, he had joined the US Army of Central America and as an experienced veteran had helped suppress Indian risings in alliance with the UPCA government. Such internicine fighting had given him a view on life that was at best cynical, at worst nihilistic. When you had seen communities fighting each other over ancient wrongs, and creating new ones with every action, then matters of loyalty and honour all began to appear sullied.

Thus, Houston Schneider had not mourned for the United Provinces when the order had come to take ship for California. The UPCA would survive or fall, it would meet its own destiny - without the USACA it would have to fight its own battles, and with the Spanish dominion of Granada massing forces in the South, and Mexico doing likewise in the North, the United Provinces' future did not look good. But Scarface did not care, not like some people

He stood by the door of the command post, waiting for the senior officers' briefing to finish. Inside, he knew, many of the majors, colonels and generals were unhappy at what had been done to the UPCA, but determnied to do their duty for the Union. they would be humming and hawing over plans, over strategies, over possibilities. But in the end, the implementation would come down to the men commanding at the front - Scarface smiled; men like himself, in matter of fact

The door opened, and Colonel Luis Garcia was one of the first out. He nodded to Scarface, and he fell in beside him as they made their way back to the duckboards leading - eventually - to the trenchlines South of the besieged city.
"We go in with aerial cover" Garcia said as they walked
"Will it be sufficient, sir ?"
Garcia rolled his shoulders,
"The Goodyears have command of the skies - for now. We know Fredonia are trying to butch up their Bartons, and though the Goodyears are trying to bomb the Works, they will probably get something up in the next week or two. We should strike now while they are still a distance from that."

They turned down a "roadway" marked with large creosote letters upon bare wood, "Crockett Avenue"
"Crock of shit" Garcia stared at the sign
Scarface shrugged, and they continued their walk
"What worries the men at the front most, Captain ?" Garcia asked
"Gas, sir"
Garcia looked across at him,
"The gasmasks from Tejas all arrived, didn't they ?"
"Yes sir, but the men worry that until the first gas shells fell, they had no experience of gas. If the Free-dees invent a new type we're no ready for..."
"I can understand their worry" Garcia threw over his shoulder, "But unknown terrors..."
"I understand, sir"
"Better put a lid on it"
"Yes sir"


Best Regards
Grey Wolf

Not sure of slang terms and usages, but since this is an alternate timeline with around 110 years of history behind it, so things would be different from reality
 
"Got him !"
Captain of the Reserve, Horatio Fulbridge snapped the pistol back and blew on the barrel. Down the street, the black lay twitching where he had fallen
"Teach the fuckin nigger right man" Trooper Shawn Jenkins was typical of his breed - not the type to sign up for the front, and not in regular enough employment to avoid a Reserve callup. He picked his nose and ate it, then stuck a fouled and soggy cigar end in his mouth, "A killing fo' the Dictator, man!"
"Yeah" Fulbridge, looked around the darkened street, "For the Dictator!"

An automobile wheeled around the corner, armour plate on the sides, a machine gun mounted in the back. Two more Reserve troopers stood beside it, another in the front, his hands on the wheel. The vehicle drew up beside the two foot patrol, the senior officer, a Reserve Line One, snapping to attention from the rear,
"Captain"
"Officer" Fulbridge returned the salute, "Any more of the bastards ?"

"Ten more reported down by the old wharves"
"We're onto it !", the Officer banged the roof and the automobile sped off
"The nigs bit off more 'n they can chew!"
"They sure fucking did sir!"


Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
Am a bit depressed since I was aiming towards a 1910 map but my map-maker in waiting got banned...

I could produce interim traced ones for N America, I suppose, but they would be nothing compared to Hnau's excellent coloured masterpieces

Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
45

Darkness was the best time. On Amami Oshima it came later, came warmer than back on the mainland, but the more tropical climate was hardly uppermost on Shimazu Narimasa's mind. A minor cousin of the daimyo at the turn of the century, he had been catapulted to the lordship of Satsuma by the terrible vicissitudes of the Chinese invasion. Dozens of high-blood Shimazu had died in the battles fought across both Honshu and Kyushu, the daimyo himself falling beneath the walls of Kagoshima.

But Narimasa had survived. Oh, to be sure he had fled, down South by ship to the Amami Islands, a dependency of Satsuma far enough away from the home islands to have received nothing but a cursory visit from a Chinese warship. In a previous era, renowned for their role as a place of internal exile, the islands were poor and the conditions harsh. Their inhabitants resembled the Ainu in their ways more than they did the civilised Japanese themselves, although learned professors said that they shared a common neolithic origin.

As a place to hide it was ideal. The collapse of the Bakufu had obliterated the market for sugar cane, the islands' only viable export, but this was proving to be a blessing in disguise. For decades the crop had stripped the island of money, only Shimazu retainers and officials in far-away Kagoshima, or in the Shogunate's capital of Edo, itself, benefitting from the profits to be made. Rice, the previous crop, had been driven to the worst fields, the standard of living for the native inhabitants plumetting to little more than subsistence. But the fall of the Shogun, the burning of Edo itself, the captivity of the emperor, now back in Kyoto, all of these made the old ways pointless, and the islanders had taken back the better fields for themselves.

The crop this year would be better but it would still be hard work, and back-breaking toil. Shimazu Narimasa did not mind either - he had hardly been bred with the expectation that one day he would be daimyo of Satsuma, and although he felt the honour deeply, he was well aware that it came with no treasures, no palaces and no armies. Instead, he had the village elders at Tatsugo as his council, and a single-storey lodge as his home, but it was both better than nothing, and better by far than the fate of most of the lordly families whose surviving members had been dragged in chains into captivity within China

Narimasa could only think that divine providence had saved him from such a fate, and if the Amami Islands were an unlikely source for him to build an army, they were a good place to plan for one. By day he toiled in the fields, or worked at the port, by night he met with the elders and learned, and laid his plans.

The night they had been waiting for had now, at last, finally come, and in the silvered fragments of the Moon's splintered luminescence, the sailing ship rounding the head of the bay came into sight. If all was well it was out of Okinawa, an answer to their careful entreaties to the island kingdom. Okinawa, the Ryukyu kingdom, had always maintained its technical independence whilst somehow managing to simultaneously be the vassal of Satsuma, of the Shogunate, and of the Ching in China. The latter fact had helped it to survive recent events, for Peking had done nothing but got a reaffirmation of vassalage out of the royal court - there was, after all, no need to conquer someone who already accepted their place in the scheme of things.

But this was paper history, the fabrication concocted by historians to make sense of an anomaly, and the truth was that Okinawa felt its loyalty to Satsuma at least as much, or sometimes as little, as to Peking. If all was well, the royal court had sent a reply to their emissary, and Narimasa's hopes were high. It would surely be in keeping for Okinawa to continue to play the odds, to keep in with both sides. And if they had not, if they had in fact sold out to the Ching, would it not be a Chinese steam warship entering Tatsugo bay, and not this stealthy man of sail ?


Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
"Mr President", the tone was hardly warm, the glare in the eyes that met his far from welcoming
Stephen Bickley nodded as brief an acknowledgment as would not be construed grounds for a duel, and moved on into the meeting room.

The hotel in the San Gabriel valley had been chosen due to its mixture of relative proximity to Los Angeles, but sufficient enough distance that no Goodyear zeppelin raid on the city would accidentally - or worse - bomb them. If anyone had, indeed, given away the location of the summit, then the artillery watchers would give the warning soon enough. There was nothing up here for airships, other than the hotel.

The room was tense, the people in it even tenser. The war had seemed won, San Diego taken, the United States apparently collapsing into civil disorder, but in recent months all that had turned around. American troops were once again pressing into the centre of what had been San Diego, US warships controlled the coastal waters and had driven all Fredonian trade out of the Southern sector, had indeed driven all Fredonian warships out of it as well. The gigantic Goodyear zepellins controlled the air, raining down vengeance from the skies whilst the batteries of the US warships constantly rained a similar hail of hate from off the coast.

The US had even found effective counter-measures to Fredonian gas, for all that the chemical works had been constantly striving to create new compounds and improve the efficiency of the death rate from existing stockpiles. But the Tejas factories were turning out protective clothing, gas masks with improved filters and sprays to neutralise residue remaining after the attack. There were rumours of a Fredonian miracle gas, and that was why the president had left the safety of Topeka and crossed the Rockies to the front

Stephen Bickley took his seat, and crossed his legs. He palmed a glass of wine from a circulating waitress, a true-bred Spanish-descended Californian by the looks of her. And he waited. However much these people hated him personally, they would know better than to keep him waiting too long.

It was just long enough for him to get agitated, but not enough for him to snap when they finally began.
"Gentlemen", the Senator for Los Angeles stood as an aide closed the door on the room, having ushered the remaining waitresses out, "We meet together in dark times"
"Half my fishing fleet already sunk" moaned a thin, frail-looking man
"My railroads smashed AGAIN this week" another lamented
"And none of my ships have been able to leave harbour in three weeks" another added

Bickley began to wonder if this litany of despondency was going to continue all evening, or if they would get to the point. Thankfully, the Senator from Los Angeles also seemed to have heard quite enough of his fellows' complaints and raised a hand to silence further outbursts.
"In the midst of every night there is hope that the dawn will come" he said
"Yeah, right..." muttered someone from over by the wall
"Tonight, that hope can be found in the person of Doctor-Professor Schmidt !"

Confused eyes probed the room until an unprepossessing fellow stepped forward from the shadows, and gave a slight nod,
"Mr President, Senator, genetlemen, I bring you something truly astonishing !" he said
Suddenly this quietly-spoken man had their utmost attention
"Gases such as chlorine or phosgene attack the respiratory system, or more virulently the skin. What I have discovered attacks the very nerves themselves !"

There was a moment's confused silence, then as an unhappy murmurring of confusion began, the president spoke up,
"Perhaps you had better clarify that" he said
Doctor-Professor Schmidt looked at his president, then seemed to remember the calibre of his men he was dealing with
"Of course", he nodded, "These 'nerve agents' as I call them start to work by interfering with muscle control, this will then develop into more serious neurological disorder, and soon enough death."
"Er", the railroad magnate looked up sharply at the man of science, "You have proof of this ?" he demanded
"Several dozen US prisoners have just finished assuring my research team"

There was a stunned silence, until stifling a cough the president asked
"And when can you have a battle-ready version available for deployment at the front ?"


Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
"They're busy with those railroads" Jesus Lopez had received a battlefield promotion to junior lieutenant and wore the insignia with pride
"I've been trying to get a handle on that" Scarface told him.
Lopez nodded and waited. Captain Schneider was a good officer, and careful enough with his men. If he had thought it necessary to push reconnaissance parties deep into what wags were now calling "No-Man's Land" then he must think the risks justified by what they might find out.

"It is not artillery they are bringing up", Houston Schneider said carefully, "Recce reported seeing trains of shiny new tankers being shunted into the receiving area"
"Tankers ?" Lopez frowned, "Fuel oil ?"
"It seems unlikely", Schneider relented, "Perhaps - they could fill the trenches and set it alight, of course"
"Rather desperate, sir"
"Yes, thats why I don't think so"

The two men turned away from the trenchside wall as the heavy tromp of feet fell upon the duckboards behind them. They saluted, and Colonel Garcia snapped one back, a sour and disturbed look upon his face
"I got these" he said, and waved a set of photographs at the officers, "The Goodyear zepellin 'Deviant' took these this morning over the railroad marshalling yards outside of Los Angeles"
Scarface took them and briefly perused them
"Tanker cars" he said grimly
"Over a hundred of the damn things" Garcia growled, "What are the bastards up to, Captain ?"
"I wish I knew sir"
Garcia took back the photographs with a sharp nod,
"Find out - that is an order"
It was good to be explicit about such things.
"Yes sir" Scarface saluted

When calm had returned to the trench, Scarface looked across at the new junior lieutenant
"Do you fancy a night of adventure ?" he asked
"No sir" Jesus replied, honestly
"Good man", Scarface slapped him on the back, "I'd've been worried if you'd said otherwise. Choose five good men and report to me at Midnight."
"Yes sir", there was resignation in the other's voice


Best Regards
Grey Wolf
 
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