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VILenin: Excellent! :p

Mettermrck: Would YOU want to become President if you knew what you do now? ;)

Frankly, you'd have to be crazier than Aaron Burr or your AAR's McCarthy to take the job.

NikkTheTrick: Bang

BBBD: Don't get your hopes up. Stukov's a tad miffed about bloody coups.

------------------------------------------------

March 7th, 1845

In the White House, Alexei Stukov and his wife Azuren sat casually in one of the rooms they had claimed as part of their permanent residence inside the dwelling of the supposed leader of the only republic in the continent.

Having long grown disgusted with the archaic standards she was forced to put up with, and the nearly crushing heat compared to the Kremlin, Azuren now wore a military-style uniform appropriate for a 1940's empress of a military-industrial complex that dominated the world.

Stukov smiled and looked across the room at his son Feodor, now technically ten years old as he sat on the floor trying to read one of his father's books about temporal mechanics the space-time continuum, all that he knew about constructing a time-machine when the time was finally right, should it ever be right.

"He didn't scream like Van Buren did," Azuren remarked casually.

"I noticed. He also lasted nearly twice as long," Stukov glanced at Feodor to be sure he was neither aware his parents were speaking, nor listening to what they said, "But I think he'll only last half as long in office."

Azuren smiled, meeting her husband's eyes, "Is that a fact?"

Stukov shook his head. "You never know what might happen, love."

"Don't you?" she teased.

"Only when I have to."

The conversation dropped into silence for a while, the two of them occassionally exchanging glances at each other and their son, smiling the whole time.

"Do you think he understands any of it?"

Alexei laughed inwardly and shook his head, "I couldn't even tell time until I was eleven."

Azuren giggled, "Good thing he's not as stupid as his father."

Stukov only rolled his eyes in response.

Suddenly, Feodor hopped up off the ground, snapped the book shut and walked over to them. Handing the book him Stukov, he grinned, "That's a silly book, father."

Stukov laughed, putting the book on a nearby table with a thud. "Did you like it?"

"Yes, father," Feodor nodded, practically beaming.

Stukov gently patted his son on the head, "Very good, son. Now I think it's time you started your lessons with your mother." Feodor groaned in disappointment.

Stukov stood up, virtually towering over his son, "I have to get back to work too, so no complaining."

"Yes, father," Feodor muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Be good, Theodore," he said as he left the room. A minute later, he was on the other side of the building. Opening the door, he scowled at the man laying limp in a chair before him. Two Imperial Guardsmen, Yuri and Antanov, looked up from their work.

"Has he broken yet?" he asked, staring at the man.

Yuri nodded, "Yes sir, though we appear to be having some trouble stopping him from spontaneously rambling about serving you."

Stukov barked a laugh, "How unfortunate that's a bad thing these days."

The man looked in the direction of Stukov, trying and failing to focus his eyes by blinking furiously. His movements were listless and uncoordinated, and Stukov guessed his thoughts were the same. There were bruises all across most of his visible body, and a dried up trail of blood trickled down from his nose, lips, and ears.

"From now on, James Polk," Stukov stated harshly, "you obey me. If you do not, I shall destroy you and make you beg to be sent to hell. You will follow my commands implicitly, and without hesitation."

"I....I....u-unerssstand," Polk slurred, "I-I...I obey....you."

Stukov smiled wickedly, "Good. Now I command you to not longer obey me."

Polk blinked, paused, and stared at him, blinking rapidly. A few moments later, Polk began twitching and shuddering, his eyes darting across the room.

Stukov nodded. "A satisfactory response, I would say. After he's done, finish up with him, then get yourselves some rest."

The two Guardsmen saluted him as he left, and Polk began breaking into hysterical sobs. Stukov's smile only grew.
 
Does the office of Vice Presidency come with beatings and brainwashing too, or has it remained that bastion of non-entity that we all know and love? :p I think that would be hilarious if the Vice President was so out of the loop he didn't know who was actually in charge in Washington!

BTW, Theodore studying quantum mechanics... Is there a possibility for a sequal that is even further back in time?
 
VILenin: The Vice President has no idea what's going on with Stukov.

And I doubt Feodor will be in a time traveling AAR of his own. He'll be lucky to make it through this one.

-------------------------------------------------

1845-1846

The Polk Administration, and the fifth Democratic one in a row, began as uneventfully as one would hope for. Aside from the occasional clamor for expansionism or emancipation of the slaves, little occurred of consequence to the American people. Polk seemed content to simply sit back and watch the Democratic policies cement themselves into American society, while the Whigs watched in agonized silence and hoped that someday, they too would have a President in the White House.

But there were distant rumblings behind the scenes. Polk's idleness was a facade for a steady military growth, specifically in the United States Army, which had seen little growth since the War of 1812 through fear of a military coup. The army was combing the nation for recruits to bolster the reserves, and in total succeeded in marshaling a total of eight divisions totaling 80,000 strong. Along with that, two cavalry and one infantry, totaling another 32,000, were commissioned during 1845. In total, an impressive 112,000 men were put into uniform.

Meanwhile, the Republic of Texas, long strained to support its crumbling military, finally declared bankruptcy, defaulting on all of its debts. Many in the United States believed that either Mexico or Texas would use this to launch an attack on the other, as tensions had been flaring up over the years due to raids and bloodshed. Regardless, the reputation of Texas was ruined, and some Texans questioned just how realistic it was to continue on as an independent country.

To the north, events were slowly being set into motion. British diplomats, hoping to ease tensions in the Pacific Northwest, offered Polk both technology and large sums of money in exchange for American land claims near Vancouver Island. But to the President, this was simply out of the question, snubbing the British offer frankly and decisively. Polk had decided America would not give up territory.

In response, large numbers of British troops began arriving in Canada in late summer and early fall, disturbing New Englanders. British ambassadors assured Polk that no hostile intention was meant, but it was merely meant as self-defense for British Canadians who were equally concerned of American expansionism.

1845 passed on into 1846, and the issue of the Oregon Territory was getting out of control. Both the Americans and British had been making grossly exaggerated claims. The British demanded to have all the territory north of the Columbia River, while the Americans demanded all the territory south of Russian Alaska. Cooler heads offered the southern tip of the Puget Sound and the latitude 44'40 from the British and Americans respectively. With Polk adamantly opposed to giving up the American land claims north of 44'40, the Whig Party saw a chance to gain a political advantage. As the debate raged in the Congress, Senator Clay coined the famous phrase "54'40 or fight!", evoking wild applause from Whigs and expansionist Democrats alike. The United States drew a line in the sand: "54' 40 of Fight!" One week later, the British officials returned with their response: "Very well. Let's fight!" With those words, the United States of America and Great Britain had rashly gone to war again.

But the United States, much more than the British, had acted rashly. Unprepared, the American army only had six divisions nearby. Two divisions under General Taylor were garrisoned at Washington D.C. and were immediately sent out to New York. Another 20,000 infantry and dragoons were ordered to attack London, south of Toronto, under the command of General Patterson in the newly formed Army of New England. Meanwhile, 80,000 reserves were called up, and were expected to be ready for combat in March. In the meantime, a mere four divisions were arrayed against a well-prepared British invasion force consisting of 156,000 soldiers. General Scott and his Army of the South, a mere 10,000 were the only reinforcements expected in the near future.

SS4.jpg

The U.S. Army was greatly outnumbered in New England at the start of the Oregon War.

The only bright spot was the huge undefended border of western Canada. Already, American cavalry were swarming across the border, snatching up and siezing land claims.

SS5.jpg

Though outnumbered in the East, the Americans had a distinct advantage in the West

For the third time, the United States and Great Britain were at war.

 
I am sure once the reserves are called up that the English will be pushed out, meanwhile all their claims will be taken from them.

What would happen if Stukov lead the revolution? :p
 
Mettermrck: Let's see if they're as traitorous as they were in the War of 1812. I'm sure Stukov loved traitors :p

weychun: It's VIP 0.4 with VIP 0.3's territory for North America and modified economic values..

BBBD: I honestly doubt Stukov, an intellectual who seems content to wipe out the population of a continent and reduce the rest to lifelong servitude to an monarchy, would lead a liberal anarchist rebellion. :p

------------------------------------------

The Oregon War: 1846

The Eastern Theater

Despite its name, the war between the United States and Great Britain was primarily fought on the opposite side of the continent. For the British to defeat the Americans, they would need to secure the eastern seaboard, capture Washington D.C., and decisively beat the American army. Though numerically superior by a ridiculous margin, this was a daunting task for the 160,000 troops stationed in the East. Not only did the British army have to seize this vast territory, they also had to protect the Empire's Canadian holdings in the process, made difficult by the gigantic border that lay undefended in the Great Lakes area.

For the Americans, the task of victory was equally great, with the immediate neccesity of protecting New England from imminent invasion with grossly inadequate forces. However, their task was made simpler from a large pool of recruits and conscripts eager to protect their homeland. Reinforcements could be moved quickly across the country, instead of being ferried across the Atlantic in the British army's case. The American army was also blessed with some of its most gifted commanders, General Scott, Taylor, and Patterson. The British, on the other hand, could boast no one of any significance.

An early American victory was scored when General Patterson's Army of New England successfully defeated a small British force in Canada's London on February 18th.

Meanwhile, the British forces in New Brunswick crossed over the border began marching towards Bangor unopposed. In tandem, another five divisions marched south from Ottawa to Burlington, Vermont, down Lake Champlain while another division moved down the western bank of the lake into New York. General Taylor, spotting the divided British forces, attacked the infantry column as it marched towards Watertown. Leaving Scott's Army of the South that had just arrived at Boston on March 7th, Taylor struck on March 21st, repulsing the British by the 24th.

By mid April, the American reserves were starting to form up, bolstering the American army to 74,000 men strong, with another 60,000 well on the way. General Scott, now with 22,000 men, marched north from Boston to Burlington, to liberate Vermont. Only 10,000 British occupied the province, with the remainder retreating to Toronto to block Patterson's attack.

The attack bogged down as British forces stormed back into Vermont, forcing the Army of the Potomac to go to its aid. With the way wide open, another British force pushed south through New York in mid-June. Only 40,000 newly commissioned reserves of the new Army of Maine stood a chance of opposing their march to the capital. General Patterson, after being pushed back over the border, rushed to take command of this army, leaving 10,000 dragoons to hold Buffalo.

Meanwhile, General Taylor was pushing back the British forces in Maine. With the British army threatening to overwhelm General Scott, Taylor decided to forgo any invasion of Canada and return to aid Scott's army.

22,000 British landed in New Berne, North Carolina. Terrified of potentially losing the war, President Polk called for more recruits and petitioned Congress to begin conscription, though the idea was met with significant opposition. Polk argued that if the United States were to survive the trials of war, it would need to finally cast aside its fear of a large army that had plagued it during the War of 1812. Another three divisions were commissioned in July and August at the President's behest.

With morale beginning to crumble in the face of an advancing British onslaught, victory at sea was a much needed boost. Four British warships were sunk off the coast of New Jersey by the American navy on August 9th. For the first time it its history, the American naval forces had emerged victorious from a fixed engagement with the Royal Navy. Another four British troop transports were sunk in Pamlico Sound as they tried to land forces in North Carolina.

Finally concentrated, the American army was able to smash the scattered British forces in late September and October. One division was annihilated en route to Philadelphia, and another was crushed as it approached Boston. Scott and Patterson engaged British forces in New York City and Watertown. Just as the Watertown defenders began to break, General Scott was killed leading a charge against a fortified line on October 23rd. Their beloved leader killed, the Army of the South crumbled, retreating on October 27th.

Any hopes for a counterattack were dashed when 50,000 soldiers from British India landed in Atlantic City in December. Aghast and enraged at Indian mercenaries defiling the soil of America, Congress demanded that the army destroy the new threat.

Despite a year of conflict, neither side had managed to gain a decisive edge. The American forces had proved more than a match for their British counterparts, keeping them at bay and reducing their gains to Maine. Yet the United States was gaining strength in numbers, and British generals feared they would be merely worn down to nothing.

SS6.jpg

New England experienced war on a scale never before experienced in its history

SS7.jpg

The only successful assault into Canada was quickly repulsed by British forces.

The Western Theater

Unlike the Eastern Theater, little in the way of major fighting took place west of the Great Lakes, where the "Western" theater of the Oregon War took place. American cavalry, already in place near the border, were quick to storm north into Canada. Their mission was to capture as many of the British outposts and forts between Ontario and the Oregon Territory, when push westward into Oregon and firmly extert American hegemony over the territories. The British could muster little in terms of organized defense, and any more would have made little difference. Too slow for the American cavalry, British infantry would be decimated by the harsh wilderness, and any invasion into the United States would be inconsequential. Nothing in terms of remarkable events occurred that dramatically affected the outcome of the war.

At Maple Creek in southern Saskatchewan, American cavalry engaged and destroyed a British force on April 22nd, leaving the entire Oregon Territory open to the United States.

When the New Year rolled in, little had changed in the West. The British had lost significant portions of their Canadians holdings, and any hope of retaining Oregon. But if the United States could not grasp hold of victory in the Eastern Theater, little that happened would matter.
 
This is exciting, good work destryoing the transports that could have tipped the balance.

I know there is no possibility of the revolution, I just like the flag. Maybe his Excellency will change it? ;)
 
Ah, a sequel!

Great to see it. :cool:
 
sleepyirv: We'll just have to wait and see :)

cthulhu: Thanks

BBBD: Incidentally, the British forces are hopping around a lot. The 5 British India forces first landed in Boston, but then sailed back down to Atlantic City, and those two divisions in New Berne vanished.

anonymous4401: Great to see you're finally seeing it. :p

------------------------------------------------------

January 5th, 1847

Gazing out the window, watching the snow fall gently across the lawn of the White House, Alexei sighed softly. The glass of the window fogged slightly as his hot breathed condensed on the cool surface.

The snow, how it fell so gently and quietly, reminded him of Russia. And Russia remined him of the "old" days, back when he alone plotted to seize power from Stalin. America, though a chance for a fresh start, was nothing like the Soviet Union, and its leaders were nothing like Josef Stalin, and Great Britain, though a superpower, was nothing like Nazi Germany. The challenge of survival no longer seemed to exist. Certainly, the American army was nothing compared to the Red Army, but even in defeat, Stukov and America would live on. It was inconceivable in this day and age for a nation so large as the United States to be obliterated or choked in its own spilt blood.

Thoughs flew through his head all at once. His son, his future, his plans, his hopes, his own mortality.

He paused.

Mortality? he wondered. He had never truely thought about the prospect of dieing. The threat of death had hung over him in Soviet Russia for a whole decade, but he had hardly given it a second thought. Why?

He did not fear death. Death was the price of failure, and if he failed, he would not regret dieing. But...to age and pass on, after having achieved so much, or having achieved so little, the prospect terrified him.

It seemed ironic, perhaps, that the man, who in one hundred years would unleash a plague of such potent lethality, would anihalate the populations and cultures of an entire continent, all for his own vision of a better world, would die an old man.

Through the glass of the window, he could see himself in the reflection. He had aged, certainly. It was evident to even him. Azuren had occassionally teased him about it, but he had hardly considered it. But now, as he saw himself as he contemplated the past future of his life, he knew he was growing older. He had been twenty six when he had siezed the initiative and left those fools behind in 1936 to form his own destiny. Now, twenty years later, the wrinkles in his features and grey strands of hair were growing ever more visible. Slowly, and surely, the sands of time were washing away his body.

Feeling suddenly very old and tired, he stepped back from the window and sat down silently, a grimace on his face. As he settled into the chair, he caught a movement in the corner of his eye.

It was Feodor, standing in the doorway. Now ten years of age, Feodor's image warmed Alexei's heart, and cast aside the fears he had. It gave him hope for the future. Here before him, a boy slowly growing into his own in the world, was begining to show the characteristics of his father and his mother. Athletic, active, keenly intelligent, and ambitious, Feodor was his pride. A worthy heir, he looked up to his father as a role model, far more than Alexei had ever looked up to his own father.

"What are you doing, father?" Feodor asked inquisitively.

"Oh, I'm just watching the snow fall, Theodore," he winced internally at using his son's false name.

Feodor nodded, not really understanding but acceping what he said. Without saying a word, he walked up to the window. Finally, he turned back to his father. "Are the British coming, father? Will we lose the war?"

Alexei blinked, the only sign of his surprise.

"No son," he answered, "We won't lose."

Feodor smiled, "Really?"

He nodded. "Really." He so badly wanted to add I've fought more than enough war to know.

Feodor nodded with him, watching the snow fall. "Why do we live here, father?"

"What?"

"Why do we live in the White House, with the President? One of the servants said we would never have used to be allowed to live here."

Stukov thought for a moment, hardly sure how to explain it.

"Well, son, we live in the White House because this is where we belong?"

"Why?" Feodor asked almost immediately.

Alexei chuckled. "Because, son, we have to. It's how things are meant. You, me, and especially your mother, we're all special. One tell, I'll tell you why, son."

"I don't understand, father."

"One day, you will..."
 
Stukov looking ahead with nostalgia to WWII, that's a great moment. :) I hope the Federal army actually enjoys his confidence and he's not just saying that to his son.
 
BBBD: Gladly :)

VILenin: I hope so too, but frankly, there just seem to be too many British now....

--------------------------------------------------

March 26nd, 1847

President Polk lay motionless in a pool of his own blood, quivering in uncontrollable terror. His master was enraged, and for good reason.

On the second floor of the White House, Stukov paced back and forth, his right eyelid twitching. His eyes were as sharp as daggers and as cold as the artic.

"That blundering imbecile!" he raged, hurling his bawled fists into the air.

Azuren only nodded her assent. "We'll pull through this, Alexei."

Stukov snarled, hurling a nearby table off its legs and sending it clattering to the ground. Azuren did not even flinch.

"Bah! We're already in a war we're barely holding the British off in, and now that....peon goes and starts another one!"

There had been a revolt in California the week before. American settlers had taken it upon themselves to oust the Mexican governor and declare themselves part of the new "Bear Flag Republic", hoping to follow Texas' lead of breaking away from the Mexican monarchy. The Mexicans had overreacted, blaming the revolt on the United States. In his broken status, Polk did not have the mental capacity or courage to respond without his master's consent, and thus inadvertantly infuriated and insulted the Mexican ambassadors. Relations, already cool over the United States' recognition of Texas, had shattered overnight, and the Mexican monarchy had declared war upon the United States of America.

Azuren shot up. "And what if he did start another war? What can the Mexicans do to us? They can't march through Texas. They have no navy. God forbid they might take Wyoming or Nebraska from us," she snorted.

Stukov froze in mid-pace. Slowly he turned, as if he had not thought of that before.

"Of course...of course! Why should we care if Mexico declares war on us?" Stukov's face beamed.

Azuren smiled, wrapping her arms around her husband and kissing him. "We'll deal with the Mexicans when it matters. Right now, we have to finish the first war."

Stukov returned his wife's kiss, embracing her and smiling. "You realize five minutes ago I was close to popping a blood vessel."

She nodded, "Aye, and now look at you."

"What would I do without you?"

"You'd probably boil your blood. Just calm down."

Stukov smiled, looking towards the door. "Do you think Feodor heard us?"

"Of course he did. Probably half of Washington did too."

Despite now being faced with two wars with two different nations, the United States was finally making progress in battle. With the British mercenaries from India soon wiped from the continent, Patterson and Taylor would finally be able to turn their attention back north, and finally invade Canada properly.

Stukov pulled away from his wife's embrace, slowly walking his way over towards the window. "You know," he said, a reminscent tinge to his voice, "When I think about it all...we started out pretty badly in 1936. I mean, it took almost an entire year just to annex Persia. Persia."

Azuren shook her head slowly, "Always remembering the past. Can't you ever keep your thoughts grounded in the present?"

Stukov turned to face her, a boyish smile on his face. He shrugged, "Nope. I haven't even been able to keep myself in the present."

SS8.jpg


SS9.jpg
 
Still lots of Union Jacks littering the landscape, but if your navy can hold off reinforcements then you should be okay, lucky the computer doesn't recognise claims or you could lose lots to Santa Anna. But what a rock star is doing back in the 1800's is anyones guess :D
 
December 8th, 1848:

Lieutenant Sergei Golhikov stiffled a yawn as he looked out over the White House lawn from the roof of the building, squatted down by the edge and leaning on his AK-45. It hadn't snowed yet, and the grass was a sickly green or brown to it, and the trees were skeletal phantoms rocking gently in the winter wind.

Much had happened in the last year. The war had so consumed the people's minds that the election had nearly been forgotten. Through a series of battles and campaigns filled with luck, good fortune, and American courage and determination, the armies of the United States had taken Canada from the British Empire.

Surely, only someone as skilled as the Emperor and Emperess could have performed such miracles. It reaffirmed Sergei's already firmly established belief that they had some divine right to rule, to command the fate of the world. And Sergei would have given his life a thousand times over in any number of horrible ways so that their lives might continue, and that their influence would continue to shape the world into their image.

Having grown frustrated with the continued masses of British troops constantly bogging down any offensives into Canada, Stukov had dispatched the four survivors of the Imperial Guard to the front.

The results, needless to say, delighted Stukov.

19th century warfare could do little to stop the most highly skilled and trained and armed fighters of the mid-20th century. The British lines, ravaged by raids, sabotage, and terrorism, broke to pieces against the advancing Americans. With their lines shattered on all fronts, the British retreated in a desperate attempt to retain some control. But the Americans pushed forward recklessly, throwing all caution to the wind. In a series of daring strikes, Patterson, Getty, and Taylor broke the back of the British army at Montreal in late September of 1847.

Desperately, the British had tried to rush reinforcements across the Atlantic. Over a dozen British troop transports met an unfortunate end at the guns of the American navy in the mouth of the St. Lawrence River.

Sergei smiled. Within months, Canada had fallen to the United States of America, and to Emperor Stukov. And he had only used 90 rounds the entire time

Even better, Mexico, long thought stable from the monarchy, had erupted in revolutions and revolts, forcing the Mexicans to sue for peace. Despite a few vocal objections to simply smash Mexico, Stukov had decided to let them go.

For now, Sergei thought.

Canada had completely fallen sometime around May of 1848, and had been cause of jubulent celebration across the entire country. But with that celebration, came the reminder of the price. Casualties had eclipsed the Revolution and War of 1812 by far. Two years of vicious combat had produced almost 100,000 dead and had caused greivous damage to New England, where almost the entire war had been fought.

The price had been just too atrocious. Polk and the Democrats were ruined. With the election already underway, the Democrats selected Polk for reelection, hoping the incumbent would have the best chance of winning. The Whigs, scenting blood, nominated General Zachary Taylor, hero of Oregon War. With the war now turning into a stalemate, with both nations glaring at each other across the Atlantic.

November 1848 came quickly, and Election Day saw the final breaking of a precedent. After 20 years in the White House, the Demoratic Party had been defeated. The election had been an untimigated disaster for the Democrats. Losing seat after seat in the Congress, the Whig Party now had a commanding dominance of the nation's federal government.

At least, that's what they believe, Sergei mused.

Sergei heard the near-silent footsteps of Antanov behind him, pulling him from his thoughts. To anyone else, the man's approach would have gone undetected.

"The Royal Family has gone to bed now, comrade. The Emperor suggested we spend the rest of the night in the city," Antanov said.

Sergei chuckled lightly. The Emperor had been subtlely suggesting that they search the ever-growing immigrant ghettos for Russian women.

"Well," Sergei shrugged, slowly standing up, "I suppose the next generation of the Imperial line needs a next generation of Imperial Guardsmen."

Antanov nodded as Sergei turned to look at him. "I expect Yuri won't, though. He can't bear to leave the Emperor unguarded even for a few hours."

"What do you expect? He was part of the Guard unit that Skorzeny and Gaspard anihalated," he finished with a scowl. The bitter memory of the two commandoes that had torn a swath of destruction through the Kremlin still hung vividly in his mind.

The two paused, each recalling their own experiences of that day.

Sergei broke the silence first, "Have you been watching the heir recently?"

"No more than usual, why?" Antanov asked.

Sergei shrugged. "Oh, I was just wondering what you thought of him."

"Is there something wrong with him?"

Sergei shook his head. "No...never mind, forget I said anything. I'm sure it's just my imagination."

Antanov looked at him curiously for a moment, then quickly shrugged it off, "Alright then. Come on, let's go explore the city."

SS10.jpg
 
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