Southern Cross: The Confederate States in World War II

January 3, 1937

Snow drifted gently to the ground in the Confederate capital of Richmond, blanketing the slumbering city in a veil of white. Evidence of the raucous New Year's celebration of two days before was nowhere to be seen as the reemergence of winter weather drove all but the essential indoors. Reflecting on the miserable weather and how much he longed for a Louisiana winter, President Huey Long almost immediately snickered at the thought of missing anything about Louisiana weather. As much as he loved his country, Long was never so naive as to claim its' climate was the most desirable on earth.

"Somethin' funny Huey?"

The sound of Roscoe Fletcher's voice brought the President out of his musings and back into the meeting he had arranged on this early evening with Fletcher, one of Huey's most reliable 'fix-it' men who had been with the Kingfish since the beginning. Fletcher's loyalty was to Huey and Huey alone, politics be damned. He was the sort who would do whatever the boss needed done and ask questions only insofar as they concerned the actual work. Coupled with a shrewdness and a quick though mostly unschooled intelligence he was, in short, a perfect chief of staff for a President who was the product of a political machine as Huey Long was. Sparing a glance at a stern portrait of Jefferson Davis, Long reckoned old Jeff would be rolling in his grave if he could've seen some of the things done in this office since he'd left.

Remembering his history, Huey wondered if perhaps he would be equally surprised by Davis.

"Nah Roscoe, just thinkin' on something. So how'd that trip to Duke shake out?"

"Everything looked above the level to me Huey even thogh I'll never be a physicist and that's the God's truth. Still, Dr. Overton was a real good fella it seemed. Damned smart, that was for certain and he's got a nice little team of bright young lads working for him as well as some others in the field comin' out from Texas and Alabama. Looks like the nuclear research laboratory is a going concern."

"Fine news, fine news. Good to hear it from a man I can trust. This is the sort of thing we wanna keep quiet."

Fletcher looked a question at this chief, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, not bottom of the bayou quiet," Fletcher allowed a chuckle at his boss' words, "but not blaring at all around either. Although I guess a nuclear reearch laboratory isn't something most folks would be interested in. Still, you know what I mean."

"Alright, I get you. Anything else?"

"What do you think about getting Bibb out and putting Futtrell in? He's got some good ideas he's been implementing down with the TALM dams and power stations, plus the industry and infrastructure they had to put together to get the dams going in the first place."

"Well, they're both Alabamans if I recall, so no squawking from the Senate, though it wouldn't really matter either way. I say sure, any economic improvement is gonna fall on you and not the secretary either way. Not like things can get much worse."

Long grunted but couldn't deny that Fletcher was all too likely right.

"Alright, thanks Roscoe, always good to bounce ideas off somebody else once in a while. You can head on out."

Rising and nodding, Fletcher sketched a quick wave as he left the President's office and Long returned to what seemed the neverending business of running a country.

I don't know if I've mentioned it (I think so) but the TALM dams are the cooperative dams built down the Mississippi by the four states bordering it (Tennessee, Arkansas, Mississippi, Louisiana). Hence the crappy acronym. It's my attempt to explain the TVA energy production in the aforementioned provinces. Sorry for any confusion.

Specialist290 - Well, you knew he'd have to make an appearance. I have to confess to being fascinated by the man, my first favorite war movie, and still one of my favorites is 'Patton'. He will indeed be figuring largely in the story to come.

And as for his relations with Long...I agree. Maybe we'll get to see it at some point.

TheExecuter - HJ Tulp got it right, Long was referred to as the Kingfish. He was also notoriously autocratic and somewhat corrupt and I definitely wanted to bring that into the equation.

Kurt_Steiner - I agree. What can I say, Yankees love us.

HJ Tulp - Thanks for the assist.

Yep. you got it right in the last one. Sorry you had to go through a color coding exercise to understand it though.

Edit: added a little something to make it cleare that Fletcher is responding to Long's words, not speaking himself. Appreciate the critique, stuff like this is why it's great to have others read your work. Thanks GhostWriter.

Update imminent for still interested parties.

February 18, 1937

Lieutenant Terry Collins had quickly discovered that leave in small town Louisiana was about as much fun as watching paint dry.

To be fair, he figured that leave in small town anywhere would have been about the same, but this was the first time he'd been allowed off the base for any longer than 12 hours and he felt like he should be doing something exciting, something thrilling.

Right now, he'd settle for something that would raise his pulse. Even a little.

He sat in the one diner that Pleasant, Louisiana boasted. Terry thought the name of the town was just so much wishful thinking, but didn't think that would be the most diplomatic thing to say to the town's citizens. After all, they hadn't asked for a great big Army camp to be put up practically next door, and considering the flood of men in light butternut that were coming into town, Collins supposed they were doing the best that they could. Still, their best wasn't exactly what he had had in mind when he had escaped from Fort Cleburne with his 24 hour pass and an admonition from Captain Parsons to 'be good and back on time.' He absently thumbed through a three month old issue of 'Life' that had somehow made it down from the USA. A large photo of the Yankees' new President Alf Landon smiled out at Collins, and some 12 pages of articles about the Kansan had drawn only cursory interest from the young officer. He took another bite of what he even had to admit was excellent blueberry pie and chewed idly as he flipped through the magazine. Another article showed the coronation of the new British king, Edward VIII, something Collins remembered hearing about earlier in the previous year. Hadn't there been some sort of blow up about his wife, some Yankee divorcee? Collins shook his head. He couldn't remember and really couldn't bring himself to care.

Sighing, he drained the last of his cup of coffee and left the rest of his pie, dropping a dollar and some change to cover his tab and tipping his hat to the matronly woman behind the counter.

"You have a good afternoon Lieutenant, try to have some fun before going back on the base." she said.

"Thank you kindly," Collins replied as he left the diner trying to hide a smirk. Where, precisely, was he supposed to go to have said fun?

Collins found himslef ambling down the main street of Pleasant, watching as townsfolk went about their Sunday business, most still in their Sunday best after leaving church. He could see the spires of the two churches in town as he passed the marble pile of Pleasant's city hall, obviously erected in the late 1800's when a desire for greater international recognition and prestige had spurred the Confederacy into a neoclassical explosion of building. Collins himself admired the building, but he supposed only half or so of its' offices would be in actual use. The town, until recently, had been too small to warrant anything else. He watched as a young woman accompanied by her chaperone, her grandmother or perhaps aunt came down the sidewalk towards him. He doffed his hat and sketched a short bow. The girl, who was pretty in a way, giggled, her chaperone stared daggers at Collins, but evidently decided he could live and passed on with her charge in tow. Terry chuckled to himself. Definitely more protective here in the backcountry, that was certain sure.

Sighing yet again, he stopped and leaned against one of the rickety power poles snaking the thin black lines into the small Louisiana town. Ever since the dams had went up, power crews had been snaking line across the whole country, especially the 4 states who had put the project in motion. Collins wouldn't have been surprised to know Pleasant had only boasted electricity for two years, maybe three.

A distinct cough brought Collins' attention back from his woolgathering and he saw a police officer in the dull grey generally in use everywhere after the army had switched over to butternut. Coming slightly to attention despite himself, Collins met the policeman's eyes. The older amn noticed him straightening and chuckled.

"No need to snap off a salute sonny, I'm just an old constable. You realize you're loitering?"

Collins' eyes widened momentarily, "Uhmm, no sir. I was just taking a walk and-"

"Decided there was nowhere a young man with bars on his collar felt like walking to anyways?" the old policeman offered. He chuckled again and nodded ahead. Collins fell into step beside him. "Well, as much as I do love my hometown, I believe you're correct young fella. Not a whole hell of a lot for soldiers lookin' to get seperated from their time and their money to do in Pleasant. Course, I was in the Army myself back during the World War, and the kind of places we went to have fun ain't exactly the establishments the town poobahs would go for, you get my drift?"

Collins coughed and felt blood rising to his face. Just like him to get called out by an old soldier. The policeman looked his way and laughed out loud.

"See that I hit the nail on the head with that one. Well, you just take a walk with ole' George here, we'll find you a punch bowl to dip in and a pretty lady to dance with. Well," the policeman met Collins' eyes conspiratorially, "a young lady at least."

Collins laughed as he and the policeman passed through the town and into the outskirts before approaching the town's second largest building, an immaculately whitewashed two story Baptist church. Signs out front announced the reverend's name and a banner recently pinned above the doors with large red lettering declared the Pleasant Baptist Church the "Soldiers' Leave Center". Stopping and pointing, the policeman - George, Collins reminded himself - went on.

"I'm Episcopal myself, so I feel a little bad about delivering you into the hands of heathens, but I expect you'll find a better time here than anywhere else. Unless you've had time to become more than casual friendly with any of our young ladies in town."

"No such luck yet sir. This is actually the first time I've been off base since I came down here."

George looked at Collins quizically, then asked tentatively "North Carolina?"

"South, but good guess." Looking back towards the church, Collins could see more young men in butternut streaming towards it all the time. Turning back, he doffed his hat to the policeman.

"Thank you kindly sir, I do think I'll go inside and see...well, whatever there is to see."

The old policeman chuckled and dipped his hat in kind to Collins. "Never call a sergeant sir, didn't they teach you that already?" Waving, he turned and headed back into town, no doubt to conduct other wayward souls to the "Soldiers' Leave Center."

Whistling tunelessly, Collins mounted the steps to see what Pleasant, Louisiana might have to offer.

KanaX, GhostWriter, Volga - Thanks for the support everyone, much appreciated. Hope you all enjoy the update.

Just for peace of mind, I've played till June 1940 and there are definitely plenty of stories to tell.

KanaX said:

Ah, I guess he found out a way to raise his pulse, then.

Click to expand...

Well anything's better than being bored I suppose...