• We have updated our Community Code of Conduct. Please read through the new rules for the forum that are an integral part of Paradox Interactive’s User Agreement.
Enewald - merrick and I could co-write it, perhaps under the pen-name of Captain Horne? :p

Stuyvesant - well, you know I don't believe in showing you a gun unless it is going to be used.

Storey - Makhearne does indeed have pots of money - JP (here JA) Morgan works for him...

merrick - no-one is going overboard; being able to write a book isn;t the same as having the time and interest. One of my hidden purposes was to get you commenting on naval matters because you know your stuff and you draw interesting links. :)

I'm trying to be careful to point out that the Royal Navy has examined the question carefully and decided that cruisers can beat battleships. They are not just convinced of their own (very real) superior seamanship but convinced the American sea-monsters are a clumsy mistake. So it isn't just complacency - also very real - but a reasoned conclusion reinforced by complacency.

Vann the Red - and now, here's something we hope you'll really like!
 
She had remained late in the set of rooms that served her as an office, late enough for the gas lamps along the street outside to be lit against the darkness and for true night to fall, late enough for the street to lie silent and deserted beneath the trembling lamplight. No female physician could be said to practice medicine in the Berlin of 1878, but her effrontery – and her success – had stunned the traditional medical establishment past the point of mounting any attack beyond horrified expressions of impropriety. Her progress had been slow, then more rapid and was now both brisk and profitable. The early reliance upon the wives of respectable burghers and industrialists had given her a chance to polish her German and salt it with a hint of Swiss. Nothing, she thought with a smile, impressed a German quite so much as brisk professionalism and a Swiss accent.

All that had changed, almost overnight. A maidservant had come with a cold, then a few days later the servant’s lady had arrived under the ludicrous pseudonym of ‘Lady Waldsee’. The case had been trivial; the patient was past middle age and entering her menopause. If there was no cure, for menopause was in no way a disease, there were effective palliatives to ease the process. Then had come the midnight knock upon her door, the urgent summons to a gloomy townhouse where the Lady’s elderly husband lay writhing upon his silken sheets, a victim of angina pectoris. Dispensing nitroglycerin tablets to ease the pain of the attacks had been the easy part. Getting the Grand Duke of Hesse to change his regimen of rich foods and potent cigars had been more difficult, but with his return to health her career had been made. Though none of her male patients could publicly confess the scandal of consulting a female physician, the wives talked when they came calling on one another and the men spoke discreetly among themselves at their clubs. As her star had risen among the nobility, the attacks from her supposed colleagues of the medical profession had skyrocketed in frequency and ferocity. That was the reason for her late hours tonight, seeing to the building’s locks and bars and to the heavy safe. Two men had had tested her defenses to date, both burglars had returned empty-handed to their masters. Those men, prominent physicians, had received anonymous but pointed notes in a distinctly feminine hand hinting of evidence recovered, and the attempts had ceased. Despite the fact that her equipment would mean little to a doctor of the present day, the results she was achieving were bound to rouse jealousies again, hence tonight’s attention to her defenses.

The knock on the door had been thunderous but had not sounded particularly urgent. Three or four pounding blows followed by half a minute or more of silence, repeated at irregular intervals, had been the pattern. If there were any calls or shouts, she did not hear them – the new front door was massively thick and the walls were solid brick, a combination designed to guide intruders to the easier windows at the rear, where more subtle mechanisms now lay in wait. She had looked through the peep-hole and seen nothing more than a servant with a lantern; sighing, she had unbolted the door and heaved it open. Then the soldiers had stepped forward into the circle of lantern-light, respectful but firm, hands carefully not resting on the grips of their pistols. She recognized their unit badges and knew instantly that resistance would be worse than foolish: all four were of the elite security detail attached to the highest members of the government and of the General Staff.

They had given her time to fetch her medical bag, though the senior had politely insisted upon looking through it. If worst came to worst – and she did not think it would, though the presence of so many skilled soldiers was troubling – many of the items in her bag could be used more easily to kill than to cure, and others even more potent were secreted in the false bottom that the soldier had not found. Nor had anyone insisted upon a search of her person, an omission made necessary by class, propriety and manners, but one that was still most unwise. The coach waiting at the curb had been massive, the windows heavily curtained and the other seats occupied by the polite but stiffly correct security detail. There would be no looking out on the dark streets of Berlin, nor would there be a chance that anyone could look in. Black coaches trundling through the city in the dark of night would not be uncommon, nor could they safely be remarked upon lest the coach return to whisk away the nosy and the gossip alike. If a lady doctor managed to disappear from her office or lodgings, well… Kierianne Frost had no doubt that skilled and quiet men could descend at a word upon residence and office alike, and despite her little surprises, within hours no trace of her presence would remain. She had so admired German efficiency until it was turned her way…

She had known their location within a few feet, of course. Estimation of the speed of the coach and implanted knowledge of Berlin’s street plan had permitted her to track their progress on her internal maps without difficulty. If necessary, she was confident of her ability to deal with her guards. Even hard men like these had blind spots where women were concerned, and none of them had experienced cross-time martial arts or weaponry. When the carriage wheeled into the gated compound of a house belonging, according to her records, to the Grand Duke of Hesse, she relaxed a trifle. It was only when she dismounted from the coach that her unease returned, for the house was dark, silent and in disuse. The windows beneath the porte cochere were grimed with dust, the door streaked with some dark discoloration that might be mildew or rust, the hedges along the carriage lane untrimmed, the flagstone paving of the drive shot through with weeds. Outside the circle of the servant’s lantern the house was entirely dark. She hesitated before the solid black rectangle of the open portal, then entered, reassured that none of her escorts had tried to hurry her onward. Whatever awaited her, her guards did not think it should frighten her into resistance.

Inside, the air was musty and the furnishings hung with drapery. What might have been a magnificent entry was now a gamut lined by standing ghosts, white-shrouded shapes silent and unmoving. Beyond was another room with bare walls and floorboards; stripped, its former function was impossible to guess. The doors on the far side of the empty room were ajar and were flanked by more soldiers. As she entered, the doors were firmly closed behind her, her escorts remaining on the other side. This room was not empty, though it was large – very large, in the style of a manorial hall, with distant walls and an echoing vault to the ceiling. It was a room designed to impress, though its current moldering state spoke more of pathos than of grandeur. More dusty sheets veiled the furniture – was that a suit of armor? Was that a portrait on the wall, or a mirror, or something else? Were there book-cases behind those giant, looming shrouds, and if so were the books still in place? A part of her raged that books could be treated so, more blazed with hatred that she should be treated in this fashion, but she restrained her emotions against later need. A heaped logs were blazing merrily in a fireplace of baronial size, though the size of the room limited the warmth and cheerfulness to a small semi-circle around the stone blocks of the hearth. An enormous table, bare of any covering linens formed a wall across her direct path to the oasis of the fire; the linens that had shielded its oaken darkness were now piled untidily in a corner. Past that table and placed comfortably close to the fire, a set of elegant chairs had been uncovered or brought from who-knew-where, rich leather upholstery like oiled flesh in the firelight. Overhead, the crystal pendants of massive chandeliers gleamed as though distant stars were nested in the ceiling. Here, too, she assumed years of disuse had taken their toll, reducing the splendor of cubic yards of crystal to a muted twinkle. Underfoot, the hall was flagged in hard, cold marble, a chessboard of black and white squares cut across by the long strip of faded red carpet set beneath the massive, wall-like table. Before the fire was a single rug stretching the width of the hearth, supporting the two chairs and a wooden side-table of a heavy but excellent design.

Doors opened, at the opposite end of the room from those opened for her. Frost had not gone looking for other doors, had not examined the windows. Her captors might not suspect how dangerous she could be, but she expected them to be thoroughly competent when it came to the dangers they did know. Guarding against an escape was not a duty they would take lightly. Had she found a door or window unlocked or unguarded she would not have used it, would instead have instantly rushed her captors through the locked door instead. An apparently unguarded portal could only have meant her captors intended to kill her in the act of escaping; charging a locked door with a half-dozen armed soldiers on the far side would be more probable of success than taking the obvious route. She did not turn from the fire as heels rang on the marble floor, though the spot between her shoulder-blades itched. The fire was warm, her hands were cold, and she would be damned if she gave her captor the satisfaction of an instant’s attention.

“You are wondering why you have been brought here.” The voice was cultured but pitched curiously high. Despite its unusual tone, it carried an expectation of complete obedience. She recognized it instantly, as would anyone acquainted with the great and powerful of Germany.

bismarck1875.jpg

Prince Otto von Bismarck, Chancellor of the German Empire, 1875

“Not in the least, Prince Bismarck.” A faint gasp, no more than a brief inhalation, reached her ears; no ordinary mortal would have marked it. “I am wondering how the man who has made Europe dance to his tune for a decade could do something so pointlessly stupid.” A louder indrawn breath sounded but she refused to look back. “Not to mention dishonorable.”

“Madam! I have asked you here upon a great matter of state…”

She rode over his protest, rude and provocative. “You have kidnapped me at gunpoint, Herr von Bismarck.” She opened the organ stops for sarcasm and stomped on the pedals. “If the abduction of a helpless woman is a matter of state then perhaps you have confused diplomacy with war…” She paused for half a beat before thrusting home. “…again?”

Unexpectedly, he laughed, and she knew instantly that he was not laughing at her, or at himself, but in delighted appreciation. The sound was unnerving. She had counted upon being able to rattle her abductor, whomever it might turn out to be, had – foolishly but perhaps not fatally – depended on being able to take control of whatever might transpire. Clearly that was not the case at the moment, though she still believed the method had promise. She knew little of the Iron Chancellor beyond his reputation for devious brilliance and for a gluttonous appetite, but her first impression was of a man possessed of perception and monumental self-confidence. “Might I at least have the pleasure of hearing myself insulted from your face, Frau Kraft?”

She turned. “Frau Doktor Kraft.”

“So you say. Very well! Though your colleagues dispute that title, I shall not. Will you sit with me, Frau Doktor Kraft?” She discounted his smooth agreeability as nothing more than the casual manners afforded by the strong to the powerless, but could see no better course of action than to comply. They moved forward together, arriving at the chairs almost at the same instant. He motioned gracefully and she sat; before easing his bulk into his own chair he rang a small bell. Instantly, a door opened and servitors flocked through with covered trays, buckets, covered baskets and armloads of linen. In moments a part of the great table disappeared under cloths, dishes, urns and platters. Another drape covered the small side table between the two seated figures; wordlessly, glasses were brought and filled with champagne and small plates of delicacies appeared at their elbows. She saw it for what it was – a warning that overwhelming numbers were attentive to the least sound.

Otto von Bismarck refrained from speaking until the last man had gone and the door had boomed shut. “Ahhh! Champagne. I adore it at all times.” Frost left her flute on the table, pouring tea from a floral Meissen pot instead. “Kraft is an unusual name for an Italian, is it not?” In between those two sentences he had plucked half a dozen opened oysters from their icy bed and knocked them back in rapid succession.

“My family were Swiss. Our village did not move, but the border did, and so we became Savoyards. My grandfather lost all when Napoleon’s armies burned the village. Our family moved to Padua and remained there. Once people understood we were not Austrian, we managed.”

“Italy is presently at war with Switzerland. Does this distress you?” The Chancellor accompanied the question with a careful scrutiny of her face, then apparently turned his full attention to half a roasted chicken.

“Padua has been swallowed up by the tyrant of the Sicilies, as Prussia has swallowed up the Germanies, Herr Chancellor. I never knew Switzerland; neither did my father or his father. My country is gone; a war is nothing to me. I should be more concerned with the present dispute between Austria and Russia, I think. If that comes to war it might involve us in Germany.”

Hard, narrow eyes and an overhanging moustache spoiled the effort devoted to his smile. “And why would you think there might be war, my good lady? The Emperors of Russia and Austria are devoted friends of our own dear Kaiser, and all wish for nothing more than peace.”

She laughed and said, “All I want is peace, and do have; and a piece of anything you have.” She knew it was a quote, but could not locate the reference. “All I know is what I read in the newspapers, Herr Chancellor.”

He snorted but his eyes reappeared and he returned his attention to his plate. “Newspapers! Bah. They ought to know the dangers of printing anything you like. Irresponsible! We shall have to see…”

She nibbled at a tiny fish pastry, peeking at his balding pate under lowered lashes and readied her next barb. “Why do you not simply tell me who is ill, Prince Bismarck, and have done with this? Is it the Kaiserin? The Kronprinz? Perhaps yourself?”

She had timed it well, though not perfectly. His jovial mask slipped for just an instant but the rest of the champagne went smoothly down his throat without so much as a ripple. “I am interested in your politics, madam. You have been of service to those in high places, and thus become a person of interest.”

“You mean of course the Grand Duke, who is no admirer of yours since you took his dukedom and left him an empty title. Is the Kaiser not well, then?”

“Impertinent woman! The Kaiser is in perfect health!”

“Oh, my,” she said, coy and saccharine over a frozen lake of sarcasm. “As bad as that?”

Von Bismarck erupted from his seat and stalked to the fire, hands clenched into fists. A moment passed while he stared at the flames. When he turned, his face was entirely shadowed. “I can say nothing until I am satisfied as to your political beliefs and trustworthiness.”

“Doctors are not expected to have politics, quite the contrary.” she said, and pulled a pistol from her stocking. Bismarck went rigid and opened his mouth to shout but the hand that had plucked the pistol from its hiding place carried it smoothly to the table and set it on a napkin. “If I wished you harm, I could already have accomplished it.”

“That weapon does not give you security, nor is it for myself that I fear,” the Chancellor said in a basso growl. He hesitated, then returned to his chair. “Use that toy and you’ll be dead in seconds.”

“You’ll be dead before me, which should matter more to you, I should think. Now, an end to threats and on to business?”

He muttered, “Infernal woman”, then wiped his mouth with a napkin – hand carefully not straying near the little gun – and refilled his champagne flute. “What do you know of our politics, oh-so-apolitical doctoress-with-a-gun?”

“I said doctors were expected to have no politics, just as priests are expected to be chaste and bankers expected to be honest. Expectations so often fail, don’t you find? For myself, I wish my adopted nation to be powerful, respected and secure. Revolutionaries are children – they have no understanding of the proper relationship of the classes. As for the rest, I know very little except that the Kaiser is a conservative old Prussian Junker and his son has ideas of his own, yes?”

“It is his wife who bends his ear that way, I think. The Kaiser had his heart set on a Russian Grand Duchess but his wife wanted an English match and overruled him. Heaven knows she is the only one who can.” A pause, a sip. Bismarck gusted a sigh. “A Russian Duchess would be much easier to manage than Crown Princess Victoria, I promise you that. Always prattling about England, never satisfied with our German ways. The Kaiser can’t stand to be near her, but the Kronprinz defers to her in everything. The Kaiser’s mistake with Friedrich will not be repeated: no liberal education for their son, I tell you.”

She waited a moment, but the bald head remained turned to the fire. “I do not yet understand why I have been… consulted, if I may say that, since we have been an hour or more without even a discussion of a patient. I understand that you bear burdens, have information you cannot share. But the delights of this midnight repast will soon pall, and where will we be then? I urge you again to tell me what you can, or send me home. I have actual patients to see tomorrow, whose ailments are more real than these… phantasms.”

The massive shoulders shrugged. “The Kaiser… is not well. His doctors believe it is a weakness of his heart, but they are divided, unsure. His brother suffered an attack and his mind never came back to us. You know this? The Kaiser is terrified, not of death, but of being wounded in his mind. The example of his poor brother is always before him. If you would consent to see him… Privately, of course…”

“This would have to be most carefully done,” she said warningly. “His own physicians will be insane with jealousy, and they will find out, no matter what precautions are taken.”

Bismarck shrugged again, gargled a laugh. “The newspapers I can close if I must. His doctors I can frighten into obedience, the Kaiser, I cannot.. I serve at the pleasure of the Crown, and Friedrich would not waste a moment before showing me the door. He is young, and will reign long… and I need more time. Europe is unquiet; the newspapers have that correctly, blast them all. Germany is not yet secure. The Kaiser is an old man, but he is very wise. His son is young and thinks himself wise, and his wife is a powerful influence upon him. England required revolutions and civil war to come to the government they now enjoy, Germany has been a nation but a decade. We must go more slowly. I must have time.”

She stood. “I will undertake to examine him, at my usual rates, but I shall not have my diagnosis or methods questioned by the men who have persecuted and despised me. Take my advice or not, it is all one to me, but I will not debate it. You should have a word with the Crown Prince, also. It is best to examine a patient while they are healthy. Perhaps the Kaiserin, the Crown Princess and definitely the boy.” She raised a hand against the half-articulated protest. “Not by me, if you prefer, but by some reputable doctor. Soonest found is soonest mended… or soonest prepared. Now, please, take me home.”

He stood, giant upper body bulging beet-like from tapering hips and shanks, a tired old man with loose hair straggling over his bald spot and liverish bags beneath drooping eyelids.

“Very well, my lady doctor. You shall have your bargain.”
 
Nice update. Bismarck was cool, but I think Frost took the round on points. The Iron Chancellor was forced to show a weak spot - the Old Man is beginning to run short of time.

Was the whole update set in 1878? If so, the Kaiser is 80 (historically, he lived another ten years), the Crown Prince is 47 (I suppose that still makes him "young" by Bismarck's standards) and the "boy" is about 19.

Which way will Frost go? Easing the Kaiser out of the world gets rid of Bismarck, but will a liberal Kaiser with an influential English wife be any less of a problem than the Iron Chancellor? Does Frost think she can set up an Anglo-German alliance? Or will she put her faith in blood and iron, and if so will it be Bismarck (who by this time was mostly trying to preserve the stability of Europe) or the new generation of militarists who believe Germany can bully its way to dominance?

Bismarck is right - Germany needs a period of stability. His mistake was in thinking that stability required the conservatives to stay in control, and in setting up a constitution that needed him to run it.

Oh, and one last thing - if we're still in the 1870s, Bismarck is still planning to make his son Herbert his successor as Chancellor. Could be a double succession crisis...
 
Which way will Frost go? Easing the Kaiser out of the world gets rid of Bismarck, but will a liberal Kaiser with an influential English wife be any less of a problem than the Iron Chancellor?

An interesting problem isn't it? She's already displayed an ability to out maneuver Bismark at his own game. Yet a husband under his wife's thumb could present a real problem. I'm going with siding up to the established powers of the Kaiser and Bismark and then as time allows working her way down to the son. Much like a spider sucking the life out of the larger of the flies caught in her web.

Does Frost think she can set up an Anglo-German alliance? Or will she put her faith in blood and iron, and if so will it be Bismarck (who by this time was mostly trying to preserve the stability of Europe) or the new generation of militarists who believe Germany can bully its way to dominance?

Questions, so many unanswered questions. Makes you come back and read some more doesn't it? :D

One of your better posts Director but then I keep saying that don't I?:)

Joe
 
Pointing a gun towards Bismarck!
How dare she! :mad::eek:

You could have made the meeting less dramatic... :D

So shall he Kaiser live a year longer?

And what if the Kronprinz won't rule for long... ;)
Or altering the history badly, are you?
 
Enjoyed the wordplay between Frost and Bismarck....however....The getting to it seemed to take forever. It was lovely verbiage, don't get me wrong. Very descriptive of the mood and the furnishings<seemingly down to the nitty gritty if you allow me that> to I think it was ivory handled pistols.

I know I've been gone a long time and I certainly haven't read everything between what I last read and now....but is she REALLY that observant, like Sherlock Holmes?

I don't wish to nitpick, but it read kind of Robert Jordan esque. Which isn't bad, per se. But very wordy.

I don't mean to come off as being mean spirited or something else, D. I really don't. But, well heck. I don't really know how to explain it better. I wish I could. But my own words fail me.

Even in my own work I find myself using simpler words as the larger ones seem to escape me anymore. Be that as it may. I DID like the passage, all in all. I just felt I had to say something.
 
I think that Bismarck is smarter than Frost, but since he does not have access to the information and technology available to a time traveller from the future, he is at a disadvantage. I was outraged, outraged I tell you, about the gun, but it was to be expected since she was not thoroughly searched.
 
I think Bismarck has an intuitive grasp of politics that is superior to Frost's, but Frost has the double advantage of knowing what's (likely) ahead and having planned for this contests for years, if not decades. True, Bismarck can play a pretty deep game, but I think he is outmatched by Frost's laserlike focus on her goals for 40+ years now. Plus, Frost has tasted defeat with her Confederate play, something Bismarck hasn't really had - yet. That gives the Lady another advantage, since she has that knowledge and the motivation to succeed the next time.

All in all, I don't rate Bismarck's chances in coming out ahead in this contest of wills. :) Then again, I have more faith in Bismarck's ability to adapt to his opponent than in the demonstrated (in)ability of the Confederates to do so.

Regarding Amric's question: is Frost that Sherlock-Holmes-like observant? I would say: yes, particularly in this situation. Given that she's been working towards this goal, meeting Bismarck, for the better part of ten years, I think her concentration, her focus, fits her character. Others might disagree with me, of course. :)

I liked the setting in the abandoned house, though it strikes me a little over the top (that and Bismarck's appetite - perhaps if Frost invents the Chinese buffet, she'll have Bismarck's completely in her thrall? ;)). Perhaps it is merely the glimpse of a more megalomanical side of Otto - 'Look at the power I can wield'? The setting was very well described, I could almost smell the musty air and feel the coldness in seeping into my bones.
 
1)I think Bismarck has an intuitive grasp of politics that is superior to Frost's


2)Regarding Amric's question: is Frost that Sherlock-Holmes-like observant? I would say: yes, particularly in this situation.

3)I liked the setting in the abandoned house, though it strikes me a little over the top Perhaps it is merely the glimpse of a more megalomanical side of Otto - 'Look at the power I can wield'? The setting was very well described, I could almost smell the musty air and feel the coldness in seeping into my bones.

1)Bismark is operating on his own home turf, advantage Bismark.

2)Sherlock-homes would be a perfect description of Frost. All analytical observations and lack of emotions to cloud the thought process.

3)It might be from watching too many movies from the 30's and 40's but an abandoned house was the perfect setting for a clandestine meeting that Bismark would want for a meeting of this, shall we say, delicacy. And yes it was all about showing the power he has in order to impress his guest. He just didn't know who he was dealing with.:D

Joe
 
Setting up a trap, surely that Frost. ;)

Excellent scene between the two of them. Very cool and collected with just the right verbal barbs. :D
 
Really good. For a minute I thought Frost might be in for a nasty surprise. Instead she got the German monarchy neatly giftwrapped.

Possibly the first time I have considered feeling sorry for Bismarck.
 
TheExecuter - Frost definitely wants a Kaiser she can influence, and Bismarck and Wilhelm I are not her first choice. The KronPrinz may live to become Kaiser... we shall find out.

merrick - yes, the episode is set within a year of 1878. The Kaiser is 80 but you can't expect him to last as long as he did in our history, especially when Frost is his physician. You make an excellent point that a liberal Kaiser Friedrich might be the best life insurance for Kaiser Wilhelm.

Storey - I agree with your point about using the members of the dynasty in turn, but Frost won't be willing to wait forever.

Frost certainly has the cool analytical powers, plus she is unfazed by authority and prepared to be ruthlessly self-interested. Her modus operandi is to confound Bismarck's expectations of how a woman would behave; once he is rattled and off his script she can seize the initiative.

I confess I really like the image of all the furniture draped in shrouds and the chairs huddled at the fireplace while who knows what moves restlessly outside the windows...

Enewald - Frost pointing the gun at Bismarck was her way of showing that she was not to be treated lightly, and my way of showing that she considers herself at least his equal.

Amric - Well, setting up the backstory and background seemed necessary. I originally opened the scen with her already face-to-face with Bismarck, but when I reviewed it, the scene was too abrupt. That post is wordy, but it says what I think it must, and the descriptions are a part of the tone. I worked it over for at least a week before I posted it.

Given that Frost has heightened senses and is possibly in peril of her life, I think a little extra attention to her surroundings is understandable. ;)

I discussed this scene with coz1 as I was writing it (and re-writing... and re-writing...) and my desire was to have the setting be one of the characters - a haunted house story, if you will. The wordiness just flowed from that. After all, I am famous for my concision and brevity. :D NOT.

It is very good to hear from you! I'm catching up with your current AAR but I'm not far enough along to comment yet.

J. Passepartout - an excellent point about Bismarck's inability to see her as an equal player, much less understand her full resources.

I don't understand the outrage about the gun. She could have thrown him around the room with judo holds, but surely that would have been more damaging to his dignity than a gun? She is simply making the point that she is not to be taken lightly, and when she sets the gun down she makes the point that she does not fear him.

Stuyvesant - Bismarck was probably the most pragmatic and powerful political figure of his day, and is certainly not a person to underestimate. Frost could probably tell him the truth about her origins and (with proof) have him be fine with it - or determined to kill her regardless of the cost. You just never know...

I believe Bismarck's greatest weakness is that he has achieved his goals, has everything to lose and is now just playing defense, while Frost can take chances.

Bismarck was something of a notorious glutton, a common character trait of Victorians (see King Edward VII for example). He was known to eat and drink prodigiously - drink whole bottles of champagne, that sort of thing.

The house... where better to have a secret rendezvous than in an unused houe? How better to intimidate an abductee than to take them to a place where they know they are utterly isolated? Being alone, Otto has to play both good cop and bad cop, hence the delicacies accompanied by bullying.

coz1 - I'm glad you enjoyed the barbs - I just couldn't image her conducting a conversation without sneer and snark. :)

Vann the Red - ominous best describes what will happen when Frost gets her stethescope on the Imperial chests... wait, did they have stethescopes then?

Alfredian - blees you, that is exactly the response I had hoped for. The Iron Chancellor must be wondering how he got astride this tiger, but I doubt he is concerned enough about getting off.
 
1876 was the centennial year of the American Declaration of Independence. Throughout the country, festivals and commemorations were planned, capped by a recreation of the signing, at Independence Hall in Philadelphia, on the 4th of July. Presiding over the American centennial celebrations would be a new President, for John Sherman had left office after two terms and was not to be persuaded to take a third. Despite years of increasing Democratic strength in the middle-western states and a waning Republican hold on the former Confederate states, his successor would also be a Republican, for two excellent reasons.

The first of these excellent reasons was that President Sherman’s campaign to reform the patronage system and replace it with a skilled civil service had proven as deeply popular with American voters as it was hated and despised by the party bosses. All attempts to reverse the process foundered at the ballot box; voters who had been ignorant of graft, corruption and electoral fraud now felt instinctively that patronage was wrong, and voted their convictions in unstoppable numbers. The impassioned defense of patronage by leaders of both parties had been tied in the popular mind solely to the Democrats, as their leaders were more likely to give quotes to the newspapers on the subject, while the Republicans had shrewdly linked themselves to political reform. The Sherman administration had likewise taken a firm stand on the excesses of the railroad trusts, and had managed to restrain some of the worst abuses of America’s new plutocrats. These achievements in reform were easily contrasted with the old symbols of Democratic power: Tammany Hall in New York, Baltimore ward heelers, vote gangs in Cincinnati, and – of course – slavery and the blame for the start of the Civil War.

Its newly-burnished image as the party of freedom, opportunity and fairness might have been enough to award the Presidency once again to a Republican candidate, or it is possible that enough electoral votes from the southern states would have shifted into the Democratic column to push the election into Congress. But there was a second excellent reason for a solid Republican victory in 1876, and it can be summed up in one sentence: the two most popular Republican candidates agreed to run on the same ticket, and the two most popular Democratic candidates would not. On the Republican side, the convention was closely split between the standard-bearer of the old guard, Rutherford B Hayes, and the Shermanite favorite of the reformists, James G Blaine. Though some of the Trans-Continental Railroad scandal had stuck to Blaine, he had escaped censure from the voters by coming out ‘whole hog’ for political reform. Hayes, on the other hand, was more comfortable with the moneyed elites, the industrialists and financiers, and with the Republican bosses who embodied the ‘smoke-filled back room’ approach to politics. As Blaine’s early lead evaporated into a virtual stand-off, one of those smoky caucuses produced the compromise of a Hayes-Blaine ticket. Reluctantly, Blaine agreed.

The Democratic Party entered 1875 with strong candidates, improved strength as the first of the Confederate states were reconstructed, and favored by a voting public fatigued by the fifteen-year Republican rule in Washington. Both New Yorker Samuel Tilden and perennial candidate Zebulon Vance of North Carolina came to the convention with strong support from regional bases. Unfortunately for Democratic hopes, the two men despised one another and their followers could effect no reconciliation. As the convention deadlocked and the pressure to find a candidate mounted, an acceptable compromise candidate exploded the hopes of both front-runners. Without the knowledge of either man, deals were struck and massive blocks of votes swung into line behind Thomas F Bayard of Delaware. The election in November was a mere formality; neither Tilden nor Vance would campaign or mobilize their followers in support of Bayard.

Elsewhere in the world, Italy and Switzerland fought a brief but bloody war for control of the Alpine regions. Foreign observers were as impressed with the stolidity of the Italian infantry as they were appalled at the stupidity of their officers. The Swiss militia acquitted themselves well, fighting a bitter, desperate holding action in the snow-filled passes. The citizen militia were not sufficiently well-trained or numerous enough to recover lost ground, a failing that could spell disaster if the war continued. This war saw the first use of what was to become an Italian specialty, mountain troops. Their training and employment was closely watched because their exploits gave the Italians the few victories they could claim from the war. Winter came and went, the battle lines remained deadlocked. The conditions for the Italian troops were almost unendurable, crouched in ice-filled, fireless trenches at the base of Alpine slopes, the least movement exposing a target for snipers or artillery. After the bloody debacle of the spring offensive the Italian government dropped its claims entirely, accepted peace and collapsed under a wave of resignations. As the King was determined to keep the Conservative Party in power and the voters were determined to keep them out, the result was very nearly another civil war in Italy. These crippling blows to the psyche and confidence of the new nation would marginalize Italian involvement in European politics for decades to come.

France carried out a swift annexation of Tunisia on the southern rim of the Mediterranean, and followed that by waging a guerilla war by proxy against the few German colonial holdings, securing Seguia al Hamra and the Rio de Oro territories in Africa. The United States was also active in Africa, cementing its claim to Somalia and embarking on another costly war of conquest. The small and isolated nation of Ethiopia had taken out loans from New York banks that it was unable to repay; unspoken but critical to American interest in the ‘inland empire’ was the fact that it lay right across the route of the proposed Congo-Somalia railroad. Thus the bankruptcy of the Emperor’s government was followed by invasion in 1878. A withdrawal of Colonial Army forces from Oman sparked revolts there, greatly complicating the strategic situation.

ethiopia_map.jpg

A relief map of Ethiopia, showing the extremely rugged terrain of the region.

Despite the name a division might carry, if it remained on garrison duty in a foreign barracks for more than a few months it began to replace its losses of men sick, dead or mustered out from the local population. If the unit settled into a lengthy stay, it was not unusual for companies, or, in an unhealthy climate, even battalions and regiments to be formed in this way, accommodating differences in language, religion and eating habits by segregation. The down side to this practice was a certain loss of quality, as the new recruits were denied the example of their senior fellows and units of different language were more difficult to coordinate. If they were not well-officered, the units formed from local recruits could also become hotbeds of revolutionary and mutinous activity. This is exactly what happened to the 2nd Creole Dragoons, stationed in Raschid province in Oman. Heavy casualties in the Omani War and heavier losses to disease in the years since had forced its officers to draw on Omani recruits for half or more of its regiments. A dawn assault on the officers’ housing was followed by a firefight at the barracks between loyal and rebellious troops; in a few fratricidal hours the 2nd Creole Dragoons ceased to exist as a fighting force. The general spread of the revolt throughout the province caused General Bonham to withdraw the 1st Creole Dragoons to Schedjez in order to link up with the 3rd Arab Legion. Both divisions were immediately marched back to Raschid, putting down the rebellion as they went, but at terrible cost. Exposed to the repeating rifles of their former compatriots, the mounted 1st Creole Dragoons suffered frightful casualties in skirmish after skirmish. When the revolt had ended, so too had closed the future of the American cavalry. Within two years the remaining mounted divisions were broken up, and with the exception of a few regiments maintained to guard the Indian reservations, the cavalry was no more.

ethfeb1878a.jpg

Generals Gibbon, Terry and Baldwin

The fighting in Ethiopia was unexpectedly difficult, not only for the extremes of tropical diseases, climate and terrain, but because the country’s isolation, a lack of suitable rivers, roads or railroads to transport supplies, the non-existence of any suitable port in Somalia, and above all because of the fierce bravery and martial skills of the Ethiopian Army. Generals Gibbon, Terry and Baldwin were all veterans of the Civil War, accustomed to dealing with the harsh conditions of the American Plains and of the rugged Southwest, but all agreed that Ethiopia posed challenges beyond anything they had ever seen. Successful American drives on Addis Ababa and Ginir did not break the Ethiopian spirit, far from it. Within a month Emperor Menyelek II had regrouped his forces and was counter-attacking the dispersed and exposed Americans from his citadel at Magdala (also called Amba Mariam). Here he found the decisive battle he sought, but the victory was awarded to modern firearms and not to naked courage. General Agamemnon Baldwin had hurriedly pulled in the few battalions at hand and established them with his artillery and heavy weapons in an entrenchment. The rugged terrain effectively guarded his flanks, though the Emperor’s men did succeed in gaining a foothold across the river in his rear. Massed charges were slaughtered; the defenders suffered heavily but the Ethiopian Army was wrecked. Had Menyelek II lived, he might have managed to fight on in the hills for a while longer, but his body was found in the debris of his camp, so mutilated it was not possible to say what was the cause of death. Without a central authority to rally support, resistance crumbled and the country came under American occupation.

americanafrica.jpg

The American Empire in Africa circa 1880, ruled by Ambrose Burnside
 
Forming American Middle-Africa, eh? :p

Shall be looking quite pretty.


I hate mutinous divisions. :eek:o:wacko::mad:

They just always get slaughtered and cause a small problem, but never succeed in their revolts.
 
And the Empire swells. Interesting to see how long the Republicans can manage to eke out victories in the face of the resurgence of the South.

Vann
 
And the Empire swells. Interesting to see how long the Republicans can manage to eke out victories in the face of the resurgence of the South.

Vann

Well, they can always say "Look at the wonderful colonies and cheap resources coming from them that we gave you." At least until much later when the natives get restless and decolonisation begins, but that is probably beyond the timeline.
 
Holy crap! Were it not for the British and their Crown Jewel (India), I think the Americans would be considered the foremost colonizers of their age! That's an awful lot of blue on the map of Africa...

Nice to see the changes in the US: the waning power of the Republicans, the ever-growing Empire. I liked the description of the rebellion in Oman, its origins and its effects. The war in Ethiopia must rank as about the most illconceived American colonial venture yet. It's a horrible place to wage war in, it will be almost impossible to pacify (if you allow for that reality in your narrative) and it's a barren wasteland. Or has the game parked some valuable resources in those provinces? Otherwise, I can't really see a justification for this colonial expansion (unless 'painting Africa blue' counts, in which case no other justification will ever be needed ;)).
 
Just to add this in, if a war erupts between Britain and the US, my bet is on the UK as far as the naval war goes, so far as they avoid a major battle. They most likely will be able to beat up the American monsters, but not defeat them, however, a large amount of crusiers operating from Inida looks like they could play havoc with the merchant marine on the US's exposed shipping lanes. There are no major bases that would easily be able to cover the gap in the Inida Ocean. Given, this would most likely not cripple the US, but it would quite likely distract her to no end and barring a successful invasion of India (which could be done in game, but would be almost impossible IRL both logistaclly and militarily) they could not put a stop to the commerce raids coming from British India.