Are you a MexiCAN or a MexiCAN’T?

Chapter 1: Freedom of what? Low level infantry techs is where its at!
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Once upon a time in Mexico…

The nation of Mexico I write of now is far different than the nation we knew a mere three decades ago… So much has come to pass. So much has yet to pass that must. So many people have rebelled. So very many…

I am a bit of a ghost, though I will get to my own history in good time. I am the secret mailed fist that guides Mexico on the road to greatness. Like trying to make an omelette with said mailed fist there are complications. But just like making an omellete I have to break a few eggs. And likely the pan, and probably a window out of frustration. But you never remove your gauntlet, no matter how much you must destroy to accomplish your goal, never let anyone think you are weak. This is a lesson Mexico knows well.

Mexico does not follow me, Mexico follows the guiding hand of god, the omnipotent force which I saw could lead us to greatness in absurd and magical ways. I am merely, again, the mailed fist of His divine presence. My story begins with a tale of glory, one tainte- erm, I mean “vastly improved” by His divine presence…

-The headquarters of Antonio Santa Anna, Laredo, The Breakaway Mexican Province of Texas –

General Santa Anna scribbles furiously at his desk, two nervous officers sit in utter silence/terror across from him. Neither dares to ask why the Commander in Chief and President of Mexico is wearing an elbow length gauntlet covered in eggs and cheese.

“Gentlemen” Santa Anna snips without looking up from his work. “We are moving on San Antonio in the morn. Old Sam Houston may seem strong behind his walls, trenches, secondary walls, cannon lined killing fields, and nine thousand well motivated recruits but we have something he doesn’t have!”

This outburst took the officers off guard. Not only were the Mexican troops tired and sick, and not only did Sam Houston write the book on defense*, but the President of Mexico was shouting in fluid English. The officers simply decided to run with it.

“Well, we have rusty bayonets?” meekly offers the first officer. “Psshh, don’t be foolish. We haven’t had bayonets in years. The good general means cholera.” The smugness in the second officers statement implied that he wasn’t joking around.

Santa Anna stopped writing, mostly because the mailed fist was making the task difficult but there was also a hint of anger in his stillness, like a gathering storm. “Do you gentlemen intend to imply that this army is anything but a well oiled world-class killing machine? Are you trying to say we are in someway – inadequately supplied?” His final words carried with them the ire of a man angry both at current circumstances and at his lack of breakfast.

One officer attempted to divert his gaze from Santa Anna and looked around the office. He didn’t want to say anything, but the office, as it was called by Santa Anna alone, was proof of their situation. While Santa Anna had forced two innocent recruits to lug his antique mahogany desk all the way from Mexico city, the rest of his office appeared to consist of a tree, whose branches were the only protection from the elements the good general had, and his diploma from the Mexico City school of Military and Culinary arts, hanging sadly from a single lonely branch. Still, the office was better than anything the soldiers had.

The second officer then broke the silence with the type of enthusiasm inspired in those who are staring death in the face and have nothing to lose. “Our soldiers will follow you wherever you lead, though some say bringing the homeguard back from their – erm- patrols aro-“
Santa Anna cut in with a snap “NO! The Imperial guard is positioned to the north to make sure that any intervention by the Yankees can be swiftly dealt with.” This statement carried a razor sharp edge of finality that meant that the meeting was over, we are marching to our doom tomorrow, thank you very much. Santa Anna then gave the officers their marching orders (complete with egg whites smash into the paper with the presidential seal), excused himself, went to the other side of the tree, and went to bed. The officers left to console their men, write their children and sob quietly until morning.


In Santa Anna’s dreams however, destiny was being rerouted.

Santa Anna stood in a room, lined with fancy maps, strange buttons, and a portrait of himself looming literally larger than life over him.
“Dude. DUDE! You there?”

A mysterious voice bellowed out through the ages, sounding larger than life and yet somehow… young. Inexperienced. Santa Anna couldn’t see anyone, and quickly interpreted the entire situation wrong, fell to his knees and said “Lord? Is that you? Alpha, Omega? He who walks the sun across the sky and give life to all creation, the father of man and our sav-“

“Yea, that sounds good. Listen. I need you to do some stuff if we plan on winning this war.

“You mean the re-occupation of Texas? I have it all in hand lord.”

“No, listen your plan to attack is stupid and dumb. Dig in where you are and call the Army of the Yucatan North to fortify with you. Sit behind the river, I think you get sweet bonuses for defending against a river crossing.”

Santa Anna paused. God was telling him to abandon the entire southern half of his country, and to wait for an attack that Sam Houston would be mad to make. “Erm, your lord I believe I have to bring the war to our foes. I, um, don’t see your plan being… perfect? And how am I supposed to feed and clothe nearly twenty thousand men in foreign territory??

“I reset the sliders and I think the country will be ok. Maybe. Listen just do it. Oh and you guys will probably know about muzzle loaded rifles by then too, so you won’t be nearly so terrible.”

Santa Anna stuttered confusedly “Um, whats a ‘Rifle’? And how do we load our weapons now? ”

“I imagine it’s a natural thing, probably osmosis or something. Oh and a rifle is a high level tech, you don’t need to worry about that now. That reminds me, I’m off to go encourage some people to change careers into priests. Oh, but before I go I need you to also move the guard army into northern Texas so they can start sieging Lubeck or Lubac or whatever. Good luck!”

And with that Santa Anna woke in a viscous sweat. Was that really god? He said something about encouraging more priests but he didn’t think that was exactly the type of career you sort of picked up in life, like a fisherman or fruit merchant. Yet he also seemed to know a lot about the future, that kind of knowledge only belongs to the divine. Gauntlets shaking, he set off to change some orders. For better or worse, Mexico had been derailed on the road of destiny.


- The Forge in Pedro and Wesson Gunworks, Mexico City-

Fifteen men stood in a semi-circle around the main forge works in P&W’s primary gun manufacturing plant. It was just after midnight, New Years day, and the men had been celebrating until just moments ago when they had been interrupted by the highest Archbishop in Mexico, and a cadre of priests. The priests were now working feverously on forcing a musket ball down the barrel of a gun, doing so in just about every way but the right one. Any attempts at stopping or, more mercifully, helping them were blocked by the Arch Bishop, who said that they were involved in important research and told the confused and scared gunsmiths to go home.
Miguel went outside to get a smoke, maybe a beer, anything to help him forget the horrible things the priests had been doing to the poor musket. Seconds after lighting the cigarette it fell from his mouth, as he saw a poster sprawled against the side of previously nice looking villa.
Mexico was changing…

*It was more of a pamphlet, with chapter 1 being “Keep yur hed down” and chapter two being “if’n thos bullets hit sumthin in fron’a ya, it aint hit’n ya” but in those days the literacy rate was so low that most academies only bothered carrying the abridged version.

~Social Networking in the Nineteenth Century~​

-General Sam Houston’s Headquarters, The City of Austin, in the Republic of Texas-​

Attempting to singlehandedly lead a revolution against an oppressive and foolish dictator shouldn’t be this easy. Sam Houston believed strongly that if the Mexicans would just sit in their trenches for a few more weeks, the United States would answer his plea for help. Mexico would be pounded into dust and Santa Anna would look like an idiot – again. Sam smiled wearily to himself, though the lack of communication with the U.S. in recent days was… disturbing.

The knock on the door carried with it the weight of the world. It was the kind of slow rap that implies that whatever news lay on the other side is both bad and too late to be of any aid. Sam Houston dreaded these kinds of knocks. They usually carried bad news about a settlement getting wiped out by Indians or, all too often, the opposite. Sam Houston cared for all the peoples in his territory, and therefore he had always felt unfit to rule. Santa Anna was a lunatic with a capacity for apathy usually associated with different types of algae and not a human being, and yet he seemed to come to power, abuse it, get thrown out of power, and then rise again all the time, sometimes all in a single afternoon.

A shaking lieutenant waited on the other side of the door, and Sam quickly recognized him as the poor boy he had sent get news from the US garrison in Louisiana. That kind of trek was not for the faint hearted, and Sam regretted its necessity.

“S-ssir? I bring, uh, an update on the Americans. They uhh…”

Sam waited a moment while the boy shuffled. “They what boy? Out with it!” the boy looked down and gripped the brim of his hat so hard Sam felt sorry for it.

“They aren’t coming sir… The general in New Orleans said that Mexico was now considered a closer friend to the U.S.A. then Texas.” The boy let it all out in a burst, and braced as if he wasn’t sure if the back draft would leave him standing. Sam’s mouth seems to gape for a moment as if unhinged before he managed a stammer.

“What in god’s name would make the Americans favor a ruthless despot over its own flesh and blood!? Half of us are American citizens for crying out loud!* Santa Anna starves his own people and regularly burns entire Texan towns to the ground! We fight for liberty and to spread the American way of peace, freedom, and prosperity! What does Santa Anna offer?”

The messenger boy, startled a little at the Generals enthusiasm, attempted to answer “Erm, well, apparently the Mexicans sent several letters over the last few months that turned the overall American public to their cause. Santa Anna says that god inspired him to write a those letters, and the results are, uh, confusing, to say the least.

The private took out what appeared to be the front page of the Bayou Times and showed it to the general – the general read quickly through it, stopping at times to let out a “Wha?!” or a “…the hell…?”. The general finally put down the paper and stared blankly at the poor private whose only mistake was having a cousin in Biloxi.

“Boy. Let me see if I got this right. Santa Anna says that god told him to become friends with the Americans.”

“That’s right sir…”

“And apparently god told Santa Anna to send several letters to the president of the USA promising to follow him on “twitter”…”

“Yes sir”

“… and then “friended” him on a thing called a “Facebook” the next month…”

“That’s right sir. It was basically a big piece of parchment saying “Santa Anna wants to be friends with you - Y/N?” ”

“… and finally Mexico sent them a letter containing only the words “OMG we r totly BFF’S now! : ) ” ? ”

“Well don’t forget that in each of those messages, sir, they also sent a check for “2 Diplomacy points” to be paid to the order of “Improve relations””.

“Oh yes thank you private, that clears all that up.”

“No problem sir!” the private beamed, seemingly ignorant to the scowl on the generals face that likely could have been used to power industrial scale smelting operations.

“Could you explain to me what a ‘twitter’ is mayhap? Or even, a ‘Facebook’?”

“The Americans aren’t completely sure, but the entire gesture made them feel better about themselves somehow. Political scandals in the U.S. now break out over Senators from different parties exchanging a flurry of notes, such as “Senator Byrd dislikes Senator Hatchet’s proposal on cement tariffs”. They also now go up to one another’s portraits hanging in the halls of the capital building and scrawl comment such as “Thou lookest most peculiar in this painting. I am laughing out loud for the duration of my viewing.””

“And the Americans aren’t really sure why?”

“No, it just started, and now they’re hooked. Very little business gets done now as most government officials spend their time riding to eachothers plantations and doing long hours of manual labor for each other in a game they have named “PlantationVille””

Sam Houston was annoyed. Partly he was annoyed at fate, as now without help he would have to ride out and meet the suddenly timid Santa Anna. Partly he was annoyed at the Americans and their stupidity. Mostly he was annoyed at the fact that there was a part of him, deep down, that felt slighted that, in spite of the fact that he hadn’t a clue what it even meant, no one had “friended” him.

The battle had gone incredibly badly for the Texans. Houston was no tactical genius when it came to attacking, and his failed attempts at dislodging the Mexicans merely made his situation more and more desperate. Though they weren’t needed, the fight basically became a well organized massacre once the twenty thousand infantry from the Yucatan Garrison arrived on the Texan flank. Sam Houston was routed, and although the Texans would fight several more heroically pointless battles with Santa Anna before being finally wiped out in Dallas, the war was over.

“All hail General Santa Anna! Savior of the Republic! Hip hip!
“hurrah.”
“Hip Hip!”
“hurrah – good lord im hungry – shut up we’re cheering the general – sounds like a murmur to me – well we cant very well cheer after being-”
“Hip Hip!”
“-force marched across the desert with maybe 1/10 of our needed supplies can we – oh yea good point and another thing –
“I said HIP HIP.”
“Oh. Hurrah?”

The war ended shortly thereafter, as the diplomatic corps sent an offer of annexation. Considering that some 36,000 Mexican infantry were hanging around in Austin, somehow starving in the heart of the land of plenty (a feat of logistics later called the “Santa Anna” tactic), the offer was accepted post haste. Though Sam Houston had died heroically defending a group of children against a vampire Santa Anna** the Texans would never forget his legacy, a fact proven, loudly and frequently, by future generations of rebels.



*The irony of Americans immigrating illegally into Mexico would have many future historians grinning, though historians like to find all kinds of funny things in their work, such as the Diet of Worms, or the “humor” to be found in the numerous conflicts between a place called Hungary and a place called Turkey. Historians, as you may have ventured, aren’t exactly the most popular party guests.
**Though this technically is false, the famous painting by Texan rebel Gordan Smith titled “Santa Anna is a somnabitch an I reckon he likely eats yunguns” would propagate this idea to the point of it becoming a reality, despite the best efforts of Sam Houston to prove, via being alive and well and living in Philadelphia, the contrary.

@Comrad:Thanks, as for real gameplay tips - go for Free Trade ASAP, befriending america seems to help, try to keep militancy low at every turn (you'll see why soon), and only tax the capitalists if your very existence depends upon it, they almost NEVER have money under liberal rule because they do all the work of your lazy government. My caps are almost always below poverty level, like true entrepreneurs.

@Miscreant: Thanks, and I fully agree. I don't think theres any way American politics could be less idiotic as it is, so atleast make it funny.

@Fire_: You'll see what happens out west, though considering the point I'm at you may very well get your wish...

@mozart & Aspie: Thanks for the ego boost! I thought all the views were just me refreshing the page over and over.

Hmmm... been trying to play ahead and honestly... thinking about waiting for the next patch. dont wanna let you guys down though so i'm gunna give it another go... sigh theres just SOOO many revolts. The Jacobins make up nearly a fourth of my population.

I just want to show you guys what i'm up against here and why I think the AAR is gunna be on hiatus till a patch or two come out...

This is the north-west. You'll see I snatched Idaho from the yanks, and although that colony has a pretty severe crime problem most of the time (I like to think of it as the potato mafia) they usually don't revolt. The province you see that my army is attempting to reoccupy? That fell in the last country-wide revolution a few months ago (that was when it was the anarchists turn).

This is the lovely heart of mexico, during the liberal-anarchist uprisings the armies are three times as bad here (the L-A are in power as well so it would be like if the tea party was formed in the Reagan years to protest the high taxes). The most fun I have personally is fighting in the mountains against 4 brigage rebels, especially when they are hanging out behind the fort in Mexico city. Good times.


Without giving too much away this is the northeast part of Mexico I like to call rebel-run. Always nice sizable revolts around here. Sometimes, when the rest of the rebels are on vacation for the summer or something, the real die-hards revolt alone up around here. 3,000 nitwits aren't usually a problem but the game likes to keep it a little secret right up until you get the "Province occupied haha you suck" message.

Combine this with the fact that Europe (Especially austria/GB) has major rebel problems of thier own and the game has ground to a bit of a halt.

I really love the game, I just should have waited for the first few patches. And if you'll look up in the corner you'll note I JUST became a great power... sigh.