I know. I actually laughed when I saw that last screenshot.
As for the UK, well, we'll see.
There is likely to be at least one update this weekend, stay tuned.
-
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I know. I actually laughed when I saw that last screenshot.
As for the UK, well, we'll see.
There is likely to be at least one update this weekend, stay tuned.
Looks interesting, Mexico was one of the very few countries I've had any repeat value out of in V2.
Like the writing, quality
*Subscribes*
Like the writing, quality
*Subscribes*
Hey, I had some time that I do not visit the AAR forums and now I have the nice surprise that there is a new AAR with Mexico.
Subscribed.
Subscribed.
In at the death
Sam Houston cursed under his breath.
He looked around him at the remnants of the Texan forces. How had this happened?
He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. It wasn't over yet, he refused to believe it was over. So long as the Texan army remained a force in being...
After all, George Washington had often faced similar circumstances, yes? His army a shell, being hunted down by a much larger force?
He hoped he was half as talented as George Washington had been.
The forests around northern Texas were a reasonably good hiding place for an army: he hoped to recoup and recover here, gaining some momentum after sending Santa Ana running in Houston. He badly needed reinforcements, and his remaining men needed time to gather themselves: they still hadn't recovered from the Second Battle of San Antonio.
Nor had he, truth be told. For a brief, shining moment, Texan independence had seemed within sight, the Mexican forces wavering, on the edge of retreat...and then the cry had gone up.
He still sometimes had nightmares about that day.
Enough! That was the past. They had beaten Santa Ana for the second time. They had turned back the Mexican army from Houston. That had to mean something.
He did his rounds of the encampment where he and his men were gathered, projecting an aura of confidence. Morale had begun to recover, but it needed to be stronger before they faced the Mexican Army again.
It was about mid-afternoon when his rounds took him to the picket of scouts he had placed about a half a mile south of his main encampment, on top of a hill with a good view.
Something was wrong.
There was only one man there. What was his name? Right. Jenkins.
"Where's your back-up Jenkins?"
The man, who was peering south, turned around, staring at his commander, then somewhat belatedly saluted.
"Sent him to the main camp Sir. With a message."
It hung there in the air for a moment.
"A message."
Jenkins, unflinchingly, handed him a telescope and wordlessly pointed south.
He looked through it, and saw dust, an army on the march. He stopped himself from swearing through will alone.
"No more using the telescope, the reflection from the sun might give us away. And no campfires." The orders were automatic. Jenkins nodded.
"Stay here, report after sundown and tell me if they are still marching this way. I have other orders to give."
He hopped on his horse and rode into the main encampment. One of his seconds, thank god, was a clever enough man that he had known what needed doing. Messengers had already gone out to all the pickets to douse any fires and not use telescopes, and the fires at the campsite here were already out. Now it was just a game of hide and seek. If they found tracks....
He waited for what seemed an eternity while the sun slowly slid across the sky. As ordered, the messengers from the pickets arrived once night had fallen: The army was still headed in their general direction, and if they kept on going, they would find them sometime in the afternoon tomorrow.
He resigned himself to fighting a battle. He wondered who was in command? If it was Santa Ana, he was sure he could beat him again. Cos was a riskier thing, but odds weren't bad. Their new general, the one who had led his men...enough of that.
He had his men dig entrenchments once the sun rose, he would need every advantage he could get if the Mexican army found him. The trees would help him make it a good defensive position, but he was outnumbered. Very well, he had beaten back superior numbers before.
Later that morning, his pickets all returned to the main encampment: the Mexican army had found the trail and was headed this way. The cat had found the mouse, but the mouse might still be able to bite his tail and send him running...
As predicted, the Mexican forces became visible in the late afternoon, the heat of the day was in full force and made the air very still: the sound of their marching resounded through the forest.
His men waited until their shots were reasonably good before firing: they needed as much effective fire as possible. His cannons roared at the enemy, tearing through their lines.
The men marching towards him simply grimly bore the brunt of it and kept coming on. The Mexican army he faced now was a different beast, it didn't waver at all and bore the Texan advantage of firearms and cannons with equanimity, just marching closer. Their first volley of fire rang out, but they didn't even stop to fire it. He cursed. A bayonet charge. More lessons they had learned.
"Fire at will!"
There was no longer time for synchronized volleys of fire: he needed to thin out those numbers before they charged and it descended into a melee.
The shots rang out it staccato snaps, with the occasional boom of the cannon. His men were keeping up an amazing rate of fire, maybe a shot per minute. The Mexicans kept marching on, firing once more.
Finally, they got close enough...here it came! They yelled, charged, bayonets flashing in the sun charged forward, his men got off one last volley, and then they were amongst his men.
He gritted his teeth and smiled in satisfaction as his sword went cleanly through one man as he stepped over the logs making up the main part of his earthworks.
Two more men leaped over the logs and the world shrunk to the battle directly around him, he swung his sword again...another kill. He pulled out his sword, turned to face the other man, and readied himself.
Someone punched him in the back. The world seemed to tremble. He looked down, not understanding, why was a blade sticking out of his stomach? No..this couldn't be....
-----------------------
Jesus pulled out his bayonet from the man he'd gotten from behind, and finished the job by sticking it in his neck. He then quickly ran forward, the rebels were beginning to scatter, but he might be able to kill a few more. He wondered if the man he'd killed was important. He'd had some sort of emblem on his uniform.
Oh well.
----------------------
Cos looked over the remnants of the battlefield and shook his head in disbelief. Even now, it was seemed impossible that the Texan army had essentially ceased to exist. Dallas had fallen, and Austin as well. It was time to march to Lubbock, since Houston was already under the siege and Augustin wouldn't need him.
After the Battle of Dallas, everything else was really just cleaning up the remnants: Sam Houston had either died or vanished, and without him the rebellion seemed to simply collapse. By April, the last holdout surrendered: the Texan rebellion had been crushed.
Sam Houston cursed under his breath.
He looked around him at the remnants of the Texan forces. How had this happened?
He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. It wasn't over yet, he refused to believe it was over. So long as the Texan army remained a force in being...
After all, George Washington had often faced similar circumstances, yes? His army a shell, being hunted down by a much larger force?
He hoped he was half as talented as George Washington had been.
The forests around northern Texas were a reasonably good hiding place for an army: he hoped to recoup and recover here, gaining some momentum after sending Santa Ana running in Houston. He badly needed reinforcements, and his remaining men needed time to gather themselves: they still hadn't recovered from the Second Battle of San Antonio.
Nor had he, truth be told. For a brief, shining moment, Texan independence had seemed within sight, the Mexican forces wavering, on the edge of retreat...and then the cry had gone up.
He still sometimes had nightmares about that day.
Enough! That was the past. They had beaten Santa Ana for the second time. They had turned back the Mexican army from Houston. That had to mean something.
He did his rounds of the encampment where he and his men were gathered, projecting an aura of confidence. Morale had begun to recover, but it needed to be stronger before they faced the Mexican Army again.
It was about mid-afternoon when his rounds took him to the picket of scouts he had placed about a half a mile south of his main encampment, on top of a hill with a good view.
Something was wrong.
There was only one man there. What was his name? Right. Jenkins.
"Where's your back-up Jenkins?"
The man, who was peering south, turned around, staring at his commander, then somewhat belatedly saluted.
"Sent him to the main camp Sir. With a message."
It hung there in the air for a moment.
"A message."
Jenkins, unflinchingly, handed him a telescope and wordlessly pointed south.
He looked through it, and saw dust, an army on the march. He stopped himself from swearing through will alone.
"No more using the telescope, the reflection from the sun might give us away. And no campfires." The orders were automatic. Jenkins nodded.
"Stay here, report after sundown and tell me if they are still marching this way. I have other orders to give."
He hopped on his horse and rode into the main encampment. One of his seconds, thank god, was a clever enough man that he had known what needed doing. Messengers had already gone out to all the pickets to douse any fires and not use telescopes, and the fires at the campsite here were already out. Now it was just a game of hide and seek. If they found tracks....
He waited for what seemed an eternity while the sun slowly slid across the sky. As ordered, the messengers from the pickets arrived once night had fallen: The army was still headed in their general direction, and if they kept on going, they would find them sometime in the afternoon tomorrow.
He resigned himself to fighting a battle. He wondered who was in command? If it was Santa Ana, he was sure he could beat him again. Cos was a riskier thing, but odds weren't bad. Their new general, the one who had led his men...enough of that.
He had his men dig entrenchments once the sun rose, he would need every advantage he could get if the Mexican army found him. The trees would help him make it a good defensive position, but he was outnumbered. Very well, he had beaten back superior numbers before.
Later that morning, his pickets all returned to the main encampment: the Mexican army had found the trail and was headed this way. The cat had found the mouse, but the mouse might still be able to bite his tail and send him running...
As predicted, the Mexican forces became visible in the late afternoon, the heat of the day was in full force and made the air very still: the sound of their marching resounded through the forest.
His men waited until their shots were reasonably good before firing: they needed as much effective fire as possible. His cannons roared at the enemy, tearing through their lines.
The men marching towards him simply grimly bore the brunt of it and kept coming on. The Mexican army he faced now was a different beast, it didn't waver at all and bore the Texan advantage of firearms and cannons with equanimity, just marching closer. Their first volley of fire rang out, but they didn't even stop to fire it. He cursed. A bayonet charge. More lessons they had learned.
"Fire at will!"
There was no longer time for synchronized volleys of fire: he needed to thin out those numbers before they charged and it descended into a melee.
The shots rang out it staccato snaps, with the occasional boom of the cannon. His men were keeping up an amazing rate of fire, maybe a shot per minute. The Mexicans kept marching on, firing once more.
Finally, they got close enough...here it came! They yelled, charged, bayonets flashing in the sun charged forward, his men got off one last volley, and then they were amongst his men.
He gritted his teeth and smiled in satisfaction as his sword went cleanly through one man as he stepped over the logs making up the main part of his earthworks.
Two more men leaped over the logs and the world shrunk to the battle directly around him, he swung his sword again...another kill. He pulled out his sword, turned to face the other man, and readied himself.
Someone punched him in the back. The world seemed to tremble. He looked down, not understanding, why was a blade sticking out of his stomach? No..this couldn't be....
-----------------------
Jesus pulled out his bayonet from the man he'd gotten from behind, and finished the job by sticking it in his neck. He then quickly ran forward, the rebels were beginning to scatter, but he might be able to kill a few more. He wondered if the man he'd killed was important. He'd had some sort of emblem on his uniform.
Oh well.
----------------------
Cos looked over the remnants of the battlefield and shook his head in disbelief. Even now, it was seemed impossible that the Texan army had essentially ceased to exist. Dallas had fallen, and Austin as well. It was time to march to Lubbock, since Houston was already under the siege and Augustin wouldn't need him.
After the Battle of Dallas, everything else was really just cleaning up the remnants: Sam Houston had either died or vanished, and without him the rebellion seemed to simply collapse. By April, the last holdout surrendered: the Texan rebellion had been crushed.
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@Prawnstar I very much enjoyed reading your Iroquois AAR, so the compliment is very much appreciated.
@jafloresl I will now have to resist the urge to babble at you in Spanish. I don't get nearly enough practice these days. I'll be sure to check out your AAR, although I suspect, simply based off its name, that its following a somewhat different tone/arc than mine, which, just to be clear, is good!
There will be an epilogue to Ch. 1 tomorrow, and then the next Chapter in our little tale shall commence.
@jafloresl I will now have to resist the urge to babble at you in Spanish. I don't get nearly enough practice these days. I'll be sure to check out your AAR, although I suspect, simply based off its name, that its following a somewhat different tone/arc than mine, which, just to be clear, is good!
There will be an epilogue to Ch. 1 tomorrow, and then the next Chapter in our little tale shall commence.
another good battle scene ... you have a talent for them. And it looks as if Texas is yours
Obviously, there was an unexpected hitch in terms of me being able to update yesterday, and I'll be too busy today. Update tomorrow, then.
The last enemy that shall be destroyed..
Antonio de Padua María Severino López de Santa Anna y Pérez de Lebrón let his horse ride itself into Austin, lost in his thoughts.
He had honestly doubted himself. He snorted at the thought.
Yucatan had bowed before him. Zacatecas had bowed. He should have never doubted that Texas would do the same.
Cos had nearly messed things up beyond retrieval, but his idea to send all his available forces and bury the nascent rebellion under the sheer weight of numbers had worked!
There was so much still to do. Mexico must be strong. United. Powerful. The Seven Laws were only the start. People often mocked his appellation of himself as the Napoleon of the West, but they did not understand him. They did not understand that he, Santa Ana, was a student of history.
Napoleon was a genius in battle, this was true. But most of all, he was a man of vision, a man of action. A whiff of grapeshot, and he had seen the way in which his country was destroying itself under Republican excess. The people, after all, needed guidance,leadership.
He had returned because his country, his beloved Mejico, had needed him. He had not wanted to. He had not sought the honor. But when one's country called, one did not deny it an answer. A true patriot served, and did damage to a country's enemies with all the resources at his disposal.
He grinned, remembered Zacatecas. Oh how those rebels had howled as he took their ill-gotten gains to serve the Army on its work of making sure all answered to Mexico City!
But, he was determined, the people of Texas, they would envy Zacatecas. He would make Texas howl so that it would never think to rise in rebellion again. He had crushed this rebellion, all the rebellions. But he knew Mexico: there were always rebels, waiting, biding their time on the frontier, far from the yes of the capital, hanging in the North and the South...
Not this time. He was here anyway, he would make use of his presence and now that the Texans lay prone before him, he would stomp on them with both feet. He would be relentless.
He entered the fort, his solders saluting him. His army was looking much better, much sharper than when it had entered Texas. The uniforms were just as ragged and the guns were just as varied, but the men... a disorganized mob had become a pack of vicious coyotes. He could feel the power of their united purpose, formed in the flame of battle, at his command.
He hitched his horse and walked to where his headquarters were. He looked forward to a relaxing evening with a bottle of wine and some company of the female persuasion...and then he would gather his forces and began setting about knocking some sense into Texas.
He opened the door to his office, taking off his hat as he did so.
Something punched him in the stomach, and his ears rang.
Agustin Muzquiz stood up from his chair. Wait..why was he here?
The gun in his hand was still smoking. None of this made sense. He looked down. Where did all this blood come from?
Agustin walked towards him, looking grave. He pulled a second pistol from his jacket, pointed it at him.
He tried to form a word, demand the meaning of this. Found he couldn't.
"I'm sorry General. Your country no longer needs your services."
He heard thunder, and the world went black.
Antonio de Padua María Severino López de Santa Anna y Pérez de Lebrón let his horse ride itself into Austin, lost in his thoughts.
He had honestly doubted himself. He snorted at the thought.
Yucatan had bowed before him. Zacatecas had bowed. He should have never doubted that Texas would do the same.
Cos had nearly messed things up beyond retrieval, but his idea to send all his available forces and bury the nascent rebellion under the sheer weight of numbers had worked!
There was so much still to do. Mexico must be strong. United. Powerful. The Seven Laws were only the start. People often mocked his appellation of himself as the Napoleon of the West, but they did not understand him. They did not understand that he, Santa Ana, was a student of history.
Napoleon was a genius in battle, this was true. But most of all, he was a man of vision, a man of action. A whiff of grapeshot, and he had seen the way in which his country was destroying itself under Republican excess. The people, after all, needed guidance,leadership.
He had returned because his country, his beloved Mejico, had needed him. He had not wanted to. He had not sought the honor. But when one's country called, one did not deny it an answer. A true patriot served, and did damage to a country's enemies with all the resources at his disposal.
He grinned, remembered Zacatecas. Oh how those rebels had howled as he took their ill-gotten gains to serve the Army on its work of making sure all answered to Mexico City!
But, he was determined, the people of Texas, they would envy Zacatecas. He would make Texas howl so that it would never think to rise in rebellion again. He had crushed this rebellion, all the rebellions. But he knew Mexico: there were always rebels, waiting, biding their time on the frontier, far from the yes of the capital, hanging in the North and the South...
Not this time. He was here anyway, he would make use of his presence and now that the Texans lay prone before him, he would stomp on them with both feet. He would be relentless.
He entered the fort, his solders saluting him. His army was looking much better, much sharper than when it had entered Texas. The uniforms were just as ragged and the guns were just as varied, but the men... a disorganized mob had become a pack of vicious coyotes. He could feel the power of their united purpose, formed in the flame of battle, at his command.
He hitched his horse and walked to where his headquarters were. He looked forward to a relaxing evening with a bottle of wine and some company of the female persuasion...and then he would gather his forces and began setting about knocking some sense into Texas.
He opened the door to his office, taking off his hat as he did so.
Something punched him in the stomach, and his ears rang.
Agustin Muzquiz stood up from his chair. Wait..why was he here?
The gun in his hand was still smoking. None of this made sense. He looked down. Where did all this blood come from?
Agustin walked towards him, looking grave. He pulled a second pistol from his jacket, pointed it at him.
He tried to form a word, demand the meaning of this. Found he couldn't.
"I'm sorry General. Your country no longer needs your services."
He heard thunder, and the world went black.
thats a really nice twist. There's Santa Ana dreaming bonapartist dreams and someone just comes and shoots him
I am impressed, bumping off one main character on the second page
I am impressed, bumping off one main character on the second page
@Cinead- One would hope so, guess we will see...
@loki I'm glad you liked it. I hope to provide more such twists as the story continues.
Chapter 2 will represent a shift in gears from the battle dramas of Chapter 1, I plan to post the first installment on Monday, which I have off.
Thanks again for the compliments.
@loki I'm glad you liked it.
I hope to provide more such twists as the story continues.Chapter 2 will represent a shift in gears from the battle dramas of Chapter 1, I plan to post the first installment on Monday, which I have off.
Thanks again for the compliments.
Ch. 2: Rags to Riches
Carlos Sandoval sipped from his coffee, appreciating the cool feel of the china on his hands in contrast to the hot liquid.
The other men in the well appointed room with him were handling their cups gingerly, many of them quietly trying to cool the hot liquid by blowing on it. Not him, he sipped the coffee straight up.
He once again gauged the other men in the room, his sometimes competitors and sometime compatriots. They were all, to a man, new at this.
Carlos' parents had been the owners of a small shop here in the capital, and they had enough money to hire a few tutors and even send him on a trip to Europe. He had enough exposure to the world to see it, even if the other men couldn't.
They were all dressed finely, like aristocrats, but none of them were, they were playing at the part, they were, each of them, incapable of that invincible arrogance and ignorance of men born to wealth and power.
Instead, they had the air of predators currently awaiting their prey.
The government had been spending money hand over fist to quash the various rebellions born over the death of the constitution: money it didn't have. It had been borrowing from all and sundry to keep itself afloat, the men in the Capital simply doing as best they could to keep the government going while the people who *actually* made the decisions were off in Texas.
Soon, something had to give, and when it did, him and his fellows would be there.
The government held an immense amount of property and land, and should it have to declare bankruptcy, it might be convinced to auction off some of that at a pittance.
Carlos had been scraping together what money he could from his various business ventures, all in preparation for a gigantic gamble.
Since becoming an adult, he had quarreled with his Father, who had wanted him to stay at the shop and continue to work there. Instead, he had found a job working as the messenger boy for one of the local trade guilds. The job had given him all sorts of information about the world of trade in Mexico, a world still very much dominated by small business and shops run by men like his father. But among these there were men who had acquired a bit more wealth and power. They owned a few shops, or perhaps ran a trade concern, or a mine. With the money he pocketed from his job, he was able to lend a few people money here and there, and began making money off the practice. Most people paid him back...sooner or later, and all the while his wealth grew.
When the constitution had been repealed, he had what amount to a small set of business and a small pool of money to invest with. The business were all centered around the capital which was the cultural, economic and political capital of the nation. But he knew that there were investment opportunities in the frontier, if nothing else, land was cheaper there.
If he could acquire some valuable property and the right price, he could develop it, make some investments, turn his moderately successful Mexico City operation into a national venture. He just needed some luck...
The government had announced, to those who might be interested, that it would be meeting with potential investors in government held property today. Now the only question was, was it an attempt to head of Bankruptcy, or was it the thing itself...that would matter for the kind of prices he could expect.
He heard someone enter the well appointed room, he turned calmly to see who it was....
The Head of the National Bank.
"Gentlemen, thank you for coming today. Let me get straight to the point. The government of Mexico is declaring bankruptcy."
All of the men tried to talk at once. All except Carlos. He just smiled.
Carlos Sandoval sipped from his coffee, appreciating the cool feel of the china on his hands in contrast to the hot liquid.
The other men in the well appointed room with him were handling their cups gingerly, many of them quietly trying to cool the hot liquid by blowing on it. Not him, he sipped the coffee straight up.
He once again gauged the other men in the room, his sometimes competitors and sometime compatriots. They were all, to a man, new at this.
Carlos' parents had been the owners of a small shop here in the capital, and they had enough money to hire a few tutors and even send him on a trip to Europe. He had enough exposure to the world to see it, even if the other men couldn't.
They were all dressed finely, like aristocrats, but none of them were, they were playing at the part, they were, each of them, incapable of that invincible arrogance and ignorance of men born to wealth and power.
Instead, they had the air of predators currently awaiting their prey.
The government had been spending money hand over fist to quash the various rebellions born over the death of the constitution: money it didn't have. It had been borrowing from all and sundry to keep itself afloat, the men in the Capital simply doing as best they could to keep the government going while the people who *actually* made the decisions were off in Texas.
Soon, something had to give, and when it did, him and his fellows would be there.
The government held an immense amount of property and land, and should it have to declare bankruptcy, it might be convinced to auction off some of that at a pittance.
Carlos had been scraping together what money he could from his various business ventures, all in preparation for a gigantic gamble.
Since becoming an adult, he had quarreled with his Father, who had wanted him to stay at the shop and continue to work there. Instead, he had found a job working as the messenger boy for one of the local trade guilds. The job had given him all sorts of information about the world of trade in Mexico, a world still very much dominated by small business and shops run by men like his father. But among these there were men who had acquired a bit more wealth and power. They owned a few shops, or perhaps ran a trade concern, or a mine. With the money he pocketed from his job, he was able to lend a few people money here and there, and began making money off the practice. Most people paid him back...sooner or later, and all the while his wealth grew.
When the constitution had been repealed, he had what amount to a small set of business and a small pool of money to invest with. The business were all centered around the capital which was the cultural, economic and political capital of the nation. But he knew that there were investment opportunities in the frontier, if nothing else, land was cheaper there.
If he could acquire some valuable property and the right price, he could develop it, make some investments, turn his moderately successful Mexico City operation into a national venture. He just needed some luck...
The government had announced, to those who might be interested, that it would be meeting with potential investors in government held property today. Now the only question was, was it an attempt to head of Bankruptcy, or was it the thing itself...that would matter for the kind of prices he could expect.
He heard someone enter the well appointed room, he turned calmly to see who it was....
The Head of the National Bank.
"Gentlemen, thank you for coming today. Let me get straight to the point. The government of Mexico is declaring bankruptcy."
All of the men tried to talk at once. All except Carlos. He just smiled.
nice shift of tone, young Carlos being one to watch
did the bankruptcy just happen as a result of the game or did you try to set it up?
did the bankruptcy just happen as a result of the game or did you try to set it up?
It just happened. Mind you, a decision I made to spend some money (an event) seems to have triggered it, but this was a case of me not watching my balance closely enough while I finished up the war in Texas. So the bankruptcy caught me by surprise.
Which does simulate what would probably happen to the actual business of government with everyone of note up north, so it had promising story purposes.
Which does simulate what would probably happen to the actual business of government with everyone of note up north, so it had promising story purposes.
Sorry about the delay in posting. This AAR had a scary moment two days ago when my computer started to have a total meltdown and the hard drive started to having trouble booting.
I could relate to you the epic tale of how with much determination I got it booted one last time and my save files were among the things transferred onto a usb drive in the ten blessed minutes I had before it crashed and refused to boot for the last time, but I'm pretty sure it would be incredibly boring.
I got a new hard drive and have Vic 2 up and running, copied over the save files I got onto the last life raft before the old hard drive sunk, and checked, my save files are good and still work, so we will continue onward!
Next update either tomorrow or Monday, as I am still working on having the dust settle after that little adventure.
I could relate to you the epic tale of how with much determination I got it booted one last time and my save files were among the things transferred onto a usb drive in the ten blessed minutes I had before it crashed and refused to boot for the last time, but I'm pretty sure it would be incredibly boring.
I got a new hard drive and have Vic 2 up and running, copied over the save files I got onto the last life raft before the old hard drive sunk, and checked, my save files are good and still work, so we will continue onward!
Next update either tomorrow or Monday, as I am still working on having the dust settle after that little adventure.
Also glad you've saved your AAR. The change in characters is a nice touch, and its great how you're using in-game events (especially the ones you don't seem to expect) to further the story. The writing flows beautifully, and it is a pleasure to read. I'll definitely be keeping up with this one.
Creative Destruction
It had all started in Durango.
The Garzia family was a venerable Criollo family that owned the main silver mine that dominated the area's economy, they had been part of the Basque settlers/solders who had originally colonized this area for Spain. The war for independence, however, had been hard on them: the mines and much of the outlaying area had been damaged during the struggle and they had been forced to flee. Since then, they had been struggling to restore themselves to solvency.
The unrest after the end of the constitution had disrupted trade and made the transporting of the valuable silver risky. One such shipment had been attacked by a group of bandits in early August.
The loss had seemed survivable at first, but its timing was unfortunate. The money would be there later, certainly, but their creditors had wanted the money sooner rather than later.
When they had related this story to the governor of Durango, he had not thought twice about lending them what seemed, from the perspective of the government, a pittance compared to the sums being spent to feed the army in Texas.
When the Governor discussed the matter with the state treasurer, he found he himself needed to take a short term loan to keep the business afloat. A request to the new Governor of Zacatecas for such a loan was sent, and a messenger arrived by horseback the next day that yes, of course, he would receive the money.
Credit was tightening everywhere as the Federal government borrowed more money, and the Governor of Zacatecas was not able to find someone to help him cover the expense of his loan, since his own budget was pretty much empty.
A request was sent to the Federal government, arriving on the 30th.
The National Treasurer found he could, quite simply, not borrow any more money, and that the various lenders that he had borrowed from were requesting payment. The war, from what he heard, was approaching victory and he must keep the flow of money going just a little longer, lest the Army grow unhappy that Texas had been won in the battlefield but lost by the banks..
The Mexican state, he saw, was barely financially capable of handling a serious rebellion on the frontier, he despaired of what would happen if an actual serious conflict broke out.
Oh well. The least he could do is declare bankruptcy and get some money back in the treasury to keep the war going. Maybe after it was over they could get their financial house in order...where to get the money? Hmm..perhaps selling some property...especially the worthless land out in the frontier. He wouldn't get much for it, but the land cost some to the treasury in pure maintenance, so he could lower his expenses, get some money to keep the war going, and make some of the domestic lenders happy by giving them something in exchange for the loans the government could not repay. As for the foreign lenders..well..they would have to take their chances, he supposed.
---
Carlos smiled as he saw the line of men heading into the largish building.
He was uncertain about the product in question, but his choices in this regard were dictated in part by his fellows: Mexico was the place, cans of food, for the armies and navies of the world was the product. It struck him as potentially risky, canned food was too dependent on the doings of nations, there was more profit in selling to the people themselves. Still, he had minimized his own exposure to this particular factory and ventures more to his liking were being set up on the outskirts of the center. Not the actual far frontier, not yet, but in Mexico even Durango and Yucatan counted as something akin to "frontier." Too much land and too few people. Labor costs would be high. He wondered what he could do to encourage the government to do something about that...
Cement, no there was a a money maker. The British were using increasing quantities of the stuff to build all the various buildings and factories that were taking over their country, as were the Americans. Mexico, if it was going to build, and he was determined it was going to build, would need similar means to provide good building materials. Making cement cheap and available would give him profit, and any future investments he made in other factories would make the cement itself more in demand, keeping business going.
And he was pretty sure he had used his contacts in the government, nurtured carefully after the bankruptcy, to arrange for government funing of the venture: he stood to make the profit, and yet would invest very little of his own money.
It had all started in Durango.
The Garzia family was a venerable Criollo family that owned the main silver mine that dominated the area's economy, they had been part of the Basque settlers/solders who had originally colonized this area for Spain. The war for independence, however, had been hard on them: the mines and much of the outlaying area had been damaged during the struggle and they had been forced to flee. Since then, they had been struggling to restore themselves to solvency.
The unrest after the end of the constitution had disrupted trade and made the transporting of the valuable silver risky. One such shipment had been attacked by a group of bandits in early August.
The loss had seemed survivable at first, but its timing was unfortunate. The money would be there later, certainly, but their creditors had wanted the money sooner rather than later.
When they had related this story to the governor of Durango, he had not thought twice about lending them what seemed, from the perspective of the government, a pittance compared to the sums being spent to feed the army in Texas.
When the Governor discussed the matter with the state treasurer, he found he himself needed to take a short term loan to keep the business afloat. A request to the new Governor of Zacatecas for such a loan was sent, and a messenger arrived by horseback the next day that yes, of course, he would receive the money.
Credit was tightening everywhere as the Federal government borrowed more money, and the Governor of Zacatecas was not able to find someone to help him cover the expense of his loan, since his own budget was pretty much empty.
A request was sent to the Federal government, arriving on the 30th.
The National Treasurer found he could, quite simply, not borrow any more money, and that the various lenders that he had borrowed from were requesting payment. The war, from what he heard, was approaching victory and he must keep the flow of money going just a little longer, lest the Army grow unhappy that Texas had been won in the battlefield but lost by the banks..
The Mexican state, he saw, was barely financially capable of handling a serious rebellion on the frontier, he despaired of what would happen if an actual serious conflict broke out.
Oh well. The least he could do is declare bankruptcy and get some money back in the treasury to keep the war going. Maybe after it was over they could get their financial house in order...where to get the money? Hmm..perhaps selling some property...especially the worthless land out in the frontier. He wouldn't get much for it, but the land cost some to the treasury in pure maintenance, so he could lower his expenses, get some money to keep the war going, and make some of the domestic lenders happy by giving them something in exchange for the loans the government could not repay. As for the foreign lenders..well..they would have to take their chances, he supposed.
---
Carlos smiled as he saw the line of men heading into the largish building.
He was uncertain about the product in question, but his choices in this regard were dictated in part by his fellows: Mexico was the place, cans of food, for the armies and navies of the world was the product. It struck him as potentially risky, canned food was too dependent on the doings of nations, there was more profit in selling to the people themselves. Still, he had minimized his own exposure to this particular factory and ventures more to his liking were being set up on the outskirts of the center. Not the actual far frontier, not yet, but in Mexico even Durango and Yucatan counted as something akin to "frontier." Too much land and too few people. Labor costs would be high. He wondered what he could do to encourage the government to do something about that...
Cement, no there was a a money maker. The British were using increasing quantities of the stuff to build all the various buildings and factories that were taking over their country, as were the Americans. Mexico, if it was going to build, and he was determined it was going to build, would need similar means to provide good building materials. Making cement cheap and available would give him profit, and any future investments he made in other factories would make the cement itself more in demand, keeping business going.
And he was pretty sure he had used his contacts in the government, nurtured carefully after the bankruptcy, to arrange for government funing of the venture: he stood to make the profit, and yet would invest very little of his own money.
again great stuff, interesting to see such a close focus on the mechanics of the economy, but so plausibly integrated into your wider narrative
As fast as dreams
Carlos looked at the scenery passing by from the train at a pleasing 30 or so kilometers per hour. The passenger car he was in was empty aside from himself: its opulence was reserved for gentlemen of the upper class or men of money such as himself, although since he owned the railroad company this train was a part of, he would have likely been granted a space on this care no matter the circumstance.
Things were going well, very well indeed.
Take this train for instance. It ran from the port at Veracruz up the coast to the border of Texas, stopping at the Rio de Janero, although soon, it would cross...soon..
It seemed as though more track was put down every day as the rails begun to knit the country together for the first time, really, in its entire history. It was now possible for people to travel to the near frontier in days where a few years ago, during the Texan war, it might have taken weeks.
And the passenger rail was the least part of it, as well he knew. Cargo! Cattle from the far north, iron from Sonora, gold from the pacific, fruit from the south. It was all needed elsewhere, and could be shipped in days, where shipping it before was either a matter of weeks or months or simply not worth it. For the first time, rail was causing the economy and people of Mexico to seriously push beyond the narrow valley between the Sierra Madre Oriental and the Sierra Madre Occidental that defined the center of economic activity and highest amount of people.
The train chugged along, bouncing unevenly. The shocks weren't felt as much through the rich padding that he sat on, and he looked past the fast moving scenery, looking at something beyond it, something unseen..
The canned food factory was a modestly profitable thing, and the cement factories were providing the backbone for his wealth and further investments he had hoped for. The railroads were allowing him to start shipping goods anywhere he liked. Now was the moment, now was the time to build a truly *national* product, no, an *international*product, something that the consumers in Europe would hanker for, much like they had demanded the tobacco, potatoes, and raw goods of the new world, now they would desire something manufactured. By his factories, his workers, drive his profits. And his fellow Mexicans would purchase it too. It should be a household name.
Familiarity, the known, had always been part of business. Men of his fathers generation had done business based on recommendations, with friends and previous business partners. He wondered if a *product* could become a similar thing: a sort of ethereal friend, a known quantity, something sufficiently common that people considered it a part of their life, like the work they did or their neighbors.
He was determined to find out, and he was pretty sure he had picked the best product for precisely such a feat…
Carlos looked at the scenery passing by from the train at a pleasing 30 or so kilometers per hour. The passenger car he was in was empty aside from himself: its opulence was reserved for gentlemen of the upper class or men of money such as himself, although since he owned the railroad company this train was a part of, he would have likely been granted a space on this care no matter the circumstance.
Things were going well, very well indeed.
Take this train for instance. It ran from the port at Veracruz up the coast to the border of Texas, stopping at the Rio de Janero, although soon, it would cross...soon..
It seemed as though more track was put down every day as the rails begun to knit the country together for the first time, really, in its entire history. It was now possible for people to travel to the near frontier in days where a few years ago, during the Texan war, it might have taken weeks.
And the passenger rail was the least part of it, as well he knew. Cargo! Cattle from the far north, iron from Sonora, gold from the pacific, fruit from the south. It was all needed elsewhere, and could be shipped in days, where shipping it before was either a matter of weeks or months or simply not worth it. For the first time, rail was causing the economy and people of Mexico to seriously push beyond the narrow valley between the Sierra Madre Oriental and the Sierra Madre Occidental that defined the center of economic activity and highest amount of people.
The train chugged along, bouncing unevenly. The shocks weren't felt as much through the rich padding that he sat on, and he looked past the fast moving scenery, looking at something beyond it, something unseen..
The canned food factory was a modestly profitable thing, and the cement factories were providing the backbone for his wealth and further investments he had hoped for. The railroads were allowing him to start shipping goods anywhere he liked. Now was the moment, now was the time to build a truly *national* product, no, an *international*product, something that the consumers in Europe would hanker for, much like they had demanded the tobacco, potatoes, and raw goods of the new world, now they would desire something manufactured. By his factories, his workers, drive his profits. And his fellow Mexicans would purchase it too. It should be a household name.
Familiarity, the known, had always been part of business. Men of his fathers generation had done business based on recommendations, with friends and previous business partners. He wondered if a *product* could become a similar thing: a sort of ethereal friend, a known quantity, something sufficiently common that people considered it a part of their life, like the work they did or their neighbors.
He was determined to find out, and he was pretty sure he had picked the best product for precisely such a feat…
that post for some reason put me in mind of 'Once Upon a Time in the West', both the opulent carriage and the feeling of an entire era of social relations (constrained by distance) coming to an end