Alternate History: The Butterfly Effect, USA AAR

[yellowstriker]

This AAR is an alternate history AAR, where I will playing as the USA in a hugely modded scenario where many countries will not exist by 1930. This story starts in September 1917. Many of the early chapters are not played, but more of a story told mostly in the style of The Killer Angels, with a chapter seen through a character's eyes.

The history which caused the formation of the scenario I will play starts to deviate back in 1917, which will explain the crazy scenario I will end up playing.

Feel free to make comments, criticisms and point out typos.

[yellowstriker]

This Post lists all of the major characters, their titles and jobs from my story style AAR, what chapters they are in and when they were born and died. This post will be edited with the status of the characters of the AAR

Gabriel Villanueva (1895-?) Villa's Top Lieutanent
Chapter 1

Venustiano Carranza (1859-?) President of Mexico
Chapter 1


Pancho Villa (1878-?) Mexican Bandit and Revolutionary
Chapter 2


Theodore Roosevelt (1858-?) Former (26th) President of the United States & Former Commander of the 1st United States Volunteer Cavalry (Rough Riders)
Chapter 3 & 4


Percival Garrett (1880-?) Former Sergeant of the Rough Riders, TR's ad hoc assistant
Chapter 3 & 4

Newton Baker (1871-?) Wilson's Secretary of War
Chapter 3 & 4


Woodrow Wilson (1856-?) The Current (28th) President of the United States
Chapter 3 & 4

[yellowstriker]

The beginning of my alternate universe's history starts here after the signing of the Mexican Constitution of 1917.

CHAPTER 1: DAGGERS IN MEXICO
CHARACTER: G. VILLANUEVA
LOCATION: MEXICO CITY, MEXICO – SEPT. 1, 1917

The sun rose out of the Eastern sky into the plateau of Mexico City. The Mexican citizens started to rise, beginning their normal routine, knowing that their new found freedoms of the Constitution of 1917 would be theirs for the rest of time. ¡Viva la Mexico!

A man dressed impeccably in a fine black Italian suit and a top hat, with brilliantly shined shoes left his coach in front the gate of a grand building.

“Sr. Villanueva, we have been expecting you,” a voice cried. “The glorious Presidente Carranza blessed with the power of Mexico’s blessing, the Constitution of 1917, is waiting to see you. Come in.”

The ornate gold gate opened and Villanueva saw the face, a butler’s to the voice which spoke to him. He followed the man up the stairs into the stunning mansion and to a waiting area.

“Wait here, Señor,” the butler said as he inside an ornate door.

Villanueva looked around the room and saw a large bay window. He looked outside and saw the splendor of President Carranza’s mansion. He saw the row of magnificent villas and mansions on this district of Mexico City and then looked to the South where he saw the slums of the town. Here the people of the Revolution lived, still in poverty and suppression, only a false name of liberty did they have. The leader of Mexico was unlike his people, one of the richest men in the world. He sighed.

“You may enter Señor,” the butler said.

Villanueva entered the door. The room reeked of stale cigar smoke. He looked to the right and there he was, the President of Mexico, Venustiano Carranza himself.

“Gabriel Villanueva, do you want some tequila?” asked the President of Mexico. “I’ve got a bottle and a glass with your name on it.”

“No, thank you,” responded Villanueva. “Let’s get to business, sir. What do you want of me?”

“Right to the point, eh,” said Carranza. “These people of Mexico tell me that I, the great president of Mexico, must give them the rights specified in the Constitution. They demand their freedom. They demand me to fulfill their needs and wishes. What about my needs? What about what I want? Isn’t it about what I want?”

“Sure …, sir,” Villanueva responded unsurely.

“Those damned citizens love Governor Adolfo de la Huerta, General Álvaro Obregón and General Plutarco Elias Calles,” declared Carranza. “Well, this won’t last long. Those god-damned peasants can go screw themselves.”
“Why do you need my help?” asked Villanueva.

“I have made arrangements so Obregón, Calles and de la Huerta won’t be attending their next cumple años fiesta, if you get my drift.” Carranza stated with a grin. “Your job, Villanueva, is to get rid of that damn bandito in the North. I have too many problems already, and he might compound them by angering those gringos. Gabriel, make sure that bandito is six feet under on Día de los Muertos (Nov. 1, 1917). You will have two months to prepare my friend. All four shall have untimely demises that day. It will be a fine day for Venustiano Carranza. I shall be the only power in Mexico! A momentous day for Venustiano Carranza, in my humble opinion.”

“I must make my leave to prepare for my task,” responded Villanueva with a stone cold face.

Villanueva exited the room and sighed. He left the President’s palace and walked towards the train station near the Socorro of Mexico City. He saw a church and entered it.

A friar approached Villanueva and asked, “How may the Cathedral of San Gabriel serve you?”

Villanueva answered, “I have a confession to make.”

The friar pointed him to the confessional room and he walked into the confessional room and sat down.

Villanueva began, “Forgive me, father, for I have sinned…”

[Sir Humphrey]

Hmmmm, alternate History.....

[yellowstriker]

You are the master, Sir Humphrey and I am just trying to emulate an icon, such as you.

CHAPTER 2: Secretive Intentions
CHARACTER: P. VILLA
LOCATION: Cabo San Lucas, Mexico – Sept. 13, 1917

The waves crashed violently from the Sea of Cortez into the cliffs by the sleepy fishing village of Cabo San Lucas located at the end of Baja California. In a nondescript house overlooking the Pacific, stepped out a man, the legend, the one they called Pancho Villa. Villa was one of the very few individuals that could anger the gringos of the North. Not even the American Pershing could capture or kill him.

Now Villa was resting, on hiatus from his work for the Mexican people. He was pleased with the Constitution of 1917. Carranza became president, which was fine for Villa. He didn’t mind the job, but wasn’t going fight for the post. Villa laughed as he thought of the fighting between Carranza and his rivals Obregón, Calles and de la Huerta for power.

“It is Él Rey de los Banditos,” a voice said from behind Villa. “You are the most famous bandit of them all.”

“I am not a bandit,” Villa responded with feigned indignation. “I am a revolutionary. I want to take from the rich gringos and give to my fellow poor citizens of the Republic. Like that character the gringos call Robin Hood.”

He smiles knowing that it is very soon that he may retire from revolutionary fighting and politics of the country.

“Now, all you have to do Pancho is to make sure the gringos don’t drag you up to the hanging tree,” Pedro joked.

“Hah, their best couldn’t catch me,” Pancho retorted. “Their best, Pershing, couldn’t handle me. Though, I must wish he may meet an untimely demise in Europe.”

The two men went inside the house. Villa knew that there were more important things to talk about than joking with his friend, Pedro. He had a special dispatch, straight from President Carranza in his pocket. He would read it during the meeting.

He sat down at the table in the meeting room next to Pedro. There were three others in the meeting. One seat was unoccupied.

“Where is the lieutenant of yours, Pancho?” asked the man on the other side of Pancho.

“He had some official business to attend to down south,” replied Pancho.

“So, what is the name of this lieutenant of yours I’ve been hearing about,” asked the man across from Pancho.

“He loves fame not, but works as a silent workhorse for our flamboyant, Pancho,” replied Pedro.

“I found my friend and lieutenant after a raid by Pershing’s gringos,” Pancho said slowly. “A gringo put a pistol to his head. Next to him were three dead men. I was in a fury over the deaths of my people and would not allow more deaths. I shot dead that gringo murderer. The rest of my men had six more kills. Four got away because of that loco gringo cavalryman. Damn him!”

Pancho finished, “That is how I found, rescued and go to know my trusted lieutenant, Gabriel Villanueva.”

[Mettermrck]

Hmm, lots of potential in Mexico for alternate history. I look forward to some more.

[King Of Nines]

I'm a big fan of alternate history scenarios, as I've stated in other threads. I like the concept too of telling chapters through the eyes of various characters. I may have to borrow that technique one of these days...

[yellowstriker]

CHAPTER 3: STANDOFF BY THE POTOMAC
CHARACTER: T. ROOSEVELT
LOCATION: New York City, New York, U.S.A. – Oct. 5, 1917

“All aboard on the City of New Orleans, service from New York City, New York to New Orleans, Louisiana, via Philadelphia, PA, Washington D.C., Richmond, Virginia and Atlanta, Georgia,” shouted the train conductor. “Departing in five minutes.”

A great man calmly walked down the stairs onto Platform 5. Every person who saw him stopped what they were doing and started at him. Everything about him exuded confidence and power. This was something he dearly needed to have happen in order for him to complete the next great task. He went down to the platform; a man came right next to him and saluted.

This man said, “Col. Roosevelt, it’s an honor to see you again. I served with Rough Riders when we charged up Kettle Hill. Sergeant Percival Garrett, Troop L, First US Volunteer Cavalry. I’m thinking about volunteering again, sir. What’s your opinion about that, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’ll tell you what sergeant,” TR replied. “If you want to volunteer for Col. Roosevelt, follow me. You will play an important role to let me convince President Wilson to let me organize a division. Then god willing I will lead those men into glorious battle.”

“Sir, I will be honored to be your first volunteer,” Garrett said.

“No, sergeant, you are the second volunteer,” Roosevelt proclaimed. “Why, you ask because I am the first to volunteer for Old Teddy of San Juan Hill.”

“So, sir, what do I have to do?” Garrett asked.

“Just come along for the ride,” Roosevelt replied. “Your duty will come soon. Now hurry, up sergeant, the train’s about to leave.”

An astonished Garrett followed the ex-President Roosevelt into the train, in a state of shock. He thought he was dreaming. He had come to New York to try to find a commission in the new army, but instead he would possibly be fighting for his old commanding office in Cuba, Theodore Roosevelt.

Roosevelt sat down in his chair and started to think. He really wanted to fight; he would do anything to lead men into glorious battle. Wilson rebuffed his service request in May, but now in October he had a only a card left to play. He never thought that this would occur, but with every risk comes a reward. This reward was worth the risk. It was just like a high-stakes poker game and he had a two-eight, off suit, bluffing for the championship prize. He fell asleep with Garrett still staring at him.

LOCATION: Washington, District of Columbia, U.S.A. – Oct. 9, 1917

“The City of New Orleans bound for New Orleans, Louisiana, now stopping at Washington, D.C.,” cried the train conductor. “Arriving in two minutes.”

TR looked at his watch, stood up and was ready to leave the train. The sergeant picked up both of the bags and followed the ex-president.

A middle-aged, portly man came up to TR and said, “Sir, I am Scott Parker, Secretary of War Baker’s assistant. He requests that you meet with him and President Wilson, sir. Follow me.”

“Sergeant, follow me,” Roosevelt barked to Garrett. “Let’s get moving.”

Roosevelt entered Parker’s stagecoach while Percival sat shotgun next to the driver of the coach. The horse-drawn carriage took them from the train station past the Washington and Lincoln memorials on the way to 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.

There was the White House. Roosevelt was in joy. This was his favorite place in the world. He thought it ironic that the only person that could stop him from his next crusade was his archrival, Woodrow Wilson, the man who defeated him in his “Bull Moose” Campaign of 1912. TR thought never mind the past, it is time to deal with the future. The coach arrived at the White House’s West Wing entrance. This was his wing, the wing he put to the White House. He got off the coach and with Sergeant Garrett trailing, went in the West Wing behind Parker.

Roosevelt and Garrett were left by Parker in the waiting room. Then a wiry man with dark-rimmed glasses came into the room.

This man asked, “President Roosevelt, how are you today?”

“Enough of the formalities Newton,” Roosevelt gruffly replied. “Let’s get down to business. I guess President Wilson wants to discuss also, since we are in the West Wing. Also, this is my assistant, Garrett.”

Garrett told Newton, “Sergeant Percival Garrett, retired, formerly in Troop L, 1st United States Volunteer Cavalry.”

“Follow me, Mr. President, Mr. Garrett,” Baker said, as he entered the doors into the Presidential office.

Roosevelt and Garrett entered the room. Roosevelt saw a man tiredly sitting in the chair, which was once his. It was Wilson.

Wilson coughed, then began, “Excuse me, Theodore. And this is?” while pointing at Garrett.

“Woodrow, Mr. President, this is Percival Garrett, a former sergeant of my Rough Riders’ 4th Battalion, Troop L,” Roosevelt replied.

Garrett could only nod like someone smitten. He felt smitten by the presence of the presidents, the great bear of his hero Theodore Roosevelt staring into the eyes, deep as the abyss, of Woodrow Wilson.

The atmosphere of the room was tense, worsened by the muggy weather by the Potomac. The quiet was as loud as falling artillery, with the two powerful men’s wills standing off.

Roosevelt thought to himself that this time he would defeat Wilson and could claim his prize. His prize would be a divisional command in the American Expeditionary Force in France. Wilson would have to capitulate to him, Roosevelt knew it. He had the trump card, it was tricolored.

[KlavoHunter]

Tricolored?

I can't wait to hear what you're talking about!

And, by the way, TR would not be angry with Wilson for winning. He'd be angry at Taft for being a complete and utter prick and cooking the ballots for the Republican Primary, forcing TR to make his own party and split the Republican vote, thus making both him and Taft lose to Wilson.

[yellowstriker]

I know he would be angry at Taft but not Wilson for the 1912 election. TR is mad at Wilson because according to the Theodore Roosevelt website, on May 19, 1917, TR got refused for military service as a divisional officer by Wilson.

In my AAR this is his last ditch attempt to get a commission.

Should have an update tommorrow after some shuteye. Coding/writing AARs for about 16 hours.

Thanks, to all poster, for making comments, suggestions and etc. so a madman like me can express their mad designs to other equally mad history lovers.

[King Of Nines]

Many years ago, I actually rode the "City of New Orleans" with my mom and sister from Chicago to Memphis. I was pretty young and only vaugely remember it now. I do remember some old fat guy snoring loudly most of the way...

Hmmmm... both the flags of France and Mexico are tricolors...

[yellowstriker]

CHAPTER 4: DEADMAN’S HAND
CHARACTER: W. WILSON
LOCATION: The West Wing, Washington, District of Columbia, U.S.A. – Oct. 9, 1917

He stared around the room. He didn’t want to be in this room, it was too muggy for his liking. Even, though he was born in Virginia, he never liked the muggy weather of Northern Virginia. He rather liked the much cooler weather of the northeast.

He then looked straight across from him. It was Theodore Roosevelt, who again came with a want for service in the war. Theodore brought one of his fellow veterans, a retired Sgt. Garrett. Also, he looked towards the window and caught a glimpse of his good friend, Secretary of War Baker.

The room had been silent for about a minute. Garrett was stiff as a board, Roosevelt was stoic and Baker was uncomfortably squrmish in his chair.

It was Baker who broke the silence with, “Mr. Presidents, I believe it is time to discuss the matter… um, for which was requested for this… um, meeting.”

“Woodrow, let’s get to the matter at hand, shall we,” Roosevelt said hurriedly.

“Well, Theodore, I guess we should not be wasting any time then,” Wilson stated slowly.

“Secretary Baker, and I guess had denied my offer of service earlier in the year,” Roosevelt began in a deliberate fashion. “I request service in the United States army as a commissioned line officer in Europe. I would be glad to lead my old regiment to glory, even if dismounted.”

Baker replied, “President Roosevelt, we can’t have our country’s former president fight in battle with a chance of dying.”

“Bah,” replied Roosevelt. “Better dead in glorious combat than dead of old age.”

“I’m pretty sure, we will have to deny your request, President Roosevelt,” responded Baker.

Wilson looked at Roosevelt and saw the fire in his eyes, still strong even though over fifty years old. He then looked at Baker, the short man with dark-rimmed glasses fighting blow by blow with the man people called “Teddy,” even that annoyed him more then anything. Wilson had a thought. He wondered why Roosevelt would have brought one of his former soldiers into the office.

“Sergeant, I have a question for you,” Wilson said deliberately. “Why are you here?”

Garrett responded slowly, “Um…, well, um, President Roosevelt asked me to follow him to show, well… the support of his former soldiers.”

“You would fight for Theodore?” Wilson quickly asked.

“Yes, I would, Mr. President,” responded Garrett. “Me, and many other former members of the Rough Riders still around. Others also, many wouldn’t fight, pardon me sir, for you and for democracy. But, they would fight for gold ole’ Teddy. They wouldn’t fight because of the draft, but if Teddy called them to fight, they would rush to join.”

Wilson studied Garrett quickly. He saw that he was muscular, but had an aura of a knowledge person.

“Well, Sergeant Garrett, did you go to college?” Wilson asked.

“Well, sir, actually I did,” replied Garrett. “Your alma mater actually, sir. Princeton, would have been in the class of 1902 if not for the war. Due to the war, I graduated in 1905 from Princeton, spending two years in the Philippines with the 14th United States Infantry Regiment after transferring from the Rough Riders.”

“Would you fight anywhere for President Roosevelt, sergeant?” Wilson implored.

“Definitely sir,” Garrett responded. “It couldn’t get worse than fighting the Filipino insurrection. The things we did were horrible and I’m glad I got out. Me and a whole bunch of boys would follow Teddy if we had to wage war versus Satan.”

Wilson was stunned, a Princeton graduate like himself, rallying to fight for the old man Roosevelt. He started to have doubts on declining Roosevelt’s request. Maybe, it was possible to hold off the unpopular draft because the volunteers would flood to the flag waved by TR, if Garrett was truthful. He knew Roosevelt had the colossal, magnetic personality, something he never had.

“Mr. President, your decision, sir?” Baker asked.

“Woodrow, before you make your decision, I implore you to read this letter,” Roosevelt said while staring straight into Wilson’s eyes.

Roosevelt handed Wilson the letter and Wilson proceeded to open the letter. He looked at it. He couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t possible, he thought. Never. He knew he had to speak to Baker about this. He was thoroughly shaken. He composed himself and began to think about his next step.

“Excuse me, Theodore, Sgt. Garrett, would you mind stepping outside,” Wilson said calmly, though he was shook all over. “I need to personally speak with Secretary Baker.”

Wilson thought that their was no way that Roosevelt would do what he said he would in the letter. It was a bluff. It had to be. Theodore wouldn’t do this, would he?

“Newton, we need to discuss this letter,” Wilson told Baker after Roosevelt and Garrett went back to the waiting room outside.

[King Of Nines]

Ah, the plot thickens.