-
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.
Yeah, top notch warfare..
One tiny little insignificant point though - isn't it a bit of a drag having to share a continent with the Union? I mean really, they shoudl be shown a fairly serious lesson? Surely that's a bit more important than gadding around in Africa or the East Indes?
Only joking, good show, nice flavour stories & I can't wait to see what the next decades bring.
Heretic
One tiny little insignificant point though - isn't it a bit of a drag having to share a continent with the Union? I mean really, they shoudl be shown a fairly serious lesson? Surely that's a bit more important than gadding around in Africa or the East Indes?
Only joking, good show, nice flavour stories & I can't wait to see what the next decades bring.
Heretic
"In terms of inter-Revolutionary empire -- if we define 'empire' as profound national-territorial interests on a global rather than local scale -- it is generally acknowledged that there exist four extensively successful factions: England, the Ottoman Empire, Portugal, and Texas. In a well-written essay, explore the relationship between the "conservative empires" of the Ottoman Empire and Portugal, the "mercantile empire" of England, and the "liberal empire" of Texas, in terms of philosophies, goals, successes, and failures. Inclusion of the 'sunset empires' of France, Spain, and the Netherlands should only be as a contrasting tool. You have forty minutes to complete this assignment; do not begin until instructed by a proctor."
--one third of the Texan History AP exam's essay section, 2006
Chapter 3: Ascension of the Liberal Empire
Part 1: The Distant, Quieted Rumblings
The years after the war in which Texas seized much of Indochina were relatively slow. In 1884, diplomatic relations with China escalated into war. The war was short and dull, and besides widening Texan army brats' gene pool even further, had little immediate effect. The treaty ending the war would end it with a cash payment, settlement for the diplomatic incident that started the war in the first place.
On April 16, 1881, the 45th anniversary of Corpus Christi and Texan independence, a local government would be founded by Texan officials in Ouarga; as soon as clamancy over the region was resolved, the capital would be moved to El Oured, and the country's name would be changed from Outer Lamar-Land to the more locally appeciated 'Al Jazair'. Algeria, as the Texans often called it by the old French habit, was managed by Texan customs and government, with English as a lingua franca between the many tribes and a Texan expeditionary force.
On the 16th of 1886, the 50th anniversary, Texas released New Zealand in the same way. New Zealand was, in a way, less an island than Algeria; in North Africa, Texas was the only strong imperial power, and could easily respond to threats from the Ottomans or France. In the South Pacific, there was a three-way split in power between the Japanese, the English, and the Texans. The 'Kiwis' viewed their western neighbors with endemic suspicion.
Sammy Houston, who had lead Texan forces for some time and now held the highest general's commission in the Lone Star Empire, would take a prominent role in Texan wars of hegemony, fighting with distinction in Indochina, China, and finally the outright invasion of Korea. He would continue fighting with distinction until a gentleman-soldier of Korea -- for whom history has no more name than the Californian anarchist to come before him -- ended it with a well-placed head shot.
Sammy Houston is notable for being the only Houston officer not to have been given a national open-coffin funeral, for reasons that should be reasonably obvious.
The Honam Democratic Treaty Region would be established after the Koreans proved more resilient and spirited than Texan planners predicted -- the island of Cheju and two heavily-populated agrarian provinces in the deep south.
(Debate tournament today and tomorrow. Too damn tired. Screenshots later, or if I feel lazy, another Hearst entry first. Lots of little twisty wars in the 1880s and 1890s. Eager to get them out of the way.)
(EDIT 10/16: Took second in novice oratory, first in Lincoln-Douglas. Awesome. Tired. So very tired. Promise Debs, mustard gas, and a barrel named Mirabelle.)
Next time: Hunting Springbok, Xhosa Boerlanders, & Other Big Game: Some More Observations On War
--one third of the Texan History AP exam's essay section, 2006
Chapter 3: Ascension of the Liberal Empire
Part 1: The Distant, Quieted Rumblings
The years after the war in which Texas seized much of Indochina were relatively slow. In 1884, diplomatic relations with China escalated into war. The war was short and dull, and besides widening Texan army brats' gene pool even further, had little immediate effect. The treaty ending the war would end it with a cash payment, settlement for the diplomatic incident that started the war in the first place.
On April 16, 1881, the 45th anniversary of Corpus Christi and Texan independence, a local government would be founded by Texan officials in Ouarga; as soon as clamancy over the region was resolved, the capital would be moved to El Oured, and the country's name would be changed from Outer Lamar-Land to the more locally appeciated 'Al Jazair'. Algeria, as the Texans often called it by the old French habit, was managed by Texan customs and government, with English as a lingua franca between the many tribes and a Texan expeditionary force.
On the 16th of 1886, the 50th anniversary, Texas released New Zealand in the same way. New Zealand was, in a way, less an island than Algeria; in North Africa, Texas was the only strong imperial power, and could easily respond to threats from the Ottomans or France. In the South Pacific, there was a three-way split in power between the Japanese, the English, and the Texans. The 'Kiwis' viewed their western neighbors with endemic suspicion.
Sammy Houston, who had lead Texan forces for some time and now held the highest general's commission in the Lone Star Empire, would take a prominent role in Texan wars of hegemony, fighting with distinction in Indochina, China, and finally the outright invasion of Korea. He would continue fighting with distinction until a gentleman-soldier of Korea -- for whom history has no more name than the Californian anarchist to come before him -- ended it with a well-placed head shot.
Sammy Houston is notable for being the only Houston officer not to have been given a national open-coffin funeral, for reasons that should be reasonably obvious.
The Honam Democratic Treaty Region would be established after the Koreans proved more resilient and spirited than Texan planners predicted -- the island of Cheju and two heavily-populated agrarian provinces in the deep south.
(Debate tournament today and tomorrow. Too damn tired. Screenshots later, or if I feel lazy, another Hearst entry first. Lots of little twisty wars in the 1880s and 1890s. Eager to get them out of the way.)
(EDIT 10/16: Took second in novice oratory, first in Lincoln-Douglas. Awesome. Tired. So very tired. Promise Debs, mustard gas, and a barrel named Mirabelle.)
Next time: Hunting Springbok, Xhosa Boerlanders, & Other Big Game: Some More Observations On War
Last edited:
Hunting Springbok, Xhosa Boerlanders, & Other Big Game: Some More Observations On War
...for the Texan Empire has, of late, grown to such a size that 'colonial wars' seem constant. We are constantly on the move to protect the dusky men of the world from the demons that haunt us all...
"I like the sound of that," Sergeant-Major 'Million Dollar' Bill Hearst said. He was rather young for the rank he held -- at 25, he was nearly at the top of the enlisted men's ranks. He wore his brown hair rough, his moustache in the Archer style increasingly popular among military men -- spanning from nose to lip, cut straight, and trimmed well. He and a few others -- colonial-war veterans, used to the natives pulling any kind of bizzare tricks -- sit calmly on a hillock overlooking the Umtata countryside. A Dakota Indian, around the dawn of middle east, looks inquisitively at Hearst.
"Here, Igahai. Have a look at what I've got so far, see if you like it."
"It's good. Damn good, in fact You got a real talent, Bill. You sure you should be up in ass-nowhere shooting up natives?"
"You know what I think about that. I've been a soldiering man since before most men knew how to shave, and even if I go back home, whatever I end up doing, I'll be doing it as a former soldier first and foremost."
"Yeah, it grows on you, doesn't it?" Igahai was a dark-haired, sharp man, of about median height and build. He wore in one ear an emblem not too unlike a Celtic cross in a concentric circle -- showing allegiance to the Palmers, a melange religion of growing popularity among Texas's western natives. His eyes were a hunter's eyes, seeing near and far with great precision at the same time, and seeming unnervingly to pass straight through a man, comprehending him all at once. He pointed off to the distance.
"We've got company!"
A brass ball crashed into a nearby tree, nearly cracking it in twain. The tribesmen wore motley British uniform parts, and now a team of them were hauling a howitzer. One of the black men -- darker than he could imagine men could be before coming to Xhosaland -- leveled what seemed to be a long rifle at the Texans and fired. His companions followed suit, and August Sutter collapsed shrieking and holding his left arm. Hearst shouldered his rifle and shot one of the Xhosa in the chest. The tribesmen fled into the veldt, some falling as they ran, and the howitzer and most of their guns lost.
Hearst's party looked over the battlefield. August Sutter hadn't lost much blood -- thankfully, he suffered only a flesh wound, and they had been cutting down on infection rates a lot lately -- and a handful of Xhosa had been killed or fatally injured.
"So, Bill, why do you gather they had a cannon?"
Hearst shot a glance at the howitzer -- an odd thing, which seemed to be carried more lightly than it should have been and which he certainly didn't see fire, shrugged. "Britain, probably. They have interests in Boerland, and they want to make sure we don't mess around here."
...especially the greater nations, whom, it seems, have grown obsessed with fighting the noble man before the savages he seeks to quell...
One of the guides emerged from the trees to the south, waving at Hearst. "Yes?"
The man cleared his throat and reflected. "We should get back towards civilization. The other nearest forward party is miles behind, and they've got an army of Xhosa after them. The army won't be here for quite some time, and being caught in the storm would be --"
The Dutchman's words ended abruptly as a cannonball from seemingly nowhere -- arriving the same moment as the blast of sound -- tore into his gut. At once, Hearst lost enthusiasm for the dry philosophical rumination he was setting to paper. "Those tricky sons of bitches set us up an ambush, and we're on the wrong goddamn side of the hills. Fall back!"
Hearst hated making the order almost as much as his men hated following it, but they all recognized staying on would be suicide.
What they didn't all know was that the Xhosa were already in force along the entire retreat route...
Hearst's first published work, Hunting Springbok, Boerlanders, & Other Big Game: Some Observations On War, would immortalize the story of the 45 men with whom he first tried and failed to retreat south, then led through the hills and into the veldt; after struggling with nature, insufficient supplies, and the Xhosa for weeks, they finally linked up with the Texan army. In terms of the great picture, the First War of Texan Boerland was not much to speak of -- one year Xhosaland was there, the next year the Lone Star Empire had turned it into another distant outpost of freedom. But it would, through Hearst's simple story of hardship and resilience, lead to a national craze for 'roughing it' that lead more and more Texans into the wild frontier...
Next time: New Helvetia & Texas's Industrial Revolution
...for the Texan Empire has, of late, grown to such a size that 'colonial wars' seem constant. We are constantly on the move to protect the dusky men of the world from the demons that haunt us all...
"I like the sound of that," Sergeant-Major 'Million Dollar' Bill Hearst said. He was rather young for the rank he held -- at 25, he was nearly at the top of the enlisted men's ranks. He wore his brown hair rough, his moustache in the Archer style increasingly popular among military men -- spanning from nose to lip, cut straight, and trimmed well. He and a few others -- colonial-war veterans, used to the natives pulling any kind of bizzare tricks -- sit calmly on a hillock overlooking the Umtata countryside. A Dakota Indian, around the dawn of middle east, looks inquisitively at Hearst.
"Here, Igahai. Have a look at what I've got so far, see if you like it."
"It's good. Damn good, in fact You got a real talent, Bill. You sure you should be up in ass-nowhere shooting up natives?"
"You know what I think about that. I've been a soldiering man since before most men knew how to shave, and even if I go back home, whatever I end up doing, I'll be doing it as a former soldier first and foremost."
"Yeah, it grows on you, doesn't it?" Igahai was a dark-haired, sharp man, of about median height and build. He wore in one ear an emblem not too unlike a Celtic cross in a concentric circle -- showing allegiance to the Palmers, a melange religion of growing popularity among Texas's western natives. His eyes were a hunter's eyes, seeing near and far with great precision at the same time, and seeming unnervingly to pass straight through a man, comprehending him all at once. He pointed off to the distance.
"We've got company!"
A brass ball crashed into a nearby tree, nearly cracking it in twain. The tribesmen wore motley British uniform parts, and now a team of them were hauling a howitzer. One of the black men -- darker than he could imagine men could be before coming to Xhosaland -- leveled what seemed to be a long rifle at the Texans and fired. His companions followed suit, and August Sutter collapsed shrieking and holding his left arm. Hearst shouldered his rifle and shot one of the Xhosa in the chest. The tribesmen fled into the veldt, some falling as they ran, and the howitzer and most of their guns lost.
Hearst's party looked over the battlefield. August Sutter hadn't lost much blood -- thankfully, he suffered only a flesh wound, and they had been cutting down on infection rates a lot lately -- and a handful of Xhosa had been killed or fatally injured.
"So, Bill, why do you gather they had a cannon?"
Hearst shot a glance at the howitzer -- an odd thing, which seemed to be carried more lightly than it should have been and which he certainly didn't see fire, shrugged. "Britain, probably. They have interests in Boerland, and they want to make sure we don't mess around here."
...especially the greater nations, whom, it seems, have grown obsessed with fighting the noble man before the savages he seeks to quell...
One of the guides emerged from the trees to the south, waving at Hearst. "Yes?"
The man cleared his throat and reflected. "We should get back towards civilization. The other nearest forward party is miles behind, and they've got an army of Xhosa after them. The army won't be here for quite some time, and being caught in the storm would be --"
The Dutchman's words ended abruptly as a cannonball from seemingly nowhere -- arriving the same moment as the blast of sound -- tore into his gut. At once, Hearst lost enthusiasm for the dry philosophical rumination he was setting to paper. "Those tricky sons of bitches set us up an ambush, and we're on the wrong goddamn side of the hills. Fall back!"
Hearst hated making the order almost as much as his men hated following it, but they all recognized staying on would be suicide.
What they didn't all know was that the Xhosa were already in force along the entire retreat route...
Hearst's first published work, Hunting Springbok, Boerlanders, & Other Big Game: Some Observations On War, would immortalize the story of the 45 men with whom he first tried and failed to retreat south, then led through the hills and into the veldt; after struggling with nature, insufficient supplies, and the Xhosa for weeks, they finally linked up with the Texan army. In terms of the great picture, the First War of Texan Boerland was not much to speak of -- one year Xhosaland was there, the next year the Lone Star Empire had turned it into another distant outpost of freedom. But it would, through Hearst's simple story of hardship and resilience, lead to a national craze for 'roughing it' that lead more and more Texans into the wild frontier...
Next time: New Helvetia & Texas's Industrial Revolution
That's some big game. An interesting way to look at what most likely was an easy victory. Very original take. I bet that was an interesting book. 
I particularly liked the approach you took with the latest update. Interspersing the various styles has worked very well for this AAR.
Part 3: New Helvetia & Texas's Industrial Revolution
1858, California. The Mexicans have long since crushed the Bear Flag Insurrection, although it flares up here and there. John Sutter wished that it hadn't failed so very badly; for the last 10 years, the Mexicans had taken more and more of his rights, more and more of his land, and more and more of his utopian commune's labor. He was left with a very few very devoted workers. So when Ernest Hale made his historic find, he naturally told Sutter right away.
Sutter's idealism had been crushed by a decade and a half in America; he was, in many ways, a bitter and angry man. He reflected briefly on what he would have done when he first came to California, and then realized it didn't matter. America had made him a new man. And so he lifted his pen -- if America would change John Sutter, then by God, John Sutter would change America. What to write escaped him -- so he merely kept it as brief as possible.
"Esteemed General S. Houston:
Gold.
John Sutter -- New Helvetia, California"
...
1889, California. "Little" John Sutter is the wealthiest man in the Americas, wealthier than any Minnesota industry magnate or South American dictator. His father's land was rich with gold, and when Texas invaded, they restored New Helvetia to its full former size, in exchange for a modest cut of the profit. He had funded great expansions of railroading in California and the West. Under his influence, Texan industry had exploded -- it was small, even pathetic, compared to any other advanced country, but Texas was the odd man out among advanced countries. It was, at the same time, quite vast and very small.
Sutter's company had built a clothing industry in Utah and a booming chemical industry in New Mexico -- the latter, in fact, producing the most advanced fuels in the world, and occupying much of New Mexico's labor force. But he had a bit of a problem.
There were blocks on industrialization in California, even in New Helvetia: some laws, which were putty in Sutter's hands, and the Hearst Conglomerate, which was, well, a different matter. What was worse, Hearst owned much of the overland shipping in the east of American Texas. Anton Caperworth, the effective leader of the company, was amocable to suggestions of a merger -- which would create the greatest industrial titan the world had ever seen -- but Hearst remained doggedly intransigent.
Sutter scowled. He already owned shipping, but the sort of steamers you needed to carry materiel from Africa were too heavy and consumed too much fuel for a route to Houston. A portage over Guatemala had been tried, but the UCSA was reluctant at best and obstrucarian at worst.
John Sutter Jr. had a quick lookover of a map of the Americas he had hanging behind him. His eyes rested on one part, and at once he seized upon the idea of a lifetime. With a quick swivel in his fine San Francisco chair, he was facing the door again -- and he reached over and picked up the receiver.
"Yes?" The tinny voice was an operator, he presumed somewhere not far south of where he was.
"Distance call..." He rattled off the name and number. She balked, but connected him anyway.
"Sammy Houston." The voice carried with it many more hisses and pops -- coming, as it did, all the way from the capital.
"Little John Sutter. Panama."
Sutter hung up and leaned gently back. "Hail to the chief," he mumbled, and chuckled in the glutteral, efficient way such men are wont to use.
Next Time: Panama
1858, California. The Mexicans have long since crushed the Bear Flag Insurrection, although it flares up here and there. John Sutter wished that it hadn't failed so very badly; for the last 10 years, the Mexicans had taken more and more of his rights, more and more of his land, and more and more of his utopian commune's labor. He was left with a very few very devoted workers. So when Ernest Hale made his historic find, he naturally told Sutter right away.
Sutter's idealism had been crushed by a decade and a half in America; he was, in many ways, a bitter and angry man. He reflected briefly on what he would have done when he first came to California, and then realized it didn't matter. America had made him a new man. And so he lifted his pen -- if America would change John Sutter, then by God, John Sutter would change America. What to write escaped him -- so he merely kept it as brief as possible.
"Esteemed General S. Houston:
Gold.
John Sutter -- New Helvetia, California"
...
1889, California. "Little" John Sutter is the wealthiest man in the Americas, wealthier than any Minnesota industry magnate or South American dictator. His father's land was rich with gold, and when Texas invaded, they restored New Helvetia to its full former size, in exchange for a modest cut of the profit. He had funded great expansions of railroading in California and the West. Under his influence, Texan industry had exploded -- it was small, even pathetic, compared to any other advanced country, but Texas was the odd man out among advanced countries. It was, at the same time, quite vast and very small.
Sutter's company had built a clothing industry in Utah and a booming chemical industry in New Mexico -- the latter, in fact, producing the most advanced fuels in the world, and occupying much of New Mexico's labor force. But he had a bit of a problem.
There were blocks on industrialization in California, even in New Helvetia: some laws, which were putty in Sutter's hands, and the Hearst Conglomerate, which was, well, a different matter. What was worse, Hearst owned much of the overland shipping in the east of American Texas. Anton Caperworth, the effective leader of the company, was amocable to suggestions of a merger -- which would create the greatest industrial titan the world had ever seen -- but Hearst remained doggedly intransigent.
Sutter scowled. He already owned shipping, but the sort of steamers you needed to carry materiel from Africa were too heavy and consumed too much fuel for a route to Houston. A portage over Guatemala had been tried, but the UCSA was reluctant at best and obstrucarian at worst.
John Sutter Jr. had a quick lookover of a map of the Americas he had hanging behind him. His eyes rested on one part, and at once he seized upon the idea of a lifetime. With a quick swivel in his fine San Francisco chair, he was facing the door again -- and he reached over and picked up the receiver.
"Yes?" The tinny voice was an operator, he presumed somewhere not far south of where he was.
"Distance call..." He rattled off the name and number. She balked, but connected him anyway.
"Sammy Houston." The voice carried with it many more hisses and pops -- coming, as it did, all the way from the capital.
"Little John Sutter. Panama."
Sutter hung up and leaned gently back. "Hail to the chief," he mumbled, and chuckled in the glutteral, efficient way such men are wont to use.
Next Time: Panama
Part 4: Panama
Colombia is, to say the least, an odd country.
After the 1830 secession of Colombia from Gran Colombia, two men took power in the country through democratic means: Simon Bolivar and Francisco Santander.
In almost an exact mirror of what would befall Texas, the two men, originally sharing power, came to diverge drastically in philosophical elements. Bolivar's ideals would be incorporated into the Conservative faction, and Santander's into the Liberal faction.
The difference? In Colombia, 'conservative' and 'liberal' are more genetic than anything else. The half-bloods and the Carribean-coasters support the Liberals, and the men of the interior support the Conservatives. There has been a great amount of blood, and it has grown to be that there is little difference between Conservative and Liberal besides the aforementioned genetic component.
In 1890, violence had reached a dangerous level. The Texan consulate was accused of collaborating with radical Liberal elements in Panama and executed.
The Texan government, naturally, failed to cotton to this.
The attack was swift and decisive: after securing a vital alliance with the United States of Central America which would allow easier supplying of troops, the Lone Star Republic landed a massive force in central Panama, intent on securing the region from 'Colombian oppression'.
The initial campaign was a great success, but it eventually proved to be a limited one; the Colombian terrain was murderous for an attacking army...
The war soon devolved into a slugging match; an attack on the bottleneck of Quibdo would fail spectacularly, but a later sneak invasion would quickly seize the Bogota government. The Texans appointed Gabriel Lamar-Montenegro as Provisional President until new elections could be held, and the great-grandson of Mirabeau Lamar offered significantly little resistance when Texas suggested peace leaving Colombia a Texan dependency and Panama a Texan possession.
Shortly before the 1892 peace
...
"You have to recognize that it's a front for the corporations, Sergeant Hearst. There is plenty of evidence -- it has just become very politically uncomfortable to acknowledge it."
Hearst stared coldly at the foreigner with whom he was speaking. He was, on a semi-official capacity, the sergeant-at-arms in Panama City; now that the Panama Territory was opened to visitors, the weedy little Jew had begun stalking the city, taking notes. Hearst viewed him with not a little suspicion, especially with some talk of rebellion being bandied about...
"Why are you so hellbent on believing in this invasion as a malicious act on the behalf of the corporations? We've had this discussion before, and you know as well as I do that they started it. Hogg was innocent, and even if he wasn't a good Anticonfederate, he was a good man, damn it."
The Jew gave a particularly unctuous smile. "Which is why so many of the National Police Force of Panama have suddenly found themselves the owners of Eureka Mill Houston '89s, a year's use short of mill; or why many Texans lost their lives fighting to defend workers as they labored to restore and expand the failed French canal here. Has it occurred to you that even a good man can be used as a puppet?"
Hearst looked askew. "Interesting talk, that. Some might take it as a justification for getting rid of certain 'good men'." He lowered his gaze. The man sitting across the table from him shrugged a little. "Of course. It can't be said that Napoleon's lieutenants were themselves bad men, can it?" Then his expression clouded as the message got through. "Oh. You understand that I support the Texan occupation here as much as you -- it is, how would you say it, the lesser of two evils. Better that a government at least libertarian in nature would rule this peninsula than the repressive Conservatives. And you have done great work here."
"So what exactly are you saying, then?"
"Make sure you don't let your loyalty to the country interfere with your conscience; there is no surer road to ruin." The visitor pulled out his watch. "Look at the time. Should three do?"
"You don't have to --"
"Only a true fool is unwilling to be generous with someone else's money." The little man, smirking, pulled out 2 bills and a gold dollar, slapped them on the table, and, lifting his hat as he went, left Hearst alone in the deli with more doubts than he had before.
As if on cue, the ground rumbled a little at a large detonation some distance to the west.
Next Time: Colossus
Colombia is, to say the least, an odd country.
After the 1830 secession of Colombia from Gran Colombia, two men took power in the country through democratic means: Simon Bolivar and Francisco Santander.
In almost an exact mirror of what would befall Texas, the two men, originally sharing power, came to diverge drastically in philosophical elements. Bolivar's ideals would be incorporated into the Conservative faction, and Santander's into the Liberal faction.
The difference? In Colombia, 'conservative' and 'liberal' are more genetic than anything else. The half-bloods and the Carribean-coasters support the Liberals, and the men of the interior support the Conservatives. There has been a great amount of blood, and it has grown to be that there is little difference between Conservative and Liberal besides the aforementioned genetic component.
In 1890, violence had reached a dangerous level. The Texan consulate was accused of collaborating with radical Liberal elements in Panama and executed.
The Texan government, naturally, failed to cotton to this.
The attack was swift and decisive: after securing a vital alliance with the United States of Central America which would allow easier supplying of troops, the Lone Star Republic landed a massive force in central Panama, intent on securing the region from 'Colombian oppression'.
The initial campaign was a great success, but it eventually proved to be a limited one; the Colombian terrain was murderous for an attacking army...
The war soon devolved into a slugging match; an attack on the bottleneck of Quibdo would fail spectacularly, but a later sneak invasion would quickly seize the Bogota government. The Texans appointed Gabriel Lamar-Montenegro as Provisional President until new elections could be held, and the great-grandson of Mirabeau Lamar offered significantly little resistance when Texas suggested peace leaving Colombia a Texan dependency and Panama a Texan possession.
Shortly before the 1892 peace
...
"You have to recognize that it's a front for the corporations, Sergeant Hearst. There is plenty of evidence -- it has just become very politically uncomfortable to acknowledge it."
Hearst stared coldly at the foreigner with whom he was speaking. He was, on a semi-official capacity, the sergeant-at-arms in Panama City; now that the Panama Territory was opened to visitors, the weedy little Jew had begun stalking the city, taking notes. Hearst viewed him with not a little suspicion, especially with some talk of rebellion being bandied about...
"Why are you so hellbent on believing in this invasion as a malicious act on the behalf of the corporations? We've had this discussion before, and you know as well as I do that they started it. Hogg was innocent, and even if he wasn't a good Anticonfederate, he was a good man, damn it."
The Jew gave a particularly unctuous smile. "Which is why so many of the National Police Force of Panama have suddenly found themselves the owners of Eureka Mill Houston '89s, a year's use short of mill; or why many Texans lost their lives fighting to defend workers as they labored to restore and expand the failed French canal here. Has it occurred to you that even a good man can be used as a puppet?"
Hearst looked askew. "Interesting talk, that. Some might take it as a justification for getting rid of certain 'good men'." He lowered his gaze. The man sitting across the table from him shrugged a little. "Of course. It can't be said that Napoleon's lieutenants were themselves bad men, can it?" Then his expression clouded as the message got through. "Oh. You understand that I support the Texan occupation here as much as you -- it is, how would you say it, the lesser of two evils. Better that a government at least libertarian in nature would rule this peninsula than the repressive Conservatives. And you have done great work here."
"So what exactly are you saying, then?"
"Make sure you don't let your loyalty to the country interfere with your conscience; there is no surer road to ruin." The visitor pulled out his watch. "Look at the time. Should three do?"
"You don't have to --"
"Only a true fool is unwilling to be generous with someone else's money." The little man, smirking, pulled out 2 bills and a gold dollar, slapped them on the table, and, lifting his hat as he went, left Hearst alone in the deli with more doubts than he had before.
As if on cue, the ground rumbled a little at a large detonation some distance to the west.
Next Time: Colossus
Part 5: Colossus
While life in Panama had become much, much more interesting after the canal was completed in 1894, as it turns out, 'interesting' was bad for Hearst's career. He fought hard to prevent the criminal element in Panama -- which would be the stuff of pulp fiction and classic crime film for decades to come -- under wraps, but he just wasn't good at it. He requisitioned a different post.
He saw the War of the African Tribes -- in which the muslim Borno tribal confederation was almost entirely assimilated into Texas -- come and go, and the Korean Intervention, which ended in the establishment of a Texan-dominated state, come and go. Then came the Chinese Intervention, and finally the government found the time to reassign him.
And now he was riding across Manchuria. General Houston -- Samuel Houston, perhaps Samuel Houston IV or V, he forgot which and the General never used it anyway -- had offered him a higher rank, but he refused to accept it. "I am no administrator, sir. I can't stand the paperwork, I don't want the binoculars and I won't need the pension." The General balked a little; it wasn't often that a sergeant -- even a Command Sergeant Major -- refused a direct promotion to bird colonel. But eventually Houston accepted the decision, and now he was riding in command of the best platoon in Korea.
Old Chief, what they called Igahai, was Hearst's second-hand-man, best friend, and adoptive brother. He was in charge of reconnaisance. "Ugly terrain they have here. Too mountainous for proper cavalry. I hear they got some nice desert up north, but it's hilly too. I hope we end up getting southaways."
"We will, but not by far. Austin's boys need some help beating the D army-group, and I've heard it's not going well for him."
The riders shuddered a little, in spite of the sun overhead and the May heat. The Chinese Army had proper weapons, unlike the Koreans and the Africans -- against whom many of them had first seen the elephant -- and they were very, very numerous...
...
In the hills and fields of Tangshan, Archer's corps met the enemy head-on. All cavalrymen, they carried lighter weapons and were bigger targets than their Chinese enemies -- but they inspired fear and shock in their conscripted foes. The battle was not even, in spite of better Texan training; the Chinese outnumbered them two-to-one and had real weapons, real tactics, and real generals.
What Hearst saw was not a proper battle but a series of skirmishes. The Texans, as they often did, rode around in platoons trying to hit the enemy on the flank and melt away. The problem was that the enemy wasn't playing along like he had in Korea and Africa. They were fighting hard and mean. They had two machine-guns; the Texans had many back with General Houston, but none with Archer's corps. At the first contact, Hearst had heard that the entire first rank, which charged out as customary to break the will of the enemy, was gunned down by the hundreds. He didn't understand until he came to the front and heard one of those monsters chattering like the teeth of a man pulled out of ice water.
Tock-tick-tock. It was inconspicuous, unweaponly. Not warlike at all. Like a machine to cut down wheat or corn, not men.
Hearst saw something he didn't expect to see when he first rode into the camp on the sixteenth day of May: General Austin reposing in a guarded tent. He looked at the famed cavalry general, and the general didn't look back. He saw first Austin's blank stare and second his left foot, shot through by a gun or shrapnel. Immediately he recognized shock. A man in a smock carrying a whiskey bottle full of some clear fluid and what looked to be surgical tools brushed Hearst past as if he wasn't there. Bill felt like decking the man, and then realized sheepishly that he was probably the only one in Tangshan able to deal with the wound.
He got back onto his horse and rode. His platoon had gotten ahead of him; he and a new private had stayed behind to deal with a dispute between a local farmer and a group of Texan soldiers. Turned out the Texans had stolen a 'lucky' cricket, and refused to give it back. Hearst suppressed a sneer. That wasn't the sort of thing he expected out of white men.
He looked around for the banner of the 12/15 California 'Globetrotters' Regiment, his men -- and after a bit of scanning the horizon, saw it lying in the dust a little ahead of the lines.
And he saw the Globetrotters riding in a rough column three wide towards the rear. Marlon Foglio rode at its head, and cradled an arm shattered by shrapnel. His eyes scanned the regiment unsteadily with growing panic -- he saw August Sutter riding a couple of ranks back, awake and alert in spite of his right eye looking more like an overboiled egg splattered with ketchup than a thing proper to bear on a man's face; on a closer look, shock seemed to have set in.
Jumping Jack, the private who had stayed behind with him, stared, unbelieving, at the procession of the wounded. "What the hell is this, Million Dollar? How did those bastards manage to do this?" He was a gentleman-soldier; he had fought in a marine company, but they didn't do real fighting. They shot up natives with spears and arrows as their best weapons, they made grand parades, but they didn't watch their buddies go home missing limbs or eyes. Hearst gave him no answer but mildly stunned silence.
"The 145 Division. They speak English, or a few words of it. "One forty-five" is one of them, or at least they chant that. "Die" is also one of them, and they go with that when they close up to you. And when they close up to you... Christ on the Cross, Million Dollar, don't even let them close up to you. Our guns can get you if you're a hundred yards away on a good, clear day. If you close to that range, they can kill you and your daddy both with one shot. It's like fighting goddamn Frenchmen. They're no savages, Million Dollar. I just don't know any more." After that the soldier, whose name eluded Hearst at the time, would swiftly grow incoherent.
Near the rear -- Hearst knew he had a penchant for ignoring orders to retreat until the last moment -- was Igahai. He rode up to his old friend. "Igahai! Are you all right?"
Igahai looked at him with a cool glance more tired than anything. "Nah. Doesn't hurt." Hearst didn't understand until he looked down and saw him holding his side with a hand soaked in dark, dark blood. "It's supposed to hurt, Billy. I been shot before, like we all have. The shoulder, once. I think the ass, too. Put me off riding for weeks. Hurt like a son of a bitch. I can't stop bleeding and it doesn't hurt a bit."
Hearst sat and stared blankly. "My God..."
"Kind of God that'd do this... He knows I had my time, I had my run and it weren't too bad. I done the right thing, I killed for my country. I spread his word, my country's word, my country."
"No, Igahai. You aren't going to die. I'll get you a surgeon..."
"And here I am, out here on my thirteenth -- ain't it? -- horse... and I take my last bullet from a Chinaman in a war they got no reason for yet. I can't shake I haven't done the right thing here, that we don't do the right thing any more. Sons of God? Sons of Texas? Don't know."
"Igahai, you'll be fine, you just need to --"
"You ever think about meeting him, Billy? Your daddy must've been a God-fearing man, like all your white daddies... I always known God's got a sense of humor. Must be one hell of a storyteller when he ain't shooting at you... too damn cold, Billy. Too damn cold."
Hearst didn't know what to do. It was then he realized Igahai hadn't called him Billy since before he learned to shave, and saw all of a sudden how small and pale the Dakota looked. "Here, have my coat..."
"No goodbye, Billy. Ain't goodbye." Igahai patted him on the shoulder once, and pulled the arm off and down as if it were made of brass. "Vaya con Dios, a Dios, hasta la vista." He settled down into the last sleep a man can have.
For the first time he could remember, Hearst had no idea what to do. Five minutes later, and he thought to button up his coat; three days later, the wild shrieks of "145! 145! 145!" ringing in his ears, he would lead those who remained into the ship that would take them away -- where did not matter; anywhere but Manchuria would do, and he doubted there was a man in the hundreds of steamers on the water who would disagree.
Once on the boat, he looked at the heavy book of notes he held in his hand. Memoirs of a Soldier, he called it -- he had been organizing his diaries from the various conflicts in which he had fought. He looked at writing a week old and could only see the naivete of youth. He would set pen to paper much differently on the ship to Tonkin.
Next Time: All Hitherto Existing Society
While life in Panama had become much, much more interesting after the canal was completed in 1894, as it turns out, 'interesting' was bad for Hearst's career. He fought hard to prevent the criminal element in Panama -- which would be the stuff of pulp fiction and classic crime film for decades to come -- under wraps, but he just wasn't good at it. He requisitioned a different post.
He saw the War of the African Tribes -- in which the muslim Borno tribal confederation was almost entirely assimilated into Texas -- come and go, and the Korean Intervention, which ended in the establishment of a Texan-dominated state, come and go. Then came the Chinese Intervention, and finally the government found the time to reassign him.
And now he was riding across Manchuria. General Houston -- Samuel Houston, perhaps Samuel Houston IV or V, he forgot which and the General never used it anyway -- had offered him a higher rank, but he refused to accept it. "I am no administrator, sir. I can't stand the paperwork, I don't want the binoculars and I won't need the pension." The General balked a little; it wasn't often that a sergeant -- even a Command Sergeant Major -- refused a direct promotion to bird colonel. But eventually Houston accepted the decision, and now he was riding in command of the best platoon in Korea.
Old Chief, what they called Igahai, was Hearst's second-hand-man, best friend, and adoptive brother. He was in charge of reconnaisance. "Ugly terrain they have here. Too mountainous for proper cavalry. I hear they got some nice desert up north, but it's hilly too. I hope we end up getting southaways."
"We will, but not by far. Austin's boys need some help beating the D army-group, and I've heard it's not going well for him."
The riders shuddered a little, in spite of the sun overhead and the May heat. The Chinese Army had proper weapons, unlike the Koreans and the Africans -- against whom many of them had first seen the elephant -- and they were very, very numerous...
...
In the hills and fields of Tangshan, Archer's corps met the enemy head-on. All cavalrymen, they carried lighter weapons and were bigger targets than their Chinese enemies -- but they inspired fear and shock in their conscripted foes. The battle was not even, in spite of better Texan training; the Chinese outnumbered them two-to-one and had real weapons, real tactics, and real generals.
What Hearst saw was not a proper battle but a series of skirmishes. The Texans, as they often did, rode around in platoons trying to hit the enemy on the flank and melt away. The problem was that the enemy wasn't playing along like he had in Korea and Africa. They were fighting hard and mean. They had two machine-guns; the Texans had many back with General Houston, but none with Archer's corps. At the first contact, Hearst had heard that the entire first rank, which charged out as customary to break the will of the enemy, was gunned down by the hundreds. He didn't understand until he came to the front and heard one of those monsters chattering like the teeth of a man pulled out of ice water.
Tock-tick-tock. It was inconspicuous, unweaponly. Not warlike at all. Like a machine to cut down wheat or corn, not men.
Hearst saw something he didn't expect to see when he first rode into the camp on the sixteenth day of May: General Austin reposing in a guarded tent. He looked at the famed cavalry general, and the general didn't look back. He saw first Austin's blank stare and second his left foot, shot through by a gun or shrapnel. Immediately he recognized shock. A man in a smock carrying a whiskey bottle full of some clear fluid and what looked to be surgical tools brushed Hearst past as if he wasn't there. Bill felt like decking the man, and then realized sheepishly that he was probably the only one in Tangshan able to deal with the wound.
He got back onto his horse and rode. His platoon had gotten ahead of him; he and a new private had stayed behind to deal with a dispute between a local farmer and a group of Texan soldiers. Turned out the Texans had stolen a 'lucky' cricket, and refused to give it back. Hearst suppressed a sneer. That wasn't the sort of thing he expected out of white men.
He looked around for the banner of the 12/15 California 'Globetrotters' Regiment, his men -- and after a bit of scanning the horizon, saw it lying in the dust a little ahead of the lines.
And he saw the Globetrotters riding in a rough column three wide towards the rear. Marlon Foglio rode at its head, and cradled an arm shattered by shrapnel. His eyes scanned the regiment unsteadily with growing panic -- he saw August Sutter riding a couple of ranks back, awake and alert in spite of his right eye looking more like an overboiled egg splattered with ketchup than a thing proper to bear on a man's face; on a closer look, shock seemed to have set in.
Jumping Jack, the private who had stayed behind with him, stared, unbelieving, at the procession of the wounded. "What the hell is this, Million Dollar? How did those bastards manage to do this?" He was a gentleman-soldier; he had fought in a marine company, but they didn't do real fighting. They shot up natives with spears and arrows as their best weapons, they made grand parades, but they didn't watch their buddies go home missing limbs or eyes. Hearst gave him no answer but mildly stunned silence.
"The 145 Division. They speak English, or a few words of it. "One forty-five" is one of them, or at least they chant that. "Die" is also one of them, and they go with that when they close up to you. And when they close up to you... Christ on the Cross, Million Dollar, don't even let them close up to you. Our guns can get you if you're a hundred yards away on a good, clear day. If you close to that range, they can kill you and your daddy both with one shot. It's like fighting goddamn Frenchmen. They're no savages, Million Dollar. I just don't know any more." After that the soldier, whose name eluded Hearst at the time, would swiftly grow incoherent.
Near the rear -- Hearst knew he had a penchant for ignoring orders to retreat until the last moment -- was Igahai. He rode up to his old friend. "Igahai! Are you all right?"
Igahai looked at him with a cool glance more tired than anything. "Nah. Doesn't hurt." Hearst didn't understand until he looked down and saw him holding his side with a hand soaked in dark, dark blood. "It's supposed to hurt, Billy. I been shot before, like we all have. The shoulder, once. I think the ass, too. Put me off riding for weeks. Hurt like a son of a bitch. I can't stop bleeding and it doesn't hurt a bit."
Hearst sat and stared blankly. "My God..."
"Kind of God that'd do this... He knows I had my time, I had my run and it weren't too bad. I done the right thing, I killed for my country. I spread his word, my country's word, my country."
"No, Igahai. You aren't going to die. I'll get you a surgeon..."
"And here I am, out here on my thirteenth -- ain't it? -- horse... and I take my last bullet from a Chinaman in a war they got no reason for yet. I can't shake I haven't done the right thing here, that we don't do the right thing any more. Sons of God? Sons of Texas? Don't know."
"Igahai, you'll be fine, you just need to --"
"You ever think about meeting him, Billy? Your daddy must've been a God-fearing man, like all your white daddies... I always known God's got a sense of humor. Must be one hell of a storyteller when he ain't shooting at you... too damn cold, Billy. Too damn cold."
Hearst didn't know what to do. It was then he realized Igahai hadn't called him Billy since before he learned to shave, and saw all of a sudden how small and pale the Dakota looked. "Here, have my coat..."
"No goodbye, Billy. Ain't goodbye." Igahai patted him on the shoulder once, and pulled the arm off and down as if it were made of brass. "Vaya con Dios, a Dios, hasta la vista." He settled down into the last sleep a man can have.
For the first time he could remember, Hearst had no idea what to do. Five minutes later, and he thought to button up his coat; three days later, the wild shrieks of "145! 145! 145!" ringing in his ears, he would lead those who remained into the ship that would take them away -- where did not matter; anywhere but Manchuria would do, and he doubted there was a man in the hundreds of steamers on the water who would disagree.
Once on the boat, he looked at the heavy book of notes he held in his hand. Memoirs of a Soldier, he called it -- he had been organizing his diaries from the various conflicts in which he had fought. He looked at writing a week old and could only see the naivete of youth. He would set pen to paper much differently on the ship to Tonkin.
Next Time: All Hitherto Existing Society
Last edited:
China
Got a bit of an a$$whuppin' from Joe Chinaman, huh? That'll happen if they have modern weapons.
Excellent AAR. Keep it up
Got a bit of an a$$whuppin' from Joe Chinaman, huh? That'll happen if they have modern weapons.
Excellent AAR. Keep it up
Part 6: All Hitherto Existing Society
Million Dollar Bill Hearst glanced over the Sunday paper. "JANUARY 30, 1898. Remember the MAINE! To hell with SPAIN!" He chuckled a little. "Yankees feel like playing a bit of catch-up, I see. 'President Debs has expressed his obligation to submit to the will of the American people in deterring imperialist aggression... speech Thursday... 'an overpowering moral obligation to break the chains of the Earth...' I wonder how they're going to tiptoe out of war on this one?"
He read a few lines farther. "A state of war now exists between Spain and the United States?" He blinked. "What? With a Socialist congressional majority and president? I don't get it."
He thought again of the Socialist Worker's Party pamphlet he had been sent a few days ago. Nah. Still garbage, he concluded silently.
A young woman stepped out of the office in whose antechamber Hearst was sitting. "Mr. Sutter will see you now, sir."
He rose to his feet and sauntered through the door, and saw, along with the aging "Little John" Sutter, several members of his own company. "Caperworth...? What is the meaning of this?"
"The Hearst Corporation finds your behavior unbecoming and unacceptable, and has decided by a seventy per cent vote to expel you from the board." Sutter finished speaking and looked extremely smug.
"What?"
Sutter grinned predatorily. "In your recent work, Mukden Autumn, you engaged at several points in unacceptable political grandstanding."
"What the hell does my book have to do with anything? Caperworth, where is this man hiding his opium?"
"Hearst, I don't know what you caught in China, but whatever it is, it addled your brain." Caperworth's words were venomous -- he was normally a docile, incredibly servile man; basically an overgrown butler. What was this?
"What do you mean? I didn't --"
"On page 47, you quote Lev Bronstein, whom you apparently made the mistake of associating with while pretending to serve this country in Panama. Are you aware who Lev Bronstein is today?"
"I don't give a damn. All I know is --"
"Lev Bronstein has, since only a year after you apparently began consorting with him, been the rising star of the Democrats, a radical-socialist faction in the Duma on the rise. Political analysts believe that in the general election in a year and a half, Bronstein will be elected to the Duma and begin to eclipse that entire nest of serpents."
"So what?"
"You also make reference to the works of Ulyanov, a Russian radical whom even the absurdly permissive Alexandrite government saw fit to arrest and detain."
"Ulya-who?"
"Don't play coy, Hearst. How long have you been trying to undermine the foundations of this country while out playing cowboys and Indians? I knew your father, and he'd spit on you. You've advocated the National Health bill, you've advocated pacifism in the colonial world, you've tried to imply continuously that our efforts to Christianize the world are vain! You are a disgrace to this company and --"
"I own this goddamn company!
"Not any more!"
Sutter, still grinning like a shark, stepped forward. "I took the liberty of purchasing most of several new runs of Hearst Corporation stock which you allowed Caperworth to approve of. You owned twenty-five per cent of stock before the decision was made to eject you from the company."
"This isn't fair!"
"Life ain't fair, Billy. Life ain't fair." Sutter widened his malicious grin. Hearst wished he had brought his pistol.
"I'll kill you. I'll kill every one of you sons of bitches!"
"How interesting. Security!"
Two of the men sitting at the opulent table -- at which Sutter sat at the head, and Caperworth at his left side -- rose suddenly and grabbed Hearst. More men burst through the door, and dragged him, kicking and screaming, from the premises.
...
It took him a month to realize he wasn't provided for any more. He couldn't bring himself to write; he realized that was because he was just too damn angry. He wrote a letter to Samuel Houston; the response, return-addressed from Fort Albany -- Canada -- stated that Houston disagreed with him entirely, but still thought a thorough injustice had been done. "If you join back up, I'd be willing to give you a command including the Globetrotters, and I'd weigh in for you against those bastards Sutter and Caperworth too. We need good men, and I'm sure you know why."
He didn't, but he joined up anyway. When they bothered giving him an assignment, it was indeed under Houston, who was heading south from a little town called Hearst. By the time he got there, his unit was stationed near Sault Ste. Marie. The Globetrotters were the same; Jumping Jack London was a sergeant now, but that was pretty much it. He couldn't understand for the life of him why they had taken boats until the orders came.
END OF CHAPTER 3
Next time: Chapter 4
Million Dollar Bill Hearst glanced over the Sunday paper. "JANUARY 30, 1898. Remember the MAINE! To hell with SPAIN!" He chuckled a little. "Yankees feel like playing a bit of catch-up, I see. 'President Debs has expressed his obligation to submit to the will of the American people in deterring imperialist aggression... speech Thursday... 'an overpowering moral obligation to break the chains of the Earth...' I wonder how they're going to tiptoe out of war on this one?"
He read a few lines farther. "A state of war now exists between Spain and the United States?" He blinked. "What? With a Socialist congressional majority and president? I don't get it."
He thought again of the Socialist Worker's Party pamphlet he had been sent a few days ago. Nah. Still garbage, he concluded silently.
A young woman stepped out of the office in whose antechamber Hearst was sitting. "Mr. Sutter will see you now, sir."
He rose to his feet and sauntered through the door, and saw, along with the aging "Little John" Sutter, several members of his own company. "Caperworth...? What is the meaning of this?"
"The Hearst Corporation finds your behavior unbecoming and unacceptable, and has decided by a seventy per cent vote to expel you from the board." Sutter finished speaking and looked extremely smug.
"What?"
Sutter grinned predatorily. "In your recent work, Mukden Autumn, you engaged at several points in unacceptable political grandstanding."
"What the hell does my book have to do with anything? Caperworth, where is this man hiding his opium?"
"Hearst, I don't know what you caught in China, but whatever it is, it addled your brain." Caperworth's words were venomous -- he was normally a docile, incredibly servile man; basically an overgrown butler. What was this?
"What do you mean? I didn't --"
"On page 47, you quote Lev Bronstein, whom you apparently made the mistake of associating with while pretending to serve this country in Panama. Are you aware who Lev Bronstein is today?"
"I don't give a damn. All I know is --"
"Lev Bronstein has, since only a year after you apparently began consorting with him, been the rising star of the Democrats, a radical-socialist faction in the Duma on the rise. Political analysts believe that in the general election in a year and a half, Bronstein will be elected to the Duma and begin to eclipse that entire nest of serpents."
"So what?"
"You also make reference to the works of Ulyanov, a Russian radical whom even the absurdly permissive Alexandrite government saw fit to arrest and detain."
"Ulya-who?"
"Don't play coy, Hearst. How long have you been trying to undermine the foundations of this country while out playing cowboys and Indians? I knew your father, and he'd spit on you. You've advocated the National Health bill, you've advocated pacifism in the colonial world, you've tried to imply continuously that our efforts to Christianize the world are vain! You are a disgrace to this company and --"
"I own this goddamn company!
"Not any more!"
Sutter, still grinning like a shark, stepped forward. "I took the liberty of purchasing most of several new runs of Hearst Corporation stock which you allowed Caperworth to approve of. You owned twenty-five per cent of stock before the decision was made to eject you from the company."
"This isn't fair!"
"Life ain't fair, Billy. Life ain't fair." Sutter widened his malicious grin. Hearst wished he had brought his pistol.
"I'll kill you. I'll kill every one of you sons of bitches!"
"How interesting. Security!"
Two of the men sitting at the opulent table -- at which Sutter sat at the head, and Caperworth at his left side -- rose suddenly and grabbed Hearst. More men burst through the door, and dragged him, kicking and screaming, from the premises.
...
It took him a month to realize he wasn't provided for any more. He couldn't bring himself to write; he realized that was because he was just too damn angry. He wrote a letter to Samuel Houston; the response, return-addressed from Fort Albany -- Canada -- stated that Houston disagreed with him entirely, but still thought a thorough injustice had been done. "If you join back up, I'd be willing to give you a command including the Globetrotters, and I'd weigh in for you against those bastards Sutter and Caperworth too. We need good men, and I'm sure you know why."
He didn't, but he joined up anyway. When they bothered giving him an assignment, it was indeed under Houston, who was heading south from a little town called Hearst. By the time he got there, his unit was stationed near Sault Ste. Marie. The Globetrotters were the same; Jumping Jack London was a sergeant now, but that was pretty much it. He couldn't understand for the life of him why they had taken boats until the orders came.
END OF CHAPTER 3
Next time: Chapter 4
Last edited:
Retroactively bumping back Trotsky's birth year never hurt anyone, that's what I always say.
el presidentse, your skills in writing this AAR are far too good. Amazing. Exemplorary. Enviable. It seems as if there was an explosion of good AAR writing during my absence. The next VictAARian Cross Awards will be very interesting, indeed, with works like these lying around.
Chapter 4: Blood
What we face, men, is a short and glorious war... our fathers and grandfathers crossed the Blue Ridge Mountains under General Lee to bring the justice and equality of the Union to the Confederate cowards -- and so today we cross the Rockies under General Longstreet to bring the glory and the manifest righteousness of the United States to the continent and with it, to the world entire. We face one last fight for our rightful place on the Earth: onward! Onward to glory! Onward to Texas!
--Col. Teddy Roosevelt, 1898, Fort Dodge
We are fighting a different war from the politicians, men. They say it will be over in weeks; it will last years. They say it will be bloodless; if you will not be dead by the end of this war the man next to you will. They say it will be easy, they say the Yankees will lay down and run as soon as they see us. The Yankees are the most manful and capable opponents Texas has ever faced, and their numbers are nearly double ours. They say that the Yankees are cowards and we are fearless killing machines; we have seen the horrors of war and we have hardened to them, but the things stalking the field of combat which wake you screaming in your sleep -- even in your own warm home -- all of the death and gore and misery of all war you have ever seen will be eclipsed by the first weeks of this conflict.
This is not the war to end all wars. It is the most recent of a string of battles in an Earth-consuming war of good against evil sixty-two years in the making, and it will be the climactic encounter. This will be the turning victory of the good fight. In your hands you hold the same nation held by Mirabeau Lamar; he knew as well as we do that Texas had no hope for victory -- and could have no hope for victory -- save the invincible force of righteousness. And now you, and I, and all of Texas, are embroiled in the latest and greatest battle of the War. You are already brave men, all of you. If you survive or not, if you return to your home with your shield or you return to your shield on it, know this: when this war is over you will be remembered as the greatest heroes in the history of mankind.
--Col. "Million Dollar" Bill Hearst, 1898, the Roseau Address
I see the United States and I see pragmatist socialism; I see Texas and I see ideological progressivism. The former is more immediately desirable, but the latter is more earnest and cannot long retain the brutalities of a capitalist system. So I must diverge from my comrades in the Duma in openly stating my support for the Texan Republic in this war...
--Lev Bronstein, "Observations on the American War", 1898
Absolutely.
--Napoleon IV, when asked whether Texas or the United States would win the war
News of war reaches the West -- troop strengths, fortresses, known and predicted movement
Actual attack (bold), feinted attack (dashed), future planned attacks (dotted) -- the American industrial heartland
First contact -- US forces swarm into Roseau to defeat Texan interlopers
Next time: Mankind's Worst Year
What we face, men, is a short and glorious war... our fathers and grandfathers crossed the Blue Ridge Mountains under General Lee to bring the justice and equality of the Union to the Confederate cowards -- and so today we cross the Rockies under General Longstreet to bring the glory and the manifest righteousness of the United States to the continent and with it, to the world entire. We face one last fight for our rightful place on the Earth: onward! Onward to glory! Onward to Texas!
--Col. Teddy Roosevelt, 1898, Fort Dodge
We are fighting a different war from the politicians, men. They say it will be over in weeks; it will last years. They say it will be bloodless; if you will not be dead by the end of this war the man next to you will. They say it will be easy, they say the Yankees will lay down and run as soon as they see us. The Yankees are the most manful and capable opponents Texas has ever faced, and their numbers are nearly double ours. They say that the Yankees are cowards and we are fearless killing machines; we have seen the horrors of war and we have hardened to them, but the things stalking the field of combat which wake you screaming in your sleep -- even in your own warm home -- all of the death and gore and misery of all war you have ever seen will be eclipsed by the first weeks of this conflict.
This is not the war to end all wars. It is the most recent of a string of battles in an Earth-consuming war of good against evil sixty-two years in the making, and it will be the climactic encounter. This will be the turning victory of the good fight. In your hands you hold the same nation held by Mirabeau Lamar; he knew as well as we do that Texas had no hope for victory -- and could have no hope for victory -- save the invincible force of righteousness. And now you, and I, and all of Texas, are embroiled in the latest and greatest battle of the War. You are already brave men, all of you. If you survive or not, if you return to your home with your shield or you return to your shield on it, know this: when this war is over you will be remembered as the greatest heroes in the history of mankind.
--Col. "Million Dollar" Bill Hearst, 1898, the Roseau Address
I see the United States and I see pragmatist socialism; I see Texas and I see ideological progressivism. The former is more immediately desirable, but the latter is more earnest and cannot long retain the brutalities of a capitalist system. So I must diverge from my comrades in the Duma in openly stating my support for the Texan Republic in this war...
--Lev Bronstein, "Observations on the American War", 1898
Absolutely.
--Napoleon IV, when asked whether Texas or the United States would win the war
News of war reaches the West -- troop strengths, fortresses, known and predicted movement
Actual attack (bold), feinted attack (dashed), future planned attacks (dotted) -- the American industrial heartland
First contact -- US forces swarm into Roseau to defeat Texan interlopers
Next time: Mankind's Worst Year