Decades of Darkness
- Thread starter Jared
- Start date
Highlander
Banned
Do a Europe map, damn it!!!
I could do that too, but I don't want to steal your spotlight for DoD maps . . .
I´m not sure if Mr. Churchill is right. “Holding down 100 Million Europeans” sounds more impressive then it is.
After all we know England and the Italians seems not really need much of occupation. In England it seems more an internal struggle between the Blackwood-Regime and the Socialist. The italian States check each other.
France seems a trouble spot, but even there resitance is in 1948 only of lower intensity. We should´t forget, that nearly 3 Million French emigrate till 1938. I think we will see similar Numbers in England and in the Italians. Means the Pool were you recruit resistance-fighters from ( angry young men) is strong reduced. Another point is, that Britain, France and Italy lost their last two major wars. Pacifism will be much more dominant. So I think, they will be the same, what Germany, France and Italy are IOTL: “Post-heroic” societys in demographic Decline. If such societys have to chose between “Death” and “comfortable middle class existenz without great national ambitions” they will chose the later.
Resitance propably will still exist, but I see it only on the level of the leftextremist/palestinian –Terror in OTL . Maybe some trouble Zones with Terorism on Northern Ireland/Basque-Level. So the westeuropean Resistance will be no “second front”. At the same time Western Europe will still be much more then IOTL the industrial Heart of the world.
Actually I think at the moment the Situation is for Russia much more troublesam. Turkey, Persia and Tibet doesn´t really add much to Russias strenght. I think they actualy drain more strenght.
Russias muslim and asians Subjects will in the long term more trouble then the Europeans.
At the same time Russias geostrategic situation is much worser. Germany has to watch one front. Russia has to watch two fronts: In the West Germany and in the East Japan and South China.
Okay, Russias biggest favor is, that it is still demographic expanding society. And if it tranform the 100 – 200 Million extra Russian and Ukranians (which were killed or never born IOTL) in industrial Strength, it will really becomed the Superpower No. 1. (But in OTL, as it looked like the USSR would dethrone the USA as No. 1, live become much more …interesting for the USSR. Same could happen to Russia ITTL.)
After all we know England and the Italians seems not really need much of occupation. In England it seems more an internal struggle between the Blackwood-Regime and the Socialist. The italian States check each other.
France seems a trouble spot, but even there resitance is in 1948 only of lower intensity. We should´t forget, that nearly 3 Million French emigrate till 1938. I think we will see similar Numbers in England and in the Italians. Means the Pool were you recruit resistance-fighters from ( angry young men) is strong reduced. Another point is, that Britain, France and Italy lost their last two major wars. Pacifism will be much more dominant. So I think, they will be the same, what Germany, France and Italy are IOTL: “Post-heroic” societys in demographic Decline. If such societys have to chose between “Death” and “comfortable middle class existenz without great national ambitions” they will chose the later.
Resitance propably will still exist, but I see it only on the level of the leftextremist/palestinian –Terror in OTL . Maybe some trouble Zones with Terorism on Northern Ireland/Basque-Level. So the westeuropean Resistance will be no “second front”. At the same time Western Europe will still be much more then IOTL the industrial Heart of the world.
Actually I think at the moment the Situation is for Russia much more troublesam. Turkey, Persia and Tibet doesn´t really add much to Russias strenght. I think they actualy drain more strenght.
Russias muslim and asians Subjects will in the long term more trouble then the Europeans.
At the same time Russias geostrategic situation is much worser. Germany has to watch one front. Russia has to watch two fronts: In the West Germany and in the East Japan and South China.
Okay, Russias biggest favor is, that it is still demographic expanding society. And if it tranform the 100 – 200 Million extra Russian and Ukranians (which were killed or never born IOTL) in industrial Strength, it will really becomed the Superpower No. 1. (But in OTL, as it looked like the USSR would dethrone the USA as No. 1, live become much more …interesting for the USSR. Same could happen to Russia ITTL.)
Oh I dunno. The French had been extraordinarily successful at assimilation. Though in OTL they admittedly didn't "finish" - remove Basque and Breton from daily use in most areas - until after WW1. The Bretons were very conscious of the process and resented it, so I'd say in a TL with a proper pan-Celtic movement they will seize the opportunity for nationhood while mostly still speaking French (see Ireland our TL).
As for the Basques.... There never was a similar population or strength to the French Basque community. Maybe if they had their own state, or if the new "Gascony" shifts minority policy drastically, but otherwise they're a small minority in a state that is still a lot bigger than Belgium.
And Languedoc.... that ship as pretty well sailed by now. A lot of the language shift was done centuries previous.
The main difficult for Germany compared to Russia is that the GEEU, and the Reich as a whole is meant to perch Germany on top of Europe. Russia, OTOH has developed a rather more elastic vision of Russian, at least to the extent that it is willing to accommodate different groups within an asymmetric federation--in contrast non-Germans are clearly subordinate in the GEEU. Germany could evolve, as Churchill notes, but this is clearly problematic (the U.S has in some ways a similar post-war challenge, though of a rather different type). In this sense then Russia is perhaps the best poised of the superpowers. OTOH both Germany and the U.S are in many ways far more capable rivals then the Soviet Union, and a tripod is a more dangerous power structure, aside from the fact that there are other elements (i.e the Restored Empire+Japan) to consider.
The evolution of that sort of natural resistance will take generations to appear, not a single generation. What I'm thinking will happen with HIV is that it will become a pandemic which is dire enough to have enormous social implications. The death of, say, 5% of the First World population would have rather an effect on the way people live and think, I expect.
Yes. Bad as HIV is likely to be, it's not going to turn into Black Death-like proportions, I'd think, if only because by then quarantine-like methods will have to be used.
This is the German Siam which got taken over in the 1920s. The parts of Siam which Britain took have been retained by Burma and *Malaysia.
Burma will be separate from India eventually, although the details will probably be shown up in the Tales.
British Somalia stays in the RE. Greece doesn't receive anything as a reward; they were lucky to get Greek Somaliland back again. They only got that much because the RE thought that it wasn't worth antagonising Greece over it - "better one enemy at a time."
Manchuria may become a federated state, although part of it will end up in Russian China, too. A Russian Kurdistan is unlikely; Russia would rather keep Turkey and Persia onside at this point.
The Chief dying of old age or illness? How, unexpected.
I was just pointing out that if talking about what New England is like in 1953, the Chief can be pretty sure not to be around, since if he doesn't meet any other fate, he would still be dead by 1953 of purely natural causes. He's not all that young, and his lifestyle is not what you'd call healthy, either.
Do a Europe map, damn it!!!
Well, if AE wants you to do a European map, that's probably a good idea. And lovely map of France-that-was too, by the way.
Oh my God! They killed France!
You Scheißkerl!
And this, too, shall pass away...
That's true up to a point. England and Italy are less trouble to hold down than France. Blackwood is certainly trying to hold down the socialists, but he is also in his own way a patriot. He will also be trying to build up English national strength and independence of action. So will Aragon. Part of Italy has also been annexed directly, and it remains to be seen how unhappy they will be about the idea.
That's true, but the other problem is that both the United States and Russia have an interest in stirring the pot in Europe. I'd expect all sorts of arms and funds to find their way into the hands of whatever resistance fighters do exist.
Much depends on the nature of their ideologies, and of broader geopolitical trends. There's going to be all sorts of anti-colonial movements springing up across the world, particularly in Africa and South America, and that sort of ideology is likely to spread. There would certainly be some people in occupied Europe who would rather let matters lie, but some who would not be likely to give up, either.
France will probably maintain resistance on at least the level of much of OTL Palestine, I'd expect. Britain and Italy, less so, but still notable. Of course, Western Europe will still have a strong industrial presence, although it will be interesting to see what kind of trade barriers exist against imports.
This could well be the case in the long-term, although the Russian political structure is rather more flexible for allowing internal autonomy. Churchill's point was that what Germany had won from the Great War was the opportunity to call themselves top dogs in Western Europe, but at the price of having to maintain that status. If Germany does genuinely start treating France, England and so on as equals, then they may well have less problems than Russia will have in Asia. Of course, that will then mean that they have lost all their gains from the war...
If Germany gets bogged down in a war with Russia, then those safely pacified nations may turn out to be much less peaceful than Germany had been counting on. Especially since the *USA would be glad of the chance to meddle.
The Soviet Union did collapse, but that was largely because it turns out that planned economies don't really work in the long run. I'm not expecting ATL Russia to be a paragon of industrial and economic efficiency, but as long as it's reasonably efficient, then having such a large population will certainly help them.
Well, I'm thinking whether they compare to Wales. ITTL, the proportion of Welsh and English speakers is about 50:50, since the movement caught on early enough that the great collapse in Welsh-speakers of the twentieth century was largely averted. I'm not sure at what point the proportions in Brittany started to swing, but if it was in the twentieth century, then it may end up that there's still a substantial proportion of Breton-speakers left.
In terms of language shift, definitely. What I didn't know about - not being all that up on the details of French cultural history - is whether Languedoc might come to think of itself as culturally distinct from France, even if not linguistically distinct.
The geopolitical dynamics of the post-war world are going to be oh so complex. The superpowers have an interest in undermining each other, but they also have the problem of growing nationalism and colonialism around the globe...
Yes. Normandy has achieved independence from France
On the other hand, a lot of historic Normandy is now under German rule...
Say, aren't a lot of cities situated on the Seine? Does Rouen, for example, become wholely Norman, wholely German, or is it split in two?
RE:
With them retaining their part of Somaliland, isn't Greece another nation that gets everything they want out of the war?
With them retaining their part of Somaliland, isn't Greece another nation that gets everything they want out of the war?
This was something raised over soc.history.what-if, and I've needed to make a couple of small retcons. While in general the Germans didn't particularly care if they split up some cities, they did make exceptions for some of the more historic ones. Rouen becomes wholly Norman; the Germans allow them a small part of the land north of the Seine around that city. Lyons, on the other hand, becomes wholly German; the Germans take a small amount of land west of the Saone and the Rhone to keep the city under one rule - their own, of course.
Greece got Cyprus and some territory around Izmir/Smyrna, and kept Greek Somaliland, but they didn't get southern Thrace, which went to Bulgaria instead. So Greece got the main things that they wanted, but not quite everything.
Decades of Darkness #190: New Horizons
“Your violent and chaotic society, even when it calls for peace, when it seems to be in a state of calm, still carries war within itself just as the slumbering thunder-cloud contains the storm.”
- Australian ambassador Wiremu Panapa addressing the United States Congress, 1947
* * *
1 September 1932
*
Columbia City, Federal District
United States of America
Senator Plutarco Bautista willed his face to composure. This meeting promised to be one of the least pleasant experiences of his life. He had conducted only one private meeting with Alvar O’Brien in his entire life, and he had never thought that he would need to agree to another.
“Remember, stay calm,” said Faith, his wife. She was not even looking at him; her eyes were focused on the door. After eighteen years of marriage – where had the time gone? – she usually knew what he was thinking without needing to look. As he did with her, come to that. “Too much depends on this choice.”
This choice between the devil and the dragon, Plutarco thought, but he held his peace.
The knock at the door was firm, but not overly loud. Precisely calculated to be just at the right volume, Plutarco thought. Everything about O’Brien was carefully calculated, carefully weighed and planned. A great pity indeed that none of that calculation included listening to the still, small voice of his conscience. He raised his voice. “Come in, General.”
Alvar O’Brien did not formally hold the rank of general any longer, of course. Better to use that title rather than any alternative, though.
O’Brien entered the room in a measured pace. More calculation, of course. He gave a short bow first to Plutarco, then to Faith. Clever of him. He must have known that Plutarco would refuse to shake the hand which had signed the order to enslave white men.
Plutarco had to think for a moment what he wanted to say. He could not say that O’Brien was welcome, since that would be blatant hypocrisy. Only at Faith’s absolute insistence had he agreed to the request for a private meeting, and even then he had demanded that Faith remain as a witness. “Would you like some tea?”
“Thank you, but no,” O’Brien said. “I don’t believe that either of us wants this meeting to last any longer than necessary.”
“It would be a long meeting indeed, for you to convince me to support your bid for the presidential nomination,” Plutarco said. The Unionist delegates met in less than two weeks, and O’Brien was the frontrunner.
“I’m not here to ask for your support,” O’Brien said.
Plutarco raised an eyebrow.
O’Brien said, “I do not ask for your support. I ask only that you agree not to oppose me or speak out against me during the nomination and the election.”
“You expect me to forget what you’ve done?” Plutarco said, but he could understand why O’Brien had made the request. Jefferson Caden, that most notorious backer of the fire-squads, the man who had dragged the United States into the Great War, had effectively won the Democratic nomination. O’Brien had more votes than any other Unionist contender, but not a solid majority. Plutarco was the most senior Unionist Senator not to express his support for any candidate, and many members of the party were waiting for him to commit to a candidate.
“If you speak out against me, you will split the Unionists. That is in your power,” O’Brien said. “HP Long would welcome the excuse to run an independent campaign. You will then hand the presidency to Caden. Do you want that man as president?”
“Do I want you, either?” Plutarco said. “I have not forgotten what you’ve done. I will not back a man who made slaves out of white men.”
O’Brien said, “I know what I’ve done, and I make no apologies for it. I did what I deemed best to save American lives and to protect my country’s interests. But regardless of what you think of me, do you deny that Caden would be worse?”
Plutarco thought about Caden, a man who had endorsed the fire-squads as a legitimate government policy. Indeed, Caden had spoken of them as being useful as a common tool, not even a method of last resort. What would that man do if given control of the United States and ultimate responsibility for subduing South America? Still, he could not make himself say aloud that O’Brien would be a better presidential candidate than anyone.
O’Brien waited for his reply, then eventually said, “I do not ask for your friendship. I do not think that we could ever be friends. I ask only that you agree that I am less of an enemy than Caden.”
Plutarco paused for a long moment, then he eventually nodded. He said, “If you win, expect me to dog your every move as president.”
“Of course. I would expect nothing else,” O’Brien said. “And if I lose, I expect that we will both dog Caden’s every move, if for different reasons.”
*
Federal House
Hartford, Connecticut
Republic of New England
Shane Mullins, President of New England, remembered times of fear in the last war. Times of hiding in dugouts in trenches for days on end, never knowing when an artillery shell would land near enough to bring the end of life. No man could live through those times and not know fear. Yet what he faced now was a different kind of fear. Not quite the same fear of imminent death. Rather, fear that everything he had built in New England was crashing down into ruin.
The war was over. Formal terms had not yet been announced, but they amounted to Yankee soldiers staying in Ireland to protect it, while Germany was left to finish crushing Britain. The peace deal was in effect a return to status quo ante bellum; neither side would demand reparations or anything else. In theory, this war was a draw.
Except that it was a defeat, and he saw no way to portray it otherwise. Not even Terry’s genius at public relations [1] could conceal that. He had led New England into this war expecting a share of the glory and of the rewards of victory, but Russian betrayal and the incompetence of his allies had seen his country cheated of its gains. Now he had spent so much of New England’s blood and treasure, and he had nothing to show for it.
Well, everyone made mistakes, even if he would never admit any of his errors publicly. He needed time to set things right, time to get New England back on track to its proper future. He may have been betrayed once, but he would be ready next time. There would be more opportunities, of that he was sure. Some fools were already speaking of this as the “war to end war,” but he could see the seeds being planted for future conflicts. The United States was trying to hold down South America, Germany was trying to hold down Europe, Russia was trying to hold down Asia, and all of them would want to meddle in Africa. With their inevitable disagreements would come opportunities. Mullins would make sure he was ready for those opportunities.
If he could survive politically, that was. The next few months would be critical. The people were feeling angry, and he had to make sure that they blamed the right people. England deserved its fair share of the blame, for its incompetence and its unconscionable decision to use chemical weapons. Wood should have known better. Russia would get its share of the blame too, for not honouring its alliance with France, although that was old news.
Yes, there were opportunities. Of course, there were decisions to be made too. Foreign players would take their share of the blame, but should he launch a cleansing of some of his own government members? Charges of incompetence would be easy enough to make, and some of them would even be genuine. There were advantages to keeping a few incompetent people around; they would not become a threat, and it meant that they could be removed at the proper time. Was this the proper time to clean house?
No, Mullins decided, after some thought. Removing incompetent people might be popular, but it might also start people thinking that perhaps he should be removed, too, if cleansings were to be made. Besides, the people could be controlled, one way or another. His greatest fear came from his own party, since they controlled the government. If they became too concerned by the cleansings, they might try to remove him out of desperation. Better, for now, to present an image of unity and camaraderie. And then make sure that this image lasted until the next election.
The next presidential election, in fact. That had long been arranged. No meaningful opposition existed, after all, and whichever candidate he named would win. The Constitution forbade him from standing again, but that was easily worked around. He was assured of re-election to the Senate, where he would remain as Majority Leader, and be nominated as President pro tempore. That would make him third in line for presidential succession. Since the new president and vice-president would both be resigning on inauguration day, he would be returned as president in short order.
Yes, he decided, there was still hope to rebuild New England. He would have to be careful for the next few months, and have Ingersoll keep a very close eye on the Army, but the future was not without hope.
* * *
4 March 1933
*
Puerto Covadonga
Antarctic Peninsula
Cold blew the wind, with the hint of ice never far from its breath. Sunlight glimmered above the horizon, but for how long would that last? Colonel William Walker had never been anywhere this far south in his life, and rarely anywhere as cold. The Jaguars could be sent almost anywhere, but given his choice, he would rather have been sent somewhere warm.
Of course, when the President-elect asked for you by name, then you went where you were sent. Besides, this mission was an honour which no other American soldier would ever be granted. Symbolic, of course; the Chileans and Argentines had both made vague claims on this God-forsaken stretch of ice and rock, but neither had bothered to base any military forces here. Yet symbolic or not, sending soldiers here amounted to a claim which would never be forgotten.
Walker unfurled the American flag himself. Other soldiers and sailors stood nearby, but no-one else would share this honour with him. When he planted it into the soil of this land, he claimed it for the United States. Apart from his fellow Americans, only penguins and petrels were around to hear him, but he still enjoyed being able to utter a few words. “America now stretches from Pole to Pole.”
*
Lone Star Vineyards
Near Packer, Washington [Branson, Missouri]
United States of America
The sun beat down in what was unseasonably hot weather for the early days of spring. Amber Jarrett ambled past the rows of grapes toward the great house which had been her childhood home, but which now seemed like a lifetime ago. It had been only three and a half years since she had left home, firstly imitating her brother as a soldier in France, and then living in hiding with distant friends on Cuba until the war was over. She could have come home before, if she had really wanted, but she had wanted to see the world.
The United States was now officially at war only with Chile, some people seemed to think that peace would soon come. Her own father was among them, judging from his last letter. She knew better. Even once the last South American resistance had been subdued, there would be another war. There would always be another war. “There will always be wars, so long as men are men,” she murmured.
* * *
Columbia, Federal District
United States of America
Oliver Bird, Industrial Commissioner, stared once more at the neatly-typed title of the document in front of him. It read: “Application for a Machine to Automate the Picking of Cotton.” Hardly the most imaginative of titles, but then it didn’t need to be. Not if it was genuine.
“You’re going to approve this, I take it,” he said. You’d better be going to approve it, his tone added. His time was too valuable to be wasted with any more of the dozens of failed attempts for mechanical cotton-pickers which had been lodged over the years.
The patent clerk nodded. “I’ve watched his machine. It works, all right. He’ll sell every one he can make, and still have orders for five times the number. Cotton-picking will never be the same again.”
The U.S. economy will never be the same again, you mean, Bird thought. The clerk did not see the implications, or not well enough. No point educating him; there were much bigger things to worry about. Still, a hint wouldn’t go astray. “Might be a good time to sell any slaves you own,” Bird murmured.
“Commissioner?” the clerk asked, obviously not catching his meaning.
“Never mind,” Bird said. His thoughts were elsewhere. A machine to pick cotton had been the holy grail of planters for the better part of a century. Reaping wheat was easy, but cotton had been another matter. Which had been very good news for anyone who owned slaves. Cotton made money, lots of money, and growing it needed slaves. For all the boll weevil had made things more expensive, for all that insecticides were needed now, for all that fertiliser needed to be obtained, for all of the long price decline, cotton had still been a solid way to make money. Solid enough to set the reserve price for slaves; they would only be bought by people who could make comparable money off their labour than those who would be planting cotton. And that limit, in turn, had set peon prices, since peons could not be made to work in cotton, and could not be worked as hard even in other areas... but were still available for other forms of work.
Now, that whole system teetered on the brink. How many slaves would the new cotton-pickers replace? Five? Ten? Twenty? Slave prices would fall, and fall hard. Worse, this came at just the time when America’s latest conquests would start to bring in peons and slaves from South America. How much would be a peon be worth in a year or two?
Despite the warmth of his office, Oliver Bird, architect of the American economy, shivered.
*
Hartford, Connecticut
Republic of New England
James Ingersoll, Secretary of War, should probably have been more concerned by what was about to happen in the United States. A new president was being inaugurated today, one who would write a new chapter on foreign policy in an already troubled world. The ramifications of that would touch New England, as they always had; no matter how much good Yankees tried to forget it, their country was shaped in part by the tides moving from the United States.
Yet he could not make himself care. Much larger things were afoot. Thing set in motion a little over a month ago, when Mullins carried out his plan to make himself the eternal president of New England [2]. The Chief had complied with the letter of the constitution, but Pickering would be turning in his grave.
He glanced up at the clock. Five minutes past eleven. Terry Rundle was due to arrive five minutes before, to discuss what reaction should be taken to events south of the border. Those orders used to come direct from the Chief, but these days Rundle acted as the conduit for most instructions from Mullins. Ingersoll had not been able to work out if the Chief did that to mark Rundle’s elevation in status, or as an implicit demotion by turning him into a messenger boy. It said much about Mullins’ approach to government that it could be both of those things at once; the battle for primacy amongst Mullins’ subordinates was an ongoing one, and the Chief liked to keep people guessing.
“Strange for him to be late,” Ingersoll muttered. Rundle was usually punctual to a fault. One of his many faults. He opened the door to his office. “Mary, have you heard-”
He stopped at the sight before him. Armed soldiers were hardly an uncommon sight in the War Department offices, but armed soldiers with rifles lowered and aimed at people were another story. Five men waited in the lobby. Four soldiers carrying rifles, two guarding the outer door and two waiting for him to leave his office. The fifth man was also a soldier, this one in the uniform of a three-star general.
Lieutenant General William Donovan had a fatherly appearance to him, as he always did. He had recently turned fifty – Ingersoll had been at the celebrations – but he had probably had the same fatherly manner for decades. The pistol resting in his hand looked incongruous with his usual manner, but Donovan knew how to use it.
Ingersoll ventured a small smile. “If you wanted to see me, general, you only needed to ask for an appointment.”
“Your secretary said you were busy,” Donovan said. “But my business was most pressing.”
“Of course it was, but it took you long enough to organise it,” Ingersoll said. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever get around to this... although I did think that you’d come in person, Bill. You always knew that you owed me that much.”
Donovan raised an eyebrow. “You knew this coup was coming?”
Ingersoll shrugged. “Of course I knew it was coming. You think I don’t know what’s happening in my army?”
“My army, now,” the general said, with a slight wave of the pistol. “I think I know bluster when I hear it.”
“You know nothing of the sort,” Ingersoll said coldly. “Do you know how much work I had to do to ensure that all news of your plans was reported to me instead of directly to the Chief?”
“If you knew, you would either have stopped us, or helped us. Don’t think that you can sweet talk me into sparing you.”
Ingersoll said, “Nothing do I expect from you, general, except to turn into the next Blackwood.”
Donovan’s eyes narrowed, and his voice contained a hint of anger for the first time. “Do not mistake me for that power-hungry maniac. I do what I do because I swore an oath to uphold the constitution and defend New England against all enemies, both foreign and domestic.”
“And once the Chief has been deposed, you will be the only one in a position to rule in his place,” Ingersoll said. “As Duvalier has done and Blackwood will do.”
“Nothing of the sort,” Donovan said. “I’ll be handing power back to a civilian government as soon as one is stable enough to stand on its own. Then I’ll be leaving New England, and likely never return.”
“You really plan to just go meekly into exile?” Ingersoll asked.
“That’s the only way I can fulfill my oath to New England,” Donovan said. He sounded sincere. “So long as I live here, no new civilian government will be secure. No-one would feel safe under the rule of law. Our country has reached a place where the regular law has failed us, and I needed to work outside the law for a time, but I want the rule of law to return. Which it will not, while I abide here.”
“I swore an oath, too,” Ingersoll said. “An oath of personal loyalty to the Chief. I would not raise my hand against him. I knew what Mullins was doing to New England, but while I could make myself stand aside, I could not work against him. If that means you kill me... Well, if I have no honour, then I am nothing.”
“For now, you are under arrest. Your ultimate fate will rest with our new government, not with me,” Donovan said.
“And the Chief?”
Donovan’s smile did not reach his eyes.
*
North West River
Labrador Territory
Republic of New England
Leroy Abbard, former Senator, former presidential candidate, former head of the Christian Socialists and then the Socialist Alliance, and current inmate of the badly-misnamed liberty camp of North West River, could not remember the last time he had had a full stomach. Or a taste of true liberty. Imprisoned on manufactured charges, left here to watch while his most valued political ally David Rubin and fellow inmate wasted away into death, he had long felt numb inside. He existed, nothing more; he felt as if all hopes and fears were likewise placed on hold.
So, then, why this summons to the camp commander’s office? Kendall Weston was a thug, nothing more, and he had probably offended someone important in the vitalist hierarchy to be sent here. Although he usually reserved the main demonstrations of his anger for other inmates; he probably feared that overt violence against Abbard would rouse too much anger.
Abbard was escorted into the commander’s office, and the guards withdrew.
Weston did not turn to look; the commander’s gaze was fixed out the window.
Abbard waited for a few moments, then said, “You asked to see me, commander?”
Weston keep staring out the window. “Only thanks to external request.”
“I don’t follow you,” Abbard said.
Weston sighed. “This camp has been surrounded. By soldiers under, well, I’m not sure who their local commander is, but they’re operating under orders of General Donovan. They’ve offered me and my men safe-conduct and transport to Iceland if we surrender peacefully, with certain conditions.”
The sense of numbness returned. For a long moment, Abbard could not gather his thoughts. “You’re leaving this camp?”
“Yes. Leaving it under your personal control. That is one of the conditions for the safe-conduct.”
“The army has risen up?” Abbard said. He’d never dared allow himself to hope for something like that.
“Details have been sketchy, but I know that Donovan’s forces control the streets in Hartford, New York and Boston.”
“And what does the ‘Chief’ have to say about that?”
Weston spoke softly. “Mullins is dead. Shot while resisting arrest, according to the reports.”
Mullins dead? No proper Christian should show glee over a man’s death, but he could not keep the grin from his face.
Abbard settled into the chair so recently occupied by Weston. He remained in the office while Weston left, remained in place while the camp guards evacuated and men in soldiers’ uniforms came into the camp. He remained in place when they came up to the door.
When the soldiers came into the room, they saluted him. Abbard managed to speak, then. “Soldiers shouldn’t salute civilians,” he said.
Their commander, a corporal from his uniform, grinned. “Soldiers should always salute their commander-in-chief... Acting President Abbard.”
* * *
“Think carefully of what you say and do in these chambers. Your task is to shape a new constitution, and a new nation. Our founding fathers wrote a constitution which they hoped would guide our nation forever. It is not our constitution which failed us, nor our founding fathers. It is we as a people who allowed to remain in office those who violated the spirit of the constitution while upholding the letter. It is our solemn duty to write a new constitution which embodies the continued wisdom of our forefathers, but where the spirit and the letter have both been buttressed into a fortress which will protect our nation until the end of days.”
- Acting President Leroy Abbard, as he then was, addressing the opening of the New England constitutional convention, 19 July 1933. Abbard would be elected unopposed as the first Governor-General of the Commonwealth of New England on 4 June of the following year.
* * *
4 March 1933
Columbia City, Federal District
United States of America
How many men and women crowded the ground between the Capitol and the Washington Monument? Half a million? Three-quarters of a million? The President-elect could not tell, and right now it hardly mattered. Celebrations were already underway from Philadelphia to Quito. A new era dawned. The election had been close, but he had never doubted the result.
He placed one hand on the Bible, and placed the other over his heart. He allowed the Chief Justice to speak the words first, and then he repeated them. “I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.” He paused for a moment, then added, “So help me God.”
The cheers went on for a long, long time. He waited in silence until they subsided, and then stepped up to the podium. He knew he should have a long speech ready, but most of the crowd would not hear it, so why bother? He knew what he wanted to say. He knew what needed to be said. Anything further would have been vanity or insanity.
“Let’s get this country working,” said President Alvar O’Brien.
* * *
[1] Terry Rundle, the New England Secretary for Public Relations (i.e. propaganda).
[2] New England’s presidents are inaugurated on the last Tuesday in January in the year following their election; Mullins was re-inaugurated as president on 31 January 1933. This was a result of the Third Amendment to the New England constitution. Prior to that, New England’s presidents were inaugurated on 4 March, a date which is still maintained in the United States.
*
Thoughts?
Jared
P.S. Well, folks, it’s been a long, long time, but the main part of Decades of Darkness is now over. The history of the timeline has reached where I was always planning on stopping it. History goes on, of course, and so any ending is always going to feel incomplete in some respects, but I hope that at least this ending gave a certain sense of closure.
So, is this the end of DoD? Not quite. After allowing a few days for comments, I’ll be taking a sabbatical from here for a month or so. I need a break. When I get back, well, as I’ve mentioned on some previous occasions, there is some scope for epilogue posts, in a series which I’m planning on calling “Tales of the Decades of Darkness.” This is mostly open to any other contributors who think that they might have tales they want to tell. If you’ve got some ideas along those lines, drop me a line and we can discuss things. For obvious reasons, I need to reserve the final right to approve or decline any proposals for posts.
In the long run, I’m going to do some revision of the main timeline of Decades of Darkness and publish a new version. I’m also working on a novel set in the same universe, and I’ve also started work on a new timeline called Lands of Red and Gold. Those will be completed, well, when they’re finished.
Hope everyone enjoyed this timeline. Writing it has been fun.
“Your violent and chaotic society, even when it calls for peace, when it seems to be in a state of calm, still carries war within itself just as the slumbering thunder-cloud contains the storm.”
- Australian ambassador Wiremu Panapa addressing the United States Congress, 1947
* * *
1 September 1932
*
Columbia City, Federal District
United States of America
Senator Plutarco Bautista willed his face to composure. This meeting promised to be one of the least pleasant experiences of his life. He had conducted only one private meeting with Alvar O’Brien in his entire life, and he had never thought that he would need to agree to another.
“Remember, stay calm,” said Faith, his wife. She was not even looking at him; her eyes were focused on the door. After eighteen years of marriage – where had the time gone? – she usually knew what he was thinking without needing to look. As he did with her, come to that. “Too much depends on this choice.”
This choice between the devil and the dragon, Plutarco thought, but he held his peace.
The knock at the door was firm, but not overly loud. Precisely calculated to be just at the right volume, Plutarco thought. Everything about O’Brien was carefully calculated, carefully weighed and planned. A great pity indeed that none of that calculation included listening to the still, small voice of his conscience. He raised his voice. “Come in, General.”
Alvar O’Brien did not formally hold the rank of general any longer, of course. Better to use that title rather than any alternative, though.
O’Brien entered the room in a measured pace. More calculation, of course. He gave a short bow first to Plutarco, then to Faith. Clever of him. He must have known that Plutarco would refuse to shake the hand which had signed the order to enslave white men.
Plutarco had to think for a moment what he wanted to say. He could not say that O’Brien was welcome, since that would be blatant hypocrisy. Only at Faith’s absolute insistence had he agreed to the request for a private meeting, and even then he had demanded that Faith remain as a witness. “Would you like some tea?”
“Thank you, but no,” O’Brien said. “I don’t believe that either of us wants this meeting to last any longer than necessary.”
“It would be a long meeting indeed, for you to convince me to support your bid for the presidential nomination,” Plutarco said. The Unionist delegates met in less than two weeks, and O’Brien was the frontrunner.
“I’m not here to ask for your support,” O’Brien said.
Plutarco raised an eyebrow.
O’Brien said, “I do not ask for your support. I ask only that you agree not to oppose me or speak out against me during the nomination and the election.”
“You expect me to forget what you’ve done?” Plutarco said, but he could understand why O’Brien had made the request. Jefferson Caden, that most notorious backer of the fire-squads, the man who had dragged the United States into the Great War, had effectively won the Democratic nomination. O’Brien had more votes than any other Unionist contender, but not a solid majority. Plutarco was the most senior Unionist Senator not to express his support for any candidate, and many members of the party were waiting for him to commit to a candidate.
“If you speak out against me, you will split the Unionists. That is in your power,” O’Brien said. “HP Long would welcome the excuse to run an independent campaign. You will then hand the presidency to Caden. Do you want that man as president?”
“Do I want you, either?” Plutarco said. “I have not forgotten what you’ve done. I will not back a man who made slaves out of white men.”
O’Brien said, “I know what I’ve done, and I make no apologies for it. I did what I deemed best to save American lives and to protect my country’s interests. But regardless of what you think of me, do you deny that Caden would be worse?”
Plutarco thought about Caden, a man who had endorsed the fire-squads as a legitimate government policy. Indeed, Caden had spoken of them as being useful as a common tool, not even a method of last resort. What would that man do if given control of the United States and ultimate responsibility for subduing South America? Still, he could not make himself say aloud that O’Brien would be a better presidential candidate than anyone.
O’Brien waited for his reply, then eventually said, “I do not ask for your friendship. I do not think that we could ever be friends. I ask only that you agree that I am less of an enemy than Caden.”
Plutarco paused for a long moment, then he eventually nodded. He said, “If you win, expect me to dog your every move as president.”
“Of course. I would expect nothing else,” O’Brien said. “And if I lose, I expect that we will both dog Caden’s every move, if for different reasons.”
*
Federal House
Hartford, Connecticut
Republic of New England
Shane Mullins, President of New England, remembered times of fear in the last war. Times of hiding in dugouts in trenches for days on end, never knowing when an artillery shell would land near enough to bring the end of life. No man could live through those times and not know fear. Yet what he faced now was a different kind of fear. Not quite the same fear of imminent death. Rather, fear that everything he had built in New England was crashing down into ruin.
The war was over. Formal terms had not yet been announced, but they amounted to Yankee soldiers staying in Ireland to protect it, while Germany was left to finish crushing Britain. The peace deal was in effect a return to status quo ante bellum; neither side would demand reparations or anything else. In theory, this war was a draw.
Except that it was a defeat, and he saw no way to portray it otherwise. Not even Terry’s genius at public relations [1] could conceal that. He had led New England into this war expecting a share of the glory and of the rewards of victory, but Russian betrayal and the incompetence of his allies had seen his country cheated of its gains. Now he had spent so much of New England’s blood and treasure, and he had nothing to show for it.
Well, everyone made mistakes, even if he would never admit any of his errors publicly. He needed time to set things right, time to get New England back on track to its proper future. He may have been betrayed once, but he would be ready next time. There would be more opportunities, of that he was sure. Some fools were already speaking of this as the “war to end war,” but he could see the seeds being planted for future conflicts. The United States was trying to hold down South America, Germany was trying to hold down Europe, Russia was trying to hold down Asia, and all of them would want to meddle in Africa. With their inevitable disagreements would come opportunities. Mullins would make sure he was ready for those opportunities.
If he could survive politically, that was. The next few months would be critical. The people were feeling angry, and he had to make sure that they blamed the right people. England deserved its fair share of the blame, for its incompetence and its unconscionable decision to use chemical weapons. Wood should have known better. Russia would get its share of the blame too, for not honouring its alliance with France, although that was old news.
Yes, there were opportunities. Of course, there were decisions to be made too. Foreign players would take their share of the blame, but should he launch a cleansing of some of his own government members? Charges of incompetence would be easy enough to make, and some of them would even be genuine. There were advantages to keeping a few incompetent people around; they would not become a threat, and it meant that they could be removed at the proper time. Was this the proper time to clean house?
No, Mullins decided, after some thought. Removing incompetent people might be popular, but it might also start people thinking that perhaps he should be removed, too, if cleansings were to be made. Besides, the people could be controlled, one way or another. His greatest fear came from his own party, since they controlled the government. If they became too concerned by the cleansings, they might try to remove him out of desperation. Better, for now, to present an image of unity and camaraderie. And then make sure that this image lasted until the next election.
The next presidential election, in fact. That had long been arranged. No meaningful opposition existed, after all, and whichever candidate he named would win. The Constitution forbade him from standing again, but that was easily worked around. He was assured of re-election to the Senate, where he would remain as Majority Leader, and be nominated as President pro tempore. That would make him third in line for presidential succession. Since the new president and vice-president would both be resigning on inauguration day, he would be returned as president in short order.
Yes, he decided, there was still hope to rebuild New England. He would have to be careful for the next few months, and have Ingersoll keep a very close eye on the Army, but the future was not without hope.
* * *
4 March 1933
*
Puerto Covadonga
Antarctic Peninsula
Cold blew the wind, with the hint of ice never far from its breath. Sunlight glimmered above the horizon, but for how long would that last? Colonel William Walker had never been anywhere this far south in his life, and rarely anywhere as cold. The Jaguars could be sent almost anywhere, but given his choice, he would rather have been sent somewhere warm.
Of course, when the President-elect asked for you by name, then you went where you were sent. Besides, this mission was an honour which no other American soldier would ever be granted. Symbolic, of course; the Chileans and Argentines had both made vague claims on this God-forsaken stretch of ice and rock, but neither had bothered to base any military forces here. Yet symbolic or not, sending soldiers here amounted to a claim which would never be forgotten.
Walker unfurled the American flag himself. Other soldiers and sailors stood nearby, but no-one else would share this honour with him. When he planted it into the soil of this land, he claimed it for the United States. Apart from his fellow Americans, only penguins and petrels were around to hear him, but he still enjoyed being able to utter a few words. “America now stretches from Pole to Pole.”
*
Lone Star Vineyards
Near Packer, Washington [Branson, Missouri]
United States of America
The sun beat down in what was unseasonably hot weather for the early days of spring. Amber Jarrett ambled past the rows of grapes toward the great house which had been her childhood home, but which now seemed like a lifetime ago. It had been only three and a half years since she had left home, firstly imitating her brother as a soldier in France, and then living in hiding with distant friends on Cuba until the war was over. She could have come home before, if she had really wanted, but she had wanted to see the world.
The United States was now officially at war only with Chile, some people seemed to think that peace would soon come. Her own father was among them, judging from his last letter. She knew better. Even once the last South American resistance had been subdued, there would be another war. There would always be another war. “There will always be wars, so long as men are men,” she murmured.
* * *
Columbia, Federal District
United States of America
Oliver Bird, Industrial Commissioner, stared once more at the neatly-typed title of the document in front of him. It read: “Application for a Machine to Automate the Picking of Cotton.” Hardly the most imaginative of titles, but then it didn’t need to be. Not if it was genuine.
“You’re going to approve this, I take it,” he said. You’d better be going to approve it, his tone added. His time was too valuable to be wasted with any more of the dozens of failed attempts for mechanical cotton-pickers which had been lodged over the years.
The patent clerk nodded. “I’ve watched his machine. It works, all right. He’ll sell every one he can make, and still have orders for five times the number. Cotton-picking will never be the same again.”
The U.S. economy will never be the same again, you mean, Bird thought. The clerk did not see the implications, or not well enough. No point educating him; there were much bigger things to worry about. Still, a hint wouldn’t go astray. “Might be a good time to sell any slaves you own,” Bird murmured.
“Commissioner?” the clerk asked, obviously not catching his meaning.
“Never mind,” Bird said. His thoughts were elsewhere. A machine to pick cotton had been the holy grail of planters for the better part of a century. Reaping wheat was easy, but cotton had been another matter. Which had been very good news for anyone who owned slaves. Cotton made money, lots of money, and growing it needed slaves. For all the boll weevil had made things more expensive, for all that insecticides were needed now, for all that fertiliser needed to be obtained, for all of the long price decline, cotton had still been a solid way to make money. Solid enough to set the reserve price for slaves; they would only be bought by people who could make comparable money off their labour than those who would be planting cotton. And that limit, in turn, had set peon prices, since peons could not be made to work in cotton, and could not be worked as hard even in other areas... but were still available for other forms of work.
Now, that whole system teetered on the brink. How many slaves would the new cotton-pickers replace? Five? Ten? Twenty? Slave prices would fall, and fall hard. Worse, this came at just the time when America’s latest conquests would start to bring in peons and slaves from South America. How much would be a peon be worth in a year or two?
Despite the warmth of his office, Oliver Bird, architect of the American economy, shivered.
*
Hartford, Connecticut
Republic of New England
James Ingersoll, Secretary of War, should probably have been more concerned by what was about to happen in the United States. A new president was being inaugurated today, one who would write a new chapter on foreign policy in an already troubled world. The ramifications of that would touch New England, as they always had; no matter how much good Yankees tried to forget it, their country was shaped in part by the tides moving from the United States.
Yet he could not make himself care. Much larger things were afoot. Thing set in motion a little over a month ago, when Mullins carried out his plan to make himself the eternal president of New England [2]. The Chief had complied with the letter of the constitution, but Pickering would be turning in his grave.
He glanced up at the clock. Five minutes past eleven. Terry Rundle was due to arrive five minutes before, to discuss what reaction should be taken to events south of the border. Those orders used to come direct from the Chief, but these days Rundle acted as the conduit for most instructions from Mullins. Ingersoll had not been able to work out if the Chief did that to mark Rundle’s elevation in status, or as an implicit demotion by turning him into a messenger boy. It said much about Mullins’ approach to government that it could be both of those things at once; the battle for primacy amongst Mullins’ subordinates was an ongoing one, and the Chief liked to keep people guessing.
“Strange for him to be late,” Ingersoll muttered. Rundle was usually punctual to a fault. One of his many faults. He opened the door to his office. “Mary, have you heard-”
He stopped at the sight before him. Armed soldiers were hardly an uncommon sight in the War Department offices, but armed soldiers with rifles lowered and aimed at people were another story. Five men waited in the lobby. Four soldiers carrying rifles, two guarding the outer door and two waiting for him to leave his office. The fifth man was also a soldier, this one in the uniform of a three-star general.
Lieutenant General William Donovan had a fatherly appearance to him, as he always did. He had recently turned fifty – Ingersoll had been at the celebrations – but he had probably had the same fatherly manner for decades. The pistol resting in his hand looked incongruous with his usual manner, but Donovan knew how to use it.
Ingersoll ventured a small smile. “If you wanted to see me, general, you only needed to ask for an appointment.”
“Your secretary said you were busy,” Donovan said. “But my business was most pressing.”
“Of course it was, but it took you long enough to organise it,” Ingersoll said. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever get around to this... although I did think that you’d come in person, Bill. You always knew that you owed me that much.”
Donovan raised an eyebrow. “You knew this coup was coming?”
Ingersoll shrugged. “Of course I knew it was coming. You think I don’t know what’s happening in my army?”
“My army, now,” the general said, with a slight wave of the pistol. “I think I know bluster when I hear it.”
“You know nothing of the sort,” Ingersoll said coldly. “Do you know how much work I had to do to ensure that all news of your plans was reported to me instead of directly to the Chief?”
“If you knew, you would either have stopped us, or helped us. Don’t think that you can sweet talk me into sparing you.”
Ingersoll said, “Nothing do I expect from you, general, except to turn into the next Blackwood.”
Donovan’s eyes narrowed, and his voice contained a hint of anger for the first time. “Do not mistake me for that power-hungry maniac. I do what I do because I swore an oath to uphold the constitution and defend New England against all enemies, both foreign and domestic.”
“And once the Chief has been deposed, you will be the only one in a position to rule in his place,” Ingersoll said. “As Duvalier has done and Blackwood will do.”
“Nothing of the sort,” Donovan said. “I’ll be handing power back to a civilian government as soon as one is stable enough to stand on its own. Then I’ll be leaving New England, and likely never return.”
“You really plan to just go meekly into exile?” Ingersoll asked.
“That’s the only way I can fulfill my oath to New England,” Donovan said. He sounded sincere. “So long as I live here, no new civilian government will be secure. No-one would feel safe under the rule of law. Our country has reached a place where the regular law has failed us, and I needed to work outside the law for a time, but I want the rule of law to return. Which it will not, while I abide here.”
“I swore an oath, too,” Ingersoll said. “An oath of personal loyalty to the Chief. I would not raise my hand against him. I knew what Mullins was doing to New England, but while I could make myself stand aside, I could not work against him. If that means you kill me... Well, if I have no honour, then I am nothing.”
“For now, you are under arrest. Your ultimate fate will rest with our new government, not with me,” Donovan said.
“And the Chief?”
Donovan’s smile did not reach his eyes.
*
North West River
Labrador Territory
Republic of New England
Leroy Abbard, former Senator, former presidential candidate, former head of the Christian Socialists and then the Socialist Alliance, and current inmate of the badly-misnamed liberty camp of North West River, could not remember the last time he had had a full stomach. Or a taste of true liberty. Imprisoned on manufactured charges, left here to watch while his most valued political ally David Rubin and fellow inmate wasted away into death, he had long felt numb inside. He existed, nothing more; he felt as if all hopes and fears were likewise placed on hold.
So, then, why this summons to the camp commander’s office? Kendall Weston was a thug, nothing more, and he had probably offended someone important in the vitalist hierarchy to be sent here. Although he usually reserved the main demonstrations of his anger for other inmates; he probably feared that overt violence against Abbard would rouse too much anger.
Abbard was escorted into the commander’s office, and the guards withdrew.
Weston did not turn to look; the commander’s gaze was fixed out the window.
Abbard waited for a few moments, then said, “You asked to see me, commander?”
Weston keep staring out the window. “Only thanks to external request.”
“I don’t follow you,” Abbard said.
Weston sighed. “This camp has been surrounded. By soldiers under, well, I’m not sure who their local commander is, but they’re operating under orders of General Donovan. They’ve offered me and my men safe-conduct and transport to Iceland if we surrender peacefully, with certain conditions.”
The sense of numbness returned. For a long moment, Abbard could not gather his thoughts. “You’re leaving this camp?”
“Yes. Leaving it under your personal control. That is one of the conditions for the safe-conduct.”
“The army has risen up?” Abbard said. He’d never dared allow himself to hope for something like that.
“Details have been sketchy, but I know that Donovan’s forces control the streets in Hartford, New York and Boston.”
“And what does the ‘Chief’ have to say about that?”
Weston spoke softly. “Mullins is dead. Shot while resisting arrest, according to the reports.”
Mullins dead? No proper Christian should show glee over a man’s death, but he could not keep the grin from his face.
Abbard settled into the chair so recently occupied by Weston. He remained in the office while Weston left, remained in place while the camp guards evacuated and men in soldiers’ uniforms came into the camp. He remained in place when they came up to the door.
When the soldiers came into the room, they saluted him. Abbard managed to speak, then. “Soldiers shouldn’t salute civilians,” he said.
Their commander, a corporal from his uniform, grinned. “Soldiers should always salute their commander-in-chief... Acting President Abbard.”
* * *
“Think carefully of what you say and do in these chambers. Your task is to shape a new constitution, and a new nation. Our founding fathers wrote a constitution which they hoped would guide our nation forever. It is not our constitution which failed us, nor our founding fathers. It is we as a people who allowed to remain in office those who violated the spirit of the constitution while upholding the letter. It is our solemn duty to write a new constitution which embodies the continued wisdom of our forefathers, but where the spirit and the letter have both been buttressed into a fortress which will protect our nation until the end of days.”
- Acting President Leroy Abbard, as he then was, addressing the opening of the New England constitutional convention, 19 July 1933. Abbard would be elected unopposed as the first Governor-General of the Commonwealth of New England on 4 June of the following year.
* * *
4 March 1933
Columbia City, Federal District
United States of America
How many men and women crowded the ground between the Capitol and the Washington Monument? Half a million? Three-quarters of a million? The President-elect could not tell, and right now it hardly mattered. Celebrations were already underway from Philadelphia to Quito. A new era dawned. The election had been close, but he had never doubted the result.
He placed one hand on the Bible, and placed the other over his heart. He allowed the Chief Justice to speak the words first, and then he repeated them. “I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.” He paused for a moment, then added, “So help me God.”
The cheers went on for a long, long time. He waited in silence until they subsided, and then stepped up to the podium. He knew he should have a long speech ready, but most of the crowd would not hear it, so why bother? He knew what he wanted to say. He knew what needed to be said. Anything further would have been vanity or insanity.
“Let’s get this country working,” said President Alvar O’Brien.
* * *
[1] Terry Rundle, the New England Secretary for Public Relations (i.e. propaganda).
[2] New England’s presidents are inaugurated on the last Tuesday in January in the year following their election; Mullins was re-inaugurated as president on 31 January 1933. This was a result of the Third Amendment to the New England constitution. Prior to that, New England’s presidents were inaugurated on 4 March, a date which is still maintained in the United States.
*
Thoughts?
Jared
P.S. Well, folks, it’s been a long, long time, but the main part of Decades of Darkness is now over. The history of the timeline has reached where I was always planning on stopping it. History goes on, of course, and so any ending is always going to feel incomplete in some respects, but I hope that at least this ending gave a certain sense of closure.
So, is this the end of DoD? Not quite. After allowing a few days for comments, I’ll be taking a sabbatical from here for a month or so. I need a break. When I get back, well, as I’ve mentioned on some previous occasions, there is some scope for epilogue posts, in a series which I’m planning on calling “Tales of the Decades of Darkness.” This is mostly open to any other contributors who think that they might have tales they want to tell. If you’ve got some ideas along those lines, drop me a line and we can discuss things. For obvious reasons, I need to reserve the final right to approve or decline any proposals for posts.
In the long run, I’m going to do some revision of the main timeline of Decades of Darkness and publish a new version. I’m also working on a novel set in the same universe, and I’ve also started work on a new timeline called Lands of Red and Gold. Those will be completed, well, when they’re finished.
Hope everyone enjoyed this timeline. Writing it has been fun.
Again Bravo. A powerful close. One thing to ask:
While I can accept a coup to "renew the constitution" given the structures of Vitalism and New England, I find Donovan and particularly Abelard, far too neat. Was the latter's moral authority so high he could be considered a provisional president by fiat? And of course Donovan going into voluntary exile seems to be exceptional for coup leaders. Also Mullins must have been slipping to fall to this coup, really. But Ingersoll's participation makes it somewhat plausible.
But, an excellent close, and closing with the cotton picker is an especially nice touch. Opening with "Wiremu Panapa" is perhaps an even better touch, though how Australia even pulled that off, I cannot guess.
Finally the fact you managed to end the TL on inauguration day has to be auspicious.
While I can accept a coup to "renew the constitution" given the structures of Vitalism and New England, I find Donovan and particularly Abelard, far too neat. Was the latter's moral authority so high he could be considered a provisional president by fiat? And of course Donovan going into voluntary exile seems to be exceptional for coup leaders. Also Mullins must have been slipping to fall to this coup, really. But Ingersoll's participation makes it somewhat plausible.
But, an excellent close, and closing with the cotton picker is an especially nice touch. Opening with "Wiremu Panapa" is perhaps an even better touch, though how Australia even pulled that off, I cannot guess.
Finally the fact you managed to end the TL on inauguration day has to be auspicious.
Max Sinister
Banned
Wow. It's finished now. Hard to believe it, after all these years. Truly great work.
And it's a great finish, too. Here my two cents:
So O'Brien is elected now. Well, the US just had the choice between two differently colored warhawks, as things look like. (Do the Democrats and Unionists use colors?)
Shane Mullins toppled and shot? Good. A political prisoner and former Socialist made Acting President? That's a surprise. Well, he may be the only man with political experience who's not entangled in the Vitalists' crimes, but still. Will New England become Socialist now? Will Newfoundland become independent again? And what about Canada? I hope we'll learn it from the Tales.
And the *American slave economy is threatened now? Yes, the future will be interesting in the Chinese sense.
I will complete the entry for the DoD chapters in the wiki now that it's finished.
And until you come back from the sabbatical you well deserve, I can think up some questions I want to ask about the TL. But not now.
If I have an idea for a Tale, I'll tell you.
And it's a great finish, too. Here my two cents:
So O'Brien is elected now. Well, the US just had the choice between two differently colored warhawks, as things look like. (Do the Democrats and Unionists use colors?)
Shane Mullins toppled and shot? Good. A political prisoner and former Socialist made Acting President? That's a surprise. Well, he may be the only man with political experience who's not entangled in the Vitalists' crimes, but still. Will New England become Socialist now? Will Newfoundland become independent again? And what about Canada? I hope we'll learn it from the Tales.
And the *American slave economy is threatened now? Yes, the future will be interesting in the Chinese sense.
I will complete the entry for the DoD chapters in the wiki now that it's finished.
And until you come back from the sabbatical you well deserve, I can think up some questions I want to ask about the TL. But not now.
If I have an idea for a Tale, I'll tell you.
Congrats on the end of a great timeline. I've gotta get working on one of the tales!
