Peshawar Lancers Redux: North America
- Thread starter Strategos' Risk
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Who are Burke's allies, if you don't mind me asking, and how are things in Gran Colombia and Jamaica?
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Edward Burke’s schedule that particular morning was rather undemanding, merely requiring his presence at the unveiling of a monument to his predecessor, Samuel Tilden, in the park across the avenue from the Capitol. Burke considered it a meaningless event, not having been particularly fond of Tilden when he was alive, but after the bruising political fight of the previous months, there was no harm in praising the late President. There would be a crowd, and perhaps he could gain some favorable press with the eulogy he had prepared. He still had ambitions of running for re-election.
He would travel down in an open carriage, together with Majority Leader Halvorson. The two men had stepped out of the President’s House and were about to climb up into the vehicle when a man dressed in the brown and black uniform of the National Police rode at full speed up to the carriage as it waited under the porte cochere.
“Mr President!, Mr. President! Stop!”
The bewildered Burke froze, while his security detail gathered around him. The out-of-breath NP man notified him that within that very hour, they had become aware of a plotted attempt on his life. According to a trusted informer, it was to take place that very morning while the President was on the way to the planned ceremony. As he spoke, more than 20 other police arrived. A plan to flush out the assassin or assassins was quickly hatched. The President and the Majority Leader would remain within the safety of the President’s House while several NP men would use Burke’s carriage to “flush out the snakes” as one of the police colorfully put it, One man , who happened to somewhat resemble Burke, donned the President’s coat and top hat and took his place in the carriage, while a second man concealed himself on the floor of the vehicle. The two coachmen were also replaced with armed men. Burke and the Majority Leader were escorted back into the President’s House and the coach moved out along the road to the Capital.
One half mile away, Laforge was growing a little apprehensive. The President was due, he knew, at Capital Park at ten o’clock precisely. The clock tower nearby had just chimed the half-hour. He hazarded a glance up the street. All seemed normal. His accomplice, a man he only knew as “Ben” remained at his position just up the street, disguised a common rag picker, with a pushcart partly filled with junk.. His job was to serve as lookout, and to toss a small incendiary device that would generate a loud noise and a great deal of smoke at the lead horse on the President’s carriage . The horse would panic and rear up. While the driver struggled to regain control, he would make his move. A risky plan, built around the lax security he had observed over the past several days, and besides, Laforge had supreme confidence in his own abilities. The risk was well worth the kingly sum they had promised him for a successful job.
The “rag picker” mopped his face with a red bandana – the sign that the president was in sight. The bomb he carried concealed in his coat held more than a pound of explosive. Laforge hefted it and readied himself and his weapon.. “ A quick dash out, a fast toss of the lighted bomb into the carriage and away, back down the alley” he thought. “Nothing complicated, just toss and run like the wind down that alley. At the far end, an unlocked door led to a cellar. At the far end of the cellar, another door on to the next street. If anyone, man or woman tried to stop him, his revolver would come into use.
Now he could see the fancy carriage coming into sight. As usual, the military guard with the President had preceded him, moving at a canter and not really watching like they should have.
He tensed himself.. “Ben” slipped his hand into the junk in the pushcart, took the lighted cigar he had in his face and touched it to the dark object in his other hand, and tossed it towards the horses…………….BANG!..........the horses reared. Laforge sprang forward, the lighted bomb in his hand. At that moment, the passengers in the carriage stood and blazed away at him with rifles….. Everything was going horribly wrong.
Some part of his mind deduced that somehow his attack had been expected. Laforge instantly forgot all but escape. He ran back towards the comforting shadow of the alley, dropping the bomb just outside its entrance where it exploded two seconds later. The detonation deafened him and slammed him against the alley wall. . He ran, gasping, towards the door, fighting panic as it briefly resisted opening. He ran through the cellar, then up the next stairway and out into the street. His left hand ached horribly. Curious, he looked at it. A rifle slug had smashed it. Two fingers dangled by shreds. For the first time in his young life, he was deadly afraid.
He would travel down in an open carriage, together with Majority Leader Halvorson. The two men had stepped out of the President’s House and were about to climb up into the vehicle when a man dressed in the brown and black uniform of the National Police rode at full speed up to the carriage as it waited under the porte cochere.
“Mr President!, Mr. President! Stop!”
The bewildered Burke froze, while his security detail gathered around him. The out-of-breath NP man notified him that within that very hour, they had become aware of a plotted attempt on his life. According to a trusted informer, it was to take place that very morning while the President was on the way to the planned ceremony. As he spoke, more than 20 other police arrived. A plan to flush out the assassin or assassins was quickly hatched. The President and the Majority Leader would remain within the safety of the President’s House while several NP men would use Burke’s carriage to “flush out the snakes” as one of the police colorfully put it, One man , who happened to somewhat resemble Burke, donned the President’s coat and top hat and took his place in the carriage, while a second man concealed himself on the floor of the vehicle. The two coachmen were also replaced with armed men. Burke and the Majority Leader were escorted back into the President’s House and the coach moved out along the road to the Capital.
One half mile away, Laforge was growing a little apprehensive. The President was due, he knew, at Capital Park at ten o’clock precisely. The clock tower nearby had just chimed the half-hour. He hazarded a glance up the street. All seemed normal. His accomplice, a man he only knew as “Ben” remained at his position just up the street, disguised a common rag picker, with a pushcart partly filled with junk.. His job was to serve as lookout, and to toss a small incendiary device that would generate a loud noise and a great deal of smoke at the lead horse on the President’s carriage . The horse would panic and rear up. While the driver struggled to regain control, he would make his move. A risky plan, built around the lax security he had observed over the past several days, and besides, Laforge had supreme confidence in his own abilities. The risk was well worth the kingly sum they had promised him for a successful job.
The “rag picker” mopped his face with a red bandana – the sign that the president was in sight. The bomb he carried concealed in his coat held more than a pound of explosive. Laforge hefted it and readied himself and his weapon.. “ A quick dash out, a fast toss of the lighted bomb into the carriage and away, back down the alley” he thought. “Nothing complicated, just toss and run like the wind down that alley. At the far end, an unlocked door led to a cellar. At the far end of the cellar, another door on to the next street. If anyone, man or woman tried to stop him, his revolver would come into use.
Now he could see the fancy carriage coming into sight. As usual, the military guard with the President had preceded him, moving at a canter and not really watching like they should have.
He tensed himself.. “Ben” slipped his hand into the junk in the pushcart, took the lighted cigar he had in his face and touched it to the dark object in his other hand, and tossed it towards the horses…………….BANG!..........the horses reared. Laforge sprang forward, the lighted bomb in his hand. At that moment, the passengers in the carriage stood and blazed away at him with rifles….. Everything was going horribly wrong.
Some part of his mind deduced that somehow his attack had been expected. Laforge instantly forgot all but escape. He ran back towards the comforting shadow of the alley, dropping the bomb just outside its entrance where it exploded two seconds later. The detonation deafened him and slammed him against the alley wall. . He ran, gasping, towards the door, fighting panic as it briefly resisted opening. He ran through the cellar, then up the next stairway and out into the street. His left hand ached horribly. Curious, he looked at it. A rifle slug had smashed it. Two fingers dangled by shreds. For the first time in his young life, he was deadly afraid.
Should have seen that coming.
Anyways, the coaxing is done. Things are about to get interesting.
Also, if Laforge stumbles upon Hampton and his subordinates, that will be an interesting plot twist.
Anyways, love the intrigue here. Excellent story so far. The suspense is killing me.
Anyways, the coaxing is done. Things are about to get interesting.
Also, if Laforge stumbles upon Hampton and his subordinates, that will be an interesting plot twist.
Anyways, love the intrigue here. Excellent story so far. The suspense is killing me.
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Let's hope they find him. This would be the end of Diaz's machinations in the US (not to mention Burke's political career and freedom).
Burke has support from the Army, or at least the northern parts of it, the bureaucracy (food, transport, labor) and the Democrat party apparatus. Wealthy businessmen like Conkling and Carnegie and of course Mexico
Jamaica is currently attempting to maintain contact with England, rescuing some of its remnant population
Gran Columbia is still consolidating itself. I imagine that in the future Brazil will be its main rival. With the right leadership. potentially a serious rival
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How about Argentina, Chile and Peru?
And is chris N's Hawaii timeline set in the same universe as yours, or is it completely unrelated to this?
And is chris N's Hawaii timeline set in the same universe as yours, or is it completely unrelated to this?
News of the attempted assassination spead like wildfire. Speaker Tilman, already present at Capital Park, knew of the basic outlines of the incident not thirty minutes after the event. By then, the streets were swarming with police, soldiers, and NP men. Tilman and the other assembled officials were quickly hustled away from the park and back into the Capital building. The Speaker went to his chambers, there to be joined by his closest colleagues. Intuitively, the Speaker had misgivings. Nothing good could come of situations that resulted in armed men patrolling the streets and conducting house-to-house searches. He did not trust either the Army soldiers or the NP men. Both were, he believed, loyal first to the President and the Administration and then to the Constitutional authorities. Moreover, he was more than a little suspicious that the incident had been staged to gather sympathy for President Burke and to provide an excuse for violent actions against the Speaker and the National Party.
Across town, Ambassador Flores had been granted access to the President’s House. Burke was, as he had expected thoroughly unnerved. Flores was able to reassure him of his friendship and support. He spoke sternly to the frightened Burke. “Mr. President, it pains me to see what your enemies have tried to do, so soon after their failure to remove you from office. As you remember, I was afraid that the National Party would resort to violence, and now they have done so. You have to take action now to end this threat. You must declare a state of emergency and use the extraordinary powers given to President Grant in 1879” After a while, Burke began to nod agreement.
In his hurried escape Laforge had paused to steal some shirts hung out on an unwatched clothesline. One he had put on, replacing the bloody one he had been wearing and one he had cut into makeshift bandages with his knife and tightened them around his wounded hand. With his background in the gangs, he was no stranger to self-treating wounds. He also knew that he had only bought himself a little time. Doctoring was needed. But any real physician might well turn him away, or worse, notify the police. There were other options however, and relying on his experiences in New Orleans, he furtively made his way to the shantytown that existed near the riverboat docks. There, amid the gambling halls, grog shops and whorehouses he looked for a particular kind of shop and after some diligent searching found a shack with a painted sign depicting a hand clenching a snake, the common symbol of a “root doctor.” The proprietor, an elderly black man, was willing to treat the wounded hand for a few dollars and did a creditable job, removing the useless fingers with a razor and washing the sewn-up stumps with whiskey before bandaging them. Laforge paid the man more than he had asked for, and slipped away, seeking a place to hide until nightfall.
By three in the afternoon the various branches of the police, including the NP were searching the city high and low, and rumors of soldiers manning check-points at various points in the city were racing around town. By nightfall, dozens had been taken into custody. The arrests continued during the night and on into the next day..
Ambassador Flores was delighted at the progress that had been made, Already there were reports of sporadic violence, as individuals or groups of individuals resisted arrest. Common criminals had taken advantage of the situation to begin looting. Soon he hoped, the Yankees would be at each others throats, further weakening their country. Only the absence of Jean Laforge concerned him. Blood had been found in the alley near the spot where the action had taken place. Laforge’s accomplice was safely dead, cut down at the scene, but the assassin himself was nowhere to be found. When they found him, his agents within the NP and the local police knew what to do. Los muertos no hablan.
Across town, Ambassador Flores had been granted access to the President’s House. Burke was, as he had expected thoroughly unnerved. Flores was able to reassure him of his friendship and support. He spoke sternly to the frightened Burke. “Mr. President, it pains me to see what your enemies have tried to do, so soon after their failure to remove you from office. As you remember, I was afraid that the National Party would resort to violence, and now they have done so. You have to take action now to end this threat. You must declare a state of emergency and use the extraordinary powers given to President Grant in 1879” After a while, Burke began to nod agreement.
In his hurried escape Laforge had paused to steal some shirts hung out on an unwatched clothesline. One he had put on, replacing the bloody one he had been wearing and one he had cut into makeshift bandages with his knife and tightened them around his wounded hand. With his background in the gangs, he was no stranger to self-treating wounds. He also knew that he had only bought himself a little time. Doctoring was needed. But any real physician might well turn him away, or worse, notify the police. There were other options however, and relying on his experiences in New Orleans, he furtively made his way to the shantytown that existed near the riverboat docks. There, amid the gambling halls, grog shops and whorehouses he looked for a particular kind of shop and after some diligent searching found a shack with a painted sign depicting a hand clenching a snake, the common symbol of a “root doctor.” The proprietor, an elderly black man, was willing to treat the wounded hand for a few dollars and did a creditable job, removing the useless fingers with a razor and washing the sewn-up stumps with whiskey before bandaging them. Laforge paid the man more than he had asked for, and slipped away, seeking a place to hide until nightfall.
By three in the afternoon the various branches of the police, including the NP were searching the city high and low, and rumors of soldiers manning check-points at various points in the city were racing around town. By nightfall, dozens had been taken into custody. The arrests continued during the night and on into the next day..
Ambassador Flores was delighted at the progress that had been made, Already there were reports of sporadic violence, as individuals or groups of individuals resisted arrest. Common criminals had taken advantage of the situation to begin looting. Soon he hoped, the Yankees would be at each others throats, further weakening their country. Only the absence of Jean Laforge concerned him. Blood had been found in the alley near the spot where the action had taken place. Laforge’s accomplice was safely dead, cut down at the scene, but the assassin himself was nowhere to be found. When they found him, his agents within the NP and the local police knew what to do. Los muertos no hablan.
I get the feeling this may devolve into a situation like the Mexican Revolution.
Definitely dodgy, definitely the end of the old regime, I think.
Keep it rolling.
Definitely dodgy, definitely the end of the old regime, I think.
Keep it rolling.
Good stuff Claudius. So will we be getting a glimpse of Pershing's/TR's thoughts again any time soon?
Laforge had spent the night in a smelly flophouse that catered to tramps and bums. Even by his standards, a nasty place, crawling with vermin and stinking from the alley outside, which was used as an outhouse by the residents. He slept not at all. His hand hurt horribly and he felt feverish, besides many of the other “lodgers” would likely cut his throat for his shoes if they saw the chance. Mostly he spent the night hours reviewing what had gone wrong, and what his options were.
He was originally supposed to make his way to a safe house on the eastern part of town, where he was to be paid and given passage on a boat heading back downriver. But he had failed. The people at the Embassy were not the kind of men who tolerated mistakes. Back home in New Orleans he knew of several lads who had failed in a “wet work” assignment and paid with their own lives because of it. Then he began to wonder why the job had gone wrong. Certainly everything had gone perfectly up to the last moment. Someone had betrayed the operation, that was for sure. By the way the armed men in the carriage had reacted, they had even known the approximate location of the attack., and yet they had waited until the last second to take action.
His feral survival instincts led Laforge to a terrifying conclusion: the Embassy had wanted the operation to fail, for whatever reason, and .therefore wanted him out of the way too. No, any return to the Embassy, or to the safe house was out of the question. Only death waited there. He must rely on himself if he was going to live.
He was originally supposed to make his way to a safe house on the eastern part of town, where he was to be paid and given passage on a boat heading back downriver. But he had failed. The people at the Embassy were not the kind of men who tolerated mistakes. Back home in New Orleans he knew of several lads who had failed in a “wet work” assignment and paid with their own lives because of it. Then he began to wonder why the job had gone wrong. Certainly everything had gone perfectly up to the last moment. Someone had betrayed the operation, that was for sure. By the way the armed men in the carriage had reacted, they had even known the approximate location of the attack., and yet they had waited until the last second to take action.
His feral survival instincts led Laforge to a terrifying conclusion: the Embassy had wanted the operation to fail, for whatever reason, and .therefore wanted him out of the way too. No, any return to the Embassy, or to the safe house was out of the question. Only death waited there. He must rely on himself if he was going to live.
Three days after the attempted assassination, Memphis remained in an uproar. Hundreds had been arrested on vague charges and violent encounters between supporters of the President and members of the National Party were becoming more and more frequent. A botched attempted kidnapping of Speaker of the House Tilman as he traveled from his office to his home exacerbated the already dangerous level of political tensions. (Tilman had thereafter gone into hiding, after issuing a rousing revolutionary statement denouncing the Democrats in general and their leader. Edward Burke in particular and calling for “true Americans to rise up against tyranny.”
The President’s House was surrounded by federal troops and brown-shirted National Police, although no one had actually seen the President since the attack. A sketched portrait of the assassin had been printed up as a handbill and posted all over the city.. The handbill stated that the man was armed and dangerous and possibly wounded. A five hundred dollar reward was promised to anyone who gave information leading to his arrest.
Jean Laforge could neither read nor write, but there was nothing wrong with his eyes and ears. In his constant moving about he saw the posted handbills with a passable likeness of his face, and the reward. Since no one could have known his face aside from those men who had hired him and brought him up to Memphis, he knew with absolute certainty that it was they that had betrayed him and wanted his death.
He had altered his appearance somewhat, but nothing that he had done would likely fool a “copper” for very long. He had reconnoitered the docks and found them thick with police. Had he not been wounded, he might have risked stealing a rowboat at night and heading downriver that way. But his hand was in bad shape and his fever was gradually growing worse. He still had some money left from what he had been given by the Embassy. He had no friends in this town that might hide him, so all that was likely to save his life was to get away from the city. That night a violent storm, with sheets of rain and fierce lightning and thunder provided his opportunity. At the peak of the storm he worked his way southward until the houses thinned out, following the tracks of a railway.
As he walked he discovered that his wounded hand and the fever had weakened him far more than he reckoned for. After five hours of walking, he knew that he could not go much further. He was shaking with cold and staggering with weariness. In the distance he spotted a dim light. The lightning illuminated a farm house and a few out buildings. “Not much of a gamble,” he thought “ I’ll die out here if I wait much longer. Maybe I can steal some food or even a horse.
By now it was midnight or later. The farmer would be asleep. If he could get into that barn he could rest a bit, take what he needed and be on his way. A side door to the barn was unsecured. Inside, it was warm and dry and smelled of animals. “I’ll just rest for a few minutes and then look for some food.” He said to himself and lay on a pile of hay. He awoke some hours later as the cold barrel of a shotgun prodded his ribs.
The President’s House was surrounded by federal troops and brown-shirted National Police, although no one had actually seen the President since the attack. A sketched portrait of the assassin had been printed up as a handbill and posted all over the city.. The handbill stated that the man was armed and dangerous and possibly wounded. A five hundred dollar reward was promised to anyone who gave information leading to his arrest.
Jean Laforge could neither read nor write, but there was nothing wrong with his eyes and ears. In his constant moving about he saw the posted handbills with a passable likeness of his face, and the reward. Since no one could have known his face aside from those men who had hired him and brought him up to Memphis, he knew with absolute certainty that it was they that had betrayed him and wanted his death.
He had altered his appearance somewhat, but nothing that he had done would likely fool a “copper” for very long. He had reconnoitered the docks and found them thick with police. Had he not been wounded, he might have risked stealing a rowboat at night and heading downriver that way. But his hand was in bad shape and his fever was gradually growing worse. He still had some money left from what he had been given by the Embassy. He had no friends in this town that might hide him, so all that was likely to save his life was to get away from the city. That night a violent storm, with sheets of rain and fierce lightning and thunder provided his opportunity. At the peak of the storm he worked his way southward until the houses thinned out, following the tracks of a railway.
As he walked he discovered that his wounded hand and the fever had weakened him far more than he reckoned for. After five hours of walking, he knew that he could not go much further. He was shaking with cold and staggering with weariness. In the distance he spotted a dim light. The lightning illuminated a farm house and a few out buildings. “Not much of a gamble,” he thought “ I’ll die out here if I wait much longer. Maybe I can steal some food or even a horse.
By now it was midnight or later. The farmer would be asleep. If he could get into that barn he could rest a bit, take what he needed and be on his way. A side door to the barn was unsecured. Inside, it was warm and dry and smelled of animals. “I’ll just rest for a few minutes and then look for some food.” He said to himself and lay on a pile of hay. He awoke some hours later as the cold barrel of a shotgun prodded his ribs.
