Fallout The Eagle And The Bear [Fallout AU]
- Thread starter Navarro
- Start date
f1onagher
Well-known member
*goes back and checks dates*
Well I'm retarded. I forgot the US had an abstentia government for the unintegrated states. I stand by my judgment of its inferiority.
…what do the "provisional" governments of absentee states do all day anyway?
Navarro
Well-known member
I mean, IRL South Korea has provisional govenment offices for "the five northern provinces".
In practical terms it's for propaganda purposes and for giving political screw-ups/useless members of important families somewhere they can feel nice and important but never run the risk of interfering with what actually going on in DC.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Navarro
Well-known member
Thing took damn long enough. Ugh. Will edit in more later relating to the meeting of the British, German and American commanders.
==*==
Chapter Twenty-Five
14:30 EST, February 8 2332
Montgomery, Alabama
Charles Bradshaw swore under his breath as he looked at the message. The US Aviation aircraft factory he managed (of three; located at Halifax, NVS; Stamford, CT; and Montgomery, AL) was now under instruction from company HQ to begin making A-76 Corsair II attack planes for the USN and USMC, instead of its previous intention of Dragon II stealth bombers. This would take weeks of reorganising the logistics, making alterations to the assembly lines … but still, it was possible. Montgomery was a short distance from Birmingham, the self-anointed “Pittsburgh of the South”, and the planes dropping in rare earths straight from Greenland (courtesy of Walker Mining Inc., which was pioneering a new means of mining through the glaciers to get at the vast mineral wealth concealed under the ice) couldn’t hurt. But still
He remembered the A-77 situation. Nine years ago, the company had received a contract from the USAF for a new designated naval attack craft. Being experts at flying-wing design, they’d rapidly created a design shaped like an equilateral triangle (cockpit near the top), capable of radar stealth and carrying various precision-guided missiles and bombs on its hardpoints and in its internal weapon bays. A prototype had even been made in early 2324 – onlookers had nicknamed it the “Flying Pizza Slice”. Everything had been going up in the world for the design. And then in mid-2324 the Air Force had abruptly handed US Aviation a new contract for what would turn out to be the B-120 and in September cancelled its contract for the A-76, too focussed on the shiny new toy they were having their supplier make for them and seeing new strategic bombers to replace the ageing and flawed Dragon as a more urgent necessity. The Air Force also didn’t want to focus overmuch on one supplier for its planes; and having Daedalus make new vertibirds would be sufficient – US Aviation also produced cargo planes for the USAF and Army after all.
The company had weathered the loss, but the A-76 had remained a might-have-been for seven years. Until now, with control over naval aviation assets (and the units that made up those assets) now transferred to the Navy and USMC, who being both eager to find new specialised naval attack craft after the loss of so many pilots at the Cuban strait and not willing to go through the whole development process again, had ordered hundreds of A-76 planes. Bradshaw felt, in an odd kind of way, that it represented a form of justice. The company was reaping the rewards of both projects - the order for Dragon IIs had just been increased to 180 - and the USAF's loss now represented their gain.
==*==
11:45 CST, February 9 2332
Fort Zachary Taylor; Near Corpus Christi, TX
Staff Sergeant George M. Walker sang out the cadence along with his squad (and the rest of his company) as he ran along the PT track to its beat.
“I think I want to go to the Army;
I think I want to go 'cross the sea;
I want to beat Kimball;
I want to beat him at football,”
The sun was hot, but he’d done this before and he’d gladly do it again. Even with power armour, physical fitness had a good value for the Army, and of course it helped bind them all together.
“He don’t believe that water’s wet;
If he did he wouldn’t give us threats;
Washington can’t do it by himself;
C’mon, fellas, let’s give him a little help,”
Sweat soaked his back and ran down his standard-issue white cotton exercise shirt as he ran; he’d been decent at calisthenics in high school, but he’d never been this good.
“All Americans gotta understand;
We gotta unite and restore our land;
We gotta keep on alert;
To keep our families from gettin’ hurt.”
The others were doing well, he hoped; he idly glanced behind him. There were hundreds of men behind him; he was near the head of the line of running soldiers.
Since the Californian invasion had been pushed back the unit had returned to Texas. There was a sense of anticipation in the air, but for what nobody yet knew. The Ranger patrol vehicles and recon 'birds went out to gather intel and skirmish with enemy patrols, but there had been no major moves.
The bugle-call went out, giving the signal to assemble; the soldiers who'd been exercising went and separated; battalion by battalion, company by company. Walker took the regimental standard, which he was given by an attendant. He looked down again at his cybernetic hand, then at the Silver Star and the Purple Heart that decorated his chest. They'd been awarded what was now officially being designated the Battle of I-44, been promoted to Staff Sergeant (which meant little more than a raise and a designation that he may be assigned as Platoon Leader), and finally been given the ceremonial role of carrying the 115th Infantry Regiment's eagle standard. It was some consolation at least.
The colour was an oak standard painted white and lacquered, topped with a decoration of an eagle made in gold, every individual feather of its outstretched wings moulded and polished. The gold-fringed flag below it was a saltire of blue and white on a field of quartered black and yellow, defaced by a silver eagle. Below it fanned out campaign streamers, scarlet silk ribbons with battle honours embroidered in gold thread. Though he couldn't read them all right now, when he'd been given his assignment Walker had been shown all of them and told about their significance. Long Island, Front Royal, Alsace, Meuse-Argonne, Normandy, Rhineland, Hoang Mai, Fujian, Pittsburgh, Boston, Montreal, Quebec City, Dallas, and newest of all Missouri.
He held it tightly with his cybernetic hand – he'd get ten lashes if he let it dip down, and he didn't want to think of what may happen if he dared drop it. General Constantine Autumn (1-star), recently promoted, stood as commander of the base and made his statement.
“All troops!” he shouted in the Tidewater drawl he shared with his brother and his niece. “You are dis-missed!”. The bugler standing next to him then played the mess-call.
The assembled men split up and made their way there, in their designated squad-level positions. Walker took a deep breath and started to speak. It was always more informal in the mess.
“So, anything come up?” he idly asked
“Not sure about the new changes,” Ray said idly. “The re-org's practically doubling the regiment size and … they're filling it up with rookies. New kids.”
“We were rookies too,” Rita noted. “To some we still are – we've only been in the Service for a couple months.”
“Yeah, and we're taking them on still in the field,” Tyler commented. “I'm not sure they'll take their baptism of fire that well if they're just out of boot.”
“It'll be easy business in our zone,” Rita commented, taking a moment to brush away a stray strand of her night-black hair. “All the rumours that fly around say the rebels are going to try and hit Dallas as their main counter-attack. And if even the chair-force fly-boys think it, we know it has to be true.”
“I'd like it to be true,” Walker noted. “But that doesn't mean it is.”
“I kept your ass from bleeding out in Missouri, Sarge,” Rita said. “So you should take note of my judgement. The biggest thing we have to watch out for is the Iturbide pendejos across the river, and they'd be fool to try and invade. Or even to keep squatting in what's now our territory.”
“You think they'll just up and leave?” Tyler said. “That's crazy thinking. We're probably getting in called to evict them. Glorified landlord agents.”
==*==
15:00 EST, February 12 2332
Senate Chamber, US Capitol
Vice President Richardson once more took his position as President of the Senate, sitting in the same familiar seat as he had previously. The bill he was to defend this time was something different; but still related to the troublesome Mexican situation. The Organisation of North Mexico Act would essentially treat rebel-held territory in Mexico as part of the insurrectionist government in California for all post-war purposes, including the Chihuahua Republic which functioned as part of the Californian rebellion in all but name. This time there would be no working it in as an essential part of government functions. He took a deep breath and allowed his opposite number, Senate Minority Leader Tony Mattison, to make his objections known.
This is the pain of working in a representative system, Richardson guessed. But we're the legitimate government. If we didn't do this we'd be no better than the Brotherhood techno-barbs.
“I would like to make it known,” Mattison stated. “That I oppose this law, which functions as a unilateral declaration of annexation of the North Mexican region into the United States by sheer military force. Right now, we're the largest nation that has ever been. We hold not only the North American continent north of the borders established in 1849, but we have the islands of the North Atlantic and the Arctic, the Caribbean, and all of Canada, which was annexed in 2075. And to all above, we are in possession of the unorganised Territories of Luna and Mars and their own wealths of resources. Why do we need this small strip of land, North Mexico?”
“Additionally, the Act ties in directly to rebel propaganda that we merely seek rapacious conquest. I was against the annexation of the Republic of the Rio Grande, but at least in that case their government made a request of it in exchange for military aid. Once we've started declaring that any populated region is ours by simply signing an Act of Congress, where do we stop? Do we become a mere empire of force like all the others in mankind's history, and not the empire of liberty we were founded to become?”
“This rings especially true given that the regions in question are to be put under military governance for the next ten years at minimum. I'm aware that military government was necessary to quell anarchy in the beginning of the reclamation, but to enforce it on an already civilised area is different.”
Richardson winced; the man had his points. Some of the Federalist Senators might vote against the new law. But he was not prepared to let this die without a fight. He'd keep the Federalists from cracking and try to peel off some of the ALP members – they had a populist tinge which he disliked, but they came from largely the same circles as the officials of the Federalist-Republican Party. A lot of things were shared.
He waited for Mattison to finish and rose to speak.
“The Senate Minority Leader, that is the Honourable Tony Mattison,” he said. “Has raised some points that deserve due consideration. But many more points that do not. First of all, it isn't a unilateral statement, but is in direct response to the rebel government in California's complete incorporation of Baja California and Sonora, and partial incorporation of Chihuahua, into the territory under their control. These regions, to the rebel government, are considered part of its territory, the same as any other. We have faced enemy soldiers from these areas fighting for the rebel cause, the same as those from further to the north.”
“Secondly, we have already crossed the 'red line' that he's brought up, the relatively peaceful incorporation of Greenland, Iceland and the Faroes into the USA along with the islands of the Caribbean. The rebels haven't made significant use of this in their propaganda against us, so why would they now?”
“Thirdly, Mars is completely unpopulated and Luna only populated seasonally, by about a thousand to two thousand individuals who work in the Helium-3 mining stations. That he considers them as territories we hold in any real sense other than holding a flag on them is absurd. Yes, this will probably change in the post-war; but that isn't right now. His bringing up of them is little more than an irrelevance.”
“Fourthly, as a result of the fact that the regions discussed in the Act are incorporated already into the rebel government, we will have to fight them there, occupy it and rebuild it. These lands would not be untouched if not for the Act, they'd be devastated by the ongoing war. And once the war is finished and the rebels subdued, are we to let these ravaged areas be? Without an ongoing US military presence to provide order and reconstruction, they'll be breeding grounds for plantations of toxic chems; human-smuggling; raids on us, as historically was the case until the early 20th century, including guerilla actions by the remnants of the rebel army. The Third Mexican Empire is both sympathetic to the rebels and unable to police the territory – as indeed the pre-War Mexican state never was even in its last phase as an American client. Annexation and temporary military rule – as indeed was common practice when our armies were busy reclaiming the wastelands of the east coast – is a necessity for their transition into a group of US States.”
“Geographically, northern Mexico has always been more of an extension of the US Southwest than it was ever part of Mexico. We're just correcting the mistake made in 1849.”
The Senate Majority leader made a final speech , supporting Richardson's statements, and the vote was held – the Act went through with a narrow filibuster-proof majority. Richardson made a mental note to have drinks with the heads of both parties in the Senate this evening, to placate a political rival and reward an ally of himself and the President. This nerve-wracking situation dealt with, it was now time to relax.
==*==
14:00 GMT, 14 February 2332
London, United Kingdom
The city of grey stone stood under grey skies. The temperature was too warm for snow, so the elements had compromised on ice-cold rain and fog. Big Ben, the Tower and the dome of St. Paul’s loomed like islands in a storm-tossed sea. From the window of Nr. 10 Downing Street, Prime Minister Ryan Burgess could barely see the Whitehall offices right across the street.
On the other side of his office from the window he could see the stalwarts of a long-gone era; Pitt, Disraeli, Lloyd-George, greatest of all Churchill. The world had changed since the time of those heroes. Great Britain had been on her last legs when the Americans had arrived, in the final stages of post-nuclear decline. French armies had been moving in from Kent, and His Majesty's Government had regularly ridden in armoured trucks from Windsor Castle to the fortified compound at Westminster, driving through a city only barely under their authority.
Now they had a new lease on life; but seemingly only as a junior partner to the Americans. The RBA even had their own 'Bulldog' power-armour – a cruder version of American T-67, bulky and toxic fission plant mounted in a backpack for the additional shielding that it needed, pauldrons larger and shaped differently to try and provide better protection with less advanced materials. The gyro-rifle project at least looked interesting as a way to kill the powered soldiers they'd be facing on the American continent relatively cheaply …
Burgess sighed. The Americans had asked for no compensation after the war with France in '16. Not only had they landed a force of power-armoured Marines in Normandy on the very same beaches that had been taken by them four hundred years ago, their bombing raids had critically disrupted enemy communications. The Germans had crossed the Rhine under heavy fire at Coblenz, Mainz, and Düsseldorf, then swung round in a great scything motion to smash into the whole French north-east, while British troops made a bee-line for Paris from Calais and Dunkirk.
The whole time, American air-power had been smashing French radio towers and rail lines across the whole country. 500,000 men had been mustered in the south, but by the time they'd been gathered the war was already over. Next to the slagged remains of the Eiffel Tower, taken out by a single plasma bomb, the French had unconditionally surrendered to the allied forces.
Later on – in 2320 – the Americans had sent major help in repairing and modernising British infrastructure, in exchange for the accession of Gibraltar and the Falklands. It had been humiliating to sign that deal, Burgess remembered bitterly, practically just after being appointed by His Royal Highness King Edward IX. But the United Kingdom hadn't held those regions in many years, and even the Americans had not bothered to try and take possession of what was now legally theirs.
They were most likely preparing for their own war; the one that was now unfolding across the ocean. Like it or not, Britain's fate was still tied to America's at this juncture. If she fell, her economy would collapse and – for all Burgess knew – vengeful, blood-mad Californians may cross the sea to attack the allies of their great enemy. That, and the Windsor Treaty had been activated. When called, America had always come answering, and it was a poor thing to reward loyalty with betrayal.
==*==
18:00 EST, February 18th 2332
Ford’s Theatre, Washington DC
President Nate Washington stretched his legs in his seat within the VIP box of the theatre. It was not the same building as the infamous site of Lincoln’s assassination; but it was built to the same plan on the same spot. The government at the time had first built it as a glorified museum to the five assassinated Presidents, but it had gained no interest as such and so it had been sold to a private owner who had turned it into an actual theatre.
Mar-a-Lago had been a balmy, decent break from the business of governance and war. This diversion would be a decent cap-off to the vacation. He turned his head and smiled at Rhonda, giving the First Lady a peck on the cheek. There were no other people in the box other than two Secret Service soldiers in light combat gear, grim-faced with black plasma rifles held loosely in their hands. The show was about to begin.
“Before we start this production of Guys and Dolls,” the manager, a balding man whose lifestyle evidently had him eating more than was good for him, said from centre stage. “We would like to give our most humble well-regards to the honourable Nathan Washington, President of the United States, who has chosen to honour us with his presence, and to present this special entertainment for his and your amusement.”
Shoulda told me beforehand, Nate mused, and they shouldn’t treat me like some sorta king. They hadn’t treated him half so obsequiously when he was a Senator. Part of him wondered if seeking the Federalist nomination had been the right idea just for that alone; but then without his presence in the Campaign it would have been Governor Richardson of Maryland. The boy lacked the experience to properly lead in this time of crisis; he’d have been better than Travis but not by much. As a reward for going second place in the primary Nate had selected the man as running mate, so there was that. Alex Autumn had been the only other potential real contender in 2330, and he’d been still mourning his father’s death from cancer. For a moment he wondered who the old man would have selected – de facto via his enormous influence on both the Federalist Party bosses and the common voters – but then decided just to enjoy the show.
The main cast members came out, carrying prop laser rifles and clad in papier-mache T-72 suit replicas. Everybody clapped as they appeared – and then came on the antagonists for this little drama – extras dressed in stage versions of NCR uniforms. They sneered at and taunted the US people, then attacked with full dramatic vigour. There was a mock-fight, with copious amounts of dry ice so that it looked as if laser rifles were actually firing, and punches and kicks that actually looked at least semi-realistic. The NCR group lost easily, and joined up with the US group on stage, then began to sing:
“There’s a Yankee doodle spirit now in the hearts of everyone;
The same Yankee doodle spirit now that’s shouldering our guns;
For freedom and unity; our freedom and unity;
Rights that our fathers won!”
“For these we’ll fight with all our might!
and never shall we cease!
Until we win the victory!
and neverending peace!
So light up that old Yankee doodle spirit;
And forever let it-”
Nate’s phone beeped incessantly in his pocket – not his pip-boy, it’d be bad form to go to any event with that on his left forearm – and he took it out, flipping it open. White House Chief of Staff, he mused as he read the screen before pressing the reply button. Must be actually important.
“Yes?” he said, annoyed.
“There’s a situation in southern Texas that General Granite says needs urgent military attention.”
He got up without a single word and left the theatre. He quickly made his way to his Presidential sedan, a hovercar with the plasma thrusters that kept it aloft still idling. The vehicle rocked under the new weight of him and Rhonda, but that didn’t keep the Secret Service driver from navigating through the dark city streets, patches of melting snow on the grass.
The car drove into the White House garage and Nate made his way to the Situation Room. A holo-projector built into the table was overlaying a map of the continent right it, and next to him stood already Secretary McCain in brown-and-white pinstrip; General Dubois, the Army Chief of Staff in Federal dark blue colours,; General Massey, the Air Force Chief of Staff in his sky-blue uniform; and General Cushman, Commandant of the USMC, in the midnight-blue colours of his service branch.
“What’s this issue?” he asked.
“Mexican forces occupying the Rio Grande area have begun marching northwards into Texas since early morning today,” McCain explained. “I have reports they've made contact with recon units. They're already some 37 miles into-”
“Does General Granite have a plan of action?”
“Yes, sir. He’s already preparing for a rapid strike with overwhelming force. Curling's 55th Corps is positioned to immediately respond.”
“Then he is fully authorised to carry it out. I’m not a micromanager, Mr. Secretary – that’s why General Autumn has been given the authority to co-ordinate the Army’s operations as he pleases.”
He nodded, and then Cushman spoke up.
“We have the Fourth and Seventh Marine Divisions at Corpus Christi and Houston respectively, representing half of the Second Expeditionary Force. It would be child’s play for us to take Veracruz and march on Mexico City.”
“No,” Nate said. “It’s impossible. The US military can’t occupy and keep order in a nation of thirteen million people – most of whom hate us – while the NCR continues to be an actual threat on our horizon – and the Marines are preparing to carry out Operation Filibuster in a week. That sort of distraction is what they want us to go for. But the Seventh Marines will be deployed to occupy Veracruz. No need to strike a killing blow when all we need to do is hold a knife to their throat.”
“Additionally,” he continued. “I want SAC to launch conventional strikes against the Mexican railways they’ve constructed into the Rio Grande area as an additional measure to ensure they understand just what position they’re really in vis-a-vis us.”
“I'll contact the head of SAC,” General Massey commented. “Though this isn't really what we ought to be using the bomber fleet for in my opinion. If I could do it, I'd have them throw so many fusion bombs at Socal they'd rename Shady Sands to Sandy Shores ...”
The assembled men chuckled at the remark, a bit nervously in some cases, and Nate continued.
“And last of all,” he said, turning to McCain. “Tell Granite his men are under orders to capture the Mexican emperor alive and unharmed if at all possible. Our friends at State have drafted up something they’re eager to see him sign, and a dead ruler can’t put his writing on anything.”
==*==
CST 01:00, February 19th 2232
Monte Alto, Texas
The field was dark, lit only by momentary flashes of laser light or plasma fire, the orange-red glare of burning trucks and tanks and the yellow gleam of American soldiers' helmet eyelights. Staff Sergeant Walker kept his eye for targets as his squad moved relentlessly through the battlefield, sending bursts of plasma fire at any enemy that dared show themselves. He idly sent out a burst from his Peacemaker towards a Mexican soldier in the middle of throwing a grenade, one of the three shots hitting the man’s hand by sheer mischance. The shrapnel didn’t reach him before the two other shots opened up the man’s chest. He died before making a sound.
“Follow me, boys!” he called out over helmet radio. US doctrine mandated that whenever possible communications were to take place over helmet radio rather than be vocalised through speakers – it lent a severe morale effect to enemy forces, who experienced American soldiers fighting in near-total silence.
The team leaders of his squad – Ray, Young, and Brennan – moved up on him. He checked the tactical situation with the LT and Capt. Washington – enemy seemed to be in disarray, but they were still resisting. The Mexican soldiers were fighting on bravely – with Mondragon bolt-actions, R91s, and hodgepodge LMGs they were trying to use like assault rifles – though the battle had been decided long before it was joined. Bold of them, but against this level of firepower and military tech, courage was not enough.
Idly, Walker shot a plasma grenade from his weapon's attached launcher at a suspicious-looking patch of dirt. The explosion revealed a pit behind a layer of dirt-covered wooden planks – ten feet deep, a PA trooper’s own weight would prevent him climbing out without assistance, and it was too narrow for him to get out of armour. A good number had been encountered throughout this battlefield.
Clever, he mused, but not enough. Not nearly enough. There had been some casualties from direct-fire artillery pieces and mortars, but the Mexican soldiers just didn’t have the firepower they needed to take out American powered troops. Neither did they have night vision or stay-wake chems, so they were exhausted and barely able to see in comparison to their opponents. No wonder twenty thousand men – the sum of the 29th and 43rd Infantry Divisions – were punching well above their weight against an army of 100,000. US tanks rolled over the field as they advanced, firing plasma-beams and hyper-velocity el-mag rounds, crushing the dead and wounded under their treads with brute indifference. Walker had seen whole platoons and companies lie scattered like cut wheat, scythed down by AP “Hornet's Nest” rounds which split up in mid-flight to release thousands of tiny hypersonic tungsten-steel darts, shattering bone and tearing through organs.
He glanced a second, saw another group preparing a bayonet charge, with fire support from one of their tanks. Close combat backed by artillery was their best bet, a bayonet could slice deep through relatively vulnerable joints and a shell could take out an armoured man on a direct or close hit. Tyler was out of Enola rounds, Michaels was guarding the flank … he ordered Rita to disable the vehicle with her laser cannon, while Ray led his fireteam to guard the flank and he himself led a counter-charge.
The tank opened up, a shot missing his team by mere metres. Shrapnel hit his armour, bounced off, leaving dents. A laser-blast hit the cannon, cut the front of it off in a shower of sparks and molten metal. It wouldn't fire again. Walker lead his team forward in a charge, Peacemakers firing off at the tank, volleys of plasma burst-fire melting and searing the vehicle's armour. The Mexican conscripts scattered before them, threw themselves to the ground. Walker snap-fired at another target displayed on his HUD, slaying a cavalry officer whose horse was wildly careening through the chaotic field.
Just what do they think they're doing, messing with us?, Walker thought. Truth be told, he really had no idea.
--*--
In his command post somewhere near the village of Carrizo Springs, Emperor Manuelo de Iturbide uttered a silent curse of frustration. Around him, fifty thousand soldiers of the Imperial Army were fighting – or trying to fight – against the Yanqui army, and he was desperately trying to gather a response. It was hopeless. By the time he had given an order, the unit he'd called up would already be in disarray, blasted by enemy artillery, blown up from the air, or smashed by an armoured push of enemy tanks. For hours he'd heard frantic cries for help over his radio equipment; heard explosions and the roar of engines overhead. The AA units had been taken down in the first few minutes of the attack.
Now he barely knew where most of the units under his direct command even were – the Imperial Guard remained around him, but the rest of his force had been relentlessly sliced apart with surgical precision, by foes that seemed to come from every direction at once. And yet, even as cold despair filled his body, he resolved to-
There were sounds of gunfire and rapid-fire lasers outside the Imperial command tent, of engines swooping down to descend. The sound of lasers and whirring rotors marked the defeat of the Imperial Guard defending the Emperor. Heavy powered boots tromped outside, began approaching the silken flap of its entrance. Manuelo drew his gold-plated revolver and prepared to die like a man.
The person who entered his tent was not who he expected. A woman; late thirties, chocolate brown hair, pale skin, dressed in a desert-camouflage longcoat, with a black undersuit. Three gold stars were on her shoulders; the coat's buttons were gold with embossed eagles; a gold eagle was displayed prominently on her peaked cap. There was a strange device pinned to the right side of her chest. She wore discreet silver earrings and the heels of her boots were slightly raised; some concessions to femininity at the least.
Every instinct in his heart, every courtesy he'd been taught from childhood, told him not to fire on her, but he gritted his teeth; reminded himself that if the Americans considered their womenfolk fit to fight on the front lines they had to face the consequences of that decision. This lady was of high rank too; if he took one of their generals out, or captured her, that may get them to let off. He fired his revolver six times in rapid succession. The tent was filled with light and sound – bullets ricocheted everywhere, and he ducked his head in panic.
He drew his sword from his scabbard – a weapon of great worth, a seventeenth century rapier forged by the blacksmiths of Toledo. The device on her chest was smoking – was it broken? But while the flashes had blinded him, the lady had drawn her own pistol. A shot rang out, a lance of cerulean light that touched the very hilt of the metal. The steel and gold flashed red hot, burning the Emperor even through his leather glove. He dropped it.
She moved then again, fast as a viper, flipping a switch on her pistol, levelling the gun at his own face.
“The United States Government formally requests your surrender,” she said coolly as power-armoured soldiers moved into flank her, ripping the embroidered silk of the tent wall as they brazenly marched straight through. “There is a treaty formalising the northern border of the Third Mexican Empire that we would have you sign.”
They pointed their guns at him. The weapons were unfamiliar, but he knew one squeeze on their trigger buttons could end his life before his heart took one more beat. The Infante, Enrique de Iturbide, had been captured in the field before him. He'd no doubt the gringos would kill their royal hostages if they saw the need to.
“To summarise?”
“You will formally recognise the US Rio Grande Territory as part of the United States and withdraw all forces from United States territory.”
“That's your one request? No indemnity, no occupation?”
“Do you really think we care so much about your little empire? Our real enemies are to the west.”
The Californios, Manuelo mused. The ones who encouraged me to do this. Not that I had a choice. But still!, it stings.
“I'll sign whatever you would have me sign,” the Emperor replied, head bowed in sullen despair. “So long as my soldiers, my son, and I are allowed to return home. Give me that mercy.”
“That will be permitted,” the American general noted. "So long as you never threaten our land again."
--*--
Sergeant Samuel Pierce, US Secret Service, looked on the captured enemy works outside the small city of Reynosa by the dim light of early dawn. The Rians had acquitted themselves fairly well, fighting after such a punishing night march from the coast, but it was the Canadian National Guard troops sent here – three regiments; one from New Brunswick, another from Quebec and a third from Ontario – that had really dealt the decisive blows here. They'd served as ruthless shock troops almost the equivalent of powered soldiers, breaking into the trench-line and sweeping away all opposition.
The Mexican forces had surrendered within three hours of the Canadian assault – not that it had spared many of them.
With the capital city retaken, Alvarez should be safe for his triumphant return – but the Rian generals were a factor that had to be taken into consideration. He had heard more than one of them utter dark comments about the President-turned-Governor 'whoring the country out' – it would be naïve to assume that the Rian military, or indeed the general populace, was as accepting of the annexation as Captain Mariosa was.
He would make sure this information made its way to the highest authorities.
--*--
Walker looked once more around the field of Monte Alto, now at peace in the morning light of oh-nine-hundred-hours. Corpses carpeted the crater-tossed land, many of them now unidentifiable. There were more Mexican than American ones.
Enemy casualties were estimated at several tens of thousands; American at a hundred or less. As he led his squad on patrol across the field, in the business of taking stragglers into custody and pointing them southward (helmet radio currently off) he saw a man rush towards him. His armour's data uplinks identified him immediately – Capt. Elliott R. Washington, his maternal uncle and CO. He took his helmet off, a look of panic and worry on his face.
“It's been confirmed,” the older man said.
“What?!”
“Enemy forces have launched a major offensive, no significant units of the 81st Corps were available. The strike wasn't at Dallas, that was a faulty assumption.”
Elliott panted breathlessly.
“The rebels have taken San Antonio and Austin almost without a fight.”
==*==
Chapter Twenty-Five
14:30 EST, February 8 2332
Montgomery, Alabama
Charles Bradshaw swore under his breath as he looked at the message. The US Aviation aircraft factory he managed (of three; located at Halifax, NVS; Stamford, CT; and Montgomery, AL) was now under instruction from company HQ to begin making A-76 Corsair II attack planes for the USN and USMC, instead of its previous intention of Dragon II stealth bombers. This would take weeks of reorganising the logistics, making alterations to the assembly lines … but still, it was possible. Montgomery was a short distance from Birmingham, the self-anointed “Pittsburgh of the South”, and the planes dropping in rare earths straight from Greenland (courtesy of Walker Mining Inc., which was pioneering a new means of mining through the glaciers to get at the vast mineral wealth concealed under the ice) couldn’t hurt. But still
He remembered the A-77 situation. Nine years ago, the company had received a contract from the USAF for a new designated naval attack craft. Being experts at flying-wing design, they’d rapidly created a design shaped like an equilateral triangle (cockpit near the top), capable of radar stealth and carrying various precision-guided missiles and bombs on its hardpoints and in its internal weapon bays. A prototype had even been made in early 2324 – onlookers had nicknamed it the “Flying Pizza Slice”. Everything had been going up in the world for the design. And then in mid-2324 the Air Force had abruptly handed US Aviation a new contract for what would turn out to be the B-120 and in September cancelled its contract for the A-76, too focussed on the shiny new toy they were having their supplier make for them and seeing new strategic bombers to replace the ageing and flawed Dragon as a more urgent necessity. The Air Force also didn’t want to focus overmuch on one supplier for its planes; and having Daedalus make new vertibirds would be sufficient – US Aviation also produced cargo planes for the USAF and Army after all.
The company had weathered the loss, but the A-76 had remained a might-have-been for seven years. Until now, with control over naval aviation assets (and the units that made up those assets) now transferred to the Navy and USMC, who being both eager to find new specialised naval attack craft after the loss of so many pilots at the Cuban strait and not willing to go through the whole development process again, had ordered hundreds of A-76 planes. Bradshaw felt, in an odd kind of way, that it represented a form of justice. The company was reaping the rewards of both projects - the order for Dragon IIs had just been increased to 180 - and the USAF's loss now represented their gain.
==*==
11:45 CST, February 9 2332
Fort Zachary Taylor; Near Corpus Christi, TX
Staff Sergeant George M. Walker sang out the cadence along with his squad (and the rest of his company) as he ran along the PT track to its beat.
“I think I want to go to the Army;
I think I want to go 'cross the sea;
I want to beat Kimball;
I want to beat him at football,”
The sun was hot, but he’d done this before and he’d gladly do it again. Even with power armour, physical fitness had a good value for the Army, and of course it helped bind them all together.
“He don’t believe that water’s wet;
If he did he wouldn’t give us threats;
Washington can’t do it by himself;
C’mon, fellas, let’s give him a little help,”
Sweat soaked his back and ran down his standard-issue white cotton exercise shirt as he ran; he’d been decent at calisthenics in high school, but he’d never been this good.
“All Americans gotta understand;
We gotta unite and restore our land;
We gotta keep on alert;
To keep our families from gettin’ hurt.”
The others were doing well, he hoped; he idly glanced behind him. There were hundreds of men behind him; he was near the head of the line of running soldiers.
Since the Californian invasion had been pushed back the unit had returned to Texas. There was a sense of anticipation in the air, but for what nobody yet knew. The Ranger patrol vehicles and recon 'birds went out to gather intel and skirmish with enemy patrols, but there had been no major moves.
The bugle-call went out, giving the signal to assemble; the soldiers who'd been exercising went and separated; battalion by battalion, company by company. Walker took the regimental standard, which he was given by an attendant. He looked down again at his cybernetic hand, then at the Silver Star and the Purple Heart that decorated his chest. They'd been awarded what was now officially being designated the Battle of I-44, been promoted to Staff Sergeant (which meant little more than a raise and a designation that he may be assigned as Platoon Leader), and finally been given the ceremonial role of carrying the 115th Infantry Regiment's eagle standard. It was some consolation at least.
The colour was an oak standard painted white and lacquered, topped with a decoration of an eagle made in gold, every individual feather of its outstretched wings moulded and polished. The gold-fringed flag below it was a saltire of blue and white on a field of quartered black and yellow, defaced by a silver eagle. Below it fanned out campaign streamers, scarlet silk ribbons with battle honours embroidered in gold thread. Though he couldn't read them all right now, when he'd been given his assignment Walker had been shown all of them and told about their significance. Long Island, Front Royal, Alsace, Meuse-Argonne, Normandy, Rhineland, Hoang Mai, Fujian, Pittsburgh, Boston, Montreal, Quebec City, Dallas, and newest of all Missouri.
He held it tightly with his cybernetic hand – he'd get ten lashes if he let it dip down, and he didn't want to think of what may happen if he dared drop it. General Constantine Autumn (1-star), recently promoted, stood as commander of the base and made his statement.
“All troops!” he shouted in the Tidewater drawl he shared with his brother and his niece. “You are dis-missed!”. The bugler standing next to him then played the mess-call.
The assembled men split up and made their way there, in their designated squad-level positions. Walker took a deep breath and started to speak. It was always more informal in the mess.
“So, anything come up?” he idly asked
“Not sure about the new changes,” Ray said idly. “The re-org's practically doubling the regiment size and … they're filling it up with rookies. New kids.”
“We were rookies too,” Rita noted. “To some we still are – we've only been in the Service for a couple months.”
“Yeah, and we're taking them on still in the field,” Tyler commented. “I'm not sure they'll take their baptism of fire that well if they're just out of boot.”
“It'll be easy business in our zone,” Rita commented, taking a moment to brush away a stray strand of her night-black hair. “All the rumours that fly around say the rebels are going to try and hit Dallas as their main counter-attack. And if even the chair-force fly-boys think it, we know it has to be true.”
“I'd like it to be true,” Walker noted. “But that doesn't mean it is.”
“I kept your ass from bleeding out in Missouri, Sarge,” Rita said. “So you should take note of my judgement. The biggest thing we have to watch out for is the Iturbide pendejos across the river, and they'd be fool to try and invade. Or even to keep squatting in what's now our territory.”
“You think they'll just up and leave?” Tyler said. “That's crazy thinking. We're probably getting in called to evict them. Glorified landlord agents.”
==*==
15:00 EST, February 12 2332
Senate Chamber, US Capitol
Vice President Richardson once more took his position as President of the Senate, sitting in the same familiar seat as he had previously. The bill he was to defend this time was something different; but still related to the troublesome Mexican situation. The Organisation of North Mexico Act would essentially treat rebel-held territory in Mexico as part of the insurrectionist government in California for all post-war purposes, including the Chihuahua Republic which functioned as part of the Californian rebellion in all but name. This time there would be no working it in as an essential part of government functions. He took a deep breath and allowed his opposite number, Senate Minority Leader Tony Mattison, to make his objections known.
This is the pain of working in a representative system, Richardson guessed. But we're the legitimate government. If we didn't do this we'd be no better than the Brotherhood techno-barbs.
“I would like to make it known,” Mattison stated. “That I oppose this law, which functions as a unilateral declaration of annexation of the North Mexican region into the United States by sheer military force. Right now, we're the largest nation that has ever been. We hold not only the North American continent north of the borders established in 1849, but we have the islands of the North Atlantic and the Arctic, the Caribbean, and all of Canada, which was annexed in 2075. And to all above, we are in possession of the unorganised Territories of Luna and Mars and their own wealths of resources. Why do we need this small strip of land, North Mexico?”
“Additionally, the Act ties in directly to rebel propaganda that we merely seek rapacious conquest. I was against the annexation of the Republic of the Rio Grande, but at least in that case their government made a request of it in exchange for military aid. Once we've started declaring that any populated region is ours by simply signing an Act of Congress, where do we stop? Do we become a mere empire of force like all the others in mankind's history, and not the empire of liberty we were founded to become?”
“This rings especially true given that the regions in question are to be put under military governance for the next ten years at minimum. I'm aware that military government was necessary to quell anarchy in the beginning of the reclamation, but to enforce it on an already civilised area is different.”
Richardson winced; the man had his points. Some of the Federalist Senators might vote against the new law. But he was not prepared to let this die without a fight. He'd keep the Federalists from cracking and try to peel off some of the ALP members – they had a populist tinge which he disliked, but they came from largely the same circles as the officials of the Federalist-Republican Party. A lot of things were shared.
He waited for Mattison to finish and rose to speak.
“The Senate Minority Leader, that is the Honourable Tony Mattison,” he said. “Has raised some points that deserve due consideration. But many more points that do not. First of all, it isn't a unilateral statement, but is in direct response to the rebel government in California's complete incorporation of Baja California and Sonora, and partial incorporation of Chihuahua, into the territory under their control. These regions, to the rebel government, are considered part of its territory, the same as any other. We have faced enemy soldiers from these areas fighting for the rebel cause, the same as those from further to the north.”
“Secondly, we have already crossed the 'red line' that he's brought up, the relatively peaceful incorporation of Greenland, Iceland and the Faroes into the USA along with the islands of the Caribbean. The rebels haven't made significant use of this in their propaganda against us, so why would they now?”
“Thirdly, Mars is completely unpopulated and Luna only populated seasonally, by about a thousand to two thousand individuals who work in the Helium-3 mining stations. That he considers them as territories we hold in any real sense other than holding a flag on them is absurd. Yes, this will probably change in the post-war; but that isn't right now. His bringing up of them is little more than an irrelevance.”
“Fourthly, as a result of the fact that the regions discussed in the Act are incorporated already into the rebel government, we will have to fight them there, occupy it and rebuild it. These lands would not be untouched if not for the Act, they'd be devastated by the ongoing war. And once the war is finished and the rebels subdued, are we to let these ravaged areas be? Without an ongoing US military presence to provide order and reconstruction, they'll be breeding grounds for plantations of toxic chems; human-smuggling; raids on us, as historically was the case until the early 20th century, including guerilla actions by the remnants of the rebel army. The Third Mexican Empire is both sympathetic to the rebels and unable to police the territory – as indeed the pre-War Mexican state never was even in its last phase as an American client. Annexation and temporary military rule – as indeed was common practice when our armies were busy reclaiming the wastelands of the east coast – is a necessity for their transition into a group of US States.”
“Geographically, northern Mexico has always been more of an extension of the US Southwest than it was ever part of Mexico. We're just correcting the mistake made in 1849.”
The Senate Majority leader made a final speech , supporting Richardson's statements, and the vote was held – the Act went through with a narrow filibuster-proof majority. Richardson made a mental note to have drinks with the heads of both parties in the Senate this evening, to placate a political rival and reward an ally of himself and the President. This nerve-wracking situation dealt with, it was now time to relax.
==*==
14:00 GMT, 14 February 2332
London, United Kingdom
The city of grey stone stood under grey skies. The temperature was too warm for snow, so the elements had compromised on ice-cold rain and fog. Big Ben, the Tower and the dome of St. Paul’s loomed like islands in a storm-tossed sea. From the window of Nr. 10 Downing Street, Prime Minister Ryan Burgess could barely see the Whitehall offices right across the street.
On the other side of his office from the window he could see the stalwarts of a long-gone era; Pitt, Disraeli, Lloyd-George, greatest of all Churchill. The world had changed since the time of those heroes. Great Britain had been on her last legs when the Americans had arrived, in the final stages of post-nuclear decline. French armies had been moving in from Kent, and His Majesty's Government had regularly ridden in armoured trucks from Windsor Castle to the fortified compound at Westminster, driving through a city only barely under their authority.
Now they had a new lease on life; but seemingly only as a junior partner to the Americans. The RBA even had their own 'Bulldog' power-armour – a cruder version of American T-67, bulky and toxic fission plant mounted in a backpack for the additional shielding that it needed, pauldrons larger and shaped differently to try and provide better protection with less advanced materials. The gyro-rifle project at least looked interesting as a way to kill the powered soldiers they'd be facing on the American continent relatively cheaply …
Burgess sighed. The Americans had asked for no compensation after the war with France in '16. Not only had they landed a force of power-armoured Marines in Normandy on the very same beaches that had been taken by them four hundred years ago, their bombing raids had critically disrupted enemy communications. The Germans had crossed the Rhine under heavy fire at Coblenz, Mainz, and Düsseldorf, then swung round in a great scything motion to smash into the whole French north-east, while British troops made a bee-line for Paris from Calais and Dunkirk.
The whole time, American air-power had been smashing French radio towers and rail lines across the whole country. 500,000 men had been mustered in the south, but by the time they'd been gathered the war was already over. Next to the slagged remains of the Eiffel Tower, taken out by a single plasma bomb, the French had unconditionally surrendered to the allied forces.
Later on – in 2320 – the Americans had sent major help in repairing and modernising British infrastructure, in exchange for the accession of Gibraltar and the Falklands. It had been humiliating to sign that deal, Burgess remembered bitterly, practically just after being appointed by His Royal Highness King Edward IX. But the United Kingdom hadn't held those regions in many years, and even the Americans had not bothered to try and take possession of what was now legally theirs.
They were most likely preparing for their own war; the one that was now unfolding across the ocean. Like it or not, Britain's fate was still tied to America's at this juncture. If she fell, her economy would collapse and – for all Burgess knew – vengeful, blood-mad Californians may cross the sea to attack the allies of their great enemy. That, and the Windsor Treaty had been activated. When called, America had always come answering, and it was a poor thing to reward loyalty with betrayal.
==*==
18:00 EST, February 18th 2332
Ford’s Theatre, Washington DC
President Nate Washington stretched his legs in his seat within the VIP box of the theatre. It was not the same building as the infamous site of Lincoln’s assassination; but it was built to the same plan on the same spot. The government at the time had first built it as a glorified museum to the five assassinated Presidents, but it had gained no interest as such and so it had been sold to a private owner who had turned it into an actual theatre.
Mar-a-Lago had been a balmy, decent break from the business of governance and war. This diversion would be a decent cap-off to the vacation. He turned his head and smiled at Rhonda, giving the First Lady a peck on the cheek. There were no other people in the box other than two Secret Service soldiers in light combat gear, grim-faced with black plasma rifles held loosely in their hands. The show was about to begin.
“Before we start this production of Guys and Dolls,” the manager, a balding man whose lifestyle evidently had him eating more than was good for him, said from centre stage. “We would like to give our most humble well-regards to the honourable Nathan Washington, President of the United States, who has chosen to honour us with his presence, and to present this special entertainment for his and your amusement.”
Shoulda told me beforehand, Nate mused, and they shouldn’t treat me like some sorta king. They hadn’t treated him half so obsequiously when he was a Senator. Part of him wondered if seeking the Federalist nomination had been the right idea just for that alone; but then without his presence in the Campaign it would have been Governor Richardson of Maryland. The boy lacked the experience to properly lead in this time of crisis; he’d have been better than Travis but not by much. As a reward for going second place in the primary Nate had selected the man as running mate, so there was that. Alex Autumn had been the only other potential real contender in 2330, and he’d been still mourning his father’s death from cancer. For a moment he wondered who the old man would have selected – de facto via his enormous influence on both the Federalist Party bosses and the common voters – but then decided just to enjoy the show.
The main cast members came out, carrying prop laser rifles and clad in papier-mache T-72 suit replicas. Everybody clapped as they appeared – and then came on the antagonists for this little drama – extras dressed in stage versions of NCR uniforms. They sneered at and taunted the US people, then attacked with full dramatic vigour. There was a mock-fight, with copious amounts of dry ice so that it looked as if laser rifles were actually firing, and punches and kicks that actually looked at least semi-realistic. The NCR group lost easily, and joined up with the US group on stage, then began to sing:
“There’s a Yankee doodle spirit now in the hearts of everyone;
The same Yankee doodle spirit now that’s shouldering our guns;
For freedom and unity; our freedom and unity;
Rights that our fathers won!”
“For these we’ll fight with all our might!
and never shall we cease!
Until we win the victory!
and neverending peace!
So light up that old Yankee doodle spirit;
And forever let it-”
Nate’s phone beeped incessantly in his pocket – not his pip-boy, it’d be bad form to go to any event with that on his left forearm – and he took it out, flipping it open. White House Chief of Staff, he mused as he read the screen before pressing the reply button. Must be actually important.
“Yes?” he said, annoyed.
“There’s a situation in southern Texas that General Granite says needs urgent military attention.”
He got up without a single word and left the theatre. He quickly made his way to his Presidential sedan, a hovercar with the plasma thrusters that kept it aloft still idling. The vehicle rocked under the new weight of him and Rhonda, but that didn’t keep the Secret Service driver from navigating through the dark city streets, patches of melting snow on the grass.
The car drove into the White House garage and Nate made his way to the Situation Room. A holo-projector built into the table was overlaying a map of the continent right it, and next to him stood already Secretary McCain in brown-and-white pinstrip; General Dubois, the Army Chief of Staff in Federal dark blue colours,; General Massey, the Air Force Chief of Staff in his sky-blue uniform; and General Cushman, Commandant of the USMC, in the midnight-blue colours of his service branch.
“What’s this issue?” he asked.
“Mexican forces occupying the Rio Grande area have begun marching northwards into Texas since early morning today,” McCain explained. “I have reports they've made contact with recon units. They're already some 37 miles into-”
“Does General Granite have a plan of action?”
“Yes, sir. He’s already preparing for a rapid strike with overwhelming force. Curling's 55th Corps is positioned to immediately respond.”
“Then he is fully authorised to carry it out. I’m not a micromanager, Mr. Secretary – that’s why General Autumn has been given the authority to co-ordinate the Army’s operations as he pleases.”
He nodded, and then Cushman spoke up.
“We have the Fourth and Seventh Marine Divisions at Corpus Christi and Houston respectively, representing half of the Second Expeditionary Force. It would be child’s play for us to take Veracruz and march on Mexico City.”
“No,” Nate said. “It’s impossible. The US military can’t occupy and keep order in a nation of thirteen million people – most of whom hate us – while the NCR continues to be an actual threat on our horizon – and the Marines are preparing to carry out Operation Filibuster in a week. That sort of distraction is what they want us to go for. But the Seventh Marines will be deployed to occupy Veracruz. No need to strike a killing blow when all we need to do is hold a knife to their throat.”
“Additionally,” he continued. “I want SAC to launch conventional strikes against the Mexican railways they’ve constructed into the Rio Grande area as an additional measure to ensure they understand just what position they’re really in vis-a-vis us.”
“I'll contact the head of SAC,” General Massey commented. “Though this isn't really what we ought to be using the bomber fleet for in my opinion. If I could do it, I'd have them throw so many fusion bombs at Socal they'd rename Shady Sands to Sandy Shores ...”
The assembled men chuckled at the remark, a bit nervously in some cases, and Nate continued.
“And last of all,” he said, turning to McCain. “Tell Granite his men are under orders to capture the Mexican emperor alive and unharmed if at all possible. Our friends at State have drafted up something they’re eager to see him sign, and a dead ruler can’t put his writing on anything.”
==*==
CST 01:00, February 19th 2232
Monte Alto, Texas
The field was dark, lit only by momentary flashes of laser light or plasma fire, the orange-red glare of burning trucks and tanks and the yellow gleam of American soldiers' helmet eyelights. Staff Sergeant Walker kept his eye for targets as his squad moved relentlessly through the battlefield, sending bursts of plasma fire at any enemy that dared show themselves. He idly sent out a burst from his Peacemaker towards a Mexican soldier in the middle of throwing a grenade, one of the three shots hitting the man’s hand by sheer mischance. The shrapnel didn’t reach him before the two other shots opened up the man’s chest. He died before making a sound.
“Follow me, boys!” he called out over helmet radio. US doctrine mandated that whenever possible communications were to take place over helmet radio rather than be vocalised through speakers – it lent a severe morale effect to enemy forces, who experienced American soldiers fighting in near-total silence.
The team leaders of his squad – Ray, Young, and Brennan – moved up on him. He checked the tactical situation with the LT and Capt. Washington – enemy seemed to be in disarray, but they were still resisting. The Mexican soldiers were fighting on bravely – with Mondragon bolt-actions, R91s, and hodgepodge LMGs they were trying to use like assault rifles – though the battle had been decided long before it was joined. Bold of them, but against this level of firepower and military tech, courage was not enough.
Idly, Walker shot a plasma grenade from his weapon's attached launcher at a suspicious-looking patch of dirt. The explosion revealed a pit behind a layer of dirt-covered wooden planks – ten feet deep, a PA trooper’s own weight would prevent him climbing out without assistance, and it was too narrow for him to get out of armour. A good number had been encountered throughout this battlefield.
Clever, he mused, but not enough. Not nearly enough. There had been some casualties from direct-fire artillery pieces and mortars, but the Mexican soldiers just didn’t have the firepower they needed to take out American powered troops. Neither did they have night vision or stay-wake chems, so they were exhausted and barely able to see in comparison to their opponents. No wonder twenty thousand men – the sum of the 29th and 43rd Infantry Divisions – were punching well above their weight against an army of 100,000. US tanks rolled over the field as they advanced, firing plasma-beams and hyper-velocity el-mag rounds, crushing the dead and wounded under their treads with brute indifference. Walker had seen whole platoons and companies lie scattered like cut wheat, scythed down by AP “Hornet's Nest” rounds which split up in mid-flight to release thousands of tiny hypersonic tungsten-steel darts, shattering bone and tearing through organs.
He glanced a second, saw another group preparing a bayonet charge, with fire support from one of their tanks. Close combat backed by artillery was their best bet, a bayonet could slice deep through relatively vulnerable joints and a shell could take out an armoured man on a direct or close hit. Tyler was out of Enola rounds, Michaels was guarding the flank … he ordered Rita to disable the vehicle with her laser cannon, while Ray led his fireteam to guard the flank and he himself led a counter-charge.
The tank opened up, a shot missing his team by mere metres. Shrapnel hit his armour, bounced off, leaving dents. A laser-blast hit the cannon, cut the front of it off in a shower of sparks and molten metal. It wouldn't fire again. Walker lead his team forward in a charge, Peacemakers firing off at the tank, volleys of plasma burst-fire melting and searing the vehicle's armour. The Mexican conscripts scattered before them, threw themselves to the ground. Walker snap-fired at another target displayed on his HUD, slaying a cavalry officer whose horse was wildly careening through the chaotic field.
Just what do they think they're doing, messing with us?, Walker thought. Truth be told, he really had no idea.
--*--
In his command post somewhere near the village of Carrizo Springs, Emperor Manuelo de Iturbide uttered a silent curse of frustration. Around him, fifty thousand soldiers of the Imperial Army were fighting – or trying to fight – against the Yanqui army, and he was desperately trying to gather a response. It was hopeless. By the time he had given an order, the unit he'd called up would already be in disarray, blasted by enemy artillery, blown up from the air, or smashed by an armoured push of enemy tanks. For hours he'd heard frantic cries for help over his radio equipment; heard explosions and the roar of engines overhead. The AA units had been taken down in the first few minutes of the attack.
Now he barely knew where most of the units under his direct command even were – the Imperial Guard remained around him, but the rest of his force had been relentlessly sliced apart with surgical precision, by foes that seemed to come from every direction at once. And yet, even as cold despair filled his body, he resolved to-
There were sounds of gunfire and rapid-fire lasers outside the Imperial command tent, of engines swooping down to descend. The sound of lasers and whirring rotors marked the defeat of the Imperial Guard defending the Emperor. Heavy powered boots tromped outside, began approaching the silken flap of its entrance. Manuelo drew his gold-plated revolver and prepared to die like a man.
The person who entered his tent was not who he expected. A woman; late thirties, chocolate brown hair, pale skin, dressed in a desert-camouflage longcoat, with a black undersuit. Three gold stars were on her shoulders; the coat's buttons were gold with embossed eagles; a gold eagle was displayed prominently on her peaked cap. There was a strange device pinned to the right side of her chest. She wore discreet silver earrings and the heels of her boots were slightly raised; some concessions to femininity at the least.
Every instinct in his heart, every courtesy he'd been taught from childhood, told him not to fire on her, but he gritted his teeth; reminded himself that if the Americans considered their womenfolk fit to fight on the front lines they had to face the consequences of that decision. This lady was of high rank too; if he took one of their generals out, or captured her, that may get them to let off. He fired his revolver six times in rapid succession. The tent was filled with light and sound – bullets ricocheted everywhere, and he ducked his head in panic.
He drew his sword from his scabbard – a weapon of great worth, a seventeenth century rapier forged by the blacksmiths of Toledo. The device on her chest was smoking – was it broken? But while the flashes had blinded him, the lady had drawn her own pistol. A shot rang out, a lance of cerulean light that touched the very hilt of the metal. The steel and gold flashed red hot, burning the Emperor even through his leather glove. He dropped it.
She moved then again, fast as a viper, flipping a switch on her pistol, levelling the gun at his own face.
“The United States Government formally requests your surrender,” she said coolly as power-armoured soldiers moved into flank her, ripping the embroidered silk of the tent wall as they brazenly marched straight through. “There is a treaty formalising the northern border of the Third Mexican Empire that we would have you sign.”
They pointed their guns at him. The weapons were unfamiliar, but he knew one squeeze on their trigger buttons could end his life before his heart took one more beat. The Infante, Enrique de Iturbide, had been captured in the field before him. He'd no doubt the gringos would kill their royal hostages if they saw the need to.
“To summarise?”
“You will formally recognise the US Rio Grande Territory as part of the United States and withdraw all forces from United States territory.”
“That's your one request? No indemnity, no occupation?”
“Do you really think we care so much about your little empire? Our real enemies are to the west.”
The Californios, Manuelo mused. The ones who encouraged me to do this. Not that I had a choice. But still!, it stings.
“I'll sign whatever you would have me sign,” the Emperor replied, head bowed in sullen despair. “So long as my soldiers, my son, and I are allowed to return home. Give me that mercy.”
“That will be permitted,” the American general noted. "So long as you never threaten our land again."
--*--
Sergeant Samuel Pierce, US Secret Service, looked on the captured enemy works outside the small city of Reynosa by the dim light of early dawn. The Rians had acquitted themselves fairly well, fighting after such a punishing night march from the coast, but it was the Canadian National Guard troops sent here – three regiments; one from New Brunswick, another from Quebec and a third from Ontario – that had really dealt the decisive blows here. They'd served as ruthless shock troops almost the equivalent of powered soldiers, breaking into the trench-line and sweeping away all opposition.
The Mexican forces had surrendered within three hours of the Canadian assault – not that it had spared many of them.
With the capital city retaken, Alvarez should be safe for his triumphant return – but the Rian generals were a factor that had to be taken into consideration. He had heard more than one of them utter dark comments about the President-turned-Governor 'whoring the country out' – it would be naïve to assume that the Rian military, or indeed the general populace, was as accepting of the annexation as Captain Mariosa was.
He would make sure this information made its way to the highest authorities.
--*--
Walker looked once more around the field of Monte Alto, now at peace in the morning light of oh-nine-hundred-hours. Corpses carpeted the crater-tossed land, many of them now unidentifiable. There were more Mexican than American ones.
Enemy casualties were estimated at several tens of thousands; American at a hundred or less. As he led his squad on patrol across the field, in the business of taking stragglers into custody and pointing them southward (helmet radio currently off) he saw a man rush towards him. His armour's data uplinks identified him immediately – Capt. Elliott R. Washington, his maternal uncle and CO. He took his helmet off, a look of panic and worry on his face.
“It's been confirmed,” the older man said.
“What?!”
“Enemy forces have launched a major offensive, no significant units of the 81st Corps were available. The strike wasn't at Dallas, that was a faulty assumption.”
Elliott panted breathlessly.
“The rebels have taken San Antonio and Austin almost without a fight.”
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TyrantTriumphant
Well-known member
As much as it is clear that the NCR wasn't prepared for this war, it is also clear that neither was the N-USA. They are going to have to step up their game if they want to drive back the NCR to the Rockies, much less conquer California.
SuperHeavy
Well-known member
You have to hand it to the NCR they are doing quite well for their position. They have less advanced technology, industrail production, and a compromised intelligence service yet are still doing well. Hell the army is even pulling off surprise offensives despite the other guys having satellite coverage. If the Brotherhood can pull off a similar performance their defensive works will be a nightmare to push through.
TyrantTriumphant
Well-known member
The Brotherhood has good soldiers and a lot of fortified bunkers but they lack the ability to put their whole society into the war effort. The Brotherhood of Steel is a relic of a dead age, and short of a second apocalypse they have no future and no chance of victory.
f1onagher
Well-known member
Power armor is such a paradigm shift that it nearly obsoletes regular infantry completely. There are some heavy shades of old colonial wars, though now the natives have the Maxim gun.
To their credit, the NCR did not let the transitory distraction the Mexican provided go to waste. The US wiped the Empire in a day, but that was apparently enough time for the Californians to pull a fast one. Can't wait to see what they pulled to get west Texas back that easily.
I've got a climactic siege for Amarillo on my bingo card, lets see if my blind guess comes to anything.
To their credit, the NCR did not let the transitory distraction the Mexican provided go to waste. The US wiped the Empire in a day, but that was apparently enough time for the Californians to pull a fast one. Can't wait to see what they pulled to get west Texas back that easily.
I've got a climactic siege for Amarillo on my bingo card, lets see if my blind guess comes to anything.
Info: LM-80 Gatling Laser
Navarro
Well-known member
The General Atomics LM-80 "Lawnmower" Gatling Laser, in the middle of replacing obsolete models from service, is considered one of the most advanced weapons in the American arsenal, second only to the P-108 Plasma Repeater in terms of destructive potential. Replacing the pre-War H&K L-30, and Wattz UB-FRIED 3000, it takes a good deal of its design elements from the experimental XLM-45 designs found in the ruins of Boston during the Massachusetts reintegration, in particular the use of a fusion core to replace microfusion cells and electron-charge-packs respectively, which were eaten up at an incredible pace by pre-War Gatling laser models.
Design changes from previous models of Gatling laser include the incorporation of rail-mounted holographic sights for long-range use and a change to a pistol-grip firing configuration similar to pre-nuclear ballistic machine guns. The gun is designed for use both for a PA soldier firing from hip or shoulder and for an unpowered one using it as an emplaced weapon.
The LM-80 contains 6 rotary barrels firing in the blue wavelength of the visible light spectrum, with a toggleable charging mode that slows fire rate by 50% but increases armour penetration, obviating previous distinctions made between "light" and "heavy" gatling lasers. The "Lawnmower" is in use not only by PA troops as a SAW and unpowered National Guard forces as an emplaced weapon, but also in numerous American vehicles as a weapon used against personnel and light armour, serving as an energy weapon equivalent of an LMG or HMG depending on chosen setting.
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AspblastUSA
Well-known member
The NCR's plan was clever, and if they'd been right about American imperial hunger may well have actually left them dangerously overstretched in mexico. Based on the intel they had I'd even go so far as to say that this looks like it might have had the makings of a great strategy to reverse their lost momentum. That said, the entire chapter was overshadowed by one immense thing for me...
You didn't. You fucking didn't. I can't even be mad. I hate this and love this in equal measure. Well played you madlad, don't change a word of this design.
You didn't. You fucking didn't. I can't even be mad. I hate this and love this in equal measure. Well played you madlad, don't change a word of this design.
Navarro
Well-known member
Note also that they removed the text saying "CALIFORNIA REPUBLIC".
WyrmofFrost
Wandering Muse Seeker
SuperHeavy
Well-known member
I really like that someone shrouded the vulnerable laser projectors, high powered electronics are not as durable as a steel gun-barrels and more bulky.
Navarro
Well-known member
The FO3/NV/4 plasma rifle is even worse with exposing important electronic components. Thing makes far more sense as a post-apoc scrapheap construction than anything pre-War.
Aaron Fox
Well-known member
... or that the housings got removed because you've got to get into the components/went defunct decades ago...
ForeverShogo
Well-known member
The fun thing is we came pretty close to annexing what we today think of as northern Mexico. We were only really prevented from doing so because the guy tasked with the peace negotiations went off the reservation.
When it came time to negotiate with Mexico, the territory we wanted was essentially divided into primary, secondary, and tertiary objectives.
The area in white is what we actually took, and was the primary objective.
The bit of brown, marked as the Gadsden Purchase, we straight up bought later. That was mostly because we wanted to build a southern railroad that connected The South with the Pacific, but the original territorial gains were considered too mountainous. We literally only have that chunk of southern Arizona and New Mexico because it was easier to build a railroad there.
The Baja Peninsula was the secondary objective. We've actually tried to purchase it a few times. Hell, American business interests once actually owned enough land in Baja that a single corporation based in Colorado effectively ran it as a shadow government, and if that had continued it probably would have been Americanized to the point that we'd have annexed it by now . . . But the Mexican government realized what was going on and basically nationalized everything to stop the process.
As for the tertiary objective . . . There was also an interest in annexing all or most of Sonora, Chihuahua, Coahuila, Nuevo Leon, and Tamaulipas. (That said, there were some in The South who wanted to annex ALL of Mexico.)
As for why we didn't?
The territory we'd actually end up annexing was very sparsely populated, with the populated areas basically being concentrated in a few easy to manage locations. By comparison, Baja and the other territory south of the Rio Grande was a bit more heavily populated so there were concerns the people living there would be more annoying to deal with. Especially when Mexicans were actually still fighting in Baja and the people in the occupied territories were becoming increasingly frustrated by the presence of American soldiers. (That said, the population was still low enough that most agree we probably could have integrated northern Mexico without much issue.)
At the same time, the Mexican negotiators found out that Baja was only a secondary goal so they figured it was safe to dig in their heels on that and drag out the negotiations. Mostly because the war against Mexico wasn't actually all that popular in The North, because Northerners were afraid that The South would gain a bunch more slave states and shift the balance of power too far.
The more the Mexicans refused, the more Polk, the President at the time, got annoyed with them. The more he got annoyed with them, the further he'd bump up the priority of the demands until he was basically demanding all of the claimed territory instead of what we actually took with Baja as a maybe.
This carried its own risks, because as the negotiations dragged on for the better part of a year the Mexican people were also getting pretty pissed off at their own government and their were fears that those who wanted to just keep on fighting might come to power or even that Mexico might collapse into a state of anarchy or civil war. (At least nine Mexican states still had intact National Guards, and all of them had refused to recognize Santa Anna as their Commander-in-Chief during the war.)
The American negotiator, Nicholas Trist, wanted to avoid that. He preferred a negotiated peace with defined borders and as few hard feelings as possible. The last thing he wanted was for America to just unilaterally take everything. Since he was resistant to Polk's increased demands, Polk actually ordered that he be recalled so the he could be replaced with someone who would demand everything.
So Trist basically on his own initiative told the Mexican negotiators that a treaty had to be signed right then and there or Mexico would be in a lot of trouble, and so a treaty with only the primary objective being ceded was signed before the situation could get worse. This treaty was presented to Congress and ratified without being objected to by Polk due to the increasing unpopularity of the war with Mexico. Essentially, it was politically untenable to reject what Trist had negotiated and demand more from the Mexicans.
So, uh, I guess the tl;dr of this is that the person chosen to represent America in the negotiations actually wanted to be "fair" to Mexico and acted on his own initiative to put together a treaty, in opposition to the President's own wishes on the matter, taking advantage of the political situation at home to basically force his preferred outcome.
Though this wasn't without repercussions. Trist was immediately fired and wasn't paid for his time or the expenses incurred while negotiating in Mexico. He'd eventually get that pay in the decade following the American Civil War, but his political career never recovered and he was forever hated by those who thought we could have and should have taken more.
And for what it's worth, I also think it's incredibly fucking stupid that we didn't take the Baja Peninsula. I could take or leave the other demanded territories.
When it came time to negotiate with Mexico, the territory we wanted was essentially divided into primary, secondary, and tertiary objectives.
The area in white is what we actually took, and was the primary objective.
The bit of brown, marked as the Gadsden Purchase, we straight up bought later. That was mostly because we wanted to build a southern railroad that connected The South with the Pacific, but the original territorial gains were considered too mountainous. We literally only have that chunk of southern Arizona and New Mexico because it was easier to build a railroad there.
The Baja Peninsula was the secondary objective. We've actually tried to purchase it a few times. Hell, American business interests once actually owned enough land in Baja that a single corporation based in Colorado effectively ran it as a shadow government, and if that had continued it probably would have been Americanized to the point that we'd have annexed it by now . . . But the Mexican government realized what was going on and basically nationalized everything to stop the process.
As for the tertiary objective . . . There was also an interest in annexing all or most of Sonora, Chihuahua, Coahuila, Nuevo Leon, and Tamaulipas. (That said, there were some in The South who wanted to annex ALL of Mexico.)
As for why we didn't?
The territory we'd actually end up annexing was very sparsely populated, with the populated areas basically being concentrated in a few easy to manage locations. By comparison, Baja and the other territory south of the Rio Grande was a bit more heavily populated so there were concerns the people living there would be more annoying to deal with. Especially when Mexicans were actually still fighting in Baja and the people in the occupied territories were becoming increasingly frustrated by the presence of American soldiers. (That said, the population was still low enough that most agree we probably could have integrated northern Mexico without much issue.)
At the same time, the Mexican negotiators found out that Baja was only a secondary goal so they figured it was safe to dig in their heels on that and drag out the negotiations. Mostly because the war against Mexico wasn't actually all that popular in The North, because Northerners were afraid that The South would gain a bunch more slave states and shift the balance of power too far.
The more the Mexicans refused, the more Polk, the President at the time, got annoyed with them. The more he got annoyed with them, the further he'd bump up the priority of the demands until he was basically demanding all of the claimed territory instead of what we actually took with Baja as a maybe.
This carried its own risks, because as the negotiations dragged on for the better part of a year the Mexican people were also getting pretty pissed off at their own government and their were fears that those who wanted to just keep on fighting might come to power or even that Mexico might collapse into a state of anarchy or civil war. (At least nine Mexican states still had intact National Guards, and all of them had refused to recognize Santa Anna as their Commander-in-Chief during the war.)
The American negotiator, Nicholas Trist, wanted to avoid that. He preferred a negotiated peace with defined borders and as few hard feelings as possible. The last thing he wanted was for America to just unilaterally take everything. Since he was resistant to Polk's increased demands, Polk actually ordered that he be recalled so the he could be replaced with someone who would demand everything.
So Trist basically on his own initiative told the Mexican negotiators that a treaty had to be signed right then and there or Mexico would be in a lot of trouble, and so a treaty with only the primary objective being ceded was signed before the situation could get worse. This treaty was presented to Congress and ratified without being objected to by Polk due to the increasing unpopularity of the war with Mexico. Essentially, it was politically untenable to reject what Trist had negotiated and demand more from the Mexicans.
So, uh, I guess the tl;dr of this is that the person chosen to represent America in the negotiations actually wanted to be "fair" to Mexico and acted on his own initiative to put together a treaty, in opposition to the President's own wishes on the matter, taking advantage of the political situation at home to basically force his preferred outcome.
Though this wasn't without repercussions. Trist was immediately fired and wasn't paid for his time or the expenses incurred while negotiating in Mexico. He'd eventually get that pay in the decade following the American Civil War, but his political career never recovered and he was forever hated by those who thought we could have and should have taken more.
And for what it's worth, I also think it's incredibly fucking stupid that we didn't take the Baja Peninsula. I could take or leave the other demanded territories.
Aaron Fox
Well-known member
That is ignoring the situation back then and it would probably kick off the Civil War decades earlier. Up until the Republican Party (in its original incarnation, aka the 'Party of Lincoln') made serious headway, everyone was more worried about how bad the civil war would be and tried to prevent it.The fun thing is we came pretty close to annexing what we today think of as northern Mexico. We were only really prevented from doing so because the guy tasked with the peace negotiations went off the reservation.
When it came time to negotiate with Mexico, the territory we wanted was essentially divided into primary, secondary, and tertiary objectives.
The area in white is what we actually took, and was the primary objective.
The bit of brown, marked as the Gadsden Purchase, we straight up bought later. That was mostly because we wanted to build a southern railroad that connected The South with the Pacific, but the original territorial gains were considered too mountainous. We literally only have that chunk of southern Arizona and New Mexico because it was easier to build a railroad there.
The Baja Peninsula was the secondary objective. We've actually tried to purchase it a few times. Hell, American business interests once actually owned enough land in Baja that a single corporation based in Colorado effectively ran it as a shadow government, and if that had continued it probably would have been Americanized to the point that we'd have annexed it by now . . . But the Mexican government realized what was going on and basically nationalized everything to stop the process.
As for the tertiary objective . . . There was also an interest in annexing all or most of Sonora, Chihuahua, Coahuila, Nuevo Leon, and Tamaulipas. (That said, there were some in The South who wanted to annex ALL of Mexico.)
As for why we didn't?
The territory we'd actually end up annexing was very sparsely populated, with the populated areas basically being concentrated in a few easy to manage locations. By comparison, Baja and the other territory south of the Rio Grande was a bit more heavily populated so there were concerns the people living there would be more annoying to deal with. Especially when Mexicans were actually still fighting in Baja and the people in the occupied territories were becoming increasingly frustrated by the presence of American soldiers. (That said, the population was still low enough that most agree we probably could have integrated northern Mexico without much issue.)
At the same time, the Mexican negotiators found out that Baja was only a secondary goal so they figured it was safe to dig in their heels on that and drag out the negotiations. Mostly because the war against Mexico wasn't actually all that popular in The North, because Northerners were afraid that The South would gain a bunch more slave states and shift the balance of power too far.
The more the Mexicans refused, the more Polk, the President at the time, got annoyed with them. The more he got annoyed with them, the further he'd bump up the priority of the demands until he was basically demanding all of the claimed territory instead of what we actually took with Baja as a maybe.
This carried its own risks, because as the negotiations dragged on for the better part of a year the Mexican people were also getting pretty pissed off at their own government and their were fears that those who wanted to just keep on fighting might come to power or even that Mexico might collapse into a state of anarchy or civil war. (At least nine Mexican states still had intact National Guards, and all of them had refused to recognize Santa Anna as their Commander-in-Chief during the war.)
The American negotiator, Nicholas Trist, wanted to avoid that. He preferred a negotiated peace with defined borders and as few hard feelings as possible. The last thing he wanted was for America to just unilaterally take everything. Since he was resistant to Polk's increased demands, Polk actually ordered that he be recalled so the he could be replaced with someone who would demand everything.
So Trist basically on his own initiative told the Mexican negotiators that a treaty had to be signed right then and there or Mexico would be in a lot of trouble, and so a treaty with only the primary objective being ceded was signed before the situation could get worse. This treaty was presented to Congress and ratified without being objected to by Polk due to the increasing unpopularity of the war with Mexico. Essentially, it was politically untenable to reject what Trist had negotiated and demand more from the Mexicans.
So, uh, I guess the tl;dr of this is that the person chosen to represent America in the negotiations actually wanted to be "fair" to Mexico and acted on his own initiative to put together a treaty, in opposition to the President's own wishes on the matter, taking advantage of the political situation at home to basically force his preferred outcome.
Though this wasn't without repercussions. Trist was immediately fired and wasn't paid for his time or the expenses incurred while negotiating in Mexico. He'd eventually get that pay in the decade following the American Civil War, but his political career never recovered and he was forever hated by those who thought we could have and should have taken more.
And for what it's worth, I also think it's incredibly fucking stupid that we didn't take the Baja Peninsula. I could take or leave the other demanded territories.
Remember, this entire situation was because a 'black swan' technology in the form of the Cotton Gin got developed, making slavery profitable.
Navarro
Well-known member
The fun thing is we came pretty close to annexing what we today think of as northern Mexico. We were only really prevented from doing so because the guy tasked with the peace negotiations went off the reservation.
When it came time to negotiate with Mexico, the territory we wanted was essentially divided into primary, secondary, and tertiary objectives.
The area in white is what we actually took, and was the primary objective.
The bit of brown, marked as the Gadsden Purchase, we straight up bought later. That was mostly because we wanted to build a southern railroad that connected The South with the Pacific, but the original territorial gains were considered too mountainous. We literally only have that chunk of southern Arizona and New Mexico because it was easier to build a railroad there.
The Baja Peninsula was the secondary objective. We've actually tried to purchase it a few times. Hell, American business interests once actually owned enough land in Baja that a single corporation based in Colorado effectively ran it as a shadow government, and if that had continued it probably would have been Americanized to the point that we'd have annexed it by now . . . But the Mexican government realized what was going on and basically nationalized everything to stop the process.
As for the tertiary objective . . . There was also an interest in annexing all or most of Sonora, Chihuahua, Coahuila, Nuevo Leon, and Tamaulipas. (That said, there were some in The South who wanted to annex ALL of Mexico.)
As for why we didn't?
The territory we'd actually end up annexing was very sparsely populated, with the populated areas basically being concentrated in a few easy to manage locations. By comparison, Baja and the other territory south of the Rio Grande was a bit more heavily populated so there were concerns the people living there would be more annoying to deal with. Especially when Mexicans were actually still fighting in Baja and the people in the occupied territories were becoming increasingly frustrated by the presence of American soldiers. (That said, the population was still low enough that most agree we probably could have integrated northern Mexico without much issue.)
At the same time, the Mexican negotiators found out that Baja was only a secondary goal so they figured it was safe to dig in their heels on that and drag out the negotiations. Mostly because the war against Mexico wasn't actually all that popular in The North, because Northerners were afraid that The South would gain a bunch more slave states and shift the balance of power too far.
The more the Mexicans refused, the more Polk, the President at the time, got annoyed with them. The more he got annoyed with them, the further he'd bump up the priority of the demands until he was basically demanding all of the claimed territory instead of what we actually took with Baja as a maybe.
This carried its own risks, because as the negotiations dragged on for the better part of a year the Mexican people were also getting pretty pissed off at their own government and their were fears that those who wanted to just keep on fighting might come to power or even that Mexico might collapse into a state of anarchy or civil war. (At least nine Mexican states still had intact National Guards, and all of them had refused to recognize Santa Anna as their Commander-in-Chief during the war.)
The American negotiator, Nicholas Trist, wanted to avoid that. He preferred a negotiated peace with defined borders and as few hard feelings as possible. The last thing he wanted was for America to just unilaterally take everything. Since he was resistant to Polk's increased demands, Polk actually ordered that he be recalled so the he could be replaced with someone who would demand everything.
So Trist basically on his own initiative told the Mexican negotiators that a treaty had to be signed right then and there or Mexico would be in a lot of trouble, and so a treaty with only the primary objective being ceded was signed before the situation could get worse. This treaty was presented to Congress and ratified without being objected to by Polk due to the increasing unpopularity of the war with Mexico. Essentially, it was politically untenable to reject what Trist had negotiated and demand more from the Mexicans.
So, uh, I guess the tl;dr of this is that the person chosen to represent America in the negotiations actually wanted to be "fair" to Mexico and acted on his own initiative to put together a treaty, in opposition to the President's own wishes on the matter, taking advantage of the political situation at home to basically force his preferred outcome.
Though this wasn't without repercussions. Trist was immediately fired and wasn't paid for his time or the expenses incurred while negotiating in Mexico. He'd eventually get that pay in the decade following the American Civil War, but his political career never recovered and he was forever hated by those who thought we could have and should have taken more.
And for what it's worth, I also think it's incredibly fucking stupid that we didn't take the Baja Peninsula. I could take or leave the other demanded territories.
Yep. Manifest Destiny is a bigger force in the 24th century than it was in the 19th largely because it isn't tied up with the contentiousness of the slavery debate, and what's percieved as a need to expand for reasons of military protection (that is eventually, pushing the southern border to the Darien Gap, which is an idea being floated around in various E-US think tanks, State department reports and the like). Those north Mexican territories being annexed by or closely tied to the NCR is just icing on the cake for expansionist factions in Congress. But the really big expansion is well - it's been earmarked for later. Highest mountain in the US in the 24th century isn't Mt. McKinley, but Olympus Mons. For a given value of "in the US" ofc., but nobody is really arguing against said claim.
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SuperHeavy
Well-known member
I am sure their is a red planet joke in there somewhere but an increasing space program I find interesting because of what it would mean for the serious material shortages of the Fallout Earth. A few of the rich asteroids NASA has already identified would provide all the rare earth elements and megatons of other ores needed to kickstart a global reclamation campaign.