Byrd Man

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Surrey
Cascadia Territory

Inspector Mark Echols stood with his coat up against the light drizzle, a smoldering butt of a cigarette in his mouth. The first traces of dawn were beginning to show on the far horizon. Very soon the sun would be rising and they could get rid of the harsh halogen lights that made the lot look washed out. There were six lights in all that were erected in a circle around the primary crime scene. Police scientists working under Echols combed the small radius for any sign of clues. He stood a dozen yards away, watching as a flashbulb popped from inside the circle. Echols figured it would take a few minutes for the strong scent of the bulb’s zirconium to waft to his location.

Echols squinted through the dim light and read his wristwatch. It was just after one in the morning when he’d gotten the call from the local precinct out here, a couple parked in a back alley lot to find a spot to neck and instead found a dead body. Echols was just one hour into his shift as watch commander for the CTPF’s homicide division when he left for the scene. The duties of watch commander entailed being the first of two detectives on duty during the graveyard shift of midnight to eight. One of the techs waved him over. Echols stubbed his cigarette butt on the heel of his shoe and shoved it into his coat pocket before limping over.

The limp was his keepsake from the war. Echols was an MP during the war with the US, he worked behind the front lines and interrogated the few POWs the NWC army managed to snag. Then came the NWC’s own civil war that tore the army apart. Echols’ own MP unit was ripped apart and he saw some rough fighting not far from here. He came out the war one kneecap shy of a pair, but the snazzy cane helped compensate for that.

“What have we got?” he asked the tech.

“Nothing at all,” the overweight man said with a shrug. “No fibers, no bruising or lacerations around his hands or wrists. No scars or tattoos and obviously no identification on him.”

Echols looked down at the dead body. It was the naked corpse of a man who appeared to be in his mid to late 30’s. He was on the fat side and had dark hair with a dark, scraggly beard. He had a neat little bullet hole in the back of his head.

“What about his dick?” Echols asked, referring to the erection the dead man sported hours after his death.

“He had a hard-on when he died, that’s for sure. I don’t know if it was part of the fight or flight response or if he was aroused when he was shot. The human body, man, it’s a mysterious thing. Medical examiner will be able to give you a better answer if he does an autopsy, though.”

Echols nodded and crouched down to look. Even with the dim lighting and hair covering the wound Mark could make out the stippling around the hole, a dead giveaway that the shooter had been in close. Execution style, Echols thought to himself. He stood up and turned to look across the river at the skyline of Vancouver. It was close enough to dump a body, just 26 kil-… miles, sixteen some odd miles away. He had to start thinking of distances in miles and feet now. This was the third murder of the year for the whole territory. Cascadia had settled down once the militant rebels had been swept from the board, but this murder was a reminder to Echols that something dark and violent seemed to lurk beneath the surface of this place.

“Okay,” he finally said to the tech and his team. “Run his prints by R&I and see if they get a match. I’ll run through the recent missing persons reports and see if our guy comes up. If you find anything else interesting, give me a call.”

The tech gave Echols a half-hearted nod as the inspector started to hobble across the lot towards his unmarked car. He drove back into Vancouver with the radio scanner off, lost in his thoughts. He thought about the new case he had on his hands, crossed referenced it in his mind with any old murders he’d worked in the past and couldn’t find anything close to this.

Dawn was steady approaching by the time he got back to CTPF headquarters. It was a six-story building downtown with the CTPF’s logo above the entrance. The Cascadia Territory Police Force acted as successor to the NWC’s own federal police. It was still a relatively new agency that had the task of enforcing the territory’s laws as well as any US laws that the Feds didn’t investigate. In effect they were state police. Echols had been a detective in Vancouver PD before the war, but the VPD was reluctant to bring him back after his injury. The CTPF had no qualms and brought him in to work murders. A lot of his old friends at VPD no longer spoke to him because he took the job. In their eyes he was a traitor for allying with the same people they went to war with. Echols didn’t give a damn about flags and territory. All he wanted to do was catch bad guys.

“How was the night watch?” Echols asked Braun as he shuffled through the door.

“I got to catch up on my reading,” Sergeant Sam Braun said with a chuckle. He looked up at Echols over his reading glasses, a paperback in his lap. “Have fun with the stiff in Surrey? Hey, that sounds like a great title for a detective novel. The Stiff in Surrey: An Inspector Echols Mystery.”

Echols rolled his eyes and made the jerk-off motion. To say the homicide division’s offices were cramped would be an understatement. Six detectives shared the small office space on the fifth floor, three desks between each of them. The shifts worked so that at any given time there would only be two detectives on duty, but a redball situation might require more people and that would make things very claustrophobic very quickly. Echols sat down at his desk and put a fresh sheet of paper into the typerwriter. He started to clack out his preliminary report in a slow and deliberate manner, searching and pecking on the keys one by one. Halfway through he leaned back and looked over at Braun who was back reading his book.

“Speaking of stiff, Sam, you ever encountered a dead body with a stiffy?”

“Once,” said Braun, “but that was a sex strangling thing. You know, a guy gets off on choking himself fucks up and ends up killing himself. That kind of thing, but never a murder where the vic was at attention.”

Echols picked up a pencil on the desk and chewed it pensively while he thought. He gave up after a minute and tossed the pencil down before he started back on the report. He could mull over the circumstances of the murder when he was done with his report. Echols attached a supplemental request to Ava, the homicide unit’s secretary, for her to forward a request for more information and the physical description of the victim to the CTPF’s missing persons unit, as well as every detective bureau in the territory and to the state agencies in Washington and Idaho in the south.

“Early relief,” James Rolston of the day shift announced as he sauntered through the door. “Rise and shine, assholes. Look alive, sadsacks. Time to head home.”

Echols grunted and handed Rolston the two reports he had just finished typing.

“Here you go. Read those and put the reports in Ava’s inbox. Anything about the case comes in, you know where to reach me.”

Rolston gave Echols a little salute and walked past him as Echols grabbed his cane and made his way out of the office. He’d probably go home, sleep, and then be back to the office before five that evening to work follow ups. The case was shaping up to be a loser, a stone whodunnit with very little chance of getting solved. All the other detectives in the unit would softball it and wait for a juicer one to fall into their lap, but Echols couldn’t let it go. He wanted to catch bad guys, and now he had a chance.

Washington, D.C.

Clay Fulke walked through the corridors of the West Wing with his escort leading the way. Today marked the new president’s first meeting with congressional leaders, his first such meeting since becoming Speaker. Clay toiled for sixteen years in the House, acting first as Whip when Vice President Reed was Speaker and then as Majority Leader before Reed’s successor retired after thirty years in the House.

President Norman’s congressional goals were still something of a mystery in DC. His campaign and inaugural speeches had all been filled with vague promises to make the country better, to change the tide of the 20th century and turn the next hundred years into a century of American prosperity. Easier said than done, Clay thought. The only thing that he had heard Norman wanted to do this session was make headway on civil rights in the South and get some kind of timetable on statehood for the Cascadia Territory. Both would be tough challenges with a solid majority of southern power in both the House and Senate, but if Norman could pull it off it may end up being a good sign that he wasn’t just talk.

The young White House staffer led Clay to the conference room just off from the Oval Office. The majority leader, Harris Hayden, was already there along with Senate minority leader Clark Peters. Clay and the majority and minority leaders made up the top three Democrats in the House and Senate. They took their places around the table and waited for the president and vice-president.

“Gentlemen,” Russell Reed said with a large smile as he came through the door. He glad-handed the men and welcomed them in. They were just sitting down when President Norman entered, not through the same door as the others, but through the door that led straight to the Oval Office. He held a hand out to stop everyone from standing back up.

“No need for that,” he said as he sat. “Thank you all for meeting with me. I just wanted to have this meeting as a preliminary discussions before I meet with the Republican congressional leaders, map our strategy out before we test the waters. Like any good military man, I want to scout the battlefield in advance.”

A slight chuckle went out. Clay saw the slight look the president and vice-president shared before Reed leaned forward to speak.

“One suggestion the administration has been kicking around is in the area of national defense. That was one of the president’s campaign cornerstones, and the Republicans are always for that so we could start out with a softball piece of legislation before we get into the tougher stuff.”

“What did you have in mind?” Clay asked with a raised eyebrow.

“New England Weapon Industries has been struggling to keep its head above water for years, and since the New England Republic was absolved back into the US it’s on the verge of bankruptcy.”

“We want to nationalize it,” the president said, picking up the train of thought from Reed. “Kickstart it with federal government investment, use incentives to attract quality weapons designers to work there. I’m tired of relying on other nation's weapons to protect our troops, I have been for a long time. I think it’s a first step in the right direction if we can turn NEWI into the US armed force’s personal armory. Thoughts?”

“I like it,” Hayden replied. “National defense is something everyone wants to vote for, all the voters are for it.”

“Shouldn’t have a problem going through the House,” said Clay. “We can get it through in record time. The Senate is where I’d be concerned. The Republicans have been fighting back hard on anything that still smells like socialism, and nationalizing a company falls within that purview.”

“This theoretical bill would provide just compensation for NEWI’s owners and shareholders,” said the vice-president. “I think that little caveat would appease the Republican’s ideological need to be difficult. What do you think, Clark?”

“It’d be close,” Peters said after a moment’s pause. “Very close.”

“Off the top of my head,” Reed said quickly. “I could see the bill passing the Senate… 75-21, that’s give or take a vote or two. The new senators haven’t had time to create a voting record.”

“Nobody can count votes like the vice-president,” the president said with a laugh. “But let’s just assume it’ll be close that way we can’t rest on our laurels on this one. This will be this administration's first big challenge and I want to see we come out of it on the right side of it.”

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

The Great Robot War of 1980. RIP: China

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

gorgenmast said
I just felt like congratulating Byrd on doing an awesome job starting out in PoW with little to no direction. So many of the people who try to start in PoW want to do what they want with complete disregard of established lore, but you've done a fantastic job working with the previous story and weaving it into your own. It's refreshing to see someone who gets it. Keep up the awesome work, Byrd.

Thank you, sir. I've been in a few RPs with an extensive preexisting lore, both as a new member and long-term vet, so I've learned how to work with what I've been given

Vilageidiotx said
It's also refreshing to see newbies who's posts look more like House of Cards than the Transformers.

....

So much for that 'Muica Bot I had in the works.

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Vancouver

“We will rebuild this country and set it on a path that will show the world that we are ready to become something more than an also-ran, and the next century to come shall be called the American Century.”

Arthur watched the man on the television screen speak to the crowd gathered thousands of miles away. This man, who was now the president of the country he now belonged to, a man he had never voted for would now lead the nation he had never agreed to join. Arthur was just one of a half dozen gathered outside the department store, watching the inaugural address on a bank of black and white televisions. The people running the store had piped the audio out to the street so those without television could watch the historic event.

The applause in Washington started to die down and Norman, the man who invaded Arthur’s country and taken his government away by force, smiled before turning stern.

“For the first time in nearly a hundred years, a vast expanse of territory has been gained by the United States. These tracts of land in the northwest, this former North West Coalition, were the site of much suffering in the war. The horrors of war and genocide still hang heavily over the territory and the state of Washington. The people behind the attack in Seattle have been punished for their crimes, those that would attack our country in the most cowardly ways have been put on notice that the events of Seattle must be forgiven, but they must never be forgotten. One of the first acts of this new administration will deal with the former NWC, and I urge Congress to begin deliberation on a resolution that will see the Cascade Territory granted proper statehood. It is my goal to welcome her into the Union before the end of my term in office.“

While the crowd in DC let out continued applause, the reaction in front of the Vancouver department store was much different. A few of the people booed, one man spat on the glass window separating the crowd from the televisions. The general went on with more lofty plans for the country but Arthur was no longer listening. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shuffled down the street with the rest of the people going about their day. A semi-truck with a canvas top slowly rolled down the artillery scarred street, careful to avoid the holes in the road. Arthur caught a glimpse of the dozen or so US troops sitting in the back of the truck with their rifles before the vehicle disappeared around a corner. That was just one of the many reminders that the NWC, Arthur refused to call it Cascade, was under military occupation.

There were the pockmarked roads, the buildings damaged by the intense fighting that took place, and of course the queues. There were queues at the stores, queues that ended up with people getting their box of weekly rations before they trudged on home. The NWC had been one of the strongest economic powers in the Americas and now their wealth had been absorbed by the US upon annexation and distributed to the federal government, the NWC’s budget surplus used to prop up the country’s many impoverished states. Arthur’s nation hadn’t lasted long, but it had existed and it was a strong one. Now that country was a thing of the past and it was destined to go down in history as a footnote like the failed Southern secession attempts and the New England Republic.

Washington DC

All eyes were on President Norman and the First Lady as they had the first dance of the Inaugural Ball. The president wore a tuxedo while his wife of over thirty years wore a cream colored strapless ballgown that was subtle and effective without being too over the top. They glided around the dance floor hand in hand, dancing slowly and lost in the moment. Others began to file out on the dance floor to join the First Couple in the night’s festivities. Russell was not one of those people, and neither was Senator William Robert Dixon. The two old bulls sat together near the back of the ballroom, talking amongst themselves over drinks. Russell held a hand up and waved at his wife as she danced with their son-in-law.

“So, Russ,” Dixon said in his Okie drawl. “I heard an interesting rumor while you were on the campaign trail this summer. It concerned you and those sumbitches that think they run things down in Texas.”

“Well I don’t know what you heard, but all I did was teach them a lesson on where real power lies.”

“Power is where power goes?” Dixon asked with an arched eyebrow. He chuckled when Russell nodded. “And where is power going now, Russ? What kind of power can you possibly hope to mine out of the most powerless job in DC?”

“Look around you, Bill. All eyes are where? Front and center on the president just where I want them. He gets to be the face, I get to be the one who operates in the shadows to get the job done.”

“Power behind the throne,” Dixon’s amused smirk stayed on his face. “Or more like presidential hatchet man? Regardless, that job lasts as long as you stay in Norman’s good graces.”

Russell laughed and took a sip of water. Devil’s advocate was Bill Dixon’s specialty. The two men had operated on opposite sides of the Senate aisle for ten years; Russell was majority leader at the time that the Democrats had a two vote majority in the Senate and Dixon held a large bloc of conservative voters in his pocket. They had worked together and clashed over dozens of issues in the past, but they were both pragmatic when they needed to be.

“Speaking of promotions, I’m surprised you didn’t get the Leader post.”

General Norman’s national appeal had led to a democratic landslide in the presidential race, but the Senate seats up for reelection went in the Republican’s favor and they now had a three seat majority in the Senate. The fact that he would have lost the Leadership was further proof to Russell that he had made the right decision to take the Vice-Presidency.

“It’s just a title. I still have my caucus, more now that we picked up a few seats up in the Northeast. Power is where power goes? Well, I’m staying right where I am and so is my power. I’ll let Kelly play at trying to run the Senate, but I’m gonna make damn sure my people vote the way we need to.”

The question left unsaid between them was how long would Dixon stay where he was. It was only 1980, but 1988wasn’t that far away. Russell knew he was too cautious to run against an incumbent like Norman, especially if Norman was successful in his first term. Running against Norman’s Vice President however could be far easier.

"Within the next few days, the president is going to want to meet with the leaders of Congress about the agenda he wants to set for the upcoming congressional session. Cascade statehood, among other things, will be brought up. Annexation was your baby, Bill, what do you think about statehood?”

“Too soon,” Dixon grunted. “We still got armed forces there occupying the old NWC states. We gotta wait a generation or two before we try to think about statehood, let the wounds heal up some. They’re already pissed at us for annexing them.”

“I bet. Also doesn’t help feelings that NWC United was dissolved by the US and Dixon Oil swooped in to take its place.”

“Yes,” Dixon said impassively. “But at least Dixon Oil is working hard to jumpstart the economy there with jobs and new projects.”

“Indeed,” Russell nodded, “Corporate altruism at its finest.”

Russell stood and held out his hand for Dixon. The two men shook hands quickly and looked each other in the eye.

“Congratulations once again, Mr. Vice President, and best of luck making something relevant out of your office. You’re gonna need it.”

Simon Fraser University
Vancouver

“Blame Canada.”

A murmur of approval went through the small room. The man behind the lectern was bald with a three day stubble and thick glasses with black plastic frames. The glasses made is blue eyes appear three times larger than they actually were. He tapped the surface of the lectern as he spoke.

“It was their aggressive nature that forced the US’s hand. Blame the NWC, it was our own government’s greed that led to entering the war in the name of grabbing more territory. Blame the upper class; it was their desire to take over the country that led to the genocide in Seattle. One can only sympathize with the US as they invaded us and annexed us as revenge… but that was a different country that annexed us. Where has the Socialism in the United Socialists States gone? Today’s inauguration was proof that the country that now controls our fate is leaving its Socialistic ties behind.”

The professor continued to rail on the values of socialism and why it had worked for the US. Arthur kept his right hand on his chin to keep his head from nodding. He had started out on a good path, but it had gone another way. Arthur cared very little for socialism; the NWC’s government hadn’t been Socialists, they had a government similar to the old US government back before the wars. The professor’s political tract winded on to the point to where Arthur had to leave. He left the lecture hall with his notebook in hand.

“Couldn’t stand it either?” a voice asked from behind.

He turned and saw a man roughly his age wearing a faded olive field jacket and smoking a cigarette. He had a rough beard and a long, curly black hair. He gave Arthur a grin and blew smoke from his mouth while he talked.

“All that socialist bullshit is for the birds.”

“Yeah, I thought he was onto something… but…”

“Say, what do you think about all this shit, the American occupation, annexation?”

“Shit is the right word,” Arthur said with a shrug. “Rans fucked up royally getting involved in the war, and the thing in Seattle was bad… but annexation? For what exactly did we lose our country for? For oil and all that other economic bullshit, that’s what.”

The man nodded and flicked his cigarette against the wall of the hall. He motioned for Arthur to follow him and they walked down the corridor talking.

“I’m Alex, by the way. I’m a third year Pol-Sci major.”

“Arthur. I’m second year engineering.”

“Engineering?” Alex asked with a cocked eyebrow. “Like mechanical?”

“Electronic.”

“Really? That’s cool.”

Alex stopped once they were outside. He bundled his jacket against himself and looked at Arthur.

“I gotta get going. You know, Arthur, I’m part of a group that meets once a week, we talk politics and shoot the shit and all that stuff. You seem like you’ve got some interesting ideas, would you like to come to the next meeting?”

“Yeah,” Arthur said, trying his best not to seem too excited. He hadn’t really made friends since he started at school, preferring to keep to himself even when he was part of groups. Almost everyone didn’t have his interests, and to be part of a group that seemed to care about the things he cared about was something he had been trying to find for a long time.

“Cool. Meet me outside here the day after tomorrow about seven and I’ll take you to where we meet.”

“I’ll be there with bells on.”

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Just want to say how awesome the PoW wiki is. It's been really helpful in getting me caught up on some of the goings on in the game.

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Hartwell, GA

Russell Reed sat on his deck overlooking Lake Hartwell with a drink in hand. He grew up not far from here in Lavonia, the only son of an upper middle class family. His daddy was a banker who dabbled in politics and fancied himself as something of a kingmaker in Franklin County. He found out the truth when he tried a run at the state legislature. The men who took Jonathan Reed’s money hand over fist were not pleased to see him actually enter a race. He was slandered throughout Franklin County as a man who cared for nothing but cash, they said once he was in the state house he would work with the big interest to take farmer’s land, they said he had changed his name and was actually Jewish. Who, they asked, would vote for a greedy Jew in the pocket of big business? When Election Day came, Jonathan Reed only got five percent of the vote and retired from politics all together. For ten year old Russell, the lessons his father’s failed campaign taught him were extremely valuable.

At twenty-five Russell beat a six man field and was elected to Georgia’s Ninth Congressional District. The victory was the result of nearly six years of hard work, Russell traveling around the district and meeting people. He talked not to the old pols that ran the counties, but the people on the outs with them and the young ones eager for their shot. Five years consolidating power and votes in the district laid the groundwork for an organization that would one day spread around the state. The organization and Russell campaigned tirelessly day and night across the district, any place where a registered voter might be he went out and met them. He refuted the old claims of his Jewish blood, showing a crowd in Habersham his family tree traced all the way back to England.

Twenty years in congress, twenty years climbing the rungs of the ladder while his statewide influence grew. Russell started to run unopposed after his third reelection to office, the opposition in the Ninth gave up. He was elected Speaker of the House just as civil war broke out, the old fault lines of north and south ripping apart into a new conflict. Unlike most of his southern brethren, Russell stayed in DC and continued to act as Speaker through the war. He knew the war would be temporary, but the gavel was something he had wanted his entire life. Five years later he was proved right when the south was brought back into the fold. Soon after he announced his intention to run for the Senate and faced an uphill battle. The people of Georgia called him traitor and Yankee sympathizer, the old Jew claims were brought back with a vengeance. What the people of Georgia didn’t count on was the loyalty of his organization, the men he had cajoled and horse-traded with for over twenty years, the men who proved they would do what it took for Russell. With a razor thin margin of just a thousand votes, he was elected into the Senate. From there the journey repeated itself.

Now Russell was majority leader of that body. He ran the old chamber with an iron fist. That institution that for so long was seen as inept and slow moving now ran like a well-oiled machine. He used his gifts for politicking and manipulation to get the ninety-five other men under his control. Where Jonathan Reed had failed miserably under the misguided notion that he was a kingmaker, Russell was king. And he was just on the second leg of his journey. This plan was something hatched long ago, something he never spoke about aloud with anyone. Slowly but surely he had been acquiring contacts across the country, men who could control and influence delegates and electoral votes. In the Midwest and small pockets in the northeast they were working for him. Depending on how the meeting he had scheduled today went, he could use those men as both weapon and bargaining tool.

“Senator, sir?”

Willy, Russell’s assistant, stood at the edge of the deck with his arms behind his back. Russell stood and nodded to Willy, his signal for the younger man to leave. Behind Willy stood the impressive figure of Michael Norman, all medals and stars. The general wore his military uniform with the cluster of five stars on the shoulder and rows of ribbons and medals on his chest. For his part, Russell wore khaki pants and a button-up shirt.

“General,” Russell said with a smile. “Welcome to my home. Won’t you have a seat?”

Norman took a chair next to Russell and looked out at the lake, commenting on the impressive view and lovely house. A moment later Willy appeared at their side, passing the general a drink. Russell sent Willy away again and watched Norman sip his beverage.

“General, I want to congratulate you on that magnificent performance last week in Washington. You held the whole world in the palm of your hands and managed to bring some sanity back to the situation.”

Russell had watched from outside DC, watching on the television as they showed Norman walking into the city, alone and unarmed to speak to the rogue military men who occupied it. The country watched all night, waiting for news before he emerged just before noon the next day with the soldiers withdrawing from Washington and allowing free elections to take place without force.

“Thank you, senator. Sending in more troops would have just escalated it. What those men in Washington needed was to listen to reason.”

“Mmm,” Russell said with a mouthful of bourbon. He swallowed it and looked towards Norman. “And I bet they also needed a candidate, someone who would listen to their needs. Someone who can sympathize with their position, someone who shares their same background.”

He smiled when he saw Norman shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“When do you announce your candidacy, General?”

“Soon. Within the next few weeks at the earliest and a month before the convention at the latest. Running was something I had been considering, but recent events forced my hand.”

Russell nodded and took another sip of his drink. He knew what was coming next, but he couldn’t prompt Norman. That was the way he handled favors. He would not suggest or propose. If someone wanted something from him it was their job to ask. No, the general had to ask himself.

“If I want this to succeed I’ll need your help, senator.”

“What do you need from me?”

“Several things. I need the south in my corner if I plan on making a serious run for the White House. I’m experienced in military politics, but I’m a novice in other political arenas. I need your help in courting delegates and political bosses.”

“Why do you need my help with delegates? You’re Michael Norman, war hero and now peacetime hero. You’re from the south.”

“I’m from Virginia, but to a farmer from Alabama that may as well be Boston. My political agenda could ruffle many feathers in the south, civil rights chief among those items. I can get votes across the country, but I need the south to stay solid for me, and I need you to do it.”

“The quid pro quo, General? A cabinet post?”

“Vice president.”

Russell scoffed and took another sip.

“I think it was Daniel Webster who was offered the same role and said ‘I don’t propose to be buried until I’m dead.’ Why would I give up all the power I have in the Senate to sit around all day, twiddling my thumbs.”
Norman gently placed his drink on the glass table between the two men and nodded to himself before he spoke.

“I’ve heard of your reputation, senator. The way you can read politicians like an open book. Nobody is better than you are in political warfare. But I also have a talent for reading men, but my battlefield is an actual battlefield. I’ve conducted strategy on a massive scale. I think I can read your intentions and strategy pretty well. You want to be president. You have never stated it, but everyone in Washington knows it’s true. The only problem is where you’re from. Zachary Taylor was the last southern president elected, and that was in 1849. The first civil war caused the streak, and now the second one has caused at least another hundred years before one is elected. I’m from a border state, I fought for the US in both wars, and I can overcome the Southern taint through my record in the war. You can’t, and it doesn’t matter that you were loyal during the war, all that matters is that little GA next to your name on the ballot. Then there's the glamour of running the Senate, or lack thereof. The real poltico insiders know who you are and what you can do, but John Q. Citizen has no idea who you are. Ask ten people on the street who you and they'll all say who? If you’re my vice president you’ll be a key adviser in my administration with a place in the national spotlight. I’m afraid I can’t give you any true power without throwing off the balance of the three branches, but you voice will be heard and you will help make decisions. At the end of my presidency, four years or eight however I feel, you will be the heir apparent with the endorsement of the former president, the Democratic Party’s infrastructure, and your own talents and people at your disposal. Senator, you can’t lose.”

Russell took his time replying, finishing his drink and staring off at the lake in silence while Norman watched him decide. He shook the ice cubes and placed the empty glass on the table before extending a hand to Norman.

“When do we start?”

Houston, Texas
Two Months Later

Russell leaned back in his seat while the men talked. The six men gathered in the smoky hotel conference room were informally known as the Lords of Texas. They were comprised of media moguls, oil barons, and political bosses who each own their own fiefdom of political power and influence in the state. If anyone running for statewide or federal office in Texas wanted to be taken serious, they needed the support of one of the Lords. What Russell was asking for was support from them all.

“Gentlemen,” he said, holding a hand up to quiet the din. “I don’t like what I’m hearing.”

“Well, that’s your own little wagon,” said one of the men. Jerry “Buck” Buchannan was the undisputed boss of South Texas. Six counties near the border were under his control. They were heavily Mexican and heavily corrupt. They voted how the jefe wanted, as many times as the jefe wanted.

“You shouldn’t have hitched your horse to a goddamn liberal bleeding heart,” said Charles Mayhew, owner of sixteen major papers and television stations across the state.

“We don’t give a flying fuck what he did against Canada. His talk is too socialistic for my taste. I don’t want those goddamn bastards back in control of this country.”

The men broke out into general rabbles of agreement with Mayhew, one after the other rallying against the Norman’s liberal policies. Russell let the men talk while he stood up and fixed himself a glass of water. When he returned to the table, he stood and talked while cradling the glass.

“So, you don’t throw your influence and money into the Norman campaign to elect him president. What you do is throw your influence and money into the Norman campaign to elect me Vice-President. He has given me his assurance and I believe him to be true when he says I will be a key and close advisor in his administration. I can stop him from getting too liberal with his agenda.”

“Seems simpler to me to elect the other fella,” grunted Dallas oilman Pete Smith. “Your promises and assurances won’t be a damn thing if he wins and you and Norman ain't in the White House.”

“Oh, no,” Russell said softly. “You want to do everything in your power to get General Norman in the White House, at the very least do everything in your power to make Texas go his way in the election. Do y’all want to know why?”

He drained the glass of water and held it in his hands as he spoke.

“A Norman loss in the election sends me back to the Senate, back to the spot of majority leader where I can continue to work hard. Where I can work hard on those bills that will help our country so much, bills like the FCC media monopoly bill that will force any one company from owning more than three newspapers, radio, or television stations to sell every media outlet to get them at or below the maximum. The chairman of the FCC was appointed by the Senate, after my approval as Leader of course.”

Mayhew shifted in his seat and played with his necktie while Russell walked around the table. He stopped by Pete Smith and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Or what about that big natural gas pipeline they want to put in Texas, the one that’s going to go all the way to California to provide so many people with good Texas gas? That bill is in committee and a word from me to the chairman, a Democrat who is chairman by my good graces, and it dies in committee like a toddler strangled in the crib.”

Russell took his place back at the head of the table and met Buck Buchanan’s gaze.

“Or the very important work the Justice Department’s doing, investigating voter fraud across the country, and particularly in the South. The steering committee that decides where they go is chaired by my Whip. You see, y’all fail to realize that the power you hold is so delicate.”

He banged the glass on the wood table with a loud thud. It held together and Russell showed it to the men.

“It’ll survive a thud or two, but an all out assault on that structure?”

He snarled and tossed the glass across the table, where it crashed against the far wall and shattered into a dozen pieces.

“You call yourself Lords of Texas, but I am the Lord of the US Senate. If Texas goes to the Republicans, or if Texas goes our way but I still sense anything less than complete devotion to the cause, I will do everything in my power to make sure you all pay.”

Russell took a deep breath and straightened his tie before smiling at the stunned men.

“General Norman’s people will be in touch. Y’all have a good day, and remember to vote Democrat. “

Washington DC
Election Day

“Repeat after me: I, Michael Benjamin Norman.”

“I, Michael Benjamin Norman—“

“Solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States--”

“Solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States—“

Russell stood off to the side with his wife, watching as Norman took the oath of office. He cut quite a dashing figure, the president-elect with his full head of steely gray hair and tall figure with a rugged jaw line. Like a Hollywood ideal of what a president should look like. He wore a black suit with a blue tie. An American flag pin was on one lapel of his suit, a five-star pin on the other lapel. For his part Russell wore a similar cut suit but with a black tie. He took his oath of office minutes earlier and accepted the polite applause that came from the assembled crowd. Nobody came to see him sworn in.

Norman carried Texas and the entire South all the way up to Maryland. He also took California and the entire West Coast, the Southwest, New York, and the Northeast. If not for Vice President Mitchell's strong Midwestern base, Norman would have won every state's popular vote and electoral college vote. It was the largest presidential margin of victory since James Monroe was reelected unopposed one hundred and sixty years earlier.

“So help me God.“

“So help me God.“

A cheer went out from the nearly one and a half million people gathered at the capitol. President Norman shook hands with the Chief Justice and smiled, hugging his wife and sons before taking to the podium to give his inaugural address. Russell had a hand in the speech he was about to give, but just a slight edification or two. Like that meeting on the lake back in the summer, Russell was slightly surprised at Norman’s speech writing skill. That was the second time he had underestimated the president, something he was learning the hard way not to do. The crowd quieted as Norman looked down at his speech and then back up at the crowd.

“Potential. We are a nation filled to the brim with it. Ever since 1776, it was said that it would only be a matter of time before the United States became one of the great powers of the world. Years of territorial expansion and civil war led to a realization of that dream after the Spanish-American War. We were poised to become one of the greatest nation states of all time, so worried was the rest of Europe they called our country The American Peril… but we faltered. When the world was consumed with war, we turned our backs on our destiny and we have paid the price. Potential has been squandered through mismanagement; potential has been delayed due to threats both foreign and domestic. This nation has been battered by war twice in the last fifty years, two wars I saw the horrors of first hand. Damage has been done, and the scars of internal strife have yet to heal. Only through growth can we heal. This is why we must finally reach out potential, we must finally manifest our destiny, and we must heed the call and take our place on the world stage, a place we have been destined to take for two hundred and four years. We will rebuild this country and set it on a path that will show the world that we are ready to become something more than an also-ran, and the next century to come shall be called the American Century.”

The crowd wildly applauded while the president paused, the supporters behind him rising to give him a standing ovation. Russell was among them, smiling as he clapped his hands and saw the mass of people clapping along with the new president’s agenda, a plan to get the country back on its feet and back on the path that had been laid down so long ago.

World in Revolution: 1920

Sure.

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Thanks for the approval. Working on something now, should be up in the next few days.

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Went with a 48 state flag because of no Alaska, and I assume Hawaii is still a territory.

Nation: The United States of America

Leader:

The Norman Administration Key Members

President: Gen. Michael Norman (Ret.) (D, VA)

General of the Army Michael Norman, veteran of the First North American War and hero of the Second North American War, was Chief of Staff for the Army who had his eyes on the presidency in 1980. The occupation of Washington by disgruntled soldiers threw a monkey wrench into his plans. As chief of staff, Norman voluntarily went into the city alone and negotiated with the soldiers who controlled it. Norman ended the occupation of DC, commanding the soldiers to stand down without any repercussions, which allowed peaceful elections to take place that fall. His reputation as a war hero and his actions in DC led to his landslide election. A native of Virginia, Norman is a democrat who looks to the legacy of Washington and the other Virginian presidents and is committed to surpassing them in all deeds.

Vice President: Russell Reed (D, GA)

Reed is an old holdover from the Socialist South. A congressional lifer with contacts and alliances all across the country, he was picked by Norman to help him carry the rest of the country outside of the South and the army. He is the only man in US history to have served as both Speaker of the House and Senate Majority Leader. Reed accepting the vice president nomination was seen as a total surprise by nearly everyone and brings up numerous questions as to why Reed would sacrifice his political power for a powerless job like the vice president.

Secretary of State: Lillian Mather (D, CA)

Lillian Mather is the first female Secretary of State in US history. She graduated from Harvard University with a masters in political science, followed by a doctorate in the same subject from UC Berkley. She then began to work for the State Department and the Council on Foreign Affairs. She was a senior State Department official during the SNAW and helped negotiate the Trilateral Peace between the three warring powers. When Norman was elected, she was a natural choice to become Secretary of State.

Secretary of Defense: Admiral Phillip Dalton (Ret.) (R, NY)

Like Norman, Phillip Dalton is a former commander in the SNAW. While Norman oversaw the ground war, Dalton led the naval forces against the Canadian and Spanish. Dalton’s three carrier battle groups decimated the coalition of battleships in the Battle of the Outer Banks. Dalton was promoted to Five Stars and appointed Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff after the war. Dalton and the rest of the chiefs, frustrated at the current administration and their lackluster support of the military, gave political support to Norman during his run for president. Dalton was tabbed as Secretary of Defense days after Norman’s election.

History:

The United States of America is currently in a time of rebuilding. Two wars over the last twenty years have fractured the country’s political and cultural unity. The recent controversial election of war hero Michael Norman has caused discord across the country questioning the value of democracy if elections are to be held at gunpoint. Norman has resigned his commission from the army and is now a civilian, promising to act only in the nation’s best interest and seeks to unify the country. A second war with Canada and their ally Spain led to new territorial gains for the country. Casscadia, split up into northern and southern states, is poised to join the union as the 49th and 50th state. Armed troops still occupy the territory in case the once independent country decides to seek independence once more.

Allied with Norman are his cabinet, some of the best legislative, diplomatic, and military minds in the country. With them at his side he plans to revitalize the United States and reclaim the nation’s hegemony in the Americas and expand its influence around the world. When it comes to congress, he has the vice president at his disposal to put a bit of lash about and help his legislation get passed. Everything from job creation to voting rights and welfare reform are part of the new president’s legislative agenda. He has declared a new day for the United States, a country that will be ready to manifest its destiny as one of the world's superpowers.

The biggest issues facing the nation at the moment includes continued rebuilding from war, breaking the Solid South’s stranglehold on denying civil rights to minority citizens, job creation and industrial growth, and further expansion of the US military in the name of peace and safety for the country. Congress has a solid minority of Socialists who plan to block and harangue President Norman’s more conservative legislation. In military affairs the key is to increase military benefits to keep serving veterans in the armed forces, as well as attracting new recruits with the promise of a steady job with good pay.