The CSA from "The Black and the Gray" is ISOTed to OTL 1950. [Archive] - The Ark: Counter-Factual.Net Discussion Forums

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robertp6165

05-01-2010, 06:03 PM

For those unfamiliar with what "The Black and the Gray" (http://www.myalternatehistoryplace.com/blackconfederatecontents.html) is, it is a timeline I wrote where the Confederacy won it's independence by adopting the Cleburne Memorial and enlisting black soldiers a year earlier than they did in OTL.

The Confederacy at this time consists of sixteen States...Maryland, Kentucky, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Tennessee, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Misssissippi, Louisiana, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Cuba, Puerto Rico, and Guyana (the former French and Dutch Guianas).

Now, just for fun, let's imagine what would have happened if the racially liberal and internationally successful Confederacy of "The Black and the Gray" had been ISOTed to our world, on September 1, 1950...

WASHINGTON, C.D., CONFEDERATE STATES OF AMERICA, 1 SEPTEMBER 1950, 0500 HOURS.

In the early morning hours of 1 September 1950, Richard Brevard Russell, sixteenth President of the Confederate States of America, was awakened from his slumber by his Chief of Staff, Henry Fitzhugh. Fitzhugh, a tall, gaunt man of 41 years, with graying brown hair, large blue eyes, and a handle-bar mustache which looked like it belonged on a character in a Western movie, looked even more nervous and excited than he normally did.

"Mr. President," he said quickly, "I beg your pardon for disturbing you, but something has happened."

President Russell sat up in the bed and rubbed his eyes. After yawning widely, he looked at Fitzhugh, his left eyebrow cocked with curiosity.

"What do you mean, something has happened?," he asked irritably. "Dammit, Fitzhugh, don't talk in riddles. Especially at 5:00 in the morning!"

"I, I, beg your pardon, Mr. President," Fitzhugh stammered. "I say something because I am not sure what has happened. I, myself, was awakened by one of the security guards, who told me there had been a flash of white light outside which had lit up the entire sky at about 3 a.m. Since then, we have been getting calls from various State Governors along the border with the United States, reporting that the flash of white light was seen all along the border, and that Yankees trying to cross the border at about the time the flash of light occurred have rear-ended other cars waiting to pass the border checkpoints. When questioned, these people claimed ignorance of the Confederacy's existence...some of them even said we LOST the War of Secession, if you can believe that. Many of the Governors also reported that they are receiving signals from radio and television stations which did not exist yesterday, including broadcasts from a network called CBS which is based in New York."

"But CBS is the Confederate Broadcasting System," Russell said incredulously. "It doesn't have an office in New York."

Fitzhugh nodded. "I know, Mr. President. But the Columbia Broadcasting System does."

"Columbia Broadcasting System?," Russell repeated. "But there is no such thing! The networks based in New York are Republic Broadcasting and U.S. Communications."

"Evidently, not any more, Mr. President," Fitzhugh said patiently.

Russell got out of bed, and put on his robe over his pajamas. Slipping on his furry slippers, he said, "All, right, Fitzhugh. I've heard enough. Have coffee sent to the Oval Office. I think I've got a long day ahead of me."

****

WASHINGTON, C.D., CONFEDERATE STATES OF AMERICA, 1 SEPTEMBER 1950, 0600 HOURS

In the Oval Office of the Confederate White House in Washington, C.D., President Russell sat, enthralled, watching a news broadcast from a television station called WPTZ which was based in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The Confederacy maintained booster stations on the Confederate/U.S. border which caught the signals of the Yankee television stations near the border, amplified them, and then broadcast them on a license agreement into the Confederacy. One of these stations had picked up the signal from WPTZ, and despite having no such agreement with that station, was broadcasting it, allowing President Russell to receive the broadcast in Washington. On the screen, a man named Douglas Edwards sat behind a paper strewn desk, reporting on the confusion which had befallen the Confederacy’s neighbor to the north. Behind him was a large map of the world.

“At about three o’clock this morning, a bright light was seen which filled the sky from coast to coast. Shortly thereafter, CBS news has learned, military bases across the United States lost contact with the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. CBS has also learned that all telephone connections to points south of the Ohio River have been cut, and attempts by CBS to contact our reporters in Washington, DC, have been unsuccessful.”

Edwards looked off to one side, and someone handed him another paper. He continued.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I understand that we have a report from correspondent Edward R. Murrow. We will switch to him now.”

Edward R. Murrow, clad in a trench coat, was standing alongside a highway. Cars were backed up, some of them honking their horns. He began speaking. Despite his reputation for bravery and devotion to getting the news out even at the height of the London Blitz a few years before, Murrow seemed quite shaken.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, something beyond the realm of imagining has occurred, here on the border between Pennsylvania and Maryland. And, I am told, the same thing has happened along the borders of many other States as well.”

He fell silent, then shook his head. “Brad,” he said, looking off camera, “Why don’t we let the camera do the talking.”

The camera panned away from Murrow, to the right, to a large sign standing beside the road. The sign in large, white letters, said, “Now entering Maryland. Welcome to the C.S.A.” The camera panned a little farther to the right, and caught sight of a check point. The gate of the checkpoint was down, which explained the traffic jam. That, in and of itself, was not so unusual…many toll roads had such installations on them. But this one was manned by armed guards in gray, police-type uniforms with helmets which looked like those worn by London “Bobbies,” and over it flew a flag similar to the Confederate Second National Flag, or Stainless Banner…but with sixteen stars.

The camera remained fixed on the flag for a few moments, then panned back to Murrow.

“There you have it, Ladies and Gentlemen. Through means which are, at present, unknown, the Confederate States of America…an entity which was destroyed by the might of Union arms in 1865...now exists in our world. And apparently everything which, up until 3:00 this morning, existed in the territory occupied by these Confederate States, is gone. Vanished without a trace. I can’t go on…back to you, Douglas.”

Douglas Edwards returned to the screen. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I don’t know what to say. Mr. Murrow’s report is quite shocking. But it is confirmed by other reports which are coming in. Apparently broadcast signals are being received in border communities originating from the ‘Confederate Broadcasting System’ and ‘Dixie Broadcasting Company’. And there are reports that motorists elsewhere are encountering border checkpoints of the Confederate States of America when they attempt to cross into the States of Louisiana, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Kentucky, Virginia and Maryland. So now, at least, we are beginning to get a picture of the geographical extent of this alien Confederacy.”

President Russell watched this with increasing alarm and disbelief. How could this have happened? Could this be real, or was it all part of some elaborate trick? Were the Yankees up to something?

Henry Fitzhugh, who was watching with him, suddenly gasped. “Mr. President…look at the map behind Mr. Edwards. Look closely.”

“What are you babbling about, Fitzhugh,” Russell said, irritated. But then he looked. And he saw what Fitzhugh was talking about. The borders of the countries on the map were…wrong. Very wrong.

“Fitzhugh, get the U.S. Ambassador in here, immediately!,” Russell said.

Fitzhugh rose from his seat, and rushed out of the room. About ten minutes later, the United States Ambassador to the Confederate States of America walked into the Oval Office. Russell looked at him. The ambassador was a man of medium height, standing five foot, nine inches tall. He had steel gray hair, and wore round-rimmed glasses perched on his long, thin nose. His face was ruggedly handsome, with the weathered look that spoke of an early life spent at hard work in the sun. Speaking in a high voice with a slight Missouri twang, the Ambassador said, “Good Morning, Mr. President.”

President Russell stood up and offered his hand, and the Ambassador took it. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Ambassador,” he said.

“Given what has happened, I can certainly understand!,” the ambassador replied. “I was goddamn well floored when I first heard of it.”

Russell smiled. The U.S. Ambassador came from a humble background, and sometimes his speech…especially when he became excited or angered…was sprinkled with colorful phrases which were better left out of polite company. But, that was one of the reasons why Russell liked him so much. It was almost like talking to the folks back home in Georgia.

“What do you make of it?,” Russell asked. “Do you have any idea how this happened?”

“I have no idea how any of this happened,” the ambassador said. “The shi…excuse me…manure’s hit the fan, and that’s for sure.”

“Well, I think the best thing is to try to make contact with the United States again,” Russell said. “Since the telephone lines are down, may I impose upon you to personally take a message to the Federal Government in Philadelphia?”

“Mr. President,” the ambassador said, “If the reports I have heard are accurate, the people in the United States believe that the Confederacy lost the War of Secession. If that is the case, then the Federal Government won’t be in Philadelphia. It will have been in Washington, D.C.”

Russell considered that for a moment. “That might present a problem, then,” he said finally. “If the Federal Government was here in Washington, then who is governing the United States right now?”

The ambassador shook his head. “Nobody, Mr. President,” he said. “The State governments are all intact, of course. But the Federal Government…Congress, the President, whoever the poor sap was, and most of the Federal bureaucracy…are all gone. Everybody up there’s going to be running around like a blind dog in a meathouse. It’s going to be a hell of a mess.”

“Perhaps if we make a joint broadcast into the USA…we’ve got all those booster stations on the border, we can certainly do it…we can at least let them know what has happened and that relations between our two nations are good,” President Russell said. “And of course, the Confederacy will offer whatever humanitarian aid it can to assist the USA through the present crisis.”

“I’ll be glad to help with that, Mr. President,” the ambassador said.

“Wonderful!,” President Russell replied. He stood shook the ambassador’s hand once again.

“Thank you, Ambassador Truman.”

****

NEW YORK, NEW YORK, 1 SEPTEMBER 1950, 0800 HOURS

Dwight David Eisenhower, General of the Army of the United States, now on leave while serving as President of Columbia University in New York, awoke on the morning of September 1, 1950 to find the world turned upside down...or at least, so it appeared to him. He had risen at his usual time, gone downstairs to have breakfast, and picked up his NEW YORK TIMES which his maid had left for him on the dining room table, as she did every morning. It was, to all appearances, a thoroughly ordinary morning.

When he opened his newspaper, however, he found that what it contained was anything but ordinary. A huge headline screamed,

CONFEDERATE STATES REBORN!
Federal Government Vanishes!
Confederate Leader to Address the American People

Eisenhower blinked several times, unsure that he had read the headline correctly. Sure enough, it said what he had thought it said. He read the article beneath it, which explained developments up to the time the newspaper had gone to press, about an hour ago. It said the Confederate leader would address the American people at 8:00 a.m. Eastern Time, and that the address would be carried live on all networks. Eisenhower looked at his watch, and it was almost 8:00. He quickly got up and went into his living room, where he turned on his TV and then sat down to await the address.

On the screen, John Cameron Swayze, the news announcer who normally did NBC's Camel News Caravan [1] show in the evenings, was describing the current state of knowledge about the momentous, and unexplained, events which had taken place overnight. Eisenhower had read this same information in the TIMES, and he impatiently waited while Swayze droned on. Finally, at precisely 8:00, Swayze said, “Ladies and Gentleman, we now take you to the White House, in the city of Washington, in what used to be the District of Columbia, but is now, apparently, the Confederate District.”

The screen faded for a moment, and then the face of Richard Brevard Russell appeared on the screen. He was seated behind the desk in what was obviously the Oval Office of the White House. Eisenhower had been there often enough to recognize it. But there were differences, the most glaring of which were the two flags which stood behind Russell, to either side of his desk. He didn't recognize the one on Russell's left, but he did recognize the one on Russell's right...a Confederate “Stainless Banner” flag.

“What's this, now?,' Eisenhower exclaimed. “I know that man! That's Senator Richard Russell of Georgia!”

The man on the screen began to speak.

“Friends and neighbors of the United States, my name is Richard Russell, and I am the President of the Confederate States of America. As difficult as this no doubt is for you to accept, it is nevertheless the truth.

At 3:00 this morning, a phenomenon occurred which cannot be explained adequately and which brought me, and my country, to your world. I say, “your world,” because, after consulting with the top scientists in the Confederacy, we are working on the theory that alternate universes exist, and that my country was transported from an alternate universe into this one, and deposited here. I can only assume that the territory and people of the States of Virginia, Maryland, the District of Columbia, North and South Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Tennessee, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Arkansas, Kentucky, Oklahoma, Cuba, Puerto Rico, and Guyana, as they exist in your world, have been transported to the universe from which we came. We do not know whether, or how, this phenomenon may be reversed. Therefore, we, the peoples of our two American nations, must deal with the effects of it.

In the world from which we came, the Confederacy successfully won it's independence in late 1864. I understand that in your world, that did not happen. So, a prime order of business must be to establish a relationship between our two nations. First, let me assure you that we of the Confederate States have no hostile intentions toward the United States of America, with whom we enjoyed excellent relations in our own world, prior to our removal to this one. We wish to continue these good relations. Second, we would like to offer whatever assistance we may to the people of the United States, as they deal with the consequences, whatever those may be, of the phenomenon which has brought us to this world. We offer you the hand of friendship, and hope you will return the same.

I have with me the Ambassador of the United States to the Confederates States, who was also transported from our world to this one. He has requested to also address the American people.”

The camera panned to the right, and focused on a man seated in a comfortable chair. Eisenhower gasped when he saw him.

“By God!,” he exclaimed, “That's Harry Truman!” Truman began speaking.

“My name is Harry Truman, and I am the United States Ambassador to the Confederate States of America. I have served in this post for nearly two years, since appointed by President Fred Payne after his inauguration last year.”

“President Fred Payne?,” Eisenhower repeated. “Who on earth is that?”

Truman continued. “President Russell has spoken the truth, and nothing but the truth. When the District of Columbia was transported off this earth, presumably to the world from which we came, the Federal Government of the United States was taken with it. Your President, your Congress, your Supreme Court, and all the other apparatus of government which was in the city of Washington, are gone, and may never return. I strongly urge any senior governmental officials who were not in Washington, or in other territory now included within the Confederacy, to step forward now and take the reigns of government during this crisis. As a citizen of the United States, albeit the United States from an alternate reality, I gladly offer my services, in whatever capacity may be required or asked, during the present crisis.”

The camera panned back over to Russell.

“Thank you, Ambassador Truman. And now, people of the United States, the ball is in your court. I hope to hear from representatives of your government at the earliest opportunity, and to all of you, I wish you the very best.”

The screen went black, then Cameron Swayze appeared again. Eisenhower got up and turned the television off. He sat back in his chair and let out a big sigh. What had apparently happened was almost too much to comprehend.

“Well,” he said to himself, “it's a royal FUBAR [2], and no mistake.” He looked at the small table which sat next to his chair, a black telephone upon it. He sighed again. Looks like you and I are going to be spending a lot of time together today, he thought to himself as he looked at the telephone. A LOT of time.

[1] Camel News Caravan...the first news show on NBC which was filmed live, rather than simply broadcasting movie newsreels. Sponsored by Camel Cigarettes, it ran for 15 minutes a night, and was the progenitor of the later NBC NIGHTLY NEWS.

[2] FUBAR...F**ked up beyond all recognition.

****

Excerpt from SEPTEMBER 1950: THE MONTH THAT CHANGED THE WORLD, by Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr. New York: Charles Scribner and Sons, 1965.

The sudden, uncanny arrival of the Confederate States of America in our world, and the equally sudden and uncanny disappearance of the city of Washington, D.C., and the Federal Government of the United States which was headquartered there, could have thrown the United States into chaos, with profound consequences not only for the nation, but for the world. That it did not is largely due to the efforts of one man...Dwight David Eisenhower.

General Eisenhower, upon learning of the events which had transpired during the night, had immediately gone into action, contacting the Governors of the various States, starting with Governor Thomas Dewey of New York. Eisenhower suggested calling out the National Guard and imposing martial law until the crisis could be resolved. The Governors of most States did as he suggested. Eisenhower then contacted the three television and radio networks, asking for air time to address the nation. The networks agreed, and his address was aired at noon, Eastern Standard Time, that day. A frightened and confused nation watched as General Eisenhower assured them that matters were well in hand.

In his address, Eisenhower urged calm, and called for a conference of surviving senior governmental and military officials, especially members of Congress or Supreme Court Justices who might have been away from Washington when the city vanished on September 1, to be held at Columbia University on September 3, 1950. Eisenhower's moral authority proved very persuasive, and thus a major panic was averted. The American people, mostly calmly, adopted a “wait and see” attitude toward this most uncanny affair, and trusted that “Ike” would get them through the crisis.

The Columbia Conference was attended by the 142 Congressmen and ten Senators who had survived the disappearance of Washington, D.C. Among these were the current President Pro-Tempore of the Senate, Senator Kenneth McKellar, who, after some delay, had been sworn in as Acting President of the United States on the evening of September 1st; as well as Senator Joseph McCarthy, the notorious anti-communist crusader whose sensational charges of Communist infiltration of the government, especially the State Department, had been front-page news for most of the past year. Of the Congressmen attending, all were lower-to-mid-ranking members who were away from Washington on that fateful day, campaigning for re-election in that's year's House races. Indeed, were it not for the fact that the House elections were being held that year, it is certain that few, if any Congressmen would have survived.

Also attending were Supreme Court Justices Hugo Black and Felix Frankfurter, both of whom had been absent from Washington on September 1st, giving lectures at law schools in New England. Black and Frankfurter were leaders of the liberal and conservative factions, respectively, within the Supreme Court. They rarely agreed on anything and, it was said, could hardly stand to be in the same room with each other. However, they agreed to work together during this time of crisis.

Military leaders attending the conference, aside from General Eisenhower himself, included General Douglas MacArthur, who had flown from his headquarters in Tokyo, Japan (from which he was commanding the United Nations forces in the Korean War) to attend the conference. General MacArthur was, at the time, the highest ranking General in the United States Army (his commission as General of the Army dated from 18 December 1944, while Eisenhower's dated from 20 December 1944), and was then embroiled in preparations for the landing at Incheon. Also attending were the senior surviving officers of the Navy, Fleet Admirals Chester Nimitz and William F. “Bull” Halsey; and Air Force General Carl Spaatz, the senior surviving officer of the Air Force (Spaatz was actually retired and working as Military Affairs Editor for NEWSWEEK magazine in New York at the time).

Last but not least, the conference was attended by Ambassador Harry Truman, the apparent doppleganger of President Harry Truman of the United States, who had been transported, along with the Confederate States, into this world on September 1. Truman had been highly amused when he found out, via television news broadcasts, that his own doppleganger had been President of the United States. Now, his presence at the conference caused something of a sensation, not least because there were some thorny questions regarding the status of the Acting President.

Acting President McKellar was a Senator from Tennessee. Tennessee, of course, was one of the States which had vanished when the Confederate States of America had appeared in this world on the morning of September 1, 1950. There were many at the conference who argued that, given the fact that the constituents he represented no longer existed, Senator McKellar's position within the government of the United States was at best questionable. Acting President McKellar, himself, was among those questioning the validity of his succession to the Presidency. Given the fact that Harry Truman...albeit an alternate version of Harry Truman from a different world...still existed, it was argued by a significant faction within the conference that the Presidency should go to him. However, this idea was quashed by Ambassador Truman himself, who sensibly pointed out that he was not, in fact, the man who had been elected President of the United States in this world, and that he would not accept the post if it were offered to him.

When asked for their legal opinion on the matter, Justices Black and Frankfurter argued that, given the decision of the Supreme Court in the case of Texas vs. White, that the United States did not, at the present time, recognize the independence of the Confederate States. Therefore, Acting President McKellar was, in fact, a legal member of the United States government, and entitled to his current position, in that he had been legitimately elected by the people of a sovereign State of the Union, namely Tennessee. Justice Black, himself a former U.S. Senator from Alabama, said, “While the relationship between the Confederate States and the United States may change, and recognition may or may not be forthcoming in the future, we must base our decision on what that relationship presently is, rather than on what it may or may not become. Therefore, Senator McKellar's elevation to the post of Acting President is valid.” Justice Frankfurter concurred.

Once the question of the Presidency had been settled, the next question before the conference was that of re-establishing the Congress. Fortunately, the individual States had laws which governed the replacement of elected representatives to Congress who had died, resigned, or became otherwise unable to carry out the duties of their offices. Acting President McKellar agreed to, immediately at the conclusion of the conference, contact the Governors of the States whose Representatives and Senators had gone missing, instructing them to put those procedures into effect immediately. It was decided to, for the present, establish a temporary capital in New York City. Mayor Vincent Impellitteri, present at the conference as an observer, volunteered to locate a suitable venue for Congress within the city of New York, and this offer was gratefully accepted.

Acting President McKellar appointed General Eisenhower as the Chief of the reconstituted Joint Chiefs of Staff, stating his opinion that removing General MacArthur from his current involvement in the Korean conflict would be too disruptive to the war effort there. General MacArthur did not object, preferring to remain where he was.

Last but not least, President McKellar also stated that he would be offering appointments for a new Cabinet, as well as to fill the now vacant seats on the Supreme Court, within seven days after the newly reconstituted Congress sat, for the first time, in New York. In the mean time, so as to prevent potential deadlocks on important decisions, he nominated Justice Learned Hand of the United States Court of Appeals, Second Circuit, to serve, alongside Justices Black and Frankfurter, as a rump Supreme Court until the remaining seats could be filled. The Senators present at the conference unanimously confirmed this appointment.

And so the conference ended, with many questions answered, and a great many still unanswered. But a beginning had been made, and chaos mostly averted, at least for the present.

Nikephoros

05-01-2010, 06:19 PM

Oh Huey...;)

Chris

05-03-2010, 08:13 AM

Cool idea!

bobc

05-03-2010, 01:45 PM

Very well done.

How does this effect the supplies and new equipment for the troops in Korea?

robertp6165

05-13-2010, 01:22 PM

WASHINGTON, C.D., SEPTEMBER 4, 1950

Adlai Ewing Stevenson II, the newly appointed envoy from the United States of America to the Confederate States of America, sat next to the window aboard a Pan-Am Lockheed Constellation as it approached the Confederate capital of Washington, C.D. The airliner flew low over the city as it approached the Stonewall Jackson International Airport outside town, and he marveled at the differences he saw between the Washington he had known, and the Washington which now existed.

For one thing, there was no National Mall...or at least, not the one he remembered...in the center of town. The Washington Monument was still there, and looked much as he remembered it, with one exception...the point at the top of the obelisk was covered in gold, a gift from the people of Georgia [1]. As might be expected, there was no Lincoln Memorial to be seen, either. In approximately the place where it had stood, there was a second obelisk, even taller than the one dedicated to Washington, it's top also adorned with gold. Stevenson looked over at former U.S. Ambassador Harry Truman, who had been appointed to serve as Stevenson's Deputy Envoy, and who was seated beside him.

“I know one of the obelisks is the Washington Monument,” he said. “What is the second one?”

Truman smiled. “That's the Lee Memorial,” he said. “Robert E. Lee is looked upon, down South, as the Confederacy's own George Washington.”

“Ah,” Stevenson said. “That makes an amazing amount of sense, considering all that has happened over the past few days. It's one of the few things which does.”

Stevenson had been serving as Governor of Illinois when he had been asked by the new President, Kenneth McKellar, to accept the position of envoy to the Confederacy. The position was not an ambassadorship...or at least not yet...because the United States had still not, as of this date, recognized the existence of the Confederacy. Stevenson had accepted the post with some misgivings. When McKellar had contacted him to offer him the post, Stevenson had argued that Harry Truman should be appointed instead, since he was the one man who was at all familiar with the Confederacy, it's society, and it's leaders. But McKellar had insisted that a citizen of the United States...the United States from THIS world...must hold the post. But, in order to mollify Stevenson, he had appointed Truman as Stevenson's Deputy, for which Stevenson was extremely grateful.

“The city is much different from the one I remember,” Stevenson said. “Some features are familiar...the White House, the Capitol Building...but most of the rest is quite different. But I suppose that is to be expected.”

“Yes,” Truman said. “I know how you feel. New York is much different than I remember it, as well. None of the tall buildings which make up the skyline of the city in this world, exist in my world. Oh, the skyline of the city as I remember it is quite impressive, and includes some buildings nearly as tall as the ones I saw yesterday. And the Statue of Liberty exists in both cities. But the Empire State Building! The New York I knew had nothing to compare.”

The aircraft soon touched down, and as they disembarked, they were greeted by an honor guard of Confederate soldiers, clad in their dress grays...gray jackets with dark blue piping around the collar and cuffs, sky blue trousers with twin dark blue stripes down the outside of the leg, topped off with a white peaked service cap, similar to that worn with the U.S. Marine dress uniform, with a brass Confederate “Droop-Wing” Eagle insignia on the front of it...and armed with assault rifles of a pattern Stevenson didn't recognize. Confederate Secretary of State Edgar Nixon [1] greeted them...Amazing, Stevenson thought, the Confederate Secretary of State is a negro!...and together, they rode together in a black limousine (a Confederate-made Dixie Cavalier) to the White House, where Stevenson would be introduced to President Russell. Once inside, they were greeted by Henry Fitzhugh, President Russell's Chief of Staff, who escorted them to the Oval Office, where they were to meet the President.

President Russell stood up from his desk as they entered, and came out from behind it to shake the hands of the two new arrivals.

“Good to see you again, Harry,” he said to Truman. “Won't you introduce your companion?”

“Certainly, Mr. President,” Truman replied. “This is the Honorable Adlai Stevenson, formerly Governor of Illinois, now appointed as envoy to the Confederate States of America.”

“Envoy?,” Russell asked. “Not Ambassador?”

“I'm afraid not,” Stevenson replied. “At the moment, the United States does not officially recognize the existence of the Confederate States. Until such time as that changes, no ambassador may be appointed. But there is, of course, the need to have some sort of means of communication, and so it was decided to appoint an envoy. That being yours truly.” He bowed.

“Ah,” President Russell said, not liking what he had just heard. “I see.” He pointed to the two chairs waiting in front of his desk. “Well, won't you both sit down?”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Stevenson replied. "You are most kind.”

The two Union envoys took their seats, and Russell returned to his own, behind the large desk. Russell looked intently at Stevenson.

“Well,” he asked, “If the United States does not recognize our independence, may I ask what it's intentions are regarding this nation?”

Stevenson looked uncomfortable. “To be honest, Mr. President,” he said, “at the present moment, we don't know what to do about you.” He cleared his throat. “We did notice that you have placed your military forces on alert,” he continued. “Our military overflights since this happened...”

“Which I have allowed, in the interest of peace, provocative as they were,” Russell interrupted.

“Yes, yes,” Stevenson said. “And for that we are grateful. As I was saying, our military overflights have shown that you possess significant military forces, and it is clearly not in anyone's best interest for a war to break out between us. Especially given the situation of the world as it stands today.”

“What can you tell me of that situation?,” Russell asked. “The information we have been able to glean has been quite limited thus far. I take it that the United States, and certain other nations with which it is allied, is opposed to a dictatorial regime in Russia, and another in China, and is fighting a war in KOREA?” Russell shook his head. “Why, three days ago, I hadn't even HEARD of Korea.”

Stevenson laughed. “Believe me when I tell you that prior to this year, few people in the United States had heard of it either. But your general description of the world situation is accurate. In our world, we fought two World Wars...the first, from 1914-1918, in which we were allied with Britain and France against Germany, and the Second, from 1939 to 1945, in which we are allied with Britain and Russia against Germany. We were victorious in both of these wars. After the Second World War, Russia, which is ruled by a dictatorial Communist regime...”

“Communist?,” Russell asked. “What does that mean?”

“Communism is an economic system espoused by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels in the mid-19th century,” Stevenson said. “It promotes a revolution of the workers to overthrow the capitalist systems which prevail in most countries, with the aim of creating a worker's utopia. Several major revolutionary groups who were proponents of this system, including one in China and one in Russia, were successful in overthrowing the governments in those countries and establishing Communist regimes. Far from creating a worker's utopia, in practice these regimes have been brutally dictatorial and repressive, and they have killed millions of their own people. And they are aggressively expansionist, seeking the overthrow of all the non-Communist governments in the world and their replacement with Communist regimes. If they succeed, civilization will regress into a new Dark Age, darker than any seen before in our history. You didn't have Communism in your world?”

“No,” Russell said. “The Tsar still rules in Russia, and Chiang Kai-Shek in China. There are Socialists in some European countries who rant about Karl Marx and his theories, but nobody takes them seriously, except maybe in Italy. Benito Mussolini fixed their wagon, though.”

“Fascinating,” Stevenson said. “Benito Mussolini came to power in our world as well. He was allied to Adolf Hitler...”

“Adolf who?,” Russell asked, looking confused.

"You've never heard of Adolf Hitler?,” Stevenson asked, astounded.

Russell's brow wrinkled as he thought about it. “Wait a second. I do remember that name,” he said. He looked at Henry Fitzhugh, who had taken a seat off to Russell's right. “Henry, isn't there an art exhibition in Atlanta right now by an artist named Hitler? He paints landscapes, or something like that. Lives in Vienna.”

Fitzhugh nodded. “Yes,” he said. “And I think his first name is Adolf, come to think of it. I met him when I was vacationing in Atlanta a couple of weeks ago. Charming gentleman. Some of his paintings are quite nice.”

Stevenson was floored. “Adolf Hitler is in Atlanta...NOW?”

Russell nodded. “Sure is,” he replied non-chalantly. “Is that important?”

“My God!,” Stevenson exclaimed. “In our world, Adolf Hitler was, quite possibly, the single most evil individual who ever lived. He was the despotic dictator of Nazi Germany from 1933 to 1945, he was responsible for the outbreak of the Second World War, and he personally ordered the systematic murder of six million Jews, not to mention millions of Russians, Poles, Gypsies, and what-have-you. His armies raped, looted and burned their way across Europe for almost six years. It took an alliance of most of the world to bring him down. If the word gets out that he is alive...”

“Well, Mr. Hitler...the one in Atlanta...did none of those things,” Russell said. “The worst thing he's ever done is a bad self-portrait.”

“I know that,” Stevenson said. “But I am not sure that will matter to a lot of people.”

“Well, we'll try to do what we can to keep it under wraps,” Russell said. Looking at Fitzhugh, he said, “Fitzhugh, get on the horn to the broadcast networks. Tell them to immediately cease running adverts for that exhibition in Atlanta. Call the Atlanta papers, too. Tell them it's a personal request from me.”

“Yes, Sir,” Fitzhugh said, then got up to leave the room.

Secretary of State Nixon, seated in a chair off to Russell's left, spoke up. “Mr. Stevenson, why don't you continue where you left off. You said Benito Mussolini was allied to Adolf Hitler...”

“Yes, yes,” Stevenson said, still a bit flustered. “Mussolini was allied to Adolf Hitler of Germany and to the Empire of Japan during the Second World War. He was defeated and killed in 1945, as was Hitler.”

“Interesting,” Nixon said. “In our world, he's still very much alive and the ruler of Italy. What were you saying about Russia, before our discussion got derailed?”

“Thank you,” Stevenson said. “As I was saying, Russia, which is ruled by a dictatorial Communist regime, conquered most of Eastern Europe and imposed Communist dictatorships on the people of those unfortunate countries. They assisted the Communist Party of China in overthrowing the legitimate government there and imposing yet another Communist dictatorship. Now, Russia and China are aiding the Communists in Korea, as they try to enslave that people as well. Someone had to say, finally, 'This far and no farther,' and President Truman did so.” He looked at Harry Truman, who was smiling, slightly amused, as he listened. “So now, we and our allies...Britain, France, and many other countries...are at war in Korea. To make matters worse, Russia has the bomb...”

“The bomb?,” Russell asked.

“The atomic bomb,” Stevenson said. “The United States developed it first, and used it against Japan to end the Second World War. Russia developed theirs last year. With these terrible weapons, mankind finally has the power to destroy itself, once and for all.”

Russell listened with dismay, but he put on his best poker face. “Yes, they are terrible weapons,” he said. “It is distressing to hear that Russia has them, if their regime is as threatening as you say.” What he didn't say was it was also distressing to hear the United States had them, too. Especially if the Yankees were getting any ideas about some sort of Reconquista. The Confederacy's had it's own top secret atomic program, and it had made great strides recently. But Russell knew it was still quite some time away from testing it's first bomb.

Harry Truman knew the Confederacy didn't have these “atomic bombs,” whatever they were, and he knew that Russell was bluffing. He was torn as to what to do. He had agreed to serve the government of the United States as he found it in this world. But the last thing he wanted was for a war to break out. As a youth of 18 years, he had fought in the final, bloody year of the Great War in 1902, and he had seen enough of war to last him a lifetime. In the end, he just sat, silently, and listened.

“Well,” President Russell said, “These Communists do seem like nasty folks. Please inform President McKellar that the Confederacy would be willing to join your alliance against the Communists, if the United States will extend formal recognition to our nation. We might even consider sending troops to assist the anti-Communist forces in Korea if recognition were forthcoming. All we want is to live in peace with our neighbors to the North. I hope President McKellar feels the same.”

“As do I,” Stevenson said. “Thank you for meeting with us, Mr. President.” He rose, and with Harry Truman in tow, left the room.

Russell turned to Secretary of State Nixon. “Edgar,” he said, “the world we've landed ourselves in seems to be a dangerous place.”

“Yes, Sir,” Nixon replied. “It does, at that. We've got to steer a VERY careful course, or we're liable to end up in a VERY bad spot.”

“You ain't just whistling Dixie, Edgar,” Russell said, shaking his head in dismay. “You ain't just whistling Dixie.”

[1] This is Dahlonega Gold, the same gold which was, in OTL, donated to adorn the dome of the State Capitol Building in Atlanta. In the ATL, the Georgia State Capitol is still in Milledgeville, and the gold was donated to the Confederate Government for use in adorning the tops of the Washington and Lee Monuments in Washington, C.D.

[1] In OTL, a civil rights leader from Alabama.

stalkere

05-13-2010, 04:52 PM

Ya know, in 1950, the US is in a fix - maybe not as bad as if it happened today -but - consider

Just off the top of my head;

Fort Bragg,NC - home of the 82nd Airborne - Gone
Fort Campbell, KY - 101st Airborne
Fort Benning, GA
Fort Polk, LA
Red River Arsenal, TX
Fort McClellan, GA
Fort McPherson, AL
Redstone Arsenal, AL
Fort Stewart, GA
Fort Sam Houston, TX
Fort Bliss, TX - a big chunk of the Rocket Program was here in 1950. Operation PAPERCLIP and the German Rocket Scientists were here until 1955 or so.
Fort AP Hill, VA
Fort Monroe, VA - TRADOC - the Army Training and doctrine Center

Jeez - Parris Island MCRD and Camp LeJeune are now gone

Seymour Johnson AFB, SC - at this point, a SAC base
Barksdale AFB, LA
McCoy AFB, FL
Blytheville AFB, Arkansas
Carswell AFB,TX
Shaw AFB, GA
Warner-Robins Air Logistic Center and Robins AFB GA
Moody AFB, GA
Maxwell/Gunter AFB, AL
Lackland AFB, and The Medina Nuclear Storage Site are gone, as well as Pan-Tex, north of Amarillo, where a lot of the H-bombs were manufactured
Kelly AFB and it's Air Logistics Center, as Well as Randolph AFB
Bergstrom AFB, TX
Ellington AFB, TX
Eglin and Hurlburt AFB and the Avon Park Ranges
Keesler AFB, MS
Columbus AFB, MS
Langley AFB, VA
Craig AFB, AL
Shepherd AFB, TX
Little Rock AFB, AR

Pascagoula shipyard (not sure how important that was in 1950)
NAS Corpus Christi
Naval Operations Base Norfolk, NAS Norfolk, the Portsmouth Navy Yard, NAS Oceana, NS Dam Neck and NS Little Creek.
Newport News Shipyard
NAS Jacksonville
NAS Key West

A HUGE amount of the US military, and a at least half of it's power projection has just vanished.
The Rocket Program is now just the folks at White Sands,the nuclear program is pretty much Sandia Labs.
Half the Navy and the Marines are gone. Worse, A good chunk of the Air Force training infrastructure has vanished, including much of Air Training Command.

I'm sure there's more bases I've forgotten - but, aside from the deployed and overseas forces, the atomic bombs not actually at operational bases - the US military is pretty much gutted. They may need to pull out of Korea to deal with supply problems.

Aircraft manufacturing is good - they still have Boeing in Wichita and Seattle -Republic and Grumman are still in NY, Lockheed is still there in Missouri,Martin is in Baltimore, MD and North American in California, but Convair is gone.

The Air War College, it's instructors and students, are all gone.

I'm still trying to figure out the long-term implications here - there's still some operational forces in the US, but, really, some stuff that will be important in the years to come OTL, just disappeared.

robertp6165

05-13-2010, 07:44 PM

Ghost88

05-14-2010, 06:09 PM

robertp6165

05-14-2010, 09:18 PM

Aside from you two Genius':innocent: forgetting " The Worlds Largest Office Building" located in Arlington Va....

I'm fully aware the Pentagon is gone. Why do you think the Joint Chiefs had to be reorganized from people who were outside that area on September 1? :rolleyes:

The other info was interesting. I also noticed that none of the installations he listed were in Kentucky or Oklahoma, and anything there would have been ISOTed too, since both are Confederate States.

If anybody knows where one may find a complete list of bases and where the various units of the U.S. military were stationed as of 1950, that would be very helpful. I've not been able to find anything like that.

Ghost88

05-14-2010, 10:38 PM

I'm fully aware the Pentagon is gone. Why do you think the Joint Chiefs had to be reorganized from people who were outside that area on September 1? :rolleyes:

The other info was interesting. I also noticed that none of the installations he listed were in Kentucky or Oklahoma, and anything there would have been ISOTed too, since both are Confederate States.

If anybody knows where one may find a complete list of bases and where the various units of the U.S. military were stationed as of 1950, that would be very helpful. I've not been able to find anything like that.

He missed OK, but mentioned Fort Crumbell KY he did miss Ft Knox KY that may have had an Armoured unit at this time, it has been the home of the Armour School since 1940, but will lose that to Ft Benning soon.
Georgia:c1950
FT Benning Infrantry School and Airborne School. 4th ID formed there starting Oct 1950.
FT Gordon Signal School and Military Police
Ft Stewart as Camp Stewart training base for Korea as of June 9
Alabama:
Fort Rucker as Camp Rucker same as Stewart
Ft McClellen inactive NG training site
Louisanna:
Ft Polk In August, 1950, the 45th Infantry Division of the Oklahoma National Guard became the first unit to train at JRTC in preparation for the Korean War. Most of the units who rotated through during the next three years were trained by the 37th infantry Division of the Ohio National Guard. From Wiki
South Carolina:
Ft Jackson Basic Training base at this time.
Wiki has fairly accurate histories on Army Bases some but not all I left out:
Forts or Camps: Lee, Myers, Monroe, and Eutis VA(Engineers?), Bragg NC(82nd Abn), Bliss TX, Smith AR, McPherson GA, Sill OK(Artillery?), Leonard Wood Mo, Meade MD, More I'm sure.
I know of no active bases in Mississippi or Tennessee in this period.

robertp6165

05-15-2010, 12:50 AM

Leonard Wood Mo...

Missouri was not ISOTed...it's a Union state in the ATL.

Ghost88

05-15-2010, 05:01 AM

Missouri was not ISOTed...it's a Union state in the ATL.

Reread 1st post after I posted to late to bother changing.:secret:

stalkere

05-15-2010, 05:03 AM

Quote:
Originally Posted by Ghost88
Aside from you two Genius' forgetting " The Worlds Largest Office Building" located in Arlington Va....

Wow, great sarcasm Ghost, just because the fact that DC is gone is part of the central story line and Virginia is the heart of the Confederacy, the fact that the five sided puzzle palace in Arlington is gone had just TOTALLY escaped me...

Actually, I was busy doing my happy dance. The US should count that as a WIN.
I spent four years sentenced to the Five sided prison as a staff officer. Anybody that LIKES being at the Pentagon need a psych eval, IMHO.

I'm going off the top of my head on this list, working from memory. But Robert is talking about a Reconquista - the US military is pretty much gutted at this point, and just doesn't have the power projection it needs to fight a war with the CSA.

They'd need to pull in the deployed forces from all over the world, some of whom might decide that they are now CSA sympathisers, who might want to go "home"

Anybody notice that the Federal Gold Reserve at Fort Knox is now GONE? That probably is going to have some economic repercussions, Ghost 88, and one HELL of a lot more effect than a clusterf*ck of staff toads at the Pentagon.

Don't forget the unspeakable secret of Fort McPherson and Redstone Arsenal -all the chem warfare stockpiles are now gone. With Fort Holabird and Fort Detrick gone with Maryland, all the bio-warfare is gone...Aberdeen Proving Grounds and Indian Head, Md, as well as Fort Sill - the next generation of explosives and Artillery are now gone...IIRC, C-4 just went bye-bye, the main explosive at this point is Composition B.

Bottom line is, a lot of the US military Power, the Global Reach and Striking Power is GONE. Worse for the long term, the US research and development, the brain trusts for the next generation - are also gone. A good Chunk of the Army and Air Force, and most of the Navy, is gone.

The US just went from being a Superpower to being second rate, in a heartbeat. They're going to NEED the CSA just to keep from getting a smackdown from the Soviets.

Eisenhower is probably the guy to understand the new geopolitical implications the fastest, but the US does need to get it's collective head up and out of it's third point of contact REAL FAST.

BTW Ghost88, how many stories you got going tight now?

Ghost88

05-18-2010, 11:41 AM

Wow, great sarcasm Ghost, just because the fact that DC is gone is part of the central story line and Virginia is the heart of the Confederacy, the fact that the five sided puzzle palace in Arlington is gone had just TOTALLY escaped me...

Actually, I was busy doing my happy dance. The US should count that as a WIN.
I spent four years sentenced to the Five sided prison as a staff officer. Anybody that LIKES being at the Pentagon need a psych eval, IMHO.

I'm going off the top of my head on this list, working from memory. But Robert is talking about a Reconquista - the US military is pretty much gutted at this point, and just doesn't have the power projection it needs to fight a war with the CSA.

They'd need to pull in the deployed forces from all over the world, some of whom might decide that they are now CSA sympathisers, who might want to go "home"

Anybody notice that the Federal Gold Reserve at Fort Knox is now GONE? That probably is going to have some economic repercussions, Ghost 88, and one HELL of a lot more effect than a clusterf*ck of staff toads at the Pentagon.

Don't forget the unspeakable secret of Fort McPherson and Redstone Arsenal -all the chem warfare stockpiles are now gone. With Fort Holabird and Fort Detrick gone with Maryland, all the bio-warfare is gone...Aberdeen Proving Grounds and Indian Head, Md, as well as Fort Sill - the next generation of explosives and Artillery are now gone...IIRC, C-4 just went bye-bye, the main explosive at this point is Composition B.

Bottom line is, a lot of the US military Power, the Global Reach and Striking Power is GONE. Worse for the long term, the US research and development, the brain trusts for the next generation - are also gone. A good Chunk of the Army and Air Force, and most of the Navy, is gone.

The US just went from being a Superpower to being second rate, in a heartbeat. They're going to NEED the CSA just to keep from getting a smackdown from the Soviets.

Eisenhower is probably the guy to understand the new geopolitical implications the fastest, but the US does need to get it's collective head up and out of it's third point of contact REAL FAST.

BTW Ghost88, how many stories you got going tight now?

Thanks for not noticing I was being flippant with the remark. And I guess I will not be assisting anyone with thier research here again.
As for how many stories I have going I'm to busy paying my bills to write any and I would not write AH if I had the time. Being typing impaired also slows me down.

robertp6165

05-18-2010, 03:43 PM

robertp6165

05-18-2010, 03:46 PM

THE KREMLIN, MOSCOW, UNION OF SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLICS, 4 SEPTEMBER 1950

On the afternoon of September 4, 1950, Josef Vissarionovich Stalin, Premier of the Soviet Union and General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU), sat waiting in a conference room in the Kremlin, the seat of power of the Communist regime in the Soviet Union. He had called a meeting, to include himself, his Foreign Minister, Vyacheslav Molotov, he director of the Commissariat for Internal Affairs, Lavrentiy Beria; the Minister of Defense, Marshall Alesandr Vasilevsky; and the People's Commissar for the Soviet Navy, Admiral Ivan Yumashev.

As usual, Stalin had arrived before the others, and now he sat, for lack of anything better to do, contemplating the décor of the room. He always felt somewhat out of place amid the Tsarist opulence of the Kremlin. The walls of the room were wainscoted on their lower third with finely carved, white-painted hardwood panels. Above them the original Tsarist wallpaper...olive green, with a pattern of gold, double-headed Romanov eagles printed on it...was still in place, despite over thirty years of Communist rule. Around the large, mahogany conference table were arranged several opulently upholstered chairs in the Rococo style. Stalin found them gaudy and somewhat uncomfortable, but had not seen fit to replace them, or the wallpaper. Even a revolutionary must sometimes respect tradition, he mused to himself.

Gradually, one by one, the others filtered into the conference room from it's antechamber, where NKVD officers searched them for unauthorized weapons or listening devices. Josef Stalin was many things, but trusting, he was not. Finally, everyone was seated around the conference table, and the meeting could begin.

Stalin got to business immediately. “We are here to discuss the situation in the United States,” he said. “As you all know, a strange event has happened there, and a large section of it's territory has been replaced by an entity which calls itself the 'Confederate States of America.' According to our agents in America, it is being theorized there that this entity was transported there from an alternate universe. I am not sure I believe this, but regardless of how it has happened, we must decide how we are going to react to it.”

“Comrade Stalin,” said Defense Minister Vasilevsky, “the loss to the United States of the territory which is now occupied by the so-called Confederate States has severely crippled the military power of the United States. Many important military installations, and a good deal of her armed forces, were transported away with that territory.” He handed Stalin a document. “This is an estimate of the losses to the American armed forces as compiled by military intelligence.”

Stalin watched as Lavrentiy Beria gave Vasilevsky a dirty look. Beria's NKVD had a long history of competition with the military intelligence services operated by the Ministry of Defense. Stalin approved of the rivalry. Not only did it mean that he was the recipient of intelligence from more than one source, giving him a diversity of viewpoints, but also that the likelihood that the Red Army and the NKVD would join forces against Stalin was negligible.

Stalin reviewed the report, then set it down on the table and paused to relight his pipe. After sucking in and then exhaling some of the fragrant tobacco smoke, he looked at Vasilevsky. “Yes, it does appear that the Americans have suffered greatly from this event. But how can we use this?”

Vasilevsky shrugged. “Militarily, I am not sure that we can, Comrade Stalin,” he said. “As you know, the Americans have a large advantage in the number of atomic weapons, and while this advantage was significantly reduced by the loss of their southern states, it still remains overwhelming. We estimate they still have well over 100 such weapons at their disposal. Their army in Europe remains intact, as does the army in Korea. Most of the navy remains intact, as it was at sea when the events of September 1st occurred. Any military moves we may make are certain to be accompanied by unacceptable losses.”

Stalin nodded. “Yes, this is as I had, myself, concluded.” He looked at Beria. “What have you been able to discover about the Confederate States?”

“Comrade Stalin,” Beria said, “I have managed to insert some NKVD agents into the Confederate States. They report that, if anything, it is even more reactionary and conservative than the United States itself. Although it appears that in whatever world it came from, Communism never arose, and therefore it would seem that our relations with the Confederates should start with a clean slate, nevertheless our agents report that the people there are likely to be extremely anti-Communist, once the recent actions of our government become known.” He took off his glasses, and removing a handkerchief from his pocket, briefly cleaned the lenses before putting them back on and continuing his analysis. “One interesting item: apparently the United States has not yet formally recognized the independence of the Confederate States, and there is much concern within the Confederacy that the United States might be considering the launch of a war of reconquest. There may be an opening there for us to exploit.”

“Indeed, Comrade Stalin,” the Foreign Minister, Vyacheslav Molotov, said. “In this I agree with Beria. Exploiting the current division and suspicions between the United States and the Confederate States would seem to be the area in which we may gain the greatest advantage.”

“What do you suggest?,” Stalin asked Molotov.

“Recognize the Confederacy,” Molotov said, “and have our ambassador to the United Nations introduce a resolution for that organization to formally recognize the Confederacy. By so doing, not only will you be offering an olive branch to the Confederates themselves, but you will be exploiting the suspicions of many in the United States regarding the Confederacy's intentions. This may lead some in the United States to advocate a harsher policy with regard to the Confederate States, and in turn, lead some in the Confederate States to look to us for aid in maintaining their independence.”

Stalin sat back in his chair, and took another pull from his pipe as he considered the proposal. Gradually, he smiled.

“You are a devious one, Vyacheslav Mikhailovich,” he said at last. “We shall do as you suggest. Issue the appropriate statements at once. See that the recognition is announced on Radio Moscow as well.”

“Yes, Comrade Stalin!,” Molotov said, nodding.

Beria grinned. “Perhaps we could help the suspicions along. Josef Vissarionovich, would you give your approval to a study as to the feasibility of special operations aimed at making it appear that the Confederate States is seeking the overthrow of the government of the United States, or vice verse?”

“We must be very, very careful with such operations,” Admiral Yumashev said.

“Yes,” said Marshal Vasilevsky, nodding his head in agreement. “If our involvement is discovered, it could have most unfortunate consequences.”

Stalin thought about it for several long moments, raising an appreciative eyebrow as he considered it. Finally he said, “Yes, do so, Lavrentiy Pavlovich. There is no harm in a feasibility study. But do not proceed on such an operation without my approval.” He stood up. “Well, Comrades,” he said, “let us all be about our business.”

Knowing a dismissal when they heard it, the others quickly excused themselves and left the room. Stalin watched them go, then sat back down, added some more tobacco to his pipe, and relit it. The fragrant smoke filled his nostrils, and he sighed with pleasure. He smiled maliciously. I wonder what the Americans will do when we announce our recognition of the Confederate States?, he thought to himself. It should prove quite entertaining.

stalkere

05-19-2010, 03:44 AM

Well, if Ghost was being flippant, I'll be happy to drop it. I guess I was having a bad day, so I'm sorry about snapping at him. Please accept my sincere apologies, good sir.

Although, totally separate from what Ghost said. I'll comment that, IMHO, the WORST thing that could have happened to the US here in this TL is that DC, Northern Virginia and all it's assorted whack-a-doodle politicians and head up the butt staff poodles disappeared. Decapitating the US, in this situation, is a GOOD thing. These are guys that are going to continually remember that they don't have all the stuff that disappeared.

Aside - Gotta wonder what happens when they pop up place of the CSA - how does the US of that timeline think of this bunch of nuclear armed crazies showing up and claiming they are part of the US?

I do need to wonder, why do the Soviets think that the US still have more than a dozen or so nukes? In those days, we had casings at the bases, components were started at DOE facilities in Texas. Pantex and Medina, and sent out to be assembled when tensions went high. Lemay had a fit when he took over SAC, and starting in 1951 or so, bomb components moved to the bases, and, in 1955, assembled bombs were stored on the bases. The practice of fully assembled bombs stored in aircraft and ready to launch in 15 minutes on strip alert did not start until 1957.

Here's a link you might find interesting - http://www.strategic-air-command.com/weapons/nuclear_bomb_chart.htm

Notice that 1950 is a critical year. Those who grew up after 1955 are used to SAC and thousands of nuclear weapons on alert 24-7 for decades, SADARMS and tactical nukes all over the place, nuclear depth charges and nuclear torpedoes on Destroyers, nuclear magazines on the carriers, nuclear subs -Fleet Ballistic Missile subs on 90 day patrols - but all of that comes later.

The Sovets had the US penetrated six ways to Sunday in those days - the Politburo knew when the bomb component convoys left the nuclear magazines, when plane loads of components went to the bases - which is why Lemay had the parts moved out to the bases. Assembly was a 48 hour process, which is why they went to assembled bombs, despite the fact that this entailed a HUGE nuclear logistics infrastructure. Forget Satellite surveillance, they had HUMINT like you would not believe - those networks got rolled up later on, but in 1950?...the brag was that they could knew about SAC drills before Lemay did...and there's a good chance that was not too far off the mark.

So, in this scenario - 1950, I'd bet the US inventory is - maybe - ten or twenty atomic weapons, maybe two or three hydrogen weapons. Everything else is gone with the wind...Oak Ridge TN is gone, too. So we're pretty much talking Hanford WA and Sandia NM...with, really, both the major manufacturing sites and the major storage areas gone. A few weapons at the bases, and a few at the test sites, and that is it...with not much way to manufacture more for a few years.

Half - maybe more than half - of the fleet is gone. Brooklyn Navy Yard, Kitterry Navy Yard, across the river from Portmouth NH, Philadelphia Navy Yard can supply some more ships in a few years - but - 1950? - they're going to need to de-mothball a lot of WWII leftovers...and a big chunk of the Ghost Fleet was in Chesapeake Bay, as I recall, so I think, so much of THAT is gone, too. The mothball fleets in Delaware Bay and Bremerton is going to have to supply a lot of that.

So - again - what does the US have in 1950? A lot of Reserve formations, Fort Devins, MA, Fort Riley, KS, Fort Carson CO, Fort Ord CA? The Marines were so strapped for troops that they were stripping Marines off the Embassies to make the man power requirements for Korea. The Army was pulling up Reservists and NG formations, but not getting much in the way of useful troops. That changed within the year - but in 1950?

{Academic mode}And - more as a thought on writing styles and the craft of story-telling - specifically insults - you ever notice how words can have the opposite meaning in colloquial usage in English? Case in point - the word "genius". I can't recall the last time I heard "Genius" as anything but an insult, Usually in the sentence form "Hey, genius, (obvious fact)" e.g., "Hey, Genius, you do realize that the sun rises in the East?". I'm trying to think of other words and phrases like that - anybody think of any? {/academic mode}

bobc

05-19-2010, 07:10 AM

So, in this scenario - 1950, I'd bet the US inventory is - maybe - ten or twenty atomic weapons, maybe two or three hydrogen weapons.

In 1950?
Try 1953.

stalkere

05-19-2010, 07:32 AM

In 1950?
Try 1953.

Actually, by 1953, even with a lot of work, the US will be in trouble. Without the cycolotrons and the gas isotope separation at Oak Ridge, I don't think they can do much. They know HOW to make nukes - they no longer have the resources to do it, IMHO.

And what IS in the system will be breaking down. Always surprises me when I see people who don't realize how difficult it is to get and keep an optically flat surface on a implosion lens made of fissile material. Pitting due to radioactive break down is a major factor. When I was in Munitions Maintenance School, our instructor told us that, at the five year point, nuclear detonation probability drops below 50%. Ten years and it is approximately zero...and all the equipment for handling fissile materials in an iinert atmosphere are now gone. Production facilities anyway - there may be the capability to do such things in a one-off manner in college laboratories and such, but - in the Sixties, it seemed like there were nukes everywhere. But in 1950, that was just getting started.

Just as a comment - I noticed that one of the things about the Roswell incident, that the only Wing in SAC with a - singular- nuclear weapon was the 509th at Roswell. That was the ONLY atomic bomb in the operational forces. Twenty years later, we have Sergeants walking around Germany with backpack nukes and tactical nuclear weapons on 105mm recoilless rifles - but that was MUCH later.

robertp6165

05-19-2010, 08:24 AM

I do need to wonder, why do the Soviets think that the US still have more than a dozen or so nukes? In those days, we had casings at the bases, components were started at DOE facilities in Texas. Pantex and Medina, and sent out to be assembled when tensions went high. Lemay had a fit when he took over SAC, and starting in 1951 or so, bomb components moved to the bases, and, in 1955, assembled bombs were stored on the bases. The practice of fully assembled bombs stored in aircraft and ready to launch in 15 minutes on strip alert did not start until 1957.

Actually, the info you have is not entirely correct for 1950. I had difficulty finding where the bombs were actually being stockpiled in 1950, but the best source I've sound is here (http://www.globalsecurity.org/wmd/facility/q_area-intro.htm) which gives some interesting info.

1) The U.S. had 298 bombs in it's stockpile as of mid-1950.

2) There were either 3 or 4 (sources are unclear) stockpiles being maintained as of 1950.

The first four sites were of the main stockpile type, and were built before 1950. All sites were alpha-coded, with a break in the alpha sequencing for overseas locations.

■Site A - Manzano Base adjacent to Kirtland Air Force Base and Sandia Base
■Site B - Clarksville Base, adjacent to Campbell Air Force Base and Fort Campbell (Tennessee and Kentucky)
■Site C - Medina Base, adjacent to Kelly and Lackland Air Force Bases (Texas)
■Site D - Killeen Base, adjacent to Gray Air Force Base and Fort Hood (Texas)
Site B achieved completion first in 1948, with Sites A and C operational in 1949.

The nomenclature associated with these facilities is unclear, since some sources suggest that the three National Stockpile Sites where the nuclear weapons were stored were the AEC's Manzano Base at Kirtland Air Force Base, New Mexico (Site Able), Killeen Base (Site Baker) near Gray Air Force Base, and Clarksville Base at Fort Campbell, Kentucky (Site Charlie). Construction on the Manzano Mountain Site Able started in 1946, with the first operational facilities activated on 04 April 1950. Although activated in 1950, construction on the major facilities wasn't finished until 1951. On 22 February 1952, Site Able was renamed Manzano Base, and operated by the Air Force, while Site Baker was renamed Kileen Base and turned over to the US Army.

For the purposes of the timeline, I am going with 3 sites...Site Able at Sandia Base, NM; Site Baker at Killeen Base, TX; and Site Charlie at Fort Campbell, KY, given that another source states that atomic bombs weren't stockpiled at Medina (http://www.globalsecurity.org/wmd/facility/medina.htm) until 1953.

3) And the United States also, by August 1950, had numbers of atomic bombs stored in seven locations on foreign soil (http://www.globalsecurity.org/wmd/facility/q_area-intro.htm), including sites in Canada, French Morocco, Guam and Spain.

I have found no sources stating how many bombs were stored in each facility in 1950. So assuming that the number of bombs located in CONUS was divided roughly equally between the three storage facilities there, then you have 1/3 of that stockpile stored at Sandia, which was not ISOTed, PLUS whatever was stored in the overseas facilities.

So you almost certainly have well over 100 bombs which were not ISOTed. The Soviet Union had, maybe, five bombs at this time, if that. Given those facts, Stalin and Co. certainly have reason for pause.

{Academic mode}And - more as a thought on writing styles and the craft of story-telling - specifically insults - you ever notice how words can have the opposite meaning in colloquial usage in English? Case in point - the word "genius". I can't recall the last time I heard "Genius" as anything but an insult, Usually in the sentence form "Hey, genius, (obvious fact)" e.g., "Hey, Genius, you do realize that the sun rises in the East?". I'm trying to think of other words and phrases like that - anybody think of any? {/academic mode}

Well, there are good-natured gibes, which is what I think Ghost was doing, and there are flat-out insults. I think what people might ought to be doing is developing a thicker skin and not taking everything so personally. Just a thought. :)

GBW

05-19-2010, 08:47 AM

Wouldn't the Texas bases be around as well? Texas was independent in your TL, and only the CSA got ISOTed to OTL.

robertp6165

05-19-2010, 10:38 AM

Wouldn't the Texas bases be around as well? Texas was independent in your TL, and only the CSA got ISOTed to OTL.

LOL. :o That's true...I forgot about that. I really need to do a map. So the only storage facility which is actually gone is Fort Campbell, Kentucky...which means the USA probably has in excess of 200 bombs, not 100.

And upon checking on the facilities at Oak Ridge, Tennessee, they weren't that important anymore by 1950. The bombs which were being produced at that time were plutonium bombs, virtually identical to the "Fat Man" device exploded over Nagasaki. Almost all of US plutonium was being produced at Hanford, Washington, by 1950, and Oak Ridge was being converted into a facility for peacetime, non-bomb related research. So not only does the USA still have most of their stockpile of Atomic weapons, but their capacity for further production is relatively unaffected.

Ghost88

05-19-2010, 11:18 AM

Ghost88, please understand that I am grateful for whatever assistance ANYONE wants to give. Don't let snarky comments by other posters dissuade you from contributing. The same goes for you, Stalkere. :)

Thought I made that mistake:(. It is Fort Belvior Va. That is home to the Engineers (till 1980) not Eustis.

Ghost88

05-19-2010, 11:35 AM

stalkere

05-19-2010, 11:36 AM

Hmm - Robert, OK, I was under the impression Texas was gone. THAT is a horse of a much different color.
Some of these sources - I dunno, you know what, #@! - I'm going to shut up on the subject. Some of what you cite does not jibe with some of the stuff I was told at weapons school, or at least what I remember.

I'd say, go to go with the official, published version. I do know, from experience, that there are things that I personally experienced that do not jibe with the official version. Where special weapons were stored in 1950 is no longer important to National Security

The importance of Oak Ridge in military atomics varies with who you talk to - I do recall that they were trying to get it more active in "Atoms for Peace" back then, so, let's go with that version.

So bottom line, if Texas is still in the US, then, I have no quibble with 298 nuclear weapons - or parts thereof - in the US inventory. For that matter, a lot of combat power is also still there, as well as a big chunk of the Air Force.
That is a good website you put up - I'd forgotten about the short half-life of Polonium.

Just a real minor quibble - the Overseas OSS sites were under contract in Aug '50. As I understood it, only Slidi Slimane was operational in 1950, and that, with only a few weapons, usually on- and off-loaded from bombers transiting the base. The other two sites, in the words of a MSgt I talked to, "were completed in time to shut 'em down"

But - sheesh! - I guess this is probably a good discussion in how you write good fiction. You gotta know what you're talking about, even if the reader doesn't have a clue about the stuff.

Bottom line - the US DOES have a lot of combat power to strike at the CSA. Does it have the will or desire to do so? Personally, it seems kind of stupid to me -they don't need another war.

Ghost88

05-19-2010, 11:38 AM

Actually, by 1953, even with a lot of work, the US will be in trouble. Without the cycolotrons and the gas isotope separation at Oak Ridge, I don't think they can do much. They know HOW to make nukes - they no longer have the resources to do it, IMHO.

And what IS in the system will be breaking down. Always surprises me when I see people who don't realize how difficult it is to get and keep an optically flat surface on a implosion lens made of fissile material. Pitting due to radioactive break down is a major factor. When I was in Munitions Maintenance School, our instructor told us that, at the five year point, nuclear detonation probability drops below 50%. Ten years and it is approximately zero...and all the equipment for handling fissile materials in an iinert atmosphere are now gone. Production facilities anyway - there may be the capability to do such things in a one-off manner in college laboratories and such, but - in the Sixties, it seemed like there were nukes everywhere. But in 1950, that was just getting started.

Just as a comment - I noticed that one of the things about the Roswell incident, that the only Wing in SAC with a - singular- nuclear weapon was the 509th at Roswell. That was the ONLY atomic bomb in the operational forces. Twenty years later, we have Sergeants walking around Germany with backpack nukes and tactical nuclear weapons on 105mm recoilless rifles - but that was MUCH later.

Did still have Los Alamos. And was Hanforth in WA operational at this time?

Edit: Ghost you idiot you need to read to the last post. No Ghost is not insane he's a truckdriver he always talks to hisself.
On further reflection being a truck driver means he is insane.

Robert thanks for confirming for me that Clarksville Base was a Navy Nuke Storage site. It was rumored as one when I was growing up on Crumbell, but never confirmed.

robertp6165

05-19-2010, 01:13 PM

Here is a map, as of 3:01 a.m. on 1 September 1950.

robertp6165

05-24-2010, 01:27 PM

WASHINGTON, C.D., 5 SEPTEMBER 1950

In the Presidential Study [1] at the White House, President Richard Brevard Russell was seated in his favorite chair...a comfortable Victorian wing-backed “sleeping chair”...watching television. Douglas Edwards with the News, the Columbia Broadcasting System's evening news show...he couldn't bring himself to think of it as CBS, which, to him, would always be the Confederate Broadcasting System...was on, broadcast from the Yankee television station WPTZ in Philadelphia, and he listened with interest as Douglas Edwards recounted the day's events.

“In international affairs,” Edward said, “the Soviet Union has announced that it has formally recognized the existence and independence of the Confederate States of America. The Communist governments of the Soviet Union's satellite states in Eastern Europe, as well as that of the People's Republic of China and North Korea, have also recognized the Confederacy.

Reaction to this move by the Communist Bloc nations in the United States was swift. President McKellar has condemned these recognitions as 'blatant intrusions into the internal affairs of the United States which will not be tolerated.' And Senator Joseph McCarthy has called for an investigation into ties between the Confederacy and the Communist Bloc.”

The picture switched from Edwards to footage of a speech made by Senator McCarthy earlier that day.

“My Fellow Americans,” McCarthy began, “you will recall that the present year marks the one hundred and forty-first anniversary of the birth of one of the greatest men in American history, our sixteenth President, Abraham Lincoln.”

Russell grimaced at this. Like virtually everyone in the Confederacy, he viewed Abraham Lincoln as a tyrant who unjustly attempted to deny the people of the South their right of self-government.

“Truly, President Lincoln must be rolling over in his grave today,” McCarthy continued. “And rightfully so!

We are now a mere five years after a world war has been won. Yet, when men’s hearts should anticipate a long peace, and men’s minds should be free from the heavy weight that comes with war, we find ourselves in a 'Cold War' with the forces of atheistic Communism. All the world is split into two vast and increasingly hostile armed camps, both of whom are fully committed to a great armaments race.

Today we can almost physically hear the mutterings and rumblings of an invigorated god of war. You can see it, feel it, and hear it all the way from the Indochina hills, from the shores of Formosa, in the mountains of Korea, right over into the very heart of Europe itself. And now, it appears, his foot treads even here upon our very continent of North America itself.

The traitorous entity which called itself the Confederate States of America was a blight upon the face of America which President Lincoln righteously destroyed, over eighty-five years ago. Now, that blight, that nest of traitors to the great ideals which America represents, has been resurrected. Even now, even as they profess their friendship toward the people of the United States, their armies and air forces are massing on the borders of our peaceful land.

And just today, the Godless Communists have recognized the Confederate States of America. We all know that Joe Stalin doesn't do anything unless he is sure it will advance the agenda of World Communism. What does that tell us about our unwanted neighbors to the South?

This leads myself, along with many other concerned citizens, to ask some hard questions.

Why hasn't President McKellar taken action to repossess the territory which is rightfully ours, which has been stolen by this misbegotten cancer which we thought had been removed by the great President Lincoln in 1865, and which has now reappeared in the body of our American Republic?

Since Kenneth McKellar is a Southerner and comes from a family of Confederate traitors, is he fit to lead our nation at such a time? [3]

I call upon the President to show where his true loyalties lie, by refusing recognition to the Confederate States; by beginning, at the earliest time, the most thorough investigation possible into the connections between the Confederacy and the Communist Bloc; and by taking action, at the earliest opportunity, to reclaim the territory which that wretched entity has stolen from the American people. If he does not, I intend to see that he is impeached!” The crowd cheered with enthusiasm.

President Russell frowned as he watched McCarthy speak. Clearly the Senator from Wisconsin was an accomplished rabble-rouser, and Russell could see that he was a dangerous man. Have to keep an eye on him, Russell thought silently to himself. Yes, indeed.

After McCarthy finished speaking, Douglas Edwards returned to the screen.

“In other international news, the governments of France and the Netherlands have lodged official protests with the Confederate States over what they are calling the 'illegal occupation' of their colonies in South America. There is no word yet as to what the reply of the Confederate government has been to these protests.”

Russell frowned again. French and Dutch “envoys”...like the United States, the governments of France and the Netherlands did not formally recognize the existence of the Confederate government, but had appointed unofficial envoys so as to establish a means of communication between governments...had indeed presented themselves this morning, presenting their governments' formal demand for the return of their South American colonies, French and Dutch Guiana. Of course, President Russell had refused. Those colonies, in his world, had been taken away from the French and the Dutch after the Great War in 1902. Germany had ruled them for over two decades, before she had found herself on the losing side of the War of Austrian Devolution. After that conflict, the Confederacy had taken possession of them, and had, within the last month, formally admitted them into the Confederacy as the State of Guyana. The people there, after over two decades of Confederate rule, now considered themselves Confederate citizens. Their representatives sat in the Confederate Congress. As far as Russell, and the Confederacy, was concerned, the French and Dutch claims to Guyana were ancient history and a dead letter.

Of course, he knew that to France and the Netherlands, the claims were nothing of the kind. The French envoy, especially, had been quite insistent and abrasive, even to the point of doing some not so subtle saber rattling. Arrogant French pipsqueak, Russell thought to himself, shaking his head in annoyance. He was not afraid of France, or even of an alliance between France and the Netherlands. His intelligence services, whose agents had gone out to various stations around the world within the past few days, had reported on their military capability, which was significantly less than that of the Confederacy. Of course, if the Yankees get involved, Russell thought unhappily to himself, all bets are off.

Douglas Edwards continued. “In Korea, heavy fighting continues between Communist North Korean forces and those of the United Nations in the area around the city of Pusan. U.N. Forces are taking heavy casualties, but have successfully repelled several Communist assaults today.”

Looks like a real meat-grinder going on over there, Russell thought, shaking his head. The idea that Confederate troops might be soon entering that meat-grinder did not thrill him. But his secret offer to commit the Confederacy to such a course had been favorably received by President McKellar of the United States, inspiring the Yankee leader to make a personal telephone call to Russell the previous morning. Although he was not ready to do so just yet, McKellar had indicated that he considered the best course for both nations would be to recognize Confederate independence as soon as possible, and integrate the Confederacy into the evolving international structure aimed at containing Communist aggression. The question of when McKellar would feel that recognition would be possible, of course, troubled Russell. Now that the Communists had upset the apple cart by recognizing the Confederacy, setting that miserable bastard McCarthy off on a public witch hunt after McKellar, this might not be for some time. Damn him to hell, Russell fumed as he thought of it.

“In National News,” Douglas Edwards said, getting Russell's attention once again, “the reconstituted Congress of the United States sat for the first time in New York City today. President McKellar says he will be introducing a slate of new appointments for all of the currently vacant Cabinet offices into the Senate for confirmation tomorrow.” Edwards paused for a commercial break, and Russell got up and turned the television off. He sat back in his chair, thinking of what he had heard.

“This Joe Stalin,” Russell muttered to himself, “whoever the hell he is, is making my life much more difficult than it needs to be.” He shook his head. “But what am I going to do about it?” Well, he thought to himself, the Reds might recognize us, but we don't have to recognize them. He'd thought, briefly, about flirting with the Communists, just enough to worry the Yankees and hopefully get them moving toward recognition. But he'd rejected that approach. With people like that loud-mouth McCarthy running around loose up there in the USA, the last thing we need to do is to look like we're playing footsey with the Reds, Russell thought. No, can't do that.

What to do? As he thought of it, it seemed to him that one course of action promised good results. He picked up the telephone which was sitting on the small table next to his chair, and he dialed three numbers.

“Fitzhugh here,” Russell heard Henry Fitzhugh say when he picked up the phone.

“Henry,” Russell said, “Get Edgar Nixon in here. I have a job for him.”

[1] Presidential Study...the room which, in OTL, would be preserved as the Lincoln Bedroom. Obviously, the room's connection with Lincoln never gave it a mystique within the Confederacy, and it was converted from a bedroom to a study by President Woodrow Wilson, and has remained so to the present day.

[2] Douglas Edwards with the News...This was the name of the forerunner of the CBS Evening News which was being broadcast in 1950.

[3] Kenneth McKellar's father, James McKellar of Dallas County, Alabama, was a lawyer who was involved in the Confederate government of Dallas County during the Civil War. Kenneth McKellar also had several uncles and cousins who were Confederate soldiers.

GBW

06-02-2010, 03:20 PM

It occurred to me that the CSA had the advantage of knowing that atomic bombs are actually possible now, something that will greatly assist any crash program they decide to get off the ground.

robertp6165

06-24-2010, 01:34 PM

NEW YORKCITY, NEW YORK, 7 SEPTEMBER 1950

U.S. President Kenneth McKellar sat in his office on the 87th floor of the Empire State Building, one of many offices located on the several upper floors of the Empire State and Chrysler buildings which the Federal Government was renting while the search for appropriate properties for the construction of permanent government buildings went on. From his office he enjoyed a sweeping view of the city of New York. I suppose I should consider myself fortunate, he thought to himself as he looked out over the city. Most people would kill to have a view like this out of their office window. But to him, all the view did was remind him of how many people now depended on him to lead them, to protect them from their enemies, and to make decisions on issues which could affect the future of all mankind. It was a daunting burden for an old man.

McKellar was now eighty-one years old. He'd been born in January of 1869, less than four years after the end of the Civil War. Now, the nation was getting ready to celebrate the Civil War Centennial. The last thing he had wanted, at this time of his life, was to find himself thrust into the Presidency, with the awesome responsibilities which came with it. Indeed, he had been strongly considering retirement when his Senate term ended in 1952, although he had not made his mind up about that when the uncanny events of 1 September 1950 occurred.

But, whether he wanted it or not, he was the President of the United States now. And he had some very important decisions to make.

Just then, he heard a knock at the door of his office, and he knew that one of these decisions was now upon him.

“Enter!,” he called out.

His secretary, a pretty Puerto Rican woman named Angelina who had been hired to replace his former secretary, who had vanished along with Washington, D.C., on the night of September 1st, stuck her head into the office. “Mr. President,” she said, “Mr. Nixon is here to see you.”

McKellar turned his chair away from the window and back toward the door. “Send him in, Angelina. Thank you!”

Angelina smiled, and then the door opened wider and Edgar Nixon, Secretary of State of the Confederate States of America, stepped into the room. He stepped forward, and covered the distance between the door and McKellar's desk quickly and confidently. He offered his hand to the President.

“Mr. President,” Nixon said, “It is a pleasure to meet with you today. Thank you for seeing me.”

McKellar hesitated before taking Nixon's hand. McKellar had been born and raised in Alabama and had lived most of his adult life...when he wasn't in Washington serving in Congress...in Memphis, Tennessee. Like virtually all Southerners of that time period, he was a staunch supporter of the Jim Crow system which had kept Southern black men and women disenfranchised and subdued for the past seventy-three years since the end of Reconstruction. In 1942 he had been one of the leaders of a filibuster against legislation in Congress which would have made illegal the poll taxes which most Southern States used as a means to prevent blacks (and many lower-class whites) from voting. That filibuster had been ended by the subterfuge of the Senate Majority Leader Alben Barkley, who had managed to trick McKellar into coming back to the Senate so as to provide the quorum needed to end the filibuster. McKellar had not forgotten this, and later had vented his ire by blocking the appointment of Barkley to the Supreme Court. He'd also taken his revenge on Senate Sergeant at Arms Chesley Jurney, who had assisted Barkley with his trickery. When Senate Democrats convened the following January to elect officers, a party elder routinely nominated Sergeant at Arms Jurney for another term. McKellar countered with the nomination of a recently defeated Mississippi senator. An ally of McKellar strengthened the odds against Jurney’s reelection by suggesting that he had been involved in financial irregularities. As the Democratic caucus opened an investigation, Jurney withdrew his candidacy.

And McKellar was known for having a quick and sometimes violent temper. In one notorious case, Warren Duffee, Senate correspondent for United Press, greeted McKellar one morning in a hallway by saying, “How are you today, Senator?” In reply McKellar raised his cane and gave Duffee a mighty whack across the shoulder, figuring the greeting to be an impertinent comment on his advanced age.

Yes, Kenneth McKellar could be a nasty, mean old man. And finding himself presented with the hand of a NEGRO, and a jumped-up negro at that, was almost too much for McKellar to stomach. Who in the hell would appoint a nigger as Secretary of State?, he silently fumed. His face reddened as he struggled to control himself.

But, McKellar was also known as a wily and shrewd politician, and being the professional politician that he was...he'd shaken the hands of many people whom he considered little more than trash, and kissed their squalling brats too...he stood up, forced a smile, and took the hand of the Confederate diplomat. “Good day to you. Please sit down,” McKellar said, gesturing to a comfortable, leather-upholstered chair which was sitting nearby.

“Thank you, President McKellar,” Edgar Nixon said, smiling in return. He could easily see the discomfort in the old white man's face, and he had noted the hesitation at taking his hand. Obviously the reports that had filtered down into the Confederacy about the gaping chasm between the races in the South as it had existed here in this world...and the oppression of the black man by his white countrymen...were true.

“Well,” McKellar said. “You're here. What did you want to talk about?”

Nixon smiled. “I should think that was obvious, Mr. President,” he said. “We of the Confederate States wish to normalize relations with the United States. I am here to move that process along, if possible.”

McKellar looked at Nixon with hooded eyes. “Well, son, I can't say I'm ready to move on that issue, just yet,” McKellar said. “At least not until y'all sweeten the pot a bit.”

Nixon frowned. The disrespect McKellar was showing was amazing to him. Did he just call me “son”?, he thought to himself, flabbergasted. He might as well have called me “boy.” Now it was Nixon's turn to feel blood rush into his facial tissues. If he'd been a white man, he would have been red as a beet. But he too, was a consummate politician, and he controlled himself.

“Mr. President,” he said softly, “President Russell has already offered peaceful relations. He has offered to join your anti-communist alliance and to send Confederate troops to fight in Korea. What more do you want?”

“To start with, a lot of powerful U.S. corporations lost a lot of money when their operations in the South suddenly disappeared,” McKellar said. “I have the Presidents and Chairmen of these companies nagging me for compensation. So that would be one precondition.”

Nixon didn't like that at all. The Confederacy, after all, hadn't chosen to be transported to this world, and it owed nothing to the Yankee capitalists who had decided to use the South as a source of cheap labor in this world. But he didn't reject the condition out of hand. “I will present that demand to President Russell,” he said. “He may be willing to consider it.”

“All right, then,” McKellar said. “Second, you are to demilitarize your borders with the United States. The people of the USA don't like having the Confederate Army and Air Force poised on their frontiers like a dagger aimed at the heart of our country.”

Nixon nodded. “Yes, I can see the logic in that request,” he said. “On condition that the United States does likewise, I am sure an agreement can be reached on that.”

McKellar nodded in return. “Okay. Well, our third condition would be that we receive compensation for the loss of our capital city, Washington, D.C. We are going to have to construct new government buildings in New York, or wherever our capital eventually turns out to be, and it's going to be expensive.”

Nixon really didn't like that. In their own world, the status of Washington had been decided in the Treaty of London in 1865. For the Yankees to now demand to be paid for it was clearly unacceptable. But again, Nixon did not reject the condition out of hand. “I will present that demand to President Russell as well,” he said. “But I must inform you that I seriously doubt he will accept it.”

“Well, son, you'd best tell him that if he wants recognition, he'd better accept it,” McKellar said. “Because you won't get it without it. And do you really want to be an isolated pariah in a hostile world?”

Nixon was thoroughly offended by McKellar's condescending, arrogant attitude. He smiled unpleasantly. “We won't be totally isolated,” Nixon said. “After all, the Soviet Union and it's allies have already recognized us.”

McKellar sat back in his chair, taken aback by this not-so-thinly veiled threat. Why, you goddamn uppity nigger!, he thought to himself as his fingers clenched into a fist, so hard that the knuckles turned white. I ought'a take up my cane and beat the tar out of you. But he didn't voice that thought. If the Confederacy decided to pursue closer relations with the Communist powers, it could be a very bad thing for the USA. The specter of Soviet ships and submarines docking in Confederate ports...or even Soviet troops and aircraft based on the territory of the Confederacy...quite frankly frightened him. And it would just add fuel to the fire being stoked by “Tail-Gunner Joe” McCarthy and his allies as they, on an almost daily basis, attacked McKellar in the newspapers and on television, questioning his loyalty. Fuck Joe McCarthy, he thought bitterly.

McKellar knew that a war between the USA and the Confederacy would only advance the cause of world communism, and he was a staunch anti-communist. Yet this was the only way the Confederacy could be brought back into the Union, as demanded by the extremists within the USA. No, he thought to himself, I can't let that happen.

“All right, all right,” McKellar said, raising his hands in token of surrender. “Why don't we do this? The USA will recognize the CSA if the CSA will, as promised, join our anti-Communist alliance...the North Atlantic Treaty Organization...and send troops to fight with us in Korea. It must also demilitarize it's borders with the United States. That condition is non-negotiable. The questions of compensation for the corporations who lost their operations in the Southern States, and for the loss of Washington, D.C., to be resolved by a tripartite commission composed of the United States, the Confederate States, and one other nation to be jointly agreed upon, at a later date.”

Edgar Nixon smiled. “I think that will be acceptable,” he said.

“Great,” McKellar said. He stood, but didn't offer his hand. “I will look forward to hearing your President's response to my proposals,” he said. Now get out of my office, nigger, he thought to himself.

Nixon once again noted the rudeness displayed by McKellar in refusing to offer him a departing handshake. He thought about forcing the issue by offering his, but decided against it. Instead, he bowed.

“Thank you, Mr. President,” he said. Then he curtly turned on his heels, and walked out of the office.

GBW

06-24-2010, 03:37 PM

There's a lot of irony going on there...

robertp6165

06-25-2010, 11:24 AM

There's a lot of irony going on there...

Indeed. The problem of researching McKellar's personality and positions on racial issues has been one of the things which has delayed the writing of the segment I just posted. It's been amazingly hard to find anything other than the barebones facts that he was a long-serving Senator from Tennessee. But it turns out that he was a segregationist Dixiecrat in 1948, and had been involved in filibusters against civil rights legislation prior to that. And, he had a really nasty temper and held grudges for a long time, and was not above pursuing vendettas against people who pissed him off. The thing I have him thinking about "beating the tar out of" Nixon with his cane is something he actually threatened to do to a political opponent in real life. The story about Warren Duffee is true, too. So he was certainly less than ideal Presidential material.

I honestly didn't plan it this way...I had no idea that McKellar was the way he was when I arbitrarily decided that he would survive and become President. But, as it turns out, he was quite a colorful character and it made for an interesting, and highly ironic, confrontation with the black Confederate Secretary of State. LOL

robertp6165

06-25-2010, 03:31 PM

Excerpt from SEPTEMBER 1950: THE MONTH THAT CHANGED THE WORLD, by Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr. New York: Charles Scribner and Sons, 1965.

On September 10, President Kenneth McKellar announced, before a joint gathering of the two houses of the United States Congress held at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York City, that the United States of America had formally recognized the independence and the existence of the Confederate States of America. In this speech, McKellar stated his belief that this was the best course of action, not only for the Confederate States, but for the United States as well:

The Confederate States of America has existed for four-score and five years now, in the world from which they came. In that time, the people there have developed a strong national identity, separate from that of the United States. They will not readily abandon this identity, nor willingly agree to be rejoined with our nation.

Given those facts, the choice presented to us is between a war of conquest, and a peaceful recognition of what is, essentially, an accomplished fact. A war between the United States and the Confederate States would beimmensely destructive on both sides. At a time when the United States represents the linchpin of a system of alliances which is the great bulwark against the aggression of expansionist Communist regimes, and the subversion of friendly governments by Communist-backed revolutionary movements throughout the world, to even think of pursuing such a war is, in a word, insanity.

The government of the Confederate States has agreed to join the anti-Communist alliance structure which the United States and other nations have been forging over the past several years, by taking membership in the North Atlantic Treaty Organization. They have further agreed to join the United Nations forces which are currently engaged in a war against Communist aggression in Korea. As a gesture to the people of the United States demonstrating their good will, they have agreed to demilitarize their borders with the United States, and in return, I have agreed that the United States shall do the same. Finally, the Confederate government has agreed to discuss compensation for the severe financial and economic losses which were sustained by the United States government and by many of the most important business organizations in the United States.

In every way, the government and people of the Confederate States of America have demonstrated their sincere desire for peaceful relations with the United States, despite the hysterical claims of certain extremists here in the United States to the contrary. It is my opinion, as your President, that we should extend to them the hand of friendship, and welcome them into the family of nations.

McKellar's speech was generally well received. Even Senator Joseph McCarthy, who had been a prime mover among those pressing for a harder stance against the Confederates, softened his position somewhat, saying:

If the Confederates prove reliable allies in the struggle against the spread of World Communism, then I will gladly, and without remorse, welcome them, as President McKellar has done, into the family of nations.

Ambassadors between the two American nations were soon exchanged. Adlai Stevenson was confirmed as the United States Ambassador to the Confederate States. The Confederacy appointed veteran diplomat William Douglas Pawley as it's ambassador to the United States.[1]

The Tripartite Arbitration Commission, composed of representatives of the United States, the Confederate States, and Canada (selected by the agreement of both interested parties as the third member of the Commission) deliberated for several months before deciding that the Confederacy was not liable to compensate American businesses which had lost their operations in the Southern states when they disappeared in September 1950. Nor was it liable for the loss to the United States government of Washington, D.C., and the government facilities located there. However, as a goodwill gesture, the Confederate government offered to establish a fund of $100 million for the settlement of all claims arising out of the uncanny events of September 1, 1950. There was, of course, great opposition to this in the Confederate Congress, but President Russell was able to maneuver the bill through that body successfully. President Russell also promised that the Confederate Government would do everything possible to assist those U.S. Corporations who wished to re-establish their Southern operations on Confederate soil. Several major corporations, notably Lockheed Aircraft and J. P. Stevens Textiles, subsequently did so.

The formal opening of relations between the United States and the Confederacy opened the door for trade to begin between the two nations. It would not be long before Ford, Chrysler, General Motors, Studebaker, and other U.S. Automobile manufacturers would establish a presence in the Confederate auto dealerships. Likewise, Confederate-made Dixie Cavaliers and Hamptons were soon to be seen on American streets. The products of the Confederate movie industry at Orlando soon began to appear on Northern screens, and those of Hollywood on those in the South. And the story was much the same across a multitude of industries. All this was viewed as mostly positive by the people of both American nations.

On September 15, the United Nations forces in Korea conducted a highly successful amphibious operation at Inchon. General MacArthur's forces pressed on, relentlessly, into North Korea itself, aiming to reach the Chinese border on the Yalu River and end forever the Communist regime whose aggression had started this bloody conflict. For a while, it appeared that the 100,000-man Confederate Expeditionary Force, which was being gathered at that time for transport to Korea, would not be needed. However, such was not to be the case.

[1] Interestingly, the doppleganger of Ambassador Pawley had recently served as U.S. Ambassador to Peru (1945-46) and Brazil (1946-48), and was, as of 1950, working for the Central Intelligence Agency (C.I.A.) as an operative in Central America, where he was involved in efforts to combat Communist subversion there and to oust leaders who were unfriendly to the United States. When the Confederate Ambassador, many years later, was confronted with what his alternate self had been doing, he jokingly responded, “Sounds like he had a more exciting life than I did at that time.”

robertp6165

06-28-2010, 03:59 PM

THE KREMLIN, MOSCOW, UNION OF SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLICS, 11 SEPTEMBER 1950

In his private office at the Kremlin, Josef Vissarionovich Stalin, absolute ruler of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, sat behind his large, heavy wooden desk, frowning. Across from him, in two of the ornately carved and opulently upholstered Tsarist chairs which furnished most of the rooms of the Kremlin, sat his Foreign Minister, Vyacheslav Molotov, and the Director of the Commissariat for Internal Affairs, Lavrentiy Beria. Molotov had just relayed the bad news from North America to Stalin, and Stalin, understandably, was not pleased.

“So,” Stalin said, pausing to relight his pipe, “the Americans and the Confederates have come to terms. The Confederates are about to join the capitalist alliance against socialism and have promised to send fighting men to assist in the subjugation of our socialist allies in North Korea.” He took a pull from the pipe, then blew out a large smoke ring. Fire suddenly came into his eyes, and he slammed his fist down on the desk top. “That is not acceptable!”

“Comrade Stalin,” Molotov began.

Stalin aimed a withering look at Molotov. “Don't you even start,” he hissed. “You told me that recognizing the Confederates would drive a wedge between them and the Americans.”

Molotov, seeing this look on Stalin's face, was terrified. He'd seen it all too many times...just before some important party member suddenly disappeared and never was seen again. He stammered, “It...it should have worked, Josef Vissarionovich. Remember, even you thought it was a good plan.”

Beria, for his part, remained silent. He certainly did not want Stalin's ire deflected onto himself.

Stalin was not mollified. He leaned forward. “Look at what has happened!,” he shouted. “Instead of driving them apart, you've driven them together! Unacceptable!”

Molotov sighed, and then shrugged. If Stalin was going to liquidate him, so be it. “Josef Vissarionovich, it was a gamble. We both knew it was a gamble at the time it was suggested, and as sometimes happens in any game of chance, we lost this round. But the game is not over.” Molotov looked over at Beria. “Indeed, that is why I asked Lavrentiy Pavlovich to accompany me here. I believe he has some ideas for our next round of play.”

Stalin's temper subsided, and he sat back in his chair. Yes, he thought to himself, Vyacheslav Mikhailovich is correct. The game is not over. He looked at Beria.

“So, Lavrentiy Pavlovich,” Stalin said, “What do you have to tell me?”

Beria nodded. “Yes, Comrade Stalin,” he said. “I do have some ideas which may prove of use in this situation. It may still be possible to pry apart the two American nations.” He picked up a leather attache case which was sitting on the floor next to his chair. Snapping open the leather buckles which held it shut, he opened the case, and took out a document, bound in a black card-stock cover. He looked down at it briefly, then handed it to Stalin.

“What is this?,” Stalin asked.

“A list of proposed special operations in the Confederate States and the United States,” Beria said, “the result of the feasibility study we agreed upon at our meeting of a week ago.”

“Ah,” Stalin said, “I had almost forgotten about that.” He opened the report and began perusing it.

“If I may, Comrade Stalin," Beria said, “allow me to direct your attention to the sixth of the proposals which are outlined in the report. Although it is the most ambitious of the proposals, and carries the most risk, it also promises to provide the greatest return for our investment of resources.”

Stalin skipped down to the sixth proposal. As he read, his eyes grew wide with amazement. He looked up at Beria. “Do you really think we can do this and get away with it undiscovered?,” he asked.

Beria, as he was wont to do when he needed time to think about his answer, took off his spectacles and plucked a handkerchief from the pocket of the tunic of his dark green-gray NKVD uniform. He began to wipe the lenses. Then, after a moment, he put away the handkerchief, and put the glasses back on before speaking.

“Yes, Comrade Stalin,” he said. “As I said, the proposal in question carries the most risk. I cannot guarantee that our involvement would not be discovered. But it is my belief that it can be done, and that our role in the affair can be hidden.”

Stalin took a long pull from his pipe, and slowly exhaled the smoke, deep in thought. The NKVD had never attempted an operation of this magnitude. If it failed, and Soviet involvement was discovered...that was something Stalin did not want to contemplate. Wars had been fought over lesser causes. Still, if it succeeded...

Molotov looked from Stalin, to Beria, and back to Stalin. He, himself, had not seen Beria's proposals, and Beria had shown no inclination to share the information with him. He was plainly quite nervous that he was not being included in the discussion. Stalin saw this and smiled, slightly. Let Molotov squirm for a bit, he thought to himself. He deserves no less for his failure.

Stalin handed the report back to Beria. “We shall do as you suggest, Lavrentiy Pavlovich,” he said finally. “See to it immediately.” He looked at Molotov. “As for you,” he said, “what do you suggest as our next move on the diplomatic front?”

“I have no specific suggestions at the present time,” Molotov said, shaking his head. “Our original plan still has the potential to reap some benefit. There are doubtless many people within the United States and the Confederate States...that despicable Senator McCarthy, for example, and others in both countries...whose support for the new state of affairs is lukewarm at best. Those embers could still be fanned into a flame.”

“I will expect your proposals for so doing by tomorrow morning,” Stalin said in a voice not without a hint of menace. Molotov nodded quickly.

“Yes, Comrade Stalin!,” he said, a bit too loudly. “It will be done!”

Stalin knew when to frighten his subordinates. He also knew when to be magnanimous. He stood up. “I know it will, Vyacheslav Mikhailovich,” he said with a broad smile. “You are, as I have said before, a devious man, and I know you will not fail me.” He stepped out from behind his desk. “Now, how about some dinner, and then we shall see a film. I wonder what Comrade Bolshakov will show us today?” Molotov smiled, glad that Stalin's ire had finally turned from him. Together, they left the office.

archangel

06-29-2010, 08:08 AM

Stalin's plan of playing with fears of extremist elements on both nations is indeed the best way to try to set them apart, but Stalin's risk is that there will be always people vigilant against that, especially in the USA.

robertp6165

07-02-2010, 12:10 PM

robertp6165

07-02-2010, 12:18 PM

WASHINGTON, C.D., CONFEDERATE STATES OF AMERICA, 16 SEPTEMBER 1950

On the evening of September 16, President Richard Russell sat watching television in the Presidential Study of the Confederate White House in Washington, C.D. He was watching the Confederate Broadcasting System's nightly news program, “News of the Day with Carver Andrews.” Andrews, a handsome, 41-year-old Mississippian, had been a well-known radio news broadcaster for CBS before switching to television news in 1948. Now, as the news presenter for the most widely watched television broadcasting network in the Confederacy, his was one of the most well-known faces in the country.[1] President Russell listened as Andrews recounted the day's events in his rich, melodious Mississippi drawl.

“In Korea,” Andrews was saying, “the United Nations forces led by U.S. General Douglas MacArthur made a successful amphibious landing yesterday, at a place called Inchon. Early reports indicate the landing was a complete success, and that the North Korean invaders are in full retreat.”

“Good,” Russell said softy to himself. If the Yankees and their allies can clean up the Korean mess before our men get there, so much the better, he thought to himself. He didn't like the idea of sending Confederate boys to die in a godforsaken place on the other side of the world, and if it ended up he didn't have to, that was fine with him.

“In related news,” Andrews continued, “preparation for the embarkation of the Confederate Expeditionary Force to Korea, in fulfillment of the agreement between the governments of the Confederate States and the United States concluded several days ago, is well underway. General George Smith Patton [2] has been appointed overall commander of the force.”

Russell nodded. He knew General Patton well, and knew he would make an excellent commander for the Confederate Expeditionary Force. He had served with distinction, rising to the rank of Major General, in the War of Austrian Devolution in the 1920s. He had shown himself then to be an innovative and charismatic leader. Russell was sure that, although Patton was over 60 years of age now, he would prove an outstanding leader in the Korean conflict.

“In New York,” Andrews continued, “the application of the Confederate States to join the United Nations was vetoed by the representative of France. France and the Netherlands continue to press their claims for the return of their former territories in South America which now comprise the Confederate State of Guyana. Our government has, of course, rejected those claims.”

Russell frowned, shaking his head. He couldn't understand why a second-rate power like France would be granted a veto power in a major international body like the United Nations. After all, based on everything he'd learned, Russell was under the impression that the Germans had pretty much walked over France in less than six weeks during the recent World War, here in this world. Just one of many things I still don't understand about this world, Russell thought to himself. But there was no way the Confederacy was going to turn over those territories. The frogs can kiss my ass, Russell thought.

As he was mentally cursing the French, the door of the study suddenly burst open and a very agitated Henry Fitzhugh rushed into the room.

“Fitzhugh!,” Russell exclaimed, standing up and turning to face the intruder. “What the blazes is going on?”

“My God, Dick,” he said, “They've just tried to blow up the Capitol Building!”

Russell knew that Fitzhugh must be EXTREMELY agitated if he would call him “Dick.” Fitzhugh was usually very formal when addressing his President, even if they were long-time friends.

“Calm down, Henry,” Russell said, stepping forward and placing his hands on the shoulders of his Chief of Staff. “Take a deep breath, and tell me what's happened. Who tried to blow up the Capitol Building?”

Fitzhugh took a deep, long breath, then slowly exhaled. Then he spoke, much more calmly.

“Mr. President,” Fitzhugh said, “somebody parked a truck full of explosives...it looks like a home-made bomb cooked up from fertilizer and diesel fuel...on the street outside the chambers of the House of Representatives. Fortunately, somebody called the police and informed them of the plan to blow up the Capitol Building, or they might have gotten away with their nefarious scheme. The army bomb disposal units were called in and the bomb was disarmed. The detonators were U.S. Army issue, and there were documents inside the cab of the truck which indicated the bomb was the work of someone affiliated with that maniac, Senator McCarthy.”

“You're sure about that?,” Russell asked, stunned.

“Ye...Yes, Sir,” Fitzhugh stammered. “Sir, if that bomb had gone off, it would have taken out most of the Capitol Building and a lot of the surrounding area.” Tears ran down his face.

“Here,” Russell said, “sit down, Henry,” gently guiding him over to his own, comfortable chair. Then he picked up the telephone from the small table which sat next to the chair. He punched in several numbers, and a voice came on the line.

“Hampton, here,” Russell heard the voice say. Wade Hampton VI [3] was the director of the Confederate Intelligence Bureau, the Confederacy's intelligence and security agency.

“Wade,” he said, “This is Dick Russell. I assume you've heard what's just happened at the Capitol.”

“Yes, Sir,” Hampton said.

“I want you to get to the bottom of this,” Russell said. “If the Yankees were behind this, or if that bastard McCarthy had anything to do with it, I need to know. Or if somebody else was behind it, I need to know that too.”

“Yes, Sir,” Hampton said. “I'll see to it personally.”

“Thank you, Wade,” Russell said. “I knew I could depend on you.” He hung up the phone.

Russell turned back to Fitzhugh. “Henry, I need for you to inform the press and the broadcast networks that I will be making a statement in one hour. Tell that idiot of a police chief that he is not to make any statements to reporters about this. And under no circumstances is the evidence of possible Yankee involvement to be released to the press. Not until we are absolutely sure.”

Fitzhugh rose from the chair. “Yes, Mr. President!,” he said, and rushed from the room to carry out Russell's directives. Russell watched him go. I just can't believe the Yankee government is involved with this, he thought to himself. But could that bastard McCarthy or his supporters be? He knew there were still a great many people in the USA who were opposed to the recognition of the Confederacy's right to exist. Who is behind this?, he asked himself. Who?

Meanwhile, in his room at the Jefferson Davis Hotel, located a few blocks from the White House, Morris Cohen, an unassuming little man with black hair and eyes, was quietly packing his bags. Cohen, an American-born son of Russian immigrants, was a dedicated Communist who had served as an agent for the Soviet Union in the United States since the 1930s. Currently he and his wife were working as agents under the control of N.K.V.D. master spy Col. Rudolf Abel.

He smiled as he listened to the sirens of the police cars and fire trucks as they rushed past the hotel toward the Capitol Building. He had had doubts when Colonel Abel explained the plan to him. Abel had arranged for several teams of agents to enter the Confederacy. Each team was assigned a specific task:

--Team A, based in North Carolina, was charged with renting a truck, and filling the back of it with locally purchased fertilizer and diesel fuel. They were then to drive the truck into Virginia, where they would meet Team B.

--Team B had been charged with driving the truck into Washington, and parking it on the street near the Capitol Building. This team had been provided with U.S. Army detonators which had been stolen from an American supply depot in Germany, as well as carefully forged documents implicating Senator McCarthy. Cohen smiled when he thought about that. He hated Joe McCarthy with a passion he had reserved for few others, save perhaps Adolf Hitler.

By now, both of those teams were out of the country. Cohen himself had been given the task of making the telephone call...from a telephone booth, of course...reporting the bomb plot to the police. For of course, actually blowing up the Capitol Building was not the goal of Colonel Abel's plan. The goal was to have the Confederates discover the bomb, with the incriminating detonators and papers. And the plan, Cohen had to admit, had worked like a charm.

He finished loading his suitcase, picked it up, and calmly walked out of his room. He checked out at the front desk, then walked out of the front entrance and hailed a taxi cab. These Confederates are so incompetent, he thought to himself as he watched an airliner pass overhead. They haven't even thought to close the airport. He knew his travel documents...expertly produced by the NKVD...would pass muster at the security checkpoints in the airport itself. He had a Confederate passport and a plane ticket to Rome, where he would meet up with his wife. The NKVD would then spirit both of them into the Soviet Union. He smiled again as they drove past the Capitol Building on the way to the Stonewall Jackson International Airport. The police had a large area around the truck bomb cordoned off, and chaos seemingly reigned supreme. Yes, he thought to himself, it worked like a charm.

[1] “Carver Andrews” is the Confederate doppleganger of OTL actor Dana Andrews, whose real name was Carver Dana Andrews. Rather than going into acting, the ATL version of Andrews went into journalism.

[2] Note that this is NOT a doppleganger of the OTL General George S. Patton of WWII fame. The OTL George Patton was born of a union between George Smith Patton, Jr. and Ruth Wilson, daughter of California pioneer, statesman, and politician Benjamin Davis Wilson. Patton and Wilson met in California after Patton, Sr. moved there following his graduation from VMI in 1877. The ATL George Smith Patton, Sr., never went to California, entering the Confederate Army and having a long military career. He married a lady from Virginia, and the resulting George Smith Patton, Jr., who is serving as a General in the Confederate Army as of 1950, is a completely different individual who happens to share the same name.

[3] In OTL, there was no such person. Confederate Major General Wade Hampton III, of Civil War fame, did have a son, Wade Hampton IV, who was born in 1840. Wade IV apparently never married in OTL and died between 1870 and 1880, ending the direct "Wade Hampton" line. In the ATL, Wade IV lived to the age of 90, married in 1870, and had Wade V in 1875. Wade V married in 1897, and had Wade VI in 1900.

robertp6165

09-24-2010, 02:28 PM

ATLANTA, GEORGIA, CONFEDERATE STATES OF AMERICA, 17 SEPTEMBER 1950

Martin Luther King, Jr. was nervous...possibly more nervous than he'd ever been in his life. Here he was back home in Atlanta, riding on a red, double decker bus of English manufacture, on his way to visit his family. No, that's not right, he thought to himself. The people I'm going to visit aren't really my family. My family is gone, likely forever.

He looked around as the bus traveled through the city. It seems so different, he mused silently. Some buildings I recognize are still there, but others are gone and replaced by others. The Coca-Cola Building was still there, although he had been amazed to see that the large neon sign was different...the familiar, flowing Spencerian Script of the Coca Cola Logo superimposed on a Confederate Battle Flag. The seven-story Rich's Department Store building, he remembered, was one of the ones missing. A four-story building housing the offices of the ATLANTA CONFEDERATE stood there now, one of several newspapers serving the thriving city.

Young Martin Luther King still had trouble comprehending what had occurred in the early morning hours of September 1, 1950. Now 21 years of age, he had been studying at Crozer Theological Seminary in Chester, Pennsylvania, when the...whatever it was...happened. With the rest of a stunned nation, he had learned, via the television news, that the Confederate States of America had reappeared on Earth, and that the State of Georgia he knew and loved...the State of Georgia where his family lived and where he had grown up...had disappeared, along with the other States which formerly inhabited the territory now inhabited by the Confederacy.

At first he had been devastated, and indeed, had considered suicide. Then he had seen Harry Truman...not the one who was President of the United States, but the one who was Ambassador to the Confederate States...on television, and he'd realized that it was entirely possible that his own family, albeit a duplicate of them which had lived their entire lives under the Stars and Bars, might yet exist. He had determined to find out.

It had taken several days and a lot of bureaucratic red tape before he'd gotten a visa to visit the Confederate States. He had flown one of the first flights, aboard a United Air Lines Boeing 377 airliner, to the Joseph E. Johnston Aerodrome just outside Atlanta. Once there, he had gotten himself a room at the Southern Crescent Hotel on Cherokee Avenue [1], and had begun his search.

He remembered how he had trembled as he picked up the Atlanta phone directory in his room and paged through to the listings for the surname "King." He had experienced a brief surge of sadness and disappointment when he found no listing for a Martin Luther King, Sr. But then he remembered that his father had not been born with the name of Martin Luther King. That name had been adopted after the family visited Germany in 1934, when Martin Luther King, Jr., was five years of age. No, he recalled, Daddy's original name...and mine...was Michael King.

He had quickly flipped the page, and there he saw no listing for "Michael King, Sr." But there were listings for several Michael Kings, or Mike Kings. "Only one thing for it," he had thought to himself. "Gotta call them all."

And so he did. Most of them had been what were obviously white people who, while correctly polite to a caller with a distinctly negro accent...something which, in and of itself was strange to him and which he had rarely experienced in his own life... nevertheless were obviously somewhat irritated by the intrusion. But then, on the sixth listing he had called, something amazing happened. A tear ran down his face as he heard what could only be his mother's voice on the other end of the line.

"Hello?" Alberta King had said.

"Excuse me, Ma'am, but am I speaking to Alberta King?," Martin had asked.

"Why, yes! Who's calling?," Alberta had asked.

"Mama, it's me, Mar...Michael...your son," Martin had replied, correcting himself at the last moment.

He'd heard suspicion cloud his mother's voice. "You can't be Michael," she said warily. "Michael is here with me." Her voice took on a stern cast. "Look here, whoever you are. I don't cotton to practical jokes. Who's this? Is this Otis Cleaver's boy?"

"Mama," Martin had begun.

"Don't you be calling me Mama," Alberta had replied, "whoever you are."

Alberta's words had hit Martin like a right-cross from Joe Louis. But he recovered himself quickly. "You're right, Mrs. King," he'd said quickly. "I shouldn't be so familiar when we haven't actually met. I beg your forgiveness and ask you to bear with me just a few moments more. Do you remember what happened on September 1st?"

"I sure enough do!," Alberta had exclaimed. "That was the day the whole world went crazy!"

"Mrs. King, I came from the Atlanta, Georgia which disappeared on that night," Martin continued. "and was replaced by the Atlanta where you and your family now live. There was another Alberta King married to another Michael King in that Atlanta, and I am their son, Michael, Jr. Although I've changed my name and now am called Martin."

"You...you mean...," Alberta had stammered, "that you're...you're..."

"Yes, Mrs. King," Martin had said. "I am the duplicate of your son, Michael. His doppelganger, if you will."

"Doppel...doppel what?," Alberta said, confused. There was a long silence, then Alberta had spoken again. "Well," she'd said, "why are you calling us? What do you want?"

"Mrs. King," Martin had replied, "I lost my entire family on the night of September 1. When I realized that it was possible that another King family might still exist here in the Confederate States, I had to try to find you. I know that I am not really your son, Mrs. King. But y'all are the closest thing to family I've got now. I'd be very grateful if you'd allow me to come and visit with y'all. But I don't want to impose. If you'd rather that I not contact you or your family again, I will, of course, respect your wishes."

Another long moment of silence followed. "No," Alberta King had said. "It's all right. Come on along. We can have supper together."

And so, now he found himself on board this odd-looking red bus...and sitting next to a white man in one of the front rows of seats, no less, without anyone raising the least objection...bouncing along the streets of an alien Atlanta to meet people who looked like his parents...and himself...but weren't. You could drive yourself crazy just thinking about this stuff, Martin thought to himself, shaking his head.

At last, he reached the bus stop on Boulevard Street, where he was to get off. He was shocked to see...himself...waiting there for him as he got off the bus.

"You Martin?," the young man had asked, looking him up and down. "Yeah, you must be." He extended his hand. "I'm Mike King," he said.

Martin took the hand of his doppelganger, and shook it. "Hello," he said. Then he smiled wryly. "You have no idea how strange this is."

Michael laughed. "Oh yes I do," he said. "Sure enough!"

Martin laughed too, and together they walked to the family home. It looked different from the way he remembered it...the house had an extra story that the one he lived in didn't have...but then, he supposed, such things were to be expected.

Standing on the porch was Alberta King. Martin could see that she was...well...a bit larger around the waistline than his own mother had been. But she had the same warm, loving eyes, and he had to fight back the urge to cry when he saw her.

"Ma...Mrs. King!," he had exclaimed.

"Lordy!," Alberta exclaimed. "You DO look just exactly like my boy Michael!" She recovered herself enough to say, "Come in! Come in!"

They went inside the house and sat down in the living room, Michael and Martin on the sofa and Alberta in an overstuffed chair which creaked a bit as she sat down.

"Well," Alberta said, "ain't this something? I always got more than enough trouble from ONE Michael. Now there are two of you." She laughed.

Martin and Michael laughed in return. Then Martin said, "Is Dad...I mean, Mr. King...away at work? Will he be home for supper? I had hoped to meet him too."

Alberta's face clouded. "I'm sorry, son, but he's no longer with us. He was killed during the Austrian War back in 1933, when Michael was only four years old."

"You mean he was in the Confederate Army?," Martin asked, amazed.

"Yes indeed," she said proudly. She got up and retrieved a small wooden box from a nearby hutch. Coming over to the sofa, she sat down between Michael and Martin. She opened the box, and inside, Martin saw several odd-looking military medals. Alberta picked one out of the box and held it up.

"This is your...I mean, Michael's...father's Medal of Valor. He sacrificed his life single-handedly destroying a German battlewagon..."

"Battlewagon?," Martin asked. "What's that?"

Michael laughed. "They call them TANKS where he comes from, Mama," he said.

"Really? Now ain't that a silly name?," Alberta exclaimed, shaking her head. Then she continued. "As I was saying, he single-handedly destroyed a German...TANK...which was about to over-run his platoon's rifle pits. He climbed up on top of it and managed to get the turret hatch open. Then he threw a grenade inside before he was shot by a German soldier." A tear ran down her eye as she remembered it. "We are very proud that he wore the Gray."

Alberta picked up another medal. "Michael's Grand-daddy, Jim King, fought in the Great War. This is his Great War Service Medal." She put that one down and picked up another. "And Michael's Great Grand-daddy, Jim Long, served in the 63rd Virginia Infantry, fighting with Marse Robert during the War of Secession in 1864. This is one of his United Confederate Veterans reunion medals."

Martin blinked when he heard that. It was all so much to take in. "But, but," he stammered, "why would he fight for the Confederacy? The Confederates were fighting to keep him a slave."

Michael turned to him. "Martin, it’s not as simple as that," he said. "His master offered him his freedom if he would go and fight the Yankees. The Confederate government promised that his whole family would be freed after the war if he served loyally." His face assumed a stern cast. "And he had personal reasons. Yankee soldiers came through the plantation where he lived and raped some of the negro women there, including his sister."

Alberta put the medal back into its case, and closed it up as she dispelled the thought of that brutality from her mind. "Besides," she said, "the South has always been our home, good or bad. When your home is invaded, you fight back." She stood up. "Well, I'd best go see about supper," she said. "You two boys can talk, I'll have supper ready before you know it."

Martin watched her go. Then, turning to Michael, he asked, "Were any of my other ancestors...or yours, I should say...Confederate soldiers during the Civil War...I mean, the War of Secession?"

"Yes," Michael replied. "Several of them. And later," Michael continued, "serving in the Confederate army became a way for black men to lift themselves out of the peonage which was imposed by most of the States after the end of slavery."

"Peonage?," Martin asked.

"After the end of slavery," Michael said, "the white folk were concerned that letting a bunch of uneducated black folk loose, without jobs or land to their name, could cause problems. So Judah P. Benjamin suggested they be placed in a state of peonage...bound to temporarily work on the plantations where they had been slaves, until such time as they were educated and made ready to support themselves away from the plantations. Black men who joined the army were relieved from it. The Confederate Army made sure the men were educated during their term of enlistment, and after their terms of enlistment had expired, they were allowed to take their families out as well." He frowned. "Of course, in many places the system was abused, and negroes in peonage were often no better than slaves. Heck, South Carolina, Alabama, and Mississippi didn't release their negro population from peonage until the 1920s. But in most of the Confederacy, it worked as a way for freedmen to transition from slavery into life as an ordinary citizen."

"How are you...the negro population, I should say...treated nowadays?," Martin asked.

Michael said, "We have it pretty good, compared to what I hear tell was going on in the South which you knew. We have the right to vote and to hold political office. Nobody tries to interfere with that. We even had a negro Vice President at one point, and our Secretary of State today is a negro. There are many negro Congressmen and Senators as well."

"Yes," Martin said. "I've heard about that. But how are you TREATED? Are you allowed to eat at the same restaurants as a white man? To attend the same schools? To shop in the same stores? To attend the same churches?"

Michael nodded. "Yes. We never had the segregation down here that we've heard went on in the South you knew." He smiled wryly. "That doesn't mean we are all equal in every way down here," he said. "There are still some lines a negro had best not cross. The rules are mostly unwritten, but that doesn't mean they don't exist. The white folk don't cotton to having negroes nosing around their white women, and any black man who does that will find himself in a whole lot of trouble. And we tend to live in our own neighborhoods...there's no law which says we can't live in a white neighborhood, but we know we wouldn't be welcomed there with open arms, so we don't. Things like that." He looked quizzically at Martin. "Is it true what I hear about the lynchings that went on in your world?"

Now it was Martin's turn to frown. "I'm afraid so. The South in my world was not a good place to be if you are a black man. It was my home, and I loved it dearly. But it did not love us."

Just at that moment, Alberta called from the kitchen, "Supper's ready!"

Michael looked at Martin and then stood up. "You can tell us about it over supper. Let's eat."

He offered his hand, and Martin took it. Over a delicious supper of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, okra and cornbread...Mama couldn't have fixed a finer supper, Martin thought as he shoveled in the food...Martin did indeed tell them about his world, and together, they talked long into the night. Alberta was nice enough to offer him the bed in the guest room, rather than have him go back to his hotel. As he lay in bed in the dark room, he thought back on the day just past.

Alberta had been kind enough to invite him to spend the weekend with the family. He had decided to accept the invitation. Although many things were different here, still, these people were very much like the family he had lost on September 1, when the world changed. But he knew he could not stay here. Seeing how much negroes had achieved within the Confederacy inspired him to take on the discrimination still rampant in the North, where Jim Crow...while not as uniformly nor as brutally enforced as in the South of his world...was alive and well.

He yawned. "I have a dream," he muttered sleepily, then fell asleep.

[1] The hotel is located where Grant Park is located in OTL.

robertp6165

09-25-2010, 03:14 PM

Is anybody actually reading this here? Because if not, I can save myself a bit of work by only posting it at AH.com, where I know someone is interested in it.

stalkere

09-25-2010, 03:46 PM

Is anybody actually reading this here? Because if not, I can save myself a bit of work by only posting it at AH.com, where I know someone is interested in it.

I've been not getting in here as often as I used to, but this is good stuff.

I'm kind of been having an attack of real life, which just doesn't do much for time to read and then articulate thoughts.

I do like the episode with ML King - both Michael and Martin, and it points up the differences between OTL and ATL in a very important way.

You've put an awful lot of work into this one, and I for, one, am wondering what the Confederate Expeditionary Force is going to be doing in Korea = especially if there's some Confederate Marines at the Chosin Reservoir...or maybe George Patton is going to have some pungent things to same to Dug Out Doug about going quite that far north...

robertp6165

09-25-2010, 08:54 PM

I've been not getting in here as often as I used to, but this is good stuff.

I'm kind of been having an attack of real life, which just doesn't do much for time to read and then articulate thoughts.

Well, glad to see that SOMEONE is reading it. I was beginning to wonder. I certainly understand the "attack of real life" thing. "Real Life" has been putting a cramp on my leisure time, too, of late. :D

I do like the episode with ML King - both Michael and Martin, and it points up the differences between OTL and ATL in a very important way.

Thank you. I felt it was time to start moving the story a bit outside the White House and the halls of government, and this seemed a good place to make that transition.

You've put an awful lot of work into this one, and I for, one, am wondering what the Confederate Expeditionary Force is going to be doing in Korea = especially if there's some Confederate Marines at the Chosin Reservoir...or maybe George Patton is going to have some pungent things to same to Dug Out Doug about going quite that far north...

Well, we'll have to see. That should be coming up in the next few segments.

Alex

09-27-2010, 11:13 AM

I am still reading this - didn't realize it was updated recently, but now that I saw the update, I am really enjoying it. MLK's role here is going to be... interesting, and I really like your portrayal of him as a real human being that still furthers the aim of the story.

bobc

09-27-2010, 11:22 AM

It is a very well written timeline.

Ghost88

09-27-2010, 11:31 AM

stalkere

09-28-2010, 09:50 AM

Alex, MLK was real human being, just more driven to achieve his goal than most.

I guess, too many try to portray him as a larger than life, god-like character, rather than a human character, maybe a driven man, but still a man with a man's foibles.

Mike King is, pretty much genetically the same person as Martin, but has not had the same things shaping his life. This is a nice portrayal of the differences of nature and nurture.

It's a little the scene I wrote for my "Ravens" TL awhile back - Norma Jean Baker and Lt Jack Kennedy meet in Los Angeles in 1944 - the same force of character and drives come through, but manifest themselves somewhat differently in the altered TL.

I'm enjoying this and looking forward to more of this one.

robertp6165

09-28-2010, 10:47 AM

MLK's role here is going to be... interesting, and I really like your portrayal of him as a real human being that still furthers the aim of the story.

Alex, MLK was real human being, just more driven to achieve his goal than most.

I guess, too many try to portray him as a larger than life, god-like character, rather than a human character, maybe a driven man, but still a man with a man's foibles.

Mike King is, pretty much genetically the same person as Martin, but has not had the same things shaping his life. This is a nice portrayal of the differences of nature and nurture.

It's a little the scene I wrote for my "Ravens" TL awhile back - Norma Jean Baker and Lt Jack Kennedy meet in Los Angeles in 1944 - the same force of character and drives come through, but manifest themselves somewhat differently in the altered TL.

Well, as Ghost said, he was a real human being, and I dislike "Marble Man" or godlike portrayals of historical characters. I'm glad to know that my portrayal of him as a "real person" was successful. :)

robertp6165

09-28-2010, 10:49 AM

I am still reading this - didn't realize it was updated recently, but now that I saw the update, I am really enjoying it.

It is a very well written timeline.

I'm enjoying this and looking forward to more of this one.

Well, I am working on another segment. Hopefully I'll have it posted sometime this week.

Ghost88

09-28-2010, 11:43 AM

Robert as you see i am reading but will only post if I have something constructive to say.

archangel

09-28-2010, 04:55 PM

Is anybody actually reading this here? Because if not, I can save myself a bit of work by only posting it at AH.com, where I know someone is interested in it.
I'm reading it, Robert, but real life has prevented me from visiting the forum as much as I would like, and commenting on it.

Adam

09-28-2010, 05:16 PM

Is anybody actually reading this here? Because if not, I can save myself a bit of work by only posting it at AH.com, where I know someone is interested in it.

Just caught up with this- pretty good stuff!

Though it has the potential to fall into Sovietwank territory if Stalin plays his cards right!:eek:

Hashasheen

10-10-2010, 11:13 AM

This is pretty sweet.

robertp6165

01-21-2011, 03:23 PM

SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, 19 SEPTEMBER 1950

A large crowd had gathered in Lincoln Park, in the city of Springfield, Illinois, to hear a speech by Senator Joseph McCarthy. McCarthy was in the midst of a barnstorming campaign of speeches in support of anti-communist Republicans in fifteen states, and was here campaigning on behalf of Republican Senate candidate Everett Dirksen, who was trying to unseat the incumbent, Democratic Senator Scot W. Lucas. At the moment, Dirksen was speaking.

“And so, my fellow citizens, the choice is clear. The Democratic Party has dominated political discourse in this country since 1932. And look where it's gotten us, and the world! Half of Europe is locked up tight behind the Iron Curtain, the people there the slaves of brutal Communist dictatorships! China, too, has been lost to the Reds! And now, brazen Communist aggression in Korea! If you've had enough...and I know I have...Vote Republican!”

The crowd cheered enthusiastically. Dirksen smiled, then gestured to Senator McCarthy, who was seated on the rostrum behind him.

“And now, the man you've all been waiting to hear, the Tail-Gunner himself, Senator Joseph McCarthy!”

The crowd went wild, people cheering themselves hoarse and clapping so hard they almost bruised their own palms. McCarthy stood up, and waving to the crowd in acknowledgement, strode confidently up to the podium. Dirksen surrendered his place, and took one of the empty seats atop the rostrum. McCarthy looked out over the crowd, and smiled to see the television cameras, positioned strategically to record the event. He continued waving for a moment or two more, then stood, silently, to wait for the cheers and applause to subside. Gradually, they did, and McCarthy began to speak.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Fellow Citizens,” he began, “I cannot tell you how much it pleases me to be here, in the hometown of our greatest President, Abraham Lincoln!” Once again, the crowd went wild, and McCarthy waited for them to subside somewhat before continuing.

Pointing to Oak Ridge Cemetery, which lay next to Lincoln Park, he said, “But truly, my friends, today he must be turning over in his grave, over yonder, or he would be, if he knew the state of the world as it exists today. Today we are engaged in a final, all-out battle between communistic atheism and Christianity. The modern champions of communism have selected this as the time. And, ladies and gentlemen, the chips are down -- they are truly down.

Lest there be any doubt that the time has been chosen, let us go directly to the leader of communism today -- Joseph Stalin. Here is what he said -- not back in 1928, not before the war, not during the war -- but two years after the last war was ended: 'To think that the communist revolution can be carried out peacefully, within the framework of a Christian democracy, means one has either gone out of one's mind and lost all normal understanding, or has grossly and openly repudiated the communist revolution.'

And this is what was said by Lenin in 1919, which was also quoted with approval by Stalin in 1947: 'We are living,' said Lenin, 'not merely in a state but in a system of states, and the existence of the Soviet Republic side by side with Christian states for a long time is unthinkable. One or the other must triumph in the end. And before that end supervenes, a series of frightful collisions between the Soviet Republic and the bourgeois states will be inevitable.'

Ladies and gentlemen, can there be anyone here today who is so blind as to say that the war is not on? Can there be anyone who fails to realize that the communist world has said, 'The time is now' -- that this is the time for the showdown between the democratic Christian world and the communist atheistic world? Unless we face this fact, we shall pay the price that must be paid by those who wait too long.

As one of our outstanding historical figures once said, 'When a great democracy is destroyed, it will not be because of enemies from without but rather because of enemies from within." The truth of this statement has become terrifyingly clear as we see this country each day losing on every front.

Yet there are those who will not see what is right in front of their faces. There are those who refuse to believe what their own senses tell them must be the truth. Some of them are simple fools. And some of them are simply traitors...traitors to this great land and the principles for which it stands...traitors who have sold their souls to the false god of Communism!” Once again, the crowd roared with rapturous approval.

“Into which category Senator Scot W. Lucas falls, I know not,” McCarthy shouted to be heard over the din of the crowd. “Perhaps he is a fool. Perhaps he is a traitor! But whatever he is, he is not worthy to hold a seat in the United States Senate!”

As McCarthy spoke, a non-descript little man, with graying black hair and bushy eyebrows, wearing a gray trench coat over his dark suit and a homberg hat on his head, gradually pushed his way through the crowd, edging closer and closer to the rostrum. Finally, he emerged into the front row of spectators, and as the crowd roared once again, he slipped his hand into the pocket of his trench coat, where he felt the cold metal of the automatic pistol he carried. He knew the pistol...a Confederate-made Browning Model 1921 automatic pistol...had a hair trigger, and he would be able to empty the magazine quickly, and hopefully completely, before those around him could respond. He took a deep breath as he steeled himself, then quickly withdrew the weapon, aimed it at McCarthy, and opened fire.

POP POP POP POP POP...the noise as the gun discharged was almost lost among the din of the crowd as he quickly squeezed off all twelve rounds in the magazine. McCarthy gasped with shock and surprise, then silently slumped to the ground. A pool of blood began forming itself beneath his body. Everett Dirksen...who had, himself, been wounded in the arm by the fusillade, and others on the rostrum quickly rushed to aid the stricken Senator, but it was too late.

“Tail-Gunner Joe” McCarthy was dead, a bullet having found his heart.

People, both in the crowd and on the rostrum, screamed in horror and recoiled from the assassin. Then, several men leapt forward to grab him, ripping the gun from his grasp and wrestling him to the ground. Two of the men began beating the assassin with their fists. Strangely, he didn't seem to resist. Two policemen, who had been assigned to perform crowd control for the event, rushed forward, pulling the men away. But the assassin lay motionless on the ground.

One of the policemen knelt beside him, shaking him. “Get up, buddy,” the policeman said. But there was no response. The officer turned the assassin over onto his back, and, bending down to listen for any breath, caught the faint scent of almonds from the assassins mouth, which hung open as his eyes stared into space, seeing nothing. Hearing no breath, he put his ear to the man's chest. Astonished, he looked up at his partner and said, “He's dead!”

The other policeman now knelt down and rifled through the man's pockets. He discovered a wallet, which contained a Confederate-issued State of Kentucky driver's license. “Hubert Clancy,” the officer read aloud. He looked at his partner. “It's a goddamned Reb.” Also in the pocket was a newspaper clipping describing the failed attempt to blow up the Confederate Capitol Building in Washington, C.D. Written across it was “Yankee Bastards. Fuck McCarthy!”

Meanwhile, in his flat in Brooklyn, New York, Colonel Rudolf Abel sat watching the live television coverage of the event. Abel, whose real name was Vilyam Genrikhovich Fischer, was a small man of 47 years, with a head of black hair gone prematurely bald, a hawklike face and cunning black eyes. Abel was one of the highest ranking intelligence agents which the Soviet Union had secretly inserted into the United States, and one of the most successful. He was, of course, pleased that this mission, too, had been a success. Nevertheless, as he watched the drama unfold on his television screen, he shuddered and shook his head, although the room was quite warm. He could not help feeling sick when he thought about the poor sod who had been dragooned by Abel's superiors, back in Moscow, to perform this mission. For Abel knew the man who had assassinated McCarthy was not, in fact, a Confederate at all, but simply a man who had fallen afoul of Joe Stalin.

Sergei Kornilov had been sent to a Gulag in Siberia over ten years before. Somehow he had survived all that time, and his term of imprisonment was nearly over. He had been looking forward to seeing his family again, especially his son, Ivan and daughter, Olga, who had both been babies when he had been sent away. But then, one night, the NKVD guards hustled him out of his barracks and put him on a plane for Moscow. He had been taken to the office of NKVD Chief Lavrentiy Beria, who had informed him that his beloved wife, Natalya, and his two children had been arrested and confined in Lubyanka Prison. Beria had then given him a choice...carry out this mission on behalf of the State, in which case his family would be released and well-cared for, or refuse, in which case he would go back to the Gulag for the rest of his life, AFTER witnessing his wife and children receive bullets in their brainpans. Kornilov had chosen the former, of course.

After he had been smuggled into the United States via the Canadian border, Kornilov had been picked up by Abel, who had provided him with a Confederate identity (a real identity, stolen from a homeless drunk in Louisville, Kentucky who had been kidnapped and disposed of by one of Abel's agents in the Confederacy), a Confederate pistol, and a clipping from the Washington Guardian [1] describing the “failed” attempt to blow up the Confederate Capitol. He had been given his instructions, and a cyanide capsule which he was to place in his mouth and bite down on immediately after completing his assignment. “If you allow yourself to be captured,” Beria had told him before he left for America, “your family will not leave Lubyanka alive. This I promise you!”

Abel shook his head again. Kornilov had carried out his mission...all of it. Even now, he was watching them carry the unfortunate man's body away on television. He hoped that Beria would keep his word and release Kornilov's family. He shuddered again. He knew that was a highly questionable assumption. Lavrentiy Beria always acted in what he regarded as the best interest of the State and of the Communist Party...which meant, as far as he was concerned, what was in his own best interest, and in that of his master, Comrade Stalin. And if that meant an innocent woman and her two children had to disappear, Abel knew they would disappear.

Abel sighed. He knew, in his heart, that the victory of Communism would, in the end, mean a better world for everyone. Capitalism had to be defeated, and many sacrifices would be required before that happened. But still, it was sad when innocents had to suffer for the greater good.

“Ah well,” he said softly. “Such is life.” All that was really important was the success of the mission. And, once again, Rudolph Abel had succeeded, and the cause of the Motherland had been advanced. He got up and turned the television off, put on his overcoat, and stepped out for dinner. A pastrami sandwich from Katz's would do much to improve his mood, he knew. His mouth watered when he thought of the spicy, smoky meat. He could almost taste it, even now, as he walked down the stairs of his apartment building. He smiled sardonically. It might even remove the bitter taste left in his mouth by what he had just done. At least he hoped it would. “Such is life,” he said again, softly to himself. “Such is life.”

[1] The Washington Guardian is the largest newspaper in the Confederate capital. The Washington Post, which was founded in 1877 in OTL, does not exist in the Confederacy.

GBW

01-22-2011, 01:23 PM

I thought that information hadn't been released by the Confederate government? :confused:

Adam

01-22-2011, 03:44 PM

Ding-dong, the wicked demagogue is dead!:)

But not if this means a North American war.:(

robertp6165

01-22-2011, 05:18 PM

I thought that information hadn't been released by the Confederate government? :confused:

Well, if you are talking about the newspaper clipping they found on Kornilov's body, it's true that the Confederate government hasn't released the information that directly implicates McCarthy in the attempted bombing of the Capitol building. But it can't keep secret the fact that the attempt was made. Too many people saw the commotion around the Capitol, bomb squads being called, and so forth. And its entirely possible that an enterprising reporter might have found some "unofficial" sources who implicated the United States and/or McCarthy, or some editor of the Washington Guardian may have spouted off in an editorial, speculating who might have been behind it. The Confederacy does have a free press, so that's not something the government can really control.

AJNolte

01-24-2011, 07:17 AM

This is very good.

And old Joe better hope the USA and CSA don't figure out what's up, or his little stunt here will have made things incalculably worse for the Communists.

stalkere

01-24-2011, 08:33 AM

One thing jumps out at me.
Teeth.
What does this guy have for dental fillings? Anything?
Does he have that stainless steel stuff that the Soviets used? Or the silver or gold used in the West? What did the CSA use?
I recall that, in a few false flag operations of the fifties, dental fillings gave away Soviet operatives who attempted to pose as Westerners.

robertp6165

01-24-2011, 09:39 AM

This is very good.

And old Joe better hope the USA and CSA don't figure out what's up, or his little stunt here will have made things incalculably worse for the Communists.

Very true.

One thing jumps out at me.
Teeth.
What does this guy have for dental fillings? Anything?
Does he have that stainless steel stuff that the Soviets used? Or the silver or gold used in the West? What did the CSA use?
I recall that, in a few false flag operations of the fifties, dental fillings gave away Soviet operatives who attempted to pose as Westerners.

that's a possibility, of course. It's also possible they might be able to find a living relative or friend of Clancy to identify the body. Time will tell...

robertp6165

01-24-2011, 09:44 AM

WASHINGTON, C.D., CONFEDERATE STATES OF AMERICA, 20 SEPTEMBER 1950

On the morning of September 25, 1950, Wade Hampton VI sat patiently in a private anteroom outside the Oval Office, waiting to see the President. Fifty years old, the resemblance to his great grandfather, the famous cavalry leader of the War of Secession, General Wade Hampton III, was striking. Like his renowned ancestor, Hampton stood over six feet tall, barrel-chested and with the physique of an athlete. The resemblance was only further reinforced by the full, luxuriant beard which he chose to wear, of dark brown hair just beginning to be streaked with gray, which itself looked like it belonged in the Nineteenth century rather than in the middle of the Twentieth.

That Hampton was sitting in the private anteroom, rather than the public one used by the President's usual guests, reflected the nature of the work which Hampton did. Indeed, the White House sat across Pennsylvania Avenue (which had never been renamed, despite the fact that it honored a Northern State) from the Confederate Intelligence Agency Building, and Hampton had entered the White House through a tunnel which ran underneath the street and connected that building with this anteroom. The fewer people who saw the comings and goings of the Confederacy's Chief Spy...of course, Hampton himself wouldn't have referred to himself that way, however accurate it might have been...the better.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door to the anteroom finally opened, and Henry Fitzhugh, the President's Chief of Staff, beckoned for him to follow.

“The President will see you now, General Hampton,” Fitzhugh said.

Hampton smiled and rose. “Thank you, Henry.” He followed as ordered, and soon found himself in the Oval Office itself. As he entered, President Richard Russell rose to greet him,

“Wade!,” he said, stepping forward and offering his hand. “Come in! Come in!” Gesturing toward a chair in front of the large mahogany desk, he said, “Please, have a seat! I'm sorry that took so long...I was meeting with Senator Talmadge.” He smiled, knowingly. Senator Talmadge's reputation as a windbag who loved the sound of his own voice was well known.

Hampton shook Russell's hand, smiling in return, then took the offered seat. “Thank you, Mr. President,” he said as he sat down.

Russell returned to his own seat behind the large, heavy desk. Placing his hands on the desk in front of him, he leaned forward and looked intently at Hampton.

“Wade, the situation with the Yankees is getting pretty heated,” Russell said. “You've no doubt heard the news about the assassination of Senator McCarthy. The Yankees say one of our citizens, someone named Hubert Clancy whom they identified from a Kentucky Driver's License found on his body, pulled the trigger. There are some muckrakers in the Yankee press who speculate that Clancy was a Confederate agent.”

“Yes, I've heard that, Mr. President,” Hampton replied, nodding.

“Please tell me that's not true, General Hampton?,” Russell said, almost pleading.

Hampton shook his head. “No, Mr. President,” he said. “It is not. I can assure you of that with one hundred percent certainty.”

Russell sat back in his chair a bit and looked relieved. “Thank God for small favors...or in this case, for big ones,” he said. Looking into Hampton's eyes, he asked, “So what can you tell me?”

Hampton cleared his throat, before speaking. “Mr. President, I can't tell you anything beyond that for certain. But I think we've been the victims of a ruse.”

“A ruse?,” Russell asked, mystified. “What do you mean by that, General?”

“Mr. President,” Hampton continued, “I can't prove anything yet, but I am of the opinion that we...the Confederacy and the Yankees...are being manipulated by an outside power, intent of creating conflict, and even war, between us.”

“Go on,” the President said. “What evidence, if any, do you have?”

“Not so much evidence at this time, but a lot of good old fashioned instinct and intuition,” Hampton said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Consider...we find and disarm a bomb outside our Capitol Building with papers inside which implicate that son-of-a-bitch McCarthy. Then, three days later, McCarthy ends up dead, supposedly killed by a Confederate citizen.”

“Supposedly?,” Russell asked.

“Well,” Hampton said, “all we have right now is the Yankees' word that Clancy was a Confederate citizen. We need to investigate that. Further still, if it turns out that Clancy WAS a Confederate citizen, we need to verify that the body they have is, in fact, Hubert Clancy.”

“All right,” Russell said. “I'm with you. Please continue.”

“The assassin had a newspaper clipping in his pocket about the attempted Capitol bombing,” Hampton said. “Yet we did not release the information that McCarthy had been implicated. It appeared in none of our newspapers or broadcasts.”

“Isn't it possible that this Clancy person might have simply jumped to the conclusion that McCarthy or his supporters were behind the bombing?,” Russell asked. “After all, his anti-Confederate tirades were common knowledge.”

“Yes, that is possible,” Hampton said. “As I said, it's more a hunch I have, than anything solid.”

“Your hunches usually prove to be prophetic,” Russell said, frowning. “And if that proves to be the case here...”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Hampton said, nodding and smiling wanly. “Needless to say, it would complicate things a mite.” Russell guffawed at the understatement. Undeterred, Hampton continued.

“Mr. President, some things just don't add up about the Capitol bombing, either,” he said. “I've had our best demolition experts examine the bomb which was parked next to the Capitol Building. If it had exploded, it would have been a very powerful and destructive device. But my experts are of the opinion that, the way it was rigged, there was no way it could have exploded.”

“So we're dealing with a group of incompetent terrorists, then,” Russell replied.

“I don't think so,” Hampton said, shaking his head.

“I don't understand,” Russell said, a puzzled look on his face.

“Mr. President,” Hampton said, “the device was very cleverly done, to look dangerous while not actually being dangerous.”

“But what about the papers found which implicated Senator McCarthy and his supporters?,” Russell asked. “And the presence of the U.S. Army-issue detonators?”

“The detonators appear to be real,” Hampton said. “They could have been stolen, though. The serial numbers were removed to prevent them from being easily traced. As for the legitimacy of the papers, so far, our tests have been inconclusive. My own opinion is that they are forgeries.”

“And on what do you base that opinion?,” Russell asked.

“Again, at this point, it's just a hunch,” Hampton replied. “Something just doesn't smell right about that whole situation. The Yankees have extended recognition to us. We have joined their anti-communist alliance. Even Senator McCarthy's public statements had become less...abrasive...since then. Why would he, or his supporters, want to blow up the Capitol Building? What do they have to gain by it?”

Russell sat silently, looking into space as he mulled that one over. Hampton did have a point. As much as McCarthy annoyed him, Russell did have to admit that his statements since the McKellar Administration had extended recognition...and the Confederacy had agreed to send troops to fight he communists in Korea...had become much less adversarial, though by no means friendly, toward the Confederacy. He suddenly looked back at Hampton.

“Well, if not the Yankees...” he began.

“Who stands to benefit most if the Confederate States and the United States become enemies?,” Hampton asked.

Russell nodded, then sighed. “The Communists,” he said. “But can you prove it?”

Hampton shook his head. “Not yet. Whoever planned this operation was good. REAL good. But we'll keep digging.”

“Yes, do that,” Russell said. He rose, offering his hand again. “Thank you, General,” he said. “I know I can count on you.” Hampton took his hand, and replied, “Thank you, Mr. President.” Fitzhugh, who had been standing behind the President, escorted Hampton back to the anteroom. He returned shortly.

“Mr. President,” he said, “if it was the communists, what are we going to do about it? The next time, it could just as well be a real bomb.”

“I'm not quite sure yet, Henry,” Russell said. “I reckon I'll have to think on that, and right hard.”

“Yes, Sir,” Fitzhugh said.

Russell got up. “Henry,” he said, “Cancel the rest of my meetings for today. If an emergency comes up, I'll be in the study.”

“Yes, Sir!,” Fitzhugh said, rising from his own seat and following the President out of the Oval Office. As President Russell headed up the stairs to the second floor of the White House, Fitzhugh did not follow, heading instead for his own office.

Once in the study, Russell sat down in his favorite chair and turned on the television. As it happened, the set was tuned to WPTZ in Philadelphia, and the CBS network's afternoon news program, John Daly with the News, was just coming on. Daly was a handsome man with a friendly face who Russell recognized as the host of the Yankee game show, What's My Line. Russell smiled at that. News in the Confederacy carried a certain gravitas which seemed lacking in some of the Yankee broadcasts he had seen. He tried to imagine Carver Andrews hosting a game show. The image simply wouldn't form in his mind. Shaking his head, he re-focused his attention of the broadcast.

“Preliminary reports that the assassin of Senator Joseph McCarthy, who was shot and killed yesterday while giving a speech in Springfield, Illinois, was a Confederate citizen,” Daly said, “have not yet been confirmed by the Springfield Police Department, which is still investigating the matter. President McKellar, in a news conference held earlier today, has condemned speculation that the assassin might have been a Confederate agent. Here's some of that video now.” The picture briefly faded, then a recording of McKellar's comments was played.

McKellar's face looked haggard as he called on one of the reporters crowded into the conference room in the Empire State Building where the news conference was being held.

“Yes, Mr. Hollenbeck?,” McKellar said.

Don Hollenbeck, a reporter for CBS and its New York station, WCBS, a tall, lanky man with an unruly shock of dark hair who wore thick, horn-rim glasses, smiled.

“Thank you, Mr. President. Can you comment on the rumors that Hubert Clancy, the assassin, might have been a Confederate agent? After all, Senator McCarthy's views regarding the Confederacy were well known.”

McKellar drew himself up and took a deep breath before responding. “Mr. Hollenbeck, those rumors are just that, rumors. We have absolutely no evidence to support that. At this early stage, it is irresponsible in the extreme to throw around accusations like that, accusations which have no basis in anything we know at the present time. I cannot say that strongly enough. There are many who still have not accepted the fact that we have recognized the independence of the Confederacy, and welcomed our neighbors to the South into the family of nations. Those who seek to promote distrust and discord between our two American Republics by passing around these unfounded rumors are to be condemned, in no uncertain terms. If it does, at a later time, turn out that there was involvement by the Confederate government in the Senator's murder, that, of course, will be a different kettle of fish and we will of course respond appropriately. But once again, we have no evidence, whatsoever, of any such involvement at this time.”

“So you are not ruling out the possibility of involvement by the Confederate government, then?,” Hollenbeck pressed.

“Nothing is being ruled out at this time. The investigation is still ongoing,” the President replied. Then quickly, he pointed to another reporter. “Next question!”

The screen faded again, then John Daly returned to the screen. “In related news,” Daly said, “Confederate President Richard Russell has condemned the assassination of Senator McCarthy, calling it a 'tragic affair.' He has offered the full cooperation of the Confederacy with the investigation into the crime.”

Russell nodded at that. He had indeed done these things, and he fully intended to cooperate fully with the investigation...especially now that General Hampton had assured him that Hubert Clancy was NOT a Confederate agent. Getting up, he turned the television off, then sat back down to think.

If Hubert Clancy was not a Confederate agent, then who was he? Was he, as General Hampton apparently suspected, a Communist agent? But if so, would he have committed suicide upon completing his murderous act? He knew the agents who worked for the Confederate Intelligence Agency and other Confederate intelligence forces were dedicated, but he had a hard time imagining one of them making what was essentially a suicide attack like the one Clancy had evidently carried out. What kind of fanatic does a thing like that?, Russell wondered to himself.

Russell shook his head. There were just too many possibilities, and not enough firm evidence right now even to speculate. He turned the TV back on. Video of McCarthy supporters outside the Confederate Embassy in New York, carrying picket signs accusing the Confederacy of complicity in the Senator's death, was on the screen. I hope General Hampton comes up with something soon, he thought to himself. Because if he doesn't, things could get a lot more than a MITE complicated.

archangel

01-24-2011, 05:31 PM

This will soon backfire against the Soviets.

Keep it up!:)

AJNolte

01-25-2011, 12:18 PM

robertp6165

01-25-2011, 01:11 PM

This will soon backfire against the Soviets.

Keep it up!:)

Agreed; this was sloppy, rushed, and will cause all kinds of problems for the Soviets. They should have taken at least a decade building up agents in the CSA before trying to pull something like this.

Well, maybe, maybe not. We'll have to see, won't we. ;)

As for waiting a decade...a lot of stuff can happen in a decade, and that gives the USA plenty of time to recover from what's happened. Stalin wants to take advantage of an opportunity while it still exists. Besides, this operation didn't need a lot of spies within the CSA to carry it off.

AJNolte

01-25-2011, 01:46 PM

Well, maybe, maybe not. We'll have to see, won't we. ;)

As for waiting a decade...a lot of stuff can happen in a decade, and that gives the USA plenty of time to recover from what's happened. Stalin wants to take advantage of an opportunity while it still exists. Besides, this operation didn't need a lot of spies within the CSA to carry it off.

No, it only needed one, but it needed one who was deeply into CSA society. As is, there are a hundred little things that even 1950-era CSI can probably use to determine the dude isn't from the CSA. Dental work is one, fingerprints are another. If real Hubert Clancy has commited a crime, he's probably got prints on file somewhere in the CSA government apparatus. How is the CSA at keeping medical records? If Clancy has any kind of previous bone damage--broken bones and such--a careful examination of this corpse's skeleton should indicate that it's a different guy. Even a little thing--a broken nose in a picture that the corpse doesn't have, a half an inch difference in height--could give the game away.
I agree that the Soviets had to strike hard and fast, but this inevitably leads to a certain sloppiness on the part of the Soviets. Unavoidable, but potentially very damaging if either the US or CS has some halfway decent crime scene people or intel guys.
Edit: I know the British were using ID cards with fingerprints in the Malayan Emergency, which started only a couple of years later, so have to think the FBI and so on have at least rudimentary abilities at gathering biometric technologies. Now, what the CSA has in this regard, I have no idea.

GBW

01-25-2011, 01:56 PM

CSI: CSA?

AJNolte

01-25-2011, 02:08 PM

CSI: CSA?

Figure they've got to have some sort of Crime Scene Investigation technology at this point.
But...doesn't CSI: CSA sound like an awesome AH short story series? If I knew anything about the former, and could project the latter into the modern era with any degree of confidence, I might consider it. :)

robertp6165

01-26-2011, 08:35 AM

I've done a retcon of the last two segments. Upon considering the issue, it occurred to me that having Abel provide Kornilov with a Confederate identity was a mistake, as all that really does is to give the investigators a starting point for their investigation. If he had simply provided him with a suit of Confederate-made clothes, a Confederate made pistol, and a newspaper clipping about the Capitol bombing with "Yankee bastards. Fuck McCarthy" written on it, the task of figuring out exactly what has really happened is going to be a whole lot harder. And so...

SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, 19 SEPTEMBER 1950

A large crowd had gathered in Lincoln Park, in the city of Springfield, Illinois, to hear a speech by Senator Joseph McCarthy. McCarthy was in the midst of a barnstorming campaign of speeches in support of anti-communist Republicans in fifteen states, and was here campaigning on behalf of Republican Senate candidate Everett Dirksen, who was trying to unseat the incumbent, Democratic Senator Scot W. Lucas. At the moment, Dirksen was speaking.

“And so, my fellow citizens, the choice is clear. The Democratic Party has dominated political discourse in this country since 1932. And look where it's gotten us, and the world! Half of Europe is locked up tight behind the Iron Curtain, the people there the slaves of brutal Communist dictatorships! China, too, has been lost to the Reds! And now, brazen Communist aggression in Korea! If you've had enough...and I know I have...Vote Republican!”

The crowd cheered enthusiastically. Dirksen smiled, then gestured to Senator McCarthy, who was seated on the rostrum behind him.

“And now, the man you've all been waiting to hear, the Tail-Gunner himself, Senator Joseph McCarthy!”

The crowd went wild, people cheering themselves hoarse and clapping so hard they almost bruised their own palms. McCarthy stood up, and waving to the crowd in acknowledgement, strode confidently up to the podium. Dirksen surrendered his place, and took one of the empty seats atop the rostrum. McCarthy looked out over the crowd, and smiled to see the television cameras, positioned strategically to record the event. He continued waving for a moment or two more, then stood, silently, to wait for the cheers and applause to subside. Gradually, they did, and McCarthy began to speak.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Fellow Citizens,” he began, “I cannot tell you how much it pleases me to be here, in the hometown of our greatest President, Abraham Lincoln!” Once again, the crowd went wild, and McCarthy waited for them to subside somewhat before continuing.

Pointing to Oak Ridge Cemetery, which lay next to Lincoln Park, he said, “But truly, my friends, today he must be turning over in his grave, over yonder, or he would be, if he knew the state of the world as it exists today. Today we are engaged in a final, all-out battle between communistic atheism and Christianity. The modern champions of communism have selected this as the time. And, ladies and gentlemen, the chips are down -- they are truly down.

Lest there be any doubt that the time has been chosen, let us go directly to the leader of communism today -- Joseph Stalin. Here is what he said -- not back in 1928, not before the war, not during the war -- but two years after the last war was ended: 'To think that the communist revolution can be carried out peacefully, within the framework of a Christian democracy, means one has either gone out of one's mind and lost all normal understanding, or has grossly and openly repudiated the communist revolution.'

And this is what was said by Lenin in 1919, which was also quoted with approval by Stalin in 1947: 'We are living,' said Lenin, 'not merely in a state but in a system of states, and the existence of the Soviet Republic side by side with Christian states for a long time is unthinkable. One or the other must triumph in the end. And before that end supervenes, a series of frightful collisions between the Soviet Republic and the bourgeois states will be inevitable.'

Ladies and gentlemen, can there be anyone here today who is so blind as to say that the war is not on? Can there be anyone who fails to realize that the communist world has said, 'The time is now' -- that this is the time for the showdown between the democratic Christian world and the communist atheistic world? Unless we face this fact, we shall pay the price that must be paid by those who wait too long.

As one of our outstanding historical figures once said, 'When a great democracy is destroyed, it will not be because of enemies from without but rather because of enemies from within." The truth of this statement has become terrifyingly clear as we see this country each day losing on every front.

Yet there are those who will not see what is right in front of their faces. There are those who refuse to believe what their own senses tell them must be the truth. Some of them are simple fools. And some of them are simply traitors...traitors to this great land and the principles for which it stands...traitors who have sold their souls to the false god of Communism!” Once again, the crowd roared with rapturous approval.

“Into which category Senator Scot W. Lucas falls, I know not,” McCarthy shouted to be heard over the din of the crowd. “Perhaps he is a fool. Perhaps he is a traitor! But whatever he is, he is not worthy to hold a seat in the United States Senate!”

As McCarthy spoke, a non-descript little man, with graying black hair and bushy eyebrows, wearing a gray trench coat over his dark suit and a homberg hat on his head, gradually pushed his way through the crowd, edging closer and closer to the rostrum. Finally, he emerged into the front row of spectators, and as the crowd roared once again, he slipped his hand into the pocket of his trench coat, where he felt the cold metal of the automatic pistol he carried. He knew the pistol...a Confederate-made Browning Model 1921 automatic pistol...had a hair trigger, and he would be able to empty the magazine quickly, and hopefully completely, before those around him could respond. He took a deep breath as he steeled himself, then quickly withdrew the weapon, aimed it at McCarthy, and opened fire.

POP POP POP POP POP...the noise as the gun discharged was almost lost among the din of the crowd as he quickly squeezed off all twelve rounds in the magazine. McCarthy gasped with shock and surprise, then silently slumped to the ground. A pool of blood began forming itself beneath his body. Everett Dirksen...who had, himself, been wounded in the arm by the fusillade, and others on the rostrum quickly rushed to aid the stricken Senator, but it was too late.“Tail-Gunner Joe” McCarthy was dead, a bullet having found his heart.

People, both in the crowd and on the rostrum, screamed in horror and recoiled from the assassin. Then, several men leapt forward to grab him, ripping the gun from his grasp and wrestling him to the ground. Two of the men began beating the assassin with their fists. Strangely, he didn't seem to resist. Two policemen, who had been assigned to perform crowd control for the event, rushed forward, pulling the men away. But the assassin lay motionless on the ground.

One of the policemen knelt beside him, shaking him. “Get up, buddy,” the policeman said. But there was no response. The officer turned the assassin over onto his back, and, bending down to listen for any breath, caught the faint scent of almonds from the assassins mouth, which hung open as his eyes stared into space, seeing nothing. Hearing no breath, he put his ear to the man's chest. Astonished, he looked up at his partner and said, “He's dead!”

The other policeman now knelt down and rifled through the man's pockets. “No identification,” the officer said, looking at his partner. Then, finding another pocket, he said, “Wait a second...what's this?” He pulled out a piece of folded paper. Opening it up, he found it was a newspaper clipping describing the failed attempt to blow up the Confederate Capitol Building in Washington, C.D. Written across it was “Yankee Bastards. Fuck McCarthy!” He showed it to his partner, who had in the meantime recovered the fallen assassin's weapon. “It's a goddamned Reb!,” he said. “I think you're right,” his partner said, nodding and holding up the unfamiliar looking hand-gun. Looking at some markings on the side of it, he read, “Confederate States Repeating Arms Co., Atlanta, Georgia.”

As the officer was reading those words, Colonel Rudolf Abel sat watching the live television coverage of the event in his flat in Brooklyn, New York. Abel, whose real name was Vilyam Genrikhovich Fischer, was a small man of 47 years, with a head of black hair gone prematurely bald, a hawklike face and cunning black eyes. Abel was one of the highest ranking intelligence agents which the Soviet Union had secretly inserted into the United States, and one of the most successful. He was, of course, pleased that this mission, too, had been a success. Nevertheless, as he watched the drama unfold on his television screen, he shuddered and shook his head, although the room was quite warm. He could not help feeling sick when he thought about the poor sod who had been dragooned by Abel's superiors, back in Moscow, to perform this mission. For Abel knew the man who had assassinated McCarthy was not, in fact, a Confederate at all, but simply a man who had fallen afoul of Joe Stalin.

Sergei Kornilov had been sent to a Gulag in Siberia over ten years before. Somehow he had survived all that time, and his term of imprisonment was nearly over. He had been looking forward to seeing his family again, especially his son, Ivan and daughter, Olga, who had both been babies when he had been sent away. But then, one night, the NKVD guards hustled him out of his barracks and put him on a plane for Moscow. He had been taken to the office of NKVD Chief Lavrentiy Beria, who had informed him that his beloved wife, Natalya, and his two children had been arrested and confined in Lubyanka Prison. Beria had then given him a choice...carry out this mission on behalf of the State, in which case his family would be released and well-cared for, or refuse, in which case he would go back to the Gulag for the rest of his life, AFTER witnessing his wife and children receive bullets in their brainpans. Kornilov had chosen the former, of course.

After he had been smuggled into the United States via the Canadian border, Kornilov had been picked up by Abel, who had provided him with a suit of clothing purchased in a Confederate shop, a Confederate pistol, and a clipping from the Washington Guardian [1] describing the “failed” attempt to blow up the Confederate Capitol. He had been given his instructions, and a cyanide capsule which he was to place in his mouth and bite down on immediately after completing his assignment. “If you allow yourself to be captured,” Beria had told him before he left for America, “your family will not leave Lubyanka alive. This I promise you!”

Abel shook his head again. Kornilov had carried out his mission...all of it. Even now, he was watching them carry the unfortunate man's body away on television. He hoped that Beria would keep his word and release Kornilov's family. He shuddered again. He knew that was a highly questionable assumption. Lavrentiy Beria always acted in what he regarded as the best interest of the State and of the Communist Party...which meant, as far as he was concerned, what was in his own best interest, and in that of his master, Comrade Stalin. And if that meant an innocent woman and her two children had to disappear, Abel knew they would disappear.

Abel sighed. He knew, in his heart, that the victory of Communism would, in the end, mean a better world for everyone. Capitalism had to be defeated, and many sacrifices would be required before that happened. But still, it was sad when innocents had to suffer for the greater good.

“Ah well,” he said softly. “Such is life.” All that was really important was the success of the mission. And, once again, Rudolph Abel had succeeded, and the cause of the Motherland had been advanced. He got up and turned the television off, put on his overcoat, and stepped out for dinner. A pastrami sandwich from Katz's would do much to improve his mood, he knew. His mouth watered when he thought of the spicy, smoky meat. He could almost taste it, even now, as he walked down the stairs of his apartment building. He smiled sardonically. It might even remove the bitter taste left in his mouth by what he had just done. At least he hoped it would. “Such is life,” he said again, softly to himself. “Such is life.”

[1] The Washington Guardian is the largest newspaper in Washington, C.D. The Washington Post, which was founded in 1877 in OTL, does not exist in the ATL.

WASHINGTON, C.D., CONFEDERATE STATES OF AMERICA, 20 SEPTEMBER 1950

On the morning of September 20, 1950, Wade Hampton VI sat patiently in a private anteroom outside the Oval Office, waiting to see the President. Fifty years old, the resemblance to his great grandfather, the famous cavalry leader of the War of Secession, General Wade Hampton III, was striking. Like his renowned ancestor, Hampton stood over six feet tall, barrel-chested and with the physique of an athlete. The resemblance was only further reinforced by the full, luxuriant beard which he chose to wear, of dark brown hair just beginning to be streaked with gray, which itself looked like it belonged in the Nineteenth century rather than in the middle of the Twentieth.

That Hampton was sitting in the private anteroom, rather than the public one used by the President's usual guests, reflected the nature of the work which Hampton did. Indeed, the White House sat across Pennsylvania Avenue (which had never been renamed, despite the fact that it honored a Northern State) from the Confederate Intelligence Agency Building, and Hampton had entered the White House through a tunnel which ran underneath the street and connected that building with this anteroom. The fewer people who saw the comings and goings of the Confederacy's Chief Spy...of course, Hampton himself wouldn't have referred to himself that way, however accurate it might have been...the better.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door to the anteroom finally opened, and Henry Fitzhugh, the President's Chief of Staff, beckoned for him to follow.

“The President will see you now, General Hampton,” Fitzhugh said.

Hampton smiled and rose. “Thank you, Henry.” He followed as ordered, and soon found himself in the Oval Office itself. As he entered, President Richard Russell rose to greet him.

“Wade!,” he said, stepping forward and offering his hand. “Come in! Come in!” Gesturing toward a chair in front of the large mahogany desk, he said, “Please, have a seat! I'm sorry that took so long...I was meeting with Senator Talmadge.” He smiled, knowingly. Senator Talmadge's reputation as a windbag who loved the sound of his own voice was well known.

Hampton shook Russell's hand, smiling in return, then took the offered seat. “Thank you, Mr. President,” he said as he sat down.

Russell returned to his own seat behind the large, heavy desk. Placing his hands on the desk in front of him, he leaned forward and looked intently at Hampton.

“Wade, the situation with the Yankees is getting pretty heated,” Russell said. “You've no doubt heard the news about the assassination of Senator McCarthy. The Yankees say it appears that one of our citizens pulled the trigger. There are some muckrakers in the Yankee press who speculate that the killer was a Confederate agent.”

“Yes, I've heard that, Mr. President,” Hampton replied, nodding.

“Please tell me that's not true, General Hampton?,” Russell said, almost pleading.

Hampton shook his head. “No, Mr. President,” he said. “It is not. I can assure you of that with one hundred percent certainty.”

Russell sat back in his chair a bit and looked relieved. “Thank God for small favors...or in this case, for big ones,” he said. Looking into Hampton's eyes, he asked, “So what can you tell me?”

Hampton cleared his throat, before speaking. “Mr. President, I can't tell you anything beyond that for certain. But I think we've been the victims of a ruse.”

“A ruse?,” Russell asked, mystified. “What do you mean by that, General?”

“Mr. President,” Hampton continued, “I can't prove anything yet, but I am of the opinion that we...the Confederacy and the Yankees...are being manipulated by an outside power, intent of creating conflict, and even war, between us.”

“Go on,” the President said. “What evidence, if any, do you have?”

“Not so much evidence at this time, but a lot of good old fashioned instinct and intuition,” Hampton said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Consider...we find and disarm a bomb outside our Capitol Building with papers inside which implicate that son-of-a-bitch McCarthy. Then, three days later, McCarthy ends up dead, supposedly killed by a Confederate citizen.”

“Supposedly?,” Russell asked.

“Well,” Hampton said, “all we have right now is that the Yankees think he was a Confederate citizen, based on certain items which were found on his person.”

“All right,” Russell said. “I'm with you. Please continue.”

“The assassin had a newspaper clipping in his pocket about the attempted Capitol bombing,” Hampton said. “Yet we did not release the information that McCarthy had been implicated. It appeared in none of our newspapers or broadcasts.”

“Isn't it possible that this person might have simply jumped to the conclusion that McCarthy or his supporters were behind the bombing?,” Russell asked. “After all, his anti-Confederate tirades were common knowledge.”

“Yes, that is possible,” Hampton said. “As I said, it's more a hunch I have, than anything solid.”

“Your hunches usually prove to be prophetic,” Russell said, frowning. “And if that proves to be the case here...”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Hampton said, nodding and smiling wanly. “Needless to say, it would complicate things a mite.” Russell guffawed at the understatement. Undeterred, Hampton continued.

“Mr. President, some things just don't add up about the Capitol bombing, either,” he said. “I've had our best demolition experts examine the bomb which was parked next to the Capitol Building. If it had exploded, it would have been a very powerful and destructive device. But my experts are of the opinion that, the way it was rigged, there was no way it could have exploded.”

“So we're dealing with a group of incompetent terrorists, then,” Russell replied.

“I don't think so,” Hampton said, shaking his head.

“I don't understand,” Russell said, a puzzled look on his face.

“Mr. President,” Hampton said, “I believe the device was very cleverly done, to look dangerous while not actually being dangerous.”

“But what about the papers found which implicated Senator McCarthy and his supporters?,” Russell asked. “And the presence of the U.S. Army-issue detonators?”

“The detonators appear to be real,” Hampton said. “They could have been stolen, though. The serial numbers were removed to prevent them from being easily traced. As for the legitimacy of the papers, so far, our tests have been inconclusive. My own opinion is that they are forgeries.”

“And on what do you base that opinion?,” Russell asked.

“Again, at this point, it's just a hunch,” Hampton replied. “Something just doesn't smell right about this whole situation. The Yankees have extended recognition to us. We have joined their anti-communist alliance. Even Senator McCarthy's public statements had become less...abrasive...since then. Why would he, or his supporters, want to blow up the Capitol Building? What do they have to gain by it?”

Russell sat silently, looking into space as he mulled that one over. Hampton did have a point. As much as McCarthy annoyed him, Russell did have to admit that his statements since the McKellar Administration had extended recognition...and the Confederacy had agreed to send troops to fight he communists in Korea...had become much less adversarial, though by no means friendly, toward the Confederacy. He suddenly looked back at Hampton.

“Well, if not the Yankees...” he began.

“Who stands to benefit most if the Confederate States and the United States become enemies?,” Hampton asked.

Russell nodded, then sighed. “The Communists,” he said. “But can you prove it?”

Hampton shook his head. “Not yet. Whoever planned this operation was good. REAL good. But we'll keep digging.”

“Yes, do that,” Russell said. He rose, offering his hand again. “Thank you, General,” he said. “I know I can count on you.” Hampton took his hand, and replied, “Thank you, Mr. President.” Fitzhugh, who had been standing behind the President, escorted Hampton back to the anteroom. He returned shortly.

“Mr. President,” he said, “if it was the communists, what are we going to do about it? The next time, it could just as well be a real bomb.”

“I'm not quite sure yet, Henry,” Russell said. “I reckon I'll have to think on that, and right hard.”

“Yes, Sir,” Fitzhugh said.

Russell got up. “Henry,” he said, “Cancel the rest of my meetings for today. If an emergency comes up, I'll be in the study.”

“Yes, Sir!,” Fitzhugh said, rising from his own seat and following the President out of the Oval Office. As President Russell headed up the stairs to the second floor of the White House, Fitzhugh did not follow, heading instead for his own office.

Once in the study, Russell sat down in his favorite chair and turned on the television. As it happened, the set was tuned to WPTZ in Philadelphia, and the CBS networks afternoon news program, John Daly with the News, was just coming on. Daly was a handsome man with a friendly face who Russell recognized as the host of the Yankee game show, What's My Line. Russell smiled at that. News in the Confederacy carried a certain gravitas which seemed lacking in some of the Yankee broadcasts he had seen. He tried to imagine Carver Andrews hosting a game show. The image simply wouldn't form in his mind. Shaking his head, he re-focused his attention of the broadcast.

“Preliminary reports that the assassin of Senator Joseph McCarthy, who was shot and killed yesterday while giving a speech in Springfield, Illinois, was a Confederate citizen,” Daly said, “have not yet been confirmed by the Springfield Police Department, which is still investigating the matter. President McKellar, in a news conference held earlier today, has condemned speculation that the assassin might have been a Confederate agent. Here's some of that video now.” The picture briefly faded, then a recording of McKellar's comments was played.

McKellar's face looked haggard as he called on one of the reporters crowded into the conference room in the Empire State Building where the news conference was being held.

“Yes, Mr. Hollenbeck?,” McKellar said.

Don Hollenbeck, a reporter for CBS and its New York station, WCBS, a tall, lanky man with an unruly shock of dark hair who wore thick, horn-rim glasses, smiled.

“Thank you, Mr. President. Can you comment on the rumors that the assassin of Senator McCarthy might have been a Confederate agent? After all, Senator McCarthy's views regarding the Confederacy were well known.”

McKellar drew himself up and took a deep breath before responding. “Mr. Hollenbeck, those rumors are just that, rumors. We have absolutely no evidence to support that. At this early stage, it is irresponsible in the extreme to throw around accusations like that, accusations which have no basis in anything we know at the present time. I cannot say that strongly enough. There are many who still have not accepted the fact that we have recognized the independence of the Confederacy, and welcomed our neighbors to the South into the family of nations. Those who seek to promote distrust and discord between our two American Republics by passing around these unfounded rumors are to be condemned, in no uncertain terms. If it does, at a later time, turn out that there was involvement by the Confederate government in the Senator's murder, that, of course, will be a different kettle of fish and we will of course respond appropriately. But once again, we have no evidence, whatsoever, of any such involvement at this time.”

“So you are not ruling out the possibility of involvement by the Confederate government, then?,” Hollenbeck pressed.

“Nothing is being ruled out at this time. The investigation is still ongoing,” the President replied. Then quickly, he pointed to another reporter. “Next question!”

The screen faded again, then John Daly returned to the screen. “In related news,” Daly said, “Confederate President Richard Russell has condemned the assassination of Senator McCarthy, calling it a 'tragic affair.' He has offered the full cooperation of the Confederacy with the investigation into the crime.”

Russell nodded at that. He had indeed done these things, and he fully intended to cooperate fully with the investigation...especially now that General Hampton had assured him that the killer was NOT a Confederate agent. Getting up, he turned the television off, then sat back down to think.

If the assassin was not a Confederate agent, then who was he? Was he just a lunatic? Was he some anonymous Confederate citizen, outraged by what he believed to be Senator McCarthy’s complicity in the failed Capitol Bombing plot? Was he, as General Hampton apparently suspected, a Communist agent? But if so, would he have committed suicide upon completing his murderous act? He knew the agents who worked for the Confederate Intelligence Agency and other Confederate intelligence forces were dedicated, courageous men and women, but he had a hard time imagining one of them making what was essentially a suicide attack like the one this person had evidently carried out. What kind of fanatic does a thing like that?, Russell wondered to himself.

Russell shook his head. There were just too many possibilities, and not enough firm evidence right now even to speculate. He turned the TV back on. Video of McCarthy supporters outside the Confederate Embassy in New York, carrying picket signs accusing the Confederacy of complicity in the Senator's death, was on the screen. I hope General Hampton comes up with something soon, he thought to himself. Because if he doesn't, things could get a lot more than a MITE complicated.

AJNolte

01-26-2011, 08:50 AM

It will probably make both sides more suspicious that the Communists are behind it, but will make Communist connivance more difficult to prove.

robertp6165

01-26-2011, 09:01 AM

It will probably make both sides more suspicious that the Communists are behind it, but will make Communist connivance more difficult to prove.

Suspicion is one thing. Proof is another. The whole aim of the operation is to engender an atmosphere of suspicion. Yes, there will be suspicion that the Commies might have been involved. But the suspicion the USA and CSA have about each other will be rekindled as well, especially among extremists on both sides. Possibly enough to lead hotheads on either side to do something that really makes the proverbial manure hit the fan, as Harry Truman would say.

AJNolte

01-26-2011, 10:32 AM

Suspicion is one thing. Proof is another. The whole aim of the operation is to engender an atmosphere of suspicion. Yes, there will be suspicion that the Commies might have been involved. But the suspicion the USA and CSA have about each other will be rekindled as well, especially among extremists on both sides. Possibly enough to lead hotheads on either side to do something that really makes the proverbial manure hit the fan, as Harry Truman would say.

I'm trying to figure out who the extremists on either side would be. Not sure about the CSA as it's your country, but I have some thoughts about the US.
1. Elements of the Republican party won't like the CSA, but the Republicans are laser-focused on communism by 1950. It would be difficult to redirect the majority of Republicans toward anti-confederate sentiment, but the old remnents of isolationism in the GOP might turn anti-confederate. I could see this being an issue in parts of the Republican midwest especially.
2. Long-term, the Democratic party has just been devastated; their solid south is gone, and they haven't yet built a base among free blacks and other minorities further north. Democrats will now be primarily a union/northern working-class party, with people like Joseph Kennedy coming to predominate. Interestingly, given their relative positions during the Civil War OTL, I think the Democrats are more likely to be anti-confederate, out of a mixture of economic discontent (American corporations shipping jobs to the confederacy) and discomfort with CSA society. Progressive elements of the Democrats will probably disassociate themselves from this anti-confederate trend.
Long-term, there could be party splits in both parties. However, I think the US is still primarily focused on Communism, and that's unlikely to change. There may be suspicion, but Americans weren't actually all that wild about the French, the Germans or the Japanese at this point, but still kept their eyes on the Communist ball. Since the *CSA seems unlikely to want a war, I really doubt there'll be one.

robertp6165

02-22-2011, 01:47 PM

ATLANTA, GEORGIA, CONFEDERATE STATES OF AMERICA, 21 SEPTEMBER 1950

On the morning of September 21st, Martin Luther King, Jr., was walking, alone, along Peachtree Street in downtown Atlanta, Georgia. Since his arrival here on Sunday, September 17, he had been staying with his family...or rather, the dopplegangers of his family who had lived their entire lives here, in the Confederate States of America. They were much like his own family, and he had enjoyed his time with them. But he knew they could not, and would not, ever replace the family which had been lost when the Atlanta, Georgia he knew...the Atlanta, Georgia where his real family had lived...had been transported to an alternate universe, quite probably never to be seen again, and replaced by the strange, yet still familiar, duplicate Atlanta in which he now found himself. Being with them, while comforting, only reminded him of the empty, gaping chasm in his soul left behind when his own family was torn away from him.

And so, he had decided he needed some time alone, and he had taken one of the red double-decker buses operated by the local public transportation service here into downtown. He continued to be amazed by the sights. Here and there, buildings he knew and recognized still remained, side by side with others which he had never seen before and which had NOT been there in the Atlanta which he knew from his own world. But the one thing which amazed him the most was what was completely absent here...the ubiquitous “Whites Only” and “Coloreds Only” signs which had festooned the businesses in the downtown Atlanta of his own world. He could not help marveling at the sight of black people and white people freely patronizing the same establishments, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He laughed softly to himself as he thought of that, for of course, it WAS the most normal thing in the world...here. It was the Atlanta in his own world which was screwed up.

He continued walking down Peachtree Street, and suddenly he recognized the stately former private home which housed the High Museum, the museum operated by the Atlanta Art Association. He had often thought about visiting the museum, but he knew that was impossible for him. It was, in his world, a “Whites Only” establishment. But as he watched, a negro man, his wife, and young child came out of the front door, still talking about the things they had seen inside. He smiled slightly as he thought to himself. Well, I couldn't go to the museum in my own Atlanta, but I can here. He nodded, the decision made. Why not?

He walked up the granite staircase to the front door, opened it, and stepped into the foyer where sat the admissions desk. A little old black man sat behind the walnut desk, with a large sign behind him which said, “Tickets Here.” Martin stepped over to the desk, and said, “One, please.”

The little old man nodded, and said, “That'll be fifty cents.”

Martin dug in his pocket and produced two quarters, handing them to the old man. The man looked at them doubtfully.

“I've never seen quarters like these before,” the old man said. “Is this here Yankee money?”

“I'm sorry,” Martin said, grinning sheepishly. “I'm visiting from Pennsylvania and that's all I have with me.” He paused, then continued. “I actually grew up in Atlanta, but it was a very different Atlanta, where black men weren't allowed to come here.”

The old man's face took on a somber cast. “You're from that other place!,” he exclaimed. “I've heard rumors about how black folk were treated there,” he said. “I wasn't sure I believed them. I've never met anybody from there before.” He frowned, looking at the coins for a moment, then tapped a key on his cash register and dropped them in the cash drawer.

“Go on inside, son,” the old man said, handing him a ticket.

Martin smiled and shook the old man's hand. “Thank you, Sir. You are a gentleman, and I am deeply grateful.”

The old man smiled broadly, showing a mouth full of very white teeth which sharply contrasted with his very dark skin. “Enjoy your visit, Sir,” he said.

Martin pushed open the double doors which opened into the museum itself. He wandered from room to room, looking at paintings by Picasso, Toulouse-Lautrec, Van Gogh, and others. Finally, he passed the open door of what had once been the master bedroom of the house when it was owned by the High Family, many years ago, but now served as the exhibit space for traveling exhibits which visited the museum. He peered inside, and saw that the walls were lined with landscape paintings, some done in oil, others in watercolor. Oddly, the space on the door where, Martin assumed, a sign identifying the artist and subject of the exhibit should have hung, was empty. But, finding the paintings appealing and quite relaxing to look at, he decided to step inside.

He found the room wasn't quite empty. A couple of unfriendly looking men in gray suits stood in one corner of the room, watching as another art patron, a portly white man in a dark business suit, stood in front of one of the paintings, engaged in a quiet discussion with an older man who spoke in forceful tones in a guttural Germanic accent. This older gentleman was of average height, with dark brown hair streaked with gray, and dressed in a green cardigan sweater and black trousers. The two had their backs to Martin, and he couldn't hear what was said, but it was obvious the older man was displeased. Suddenly, the older man pointed to the door.

“Get out!,” he said in a loud voice. “Go and look at the paintings of Picasso and the other degenerates who wouldn't know good art if it bit them auf den Hinterbacken! Go!” [1]

“You can't treat me like this!,” the portly man answered. “I'm a paying customer!”

“Get out!,” the older man screamed. One of the unfriendly looking men in the corner suddenly grinned, then stepped forward, and said to the portly patron, “You'll have to forgive him. He's been under a lot of strain lately. I think it would be best if you left now.”

The portly man looked like he was about to say something else, but then evidently thought better of it. With a loud “Hrumph!,” he spun on his heel and stalked out of the room. The unfriendly looking man retreated to rejoin his companion in the corner. Both men kept a close watch on Martin as he entered the room.

“Is it okay if I stay?,” Martin asked. “I like the paintings.” He smiled.

The older man looked at him, noticing him for the first time. “Of course!,” he said. “Come in and enjoy!”

Martin looked at the man. He wore his hair parted on the right, and combed so that it hung partly over the left side of his forehead. He also wore a large, handlebar mustache, like the hair on his head of dark brown streaked with gray, and had a long, thin nose and thin lips. But what really stood out were the large, intense blue eyes. The face seemed, somehow, familiar, but Martin couldn't immediately place it.

The man offered Martin his hand. “Welcome,” he said in his heavy German accent. “Thank you for coming to see my work.”

“It's very nice,” Martin said, taking the hand. “I've always liked landscapes.”

“Ja!,” the older man said. “Landscapes. True art!” He withdrew his hand. “You know, the Vienna Academy almost did not accept me when I applied, back in 1907.” He smiled. “They thought my paintings were...how do you say it...too pedestrian. They wanted people who painted the new degenerate abstract art which was just coming into vogue at that time. Were it not for all the young men killed in the Great War, I might not have been given the chance to become the artist that I am today!”

Martin smiled. “Well, that's fortunate...for you, and for the rest of us. You paint very well.”

“Vielen Dank,” the artist said, smiling.

“Please forgive me,” Martin said, “but I noticed the sign on the door announcing this exhibit has been removed for some reason. May I ask your name, Sir?”

“Ja, of course! My name is Adolf Hitler,” the artist said.

Martin's eyes grew wide, and his knees suddenly felt weak. Now, he recognized the face in front of him...the face of a man who was, quite possibly, the most infamous in the history of the world.

“My God!,” he said, taking a step back. “You ARE Adolf Hitler!”

At that, the two unfriendly-looking men in gray suits stepped quickly out of the corner and one of them blocked the exit of the room. The other stepped forward. Looking at the artist, who was completely dumbfounded by Martin's reaction, he said, “Mr. Hitler, why don't you let me speak to this young man in private.” He looked over at his partner. “Clyde, why don't you take Mr. Hitler downstairs for coffee. He looks tired.”

“Sure, Nick,” Clyde said.

Clyde stepped forward and gently took Hitler by the arm. Hitler complained a bit, but followed, leaving Martin alone with Nick. Nick turned to Martin and smiled wanly. “Nick Eggleston, Confederate Secret Service,” he said, showing Martin his identification. “I take it you're a visitor from up North?”

By now Martin was recovering himself. “I'm Martin King,” he said. “The answer to that is, well, yes and no. I was born and raised in Atlanta, but was attending school in Pennsylvania on September 1st.” He smiled. “I'm sorry I reacted the way I did. It was such a shock seeing him, realizing that I'd just shaken his hand...but I know that this man is not the Adolf Hitler I am familiar with.”

“Yes, we've heard what Adolf Hitler did in your world,” Nick said. “So now you know why we had to take the sign down. If it became widely known that Mr. Hitler is here...even though he's not the man who did all those terrible things in your world...who knows what might happen?”

Martin nodded “I can imagine.”

“President Russell assigned us to protect him,” Nick continued. “He's been under protective custody for most of the past three weeks, but he insisted on coming down here today. He can be very stubborn. I knew something like this would happen.”

“I'm not in trouble, am I,” Martin asked, suddenly worried.

Nick laughed softly. “No, no,” he said. “But please, Mr. King, don't tell anyone about Mr. Hitler, especially once you get back up North.”

“Does he know?,” Martin asked.

“About what his...doppleganger, I guess you'd call it...did in your world?,” Nick asked. “No, he doesn't. We're not sure how he would handle it. He's been told that there have been threats to his life, and that he was being taken into protective custody. I suppose at some point he'll have to be told. But I don't want to be the one...he's actually a nice old man, once you get to know him. At any rate, his exhibit is scheduled to run until the end of next month, at which time he is supposed to return to Vienna. If he hasn't been told by then, he'll definitely have to be told at that time. Because he can't go back to Vienna. Not in this world.”

“Yes, I can well imagine that he wouldn't be welcome there,” Martin said, nodding. “I swear, I won't tell anyone about this.”

“Thank you, Mr. King,” Nick said. “Did you lose anyone when it happened?”

“My whole family,” Martin said. “Although I've found another King family down here, and a duplicate of myself.” He shook his head. “I'm still trying to wrap my head around that.”

“I'm sorry to hear of your loss,” Nick said sympathetically.

“Thank you,” Martin said. “May I go now?”

“Of course,” Nick said. “Unless you'd like to stay and admire the paintings for a bit. They are quite good.”

Martin did stay and look at the paintings. At length, he excused himself, left the exhibit, and then the museum. Getting on one of the red double decker buses, he headed back to Alberta King's house. As he sat, looking out of one of the windows, he couldn't help thinking about what had happened at the museum. It was bizarre to think that a man who had, in his world, been a bloodthirsty dictator and mass murderer of millions had, in another world, been capable of producing such beauty. One more thing I'll have to wrap my brain around, one of these days, Martin thought to himself.

His stomach growled, and he realized that he hadn't eaten all day, and he was getting mighty hungry. It was getting close to supper time, and Mrs. King (he still couldn't help thinking of her as Mama, even though he knew that his own Mama was gone forever) had promised to cook his favorite meal...fried pork chops, sweet potatoes, macaroni and cheese, biscuits and sweet iced tea. His mouth watered as he thought of it. Well, he thought to himself, at least I've got a home to go back to, even if it really isn't my own.

Martin shuddered. Adolf Hitler, the artist from another world, would, in all likelihood, have to spend the rest of his life in protective custody because of what his doppleganger had done in this world. Mr. Hitler, he knew, could never go home, not even to a family of dopplegangers of his own lost family like the one Martin had found here in this alien Atlanta. He shook his head. There but for the Grace of God go I, Martin thought to himself. But for the Grace of God...

[1] Auf den Hinterbacken...on the ass.

AJNolte

02-22-2011, 06:41 PM

Oh, brilliant! You should expand that scene into a short story.

archangel

02-23-2011, 11:53 AM

Interesting, Hitler went to Art School, and never developed his pathological hatred.

Keep it up!:)

CDurham

02-24-2011, 05:06 PM

I feel sorry for the version of Hitler stuck in this timeline, he'll never be able to go home again.

stalkere

02-24-2011, 06:37 PM

I'm glad somebody else can see the idea of nurture trumping nature. This is a really well done scene in a well written series, my friend. I always look forward to seeing more of it.