A Special Providence

[King of Men]

Hmm. The problem with peace terms of the form "Change your internal organisation thus-and-so" is that they're hard to enforce. Consider what happens if Germany agrees - perhaps even sincerely! - to write a new Constitution in 18 months, and then when the time is up they produce something almost identical to the old one. Roosevelt is out of office, nobody in Europe has the stomach for renewed war, and the German Army has recovered its fighting strength. This is exactly the reason why the Entente powers retained the blockade in our 1918: Since they were not occupying any German territory, that was their leverage on the writers of the Weimar constitution. Which was therefore written very quickly as these things go.

Now, you don't have that problem: You can keep American boots and bayonets in Berlin until the Germans produce a constitution that pleases you. Or can you? Once the war is over the voters will want to bring the boys home. A large-scale, long-term occupation will, at any rate, be quite unpopular; Roosevelt can probably make it stick, but what of his successor?

I note that between, roughly speaking, 1648 and 1914, peace treaties tended to speak of tangible, enforceable gains: Fortresses dismantled, borders moved, ships and gold delivered. That was also the period in which "pacta sunt servanda" was best observed. (Conversely, when treaties often mentioned "Convert to form X of Christianity", there were 150 years of dreadful attritional warfare.) There were some exceptions to the general rule, such as when Britain in 1713 got the right to deliver slaves to the Spanish colonies; notice that this is an intangible good, and disputes over its enforcement were the main cause of the War of Jenkin's Ear - the whimsical name notwithstanding.

I would suggest that, at a minimum, any internal-reorganisation treaty must be backed up by, in effect, hostages; perhaps an occupation of the Saar, the North Sea ports, and possibly even the Ruhr and the ruins of Berlin.

On the other side, the Germans might try the ploy of offering that the Kaiser abdicate in favour of his son or brother; thus there is symbolic punishment of the man who started the war, but they retain the institution of the Emperor with his full powers. It is of course quite unclear that this would be acceptable to the Concordat, or to Wilhelm; at any rate it was tried without success in OTL.

There's also the question of Austria. In OTL it was a creaky old thing held together mainly by the personal prestige of Franz Josef; if your Austria is similar, then the actual demands of the Concordat powers may be rather secondary to its internal dynamics. Greater Serbia, Greater Bulgaria, Pan-Slavic Union? This last of course would likely raise some alarm in London, and secondarily in Paris. Even Poland, perhaps, is not yet dead, although it may have more trouble enforcing its independence against an at least nominally victorious Imperial Russia than it did against the exhausted Red Army - and even that was a close-run thing.

Incidentally, Schleswig should be returned to Denmark. Holstein only if the Concordat feels short-sightedly vengeful.

 

[Dinglehoff]

Germany (and the Netherlands) conspired to overthrow the London Treaty, dismember a sovereign nation (Belgium) and - likely - reduce France to a second-tier power on the order of Spain. This is a war that Germany (and the Netherlands) provoked - purely a war of aggressive conquest.

So? The European powers and others have had local, regional, continental, and even global ambitions for dominance. They have all pursued those goals aggressively and risked much over the years to get there or fail, like Spain and France. That Germany and the Netherlands didn't identify or fabricate a sufficiently compelling pretext for war doesn't matter, at least to me.

Germany (and the Netherlands) conspired to overthrow the London Treaty, dismember a sovereign nation (Belgium) and - likely - reduce France to a second-tier power on the order of Spain. What I am bearing in mind is that THE central tenet of European politics since 1815 has been to prevent the emergence of a de-stabilizing superpower. That has been the main goal of governments of Britain, Russia, France and Austria. But SOMETHING has to be done to make the point that waging a general war of conquest will be punished.

Germany and the Netherlands tried to upset the European order and failed. Hundreds of thousands of Germans are dead, Germany's alliances are crumbling, and Berlin is an ash heap. Balance of power has been maintained, mission accomplished. Territory changes, reparations, and loss of prestige(whatever that is story-wise) IS the appropriate punishment for that failure.

So what do you think the Concordat powers should reasonably ask for as terms for peace? And given that Germany is taking her worst beating since Jena/Auerstadt, when do you think the generals and politicians will decide to throw in their cards - now, when things are bad, or later, when the military situation and public unrest are likely to be much worse?

They should be asking for peace now and they said they would be if it weren't for Frost's continued meddling. If Makhearne takes care of her and her operation, Germany won't have the legs to stand on anymore. The war could end very soon after that.

In-game, I'm hoping to get Alsace-Lorraine back (to give to France), or if I can get war reparations, that's good. I will probably have to cheat my way through trading some provinces around to get the US out of Europe and Belgium (at least) restored to something like its pre-War boundaries. Any change in government for Austria and Germany would have to be in-story. So what do you think the Concordat powers should reasonably ask for as terms for peace?

If it's about Alsace-Lorraine and reparations then the war should be over already.

The Concordat should be asking for mega huge reparations not just from Germany but all the defeated powers. Payment in actual goods and money and I don't know an appropriate dollar amount. Germany should lose Alsace-Lorraine and the Germans and Dutch should lose any colonies they have. The Imperial powers should admit their wrongdoing and commit to transparent and concrete diplomatic actions and goals, and agree to participate in some kind of multinational great power conference to mediate disputes periodically.
As for German politics; how about the legislature be given the sole authority to declare war, and if that isn't enough they could have control over taxes and spending? Otherwise the Kaiser would still be a strong executive but with a financial and representative check on his power to make war.

 

[Director]

King of Men - yes, if the German government promised a new constitution and didn't deliver there would be little the Concordat powers could do beyond expressions of disapproval. It would be hard for the same men to promise and not deliver; easier if an outgoing government promised and an incoming government did not deliver. Roosevelt won't be able to keep an American army of occupation in Europe - once hostilities are over, Americans expect to go home. Possibly a French occupation of the Saar or the Rhineland. I'll have to think over the abdication question - the Kaiser is a young man and there isn't anyone older in line. His abdication would, I think, just destablize things further. Maybe better to go with the Japanese model and leave the man who presided over the start of the war on the throne.

Austria... I'm not sure that I'll be able to do much damage to Austria, and the Italians have abandoned their attacks after a promising start. Besides, Austria bears no more blame for the start of the War than the Ottomans - they were just opportunistic. Rather like Italy in WWII. I think the Austrian Kaiser would be the one to abdicate, perhaps. I'd love to be able to give the Veneto to Italy but I can't see running up that kind of war score. I'm not at all sure that there will be enough war score to make any serious changes in Eastern Europe.

Dinglehoff - looks like we agree. I don't have any intention of trying to impose a radical restructuring on Germany. I do like your idea of taking the war-making power away from the Kaiser. Could still leave him the commander-in-chief power, perhaps.

Now all I have to do is get a high-enough war score for Germany to part with Alsace-Lorraine. And I'll see what can be done about Austria but I don't have high hopes.

 

[Dinglehoff]

King of MenRoosevelt won't be able to keep an American army of occupation in Europe - once hostilities are over, Americans expect to go home. Possibly a French occupation of the Saar or the Rhineland. I'll have to think over the abdication question - the Kaiser is a young man and there isn't anyone older in line.

Roosevelt did express some displeasure at how expensive the war was to keep going.

I'd expect a French occupation of Saar or Rhineland to go over like a lead balloon. The United States has done the heavy lifting required to bring victory and besides, the Germans and French hate each other and it could lead to unforeseen economic challenges. Edit: IIRC, the German government OTL paid those workers in the occupied zones to strike instead of produce goods for the French.

 

[Director]

She had gone up to the surface early in the afternoon, taking a risk that she knew was unwise but simply could no longer avoid. It was only that she was so very tired of the dark and the damp and the cold, so very tired of the hiding, so very – very – weary of her companions. Roaming the grounds let her linger in the sunlight, feeling the warm buttery light brown her pallid skin and seep down through bloodless flesh to heat her frozen bones. The view from the hilltop had given a lift to her spirits, so long as she resolutely kept her back to the shuttered structures that had once given the place its dark meaning and purpose. The grass had grown high and the undergrowth tangled since the start of the War, but the stone benches were intact and the sight of the the valley, with its calm meadows and grazing cows and meandering brook, had the power to distract her thoughts and ease the anger that she kept – by main effort – chained. She unpinned her shawl and lifted her face to the warm sun, admiring the play of clouds drifting overhead. For a moment she longed to be one of them, free and without the least of obligations, relieved of history and ambition and striving. Wind sighed around her in the trees but there were no other sounds; even the birds shunned the cold silence of the stonepile behind her, the beast that crouched at the top of the hill.

The purchase and renovation had been one of her better ideas, part of a continuing effort to obtain secure places to store materials and conduct training and research. The fact that her secret lairs had been paid for from the Kaiser’s own pocket had given her, more than once, to smile. Closing this facility had been a regrettable necessity, explainable by the onset of the War and unfortunate in that it became more difficult to hide a human presence in the supposedly empty halls. A vast sum of money had been spent in prior decades on the caves beneath the hill, opening up dormitories and workshops and warehouses of goods. Some of the work dated back to medieval times or even earlier; she was not the first person to need a Silesian refuge. None of her workers had been local; none, in fact, had spoken any of the local languages, a necessity since they could neither be allowed to discuss their project and she lacked the dedicated manpower to kill them all. The staff had not been informed; the local authorities had been given to understand that the work was necessary for national and Imperial reasons that could not be disclosed. The hidden parts of the facility had been shielded under layers of State Security and Imperial preference, buried so deep that even now, with the doors chained shut, no-one enquired as to what had – or might still – go on there. After all, there was a War on, and all departments of the Imperial apparatus were fully occupied.

The servants were loyal and discreet and Chinese with no more than a dozen words of German between them; the locals were glad to have the money and inclined to keep their eyes and ears firmly shut. Her small personal staff handled purchases and maintained a fiction of being caretakers for the grounds, living in the gatehouse cottage but padding through the connecting tunnels to the cellars when the real work needed doing. So operational security was good, at least for the short term – and one way or another she was unlikely to be down in those caves for longer than a few more months.

Her companions… were not able to contribute much to the housekeeping, but they were otherwise useful. Tesla was erratic but inspired, and much of their progress was due to his efforts. She had the advantage of knowing what would and would not work, but he had the real genius to see how apparently irrelevant and unconnected phenomena could be manipulated to produce… well. Something amazing, and awful in its original sense, for it stirred even her cold, hard heart to a flicker of wonder. He had trouble staying on track, and that was where her… persuasions were needed. Left to his own impulses he might have discovered any number of things and brought none of them forward to a useful stage. Like any elemental force, genius needed to be harnessed, but the difference between taming and laming was razor-thin and required… exhaustive efforts on her part. It would all be so much simpler if her more… direct methods could be employed, but the consequences of breaking his spirit were too dire. For this critical part she had no replacement to hand.

But soon… if the materials could be finally assembled, and if she could hold Tesla to the task… then everyone who had ever wronged her could pay. And pay, and pay, and beg to pay – beg and plead for the chance to earn her forgiveness… She shivered, a small thrill of delight at the prospect.

”tsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.” Had she not known better she would have thought it was the sound of reeds hissing in the wind. In the night-filled center of all her fears it was the rasping of the scales of a giant snake, tasting the air as it slid forward to catch, and crush, and bite…

“Come out, dear Temic. Come out and sit with me. The sunshine would do you good.”

”tsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss. No… no… no sun. Hurttssssss.”

“Very well… You know I don’t care in the least that you are… scarred. All your wounds will heal, in time.” At least she hoped so. His injuries were more extensive and severe than any she had ever seen – any that did not quickly end in death, at least. And the consumption of another’s nanos… the conflicts that would bring were outside her ability to estimate. Still, his body was healing, a tiny bit every day. His mind… was certainly focused, a pity since she had nothing at hand that he could be allowed to focus upon. Keeping him away from the servants was already taxing her resources, and a slip could be calamitous.

A shadow pooled on her shoulder but she resisted the urge to look around. That might startle him and Temic – or whatever remained of his personality – was unpredictable and aggressive when startled. “Kill! tsssssssssssss.” She sighed, a very tiny exhalation that brought no relief of tension. Focused, indeed.

“Not this afternoon, dear Temic. Soon, perhaps, but not now. We must not draw attention to ourselves. Tesla is working on something that I need, that we need. When we have it we will be restored to our rightful place. We will likely have to do some killing first,” she said meditatively. “I will depend upon you for that. And if not, then once we are restored to power you may slake your thirst as you will. An object lesson in the price of defiance.”

“rrrukrukrukrukrukrukrukruk.” That was the sound that passed for laughter; at least she thought so. He didn’t make that noise very often, which might have some significance.

“Tesla is going to give me the key, Temic. And I am going to use it to light up the world. Yes! A small test today, then a week until we are ready for a trial at full power, he says.”

The machines in the cellars and caves were enormous. No way to make them smaller with the means at hand, Tesla said. She had shown him her most modern devices, opened up the encyclopedia articles on advanced physics and electronics. Tesla had wept raw and bitter tears of rage and frustration and then had gone at his crude devices of blown glass, cast iron and drawn copper in a sleepless, manic spasm of pure rage. Things that passed through his hands were then manipulated in her precious, irreplaceable vats of industrial nanos and returned to him for testing and calibration. What he had would work, or so he said. Draw down the power of the thunder gods, draw up the elemental force of the Earth itself and channel it all into a weapon of incredible, unstoppable power – so he said. Her own efforts had been toward mechanisms of less immediate use, but they would be worthless unless Tesla could deliver the raw forces needed. No sane person would have taken the risk, for these powers were as genies, capable of vast works but able to run amok should the controls slip even for an instant.

Well… no sane person save one like herself, who was desperate, and furious, and determined to conquer regardless of the cost. For Kierianne Frost no longer cared. It would be triumph or death, and if she could not preside over the triumph she cared not if everyone of this world died with her. ‘Come back with your shield, or upon it,’ the mothers of ancient Greeks had said, and their cause was far less desperate than hers. But even in her incandescent fury she had remembered to always make an avenue of retreat – to always have a backup, a bolthole, a final trump card. This could not be tested before time, and would not work – or be needed – if Tesla was unable to bring down the lightning.

“Come, Temic. It grows late, and the sun is going down. Let us go below and I will have cook chop you some meat.” And then we will light up Tesla’s mechanisms, she thought. And we shall see if the Earth can tremble before the wrath of its rightful Queen!

tssssssssssssssss!

The abandoned Ritterkampf Asylum​

The operation itself was anti-climactic. The devices worked correctly, so far as their instruments could tell. Even with the equipment limited to low levels of power, the target should have been struck with a sky-filling display of lightning, a ground-shaking tremor… something. But so far as their agents could tell, the smoky ruins of Berlin were not further disturbed – even the skies overhead were clear. Tired and depressed, Frost ordered the mechanisms shut down and ordered her weary team to bed.

They were removed from the great centers of communication. Several days might be required for her agents in foreign cities to collect noteworthy snippets of strange incidents on faraway shores. In the meantime, there was nothing to do but sleep, and test, and try again.

 

[FelixMajor]

I have recently read through this AAR in the entirety. I began some ten days ago whilst laid low by the flu. I was merely looking for entertainment whilst I was too tired and sick to spend much time out of bed. I certainly was not prepared for the magnificent tale woven here. It has been difficult for me to set this reading aside for anything other than work (and even there I was sneaking peaks at lunch and at other unstructured moments.)

I am very impressed by Director's ability to utilize historical figures as characters. I have read works of published historical fiction from popular authors fail in this critical regard. More than once have I been left cringing in response to an author's unintentional caricature of a well known historical figure. In this masterful work I have not had that reason to cringe.

Thank you for this brilliant work. I hope now to keep apace as this tale nears a conclusion.

 

[J. Passepartout]

Large nuke or something even larger than that? This may be a nice good mix of the atomic bomb and the Tunguska comet we were speculating on earlier.

I was hoping the hiss was going to be our heroes unleashing poison gas or something on Frost, but apparently not.

I watched The Cabinet of Dr Caligari this weekend, and am happy to see the baddies locating themselves in a similar asylum in a similar area in a similar time.

 

[loki100]

Frost at the end claimed not to care ... but some wistfulness in the earlier portion? Or just the regrets of anyone who realises they have no choice but to stick to the consequences of a route they choose long ago? That sequence put me in mind of Emily Dickinson's poem - 'Good morning, Midnight'.

Given what Temic has done when, if not sane, at least in control, then this new incarnation bodes ill for all ... including Frost if she is not careful

 

[Stuyvesant]

Large nuke or something even larger than that? This may be a nice good mix of the atomic bomb and the Tunguska comet we were speculating on earlier.

I think Director/Frost might be working on something like this. But then, you know, something that actually exists and works. What with the asylum, Temic as zombie/Frankenstein's monster, Tesla as the mad scientist and of course the incomparable Mme. Frost, it feels like we're heading for a nice horror B-movie finale.

For a moment she longed to be one of them, free and without the least of obligations, relieved of history and ambition and striving.

Ah, Frost... I like the paragraphs that show her human side. There does seem to be an actual person buried underneath all the scheming and murdering. You could empathize, almost feel sympathy for her. But then she ruins it with the rumination above (in answer to Frost: a. "Them" have plenty of obligations, just so you know and b. you choose this path and at no point were obliged to continue down it. Your current predicament and ultimate doom are entirely of your own making) and of course her Hitler-esque "If I can't have the world then no-one can have it!" a little bit later on.

Still, it's nice to see the contradictions on display. Even if it's mostly "Burnburnburn! Killkillkill" and self-serving self-pity.

Temic sounds like he needs a face mask a la Hannibal Lecter. And probably a short length heavy-duty iron chain, attached to a stout wall. He appears to be a functional body with a broken mind, whose remnants are utterly focused on his desire to kill. He's a liability to keep around and I'm somewhat surprised that Frost is doing so. Perhaps another sign of her growing self-deception?

 

[Dinglehoff]

If he makes an acceptable recovery he could be of use to her and he is the closest thing to a friend she has left.

That doomsday weapon she's working on has me curious. Using the lightning to draw up the power of the Earth? An giant earthquake machine? A huge lightning storm maker?

 

[King of Men]

Who else does she have that's really real to her? Makhearne, perhaps, but that relationship seems rather thoroughly shattered. Even Tesla, in her internal monologue, appears a bit like a valuable clockwork toy. A toy that cannot easily be replaced, certainly, so she's carefully about how tightly she winds the springs and she makes sure to keep it oiled, but ultimately not a human being whose company she might appreciate for its own sake.

 

[Brian Shanahan]

”tsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss. No… no… no sun. Hurttssssss.”

Well we know who'll be playing Temic Messoune when A Special Providence hits the silver screens *Ghollum*

 

[J. Passepartout]

I think Director/Frost might be working on something like this. But then, you know, something that actually exists and works. What with the asylum, Temic as zombie/Frankenstein's monster, Tesla as the mad scientist and of course the incomparable Mme. Frost, it feels like we're heading for a nice horror B-movie finale.

Probably true. I will admit that I don't actually know that much about Tesla, except what I find out from pop culture osmosis and from reading about Edison, so the super weapons like this that everyone talks aboutl in re. Tesla were things that were preempted by the very real atomic bomb in my mind.

 

[Director]

Oh, I screwed up... I left off the last paragraph of the above update. I'll post it with the next update, where it won't fit so well... it does change what you think you know.



FelixMajor - I am delighted to have you as a reader, though somewhat concerned for your emotional state after cram-reading this monster. Hope you are OK...

More updates will be coming soon. And the end is definitely now in sight. Wait, have I said that before?

I have deliberately walked a narrow line between making this truly an alternate history or making it 'sort-of' different - enough changes to keep you aware that history is different, but keeping enough the same so that the reader doesn't become disoriented (or disinterested). The historical characters I write about are usually those I really like - no cardboard-cutout villains here (I hope).

Please keep commenting. That keeps me writing.

J. Passepartout - in our history Tesla was supposedly building a device to either broadcast power to the world (from the earth's magnetic sphere) or a terror weapon capable of leveling cities. He supposedly tested it the day the Tunguska meteorite hit and then dismantled it... Just part of the mystery surrounding Tesla.

That is a great picture of an abandoned asylum, isn't it? :laugh:

loki100 - Madame Frost is not given much to introspection. One can certainly see how she could be depressed and indulging in a little self-pity; not much has gone her way. But she does have her hands on the means to turn the tables and recoup her losses, if her associates can only do their parts and her enemies stand at bay a little longer.

Temic Messoune is somewhat... diminished in his logical facilities, caused by high levels of pain over an extended period. He is still cunning, volatile and dangerous.

Stuyvesant - a B-movie finale... or a shot from any Hammer Studios monster movie, with jacobs ladders sputtering and the bubbling of mysterious retorts fogging the background.

Frost is certainly capable of the human emotions of self-pity, anger, worry and depression. It is the deeper qualities of compassion and altruism that she cannot grasp - in other words she is a fully-functioning psychopath who cannot conceive that other people are 'real'.

Frost seems to be treating Temic as she remembers him and not perhaps as he is... one wonders if and when he will educate her as to his changed condition.

Dinglehoff - Well said! Messoune has been her only real friend and confidante, or as close to one as she is capable of having. She must be feeling terribly alone.

Google Tesla and read up. Alternating current, radio, earthquake-inducers, the tilt-rotor, bladeless turbines, wireless transmission of power... a very busy man. A lot of what's written about Tesla falls squarely into deep conspiracy theories, but at the end of his life he was working on (said he was working on) extracting power from the earth and producing some sort of directed energy weapon.

King of Men - very well put. I think Frost cares for Messoune as much as she can care for anyone other than herself, but her picture of him is based on who he was and not on who he now is. This faulty mental model is likely to cause her grief.

Brian Shanahan - Ah. I was hoping for Lon Chaney but Andy Serkis should be more than able to do the part justice.

tsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!

 

[Stuyvesant]

Oh, I screwed up... I left off the last paragraph of the above update. I'll post it with the next update, where it won't fit so well... it does change what you think you know.

Wild speculation with no basis in facts or even hints is one of my fortes! So, without ado...

After Frost turns and briskly walks back to the asylum, followed by a shuffling/crab-walking Temic, a shape slowly rises from the shade. It is Makhearne, all slimmed down and fighting fit. One silent hand gesture and a dozen other shapes rise up: a crack team of trans-temporal commandos, summoned by an temporary emergency uplink (that Makhearne had kept conveniently hidden for the duration of the story for just this purpose). Wearing slightly ridiculous futuristic spandex outfits and bristling with advanced weaponry powerful enough to level whole city blocks, they silently converge on the dark shape of the asylum...

Okay, I'll admit that I've been watching too many 1960s/1970s Bond movie finales lately. I'm sure you'll put something more plausible and memorable on paper.

 

[Director]

Author's note: the missing paragraph will be appended to the previous update but also will be included here in italics.



The operation itself was anti-climactic. The devices worked correctly, so far as their instruments could tell. Even with the equipment limited to low levels of power, the target should have been struck with a sky-filling display of lightning, a ground-shaking tremor… something. But so far as their agents could tell, the smoky ruins of Berlin were not further disturbed – even the skies overhead were clear. Tired and depressed, Frost ordered the mechanisms shut down and ordered her weary team to bed.

They were removed from the great centers of communication. Several days might be required for her agents in foreign cities to collect noteworthy snippets of strange incidents on faraway shores. In the meantime, there was nothing to do but sleep, and test, and try again.



The four speeding American cruisers had been a splendid sight by day, dashing over the North Atlantic rollers with fluid, sinuous grace and tossing white manes of spume to the wind. They were making twenty knots or better, a speed comparable to most ocean liners on the Atlantic passage, and Makhearne had no doubt that they had power in reserve. Fuel for their ravenous boilers would be restraining them from showing off their very best time, that and the weather, which was freshening, and the desire to limit unnecessary wear on their machinery. Minor repairs could be performed in the occupied German ports but the risk of sabotage was ever-present, and going abroad was no better choice. Allied harbors were close-by but no-one wanted to give the British or French an opportunity for a close look at the turbine engines purring below decks.

So – speed, but not reckless speed. Which suited him well enough, for the moment; his thoughts could use some organizing before they arrived in Bremen. His agents in London and Paris were busily combing for evidence of Frostean tracks, and at the moment they did not need his help. Purchases of equipment, chemicals, the hire and release of specialized technicians, transactions in real-estate in remote areas… the sheer volume of data and the lack of anything but haphazard paper records meant it was unlikely that anything useful would ever be found, but the effort had to be made. ‘One must keep the gods honest,’ an old instructor had once told him, meaning that the perverse nature of the universe would conspire to keep away success from any but the most diligent and thorough investigation. It was a sentiment he had come to embrace with near-religious fervor; in fact, he thought in a rare moment of introspection, a belief in the perversity of the universe might be as close to a religious tenet as he possessed.

Other teams were opening police records and delving into newspaper morgues in the major cities of Europe. If Temic Messoune was still alive, he would have left his own tracks – sticky red ones, if the man’s history was a guide. And then there was the personality factor. Frost had been prominent, powerful, a woman whose every whim had been catered to by legions of flunkies. For her, the amputation of the reins of power, the isolation, and the loss of control must have been a frustration approaching agony. Frost would have had, like the legendary leopard, to thoroughly change her spots in order to accept her new reduced circumstances without some rebellion. An assertion of privilege, a demand for pomp, a flash of hauteur… some trace of her impatient and arrogant nature should have marked her passage from Berlin to… wherever it was that she was hiding. Or so he hoped - and hoped that he and his men were clever enough to find her before the German secret police did, for he was confident the Kaiser and his ministers would not so soon have forgotten – or forgiven – her.

And so he sat smoking in the officer’s wardroom, marveling at the gimbals and fixtures that kept the furniture and furnishings from sliding about the gently rolling deck. He reduced the level of his whiskey-and-soda again, telling himself he needed to keep the fluid level well-below the rim of the glass to avoid spills, and stubbed out his cigar. It was an excellent smoke, one of the best that American Cuba could offer, but on this night it seemed strangely tasteless, and his unsettled, impatient mood made it impossible for him to relax and enjoy the solitude. The night was dark, the air outside wet with flying spray and the ship’s motion was too strong for a walk around the decks in safety. So there was nothing to do but drink, smoke and give himself over to an unprofitable brown study.

He might have dozed; the electric lights seemed dimmer when he roused himself and stretched. There were raised voices outside, a howl of wind as the outer door was opened and then a clumping of rubber-soled Navy shoes on the linoleum. One of the quartet of officers who entered was a lieutenant named Symonds, who had been Ronsend and Makhearne’s guide on reporting to the ship. Their instructions from Captain Chambliss had been terse: “Show them whatever they want to see, Lieutenant. They’ll bunk in the flag staff quarters and mess in the wardroom.” Since then they had been politely and efficiently ignored, save for small conversation over meals and a once-a-day look-in by Symonds, who seemed to think of Army officers as some species of equipment that needed regular inspection.

“Colonel Gifford! I was hoping to find you here, sir. Captain’s compliments and would you join him on the bridge, please?” Symonds was apologetic but his voice carried no hint that the answer could be anything but yes. Compliments or not, the Captain’s word was law.

“I would be very pleased to do so, Lieutenant. Let me put away my glass and find my hat.” He cast a dubious eye on the nearest porthole which from all appearances looked out on the black underside of Niagara Falls.

“You shan’t need weather gear, sir. We can go for’rard and up the gunlayer’s trunk.” Navy officers were expected to delight in heavy weather; none of them would have passed up a chance to go out on deck and forward on the lee side of the superstructure, but there was an internal passage and Makhearne saw no profit in refusing to take it. The wide base of the foremast was thick enough for a man to climb the ladder inside it, with hatches opening off it into the gun director plot, the main rangefinder and the bridge. Above the bridge it tapered sharply for weight, and men would have to cling to external metal bars riveted to the outside of the swaying metal pole if they wanted to climb up to the lookout platform. Thankfully, that would not be required.

The Captain was on the bridge, not out on one of the wings as was his practice in better weather. Tonight, no-one could see the bow of the ship without a searchlight, so there was no benefit to be gained from exposure to the elements. The exterior doors were firmly shut and the forward windows rippled as sheets of water ran down the outside. All interior lights were out except for the weak electric bulb at the compass, which cast an eerie underlighting on the helmsman’s face. The rest of the space was deeply dark and the windows only a slightly less-dark black-on-black, the captain’s location revealed more by the scent of his pipe than by anything eyes could see.

“Colonel Gifford,” Chambliss said drily. Makhearne didn’t take it personally; the captain was reserved a fault and never used a word if a grunt or a gesture would do instead. Besides, no Navy captain would be more than polite to an Army officer. “Wireless room brought this up a few minutes ago. For you. Thought you’d better see it sooner rather than later. Here, let’s go to the chart room – we keep a light there.”

The ‘Tribal’ class cruisers were equipped with the very best of technology by the standards of 1905, and that included powerful wireless telegraphy sets. Had the ships been a day farther out they probably would not have been able to receive the messages, and if they had been commercial passenger ships their operators would not have been on duty in the middle of the night. But even so, a message arriving at this hour could not be good news. Best to read it immediately, though there would be little that could be done until they made port.

The chart room was no larger than a closet but it did have a door that could be closed, and it had electric lights. Makhearne rested his eyes from the dazzle and then unfolded the yellow onionskin paper to read the typewritten message. Unbelieving, he read it through twice, three times, then rested his head on his hands. “Have you read this, sir?” he asked; Chambliss shook his head no but took the paper when Makhearne thrust it at him.

Just before eight o’clock in the evening, San Francisco had been treated to a dazzling display of heat lightning – a boreal display so intense and beautiful that the citizenry had turned out en masse to watch the sky boil. That curiosity saved countless lives, for a quarter of an hour later the lights died and a massive earthquake leveled the central part of the city. Broken gas lines fed fires begun by overturned oil lamps and sparking electrical wires, and whipping winds fanned the flames into an inferno. The city’s firefighters were almost helpless: the water mains were shattered, the streets impassibly choked with the tumbled wreckage of homes and businesses, the wind hurling sparks a block or more at each gust.

Makhearne had only moments to try to absorb the contents before a quiet knock brought another message, this one direct to him from the White House. “Is this what you expected?” Roosevelt cabled. “Will there be more attacks? What can we do?”

Makhearne scratched out a brief reply. “Yes – perhaps. This could be the working of man or nature. Will investigate. If it is enemy action we shall soon hear their demands.”

Then it was time to go wake up Ronsend. There would be little they could do from the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, but any leads they could think up would be worth losing sleep for. His stomach was tight and knotted: if Frost was behind this – if she had a device that would permit her to flatten cities at will – then finding her and stopping her had just become the highest priorities of the human race.



Frost sat stunned, reading and re-reading the battered days-old copies of the Desden newspapers. They had aimed at Berlin and hit… San Francisco? Unless of course the earthquake was entirely natural – California was due to have a good-sized quake every generation or so. Most of the devastation of the city was due to wooden construction, broken gas lines and high winds, a lethal combination that had raised a firestorm no firemen here-and-now could tame. The winds had shoved a flaming wall north and east, ripping the heart from the city and torching the docks, but confining the worst of the damage to the north-eastern rim of the peninsula.

It was far too late now to try to claim responsibility. What she would do was assume that Tesla’s machine was responsible and try to work out how the aiming could have gone so very wrong. There were parachronic calculations to check… and another trial, with the device set to the same co-ordinates as before. If San Francisco received another jolt then she could fire blast after blast, ‘walking’ the pulses around the globe until its aim could be perfected - no need to fear hitting a friend or missing an enemy.

Better to remain silent, at least for now. Makhearne would know – or at least suspect. Let him grow frantic and thrash about in panic. Her watchers were many and her own presence was securely hidden. Better to test – and test – and test again. Let the Earth tremble at her touch! And let the nations shiver in dread anticipation. Let them understand that their armies and navies were the playthings of children, useless against her power! Then, when her demands were made known…

She smiled. And then, low and slow, the laughter took her and shook her until the cavern pealed with her shrieks of triumph.

 

[loki100]

stupendous stuff, again the shift of levels and details and the wonderfully 'did she, didn't she' ending, was the earthquake unrelated (fairly plausible), but no doubt Madam Frost is pretty happy and is planning to try again.

so we now have a desparate dance - to find and stay hidden - and both Frost and Makhearne are confident in their ability to achieve their goals.

 

[J. Passepartout]

I'm favourably inclined towards this being a chance event. I mean, this is San Francisco, and right about the right time for a famous earthquake, let alone any earthquake.

Of course, having the narrative draw our attention to it means something, but gotta expect earthquakes of fault limes.

 

[Stuyvesant]

I'm worried by the seeming causality between the disappearance of the lights and the onset of the earthquake. It would be very nice indeed if all that Frost had accomplished was to create a nice natural lightshow and that the earthquake was just the historically pre-ordained event, but I fear it isn't to be.

Oh well, we'll find out soon enough if San Francisco gets leveled again. In which case, the world is truly deep in the brown stuff...

The descriptions were excellent. The new technology on the cruisers juxtaposed with the fury of the elements outside, Makhearne's descent into drunkenness (all in the interest of making sure his glass doesn't spill, of course )... Oh, and Frost turning up the Crazed Diabolical Villain to 11. She's losing it so quickly now, I would think that she's going to be her own undoing soon even without outside intervention (either from Makhearne and Ronsend, or from Messoune). Unfortunately, if she has Tesla's doohickey properly working, the world will be in ashes before that happens.

 

[Dinglehoff]

A terror weapon like that may be of limited usefulness against the armies in Germany, if she is even genuinely interested in reversing Germany's fortunes. If not, this deranged scheme is even more pointless.