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Resurrection: Rebirth of the United States

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J. Passepartout: I guess Stewart shouldn't be a steward. :p

Draco Rexus: Well they (like me) are starting to get tired of sitting around a town waiting for it to fall. ;)

jwolf: So do I. Stewart scares me. :(

coz1: Yes, Stewart sees his chance.

Machiavellian: Things are starting to come to a head, that's for sure.

Storey: Well, as I mentioned at the time when we were discussing time travelers, Heyward already made his mistake. Now he will pay... :mad:

TreizeV: Yes, horrible serving skills. Where does he think he is? McDonalds? ;)

Zeno of Cyprus: Don't say it. This siege has to end, it just has to! :(
 
-= 85 =-​

11 April, 1781
Saint Petersburg, British East Florida


While the other generals debated, Thomas Heyward stood next to the number one cannon of the Second Carolina Artillery staring at the distant city. Despite numerous holes in the walls and the seizure of two Spanish forts dating back to the 1590s, the Union Jack still floated mockingly over their town hall; the British flag. His home.

"How did it come to this?" he asked aloud. No one nearby to answer. The gun crews were reassigned to help with patrols until a fresh shipment of powder and balls came in from Charleston. They had a reserve supply, but Steving wouldn't tap into that unless the British tried to break out. They showed no interest in doing so. Somewhere beyond Tom's sight he could imagine their fishing boats patiently moving up and down the coast.

He drew his spyglass and swept it across his own army. Dispirited, tired, hungry - supplies from Charleston simply weren't sufficient and wouldn't be until the first crops could be harvested. Sick - the mosquitos started early this year. John's horsemen huddled in a mass not far from a mob. Ah there was Lincoln's infantry. Some had taken the initiative and started up a farm with some captured seed. Arguments, fighting, disobedience, even the occasional desertion despite the many swamp-ridden miles home. British delaying tactics couldn't last forever, Tom thought, but they might last just long enough.

"Some general I am, eh Sweety?" The horse bobbed her head sympathetically a few feet away. That was, of course, the problem. What, exactly, was he?

Heyward leaned against the cannon, its barrel cold and solid against his side. Sometimes it seemed the past eight years had passed in a blur, he'd never had much change to ponder the questions that quietly waited below the surface. How did he get here? Why? What was he supposed to be doing? Why in God's name was he fighting his own country? Was his desperate attempts to change history a cunning plan to undo the Nazi destruction of London or the flailing of a madman trapped in a demented dream? What if they'd found him after London fell and brought him to a hospital? What if London's fall was a fantasy as well? Tom only had his own recollection to verify that.

Too many questions, too few answers. Without those answers, how could anyone possibly expect him to make a decision?

"How did it come to this?" he asked again. Again no reply, nothing but the mocking flag and a few geese cawing overhead.

Absently he reached for the coin, his reminder of Jessie and sometimes the only reason he saw fit to get up every morning and face the absurdity of a factory laborer leading an eighteenth century army one more time. The surface, smooth and cold against his hand slowly brought him back to the present. Something rummaged through his pocket: Sweety, looking for her treat.

Tom's stomach growled. He pat the horse's head gently and mounted. She'd served for nearly four years now and was due for retirement. "Maybe I'll join you," he suggested grimly. After a quick lunch would be the numerous tedious affairs that went into keeping nine thousand men pointed in the same direction. Allen wanted to see him later. What did he want?

Heyward rode past men gathered by squad doling out their meagre shares of dried pork and beans. No one dared say anything to his face, but he caught more than a few dirty looks. Like him they wanted to go home. "At least they have a good chance of seeing home again," Heyward muttered, breaking into a gallop.

At his headquarters, Heyward handed Sweety off to a boy, the son of one of his captains, and exchanged salute with his guards before walking into the sitting room. "Peters!" he called. "House? Peters! I'll take my meal in here, and....who are you, sir?"

"The name's Stewart." He saluted. "I beg pardon, sir, but Peters is ill. Mister Hamm thought I might be of assistance?"

"Allen's steward?"

"Yes, sir."

Tom shrugged. "Fine, bring my meal to me."

"Of course."
 
Dun DUn DUUUNNNNN!!!

Sorry, I couldn't resist. Good update. Next one will probably be even better. I like that Heyward is really questioning his purpose.
 
Uh-oh...

Heyward's in trouble. I hadn't expected Stewart to strike this quickly. So much for the slapstick murderathon. I can only hope Heyward will come out of this meeting better than Exeter came out of his meeting with murderous fate.
 
As usual, I can't wait to find out what happens next, CatKnight. One of the worst aspects of this AAR I found was when I finished reading the last of the numerous chapters and ended up at the mercy of your schedule. Damn you, you evil evil person, you! *fist shake*

Great update as usual. I'm wondering how Heyward comes out of this, since I doubt you'd kill off your main character. And as for Heyward questioning his purpose... Well, I doubt there could be anything like finding out the Nazis want the new country to survive to make his goal re-crystallize.
 
I can hear the tense, supenseful and gut wrenching music playing in the background as the scene moves along.... I'm waiting to see how this all turns out, and I'm not feeling all that confident in Heyward's survival odds :( .
 
Well done slipping Stewart in there at the end. Seems Heyward might be getting closer to that retirement after all, and quite effective after having him lament his time in this strange time-warp.
 
coz1 said:
Well done slipping Stewart in there at the end. Seems Heyward might be getting closer to that retirement after all, and quite effective after having him lament his time in this strange time-warp.
Click to expand...

Thank you, now I'm going to have that song stuck in my head. :wacko:

Your signature did give me an idea, though. CatKnight, would you mind if someone wanted to put what you have in the story so far into .pdf form? If some of the images could be supplied since they don't seem to be loading?
 
Machiavellian: Just hope that Stewart doesn't get that twirly mustache and bad-guy glare to go with the theme music!

Stuyvesant: Well, Stewart has reasons for pushing forward quickly.

Samuel Clemens: Well, schedule and writer's block. I hoped to have this up Sunday, but after 500 words I decided it was a pile of drek. Then I hoped for last night, 400 words I wasn't happy with. Now I think we're ready to go!

Regarding trying to make a .pdf out of this. Sure, drop me a PM and we can talk about it. :)

Draco Rexus: I think Machiavellian's providing the music for tonight. ;)

coz1: Heyward? Retire? Then who's gonna be my main character? Rutledge!?

Zeno of Cyprus: Thanks!


-----------------

You're about to see the first graphics I added from Hive's Age of Imperialism mod. I definitely like his flags, and his extra scenarios during the main time period of the game (1520, 1568, 1701). I ported over what I liked to vanilla 1.08, and here we are. Unfortunately it appears it traded out my Revolutionary War soldiers for Civil War era Union troops.. :mad:
 
-= 86 =-​

11 April, 1781
Saint Petersburg, British East Florida


Henry trembled as he returned to the kitchen, struggling to control the wide grin that kept threatening to betray him. At last! This other time traveler had to be the reason the American insurrection refused to die. His reward for killing him would be great, especially since Stewart wanted so little:

He wanted to go home.

For over eight years Stewart lived in this cesspool of a world, trying to influence events through manipulation, coercion and outright assassination. The seasons in North America were ridiculous, their stilted formality grated on his nerves. They still thought chamberpots were a good idea! Few newspapers, no automobiles, no electricity, Stewart had as much in common with these people as he did with a parcel of pigs. They were pigs to be slaughtered. Even a Nazi-occupied Britain had to be better than this mucking through a disease infested swamp.

Stewart ground the coffee beans industriously as a slab of pork - ha! - fried on a pan in the hearth. So close! Safest would be to simply sit back and watch, let the general disaffection run its course. Stewart knew little about history, but he knew poor morale could destroy an army more surely then a tank shell. No, too many things could go wrong. Poison then? Too uncertain. Stewart needed to be sure this was his man, and if so he wanted to be there to watch the light die from his archenemy's eyes. He'd killed so many in the last few years, one more made no odds whatsoever.

He stabbed the hissing slab of pork.

---------------------

Thomas Heyward thumbed through a pile of letters. Personal requests, requisitions, statements of supplies, it never ended. Tom never bothered with a clerk, even a rudimentary education in 1940 tended to prove superior, but damn an extra pair of hands would be useful right now. He sighed and closed his eyes. "If I get back to Charleston, I shall hire a printer. One letter, copied enough could handle nine tenths of these."

Dear Sir:

I have received your (circle one) request/demand/statement concerning authority/leave/supplies/army disposition/orders. While I have the utmost respect for your pedigree/connections/father/family/wife/cat, the good of the service must be paramount in my mind. Therefore, your request/demand/statement is sadly/reluctantly/happily/gleefully/proudly/solemnly accepted/rejected/held pending review.

I am, your obedient, humble...

His thoughts broke off at a clatter and rattle from the kitchen. This new man certainly seemed excitable.

Stewart entered bearing two plates, silverware, a cup and a pot precariously. His own knife, still greasy with pork fat, nestled safely up his sleeve. "Here you go," he called cheerfully. I have you now, you son of a..

"Fine." Tom indicated a nearby table and Stewart deposited his offering with another painful clatter.

"Are you alright...?"

"Yes, sir! Prime!"

Tom sighed and gave the papers a shove. Something about this person bothered him. He seemed nervous. "What did you say your name was?"

"Stewart, sir. I hope you have an appetite." He hovered nearby, watching the general intently.

Tom poked at the pork. Charred on the outside, pink on the inside. "You said Hamm sent you?"

"Yes, sir?" Stewart tensed.

"I see." Heyward looked up into the assassin's pale eyes. "Do I know you, Stewart?"

"I don't believe so, sir. Perhaps you've seen me around camp?"

"That must be it." Heyward sat, picking at the vegetables. "Thank you, Stewart. That will be all." He reached for his coffee.

"Yes, sir." Stewart hesitated.

"Yes?"

I have to be sure... "Sir, I hate to speak out of turn..."

Heyward sighed. Why did people say that when they were about to be unpleasant? "But you're going to. Well? Out with it man."

"Some of the men are uneasy."

"And you?" He wasn't about to explain himself to a cook.

"They say we're going to die here." Henry held his tray in both hands, looking down like a guilty child.

"You may tell them they're mistaken. The Brits will give up eventually." Tom turned back to his meal.

"There is a poem going around. Sir."

Heyward's jaw slackened. "You wish to advise me because of a poem!? Tell General Allen, with my compliments that I want to speak with him about his help." If that old fart thinks he can use his cooks to give me back door advice, then....

"Not tho' the soldier knew, someone had blundered."

"Mister Stewart!"

"Their's not to make reply, their's not to reason why, their's but to do and die..."

"Into the valley of Death rode the six hundred!" Heyward snapped, seizing his coffee. "Yes, yes, I heard that one. That gives you no right to..." The Crimean War? TENNYSON? He looked up, shocked to see Stewart smiling at him like a cherub. He shifted the tray to his left hand and saluted.

"Heil Hitler."

Heyward saw the flash of steel, threw the cup's contents in Stewart's face. The assassin screamed then lunged. His knife struck something hard and was ripped from his hand, clattering on the ground. Tom managed an ineffectual punch, screaming for the guards. Stewart ducked away and struck a great left-handed blow with the tray, making Tom reel. Henry followed up by slamming the tray on his head again and again. As Heyward fell, senseless, Stewart rushed for his knife but running bootsteps made him reconsider. Cursing he bolted for the back door as two soldiers rushed in.

"What's going...Oh God. Sir! Run for the surgeon, I'll do what I can. Sir!?"

----------------------

"Why sir, I do believe you're flirting." Jessie looked up shyly from the bouquet of violets her man had picked. Her auburn hair fell in curly waves, framing her freckled face and shining eyes. She wore her best dress, yellow with pink flowers.

"Flirting? Not at all." Tom bowed, removing his white fedora.

"Aren't you working tonight?"

"They didn't need me that badly. I wanted to see you one last time."

"Last time?" Jessie arched her eyebrows, wrinkled her nose like she did any time she was curious. "I'm not going anywhere, silly!"

"You're right." Heyward smiled and they walked together, talking about this and that. Finally they reached the front of the recital hall and she touched his chest gently. "Now, you wait here."

"I'm going with you!"

"Not this time. You still have work to do."

"I told you Jessie, the factory doesn't need me tonight." He faltered at her sad smile, his heart breaking. "But your recital..."

"I will be right here," she answered softly. Jessie reached into his suit pocket and took out an old, bent penny.

"Jessie, don't go!" Tom grabbed for her wrists, but missed. She walked to the hall steps, waving cheerily. "Don't go!"

A Nazi SS officer opened the door from the inside and she walked past him.

"JESSIE! NO!"

----------------------

"Why is he screaming?" Roland Steving tried to push past the surgeon who simply stepped into his path.

"General, please. There is some pain, perhaps a concussion. We're just waiting for the laudanum to take effect."

Steving looked past the surgeon towards the weakly struggling patient, then down into the surgeon's eyes. "Will he live? I saw the blood."

"Eh? Oh, yes, yes. He's somewhat rattled of course, but I didn't find any internal bleeding, any excessive pressure on the brain. His skull seems intact. As for the blood, that was a lucky thing really."

"Lucky!?"

"Yes, the knife cut his skin, quite a spectacular looking wound really, but no organs hit. From the cut in General Heyward's coat, I think it bounced off this." The surgeon drew a bent penny. "Quite lucky I assure you. One inch left or right and I could not have answered for him at all."

Steving took the penny and frowned. "Lucky."

"Steving..."

The general pushed his way into the bedroom and approached Tom, kneeling by his side. He seemed calmer, at least he no longer thrashed about, and his eyes were closed. "Steving..."

"I'm here, General Heyward."

"The Nazi?"

"Sir?"

"The killer...did you find him?"

"Not yet, sir. We're still searching the camp. It seems he killed Hamm and Peters."

Tom tried to nod, but it felt like his skull moved and his brain didn't. He groaned softly. "Steving.."

"Yes, sir."

"I want you to do me a favor."

Roland looked back and forth, then nodded. "Anything, sir."

"The city."

"Charleston? No. Saint Augustine."

Tom nodded again. "Take it for me." Then the laudanum finally won out and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

staugattak.txt
 
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Whew! Tom lives. At least, for now. It's a shame, of course, that Stewart got away, but all in all Heyward was very lucky to get out of his encounter with his nemesis as he did. Clearly, Stewart held all the cards, but still he lost. And hopefully that coffee did something nasty to his face, although permanent blindness or a festering and eventually fatal sore are probably too much to ask for. I guess we'll hear more from him in the future.

Touching little dream. Even in his dreams, Heyward cannot have things his way, cannot get to see his love on more time. He's a tragic man.

So you've finally started an assault on St Augustine. And of course, you're not going to show us the outcome of that assault yet... You been taking lessons in cliffhangers from the Storey Book of Good Writing? ;)

All in all, apart from the cliffhanger :)p), a very nice update. Hope you manage to banish your writer's block for a while!
 
Awesome update, CatKnight! I knew I was right that Tom would survive it (not rubbing anything in or anything). I'm glad I was right in thinking that you have a superb grasp of what makes an excellent story, CK.

Not only has the main protagonist survived the first clash with what will no doubt become the main antagonist, but the antagonist survived with a possible scarring! Both physical and mental.

WHOOO!!! :D :D :D WHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!
 
Well, that went better than I thought. Heyward has got to be one of the luckiest SOBs I've every read of... but also one of the unluckiest ones as well. D'ya think he'll ever get a bit of happiness? :(

As for Stewart ( :mad: ) well, like Stuyvesant wrote:
... hopefully that coffee did something nasty to his face, although permanent blindness or a festering and eventually fatal sore are probably too much to ask for.
Click to expand...

I'm not sure that would be too much to ask for (yes, I'm backsliding into by nasty blood thirstiness again, sorry. :D ), but we can still hope for it! :D
 
Ahh, It seems Stewart fell victim to that classic mistake of villainy. He just had to gloat before inflicting the fatal strike. He could have avoided that splash of Coffee to the face if he had just stabbed away. But I guess being alone in a foriegn time and knowing that there is another time traveler.. he just needed to make sure.
 
Wonderful bit Stewart used to suggest the truth of the situation, but poor for him that he was not quick enough - should have waited for a better moment. Alas, he was unable to retire Heyward this time...and methinks he will continue to be so unlucky.

And I loved the moment of Heyward with Jesse as he was out cold. Dream sequences are fun to write, aren't they? ;)
 
The Crimean War is close, only like 75 years off right? I like how you included the Charge of the Light Brigade quite nice and a nice give away.
 
I have to agree with Samuel Clemens. You truly understand what makes a story great.

I wonder if Tom will ever get back to his own time and what happens if he has managed to change the future. Will he even meet Jessie in an alternate timeline? Will his memories from his own past (present...uh, that can get confusing) create one of those paradoxes that can completely unravel the very fabric of the universe? Only time will tell... ;)

ps. yes, I have watched 'Back to the future' just a few times too many :wacko:
 
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