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Resurrection: Rebirth of the United States

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First, quick apologies folks: Last week my surgery had a complication I needed to deal with which left me alternately sore and high on pain meds - and while Percocet is great for creativity, it's not the sort of thing that makes .. well, sense. Saturday was my niece's wedding: I have seen wargames go off more peacefully. If you've ever seen a Diplomacy game being played, then you've met my family - alliances change by the hour around here and for about twenty seconds I would've given 3:2 on a general melee breaking out. And here I thought life was getting dull...

Stuyvesant: Wow. When I read your comment I wasn't sure whether to be happy I hit so close to home, or worried I was upsetting people. You're right, of course: What Black's trying to set up very closely parallels some of the darker moments in world history. It should be fairly obvious what he hopes to emulate and rebuild, and even why - if he can twist America enough before anyone knows enough to stop him, then it doesn't matter if they survive or enough. Black still wins.

Dead William: Yes and no... America early on was very parochial. Just about everything Black suggested DID happen. The idea of a white, male only, Christian club...certainly happened. If anything they were even more restrictive: (must be sponsored, no Catholics) Jefferson (I believe) tried to pass anti-sedition acts in the early 19th century, and our record with Native Americans isn't exactly clean, especially before the 20th century.

However it didn't happen all at once, and the US was (usually) lucky enough to have enough people around to pull them back before anything too hideous happened. Right now the only one with his hand on the tiller is Black, and as far as he's concerned the darker the better.

J. Passepartout: Yep, Black right now is beginning to suspect Tom, but he's not sure and figures even if he his - what can one man do? (Sort of like Tom's assumptions that Black, alone, can't do any harm.)

coz1: No doubt there. If and when Tom figures out what's going on, this AAR will kick up another notch. From that point on he'll definitely have his hands full 'til the bitter end.

Draco Rexus: It's really a race between Tom opening his eyes, realizing what's going on and acting and Black completing his plan to subvert the US. Interestingly, Preston's on the exact same journey - it's also time for him to finally wake up and realize what's going on. But can he in time?

Sesqui: Welcome! That must have been quite a read. I have a friend offline working her way through the posts and it's...taking awhile. LOL I hope the wait was worth it!

J. Passepartout: You will slowly get more information on Mr. Black. Your analysis so far is perfect, Black is old and he's powerful. He's not perfect though, he makes mistakes and he's not omniscient and that's our opening. Plus, let's not forget that if Black's responsible for sending Stewart, SOMEONE sent Tom... God? A 'good' version of Black?

jwolf: That's hard to answer, both to avoid giving too much away and well... a lot of Mr. Black's plan is happening behind the game.

My immediate goal is to cleanly and quickly defeat the Cherokee. The longer it drags out, I think the uglier the end game gets. As you'll find out in the next few chapters there's a small chance (with my dice..) that the Dakota, Shawnee and Iroquois will take this last chance to knock the US down. If they join in, then this turns into a general war that could substantially change the endgame.

At one point, assuming nothing changes 'cause of the story (hah!) there will be a substantial game hack (that I have to teach myself how to do.) At that point the victory conditions will be clear: For 'us' to win, Black has to lose. For Black to win, I have to lose. Total war.

And yes, Stewart was so straight forward compared to Black. :)

Rensslaer: :eek:o Wow. You honor me, thanks!
And yes, I suspect Mr. Andre has a little further to go before he's done with us.

Oranje Verzet: Thanks and welcome! Good luck with your AAR!

Storey: Actually I like Preston. * ducks all the thrown objects *

To me, John is the most human character, though I've tried to keep reasonably realistic with all of them with the possible exception of Mr. Black. (I'm evil, I want to corrupt your world, try and stop me.)

Tom struggles with loss and despair, but you can usually count on him to show up when things go south. Cassie dealt (not so well) with a very bad past and I like her also, though I'm not sure how well I pull her off not being female. Like Tom, Anne is dealing with loss. The 'old' Rutledge could almost be called a stereotype, but still it was obvious he had his private demons.... it's just that instead of squashing them, he made them work in his favor.

John's across the board. As you say, he never really crawled out of 'jerk' phase though I think we're all prone to slip back now and then. Tom's quest was to get over his grief (just about settled) and focus enough to realize what Black's trying to do. Preston's on a journey of redemption - can he overcome the traits that make him a 'jerk' and stop himself from backsliding. I figure Tom will eventually come around or the story's climax is going to be pretty weird. I'm never quite sure what John will do - for example I knew he'd be upset with Cassie after the duel, but didn't plan for him to turn on Tom like a viper. That's why I like having him around.
 
-= 116 =-​

9 March, 1783
Charleston, South Carolina


The soft, warm rain that promised an abnormally early spring yielded to a cool night with the faintest hint of salt from the ocean. Birds and squirrels, far better judges of climate and weather than humanity, returned en masse eager for their fair share of the spoils. If not for the near complete absence of insects it could easily have been a day in April or even early May. If not for the hundreds of wagons filled with supplies, weapons, powder and shot grouped west of town under the watchful eyes of thirty men, Charleston could easily have seemed a city at peace.

Seemed that way, at least, until you approached the forts at the city's entrance and found yourself confronted with two more soldiers who demanded papers if they didn't recognize you, or having gained entry found more soldiers patrolling the street looking darkly into the faces of their own people for signs of trouble: The Carolina Guard, the Defenders of the Homeland, sworn to protect the Carolinan way of life whether you like it or not. No one dared say anything against these grim young men though, nor Mr. Rutledge and his sudden eagerness for war. The Wilmington Register out of North Carolina denounced his 'landgrabbing megalomania' only to suffer a fire days later, the apparent result of a freak accident involving a wolf and an overturned lantern.

"Halt and be recognized!"

John Preston stopped in the middle of the street as two Guardsmen approached. One half readied his rifle, the bayonet pointing vaguely in Preston's direction and over his shoulder, as the other approached and raised a lantern.

"S...sorry, Colonel," the lantern bearer stammered, recognizing his commander.

"As you were."

"It's just that you wanted us to challenge anyone out after sunset, and..."

"As you were!" John glared at the very young man, perhaps fourteen or fifteen, who shrank away. "You did your job. Good work. Any trouble?"

"No, sir!"

Preston nodded. There was never trouble . He'd like to think it was thanks to the Guard and his leadership, but a small part whispered that this was a bit overdone and he was alarming people rather than reassuring them. Certainly Cassie thought so. She didn't understand how important his work was, how much Rutledge and all of Carolina needed him. If he managed to stop just one assassination or sabotage attempt, then no doubt that justified ruffling a few feathers. She'd come around in time, John was certain.

Charleston had always been quiet after nightfall, now it was all but deserted except for the dockside taverns and Preston clearly heard his own footsteps on the cobblestone, a soft rhythmic clicking. He approached one of the darkened houses, Rutledge didn't entertain anymore now that his wife was staying with friends in Richmond, and knocked.

A thin, trembling slave with almost grey skin answered the door. He flatly refused to look at anything but Preston's shoes and literally dodged as the colonel entered.

"I believe I'm expected," John said, wondering why the doorman was so nervous. No obvious injuries or signs of beating, though the skin color suggested he'd been sick. He could probably use a good meal, but so could most people this time of year when larders were starting to run low. Preston's stomach rumbled in sympathy, for though he still had plenty of food at Rutledge's summons he left before dinner.

"Yes, sir!" He shut the door. "Master is in his study, sir. Said you should go right up, sir."

Preston nodded and paced across the silent sitting room, his footsteps echoing on the marble tiling, his face ghostlike by the occasional shaft of moonlight through a window. He found Rutledge in his study studying a newly installed floorglobe: a nice one, with a cedar cradle and brass meridian marking off degrees of latitude. The lawyer looked up with his ice cold gaze. It wasn't hostile or unpleasant, but as if Rutledge could look right through you. Sort of like a hurricane or a tornado might appraise someone in its path.

Rutledge smiled and stepped forward. "Good evening, John. You're doing well I trust?"

"Excellent," John beamed, shaking his hand. "And yourself?"

"Quite well I thank you. And where is that lovely wife of yours lately?" He smiled as Preston's face clouded. It was just as well to remind people of their weaknesses now and then, so they're too worried about them to think too closely about you.

"Cassie's home. Keeping house like she ought."

"How true!" Rutledge chuckled, but not for the reason Preston suspected. "I wanted to talk with you about tomorrow's march."

"I'm glad you brought that up. I think we're done securing Charleston. The Guard will be more than happy to join General Heyward's attack."

"Oh no, John. The Guard will be staying right here, and I have another plan for you."
---------------

Thomas Heyward watched the Carolina Guardsman, incidentally the same poor soul who'd challenged Preston minutes before, walk by Anne's house. The boy recognized Tom and saluted. Heyward nodded politely and leaned back in the seat by the lantern to wait. He could (reluctantly) understand waiting for her to get ready to go out, but a nighttime chat on her porch shouldn't signify.

Tomorrow it begins. Again. Heyward watched another Guardsman pass sourly. Twice against the English, a lightning campaign defeating the Iroquois, and now what he still suspected was an unprovoked attack on the Cherokee heartland. Four wars in eleven years, had any other nation in the history of the world been this insane? He suspected someone in heaven didn't like him very much.

On the other hand, Tom rose as Whiting stepped out. She wore the low cut, clinging pink gown she favored when she wanted his attention, her red hair loose but neatly brushed. She leaned down and handed him a glass. "Iced tea, sir. I know it's cool tonight, but I thought you'd choose not to drink alcohol before tomorrow's march."

"You're right." Heyward watched closely as she sat next to him, their knees brushing. "I think we'll have enough drunks tomorrow without me adding to it." Most of the soldiers would be home saying farewell.

She smiled as his gaze, torn between what it wanted to survey and common decency, settled on her throat. "Do you like them?" she asked drily.

"What?!" He looked up, astonished and blushing.

"My necklaces. The amythyst pendant is my favorite. The other of course is a simple crucifix, I received it originally for my baptism though of course then I was far too young to wear it."

"Of course," he stammered. She laughed at him.

"It's a brilliant night, General Heyward. I believe all the clouds are gone at last."

"Yes, and clear weather for tomorrow's march I'm told." He frowned at the reminder.

"And why are you going, sir?" Whiting refilled her tea from a pitcher and stared intently.

"I'm...I have to."

"No, you don't." She plucked at the rank insignia of his uniform coat. "This doesn't mean so much. There are a half dozen men Rutledge could send. General Allen's been slavering for a chance this past month or more. You could easily stay home and..."

"Be safe?" Heyward asked sharply. Anne's mouth clamped shut, her eyes flared as he continued. "If this is about your...about Colonel Whiting, then I promise you,"

"This has nothing to do with Colonel Whiting!" Or maybe it does. She shook the thought away angrily. "You've done enough for America, there is no reason for you to do this."

"It's my job."

"Since when? What do you owe Mister Rutledge that would make you sacrifice your principles?"

"My principles?" Tom pulled away, wondering why he was under attack. "What are..."

"You don't approve of this war, you don't approve of most of what's happening lately. Don't lie," she held up a cautionary finger.

"He represents the Carolina Assembly. The Governor. Anne, sometimes you have to do what the government says even if you don't like it."

"Not to this extent, General." She stopped and glared at a Guardsman who decided he wanted to patrol elsewhere. "Not to this extent," she repeated in a lower tone. "Or have you forgotten we fought the British over just this not once but twice?"

"I haven't forgotten, however you need a little more reason than not liking some decisions before overthrowing a government."

"I didn't say overthrow them. I said walk away. You don't have to do this."

"I do."

She glared and started to gather the glasses.

"Anne?" She stood. "Anne!" He grabbed her wrist and spun her to face him, nearly sending the glasses flying. Her eyes widened, he'd never once lain a hand on her without permission.

"General!"

"You're right, I hate this war. It's unnecessary and it's going to get people killed. That is why I have to do this. Half this state wants us to exterminate them, and if Rutledge chooses someone else then he just might do that. I'm the only one who can keep this from getting out of hand."

Whiting let the glasses crash to the floor as she stood securely in his grip. Abruptly Tom released her. "Sorry."

She slapped him. Before he could do more than gasp, Whiting grabbed his collar and kissed him, then hugged Heyward close and sniffled against his chest.

"Anne, I..." Tom stood, stunned, lost somewhere between being smacked and kissed. Tentatively he put his arms around her and she tightened her embrace. After several long minutes she pulled away, wiped her eyes and took his hand.

"Come with me," she commanded softly, ignoring the shattered glass and leading him inside.

"Where are you taking me?"

"If you have to go, then I'm going to give you a reason to come home."
----------------

John didn't take a seat when offered. He paced in front of Rutledge's desk while the lawyer studied him, fingers steepled under his nose.

"What do you mean you don't want us to go with the army?" Preston demanded. "Damn it, I thought we agreed."

"No, John. You wrote a letter that I never replied to."

"My men are highly trained. They can.."

"The Carolina Guard consists of boys and young men with the bare minimum of training in warfare. That was never their intent. Their job is to maintain order and root out dissidents. There is still a need for their services."

"Charleston hasn't had an incident since someone tried to kill you."

"And now that spring is coming, and especially with Thomas on the march you don't think their efforts will increase?"

Preston glared and continued pacing.

"You don't really want to fight the Indians anyway, do you?" Rutledge smiled coldly. "You aren't done punishing the British."

"Well we're not a war with them, are we." John paused as the lawyer continued smiling. "Are we?"

"You are quite a valuable warrior, and I see no need to waste you here. What I'd like you to do is pick out five companies of cavalry and slip across the border into Georgia. There you'll meet with the resistance fighters there and work to bring Georgia back into our fold."

Preston beamed. "I can do that," he promised.

"Discretion, John. Do what you want to the British to take Georgia away from them, but they cannot know America is supporting the resistance. Not now."

The colonel's smile faded and he nodded. "Discretion, you can count on me."

"I know I can, John." After a few more pleasantries he left and Rutledge, a/k/a Mister Black leaned back in his chair. "Yes, John. Keep thinking that way, it's just you and me against the world."

Black smiled. "We attack at dawn."
 
I somehow suspect that Heyward is being sent in order to get him out of the way. I wish that Heyward would stand up to Rutledge/Black. If Rutledge wasn't possessed, it would be a different matter, but a normal Rutledge wouldn't have set things up this way.
 
I agree - Heyward would not be happy to find out this is what Rutledge/Black had in mind with Preston.

Also, I wonder if it is not a little dangerous for Heyward to get so close to Anne. Were something to happen to her, it could be Jessie all over again - or potentially worse. And I must assume Black knows of her from Rutledge.
 
Nice to read of Tom and Anne finally getting around to expressing their feelings, kinda makes things a little less stressful for them both. That and that is the kinda of send of, from personal experience, that makes a man do what it takes to come back as healthy and hale as possible.

As for Preston.... ah, young Master John, what a crappy hand life has dealt you. Now put your big boy underwear on and deal with it. John really needs to have someone, anyone at this point, provide him with a wake up call that Rutledge/Black ain't all that he's cracked up to be, and that his personal mission of vengence against the Brits is a real quick way of ending up in a grave. Mayhap this little jaunt down to Georgia will suffice as the wake up call? I guess we'll have to wait and see, eh?

Now comes Mr. Black..... I would, as scary as it seems, like to crawl in that dark, evil place that serves has his mind to figure out his plans. Partly 'cause I'd like to know so I can figure away for Tom to thwart 'em, and parlty 'cause Ild like to know so I can see what I can do to improve 'em (I told you all before that I can be an evil sucker sometimes! ;) ).

Great work as usual, Cat! :cool:
 
CatKnight said:
"Anne, I..." Tom stood, stunned, lost somewhere between being smacked and kissed.
Click to expand...
Gotta love feisty women! :eek:

Renss
 
Just a quick update, folks.

I'm going to take a break from this AAR. (I am NOT abandoning it. :mad: ) The truth is I've been working on the next few updates and they're coming out..very..hard, slow, and simply bad. I think I just need to get away from this for a little bit so I can come back fresh.

I may or may not start something small in the meantime. (I read somewhere that if you suspect burnout, just write something else for a bit.) I haven't decided on that.

So the AAR's not done. Just resting.

Thanks!
 
CatKnight said:
Just a quick update, folks.

I'm going to take a break from this AAR. (I am NOT abandoning it. :mad: ) The truth is I've been working on the next few updates and they're coming out..very..hard, slow, and simply bad. I think I just need to get away from this for a little bit so I can come back fresh.

I may or may not start something small in the meantime. (I read somewhere that if you suspect burnout, just write something else for a bit.) I haven't decided on that.

So the AAR's not done. Just resting.

Thanks!
Click to expand...


Don't feel bad! Sometimes it is necessary. I've been there myself, actually still am. :D

We fill wait patiently and joyfully for the next update, well OK, not patiently, but hey, can you blame us?

So, take your time to fully recover from your surgery, dangerous family gatherings, and finding the muse of inspiration once more.

LewsTherin
 
Goodness knows I've my moments just like this, so take the time you need. And if you do start something in the meantime, I'll surely take a look.
 
Too bad

I was just starting to read parts back to get into the AAR. Well it surely is a very good AAR, i learn a lot from your dialogue's. But good to break and start fresh if you feel its not good enough.
 
Cat, my friend, take all the time you need, in cases like this, it's better to do it right than just doing it! We'll be here waiting for you when you get back to this one, and we'll be there waiting if/when you work on a new project! :cool:
 
Take all the time you need! We'll be here when you get back.... MHUAHAHHAHAH! Ehem. I loved the scene with Anne and Tom. They both need that touch of humanity. With regards to your reply to my last post, three weeks hence, I am fully aware of the rather... ambivalent... nature of American society. I am just glad the Pilgrim Fathers are long since dead... DW
 
I hope inspiration will come roaring back to you soon. Or, if inspiration is not the problem here (you seem to have a clear idea of where you want to take the plot), that the words will start flowing from your pen... keyboard... whatever... like waste from a clogged up septic tank. Wait, I should probably try to come up with a better metaphore there...

But if those ideas or words remain elusive, then I hope you'll pick something entertaining to write about in the mean time - which, considering your writing skills, should not be too hard, I think. :)

The story is clearly building up towards a new set of climaxes: war with the Cherokee, guerrilla in Georgia, Black's bid for power and evil in Carolina... I do hope we'll learn more about it all soon. Until then, I'll try to catch up with all the other stuff I've been missing lately. :)
 
Answering some very old comments. :)

J. Passepartout: No, you're right about Black. The 'normal' Rutledge thought the Cherokee were in his way, but he didn't hate them. Black's stepped it up several notches, and this next post isn't going to help.

jwolf: Tom's being sent to the Cherokee to get him out of the way, yes, but also because he's the hero of the Southern Campaign against Exeter. One trait Black and Rutledge share is they know how to use a good thing.

coz1: Ahhah. You're right about the relationship being a dangerous thing. Mr. Black certainly knows he's close to Anne. Right now he doesn't care, but if he figures out who Heyward is...

Draco Rexus: I'm not sure what's going to happen to John. It'd be nice if he got a wakeup call, but he's alienated the one person (Heyward) who could really give it to him. Most of the people around him either agree with Black for whatever reason, have been subverted by him, or don't realize the danger. Eventually he'll probably wake up to the threat, but I can't see that happening until something really bad happens. And yes, the Georgia campaign is going to be a bit of an eye opener for him.

As for helping his plan....I don't know. You kinda made Exeter mad, you sure you want to meet with them? :)

Rensslaer: Feisty women can make life...interesting. :D

Dead William: Yes, Anne and Tom needed to get together and provide that solid base of support for each other. Let's see where it goes!

Stuyvesant: We're starting to gear up, definitely. As you noted we have a Cherokee war, a guerilla operation in Georgia, and Black's carrying out his plan to completely subvert and break Carolina. There is a gap coming after these climaxes where well...I'm not sure what happens, and then the final storm. Oh....you better sit down and get a drink again, Rutledge/Black is about to give another speech.
 
Thanks everyone for your consideration and well wishes. Now, I am happy to present....

Resurrection: Rebirth of the United States
Chapter 117​
​


usa12star5rs.jpg


​
May 1783
Cherokee Country


'Dearest Anne,' Tom wrote in his long, serial letter that doubled as diary, 'if I may use such a familiar phrase.' This was questionable given the Byzantine rules of eighteenth century etiquette and romance, but his last night in town suggested it might be alright. 'Yesterday afternoon we fought a large body of Indians.'

'The country here is mostly hill and valley, littered with trees. I can see why people are so eager to settle here: The lumber alone could keep a man busy and wealthy for a lifetime. It makes travel difficult though, and we're obliged to proceed company by company, forming small parties rather than the long, formal columns you saw in Carolina where it's reasonably open and we have roads. Steving's artillery is a whole day behind us, guarded by half a regiment. His cannon just don't do well here even with replacement oxen for the carriages.' No sense wasting a horse on such back breaking work, not when cavalry was a valuable commodity. Tom scratched his ear with the quill of his pen, thinking of the battle.

'About mid day we learned that one of our companies had been attacked. The Cherokee have muskets, probably gained from the French or even us when we were still British. The forest is too thick for their bows to do much. They'll put a few snipers in the trees, and when we run over to knock them down out comes their friends with axes and knives and a melee erupts. This happened maybe a dozen times. Then about four o'clock Colonel Engels found their camp where they rested between attacks and no doubt planned.'

Heyward smiled, dipping his pen in the ink pot and listening to the wind whisper outside. A shadow moved across the front of his tent and he looked up as the flap parted. "Yes, Captain?"

Captain Pierce was a tall, thin man in his mid-twenties whose boyhood freckles never went away. He had short blond hair and, despite his best efforts, no mustache or beard worth talking about. Pierce also commanded his personal bodyguard, one of the innovations added after Stewart's assassination spree.

"Sir? The messenger is anxious to go. Says he has a spot in mind for camp tonight and he won't make it if he waits much longer."

Tom's smile faded. "Tell the sergeant he may go when I release him." Heyward knew he was unpopular, and honestly didn't worry about it. He wasn't going to let people show disrespect however. He'd had enough of that from John.

"Aye." Pierce disappeared.

Heyward stared at the flap for a moment, breathed once to calm himself and turned back to the letter. 'Engels is a good man. I thought we'd have trouble since John trained him, but he's just the opposite: quiet, unassuming. Maybe a little more cautious than I'd like, but he gets the job done. He drew his men up in a line and charged their camp, setting fire to it once the fight was over. We're not sure how many they lost, they have a habit of dragging away their bodies given a chance, but they've left us in peace.' That was, of course, when the trouble began.

Tom's unpopularity stemmed from his efforts to rein in his army. Looting couldn't be helped, though he'd punished the first detachment that fired a settlement. Now entire villages - man, woman and child, spilled out at his army's approach and engaged despite it being a hopeless battle with knives and rocks. This only encouraged his men to kill or maim who they wanted and take what they pleased, and if 'old man Heyward' didn't like it that wasn't their problem. He'd executed the first couple of rapists until two Generals and Pierce all warned him he was about one hanging short of a full fledged mutiny. He couldn't tell Anne any of this, of course.

'Sentiment against the Indians continues to run high. The men don't like the sneak attack, forgetting that was how we fought the Brits in '73. Most of them never fought them at all, or only in the last year or two when victory was a certainty. There are no small amount of scrubs here, scavengers here just to kill and loot something they thought weaker and are surprised and angry to learn they can strike back after all. Discipline is low. Morale is low. What we need is to have a straight up battle against a force roughly equal to ours to bring the men together, but I don't know what would happen afterwards.' Actually he could very well imagine the savagery that would follow, but his mind shrunk from it. 'They think we'll be home by Christmas. I doubt it. I only hope I can keep things together long enough to prevent something too terrible from happen.'

Pierce scratched at the flap again.

'Until next time, I am your obedient, humble...'

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

Dieter von Zahringen sat in his tent outside the walled capital of the Cherokee nation. By a stroke of bad luck or mean spiritedness the bronze cannon gifted to them by the French in '61 happened to be pointed right at him. The Badener didn't complain though. The people didn't trust them, and honestly if half of what he heard of this American army could be believed he didn't blame them. The council of chiefs trusted him and that's what mattered. He pulled a flat board across his lap, added parchment and ink and thought, his servant boy studying him intently.

The Cherokee had no written language. They didn't think they needed one apparently, while von Zahringen considered it a critical weakness on their part. He wrote, therefore, in French as someone in the Lakota nation should be able to translate.

'My friends. On behalf of the Cherokee Nations we bring you greetings and wish you joy.' The chiefs wanted him to say ...wish for you the guiding light of the Great Spirit but no one knew what the Lakota believed in. Few had even heard of them until von Zahringen talked about the early French explorations west of the Mississippi.

'We do not need to advise you of the dangers of the white tribes. We followed news of your recent war with the French with great concern and mourn for your losses. It is because of another of these tribes that I write you today.' Dieter von Zahringen didn't feel good writing this letter, and had stayed up late many nights thinking about it. It felt very much like betrayal. However, his American friends had gone from beleaguered defenders to warmongers and his Cherokee needed help. He didn't really expect a general Indian war for control of the continent to break out. What he hoped was the extra pressure would force the Americans to stand down until cooler heads prevailed.

'Their ancestors destroyed the Lenape and Delaware. In just the past ten years they forced the Iroquois to serve them and made the Shawnee submit. If these names mean little to you, it is because history has already brought them low. This was not the will of the spirits...' It seemed safe to assume they had some sort of spirit worship. '...but the warlike tendencies of these people. We must stand together as one nation: not as Lakota or Cherokee or Shawnee or Iroquois but as the keepers of this land and tell the Americans they are wrong, that they may not do this thing.'

I won't let you. The Badener glared at the letter waiting for the paint to dry. Thomas Heyward: He thought he knew the man. Him and that fool spouting nonsense out of Charleston, Edmund Rutledge. It was he who'd been betrayed! He turned to the boy and spoke his reprehensible Cherokee: "Sequoyah? Tell the elders I've written their letter."
--------------------

South Carolina


"Is there anything so perverse as your Indian?" Rutledge demanded, pacing back and forth in the sanctuary of St. Michael's. His voice carried easily to the back of the room and all the members of the Carolina Patriot's League leaned forward with anticipation.

"Cursed by God, these creatures live in tents and hovels. They worship false gods, 'spirits' they call them. There is not even a word in their language for God!" Being as no one in the room spoke Cherokee, this passed without argument. "Some whisper they are unwitting servants of the Enemy. They have witches, some say, or 'shamans' as they call it who offer sacrifices of spices, animals, and even their own children to their animal 'spirits.' I would yield to Reverend Coleridge here," he bowed at the preacher, "but it would not surprise me. As a boy in this very church I learned Satan will offer power to all who are weak of spirit and morals in exchange for their souls." All eyes were on him, and though a few frowned unhappily none challenged his assertions. Good. Very good.

"That is if they even have souls. Can anyone deny there is an inherent weakness about the Indian? If there weren't, then in all the five thousand years since the world's birth why have they not accomplished half of what we have? No, a tenth? Oh aye, they defeated us once, years ago. That was when we had a traitor leading them. Yes. General Heyward has reported some trouble but this is due to sneak attack and ambush. In a stand up fight they would fail utterly as he hopes to prove upon reaching their city. That will be a day to celebrate, my friends, when we clear the lands of this pollution and ongoing insult to our Lord's benevolence."

Rutledge paused and glared at one man in particular until he looked away. No reason, but it made his neighbors wonder what was going on and any kind of misdirection served his purpose.

"I have long thought on the nature of we Carolinans. I will not bore you with the details, except to point out our common ancestry with our northern neighbors. Deluded as they may be, they too note the threat of the Indian in assigning General Arnold to the Cherokee border. Even the English, our former enemies but kin by blood, have taken steps to protect Georgia from their presence. Yes, we have our differences but we stand united against this common threat, not to our politics and not just to our way of life, but to the very purity of our people."

"We are a proud people, an honorable people. We do not fight unless we have to, and when we do we take it to them. We are strong and industrious, God-fearing yet courageous, and if you look at what the British Empire has accomplished and what we Americans have in ten short years, it should be obvious that if the Indians are inherently weak, we are clearly superior. It is in our blood. It is God's will." He nodded again to Coleridge. The preacher wasn't sure he knew where this speech was going, but he nodded back. Until Rutledge dropped his bomb. "But God's benevolence can be withdrawn."

"The purity of our blood can be diluted. It is well known that if a man marries too close within his family, that the blood of his children weakens as a result of God's judgement. It's also known that when a man has offended God, then the illnesses he bears may be carried from generation to generation, grandfather to father to son, in succession. Their bloodline weakens." He looked around. No disagreement. The effects of inbreeding were common knowledge, and hereditary illnesses were nothing new.

"I tell you now it is the same with the Indian. To engage in congress with one of these creatures is to damn not just these children, who will be of weaker stock and farther from God's grace, but to damn entire future generations. Surely these children would mate in time, and their children would also be weak, and so on. It is simple logic that we take steps to ensure our blood - our people remain whole by banning such relations, punishing the Indian who coerced our fellow into such an act, and voiding any such marriages even if they went abroad to avoid this ruling. No, our northern neighbors will not care for it, but in the end they will thank us for our help in dealing with this threat." Rutledge would have liked to deal with blacks as well, but he knew too many plantation owners too well for that. It could wait.

"On a related note we must discuss the definition of a Carolina citizen, being someone allowed the protection of our law and military...."

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

'Yours affectionately, John.'

Cassandra Preston stood on the porch of their home, reading the letter by a small lamp. She needed to think, and it was no good inside the house. It was entirely too warm: Martha must be having chills or some such, and more than one slave seemed to be watching her with particular attention, waiting for her to slip so they could find a way to ingratiate themselves with her wayward husband.

savannah5jw.jpg


Good luck with that, she thought. John had left entirely too many clues in his letter and she could guess roughly where in Georgia he was, but he was on the move. Apparently they'd taken Savannah and the British took offense, moving enough men in to keep him on the run. Part of her wished he was here. Part of her was happy he wasn't. She hugged herself and sighed, stepping off the porch and staring up at the full moon.

Maybe time would repair their friendship, maybe not. She had no idea how he'd take this latest complication. Of course it could be stress. It'd be a lot easier on her if it was only stress, or maybe an illness. She'd been sick last month, that could have thrown everything astray. She doubted it though.

She hadn't had her period in ten weeks.
 
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It appears that just about everyone is headed for sheer misery if not worse. :( All that is to say that you're doing a great job of writing. Just a small note about formatting: you need to use the square brackets [] rather than the angle brackets <> to get italic, boldface, etc.

With Cassie bearing a child, this will be the last and final test of John's character to see if he can move beyond himself.
 
Just a quick note: Massive formatting changes to the above. If you've read it before, try it now. Thanks for pointing it out JWolf. I write on another site that uses the <> and apparently lost my way repeatedly. :(

You're right on your other counts: Trouble's brewing, and this will be John Preston's best, last chance to look beyond himself and join the real world.
 
Oh....you better sit down and get a drink again, Rutledge/Black is about to give another speech.
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Thanks for the warning. With forewarning, it wasn't too bad. I guess I know better where Black is coming from and where he's heading to.

Black's speech seems to fit in with established Nazi ideology. Keeping the 'races' separate to preserve the 'purity' of the white race. It's a start that doesn't seem too much out of place in the late eighteenth centure, but I am sure it is a start to much, much more, if Black will get his way.

Although I did not get physically ill or apoplectically angry after reading this post (perhaps I can better distinguish between reality and fiction, your story being the latter, after all, tonight?), for me the venom in the paragraph dealing with Black was most definitely in the last sentence:
"On a related note we must discuss the definition of a Carolina citizen, being someone allowed the protection of our law and military...."
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I foresee a future where an awful lot of people are no longer considered Carolinian citizens. And a future where people can lose that cherished citizenship rather abruptly.

So, lots to worry about, storywise. More importantly, I am very pleased to see you return to Resurrection, CatKnight. I was fearing for its wellbeing, your emphatic insistence it was not abandoned notwithstanding. History teaches that there are an awful lot of unfinished AARs languishing in the bowels of the forum... I am very glad yours isn't one of them.

Edit: What does 'Frack' mean? :)
 
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Very interesting... This makes it pretty clear that racial purity is a definate part of the plans of Mr. Black. Not only does Mr. Black want Nazi Germany to exist, but I would venture that he was working for it in the same manner he is working at his current project. But is his final goal merely the deaths and so on that result from these things, or some further object that would result from this?

I hope that Zahringen and Heyward meet up soon. That will be when Heyward begins to realise what is up.
 
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