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Zahringen deserved better, much better. With Chesmu about to lead the Cherokee they almost deserve to be slaughtered! :mad:

As for Heyward, he can't just leave his command like that -- he'll hang for it. But I concede that's probably not one of his top worries right now.

My compliments for another vivid battle scene. I don't suppose any good will come out of this mess... :(
 
Excellent battle CatKnight. You had me guessing on who was going to win through the entire battle. :cool: Looks like Tom has finally had it but he'd better calm down if he wants to confront Black and live.

Joe
 
It is sad that Dieter had to go, but at least we know that it was Chesmu that did it. And damn that Allen. Merritt might still be alive had he been moving. But the battle is won and Heyward risks a dangerous meeting. Not sure to be happy or scared.
 
An inglorious end to Dieter von Zahringen. In the end, he couldn't protect the Cherokee warriors, stop the Americans, convince Heyward to turn around. And most finally, he seems to have been unable to protect himself from Chesmu.

I see that the Americans won, but how comprehensively did they win? Did any substantial numbers of the Cherokee get away, or is their resistance effectively at an end?

I agree with Jwolf: if Heyward just ups and leaves like that, he'll be at a serious risk of being hanged. Particularly with Black in charge of the Carolinas and working his hardest to turn it into a military dictatorship. I hope that Heyward will calm down and reconsider, firstly to save his own hide from the charge of desertion, secondly to actually prepare for his meeting with Rutledge/Black. Of course, Heyward has no idea what he is heading into if he seeks out Rutledge...

Excellent update all in all. Especially the scenes with Merritt did a good job of portraying the chaos of fighting.
 
Blast my eyes, Cat, that was one helluva good description of the chaos of battle! I doff my hat to you, sir!

However, I must mourn with many of my fellow readAARs about the most foul murder of Dieter von Zahringen... I wish Tom hadn't decided that NOW was the time to have his little chat with Mr. Rutledge/Black, I would have liked to see Tom avenging Dieter with a little chat with Chesmu. Alas, I'll have to settle for Tom taking his anger out on Rutledge/Black. That should prove to be quite... interesting, interesting indeed.

Will Mr. Black's plans go down the crapper? Or will Tom? For some reason I have a gut feeling that it's going to be a combination of the two.
 
And now let us mourn,
Not for those who fell in glorious battle,
Who died serving cause and mastery,

For those who sold their soul and majesty,
To cowardice and treason.

Hittite Mourning song.

Von Zähringen lies on the battlefield and Allen lives. Tom really should wake up and think, but I suppose he's really in no fit state to think.

Great few updates, Catknight! I like the Congressional shenanigans, but I think I have mentioned that before. If (when) Blacks opposite number shows up, he at least will have many heroic spirits to choose as his aids.

DW
 
Catknight,

Well, I have always thought I'd rather have comments from someone who's making their way through my AAR but is only part way there, than to have them remain silent, so... At the risk of committing a faux pas, I comment! :rolleyes:

First off, I enjoyed the scene with John going into the fort and freeing his friends. But most of all, I like the touching scenes with cute/intelligent Cassie! Quite a budding romance, from the point in the story I've reached... I wish them well, although I know from reading ahead that little Johnny keeps getting in more and more trouble. Maybe Cassie's attracted to hapless, "didn't mean to" types... :p

And the whole rest of this, so far (and, I know, later on too!) is just so well put together. A great story, well told!

CatKnight said:
"Were I to parle librement, then I would remark every city I've seen here is English built, and the English build their cities like they build their women: Small, squat, and ugly. Though I'm sure," he added with a smile at Tom's shocked look, "that as America acquires her own character this will change for the better. We see great potential in your people."
Click to expand...
I do like seeing de Lafayette in an AAR. He's one of my favorite characters.

On page 5 now... If you don't mind, I'll be back to comment further as I get further in...

Rensslaer
 
jwolf said:
Rensslaer, you're still in the optimistic, feel-good part of the story. Just you wait! :eek: ;)
Click to expand...
Oh, I know about Mr. Black! ;)

See, do you remember Col. Exeter's tactics against the Cherokee villages -- the plan he borrowed from Hannibal? Drive from the center to disrupt the defense, then have the flanks come in from behind and exploit...

I've been reading this AAR the same way, see... :D

I started at the beginning, and in the middle at the same time, and have been harrying at it from the flanks until these past couple of days when I've been driving home the frontal assault!

Rensslaer
 
J. Passepartout: When I wrote the scene with the generals (and the earlier scenes wih Heyward, Lincoln, Allen and Steving while fighting Exeter) I'm usually thinking of Lee's meetings with his generals. Mine tend to be less polite though :)


jwolf: Well, you're right: Heyward's not thinking very clearly right now. Abandoning his command plays right into Black's hands.

Storey: In principle you're right, but I don't see Tom calming down. Especially after this next scene. :)

coz1: Merritt is one of those characters that developed .... not as I expected. I first patterned him after myself - Merritt's my last name, and I described him as mid-thirties, stocky, and not that worried his uniform was a mess..which would be about right though I'm far more handsome. ;) Then almost immediately he picked up a mild vulgar streak (which I don't have) and made it painfully clear what he thought of the 'south' army. It was an odd sensation 'watching' Heyward decide if he liked this incarnation of me or not. Characters are scary when they take off like that.

Stuyvesant: Von Zahringen's biggest error (besides letting Chesmu get behind him with a musket) was trying to teach the Cherokee European tactics. They took years to master and he had weeks. Though von Zahringen did believe in his cause, a part of him still believed in European superiority. He certainly deserved a glorious death, but fate (and, indirectly, Mr. Black) ran him down. It was the price for waking Tom up. Whether it was enough...

And ... well, the Cherokee are done as an army. Allen still has to take the capital. We know what an assertive general Allen is.

Draco Rexus: Hmm....let's say your gut feeling is pretty good. I'm not quite sure myself how their meeting will end up, but it's going to be ... interesting. Very interesting.

Dead William:
And now let us mourn,
Not for those who fell in glorious battle,
Who died serving cause and mastery,

For those who sold their soul and majesty,
To cowardice and treason.

I think you may have explained what just happened far better than I could. In settling down with Anne, and after his setbacks keeping the army under control, Tom was ready to 'settle' and let things proceed without him. In that frame of mind, and by the time he got back to Carolina to realize something was amiss, it may have been too late. Von Zahringen's death may not have been what we wished, but it served a purpose. Our hero is wide awake now, and will very quickly come to grips with what's going on around here. As for Allen....we'll check in on Allen soon enough.

Rensslaer: Lafayette? God, you ARE way back there aren't you? John's rescuing his friends in that first fort battle was fun. Someone (I forget who) posted they hoped Preston would be humbled by his first battle, since he was so eager. So I had him run away. He's never quite recovered. :) And sure, keep commenting from whereever you are.

jwolf: Very true! Wait: There was an optimistic feel good part of the story?

Rensslaer: Hmm....do Cannae tactics work on AARs? :D

---------

IN THE NEWS:

I finished a game!

I know, I know. "So what, Cat? I've finished forty-five Grand Campaigns so far, two of them without a computer and three while I was momentarily blinded because my eye doctor put too much of that pupil enlarging gunk in my eyes!" Well, I never have. Patience is not my strong suit and I always got bored. It took...awhile....but I finally finished one.

indiamap6uw.jpg

Me!

seasia7xb.jpg

Look at Dai Viet! I'm in Malacca.
Oddly, I also have two TPs in Indonesia and ONE IN SIBERIA. I can only guess they were Malacca's before I force-annexed them.

europe3cx.jpg

For you Europhiles. Notice the BWB!

victory1th.jpg

Victory!
Land Tech: 60 (tied 1st)
Navy Tech: 9 (far back - winner: Netherlands 29)
Infra Tech: 8, Efficiency: 110 (1st)
Trade Tech: 8, Efficiency: 100 (1st)
Inflation: 0 (Tied 1st)
Income: 432 (1st)
Manpower Available: 215
Ducats Available: 46,165
 
(And now back to our crisis, already in progress...)

-= 136 =-​

April 1784
South Carolina


Branchville had been founded in 1735 at a point where the old Indian trail starting from near Charleston split at a venerable oak tree. One fork veered west, crossing over miles of swamp to finally stop at a shattered bridge which once led to Fort Monroe in Georgia. The other fork shot north, following the Edisto River all the way to Fort Granby on the Cherokee border. The thirty odd settlers neatly avoided Indian rebellion, French and Indian uprisings in the 1750s, and both wars for American Independence. They were too small, too far from Charleston to matter. They couldn't, however, dodge Mister Black.

Thomas Heyward, now a general only in the strict legal sense that could get him hanged for desertion, smelled Branchville prison long before the last trees parted to reveal a sturdy wooden wall almost 630 feet (190 meters) long. The wall straddled a lazy, meandering creek that was also flanked by two small forts on raised mottes with cannon pointing up river. Unmanned forts, Heyward noticed as no one challenged his advance. Perhaps that was just as well, as he doubted he could hear a challenge over the constant droning from behind the wall. Flies. Thousands of flies. It wasn't even that warm out.

"Mother of God." His horse agreed, shying away from the stockade. Tom covered his nose and mouth and circled slowly. The pine logs making up the wall stood fifteen feet (4.5 meters) high, squared on top and with each other so he couldn't see inside. On the far side two more forts on earthen mounds faced down river towards Charleston. These, at least, were manned. Someone called out, waving an arm and pointing his musket. Tom stopped and waited.

A minute later the soldier's mate stepped outside, mopped his forehead and strode forward. He was perhaps Tom's age, though certainly not an officer and lacking most of his left arm.

He scowled openly at the intruder. "State your business."

"Who's in charge here?" Tom demanded.

"I am, far as you're concerned." The soldier spat at the ground.

Either he was a fool, or had never seen an officer's uniform. And why was he out here in the first place? Tom narrowed his gaze. "I said, who is in charge here, mister?"

"And I said none of your God damned business!"

A fool then. Tom sighed and reached for his pistol.

"Hey!" The soldier stumbled back and drew an ugly, blood encrusted dagger. His mate fired, but was either scared or inexperienced or both.

"Tell your commander," Tom said as he pointed his pistol, "that General Heyward is here to conduct an inspection. Further, the next man who raises his tone to me shall be flogged to death!. Do you understand me?"

The soldier licked his lips, stared at the gun, stared at the man holding it, read the threat in the man's eye. "Aye."

"First signal your friend to let me pass."

----------

"I must be allowed to apologize." Captain John Monck bowed for the third time as they stood before the gate. "We weren't expecting anyone, sir. Certainly from the Cherokee side of the border. Our men re apt to grow...nervous?"

"Which would make manning the forts facing that border a good idea, no?" Monck didn't answer. "Which part of my uniform did your man miss, Captain?" Tom glared at the smaller officer, prepared to dislike him intently. He had to lean close to hear him over the insects, and the urine and feces polluted creek flowed just feet away.

"Forgive me sir, but the uniform used in the field is a little different from the one here at home. Further, Bran - that's his name, sir - hadn't served since the first war when uniforms were scarce."

"Why is he serving now?"

"Why..? Oh, his arm. Mister Rutledge has called up everyone, sir. Everyone but the women and young children. Those who are ... not in fighting trim ... end up on garrison duty."

"Like here."

Monck bowed.

"Let's do this quickly." Tom closed his eyes as Monck slid the bolt. Instantly the sound - flies, murmurs, moans, cries, increased and he prepared for the worst. Or he thought he had.

Architects designed Branchville to hold five thousand in cramped, though livable conditions. Nearly three times that lived behind a fence that circled the inner compound some fifteen feet from the thick pine walls. A large building near the gate served as administrative headquarters while sentry boxes ringed the compound along the wall. Soldiers manned only half of these bearing muskets pointed at their tightly packed, emaciated mass of prisoners. Few looked up at their entrance. Tom instantly picked out at least four dead, lying in their own filth and stripped by their own mates. No shelter worth talking about.

One Indian, braver or more desperate than his fellows, surged to his feet and charged. Tom could clearly see the outlines of his ribs and arm bones, a sharp indent where his stomach should have filled out his frame. Monck reached for his sword, but he need not have bothered. The split second the Indian passed the inner fence two muskets fired and he fell. His mates pulled him within the compound and stripped him.

"If you'll come with me?" Monck asked, apparently unperturbed.

Behind the relative sanctity of their building, Monck sat heavily. "Would you like a drink?" He poured himself one without asking and downed it.

"I'd like an explanation." A fresh wave of..something..filled the air and Tom covered his mouth Again, Monck didn't seem bothered. "This is.....ridiculous!"

"Pardon?"

Tom opened the door, letting the cacophony of human suffering and excited vermin fill the room. "Explain this!"

The captain sighed, poured himself another drink. "It gets easier after awhile."

"I am very sorry if it does!" He could take the noise no longer and shut the door. "This is inhuman!"

"I know."

"Criminal! Obscene!"

Monck downed his second drink. "I know."

"Then why in hell don't you do something about it?" Heyward shot across the room and slapped the captain's drink away. It shattered on the thick outer wall.

"I wasn't done with that," he murmured, staring at the glass sadly.

"Answer me, God rot your eyes!" Tom grabbed his collar and shook him. "Why don't you stop it?"

"Because I can't!" Monck cried, almost a shriek.

Heyward pushed him into his chair and backed to the far wall.

"I can't." Was he crying? "I have eyes! I know what is going on well enough!"

"Why?" Tom whispered. Monck didn't hear him, so he asked louder.

"They tell me there's no food. They...the prisoners...are on half rations and we weren't feeding them enough to begin with. We're little better." Monck pat his own belly. He did look thin... "And there are so many more of them then we thought there'd be."

"You....but you could have them work the land if food's the problem." Tom looked around the cramped room for inspiration. "The land around here...it's not ideal, but..."

"Not enough guards. Mister Rutledge says he can't spare them. He also says I can't let any of the prisoners escape. This is the only way to keep them."

"I'd rather let them escape then treat them like this!"

Monck smiled slightly. "Mister Rutledge would disagree. He doesn't care what happens so long as they don't escape."

"To hell with Mister Rutledge!"

The captain's jaw dropped and he shook his head sharply. "I would keep that to yourself," he said. "What he says, the Patriot's League enacts. The Assembly doesn't even meet anymore."

"The Patriot's...?" What was he up to? "I will get you your supplies."

"I don't see how."

Tom grimaced. Nor do I.
 
If he doesn't wtahc himself, Heyward might find himself a guest of that prison, presumably simply for Black's amusement if not for anything else. The description of the place sounded horrible. A paradise to Black, of course.
 
Hmm, I seem to recall several descriptions of places like that.

British Indian Wars...
American civil war...
Boer war...
Second world war...

Either Black has been around, spreading ideas or he is taking the wrong things from all the wrong places...

The poem is not mine (I translated it from French, I admit to that)

it was written by a Hittite and preserved when their capital burned to the ground. Things have changed very little in 4000 years...

Great update btw! DW

Edit: And congrats on the Showcase!
 
Literally a concentration camp. Disgusting, but considering Black's pedigree, unsurprising. I'm hoping Heyward can make a difference, but I fail to see how. How can he, one man all by himself, and a fugitive for that, challenge Black and his nasty Patriot's League? Still, I am glad to see the fire burning inside Thomas. Hopefully he'll have brainwave soon and start to connect all these worrying developments to his original timeline. Maybe that way he'll realize it's not just good old Rutledge doing this, but that there's more going on.

As an aside, the name Monck sounds familiar... Wasn't there a general in England, roundabout Cromwell's time, who had the same moniker?
 
Stuyvesant said:
Hopefully he'll have brainwave soon and start to connect all these worrying developments to his original timeline. Maybe that way he'll realize it's not just good old Rutledge doing this, but that there's more going on.
Click to expand...

Unless Black missteps I don't see how Tom can put two and two together. And I agree I'm not sure what he is going to be able to do about it without help. Now where is he going to get that help from… John?
 
jwolf: I'm not sure how Spain got over there, though they seem to do that a lot in my games. I know fairly early they took out Norway, hence a foothold in Scandinavia. Poland fell to Prussia, that's why they're so big they're actually curling around into Austrian/Hungarian territory. That's one thing I'll give AGCEEP - usually one (or three) German states will survive and be strong enough to keep the Austrians out of their turf.

J. Passepartout: That's about right. As JWolf said: Tom's now (or about to) crossed the Rubicon.

coz1: Tom definitely needs to watch himself. He's going in half-cocked, and that won't do with Black.

Dead William: You're right, of course. Stuy's mistaken - this wasn't a concentration camp...at least not what I think of (World War II) when I hear that term. Specifically I 'borrowed' the prison's defenses, construction, and general treatment of prisoners from Andersonville, Georgia during the American Civil War. There are certainly other examples though, such as the British prison hulks off Manhattan during the War of Independence.

Of course, neither Georgia nor the Brits were acting out of malice.

And what showcase do you mean? You mean Fan of the Week? Thanks!

Stuyvesant: I'm honestly not sure about Monck, but I wouldn't be at all surprised if you were right. I was looking at a modern map of South Carolina for a likely place for the prison and saw "Monck's Corner." As for Tom, I don't think he's figured out exactly what's happening. Though he's getting closer.

Storey: It's clear Tom needs help. He's simply outgunned right now, and as others pointed out earlier he's gravely weakened himself by leaving his post.
 
-= 137 =-​

April 1784
South Carolina


"My God, Anne, I've never seen anything so horrible in my life!" Tom paced back and forth in her sitting room, literally wringing his hands. She stood to one side in her nightgown, red hair hastily shoved under a cap. Her clock claimed it was one in the morning. What kind of Christian called at this hour, and fresh from the road? She ignored the dirt as best she could, but the smell of horse this late at night didn't please her.

"Tom, you have to calm down."

"Calm down!?" He looked at Anne as if she was the one with wits astray. "I tell you what's happening in Branchville and you tell me to calm down?"

That, too, could have waited until morning. She gripped her arms. "Do you want a drink?"

"No! I need to think. I don't know what I'm going to tell that bastard, but..."

"First you're not to use that tone."

Tom flinched slightly, but kept pacing. "Fine, I don't know what I will tell the gentleman."

She shook her head rapidly. "You misunderstand. Don't you understand how much trouble you're in?"

He stopped pacing. "I'm in trouble?"

"You abandoned your post!" She indicated his grimy uniform. "If you go into Rutledge with this attitude he'll hang you!"

"I'd like to see him try. After I present evidence of what he's done..."

"To whom Tom? There's no one left!"

"That's just it!" He waved his arms at her. "This isn't a republic, it's a dictatorship! What is wrong with that man?" A helpful soldier at the fort protecting Charleston told him even the Patriot's League wasn't meeting anymore, having granted emergency powers for the 'duration of the crisis.' "Doesn't anyone realize what he's about?"

"And what is he about?" She shook her head again. "Tom, what have you on him? He's killing Indians. Yes, that's horrible, but there really is a food shortage."

"Caused by him!"

"You can't prove that. And there's still no one to tell even if you could! Put down your arms, sir! Thank you. Can't you see that if you confront him like this he just has to raise his finger to turn most of Carolina against you? Tom, you never should have left your army."

He gripped her arms. "Anne, if it's this dangerous then you need to leave Charleston. I have friends..."

She met his manic gaze. "I can't."

"You have to!"

"It's my home." Her eyes widened. "You're hurting me!"

Tom flinched as if struck and turned away, mumbling an apology. "I think I'd like that drink," he said softly.

Anne rubbed her arms and sighed, walked to a table and poured brandy from a glass decanter. She nearly dropped his glass at the thundering knock on her door.

"Tom!" she hissed. "Put that gun away! You are not going to have a fight in my house!" Anne pointed at a side door. "Go, I'll send them away."

Heyward nodded, but he didn't put his pistol away, nor uncock it.

The knock again, even louder. Whiting waited until he was gone and opened the door.

"Pardon for calling so late, but is General Heyward here?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but..."

"I'm right here, John." Tom stepped out and put his gun away.

Preston stepped past Anne and began to smile, but something in Tom's eyes stopped him. Or perhaps it was the pistol. "I was on watch and heard you were back. No one answered at your place so I thought to try here."

"It's very late, Colonel," Anne noted firmly.

"Still working for Mister Rutledge?" Tom demanded, staring at John's uniform: The blue and white of the American army with a white shoulder sash.

"I still command the Carolina Guard, if that's what you mean." Preston didn't care for his tone, but assumed he was interrupting a reunion so ignored it. "I wanted to see how you were and...well, talk."

"It's very late," Anne repeated, but Tom waved at her.

"Talk about what?"

"I..." Preston frowned at Anne, decided there was no help for it and turned back. "I realized I haven't always been your friend. I .... regret that."

Heyward's jaw dropped.

"I have a daughter," John added by way of explanation. Now he grinned. Tom continued to stare. "Ain't it grand?"

"Uh...of course it is." Tom coughed to buy himself a moment. "I...just come with a lot on my mind. You surprised me." He smiled, if a bit tightly, and he offered his hand. "That's wonderful!"

Anne cleared her throat to remind them her sitting room wasn't the place for a reunion.

Preston took the hint. "I will take my leave. Mrs. Whiting, your servant. Tom, come on by after you see Mister Rutledge tomorrow." He stopped as Heyward glared. "What!?"

"How did you know I plan to speak with Rutledge?"

John's brows arched. "Why wouldn't you? You still command the army don't you?" He looked at Whiting as she frowned and studied the floor. Back to Tom. "Don't you? My God, you didn't .... lose them did you?"

"The army's fine!" Tom snapped.

"Then you will need to tell Mister Rutledge of your progress," John reasoned. "I hope you have good news. We could use some."

"The food shortage?" Heyward asked acidly.

"That, and the seditious elements. I arrest all the ones I can, but they breed like flies!"

Heyward clenched his jaw. Perhaps the man he should be 'chatting' with stood in front of him. Time to find out. "Do you know about Branchville?"

John sighed at the challenge. How come every time he found Tom they ended up fighting? "We can discuss that tomorrow."

"We'll discuss it now!"

Preston met his gaze. "Not in front of the lady."

Tom pointed at her. "Anne already knows!"

"Well, that was dumb!"

"Gentlemen!" Anne stepped between them. "Colonel Preston, a good night to you!"

"We're butchering them! Why!?"

"Better them than us!"

"Gentlemen!"

John jerked upright and unclenched his jaw. "Pardon, Mrs. Whiting," he said from between clenched teeth. "Stop by if you can, Tom. It appears you've been out of touch."

"I..." Tom's face twisted as he swallowed the next several words and bowed stiffly. "Your servant."

Preston disappeared into the night. Heyward waited until he was gone, then punched the door frame so the wall shook.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," Anne said softly.

Tom glanced at her. "I'm sorry. He seems to bring out the worst in me. Him and that...." His face twisted again.

"Bastard?" She shook her head then smiled. "So long as you are calm tomorrow. You need to rest."

He slumped and sat down. "I can't. Every time I close my eyes I see the prison...and the battles...and Dieter."

"Who?" Anne sat next to him, wrapped an arm around his shoulder and waited as the tears began at last.

"I'm responsible," he whispered. "I'm responsible for all of it."

"You were doing your duty."

Tom looked up with red rimmed eyes and met her gaze. "That's no excuse."
 
Preston had not progressed in his thinking as much as I had thought. Still, perhaps he has progressed enough to be reasoned with. And also if his statement is accurate, no one yet realises what Heyward is there for, except for the ones he told.
 
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