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Resurrection: Rebirth of the United States

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I think Black is over playing his hand a tad bit here. People are going to begin to notice things... like the grass and tree dying off. That brings peoples superstitions to the fore, and once they start flying, no true amount of fast talking is going to be able to maintain Black's power base. Brute threats might, but that will only thin is power base in time as well. Shall be interesting to see how that plays out.

As for John and Exeter heading to Savannah... I think Black sending Exeter in was also a bad move. Better to have an "unfound" threat to use as a prod to get things done than to have a dead man's grave to point to, eh?


Could it be that these are the fault lines in Black's thinking that Cat alluded to before his big move to the west coast? :D
 
CatKnight said:
All: Wow! I'm hurt! No one noticed I doctored the Oregon flag. :) The back of the Oregon flag has a beaver on it, not a cow.
Click to expand...
I ignore irrelevancies. ;)

Looks like my fellow readers have already pointed out most of the juicy things. That grass dying off definitely should be raising suspicions.

Also, I liked the primitive forensics. A very nice discussion with Burgoyne, there.

Good work.
 
After pointing out the cow on Vermont's flag and learning it was the actual flag, I decided I had better be careful. I didn't want to risk making a fool of myself or upsetting any cowlovers. After all, what do I know about American state flags? I'm a fur'ner here, so glaring gaps in my general knowledge base remain. And, of course, I have to keep some goodwill going. It wouldn't do to upset anyone who could potentially get my green card yanked. :D

As to the story itself, I think Black is starting to lose control a little bit. Both over the general situation and, more importantly, over himself. As would be suggested by the dying grass and trees around Black: he seems unwilling or unable to focus/contain that deadly energy. For now, I think it's only a small symptom, but if it gets worse, Black's hold over the population might fail, as Draco suggested.
 
Finally came to the end of this beheomth, and, I must say, it makes for an incredible tale, CatKnight. Despite that, I still find myself joining in the general outcry for: More, more! :D

I must say that it would be quite ironic if it turned out that that willow tree in New York actually had a role to play in the story other than comic relief or an outlet for your arboricidal tendencies ;)

(EDIT: I just realized that in your last post thus far, you've done it again! The oak tree in Rutledge's yard!)

As I always say to AAR writers, keep it up! :)
 
*shows up, tabard torn, armor mauled, bleeding from an arm wound*

Wasn't quite sure where to post this, but Resurrection seemed like a good place.

I'M BACK!

Oregon (well...certain situations in Oregon) did a good job of sucking me away from AARland, but I'm still alive and well. I have missed you all tremendously. I'll restart 'Resurrection' (again) after a few messages from our sponsors.

* collapses into a chair, pours himself a drink *
 
Come listen, children, to a story that was written long ago.


-= 147 =-​

May 1784
Georgia


The faint musty odor in the air coupled with the slight pressure, as if someone threw a thick blanket over Colonel John Preston's shoulders, promised rain. The sky, grey in the failing light, was the bright spot in the otherwise dark forest. Behind him four men paced, their breath heavy after the long day's march through ninety degree (32 deg Celsius) heat.

"Shall we make camp, sir?" asked Corporal Castor for the fifth or sixth time. He fancied himself John's second, his adjutant when in fact nothing could be further from the truth. John hated how Castor's voice rose to a whine whenever he spoke, and frankly the man stank. Truth be told they all stank, in the fetid, humid swamp air it was impossible not to, but John didn't like the man's proximity.

"Not yet." John paused and raised his hand, a dark shape in the night's gloom.

"Then shall we at least light a..."

"Sh!" Preston wiped his forehead, then dried his hand on his breeches. John's voice dropped to a whisper as he indicated a flickering light. "There."

"That is a firefly," Castor offered helpfully.

"No!" John lowered his tone again. "Beyond that. The fire. That must be them. Craig, go check them out."

They were a small party of British regulars, strangely off course. When John led his force across the Savannah north of Fort Monroe, he hadn't expected to see a European face for weeks. Instead he'd nearly stumbled right into this patrol, no doubt looking for Cherokee incursions before they could cause trouble for the British settlements rising around the river and lowlands near the Atlantic. Private Craig, despite his impressive fourteen stones (200 lbs, 90 kg), could slip into the night better than anyone then advance, silent as a cat.

Crickets chirped from every direction and something rustled near someone's foot, who jumped and whispered a dark oath. Then the rain began at last, a gentle whisper as it struck the leaves overhead and the British fire flickered like a living entity. Finally Craig returned, water dripping from his huge, red face.

"'Tis them, sir. Their captain (Craig felt anyone in command was a captain, hang the truth) is still nursin; his arm."

Preston nodded. Since their 'captain's' injury they'd moved steadily, presumably towards Monroe, Brunswick or Savannah. Why bumble about the forest like clowns when the Brits would guide them in?

"Fine. We'll withdraw a hundred yards and settle in. They have to get home eventually."
--------------------

Anne Whiting woke with a jerk. The sea breeze, cool with a hint of salt, drifted through the open window granting some small relief to the oppressive night. She'd been dreaming, though she couldn't remember about what and was left with a vague sense of doom. She shuddered and adjusted her gown about her shoulders while looking about. It was still Thomas' room at the hospital alas: Though physically he was as well as could be expected, burns healing with little scarring, his wits were still astray. Anne wished he would stop speaking about the end of the world with such conviction, such a fierce, almost black gaze. Occasionally he still suggested they marry, but how could she accept the proposal of a man so obviously beside himself? For her part she was inclined to accept his protection, but it would be monstrous to bind him to such an offer until he was well and could be sure of what he wanted.

Whiting turned towards his bed and was surprised to find it empty. She looked about quickly, trying to make out details in the darkened room. Yes, there he was, standing by the window staring at the night, a black shadow against the dark grey sky.

"You should be resting," he said abruptly without turning.

"As should you." Whiting rose and stepped over, bare feet padding softly on the wood floor. She didn't like it when he forgot to sleep. Lately it led to the darkest moods.

"John's coming," Tom said. He didn't know how he knew, but he was as certain about that as the sun rising tomorrow.

"I know."

Heyward turned, surprised. She smiled slightly, though in the darkness it was hard to see. "Mister Kelleher told me this morning. He was spotted near Fort Monroe with a small gang of Guardsmen."

"Good." Tom resumed his vigil, staring at the outline of Savannah on the horizon. "I want to see him."

"He means to arrest you, Thomas! If not kill you outright!"

"He won't kill me." Tom lowered his gaze to the windowsill. "And we need to know what ... Rutledge is up to."

Anne shook her head, frustrated. If Rutledge was such a problem why didn't he just leave? No, he wanted to go back! Though, she reflected, she'd be reluctant to abandon Carolina as well. "Thomas, we can't let John find you!"

"We must,"

"Why!?" she demanded. "Why must we? How many times does Colonel Preston need to argue, interfere and outright stab you before you realize he is not your friend!?"

Heyward drew back, startled by her intensity. "He...was my ward," he began.

"And now he's your enemy!"

"I don't think he is," Tom replied softly.
----------------------

"With respect, madam, General Heyward is my lawful prize." Woman or not, it took all the control Malcolm Kelleher could muster not to lunge across the desk. He was flushed with fury, the early morning sun already making beads of sweat drip from under his wig. Kelleher glowered at the representative, who merely sniffed in reply.

"You are superseded." She drew a silk handkerchief, laced of course and pat her nose. "The prisoner will be taken aboard my ship at four o'clock."

"He is not a prisoner," Kelleher growled. "And you do not have the authority..."

"The guest then." She was a thin woman, pretty with curly blond hair and smelled of lilacs. The gaze she leveled as she leaned forward was positively deadly however. "And I have every right. General Heyward is to be the guest of the Governor-General of Canada, there to assist us with operations against the Americans."

"General Heyward will never agree to help."

"He will, sir. You know as well as I that a man may be induced to provide intelligence. Nothing damning at first however, but an inch at a time until he realizes his head is in the noose and he has been well and truly turned."

"Miss Foster, the man came to use for assistance. It is uncommon churlish of..."

"I am not one to be instructed on behavior," she replied sharply. "And anyway we have rendered assistance, And will continue to do so. For a price. Do not deceive me into thinking you had not planned the same thing."

Kelleher's eyes glittered. Certainly he planned to pump the general for information, especially if he claim about an overly hostile, unified Carolina proved accurate, but he knew Anne Foster hoped to overthrow the republic as a whole. She'd already infiltrated their Congress... "Governor-General Burgoyne will not agree to this."

"Governor-General Burgoyne has no say," Foster replied evenly. "I am the King's Emissary."
 
My memory fails me, so please be kind and tell me, is that Anne Foster the same woman who sent.. err... that British captain to infiltrate Congress? She seems to be the spiritual successor to Elizabeth, or perhaps a predecessor to Margaret Thatcher. If her plan truly is to overthrow the Republic (and then what? Occupation of all the colonies by the British?), then she is indeed aiding Black's evil schemes, no matter what her own designs are.

I hope Preston will find Heyward before the latter is shipped off the Canada: I don't think I want Johnnyboy to have to make another trip that far up north, it doesn't seem to do him any good.

Very glad to see you back on the Forum, CatKnight. And how pleasant to see you return with a bang, with updates for both of your AARs!
 
I said it before, but I'll say it again - great to see you back writing this and back on the forums CatKnight! And it is a testament of your writing that getting back into this story is as easy as could be - the characters are still quite fresh in my mind and the circumstance still up in the air but familiar.

Seems Heyward has progressed somewhat in his recovery which is good. And Preston is close...and not an enemy of Thomas as is suspected. But this Foster woman. Shall we call it a monkey-wrench? Sounds rather appropriate. ;)
 
I just found this monster of an AAR yesterday and sat at my computer into the wee hours of the morning reading it. WOW.

I particularly like the borrowing of Congress personalities from the play 1776... although there seems to be a general lack of founding fathers in the story so far. Might Hamilton, Franklin, and others rise to prominence when everybody finally figures out that the Articles of Confederation aren't worth the parchment they're written on?

Is the US going to get a little jump start on the Industrial Revolution soon? Tom has to have at least a little knowledge of machinery like steam engines, right? If he doesn't become an important industrialist, the only other alternative seems like (dare I say it) politics. :eek:

Only 2 major complaints: I expect updates every hour on the hour! :mad: Somehow, I don't think that will happen though... :(

And I felt sure Mr. Black would turn out to be a communist sent by Uncle Joe to ensure that the Nazis and the West would make each other glow in the dark so Mother Russia could pick up the pieces... but then he turned out just to be a fallen angel.
 
Vann the Red: Thanks for reading! I'd say things are turning darker, but if they do get darker no one will be able to see. :)

J. Passepartout: Oh definitely don't trust her. DEFINITELY don't trust her.

Stuyvesant: Very good! (I spent a good half hour that night trying to find her name.) You're right: Anne Foster's the one who sent John Andre/Jonathan Andrews into Congress and won't let him leave. As for John...hmm, he only had trouble up north once. We HAVE to get him out of Georgia - his track record down there is horrible.

coz1: Thanks, and I'm glad it was easy for you! I had a hazy recollection of where I wanted this chapter to go...it actually didn't involve Foster at all. I had quite another plan. I suppose I should be happy my characters still have lives of their own.

It hasn't been as easy for me - only because my records are mostly by memory now and I forgot what a whole slew of my characters were up to. I spent last night plotting out the next several chapters, rereading to find out where everyone I can remember is, and what they want to accomplish.

When I first popped back here I wasn't so confident I could restart this behemoth. Thanks (to everyone) for making it so easy.

dublish: Hi dublish and welcome! We're drifting a little late for the 'founding fathers' but I'll see what I can arrange. You're right about one thing: The Articles are near worthless, as the constant haggling in Congress tries to show. If anything I'm being far too gentle with them - I can't see how anyone got anything down with those Articles.

I've considered whether Tom might push the American tech level at all. We've already seen his old nemesis, Stewart, introduce the breech-loading rifle. Black of course isn't at all worried about pushing the country too hard, too fast so long as he wins. It might depend on how badly Tom decides he needs to win this. Nothing major though - we're not going to see tanks for example. It'd be too hard to explain how Tom knows enough about internal combustion engines to design one, and where to drill for oil, and how to refine it into gasoline, and...and...

Black: If I had to do it over again, I'd probably treat him much differently. It's been too long for me to remember my original reasoning, though I think I did discuss it a long time ago, but long story short at the time a supernatural entity explained how everyone could jump through the timeline nicely. If I had to do it over again...I'm not sure. "Serious" alt history doesn't really allow for supernatural entities, but it doesn't have much to say about time travel either. (One of the few grudges I have against Harry Turtledove is importing AK-47s for the South during the Civil War.) Your Communist idea is a good one, though again now we're still figuring out where Uncle Joe AND Tom got this kind of tech.

Well, regardless Black's who he is. In a way I like him because you're never quite sure what stunt he's going to pull out of his bag of tricks next - and if things go as my hazy imagination things they might he's not done messing around. There's an old line, which I tend to buy, that a hero rises to the challenge in direct proportion to how determined the villian is. Tom has his work cut out for him!
 
-= 148 =-​

May 1784
Georgia


Adam Bristol, Commander of His Majesty's Brig "Reliance", frowned as he climbed up the man ropes onto his ship, up the larboard side to avoid ceremony. High tide was in two hours, and he planned to sail. Most of his crew, tired, debauched or drunk from the week's shore leave, had stumbled back aboard and he made a point of ignoring what he wasn't supposed to see, such as a valued foretopman lurch out of his way or one of the local women peeking at him from behind a coiled rope. Supplies ran aboard as quickly as boats pushing from the vitiating wharf and tiny shipyard could row, but he could sense tension in the air, confusion if not dread on the faces of good men who'd faced down nor'easters and even a ridiculously persistent tropical storm that chased him from Cape Hatteras to Cape Verde.

"Mister Marshal." Bristol spoke in a voice trained to carry over said tropical storm, and his lieutenant jumped. Pale. Nervous. Was he ill? God help him if he'd been drinking also.

Marshal picked his way through a work crew to his captain and removed his hat, flushing at his stern gaze. "Sir!"

"Is all well?" Bristol asked ominously, searching his face.

"Prime! That is to say, sir, there is a woman in your cabin."

The captain looked around sternly for signs of knowing grins on his sailors. None. He thought it a well guarded secret, but most of his crew were perfectly aware Bristol didn't care for 'the fair.'

"Sir, she...requests your company in the strongest possible terms."

"She does, does she?" Bristol's face clouded, his gaze narrowed. "Did you inform her we were setting sail?"

"Aye, sir. She said...well, she believes you should see her." Marshal flushed again.

Adam's lip curled slightly. "Does she now? Very well, I will return shortly." He stalked towards his cabin.

"Captain's caught a tartar this time," an old sailor winked to his companion.

"Stow your gob!" Marshal cried, indignant.

In the cabin, cramped by anyone's standard - the landsman who designed Reliance's stern had odd ideas concerning the height of a man - Anne Foster sat thumbing through the ship's log. Whoever the ship's clerk was a fool. He spoke earnestly of each tiny ship's movement, but almost nothing of the personnel or commander, and everything depended on them.

Foster was a hard woman. She had no choice: Being raised at St. Giles Rookery, one of a family of nine living in an attic next to pederasts, rapists, murderers, with no money for food or clothing let alone a doctor against the constant coughing sicknesses so common there, you learned to be hard and cold, or you died. It was only providence that saved her from such an inauspicious start, catching the eye of a Marine who used her horribly but at least put her in touch with Mister Foster. Her husband was connected with intelligence and she quickly learned the trade - there were so many things a woman could do with a little discretion that a man could not, and no one ever suspected her until it was far too late.

She heard someone rush down the stairs, rose and curtsied to the hunched over, clearly displeased man with the gold epaulette. "Captain Bristol? I am Mrs. Foster."

"A pleasure," Bristol lied. He bowed civilly then stood, crouched under a beam waiting for her to sit.

"I am sure you are pressed for time," Foster commented, making no move for her chair. "I will be brief. You have new orders - we are going to Halifax."

"My orders are to patrol these waters, ma'am," Bristol replied firmly. "I believe there is a passenger transport leaving on the ninth that will be far more suitable for the lady. My orders do not permit it!" he snapped as she opened her mouth to reply.

"You think this a pleasure cruise, captain?" Anne replied, arching her eyebrow. "<i>Here</i> are your orders, sir!" She passed him a sheaf of papers. As he scanned them she continued. "You serve at the king's pleasure, Captain, not your own, nor Whitehall's."

"I am sworn to the chain of command, ma'am, and my orders are given by the admiralty."

"Perhaps you should read those again, Captain. I will summarize for you: They identify me as answerable only to His Majesty. They direct all loyal to His Majesty - you do drink the toast I assume? - to render all assistance I require. While I am certain your orders are quite exciting, Captain," she smiled coldly, "I must say my orders from His Majesty take precedence. Now if you choose to contest that, the admiral of the North American station is also in Halifax and you can ask him yourself."

Bristol frowned at the papers. They appeared to be in order, but in truth how would he know for sure? "This is highly irregular, ma'am."

"These are highly irregular times, Captain. I only wish to know if you plan to obey."

"I shall have to consult with my officers."

"Why?" she demanded. Finally she sat, folding her arms under her breasts and staring at him. "Do you run your ship as a democracy?"

"Of course not!"

"It would be a shame if I had to investigate just who you bring into this cabin to consult on decisions," Foster's smile was back, cold and unpleasant.

"I do not know what you are implying," Bristol began softly, his fists clenched. "If this is an attempt at intimidation, then you will find..."

"Intimidation?" Foster jerked back, as if the thought never occurred to her. She laughed, a gentle sound, discordant in such tension. "Captain, how can I be intimidating you if there's nothing to find? I merely wish to be assured you have no republican leanings."

"I do not," he snarled

"Then..." She indicated her papers.
-----------

"General Heyward? I am Captain Bristol. It is a pleasure to meet you." In Marshal's cabin he rose and shook his guest's hand. Foster had taken over his own cabin as another guest. "Pray sit, just push that chest over. I apologize for receiving you this way, very little room in a brig you understand."

Tom frowned at his host. Forties, thin, greying hair tied in a pony tail. A hard face, obviously nervous. He sat heavily, he still tired easily. "Forgive my abruptness Captain, I am still somewhat ill as you may know. Why am I here?"

Bristol frowned in reply. No one told him? By God, were they kidnapping him!? He studied his guest by the dim lantern hanging on the door by his head. Pale, gaunt. "You are to be our guest in Halifax, I understand, Miss Foster feels the cooler air will help revive you, and that there we may be able to help you further."

Foster. Tom had a hazy recollection of a curly haired woman asking after him. She didn't seem overly concerned with his well being. "I was being helped in Georgia, sir."

"That is true," Bristol agreed.

"And I notice Mrs. Whiting did not come with us."

"Who?" His brows furrowed in confusion.

"Captain, there is no need for a ruse," Tom snapped. His stomach, now used to the watery pap that passed for food in his hospital, recoiled "Unless I'm mistaken this pitching means we're already leaving port. Am I a prisoner?"

"As for that," the captain frowned at him. Foster wanted him locked in the hold. Bristol thought that was taking discourtesy a few steps too far, especially with the American war long over. "As far as I'm concerned you're our guest. So long as you don't break hospitality, I see no need to change that."

"Break hospitality how?" Tom pressed.

"Oh you know - sabotage, attempting to run..."

"We're at sea, Captain. Where am I to go?"

Bristol smiled wryly. "I think we understand each other then. I hope you will dine with me later?"

"I would be honored." Yes, Captain. I understand you perfectly.
 
I would be interested to discover that those papers our good woman has from the king are forged, but it sadly appears she is legitimately an agent of the king. Now, as to whether His Majesty's Government has desired what is happenning, or if some original order is being abused.
 
That happened very quickly. All of a sudden, Heyward is at sea, cut off from Whiting, out of the clutches of Kelleher, away from Preston's possible help... Straight into the hands of Anne Foster, an unknown (but thoroughly bad) quantity. I had expected more resistance from Heyward, perhaps a last-minute attempt to save/apprehend him by Preston... I was expecting some drama! At least some light, some hope, before Heyward was abducted.

Instead, it has all happened with a whimper instead of a bang. Heyward's on his way to Halifax, Preston, his chums and Anne Whiting are adrift and Black gets precious time to prepare his next moves.

This doesn't look very good. Taking your remark to heart that if things get any darker, no-one will be able to see, I wonder if we somehow went so far into the darkness, that we're coming out on the other side, somehow descending into negative darkness? A deeper darkness than conventional darkness allows for? No longer the mere absence of light, but the presence of something much more evil? Nah, we passed that stage a long time ago already.

I will have to have hope. If Heyward's fate can change so quickly for the worse, perhaps it can equally quickly veer back to the better.

Glad to hear that you are willing to continue this story. By now, I've invested so much time into the reading of it*, that I REALLY want to see it through to its conclusion. When, hopefully, things will finally end on a happier note.

*Of course, considering I feel I've spent a lot of time READING, I can't even imagine (or, more precisely, I don't WANT to imagine) how much time it has taken you to think it all up, plot it all out and then write it all down. Many kudos for your past, present and future efforts.

PS: Just realized you recently had your birthday. Since you were absent on the day itself, I assume it'll be okay to wish you a happy (belated) birthday now. Congratulations, sir, hope you had a fine day. :)
 
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One wonders if Heyward might not actually join with Foster to bring down Black. There would be some irony in the fact that he is back fighting for Great Britain. And the chance to place Heyward and Preston on opposing sides during a fight is surely tempting to see what might happen.
 
I go away for a couple of days and am honored to come back to the rebirth of Resurrection! Oh the joy of find such outstanding posts to mark the return! I dunno where RL took you away to Cat, but it surely didn't take anything away from your writing!

Can't wait to see where our heroes end up next!
 
That's not good for Heyward...but at least it is taking him further from Black's reaches. Great to see this AAR back, CatKnight. :)
 
Great to have you back Cat! And great to see an update or three in the time I've been gone.

As for Mrs. Foster...I don't know...we still haven't really gotten any insight into her agenda or where she takes her orders from. Things do seem ominous but I have a feeling that Tom is a lot harder to break or cajole than she might think. He has been through a lot after all, and now he has a much better idea of the real forces that are at work.

At any rate, it shall be very interesting to see what happens.
 
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