ReUNION: What if the Civil War had never happened? (6 page)
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Authors: Harvey Ardman
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Garcia put his hands together, almost in prayer. "Is he
positive
—or
just guessing?"
"He says he's 99% sure. I've ordered him to confirm his suspicions."
"Tell him how important it is that we know for sure," Garcia
instructed. "Tell him that if Bourque doesn't die,
he
will. And
very painfully. Frighten him."
Herrera smiled. "Consider it done."
"If this is true, Hector," Garcia reflected, "it may change
everything
."
"I understand."
"It may even alter the past."
They sat there, lost in thought, contemplating the enormity of what they had
just learned, how it might change their fate and the course of the world.
El Presidente
Garcia touched a button on his intercom.
"Rosalita, tell General Espinosa I would like to see him
immediately."
Fifteen minutes later, in walked General Carlos Espinosa, chief of staff of the
Mexican armed forces, a large man in all respects. Even on a cool day, when he
was at rest and calm, Espinosa tended to sweat a lot. Today, being rather warm,
and since he'd been summoned without explanation, and had to race to comply,
his green dress uniform was dark with sweat and his broad upper lip was
dripping.
"Come in, General Espinosa," Garcia instructed. "Have a
seat."
Espinosa obeyed warily, and nodded at Hererra.
The two men told him the news and he immediately grasped its implications.
"This man's death may also be a mortal blow to the Confederacy. He's been
holding it together with his bare hands for years, and there is no one to
succeed him."
"Exactly so," said
Presidente
Garcia. He handed Espinosa a
perfectly-folded snow-white handkerchief and fluttered his fingers near his
lips. Espinosa wiped himself and offered to return it, but Garcia declined.
"We may have an exceptional opportunity," Hererra said.
"But the window may be brief," Garcia said. "The
Norteamericanos
may also see this as an opportunity."
"That is true," said Hererra. "Especially if we do not move
quickly."
"This is why you have summoned me,
Presidente
?" Espinosa asked
cautiously.
"Yes," said Garcia. "I want to know if you've completed the
invasion plans I ordered you to draw up when I promoted you. And I want to know
how long it will take you to set them in motion."
El Presidente
and his intelligence chief looked expectantly at Espinosa,
who was forced once more to wipe his upper lip.
"I do have a plan,
Presidente
," said General Espinosa.
"It is an excellent plan. Of course, I am not prepared to present it at
this moment—all of the maps and diagrams are in locked filing cabinets in my
office..."
"No matter," Garcia said, "I do not need to see the exact
details, at least not now. But I would like you to give us an overall picture
of what you have in mind. Use my wall maps."
Espinosa wiped his upper lip. "As you wish,
Presidente
." He
made his way to the roll-up maps hanging from the office's south wall, found
one marked
Confederate States of America
and pulled it down. Suddenly,
the pull-down bar slipped out of his sweaty hand and the map re-rolled itself
with a resounding thwack. Espinosa wiped his hands on his pants and tried
again, this time with success. He looked back at Garcia and Hererra and smiled
nervously.
"Now here," Espinosa said, sweeping a hand down the border between
Texas, on the one hand, and Arkansas and Louisiana on the other, "now
here, we have the Confederacy's primary fortifications, an impenetrable line of
pillboxes and thousands of artillery pieces and anti-aircraft guns."
"I hope you're not suggesting a direct attack," Garcia said.
"No,
Presidente
, of course not," General Espinosa explained.
"If we massed our forces and our mechanized units, I think we could break
through the Bourque line—excuse me. But the casualties would be
unacceptable."
"We have all assumed that for many years," Hererra said dryly.
"And correctly," Espinosa said. "And down here, we have the port of New Orleans. As we know, a naval attack
on New Orleans
is, at best, problematic."
"What makes you say that?" Garcia asked. His voice was toneless.
Espinosa now realized his mistake. "Well, history shows us..."
"Shows us what?"
"I mean, when we tried..."
Garcia gazed at the man. "Let me ask you a question, General Espinosa. Do
you think that what happened at New
Orleans has—how shall I put it?—slipped my mind?"
The sweat rolled off Espinosa's lip and he dabbed at it ineffectively.
"No, of course not," he said. "We all remember the great courage
you showed in the face of impossible odds."
El Presidente
, who knew when he was being worked, decided to let the man
off the hook. He smiled slightly. "So, General, does your plan
consist of telling us what we cannot do?"
"No, your Excellency, of course not. What I'm saying is that my plan
avoids these Confederate strong points. Instead, we shall stage amphibious
landings at four separate locations—first Panama City,
then Pensacola, then Mobile
and finally Gulfport."
"In that order?" Hererra asked.
"Yes—but four hours apart. The first three are feints. Our real objective
will be Gulfport."
"Interesting," said Garcia. "Why the feints?"
"To draw Confederate troops east, away from the Bourque line, and also to
force them to rush reinforcements from the population centers on Eastern
seaboard."
"Ah, I see," Garcia said. "But you said your real objective was Gulfport. What did you
mean?"
Espinosa turned back to the map. He put a finger on Gulfport, then traced a line north, than
west. "From Gulfport, we will advance to
the north and west, and cut New
Orleans off from the rest of the Confederacy."
"Nothing naval?" Garcia asked.
"Well, we might send a naval force from Port Arthur, but I don't think it will be
necessary."
"Why not?" Asked Hererra. "The Confederacy's forces won't be
strong enough to handle the attack from Gulfport?"
Espinosa smiled. "They'll have something else to worry about. A day after
we attack the Gulf coast, we'll stage amphibious landings on the Atlantic coast
as well. They won't know what to protect. And they won't be able to get
European help, since they won't control their own ports."
Garcia considered the plan thoughtfully. "I like your basic idea,
General, but there is another way to do it."
"I am always most grateful for your suggestions," Espinosa said, much
relieved.
Garcia went to the map. "I'm thinking we could simply reverse the order of
the attacks—hit the Atlantic coast first, get them moving their forces east,
then, just before they get there, hit the Gulf coast with everything we
have."
"Yes," Espinosa said, excited, "that would work perfectly. The
whole idea is to get them running from east to west, while we close the pincers
around New Orleans.
When they send forces to lift the siege, we capture all the population centers
on the East Coast. Game over. And before the NAU knows what's happening."
Garcia turned to Hererra. "What do you think, Hector?"
"I am..." He paused, trying for the right word, "I am
intrigued," he said.
Espinosa beamed. He waited for a compliment from Garcia.
Instead, he got a question. "If I gave you the green light today,"
said
Presidente
Garcia, " How long will it take to assemble, train
and equip the invasion force? How soon could we strike?"
Espinosa's face took on a cunning expression and the wheels inside his head
began spinning in high gear. "Well," he said, "that's a
complicated question. Since, um, New
Orleans, our forces have been in a defensive
posture—as you ordered. We've fortified our coastlines and built anti-aircraft
batteries around all of our major cities. Our entire army is committed to
manning these defenses."
"I am aware of this," Garcia said.
"What about the navy?" Hererra asked.
"I have strictly obeyed
El Presidente's
orders," Espinosa
said. "After New Orleans,
we decommissioned our ageing warships and concentrated on building up the Coast
Guard—new torpedo boats, anti-submarine vessels, fast cruisers for coastal
defense."
Hererra shot Espinosa a contemptuous look. "You fear a Confederate
submarine attack?"
"I follow orders," said Espinosa.
"We're off the subject now," Garcia said. "How soon can we be
ready to attack the CSA?"
Espinosa went into calculation mode again. "We have to build a fleet of
landing craft," he said. "We need at least 400. Right now, we have
just two."
"We will mass-produce them," Garcia said.
Espinosa thought a moment. "We will need at least 100,000 men well-trained
in assault tactics. We barely have enough instructors to train them."
"We will quadruple our recruitment program and double enlistment
bonuses," Garcia said. "We will intensify training..."
Hererra regarded
El Presidente
with interest. "You've already made
a decision?"
Garcia stopped in mid-sentence. Then he smiled. "I believe I have, Hector.
In fact, I
know
I have. Are you with me?"
"Miguel, you needn't even ask the question."
"I know, I know," Garcia said. "You have never failed me
Hector."
"And that is because you have never failed me," Hererra said.
Espinosa tried not to listen to the friendly banter.
"General Espinosa," Garcia said, turning back to him, "when can you
be ready?
"Maybe a better question is, how long will Bourque live?" Hererra
said.
"Finding that out is
your
job," said Garcia. "And the
sooner you do, the better."
"Agreed."
Presidente
Garcia once more turned to General Espinosa.
"When?" he asked, with just a trace of annoyance.
"Six months at the earliest—
if
we make an intense, all-out
effort."
"And if I ordered you to do it in four?"
"Then I would be two months late."
Garcia spun around again, and gazed out toward the volcano. A thin dribble of
black smoke meandered into the stratosphere. After a few moments,
El
Presidente
swiveled around once more. "The timing might be just
right," he told Hererra.
"That's a good possibility," Hererra agreed, "If he's seriously
ill now, he's going to be really sick in six months, should he live that
long."
"Maybe he'll be in the hospital, or in a coma," Garcia mused. Then he
had another thought. "But wait. When he dies, someone will take his place,
or try to. Who?"
Hererra contemplated the question. "Well, there's the Vice President,
Kooter Barnes. He's first in the order of succession."
Garcia grinned. "Bourque's sidekick? Isn't he mostly deaf? Anyhow,
he couldn't even govern a Boy Scout troop. And everyone knows it. I doubt he'd
even take the job."
"You're probably right," Hererra agreed. "The next guy in line
would be their House Speaker, Isaac Honaker."
"Honaker…didn't he just have a heart attack? Or was it a stroke?"
"A stroke. He's hanging on by a thread."
"I don't think we have to worry about him," Garcia said.
positive
—or
just guessing?"
"He says he's 99% sure. I've ordered him to confirm his suspicions."
"Tell him how important it is that we know for sure," Garcia
instructed. "Tell him that if Bourque doesn't die,
he
will. And
very painfully. Frighten him."
Herrera smiled. "Consider it done."
"If this is true, Hector," Garcia reflected, "it may change
everything
."
"I understand."
"It may even alter the past."
They sat there, lost in thought, contemplating the enormity of what they had
just learned, how it might change their fate and the course of the world.
El Presidente
Garcia touched a button on his intercom.
"Rosalita, tell General Espinosa I would like to see him
immediately."
Fifteen minutes later, in walked General Carlos Espinosa, chief of staff of the
Mexican armed forces, a large man in all respects. Even on a cool day, when he
was at rest and calm, Espinosa tended to sweat a lot. Today, being rather warm,
and since he'd been summoned without explanation, and had to race to comply,
his green dress uniform was dark with sweat and his broad upper lip was
dripping.
"Come in, General Espinosa," Garcia instructed. "Have a
seat."
Espinosa obeyed warily, and nodded at Hererra.
The two men told him the news and he immediately grasped its implications.
"This man's death may also be a mortal blow to the Confederacy. He's been
holding it together with his bare hands for years, and there is no one to
succeed him."
"Exactly so," said
Presidente
Garcia. He handed Espinosa a
perfectly-folded snow-white handkerchief and fluttered his fingers near his
lips. Espinosa wiped himself and offered to return it, but Garcia declined.
"We may have an exceptional opportunity," Hererra said.
"But the window may be brief," Garcia said. "The
Norteamericanos
may also see this as an opportunity."
"That is true," said Hererra. "Especially if we do not move
quickly."
"This is why you have summoned me,
Presidente
?" Espinosa asked
cautiously.
"Yes," said Garcia. "I want to know if you've completed the
invasion plans I ordered you to draw up when I promoted you. And I want to know
how long it will take you to set them in motion."
El Presidente
and his intelligence chief looked expectantly at Espinosa,
who was forced once more to wipe his upper lip.
"I do have a plan,
Presidente
," said General Espinosa.
"It is an excellent plan. Of course, I am not prepared to present it at
this moment—all of the maps and diagrams are in locked filing cabinets in my
office..."
"No matter," Garcia said, "I do not need to see the exact
details, at least not now. But I would like you to give us an overall picture
of what you have in mind. Use my wall maps."
Espinosa wiped his upper lip. "As you wish,
Presidente
." He
made his way to the roll-up maps hanging from the office's south wall, found
one marked
Confederate States of America
and pulled it down. Suddenly,
the pull-down bar slipped out of his sweaty hand and the map re-rolled itself
with a resounding thwack. Espinosa wiped his hands on his pants and tried
again, this time with success. He looked back at Garcia and Hererra and smiled
nervously.
"Now here," Espinosa said, sweeping a hand down the border between
Texas, on the one hand, and Arkansas and Louisiana on the other, "now
here, we have the Confederacy's primary fortifications, an impenetrable line of
pillboxes and thousands of artillery pieces and anti-aircraft guns."
"I hope you're not suggesting a direct attack," Garcia said.
"No,
Presidente
, of course not," General Espinosa explained.
"If we massed our forces and our mechanized units, I think we could break
through the Bourque line—excuse me. But the casualties would be
unacceptable."
"We have all assumed that for many years," Hererra said dryly.
"And correctly," Espinosa said. "And down here, we have the port of New Orleans. As we know, a naval attack
on New Orleans
is, at best, problematic."
"What makes you say that?" Garcia asked. His voice was toneless.
Espinosa now realized his mistake. "Well, history shows us..."
"Shows us what?"
"I mean, when we tried..."
Garcia gazed at the man. "Let me ask you a question, General Espinosa. Do
you think that what happened at New
Orleans has—how shall I put it?—slipped my mind?"
The sweat rolled off Espinosa's lip and he dabbed at it ineffectively.
"No, of course not," he said. "We all remember the great courage
you showed in the face of impossible odds."
El Presidente
, who knew when he was being worked, decided to let the man
off the hook. He smiled slightly. "So, General, does your plan
consist of telling us what we cannot do?"
"No, your Excellency, of course not. What I'm saying is that my plan
avoids these Confederate strong points. Instead, we shall stage amphibious
landings at four separate locations—first Panama City,
then Pensacola, then Mobile
and finally Gulfport."
"In that order?" Hererra asked.
"Yes—but four hours apart. The first three are feints. Our real objective
will be Gulfport."
"Interesting," said Garcia. "Why the feints?"
"To draw Confederate troops east, away from the Bourque line, and also to
force them to rush reinforcements from the population centers on Eastern
seaboard."
"Ah, I see," Garcia said. "But you said your real objective was Gulfport. What did you
mean?"
Espinosa turned back to the map. He put a finger on Gulfport, then traced a line north, than
west. "From Gulfport, we will advance to
the north and west, and cut New
Orleans off from the rest of the Confederacy."
"Nothing naval?" Garcia asked.
"Well, we might send a naval force from Port Arthur, but I don't think it will be
necessary."
"Why not?" Asked Hererra. "The Confederacy's forces won't be
strong enough to handle the attack from Gulfport?"
Espinosa smiled. "They'll have something else to worry about. A day after
we attack the Gulf coast, we'll stage amphibious landings on the Atlantic coast
as well. They won't know what to protect. And they won't be able to get
European help, since they won't control their own ports."
Garcia considered the plan thoughtfully. "I like your basic idea,
General, but there is another way to do it."
"I am always most grateful for your suggestions," Espinosa said, much
relieved.
Garcia went to the map. "I'm thinking we could simply reverse the order of
the attacks—hit the Atlantic coast first, get them moving their forces east,
then, just before they get there, hit the Gulf coast with everything we
have."
"Yes," Espinosa said, excited, "that would work perfectly. The
whole idea is to get them running from east to west, while we close the pincers
around New Orleans.
When they send forces to lift the siege, we capture all the population centers
on the East Coast. Game over. And before the NAU knows what's happening."
Garcia turned to Hererra. "What do you think, Hector?"
"I am..." He paused, trying for the right word, "I am
intrigued," he said.
Espinosa beamed. He waited for a compliment from Garcia.
Instead, he got a question. "If I gave you the green light today,"
said
Presidente
Garcia, " How long will it take to assemble, train
and equip the invasion force? How soon could we strike?"
Espinosa's face took on a cunning expression and the wheels inside his head
began spinning in high gear. "Well," he said, "that's a
complicated question. Since, um, New
Orleans, our forces have been in a defensive
posture—as you ordered. We've fortified our coastlines and built anti-aircraft
batteries around all of our major cities. Our entire army is committed to
manning these defenses."
"I am aware of this," Garcia said.
"What about the navy?" Hererra asked.
"I have strictly obeyed
El Presidente's
orders," Espinosa
said. "After New Orleans,
we decommissioned our ageing warships and concentrated on building up the Coast
Guard—new torpedo boats, anti-submarine vessels, fast cruisers for coastal
defense."
Hererra shot Espinosa a contemptuous look. "You fear a Confederate
submarine attack?"
"I follow orders," said Espinosa.
"We're off the subject now," Garcia said. "How soon can we be
ready to attack the CSA?"
Espinosa went into calculation mode again. "We have to build a fleet of
landing craft," he said. "We need at least 400. Right now, we have
just two."
"We will mass-produce them," Garcia said.
Espinosa thought a moment. "We will need at least 100,000 men well-trained
in assault tactics. We barely have enough instructors to train them."
"We will quadruple our recruitment program and double enlistment
bonuses," Garcia said. "We will intensify training..."
Hererra regarded
El Presidente
with interest. "You've already made
a decision?"
Garcia stopped in mid-sentence. Then he smiled. "I believe I have, Hector.
In fact, I
know
I have. Are you with me?"
"Miguel, you needn't even ask the question."
"I know, I know," Garcia said. "You have never failed me
Hector."
"And that is because you have never failed me," Hererra said.
Espinosa tried not to listen to the friendly banter.
"General Espinosa," Garcia said, turning back to him, "when can you
be ready?
"Maybe a better question is, how long will Bourque live?" Hererra
said.
"Finding that out is
your
job," said Garcia. "And the
sooner you do, the better."
"Agreed."
Presidente
Garcia once more turned to General Espinosa.
"When?" he asked, with just a trace of annoyance.
"Six months at the earliest—
if
we make an intense, all-out
effort."
"And if I ordered you to do it in four?"
"Then I would be two months late."
Garcia spun around again, and gazed out toward the volcano. A thin dribble of
black smoke meandered into the stratosphere. After a few moments,
El
Presidente
swiveled around once more. "The timing might be just
right," he told Hererra.
"That's a good possibility," Hererra agreed, "If he's seriously
ill now, he's going to be really sick in six months, should he live that
long."
"Maybe he'll be in the hospital, or in a coma," Garcia mused. Then he
had another thought. "But wait. When he dies, someone will take his place,
or try to. Who?"
Hererra contemplated the question. "Well, there's the Vice President,
Kooter Barnes. He's first in the order of succession."
Garcia grinned. "Bourque's sidekick? Isn't he mostly deaf? Anyhow,
he couldn't even govern a Boy Scout troop. And everyone knows it. I doubt he'd
even take the job."
"You're probably right," Hererra agreed. "The next guy in line
would be their House Speaker, Isaac Honaker."
"Honaker…didn't he just have a heart attack? Or was it a stroke?"
"A stroke. He's hanging on by a thread."
"I don't think we have to worry about him," Garcia said.
"Yeah, probably not. Then there's the
majority leader, Billy Belcher. But I don't think the Confederacy would accept
him."
Garcia inclined his head toward the intelligence chief, curious. "And why
is that?"
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