Alt-history writing project

[Captain Wheelgun]

Is this a ray of hope? Or another headache?

November 15, 1940 - The Presidential Residence, Austin, Travis County, Republic of Texas

Both President Velasquez and Presidente Manuel Avila Camacho looked relieved to have the public ceremonies behind them. Now, sitting in Velasquez’ office with their respective senior advisors and a bottle of very good tequila, they got down to business.

“So, Manuel, you mentioned working together to solve some of our two nations’ problems. What problems did you have in mind?”

“Samuel, my nation has two main problems. Too many people, and not enough for them to do. Whereas, as I see it, yours has too few people and far too much for them to do. You see, perhaps, how these problems can possibly be made to solve each other?”

“Indeed I do. But what did you have in mind?”

“Your nation is at war with Germany, Italy, and what is left of France. No doubt your advisors have stated in nauseating detail the requirements for resources. You will recall that I was a general myself at one time, I understand these things.

You will need vast amounts of iron, copper, silver, and lead, as well as food and other things. Mexico can supply much of this, but we need help expanding the mines and processing facilities, the farms and ranches. With your nation’s help, we can do this.

But most of all, you need people. Already, many from my country come north every year to plant or harvest your crops. More are willing to do so, but they have been prevented from this by your own nation’s understandable need to keep your own people working.

Now, however, things are different. You will have to take your young men from the fields and factories and put them into your Marine Corps and Navy. The people of Mexico can help make up for this. If you will allow it, many more of my people can come north, temporarily taking the places of those who are called to serve your country more directly.”

“Mr. President,” said Harry Lincoln, “This could be a very good idea. If we present it to the Congress in the right way, I think they’ll accept it.”

Camacho continued. “But there is more that we can do. Mexico is tired of war. My people have seen far too much of it in the last century and in this one, and we have often looked north in amazement, and not a little jealousy, at the prosperity that stability can bring.

And yet, we have many thousands of young men, men who wish to prove their strength, their machismo, in ways that only fighting can provide. They have been justifiably outraged by the actions of France, and have been calling for Mexico to come to the aid of Texas, as Texas came to the aid of Mexico in 1864. Mexico as a nation is not yet able to do this, but, if you will allow it, I can encourage these young men to come north, to volunteer for your military.”

Velasquez, remembering their discussions from yesterday, looked at Joaquin Gonzales-Alvarado, who nodded in agreement. He turned back to the Mexican President.

“Manuel, that would indeed be a very useful expression of support and solidarity in our time of need. I accept both of these offers, pending agreement from my Congress on the details.” He opened the tequila bottle and poured generous shots into the waiting glasses, passing them to each person present.

“Gentlemen, Señors, a toast. To the Brotherhood between our great nations, and damnation to the tyrants of the world! Salud!” Everyone raised their glasses and slammed the shots down.

********************

Two weeks later, at the border crossing between Del Rio, Texas and Ciudad Acuña, Mexico

A tired Val Verde County militia sergeant looked out the window of the small border crossing station, wondering what the commotion was that he heard. Through the heat and dust, present even in late November, he saw a number of Mexican Army trucks driving up to the bridge crossing the Rio Grande River, stopping just short of it. Soldiers in uniform began piling out, falling into formation. the sergeant grabbed for the phone to Militia HQ.

“Centurion! Centurion Dugan! Sergeant Parker down at Border Station One! Got somethin’ fishy goin’ on over t’ Meskin side o’ the border!”

The Centurion, equally as hot and tired as his sergeant, ran out of his office, which was in the back of the general store he owned only two blocks from the border station. As he arrived at the station, an officer over on the Mexican side called his men to attention. As they watched in amazement, at a short, barked order, the soldiers, officers and men alike, stripped down to their skivvies, putting their uniforms in the backs of the trucks that brought them to the border.

After finishing that, they returned to formation. With another short series of commands, they snapped to attention, then made a parade-ground perfect right face and began marching toward the border bridge. As they stepped onto the bridge, they broke step to avoid setting up any unwanted resonances. Finally coming to a stop in front of the border station. Dugan walked outside and over to the apparent leader of the thoroughly out-of-uniform soldiers.

“‘Scuse me, but just what in the Sam Hill is goin’ on here?”

The leader looked Dugan up and down, reading his name tape and trying hard not to comment on the militia officer’s sloppy uniform.

“Centurion Dugan, I am Lieutenant Colonel Javier Luis de la Cruz, formerly of the Fifth Regiment of the Army of the United Mexican States. I, along with my officers and my men have, with the permission of Presidente Camacho, resigned our commissions and enlistments in that army. We have come here to volunteer for service in the Republic of Texas Marine Corps!”

Dugan took a step back, came to attention and saluted. “Colonel de la Cruz, we’re right proud to have y’all here. Sir, if’n y’all can please wait for a few minutes, I need to call my superiors to let ‘em know what’s happenin’.”

“Please do so, Centurion.” As Dugan went back into the border station, turned back to his men and gave the order for parade rest.

********************

“Another report just came in, Mr. President. We’re up to eight different border crossings now, each with about a regiment’s worth of ‘volunteers’, officers and men alike. All totaled, it looks like a somewhat over-strength brigade.”

“Well, Joaquin, President Camacho wasn’t playing around when he said he’d ‘encourage volunteers’, was he?”

“No sir, he certainly wasn’t. According to the reports, all of the officers and about two-thirds of the NCOs speak English. It’ll probably be best to keep them all in their present units and just form an independent brigade around them. Any idea what we should call it?”

“I think the ‘Benito Juarez Brigade’ would be appropriate, don’t you?”

“I do indeed, sir, I do indeed.”

[Captain Wheelgun]

Here’s another snippet, now with extra gun nerdery…

Later that night - Grimes County Militia Armory, near Anderson, Grimes County, Republic of Texas

Militia 2nd Lieutenant Cecil Lambert looked around nervously, half expecting Centurion Hills to show up at any moment. He thought ‘That stuck-up little bastard would have me up on charges in half a heartbeat given the slightest opportunity. It would be just like him to sneak out here and pull a surprise inspection to make sure Corporal Wilcox and I are awake.’ The thought of Cpl. Wilcox made him grimace, knowing that he had a bad habit of doing exactly that, finding an out-of-the way corner to sleep off his latest bottle of cheap booze.

Wilcox had made Sergeant and then been busted back to private so many times that he’d become a minor legend, not only in the Grimes County Militia, but in the surrounding counties as well. When he wasn’t drinking, he was actually a very good soldier, one of the best riders and marksmen in the County Militias.

‘On the other hand, maybe it’s better if he is asleep, he’ll be less likely to interfere in my business dealings with Mr. Grayson tonight. Other than his drinking problem, he’s far too honest. Probably why that son-of-a-bitch Hills stuck me with him.’ His head perked up at the sound of a large truck approaching. Stepping out of the small office at the entrance to the Armory building, he saw Mr Grayson’s Packard coming up the road, followed by the truck he had heard. He ran to the gate that blocked the road, opening it for the new arrivals. He walked over to the car.

“What’s with the truck, Mr Grayson? I thought you just wanted a dozen rifles and some ammo?”

“I did. You didn’t expect me to put that in my car, did you?”

“I’m sorry, Mister G. I guess I didn’t stop to think about that.”

“That’s always been your problem, Cecil. If your daddy wasn’t one of my closest political associates, I’d have had you run out of the county for getting my niece pregnant. As it was you cost me a lot of money sending her out of the country privately so she could hide the pregnancy. Tonight is your start on paying me back.”

“Y…yes, Mister G. Thank you for…”

“Shut up and guide us over to the Armory!”

Lambert nodded vigorously and stood back from the car, pointing to the correct building and waving them forward. He then ran to catch up to them, remembering that he would need to unlock the doors into the storage areas. He arrived just as the vehicles stopped outside the building. He saw several men get out of the truck.

“Who are these hombres, Mister G?”

“What, you thought I was going to carry and load the guns by myself, too? Never mind, don’t answer that. Just unlock the doors and show my associates where the weapons are.”

Lambert did as commanded. Leading them in, he said “The guns are in that room over to the left. Ammunition is over here on the right.”

Col. Danton went into the arms room, studying the racks of weapons mounted on the walls. There were three types of long arms, in separate rows, along with a small rack of revolvers. The first row held Winchester lever-action carbines, which he recognized from watching Hollywood western movies. He ignored these, knowing his men would likely not know how to operate them.

The next row consisted of bolt-action rifles, superficially similar to the MAS 36 rifles the French Army had begun issuing shortly before the war began. He picked one up to examine it more closely.

It was much shorter than the French rifles, having only a 20 inch barrel, with an enlarged section extending 4 inches in front of the front sight. He guessed that this was for launching rifle grenades. The receiver was marked ‘Model 1925A Caliber .300’, followed by a serial number. Overall, it appeared to be yet another variation on the Boche Mauser rifle. The rear sight was at the back of the receiver, and appeared to be adjustable for both range and windage. Each rifle had a sling attached, very similar to the one the Americans used. There was no magazine installed. He put the rifle back in it’s place.

The final row was even more exciting, for it contained several new looking machine guns. These he recognized as a variant of the Czech ZB-28 family of light machine guns, with the magazine feeding from the top and the sights offset to the left. He picked one up, caressing it lovingly. It’s receiver was marked ‘Model 1928A Caliber .300’. Like the rifles, there were no magazines installed.

“Where are the magazines?” Danton asked in his best non-French accent.

Lambert replied “They’re in the ammunition room. Fifteen rounders for the rifles, and forty rounders for the machine guns. You can use the MG magazines in the rifles and vice versa.”

“What types of ammunition do you have in there?”

Just standard ball, tracer, and grenades with launching blanks. If y’all want to hunt with these rifles, you can use commercial .300 Savage ammo. Should be able to get that at any store.”

“Excellent. We shall take all of them.”

Lambert and Grayson both looked surprised at this. Lambert turned to Grayson and said “That’s not the deal we made!”

Danton replied “I am altering the deal. Pray I do not alter it further.”

Grayson said nothing, knowing this was not the time to discuss such things. The three men walked back outside, where Danton waved to the men waiting by the truck.

[randy]

A little confused on the rank structure (maybe I missed it in earlier books/snippets).

Centurion has traditionally (Roman army as well as various Mil SF) been a Senior NCO Rank. This implies to me that Centurion outranks a 2Lt. (obviously a SNCO has more moral and practical authority than a 2Lt, but legally...)

I assume the issue is that the Centurion would not be one to keep quiet about such obviously unauthorized shenanigans', even with a direct order from an officer.

Or maybe I'm just reading too much into it, but it did break the flow for me.

[Captain Wheelgun]

A little confused on the rank structure (maybe I missed it in earlier books/snippets).

Centurion has traditionally (Roman army as well as various Mil SF) been a Senior NCO Rank. This implies to me that Centurion outranks a 2Lt. (obviously a SNCO has more moral and practical authority than a 2Lt, but legally...)

I assume the issue is that the Centurion would not be one to keep quiet about such obviously unauthorized shenanigans', even with a direct order from an officer.

Or maybe I'm just reading too much into it, but it did break the flow for me.

Centurion replaces Captain (O3) in the Texas Army and Marines, to avoid confusion with the Navy rank of Captain (O6). This was explained in one of the notes sections at the end of ‘Texas at the Coronation’.

I chose that as it seemed to be the most natural substitution, since a Roman Centurion was a commander of 100 (roughly), similar to the size of a modern Company.

Sorry for the confusion.

[randy]

No problem, I thought it was possible I had missed something (and to be honest, I don't often pay that much attention to end notes of a novel. Some of David Weber's end notes sections would make a novella all their own).

May be worth a throw away line where it's explained to a confused allied officer?

[Captain Wheelgun]

No problem, I thought it was possible I had missed something (and to be honest, I don't often pay that much attention to end notes of a novel. Some of David Weber's end notes sections would make a novella all their own).

May be worth a throw away line where it's explained to a confused allied officer?

Good idea, I’ll have to see what I can work in.

BTW, I agree about Weber’s end notes.

[Captain Wheelgun]

Does this work Randy?

Squadron Leader Douglas Bader, commander of No. 242 Squadron, RAF, was in the alert shack enjoying morning tea with the commander of 1st Marine Fighter Squadron, Centurion Ivan Jimenez. Like the Texans, 242 Sqn. flew Hurricanes, so Fighter Command had decided to pair them up for the first few operations.

“So, Ivan, I’ve been meaning to ask. Why ‘Centurion’? In our Army or the Royal Marines, your rank would be ‘Captain’. Do you Texans have to do everything differently?”

“Well, Douglas, that goes back our last little fracas with the French down in Mexico,what our schoolbooks call the ‘Anti-Imperial War’. There had been a number of occasions when small groups of Army or Militia troops were being transported on Navy ships, and apparently there arose some confusion over just who was being addressed when someone said ‘Captain’. Was it the ship’s commander, or the troop commander?

After the war, the Congress set up a committee to re-organize Texas’ armed forces, mostly to fix some serious issues that had been found during the war. Like pretty much all government committees, once they ran out of real problems to solve, they started looking at more minor things, like that rank confusion. There actually ended up being a fairly intense debate, since neither the Army nor the Navy wanted to change.”

“So how did they settle it?”

“Would you believe a coin toss?”

“You’re bloody joking!”

“Nope, I’m serious as a Deacon, Douglas. They held it right in the middle of Austin, on Congress Avenue in front of where the new Capitol building was being built. The President flipped the coin, and the Navy won the toss, meaning the Army and Marines had to change. They picked ‘Centurion’ because of the meaning going back to the Romans as ‘commander of one hundred’.

Their conversation was interrupted by the phone ringing in the outer office. The clerk answered.

“Hallo?… I see, two squadron scramble, you say? 242 and First Marines?…Right away… Good bye.” Bader and Jimenez were already heading for the door when the clerk stepped to the window to ring the scramble bell.

[randy]

Yep.

Although I do find a member of a service that uses ranks like Flight Lieutenant (excuse me, Leftenant) and Squadron Leader as ranks rather than Captain and Major being confused a little ironic.

[Captain Wheelgun]

4

Yep.

Although I do find a member of a service that uses ranks like Flight Lieutenant (excuse me, Leftenant) and Squadron Leader as ranks rather than Captain and Major being confused a little ironic.

Yeah, that occurred to me too.

[Captain Wheelgun]

No comments about my weapon choices? Good, bad, magic brownies?