CSA 1914 News

[Guinness]

That's not Arica. Arica is in the south
That's Paita

http://geology.com/world/peru-satellite-image.shtml

Jef

What, we couldn't do it backwards? I fixed it above.

[Jefgte]

From north to south:
Paita
Callao
Arica

Callao (Lima) is the official visite harbour

Paita or Arica are little harbors unabble to receive a Fleet.

CSA Fleet enter in Peruvian waters at Paita & cruise to Callao... with "Coastal Fiesta"

(If the Sea is bad - storm- you must go directly to Chimbote Bay)

[Guinness]

Posted in newspapers around the world:

The Confederate States in America is interested in purchasing ships which may have reached the end of their useful lives for their scrap value. If you have such a ship to offer, please contact your local embassy or consulate.

[Guinness]

November 6, 1914

The new Secretary of the Navy, David Butler, looked up from his desk when he heard the knock at his office door. "Come in" he beckoned.

Through the door walked the rotund Chief Constructor, a man with the grandiose name of Franklin Augustus Aldrich, but who his friends called him "Augie".

"Augie! Please, please, have a seat. You look flushed. Can I get you anything? Something to drink?"

"You don't have a whiskey stashed around here somewhere, do you?" Aldrich asked.

"Whiskey. Well, I have got some scotch." Butler moved across his office toward the small credenza opposite the windows next to the door. "It's a little bit early to start drinking though, even on a Friday." The clock on Butler's desk read ten past three. "I'm sorry, I don't have any ice right now, but I can send for some."

"No, no. No need for ice. Thank you my good man." Butler took the glass and sipped. "Oh, this is quite good."

"Thank you. It was a gift from someone when I took over this office. So, Augie, what's the big hurry?"

"Mr. Secretary, I have awful news. Awful. And I want you to know now that I take full responsibility."

Butler leaned up on the corner of his desk and looked Aldrich in the eye. Aldrich could be excitable, but this was something else.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves Augie. What's the problem?"

"It's the design for the Enterprise. We've made a terrible calculation error."

"Oh, how's that?" Butler asked.

Aldrich reached into his coat pocket and produced a folded wad of documents that he proceeded to unfold. Butler made way as Aldrich smoothed them out on his desk.

"See here. This is the original sketch design. We call them springstyles around the office. Note the weight for the barbette armor in the detail here." Aldrich pointed to a table of figures in the corner of the plans.

Butler leaned over the desk next to Aldrich, so that they were both peering over the document. "Yes, I guess, I'm not sure I see anything meaningful though."

Aldrich rifled through more of his plans, clearly looking for something, before looking up in exasperation.

"Augie, tell me what the problem is."

Aldrich sat back down in the guest chair, and took another sip of his whiskey.

"To sum it up. We screwed up the calculations when designing Enterprise, and didn't realize it until the first draft of the constructors plans came back from Norfolk. Somewhere along the way, we neglected to take into account the fact that her number 2 and 3 main armament turrets would be superfiring. She was calculated as though they'd all be on the same level."

Butler walked to the credenza and poured himself his own whiskey.

"This is bad. What can we do to fix them?", Butler asked.

"We've got a few options, none of them good. First, we can cut some speed."

Aldrich could tell from the look on Butler's face that that option wasn't feasible.

"The second option is to thin her armor a bit."

"How much?" Butler asked.

Aldrich looked down at his shoes. "Too much. She'd have no immunity zone at all to her own guns."

"Is there a third option?", Butler asked.

"The third option is more radical. You've read the reports from Ordnance about optimal secondary battery configurations and what they are calling all or nothing protection?" Aldrich asked.

"I have." Butler answered confidently. He'd read the executive summaries at least.

"Well, if we discard the end and upper belts, and move the secondaries into twin gun houses with only splinter protection, we can retain the same level of protection, as long as we also reduce beam slightly, increase draft slightly, and make the midships hull section fuller."

"That's pretty radical, Augie. As I understand it, we only have a 5.5" twin mount design on paper, no?"

"That's true, but the working prototype will be completed at Newport News by the end of the year."

"And this armor scheme. I'm sure the men down at Ordnance have thought it through, but I think it could be a tough sell."

"Yes, Mr. Secretary, the plan I propose has significant risks. If Congress must have its new armored cruisers though, this is the best plan we have."

Butler sat back in his office chair and sipped his scotch. This was significant. Both ships would have to be suspended for a time while new plans were worked up, and still there probably wouldn't be a enough time to fully design the ships. They'd end up designing and building them at the same time, which was even more risky.

"Augie, can we do this? How risky is it, from a design perspective, really?"

Augie smiled meekly. "Mr Secretary, the truth is, we've been working on a design very much like the one I propose for a possible follow up to the Enterprises. We feel that we can have the plans ready when needed, though we'll have to work hard through the holidays. The greater risk is the twin 5.5" gun mount."

"This is something I'll have to take to the President. In the meantime, construction must be suspended. Inform Norfolk immediately. Keep the long-lead time items, including main armament and armor plate on schedule if at all possible, but work on the hulls must stop."

"Now, Augie, if you'll excuse me, I need to make an appointment to see the President."

OOC: I knew this ship as is was too good to be true. The CSA will complete both a twin 5.5" mount and AoN protection at the end of 1914. So, I have in mind adding 6 months to both ships construction time, and charging myself 1/6 of their construction cost in $ (but not BP) to fix this. Please let me know if anyone doesn't think that's reasonable. The good news: I'm gonna have to do another illustration :)

[P3D]

Too radical hullform change for a ship laid down IMHO. Whatever you can do without that. My suggestion is no UB, reduce secondaries to 12x5.5", if that's not enough, misc weight and fuel capacity.

[Kaiser Kirk]

Wouldn't adding large external blisters better compensate for the additional weight and center of gravity issues having to much weight up high (i.e. the superfiring barbettes and recoil force) ? 

[Guinness]

Wouldn't adding large external blisters better compensate for the additional weight and center of gravity issues having to much weight up high (i.e. the superfiring barbettes and recoil force) ? 

Probably, but this ship is also still limited by the 20,000 SHP limit, so a loss of (just guessing here), at least a knot, probably two would have to be accepted.

I'm fiddling with it now, using the nearly the same hull (the only difference is moving the midship break about 30 feet), with twin gun houses. The SS works, but I'm not sure I can make the arcs of fire work. It's entirely possible I might end up with some combination of casemates, single gunhouses, and twin gunhouses for the secondary battery...

[The Rock Doctor]

Huh - I'm surprised I missed that detail.

[Guinness]

OOC: Taking a break for the AtWS grind...

It was a sunny and pleasant late fall morning in Chihuahua. Across the street from the new railroad station which terminated the line into Chihuahua state from the north, a mysterious man waited in his brand new Hanson saloon, which had been specially outfitted for service along the southern border of the CSA. The car itself was rare, being hand built at the little Hanson factory in Atlanta. This one had many of the modifications planned for a new Hanson racer, including a more robust suspension, and the most powerful engine that could be fit under it's bonnet.

The man looked warily at the figure now walking toward him. It was large, at least two hundred and fifty pounds, and rather round at the middle. It was wearing a white linen suit with a matching white wide-brimmed hat. The figure was waving furiously.

The man sighed. In the many years he'd been nominally in the employ of the Confederate government (as an independent contractor, through an intermediary company, so as to be fully deniable), he'd been to many of North America's worst places, and dealt with several disreputable characters. But this figured rapidly advancing on his new Hanson saloon was the worst sort: a lawyer and a bureaucrat. For some reason, someone in Richmond had decided that he needed supervision on this little mission, so they'd sent someone from the State Department.

The figure arrived at the driver's side (on the left in all Hansons, as was becoming the custom in the CSA) and extended his hand. "Percy LeVille! Pleased to meet you. I expect you are Mr. Smith, no?", the figure asked, with a heavy Louisiana accent.

"You may call me that. Yes." The man answered. He stepped out of the car and accepted the handshake, before strapping LeVille's suitcase to the top of the short pile of cases and boxes on the rack on the rear of the Hanson. He paused for a moment, thinking that maybe he should lose some gear on account of LeVille's size, before thinking better of that idea. At least LeVille hadn't brought a ton of luggage. He pointed LeVille toward the passenger seat, and LeVille had a seat.

LeVille settled into the right side of the Hanson heavily, and the springs under that side of the saloon creaked. Smith slid easily in to the driver's seat, and handed LeVille a pair of driving goggles and a cap. "Here, you'll need these. The roads here are dusty."

While LeVille was figuring out how to don the goggles, Smith set the ignition and choke to the starting positions, put the gearshift into neutral, and walked around to the front of the car to the hand crank. Three mighty cranks were enough to start the engine. After a fair amount of sputtering, it settled into an uneven idle.

Smith returned to the driver's seat, and after a waiting a couple of minutes, confirmed that the oil and water temperature gauges indicated acceptable values, put the car into gear with a crunch, slipped the clutch, and they were off heading south.

"How far?" LeVille shouted over the engine.

"It's about 180 miles, but the last 50 or so after Jimenez are very very bad road. A trail really. We should be there by dusk, hopefully. We need to make good tme. Villa doesn't like to be kept waiting. I hope you didn't drink too much coffee this morning."

[Guinness]

OOC: Sorry lots of exposition here, before we get anywhere...

The ride to Jimenez was relatively smooth. The first few miles out of Chihuahua were recently paved with gravel, and after that the ruts in the packed dirt weren't too deep. Smith was feeling pretty good about their progress when he stopped just short of Jimenez. He and LeVille both found convenient rocks against which to relieve themselves.

After Jimenez the roads began to turn bad. The ruts got deeper, and there were occasionally large rocks. Smith skillfully evaded the worst of the obstacles, but he was obliged to slow down. At one point, he stopped and folded the Hanson's windshield, tightening it down securely to the posts put there for the purpose on either side of the bonnet.

Soon after the little town of Escalon, Smith didn't manage to evade a particularly sharp rock, and pierced his right front tire, which went down immediately with a hiss. As LeVille looked on helplessly, thirty minutes of cursing, swearing, and sweating ensued, as he had to jack the automobile up, remove the affected wheel, remove the tire from the wheel, remove the innertube from the tire, inspect the tire itself for punctures (there didn't seem to be any), insert the new innertube to replace the torn one, manhandle the tire/innertube assembly back on to the wheel, and then use a manual pump to fill the new tube with air. Fortunately, Smith had several more tubes aboard, and two replacement tires. It was at this point that Smith was reconsidering his decision to switch from horses to these new-fangled motor cars.

Shortly after the tire replacement, the border with the Democratic Republic of Mezoamerica passed without so much as a sign. The Hanson rambled along, reaching speeds up to twenty-five miles per hour for short stretches. They were almost there.

After about eight hours of driving, Smith brought the Hanson to an abrupt stop. They were very near now.

He rustled around in the bag behind his seat, and produced a revolver of Norman origin. "Here, put this in your pocket" he said as he handed to LeVille.

"Is this a good idea? To go in armed?"

"Mr. LeVille: Villa's men will expect us to be armed. No sane human being traipses around this territory unarmed. When we get there, they will search us, and if they don't find weapons on us, they'll assume something is wrong. And be careful, that thing is loaded."

LeVille swallowed and shoved the revolver into his jacket pocket. He'd never been comfortable with guns.

Smith strapped a thigh holster to his right leg, and inserted a nearly brand new semi-automatic pistol, also of Norman origin into it. He followed that a smaller two-shot derringer, which went into a pocket in the vest he was wearing, and a long knife, which went into his boot.

"Well then, shall we get going?"

Both piled back into the Hanson, Smith put it in gear with a crunch, and they trundled down the road, turning left onto the even narrower, rougher path that lead to Cuauhtemoc. LeVille could see now the 5 or 6 ramshackle wood buildings that constituted the place, with two or three armed men on the roofs of the most substantial ones, carrying rifles. Milling about in the "street" (though the term was far too grandiose), were some twenty more of Villa's men, also all well armed, with Swiss or Brandenberg bolt action carbines or rifles, and a few Norman repeating rifles. They all seemed to carry at least one revolver, sometimes two or three, strapped in holsters in varying places on their bodies. At the far end of the town was a small corral, where their horses, still wearing saddles, were milling about, or tied to posts, some eating from a pile of hay in the back of a wagon.

The men took little notice of the Hanson as Smith and LeVille pulled up. Smith simply eased it up the street until one of the men stepped in front of it. "Well, it seems we park here", he remarked, and cut the engine. He removed the driving cap and goggles, and driving gloves he'd been wearing, and replaced them instead with a beaten brown wide-brimmed hat. LeVille did similarly, then they both climbed out.

The man who had stopped the car motioned toward them. "vaya aya" he said, and pointed toward the largest building, which looked to be some sort of saloon. Or maybe it was a saloon, Smith thought, since the town seems to be deserted other than Villa's company.

Smith and Le Ville climbed the three steps up to the front porch of the Saloon, where four more of Villa's men were waiting. Wordlessly, two simply put both hands on both men's shoulders from behind, and gently but firmly pushed them up against the wall on either side of the open door, and proceeded to search them. Le Ville was relieved of his revolver quickly. Smith's search took longer. The semi-automatic was found quickly enough, as was the knife in his boot. The derringer pistol took a bit longer, as did the shorter knife Smith usually kept in his vest, the even shorter knife he had up his sleeve, and the straight razor in the pocket he'd had sewn into the wasteband of his pants.

With that formality complete, Smith and LeVille were shown into the saloon, where seated with his feet up on a large table in the center of the room was Colonel Doroteo Arango Arámbula, better known as Pancho Villa.

Smith whispered to LeVille "Please, let me do the talking."

[Guinness]

The man seated to Villa's right stood up and declared: "Gentlemen, welcome! Please come in and have a seat. It must have been a difficult journey. May we offer you some tequilla?" and gestured toward the bottle and shot glasses on the table.

This man immediately caught Smith's interest. He looked and dressed like any of Villa's dorados, but he spoke clear Norman, with a bit of what sounded to Smith as a middle Tennessee accent.

Smith availed himself of the tequilla and both Confederates had a seat. Villa took his boots of the table and sat up in his chair and began to speak. The man to his right translated:

"Gentlemen, it has been a long time since I've heard from Richmond. I was beginning to think President Roosevelt had forgotten about me and my men. Allow me to introduce Senior Ramirez." Villa motioned toward his interpreter, then looked at Smith. "What are we to call you today?"

"Mr. Smith is fine. And this is my associate from Richmond, Mr. LeVille."

Villa took a swig from the shotglass before him, then continued: "Gentleman, we have much to discuss. Your government's clumsy attempts to prop up the socialists are failing, and I fear the satanic forces which so often have threatened this part of the continent may be on the rise again."

Smith remained silent. This wasn't his first meeting with Villa, and this was Villa's usual opening. So it seemed this was just to be the usual shakedown for cash, supplies and ammunition.

LeVille spoke: "Senior Villa, is my government not also your government now as well? Either way, I can assure you that my superiors in Richmond are fully aware of the shortcomings of the Socialist government here, and that the threat of the satanists has not disappeared."

Smith winced. So much for letting him do the talking.

Villa stood up. "My government? My government! No! Neither you sniveling bureaucrats in Richmond, nor the corrupt thieves in Tenochtitlan govern me! No, we have never forgotten our goal of freedom for our people to be governed by just God-fearing men. Nor do I forget that your government considers me a pawn for it's own purposes!" Villa spat on the floor.

Smith leaned over to DeVille and whispered: "See, I told you to let me do the talking."

Smith addressed Villa: "Colonel, we came here today because word came to me that you had a matter you wished to discuss. But before we get to that, is there anything that we can do for you now?" Might as well get the usual negotiating over with.

Villa sat back down, and began to speak again, this time well under control. "We'll need the usual allotment of money, both in Confederate dollars and gold, please. Ammunition again, as last time. And I rather like the look of that automobile outside. Is it possible that I might order one?" Villa was asking, of course, if the CSA might give him an automobile.

"We'll see what we can do. So, now, please do continue with what you asked us here to discuss." Smith replied.

Villa poured himself another tequilla, and downed it. He looked into both Confederates' eyes, and spoke: "I have been warning for years now that the Eye is not extinct, but that the movement is building anew, and may soon rise again. Mr. Smith, I know this is not news to you, as you have seen some of the horrible aftermath of their... religious practices. That is not the whole of the problem though. The government in Tenochtitlan is rotting from within. The local governments are taking more and more power for themselves. At least some of them, including the one here in Durango, I fear, are secretly controlled by the Satanists."

Smith was unimpressed. Dire warnings about the satanists were nothing new for Villa. The Eye bordered on an obsession for him. But discounting that, the news of DRM politics could be significant.

Before he could speak, Villa continued. "Of course, you know all this, I expect. Which is why your agents have been quietly making inquiries among noted ex-capitalists as to whom might be interested in overthrowing the socialist despots in Tenochtitlan. So, I asked you to come here to tell me why I haven't been included in your plans."

Smith and DeVille exchanged glances. Neither had the first idea what Villa was talking about. Smith realized that Villa and Ramirez were both studying him closely. Time to think on his feet.

"Colonel. I'm sure you of all people understand the need for comprehensive operational security, so I can neither confirm nor deny any of what you've just mentioned. But let me assure you that if the CSA or our friends ever becomes interested in fostering a change in government in Tenochtitlan, we know that we can count on your support, and we'll call on you for your wisdom and guidance whenever we see it as necessary."

Villa looked disappointed.  Smith was in a spot now. He'd like to know more about these plots, but he'd just managed to imply that the CSA knew all about it. At least now he knew there was something that needed investigating. He could circle back to Villa later.

The rest of the meeting was confined to procedural items. Where and when would the usual provisions and supplies be dropped, etc. When that was done, Villa rose abruptly.

"Gentleman, it grows dark. I expect it's not safe for you to return north at night. Please accept the protection and hospitality of my men here tonight. I have to leave now. Next time, Mr. Smith, you'll have to give me a ride in that automobile."

Villa left the saloon with Ramirez. The four men that had searched Smith and LeVille earlier entered, and returned their weapons. Smith thanked them with a polite "gracias", then had a short conversation with them.

"We're to stay here for the night. These four will help watch over us, just in case. They apologize though, as there isn't much in the way of amenities. We have free reign over the tequilla, and I packed a couple of blankets and some food in the car. We'll leave for Chihuahua in the morning.

Smith brought the provisions and blankets from the car and laid it all in a big heap on the table. He poured himself another tequilla, and lit a fat cigar, one of the large supply of Cubans he got from a Columbian contact.

LeVille was fidgety. "Did anything about that meeting strike you as strange?"

Bureaucrats and lawyers!, Smith thought.

"I mean, if Villa really thought we were plotting to overthrow the Tenochtitlan government but weren't including him, why would he call you down here to complain about it? Now, on the other hand, what if Villa had in mind a plan to overthrow the socialists?"

Smith thought about it. If it were true that Villa was hearing about a plot, and thought he was being purposefully excluded, it was much more likely that he'd stop hearing from Villa at all, not get a request for an urgent meeting. Villa was, if nothing else, largely self sufficient. He didn't mind taking whatever handouts the Confederates were willing to distribute to him, but he didn't need them for his normal operations. Something on a larger scale on the other hand was another matter. Maybe LeVille had a point.

[Guinness]

The following urgent message was dispatched via Confederate embassies to each respective foreign minister (and rather conveniently leaked to the press soon after):

To the Foreign Ministers of:
The Italian Empire
The Iberian Empire
The Ottoman Empire
The Kingdom of New Zion

Copies to the Foreign Ministers of:
The United Norman Kingdom
The Republic of France
The Habsburger Kaiserreich

Gentlemen:

Without being privy to the evidence against the Zionists, I must emphasize that the Confederate States considers the sort of military action apparently planned against them to be ill advised.

There is also, I understand, information that the Ottoman navy may be on the move, opening up the possibility of a wider war. It is our feeling that now is the time for intensive diplomacy to prevent this. We do not find it in the best interest of any of the potential belligerents to fight again the most recent war in the Balkans.

To that end, I offer the services of the Confederate States to mediate in negotiations between the aggrieved parties with the goal of finding a peaceful settlement to present grievances. I propose (with the indulgence of France) that such negotiations open in Paris in ten days time. I intend to leave personally for Paris immediately, and I hope to see you or your representatives there.

Please allow me to appeal to the best nature of Mankind that I know to be present in all of you. Let us now take this opportunity to use words, and not weapons of war, and in doing save save the lives of thousands from needless waste of the battlefields of national pride.

Your humble servant,

Woodrow Wilson


Secretary of State
Confederate States of America

[maddox]

The Versailles Palace is always open for such endeavours.

France welcomes anything that is to propagate peace.

[The Rock Doctor]

That crafty Wilson...

[Tanthalas]

That crafty Wilson...

Bugger is after a Nobel Peace Prize...