“Huh. Here we got General Angeles backing Madero. I hope it’s not a permanent style of things.” A thought occurred to Emmet. “Did I get cashiered?”
“No. Not that I’d care, or a lot of other Rangers. You did a good job there, Emmet.”
Sommerfeld noted that the Texas Rangers might become a more political force after the state’s secession – of course, their frequent role of ‘supervising elections’ was obvious already. American democracy was a farce; an oligarchy ruled over flag-waving sheep. Rule was essential, but Sommerfeld preferred a proper aristocracy and Empire, united and orderly in the face of threats both Martian and human.
Mexico, with its oil and mineral wealth, was of great interest to the Kaiser. And once the Americans had exhausted themselves defeating their Martian foes – just as with Germany’s other enemies and rivals – Mexico might prove to be their soft underbelly. But if the French had committed this far... They appeared to be pushing out the British oil interests already, with the doddering Diaz leaving to exile and new figures taking control in the south. Zapata was still fighting the Martians, and perhaps even beginning to win. And there was some bizarre land scheme in Cuernavaca that French naval officers were going mad over.
“Hicks, I need a favor. I’m stuck here for a while, looks like. Can you go to that warehouse and get that crate, and return it to our mutual friend? I think she’d like her old job back. The governor said he owes me a favor – I’m calling it in.”
“Okay.”
“And tell her... no, ask her. Ask her if I’ll do.”
Definitely political. He made another note. Ambassador Creel would still be working the American side, so he would need to be alerted. And Sommerfeld himself would need more agents in Mexico, and soon. Duquesne was erratic, but he did have a way of improvising...
“Okay, Emmet, I will. Oh, Burnham’s going south too, with the LRSC. You’ll have some company.”
Despite his training, Sommerfeld jerked upright in his chair. There might be more than one Burnham in the American foreign force – but he felt by instinct it was Frederick Russell Burnham. An old thorn in the side of German intelligence. Duquesne – the flamboyant ‘Black Panther’ – had missed his chance to take care of that during the Boer War, but perhaps...
“And Senator Hudspeth keeps askin’ people what happened to his damn car. You know anything about that?”
“Not a thing. Hicks, I gotta go. Can you, ah...”
“I’ll keep an eye on her, Emmet, don’t worry. You keep an eye on him.”
“I’ll see you in a while, then.” There was a click and the line went dead.
Sommerfeld passed the earpiece over without looking. He would need to work on Madero’s brother; having Texas Rangers guarding the president of Mexico Norte was unacceptable. The man was already proving to be more dynamic than expected. If he united Mexico again as an American ally... well. There was time yet to work.
The End
About the Authors
Jonathan Cresswell-Jones is a graphic artist who lives in Ontario, Canada. This is his first novel
Scott Washburn is an architectural designer by profession, an avid reader of military history as well as long time re-enactor and wargamer. He has written the first three books in the “Great Martian War” series, the author of The Terran Consensus and has contributed short stories to the “Beyond the Gates of Antares” books
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The Texas Front: Salient Page 36