Harry Turtledove (Editor): Alternate Generals II

Old Glory and Butler's red flag with his single brigadier's star snapped in the wind as Smedley leapt from his still-moving car. A growing throng of Turks and Europeans crowded the small plaza, voices raised in half a dozen languages Butler recognized, and a dozen he didn't. Black smoke rose from the burning oil marking Arizona 'sgrave. Smedley stared in shock at the flock of small boats circling, seeking survivors. "It only took me ten minutes to get here. Battleships shouldn't die that quickly."

A marine sergeant, a stocky, powerful man with gray hair and a face lined from decades of campaigning, saluted sharply. "The swabbies say Turks floated a mine to her on the current, but nobody knows, General."

"Where's Pershing, Sergeant Cooper?" Butler always felt rapport with Cooper, a relic of the old Marine Corps whom he remembered from the march on Peking and the Panama Battalion.

"With the Governor General, I hope, sir. His launch is picking up survivors."

Butler glanced around the long, narrow promenade, only a few feet above the swiftly moving Bosporus. Four- and five-story stone and brick buildings, mainly occupied by European or local Greek-owned businesses, crowded the waterfront in a jumble of pastels and stonework. Behind them, buildings climbed the low hill to the medieval gray stones of the Galata Tower with its layer-cake crown of balconies. The crowd grew rapidly, and Butler's hand brushed his holstered.45 at the thought of yet another riot sweeping the city.

Smedley relaxed slightly as two trucks loaded with marines bounced to a stop. "Good timing," Butler said. "Major Shaw, keep the promenade clear, but go easy. The city could go up like a ton of dynamite. Don't light the match."

"I understand, sir." Shaw saluted.

"Sergeant, where's your phone?"

Cooper pointed to a low wooden shack. "Inside, General."

Butler stepped into the small guard post, his boots clicking on the plank floor. He cranked the handle on the phone.

"Headquarters, Lieutenant Zack."

"General Butler here. Is the garrison on alert?"

"No, sir. Not without Colonel Patton's orders. I'm trying to reach him, sir."

"Where is Colonel Patton?"

"Not quite sure, sir. He's playing a polo match against the wogs, General, over in Stamboul." The answer came with obvious reluctance. "Civilizing them, he said."

Smedley Butler took off his broad-brimmed campaign hat for a moment and wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, brushing his dark hair back, using the gesture to bring his temper under control. "Full alert. Now. Send the Army to reinforce the perimeter."

"Yes, sir."

"Marine riot squads into the streets. If the residents of Stamboul see this as a signal to attack foreigners, the sultan's police won't stop them. Send every vehicle you can spare to move the wounded to hospital."

"Yes, sir, General."

"Damn Patton!" Butler said in a harsh whisper as he walked from the building. "Aristocratic bastard should be on duty, not playing polo. No wonder the Turks ambushed him in Armenia."

"We finally have some ambulances, sir." Sergeant Cooper saluted. "And the governor general's launch just landed."

Butler glanced at the flock of aides circling Fall as he walked away from his launch. The governor general's shock of white hair was like a flag in the center of the crowd. His voice, loud as always, carried his New Mexico drawl across the plaza.

Butler pushed through the gaggle of sycophants around the governor general. "Governor Fall, was General Pershing injured?"

"Nigger Jack's playing nurse…" Recognizing Butler, Fall sputtered to silence, then continued, his voice petulant. His bronzed face, white hair and drooping mustache made him look like a carnival pitchman. His blue eyes were narrow and cold. "Pershing is still on my launch. Bring him to me, General Butler."

Pershing's normally immaculate uniform was covered in soot and dirt. He helped a sailor, whose right leg twisted hideously at the knee, stagger to the dock. Butler took the sailor's other arm and the two generals eased the man to a stretcher.

"Glad you made it ashore, General. We were afraid you'd been caught in the explosion."

"There were children aboard. I could not abandon them to a fire." Pershing's voice broke slightly as he talked.

"I understand, sir," Smedley said.

"General Pershing, we must talk. Now." Albert Fall's drawl cut through the cries of the wounded. He indicated the tall, chunky oilman he had escorted from the sinking Arizona . "You have not met Mister Walters. He landed from the Princess Matoika yesterday to sign a new concession with the sultan's government. We must stop the Nationalists, General. They refuse to honor the sultan's agreements."

"Mister Walters, you will excuse us, sir, as this conversation may involve military matters," Pershing said.

Fall started to object, then followed Pershing and Butler into the nearby guard shack. "General Pershing, the Army has allowed Mustafa Kemal and his followers to become an irritation. Get rid of this bandit."

"Mustafa Kemal and the Turkish Nationalists have just driven a hundred and fifty thousand Greek troops from Anatolia. He has twenty thousand of his men at our backs in European Turkey." John Pershing's tone made his contempt for Fall clear. "We have twenty-five hundred troops holding our perimeter and General Butler's fifteen hundred marines holding the city. If we stay in Constantinople and the Turks attack, we die, Governor. We must evacuate."

"I give you orders, General. You do not order me," Fall nearly shouted.

"I advised President Wilson to reject this mandate. He did not. With Wilson gone, President Harding refuses to send more troops, and yet you block a diplomatic solution with Mustafa Kemal. The American Mandate is over, Governor."

"I am not here to surrender American interests to a wog," Fall said, his New Mexico drawl thicker as his voice rose again. He pulled out a cigar and lit it, not offering one to Pershing or Butler.

"You don't defend American interests, Governor. You defend American companies," Butler said. "You ordered the sultan to revoke European oil concessions and give them to Americans. There is a price for that. The French signed a treaty with Kemal last year. The British are about to. You have isolated us from European help to defend your racket."

"We do not need Europe, General Butler. You didn't run from the Niggers in Haiti. Why do you run from the Turks?" Fall puffed a cloud of cigar smoke into the air.

Butler spun and walked to the far side of the room so as not to strike the politician. Fall's voice rose behind him, "General Pershing, remove this man from his command."

"No, Governor, I shall not."

As Fall stalked from the guard shack, Butler stepped back to Pershing. "My apology for losing my temper, sir."

"None needed, General Butler." A smile softened Pershing's expression for an instant. "You have, I hope, informed your father and the Naval Affairs Committee he chairs of developments here?"

"Yes, sir. I am told Harding still loves the man. Mister Fall raised much money for the party."

"Money is power, General, but I too have contacted friends in Washington." Pershing coughed heavily, clearing the tightness from his lungs. "I will not have my men die in this city to save Albert Fall and his cronies a few dollars."

The evening sun burnished the calm surface of the Golden Horn and sparkled from the forest of minarets rising above the Ottoman capital. Jazz flowed from the Pera Palas hotel behind Butler. His fresh uniform and the lack of his.45 increased the peaceful feel of the night, but he knew the feeling was false. Butler turned his back on the city and watched Sergeant Cooper cross the veranda. They exchanged salutes.