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Fateful Choices

Alternate histories that begin with a human being choosing otherwise: a general who stays, a captain who turns, a signature withheld. One decision moves, and the atlas follows the consequences down to today.

Fateful Choices

18

A human being chooses otherwise, and history bends.

Delegates in a smoky congress hall lean forward as a sealed envelope is opened at the rostrum, Moscow 1924

The Testament is read aloud

Moscow, May 1924. A sealed envelope from the dead Lenin asks the party to remove Stalin, and a steering committee is voting on whether the Congress will ever hear it. This is the timeline where the vote goes the other way.

An old man and a younger friend confer by lamplight in a stone cell before dawn, Athens 399 BC

The cup passes by

Athens, 399 BC. In a cell by the agora, an old man's friends have bribed the guards and a boat waits for Thessaly. This is the timeline where Socrates says yes.

Senators debate by candlelight over a great map of the Mississippi watershed, 1803

The Louisiana refusal

Washington, October 1803. The treaty doubling the United States lies before a Senate full of men who think buying it is unconstitutional, and the President half agrees with them. This is the timeline where the scruples win.

Three men confer in a dim Downing Street cabinet room, red dispatch box on the table, 1940

The quiet peace of 1940

London, 9 May 1940. Chamberlain is finished, and the premiership lies between two men in one room. This is the timeline where Lord Halifax does not stay silent.

Napoleon stands at a map table by candlelight as his ambassador argues, Saint-Cloud 1812

The Grande Armée stays home

Saint-Cloud, spring 1812. An ambassador who knows Russia is begging Napoleon, seven hours at a stretch, not to cross the Niemen. This is the timeline where the Emperor listens.

Codebreakers work under green lamps in a cluttered Admiralty office, London 1917

America stays home

London, January 1917. In Room 40 of the Admiralty, a German telegram offering Mexico three American states is being decoded. This is the timeline where it never reaches the codebreakers' desk.

A merchant in a fur-trimmed coat weighs coins across a counting table from a hopeful craftsman, Mainz 1450

The letters are never cast

Mainz, 1450. A goldsmith with a secret machine needs eight hundred guilders, and a merchant named Johann Fust is deciding whether to lend it. This is the timeline where Fust keeps his money.

Hannibal on horseback at dusk over the field of Cannae, officers waiting on his word, 216 BC

Hannibal at the gates

Cannae, the evening of 2 August 216 BC. Rome's largest army lies dead in a day, and a cavalry commander begs Hannibal to ride for the city itself. This is the timeline where Hannibal says yes.

Continental soldiers crowd the Brooklyn ferry stairs at night under clear moonlight as boats wait on the East River, 1776

The king keeps his colonies

Brooklyn, the last night of August 1776. Washington's beaten army waits on the wrong side of the East River for boats, and everything depends on the weather. This is the timeline where the fog never comes.

Professors in dark coats confer over portfolios of drawings in a tall Vienna academy hall, 1907

The academy says yes

Vienna, October 1907. The Academy of Fine Arts is grading its entrance drawings, and one Austrian applicant is about to be refused. This is the timeline where one juror argues, and the list gains a name.

A worn leather briefcase standing under a wooden map table against a massive oak plinth, officers’ boots crowded around

The bomb under the map table

At 12:42 on 20 July 1944 a briefcase bomb exploded two metres from Hitler, and he lived, because an officer wanting a clearer view of the map had moved the case behind a heavy oak table leg. This is the timeline where nobody moves it.

German storm troopers filing past a stacked British supply dump in dawn fog, artillery flashes on the horizon

The Kaiser’s peace

On 21 March 1918 Ludendorff’s spring offensive tore a forty-mile hole in the British line and stalled short of Amiens, partly because his starving storm troopers stopped to feast in captured British supply dumps. This is the timeline where the spearheads eat marching and take the rail knot of the Western Front.

A Roman atrium at morning, a wife gripping her husband’s arm as a visitor waits in the doorway

Caesar stays home

On the morning of the Ides of March, Caesar nearly did not go: Calpurnia had dreamed him dead and he ordered the Senate adjourned, until a conspirator came to his house and talked him out the door. This is the timeline where the door stays shut.

A dense English shield wall on a ridgeline at morning, banners overhead

Harold holds the hill

On 14 October 1066 the English shield wall held a Sussex ridge from nine in the morning until dusk, and lost England in the last hour by chasing a retreat that was not real. This is the timeline where the wall does not move.

A Roman governor at a lamplit camp table as a Germanic noble leans close in warning

Varus reads the warning

September, AD 9. Three Roman legions are about to march into the Teutoburg Forest, guided by a trusted German officer named Arminius who has secretly raised all Germania against them. The night before, at dinner, a loyal chieftain warns the governor to arrest his guide. In our timeline Varus laughed it off as a family feud. This is the timeline where he listens.

A duty officer frozen at an amber console as the alarm banner glows, Serpukhov-15, 1983

False alarm, 1983

A quarter past midnight, 26 September 1983. In a bunker south of Moscow, a screen says five American missiles are on their way, and duty officer Stanislav Petrov has minutes to decide what to tell the Kremlin. In our timeline he called it a malfunction. This is the timeline where he follows protocol.

The open motorcade rolls along the Appel Quay through Sunday crowds, Sarajevo 1914

A wrong turn, corrected, at Sarajevo

28 June 1914. A bomb has already missed the archduke once this morning. His route changes; in our timeline, nobody tells the driver, the car stalls two paces from Gavrilo Princip, and the century catches fire. This is the timeline where someone says one sentence in time.

A Soviet submarine officer raises his hand in a red-lit control room, 1962

The man who said no

27 October 1962, the deepest hour of the Cuban Missile Crisis. Aboard the Soviet submarine B-59, firing the nuclear torpedo takes three officers. Two have said yes. This is the timeline where the third says yes as well.