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#1
August 21st, 2010, 12:56 AM
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Protect and Survive: A Timeline
I: Nuclear Explosions Explained
They are like ordinary explosions, only many times more powerful. It is academic to argue whether the conflict between NATO and the Warsaw Pact was inevitable. Such geo-political and philosophical arguments are beyond the scope of this study, which attempts to document, the effects of armageddon upon a major regional centre in the North-East of England. For the sake of clarity, however, a brief overview of the end's beginning will be supplied before the narrative focuses in on the city of Newcastle-upon-Tyne and its immediate environs. In response to increasing Soviet aggression during the latter part of 1983, the United Kingdom, in line with its NATO allies, began to prepare for the possibility of imminent hostilities with the Warsaw Pact. Planning for the unthinkable had, of course, been underway since Attlee - now, however, the spectre of conflagration loomed larger every day - especially after the Berlin Crises of October and January. Indeed, the commencement of full-scale Transition-to-War contingencies was ordered as a direct response to this second, larger event. In a hundred thousand homes across the nation, children ran home beaming to tell their parents that school had been closed until further notice. Despite being too young to fully understand, these smiles faded immediately upon seeing the grim expressions playing across the faces of mummy and daddy. Some parents attempted to explain the reason for the unexpected holiday, but most did not - after all, the truth was difficult to bowlderise - classrooms would be converted into ad hoc hospitals. Into makeshift morgues. Simultaneously, all but the most seriously ill patients were ejected from hospitals across the country in order to make space for the reception of war casualties. Care homes for the elderly were also cleared - this led to at least two dozen deaths as the frailest of the frail failed to cope with the stress and strain of such disruption. It was the extreme unpopularity of these measures (combined with simmering racial and anti-authoritarian sentiments) that sparked the Brixton Riots of January 1984 - although this was far from the only civil disturbance to occur during the last days of 'peace', it achieves a grim notability as the first occasion on which a British citizen was killed by security forces as a result of the Emergency Powers Act. When one youth (who had lost his grandmother to a heart attack as she was removed from her sheltered accommodation) blinded a policewoman during the height of the rioting, he was promptly beaten to death by the SPG. This would doubtless have sparked further violence had the Government not taken full advantage of the Emergency Powers Act in order to censor any stories 'inconducive to the national interest' for the duration of the crisis. Based on the (fairly spurious) belief that these riots had been instigated and encouraged by 'enemy subversives', the security services launched Operation ANTONINE in the early morning of the 22nd of January, in which over... * The Constable didn't necessarily agree with what was going on, but he was far from appalled by it. He had never really given politics a second thought, but sitting shoulder to shoulder with his colleagues in back of a transit van he supposed that he himself was a bit of a lefty. He listened The Clash and he adored Tom Robinson (indeed, he knew 'Glad to be Gay' word for word, and in times of less extreme tension had delivered impassioned renditions to captive audiences such as this one). His hair was always too long. Nevertheless, he had convinced himself that these extremists needed to be gotten rid of - like every policeman, he had heard the lurid rumours of what was going on down South. Secretly, however, he knew that he did what he did because he wanted to live for as long as possible. Like anyone with eyes and ears and a television set, he was convinced that war was going to come, and short of moving to Switzerland, the Constable reckoned that a blue suit would guarantee him a meal ticket after the end of the world - therefore he kept his mouth shut. Subversives and Security. Cowboys and Indians. Keep your mouth shut. Choose the fucking cowboys. For a hardcore socialist, thought the Constable, this lad had a pretty big house. Still, if everyone was so equal, the gentleman in question would have been awake and down some mineshaft by now. Hell, he thought, even miles under the North Sea would be preferable to what passed for a detention centre these days. Whatever. The Constable focused his mind on the task in hand. Creeping at the head of his team behind a well-trimmed hedge, he grabbed his truncheon and steeled himself. Waiting under a buzzing yellow streetlight, he tried to project confidence with his expression as he silently confirmed his comrades were all ready. 'Cromwell.' buzzed his little blue radio 'Cromwell. Cromwell.' By now he was already through the front door and screaming at his target, as yet unseen in the unlit house. Stamping down on each floorboard in order to project as disarming a presence as possible, the Constable threw himself up the stairs and into what he simply guessed was the master bedroom. He then began vomiting, composing himself briefly enough to call for assistance before falling to his knees and retching some more. In the corner sat a little girl in her pyjamas, with a small green frog in her arms and a large red hole in her head. In the bed, the mother lay face down. The suspect (what must have been the suspect) was sat upright with a shotgun balanced precariously upon his lower jaw. A telephone lay unhooked on the sideboard - he must have been warned. Only now did the Constable notice that the television was on. What was always on. 'Choose the room with the smallest amount of outside walls. The farther you are...' Thoughts, suggestions, criticisms? 
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#2
August 21st, 2010, 01:01 AM
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Woah...very nice indeed. :|
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#3
August 21st, 2010, 01:07 AM
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Question: Does WW3 with the Ruskies lead to the death of even center-left economics assuming NATO wins?
Anyways, badass timeline. ME WANTZ MOAR!!! 
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#4
August 21st, 2010, 03:36 AM
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Already this is scary and cool...
But, it got me thinking...what if the war doesn't come? (It'll already have done lots of damage...)
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#5
August 21st, 2010, 02:47 PM
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Next part's up this evening for those who are interested.
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#6
August 21st, 2010, 05:04 PM
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I'm sure you've probably read this but can I recommend the excellent 'Struggle For Survival - Governing Britain After the Bomb' by Steve Fox (http://www.subbrit.org.uk/rsg/features/sfs/)? Fox is, IMVHO, the leading researcher into Cold War Emergency Planning and has uncovered a lot of interesting stuff in recent years.
I don't like to sound like I'm being presumptive but I've done a lot of research into this area for my own AH, so if I can be of any help, or point you in the right direction I'd be more than happy to.
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#7
August 21st, 2010, 11:00 PM
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Please have no fear of being presumptive - I'm flattered by the offer and might well have to take you up on it here and there; feel free of course to poke holes or whatever if there's something you feel is off. On a tangential note, Jan, I've been trying to register over at TBOverse for a while now in order to say how much I've enjoyed following TLW, but the sites' being weird for some reason - now I've said it here anyway so you know, there you go. II- The Warnings You and your family must take cover at once. Do not stay out of doors. As January progressed, the international situation became terser, with both sides walking the tightrope of power projection without causing outright provocation. From Northern Norway to the Southern Mediterranean, airspace was violated and shipping harassed as the opposing blocs sought to reconnoitre and disrupt their de facto enemies' front lines. Almost unbelievably, and despite some near misses, no shots were fired until the night of the 28th/29th January, when a KLM jetliner was downed south of Bulgaria by a Warsaw Pact interceptor (by now, Russian, Bulgarian, Polish, East German and Hungarian combat aircraft had been forward deployed, and the exact nationality of the attacker remains unknown). In the UK, people awoke on the 29th to hear that HM Forces and the Security Services had increased to BIKINI RED, the highest possible alert level - absenteeism reached a high of approximately 30% as fear of immediate escalation became palpable. Within the next couple of days, following a Soviet statement through Sweden which apologised for a 'tragic error' (whilst nevertheless blaming the West for flying similarly silhouetted spy planes over provocative routes) the fear of instant oblivion subsided, although approximately 15% of the workforce still failed to show up from this point onwards. Deliberate absenteeism was exacerbated by strike action undertaken by railwaymen in London, Liverpool and Glasgow. Meanwhile, the London Underground ground to a halt due to a lack of crews. The call up of reservists from all walks of life further inflamed these problems. Although viewed as a reaction to this industrial action that was crippling the transport system, the Railways Act of 1978 was an integral part of Transition-to-War planning. At the same time, British Airways and the Channel Ferries were commandeered. The top priority was the evacuation of British subjects from the continent (most vitally, the dependents of British forces in Germany). With the entire transport network now geared towards a war in Europe, taking to the roads in private vehicles served as the only practical means of conveyance. The closing of motorways such as the M1 to the public (deemed to be Essential Service Routes) and the placing of petrol stations under military control soon made even this difficult. The authorities were now faced with an undesirable quandary. As many TTW objectives as possible must be achieved as soon as possible. Balanced with this, however, was the need to avoid causing undue disruption and panic. Perversely, the two aims were mutually exclusive. Indeed, the damage done to the economy was already extreme - a particularly dark joke circulated around Whitehall that the Treasury were simply praying for the bombs to come. It was this atmosphere of compromise that convinced the government to attempt to undertake several TTW aims in secret. Operation METHODICAL was the plan to remove works of art from likely targets and move them to safety (in this case, an abandoned chalk mine in North Wales). The pre-planned operation involved moving priceless classics under military escort. Fearful of further worrying a tense population, the decision was taken to carry out METHODICAL in the middle of the night, in secret (the galleries had been closed by this point due to their 'non-essential' power consumption). At midnight, convoys of British Army Bedfords rumbled towards their respective destinations; The British Museum, The Tate, The National Gallery etcetera. Within minutes, the operation's moniker became nothing more than an ironic joke. The galleries themselves had, bafflingly, not been informed of the plan - the troops had not been given keys to the galleries. The Metropolitan Police was soon overwhelmed by frightened security guards reporting break-ins by heavily armed men. In this heightened tension (piled up, of course, on already heightened tension), a Territorial Army unit near the British Museum mistook the unannounced arrival of a column of dark green lorries in Central London as some sort of coup attempt. Similarly, the soldiers inside the convoy took the interruption of a key military operation as some sort of coup attempt. A six minute firefight ensued before a ceasefire was achieved - it was a miracle that no-one on either side had been killed. Several irreplaceable works of art were, however, destroyed. The surviving pieces made it to Wales the next afternoon on chartered coaches with entirely civilian drivers. As this blackest of comedies occurred in the capital, a much darker omen came as two thirds of the country's fire appliances slinked silently and without lights into the night. Into hiding. * The Shopkeeper wasn't stupid. Plenty were these days - even the bloody army were running around like headless chickens if rumours were to be believed. The Shopkeeper had seen this whole mess coming months before anyone else - an eye for politics, they always said he should have been a politician. No, thought The Shopkeeper - I've made an honest living. He had siphoned off a tin here and there from his stocks - just a small shop, can't make it too noticeable - ever since that trouble in Moscow. Even when it came second on the Nine O'Clock News to those bleeding Hitler Diaries. He knew they were fakes, of course, but plenty didn't. Plenty of idiots around these days. He'd hit his wife when the silly bitch screamed at him for taking the doors down, but he had to, didn't he? She was getting hysterical - we've got to keep a stiff upper lip like in the last lot. She's got a stiff upper lip now - I should have been a comedian, he thought - they always said you were funny, a right Tommy Cooper. Mind on the task now, he started piling dirt into all the suitcases he could find, craning his neck to look at the broadsheet spread of instructions. Juss' like that - he chuckled - juss' like that. 'The fallout room should be the safest place in your home...' Last edited by Macragge1; August 21st, 2010 at 11:09 PM..
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#8
August 29th, 2010, 04:51 AM
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I've always been interested in this, ever since watching THREADS. I'm interested especially in how Britain would cope (The answer being not well I suspect) and in how long it would take to recover. Threads only pans out to 1996 which really isn't far enough. That said, even 2010 probably isn't far enough for a full scale exchange to see any real sort of recovery. Ever read "Resurrection Day" by Brendan DuBois - Main story is investigative journalism, but set in Alt-1972, ten years after the bombs fell in 1962?
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#9
August 29th, 2010, 05:20 PM
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#10
August 29th, 2010, 09:09 PM
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France by comparison never had the same extensive plans, or at least I am not aware of them. Fair to say though that France being larger would have vast areas of the country virtually unscathed after the attack.
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#11
August 29th, 2010, 09:17 PM
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Most TL I've read which involved them, especially post 1960, usually end up with the Soviet Union as glass, simply because the USA goes overkill and ends up literally leveling the country. Britain wouldn't do very well out of a nuclear attack, but she might cope better than expected due to some idea given to planning.
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#12
August 29th, 2010, 10:44 PM
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this is intense.
I am subscribing.
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#13
August 29th, 2010, 11:28 PM
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IV - Choosing a Fall-Out Room
So the best thing is to make arrangements now to shelter with someone close by. At 4.30 am on the 18th February, the unthinkable happened as the Warsaw Pact began an offensive that stretched from Narvik to the Adriatic. Across the 'Central Area', seemingly endless columns of tanks forced their way through the Allied lines. Although far from unexpected, the sheer ferocity of the bombardment that preceded the attack still managed to catch the combined NATO armies off-guard. Well trained and disciplined, these forces mostly succeeded in falling back from pre-planned defence to pre-planned defence, although some such attempts were undermined across the front; not only were huge columns of refugees now clogging the roads (leading, infamously, to a French armoured unit simply ploughing through a road full of fleeing civilians, crushing many in their cars) - crack Spetznaz saboteurs, disguised as British, Americans, even civilians - were doing their level best to harry the retreating forces. For three days, the Third World War plays out more or less as expected - Communist numbers slowly overwhelm capitalist technology and training. Across land, sea and air, fighting is brutal. In the UK, panic buying is now rife. Within hours of hostilities commencing, there is barely a single edible item left on supermarket shelves. Unglamorous foodstuffs such as pie filling or cake mix are now quite literally worth their weight in gold - by now, however, few accept the handfuls of jewellery presented to them in exchange for a couple of tins of Spam. More than once, policemen (as yet unarmed) posted to protect supermarket stocks are simply trampled to death by stampedes of panic-buyers. Mercifully, the emergency food depots remain almost totally unmolested - the sheer weight of soldiers now surrounding them make any attempts at seizing foodstuffs particularly unattractive. The Number One Single this week was Nena's '99 Red Balloons' - or rather, it would have been, had the Official Charts Company not been disbanded as the BBC scaled down to skeleton public information broadcasting (the shooting having started, many of the key staff and much equipment is now moving to Wood Norton anyway) Absenteeism has now reached 90% in some areas. Although the threat of war has been looming for some time now, most have not prepared until war has definitely come (as occurred during the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962). Simply put, few were willing to tear doors down and dig up back gardens without, as this author's own father put it 'a bloody good reason'. Soviet armour was now pouring across the Fulda Gap, smashing aside determined NATO opposition. This was a bloody good reason to build oneself a shelter. A timber yard foreman in Luton is shot dead. The property is stripped bare before anyone thinks to call an ambulance. At around lunchtime on the 21st, confused reports reach newsrooms that an atomic blast has been reported in West Germany. An American commander on the ground, having found his forces surrounded west of Kassel, mistakenly believes that the use of tactical nuclear weapons has been authorised (to this day, it is unknown quite how he came to this conclusion, although one can only guess at the stress and confusion the man must have been facing). A battlefield nuclear weapon is airburst near Kassel. Soviet casualties are enormous. Two hours later, a similar weapon obliterates the American commander's pocket to the west. The front goes quiet. * The Constable, unlike most these days, still turned up to work. He felt no dramatic, swelling sense of duty at a time of dire national emergency - simply a continued desire to survive. Besides, the canteen was one of the few places you could be guaranteed a hot meal now that the silly buggers had started shooting at each other. All day, he and his colleague had been driving from minor disturbance to little scuffle - now that the shelves were bare, there was little to fight about. People kept their doors locked though. And they stayed behind them. Though it was just about midday, almost every street remained completely deserted, disturbed only by an urgent looking green convoy or a couple of screaming police cars. Those that did stay out were acting a little 'off' to say the least, thought the Constable. Fights erupted over nothing, between the meekest of people. Others simply groped and fucked a mere token distance from the main roads. The Constable broke up the fights, but simply ignored the 'lovers' - be the last fun the poor bastard's'll have in a long time, he mused. It was as if the whole town had been drinking all day. As he passed the Civic Centre, he saw a sweet looking old man and his equally kindly looking wife arguing with a couple of less picturesque looking soldiers sitting atop a machine-gun post. He would have thought it a strange scene, was he not immediately distracted by the News at Twelve. 'They've done fucking what?', thought the Constable. * 'Please, Sergeant' repeated the Old Man, 'you have to let me in - I'm the Health Officer for heaven's sake!'. The soldier seemed less concerned about minding his mouth, again telling the elderly gentleman to show him his 'effing' papers or 'eff off'. 'For the tenth time, man, I've left them at home...yes, yes, my wife will be allowed in, just let me speak to the controller!'. Before the soldier could think up an even less polite way to say 'no', a bundle of ill-fitting green clothes came running from the direction of the local Grammar School. 'They've done it', panted the cadet, who couldn't have been a day past sixteen - 'in Germany - radio doesn't know if it's ours or theirs yet...'. The Old Man's Wife started crying. 'For Christ's sake...' thought the soldier, before grabbing both the Old Man and his Wife and near frogmarching them down into the makeshift bunker. At the door they met a policeman, who dutifully went and found the County Controller. 'What the bloody hell is it, can't you see I'm busy?' snapped the County Controller as he emerged from the bunker entrance. His face lit up as he saw the Old Man - 'Ah, Nigel, thank God you're here!'. His face lit back down as he saw that the Old Man had brought his wife - 'Oh...err...hallo Edith. Nigel, can I have a word with you outside?'. The County Controller wants nothing less than to let the Wife in - he went to school with her husband, and he knew her since university, for heaven's sake. But he couldn't - this killed him. Space was already at a premium inside the bunker, and food stocks had been very carefully provisioned. Besides, it wouldn't be fair on those who had left their families behind - if I let one in, thought the Controller, I'll have to let them all in. This he explained to the Old Man. 'I'm so, so sorry'. The County Controller could have stopped the Old Man as he walked upstairs with his wife. Indeed, the soldier made a move so as to grab this 'health officer', and force him into his post. One glance from the County Controller and the soldier stopped. There was in fact a deputy health officer present, but this made no difference either way - this was the Controller's final favour. * The Old Man and his Wife didn't mind so much. After all, what mattered is that they were together when they went - just like the old tune. In his heart of hearts, the Old Man knew that his Wife wouldn't get into the bunker. She knew too. They walked hand in hand down the once-thriving Northumberland Street towards Grey's Monument. The dead centre of the town. There were some there already, alone or in pairs, a couple of little groups. They were silent, mostly, swaddled in blankets and huddling for warmth. The Old Man threw a picnic blanket on the stones and wrapped his wife up warm. He then saw to himself. Proper cheese and nice crackers. He popped a bottle of champagne (of a truly obscene vintage), pouring it into two crystal glasses. This was the rainy day they'd been saving for. They wanted to be right underneath it. * Attack Warning Red. Last edited by Macragge1; August 29th, 2010 at 11:36 PM..
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#14
August 30th, 2010, 05:04 AM
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Years later, I was telling this story to a friend, and he remarked that if he'd been in Washington and thought a nuclear attack was imminent, he would have headed for the Lincoln Memorial to die staring up at the statue.
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#15
August 30th, 2010, 12:31 PM
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Cheers, Nigel.
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#16
August 30th, 2010, 07:18 PM
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BTW, props to Macragge1 for his good work on this story 
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#17
September 3rd, 2010, 04:30 PM
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Having had to watch threads at school in the mid 80's, it's amazing even now how influential it is as a piece.
Subscribed to this. Not sure looking forward to it is quite the right way to respond, but certainly intrigued. Keep it up.
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#18
September 3rd, 2010, 05:00 PM
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I find it interesting that St._Elmo's_Fire_(Man_in_Motion) by John Parr came on the radio as I was reading this thread. I find the song pretty apocalyptic, so it was odd.
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#19
September 3rd, 2010, 11:06 PM
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