The shoe's on the t'other foot now. But that doesn't mean it's a comfortable fit.
And the seeds of resentment are sown.
"мамонт"
A moment, always a moment. The locals were useless. Time was of the essence. They had to press north if the pole was to become American this season. Old Glory on top of the world would be an important element in the campaign. Make America bull again.
"Not a moment, a mamont."
The naval officer patiently watched the former Assistant Secretary of the Navy. Both men looked almost the same: stocky figures clad in thick furs, each a resemblance to a child's stuffed toy.
A "mamont". What was that -- a cake ? A Limey breakfast paste, a Russian pastry ? Probably some local delicacy -- ground walnut, shell included, dripping in honey; still, any additional calorie was welcome given the climate.
"A mammoth, Mr President. A wooly elephant. Alive."
A smile gradually extended over Theodore Roosevelt's face. It almost melted the icicles that had formed at the edges of his moustache.
"You know what this means, Bob."
Robert Peary was slow to comprehend.
"We're going to need a bigger boat."
Wait what?Meanwhile, in the extreme
Indeed. Which is why I feel I'm missing a point or reference or something, here.mammoths are extinct OTL
Clearly not, unless carlton_bach has some other thread set around 1890-1910 going on I don't know about, or someone else who adopts his wacky "put the canon update stuff in quotes" (which I dislike but he likes, so author's preference rules) has one going. Which is possible but I doubt. Stendhal imitated the author's style, a little bit, and picked up on a character who has appeared in the TL, but said something silly that would if taken seriously get this thread relegated to ASB--surviving mammoths in 20th century is clearly "evolutionary POD," plus he'd be taken to account for how come all the butterflies from surviving mammoths have not rendered all of recorded human history completely changed.Sounds like wrong thread to me.
And you just got me to re-read the whole thing...schnipp
“Income tax?” Rathenau asked, taken aback. “Is that really the hill you want to die on?”
“It is simply unacceptable!” minister von Siemens protested. “The middle classes of the empire have given everything for this victory. We cannot allow them to be bled dry at peace!”
Rathenau sighed. Of course this was going to happen. He had not expected it to come from an imperial appointee, but the Hugenberg press was going to carry the torch of righteous indignation, and a big chunk of the Zentrum might follow them this time.
“It is without alternative.” He countered. “It is this, or the death of our national economy.”
Professor Wagner, also seated at the table, nodded emphatically. He had been dragged out of retirement at the insistence of Max Weber, one of the emperor’s closest confidants, and his authority meant a lot in government circles.
“It is indeed.” The old man explained. “Simply, we will be facing a period of relative dearth. War production cannot immediately be retooled, and what our industries turn out will to a large extent need to go into export. Until Russia pays its indemnities, this is our sole reliable source of foreign currencies, and we will need it to service our foreign debt. If we allow the economy to find its natural balance, the results would be catastrophic.”
Siemens swallowed. “I … realise that.” he admitted. He had fought hard for an early return to the gold standard, but ultimately everyone had had to agree this was impossible. At least, it was impossible to have that and not face a revolution. “But surely, you must see that this is unjust in the extreme. People whose income is in cash….”
“…will be glad to be shielded from the worst ravages of inflation.”, Rathenau interrupted, unconvincingly. “And from the threat of red revolution.”
“We simply cannot do without the funds to manage the transition.” That was Professor Weber, immaculately attired and infuriatingly calm. “And we will have to accept a degree of controlled inflation. We can export it into the newly liberated states of Central Europe, at any rate. But someone must provide the money to employ all the men returning. Someone must channel the demand into productive directions.”
The plan that the government had come up with was impressive, on paper. Vast amounts of money had already been funnelled into real estate purchases and building projects. This would continue, fuelled by tax revenues that no longer were needed to buy shells, guns and warships. The resulting employment would ensure that farmers had buyers for their produce in the cities and that cash left circulation as it was sunk into institutional coffers. Raw materials would be purchased and finished products exported to the eastern periphery, by preference. A mark bought more in Poland than it did in America. But all of this meant that they were facing years, decades, of a currency unmoored from gold. Its magic would inflate away a big part of the country’s debt, but again the cost would be borne by Germany’s middle classes. If you had land, factories, or shipping interests, you would come out all right. If you lived by selling your labour, you’d at least have a job, and a chance of ending up in one of the new housing developments to boot. But if you were invested in bonds, pensions or rents, the government had halved your value in one fell swoop - and you would be lucky if it stayed at that. Passing the bill for all of this to the bourgeois sounded like some perfidious Socialist plot. Instead, it was being cooked up by the emperor’s cabal.
“I do not think it will be acceptable to the Reichstag.” Siemens stated flatly. “Not without some guarantees for the currency and significantly lower rates.”
Rathenau shrugged. “His Majesty commands it.” He sighed heavily. “Look, this is not what I would want. It’s not what anyone would have wanted. But if you look at the bright side for a minute, at least it provides us the opportunity to test the theory of money. If it works, the historical school are right. If we fail, the English are.”
Siemens shook his head. The war was over. They weren’t supposed to continue risking everything on gambles! This was not what peace was supposed to look like.
Now that's the attitude. And as always, excellent chapter.If it works, the historical school are right. If we fail, the English are.