Malê Rising
- Thread starter Jonathan Edelstein
- Start date
Congrats. Now what shall I do? I've spent the last week or so immersed in this world and now I shall be forced to wait on updates. 
My West Indian family claims descent (with mimimal evidence that I'm aware of) from Jaja of Opobo. My mother didn't think much of the family stories since he is not much remembered in the Caribbean but she mentioned this to a friend who belongs to a minor Nigerian royal house (I don't know which one) and he has not failed to call her queen in every interaction since. Clearly Jaja's fame has been better preserved in the land of his birth than in that of his exile.
My West Indian family claims descent (with mimimal evidence that I'm aware of) from Jaja of Opobo. My mother didn't think much of the family stories since he is not much remembered in the Caribbean but she mentioned this to a friend who belongs to a minor Nigerian royal house (I don't know which one) and he has not failed to call her queen in every interaction since. Clearly Jaja's fame has been better preserved in the land of his birth than in that of his exile.
Sorry to have broken the streak, then.
The 419 fraud is definitely out there, and there's enough of it to have affected pop culture. There's a Nigerian band in the UK named JJC and the 419 Squad, and the popular 2007 song Yahooze lampooned the fraud lifestyle (the word "Yahooze" comes from 419 fraudsters' widespread use of email addresses). Also, like many developing countries, Nigeria has a problem with governmental corruption.
Reducing Nigeria to frauds or scams, though, is ridiculously stereotypical. The great majority of Nigerian businessmen are exactly that, and the Igbo in particular have a proven track record of legitimate entrepreneurship. The attitude toward fraud in pop culture is more or less like "gangsta" culture in the United States - it signifies a certain sneaking regard for the outlaw lifestyle, but it isn't representative of how people actually live. Nigeria's reputation is tainted by its criminal element in much the same way as Russia's, and it's no more fair in the Nigerian case than in the Russian.
Of the Nigerians I have met personally, and there have been many, none have been involved in any degree of fraud.
Congrats on your Turtledove victory and making AH.com finally appreciate the beauty of Africa instead of what European empire will claim the Congo
I was hoping to eventually do the same with my own goofy TL, but still need to do a lot of research.
Congratulations on the win, Jonathan. You deserve it. Thank you for Malê Rising and all your other fantastic work.
And thanks to both of you for reading. Othyrsyde, if you have any questions about Africa or about where to take an African plot in your story (which I now need to read), don't hesitate to ask.
Very cool. Nigerians of a certain age, especially those from elite families, tend to set great store in titles, so I'm not surprised that your mother's friend would do this. The younger generation often doesn't make nearly as much fuss.
Jaja of Opobo certainly is remembered in the Niger Delta, and he'll be even better remembered in TTL - wait until you see what he does in the war.
Timbuktu
June 1894
“My father hated yours, you know,” said Aguibou Tall.
“I do know,” Usman Abacar answered, looking into the eyes of the Toucouleur Empire’s fourth ruler in five years. “I’ve read some of his sermons – blasphemer and innovator was the least of it.”
“He hated your father,” Aguibou continued, “but he also respected him. When that British officer came as ambassador, the message he carried wasn’t a curse or a threat, but a plea to free the slaves. My father listened.” The Toucouleur inhaled deeply. “Which is why I’m here listening to you.”
“What makes you think I have anything to say, besides gratitude for the shelter?” Usman’s latest raid behind French lines had taken his detachment close to the border, and he’d crossed over rather than going to ground in some Fulani village.
“You should be grateful. We turn away the Tuaregs and Bedouins from the desert, you know – if we didn’t, the French would chase them onto our soil, as they did in Agadez. Some of my officers said I should do the same to you.”
“I’ll be gone before the Frenchmen know I’m here, never fear. And again, what makes you think I have anything more in mind?”
“Don’t waste my time, Colonel. We both know you wouldn’t have come this far out of your way just because you wanted to see the old city.”
Usman suppressed a laugh; the truth was, that was one of the reasons he had come. The conversation was taking place deep in the Sankoré mosque, among libraries filled with dusty treatises on theology and medicine, and the ancient university had fascinated the Malê officer since childhood. Islam was indescribably old here, and the city had an atmosphere of accumulated wisdom that nothing on the lower Niger could match. This was the source: this was where the Fulani had learned their faith, this was the place of knowledge that had filtered in time to Usman dan Fodio and to the slaves who their fellow-bondsmen had called Malê.
But there was more. “You’re right, of course,” Usman said. “You have a strong army, and the French have wronged you. Join us and use it against them.”
“The French have wronged us, yes. The French are also stronger than us. We’ve found that not provoking them is the better part of valor.”
And so they had, Usman knew. After Tidiani Tall’s untimely death, his son Boubacar’s defeat and the usurpation of Boubacar’s brother Maki, the kingmakers had turned to the last of Umar Tall’s sons, a man as austere and inward-looking as the scholars in these mosques. He had brought stability to the Toucouleur state, but that would hardly be enough to save it in the long run.
Aguibou Tall
“You’re living on borrowed time even so, Sidi. If you aren’t with the French, you’re against them, and they won’t tolerate another force behind their lines forever. Agadez’ and Gobir’s fate will be yours.”
“And your side is any better? Britain would swallow us too – they tried to suborn Boubacar, and they also want to build their empire. If it’s one empire or the other, why not the French? The Senegalese vote in their elections, and they’ve made citizens of their African soldiers.”
Beside Usman, Jan Smuts bristled, but the Malê slid his hand along the table in a quelling gesture; they were in the Toucouleur sultan’s territory, and the man made a fair point. “That’s true,” he began. “But the price the Senegalese pay for sharing in France’s government is that France governs them – they are a province, subject to French law. Ilorin and Sokoto, and Adamawa too, rule themselves internally, like Canada does. We’re masters in our own houses.” He spread his hands carefully to take in his officers, hoping that Aguibou would notice the point he was making: Smuts was his aide, not the other way around.
“And you could be ally, not subject,” he continued. “An ally with your Bambara territories back.”
“That would only happen if you win,” Aguibou answered, “and you’re losing, aren’t you? The Gambia is taken. Sierra Leone is besieged. The Mossi are fighting in their easternmost province…”
“We’ve started to push them back in the south. Our conscript regiments are reaching the front, there are German reinforcements coming from Kamerun, and the French don’t have as many new men to send against them…”
“And if so, then what? Why do I want the Bambara provinces? Would you fight a war to rule Nupe?”
“No,” Usman had to admit.
“Your father was right about that, however wrong he was about other things. One people shouldn’t rule another. The Bambara were right to rebel, and without them, this is a stronger country and a purer one.”
A purer one. Usman had heard that Aguibou shared his father Umar’s wish for a commonwealth of herdsmen and scholars, in which merchants and industrialists were best ignored. The sultan had as much as said so before supper, when he’d mentioned that the taxes of Timbuktu’s schools were remitted on account of the wisdom they spread.
Usman wouldn’t let him ignore them. “If you won’t fight for us, then, sell us guns. We will fill your treasury, give your mills the funds to grow. You won’t have to depend on French goods…”
“Go to the foundries and make an order,” Aguibou broke in, gesturing in the direction of the new city. It was beneath his notice. “They’ll sell you what you want, as long as they don’t have French orders to fill first. We don’t dare refuse to sell them guns to kill us with, so why should we refuse you?”
Usman leaned back for a moment, buffeted by the force of the Toucouleur sultan’s humiliation. “It doesn’t have to be like that,” he said calmly. “Not if after this war, all of us together – all the Fulani, all the nations of the Niger and the Benue – formed a league. We of Ilorin joined the British empire because we are weak alone but strong together; the same would be so of the peoples on this river. A federation within the empire – one that would combine the best of all of us, one that they’d have to listen to in London and Paris too.” Without conscious thought, he had shifted to Sudanic, the Fulfulde-Arabic-Portuguese creole that was the traders’ tongue along the Niger, to emphasize how much the Malê and the Toucouleur had in common already.
“Nigeria,” whispered Smuts beside him. The Boer captain – no, I’ve made him a major – was a believer in Evans’ theory of an ancient Egyptian-influenced culture, and Timbuktu, with its blocks of mud-brick buildings, had only convinced him further that Egypt had left its mark on this place. He’d never dreamed that, here in the desert, mud could build palaces and fifteen-meter minarets, and the city had filled him with something like awe; evidently, Usman’s dream of a Niger federation made him think of the valley’s ancient glory.
If Aguibou noticed, he didn’t say. “I see you’re as much of a dreamer, if less of a mystic,” and Usman knew that the Toucouleur monarch was comparing him to his father. “You know, your father could have become a king. So could you.”
It was a change in the subject, but Usman had seen that Aguibou said little without a purpose. “My father taught me that there are too many kings in the world,” he answered, “and I agree with him.”
The Toucouleur was silent for a moment. “Maybe you mean that,” he said. “A league. Is this something you could offer, or is this a promise that is forgotten as soon as your shipment of guns arrives?”
“Ilorin’s terms of accession to the British empire reserved the right to maintain diplomatic relations with African states. We could make treaties with you, and we could keep them.”
Again, Aguibou Tall considered. “No, I think. We would lose our purity, and with that we would lose our strength. You can go to the foundries and buy what you wish, and you can shelter here after your raids if you’re discreet about it. But no league.”
“Very well,” Usman conceded. “Then I would only ask one thing more: the right for Ilorin to keep an embassy here, to look after its citizens when they come to trade.”
The sultan shrugged once more: another request that was beneath his notice. “Find someone to sell you a house,” he said. “Send who you wish, as long as he obeys our laws.” And even as he said so, Aguibou rose from his chair; the audience was over.
Later, in the street, Smuts looked at Abacar curiously. “You tell the truth too much to be a good diplomat,” he said.
Usman laughed. “My father wouldn’t even have understood that,” he answered. “Nor would Aguibou’s father, I’d guess.”
“While you understand but disagree?”
“Yes.” The Malê smiled broadly; it was good that Jan Pieter had become familiar enough with him to say such things. “Anything other than truth is a poor foundation, whether between people or between nations. But sometimes the truth that isn’t told is the most important.”
They turned a corner where a group of veiled Tuaregs were roasting a lamb, into the narrow alley that led to the lodging they had taken. “How so?”
“Aguibou is the fourth sultan here in five years. What does that tell you?”
“That he’s a weak king?”
“Close. He may not be weak – but whether or not he is, others are strong. Since Tidiani’s death, sultans here have lasted only as long as the kingmakers allow them.”
“And – do you mean the embassy?”
“Yes. Who do you think the ambassador will be talking to?” It was nearly evening, and Usman’s face was unreadable. “The kingmakers, the foundry owners, the merchants and tradesmen… the people. And people aren’t pure, but they are the country’s strength.”
The two walked together into the inn, where another roast lamb was waiting.
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Sure thanks. I know more about East Africa, having lots of Somali, Ethiopian, and Oromo neighbors and schoolmates in college. But yeah, I'll defiantly have to hit you up for info. Right now in my TL I just have a glimpse into Africa because I'm still doing research, so I'm covering other parts of the globe right now. I know what direction I want to go in subsaharan Africa, but there still very loose concepts. Overall though, I got the same goal of African colonization resembling more the Asian route, and leaving behind a stabler continent. Can't wait to hear your input, and I'll comment some more when I get deeper into your TL.
wolf_brother
Banned
I'm sure Tall wouldn't appreciate Abacar fomenting dissent in his 'pure' empire, though of course Usman wouldn't say that what he's doing. The Toucouleur Sultan comes off as incredibly naïve, or perhaps just incredibly arrogant, in this update, but I have a sneaking suspecision he's actually even more shrewd than either his Malê or British counterpart - joining the war would obviously bring the French hammer down on him, but openly consorting with the Niger successor states would do the same. Allowing for an embassy to be opened, unofficial trade with Ilorin, these things leave options open for Aguibou; after all he didn't say no, and "sometimes the truth that isn’t told is the most important."
He's probably honest enough to admit it to himself - all's fair in war.
You're correct that Aguibou is shrewder than Usman thinks he is. He's a long way from stupid and he knows what's going on in the world around him, which means he realizes he needs contingency plans for either a British or a French victory. So he'll let his foundry-masters sell to both sides, and he'll allow Ilorin to establish an embassy with the understanding that the back channel will go in both directions. That way, if he needs to join one side or the other, he has a foot in the door to do so.
But at the same time, the impression of arrogance is entirely justified. Like his father, Aguibou is a sort of reactionary reformer - he wants to purify the faith and defend the people against the assault of modernity, but realizes that to do this, he must reform and strengthen the state. He regrets Tidiani Tall's program of industrial development, but knows that he can't roll it back because the revenue it generates is paying for his army. Part of the way he squares this circle is by pretending that the new mercantile and industrial class isn't really part of his kingdom - they exist and they're useful, but not something he really wants to spend time on when the true people are the simple herdsmen and the scholars who teach them. This gives him a fairly major blind spot - he doesn't really want to understand modern ideas, so he doesn't realize what impact they can have, and he doesn't quite realize that an embassy is more than a government-to-government channel.
Congratulations on the well-deserved Turtledove Johnathan- I knew you were going to sneak it eventually but I wasn't expecting it to be quite so close!
I think it's brilliant that something focusing on Africa, a really neglected area in alternative history, gets the award; I know I've learned a hell of a lot from this thread, and really need to start afresh from the beginning so I can comment meaningfully.
I think it's brilliant that something focusing on Africa, a really neglected area in alternative history, gets the award; I know I've learned a hell of a lot from this thread, and really need to start afresh from the beginning so I can comment meaningfully.
Sorry, I should have referenced post 1023, which describes the discovery of the Nok culture and Arthur John Evans' "Nigeria theory" of African origins. It's a crackpot theory - basically, Evans posited, from almost no evidence, that the Niger Valley civilizations were founded by ancient Egyptian exiles - but it fits with the racial theories of the time, and it will be accepted, albeit somewhat controversial, historiography in TTL until the mid-twentieth century.
Intrigue in Timbuktu... I like it. I was wondering what was happening in the Toucouleur Empire. I'm so glad it's still around!
It's still around, albeit ironically on territory it never held in OTL, and unlike some other African states, it has a fighting chance to still be around after the war.
One thing I should add is that Umar Tall's anti-modernism and desire for a pastoral religious commonwealth are TTL, not OTL. He was concerned with purifying the faith in OTL, but his energies were mainly directed at eliminating folk religion and completing the Islamization of the upper Niger. Those were important to him in TTL too, but his ideology also developed in reaction to Abacar's revolutionary theology, and his idea of a pure state developed a distinct anti-modernist and anti-cosmopolitan component, leading him to look with suspicion on industrial development and foreign trade. This was discussed in some of the prior updates that involved the Toucouleur, as was his nephew Tidiani's temporary departure from it.
Thanks; coming from you, that's much appreciated. I've been a fan of The Bloody Man for a long time, and I can only hope I've taught as much about 19th-century Africa as I've learned about the English Civil War and early New England. Your thoughts are always welcome here.
I've finally caught up with this fantastic timeline. What a stupendously fascinating read! I was wondering if you could say something about the intellectual currents in Bosnia. Sufism and tolerance have deep roots in the region, including one of the oldest extant documents for religious freedom, Mehmet's ferman on the freedom of the Bosnian Franciscans. I could see the reformist movements gaining much popularity among the Sarajevo cognoscenti. Furthermore, how are the internecine relations in the region? OTL had the growth of the Great Serb/Croat mentalities and the unfortunately-unsuccessful effort for a unified national identity under the Austro-Hungarian aegis; is the pan-Ottomanism a more successful unifier in TTL?
Congratulations on the award JE.
Now when are we going to start seeing slashfic for Smuts and Abacar?
(For the record, I am happy if we don't!)
Now when are we going to start seeing slashfic for Smuts and Abacar?
(For the record, I am happy if we don't!)
Thanks and good to see you here! I'll admit that I haven't thought through the urban intellectual culture in Bosnia. I'd thought of Bosnia and Albania in terms of the relations between peasants and absentee landlords, which led to rebellion in the later 19th century both in OTL and TTL, but you're certainly correct that Sarajevo will be another world.
I agree that Islamic reformism would do well there - the Constitutionalist Party's paternalistic liberalism would be widespread, and the Sufi roots would also make Abacarism or Belloism attractive to many. I could also see Sarajevo as a transfer point somewhat like the Levant or the Central Asian borderlands where Islamic and Christian liberalism meet and synthesize. Maybe Abay Qunanbaiuli's notions of inter-religious relations (see post 963) could help to mediate tensions between the millets, although pan-Serb and pan-Croat sentiment will also be present and will be encouraged by the Austrians.
Your comment is actually very timely, because Sarajevo is now under siege, cut off from the main Ottoman lines on the Vardar. The next series of BOG vignettes, which should be up in a few days, will contain a scene there - I'll review more of the city's history in the meantime.
Now when are we going to start seeing slashfic for Smuts and Abacar?
(For the record, I am happy if we don't!)
Um, well... maybe fanboys/girls in TTL's twenty-first century will write them, but you won't see any here.
I doubt that the movie we know in OTL (which I haven't yet seen) will be made, but slavery will definitely be a subject of 20th and 21st-century American film, and slaves will generally be portrayed as more active agents than in OTL movies. Post 367 contained an excerpt of a 1952 movie about black Civil War soldiers, and there will be many others touching on African-Americans' experience in the war and their quest for freedom from slavery. Surprisingly, South Carolina, which has a minor film industry of its own, won't be the first to focus on slave narratives - the State House Press in the 1900-20 era will prefer films based on African-American folklore or the postwar new society - but once state politics get shaken up in the 1920s, the slave experience will become a major part of local cinema. I could imagine storylines similar to Django Unchained being filmed in the 1930s or after, possibly based on dime-novel plots.
And as for the next update, you have but to ask.
Northern France, April 1894
“I think it should work this time,” said Thierry Niasse.
Captain Georges Méliès stuck his head out from under the chassis where he was working and shifted position to look at the other man. He still did a double take every time he saw Thierry; Senegalese were supposed to be soldiers, and while Niasse did wear a uniform and lieutenant’s bars, he was the least military-looking man the captain had ever seen. His father had been a sergeant-major in the tirailleurs and his mother a nurse – that much, at least, was normal – but he’d grown up bookish and thin as a rail, and he hadn’t the slightest interest in soldiering before the Technical Corps had snapped him up.
“Got the timing worked out?”
“I think so,” Thierry repeated. His accent was pure Paris street tough without a trace of Africa in it, and if there were anything he looked less like than a soldier, it was a street tough.
“I think so, sir,” Georges answered, but his heart wasn’t in it; it wasn’t as if the reminder would make a difference. Thierry was a genius at anything mechanical, but other things didn’t hold his interest; he probably couldn’t tell you who France was fighting, let alone keep track of the finer points of military courtesy.
Which, of course, made him a natural for the Technical Corps.
“Yes, sir,” Thierry said dutifully, but he still sounded less than certain. He was sure he’d improved on Daimler’s design, and he was probably right – someone of his color wouldn’t have been taken on to the research teams otherwise. But translating a design into a working engine was easier said than done, and he hadn’t been getting the performance out of this one that he’d hoped he would.
“Let me take a look.” Méliès scrambled to his feet and stuck his head in the engine housing. He looked at the timing chain that Thierry had installed – the lieutenant had machined this one himself – felt the tension, and gave the gears a turn. “Only one way to find out, I guess.”
Thierry nodded, set the timing chain and started turning the crank. He had a surprising amount of strength in his spindly arms, and the engine came to life; that much, at least, was working.
“Let’s take her for a ride.” Georges jumped into the driver’s seat – rank had its privileges – and waited for Thierry to take the seat beside him. He pushed the clutch and the gears engaged; the wagon rumbled forward.
The old barn that the Corps had converted into a garage was open, and they bumped down the driveway and onto a country road. Georges gave the wagon more fuel, and it began to pick up speed.
“It’s working,” Thierry said, and it was – there was five hundred kilos of ballast in back, but the wagon was still moving at a fast trot, or even a canter. Méliès gave it still more fuel; the engine was laboring now, but it could still outpace a cantering horse. Thierry said the engine had the strength of fifteen horses, and the captain believed him. The wagon couldn’t pull guns, but it could carry a tonne or two of supplies – or, for that matter, men – in places where trains couldn’t go.
They were passing farms, and the men in the fields left off work for a moment to gawk. Thierry drew their interest almost as much as the wagon did; everyone had heard of the Senegalese soldiers, and it was common knowledge that Paris and Marseilles were full of Africans, but few in this part of the country would ever have seen one. The lieutenant stood up in his seat and waved his cap at the farmers, answering their cheers with a shouted greeting.
At least one man’s having a happy war, Georges thought. He felt the wind on his face as the wagon barreled down the road, and reconsidered. All right, two.
The engine backfired and the wagon slowed down, but it didn’t stall. Méliès looked around, realized they’d gone about five kilometers, and decided it was time to turn back.
“I’ll talk to the colonel today,” he said, “and recommend that we put this into production. Get a few hundred of these into the field, and let the Germans spike their railroads then.”
“Until the Germans and British build their own,” Thierry answered; he was under no illusion that the Technical Corps were the only ones working on improved engines. “But hopefully by then we’ll have a better one.”
“We can hope so,” Méliès said. He imagined engines that could pull artillery, move a wagon at a gallop, even lift a man off the earth, and imagined everything the army could do if it had such things. But right now, this wagon he was driving was possible, and they needed to get some to the front.
“I think it should work this time,” said Thierry Niasse.
Captain Georges Méliès stuck his head out from under the chassis where he was working and shifted position to look at the other man. He still did a double take every time he saw Thierry; Senegalese were supposed to be soldiers, and while Niasse did wear a uniform and lieutenant’s bars, he was the least military-looking man the captain had ever seen. His father had been a sergeant-major in the tirailleurs and his mother a nurse – that much, at least, was normal – but he’d grown up bookish and thin as a rail, and he hadn’t the slightest interest in soldiering before the Technical Corps had snapped him up.
“Got the timing worked out?”
“I think so,” Thierry repeated. His accent was pure Paris street tough without a trace of Africa in it, and if there were anything he looked less like than a soldier, it was a street tough.
“I think so, sir,” Georges answered, but his heart wasn’t in it; it wasn’t as if the reminder would make a difference. Thierry was a genius at anything mechanical, but other things didn’t hold his interest; he probably couldn’t tell you who France was fighting, let alone keep track of the finer points of military courtesy.
Which, of course, made him a natural for the Technical Corps.
“Yes, sir,” Thierry said dutifully, but he still sounded less than certain. He was sure he’d improved on Daimler’s design, and he was probably right – someone of his color wouldn’t have been taken on to the research teams otherwise. But translating a design into a working engine was easier said than done, and he hadn’t been getting the performance out of this one that he’d hoped he would.
“Let me take a look.” Méliès scrambled to his feet and stuck his head in the engine housing. He looked at the timing chain that Thierry had installed – the lieutenant had machined this one himself – felt the tension, and gave the gears a turn. “Only one way to find out, I guess.”
Thierry nodded, set the timing chain and started turning the crank. He had a surprising amount of strength in his spindly arms, and the engine came to life; that much, at least, was working.
“Let’s take her for a ride.” Georges jumped into the driver’s seat – rank had its privileges – and waited for Thierry to take the seat beside him. He pushed the clutch and the gears engaged; the wagon rumbled forward.
The old barn that the Corps had converted into a garage was open, and they bumped down the driveway and onto a country road. Georges gave the wagon more fuel, and it began to pick up speed.
“It’s working,” Thierry said, and it was – there was five hundred kilos of ballast in back, but the wagon was still moving at a fast trot, or even a canter. Méliès gave it still more fuel; the engine was laboring now, but it could still outpace a cantering horse. Thierry said the engine had the strength of fifteen horses, and the captain believed him. The wagon couldn’t pull guns, but it could carry a tonne or two of supplies – or, for that matter, men – in places where trains couldn’t go.
They were passing farms, and the men in the fields left off work for a moment to gawk. Thierry drew their interest almost as much as the wagon did; everyone had heard of the Senegalese soldiers, and it was common knowledge that Paris and Marseilles were full of Africans, but few in this part of the country would ever have seen one. The lieutenant stood up in his seat and waved his cap at the farmers, answering their cheers with a shouted greeting.
At least one man’s having a happy war, Georges thought. He felt the wind on his face as the wagon barreled down the road, and reconsidered. All right, two.
The engine backfired and the wagon slowed down, but it didn’t stall. Méliès looked around, realized they’d gone about five kilometers, and decided it was time to turn back.
“I’ll talk to the colonel today,” he said, “and recommend that we put this into production. Get a few hundred of these into the field, and let the Germans spike their railroads then.”
“Until the Germans and British build their own,” Thierry answered; he was under no illusion that the Technical Corps were the only ones working on improved engines. “But hopefully by then we’ll have a better one.”
“We can hope so,” Méliès said. He imagined engines that could pull artillery, move a wagon at a gallop, even lift a man off the earth, and imagined everything the army could do if it had such things. But right now, this wagon he was driving was possible, and they needed to get some to the front.
Would the TTL Great War popularize the automobile in the same way that OTL Great War did with the airplane?
Things in Europe started good for the FAR and are getting better for the FAR. I'm curious to see the conclusion of the War.
And Jonathan, your writing style is lovely! The narratives turns the War into a more 'human' thing - full of good and bad emotions, relationships built and broken, dangers and victories -, and we can easily imagine the events that you describe. They are worthy of the best bookshelves.
Thank you for the good work.
Things in Europe started good for the FAR and are getting better for the FAR. I'm curious to see the conclusion of the War.
And Jonathan, your writing style is lovely! The narratives turns the War into a more 'human' thing - full of good and bad emotions, relationships built and broken, dangers and victories -, and we can easily imagine the events that you describe. They are worthy of the best bookshelves.
Thank you for the good work.
If I could be of any help, please feel free to ask! I am always happy to see my hometown pop up in alternate history in a non-Franz-Ferdinandian-context! Sarajevo as a place of synthesis is already the essence of the city, so it would certainly work. I think the Franciscans would be a good group for the propagation of Christian liberalism. Since the ferman, the Franciscans have been seen and acted as the stewards of Bosnian history, irrespective of tribal affiliation. Indeed, many of the historians of the country and propogators of a unified Bosnian identity in the 19th century were fraters. Even today, they are some of the strongest defenders of civil liberties in the country, going against both the episcopate and the imamate in their opposition to the "two schools under one roof" educational system and associated mandatory religious classes currently in place.
It will - or, more specifically, it will popularize the truck. Passenger cars will be postwar consumer adaptations of the trucks built during the war, and the first civilian vehicles to see widespread use will be farm and urban delivery trucks.
They're still not as good as they may seem - the French are getting useful trucks first, but the British and Germans will be able to build a lot more of them.
BTW, the trucks' value in the European theater will be logistical only, but in some other theaters, they may be more than that. Trucks can't break trench lines, but it won't be trench warfare everywhere, and in some regions - like, for instance, the Sahel - trucks in OTL have been used as cavalry.
Thanks! The more the war progresses, the more I realize how many stories there are to tell. (And I'll admit that Thierry is something of a stock character, but stock characters are that way for a reason - I've met plenty of people like him.)
Can you recommend an easily-available source (preferably online, given that I don't have access to JSTOR or a university library)? And do you know offhand what the fraters' role was during the peasant rebellions? I'm planning to set the next scene among an urban self-defense militia recruited by the city's notables to defend against the siege, and there will be some uneasy bedfellows in it; I wonder if the Franciscans and the Abacarists might be the glue that knits it together.
Anyway, I should have the BOG update ready fairly soon - the Amazon, Sarajevo and Silesia during May through August 1894.
I have free access to JSTOR; I could download some PDFs and send them to you if you'd like.
....please, please tell me that that particular military pioneer is later going to make fantastic breakthroughs for the FAR's propaganda films.