Protect and Survive: A Timeline
- Thread starter Macragge1
- Start date
I found a new book on the Warsaw Pact.Cardboard castle an inside history of the Warsaw Pact 1955-91.What is interesting is that it confirms the soviet assumption on using nukes on neutrals.One of the few war games to come to light from available documents made in the '60s mentions the use of nukes.Interestingly not just against NATO members but Austria is mentioned as well.
I wouldn't mind either - just having an update would be good enough for me. 
I too think it would very interesting to see a glimpse of the world of 2011 ITTL at some point, though. No need to go into too much detail yet - just an impression like you gave of the survivors in Germany would be good.
I too think it would very interesting to see a glimpse of the world of 2011 ITTL at some point, though. No need to go into too much detail yet - just an impression like you gave of the survivors in Germany would be good.
Macragge1
Banned
XXI - The Killing Moon
Though I know it must be/ The killing time, unwillingly mine
The discovery of the CHELSEA figures leads to a near-frenzy amongst what is left of the Europeans. Since the exchange, these 'powers' had resigned themselves to the idea that human life in both Germanies was a strictly past-tense affair. Naturally, the consensus telexed through the sky is that something must be done to find these people, and if possible, help them. Even with the RAF's footage, projections for total survivors between Strasbourg and Seelow are barely enough to fill a Third Division football stadium. Even with resources as stretched as taut as they are, the surviving players see it as their duty to aid the shattered survivors of a nation that they helped in no small part to destroy.
It is decided (slowly, given the Beckettian horror of frozen communications that constitutes the diplomacy of the time) that the Swiss will provide most of the manpower for the search; British and French aircraft will continue their search patterns (albeit more intensely) as per Operations SARACEN and COUSTEAU. The young men from the Alps (predominantly conscripts) face an extremely unenviable task; town after dead town must be searched more-or-less by hand, in full protective gear. Most of these men have not fired more than a few dozen rounds at the weekend - now they are asked (or, more specifically, ordered) to walk into the best approximation of Hell that they will see in this lifetime.
The Belgian gov e n - i ex i ---------------------------------------
help
21/02/84
1055: Soviet armoured units dislodge French defensive positions south of Stuttgart. Having already fallen back twice in the last few days, the French fight to nearly the last man. Whilst such resistance inflicts grievous casualties on the attackers, the decimation of the French contingent leaves a gaping hole in NATO's Southern line.
1104: RAF Nimrod east of Sullom Voe reports unknown aircraft heading west over Northern Norway. Two Phantom fighters patrolling the Central North Sea dispatched to intercept.
1105: Live ammunition used by the Devon and Cornwall Constabulary for the first time against looters in Torbay. Early reports suggest that those killed (6) were 'self-evacuees' and not locals.
1107: Brent Oilfield in the Northern North Sea attacked by Soviet Long Range Naval Aviation.
1108: 45 killed on Brent Bravo. Fire uncontrollable.
1110: RFA Appleleaf, en route to Norway from Hull, diverted to Brent Field, 60 nautical miles to the north-east.
1111: 32 killed on Brent Alpha. One lifeboat escapes. Fire uncontrollable.
1112: Brent Delta destroyed. Rig unmanned since February. Fire uncontrollable.
1115: RFA Appleleaf, en route to Bravo Oilfield, diverted back to Norway route; RAF unable to provide air cover for search and rescue attempts.
1116: Four Soviet Navy BACKFIRE aircraft turn around and head for home.
1124: 30 US Thunderbolt aircraft deployed against Soviet breakthrough near Stuttgart. Several tanks are destroyed. AAA and SAMS unexpectedly robust - 7 A10 aircraft shot down.
1136: Lead elements of a Soviet Shock Army surround the US forces holding the line south of Kassel. The American Colonel in de facto command of the pocket requests close air support. Aircraft allotted to this sector were diverted south twenty minutes ago.
1138: Five members of the Rowntree family are killed in a Road Traffic Accident on a B-road in Gloucestershire.
1142: A Tu-126 'Moss' aircraft begins communications jamming over Central Germany.
1145: Major Warsaw Pact air raid destroys a large NATO ammunition dump at Hofgeismar, 23.5 kilometres North/North-west of Kassel. Result is one of the largest conventional explosions since the end of the Second World War.
1146: The American Colonel in Kassel is informed of the mushroom cloud rising to the north. Having had his communications almost completely cut by the Soviet EW aircraft, he takes this to be a nuclear detonation and believes the war has already escalated.
1149: Three FB-111s of the 20th Tactical Fighter Wing, airborne and on standby near Kassel, receive their first communication for almost ten minutes. By a stroke of extreme misfortune, it is the Colonel at Kassel, who informs them that Pandora's box has already been opened. He orders them to attack a predetermined target - a marshaling area at Eschwege, 54 kilometres east of Kassel.
1150: The last survivor from Brent Bravo (the father-of-two survived the leap into the sea over forty minutes ago) dies from hypothermia.
1151: US Forces in Kassel ordered to dig in and face west. Problematic communications mean few receive the message.
1152: The Aardvark bombers make their final course adjustments and begin their attack run on Eschwege.
1155:22 : The lead aircraft releases one B61 Mod-10 Intermediate Yield Nuclear Device. Yield is set at 10MT.
1155:41 : Eschwege is incinerated. Airburst. All life within half a mile of the blast ends. Soft-skinned vehicles catch fire ten miles away. Thousands blinded. Shockwave destroys Soviet 'Moss' Communications aircraft.
1157:34 : London receives news of the Blast.
1157:35: Washington receives news of the Blast.
1158:01: Moscow receives news of the Blast.
1201: NATO sends a hold order to all forces in Europe, repeating five times that deployment of nuclear weapons has not been authorised
1203: Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip board a helicopter and leave London.
1206: A single nuclear-tipped SCUD missile is moved ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
please
...///...x...///...x...///...
The Naval Control of Shipping Organisation (now based in Portsmouth), controlling a subordinate national network of Regional Port and Shipping Control Headquarters, is now fairly busy. Its job is to control and assign whatever merchant vessels the Royal Navy can 'escort' back to the mainland, and assign them and their cargoes to different parts of the country. The NCSO was actually busiest immediately after the exchange, as surviving vessels en route to Europe were hastily (and with great difficulty) recalled following the deployment of strategic weapons.
Now, the organisation alternates between long spells of interminable boredom and brief fits of frenetic activity as the Royal Navy shepherds an errant tanker or freighter into British territorial waters. Given the lack of activity that preceded it (several staff had been seconded to various 'reconstruction' tasks), the arrival on May 29th was even more significant. Eleven vessels, nine food carriers and two tankers, escorted by seven naval ships (they are, of course, worthy of note - HMAS Perth, HMAS Brisbane, INS Vikrant, INS Rajput, INS Godavari, HMNZS Otago and HMNZS Taranaki). Whilst some have argued that this tri-national escort was excessive, it is worth noting that Soviet submarines were rightly believed to still be a threat at this time (a lesson several merchant vessels had already learned the hard way). Whilst the Southern Nations were markedly better off than those in the Northern Hemisphere, their relief contributions still marked a significant sacrifice - such a gesture would be absolutely worthless was it to end up on the bottom of some silent sea. Another reason for the large presence (a reason that was not missed at the time) was that, to some degree, the May 29th Convoy was a very deliberate - if completely non-belligerent - show of power. The symbolism of the New World helping out the Old was very clear for anybody to see. Indeed, there is a broad consensus amongst historians that the arrival of the Southern Nation's vessels into Portsmouth on the 29th of May marked the beginning of the rise of said powers into global players.
On their arrival, however, few Britons stopped to ponder the symbolism or the geo-political implications of the event. Instead, there was a rare day of muted celebration across the country; Portsmouth was privy to an impromptu fireworks display, whilst CHANTICLEER directly ordered each Regional Headquarters to authorise the ringing of church-bells on the 30th. Whilst the physical cargoes of these vessels would do little to solve the major problems facing the country (although it is doubtless that the millions of kilocalories delivered directly saved thousands of lives), the fact that somebody had turned up was a robust if fleeting morale booster and, everybody prayed, was the sign of better things to come.
Once the warm glow of elation had faded, however, the grey world of bureaucracy stepped in to drag the situation down to Earth. The ship's cargoes (mostly grain, sugar, rice and a tremendous Indian stockpile of American MCI rations that potentially dated back the war in Vietnam) needed to be divided amongst the various regions. For several days, CHANTICLEER buzzed with the deafening drone of rapping keyboards as calculations were made and re-made and checked and re-checked. Once the allotments were made, the NCSO was tasked with moving the various vessels around the coast, depositing their loads at the various RPSCHQs across the nation.
Herein lay an issue. During the period between the Exchange and May 29th, a particular problem had arisen when concerning the delivery of goods to surviving ports. Since the RPSCHQs were, as the name suggested, controlled regionally, they were effectively under the control of Regional Government. This meant, naturally, that the lion's share of anything offloaded at a port would go be taken and used by that region or simply by that county. This phenomenon meant that landlocked counties saw very little seaborne aid (it should be noted that, given the state of the roads and railways, it was much easier to move large volumes of goods up the coast and then inland rather than attempt the same movements purely across country). Indeed, surviving records show that the county of Rutland recieved an astonishing 2% of the sea-delivered aid allotted to it by CHANTICLEER in the period between the Exchange and the 29th May.
Facing this problem, Whitelaw ordered that, instead of leaving these resources in the hands of soldiers under the effective commands of Regional Government, the resources would be transported from the dock to the depot by Royal Marines or armed sailors who suffered no such conflicts of interest. Due to a fairly crippling manpower issue, these troops would be joined by Indian, Australian and New Zealander elements. Due to the awkward nature of such a deployment, all foreign forces involved in Operation ARIADNE were officially 'observers' attached to British formations, and, officially, never fired a shot in anger. Once the May 29th Resources arrived at their depots, Royal Navy or Marine observers would remain in order to make sure that the items were distributed as per the orders of Central Government.
Whilst the use of Marine, Naval and foreign troops during Operation ARIADNE was, ostensibly, a helpful move to relieve the very real manpower problems that Regional forces were facing, it was also an important statement of the primacy of Central Government; this was not lost on Regional HQs up and down the land. Indeed, ARIADNE marked one of the major points of contention between...
*
It's still dark when the little band move, the lazy circles of the little scout plane buzzing around the village and around their heads. They've nowhere to go, really, so they head away from the scene of the unpleasantness.
Carrying their weapons and everything they own, they are tired before they've even left the village. Soon, its foot over foot and foot over foot across the moors, dragging their legs up and over swampy, clinging tufts of wet grass. There is water in their shoes and in their socks and every step is freezing and loud and every strap chafes and cuts and their shoulders hurt but one look back at that little fucking plane and all the promises it's keeping and they could move forever.
Now and then little silent stops - save for panting and the sound of water into parched mouths, the sentries shark-eyed and thirsty gazing into proper real darkness. The Librarian is flagging especially; she hands her satchel of books over to the Volunteer who is flagging too but is better at hiding it and he wouldn't say anything not even if he was dying.
*
The ugly green carrier noses up the road into the village, casting an angelwhite searchlight beam onto the road ahead.
'You Are Entering A Nuclear Free Zone' mutters one of the soldiers riding atop the Saracen, reading aloud from a newly-illuminated sign.
'Should have got a bigger fucking sign' replies another, with all the good-humoured reluctance of an old joke that still bears repeating.
The Constable doesn't laugh as he sits shivering on the beast's shell. Rather, he pulls up the collar on his coat and rubs his gloved hands together; he's willing to call today a success if he comes out alive; in all the confusion after the Mayor he got separated from the Lieutenant and the rest of the good guys and now rolling through the middle of nowhere with a bunch of armed strangers in the middle of the night he's feeling remarkably lonely.
*
On and on they trudge through copses and briars and woods and forests and mud and little hidden streams and mud and rabbit holes that can break your ankle and mud. Always the little lawnmower engine of that fucking plane buzzing and buzzing but at least it can't be getting close enough to spot us can it i mean we're dressed very dark and it's the middle of the night and shut up they'll fucking hear you and more walking and more chafing straps and aching shoulders and soaking socks. The Librarian has picked up a limp somewhere west of Longhorsely but walking it off as the only option really. Imperceptibly they all become silently aware of the sound of engines creeping into their consciousnesses and then pop-whoosh-flash a flare and the whole countryside lights up like bonfire night and we do the best sleeping lions we've ever ever done and we don't even BREATHE until its nice and dark and safe again and then we do some walking and then pop-whoosh-flash and then sleeping lions and then darkness and movement and then pop-whoosh-flash and -
'JESUS CHRIST!' shrieked the Librarian as the ermine tracers cut through the limegreen sky and mutilated some trees.
'Put down your weapons and put your hands on your head' says a voice made all the less human by the cheapness of the megaphone. Another burst of fire as an exclamation point.
'Fuckin' make us!' shouts one of the group, firing one or two errant shots whizzing towards the carrier before the old rifle jams. The fight goes out of him in a flash - 'oh jesus its jammed' - he's about two octaves higher now and then RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATACH and there's nothing left of him except bits of burning overcoat.
'RUN!' shouts the Volunteer, a touch obviously. It's pure panic, the survivors fanning out and looking for somewhere dark and heavy to RATATATATACH hide from this thing and the Librarian sees a barn and she prays the doors open and for once she's answered and she runs in and hides an RATATATATACH and there's screaming now and another one wiped out and she looks through between the old wooden doors and sees a soldier run up like he's going to catch a bus or something and finish him off and move on and jesus they're heading this way and she dives as the searchlight directs his bright white eye towards...
*
'Constable! Go and check that barn by the treeline! Move!' The Constable is in no state to argue - he's near about as dazzled by the noise and the lights as the poor dead fuckers were so he flicks open his revolver and there's six and he clicks it back in and he feels a bit safer so he moves towards the little shack and he squeezes clicks back the action and he knocks off the safety and he holds his breath and
Though I know it must be/ The killing time, unwillingly mine
The discovery of the CHELSEA figures leads to a near-frenzy amongst what is left of the Europeans. Since the exchange, these 'powers' had resigned themselves to the idea that human life in both Germanies was a strictly past-tense affair. Naturally, the consensus telexed through the sky is that something must be done to find these people, and if possible, help them. Even with the RAF's footage, projections for total survivors between Strasbourg and Seelow are barely enough to fill a Third Division football stadium. Even with resources as stretched as taut as they are, the surviving players see it as their duty to aid the shattered survivors of a nation that they helped in no small part to destroy.
It is decided (slowly, given the Beckettian horror of frozen communications that constitutes the diplomacy of the time) that the Swiss will provide most of the manpower for the search; British and French aircraft will continue their search patterns (albeit more intensely) as per Operations SARACEN and COUSTEAU. The young men from the Alps (predominantly conscripts) face an extremely unenviable task; town after dead town must be searched more-or-less by hand, in full protective gear. Most of these men have not fired more than a few dozen rounds at the weekend - now they are asked (or, more specifically, ordered) to walk into the best approximation of Hell that they will see in this lifetime.
The Belgian gov e n - i ex i ---------------------------------------
help
21/02/84
1055: Soviet armoured units dislodge French defensive positions south of Stuttgart. Having already fallen back twice in the last few days, the French fight to nearly the last man. Whilst such resistance inflicts grievous casualties on the attackers, the decimation of the French contingent leaves a gaping hole in NATO's Southern line.
1104: RAF Nimrod east of Sullom Voe reports unknown aircraft heading west over Northern Norway. Two Phantom fighters patrolling the Central North Sea dispatched to intercept.
1105: Live ammunition used by the Devon and Cornwall Constabulary for the first time against looters in Torbay. Early reports suggest that those killed (6) were 'self-evacuees' and not locals.
1107: Brent Oilfield in the Northern North Sea attacked by Soviet Long Range Naval Aviation.
1108: 45 killed on Brent Bravo. Fire uncontrollable.
1110: RFA Appleleaf, en route to Norway from Hull, diverted to Brent Field, 60 nautical miles to the north-east.
1111: 32 killed on Brent Alpha. One lifeboat escapes. Fire uncontrollable.
1112: Brent Delta destroyed. Rig unmanned since February. Fire uncontrollable.
1115: RFA Appleleaf, en route to Bravo Oilfield, diverted back to Norway route; RAF unable to provide air cover for search and rescue attempts.
1116: Four Soviet Navy BACKFIRE aircraft turn around and head for home.
1124: 30 US Thunderbolt aircraft deployed against Soviet breakthrough near Stuttgart. Several tanks are destroyed. AAA and SAMS unexpectedly robust - 7 A10 aircraft shot down.
1136: Lead elements of a Soviet Shock Army surround the US forces holding the line south of Kassel. The American Colonel in de facto command of the pocket requests close air support. Aircraft allotted to this sector were diverted south twenty minutes ago.
1138: Five members of the Rowntree family are killed in a Road Traffic Accident on a B-road in Gloucestershire.
1142: A Tu-126 'Moss' aircraft begins communications jamming over Central Germany.
1145: Major Warsaw Pact air raid destroys a large NATO ammunition dump at Hofgeismar, 23.5 kilometres North/North-west of Kassel. Result is one of the largest conventional explosions since the end of the Second World War.
1146: The American Colonel in Kassel is informed of the mushroom cloud rising to the north. Having had his communications almost completely cut by the Soviet EW aircraft, he takes this to be a nuclear detonation and believes the war has already escalated.
1149: Three FB-111s of the 20th Tactical Fighter Wing, airborne and on standby near Kassel, receive their first communication for almost ten minutes. By a stroke of extreme misfortune, it is the Colonel at Kassel, who informs them that Pandora's box has already been opened. He orders them to attack a predetermined target - a marshaling area at Eschwege, 54 kilometres east of Kassel.
1150: The last survivor from Brent Bravo (the father-of-two survived the leap into the sea over forty minutes ago) dies from hypothermia.
1151: US Forces in Kassel ordered to dig in and face west. Problematic communications mean few receive the message.
1152: The Aardvark bombers make their final course adjustments and begin their attack run on Eschwege.
1155:22 : The lead aircraft releases one B61 Mod-10 Intermediate Yield Nuclear Device. Yield is set at 10MT.
1155:41 : Eschwege is incinerated. Airburst. All life within half a mile of the blast ends. Soft-skinned vehicles catch fire ten miles away. Thousands blinded. Shockwave destroys Soviet 'Moss' Communications aircraft.
1157:34 : London receives news of the Blast.
1157:35: Washington receives news of the Blast.
1158:01: Moscow receives news of the Blast.
1201: NATO sends a hold order to all forces in Europe, repeating five times that deployment of nuclear weapons has not been authorised
1203: Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip board a helicopter and leave London.
1206: A single nuclear-tipped SCUD missile is moved ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
please
...///...x...///...x...///...
The Naval Control of Shipping Organisation (now based in Portsmouth), controlling a subordinate national network of Regional Port and Shipping Control Headquarters, is now fairly busy. Its job is to control and assign whatever merchant vessels the Royal Navy can 'escort' back to the mainland, and assign them and their cargoes to different parts of the country. The NCSO was actually busiest immediately after the exchange, as surviving vessels en route to Europe were hastily (and with great difficulty) recalled following the deployment of strategic weapons.
Now, the organisation alternates between long spells of interminable boredom and brief fits of frenetic activity as the Royal Navy shepherds an errant tanker or freighter into British territorial waters. Given the lack of activity that preceded it (several staff had been seconded to various 'reconstruction' tasks), the arrival on May 29th was even more significant. Eleven vessels, nine food carriers and two tankers, escorted by seven naval ships (they are, of course, worthy of note - HMAS Perth, HMAS Brisbane, INS Vikrant, INS Rajput, INS Godavari, HMNZS Otago and HMNZS Taranaki). Whilst some have argued that this tri-national escort was excessive, it is worth noting that Soviet submarines were rightly believed to still be a threat at this time (a lesson several merchant vessels had already learned the hard way). Whilst the Southern Nations were markedly better off than those in the Northern Hemisphere, their relief contributions still marked a significant sacrifice - such a gesture would be absolutely worthless was it to end up on the bottom of some silent sea. Another reason for the large presence (a reason that was not missed at the time) was that, to some degree, the May 29th Convoy was a very deliberate - if completely non-belligerent - show of power. The symbolism of the New World helping out the Old was very clear for anybody to see. Indeed, there is a broad consensus amongst historians that the arrival of the Southern Nation's vessels into Portsmouth on the 29th of May marked the beginning of the rise of said powers into global players.
On their arrival, however, few Britons stopped to ponder the symbolism or the geo-political implications of the event. Instead, there was a rare day of muted celebration across the country; Portsmouth was privy to an impromptu fireworks display, whilst CHANTICLEER directly ordered each Regional Headquarters to authorise the ringing of church-bells on the 30th. Whilst the physical cargoes of these vessels would do little to solve the major problems facing the country (although it is doubtless that the millions of kilocalories delivered directly saved thousands of lives), the fact that somebody had turned up was a robust if fleeting morale booster and, everybody prayed, was the sign of better things to come.
Once the warm glow of elation had faded, however, the grey world of bureaucracy stepped in to drag the situation down to Earth. The ship's cargoes (mostly grain, sugar, rice and a tremendous Indian stockpile of American MCI rations that potentially dated back the war in Vietnam) needed to be divided amongst the various regions. For several days, CHANTICLEER buzzed with the deafening drone of rapping keyboards as calculations were made and re-made and checked and re-checked. Once the allotments were made, the NCSO was tasked with moving the various vessels around the coast, depositing their loads at the various RPSCHQs across the nation.
Herein lay an issue. During the period between the Exchange and May 29th, a particular problem had arisen when concerning the delivery of goods to surviving ports. Since the RPSCHQs were, as the name suggested, controlled regionally, they were effectively under the control of Regional Government. This meant, naturally, that the lion's share of anything offloaded at a port would go be taken and used by that region or simply by that county. This phenomenon meant that landlocked counties saw very little seaborne aid (it should be noted that, given the state of the roads and railways, it was much easier to move large volumes of goods up the coast and then inland rather than attempt the same movements purely across country). Indeed, surviving records show that the county of Rutland recieved an astonishing 2% of the sea-delivered aid allotted to it by CHANTICLEER in the period between the Exchange and the 29th May.
Facing this problem, Whitelaw ordered that, instead of leaving these resources in the hands of soldiers under the effective commands of Regional Government, the resources would be transported from the dock to the depot by Royal Marines or armed sailors who suffered no such conflicts of interest. Due to a fairly crippling manpower issue, these troops would be joined by Indian, Australian and New Zealander elements. Due to the awkward nature of such a deployment, all foreign forces involved in Operation ARIADNE were officially 'observers' attached to British formations, and, officially, never fired a shot in anger. Once the May 29th Resources arrived at their depots, Royal Navy or Marine observers would remain in order to make sure that the items were distributed as per the orders of Central Government.
Whilst the use of Marine, Naval and foreign troops during Operation ARIADNE was, ostensibly, a helpful move to relieve the very real manpower problems that Regional forces were facing, it was also an important statement of the primacy of Central Government; this was not lost on Regional HQs up and down the land. Indeed, ARIADNE marked one of the major points of contention between...
*
It's still dark when the little band move, the lazy circles of the little scout plane buzzing around the village and around their heads. They've nowhere to go, really, so they head away from the scene of the unpleasantness.
Carrying their weapons and everything they own, they are tired before they've even left the village. Soon, its foot over foot and foot over foot across the moors, dragging their legs up and over swampy, clinging tufts of wet grass. There is water in their shoes and in their socks and every step is freezing and loud and every strap chafes and cuts and their shoulders hurt but one look back at that little fucking plane and all the promises it's keeping and they could move forever.
Now and then little silent stops - save for panting and the sound of water into parched mouths, the sentries shark-eyed and thirsty gazing into proper real darkness. The Librarian is flagging especially; she hands her satchel of books over to the Volunteer who is flagging too but is better at hiding it and he wouldn't say anything not even if he was dying.
*
The ugly green carrier noses up the road into the village, casting an angelwhite searchlight beam onto the road ahead.
'You Are Entering A Nuclear Free Zone' mutters one of the soldiers riding atop the Saracen, reading aloud from a newly-illuminated sign.
'Should have got a bigger fucking sign' replies another, with all the good-humoured reluctance of an old joke that still bears repeating.
The Constable doesn't laugh as he sits shivering on the beast's shell. Rather, he pulls up the collar on his coat and rubs his gloved hands together; he's willing to call today a success if he comes out alive; in all the confusion after the Mayor he got separated from the Lieutenant and the rest of the good guys and now rolling through the middle of nowhere with a bunch of armed strangers in the middle of the night he's feeling remarkably lonely.
*
On and on they trudge through copses and briars and woods and forests and mud and little hidden streams and mud and rabbit holes that can break your ankle and mud. Always the little lawnmower engine of that fucking plane buzzing and buzzing but at least it can't be getting close enough to spot us can it i mean we're dressed very dark and it's the middle of the night and shut up they'll fucking hear you and more walking and more chafing straps and aching shoulders and soaking socks. The Librarian has picked up a limp somewhere west of Longhorsely but walking it off as the only option really. Imperceptibly they all become silently aware of the sound of engines creeping into their consciousnesses and then pop-whoosh-flash a flare and the whole countryside lights up like bonfire night and we do the best sleeping lions we've ever ever done and we don't even BREATHE until its nice and dark and safe again and then we do some walking and then pop-whoosh-flash and then sleeping lions and then darkness and movement and then pop-whoosh-flash and -
'JESUS CHRIST!' shrieked the Librarian as the ermine tracers cut through the limegreen sky and mutilated some trees.
'Put down your weapons and put your hands on your head' says a voice made all the less human by the cheapness of the megaphone. Another burst of fire as an exclamation point.
'Fuckin' make us!' shouts one of the group, firing one or two errant shots whizzing towards the carrier before the old rifle jams. The fight goes out of him in a flash - 'oh jesus its jammed' - he's about two octaves higher now and then RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATACH and there's nothing left of him except bits of burning overcoat.
'RUN!' shouts the Volunteer, a touch obviously. It's pure panic, the survivors fanning out and looking for somewhere dark and heavy to RATATATATACH hide from this thing and the Librarian sees a barn and she prays the doors open and for once she's answered and she runs in and hides an RATATATATACH and there's screaming now and another one wiped out and she looks through between the old wooden doors and sees a soldier run up like he's going to catch a bus or something and finish him off and move on and jesus they're heading this way and she dives as the searchlight directs his bright white eye towards...
*
'Constable! Go and check that barn by the treeline! Move!' The Constable is in no state to argue - he's near about as dazzled by the noise and the lights as the poor dead fuckers were so he flicks open his revolver and there's six and he clicks it back in and he feels a bit safer so he moves towards the little shack and he squeezes clicks back the action and he knocks off the safety and he holds his breath and
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Great update, Macragge!
I hope the Constable will spare the Librarian.
In the long term, any Southern Hemisphere nation above a certain threshold of (economic and industrial) development or with a large enough pool of skilled workers is going to be in good shape to rival or surpass the surviving northern Hemisphere first world nations.
I hope the Constable will spare the Librarian.
In the long term, any Southern Hemisphere nation above a certain threshold of (economic and industrial) development or with a large enough pool of skilled workers is going to be in good shape to rival or surpass the surviving northern Hemisphere first world nations.
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As I said earlier, she reminds me of my ex, so I'm not so bothered if he does lol.
Again, a very good update!
Though I would suggest discussing a different matter of searching through Germany. I consider that survivors would probably be very few, but also be forced to live in a mobile way. Could it make more sense to build up a system of small relief-dumps? Category 1 (few, maybe two or three dozen places) consists of a radio with instructions in German, English, French and Russian and some food rations, maybe some medicine, water (does the latter make sense?). Category 2 (five or ten times more) consist of smaller amounts of food and water plus directions to the next Category 1 dump. Category 3 simply consists of leaflets to be displayed prominently in the empty villages and towns the searchers pass through. The other method would be less thorough, but quicker and maybe less of an ordeal for the participants who have a clear schedule to go through. Once survivors at a Cat. 1 dump make contact, the Search Command can react and decide upon further measures of relief and/or evacuation.
I could imagine such a system to be more efficient, but on the other hand it might be a stupid idea. Driving round the country and checking the dumps could be simpler than guessing at survivor's locations. 5000 Swiss looking for 100,000 Germans on 350,000km² of radioactive wasteland might not work at all.
I would like to point out that such an action also has another almost primary target. Control. Of course, surviving Western nations have to make sure that survivors in Germany don't live under the command of surviving red-army-platoons. It is interesting how Macragge already implied the GDR (Seelow) to be included. What comes next after Germany has been searched? Czechoslovakia? Hungary? Poland?
Another suggestion. Although you imply that the Swiss bear the brunt of this effort, I am quite sure that the British will just as well (re-) establish bases along the North Sea coast. The Frisian island might be ideal for a first step and also a good place for survivors to be found.
I fear that this is rather improbable. I doubt that people age like he did (God bless him. I had the honour to be meet him once when I was younger) in OTL under these circumstances, and besides, such a restauration would be a long-term aim. I dare to say that someone ruling the surroundings of e.g. Ischgl doesn't count as a successful Habsburg restoration.
On the other hand, in the long run, into the 21st century, the remnants of the Habsburg realm, however they are organized at that point of time, might seek close co-operation. The iron curtain would be gone, Anglo-French-supremacy over Europe would be looming and the Danube region would find they still have a lot in common culturally.
Though I would suggest discussing a different matter of searching through Germany. I consider that survivors would probably be very few, but also be forced to live in a mobile way. Could it make more sense to build up a system of small relief-dumps? Category 1 (few, maybe two or three dozen places) consists of a radio with instructions in German, English, French and Russian and some food rations, maybe some medicine, water (does the latter make sense?). Category 2 (five or ten times more) consist of smaller amounts of food and water plus directions to the next Category 1 dump. Category 3 simply consists of leaflets to be displayed prominently in the empty villages and towns the searchers pass through. The other method would be less thorough, but quicker and maybe less of an ordeal for the participants who have a clear schedule to go through. Once survivors at a Cat. 1 dump make contact, the Search Command can react and decide upon further measures of relief and/or evacuation.
I could imagine such a system to be more efficient, but on the other hand it might be a stupid idea. Driving round the country and checking the dumps could be simpler than guessing at survivor's locations. 5000 Swiss looking for 100,000 Germans on 350,000km² of radioactive wasteland might not work at all.
I would like to point out that such an action also has another almost primary target. Control. Of course, surviving Western nations have to make sure that survivors in Germany don't live under the command of surviving red-army-platoons. It is interesting how Macragge already implied the GDR (Seelow) to be included. What comes next after Germany has been searched? Czechoslovakia? Hungary? Poland?
Another suggestion. Although you imply that the Swiss bear the brunt of this effort, I am quite sure that the British will just as well (re-) establish bases along the North Sea coast. The Frisian island might be ideal for a first step and also a good place for survivors to be found.
I fear that this is rather improbable. I doubt that people age like he did (God bless him. I had the honour to be meet him once when I was younger) in OTL under these circumstances, and besides, such a restauration would be a long-term aim. I dare to say that someone ruling the surroundings of e.g. Ischgl doesn't count as a successful Habsburg restoration.
On the other hand, in the long run, into the 21st century, the remnants of the Habsburg realm, however they are organized at that point of time, might seek close co-operation. The iron curtain would be gone, Anglo-French-supremacy over Europe would be looming and the Danube region would find they still have a lot in common culturally.
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Sorry I could not resist
.To be fair though, I expect that Italy and Spain have survived the exchange quite well and have more population left relative to France and Britain as single states.