A Shift in Priorities - Sequel

rast

Truly times must be out of joint, when only asses have any power of action left, and those who have a little more intelligence use it to doubt everything, and to persuade themselves that it is not worthwhile to attempt anything.
(Henryk Sienkiewicz)

Morosely, Major Wacław Kopisto was skimming through the international newspapers. The Russian Venus adventure, cabinet crisis in the Heymshtot, snow chaos in central Switzerland, youth riots in Copenhagen, and so on, nothing of interest… He sighed and pushed the newspaper stack onto the ‘out’ trolley. Some January editions of military journals had already arrived. The Russian ‘Boyesposóbnosti’ 1/1957 looked interesting. Was this a new tank? – He seized the magnifying glass. No, it was a T-52, only the gun looked strange. Might be relevant. He attached a blue marker. Other than that: the habitual Russian clutter. Why in heaven did they publish this trash? Just to vex foreign intelligence specialists? Maybe… The Russians were like that.

The German ‘Truppenführung und Heereskunde’ 1/1957 was there as well. They were still reprocessing the pest events. Yes, this was interesting. He attached a yellow marker, and still another one. – And look at that: a Gastruppen TOE! Kopisto smiled. The Germans were nice. He attached a signal red marker. Okay, the ‘Flieger und Technik’ magazine was still missing. – What else? The Hungarian ‘Szemle Hadsereg’. He browsed through it, looking at the pictures. Didn’t look interesting. Okay, needs to go to the translation department anyway. White marker. He pushed the military journals onto the forwarding trolley.

What else? Two new books, both Russian, dealing with the Far East War. Goodness! – No, he must have a coffee first, before undertaking to peruse these volumes. He rose and walked over to the kitchenette. Yep, coffee was ready, wonderful. And a cigarette… – It was the old Polish dilemma: as long as Russia and Germany were strong and singing from the same hymnal, Poland was in trouble. Now, of course, the big neighbours were watching each other furtively, but there were no real tensions. One could only sit and wait…

He knew – or rather, he thought he knew – why the Germans had published the Gastruppen TOE. Look and take fright! Remember what happened during the pest. Yes, we can! – It was a rude warning. Don’t ever think we’re weak; don’t kid yourself into doing something stupid. We can obliterate you even without nukes, fast and furious. – And the bad news was: it was true. No, Poland was obliged to keep still. Well, one had ample experience in waiting for things to happen... Only if and when the Russian desire to regain the lost territories should prevail, change might become possible. But providing the battlefield in a future German-Russian war was no nice outlook either…
 
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rast

Nothing is worse in prison than the consciousness of one’s innocence; it prevents acclimatisation and undermines one’s morale…
(Arthur Koestler)

Brain drain. Yes, that was aptly describing the nation’s central problem. It had been a mistake to separate, evidently. Way back, the elites had easily oscillated between Budapest, Vienna and Prague. Nowadays, many – too many – went to Germany – and never came back. The frigging aristocracy and their menials, who were still very much running the country, failed to see the problem. They were owning the land. They always had been rich. Science? Technology? No sweat! Hungary will get along. Don’t we have leading scientists in many fields?

Yes, undeniably, many Hungarian scientists were top-notch. But most of them were working in Germany – and hence for Germany – if not even for the wicked Turks, like the traitors Teller Ede, Wigner Jenō Pál and Szilárd Leó. As a result, not Hungary but Germany was profiting from Hungarian ingenuity. That was brain drain – if there ever had been one… One could see it in Budapest: all the splendid buildings had been built before the Great War. Since then, no equivalent had developed. There were unprepossessing suburbs, built for the working class, but no splendor…

Nagy Imre was a socialist. In the Great War, in 1915, he had become prisoner of war. In Russian captivity, he had turned towards the Socialist Revolutionaries – and had remained a radical socialist ever since. In Hungary, however, the radical socialists had never been more than a splinter party. And a party that was often suppressed by the authorities. Nagy had spent several years in jail – for instigation to insurgency, obstruction, you name it… But nevertheless, he was a Hungarian patriot. And he could see what was going wrong…

Hungary was second rate, definitely: an agrarian state ruled by the landed gentry, hardly any industry, no nuclear programme, no space programme, nothing… It was – like Romania and Bulgaria – a bog-standard Balkans country. One needed a revolution, a complete reversal of everything. One couldn’t trust the voters. They were misled by the ruling class. The socialists had to take the matter in hand.
 

1SaBy

rast said:
Hungary was second rate, definitely: an agrarian state ruled by the landed gentry, hardly any industry, no nuclear programme, no space programme, nothing… It was – like Romania and Bulgaria – a bog-standard Balkans country. One needed a revolution, a complete reversal of everything. One couldn’t trust the voters. They were misled by the ruling class. The socialists had to take the matter in hand.
Click to expand...

Hungary, stop. You've had too much barackpálinka.
 

Pera

As a long-time lurker, I want to compliment Rast with this wonderful timeline.

What I like is;
No focus on only military history or the politics of one country, but a true world-spanning view.
A believable world, with no simple premises like: Central Powers win, country X becomes communist, country Y becomes fascist, but a complex and original development.
The many points of view, different personalities from all over the world from all sociall classes.
The perspective of one person is never the absolute truth or a foreboding of things to come: for instance, the revolution of Imre Nagy might be only a passing thought, or a complete dud; mist likely when we hear again from Hungary it will be completely unexpected.
Also it is well-researched, also about less-known countries, for instance about the integration of Serbia into Bulgaria, he stated correctly that the language and culture of Southeastern Serbia had one century ago lots of Bulgarian influences.
And the OTL personages, like Isaak Asimov or Rommel contemplating a military in space.

This is why I think this is the best TL so far.
 

RakhaAthaya

Personally, I think the reason that Hungary didn't have a nuclear programme is because they didn't want to piss off both Germany and Russia. Sure, having nukes is going to give you lots of prestige, but it also means that you wanted to challenge the status quo, currently held by Russia and Germany.
 

sloreck

Having a nuclear program is expensive. Sure, once it has been done it is easier, and no matter what some technical information leaks out so some dead ends are avoided. Once you have the bombs, you need some way to deliver them either rockets or heavy bombers. All of this costs, and does Hungary have the resources to devote that much money to the program. Unlike OTLs DPRK Hungary can't tell its population to tighten belts several notches as the money goes in to nukes instead of other areas. The reality is whatever program the Hungarians might be able to have won't buy them extra security.
 

Ciryatur

sloreck said:
Having a nuclear program is expensive. Sure, once it has been done it is easier, and no matter what some technical information leaks out so some dead ends are avoided. Once you have the bombs, you need some way to deliver them either rockets or heavy bombers. All of this costs, and does Hungary have the resources to devote that much money to the program. Unlike OTLs DPRK Hungary can't tell its population to tighten belts several notches as the money goes in to nukes instead of other areas. The reality is whatever program the Hungarians might be able to have won't buy them extra security.
Click to expand...

Not to mention if you don't have a wasteland for testing, you'll have to go underground which is even more expensive and has other problems.
 

rast

The curious task of economics is to demonstrate to men how little they really know about what they imagine they can design.
(Friedrich A. Hayek)

Tsai Xuě-bái’s deadly toy had been well placed to render unusable the lands which the enemies of the Great Qing Empire had robbed in recent times. However, while in Uyghurstan the last survivors were hopelessly clinging to the eastern mountain slopes of Kunlun Shan, Pamir and Tian Shan, matters in the Khanate of Mongolia were running in another way. Mongolia, composed of the former Qing protectorates Outer Mongolia and Uliastai, belonged to the Russian sphere of influence. And the Russian tycoons were loath to forgo the rich natural resources that had been detected below the rolling plains of the country.

For most of the indigenes, the game had turned wicked nevertheless. Herded into camps – for their own safety – on the Eastern Sayan Range, they were slowly going to rack and ruin. Deprived of their animals and unable to practise their traditional nomadic way of life, they were degenerating into black despair and alcoholism. – The Russians, though, were stubbornly attempting to extract what they desired. It was true, the surfaces were contaminated, but one had to excavate the soil anyway… Albeit, the radiation was persistent and kept creeping back guilefully. It was developing into a perpetual struggle, it seemed…

Under these circumstances, mining coal was not profitable; Russia proper held enough of the stuff. But gold, silver, copper, molybdenum and uranium certainly were worth the while. For the scientists and engineers, it was an absorbing exercise. Even NASA became involved: it was a good preparation for future mining on the Moon or some asteroids. The workers had to wear hazard suits and the mining infrastructure had to be sealed off from a hostile environment. And of course, deployment of sophisticated machinery – and zusies – was most helpful, because eventually cost-saving.

Yet, only few mines, in fact only two, could be outfitted like this. For protecting most miners, only hazard suits and after-work showers were available. Cases of radiation sickness were diagnosed fairly early. This enforced increased rotation of workers, pushing the costs. And once the newspapers got wind of the issue, expenses started to skyrocket. – Thus, by the end of 1956, Russian mining operations in Mongolia had come to a standstill – except in the two NASA supported mines. Tsai Xuě-bái’s legacy was fulfilled.
 

rast

What is life worth if one has nothing to give away? This lack, it seems to me, must be the sharpest pang of poverty.
(Mabel Osgood Wright)

Houston was terrific. Victoria Keller was mightily impressed. Okay, she had seen Ciudad de México. That metropolis certainly was more populous – and much larger. But Houston was playing in another league entirely, it seemed. Was this the future? Motor cars everywhere, lots of them; illuminated advertising all through the night; prolonged shop-hours; hordes of cops with big guns; garish rich people galore…

She was here due to an invitation by the US Neo-Panchists. That was, evidently, a follow-up to the Jamaica trip together with Doc Malcolm Little. The bloke – after finally accepting she wouldn’t hop onto his bunk – had become almost likable. However, she soon had begun wondering why he was considered the rising star of the US Neo-Panchists. He obviously had no clue of Panchism. What he was uttering reminded her of the communist paroles she had heard – and been taught – back in Canada.

But the young Yanquis hereabouts seemed to dig his rubbish. They called him Malcolm X, because they thought his theses were so extreme. Victoria could only shake her head in disbelief. – Well, it wasn’t her business. She was here to find out what support the Neo-Panchists were willing to render to reconstruction in Mexico. One needed teachers, medics and engineers – and Little’s folks could mobilise quite a number of students. If they could be talked into going to Mexico for – say – half a year, much would be won.

True, the language barrier might spoil much of the effort; but to her surprise, many Texans seemed to possess some basic knowledge of Spanish. Hence, it might work. – Repopulating the south of Mexico was a task that would absorb the vigour of several generations. One had to start small, by healing those communities where the plague had been stopped. Farther south, there was nothing – or rather: nobody. And beyond the border was what had been the RUM, now devoid of humans.

Only far south, there was Costa Rica, like Mexico halfway overrun by the pest, and Panama, almost unhurt. It was a huge area. Would people from South America immigrate? One couldn’t tell. It was too early. Her party, however, was planning to pocket the former RUM for Mexico. After all, these lands had been part of Mexico in the past, if only for a couple of years. Now, they were depopulated – and who else but Mexico could repopulate them? Victoria tended to agree. But even reclaiming Mexico’s south couldn’t be achieved in her lifetime. So, why worry about the former RUM?
 

rast

When your mind tries to verify a preconceived notion you can miss the obvious.
(James Cook)

Fritz Loewe felt reassured: the glaciers in Scandinavia and on Novaya Zemlya were forming again. It was a slow process, because one metre of fresh snow did just – and under ideal conditions only – produce one centimetre of ice. Thus, it would take many decades until the glaciers had grown to their pre-Weizsäcker size again. It meant that the conventional weather pattern was still valid; the Weizsäcker Sun had not changed it.

But it had staved off the peril of increasing ice shields – at least for Europe. And it had, if Loewe was not mistaken, stopped the growth of the Baffin-Hudson Glacier. Yet, the beauty was still there – and Greenland was also brimming with glaciers. This – paradoxically – meant that no new glaciation period was due, as cold polar waters, it seemed, were stabilising the Gulf Stream.

Yes, the heat pump of the Gulf Stream required cold polar waters to function correctly. As long as the arriving warm water was cooled down and thus descending to the seafloor, where – as a cold stream – it was flowing back to the basin of the Caribbean to be heated up again, the Gulf Stream could be expected to work in the proper way. – This effect hadn’t changed.

So, what had happened was a temporary darkening of the atmosphere caused by the dirt GQDD had thrown up. It was absolutely comparable to a major volcano eruption – like that of Tambora in April 1815, which had caused the Years Without a Summer in 1816 and 1817, but perhaps much more massive. Nevertheless, by now, this suspended matter ought to have come down entirely – and everything should be back to normal.

Had there – at all – been any danger of a new glaciation period? Well, yes, because the process of glacier formation was running on its own, once started, because the large white areas were radiating off warmth like fury. That had been averted. – Loewe was still puzzling about the role of the polar jet stream. This newly discovered phenomenon required more scrutiny. A pity that one didn’t know the pre-GQDD pattern of this Strahlstrom…
 

rast

Force is never more operative than when it is known to exist but is not brandished.
(Alfred Thayer Mahan)

Lucky bastards, thought Admiral George Creasy, while watching MS Olga leave Portsmouth harbour. The vessel was a general cargo carrier. It had delivered foodstuffs from Russia, paid for by the expatriate community there, and was now returning home. – Well, there was no use in dwelling on thoughts of real civilisation. One had to get on with what was here. And with all the bullshit that was going on… The PM wanted to move the cabinet to London, which was bollocks. But you couldn’t argue with Churchill.

London was the capital of Britain, not Portsmouth. And it was essential for Britain’s international repute to reclaim the national capital, full stop! – Yes, it also was the royal residence. But the Royal Couple would, of course, continue sojourning in Osborne House. The royals had always taken abidance away from the capital; that was normal. But the British PM had to reside in Downing Street Number Ten. – London was a port as well. Where was the problem? Put some ships on River Thames, refurbish Number Ten – and do it soonest!

As if one hadn’t already more problems than one could cope with… The ships were falling apart. The men were querulous. The Negroes had become recalcitrant. – His boss, Teddy Evans-Lombe, had already resigned – and was just doing what the PM wanted from him. – Creasy, who was responsible for the nuclear armed carriers, thought this was a sure recipe for going down the swanny. One didn’t have the resources for running with the hare and hunting with the hounds at the same time.

Portsmouth was a shithole, but it was a little shithole that one could make work with the men and means at hand. London was large, very large. Sure, one could put some ships on River Thames, no sweat. But making Number Ten work again was utopistic. It would eat up more resources than one had. Hence, one would be forced to cannibalise the structures already built in Portsmouth. That wasn’t good. The men were already testy because there were not enough women. Only two shiploads had arrived yet. Some few had got a wife, most hadn’t. Sure, a large troupe of whores had arrived as well. But that wasn’t the same.

But okay, Teddy Evans-Lombe was the boss. He had bowed to Churchill’s whim. So, the chimaera London was going to eat up precious resources. – He wondered, however, which nations might be willing to send their ambassadors to London…
 

rast

We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.
(Lewis Carroll)

Exultation, one had found an Arrow! – Someone had removed – stolen – the rocket fuel – months ago, but the warhead was still there. Problem was: nobody had any clue how to process the gadget. There were explosives in it – and steropium, which was extremely poisonous. The fleet had specialists who knew everything about these beauties, but none of them was here. And the fucking radio wasn’t working.

Sergeant Roger Moore was gazing at the carrier vehicle. It looked – had looked – like a civilian furniture lorry – on the outside. It had been ravaged thoroughly, but evidently by dudes who had no use for a nuclear warhead. The Arrow sat on a piece of monorail. A starting ramp for the beast could be constructed from these monorails, he had been told. But the trucks transporting the other rails were missing, as was the rest of the fleet of motor vehicles.

Lieutenant Lloyd-Staples said the bugger had to be guarded. A detail had to remain in place, while the platoon was moving on – hopefully to a place where radio contact with a ship or with Portsmouth could be established. Moore was going to be the leader of the guard detail. – Now, wasn’t that wonderful? Camping in… This had been Durham, hadn’t it? Moore was flabbergasted. Eddy Smith, Joe McMurdoc and Fred Beller were to be his guard soldiers.

The three were proven old hands. So, there should be no problem. Well, they were as disenchanted as he was himself. One would make camp and wait… Only that there were no women. And the bastards in Portsmouth were getting all the pussies, while one was guarding a bloody gadget in Durham… Fuck! – Durham had burnt, at least the ancient town had, downright. And all the rest was mould and decay.

Okay, the platoon was moving on. Godspeed! – Moore had already identified a suitable camp site. One would have to construct a fence, because of the wild dogs. Grumpy, the men went to work. Perhaps one could find some bottles of booze in the debris… Oh crap!
 

sloreck

Given the complex actions necessary to set off a warhead, having one sitting around unmaintained like this actually go full off is unlikely. However some sort of fizzle, or unstable conventional explosives going boom and spreading the fissile material around is another story...

Also, are all the Germans gone or will there now be an issue of who gets the warhead??
 

altamiro

Banned
sloreck said:
Given the complex actions necessary to set off a warhead, having one sitting around unmaintained like this actually go full off is unlikely. However some sort of fizzle, or unstable conventional explosives going boom and spreading the fissile material around is another story...

Also, are all the Germans gone or will there now be an issue of who gets the warhead??
Click to expand...

Even a "fizzle" of a multi-kiloton warhead may be an explosion equivalent to tens or hundreds of tons of conventional explosives. With other words, if you are close enough still a very destructive event. Plus the fallout and the neutron pulse.
 

rast

The best way is always the simplest. The attics of the world are cluttered up with complicated failures.
(Henry Ford)

Ziu Jìngmĭn felt uncomfortable in the blue dungarees and the hard hat she had been compelled to don. This here wasn’t her thing. But Liang Sicheng had insisted that she should accompany him. Good grief, the underground – or subway, as the American friends were calling it – certainly was important for Běijīng. And her boss undeniably could be proud of this accomplishment. However, her world was the office, the tally board and the telephone. She appreciated chic clothing, high heels and neat makeup. Gumboots, dungarees and the accursed helmet were making her look like a misshapen munchkin.

Howsoever, Guànjūn Liang seemed to enjoy the spectacle. Several mandarins – er, ministers – had arrived from the capital to attend the commissioning of the Běijīng underground. Media reporters were swarming all over the place. – And Liang’s greatest antagonist, Máo Zédōng, the chancellor of the university, hadn’t shown up, because the underground was nothing he could easily interfere in. – The Korean contractors were hosting the celebration. Well, they had made a veritable mint with subway construction; Jìngmĭn knew the figures. But Master Liang was very happy with them.

Yes, they had come up with innovative techniques of tunnel boring, which had sped up the enterprise considerably. Jìngmĭn understood they were working everywhere in Asia: India, Persia, Siam, Vietnam, Borneo, the Banda States, even Russia. And thus they were gathering a lot of professional experience. Experience and knowhow that Chinese companies didn’t have, Master Liang was complaining. A Chinese contractor would have tried to build the underground with hordes of workers armed with picks, shovels and wheelbarrows, just in the traditional way. The engineers of Sunkyong Construction had brought in highly sophisticated machinery.

The music had stopped. The minister of transport – was he? – was cutting the symbolic ribbon; the lord mayor was pressing a button – and – lo and behold! – a subway train came rolling out of the tunnel and stopped alongside the platform. Master Liang and all the other bigwigs were now entering the train for a ride through the wonderful tubes, while Jìngmĭn had to stay behind and feel petty and ugly… Well, the Koreans had also stayed behind. The engineers knew her, at least her voice, and they were now offering champagne and niblets to her. To see them smiling amicably was a new experience for Jìngmĭn. Normally, the blokes were of the unsmiling kind...

Okay then, let’s celebrate, decided Jìngmĭn. Why not? She was toiling six days per week; and her working day often lasted sixteen to eighteen hours. She deserved a little bit of relaxation. And the Sunkyong dudes didn’t seem to mind her silly dress…
 

rast

The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible.
(Oscar Wilde)

The place was indeed redundant with spies. Everyone and his undercover dog were here, merrily snooping around. Hence, one had to be bold. Being secretive wouldn’t help; the international community of spooks would immediately smell a rat. No, this had to be done with style.

The admiral commanding the place could be ignored. He was incompetent, a leftover of SUP cronyism. But, unfortunately, the two captains had to be reckoned with. Both were alert and loyal, as far as one could tell. However, luckily, there was no need to involve them.

No, this could be handled on the specialist level. And the officers concerned had been found to be rather prudent. It was a simple matter of offer and acceptance. The blokes had nothing to lose – and everything to win. Their families were dead. Their nation as well, even if that senile soak of a prime minister was refusing to quit.

So, yes, one could offer them a bright future: money, women, everything they wanted. They only had to co-operate. – Nobody needed to be injured or killed. It was just a matter of diligence and cleverness, hopefully. Actually, nobody outside needed to realise at all what was going on.

Each large British carrier carried eight Arrows – and subsequently eight nuclear warheads. That amounted to sixteen warheads for HMS Jellicoe and HMS Arbuthnot, the two vessels stranded on Malta. As a matter of routine, each carrier held one Arrow ready for immediate launch, with a second Arrow in readiness.

What the warheads looked like and how they worked, one knew in detail, thanks to the turncoat officers concerned. Subsequently, sixteen mock-ups had been produced. They even were containing real steropium, but only reactor steropium, no weapon-grade stuff.

It was now essential to swap the dummies for the warheads proper. That was the tricky part. Smuggling the fakes on board wasn’t difficult, a lot was happening there in secrecy: alcohol, drugs, women were transshipped each night.

The mock-ups would arrive in oil barrels. And the real things would leave in waste tanks. But explaining to the ship’s captain why there suddenly should be the double number of warheads would be impossible. However, the turncoats said they could manage. The brass didn’t care for such trite details.

It would be a great achievement to disarm the two carriers. Mirliva Reşat Çokbilmiş was happy that the Grand Vizier had endorsed the operation. It was expensive, but it was worth the while. The Mediterranean was going to become a much safer place…
 
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