A Shift in Priorities - Sequel

RakhaAthaya

Couldn't they just create a private space company, like TTL's version of SpaceX? Sure, you would need a lot of money, but at least you don't need to be tied to the government and could work independently.
 

rast

There is nothing more stimulating than a case where everything goes against you.
(Arthur Conan Doyle)

Restricted military area: Tanga District had been militarised. It had happened in creeping motion. The navy had decided they needed major portions of the harbour for supporting the operation in Somalia. The air force had done likewise with the aerodrome, only that they immediately had started to enlarge the facility. Step-by-step, supply units of all three branches had shown up, requiring real estate for installing their facilities and dumps. The ground forces had been the last to show up in strength, but once they had arrived they had taken it all.

For the Tanga Police Department a lot had changed: First of all, Pemba had been added to the precinct. That had increased the total population by 120,000 Muslims, mainly innocuous small farmers and fishermen. However, the buggers didn’t speak German. Then, the army had declared the whole district a restricted military area. Two days later, Hauptmann Eduard K’wapelo had moved in. He was a military policeman, a Feldjäger. Officially, he was to act as liaison officer. As a matter of fact, he was calling the tune.

Karl O’Saghli, Kriminalhauptinspektor Hermann Kizwete’s boss, had promptly suffered another mild stroke – and been confined to bed once again, leaving Hermann in charge – and hence obliged to deal with K’wapelo. That had turned out to be extremely complicated. The Feldjäger wouldn’t tell you what to do; no, once you were starting to do something, he invariably commenced telling you what of it you mustn’t do. And it was impossible to argue with the guy. Military security was beating everything.

Well, it wasn’t all bad. In fact, one had to be glad the military was taking care of border security. The border police had been hopelessly outnumbered – and outgunned in the end. But it was extremely irritating. Curfew was a good idea to be applied to shanty town dwellers, refugees and other beggars, but now decent Tangans were affected as well. And moving about was a pain in the ass, because you continually kept running into roadblocks. And looking into the business end of a tank gun was not very funny…

Unfortunately, the soldiers weren’t free from sin. But you could bet that in each single case – at some point – K’wapelo was going to take it – together with the investigation file – away. Okay, even that wasn’t all bad. Hermann understood the military had a disciplinary punishment system of their own. A company commander could send a man into jail for five weeks – without that a civilian judge was even asked. And they could redeploy folks just because – to Somalia, for example, or Südwest.

All counted, life had become safer. Border intrusions had gone down to zero. Okay, there was a lot of noise and some damage from friendly fire. The Luftwaffe could even be trusted to strike at villages on the wrong side of the border. Nevertheless, the good citizens could feel reasonably safe. And the economy, although handicapped by military restrictions, was booming because of the extra orders placed by the soldiers. What was worrying Hermann were signs he was beginning to see that the armed forces were preparing for an invasion of Kenya…
 

Bmao

Blame the English, when it was the Germans who had rose colored glasses of the Communist British up until the pest. They'd considered Churchill the big evil for way too long.

This TL's world has also suffered from the lack of the creation of any meaningful UN equivalent that could have created international consensus that would mitigate greater tragedies - like what happened in China with the nuclear disaster, the disintegration of Britain as a nation, etc. Perhaps Germany was simply not big enough to be able to play the equivalent role of a US that would create international stability.

I think the Space program was poorly executed because they went straight for white elephant accomplishments rather than really trying to research what happened, and when things inevitably went wrong because they went too far, too fast, it destroyed the political will to continue it. Germany was living off of their post Great War victory euphoria for too long, and after peaking in the 1930s or so, Germany has been in a steady malaise ever since.
 

Nivek

Bmao said:
Perhaps Germany was simply not big enough to be able to play the equivalent role of a US that would create international stability.
Click to expand...
Willing, unlike OTL US, here germany never belive themselves more that a european power and the post war left limited those options a lot
 

rast

There are no big problems, there are just a lot of little problems.
(Henry Ford)

Hermann Kizwete wasn’t the only one to smell a rat. Max Sikuku, on visit to Tanga to review the building progress of SIRAB’s Max-1 plant, also got second thoughts when seeing the military buildup. As a member of the Zugebe cabinet, however, he knew for sure that no invasion of Kenya had been authorised. Hurrying after fugitive intruders had been allowed just to a maximum depth of ten klicks, and the Luftwaffe had only been given licence to fly sorties up to a penetration depth of fifty klicks.

Max’ relationship to the military had never been harmonious. He was utterly distrustful of these people, had ever been so since the putsch of 1944. The Askaris were a fallow warrior caste; parasites living gleefully of the values industrious folks – like himself – were producing. That was okay, as long as they did what they were supposed to do. But the Middle African soldiers had a strong inclination to do what they wanted. That wasn’t tolerable. One had do keep the lid on them.

Now, what he was seeing here in Tanga District was definitely more than was required for border protection. His telegramme of inquiry to the ministry of war produced no acceptable answer, only the customary compilation of non-committal non-words. Hey! He was a minister, not some ordinary joe! He decided to phone the minister of war in person – only to learn that his esteemed colleague evidently had no clue what was going on here in Tanga.

Some hanky-panky was happening here, no doubt. Remembering only too vividly what had happened in 1944, Max summoned what journalists he could get in contact with in a hurry – and told them what he had found out. It was in the headlines the next day.

But the military wouldn’t budge. Max was a layman, said the general commanding in a press interview; he should keep producing electric motors – and refrain from commenting on matters he had no clue of. The forces in presence were required to execute the missions the military had been assigned. Two days later, the ministry of war confirmed this statement. – It seemed he had made a tit out of himself…
 

rast

Labour is the source of all wealth and all culture.
(Ferdinand Lassalle)

At Zwickau in the Kingdom of Saxony, the SPD was about to hold their party convention in preparation of the upcoming 1958 elections. Although in 1954 they had only scored pathetic 61 seats in the Reichstag – and, in addition, had lost control over Prussia to the AFV in the Prussian state election, they were sanguine that the next year’s ballot results were going to be much more favourable.

Herbert Weller, the charismatic leader of the AFV, who had bewitched so many workers, was gone. The space craze had ended. Hence, the German workers ought to flock back to the SPD, the genuine party of the working class. Without space rag distraction, one now could focus on the development of the welfare state – and on carving out equal rights for working women.

The latter issue was of paramount importance. The English Pest had killed almost ten million Germans and had ravaged the border zones to the Low Countries and France. The workforce had been severely reduced. Importing workers from Eastern Europe and the Balkans could only serve as a stopgap. In the long view, the answer could only lie in bringing more women to work.

That indeed was a project apt to transform German society. – Working women were no novelty; even before the Great War, women had been employed in many vocations. But this generally applied to young women only – and to childless older spinsters. Once a woman got pregnant, she had to be considered lost for the labour market.

For that reason, women were rarely found in jobs requiring lengthy apprenticeship. Who would train a girl as a specialist – only to see her vanish for pregnancy leave and subsequent child care? – That had to change. The traditional Kindergarten, only suitable to provide the mothers time to do the shopping, had to be developed into an all-day facility. And daycare had also to be applied to toddlers and school kids.

It was a scheme that would revolutionise the traditional role model of the German family. Therefore, a lot of resistance had to be expected. The conservatives would, of course, cry wolf – and soothsay the decline of the fatherland. But also the workers themselves could be anticipated to jib at the new approach. Being the exclusive bread-earner meant power and privilege, even if only opposite wife and children.

Granted, without the English Pest, such a revolution would have been inconceivable in Germany. However, the context had been revolutionised. Economy was crying for workers. The SPD had the recipe for the future!
 

rast

Socialism without democracy is unthinkable.
(Karl Kautsky)

If the party programme was dynamite, at least potentially, the personnel at choice came along fairly pedestrian. Party chairman was a certain Erich Ollenhauer, a distinguished political worker and busybody, who, however, possessed the charisma of a dead wood ant. Ollenhauer had been a relevant assistant of Kurt Schumacher, the last imperial chancellor provided by the SPD. Whether this erstwhile job and his present function qualified him as candidate for the chancellorship – or not – was open for debate. He was running for the post anyway – without opponent.

Ollenhauer’s deputies were Erich Gniffke, Otto Grotewohl and Fritz Erler, all three known to be as devoid of charisma as their boss. Gniffke had earned a reputation as able organiser. Grotewohl was rated a respectable if uninspired orator. And Erler, the youngest of the men, was held responsible for designing the emancipation programme. – How could this congregation of dour folks hope to take office in the upcoming election? – As it happened, the ruling GDNP was liable to send Otto Schmidt into the completion for chancellorship. Well, compared to the incumbent, Erich Ollenhauer could safely be called a paragon of charisma.

The SPD was undoubtedly the most influential party in post-war Germany. Even if the welfare state had been created – in the early stages – by Bismarck himself with the intention of antagonising the socialists, and even if participative management had been introduced upon pressure of the military authorities during the Great War, the SPD had substantially shaped post-war politics: abandonment of Weltpolitik, decolonisation, defeat of Bolshevism, economic cooperation in Europe, all this was closely linked to the SPD. And one was going to retake political power – in the Reich and in Prussia.

The conservatives were fraught with the hecatomb of fighting the English Pest. They should be glad to recuperate on the benches of the parliamentary opposition. Hadn’t Chancellor Schmidt himself taken a time out of several months? The whole of the GDNP – and their papist and liberal allies – should better take a time out. AFV and DFU were parties of the past, their ideas were stale. The DVP had their stable electorate of racists and other loons; they would neither grow nor shrink substantially. – 1958 was going to be the year of the SPD!
 

rast

Where does a thought go when it’s forgotten?
(Sigmund Freud)

How much bad luck could a single person possibly have? Was it conceivable that there might be even more mishap in store for her? – Ever since she had arrived here in this crappy country, bad luck had been her steady companion. Not that she had been a pet of fortune before, but… Out of the frying pan right into the fire… Madeline sighed and resumed washing the clobber. Perhaps, she was too pretentious. After all, she was alive…

The siege of Portsmouth had not been about ships or weapons, it had been about women. The blacks had wanted Madeline and the other girls – alive. They had waited until the defenders had run out of ammo, well, almost… Then, they had stormed the precinct. It had been slaughter. The white men had been redundant, all of them. The women had been dragged away.

Unfortunately, the ratio between black men and white women was even worse than it had been between white men and white women. And the black men had been hungry for… fucking. It had been gang bang for several days, with new gangs moving in by the hour…

Not for all women, however. Some, the cutest, had been taken aside – for the leaders – and been given a special treatment. Unfortunately, once again, Madeline had not been one of those cute girls. – But after a week or so, normal apportionment had begun. She had ended up with G’niwa and his band.

They were ordinary folks, had been plantation workers at home. Hereabouts, they had – at the end – formed a mortar crew. Now, they were back to working with their hands. Booty from Portsmouth had been poor, even she, Madeline, was considered trash. Hence, treatment was rather rough.

But she was alive. And she had work to do. They would beat her if the laundry wasn’t clean. – Was she pregnant? Her menstruation was pending. This was going to be a population of mulattoes. There were no black women. What happened when a mulatto mated a mulatta? She remembered having learnt something about Mendel’s laws – long ago. Not all folks of the following generations were going to be brown, there were also to be black ones and white ones.

That was funny, wasn’t it?
 

Tuna-Fish

I think the likely outcome is that they run out of medical supplies and then the next outbreak of the Pest wipes the islands clean again.
 

rast

No resource will flourish if managed by government.
(James Cook)

A cyclone was on its way. Captain Haikā Nobutoshi had decided that waiting for it to arrive on the coast of Formosa was no good idea. Therefore, one had hoisted anchor and was now steaming on a south-eastern tack. The idea was to steer a half circle and to arrive in Surigao on Mindanao after the storm had passed. It was going to take some days longer than going directly, but it ought to be perfectly safe.

Time was not an important factor for the Kame Kiiro anyway. The tramp freighter was old and slow. But she could carry quite a cargo. This time, it was mining equipment. That was what the freight documents said. Quite a lot of wooden boxes, small ones and large ones. The large ones were heavy stuff, which one was forbidden stack in more than two tiers. The crew had worked hard to place the things. They had briefly wondered what might be inside the boxes; but on the Kame Kiiro such musings were never answered.

The conflict on the Philippines was still brewing, presenting a nice opportunity for Captain Haikā to earn money the easy way. He could shuttle easily between Jīlóng on Formosa and Surigao on Mindanao; there was no need to hunt for other jobs. The money was good: cash on delivery. And the party he was supplying was taking care that the opposition didn’t intercept his ship in Philippine waters.

From Surigao to Jīlóng he was mainly transporting rubber and palm oil, which was fed directly into the Chinese economy once arrived on Formosa. That was one of the surprises: the stuff he was shuttling to Mindanao came from China, not from Japan. He had initially thought the old connections were still alive and active, but Nippon had no deal in the current transactions. The suppliers were sitting in and around Guangzhou.

While the home islands were still suffering from the ramifications of Fēilóng, the south of China, which had never been hit hard – neither by the war with Russia nor by the monster bomb, was already undertaking to supply wars in foreign countries.
 

rast

It is indisputably the mediocre, if not the low, both as regards morality and intelligence, who succeed in life and multiply the fastest.
(Alfred Russel Wallace)

With wide eyes, Timmy Kerr was gaping at the black men who had ferreted him out. There were three of them, two big brutes and a fatso. The fat guy was holding what looked like a spick and span submachine gun; the goons were carrying their rifles at the back. The glossy barrel of the gun was pointing at him. Fatso was muttering something. The goons stepped forward and grabbed him.

Timmy shrieked. The goons dragged him out of his hiding place – and twisted his arms so that he had to crouch in front of fatso. “Gotcha!” exclaimed the porky guy. “Bind him and march him to camp.” Said it and walked away. The goons were silently tying Timmy’s hands behind his back. When Timmy winced aloud he got a hefty smack on the ear. “Shut up!” hissed one of the goons, “Shut up – or mincemeat!”

They marched him uphill. This must have been a golf course – in the olden days. He could see the naked and bloody corpses of Sarge, Eddy and Freddy lying in a sand pit. They had – at least – delivered a fight and – hopefully – killed some of the black bastards. And he? He had tried to run away… They were approaching a building, the old clubhouse, a charred ruin.

Fatso was there – and some twenty other blacks. “Ah, the last one!” exclaimed Pudsy. “Take good care of him. The chief wants him for the victory parade.” – The last one? Was he the last survivor of Sarge’s group – or the last white man alive in England? – Sarge had said the whites of Portsmouth and London had all been massacred by the Sambos – and that they were the last white lot on the road. So, was he really the last white blighter alive?

He didn’t know – and he didn’t dare to ask. The last one… It was the end of Britain… Brexitus…
 

rast

It is better to act and repent than not to act and regret.
(Niccolo Machiavelli)

On August 23rd, 1957, a Middle African search and destroy mission across the Kenyan border reported to have been ambushed and encircled near Kibaya. They urgently were asking to be relieved. – Subsequently, an armoured task force was sent to the rescue. But the armoured vehicles bogged down in a cluster of minefields during nighttime. Hence, in the morning of August 24th, an airmobile regiment was released to spring the beleaguered searchers.

Due to navigational and communicational hiccoughs, the airmobile units touched down between Kinango and Tiwi, some twenty klicks north of Kibaya. They reported to have come under crossfire even while still in the air – and asked for reinforcements. The Middle African navy immediately offered to divert a task force into the port of Mombasa, some ten klicks north of the Kinango – Tiwi line. A helicopter carrier and an infantry landing ship with an embarked Seebataillon were part of the task force.

At the same time, Middle African units from Somalia were in the process of cracking down on insurgents across the border. Here, events in the south seemed to find their equivalent. – The initial mission bogged down, reinforcements had to be sent. The area of operations was enlarging almost on its own. – And in Daressalam, Max Sikuku, who was closely tracking events on a map, was wondering whether all this was real – or a spectacle staged by the military. By August 25th, however, only a small portion of the Kenyan littoral – the area between Malindi and Witu – was not in the hands of the Askaris.
 
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